#because i could just take photos all day and work in the darkroom whenever

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @textless​​

Hi! My name is Amadee, and I am a librarian who lives in Arizona. I also love taking photos in my spare time.

Check out our interview with Amadee below!

What got you started in photography?

Both of my parents were very interested in photography. I’d always loved looking at their work, and in high school, I got a 35mm camera as a gift, so I could start taking photos myself. Back then (in the actual 80s), HS students in the Minneapolis area could take classes at area colleges for dual credit. I started taking photo classes at the University of Minnesota and had access to a darkroom and nearly unlimited film and processing supplies without realizing just how amazing that was. I took many photos of friends, acquaintances, and strangers, and I loved looking at work by Nan Goldin and Bill Owens. After college, without access to a darkroom, I stopped taking pictures almost entirely.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work?

Bluntly, technology allowed me to start taking photos again. The first digital cameras I tried in the early 2000s were terrible: slow, clunky, and with next to no storage capacity. Even so, they seemed like the first step in an interesting direction. By 2008 or so, I had a point-and-shoot digital camera and rediscovered what I loved about photography… except that I no longer wanted to take pictures of people. Soon I started taking photos of tiny things, especially insects, and my little camera wasn’t up to the task. I got a DSLR with a macro lens in 2010 and haven’t stopped taking photos since.

I know many photographers who are nostalgic for film, whether or not they were around in the analog era. More power to anyone who wants to spend the time and money, but I don’t miss film even a little. For the kind of photography I enjoy, which is almost entirely documentary, the ability to take an unlimited number of photos, and see what did or didn’t work right away, makes all the difference.

You've also written books in the past—what was the most challenging, yet rewarding part of the process?

I was a children’s librarian for many years and just love books. So, when I started writing, I hoped to create books that would connect with kids and spark their imagination. Cortez the Gnome was a book I would have liked to see as a kid, and the art project elements were fun and frustrating. Gentle Hands filled what felt like a gap in my storytimes and gave me a chance to work with a publisher I like very much. Alas, my biggest challenge is that I haven’t had an idea in years! I write occasional blog posts for Free Spirit on topics related to serving youth, but working with kids was the spark for new ideas, and these days my work is mostly admin. I enjoy it more than I would have guessed years ago, but as a wellspring of inspiration, it is not.

How do you create healthy boundaries in balancing your day job and personal aspirations?

Work comes first every time. That might sound like a drag, but I truly like my job and think library service is critically important. In some of the tiny communities we serve, the library is the only gathering place open to everyone, and the only place to access fast internet, enrichment activities for kids, books, movies, and all kinds of other good stuff. I love taking photos, but I would hate to make a job of it.

What is the hardest part of your process?

The process itself is just fun, and I’d stop if it weren’t. I used to stress about editing and posting photos soon after taking them because I wanted to create a sort of nature journal in real-ish time. That wasn’t sustainable, partly because the subjects that interest me are so seasonal. I might take 2,000 photos in August (peak macro season here), but only 100 in February. Now I just try to indicate when photos were taken and know that I’m the only person who particularly cares about that. For years I posted six new photos each day. Now I generally post two and skip days or longer whenever it suits me.

Right now, the biggest challenges are external. First, my vision is less and less sharp. It’s nothing severe, just a function of age, but it makes me think I’d better develop an interest in non-tiny subjects at some point. Second, some small but annoying health problems have kept me from getting out much over the last year. I used to take a hike or long walk at least once or twice a week, and more in peak bug season. Since last September, I’ve taken two longish walks and mostly stuck to the yard. On the plus side, it’s an excellent yard with an ever-growing assortment of interesting plants and insects.

While this is frustrating in some ways, it’s also a distillation of something I have always liked. Even when I was hiking all the time, I enjoyed going back to the same places, again and again, getting to know them in detail and watching the seasons roll through. Staying so close to home this year has been an extreme version of that, and some aspects of that have been very satisfying.

I should also say, for the record, that I am not technical at all. I’m not interested in new gear as long for its own sake, and I don’t like messing with camera settings or anything fiddly. My favorite piece of photo advice ever was “f/8 and be there,” which I took to mean finding a basic setup you like and focusing on the subject at hand. I like finding strange or beautiful things that other people might not notice and trying to make them interesting to a wider audience. (Wider than just me, that is.)

What is something you would love to photograph but haven't had the chance to yet? Why?

This is oddly specific, but I desperately want to find an Arizona Unicorn Mantis (Pseudovates arizonae; check out the photos here). Several have been spotted within two miles of my house, but I have never found one yet. They are otherworldly and just fascinating. Insect goals!

Are there similarities or differences in your workflow when it comes to photography and writing?

Mostly difference in that photography is relaxing, and writing is nearly impossible, at least right now.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

There are several excellent photographers who live in my corner of Arizona, and I love their work because it shows different aspects of a place I care about. Also, their photos are just gorgeous.

@fatchance​ is practically a neighbor and an all-around lovely person. He takes beautiful pictures of birds and desert flora, and unlike me, he takes the time to learn about and share good information about his subjects.

@thelostcanyon​ is another south-eastern AZ photographer I admire, and he is also a very good painter.

@inlandwest​ is actually my partner. We’ve lived all over the west together, and I like that his wide-open-spaces aesthetic is so different from my focus on the little things.

A little farther afield, I love @macroramblings​, and Celeste, of @celestialmacros​, @celestialphotography​, and @occasionallybirds​, for their beautiful macro work.  @mostlythemarsh​ is another long-time favorite. He’s not a macro photographer, for the most part, but I like seeing familiar places through the seasons, and I like the stark difference between his environment (east coast/Canada) and my own.

Thanks for such wonderful answers, Amadee. Check out her beautiful photography work over at her Tumblr, @textless​!

#creator spotlight #photographers on tumblr #writers on tumblr #macro photography #textless #insects #bugblr

[paigelts05]

Julian [FNAF OC]

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/Julian-FNAF-OC-892330308

Published: Sep 19, 2021

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858029

I'm getting over my aversion to drawing simple character portraits. I've been getting so caught up in making sure every peice has some kind of plot to it that I've been neglecting to draw characters just because I've not gotten around to thier plotline yet. So I've decided that if it looks cool when someone else does it, it'll look cool when I do it, and I drew just a normal drawing of Julian. I added some background elements, but it looks cool and adds to the atmosphere. But I made a story anyway. =°•.🌹 Story 🌹.•°=

°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*° Julian sung a lyricless tune to himself as he danced around his darkroom. Photographs hung on washing lines that spanned across the room, turning it into a spiders web of photographs. The only light source came from a set of dim red fairy lights strung up across the walls. Despite his blindness in one eye and the dim lighting, Julian navigated the room with grace as he plucked photographs out of the developing fluid and pegged them onto free space on the web of washing lines. This was his room, his territory, and he knew exactly what he was doing. Once the spoils from his most recent outing were all hung up to dry, he remembered how he took these photographs in the first place. Ancient animatronics festering in old back rooms were the easy shots. All he had to do was get in and find them. Getting to see them walk around was more dangerous, but it was so rewarding. Sometimes, he'd go to a franchise that was capitalising off of Freddy's bad reputation, trying to pull off the art of animatronic performers, but they all ended the same way Fazbear's did, and Julian was always there to capture the downfall in individual images, frozen in time. The fear from finding out the suits are haunted. The attacks the animatronics would make. The sadness of those related to the ones that were lost this time. Sometimes, Julian would put himself in danger just to get a good and intimidating photo of particularly reputation ruining bots, and it was better him than some random who didn't know what they were doing anyway. If that's what his dad and his mate's justification for staying at one of those places for so long was, he could use the same excuse. Over the years, Julian had collected many scars that complimented the scratches over his eye. Each scar told as much of a story as each photograph he took, and his most recent was one he was quite proud of. For his most recent collection, he had decided to take a night shift himself at a restaurant that was roumored to be haunted, and knowing that the place wouldn't last more than a week, he had an easy way out of this part time night shift. Whilst the animatronics stalked him, he took photograph after photograph. He stole glimpses at the bodies inside the suits, and broken machinery that moved, and ghosts wandering the halls. Each of these were caught on his trusty camera. Photographs that would be used to bring justice and closure for those who have lost and have been lost. With a slight chuckle, he thought to himself "I'm not doing that bad for a rookie!" He had always found it funny that whenever people saw him at his day job, they'd question how someone of his young age - he was bearly an adult - could possibly be able to work amongst elites of crime scene photography? How did someone so young have the skills to take photographs of crime scenes? What people didn't think to realise was that his skill was from years of macabre practice. What people also didn't know about him was how exactly macabre his personal training in this field was; he had honed his skills to the point at where the station would take him on for such delicate work usually reserved for veterans of the job by putting himself through the ordeal of observing the aftermath of vile scenes; a thing that comes part and parcel with hunting ghosts. Well, many people didn't know about that night job of his anyway. The aforementioned one where he hunted down and took photographs of supernatural entities. So this was to be expected. All his day job photos were digital and processed at work. But all the photos in his darkroom were his own night work. The more evidence based ones would be sent in as an anonymous tip, but the more dynamic ones where the animatronics would be showing their teeth or lunging at him would be shared online under the pseudonym "LittleRedPhotographer" - a reference to the story of little red riding hood. He would show others his findings, but not too much as to not become too notorious. Only the 'clean' photographs would be shared under his pseudonym, so no corpses, only the ghosts themselves, and nothing that would make people ask too many questions. Sometimes, too much attention was a bad thing, and when taking photographs of ghosts, taking believable photographs that toe the line between safe and vile was a tough job, but Julian executed the task with elegance and precision. He looked around at his most recent collection and begun to rearrange them on the line, figuring out which ones were evidence based, which ones were fun, and which were better left for his personal collection. Looking at a photo that had been on the line for a while, he recalled last week's work: an investigation sparked by his own anonymous tip. The scene of a triple homicide, the use of spring lock suits to hold the bodies, and the suits failing due to the bodily fluids. Many other photographers had had to dip out before the visions of the scene permanently burned its way into thier minds, but Julian was able to stay there all day. It wasn't unusual for someone who grew up around the dead and undead to be this desensitised to gore, but to an outsider, sometimes his guts and confidence in the face of the most grotesque scenes would get him mistook for a professional - something he didn't mind, even though he was still a little wet around the ears regarding more professional shots. His mentors would aid him in what to take photographs of and a vauge guide on what angles to use, and Julian would put his own spin on things, his iron stomach and steel will carrying him through the long days, letting him get closer to the corpses than any of the others dared to in order to take more detailed photographs. Besides, he had already been here to sneak photos from the outside, so it's not like the scene was new and shocking anymore. It was only now he was able to see the finer details of the grizzly innards of this location, so he may as well make the most of it. His attention turned back to a photograph of interest. That dramatic photograph of the view from outside the saferoom window that was still on the washing line despite having been dried for over a week. It's not that he didn't want to put it away; he just couldn't be bothered to find out where it should go. Was it tasteful enough for his blog, or was it destined for the shoebox. Gently plucking the photograph off the line and sitting down on his bed, he studied the photograph. As he assessed the shadows of the photograph, he determined that it was alright to share. Only the back of the suit was visible, and the blood had pooled out of frame, so it was tasteful enough, but it wasn't boring either. He decided he'd make the final decision on that tomorrow. Because today, he was processing a new batch of photos. Photos took at yet another location. He had to sneak in to the long abandoned building and had gotten some amazing photographs of animatronics charging at him and stalking the halls. He sometimes wondered what would happen if he stayed around the same animatronics for too long. Would he wind up like his dad with the animatronics trying to use him, or would these animatronics not care for who someone really was and just kill him. Besides, it was better to not get caught than wonder what would happen if you did. °*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

#2021 #fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf fanart #FNAF Renegade AU #Renegade AU Guards #Renegade AU #fnaf oc #fnaf original character #fnaf fankids #fnaf fan character #art #artwork #artists on tumblr

[saybees]

Ugh, my mother acts like a rich person, it drives me nuts.

She texted me a photo of her new microwave mounted above the stove and she said that now the stove looks ugly and she wants to get a new one.

It works. It works very well. It functions flawlessly aside from the little screen not showing the time anymore. It's the exact same stove we have in the house we are renting. It's older than me, but it works brilliantly.

I am SO tired of listening to my mother complain about this kind of thing. She's lucky that she has the money to be able to buy new appliances whenever she feels like it. She can repaint the whole house on a whim. My mother complains that they are always so tight for money, but they clearly aren't. They just don't always have the disposable income my mother wants so she can constantly be spending money on stuff she doesn't need to buy.

I have been poor for EVER. Even when I was living at home and I had my parents supporting me I didn't have an allowance or a job (lived out of town and didn't have a car) so I could never spend money. I was lucky to get a $100 bill from my grandmother when I graduated high school. That was a lot of money to me because I never had any. I had to rely on my parents for everything, which is fine, they provided me with what I needed and they did contribute quite a bit to my first couple tries at post-secondary education.

But I have been on my own for a long time now. I have always barely made enough money to get by with a little bit of spending here and there that I probably shouldn't have done, but did anyway because life is short and I want to enjoy things.

My mother was telling me once about how since her and my dad both retired they were only getting $[REDACTED] from my dad's investments and it wasn't enough for them to live off of each month. All I could think was HOLY SHIT because it was twice as much money as I had ever seen in a month and I could survive on it more or less fine. But that wasn't enough for my parents to sit at home doing nothing?? They don't have a mortgage anymore, that's been paid off for several years now. They both have newer vehicles that they got gently used. They have a new tractor my dad went out and got himself, real fancy. They really don't have much for expenses aside from hydro and car payments. Like it blows me away and it makes me so MAD that my mother acts like such a rich person and she can just go and spend that kind of money like it's no big deal while I'm struggling to pay for university that might get me nowhere, but I had to go and do it because I was going to have a complete mental breakdown if I stayed in retail any longer.

It just hurts, I guess, to see my mother living so frugally while I'm struggling. Even my little sister makes really good money at her job that she somehow stumbled into and I feel like such a loser because I'm the only one that's really struggling financially.

I feel like my mother put too much pressure on me to go to university and "make something" of myself. She always drilled it into me that she wanted me to be better off than she was and have what she didn't have, but so far I'm living in more poverty than she did. She pushed me to go to uni when I wasn't ready and I ended up wasting all my money and blowing through my small trust fund. I have nothing to show for it. My mother always put so much pressure on me and I have always felt like a failure.

It's just really hard. I don't want to be in the place that I am. Everyone else is doing much better than I am, but I'm the one that took risks and went out into the world. All it did was burn me.

And now that I'm in uni again I'm struggling through some of my classes and I'm probably going to fail at least one and have to redo it, which means paying another $1000 and spending another 4 months going through the same material. And that's only if I fail the one. I might fail another one yet.

Like my parents are by no means actual rich people. They're very middle class. It just bothers me that I have to work so hard to get nowhere and they have done so little and are so comfortable. I don't think I'll ever get to a place like that.

My sister struggled through grade school, but now she has a killer job that she makes fucking bank at. She bought herself a newer Jeep last year. While I have a 25 year old truck with 260,000 kms on it. Don't get me wrong, I love my truck, but if I had the money to spend on something newer I probably would.

