#Neutral palette wall art

[4homestylist]

Autumn Leaf Wall Art | Rustic Fall Nature Decor

Celebrate the beauty of autumn with this rustic leaf-inspired wall art. Featuring a detailed brown and green chestnut leaf against a minimalist background, this artwork brings the warm and earthy tones of fall into your home. Perfect for modern, rustic, or nature-themed spaces, this piece adds a cozy touch to living rooms, bedrooms, or office spaces. Embrace nature’s charm all year round!

GIT IT BUY HERE

[rhodeskc]

Detroit Dining Room Ideas for a sizable transitional medium tone wood floor kitchen and dining room remodel

[grandisknight]

rafayel: an artist's nails

summary: It’s been a while since your last nail endeavor, and you seek out your creative lover to fill in the missing details once again.

tags: established relationship, fluff, silly rafayel, gender neutral!reader, kisses, light banter, nail polish

wc: 1.0k | (ao3)

a/n: hi hi! eek this is my first time posting like this to tumblr, i'm not too familiar with it so please forgive me for any mistakes (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) i hope my short but sweet little headcanon does rafmc some justice! the idea came to me randomly while angst writing (hhhh) so here we are c:

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“Again?” He looks down at you from the impressive height of his ladder, palette and brush paused in mid motion. The canvas stretching his wall had streaks of pale blue, contrasting the rich sapphire that lay underneath them. Another masterpiece in the making, and you’ve caught him at a somewhat opportune time to air out your proposal.

“Please? I promise it’ll be the last time!” You gave him your best pout, hands clasped together in a pseudo prayer.

“That’s what you said two weeks ago, my love.” Rafayel shakes his head.

“Ra—fa—yel!” You called out, purposefully stringing his vowels in a way that he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to.

“Okay, okay. Give me a moment, yeah?”

Leaving his instruments behind, he descends from the perch of his ladder. Dusting off his hands on the edge of his slacks, he straightens his posture towards you with a few strides. Arms crossed over his chest, the warmth of coral and cooled blue examined your presence up close. “You don’t seem injured. Mission went well?”

“It did! But that’s not what I’m here for.” You flash your hands towards him, wiggling the tips of your fingers for dramatic effect. “Look at how much they’ve grown! They’re begging for a new design, and only one curated by Linkon City’s best painter could do the job.”

The bed of coral acrylic was slowly pushing past your natural nail, unflattering to the eye and no longer holding the fresh sheen it once had. It was long overdue for a retouch, and you trusted your boyfriend’s talented eye to decorate your fingers once more.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he half-heartedly remarks, but takes your hands into his own regardless. His fine fingers delicately trace over the rounded edges of your acrylics, tilting them alongside his head to capture their finish in the warm lighting of his art studio. “Hm… They are longer than before, I’ll give you that.”

An internal score in your mind was being kept, and you just landed your first point. “Exactly. So, I was thinking for the next design—“

“Woah, excuse you.” His fingers intertwined with yours, passing his warmth into your palms. He tugs you closer, hands closed like the prayer you presented just moments ago. Rafayel quirks a brow as he continues.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You paused, a blink of confusion crossing your face. “…Am I?”

The plush of his lips puff out like a fish, awaiting your realization. Ah. You had to pay the kiss toll first—how could you forget?

You met his pout halfway, lightly pressing a kiss to pay your dues forward. Rafayel quickly chases your leaning figure, peppering a second, and then a third, to the lips curling into a faint smile at his antics and he mirrored yours all the same.

“Okay—Raf—Mm!”

He swallowed your interruptions with ones of his own, a barrage of straight smooches fluttering over your mouth. Only after the nth kiss did he finally part, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles with a hum in satisfaction.

“Payment accepted.” Rafayel lowered your hands, only to gently tug them in the direction of his desk.

Pieces of sketch paper and paints, pencils and more laid across the surface as you approached. He lets go momentarily, pulling out a chair and swiping away some tabletop space, before patting on the cushion in invitation.

“Alright, why don’t we start sketching out your ideas, yeah? Let’s see if we can make this new set better than the last.”

…

No sooner than a week later did you return to Mo Art Studio, feeling particularly energized as you practically skipped into his living space.

“Ah, you’re back.”

Rafayel called out to you before you had the chance to speak, swiping another shade of cerulean over the canvas. He looks over his shoulder, eyes twinkling at your appearance and brow upturned in curiosity. “You seem like you’re in a good mood. Did you get them done today?”

You nodded, waving him down with an equally bright expression. “Take a break! I want you to admire your masterpiece.” With an outstretched hand, you await his descending figure in a similar sense of deja vu.

“Yeah? You’re already here though,” Rafayel teases, taking hold of your invitation in turn. “But alrighty. Let’s go.”

Natural habits led your bodies to walk past the floor to ceiling entrance and into the sands hugging his estate. Seagulls chirp overhead as the fragrance of salty seas sting your nose, welcoming in the warmth of sunshine and ocean views all around.

“Maybe the crab from last week is still around,” you mention. “I think it was this way—Ah!”

Rafayel snickers at your enthusiasm, but paused you short of your wandering in an effort to pull you closer to him. He raises your combined hands outwards, turning them in every direction as he observes the new design.

Speckles of pale white and faint pink hugged the tip of your nail, pearly effects blending into the azure gradient that filled the rest of the space. Light traces of a circle or two resemble bubbles, a key seashell charm on your pinky finger and an exclusive Lemurian insignia resembling the bond over his heart were all littered across the set.

He nods in approval, and you could practically see the sharp rise of his shoulders in pride as he spoke. “Ah, they turned out really good this time. I wonder whooo designed them.”

You lean into his playful stance, pressing a kiss to his cheek and watching as his skin flushes in an adoring rouge. “Thank you, my love. Next time, we should do your nails too!”

“Yeah? I don’t know if I want to have another pot with steam drawn by you again,” he retorts, laughing as you lightly pushed his shoulder.

You raised your voice in self-defense, offering him a scolding glare. “Hey! I told you it was a steamed fish. Steamed fish! You of all people should know that well!”

Your voices faded away as you left your footsteps in the sand, the low tides pushing to support the harmony of your banter as the sun slowly settled. Safe to say, you wouldn’t be letting go of these nails blessed by the ocean anytime soon.

[thedustyleaves]

Sorry if you’ve answered this before, but I really love how your illustrations have such a cohesive color palette, how do you pick your colors to have a certain theme without looking monochromatic?

(In your breakdown on the saloon/western BP illustration, you mentioned that the overall color was reddish brown so you added blue to the main group to set them apart. But like how did you decide on which reddish brown colors to use for the flats?)

Thank you!! Your art is really expressive and the colors always work so well in the illustration. I’m always in awe of your pics

That’s an excellent question! My drawings actually start out pretty monochromatic because I tend to put most of my effort into the lighting and shading part to help differentiate where I want people to look.

For all of my pieces, I want my characters to be in focus. So no matter what, I always have to keep their main colors in mind and make sure their outfits and the background don’t clash with them (Kain’s red hair tends to be a problem, pft).

For my flats, I generally work with two main colors that tend to contrast each other and then I mix a lot of neutrals around them. (Sometimes the main colors are in the light and shading itself, but I’ll just focus on the flats!).

Sometimes, I will change the hue of their colors. So while Kain has bright orange hair, I will dull it down if it overwhelms the piece or doesn’t fit with the tone - like I did for the cowboy drawing - but never so much that it no longer looks like him.

With the cowboy drawing as an example, if I strip it down to my flats, it instantly becomes very dull and monochromatic. I really enjoy working with these colors because they’re easy on the eyes (or my eyes specifically) and I can see the difference in subtle hues a lot better than if they were very high in contrast. I like working with subtleties when I want background characters to become a single unit but still be separated as individual people.

When I picked the colors for the background, I wanted to separate the characters from the walls. Therefore, I kept the walls red and gold, and the characters brown - they’re still within the same warm-colored family, but they’re far enough away from each other that they don’t become one with each other. I also like to not have clothes from different characters blend together, so overlapping colours can't be the same. I made one coat lighter than the other, the glove warmer than the dark jacket, and so on.

(their coats are also in the same realm as the green/gold colour of the details for the curtains and the frames on the walls)

For the paintings I actually chose to put a bit of blue and green in to help create some interest for the main characters and keep your eyes around that area, as it matches the blue they’re wearing, just a whole lot darker. It also makes them pop just enough so they look interesting against the wall, but not enough to overshadow the main characters

I know, because of the way I work with layers, that when I add my overlays, I automatically brighten and saturate the colors a lot. It’s a lot easier for me to saturate something “dull” and move it into all kinds of hues than saturating something already high in contrast and then trying to force it into a new color theme.

But because of this, I usually have to go back and change the colors I work with constantly while the overlays are on. Since the overlays don’t know what sort of materials they’re laying on top of, everything gets lighter and washed out, so dark skin tones, hair, and clothes have to be corrected one by one afterward. If I were to remove the overlays after I corrected it to make it feel like a dark blue outfit on Raki, it’s basically just a black void now; but with the overlay, it’s a dark blue outfit. Before that, he simple blended in with the background too much and he didn’t feel like he was a part of the group either. 

I always try to put down colors how I imagine they’re going to look like, unaffected by light, but I’m also naturally drawn toward more earthy and warm tones, so all of my color choices will tend to lean that way.

Here’s another example of main colours vs. neutrals; the main colours are red and green/turquoise, with dark browns and greys to encapsulate them, and gold for accents or to make certain things pop (the chair, Dakon’s dark coat, etc.).

I never want them all to wear the exact same color, but I want them to feel connected and be in the same 'colour family,' so Dakon and Kain have nearly the same dark red/brown, and Christie and Raki have nearly the same 'bright'/red.

The blacks and browns, I’ve kept warm as well, so they stay within that realm of red. I also make sure that none of them are too close to Kain’s hair since he’s in the middle of the piece, and I want your eyes to be drawn toward the middle, and his orange hair helps with that.

The paintings I basically do not care too much about, as long as each individual painting has a single dominating colour. I mute them down with a darker overlay and ensure they don’t have strong shadows and light, so they get pushed to the background, so despite being a bunch of different colours, each painting feels like a solid color and they’re still cast in the same light as the rest of the piece, so they feel like they belong in the same room.

I try to help move the eye around the piece as well, so I keep the big painting sort of in the same realm of red and brown as the main characters, because it’s so big it shouldn’t dominate with a new color and force interest toward it. The blue/purple ones melt in with the background as they’re close to the turquoise background, but without disappearing, the yellow ones work sort of like the gold accents and blend in with the frames, and the green paintings at the top give the illusion of a monochrome fade, so everything gets more eerie and green as the image goes up - there’s also a subtle green fade that affects the gold accents from the top down, to enhance that effect.

This is just a few examples, if there are any pieces in particular you were thinking of, and it’s neither of these, just let me know, and I can break those down as well!

Thank you for the question; I hope I answered it somewhat, and thank you for the kind words! <3

[idonttakethislightly]

In issue #1 of The Power Fantasy, we get at least a glimpse of most of the Superpowers' living or working spaces- the exception is Etienne. For four of them- Valentina, Eliza, Masumi, Magus- the color palettes of their spaces are very similar to how they usually dress, and I also think their spaces are on-point symbolism for who they are. Let's look at the places we see, one by one.

Valentina lives in a small, cozy house on a scrapped-together space station- she loves the small details of human culture, but will always have to take an outsider role. The interior is designed with warm neutrals, similar to the golden yellows she often wears.

Eliza's space is cloaked in shadow, with candelabras and high windows that barely illuminate anything- she's eerie and mysterious, with religious motifs. It's high-contrast black and red, like the colors of her dramatic, costume-like outfits.

Masumi works in a huge warehouse- suited to the large-scale ambitions of her art, but also an industrial space that feels sterile and empty. The pastel paints she uses are all over her outfit, and when she dresses up for her gallery opening, it's in similar pastels.

And Magus works in a dimly-lit pyramid full of strange technomagic- the angles of the walls feel alien and menacing, as do the unfamiliar gadgets. His space includes Pyramid members, not just himself, so its design reflects the messaging he sends them about uncanny power. He dresses in eerie greens that make him almost blend into his environment.

Later we see Valentina's 1962 apartment and Magus's 1978 flat, which tell us more about how those two have changed or stayed the same. But I want to talk about how issue #1 dedicates one page each to those four characters and their spaces- a very obvious parallelism that leaves out Etienne and Heavy.

Etienne's traveling, so of course he can't be depicted within that pattern. He also comments to Tonya that he likes travel, and in issue #3 he implies that he flies transatlantic pretty regularly, so it's possible that he feels just as comfortable traveling the world than staying home.

But Heavy… he's at home, taking Etienne's psychic call just like everyone else. But he's outside the pattern because his relationship to his space is different.

Haven is beautiful. It's all pastels, it's full of flourishing houseplants, it's built with swooping curves rather than workaday right angles. There's enough charming little details that if I tried to make a comprehensive list you'd get bored reading it. The oveall aesthetic effect is peaceful, luxurious, idealistic, and gentle.

Basically, Heavy is completely at odds with the city he built. It's his place, for his people… but notice how the forty-something guy in pajamas stands out among all the beautiful young people with impeccable fashion sense. Four of the Superpowers seem to have designed their signature space to represent the way they live their lives. So why does Heavy live in a space that doesn't look or feel anything like him?

I see a couple possible takes on that. You could think of the discrepancy as straightforward hypocrisy- he founded his city on ideals he consistently fails to live up to. But… well, I have an alternate take that's kind of personal. I'm saving the details for another post, but basically: I think Heavy knows that Haven is the opposite of the face he presents to the world, and that's exactly the point.

