#Also you’ll notice I changed the background colors bc all of this game uses a monochrome aesthetic with bright pink as the only color

[coconut530]

Bump in the Night Day 7: Shadow in the Window

[ppersonna]

pick your filter - pjm | m

mix the colors in the palette, pick your filter. which me do you want? the one to change your world, i'm your filter - filter, bts

�� summary- You love turning Jimin on, and you’re desperate to make him punish you for it.  Jimin loves punishing you while you listen to his music.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 5.1k

↳ pairing- jimin x reader

↳ genre- smut, this is literally just smut, there’s 1% plot and it’s pornographic too, there’s some fluff at the end but i repeat it is still smut. there is no god in this chili’s tonight

↳ warnings- buckle up pals.  established relationship, explicit descriptions of sex, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), BDSM themes, spanking, belt usage, dirty talk, derogatory names, pain kink, daddy kink, face-fucking lol, unprotected sex, slight impregnation kink but like not really they just wanna have a baby together and talk about it lol, jimin is filthy and i cannot portray him as anything but filthy but then he has like cute babie syndrome at the end.

↳ a/n- hi i feel maybe 1% shame in how fast i wrote this but whatever.  thank you to @carly-bean-blog for sending the prompt in!  i loved it and went from a planned drabble to 5k words lolol.  one day i’ll be less verbose 🥴🥴 plus enjoy and feel free to send in more requests or just a message to say hi bc as you can see i love talking. also RIP to the wine glass i broke while writing this fic because i hit my table to hard.  wine glass 2020-2020

Turning Park Jimin on was a delicious challenge for you.

When you first began dating, all it took was a ‘come over’ text, and he’d be there in 5 minutes flat regardless of the fact that he lived 15 minutes away.

Now, a few years and a marriage under your belt, it took a bit more.

That’s not to say he wasn’t the same insatiable man you met at university; even after all these years Jimin could easily go 3 or more rounds a night.

But really getting him riled up, getting him hard and wanting and desperate for you was another thing.  Sometimes, you just wanted him to come home and take you right against the kitchen counter, so turned on he couldn’t even make it to the bedroom.

You’re determined to win that challenge today.  

To be truthful, the day was terrible for you, and you were seeking release in the form of your husband dicking you down until you were speaking another language. You were desperate to let loose, push aside the emotional and tender sex that seemed to be more commonplace in the bedroom recently (and you enjoyed equally) but today you needed to be treated like an absolute harlot.

The idea rolled through your mind while you were busying yourself with housework, laundry and dishes.  Options of how to get your husband to take you on the floor, rip your clothes off, make you beg for more, simmered in your mind and made the low flame in your stomach burn.  Lingerie could do the trick, Jimin definitely liked to see you swathed in delicate lace or creamy satin.  You had a nice deep red set that was dying to be used and discarded on the floor.

It came to you as you set your speaker to play some music as you flicked around the house.  Jimin’s sweet voice filled the rooms, causing you to pause as shivers raked your spine.

His music.  There was always something Jimin loved about having his music on in the background of your sex that made him work harder on you, fuck you deeper.  Maybe it was narcissism at its finest, but who were you to complain if it benefitted both of you.

You discarded all thoughts of cleaning the rest of the house as you stalked towards your bedroom closet, gathering the red bustier and panty set, with matching garter belt and stocking clips.  You purchased it rather spur of the moment, a huge sale at your favorite boutique, and you wanted to save it for something special.

It appeared the special moment was now.

You took care to curl your hair, a gentle wave with not too much product.  Jimin loved to tug his fingers through your locks, and grip them in a ponytail as you sucked his cock.  Any product would unfortunately get in the way.  Makeup was minimal, a dash highlight on your cheeks and inner tear ducts, light pink lip stain on your lips.  Jimin had been the test subject of many a lipstick, as you determined to find the most blowjob-proof one.  Needless to say, none of the lipsticks were 100% solid, but it was the best time Jimin ever had as a test subject. You preferred to stick with the stains, easier cleanup for the both of you.

You complete the visual as you swap your grubby cleaning day clothes for blood red lace lingerie, smirking at yourself in the mirror.  The cups of the bra molded against you, encasing your tits perfectly.  Jimin would surely lose his mind.  The panties were simple lace, and you had the inkling that they would not remain intact tonight.   Jimin’s propensity for literally ripping your knickers right off you was legendary.  But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?  You wanted your husband to be absolutely feral for you.

Step two of your plan was now underway as you slipped onto your bed, perfectly made now, and snapped sultry photos.  You ensured your cleavage and smooth legs were in the shot, a finger on the mouth.  You took a few more, exposing more and more of your body.

me 2:56 pm- hi babe what you up to?

mini 2:56 pm- baby!!!! Not much, just waiting for hobi to get back from lunch so we can practice this new choreo.  

Mini 2:57 pm- what about you? besides being the world’s cutest wife :)

Me: 2:57 pm- oh not too much. I did our laundry and cleaned up the house a little.  Now im just relaxing and missing my babe :(

Mini 2:57 pm- baby :( i’m sorry.  I should be home in a few hours okay! I’ll order in pasta from your favorite place to make up for it

Me 2:58 pm- well, i was sort of hoping you could make up for it but… i don’t want pasta

Mini 2:58 pm- you don’t? What do you want? Pizza?

Me 2:58 pm- [picture attached]

Me 2:58 pm- no, I want you to fuck me until I can’t see straight.

Mini 2:59 pm- oh fuck 

Mini 2:59 pm- baby you’re playing a dangerous game, teasing me like this.

You nearly had him, he was sniffing at the bait and soon he’d bite and you’d reel him in.  You sent the next picture, showcasing your tits with one cup pulled down, nipple on display.

me 3:00 pm- you mean this kind of game?

mini 3:00 pm- christ

mini 3:00 pm- fuck babe, you’re gonna make me pop a boner at dance practice.  You know I can’t come home for a few hours.

me 3:00 pm- hobi still gone?  Go to the bathroom and i’ll send you a video.

mini 3:01 pm- holy fuck asdskadj okay

Time for the pièce de résistance.  Ensuring the speakers blasted ‘Serendipity’, your husband’s full length solo, you clicked the record button and filmed your hand sliding down to your clothed core, rubbing over the mound with a rough hand.  You breathed heavily, sighed, mewled a bit.  

“Daddy,” you gasp. “Come home.”

You end it with a hand sneaking under the band and insertion of one finger.  Leave him not just wanting more, but rabid for it.  The video file is sent before you've even pulled your fingers from their spot resting on your clit.

Minutes passed, you were sure he was watching.  The man lived for your exhibitionism.  

mini 3:06 pm- you better have your hands behind your back and be on your knees when i get home, little one. In the middle of the bedroom floor. 

mini 3:06 pm- i want you to listen to the music and think about me fucking you.  Think about how i destroy your little cunt so good.

mini 3:07 pm- but don’t you dare touch yourself.  Your pussy is only mine to play with, you got that?

me 3:07 pm- yes daddy 

mini 3:07 pm- good.  I’ll be home soon.

Congratulations, you smirk to yourself in the mirror's reflection across from you.  You’ve won the grand prize.  Please make sure you collect your prize from the man with the raging boner.

You idly realize that Jimin hasn’t told you when he’ll be home.  You know that on any normal day he’d be home at 5:30.  But was he leaving early?  Could you chance it?  As much as you wanted to disobey and face his delicious punishment, he also could just as easily punish you by not letting you cum at all. And the chances of that type of discipline tonight was high; Jimin would surely make you pay for teasing him at work by exacting torturous ache the same to you.

You’re spinning the pros and cons of preparing yourself now or later, when you are given your hasty answer by the sound of keys jingling in the front door.  Your heart rate spikes dangerously, feeling like the muscle would force the blood out of your veins with the pressure.  

You squirm off the bed and descend to the floor on your knees, resting back on your heels, and holding your hands behind your back.  You lower your head to the floor, knowing Jimin loves it when you avoid eye contact until he tells you when and where to look.  

His footsteps are heavy, slow and torturous because you know that he knows that you’ll be on the very edge of your sanity.  The warmth in your belly is torched with tinder and starter and is flaring high.  Jimin’s simple presence, just like this, is enough to get you to an incredible high.  Nothing brings you to your knees faster than when he turns from your sweet, adorable and gentle husband into the sadistic and powerful dominating owner of your body and soul.

It takes 5 deep breaths from your belly before you hear Jimin enter the bedroom.  He’s not saying a single word, but you can hear his soft footsteps on the hardwood floor.  Your knees are aching at the pressure of the hard floor, but you ignore it. You’d ignore cauterizing wounds for the man hovering above you if he asked. 

You’re trembling, you notice.  Your thighs are quivering ever so slightly and the grasp on your hands behind you is weakening.  You grip harder, determined to maintain perfect correct form.

Jimin is frustratingly silent.  He walks around you, and you feel his eyes rove your body intently, as if looking for fault or reason to punish you.  He seems pleased when he finishes his rounds, standing right in front of you. 

“Look at me,” he states with authority, but his tone is gentle. 

You finally tilt your head up to gaze at your lover and nearly gasp at the sight.  Jimin is, on an average day, the most ethereally beautiful man you’ve ever seen.  Today, he looks as if he descended from heaven mere minutes previous.  His pink hair is pushed back, eyes darkened with desire, and wearing the tightest shirt you’ve ever seen, making his toned dancer’s body ripple under the cotton.  Tight sweats that leave nothing to the imagination about what he’s packing between his thighs sit low on his hips and you spot just a hint of his lower abdomen, the v line of his adonis belt, and you’re sure you’re drooling.

“Look at me,” he corrects, a smirk on his face.  Your eyes snap to his own again, and he winks at you. 

“Have you been a good girl for daddy?” He asks, and it feels like a loaded question.  

You play it coy.  “Yes, daddy.”

He stands still in front of you, hand stroking his face as he watches you.  His eyebrow arches.

“Are you sure? You have done nothing to upset Daddy? Nothing at all?” His voice becomes teasing, and the smirk on his features is sinister.

You bite your lip. “I sent Daddy a video of me, touching myself to his music.”

“That’s right, angel,” he murmurs and circles you again.  You feel like his prey before he comes in for the kill. “You made daddy leave practice early.  Don’t you think that’s not being a good girl?”

“No, I did wrong.”

“I’m glad you agree,” he murmurs.  “I’m gonna make you regret getting Daddy hard and horny at work.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and you shiver.  His hands are smooth, warm.  You love the way you feel the cold steel of his wedding ring pressed to your skin, a tangible expression of his love and loyalty.

“Stand up,” he directs.  You’re quick, thankful to be off stinging knees.  He lets his hands glide down your back to meet at your clasped hands, pulling them apart and turning you to face him.

He threads his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, sealing your lips to his.  His lips are soft and taste of chapstick, a hint of sweat, and something just so simply Jimin that is addictive.  He’s gentle and tender in the kiss, the kind of kiss a husband gives his wife.  It speaks miles beyond the simple action, and you chase it, revel in it, knowing it’s the last time he’ll be gentle tonight.  

He breaks from the kiss, touches your nose gently and winks.  It makes your heart flutter in your chest.

The control seeps back into his face; it's physically present in the tight gaze of his eyes and the coolness of his impassive features.  It’s a stark opposite of who just kissed you, and you’re breathless at the sudden change.  

“Gonna spank you with my belt, baby,” he murmurs.  A hand slaps hard against your ass, surprising you and making you squeak out loud.  “Lean over my desk like a good little slut.”

You obey immediately, jerking your body towards his grand oak desk. It’s gorgeous dark wood that matches the decor of your room perfectly and makes for a delicious spot for your sexual proclivities without being obvious.  As much as Jimin wanted a sex swing, you would not cave to that.

You bend to fold your body over the desk, gripping the edge and pushing your hips back to allow for more access to your husband.  The speaker system by your bed plays music, and you recognize the opening chords as one from his latest album with his six best friends. A smile slips to your face as the volume turns up, quiet enough you can talk, but loud enough it’s noticeable. His smooth, melodic voice is ringing through your bedroom and through your entire body. 

He stalks in behind you and rubs at your soft globes.

“Mmm, you look so pretty in this,” he compliments.  “You know I love seeing you in red.”

You turn your head to gaze at him, smiling.  “That’s why I bought it, Daddy.”

“Good little bitch,” he sighs.  

As expected, he rips the underwear from your body with one clean pull.  You’re always surprised by the action. He never gives warning.  Your eyes follow as the useless fabric soars towards the ground. 

“Much better.”

He moves away from you, walking towards the closet.  You train your eyes forward, keeping locked on the wall ahead of you, rather than staring.  Jimin tells you when and where to look and you follow that.

The gentle clinking noise of a belt buckle causes your pussy to quake.  You’ve been slowly moistening since you sent the first text, but you were now starting to drip as if you were overflowing.  By the end of the night, you’ll be drowning in it.

He’s behind you again as quick as he left and he rubs the leather belt against your bare behind. 

“What’s your word?” He asks, soothing at the skin with the device that will soon maar it.  Jimin is ever careful, checking on your mental and emotional safety as well as your physical, and ensured a safe word was in place each time.

“Red,” you assert.  He hums his approval and kisses your ass once, one quick little peck, before he lifts back up to standing.

“Count for me, little whore.”

The crack of the belt spanking your cheek electrifies you.  You feel as if every muscle in your body clenches as the sting vibrates through your buttocks and down to your core.  

“O-one!” You’re shouting, distracted by the pain in your ass to care about your pitch.

Crack. The next slap lands on the other cheek now, and you hiss at the pain.  It bites at your skin, and it soaks your pussy. 

“Two!”

He delivers the next straight in the center, hitting both cheeks and letting the sizzle melt its way to a pleasure that’s reverberating through your core.

“Three! Fuck!” you gasp. 

SMACK.  It’s the hardest yet and tears well up in your eyes at the initial whollop, before your hips are writhing and desperate for friction.

“Four!” You’re wailing and you know it makes your husband go even wilder.

“Stay still or I won’t let you cum for a month,” he grits.  Your hips stay put, knowing he’s a man of his word and not wanting to face his wrath.

He continues his barrage, and you’re counting out 15 strikes before he stops.  You’re sobbing, the pain and pleasure surging so forcefully through your veins that your cunt clenches around nothing and you’re dripping onto the wood of the desk.

His warm hands are soothing at the reddened flesh of your ass, the sensation stinging at first, but oozes away to a relaxing warmth against the punished skin.

“Good girl, baby,” he commends you, hands rubbing all over your flesh. “Took your punishment like such a good girl.”

You sniffle in reply and he pulls you up, making you stand on wobbly legs.  He twists you around and pecks your lips again, a reminder that Jimin, your husband, is still there and loves you more than he loves life itself.  It soothes you more than any salve could and it steels your resolve to continue.  It’s easy to submit and thrill at the loss of control when you trusted the master with your entire being.  

