#after the painter passes away in a few months

[edwinas]

Unmet: A Neurosurgeon's Diary | Episode 10

His heart remembers.

[iknityounot]

(Long post, sorry y'all)

A little more than two years ago now, my grandmother passed away. She and my grandpa had moved down to my home town a few years before so we could take care of them. I brought them groceries once a week, helped them write checks, fixed tvs, and found lost things. I was really close with my grandma.

In addition to her hilarious personality and dry wit, one of my favorite things about her was that she was a painter and a crafter like me! She used to crochet, and I took her to the craft store a couple of times so she could get more yarn and books on crochet. But her arthritis and the shaking in her hands kept getting worse, so she eventually had to stop.

She kept her most recent project, a granny square blanket, safely packed away in a plastic bin. She told all of us she was going to finish it one day.

Her hands never got better, and when she got sick, and we found out it was cancer, she rapidly deteriorated.

After she passed, I went to work helping my mom clean out my grandparents apartment so we could move my grandpa in with her. In our frantic cleaning, I found that bin again:

DOZENS of granny squares, dozens of half used skeins. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do with it, and she said she didn't care. I set it aside and later took it home.

Maybe a month later, that tumblr post about the Loose Ends Project was going around. It felt like a sign--I was never going to learn to crochet in order to finish my grandmother's blanket. But they might be able to help!

So I filled out the interest form. They got back to me SUPER quick. And maybe 2 weeks later, I was paired with volunteer in my state (only 2 hours away!) and the box of yarn, granny squares, and my grandmother's crochet hook were in the mail. That was at the end of January this year.

Over the next couple of months, my "finisher" emailed me regular updates on her progress, and asked me questions on my preferences for how she constructed the final blanket.

At the end of August, the blanket was done!

I had always intended the blanket to be a gift for my mother. So I cleaned it up, put it in the only bag I had big enough to fit it, and drove to my mom's. I gave the blanket to her and she was gobsmacked. I explained to her all about Loose Ends, and how someone volunteered to finish the piece for us. She was speechless. (I was quite pleased with this, because I am not the best at giving gifts, so this was a pretty exciting reaction!)

She said that it was the most thoughtful gift she had ever been given. She said "your grandma would love this". To which I replied, "yeah, I know she really wanted to finish it a couple of years ago". But that was when my mom dropped the bomb of a century on me--she told me that my grandma had started making those granny squares OVER 30 YEARS AGO. She had started the blanket when my grandpa was staying in the hospital, but that was back when my mom was younger than I am now! My grandma had packed them all away, planning on finishing it, when my grandpa was sent home from the hospital. Then it went from house to house, from condo in Chicago to their apartment in my hometown. All that time and my grandma had wanted to finish it, but couldn't. First because she was busy, then because she forgot how to do it, then because of her arthritis, and then because of the cancer. My mom said she had given up on expecting my grandma to finish it. 

She said I brought a piece of her childhood with her mom out of the past.

And really, all of this is to say, if you have seen or heard about the Loose Ends Project and have an uncompleted project or piece from a loved one who has passed away--these are your people. They were so kind and treated my project with such care. That box probably would have been found by my own grandkids one day if I hadn't heard about Loose Ends.

Five stars, absolutely worth it!

(From what I understand, you can sign up to volunteer too! If you have time to share, it might be worth checking out!)

[florsial]

*THROWS BOOKS ON TABLE*

There isn't enough Bartylus content, I'm throwing a fit

And here's a lil playlist i made and realized gave off slight bartylus vibes<3:

Spectrum and Hot Gum gives off such bartylus vibes!!

Here are some Bartylus hcs!!!

-I do believe in canon Barty is younger than Reg by about a year but I don't really like that, so I imagine Barty is just younger than Reg by about a few months (i do what i want)

-Though they first met at a pureblood event when they were both 8 years old and Barty finds himself being pushed to talk to the sickly-looking boy who clung to Evan Rosier while his brother was being pulled away by Walburga and Orion. He didn't get to talk to Regulus at all that night, but Evan was nice.

-When he sat with Evan and Reg on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, Regulus still didn't talk to him. Just starred. It was then that Evan explained that Regulus didn't know any English, only French.

-So Barty tried to teach some to him, but since he was pretty stumped on English too, being used to Italian most of his life, it didn't do much for Reg. Though it did make him laugh.

-They started dating in their 4th year, at first it was just casual dating, neither of them actually thought they would last so long but that did. Though with a few split-ups here and there.

-Once when Regulus got extremely sick, Barty took a walk to pass the time (since Reg insisted that his boyfriend keep a distance so he wouldn't get sick too) and ran into a stray black cat. It reminded him of Reg so he took it with him and presented it to Reg who opted to name the cat Artemisia

-Regulus likes to write letters and poems so he can slip them into Barty's bag for him to read.

-Cue soft dancing between the two, they def do it in private as a way of comfort

-Barty finds random shit he thinks Reg will like and just bring it to him like a cat, Reg a has about 2 boxes for it all

-They both know exactly when the other is lying. Both of them grew up in households that would lie often so they would see through each other so quickly. This is why surprises between them are basically useless but Reg likes to do so anyway because it's the thought that counts in his head

-In my little head they ran away to elope and just never told anyone. In canon compliant, I would imagine them eloping in the middle of wartime and planning to announce it when everything was over, but it just never happened cuz Reg died.

-I think it would be more fun if it was in a muggle/modern au where shortly after Sirius runs away, Reg and Barty run away to elope and they just disappear until years later when Sirius sees his little brother who he thought was still living with his parents and the little fucker is married to the psychotic bitch who threw knives for fun in high school (i might actually write a fanfic on this holy shit)

-wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses wrist kisses tehe

-Regulus paints Barty's nails cuz Barty has shaky hands that can never keep still

-Partly blond Regulus who lets Barty dye his hair

-They like to play tag together, while on the outside it's just a sweet thing, it is always a bit more symbolic than what people think

-Regulus knows how to sew so when he sees that some articles of Barty's clothes are ripped, he takes them and fixes them up. When Barty takes notice of this, he takes care to buy Reg a bag of candy and extra kisses as payment

-I don't really see them as super chaotic more like, unnerving in the sense that someone will be like: Evan: Yo your boyfriend is creepin me out Barty: K, he does that Barty: anyways you wanna see this macabre painting I made of someone getting eaten Evan: . . .yk what sure

-Painter Barty/Writer Regulus who are each other's muses hehe

-Barty learned how to make rings out of paper clips so he would make them and just throw them at Regulus. He started making them in 3rd year and has yet to just give them to Reg. He has to throw it. Barty says it's tradition, Evan calls bullshit, and that Barty just likes seeing Regulus confused about where the ring fell on the ground (it's true)

-Regulus likes to sneak up on Barty but over time Barty has become more aware of Regulus sneaking up on him.

-They share jewelry but the vibes are always the complete opposite when they wear it so people don't realize they are wearing the same piece. Regulus would wear it in a fancy and sophisticated way and Barty would wear it in what I think of as the "dirtbag" way (idk how else to describe forgive me)

[cozzzynook]

After the Lost Light was taken apart and everyone went their separate ways. Ratchet never died.

Drift, Ratchet and Rodimus are all in a relationship. One day Rodimus is at a bar with Tailgate/ Cyclonus. They're catching up and talking about their relationships. Cyclonus makes a comment about how happy he seems. They are waiting for Drift and Ratchet who are late. Drift calls and tells them he just got a client who needed an emergency appointment because their loved one just died and they are a mess. Ratchet calls a few minutes later to say he has an emergency surgery and can’t make it.

They continue talking when Tailgate wants to dance. They offer for Rodimus to join them but he declines saying that he should get home. He orders one last drink for himself and doesn't realize someone spiked it until he starts feeling the effects. By this time it’s too late and he ends up getting taken. He wakes up in a hotel room and panics. He rushes home not even checking his comm.

When he gets home Ratchet is cold with him and doesn't want to let him in. He can tell both of his Conjunx are upset. He asks them what’s wrong and Ratchet shows him evidence of his cheating which was sent to them by an anonymous number. He quickly denies it and pleads with them to listen. They give him a drug test which shows nothing because the drugs are out of his system by now.

Both of them are angry. Roddy is still pleading with them to understand. At first Ratchet is the angriest and then Drift just snaps. Inner Deadlock comes out and he punches Rodimus so hard he falls to the ground. Yelling at him for betraying them. He attacks Rodimus and beats him until Ratchet decides he’s had enough and stops Drift. However he refuses him medical treatment. Rodimus, bleeding and terrified, is still pleading and ends up being kicked out.

He’s homeless for a little while still pleading with his Conjunx that he’s innocent. However they refuse to listen saying that what he’s done is unforgivable and to stop contacting them.

Rodimus finds any jobs he can to get himself off the streets. The jobs are a lot of hard work and Roddy thinks that’s why he feels sick all the time. Then one day he passes out and is taken to a doctor where he finds out he’s sparked and Ratchet and Drift are the sires.

He goes to call them and then stops. They blocked his number and said they didn’t want to talk to him ever again. He’s also afraid they would demand custody and take his sparkling away but the biggest reason is that he’s afraid of them. They hurt him and he doesn’t want to be in that position again because they could have killed his sparkling and he’s scared they will kill them if they find out.

Tailgate/Cyclonus find out what happened and they know Rodimus is innocent and they investigate. They prove to Drift and Ratchet that he wasn’t lying and was innocent the whole time.

Shocked, Drift and Ratchet decide to search for Rodimus apologize and bring him back home.

Tw

They way this pain hurts so much but man is it perfect!

They assume Rodimus did something because they already lacked faith & trust in him not to mention this solidifies what Rodimus already knew.

They never truly loved, trusted or wanted him.

The two of them needing someone other than their conjunx to tell them Rodimus is innocent is so mean and heart breaking.

They fall into a sadness knowing they pushed and ruined their conjunx who was telling the truth the entire time and even was assaulted!

He was assaulted and they weren’t there for him!

They beat themselves up so badly at the huge mistake they’ve made, especially Drift when he realizes he beat up Roddy who didn’t even try to fight back.

And them going looking for Rodimus only to find him months later leaving his new job as a painter, something he was always good at but liked keeping to himself, heavy with a sparkling in his tanks while carrying a bag of supplies and fuel.

The sight shocks them completely and they stand there spark frozen and speechless as the sun shines on him and his large round tank that makes him waddle.

They follow him to his new home. A nice area with neighborhoods in a place thats near a park but still quiet enough. Rodimus is unlocking his door when the two make themselves known by brushing his em field with sorrows and apologies only to be met with pain.

It practically kills them right then and there when they see the terrified expression on Rodimus’s faceplates as he turns around dropping his fuel and paint supplies.

His servos are protecting his tanks as he tries to back away from them shaking his helm, leaking a river from his optics at just the sight of them.

“Stay back!”

They don’t even get a word in as Rodimus almost buckles holding his tanks looking ready to collapse and go into emergence. Ratchet tries to run towards him only to be met with Rodimus’s fire burning him in warning.

“Get away from us! Come any closer and I’ll scream!”

Rodimus is venting so heavy and Drift feels coolant come to his optics much like Ratchet as Rodimus grabs his bags in a struggle and rushes tumbling into the house slamming the door locking it even using a bolt.

They can hear him leaking on the other side and all they can do is just stand there with shaky open servos that feel far too cold to belong to a living bot.

