#artwork gallery label

[hwaightme]

Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

🩸 pairing: vampire!gallerist/collector!seonghwa x art historian!gn!reader 🩸 genre: fluff, noir, soulmates, supernatural, strangers(?) to lovers, art nerding 🩸 summary: a post-graduate student specialising in impressionism, you were a regular visitor to the many art galleries in the city. who knew that among the paintings you would encounter your favourite, timeless work of art? 🩸 wordcount: 12.3k 🩸 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of blood, fangs, wounds, suggestive, many pet names (love, darling etc), art theory/history ponderings, time skips, mention of rituals, philosophy, hwa is centuries-old, yearning hwa 🩸 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩸 a/n: happy birthday to @starrysvn!! lheo, ilysm, and i hope you enjoy this little rambling <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🩸 playlist: nfwmb - hozier, who is she? - i monster, keep on loving you - cas, la vie en rose - edith piaf, a l'ombre de nous - pierre barouh, les feuilles mortes / sous le ciel de paris - yves montand, moon over bourbon street / until - sting

‘Love and Pain’ - an enigmatic masterpiece that was painted by Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian artist, in 1895. In vibrant oil paints a dramatic scene interpreted by millions as something more sensual, darker, revealing was immortalised. Perhaps quite literally. You leaned back on one hand, feeling the coolness of the bench located in the middle of the gallery hall, careful to not let the notebook in your hands slip from your lap. ‘Vampire’ - first, it was a label for the woman with the alluring, long red locks that was leaning over her supposed lover, then it turned into a second name for the work. It was comical how Munch himself had initially stated the piece depicted nothing more than a woman kissing the neck of a man, and yet, the tale had told itself. What followed were six versions of this same subject, with a woodcut titled “Vampyr II”, followed by paintings titled ‘Vampire’ and ‘Vampire in the Forest’, and then through common acceptance that this indeed was the ‘submission of a man to the bite of a vampire’, if you were to paraphrase a critic who had been in an astoundingly similar position as you, except without the decades upon decades of other material to refer to. They had been the firstcomers, the initial perceivers to set the tone for society’s consumption of the artwork, the louder of the many voices in the artwork who often had the final say. In some senses, they were your long lost colleagues - they were there to create history, and you were there to study it.

While it was not exactly a part of the movement you had decided to specialise in, you nonetheless would never reject the opportunity to learn more about the stunning world of visual arts, trying to guess how the artist had felt in the moment, what did they see beyond what they presented to the world, how did they translate the heart into brushstrokes. You were taken by all forms of art since you were little - having grown up surrounded by items that were far removed from what you called your air, you were intrigued by anything that was external to your version of ordinary. In your case, it just so happened to be the little private gallery that you had spent almost all of your monthly allowance to visit when you were a school kid - you had been so dedicated, in fact, that the elderly guard who had often also acted as a guide to the visitors had become your first friend in the art world, something of a grandparent figure, and on multiple occasions - when the lack of eyes would allow, simply let you through with a grin and glance out of the entrance doors.

And so here you were, many years later, many hard decisions and conversations behind you, regarding artworks with an unprecedented soulful closeness that you had initially thought was unattainable. Had you believed all those who remained outside of the walls of your personal paradise, you would have been immersed in the same cycle that had been drilled into the majority of your family members, except maybe a handful who you had never met for the exact reason that they had chosen something for themselves. But you regarded your dream as the thorned path - undoubtedly more challenging, not immediately fruitful, but in the long run leading to the heaven of your design. What more could you ask for?

It was enjoyable to be alone with the paintings surrounding you, portals to new realms that any visitor could have the pleasure of exploring. And what was even more inspiring, was that in the eye of every beholder was a different universe, and no matter who one would speak to, their version of the painting would be different, even if just slightly. You huffed, amused. When was the last time you had visited a gallery with anyone else? You could not quite recall - it was likely that you had never seeked company from another because you were more than satisfied with the company of the legendary works that were regarding you from the many walls. It was possible to compose oneself, spend limitless time on every piece, study the details, and drift into one’s own musings when there was no one to ground them. This was when you dared to say you got your best work done. Even though you, of course, conducted research within university and ventured out to galleries, museums, collectors or auctions only within professional bounds, the bulk of the thinking process was carried out in times such as this. When it was just you, your notebook and pen, and a new point of focus. However, this time, you could not say you were fully attentive to the painting that you had decided to focus on, as a certain someone was appearing to share your level of interest in ‘Love and Pain’ too. 

A gentleman who could not be much older or younger than you, at most a couple of years, stood off to the right of the bench, unmoving, gaze fixated on the painting. Dressed in a pinstripe navy suit, light blue dress shirt, lacquered dress shoes and a matching navy tie, he was nothing short of being a moving work of art. Hints of a glimmer from his thin framed, elegant silver spectacles gave the man a scholarly aura, while the slicked back dark hair - evidently a lot longer than the styling would suggest, added notes of business, entrepreneurship, perhaps leadership. Nothing was out of place, not a crease, not an exposed thread in sight. Needless to say, your curiosity had been sparked.

Much like you found joy in exploring creations in the realm of the visual arts, you were fond of crafting stories about the people who were strangers in passing. You could not help it; perhaps this affinity for creative internal ramblings had come as a package with studying the degree you had selected, or perhaps this was a naturally occurring guilty pleasure that you simply had not had the chance to entertain before you cut yourself off from expectations and predetermined patterns of thought. But now, you had the full pleasure of wondering, letting your mind travel to lands far away as you took the real life masterpiece in, and pondered why the man could be here, what he could be thinking as he studied Munch’s work, and what resonated with him, and only him. 

There was a melancholia with the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, that much you could decipher in the stranger’s stance. Even then, there was a gentle burning flame within his heart judging by just how dedicated he was to inspecting the artwork. Like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and was attempting to memorise them anew and recognise each change, bit by bit. You suppressed a chuckle, entertaining the possibility of this man finding a kinship with the painting, but chose to set the idea aside for the time being, instead focusing on sketching his emotional landscape. Was the stranger remorseful? Lonely? Perplexed? You could not quite pinpoint the answer, at least not before you noticed the man’s head starting to turn, and soon enough, his eyes were peering into your own.

They were two pools of deep chocolate, an all-consuming shade that, due to the ever so slightly dimmer lights than in the general halls of the gallery, appeared to be approaching a captivating onyx. The gaze that originated from behind the glasses, and glided across the room that was suddenly too small for two struck you, and you could feel heat starting to rise on your face, blush threatening to reveal the effect of the man’s spontaneous act of confidence. Lowering your head, you gave the stranger a sheepish grin, and pretended to make a random note, pen erratically scribbling over a filled page. He continued to regard you with that same unwavering expression, and only when you looked up again did he seem to catch himself and give you a closed-mouth smile, equally as bashful as yours, and crossed his arms. One step, another, and he was right by the painting, though careful to not obstruct your view - instead, he took his time to read the brief paragraph on the information plaque that had been stuck to the wall off to the side of ‘Love and Pain’. With the same familiarity that is common among those grieving, or in a state of existential sorrow. A bittersweetness prevailed in his aura, one that reminded you of autumn - the falling leaves in red and gold, twirling to join a magnificent carpet, but nonetheless, making a departure, albeit a nearly unnoticeable one. Had he seen many fallen leaves? Was he himself approaching the season? You gasped, but even though the sound was barely audible, you caught the stranger making a minuscule turn in response. 

His footsteps were louder than your thoughts, his departure an irrevocably impactful act that left you breathless. You did not know him, and yet you felt as though you had gotten a glimpse at multiple lifetimes, and were part of a moment that was greater than yourself. In the wordless exchange, question after question had found its root, and something told you that you should not dare attempt to craft him a backstory, and choosing to believe in anything but what would be declared by him would be a gross misinterpretation, much like one that was carried out by those who did not wish to reflect on art and look beyond a first impression. For the first time since you had made your initial discovery of the arts, you felt like you were not alone in the gallery, the other visitor’s presence remained so intense that he could be sat right next to you, scrutinising the same painting, entertaining the same thought. Was the woman with the bright tresses indeed what she had been declared to be over the many years she had been introduced to many venues, many variations of public, and finally finding a home on this wall? Did she settle with her lover, or perhaps a carefully selected victim? Would the man have an answer?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ . It was unlike you to retrace your steps a mere few days after a visit and return to the same gallery, amble down the same halls, and seek for a new source of investigative inspiration among the same selection. This obviously did not mean that you would never return, definitely not, that would be almost criminal of you to possess such intentions, but you tended to try to cleanse your palate with alternative movements, contemporary takes and avant garde interpretations between searches which were more directly related to your studies. And yet, for the first time in a while, nothing was stopping you from your return. It felt only natural, and so right. Moreover, you felt no unease when you headed straight towards the section that housed the impressionists. An individual with an unspoken, mysterious mission, you were on the hunt for the creative streak, something that would help you ponder the next section of your hefty dissertation, and you could sense that it had to be somewhere here. And, like always, you were right.

‘Bazille’s Studio’, one of the most famous works painted by the so-called ‘tragic artist’ of the impressionists, Frédéric Bazille in 1870. In fact, it had been a collaboration between him and Édouard Manet, another gifted artist, though more renowned as a figure leading modernism, and depicted a scene of discussion and creative collaboration in the studio that Bazille had shared for a certain period of time with other spectacular figures of the visual arts, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who could also be found in this painting. On the walls were works rejected by the Salon, which at the time had been the one of the most influential, famous art exhibitions in the Western World, administered by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Interestingly, above the piano on the right hung a painting which Bazille had purchased from Monet, potentially hinting at the material ties between them, and the importance the young artist had because of his familial wealth. In a sense, Bazille expressed his support, as well as showed an intimate, platonic scene of the art world where there was a moment of calm, of mutual appreciation, despite the financial troubles and tensions due to character that had been experienced in those walls.

You stepped closer to the painting, trying to detect the transition from Bazille’s to Manet’s hand, the latter of whom painted in the former to take ‘centre stage’, palette in hand. Truly seamless work, though what else could it be? This painting had been a new addition to the permanent collection, and after strenuous, detailed restoration work to give the oil paints their original vibrancy and for impeccable strokes to forget the burden of time, you had the pleasure of seeing it in person. You were an arm’s length away from yet another work essential to history, culture and the arts as a societal colossus.

While it was easy enough to appreciate the technical detail, you found yourself halting to remember the names of all those depicted in the painting, failing to finalise the list in your head. Starting from Bazille, you had determined for yourself the presence of Monet and Manet in his vicinity quickly enough, however where Renoir was, or what were the names of the two other gentlemen in the scene, slipped your mind. You rocked to the side to lean closer to the plaque that was meant to provide you with the information, however you only found the name of the painting, the artist and the medium, much to your misfortune. Clicking your tongue, you returned to studying the faces of each individual, and furrowed your brows in agitated concentration. It was simple to take out your phone and search for the answer, though you knew that just as neutral that action would be, so would be your reaction unless you were to remember, or somebody were to-

A presence to your side caught you off-guard, and you felt a shiver run up your spine. One glance was enough to determine that it was the same man from yesterday, only the outfit revealing a change. Other than that, he had the same impeccable posture and stance, as well as a thoughtful look towards the painting in front of you both. His arms were crossed, though not in a defensive manner; instead they offered an interpretation of philosophy, as though this man was carrying centuries of wisdom with him, history having pummelled down on him and yet needing to support it like Atlas; the titan carrying the world.

Today, he was dressed in a mahogany coloured suit, with a white top underneath and some black boots with thick white rubber soles - quite the transition from last time, when he had been a manifestation of a sleek and pristine office gentleman. Hair, now let down and wavy, neatly framed his face, accentuating the regalness of his features. It was astounding how you were still sure that it would be more likely to find a man of this fashion in a painting, rather than standing beside you. You kept quiet, not wanting to interfere with his musings. Perhaps it was just a silly coincidence that the two of you were at the same place and at the same time again - how else? You did not know him, and you hoped that he did not know you. Though, you truly did not mind his company, and maybe it could serve as your motivation to figure out the rest of the characters in the painting. Once again, your attention returned to the task at hand, but before you could even begin to list off prominent figures of the art world during the era of Impressionism, a deep, honey-like whisper halted you and made you hold your breath. 

“Auguste Renoir is the one seated, Emile Zola, the writer, is on the stairs, Monet, Manet and Bazille are, as you likely know in the centre, and that,” he paused to raise his hand, gesturing in the general direction of the far right of the piece, “is Edmond Maitre. Pianist, art collector, and Bazille’s closest friend.”

“I- uh- thank you. How did you know I was trying to recall? Pardon me, I must look so clueless-” you trailed off, eyes finding the floor, an action which seemed to be your automatic response to being under inspection of the man, though this time, he captured your gaze quickly by stepping closer towards you. Looking up, you found concern and apology in his eyes.

“No! Not at all, I… sorry if I misunderstood and I am sorry for forcing you into such erroneous conclusions,” he gave you an ever so slightly crooked smile, charming, very disarming and so suiting this beautiful stranger, that you were instantly prompted by your instincts to return it, dismissing doubt. 

“You saved me,” you joked, though the phrase contained within itself an unlikely compassion. Two people, alone in the same gallery, sharing a precious dialogue was something to cherish, and with all your might you wanted to make it last.

“Just as you made me regard the painting in a new light, for which I thank you, greatly,” he bowed his head, the smile not leaving his face for a moment. There was a recognition in his gaze, as well as an inexplicable admiration. What did he discover?

“I guess it might be true that no matter how many times you see a painting, every viewing brings something new,”

“Well said. Are you an artist? A critic, perhaps?” He inquired, moving closer to stand level with you, head turned slightly in your direction to spare the occasional glance. You shook your head slowly, wondering if in a retelling of your destiny you could have pursued either of the careers he had mentioned.

“I am in the arts, though rather than looking at the present I remain in the past. Art historian, well, a postgraduate. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh? But that is marvellous, and what are you focusing on?”

“I like to call it the painting in plenair during the turn of the century. I focus mainly on impressionism, though do sometimes stray into its interplay with post-impressionism, modernism and expressionism.”

“Ah, no wonder I have been seeing you here often. Enjoying the new collection?” he asked, eager to hear your opinion. There was excitement in his voice as though you were a renowned expert and were about to bestow upon him a priceless evaluation. And this was without considering the technicality of you having only half-met. Just crossing paths twice in one week.

"Yes, of course… The collection is unlike any other I have seen. I keep wanting to return and stay here for ages." You explained, glancing at the stranger while he nodded along.

"Incredibly happy to hear it. I swear I have seen you around quite often during the past month that the exhibition has been open? Am I correct?" evidently, your rapid blinking was interpreted rather quickly as perplexion, for the man gasped ever so lightly, as if to catch his own speeding thoughts.

“I- how do you know? I do believe this is our… second time meeting?” you uttered, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, which, to your disbelief, revealed something akin to fear in the beautiful stranger’s features. Nervously, he adjusted a strand of hair that was threatening to cover his right eye.

“Not quite… you were present at the opening event, right?” he quizzed.

“Indeed, my depar- wait. But how? Respectfully, I am starting to think you know me.” you enunciated with newfound caution, while the man pursed his lips. One second, another passed in near total silence, until a chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. It appeared as though he was mentally scolding himself - his eyes held no malice, instead glinting with hope, that melancholic wisdom, and something unidentifiable, ethereal, supernatural.

“I think it is high time I introduce myself before this gets out of hand. See, in some sense I work here, and most of my days are spent in the gallery or labouring for it-”

“Ah, I see-”

“Park Seonghwa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” with one arm folded behind his back and the other on his chest, he bowed to you like how you imagined princes in the numerous portraits you had studied would bow. And the most enthralling part was how the gesture flowed, and was so befitting. Quickly, you bowed in return, but while raising your head, you froze. It hit you why he would know. And know a lot. And would remember you, and likely anyone and everyone who visited. In a low whisper, you asked:

“Am I… correct in assuming that you are ‘the’ Park Seonghwa?” quickly enough, you realised that it was a mistake to find his eyes again - clearly, you were not ready for the intensity, nor for the intrigue that was contained within them, nor for the fact that he moved another step closer to you, the rubber of his boots dampening any sound produced.