“Color?” He asks, checking in with you.

“Green,” you smile. 

He’s pleased with your answer.  He pulls away from you and pushes you towards the bed.

“Lay down on your back.  Head off the side.  I’m going to fuck your throat, and you will take it all.”

You’re giddy as you saunter to the bed and notice that Jimin is proud of the blooming red of your ass.  It’ll be a literal pain in the ass to sit tomorrow, but it’s worth all the doting and affection you’ll receive in return for being such a good girl for him.  The music has changed, another sensual track featuring your talented husband.  It sends shivers down you, straight to your core.

You maneuver your body to lie on the bed, grateful for the soft blanket on your burning ass, and tip your head off the bed.  Your mouth opens complacently and Jimin shoves his sweats down to reveal his hardened length.

You’re licking your lips like his dick is the finest meal money can buy, and he chuckles.  His left hand strokes it, shivering at the cold press of his wedding ring mixing with the heat of his hand. 

“You want my cock?” He asks.

You nod, captivated with the motion he strokes the shaft.  You almost forget to speak, but his harsh gaze is like a whip.

“Yes! Yes, I want your cock Daddy!”

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” he hums.

Well, this would be too easy.

“I want to suck you dry, let you fuck my throat so I can’t breathe.  I’ll let you cum down my throat and make my face so messy from cum and spit that it gets in my eyes and messes up my pretty makeup, daddy.”

His strokes have become faster, and he sucks in hard for air. “Such a filthy fucking mouth.”

You open said mouth again, letting your tongue hang out like a welcome sign to your throat.

He growls, it’s guttural, and it feels as if it’s positioned on your clit, vibrating the nub.  Your bliss is cut short as he drives his thick dick into your mouth and directly to the back of your throat, leaving you no time to prepare.  You whine slightly around it, and he tsks.

“Don’t you fucking dare whine.  Take it all,” he sounds ruthless and your pussy quakes.

He sets a punishing pace, the tip of his dick ramming through your throat.  It doesn’t take long for it to become messy, saliva trickling from your mouth, falling towards your eyes due to the angle of your supine head.  Jimin sounds angelic, the moans that leave the dancer’s body should be recorded and played for an audience, you think.  You’d suffer through hours of this for the reward of his sweet voice crying out your name.

“Fuck, my little cock slut loves it when I fuck her throat, hmm,” he asks, breathy and harsh.  You nod as much as you can.

“Yeah, that’s right.  You love daddy’s cock, don’t you? You love it when I fucking choke the shit out of you with my fat cock, huh?”

The voice of an angel with the words of the devil himself.  The duality is intoxicating and you are head over heels for both Jimin’s inside of him, every aspect of the man you pledged your life to.

“Mmm, you suck me so good,” he’s groping at your tits through the fabric of your bra.  You’re surprised that it’s still on, but you trust he’s aware and always has a plan.  

“Are you crying, baby?” He asks mockingly.  Tears and saliva mix and your face is completely ruined by it.  You nod again and blink.  “Good, fucking choke on it.” he goes even faster and you’re moaning.  It hurts and the gag reflex is there, but the pain gets you off, and you know the second it became too much, your husband would stop in an instant.  

“Little sluts get their face fucked when they disobey daddy,” he chides, emphasising each word with a thrust.  

It’s as if you’re desperate for his orgasm, wanting nothing more than to swallow every ounce of what he spills into you, clean him up and ask for more.  He won’t have that tonight, it seems, as he’s pulling out of you as quickly as he entered.

“I want to cum in this tight little cunt,” he bites.  You slither up from your position and wipe at your eyes, resting against the pillow after he orders you to remove the bustier.  He asks that you leave the belt and stockings on, however. 

“Spread those pretty thighs for me, baby,” he’s discarded his shirt and is sitting ahead of you, watching you.  His gaze turns you on and opens you up like a flower.

Your thighs are spread far and you lean back further onto the pillows to put the star of the show on display.  You’re coated with your slick; it’s slathered up and down your thighs and dripping onto the duvet below you.  He breathes out in appreciation.

“I think my favorite thing about you is how fucking wet you get for me.”  He’s still not moving and you want to beg him to touch you, please do something, but refrain.  “You feel like a fucking dream when I’m inside you.”

“B-baby,” you break character and freeze, but he ignores it and allows you to continue as you sigh with relief. “I need you.”

“Do you now?” he banters, and you nod with wide, needy eyes.

“Touch yourself for me, then.  Show me how badly you want daddy’s cock in you.”

A hand flies to your cunt in record time and you’re desperately eager to spread the lips of your folds apart and rub at your slick and swollen clit.  A breathy, heady moan escapes you at the friction you’ve been aching for since you sent the sexy photo hours ago. 

“Fuck!” you shout, circling the bud.  Jimin’s eyes are glued to your hands, and he watches with awe. 

“Finger yourself,” he demands and you’re obeying before he’s even finished speaking, two fingers slipping down to enter your channel.  You arch off the bed and grip a breast in your other hand, flicking at the nipple for extra sensation.  

He coos at you as you fuck yourself with wild abandon, gasping his name as you slip deeper with each thrust.  

“Add another.”  His voice maintains its even quality, maintained and cool.  But if you opened your eyes, you’d see that he’s salivating at the sight, desperately restraining himself.  His cock is weeping pre-cum and he could explode in an instant watching this too long.

Your ring finger slips in with the other two and you’re keening at the stretch.  The pain is gone in a flash, just a pinch that simmers to a desperate pleasure.  

“You look so fucking good, baby,” he breaks his composure, momentarily.  He’s so in love with you, every single fucking bit, that he can’t help it.  “God, you’re beautiful.”

His words have you blushing, as if they’re the most lewd part of the evening and not the fact you’re fingering yourself in front of your husband while he watches and orders you around.

“Rub your clit with your other hand, love.”

The pressure of your added hand on your clit and the fingers thrusting into you has you soaring to your high and your throat chokes on the air.  “O-oohhh fuckkk!” You whine.

“You close, baby?  You gonna cum on those cute little fingers and get them messy for daddy?” He asks, voice violently serene.

“Y-yes! Please, I want to cum,” you beg.  You know the rules, he tells you where and when your body receives its pleasure.

“You wanna cum?” He asks again, and you feel a spike of irritation.  He’s already asked you that, haven’t you already answered?

“So badly, daddy! Please! C-close.” Words are escaping your mental capacity now.  You’re there, nearly there, just one little tiny string holding you back from the edge of euphoria.

“Too bad.”  

Your fingers are pulled from your cunt quickly and you’re crying.  Tears are forming in your eyes as you feel an ache deep to your womb.  You had been so close, so deliciously close.  Jimin knows this, thrills at watching you edge further and further through the night.  You won’t admit it at the moment, it’s pure torture then, but the buildup to the finale is indescribable.

“You don’t get to fucking cum until I tell you to cum.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, yes! Yes, Daddy,” you babble, nearly incoherent from arousal and denial. 

He makes you writhe there, pussy so slick its soaking the blankets and you’ll have to change them later but the only thing you think about is your cunt, your weeping cunt that’s screaming to release. 

You feel your breath slowing and know that Jimin wants you to come back down to earth before he’ll bring you up again.

“Good fucking girl,” he kisses your belly, licking at the navel.  He whispers quiet words of adoration as he trails down your abdomen and end at the top of your mound.  Your legs are shaking, no, they’re nearly convulsing from need.

He spreads your folds, and it’s pornographic the way he spits on your pussy, as if it needs any more wetness.  It’s not about the wetness, though, and you know it.  It’s about the message, the ownership.  

“My favorite little fuck toy,” he murmurs, lightly tracing everywhere but the bud throbbing with need for friction.  “I can’t wait to cum inside this little pussy tonight.  Gonna flood your whole fucking cunt, babe.”

Jimin knows the way to your heart, and the way to your orgasms is through his words.  Gentle whispered ‘i love you’s’ in the day and disgusting filth at night.  It’s just another reason in a list of a million why you work so well together. 

“Should we get you nice and pregnant tonight?  You want to make a baby?”  

You nearly sob at his words.  He can fuck you harder with his words than his cock.

“Please!” You’re yelling, tears streaming down your face. “P-please! I want your baby.”

He leans down and smiles for a moment before speaking. “Well, my little wife will always get what she wants when she asks so nicely.”  His lips attach to your clit, suctioning it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.  It’s swollen and slick, and it feels like fucking heaven.  His plushy lips are working for it, taking you so desperately close to the edge.  

You’re gasping a symposium of his name and praising the ground he walks on.  You’re sure if you died now you’d die a very fucking happy woman.  The world around you is gone, and it’s just Jimin’s sinful mouth suckling at your cunt.

You’re close again, and Jimin knows it.  You’re begging, pleading with him, but it’s useless as he roughly pulls away.

The music continues on in the background.  It’s lighter, and Jimin croons in the speaker as he grunts in your ear.

He muffles your anguished cry with a messy kiss that tastes of you, and he’s thrusting into you.  The slickness guides him in easily and he’s whining against you at the feel of your walls accept him and hugging him tightly as if they’ve missed his cock swelling within them.

“JIMIN!” You’re seeing fireworks as your husband fucks into you, holding you close to him.  It’s as rough and kinky as it is intimate and sweet.  He holds you, cherishes you, while he’s pistoning his thick member into your loud, drenched cunt.  

“I love you,” he whispers, slipping a thumb into your mouth that you suck at eagerly, as skilled with his fingers as you are with his cock.  “I love you so fucking much.”

His eyes align with yours, yours full of tears of absolute unrivaled pleasure, and his with full and never-ending devotion. 

You’re both so close, and you pull him against you to kiss his lips.  You want to connect completely to him as you cum, as he spills into your womb and creates something, someone there. 

Your cunt flutters intensely, quaking in anticipation as it builds and builds and builds.  Jimin breaks the kiss to breathe and warn you, “I’m going to cum soon, baby, please cum with me.”  He’s gentle and sweet, the Jimin who cries at love stories and wears flower crowns now present inside you.  You nod quickly, gasping as the coil winds tighter and tighter.  

Your kissing is messy, passionate, and your hands grasp him everywhere.  You’re tugging at his toned arms and solid back, seeking refuge as the tidal wave grows impossibly high, higher, so so high,

And crashes into you at 100 miles per hour.  Your cunt is contracting and pulsing around him so intensely you nearly black out, crying loudly into his mouth.  He’s groaning with you, the feeling of your already impossibly tight walls clenching down on him demands the orgasm out of him.  He’s cupping your whole face in his hands as he spills into you and your walls suck him in further, so far he could disappear completely.  

It feels as if you orgasm for hours, but it's merely minutes later that you’re trying to catch your breath and slip back into reality.  You’re clinging to each other like last lifelines and the gaze between you is so intense it clenches at your racing heart.  

The silence between you two is long and speaks an entire conversation before your lips even open.  He’s singing so sweetly through the speaker, it sounds like he’s singing directly to you.  “I love you,” you’re whispering to him.

He rubs at your cheeks in his palms, wiping away stray tears of bliss that have slipped down your face.

“I love you.”

You settle into him, unwilling to move a single inch away from your husband, and marvel at the beauty that is your life, your future.  

Jimin holds you close, kisses you gently and sings softly along to the music as you fall asleep, and he adores the fact that he holds his entire world, his future, in his arms.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[creampuffqueen]

Just Like This | Chapter Two

a/n: Hey friends! It's been a hot second, but here's chapter two! This chapter is about a high school football game, but written by someone who has never attended a high school football game as a student (I was always performing haha) I also have no idea how football works and yet wrote Rayla explaining it to Callum! So please forgive any inaccuracies lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3846

