#i love him so much... bless his portrait artist for making one of the most beautiful people i have ever seen

[elavoria]

Regill. <3

[thecharacterchronicler]

Muse || Benedict Bridgerton x reader || Smut

GIF credits: @vengerb3rg

Outline: Your husband wants to paint your portrait but you feel a bit insecure about yourself.

Word count: 2’939

Warnings: parenthood with a newborn baby, insecurities/self deprecation about post-partum body, explicit smut.

Author’s note: this is prompt # 25 as requested. It gave me a whole new obsession for Benedict Bridgerton. Yikes.

You sat on the sofa, trying to focus on the book you were reading but couldn’t help but glance in Benedict’s direction instead. You were always eager to see what beautiful paintings he may be working on but tonight, it felt all the more special as his model was sound asleep in the crib next to him. A little over a year ago, when you had said your vows and became Mrs Bridgerton, you were absolutely certain that it wouldn’t be possible for you to love him more than you already did, you were head over heels for him, in admiration in front of his artistic talents, in adoration of his personality and unconditionally in love with every part of his soul… Yet, watching him so focused on his task, as he carefully observed his son before painting his traits on the canvas in front of him, eyes so full of tenderness for the sleeping infant and a smile that told the world how incredibly proud he felt to be a father was making your heart melt.

Even if you didn’t want to disturb him in his work, you couldn’t help but stand and saunter up behind him, to take a look at the progressing portrait. Your husband was blessed with a rare talent for art, his paintings always captured a beauty overlooked by most and displayed emotions in the most poetical ways, the first portrait of his son was no exception, already a masterpiece in your eyes.

“Perhaps it was preposterous of me to think myself capable of painting his portrait, I fear that, no matter how much time I spend on it, I’ll never do justice to how angelic our baby looks.” He said, as he added some pink hues to the image.

“I think you are doing well, it looks beautiful.” You reassured him, your arms coming around his shoulders to hug him from behind. He placed his palette on his lap to bring a hand up to touch yours, his thumb stroking your wrist as he leaned back against you.

“But look at him, no one could possibly paint such beauty accurately.”

You both turned to look at your baby, both of you sighing in admiration in unison as your son yawned in his sleep.

“It is true that he is particularly gorgeous.” You admitted, still having trouble to believe how blessed you had been to bring such a healthy and beautiful child into this world.

“It’s because he looks like you.” Benedict replied, without hesitation. “Ethereal beauty just like his mother.”

You blushed and hugged him a bit more tightly.

“He takes after you too.” You added, because it was the truth. If Benedict found your son beautiful because of the features you had passed on to him, you thought your baby was extremely handsome because of how much he resembled the love of your life too. “He has your eyes and your smile. The ton better be prepared for such a devastatingly handsome gentleman.”

Benedict huffed a laugh and planted a kiss on the back of your hand. He tilted his head up to look at you, with a familiar spark of mischief in his eyes.

“How about we bless the ton with a few more of our divine offsprings ?” He suggested, his fingers already trailing up your arm in a tantalizing caress. “Or perhaps I could paint another nude portrait of you tonight ?”

“Wouldn’t that lead to the same result ?” You playfully replied, which made him laugh loud enough to cause the baby to grimace and stir in his small crib. “I don’t think we need another portrait of me - especially naked - there are already too many in this house, and if anyone sees them I’ll be mortified.”

“Don’t worry about that, darling, the nude ones are for my personal enjoyement only.” He said, standing up from the stool and turning around to plant a feverish kiss on your lips.

You kissed him back, arms around his neck as he stepped forward with the intention of guiding you to the couch. But you stopped him with a hand on his chest, turning your head before he could press his mouth to yours again.

“He is sleeping like an angel, I do not want to wake him.” You told your husband, glancing in direction of the crib.

“You are right, we do not want him to wake up to the sound of his mother’s screams.” Benedict nodded, leaving you to go back to his son.

“Excuse me ? I do not scream.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to look vexed by his remark.

“Oh you do scream, my darling. I don’t think you realize but you are very loud when you’re enjoying yourself, it’s my favorite thing.” He confirmed, a laugh escaping his lips when he noticed how you blushed at his words. “So I’m going to bring little mister Bridgerton back to his room, where he hopefully won’t hear you and then I’ll make you shout louder than ever.”

You exchanged a smile with him, your heart melting once more as you watched him carefully and gently pick up the baby from the small crib, cradling him in his arms with tenderness. He walked in your direction so that you could place a kiss goodnight on your baby’s forehead before he left the living room with him, already humming a soft lullaby to keep him sound asleep.

Once he got back, he stopped on the threshold to speak to one of the employees of your estate, requesting to not be disturbed for the rest of the night. You felt yourself blushing yet again at how painfully obvious what he was up to might be for your staff.

He closed the living room doors behind him with a satisfied smile but it instantly disappeared as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened at the sight of you, waiting for him with your dress already off.

He sat back on the stool in front of his easel, carefully placing the portrait of your son next to him as he switched it for a blank canvas. He looked over at you with attention, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

You did your best to pose, not daring to do it as suggestively as you used to back when you were newlyweds. Benedict had painted some filthy scenes involving you, and sometimes him too, and kept those paintings locked up in his office upstairs, making it a gallery devoted to his passion for you.

However, despite him being very clear on how much he loved every part of you, you couldn’t help but feel self conscious since the birth of your child. Your body had changed in ways you weren’t prepared for and, if your husband had seen you without garments on since, he had not painted your portrait in a while. The way his eyes were scrutinizing you, tracing round curves and long lines on the canvas, made you feel increasingly uncomfortable.

“Could you rest your arm over the edge of the sofa ? And perhaps part your legs slightly ?” Your husband asked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

You positioned yourself as requested, unable to silence the trembling breath that escaped your lips.

“Is something wrong, darling ? You seem tense.” He remarked, letting go of his pencil to fully focus his attention on you.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” You assured him, forcing a smile but he looked at you as if he could see straight through you.

“Mrs Bridgerton,” his tone was playfully severe, but hearing him call you by your new last name - his last name - sent a wave of emotion through your body. “If something - or someone - is bothering you, I must know immediately. I will not tolerate for my wife to be upset about anything as I vowed to care for you, always.”

“And you do it perfectly.”

“Then tell me, so I can take care of this issue too, whatever it is.” He pleaded.

“It’s nothing, really. I just don’t feel comfortable with the way I look lately.”

“The way you look ?” He repeated, standing up to keep the canvas from stealing his attention away from you. “What do you mean ?”

“I mean this.” You placed your hand on your belly, the skin not as firm and elastic as it used to be. Then, you moved it to your chest to point at your breasts, swollen and hanging lower than they used to. “And this.”

“But these are some of the best things about your body!” He exclaimed, clearly shocked that you could be so rude to yourself.

He walked to you with determination, getting down on his knees next to the sofa to level his face with yours, looking at you with a concerned expression on his face and heartbreak in his eyes, as if he was hurt about your own feelings about yourself.

He brought his hand to your belly, gently caressing it like he used to do when it was round and stretched out by your baby’s kicks..

“You grew a healthy and particularly gorgeous son in here.” He told you, tenderly. Then he moved his hand upwards, until he could caress the tender flesh of your breast. “And these are even bigger and softer than before, there is really no reason to feel so bad about yourself, you are a goddess, darling, you created life within your body.”

“So you’re not disappointed that I don’t look like I used to anymore ?”

“Absolutely not, how could I be ? I adored your body then, I still adore it now. I could fill a museum with my paintings of you, you obsess my every thoughts, you’re the only one I want to worship, for the rest of my life.”

“Benedict…” You breathed, your heart swelling with the intensity of your love for him.

“If you don’t believe me, darling, then I can show you exactly what the sight of your perfect body does to mine.” He suggested, his familiar somewhat mischievous grin returning to his face. He approached the couch on which you were lying down and began undoing his trousers, an eager expression on his face.

“Did you not want to paint me ?” You playfully asked him, with a knowing smirk.

“Always, darling. You know there is nothing I enjoy more than to look at the alluring curves of your body for hours but right now, I believe I’ll do a better job if I get my muse to relax a bit first.”

He pushed his pants down, his erection gloriously swinging up in your direction, hard and ready. It always amazed you how, knowing some of the promiscuous things he did in the past, the mere sight of your bare skin could get him in such a state. Sometimes, it happened during dinner, when you’d lean over the table slightly too far and he’d catch a glimpse of your décolletage. Sometimes, it was more inconveniencing, like when you shared your carriage with someone and the simple proximity of your body pressed up against his caused the blood to flow down to his shaft, always so alert and ready to take you, no matter if alone or not.

You knew he wasn’t lying when he said he loved your body as it was now, his puppy eyes and his gentle smile told you everything you needed to know when it came to his sincerity. Yet, you still felt slightly uncomfortable.

“Maybe I’d feel better if you were naked too.” You suggested, and he didn’t hesitate an instant, popping the buttons of his shirt one by one and letting it fall down to the luxurious carpet that covered the living room floor.

He dropped back on his knees next to the couch, his hands careful and gentle as they caressed your thighs, very subtly positioning you so that he could have access to the most intimate part of you. When, finally, your last bit of restraint faded underneath the warm kisses he pressed against your thighs, you allowed him to spread your legs apart and bury his face between them.

You instantly felt his tongue swirling around your clit and hungrily sucking on it until a moan fell from your lips. The tip of his tongue then continued its downward slide between your folds, tasting your arousal and mixing it with his saliva. Once he was as far down as the couch allowed him to go, you felt his tongue tentatively exploring your entrance, as if he was waiting for another moan to confirm that he was on the right track.

He placed his hand over your center, pressing down on your lower abdomen and flicking your clit with his thumb as he pushed his tongue past your tight walls, gently penetrating you with delight. His other hand went up to your chest, finding hold of your boob and squeezing it between his fingers as he increased the speed of his movements to follow the rythym of your whimpers that now were filling the room and his ears.

When you looked down at him, your head swimming from the intense jolts of pleasure he kept provoking inside you, you saw his gaze fixed to you, attentive to your reactions and sounds to tailor his next actions. They were filled with lust and adoration, as if you, writhing in front of him while he relished in your taste, was the most beautiful image he had ever had the privilege to witness.

You couldn’t help but buck your hips up in tune with his tongue, trying to get him in deeper. Since it still wasn’t enough to give you some relief from the intense pressure building in your core, you reached down to him, your hands pushing his head against you, probably suffocating him but you couldn’t help it, you needed to feel the bliss only he knew how to give you immediately.

Your orgasm suddenly washed over you, your entire body becoming oversensitive to eveything as it trembled and tensed. You squeezed his head between your thighs to stop him from continuing, unable to take it anymore, your chest heaving and your sounds of contentment still resounding in the room.

“Look at you, my darling. You’re absolutely bewitching when your pleasure makes you blush and your eyes shine with grateful tears.” Your husband said, freeing himself from the snare of your thighs around him. “There’s only one thing missing.”

You opened your mouth to ask what but you still were panting too rapidly to say a word. He rose to his feet, stroking his impressive cock in his hands a few times and you noticed how the pink tip glistened with precum, his thumb gently spreading its wetness along his entire length.

Then, he pressed his tip at your entrance and thrusted his hips forward, making you gasp from the sudden sensation. He buried himself entirely inside you, effortlessly, thanks to how soaked he had made you.

His rythym started out slow and gentle, giving him the opportunity to lean down to lovingly kiss your lips. But his speed progressively increased. You were already close again, the sensitivity between your legs still persisting, intensifying every sensation.

When his thrusts grew deeper and brutal, you had to hold yourself to the couch, your finger digging into the expensive fabric for support as you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. His mouth was still on yours, tugging at your lower lip and swallowing your moans each time they uncontrollably dripped from your mouth.

His eyes were still on you, intense and focused, as if he was trying to memorize every single inch of you so that he could paint it later on his canvas. You reached another orgasm, mouth wide open as you gasped but no sound made it to his ears. You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling from the power of your climax, wondering if such extreme pleasure could kill you, because sometimes it sure felt like it.

“There it is, the way your mouth hangs open when you come for me, with your lips dark and swollen from how hard I kissed you… You are a masterpiece, my love.”

As soon as he said those words, he groaned and released himself deeply inside you, his body suddenly growing weak and numb.

With one more kiss to your lips, he pulled out of you with a satisfied sigh and a tender smile.

As if on cue, the cries of your newborn son suddenly pierced the brief moment of silence in the house.

“He probably misses us.” You said, and attempted to get up but Benedict stopped you, desperate.

“No, no, no! Don’t move, you’re perfect like this, that’s exactly what I want to immortalize on my canvas.” He pleaded, quickly putting his clothes back on. “I’ll go see him and make sure that he is okay. But please, stay exactly like this.”

He left the living room with his shirt roughly tucked in his pants and his hair disheveled, a sight making what you both had been up to pretty clear to all the employees he may meet on the way.

Eventually, the cries came to a stop, meaning that Benedict had probably reached your son and managed to soothe him back to sleep like only he knew how to. So you relaxed on the couch, still naked and ready to shamelessly pose for your adoring husband, already wondering if it would lead to another passionate moment of lovemaking later on.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[blackswaneuroparedux]

She was destined to be my Gradiva, the one who moves forward, my victory, my wife.

- Salvador Dali on Gala

Dali always maintained that without his wife, Gala, he would never have been the icon of art as he became.

Gala’s real name was Helena Ivanovna Diakonova, a Russian born in Kazan in 1894. She was 10 years older than Dalí and, when they met in 1929, she was married to the poet Paul Éluard and mother to a little girl. She also had a lover, Max Ernst, who painted her in a number of portraits. It was love at first sight.

In his Secret Life, Dalí wrote: “She was destined to be my Gradiva, the one who moves forward, my victory, my wife.” The name Gradiva comes from the title of a novel by W. Jensen, the main character of which was Sigmund Freud. Gradiva was the book’s heroine and it was her who brought psychological healing to the main character.

She immediately became his muse. Gala is a frequent model in Dalí’s work, often in religious roles such as the Blessed Virgin Mary in the painting The Madonna of Port Lligat.

In the early 1930s, Dalí started to sign his paintings with his and her name as “it is mostly with your blood, Gala, that I paint my pictures”. Gala acted as his agent, very aggressively fighting for his rights with gallery owners and buyers. She was also using tarot cards to influence Dalí’s career decisions. According to most accounts, Gala had a strong sex drive and, throughout her life, had numerous extramarital affairs (among them with her former husband Paul Éluard), which Dalí encouraged, since he was a practitioner of candaulism. Also, Salvador Dalí claims to be a virgin and completely impotent as he was afraid of women’s anatomy and Gala publicly assumes her affairs with other men. Still, it seems that their relationship was quite harmonic and lucrative for both sides.

He wrote: “I would polish Gala to make her shine, make her the happiest possible, caring for her more than myself, because without her, it would all end.”

But nothing lasts forever. At the end of the 1960s, their relationship started to fade away, and for the rest of their lives, it was just smouldering pieces of their bygone passion. In 1968, the painter bought Gala a castle in Púbol, Girona, and it was agreed that the painter could not go there without her prior permission. Gala spent much of her time there in the company of young men, for whom she spent a fortune. In his turn, Dali saved himself for the company of attractive young ladies, although he didn’t want anything from them but their beauty. It was said that they held weekly orgies, though, by all accounts, the artist himself didn’t participate except to watch.

