#been digging out scraps from old sketchbooks

[smoments]

✧ part 7: memories of a stranger // a satosugu reincarnation au

chapter 7: it was you

Satoru would never admit it aloud, but he’s starting to panic.

He’s down to four days to finish his portrait, and he hasn’t even decided on a subject.

It’s embarrassing, really, the level of desperation he’s fallen to; he’s on the floor, the carpet digging into his knees as he flips through old sketchbooks he brought with him to his dorm, searching for scraps of inspiration that might be able to give him an advantage.

If anybody were to ask him why he’d chosen art as his major, he would have shrugged indifferently and replied that it was easy and not a complete bore. Perhaps he’d throw in that his family had enough money for him to be able to choose something cushy to settle into for the rest of his life, a career that was just enough for him to insist that he was doing something with his time, but not so excessive or draining that he wouldn’t want to go to work in the morning.

He wouldn’t have told them that everything else he tried came so quickly, so effortlessly to him, that he quickly tossed it aside. He tried sports in high school, but it was always the same pattern for the sole reason that there wasn’t much that was difficult for him physically. Once he’d surpassed everyone else on his new team (which he did without fail), he took a second to examine the view from the top.

He never did find out what was so great about it.

His more dedicated teammates seethed with resentment, obviously enraged that some douche who didn’t even care about basketball or volleyball or soccer or whatever could so easily do what they’d worked for their whole life, and unleashed their anger by hurling passive-aggressive comments in his direction when he was around (though he was sure said remarks were less classy when he wasn’t). He didn’t necessarily disagree with their frustration - after all, he probably would have been pissed too had he been in their positions - but he also didn’t really know what they expected him to do about it; it wasn’t his fault he was better than them.

In contradiction, most onlookers practically idolized him, surveying his every move with such awe in their eyes that if his ego weren’t already so well-developed, it would have surely gone to his head.

Neither was particularly moving to him, and he rarely lasted more than a few months.

After that, Satoru tried pouring all of his energy into academics, but he quickly found that he didn’t need to; even when he was half-assed about assignments, he easily outdid his peers. Plus, he wasn’t particularly good at healing others, the way Shoko was, and he didn’t have any long-standing mysteries about the world that he wanted to solve. He’d confided this in her one day as they neared the end of second year and she prepared for her finals, living on coffee and four hours of sleep and snapping at him often, and she’d slammed her textbook shut, her chair sliding across the ground with an unpleasant screech.

“Well, I don’t know, why don’t you go be a goddamn artist or something, Satoru, and leave me alone!?” she’d said angrily, and then nearly stumbled from standing up so quickly in her half-alive state. He couldn’t exactly be mad at her once he saw that, and so he gave her a rare apology and left her to study, wondering whether she could be on to something.

Shoko was remorseful when her exams ended a week later and she finally got to sleep through the night, and Satoru, who knew she didn’t mean any harm by her words - after all, what was wrong with being an artist, other than the fact that it was something he could only pursue thanks to his wealthy background? - hadn’t been especially wounded by them anyway.

Even so, it was that same day that he began painting, and he was immediately engrossed with the idea of putting his thoughts to paper in a way that didn’t involve the limiting nature of words. He could capture so much through art, create pictures through which such intricate ideas and emotions were woven, and some people wouldn’t have the slightest idea what it could be conveying and others would appreciate and understand it - an open-endedness which he adored.

Sometimes, he sat on the floor of his bedroom, surrounded by canvases stacked upon canvases and sketchbooks flipped open to used pages, and he reveled in the feeling of what he’d created, breathing in the crisp scent that encircled him. He soon expanded to landscapes, animals, abstract art- anything he saw was fair game, whether in his mind or otherwise.

However, at the very beginning, there had been one thing he was unable to dispel from his mind. His hyperfixation was portraits, and the subject was always the same.

He inhales sharply as he stops on the first page of his oldest sketchbook, his fingers reaching out to trace the curve of a face. The pads of his fingertips brush against the rough paper, and he tries to remember how to think.

“Suguru.”

His voice is a breath, a whisper that carries such weight he could crumple to the floor if he wasn’t already there.

His eyes fill, and he realizes through his daze that this is the second time he’s cried in the past year, probably longer- and that in both instances, it’s been because of the same person.

He buries his face into his arm, gritting his teeth to contain the sobs rising in his throat as silent tears roll down his cheeks.

Satoru should feel vindicated at the fact that he’d been right - it couldn’t have been their first encounter, because meeting strangers didn’t make you feel like your chest was being hollowed out and meeting strangers didn’t make you feel like you were being born for the first time and it didn’t change the whole entire way you saw the world, coloring everything just a little bit brighter.

Instead, he just feels vulnerable, scared. He can almost understand why he blocked out the memories.

Because it’s easy to make excuses for recognizing someone’s face; you saw them in passing and your brain held on to the shapes of their features, sprinkling them into your dreams; they looked like someone you’d met before; they were your long-lost childhood friend.

But to be able to capture their likeness, for their very essence to flow from your hand and into existence through pure memory - and in this case, without memory - such a thing requires an entirely different level of intimacy, one that Satoru couldn’t make excuses for even if he tried (he wonders if Suguru will be able to).

His chest heaves as he kneels over the sketchbook, the carpet that blankets the floor of the dormitory rough against his legs. It was hardly a few years ago. How could he have forgotten?

How could the way that his pencil moved across the paper as if of its own volition and how the tension vacated his body, replaced by an overwhelming sense of purpose, have slipped his mind for even a second?

How could he have failed to recall the way he would gaze around at the countless images of this dark-haired stranger, how delicately he touched the fabric stretched across the wood frame of his canvases?

How could he not have immediately recognized Suguru that day, and how had he ever recognized him?

How did he know about the circular black studs that adorned his earlobes, the way his bangs fell over his face- and how did he decide that his black pants flared out around the thighs? How did he capture that soft smile?

When did he decide that he was looking at Satoru when he smiled like that?

He can’t explain the familiarity that extends even beyond his face- the way he speaks his name, how his self-sacrificing nature seems to grace Satoru so naturally, how he’s willing to inconvenience himself so greatly for his sake without so much as blinking.

If it had been anyone else, Satoru would have thought that he must be crazy- that he must be stupid for caring so deeply about someone like him. But he wouldn’t dare attach such a simple, crude attribute to someone like Suguru, because it would be insulting to whittle such a person down to a word like that.

He sniffles, the fabric of his sleeve growing damp, and lowers his hand again.

His heart is elastic, but his mind has hardened with resolve.

Satoru stands, a little wobbly, his fingers tight around the binding of the sketchbook. He picks up his phone to dial Suguru, a number which he received just days ago, and stares down at the screen for a second. Before he can make a move, it begins to vibrate in the palm of his hand, and he nearly drops it. Quickly, he moves to press accept, bringing it up against his ear.

“Satoru. We need to talk.”

-

The rain begins after Satoru steps out of his dorm.

He’s just barely out the door; he could go back. His key is still tucked into his pocket, and it would take all of thirty seconds to return for an umbrella.