“I never knew that there was a ‘the’ attached to my name. I simply love art.”

“Well that love translated into the creation of what is possibly the greatest gallery in the nation, if not worldwide,”

“Oh you flatter me too much, ah, your name-”

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

“Elated to hear it,” he gleamed, and you swore the room exploded with the illumination of a thousand stars.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, ever so elegant. He was a walking dream. In that smile was concealed a certain something that had been taboo, a well-kept secret until a couple of decades ago, when those like Seonghwa had started to be fully integrated into society, and no longer had to hide, changing identity from one century to another. With that came Seonghwa’s success - you had read in an article that advertised the permanent exhibition a short blurb of his story, and how for many turbulent decades, the man single-handedly collected masterpieces, crafted a meticulous network and introduced genius artists to the world, and the world to the artists. The gallery was a magnum opus for Seonghwa - a presentation of what he had achieved as a collector, as a patron of the arts, and a celebration of his personal culture. 

You could not help but hone in on the fangs, and recall the original reason why it was even possible for Seonghwa to obtain such legendary works and have as much influence as he presently did. It was not spontaneous; submerged in turmoil, he had personally approached artists who, previously abandoned by critics and other prospective buyers, had never considered a future beyond a mysterious tomorrow. Hiding his own true nature, he crafted the tale of a ‘Park’ dynasty, and rose again and again to continue his work. Perhaps, now, some might argue that once he had revealed himself as a vampire the velocity of Seonghwa’s developments had fallen, but you would passionately argue the opposite. It was challenging to believe that any move by this stunning artistic mastermind was not strategic - the announcement had given the gallery more partnerships, more donations, and in turn, an even greater prominence in the community both among professionals and enjoyers. 

“Thank you,” the phrase spilled from your lips inadvertently. It seemed to be the only thing that was reasonable to say in that given moment. You pondered the pains that must have been suffered to make the world that you were consumed by come together, and the painting in front of you, aside from what was contained within the frame,now shined in a new light externally too, possessing its own story, resembling a search for a kindred spirit, a true home. 

Seonghwa remained quiet, the words of gratitude echoing in his heart. It was endearing, encouraging to hear such warmth from you. So, you did know him, at least the parts he had shown to the public - as was expected from someone so deeply ingrained in visual arts and history, but he could not help but identify it as something much greater than mere awareness. The openness with which you had welcomed conversation with him, the kind charm that radiated from you as you engaged in the careful verbal waltz reminded the vampire of times long, long ago when all that existed for him was drive, enamourment and art. Oh, how your eyes glimmered. His heart clenched into near unbearable agony as he read your expressions, and wondered how much you have seen, what have you yet to see, who you were in this temporary life. If only he could ask fate to tell him how much you remembered of who you had been before. 

“No, thank you, for giving this,” he gestured to the gallery around him, graceful hand unfurling as though revealing a delicate flower, “meaning, and reason to exist.”

“I highly doubt I am of much significance, Mister Park,” you responded, a soft smile on your face.

“Would anything hold the same meaning if there was no one to behold it?” he responded. You chose not to answer, catching onto the rhetoricism, “and please, call me Seonghwa. I’d like to say we are to be good friends.”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Sitting across from Seonghwa in the cafe that was located on the top floor, above the main halls of the gallery made you feel strangely serene. Today he had foregone the straighter hair styles that you had begun to get used to, surprising you with a head of tousled, almost curled locks that embodied the world’s softness, though remained to be quite the contrast to the more formal and highly fashionable attire that adorned his stature. A suit, tastefully oversized with a buttoned double breasted jacket that was simultaneously serving as a shirt, the plunging v-shaped neckline revealing perfectly smooth skin, and what you noted to be a solitary freckle right in the centre of his collarbone. The trousers, at least from the glimpse that you had allowed yourself when you had met at the entrance to the cafe were of a loose fit, defining his waist at the top and falling to form an almost skirt-like silhouette should he stand how he usually stood: the echoes of what would be called the ‘third position’ in ballet, more relaxed, but still retaining an elegance that only he could carry. The biggest shock to you, however, was Seonghwa’s choice of shoes - a refreshing point to the visual, he had selected to contrast the formalwear with a pair of limited edition, geometrically intriguing Converses. You could catch a glimpse of one of them from over the edge of the table whenever his slightly shaking leg, positioned over the other, would rock forwards just that tiny bit stronger. 

While the setting was meant to be casual, the circumstances in which you found yourself were nothing short of miraculous. Never in a million years would you have imagined for it to be possible to be sat across the table from, quite possibly, one of the most legendary contributors to art restoration, collection and exhibition. On top of that, Seonghwa was a figure who actively bridged the gap between disparate communities, finding a common language, and using the arts as a salvation. You were in awe, and could not hold back on regarding the handsome vampire as he quietly reported your and his orders to the waiter who had floated to your table.

“Are you sure you do not want anything else?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not wish to exploit your kindness-”

“-Not at all. I hope you do not mind that I… must make a rather unconventional order,” he smiled sheepishly, clearing his throat so as to attempt to hide his doubts, though you were uncertain as to how much of such emotions could possibly be left after what had to have been centuries. 

“An unconventional order is pouring a sugary energy drink into a triple shot espresso and calling it dinner,” you answered, eyes travelling from Seonghwa’s face to the mural on the wall a few tables away that wrapped behind him and to your left, disrupted only by the occasional floor length window that provided city vistas - rather gloomy, compared to the optimistic illumination of the restaurant. Perhaps out of pity, or out of genuine entertainment, Seonghwa chuckled.

“That does sound like an acquired taste, indeed. Thank you,”

“No need. Thank you for inviting me,” you turned back, nodding a polite bow as he softly waved your gesture off.

A silence settled across the table as you waited for your respective drinks. Your hand, had you not consciously restrained yourself, would have probably reached for the phone that you stored in your purse, but now was fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, finding the buttons to stress test the threads that had them sewn tight to the fabric. You were not bored, in fact, far from it. You needed a barrier. The grandeur of this man’s presence was almost overwhelming. He was not a mere individual in a room, he consumed it. Had you just walked in, you were certain that your gaze would still settle on his form. Just like the concrete outside was grey, and the pause retained a divine ambiguity, Seonghwa was unforgettable. In an attempt to calm your clouded thoughts, you studied the mural once more.

“May I inquire into your thoughts on the decor?”

“The choice of ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte’ is wise. I am guessing you were the one to make the decision?” you heard an exhale, and once more your attention was captured.

“Alas, I cannot take full accolades for this. This stemmed from a discussion that a good friend of mine and I had one late night. Seurat just so happened to make an appearance amidst the chatter, and so… this was born,” he gestured at the surroundings. Clearly, the interior was picked carefully to fit the theme of the legendary painting. 

From the colours to the textures and the greenery that had been intricately set up across the restaurant, every detail had a meaning and a place, and did not take away from the spaciousness of the hall. It was breathable, while still giving the illusion that you were stepping into a whimsical impressionist paradise. Perhaps that was another reason why you could not quite contain your disbelief firstly in your encounter, secondly in its progression, and thirdly in your interlocutor’s warmth. 

“Spectacular, truly. I have heard you have an eye for detail, however this surpasses all expectations.”

“Oh? There is more you have heard?” he interjected, leaning closer to you and placing an elbow on the table, simply to rest his head on his hand. While this could potentially be seen as slightly unceremonious, it hinted at well-kept confidence, ownership, control. A healthy undercurrent of motivation that came with indirect praise.

“I-oh y-yeah of course,” you did not mean to stutter, but some part of you was grateful you did, for the smirk that had threatened to burst on Seonghwa’s lips was enough for you to feel ignited to elaborate, “if my memory is not failing me, you were the one to distinguish a reproduction of a piece some time ago, no?”

“Ah- yes. That was a Degas reproduction. I must say, the attempt was sincere, however when I saw the-, hm, you will not be startled, will you?”

“Please,” you urged him to continue, intrigued by the story. 

“When I saw the original, as it was being made and when it had been finalised, it would be shameful of me to not spot a fake,” he fell back into his chair, just in time for the drinks to be served. 

A coffee for you, and a non-descript beverage concealed by a semi-opaque, tall glass for him. Though, you did not need to be a detective to guess what it was that Seonghwa was bringing to his lips, and what he took a tentative sip of. The only mystery that was remaining for you was what ‘type’ he had picked - was it O+? B-? Whatever else? You joined him in the tasting, lifting the mug and indulging in the wonderful aroma of your americano. It did not strike you as necessary to opt for something fancier and lie to yourself - so you settled for your regular order, much to your joy. Familiar taste and the reliability of the caffeine hitting your system painted the scene in more comforting colours, and gradually, you found yourself easing into the dialogue more and more, until life stories, musings and a surprisingly large common ground came pouring. 

You discovered that Seonghwa possessed a unique sensitivity and attunement to those around him. Focused on the emotional experiences, he felt through time and could recount emotions like the memory was from a mere few days, rather than decades ago. He was well-spoken, eloquent, intelligent, polite in every right as he navigated through the linguistic landscape and guided you like a partner in a dance. You were spiralling oh so quickly, intrigue catching up to you and prompting you to sacrifice all of your senses to the man and the pleasantly intoxicating atmosphere he captured you in. He was enchanting, and it was far too easy to give in. 

“May I reveal something?” in a hushed tone, he inquired, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Oh, a little secret?” you raised your eyebrows in jest, lightening the initial seriousness with which Seonghwa uttered the question.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Depends on how you take it. A confession might be more accurate,” he waited for you to take the final sip of your coffee before continuing, unphased by your unwavering focus, “if I were to be honest, I have been meaning to approach you.”

“Pardon?”

“As you know we have a… common awareness of each other thanks to what is housed under this roof, but ever since we first unknowingly crossed paths… I wanted to speak to you.”

Confused, you did not speak, though the words contained an unparalleled affection within them. What could he possibly mean? You chose to refrain from commenting, your hesitation prompting the vampire to continue.

“Do you remember the most recent opening night? Of the exhibition? I believe you were with someone…” he trailed off, hoping you would continue for him.

“Ah, yes, a friend of mine from university. So?”

“This might sound strange but, I distinctly remember you mentioning a name. An artist from the same era, dubbed as L/N Y/N?”

“Goodness, you overheard that? I am so sorry, it is just that said artist has intrigued me for some time, and I was half-hoping to encounter their work. Maybe it is because our names are the same but still….”

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

“To put it softly, yes. I only vaguely recall seeing… maybe one piece in my lifetime, when I was little, and then… nothing. And there is barely any information on the artist online, let alone libraries and archives.”

“Hm, indeed. I guess that makes two of us…”

“Two of us who are searching?”

“That’s right. It brought me happiness to know that I am not alone in this endeavour.”

“Then we can keep searching together.”

While you were positive that you could not conceal your interest, Seonghwa’s did not go unnoticed either. It was of course possible that he was simply well-versed in political correctness, but the burning depth of his pupils told you otherwise. Enthrallment, the discovery of a kindred spirit, recognition, the rekindling of a bond that had existed at some point long ago - all fantasies that played out in your mind as you returned that look with subtle fervour. You wondered how many people he graced with those charms. How many had succumbed to his influence, becoming a marker on his infinite life path, a fleeting second? How many had his lips known, how many had turned into a decadent treat for a genius man with natural peculiarities? While the researcher part of you was perplexed and aching for answers, the you that was caught in the moment simply let it go on, and the feeling of Seonghwa’s leg brushing against yours, and the pride blooming in your chest as he praised the few articles and papers you had published upon having claimed that he ‘knew some things about you too’ preoccupied you in the most magnificent way.

Naturally, you agreed to meet Seonghwa again. On your journey home, in the privacy of the anonymous metro, immersed in the cacophony of deafening rails and the millions travelling to anywhere, you pressed your phone to your racing heart as the vampire, the man, the beguiling Park Seonghwa sent you a message confirming so. Who knew a simple selection of words could be so captivating?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Under the comforting thrum of raindrops on the large umbrella, you walked down the streets of the grey-coloured city, your hand lightly holding onto Seonghwa’s arm while he ensured that both of you were protected from the elements. Despite the dull light and bitterness of the cooling season, Seonghwa appeared radiant, truly timeless with every gesture and stride. The elegant angles of his face that you could tirelessly study stood out against the monotone buildings and overcast skies. His voice drowned out the sound of droplets racing one another to the ground. A miraculous gentleman who appeared in your life much like a portrait, or a landscape - a masterpiece you wanted to explore in every spare moment, and better yet, this masterpiece was equally as open to you as you were to him. 

“...essentially, yes. It is like another nationality. A marker of species isn’t too far isn’t it? Just another line on a stack of documents. Nothing more,” Seonghwa concluded his explanation, pursing his lips for a moment before letting an exhale turned dragon’s breath escape into the afternoon.

“Makes sense. So would that mean there are separate medical papers and treatment too?”

“Well… when regeneration fails us or when a given case is severe enough… yes. Though it is handled by private clinics run by other vampires.”

“There are private clinics?”

“Of course. Often they are connected to donation points too, and that is how we remain on the right side of the law and stay alive,” he nodded to himself, giving you a bittersweet smile when he noticed confusion overtake your gaze. “Blood,” he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, “I mean blood.”

In a nervous stupor, you cleared your throat and focused on a droplet that was hanging onto the edge of the umbrella, right in front of you, all the way until the gentle motion of Seonghwa’s amble provoked its abrupt descent onto the stone under your feet. 

“Ah, yes, I see-”

“If you find this disturbing, we can forget the conversation ever-”

“-I want to know you better, Seonghwa, truly-”

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-” 

With an extraordinary swiftness, you were tugged abruptly by the arm. Not registering your surroundings, you merely went with the inertia, caught off-guard by the proximity of your face to the vampire’s as he held you against him with the arm that you had previously been resting your own on. A hand that you raised on instinct went limp and landed on Seonghwa’s chest, feeling the thick felted wool of his coat. The ringing of a bell, going farther away from you by the second, incessant but at least waking you up from the blur, was enough for you to put two and two together - a cyclist who thought they owned every part of the street, like always. You sighed.

“Reckless… my apologies I did not mean to-” Seonghwa tried to detangle himself, refusing to remain in your personal space for longer than necessary no matter how much he did want to, but his efforts were reduced to nothing when your hand moved to a hold on his upper arm - reassuring, comfortable, accepting.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, “that bike would have definitely run into me…”

“It’s nothing,” a low chuckle echoed in your ears as Seonghwa peered into your pupils, confidence that had previously wavered out of habitual caution now restored, growing into a pride as you continued to hold onto him, “the man was slow enough for there to be no risk of harm. I hope you are not too startled though.”

“Oh? You have super powers too? Do elaborate,” you jested, resuming your walk.

“I would call it more like… being a finely tuned machine. Can’t say I have bad reaction speed. Though I must say, it was a little challenging pulling you out of the way,” there was an evident intent behind the words. However, you were too curious to pay it any mind, instead preferring to find out their meaning live.

“How so?”

“I think this,” dropping his arm, Seonghwa’s hand reached for yours, and without a moment of hesitation, his fingers were intertwining with yours, his palm pressed against yours, “would be better. You know, for safety.” As if you could ever reject him. This was a fact you had established for yourself with an unprecedented certainty. His gallant disposition, attentiveness all confirmed a care for you that was impossible to ignore. 

There was something picturesque about the present after meeting this wonderful, infinite pool of art and humanity. You found yourself leafing through articles, art books and biographies with a more wistful and sentimental perspective, imagining what it would be like if it were you who was immortalised in the thousands of brushstrokes, or if you were on the other side of the canvas, how would you go about depicting the scenes unfolding before your very eyes. Timelessness - a quality shared between the art you so adored, and the man you had encountered and over the weeks, let your intrigue be transformed into a shy flame of infatuation. Perhaps it was the underlying reason why you did not reject his advances, nor cower in fear of his true nature with which he was upfront. The other, of course, was the search for the mysterious artist, an adventure that fuelled many of your dialogues, and prompted you to spend more time in the library and the archives of your university than you had ever done before - to the point where Seonghwa himself had encouraged you to take a break from your intellectual expeditions and step into the world as a casual observer. So, you let yourself drift; it finally hit you, what scenes your once again tranquil stroll reminded you of, and you smiled to yourself as you recalled the intricacies of the not quite commonly discussed representation of the Impressionist movement. 