[merakiui]

11:11 — sugar dew sewn anew.

yandere!rook hunt x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, violence, murder/death of reader, description of blood/injuries, rook is rather morbid and creepy in this fic note - this fic is the result of a character fic poll, in which rook was the winner.

“You wear a very forlorn face when you paint, mon cher.”

You swivel on the stool, legs unfolding at the ankles, to properly peer past the easel at the man who sits in a gold-and-white satin chair, backdropped by various animal heads. They’re mounted with such care, each one organized according to where it lies on the food chain. They almost form a pyramid when you look at them from where you’re seated. From a dusky brown house mouse to a pitch-black crow, the heads range in species and size, all arranged on a vermillion wall. 

The biggest one, sitting in the very center of the display, right above your client’s head, is a chestnut-colored buck with a pair of magnificent antlers curling from its scalp. From where Rook sits, it almost looks like those horns are sprouting from his head. Contemplating the discrepancies between man and buck, you swirl your brush through a muddy cup of water and survey the rest of the aureate placards until you reach the top.

There’s a mount lacking a head. 

It was the first thing you took notice of after stepping through the halls of this quaint cabin to reach the sitting room. Although, after spending hours enclosed in cedarwood walls, it feels more like a trophy room—a place meant to showcase the spoils of every hunt rather than welcome people with disarming decorations. 

Rook crosses one leg over the other and, resting his elbows upon his knee, steeples his hands. You peer at the antlers, noting the valiant curvature, before meeting his verdant stare. A grin slowly sprawls on his lips once he realizes you’ve caught his gaze. 

“I concentrate on my source,” you explain with a shrug, still twirling the brush through the water. “Steady focus makes a steady hand…or something along those lines.”

“And yet you never smile, even when working so diligently to bring your masterpiece to completion.”

“If I viewed it as such, then I would have reason to smile.” Your contemptuous scowl slides to the canvas, where you’ve painted two dull green eyes set into a freckle-speckled face. The beginnings of a smile trace the portrait’s plush lips, withholding secrets no one will ever know. “I’ve yet to create a masterpiece. Therefore I can’t smile.”

“Oh, you’re much too critical of your art!” Unclasping his hands, Rook places one upon his chest, as if he must calm his heart after hearing your response. “I’ve studied your work, both through a screen and in person, and as your devout follower I can wholeheartedly say it is beautiful in every way, even down to the miniscule flaws other critics often spot with sharp, perceptive eyes!”

“You speak as if I lead a cult,” you admit with a sheepish chuckle. “I’m just painting the things I find interesting.”

“For a reason, I assume?”

“Usually it’s to find inspiration for what I hope will be my first masterpiece. I’d like to finally feel proud of my work.” The brush peruses the colorful selection on your palette, settling into the green you’ve mixed from yellow and blue. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I just can’t find it in me to love what I produce.”

“But you enjoy creating, yes?”

“Of course. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. Painting allows me to understand the world and its inhabitants through my own lens.” You put brush to canvas in a series of small, significant strokes. “So when I’m painting… Well, I guess I just want to try to love the things I put on my canvases, even if it’s impossible.”

“Is that so? Then I’m beyond flattered you would ever consider using me as your most beloved muse!” He tilts his head, suddenly more animated than when he first sat down to pose for you, and adds, “I love you, too. Very much, my little artiste.”

“Are you just saying that so I’ll paint you handsomely?”

“Why, I would never say anything that would influence or persuade your process! Just as I love sweetly and solemnly, I also love monstrously and mercilessly. The primal facets of humankind are not exempt from my loving eyes. Even the most dirty and deceitful corners of this world—I love those just as fiercely. So should you choose to depict me as a fiend, I will adore your representation regardless of its harsh implications. After all, there’s beauty in tragedy.”

“And would that make life the greatest tragedy?” You hum as you add a sadistic glimmer to the eyes on the canvas. They pierce you with their unblinking stare, hollowing your soul until they reach unfathomable depths. “Or maybe it’s the ability to love with such a big heart?”

“Are you suggesting love is a tragedy? I suppose, in some sad sense, it is. Unrequited feelings, shattered hearts, lovers separated by way of death or divorce, and even the type of love that curdles like spoiled milk—oh, the misfortune! Each is a tragic tale spun from a mixture of melancholy or the intensity of hatred and all-consuming loneliness. But even so, no matter how horrendous it may seem, I hold each in my heart. They’re beautiful because they have the unique ability to shape a person into someone new—for better or for worse.” 

You lower your arm, hesitating while the excuses rise to the surface, before turning to look at him. “I’ve never known real love, Mr. Hunt, which is why I’m trying to capture it while I paint. I suspect I’ll be able to smile at my work because it will be something I’ve fallen in love with. Only then can I consider it a true masterpiece.”

“Your way of thinking is simply très bien!” He drums his fingers along his knee, humming his contemplation. “I’d love to unscrew your skull and poke through your brain. I wonder what memories have shriveled your ability to love…”

“It’s not that it’s shriveled. It’s just…” You shrug, losing your previous statement. “The words ‘I love you’ are just that—words. I have no use for meaningless sentiments. If I force myself to love, it feels wrong. I can like people and things, but loving them is too much. I can’t cross that line. If I did, I’d be a liar.” 

“Ah, so it’s like that…” Rook chuckles, but none of what you said was remotely humorous. His voice lowers to a whisper, ghostly and haunting, as if wrapping around your head and settling into the very folds of your brain. “I find it charming that you’re unable to love and I love too much. We possess many differences, and yet at the very center of it all we’re merely human beings composed of flesh and blood. It’s a beauty more stunning than the most radiant sunset!”

You pretend to have not heard him, resigning yourself to your work as you spend an absurd amount of time trying to illustrate the peculiar glaze in his eyes. They’re always so bright, but here you’ve painted them as soulless, viridescent sockets—a dark, dense forest having lost its vivid greenery with winter’s frost. But then there is not an ounce of ice within Rook’s eyes. They are always smoldering with many things: enthusiasm, intellect, new opinions just waiting to be shared regardless of whether or not you wish to hear them. It’s a genuine warmth, but something feels strange. Out of place. Much like the headless mount poised right above Rook to form the tip of the pyramid. 

Why is that mount lacking a head?

Without realizing it, you’ve abandoned your task with fixing his eyes to start on the antlers poking from a head of canary-hued hair. 

“You live up to your surname, sir.”

“Please, you’re much too formal with your fan. You need only call me Rook, should it suit your fancy.” He giggles when you pin him with a dubious glare. “Is it so wrong to label myself as such? I go to great lengths out of admiration and support of your work. Wouldn’t that, by definition, make me your fan?”

“I’m not very famous.”

“In my eyes, you are the famed sun and I am merely the moon who hopelessly pursues.” 

“Really? Well, I wasn’t aware I had an eloquent hunter for a fan.”

“Do you find my hobby eccentric?”

“No. It’s normal to enjoy all sorts of pastimes. Hunting is as much of a hobby as it is a sustainable sport. In older times, most people would hunt for the sake of survival.”

Rook nods, his gaze flicking towards the heads on the wall. You dip your brush in brown paint to add more color to the antlers. “It takes immaculate patience to be a hunter. Most hunts are not always successful.”

“Is there a reason you hunt?”

“It’s in a human’s nature to obtain the unobtainable, and I seek beauty in its most visceral forms.”

“I see…”

“Do you?” Rook crosses his legs again, but this time his posture is stiffly statuesque. “Is obsession not the most flattering form of dedication?”

“It’s not exactly how I’d go about defining dedication… But then I suppose everyone has their reasons.” You steal a peek at the headless mount. “Do these heads mean anything to you?”

“Why, of course! They are the beautiful animals I have pierced with my arrow, whether or not I intended to. Often, when you trek through the territory of beasts, you might need to release a mortally wounded animal from its suffering.”

“So a mercy kill.” Your eyes return to the painting, where you set to work adding tiny blossoms along the curved antlers. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

“So goes the cycle of life, I’m afraid. I would be a daring fool to interfere with the balance of the world.”

“Have you ever lost any of your hunts?”

Rook hums, tapping out a rhythm against the top of his hand. The pads of his fingers fall in rapid succession: tick, tick, tick, tick. “As a matter of fact, I have! Just last week, after your departure, I lost the mouse I’ve been trying to catch for years now.”

“Years? Shouldn’t you give up?”

“Not until I feel that mouse’s heart beat within my enclosed fist.” He smiles wide, flashing flawless rows of pearly whites. Under the dim lighting, they appear sharp and predatory. “I suspect I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“How can you be sure? Mice are difficult to catch with bare hands. You’ll need a trap.”

“Mon cher, you wound me! I would never make such an amateur error.” He chuckles to himself, relishing in the cruelty of a joke that doesn’t quite land. “When I set my sights on something, it’s a guarantee I will catch it, even if I must play a dreadful waiting game.”

“My apologies. I was only passing on a helpful tip.”

You pull away from the canvas to inspect the strands of white dahlias curled around the man’s antlers. Frowning, you raise your arm, intending to slash through the portrait with a streak of black paint, when it occurs to you that you need only add red. 

But before carmine, you return to nature reflected in wide greens.

“Has my dear artiste ever hunted before?”

“No, not really. I seek inspiration all the time, but I wouldn’t call that a hunt.”

“Oh? Please elaborate.”

“There are stakes in a hunt. Life and death. Danger. A battle of wits between predator and prey. Looking for inspiration is just a matter of searching and exploring. It might lead some down scary paths, but for me it’s a matter of reading more books or taking a stroll through the town. I don’t like dangerous things, so I tend to avoid them.”

“It pays to be cautious, no?”

“Right. Shouldn’t you be the same, Rook? As a hunter, don’t you worry about what might happen if you aren’t careful?”

“Of course there are worries! That comes with every profession and hobby.” He gestures to the plastic tarps plastered to the floor and walls. “You worried you’d sully my floors, and to ease such a fear I put these protective plastics up. My worries for hunting may be different, but they are worries all the same.”

“I guess that’s true… Well, what do you worry about?”

“Whether I’ll be fast enough to catch my prey when they’re unarmed and unaware.”

“O-Oh… That’s a little…”

Rook laughs a guttural laugh—a sound that comes right from the depths of his chest. “Imagine something you’ve always wanted. Picture it slipping through your fingers, just out of your reach, and now you’ve lost the chance to seize it. Is that not worth a worry or two?”

“I can’t say. I’ve never tried to chase after things I knew I wouldn’t be able to have.”

“Mon cher, you must learn to take risks. How else will you live?”

“I live perfectly fine without the need to step out of my comfort zone.”

Rook hums. “I think you’d change your tune if you found yourself in a risky situation.”

“Define risky.”

“Life and death.”

You pause, your brush poised at the pupil in his eye. “Everyone wants to survive. It’s in our nature as animals. A very basic instinct.” 

“And despite our most dedicated efforts to stall the inevitable, death catches us all—some sooner than most.”

“This is getting kinda…morbid.” 

“Haven’t you wondered,” he asks, and you don’t hear the wood creak under approaching feet, “what someone might do if they found your corpse?” 

He’s behind you. Five steps away in this cubic space. The man with antlers has crawled out of the canvas that once confined him, and he’s behind you. 

The mount on the wall lacks a head. 

The man in the chair lacks antlers. 

The creature in the portrait lacks humanity.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a voice recorder tucked away beneath the chair. 

You swallow thickly, your heart in your throat. “I… I’m not sure. I’d hope they’d give me a proper, respectful burial if I died of natural causes.” 

And if it wasn’t natural causes? 

You don’t hear him verbalize the question, but somehow you catch it amidst the smothering silence.

“If it wasn’t natural causes…” You force a laugh, but it’s flat and misplaced just like the headless mount. “That would be murder, right?”

His shadow looms behind you, cast ominously dark over the earthly colored canvas. Slowly, so slowly, your free hand lowers to the pocket in your artist’s apron, where a dozen palette knives rest. Trembling fingers peruse the selection, locating the one with the sharpest point, and it’s the heaviest burden you’ve ever secured in your fist. You remain sitting horribly still on the stool, listening only to the frantic, slick sound of blood rushing in your ears. 

Steeling your frayed nerves, you whirl just as he descends. 

There’s a pause, a stumbled heartbeat, and then raw fear coagulates into confusion when you find him sitting primly in his chair, his verdant stare striking through you as if it’s an arrow he’s just loosed. It hits its mark, for it leaves you pinned in perplexity. 

He was behind me.

“And… And what about you?” you ask, your tongue heavy and thick in your mouth. “If someone… If I found your corpse, what would you want me to do with it?”

He was behind me. I’m sure of it.

“That wouldn’t happen.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile, and he angles his head curiously. “Normally it’s the other way around.”

You see it, then. The silver glint of a sharpened meat cleaver. It lies in his lap, where his fingers curl around the wooden handle, and all while holding eye contact he continues to smile. His teeth are refined cutlery in the light: artfully honed, yet not quite serrated, they’re tough enough to bite and tear and chew. Like a deer trapped in the hauntingly hypnotic glow of oncoming headlights, you don’t dare move. Perspiration wets your brow, slides down your back between your shoulder blades. You lick your lips. Anticipation claws through your intestines, nestling in the very pit of your stomach. Bile creeps its way up your throat like acidic fingers.

What’s happening?

“Come now, ma souris, don’t give me such a sullen face! I’ve shown you my hand. Isn’t that a miracle more beautiful than life itself?”

Your hold on the little palette knife tightens. “One person’s going to leave this room,” you say, your eyes sliding to the recording device, “and it’s not going to be me. Isn’t that right, Rook?”

“I can’t possibly say,” he affirms, dulcet and smooth like rivers of blood running ruby-red from a broken nose. His finger drums a rhythm against the flat side of the cleaver. “But I can certainly guess.”