Instead, he continues traversing the steps down to campus, the light drizzle of rain steadily growing in strength - soon, it pounds against the sidewalk like little pebbles of glass, soaking through his hair, his skin, the fabric of his clothes. He picks up speed until his footsteps are audible even over the claps of thunder in the sky, not sure whether his decision speaks to his emotional investment in the task at hand or simply how little he cares for his own well-being.

When he arrives at the park, that same one - a simple stretch of grass with the kind of play structures that he probably would have loved as a child had his family let him learn what it was to be one - he takes a second to catch his breath before taking a seat on one of the benches, staring at the concrete beneath his damp shoes and feeling incredibly stupid.

It’s pouring rain; anyone else would certainly have decided to change meeting places, if not call the whole thing off.

But this is Suguru.

He didn’t bring his phone; again, he doesn’t know if this reflects his trust that Suguru would follow through or his stupidity. The only thing in his grasp is his sketchbook, hidden beneath his coat, which he tucks into his pocket as he settles.

Satoru’s breathing deepens, slowing and evening out. The rainwater beats down on his head and shoulders relentlessly, and though each gentle breeze makes him flinch, he lets the storm wash over him, convinces himself it doesn’t bother him- until the sensation pauses abruptly. The pattering still echoing all around, he lifts his head to find the black lining of an umbrella blocking out the vast sky.

Through damp white lashes, Satoru shifts his gaze to the fingers clasped around the handle, then up to the man in front of him.

His tall, dark silhouette is lined in a silver glow from the light of the moon, and his soft smile makes the stars that Satoru could have sworn were just glittering against the night go dim.

He is as beautiful as the first day he saw him.

He is as beautiful as the day he lost him.

“Satoru.”

[lyfrassirrrrrrrr]

Losing my mind over your comic. How did you come up with the idea for it?

i've actually had the idea for a long while now! maybe a few months after i got into tma? I had seen an image of a potential concept for jonah!jon and i fell in love with the idea immediately. I've searched far and wide and literally cannot find that image anymore, but it inspired it all for me. From there ive been building and destroying concepts in my mind about my own version of the au and on the side looking for any scraps i can of the au. I found some fics and the 'he won au' by shobasuckso which i loved so much. eventually i kinda ran out of content to consume for the idea of jon!ah so it went dormant for awhile. after snekberry posted their art of their own jon!ah though it got me back on my jon!ah bullshit and I've been planning and concepting it even more ever since. this time is just when i finally got the courage and motivation to post anything even relating to it! I do actually have some images on my computer from the au of old art before i got back into it! Theres probably a ton in my sketchbook but i'd have to go digging through my 20 sketchbooks from the past few months! I will show what i have on my pc though!

[leko-library]

First Tailii Drawings (2006)

Well, I don't actually have a lot to say about the design and concept process this one that I didn't already say when I made a certain other post a few years ago.

The colored version was my first ever post on DeviantART, and I don't think the original sketch ever made it there. (It might have been in my "scraps" folder, but I can't confirm that.)

I don't recall if the colored version was based on a sketch, now that I think about it. I definitely remember the head and face coming pretty much straight out of a "How to Draw Manga" book, but I think I just drew it directly in Flash.

I'll have to dig up my old sketchbooks and see if I'm remembering that correctly. I might have based it on this original sketch and just made changes as I traced and colored it.

But yeah. I did a lot of my early drawings and comics in Flash of all things because I hated trying to do line art in Photoshop. Being able to precisely drag lines around and fill in colors quickly without worrying about aliasing giving everything fuzzy outlines just made everything so much easier.

Unfortunately, being 15 at the time I couldn't actually afford Flash, and as good with computers as I was, I wasn't good enough to figure out how to get a working "yar-har" copy. I ended up with like 4 Adobe accounts so I could keep using the free trials.

Then in 2009 I was getting ready to graduate from high school, and was taking a couple of college courses early to get a jump on that. They were just basic Photoshop and Flash courses that I needed credits for, but they gave me an excuse to finally legally purchase a copies of Flash and Photoshop CS4 at a significant academic discount.

And I never had to put on a disguise to get another trial again.

[iristhewonderblunder]

This is by no means an exhaustive list but here are a number of suggestions to help you on your art journey! Feel free to contact me for clarification or examples and I will happily provide them.

Check under the cut for many creative options and keep on creating, everyone!

Collage is pretty accessible, if you don't have old magazines/newspapers of your own libraries often have some they were just going to throw out anyway

Drawing/painting can be intimidating but also lots of fun, again your local library might have "GOOS" paper (good on one side) that would just go to waste otherwise. You can also paint on random trash, rocks, jackets/jeans, or scrap fabric to make patches to sew on your stuff

Textiles like sewing & embroidery are a very cool outlet that gives you skills in repair as well as fun finished products like stuffies or custom pockets, you can use scrap fabric or buy a cheap pack of felt to start out, can't go wrong with a classic sock monkey.

Crochet and knitting are good repetitive options that leave you with practical creative products in the end, you can make little guys with Amigurumi once you get the crochet basics down, and you can unravel and redo the same skein multiple times until you are comfortable!

Dig into your recycle bin for cardboard and plastics and you open up a whole world of sculpture, you can make miniature scenes, cardboard accessories/armor/faux animal mounts. Even furniture if you have enough cardboard. When I was younger my friends and I would use applesauce cups and hot glue along with random scraps/trash to make boats which we would race through big puddles

You can go for a nature walk and gather components for sculpture as well, a bit of jewelry wire plus stones and twigs can go far. You can also try whittling or woodcarving with dry wood scraps and a sharp knife, safety gloves recommended.

There are many types of clay you can sculpt with, be it pottery or figurines. Stuff like plasticine never solidifies, so you can keep working on it, other clays air dry or oven bake so you can set it permanently. I love a material called Cloud Clay, the Crayola version crumbles but any other one I've used has been good. It dries super light so it's great for jewelry or little guys to carry around with you. It is sensitive to moisture so I'd recommend clear coating it once it's dry to keep it safe. I accidentally ran a piece through the washer and it survived mostly intact thanks to clear coating it.

Mod podge, pliers, a bottle cap, a safety pin, and a pop tab can be put together to make your own buttons sans-buttonmaker.

You can play with fashion, costume, cosplay, prop making. I personally do Live Action RolePlay in organized groups, you can see if there is one in your area, it has been a fantastic outlet for me creatively and athletically because I'm not big on traditional sports and I love a good camping weekend.

Pick one jacket you have and just have fun expressing yourself, paint on it, sew stuff on it, add studs or jewelry, put buttons on it, stitch your favourite quotes, make it yours. It could also be a vest. In the punk scene they are called battle jackets.

Origami is fun and there are tons of books out there about it, it can be practical too, there's a way to make a paper cup with it to carry snacks in, you can make little gift boxes, it's very fun.

Build a puppet! Storytelling is part of our nature and what better way to do it than with a little guy? You can make finger puppets, hand puppets, sock puppets, marionettes, shadow puppets, your own Muppet, the list goes on!

Pop up books/cards are a fun challenge that mostly use paper and glue. You can combine this with collage as well.

There are many different ways to use or decorate eggshells from Faberge to Pysanky eggs, painted eggs are even in the official clown museum to show registered clown's makeup so no one has the same look.