My sister is also autistic, but that doesn't seem to affect her life at all anymore now that she's out of school and I'm here just now figuring out that I probably have autism and adhd and it's making my academic career a nightmare right now. I'm having such a hard time with everything right now because of that and I reached out for help and was completely shut down over it.

I just look at my life and the lives of my family members and I feel like I'm the only one that's ended up in such a crappy spot. Everyone else is so much better off than I am right now and it sucks. I know I shouldn't dwell on it and this is just some depressive episode triggered by a text of a microwave, which is really fucking stupid now that I put it into words, but I just feel so miserable. I feel like I'm stuck and I don't know how to get out. I thought university would help and change things, but so far it hasn't.

I just want to do the things that I love and be surrounded by people that I love, but that's such an impossibly distant goal at this point. I want more from life than this. I want to not have to worry about money anymore. I want to be free to do the things I want to do. I want a job that isn't going to drive me fucking bananas and pays well enough to fund my hobbies. Why does that seem so out of reach? Why can't life just be easier? It seems so easy for everyone else around me.

Money can't buy happiness, but it sure can solve a lot of the issues that cause me to be fucking sad.

#personal text #this turned into a breakdown oops #very long #if i had money id be the happiest motherfucker around #because i could just take photos all day and work in the darkroom whenever #and i could just cruise around in my truck looking for stuff to take photos of #that would be the cure to my depression #being able to just create and do the one thing i really love the most #like seriously if some rich dude that isn't a tumblr bot would be my sugar daddy i would legit take that opportunity #probably wont get my hands on any real money any other way #i wish i could sell prints of my photos and live off that revenue #i don't forsee that taking off though since i don't know how to market on social media #i also just really don't like social media at fucking all #anyone wanna buy some of my photos? #pretty please? #i should put together a gallery somewhere #i guess there's my instagram

[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Regina George

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You technically don’t meet Regina, but she first talks to you one day after school while you’re walking to the bus stop.

- You see, you’re a part of the school yearbook; a photographer to be specific, and took photography class so you were fiddling with your camera while you were walking. You being a part of the yearbook was also initially the reason that she talked to you since Regina doesn’t give the time of day to people like you unless she wants something.

- So there you were, walking across the school yard when Regina fucking George called out to you.

- Now everybody knows who Regina is; which is why I said you didn’t technically meet, and Regina knows that they do, but she’s learned how to play people so she introduces herself. You shyly greet her back, wondering what she’s doing talking to you before she says “oh wow” and begins to ask about your camera.

- You don’t know enough about Regina at this point to realize that she’s playing you like a fiddle so you timidly talk to her for a while before your photography class comes up into conversation. She asks what you do in it and you mention the project you’ve just been assigned: having to pick one or a few subjects and photograph them for about half the year.

- She asks if you’ve chosen someone yet, you mention that you’ll probably choose one of your friends and she says an “oh” which has you hanging on to her next words.

“Well,” she says somewhat pointedly, “I was just thinking, I mean, you’ll have the rest of your life to photograph your friends, and I’m sure you do it all the time. So maybe you should pick a new subject?”

“If you wanted,” she says after you seem to be considering her words. “We’d be more than happy to help you out. You can come hang out with us and build up your portfolio.”

- You ask if she’s sure and she sweetly reassures you, writing down her number and telling you to think about it.

- Well bless your gay little heart, of course you say yes! You’re practically mesmerized by her! It’s just too bad that she only sees you as her own personal photographer ...at least at first.

- So you begin to hang out with the plastics, shocking everyone in your school whenever they actually give you the time of day. Though, of course, they have to give you a makeover and teach you the rules first.

- Everywhere you go, you bring your camera and snap some photos of them, oftentimes at their request. When you’re at school events working on the yearbook, Regina will call your name and you’ll obediently take some pictures of her/them wherever they are. Blinded by your growing crush on the mean girl, you don’t realize what’s happening, especially since she really seems to think of you as a friend.

- I mean, why would she tell guys with newfound interest in you to leave you alone or force you to hang out with her instead of your loser friends/boyfriend or call you up and tell you to sneak out and hang out with her.

- Truth be told, Regina George had taken an actually liking to you and perhaps it had started purely because of the attention you were getting from guys. Regina liked having what other couldnt and now that you were desired; and for other reasons, she wanted you.

- Things come to a head when Gretchen accidentally let slip exactly why Regina had made you their friend after the blonde upset her. The confession had come as a shock but at the same time, you felt dirty, like you’d known all along that it was too good to be true and this was just proving to you that it was.

- You were hurt, you were upset, you were ...angry. How dare she use you like that? Pretend to be your friend for some goddamn photos!

- You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of blowing up on her, of letting her drop you from the group herself after you “overstepped your boundaries”, so, you ignored her. You didn’t answer her calls, avoided her at school, blatantly ignored her when she called after you. You gave her the silent treatment and it gave you a sick sense of victory.

- Regina hates being ignored and not having control of everything so you; someone she’s grown to have feelings for, just up and ignoring her like she was some common geek really pissed her off. God, you should have seen her after Gretchen admitted she’d told you; the blonde could have killed her.

- So now that the blonde knew what was wrong, she started working towards fixing the mess the “brunette bitch” had made. You obviously weren’t returning her calls nor letting her come near you at school, so she had to surprise you somewhere, somewhere you couldn’t get rid of her. The schools darkroom.

- No one was around there after school, well, no one besides you so when the blonde entered and shut the door behind her, tapping on your shoulder as music blared in your headphones, you nearly had a heart attack.

- Out of sheer shock and anger, you began to yell at her, hurling a few “what the hell is wrong with yous” and insults and explaining that you don’t want to see her. She remains blank faced before she tells you to shut up, successfully shocking you into silence.

- She told you that yes, initially she’d only talked to you for the photos but even then, she saw potential in you, she saw something she liked in you. She thought her interest in you was just some sort of jealousy thing but then she figured out that it was something more. When guys asked you out; well when they tried to, she felt the same way she felt when Aaron Samuels ignored her for some other girl.

- And then she asked if you would go out with her, well, she sort of demanded that you’d go out with her and for better or for worse, you said you would.

- For your first date, the two of you go to the mall together. You spend a few hours shopping around, getting coffees and talking like normal humans. It’s no surprise that you have a good time but you are surprised by how natural it feels to be with her.

- The two of you share your first kiss a few days later, after you’d gone to some party that she’d insisted you attend with her. Some guy had hit on you, causing her to subsequently pretend that she was tired of the place and wanted to go home. Once you were back in her car, she’d pulled you into a rough, obviously jealous kiss, leaving you grinning while she began to drive away.

- And thus, the queen of the plastics became your queen.

- Regina isn’t a huge fan of Pda unless she knows that someone in the vicinity has a crush on you. If there’s someone’s day she can ruin by doing it, then she’s all over you.

- You’ll usually keep your arm around her shoulder or have her arm around you.

- Blowing kisses.

- Just watch the lip gloss when she’s going to be in public, alright?

- Aggressive kisses and makeouts.

- She actually likes cuddling; particularly spooning, especially when she’s feeling upset. She’ll either hold you or let you hold her for hours, usually while watching television.

- You have your very own pair of fuzzy slippers for whenever you stay over at her house.

- Sunbathing on her balcony.

- Phonecalls before bed.

- Affectionate name calling and insults.

- Playful hitting and wrestling.

- Borrowing each other’s stuff: clothes, makeup, perfume, etc. She’ll occasionally buy you things just so she can steal them from you later.

- Small gifts.

- A surprising amount of compliments. You don’t expect Regina George to boost your self esteem up as much as she does but what can she say, she just loves everything about you.

- She likes hearing you rant, she finds it really amusing when you act all bitchy.

- Writing in the burn book, or at least being somewhat pressured into trying it; not purposefully. She just thinks that it’s cathartic so why wouldn’t you?

- Making fun of people together. She’s more mean spirited than you are but hey, you’re both being bitches, right?

- Expect her to make a few commands. She’s just used to having followers and puppy dogs for partners, don’t take it personally.

- Getting her to be nicer to her friends.

- Learning the rules of popularity.

- Getting matching jewelry.

- I’m sorry but you’re now her dress up doll and there’s no stopping it. She’ll do your makeup, buy your clothes, style your hair, whatever her little heart desires; and you’ll just have to let her.

- She actually sort of secretly likes punk/alternative music but you’re one of the few people that’s allowed to know. You bought her an Avril Lavigne cd this one time and she not so jokingly said that she’d go down on you for being so sweet.

- You’re dragged around a lot. You sort of just do whatever she wants, especially if you’re just hanging out rather than going on an actual date.

- Surrender the keys slut. Regina insists on driving no matter whose car you’re taking.

- Going shopping. She needs your advice before she can buy things.

- Holding her stuff for her. I’m sorry but your girlfriend acts like a princess.

- Getting coffees.

- Lunch dates.

- Going to parties together.

- Junk food binges.

- Having tons of photographs together. She has a good bunch of the more platonic looking ones; at least until she comes out, displayed around her room.

- Going to her sports games.

- Letting her rant to you before she has an aneurysm. You’ve certainly helped calm her down from some of her really bad tantrums.

- Hanging out with her little sister. Surprisingly enough, Regina actually really likes her and acts super cute when they’re together.

- She’s got a huge house and an aggressively supportive mom so if your parents are shitty, you’re always welcome to stay with them.

- Telling her how beautiful she is and trying to stop her from focusing on every little somewhat nonexistent flaw of hers.

- Reginas a very jealous girl. She hates seeing you with other people, particularly ones who she thinks are interested in you. She’ll ask what you’re doing talking to them and blatantly scare them away when she’s had enough.

- She’s definitely possessive of you; that’s just how she is.

- Don’t mess with mama bear. She’s sorta overprotective of you and gets offended in your honor. God forbid someone upsets you, or just accidentally bumps into you in the hallway, their life will be destroyed in a matter of minutes.

- The two of you probably fight a lot, sometimes merely bickering, other times having full on screaming matches. She’ll usually either act passive aggressive and pretend to not be bothered or be completely blunt and rude.

- You’ll usually give her the silent treatment and she’ll do the same to you, though she’ll snoop and secretly drive around to see what you’re doing without her. When she’s sick of not seeing you, she’ll give a reluctant apology and somehow always make you forgive her.

- Regina isn’t shy when it comes to saying she loves you, mainly because she usually says it playfully. Though, with that being said, she does always mean it when she says it.

- Perhaps the bus incident happens, perhaps it doesn’t. Nonetheless, the two of you are planning on sticking by each other’s sides; at least for a while.

#2000s movie headcanon #2000s movie headcanons #2000s movie imagine #early 2000s movie headcanon #mean girls headcanon #mean girls imagines #mean girls headcanons #mean girls imagine #Regina George imagines #Regina George headcanons #Regina George headcanon #Regina George imagine

[all-things-skam]

Title: Darkroom kisses

Ship: Wtfock | Robbe Ijzerman + Sander Driesen (Sobbe)

_______________

Truth be told, Robbe wasn't interested in the dance performance in the slightest. Sitting in uncomfortable chairs for over two hours to watch girls - and boys, as Noor had mentioned - shaking their body on stage sounded like a snoozefest to Robbe.

But, he still went. For the boys...and their future hook up.

And for Noor, of course.

Talking about her, Robbe should've probably been more supportive of his girlfriend and brought flowers or something, but he was broke and flowers were overrated. Why spending so much money on something that's going to die in a couple days?

He chewed his lip thoughtlessly as he took his seat beside his friends. The brunet wasn't looking forward to this and he'd rather be anywhere else but in this auditorium, but at least, moment in time, coming to this performance appeared to please both Noor and the boys.

When they first heard about the dance performance, Jens, Moyo and Aaron were so excited that Robbe had absolutely no way of getting out of it. He thought about faking being sick for a second, but knew that Jens would never buy his lie - not without checking.

The lights went down and the performances started one by one, Aaron practically squeaking in his seat, way too excited to watch girls dance. Moye tapped Robbe's arm, motionning at some brunette doing moves, but Robbe's attention was anywhere else but on stage. He looked around, letting the boredom creep in. Can this spectacle be over soon?

A duo of girls stepped on stage with tutus and heavy stage makeup as Robbe broke a yawn.

''Dude,'' Jens hissed, shaking his head at Robbe who shrugged.

''Sorry...''

Their attention returned to the stage, trying to focus on the ballerinas when Robbe felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He pulled it out despite knowing it was rude to check your phone during a performance, lips twisting up when reading Sander's name.

Sander: Meet me at the back of the auditorium

Glancing around, Robbe tried to look for Sander's platinum head. He knew he was there, being in charge of taking pictures of the spectacle, but Robbe couldn't see him.

Biting his lip, Robbe hesitated. According to the little pamphlet they had given at the entrance, Noor's performance was next and Robbe knew she'd be mad if he missed her dance performance. But, at the same time, the raven haired girl wasn't the one who made his heart do crazy things.

Slipping his phone back in his pocket, Robbe stood and nudged Moyo's knee so he could pass. Jens pulled his eyebrows, about to ask where he was going, but Robbe was already sneaking out of the auditorium.

''Sander?'' Robbe called, the heavy door flapping shut behind him.

Instead of a response, he was greeted by a camera flash, Sander's grinning face behind the device.

Robbe groaned at the harsh light of the flash, rubbing his eyes as if to stop seeing spots of colors. ''Stop taking pictures of me...''

Chuckling, Sander rolled his eyes. ''Never,'' he countered, his clear green eyes staring right into Robbe, causing a little blush to creep. Click. He was just too pretty not to photograph.

''Stop,'' Robbe dragged, using his hand to cover his face, shielding himself from the camera. Despite his attempt to sound annoyed, a smile was hidden behind his hand.

Sander dropped his camera, letting it fall on his chest. ''Let's go,'' he said with an undeniable grin.

''What?'' Robbe asked hesitantly, giving Sander a confused look.

He glanced around, checking his horizons and, once he ensured that no one was around them, he let his eyes wander back to Sander.

''Come.'' The blond grabbed Robbe's hands and pulled him along, determined to get them away from everyone, trying to be alone with Robbe.

''Where are we going?'' the smaller one asked as he followed Sander down the hall.

''Somewhere secret.''

.

Sander came to a halt in front of a black door, almost causing Robbe to hit his back at the sudden stop. Looking up, Robbe noticed a tag on the door: Darkroom.

Sander reached into his pocket to fetch a key, making the brunet even more confused.

''Are we allowed in here?'' Robbe asked, worried that they'd get in trouble.

''I am.'' He inserted the key in and twisted it to unlock the door. ''The janitor gave me a double of the key. I think he was annoyed to have to stay past his work hours whenever I stayed here late to develop photos.'' A light chuckle left his lips at the anecdote.

Sander rolled his eyes, seeing that Robbe still had an unsure look on his face and nudged the door open, flashing him a grin and motinning for Robbe to follow. He turned on the light, the red tint of the bulb tinting their faces.

''Welcome to my crib,'' Sander joked, imitating the infamous MTV quote as he Robbe closed the door behind him, preventing any outside light to get in. Robbe might not know much about photography developpement, but he knew that light ruined the photos.

