the photograph is actually one of the most stunning photographs i have ever seen

“You’re cute when you’re jealous” - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Hey dude ! First, a big thanks for the compliment, always more than appreciated :D. And then, here’s your request, hope you’ll like it :

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

______________________________________________________________________

-I just don’t understand why it has to be with a model that’s all…

-Honey, I already told you, she’s the face of the brand, she has to be on every pictures.

-Yeah well then if she’s the face of the brand, why would they need you ?

-You know why, it’s for the charity campaign we’ve been working on for the past few months. They’re a huge brand, they’ll help spread the words across the globe, more than we could on our own.

-”We’ve been working on” are key words here ! I worked on it as much as you, if not more, and I don’t get to be on the pictures. They just want you and her to have cute and classy “couple pictures”, because I’m not good looking enough for their damn brand and…

-You’re very cute when you’re jealous.

-I could knock you out with a punch to the face when I’m jealous.

-Oh, believe me, I know.

Bruce massages his jaw a bit, as a reflex, reminiscing of that time he made you jealous on purpose…It was a terrible idea. 

Keep reading

Behind the Lens

In the proud tradition of “anything is a fic idea, particularly when there’s actual work you’re supposed to be doing!”, this photo came across my dash, and for some reason my brain immediately said “Derek Hale as a landscape photographer” and things kind of snowballed from there. So, step one, go look at that photo, because it’s relevant to the fic. Then read. I’ll wait.

(I also encourage you to go look at that photographer’s 500px page as well, because it’s excellent.)

[Also on AO3.]


Stiles didn’t claim to know a lot about art. Sure, he could fake it with the best of them; he’d spent many, many hours listening to Lydia’s opinions about new artists she’d agreed to represent at her gallery, not to mention her more scathing commentary on artists she found overhyped by reviewers. Mostly, though, he just ended up coming in when she had a new show going up and hung stuff as directed. (And then maybe attended the opening and seeded conversations with some of her key phrases. He wasn’t proud. There was free food.)

Usually how this went was that he came by after the gallery closed, helped take the outgoing show down, moved hooks and whatnot, and helped put up the new pieces. By the time they were done, he’d have a good idea of what the artist’s style was, some sort of vague, academic appreciation of it, and no particular desire to look at any of it long-term. It was just art. But this time…

This time was different.

Keep reading

Prom...? (Taehyung/Reader)

Originally posted by ladynwh


Pairings: (Taehyung/Reader)

Prompt: Hey would anyone like to write a prom fic with Taehyung. I just had mine lol, I wore an A-line red dress that was off the shoulder. I even fell over from tripping on it lmao. I just thought a cute prom story would be fun. 

Genre: Prom AU!

Words: 1,900

Tags: Fluff


Keep reading

The Valentine’s Day gift for JuZen, with the story I wrote as part of the gift. Zen being the romantic fella he is, he made a little special game. (this is only my part I wrote for my rp partner @mm-jumin-han-love. the main story starts from canon and now they both discover and enjoy each other’s presence, one completing the other. shortest summary ever)

