#{ what a pretty portrait || photo album }

[maraudersmumu]

{ cissy tag dump }

[peculiarpanda]

{ tag dump }

[churipu]

SURPRISE COOKIES FOR MAMA 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. nanami kento x female! reader

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. both of you have a three year old daughter, broken conversations from your daughter bcs she's a kiddo, i'm leaving all of you to name your daughter.

note. midterm week, i'm going to try uploading, but if i don't, just know that it's not me ignoring my wips or you. love you all mwah <33

"this me!" (daughter) pointed at an old picture of . . . a young you with a blue thin strap floral sun dress posing cutely in front of the camera — a big smile on your face, showing off your pearly whites, "i pretty."

nanami who had his back leaning on the couch could only muster out a soft chuckle, he had his hand on the young girl's small waist to hold her up right; preventing a tumble or two, "that's mama. she looks lovely, doesn't she?"

(daughter) craned her head up to face nanami, her e/c doe eyes blinking, ears unbelieving that the portrait was her mother, "mama? no, this me! i so pretty," she pointed her chubby finger towards the portrait, which is undeniably almost as big as she is.

"mhm, that's mama," nanami caressed his daughter's head lovingly, "you do look a lot like mama, you know?" he whispers, eyeing the portrait (daughter) had laying on her small lap.

half a decade ago — nanami told himself that he isn't fit to be a family man; he swore the both of you talked about kids, and how you'd both wait at least until later on into the marriage. but (daughter) was a surprise pregnancy, and the best thing that has ever happened to the both of you.

"this no mama, this me papa," (daughter) pouts, her soft lips puckering out slightly.

nanami used his free hand to flip the photo album, showing a picture of (daughter) as a newborn. a pink colored bandana around her small head, eyes shut in content, "this is you the day you were born," he cooed out, letting his daughter take in the picture.

what a bundle of joy she is. nanami remembered every second he spent inside the delivery room by your side — letting you dig your fingers inside his flesh, because he knew the pain that you were going through at that moment couldn't compare to anything else that he was feeling. all he cared about was you and his daughter.

"this me?" (daughter)'s meek voice resounds. nanami nodded, eyes gazing into his daughter's doe ones, "i so pretty."

nanami smiled warmly, "yes, you are pretty, just like mama," he compliments; pinching her chubby cheeks gently, "it still surprises me how you're an exact copy of your mama . . ." he pats her head, his palm engulfing her whole head.

(daughter) nods her head vigorously, "mama and me twins!" she cheers happily, kicking her feet.

the male chuckles, "mhm, twins," he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up — standing as he puts the picture album on top of the coffee table that sat in the middle of your living room, "mama's coming home soon."

"we take cookies out of cooler, papa," (daughter) pats her father's cheeks gently before wrapping an arm around his neck to hook herself close to nanami, "warm for mama."

nanami vaguely remembered the day he passed by a baking class near his office. where he first saw you, holding onto a young boy's hand — no younger than six years of age, guiding him to whisk what seemed to be cake batter. he stood out of the glass pane, staring into the class for at least the next three minutes out of his twenty-four hours just to look at you.

he thought you looked pretty (and the display cake looked pretty as well, but that was besides the point).

but he never saw you again until three months later at the same place, and you noticed him. surprising. considering he was staring yet again for the second time. but he didn't think that you'd go out your way to talk to him right at that moment — and he was thankful you did.

"mhm, we're going to warm it up for mama," with ease, nanami opened the cooler and grabbed a plate of messily made classic chocolate chip cookies wrapped with saran wrap. (daughter) contributed to most of the procedure, and nanami thought it was the third most beautiful thing besides you and her. he's a proud dad.

the process of warming the cold cookies was short — with (daughter) prepped on top of the counter, with nanami's arms right by her sides. the two of them smiling at each other in silence, waiting for the oven to let out the satisfying 'ding!', hopefully before you came through the door.

unfortunately, things don't always go the way he wanted. and there you were, with your usual (color) coat slung over your arm, heaving out an exhausted sigh, mumbling out a soft, "i'm home."

(daughter)'s head turn to face the door, eyes widening in panic as she then faced nanami, "mama home, papa," she whispers, covering her mouth to hold back a loud giggle.

nanami nuzzled his nose into hers, "want to go hide from mama?"

the young girl nods her head, almost immediately wrapping her arms around her father's neck, "go go go, papa, hide, hide!" she whispers, giggling as she fit her small face into the crook of nanami's neck.

nanami laid a hand behind his daughter's head, he passed by you who had just walked through the short hall leading towards the living room, sending out a slight signal through his eyes as he walks into (daughter)'s sage colored room. he laid the young girl down onto the rugged floor, "go go, hide from mama."

the girl wasted no time scurrying under her bed, giggling softly. on the other hand, nanami walked out of her room with a small smile, approaching you.

"something smells good," you greet the male, opening your arms for a hug. i mean — what else do you need after a long day of work besides a warm hug from your husband?

nanami's arms felt like a blanket engulfing your body, he buckled his knees slightly to press a short kiss on your lips, "(daughter) has your baking abilities, 'm not surprised. good day at work?"

you nod, "tiring day, a boy spilt heavy cream all over the floor and his mother blamed us for it," nanami's face hardened a bit after hearing your story, "she practically went on a cursing spree in front of the kids, the cops had to restrain her."

the male grazed his finger on your cheek, "i'm sorry about that, she didn't hurt you, did she?"

you shook your head, "no worries, where's my baby, hm?"

nanami pinched your nape gently, "she wanted to surprise you with her cookies, she's in her room hiding. go see her and i'll be there with the cookies, yes?"

"you're too nice to me," you jokingly said.

"just to you," he rolled his eyes, brushing his lips over the hollow of your nose, "go, go. she's waiting for you."

you pulled yourself away from his embrace, putting your coat on top of the kitchen's counter before sauntering over to (daughter)'s room, knocking on her door. which resulted in an indubitable string of laughter from your own blood and flesh from under the bed, "baby? where're you?"

her soft and hushed giggles didn't stop when you step inside her room, "are you . . ." you pretended to open the closet, "here!"

and (daughter) stifled back a laugh when you failed to find her. and the next attempt, you squat down to eye under the bed, "there you are," her loud laughs finally chimed out, "give mama a hug, please?"

the young carbon copy of you crawled out from under the bed, immediately rushing to your lap to give you a warm hug, "i miss mama . . ." she pressed a kiss to your cheek, "mama miss me?"

you cradled her body back and forth, "mama misses you so much."

"i have surprise for mama," (daughter) abruptly pulled back from the hug, "surprise cookies for mama!"

the scent of chocolate entered your nostrils as nanami walked inside the room with a plate of freshly warmed chocolate chip cookies, "it's not a surprise anymore when you tell mama about it, isn't it?" he asks with a slight chuckle.

"'ts okay, mama still surprised. i bake cookies with papa," (daughter)'s eyes twinkled with happiness when nanami laid the plate down on the floor, "i bake cookies like mama. try try mama!"

and so you did, "'ts so yummy, good job, baby!"

nanami tugged on your arm towards him, slithering an arm around your waist, "'f course she did, you're her mama, y'know?" the male leaned in to place a short kiss to the tip of your nose.

(daughter) shrieks out, "papa cooties!"

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[jaggedamethyst]

bucky barnes and his physical media

pairing: bucky x reader, use of she and girl once or twice

content: bucky is obsessed with physical media, especially photos…but he hates being in them. you try to change that.

notes: minors dni, slight smut but it’s honestly pretty tame here, some obligatory bucky angst. i don’t believe in proofreading I fear.

word count: 1.8k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Growing up Bucky quickly gained a fondness for cameras. He loved to capture the images of those he loved--moments in time for which he could always look back on when he missed them.

He considered himself a confident guy and took said pictures at any opportunity he was given. He figured someone would always want to look at a face that perfect, if he could say so himself.

It was different, though, when the reflected images no longer were of the young man so keen on going to war. When the moment in time was one that could only elicit one of fear. He couldn’t recognize himself these days, not after being the Winter Soldier. The man was now adamant about not having memories that preserved him as he was now. Not when he was a shell of the man he’d known years ago.

If he absolutely had to take pictures, he was even more sure it would never be on a fucking phone. Not only are they the most fickle objects imaginable, he also hated the damn cloud. He wasn’t entirely prehistoric; he understood when people said that it was a way to store things…but a cloud. He’d had one too many mishaps with technology that things randomly disappearing from the cloud was not too far fetched in his mind. If he had to preserve something special to him it would absolutely be in an album. An album was tangible, and if it came to it, he could easily grab the stack of them in a hurry.

Physical media was absolutely near and dear to him. Whenever an old show was nowhere to be found, he clung to his DVD sets like a lifeline. The same could be said of his photo albums. They quickly became a way for him to reclaim some of the power he felt was lost with his mind. But taking pictures and storing them, to him, was therapeutic.

That's how he ended up with several albums on his shelf. Some were miscellaneous, ones that had yet to be sorted. Others solely for pictures of nature that he found calming to look at.

Nothing compared to the album he had of you, though.