In 1980, at the age of 76, Dali was forced to retire due to palsy. The motor disorder left him unable to hold a brush, and as his condition worsened, he became less tolerant of Gala’s continued affairs. Gala was also using income from Dali’s art to lavish money and gifts on her lovers, who were mostly young male artists. One day, the artist had enough. He beat Gala so badly, he broke two of her ribs. To calm him down, Gala gave him large doses of Valium and other sedatives, which made him lethargic. She then allegedly gave him “unknown quantities of one or more types of amphetamine,” which caused “irreversible neural damage.”

Gala Dalí died in Port Lligat, Spain, on June 10, 1982, following a severe case of the flu. She was buried in Púbol, Spain, on the grounds of a castle that was a gift from her husband. At the time of her death, she was involved in an affair with a 22-year-old Jesus Christ Superstar actor named Jeff Fenholt for whom she left Dalí. But when Gala died, Dalí’s life became dull. He stopped eating and scratched his face. He was constantly shouting and crying. He outlived his wife by seven years.

They lived together for 53 years.

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

Comment on Chapter 7 of The Demon of a Thousand Eyes: I'm not much for commenting but I found your story this morning and wanted to tell you I ate these chapters up faster than Theia gobbles up eyes. The eye puns are going to send me to an early grave, and when I think of Theia's ability I can't help but think of classic Scooby-Doo, and someone watching people through holes cut in the eyes of a painting. Other thoughts: Theia can only look through someone's eyes if they have a deal, but what about corpses? Or her jar of eyes? I like to imagine that amongst her contracts there are a fair number of artists. Photographers, portrait artists especially. Gotta squeeze eyes into people's homes somehow! I love that she's so careful about potential surveillance because she can see anything she wants to. Nifty being the first one in the hotel to know about Theia's powers because she's sad she can't show Theia her room and Theia can't say no to a big cute puppy dog eye so she gives her something with an eye on it and asks Nifty for a tour of the vents. Vox learning about what she can do and immediately short-circuiting, not because he's worried about being spied on but his first thought is just "that's HOT" it's not until after he rubs one out infront of the note she left that post-nut clarity hits and he realizes it could be useful/a huge problem. Also just love the being irritating/ negotiation as a form of flirting in this chapter. Can't wait for the next one!!!

Theia says, "I can't look through any eyes that belong (or *belonged*) to a living creature unless stipulated in a contract. This does include corpses. Whoever the corpse is owned by (morgue, cannibal, property owner) is who the deal would have to be made with at the time. My jar of eyes, too, is off limits because even though the jar of eyes belongs to me, the eyes used to belong to someone, someone I don't know and therefore can't make a deal. If I were to make a deal with Rosie that I could use the eyes that she has as products to peer through, however, this would change and I could use the ones I purchase from her as well.

I do have a few artists among the souls I have, but many (and most) are just people who had useful information, go useful places, and were looking to be left alone. They ask for my help when they need it but for the most part keep to themselves.

I'm very observant. It's a blessing and a curse really.

I want to tell Niffty about my abilities so badly! She's so dear to me, but given the strange dynamic I have with Alastor and her own relationship with him (does he own her soul? Probably? Would he be able to demand she spill the information about my powers and she would be unable to refuse?), it's too risky at present for me to give her an eye so I can see inside her little hidey hole in the wall. I'll get there someday, though.

Vox would accidentally cause a blackout for all of Pentagram City for a solid hour if he found out. He'd cum so hard he'd forget his own name at the thought of me watching him. Then he'd text me and *demand* I join him, both for sex and a partnership. I still doubt I'd join the Vees though. I can't stand Tino and being a free entity gives me far better options than exclusivity. He'll find out just what kind of trouble he's in when he finds out what I can do. That would be exponentially true if/when he ever found out my true secret, but *spoilers* in that regard.

As for the flirting with Alastor...dinner was fun. The night...got a little out of hand. I won't say I regretted anything, and I got a really neat knife. Things did get better eventually, though, so it wasn't all bad."

[violettelueur]

RYŌMEN SUKUNA || LITTLE CAGED ARTIST

| featuring : ryomen sukuna ft. itadori yuji 

| warnings : mention of emotional abuse and murder as well as grammar errors

| form : imagine

| word count : 1691

| published : 22 december

| request : Hello, idk if your request are open but feel free to ignore, but just, imagine another reencarnation au (those imaginw of yours are my favourite) where the reader was a painter and Sukuna's personal favourite so he took her and kinda abused her psycologicaly to the point where she would just draw him and only him and he loved that, and in the future she's still an artist that draws Yuuji bc theyre friends but when she sees the tatoos she again draws Sukuna and he feels guilty for the way he treated her and her art in the pastIf It's angst i would apreciate but it's not really necesary

| barista’s notes : hi there~ i apologies for the extremely long wait for your coffee order but now it is there ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ right now it is nearly 5am in the morning and i have no idea why the hell i am awake, but oh well ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ  DONT WORRY THOUGH! after this, i am going to sleep and rest up since today it is Fushiguro Megumi’s and Kageyama Tobio’s birthday today ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ but other than that, i hope you enjoy your order of a cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and i hope you come back soon! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

“Sukuna….please leave me alone...leave the village alone, I beg of you please,” you whimpered to the man that was standing tall and proud with a sadistic smirk painted on his face, while you were on your knees tightly holding onto his large wrist - somewhat slightly covering the black ring marking - as if your weak physical strength could do anything to stop his raising them up and giving a rain upon hell to the people that was residing in the small town you lived in.

You have no idea how you had managed to catch the attention of the most feared curse to both humans and jujutsu sorcerers nor did you know how you managed to become acquainted with the man in front of you. All you knew right now was that the situation you were in at this current moment and time, was not ideal to anyone at all.

You were just a simple artist. A simple village girl artist that was blessed to be hired by the nobility and aristocracy to paint their family portraits with the finest colours that they would offer you, for you to be then paid so you could provide for your village. However, as luxurious as it sounded, you were in love with the idea of just placing a sharped piece of charcoal on a piece of paper or cloth you could find anywhere and sketch your heart designed.

“Leave you alone?” Sukuna questioned you in his deep voice, before slowly crouching down to become face to face with you. “I could never leave you alone, not when you have caught my attention with your craft little one,” Sukuna then stated, as he gently placed a hand on your cheek before using his thumb to caress the soft skin he was touching. 

Ever since Sukuna had caught sight of you delicately painting a portrait of a noblewoman with such care and gentleness, he couldn’t help but wonder how your hands were so carefully and how patient you were to make sure every stroke was perfect to your desire. Slowly, he began to wonder what it was like to be the subject of one's view. A subject that someone desired to recreate on a simple piece of paper. However, compared to his past sightings, you were the most talented as well as the most beautiful he had ever seen and once he was able to gain a clear view of the noble woman that you were illustration, he was surprised at how much detail you were able to encapture in your work and just like the noble woman’s reaction, they both were extremely happy with the result of the final product.

“How about this?” Sukuna suddenly asked, causing your head to suddenly shot up leading you to meet eye to eye with the King of Curses, “if you come with me and draw me and me only for the rest of time, I would leave this little village alone as well as the people residing in it. How does that sound, little one?”

‘Come with him? Where? Why? What’s going to happen to me?’

“If you don’t accept this deal, every single person here will die. Burned, stabbed, slashed, any way possible I can. Men, women and even little children’s lives will be gone, and it would be all your fault.”

‘My….fault? But-’

“You know I’m not a patient person little one, I might as well start my massacre while you take your time to think, it will be-”

“NO PLEASE! DON’T, YOU CAN TAKE ME, JUST LEAVE THE VILLAGE ALONE, PLEASE!” you screamed in desperation, as you tighten the grip of his wrist that was within your grasp to keep him down, as you didn’t want to risk him getting away from your sights for the safety and protection of the people  within the little town you had lived in since the day your life had started.

With a large cruel grin, Sukuna had somehow managed to pry his wrists free from your tense grip before sliding an arm under your knees as well as an arm around your body lifting you up in a bridal position, while you were just expressing a face of shock and fear, confused and fearful on what you had just accepted in exchange for your life. Where were you going? Was this the end? Were you going to die? How much longer have you had left?

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you, you’re too precious to be slaughtered little one,” Sukuna answered - as if he knew what you were thinking - before placing a ghostly kiss upon your temple leading you to freeze still, petrified on what he would do with you had moved a single inch.

This was your life now. 

A caged artist.

                                               ꕥ

Here you were, sitting on a wooden platform outside with a sharpened piece of charcoal that Sukuna had kindly given you, in order for you to sketch a portrait of him. The second you placed the charcoal upon the paper, Sukuna couldn’t help but stare at the light movements of your hand as you lightly stroke a few lines to create an outline before watching your hand suddenly pause, causing the King of Curses to switch his view from the sheet to you, only to find your look at him with such a frightened look.

“I’m sorry…..I shouldn’t look at you, should I? I apologise deeply,” you softly muttered before quickly turning back to the portrait that was right in front of you - you didn’t want to do anything wrong in his eyes, you knew he could go back on his words and harm the people that you cared about. However, it seemed like Sukuna didn’t care at all, he had managed to trap you into his life and had the power to demand you to draw him every time he would mention he could go back to your little village and burn it to the ground. He relished in the idea of being the subject of your attention.

This is what he wanted. 

His little caged artist.

                                               ꕥ

1000 years later and here you were. 

Here you were sketching a picture of your best-friend Itadori with a picture of him that you had managed to capture on your phone. Itadori first came into your life shortly after you had enrolled into Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Techincal College around the same time as your other classmate Kugisaki did. 

You have no idea what drew you into the boy with the pink hair, but something within you pulled you towards him causing the blooming and somewhat hilarious friendship to start, even causing Fushiguro and Kugisaki to wonder what was going on in your mind to somehow relate to the boy - yet, they didn’t mention their questions since they didn’t really think you knew the answer yourself, and they were correct.

However, as you continued to smoothly glide your pencil across the page, applying different pressures to construct some definitions as well as shadows within the photo you were copying from, you began to suddenly realise that you were starting to draw marking upon his portrait. Markings that were so familiar to the ones the person within him had.

Ever since that day at the Eishu Detention Centre, the sight of Sukuna standing in front of you with his shirt ripped off showcasing his black marking caused a trigger of unknown memories to suddenly flood into your mind, causing excruciating pain that was so unbearable, you thought you were going to pass out from the intense pressure, maybe as even close to dying from the immense pain.

From what you could even recall from the sudden flood of blurry images that appeared in your mind, there was a picture of you drawing with a piece of charcoal with the infamous King of Curses seating right beside you, watching you draw will whispering in your ear the threats that he would bombard you in order for you to make sure that you were only drawing him and him only.

Slowly but in a shaking manner, your drawing hand continued to sketch in Sukuna’s markings that would appear on Itadori’s body as you were somewhat extremely afraid of what the King of Curses could do to you if you didn’t - just how you left 1000 years ago.

Although unknown to you, your best-friend Itadori was standing right behind you, having a clear view of what was happening to you as well as the drawing right in front of him. Seeing your shaking figure with slow but clear teardrops landing on the sketch book as well as the drawing evolving from him to the curse residing inside of him, made him realise how damaging Sukuna was to not only him but also to the people around him. Carefully, Itadori placed a hand over your hand that held the pencil, causing you to flinch before finally noticing that it was your friend that was holding it and not the special grade curse.

Within his Innate Domain, Sukuna also had a clear view on what was happening to you and slowly but strangely began to feel something drop to his stomach with the feeling of his throat closing up at the sight of you slowly breaking down into a small state of insanity. This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want his beautiful little one to become lifeless and paranoid like you were now.

Even after 1000 years after your death, your incarnation was carrying the feeling of fear, despair and numbness that you were weighed upon the second you had given your life away to the King of Curses for the sake of your village. Even though you had more freedom then you did then, you still left trapped and lost within the metal cage that Sukuna had enclosed you in. Even with the small hint of guilt that was manifested within the cruel curse’s heart. 

You were trapped with no escape out.

You were trapped forever with no key to open the door that was clearly right in front of you.

Forever his little caged artist.

[sumsebien]

Your Highness pt.5// Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: Y/N and Friedrich are still very much in the fairytale stage of their engagement. Of course, that is before the Queen gives her verdict on this match.

warnings: none

a/n: final part of your highness. the next part is “i’ll be in ruins for you” and it’s already up so check that out. oh and here is the duclaux piece i've been writing about. okayyy i’m too excited i am posting this right now :))))

When you and Anthony told Lord Wilson of your decision, he was happy for you and even invited you to visit his cottage should you ever find yoursef in Scotland. That alleviated parts of the guilt you felt for having strung him along. You wished him all the happiness and fortune before he bid you goodbye and left for his home. After that, you and the Prince had your last dance of the night, both of you trying to keep your giddiness to an absolute minimum as you spun around the room in each other’s arms.

It was utter bliss.

You hadn’t announced the news to the world just yet. So far, the only people who knew of your engagement were your family and Friedrich. And you intended to keep it that way until absolutely necessary.

Everyone was happy. Mama and Daphne were on board the moment they learned that you would remain close, most of the time, for them to visit. Benedict was just glad you had found your match and that you were generous enough to lend him that oil set. Colin was slightly sad that you’d not be living in a splendid castle in Prussia and allow him a tour whenever he made a stop on one of his continental tours. Little Hyacinth was most excited of all, always wondering what you were going to do the moment you became a Princess. Gregory usually answered before you could, resulting in a chase around the house.

As for you, you found yourself singing alone as you sketched in your notebook all the things that reminded you of Friedrich. And it had only been the morning after the engagement. You could not wait for noon to arrive so that you may see him again for the private tour of Somerset.

“Someone’s happy,” Benedict remarked, falling against the empty seat next to you.

“She has been singing all morning!” Eloise said, looking up from her book.

You smiled, ignoring them and went on with your humming.

“Miss Bridgerton?” Humbolt appeared at the entrance to the drawing room. “From Prince Friedrich, my Lady.”

“Yes?” You stood, leaving your notebook behind on the couch.

From behind him, Humbolt picked up a beautiful arrangement of flowers, almost as tall as he was. You hadn’t even fully registered the impressive stature of it yet and Mama was already touching the flowers and sniffing them.

“Darling, this must be very expensive,” she said, pointing at the two-toned roses in white and pink, along with the vibrant pops of blue from the cornflowers. The bouquet was finished with gardenias, adding a wonderful aroma to the room almost immediately.

“But why cornflowers and roses?” Eloise asked and all of you turned to Mama for an answer.

“Roses are the national flower of England as cornflowers are to Prussia.”

You felt an overwhelming sense of warmth just looking at him like so. You decided to sit down on the bench behind you and began to sketch him, “after that day, I went to the library and did my reasearch. Antoine Jean Duclaux, at the time he painted this, was only a student accompanying a more famous artist. While his teacher painted a Queen playing music, Duclaux made a portrait of her from the back. Perhaps so grief-stricken by the recent loss of her dear friend that she could not show her face.” The graphite version of Friedrich was coming to life and you had all the intentions of repainting it onto a canvas. You tried to capture his gentleness with the way his fingers curled ever so gently as well as his strength held mainly in his shoulders. The Friedrich before you had caught onto what you were doing by now. “You’re supposed to draw something that inspires you! That’s the only reason why we are here, my dear!” “I know! And I am doing just that!” He had no objections to remaining still and allowing you to complete your sketch. It didn’t take as long as you made him believe it would. The last five minutes you spent admiring him but he did not have to know that. After you were done, your family arrived to the Duclaux piece. Friedrich joined Hyacinth and Gregory and messed about in the room while you stood next to Benedict. “I don’t have favorites but if I did, you would be my favorite sister, you know that?” Benedict whispered to you when you came to stand by his side. “Do you love me? Or do you love him?” You motioned towards Friedrich who was now helping Hyacinth with her revenge. “Both of you I adore. For you have such fine taste in arts and in people,” he smiled, swinging his arm around your shoulder. You chuckled, about to tease him further when the your guide stopped talking. Through the door came a guard who cleared his voice, looking to Friedrich, “your Royal Highness, the Queen has requested your presence at once.” Before he turned to you, “And yours, Miss Bridgerton.” Dear readers, This Author believes she has uncovered a royal engagement made in secret. It is not hard to guess who the two lovebirds might be in this town. This morning a large bouquet of flowers was sent to the Bridgerton House. Large enough to mean more than just courting. Should the Prince have found himself a Princess so soon? And in someone other than the Diamond of the Season, as well. How very scandalous!