At first Robbe was taken aback. It was his first time going inside a darkroom and, he'll admit, he was mesmerized. Containers, chemical bottles and other developing equipment were neatly placed on the counter by the sink. A string was hung across the walls, pictures pinned to it.

Robbe stepped forward and took a closer look at the pictures. ''These are yours? You took them?''

''Yes.''

Sander felt his heart flutter at the smile on Robbe's face as he inspected every nook and cranny of the space. Art - especially photography - was very important to Sander. It was a stress relief, a way of expressing himself with his creativity. At first, he felt nervous sharing it with Robbe, but it seemed like the boy was enjoying himself, his smile broadening as he glanced at the pictures.

''Is that me?'' Robbe asked, pointing to a certain picture. He recognized the warehouse Noor took him to do grafitis. ''That's a great shot. You're talented.''

''Yeah, getting a good picture is not easy when the subject is a sight for sore eyes,'' Sander countered with a flirty smirk.

A blush coated Robbe's cheeks, slightly embarrassed. Since they met, Sander has always been a flirt with Robbe. But, up until today, he had never flirted so explicitly.

Robbe looked away and focused back on the pictures. ''How did you get into photography?'' he asked, changing subject.

''You know how all the art kids have their thing? Well, mine is photography. I do other stuff like painting, but film photography is my favorite.''

''Film photography?'' Robbe shook his head mockingly. ''You're so old-fashioned.''

''You should know, film photography is making a big return. Digital photography is nice, but I prefer film. A digital camera does all the work for you. Anyone can do it. For film, you have to learn and figure out techniques, angles, lighting. You can also use different films to make cool effects.'' Sander stepped past Robbe, pointing to a particular picture. ''See? I recently learned to edit manually when printing. I can now adjust the exposure and contrast levels, and even apply dodges and burns to the images.''

Even though Robbe didn't understand what the blond was talking about - unfamiliar with the photography language -, he liked listening to him. You could feel his genuine passion through his voice.

Robbe returned his attention to the pictures hung up, grafitis around the city, portraits of who he assumed were Sander's friends and more artistic shots.

A particular picture caught his attention recognizing the skatepark he and the boys spend their time at, the ugly graffitis at the far back giving the place away. There wasn't much on the picture, just a boy in a brown jacket, mid jump on a skate ramp.

Pulling his eyebrows, the brunet unclipped it without asking. ''When did you take this?''

Behind him, Sander's heart started beating faster, getting nervous. Taken the wrong way, Robbe could be offended and call him a creep for taking this picture without his consent. ''Late september, I believe,'' he confessed, biting his bottom lip.

The younger one stilled. September? They didn't know each other back then, they hadn't even met yet. Why did Sander take pictures of him?

A minute passed and there was no reaction from Robbe.

''Robbe?'' Sander said, voice unsteady, apprehending Robbe's reaction, yet needing a reaction.

Breath caught in his throat, Robbe felt a warmth on his back from the proximity of Sander's body. He fought the envy to lean into him and gathered his courage to turn around, keeping his eyes down as he spoke. ''Why did you take pictures of me? I mean, why me? There's a bunch of skaters that are much better than me.''

Sander reached for Robbe's hand, fingers gently ghosting on his skin, hating when Robbe was thinking low of himself. ''I didn't take this picture because I thought you were a skateboard master. I took this picture because you caught my attention, you inspired me artistically.''

Robbe knitted his eyebrows, confused.

''The first time I saw you was when you and your friends started coming to the skatepark in the summer. I didn't know you, but all I could see was a quiet boy with a sad smile, sitting amongst a loud group of boys. Your eyes were giving away so much, but no one asked what was wrong.''

That summer, everything started going downhill at home. His parents were arguing a lot, and Robbe's mom had been struggling with her mental health more than usual. He was always caught in the middle of the quarrels and, although he wasn't the center of it all, it was tough. Hearing your father say cruel things to the one he's sworn to love forever hurts.

Swallowing thickly, Robbe felt tears well up in his eyes, trying to push away the bad memories. He was having a good time with Sander, he didn't want to ruin the moment because he got too emotional over past events.

Fingers laced through his, pulling Robbe from his thoughts. ''You okay?''

Robbe glanced at their intertwined fingers, lips twitching. He nodded, slowly raising his eyes to meet with Sander's. Sander caught his lip between his teeth, debating whether to go for it or not and cupped the back to Robbe's neck, closing the gap between them, pressing their lips together into a soft kiss.

It took the smaller boy a second or two to realize what was happening, heart hammering behind his chest. Robbe never thought this day would happen. That's he'd get to kiss a boy. Especially someone as good looking as Sander Driesen.

Heart hammering behind his chest, Robbe kissed back, parting his lips to capture Sander's upper lip between his. He didn't want to rush the kiss, enjoying every seconds of this moment, content with just their lips touching.

Kissing Sander felt so different than all the kisses he and Noor had shared. Firstly, there wasn't a lipstick in the way, just Sander's bare - and slightly chapped - lips. The sickly sweet perfume had been replaced by a woody cologne with slightly spicy undertone.

A hand came to rest on his hip, pulling the brunet closer, feeling himself melt under Sander's touch, so gentle on him despite his natural chaotic energy. Robbe raised his arms to wrap them around the back of the older one's neck, lips parting as a soft, satisfied sound escaped, cheeks flushing.

Sander grinned through the kiss, biting Robbe's bottom lip teasingly before pulling back, earning a small whine as Robbe followed the blond, not ready for the kiss to end.

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe #robbe x sander #sobbe fic #wtfock fic #I'm getting started on the prompts #keep sending!!

[musicalmagic]

The Painter and Photographer: Chapter 6

Summary: If you could, would you say yes to being a painter’s muse? On a day with much more time on your hands than usual, it was a striking sense of bewilderment as the photographer happened upon the painter on the hills. I wonder if you would say yes?

A/N: I know...I couldn’t stop the flow of my writing after posting chapter 5 today. SOO! Here you go <3

* Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

* Word count: 937

* Genre: Fluff, Romance

* Warnings: None

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

You two had been texting back and forth in lead up to the gallery’s opening. Jimin’s excited emojis always made you smile. From what he told you, Jimin was getting other paintings ready in time. Featuring his friends like Taehyung and others, including Namjoon. There were seven of them in total. You wondered how they all managed to get together despite all of their different careers.

 You didn’t ask anyways, because to you, Jimin was the one you wanted to get close to. You both just clicked in a similar way. Similarly, like Taehyung with Jimin, you felt comfortable talking to Jimin about anything. Your other friends that you worked with in the photography business were amazing to talk with, thanks to your similar interests; yet to you, you really enjoyed watching Jimin paint. His delicate strokes, the way he would study the canvas closely, that his hands would always be covered in paints of so many different colours. You just loved every part of it.

 The darkroom in your apartment was mostly full of candid shots of you and Jimin’s times together. He always jokes whenever you took a photo that you were building a shrine; if you were honest, it was sadly true. You had to take a lot of them down, Jimin always insisting to have the ones where he took some of you. Which was all the time, he loved snapping photos of you. Even if a lot of them came out blurry or at funny angles. Mostly pictures of you trying to paint, or the two of you walking around the city. You kept the first photo you took of him though, a treasured memory.

 You two were becoming closer by the day, and Jimin kept asking for you to come over to his studio. By this time, the gallery was opened for about a week.

 You packed your phone into your pocket, keys, and wallet. Locking the door to your apartment and jumping down the stairs instead of the elevator. You had asked Jimin if he could pick you up, and he had quickly replied to send your address over.

 He stood outside with a wide smile and a small car that he rested up against.

 “Jimin!” You called out happily. He waved and opened the door and you quickly as a mouse, jumped in. Shutting the door with a little more force than you had liked. Jimin only chuckled as he sat inside the driver’s side. Pulling your seatbelt over your lap and clicking in. You gave him the stink eye in response.

 “I could’ve done it myself, Jimin,” You said huffing.

 “True! But I wanted to be nice,” He replied shrugging. Then a huge smile spread across his face, “It’s the only timeeee!”

 It was your turn to giggle in half-assed amusement. Rolling your eyes with a smirk. You loved him being silly though.

 “So! My studio is…this way,” He started driving after setting in. Clicking his own seatbelt on, checking everything was okay. Only then did he start heading off. You kept glancing at him as he did, loving that he cared so much about safety.

 The drive over was again filled with light conversation. But you were getting bolder, occasionally asking questions about his love life. You knew it was a little personal at times, but you really couldn’t help it.

 Jimin always answered them truthfully, no awkward laughter either. Which you took as a good sign. Well, hoped it was. Because honestly, you had no idea what you were doing. Relationships never were your thing. Your love of photography, and having to do your part-time job never left room for anyone. But with Jimin, with Jimin you really wanted it.

 You really wanted to see him smile along with you. Really wanted to watch him paint every day, to see him grow as a person. You wanted to get to know him. Loving him as much as you could.

 “Jimin… I-” He stopped the car suddenly. Reaching across to open your door, and snapping both of your seat belts. Giddily rushing out of the car and dragging you out.

 “Tell me later! I have to show you this first!” Jimin sputtered out in excitement. Rushing up into the apartment block. Smiling at you as you headed up the elevator and passing the other rooms too quickly for you to read the floor number. Nearly dropping his keys as he pushed open the front door after unlocking it. The number of his room, ‘613’.

 It was…so open! Potted plants littered the space, aesthetically covered curtains lined every window, all shining light into the studio. An open door was to your left, and you assumed it was his bedroom. In front of you was the space where he painted, and to your right was the kitchen.

 Woah! It’s so pretty! Twinkling lights were above you, he had put them up on wires crisscrossing the entire front area of the apartment. It was like looking at the night sky.

 “It’s even prettier at night,” He said quietly. So softly, you thought.

 Jimin turned to you. Dropping the keys into a bowl behind you. Bashfully grinning up cheekily.

 “Actually, I asked you repeatedly because I wanted to talk to you. I-I mean! It wasn’t serious, I promise!” He stumbled over his words as he spoke, and you really wanted to hug him. It was so cute at the way he talked. He laughed nervously as he continued, “I uh…”

 He blurted, “Go out with me?”

 Your world stopped as soon as the words left his mouth…

What do I do?

What next? Chapter 7?

Previous?

#bts #bts x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #soft stories #fluff #bts fluff #painter!jimin #photographer!reader

[nxghtfalls]

✧·ﾟ(  nyx + sean teale + cis male   ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !!  have you seen (  nicolas vogal  ) around ? (  he  ) has been in kaos for (   three weeks   ). the (  twenty-six year old  ) is a/an (  photographer  ) from (  london, england  ). people say they can be (  morose  ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be (  steadfast  ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of ( film photography developing in the darkroom, nights with a new moon, a worn out black jean jacket  ).  ·ﾟ✧

meet my sad son. he’s got that ~angsty~ backstory 

                                                     full bio | pinterest | playlist

TLDR; BIO — (tw: mentions of death, fire, burns, failed pregnancy, illness)

his father was an up-and-coming british politician and his mother was a grade school teacher. they’d had issues getting pregnant in the past, and once they started looking into adoption nicolas was born. they lived a happy life, and eventually adopted nicolas’ younger brother cassian a few years later. picnics in the park, “photo walks” where his father nurtured young nicolas’ love of photography, movie nights with popcorn, family dinners — they were the perfect picture of a family. 

it all came crashing down around them when their house caught fire in the middle of the night, trapping nicolas and cassian on the second story of the home. they were rescued, but nicolas’ mother died in the fire and his father died a few weeks later. nicolas sustained serious burns on his back, and his right shoulder and arm. 

nicolas and cassian went into the foster care system, where they stayed with an older couple in their home for 3 years. and then the wife fell ill and they couldn’t afford to care for nic and cas. unfortunately after that they were separated, they still text and message each other though. 

nicolas closed off completely after that, and only finds passion and joy in his career as a photographer. he stayed with another foster family for a while, went to community college and got his BFA in photography with a minor in photo journalism. 

he’s had a few jobs as a photographer (one for a news outlet, one for a travel agency) and has travelled all around the world for the latter. a year ago he visited kaos, greece and felt called to the island. he saved up money for the remainder of the year, and three weeks ago he moved to the island permanently. 

HEADCANONS —

he has such a Big personal bubble

and yet he’s touch-starved? try and figure that one out

he’s a cancer (they’re ruled by the moon i thought that was a nice homage to nyx)

very rarely goes by nic or nico, but likes when people do call him a nickname

insecure about his burns, mostly wears long sleeves and jeans

both because he doesn’t want other people to see them and because he doesn’t want to have to look at them

he often has headphones on — sometimes they’re playing music, sometimes he just uses them so people don’t talk to him

talk to him anyway he craves affection and attention he’s just Scared

absolutely oblivious, never knows when anyone is flirting with him

Can Not flirt. Disaster™

actually gets crushes really easily??

just…be vaguely nice to him and give him attention and he’s like “omg they’re cute–“ internally

wouldn’t ever do anything about it tho

his biggest way of “flirting”? asking for them to be in a photoshoot…

probably drinks too much

his brother is trying to get him to work on it

is so loyal once he lets you into his heart

…hasn’t let anyone in since he was a teenager

can you say self-isolation

absolutely has pity parties

sometimes they’re warranted, he went through something traumatic

but other times it’s because he’s lonely and it’s like

….duh, you did this to yourself

very intelligent!

pretty cultured, knows a lot about art and photography

doesn’t dress like it tho

would do Anything for his brother

they skype a lot

doesn’t make an effort to keep in touch with anyone else

calls the families that fostered him on holidays, that’s it

feels most at home at night

is that weirdo that likes to go for a midnight stroll

probably looks terrifying, wandering the streets at night taking pictures

WANTED CONNECTIONS —

A MODEL: occasionally, to pay the bills, he gets commissioned by a company to do a remote shoot with the greek island scenery. sometimes he may need a model or two (maybe even more!) they’d have a working relationship, but it’d be a great jumping off point for another type of connection! 

(EVENTUAL) BEST FRIEND: nicolas is a tough nut to crack... he’s stoic, broody, sarcastic, and prone to self-isolation. however, he’d thrive with a friend. especially one that kind of...forces their way into his heart?? sometimes introverts just have to be adopted by an extrovert. 

NEW NEIGHBOR: kind of generic, but he just moved to the island. he’s still getting the hang of everything. maybe they offered to show him around, or maybe they immediately got off on the wrong foot when he unpacked all of his stuff in the middle of the fucking night. regardless, there’s a chance for their relationship to grow from there. 

CRUSH: it’s silly, and he’d never admit to it, but he’s so starved for affection that it doesn’t take much for him to immediately develop a crush on someone who shows him the bare minimum of kindness/attention. it’s a fleeting thing, usually goes away quickly (usually) and mostly consists of nicolas having a harmless, wholesome daydream of having essentially a meet cute?? he’s v pure. 

DOG WALKER(S): nicolas can often be found taking his dog on walks throughout the day (and night, because he’s a weirdo) this could be a “hey we always see each other while walking out dogs” type of connection or a “hey i can walk your dog for you if you ever get busy” type of connection. 

#kaos:intro #about #i hope you guys like him!! #he's rough around the edges but #he's a good dude

[cawthelesbian]

A Somber Day

Summary: Dan has been a bit off lately and won't tell Phil why. Despite not being a pushy Phil, he can't take it and tries to find out for himself.