An inadvertent smile would always creep up on his lips when his eyes met the spine of your album. Just the sight of your name sprawled in his handwriting was enough to make him feel warm inside. Inside were photos of you, some candid, others posed. He hated pictures, but for you he would at least attempt to stomach the feeling .

He flipped through the pages as he always did, feeling sort of proud he’d managed to take such great snapshots in time..and even more that he preserved them without the damn cloud.

Bucky made note to add more to this album; it wasn’t nearly as full as he’d like. With that, he swiftly closed the album—a gust of air causing one photo to fly out of the book. He grabbed the print that lay at his feet, not thinking much of it other than it would be returned to its rightful place among the other portraits of his girl.

As he flipped the picture, a heat quickly spread across the man’s cheeks. Oh. He definitely was not expecting this.

A selfie. Yes, that’s what it’s called. He’d learned that word a while ago. Somewhere in time he also learned that while people could be “in the nude,” they’d also referred to risqué photos similarly. Yes, a nude was how he would describe this one.

The man had seen many works of art in his day. Some of which were dedicated to his friend for his accomplishments in war. Others, of objects, like how Bucky would leisurely snap a photograph of a bird sitting stoic in a tree.

None of that compared to the polaroid he’d laid eyes on right now. His thoughts reeled in his mind, observing every detail. He knew it was hard to capture yourself in frame with these print cameras—no clear indication of what was in focus. But you were skillful.

The sun cascaded over your body, highlighting your skin in a way he’d never seen. He couldn’t see your face above your lips, but they curled in a way that seemed purposeful. How he’d do anything to see your eyes reflect the light of the sun that day. He slowly placed a finger on the photo, tracing the curve of your neck…your shoulder…your fingers.

No. He mentally groaned. The curl in your lips, a smirk, made sense now. You’d covered yourself where he wanted to see most. Hands crossed over your chest but your skin remained bare, teasing him. He felt so disgusted with himself even thinking this way, wanting to see more. It’s not like he hadn’t already, but in this moment the taunting imagery drove him up a wall.

He’s not sure when exactly he’d sat down on the couch or when his pants got to be pooled at his ankles. He’s even less certain of what time it is, but your footsteps approaching his door bought him back to reality. You’re off work.

The now strained fabric of his pants irritated him. Not only did your nude leave him extremely worked up, but he didn’t even finish before you got back.

Your voice resounded from the door, “Buck! I left the key, can you open up?”

“Coming!” He froze, an audible huff leaving his nostrils at the poorly timed reply.

He placed the photo in his back pocket before stalking towards the door.

With a swift swing, the door opened to your smile on the other side. Unlike the mischievous smirk that was printed in the picture in his pocket, this one was borderline affable. He let out what could only be described a a mixture between a scoff and chuckle.

You quirked a brow, “um, what's funny?” You rounded the space left by Bucky’s shoulders, making your way towards the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Bucky replied with a hint of sarcasm, “just had a bit of a weird day.”

“Really?” You turned to start the faucet, washing your hands before looking for something to drink. “You…wanna talk about it?”

The man felt his chest continue to rise and fall at an erratic pace. As the water continued to trickle he became painfully aware of the situation in his jeans at the present. Fuck it.

He reached for his pocket, quickly whipping the film towards your back.

He tried to level his voice in an attempt at asking his next question in the most nonchalant way he could muster. “Baby…what’s this?”

You craned your head away from the faucet a bit, “huh?” Grasping a towel, you slowly turned towards the sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wha- oh-”

An obvious shock appeared on your face but had he not looked close enough he would have missed it. The shift to an indifferent facial expression perplexed the man--even more when you replied in a chipper tone.

“Oh! I just got this new camera the other day at the store.” You moved past him, turning the corner and heading down the hall towards the junk closet you guys kept. He followed your movement with his eyes, stuck in place with pure intrigue. The distance and scrambling left your voice low to his ear. “You wanna see it? It's so cool and it wasn't too expensive!”

He moved back towards the couch, slouching a bit. “Sure, baby.”

Bucky twisted his head at the sound of you walking, no skipping, back towards the living room. “This thing is so easy to use, Buck. I feel like a pro like you.”

“I am not a pro,” he mumbled, his hand meeting his forehead.

He felt a hand on him, brushing his hair back. The nudge forcing him to lift his head to meet your eye. You’d knelt on the floor in front of him.

“I,” you planted a kiss on his cheek, “think you are amazing at taking pictures.” A pause loomed in the air, “but I wanted to do something for you…show you can be a great subject too.”

You placed a finger on his shoulder, urging him to lay back. “You should get comfortable, Buck…because this,” you gingerly plucked the photo from his grasp “is just the first installment to an amazing collection I think we will have.”

Bucky absolutely needed to work on his recollection skills—his ability to focus too. He again found himself with his pants down and no idea of how he’d come to be that way. This time, a cool breeze swept against his chest—his shirt somehow flung across the room. He absolutely did not mind, though.

The way in which you seemed to be skilled at everything truly blew his mind. With only a hand pumping him up and down, slowly at that, he’d found himself writhing against you. Whispers fell on deaf ears, as he’d quickly become overstimulated from his lack of release before.

“I- I-,” he stumbled as he usually did with you. There was no time when you were together when he didn’t feel at a loss for words. But here, with himself dripping all over your hands, your eyes looking at him expectantly, and your gentle lips grazing against his skin—he was struggling to even say more than one syllable.

You assured him, “it's okay, I know.” Simple words, but enough to make his insides tingle.

“Fuck…please,” he uttered your name. “I can’t-“

Your soft hands grasped his face again, a silent request for his eye contact.

It was so unfair, he knew that she knew that’d be his weakness. As quickly as it started, Bucky would finally finish. A feeling of euphoria and relief rushed the man, his skin prickly and glossed over with sweat.

“This is perfect,” he lowered his head a bit to see you back on your knees, this time holding your hands up. An arched brow raised on his face once more…you could be so damn elusive sometimes. At a further look, he could see you there, one eye closed. He searched between your hands, they were making L shapes in the air.

“Actually perfection,” you said with a flourish of your fingers. You leaned back, grasping your camera from the coffee table. “Now, be good James and don’t ruin my work.”

“I don’t know what you mean-“

Your finger met his skin, softly mixing in with the wetness now drenching his lower abdomen. He felt you marking a shape into the puddle—a heart?

Before he could even register, a flash. You’d taken a photo.

“Like I said, perfection.”

You left the polaroid beside the other on the coffee table, planting a kiss on the man's lips this time.

Bucky’s smile creeped up on his face, a happiness enveloping him.

“I think we need a new album.”

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Lilith: "Hey Luci check this out." (holds baby charlie up like handbag) "Our infant demon goat child has one of those neck scruff things."

Lucifer: "OHMYGOSH!!! She does!"

Lilith: "Pretty neat huh."

Lucifer: "She's just like a kitten!!"

Lilith: "Try turning into a big cat so you can hold her with your teeth."

Lioness Lucifer: "Ooooh FAMILY PHOTO OPPERTUINITY TIIIIIIME!"

-later-

Charlie: "Dad, we do not need to see the family photos."

Lucifer: "Awww but Char-char-"

Charlie: "NOPE! Don't you DARE bring out that unholy book!"

Vaggie: "Sweetie, I've already seen the lovingly painted portraits of your emo phase. What's left to hide?"

Charlie: "Baby pictures."

Vaggie: "...is your mom holding a lioness by the scruff of the neck?"

Charlie: "DAD!"

Lucifer: "But I really like this one! It's so cuuute!!!"

Vaggie: "Babe. Is baby you hanging from the lion's mouth."

Charlie: "No!"

Vaggie: "With a hamster hanging from your mouth?"

Charlie: "ARGH!!"

Lucifer: "She named him Hamsandwich~"

Vaggie: "Aww. That's kinda worrying, considering the picture."

Charlie: "Hi mom it's me Charlie again~ Whenever you get this message I just want you to know- dad found the photo album, mom. The one you said you'd burned, mom, hOW DID HE FIND THE ALBUM AGAIN MOM YOU FUCKING PROMISED ME IT WAS-"

[ohimsummer]

SATORU, your muse ｡˚✐~

— Satoru eases open the door of the house. You’re not home, so he doesn’t feel the need to make his usual grand entrance. Shoes are left at the door, jacket on the rack, and Satoru makes way to the bedroom. Once inside, something on your nightstand immediately catches his eye.

It’s your sketchbook; a now worn, leather notepad that he’d bought you months ago after the old one was filled. You rarely, if ever, let him see your artwork, so Gojo would usually resort to peeking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of what you were working on. He always teased you for keeping your art a secret, but now that he has a chance to look at your projects uninterrupted, he hesitates. For a second.

Satoru flips open to the first page. It’s just random doodles of flowers and animals, ones he recognizes from the garden in the park you two frequent. The next page warrants the same mundane results: bugs and trees and the tops of skyscrapers and whatever random things that would grab your interest while you two enjoyed the heat of the sun.

The next page catches Gojo by surprise. It’s a bird, but not just any bird, he realizes. It’s a songbird, one he’d half-heartedly pointed out to you one day because he recalled reading about it online. You weren’t even listening to him, or so he’d thought. It’s kind of endearing actually that you’d take the time to draw it. And it’s not just the bird, either. It’s the macaroons he’d mentioned wanting to get one evening, a bouquet consisting of a flower Gojo’d randomly plucked and presented to you, a familiar pair of sunglasses resting in grass, dabbed over top with faded blue watercolor paint. Numerous doodles of such small memories.