“What have we done…”

Drift isn’t sure who said it but he does know it was Ratchet who spoke after an hour of them standing there.

“..he almost went into stress induced emergence because of us…”

Its Drift who breaks the silence after another hour of standing there.

“They have to be ours…ratty…I..i beat him up..oh gosh…i-i could’ve killed them..i could’ve killed roddy and our sparkling..oh my gosh!”

Ratchet grips him to keep him from spiraling even though he himself feels like he’s dying inside at how cruel he was to his own conjunx.

“How do we fix this ratty? How?”

“I..i don’t know drift.. i don’t-i don’t know.”

Rodimus spends days inside his own home fearing for his sparkling and himself.

He can feel that Ratchet and Drift haven’t left his home once and its scaring him not knowing why.

He’s glad they don’t try and come inside but he still doesn’t want them anywhere near him or his sparkling and he needs to leave for his sparklings appointment but they’re still outside waiting for him.

So he does the next best thing.

He calls a co worker and friend of his to pick him up, explaining the situation they immediately come by with their shared group of friends…who happen to be former decepticons.

Seeing a loader full of former cons scares the heck out of the two especially when its dangerous cons they were lucky decided to leave the war instead of staying apart of it. They stroll right up to the door and go inside helping Rodimus to the loader completely blocking him from their view.

The two follow and find they took Roddy to a doctor appointment. The sight of rough huge former cons with multiple battle scars inside a small bright sparkling and carrier office was comical especially with the way they fawned over Roddy and his sparkling bump.

The two felt pain course through them as they realized once again just how much they’ve messed up and think to themselves once more.

What have we done and how do we fix this?

Eventually they corner Rodimus and get on their knees apologizing and eventually he listens to their apologies before telling them to leave.

He confirms its their sparkling and says they can see them when they emerge and help raise them but thats it.

It’s obvious roddy still loves them but that kind of hurt just doesn’t go away with an apology.

They vow to spend the rest of their lives making up for what they’ve done and winning him back and he tells them its no need because he doesn’t want that.

He just wants his sparkling to be safe and have a happy life and he wishes them the same but just not with him.

They refuse to give up though and they eventually do get Roddy back. They never let a day go by without Rodimus knowing he’s deeply loved

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Paint yourself and your entire being

Ethan x housekeeper!reader

warning : kinda fluff/comfort, kiss, mentioned of masturbation unreliable narrator/story, no use of y/n

Summary : After everything that had happened Ethan realised that he couldn't run the house alone, an artist had to focus on his work…but since the housekeeper was with him his inspiration seemed to be completely different until the moment the ink glass shattered and blood mixed with the black liquid and two strangers met.

info : i watched the film a few weeks ago and although confusing i liked the atmosphere, i hope it doesn't get too confusing otherwise i would watch the film first but i'll do my best. Well I hope to see some Caleb finds on tumblr have fun reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house when she first saw it was engaging, the old stone overgrown with plants, the pool covered with a tarpaulin and the driveway completely untidy as if someone had walked in and just scattered the stones all over the place.

It was a state of affairs that didn't fit in with the place or with the person who had hired her, the artist, the author and painter Ethan, a young man in his late twenties, she had found a few books with expressive drawings but apart from that hardly anything, it seemed as if he had no private life apart from his profession.

But when he stood in front of her at the beginning of the year, the spring only slowly ending with the snow, the bright eyes looking at her, the short hair that she could see resembled a bright autumn day, she was taken in, ,,Glad you're here…the house needs care after all…when time passes like this" he had asked her into the house then, her room shown large enough that it was almost half of her small flat.

The longer she followed him through the house, trying to remember what she saw, she only slowly realised that it was actually only the outside that he needed to get cleaned, ,,I'll take good care of everything, you can go about your work in peace," she assured him when they arrived back outside her room.

His look was almost one of gratitude, a gratitude as if he had something inside him that was causing him trouble but he had only turned away with a nod and so it had been for months, from the spring when she took care of the outside of the house, ordered people, helped herself and yet always knew that he was watching her.

Whether she was at the pool or on her day one look behind her she always saw Ethan standing at the window, his hand on the glass where he held his pencil, the balcony where he looked at her never saying hello, never saying anything, always just looking at her like she was another piece of the house.

As if she was like a drop of colour that he could look at and create into something that his mind would time…and maybe at some point she would find herself thinking that it was her.

The longer she stayed in this house as the sun set and the sound of food rippled around the kitchen, Ethan stood behind her, leaning in the doorway, his bright eyes fixed on her, the tip of his thumb pressing painfully sweetly on the tip of the pen until he bled and seemed to wake from his trance.

,,You're bleeding…Ethan" she had said as she stood in front of him with the plate of paste, the red blood staining the edge of the plate and her eyes unable to tear herself away from his liquid until he had to tear himself away from her in what felt like a stupor.

The creaking of the house calling her back as she stood back in the kitchen with nothing in her hands, ,,I know,” she heard his reply as little more than a whisper as if his voice had been lost in the house before she made herself dinner.

Since the summer it always seemed to be the meeting together in the kitchen, in the garden or even in her room when she opened the window to let in the cool night air when she went to sleep she was moved by something bright, a light no sound just a light that seemed to come from the garden.

But as she watched it, she watched Ethan approach her room out of the light, his hand reaching out through the window to take hers and engage her in a kiss, a kiss that robbed her of her sleep and woke her up to the chirping of birds.

So it went on and on until she was busy trimming the hedge in the summer after she had run new euqipment and heard a splash, a splash that sent fear through her body ,,It's just him and me who else?" she asked herself and gripped the hedge trimmer tighter as she walked towards the pool and almost screamed when she saw a woman swimming in it.

A woman…a someone…a person who seemed to be standing between Ethan and her - it was his sister.

A sister she had never seen in photos, a sister who only wanted to stay for a few days, but days with such people who come with bad things always seem longer.

Longer and longer, the next brighter and more confusing, and even Ethan found his voice again, trying not to let his sister distract him from his work, ,,So you're looking after him, are you?" Alice had asked her as the younger girl watched her work in the garden. It was like a new thing to Alice, as if a secluded territory had simply been torn apart by force.

She knew that Ethan wasn't at home, no, she sensed that something was wrong with him since Alice had been here, ,,I'll look after the house and make dinner, that's all," she replied, looking into the dark sunglasses that lay in front of the others' eyes.

It was as if the few words with Ethan meant so much more than those words between her and Alice, like a snake eating itself, until she heard shouting from the house, an altercation she became the observer to as she went back into the kitchen and watched the two of them.

She watched the back and forth between the siblings, the shouting, the holding on only to push each other away again because they couldn't stand the closeness. It should have just stayed like that, him and her and not his sister turning up and not leaving.

But in this back-and-forth, Alice finally pulled away when Ethan slammed the door in her face and told her to leave, the angry young woman turned round without a word and left, whether she disappeared into the house or went back to the car, she didn't care what she cared about was the clanging and crashing that soon followed from the artist's room.

As if something had been broken, like she had fallen or someone had deliberately thrown something, she went to the room and knocked on the door but got no answer, ,,Ethan?" she asked, saying his name as she opened the door and closed it behind her.

Seeing what she thought was another kiss, a larger drawing in black ink and red, but as she looked at the redhead's pale blue skin, the blood dripping from his hand, the ink mixing with his blood on the floor and an observant look watching her as she reached for a cloth she still had with her from the kitchen.

,,Does she hurt you? That's not a work of art, is it?" she asked, clasping his bloodied hand and trying to get the ink out of the blood as best she could, but he seemed to barely move, too fixated on her, his muse, this being he had commissioned…she who was now in his room, his realm.

He shook his head, his free hand, stained with a few inky spirits, went to her cheek as if he didn't trust himself, barely touching her until she slowly, as if it was the right thing to do, as if someone was making her nestle her head against his hand.

The ink was cool but he seemed as warm as a person could be who was right in front of her, bright eyes flashing with excitement at her reaction, ,,She comes and goes…but you, you've become my muse," he replied in a whisper, his voice laced with indifference when it came to his sister but the touch of his bloody one against hers made her feel the small cuts, she almost shuddered when she could feel his insides.

They both didn't move from the floor instead her eyes took her eyes off his as she saw a bidl that had fallen to the floor from his auraster or whatever he had done, a picture of tunte and blood, a shimmer of beauty as she looked at the naked woman on it.

A woman of her appearance looking at her while her hands disappeared between her thighs, her hips seemingly moving and a warmth and eroticism emanating from the drawing-almost as if he had been with her every night while she indulged her lust and modelled for him, a muse for his drawing.

,,See, it's always been you," he pointed out, running his hand over hers, blood and ink staining it as their heads leaned against each other, a moment between them before he engaged her in a long-awaited kiss, finally touching, touching and touching.

He held her tight and she enjoyed being held by him forever as she stroked his wound feeling his shudder knowing that he needed this something and she knew no matter what it was, whether it was the light, whether it was his sister or whether it was her she would give him everything as his muse that he needed knowing that she would stay with him forever no matter what happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[inchidentally]

MUSE LANDO YES

truly is this what he is for DJs?? energy being so important for a DJ set and of course having beautiful Lando dancing around with the sheen of his perfectly toned skin reflecting every change of the lights right where they can grab at him and furtively smell where his cologne hasn't touched has got to be inspiration.

but god I want him to get really artsy friends who not only make him feel desired and loved but who can express how Lando makes them feel in photography, painting, sculpture, poetry, film, or making jewelry that specifically invokes Lando's eyes or the gradient of pinks in his lips or the way humidity clings to his curls like a coronet fashioned from the air of faraway places that smell like oudh incorporated in a fragrance made just for him.

a painter could express the textures and vibrating energy of Lando standing shirtless and shoeless on a balcony during torrential rain. a sculptor could transform pieces of old industrial iron into a lithe climbing shape to evoke Lando stretching himself up and awake after a nap on a sun-filled penthouse rug. photographers and visual artists would spend weeks just following him around cities he's never seen before, straining to capture the way his neck extends balletic and strong when his curiosity is piqued and the broken-open fragility of his verde gris eyes when he falls into a fleeting love affair with a stranger or a cramped side street or a little hint of the humdrum practicality of a Normal Life he's never known even in passing.

and if I let my brain go real nuts here maybe some rumpled wannabe documentary filmmaker-slash-nepo baby desperate to justify his place in filmmaking chooses to stumble after Lando during an entire F1 season. and maybe he brings a cumbersome setup of thin, patched screens covered in acoustic foam panels and an even more unwieldy vintage camera across oceans and continents so that he always records Lando in one familiar corner of space no matter where they are. maybe he's trying to settle Lando's too-trusting, frightened nature into a sense of habit so that he can finally record the way Lando looks and talks when everyone's phones are down and the early evening steals the hotel room's artificial light and makes reality feel thin and viscous. maybe after a few races he finally gets Lando to talk about The Ones Who Were Gone. the men who did what Lando had never known men could do to him: leave. he'd urge Lando past the "I know it's stupid" and "it's totally normal in racing" and "obviously we're still really good friends, it's not a big deal anymore". get him to revisit two, three, four years ago and the filmmaker would sit frozen as still as possible until Lando's face regresses into the softness and the bitterness of watching a supposed dear friend laughing big and loud while his child's heart was burning with hurt and sadness. perhaps it would feel too cruel to keep him there in that old sadness and the filmmaker's own voice would be left in the film when he brings up Piastri. good, steady, possibly boring Piastri who eagerly took two extra years before his first had even finished. the even-keeled wallflower who had endured resounding hatred from fans across everywhere Ricciardo had sown loyalty to himself and an entire team proclaiming Piastri an ungrateful turncoat, both to the public and to the court. the pale boy who pressed his pale lips together and turned his shoulders in and soldiered on through months of everyone crowing that he must already regret all he had thrown away, that he was getting what he deserved. all because the boy chose McLaren, chose the little live-wire changeling Lando, and whose steady brown eyes saw his future's glory clear and bright through the mess and the noise. the boy who was so unlike Lando in every superficial way, who Lando one day turned to look at in the eyes and thought 'you're the same as me'.

because it was worth the waiting through all of Lando's capricious sometimes frenetic moods during their hours of filming to capture the moment when Lando's smile untwists from wry and fond to bright and clear when he talks about his future with the boy who waits and watches - and sometimes turns serious - in exactly the way the one! and only! Lando Norris! deserves. whose eyes see just what Lando's see and the filmmaker thinks bang! got it! because that bright-eyed toothy smile looks just like the photo of tiny Lando holding a trophy nearly the size of his own body that he's absolutely going to cut into the end of the doc.