Journaling or sketchbooks are great outlets, you don't have to just write about your feelings you can just play with calligraphy, short fiction, typography, poetry, character design, and you can decorate the pages with gel pens, stickers, etc.

Make a zine! It's short form, very flexible, you can tell a story, send a message, info dump, or just put words to paper, there's no wrong way to do it.

As we go into spring you can press flowers to preserve them and also use those in all manner of art, even press a flower between two pages and smash it with a hammer to transfer the pigment to paper and work from there.

how do i get creative in a traditional way no electronics used

[tiesthatbind-tf]

A lad finally gets some of that coveted spotlight!

Benjamin Bane (just Ben or Benji, thanks) may be the youngest of the active Autobot team as their sprightly scout who’s got a chip on his shoulder he wants to hurl into the next Functionist or Decepticon picking on him for his size, and who’s been through quite a bit despite his age, if the burn on his left arm, the slide bite on his right hand  and the multitude of old cigarette burns he’s reluctant to explain are anything to go by.

When not on the field, he’s an avid dancer (with a love for ballet, something he could only pursue in secret until recently, and something which forms the core of his offensive style) and a good enough artist that he, alongside Mirage, are the two assigned to decorate armor for the team.

His smiley, chirpy facade hides quite a couple of issues, including PSTD and self-esteem issues, anxiety attacks, and an urge to please those he trusts even if it comes at his detriment.

More to his story below. (TW for child abuse)

Benjamin Bane (Bumblebee) would be hard-pressed to come up with a single good memory concerning his biological family during his childhood, and not for the lack of trying.

Born to an upper middle-class family in New York comprising a bullish, hot-tempered police sergeant father and a housewife mother, he grew up in the shadow of the son his father, who came from a family of law enforcers, wanted him to be in order to carry on the family legacy.

That he was a gentle, bubbly, sensitive child who loved following his mother around in the kitchen and spending his free time drawing did not bode well for the image his father wished to portray, and it didn’t take long for the discipline intended to mold him into a ‘man’ to become horrifically physical when he was barely five.

His mother, already used to his old man’s temper and quick hand, would often step in to take the punishment meant for him whenever he did something undesirable, though she couldn’t save Ben from the man’s wrath completely, and by the time he was nine, he was never seen without a hoodie in school and had perfected every excuse he’d been told to repeat when asked why he could not take it off or why he would come in on some days with a split lip.

He was small for his size, quiet, and took great pains not to be noticed, which had the opposite effect of making him the target of every other larger child looking to blow off steam, and he became good at running.

Really good.

There was no running from home however, home where the walls were insulated so neighbours wouldn’t hear what was happening within, and while some days would be better than others, there wasn’t a moment that he didn’t break into a cold sweat whenever he heard his father’s footsteps approaching his room.

With his mother unable to bear more children due to an illness, his father furiously continued with the campaign (sometimes the carrot was used  though mostly it was the stick) to mold him into the son the man wanted, so he could make the cut during the streaming process prior to high school where students would be sorted into their future occupational classes.

What support he might have had from his mother in his young years also evaporated, as she pushed him to be the son his father needed him to be to keep the peace, putting the weight of the household’s sanctity on his slight  shoulders.

He was forced into marksmanship lessons (where his first attempt to fire a gun went awry and left him with a deep slide bite wound), multiple self-defence classes to toughen him up (helpful for bullies whenever they didn’t come in packs), and a series of workouts to encourage a growth spurt so he could catch up to other potential cadet  candidates.

The little sliver of hope that he would be good enough to make the junior police  cadets went up in smoke when he was assigned to the manual class instead, owing to his size and his visceral aversion to handling firearms.

Branded as worthless and only good for paying off the ‘debt’ accumulated from the classes his father had earlier forced him into, Ben entered high school with his self-esteem scrapping at topsoil and digging deeper, and had it not been for a chance encounter with another boy who was evading a group of military-classed students intending to instil a lesson about talking back to those higher in the hierarchy, it might have dug itself into a grave.

The boy, who introduced himself as Guillermo ‘Memo’ Gutierrez after Ben dutifully sent the bullies scattering, was also assigned to the manual class and both of them  decided to stick together for safety in numbers.

Ben had ruefully accepted his lot in life after years of being broken and beaten down. Memo, however, had a loving and supportive family; this kept the spark of his defiance to the system alive and he kindled it in Ben’s by giving his friend a safe space to escape to whenever the situation at Ben’s home became too intense.

Among Memo and Memo’s family was the first time where Ben opened up about his interests, could speak freely and found acceptance for what he liked and who he was.

The desire to reclaim the things he loved pushed him to seek out part-time work, which he eventually found after befriending a girl, Charlie Watson, who had helped put an end to the harassment he and Memo endured at school by playing the hierarchy to their favour and wielding her Navy ‘prime-pick’ status.

That she actually wanted nothing to do with the class she was pushed into (Navy) and wished to pursue a career in automotives despite parental objections was something that she and Ben bonded over, and she brought him to the scrapyard her uncle ran where he found work sorting out car parts and helping perform repairs.

He began to pursue art and dance in secret with part of his pay (keeping his sketchbooks and supplies at Memo’s place and taking dance lessons under the guise of after-class study sessions), while saving up the rest and planning for the day he would eventually break free of his father, ‘debt’ or no ‘debt’.

During this time, he subtly packed away important items and was careful not to anger his old man more than his mere presence already did on a good day——something which would become increasingly hard when the Clampdown began.

He would hear his father rant over the dinner table about how ungrateful the protesters who were made up mostly of the Manual Class were, how they weren’t worth the safety net they were demanding for the job they were doing, how they needed to know their place.

He would hear, as time went by, about how his father would beat the ones who were arrested, and more than once, how he would be killed if he, as the man’s son, ever did something as stupid and insolent as that.

He bit his tongue through all this and reluctantly refused Memo’s offer to join a peaceful protest for better wages and workplace compensation.

The protest turned violent after police assaulted those taking part however, and as he watched the news hoping to see if Memo was alright, he saw his friend among those who were tossed into the dreaded black vans to be brought over to stations for interrogation.

His father, fielding a call from a colleague about the batch of protesters being brought in, told them to separate the adults from the teenagers, who would be easier to break, and it was at this point Ben’s spark turned into a bonfire.

As his father got dressed for work, he crept into the man’s study and managed to figure out the combination to the safe where the man’s gun was kept, retrieving it and aiming it at the police sergeant who came in and demanded for him to stand down.

Ben, in turn, demanded for his father to call the station and have Memo released, and when his father laughed at his audacity, mocked the way his hands shook while he was holding the gun and threatened to beat him senseless once this was all over, he shot the man close enough to the head to clip an ear to prove a point, before repeating his demand again.

This time, his father complied and called the station to order for Memo’s release; Ben’s relief however was all the momentary lapse of guard that his father needed to rush in and attempt to wrest the gun back, and in the struggle, he accidentally shot his father in the knee.

Under the hail of threats on how he was going to die once his father got hands on him, Ben flung the gun where the man could not reach, grabbed one of the bags he had secretly packed and ran out of the house to the screams of his mother.

He called Charlie and explained the situation to her, as both of them made their way to the station where his father worked to pick up Memo, who was confused about the state of affairs.