Enjoy~

A beautiful day of spring. The first rays of light run through the window glass to meet the skin of the C&R’s CEO, Jumin Han. His beautiful black eyebrows were shadowing his eyes, the stunning gray gaze of the director being hidden away in the world of dreams.  
Step by step, his subconscious awakes, not because of the beautiful morning that was slowly brightening the whole room, no. Because his sweetheart decided to wake him up in a more loving way in this Sunday morning.
After they spent some more time of their morning together, Jumin had to leave for work. The younger Assistants were more hyped than usual, but Jumin didn’t pay attention, nor cared. He was in a good mood. They texted, both of them smiling as the reply was coming almost immediately. Taking care if his work, the time passed fast. Jumin left his office, heading straight for home.
In front of the elevator, something caught his eye. An envelope sealed with a little red bow. He looked around, his bodyguards confirming it was for him. Carefully he opens it to find a letter and a photograph with him and Hyun from a side, in this elevator. The letter was clean written, sweetheart’s style.
“Remember how this elevator seen our full of passion kisses? Je t'aime!”
Jumin smiled. Indeed he remembers, and there will be more to come. Inside the elevator, there was another letter. The photograph was this time with them both looking to the sky, in the garden below. Jumin was facing the sky, but Hyun’s playful gaze was locked to his baby, as he took the photo.
“Remember our first "lover”? »Sweetheart, my baby, my beautiful and lovely househusband«. My heart grows more and more each time I hear that , from you. Szeretlek!“
Jumin smirked, because the garden brings more memories than that. The elevator doors opened and on the hall towards home, as he expected, Jumin found another letter. This time the photograph was with they both, shirtless, making the sandcastle. Nekkid Island it is.
"Remember how much fun we had?” Oh he indeed remembers, lots of fun. “I never felt so free and happy in my life. Te quiero!”
He smiled. Knowing Hyun is happy makes him happy as well. In front of the door another letter was sitting on the ground. This one had more photographs, one with them together and one with Jumin, sipping on his morning coffee at Zen’s place. “Remember how you asked me to make your house an happy home? The same you did to an empty place, making it burst with love and emotions. Ti amo!”
The next letter was sitting shamelessly in the middle of the living room. The photograph was with Hyun, smiling from ear to ear with the pendant Jumin gave him in his palms. “Remember how this person used to be weak, to cry and hide from the world so often? He is strong and happy now, no more masks, ready to conquer the world with you by his side. Ich liebe dich!”
The next memory is heading further in the house, to the bathroom, but the man could see one in front of the bedroom too. Taking the bathroom’s one first, there was a photo with them only in towels, Zen catching Jumin’s wide shoulders from behind in a selfie. “Remember how we take care of each other inside this shower? I never felt so deeply cared for. Sagapo!”
He does remember, being now one of his favorite activities. Heading back to the bedroom’s letter, he started to wonder where is Hyun in this moment. The bedroom letter had a picture of a sleeping Jumin, with one red eye smiling in the corner. “Remember the way you hug me and tell me you need me? My baby, even now writing this you melt my heart. Jeg eskler deg!”
He chuckled. Hyun, always such a romantic. Looking a bit around, the next letter was in front of the balcony. The picture was a beautiful landscape of the city, under a colorful firework show. “Remember how we ended it? »More than you will ever know!« Daisuki!”
The next letter lets herself be found harder, being out of the house, heading to the pool. The photograph was portraying a night sky, stars beautiful painting it from a side to another. “Remember our wish? With goods or bads, you are all I ever wished for! Sarangae!”
The next letter was on the way for the jacuzzi. The photograph inside was a funny selfie of Zen poking tongue out to Jumin, both of them in the kitchen, the plates on the table with spaghetti. “»I think I might love you, Hyun« you said and opened a new chapter in my life, the most beautiful I have ever witnessed. The chapter I want my book to end with. Te iubesc!”
Inside the jacuzzi room no more letters could be seen, but the final gift appeared. There were lots of grey and red heart shaped balloons, the city in afternoon’s sun was resting in front of their faces through the wall made of glass. /Their/ faces, because the second man was in the jacuzzi, near a bottle of good wine and some dark chocolate. Jumin left carefully to the ground all their memories, fast undressing himself. Hearing noises, Zen turns his eyes to smile wide at the sight of his baby. Jumin enters the water, and Hyun simply jumps in his hug, holding tight. The way only he knows to hug, so needy, so sweet, full of joy and love.
“I love you! Today, tomorrow, forever. Happy Valentine’s day!” his voice cracked with honesty and they both forget about words, kissing with desire and love only for each other. 

haiii lots of fluff and confusion. some details are from the story and all memories are actual events that happened in the timeline after they started to be together and discovered their love, that’s why they may be odd to you. don’t mind them. (I also cut the nasty parts before posting because reasons lol)

THE CONVERSION OF A HOBBY INTO A PASSION // PHOTOGRAPHY
(written by contributor Sonya)

I know a lot of people find photography to be a hobby, a peaceful one at that, but for me (and for some others of whom I’ve had the fortunate circumstances to talk to), find photography to be not only a hobby but also a passion. A lifestyle, if you will. A turning point for some. I wanted to write this article, my first article actually, on why photography means so much to me and how it allows me to express myself:

Keep reading

Carol Fanfiction 3

Finally back! Thank you all for your encouragement, you’re all too nice.This one is slightly less ‘realistic’ than the other two I’ve written, but I just thought it was a fun idea to explore.

Therese takes photos of Carol.

Every now and then Therese would walk into a room, or glance up from a book and catch these moments that she knew she needed to keep forever. Moments that made her whole body smile, while also instantaneously filling her with an awe that she could only compare to that very first day in Frankenberg’s. Moments when Carol wasn’t just Carol, but also a work of art.
Too often these moments were broken before Therese could even think about looking for her camera. Carol would cease whatever it was she was doing and her face would fill with such incredible warmth, soft easy smile appearing, grey eyes reflecting light, and she would ask about Therese’s day, or if she wanted a drink, or sometimes she would just pat the space on the couch beside her. These moments contained the magic of domesticity. Therese wouldn’t change them for the world.
Yet, sometimes, if she was completely involved in her own thought process, Carol wouldn’t even appear to realize Therese was in any sort of proximity. These were the moments that left Therese breathless and almost panicking in the quiet search for her camera.

This was one such moment.

Therese slipped from the bathroom, hair still damp and only half dressed in her pants and bra. She’d left Carol in bed, only half awake, muttering something about the indecency of any sort of consciousness before nine AM on a Sunday morning. Therese had laughed when a lazy hand had thumped down on the space where she’d been a second ago, before she’d slipped out of bed. And a delicious warmth had filled her when red tipped fingers had contracted on empty sheets, Carol’s hazy attempt at discerning if Therese was still next to her without having to actually open her eyes. Therese had knelt on the bed and pressed a kiss just next to Carol’s mouth.
Eyes remaining shut a low reply, ‘I don’t kiss this early.’ A sleep induced pause, quieter next time, 'And frankly I don’t trust people who do.’
Smiling Therese had disappeared into the bathroom, deciding not to call Carol out on the fact that both of her statements had been lies.