Pairing: Daniel Howell & Philip Lester AKA Phan

Genre: Fluff & Angst, I guess

Word Count: 3.1k

Trigger Warnings: Arguing, snooping around (is that a trigger??),

* * *

There was something wrong with Dan, Phil was sure of it. After all, he had been dating his best friend and practically soulmate for a decade now! In fact, their mutual friends, Dan's family, and the fans often rushed to Phil to ask if everything was okay and if they could get ahold of Dan since they couldn't.

Phil was always the one calming Dan down, he understood why. Usually, Dan would lock himself in his room to try and wait it out and Phil would have to force him to eat and try to maintain a decent sleep schedule so he would feel up for it when his depressive episode would pass. Sometimes, Dan came to Phil right away to cuddle when he wasn't feeling his best (it was rare for him to do so though).

But Dan wasn't doing any of that. He wasn't locking himself away in the darkroom only accompanied by the glow of his laptop and phone. He wasn't pressed against Phil's side and mumbling lies about himself that Phil would have to recorrect either.

He was just...off.

He seemed fine, maybe a little sadder than usual to the casual person. He was smiling, laughing as usual at Phil's corny jokes and embarrassing statements in videos like he always does. He had that big grin that Phil adored on his face but that was for videos and they always put up a persona for videos, just like any other YouTubers.

But it was outside of the videos that alerted Phil something might be wrong. Dan was still laughing and smiling, there was no doubt of that.

But there would be these few small moments that Phil noticed. Whenever Dan was looking at an electronic like his phone or his laptop or heck, even the TV, he would begin to loosen his cheeks and smile somberly. His hard coffee-colored eyes would soften at the sight of something all these things had in common apparently and the screen's reflections and glows would cause little dots to glimmer in the dark brown pools of his eyes.

It was like he was staring at a photo of someone he missed, who he yearned to see again as if this person had died or was too far away to contact again so all he could do was simply miss them. But this wasn't a photo of someone in particular who Dan missed, not at all.

To be honest, Phil was at a loss for words. He couldn't piece together what was wrong. What were these devices showing him that tug at Dan's heart? On a rare occasion, it almost looked like Dan was about to cry because of whatever was making him stir inside.

'What is it?' Phil pouted, sat at his desk, editing another video. 'He would usually tell me by now. Why hasn't he told me yet?'

Phil wasn't a pushy person contrast to his bubbly and pressuring nature on camera. That was for work and they were always playing some type of video game so it was fine to yell at Dan to hurry up and go to the other side of the map so they could get a good score on a level or when they were playing some game that was a Dan Vs Phil. It was a competitive land of videos so naturally, he was pushy because he didn't want to lose to Dan.

But in real life? He would never try to push someone into telling him what's wrong right away. If they broke down when he asked what's wrong, he would rush to their aid and gently rub his hand up and down their back soothingly. He would let them know it was okay to not tell him and that he could wait until they were ready to tell him. He didn't want people to force him to say anything so why be a hypocrite about it?

But he was becoming a bit agitated.

"Dan, what's wrong?" Phil gently asked, now sat next to his boyfriend who was just clicking through meaningless channels on the TV. He reached over and gently placed a hand on Dan's shoulder, rubbing his thumb in a circular motion to try and fizz out the nerves.

"Huh?" Dan stopped clicking harshly on the remote, drawing his stretched out arm back to a comfortable position on the arm of the couch. "What do you mean?"

"Well, something is wrong. I know that much." Phil said, narrowing his eyes at his boyfriend who still stared up at Phil with a confused and innocent gaze. "Just, please tell me. Maybe I can help you."

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about, Phil." Dan rolled his eyes and went back to flicking through the channels to try and find something interesting to watch.

"Dan," Phil whined, reaching over and grabbing onto his upper arm. He glared at the boy who just stared forward at the TV. "Please, just tell me. Is it me? Did something happen with PJ or Chris or Tyler or-"

"Stop, Phil." Dan groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. "Nothing's really wrong, maybe it's just old age hitting you fast."

Normally, this is when Phil would stop and just assure Dan that everything would be okay and whenever he needed to talk, Phil would be there even if it was at the crack at dawn. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't bear the idea of Dan holding something in that was eating him alive from the inside out.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a hyperbole but he didn't care right now. His mind was focused on Dan, not logical metaphors.

"Dan, please just tell me," Phil begged at this point, he was just desperate to know what was hurting Dan. Maybe he could help with it if that was the case.

"Phil," Dan glared, ignoring whatever channel the television was on now. It was just white noise at this point with Phil's constant insistence. "Nothing is wrong, trust me on this."

"I can't!" Phil blurted, immediately he began to regret it considering he was supposed to be the mature and wiser one than Dan and yet the table seemed to be switched. "Something's wrong Dan, I know it is!"

"Why can't you believe me?" Dan growled, tossing the remote to the side of the couch and now staring directly at Phil with a knitted brow.

"Because you don't trust me!" Phil gripped on Dan's arm, maybe a little too tight since how Dan slightly flinched. "What is it? Did you have a fight with a friend? Or maybe you lashed out on someone you didn't mean to? Did something happen with your family?"

He stiffened.

Dan stiffened at that last one.

'Aha!' Phil cheered in his head, finally grabbing some sort of indication of what was wrong with no help from Dan. He scooted closer to Dan, smiling softly at Dan this time around and relaxing the tension in his limbs.

"Dan, it's okay. Whatever happened with your family is in the past." Phil released Dan's arm and reached over for Dan's hand that was splayed out on his thigh and intertwined their fingers together. He looked over at the still stiff man and frowned, maybe he wasn't being reassured enough? "It'll be okay, I'm here with you and I know, whatever happens, you didn't want to happen. I know your family, Dan. They aren't really supportive of your job choice but they do love you, no matter what happens. I'm sure of that, trust in me with that statement."

"That's not..." Dan released a shudder, his grip tightening quickly on Phil's fingers. Phil watched as Dan squeezed his eyes tight and gnawed at his lip as if he was fighting with some beast inside him on whether he wanted to tell Phil or not.

"Hey, hey," Phil reached over and wrapped his arm around Dan, drawing him closer to Phil. "It's okay, everything is okay. You're alright, I'm right here. Just breathe for me, alright? Can you do that, just for little old me?"

"You're far from little." Dan chuckled breathlessly.

"Hey, I'm shorter than you because of you and your stupid height thing!" Phil whined.

"Not my fault my body decides to add a few more inches on me, Phil." Dan rolled his eyes, leaning forward and pressing his head into Phil's chest.

"Yes, it is." Phil giggled, threading his fingers into Dan's mess of curly golden brown locks that glow thanks to the light above them shining so brightly against them. "It's your body."

* * *

He still didn't get his answer as Dan fell asleep on him soon after although he tried to protest ("You need a decent sleep schedule!" "Shut up and let me cuddle you.") So he decided he was about to go where no one had gone before.

Dan's browsing history, on both his phone and computer.

It was a brave task to do indeed. He knew it meant he might be caught by Dan but maybe it was worth it. Dan had just fallen asleep after all and Phil put him in the comfort of his own room, leaving Dan's phone and laptop unsupervised by no one but Phil.

Maybe this was a breach of privacy but he decided it was for the better good.

"Okay, Dan's browsing history here we go!" Phil yelled quietly and click on the 'History' tab. He only found what he expected, a bunch of times he posted something on Tumblr or a link that he clicked on Tumblr or just Tumblr related basically. On brand for sure. But nothing that would acquire why he was acting differently and hiding what was wrong. He scrolled down, it was just a mix of Youtube videos from friends and Wikipedia articles. He really needed to stop reading that at three in the morning.

"Computer was a waste of time," He groaned, a little agitated he wasted precious time on that. Dan could wake up at any moment and that scared him since he didn't want Dan to be mad at him for snooping, although he certainly had a right too. He leaned over the side of the coffee table, peeping into the hallway where their bedrooms would be located at and saw nor heard any indication of Dan being awake or getting up. "Please, give me something."

It was a waste of time. Phil forgets the phone and the computer was connected with their history because it was under the same account. He slapped himself in the face for that one.

"This wasn't helpful." Phil groaned again, feeling like a dirty jerk for going through his stuff without permission only to find any reason for Dan to act strangely. He stood up with both devices and brought them into Dan's room for him to plug them up.

"Nngh," Dan had made a little grumble in his sleep when he rolled over startling Phil a little.

"Oh Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack." Phil panted with a hand over his ever fast beating heart.

But Dan was mostly silent from then on as Phil plugged them up. He stood up and looked around and noticed a paper and a ripped envelope on Dan's desk.

'Did he seriously forget to file something?' Phil questioned, rolling his eyes at the hypocrisy that Dan was always getting on him for being an unorganized mess. He shook his head and walked over there nonetheless so he could file it for him.

But it wasn't a paper you file. It wasn't a paper Phil expected at all. It was something much more personal than that which he should have been notified of by Dan.

Of course, he had to read who it was from and what it is said for him to file it correctly otherwise a hissy fit would arrive from Dan and he couldn't have that at the crack of dawn. But this definitely wasn't something he was supposed to file given the content on the paper.

We regret to inform you with all great consideration given your occupation status, relationship status, and living status that we do not see you as a suitable future temporary foster parent and especially not a guardian for any children open for adoption. We're sorry to disappoint of such a thing, Mr. Howell. It isn't legal in England yet for a same-sex couple to be able to adopt and your occupation as a "YouTuber" doesn't offer an assurance of money amount for sure without a reasonable doubt each month. We cannot forget your living status either, sir. As a YouTuber, you often travel for events out of the country such as VidCon and you are in a middle of a second world tour and we cannot find ourselves happy with the arrangement that a child may be left alone without a proper guardian watching over them carefully to make sure they are not causing harm to themselves or others and caring for them to make sure they are healthy and happy. Along with that, your current living conditions do not accommodate a child's living space.

In short, we appreciate your consideration and eagerness to help offer a home to a child in need but we must regret your application has been rejected due to circumstances and factors provide above. Thank you for continuous patience, Mr. Howell. Do send our regards to Mr. Lester.

Sincerely, The Head Of The British Orphanage.

"Oh my god," Phil felt tears well up in his ears, fingers splayed over his mouth. Of course, he wanted a child as well, he was getting in his years as well but he just assumed that maybe Dan didn't want or rather couldn't handle the responsibility of handling a child. It was either that or that they would be rejected in such a way similar to this.

Dan didn't flinch because he fought with his family. He flinched at the family because it must have reminded him of what he was being denied by their country. Those YouTube videos of their friends? A majority of those videos had been Lousie's video who actually has a family and whose child they have held and cooed at before in a video.

"Oh, Dan." Phil felt his heart tug and he placed the paper back down where he found it. He wiped the tears from his eyes and crawled into bed with Dan instead, pulling the boy flush against him.

* * *

Dan opened his eyes confused. When had he gotten in his bed? He felt someone against him and quickly opened his eyes to find that it was Phil.

'Oh,' He immediately relaxed and smiled, knowing Phil probably brought him in here after he fell asleep on him. But he grew tense, remembering what had happened before. Phil's curious and pushy questions tugging at his heartstrings in a way he yearned for it to stop.

He didn't want to tell Phil. How was he suppose to tell Phil? "Hey, I applied us to be foster parents, isn't that cool? Also, I let this lady come from Child Services to see if our places were okay for a kid while you were away, hope that was alright?" Yeah, right. No way in hell could he admit that but he knew he would have to one way or another.

Dan sighed and resigned himself to his face. He just wanted a kid, was that so hard to ask? He just wanted a family, a place of love and care that would make him all fuzzy inside that made him want to barf at all the fluffiness. He sneaked himself out of Phil's lanky arms and slithered out of the duvet to throw his legs over the side of his bed. He got up and stretched, ready to head to the living room and go plug up his phone when he saw it laying with his computer on his desk.

Next to the rejection letter.

'Oh my god, he had to have seen it!' Dan's heart raced at the very thought of it, his gaze flickering quickly back and forth from Phil sleeping soundlessly on his bed to where the letter was laid out for anyone to pick up and read it. 'Oh no, oh no, oh no, he's probably mad. What do I do??'

Now, he had gotten over most of his teenager tendencies across the years but one thing that never failed was his ability to overthink everything and send himself into an anxiety and stress overdrive. That's why he was like how he was now. He groaned loudly, plopping back down onto the bed and putting his face in his hands.

What was he to do now that Phil knew?

"Dan?" A groggy and scratchy voice that usually sent shivers of pleasure down Dan's spine was now sending shudders of fear instead. He gulped and found his fingers gripping into the fabric of his pants from the day before. He slowly turned to face Phil, hearing his heart beat louder than ever and his blood go cold.

"Y-yes?" He stuttered. God damn it, why did he suck at this?

"Is everything okay?" Phil said, rubbing his eyes sleepily and reached over, wrapping his arms around Dan's shoulders.

"...you know," Dan muttered, looking down at his lap. "Don't you?"

It took a moment for Phil to register what he was talking about but he finally found his grip on reality through the exhaustion. "Yeah, I do."

"Do you hate me now?"

"No."

"Well, you should," Dan muttered, reaching up and gripping Phil's forearm.

"Why should I hate you? We both want the same thing silly, a family and we can't be at blame for that." Phil said wisely. "It's what most people want."

"But I didn't tell you." Dan tried to reason.

"I'm sure you have your reasons as to why, Dan. Everyone does." Phil whispered, leaning forward and kissing his boyfriend's cheek.

"But aren't you disappointed now?" Dan said. "We can't have a family."

"Same-sex people can't adopt, Dan." Phil chuckled in his ear, the hot breath against his neck making him shiver a little. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a child of our own."

"Phil,"

"Hmm?"

"Two dicks can't procreate." Phil laughed loudly in his ear at that one.

"I know that silly," Phil said, he was wearing a smile for sure. He usually was smiling, that's one of the reasons Dan adores him so. "But (whatever the word is) exist. We just pay them to have one of our babies."

"Oh," Dan muttered. "Do you wanna after the tour?"

"How could I dare say no?"

#phan #phan fluff #phan angst #phanfic #phanfiction #tw homophobia #arguing #snooping around #cawerkuu #cawerkuu writes #fluff #angst #happy ending #love

[bubble-tea-bunny]

100 degrees

[jonathan byers x reader]

author’s note: ahhh i liked this idea but it ended up being way harder to write than i thought it would be which got kinda frustrating but i think that just got amplified cuz i had a very busy day and got very little sleep. spent a good while tweaking the end and i hope this is cute ???

word count: 1,277

Light brings the world to you.

Jonathan read that in a book once. A long time ago. It was a passing phrase, something about the way your eyes turn light into images, so you can look up at the stars or down at the image of yourself reflected off the puddles beneath your feet. He understood the statement was literal, but when he’d read it, he’d paused for the briefest of moments. Because it sounded like so much more than just that. And he can’t really explain what he means by that if you asked. It’s only a feeling that it doesn’t stop there. That it goes beyond. Beyond the book, beyond himself. Maybe even beyond the farthest reaches of the universe.