Carefully, you rise from the stool. His eyes track you, so full of the vitality of the color green. More than that, they’re bright with bloodlust and you’ve been caught in the crosshairs of his cutting gaze. He peers at your unfinished painting and chuckles.

“Even your interpretation of me is beautiful! It’s an honor to be your fan, ma souris. Truly, I’m quite happy.”

You brandish the palette knife as if that will do anything to protect you from him. He stands from his seat, a monster adorned in gloomy garb. Like a stain against the red wall of heads, he no longer fits into the picture you once thought he did. Rather, he is blight in human form, a sinister omen housed within a skeleton encased in friendly skin. 

And he’s walking right towards you, putting one foot in front of the other, in no hurry to rush. The cleaver taps against his hip as he approaches, each bump mirroring every one of your heartbeats with startling accuracy. 

“Are… Are you unhappy with my portrayal?” you ask, not particularly interested in his reply, but desperate to keep him talking at arm’s length. 

For every step he takes, you take two backwards. 

“Not at all! In fact, I’m flattered.” Rook narrows his eyes at you, sickly entertained. “You’ve made prey out of a predator. Not many are capable of such a generous feat.” 

Your back connects with the door. Swallowing thickly, you search for the door knob. “Do you really see yourself as one? You don’t have to be one. Y-You can be neither. You’re only human.”

“Ah, but humans are the worst kind of predator.”

“What makes you say that?” Your fingers wrap around the metal door knob.

“Humans are afforded choices. We think through decisions. We make merry with our enemies and then hurt them after they’ve properly settled. We are complex in a way that differs from other animals. Predators are bound by survival, always trapped in high-stakes life or death, unable to truly make a decision that ventures beyond whether they wish to live another day or become sustenance for those who sit a rung above on the food chain. You see, we are not simple predators.” He raises the cleaver and points it at you. “As for humans, we can decide if we want to feel something when we hurt and kill. We can communicate in languages simple predators can’t use. Oh, the beauty of words!” He chuckles, elated. “To pluck a phrase from my vast lexicon: I’m going to take your life for myself, ma souris. Stow it within the depths of my very soul so that I may be the only one to treasure your rarity.”

The confession guts you quicker than his knife ever could. 

Wrenching the door open, you turn on your heel and step through, ready to break into a sprint, when heavy footfalls make their way towards you from behind. He covers the meager distance in seconds, wrapping a muscled arm around your torso and yanking you back into the room. You scream, words and sounds mixing into something incoherent, and elbow him in the ribs with as much force as you can muster. He releases you and you, fueled with panic and adrenaline, drop to your knees just as he swings, your hand closing around the palette knife you had previously lost. 

Somehow you manage to get back on your feet when he descends again, this time intentionally missing your shoulder when he brings the cleaver down. It cuts through the sliver of space between empty air and your own body, narrowly missing you by a hair. You throw yourself against the wall, entangled in a plastic tarp that comes loose from its hooks. They fall around you in noisy pitter-patters, something akin to metallic rainfall, and you hit the floor with a harsh thump.

And all the while, the mounts continue to peer at you with glass eyes.

“There’s no need to fall over yourself in a frantic haste. You’ll waste all of your energy, and even then adrenaline won’t be enough to fuel you. I’ll catch you if you aren’t careful…” He smiles at you from where he stands, green eyes cold with calculation. “Let’s take a moment to chat, shall we? I’d like to regale you with the five stages of the delightful thing known as prey drive. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

“No, of course not,” you spit, vitriol lacing every syllable. Your pupils flit about the room, tracing the cleaver in his hand and then flickering towards the chair. The recording device sits in shadow, just within your reach. If you can stand up, take two steps forward, and drop down when he moves to intercept, you might be able to retrieve it. “Enlighten me since you seem so eager to run your mouth.”

Rook chuckles and enunciates his every step with a whistle. He reaches the chair in three steps and kicks the recording device out from under it. You watch it skid across the floor towards you, settling mere inches from your feet. You glance at it; it’s still recording, seconds stapled into it with every tick of your heart.

“A dog searches.” His back is turned to you, and he gazes at the mounts on the wall. You lower just enough to swipe the device from the ground. It’s not heavy in your palm; rather, it’s palm-sized and it slips into your pocket like a silent knife through butter. “And when it finds, it stalks. Have you caught the pattern yet?”

His neck is right there. All you need to do is rush up to him, grab him from behind, and drive the palette knife so far into the side of his neck that it’ll surely cause some sort of distress. Or you could turn and run. You have evidence. You have his address. You have your car. You can escape. You can drive far away from this horrifying cabin in the woods and never return. You can live. 

You can run.

“And from there…” 

So you do.

He whirls just as you dart through the door, over the threshold into the hall, and you miss the crazed twinkle reflected in wild, untamed green eyes. Rook’s laughter follows you, airy and light like a comforting breeze. He’s alive with murderous delight, and you’re nearly dead with fright. 

“Ensues the chase!” he calls out, so close in the cramped confines of the hall that his voice nearly grazes you. 

You swallow your sobs, pressing onwards with hardened resolve, and follow the length of the hall until it spits you out into another room. It’s undeniably a kitchen, what with the refrigerator and microwave pushed into a corner, but it’s furnished more like a lab. Nearly every appliance is metallic and the floors are tiled, constructed with surfaces that are perfect for washing away pesky fluids. A drain is built into the very center of the floor, sticking out like the nastiest bruise. You spy meat hooks hanging in place of where spatulas and whisks ought to be—both of which are innocent culinary tools meant to assist in food preparation rather than something killer. 

Spinning on your feet, you locate the door opposite of where you stand in the small kitchen-lab and take a momentous step towards it, hoping it leads you closer to an exit and further from your hunter, when a cold hand seizes your wrist, spidery digits curling into your skin. A shrill scream rips from the depths of your throat, surely shredding your vocal chords into bloody ribbons. You struggle, yanking your arm in vain, for his hold is impossibly strong. He tugs you towards him, his feet moving in time with the shuffling of yours. It’s a stiff stalemate of a waltz. You pull away and he pursues, his hand creeping up your arm in an attempt to pin it to the nearest surface. With another helpless shriek, you tear yourself free, staggering backwards against the metal table, which rolls further away on well-oiled wheels. Your horrified reflection blinks back at you in the shine, and with a sunken heart you realize it’s a dissection table. 

“Mon cher, I must say, you wear disarray so naturally. It’s far too forbidden for my simple eyes to behold.” 

“Why… Why are you doing this?” Your voice is thick with terror, sore from screaming, and you wipe furiously at your glossy eyes. “Please stop… You’ve had your fun. Now… Now let me go. I… I promise I won’t come back here again. Y-You can keep all of the supplies and the canvas. Just let me go…”

A secretive smile stretches slowly across his lips. “Oh, how Fortuna graces me with the benevolent opportunity to admire these special sides of yours. To be able to witness the rawness of pure horror after cornering the most dangerous animal of all…” He pricks his finger on the tip of the blade and adds in a breathy whisper, “Beauté.”

A disgusted shiver claws its way up your spine. You glare at him. “So it’s the thrill you enjoy, yeah? It doesn’t faze you that you’re going to kill an innocent person?!” 

He tilts his head. “Rather than snuffing your light, I intend to give new life to your excellence. In many ways, aren’t I also an artist?” 

“Like hell! You’re crazy!” You take a step back when he advances, moving towards you like a graceful panther stalking its prey. Your grip on the palette knife tightens. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?” 

“Nothing, mon amour.”

“N-Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing!” he reaffirms, rather conversationally, and the frustration-riddled tension in your body deflates all at once. 

“But… But I thought—” You shake your head, hopelessly searching for a means of convincing him otherwise in his pursuit, and say, “I thought you… You said you loved me! Can you really hurt someone you love?”

Rook hesitates, his feet shuffling to a halt, and he peers blankly at you, all emotions veiled in a stoic mask. “While it’s true that I will always cherish you in life, I must also come to love you in death. If I’m unable to accept even the rotting and decaying sides of everlasting love that most shy away from, then I’m simply undeserving of my title as a hunter. If I seek the wonders of life, it’s only fair I seek the wonders of death all the same. You understand, don’t you?”

“No! In what world would I ever understand that logic?!” You point the palette knife at him. “You don’t have to kill me. You really don’t have to…”

“I suppose, if I’m to apologize for anything, I should ask that you forgive my greedy behavior. I’m hopelessly infatuated with your work, so allow me to thank you for all that you have shown me tonight. I promise to repay your tenderness tenfold.”

He smiles, stepping aside to allow you passage through the door, and foolishly you take the bait. It’s a run through tar—something you’d only ever experience in a dream, in which outrunning a villain is an impossible task. You make it through the door and out into the hall, and from there your only goal is to mindlessly flee towards safety. Tears obscure your vision, clinging to your lashes like fragile sugar dew. 

You think you see the outline of a faraway door, but perhaps it’s just the illusion brought on by mournful tears. 

You think you’ll make it to freedom, but perhaps it’s just the animalistic desire to survive that ignites your nerves. 

You think you can escape the horrors of encroaching affection, but it slips into your hand, tight and reassuring. 

Tugged into the kitchen-lab, your back collides with Rook’s chest. His grip is bone-crushing, and you don’t hear anything he’s saying—is he humming or waxing poetry?—but you feel the warmth of spreading blood as it soaks through your shirt and stains your artist’s apron. The palette knife slips from your grasp, landing on the floor with a noisy clatter. You peer down at your abdomen, where the cleaver is snugly nestled in your stomach. 

The cleaver. 

It’s in your stomach. 

He’s stabbed you. 

The cleaver. 

It’s in your stomach. 

It doesn’t hurt. Not at first. The shock snuffs the agony. He twists it gingerly, once or twice, before he yanks it out. Sticky strings of torn flesh and blood cling to the blade, connecting it to the injury he’s inflicted. Then you feel the rush of torturous, agonizing pain, and it stings more than anything you've ever experienced before. Red-hot, thick trails of blood trickle through your fingers when you shakily place your hand upon the wound, hoping to stop the flow. Rook clicks his tongue and guides you towards the dissection table, your feet dragging bonelessly upon the floor as you’re led along. You try to fight him, but everything’s so painful, and so all you can manage is a slight shake of the shoulders. Your world spins, and your mind reels as it struggles to process the dangerous gash. 

“After the chase,” he says, lowering you onto the table despite your blubbery protests, “the dog grabs its prey in a sharp-toothed bite and then it kills.” 

“S-Stop… You…” Your fingers curl into shredded skin, and you press down with as much strength as your shuddering body can muster. Blood continues to seep through the cracks between your fingers. “You… You’ll kill me…”

“Well, that’s the point, no?” Rook pets your cheek, fondness glittering in his green eyes. 

You peer up at him through bleary eyes, reaching for his face with a trembling hand. “Please… I’m begging you… It h-hurts… Please…” A helpless sob wracks through your frail form. “Please, Rook…”

For a while—whether an eternity or merely a few seconds, it’s hard to discern—he watches you fade in and out of consciousness, your groans a haunting melody in the discomforting quiet. Eventually, his hand finds yours on the table, limp and twitching, and envelops it in a firm hold.

Blissfully ignorant to your wheezing gasps, he begins to murmur: “‘Out—out are the lights—out all. And, over each quivering form, the curtain, a funeral pall, comes down with the rush of a storm. While the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm that the play is the tragedy, ‘Man.’” He looms over you like a ghastly shadow, lips arranged in a gleeful grin. “‘And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.’”

The time is 11:11 at night when you finally fall into Death’s frigid embrace, never to wake again. 

11:11 - the mystical time at which the universe tugs celestial cotton from its ears and listens to wishes and woes alike. it is not a promise that all wishes will be granted and all woes will be soothed at this hour.

The time is 11:11 in the morning, and sweet, twittering birdsong flutters into the trophy room through a window left ajar. 

The sun has long since risen, casting radiant beams through the thinning slices between the trees. Rook Hunt hums as he works, deft fingers perusing various cosmetics arranged on a metal tray. Eyeshadow is applied to delicate, paper-thin eyelids, each one pinned open in the permanence of preservation. Glass marbles are set into hollow sockets, colored in memory of the eyes that were once attached to a brain via optic nerves. He matches foundation to the skin tone, which works well to hide meticulous stitching and mottled flesh. He’s humming in tune with the birds, the nearby rushing stream, and the swaying foliage caught up in a wind gust, relishing in nature’s symphony. 

“You claimed you’d finally smile after you’ve learned to love,” Rook observes, petting the top of the head, feeling human hair beneath his rough, calloused palm. “And now you beam brighter than the sun outside! Perhaps it’s because of me? You’ve always been so honest with your heart. It’s a facet I most adore.”

His gaze slides towards the unfinished painting propped against the wall, where an antlered man smiles at his viewer, his green eyes filled with a mysterious forest. 

“Have you always thought me to be prey?” Rook pauses, awaiting an answer, and snatches a lipstick from the selection. “Or maybe this is an artist’s ideal vision… Perhaps it’s a fantasy you’ve wished to see or a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Escapism is most magnificent when it’s comforting.” He opens the lipstick and surveys the color with his observant greens. He inhales deeply and catches notes of the cedarwood cabin walls and the floral perfume he spritzed on his dear artiste. “Though it may not be your masterpiece, it’s one that will forever fascinate.”

Red blooms on dry lips that can no longer scream or protest. He cups a cheek stuffed with the finest wood wool, palming an area that was once bruised and broken. The grisly mark has been painted over, and now it is out of sight and, as far as the hunter is concerned, out of mind. As the saying goes, before one can broach beauty, one must suffer some degree of destruction. 

Rook steps down from the ladder and sets the tray of cosmetics on the gold-and-white satin chair. He lifts his hands, fingers forming the borders of a rectangle to frame you in his own portrait. At long last, the headless mount has its head and the pyramid of trophies is complete. There’s a crooked smile sewn into features expertly stitched to finalize beguiling taxidermy. 