Now Therese stood just inside their bedroom eyes fixed on Carol. The curtains over the window were open haphazardly, one drawn halfway, the other only a quarter, a product of Carol’s distracted attempt at closing them the night before. Light filtered in in shades, falling in stripes over the bed. Soft morning sun over Carol’s face, dark shadows over her neck and the tops of her shoulders and collarbones, highlighting her angularity, and then golden warmth again, seemingly caressing Carol’s bare chest and transforming the sheet bunched at Carol’s waist into the purest white. Carol stared out the window, the smoke from her cigarette giving the whole image a grainy quality, as though maybe it wasn’t real after all? A cloudy dream?

Therese was jolted to life by the sight of her camera atop a pile of photographs on her beside table. She moved slowly, the moment had the beautiful fragility of a cobweb.
Therese knew that some part of Carol would be aware of her movement, she always was, but she thanked God that Carol remained as she was, her thoughts enough to distract from Therese’s actions.

Therese held her camera to her eye now, spent a few hurried seconds fiddling and fumbling over her focus and light settings, and did she need to take a step to the left? Something about Carol’s eyes…there. SNAP. Jesus Christ click again, click again because she’ll look….there!  
Slightly alarmed Carol’s gaze had whipped round to face Therese, blonde hair falling in front of her face, eyes searching, cigarette held out to the left, suspended in mid-air.

As Therese lowered the camera she registered Carol’s look of mild surprise and interest, 'I’m naked you know.’
Therese’s cheeks turned scarlet, and she bent her head pretending to study something on her camera while trying to sound nonchalant, 'Oh, I know. All the good photographers are doing it these days. Nude subjects and all that I mean- not ah..’
Carol’s voice was full of laughter at Therese’s discomfort, 'I’m sure.’
Cheeks still hot Therese muttered something about breakfast and camera still in hand she stepped quickly from the room, a tendril of excitement uncurling in her stomach at the thought of developing the images, watching Carol appear out of nothing before her.

**

The frosty chill in the air bit almost viciously at Therese’s nose and ears but she laughed all the same, stealing sidelong glances at Carol as she told a story, almost addicted to the way that the cold made Carol’s cheeks that much pinker, and the wind blew her hair persistently across her face.

’-and so he looks at me with these eyes and asked for my telephone number! I told him he could have it but Terry might not like it if he called, and darling he turned the most magnificent shade of red I’ve ever seen. Almost made up for me having to call you Terry, ugh how I detest-’

Therese’s step faltered a little as Carol reached the door to their building, 'So you got rid of a man, by telling him about me?’
Carol, fumbling in her bag for her key, looked up, eyes piercing, 'Well you know he thought you were my husband by the name but-’ she smiled with half of her mouth, light creases forming in her cheeks, 'yes I suppose I did.’
A small firework exploded in Therese’s chest. The kind that appeared to rain stars.
Carol pushed open the door and threw a glance over her shoulder, eyes appearing from a mass of blonde hair, 'Well? Are you coming upstairs or not?’

**

Therese allowed her fingers to contract slightly on the small of Carol’s back as she helped her take her coat off, enjoying the way Carol stood still a second longer than necessary as though to prolong the touch.
Both coats over one arm Therese made her way to the cupboard, murmuring a quiet agreement to Carol’s offer of a drink.  

'Well I fixed up that tap good and proper.’ Therese whipped around,  and Carol jumped slightly, a hand coming to rest on her chest.
A short, middle-aged man in dirty white overalls emerged from the hallway leading to the bedrooms and guest bathroom. Even from across the room Therese could smell the sharp stench of too much tobacco.

'Yeah one of the uh pipes was-’ he stopped, frowning at the obvious surprise of the women. An almost stunned silence filled the room.

Suddenly, Carol exhaled, shoulders relaxing, 'You’re the plumber.’ He nodded. Carol looked in Therese’s direction, businesslike, 'I clean forgot I’d booked someone to fix the bath tap in the guest room, Rindy wanted to float those paper boats in there the other day and I couldn’t get the darned thing to even turn on.’

Therese watched the plumber’s focus hone in on Carol as she spoke, cheeks reddening as she noticed that his attention wasn’t on her mouth, like most, or even her eyes, but rather her chest.

'Problem solved then?’ To anyone else Carol’s voice would sound cordial. To Therese it sounded impatient.

The man nodded slowly, eyes remaining fixed.

'I’ll write your cheque.’ Carol, still standing in the middle of the room between Therese and the plumber, bent over to lean on the coffee table as she wrote and Therese watched as the man’s eyes dragged from Carol’s front to the curved profile of her behind.

Therese had a violent feeling that she might do something unacceptable, but after a deep breath she traversed the room in short, clipped steps, coming to stand between the plumber and Carol, blocking his line of sight. She lowered her head slightly to intercept his gaze, 'What was wrong with the tap?’ Her voice was terse, unwelcoming and Carol looked up sharply, straightening.