The phrase lingers in the back of his mind. And it stays there for a good while. He’s not losing his head trying to make sense of it. Not when there are other more important matters. Besides, they always say if you can’t find something, it’ll come to you when you’re not trying to look for it. Like magic. So life keeps going, a flurry of paperweight textbooks and glossy pictures of the life which permeates his little town. These days he’s investing more time into his photography, spending what time he can spare in the darkroom, staying so long that the red lights feel normal, like he’s always been meant to have red-tinted vision. And when he exits, he has to close his eyes for a second to adjust to the harsh glare of white fluorescent lights, and then to the rush of other colors. He’s considering shooting Polaroid too, should he ever have the extra cash laying around to buy the correct camera. He doesn’t know when that will be.

Fall turns into winter. Winter gives way to spring. The school year flies and crawls at the same time. The wheel keeps turning. Until it doesn’t.

You’re the new employee at the camera shop downtown. Jonathan notices right away because he’s always in there. Looking and wishing more than buying. He’s a familiar face there, greeted by familiar and friendly smiles. But when you look at him, the jingle of the bell above the door signaling his arrival, it’s not any less friendly, but it’s formal. You don’t know him. But he’d like to know you.

Because you have no idea who he is, you go through the spiel the other employees have all but abandoned when it comes to Jonathan walking in to the shop. He knows the place like the back of his hand. You tell him if there’s anything he needs help finding, you’re his girl. (He knows what you actually meant, but he likes the way it sounds.) The others usually start chatting with him right away, asking how’s life and how’s school and has he started thinking about colleges yet? And Jonathan will respond and more than half the time he spends in here is just talking and catching up. It’s not unwelcome. It’s nice.

Today he makes a beeline for the Polaroid cameras. He’s finally saved up enough to get one, and when he sets down his camera of choice on the counter to pay, you grin at seeing what he’s picked out. “Polaroid sort of guy?”

Jonathan just smiles shyly and shrugs, telling you no, not really. 35mm is what he works with mostly. But he wants to try something new. You nod and tell him it’s a good choice, that you have a Polaroid too but you haven’t taken it out for a spin in a while. After you hand him his change and he’s said thank you and he’s already making his way to the door, you speak up.

“I’d love to check out the pictures you take, whenever you stop by again.”

Jonathan stops in his tracks and turns to you and your cute grin. “U-Uh…” he trails off, brain seemingly short-circuiting because he’s trying to figure out what this means (or if he’s just paranoid and you’re not implying anything at all) while also trying to spit out a cohesive response. “Yeah. Definitely. I’ll… I’ll bring ‘em with me.” He leaves you with a (nervous) smile of his own, and when he’s outside, the cool breeze passes over his heated cheeks. He hopes he didn’t make a fool of himself.

The space between that moment and the next time he’s in the camera shop, he’s critically assessing every single Polaroid photo he takes. He lays them out on his desk, picking out the ones in which he can spot even the smallest flaw. That leaves him with four pictures and he thinks that’s too few and maybe he should just show you all of them because maybe you’ll like them regardless, and also he doesn’t really enjoy the idea of hiding the other pictures from you. You did say you wanted to see them, making no distinctions about just wanting to see the good ones.

As such, every single Polaroid he’s taken since he bought the camera sits in his backpack when he’s back at the shop, and your eyes light up. Jonathan decides he really enjoys the feeling he gets when you look so happy to see him. “Jonathan!”

Said boy smiles as he walks up to the counter, then it registers that he hadn’t actually told you his name. His brows furrow. “How do you know my name?”

Your smile drops at being caught, and you flush in embarrassment. “Oh, I…” You laugh nervously and Jonathan raises a brow because he should be the bumbling mess. “I, um… may have asked the employees about you…” You smile again but it’s sheepish.

Jonathan chuckles. He’s blushing too. “Well I think it’s only fair if you told me your name now.”

“[Name].” Your smile is more relaxed as you hold your hand out for him to shake. He’s not one to be cliché but things somehow feel right when he does shake your hand. There are currents of electricity flittering through the length of your fingers, up and down, looking for a place to go, and when he grips your hand, there’s a low hum, a buzz, a gentle vibration beneath the surface of his own skin.

He shows you the photos and you flip through them, a softness in your eyes he wishes you’d direct at him. He’s torn between watching your eyes as you look at the photos and looking down at the photos himself. He goes back and forth for a bit, and when he sees you get to a photo where the light settings had been a little off, he starts excusing it, saying it was one of the first pictures he’d taken (which it was), but you cut him off and tell him there’s nothing bad at all about it. The error (which is hardly noticeable to begin with) adds character. That’s what you say.

And then you look up at him and smile a smile that can make flowers grow and Jonathan thinks that if looks could kill he’d be dead three times over already. The growing summer heat outside has nothing on you because from where he’s standing, on the opposite side of the counter which is much too far a distance for his liking, it’s like it’s 100 degrees. You’re a force to rival the sun and you cradle a whole galaxy in your hands like you built it yourself. He hopes you share its secrets, that you share the very depths of your pulsing soul with him.

The phrase in the back of his mind makes sense suddenly. Like magic.

#jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers imagine #stranger things imagine #jonathan byers #stranger things #bubble-tea-bunny

[mikegunnill]

Piano Man revisited - 1st June 2020

Piano Man & the Kent Messenger.

******************************************

Where is the mystery 'Piano Man' of Sheppey now?

It is one of Kent's strangest mysteries. And 15 years on, it is still not known for sure how a young man from Bavaria ended up wet and lost on a beach on the Isle of Sheppey.

It was shortly before midnight when bemused police officers found him dripping wet and peering into McDonald's in Sheerness.

He was wearing a smart, dark suit but with no identification. Even the labels had been removed.

It looked like he had washed ashore at The Leas, Minster. Concerned onlookers spotted him near an abandoned boat and called police.

Officers eventually found wandering in town and were even more puzzled to discover he could not, or would not talk.

With little other options, they dried him, as best they could, and took him by patrol car to Medway Maritime Hospital's accident and emergency department at Gillingham.

After doctors gave him a clean bill of health, the mystery man was handed into the care of social worker Michael Camp. And so began a four-month saga as the world's media struggled to solve the secret identity of the stranger who became known as 'Piano Man'.

Left alone with a sketch pad to write down his name, he drew a picture of a grand piano instead.

Puzzled, Mr Camp took his new charge to the hospital's chapel where he was amazed by an instant transformation. As he sat at the keys of a piano, the stranger became calm and relaxed for the first time.

He could even play surprisingly well and was heard reciting sections from Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky and what appeared to be his own compositions.

After three weeks without any sign of recovery, a desperate Mr Camp turned to the Daily Mail to help launch a public appeal for information. Freelance photojournalist Mike Gunnill from nearby Upchurch was despatched to take exclusive pictures.

The former Kent Evening Post photographer, who went on to work for television company TVS and then The Sun and is now part of Bygone Kent magazine, recalled: "It was a Friday afternoon and I was looking forward to the weekend when I took a call from the picture desk.

"They said it probably wasn't much of a story but a man had been washed up on a beach and had lost his memory. Could I go and check it out?"

So, on May 6, 2005, Mike turned up at the hospital.

The social worker had been given permission to help get a photo but the mystery man would scream whenever he saw a new face. So the pair hatched a plot.

The photographer hid in bushes with his Nikon F3 film camera and 300mm lens and half an hour later Mr Camp led his charge through the hospital's grounds for a walk.

Mike,  said: "I only managed to fire off five shots before the man spotted me and became distressed, covered his face with his plastic music folder and started making strange noises."

But those were the only five shots ever taken of the man. Mike said: "Even then, I wasn't sure I had what we needed."

He drove home and spent an agonising hour in his darkroom processing the film to see the results.

Of the five shots, two were no good. The others captured a frail, lightly-bearded figure with spikey blond hair, wearing his by now dried-out suit and white shirt and with every possible button done up.

Mike emailed them to the Mail's picture desk in London and explained that the man wasn't talking but loved playing the piano.

"Like a piano man?" replied a weary voice at the other end of the phone.

Three weeks passed but still the photos had not been used.

Then a concerned Mike received a call saying the executives weren't going to use his pictures because they believed the man was an asylum-seeker and it was an elaborate hoax. But Mike was welcome to sell the pictures to anyone else.

The Mail was not alone. The manager of a pub near where he was found maintained the stranger was "just another illegal immigrant" who had either jumped ship or been pushed overboard by people-smugglers as coastguards closed in.

Instead, it was down to the Mail on Sunday to break the news on May 15. Mike's front page photo unleashed a worldwide media storm as news organisations fought to be the first to find out who the mystery man was.

Only later would he be unmasked as 20-year-old German Andreas Grassl.

Mike recalled: "My phone started ringing at 6am the next morning with requests from all the other nationals to use my photographs it and didn't stop until midnight.

"The following day there were calls from the foreign media. One magazine in Japan even tried to make me to say the man was an alien from outer space!"

Mike was also accused of taking the photos illegally until it was pointed out they had been with permission. Sale of the photos netted him an estimated £35,000. They are still used in psychology text books.

Patrick White, a writer and broadcaster who teaches at King’s College London and has spent much time on the Island researching the mystery, recalled: "It was on April 7, 2005, that a young blond-haired man wearing a dark suit and white shirt was found wandering, dripping wet and distressed, near a beach on Sheppey.

"The police who picked him up couldn’t get a word out of him, so they took him to the Medway Maritime Hospital on the mainland where he was kept for a while and eventually sectioned for his own safety.

"He refused to speak and became highly agitated when approached. He had no identification on him and all the labels had been cut from his clothes.

"The clinicians made no progress with their nameless patient until, on being given some paper and pencils, he made a drawing of a grand piano.

"Taken to the piano in the hospital chapel, he sat down and played, much to the amazement of his carers, who recognised snatches of Swan Lake in his performance.

"Over the following days they encouraged him to play more, presenting him with sheet music of Lennon and McCartney tunes and admiring the ease with which he played them at sight.

"They decided this troubled young man might actually be the real thing: a brilliant but tortured artistic genius who must have suffered some sort of nervous breakdown after a disastrous performance and not even had time to change out of his concert clothes before stepping onto the boat from which he would leap, distraught, as it approached the Thames estuary and end up on Sheppey.

'Really bizarre'

"It was thought he was probably British and that there might be an orchestra or music academy somewhere missing a pianist."

Interpreters were unable to discover his origin and orchestras around Europe were contacted in a bid to trace his identity.

After the appeal for help, more than 800 calls swamped the National Missing Person’s Helpline. Speculation was intense as the story about a person, apparently risen from the sea, was taken up almost instantly all over the world.

Journalists and television crews from far-flung places descended on Sheppey.

"This is really bizarre," muttered a reporter from the Island's local newspaper the Sheerness Times Guardian as he pointed out a Tokyo television crew to a French journalist.

Meanwhile, the man was still playing the piano

Canon Alan Amos, the hospital chaplain, said at the time: "He likes to play what I would call mood music. Playing seems to be the only way he can control his nerves and his tension and relax. When he is playing, he blanks everything else out. He pays attention to nothing but the music."

If allowed to, he would play for three or four hours at a stretch and at times had to be physically removed because he refused to stop.

The 'piano man' was later transferred to Littlebrook Hospital, a secure mental health unit in Bow Arrow Lane, Stone, near Dartford, where manager Ramanah Venkiah said: "He has been playing the piano to a very high quality and staff say it is a real pleasure to hear it. But we don't know what his position is because he is not cooperating at all."

During the course of the summer there emerged an endless line of possible names.

There was a performance artist who had been seen in France or Spain, a classically-trained pianist who had once played in a dissident rock tribute band in Prague and a Canadian drifter known as ‘Mr Nobody’ who had tried to enter Britain illegally.

Various women also announced they were certain 'Piano Man' was their missing boyfriend or husband.

By late July, nursing staff were wondering whether their patient’s voice box had been damaged or had been removed. But all speculation came to an abrupt end on the morning of Friday, August 19, when a cleaner went into his room and asked routinely: "Are you going to speak to us today?"

Unexpectedly, the Piano Man opened his mouth and replied: "I think I will. I am not feeling very well."

He explained he was a 20-year-old Bavarian who, far from stepping out of the sea, had arrived in England by Eurostar train from Paris and had been trying to kill himself in the hours before he was picked up by the police.

He told hospital staff he had two sisters and was gay and also admitted he couldn't play the piano particularly well and had only drawn one because "it was the first thing that came to mind."

By the time news of his recovery reached the press, Andreas Grassl was back with his dairy-farming parents in the tiny village of Prosdorf in Bavaria where he would only speak in carefully measured statements issued through the family’s solicitor Dr Christian Baumann.

His father Josef, 46, and wife Christa, 43, were delighted to have their son - the most famous missing person in the world - back home in southern Germany.

Josef, ruddy-faced and wearing green Wellington boots, overalls and cap, wept as he told the Daily Mirror: "We honestly thought he was dead. Not knowing what had happened to him was torture.

"I went to bed every night and woke every morning wondering where he was, wondering if he was dead or alive.

"At one stage I thought it would be better to find out he was dead, just to stop me and my wife going through this torture. She has been terribly upset and bothered with her nerves."

When Andreas was finally reunited with his family at Munich airport he said simply: "Mir gehts gut" - I am fine. Then he said: "I am so happy to be home."

He told Josef: "Dad, you know that I am famous now. I know that my picture has been shown all around the world."

Andreas added: "I just do not know what happened to me.

"I get little flashes of my past, like in a film. But I have no idea how I ended up in England like that, or why I couldn't talk. I just suddenly woke up and realised who I was."

His dad confirmed his son was a talented musician who entertained relatives on an accordion and played a simple keyboard alongside his younger sister.

Josef added: "He knows he had some kind of illness and breakdown but I know he would never make something like this up. He learned to play the keyboard from the age of 10 and can also play the accordion. I think he found some comfort in the piano, except towards the end."

There was still no clue how Andreas reached Sheerness, from his tiny village of Prosdorf near the German-Czech border.

He had no money, no documents and the labels had been cut out of his soaking suit.

Josef said: "He had no passport, no driving licence, nothing. Not even papers or a ticket. He still does not really know how he got into England. He thinks he got a train from France and then maybe a ferry.

"Given that he had no travel documents, I really do wonder, and worry about what might have happened to him.

"Was he attacked or robbed? Hit over the head? We just don't know. He just woke up and suddenly realised who he was. Before that, he could remember nothing, not even his own name."

He added: "Come July, I was going to look for him myself. We honestly thought something had happened to him. He always seemed to be unhappy and found it hard to express his feelings, to show his love.

"But the doctors in England somehow have cured him of that, they have worked a miracle.

"They have given me a new son back. He tells me that he loves me. I cannot put into words how we feel."

A friend of the family reportedly said Grassl went to a grammar school and had wanted to get into radio or TV or study journalism.

Back in Britain, Grassl was denounced as a ‘fraud’ for not being mute and as a ‘sham’ for not really being able to play the piano.

West Kent NHS and Social Care Trust issued a statement saying he was no longer in the care of the trust, that he had been "discharged following a marked improvement in his condition," and that its "involvement with this man has now ceased and will not be resuming at any stage."