Satoru continues flipping to look at your little illustrated photo album. Some of these drawings are of stuff he barely remembers talking about, like a cracked open piggy bank obviously referencing a story he told you in passing. Gojo doesn’t even remember why he brought it up, but you’ve immortalized it here in your sketchpad with pencils and ink.

The drawings only grow more detailed as he gets deeper into the book, and a proud smile stretches across Satoru’s face at your talent. Rapid sketches of buildings and passerby evolve into self portraits of yourself, and he thinks you look so captivating in all of them. Gojo takes note of the silly doodles of even himself in the margins of the paper. Him in his sunglasses, him wearing the flower crown you’d poorly put together, him surrounded by ice cream and candy and the plethora of sweets he so enjoys. His favorites are the inane drawings of you two together, tiny and inhabiting multiple corners of every page. Each one is a delightful surprise to spot.

Satoru turns the next page, and he’s sincerely taken aback. Drawings of eyes, and they all look alike. They’re so detailed, adorned with pretty lashes and shaded so beautifully. He doesn’t have to wonder long on whose eyes these are, the next page bursting with the color blue tells Gojo all he needs to know. He’s glad you’re not here to see his reddening face and the way his breath hitched. This page, the next few actually, are all dedicated to his eyes. They’re inked perfectly, some are at different angles, and you’ve managed to portray emotion into all of them. Satoru wonders if he could draw a picture of you and showcase the absolute adoration in your eyes the way you’ve done with his.

And it doesn’t stop there. Page after page, it’s all Satoru. Him sleeping with a mushed cheek against your chest, him drinking a soda, him looking out the window, him playing the game with Geto, when did you even draw these?

“Satoru?”

He quickly slams the book shut at your call, carefully placing it back on your nightstand and ushering himself from the room. There you are at the door, shaking the rain from your umbrella and leaving it on the mat near the entrance.

“There you are, love.,” you beam at his approaching figure, and Gojo squishes you in a warm embrace. “How was your day?”

Satoru kisses the crown of your head, and grins against your skin. He can’t wait to tell you all about today, maybe give you some more brilliant ideas to memorialize in your sketchbook.

[seventeenreasonswhy]

Super Shy ~ A JWW School-Life Romance Pt. 3

Star Athlete!Wonwoo x Shy Wallflower!Reader

Jeon Wonwoo... THE Jeon Wonwoo is... paying attention to you!?

~1.5k words

Read Part 1 + Part 2

Series content: fluff, first crush plot line, school-life anime vibes, slow burn/yearning, some light angst, classmates to friends to lovers, fem reader, reader is ~*super shy*~ and has low self-esteem, reader is kind of bullied (?), sweetie pie Wonwoo, appearances by Choi Hansol and more!, all characters are in high school so no explicit content (but probably kissing eventually).

My Masterlist

Author’s note: Thank you to everyone who has read, reblogged, and liked this little series so far! This part reveals more about Y/N’s interests and talents, which she’s afraid to share because she is insecure! But not for long with sweet Jeon Wonwoo around. Also she has a fictional younger sister named Daehee (not after anyone in particular, I just like that name). 😉 These two are so innocent and cute, I’m having such fun writing them! Enjoy!!

Taglist: @clownprincehoeshi @soffiyuhh  @wonwoos-wineparty @hamji-hae @junniesoleilkth @seokqt @haniinah @yangtyunhannie @cherrylovescheol @lukeys-giggle @cookiearmy @sojuxxi  @vixensss @lixisoul99 @mjpark15 @lelsforlino  @neivivenaj  @blvkkeddcc (lmk if you want to be tagged!)

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

“Whoa you’re going all out on that, Y/N—”

Your younger sister, Daehee, had come down for breakfast with her bangs still in curlers, wearing her school uniform shirt over her Hello Kitty pajama pants. She was watching you as you concentrated on preparing various dishes at the stove. A thin omelet, grilled shishito peppers, vegetable tempura; it was pretty simple stuff, but you’d developed an urge to create aesthetically pleasing lunches these days.

You couldn’t really explain it, although somewhere in your heart you knew it probably had something to do with Jeon Wonwoo.

For the past week, Jean Wonwoo had been spending lunch on the roof alone with you.

The two of you barely exchanged words, really. Your longest conversation probably lasted only a few minutes. But not for Wonwoo’s lack of trying! You still wondered why he was spending his lunchtime up there at all—even more so why would he keep trying to strike up conversations with you? You guessed he really was just that nice. But every time you were around him you couldn’t help clamming up somehow.

“Are you in any clubs, Y/N?” he’d asked you the other day, between bites of his kimbap.

“Uh, no...” you answered quietly, your nerves frazzled from your total lack of conversational skills.

“None of them appeal to you?”

“Uh, not really that...” you didn’t know how to answer him. You’d ended up just looking at him blankly, like a fool. However, nothing in his facial expression or his tone made you feel like you had to necessarily come up with an answer... But his gaze was intent, and you found it hard to hold onto for more than about three seconds.

“What do you do for fun? To relax?” he followed up breezily, “You’re the class mystery.”

“Um,” the odd self-consciousness you felt at being called ‘the class mystery’ aside, you couldn’t really think of anything to say to him.

Actually, there was one thing that came to mind... but it wasn’t something you’d ever shared with anyone. Your one ‘hobby.’ Though to you it felt more like... squeezing a stress ball. It was what you did when you needed to turn your brain off.

He wants to know what I do to relax?

You couldn’t say what compelled you, but you pulled out your phone and found the photo album you had saved of your miniature paintings.

You worked with acrylic paint on very small canvasses, using very fine, small brushes to create miniature floral designs, portraits, landscapes... Your style was incredibly detailed. You had hundreds of tiny canvasses in little boxes and frames all over your room. You took pictures of most of these tiny paintings when you finished. You had even recorded a couple of time-lapse videos, showing you creating them in fast motion. You’d never felt compelled to create a social media account to display or monetize them, though. You painted because it was what you had done since you were a preteen—the careful, methodical process of dabbing tiny paintbrushes into your carefully mixed colors, getting the tone and shading of a poppy flower’s petal on a tiny scale just right... For you, creating these paintings was like a meditative practice.

By some stroke of inspiration—or insanity—you handed your phone to Wonwoo. His face became visibly more curious as he took your phone carefully in his hands.

“Wowwww,” Wonwoo said, holding the screen closer to his face. He seemed absorbed in your phone—you even caught him zoom in on a few pictures. You could tell he was looking carefully through the album.

“You’re crazy talented!” he said after a while. He sounded genuinely impressed.

“No, haha,” you somehow laughed, coughed, and gasped at the same time, your heart accelerating out of embarrassment from his compliment.

“No, seriously—Y/N, these are really incredible!” he said. “They’re so detailed, and they’re so small! How do you even do that!?” His eyes were glued to your phone screen. A part of you was screaming inside, why on earth you would show these to him!? and urging you to snatch your phone right out of his hand, throw it over the side of the building even. You couldn’t believe that Wonwoo was seeing this, this... habit. And YOU had been the one to show him, of all things!

“I wouldn’t say they’re ‘incredible,’” you said, filling up with more and more anxiety over coming off as bragging or crossing some social boundary that you shouldn’t have crossed.

Wonwoo finally looked up from the screen, looking directly at you instead. You still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but you felt his eyes on you. After a long pause, you dared to glance up at him...

But he quickly looked away from you.

Ugh, I’m probably making him feel like he has to be super nice or something...

“Oh, whoa—a time-lapse?” He said, quickly recovering from the somewhat awkward moment when your eyes had met. But his stumbling across the most recent time-lapse video that you’d made prompted you to snap out of your reverie and bolt to grab your phone out of Wonwoo’s hands.

“Ah, don’t watch that!” you lunged for your phone, but Wonwoo reflexively pulled his hand away, surprised by your reaction but still effortlessly dodging your attempt. He smirked down at you, and your heart almost stopped.

“Why not?” he said, and the deep resonance of his voice made you realize how close your bodies were—you were practically sprawled over him after reaching for your phone, his face just inches from yours...

Your whole body seemed to flush a deep shade of red before you catapulted backward away from him. You could have sworn that you saw that Wonwoo smiling to himself, but you were so flustered and anxious about the way you’d completely invaded his personal space that you couldn’t think straight.

“I won’t watch it,” he said light-heartedly, smiling at you as he tossed your phone back to you. “But you are super talented, Y/N. Painting is such a unique skill, too.”

And just like that, he went back to eating his kimbap like nothing had happened. His relaxed, friendly tone mercifully neutralized the atmosphere, but you just stood there clutching your phone to your chest.

“It’s not that I’m embarrassed,” you started, even though you couldn’t look Wonwoo in the eye, “It’s just—I’ve never shared these paintings with anyone except my family...” Your heart kind of ached for some reason as you said this to Wonwoo, who just continued to look at you in silence. What on earth had compelled you to share that with him?

