art-murmur

Muse

Request: i saw this imagine earlier in the tag that’s jugheadxartist!reader and i loved it so much i want more … just anything jugheadxartist!reader or archie for that matter whoever you want

A/N: So I went with Archie because I read the original that inspired this request… and I loved it.  I didn’t want to in any way rip that off, so I figured we’d give Archie a shot at some artist fun because we all know artists have more fun…  It’s small, and cute.  I love it.  Also, this was written more from the idea that the reader is an art student, like myself.  However!!! I’ll be posting one later for a more creative, cartoon type artist, so be on the lookout for that one.  I’ll link it here or something when it’s up.

Word count: 431

Warnings: cursing

Originally posted by akalasereyes

Archie always loved watching you work.  As much as it pained him to see you stressing over deadlines, there was something about how even through that stress, you were always most at peace with a brush in your hand. You had a very clean, pristine look to you when you were working, even though often it resulted in some material smeared across your brow. “Better paint on my face than sweat on my paint,” you’d always say in response to his muffled giggle.

The art room was your second home, and because you were there most of the time, so was Archie.  You were stood at one of the easels, a set of chalk in one hand and canvas at eye level.  Your current piece was three by four foot chalk pastel piece, the sheer size of it enough to get your palms sweating.  Your light wash jeans, black turtleneck, smooth skin were all covered in the medium, dark blues and greens staining every other inch of your form.  

Archie was writing silently, the only noise in the room your scratchy chalk against thick paper and your slightly fast breathing.  His gaze lifted for a moment from his laptop screen, looking at your profile against the ridiculously good piece of art.

“Shit,” he murmured.  You turned quickly, an alarmed look on your face.

“Oh god, it’s not done yet.  Don’t look!” You raced to try and cover it, arms spread to cover it.  “We had a deal, Archie!  You could be here right now as long as you don’t look until it’s done.”

“Babe, it’s…” He stood up, softly moving your arms down to your side, wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you back a few feet.  “Gorgeous.  It’s gorgeous.”  You dropped your head to his shoulder, running a chalky hand through your hair.  “I’m seriously in awe.”

“Thank you, Arch.” You smiled into his neck, standing on your tiptoes to kiss just under his ear.  

“When’s this due?”

“Friday.” He smiled.  

“Let’s go get some food.”  You smiled in return, however within a moment you looked down to your state, covered in chalk pastel, an art mess.

“I’m in no shape to go anywhere other than my art cave…” He grinned, looking over you.

“That’s a shame because… I love showing off my artist girlfriend.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“We dippin’ to go to Pop’s?”

He laughed at the smile that lit up in your eyes, “Yeah.” You begin collecting your materials and shoving them into your rucksack.  “And you’re keeping the chalk on your face.”

A Special Kind of Brew - OT4

For @sadrien

Title: A Special Kind of Brew
Author: Reyxa/ninoirs
Summary: Marinette and Alya work at Brewtiful Beans, a coffeeshop rival of Catpuccino, where Adrien and Nino work. Pining ensues.


Alya bursts through the doors of Brewtiful Beans, watching with satisfaction as her dramatic entrance makes everyone jump. “I have news!”

She strides in, hopping up on the marble counter and leaning over a blushing Marinette.

“You’re late! I- mean not that late but, come on, Alya you really need to- I mean I can’t talk I’m late all the time even in like college and remember that time I-”

Alya cuts off Marinette’s rambling, pressing her finger to Marinette’s soft lips. Alya smiles, endeared. She’ll never change. she thinks absently. “Yeah, I’m late but! I was spying.”

Marinette raises an eyebrow, nudging Alya’s finger from her lip. “Spying?”

“On Catpuccino!” Alya slams a hand down on the counter, making the latte in the blender splash and recede precariously.

A bright smile lights Marinette up and Alya feels her heart positively ache. I’m gonna fucking make out with this girl at some point today. she promises herself. “Ohh,” Marinette is saying. “Spying or spying?”