According to an article published in Pink News on May 1, 2007, by which time Grassl was living in Basel, Switzerland, and studying French Literature at university, his last words on the matter were: "That Piano Man stuff, no-one is interested in that any more."

Mr White said: "It still seems possible that, one day, he might look back at that photo and feel just slightly satisfied that he produced an image that kept the snarling, and not just tabloid, contempt for asylum seekers and scroungers at bay for a full season."

The real-life story was turned into a play called The Piano Man in 2014 by London theatre company AllthePigs.

Director Sam Carrack said: “I remember reading the article as a student and getting so excited by it but also the drama and the mystery of these happenings. But the story went cold and we never really got a closure.”

Daniel Hallissey had the tricky job of playing the elusive character and even learned to play the piano for the part.

He said: “For me, the story was a lot about the loneliness we all experience in the modern world and our struggle for identity. Finding out who we are is so difficult in these times.”

Grassl's hospital stay in Britain cost the authorities more than £50,000.

Grassl was born on October 25, 1984, and is now 35.

#km #iancarter #pianoman #sheerness

[ghostradiostoryhour]

Ghostwriter

When he figured it out, Drake McConn was on his third smoke break, leaning against the grey marble of the Dallas Morning News building. He stared at the front page of that day’s Fort Worth Star-Telegram. THE FARMER SLAYER STRIKES AGAIN, the headline read, stamped black above a graphic photo of a man in overalls lying dead in a pasture, glassy-eyed, a smear of dark blood across his temple. In the relatively plain background, behind the crime scene tape, McConn could just see the outline of a handsome man in a rain slicker and a felt fedora, a press card sticking up from the hatband. Himself.

Sensational though it was, this was Maude Drooby’s picture. McConn had last seen it curled and drying in Drooby’s dingy apartment, clipped next to her shots for the week on a metal wire she’d stretched across her bedroom. He’d seen the photo when he came out of her bathroom in his towel after his morning shower. That was last weekend. McConn frowned. Today was Tuesday.

He glanced at the article’s byline. Ace Maven. Of course. For a month and a half now, the bastard reporter had been stealing McConn’s articles for the Star-Telegram. The quotes were the same, as were the details Maven included. The articles printed practically his own words. He had to admit that Maven’s stories did use better vocabulary, but any decent journalist knew that kind of thing only bogged down the story, made it sound stilted. His Dallas readers didn’t take to such highbrow stuff. No way the shit-kickers in Fort Worth had the brains for it. Still, it was Maven’s work that made the front page, not McConn’s. Maybe those cowboys out in the sticks didn’t care about world events like the Communist threat, or pressing matters like Senator McCarthy’s views on the war. The fact remained that Maven continually beat McConn to the front page, and today’s article was no exception.

McConn folded the newspaper in one hand, then took a long drag off his cigarette. The wind flapped his trench coat around his knees. He grimaced. It was getting colder. He checked his watch. Five more minutes.

Over the last month, McConn had taken to buying a Star-Telegram every morning to check for stolen articles. On the rare day that McConn didn’t put a story out, Maven didn’t either. That Arlington murder story was his, just like his piece on the disappearance of the Dewitt girl, or the expose of the prostitution ring run by Red sympathizers in the upper echelons of the Dallas Country Club. All Maven seemed to write were the stories McConn had already written himself.

McConn looked out on the flat grey parking lot, on shined sedans and coupes that gleamed like jewels on the pavement. His own black Oldsmobile was parked next to a beat-up station wagon. Colin Grant, editor-in-chief. McConn leaned into another gust of wind and flicked the butt of his cigarette to the curb.

Whenever Grant emerged from his corner office, McConn expressed his concerns about Maven. He was a menace and a phony, andthe Star-Telegram had frankly no right to print Maven’s work; couldn’t Grant see that? They were being robbed, robbed! But Grant always seemed to be only listening halfway, his sharp black eyes floating over the most recent proofs, searching for any last-minute flaws before sending them down to the presses in time for deadline. That’s when McConn took matters into his own hands.

He called up the Star-Telegram. No dice. Apparently, they’d never even seen the elusive Maven. He always sent his secretary to drop off his articles, to pick up his checks. All they could tell McConn was that the secretary in question was attractive, in the dumb way most blondes were. She didn’t like to talk much, probably because there wasn’t much in her pretty little head to begin with, the man at the Star-Telegram joked. Then the paper dismissed McConn with a sharp warning: if he so much as thought about suing the Star-Telegram for copyright infringement, they’d have him over a barrel sooner than he could say Ace Maven.

He’d even spoken to Drooby about it. For a woman, she was surprisingly insightful when it came to reporting. McConn had noticed her for her looks, but over time, he came to realize that she was as ruthless with the red pencil as he was determined to get the best stories on his beat. They made a great team. Why wouldn’t he ask Drooby for her opinion? As his photographer and his typist, she was essentially a secretary, wasn’t she? It wasn’t crazy to assume that she might be able to help identify Maven’s woman. But the one time he’d brought it up, he was in bed with her, running his fingers along her bare spine. She’d only pressed her lips to his ear and said, “Shhhh,” before ducking beneath the sheets. He smiled a little, thinking of her body, the way she always smelled like rosewater and darkroom chemicals. Drooby was certainly useful for more than just clerical matters; unlike his timid wife at home, Drooby was fearless.

But how was Maven getting access to his work? The only other person who saw his writing before it went to press was Drooby. He walked a few steps, scuffed his shoes on the sidewalk. Then a creeping dread filled his veins. She would never—

He shoved the newspaper under his arm, pushed through the rotating door. His shined leather oxfords clacked satisfyingly as he crossed the polished marble floor to the elevators. A caustic feeling rose like steam in his chest. The elevator dinged to the fourth floor and the paneled wood doors opened into the newsroom. He made his way to Drooby’s desk, pushing past the men in rolled shirtsleeves and women in tweed pencil skirts rushing between desks with sheafs of paper in their arms. The clatter of typewriters at work filled the dusty air. McConn could see Grant pacing in his office, arguing with someone on the telephone and smoking a cigar. Drooby was at the water cooler, laughing at something one of the other secretaries had said, looking as vapid as ever. Quiet, McConn pulled open the drawer of her desk. Inside, along with some pencils and loose paperclips, was a little black book. He opened it. There, on the first page, the only entry: contact information for the editor-in-chief of the Fort Worth Star Telegram. From across the room, Drooby caught McConn’s eye, flashed a smile. He dropped the book, pushed the drawer shut, and stepped away from her desk. McConn decided to swallow his rage, for now. He would handle the problem later, in the cool blue of her little apartment downtown. In a feline motion, Drooby took a seat and looked hard at the fragmented poem in the spool of her typewriter, running a finger along the edge of the paper.

“Have you been reading my diary, Mr. McConn?” she asked, then turned to arch an eyebrow at him.

McConn forced a smile back, did his best to keep his voice light. “Just looking for a piece of paper,” he said, and tapped the little spiral notebook in his shirt pocket. “I always forget.”

Drooby’s lips parted in a smile, but her brown eyes held the same cruel expression they did when she was working through a particularly difficult grammatical problem, or writing a new line of poetry.

“Silly of you,” she said, still watching him. McConn felt her betrayal sear into him. She was a liar. She had lied, stolen his work, and now here she was, mocking him in front of everyone. The photo in the paper under his arm seemed as though it would burn a hole in his jacket. Looking at her now, at her small, fox-shaped face, he wondered what else she had lied about. There was no way he could wait until the end of the workday. Drooby needed to be dealt with now. But not here. He cleared his throat.

“How’s the poetry coming?” he asked.

“Oh, you know. Slow, as usual,” Drooby said and shrugged. “Nothing like your articles, speedy and efficient.”

“I should think not,” McConn said. “I’ll leave the poetry to you.”

“Probably smart,” Drooby said. “Where journalism is a dead body surrounded by white chalk lines, poetry is a difficult phantom, ever racing away.” She laughed, placing her hand with its long white fingers on his forearm. “Listen to me. Ridiculous. How was your smoke break?”

“Insufficient,” McConn said. He grabbed her elbow, pulled her face close to his. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve been dying to get you alone.”

She batted her eyes, then stood and swung her coat around her shoulders. “Whatever you say, boss.” McConn winked at her andripped the sheet of poetry from the typewriter, folded it into a little rectangle, and stuck it in his hatband next to his matches. Drooby grabbed her purse and followed him out for the last time.

Back at her apartment, Drooby and McConn slammed into each other violently. Up against the bar in the kitchen, they rattled the spirits in their glass decanters. Down on the bedroom floor next to the radiator, their breath rose, spectral. McConn could see the name Ace Maven ghosting through Drooby’s eyes. When they were naked, McConn felt her tense beneath him. He lifted her fragilebody to the long desk, where her most recent photographs bobbed, bloated cadavers on the surface of three plastic tubs filled with developer, stop bath, and bleach. He dropped her on the table, sloshing chemicals. She brushed her nose along his shoulder, bit his collarbone. She dug her fingernails into his back. He pulled away, the metal wire where she hung her photos bumping against his fedora. Drooby tried to stand, but McConn grabbed her brittle wrists in one hand, pushed her back against the table.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Drooby yelled.

With his free hand, McConn reached for the metal wire and pulled until it ripped from the wall. Curled, drying photos scattered to the floor and fell into the tubs of liquid.

“You’ve been stealing from me, Mr. Maven,” he said.

He wrapped the wire twice around Drooby’s skinny neck.

“Drake, no—“ she said, and her voice came out fuzzed and weak.

“I’m only here to take what you stole, to collect on what you owe me,” he said, and let go of her wrists. In one swift motion, he yanked as hard as he could on both ends of the wire. The sharp metal slid through her frail skin and arteries like cheese. She coughed and the blood came haltingly at first and then in a steady pour, gurgling out of her throat onto her fallen photographs. His palms stung where the wire had cut them. He watched the pool of red around her body spread. Blood dripped from the table in thick streams.

He pulled her poem from his hat. Then he struck a match, lit it on fire over her dead body, and threw the burning sheet of paper at her makeshift darkroom. Flames grew and jumped along the legs of the table. The phantom forms of people bubbled and cracked in her photos. Drooby was slumped on the table, an unresponsive pile of flesh. McConn watched the flames climb over her spine, crackle in her hair. He felt nothing, only stared. Drooby’s skin blistered and smoked under the fire. Then a sudden shudder rocked her whole body, and she sat up with a sudden jerk, like a marionette pulled upright. She ran to the kitchen.

“Drake!” Drooby yelled, and McConn heard the sound of turned faucets, of water pouring into the metal sink. “Help me put it out!”

McConn looked down at his hands. Two matching horizontal cuts were still there from when he had pulled down the wire, when he had strangled Drooby. Only now when he looked, the metal wire stretched across the bedroom as though nothing had happened. The cuts were painful to the touch, but they had already started fading. He looked up at the burning darkroom before him. The photos clipped to the metal wire started to smoke and warp. The odor of spilled chemicals, sticky and dark like blood, rose from the soaked carpet where the tubs of stop bath and developer lay overturned. McConn breathed through his mouth.

Drooby ran into the room, carrying a pot filled with water. She heaved it toward the flames, and the water hissed into steam. Casting the pot aside, she rushed to her closet and pulled on a nightgown. McConn watched her, disbelieving. She looked almost blurry as she moved through the apartment, but maybe that was just the smoke. Drooby threw his slacks at him and he yanked them on. She picked up the phone on nightstand and dialed 9-1-1.

“Fire,” she was saying. “213 Elm. Yes. Please hurry.”

When she disappeared outside, McConn followed her, his hands stinging.

The next day, everyone in the office brought Drooby some kind of condolence: flowers, Bundt cakes, cards. Even Grant pitched in for a floral arrangement, though he was pretty miffed about losing the photos set to run that week. It seemed that Drooby was rattled, but by all appearances she was the same old Drooby, sweet and coy, quiet, hard-working.

Still, McConn felt something sinister lurking beneath her newly repentant demeanor.

“Afternoon, Drooby,” he said as he passed her desk to drop off a draft of his new story. The office clacked and rang around them, as it always did. But just beneath it all, McConn could hear a sound like flames crackling. It got stronger as he moved closer to Drooby’s desk.

“How’s everything at your mom’s place?” he asked politely, picking up one of the cards on her desk. His fingers smudged through the air, as though they were made not of solid flesh. He dropped the card in fear. Drooby frowned at the page stuck in her typewriter.Clearly the fire hadn’t affected her futile obsession with her idiotic little poems, anyhow.

“It’s fine,” she said. Then she lowered her voice. “You have every right to be angry with me, but you didn’t have to burn down my damn apartment just to make your point.”

McConn placed his hand on her shoulder and immediately regretted it. Her skin didn’t feel like skin but like ice water, more liquid than solid. He jumped when she turned to face him. Her features had been scrubbed down, erased. Two burned out holes had replaced her quick brown eyes. When she spoke, the twisted gash that was her mouth didn’t move, but a deep slit at her throat gushed blood as red as her editing marks.

“You destroyed my photos, my poem,” she said. “Your writing wasn’t worth that.”

McConn’s palms started to burn. The skin around his new scars was dissolving. It bubbled and cracked with the sick noise of popping grease.

The rest of the office went about business as usual. It was as though nothing were out of the ordinary, as though this—thing—wasn’t sitting in their midst, searing people’s hands off. He tried to walk away from her desk, but he found that he could not move from the spot.

“What are you doing to me?” he hissed.

Drooby just pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. Small blue sparks snapped at her fingertips, and soon, her entire body crawled with fire. Flames singed the desk where she rested her elbows. The chair burned beneath her.

“What am I doing?” she laughed. “You of all people should understand the concept of editing.”

“Editing?” McConn asked. Brown burnt spots speckled her already face, and sheets of her skin flaked away to burn in the air like newsprint. “Editing what?”

“Reality,” she said. “You are a superfluous detail in this reality.”

His ears filled with the sound of flames, and he could not move. Grant approached the desk with brows furrowed.

“Excuse me, Ms. Maven,” Grant stopped and rapped on the edge of the desk by way of introduction. “You were saying?”

McConn felt his breath quicken.

“Just thinking aloud,” she said, with a smile. She glanced at McConn and curled her fingers into her ponytail.

“Well,” Grant said. “I just wanted to say nice work.  He tugged on his sport coat. “That article you wrote about the apartment fire was gold, pure gold.”

“Writing is my life,” Drooby said. McConn could see a hint of fire in her lips.

Grant flicked the brown felt hat on her desk. He nodded toward a large brown spot on the floor next to her desk. “What’s this? It looks as if something burned.”

“Oh, that?” she said. “You’ve got me. I have no idea.”

As Grant walked back to his corner office, Drooby turned to McConn one last time, looked him hard in the face. Then she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, but he couldn’t feel it. All he felt was flame.

[abstruseness]

Canon MX492 Scanner Driver Download Normal Option for Contemporary Landscaping Artist

The Wedding photographer

David Anthony Hallway ideas his shots weeks, at times even years upfront. In order to capture the perfect shot, he visits locations numerous times to get just the right natural lighting conditions. To the self-professed nature devotee, using panoramic photos of arrestingly gorgeous scenery is hardly an difficult project. "Whenever you enjoy what you do, you'll never need to function each day in your lifetime." claims David. His images are large not only in dimensions but in the amount of content they are and express filled up with a enthusiasm he conveys so vividly together with this sort of wonderful depth.