Agh, say something! You willed for this pause in conversation pass, but it didn’t seem to be budging.

“Thank you for showing me,” Wonwoo said at last. His low, gentle voice seemed to shoot directly into your bloodstream, flushing you an even deeper shade of red than you thought was humanly possible. You looked at him briefly, and something about the way he was looking back at you...  

The moment had played over and over again like a movie in your head for the past few days. The directness of his gaze. The rich, sincere quality of his voice. The way he’d smiled to himself... you couldn’t stop thinking of that particular lunch hour.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Daehee watched you dip veggies in tempura batter and toss them in the pot of hot oil on the stove. You let your mind run through the questions it had been asking all week: why was he spending time with you like this? Did he lose a bet? Is there some kind of hidden camera prank you should be wary of? More than that, why was he being so nice?

“Hellooo, earth to Y/N! I said you’re really going to town on your lunches these days,” Daehee tried again to get a rise out of you.

“Oh,” you said, taking the last piece of tempura squash out of the oil. “I just like experimenting.” You weren’t lying, exactly—you did like exploring all kinds of different food and dishes. Cooking was fun to you, different from the calm of painting.

You would be lying if you said that an added bonus wasn’t Wonwoo noticing and complimenting your work.

You liked it when he praised you. It felt like he meant it.

No one could be that good at faking sincerity, could they?

You couldn’t help but hear that small voice in the back of your head, doubting Wonwoo’s intentions.

But he hadn’t done anything other than come up to the roof during lunch this week, mostly just eating in silence with you—the two of you simply looking out at the sky...

But after you had shown him your paintings...

Maybe it was since then that you had started to put more effort into your lunches.

[ellecdc]

OMG I HAVE AN IDEA

What about the kids (mid Hogwarts) in like 3rd or younger (2nd?) Year and they invite hermione and ron and the Weasley family for Christmas and it's amazing and we see draco getting along w them 😭😭😭 and Hermione is the 'mom' friend so she loves hanging out w the other blacks and potters? and we see how nice harry and draco's friends are and it's just a heartfelt moment 😭😭😭

I'm a whore for Christmas and also fluff so YES HERE YOU GO I don’t even know if this is any good so I apologize if this isn’t really what you were looking for. I realize now there isn’t much interaction between the golden trio + Draco but this is my take on it 🫶 CBBH Holiday Special - Weasley, Potter, Black families

CW: mentions of past (parental) abuse

What's One More?

You and Sirius were pretty chill parents – at least you liked to think so. You never really spoke to your children like they were children, but rather like little people who had important thoughts and ideas. You let them express themselves creatively, which sometimes led to paint and marker prints lining the walls, or photo albums being plundered and cut up to create scrap books, or even the odd redesign of an old family heirloom portrait in the hall.

None of that wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a little magic.

What you guys could not budge on? 

Christmas at home with the family.

This was why when Draco sent a letter home during his 3rd year suggesting he may stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, Sirius thought your head might actually combust.

“What on earth is he thinking? He’s never spent a holiday away from us – why wouldn’t he want to come home?” You were yelling at Sirius as if it was him who suggested Draco stay at Hogwarts this Christmas. 

“I’m not sure love, maybe there’s a reason.” He tried to reason with you. He should have tried to keep his mouth shut.

“There is no reason good enough to break his mother’s heart.” You pouted, sounding disturbingly close to tears. 

And you all called Sirius the dramatic one.

“I’ll talk to him.” Sirius promised with a placating kiss to your temple.

So, Sirius sent him an owl basically along the lines of “hey mate, you’re tearing your mother apart here. It’d be sort of shady of me to let another guy break my girl’s heart so what the hell?”, to which Draco replied, basically speaking straight to Sirius’ soul. 

“I’m sorry, dad, it’s just that Theo doesn’t really want to go home this winter, and I don’t want him to be alone for the holidays.” 

My stupid lovely caring son, who raised him? Sirius wondered to himself. The answer was obvious. It was you.

Theodore Nott, son of Thoros Nott and the late Camelia Nott nee Rosier. His mother died under suspicious circumstances (which Sirius felt translated directly to “shitty ass husband”) when the boy was four, and Thoros Nott was able to avoid prosecution for his roles in the Wizarding War by offering intel on other prominent Death Eaters.

Azkaban or not, the man was an ass. Rumoured to have killed his own wife, Sirius couldn’t imagine he was much nicer to his only son.

The heir. 

Sirius felt sick...it was nearly painful how much he could relate to poor Theodore Nott.

“Did you find out why your son hates us?” You asked Sirius a few days later. You were obviously teasing, but Sirius didn’t miss the genuine concern in your voice.

“Yes, and actually, the reasoning for his absence this holiday is a direct result of him being your child.”

You placed the mug you’d been holding a little too roughly onto the table as you leveled a look at Sirius. “What are you on about?”

“He doesn’t want to leave his friend behind.” Sirius smiled kindly at you. He watched the contempt drain from your face.

“The sod!”

Sirius barked a surprised laugh. “What!?”

“That’s such an easy fix!” you exclaimed like everyone around you was sort of stupid (they kind of were). “His friend can come here! We’re already hosting the Weasley’s; Lily told Harry to invite Hermione too. What’s one more?”

What’s one more, indeed.

So that’s how Sirius, James, Lily, you, Arthur & Molly Weasley ended up on platform 9 ¾ to retrieve exactly eleven (11) children while Bill and Charlie waited back at the house with Remus, Regulus and the youngest four of the Potter/Black children.

“Hermione, I hope your parents weren’t too disappointed we stole you away for the holidays. They already have to part with you for ten months of the year.” You said as you served Lyra a portion of roast potato’s before passing the dish to your left. 

“They were a little sad, but they said they understood my excitement at getting the chance to spend more time with wizarding families.” The fourteen-year-old stated matter-of-factly.

“Well, perhaps the next time they’d like to join you. The more the merrier.” James interjected.

“You sure about that Prongsie? This table can’t take much more transfiguring to make it any longer!” Remus called dramatically from the opposite end of the table, as if they were in completely different rooms.

“Bugger the table!” James called back just as dramatically, “we’ll just get a new one!”

Sirius didn’t miss the nervous glance Theo shot towards Draco. Sirius remembered how nervous James’ boisterous behaviour with his parents made him – concerned that a lashing or crucio was just around the corner.

“Don’t mind them, Theo,” you offered quietly to the boy. Sirius took a moment to marvel the fact that you’d noticed too, and your mama-bear protection came out at the perfect time. “They’re idiots with zero volume control.”

“I HAVE PERFECT VOLUME CONTROL, VIX.” James screamed, causing the younger kids to squeal in laughter and bring their hands up to cover their ears. Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley’s all chuckled at the outburst as well – accustomed to James’ brand of goofiness.

“You get used to it, trust me.” Sirius offered quietly with a wink. Theo smiled gratefully at the two of you and seemed to relax somewhat in his chair.  

“I agree that the production needs to be tightly structured and coordinated Percy, but it also has to be fun or you’re going to lose your actors.” Hermione could be heard arguing with the older boy from down the hall.

"I cannot work under these conditions." Percy could be heard responding.

“You’d think this was a Broadway production of Sweeny Todd.” Lily muttered quietly to Sirius sat beside her.

“What’s a Sweeny Todd?” Sirius muttered back.

“What’s a Broadway?” James muttered from her other side.

“Purebloods.” Remus muttered from across the room with an eyeroll.

The kids wanted to make their own play for the adults - it was mostly the youngest ones, though Fred & George never could help themselves but partake in any potential mischief, Hermione was very excited to help direct the production, and Percy never could leave very much alone. The second Hermione was involved, Harry and Ron shoved their noses into it too, while Draco and Theo sat in the audience with the adults and far too many stuffed animals.

“I mean, were the teddy bears really necessary? There’s already a theatre worth of people here.” Theo commented what he thought was quietly to Draco, but he had one werewolf and four animagi with animal-like hearing, as well as Molly & Lily with tried and true mother-hearing in the room, so his comment was met with a round of laughter.

“Oh my gods, Draco, can we keep him?” Remus commented as he pretended to wipe a tear from under his eye.

Pink dusted the tops of Theo’s cheek bones, but he offered the room a shy smile.

Sirius thought it was like looking in a mirror: he imagined this is what Effie and Fleamont saw when Sirius spent holidays in this very home some nearly twenty years ago. A boy who was likely fun and eccentric around his friends where he felt safe, but reverting to the proper pureblood heir you were beaten into becoming around adults. 

Sirius sort of hated it.

As the little kids and the rest of the production made their way to the room, Sirius noticed James’ eyes on him. James offered him a kind smile that brought tears to his eyes, almost as if he was saying ‘I know, right?’ 

By the end of the holiday, the adults had almost managed to get Theo to shed his aristocratic persona with them.

“And how’s Minnie? Are you guys being nice to her? Make sure to set up some good pranks this year; gotta keep the old gal on her toes, it’s good for her health.” James said to the Hogwarts students solemnly at breakfast. 

“You did not just call Minnie an ‘old gal’, Prongs.” Remus chided from his place at the table.

“You both did not just refer to Professor McGonagall as Minnie.” Regulus added incredulously. 