Warnings: Dirty jokes/innuendos, language

Read on Ao3

~~~~

Friday, October 5th, 2020

Callum’s house, 6:02 PM

HONK HONK HONK!

Rayla leaned on the horn of her car with a snicker, face splitting into a wide grin when the front door of Callum’s house opened. He was still putting his jacket on, and his mother followed him out, fussing.

“Have fun!” Sarai called as Callum clambered into the passenger seat, face red.

“Bye Mrs. Prince!” Rayla shouted back, waving goodbye as she put the vehicle in drive. Callum just groaned, putting his face in his hands and shaking his head.

“God, my mom’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s sweet,” Rayla assured, “At least you know she cares.”

Callum quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t press at the statement hidden in those words. Instead, he turned his gaze out the window. “This isn’t the way to school, Rayla.”

“Duh, I’m not stupid,” She snarked back, “We have to go pick up Andie and Callisto. I just didn’t tell your mom, because technically I’m only supposed to drive with one other person, but I don’t really care about that rule.”

“Fair enough.” Callum opened up the glovebox, rifling through all the trash to find the CDs stored beneath. Her car was old enough that the radio still used CDs rather than just connecting to a phone. He found one that seemed good, and put it in the player.

At the next red light. Rayla took her eyes off the road to glare at Callum with full force as Taylor Swift’s voice filled her little car. “Where did you even find that?”

Her best friend gave a knowing smirk. “It was actually at the top of the pile. Which is weird, since you supposedly hate Taylor Swift.”

The light turned green, and Rayla was forced to look away, though her ears still burned. “I never said I hated all her music. Just the new stuff.”

“Oh, so you’re a country Taylor fan?”

“If you don’t shut up and change the music before Andromeda gets in this car I swear to god I will throw you onto the concrete.”

Callum responded by nonchalantly tossing his legs onto the dashboard. “What, like we don’t all already know you’re not as badass as you pretend to be? You’ve got a reputation to hold with us?”

“I hate you.”

He dragged a hand through his fluffy brown hair, leaning further back in the seat. “No, you love me.”

Rayla gave him her middle finger, even as her face seemed to suddenly catch fire. If only you knew.

Thankfully, she pulled up outside of Andromeda’s house just in time. The other girl could diffuse some of the sudden tension, and maybe in a few minutes Rayla could look back at Callum without her head going all fuzzy.

“Hellooooo fellow sexy people!” Andromeda crooned as she plopped into the backseat, “How are we all feeling this fine evening?”

Glancing behind him, Callum’s eyes widened at the other girl’s outfit. She was completely decked out in the colors of Katolis High School, red and gold covering her entire body.

“I thought you were just wearing that getup for the first game?”

Andromeda shrugged. “Why not for every game? It’s fun.” She tugged at the red and gold jersey emblazoned with the number eight, then twirled her silvery hair tied into two pigtails with red ribbon.

“Let’s go get Callisto,” Rayla suggested, pulling out of her friend’s driveway.

“Perfect,” Andromeda replied.

As they drove, Rayla continued to speak, “Ground rules: you and Callisto keep your hands to yourselves in my car. I don’t care what you do at the game, but I’m not having any bodily fluids on my nice seats. Am I clear?”

“You and Callum with your ground rules,” The other girl sighed, “But fine. You two clearly think way worse of us than we actually are, though.”

Rayla and Callum shared a grin between them. Andromeda and Callisto were great on their own, but ever since they’d begun dating freshmen year they’d starting getting all handsy. Rayla knew, because Andie shared everything with her, that they hadn’t gone all the way, not yet.

Key word: yet.

And god help her, they were not going to complete their yet in her backseat.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up to Callisto’s house finding them similarly decked out for the Friday night game.

“Well now I’m feeling underdressed,” Callum snorted, glancing at the couple behind him. True to their word, they were keeping a perfectly respectable distance, but everyone knew it wouldn’t last.

“You’re wearing red,” Callisto suggested awkwardly, gesturing to his read scarf. “Just not the right shade.”

“I’ve got extra ribbons for my hair, if you want some, Rayla,” Andromeda offered.

As they pulled into the stadium parking lot, the sun rapidly setting behind them, Rayla turned back to her friend with a grin. “Yes please. You’re so good at hair, Andie.”

The group piled out of the car, Callisto and Andromeda holding hands, as expected. Callum turned to her with a smile and offered his arm. Nudging his side affectionately, Rayla hooked it with her own, desperately trying to keep her face from reddening.

Soon enough they were inside the stadium, and Callum had let go of her arm to pull out his phone and ask where the rest of their friends were. Rayla’s phone buzzed, probably from the group chat, and she opened it up to find where Claudia, Ram, and Skor were sitting.

Claudia: We’re on the far right of the bleachers

Claudia: Kind of near where the band is sitting. We’ve got a really good view close to the top

Ram: Hurrrrry

Andromeda: stfu ram, we’re coming

Ram: If Callisto’s with you then you’ll certainly be coming ;)

Andromeda: I’m going to obliterate your tiny twig ass

Claudia: ANYWAY

Claudia: My friend Nyx from theater class is here, is it okay if she sits with us? Maybe not for the whole game bc she says her friends are coming but just for the start

Their small group began to make their way to the far side of the stadium, where Claudia said they were, while Andromeda still had her nose in her phone. Probably insulting Ram, if Rayla had to guess. The idea of another person staying with them bothered her, if she was honest. They already had their friend group; they didn’t need to add anyone else.

Callum: Yeah sure, it’s fine

With a slight sigh, Rayla followed her friends up the steps of the bleachers until Claudia came into view, standing up and waving. Callum bounded up the stairs, a wide grin on his face. When he reached her, Claudia gave him a quick hug, then released him to reach for Rayla.

“Everyone, this is Nyx!” After hugging everyone, Claudia turned towards her other friend to introduce her. Nyx was sitting casually on the metal seats, and she gave a cheerful wave.

“Hi Nyx,” Everyone seemed to chorus in unison, making the other girl chuckle slightly.

Soon everyone had settled onto the metal bleachers, waiting for the game to begin. Tonight they were going against Neolandia, a longtime rival. The other school had a bit of a reputation for playing dirty, and everyone had resolved to keep a sharp eye out during the game for any instance of foul play.

But every thought about the impending football game flew from Rayla’s head as Callum leaned against her side, his soft hair brushing right below her eyes.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked, giving a pointed glance to her bare arms.

“I probably will be later,” She admitted, taking in her outfit. Jeans, Converse, and a red and gold t-shirt wouldn’t do much to shield her from the cold when the sun went down.

“Just tell me and I’ll share my jacket,” Callum promised with a good-natured laugh. Rayla’s eyes widened a bit. Was he serious?

She was jolted from her thoughts by a sudden tap on her shoulder. Andromeda sat behind her, several hair ties and various ribbons clutches in her hands.

“Braids or pigtails, Rayla?”

“Er…” Slightly unsure, she took one of the red ribbons from her friend’s hand and twisted it slightly in her own.

“Braids,” Callum finished the sentence for her, “Your hair looks good in braids.”

“It really does look good like that,” Andromeda hummed appreciatively, dragging Rayla to sit closer to her so she could brush her fingers through her silver hair.

With the motion of Andromeda rhythmically combing her hair, Rayla allowed herself to relax in the familiarity of her friends. All around her they talked idly, Claudia’s snort-laugh punctuating sentences, Callum’s voice cracking providing plenty of entertainment.

The buzzer rang to begin the game just as Andromeda tied off the second braid, flicking both of them over Rayla’s shoulders so she could see them better.

“Oh, they’re so pretty!” She leaned back to give Andromeda a hug. “Thanks, Andie.”

“GO SOREN!” Claudia screamed suddenly, causing Rayla to nearly topple backwards into Andromeda’s lap. Everyone around them flinched, and they got a couple dirty looks from the other spectators.

Claudia didn’t seem to care, though. She was standing, cheering ecstatically for the blob moving down below, who must have been Soren. At some point she’d acquired pom-poms. From where, Rayla had no clue.

Callum and Rayla shared a look, neither of them lasting very long before bursting out laughing. If Claudia noticed, she didn’t show it, and kept cheering in the stands for her older brother.

“Woohoo!” Andromeda pumped her fist, though she didn’t stand up and join the junior girl. Instead she scooted over on the metal seat to sit next to Callisto, nearly tossing herself in their lap. Her partner just rolled their eyes and wrapped an arm around Andromeda’s waist.

Claudia’s cheering eventually faded into the background, letting Rayla focus on the field. They were rapidly taking yard lines, but it was only the first quarter. Things could change. Though she sure hoped not; if they were going to lose a game to anyone it had better not be Neolandia.

Then, on the next play, someone tossed the ball high and far, and Rayla was on the edge of her seat, and it was getting closer and closer to the endzone-

“TOUCHDOWN!” Claudia roared, sweet demeanor evaporating in the spirit of the game. “WE GOT A TOUCHDOWN!”

“We got a what?” Callum glanced up from his sketchbook. Both Rayla and Claudia whipped around to glare at him, neither realizing he’d brought it out. In an unspoken agreement, Claudia distracted him with a piercing stare, giving Rayla just the opening she needed to snatch the book from his hands.

“Hey!” The other boy yelped, but it was too late, and Rayla was already sprinting down the steps of the bleachers, sketchbook in hand.

“You’ll get it back after you watch the game!” She shouted from below, sticking her tongue out to blow a raspberry.

“Oh, very mature Rayla!”

“Come watch the game!”

His pout was absolutely adorable, and Rayla flushed at the thought, waving the stolen sketchbook high in the air. “Come watch with me!”

Finally, he relented, though not without a fair amount of complaining and cursing as he traipsed down the bleachers to get to her side.

“You are an evil person.”

She giggled, tucking the book under an arm. “I’m the weirdly sexy villain on a kids’ TV show.”

Callum just sighed. “Not funny.”

“Excuse you!” Rayla shot back, giving a dramatic wail, “I am the funniest person in this entire school!”

He made a weak grab for his sketchbook, but Rayla simply danced out of the way. “Nuh uh, no sir. You are going to watch the game with me.”

“But I don’t even know how football works,” Callum complained, gesturing to the field. The timer was paused, and Katolis was ahead, though not by much. It was going to be a tight game.

“Then I’ll teach you. And you’ll have fun, and learn to enjoy football, and we can all be a big happy friend group and you won’t have your face buried in a sketchbook.”

“For the record, I like having my face buried in a sketchbook-”

“Nonsense!” Rayla exclaimed, “You’re going to have fun. Without this old thing.”

“Alright, alright,” Callum sighed, “I’ll put it away. Can I please have it back?”

Rayla finally relented with a triumphant grin. “Let’s go back up top; you can see way better. Plus we’re near the band so we get to hear their stand tunes up close and personal.”

They arrived back at their seats just as the timer started again, and Rayla began her intense rundown of the inner workings of football. Callum tried to pay attention, but she could tell everything was going right over his head. Finally, she just settled for, “Cheer whenever our side is cheering, and you’ll fit right in.”

In the time it took to explain the first quarter had nearly ended, with Neolandia pulling ahead. Claudia was doing an elaborate pompom routine to rival the cheerleaders down below, even involving Nyx for parts.

“Gimme an S! Gimme an O! Gimme a R-E-N! What does that spell!?”

“Soren!” Nyx finished, and Claudia waved her pompoms triumphantly. Rayla watched them both with slightly piqued interest, flicking her ribbon-braided hair back and forth over her shoulder.

“Rayla, Callum-” She was pulled from her thoughts by Skor’s booming voice as he walked near them. “First quarter is over, we’re going to get some snacks. Come with?”

“I’m starving!” Callum chuckled, “It’s definitely time to stuff my face with junk food.”

“There’s the football game spirit!” Rayla cheered, clapping her friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go consume sugar-rich foods in unhealthily excessive portion sizes!”

The small group left Nyx and Claudia to their pompoms, and Callisto and Andromeda to… whatever it was they were doing. Perhaps trying to fuse their faces together? Whatever it was, it was gross and making everyone want to leave for a minute.

Beneath the bleachers was crowded with students and parents alike. Callum linked one hand with her, offering the other to Ram, attempting to keep from losing their group in the crowd.

It was a struggle to keep her face neutral. All her thoughts suddenly surged away from her head, instead focusing on that single point of contact. Were her hands sweating? God, she hoped they weren’t. She hoped she wasn’t the only one feeling too many emotions to count.

In the line for the snack bar (or, what she hoped was the line, as it was too crowded to properly tell) Callum didn’t meet her eyes, but his grip was firm as he pointed out the menu. Ram and Skor stood nearby, having foregone holding Callum’s other hand. Rayla wasn’t sure if she was happy for it or not.

“If we pool our money we can get a hot dog for everybody,” Skor suggested, “And maybe some popcorn too.”

“Yeah,” Callum agreed, “Let’s get a few popcorns and we can all share in pairs. Like you two, Claudia and Nyx, me and Rayla, and then the two leeches.”

“If they ever come up for air,” Rayla snickered, and she was greeted with Callum’s resounding voice-cracky laugh, and he truly turned to meet her eyes.

“Wanna bet they’ll eat it out of each others’ mouths?”

Rayla pretended to gag, “They’d better not.”

“Oh! Wait! They’ll eat the hot dogs like in the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp!” Ram snickered, and his suggestion was met with varying levels of disgust.

Finally, it was their turn to order. As they all gathered up their food Rayla could hear the buzzer on the field and more cheering from their side, so she hustled her friends back onto the bleachers.

Just in time, too. On the field, the ball flew into the endzone, and the entire Katolis side erupted into cheers. The band started playing a tune, and the cheerleaders began a mini routine.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER!” Claudia screamed over the roaring of the stadium, bouncing so hard Rayla wondered how she hadn’t simply flown away yet. Andromeda was standing on her seat to cheer, Callisto’s arm wrapped her around her waist to keep her steady.

“Gold! And red! We’ll knock ‘em dead!” On the edge of the field, the cheerleaders chanted carrying it throughout the stands. The band kicked into a higher gear, playing the school’s iconic fight song that had everyone clapping to the beat. Out on the field, Rayla could spot Soren’s blond head among the other players, pumping his fists in triumph.

“So I’m assuming we did something good?” Callum shouted over the din, wading through the throng of people to sit back down on their metal seats. One of his hands was still attached to hers, and Rayla had no intentions of letting go any time soon.

“Yes, dummy!” She giggled back, pointing to the scoreboard. They finally were able to reach their seats, and plopped back down while the cheers began to fade. Callum had been holding one of the bags of popcorn, and he placed it between them so they both could share. Ram and Skor passed out the rest of the food, and the group all relaxed once more.

When the game was finally up and running again, Nyx turned away from Claudia’s intense one-woman cheer session to face Rayla and Callum, plopping pieces of popcorn in her mouth. Her eyes, one blue and one amber, honed in on Rayla in such a way that an embarrassed flush crept up her cheeks with little warning.

“You two look cozy,” She remarked with a smirk. Rayla’s face burned hotter, and she resisted the urge to scoot away. Callum blinked in surprise, glancing between Rayla and Nyx.

“Callum’s my best friend,” Rayla replied, though it sounded lame, even to her. “We’ve always been close.”

The other girl just smiled broader. “It’s so cute. At least you guys are way more subtle than those two over there.” She gave a pointed glance behind them, and Rayla didn’t even have to turn to know that Andromeda and Callisto were making out. Again.

“Oh, uh, we’re- we’re not dating…” Callum said awkwardly.

“You’re not?” Nyx blinked up in mock surprise. “I mean, you’re sharing a popcorn, she’s practically in your lap-”

“I am not!” Indignantly, Rayla shot a glare at the other girl.

Nyx just rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, lovebugs.” Reaching for more popcorn, she turned back around in her seat to chat with Claudia some more.

“Well, she’s something,” Callum muttered under his breath, “Going out and assuming things.” He met Rayla’s eyes, then looked away just as quickly, like he hadn’t meant to be heard. “I mean, us dating?”

Rayla’s whole face was on fire. Scratch that, her whole body was on fire. Was she having a panic attack? Is this what a panic attack felt like?

“Crazy, huh?” The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. The two teenagers shared an awkward laugh that did nothing to lessen the tension, then went back to eating their popcorn.

Rayla didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

The rest of the game was a blur she hardly remembered, points and scores blending from one to the next. On the outside she was smiling, laughing, cheering. On the inside she was empty.

Before long the last buzzer had rung, and Katolis had won the game by the skin of their teeth. The band played their final tune, and everyone began to vacate the stands.

With the crowd that had come to the game, it took a while to make it back to Rayla’s car. They said their goodbyes to their friends while they walked their separate ways, promising to see them again on Monday.

It was pretty late, nearly 10:30, so the chatter that had filled the car on the way in had lessened now. Andromeda and Callisto were even talking, rather than engaged in a lip-lock. In the passenger seat, Callum once again had his feet up on the dashboard, and was sketching by the light of the stadium floodlights as they waited their turn to leave the parking lot.

When they finally exited, the talking stilled even further. There was no sound in the car save for the radio, and the quiet scratching of pencil lead on paper.

Callisto was dropped off first, Andromeda not too long after. And then it was just Rayla and Callum, alone once again.

She pulled into his driveway and put the car in park, letting it idle while he gathered his things. He reached for the door handle, but something stopped him. He turned back to face her.

“Rayla, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” She echoed, “For what?”

Callum scratched at the back of his neck. “For making things all awkward. You know I’m not good being put on the spot like that, but I just made things worse and I’m sorry.”

“You mean about Nyx?”

“Yeah.”

Rayla shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. It’s her who should be sorry, assuming and being an ass and all that.”

“Still.” Callum glanced down at his sketchbook, still open. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached down and tore out the page. Rayla only had enough time to furrow her eyebrows in confusion - Callum never tore out pages of his sketchbook - before the page was in her hands.

Oh.

It was a picture of her. She was smiling, and her hair was braided with ribbons. It was a picture of her just tonight.

“You’re my best friend, Rayla.” She glanced back up to see Callum’s earnest expression as he spoke. “I don’t wanna let something stupid come between us. Whatever Nyx said doesn’t matter, okay? We know what we are.”

“Yeah,” Rayla said, punctuating the sentence with a half-hearted laugh.

“Okay,” Callum chuckled, “Glad we’re on the same page. We communicate, you know?” His grin was real as he stepped out of the car.

“See you on Monday, Rayla.”

She waited for him to reach his front door, making sure he got inside safely, before she pulled away. She was so exhausted that she drove all the way home nearly in a daze (which would have been way more unsafe if she hadn’t just been driving through a neighborhood).

It wasn’t until she was back at home in her own driveway, car turned off, that everything truly hit.

If he hadn’t been clear before, he was crystal now. He may as well have outright said, ‘I just see you as a friend and I’ll never see you as anything else’. Maybe being so upfront would make things easier, and keep her from clinging to stupid, false hope.

Rayla refused to let herself cry. Don’t cry, not over him. He’s still your friend. Take what you can get.

So she got out of the car, went inside, and went to bed. And maybe she cried, just a little.

No, you love me, he’d said with that adorable little grin of his.

Okay, maybe more than just a little.