At 18 years, Ben was now a fugitive who could no longer go home; Memo brought him to the manual class district where Ben could hide among allies, and it was here that he spent a few months in hiding, disguised as a manual worker.

However, still fully terrified at the thought of his father eventually hunting him down within the confines of the city, he made plans to leave and head to the West Coast, far away from any chance that he would meet his old man by accident on the streets.

To his surprise,  Charlie and Memo elected to join him in the move, and the three of them left together on a  Greyhound bus; Him to escape his father, Charlie to escape her future with a military complex which her father died for and Memo to protect his family after he was named a person of interest in the protest.

However, they were forced to stop in Texas when police were inspecting passing buses for runaway Cold Constructs. Here, they met Ian Hart (Ironhide), a rancher secretly helping Cold  Constructs escape ownership by crossing over into Mexico to start new lives.

Ian, seeing how they ran from the bus, assumed they were young Cold Constructs and immediately took them in and offered them shelter; when they explained their situation, he kept his offer, letting them stay until they had their plans sorted out and paying them for work done on his ranch in the meantime.

All three of them grew fond of him and spent a month working on his ranch, helping out equally between his longhorn cattle and the Cold Constructs who would come in scared, starving, and seeking refuge from bounty hunters looking to bring them back to the establishments they were assigned to.

Someone however, had gotten wind of Ian’s clandestine operation, and the man was arrested during a midnight raid, though not before he flung Ben, Charlie and Memo into a secret basement with three Cold Constructs who he told them to help cross the border the next day.

They did as they were told, but decided to return to the ranch to figure out how to help Ian, and when they came back there, it was to come face to face with two strangers who were also seeking Ian after seeing him on the news.

These strangers introduced themselves as Omar Parvez (Optimus Prime), Jace Zayden (Jazz) and Preston Wan (Prowl), members of a rebellion that had sprung up in the UK, and upon hearing that they had been with Ian for the past month, requested for their help in tracking the man down to save him from a terrible fate at the hands of government interrogators.

Realising that they were now caught up in something bigger than they ever imagined, Ben nonetheless accepted the request, unwilling to stand back and do nothing while a good man suffered.

Youth, size and a lifetime of abuse would not be an obstacle to him helping someone else, especially with his best friends  by his side.

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

1, 8 and 25 for 'get to know your author' if you feel like it💕

Hi Nikita, thanks for indulging me :)

1. Is there a story you're holding off on writing for some reason?

Two, actually. I've said before and I'll say it again, I'll know that I've beaten depression for good and all when I can write It's Only a Paper Moon without sinking into a days-long funk. The other is a standalone novel about a young girl whose consciousness was imperfectly transferred into the body of a robot just before the end of the world. Centuries later, she has awoken and is trying to reconstruct her identity and memories while coming to grips with her new world and new body. The writing style I'm using is deeply visceral, dense, and ephemeral. I've written a few scenes in that style, and I love the effect of it, but I genuinely think it's beyond my skill write now to do a whole book in it. So I'm working on other things in the meantime until I feel like my skills are up to it.

8. Favorite genre to write?

Fantasy or sci-fi, for sure. I love the worldbuilding freedom that comes with them. I like digging into the nitty-gritty implications of complicated cultures and systems of magic or technology. I also really like the freedom to disregard the real world entirely. Writing in the real world, where things are objectively true and I have to be careful not to get details wrong, stresses me out. My current project is set in the real world, and that's part of what's taking it so long.

To go just a little bit deeper, I really love writing stories as character studies. Sci-fi and fantasy are great for that, too, because I can construct the world to reflect back the themes and emotions of the characters. If any of you have read A Warm Embrace (which I slightly doubt, since it's for a completely different fandom), think about how many scenes I have of characters walking and thinking, interspersed with descriptions of their surroundings. I fucking love that shit.

25. Copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph you're proud of.

I'm not at home, so I don't have access to any of my WIPs; fortunately, I am proud of my published work too. This is from Chapter 21 of A Warm Embrace.

A thunderous BOOM exploded through the street, a wave of searing heat and crushing pressure slamming into Jester like a club, sending her staggering. She quickly regained her feet, but struggled to regain her bearings as she tried desperately to make sense of the blazing orange light that had rent the sable sky asunder, reflecting off a pillar of smoke that now towered over her. The soft muted sounds of the falling snow had dissolved before the fierce crackling that now seemed to drown out everything else. The heat was blistering against Jester's skin. The flames must either be very close or absolutely enormous – she couldn’t seem to get her eyes to resolve the plume of smoke into any particular scale.

[...]

She didn’t have to run far. With no buildings between her and the inferno, the heat was almost unbearable, the light so bright as to wash away all other sights. Her father stood silhouetted against it, his back to her, snow falling like pale ash around him as he stared into the apocalyptic tower that had consumed the Evening Nip. Pale fingers of flame raked through the hollow shell of the building that had been their home, boards tearing and shattering beneath the fire’s grasp.

An overpowering urge overtook Jester, an insane impulse to rush in, to try to save something, there had to be something she could save, her whole life was in there. Some scrap of clothing, some treasured painting, some old sketchbook, some novel, something. But the heat was like a brick wall, the crackling roar like a hurricane wind, and she couldn’t take a step. The smell of smoke was curling around her like an evil spirit, flowing into her and through her, filling her nose and mouth and lungs with its heavy acid scent of old, beer-soaked wood and cooking meat.

Thanks so much for the ask!

[katonica]

Rainy Traditions

As per request from different fanfic sites and @ycantwebefriends, Pt. 2 of Kidnapped! 

Pt. 1

“Marinette, come here!”

The girl ran down the stairs and saw her mother holding a box.

“Mom?”

“Today's the day you're meeting the Agreste's, right?”

Marinette's mind wheeled to yesterday's events. The fashion show, seeing Adrien, winning the competition, watching Rena Rouge and Chat Noir defeat Mireillable (as the akumatized weather reporter called herself) before the girl managed to get to a helpless Marinette.

Then her brain stopped on one specific scene. When Alya told her that it was today that she was to be learning from the Agreste. “OH MY GOD! I COMPLETELY FORGOT! AM I LATE?!”

Her exclamation made her mother giggle. “That's why I woke you up early, Marinette. I have this shirt for you,” Sabine pulled out a pink qipao* with floral designs on it, “I thought you could wear this, show off our tradition?”

The blue-eyed girl nodded, grinning as she carefully took the pink shirt from her mother. “Thank you!” She ran back up the stairs, deciding to wear her pink jeans to accompany the lighter tone of the qipao. 

Tom’s large frame popped, scaring the girl as she carefully buttoned the shirt up. “There’s a car outside waiting for you, muffin.”

She smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she walked down the stairs. “Thanks, Papa.” He gave his daughter a chuckle, offering her a basket of cookies. 

“I noticed Adrien liked cookies last time.” Her face reddened as she realized it was the cookies that she had made into Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses, the earring and the ring.

She accepted the basket and ran off to enter the car. “Hello, Marinette.” She jumped, her head hitting the roof of the car as she heard Adrien’s voice right next to her.

“Adrien! He-” Before she could finish the greeting, a voice came from the front seat of the car.