‘Rue de Paris, temps de pluie’, painted by Gustave Caillebotte; his most famous work. Not quite as widely discussed, despite still technically being created in the Impressionist era, perhaps due to the meandering through form, realism and reliance on stronger lines rather than broad brushstrokes and the study of light. You did find it fascinating how Caillebotte’s passion for photography had seeped into this piece, however. Much like how, in recent days, you could easily find a way to mention Seonghwa in conversation, be it related to the arts or not. From the subjects in the foreground being slightly out of focus while the middle ground was crystal clear, to how the shapes of some passersby were cropped were all characteristic of photos, rather than paintings, making this particular work all the more dear to you. It was a reflection of life, of behaviour and of what had been daily back in the late nineteenth century.

Was it any different from now, aside from those grand, global topics that historians dedicated their lives to studying? If one were to whittle down to the intricacies, the miniatures that ornamented the span of a human existence, was it so terribly far away from what you were born into, and Seonghwa saw develop and had adopted? How people shielded themselves from the rain with umbrellas, and then used them as a tool to isolate themselves from other urbanites who were in a rush to take a day-long route out of their homes… and back again. The latest silhouettes of dress and accessory; the same rush to be with the times as now.

You felt your companion’s arm move, prompting you to let go and leave your hand hovering as though you were awaiting some kind of change. You bit back an unprecedented sliver of disappointment, only to be caught by surprise once again as you felt the hand settle on the small of your back. Cautious, like you were going to melt from any more pressure than the brush of a feather. A quick glance was enough to determine that you were being studied intently for any sign of discomfort - Seonghwa was ready to pull away at any moment, any sigh, and most definitely at any word. A meek smile settled on your lips, and you shyly used an oncoming stranger as an opportunity to affirm the gesture, stepping towards the vampire, and sensing the confidence of his protective measure be solidified. With glee he followed your every tilt and turn, angling away from the passing form that neither of you could focus on. The touch was electric, somehow monumental despite being so common and barely present. Your mind was on fire, pondering what it would be like to put your head on the elegant man’s shoulder, and let yourself be carried away into a terrific fairy tale.

“This really is a rainy day,”

“Seems quite sunny to me,” you respond with sarcasm, realising only after the fact that your phrase still did retain an element of truth within it. 

Sunshine did not have to be literal. It was easy to see, you just needed to return Seonghwa’s gaze, and watch as another spring flower blossomed in the soul of one you had initially assumed to be so cold, so distant. In the darkest winter was a safe haven that you could not help but lean into, and regardless of what you had initially thought, with him, you felt more human, more safe and alive than ever. He listened without fail to your ramblings, and could easily pick up the ball and balance it with his own musings that you could listen to for many lifetimes.

Lifetimes; immortality, the one concept you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. Well, the latter was technically not true, as Seonghwa had elaborated some few days ago: vampires did age, albeit at such a slow pace that to the run of the mill human being, it was impossible to notice, and if they did, it would be someone very close, and only over a matter of decades. Maybe it was this exact inability that made you want to stay and learn all there could be about the gallerist - you thought that would make you feel like you have been living forever. His wisdom was beautiful. The kindness with which he treated you, akin to that of how a spouse treats their long-time sweetheart with a mellow and comfortable affection, was not something you asked for nor expected, but something which he introduced himself with through every action, progressively more amiable when you allowed him to advance.

“Mm, no wonder I can’t quite look at you,” he mused out loud, dramatically looking off into the distance. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what was going to come after his theatrical pause, “your brightness is unparalleled,” Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with your sigh and the way in which you pretended to be annoyed, only to dissolve in a mute giggle. “So, I do suggest we get out of the rain for a moment and stop by that book shop over there, shall we?”

Following his hand, you spotted an antique bookshop a few doors down, marked by an iron sign and ornate shop window decorations that glistened with each hit of the dancing droplets. A warm golden light emanated from the inside, the hue comparable to a summer’s day. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over you, as though you had been in this store before, even though this was quite the distance away from your home, not on any of your usual commutes and in a part of town you barely visited aside from the occasional brisk walk. It had been established over a century ago, sporting a historical plaque and detailing original to the era the date on the sign suggested. Suppressing your internal monologue, you simply nodded, fond of Seonghwa’s excitement as he pushed lightly against your back and walked on ahead. If you were any more of a romantic, you would have assumed that the shop was a representation of his heart, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, at least not when you felt heat rise to your cheeks as he whispered your name, openly planning what you could look for amidst the rare editions together. You and him turned into a ‘we’ so naturally, you barely had time to blink. A new brushstroke on a canvas, brave, bold and bright. Impressionist.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

The hypnotising improvisation on a semi-acoustic guitar, followed by a launch back into the theme of a well-known jazz song had you tapping on the counter, unknowingly following every drum beat. The bar turned cosy music venue that Seonghwa had invited you out to was proving to be every bit a wonder of the world, and paradise inside of the otherwise gloomy city which had been plagued with miserable weather and lack of daylight for atrociously long. The classy establishment was a well known favourite among the vampires residing in the city, especially those aligned with a more bohemian and art-focused lifestyle. Critics, painters, collectors, musicians, poets alike all gathered to share ideas and energy, and reminisce days long gone, while the band - one that had not changed since the bar’s establishment, revived legendary pieces one after another. 

With ease, Seonghwa had ordered your favourite drink, having memorised it after your many outings that had smoothly transitioned into dates and shared nights. He remembered every detail about you, holding each one tenderness. Your lover gazed at you as he ended a conversation with a fellow collector who had recently come to town for a few days, stretching out his hand until it just touched yours, guiding it to lie flat on the counter. Seonghwa’s palm, still retaining a pleasant coolness despite him having had a couple of drinks of his own, was another reassurance that in the buzz of the venue, you still had your person by your side. Feeling his digits tap and then proceed to brush the back of your hand, you hummed in contentment, and let your eyes travel over the beautiful vampire, who leaned back, tempting you just for fun, knowing full well that you were wholly his, and even when you turned to look elsewhere, it was his face you saw in the crowd, it was his voice that rang in your ears, it was his touch that ghosted over your skin. 

The bustier from Alexander McQueen, the gorgeous flowy shirt with ruffles and cuts so tastefully sewn and executed, the statement necklace that was worthy of being displayed at a gallery and must be the envy of many, the high heeled boots that were concealed by elegant trousers - Seonghwa was your favourite work of art, and you could never deny it. Each one of his gestures was worthy of marvel, and the care with which he approached everything - even the tending to the items which he painstakingly selected and matched for tonight made your heart skip a beat. It was boggling how each garment and accessory was either an original, or a one of a kind piece. But at the same time, you did not expect anything less of Seonghwa.

He must be impossible to depict in paintings, you concluded, shamelessly staring at your lover’s face, from the shape of his nose, to the plushness of his lips, to the waviness of his night-like inky locks. You bet many had tried, but judging by the lacking evidence in the art world, they must have failed, miserably, to create something more immortal and invincible than the model and muse. You understood them, and Seonghwa gave no signs of being perturbed. 

“So, was that the intent behind our spontaneous trip to this bar tonight?” you gestured at your surroundings, taking another sip from your ornate glass. A sharp exhale accompanied a contrasting soft answer:

“Not at all,I had the business sorted a couple of days ago, and tonight was a lucky crossing of paths to secure the deal,” cryptic as ever, Seonghwa only alluded to the matter at hand.

The matter, or how he had referred to it as ‘business’ was a particular artwork that he had been hunting, by the elusive artist you had been investigating, first in your lonesome, and then joining forces with Seonghwa. Apparently, one of the pieces, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, had been kept safe in the private collection of a ‘Mister Kim’, at least that was how he had been initially introduced to you. Until you put two and two together, and when the very well dressed and styled character had entered the bar and made a beeline towards your partner in artistic musings and romance, recognised the man as a world-famous designer and fashion icon, Kim Hongjoong. And of course, another vampire and kind soul in one. 

Their conversation had happened outside of your earshot; whether it was on purpose or just so happened to unfold that way was for your ruminations to determine, but you did overhear enough to figure out that this was a portrait, a never seen work, and was completed by the artist who as it had turned out had been closer with Seonghwa than you had initially thought. 

“Seems to be very important, and not just in a ‘collector’ sense…” you trailed off, watching as the ice in your drink cracked, “is this why you were interested, you know, back then?”

“If I were to be honest, darling, I was, and still am, a lot more interested in you. The artist was something of an excuse to get a conversation going. And I do hope,” Seonghwa turned and sauntered towards you, “this conversation does not end.” 

Even though you were sitting on one of the bar stools, the heels and stance still left him some room to look downwards, and his sultry expression, orbs glinting at you through dark lashes left you transfixed. In moments such as this, you hated to be mortal. There were so many things that you could not possibly know, and no matter how hard you would try to comprehend the vastness of the angelic man’s mind, you would always remain theoretical, and accept the grand majority of intricacies as axiom.

“I hope so too,” your voice barely rose above a whisper as his gloved hand landed on your neck, gliding upwards to caress your jawline.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his thoughts were elsewhere, you were sure of it, and yet, his gaze remained unwavering, “my eternal love”. Lips stained with bittersweet worship, the words stumbled from them to strike you repeatedly in the heart, forcing it to lose its rhythm. He was regarding you like he had stumbled upon a priceless treasure, a divinity, a paradise. Something far from you and from this planet, but by Seonghwa’s careful selection, etched in your features.

Were you the embodiment of something greater for him? You would not consider yourself to be a model example of a human being, neither were you a pretty statue to display in an exhibition. You were you, but Seonghwa kept on convincing you that it was exactly this that had captivated him and showed him a new beginning. Did you wish to believe that? Of course. But a vampire who was hundreds of years old could keep a grand variety of secrets beyond your understanding, even if he were to exclaim them right in front of you and sketch them out. His eternal love - your version of eternity, or his? A life the duration of a butterfly’s abstract dance to the heavens.

“Love?” he called out to you, eyebrows knitted in concern due to your prolonged silence. You had set your drink down, and were staring at the shine of the glossy chrome silver and pearl on Seonghwa’s necklace. “Talk to me, say anything.”

“I- hm. I think I am just tired. Yeah, that must be it. Tired so I am overthinking, no worries. I’ll just be right here and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you tilted your head, noting how Seonghwa immediately straightened out, and instead of attempting to tower over you stepped over to the side to set a protective hand over yours.

“This is a majority vampire bar, full of unfamiliar individuals, this whole deal with the artwork is up in the air and-”

“First of all, I don’t care. Second, you are here with me. And third, I want to trust in the fact that you would not do anything foolish nor harmful. Am I right in my evaluation?” you uttered, still not quite able to look into Seonghwa’s infinite pools of brilliant sienna and dark brown.

“I- I am honoured, but that still does not detract from the fact that we can go get some air and come back. Shall we?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. Hell, need to. Let us have a quick wander?”

“...I’d like that.”

In no time, the winter air hit your cheeks and you were wrapping yourself as tightly as you could in your oversized coat. In your ears the pleasant sound of the vampire’s heels rang out, echoed by the stunning road onto which you were spat out by the heavy black front door of the bar. Warm-toned streetlights liberally decorated the sidewalks and painted the night in honey, gold and copper accents. Reflections of an artificial summer in the puddles and winter chill. Downright magical. Seonghwa seeked out your hand, holding it tight and guiding it into the pocket of his own coat, smirking when you raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

You were certain that you were walking through a landscape painting, every element captured by your vision falling into its rightful place, harmonising with the rest. The mumbling and music was long gone, only to be replaced by conversation of other late city explorers and the occasional rumbling of a car lazily rolling past. 

“Pissarro.”

“Hm?” Seonghwa kept looking ahead, but squeezed your hand to ask for you to continue.

“Boulevard Montmartre at Night. Painted in 1897, no?” you pointed at the surroundings with a tilt of the chin.

“Ah, indeed! Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, thanks to you I got to see the original, so how could I not make the visual analogy?” you nudged his shoulder, earning a chuckle.

The painting was the only example of a landscape at night from the artist Camille Pissarro, making it all the more special despite it being part of a series of 14 views of the same location. Snow, rain, fog, morning, varying seasons, but only one glimmering night. It was one of the works that Seonghwa had managed to provide for your studies, resulting in a more than impressive academic outcome. Like Pissarro kept on painting the vista, your lover kept on giving, never asking for anything more than for you to share your hours with him, something you did not need to be prompted to do anyways.

“...I’m sorry I cannot reveal more than I do, at least not just yet,” he apologised, as though what he was committing was the greatest crime known to humanity and the supernatural.

As you looked up at the starry night sky, you swore you had heard these words before, uttered by the same voice, the same fingers interlocked with yours. A stabbing sensation in your cranium made you gasp, but you regained your composure quickly enough to not make it a priority for either of you. At the same time, Seonghwa’s expression altered to a semblance of… hope? Longing? You could not pinpoint it, but one of the many glowing dots above you clearly landed in his shining orbs, and he eagerly waited.

Waited for longer than you could realise in your present state.

On their own accord, your lips moved, forcing out a subconscious acknowledgement, previously suppressed. You swore the phrase belonged to another being, but it was as refreshing as the breeze tousling Seonghwa’s locks.

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-” vision growing hazy, you reached to the vampire for support, which he readily provided, “I- too.”

One blink - oil paints decorated your hands, and those alluring eyes were staring back at you from a canvas. Another blink - Seonghwa was repeating your name, pressing his cheek against yours as he shielded you from falling into darkness with his strong arms.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Your office was inviting and offered a secure haven: a collection of neutral and wooden tones, with dashes of greenery to relax the eyes. From a potted ivy plant settled on the top of a large wall-length shelving unit to an indoor palm tree enjoying the rays in its designated corner, the room was a miniature paradise. You ran your hands over the thick birch desk, cautiously avoiding the stack of documents you had arranged for yourself to go through this day. Artwork restoration reports, contracts, exhibition plans for years to come… everything you thought you would never see, and yet it was right here in your palms.

Time moved slower, or at least that was how you began to perceive it now that it was in abundance. A fountain that did not cease to bestow gifts upon you - again, something you would have never imagined prior to the curious series of events that were your previous life unfolding the way they did. One fateful meeting, and you were a changed person, staring into the horizon and labelling it as a continuation rather than as a termination of all you could achieve. The world was your oyster, and loving dedication was the price. But when the price was so sweet, and so easy, who were you to say no? If you had to pick a concern, it would be the bandages and binding on your right arm; friction from the sleeve of the turtleneck and blazer you had worn today applying uncomfortable pressure to the delicate wound concealed within. 

You stood up from the leatherbound office chair, adjusting your clothes and stepping to the window behind you to look out at the garden belonging to the gallery - a recent expansion. Grand, regal, and as the papers had emphasised, now returned to its rightful owner. You wondered just how much of the city had belonged to vampires at least for a portion of time, and you had no doubt that you would be making more discoveries soon, but for the time being, you were happy with the re-acquisition, or as Seonghwa had called it: your ‘turning’ gift. A particularly strong shift of the arm made you wince, and your other hand shot to nurse your sore arm.

“I’m so sorry darling, does it still hurt?” Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had slipped into the office, and immediately rushed towards you, concern painting his beautiful face through furrowed brows and a tiny scowl.

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

“Let’s not disregard ailments, shall we?” your partner gingerly lifted your arm, and after gaining permission through a few lethargic nods, pushed the sleeve upwards to reveal the bandages, “I- really, we need to apply the ointment again, that must be it-”

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

“My love-” Seonghwa paused his ramblings to stare back at you, puzzled, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Literally just a bite, isn’t it?” you smiled, the action instantly being mirrored, albeit with a tinge of remaining worry.

“Mm, perhaps I am overreacting, I can’t help it,” your thoughts were numbed by the silken touch of his lips on the back of your hand, wool against cotton as he pulled you into an embrace, “it should heal well once you get used to your new form, I am sure of it,” his tresses tickled your nose, but you ignored it, instead letting your head fall against him.