~~~~

a/n: AHHHHHH I feel bad for Rayla and I PUT HER THROUGH THIS PAIN. They never even got to share Callum's jacket because Nyx made things awkward :(

Tag List (comment to be added or removed):

@hipster-rapunzel

[phoebehalliwell]

I need some kind of a photoshop lesson for this aesthetic of yours

okay i’m gonna do a tutorial real time for a picspam type aesthetic that will look like this ⇣ a photo i will put here once i make it.

step one. open ps : )

welcome : )

okay so dimensions r a thing tumblr compresses photos like hella so i do all my still img aesthetics 900x900 is you’re trying to do this for say insta i would actually recommend jumping up to 1080x1080. pixels, obviously. idk if i have to clarify that.

so click ctrl+n or create new i’ll be doing 900x900

these r the rest of my settings i personally do not think they matter my resolution stays at 72 the only thing i’ve detected this affecting is font size. (side note notice how this pic looks all fuzzy? that’s bc it’s a ss with a boatload of pixels. and if there’s one thing tumblr hates. it’s pixels. and then it’s users. but who’s counting? tumblr is. i recommend keeping ur still images 900x900♥)

step two is collecting ur images i personally use pinterest for these bc quite frankly it’s really nice & easy to find these types of photos esp if you’re looking for a canon character bc if you type in [character name] aesthetic you’ll get stuff if you don’t quite frankly even just type in aesthetic you can scroll until you find an image you like click on that and go through like images underneath it and keep burning thru. like u probably know how to work pinterest. but i am being thorough and covering my bases. searching [color] aesthetic is also nice or even searching a character that isn’t the character you’re doing this for but who’s kind of similar that also works. i recommend esp for charmed bc their pinterest gets bogged down with screencaps and then like. charms like jewelry searching “charmed aesthetic” or “phoebe halliwell aesthetic” really just doesn’t cut it so what i’d recommend is instead of going through pins, go through boards.

bc like. big difference. other pro tips if you see a board you like, go to the person’s profile and check out their other boards bc odds are you’ll find more you like. another protip if you’re specifically doing ocs typing in oc aesthetic will get you a lot even going to the boards on that as well. yields.

so. you’ve gathered ur images. u need five. open em. i’m making an aesthetic 4 myself which you’ve probably already guessed from the fact i’m putting the finished piece at the top, but it’s not ready yet so it’s still a surprise for me. 

cropping. if ur doing a 900x900, use these setting exactly. 1080x1080 use 1080/2 x 1080/3. i’m not doing the math 4 u ♥

most important part? Delete Cropped Pixels. otherwise ur not really doing anything. crop all five images.

but them in ur document. document? psd? ur thing ♥ place them places. u do not have to commit now. leave one middle one blank. it does not matter which one. i personally like to alternate my text pieces if i’m doing a long post like what i did on my ncwotng set. some people keep them all on the same side. this lowkey bugs me i feel like it throws off the Balance but i imagine some people like The Consistency. i don’t. but w/e. it’s up to u as this is gonna be ur set. also like. as you’ve cropped these to x/2,x/3 settings they should fit nice like puzzle pieces : )

the next step i personally like doing is creating by text box with The Color™ do this bc simply duplicating one of ur images, shoving it in the empty slot, and converting into a sharp object. edit contents.

now. obvi i selected these images w a color scheme in mid. i recommend u do the same. even if it’s just vague. they don’t all have 2 fit. this is my example of my sheridan piece b4 or after. tweaking is possible. layers w masks r ur friend. i can talk about them more if need be.

But. back 2 the smart object. brush tool. paint it.

♥

the text i used was times new roman all caps 40pt font 0 spacing for the title and times new roman 14pt font 0 spacing italics for the subheading. here’s my dency b4 and after for comparison

next step is after you have your text in alright, shove everything into groups. mode on “normal”

then you can start editing. the groups let you edit things like lighting and color without touching any of the layers below it 👍

i’m not gonna do a Major coloring tutorial, for lighting i’ll usually tinker with exposure, levels, sometimes brightness/contrast. for colors, color balance + hue/saturation. i rarely touch anything else.

i’ll bring u along 4 the coloring of this one bc i’m gonna add a layer mask.

so the first thing i’m going to do bc the paper itself is already close to the vibe is i’m going to color it normal and just ignore the background

something like that. then i’m going to add a layer mask (square button w the plus sign)

and then i’m going to eye dropper a color off from somewhere else

now i was talking about the “normal” blend mode stops ur color settings from bleeding over onto other images? does not apply to painting on layers but you’re already masking this bad boy, so it doesn’t matter. just don’t say i didn’t warn u

i’d recommend using a really ridiculous blend mode to clean up ur thing at first, i’m using darken which isn’t that wild but like whatevs.

add a layer mask using this button.

select and mask

use this thing to clean up ur mask

okay so i did a lot since we last spoke

but if i impart any lesson to u. it’s: fuck around. find out. that’s literally how i’ve basically done everything. nothing’s ever really gone horribly wrong. click things. see what happens.

okay so now that you’ve kinda gotten everything figured out. change ur text box color again. i’m introducing u to ye ol trick that is not the paint brush. but. hue/saturation on colorize more yeah babyyyyy

ahaha yes. love this bad boy.

Now. Trick To Make Everything Super Cohesive™. put things above All of your groups.

yeah boy.

reorganize ur thing bc u don’t like how it looks.

fuck around w a lot of stuff.

it’s still cluttered.

fuck it. grab a new image.

something like that. never let the fear of striking out keep u from playing the game : )

fuck around a bit more.

vibes♥

save ur image bc u literally Have Not Done That Yet

& then remember the other thing u forgot to do

eyedropper what ur text box looks like move the whole thing to the tippity top and recolor

this is just bc u’ve fuck around a lot w a lot f different settings. this ensures that the text stays the same color u set it as.

okay final step.

turn The Whole Thing into a smart object, smart sharpen

leave out the text box tho. the sharpened text can look weird. it’s ur choice, but with these settings,, cronch.

and wallah. ctrl+shift+s save as png and bada bing bada boom baby. aesthetic

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars LXIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m so pissed bc last chapter came out in September 1st and I just ignored it??? I’m such an idiot?? Physically I’m on quarantine, spiritually I’m wherever these losers are -Danny

Words: 4,499

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterilst

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Four: Bagman and Crouch.

"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley picked up the boot and handed it to the wizard.

"Really, why can't wizards just use cars?" Mel grumbled from the ground.

Two hands reach out for her and she found Fred and Harry standing side by side. The first one had an innocent and amused expression. Harry, however, glanced at the boy beside him with slight annoyance.

"Thank you boys," She said, quickly holding onto both hands and standing up.

"Told you," Fred chuckled.

"Is apparating just as uncomfortable as this?"

"Wouldn't know," He shrugged. "Never done it."

She brushed the dirt off her clothes, a little startled at the way Harry grabbed her bag and eagerly handed it back to her, still glaring at Fred in a strange way while the twin pretended not to notice, a sly smile on his face as he walked back to where his twin was.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... We've been here all night... You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite... Weasley... Weasley..."

"I'm sorry about my dad," Said a voice she wasn't familiar with. It was Cedric. "He's one of those who doesn't think twice before talking, but he's not a bad man..."

"It's okay," Mel grinned. "I'm one of those who does not think twice before snapping at someone. Bet you've heard..."

Cedric scrunched up his nose in a way that Mel considered adorable.

"Might have, once or twice."

"I'm also nice, I promise," She reached out a hand for him to shake, which he did almost immediately.

"It's a pleasure to oficially meet, then," He nodded, wearing his best smile.

"–About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts." Mr. Weasley's friend told them out loud. "Diggory... second field... ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and everyone followed him.

"So this is your last year at Hogwarts?" She asked the boy, considering a bit awkward to just walk in silence.

"Yeah," He shrugged. "I'm not sure of what I'll do once I'm done, but I think I might travel a bit before working."

"Any place in particular?" Cedric pondered, taking her question very seriously.

"Some place warm."

She nodded, thinking of anything else she could add, however, Cedric talked first.

"Is it true that Dumbledore gives you extra lessons?"

"Yes," She smiled. "It's sort of a family thing, and since my dad isn't around to teach me..."

It wasn't entirely true, but Dumbledore had admitted that her abilities were a thing women in their family had, so it wasn't a lie either.

"That's cool," Cedric replied. "Is he good at teaching?"

"The best," Mel continued eagerly. "He knows ever so many things about almost everything! I'd love to be like him once I'm older."

"Well, you're a Dumbledore," The boy raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure the brains must be part of the family as well." She laughed at this, not sure of how to answer. Instead, she casually changed the subject to Quidditch.

"So are you a Bulgaria, or Ireland supporter?"

Cedric quickly perked up at this, seemengly happy to talk about something so normal that had nothing to do with families.

"Ireland, I think... but my dad's with Rumania, so I have to support a little quieter..." They laughed discretely at his words.

Next fifteen minutes past rather quickly, Cedric was nice and social enough to keep the conversation flowing, Mel felt a little guilty of how everyone at school perceived him as just as pretty face with no brains or goals. She made a mental note to never let any of her friends make any negative comments about Cedric ever again.

When the time came that they had to part, Cedric waved at her joyfully and she returned it, hoping to see him again soon. She felt someone nudged her arm and turned to look at Harry, who pointed at the group that was already moving forward.

"Sorry," She said with a small smile. "Won't stay behind again, promise."

"Boys have been awfully nice to you lately..." He grumbled, looking back at Cedric over his shoulder.

"It certainly does feel better than to be chasen down a street while they threw rocks at you, you know?"

Harry's eyes widened, cheeks flushing at her words.

"Yeah, you're... you're right," He cleared his throat.

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley, waving at a man standing near.

"Morning," the man (a muggle, for the looks of it) answered.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley — two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.

"Ah — right — certainly —" said Mr. Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. "Help me, Harry," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a — a — a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now. . . . So this is a five?"

"A twenty," Harry threw a desperate look her way, probably nervous about the man who was listening closely to their conversation.

"Ah yes, so it is... I don't know, these little bits of paper..." Mr. Weasley grumbled.

"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts.

"Foreign?"

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money. I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?"

"Never been this crowded... Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."

"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, insisting for the man to take the money he was holding out but failing to succeed.

"Aye– People from all over. Loads of for- eigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" asked Mr. Weasley nervously.

"It's like some sort of... I dunno... like some sort of rally... They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

"Obliviate!" A second man exclaimed, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said after a moment of quiet change on his features. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.

The wizard who had charmed the muggle accompanied them to the door.

"Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur." And with that, he disapparated.

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," said Ginny. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," said Mr. Weasley. "but Ludo's always been a bit... well... lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us." They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read weezly.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult. . . . Muggles do it all the time. . . . Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

"Harry has never gone camping before," Mel told him gently. "But I used to put up a tent for when we camped outside my house, remember Harry? I can help, don't worry..."

However, Harry insisting on helping anyway. Soon Emily, Mel, Harry, and Hermione had the tents ready. The problem was that there was only two and they were too small for all the people in their group, she turned to inform her mother about this when Mr. Weasley spoke up.

"We'll be a bit cramped, but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

She turned to her mother fully now, a quizzical look on her face while the woman chuckled, pushing her further.

"You'll love this..." Was all she commented.

And love it she did. Inside it looked like she had entered an actual flat, it had three rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. It was impressive, but Mel thought it took out a little of the charm, camping wasn't supposed to be this comfortable, or so she'd thought before.

"You want to come with us on an adventure?" Ron asked, suddenly appearing at the entrance.

"Where to?" She asked, leaving her backpack on a chair.

He showed her the kettle he kept on his hands.

"To get water."

Everything around them invited her to give up on the no-magic rule and explore, so many different people, of all ages, colors and sizes!

She allowed herself to imagine a great deal, the homes and cities and comunities these wizards and witches may lived on, their families and background. A much more larger world for her to see...

Cedric's idea about traveling before settling down made complete sense to her, and she remembered the talk she'd had with Harry a few years prior, about them traveling the world together, sending postcards to their friends and family from all around the globe.

A fuzzy feeling made its way through her chest at this, picturing the endless adventures she could have with her best friend as adults and free from school.

"Er — is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" asked Ron, bringing her back to the present.

It wasn't just Ron's eyes. They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names.

"Harry! Mel! Ron! Hermione!"

Seamus Finnigan was sitting in front of his own tent, with a woman that had to be his mother,  Dean Thomas was also there.

"Like the decorations?" said Seamus. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said the woman. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?"

"Sure..."

"Of course!"

"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot." Ron said under his breath once they left Finnigan's tent to keep going on their quest. Mel snorted, just nodding as a reply.

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.

"Let's go and have a look," said Harry.

The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

"Krum," said Ron quietly.

"What?" said Hermione.

"Krum!" said Ron. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at them.

" 'Really grumpy '?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see."

"I hardly believe that being a good seeker makes you a genius," Mel commented.

"Thanks," Harry replied grumpily.

"I didn't say you were stupid," She grinned. "Though coming to think about it, you've done some foolish things throughout the years..."

"You're one to talk!" He teased.

"I am, actually," Mel smiled. "I remember when we were ten and you tried to escape your Aunt Marge's dog..."

"Don't say it–"

"And you ended up on top of a tree until midnight because she just wouldn't call her dog," Mel giggled. "Which was very rude of her, but come on– you climbed a tree instead of running to my house!"

"I was ten!" He exclaimed over Ron's cackles. "Oh, bugger off..."