“Marinette, right?” It was the voice of Gabriel Agreste.

She could do nothing but sound out an ‘mhm!’, starstruck by her hero. Adrien sighed. He could only hope that she wasn’t going to be one of the people that only knew how to kiss ass to gain favour.

They exited the car at the Agreste mansion. 

“Woah.” Marinette couldn’t help herself as her jaw dropped. It must have been the nerves getting to her from being around her hero and her crush at the same time, but it seemed that her mouth went on autopilot.

“Isn’t it lonely living in such a big house with so little people?” Gabriel and Adrien froze at the same time, their eyes meeting each other in a surprised stupor. 

The man turned around, facing the girl in pigtails. “Come again?”

“I mean, to never allow anyone into the place unless they have your direct approval, which, no offense, but you never meet anyone...” She trailed off. “It must be very lonely in a home that has no sound.” 

Adrien immediately liked her more than he already did. 

This was a refreshing experience for Gabriel. He wasn’t expecting the small, nervous girl to have such a big mouth. “It is a bit, but it’s just precaution.”

“From what?” She asked, her head tilting slightly. “From Adrien being a normal teenager?” Adrien snorted, hiding it as a cough as Gabriel’s eyes went wide. 

“What?”

Marinette’s mind finally caught up with what she had said; her eyes widened, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that... I’m digging myself into a deeper grave...” Her voice disappeared, only squeaking at the very end.

He waved off her panic. “It’s okay, you make a good point. You should be a politician.” She shook her head rapidly, mumbling under her breath about Chloe.

“So why did you become a designer?” Gabriel had asked Adrien to go fetch some of the older sketchbooks from Gabriel’s library, and the older man decided to ask her about small things to pass the time.

Her hand had been tracing the new dress ideas he had, but ultimately scrapped because he thought it took after his wife’s outfits too much. She turned to face him, her eyes dreamy as she lazily looked over all the designs he had over his office.

“It started when my father taught me how to design little drawings on his cakes.” Adrien walked back to the office, only to pause as he heard Marinette discussing normal topics with his father. “A woman with a beautiful dress had come in to pick up her cake for her son. The fabric had only brushed against my hand for a few seconds, but I loved the feeling of it.”

“My mother used to work for her parents, making qipao dresses for the young ladies in Taiwan. So I asked her what the fabric was. She explained to me it was silk.” Her eyes glossed over. “I became obsessed with the dress. So I started to draw it. Every day, every paper that I had access to. So my mother gave me some fabric she had gotten at the thrift shop and taught me how to correctly design and make a dress.”

She paused. “I guess it just stuck.”

Adrien walked in, his mind full of curious thoughts. Why did the dress entrance the girl in front of him so much? He let out a breath of relief as he dropped the books onto the desk. 

The blue eyes of Marinette lit up, glowing with the same nervous excitement the two Agrestes had seen at the fashion show yesterday. “Are these all of your older designs?”

Gabriel nodded, smiling softly as he saw the girl’s eyes shine again with that raw sense of curiosity that he used to possess. He decided to leave the two teenagers alone. What the Marinette had said earlier about him keeping his son from being a teenager... 

Gabriel had to put a lot of thought into that statement.

Adrien left the room for a few minutes to find the milk Marinette had requested. 

Only a few minutes.

So when he came back a few minutes later than he had hoped (Plagg was starting to tease him too much for his own good), he nearly dropped the cups in surprise. Marinette had opened the books around her in a circle, her finger tracing one of the designs in the old books. Her hair was out of her pigtails and the pink on her clothing was illuminated by the circle of light shining on her. 

“Marinette?” Her eyes snapped up quickly, smiling as she noticed Adrien.

She stood up, carefully leaving the circle of sketchbooks to join Adrien at the small table Gabriel had set up for them. “My father suggested I make cookies since I didn’t know what we would be doing.” She lifted the cloth of the basket, her face slightly flushing as she realized that they were the miraculous cookies. 

Adrien grinned. “A hero fan, are you now?” 

“I mean- They saved my parents.” He shrugged, it was understandable. “Now, dig in. I want to talk to you about some of the designs your father wrote off.” His eyebrows raised at her direct tone, he did as she asked. 

They first discussed the different styles Gabriel had first tried. 

Slowly, the conversation turned to normal life, where they happily chatted about school and their insane ‘obsessions’ about the two heroes of Paris. 

Adrien enjoyed it. 

Much more than anything he ever talked about with anyone else.

The adrenaline had worn off, and Marinette had fallen asleep, her head laying on her sketchbook which Adrien had replaced with a small throw pillow. He flipped through her book.

Most of the drawings were dresses, but there was a large variety included; jackets, pants, shirts- He paused on one page. It was a derby hat.

There were many scribbles on the pages, which he had to squint to read. 

What does Mr. Agreste want in the hat?

How would Adrien best suit a hat?

One word circled around many times. Feathers.

He remembered how excited she was as she handed the hat to him, only to realize he was allergic to feathers.

“Adrien?” He looked up from her notes. Gabriel stood in the doorway, his eyebrow raised slightly at the sleeping girl. 

“She got too excited about your designs. But look at this!” He took the paper Marinette had written notes on and gave it to Gabriel, watching the older Agreste’s face for any sign of reaction.

The man chuckled lightly, a sound Adrien hadn’t heard in the years that his mother had disappeared. “It seems your friend may have yet to stop coming to our home. She has many interesting ideas.” Adrien felt his heart soar.

Marinette woke up with a comfy pillow. Her head snapped up as she remembered where she was at and realized that it was at least 21:00. “Oh my god!” She yelped, remembering her parents. They were still waiting for her. 

“Gotta go, gotta go-” She crashed into Gabriel Agreste. “I’m so sorry I stayed over for so long, Mr. Agreste! I didn’t mean-” Her hero smiled. 

“It’s quite alright, Miss Marinette. I’ll have my son walk you to your place, it seems to be raining.” And as if the weather heard the designer, thunder rumbled.

“No, Mr. Agreste. It’s quite alright, I have my things, I’ll be on my way!” She smiled and bolted out of the mansion, into the pouring rain. She ran under an archway, huddling her small figure over her book.

“Goddamnit.” She muttered under her breath, sighing as she felt her damp hair. Plus, she forgot to bring Tikki, so her Miraculous was a dud.

The rain above her head stopped and Marinette blinked in surprise. Adrien stood above her, smiling sheepishly. “Saw you run out. Thought you’d like some help.” She smiled, standing up from her crouched position.

She held her sketchbook over her head as they walked down the alley. Adrien smiled down at her, seeing her blush.

He couldn’t help but think:

If it was always like this with Marinette, then I’m definitely going to hang out with her more.

And fine! Part 2, done. This is the last of this series from Kidnapped ig, too much to be bothered with.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[josiebelladonna]

😅 either be as my god am (that was just a vent fic) or any of the writing i did back in 2016–i stumbled on those old files a few weeks back and holy shit. i’m glad i’ve pretty much buried them because you guys think my dark fics are messed up 

🥺 i’m a very sensual person so i like anything soft and sensual (gentle kisses, soft touches, actually fessing up to each other like in fever)

🤡 oh, god, there are so many examples. it’s not uncommon for me to make myself laugh when i’m writing 

😈 cliffhangers, odd or vague plot developments, awkward moments, too!