Unfazed the man mumbled something about disuse, dragging a meaty hand through thinning hair. His brown eyes lit hungrily when Carol silently extended the cheque and Therese couldn’t help but notice the yellow fingernails as he stepped level with her to take the paper. As soon he had stuffed the cheque in his pocket Therese stepped closer, almost uncomfortably close, and extended a hand in the direction of the door, 'Thank you very much.’ Her voice was tepid. Carol nodded in terse agreement and the plumber turned following Therese to the door with heavy steps. Before he stepped across the threshold he turned to appraise Carol, hand hitching the top of his jeans exaggeratedly, 'If anything else needs some uh- attention around here just let me know.’

A slight choking sound escaped Therese’s throat and she let the door swing shut, all she could do not to slam it.
Carol snorted, 'No I don’t believe I will.’ She raised an eyebrow at the fierce look on Therese’s face and smiled slightly, 'Looks like I’ve already got someone to take care of things that need attention.’
'How can you stand it?’
Carol’s voice was soft, 'What?’
'Men!’ Therese gestured with her hands, 'Practically undressing you with their eyes like that.’
Carol nodded understanding, crisply, 'I barely even notice it anymore.’ Eyes flashing now, 'After all, looking is the closest they’re going to get.’
Therese shook her head, insides bubbling with fury, 'I won’t stand it.’
Carol laughed gently, 'My little spitfire.’
Therese’s mouth softened at Carol’s tone but she held the older woman’s gaze for longer than necessary, shoulders more rigid than usual, reinforcement of her protest.  

A few moments passed before Carol pushed her hair back on one side and moved toward the hallway, 'I’d better make sure he actually did his job.’

Therese watched Carol cross the living room and disappear down the hallway, movements languid, confident, as they always were, especially when they were home. She smiled softly in spite of herself, home. Always the thrill, a slight shock in the depths of her stomach when she thought of the apartment they shared together. Theirs. Slowly, she felt her shoulders relax, anger beginning to dissipate.    

'Chrrrrr-ist.’ Carol’s sharp tone reverberated from down the hallway. She only ever emphasized her R’s when she was mad or when she was trying to make Therese laugh.
Therese’s forehead wrinkled in a frown as she started to make her way across the room in short, clipped steps.

Therese.

Therese’s brows furrowed further as she made her way to the guest bathroom, slight tingle of nervous anticipation running through her. Wait. Guest bathroom? Guest bathroom. Shit. Therese’s nervous anticipation turned to full blown apprehension.

Carol was perfectly still in the middle of the tiled floor. Back to Therese not even her head moved as she stood, appraising the wall opposite her. Finally, 'You didn’t tell me you were developing any photos in here.’

Therese’s stomach sank slightly at the neutral tone. Her own was hopeful, 'I wanted it to be a surprise.’

Carol extended a hand, long fingers detaching one of the almost identical black and white images from the clothes line.
Therese had developed and hung the images to dry that morning.

Therese watched as Carol’s head dipped to study the photograph she held in her hands. Therese didn’t need to look at the line to see which one Carol held, they were all the same. Carol, gazing out the window, cigarette suspended mid-air, hair mussed from sleep, white sheet around her waist, topless.  
To Therese it was the epitome of perfection. She felt bile creeping up her throat at the realization that this image was the reason the plumber had been unable to wrest his gaze from Carol’s chest. Shakily she took a few tottering steps, perching on the edge of the bath, head between her hands, trying to fight off the acid rising in her throat.

The silence stretched out longer. To Therese it seemed indefinite.
Finally, 'Well,’ a snort, 'I suppose we’ve found the reason behind the ogling from earlier.’

Therese lifted a tortured face, shocked to find Carol’s grey eyes full of laughter, red lips twisted in an amused smile. She protested, 'I had no idea he was even coming, I mean I didn’t know you’d booked otherwise I never would’ve-’

Carol feigned mock outrage, 'You mean to say it’s my fault the plumber has seen me exposed?’ She gestured to her chest as she spoke. Therese nearly passed out.
She shook her head, pained, 'No I-’

Carol laughed, deep and throaty. She stepped across the bathroom and bent slightly, taking both of Therese’s wrists in her hands, 'Darling, darling, the photo is beautiful.’

Therese’s expression moved from pained to anguished. Carol waited a moment, calculating and then lowered herself gently to the tiled floor, kneeling, eyes now level with Therese’s, 'What’re you thinking?’

Nothing, until Therese nearly choked, 'That photo- it’s, how I see you and he-’ the urge to be sick and an overwhelming anger bubbled within Therese all at once. She averted her eyes from Carol’s face, almost glaring at the row of photos hanging over the sink.