[orphanedinstoryville]

I run a blog where I share paintings I like. For the past few months there’s been a certain type of grifter popping up in my feed using bots to share AI art with the name of a “painter” at the bottom. I’ve been slowly keeping track of these types and filtering them from my feed and I just thought I’d name and shame them here so you can do the same.

Fake painters spamming tumblr with fake paintings

kaoru yamada

jeff stanford

juan brufal

inge schuster

seji tomoda

thiemo tausendfarben

Pass this list on, help block their definitionally derivative “art” help me add any more of these to my list of names to filter

The problem I have with these isn’t even a philosophical one about wether or not AI images are art (although they aren’t) or an ethical one about how they are autogenerating the same image over to sell cheap prints to people who don’t know any better. (Although it is definitely unethical) My problem isn’t an economic one that they’re taking revenue away from working artists. (Although they definitely are and I hate that too.)

No, my problem is just a simple aesthetic one. Their art sucks and I hate seeing it. I like looking at paintings because the more I look the more I see. With a real painting you get a first impression after a split second and then look deeper, the painting directs your attention around the page, you notice background details, brush strokes, you can see the story the painter was trying to tell, guess at their mood as you see how every little detail adds up, the more you look the more you see the humanity.

With AI it’s the opposite. It’s all first glance. (And some of these are legitimately nice on the first glance) but then the closer you look the less human it gets. The faces are all the same. you can’t tell if it’s an oil painting or a print or a photograph. Clothing details become background details, background details look impossible. Hair strands move like some lovecraftian monstrosity. Instead of brush strokes and ink blots it resolves to little bacterial strands of randomly generated noise. It’s not just bad art, it’s the opposite of art, the closer you look the more alien it becomes.

I hate it just because every time I see one it’s one less real painting I get to see so I’m blocking them all and I’m blocking any blog I see them on.

[miracleintheandes]

The Survivors (Part 2)

check out part 1 here!

Born on December 9th 1949, Nando’s first days in the mountains were arguably more traumatic than everyone else’s. He was in a coma for three days and the others put him to sleep near the entrance of the fuselage on the first night.

Because it was the coldest spot available, the injured with a lesser chance of survival were left there. Next to him were his sister Susy and his best friend Francisco “Panchito” Abal. 

Ironically, sleeping in the cold saved Nando’s life. His head was half-buried in snow, which prevented it from swelling and hemorrhaging. He was eventually moved to a warmer spot when Diego Storm noticed his condition wasn’t that bad.

Nando woke up only to find out that his mother Eugenia had died instantly in the crash, while Panchito perished within the first 24 hours. Susy, on the other hand, was in critical condition. As soon as he woke up, Nando dedicated himself entirely to taking care of his sister, until she sadly passed away in his arms eight days after the crash, on October 21st 1972.

From then on, Nando was relentless in his determination to get himself out of the mountains. When the authorities failed to locate the wreckage in the first few days, he knew they were doomed. The others had to persuade him to wait for a rescue they were sure to come or at least for the weather conditions to improve.

With Roberto Canessa, Nando would eventually walk for 10 days and 61 kilometers (38 miles) in search of help. He never quarreled with anyone and was beloved by the other survivors for his selflessness and resilience.

Born on May 13th 1953, Gustavo was a Stella Maris alumnus and played rugby for the Old Christians. He was a first-year medical student and tended to the injured with Roberto Canessa, as well as aiding the cousins in the process of cutting the meat off the bodies.

In an early expedition with Numa Turcati and Daniel Maspons, Gustavo located some of the bodies that were sucked out of the plane when it lost its tail and wings. During said expedition, the trio had to sleep out in the open and miraculously did not freeze overnight. Upon descent, so bright was the sunlight reflected by the snow that Gustavo was left blind for a few days.

He also collected and kept the belongings of the deceased, intending to return the items to their families. When the group was rescued, he identified the human remains to the authorities and was the very last to board the helicopters.

Born on December 11th 1935, Javier was the oldest survivor. He and his wife Liliana had been invited on the trip by his cousin Francisco “Panchito” Abal, an Old Christians player and Nando Parrado’s best friend.

He suffered from severe altitude sickness, which prevented him from helping around the fuselage.

Javier and Liliana had four children and intended to celebrate their wedding anniversary in Chile. Though she survived the crash, Liliana unfortunately did not make it out of the Andes (more details to come). Javier remarried and had four more children.

He died of cancer on June 4th 2015.

Born on April 24th 1948, “Coche” Inciarte had no ties to the rugby team or the Stella Maris school, but he was invited on the trip by his best friend Gaston Costemalle, who played for the Old Christians.

He had an extremely hard time ingesting human flesh and his weight dropped from 92 kilos to 45 kilos. In the last few days of the ordeal, Coche decided that if rescue didn’t come until December 24th, he’d let himself die (he was rescued on December 23rd). He married his girlfriend Soledad eight months after that and had three kids (two daughters and a son).

A talented artist and painter, Coche unfortunately passed away on July 23rd 2023 at 75 years-old, after battling cancer for many years.

Born on August 31st 1951, Pedro traveled with his close friends Felipe Maquiarrán and Arturo Nogueira, the latter of which played for the Old Christians. Felipe died in the crash, while Arturo passed away mid-November.

Pedro had no physical injuries, but he suffered from amnesia. He could not recall the days prior to the accident, nor that he had a girlfriend waiting for him in Chile.

Unlike most of the other boys, Pedro was an introvert and a socialist. Nevertheless, he played a decisive role when the group decided to eat the bodies of the deceased. He compared it to the Holy Communion, which did wonders to convince some who were reluctant (the survivors were mostly Catholic).

Having lived in Chile, Pedro pointed out that summer in the country usually started around November 15th (the plane actually crashed in Argentina, but the boys were unaware of that). Therefore, the group decided the expeditionaries should leave on that day in search of rescue.

Born on February 17th 1951, “Moncho” was close friends with fellow survivors Bobby François and Carlitos Páez. When he boarded the plane, he realized another close friend of his was on the trip, Rafael Echavarren (who unfortunately did not survive).

Alongside Roy Harley, Javier Methol and Coche Inciarte, Moncho was one of the weakest survivors upon rescue.

Born on January 17th 1953, Roberto was a Stella Maris alumnus and one of the best players of the Old Christians. He was also a second-year medical student.

Roberto was extremely smart and took care of the injured as best as he could. He improvised hammocks for those with broken legs so they could sleep more comfortably and avoid being stepped on in the cluttered fuselage. It was also his idea to use the seat covers as blankets, which somewhat reduced the risk of hypothermia.

Stubborn and fiercely determined, his teammates called him “Muscles”, not necessarily for his physical strength. Roberto constantly quarreled with his fellow survivors, but he was respected by everyone for his capacity to solve problems.

When it came to feeding off human flesh, he was a strong proponent from the start, using his knowledge of medicine to persuade others.

In spite of his flaws, Roberto showed great bravery and strength by joining Nando Parrado in the final expedition. They walked for 10 days and 61 kilometers (38 miles) before running into a muleteer named Sergio Catalan.

Born on May 26th 1952, Roy was a Stella Maris alumnus and played for the Old Christians. He was close friends with survivors Carlitos Páez and Bobby François, as well as Diego Storm and Gustavo Nicolich (deceased).

As an engineering student, Roy had some rough knowledge of electronic equipment. In spite of his fragile mental state, he was pressured by his companions to fix the plane’s radio once the batteries were found in the tail. He did not succeed, nor was he expected to, as the radio was broken beyond repair.

He is Roberto Canessa’s brother-in-law, as their wives are sisters (Laura and Cecilia, respectively).

[sealovinq]

kelcy baden lore dump. (survivor au edition)

ok hi i'm back from my vacay but i came home two days ago, i've just been playing i.dv ever since i came home. :'D lately i've been thinking of an au where kelcy is able to go to the manor a few months after jose left. it's also where kelcy is a survivor and has abilities like other survivors do ingame. canonically, she stays back home and gives birth to their child and takes care of him alone for a few years. however, if she does make it to the manor, she would have received a letter that promised her the safe return of her husband, but not hers.

in jose's match, he was with four other survivors — enchantress, cowboy, perfumer, and painter. with kelcy in the manor, that will make them a total of six. it's also worth mentioning that there were no hunters directly involved in this match, it's more of, like, the presence of the hunter (specifically wu ch.ang from his umbrella) driving the survivors insane and causing them to make irrational decisions. this affects jose the most as he came to the manor to search for the umbrella in the first place.

the painter was chosen as a sacrifice by the enchantress to end this madness — but kelcy would be the sacrifice instead OR she would be the sacrifice alongside the painter. i don't know which one will make the most sense or be the most relevant, and i don't know either how exactly they would be sacrificed as the lore hasn't mentioned anything about it yet, but yes, she will die.

this will cause the biggest heartbreak in jose's life, to be taken away from his wife, only reunite with her for a short while, and have her taken away from him this time. he couldn't do anything to prevent the curse from consuming her life away, he could only hold her weak body in his arms and beg for her to stay awake.

and yes, kelcy would still be pregnant in all of this. she would have found out before she came to the manor because she was already several weeks in. she was reluctant to tell her husband and spare him the heartbreak of losing two of the most important people to him, but she guided his hand to her stomach and told him, "they love you too." (she doesn't know the gender as of yet)

kelcy and jose would share an intimate kiss before she completely passes away. jose refuses to leave her body even when being told that he can go home. he would only comply when he's promised that her body will taken care of and he can take her with him back home.

all that he has left of her is the picture of her he keeps in his pocket watch. this au has the biggest butterfly effect; if she stayed home, would all of this have happened?

credits: @/anitalenia

[larvasmoon]

Portrait of the pale elf (2) - Rough sketches of a stranger

Chapter Summary : Who is a painter if she cannot paint anymore ? Selene has reached a dead-end, she is uninspired and despaired, wandering aimlessly in the streets of Baldur's Gate. But it is without counting on the fact that one fateful encounter can change anything and everything, and set in motion the wheel of fortune.

Warnings : Abuse. Mention of past abuse. Teasing. Pining.