You stood almost completely still aside from the rocking side to side that was habitual for you both. A lulling motion, one that either of you revealed only to each other. A secret reserved for intimate, loving moments such as this. You shook your head in amusement and buried your nose in Seonghwa’s sweater, inhaling the aroma of his sweet perfume, recalling ‘Love and Pain’ - the painting that had marked the tightening of the invisible string tying you together. Or was it? Coincidentally, on the wall behind your lover was the real inception of your union, one that you had forgotten from one lifetime to the next. A portrait. The one that Seonghwa had been chasing, and what had been his decades-long mission came to an end.

Signed with your own hand, were initials of your name and the year of completion of the painting. None other than the beloved collector and muse, Park Seonghwa, who had posed for you, or rather a version of you, and ever since then, you were the only one on his mind. You had been the master both of the arts and of his fate.

“Please, I am embarrassed…” your partner mumbled, settling for futile attempts to position you in such a way that you would be looking out at the garden, but to no avail. Poking him playfully at the side, you induce a halt, and question him:

“What is there to be embarrassed about? That’s you. Painted by me.”

“Exactly. And you have it in your office, of all places.”

“Well I can’t exactly have you, in the flesh, on display all the time and I would like a work of art around here-”

“Shh-”

“Don’t shush me, Park. Be grateful I don’t keep the sketches out too.”

In all honesty, He would not mind if you did. You could do anything, and the vampire would adore and honour it. Whether it was in your blood or in his nature, he had never regretted almost losing himself in your favour. In your last life, he had gone against all rules set up by vampires, playing against what he swore was the devil in order to have the sliver of a chance to start again and, this time not lose you. Had his plan not succeeded, it was highly probable that he would have been erased from this planet too. But he would rather call himself a masochist than be law-abiding when it came to you.

“Next, you’ll be threatening me with a showcase of just my face-”

“What if I do?” you quipped, pulling back to boop his nose with yours, “I think it would look very pretty. Besides, now that I remember my apparent mastery of the visual arts, can’t I be a tiny bit proud, hm?”

“I would be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Now, may I put that ointment on you?”

As if you could refuse those sparkling eyes. Promptly following him to the loveseat, which unfortunately for Seonghwa was situated right under the portrait, you sat down and waited. Your partner rushed to the medical cupboard - another new addition installed exclusively to support you as you were getting used to the vampiric nuances in your day to day. With well-practised motions, the required kit was in his hands, and in a blink, set down on the plush cushioning of the miniature sofa. You held back a chuckle as you saw the pout you so loved appear as he focused on unwinding the bandage with utmost care. Before you could feel any hurt, Seonghwa would already let go, or alter the angle at which he was tugging on the material. As soon as the plaster was peeled, you were met with the reason for your eternity and reawakening.

Two deep punctures, still a little irritated, not quite healed, but nevertheless a marking of your future and something you regarded with fondness. Wounds did not hurt when they were merely physical, especially not when you had someone who had bound their immortality to yours to tend to them. Seonghwa bit his lower lip, discontented with the ache as though he could feel it too, and took numerous pauses while cleaning up the wound to glance at you. 

“I’ll be applying the ointment now, tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” you knew it wouldn’t. You had never heard a man be so adamant on checking ingredients at an apothecary before following Seonghwa after your first appointment as a vampire. But just to appease him, you followed this small spoken routine. 

“You know… I was scared,” his voice was barely audible, and he could not look at you.

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

Even before you were aware of Seonghwa, let alone the truth behind the portrait, all the roads still led to the same resolution. The arts, art history. Virtually synonymous, for without creation, there would not be the past, and without the study of the past, there would not be the celebration and respect of creation. Finally, you understood the beauty of evolution that Seonghwa had undergone all while remaining the same vulnerable yet legendary figure, dedicated to his vision of the arts, having recollected your own. 

“So many things could have gone wrong,” Seonghwa’s mind was reeling from the sheer terror of possibility. He had taken advantage of his high social standing as an aristocrat and pulled rank to avoid waiting for any ritual guides to step in - it was not the first time, but still only the second. And both cases were related to you. 

The first time might have been a foolish decision in retrospect, but considering the dire circumstances the extreme solution was the only one. With one foot crossing to the afterlife he was combatting the reapers, and was not going to let go of you even if it meant being pulled in. This time, when you had approached him a number of nights ago with your final agreement to his tentative proposal and kissed his ruminations away, he was ready. Years of study were not going to waste, after all. And yet when he studied the same irises as those from a time long gone, when he held the same hands, his blood ran even colder. What a gambling man he had been back then. The procedure to regift life to you had been risky, and Seonghwa, having never practised those elements of the dark arts bestowed upon his kind, had been taking shot after shot in the dark. How dare he play with your being like that? How dare he hold your existence on a sinful scale?

“But they didn’t.”

No they did not. Your confidence in him had aided considerably, he had to admit. The positioning of his fangs was perfect, and he had memorised all incantations down to the inflections. Second time a charm, but much more anxiety-inducing. Turning was not the same as revival, either. He could not stop himself from imagining the many scenarios of where he would have gone wrong, and cemented your identity only as a name on manuscripts, dissertation, paintings and reports. 

“Even the ritual, what if you did not remember-”

“I would love you just the same. Whether I had all my memories or not. That much I can assure you of. That is why I trusted you in the first place, Seonghwa.”

You did not need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. All you could do was suggest a brighter palette, and be by his side no matter what colour scheme he were to decide on. It was an artist’s duty to know when to set the tools aside and consider a painting finished. The luxury of a collector was to live through many paintings, unify the souls contained in each and sustain a chronology of expression. The keepers, the scholars, made to observe change rather than induce it directly. This was why you were all the more grateful for Seonghwa daring to change your mortal fate not once but twice, risking himself and his image in your favour.

When your partner was satisfied with his medical care, he hummed to notify you and began to clear up, at least until you placed a weak hand on his leather-clad thigh to gain his full attention. He searched for a hint in your features, eyes darting across your face at lightning speed. Relief came when you grinned brightly, whispering sincere gratitude.

Impressionism - the movement and path made by legends. A rejection of traditional practice, a new vision and interpretation of the outside world in the hues of the soul. Light, reality, immediate action. A breath that reset the arts, magnificent and radical for the time, and now, much adored. From its conception to its establishment, you were there to witness and fall in love, and now could look back at the beauty that had bloomed. His irises, your favourite colour. The speckles of various shades, your favourite details. You stared into Seonghwa’s eyes and did not dare blink. Your favourite impression.

🩸 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @lightinyreads @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @alyszaen @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy

[yukipri]

Some thoughts on Cara

So some of you may have heard about Cara, the new platform that a lot of artists are trying out. It's been around for a while, but there's been a recent huge surge of new users, myself among them. Thought I'd type up a lil thing on my initial thoughts.

First, what is Cara?

From their About Cara page:

Cara is a social media and portfolio platform for artists. With the widespread use of generative AI, we decided to build a place that filters out generative AI images so that people who want to find authentic creatives and artwork can do so easily. Many platforms currently accept AI art when it’s not ethical, while others have promised “no AI forever” policies without consideration for the scenario where adoption of such technologies may happen at the workplace in the coming years. The future of creative industries requires nuanced understanding and support to help artists and companies connect and work together. We want to bridge the gap and build a platform that we would enjoy using as creatives ourselves. Our stance on AI: ・We do not agree with generative AI tools in their current unethical form, and we won’t host AI-generated portfolios unless the rampant ethical and data privacy issues around datasets are resolved via regulation. ・In the event that legislation is passed to clearly protect artists, we believe that AI-generated content should always be clearly labeled, because the public should always be able to search for human-made art and media easily.

Should note that Cara is independently funded, and is made by a core group of artists and engineers and is even collaborating with the Glaze project. It's very much a platform by artists, for artists!

Should also mention that in being a platform for artists, it's more a gallery first, with social media functionalities on the side. The info below will hopefully explain how that works.

Next, my actual initial thoughts using it, and things that set it apart from other platforms I've used:

1) When you post, you can choose to check the portfolio option, or to NOT check it. This is fantastic because it means I can have just my art organized in my gallery, but I can still post random stuff like photos of my cats and it won't clutter things. You can also just ramble/text post and it won't affect the gallery view!

2) You can adjust your crop preview for your images. Such a simple thing, yet so darn nice.

3) When you check that "Add to portfolio," you get a bunch of additional optional fields: Title, Field/Medium, Project Type, Category Tags, and Software Used. It's nice that you can put all this info into organized fields that don't take up text space.

4) Speaking of text, 5000 character limit is niiiiice. If you want to talk, you can.

5) Two separate feeds, a "For You" algorithmic one, and "Following." The "Following" actually appears to be full chronological timeline of just folks you follow (like Tumblr). Amazing.

6) Now usually, "For You" being set to home/default kinda pisses me off because generally I like curating my own experience, but not here, for this handy reason: if you tap the gear symbol, you can ADJUST your algorithm feed!

So you can choose what you see still!!! AMAZING. And, again, you still have your Following timeline too.

7) To repeat the stuff at the top of this post, its creation and intent as a place by artists, for artists. Hopefully you can also see from the points above that it's been designed with artists in mind.

8) No GenAI images!!!! There's a pop up that says it's not allowed, and apparently there's some sort of detector thing too. Not sure how reliable the latter is, but so far, it's just been a breath of fresh air, being able to scroll and see human art art and art!

To be clear, Cara's not perfect and is currently pretty laggy, and you can get errors while posting (so far, I've had more success on desktop than the mobile app), but that's understandable, given the small team. They'll need time to scale. For me though, it's a fair tradeoff for a platform that actually cares about artists.

Currently it also doesn't allow NSFW, not sure if that'll change given app store rules.

As mentioned above, they're independently funded, which means the team is currently paying for Cara itself. They have a kofi set up for folks who want to chip in, but it's optional. Here's the link to the tweet from one of the founders:

And a reminder that no matter that the platform itself isn't selling our data to GenAI, it can still be scraped by third parties. Protect your work with Glaze and Nightshade!

Anyway, I'm still figuring stuff out and have only been on Cara a few days, but I feel hopeful, and I think they're off to a good start.

I hope this post has been informative!

Lastly, here's my own Cara if you want to come say hi! Not sure at all if I'll be active on there, but if you're an artist like me who is keeping an eye out for hopefully nice communities, check it out!

[lupinsweater]

Okay omg since i loved the last fic sm i got like another tiny idea♡♡

So how about james gives an assignment to the class thats like draw the most important people in your life and write about why, and lil charl is draw his mommy ofc and like maybe his grandparents and explains that they are always there for him and he loves them, and he also draws james too and he is like "he baught me a smoothie and answers my questions" or smth more emotional and cute♡♡♡its really cuteee, and they get put up for parents to see on the wall and take pictures and its just adorable ♡ and the interaction between james and the reader is super cute. Theres just sm cuteness here idk if im making sense, lmaooo.

Love, sou♡

thank you for your request sou my love! i did end up changing it just slightly but i hope it’s still what you were looking for!🤎

part one part two part three part four part five

Teacher!James Potter x Single Mom!Reader 💌 960 words

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

Thursday night rolled around, and you were a ball of nerves. Your date with James wasn’t even until Friday, but for some reason, the idea of seeing him at the school made you more anxious than the upcoming date did. Maybe it was because you knew seeing him in his element with the kids was almost too much for you to bear. Especially the way he was with Charlie- James’ patience with your son made your heart ache in a pleasant sort of way.

As you approached Godric’s Hollow Primary School, you could see the full parking lot, and the flow of people going in and out of the building. You weren’t a fan of crowds, but for some reason, the sight of the large gathering soothed your nerves tonight. Knowing you wouldn’t be alone with James made seeing him before you date much less nerve-wracking.

Charlie tugged you anxiously towards the school once you had helped him out of his carseat and locked the car. You laughed fondly at his excitement as you wove through the crowd. Children of all ages ran through the halls, adding to the buzzing atmosphere. Colorful artwork adorned the halls- the teachers had put together a little gallery of sorts outside of each of their classrooms, fancy paper frames bordering each piece.

“Over here, Mummy!” Charlie exclaimed, pulling on your wrist as he attempted to drag you over to his classroom. You could see the difference in the art as you made your way towards the kindergarten hallway. The artwork was just as colorful, if not a bit more scribbly, and you could see that there were small descriptions under each piece that the younger children had drawn. You stopped in front of Charlie’s gallery, and you scanned the wall until your eyes landed on a piece that was almost front and center.

Charlie had drawn a colorful stick figure family in front of a charmingly lopsided house. A large yellow sun shone on the corner of the page. There were two taller figures and one much shorter, and what you thought might be a dog. Each figure was labeled in his messy handwriting- “Charlie,” “Mummy,” and “Mr. James.” You felt your breath catch in your chest, and you looked down at Charlie, who was beaming proudly up at you. You glanced back up at the words “My Family” written across the middle of the page, your throat suddenly dry.

“Wow, that’s some impressive work,” said a familiar voice beside you. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to look at James, who was smiling at you in a way that made you feel very warm. You could see his hesitation, though, as his eyes lingered on the words “My Family” for a second longer than they probably should before he turned to Charlie.

“You really captured my good side, buddy,” James said as he crouched down and gave Charlie a fist bump. Charlie’s smile made your heart melt. “Although, I’m not sure if I should be flattered or worried about my hair.”

You laughed, finally breaking the unspoken tension between the two of you. “Well, I think he didn’t quite get your hair right, but your height is spot on,” you joked, glancing back up at the drawing. James met the height of the house in the background with his messily drawn hair. You smiled proudly down at Charlie as you added, “You did a fantastic job, Charlie. I think James just needs to see a hair stylist before his next portrait.”

James stood back up, leaning closer to inspect the drawing. “It looks like you named the dog, too…is he named Snoopy?” He gave Charlie a mischievous smile, and Charlie nodded vigorously.

“He’s Mummy’s favorite!” Charlie said seriously, causing the two of you to laugh.

“Yes, I know,” James said. You could hear the fondness in his voice. “I feel very lucky to have made your family portrait, Charlie.”

Charlie grinned up at him, his eyes sparkling proudly. “Yeah! I wanted you to be in it ‘cause you’re important.”

The simple honesty of Charlie's words left a soft silence between you and James. His eyes met yours, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the room faded away.

"Well," James said, his voice a little quieter now, "I have to say, I'm honored to be included."

You smiled at that, your heart racing just a bit. "I think Charlie's trying to tell us something," you said, trying to keep your tone light despite your nerves.

James raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "Oh yeah? What’s that?"

You tilted your head, your heart racing faster now.

"Well," you started, leaning in just slightly, "he seems to think you belong in this picture. And I have to say, the longer I look at it, the more I agree.”

James swallowed, clearly a little flustered but not backing down. "Yeah," he said, his voice softening, "I think Charlie’s onto something, here."

The space between you felt charged, and for a second, you allowed yourself to imagine what would happen if you closed the gap entirely. You could see the way James's eyes flickered down towards your lips, and you watched as he slowly raked his eyes back up your face, meeting your eyes.

Feeling braver than you expected, you took another step toward him, closing the gap further. "Maybe we should see what else Charlie's figured out," you said, your voice teasing but with an edge of seriousness.

James's breath caught, and he looked at you, his eyes wide with a mix of nerves and excitement. "You think so?" he asked, his voice low, his smile a little shy now.

You nodded, your pulse racing. "Yeah," you whispered, "I think so."