A gentle finger brushed Therese’s cheekbone, 'Shhhh,’ Carol whispered softly, almost reverently, and then she pressed her lips hard against Therese’s, one hand holding her chin, the other gripping one of Therese’s wrists tightly. When she finally pulled back her voice was slightly husky, 'The plumber doesn’t get to do that now does he?’
Therese forced her eyes to stay closed. Forced her lungs to breathe in time with the soft huff of Carol’s exhale against her cheek.
Eventually she shook her head. Softly, 'No,’ and she opened her eyes, immediately finding Carol’s grey ones, and she lurched forwards at once, mouth hungry, yet hesitant.
One of Therese’s favorite things was the way that Carol sometimes kissed in lieu of speaking. This time Carol’s kiss was confident, overpowering Therese’s hesitation in a confirmation. I’m still yours.  

They remained on the bathroom floor for a long time after they’d finished kissing, Carol leaning against Therese’s knee, looking up at the photographs Therese had taken of her, Therese looking down, studying Carol’s face from her position on the edge of the bath.

Out of nowhere, and without looking at Therese Carol spoke, 'There is one problem though.’
Therese squeezed Carol’s arm in response.
'I still don’t know whether this fellow did a good enough job on the bath in between all his perving.’
Therese nearly choked. Carol threw a glance over her shoulder at her, 'Care to join me in testing it out?’
Therese couldn’t nod fast enough.  

Fic Rec Friday - Sterek Edition

Some weeks I don’t really have many fics to rec and then there are other weeks… Bless AO3 and iBooks! You can find the other friday fic recs here

Babcia Knows Best| T | 11,887

Stiles takes his grandmother to bingo every Thursday. Now there’s a new guy calling out the numbers, and his grandmother has decided to set them up.

Hot Nerd Alert| T | 4,547

Derek can’t believe he’s actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move.

Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share.

In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it.

My Bitchy Soulmate| E | 15,423

Stiles is a grumpy virgin and Derek is Scott’s extra broody roommate. They don’t really get along (until they do).

my heart’s been offline| E | 58,893

31/M/New York. Rich, lays in bed all day, likes to read (aka Derek Hale, son of an Oscar winning actress, brother of one obnoxious reality star and one rebellious fashion designer, hates the paparazzi so much he’s a recluse)

26/M/California. Boring office job, likes to read (aka Stiles Stilinski, co-owner of a 100 acre organic farm with his dad and two best friends, writer of obits for a newspaper, has absolutely no life)

Or, where Derek and Stiles meet online, and Stiles has no clue Derek’s part of a famous family.

Never Did Run Smooth| E | 34,206

Medieval Chasing Liberty AU: As the only son of King Stilinski, Stiles doesn’t have a lot of freedom, but he doesn’t let that stop him from traveling for days to the biggest festival of the season with a begrudging stranger, Derek.

Queer Your Coffee| M | 3,084

Derek’s just over the city line when he sees a sign for an independent drive-thru place, Full Spectrum Brew. There are three cars in line when he turns in, which annoys him but gives him hope. Not that he really trusts the people of Beacon Hills to have much taste when it comes to coffee (god, he is a snob), but the shop’s popularity does seem to bode well. The line of cars moves way more slowly than he’d like, each customer in front of him seeming to take way too long to order, and then lingering when they get their coffee. He’s irritable from lack of sleep and an even more detrimental lack of caffeine, anxious to get out of the car. Finally it’s his turn and he slowly rolls up to the window, turning the radio down.

For a second, he thinks he must have fallen asleep while he was waiting, because what he sees when he looks in the window surely must be a dream.

Stunning brown eyes like glowing honey and sweet little nose, slightly upturned; a shapely pink mouth, bottom-lip pierced by a thin black hoop that he’s worrying with the tip of his tongue as he smiles a gorgeous hello.

He’s the most beautiful man Derek’s ever seen.

And he’s shirtless.

First Date (Queer Your Coffee, Part Two)| E | 4,792

“Holy fuck,” Derek whispers when finally sees Stiles’ cock. It’s gorgeous, long and thick with a big head, which is pierced, the tip shiny and wet. He should have expected it really, the piercing, a prince albert he thinks it’s called, not sure because he’s never seen one, never knew how fucking hot it could be. There are two balls just like the ones in Stiles’ tongue, one nestled in his pretty little slit, the other tucked under the crown of his head, joined by a slightly curved bar under the skin. Derek swallows hard and his mouth fills with hot saliva, one hand going to his own cock, shoving his boxer briefs down his thighs in a rush. He wants to stroke himself, but the thought of that piercing on his tongue, against his throat, fuck, in his ass, has him dangerously close to coming untouched, so he grips the base hard instead, staving it off.

Stiles purrs. “See something you like, big guy?”

Somewhere In Between| T | 33,029

Derek’s been letting his job dictate his life ever since he was promoted from freelance photographer to official travel photographer. In his five years of travel, he’s built relationships in countries all across the globe, yet he still returns home after each job as lonely as ever. When he decides to try out the pen pal site Laura recommends to him, he doesn’t know what to expect. Derek isn’t prepared for Stiles, a small town guy with big dreams of seeing the world. And he certainly isn’t prepared to fall in love with him. He has to remind himself that this is just a pen pal thing and not to get carried away. It’s not like Stiles could ever like him back.