You remembered the nerves you felt waiting behind the tall white ornate doors with Mama and Daphne. You had tried your best not to mess up and in doing so, you paid no mind to your footing which resulted in you almost falling to the ground in front of her Majesty. It wasn’t as much of a disaster as Miss Featherington who fainted at her feet but it was enough to make a terrible and no doubt, lasting impression on her.

You just didn’t expect yourself to be here again. Behind those white doors, engaged to her nephew, you were going to go in and explain yourself to her the reason why you two had hid the engagement from her and have her found out through reading Whistledown. No amount of sophistication and elegance could save you now.

Before you were due inside, you tugged at Friedrich’s hand. He, for one, was not nervous at all, still smiling. The crinkles by his eyes and the dimples by his cheeks offered you a moment of peace. “And what would your mother say? When the Queen tells her that we hid an engagement from her?” you asked quietly. At this point, anything that could delay the possibility of losing Friedrich was good enough.

“She is in Prussia and should not be here until I ask her to. When she does, she will love you. And,” he gave your hand a final kiss, “we did not hide anything. I would never hide my love for you. Not from the Queen, not from anyone.”

You nodded before turning to Anthony who gave you a small smile. “It’s going to be alright, sister.” But you could tell he was nervous too from the ways he kept fidgeting with his fingers behind his back.

Echoing from inside the throne room were your names and suddenly the doors swung open, revealing the longest walk you’d ever taken leading up to the throne. The Queen sat leaning back, her watchful eyes burning into you three, but especially you. Beside her was an army of lady’s maids in extravagant gowns, Pomeranians in their arms. You kept your gaze low and made sure that you did not trip and that your curtsy was perfect.

So far, everything went swimmingly. Up until she opened her mouth. “Care to explain what this is, Friedrich?” She snapped her fingers and one of the servants brought forth a copy of Whistledown on a tray.

Friedrich held up his hand to stop the servant from moving any further. “Lady Whistledown was correct to assume we were engaged.”

She laughed, “You are engaged? To her?”

“I asked Miss Bridgerton to marry me last night and she has accepted. We were going to tell you very soon.”

“You proposed last night?” The Queen sat up in her seat, about to storm forward but stopped herself and slumped back, throwing a hand over her forehead, “do my opinions mean so little to you?”

Anyone in their right mind would be scared out of their wits by now. You were sure Friedrich was the only one you had ever met who wasn’t terrified of the Queen. You glanced to him briefly. He kept his gaze steady on her, still calm and collected. “I love her very much. As she loves me. She may not be what you are looking for in a wife for me but she is what I am looking for. I hope we may have your blessing.”

The Queen did not seem like she was listening or like she cared at all. You knew this was headed. Your hand brushed his, knowing the inevitable was on the horizon. He didn’t look at you, his eyes burning into the Queen.

“No. And you,” she looked to you and Anthony. Contempt in her gaze and venom in her words, “you shall leave.”

taglist: @awesomebooklover17 @oopsiedoopsie23 @milkbaer @vampirestookmydoubts @5hundreddaysofsummer ❤️

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the replies or through messages. love you.

[wolfstarlibrarian]

Hello lovely librarian! I recently read Enigma Variations by Coriaria, and I was wondering if you had any recs for more of this vibe - kind of historical au I guess? Thank you ❤️

Hello friend! The Librarian has many historic AUs, so there’s a collection below sorted by era. There’s also an Ancient AU list you might like, and  @wolfstarwarehouse  has an amazingly extensive list that you can find here. Happy reading! 

Ancient AU

Wolfstar Historic AUs

WWI + WWII

*fic referenced

Enigma Variations by Coriaria  When Sirius Black is unmasked as a spy, it seems that nearly everyone in Bletchley Park knew all along that something wasn't right about him. But Lily Evans thinks otherwise. She knows that if Black really was a spy, he'd have done it properly, and would have never been caught. Remus Lupin doesn't believe Sirius is a spy either. According to the landlady, she found the stolen ciphers in his room between the pages of a magazine filled with photos of half-naked women. And Remus knows that such a magazine would hold no interest for Sirius. It's not much to go on, but both Remus and Lily are determined to get to the truth. A man's life depends upon it.

The Rosary by @fluorescentgrey-blog On a Thursday in April 1943 Remus took the train from London to Birmingham, where a stately black car was waiting at the station to take him a short drive southwest to Hagley. In a wood on the estate of the Viscount Cobham of Hagley Hall four local boys hunting quail had found a woman’s skeleton in a wych elm tree.

Or, a Portrait of the Mathematician as a Young Man by zambla Historical AU. University of Cambridge, 1931. Remus J. Lupin, a mathematics scholar at King’s College, has fallen in with a set of friends who called themselves The Marauders—and at its masthead the dissolute aristocratic heir, Lord Sirius Black.

In No Man's Land by Minnow_53  Spring 1942. Sirius is in London to see Remus on a twenty-four hour leave.

Hope by @toyhto They told him to run and he ran and certainly there was a point in all this but all he could think about was the boy in the trench.

Regency Era

The Boy in the Bordello by @yumenouveau Regency Era - London- Sirius has spent the last five years starting a new life for himself as a brothel worker until late one night a stranger enters his room wanting only to talk.

A Love Match by the_gramophone Ever since Sirius Black parted ways with his family, he doesn't see the point in attending Society events just so people can gossip about him. Until one day, he meets Mr. Remus Lupin, new to Town and possibly the most captivating man he's ever met. But what could he possibly have to offer him when he's lost everything?

A matter of the heart by @engie-ivy The time had come for the fortunate heir of the most ancient and noble house of Black to secure himself of an advantageous marriage. A feat which should not be proven difficult for the handsome and becoming young man, were it not for the young Mr. Black to dismiss all his admirer’s attentions. I dare say, the only person he seemed to find agreeable was the young Mr. Lupin, a boy solemnly dependent on what was bestowed upon him out of charity by Mrs. Potter, but with no fortune and no prospects of himself.

Early America

The Woods by @fluorescentgrey-blog Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1692. "How oft have you eat and drunk your own damnation?"

Victorian Era & 19th Century

Kindred Spirits by shoebox_addict Anne with an E/Victorian!AU Remus Lupin, tired of the bullying he receives at school in his small village, leaves to spend the summer with Alphard, the kindly uncle of his friend Andi. A fellow guest at Alphard's house captures Remus' heart and makes him realize he's not so alone.

Untold Blessings by @aryastark-valarmorghulis Magic once existed in England and has finally returned. Mr Sirius Black, a gifted magician, ventures, rash and ill-prepared, into Faerie.

Deepwood Wreathing by Chromat1cs

A baron in Victorian London, Sirius Black is very near his breaking point of simply absconding into the obscurity of the forest. That is, until a rent boy going by the name of Remus arrives to turn his reality on its head in one fell swoop.

1920s

in the current, moving forward by @alifeincoffeespoons

In the scorching summer of 1926, Remus Lupin—war veteran, Yale alumnus, starving artist—moves to West Egg, Long Island to write.

Share this list with your own recs! 

[thewildsophia]

.Art Project. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Van Gogh x Reader