Word count : 3,6k

Authors's Note : In this chapter I'm introducing my OC, Selene, a shy little painter. Tav will be part of this story too, but not yet :) You can also find this story on my Ao3. I hope you will enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it !

How strange it is to lose something you thought you’d always have, Selene thought, as she sat in front of a blank canvas. 

As far as she could remember, she’d always had fingers stained with paint or charcoal. It had came to her as naturally as her first breath, or as the first clumsy steps of a child. 

There was a silence now in her mind, an absence that she didn’t quite understand. As if a long lost version of her past self had packed all her belongings, and left her to rot in a world devoid of beauty.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t inspired, she could’ve painted anything and everything. She’d only have to take few steps outside to find a pretty view in Baldur’s Gate.

She was simply terrified to do so, after that one incident.

Come back, Please come back to me, she silently prayed to Déneïr, or to any other god that had once taken an interest in the follies of artists. How am I supposed to live this way ?, she kept begging, night and day, day and night, but no answer ever came, either from the sky above, or from her own paralyzed psyche. 

Weeks after weeks, months after months, torn pieces of paper after torn pieces of paper, ripped canvases after ripped canvases, she wasted away. She grew thin and sickly, sleepless and with no appetite for life. 

It would have been fine if she was the only one to suffer from this peculiar affliction, but Selene wasn’t free to paint when she felt like it. She had responsibilities, paintings to finish in time, and a master painter to please. 

Damian Fallheel, was an acclaimed and renowned artist amongst Baldur’s Gate nobility. She was nothing but an orphan, an half-elf little girl with no prospects and future, when he’d taken her in. 

One day, he’d walked by the steps of the orphanage she was sitting on, furiously drawing on a stone with chalks. Even after all this time, she still remembered how dazzling he looked to her children’s eyes.

He stood tall above her in the declining light of the late afternoon, cladded in dark blue silk and golden jewelries. His long blond hair was tied by a red ribbon in his back, and he had the most beautiful golden eyes she'd ever seen. Everything, from the way he was dressed to the way he moved, reminded her that they should not have been breathing the same air.

If the sun had been graced with a body and a face, he would've looked like Damian, so the little girl guessed that he was a sun elf. He could only be a high ranking nobility one, like the pretty people that she sometimes saw when she dared to go to the limits of the higher city, just to get a glimpse of the "toffs" as the other kids would say.  

His bright eyes curiously followed the motions of her fingers, the swirls and the scratches, the halts and the continuations. Crouching down to be at eye level with her, he then stared at her drawing intently for a few minutes.

What he saw in that unskilful drawing made by an eight year old girl, she would never know.

Selene’s small heart hammered in her chest, because it was the first time someone had ever taken an interest in her at all. It was as if she suddenly realized that she existed. Her whole life she’d felt as though she was an invisible spectator, sitting on the side of the stage of life, waiting to be given a role to play. 

Strangers usually passed by the streets without a glance, cats curled up by the plants pots behind her for a nap, couples giggled and kissed arm in arm. But no one ever went out their way like this. Ever.

He softly traced the colorful butterfly wings she’d drawn with his fingertips. "Do you like to draw, child ?"

"It’s the only thing I’ve ever liked", she shyly replied with an adorable lisp, hiding her blushing cheeks behind her black hair. 

"Drawing is akin to magic, you know. Things that are real, things that aren’t, it doesn’t matter. You will always have the world, and beyond, at the tips of your fingers. It’s a gift." 

As he was talking to her about the beauty of art, she felt as though he was part of the things she’d like to have at the tips of her fingers. At night, when all the other children would be asleep in the dormitory, she’d slip away by the kitchens, and light a candle in secret. While the whole world would be dreaming, far far away, she’d draw him by memory, to never forget this moment.

Sad days weren’t scarce in orphanages. Some kids would cling to a book, a toy, or a small object left with them by their parents, to survive in the hardest of times. Selene cherished her drawings instead. Not because she’d made them, but because each one of them was a memento of a particularly happy memory. 

"Yes, but I need to see more of it to paint it", she wistfully added, "And children like me don’t go anywhere."

His long and graceful fingers caressed her cheeks, wiping away a tear that she didn’t know was there. 

"What is your name ?"

There was nothing in the blanket Selene was wrapped in, when they found her at the doorstep of the orphanage. No jewelry, no doll, just a crumpled piece of paper with a name hastily written in black ink. 

"Selene" she mumbled, as he gently tuck a few strands of her dark hair behind her ear to properly look at her. 

"Would you like to come and see the world with me then, Selene ? I’m a painter myself, I could teach you."

Such offer could never be refused, of course. She had willingly taken Damian’s hand, and he’d her made her his student and apprentice.

She didn’t know it then, but she had been caught in a trap.

To this day, she couldn’t tell what Damian truly was to her. 

A teacher. A master. A father figure. An unrequited love. 

These days, he was, above all, a thief. An indebted clown, that signed her own paintings with his name. 

If someone was to learn that Damian Fallheel was a liar and a farce, what a tragedy it’d be. For him and for her. Her name would forever be soiled and associated into every mind with his scam. 

How unfair it was that he could drag her with him in his fall, when he’d always made sure that his rise to fame would never rub on her. 

For the past ten years, all his best works had secretly been painted by Selene. She’d always had to endure the torture of seeing people congratulate him, praise him, worship him, in her place.

It’ mine. It’s all mine, don’t you see ?, she wanted to scream, but always remained silent and poised instead. Damian’s good little apprentice, the docile and gifted child he’d generously saved from a life of misery.

He had indeed given her a role on the wide stage of life, but she’d been fooled. Her master had promised her that she would be one of the main actors, but he’d made her a bit player instead. 

All of this she could endure, somehow. 

But to lose the sole purpose of her life ? To be stripped of her art altogether ? She could not. 

Sometimes she even wondered if this was a form of divine punishment. She thought that the deity that had once been looking over her, had forsaken her, because she’d given up on her own paintings.

Because she had given them away so easily to Damian for scraps of love, just to hear him say that she "belonged".

You have given up on yourself, child, so I shall give up on you in turn, the god would sternly say, weighing in their hands the gravity of her crime. 

And yet, right when she had started to lose all hope, she crossed path with him. 

The breathtaking stranger that she saw almost every night, sitting and reading at the Black Cat’s Delight. 

It was a small tavern, in the very last streets of the higher city, that only artists visited. Some came to discuss, to exchange ideas, and sometimes to find an understanding shoulder to cry on. Others came to read and enjoy the unusual books that the owner collected and shared with her guests : grimoires of scatty enchantments, encyclopedias on all the fashion trends of the last centuries, memoirs of famous painters and sculptors of Faerûn … 

That man belonged to the second category. 

He came to sit on his own, near the library nook, and read silently on his own for a few hours, with a glass of red wine by his hand.

At first, she’d just cast discreet glances at him, her eyes ever drawn to lovely picture his presence created in the dimmed atmosphere of the tavern. 

He would always sit by the windows, and the streets lights that came through it made it look like his white curls were made of star light. The diffused silver hues made it look like he had a halo about him, one that she’d only imagined gods, angels, or otherworldly creatures would’ve been blessed with.

Shadows and gleams of light moved across his focused face, with each coach passing by, with each silhouette walking past the storefront. Chiaroscuros danced around every one of his sharp lines and soft edges, as if even the darkness and the light were fighting the right to touch and covet such beauty.

What a marvel his symmetrical and delicate features were… She would’ve argued that his visage was more bewitching, than those of the marbly statues of angels she’d admired in the estates of some baldurian nobles. 

His eyes were, probably, the part of him that she observed the most.

Two rubies, shimmering in the candlelights. They looked identical to the rings on his fingers, adorned with big red stones she’d only seen in the jewelleries’ window displays of the richest neighborhoods, where Damian’s manor was. 

One night, her hands moved on their own and grabbed her charcoal stick.

It felt like she’d been possessed, and she quickly entered the familiar trance of a painter at work.

Fingers moving on their own. Eyes glazed over and frantic.

On some corner of a page she drew one of his low set eyes, and the shadow cast by his lashes on his cheek. 

On another one, she traced the graceful curve of his long hands around the binding of his book.

And then in the middle, she meticulously drew his side profile. The soft and almost imperceptible curve of his straight nose. His barely opened mouth, as if to draw a sigh. The intricacies of his jawline, neither sharp or round. The shape of his pointy ear, picking through his thick hair. The pale column of his neck, barely visible amongst the rustles of his pussybow shirt. 

It went on like this, night after night. Her sketchbook all but filled with parts of him, glimpses of his beauty, she felt like she couldn’t take enough time to do justice to. 

"His name is Astarion" the owner, Lara, had once whispered in Selene’s ears as she placed a cup of brewed tea by her side, "He is a very famous tailor … Well, I should probably introduce him first as one of the heroes that saved us ten years ago, before deciding to sew dresses for the riches."

She’d settled beside her on a stool, and leaned closer to mutter the next part, as if it was too scandalous to risk other people hearing it. 

"They say he is a vampire. Rumors has it that a lot of his clients like to indulge his needs… and do many other vulgar things",she giggled, quickly getting up and about to serve the other clients. 

Selene blushed, flushed from her neck to the tip of her ears. A vampire … It explained his mystical aura for sure. An image of him with blood smeared across his perfect lips flashed in her mind, and her fingers tightened around her pencil, as if they itched to draw it. 

See it, etch it, trace it on the blank paper. 

She liked to admire him from afar, to simply pay tributes to his magnificence without him being aware. It probably would’ve gone on and on this way, if he hadn’t been the one the creep closer.

Selene didn’t know it then but, one cannot really observe a vampire without him being aware. Such sharp senses wouldn’t allow it. 

Especially not Astarion’s. 

"Are you drawing me by any chance ?", an enchanting voice had asked from behind her shoulder one evening, and she nearly wailed in terror. 

"N-No", she stuttered, and her words came out hurried and muffled like a child surprised by their parents while doing something naughty, "I'm definitely not."

When she turned around, there he was. So regal. So close. So … wonderfully… himself.

Her hands instinctively shot up to slam her sketchbook close, and a dangerous smirk settled on his delicate lips. 

A single lose piece of paper had escaped her rushed hands and was flying away, slowly falling at his feet. 

When he bent down to pick it up, her heart was in her throat.

It was just a barely finished drawing of his hands, and yet she’d never felt that vulnerable when showing her work before. 

Don’t look at it. It’s messy. It’s ugly. I’m far too out of practice. 

"Oh come now darling, are you lying as well as prying on me ? Those are unmistakably my own dainty fingers, I’d recognize them anywhere", he chuckled before showing her his index and the jewelry on it, "And I haven’t seen anyone wear that one ring in all of Faerûn either…Apart from me that is."

Darling, he’d said to her. She thought she might combust right then and there.

"I’m so sorry I should’ve asked-", she started but, he gracefully walked closer, and leaned on the back of the empty chair next to her own. 

"Don’t apologize. Being a source of inspiration is hardly offensive, on the contrary."

His perfume softly drifted in the air. Astarion supposedly was a creature of the night, but she’d never met someone that smelt so much like the sun. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture a hot summer’s evening in a garden full of herbs and flowers, the way their earthy scent would be pugnant after a day in the blazing heat.

Bergamot. Rosemary. And a hint of alcool, that she thought came from the drink he’d left by the grimoire he’d been reading that night.