✍ no beta, we die like titans of creation 

🛒 my fics have a lot of emotion to them (not necessarily angst, but just… emotions). there’s this odd old school feel to them, too (what i get for being an avid reader and growing up watching comedies from the 70s, the 80s, and the 90s as well as cartoons from the 90s and the 2000s). in retrospect, i also add a lot of sex appeal to my writing, especially when i don’t mean to add that—why do you think i have a couple of one shots in my kinktober collection for dead man walking of all fics?

🎢 probably fever, just from the sheer length of it

✨ girl, your writing is hot (joey belladonna even talked about it at one point!). it stands out in the tags. you can tell you write out of a deep love of writing as well as the people you write about, people should talk about you and your writing more!

💋 i like them but i don’t really… relate to them 😒

🎶 hell yes—sometimes i have bare ears, though. oh, it changes all the time 

🛠 on my laptop: ms word. on my tablet: pages 

⛔ a big four fic called flying equestrians from mid-july 2019: it came during that odd time period where i started digging more into my sexuality, especially since my other wip at the time, painted in a corner, was starting to pick up in the sexuality, and a couple of weeks before whatserface showed up with state of euphoria. i scrapped it in august because it wasn’t going anywhere and a lot of developments felt very half-assed and forced: but not even a day later, i created the first drawing in my sketchbook that lay the groundwork for a little trilogy called now it’s dark and i did not look back once.

🙋‍♀️ my mom because she’s the o.g. fic writer for me (it runs in the family, y’all)

🍦 the one shot “disciples of the watch” from eclipse. it’s kinky as fuck but it’s one of those things i have kept to myself for way too long 

🍷 i don’t drink, so no

🍆 is that even a question? it’s a little weird when you think about it, though, like my smut gets bupkiss whereas i see other people’s smut getting thousands of reads, like what am i doing wrong?

🌞 i’ve really gotten into the habit of writing in the morning. i also like to write at night, too: write at night and then pick it up in the morning right after my walk and my cup of coffee 

💖 i’ve been writing since i was a kid so just… a deep love of self-expression 

💌 love getting comments, but the anonymity surrounding it bothers me, though: just receiving bad messages and rude comments for as long as i have, the sight of a new message in my inbox and i automatically assume the worst (why i like talking to people on instagram: i can actually see the comments right there on the lockscreen)

❌ ____ x reader, or “y/n” as it’s known now. really, see my whole beef with that and a couple of other things in my rules page

💲 i’ve brought up the idea of setting up a tip jar but i don’t know who would pay me to write for them, though 

🧐 always. for example, when i was writing now it’s dark, i often looked at maps of upstate new york, new york city, new orleans, and refreshed my memory with seattle and portland. i’m doing it again with the bay area and my testament writings.

🏆 the amped and wired webcomic, although i don’t really count that one, because it’s a comic and not my written words

🎃 in 2019, i wrote “a chris(t)mas story”, a grunge christmas based on a christmas story. the last fic for eclipse is going to be a halloween story. i’m also planning on a hanukkah story, another christmas story, and a new year’s story come december.

🎯 nope 😜

🎨 i make my own fanart but… ngl, it gets kinda lonely. i’d be so honored if someone did that for one of my many fics

📈 129 (i’ve come across accounts that have 3, 4, 5, 6, etc. times more than that, though)

🦅 i outline them up here *points at temple*

👀 ooh, i’ve got: like blood from a stone, flowers for alexander, dead man walking, eerie inhabitants, love is not enough… i also want to do another crossover à la without a paddle, which was green day and the foo fighters with the kids from a series of unfortunate events (that was fun and i loved it so, so much)

🤗 don’t be shy, the world needs you and your story, babe. it’s scary but i can assure you there is nothing to be afraid of here.

💞 probably chris 

🧠 i’m thoroughly and unshakably certain that alex’s teeth are crooked to hide his fangs 🧛🏼‍♀️

🤩 oh, definitely alex, just because he’s so interesting and predictably unpredictable 

🤲 “It’s a full moon, Alex,” he told me as he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth. “Full moon that also appears to be a bit of an eclipse?”

“Oh, yeah, it is! It’s partial, but I do see the shadow, though.”

He let out a low whistle and propped himself up onto his elbows. Though my stomach was full, I still had my hunger, especially with the sight of his brown skin down there before me in the leaves. I poured myself a second glass of sparkling apple cider as a couple more trick-or-treaters sauntered up to our front step not too far from there. I knew that we would have a great deal of candy left over, especially with the ferocious winds all around us: I knew I wouldn’t want to go out trick-or-treating when it was this windy or cold outside. Indeed, I was amazed that we had very little wind back here at the back of the house to begin with. —from my halloween story coming on monday 🎃

😬 be as my god am—like i said, it was a vent fic, especially after i’ve tried to tell people, “you know… ben is really not all that great of a person. being kind to women you’re only attracted to is not respecting women…”

🎉 if you break 1000 reads, that’s pretty good, dude

✅ my food kink (”porn food” as eric calls it)

📚 that’s something i’ve been on the fence about for pretty much my whole adult life. i do it because it’s fun but i also take it very seriously as if it is my career already 

⌛ a chapter now takes me a couple of hours to write up (i actually timed myself the other day, too: if it’s something i’m really inflamed by, with no interruptions i can write 500 words in about 10-15 minutes)

🤯 romance. everyone seems to have a better grasp of it and i just can’t do it. i don’t think my smut is very smutty (probably why it doesn’t garner a lot of attention, come to think of it). i don’t follow trends, either—the latest thing in the metallica fandom is diaper fetish and also size kink with james. …hey, whatever floats your boat but there’s a lot of content surrounding those two in particular at the moment and i look at eerie inhabitants and like blood from a stone and they both feel so out of place. i like to add a lot of humor to my smutty writings, too, like goofy humor: if you read my kinktober fics, don’t be surprised if you have a chuckle every now and again. it keeps it light, though, it keeps it fun: i dunno what it is with a lot of smut and erotic fics and being really serious, like it’s treated as work. i want it to look like i’m having fun writing something erotic.

💔 six feet under, just because it came hot on the heels of the incident™️ as well as yet another betrayal, but from a family friend. the entirety of the ballad from fever, too.

💥 i welcome it, mainly because it’s just a fact of life. people will criticize you and there’s really nothing you can do about it.

🤭 i just… really like writing “alex skolnick”. that guttural russian name that has this odd coziness to it and will forever conjure the image of a very sweet, very handsome, very sensual, very intelligent jewish man with deep eyes, a gray plume in his black hair, and a fat little belly (plus, the name alex now gives me a really soft feeling in my tummy)

🥰 to the day i die. i’m not gonna be all meme-y “my mutuals uwu” about it, either: i’m gonna want you to be a part of my chosen family if we hit it off

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

🍷 Do you drink and write?

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

💖 What made you start writing?

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

💲 Would you ever open commissions?

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

🏆 What's your most popular fic?

🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

📈 How many fics do you have?

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

💞 Who's your comfort character?

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

💥 How do you feel about criticism?