“That’s her name, Reggie.” James answered no nonsense. “We earned that right when we graduated.”

“No, we earned that right when we graduated.” Lily corrected as she motioned to herself, you, and Regulus. “You lot should still be in detention for the crap you pulled.”

Remus, James, and Sirius all adorned their faces with a blissful sort of reverence as they thought back to their school days.

“We were awesome.” James said dreamily.

“You were awful.” You corrected.

“You’re our hero’s.” The Twins added in unison. 

“What in Godric’s name are you doing to them, Hermione?” Ron asked through a large serving of sausage in his mouth. 

Hermione, who was replacing small pompom’s into two kitchen whisks to hand back to three-year-old Stella and Leo, didn’t even spare Ron a glance as she answered sharply, “It’s good for their fine motor skills, Ronald.”

“Wha’s a fine motor skill?” He asked incredulously, somehow still with food in his mouth.

“Oh, read a book, Ronald.” Hermione huffed before her face turned sickly sweet as she cooed at Stella. “Good job, Stell!”

“Blimey.” Ron muttered as he turned to Harry.

“I can’t believe you’re all going to be leaving us again so soon!” Molly said tearfully as she looked around the room. “I like our having our table so full- FRED WEASLEY YOU GET THAT FURNITURE OFF THE CEILING THIS ISNTANT.” 

“I’m George, mum.” The twin said from his chair suspended on the ceiling. Sirius had to give him credit for looking as casual as he did whilst all the blood in his body was no doubt making its way to his head. 

“I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE, YOU’LL BE GROUNDED IF YOU’RE NOT DOWN IN THE NEXT 30 SECONDS.”

At the beginning of the week – the shouting, the threats, the energy, and the talking back that George (or Fred, Sirius still wasn’t entirely sure) just displayed would have had Theo pale in the face. Today, he just looked around the room quickly to ensure everyone else was in good spirits before joining in on the laughter.

Back on platform 9 ¾, you and Sirius decided to pull Draco aside. 

“Hey love, listen. I don’t want to embarrass Theo, but would you let him know we really enjoyed his company over the holiday, and he is welcome at the Manor anytime.” You spoke softly to your son.

“We mean it, Draco. The Potter Manor has, and always will be, a safe place for people to run to. If he needs somewhere better, somewhere safer to go, he’s more than welcome to come live with us.” Sirius added earnestly. 

Draco looked like he might cry before he threw himself into his parents’ arms, causing each of them to let out a surprised ‘oof’.

“I love you guys. I’m so lucky to have you – we all are.” Draco said, though his words were muffled from his place in the crook of Sirius’ arm.

“We’re the lucky ones, Draco.” You insisted as you stamped a kiss to his head.

The parents and youngest kids stood on the platform and waved as they watched the train disappear.

“It’s so odd.” James commented quietly.

“What is?” Sirius asked.

“How life works.”

Sirius looked at his mate who was still watching after the long-gone train hoping he would clarify. When it became obvious that he wouldn’t, Sirius elbowed him.

“How’s that?”

James finally turned to Sirius and offered him a smile that seemed to portray a mixture of grief, pride, and love.

“Draco is Theo’s James.”

Sirius watched as you dried your face and went about applying your skincare. 

“I can hear your mind turning from here, babe. What’re you thinking about?” You finally said, causing Sirius to look at your reflection only to find your eyes already on him.

“You’re sure you are okay? If Theo needs to move in with us, I mean.” Sirius asks. 

Your movements paused as your eyebrows migrated to meet in the middle – bemusement painting your features.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“We sort of decided we weren’t going to have any more kids.” Sirius explained. You snorted in response as your turned to face him, leaning back against the bathroom counter.

“Sirius, as long as I don’t have to push anymore out, you can have as many kids as you want.”

Sirius smiled immediately at you. “You sure we don’t already have enough?” He asked

Your smile grew to match his. “What’s one more?”

[solemn-marauders]

Personal Sebastian Sallow Headcanons (pt. 1/?)

◆ He's an October Scorpio - The characteristics line up so well and I really like the idea of him being one of the older students in his class ◆ Is the younger twin - Anne never lets him forget it. ◆ Sebastian's looks favor his father's - This plays a role in Solomon's hostility towards him. ◆ He’s Scottish and was born and raised either in New Towne Edinburgh or on the outskirts - Edinburgh in the 1800s was a foul place to live, at least in the city center, Old Towne. - I see his parents being drawn to Edinburgh. It has such a vast history and holds a lot of knowledge, but they knew they wanted to start a family and decided to settle down away from the city proper. - I don't see them having a grand mansion, more so a comfortable townhome ◆ His parents are published authors - The funds from this is what allowed them buy property in New Towne. - They left a modest inheritance to the twins that they will receive when they turn 17. ◆ After their deaths, Solomon sold the house and most of the items within to gather money to afford to care for two children. - Sebastian and Anne were able to stow away some of the parents' belongs, such as; their favorite books, jewelry, pocket watch, photo albums, and letters. ◆ His parents have portraits at Hogwarts - After the portrait versions of themselves learned of their real-life deaths, they asked to be stowed away when it came time for Sebastian and Anne to attend Hogwarts to avoid a possible unhealthy fixation on the paintings. (Imagine a scenario similar to when Harry found the Mirror of Erised and visited it every night to stare into it.) ◆ He's a virgin - Since I've given them an October birthday, the Sallow twins were 14 when Anne was cursed the summer before their 4th year. After she was cursed, the entirety of his focus and drive went into Anne and finding a cure. The only exceptions to this, pre-5th year, were his academic studies and his friendship with Ominis. - In his 3rd year, a 5th year girl took an interest in Sebastian and propositioned him to teach him the ways of physical pleasure. She was pretty, older, and he liked the attention. She thought he was cute and liked the idea of being the one in control. He was 14, she was 16. It never went past oral though. - Sebastian didn't like the idea of "ruining" (using era-accurate verbiage here) a girl because he would kill anyone who did that to Anne. - The 5th year girl played a role in giving him the confidence (charm, flirtation, etc.) we experience later. This led him to snogging other girls while in his 3rd year, but only those in years above him. He cringed at the thought of Anne hearing firsthand about his escapades from someone in their own year. - He had his first kiss at the age of 12 though. A traveling merchant's daughter who was the same age and visited Feldcroft for a few days before moving on to the next town. It was extremely awkward but also adorable. - Sebastian is canonically very well-read. That does not exclude literature on the topic of intercourse just because he's a virgin. He's read everything he's been able to find and has his own hidden copy of the Kama Sutra stashed away. ◆ He's naturally athletic - Working in the Feldcroft fields while growing up has kept him healthy and in-shape. Being an avid dueler has also helped. - He tried out for the Quidditch team his 2nd and 3rd years, but lost out to older students. He had planned to try again, but Anne's curse changed everything. ◆ He becomes a Beater for the Slytherin team his 6th year - You cannot tell me that this man doesn't become more broad and muscled as he grows. With shoulders and arms like that, his competitiveness/prowess, and his desire to impress Thea (MC), he becomes one of the best Beaters Hogwarts has ever seen.

[titles-for-tangents]

Listen

I think Chappell Roan kickstarted an artistic movement overnight. I mean this performance straight up struck a chord. Of course any good artist will inspire more art, but the sheer flood of illustrative art of her I’ve seen on Twitter earlier this afternoon and how so few of it appears to be on tumblr - there are SO many artists out there all finding inspiration in Roan’s MTV performance from last night and all of them are capturing her gaze and stance differently and extremely well. She is making people feel things, and process much, much more.

I haven’t seen a musician this artistically precise with her costume choices since Lady Gaga, and Roan is being even more precise about it, I would say. In Lady Gaga’s earlier years especially, she dressed just slightly veering off the “cute, blonde, young, female musician,” path to keep everyone on their toes, guessing, and at a proper distance, and all the while she was thematically exploring the concept of fame at a time when it had for so many years been so goddamn commercialized and processed. *chef’s kiss* The timing was genius and couldn’t have been more perfect. While I’ve not been paying attention to what most celebrities have been up to as of late, I get a strong impression Chappell Roan just reintroduced the medieval fashion craze from the past year/year and half-ish(?) to the larger pop public mindset. We’ve seen it at one of the recent Met galas where the theme was basically Medieval Western European Catholicism, and this is keeping in perfect theme with Roan’s album art for her single “Good Luck, Babe!” And while it’s easy to say she’s always been this precise with her appearance, Chappell Roan came, slapped, slayed, and pretty much obliterated everyone else as a musician and an artist. The biggest difference I noticed is that while overall everyone else looked fine and more or less how you can expect (Sabrina Carpenter in particular looked stunning!) Chappell Roan and her team captured what it was like to appear beautiful.

Roan’s outfits captured something timeless, ethereal, and sublime, and all the photos and portraits that were taken of her featured her facial expressions ranging anywhere from the kind of tragic, somber beauty captured in a pre-Raphaelite painting to a strong, stern look devoted to slicing everything and everyone in her path. She and her makeup and costume team had these looks honed like a knife. I’ve seen tags for both “Roan of Arc” and “Julie D’Aubigny” and used them myself; the key here is that instead of simply evoking Catholic oppression and suffering, Roan is evoking themes of queer liberation. Liberation from the way of life that other people choose for you and expect of you is possible, even amongst an oppressive, medieval, Catholic aesthetic.