[kuerie]

rocky and his water motif

ive seen a few people analyze rocky and his symbolism with water, and i thought id jump on the train and contribute what ive found. i looked through every piece of art in the gallery and messed around with the dead drop to find everything here! with that being said…

obvious spoiler warnings! and warning for a lot of speculation and over analyzing! a lot of things i mention are really big stretches but i added them anyways incase anyone else wants to look into it more

starting where the pilot starts and near the start of the comic (the page “lackadaisy dithyramb”), right off the bat we have an entire poem from rocky dedicated to the mississippi river. this iconic poem is literally just about the river, and he recites it in both scenes from on the bridge over the river.

note that in both cases there is also a crescent moon featuring in the background

more poetry! this one is from the comic on the page “lackadaisy doggerel”. this is actually one of my favourite pages in the comic, its very cool! we have this poem that, again, is entirely about water. it talks about water in a metaphorical way, comparing it to memory and the passage of time. maybe ill try to analyze this poem sometime but idk im not very good at that stuff. seems to talk about rockys past but im not sure

i didnt want to just put this entire page here but i will note that the page has a raging storm, an ocean, a water mill, another storm cloud and a waterfall all picured above rocky, who, in this case is ahem under water, in a way.

last bit of poetry im talking about is probably the most relevant. rockys feauture in the “lacrimosa” poem/halloween artwork shows him seemingly drowning outside a window.

the significance of it being outside a window is somewhat unclear to me, as every other character appears in something reminiscent of a picture frame. my only idea is that its meant to show him outside of what could be a home, in reference to him getting the “unceremonious boot”. the text emphasizes this idea, saying hes away from home

this next one is more obscure and much more of a stretch! after digging around in sketchbook pages, i found this tiny little sketch on a page simply labeled “lackadaisy preview 0018”. the sketch page features sketches that were used for the page “lackadaisy palaver” in the comic, and a few bonus doodles. this was one of the bonus doodles, and i cant seem to find a comic pannel that matches it anywhere.

this sketch could be a lot of things, its a bit hard to tell. most likely, its an unsused pannel of rocky that was going to be used on the comic page. maybe him on whe windshield, or something like that. that being said, the first thing i thought of was the lacrimosa art. its a stretch but i thought id add it, just in case! who knows really

next up is rockys character artwork, which features him standing on a barrel floating in a river.

be careful rocky, you might fall! one little detail about this art that i like is that hes quite literally hiding his sadness behind his back. and again, the crescent moon motif features in the background. the cattails in this image also remind me of this scene in the pilot

…but i mean cattails do grow near water so i dont think that means anything

speaking of the pilot, this scene has rocky accidentally blowing up a water tower and flooding the area, and getting a whole bunch of water dumped on him

be careful rocky, you might get hurt! ...i dont think he cares

one last note from the pilot (for now) is a line from mitzi after rocky comes back with alcohol for them. it could mean nothing, could be foreshadowing, who knows

note in the second image: “rest” as in the rest of the alcohol they were meant to bring back

the music video for liquid gold ends with rocky dropping a bottle and the golden liquid flooding the room

i wasnt even looking for water symbolism when i found this, i was just rewatching the music video for fun! i just about had a heart attack when it ended like that D: rocky please dont drown

back to the comics! sorry this is a bit all over the place. forgive me for just uploading an entire comic page, but the page “lackadaisy thunderhead” features rocky standing over a river. at the bottom of the pannel on the right there are daisys, a symbol that features in a lot of rockys artwork and is generally associated with the lackadaisy speakeasy. the daisys could just be for aesthetics or to frame the pannel better, but its also notable that they appear where the water is.

the name “thunderhead” is interesting given some other pannels

not sure what it means though

the very first scene in the comic aside from the introduction shows rocky at the river.

in the page “lackadaisy trouble boys” from the early concept art mitzi makes a comment about rockys aim, and makes an… interesting metaphor

side note: im gonna cry is that actually how rocky gets the little hole in his ear lmao

the mini comic “wilderness” has rocky climbing out of a small muddy pool of water claiming “the waters great”, despite looking absolutely horrible. isnt shown here, but he says he cant feel his legs and calls for freckle to come back.

knock knock! its time for the playing cards! rockys card depicts him as the 8 of spades, although hes also been shown as the ace of clubs multiple times.

first up, 8 of spades! i really like this art but i have a lot of questions. for one, why is rocky holding a shovel and whats with the lantern? theres nothing wrong with it, just caught my attention since i think freckle is drawn with shovels a lot more than rocky (might be wrong on that though) second, this is the only picture i can find where you can CLEARLY see rockys head injury healed. cool! third, the outfit hes wearing is… atypical for rocky, you could say. for obvious reasons. he always wears blue, why suddenly the change to black? and obviously, the choice of making him the 8 of spades. some quick google searches and this is what i found: from various websites (the first things that popped on on google), apparently spades symbolizes the winter season and the water element. it seems to represent old age, change, wisdom and acceptance. the number 8 supposedly represents victory, prosperity and overcoming. i was going to put images, but i could only have 30 and i ran out of space lmao im so sorry this is SO LONG djfjsjnrfj

make of it what you will. as for the ace of clubs:

my google searches were much less interesting so ill just put my own thoughts. the clubs is likely just for the association with the lackadaisy speakeasy, as in both of these cases he is shown alongside other characters from the lackadaisy and everyone has clubs. as for him being the ace, the main notable thing about the ace is that its generally the highest card.

the main idea i personally took from these cards is the idea rocky will possibly not be a part of the lackadaisy in the furure. we see him in his classic outfit, no head injury as the ace of clubs, with clubs being associated with the lackadaisy. but we also see him with a healed head injury (so clearly in the future) with a new outfit and no more clubs suit.

not sure if this is even notable but this entire (very iconic) scene in the comic takes place in the rain

be careful rocky, you might get shot!

and now, even more crescent moon motifs

so why have i been pointing this out? well its undeniable that rocky also has motif with this crescent moon. i have no idea what it means but heres my very quick five minute thoughts on it: one: the moon controls the tide. obviously a river doesnt really have a tide, but still! theres some association with water there, so its notablea. two: this might be a stretch but in the pilot theres this very memorable frame where it shows the reflection of the moon (which initially looks like a cat) ahem in the water. obviously water reflects stuff so its not abnormal for the moon to reflect in the water but i just thought it was cool!

aaaand last but not least

this analysis was brought to you while listening to hatsune miku, i probably made a lot of typos so yell at me and ill fix them but not my grammar its terrible and im not fixing that, lmk your thought and if i missed anything, thank you for reading have a nice day sorry it was so long <3

[darkdemeter]

↰ back to pinned post

TUMBLR NAVIGATION

Hi, this is your local fanfic magazine on Tumblr! Pick up a column and take a browse.

CONTENT WARNING This blog is 18+ and contains themes unsuitable for younger readers. View at your own discretion. Proceeding to read past listed warnings means you are actively engaging by your own volition, and are therefore responsible for your own media consumption. Due to Tumblr's regulations, and because I refuse to use twitter/x if I can help it, artwork that contains "nsfw" themes will be censored and labelled accordingly but can be viewed fully via the carrd's gallery.

BUCKY BARNES ↳ masterlist・taglist

WANDA MAXIMOFF ↳ masterlist・taglist

DARKSIDERS ↳ masterlist・taglist

BUCKY BARNES ↳ gallery

WANDA MAXIMOFF ↳ gallery

DARKSIDERS ↳ gallery

RANDOM SKETCHES ↳ gallery

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC Holidays 2023

If you're like us, you can't believe that it's this time of year already!

Our 2023 Holiday Event will run from November 21, 2023 - January 6, 2024

We want to make this event less structured to allow writers and artists more freedom to create, so while we encourage you to use the prompts provided and hope they'll spur creativity, any seasonal holiday-themed creations can be submitted for this event and contest.

Entrants will be eligible to win one of five prizes this year! 1 - Art commission by @mydemonsdrivealimo 2- Art commission by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd 3- Art commission by @rosefuckinggenius

Details about commission parameters will be provided at a later date.

4 - One participant will be selected as February 2024's Creator of the Month ** 5- One participant will have their MC / OC selected for February 2024's MC / OC of the Month **

Please take a look at the rules for the event, including prize eligibility, below the break.

PROMPTS

Rules for participation:

Any new fic or artwork with a seasonal holiday theme can be submitted. You can use one of the prompts for inspiration, but they aren't required.

If you use one of our prompts, please tell us which one(s) in your author's notes.

Fics of any length can be submitted for the event, but to be eligible for a prize, they must be at least 500 words.

Creation must be based on a Pixelberry Choices story or characters.

Your creation can be cross-tagged with other fandom events. In fact, we encourage you to do this!

To submit your creation to the event, please mention @choicesficwriterscreations on your post and use the tag #cfwc holidays 2023

If your work contains mature or NSFW content, it must be labeled appropriately. Tumblr community labels will be used in our reblog.

Fics must be submitted during the event dates of Tuesday, November 21st through Saturday, January 6th.

All other CFWC rules must be adhered to.

Any work using AI creations will not be accepted.

Each eligible participant can get up to 6 chances to win one of the 5 prizes: 1) You will receive one chance per fic/artwork submitted per week. 2) You can only earn one entry per week (Sunday through Saturday). If you submit two creations in the same week, you will only be given one chance. So spread those creations out!

Prize Eligibility:

A raffle for all five prizes will take place no later than Monday, January 8, 2024. To have your name included in the raffle for prizes, you must:

Submit a fic or artwork that meets the rules of the contest as described above.

You must be following @choicesficwriterscreations 

You must follow all other CFWC rules

While everyone is encouraged to participate in this event, the following creators will not be eligible to win art commissions. However, they will be eligible for the February 2024 Creator of the Month and MC / OC of the Month:

CFWC Moderators or Administrators

Anyone who has won a commission from CFWC during the 6 months preceding the raffle date, January 8, 2024.

Please note: Anyone who wins an art commission must share the artwork so it can be shared on our Winner's Gallery.

If you have any questions about this event, please send us an ask or contact @jerzwriter or @cfwcmod-lucy.

[wentdownarabbithole]

Unearth without a name

Content: TXT x reader (separate)(hyung line)

Inspired by Dirty Grass by Heretic Parfums-  Sweet secrets in spring that the hyung line carry with them - treasures with no name. Or: Txt’s favorite moments in spring they've shared with you

Soobin 

Spring with Soobin is curling around each other in the quiet solitude of transitional skies. When the sun drips watercolor hues of pink and purple until dark blues and black color over it - is when Soobin favors taking you out to watch it all fade. The cusp of sunset so he can dedicate the night to you. 

The sun going down brings a glow to your skin he’s addicted to - the way light shines in your eyes and the way your lips stretch against your teeth as you smile. It's this sight he thinks is just for him to stow away - storing your visage into his chest where only he can covet it so preciously. He’d maybe consider taking a picture - one he's sure would land in museums - if only it didn’t mean the possibility of having to share you. 

As the night cools he favors wrapping around you to share warmth. He’d give everything that makes himself up to keep you smiling - so really sharing body heat is the least of his gifts. He takes this time to press into you - to soak up your scent, the pliancy of your body. He allows you to choose how you lay in the grass, watching the sun go down. He wants you to be as comfortable as possible - because it's here when he thinks you're the prettiest, with a smile. He allows his hands to smooth over your skin to steal away bits of you for his gallery, that only he can see. 

He finds his lips loose with you, as if you're a sweet liquor that's hidden in a drink that has lowered his inhibitions, only he just needs your presence. From praises to prophecies each word that drips from his mouth is a promise to you. A promise for a loving tomorrow, for a soft future, and for a warm night where you can exist together just as lovers on a hill, watching the sun go down but losing no heat. 

This is the picture he keeps to himself to gaze at through his memory. To him there's nothing that could come close to a masterpiece as long as he has this. The way the grass curls along your skin, the way twilight shines on your lips and the lazy love tying you together as a promise. Van Gogh has his starry night, Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, and Soobin has you - his darling draped in love. Just as any other piece of artwork. 

Soobin's head is buried into your neck, arms wrapped around your waist and legs tangled. You’d almost be able to assume he was asleep if you couldn't hear the small erratic breaths near your ear. This long into the relationship - yet Soobin is just as shy and obsessive as the first time he’s ever had you in his arms. In this moment Soobin almost could swear his brain melts in his skull - spewing out his ears all so he can think about you in totality. The way you feel in his arms, your weight pressing against him - it's euphoria. Just being able to be here - it's intoxicating. Like a sort of high, his brain ceases to function but to think of you - and the very thought of you further melts him into his madness. If he’d have to label the bone deep satisfactory pleasure seeing you smile gave him, he’d call it love. 

Yeonjun 

 Yeonjun thrives under your attention - like how a sunflower seeks the sun he’s always turned towards you, to see if your eyes are on him, if your lips speak of him, if you carry him with you the way he does. He wants everything you are to himself - because he’s already given everything he is to you - neatly wrapped in ribbons and a kiss. 

He favors golden hours in spring - a weak man for the way the sun seems to shine just for you. Like he’s living in a photo - everything is picturesque and you're the most beautiful picture in the world. Oftentimes he sets the scene fr you - a picnic under a flower tree is his favorite. Like how artists often paint stars and the moon as their muse - this is his art - framing you in everything beautiful. 

He could sit for hours - he has - listening to you talk - and even if you feel quiet for the day he's content soaking in your presence. He’ll steal a kiss of two occasionally - just to be able to keep your taste on his tongue. It often tastes of sweet fruits he cut for you, of your favorite food he’s brought so he could see you smile as you eat. If you’ll allow him, he’d be prone to keeping his lips on your skin - sometimes with the intention to kiss or suck, but mostly to just keep it there as an eternal imprint on your flesh - like a knight swearing faulty to his royalty. 

Yeonjun needs you to feel full in a way - and he makes these scenes to be able to ravish you until he can feel you on his skin even when you're miles away. He truly feels as if your very presence could nourish him, he swears does better in practice if you let him savor you to himself just before - as if on a sugar rush. He swears it's because he takes a bit of you with him in his chest. It's what gets him through the day - like how a morning coffee powers an office worker, all he needs is you. 

The sun allows an alluring glow to set your skin alight in a way that reminds Yeonjun of a bonfire. A honey color painting you in a way that leaves him insatiable for a taste - he presses in again just to leave a messy kiss near the back of your ear. Your responding laugh is just as addicting as he swallows it down as well. He doesn't know how he’s lived without you before but now with a belly full of warmth and love that practically drips from his teeth he'll never let you go. Soon the sun will fall but it will take none of your glory with it - Yeonjun could write pages on how it's you who allows the sun to glow instead. He doesn't need a time or place to fall into your arms - he just needs you. Now and forever - you and your Yeonjun. 

Beomgyu 

Beomgyu is a bit of a social chameleon - he knows how to read energy- how to make people laugh. Sometimes he thinks it's all he can do - butchering his own character into a jester's clothes just so he can entertain the court. Despite this, it's not as if he despises laughter itself - he loves it, especially in your voice - the way you shake with it when he tells a particularly good joke. But most of all Beomgyu loves laughing with you, sharing your joy - not because of something particularly funny - but rather because you're having fun.  A laugher of joy, of content and warmth and love -shared between you as you drag him off the lime lighted stage and into the crowd below. 

He loves stealing you away when the sun has long settled and given the sky to its moon. The world is under a curtain - a spell and here in this world it's just him and you -just partners under the sky. His heart walking around without him - gorgeously pliant in his arms. He loves making you laugh, it's practically his heart beat - what keeps him alive. His blood dances to your breath. 

His favorite activity while the world is still warm in season is to find fireflies on grassy plains - little will-o-wisp lanterns that punctuate the night. They are beautiful and familiar - like a guiding light in the dark - it's only fighting that you're surrounded by them in a scenery that matches you. Catching fireflies takes a bit of stealth and a gentle hand - he’ll walk you through it if you need it. But if you take a quick look during your chase you’ll see him giggling to himself - pink with love and rushing blood and eyes blind except for you. 

This is what he lives for, what's keeping him in his own skin. Because Beomgyu only knows one fact for sure that's etched in his bones, Beomgyu loves you - and the joy he feels bubbling from his chest can't be anything else. I love you, I love you, I love you - his existence is a confession. 

You tumble home with grass stains on your knees and stray pieces of plants tangled in your hair - remainders form the playful tumble down a hill. Beomgyu shields you on the way down - though he barely notices his body move - it's instinctual for him, like a rib cage protecting its heat. He was far too busy listening to your laugh - allowing his own to soar free from where it was caught in his through. A joint joy or orchestral content that colors the air. Hand in hand - occasionally twirling each other on the street just to watch you smile - Beomgyu walks with you forward into the future. 