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

🥰 How do you feel about reader interaction? Are you open to receiving questions about your fics?

[badjonesrising]

Warm Up- Collage from Desk Scraps

I have moved into a very different and small workspace compared to my studio back at home. I should call it my "old studio" but I can't bring myself to do that yet- even though I broke it down and it will never go back up the same way.

Now that I am "mobile" and traveling, my workflow has changed. I have been doing a sketchbook page a day, making small collages, and I might even attempt a few zines. I have so many ideas, more than usual (and I always have a lot of ideas) and a little bit more time than usual. I want to make daily challenges, with styles or techniques. I want to start drawing figure studies like back in the day, and a little more drawing from life in my watercolor sketchbook.

This particular challenge is one I do often- making something with the scraps on my table. I always clean up after working at the table because it gives me a nice, clean, start for the next session. Physically and mentally, I can just GO. I sometimes even pick up things off the floor if it isn't covered in glue! I put everything in a bag and set it aside. The next day, I pulled the stuff out and sorted through, trying to see if any of it was salvageable. I had a "black and white" vibe going but you know me...

A lot of the pieces were small so I tore a lot of edges to make it all flow together. The challenge was set for about 10 minutes, and to only use paper and glue. Unfortunately, in the end I still felt like the 5" x 5" square wasn't complete so I had to dig in my stash and get some tissue to cover some of the very busy parts. The green made other parts pop and the white tissue actually toned it down a bit. In the end, I really liked it. It's amazing that all those little clippings and bits turned into something that didn't exist before. Isn't art something?

If you are interested and seeing this process, beginning to end- check out the video I posted on my YouTube channel! Don't forget to subscribe to my channel for cool art videos and awesome vlogs of my on the road!

[phantasticfanfic-blog]

Forever

Request: Hi! I was thinking you could maybe write something like that? Dan and y/n are married for 10 years now and they have lovely kid. And they moved out but Phil lives next door because friendship. And then Dan and y/n organise some meeting with friends at their house to bring back all these cool memories they have. And their son sits with them and listen to these stories not being even able to believe his parents were that crazy sometimes. And its just all fluff? Please and thank you

Word count: 1264

Warnings: Nope

I cried during this…. Didn’t help that Phil noticed me!! Ah, emotions.

A single knock at the door sent the whole house into chaos.

Michael jumped up from his seat on the sofa, bolting down the corridor. Bernard, the Great Dane, sprinted after him. Dan yelled for Michael not to open the door over Bernard’s barking and the cat skidded past me as it tried to escape, the floors too smooth for a grip. You grinned to myself, making your way to the door, Dan telling Bernard to stay sitting down as he picked up Michael, resting him on his hip. Dan had always been very motherly with Michael, probably due to you being ill after bringing Michael into the world.

You opened the door to be greeted with Phil, his wife Emma and their 10-year-old son, Alex, only two years older than Michael. You beamed, pulling the door open wider as the air was filled with series of ‘Hello’s.

“Come in, come in.” You waved them in, pulling Phil in for a hug after he pecked you on the cheek, the family merging with each other. Phil let you go and you met eyes with Emma, flinging your arms round her. You had been best friends for years, and it felt like you hadn’t meet in forever.

“I’ve missed you!” You laughed as you pulled away, ruffling Alex’s hair as he rushed towards Michael, making him giggle and shout a ‘Hello’ before shooting upstairs to Michaels room, most likely to play on the ancient Playstation 64 Dan insisted he had.

“I haven’t seen you in forever. Babies get in the way!” Emma exclaimed, laughing and glancing at Phil. You followed her actions, watching the exchange between Dan and Phil. They were smiling at each other, not saying anything, but Dan was holding a bag which he wasn’t before.

“You organised this to talk to all of us, right? Don’t go making a YouTube video now!” You joked, making Emma laugh and eventually Dan and Phil. “PJ, Chris and Louise should be arriving soon.” You told them, leading them into the lounge.

“You really managed to get them to come?” Dan raised his eyebrows, settling down next to you.

“It was quite easy actually, it’s just you’re too awkward to ring instead of message them on Tumblr.” You rolled your eyes, everyone laughing.

“You haven’t changed in ten years, have you?” Phil shook his head.

“Stop judging me!” Dan retorted. “Anyways, would you all like a drink?”

Eventually, Louise, PJ and Chris came along with their significant others and children, the alcohol flowing, but not too overly due to the kids. They jumped around and we had a round of karaoke, when I convinced Dan and Phil to have a duet of toxic for old times’ sake, making sure to film it secretly. After we had food (takeaway pizza, of course), Dan told everyone to settle down and gather in the living room. I threw him a confused look, but he just tapped his nose, kissed me on the head and sent me away, Phil staying at his side.

“What is all this about?” I laughed to Emma and Louise as we sat down, the kids being sat down by Chris until they convinced him to sit with them.

“I think you’ll like it.” Emma told me, grinning.

Finally, Dan and Phil came into the room, settling down a large box that I recognised, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why. Phil also held the bag he gave to Dan earlier.

“Alright everyone. Since this is the first time we have met in forever, we decided to dig up a load of old stuff.” Dan announced, opening the box and pulling out a dress.

“Oh, my god!” You let out, putting your hand over your mouth as you realised it was your wedding dress. Long, silky and plain, but suited you to a T. The adults ‘awed’, the kids asking Chris what it was. Dan smiled gently at you, folding it carefully and placing it on the ground, away from Bernard. He then picked up two colourful books – The Amazing Book is Not on Fire and Dan and Phil Go Outside. You laughed, the kids reaching out to grab them, Dan allowing them to look through them.

“I haven’t seen those in years,” Chris chuckled, everyone nodding in agreement.

Phil then reached in to reveal several awards, making you smile softly. How quickly time had flown.

A few more items were shown – Dan and Phil calendars, fan art and letters from conventions, the two iconic T-Shirts from the tour.

“And lastly…” Dan grabbed the bag, and pulled out a large book.

“Is that… Holy fuck!” You squealed, before slapping your hand over your mouth, Emma whacking you on the arm playfully. Darcy, the oldest of the kids, sneered under her breath. Dan burst out laughing.

Your old scrap book. You had thousands of photos stored in the pages, recounts of stories and diary entries. You could remember when you cried for days after you thought you had lost it.

You jumped up, flying towards Dan and wrapping your arms around him, lifting your feet up as he swung you, nearly dropping the book.

“Thank you!” You shouted. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” When Dan finally let go, you then jumped at Phil, who made a squeak before breaking into laughter.

“Why is Mum/Dad attacking Dad and Uncle Phil?” Michael whispered to Chris, making him laugh.

“They’re just happy.” Chris reassured him, and he giggled. You were gently taking the book from Dan, settling down on the floor and opening it up.

“Look, it’s our first photo!” You pointed out to Dan. It was taken at the Manchester flat, your face pressed to Dan’s. You were sitting in his room, playing truth or dare previous to photo.

“Truth or dare, right?” Dan asked, both of your eyes widening before you shouted.

“Butter bum cheeks!” You both burst out laughing, clutching each other for support. You had been dared to shout ‘butter bum cheeks’ out the window, and of course, you did. It just so happened Phil was coming back from town at around this time, and just saw you poking your head out and shouting the words – that was Phil’s first impression of you.