Delivered in Dublin in 1969, he initially uncovered his passion for photography at school when he packaged a few of his father's aged disadvantages for the class undertaking. He qualified as being a image artist then researched photography at Dun Laoghaire University of Design and Art (now the Institution of Art). His first role was being a continue to lifestyle digital photographer after visiting United kingdom in 1990. He then create his very own industrial business in Western side London, uk in 1994. A few years in the future, soon after managing a profitable photographic firm, Photohall Ltd, he made a decision to focus on his own operate and passion like a landscape designer.

The Artwork

While using method of photography and big file format print out to capture his expansive character shots is undoubtedly a really particular route to adhere to. Yet mixed they merge properly; fusing impressive photography, printing and design methods smoothly to provide breathing using panoramic expression. David's images are hardly ever limited from a viewfinder. He shoots a series of pictures that he later draws collectively to capture the vista he desires to show. The absolute size of his job gives by itself to huge formatting printing at its very best. David's sells a graphic every year for charitable trust, a d 2.7m broad and 1.5m substantial called 'Autumn Light', was sold for charitable trust in 2009, rearing a wonderful £7500. The image was imprinted in the 12 colour Canon MX492. The earnings in which split among, Malignancy Analysis, McMillan Cancers Assistance and Bart's Medical facility East Wing, and committed to the memory of David's all-natural dad Antonio Senezio, who died of cancers in 2007. They have considering that generously donated numerous a lot more images to numerous charitable groups, which include PhotoVoice and Marie Curie Cancer Care. In The Year 2011 he presented a fantastic impression eligible 'Bluebell Woodland' which offered for £10,000 for your Children's Acute Carry Services Pet cats.

David creates around 12 done parts each year, frequently going to spots many times to draw out the proper picture. He will sometimes waitdays and weeks, or even months for the right lighting conditions. He usually takes into consideration the numerous trajectories from the direct sun light as the the planet orbits throughout the season, as well as lunar tidal rhythm to acquire the very best photo.

Using his Canon EOS-1Ds Label IIl, David shoots the images using lens which range from his preferred 50mm to your 100mm and even a 300mm. By using a range of spectacular methods he can capture a series of graphics that he later on weaves together in their electronic darkroom.

David makes use of an even more conventional procedure for his picture taking, since he could have as soon as with a motion picture digicam. Even though he considers a digital technologies have allowed professional photographers to speed up the method, also, he feels it produces a tendency to hurry the results. Appearance accomplishment is normally made the decision by what is uncovered inside the monitor and not just exactly what the digicam is capable of doing. For David the set up in the photo is as much an important component of the procedure, as being the digicam by itself. Reducing everything straight down, getting his time and creating 'breathing space' enables him to capture greater results. "You shouldn't speed taking photos: the key is taking, stopping and slowing your time. There's low self-esteem from the photographic sector making photographers believe that they need big digital cameras to become a far better professional photographer. But if you're not in the right spot at the right time it won't work, whichever digital camera you have! "

The Stamping

Till just recently David's partnership with Canon possessed never extensive over and above his usage of their video cameras. Following viewing the grade of his charitable trust item 'Autumn Light' created by the Canon representative Velmex Submission, David was very very happy to take shipping of his new printer a, 44" 12 colour Impression PROGRAF iPF8100, sizeable file format printer, immediately after the event. "What smacked me initially was only how calm the Canon was. My prior A1 gadget wasn't a Canon product or service; it had been extremely slow-moving and surprisingly loud".

Before using the Canon MX492, On account of the flexible the outdoors in the iPF8100 he or she is now able to produce a complete size cut of his printing (emulating a dark room fashion crop) so that you can match it at any point. "This alone is preserving me three times as much multimedia." He said. The reason why you could do is caused by an original Adobe plug-in that comes with the printer. "The Adobe plug-in is fantastic! It's very simple to quick, convenient and use. It gives me complete power over the colour production I create. It saves me a lot of press and i also don't ought to mess around with customized sizing, plus I could produce from Photoshop with no reason to resave records first."

The outcome is a reduce quality result, whilst the printer can create a higher quality impression. The Canon Photoshop connect-in can instantly change a 16 tad impression in Photoshop, to some 12 little interpolated picture for the printer, recording the maximum high quality accessible. The eye struggles to distinguish the visible difference between 12 little and 16 little, nevertheless in between an 8 little bit and 12 little bit result the visible difference, even going to the inexperienced eyes, is visible. "16 little offers superb gradation on my a few meter graphics, it will make a huge difference to my kind of operate. Now, from picture record to productivity I have the ability to printing at the highest quality. The visible difference is obvious if you ask me, specially in the sharpness of depth I recieve in blue skies or the details of greens, in which usually the 8 little variation can appear flat." The inspiration powering David's picture taking is to record the outdoors in their purest type.

The pictures are all picture in RAW formatting creating image styles any where from 150 super pixels to 200 mega pixels, creating a level of sharpness and depth vital when printing at this particular scale. Upwards of 4GB, having an 80GB hard-drive is invaluable, "Because the size of my files are so large. Before the file has completely downloaded, the files download straight to the printer freeing up my desktop and the printer will start to print even. The dual print out-heads offer you me fast publishing. Paper-heads are semi long lasting characteristics that don't will need swapping with each ink cartridge transform plus I will swap the print heads me personally. This gives me a cost preserving I'd not anticipated, and with no lower time. The printer ink cartridges can be bought in 300ml and 700ml tanks and can be hot swapped although the device is working, rendering it unbelievably versatile when printing my 3 metre images. The printer even offers a reserve tank which retailers printer to guarantee the produce is completed with out preventing. This prevents any likelihood of having a dried out line by way of the middle of a produce. Some thing you don't require when publishing about three meter images! "

These huge structure printers may be managed by simply the 'Canon MX492 Scanner Driver Download' something that David finds very helpful when working his printing careers. "In the past I would personally estimate my ink cartridge costs by work as I didn't have a similar degree of detail I have now with 'Job Manager'. I can entry it through any internet browser empowering me to discover the ink usage on every print. I can also check ink levels, which document I've loaded inside the printer as well as the length and width from the roll. I am just now in full control of my generating charges, something that I surely didn't have just before".

Archival work

This process David utilizes to complete his printing is 'Face Installation to Perspex'. This is a process where the done print out is sandwiched among some Dibond and Perspex or perhaps an Aluminium backing page. The latest analysis by Wilhem-Analysis.com implies that a colour print from your Canon 12 colour Appearance PROGRAF iPF6100*, on gloss media within Perspex substrate could give you a light-weight fastness of 176 several years. "This really is 101 yrs more than my prior printer could claim providing my buyers an increased archival worth."

[v78maggie-blog]

Best photo editing software for Windows 10 for color adjustments

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Shoot wonderful pictures for your photo album down to something and also that is practice. As soon you're outside and also about or home lying at your chair learning, making a factor to do five images every single day no matter. Learning exactly how to take the common special is something what large blog owners are very good at. Even by working with modifying expertness, you can absolutely do it too!Best photo editing software for Windows 10 performs possess a few of the features is actually well-known for, which happens very useful when you've determined you've like to make an effort your hand on something a lot more better than photo collage as well as correction of brightness. Best photo editing software for Windows 10 can furthermore bring in stills from video, and also varying reports. As well as when you're experiencing a little idle or it is simply plain oblivious regarding how to take advantage of a few of the resources, a helper may assist you to modify the principles just like illumination, focus, different colors, and also turning of images. For those who like their photos in widescreen versions, the software application aids you easily generated photographs to make a breathtaking photo. And when it's opportunity to series off your photography skills, you can pick with the image bundle design templates to quickly print them in a specific size.

Best photo editing software for Windows 10 for starters and experts with a lot of great functions

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This photo editing software is better for delighted students with a lot of attend their workflow to determine the too technical features that would certainly discourage first time photo changing users. It likewise comes complete with a 360 scenic view system. Perhaps the glossiest gem in the bundle would certainly be the gorgeous skin influence, which evens and also eliminates red spots out the complexion. Whereas there's no automatic shade remedy substitute fairly important to remedy the lousy lighting most digital video cams record, there are actually still the general functionalities of copy the photo area from a to b. One of the most well-known misunderstood parts of electronic photography is what happens once you make the shot in fact modifying your picture. That is the moment where you edit the photos you have actually taken, to create the final product. Modifying your pictures is the matching of the darkroom from the time long period of time earlier. We are most likely to be discuss some suggestions for editing your pictures, from the essentials like lens correction and correction of tonal value, via more complicated activities. The cropping item permits you to alter the dimension of your image, as well as likewise to alter the aspect proportion. As an example, you can cut out a picture from a rectangular shape to a round shape. There are several reasons you would certainly desire to crop, consisting of for publishing in various styles and also facet relations. Contrasted to the initial, I have chopped the image with best photo editing software for Windows 10 to remove the shining part of the middle of the photo and reassembled making use of the regulation of one-third. This makes the lightning screw extra the focus of photograph. You could ask yourself why I did not simply compose properly when taking the photo. Well, in this instance, I was actually making an extensive exposure photo shot without needing a tripod stand, so had actually the electronic camera balanced on the side of the pier for stability. That significantly minimal my ability to perfectly mount the minute, so I just photoshoot wider, understanding I had to be able to chop the photo properly shortly after the fact. In both cases, cropping is really best photo editing software for windows 10 simple as well as it is simply includes you choosing the cut out item and after that choosing the location you wish to keep with your computer mouse. After that you apply the changes and your brand-new chopped image prepares to go.

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New best photo editing software for Windows 10 for PC to rotate a photo. Learn more about intelligent brighten an image with a best photo editing software for Windows 10 for professionals to change the size of an image. DownloadOften there may be a thing inside a photo that you totally do just not desire to exist, just like a disturbing beauty spot on somebody's forehead. That is quick to get rid of in almost all the major best photo editing software for Windows 10. It is really quite easy to remove any sort of things out of a photography but the best photo editing software for Windows 10 operates most effectively on distinct, small-sized objects that are usually bordered by the same colorations. This is because the recover tool needs to change the area you want to remove with another thing, and also this works finest when it has a location nearby that looks similar. For example, bright point on a face is surrounded by a great deal of in a similar way tinted skin, so the heal device can easily determine what to replace the red point based on the surrounding location. That is usually due to the fact that the photo editing software has to change the location you will to wipe out together with something besides, and also that function most effective when it gets a field nearby that seems identical. Best photo editing software for Windows 10 has come to be very complex and also helpful and it is actually possible to adjust pictures therefore they change into completely various from the initial. There actually are loads of best photo editing software for Windows 10 and wide varieties of solutions of accomplishing the same or similar effects. The intention very most for the majority of images I publish procedure is normally to make all of them seem being normal as possible. I strongly believe this is an ideal position to start, even when you intend to continue on and also create more surreal appearing photographs. Tone variation at an image is among the key issues. Your eyes have the ability to usually see a more comprehensive series of coloration than the video camera most likely record. The significance of photo editing is the act of reshaping a photograph, put simply. However this is oversimplifying a topic that is really complicated. You can typically implement simple photo modifying strategies just like photo collage rather easily and also swiftly but complex techniques and digital editing may require photo editing software and more experience. Best photo editing software for Windows 10 is a helper that you can easily work with to adjust and beautify images. Because pictures have a boosting variety of uses, more services are finding ways to reuse photos and also work with them on many networks.

#best photo editing software for windows 10 download

[larsbjorge-blog]

This Is Me, Tagged

Okay, get comfy – I got tagged twice, by talented Flickrites Mysi Anne and Sina respectively, so I’ve decided to do two sets of sixteen. The first set is mostly photography-related, and the second set is more personal. I tend to fill these things out thoroughly, so there’s a lot to read here, but since the internet gives most people the attention span of a flea on meth, I put some extra cleavage on display for those who feel the text is tl;dr. I hope you enjoy one or the other, or both. —–

1. My favourite photographer in recent years is Nuri Bilge Ceylan. It was his work that made me believe it was possible to photograph Turkey in the way that I wanted to. I was sick to death of tourist-bait pictures of whirling dervishes, hookah bars, and belly dancers, because Turkey isn’t about any of those things.

2. If you asked me to name ten other photographers whose work turns me on, most of the names would be people whose work I discovered on Flickr. You don’t have to be famous to rock me.

3. I chuckle at equipment snobs and their strutting and posturing about what snazzy gear you "must" have and what techniques you "must" use, because for all their official know-how, 95% of the time their oh-so-technically-perfect shots leave me bored. Although I like buying new equipment as much as the next person, it’s certainly not required to take good pictures. There’s a person in my Flickr contacts who takes the most amazing photos with his mobile phone, and another who rocks my world with his Lomo. Some people never get it through their heads that it’s not about the camera. In the industry we call this "having more money than sense."

4. I also laugh at people who think that digital post-processing isn’t part of photography, or is "cheating." What, you think film photographers of the past didn’t post-process? Please, do your homework – half an hour of research on the web will wipe out that little fantasy. The great majority of tools in Photoshop are just computer adaptations of manual darkroom techniques that have been widely used for many decades by just about every photographer of note. I’m not saying it’s necessary to process the hell out of every photo you take, but refusing to use all the tools available to you because of some weird misinformed pride seems silly to me.

5. I have this strange skill for remembering exactly where I was standing when I took any given photo, even if I took it 20 years ago in a place I only visited for a day. This has made geotagging a lot easier.

6. If post-processing fell off the face of the earth tomorrow, I’d probably lose my interest in digital photography pretty quickly. If I’m out shooting and it’s going really well, my chief thought is always, I can’t wait to get home and play around with these.

7. On the other hand, I almost never post-process film shots, because most of my film cameras are ones that are known for their specific effects (Soviet cameras and so forth), and I don’t feel the need to mess with that. I will fix cracks and damage in old prints, unless the damage makes the photo more awesome, which it often does.

8. Go ahead, gasp in horror if you want… I don’t really like B&W photography, except in cases of faux-vintage or actual old photographs. That’s not to say that I can’t appreciate the beauty of B&W photos or the talent that goes into making them, and a few of my favourite photographers do shoot primarily in B&W, but when people post a B&W and a colour version of the same photo, I always like the colour one better. I hear people say how they think B&W tells a more dramatic story, but I just don’t see that at all.

9. I don’t keep multiple versions of the same photo. I find it unnecessary, and potentially confusing, as I only ever process a photo one time, and then I’m done with it forever. I trash both my raw files and my PSDs when I’m certain have the final version of the photo. I have never, ever felt the desire to rehash old, stale raw files that have already been done. I always take a fresh supply of new shots if I want something to work on.

10. I have a huge offline library of both digital and film photos from years past. This year I’m going to work on getting them all up on Flickr.

11. My eyes are black, and although I think they look nice in real life, in photos they tend to look like lumps of coal shoved in my eye sockets. So I almost always level them up in post. I also enjoy playing around with the colour of them – I don’t think making eyes green or blue in a photo is any different than people wearing coloured contacts for fun certain days of the week. This is one of the few photos where my eyes are completely natural, because I thought the lumps of coal thing worked well in that particular shot.