Word Count: 2564

~~~~~~~~~~

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get the thought of the tiny Dutch artist out of your head. You weren’t even sure what about him it was that caught your attention. Perhaps it was his orange hair that almost looks red in the right lighting, or maybe his pale skin that mirrored the white bandages that you know he changes everyday (you also loved how his face would blossom with this gorgeous shade of orange-pink when he was complimented), or maybe it was just his hands. Yeah that was it. His hands, petite and delicate, that could paint such beautiful, exquisite paintings that told of many different things.

God you felt like such a creep. 

But you couldn’t help it. You were absolutely infatuated, -- no, that’s not quite right -- obsessed with him. 

And the worst part about it all was that the two of you have barely had any real interactions with each other. The last time the two of you had really talked was when you were assigned an art project with him. It was a collaborative project where you two were given a piece of art and two canvases and you would paint half the artwork on each canvas using styles and colors that were different, but still complimented the other half. 

You two had received the artwork The Kiss by Gustav Klimt, with you painting the man and Van Gogh painting the woman. You had used cooler colors -- blues, greens, grays and purples -- while Van Gogh used warmer ones -- reds, yellows, oranges and whites. You had focused most of the detail on the man, leaving the background somewhat barren with Van Gogh doing the opposite, focusing on the background and less on the woman.

It had actually turned out really well and the two of you had received a perfect grade, but what you liked the most about the whole thing was how much time you got to spend with him. 

You worked with him for a whole week and when the deadline was coming up he invited you to his dorm to finish it. You actually found it quite funny how much his room looked like The Bedroom, but you weren’t surprised. 

If you really thought about it, it was probably the second day when you started to become fascinated by him. The sketches had been completed and you two had just started painting. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t focus on your piece, intrigued by his painting. His strokes were quick, decisive, like he knew exactly what he wanted. It was difficult not to stare as he painted and you had barely gotten any work done that day. And he quickly picked up on your distracted state. 

“Is something the matter?” God that voice sounded just perfect to you. It was deep, but not too deep, and somewhat raspy, like he had a slight cold. You could listen to that voice for hours. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” You remember him asking. 

“Yeah.” You had answered, “I’ve just never seen you paint before. It’s beautiful.” After those words had left your mouth, that beautiful peach color blessed his pale skin and he looked away with a bashful smile. 

“I-Thank you.” He had stuttered and it was probably the cutest thing you had ever heard. You wanted to get him to do that more often. After that the two of you continued to work on your project with the occasional chatter between you. 

When the two of you had finished, you didn’t really talk to the other. You’d wave to each other in the hallways while transitioning classes or offer a quiet “Hey” when entering Painting II. What you did find a bit strange is that if you show up first, he’ll sit at the same table as you and vice-versa, and neither of you seemed to mind it. 

Actually, it kind of worked to your advantage. 

You really couldn’t help yourself and often found yourself drawing Van Gogh in your sketchbook, ranging from basic sketches to full on ink pieces (of course you’d ink them when you got back to your dorm). It’s actually gotten so bad lately that you now have completed paintings of him, whether it be acrylic, watercolor, oil, gouache, you name it and you probably have it. 

You were actually about half way through painting another piece of him, although you didn’t like this one as much as some of the others since he looked a bit too feminine. While painting, you heard a knock at your dorm’s door. You quickly looked at the clock hanging on the wall opposite of a window. 

“It’s almost 10pm, why the hell is someone coming up here?” You thought before getting up and looking out the peephole in your door only to be greeted with nothing. You grumbled to yourself while opening the door just to make sure no one left something for you. 

Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with none other than the clone of Vincent Van Gogh himself, canvas and set of acrylics pinned at his side. You felt yourself straighten as you greeted him.

“Oh-Hey. It’s almost 10, are you alright? You need something?” You asked watching him shift his stance before answering, 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for coming by so late, I just needed a bit of help with the portrait project and you’re the only person I really felt comfortable coming to.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his. You felt your heart stutter at hearing that.

“It’s alright, what did you need help with specifically?” You asked leaning onto the door frame. 

“I’m having trouble with making a background that works with the subject.” He said. Weird. Backgrounds are usually his speciality. “Um, may I come in?” He asked. Your eyes widen slightly with realization of you forgetting to let him hit you.

“Of course! Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly, moving out of the way to let him in. 

“It’s fine.” He said. You closed the door before quickly jogging over to your desk, grabbing the still wet painting and placing it against the wall opposite the door, facing towards said wall. You cleared a spot on your desk for him to place his things. 

“Alright, let’s see what you got so far.” You said looking over his painting. 

You talked to him for about 15 minutes about how he could improve what he currently had before you got up to grab you painting to show him what you had done.

“That’s Frida Kahlo, right? If I remember correctly she’s from Mexican descent, so I would use brighter colors like greens, pinks and yellows.” You said while rustling with the huge stack of paintings you had looking for it. “I had gotten Aaron Douglas, so I stuck with more desaturated colors and focused less on details and more on the silhouettes of the subjects.” Once grabbing the painting you returned to Van Gogh, placing the painting onto the desk next to his.

Only…That wasn’t the right painting.

Nope, instead it was one of Van Gogh, specifically the one of him you had finished a few weeks ago of him looking at himself in a full-body mirror while painting a self portrait. You grabbed the painting, pressing it against your chest the moment you realized it was the wrong one. You stared at him a moment before turning around and scrounging around in the pile again for the right painting. 

“Y/N-” Van Gogh started, but you weren’t gonna let him finish. 

“Just! Give me a second.” You said, searching a bit faster. God seemed to be against you that night because when you started to look for it faster the whole stack fell and, of course, with it came the majority of paintings you had made of him. And…the painting of Douglas. 

You stood there a moment, feeling the sweat gather at your forehead and back of your neck. You grabbed the painting of Douglas before stacking all the other ones up. You turned back around, slowly walking back over to the desk and putting the right painting next to his. 

“So, um, like I was saying earlier…” But your voice died in your throat when you heard him speak.

“Y/N.” He said firmly. You felt yourself swallow thickly before looking over at him. “Come with me.” 

And you did. You really didn’t feel like arguing with him after what had just happened. He led you to his dorm room on the 3rd floor, unlocking it and gesturing for you to step in. You did before he closed the door and walked over to the corner of his room. He pulled out a bundle of canvas, separating them from each other. 

“You know, for the longest time I felt like such a creep doing this so often, but after seeing what you’ve been doing, I feel a lot less like one.” He said while revealing the paintings to you.

They were of you. They were all of you.

You felt your heart leap out of your chest as your eyes laid on the paintings. They were all different from the last, varying in size, color, style, much like your own. 

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since we were assigned that project together, ever since…you said that about my painting.” He started, “At first you were just a passing thought, but as time went on, you started to plague my mind more and more often to the point where I couldn’t get you off my mind.” He finished, that stunning peach color returning to his cheeks. 

You walked over to where he had the paintings spread out over his bed, running your fingers over the texture in the dried paint.

“Oh, Van Gogh, these are…” You started, still stunned about everything. 

“Not my best work, I know.” He said scratching the back of his neck, “It was a bit difficult painting you without having you here to reference.” He admitted. 

“No, Van Gogh, these are beautiful.” You said stroking your cheek, “And not just because they’re of me.” You added with a laugh, to which Van Gogh also let out a chuckle. 

The room then when quiet, neither of you having the courage to speak up until you decided the silence had lasted enough. 

“I don’t know what it is about you,” You started, “But you’ve captured my interest, and ever since I got to watch you paint that day I also haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” You paused, breathing in deeply. Well, it’s now or never you suppose. 

“Everytime I think of you, I can physically feel my chest tighten and I feel almost like I’m going to be sick, but in a good way.” You tried to explain, not meeting his light blue eyes once. “I’m not sure if this is what love is supposed to feel like, since I’ve never really been in love before, but…I know that I do like you. Like…really like you and…God, I don’t know what I’m saying; I’ve probably said too much.” You finish with a nervous chuckle. 

“No,” You heard him say, “You said just enough.” He grabbed your hand, making you look down at him.

“I’ve…I’ve never really been in love before either, but…I do know that I really enjoy being with you, even if we’re not talking to each other. Just being around you makes me happy. Hell, the whole point of me seeing you this late was just to see you.” Van Gogh looked up at you briefly before looking down at the ground. “Ah, I’m rambling. Look, my point is that I don’t know what it’s like to love someone, but I do know what it’s like to really like someone, and…I really like you.” He finishes, looking back up at you only to notice the glassiness of tears that clouded you e/c eyes.

“Oh, no, wait don’t start crying.” You heard him say, but you couldn’t stop the flow of tears that warmed your cheeks every so slightly. You collapsed onto your knees, embracing Van Gogh, soon feeling his arms wrap around you and the wetness of tears on the back of your shirt. You hugged him harder when you heard a sob rip from his chest, trying your best not to start sobbing yourself. After all, you didn’t look the most elegant when you cried. 

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours before finally pulling away from the other. You looked him in the eyes, rubbing away some of the stray tears that still remained on his cheeks. He returned the favor. 

“All this time,” he started, “I was so scared to tell you how I felt about you. Hell, I was scared to talk to you at all. I was so worried that I would mess things up between us that I decided to just stay silent.” He paused, sighing. “It’s…difficult for me to connect with people so…I don’t have many good friends. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” 

“I was scared too,” You admitted, “In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to talk to me after we finished the project. I like being around you, so I was okay with just sitting near you in art.” You ran your hand through his orange hair, being mindful of his bandages. 

“I guess we're both kinda creeps.” You say after a minute. He smiles with a chuckle. 

“Yeah.” He whispers, “I guess we are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Extended Ending: 

You let go of Van Gogh, allowing him to clear his bed and put the paintings away. He straightened his bed out, looking over at his own clock that read quarter til midnight. He turned to you, peach dusting his pale cheeks.

“Would you, um…” He stuttered, “Would you like to spend the night? I don’t mean like, you know, but just…sleep. It’s late, we have class in the morning and it’s a bit of a walk to your dorm.” He finished, gesturing to his bed. You blushed before smiling.

“I’d love to.” You answered. He smiled before opening the covers, patting the open space.

“Great! I-Um, I’ll get the lights.” He said, walking past you. You took your shoes off before climbing into his bed, moving all the way over to one side. He turned the light off, the room only being visible because of the moonlight coming through the curtains. You felt the bed shift, assuming Van Gogh had gotten in the bed with you. 

For a while, you both laid there stiffly, painfully aware of the other’s presence. You felt his eyes on you for a while before he spoke.

“Um…would it be alright if I…” He said, scooting closer to you. You did the same, until the two of you met in the center. You turned your body towards his and he did the same. The two of you simply stared at the other for a moment before he wrapped his arms around your neck. You, in turn, wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin upon his head. He pressed his face into your collar and you shuttered as you felt his breath on your neck. 

“This,” he started, “This is…” Leaving you to finish his sentence. 

“Nice.” 

[padme-amitabha]

Anidala Week 2021

Day 3: Mythology/Fairy Tales or Favorite Touches

A Serpent in the Garden of Eden

This is based on Hindu mythology about two lovers named Behula and Lakhindar. Some aspects of the original story have been tweaked :)

Once upon a time, two seraphs in the kingdom of heaven fell in love – a love so deep and profound they would attract the envy of the other angels who served in the court of gods. They were Vader and Amidala, the most beautiful out of all the angels.

Vader was descended from the bloodline of the Father himself, creator of the heavens. Vader with his enormous black wings – a black as sinful as midnight – was the angel of death. He could be as beautiful or terrible as the person whose soul he intended to take with him.

Amidala was descended from the Sister, the deity of light, love and purity. She was the queen of the celestial maidens. She inspired all to follow her and was well loved by the citizens of Zion. Her soft wings were as white and pure as snow itself.

This couple’s union caused quite a stir in court and attracted the attention of everyone. The gods felt they were an excellent match and gave them their blessing to marry. They lived together in harmony for centuries and had many children including the twins Luke and Leia, who became deities of the sun and the moon. But after a while, like most immortal beings, they grew weary of living eternal life and craved adventure. They desired to be reincarnated and sent to Earth so that they could find each other and fall in love with each other all over again. The gods granted them this request.

Amidala, being the elder of the two angels, was sent to earth first as the youngest daughter in a well-off family in Theed. Four years later, Vader was sent as the son of a woman named Shmi. Shmi Skywalker was a middle-aged woman who lived on her own in a city called Mos Espa. It so happened that her family had been cursed and killed by the god of snakes and destruction, Sheev due to a grudge he bore against the Skywalkers. He had spared her since she was a child at the time, intending her to become his devotee, but the iron-willed Shmi vowed never to worship the god who had taken away her family.

Sheev, a vindictive god, was affronted by her refusal and placed a curse on her. Any child born of her would never reach adulthood. Shmi went on to have six sons and all of them died under mysterious circumstances in their infancy and Shmi suspected it was from snakebites. Which made sense, of course, since snakes were associated with the conniving god and it was said that was how he took the lives of people who incurred his wrath.

When she found herself with child again, she briefly considered giving in to Sheev. This seventh son was conceived without a Father and Shmi suspected a divine intervention. The child was born with stars in his eyes that reflected infinite wisdom. He was too aware as a child and emitted a godly aura. Shmi knew he was no ordinary human child as soon as she held him in her arms. With his unnaturally bright blue eyes and soft golden curls, he looked like an angel descended from the heavens. Shmi named him Anakin.

Shmi was fiercely protective of her boy and always kept a close eye on him. Anakin was not to step a foot out of their extremely safeguarded house. Anakin, naturally because Vader’s essence still lived inside him, was born with the desire to explore worlds and make a name for himself. But he was aware that his mother’s overprotectiveness came from the sorrows she had endured so he (mostly) remained an obedient child. He dreamed of leaving his house once he reached the age of twenty-one for that would render the curse null and void. 

As a child, he had discovered he was an excellent craftsman and a natural artist. He painted everything he had heard Shmi talk about the world beyond Mos Espa and even Tatooine. Sometimes, images would flash in his mind about a place where there was only happiness. These visions would also show him a strangely familiar face.

Anakin hadn’t seen many girls and most of the women he had encountered were his mother’s age but he knew she was the most beautiful girl in the world. He wasn’t certain she really existed and perhaps, she was just a figment of his imagination and he decided to bring her to life with a portrait. He deftly painted her big brown eyes, delicate features and soft brown hair. It proved to be his finest work.

Meanwhile, Shmi began looking for a potential bride for Anakin. She knew he was lonely and she knew she wouldn’t be around forever to look after him and Anakin had just turned twenty. He had been mostly nonchalant to the girls she had considered for him and spent an awful amount of time thinking about some fictitious girl of his dreams.

She went to Jira, the fruit seller, who lived nearby. The old woman knew every girl in vicinity and she had doted on Anakin since he was little. Shmi told herabout Anakin’s reluctance to marry.

“Don’t look so down, Shmi. I have good news for you,” Jira assured her. “I know about Anakin’s curse and it seems like we have found a solution. A month ago, I visited my sister in Theed and heard the most interesting news. The Naberries are devotes of Shiraya and on a recent visit to the temple, they have heard a prophecy about their second daughter. It is said she would never be a widow.”

Shmi rejoiced at the news. If Anakin were to wed this girl, that would secure his life. “Where can I find this girl?” she asked.

Anakin did not want to marry this girl. His mother had gushed about her countless qualities. Shmi believed she was as special as her own son.  She was well known in all of Theed for being wits, virtues and beauty. But he was growing weary of living life as a prisoner inside his own home and he longed to live a normal life. Maybe this Naberrie girl was the answer. He agreed to meet her.

All his initial reluctance faded once he saw her. It was her. The girl from his dreams.

Anakin immediately agreed to marry Padmé, who seemed just as much taken with him as he was with her.

On their wedding night, Shmi prepared a chamber for them and took every precaution to keep out any snakes that could slither in. Unfortunately, Sheev was one step ahead of her. He conspired with Watto, the builder, to sabotage their accommodation and leave a carefully concealed hole.