There was a line for the tap. Harry, Mel, Ron, and Hermione joined it, behind a pair of men who were arguing. One of them was wearing a nightgown. The other was a Ministry wizard a holding a pair of trousers and beyond exasperated.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious —"

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of Harry's House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents' tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back.

Now, Mel wasn't going to admit that the huff that came out of her mouth right at that moment was because of the boy's reaction, but Ron definitely made sure to tease both of them relentlessly until Harry found the perfect excuse, pointing at some tent at his left.

"Who d'you reckon they are? They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

" 'Spect they go to some foreign school," said Ron. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil... this was years and years ago... and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

"That's awful," Mel said over Harry's laughter. "Might been silly, but I never stopped to think about other Schools... I was too excited about being admitted into one that it went right over my head..."

"Me neither," Harry admitted. "I'd love to know a bit about them, though."

"You've been gone ages," George groaned as they entered the boys' tent.

"You're welcome," Mel replied, lightly slapping his head as she walked past.

"Met a few people," said Ron. "You not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," Fred pointed towards the entrance with a stern face.

Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office... Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now... Hello, Arnie . . . Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator — member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know... and that's Bode and Croaker... they're Unspeakables..."

"They're what?"

"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to..."

Mel's eyes lingered on the people Mr. Weasley had mentioned. Something about the circumstances of their job and the name gave her a thrill, imagining all the things they may see on a daily basis.

At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward them.

"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

They were halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward them.

"Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

"Ahoy there! Arthur, old man, What a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming... and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements... Not much for me to do!"

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

"Ah — yes, this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry — and this is Fred — no, George, sorry — that's Fred — Bill, Charlie, Ron — my daughter, Ginny — this is Emily Sultens, mother of one of Ron's friends and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger, Mel Dumbledore and Harry Potter."

Mel smiled politely at the man, noticing how his eyes traveled from Harry's scar and settled on her face for a brief second, before returning to Mr. Weasley.

"Everyone, this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets —"

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" The man asked. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first — I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years — and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."

"Oh... go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see... a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon? Very well, very well... any other takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr. Weasley. "Molly wouldn't like —"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred, and he and his brother pulled out all the money they had. "that Ireland wins — but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that —" Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

"Boys," said Mr. Weasley under his breath, "I don't want you betting... That's all your savings... Your mother —"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance... I'll give you excellent odds on that one... We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."

Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away carefully. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley.

"You shouldn't have," Mel told them worryingly. "What will you do if you lose?"

"We'll worry about that, Lady Dumbledore," Fred told her carelessly. "Don't fuss over it just yet."

"But if your mum finds out–"

"Mum's done enough for us already," George replied hastily.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr. Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll..."

"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all.

"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman comfortably. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha... memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July."

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh — talk of the devil! Barty!"

A wizard had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," said Ludo.

"No thank you, Ludo," Crouch replied. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh is that what they're after?" said Bagman. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" Percy sort of gasped. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh," Mr. Crouch, looked over at Percy. "Yes — thank you, Weatherby"

Fred, George, and Mel had to drained their chuckles into their cups. She didn't want to make fun of him, but it was just his luck...

"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," said Mr. Crouch. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

"I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it. He's desperate to export here." Mr. Crouch took the tea, silently thanking Percy.

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" asked Bagman.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Mr. Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve — but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

Mel was elated with the conversation. It sounded like a day-to-day coming from the men in front of her, but everything sounded so fantastical she didn't have any problems to keep up with the conversation.

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman.

"Fairly. Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" said Mr. Weasley.

"Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun... Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?"

"We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details —"

"Oh details!" said Bagman. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts —"

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," Mr. Crouch replied sharply. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

"See you all later!" Bagman said once he got up. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me — I'm commentating!"

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" said Fred. "What were they talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said Mr.Weasley, a knowing smile.

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy, clearly dying to talk about it. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."

"Oh shut up, Weatherby," Fred rolled his eyes.

"Mum, do you know?" Mel asked.

"Molly mentioned it a few days back," Emily sighed. "Clearly, I'll keep it a secret. I won't be the one who ruins the surprise. However, I assure you I'm not entirely happy about it."

"Why's that?"

Emily just shook her head.

"You'll find out soon enough," She insisted, taking a sip of her tea.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018​ @vampiregirl1797​ @siriuslysirius1107​ @stardusthigh​ @vernon-dursley​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @tomshollandz​ @bloodorangemoonlight​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @reverse-hxlland​ @omiwashere​

[beanarie]

⭐star⭐⭐star⭐⭐star⭐⭐star⭐⭐star⭐ (or talk more about and/all of your Elementary WIPs/ideas bc I want every single drop I can get)

so i totally wrote about joan having breast cancer a couple years ago. here’s the bits i cobbled together, some of which also disappeared from my phone, which tells me i need to back my shit up more often!

~

The call comes while her stitches from her lumpectomy and lymph node removal are still in place and hurting like a mother and she's only too aware of Sherlock, his terror an acrid smell in her nose. She's told it's not what they hoped, but it's not hopeless, and she barely pauses at all before she looks at Sherlock, smiles, and says, "It's fine."

He's so grateful he takes her out for lunch. They go to a cafe with an outdoor area that he knows she's been eyeing for months.  She orders a giant salad with extra pecans and he wrinkles his nose before telling a story about Thomas Jefferson's penchant for giving pecans as gifts.

The call comes while her stitches from her lumpectomy and lymph node removal are still in place and hurting like a mother and she's only too aware of Sherlock, his terror an acrid smell in her nose. She's told it's not what they hoped, but it's not hopeless, and she barely pauses at all before she looks at Sherlock, smiles, and says, "It's fine."

He's so grateful he takes her out for lunch. They go to a cafe with an outdoor area that he knows she's been eyeing for months.  She orders a giant salad with extra pecans and he wrinkles his nose before telling a story about Thomas Jefferson's penchant for giving pecans as gifts.

[the truth comes out in a week or so!]

"We should talk about this."

He closes the file in his hand and tosses it on the stack. 

"I-I'm sorry I kept you in the dark. I needed to get the full results and figure out what to do next, without... I don't know. Background noise."

"It's not that serious. People with results like mine have a ninety-three percent chance of remaining cancer-free after treatment. Really, it's barely cancer." 

"I mean, yes. Several weeks of radiation, sprinkled with tests and maybe a PET scan or two. Still, not particularly life-derailing. I'm going to work. The only real change will be to my availability. And I won't be able to leave the city, except maybe on the weekends. Overall, we'll simply get more use out of face-time than we did before."

A series of short, shallow nods urges her to let the other shoe drop.

Joan adjusts her gaze to slightly beyond his left ear. "I've asked Lin to help me find a place to sublet for the next two months."

His only reaction is the barely perceptible droop of his shoulders.

"I'm not leaving you." The first time she meant to leave the brownstone, he abducted a contract killer, then tortured and stabbed him. The second time, he went back to London for almost a year with no notice beyond a short Dear Joan letter. She can't handle one of his signature extreme overreactions. "Sherlock, it's really important you absorb that, if nothing else."

"But you do plan on leaving."

"It's the least disruptive option for both of us. And it's only temporary."

[the next day, joan gets home and in the library there's a stack of books, dvds, and cd's on wellness-type things and other stuff, like a giant fluffy orange blanket on the couch. sherlock explains he did some research, orange is a calming color. also OK HE RESPECTS HER CHOICES but. she's not a disruption, she's family. also also moving is one of the most stress-inducing acts a person can put themselves through and it wouldn't be good for her recovery to do that twice in as many months. anyway, she stays.]

"We should formulate a safety plan."

Joan finishes the line she was working on and clicks save so she doesn't have to end up doing this report all over again. This has his second sponsor written all over it. Rashida, having completed her PHD, has been taking classes in behavioral science possibly with an eye for a new specialty. She means well, and she and Sherlock get each other like a pair of esoteric intellectuals only could. It's still strange to get confirmation that he talks about her illness with other people. "A safety plan."

"Yes! A short, memorable list of agreed upon actions in the case of emergent medical and/or emotional, um, turmoil."

"We never had a safety plan for you."

 "Didn't we?"

"Fine, so you'll let me pass out wherever I drop and just leave a protein bar by my head so I don't die of hypoglycemic shock when I wake up two days later."

"That's all you did?"

"So I'll let you know if I'm not feeling well and up to whatever's going on." His expression is unreadable, which is rare. "What? You implied pretty heavily that you wanted me to."

Incomprehensibly, his expression becomes almost sad. "That's why you remain so closed off, because of my history of resistance to..." 

"Okay, this conversation swerved past making sense. I tell you things all the time. This morning, with your cereal?"

"When *truly* bothered, you keep it to yourself and speak to no one, unless I draw it out of you."

"I speak up when I have something to say. And, I will."

-

"Have you considered cutting your hair?" 

"I'm not getting chemo, Mom. I told you."

"I know. It's just so much to take care of. My cousin Darlene, she had radiation. It drained her. You'll be tired."

"You've always wanted me to cut my hair."

Her expression grows softer, more wistful. "I do like it shorter." 

"I remember." Ruefully her entire catalogue of school photos scrolls through her memory. Mom's rule had been adamant and easy to follow: Never past the chin. "I'm not doing that again."

"Okay. Your choice." 

Joan doesn't rise to the hint of passive-aggression. 

A few hours later, she gets home from treatment, she takes a shower, and she tries to see tonight playing out in a possible near future. She adds imaginary weights to her wrists and ankles, and the almost unbearable weariness after watching a murderer get to go home scot-free. 

"Fine," she tells her reflection. 

She puts her mom on FaceTime, so she can see the results.

Her mom squints. "You didn't cut that much."

"Four inches." Just enough so she doesn't have to strain to get the brush through while she's blow drying.

“Hm.“

“Anyway, I’ll see you Thursday for tea, Mom?“

-

Lord save her from aspiring criminals who think they're too cool for the interrogation room. Anthony Raymond has been stonewalling them since Bell brought him in. What makes this especially annoying is he won't even ask for a lawyer. They'd tell him to spill his guts, or at least start negotiations for a deal. This nothingness isn't ideal when she has to take off for treatment soon. If she doesn't get this nut cracked before she goes, it'll be hanging over her head for the rest of the afternoon.

The door opens. Anthony doesn't move a muscle. Gregson enters bearing an extra-large fountain drink, a pen, and a piece of paper. He sits, thoughtfully configuring these objects around his immediate space. It takes a full thirty seconds, during which he doesn't acknowledge Anthony at all. He slides the paper toward Joan.

'Paige made you a smoothie. Not sure what's in this, but she swears by it.'

Joan glances at Anthony as though she learned something important, then looks back at the note. "Hm." She takes the pen. 'I'm good. Thank you both.'

'Holmes said you haven't really eaten yet.' He pushes the drink about an inch in her direction.

Joan makes two straight lines, one each for 'I'm' and 'Good'. 

[perp eventually cracks because their note-passing is freaking him out]

[slightly later, joan brings the smoothie into gregson's office. he asks what she thought of it. she says "i didn't try it" and throws it in the garbage.]

-

It's Saturday, the end of her first week of treatment, and there aren't any murders. Joan texts the guy she liked from TrueRomantix, the one who came to check that she was safe when Everyone doxxed her and hacked her profile. He's still cute. She can't remember exactly why they didn't sleep together the last time, something about it not feeling right. Meanwhile he fosters seeing-eye dogs and he has the best pectorals she's ever seen.

She takes off her bra, but leaves the camisole. It's dark in his bedroom, but not too dark for either of them to see her scars or the semi-circle constellation of radiation tattoos. At one point she guides his hand underneath to her right breast. When he goes for the left, she distracts with a move that almost has his eyes bugging out of his head.

"Wow," he breathes.

When they're done, he doesn't push her to leave *or* ask her why she isn't staying. They'll be doing this again sometime.

-

[another patient in the waiting room at the radiation clinic starts having a medical emergency. joan immediately jumps forward to help and the patient's mom looks at her like who the fuck are you. it sticks with her the whole rest of the afternoon.]

She's been in a position where people have doubted her expertise before, many times. But never because she was meant to be on the other side. She's a patient, that's her role now.

Briefly she considers lying. The Uber app is acting weird, something like that. She settles on a simple, 'Are you busy?'

She gets her reply in less than thirty seconds. 'Need a ride?'

When Marcus arrives at the clinic, he touches her arm and kisses her cheek, a note of intimacy between close friends. It feels natural, even though his customary greeting, usually at crime scenes or the bull pen, is a brusquely friendly "Hey." They communicate mainly in nods and smiles intended only for each other, cups of coffee as close to the way they like it as limited resources will allow. 

After they settle into the car, he doesn't turn the engine on right away. He waits, unobtrusively.  

"I don't want to disrupt any plans you might've had for today," she says.

He lifts one shoulder. "Just a pickup game. Nothing I can't put off for another week."

"Actually..."

He turns his head. "Hm?"

She was warned not to expect anything fancy. No bleachers, not much crowd. Kids of varying ages drift by, many popping in and out of the tiny storefronts. 

She can't remember the last time she simply existed in public when she wasn't jogging or staking out a criminal. The open air feels refreshing. Not one of these people care that she used to be a doctor.

After the first quarter, she asks to borrow the chair of a guy selling hats, scarves, and phone chargers from a folding table. He was spending most of his time at the halal cart talking to the man stuck inside anyway.

-

The chair is comfortable. The lighting tasteful. Joan's shoes feel fine. The mid-level exec at the other end of the table isn't stonewalling in the slightest. His voice could almost be called soothing. 

All those other things aside, if this meeting doesn't end in the next few minutes she is going to jump out the window. 

Her knee bouncing, she shifts her upper body in a way that's hopefully not that visible to anyone else. It doesn't help, in fact the resulting movement of her bra over her left boob makes her want to scream.

"We appreciate your elucidation on Mr. Wallach's movements last Tuesday." Joan nearly bites her lip at the growing light at the end of the tunnel. "Now if you could tell us about the lawsuit from three months ago. Sexual harassment, was it not?"

Joan gets to her feet with a repressed groan. Then she runs for the receptionist. "Restroom?"

She's just stepped inside the single stall and slid the lock into place when she hears the deathly urgent, "WATSON???"

She curses fluently inside her head and undoes the lock, just in case. "Sherlock! I'm o-"

And he's barreled through the open door.

"What the hell!" She pulls together the unbuttoned half of her shirt. 

"I thought-" Over Sherlock's shoulder, a security guard starts coming into view. "What-what are you doing?"

"Sorry." Her face will probably remain this garish shade of red for...ever. "I'm, uh, peeling. Itch is driving me crazy."

He blinks, adrenaline making him shake slightly and keeping him from comprehending. "What?!"

"The only emergency right now is my imminent death by mortification." Her left hand tightly curled to protect her modesty, she makes a shooing motion with her right. "Go away."