With a covert grin, Rook peers through his fingers at your head situated at the very tip of a tragic triangle.

“After all, prey are the prettiest when they’re dyed scarlet.”

[wanderingsimsfinds]

Decorating a house/lot with clutter is probably one of my favorite parts of building. This list has everything from books, to art supplies, to rugs, to clothing, to more practical clutter. 

WanderingSims Fave CC - Clutter

1 - Lulu265 - Classic 1 Tile Sheer Curtain (TSR)

2 - Lulu265 - Classic 2 Tile Sheer Curtain (TSR)

3 - Lulu265  - Classic 3 Tile Sheer Curtain (TSR)

4 - TheNumbersWoman - Ikea Pac Uggdal Bedroom Sheers (TSR)

5 - you-lust - szabolon Papers Wall Clutter

6 - SketchbookPixels - SIMPLY MXIMS Woli House Board

7 - wondymoon - Terbium Key Holder (TSR)

8, 11 - Kale House - 4t3 MXIMS IKEA Kubbis Wall Hook & Ferm Living Frame Pinboard

9 - Mutske - Hallway Leon Umbrella Stand (TSR)

10 - Simstiful - Backpack

12 - Julietsimscc - 4t3 Leosims Keys Rack Smaller

13, 16 - MOONSims3 - Vans Authentic Pro A MXIMS & Vans SK8 HI B MXIMS

14 - Lies-and-Crooked-Sims - Pixicat Converses 01

15 - Simstiful - Decor Dirty Shoes

17 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 heurrs Nielstrup Dresser

18 - cyclonesue - Air Conditioning Unit (TSR)

19, 33 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 novvvas Desierto Bedroom (Buddha & Books)

20 - ArtVitalex - Yuma Triple Shelf (TSR)

21 - Milla - Acne Pansy Beanie Hat

22 - johziii - Wooden Desk Shelf Empty

23 - SimplyStyling - Jope Living 5 Books

24, 39 - SimplyStyling - Jope Living 4 Side Board & Basket

25 - MarcusSims91 - Kalico Blanket Throw Ladder (TSR)

26 - SimplyStyling - Jope Living 1 Books

27-32 - Taultvec - Slox Hasare Books 1-6 Standing

34 - you-lust - Lisennymphy Buddha

35, 46, 54 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Syboulette Pride Set (Wall Flag, Hat, Bag)

36-38, 47, 49, 53 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Simbishy Cute Stationary Set Part 3 (Felt Pen Wall Array, Highlighter Wall Array, Marker Wall Array, Marker Array, Highlighter Array, Drawer Closed)

40-41 - Simstiful - Sketchbook & Notebook

42-45 - Milla - Luna Books 1-4

48, 50 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Simbishy Cute Stationary Set Part 2 (Felt Pen Array & Highlighter Array)

51, 55 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 pqSim4 Study Space (Organizer & Trolley)

52 - you-lust - BillyJean Brush Holder

56 - Simstiful - Canvas Art

57 - SweetMarie222 - BS Mila Watercolor Milla Version (TSR)

58 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Soloriya Art Studio Acrylic Paint Tubes

59-62, 66, 68, 70 - you-lust - Imadako Set (Watercolour Box Open, Pencil Cup Water Colour Umesara, Crayon Box Open, Watercolour Brush Stand, Watercolour Pencil Box, Watercolour Palette)

63-65, 71 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Soloriya Darina Set (Painting A, Painting B, Fabric with Brushes, Paint Tubes & Pencils)

67, 69 - Milla - Cassandre Pencil Cup 2 No Shininess & Stamp Version

72-74 - Pralinesims - Vintage Rugs 1-3 (TSR)

75 - Pralinesims - Soft Flokati (TSR)

76 - pseudodigs - Moroccan Rugs

77-79 - francythatsims - Neutral Rugs (2x3, 4x3, Runners)

80-83 - johziii - Rugs! Set 2x3 & 3x4 (Boho, Earthy, Monochrome, Vanilla)

84 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Cowbuild Minotti Rug Collection (Swatch A 3x2 & 7x5)

85 - MarcusSims91 - Address Planter

86 - MarcusSims91 - Modern Address Numbers Bellrose

[madameriasims4]

A Touch of Deco Wall Set (BGC)

So there's this HSY wall in the masonry category, and it's in a some sandstone-colored swatches but the texture also looks a bit like wood??

Anyway, this wall is a touch of art deco, which hopefully works with a few different design styles if you squint a little. As with any wall I end up posting, this comes in two packages:

MadameRiaATouchOfDecoWallLightWood

MadameRiaATouchOfDecoWallDarkWood

Each package is BGC, found in Wallpaper and Paneling, and has 64 swatches, with 32 striped and 32 un-striped counterparts.

Download link below the cut!

This was kind of a weird exercise in color picking for me! I tried to pick wood tones from the Seasons, RoM, and HSY windows, but of course with every new wood tone the swatch count increases exponentially. So this feels like my most limited palette yet, with only 8 colors for the base wall.

I hope there are enough neutrals that can fit into most rooms, but I couldn't resist a few bold colors. My first instinct was not to have any red swatch at all, but that seemed very imbalanced so I gave in and picked one. I'm still not 100% sure about it though.

Download (Patreon) Always free, no ads.

Attribution: Wood texture (top molding) by Menaceman44 | Seamless Grey Fabric Texture (edited) from texturiseclub

[ipegchangbin]

— lines, lines, and more lines

hyunjin x reader | 4.5k words

♡ ... accompanying playlist. Hyunjin stared at the unfinished painting. It always seemed to stare back. And its eyes — it had none — looked like yours.

❥ angst. hurt, comfort. hopeful ending. ❥ not beta read. gender neutral reader (no pronouns). past breakup. declining mental health (depression). mentions of suggestive activity. exes to…

📝 happy valentine’s day! art & playlist by me. otherwise, enjoy.

18+ only. minors do not interact.

Should he have called you?

He loves all sorts of art. He has not once ever hated a single piece, thinking that all works were masterpieces in their own right.

Standing in the corner of the room, though, was a canvas he hated to see. Hyunjin didn’t dislike your unfinished painting, but he hated being reminded of what could’ve been.

It had been a year yet nothing in that corner of the room had changed. He always used the studio, of course, the large open workspace full of ideas that came to fruition and stored the ones that didn’t in unsealed paint cans and palettes with stories in them.

The room was littered — half-clean thanks to weekly maintenance — but not dusty. It was a calculated mess, typical for an artist, atypical for a depressed romantic.

Because all but one goddamn corner of the room changed. That one painting stood on that easel, paint dried yet not chipping once off its canvas.

It was supposed to be a portrait of his face. You finished the perimeter of his head, his bangs and mullet colored in, and an underpainting of his skin was in the works. His lips were as luscious as you used to claim — one of his favorite compliments, he wouldn’t admit — and they were frozen in an ever-present gentle smile. He didn’t have any eyes yet, but your rendition of him stared back at Hyunjin like a warped reflection in moving water.

Yet it seemed to stand still in time.

That’s why he called you. After months of no contact, he dialed you up at 2 AM in a state of slightly calmed panic. Hyunjin wasn’t thinking; he didn’t want to think, not anymore. All he wanted was to see you.

He bit his lips that you once said were luscious and full. The anticipation in his system only seemed to outweigh the feeling of his teeth clamping his lower lip.

Autopilot drew over his actions. Your phone rang. His own vibrated in his hand. He allowed the speaker to ring across the colorfully-decorated walls of the studio.

Please, pick up.

“Hello?”

Hyunjin blinked and suddenly he was back to where he was. The call had been over twenty minutes ago. It would be approximately ten more minutes before you’d arrive at his doorstep.

Was that really your voice that he heard?

Can’t be stupid, of course that was you. There was no mistaking the calm and soothing timbre of a voice that had just awoken, not from sleep, but from resting a stretch of time without speech.

Maybe he dreamt it up again? No, he didn’t. Then, why did he do that?

Hyunjin, are you fucking stupid? He couldn’t help his thoughts.

It’s no secret that he’d slip into that same blurry headspace, the one where he’d stop thinking and just do. Do things. Do whatever. It would take a bone to the head for him to even stop him at this state and it was painfully clear whenever he was in this trance.

He wouldn’t speak much. He’d pick up whatever he was supposed to hold and focus with deathly control. He’d zone in instead of out; this regularly occurred when he was painting, and he’d lose track of thought and simply keep going.

Is that why my works are more soulless lately? I don’t think when I make them. Hyunjin waved a hand in front of his sleepy eyes.

The downside to this was that, after the autopilot switches off, the flurry of thoughts would race and speed and subsequently crash. His thoughts were bullet trains that resumed motion and his head had tracks suddenly converging at a point. It’s wild, even to him, and he still isn’t sure if he’s gotten used to it yet.

All that he knew is that he missed you dearly.

You would know him better than he does. You would know how to comfort him. You would know — no, understand him better. Process his feelings more than he could ever do alone.

He never knew what love was until he loved you. He still loves you. It’s a love that eats away at him, as it’s the only love he knows.

It’s the only love he had. It’s the only love he lost.

Knock, knock, knock.

And it’s the only love that answers his call.

Startled by the sudden noise, Hyunjin got up from the dark amber floors of his well-loved studio and stopped staring at the painting.

It told him something. It seemed to know that someone was there. The artist behind his unfinished face, you, returned to his home no matter how absent-minded he seemed to be as he called you.

But he could leave the door unanswered. He could half-lie, pretend that he was drunk and fell asleep, text you a simple apology. It could be simpler.

But you were waiting so patiently by his door.

Curse you. Why have you always been patient with him? Why do you always wait for him? He didn’t deserve you, didn’t deserve to date you then break up with you. He didn’t deserve to waste a single second of your time.

Even if you weren’t together anymore, why do you wait so loyally for him behind a door that won’t open in the dead middle of the night?

Hyunjin pondered whether or not to unlock the entrance and let you back into his life at least for one more fleeting moment.

“Sorry for making you wait,” he said, guiding you through the halls of his house as if you hadn’t memorized it by now.

Maybe he wanted the moment to feel special all over again. After several months of calling it quits, he wanted to make it feel as if you re-entered a dream from where you left off.

Ignore that it looked nightmarish now. If it at least holds any bearing, it did feel like you picked up from where you left off, though.

The more you traversed the familiar walls you once called home, the more it seemed apparent that life and time both flowed and stopped within the house. Some things were stuck in time, like the one-fourth full shampoo bottle sitting in your former corner of his shower. The sink was newly wet, water still dripping from the porcelain. It wasn’t like you wanted to pry, but the bathroom door was wide open to begin with, the scene more apparent when you noticed Hyunjin sniffling behind you.

Did he break down in the restroom again?

You knew he always did that. He didn’t have the habit of keeping to himself, but when he didn’t want to display his vulnerability to you, the same bathroom became his space if an outlet. Drawings weren’t always an answer, especially if it was his job, so he’d sob in the restroom — and it seemed, in his dissociative episode, he cried for a minute before calling you.

You walked further into the house. Your steps creaked against the wooden flooring that he promised to fix several months ago — had it been a year?

Maybe so. You haven’t used the same brand of the three-fourths empty shampoo bottle since last year. You switched brands since you left him.

He must’ve noticed. Hyunjin always made it known to you that he loved taking whiffs of your scent when you once were lovers. Now that he was trailing behind you while simultaneously guiding you through the depressive home, he must’ve realized that once was a lavender-scented head became lemon and lime.

It was unfamiliar. It shouldn’t affect Hyunjin. It’s just you. You’ve changed, so did the house, so did he, but it wasn’t anywhere near your level of maturation and growth.

Because how the fuck does a change of shampoo beat an unchanging home?

“Hyune,” you called to him, “do you need help with anything over here?”

He blinked. Even he didn’t know why he called you.

“I thought you needed help with the furniture?”

Right…right? He said that? Caught up in the sight of you after months, Hyunjin didn’t even remember his own excuse. He just craved to see you. See the person you grew to become.

See the person who left for the sake of love.

“Oh, yeah, I do.” Hyunjin sniffled with a weak smile. “Had to move a table in our—the studio, but your stuff’s in there.”

A genuine shock washed over you. “Shit, I forgot some things? I’m sorry.”

Hyunjin shouldn’t be this delighted to see your emotions.

He always loved watching you talk. He listened with full observation, relishing in the way you expressed yourself because you were beyond entertaining. You were his opposite, but also his twin flame. So maybe that was why it burnt his chest with charred edges to see that you were so much more confident in your words.

Was it speech therapy? Was it freedom? Was it because you left him, that you learned to love yourself more? Was it really not him, but you? “It’s not you, it’s me?”

Shit. He was overthinking again. His temples started to hurt more than it did. Sweating and despairing and wondering when — if it would all end by staring at you long enough.

He led you through the corner leading up to the studio. The first thing you saw, thankfully, wasn’t the mess he was creating around the corner; it was your painting. The haunting aura of Hyunjin’s portrait seemed to surprise you, taking one step back on your left leg. The studio was rampant of Hyunjin’s constant and bustling work ethic and then there was your corner, pristine in the way that it hadn’t moved at all. The painting stared at you both. You wondered if that had really been the state at which you left it — the state at which you left him.

You’re not the same. There’s comfort in the fact that you’re still you, the you he fell for and cherished. The you that he deemed his darling. His co-artist, his muse.

Standing in his studio after months, taking a gander at your unfinished work; you have the same backside but your silhouette has changed. Hyunjin couldn’t seem to grasp it. How could he, when you were his one and only love?

“God, that thing’s still there,” you joked. For a moment, Hyunjin’s thoughts seemed to calm themselves as you both chuckled silently.