He can hear it behind his eardrums, feel it hammering against his chest so violently he's surprised it hasn't burst out yet. His heart responded in boisterous beating to the joy that ricochets out of his chest in a laugh, trying to break free to be next to you. He’s sure you can feel his heartbeat from where he holds you, your head is close to his chest and Beomgyu is conveyed all his body serves to do is act as a speaker yelling on how it loves you. Each pump is another steady confession like the night he first asked you out - cheeks ruddy as he stuttered out a confession. There's nobody else on the street to see him pull you into a tacky dance lit only by the moon, no audience to your resounding laughters adding together as if built to be one. There's no one else to share the sight of Beomgyu holding two hearts - one in his chest and one he presses a kiss to in the secret of the night. 

Author's note: ACK. We are doing our best with questionable results. Anyways - sudden TXT brain rot hit at like 3 am. Also! Their recent comeback is based on the little prince and I was OBSESSED with that book. 

[treely-ruly]

Conceptual art piece: gallery full of found chairs, randomly assigned labels "please do not sit on the artwork" and "this is not an artwork, please take a seat"

Signage could also be shuffled around from week to week

[13-the-lucky-unlucky]

Mission Name: Get Everyone To Chill!

Seventeen was, for the first time ever in his life, bored.

If he was being completely honest, he hasn't been alive all that long. Even so, he's been spending nearly every conscious moment of his life in the art gallery anyways, it's not like he did much else..

Except agent work-

But he liked forgetting about agent work, and preferred his nights go uninterrupted by night terrors.

That still did not change the fact that he had nothing to do.

He had already swept ten times over and done his due diligence replacing the artworks again.

The artist stared up at the ceiling in confusion.

He never got bored, he always had an idea for a painting, or a sculpture, or busy with agent work, or being dragged into some crazy idea Sixteen or Eighteen had.

Or at least spending the day with Nineteen..

But today none of that was happening, none of the other teens had come over, there was no agent work due, and Nineteen had gone shopping..

Not even prime club had something going on.

And there was always something going on with prime club!

(I mean it has Three, Thirteen, Twenty-nine, and Five in it, there's definitely drama almost every day, you can't convince me otherwise.)

The artist was currently watering his now blossoming marigolds, Sixteen was a great gardener, and had lent him some of her plants when he had expressed his love for her garden by painting it. He was grateful for the gift and Nineteen had a field day coming up with names for each and every single one of them.

Seventeen sighed when he planted the last seed, "There. All done! How's your end, Nineteen?"

"Almost halfway there!"

"What? We started hours ago-"

He was cut off by Nineteen mumbling something.

"Huh?"

Turning fully to face the one-off, he was taken aback by her pressing kisses to every seed before sticking it in the ground, but not before whispering something.

"...and you're Junior, and you're Ronald, and you're Mia, and you're Susan, and you're Sam, and you're Iris, and you're Edward-"

"Nineteen?"

She stopped, "Hm?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm planting." She stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I know, but what are you doing with the seeds?"

"I'm naming them." Nineteen blinked.

"Naming them? All of them?" Seventeen dropped his tiller, "But that's a lot of seeds.."

"Yeah, it is. And I've still got a lot more to get through. What did you name the others?"

The artist rubbed his head, "I...didn't?"

"What?! Why not?" Nineteen's sunhat fell off her head with how fast she stood.

"...I'm not very good at names?" He shrugged.

"Then I'll name them! You finish my side and I'll go through your side, okay?"

"But Nineteen-"

"Ooh, this is a pretty seed, what should your name be?" She held it out to him, "Got any ideas?"

He blinked at the object a few times, before hopefully offering, "...Seed?"

Nineteen looked like she was ready to cry, "What? No, you can't name it Seed!"

"Why not?" He frowned, "That's what it is."

"You can't name everything after what they are!"

"But..that's what names are for. So you know what something is!" Seventeen pulled out his paintbrush, "If I asked someone to fetch my paintbrush everyone knows what I'm talking about. But if I name it something else and ask the same question, they won't know."

Nineteen sighed, "I never thought I'd have to teach an artist how to be creative."

"What do you mean?"

She chuckled, replanting the seed. She softly took the brush from him, bringing out her pencil, "Names are more than just labels, Seventeen."

"Isn't that the point of a name?" He asked, perplexed.

"No. Sometimes a name gives one thing more meaning than others of that same thing." She pointed to him, "It's more personalized, if I asked someone to go and help me find the artist, they won't know who. But if I asked for help finding Seventeen, they know who."

He fumbled with his words for a bit, "Well.. Then only certain things must be named, but why should-"

"Because you can personalize your plants! It's easier to talk to them with a name."

"I..suppose. But why would I be talking to them?"

"Who knows, but at least you'll have something to call them!"

"...Hm."

"It does make sense now, right?"

Seventeen hummed once more, taking his paintbrush back, "I guess."

Ah, that was a fun day..

He continued humming Ten's song, honestly, he quite liked the soft melody, it was similar to his own, "There you are Goldilocks.. That should be enough for now.."

He carefully watched the water dribble down the stem and seep into the soil below, it pleased him that his compost collection was working perfectly.

He may not be very strong or particularly skilled in something that actually matters, but he was definitely very big on recycling. He'd once had a run in with Rexie, Sixteen's dinosaur, having an issue with his stomach, after finding out the poor dino had consumed an insane amount of trash, he couldn't stand seeing plastic bottles or anything else that had a place anywhere but a recycling bin.

"That, and it just ruins the natural beauty of the planet.." He sighed, "I do hope Numberland can avoid being so cluttered."

It wasn't really anyone's fault, though.

Things randomly showed up on Numberland, it just happened, and it was nice to learn about something new, but the fact that some of it was falling from space was a more than a little concerning.

"I do wonder how a tennis racket got up there, though."

He really should go do something, he's starting to talk to nobody..

The front door opened, the small bell ringing as to get his attention.

His fear spiked, but he swiftly calmed down.

It's not Nineteen, she would've let me know, so it's someone else.

Interested that somebody had ventured their way to the art gallery, he finished watering the last of the plants and hurried to the shed.

"Hello? Who is it?" He placed the watering can back on the shelf and walked into the main gallery.

His immediately relief when he caught a glimpse of apricot and a purple hat.

"Oh, Twenty! How are you?"

Twenty didn't respond at first, he was admiring...something in the corner.

"Ah, Seventeen! Here you are!" Twenty beamed, "I was just about to look for you, friend!"

Seventeen was about to answer with nearly as much enthusiasm, but unfortunately looked down at where Twenty was watching, and froze at the sight of a spider scurry up the wall corner, "Um..y-yes..Right."

"So I came to fetch you because-"

There's a spider-

"Um, Twenty?"

"Yes? Is there something wrong?" Twenty seemed puzzled, as if he hadn't just released one of Seventeen's top ten fears into his home.

He gestured to the arachnid, "Uh, why is that there?"

"Oh, that's just Carl, I brought him here with me." Twenty nodded.

So it has a name..? Does he just not know how to name things, because spiders don't deserve names- Who would need to name it?

"You....you brought a spider into the art gallery?"

"Yes?" Twenty raised an eyebrow, he reached a hand out, seemingly ready to steady the artist should he fall, "Are you alright? Something wrong?"

Seventeen gestured to the spider now higher near the ceiling, where it could disappear into the cracks and never to be seen again until it was too late-, "Yes, you cannot bring spiders into the art gallery! They're going to scare everyone!"

"I only brought one.."

"For now, do you know how many minispiders it can make?!"

"..No?"

"Like- thousands!" Seventeen's hand reached out to the side for a broom that wasn't there.

"Oh, interesting."

"No, not interesting. Terrifying. Now please take it out.."

"But-"

"Besides, there's nothing here for it to eat, it'll starve." Seventeen pleaded, "Please take it back out."

Twenty sighed, "If you say so."

He stood tall and plucked the spider off of the wall, "Do you want to hold him?"

That was an absolute no, and he needed a different subject, now.

"No thank you, but what did you need?"

Twenty brightened up, eagerly tapping his cane against the ground, "I'm gathering everyone together! I have a fun thing for us to do!"

That got his attention, "Oh, really?!"

Twenty nodded enthusiastically, it was a wonder how his hat didn't fall off, "Indeed. You're gonna love it!"

"What is it?"

Twenty chuckled, waving his hand, "I can't let you know, It's a surprise! I haven't gotten everyone yet, and I don't want to keep repeating myself."

That was fair, Seventeen surmised, Twenty was all for efficiency. If it didn't make sense to do it, he wouldn't give it a second thought, he relied on this method for many situations, and it's often gotten him out unharmed.

"SEVENTEEN!"

Seventeen let out a slight huff when Sixteen practically glomped him, "Hello Sixteen!"

"Did Twenty tell 'ya what we're doing yet?"

"No, not yet."He shook his head.

"Aw man, I was hopin' he'd tell you." She pouted.

Twenty chuckled, "Not yet, my friends! It won't be a surprise if I tell you!"

Sixteen groaned, "Why does EVERYONE say that..?"

"Because it's true!" Twenty laughed, "Alright, let's go find Eighteen and Nineteen!"

Seventeen pointed to the doors, "Nineteen went shopping a while ago..she should've been home by now.."

Sixteen hummed, "Well, do we wait for her? 'Cuz I've got loads a' things for us to do while we wait!"

She brought out a rather impressive assortment of board games and other toys, tossing them to the floor of the art gallery, Twenty stepped back, mildly impressed, "I had no idea you carried so many things with you, Sixteen."

Sixteen snorted, "The more the merrier! Six let me have this one- Roly-poly, I think.."

"Monopoly?"

"Yeah! That's what she said! N' Thirty-six let me have Clue. Then I have these spare airhorns just in case!"

"In case what?"

"In case I need more airhorns! Duh!" She laughed, honking them, "Can't have too much noise!"

Seventeen, who already thought it was too much noise, winced, "I do hope she's alright.."

"Oh?" Twenty looked back at the doors, "Nineteen?"

"Last time she went to the store she ran into Octonaughty-"

"And escaped?"

"Well..yeah, but-"

"Then she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. I'm sure she just took a detour of some kind. She'll join us again very soon, my friend, I'm certain!" Twenty placed his hand on his shoulder, giving an affirming nod, "We could go looking for her and meet her halfway!"

Sixteen, who was already setting out the Monopoly pieces, cheered, "Great! I'll get to putting these back! You guys go 'n get her, I'll catch up!"

"Are you sure?" Twenty blinked, a small frown playing on his lips, "I would hate to leave you behind."

"I'm fine! I gotta clean up anyways! Seventeen likes this place neat, and I don't wanna ruin his hard work."

Seventeen sighed, "I can clean up, Sixteen. It's alright."

Sixteen managed to shove everything back into it's place, "Well you guys oughta wait for me now! I'm almost done!"

Twenty nodded, "Do hurry."

As soon as silence began to flood back into the room, it was abruptly interrupted by the sound of Nineteen slamming open the door, completely out of breath.

"Nineteen! There you are! I was beginning to get worried-"

Nineteen let out what sounded like a strangled gasp, bringing Seventeen in for a hug, almost squishing the poor artist.

"You're safe.."

Seventeen held her at arms length, "I'm safe?? You're safe! You were taking so long!"

"Yeah, but at least you didn't come home to the door just left open! I thought someone broke in!"

He blinked, "It was?"

"Uh..yes!" Nineteen let go of him, still holding his left hand, "How did you not notice?"

"I..didn't check?" Seventeen glanced at the other two numbers in the room.

Sixteen chuckled, "That was me, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

The one-off sighed, "No...No, it's fine. I'm just glad you're okay. I've got the groceries outside, I'll bring them in."

"I'll get them, I have square power!" Sixteen jumped up, "I'm done cleaning, I can go put up the groceries then we can go!"

"Go?" Nineteen glanced at Twenty, "Where are you taking us this time?"

Twenty, mildly surprised, held a hand to his chest, fidgeting with his bow-tie, "Ah? How did you know I'd suggested that?"

"Seventeen doesn't get out unless I make him, Sixteen would've been gone already, I just got here and I haven't even suggested leaving again. So that left you, Twinkle Toes." She laughed.

"..Hm, rather logical." The tango choreographer glanced to the side, "I didn't know you were that quick with your mind."

"Are you calling me slow?" Nineteen uncrossed her arms, unsure if she should be offended.

"No, not at all!" Twenty waved his arms.

Nineteen laughed, "I'm just messing with you. So we're on our way to Eighteen's, then?"

"Right again." He tapped his cane on the ground, "As soon as Sixteen comes back we'll depart."

"So...what's the surprise?"

Twenty blinked, "I'm not even going to ask how you knew it was a surprise-.. I can't tell you!"

"Figured." She elbowed Seventeen, "Hey, can you help Sixteen find out where everything goes?"

"Will-do!" He bolted to the front door, helping Sixteen find her way to the upstairs area, "I'll show you where to put everything."

"Sure thing!"

Nineteen turned to Twenty, "Can I guess what it is?"

"Maybe." He grinned.

"Is it..another rescue mission?"

"No rescuing teddy bears from evil museum dungeons this time."

"...Hm, are we...dancing?"

"That's almost a better idea.." He stared at the ceiling, "I still have yet to show Carl how to dance."

"Carl?"

"The spider." Twenty held out his hand, the small critter balancing on his array display.

"EXCUSE ME- WHY DID YOU BRING A SPIDER INTO-"

"Do not worry, Nineteen. I'm not leaving him here."

"Why is he IN here?!"

"Are you and Seventeen both scared of spiders?"

"N-no! It's just- Why would you bring one in here?"

"Because he's my friend." Twenty blinked, ever the clueless.

"Please take it out." Nineteen facepalmed.

"...If you say so." Twenty nodded down at the spider, "Meet me at home, the window is open, you can crawl in through there."

He opened the front door and put it on the ground, and as if it didn't even happen, he turned back to Nineteen, grinning widely, "Anymore guesses?"

"Wh-..that's just.. random."

"Well, do you have any more?"

"..Can I have a hint?"

"No."

"...What about..walking?"

"Hm."

"A hike?"

"I guess we would be hiking there.."

"Aha!" Nineteen pumped her fist, "I guessed!"

"Not entirely, we'll be doing more than hiking."

"Just let me have this small victory.."

"Perhaps.."

Sixteen and Seventeen returned down the stairs, having finished their tasks.

"Alright, who's READY TO GET TO EIGHTEEN'S HOUSE?!"

"You, I surmise?"

Sixteen huffed and put her hands on her hips, "Don't act like you're not excited."

"If you say so."

-

Twelve answered the door, "Oh! Hi, thank goodness you're here!"

Twenty glanced sideways at Nineteen, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!...I hope." Twelve sighed, opening the door wider, "Come in."

Shrugging at each other, the group entered and found a seat in the livingroom.

"You're here for Eighteen, right?" Twelve had her hands clasped together.

"Yes?" Nineteen hesitantly replied, "Is he alright?"

"I'm sure he's fine.." Twelve looked around, "But he hasn't been himself lately, and locked himself in his room."

"Why didn't you say so?!" Sixteen jumped from the floor, "I can have him out faster than you can say 'Squares'!"

(Why did my mind go 'buncha munchy crunchy carrots' lol)

"No! No! He's not locked in! He locked it himself. He wants to be in there."

"Oh, then what's the problem?" She sat back down.

"That is the problem!" Twelve grabbed at the sides of her head, she couldn't find anything to hold onto, though, "Eighteen never stays in his room unless he's upset about something! And I can't get him to say anything as per usual!" Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence.

As Twelve struggled to keep herself from crying, the Teens looked at each other frightfully.

"...Dearie me..it's okay to cry, Twelve.." Seventeen got off the edge of the couch, making his way to the super rectangle, who had a slightly better handle on herself, and slowly touched her arm, "It's natural, and it's good to express yourself. I'm sure we can fix it."

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Nineteen also rose, her eyebrows angled with worry.

"I thought I could get him to talk to me..I don't know why he never tells me- It's like everyone can talk to him better than I can.. And I just want to be a good older sister.." She mumbled, wiping the few tears that did fall, "I did ask Fourteen to help, but Eighteen wouldn't even let him in. I had to force Fourteen to go home, and now I've worried him too.."

"...I'm very sorry. I'm sure he just doesn't want to worry you.." Seventeen stared back at them worriedly, "Can someone try to talk to him? I need to call Fifteen."