Anakin and Padmé were fast asleep on their wedding night, after conversing for hours about their shared visions and memories. The snake upon gazing at the couple felt a pang of regret and hesitated to bring misfortune upon the innocent young couple. Sheev then used his godly powers to compel the serpent and charmed Padmé to fall into a deep slumber. The snake caused the lamp kept next to the couple’s bed to topple and the spills of hot oil forced Padmé to wake and she found her husband bitten by the serpent. She took out the dagger she always carried with her and with she threw it at the snake, which caused its tail to be chopped in half.

Shmi rushed to her son’s side but it was too late. The poison was already in his system and within a few hours, Anakin was dead. Shmi was inconsolable with grief and so was Padmé after becoming a widow at such a young age.

As per the tradition, Anakin’s body was to be put on a raft and set to sail on the river as was done to people who died from snake bites. Padmé refused to accept his death.

All her life, she had known her husband would never die before her. She wished to be on the raft and accompany him. The people thought she had lost her mind from the grief. She waited for them to leave after the ritual and then sneaked in the raft and started sailing on the river. She prayed to the gods to not let the raft sink.

It was said if you went far enough, you would reach the heavens. And that exactly was Padmé’s intention. She would enter heaven and beg the gods to restore Anakin back to life.

The gods were impressed by her perseverance and put her through many trails along the way. Padmé, with Amidala’s essence in her, proved she was worthy and passed them all.

When she reached the heavens, the gods welcomed her.

“We are impressed by your devotion to your husband,” said Yoda, the god of wisdom.

“Then help me by bringing him back to life,” pleaded Padmé.

“It is too late,” said Sheev, ever the schemer. “You have taken too long to reach here. We can only resurrect him within 3 days of his death. You have taken a week.”

Padmé was heartbroken. She besought them to find another way for her to be reunited with her Anakin again or take her life as well.

“There is a way,” said Qui-Gon, the god of compassion, thoughtfully.

“We can make him a god again, as he was once. But he would be bound to serve another god for eternity. That is the price you must pay.”

Sheev was quick to step up and offer to be Anakin’s master and Shmi, realizing her son’s life was more important to her, allowed Anakin to be Palpatine’s apprentice.

Shaak Ti, the goddess of power, was impressed by Padmé and offered to take her in if she was willing to give up her mortal life. Padmé agreed without a second thought. Anakin was restored to life and he was euphoric on seeing his beloved at his side. He felt very fortunate on having such a capable woman as his wife. In the end, Padmé’s endurance and good faith was rewarded. The couple was welcomed back in heaven as gods, reunited after the adventure of a lifetime, and as the happiest of husbands and wives.  

[bookersebastien]

some spare immortal family halloween costume hcs for a poor soul? 🥺🥺🦇

HEGEL💕💕💕 asjddjfd I LOVE YOU

some inspo taken from @nilefreemans halloween party fic

First nile is the only one who has grown up with halloween, and as i’ve seen the way the united states does halloween is just so much MORE than in other countries, so the others probably haven’t celebrated it much in any kind of way

And nile LOVES halloween, grew up making costumes with her mom and brother and she loves the classic costumes, ghosts, witches, vampires, etc. and she is GOOD at making them and finding just the right things to make them

Except now nile has a resource she didn’t have previously, these ancient ass motherfuckers

She’s a HUGE fucking art/art history nerd, and now at her disposal are four immortals who have a combined over 8,000 years of life on this earth so her costume potential has just skyrocketed

Nile now has the opportunity to dress as any and all historical art figures she wants with COMPLETE accuracy (assuming at least some of the guard met that person - which they’ve definitely met lots of them)

Nicky and joe are absolute GIDDY with the idea of matching costumes, and a serious thank you to kayla for blessing us with the image of them wearing matching abba costumes

But also imagine nicky and joe doing the thing where one of them is an artist and the other goes as one of their works, like van gogh and his self portrait OR pls imagine joe going as michelangelo and nicky going as the david (because listen nicky was the inspiration behind it) or also alexandre cabanel and nicky as the painting of lucifer (it’s the EYES)

But also: decade costumes. They love to reminisce about old fashions and what the world was like and what they were doing at the time, and you know joe probably has several pieces of clothing from various eras tucked away somewhere so when they get the change they go FULL on with the costumes, down to the last detail

However i will die on the hill that nicky LOVES pun costumes, like imagine them as ‘ice ice baby’ with their cat (cattulus because i remember the cat hcs hegel lol) as the baby 

Also pls imagine them or andy and quynh as gomez and morticia addams

Quynh goes dramatic as hell, full on makeup and prosthetics. Like nile, she’s a halloween QUEEN, and loves the sexy scary route, vampires, ghostly warrior, zombies, etc. whatever it is she will KILL it. Loves the scary face makeup with the scratches and blood everywhere

She also probably loves the holiday and loves to scare the rest of the guard, so far she’s scared nicky the most though they now are teaming up to get booker

Loves anything that will make andy SPEECHLESS and anything where she can wear heels

Nile and quynh are a force to be reckoned with about halloween, they prepare MONTHS in advance, buying what they need and taking the time to make their costumes perfect and they WILL show you the fuck up at any party with their skill and beauty

Andy does like the holiday but she will only wear something where she can carry a weapon, bonus if the weapon is her axe but she’ll settle for a sword

Loves to do pirates or warriors, and like nile will occasionally take the historical route and go as joan or arc or artemisia or the like and gets quynh to go as Lady Triệu (which who is to say that wasn’t her in the first place)

Gets at least a little drunk wherever they go and will sword fight someone, too bad for the other person for not realizing her sword is real though

Quynh always helps her with her costume, but andy prefers a more relaxed approach and will sometimes just choose old armor she has and go with that

Booker is the wild card of the bunch

He’ll act like this is all silly but LOVES watching everyone dress up and have fun

Some years he’ll be lazy and throw on jeans and a cowboy hat and that’ll be it, one year he went a little wild and did a brown leather jacket and was indiana jones (which i’d love to see)

He’ll try many times to see what he can do with the clothes he has, instead of going for a whole costume - even going as james bond with a suit he had

A favorite of his is going as famous athletes, soccer or american football, HOCKEY (he’s fucking BUILT for it ok)

Also i firmly believe he went as batman one year in a full batsuit and he LOVED it

Lykon’s gonna be included too, but i think he’d be relatively laid back about his costume. Not going quite as lazy as booker, but he choose simple over the all the makeup and stuff. I think he’d love to do SUPER cheesy classic costumes, a sheet for a ghost, big fangs and a cloak for a vampire, etc. or sometimes as a surfer or something where he can wear hawaiian shirts because i think he would’ve loved them. He mostly just wants to have a good time with his family and focus more on that

now we can also talk group costumes in which i am extremely partial to them going as the scooby doo gang, because this is one of my fav fanarts and nicky going as scooby is the funniest shit ever 

Also you just KNOW they went as the avengers or star wars characters or some shit at least at one point in their lives (idk anything about star wars so)

For your consideration: quynh as black widow, andy as hulk, nicky as the winter soldier (the HAIR and the EYES), joe as nomad steve or falcon, booker as thor (they would all make so much fun of his wig because of course they’re gonna make him do the long hair look), and nile as the scarlett witch because she's that POWERFUL

[eivor-basim]

ezio (in all seriousness now. mind your step 🥰🥰🔪🔪)

hey you can put your pixel knives away, i love ezio. and i'm not gonna steal your video game boyfriend i promise <3

first impression

i first played ac2 when i was 13 or so. at the Very First Glance he annoyed me a bit because he reminded me of boys my age who thought they were all that. a pre-fuckboy, if you will. but then he was so soft with his family. i really felt the pain of losing them with him. and he was adorably awkward flirting with cristina and being baffled by leonardo. so i quickly realized that ezio actually deserves so much love. and also a hug... pls allow this man some damn comfort ubi. plus of course, the fancy renaissance assassin robes and being so overpowered in fights just made it so FUN to play as ezio. i appreciated his badassery

impression now

now, playing an ezio game feels like coming home.

no matter what life throws at him, ezio finds a way to move forward and make something of it. always with a joke and a spring in his step. i love that resilience. and i've come to love the charm that annoyed me at first. because it's not putting on a show, that's just How He Is. he's warm and charismatic and funny. and manages to maintain that in spite of everything.

also, his humor isn't a façade veiling a lack of character or wisdom as can sometimes be the case with the fun-loving roguish archetype. over the course of the games, he really grows to be a man of principle and gains truly insightful perspective. these quotes he just drops:

"When I was a young man, I had liberty, but I did not see it. I had time, but I did not know it. And I had love, but I did not feel it. Many decades would pass before I understood the meaning of all three. And now, the twilight of my life, this understanding has passed into contentment. Love, liberty, and time: once so disposable, are the fuels that drive me forward."

"I have lived my life as best I could, not knowing its purpose, but drawn forward like a moth to a distant moon. And here, at last, I discover a strange truth. That I am only a conduit for a message that eludes my understanding. Who are we, who have been so blessed to share our stories like this? To speak across centuries?"

"To say that nothing is true is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile and that we must be the shepherds of our civilization. To say that everything is permitted is to understand that we are the architects of our actions, and that we must live with their consequences, whether glorious of tragic."

"My story is one of many thousands, and the world will not suffer if it ends too soon."

i cried looking those up and reading them again btw!!

this man goes through so much pain. he builds the brotherhood up from nothing, only to lose it. and then builds it again. he does ALL THAT only to realize his whole life has served to convey a message he will never understand to a person he will never meet. yet even so he still finds contentment. he finds love and happiness. and he does it all with the signature ezio auditore da firenze flair. and looks hot doing it

(i really do need to note, this pixel man is FINE. i have to say his brotherhood look is my favorite but he is consistently hot)

i love him i love him i love him

favorite moment

there are so many??? and tbh i just started my ezio trilogy replay so the details are a little fuzzy, especially on brotherhood and revelations

one moment that always rips my heart out is when he assassinates his first target and yells "the auditore are not dead! i'm still here! me! ezio! ezio auditore!" and you can just hear his voice breaking a little

i love the little conversations between him and leonardo. leo really becomes one of the few constants in ezio's life, which forms such a distinct and powerful bond between them. and leo is just a walking ray of sunshine

ooh i really love the entire venice carnival sequence. also both ezio and claudia's assassin induction ceremonies. when ezio yeets cesare off the roof. and all of the moments with the quotes above

like i said, impossible to choose. and i still feel like this list is incomplete since i'm about to replay and will likely rediscover a bunch of old faves

idea for a story

hmm i don't know. i really feel like ezio's story is well executed and comes full circle in canon tbh. in the past i've enjoyed fics that actually do give ezio a chance to talk to desmond and explore the bleeding effect creating overlap between their lives. if i wrote a story, i might focus on ezio and claudia, because i feel like her character is very underutilized in-game.

unpopular opinion

i suppose a lot of my interpretation of ezio would be unpopular among those who see him as a womanizer and put him on a pedestal for that. other than that, hard to say tbh. i know many people don't like ezio with sofia, and i think they're very cute together. i guess also, i don't think ezio ever fully recognized claudia's ability. i think his perception of her was clouded by the gender roles of the time. in my view, he improved over time but never managed to shake off that bias

favorite relationship

romantically, this is difficult because ezio has great chemistry with lots of people and almost every ship makes me think oh yeah that'd be cute. i don't really have an otp with ezio, you know? i do really like him with leonardo and sofia tho

platonically, claudia. the murder siblings dynamic is everything. also, yusuf. their interactions were always so charming and hilarious, and yusuf's death clearly hit him so hard-- why ubisoft

favorite headcanon

ezio paints portraits of his targets, but i also like the thought of him painting portraits of his loved ones. ones that just feel more tender and personal when you're looking at them. and going out to the countryside to paint landscapes with leonardo-- artist couple!!

this is a communal headcanon at this point lol, but in-game ezio tries coffee and suggests adding sugar and milk. so i like to think he's the inventor of The Most Extra coffee drinks, like a triple caramel cappuccino with extra whipped cream and sprinkles type shit

finally, i think at heart he's very sentimental. he probably holds on to all sorts of knick knacks that remind him of the people in his life and the places he's been. he catches a whiff of, idk, a certain type of flower and is instantly transported to picking those flowers for a crush as a boy. gets all misty-eyed thinking about it. ezio is soft!!

send me a character!

[morethanaprincess-a]

Closed, plotted starter for @whitecrowns-blackthrones​ !

"He looks so stern, too stern," As soon as Sonia could hear her mother's voice over her shoulder, she sighed, making every effort not to grimace as she descended the grand staircase between both parents. It was unconventional, but so was a Crown Princess for a country who had, until now, yet to be blessed with a future female monarch and a current, reigning king and queen who spent more time apart than together, and the few instances they did ended up in disagreements at best. "One has to wonder if when the artist asked Prince Slane to smile, he chose that expression out of spite."

Sonia closed the cover over the miniature. Covered in scarlet red velvet, it stood out against the sea of cool tones that swathed the Royal Family and most of the Novoselic Court. Perhaps it was an indication of just how out of place the Camellian royal would be as part of the family. King Alexandre and Queen Valentina both wore the forest green and gold colors that represented Novoselic, while Sonia herself had been chosen a gown of light blue silk, adorned with pearls to match her eyes and, for once, make her parents pale in comparison. That wasn't a challenging feat, once the King and Queen were removed from the spotlight and forced into the same space for longer than the length of a tea. She slipped the tiny portrait of her supposed future husband into one of the gown's hidden pockets. It was already uneasy, the prospect of an arranged marriage that she'd avoided, successfully, for so long. But at twenty-three, she was becoming far too old to remain unmarried and far too old to be the mediator between disagreeable parents.

"You haven't even met him yet, Valentina," King Alexandre pointed out tiredly. Sonia supposed it made sense for her father to look weary nowadays, instead of cheerful and joyous. That had been his reaction to his only child and daughter finishing university, returning home and eagerly taking an interest in the running of the country she'd one day inherit. But since the decision had been made to ally with the Kingdom of Camellia by marriage, the King had been subjected with everything from hesitation and plenty of questions from the bride-to-be to downright disapproval and disdain from his wife, who hardly approved of much of anything he did in most cases. Sonia could swear she'd spotted far more greys in his golden-blonde hair and various crinkles around his eyes, ice blue that matched his daughter's.  "Perhaps meet him first before deciding that you dislike him and he's unsuitable for Sonia?" Not that it made much difference anyway: the King had the final word regarding the marriage of his heir, not the Queen.

"I'm only saying that such a somber nature could lead to discomfort amongst the court, much less the people," Her mother insisted, now taking the opportunity to glance over her daughter's posture and complexion, both deemed acceptable, without the pocket-sized portrait of her future son-in-law to dissect. "We need a beautiful, young Royal couple, a Crown Princess and Prince Consort. Two people in love, or at least appearing to be, who shall inspire our nation to work hard and prosper as well. Prince Slane has that sort of face that could dampen even the brightest of occasions."

There wasn't much anyone could do about it now, and all three of them knew it. The scout had already returned with news of the Prince's approaching carriage and possibly entire retinue, so there was no time for last minute letters of dissolution. At least they'd agreed on a minimal welcoming party, mostly at Sonia's urgency. The full court could be overwhelming even to those accustomed to the life, and her father had been adamant that his brother and family be kept at bay at least for the initial meeting. When the Queen had complained about looking a fool in the eyes of the Camellian Royals without a full party, the King had retorted how the Duke tended to cause some sort of trouble when negotiations needed to go off without a hitch. Something Queen Valentina had clearly depended on, but was now left to fend for her daughter's success herself.

"King John Li and I have allied our countries in battle, and now we shall do so in marriage," King Alexandre repeated himself for what sounded like the fiftieth time in the past month, when the papers had been signed. "It is an excellent decision for both Sonia and this country. I'm not sure why the two of you have such reservations." With a wave of his hand, the various members of staff and security assigned to greet the newcomers fell into formation, forming a path for the immediate members of the Royal Family to proceed.

"It is a possibility that he may just be shy," Sonia finally contributed. Since she was little, she was accustomed to waiting to get a word in once her parents were truly incensed. "And despite the concerns, I'm not sure that this current conversation will lead to any sort of welcome for him. I'm the one who will be greeting him, after all. I hope that for a first impression, I may put my best foot forward."

Valentina's green eyes narrowed some in the direction of her husband and daughter. "You two seem to take great pleasure in going against me whenever possible," She insisted with thin-lipped smile. Out in the courtyard, all eyes were either upon the Royal Family or the line of carriages that had pulled to a stop, doors opening and their inhabitants preparing to disembark.