“Shut up.” Alya ruffles Marinette’s bangs as she hops down from the counter. She grabs an apron and expertly ties a bow at the base of her spine. “Anyway, they’re doing a two for one deal on warm drinks this week.”

“Already on it.” Marinette grabs their announcement chalkboard and writes in sweeping handwriting ‘Two for One Deal on ALL Drinks + 10 Point Bonus for Beanie Members!’.

As Alya passes her on her way to the register, they high-five.

Keep reading

Model Behavior

Requested: The Reader is a photographer, and when she sees how insecure Reid gets around the models she shoots, she sets up a little photoshoot just for him.


The dark corner of the studio is a refuge for him. Far enough that the blinding flash of the camera lights are a little dimmer, but close enough to hear the faint echo of her voice as she directs her subjects.

“Now run your hand through your hair and tilt your chin down a little bit more,” she says to the man in front of her. “No, a little more this way.” She leaves the camera to position him herself, her hands moving his. “Like this. There you go. You’re perfect.”

Reid tries to distract himself. Absent-mindedly he opens up his phone and scrolls through the photo album. There isn’t much he takes pictures of. Grocery lists or case information are quickly deleted, and while he sometimes feels moved enough to snap a photograph of a sunset or a flowers in the park – airplane window views have long since lost their appeal - they’re overwhelmingly photos of her. The two of them together. Selfies of Y/N in the afternoon, when he’s left his phone behind and she’s decided to make funny faces on it. Pictures here and there that he’s taken when she’s not paying attention; making coffee or lost in a book or laughing at something. A few of her in the morning, fast asleep in his bed. There are photos of them together out at restaurants, plays, posing in silly ways in front of museum exhibits. He flips through months worth of photos in the hopes that they’ll keep him from focusing on the shoot happening at the moment.

He’s jealous.

It’s irrational, and he knows it, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling what he feels, watching Y/N spend hours with gorgeous models. They’re all so beautiful, practically flawless. The man posing before her now could practically be Photoshopped. It’s her job to make them look beautiful, to see them in a way that brings out their potential. Still, he can’t help but worry that with so much of her attention on these perfect people, she’ll someday realize there’s something wrong with him.

Despite his best efforts, it’s still difficult to tune out her voice. It makes sense, psychologically the mind has the lowest attention threshold for that which is most important. One’s own name, warnings like “fire!”, and other relevant information. She is a flame, and he is moth, drawn towards her light and her warmth, unable to turn away.

A few other male models filter in and out, and eventually she bids them farewell, with a few hugs – one even exchanges cheek-kisses with her before parting. She then strolls over to join him in the corner, falling into a chair beside him.

“Goodness, those boys wear me out,” she says. “They’re beautiful, but they need a lot of direction.”

“Mmhmm,” is all he offers.

“You alright?” she asks.

“Yeah. Fine. You just seem awful friendly with them.” The instant he speaks, he wishes he could take it back.

She raises her eyebrows. “Spencer, are you… jealous?” Almost incredulous at his words. “You know it’s strictly professional.”

He sighs, crossing his arms. “I know. And it’s not that I think you’d ever cheat on me or anything, it’s just that, well, they’re all so perfect. You spend all day with these handsome men, and I can’t help but feel inferior. I’m just afraid that one day you’ll realize you’re making a mistake with me.”

“That’s never going to happen,” she says softly. “You’re the most intelligent, kind, and wonderful person I’ve ever met. Sure, those guys are conventionally attractive, but some of them have about as much substance as water vapor. Others think they’re so great you should automatically feel grateful for their presence.”

Reid has always been humble, partly because he never felt he had anything worth bragging about. Except maybe her. From the moment he met her, he hasn’t been able to shut up about her. Rambling to Morgan, asking JJ for advice, mentioning her on cases. As though there is a need for her name to always be in his mouth, as though she’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep talking about her.

“I know. But your job is to work with models. And Y/N, you’re so pretty. I just don’t want you to feel embarrassed by me.”