You moved on through photos of the tour, dates and meeting fans. There were a few diary entries, which you skipped, saving for a more private moment. You eventually came to wedding photos, and the last page contained a large photo of you, Dan and Phil, laying on the bed with your heads falling off the side and your legs leaning on the wall. Underneath it in neat, simple handwriting was one word.

Forever.

“I want that photo on the wall.” You sighed, eyes tearing up. Dan wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed you on the head.

“Happy tears?” He asked, and you nodded, wiping them away.

 A few hours later, you lay curled up against Dan’s chest, the kids in Michaels room, sleeping, your friend’s downstairs.

“Thanks so much for tonight. It was amazing.” You mumbled.

“It was about time.” Dan laughed, making the whole bed shake a little. “I wish we could go back sometimes.”

“Same. I miss being young. I mean, you’re 36 soon… And Phil will be 40.” You shuddered.

“Don’t remind me, love.” He nuzzled into you. “I love you, you know that, right?” You smiled, glancing at the rings on your finger. One from the day you took the last photo for the sketchbook, your engagement ring and your wedding ring.

“Forever.”

[connorrenwick]

Where I Work: Paulo Kos of West Elm Workspace

For this month’s Where I Work, we venture to Brooklyn’s DUMBO neighborhood to the relatively new offices of West Elm Workspace, which launched just about two years ago as an offshoot of West Elm. The brand brings a new approach to office design by merging elements of residential ideas with multifunctional and flexible office concepts that promote creativity and innovation. Workspace’s Vice President of Design for hospitality takes us on a tour of their waterfront offices and how he’s settling in and working in the new, modern digs.

What is your typical work style?

I like to get to the office early when I can. I love that dead quiet around the space and it allows me to get my bearings, answer emails, and prepare for meetings. I work on furniture design for our new businesses (West Elm Workspace with Inscape, our office furniture line, and West Elm Hotels) so once the day starts I’m usually bouncing between one concept and another so it’s important that I stay organized but flexible and be able to find pockets of time to focus on each of them.

What’s your studio/work environment like?

We moved into our new offices in August of last year so it’s still very new and organized. Our new headquarters space is in DUMBO, Brooklyn in a 19th century coffee warehouse with great views of the East River. It was originally seven buildings that have been cut through to create one continuous flowing space so we have these amazing schist walls separating each department. The space is furnished with our West Elm Workspace line of furniture, so it doubles as a showroom. It’s a great lab to see how people actually use our Workspace furniture day to day.

How is your space organized/arranged?

The overall office is separated into different departments across a floor and a half of the building, each with a different collection of our Workspace furniture, so they each have their own personality that matches everyone’s unique roles at West Elm. The space is a mix of glass fronted offices and open plan seating. Our Workspace line really focuses on creating environments that give people choice in how they work so we also have many spaces where people can find a quiet corner to retreat and focus or collaborate in groups. This includes a long hallway of sectionals facing the East River and booths in our café area.

How long have you been in this space? Where did you work before that?

We moved into these offices in September. Before that, we were in a smaller space just around the corner. West Elm was founded in DUMBO, Brooklyn, so we wanted to stay close and true to our roots in the neighborhood.

If you could change something about your workspace, what would it be?

In our old space we had giant skylights over the design area that flooded the work area with natural light (and sometimes when it rained, with water). I do miss that one aspect of the old space (the light, not the leaks). We are very lucky to have the outstanding view of the East River now, though.

Is there an office pet?

Nope. No pet’s allowed. (sad cat face emoji)

Do you require music in the background? If so, who are some favorites?

If I’m doing creative work I do find that music helps. I’m highly suggestible and I’ll often find myself listening to whatever song I just heard when I went to grab coffee.

How do you record ideas?

I have an iPad and a 4×6 Post-it pad. Anything that I need long term like meeting notes or product development comments goes in the iPad. Anything that’s for immediate action goes on the Post-it Notes which goes on my desk until it’s done and I can scrap it. I hate things on my desk so it’s a good incentive to get things done. I also usually have plain 8.5” x 11” paper around for sketching. I’m terrible with sketchbooks. I constantly lose them so I’ve given up.

Do you have an inspiration board? What’s on it right now?

We work with several inspiration boards that provide direction for each of the different projects we’re working on. That’s usually how we’ll kick off a collection or season. There are usually 5 or 6 floating around at any one time with images of places, people and objects that we’re currently feeling. I also use Pinterest a lot to store images and ideas in categories.

What is your creative process and/or creative workflow like? Does it change every project or do you keep it the same?

The concepts I work on are on different calendars. Our big Workspace launches usually happen in June at NeoCon in Chicago so that’s what drives that schedule. With Hotels it really depends on what properties we’re working on at any time. Right now we’re in the middle of designing product for our first three hotels in Detroit, Savannah and Indianapolis. Each of the businesses has its own flow.

What kind of art/design/objects might you have scattered about the space?

Our headquarters is covered in one-of-a-kind art pieces made by our global artisan partners in places like India and Haiti. It has a bit of an art gallery feel to it.

Are there tools and/or machinery in your space?

Not in this space but we have a maker’s studio in our Industry City space that has a lot of equipment for the design team to play around with textiles, ceramics and wood working as well as a large format 3D printer with which the design staff can work on projects.

What tool(s) do you most enjoy using in the design process?

Nothing beats paper and pen for getting an idea out quickly.

Let’s talk about how you’re wired. Tell us about your tech arsenal/devices.

I use all the i’s, iMac, iPad, iPhone.

What design software do you use, if any, and for what?

Besides the usual Adobe programs, the furniture design team here uses Rhino for 3D modeling as well as 2D CAD programs for orthographic drawings. We also use Pinterest a lot to share ideas.

Is there a favorite project/piece you’ve worked on?

It’s hard to say. We work on so many types of products and projects. I think that by the time a project is done I’m more excited about the next thing we’re working on so it’s always changing.

Do you feel like you’ve “made it”? What has made you feel like you’ve become successful? At what moment/circumstances? Or what will it take to get there?

I’d hate to think that I’ve hit a finish line. I think there’s always more to learn and take on. If things start to feel too easy and comfortable it’s time to tackle something different. Success to me means being able to do something you love every day and having the freedom to take on new challenges.

Tell us about a current project you’re working on. What was the inspiration behind it?

The biggest thing for me recently was getting all of our new Workspace projects ready for their launch at NeoCon this month. We been collaborated with some great outside partners like Gensler and QDesign and we wanted to make sure that all of the pieces looked perfect for the show. Now, we’re deep in the design process for the first few hotels which are each unique and will represent the character of their locations.

What’s on your desk right now?

My computer, phone, lamp lot’s of Post-it Notes with lists of things that need to get done, magazines that I never seem to have time to flip through, my coffee thermos and a paper tray with blank 8.5” x 11” paper.

Do you have anything in your home that you’ve designed/created?

I’ve got several pieces that I’ve worked on but my favorite is the chair I designed at the beginning of my career with West Elm that was never produced. It’s a one of a kind.

Photos by Garrett Rowland.

via http://design-milk.com/

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