"I’m sorry if I seemed creepy, staring so intensely. I needed to practice and, the scenery just looked so lovely.",she softly muttered, her hands still tightly clasped around the cover of her sketch book, as if she feared it would fly open on it’s own.

" I’m used to people staring at me, but usually they end up making a move at some point’ he picked his nails as he talked, and Selene couldn’t help but follow each and every one of his motion with awe.

She noticed how his hands gracefully moved around each time he talked, or how his muscles flexed under the pale skin of his veiny forearms. "I saw you lurking for weeks, and I was wondering when you would."

It would be a mix of yellow, white, beige, and perhaps a hint of purple, or blue, for the cold undertone. Just thin layers of paint, repeated touches of colors, until she’d have managed to translate the "translucent" quality of his skin on the canvas.

"Patience isn’t really my thing, so my curiosity got the best of me and I talked to you first."

He gave her the first ever smile she’d seen on him then, all dimples and sharp teeth. The color of his pouty lips should be a cold pink, slightly mauve, maybe a rose de bois. 

"I understand now, you were not just admiring me for the sake of admiring me, were you ?", Astarion seductively implied, and it’s only then that she picked up on the conversation. The rest of his words had somehow been lost to her, as if for a few seconds, she’d been too busy painting him on the walls of her mind. 

Imagining the right colors to use, and the right way to apply it on the stretched fabric. 

"To be honest, you are the first person I’ve been wanting to draw in quite a bit of time.", she finally confessed, quite sheepishly, and as soon as she’d said it, she regretted admitting to her pitiful state.  

"Could I see ?", he asked and there was an edge to his voice that made her look at him straight in the eyes for the first time since they’d started talking, ‘Your drawings, I mean.’

She was met with a smoldering look, his irises shining up close like the dying embers of a fire. There were no traces of deceit or mockery in his gaze, he truly meant it. 

Or so it seemed. 

"It’s nothing spectacular really, just a few unimpressive sketches. I’m no great artist, just a nobody in a city full of maestros."

"Please", he sensually begged, his voice swiftly dropping a few octaves. Liquid smooth. 

He slowly bent over, bracing his hands on the table, to come closer. The devious smirk that she'd seen him wear before disappeared, and his molten gaze intimately followed the lines of her features. This almost painful scrutiny had Selene squirming on her seat, cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

From this new angle, she could see the scar on his neck. The ghost of a gruesome puncture wound emerging from the frills of his fancy silk shirt. A crack in his mask of glamour and seduction. 

It was but a somber reminder of the fact that he indeed was a being who forever belonged to the darkness : a vampire.

The painter in her almost reached for it, unknowingly eager to have the more sinister parts of him at tips of her fingers, and at the tip of her paint brushes. She wouldn't only draw the sublime parts of him, she'd embrace everything that he was. 

Every scar. Every fang. Every dark urge. Every blood stain. 

His pale ringed fingers reached out to toy with the end of her dark curls, gliding and tugging, mere inches away from the open collar of her shirt that she had unbuttoned earlier.

"Don’t be so ridiculously humble. I can already tell just by looking at this", he tapped on the drawing with his index, before whispering in her ear, "that you are quite the accomplished artist."

Delicious shivers ran down her spine.

Astarion then glided his fingers through a strand of her long hair, and his hand gently brushed against her cheek when he tucked it behind her ear. 

"So indulge me, darling."

She felt his cold and sweet breath on her cheek, and he was so close that it almost seemed like he would kiss it.

He was perfect in every possible way, the most magnificent man she’d ever seen in her entire miserable existence …And yet, something felt wrong. 

His gesture had reminded her of something. A painful superposition.

The sad memory of the day she'd met Damian flashed before her eyes. 

She stared at Astarion's fingers, and all she could think about was the way her master had touched her hair at the orphanage.

Let it be a warning, she'd vowed to herself, a reminder of the fact that pretty words and a soft hand are often used to blind and abuse the trust of others.

Do you like to draw, child ?, he'd asked her, and she knew with certainty, that her answer to that question had changed.

And just as she was thinking about the master painter, the doors of the tavern were violently thrown open. 

An elf furiously emerged from the darkness of the busy streets, and Selene suddenly wanted to throw up.

Talk of the devil and he will appear.

"There you are ! I have been looking for you everywhere !", Damian exclaimed, his boots stamping on the wooden floor as he quickly got to her table. 

His amber eyes nervously darted to Astarion, but he did not introduce himself, like Selene would’ve expected. 

No handshake, no bow, no curtesy. No fake smiles or disgusting flattery. 

How peculiar… Fallheel wouldn’t usually miss any chance to sell himself, or to "extend his social circle", as he would say. 

Damian simply looked at Selene once again, with a scolding look that she’d seen too many times before. It made her shudder with fear as much as it did when she was still a child.  

"Obey me. Or I'll put you back where you belong, in the streets you were born.", he would always say when she grew untamed.

She instinctively gathered her belongings, and put on her coat, before apologetically smiling at Astarion. He had a strange and guarded composure, one similar to the way his face looked while he read his books. Now that she’d seen him being so animated, it felt impossibly wrong. 

Gracefully handing her sketch back to her, he kept his claret eyes trained on her. 

"Oh no, please keep it... As an apology."

Before Astarion could answer, her master suddenly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along with him towards the exit. 

"We have much to do, Selene. Do hurry up, will you ?", he reprimanded her with an exasperated sigh.

"Thank you" she quickly blurted out to the vampire, and the corner of his mouth perked up slightly. 

"For what, darling ?"

"For giving me back something I thought I’d lost."

He furrowed his brows, looking at her with a face full of confusion. But there was a softness in this expression too, something she had not been expecting to see. 

"Selene !", Astarion called out, and she resisted the tug of her master’s tight grip, to look back at him one last from the threshold she’d almost already crossed.

Sounds of the busy streets of Baldur's Gate, loud at whatever hour of the night, poured from the open door, and into the silent and hushed atmosphere of the Black Cat's Delight. Each and every other client looked at the little group of them as though they were the most annoying people they had ever seen in their entire life. 

Selene didn't care though, she was starstruck. Her name on his lips sounded so unfamiliar, so strangely beautiful, like it had never been said the right way by anyone before him.

"If you are ever in need of a dress, come to Carmine Red. It will be at a bargain price, and we could explore each other’s full portfolio of talents, so to speak …"

And with that, she was dragged out into the night.

[csorina]

🌟FOUNDER GEN🌟

Indie Hale was born in the famous grey City 🌆, Bridgeport. When she was 17 her parents packed up to go on a vacation to a tropical Island and never came back. She learned to live alone from a young age and at 19 she moved to the hot desert of Lucky Palms. 🏜️

She started working there in a coffee shop, but her dream was always to be an artist. To make art and speak to people through it. When Indie turned 20 she met the local Rockstar, Ethan Tanner. It was hot, it was fast and everything Indie was looking for back then. Ethan knew what to say and do to keep her around. They went to Vegas and eloped there quick. 💍 Not long after they welcomed their first daughter together, Enola. Ethan went on tour shortly after she was born and left Indie to care for little Enola by herself.

Indie started her artistic business as well, did sculpting and painting from home while caring for the little one. Etan was away more and more from home but frankly the girls didn't mind. After a few visits home, Indie became pregnant again with their second child. 🍼After giving birth to another healthy baby girl, they have named her Leola.

When Ethan left for his last tour that was supposed to last for a year, he promised his girls he will never leave again. Their plan was for him to come back, play in small pubs and clubs to make a living and spend more time with them. But one night 🌑 Indie's phone was going off and when she picked up she heard Ethan and a woman through the phone, heavy breathing and noises no-one should ever hear their Husband make with someone else.

Seeing as Indie was a brooding person with commitment issues, it was hard for Indie to let anyone so close to herself but she let Ethan which turned out to be a huge mistake now. 💢Angrily, she smashed the line down and immediately started packing for the three of them. She took all the clothes for the girls and the bare minimum for herself. They were around 7 and 10 at this point so did not really had an idea what was going on, just followed their mom.

It was a stormy night, Indie took as much as she can and left with the girls without saying a word to anyone. 🚢 They took a boat and went back to the only place Indie knew. Bridgeport. 🌆 Once they arrived, they went to the outskirts of the city where Indie remembered her Grandma left her a log house as an inheritance back in the day. It was a one bedroom log house between the woods 🌲

So they started their new life. No questions asked. All phone numbers have been changed and the girls took up their mothers name, Hale. So with their new names and life everyone just continued to live on. Ethan never found them, not so sure if he was even looking for them. Indie was closed off completely for ages and just focused on her art. She made a name for herself as a Sculptor/Painter 🖌️.

She started dating Alex Perry but he was involved in a car accident a few short months after and passed away. 🪦 Few years after, she got closer to the town Bachelor, Matthew Hamming. Their "love" was very basic, they liked each other but did not really plan further than tomorrow as they both had commitment issues at that point.

A few years of dating, they decided to part on friendly terms as it was quite cold between them but they were still respectful to each other. Indie and the girls moved to Twinbrook🐊 after in hopes of finding peace finally. The town where she met her one and only who became her last and only true love. She met Josh Haney, a T.B.S.W.A.T officer during the Spring Festival in town. They were together for many years and did not feel the need to get married. However before their life ended, around the age of 80 Josh proposed and they eloped in a private ceremony to tie their life together in their last few years. They peacefully passed away in Sunlit Tides, while on vacation in their Summer Home. 💌👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻

[klausinamarink]

All For His Love

finished this a day late sorry!

rating: T | cw: brief description of corpses | tags: inspired by This Is How You Lose the Time War, established relationship | wc: 744

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | Dec 15: Time Travel

Warrior waded through the mud and corpses, the latter of which he left to the business of crows, who all cawed at him hoarsely. He ignored them too. They’re just simple animals. Not the Agency’s spies or Observers from the Garden.

He swept his gaze across the filthy land, never lingering another second on an unmoving bare hand.

A glint of silver almost blinded his eye. It caught his attention immediately, almost smiling before he wiped it off. To express a crack of joy in the most horrendous landscape in every Thread would be like igniting a signal flare for all to see. It would undo all of Warrior’s hard work and see the elimination of his love.

He took a few more steps before he knelt beside the corpse. It was a young man, just a boy, with cloudy green eyes. His helmet was lost, showing his dried red-brown hair and the wound that made it redder. In his hand was a silver pocket watch.

Warrior took the watch and held it by the chain, returning to the rotten tree half a mile away. Faint thunder of cannons sounded closer but Warrior was not swayed.

At the tree, he clicked the watch open, its face cracked but ticking. He tossed it up and its chain caught onto one of the remaining branches. It swung briefly, then stopped, and remained hung.

Soon, another group of soldiers will pass in vain to conquer this area of No Man’s Land. They will see the watch hanging and speculate to each other in bewilderment of how such a precious item ended up in another dead thing’s possession. Then their minds will turn to their own watches, always ticking away even after their inevitable deaths. They will voice it aloud to their commander’s face and then exile themselves at the dead of night. It will shatter through the entire army and every conscripted soldier across the continent. Eventually (not hopefully, Agents and Gardeners never hope for their work to be done), the Treaty will be signed fourteen months earlier.

Thread-594495 will remain free from the Agency and Garden, who will continue to send their soldiers for the continuing control of its downthread.

It was only after Warrior left the upthread that he dared to smile.