Sonia smiled in return. It was rare that, in some capacity, she actually agreed with her mother: this arranged marriage was a terrible idea. Even if their reasonings were very different. But she needed to take matters into her own hands without ruffling any feathers, and perhaps making a new friend out of the experience. She could hardly blame the young prince in these matters: for all she knew, Sonia thought as the horns erupted in the Royal Processional, he was just as opposed to the idea of arranged marriage as she was. "Her Royal Highness, Princess Sonia of Novoselic!" The Gerald announced, clearly just as uncomfortable as Queen Valentina was about the Princess, not the King, greeting her new fiancé first. Sonia, however, simply took a deep breath, held her head high, and smiled, walking past both of her parents down the long pathway to the carriages unaccompanied. No matter her feelings on the situation, there was no excuse to be rude and unwelcoming.

"Prince Slane Ying Li of Camellia, on behalf of myself, my family, the court, and the people, we welcome you to the Kingdom of Novoselic," Sonia greeted him kindly, her high-pitched tone clear as she smiled, dipping into an appropriate curtsy before rising back to her feet. From what she understood, it had likely been quite the journey for him after having examined the maps thoroughly. "Though outside of official appearances, please do call me 'Sonia.' The usage of titles in unnecessary situations tends to bring about unease for me, and it would be wonderful if we could be friends." That was sincere, in any case. Even if the idea of an arranged marriage would dissolve, she was quite happy and interested to make a new friend.

[tabloidtoc]

People, May 10

Cover: Gabrielle Union and Dwyane Wade

Page 3: Chatter -- Mindy Kaling on technology woes, Amy Adams on wanting to go into acting because of Grease, Gal Gadot on telling her daughters Maya and Alma about her pregnancy, DJ Khaled on using Rihanna's skin-care line, Christie Brinkley on showing off her body on Instagram at age 67, Whoopi Goldberg on writing a superhero movie about an older Black lady

Page 4: 5 Things We're Talking About -- Michael Keaton returns as Batman, Jane Fonda recalls her first and best kiss, Maya Rudolph would give Bridesmaids another go, the stars of ER scrub in one more time, popcorn and donuts team up

Page 7: Contents

Page 8: StarTracks -- one day before Prince William and Princess Kate's youngest child Prince Louis turned 3, Kensington Palace released a new portrait of the little royal to mark the occasion; Kate snapped the photo of Louis, who wore a school uniform and backpack as he rode his bike outside their home in London ahead of his first day of preschool

Page 9: JoJo Siwa and mom Jessalynn went for a roller-coaster ride at Disney's Hollywood studios in Florida, Madonna in a three-piece Gucci suit for dinner at West Hollywood staple Craig's

Page 10: Stars on Set -- Rachel Brosnahan was pretty in pink while filming season 4 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel with costar Alex Borstein in NYC, John Cena flashed a peace sign when he took a coffee break while filming The Suicide Squad spinoff series Peacemaker in Vancouver, Tika Sumpter and James Marsden shot an action-packed scene for Sonic the Hedgehog 2 in Vancouver

Page 11: Katie Holmes was spotted on a Connecticut set preparing to film the drama The Watergate Girl in which she'll play Watergate prosecutor Jill Wine-Banks, Awkwafina and Bowen Yang filmed the upcoming season of Awkwafina Is Nora from Queens in NYC, Melissa Benoist suited up for Supergirl in Vancouver

Page 12: Brooke Shields who is recovering after breaking her femur in a gym accident walked arm in arm after a lunch with husband Chris Henchy, Britney Spears and boyfriend Sam Asghari posed for a photo before attending a friend's wedding

Page 15: Stars in the Sun -- Maren Morris flaunted her new tan while enjoying a tropical getaway, Simone Biles and boyfriend Jonathan Owens cuddled up during a trip to Florida, Lindsey Vonn caught some waves and some rays while paddleboarding in Tulum, Derek Hough cooled off in the ocean during a beach day in L.A., Brie Larson enjoyed a dip while on vacation in Hawaii

Page 17: Scoop -- Life After Their Split -- how Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez are moving on

Page 18: Inside Caitlyn Jenner's run for governor

Page 20: Heart Monitor -- Tarek El Moussa and Heather Rae Young ready to wed, Pete Davidson and Phoebe Dynevor going public, Zac Efron and Vanessa Valladares split, Billie Eilish and Matthew Tyler Vorce new couple?

Page 23: Jana Kramer and Mike Caussin's messy divorce

* Susannah Constantine -- my royal friendship with Princess Margaret

Page 24: Open House -- French Montana

* Baby Boom -- the latest on Hollywood's growing families -- Marie Kondo and Takumi Kawahara welcomed a son, Nick and Lauren Carter welcomed their third child

Page 27: Ed Helms talks life after The Office

Page 29: Passages, Why I Care -- Lisa Kudrow is working with doctors at UCLA to end the stigma surrounding mental health issues

Page 31: Stories to Make You Smile -- most cats can't stand the water but 8-month-old Marlin can't get enough and his Instagram is @carolinejarvis, a first grader's airplane kits give wings to kids' travel dreams

Page 35: People Picks -- Tom Clancy's Without Remorse

Page 36: Limbo, One to Watch -- Shadow and Bone's Jessie Mei Li

Page 37: Pose, Pet Stars

Page 38: The Handmaid's Tale, Thomas Rhett -- Country Again: Side A, Q&A with Olivia Holt

Page 39: The Mosquito Coast, Inspiring America: The 2021 Inspiration List

Page 41: Books

Page 42: Oscars 2021 -- The Return of Glamour -- the show was unconventional, just 170 guests were allowed in L.A.'s Union Station, and COVID restrictions were strictly enforced, but stars did their part to bring back some movie magic

Page 43: Andra Day

Page 44: Fabulous Fashion -- crop tops, ball gowns and bows ruled the red carpet -- Angela Bassett, Zendaya, Carey Mulligan, Maria Bakalova

Page 45: Margot Robbie, Reese Witherspoon, Viola Davis, Amanda Seyfried

Page 46: Behind the Scenes -- Regina King -- the actress closed out awards season in a custom Louis Vuitton creation

Page 48: Shine Bright -- there's no such thing as too much bling -- Laura Pausini, Vanessa Kirby, Zendaya

Page 49: Maria Bakalova, Daniel Kaluuya, Glenn Close, Tiara Thomas

Page 50: Very Well Suited -- these sharp dressers put their own twists on the tuxedo -- Lakeith Stanfield, Colman Domingo, Paul Raci, Tyler Perry, Sacha Baron Cohen, Alan Kim

Page 53: Getting Ready with Andra Day

Page 55: Getting Ready with Angela Bassett

Page 56: Romance on the Red Carpet -- these couples only had eyes for each other -- Sacha Baron Cohen and Isla Fisher, Halle Berry and Van Hunt, Chloe Zhao and Joshua James Richards, Riz Ahmed and Fatima Farheen Mirza

Page 57: Steven Yeun and Joana Pak, Leslie Odom Jr. and Nicolette Robinson, Paul Raci and Liz Hanley Raci, Aaron Sorkin and Paulina Porizkova

Page 58: Best in Show -- there were A-list stars, groundbreaking moments and social distancing as Hollywood gathered safely to honor the best movies of the year -- Reese Witherspoon

Page 61: Alan Kim, Angela Bassett, Rita Moreno

Page 62: Major Moments -- these artists broke barriers during the most historic ceremony ever -- Emerald Fennell, Chloe Zhao, Daniel Kaluuya

Page 63: H.E.R., Anthony Hopkins, Yuh-Jung Youn with Brad Pitt, Mia Neal

Page 65: Yuh-Jung Youn and Daniel Kaluuya and Frances McDormand, Elton John and Dua Lipa, Andra Day and Winnie Harlow

Page 66: Cover Story -- Dwyane Wade and Gabrielle Union -- Dream Team -- the actress and NBA champ open up about protecting their family, fighting for what's right and why they're stronger than ever

Page 72: George Floyd's Killer Found Guilty -- We Can Breathe Again -- friends and family of the Minneapolis man killed by police rejoice after a jury's verdict and vow with supporters to keep fighting systemic racism

Page 76: Bethenny Frankel -- what I know now -- the irrepressible former Real Housewives star and businesswoman is newly engaged and back as a boss with a new show

Page 80: A Son Lost to Suicide, A Father's Mission -- we loved him every day, but it wasn't enough -- after the shocking death of his 12-year-old son, Brad Hunstable has a message for parents: talk to your kids about suicide

Page 84: Andrew McCarthy -- I was never suited for fame -- the beloved actor, and author of a new memoir, looks back on his enduring films, surviving his '80s stardom and how his affiliation with the so-called Brat Pack was a mixed blessing

Page 88: Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton's 10-year anniversary -- remembering the big day -- those who made the wedding a fairy tale share their memories

Page 92: Country Singer Thomas Rhett -- fame, family and finding my way -- the star opens up about overcoming struggled with his wife Lauren in their 8-year-marriage and learning to put their family first

Page 98: Murdered Soldier Vanessa Guillen's Fiance -- every day I pray for justice -- a year after losing the love of his life, Juan Cruz is determined to make sure the Army specialist's legacy is never forgotten and that her tragic death inspires lasting change

Page 102: George W. Bush -- painting with a purpose -- the former president avoided making waves, until his party's nativist prompted him to use his art to celebrate immigrants

Page 106: Pop Star Julia Michaels -- how I learned to love myself -- the singer talks falling in love, managing anxiety and writing hits for Britney Spears and Selena Gomez

Page 116: One Last Thing -- Josh Duhamel

[apollos-son]

✎ ❝Won't You Stay By My Side?❞

Rating ; 13+

Pairing ; eventual poly ot8 ateez

Genre ; fluff, slight angst?

Tags ; painter Yeosang au, old au, nothing but sweet romance, poly ot8

Summery ; Kang Yeosang is a painter from the big city who recently moved away to a little port town very far away from any place he knew. With a determination to paint the scenic views, Yeosang hastily tries to settle in but finds that he can't get much work done because there happens to be some... distractions around the little town that seem to grab his attention in ways that other things couldn't.

I know this is unlikely but I do ask that you do not copy my work under any circumstances. Do not repost, translate or use my work without permission. Thanks :)

<- previous chapter • next chapter ->

Chapter 2 ⇢ ❝I Think That You're Charming.❞

Come Thursday Morning, Yeosang had been staying in Clearbrook Port for a day. He hadn't gotten much sleep that prior night with all of the thoughts bouncing around in his head. He hadn't painted a portrait in a while, and he was nervous at the idea of painting that gorgeous man from the day before.

Just the thought of him stumbling around his words before Hongjoong made him cringe, but it didn't seem as though Hongjoong's father was going to take no for an answer. That was evident in the fact that the older man hadn't given Yeosang a chance to reply when he had asked. Begrudgingly, despite his nervousness, Yeosang collected his things and he popped them in the smaller of the two cases he had brought with him, which was now sitting under the stairs that lead to the bedroom on the highest shelf.

It was as soon as he walked out of his front door that he was met with a loud shriek. The loud noise caused him to squeak and look up and there, before him, was a male with a cute, wide smile. He was considerably small, but he held a plate with a small sponge cake on it. "Kang Yeosang, right?" The male asked, his voice smooth. "Yes, t-that's me," he confirmed, which somehow caused the other boy's smile to widen "Jung Wooyoung! I would've greeted you yesterday, but the bakery gets quite hectic in the morning when people want to buy fresh bread," the new boy, Wooyoung, admitted. "but I baked this cake for you to celebrate your arrival!"

The cake looked rich in colour and it had three layers. Between each one there seemed to be a thick, redish substance, probably jam, that made Yeosang's mouth water slightly. The painter bowed deeply and smiled "ah, thank you so much! I really appreciate it!"

*

After a sweet chat in front of Yeosang's home, the younger of the two had offered to show the painter the way to Hongjoong's humble home. "How did you know about that?" Yeosang queried. "Mingi-ah told me! He and Jongho-ssi stopped by the bakery after you left!" he squeaked. Yeosang looked at him blankly for a moment before nodding, "Ah, you're the baker!" Yeosang realised, his eyes sparkling. The comment caused Wooyoung to burst into bright, bubbly laughter. "W-What are you laughing at?" The painter stuttered. "Nothing you're just... Hehehe.. You're just so cute!!"

That comment was stuck in Yeosang's head as they strolled up the stone walkway leading to the large house on the hill. Him? Cute?? That wasn't the first time a male from this small town had complimented him in such a manner. A manner that was almost natural and sweet. The thought came to a halt, a soft tap to his arm bringing him back to reality. "This is it, Mayor Kim's house. Yeah, it's on the bigger side which does cause some people in the town to get vexed but,, I try not to think about it!!" Wooyoung concluded with a nod. "Good luck! Don't faint or anything! I know if I had to paint Kim Hongjoong I would," the young baker swooned.

It was odd to Yeosang that Wooyoung had such an interest in the handsome man, calling him beautiful and admiring him. He had seen pretty girls in the town too... so why wouldn't Wooyoung pay attention to them? He would need a spouse eventually... and liking men wasn't really a viable option. Not even in a little town like this.

Yeosang heaved a soft sigh as he watched the smaller male skip away happily. He gave the door a gentle knock and it soon opened. The house was very beautiful. It was built in the same style of the other houses, yet it was bigger and somehow much more... ravishing. The doors had engraved golden patterns and the frames of the windows did too, to match. Yeosang's attention was brought to the door once more when a woman cleared her throat. She was in maid-like attire and had a rather impatient look about her. "Welcome to Master Kim's humble abode, may I help you sir?" she asked in a bored tone, her head cocking to the side to feign interest.

"I'm here because the Mayor requested my services?" Yeosang said and the maid's look hardened. "N-Not like that!! H-He asked me to paint his son's portrait..." The young painter stuttered and the maid's eyes widened to the size of golf balls. "Kang Yeosang..?! Ah, my apologies, sir. This way, sir," she stammered as she turned on her heel to lead Yeosang down the entrance hall. There were many paintings already decorating the hall, and the walls that they hung from had more beautiful designs etched into their wooden surfaces.

They had come to a halt and the maid pointed down the eastern hall. "The two larger doors at the end lead into Master Hongjoong's quarters, he will most likely be in there, sir," she said politely. Yeosang nodded his head "right.. thank you," he hummed as he carefully walked down the wide corridor. There seemed to be a skylight in the center of the corridor, where it met the two doors the maid spoke of.

He took the deepest of breaths, and knocked very lightly on the door. No reply came. He then tried again, louder this time, but still no reply. He decided that he would just have to enter with caution.

When Yeosang entered through the carefully etched wooden doors, he could've sworn that his eyes were deceiving him. Kim Hongjoong, that same sweet male who had greeted the young painter so warmly, had his back against one of the chocolate coloured desks, the buttons of his shirt mostly loose apart from the bottom ones, a taller man who was in much more formal attire kissed him smoothly, passionately. The kiss looked to be slow and full of love. Yeosang thought that he should be terrified, that he's watching the Mayor's son casually make-out with a random man he hasn't seen before but the worst part was, he wasn't terrified nor was he worried. Watching the two men kiss made his heart swell.

His lips pressed into a thin line as a deep scarlet colour came over his face and the tips of his ears. He didn't know what to say.. what was he supposed to say?? An 'Oh hey, Mister Hongjoong, I'm here to paint you now and by the way, I'll make sure not to mention your make out session to anybody,' seemed inappropriate. Very inappropriate. So he stood still, fiddling with the case he had brought with him.

It was the taller man that noticed him first, and he pulled away from Hongjoong's lips causing said boy to whine. "S-Seonghwa what are you-" the small male started "you have company, sir," Seonghwa said softly and he offered Yeosang a smile. "Mister Kang was it? We should have managed our time better, Mister Kim," he chuckled. "Don't 'Mister Kim' me," Hongjoong huffed as he stood up, buttoning up his expensive-looking shirt flusteredly. "Yeosang.. I'm sorry you had to uh... witness that," Hongjoong sighed. "O-Oh no!" Yeosang squeaked "it's o-okay! I wasn't expecting it is all..."

The smile that was brought to Hongjoong's face after Yeosang spoke was breathtaking. "So you enjoyed it?" he asked teasingly, which caused Yeosang to whine quietly. "Sir, don't tease the poor boy," the taller man.. Seonghwa said with a smile. His smile was pretty too. And his eyes sparkled prettily. Yeosang found himself lost in them quickly. Hongjoong laughed gently, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, which brought Yeosang back to reality. "Alright, alright. You're here for my portrait, yes? Well, my father wanted the background to be of the manor but... I think the nearby flower field would be the perfect place for a portrait... wouldn't you agree Yeosang?" The male's pretty eyes had turned to glance at Yeosang again, and the painter didn't know how to respond without stuttering, so he gave a slow nod instead. Hongjoong smiled again, and oh wow was that smile gorgeous. "Come along then, we should get started soon so you have time to work,"

*

Yeosang's eyes sparkled as he looked around. This was the flower field, filled with so many different wild flowers. He couldn't stop looking at the scenery, luscious green grass with colourful buds of life scattered around.

He didn't realise, however, that Hongjoong stood beside him with the most endearing of smiles on his face, gazing at Yeosang's awestruck nature. He couldn't believe that yet another beautiful man, among the other six he admired, was before him. Yeosang's features looked perfect to him, like a statue. A wonderful piece of art. Hongjoong almost felt as though he should be the one painting Yeosang. Granted, he wasn't the most talented artist. So perhaps it was better off the other way around.

Yeosang had gotten acquainted with Seonghwa briefly, and had learnt that Seonghwa was Hongjoong's personal assistant, which didn't seem necessary to him and also caused him to wonder how rich the Mayor could possibly be. He didn't complain really though, because he couldn't deny that the man was incredibly attractive. He also had already developed a habit of making Yeosang incredibly flustered.

Hongjoong had brought a stool out with him, bless his little soul, not for himself, but for Yeosang to be seated on. Hongjoong had the idea of being seated in the tall grass on a small hill that housed an old oak tree. "Are you sure you're okay with this? We can always return to the manor if you don't think you'd be able to-" Yeosang shook his head and smiled, cutting the elder male off "t-that won't be necessary, sir, I'm confident I can capture the beauty of both you and the scenery," he said, confidence in his voice but shyness evident in his body language. His firm confirmation made Hongjoong smile widely, his eyes becoming little crescents as he did so. "Well, alright, as long as you're okay with it,"

Within the next ten minutes, Yeosang had his easel and canvas ready and Hongjoong had sat down, rather gracefully may Yeosang add, in the grass. It was perfect, the way that the grass didn't cover his body entirely but almost encased him. The oak tree was close by, casting over some shade that met with the afternoon sun's bright shining light in an almost seamless way. Seonghwa stood at Yeosang's side, not too close yet not too far; it was far enough to give Yeosang space.