“It’s funny, I stare at your painting and it looks like it’ll never crack.” He pointed at the painting, forgetting about the furniture he pretended to need help with. “You haven’t even varnished it and yet I feel more brittle than it ever will be.”

There’s a solemn look in his eyes as he stared at the spitting image of him, albeit rough around the edges and eyeless.

“Bits and pieces of my heart chipped when you left,” he whispered, though you caught it.

He bit his tongue to keep himself from uttering the petname “darling.” Force of habit, even after months — yet nobody could blame him, especially after you left him to wonder what you both were.

He knew how to mix orange paint better than knowing the mix of emotions you gave him.

“I’m sorry?”

The guilt washed over his shoulders as he realized that he spoke aloud, suddenly hoping that you could just go back to furnitures. He pretended to clear his dusty table, only for your hand to catch his. Skin on skin had never felt this refreshing. He’d realized that he never had another being touch him after you left.

“No, nevermind, I—”

“Hyune, no, I’m sorry.” The sincerity in your voice gave him goosebumps that he hoped you hadn’t felt under your palm. “I didn’t think I’d affect you like this…”

“It’s nothing big, really,” he scoffed, his own eye bags from losing sleep over you proving him otherwise. Hyunjin started feeling weird, like his head was spinning and he could faint at any moment. He was losing balance while holding onto the table. All he wanted was for you to talk.

Your concern only ever grew. “But you even kept the painting like that. Why didn’t you just take it down?”

You turned to him after he gave no response.

He thought and thought until he lost himself in a sea of overwhelming ideas and questions. He tried to come up with answers until he concluded that these were the same questions he’d ask himself every single day as he worked in the same exact studio. If only his clutter could talk, they’d know his secret; he’d stare at your art in between his works and mourn.

Mourn the future he couldn’t have with you. Mourn the lost love.

“Couldn’t take it down I guess.” Hyunjin huffed, defeated. “I just…couldn’t.”

That’s when it hit you. A lot of things in his house were merely things he simply couldn’t let go of.

The shampoo bottle from earlier. The painting. Trinkets stacked in the corners of the hallway you slowly walked through were keychains that you and Hyunjin bought at art fairs together. The hat you’d been missing was hanging by the entrance all along, untouched. Some brushes in his studio were yours.

He’d been stuck in a limbo between the past and present, unable to see a future from the dust on his table. Hyunjin stood in silence as you both shared a knowing look.

A look you couldn’t even spare him when you left.

For the past months, he couldn’t stop fixating on the last time you made love — the night before you left. It was great, satisfying and full of sweat and tears, full of kisses and promises that you’ll be back someday. You were going to focus on yourself, that you realized that love isn’t for you if you didn’t love yourself first. Hyunjin believed in it. He believed in you. You weren’t lying, but you weren’t sure of your words either. You figured that was the point of leaving, so that you’d “come back” as a sure, secure, and mature person.

It’s just that the world had been so unkind to you both. The things that you used to enjoy with him became something of nothing, and you realized that it was your end that needed fixing. To you, coming back wasn’t a promise to Hyunjin. To him, it was something he was willing to wait for even until the next lifetime. Love to you was for yourself to grow and familiarize with, but love to him was something he only knew through you.

That was the last time he’d ever touched another person, let alone himself. That was the last time he had ever uttered “I love you.” But maybe, just maybe, you were too set on leaving to care about the sex. It was full of love to him but it was probably empty to you. It was probably one last promise that you wanted to fulfill—let go of. You didn’t even pack your shampoo bottles when you left.

Hyunjin sat on the ground, legs about to give in from the sheer weight of his emotions and thoughts. You followed suit, sitting beside him.

I feel weird again.

Hyunjin clutched his arms closer to his chest, squeezing his knees in between the embrace, trembling in fear of another barrage of racing thoughts consuming him, eating away at his space.

There was nothing he could do about it. It always just seemed to happen.

Everything hurt, his brain was throbbing, your presence alone was too much in his shitty abode that he calls a home, his studio is one shabby excuse of a room that shouldn’t have you in it, you didn’t deserve to be here, in his place, in his damned, shitty place—

“Hyune.”

You reached out behind yourself to grab his arm.

“You’re not okay.”

It took two full, quiet seconds before anything. You stared not at his arm, but his eyes.

“Thought it was obvious,” he tried to joke. Once he caught a glimpse of your unwavering concern, he looked back down.

You made the grip on his arm firmer. You stroked his forearm with your thumb. It seemed to ground your ex, but he still felt just as broken as he was earlier.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed. “I keep saying it but I don’t think it’ll ever be enough. I’m sorry I left you like this. I’m sorry I even left you. I just…you know that I had to do this for me, for us…”

You felt something in your throat. You swallowed it. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me. I know how shitty it is and now, I’m here for you.”

Hyunjin wordlessly listened, nodding at your now-real and sincere promises. Tears were falling down his eyes in the same tracks his previous tear stains ran down.

Your painting had been staring at you this whole time, the strokes around the eyes sticking out like sore thumbs to him — they were more of pinky promises to you, left hanging and ignored yet still innocently waiting.

“Let’s fix that,” you sighed.

“What?”

You looked at Hyunjin with a smile, half fond and half despondent. “May I finish this real quick?”

Hyunjin simply stared at you. The tears in his eyes fell but he didn’t dare blink. His eyes were wide open, in awe of your smile, scorn growing in his chest that you are both incredibly hurt people.

He hated, still hates, and will always hate the way that this world wronged either of you to the extent that you smile with unhappiness.

Alas, you got up to finish your work, thinking he nodded when he didn’t.

You stumbled to get up on two legs, struggling in your trembling body to even put a hand on your knee to get up. It was less of heartbroken now and more of tired, emotionally exhausted, sleepy, and slightly frustrated at the sight of your unfinished work.

Though it was your painting that your chose to abandon for months, you finally took the brush and picked up a surprisingly active thinner and a semi-dry pigment — random color that you couldn’t bother to check — off his palette with its bristles. You started slashing in a semi-calculative fashion, not minding the strokes but rather the picture you were painting, burning butterflies from your brain right onto the canvas.

Hyunjin stared curiously with hands on his knees still close to his chest. The eyes that were promised on the canvas became less and less like his own until they weren’t.

And there they were, butterflies sitting on a portrait of his face.

“There,” you said, accomplished. For some reason though, the lump in your throat returned.

You figured it was the thought of slightly finishing in the way you never intended to. You remembered working on the piece while you were still together, promising to paint him a portrait as a signifier of your love for him. He sat in front of your easel for hours, not because you couldn’t paint his face right, but because you and him couldn’t finish your work from laughing together and talking endlessly.

You couldn’t get it done even if you wanted to just because he loved you so much. He loved you enough to make you smile and laugh. He loved you to the point of obsession and fixation. Nowadays, you aren’t sure how you feel about that, but then, it was refreshing and alive.

Maybe that’s what killed love for you. You didn’t want him and his explosive bouts of love to get in the way of your love for your work, your life, yourself. You loved him, you still do. It’s no question. So, what is it?

Is it that you didn’t love him the way he loved you?

You left to focus on yourself. You left to find the love that you needed for yourself. Or maybe, is this his consequence of loving too much?

Or did you not love him the same?

“It’s…” Hyunjin slowly spoke, “it’s so pretty.”

Your eyes sparkled at him. He was fixated on the butterfly in your painting.

“Your work is always so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you nervously said. The tears started to pool by your eyes. The nostalgia, the pain in his voice, the longing for you and him…was it all too much?

Hyunjin seemed to have an answer.

“Though we won’t be certain about what’s in store for us,” he mustered up the courage to say, “I’m certain that you’ll always be in my picture.”

“What if I don’t want to be in your picture anymore?” You asked.

Hyunjin’s lips shut.

You didn’t know what overcame you when you said that. The frustration of thoughts, from having to answer your ex’s call and seeing him break down like this, to questioning the love that you still have for him. It was all much.

“I’ll be hurt,” he sniffled, “I’ll respect it.”

While you were at it, you had to ask. “Is it selfish to say that I wish you didn’t love me so that you leaving would’ve been easier?”

A part of you wished this too much. You hoped that he could just move on. But again, how could he? How could he when you were his first, his supposed last? You were the one who taught him love and he loved you with his all. It’s not a love that you’re used to and it’s not a type of love you could give to him let alone yourself.

Your eyes shifted towards the painting again when he couldn’t answer, until you felt his hand reaching out for yours.

“I love you most. It isn’t selfish, but I think I’m selfish for still yearning. You just know me better than I know myself.” Hyunjin spoke with a sudden eloquence that gave you shivers.

It wouldn’t last long.

“Thank you.” You held his hand with your other. “But Hyunjin…you should know yourself better than most.”

“Darling—” His voice broke slightly. The habit creeped back, betraying his tongue as it chased you. “Y/N, I don’t even know anything, so how else am I supposed to do that with myself?”

It became trickier to respond as his tears exploded. “Then understand yourself,” you said, “It’s hard, it sucks, but look. You have to care for yourself before you get to love others.”

“Like you?” He asked with swollen, slightly bitten lips. “You know yourself.”

“I don’t. Not yet. Not completely.”

Hyunjin nodded with sorrow in his eyes. “It’s just…”

He took a deep breath as he glanced at the butterfly. It seemed like a breed of bug that would be free in the wind. He wished to become that, a wandering creature with beauty and nothing in its simple mind but the love of life.

Hyunjin exhaled.

“I’ve been trying to accept that you left because you found yourself, and I’m happy for you. But I can’t help myself. I can’t help but think about you. I can’t help but miss you. I can’t help thinking about how you are, I can’t help staring at the things you left for me, I can’t help the thought that—”

You don’t love me.

“That…th-that…you’re better off without me.”

Holding his hand tighter, you urged him to look at you. “Hyunjin…that isn’t the case. At all.”

“Yet I can’t help it. I…I can’t lose you.” He started choking in his words. “I see my own portrait and all I’ll think about is you.”

Words started to hit like pangs to your chest. He’s right; it’s difficult to separate the art from the artist especially in your circumstances. He couldn’t let the notion of you go at all.

“You painted it. You stared at me. I’ll never forget the concentrated face you made while drawing me. It all goes back to you, and I love you, and I just…”

“Hyunjin…”

“I’m so stupid. I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear any of this. It’s so early, I…” He gulped and bit his bottom lip. “And I can’t kick you out now. God. I’m so fucking stupid…”

Pity and sincere concern washed over you. “You aren’t.” You’ve been in this scene before, back when you were together. Hyunjin’s grateful that you still have the right words to say. “Hyune…I still care for you deeply. I love you.”

“I love myself too and I’m sorry I prioritized myself. I left you in the dark. I’m so, so sorry.”

He tilted his head at that. “No. You deserve to be happy.” He’s right, there was no need to be sorry for choosing yourself when he could only choose you too.

You tried to smile. “Hyune, I always hope that you’ll be happy too.”

A few seconds of silence passed before a glint amidst your ex’s crying appears in his very real eyes.

“We can go back to painting maps. I hope by then, you’ll find yourself too.”

Profound words became skipped heartbeats. If you knew what to say, then he would always be ahead. That’s what you loved about him.

“If I do find it…the way back…” Hyunjin stuttered, “Will you come back to me too?”

“Maybe.” You smiled. “There’s a point that fate will take me to. Hope to meet you at that point.”

The both of you prepared coffee as purple streaks of daylight broke into the sky. You caught up with yourselves and shared a few jokes over the dining table. It had been a while since Hyunjin — nor you — felt this kind if human connection again. The bitterness of the caffeine and sweetness of the sugar would be fitting for you both if it weren’t for the fact that you both downed your drinks with ease, just as you would before.

Things are different, things are the same. Hyunjin promised to be healthier. You picked up one of his extra paper bags and got some of your stuff.

“Hyune, I want to apologize one last time,” you turned to him. “Sorry I pulled the “it’s not you, it’s me” thing even if I knew next to nothing either. And sorry for leaving this.”

You held up the unopened shampoo bottle next to your head. Hyunjin blinked before smiling fondly.

“Do you still want it?”

“Well, you probably need it.”

“I have stock of a new one at home. I miss this one though. Do you mind?”

Familiarity returned at last once you gave him the look with the big, curious eyes.

Hyunjin realized that you, no matter the distance, were never going to be too far from his heart.

Like a butterfly, it always returns to the flowers. Chipped paint can be retouched with new, brighter pigment. Love isn’t off the table, it changes — it grows. Maybe it branches in different directions, but just like butterflies, they don’t fly in straight paths.

He smiled wider when he realized he took too long to respond.

“Not at all.”

thank you for reading ! consider reblogging and leaving feedback if you loved my work 💗 writing © ipegchangbin

[toskarin]

slightly more armchair rambling about ai art than is standard fare for that kind of thing

-

imo the strongest indictment of ai art's current state is that even a neutral stance will be disappointed when you see there's new art of your niche fave, open it, and discover it's ai generated. it's unexciting in a way that other art isn't, and it's not even something "inherent"

no matter what anyone does, it's all a bit too much of a slurry right now. I'm not taking the shortsighted position of "ohhhh it's not art because there's not enough steps!" or anything, (because trying to classify what is and isn't art is stepping directly into an unwinnable argument) but the weird hypercommercial walled garden of it all strangled out the fine tuning that could possibly make something exciting

know how much drawing is done by someone who mods their favourite mmo and takes caps of it? usually none. the mod assets are probably not even theirs either, but the level of constraint-adjustment provided to the end user lets them exercise creative vision, so some caps look noticeably better. some screencaps are exciting, but in the end, it's digital photography

the entire field of ai art is characterised by deeply interesting tools, developed by the terminally uncreative, licensed in restricted form to the incurious.

their loudest critique comes from.... a reactionary legalist perspective on the material end, or a spiritual moralist perspective on the theoretical end

there's so much that tells you who's at the wheel, too. basic functions like adjusting palettes or posing mannequins for reference are niche hacks that actively fight against the main functionality (prompting) because the fantasy of the "one button press to make art" wound up just as constraining as the fantasy of "writing code in plain speech"

setting aside arguments about what makes human art special, about what makes ai art immoral, about what counts as real art or not,

the main audience for neural networks (read: the ones who decide the direction research moves) have an overly simple definition of art, and so a page can only contain that which is desired, and so a page can only be absent of that which is undesired

[non-plutonian-druid]

wow i wonder who that guy is!