—

He took several more stops along the Thread to counteract the other travelers’ actions from the Agency and the Garden. An extra notch on a Greek clay slate, blowing a dragonfly past the ear of a Japanese painter, a stolen pencil from an Austrian physicist, six blades of grass torn off in a Canadian mechanized crop. Simple things that were as effective as a butterfly flapping its wings. Laugh until the hurricane came to the shore.

After he was done, Warrior returned to his love. With a bag of everything bagels and tea, of course.

The mechanic shop was closed, but the studio was still open. He entered easily, pausing for a few moments with closed eyes as he listened to the melancholic strums of the guitar. When the emotions pressed against his chest, he continued his stride.

Eddie - Eddie, Eddie Munson, Theodore Munson, Teddy, Eds, he could never be bored of the complexities of his love’s name - sat on the sofa, his back away from the door. His head was up, but his eyes were closed. Lips slightly apart as if he had been waiting for a kiss.

He took that temptation and kissed Eddie. His love’s eyes flew open, sparkling brightly when he saw him. “Steve!”

Steve smiled against their lips, careful not to squish his offerings against Eddie’s acoustic. He broke away briefly to hold them up to Eddie’s eyeline. “I brought some supper.”

Eddie swooned dramatically, “Oh, thank you, my humble knight! I’ve been starving!”

Steve - he liked that name a lot, more so than his personal alias - rolled his eyes as he scooted next to the other man, placing the bagels and tea on the table in front of them. He watched with the same chest-pressed emotion as Eddie happily took a bite, already talking about what happened during his day.

He loved Eddie. It was a simple fact. It wasn’t as simple as keeping this Thread safe from either empire’s influence and constantly traveling up- and downthread. It was always exhausting. But Steve would keep doing it, even if it was selfish all for the sake of this man who made him human.

[ask-the-good-creeps]

Vigilante Pasta AU Timeline

PART THREE

2002

FEBRUARY: Jonathan's father becomes aware of his son's volunteer activities. He bullies and belittles him, accusing him of being gay like his brother (but in much more hurtful terms). Nothing Jonathan says can change his mind, and his father ends up having him kicked out and shunned completely by the whole family.

JULY: Ben's little sister Rosie is abducted from their front yard. Ben is distraught and upset, but after a week his alcoholic father goes around the house removing all photographs of Rosie and items belonging to her. He stores all these items in a chest in the attic, and Ben is upset that he's decided to pretend she didn't exist like he seems to do with their deceased mother. Ben learned to hate his father that day, and that hate only grew as his sister's abduction became a cold case that the police no longer focused on.

NOVEMBER: The snow starts early in Dina's town, and she is drawn to it; she marvels at its grace and purity as it falls from the sky and find herself disgusted with how dirty and tainted it becomes when it settles on the Earth. Dina has started to show symptoms of bipolar disorder and claims to have been chosen by the sword hanging in her father's study that she is forbidden to touch. The white sword, pure and graceful like the snow before it reaches the ground. An angel's sword.

2003

MARCH: Helen's hair is long again, and he has hardly spoken since he was punished for cutting it. He can't keep a journal, because it isn't safe. The only way he is able to express himself is through art, with heavy symbolism to convey his emotions to protect them from the ridicule and scorn of his parents. He managed to convince his parents to allow him to wear a painter's uniform, with pants, to avoid staining his dresses with paint. They agreed only on the condition that the uniform is light pink.

JUNE: Nathan and his twin are abducted and trafficked. They plan a daring escape which Crys does not survive, and Nathan loses all control after she passes. He gets ahold of a rusty old pipe in the warehouse where they had been hiding, and he kills the traffickers that had attempted to come after them one by one before fleeing the scene. He is delusional and believes Crys is still by his side, often conversing with her as he travels.

DECEMBER: On the 23rd of the month, Lacy's birthday, her cruel mother leaves her locked outside in the snowy yard as a punishment. Lacy succumbs to hypothermia and dies long before dawn. Her vengeful spirit sticks around as a ghoul, and her first target is her abusive parent whom she eats alive.

2004

FEBRUARY: Hobo Heart believes the girl he's obsessed with is his soulmate and that she feels the same for him. In reality, she is afraid of him and what he may do if she tells him to leave her alone. She has been civil him only because she feels it is the only way to keep herself safe, as nobody would believe her about his existence. Hobo Heart has become aware of the human holiday 'Valentine's Day', and decides to give the girl his actual heart as a Valentine. So long as the heart is not harmed, he doesn't need it to stay within his chest to survive. The girl is understandably horrified by this offering and knocks his hands away, which causes the heart to fall into the dirt and be pierced by sharp twigs. In her terror, she tells him that she already has a boyfriend and finally works up the courage to demand he leave her be. With his heart now unusable and emotionally pained, he becomes angry and tears hers out of her chest to replace it. He has no medical supplies and uses her hair to stitch his chest shut, though over time he comes to realize that human hearts cannot sustain his life force for more than a few weeks. So begins his ritual of removing the hearts of humans he sees as betrayers, deserving of death.

APRIL: After Natalie told her parents and started locking the teen out each night, he became even more cruel and vindictive toward her. The trial he was meant to take part in kept getting delayed and rescheduled for various reasons, which had unfortunately extended his stay with the Oulettes. He still wanted to get back at Natalie, and decided to do it by slipping a psychotropic poison into her cocoa one evening while she wasn't paying attention. The poison pushed her into a psychotic episode, during which she beat the boy to death with a baseball bat and stabbed her parents with a kitchen knife when they tried to restrain her. She saw the blood on her face from those she killed in a hallway mirror, and it led her to think her jaw was starting to fall off so she put the stitches in to hold it in place. She wasn't dosed with enough of the poison to kill her, but still felt horribly ill when she woke the next morning. She still can't remember how or why the face and mechanisms of her grandfather's pocket watch ended up in her eye socket, or why that didn't kill her.

JUNE: Ben has become more withdrawn and antisocial as the months went by, and now often rejects reality to instead lose himself in video games – especially ones where he can defeat the bad guy, save the princess, and be a hero. His father forcibly drags him outside to 'spend some time together', but Ben is far from interested. After he insults the drunk, his father throws him in the river where they were fishing and hold him under until he stops breathing. Ben somehow manages to come back as a ghoul, and his first target is his father. Now that he's beat the bad guy, he begins his search for his sister so he can save her and be her hero.

DECEMBER: Kagekao's mother passes, and he decides to go into the world of humans – partially for vengeance against those like the desecrators of the sacred mountain where he grew up, and partially because he had no reason to stay there. An old family friend who visited to pay respects gives Kagekao an enchanted mask to wear, black on one side and white on the other, that would change with his emotions and hide his nature temporarily from those who would harm him for it.

2005

MARCH: Jeff has taken to hunting human traffickers and slaughtering them. On one such mission, he finds not just human victims to free, but also a starving and scarred mutt in a wire kennel that was also abused by his now-dead target. Jeff can relate to the poor dog and begins to pet it, reassuring it that its abuser is gone and can't hurt it anymore. The dog dies in his arms due to its horrid condition, and Jeff gives it a proper burial. Later, he hears something stalking him through the wilderness, and turns to find the ghost of that dog following him around. He names the dog Smile due to their shared facial scars, and they become fast friends.

MAY: Toby is involved in a car crash which ends with his sister Lyra dying. Lyra had been the best older sister anyone could ask for; she served as Toby's friend, therapist, tutor, protector, and more while their mother was too busy and their father was lost in his alcohol. The trauma of losing her causes the medications Toby is on to lose their efficacy, and he withdraws into a numb and paranoid state with very little focus on reality. With everything that's happening, his mother is unable to focus on helping him and Toby begins to slip away.

JUNE: On the 18th of the month, Lazari is born to a mother who was so desperate for a child that she made a deal with Zalgo. Her family are strictly religious, and though they are unaware of demonic involvement in Lazari's birth they frown upon her mother conceiving her with a stranger out of wedlock. Lazari and her mother are forced into a religious cult for reformation, and her mother is brainwashed as a result. Her mother eventually begins to worry about her being a monster and regrets the way she was conceived.

JULY: Nathan has continued to wander while drifting in and out of reality. At one point a slimy predator tries to take him under the guise of helping him with temporary food and shelter, and Nathan goes berserk for the second time and beats him to death. The hallucination of his sister convinces him that this is what he needs to do to protect her and others like her – vigilante justice.

AUGUST: Vinny has started to lose himself and develop a split personality called “Dollmaker”. At one point he sees his reflection in a mirror and the fancy clothes and makeup he's forced to wear cannot stop him from seeing himself as hideous. He mourns the loss of innocence and beauty in his own face.

2006

MARCH: After extensive procedures and physical therapy, Jane has recovered from her burns medically. She takes to wearing a mask and wig, as well as soft black dresses that help her feel elegant and not ugly. She wants Jeff dead for what he did to her and her family and begins her search for him.

JUNE: BEN has had poor luck in locating his missing sister and has heard through the grapevine about Jeff and the latter's reputation for skillfully hunting down traffickers. BEN enlists Jeff's assistance in his search and together they find his sister's killer and her remains. BEN cremates his sister and scatters her ashes over their maternal grandparents' now-deserted farm, and from there he starts to visit and befriend Jeff.

AUGUST: Toby has hardly been eating or sleeping and has been mostly ignored by his parents. Alone in his room, he's become delusional and has begun having episodes where he completely separates from reality much more frequently. He ends up killing his abusive father and setting a large fire on his street to escape police. As he wanders through the wilderness with two hatchets he swiped from the garage of his old home on his way out, he encounters the Slenderman, who decides to take him in as a new proxy after reviewing his memories.

2007

JANUARY: Lazari, still a toddler, begins to show small signs of being inhuman. Her mother tries to hide these signs from others in the cult due to her own shame of having giving birth to a Zalgoid, but others notice and convince her that she will be forgiven if she joins the cult in imprisoning the little demon and beating the evil out of her. Lazari's mother accepts, and Lazari is chained in a cold, windowless room. Nobody interacts with the poor toddler save for the man who comes in to hit her with a cane if she cries.

JULY: After foolishly trying to solve the mysteries behind the Slenderman mythos, Tim and Brian (who had become fast friends in high school and had been taking film courses together in college) end up suffering from 'Slender Sickness' as a result of getting too close to the eldritch entity. Slenderman decides to turn them full proxy, partially to use them toward his new goals of helping humanity by terminating ill-doers, and partially to have other people for young Toby to interact with regularly. They lose all memory of who they were previously and begin going by the aliases 'Masky' and 'Hoodie'.

SEPTEMBER: Toby informs Masky and Hoodie about the existence of the other Slenders. They don't believe him at first, until they meet Trenderman for themselves.

OCTOBER: The man who had abducted and abused Katelynn has been identified by police, and he takes her and flees into the woods to escape the law. He enters the Slenderman's territory and given the circumstances, he becomes a target. Slenderman attempts to start his 8 pages game with the man, but he refuses to play it and keeps dragging Katelynn along. Slenderman tires of him and tries to take just the man to his dimension; he ends up bringing both the man and his victim. Slenderman tears the man apart and returns Katelynn to the mortal world, and she has become strangely attached to the faceless being after watching him tear apart her tormentor. He can see she will not be able to function well in society due to her trauma and offers to have her stay in the cabin with his proxies. Upon seeing said proxies and realizing they are male humans, Katelynn runs away and takes shelter in an abandoned mineshaft. When Slenderman finds her there, she requests that he play the 8 pages game with her. Slenderman is confused by this, but allows it. Kate becomes the first person to collect all 8 pages and throughout the experience psychologically hardens herself and forgets her fears. She decides to live in the mine shaft instead of the cabin still, due to her personal preference.