Right?

tell me something divine| T | 8,232

The whole palm-reading ability thing was not something that was ever on Stiles’ radar (or the D&D-style stat sheets he’d made up for everyone after the cave adventure of senior year). He can manipulate mountain ash, sure, and the occasional spell if it’s simple enough, but any trace of precognitive abilities? Nada. Instead, he gets the occasional glimpse at people’s palms and learns way more than he needs to know about strangers - that the waitress at his favorite pizza place has about six months to live, and the mail carrier’s ten days from meeting his soul mate - stuff that has absolutely no bearing on Stiles’ life and, honestly, is of no use to him whatsoever.

The Time Traveler’s Prerogative| E | 9,234

After the events of “117”, Derek doesn’t magically transform back into his twenty-five-year-old body. Instead, he’s stuck as a sixteen-year-old for an unknown amount of time. So the pack has to learn to deal with it.

The Walls Are Breathing In| E | 41,879

Nothing could go wrong. It was just supposed to be a safe trip to the Nemeton. But this is Beacon Hills and things are rarely that simple. Welcome to the life of Stiles Stilinski.

Or, that time that Stiles accidentally became a sorcerer against his will.

To Navigate your Seas| E | 26,010

Derek is a beach bum/surfer; Stiles is his new neighbor. Feels ensue.

Flood my Mornings: Thereafter

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment: One Besides [Another scene from that first morning. Jamie opens up to Claire about some of the demons of their separation and present-day fears]

Thereafter

Two Days Later

“James Fraser, open this BLOODY door right this GODDAMN minute!”

Our dear Mrs. Byrd reminds me,” the barricade on the other side said with an infuriating placidness that made me want to kick it in the balls, “that it is the worst of all bad luck for the groom to see the bride on her wedding day before the altar.”

I groaned in exasperation. “Jamie, we’re already married, for pete’s sake!”  

“And yet when I said as much yesterday, it didna matter for tuppence, and off we went to the City Hall.”

“It’s a government thing, Jamie! You know we’re married and I know we’re married,” I kicked the door in petulant emphasis, “but we have to do it officially so you can get your green card and keep from being bloody deported!” I twisted and yanked the knob again, but he had an iron-firm grip on the thing. I growled. “And if we’d done as I said and just signed the blasted marriage license yesterday when we were at City Hall, we’d be properly wed and off to the Cape by now!”

“And I shall say again what I said to ye yesterday: we shall be marrit in kirk…or no’ at all.”

My choice words were drowned out by an enraptured, “Oh, he’s a romantic on top of being scrumptious enough to eat, Ms. Beauchamp! Quite a catch!”

“Would you like to reel him in yourself, Penelope? We’re not officially married at the moment and he’s rather an insufferable MULE when he wants his way.”

“Oh, honey, don’t you tempt me!” 

Despite my annoyance, I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Mrs Byrd was in her fifties, unmarried, and rather a saucy sort of broad with an unabashed appreciation for the male form. I could just imagine the half-teasing (half not) look she was giving Jamie. 

We had decided that our story—when it was necessary to give one—would be that Jamie had served in the British Empire service abroad, the precise regiments and locations (conveniently) classified; that he had been captured soon after deployment while on a dangerous assignment; and the British government had incorrectly recorded him as killed in action, leaving me a pregnant widow; that only now was he able to escape and make his way home to me; and, finally, that the records of our first marriage had been lost due to a fire at the military base in England, where we had lived before his apparent death. Simple enough, and not unheard of. Anyone with eyes would be able to see that Brianna was indeed Jamie’s biological child, and if they assumed her to have been conceived illegitimately, then to hell with them.

Mrs Byrd, however, had accepted this explanation yesterday with no question, only pressing me hard to her ample bosom and weeping for joy, “Oh, my dear! My sweet dears!” she had said over and over. 

Brianna wasn’t the only person who had been thoroughly and instantly charmed by James Fraser. Penelope, too, had taken to Jamie with immense enthusiasm, plying him with all the good food and motherly attentions he could ever have dreamed of. While lovely in and of itself, I felt distinctly outnumbered and outmanned at the moment. 

Now,” Jamie’s voice came brightly through the door. “Mrs. Byrd, wee Brianna, and I are off to the shops to get me properly attired—”

“The clothes you already have will be fine, Jamie! There are those grey slacks and—”

“—properly attired,” he continued firmly, “and we’ll meet ye in kirk at 11:00, aye?” Silence. “AYE?”

“One manipulative Scottish brute STILL on the marriage market, Mrs. Byrd…”

I could hear the grin in his voice. “I love you too, Sassenach.”


He was right, though, damn his hide.