She laughs, but it’s a gentle sound, and she gently caresses his cheek. “My dear, you don’t realize how absolutely stunning you are, do you? I could spend hours staring into your eyes. Your smile is immaculate. And don’t even get me started on that jawline. You’re absolutely beautiful. Honestly, you could be a model if you wanted to.” At that, her eyes light up with a familiar spark of mischief. “You know what? Maybe you should model!”

“Wait, what?”

Before he can ask for clarification, she’s already dancing around the studio, shuffling around her equipment and fiddling with props. “I want you to model for me!” she tells him. “It’s easy. Just stand in front of the backdrop, then do what I say.”

Hesitant, he complies, having learned long ago not to question her when her artistic vision takes over. He stands awkwardly on the set, shifting his weight from foot to foot, while she stares right through him, her eyes combing over every inch of him. Then she steps towards him and instructs him to stay still, loosening his tie and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt.

“There we go. You need to relax, that’s all. You’ve got such a good face, but you’re stiff as a board.” With gentle, steady hands, she moves him this way and that, maneuvering his limbs into various positions and running back to the camera to snap quick shots. All the while she’s shouting encouragements, telling him how great he looks, and slowly his uncertainty melts away.

“Smile,” she urges him. When he comes up with a frog-like grimace, she begins reciting lame puns and telling him funny stories to make it more genuine. “Remember the night you walked me home from dinner? And I made the world’s lamest Carl Sagan joke? You laughed and laughed and if I wasn’t already head over heels, that smile of yours sealed the deal. I don’t know why, but I just knew I had to kiss you right then, with that beautiful grin on your face.”

At the memory, he can’t help but smile now, an echo of a past gesture. Of course he remembers. It was the very first time they’d kissed, and even now with several months and countless kisses between them, he remembers that first sensation of her lips against his, and how very perfect it felt.

A flash goes off. She’s grinning now too, happy with the shot. “That’s a good one. God, that smile of yours is just dazzling. I am henceforth committing myself to making you do that more often.”

“And how exactly do you intend to do that?” he teases. She smirks at him, a challenge, and fiddles with her camera for a few seconds before strolling over to join him on the tiny set.

“With anything and everything,” she answers. “But this seems like a good place to start.” With the same gentle direction she uses with the models, she guides him back onto the prop armchair, pushing him down before climbing into his lap. Turning his cheek, she runs the tips of her fingers over his face. A flash goes off, and he looks towards the camera, startled, but she redirects his attention back to her. “Don’t worry about that. Just relax.”

Her skin is against his and she’s staring up at him through her eyelashes and he’s finding it hard to remember what about those other guys bothered him so much. So he does as she says and lets her distract him. Her hand on his chest, around his waist, running through his hair. At some point, she leans in and brushes her lips against his. It’s a soft gesture he returns with intense passion, the sound and flash of the camera fading away.

Briefly, she pulls away, pushing his hair away from his face. “I swear, you’re a work of art,” she murmurs. “How can you not see that?” In response, he kisses her again, pulling her closer. Because with her, he finds that just maybe he can start to believe that.

Later when they sit down together, she shows him the results. And he decides that maybe she’s the magician in the relationship, because somehow her camera has transformed him into a version of himself he actually doesn’t hate. For once, he doesn’t mind the way he looks. His favorites though, are the images she’s captured of the two of them. The way she looks at him, that’s magic.

She uploads several of her shots onto his phone, and he instantly makes his favorite of the two of them his background. And each time he sees it, he’s reminded exactly what kind of man he wants to be. It doesn’t matter much if he’s a cover model or a bodybuilder. The person he is when he’s with her though - that’s who he wants to be.

That’s what he wants to capture. A snapshot of the way he makes her feel. And he never intends to let her go.

She’s the artist. He’s her muse. But what they are is a masterpiece.

Kissing in Art Galleries

Hi there. I only recently noticed that one of Hugo’s favorite things is kissing in art galleries and that’s so cute wtf. I love him so much so here’s this. Enjoy!