He turns toward the door, then stops. "I've done the reading. If you have developed a rash, or the beginnings of dermatitis, scratching is highly inad-"

"OUT."

-

Lin greets her at the bar in her signature neurotically enthusiastic way. After tilting her head a little, she agrees to sit at a booth rather than stay near the bartender, where she loves to try out her charms to get free drinks for the two of them.

"I've never seen you go hard like this." She's waiting on the server to bring her second martini and Joan's third whiskey. "You look tired."

Joan waits until after the drinks have arrived. "Thanks, I had cancer."

"What?"

"Had," she repeats. "Had. As of yesterday, it's past tense. When I'm done with this course of radiation, I'll be free." She knocks on the table. "Until the follow-ups." 

Lin gets up to go to the bathroom without a word. Joan downs her drink and orders another round. To Lin's credit, she beats the server back to the table.

"So those times you said you couldn't meet up because you had cases..."

"One, oncologist appointment and two, actually a case. Sorry."

"You told your brother, didn't you?"

Because Joan is three drinks in, she doesn't hold anything back from her eyeroll. Her siblings having no relationship with each other is not on her. "That's different."

"Because he's real."

"Because he lives two hundred miles away! I didn't have to see...that. That expression, in my face, all the time."

"You could've died and I would never have known you were sick."

Joan snorts. "I was never *dying*." There was that period between her biopsy and the results of her lumpectomy, when decades-old memories of various patients, poor souls fading in front of her eyes, resurfaced every hour. Lin didn't need to be there for that.

"Look." Joan kisses Lin noisily on the cheek. "I just got the best news of my life and I wanted MY SISTER here with to celebrate being Officially. Cancer. Free!"

A table of young men nearby let out a cheer. Lin smiles in spite of herself.

-

Joan wakes up naturally. 

She spends a few minutes watching him. Many people say they'll sleep anywhere, but Sherlock actually will. And he never shows a single sign of stiffness or back pain. She envies him that, even as she acknowledges that she'd still prefer a bed, even if there were no consequences to sleeping on the floor. 

"Is this just the first time I caught you?" Her voice is husky from sleep. 

He springs to his feet. "Oh!" He runs off, returning no more than six minutes later with breakfast.

After placing the tray on the bed, he stands at her side, stiff and silent like a brooding Lurch. "What, no speech?" she teases.

He takes in a shaky breath. "It has been quite some time since I lost the ability to imagine a life without you in it. Gratitude isn't sufficient enough to describe how it feels to know this is a concern I can put off for another day."

"Oh, Sherlock." 

"These past few weeks have been fraught, for you." She gives a start. This has taken an unexpected turn. "Full of pain and fear, the reopening of old wounds. You've conducted yourself so admirably. My respect for you, which had appeared to reach its zenith years ago, I find had untold heights yet to climb." He leans toward her, his hand cradling the back of her head while his lips press against her hairline. 

He disengages, turning his back and she makes a tentative grab for his hand. He freezes in place, not resisting. "I love you, too," she says thickly, shoving aside tears.

Joan doesn't remember having done anything remotely admirable. She's been tired and snappish, she forced everyone to cater to her, she stopped doing her fair share of the work. The one person she tried to help didn't need her. It's been weeks since she felt like she existed for any worthwhile reason. 

Maybe that's why it's good to see herself through his eyes, just this once. She squeezes his hand, then quickly lets go, taking pity on him. Plucking the cloth napkin from the tray and pressing it against her eyes, she laughs. "So this was your plan for my last day? Get my face all blotchy just in time to go in there and say goodbye to all those people?"

"What does it matter? You'll never see them again.

[lottabank]

name: evelyn charlotte banks nicknames: charlotte , lottie , lott , char , charlie , charmander , etc. but she no longer goes by evelyn in this lifetime age: twenty three physically , sixty seven biologically sexuality: panromantic / sexual pronouns: she / her , cisfemale  species: vampire sign: gemini spotify: here pinterest: here

hello moon beams and star shines , this is late but i’ve just been busy with work ! i’ve got the time to try and finish stuff now , so i’m gonna work on trying to do my daughter’s intro. if you’d like to plot feel free to hmu via tumblr im or ask for my discord bc i’ll gladly give it. i also play rune ( shadow graced human ) so yeah it’s snottie back at it again , anything you want to know about me or lottie alike hmu or just read below to find out more about my sweet serial killer vamp princess

── the high council is prepared to hear the story of EVELYN CHARLOTTE ‘ LOTTIE ‘ BANKS , a VAMPIRE while noted as a WANDERER. we might of mistaken them as MADELAINE PETSCH. appearances may be deceiving, with immortality being so common among supernaturals. this being has walked the earth for NINETY years, and their face reflects an age of TWENTY THREE they’re a CITIZEN of estonia and will be residing in TALLIN.

during their stay of the harvest they shall work by day as a STRIPPER to blend in with the mortal crowd. however, at night you might find them as AN ESCORT / ASSASSIN. they’re UNHAPPY about the harvest, however, they plan to please the high council.

PERSONALITY.

vampire beauty queen , primadonna , self-proclaimed princess. this darling girl has always loved attention , luxury , all things beautiful and transitioning to the darkness only heightened that love. so much so that she will do just about anything to satisfy her own wants or needs. lottie is ruthless , verging on sociopathic. she is delicate , but she is dangerous. she is by no means unfeeling though , nor incapable of love. she can be sweet , she can be soft , she can be pink cheeks and bright smiles just as she can be bloody lips and deranged laughter. she is genuinely kind , loving and gentle unless your death would make her happier than your being alive.  

ruling planet: mercury — the planet of communication body parts: shoulders , arms , hands element: air good day: fascinating , original , resourceful , charming , wise , adventurous bad day: restless , distracted , two-faced , judgmental , depressed , overwhelmed favorite things: cell phones , fast cars , trendy clothes , obscure music , guitars , books , clubbing least favorite things: small-minded people , dress codes , authority figures , silence , routines secret wish: to have all the answers how to spot her: mischievous twinkle in her eyes,  humming , talking with her hands where you’ll find her: taking pictures , behind the bar , in a chat room , playing devil’s advocate keywords: communication , collaboration , synergy , cleverness , wittiness , inventiveness ,  ingenuity

charlotte’s energy circulates in a quick and frenetic way , witty wordplay and dynamic dialogue are her forte. she is great for brainstorming and socializing , but craves “ twin flame ” and kindred spirit energy and is always up for an intellectual meeting of the minds. 

under the influence she can find herself with the gift of gab , talking and conversing with others for hours hopping from pop culture trends to deep political topics. beware of when she becomes a “ gossip girl , ” as she can crank up the rumor mill. as renowned dr. bernie siegel says , “ we have the ability to cure with either ‘ words ’ or kill with ‘ swords. ' ” 

the essence of charlie’s energy is fascinating , original , resourceful , charming , wise , and adventurous. some negative manifestations can devolve into more restless , distracted , two-faced , judgmental , depressed , and overwhelmed energy. 

lottie has a tendency to ride the roller coaster of life , spiraling skywards one minute and plunging into lows the next. if you can keep up with her vibes though , you’ll have one hell of a thrill !

charlotte exhibits great creative synergy , instantly connecting people to each other. always inclined to spend time with friends and focused on changing the world one idea at a time.

a little bit older and wiser , more flexible and comfortable with change than others. she can “ chameleon ” herself to fit into a variety of situations. 

can come across as clever and quick-witted , eager to dish out the juiciest pieces of news and happenings to their friends via text message and social media. in case that’s not enough , she’ll probably send you a snapchat story for good measure.

lottie loves fast cars , trendy clothes and any wacky gadgets or games they can tinker around with. part of the fun ( and curse ) of this fiery red head is that you’re never quite sure which personality you’re going to experience. will it be the vivacious , pun-dishing jokester or the snarky , mean-spirited critic ? if you’re willing to see fifty shades of crazy , she’ll color your life in thrilling ways !

BACKGROUND.

evelyn charlotte banks was born june fourth , 1930 and was given the dark gift in the early fifties ( so you’ll definitely notice some call backs to that time period ). she has grown and developed and adapted throughout time better than most , but you can take the sock hop away from the girl but not out of her. she remembers her life before , but doesn’t dwell on nor even really miss it.

she grew up in your rather classic straight lace upper middle class suburban family and community with her perfect nuclear family. the town they lived in was small , close knit , and everyone knew everyone but especially who evelyn’s family was. 

she was in a lot of pageants growing up and was even platinum blonde for most of her human life , because she was so afraid her red hair would keep her from being successful.

when she was eighteen years old with big shiny dreams of silver screens , luxury , and eyes all on her was all she could think of. she left her family and their small generational hometown in georgia for bigger , better things in none other than hollywood. 

she was on her way ,  so desperate to be in the movies and be like marilyn monroe but shortly after is when she became ensnared by darkness and evil.  she wasn’t very successful at all in the beginning so , she started wearing tighter , shinier outfits when she was on stage when suddenly she started getting actual recognition. 

she wasn’t acting like she had intended , but it turned out her voice was good enough to land her plenty of lounge singing gigs in multiple joints. it was one particularly dark , seedy , dangerous joint that only opened once the sun set completely and closed upon the sun rise that she finally started to get propositioned to do so-called ‘ film gigs. it was also in this place where she met him for the first time. 

( tw: cult ment. ) her maker is very old and before she ever knew he was anything more than a handsome older gentleman she was fully under his control. he was something of a cult leader who for the most part glamoured his ‘ followers ‘ , but that was never necessary with charlotte. she was thoroughly and completely in love with her maker , she even ‘ married ‘ him and lived on his compound.

( tw: rape ment. , assault ment. ) it wouldn’t be for a few more years that he would finally turn her ,and only after he found her brutally beaten and raped for nothing more than a snuff film. her maker found her on the verge of death and wasted no time in saving her life by bestowing his dark gift upon her. 

( tw: murder ment. ) to say that lottie felt indebted to and fell in love with her maker to the point of obsession was an understatement , she would do anything and everything he asked of her including murder not in the name of feeding.

( tw: death ment. ) the films she was in were kept in the dark underbelly of the industry and no one was none the wiser , not to mention everyone thought she was dead after her last film.

so , she eventually did make her debut in film and was even on the silver screen finally. this only lasted for as long as she could get away with not aging before eventually she disappeared off the radar with her maker. the two traveled far and wide for a long time , but eventually went their separate ways even though lottie wanted nothing of the sort her maker commanded she live her own life without him now.

( tw: murder ment. ) she has since become something of a murderer ?? she prefers to call herself an assassin but it’s rare anyone actually pays her to murder anyone. you could even call her  a serial killer if you take into account that her victims are almost always men of the unsavory variety , but she has two sides to her personality and it’s not like she’s full maniac.

ETC.

if you know what yandere means she fits that description very well , and if you don’t know what it means well:  a common term in otaku fandom , a yandere is a person ( usually female ) romantically obsessed with someone to the point of using violent means to get them in their arms. often can be seen featured with a sharp weapon and a psychotic grin.

pretty much she comes off as this sweet , lovely , beautiful woman with lots of talent but in reality she can switch that off in an instant and literally kill you without any hesitation if it benefits her or someone she loves.

anyway she has been in estonia for only a bit now , but how long is flexible. she probably likes the scenery and the supernatural presence , but she’s honestly not a country mouse at all. 

also not that she needs money , but there is very little she loves more than attention and money. she works at a club as live entertainment on occasion , singing or stripping or bartending or occasionally doing , mostly for the attention but also if she’s in need of money.

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

That behind closed doors vid eh? I took the time to change the angle/darkness on them for my own viewing so by comparing them to the other videos, my screengrabs might seem a little different, but that’s just bc i changed the pitch and yaw settings and adjusted the brightness.

spoilers technically bc this wasn’t released to the public by gearbox, so venture forth at your own risk. nothing story-wise, as far as i’m aware, though.

alright it took me a while to get things settled as i had to keep adjusting the saturation and stuff for different scenes but i am here and i am ready to ANALYZE

as we pop into sanctuary-III we notice a new quest which I am like 40% sure is named “Going Rogue” which... is a pretty interesting name. “Being Reguo” is what I actually see but I don’t think that’s it.

we also have a couple of guns in the vending machine

+3- Weapon Charge Speed so we know Maliwan guns have charge time so I’m glad there are perks to reduce that.

a sniper sold by Amara

more reduced charge speed + melee damage

Jakobs Assault Rifle! Bonus crit damage (hoping ARs are actually viable this time around), weapon accuracy, melee. 

I can’t read it, but I am assuming this is the rare spawn notification

this seems like a hub for the rare enemy missions! that is so awesome

2 of the rare enemies we can fight i am assuming

some more. i actually thought the far left, 2nd over was zer0

“I know it sounds impossible, but you’re going to have to stop the Unstoppable”.

In-Game friend’s list

5 tabs, one of them looks like a key, maybe there are friend codes across consoles? Idk what the first tab is named, but they have 7 friends online. I believe the bottom one (Moze) is you and the top one is the person you’ll be joining? It shows what quest you’re on under your name. And for some reason there’s an icon of claptrap at the top, that very well may be the current player’s icon (as it’s also above Moze and it says gunner in the box). You can edit your status apparently, but idk what status means. there’s also a button for View Inventory.

viewing the inventory rn

edit group button below ur icon/profile

new area

the unstoppable man goliath himself

more of the new area

1 (one) fear: The Unstoppable

he can apparently throw shit at us like Bullymongs did

F in chat for Zane

You can also shoot them out of the air

“Don’t leave empty [handed?]”

zoomer is so fucking cute

he threw the tire thing and it flew behind him instead of forwards

lmao

also i 100% just noticed this but zoomer is red instead of the normal yellowish, might be bc of a perk or maybe zoomer conforms to zane’s skin as well? could’ve sworn he was wearing the basic bitch outfit tho

moze and ib

can’t tell if this is a skin or not lmao the quality is too terrible

the quest called Sanctuary

i think that is a new skin? it looks black instead of blue but again that may be the quality of the video

oooo that’s different!!!! QUEST TO CUSTOMIZE SANCTUARY FOR THE INHABITANTS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 

THIS IS ALSO DIFFERENT!!!!

vs the sanctuary-iii demo below

the behind the doors demo ^

the sanctuary-iii demo v

that’s a different list on the floor!!

the mail menu/tab!!!!!!

New legendary pangolin shield gives nova, storage, and health. does more weapon damage while shields are depleted

“I said bitttttttcccchhhhhh”

Also, those fucking names are brilliant. “Amara (as Amara), CalypsoKilla86 (as Zane), Fl4k (as Moze), MC Hammerlock (as unlisted), Moze (as Moze), SkagLord9000 (as Moze), Captain_Fuzz_Lipp (Offline - picture is Rhys), and Maya (Offline - I think the picture is Maya)

Maxxed-Out Sureshot++

“Thrown weapon MIRVs into 3 projectiles”

“Are you sure? Are you sure you want to send this item? Sent mail cannot be returned.”