It wasn’t meant to be a wedding gown, just a tea-length dress with capped sleeves fashioned in a soft, cream-colored satin. I’d been rushing to the department store check-out counter with my primary purchase, and had only seen it by chance out of the corner of my eye. It was, without doubt, the most ridiculous garment I had worn since Versailles, a veritable cupcake of voluminous tulle with a matching lacy hat. I’d planned to simply wear my peach-colored suit and pumps…

…but seeing his face as I came down the quiet aisle of St. Michael’s, with his mother’s pearls around my neck and the small posy of yellow roses that I’d chosen thinking of her and of Lallybroch … yes, I was glad of the dress, glad to do honor to Jamie in this way. For, to wear just any clothes would have done him a disservice, telling him that this day was like any other to me. It was not. God, it was not; not in any conceivable way. Jamie had known that at City Hall, and peeved as I had been at the time…I wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything.

He was, quite simply, stunning, standing up at the altar holding Bree in his arms, waiting for the priest to arrive. It was remarkable what two days of good sleep and good feeding had done for him. While still thin, there were no shadows under his eyes, and his cheeks were positively glowing. His morning suit fit like a dream, and he was wearing a blue necktie that made his eyes blaze with such vibrance as to actually make me blink. 

No plaid; no brooch; no boots or dirk; hair short and lightly styled with pomade. He truly couldn’t have looked more different from the man I had married five years ago—good grief, I seemed to have exchanged Rob Roy for Cary Grant!—but he was still utterly my Jamie….and still breath-taking.

As I reached them, he leaned his head down to Bree’s, looking out from under his eyelashes at me and sounding rather thunderstruck. “Mama looks verra lovely, aye?”

“Aye!” Brianna squeaked automatically, having incorporated this word promptly into her vocabulary.

“So does Da,” I said fervently, taking his free hand and squeezing.

“Oh?” he said, and I smiled to see his look of shy gratification. “It’s…alright, then, the Suit?”  

Odd, that my throat felt so dry and yet my eyes seemed about to overflow. “You’re beautiful, Jamie.

He smiled broadly and leaned down to kiss me. Before our lips could touch, however, a loud POOF and a blinding flash made us start and jump back, and Brianna to shriek.

Jamie Fraser,” I said, incredulous, surveying the tiny bespectacled man to my right now being tutted at by Mrs. Byrd. “Of all things…you brought a photographer?”

He shrugged sheepishly, adjusting his grip on Brianna. “Mrs. Byrd said it was the proper thing for weddings. God kens I hate the lightning flashes…but I should like to have a portrait of what ye look like on this day.” He placed his free hand gently, so very gently, on my neck, thumb tracing my jawline, eyes soft. “You’re even more beautiful today than the first time I marrit ye, mo nighean donn…and even then ye nearly stopped my heart. It’s a wonder I’m still standing.”

Yes…yes, it was a wonder. That he stood here before me, touching my face. That he held his daughter in his arms. That he still drew breath. Thank you, I prayed silently, as I held him and Bree close. THANK YOU, and never let me never stop giving thanks.

“Ah, Ms. Beauchamp, you’ve arrived! Welcome, my dear, welcome!”

Father Gentry, middle-aged and genial, was the reason Brianna and I had begun attending St. Michael’s in the first place, he being deeply connected with his faith without placing undue import on dogmatic or procedural concerns. Thank goodness, for I didn’t think many priests would have allowed a last-minute wedding on a Saturday without a proper mass between a couple who already had a child together! But he and I had spoken many times since I’d joined his congregation, such that he had known of the loss of Brianna’s father, though not the true circumstances, of course. He’d baptized Brianna himself, in fact, and his chapel had been one of the few true emotional refuges I had had these last two years. The dear man had nearly broken down himself and wept when I had turned up at the rectory yesterday, Jamie in tow, to explain and beg his assistance with an unconventional wedding.

He beamed at us. “A beautiful family you make, and a blessed day. Shall we begin?”

“If ye please, Father,” Jamie said, passing Bree off to Mrs. Byrd and taking my hand. “I should like verra much to be marrit to this woman again.”


By choice, there was no music, limited liturgy, and no witnesses save Brianna, Mrs. Byrd, and the photographer; and yet, it was one of the most peaceful and moving ceremonies I’d ever witnessed, let alone participated in.

We broke at different times, Jamie and me. 

For my part, it was in saying the words of the marriage vows.

“I take thee, James, to be my husband…”

I hadn’t meant them the last time I’d spoken these words to Jamie; hadn’t meant them in the slightest; nor had I believed him to.

“…to love, honor, and protect…”

He had meant them, though; had meant them and not strayed from them.

“….for better and for worse…”

For me, though, these words were brand-new, the most important ones I had ever uttered in my life. It was as if I poured my very soul into every syllable, such that I could barely croak through tears that hovered on the verge of sobs.

“….to have and to hold from this day forth, ‘til death us do part.”

For Jamie, it began when Father Gentry looked expectantly at him and asked, “Have you the rings?”

“Rings?” Jamie looked panicked. “We need more than one? I didna—”

I touched his arm reassuringly, then reached in my handbag and placed both rings in the Father’s hand: my silver interlace and the sturdy, gold band I had bought that morning.