“Now, this piece symbolizes our fleeting existence, and the limited time we have on earth. The artist perfectly captured the ups and downs, the highs and lows that this life gives us. This piece is one of the few that truly shows every portion of life,” Hugo said, voice soft but full of conviction.

Lionel turned his head to the left, then to the right, trying to find the meaning Hugo is in the painting on the canvas. This is proving difficult, because the only thing on the canvas is a white dot on a black background.

“Really?” Lionel asked.

Hugo snorted, “I have no idea, it’s a dot.”

Lionel chuckled, “What about BS-ing over art pieces is so fun?”

“Maybe because it’s so easy. That, and you can say anything and I promise someone will believe it.”

“Amanda tells me all her classmates at college do the same thing,” commended Lionel.

“Then they might have a promising career in art. Though, if you ask me, Amanda will go farther. She knows authenticity. She got that from you,” Hugo said, a soft smile on his face.

Lionel felt his cheeks heat up, “I’ll take full credit then.”

“As you should, want to move on?” Hugo asked, gently taking Lionel’s hand.

“Yes please, this dot is making me existential.”

Hugo chuckled, “Well we can’t have that, can we?”

Hushed conversation filled the museum, echoing off the walls around them as they walked from room to room. Lionel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a museum. Not to say he didn’t like art, far from it. He loved Monet and Van Gogh and…that Other Famous Guy He Obviously Knows The Name Of. Hugo, on the other hand, knew almost every artist they came across, knowing each movement and material the artists used. Lionel loved the way Hugo’s eyes would light up when they approached a new portrait or landscape or sculpture, eagerly moving to read the descriptions on the wall. Lionel stopped trying to hide his smile when Hugo would hum thoughtfully at each piece they came across.

“I have my own personal tour guide, I love it,” mused Lionel.

Keep reading

Something in 221B

“Mrs Hudson are you sure my flat doesn’t have air currents? I could swear that I hear someone playing violin every night” the young pathologist said after finally tracking down her elusive landlady “right in the next room”

“No Molly, as I told you before, it’s a recently renovated flat, the acoustics might have something to do with it but I don’t take musicians as tenants, not after what happened to the last owner of the building, I don’t like to be reminded of the people I’ve lost” Mrs Hudson sighed knowing she would have to tell Molly the story of her flat eventually

“Really? What happened?” Molly wondered “I can’t remember a time when this place hasn’t been yours ma'am”

“Oh that was long before your time, he was a man who helped me with my divorce when I was in my twenties and hired me as a housekeeper, handsome chap, violinist that came from old money” Mrs Hudson have Molly a wink “poor thing was troubled, one day he just jumped off a ledge and his solicitor showed up saying he left me the building in his will”

“A suicide? Really it does sound terribly sad, was he unhappy with his life?” Molly asked sipping her cup of tea “although it was generous of him to not leave you in the streets”

“I think he was lonely, I always had the feeling that he envied his best friend’s happy marriage, a companion would have done him good, instead he just killed himself” Mrs Hudson tsked with pursed lips “I almost didn’t let 221B out of respect for the dead, but well, you’re a nice sort, wherever he is I’m sure he approves of you”

“Wait you mean my flat, 221B, that flat, belonged to him? Huh? I hope he didn’t die in the building” Molly didn’t believe in ghosts but she still felt a chill down her spine all the same

“Oh he didn’t, tough he did die around this time of the year, he jumped off the balcony of his family’s country estate…as I said, he was troubled”

“Must have been a brilliant chemist tough” Molly commented after a moment

“Why he was, how did you know?”

“The drawings on my bedroom wall, they’re covered in chemical formulas…even experiment notes, it’s actually a bit fascinating” the pathologist replied and immediately noticed how Mrs Hudson went white

“Molly…the apartments were renovated last year, your bedroom walls are supposed to be white” The landlady whispered in horror “And nobody else has slept in 221B since Sherlock Holmes died”

“But the formulas…” Molly tried to protest “You mean you don’t know how they got there?”