EDGELORD ZANE FLYNT AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

GRANDPA NEVER GREW OUT OF HIS HOT TOPIC PHASE TGSHDTJYRUKJETHYRWTEQ

Moze heads! cool top hat skull

Moze skins

spooky scary. reminds me of Zer0′s pirate skin from captain scarlett

MOZE COLORS AND IT’S REAL WE GET TO PICK OUR COLOR SCHEMES THANK YOU OMG

GEARBOX ACTUALLY LET ME BE GAY IM YELLING

Moze emotes

it looks like there is a wheel for emotes!!!

so far we see finger guns and a little heart. we also know there’s a wave and we’ve seen amara do the chicken dance.

Amara, and some of her heads

birb

her hair holy shit that’s gorgeous

is that a crimson raider helmet? that’s badass as fuck goddamn

marcuS?

oh no Amara’s a furry now

drop from the rare enemy we see in the moze gameplay, maybe?

psycho cultist mask

warfstache?

Amara skins

spooky. guessing there will be a halloween skin event?

Fl4k!

i think this is their VIP reward head

Fl4k skins that change patterns

looks like a hawaiian shirt pattern on their jacket

camo

glow?

idk but it looks awesome

looks wintery to me, idk, maybe a floral print?

Zane heads

Soldier 76 reference i am guessing? I don’t play overwatch, im talking about the gay soldier guy with the visor lmao

space dandy fucked dirk im-

there are also gun charms

amara’s arm

buttstallion’s tail iirc

claptrap charm!

... eye of the destroyer? i think? needs more teeth

i have no idea lmao

fl4k’s doggy bowl!

helios hmmm

jack’s mask D:

moxxi’s hat

psycho mask

RHYS’S MOUSTACHE LMFAO

?????

tina’s bunny

a toaster? finally i can go swimming with my guns-

gearbox logo

weapon skins:

more eden 6:

is that is that an atlas building i see? or maybe thats SUPAMAX MFG!! they said we’d find a lot of crashed ships on Eden-6 (hey shoutout to my one post that said that the ship with bugs in it was gonna be the B-Team’s crashed ship that stranded them there, I WAS SO CLOSE)

may be supamax mfg

TINA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

looks they they’ve been living in the abandoned center (Jakobs? is it actually?)

Jakobs manor in the background

“Issarians” “Sarians” I dunno but they’re lil dinosaur thingies

more jakobs manor

i like the mix of old-timey shit and holograms/neon lights

this place is fucking huge omg

there’s like a library and everything holy shit

and it all goes to shit when the CoV get in there and hang people with TVs for heads (3rd trailer)

looks like its a basement or smth

volcano?  volcano? volcano? volcano?

(also from the third trailer ^) ARE WE GONNA BLOW UP THE VOLCANO? FUCK YEAH

Jabbers! cat monkey things. they are smart and can use guns

dome - reminds me of the atlas biodome of which cassius is from

(from TFTBL ^)

but it's just empty :|

some of the abandoned ships!

definitely thinking that abandoned factory like area we see (Tina Brick and Mordy in) is SUPAMAX MFG. these ships are SUPER similar to Sanctuary-III

THAT’S SO COOL??? this is straight outta skyrim holy shit. that giant skeleton on the tree holy fuck

looks like some sort of factory area? pump/mining maybe?

omfg lmao

this looks awful lmao but they said there is a gas giant in the sky so i gotta believe them

moze standing in what looks like the main menu

“[Iron Bear] is a little bit scuffed up - she’s seen some action”

they go on to talk about stuff we’ve already seen: about Moze’s action skills (hardpoints) and her skill trees

a better look at Amara’s phasegrasp

The quest is

“Bandit Jabber Hunter Spy”

Zane and Amara running ahead

You can target your missiles to one or multiple enemies at once. that’s fuckin awesome

more of Amara’s phasegrasp

Zane’s clone in action

“Lair of the Harpy”

And that’s it so far. That’s all we got. but holy shit was it a wild ride. I’m soooooo happy we get to pick our own colors for our skin designs. Seriously. So fucking happy. 

[carrowe]

AMYCUS CARROW is A DEATH EATER in the war, even though HIS official job is as A CURSE BREAKER & HIT MAN the TWENTY SIX year old PUREBLOOD is known to be PATIENT and RESERVED but also VIOLENT and TWO FACED. some might label them as THE DEVIL IN DISGUISE. fc: ryan gosling 

ANTHEMS:

feel it still - portugal the man // devil like me - rainbow kitten surprise // dead man’s arms - bishop briggs // fever pitch - rainbow kitten surprise // devil eyes - hippie sabotage // dark side - bishop briggs.

pinterest board (x)

BACKGROUND / FAMILY:

Amycus Abigor Carrow came crashing into the world screaming for his sister. Born the eldest to the Carrow dynasty, he was expected to eventually mount the role as the heir to the family legacy, but Amycus quickly proved himself to be Quite the Disappointment. 

As a young child, Amycus was soft spoken, easily intimidated and quiet ( main inspiration for baby Amycus: Radu from And I Darken tbh ). Mostly clung to the family’s staff, always crying, always craving closeness. For a while, he was just as angelic as he looked. 

Never saw much of his parents while growing up. His father was a successful businessman who only had kids because he was supposed to ( to carry on the blood line ), and wanted nothing to do with him. Instead, Amycus was left in the care of his grandfather.

His grandfather was FUCKED. An absolutely terrible man. A Death Eater before his time. An actual demon. Can’t say enough bad things about him, ya feel.

Either way, his grandfather was absolutely disgusted by Amycus, who could never fit into the mold that had been created for him. Thought his grandson was a poor excuse for a Carrow and thought he could change that through pain and violence. So, lessons were drilled in using corporal punishment, and the emotional and physical abuse he suffered eventually turned him into something colder and darker. What had once been soft, turned harsh, rough around the edges. A shell of a boy was left behind, not a trace of that sweetness left behind once they were done with him ( but were they ever? ).

Amycus basically became filled with resentment against everyone in his family, with the exception of Alecto. She has always been there, from the day they were born. She was the one to dry his tears, the one to hold his hand, the one to tell him where to hide. The one constant, his safe haven. They come as a matching set, and Amycus would kill ( and definitively has, too lbr ) for her.

Gained a definite rebellious streak pretty early on, which only became more aggressive as he got older. Once he reached his teenage years, he’d do ANYTHING and everything to fuck with his father & grandfather. Kinda stopped caring about the punishment, so used to pain that he stopped fearing it. Almost stopped feeling it.

Definitively grew up in his sister’s shadow, and was always the lesser Carrow.

When he turned fifteen, he moved out and never looked back. Decided to make his own future, and just never spoke to his family (Alecto is always the exception we all know this) again. Because fuck y’all, basically.

SO. His family’s plans had been for him to finish his education at Hogwarts, and then follow in his father’s foot steps and take over the company and the family name. Amycus had different plans though, obviously. 

His family were... so angry with him. But they definitively pretend ( because can’t have Amycus ruining their good reputation, am I right ) that they were the ones to encourage Amycus to find his own path in life and become a curse breaker.

Though, Amycus was never denounced as a Carrow ( because they didn’t wanna air their dirty laundry to the world, ya know ). Most pureblood families have noticed though that Amycus isn’t exactly... close with his family. I mean, at pureblood parties, he literally pretends that he can’t see them. 

AESTHETIC / VIBES:

old gramophones, blood stained mirrors, broken glasses, bleeding fists, standing in silence for hours, chipped teeth, unwavering loyalty, unhealed scars, getting home at the crack of dawn, red wine, eyes too blue to be trusted, long showers, god complexes, the color of dusk, messy hair, blood soaked suits, always cheating death, a rebel just for kicks, dried crimson on dull blades, half smiles, just beating and beating until the world stops, no conscience, half empty wine bottles, impersonal offices, a face that doesn’t quite match his demeanor.

HOGWARTS YEARS:

Was a hat stall between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. 

patience/loyalty/dedication vs self preservation/resourcefulness/dedication mostly.

At Hogwarts, Amycus felt in power for the first time. Ended up becoming the aggressor, finding solace in pain and violence. Found that he was good at inflicting pain, and liked being good at SOMETHING. Had never really felt that before. :/

Eventually got a taste for blood, and started getting into fights with other students, each run in more violent than the next.

STILL, did not end up in detention, because for a while, the teachers couldn’t believe that someone like Amycus ( who was mostly known for being very quiet and looking sweet ) would hurt another student. It would take for him to eventually get caught in the act, until that perception shattered.

Was that kid who used bugs and insects to practice unforgivable curses on. Eventually progressed to torturing students as well.

Excelled in charms, and can do wonders with a wand when he puts his mind to it. Most other grades were pretty shit though. 

AFTER HOGWARTS:

Once he graduated from Hogwarts, he was meant to take his place in the Carrow dynasty ( grandfather somehow STILL believing that he would come to his senses ), but fuck that. So he basically left the country as fast as possible, and became a cursebreaker.

Which just made sense, because he has always been good at inflicting curses, and breaking them isn’t that different. He is very good at what he does.

First few years were spent working in ancient tombs abroad, mostly. That kind of work fit him really well, because he could wear whatever he wanted, didn’t have to talk to people too much, could do his own thing. Was also always someone around to beat up.

After a while, he started missing his sister, and returned home, where he found work at the ministry of magic. Today, he works for the removal of curses, jinxes and hexes office, which is a subdivision for the improper use of magic office. 

Really likes his job? BUT. Also has a #second job.

On the side, he’s sort of a gun ( wand ) for hire, and will kill anyone who needs to be killed, for a price. Gives zero shit about the money though ( but the client needs to be rich, ya feel ).

Most of his clients are members of the sacred 28, who somehow always seem to want SOMEONE dead.

Honestly, I haven’t 100% figured out how he conducts this business because obviously he wants to remain anonymous. He probably has some sort of dramatic way of getting people to give him names that need to die idk. #to be determined

Joined the Death Eaters mostly because of his sister? But their agenda also really fits him, because violence? Bigotry? Death? Sign him tf up.

He isn’t the most invested in the whole pureblood supremacy thing ( but would he ever admit that? that’s a no ), but overall likes Voldemort and what he stands for.

Though he’s also lowkey intimidated by / afraid of Voldemort and is quite pleased with the fact that he doesn’t have to report directly to him.

For the Death Eaters, Amycus mostly works as an information gatherer, which is basically just a euphemism for him being one of their main torturers, who will torture people until they tell him whatever it is the Death Eaters want to know. He usually works together with his sister and they are disturbingly good at what they do.

AS A PERSON:

Cares very little for most people and is so so so selfish.

Lacks most of the finesse of his sister, tbh.

100% neutral evil. Kind of has a moral compass, it just points in the wrong direction at all times? Mostly just does whatever is best for him and Alecto though, and has zero interest in any righteous bullshit.

Does he think that he’s doing the right thing? Nope. He’s well aware that he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A bad dude.  Does he care? Also no.

Might just be the most private person you’ll ever meet? He seldom reveals anything about himself, and when he does, it’s usually not true.

Will also lie about the dumbest and smallest of details.

SO self disciplined. Always in complete control, and it’s very hard to get a genuine reaction / rise out of him. Also so so so patient, and is happy to wait for whatever his current end game is.

Drinks and smokes heavily, but doesn’t personally think that he has a problem.

Mostly just a dumb asshole.

SO COLD.

Thrives off violence and is a total brute tbh.

Never fucking does what anyone tells him to do. 

Someone: pls do this Amycus: *does the exact opposite*

Bisexual !

Pretty good at hiding his death eater ties since he’s… paranoid as FUCK. And also keeps to himself. Always wears a mask. But some people probably suspect… stuff anyways, if they’ve like. Spent longer than two hours with him. Listen if Amycus wasn’t such a fucking asshole he probably could get away with it (/scooby doo villain voice). But then again, others will probably think he’s just cold af.

Looks a lot nicer than he is, which works to his advantage most of the time? Like he just looks like a nerdy, good dude. Is a total demon, but looks like an angel. 

STYLE / FASHION / APPEARANCE :

Wears glasses (x), but somehow manages to fucking break them ALL THE TIME. The only thing keeping them together is magic.

Wears mostly wizard suits for work ( bc he has to :/ ), but will wear those long black robes in his free time. Think a vampire cape, flying in the wind. Ultimate drama. He really is THAT guy.

Will also wear stupid wizard band t-shirts a lot when working.

Keeps his hair short.

Like 70% of his wealth is probably spent on buying new clothes, because he keeps fucking ruining them by getting blood on them? Or just having them ripped to shreds in a fight, that works too.

Looks like he’s wearing the same exact shoes every day but actually has like... 200 different pairs. They all look the same.

Eyes appear either blue or grey, depending on the lighting.

Has some tattoos, and a half sleeve on his right arm, going from his shoulder to his elbow.

CHARACTER INFLUENCES :

caleb haas ( quantico )- the snark. the assholery. the background. the black sheep.

clay haas ( quantico ) - just the right amount of polished. the style. the general aesthetic. the hair.

angelus ( btvs ) - the disregard for human life. the darkness. the occasional brooding. the quips. 

holden ford ( mindhunter ) - the scheming. the hidden ambition. the slyness. the resolution.

lucifer morningstar ( lucifer ) - the smile, the general vibe, the quips, the mannerisms, the darkness.

eric northman ( southern vampire mysteries ) - the confidence. the general dumbness. the stubbornness.

demon dean winchester ( supernatural ) - the occasional charm. the being an actual demon-ness. the blood lust. the bad jokes. the weakness for a pretty face.

wolverine ( x men ) - the violence. the moodiness. the hatred. the occasional gruff demeanor.

takeshi kovac ( altered carbon ) - the violence. the fucked up moral compass. the buried anger. the instinct to fight.

elian ( to kill a kingdom ) - the rebel prince. the angry heir. the sarcasm. the dialogue.

radu ( and i darken ) - amycus as a child. the softness. the sweet face. the loyalty to his sister.

hannibal lecter ( silence of the lambs ) - the calm. the politeness. seems so civilized, so nice. isn’t though.

FAVORITE CHARACTER TROPES :

DISSONANT SERENITY - someone smiling gently in the middle of death and carnage, seeming almost enlightened as they slit throats left and right.

THE BERSERKER - throws himself into battle with such reckless abandon, that it seems like he wants to die. never, ever retreats.

FACE OF AN ANGEL, MIND OF A DEMON - looks nice, is a demon.

DEVIL IN PLAIN SIGHT - obviously up to no good, but few people seem to take notice.

EVEN EVIL HAS LOVED ONES - loves his sister.

BLACK SHEEP - the family screw up, someone who rejects their role in the family.