But let us not forget what “Good Luck, Babe!” is actually about. Chappell Roan’s knightly costume on stage invites us to think about the tale of Julie d’Aubrigny, but the actions she takes on stage and the background set design present us with a very different ending for what would otherwise be a rescue mission. Instead of burning down a convent where her lover is trapped, Roan sets aflame what is presumably the castle of an upperclass nobleman - the golden birdcage her lover has chosen over her, the safe option, the far less satisfying option, instead of the passionate relationship they had together. Roan as the narrator approaches the audience with an army of men - noticeably all men - and shoots an arrow tipped with fire brimming with flames as hurt and furious as her heart is right into the very heart of the castle. We can presume her lover is inside but whether or not she is, the effect is still the same. Roan drops to her knees and comes to grips with loss. What they had was real and they both knew it, but without her lover’s devotion true, their love could never blossom. More specifically and historically typical to the queer experience, her lover was uncomfortable and wishy-washy about being in a relationship with our narrator in general, but like a shitty partner didn’t quite want to break up with her either and so strung her along and delayed taking any action at all, until she left her behind entirely in the most cutting way possible.

The message Roan sends is blatantly clear: “Your ‘safe’ option isn’t nearly as safe as you think it is.” And yet many of the song’s lyrics can be applied to our narrator herself here: she literally shoots her shot - a flaming arrow - into a symbol of patriarchal, feudalistic society’s top prize - her lover’s husband’s castle and all the social standing that comes with it - but one arrow is all it takes for our narrator to halt her crusade (for the time being anyway) and watch as her lover’s new world burns down. Her men and the knights of her lover fall dead from bloody battle behind her, and she is the only one left upright with her broken heart, spurned, abandoned, and scorned, but now utterly alone.

This entire, powerful tale is told in about four minutes or less. The male dancers behind Roan skillfully leap and swing their swords with surprisingly no audible clanging. The iron bars catch fire in perfect symmetry, and massive, projected explosions burst upwards from behind the castle walls. Smoke machines capture the hazy, burning atmosphere by the false night’s end. The entire audience just witnessed the climax to a play on par with anything written by Shakespeare, and those privileged enough to be in the front seat stretch out their hands hoping to be touched by her. Roan stays in character and doesn’t oblige, her character staring out into a future without her lover. The entire theater is shrieking with delight.

Finally, some good, fucking entertainment. I haven’t seen anything quite this compelling since Will Smith’s “Wild Wild West” performance in the 90’s. I would be surprised if a massive amount of fanfiction wasn’t written about this in the coming months - I certainly will be on the happy lookout for more artists’ interpretations of her costumes. Much like Roan’s narrator suggests to her lover, this is going to be one hard act to follow without true devotion to one’s craft, and given she focused her performance around a single that was released after her main album was, I think we can safely agree the next coming acts are going to be nothing short of enthralling.

[cryley]

Petrichor - Part 5

matty healy x reader (fluff) word count: 2.3k warnings: mention of cigarettes A/N: (moved from @cryley-fics where it was originally posted) Hey besties! ♡ AHH it's the last chapter! I had so much fun writing this fic and I hope you all enjoyed it. Will I continue this series with a sequel? Who knows ♡ ▹ masterlist ▹ part 1 ▹ part 2 ▹ part 3 ▹ part 4 ▹ part 5

“Sorry about the slight mess.”

I locked the door behind us and placed my bags on the couch. 

My place was small, but it was mine. I was proud of myself for getting a place of my own even if it was just a small 1 bedroom apartment. 

Matty chuckled as he looked around, “What mess? You should see how the studio back home gets when we’re all in there.” 

“Well I typically try to keep everything as tidy as possible, but I’ve been busy with work lately.”

He scanned the artwork that littered my walls. I tend to impulse purchase every piece of art I enjoy before forgetting I don’t have wall space to display the art, so my decor style looks a bit maximalist. He was silent as he walked through my living room as if it were some sort of museum. I watched him as his feet were almost rhythmic until he stopped in front of a particular piece. 

“Oh, uhm.” I started to become a bit embarrassed, “I used to photograph shows a while ago while in college.” 

He looked back at me with a smile. I froze a bit as my mind seemingly zoomed out to view my tiny apartment in a wide-angle lens. Matty Healy standing in my living room. Me standing awkwardly in my kitchen. Matty looking at a photo of himself on stage. A photo that I took and hung up in my living room.

“When was this?” He turned back to the photo. 

“I’m pretty sure it was 2015.” I moved a bit closer to him and the photo. 

In the print, Matty stood center stage in front of the classic neon box. The lights hit him so perfectly that I didn’t have to do much editing for this shot. Only a bit of his features were visible as it was mostly a silhouette. 

“This is pretty good. Do you still photograph shows?”

“I mostly do portraits now.” I moved next to him, “I think I’d like to revisit shows again, but for now I’m enjoying my current projects.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that he wasn’t staring at the photo anymore. His eyes were planted on me. I tried my hardest to pretend I didn’t notice. 

There were little moments when he looked like he was interested in me, but I knew that wasn’t the case. I was probably just reading things wrong and didn’t want to make a fool of myself. I tried to ignore things the best I could to keep myself from getting delusional or excited about what I knew wasn’t possible. Matty Healy, a famous musician, could have any model he ever wanted, interested in me? Even him asking me on a date in London was probably just him being nice in a friendship kind of way. Returning the favour for me showing him a cool record store and keeping him company while he’s bored on tour. 

“So, uh, I’m going to shower while we’re here if that’s okay.” I turned to transition to my bedroom door, “I’ll only be a bit, but there should be drinks in the fridge, and feel free to peek through my vinyls or tv.”

He gave a thumbs-up accompanied with a smile. 

I did the same with a chuckle before closing my bedroom door behind me. I sat on my bed silently for a minute just to try to process the last day and a half. His footsteps echoed as he was slowly walking around and stopping every once in a while. 

I later emerged from my bathroom now fully feeling clean. I pulled on a long-sleeve dress I quickly picked out. It wasn’t too formal, but definitely nicer than my typical jeans. 

I could hear through my door that a Cure album was lightly playing. He must have taken me up on the idea to search through my vinyl. 

I light knock tapped on my door just as I sat down at my vanity. 

“You can come in.”

My door opened to reveal Matty, now in just his white undershirt. 

“Hey, can I possibly also shower really quick?”

“Definitely!” I nodded and stood up to go fetch him some towels from my linen closet. 

He smiled as I handed him the towels, “Thank you. I didn’t get the chance to this morning and I probably smell horrendous.”

He didn’t smell horrendous at all. Somehow he still smelled perfect. 

I giggled to play along, “You can use any of the bottles in the shower. I don’t know if they’ll work great for your curls, but they’ll manage.” 

I continued back to my vanity to start my makeup ritual as I listened to the sound of the shower mixed with the Cure lightly in the background. Every once in a while, I thought I could hear Matty lightly singing something, but couldn’t be too sure of what he was singing or if I was just imagining things. 

I pulled on my shoes and jewelry as my last step of getting ready as I heard the door slowly open. 

“You look nice.” 

My eyes couldn’t help but pan up and down in awe as he re-entered my bedroom now shirtless and damp. I could feel my heart thump through my chest. 

“Thank you.” I leaned against my wall. 

He looked into my eyes for a long moment before his voice cracked a bit. 

“So, I’ve been wanting to do something, but have been a bit hesitant to just out of misunderstanding and time and place and all that nonsense.” he walked a bit closer to me until he was close enough to touch.

His eyes looked less tired but deep in thought. I wish I could peer inside his mind. 

He stepped one step closer, “I don’t want you to think that you’re just another fan I pull onto stage or that I’m doing anything purely to add a number to an imaginary list I have hidden somewhere to create some high score.”

I allowed my eyes to meet his. All of my thoughts spilled out of my brain and onto my floor. Was I wrong this whole time?

He was incredibly close to me. He still had a slight smell of sweet tobacco lingering on his skin. His longing eyes shifted down. My eyes did a similar switch from staring into his deep brown eyes to moving my gaze down to his smooth lips. 

Before I could question what he meant, his lips pressed into mine. The kiss was soft like his lips. I could feel my heart speed up with every second that went by. His hand found its way to my hip as he shifted his body closer to mine, gently pushing me closer to my bedroom wall. 

I was waiting for this. 

I smiled into the kiss and his mirrored soon after. I didn’t want this to end. 

His other hand moved up to cup the side of my jaw as he resumed the kiss, deepening it even more. The taste of tobacco lingered on his lips. I could sense that he was trying his hardest to keep the kiss soft and sweet, but the grip of his hand on my waist was telling me he wanted more. 

I took that as a sign to softly bite down on his bottom lip. An unexpected, and probably unintentional, moan escaped him. I smiled into the kiss again. 

His breathing became a bit shaky as my hands moved from his waist up to his neck and then up to tug lightly at his curls. Our lips moved perfectly in sync. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Without removing his lips from mine, he pulled me away from the wall and over to the edge of my bed. Our kiss broke for only a second as he sat on the edge and softly pulled me onto him. I gladly followed his directions, causing my dress to bunch up from placing my legs on either side of his lap. 