Quietly, the painter took his paintbrush and stared at Hongjoong for a while, measuring the male up with his surroundings. His left eye had fluttered closed so he could perfectly measure the scale of the scenery. From Hongjoong's perspective, it did give the impression of a wink and the thought of that alone made Hongjoong's cheeks bloom in a soft red. The painter had noticed the rosy hue, but he didn't speak, he only thought how beautiful the rosiness made Hongjoong look. Was this man always this attractive? His smile was beautiful, his flusteredness was cute and his personality was refreshing from the chatting that they had done whilst Yeosang was preparing. "I need you to hold that pose... y-you can, right?" Yeosang asked with a small tilt of his head.

There was a part of him that scolded the way his heart swelled when Hongjoong sent him a small nod and a wink. He couldn't fall in love with a man... it.. it wasn't right, was it? Even the way Seonghwa looked at him made his heart ache, and when he saw them kissing..

Then his mind went to Mingi, to Wooyoung too and he thought about how much worse it would be if he fell for the men in this town. Now that would cause all sorts of problems. He sighed very softly, which caused Hongjoong to give him a concerned gaze "are you okay, Yeosang?" he asked politely. "Y-Yes! I'm alright! Just,, thinking," he stammered with a little smile.

He felt his face heat up at Hongjoong's reassurance that he could talk to him if he needed too ("I know as the Mayor's son, I seem big and bad but I'm not, I promise!") and he lightly cursed under his breath because he was falling in love, wasn't he? Or at the very least in deep like, if that was even a thing. His head stayed busy with thoughts as his paintbrush glided across the canvas.

*

It was Saturday morning, and Yeosang was up early and panicking. Usually, he wouldn't wake up this early just to panic, but today was important. Yesterday, Hongjoong had offered for Yeosang to join him and Seonghwa for a small picnic beside the flower field's river, to take a break from the painting that the younger had been doing. He had also mentioned that he invited a few more guests along which made Yeosang even more petrified because he barely knew anybody in the little town. He knew Mingi, he knew Wooyoung and he had briefly met Jongho on his first day. He had also met the town's apothecary-in-training Yunho when he had cut himself when returning home on Thursday evening.

'Yeosang held the wound on his arm firmly, hissing a little bit at the pain. He had cut himself on his easel when he was packing it away, but didn't want to worry Hongjoong or Seonghwa so he covered it up. He was still thinking about Hongjoong... those sweet smiles and those soft words of reassurance. So much so, that he walked straight into a tall man. "A-Ah! I'm so sorry!!" Yeosang quickly apologized and gazed up at the tall man. He had round, golden-rimmed glasses sitting on his nose and he wore the cutest of smiles. "Aha, no, no. I should be sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going. I'm Jeong Yunho, by the way," the tall man said bashfully as he helped Yeosang back up to his feet. Yunho took a good look at Yeosang's arm and gasped "oh gosh.. look at that, you're hurt. Come this way, I'm an apothecary! I can bandage it up for you!" Yunho chirped.'

Yeosang smiled fondly at the memory and stared at his bandaged arm. He then shook his head as his mind flickered back to the matter at hand, he had to get ready! Well, now that he glanced at the clock.. he would end up being two hours early if he changed and left now. Yeosang bit his thumb nail softly, so he didn't damage it, and ultimately decided that he was going to have a long shower to make sure he didn't smell bad.

He came out of the shower about thirty minutes later looking all wrinkled and pruney. He sighed, looking down at his hands "well at least I smell good," he hummed as he stepped out of the petite bathroom. He prepared his clothes prior to getting in the shower, so he was already well prepared. A soft shirt with a jacket, tweed trousers, his favorite boots and a beret. Staring into the mirror, he watched as his reflection stared back, copying his motion of flattening down the crinkles in his shirt. He wasn't trying to "doll up" or whatever the expression was, but he certainly wanted to look good. He wasn't sure whether Hongjoong had invited him as a date or just as a friendly outing.

Wait... who was he kidding? He shouldn't- he couldn't- be with a man, could he? Seonghwa and Hongjoong seemed to do it just fine, but Yeosang was unsure as to whether they were an item or just "friends-who-kiss" and he was meaning to ask but he didn't know how to go about it.

All of the worrying he was doing caused him to nearly be late, when he stared at the clock and gasped, he couldn't have tried to rush out of his house sooner. When he got to his front door though, he was surprised to see Yunho standing there "o-oh! Hyung!" Yeosang said in surprise. "Y-You startled me.." Yunho smiled nervously, his ears turning pink. "Ah.. I'm sorry, Yeosang, I came by to check that your arm was okay,," he admitted and Yeosang stared at him for a moment or two. What a sweetheart, he thought. "And I also came by to ask if you wanted to accompany me to the flower fields? I heard that Hongjoong invited you too," Yeosang smiled at Yunho, all too enraptured by his beauty. When he processed what the other had said he squeaked. "Huh..? Wait, wait- he invited you too? Do you know of the people he invited?" Yeosang asked him nervously and Yunho chuckled, nodding slowly. "I'm sure you know a few of them, Wooyoung... Mingi.. Jongho too?" The tall medic inquired in an amused tone, tilting his head.

Yeosang's jaw hung open for a few moments "I had no idea," he mumbled. "Well, we've been doing it for a couple of weeks now, we'd go and have a picnic by the river and Hongjoong-ah wanted to invite you, so he did and here I am to accompany you on the way up there," Yunho concluded and smiled. "C'mon, if we're quick there will still be some food left for us," he giggled and tugged on Yeosang's uninjured arm, leading the painter away.

*

When Yunho and Yeosang arrived by the river, the small painter's eyes widened comically. Yunho hadn't lied to him. Wooyoung was sat on the pretty little picnic blanket and was talking to a male at his side, Jongho and Mingi were chatting and Seonghwa and Hongjoong sat on the grass, hand-in-hand. He noticed that a straw hat was perched on Hongjoong's head. He was just so... cute. Hongjoong turned to smile at Yeosang widely. "Ah! Yeosang, you're here! I hope you don't mind the extra company," Hongjoong giggled sheepishly.

"Nice to see you too, hyung," Yunho joked playfully and the elder male gasped "oh! Is that Yunnie? I didn't see you there before~" he teased. Yunho snorted softly and took a seat on the blanket. "Oh! Oh!! Yeosang! Sit down!! You need to try the macarons I made!" Wooyoung squealed excitedly.

Yeosang's smile was wide, this was one of the sweetest get-togethers he had been a part of. All of the boys looked pretty, he learned that the boy with black and white hair was called San. It was a very... pleasant afternoon of them just enjoying eachother's company. But Yeosang couldn't help but notice small things like the way that Hongjoong and Seonghwa held hands, or the way that Mingi rubbed San's lower back or even the way that Jongho's hand rested on Yunho's knee for just a little bit too long. He saw it all, and he was sure the others knew he saw it as well.

He munched the sandwich Wooyoung had given him quietly, before he couldn't stop himself from speaking anymore. "W-What is going on here exactly? Are you.. together? Just friends? Because you're all acting... odd.. like you're all in a relationship but, that can't be right, can it? Men aren't supposed to date other men," Yeosang started, words flowing out of his mouth before he could register what they were, and he swallowed thickly. He did not mean to word it like that. Everybody was dead silent at that point, and all eyes were on Yeosang. Some glaring, some disappointed, but all of them were somewhat cold. That made him feel small, that made him feel fragile.

He didn't know what to say now.

[romancandlemagazine]

An Interview with Al Baker

I first came across Al Baker’s photography whilst looking through an old copy of a magazine called Flux I’d snaffled from Manchester’s world-famous second-hand wonderland, Empire Exchange.

Hidden in the magazine’s pages, between an interview with Mark E Smith and a review of a newly-released sci-fi film called The Matrix, were two black-and-white photos, snapped from the window of an ice-cream van, showing kids lined up for a bit of frozen respite from the summer heat. Reading the fairly minimal bit of text below, it turned out the photos were part of a series called ‘Ice Cream You Scream’. 

I’d missed the exhibition by approximately 20 years, but thanks to the high-speed time-machine known as the internet, I managed to track him down. Here’s an interview about his fine photos, his time living in Hulme Crescents and the benefits of carrying cameras in a Kwik Save bag...

Classic ‘start of an interview’ question here, but when did you get into photography? Was there something in particular that set you off?

Like a lot of young people, I knew that I was creative but hadn’t quite found my place. I didn’t know whether I wanted to be a writer or in a band. I used to doodle, copy Picasso’s in biro, so off I went to art college and tried my hand at different things. All it really taught me was that I had neither the patience, technique or talent to become a painter. Photography seemed a much easier way to make images, a more instant result. Of course, the more you get into it you realise that whether you’re any good or not does rely upon patience, technique and talent after all.

Was ‘being a photographer’ something that people did in Manchester in the early 90s? Who did you look up to back then?

Not really. It was very rare to see another person wandering around with a camera back then. Even years later when I began photographing the club scene in Manchester no-one else seemed to be doing the same thing. Not at the night clubs I went to anyway. 

Now it’s very different. These days you see people with cameras everywhere. Club nights almost always have a photographer. People are far more image-conscious due to social media. Today most people are busy documenting their own nights out with their phones. Look at footage from any major gig these days and half the room is filming it. Back in the 90s no-one seemed to care about documenting anything like that. You were very unlikely to see the photos that someone might be taking the next day or, in fact, ever. People often used to ask ‘What are you taking photos for?’ with genuine surprise or distain.  

In terms of photographers whom I looked up to there are so many! There are great image masters like Cartier-Bresson or Elliott Erwitt. Photographers of war and social upheaval like Don McCullin and Phillip Jones-Griffiths. I liked Alexander Rodchenko and Andre Kertez, how they broke the conventions of their day with wit and invention. 

I loved the dark and dirty images of Bill Brandt, and his inspiring nude studies too. I loved the city at night recorded by Brassai. Paris in the 1930s definitely seemed to be the place to be. Diane Arbus, Jane Bown and Shirley Baker. American street photographer Gary Winogrand was a huge influence on me, as was Nick Waplington’s book ‘Living Room’.  

I was also quite lucky to be living in Manchester at that time. Daniel Meadows and Martin Parr had both attended Manchester Polytechnic. Denis Thorpe had worked for the Guardian in Manchester. I saw Kevin Cummins iconic Joy Division images, Ian Tilton documenting The Stone Roses. Both were regularly in among the inky pages of the NME. 

I also saw an exhibition of Clement Cooper’s photographs of the Robin Hood pub in Moss Side, which was another big influence. I was also very lucky in that my very first photography tutor was Mark Warner, who produced very beautiful images, did a lot of work for Factory Records. He shot The Durutti Column’s (1989) Vini Reilly album sleeve. He was probably the first person who ever really encouraged me.

I really like that series of photos you took from inside an ice-cream van in the late 90s. What was the story behind that? 

The initial idea for that project came from my friend Steve Hillman, who is an actor. At the time he was ‘between jobs’, which is an actor’s euphemism for being unemployed, so he was working an ice-cream round to help to pay the rent. I was at his flat one night, thinking aloud about where I might go next with my camera. I’d spent quite a long time following graffiti artists work around Hulme, and had my first exhibition based around that. But it only seemed to lead to offers of more work with graffiti artists, and I wanted to do something else.  

I’d done a 2nd exhibition based around portraits of my friends in Hulme. I’d flirted with some one-day projects, like Belle Vue dog track, Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. Anyway, while I was talking, not really knowing what I was going to do next, Steve simply stated ‘You should come out on the ice-cream round with me. No-one ever comes to the van without a smile on their face.’ And it just struck me as a beautiful & simple idea. So, one day we just set off. 4 or 5 rolls of film and all the free ice-cream I could eat, which I discovered wasn’t very much!

What was the logistical side of those photos? Were they taken from the same van? 

They were all shot on the same day, the same van, all around Salford. It was good fun, but actually very hard work. Trying to constantly find new angles, different framing and working on a hot August day in such a small confined space. By the end of the day I felt that I had enough strong images for my next exhibition. They were much jollier images than ones I’d made before. As a result, because it had more universal appeal, I got quite a lot of good publicity out of it, and Walls gave us hundreds of free Magnum ice-creams to give away on the opening night!

These days I could think of more than a few reasons why you probably shouldn’t drive around Salford photographing other people’s children without permission haha (in fact, I’m surprised that I wasn’t hung from the nearest lamppost!) but I was much younger and far more naive back then. Besides, that was something that I’d learned from living in Hulme. You don’t ask for permission. Someone will only say ‘No’. Just crack on and do it anyway.

You also documented the last years of the Hulme Crescents. A lot of people talk about that time and place in Manchester, even now—but what was the reality of it? What was a normal weekend there like?

It was quite unlike anywhere that I’d ever lived before. It looked like a fascist dystopian nightmare, only one peopled by Rastas and anarchists. Bleak concrete interconnecting walkways. No through roads whatsoever. A fortress feel to the place. The entire estate was earmarked for demolition before I arrived. Everyone else seemed to be busy moving out. But I was already spending a lot of time there, post-Hacienda, parties, friends, lost weekends.  

There were lots of young people living there. Families had mainly moved out as the heating didn’t work properly, flats were cold & damp, often infested with cockroaches. There were traces of old Irish families, the Windrush generation, interwoven with punks and drop-outs. 

There was a cultural & artistic flowering among the ruins. A Certain Ratio, Dub Sex, A Guy Called Gerald, Edward Barton, Ian Brown, Dave Haslam, Mick Hucknall, Lemn Sissay, all lived there at one time. It was the original home of Factory, where all the post-punk bands played. In turn that led to Factory Records, New Order, and the Hacienda. The PSV club later hosted raves and notorious Jungle nights. It was a good time to be young.

You lived there as well as shooting it. Do you think it’s important to be a part of the thing you’re photographing, rather than just an outsider with a camera?

I don’t know that it’s important to be a part of the thing you’re photographing, ‘embedded’ is what the war photographers call it, but you definitely capture different images. Certain things that might have been shocking to an outsider were commonplace, normal & every day to me. Boring even. On the other hand, I was much less likely to be robbed walking around. That meant I could take my camera places that other people couldn’t, or maybe shouldn’t!

I used to wear my camera beneath my coat so it couldn’t be seen, and I carried my film and lenses in a Kwik Save shopping bag so as not to attract unwanted attention. I got into the habit of handing that bag over the bar at the pubs I went in. I would collect it the next day if I could remember where I’d been the night before. Bless you, saintly barmaids of old Hulme.

If you look at my images of Hulme people they’re usually reacting to me and not the camera. Either that or they’re not reacting at all. They’re ignoring the fact that I’m taking a picture. That’s what gives them that ‘fly-on-the-wall’ feeling.

This is something that I put to greater effect later when I was photographing in night clubs, skulking stage side or hiding in a DJ booth. When DJs & MCs see you week in week out at the club doing the same thing they stop posing for the camera and just get used to you being there. You become part of the furniture. And when people stop being conscious of the camera, when they ignore that you’re even present, you can step in much closer. Put simply, you get better pictures. They’re much less performative and far more honest. It’s not often people can say they like it when they’re being ignored, but for photographers it’s a gift.

Do you think somewhere the Crescents could exist now, or was it just a case of the perfect accidental recipe for that kind of creative, DIY activity?

No, I don’t think anywhere like Hulme will ever happen again. I think the city council learned that lesson a long time ago. It was a dystopian utopia for us, but it grew out of failure. When I 1st went to university they warned us never to set foot there. I said, ‘But what if you live there already?’ and there was an embarrassed silence. They really hadn’t expected a poor boy from Hulme to be in the room. Now they own half of it and it’s all student Halls of Residence.  

The city centre has been regenerated, redeveloped & gentrified. We can’t afford to live there anymore, and people like me are pushed out. Hulme was a failed social housing experiment, an eyesore & an embarrassment to the people who had commissioned it. People like me moved in & we made it our own. They’re never going to allow anything like that to happen again. Every quaint old fashioned pub that closes becomes a block of flats. The footprint is too valuable to property developers. One day all we will have will be faded photographs to bear witness to a very different way of living.

Was it through the Crescents that you started shooting graffiti? 

When I first arrived in Hulme I’d just spent 3 years living with mates in a couple of houses elsewhere in the city. It suddenly struck me that that part of my life was over and I had very few photographs of that time. I’d been too busy learning photography, taking the kind of photos that every art student takes: Broken windows; abandoned buildings, and bits of burnt wood. I vowed I wouldn’t do that again. I began documenting the life that was around me.

I started with the architecture, as it was quite unlike any other place I’d ever seen. It had a desperate, faded beauty even then. The whole estate had been condemned for demolition before I arrived, but the city council had given up on the place long before that.  

I started to notice graffiti pieces going up, seeing the same names repeated. It was obvious that there was a small group of writers trying out their styles on a large canvas for the 1st time. Wanting to claim this derelict space as their own Hall Of Fame. I started to document them as they sprang up. Then I noted that context was crucial, and so I began to include the soon-to-be-derelict buildings in the images also. The shapes & colours of the graffiti looked positively psychedelic beside the drab monochrome of the setting.

With your graffiti shots, you show a lot more than just the pieces. Was it an intentional thing to show the act behind it a bit?