DARK AND TROUBLED PAST™ - something terrible happened in the past. tragic backstory. yada yada.

EVEN EVIL HAS STANDARDS - or at least his own moral compass.

MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE - turns out evil has quite a lot of money and excellent fashion taste. most of the time.

PRAGMATIC VILLAINY - only does evil things when it serves him or his purposes tbh.

VIOLENCE IS THE ONLY OPTION - must fight.

OPPORTUNISTIC BASTARD - doesn’t really have a plan, totally winging it.

[mredwinsmith]

Binge! The Food Feasts of Art History

As the Old Sing, So Pipe the Young by Jan Steen

An Artist’s Cornucopia of Gorgeous, Strange and Sometimes Grotesque Artworks Featuring Edibles

Let the feasting begin. As many of us prepare for, or are already in the midst of, this season of holidays, parties and fun, we decided to feast with our eyes first with a totally binge worthy showcase of food feasts of art history! It’s an artist’s cornucopia of gorgeous, strange and sometimes a little bit gross artworks featuring edibles.

Solo Feast

Annibale Carracci’s The Bean Eater is a depiction of a rough and tumble character sitting down to a hearty meal. With eyes looking directly outward, there’s an implied expectation that you, the viewer, are sharing his space and the dining hour, perhaps at a table across the way.

  The Bean Eater by Annibale Carracci

The Potato Eaters

A dark and coarse supper from the Post-Impressionist Vincent Van Gogh, The Potato Eaters is unlike the painter’s colorful landscape masterworks. The artist focused on the poverty and realness of peasants at table. In a letter, Van Gogh describes:

“You see, I really have wanted to make it so that people get the idea that these folk, who are eating their potatoes by the light of their little lamp, have tilled the earth themselves with these hands they are putting in the dish, and so it speaks of manual labor and — that they have thus honestly earned their food. I wanted it to give the idea of a wholly different way of life from ours — civilized people. So I certainly don’t want everyone just to admire it or approve of it without knowing why.”

  The Potato Eaters by Vincent Van Gogh

Eat Like an Egyptian

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Egyptian hieroglyphs depict agriculture at its most ancient. Food was a mainstay of tomb decorations because who wants to get hangry in the afterlife? One tomb features a couple at work planting and harvesting. Other paintings show figures in similar moments of farming. Still others depict servants processing with platters of fish, fruit and game.

It also turns out grains, despite art to the contrary, made up the bulk of the Egyptian��s diet from 3500 BC to 600 AD, with little meat and surprisingly little fish as well considering, well, the Nile.

Ancient Egyptian painting featuring figures with food: platters of fish, bushels of grapes, and game

Another ancient painting from the nearby Indus River Valley shows a female figure enjoying the fruits of (likely) someone else’s labor as she accepts a beverage from a standing attendant.

Painting from the Indus River Valley Civilization, which started in 2500 BCE

Sacred Feast

Dim mood lighting almost obscures the action of Caravaggio’s 1601 painting depicting the Supper at Emmaus. The central Christ figure has just nonchalantly revealed himself to his dining followers and they — arms outflung, lurching out of chairs–start to freak. That means getting up from a table carefully set by the artist.

Notice how Caravaggio heightens the drama (and shows off his skills) of the moment by placing the fruit basket in the foreground over the edge of the table.

  Supper at Emmaus by Caravaggio

  Last Suppers

As one of the most prominent stories of Western Christianity, the Last Supper has been featured in hundreds of artworks throughout the ages. Visual earmarks of the subject matter usual include Christ at the center of the tableau surrounded by his apostles, but even that is subject to change with plenty of artistic license thrown in for good measure.

  Last Supper, Mosaic in Basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo

With Tiles

Early Christian mosaic depictions like those in Ravenna, Italy show a Last Supper not situated to a particular setting. The scene is simply cordoned off with a decorative border around the action. Christ is not in the center but on the far left, accentuated with a bejeweled halo and adorned in blue drapery.

Scale and perspective, obviously, were details the artists were still working on AKA wow, that’s a big fish. But having been made in the 6th century AD, we are cutting these tesserae artists some slack.

  The Last Supper by Andrea del Castagno

Last Supper by Domenico Ghirlandaio

With Variations

Artists like Andrea del Castagno, who painted his Last Supper in 1447, and Domenico Ghirlandaio, who did his some thirty years later in 1479, both placed Christ on the viewer’s side of the biblical dinner table, though they altered which position Christ faced.

This visual trope didn’t set any historical trends. But there’s much to note in these altarpieces including how trippy del Castagno’s backdrop of marble panels appear and wondering what Ghirlandaio meant by his inclusion of all those strangely huge birds in the background arches of his Last Supper.

  Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci

Setting Standards

It was Leonardo da Vinci’s Renaissance version of the Last Supper that really set the standard when it comes to historic iconography and presentation of the subject. He was the only Ninja Turtle to do a painting of the Last Supper that survives to date. Michelangelo, Donatello and Raphael have none to their names. Leo’s visual language would influence generations of artists and plenty of 21st century memes.

And definitely not a Last Supper?!

Feast at the House of Levi by Paolo Veronese

Last Supper by Veronese, detail of jester

Last Supper by Veronese, detail of drunkards

Last Supper by Veronese, detail of underage drunkards

Veronese came almost a century after Leonardo. He definitely upped the ante when it came to production value. His Last Supper appears in a much more splendid setting than Leonardo’s and also included a ton of extras…who almost got him strung up for heresy during the Inquisition.

Yup, Veronese’s “buffoons, drunken Germans, dwarfs and other such scurrilities” along with apostles carving up lamb (that would be St. Peter) and picking their teeth with forks were harshly critiqued and questioned by officials.

Change it up…fast

Veronese though turns out to have been quite a pivot master. He simply made a few adjustments to the painting and asserted that the Last Supper wasn’t a Last Supper at all. No, this is a depiction of the Feast in the House of Levi. Totally different, judges. Toooooootally different. Subject closed. Neck of artist, saved.

  There’s a Squash on Your Face

Giuseppe Arcimboldo, whose name this writer always confuses with saltimbocca (points though because that’s a food?), painted portraits of people as food. A set of eyebrows become strands of wheat. There’s a cucumber for a nose. Fish tails do the duty of a goatee. You get the gastronomic picture.

Food fetishist, a little imbalanced, or simply painting what his 16th-century Italian audience were into? It’s most likely the latter according to most scholars. Renaissance peeps loved riddles, puzzles and the strange, and Arcimboldo’s paintings are an edible array of all three.

  Autumn by Giuseppe Arcimboldo

    The Most Sumptuous of All

When it comes to paintings that really put the ‘feast’ into the food, we have only to look one place: the Dutch Republic. Dutch painters in Antwerp in the 1640s developed the still life style of pronkstilleven, which is Dutch speak for hella food feast. Also, perhaps more literally translated as ostentatious, ornate or sumptuous still life.

The Feasts

Pronkstilleven by Carstian Luyckx

Enter the lobsters, the meat pies, the fowl and fish, the oysters, the piles of glowing fruit, the gorgeous goblets and tankards of ale, and the stultifying curls of lemon peel. Enter the diversity of foods, vessels, gleaming glass, table settings and rich drapery.

Enter the not-so-everyday abundance as painted by dozens of Flemish artists with haute cuisine foremost in their minds including Frans Snyders, Adriaen van Utrecht, Jan Davidsz. de Heem, Nicolaes van Verendael, Alexander Coosemans, Carstian Luyckx, Jasper Geeraards, Peter Willebeeck, Abraham van Beyeren, Willem Kalf, Osias Beert, and Cornelis Norbertus Gijsbrechts.

Banquet Still Life by Abraham van Beyeren

  A Table of Desserts by Jan Davidsz. de Heem

  Still Life with Lobster by Jasper Geeraerts

Banquet Still Life by Abraham van Beyeren

Dishes with Oysters, Fruit, and Wine by Osias Beert the Elder

Pronkstilleven by Petrus Willebeeck

Eat and Learn

The pronkstilleven isn’t just about the eating extravaganza. There’s a moral to the story. It goes something like “you’ll never fill that hole in your life, no matter how much you stuff yourself.”

It could possibly be put a bit more eloquently in terms of the high genre of vanitas paintings, in which the empty or overturned glasses depicted speak to the vacant feelings inside that only moderation and temperance — not displays of wealth — can satisfy. The ostentatious spreads you see serve as warnings to not put your life in service to material things…despite inclusion of all the material things.

Pronkstillevens with a Side of Weird

But leave it to the artists to go a little off the rails with a theme. So from fancy snacks and highbrow eats, we go to:

Food feast, the menagerie edition! Also ew…who would eat a peacock?!

A Pantry by Adriaen van Utrecht

Food feast, the strange pets edition! Also ew…why is your dog smaller than the lobster on the table?!

Banquet Still Life by Adriaen van Utrecht

Food feast, the put-the-turkey-back-together edition! Also ew…why did you put the turkey back together and put it on the table on top of his own parts-made-into-pie self?! We know Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Henry VIII did a swan version of this in The Tudors (super bootleg clip if you want to see for yourself) and we still don’t care.

Food feast, the monkeys-need-to-eat edition! Also yay…the monkeys-need-to-eat edition? Did you know there is an entire painting genre called singerie devoted to depicting monkeys dressed up and doing human things…like having parties and feasting? The Dutchman Nicolaes van Verendael made several including the one you see here.

Feast of the Monkeys by Nicolaes van Verendael

The Butcher and the Baker

Less look at my bling and more men and women at work, there are several Dutch masterworks riffing on the historic “pre-processing” of comestibles. That includes depictions of market stalls and butchers and food mongers prepping their wares.

  Market Scene on a Quay by Frans Snyders

Kitchen by Adriaen van Utrecht

Cook at a Kitchen Table with Dead Game by Frans Snyders

Fishmonger’s Stall by Adriaen van Utrecht

Raid the Pantry

The Spanish have a food-in-art genre going strong as well, dating back to the 1600s. The bodegón tradition hit its stride with Baroque painters like Velazquez, Juan Sanchez Cotan, Zurbaran and Luis Melendez. It encompasses still life paintings depicting kitchen items plus food and drink, found in pantries or wine cellars, which is where the term derives.

Bodegón by Juan Sánchez Cotán

In contrast to the Dutch tradition, bodegóns are presented simply, almost austerely. It is about the everyday, not the exceptional. There’s no banquet table set. These bleak “meals” are displaed on spare wood blocks or stone shelves. This is the cook’s prep table, with animals waiting to be skinned and fruits and vegetables in the raw.

Bodegón by Juan van der Hamen

But the vanitas thread loops these two still life genres together, with the Dutch cautioning the excess and the Spanish evoking mindfulness of the meager or lean times, when inner faith and fortitude must do the heavy lifting.

Bodegón by Francisco Zurbarán

What cannot be denied is the surreal look of the bodegón, which are often cast in shadows and set in peculiar places, but that simply serves to make them all the more notable.

Let’s Eat!

Diego Velazquez vibes with the bodegon tradition on several canvases including Old Woman Frying Eggs and The Lunch. Though the vibes are at different ends of the spectrum. The latter painting is way up and the former piece is way down. But food is the thing that unites them.

  The Lunch by Diego Velazquez

Old Woman Frying Eggs by Diego Velazquez

Wholesome Orchard Bounty

From a handful to a basketful, Post-Impressionist Paul Cezanne displayed apples and oranges in numerous ways in his equally numerous still life paintings. A jelly maker’s dream, Cezanne’s fruity canvases also bridge two -isms of art (Impressionism and Cubism) with their often disorienting lines of perspective and emphasis on planes.

  Still Life with Seven Apples by Paul Cezanne

The Basket of Apples by Paul Cezanne

Cake, Cake and More Cake…Also Pie

For close to fifty years Wayne Thiebaud has taken edibles as a painting subject. Certainly not his only subject but cakes, pies, gumballs, hot dogs and ice cream cones do grace more than several of his brightly colored canvases.

The compositions mostly echo the neat rows of a food counter or assembly line, perhaps harking back to Thiebaud’s teenage experience working at Mile High and Red Hot, a Long Beach, California cafeteria in the 1930s.

  Cakes and Pies by Wayne Thiebaud

Pie Counter by Wayne Thiebaud

  Naughty Foodie

Will Cotton’s career as a painter is all about exploiting food cravings. His works depict landscapes of cupcakes, candies and melting ice cream and skies of cotton candy. He ups the sexy quotient by sometimes including nude and semi-nude figures — including celebs like Katy Perry — frolicking and lounging in his candy lands or adorned with the sticky foodstuffs itself.

  Crown by Will Cotton

    Meat Joy

Carolee Schneemann’s 1964 performance “Meat Joy” featured choreographed dance, scantily clad men and women participants, much writhing, body paint, and raw meat. Schneemann, a leading feminist artist known for her provocative, somewhat brutish works, performed the modern masterwork in London and New York to agog audiences.

  Campbell’s Soup Cans by Andy Warhol

Canned Food Drive

Andy Warhol first presented these 32 individual canvases in 1962, putting the works side by side just as if they were actual cans of soup on a grocery store’s shelves. Each canvas represents a different flavor of Campbell’s soup that Warhol hand-painted and hand-stamped with an eye toward the mass-produced ads the artist was inspired by.

  Untitled by Feliz Gonzalez-Torres

Poignant Candies

In corners, around columns, in stairwells–Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ untitled candy performance-cum-changeable-sculpture pieces have been placed in humble settings across numerous museum floors worldwide. Visitors to the installations are invited to take a piece of the work…and the rest is up to them. Consume the candy. Keep it forever. Throw it away or pass it to a friend. The underlying message of the work harks back to the dark days the AIDS epidemic and the diminishing pile of candy represents those lost (or forsaken) to the disease.

  Courtesy Michael Parker

Squeeze My Citrus

Artist Michael Parker, best known for his Cali land art installations, prompted visitors at his 2015 Juiceworks show to squeeze piles of gorgeously arranged citrus fruits using dozens of ceramic tools he’d made.

  Courtesy Salad for President

Salad for President

Artist and salad activist Julia Sherman, author of the blog Salad for President, created rooftop garden installations at the Getty Center in Los Angeles and MoMA PS1 in New York in 2014 and 2015. Guest artists were asked to make salads from the produce Sherman grew, which included more than 50 heirloom herbs, vegetables and edible flowers.

  Floor Burger by Claes Oldenburg

Inflatable Snacks

No binge-worthy food feast art history round-up would be complete without the Floor Burger by Claes Oldenburg. It is the epitome of modern art in food…or would that be modern food in art? You can’t eat it but you could definitely jump on this supersized junk food. Though the risk is museum banning you for life. #tradeoffs #worthit

The post Binge! The Food Feasts of Art History appeared first on Artist's Network.

from Artist's Network http://ift.tt/2BbFxQw