Nineteen rubbed Twelve on the back, the other hand taking her arm, "You go call her, I've got Twelve."

He nodded and pulled out his communicator, walking outside.

"Twenty, I'm going to make her some tea," Sixteen got up, "Do you have Eighteen, or do you want to wait?"

Twenty sullenly watched Twelve, "Go ahead, Sixteen. I'll go cheer him up."

She nodded.

Twenty slowly made his way upstairs, noting Eighteen's room was indeed closed.

Peering down at the crack of the door, he saw that it was a lot darker, implying Eighteen had the drapes closed.

"Hm." He knocked on the door briskly, "Eighteen? Are you in there?"

A small shuffle.

He used his cane to knock again, "Eighteen?"

"...what?"

Twenty smiled, "Ah, there you are. Are you feeling alright?"

"...Twenty?...Yeah, I'm fine. Whaddya' want?"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to come with us? I have a surprise planned, and I'm sure you'll like it!"

"...'mnot interested.."

Twenty blinked, "You don't even know what it is."

"I'm not interested."

The tango choreographer glared at the crack of the door, truly perplexed as to why Eighteen's drapes were closed, the super rectangle loved sunshine and open spaces almost as much as racing. "Why not?"

"....'m a little tired..okay? Can..can you come back some other time?"

"Unfortunately I cannot accept your request. Twelve is mighty worried, and I am as well."

"She'll be fine.."

"I believe you've underestimated how much she cares for you."

"...'m fine."

"Then please come with us."

"I don't feel like it.."

"It'll be worth it. I promise."

"...leave me alone."

"Not a chance friend." Twenty finally picked the lock on the door, opening it, "Sorry to intrude, Eighteen, but I do have to make sure you're truly unhurt."

Eighteen didn't even move, only turning over in his bed, "M'kay, jus leave everything where it is.."

Twenty glanced at the drapes, opening them, "Eighteen, please. I do need to talk to you."

"You already are..now close those.."

"No." Twenty pulled over a stool, "You need to discuss with me what is bothering you."

Eighteen finally sat up, surprising Twenty.

He looked...tired.

Really tired.

Burnt out tired.

"...Eighteen?"

"What?"

"Have you been getting sleep?"

"No! Because everyone keeps bothering me! I was trying to sleep, but then Twelve started asking what's wrong, then Fourteen, and now you- I'm just really tired.. and...Its as hard to fall asleep as it is.." Eighteen yawned, laying back down, "I'm so tired.."

"...My sincerest apologies.." Twenty fidgeted with his cane.

"T's fine..Tell sis that she's good too.. I'm just... I can't get comfy.. So I don't sleep, but finding a comfy spot is so hard.."

Twenty stared at the bed, "Will you come with us, Eighteen?"

"Really? Are you still on that- I just told you I'm tired.. And I'm getting cranky and stuff. I don't wanna snap at you guys.." Eighteen sighed.

"I promise you'll like it." Twenty nodded, "Please. I want to help you, friend."

The super rectangle blinked a few times, "You...fine."

"Fantastic."

-

Eighteen stumbled down the stairs after Twenty, and Twelve was in a way better mood.

It still didn't stop her from nearly dropping her teacup upon seeing them though.

"Eighteen! I-"

"It's alright, Twelve. 'M fine..just really tired.."

Twenty nodded, "Sleeping here is stressing him out."

"What? Did I do something wrong?" Twelve gasped.

"No, no. It's not you, Twelve. Honest." Nineteen interjected.

Sixteen nodded, "Yeah, sometimes you get really stressed out, and your room isn't comfy enough to sleep in."

"That's when you know you need a vacation." Twenty finished, "So Eighteen is coming with us."

Twelve seemed, less on edge. She looked to her brother, "...Okay..then, have fun. And get lots of sleep."

Eighteen hugged her, "Mhm. Now calm down..You can't be panicking while I'm chill...That's wrong."

Tears welled in her eyes again and she nodded.

"Are you gonna be okay here by yourself?" Nineteen asked.

Before Twelve could answer, the door was flung open and the tweens rushed in, carrying various soft items and... a handful of lavender??

"Twelve! Apologies that it took us so long!" Fifteen started, placing her green tea bags on the coffee table.

"Are you okay, Twelve?!" Eleven almost knocked Nineteen over with how she shoved her aside, pulling Twelve in for a hug much like the one-off did Seventeen earlier, "Tell me you're okay!"

Fourteen threw his skateboard and a heated wooly blanket to the side, joining Eleven in her hug, "I'm so sorry I didn't check on you, dudette!"

"I BROUGHT YOU RELAXATION!" Thirteen tossed the lavender at her, also near tears as he also engaged with the group hug quickly forming, "I'm a terrible friend, I know! But I couldn't think of anything!"

Twelve was still processing the initial entrance, and slowly began to realize that she was surrounded by her friends, and burst into tears.

"Shh. It's alright, Twelve. We're here."

"We'll fight the sadness, don't worry!"

"S'okay dudetee.."

"Was it too much lavender?"

Seventeen slowly walked back in, gasping, "Hah! You got Eighteen?"

Twenty nodded, "He's tired. So he's coming with us by default. Ready, friends?"

"Sure thing!" Sixteen answered, being the only one not watching the Tweens slowly devolve into a cuddle pile.

-

When they finished hiking up the mountain, all of them except Twenty gasped in amazement.

"Surprise friends!" Twenty spread his arms, "I've built us a treehouse!"

If the treehouse already didn't look magnificent, the scenery sure did, the house sat atop steady wooden poles attached to the mountainside, a thick canopy of trees below oozing the smell of evergreen and freshness. A calm mist hung over all of it, as the waterfall nearby made for the perfect background noise.

This would be the best place to relax, if Nineteen had to pick one.

"...You built this?" Seventeen piped up.

"Yes! I wanted to surprise you all, so I couldn't ask for help."

Sixteen squealed, "It's amazing! Can we stay? Pretty please?!"

"Of course, it's a vacation is it not?" Twenty grinned.

Eighteen smiled, "This..this is nice..and quiet.. but not too quiet.. And wide open.."

Nineteen laughed, "Right, go get some sleep, champ. You've earned it!"

The super rectangle yawned, slowly flying up to the treehouse and opening the door, "WOW THIS PLACE HAS EVERYTHING!"

"REALLY?" Sixteen activated her rays to join him, Twenty following them.

"Whelp. They forgot us." The one-off nudged Seventeen.

"Don't worry, I'll make a way up!" Seventeen began to paint some stairs, "This is the perfect spot for ideas! I'll come back out with my sketchbook!"

"Sure thing, buddy." Nineteen opened the door, feeling the warmth of the fire Twenty set, "Oh, it is nice in here.."

Eighteen was already knocked out on one of the nearby couches, snoring peacefully. It was clear he needed this more than all of them combined.

"Wanna play Clue with me, anyone?" Sixteen was already setting out the pieces, regardless of their answers.

Twenty chuckled, "Sure Sixteen, I'll play. What will you be doing, Nineteen?"

"...Hm. I'll read over there."

"Ah, fireplace reading, can't get better than that." Twenty nodded, "I'll be Mr. Green."

"I'll be Madame Rose, then." Sixteen laughed.

Seventeen was already out on the balcony, sketching the waterfall in his own unique inspiration.

Twenty smiled, "Well, I'd say mission accomplished."

[eyepool]

"Replica of a Chip", created by Marilou Schultz, 1994. Wool. Photo taken at the National Gallery of Art, 2024.

I talked with Marilou Schultz, a Navajo/Diné weaver and math teacher, to learn more about the artwork. Schultz learned weaving as a child—part of four generations of weavers—carding the wool, spinning it into yarn, and then weaving it. For the Intel project, she worked from a photograph of the die, marking it into 64 sections along each side so the die pattern could be accurately transferred to the weaving. Schultz used the "raised outline" technique, which gives a three-dimensional effect along borders. One of the interesting characteristics of the Pentium from the weaving perspective is its lack of symmetry, unlike traditional rugs. The Pentium weaving was colored with traditional plant dyes; the cream regions are the natural color of the wool from the long-horned Navajo-Churro sheep.

The rug is accurate enough that each region can be marked with its corresponding function in the real chip, as shown below. Starting in the center, the section labeled "integer execution units" is the heart of the processor, performing arithmetic operations and other functions on integer numbers. The Pentium is a 32-bit processor, so the integer execution unit is a vertical rectangle, 32 bits wide. The horizontal lines correspond to different types of circuitry such as adders, multipliers, shifters, and registers…

—Ken Shirriff

[crazysodomite]

artist quastions

1. Art programs you have but don't use

Probably CSP. It's one of the few software I actually legally bought. But their new monetization policy is just not for me. It's a genuinely good program for artists and I may use it again in the future (especially for the 3D functionality. If that hasn't been priced out yet...). I also have SAI installed. It's fun and runs very smoothly. I should use it more often. I also have krita if i want to do frame by frame animation.

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

I usually flip my canvas often so it's kind of a 50/50. It depends on the character if they're easier to draw facing forward or to the side.

3. What ideas come from when you were little

Man... I honestly don't know. As a kid I wanted to make a pet game (similar to neopets I guess) where you could earn currency and buy stuff and dress up your pet. I still really like pet games and collection games and trinkets. I would love to make a trinket collection game.

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

Industrial landscapes and scenes. Painting a factory or trains or roads being repaired is fun. Until you actually have to do that....

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

It used to be maybe 90/10. Now its probably 40/60. I used to just. Start a painting and always finish it and post it. I didn't really sketch or doodle stuff without finishing it or give up on paintings and discard them.

Now I like doodling and exploring stuff on my own more. I have a ton of files that are just 20000 layers of different sketches. I also discard artworks much more often.

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

I honestly can't tell. People don't compare my work to anything often. I can't tell if it looks like anything...

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

Traditional art. 3d art. Animation of all kinds. Fibre arts. Sculpture. Film. Writing. Theatre. Music. I mean yeah. All. Art. Very broad very vague answer but it's trueee. I appreciate and am inspired by everything I see

Less broadly... Watercolor painters...

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

I am starting to not be interested in anything....... When I was a child I used to have an 'ask blog' of sorts for my characters. I don't really have anything like that anymore :(

9. What are your file name conventions

Gibberish unless it's a commission. Comms get labelled with the customers name.

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

I like drawing the nude figure 💯💯💯. Mmm probably gloves or hi-vis gear. Work clothes. Overalls. Rubber boots. Belts and harnesses.

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

Usually music or youtube videos. I often get anxious and scared so I draw with a single song on repeat to keep my mind off it.

12. Easiest part of body to draw

Arms and legs... Probably... Maybe breasts also.

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

I can't tell. If I admire someone's work I consider it to be 'my thing'. I think there's certain people whose work ethic and drive to create I admire while not really being interested in the subject matter.

I admire artists from dA or FA who draw 'weird' things or their gallery is filled with the same thing over and over, or just people who are laser focused on their subject matter of choice. I'm fascinated by 'widely known in narrow circles' type of thing. I love extremely niche communities 👍

14. Any favorite motifs

Industriallllll..... Concrete. Grime. Rust. Metal. Sparks. Pipes. Wires. Blood and gore. Dilapidated and abandoned places. Small places and things not always noticed. Scary and cute things ^_^

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

Usually just at my desk.

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

This is a hard one.... I usually choose to draw what I enjoy.

I guess rendering if I was forced to render something I don't like?

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

It depends. I drink tea in all circumstances.

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

As a child I broke a wacom intuos tablet I got as a gift. Still not over it because it was quite expensive. Don't think I broke anything else unless breaking my computer also counts. I broke several laptops as a child...

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

FACTORY 💯💯💯 Nature and plants too but the prize has to go to industrial infrastructure. Even if I'm not good at it.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

Hands 🙌. Animals ? Various textures ?

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

I can't list them all 🥲 I love to be inspired by artworks that are nothing like mine. I really admire dynamic and expressive cartoon/simplistic styles. Artstyles well adapted for hand drawn animation are also amazing.

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

I need to be actually doing this more. Squats, wall angels and just rotating my joints are my usual go-to. I also like to twist myself but idk if that actually does anything. I like hearing my spine crack 😄

23. Do you use different layer modes

I used to use multiply for shading but I don't anymore. I like using gradient maps and Hue/Lightness/Saturation layer modes. I also tend to just cycle through all layer styles to see if anything looks good. Overlay, darker/lighter color, add are useful on occasion. I try to not rely heavily on layer styles because it quickly turns into me agonizing over 2% opacity changes and shifting colors over and over. Instead of actually painting.

24. Do your references include stock images

Yeah. Sometimes. I just google or go on pinterest to find stuff I need.

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

I can't tell. People don't compare my works to anything.

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

I honestly don't know... Everyone has a different interpretation of any work and I enjoy hearing about people's opinions. I can't really recall a 'wild' interpretation...

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

I try to! It's good practice. Usually it ends up in me hating the first iteration of a painting and re-doing it from scratch. But usually I just draw the pose/composition I want over and over until it looks good enough to proceed.

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

Probably. I can't remember though.

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

I have no idea. I think I'm inspired subconsciously by everything I ever experience. It probably doesn't immediately show in my actual artworks but it's there.

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

All of them 💯💯💯💯💯

I don't really pay attention to how pieces are received. There's pieces I'm proud of and pieces I'm not. Other people either get it or don't...

@gothglam now its your turn ❗

[duckprintspress]

Fandom Lexicon: D and E

Happy Saturday! It’s time for our next Fandom Lexicon post, our first with two letters – there aren’t that many E’s, so here we have it, D + E! All together, I expect the 28 categories for the Lexicon (26 letters, plus numbers and symbols, plus a post of “abbreviations used to refer to specific fandoms”) to be spread across 19 posts – but that includes the ones I’ve already posted.

You can check out all the parts of the lexicon posted so far here.

Spot a mistake? Know a term we missed? Let us know!

Lexicon Entries Beginning with D: (read more)

DA: Abbreviation for “different anon.” When anonymously commenting or sending an anonymous ask, DA or “different anon” will be used to differentiate that a person is not the same anonymous commenter as another anonymous commenter that has already spoken.

DA: Abbreviation for “DeviantArt,” sometimes written dA. A website where artists can host their artwork in galleries, interact with other artists, and participate in different types of challenges. Visit DeviantArt.

Danmei: Chinese media (literature and other types) featuring gay (specifically men) love. Read more about danmei.

Dashcon: A truly terrible Tumblr convention that was held in July of 2014. The feature most often referred to was a very small ball pit; instead of offering refunds for a panel that fell through, the organizers offered disappoint fans “an extra half-hour in the ball pit.” Read more about DashCon.

Dead Dove/Dead Dove: Do Not Eat: A fanwork tag used alongside other tags to indicate absolute truth in advertising; in other words: heed the tags, because they clearly articulate what is within. Most often used for works with darker themes. Name is derived from a scene in the sitcom Arrested Development in which a bag is labeled “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” and when a character opens the bag, it contains… a dead dove. And he says he’s not sure why he expected anything else. Occasionally abbreviated as DD or DDDNE. Read more about the phrase “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.”

Disaster Bi: A bisexual person who is deemed to be a “disaster” due to lack of personal awareness, inability to process feelings, struggles with self-acceptance, or well-intended but not well thought out acts of kindness, to name just a few possibilities. If the character is a mess and is also bisexual, they are a disaster bi.

Disc Horse: A facetious way to refer to discourse.

Discord: A chatting platform. Visit Discord.com.

Discourse: Ongoing/circular/repetitive discussion about an actual or perceived problem that some people feel strongly about, and others wish would simply stop. Discourse can either be within a fandom (“there’s discourse about (character name)”) or about more general meta-fandom issues (“time for the annual discourse about kink at Pride”). Read more about the term “discourse.” See also wank (pending).

DL;DR: Abbreviation for “don’t like, don’t read.” 1. A warning to potential readers to pay attention to the tags/synopsis and move along if they don’t like what they see. 2. A reminder to people getting up-in-arms about other people making content they don’t like – “if you don’t like it, you don’t have to read it.” Sometimes abbreviated without the colon. Read more about the term DL;DR.