Because it was Hulme and no-one cared, these guys weren’t working in the dead of night like most graffiti writers do in the train yards and what-have-you. They were working during the day, right out in the open. So, documenting their work, it wasn’t long before I ran into Kelzo. He really didn’t trust me at first, but I kept coming back. So, I got to know them. They started to let me know where they were going to be painting next.

In 1995 Kelzo organised the 1st SMEAR JAM event (named after a young aspiring writer who used to come down to Hulme to learn, and had died suddenly from a nut allergy). That was such good fun that another event arrived the following year, another & another. Graf writers came from London, Edinburgh, Leeds, Sheffield, and as far afield as Spain. The local community came out to support and, as usual, it turned into a party that lasted all weekend.  

I got into the habit of taking 2 cameras. One loaded with B&W film to capture the event itself, and another with colour transparency to document the finished artwork.

Graffiti… hip-hop… kids getting ice cream… I suppose there’s a few different subjects there, but was there an underlying thing or theme you wanted to show with your photos? Maybe getting a bit philosophical, but they’re all quite free acts—is it about enjoying what’s there?

It was more about documenting the life I saw around me. Moving to Hulme was what led to me capturing graffiti, and graffiti led to hip-hop events. Once Hulme was demolished I moved my camera into the city centre and began photographing club nights. House and hip-hop turned into Drum’n’Bass, and then dubstep. Residents and warm-up acts have now become headliners in their own right. Manchester has always been a great city for music, and it kept me busy throughout the naughty Noughties. I’ve pretty much retired from all of that now. I’d had enough after over 15 years of it. I no longer feel compelled to document something as ephemeral as a club night anymore when half of the audience are doing it themselves anyway. Then coronavirus came & properly killed it all off. I don’t know what it’s going to be like now going forward, but it’ll be someone else’s turn to document whatever that is.  

What do you think makes a good photograph? 

You need to have a good eye. You need to notice & be aware of the world around you. You always see an image before you create one. You don’t require expensive equipment. Mine never was. And you don’t need to be trained. It’s one of those areas where you really can educate yourself. A certain amount of technique and technical understanding goes a long way but, again, you can pick those things up as you go along.  

There are different kinds of photography, of course, but for me it was always about capturing a moment. The Decisive Moment, as Cartier-Bresson so eloquently put it. It’s something that the camera has over the canvas. For me the camera has always been a time machine. Like an evocative love song on the radio, it can transport you back immediately to a time & place long gone. It also acts as a witness for those people who were not there. Images tell stories. And we all like to hear and tell stories.

A couple of years ago I was invited to talk at the University of Lancaster for a symposium on documentary photography, which is a tradition that I had always considered my photographs sat within. But oddly, as I gave my slide-show presentation, images that I have seen and shown many times before, and thought I knew very well, I suddenly saw in a brand-new light. I could see myself in every image. Almost like a self-portrait from which I was absent but my own shadow cast large. I realised that I haven’t been documenting anything other than my own life. 25 year old images suddenly had something new to say, something new to tell me.  

Do you still take photos today? What kind of things are you into shooting these days?  

I don’t really do a lot of photography these days. I teach and facilitate as part of my job now. I still do the odd event but night club photography is a much younger man’s game. I really don’t have the levels of commitment, energy or enthusiasm I once did. I feel like I’ve taken enough images. If I never took another photograph ever again, that’s OK. Maybe, perhaps, I’ll get into a different kind of image making in my twilight years … but for now I’m trying to reassess the images I made 25 years ago. People are far more interested in them now than they ever were at the time. Now they have become documents of a time and place which has gone. The graffiti and the walls that they were written on have disappeared. Many of those night clubs have closed. Time moves on. The images and the memories are all that is left.  

Over all those years, how has the art of photography changed for you?

Back when I started taking photographs, where I lived in Hulme, the kind of music that I was into, the magic of a night club moment, there were very few people I knew of who were doing the same thing. Now I am aware of others who were. Almost everyone is their own photographer now. Mobile phones & social media have given a platform for anyone to make & share images of their individual lives, whether it be their friends & families, holidays, public events or more private & intimate moments. Anyone can document their own lives now, so I no longer feel that I have to. I do still love photography, it’s still my favourite form of art, but I don’t feel compelled to capture it all anymore.

I suppose I’ve pestered you with questions for a while now. Have you got any wise words to wind this up with?

If you want to become a photographer you must learn your craft. Keep doing it, and you will get better. But you must remember to always be honest. Make honest images. Listen to the voice of your own integrity. Don’t worry too much if no-one sees any value in what you do. If you’re any good people will eventually see it. It may take years, it did for me, but images of the ordinary & everyday will one day become historical, meaningful & extraordinary.  

We live in a world today mediated by images, a Society of the Spectacle, but we still need photographers: People who have a good eye, an innate feel for the decisive moment; what to point the camera at and when to press the shutter. The images that you make today will be the memories of the future.  

See more of Al’s photos here.

[midnightartemis]

~ Chapter 43 ~

"There now, steady love, so few come and don't go Will you, won't you be the one I always know? When I'm losing my control, the city spins around You're the only one who knows, you slow it down…

It's always have and never hold You've begun to feel like home yeah What's mine is yours to leave or take What's mine is yours to make your own...”

-Look After You, The Fray

Find Me and My Warnings on A03

*nsfw*

He woke early in the morning with more than enough time to hop in the shower and head downstairs to start on breakfast and coffee. It was the least he could do for Maz letting him stay and there was something about caring for Rey that made his heart race. The house was quiet, the sky outside still dark, though there was a grey haze starting to seep into the world with the sunrise. It was the darkest time of the year, so there would only be a few hours of sunlight.

Ben stopped to peer into Rey’s room and found her sprawled across her bed over the comforter. She was using one of the old books from the forest as a pillow with a mirror laying haphazardly on the bed beside her. Though it looked like she hadn’t been able to sleep in the night, Rey was in deep sleep. Ben gently pulled the book out from under her head and Rey groaned as she shifted to a different position. Ben hid the book away and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before returning the mirror to the bathroom.

What he would give to wake up with her again. To hold her close and wake her with gentle kisses. Her skin was so soft in the morning and she was so sleepy and relaxed. From there it’s a downward spiral till his thoughts are filled with nothing but her and the little noises she made under him in the cabin.

Unable to keep his thoughts at bay, Ben jumped in the shower and took himself in hand. The freshest memories were of her in his bed keening under him as he made her come. The walls of her fluttering tightly around him.

Ben groaned under the hot streams of water as the memory took him over the edge once again. He wanted to be near her, in her, beside her always. But that had become impossible with everything around them.

He knew he shouldn't complain. He knew that they were better off under the watchful protection of his parents and Maz and Chewie. Still, he misses the little home they carved out in the cabin, protected from the rest of the world. His daydreams lately had been filled with nothing but thoughts of pulling Rey into the Falcon and getting as far away from Republic as they possibly could.

That wouldn’t happen though. It had been so hard for Rey to open her heart to Maz and his parents and her friends. She had looked so surprised and happy when she told him Maz wanted to adopt her. She belonged there. Rey deserved a family and love and Ben would never take that away from her.

He knew if he even barely pushed the idea of running away together, Rey would agree.

So, as much as he hated to agree, his parents and Maz were right. The wagons were circled and Rey was at the center of it all. He had to be the one to hold her steady. He would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe, even if it killed him.

But there were so many unanswered questions. So many unknowns. Ben struggled to wrap his head around it. The visions, the secrets. His head had been quiet for a while now. Since the cabin. He had no desire to scribble down the pictures in his head, to capture the darkest parts of his psyche on paper.

It wasn’t a relief. If anything he felt on edge, especially away from Rey, like something was changing in the shadows.

Ben cut off the water and stepped out of the shower. He reached for a towel to dry off as his thoughts shifted to breakfast and the festival tonight. Rey was set to head to Rose’s right after school to get ready. Ben had been roped into helping his mother and Maz with last-minute festival preparations. He was grateful for the event as it meant his mother hadn’t had time to force him into talking about Rey or Snoke or any of it yet. He hadn’t gone to his last three sessions with Luke either and Ben was sure his mother wasn’t happy about that.

Ben shaved away his patchy morning stubble and cleaned the blade before toweling off the rest of the foam.

His eyes glanced over a dark figure in the mirror.

Ben froze, his head racing as he did a double-take. But the mirror was empty. He gripped the edge of the sink and took a deep breath. Just a trick of the light.

It was nothing.

It had to be nothing.

Ben turned off the water and headed down to the kitchen to start coffee and breakfast.

He had to be strong for her.

...

School flew by. Most of his classes were spent preparing for finals and they were working on building portfolios in drawing. He hated working on things in school where anyone could see them. No one got to see his drawings until he decided they could. Even Mrs. Tico knew that she shouldn’t pry too much and that Ben would eventually show her his work when he was ready.

Out of all the teachers in school, Mrs. Tico had been his saving grace. She was an amazing artist in her own right and could have made a living on her art, but teaching had drawn her in. He’d been taking as many of her classes each year as he could- some where it was just the two of them. Mrs. Tico was a true mentor, a gentle presence that never judged him for what he put down on the paper. She hadn’t even pressured him to look into art schools, though she had gently guided him in that direction. She had also given him paths that didn’t involve school, and there was a little agreement between them that Leia didn’t need to know everything. Apparently, Mrs. Tico’s father had been a principal in school and she knew the pain of over-involved parenting when it came to academics.

He’d be sad to leave her and eternally grateful for the safe haven that was the art classroom. Especially since it had brought him Rey.

Rey had woken all smiles at the plate of eggs and toast that he brought her but Ben could see the worry behind her eyes. Sometimes it was almost impossible to know what was going on in her head though he could see the thoughts turning violently behind her eyes. From the way she looked around for the book he had tucked away, Ben was sure her worry had something to do with that.

“What did you find?”

Rey worried her lip and pushed around her eggs before deciding on a bite of toast. “Our grandfathers worked together.”

Ben took the notebook she pointed out to him and opened it to the first page of her scratchy handwriting. He frowned and skimmed over the words. “They knew each other?”

Rey nodded. “From what I can tell so far… They were affected… Like we are. I think they were studying it. He goes into some theories like mass hallucination, shared psychosis. It’s hard to make out. Some of it is coded or just completely blacked out.”

Ben flipped through the pages and stopped to look at some of the blacked-out text. “Do you think Anakin did it? Or someone else?”

Rey shrugged. “Both maybe. If it was so secret. But not all of it looks the same- look.”

She flipped through the pages and pointed out sections of blacked-out text. Some looked old like it was done in the original ink of the journal, but others looked newer. More like sharpie or magic marker.

The door to Maz’s room swung open and Ben quickly shoved the notebook under Rey’s blankets. Maz shuffled out of her room, hair in curlers and a robe wrapped around her short frame. She yawned deeply and blinked at us. “Morning, children.”

“Morning, Maz.” Rey smiled softly.

“There’s coffee and eggs and toast on the stove if you want some.” Ben stood from the bed nervously. Maz didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was there, but he didn’t want to push his luck. The old woman’s face lit up at his mention of food.

“Bless you, boy. I might have to keep you around.”

Maz shuffled off and disappeared down the stairs. Ben let himself relax a little and Rey turned her bright eyes to him. Her hand reached for his and Rey intertwined her small fingers between his larger ones. That was all it took for Ben to completely melt into her.

He knew he was doing it again. Letting her in. Caring far too much and trying to fix all her problems for her. He couldn’t fail this time though. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Rey. Ben wasn’t sure he would survive if something did.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Rey appeared at his side, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him out of his thoughts. Ben wrinkled his brow as he looked down at the spread of drawings before him. Five. He had to choose five to present to Mrs. Tico.

“Not art.” Ben grunted.

Rey made a small noise of affirmation. “I can’t either. I’m better off just rolling a dice to choose my five.”

“No, you have a good eye.”

“I know. That’s how I know all mine are bad.”

“They’re not bad.” Ben groans inwardly as his voice betrays him. Art was not Rey’s forte and they both knew it. She accepted it.

Rey laughed. “You’re starting to make me think you’re the one with the concussion.”

“They’re not… that bad.” Ben set down the still life drawing they had done of random objects from around the school. “You’re very beautiful and I love you.”

“You’re a scoundrel.” Rey rolled her eyes and grinned up at him. She looked a little lost and Ben knew she still didn’t quite believe him. At times he didn’t believe it either, but everything had changed so quickly. It was hard to process their short time together.

Rey looked over the pile of drawings in front of him and carefully sifted through the stack. She took her time looking at each one before selecting five. A landscape of rolling prairie, a lone woman looking out over the land. A landscape of a strange alien-looking desert city. A still life of a lone man drinking at a strange bar. A portrait of Rey. A portrait of Lily. It was hard to tell one reality from another.

“Are you sure?” Ben asked as Rey spread out the drawings over the small table. Their portfolios were going to be displayed in the lobby before the winter concert. It was bound to raise questions if people saw Lily’s face next to his name.

Rey nodded and traced her fingers over the portrait of Lily. “I never knew her, but I feel like I did from the way you draw her. I know you loved her. Other people should know too.”

An ache rose in Ben’s chest. He’d never let himself rest after Lily’s death. He’d thrown himself into protecting Rey now that Snoke was gone. It would be far too painful to open those doors again. It would break him to pieces and Rey needed a whole person. He needed to be whole for her.

Somehow Rey always knew. Somehow she understood him better than anyone in the galaxy. Somehow they were always meant to find each other. It was too much of a coincidence for it to not be fate. He didn’t understand how other people hopped from person to person, but maybe he was just lucky. All he knew, deep in his bones, was that Rey was it for him. There would be no one else.

The thought should have been terrifying, but all Ben felt was immense comfort. Calm. More alive and grounded than he ever felt before.

Ben pulled Rey close and left a gentle kiss on her head. “Are you excited for tonight?”

Rey groaned, but there was a smile on her lips. “Rose is going to put me through hell, but it will be worth it to see you in a tie.”

“I’m supposed to wear a tie?” Ben frowned at Rey but broke his act when she scowled at him. “I’ll wear a tie.”

He looked around the room and found most everyone else was listening to music or distracted. Mrs. Tico was bent over and in deep discussion with some sophomore girl who looked close to tears.

Ben nuzzled close to Rey’s ear. “It’s a date. And you’re gorgeous. Plus, I have some ideas where a tie might come in handy.”

Rey flushed a deep red and cast a sheepish glance around the room before whispering. “Are you going to tie me up, Ben Solo?”

All the blood in his body drained south at the heated look in her eyes. Fuck. Like always Rey was two steps quicker to the draw. She seemed to take a special interest in torturing him.

“Maybe. If you’re good tonight.” He had to figure out a way to get them away from the crowds and out of the eyes of his entire family. He missed her, though he had been sleeping not twenty feet from her for the last week.

“What if I break the school record with our cart?” Rey countered.

“You can’t bet on a sure thing.” Ben winked at her and Rey grinned. It had taken some convincing, but Han had finally agreed to let Rey drive the cart as long as she wore a helmet. Ben was too large to fit into the cart and they both refused to let anyone else touch it.

A few minutes before the bell, Mrs. Tico collected their chosen portfolios and reminded them about the festival’s concert gallery. Ben and Rey wasted no time in hurrying out of the building and across the parking lot to the school shop. Today was finally test day.

The shop buzzed with voices as they entered and more than a few eyes turned to watch them warrily. Snap glared worst of all, but was smart enough to keep his mouth mostly shut. He’d gotten two detentions from his shop incident, but Ben found himself wishing he’d given the guy a black eye or two. As if sensing his thoughts, Rey took Ben’s hand and led him to their shared desk at the side of the classroom.

The bell rang again and Han stood from his perch on the high stool at the front. “Well, kids. It’s testing day.”

A cheer went up from the boys in the back.

“I’ve already double-checked your engines and I’ve left a pint of gas with each of your bikes. You should all already know the rules. Each cart will carry the same weight of passenger and cargo. The goal is to go as far as you can on the gas given to you. You’ll each warm your engines for five minutes. That will be timed. Since it’s cold out, we’ll start in the garage. And I’ve cleared a path in the parking lot for us to follow. Questions. No? Good.”

Rey grinned broadly and bounced excitedly on her toes. It was the most excited he had seen her in a long time. He couldn’t help but smile. Rey Niima had his heart, his soul, and the rest of his life.

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