[ID: Ben, Diego, Mr. Pennycrumb, and old Five drawn in a style resembling Over the Garden Wall's art style. The color palette is very orange. Ben and Diego are crouching in a dark room behind a barrel and a trunk, while Five looms over them, holding an axe. Five is heavily backlit, and the area surrounding Ben and Diego is shrouded in darkness. Mr Pennycrumb is trying to climb over the trunk to reach Five, but Ben is holding him back. Five is not behaving threateningly- he is holding the axe neutrally and is just standing- but the lighting, the angle, and the boys' fear makes him seem more imposing than he actually is. End ID.]

[4homestylist]

Winter Serenity Wall Art | Frosted Clover at Sunrise

"Create a peaceful atmosphere in your home with this stunning winter-inspired wall art. Featuring a delicate frozen clover against a breathtaking snowy sunrise, this artwork embodies tranquility and nature's beauty. Perfect for modern, minimalist, or Nordic-inspired home decor, this piece is ideal for bedrooms, living rooms, or cozy winter spaces. Bring the calm of a frosty sunrise into your home today!"

GIT IT BUY HERE

[mysticdragon3md3]

Maybe this was in the online digital Nimona artbook before it went offline, but I didn't pay attention to the costume design rules for all the people in the Kingdom, until this video "Visual Storytelling: The Production Design of 'Nimona'" by Gnomon (from which I screencapped all these pics).

It's interesting to consider how these clothing design rules symbolized Ballister's and Ambrosius's positions in society, but also might have reflected bits of their personalities.

"So we first approached it by a very anthropological approach, where we sat down and said, "if this world was to actually evolve in a closed setting, behind these walls, from the medieval, in this kind of fear-based world, how would society evolve from the medieval rules? And how would that work?" So we researched the medieval rules and found that there was the distinction between, you know, nobility and citizenry, and then non-citizens. And so that was a good place to start for us, to say of "How do we organize this massive pool and system of crowd characters? but in a---in a getable way, that also relates to our story and expresses this world that we're doing?""

The Institute:

Nobility:

"So we broke we broke it down into contemporary, um, a contemporary ideology, where our main---our nobility was much more based on, um you know, haute couture rules, where we were---they were simple. They were bold. They were evolution of the kind of royal colors and sumptuary laws that the medieval had, but in a modern, in a modern take."

Citizens:

"Same with the citizens, where we leaned more into broader scope, where we needed to have the ability to have business wear, and athleisure, and, um you know, the color palettes that would be associated. …The range of body types that you would need, and…the range of races and ethnicities."

The Magicals:

Interesting thing about The Magicals, is this note "NO blue or neutral grey (due to the Institute's persecution, magicals have refused to wear Institute colors)."

Ballister's regular clothes seem to be the same color palette as The Magicals. Given the order of these slides, The Magicals seem to be the lowest rank in the Kingdom's society. Previous concept art showed that the Nimona 2023 movie originally would have portrayed a secret society of people with magical powers like Nimona. I assume these costume design rules were for them, though they got cut from the final movie. It seems appropriate that though Ballister has no magical powers, he is dressed in the colors of the Kingdom's lowest societal rank. But as anyone who has drawn him has noticed, the pendant on his shirt is blue. The one color which The Magicals do not wear, because it is the color of The Institute. Ballister is a commoner trying to become a Knight of the Institute, so it makes sense for him. And though Ballister's clothes could maybe be considered shades of gray (as per The Institute), they have the same dark values of The Magicals and are actually more of the "earthy" tones, noted in The Magicals' palettes. Ballister does not wear the light, almost silver, grays of The Institute. But he does wear a blue pendant. And though his pants have a thin golden stripe running down the sides, which is another color emblematic of The Institute, on second look, it is less gold, and more of a light tan, another earthy color. Almost makes me think that after the end of the movie, maybe he should change his blue pendant to purple, since these design instructions for The Magicals also note "One subtle purple item on each magical as a symbol of resistance and solidarity". (It explains the shade of purple in Nimona's skirt.)

Interesting to look at Ambrosius's outfit, while considering these design instructions. Ambrosius does not wear the "bold" colors or high amount of patterns prescribed for Nobility. Instead, he wears white and a dark shade of blue, with mostly solid, non-patterned clothes, as prescribed for The Institute. He is their symbol, through and through. Except for one point: his hoodie's secondary color of tan. Not only is tan an earthy tone, like The Magicals, the lowest societal rank in the Kingdom, but is takes up a noticeable amount of space in his outfit. It is almost like his one little piece of rebellion against his birth position and the expectations of society for him to represent The Institute and Nobility. It may be his one expression of who he is as a person, rather than the expectations placed onto him. It's kind of interesting that they let him get away with that. Maybe he had to fight for it. Maybe it makes him feel closer to Bal. Maybe he likes the distance it puts between him and the Institute. Maybe he didn't get brave enough to start wearing such colors until after he met Bal. (Now I'm getting into headcanon territory.)

Medievals:

This was explained as the costume design instructions for the flashback characters from 1,000 years ago.

[raphsmuneca]

Monster pt. 2 - Azrielle

• 18+ • Tmnt AU • Tmnt Bayverse • Aged 30 + • Folklore, Romance, Violence • Inspired by ROTTMNT

((I just wanna let my tumblrinas/inos know, idk where I'm going with this story, but I'll be writing in small pieces & maybe by part 4 things will make more sense.)) :) ♥️🫶🏼

����𝓞𝓝𝓢𝓣𝓔𝓡 (𝓟𝓽. 2) - 𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮

-> 𝓟𝓽. 1 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮! <- ⬅️ Part 1

✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧

There was nothing subtle about Hell’s Deviant Point.

The yokai swam and flew throughout the expanse freely, like an overgrown swarm of creepy crawlers, with their wings and horns. Some of their faces made me want to crawl back into my shell, and others, were human-like and beautiful even. Like the mistress Azrielle Cyprus...

The Boss Master, Izael, was a fourteen-hundred year old, descendant of the sea monster yokai, and now the master of this demon realm. Izael had a twin brother, Izmael; known to the humans as Satan; who was spellbound by a beautiful sorceress, which is said to be responsible for his death. Izael swore in the name of his deceased brother to protect his wee one. The little girl ended up in her uncle’s loving palms and has been with him since. Izael, himself, fathered a daughter of his own, a sweet young yokai, Izamary; the reason for our alliance with the demons and Mikey’s broken heart.

I don’t know how much of the first part is true, but Mikey’s annoying weeping | can vouch for. He was a sucker for love and of all women to walk the earth, he fell for one that didn’t even share the same dimension. But, who was I to speak...

Although, he’d rescue the demon master’s daughter, Izamary nor Azrielle, were allowed to marry outside of their own kind. But somehow, Izael didn’t seem to mind so much our nearness around the young ladies...

Or so Donnie “noted.”

“Raphael-San? Is that you?”

An older, raspy and high pitched voice pulled me out of the deep trance. I looked down to meet the face of the ancient Boss Master, Izael. The short statured demon barely reached my knees. If power was rated by height, I’d say he was as strong as a flea. Hmm...

“That’s right. Unless there’s another wise ass around?”

The elder’s laughter hurt my internal ears.

“Well, well, my son! Please do enter! You bring me silly tales of the human world, I presume?”

The antiquated demon enjoyed stupid stories, mostly that of humans. He found the human species to be “brainless, idiotic, and amusing.”

“Sorry, not tonight. I came because I have some questions, and thought maybe you could help me by answering a few of them for me.”

Izael turned his neck slightly, eyeing me up and down as he did so. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed, the air felt thick, and the servants close by stiffened in their positions. The master’s silence was disquieting, delaying me of my premature inquiries. He knew something, but from my opinion, it was best to let him keep doing the talking.

“I know what you’ve come for, Raphael. Why don’t you follow me to my dojo and we can continue talking there.” He eyed his servants in distaste. “Be gone! Now!” He shooed them, hitting a few of his men with his walking stick.

“You and dad sure do have a lot in common.” That earned me an ugly frown from the old man. He and Splinter were well acquainted, but just like dad, the demon master wasn’t fond of being compared to the other. Grumpy old men. Damn, I sure as hell hope to never end up like them...

Unlike our own, this dojo presented an impeccable atmosphere, with ancient Japanese calligraphy and art adorning the washi walls of the equilateral room. The furnishings showcased a palette of neutral colors, embodying pure zen. Notwithstanding it’s seemingly more confined nature compared to our lair, this space paradoxically felt more spacious and relaxing. For a human, this was hell. For me? Leoless heaven.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my brother. Far from it. I just wished he understood me sometimes. Fuck! I gotta stop looking around and get back to what I came here for...

Answers.

The demon master must’ve read my face, because immediately after taking his seat at the chabudai, he motioned for me to sit across from him.

“Come, Raphael-San. I have much to discuss with you.”From the deep frown on his face, I assume it’s not going to be a tete a teté among a host and his visitor. This was serious and I had an inkling the Boss Master Izael had the answers to my questions long before I decided to come here.

✧༺♥༻✧

…….

“I know I was framed, Izael! But just how the fuck am I gonna find this jerk face if I don’t know his name?”

We were less than fifteen minutes into our conversation, when the demon master claimed to know exactly who the true murderer of that innocent girl was. The flashbacks kept intruding, infuriating me more as the demon lord went on. I remember every detail…Her hand reaching out to me, pleadingly. She wasn’t supposed to be there. The blood. She was just an innocent bystander…

“She was just an innocent girl! Another foolish teen! Why was she even there?! AHHHH!!”

I smashed my fists against the wood of the chabudai. Glad I didn’t break it.

“Easy, my son. All will fall into place in due time.”

“Izael, you know I wouldn’t disrespect you like this, especially after you knighting me and my brothers and welcoming us into your realm. But, please, in the name of fuckery, give me the name of the man who drafted me into his scheme!”

There was pain in his voice as he spoke to me. I could read through the calm of his tone, and from the looks of it, this mystery wasn’t only mine to solve. Izael needed me as much as I needed him.

"The man you seek lives among your kind, but he is a full bred yokai. He disguises himself as a man. Now, you know that I cannot reach your world without penalty or suffering. I’ve been chained to this plane for many a century. There is a night crawler much like yourself, but with ill intent, that has a lead according to one of my henchmen. I didn’t bother to reach you because I knew well that you’d eventually come to me.”

A yokai that lives among my kind? A night crawler? A lead?

“Why didn’t your henchman come to me?!”

“All wealth of news that comes to my attention by one of mine in this realm must be kept here, Raphael-San. You know this. You are a Deviant Knight in this world. You know my rules, and let that be the last time you question my actions.”

The old man was becoming irate with my demanding attitude. What else was new? Keep your mouth shut, dumbass!

“Okay, old man. Just don’t micro dose the information. I’m running out of patience.”

“Very well then. The night crawler I speak of is a vampire, who goes by the name of Nico De’ Jesus. He roams on your terrain as we speak. He is as greedy as he is bloodthirsty. He is the one who has told the story of the defeated terrapin in New York City. My henchman believes to recall the name of the maker of said terrapin’s misfortune after hearing Nico’s tale.”

“So there is someone else behind all this?! I fucking knew it! Agh!”

“There is. Vice.” The old man’s eyes twitched after speaking the name.

“Vice? And why would this “Vice” fella have it out for me? I’ve never heard of the guy before now.”

“Here’s the part you might find unpleasant. He wasn’t necessarily targeting you. To be more specific, he was seeking revenge on Michelangelo. You see, he is the brother of my daughter’s late fiancé, Joker. Or as his old crew liked to call him, Ace. Ace…Joker. Such ridiculous names. Anywho, I had placed an order for his execution. An order Michelangelo took upon himself to deliver, for the sake of my daughter’s safety.”

“Mikey?!”

My chest felt heavy, making it hard to breathe. The news was overwhelming. I had been trying to uncover the enemy who wanted to harm me, but Mikey’s sudden involvement was a shock. Throughout my life, I had been the one pursued, hated, and hunted. But my younger brother had never been in the line of fire. Not Mikey. Even with all the blood on his hands, Mikey never harmed anyone who was innocent. He was the least deserving of both punishment or cruelty of any kind. It all began to make sense…

“A brother for a brother.” My voice was hushed in disbelief. It was difficult to swallow. The only thing on my mind now was Mikey’s safety. Leo. Donnie. My brothers!

“My son, while I acknowledge your anger, I must make a most unpalatable request of you. I need the bold and audacious yokai…alive.”

This is no time for making requests. The old man must be losing his senses.

“Alive?! Forgive me, Izael, but have you gone mad?!”

Izael sighed now. He seemed agitated and at the same time, spent.

“Raphael, I need him here, do you understand? It is my judgement to make. He shall be punished under my court of law!”

I guess Izael had forgotten who I was. It was one thing to hunt disobedient yokai that brought harm to this world, but for a yokai to bring chaos into my world, to my life, to my brother’s life? No one was going to stop me from ridding both worlds of that demon! No, Izael. I'm sorry my friend, but this fuck face was mine to handle, and mine alone.

“Right.”

I got up to leave, but in less than a second, the demon master held a hand on my sai, stopping me from taking my leave.