DM: Abbreviation for “dungeon master.” In many roleplaying games such as Dungeons and Dragons, the DM is the person responsible for creating the overarching story and running the game in accordance with the chosen rule’s systems rules. Read more about DMs.

DM: Abbreviation for “direct message.” On many messaging platforms such as Discord, DMs are the in-platform way of contacting another person directly, without involving other people in a chat. Read more about DMs. See also PM (pending).

DNI: Abbreviation for “do not interact.” An acronym often used alongside a list of characteristics, interests, or other attributes that a social media user does not want to interact with the things they post. Often shared via a Carrd or pinned post. Read more about DNIs.

DNR: Abbreviation for “did not read” or “do not read.” 1. Used on reading sites like Goodreads to indicate that the person chose not to read the book in question and/or does not recommend that others should not, either. 2. A term aimed at a previous poster in a chain of comments/responses on the same, especially one who was long winded, to indicate that a subsequent reader has not read what came before. 3. When someone is opining on a book or article, DNR may be used to indicate that they haven’t read one or more of the works they are referencing.

DNW: Abbreviation for “do not want.” Something a person actively dislikes. Often used in fandom exchanges, where participants are expected to list their “do wants” and “do not wants” as part of guiding their exchange partner in what kind of work they’d most like to receive.

Donghua: Animation/cartoons from China. Read more about donghua.

DP: Abbreviation for many things; in fandom spaces it most often refers to “double penetration.” In pornographic works, DP refers to a person being penetrated in two ways. May refer to penetration in two holes, or double penetration in one, and also may refer to having two penetrating partners, or one penetrating partner using multiple appendages and/or toys.

Drabble: Traditionally a drabble is a piece of fiction that is exactly 100 words long. In more recent use it refers to fiction that is roughly one paragraph in length. Sometimes can now be used to refer to any micro-fic; anyone in fandom over a certain age will fight you if you use it that way, though. Read more about drabbles.

Dubcon : Shortened term for “dubious consent.” Used to refer to situations where it is uncertain whether a sex act is actually consensual. Can be as mild as “someone didn’t ask permission before kissing someone they’ve been dating for months” or as extreme as “well they kind of seem to want it so I went all the way…” Often modified with a word indicating the degree to which the consent is dubious, ranging from “mild dubcon” (like the kiss) through “extremely dubcon.”

DW: Abbreviation for Dreamwidth. A blogging platform build similarly to Livejournal. Visit Dreamwidth.

Lexicon Entries Beginning with E:

Edit: Aside from the obvious definition of “suggested changes made to a written work to improve it’s spelling, grammar, and readability,” referring to something as “an edit” has several meanings in fandom. 1. Used to indicate a post has been edited, and how. For example, “Edit: since I made the original post, I’ve learned…” 2. A video of compiled scenes from a visual media property, set to music of the creator’s choice. See also: AMV, fan edit (below, pending). 3. A video of compiled scenes from a visual media property, arranged to tell a different story than what was seen in the original.

Eeby Deeby: 1. Originally a reference to the sound Twiki the robot makes in Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. Often made into a sex joke. 2. Referenced in a meme with an elevator that says “Eeby Deeby” on the screen. 3. Hell or purgatory. Read more about the term “eeby deeby.”

ETA: Abbreviation for “edited to add.” On platforms where posts can be edited after posting, an ETA may be added and labeled as such if the original poster decides to change the post for any reason. As many platforms include both an original posting date and an “edited on” date, including an ETA is a courtesy way of helping people who see the post quickly understand how it may have been changed since it was posted. See also: edit.

Exchange: A fandom event in which the participants sign up and provide a few examples of things they like and things they don’t like (See DNW), and then are paired up with another participant to create something for that person. Ideally, every participant will get a gift from another participant, and no one will know who is making what for whom until the big reveal at the end when all works are shared out. Sometimes called a “gift exchange.” Read more about exchanges.

[beardedmrbean]

ROME (AP) — A man smashed a sculpture by Chinese artist and activist Ai Weiwei during the private opening of his exhibition in the northern Italian city of Bologna, in an act of vandalism that the show's curator described Tuesday as a “reckless and senseless act.”

The large blue and white “Porcelain Cube” was part of the exhibition “Who am I?” inaugurated at Bologna’s Palazzo Fava on Saturday.

Italian media reported that local police arrested a 57-year-old Czech man, who said he was an artist. He was known for targeting important works of art in the past.

It is still unclear how the man gained access to Friday’s invitation-only event, but the museum confirmed that the exhibition opened to the public as planned on Saturday.

According to the artist’s wishes, the work’s fragments were covered with a cloth and removed. They will be replaced by a life-sized print and a label explaining what happened.

Ai shared CCTV footage of the attack on his Instagram account, which showed the man hanging around the work before moving suddenly behind it and pushing it so that it smashed on the gallery floor.

The man then held a broken fragment in a gesture of triumph before the museum’s security blocked him, pulling him onto the floor.

Ai himself is known around the globe for making creative statements destroying artwork. One of Ai’s most famous pieces, “Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn, (1995)” captures the artist as he drops a 2,000-year-old ceremonial urn, allowing it to smash to the floor at his feet.

“The act of vandalism against Ai Weiwei’s work ‘Porcelain Cube’ is even more shocking when we consider that several of the works on display explore the theme of destruction itself,” said the exhibition’s curator Arturo Galansino.

“The destruction that Ai Weiwei depicts in his works is a warning against the violence and injustice perpetrated by those in power, and has nothing to do with this violent, potentially dangerous, reckless and senseless act,” he added.

Galansino described the attacker as “an habitual troublemaker seeking attention by damaging artists, works, monuments and institutions.”

[wheretheweirdthingsaree]

Galleta Meadows Sculptures is an outdoor sculpture park located in Borrego Springs, California.

This unique site features over 130 metal sculptures scattered across the desert landscape.

The sculptures at Galleta Meadows were commissioned by Dennis Avery, the heir to the Avery label fortune.

Avery, a philanthropist and art enthusiast, owned the Galleta Meadows Estate and envisioned creating a space where art and nature could coexist.

He commissioned Ricardo Breceda, a self-taught sculptor from Mexico, to create the metal artworks.

Breceda started working on the project in 2008, and the sculptures were installed over several years, turning the desert into an open-air gallery.

Galleta Meadows is located in Borrego Springs, a small desert town in Southern California, about 90 miles northeast of San Diego.

The sculptures are dispersed throughout the private lands of Galleta Meadows Estates, spread across thousands of acres.

They are publicly accessible and situated along Borrego Springs Road and other nearby routes.

Visitors can drive or walk around the sculptures, making it a popular destination for tourists, photographers, and nature enthusiasts.

The sculptures at Galleta Meadows vary widely in size and subject matter, ranging from life-sized to monumental. Some of the notable pieces include:

The Serpent (Sea Dragon): One of the most famous sculptures, this creature appears to weave in and out of the sand, with a length of over 350 feet.

Prehistoric Animals: Including mammoths, saber-toothed cats, and sloths, these sculptures are life-sized representations of creatures that once roamed the area.

Dinosaurs: Several sculptures depict dinosaurs, such as the Tyrannosaurus rex and Velociraptor, adding a fantastical element to the desert landscape.

Historical and Cultural Figures: These sculptures depict historical figures like Spanish explorers, Native American warriors, and gold miners, reflecting the region's rich history.

The sculptures are made from welded steel and have been designed to withstand the harsh desert environment, withstanding both heat and wind.

Many of them are intricate, with detailed textures and designs that capture the imagination of viewers.

The Galleta Meadows Sculptures have had a significant impact on the Borrego Springs community and beyond:

The sculptures have turned Borrego Springs into a cultural and tourist destination, drawing visitors from around the world.

This influx of tourists has bolstered the local economy, benefiting hotels, restaurants, and shops.

Some of the sculptures depict historical and cultural figures significant to the area, serving as a form of cultural preservation and education.

They help tell the story of the region's history, from prehistoric times to modern-day, enhancing cultural awareness and appreciation.

The site demonstrates how art can be integrated into natural landscapes in a way that complements rather than disrupts the environment.

This has inspired similar projects elsewhere and encouraged a broader appreciation for outdoor art installations.

The sculptures have fostered a sense of community pride and engagement.

Locals often volunteer to help maintain the area and guide visitors, reflecting a strong community connection to the sculptures.

By situating these sculptures in a natural setting, Galleta Meadows has increased awareness about the desert environment and its preservation.

The art installations highlight the stark beauty of the desert, encouraging a greater appreciation for the landscape and its unique ecosystem.

Overall, Galleta Meadows Sculptures is a unique fusion of art, history, and nature, creating a cultural landmark that has enriched both the local community and the wider public.

[sailorspazz]

Inouesatoh Exhibition 2023

In the summer of 2019, Vanilla Gallery in Tokyo hosted an exhibition for Inouesatoh featuring her 10 Dance art. In July 2023, they announced they would be running a second exhibition from September 7th to the 24th, this time additionally including her works from before 10 Dance, serving to also celebrate the 20th anniversary of her manga career. In addition, there would be new 10 Dance goods for sale, as well as some merch from earlier events. After attending the amazing Real 10 Dance event in February 2023, surely I couldn't justify going to Japan twice in one year for 10 Dance related things, could I...? Well, spoiler alert, I did, so below the cut you'll find my report on attending this special exhibition!

After a rather long trip that included a one-hour technical delay of my first flight and a three-hour weather delay of my second flight due to a typhoon going through Tokyo, I made it to Japan on the evening of September 8th, with my exhibition ticket set for entry at noon on the 9th. After doing various things in the morning such as getting a nice bowl of fresh seafood at Tsukiji, walking around the Hama Rikyu gardens, and stopping by the large Uniqlo in Ginza (where I ended up buying a Magic Knight Rayearth shirt, one of my old fandoms from the 90s lol), I arrived at Vanilla Gallery about 10 minutes before noon, where I saw several other people lined up on the sidewalk. Once the doors opened, we were led down a couple flights of stairs, where the above poster was displayed on one of the landings. Then, after getting to the bottom of the stairs, there were two different rooms labeled A and B. The left side was A, which contained all of the 10 Dance pieces as well as the merch selling area, and the right side was B, which featured Inouesatoh's older works, as well as displays of 10 Dance art reproductions that were available for pre-order. Everyone headed into the A side first, where all of the walls featured either original drafts (for chapter 31 and earlier) or large digital copies (for chapter 32 onward) of manga pages, plus various illustrations such as volume covers and special colored pages. For the earlier chapters you could see things such as white out, corrections, and notes about which screentones should be used. For the later, digitally created chapters, the pages looked mostly the same as how they were printed, except some were larger and showed bits from the edges of pages that were originally cut off and hence not fully drawn in detail or screentoned. There were over 100 pieces on display in total; some of the scenes featured included chapter 11's flirting practice, chapter 15's subway makeout session, the entire farewell dance sequence from chapter 33, and Suzuki and Norman's *ahem* "arrangement" from chapter 38.

The absolute "wow" piece was the new artwork created specifically for this exhibition, featuring Suzuki being a devil and angel simultaneously (and Sugiki indulging people who are into feet lol). I had seen some pics of it on Twitter, but it still surprised me with how impressive (and big!) it was in person. It was the only piece that pictures were allowed to be taken of, so here're the shots I took (due to the lighting, I couldn't really get a shot without reflections, unfortunately):

I'm absolutely o b s e s s e d with their expressions.

For a sense of scale, here's a picture Inouesatoh and Teacher shared on Twitter:

In the middle of the room, there was a set-up that included a map of the Ginza area that showed locations used in the series (including their route to Tokyo station from chapter 33), a chair that included an artfully draped dance tuxedo, four sketches of merchandise ideas (one that was used for the stand, one that turned into the angel/devil piece, one that she colored and shared on Twitter before we even knew about the exhibition, and a fourth that hasn't yet been used anywhere, but I hope it will be since it shows a really cool and dynamic pose), several flower arrangements celebrating the exhibition/Inoue's 20th anniversary as a manga artist/her birthday (September 10th), and a guestbook for fans to leave messages. I was wary of writing anything at first, since I don't ever practice hand-writing Japanese, so I know my penmanship is sloppy and I have a hard time writing kanji from memory (I tried turning to my phone for assistance, but alas did not have a wifi connection in that underground level). But I thought I should still try anyway, so I just wrote a short and simple message congratulating her on the exhibition, saying that I'd come from America to see it and it was great.

Here's an image that Vanilla Gallery shared on Twitter that gives a good view of the center and a partial wall:

I then headed over to the B room, where Inouesatoh's earlier works from 2003 to 2011 were featured. Many of the pages included sex scenes, which somewhat amusingly had bits of black tape covering the naughty bits (I saw a fan note on Twitter that if you looked at them from a slanted angle you could totally see under the tape lol). One of the walls also had information about the signed reproductions that could be pre-ordered for delivery in mid-December. This is an image from the online sales afterward showing the options and prices:

I didn't place an order at the venue because I wasn't sure if they would deliver outside of Japan, and didn't know if my friends who live there would be available to receive the artwork in that timeframe. Instead, I waited until afterward and placed a proxy order for the new piece through Buyee.

There were other items available to purchase on site, so I indulged myself in a bunch of merch! On my first trip to the register, I picked up the tote bag, washi tape, art books for both this exhibition and the previous one, the acrylic stand, two blind pack keychains, and six blind pack art cards. The art cards included five regular designs and one rare special (the new angel/devil piece), and I hoped I could get all of them in one go. I tried to quietly open the packs to see if I'd gotten lucky, and while I did get all of the regular designs, no special was among them. So I bought a second round of six cards, plus two more keychains just because. Again I checked to see if I had gotten the one I wanted, but all I had was doubles/triples of the five regular designs. So I gave it one more shot, six more cards, and again ended up with duplicates. At that point, I figured I shouldn't let myself keep gambling since I'd probably just get more and more duplicates of the ones I already had, so I sadly accepted my fate lol. At least there's a beautiful print of the new art piece in the catalog book for me to stare at (plus the signed version that'll be coming my way in December!)

After the event ended, they started selling the exhibition catalog and acrylic stand online, which can be found here. Also available is a separate catalog featuring her pre-10 Dance works (assuming the split is because her earlier series are owned by a different publisher). That book is sold here.

Though I had wanted to visit some more of the sites used in the series that I didn't get to see on my previous visit (when I had been racing against the clock as it got dark), ultimately I didn't end up having time to go on a full pilgrimage. However, on my last day just before heading to the airport, I wanted to at least visit one of the most important series locations and take a few photos with the adorable acrylic stand. So here I present to you, the Shinyas having a date in their favorite park!

Overall, it was a short but fun trip! I'm glad I was able to go to this exhibition, to see the original drafts in person and admire the craft that went into them. Also to feed my need for merch; I'm so happy to indulge in a more direct form of support than the secondhand goods I've bought before. I hope that this event was considered a success and let Inouesatoh feel the love and encouragement from her fans, inspiring her to keep pushing onward in her now two-decade career in manga!

[themuseumwithoutwalls]

MWW Artwork of the Day (3/11/23) Frida Kahlo (Mexican, 1907-1954) Self-Portrait on the Borderline between Mexico and the U.S. (1932) Oil & other media on tin, 31 x 35 cm. Private Collection

In this self-portrait, the sun and moon hold sway only over Mexico, which was, this painting tells us, where Frida wanted to be. While Diego Rivera was busy eulogizing modern industry on the walls of the Detroit Institute of Arts, Frida was yearning for the ancient agrarian culture of Mexico. In her painting she is dressed up in an uncharacteristically sweet pink frock and lace gloves. But she herself is far from demure. As in her first self-portrait, her nipples show beneath her bodice. Her face is poised for mischief, and, again in defiance of propriety, she holds a cigarette. She also holds a small Mexican flag, which tells us where her loyalties lie.  In the painting a fire-spitting sun and a quarter moon are enclosed in cumulus clouds that, when they touch, create a bolt of lightning. By contrast, the single cloud over the United States is nothing but industrial smoke spewed from four chimney stacks labeled FORD.

Kahlo is a featured artist in this two MWW exhibit/gallery: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.327655050673204&type=3