My hands settled into comfortable spots on his bare chest while his settled on my hips. He returned the light nibble I teased him with before. I returned the unintentional slight moan. I wanted nothing more than this. 

The kiss continued for some time before he broke it to rest his forehead on mine. 

“As much as I want to continue this, we’re going to be late for dinner.” he smirked, “Also, I wouldn’t want to move too quickly and spoil what I had planned for our date in London.”

I chuckled and kissed the tip of his nose. 

This caused him to smile a bit bigger than he expected. Sometimes I could catch him off guard enough for him to give a goofy smile instead of the kind of smile he probably practiced in the mirror. While both genuine, the unrehearsed one made me feel more accomplished in a way. Like I made him smile so much that he forgot about his whole act of trying to look handsome. As if anything he did made him look less handsome. 

With a quick peck, I reluctantly maneuvered off of his lap. I straightened my dress in the mirror as he pulled his sweater back over his head. 

“You look beautiful Y/N.”

His arms slid around me from behind as he placed his head on my shoulder. I smiled as I looked in the mirror at the both of us. We looked good together. 

“You look beautiful too, Matty.”

He craned his neck around to kiss my cheek before letting go. I moved to the living room to turn off my record player and put away the record. 

“Good choice by the way.”

Matty appeared in my doorway, “Thank you. It was hard to choose from your collection. All good choices.”

I grabbed my jacket from the coat rack and slid it on over my dress, “Ready to go?”

“One second.” His gaze was back on me as he moved next to me. 

He smirked and leaned down to place a peck on my lips.

“Okay, now I’m ready.” 

I playfully rolled my eyes as we exited my apartment. I wasn’t going to complain at all about the spontaneous kisses, but how he got them was very cheeky and he knew it. I often stole some extra glances while with him. I wanted to take in every single moment and remember everything. I never wanted to forget how he cocked his head to the side as he smiled. The way his lips curled up ever so slightly as he chuckled, forming small smile lines in the crease of his cheeks. I didn’t want to forget the way his hair smelled of shampoo with the lingering hint of cigarette smoke in the morning. The way his curls draped over his forehead and that some of them were speckled grey. 

“Y/N, are you coming?” Matty waved at me from the street, snapping me out of my thoughts. 

I nodded and joined him in my car. We had to drive back to the venue to meet the boys for dinner. I wasn’t sure where we were going yet, but I assumed it was going to be a nice place due to the boys talking about what they were going to order this morning. 

“So,” my fingers drummed on my steering wheel, “When do I have to request off work for London?” 

He scrolled through the calendar on his phone, “I’ll fly you out on December 31st. Be prepared to stay for around a week, I’d assume.”

“A week? I don’t know if I can take that much time off work, Matty.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I can cover your paycheck.”

“Matty - “

“Don’t worry about it Y/N!” He playfully threw his arms in the air. 

I smiled even though I was a little embarrassed about not being able to pay for my flight or felt insecure about taking that much time away from work. I’m sure he wasn’t used to having someone like me in his life. He surrounded himself with successful musicians and models that could pay their own way I’m sure. 

I was interrupted by Matty’s hand placed on my thigh, “You’re in your head again Y/N.”

I was surprised that he was able to tell when I was distracted or in my head about things. I think he knows from experience. 

Sooner than I had expected, I parked my car on the road near the buses. I dreaded him and the rest of the boys leaving tonight after dinner. Yeah, Matty promised to fly me out to London to see him again, but for some reason, I feared that he would change his mind in the time between now and the end of the year. What if he met someone else while on the rest of the tour? What if I don’t hear from him after he leaves? 

“I’m excited to show you around my city.” He smiled over at me in my passenger seat. 

I couldn’t help but to smile. His reassuring words made some of my worries go away. 

“Me too. You haven’t even left and I’m excited to get to see you again.”

His hand gave a light squeeze of my thigh. 

My eyes gazed forward out of the windscreen, “Promise you won’t change your mind?”

His eyes changed and his smile dropped its shape. The side of my face was met with his cupped hand. 

His lips were my favourite part of him. They pressed against mine. Soft and passionate. Longing and sweet. I could sit here in the front seat of my car for hours with my lips against his. Our mouths moved slowly in unison. It was a sweet kiss where neither of us were wanting dominance. It just was. 

“I promise, Y/N.”

[is-she-suffering]

In 2001 Queenadreena members had already clearly developed vision for what they want the next album to sound and look like. In a lot of the interviews it was constantly highlighted that they strived for simplified, raw sound, stripped off of all additional layers, leaving simple rock sound, often laced with anger and white noise. Album art had to reflect that simplified, raw direction. Blurry polaroids were rather a surprising transition from artistic, cinematic photos of Taxidermy, inspired by silent films. Polaroids are most often associated with instant capture of a moment in an amateur way, without much of planning. The cover and sleeve pictures were created out of cut up and arranged polaroid photos, creating surrealistic, distorted portraits. The cover shows Katie Jane crouched in a bathtub, disfigured, with head smaller and limbs appearing thinner than they in fact are. The back collage shows Katie’s legs, scarred and bruised after intense live show. There’s also a secret x-rated inlay photo, hidden behind the plastic part where CD is locked…

Katie Jane: „It is these small infinite frequencies that are begging to tell a 149 story. I can hear many voices and little melodies, like water flowing over a window or in a glass. It's very nice. And that tells me what I have to say. You have to listen very carefully, sometimes for hours. And if we listen and obey, there is a very coherent story waiting to be told. This is a blank page, like the desert or the ocean of infinite possibilities with nothing written on it, but everything, EVERYTHING, contained therein. Already very small, I could not sleep without hearing the water running. Must be amniotic, uterine, or something like that.”

„That's why you're in the fetal position on the cover?”

Katie Jane: „Yes, maybe. We made a series of self-portraits polaroids, very poor. There is something fetal but also something fossilized... which would have remained underground for a long time.”

The designer behind art of Drink Me and Pretty Like Drugs single (another collage of cut and bruised limbs, arranged in a way that at first glance you don’t really know what are you looking at) was Martin Andersen. Back in 2003, a Queen Adreena fansite called Room Eleven hosted a small interview with Andersen, in which he described how it was like to work with the band.

Martin Andersen: The Queenadreena project was an interesting one. First of all I have been working with many bands over the last 5 years, mainly for records labels ‘4AD’ and 'Rocket Girl’ Records. Queenadreena has been one of the most professional, entertaining and open-minded bands I have worked with. The band had been recommended to look at my portfolio by Glen Johnson of Rough Trade Records (and lead singer of 'Piano Magic’, whose CD cover I had designed a few months before).

We set up a meeting in a bar in Primrose Hill. After looking through the work we decided to start working on their releases DRINK ME album and PRETTY LIKE DRUGS single. The band had taken numerous polaroids which they posted me - to start working with. The basic concept was to show the band in a 'angelic yet dark-surrealist way’. I shot different portraits of the band and printed some of their polaroids. I cut all of the material up and re-composed the different images together. I then re-shot these compositions to create new surreal portraits of them (with stretched arms, eyes, faces etc). I especially like my photographs of Katie in the bath (DRINK ME) and the one of Crispin (who I think like a punk-biblical-character). In total I took between 50-70 photographs. We had a great working relationship, managed to get drunk every time we met and I have enjoyed seeing them live numerous times (THEY ROCK!).

Scrapped Kitty Collar Tight single cover whic was used for Pretty Like Drugs single instead

[ravenstargames]

Hello! how was your weekend? And thank you for always answering my questions (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Is it possible to know the reaction of RO if they found their portrait in the MC album?

Anon!! 💜💜 We hope you are doing great and have nice plans for the weekend! We managed to see each other IRL last weekend to have lunch and we had a great time. Hopefully we can rest a bit as Raquel, Kayden and I are a bit sick (Astro got lucky!!).

Thank you so much for your kindness and for sending us another cute question! 😭 💜

As a fun fact, River (our default MC) is the kind of person who prints a lot of photos and has a bunch of very chaotic albums—as you can see in our Valentine's special piece, hehe.

✦ The LIs / ROs find a photo of themselves in the MC's album!

✦ Amon: "Hey babe, who's this handsome man right here?" He taps the picture, grinning from ear to ear. "If you ever want a private photoshoot, you know you only have to ask, right?"

✦ Raeya: She's genuinely surprised to know the MC keeps a photo of her. She would say and do nothing but stare at the picture, wondering what makes it so special. She's quite flattered.

✦ Gael: "Oh." He smiles. "You have quite the eye for photography, my love. I scarcely recognize myself. You made me look beautiful."

✦ Envy: They are honestly shocked, but in a 'this makes me happy somehow and I didn't expect it' kind of way. "Why do you have this? I don't...You have me here with you. You don't need to have a picture of me." The MC suggests to take it off the album, not wanting to make Envy uncomfortable. They blush. "No. You can keep it if you like it that much."

✦ Ara: Shrieks, glueing her nose to the album. "Look at this! I look so pretty! When did you take it?! I didn't even notice!" Proceeds to shower the MC with kisses!