“In order to make sure you follow my rules, Raphael, I’ll be sending someone with you. I do have eyes and ears in your world, but I need a voice of reason in my stead.”

Fuck! He’s onto me. Eh, who am I kidding? I’m a crappy liar.

“And just exactly who is this “voice of reason” that you speak of? And please don’t say it’s Silver Wing.”

A smirk formed on the demon’s face. In return, I gave him one of my shit eating ones. To think he could best me. Pfft!

“No, you belligerent beast! My niece, Azrielle, will be your guide.”

It felt like a frog had been lodged in my throat. I was so mouthy before and now I was tongue-tied! I had to take a moment before the air fought it’s way back into my lungs.

“Azrielle?”

“Yes. AZRIELLE!! Come child!” Izael called his beloved niece.

Her beautiful voice sung through the hallway just a few moments later. Azrielle, the princess mermaid yokai. Azrielle, the woman that haunted my dreams and kept me up at night. Azrielle....the reason I still had hope. Izael, you clever fuck. Silver Wing’s words rung true...

In this place, I really wasn’t the only monster.

✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧

@the-cauldron-witch @ninnosaurus @iridescentflamingo @ferox-imagines @sophiacloud28 @milykins @adebauchedsloth @justalotoffanfiction @thepinkpanther83 @inspiredwriter @replicasey @akari180 @iheartchv @leosgirl82 @moonlightflower21 @imthegreenfairy86 @happymoonangel @thelaundrybitch @misty-angerose

• 𝓲𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓭 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓭/𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓶𝓴! •

𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓼 𝓞𝓷𝓵𝔂! 𝓣𝓱𝓷𝔁𝔁 🫶🏼

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Love In Trouble [Part Four]

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Musician, RPF

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character, Austin Butler x Original Female Character

Characters: Characters: Elvis Presley, Original Female Character, Austin Butler, Red West, Sonny West, Jerry Schilling Colonel Tom Parker, Minnie Presley, Vernon Presley, Dee Presley, Joanie Esposito, Joe Esposito, Pat West

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3699

Summary: Lori Presley lives the high life. She has a lovely home, a elegant wardrobe and her parties are the most sought after ticket in town. Not to mention her husband is the King of Memphis. But what if she no longer wants to be the Queen?

Tags/Warnings: This is a mafia au with detective austin butler entering the chat, Memphis Mafia, Detective Austin Butler, Adultery, Infidelity, Love, Angst, Unhappy Marriage, Murder, Court Room Drama in the loosest possible way, AU, Set in the 70s

Notes: ngl the logistics of this one are hammering me but we're trying here

LINK TO ALL PARTS // LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST

Detective Butler’s apartment was nice. The stonework was a rustic red colour and the gardens that adjoined the sidewalk out front were kept neat and tidy. Even the parking lot out back looked respectable with newish vehicles in every spot and an electric gate that hinted at the smell of the inhabitants being more well off than others in the surrounding neighbourhoods. Still money or not it was a far cry from the homes she was used to. The winding driveways up to bleached brickwork. Ornate stained glass that coloured the sunshine as it shone through onto a thick shag pile.

Still Lori didn’t think that the difference in architectural design was the reason for her feeling so out of place. It wasn’t the reason she’d come when she was sure Elvis wouldn’t notice her absence. It wasn’t why she’d lied and told him she’d been roped into some church event whilst he went to the club. It wasn’t the reason she scurried inside hoping no one saw or recognised her even opting to wear something casual in the hopes she wouldn't draw attention to herself.

Thankfully she didn’t pass anyone on the way up to his apartment and when she got there the door was open meaning she didn’t have to do anything more than check it was him at the door before she darted inside, allowing him to close it softly behind her.

‘You’re late,’ he said as he watched her look around, pushing her oversized sunglasses up onto her elegantly styled hairdo before she looked back at him. Her expression was cold, all the emotion and care wiped from it, and it made him falter, clearing his throat nervously as he added, ‘I er, I thought you weren’t coming.’

‘Yeah well I’m here aren’t I?’ she challenged, ‘this apartment building isn’t exactly easy to find.’

‘Well we could’ve done it at the station,’ he replied, making her jaw tighten and her arms cross across her body. Austin cleared his throat and moved towards the kitchen trying to resist pushing her for fear she’d spook and flee taking whatever leads he had with her.

‘Drink?’ he asked, ducking behind the wall that sectioned his kitchen/diner off from the living room. He could hear her moving around, no doubt assessing his entire life or at least what he’d bothered to unpack yet, but he decided to let her.

‘Water’s fine,’ she called.

Lori could hear him moving about, the faucet coming on and the clink of glasses, but she ignored it moving around the room as she assessed him.  She didn’t know what she'd been expecting from this straightlaced, hard edged cop. The one that had accosted her at the church function felt stiff and unyielding. She’d expected his apartment to be all dark panelling and chrome but it was soft. Neutral palettes against soft furnishings. At first she’d thought it was the choice of the landlord, a uniform that allowed them to rent on a whim, but there were personal touches that hinted it may be more his taste than some faceless home owner. A movie poster of an art nouveau film she had never heard of. A potted plant that was thriving despite the position it held within the room. A picture of a young blond boy and what looked like his mom, the pair beaming.

When he re-emerged and placed her drink on the coffee table he could feel her eyeing him, her blue eyes sweeping up and down his lean frame with curiosity. Austin said nothing but straightened up looking her dead in the eye as if signalling he wasn’t put off by the scrutiny. Then he gestured to the sofa allowing her to sit down which did so gracefully before he took his own seat in his armchair, his finger brushing underneath his chin as he watched her.

She’d taken to looking around his apartment again and he took the time to observe her whilst she was distracted. She looked different again today. Not a chic nightclub attendee, not a cutesy woman of the church but a blend of the two with her outfit of choice being a pair of tight bell bottoms that maintained modesty and a waif of fabric that knotted against her chest as if bragging about being just enough material to be called a shirt. Again her hair was perfectly styled but her makeup was neutral, enough that she could be deemed as making an effort but not so much it supported the idea she was to impress him.

When she looked back and found him watching her she busied herself with her drink, taking a long swig as if she was determined to prolong being the one to initiate conversation. And though he liked making her squirm he decided to be merciful and said, ‘so.’

‘So?’ she scoffed, placing the glass down on a coaster as she raised her brow, ‘that’s all you have to say?’

‘What am I supposed to say?’ Austin shrugged, leaning back in his chair casually as if he was unbothered about the outcome of this rendezvous.

‘Just so?’ she baulked.

‘Well you called me,’ he mused, ‘and insisted on meeting face to face. I assumed whatever it was you were going to be doing the explaining. I mean I don’t suppose you’d come all the way down here to tell me what I already know. Or to parrot out the official company line.’

‘Which is?’ she pressed.

‘That Tony Bowen had nothing to do with Kings. Or you for that matter,’ he challenged. Lori shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she grabbed her glass of water once more if only to have something to mess with.

Of course that was why she was here. She was here because he was the only person who might possibly believe what she had been thinking these past few days. He might believe her or possibly tell her that what she had been thinking was ludicrous. That the evidence didn’t lend itself to the notions she had been having. But to get there it seemed he was determined to make her utter those notions out loud.

‘Okay,’ she said, her throat thick with a spittle she swallowed down as she tried to get the words out, ‘okay so we had an affair.’

‘And?’ Austin replied, watching as she fell quiet, her gaze flitting to her lap. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him but he was sick of people pussyfooting around the issue when a man was dead and so he pressed, ‘and what does that have to do with his death?’

‘I don't know,’ she lied, swallowing thickly though to her surprise the familiar sting of tears had not presented themselves. Austin sighed.

‘Then why are you here?’

‘Because,’ she said looking at him, his blue eyes wide and expectant which lowered her tone to something barely audible, ‘because I think my husband might have something to do with it.’

‘Why do you think that?’ he asked in the most forgiving tone he’d summoned since meeting her.

‘Because no one crosses Elvis Presley,’ she said quietly.

The sentiment hung in the air for a moment, the pair of them watching one another until she became too shy to look at him, her gaze turning to her glass once more as she chugged the icy cold water down allowing it to wash the tears and bile from her throat from finally having spoken the words aloud.

She hadn't wanted to believe it. Of course she was not naïve to the types of things her husband and his entourage got up to in the name of work but it had never been any of her business. She did not have a hand in it. The wheels were greased enough that trouble rarely arose from it and if it did it was swiftly dealt with.

But this, Tony's death, hadn't been something she could ignore. Because Elvis had made sure it wasn’t. Even as they danced around the topic of why he would be involved or why she might care about some bus boy she had known that this was not something simple. This was personal. He had made it personal. He had killed Tony because he knew it would hurt her. Punish her for daring to find solace in the arms of another man like he had never done the same. It was a reminder that at the end of the day she was his. A reflection on him and if she was going to misbehave he would too but worse.

Austin was still watching her when he cleared his throat, sad blue eyes flitting back to his face as he probed gently, ‘okay…but do you really think he’d kill someone over an affair?’

‘It’s an embarrassment,’ she reasoned.

‘Okay sure,’ he said hesitantly, ‘but killing the guy? I mean what if he got caught surely the motive coming out is just as embarrassing. I mean no offence but he'd be just as well killin’ you-’

‘Killing me wouldn’t be a punishment though would it?’ she challenged, ‘no one knows why Tony's dead apart from me and him. I can't even mourn him or challenge him about it because that would be admitting fault. I get to sit in grief whilst he gets away with murder. It’s a solid punishment.’

‘Why not just divorce you?’ Austin challenged, again longing for the golden hue of California where there seemed to be less scrutiny over honour and shame. After all, it was hard to talk about morals and respect when everyone in tinsel town was screwing someone they shouldn’t.

‘And risk a scandal? Risk the humiliation of being left for a younger man, please,’ she scoffed, shaking her head and looking away from him as if listening to his ridiculous theories would make her stupider. Austin sighed and leaned forward weighing up his case.

‘Okay say he did kill the guy,’ Austin started, ‘I haven’t got much to go on other than your word. He has an alibi for one.’

‘Yeah he said he left the club at one and was home in good time but he didn’t get to the house until well after two thirty,’ she reasoned.

‘But no one could corroborate that other than you. His boys are adamant they got him home on time,’ Austin said, recalling the way his questions had gone down like a lead balloon when he’d broached the boss’ departure time on the night in question.

‘Our security system might be able to,’ she said, praying that the tape had not been pre-emptively wiped.

‘Okay so he wasn’t at home,’ Austin shrugged.

‘And he was shot right? Elvis has guns and I bet you could match one of them to whatever killed Tony,’ she continued. She could see his reluctance and because of it she could feel her heart breaking as the only person who was willing to believe Tony had come to foul play no longer seeing the way it could've happened.

‘It’s flimsy,’ he said.

‘It’s all I got,’ she breathed.

Austin pondered that for a moment trying to find how he could work the scarce evidence into something workable. It wasn’t a great fit and considering the rift it would cause he couldn’t imagine it'd be easy to push through for an arrest let alone a trial but there was something to her that tugged at his heart strings. Like the old lady crying down the phone to him and his own sense of justice, her being willing to take the risk felt well big.

And yet he wasn’t sure he could trust her. Not yet anyway.

But without her he had nothing. Without a testimony or hint at where to find more evidence the case would collapse around him. So he pressed, the stoic, sceptical cop returning to replace the one that had tried to ease her out of her shell.

‘Why do you want to help anyway? I mean you didn’t seem too bothered before,’ he challenged.

‘I loved Tony,’ she said truthfully.

‘Do you love him?’ he asked, not saying his name yet they both felt the weight of his presence. When she dropped her gaze to her empty glass he snorted, making her head snap back up as he asked, ‘if you love him why are you here? You are aware this could ruin his life.’

‘I’m aware,’ she snapped, ‘but it’s my fault Tony’s dead. And I suppose he deserves justice.’

‘And that’s your husband in prison?’ he challenged, ‘why not just leave him? Humiliate him.’

‘It’s not as simple as packing a bag and leaving,’ she retorted.

‘Oh,’ he chuckled, ‘this is your way out without the blame laying at your feet right?’

‘Oh I’m plenty to blame,’ she smiled mirthlessly, ‘but I figure the blood of a dead man on my hands and a jailed husband might go some way in repentance.’

Austin could see her point but in his eyes her worldview was still skewed as if she would come out of this with only secret shame. A point he dared to make as he said, ‘you know if we go through with this there may not be any saving you. We will have to tell them everything and despite whatever evidence we can cobble together it might all come down to your testimony.’

‘I understand,’ she said quietly. Austin hesitated but decided to ask anyway. He already had his hopes up at the chance at pushing this case to where it needed to be.

‘So you’re in?’ he asked, ‘because I’m not going to go through with this only for you to change your mind-‘

‘I won't,’ she affirmed.

‘How can I trust that?’ he asked sceptically.

‘You can't,’ she smiled sadly, making his heart flip flop, ‘but I loved Tony and I know you think I can do the right thing.’

‘But you love him.’

‘I did but right now I'm not sure I’ll be able to again not knowing what he did,’ she said. Austin nodded and weighed his options up once more.

It was almost foolhardy to think he could trust her, the wife of a wannabe mobster. And if he did trust her and it all went south he'd only have himself to blame. He would not have a chance at staying in the precinct or the county for that matter. He’d probably have to move again. But there was something in her eyes he couldn’t ignore. A tugging at his heart strings. She was one of the most famous women in Memphis and yet here in his small apartment she felt helpless. The rock on her left hand and the designer shades perched on her coiffed hairdo were nothing more than façade. Because what true riches did she have in her life?

Her husband hadn't even noticed her affair until it was over. The love she had for Tony was tucked away never to be mentioned in the light of day. A plethora of people moved in and out of her home every day and yet no one had noticed she was here. Apart from smoke and mirrors what substance did her life have? To him it appeared very little.