“The surveillance system here is state of the art” Mrs Hudson murmured shaking her head “But either way dear, I don’t think you should sleep in that room anymore, at least not until we manage to cover that wall”

anonymous asked:

hi! i absolutely adore your blog and was hoping if you wouldn't mind writing something with Jumin and MC getting together in high school. i'm sure you'll do a great job and thanks very much! 😊

Awe thank you, I’m so glad to see you like my blog! I only hope I’m able to continue doing that for you in the future!

This accidentally posted before I was finished and I nearly screamed

As for your request, I’d be delighted to do it! Thank you again and have a fantastic day!

———————————————————————————————————–

Jumin had been sitting in class for what felt like hours, having finished whatever work he had long ago, his gaze focused on a book.

Until the phone began to ring.

It hadn’t been much of a distraction at first, the teacher rushing to answer, her voice quiet as she gestured for others to get back to their work.

Yet then she looked to Jumin.

And he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Okay, yes I’ll send him.” 

She lowered it from her ear, a click coming from the phone as it was shifted back into place. 

“Um…Jumin? The principal is asking for you. Go on and take your things with you as the period is about to end.” 

Whispers began to ensue among the class, staring at him confusedly as he sat up, nodding quietly.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He collected his things promptly and proceeded on his way, his shoes clacking against the tile floor.

Despite his usual calmness, he couldn’t help but feel curious. 

Why had he been called up?

He hadn’t done anything.

Had he? 

He was a stellar student so it wasn’t like he had gotten into trouble.

Right?

His thoughts were interrupted as he opened the office door and was greeted by the secretary, mouthing to him before returning to their call.

“He’s waiting for you in his office.” 

He dipped his head gratefully following on down the corridor, a voice alongside the principal’s on the other side of the door.

The voice was soft and gentle, more than a bit nervous but oddly melodic.

He liked it.

He turned the knob to reveal of course the principal, and someone else.

You.

You were sitting just before the main desk, sitting upright and tensely, your fingers balled into fists on your lap.

You had glanced to him, and your gaze widened like saucers.

Just as he did.

But he couldn’t seem to look away.

He didn’t quite want to.

“Ah, Mr. Han, glad you could join us!” The principal greeted brightly, ushering for Jumin to sit down. “Let me introduce you to our newest student!” 

“Newest student?”

“Yes! MC just transferred here, and I was hoping that our top student might be willing to show them around?” The principal, tapped his fingers against the desk, knowing the inevitable response. “You can be MC’s first friend and help them get settled, here’s a copy of their schedule.” 

He gave it to Jumin, his eyes glancing over it.

“You two have very similar schedules oddly enough, so you’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. I thought since you both have free periods in about…ten minutes or so you’d be able to just give a regular tour around the campus.” 

“I…suppose.” He folded his lips, shifting his shoulders back. 

“Great! Hop to it then! MC why don’t you drop in at the end of last period and tell me how your first day has been?” 

“Y-Yes sir.” 

You both left without a moment’s notice, the door shutting behind you with a loud click.

“I uh…I guess I should properly introduce myself,” You reached out a hand, mustering a small grin. “I’m MC, nice to meet you.” 

“Jumin Han.” He returned the handshake, a bit sternly, yet he did try to lighten his grip to be polite. “I-um…let’s get started then. Follow me.” 

You nodded, tagging along behind him, staring about in utter surprise at the grandeur of the school around you, the wide towering windows and clean pristine walls decorated with crisp and clear art.

“Wow…” You murmured. “I’ve…I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“Didn’t you come from a school similar to this?”

“What? Oh goodness no,” You exclaimed. “I could never afford a place like this usually, but my family caught a break, and we managed to get here.”

“Well…” He turned to face you, his words soft. “I hope you like it here.” 

You had brightened at his words, a gentle warmth sparking upon your expression.

“I…I think I will.” 

And soon enough you did.

But even more so, for perhaps the first time, Jumin did as well.

He found himself looking forward to see you as the days went on, simply your smile lighting up his days like he hadn’t known before.

You had always been curious of his life, getting to know him over time.

And you had been perhaps the first to truly want to know.