NOVEMBER: Dina manages to pick the lock on her father's study and sneak in. She attempts to take the sword down from the wall but is caught when her father returns unexpectedly. He hits her and scolds her for being in her while denouncing her as a pitiful demon that shouldn't have been allowed to be born. She rages at him and threatens his life, and he has her locked up in her room in a strait jacket.

[dentarthurdent]

Here's my piece for the 2022 @h2g2-gift-exchange! @internet-league-blaseball requested something with Random or Ford and ships Forthur, so I wrote a fic that's some Random and Ford parental-esque bonding with some Forthur seasoning :)

Random centric, 1.3k words, story under the cut!

It had been a terribly eventful day, and Random Dent was uncharacteristically unhappy about that. After the past few months living with her father on boring old Lamuella, she thought she would have welcomed the change- yet she didn't.

Her mother had scolded her for putting everyone in danger, of course. Random didn't want to hear it from her. She never took an interest in what Random did except to tell her off, or at least that's how it seemed to Random.

Her dad, on the other hand- he didn't scold her. He gave her a stern look and said, "I'm very disappointed in you."

And that was that 

She wasn't sure why that stung worse than Mother's anger. It seemed all backwards.

Nevertheless, here she was hours later, still quite in her feelings about it all. Trillian and Trillian's doppelganger - Tricia? - had left, off to cover some grand future event or another, Random didn't really care. She was left at Milliway's, left with Arthur again, as well as Arthur's strange friend Ford.

Random wasn't sure what to make of Ford quite yet. She had heard of him from her father, of course - though to hear him tell it, she half thought he was some made-up bogeyman, or a cartoon character. He seemed larger than life, completely alien, somehow both a hero and a villain.

Definitely not the short ginger guy Arthur turned up on Earth with.

The real Ford that she had gotten to know over the past few hours- he was certainly strange, but… really, the oddest thing about him was how he and Arthur acted around each other. Were they friends? Enemies? Why did they act uncomfortable around each other but everyone's still here?

Adults, bah. They're all so dumb and confusing.

Random was still lost in thought about- well, everything, really, even later. She thought about family and thought about birds and thought about Earth.

She was 600 lightyears and a whole lifetime away from it, now.

She and her father were well and truly homeless now, it seemed. No Earth. No going back to Lamuella. No real direction in space. Ford had managed to get ahold of Zaphod Beeblebrox - his semicousin was Mum's ex, who knew? - and get the keys to a vacation home of his back on Betelgeuse V for a week. They could rest and recoup and figure out what to do with themselves later. Almost the moment they got in the door, both Ford and Arthur were ambushed around the corner by exhaustion and carried the fight only as far as the sofa before passing out side by side.

Random explored the round, tiered mushroom-shaped house, which was an interesting enough activity for about an hour until she found a window that opened up onto a roof, at which point sitting on the roof took precedence.

The night sky above Betelgeuse V looked about the same as any other night sky, save for a big moon, a smaller one, and a thin green streak of light across the whole sky. It looked as though some giant painter used the stars as a canvas.

Maybe an unimaginative one. Or maybe it was the first stroke of an unfinished masterpiece. Who can tell, really?

She wondered how many things would never be finished on Earth, and what the stars had looked like there.

"Hey, kiddo. Alright?"

Ford's voice chirping at her from the window startled her to the point of nearly jumping.

"What do you want?"

Random winced at how she sounded, but couldn't muster any better of a mood.

"It's a bit cold out to be sitting on the roof, isn't it?"

"I'm fine," Random snapped, before moodily going back to staring at the sky. "Sorry."

"I get it," Ford said. "It's been a long day."

"You don't get it! No one gets it!" Random let loose with a frustrated growl and sat up, curling her arms around her legs, looking back at Ford but not quite meeting his eyes. "I finally got to see Earth just once, and now what? It's gone? Permanently?"

Ford blinked, which was something Random had not yet seen him do. That she went quiet after her outburst was partly from surprise.

With a sigh, and some odd flash of comprehension, Ford leaned on his elbows on the windowsill. "Do you know what that is, in the sky?"

"What, the green thing?"

"Yes, that."

Random squinted up at it again. "It isn't a planetary ring 'cause it's not horizon to horizon. Is it some kind of space dust?"

"Sharp girl. Do you like astronomy, then?"

"I guess," Random grunted.

"Anyway, there used to be another planet near here," Ford said. "Well, two, really. We're on Betelgeuse V now. That big moon up there was Betelgeuse VI, until a few drunken astroneers made a bet. Really changed the state of competitive surfing here. Ah- but the green thing, that's Betelgeuse VII."

"Why's it a line?"

"It was destroyed a long time ago."

"Ah. Vogons again?"

"No, not Vogons. A Hrung collapsed on it. Killed nearly everyone on the planet."

Random looked back up at the line with a frown. Is that what Earth is now, too? A line of space debris? She shuddered.

"What's a hrung?"

The question hung for a moment in dead air.

"I don't know," Ford said finally.

"Hold on- you said it killed nearly everyone. Did anyone survive?"

"One person did, yeah. He isn't around anymore."

Random looked back at Ford. He had a strange sort of expression on his face, looking up at nowhere in particular. It reminded her sharply of Arthur's when he thought about home.

"You knew him, then?"

"Yeah. That was my dad," nodded Ford. He suddenly looked back at her with a somewhat forced-looking smile. "You know, kiddo, the thing about feeling like you don't have anywhere to fit into- all it means is you aren't tied to any one place. The galaxy is where you fit in. It's freeing, really, I promise."

"Try telling that to Dad," Random half laughed. "He makes Earth sound great. Was it?"

"Zarquon, no. Earth was as boring as he is."

"Yet you picked him to rescue?"

There was that awkward grin again. "Well, he may be a boring stick in the mud, but I'm rather attached to him."

"You don't, I don't know, regret getting stuck there?"

Ford shook his head. "Hey, everything that happened, happened. You should be grateful, because otherwise you wouldn't exist."

Random rolled her eyes  "Gee, thanks for that."

Ford laughed and stepped back from the window. "Now, you really ought to be getting inside. It wouldn't do for you to survive all that mess today then die of pneumonia."

"Zarking fardwarks, now you even sound like Dad," Random griped, but nevertheless returned inside.

Arthur's head popped around the corner at the end of the hall. "I thought I heard voices. What are you two doing?"

"Ford wouldn't let me stay on the roof."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Why were you on the roof? It's freezing out!"

"You know how kids are," Ford laughed again. "Oh, speaking of the cold- I got something from room service earlier that might help that."

Arthur perked up almost instantly. "On Earth? What was it?"

Ford pulled a tin out of his satchel and tossed it to Arthur. It didn't look all that special to Random, but Arthur looked like he might start crying.

"English Breakfast? Really?"

"You wouldn't stop complaining about it for years. If I didn't grab tea while we were there you would keep complaining about it until you died."

Random rolled her eyes and went ahead downstairs while the grownups had their moment.

Only 'attached to him' my left foot, thought Random. Adults, bah. They're all so dumb and confusing. Maybe now they wouldn't be miserable on top of it.

[just-somehuman]

Paint - Toichiro x Fem!Reader

Genre: psychological, gore, angst, au

Inspired by: Matsuro Palette

Word count: 2 380

_________________________________________

a/n: Heya! Here's this fanfic I've been delaying for months 💀 This story is inspired by the game Matsuro Palette which I was completely obsessed with when I first started writing this. You don't need to have played the game to read the story, but if you want to have a better understanding of some concepts, then seeing gameplay or just playing the first few days (they're quite short) is enough. No part of the Matsuro Palette story is used so only seeing the way the player and The Girl interact as well as the studio the game takes place in is enough. Please be warned of the genres of this fanfiction. The genres serve as a trigger warning. If there are any additional trigger warnings for a specific chapter, I'll put it underneath the genre section. All that aside, I hope you enjoy!

WAIT ONE MORE THING- Y/N is semi-modern in this fanfiction, but only in terms of manner of speech. She's not about to whip a phone out and take selfies with the boys 💀 NOW ALL THAT ASIDE, I HOPE YOU ENJOY ✨

(also let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters)

_________________________________________

Chapter 1

She has been locked in a room for the past eternity. Her only goal is to paint a portrait of He who Sits in the Sunset. Every drop of paint added meaning to his life, every stroke of her brush set him one step forward to freedom. He had never known, but the seal placed on his ninth tail was a curse. He believes that he is trapped within a portrait in She the Painter's eye when truly, it is she who is trapped within He the Painting's frame. One stroke of paint and he is set free. One stroke of paint and she shall be cursed for millennia to come. All it takes is one stroke of paint. The final drop of colour is added to the portrait. Toichiro's kyubi form shows, protecting Futaba from the blades of ice Hisui shoots at her. His seal is broken. Toichiro's vision hazes as Y/N appears in his head one last time. She removes the chains that kept him locked away and shares one blank stare with him as the chains consume her.

"You… Why would you set me free? What have you released me from?"

"He's possessed," Shuichiro would usually say.

Prior to the battle between Futaba, her Ayakashi and the Senkitai, Toichiro had been getting visions of a girl whom he had not been acquainted with. Every time he got these visions, an excruciating pain would build up in his head. He would crouch down in agony, screaming for it to stop.

No one would follow along with his ridiculous idea. But as time went on, and as Toichiro's inexplicable behaviour became more frequent, his idea didn't seem so ridiculous anymore.

"If he's truly possessed, who do we ask to exorcise him?" Koga once asked, "Futaba won’t be of much help here."

All the other Ayakashi believed that there was nothing that could be done to help Toichiro. Nevertheless, there was one who stayed by his side. Whether Toichiro was screaming to the heavens above or crying uncontrollably, Shizuki always believed that his master would come to his senses. He believed that this would all pass.

And it did, which leads us to where we are now.

With the Ayakashi listening intently, Toichiro explains everything that has happened these past weeks. He explains how he was trapped within himself, how that girl would paint portraits of him all day, how she set him free. It all felt like a long, vivid nightmare and it was finally over.

"So the unknown girl setting you free from the painting is what led you to being a kyubi back then?" Shizuki says, everything finally making sense.

"That would be the outcome, yes," Toichiro answers, his voice still hoarse from his constant screaming before.

"You said the girl got chained up after setting you free. Do you think she's trapped somewhere now?" Kuro asks.

His question is genuine but doesn't sit right with Toichiro.

"I think her chains were a symbol of something passed onto her. Something Toichiro had that he gave to her after being set free," Oji suggests.

Toichiro's brows furrow. Although he doesn't show it, the thought of him passing some form of curse onto someone who did nothing but help him pains his heart. 

Gaku, who has been silent the whole time, speaks up.

"She wouldn't happen to be Futaba or Futaba from her past life?" he asks.

"There's not the slightest chance it could be her, it was someone else entirely,” Toichiro answers, a copy of one of his usual smiles tugging at the corners of his lips. Or at least, that's what it looks like to Shizuki. A copy - a fake. Because they've been together for so long, the snow spirit understands the kitsune far better than the other Ayakashi. Shizuki knows that Toichiro has many ideas which he wishes to share but won't, for the safety of his position as the future village leader.