Then again he supposed his own life favoured that at the moment. Without his work he wasn’t much of anything these days which was probably why he put so much stock in solving this case. He supposed they’d just have to help one another.

‘Fine,’ he nodded, ‘let me speak to the DA.’

✵✵✵

Robert Johnson was a short, plump man with a hairline that receded far past his ears even if he had trimmed it down to hide the rate at which it had disappeared. It also struck Austin that the man might do well to size up in pants, his belt creating a distinct overhang of stomach that wasn’t hidden as he’d removed his suit jacket and stood up as he entered, offering a hand to Austin as he came towards him.

Nevertheless he was polite, offering him a drink which Austin politely declined, too eager to thrust his newly constructed case file under his nose. He had known it was a risk bypassing his commanding officer but he had wanted to get more impartial eyes on the thing before he was given an outright no. And by all accounts Johnson was far more amenable than his Captain even if he was pouring over every sheet in the manila folder with a sceptical brow and a wince. As he let out another sigh Austin couldn’t help himself and leant in trying to skim the bit he was reading upside down as he said, ‘I know what you’re going to say.’

‘You do?’ the man asked cautiously.

‘It’s barely a case,’ Austin replied.

‘It’s shit quite frankly,’ he replied, throwing the flap closed as he relaxed back in his chair. His tone took Austin off guard. Because it wasn’t unfriendly. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal but it spoke the truth which didn’t beg much hope for what he was intending.

‘Bobby,’ Austin sighed, ‘he did it. I know it. You know it. God the whole precinct knows it-’

‘And that don’t make a case,’ Bobby sighed, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers when he noted the downtrodden look on the detective’s face, ‘look I want him locked up believe me I do. He ain't exactly good for the city but I don’t see how it’s feasible. Not with that you’ve got. I mean fingerprints? A missing gun that matches the make of one of his and no alibi except his friends word-’

‘What about the fact the dead guy was banging his wife,’ Austin pressed.

‘It’s motive but he’ll just say he didn’t do it and your evidence doesn’t back it up that he didn’t. Besides you can't prove there definitely was an affair. A picture don’t mean nothing, not really. And even if you could all it’d take would be for her to deny it or him to say he never knew about it,’ Bobby reasoned.

‘What about if she’s willing to testify?’ Austin rebutted, making the older man sit up in his chair with intrigue, ‘she knows he did it Bob. He did it to punish her and she's willing to testify to that.’

‘Well a jury would lap that up,’ Bobby smiled, ‘get her in to make a statement…what?’ he asked, seeing the way Austin’s smile dimmed.

‘We can't.’

‘You’re shitting me,’ Bobby scoffed.

‘We can't include her,’ he replied, leaning forward to press the folder onto the desk as his colleague tried to hand it back, feeling the case dissolve. With the blonde's insistence he hesitated, ‘not forever just not yet. We need to build the case around our evidence. Pick his side of the story apart one by one and then by the time he’s on the stand there’ll be enough circumstantial evidence surrounding him that slapping a motive on top of it will make it clear as day.’

‘And if she backs out?’ Bobby challenged.

‘She won't,’ Austin affirmed though the gaze on him remained hesitant, ‘I saw the look in her eyes Bob. She won’t back out.’

‘Oh yeah and how do you know? What’d she do whisper sweet promises in your ear like she did the dead guy,’ Robert said drily. Austin fought the urge to roll his eyes as he said, ‘she told me the truth.’

‘And you trust her?’ he asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

‘I do,’ Austin replied truthfully. After all what other choice did he have?

When the doubt in the other man’s eyes didn’t fade he sighed and took the manila folder from him, placing it on his lap as he leaned closer, begging him to see his point of view as he said, ‘look I know it’s risky. I know the case will rely on her and she’s not the kinda witness you want to back but from what I can tell she’s for real about this thing. She knows that this is her only way out. She knows without us she’s trapped which is why we have to play this right. It’s why we can’t expose her sooner than needed. Anything before that would ruin her situation heck it might even wind up with her dead. She has to trust us to the finish line.’

‘And that’s the stand?’ Robert probed.

‘Hopefully,’ Austin said, praying his case would hold enough water to even get to trial.

‘It’ll need more circumstantial,’ Robert said.

‘Definitely,’ Austin agreed.

‘And we need to pick apart whatever they spin,’ he added.

‘I’m sure we could get one of them to break form,’ Austin promised, ‘and if we get all that and then hit ‘em with an affair narrative it’ll swing a jury.’

‘You might be right,’ the other man said, rubbing his hand along his stubbled skin as he pondered it before he looked at Austin, uttering his declarations, ‘we’re gonna need concretes. Circumstantial too but something that’s undeniable. Something a hotshot defence attorney can’t pick apart.’

‘I’m sure once we have a comparison the finger prints will match. And I’ll find out more about the gun,’ Austin assured.

‘Then it’s a case of looking at the night in question. You’ll need to have his entourage in at the same time mind, see if their stories align before they can speak to one another. Probably the whole staff,’ he sighed. Austin didn’t notice his lack lustre orders because he was so happy that someone was finally listening to him. That the boys at the precinct would have to help on something they had deemed an impossible feat. That he’d been right to trust his gut on this one.

His happiness only faded as he reached the door ready to head back to work and heard his name called. He paused, not closing the door he was holding in the hopes Robert wouldn’t want to keep him much longer. He had work to do after all.

‘Sir?’ he asked, hoping respecting authority would make the exasperated look on the man’s face fade.

‘I’ll back you on this but don’t think I don’t know that this is a powder keg ready to go off,’ he warned.

‘I know sir,’ Austin nodded, ‘thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ Robert snorted.

‘Why not?’ Austin asked.

‘Because I’m not doin’ it for nothing,’ he said rolling his eyes as Austin’s brow furrowed, ‘don’t worry I ain’t dirty. In fact I’m one of the ones that’s not searching for a reason to look the other way.’

‘I’m not sure I follow,’ Austin chuckled weakly.

‘You said to do this we’re gonna have to help the wife right?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Austin hesitated.

‘Fine. I’ll help the wife but if we’re gonna poke the bear I want something in return,’ he said.

‘What?’ Austin asked curiously, pushing the door just so it clicked onto the latch. It wasn’t fully closed, one gust of wind from the open window would no doubt blow it gently open but it was enough that their voices didn’t travel into the corridor. Whatever the man was going to proposition him for his ears only.

‘Tip offs.’

‘Tip offs?’ Austin questioned.

‘If we’re gunnin’ for Presley we might as well aim for the entire structure. He won’t crumble without his friends goin’ first. Believe me I and many before me have tried,’ Robert said but Austin wasn’t sure he understood.

‘Sir?’ was all he asked.

‘Keep her close and make sure she’s willing to talk about more than just this Tony guy. He’s our in but by god if I ain’t gonna make sure we bring them all down.’

ELVIS TAGS

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @18lkpeters @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife @lillypink @richardslady121 @louisejoy86 @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @lettersfromvenus @artlesson8892 @presleyenterprise

AUSTIN TAGS

@purejasmine@caitlin1996

[dbeautify2017]

How to Style Your Bedroom with Modern Wall Decor

Your bedroom is more than just a place to sleep; it's your sanctuary, a place where you unwind, relax, and rejuvenate. One of the most effective ways to transform your bedroom into a cozy haven is by adding the right touches of modern wall decor. This powerful design element can completely change the ambiance, making your bedroom feel more stylish, inviting, and personalized.

In this blog, we’ll explore creative ways to style your bedroom with modern wall decor, incorporating unique touches like name plate design, wall clocks, Lord Shiva wall hanging, and more. Whether you’re looking for simple updates or an entire room makeover, we’ve got you covered. Let’s dive into how to add charm to your bedroom walls and make them a focal point of beauty and tranquility.

Understanding Modern Wall Decor

Before we get into specific ideas, let’s first define what we mean by modern wall decor. It’s all about simplicity, clean lines, and sleek finishes. Modern decor is minimalistic yet impactful, often featuring geometric patterns, neutral color palettes, and statement pieces that give a contemporary edge to any room. It moves away from the ornate designs of traditional styles and instead focuses on creating an atmosphere of elegance and comfort.

Now, let’s explore some exciting ideas for styling your bedroom walls using modern wall decor!

1. Incorporating Name Plate Design for Personalization

One of the easiest ways to infuse personality into your bedroom is by adding a name plate design on the wall. A name plate can be a small but impactful touch that gives your room a personal vibe. You can opt for a minimalist design in metal, wood, or acrylic, depending on your style.

A well-placed name plate at the entrance of your bedroom or above your bed will not only make your space unique but also add a sense of warmth and belonging. It’s an effortless way to welcome yourself into a room that’s entirely yours.

You can explore options for name plate design on platforms like dbeautify.com or mystore, where you’ll find a variety of modern and customizable designs that fit any bedroom theme.

2. Using Art and Craft to Add Depth

Art and craft are timeless forms of expression and make fantastic additions to any modern wall decor. Whether it’s a painting, a sculpture, or a crafted wall hanging, art can make your bedroom feel more lively and vibrant.

If you're a fan of abstract designs or minimalistic art, consider placing a large abstract painting as a focal point above your bed. For a more rustic or bohemian feel, you can explore hand-made craft pieces that add texture and interest to the wall.

Art and craft can serve as a reflection of your personality, interests, and lifestyle. From contemporary abstract art to artistic craft items like woven wall hangings, these pieces instantly elevate the look of your bedroom walls.

3. The Symbolic Lord Shiva Wall Hanging

If you're someone who seeks peace, tranquility, and spiritual energy in your room, a Lord Shiva wall hanging can be an excellent choice. Modern wall decor isn’t just about aesthetics; it can also be a way to introduce meaningful symbols into your space. Lord Shiva, with his deep connection to meditation and inner peace, is a great focal point for creating a serene atmosphere.

A Lord Shiva wall hanging can be a simple yet powerful addition to your bedroom. You can find beautifully crafted wall hangings featuring Lord Shiva in various styles—whether it’s an intricately designed metal piece or a minimalistic canvas print. Place it above your bed or near a meditation nook to bring a sense of calm to your room.

4. Roman Numeral Wall Clock for a Classic Touch

One of the most functional and stylish ways to add modern wall decor to your bedroom is by incorporating a wall clock. A Roman numeral wall clock is a perfect balance of traditional charm and modern aesthetics. The Roman numerals provide a touch of vintage elegance, while the modern design of the clock adds sophistication to the room.

A Roman numeral wall clock can become a statement piece, especially when paired with a minimalist or industrial design. You can find various styles that fit your room’s vibe—from sleek and minimal designs to bold and decorative clocks. Having a wall clock with Roman numerals also adds an element of class and nostalgia, while still maintaining a modern feel.

Where to Find the Best Wall Clocks for Sale

If you're in the market for unique wall clocks for sale, there are plenty of online stores offering stylish options that can complement your modern bedroom decor. Websites like mystore have a wide range of modern wall clocks with various designs, including Roman numeral styles.

Whether you prefer a large statement clock or a smaller, subtler design, shopping online gives you access to many choices at different price points, so you can find the perfect clock for your bedroom.

5. Wall Shelves and Floating Frames for Added Storage and Style

Modern wall decor isn’t just about decorations; it’s also about maximizing your space in an aesthetically pleasing way. Floating wall shelves are a fantastic addition to a bedroom, especially if you need extra storage. These sleek shelves can hold decorative objects, plants, or books, creating a modern, uncluttered look.

Additionally, you can use floating frames to display photographs, artwork, or memorable moments. Choose frames with clean lines and a minimalist design to keep the overall vibe modern and fresh. You can arrange multiple floating frames in a grid or stagger them in a more organic fashion to give your wall a creative flair.

6. Incorporating Statement Mirrors

Mirrors aren’t just practical; they can also serve as functional pieces of modern wall decor. A large, statement mirror on your bedroom wall adds depth and makes the room appear bigger and brighter. Opt for mirrors with sleek, geometric frames or modern abstract shapes to complement the rest of your decor.

Not only will a statement mirror enhance the room’s appearance, but it can also help create a focal point. Hang it above your dresser or as a centerpiece opposite a window to reflect natural light and open up the space.

7. Mixing Textures and Materials

When it comes to modern wall decor, one of the key techniques is mixing different textures and materials. You can combine metal, wood, fabric, and glass elements for an eclectic yet cohesive look. For instance, a combination of a wooden name plate design, a sleek metal wall clock, and soft, fabric-based art pieces can create a balanced and intriguing look.

By layering textures, you not only add visual interest to your walls but also make the space feel more dynamic and multidimensional.

8. Return Gifts as Bedroom Wall Decor

If you’re planning a special celebration or a housewarming party, you can also use return gifts as part of your bedroom decor. Thoughtful return gifts that double as wall art or decor pieces are a creative way to personalize your room. For example, handcrafted decorative items, personalized plaques, or artistic wall hangings can be given as return gifts and placed on your bedroom wall.

These gifts can hold sentimental value while also contributing to your modern wall decor, making your space feel more unique and connected to special moments in your life.

Final Thoughts

Your bedroom is a reflection of your personal style and taste, and the right modern wall decor can elevate the entire room. From name plate design to Lord Shiva wall hangings, Roman numeral wall clocks, and floating shelves, there are so many ways to express yourself through your bedroom decor.

Incorporating different textures, materials, and art pieces can transform your room into a stunning, stylish retreat. Don’t be afraid to mix and match designs to create a space that’s uniquely yours.

Remember, a beautifully styled bedroom doesn’t have to be overwhelming or complicated. With simple touches and a bit of creativity, you can create a modern and serene bedroom that feels both relaxing and visually appealing.

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