James,” I said, repeating after the Father as I took Jamie’s left hand and slid the ring onto his finger, “take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Jamie stared at the ring on his finger in a tender kind of awe, as if it were the most precious thing in the world…then transferred the gaze—unchanging—to my face. There were tears in his eyes under furrowed brows and his adam’s apple was bobbing madly. He opened his mouth as if to say something…but couldn’t manage it. He swallowed, raised my hand to his lips, and kissed it, long enough that two warm droplets fell lightly onto my skin.

We were both practically falling apart by the end.

All the usual words had been spoken, and Father Gentry smiled at the pair of us, gesturing that we might proceed with the addition we had discussed.

Jamie took my right hand in his left, pressing his scarred palm to mine. Both crying freely, we choked out the words together, the ones that we hadn’t been able to finish the last time we’d spoken them: when we’d bled together at the time of our parting.  

You are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone.
I give you my Body, that we Two might be One.
I give you my Spirit, ‘til our Life shall be Done

“…and forever thereafter,” Jamie whispered, streaming eyes burning into mine.

At the moment the joyful permission was given, my lawfully wedded husband took my face directly in both his shaking hands and kissed me, intense with love. I let my bridal accoutrements fall so I might hold him likewise, pulling away from the kiss only long enough to vow hoarsely back: “Forever thereafter, Jamie.


Continue with the next installment

All About Angels: An Interview with Russell James

It’s no secret—we’re known for our Angels. Their hair, their look, their je nais se quois. And for the past 15 years, world-renowned photographer Russell James has been bringing them to life from behind the lens. His new book, Angels, is a photographic tribute to some of the world’s most beautiful women, including Adriana Lima, Alessandra Ambrosio, Behati Prinsloo, Candice Swanepoel, Doutzen Kroes, Karlie Kloss, Lily Aldridge, Martha Hunt, Sara Sampaio, Brooklyn Decker, Gisele Bundchen, Heidi Klum, Kendall Jenner and Rihanna. We sat down with the mega-talented Aussie to talk Angels, Instagram insights and what it’s like to work with us for 15 years.  

You’ve been shooting for Victoria’s Secret since 1997. What has been your most memorable moment on set so far?

I could narrow that to memorable ‘moments’ in the plural—there have been so many! I think that at last year’s Fashion Show, suddenly being asked to take a single shot of all 40 girls in the show, was up there. The girls were so pumped up from having just come off stage and I had to chase them in every direction. Oh, and the day I had our model standing by the ocean for a swim shot in Mexico. A freak wave came through and took her, me, my assistants and camera equipment out completely.

Some people might say you have the best job in the world, but we know it’s not all fun and games. What’s the most challenging aspect of your work?

The most challenging part is actually making it feel like ‘fun and games’ to the amazing models I am so lucky to work with. There is so much that goes into planning a shoot. The models don’t see me, the producers and the creative team planning the shoot in the weeks before. However, my goal is to have a shoot that feels fun and effortless to the models, even though it is the complete opposite in reality.

Keep reading

ficlet: He Hates Photoshoots (Olicity, All Ages)

OHP Prompt: Photographer AU
Team: Queen Smoak
Words: 1,065

Oliver really hated photoshoots. Which was kind of a terrible coincidence considering he was a male model. But on the whole, he really did enjoy his job.  He was successful enough that he got to have his pick of projects and sometimes was even let in on the creative process, planning out each spread and arranging the particulars.  He enjoyed seeing himself in magazines, on billboards, on television commercials… He worked hard for this body of his and there was some gratification in showing it off. 

But photoshoots?  He hated them.  The photographers often made ridiculous demands of him, wanting him to contort into the strangest poses or do something else nonsensical.  They never seemed to care one bit about him, instead were always focused on the shot.  Oliver even had a list of photographers he refused to work with again that he left with his agent, the experiences had been that bad. 

So it was with no small amount of trepidation that Oliver stepped into the studio where he was going to be doing today’s shoot.  It was a loft on the east side of town, located on the top floor of a charming old brick building. The walls were bare and stark, lighting equipment and sheets and other technical equipment littered the floor.  He wasn’t sure if the photographer lived here as well as or not.  He stood uncertainly at the top of the stars, scanning around the enormous space for the photographer he was supposed to meet. She’d buzzed him in when he’d called from the street so he knew she was here.

“Just make yourself at home, I’ll be with you in a minute!” a feminine voice called out. 

“Alright,” he called back.  

“I’m making some coffee, could you like some?”

He paused.  The most he was usually offered was a bottle of water.  It was pretty early, just past dawn actually, and he could definitely use the caffeine.  

Keep reading

vimeo

Videographer takes a tour of the Northern Lights from Denmark. They’ve provided a hugely detailed caption, excerpted below.

Before setteling down in Denmark, I, like most Danes, had no idea that one could possibly witness the northern lights. In 2015, as I was on the Ordrup beach in the northwest of Zealand (Sjælland), I was out taking pictures of the milky way on a clear night. My camera was facing east/north-east and I noticed an usual purple color in the upper left-hand corner of my frame. As I tried to investigate further, taking several shots in different directions, I was stunned by these green and purple sort of curtains. ‘It couldn’t possibly be…’ I thought.

Keep reading