12. Some photographers get arrested for the photography itself… I’m more likely to get arrested for associated breaking and entering. If I see a place that I want to get to to take photos, I get like a pit bull about it, and regardless of locks or restricted access, it’s very unlikely that you’ll convince me not to break in there. I’ll just politely agree with you that it’s a bad idea, and then I’ll wait until you fall asleep and I’ll sneak out. I’ll be back before you wake up, with a memory card full of awesome. Or, you’ll get woken by a phone call and have to come bail me out. Whichever.

13. I don’t wear makeup except on very special occasions, so if you see makeup on me in a photo, you can be 100% sure it was post-processed. I can’t stand having all that chemical gunk on my face, but I do think it looks nice, especially in pictures.

14. I love it when my female friends e-mail me a snapshot of themselves and ask me to "please fix it up." I don’t think photos of women (or any other subject) always have to be about concrete reality – a little fantasy is nice sometimes. The women I associate with are smart enough not to compare themselves to an edited photo, or even to want to look like that in real life. We can teach young girls those same values without having to resort to censorship. It’s good for kids to see and learn the difference between fact and fiction, and to appreciate the merits of both. If we start banning things, they won’t get the opportunity to learn to distinguish.

15. If you gave me a $1,000 gift certificate from my local camera shop, I’d buy an old-skool original Lensbaby, a Sigma 10-20mm, and the new Nikkor fiddy (the 1.4 – G, not D).

16. If you sent me on a slow trip around the world and told me I could only take one camera and one lens, I’d be perfectly happy with my D40 and the 18-200mm VR. I don’t need anything fancier than that for traveling, and I sure as hell don’t need anything heavier or larger.

—-

1. Photography is something I enjoy doing, but I’m not a particularly visual person. Music is who I am. I made my debut as a professional pianist at the age of 9, and as a professional singer at the age of 14. My major in university was music composition, and the second time I went to uni I did a degree in recording arts with a specialty in critical aural analysis.

2. I’m left-handed, but I don’t write in that weird, contorted, hand-twisted-backwards way that most left-handers do. I write like a normal person, just with my left hand instead of my right.

3. You wouldn’t know it from my public presence on the internet, but my language habits in everyday life would make a sailor blush. You know how Debra in Dexter talks? Yeah, pretty much like that. I always laugh at that antiquated line about how people who swear a lot do so to cover up for a poor vocabulary. That’s a crock – believe me, I know plenty of words, and I know how to use them correctly. Many of them begin with C or F, so what?

4. I’m going to be 36 this month, and I think I’m better-looking and more attractive now than I have ever been.

5. Five years ago at this time I weighed 265 pounds. Don’t ask me for the magic secret, because you already know there isn’t one. If there were, everyone would have done it by now, and there would never be any fat people in the world.

6. I’ve traveled to four continents, and lived on three of them.

7. I’m compulsively goal-oriented, and one of my goals for 2009 is to buy a new outfit every month, as I haven’t had any new clothes at all in almost five years. The ensemble you see in the photo is my outfit for January.

8. A few years ago I tore my ulnar collateral ligament, and was told that without surgery I would never regain the use of my thumb. I decided to trust my gut feeling instead of the doctor, and didn’t have the surgery. My hand is fine now, and aside from some minor twinges in humid weather, I can’t tell the difference between the hand that was injured and the one that wasn’t.

9. I have the kind of hair that makes people want to punch me. I get it cut once a year (I’m almost due for my yearly salon visit), I wash it twice a week, and I don’t even own any styling products or tools. The last time I used a brush or comb was sometime during the Reagan administration. I don’t even comb it after I wash it. It just doesn’t tangle, and it looks however it looks straight out of bed. Some days it’s mostly straight, and other days it’s quite wavy. I never do anything to it in Photoshop aside from the occasional colour change for fun. What you see in the above photo is 100% natural.

10. I don’t think I’d ever have elective cosmetic surgery, but if you held a gun to my head and forced me to have something done, I’d get my lips plumped. It’s kind of a strange thing to say, because every time I plump them up in Photoshop, I think it looks stupid and I undo it. But when I look in the mirror, I think I wouldn’t mind if they were just a little more… robust.

11. I find cooking soul-destroyingly boring, not to mention a gigantic hassle. I avoid it whenever possible.

12. I’m a winter girl all the way. I absolutely do not see the appeal of summer, unless you have a fetish for sweat or stinky people. Or unless you live in a place where the summers are reasonable, like England. I did love summer in England – it’s one of the things I really miss about living there.

13. I’ve lived a stone’s throw from the beach for almost five years, and I’ve been down there maybe twice. I’m more into swimming pools – sticky salt hair and a crack full of sand just isn’t my idea of a good time, sorry. I do like going to the beach to take pictures, though.

14. I have a raging sweet tooth that cannot be tamed. When I come to your country, the first thing I want to see is the array of desserts your people have to offer me. So far, Italy has been the most spectacular in this respect, though it should be mentioned that I have not yet visited India, where I understand they start by making normal desserts for mortals and then soak them in syrup. Win.

15. I’m not into politics whatsoever, but it’s nice that the Obama administration is the first government that hasn’t implied I’m a filthy un-American traitor for choosing to live somewhere else. In fact, Obama’s web site has a whole section devoted to Americans abroad, and I was shocked to discover that they weren’t just talking about soldiers or people who were sent away to work for American companies. They mean everyone abroad, including me.

16. That said, if I were forced to go "back where I came from," I’d more likely go back to Europe than the United States. I don’t feel that preference shows any indication of a diminished love for the US. I’m just enjoying living on this half of the planet, that’s all. I don’t have any hate for the other half.

2009.187

Posted by Melissa Maples on 2009-02-03 15:24:39

Tagged: , antalya , turkey , türkiye , asia , 安塔利亚 , 土耳其 , 亚洲 , nikon , d40 , ニコン , 尼康 , nikkor , af-s , 18-200mm , f/3.5-5.6g , 18-200mm f/3.5-5.6g , vr , 1:1 , square , me , melissa , maples , self-portrait , woman , brunette , brown , window , long hair , brown hair , cleavage

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[tumbleon]

open mic at the darkroom #1

There used to seem like such a wide breach at the darkroom between watching a band and taking the stage.

There was only exception was when Brian hosted karaoke parties every now and then.

Brian Feary as his karaoke, quiz-night hosting alter ego Dr. Love in 2015. 

“I threw up before the first time I played,” Brian volunteered. 

I gasped. “Really?”

Last year when our band vowed to play in public by the end of the year, we needed somewhere to build up our confidence. The darkroom stage was one small step – a small box, really. It was nothing. Yet it felt like crossing a huge divide. The prerequisite for getting on the stage was a half-hour set of original material, and knowing a band well enough to be invited to open for them. If neither of those applied, you were in the audience.

Still from RDU footage of the Dunedin band The Violet Ohs at the darkroom in Christchurch, New Zealand, 2015. 

We weren’t at that level yet, so we looked instead in the back pages of the Christchurch Mail for Open Mic listings.

The Christchurch Mail, January 2017. Orange circles aren’t open mics, but Anita and her band Devilish Mary and the Holy Rollers are really cool. The Ruby Suns are good, too. 

Only certain bars had open mics. The Fitz, a sports bar on the fringe of the four avenues, had one where men in their 40s in leather jackets played Pink Floyd immaculately while another dozen people milled near the pool tables on the other side of the bar. When we took the stage, the few groups of people stopped what they were doing and watched curiously. After our 12-minute set, we toasted our complimentary pints of lager, high on the fumes of playing. Martin crowed about how the men in leather jackets were probably record executives who would tempt the band to break up, like villains. But it was all right. Nothing could break up the band. We would emerge unscathed, triumphant.  

Geof smiled. “Martin has the right attitude about all of this.”

There is a similar feel at The Rockpool on Sunday nights, also known as Mickey Finn’s. Three-song, 15 minute sets. 

The Rockpool in Christchurch, New Zealand, date unknown.

Some Open Mic nights required booking in advance, like Tuesdays at the Carlton. There was a nice spontaneity in the chalkboard at Jane’s Bar on Wednesdays. Come along, get up on stage. There the audience was warm and wonderful as you played, but individuals could be dicks. Before we played, two men in high-vis cornered our table and asked us to spread our legs.  

Stuff like that never happened at the darkroom. 

Too much loveliness in the darkroom, a twinkling bar in the middle of the post-apocalyptic industrial wasteland that is the eastern region of the four avenues in Christchurch, New Zealand. Photo from neatplaces,co.nz, c. 2011-2012

We never felt cornered into leering conversations we wished would go away. Perhaps that’s because attending a gig there requires an intention. Sometimes there was barely anyone there, sitting in the shadows, and it felt like you owned the place.

While this often is what makes the darkroom special, when our band had a booking in August and was no longer going to be in town to fill it, it felt like maybe we should worry. 

“What if we did an open mic night?” Ray asked. “Do you think Marcus would mind?”

Marcus loved the idea. He had been experimenting with comedy as a different way of bringing people to the darkroom earlier in the night. That was another nice thing about open mics. Sign-ups were early in the evening; they tended to wind down by 10. It destroyed the cycle where people don’t show up early because they don’t want to wait around for the band to start playing, and that bands don’t start to play until people arrive.

“I’ve never done an open mic night before,” Marcus admitted. 

“Usually performers get a free drink after playing,” I said. “Is it all right if I advertise that?”

“That’s fair,” Marcus agreed. “Though maybe next time I should make it buy one, get one free. At least that way I’ll make some money.”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that,” I assured him. “I’ve been to a few open mic nights. The free drink comes after they play, and everyone drinks beforehand.”

Mary threw together a poster. 

A graphic designer would cry. But it got the message across.

Marcus changed the listing on the darkroom’s website to an open mic on Monday. We created a facebook page. The gig had about five days’ notice. 

“I hope people come,” Mary said. 

Our bassist Ray was with her sister in Sydney. “It would mean a lot to me if you were there with us,” I assured her girlfriend Amy. Once when we were half an hour late to Jane’s Bar, the owner had already cajoled Amy into being the first performer of the night. Amy hadn’t prepared a thing, but picked up the owner’s guitar anyway, and charmed the crowd effortlessly. 

That night, I got back from Peter’s inquest right before we were due at the darkroom. Mary and I arrived a few minutes before the night started at seven. Amy was already there with 10 of her classmates, drinking. 

“They have been here for 20 minutes,” Marcus said. 

More people arrived in groups of two and three. We parked ourselves by the door and explained how it worked to those who came in with instruments. The chalkboard was eight names deep half an hour in half past seven. I shrugged to Mary. “We might as well get this thing started.” 

All we needed was for Marcus to turn on the sound. I squeezed my way to the bar. 

“I’m kinda busy!” Marcus laughed as Abi manoeuvered around him with a pizza. “Give me five minutes?”

The Darkroom in Christchurch, New Zealand.

“No rush,” I smiled. “Whenever you are ready to get started, so are we.”

Mary and I called ourselves the ice breakers, thanked everyone for coming, and flashed off a quick three songs. The verses of Flowers stumbled a bit. Our timing did not match. “Our job is to set the bar low for you guys.” We gestured at our ankles. “Down there. Really comfortable.” 

“I’m glad that’s over,” I said after we finished. 

“That might have been your guys’ best set yet,” Geof said. “You were charming. Your voices didn’t quaver. Peter was powerful. You were there.”

Another two or three people arrived every five minutes. 

By eight thirty, it seemed like every space in the darkroom had a guitar or someone sitting somewhere. “Mary,” I called to her through the sea of people. “Imagine if all of the guitars in this room were in a photo!” 

It had grown so much bigger than Amy’s friends. 

Maybe people have been waiting for something like this, I thought as I looked around the room. An intermediary step to getting on stage. One where you didn’t have to know the right bands to get onto the bill. Even if you could only nail one cover, you could get onstage and practice. 

It’s a pretty sweet deal. Fifteen minutes of commitment, and you and your friends all get a free pint and some happy fumes.

Still, NASDA occupied the heart of the room. Someone from the performing arts school cycled on stage about one every three sets to reset the bar with something across three octaves or featuring three-part harmonies. Amy tried out a new stand-up routine about her summer stripping and killed it. Two NASDA kids borrowed my guitar.

“Ooh, it’s out of tune,” one said, stopping a few notes into her third song.

“It’s the G,” I called out to the stage. 

“The G.” The sea of NASDA kids in front of her crooned the note. She fixed the string.

The NASDA kids tended to go by their first names. An Irish guy performed alone as Admiral Drowsy. One girl who came along with her guitar had been playing in bands around Christchurch since she was 12. Celia was born in Korea and grew up in Christchurch from the age of four. She lived in Auckland now, though. “I like it up there,” she said. She played under the name Tank Top. Her last gig was at the Audio Foundation.

I lit up. “I love that place! So underground.”

“It is underground.” She laughed. “Literally.”

Some of the people who played were longtime friends. Two girls hopped on stage with guitars and voices like liquid honey. Their harmonies blended beautifully.

“That was great!” I crowed to them as they packed. “Do you write your own stuff?” 

“We haven’t had much time yet,” one of the girls said. “My friend just moved back from Queenstown!”

Others had only played together for a matter of weeks. One boy brought his rock band that played all of their own songs. The dynamics were wide and sweeping. 

“They are great,” Geof conceded. 

I thanked him for playing afterwards. He said the band had been together seven weeks. 

“You wrote those songs seven weeks ago?” I asked. 

“Yeah.” He beamed.

Some acts got on stage together after meeting minutes before.

“I have a cajon drum,” one guy said at nine. “If anyone needs a drummer.”

“Celia is up next,” I mused. She was to my left. “Hey Celia, would you like a drummer?”

“That could work,” she said. I stepped back. “Maybe my last two songs,” she told him. “They are the most... melodic.”

He watched her carefully during the first song and joined in. “Texture,” he said after he played. “That’s all that was needed.”

“How long have you been playing together?” I crooned to the stage after their first song ended. 

“Three minutes?” the drummer replied. 

She was only in town for the weekend for her mother's birthday, so it dissolved again in an instant. 

At half past ten, all but half a dozen people vanished, like magic. A few minutes later, our flatmate Brian strode in. 

“You missed it,” I told him. He had agreed to help us host. “Didn’t matter. We didn’t need your street cred.” 

Abi laughed. 

“Thank you for putting this on,” Celia said. She had found out about it the day before. 

A few people said that. 

"So many people were asking if we are going to do this again," Mary told Marcus. 

"Already there," Marcus replied. He suggested a monthly thing. 

“First Thursday is kinda taken. Third Thursday?” I asked.

“Whenever,” Marcus said.

"Can we... keep hosting it?" I asked tentatively. 

"Of course!" he cried.

“Do you have any music online?” the drummer asked Celia. 

She had one song on Bandcamp, she said. “But it’s not very good,” she quickly added. “I might take it down.”

“Don’t do that!” we cried. “Not before we hear it!” Mary got her number. 

“How are we going to find him again?” I wondered of the drummer as he left.

“He’s Lyttelton. A local,” Mary said. “He’ll find us.”

#new zealand #christchurch #music #the darkroom #open mic nights