He had his fair share of others prying into his life, yet he wasn’t a person in their eyes.

He was an obstacle.

To reach his wealth.

But you were so different. 

In the best possible way. 

It was a delight to have in his life.

You were a delight to have in his life.

Yet he couldn’t help but admit the butterflies that would burst in his stomach at the sight of you, his heart painted with such a warmth he though he was held in the sun.

To say the least, he was smitten.

Utterly and absolutely. 

“Jumin!” 

He was thrown from his thoughts as you sat down beside him outside the school, grinning.

“Hey! How are you?” 

His lips tugged upwards at the sight of you. “I’m fine, and you?”

“Pretty good, except for one thing.” 

He furrowed his brow in concern, leaning forward. “What? Did something happen? Who did-”

“Calm down,” You snickered, setting a hand on his arm, squeezing it slightly. “I was just thinking that you’ve never shown me your favorite place here!” 

“My favorite place…?”

“Yeah, I mean you’ve got to have at least one place here you enjoy being. Right…?”

“I…I suppose I do.” 

“Do you think you could show it to me?” You questioned, tipping your head to the side. “Please?” 

He melted.

“Of course.” He sighed, laughing quietly. “Here, follow me.” 

He lead you through the halls, working his way throughout the rooms and finally coming to it, opening the door to reveal it to you.

A garden.

Flowers and trees scattered the land a few simple benches about, Jumin guiding you to one of them.

“This is your favorite place?”

“Not exactly.” He hummed, heat rising to his cheeks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“W-Well uh…t-truthfully my favorite place is…is wherever you are.” 

Your face became redder than a raspberry. 

“W-What?”

“I mean…if we’re going to be honest.” Jumin chuckled, shifting away as he grew more and more flustered. “I-I’m sorry I just…” 

“M-My favorite place is w-wherever you are too.” 

His eyes became larger than saucers, turning to you in surprise. 

“What…?”

“Guilty.” You shrugged, giving a lopsided smile. “I won’t lie.” 

“T-Then um…” He felt a lump emerge in his throat, hardly able to come up with the words. 

“May I kiss you?”

You had never seemed happier.

For without any hesitation you responded.

“Yes.” 

And within that moment the world seemed truly wonderful.

For you were in it.

Don't be an art thief please!

Hi guys! Recently I found a few Instagram accounts reposting my fanart from here (tumblr) without my permission, and if you guys know/see any Tumblr users that are obviously stealing (reposting/editing) my stuff please let me know, shoot me a message, because I can’t wait to block them forever!

anonymous asked:

Protective Host/Google?

not really what you were asking for whoops ;;; ))

People didn’t usually flirt with Olivier. That… Just didn’t happen. So whenever someone did happen to flirt with him, Host was quick to correct them for it. Google was his. 

So when, at a convention, someone was sidling closer and closer to Google, Host knew it was time to cut them off.

“Google.” Host greeted softly, wrapping his arms around one of Blue’s. 
The android gave a soft smile, one Host’s narration described to him as beautiful. The person attempting to flirt with Blue gave an ugly look, and Host simply ignored them. 

“The Host would like you to accompany him to another art booth.” Host murmured, and while it could have been taken as a demand it was a silent understanding between both Host and Blue that “no” was, in fact, an option. 

“Of course,” Blue agreed with a nod of his head, “I would be happy to. Apologies, but perhaps we can pick up our conversation at a later date.” 

Google’s suggestion wasn’t taken well by the flirter, but Host swapped sides carefully to put himself between them and Google.
“The Host hopes to find presents for birthdays and Christmas.” He said as Google moved off, and the android hummed thoughtfully. 

“Perhaps we could start-” Host let him drone on while he himself narrated about the person they had left behind.
They were furious, but Host could only smirk to himself.
Shows them for trying to get friendly with his boyfriend. 

5

Black Witch in Public Series: #1 First Fridays Art Murmur

                                               #2 Lunch Date

                                               # Halloween Party

                                               # Muir Nude Beach

                                              # Art Opening Impact Hub Oakland