✦ Xal: "Uhhh..." Flips the album to offendedly show it to the MC, pouting. "Why do you have a pic of me and I don't have a pic of you?"

✦ Father Pride: At first he doesn't recognize himself, but he does before flipping the page. He is quite flustered. "Dear! You should have asked me. I would have posed for you or...worn something more suited for the occassion."

[teamkrissy]

1, 12, 25 and 28 fro the asks, please.

Thanks for the asks!

What was the first piece of furniture you ever bought? -- I had to think long and hard about this, because at first I was going to say that I still haven't bought any. Pretty much all of the furniture in my house was either gifted, inherited or handed down, all the big stuff anyway. But then I realized that wall mounted shelves count. I bought a bunch of those from the second hand store about 3 years ago and they've really helped my space problem. If you wanted an old person answer, it is this: invest in vertical storage.

How many cups can you see from where you are sitting? -- 2, mi esposo's coffee cup and their juice cup. Also their water bottle.

Favorite old person activity? -- I guess bird watching? Just chilling at the window watching the trees and the birds and the wind in the trees and the birds in the wind. Also being a hater, but I try not to.

Be honest, do you like all of the pictures of their babies that friends send you? -- I don't really have any friends with kids. Or, a couple but they don't send me pictures of their kids, that would be weird. My cousin used to send me professional portraits of her son every year and I didn't know what I was supposed to do with them. Every year when the lease was up I would empty my desk drawer and find documentation of my 2nd cousin's face for every year of his life, consider throwing them away, feeling weird about that, then pack them up. In the last one she sent, he was about 13. I saved the best one, when I eventually decided to throw them away, and put it in a photo album. I never liked him, still don't, his mom is awesome though.

[eternalshadeart]

I've been doing digital art for almost 2 years now, with little to no practice on actual paper for these 2 years, and that got me thinking did I Lose my touch with traditional art, Haven't picked up an actual paint brush in so long. Its easy to get lost in the vast possibilities that digital painting softwares offer, ranging from hundreds of brush textures, to tools to make your shaky lines smooth, making the perfect circles, filing a solid colour in an instant.

Where you absolutely dont have to wait for your oils or watercolor to dry up before going for the next layer, and most importantly no need to spend dollars on art supplies and if you make any mistake the undo option is always there for you.

It did make painting easier in a way, but it also comes with its own cons, when I started digital painting I felt like I had to learn from scratch how to use the particular software, and had to learn to paint all over again. Tho it catches up quick but still figuering out how to use each tool, how all the functions, brushes, layers, blend modes work. It does take some time.

Nevertheless I ventured from my point, so since I've been painting dgitally for 2 years I figured its time to indulge in some traditional work, touch base and see If im still worthy.

I tried painting a couple of small canvas and got stuck figuring out what to draw, to have the exact outcome planned out because if I decide halfway through coloring my background that I dont like how it looks, I dont have a ctrl Z to help me this time, I'll have to paint over the whole thing and start from scratch. Painting on the canvas directly is a commitment and theres a looming pressure that the outcome should look beautiful and completed, and I already have enough anxiety, not really excited about been anxious about the thing i love.

One warm afternoon I picked up a tiny notebook I had, bought it on a whim last year and it has been sitting on my shelf since then, its a 4"x4" pocket notebook with decent paper quality, perfect to try out the random black gel pen I found lying around. And I got to it, found a cozy warm place and made a small pen sketch of a tree. The texture looked nice, i did mess up a couple timeson the leaves but since its just a disposable paper I didnt worry much on it, just covered it up with more scriblings. It felt pretty good, ad I realised with digital art the one thing I'm missing is customisign how I organise and decorate my work collection.

With digital software all your art is stored as mere .png or .jpg or whichever format you prefer, but thats it, its just a photo album, unlike a sketchbook where you can decorate the cover, add a couple of sticker or notes to it, stick a dried flower you found, or just about anything creative.

The overall feel of a sketchbook is entirely different and I dont have to worry about each page looking like a finished work.

I love painting digitally but painting on a sketchbook is almost nostalgic, so I finally started one.

Got myself a small A6 sketcbook with a pretty floral cover,cut out the pen sketch i did and glued it on the first page, and thus started to fill each page with totally random unrelated paintings.

So anyway this was a lengthy way to tell you how painting on a sketchbook somehow made me improve my art, and felt incredibly amazing, tho I've completed just couple pages, each page looks beatifull in its own way, and i got to try out a couple of pens, and paints that I havnt used in so long.

got to try doing simple portraits, tried to double tap multiple times on the page (stupid muscle memory).

so anyway here are a few pages that I have completed, and if you did read till the end, thanks for bearing with the (rant)?

[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S06E04 BMXing!

Been a bit! I really don't like Series Six, so it is actually tough sledding writing it up. Still, the faster we get through Six, the sooner we get to Seven.

We get to meet Alex's assistant "Little Ian" who is quickly sacked. He just has enough time to trick Greg and get Alex a silver car.

Prize Task: The Most Thought Provoking Thing

I've worked it out . . . Bill is dead.

Greg seems to be looking for items that provoke a wide variety of thoughts. I'm more of the opinion that anything that inspires a strong sense of curiosity fits the bill here. Asim's Iranian prince portrait does look a lot like him, but Greg is not wrong in saying that having a doppelganger doesn't really wrinkle the brain.

Tim's Bill Cotton and Kathie Kay record really seems to get Greg's conspiracy brain going. I'm less intrigued by it; it's just kind of a bad album cover. It's interesting that Greg didn't seem to know who Tesla was before Liza brought in her prize. Tesla is thought provoking, but she didn't really have a prize to bring in other than "files." I am curious what those files consist of, which technically fits the category.

Alice brings Don't Pee on my Leg and Tell Me It's Raining by Judy Sheindlin. I can't really speak to how thought-provoking the book is, but Alice does not sell it well. Russell has a photo of a Buddhist monk playing with a fidget spinner app on an iPad. I'm not so thrown by the mystique of monks that I can't imagine them using apps.

Overall, a pretty weak showing in my opinion. Alice goes in last because of her pitch. Tesla goes in first because he's an interesting figure. The rest are mostly interchangeable, but personal preference dictates Russell > Tim > Asim.

Alice: 1 (-2) Asim: 2 (+1) Liza: 5 (+3) Russell: 4 (-1) Tim: 3 (-1)

VT 01: Do something manly with this cardboard box.

Go down to the local abattoir, take your own hammer, and start taking names.

Interesting task because "manly" is a construct that is mostly in the eye of the beholder. The easy ones I can mark down are those who failed to use the box. Tim's flexing has a simple elegance to it, but he is just standing in the box. Alice's play about the wage gap doesn't integrate the box at all and seems pretty half-hearted.

Asim makes a cardboard feeling robot that does go beyond the conventional understanding of "manly." It's not brilliant, but it's better than most of the showings. For example: Russell basically loses his mind (he also just stands in the box). I do think Liza has the best effort by casting the box as a man and creating a pretty depressing image of a servile marriage.

Alice: 1 (-3) Asim: 4 (0) Liza: 5 (0) Russell: 2 (-2) Tim: 3 (-1)

VT 02: Have the most fun. Exactly recreate your attempt at the first task.

Fun!

The point of this task really seems like it's the recreation attempt and "having the most fun" is pretty superfluous. The team of three definitely seems to have more fun than Team Funk and for that reason, they're a lot worse at recreating the attempt. That said, Russell and Alice don't do so perfect a job that they deserve more than the 3-2 split.

Team Funk: 3 (-4) Asim, Liza, & Tim: 2 (-6)

VT 03: Make the best art using the entire contents of this can of squirty cream.

Her majesty the cream.

I'm not entirely sure what Liza made and I'm a little shocked she gets five for it. Tim went for the pun, but it's not an impressive bit of art. Alice's, on the other hand, is really really good. Asim doesn't have the clearest idea to represent global warming, so he's going to slide in after Russell.

Alice: 5 (+1) Asim: 3 (+2) Liza: 1 (-4) Russell: 4 (+1) Tim: 2 (0)

VT 04: Remove the £5 note from under the pint without spilling any of the pint. If you spill any of the pint, you are disqualified.

Zero points for Alice and Liza who both spilt so much beer.

Alice seemed to have the strategy figured out by sliding the pint off using the task. It's just unfortunate that she spills. They're not allowed to touch the glass and it doesn't seem like anyone broke that rule.

Gotta respect Liza for just going "fuck it" and going for the whip. It does get her disqualified.

Alice: DQ Asim: 4 Liza: DQ Russell: 5 Tim: 3

Live Task: When tapped on the shoulder, shake hands with the Taskmaster without revealing your identities. You may not speak during the task. Everyone must shake hands with the Taskmaster once for at least 2 seconds. If the Taskmaster guesses your identity, you are disqualified.

The breathing is awful.

This is a winner-take-all task. Asim and Tim accidentally give away that Greg guesses them correctly. It doesn't really matter because Alice is the only one who successfully dupes him. No controversy here.

Alice: 5 Asim: DQ Liza: DQ Russell: DQ Tim: DQ

F I N A L

Alice: 15 Asim: 16 Liza: 13 Russell: 18 Tim: 13

Russell won the first time and he does so again.