"What do you suggest then?" Oji asks.

Silence falls upon the room again.

"Forget it. Regardless of what it all meant, it’s over now. Why should I care?" Toichiro answers, his usual smile forming on his face.

The Ayakashi part ways after their discussion at the Kitsune Village. Oji makes his way down the mountain path and back to Raccord, an image of a girl devoured by chains floating in his head. As he opens the door to Raccord, the faint jingle of the bell brings him back to his senses.

"You're back later than usual. What happened?" Aoi asks, leaning on the broom he was just using.

Oji explains the battle against the Senkitai and everything that Toichiro told them.

"Wait, let me get this straight: This girl would constantly try to paint a perfect portrait of Toichiro and he would physically be affected by it. And once she perfected the painting, he was able to transform into a kyubi during the fight with the Senkitai and she was chained up?" Aoi says, trying to piece together the story he has just been told. 

"Yes. Sounds bizarre, don’t you think?" Oji says, pulling out a cigarette.

"Well, whatever happened to her, I hope she's okay," Aoi sighs, placing the broom against the wall. Before heading upstairs, he turns to face Oji, suddenly remembering something.

"Speaking of painting, there's a new student joining my class next week."

"That's nice. Someone new for you to be friends with," Oji smiles.

"Yeah, but they're joining from overseas. That means they're excellent at art if they're able to study abroad," Aoi complains.

"Don't worry Aoi, your art is really good. I'm sure they won't be much competition for you," Oji laughs, puffing on his cigarette.

"There's an art exhibition next week too. I've heard that their art will be displayed. Hopefully it's not as good as everyone's making it out to be. Not that I'm trying to put them down or anything, it's just-" Aoi cuts himself off, seemingly at a loss for words.

"It's okay Aoi, I know how tough it is in the art world," Oji reassures him. Aoi smiles faintly at Oji before heading to his room.

The days come and go, and the day of the exhibition arrives. To his surprise, Aoi finds Toichiro and Shizuki amongst the crowd.

"Who invited you two?" Aoi asks, clearly annoyed.

"No one did. I came by my own will," Toichiro grins.

"You'd think that your experience with paintings would keep you away from them forever," Aoi says.

"Such a trivial matter doesn't affect me in that way, Aoi. I'm here to appreciate the creations of your fellow scholars. Now, if you'll excuse me," Toichiro states before leaving in the opposite direction with Shizuki.

"'Trivial', huh? It doesn't look that way to me," Aoi mutters. Whilst he had been speaking to Toichiro, curiosity got the best of him and he read Toichiro's heart to see how he truly feels. Aoi sighs at the kitsune's stubbornness and heads in their direction. 

Toichiro spares a glance for the artwork in the exhibition, the occasional comment from Shizuki forcing him to stare a while longer. As Toichiro turns to leave, a single portrait painting stops him dead in his tracks. He stares in horror and disbelief at the painting.

"Master Toichiro, we'd best be leaving-" Shizuki calls out to Toichiro before freezing at the sight of the painting too. Staring back at the two men is a perfectly painted portrait of the purple kitsune.

"Master Toichiro, is this..?" Shizuki trails off.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

The pair have no knowledge of how to react to such a situation. They are snapped out of their confusion by a familiar voice.

"What are you two gawking at? Oh, yeah. I was pretty surprised when I saw this first too," Aoi says, wedging himself between Shizuki and Toichiro.

"How exactly are you so calm at the moment?" Toichiro exclaims.

"Because I know who painted this," Aoi says. He points to a small sign below the frame that reads "He the Painting, Pictorem".

"A strange name for a painting," Shizuki comments.

"An even stranger pseudonym," Toichiro adds.

"She's not that strange, actually," Aoi rolls his eyes.

"'She'?" Toichiro asks, his eyes widening again.

"Yeah, she's a classmate of mine who recently joined from overseas. She's pretty quiet in class but she is interesting to talk to, since she's from abroad and all. I've spoken to her a couple times-" Aoi is interrupted by a troubled Toichiro.

"Aoi, I need to know why she's painting pictures of me," Toichiro says, composing himself and shoving his worry aside.

"I walked in on her painting this and asked her. Her exact words were: 'I don't exactly know why I paint him, nor do I know who he is, but I don't exactly care and I won't ever care because I never want to meet him. If he even exists, that is. I am nearly fully convinced that he doesn't exist and he's just a generic face that my mind has created. I mean, look at him! That face is more basic than the primary colours'," Aoi recounts, trying his best to not to grin at the last few phrases.

"A fairly bold statement coming from someone who has never met me," Toichiro smirks in an attempt to hide how offended he is.

"Master Aoi, did you correct her in her thinking?" Shizuki asks.

"No, I didn't tell her about you. It might be easier if you two don't meet. I mean, she's not exactly fettered so I don't think you two meeting really matters anymore. She's okay, you're okay, all is well," Aoi replies.

"Nevertheless, I'd like to speak with her. Surely there can't be any harm in that?" Toichiro retaliates.

"Ugh, fine. Next time I see her, I'll tell her I saw you here and you want to meet her," Aoi sighs.

"Good, good. Now that's settled, I'll be on my way," Toichiro smiles before taking off for the mountain.

Back in the Kitsune Village, Toichiro and Shizuki briefly discuss the events of today.

"I will admit, the portrait was painted excellently," Toichiro says.

"I agree, though that concerns me," Shizuki begins.

"Oh? How so?" Toichiro inquires, his interest piqued.

"Neither of you have met yet she was able to capture every detail of you in her portrait. It looked as if it were a coloured photograph," Shizuki continues.

"Hmm, I see what you mean. However, she and I have met before," Toichiro says.

Shizuki stares at his master in a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Though I was just a painting, I was able to speak with her. We never brought up why everything was happening nor did we speak of our lives outside the studio. We never learnt anything about each other. She was able to paint me flawlessly in the end because we had an understanding of each other that no other does. We learnt of each other's soul rather than our person. It was our souls trapped there anyway," Toichiro says calmly as the light discussions he would have with her flicker in his mind.

"Master Toichiro, were your meetings more than just a corrupt thought?" Shizuki asks.

Toichiro squints as he chooses the easiest way to describe his experiences.

"The best way for me to explain this would be that my body was physically here but my mind was elsewhere. It had been, in a way, moved into a different place. It was a different world, a bit like that cursed plane that Yura was trapped in," Toichiro explains, "The only ones that existed in that world were she and I."

"An entire world was created for your souls to be trapped in… I truly wonder what the truth behind all of this is," Shizuki states.

Meanwhile, a young girl is skulking around the Kitsune Village. She looks about the age of a high school student, and she is most certainly human.

"I saw him speaking with Aoi at the exhibition and I followed him back here. Now he's just disappeared," the girl mutters to herself in pursuit of someone.

"Who has disappeared?"

A blue-haired kitsune emerges from behind the girl, a soft ring following his movements from the bell in his hair. The girl stares at him in disapproval.

"I'm glad I wasn't stuck painting you. Your hair is way too wack. Bowl cut in the front, wolf cut in the back, bangs that are two different lengths, a half-plaited half-straight side ponytail. Who let you look this way?" the girl sighs, turning around to face the man that appeared behind her.

"Who let you speak this way?" Shuichiro sneers. The girl blankly stares at him before returning to her search.

"You're not welcome here, human. Who brought you here?" he smirks.

"No one. I snuck in," she responds coolly.

"You should know that you are inferior to the kitsune race, human. Look at me when I speak to you," Shuichiro hisses.

"Why should I? I'm kinda busy here, you know. I'm not going to entertain you so find someone else to bother with that wack-a$$ hair," she says nonchalantly. She couldn't care less about anything or anyone else. She has one goal: find the purple-haired guy. Shuichiro glares at her before taking off.

"Geez, what a prick," the girl rolls her eyes. Her search for "the purple-haired guy" continues late into the night and into the morning.

"It's been hours of looking through random people's windows searching for this man, I've trespassed enough. It's about time I give up," she sighs in defeat.

"Purple-haired guy, when I find you, I will rip your intestines out-" the girl's muttering is interrupted by an arrogant laugh.

"What's this about my intestines?" Toichiro asks.

The girl stares at the man himself completely dumbfounded.

"I heard from my eldest brother that a girl snuck in and is looking for something. That wouldn't happen to be you looking for me, no?" he smirks.

She scans him up and down before meeting his eyes.

"Quite the first impression, I must say," she says, crossing her arms.

"My apologies, perhaps I should have introduced myself first," he smiles, "I am Toichiro Yuri. It is an honour to finally meet you in person, Pictorem."

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Okay so....

This was a post I probably should have made a few days ago...

But we're here now...

So let me explain a few things that are happening right now in my personal life, things no one on this site knows.

❌Dark topics ahead, readers discretion is advised.❌

Firstly I should "introduce" you two the individuals I'm going to be talking about.

The first being my mothers mother, who we'll call K, and the woman I currently live with.

Then we have my father's mother, who we'll call T.

My grandmother's, my biological grandmother's.

Well a little over a year ago (maybe a year and a half or so, I'm terrible with time, it always escapes me.) they were both diagnosed with lung cancer within a few months of eachother.

K being the first to receive her diagnosis.

They both seemed to be doing pretty good for a while, they'd done radiation, and immuneotherapy, surgery was never an option for either of them.

K's cancer even went into remission near the end of fall in 2022 or so. Even after she refused more treatment, as she felt more miserable doing it, and she'd come to terms with it.

Then in January of 2022 K's husband. Who we'll call R, and the man I had grown up calling my grandfather, despite him not being my biological grandfather. Suddenly died of a heart attack, right in front of K, who while in the hospital had to witness first hand as they tried to resuscitate him.

It was two days before her birthday, and after they called it, my father called me to tell me the news, I was at work when it happened.

They made his funeral plans on K's birthday.

Despite having Covid and Strep throat, I attended his funeral anyways, sitting in a far back corner away from everyone so as to not get anyone sick.

Things were strange for a long time, and hard on everyone, but we took it one day at a time.

And for a while things were going good, well considering.

Up until about two weeks ago... K's cancer is no longer in remission, and it's spreading into her throat.

She's doing radiation again, but it's really only delaying the inevitable, as horrible as it is to say.

And T... Well yesterday the doctors informed the family that she only has a few days left...

And my family is afraid that when T passes, her husband B, will just completely give up on life, and do something drastic.

He's been with her since he was 19, he doesn't know how to be on his own... And he's known for making terrible choices when he's distraught.

Christ it's such a fucked situation...

I'm crying as I write this...

For the past two years I have had to watch as my grandmother's are dying, and at least one of my grandfather dies.

These passed two years have been some of the hardest years I've been through so far in life.

And I'm not writing it because I want sympathy, or pity or anything like that. That's why I've not talked about it until now. I'm writing this because I need to get it off my chest.

And I wanted you all to know why I suddenly go AFK for days at a time.

I know you guys will understand, and I know you'll give me the time I need, but I just needed you all to know.

Cherish your loved ones, as cheesy as it sounds, because you never know when you've said your last goodbye.

I love you all, and I appreciate you all more than you'll ever realize.

And I'm so sorry to just drop this emotional bomb on you all.

Sometimes life is just to fucking real... And god it hurts so much...

----

@l0vel3ss-l1nds3y @dearest-painter

(I wanted to tag you both in case you guys would miss it on your dash. And I really thought you both ought to know as well.)