#cant find artist nor painting name

[diioonysus]

fans + art

[eruditetyro]

sweetmetals.//art, artist, process//created, creator, creation.

RAINER MARIA RILKE/MAGGIE STIEFVATER/BREAD & PUPPET/STIEFVATER/JOHN SINGER SARGENT/STIEFVATER/B&P/STIEFVATER/B&P/STIEFVATER/EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY/STIEFVATER/RILKE. further description under the cut.

text reads:

"we cannot know his legendary head/with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso/is still suffused with brilliance from inside,/like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,/gleams in all its power. Otherwise/the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could-" - Archaic Torso of Apollo, Rainer Maria Rilke trans. Stephen Mitchell

"-them. If one didn't know any better, one might mistake this for an eccentric art sale for discerning buyers.

But the pieces themselves soon corrected that impression. Jordan could feel their collective power radiating toward her. Her body felt awake, alert, ready for action. It was like caffeine. Speed.

No, it was like being real." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

[letterpress print] "art soothes pain! Art wakes up sleepers! Art fights against war & stupidity!" - Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"-White only drove this home. They weren't great because they were technically perfect. There was something else. Something more. Whether that something could be named--sweetmetal?--she wasn't sure. What she was sure of was that pieces like that all had a way of seeing the world that no one else had noticed before." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

[picture of El Jaleo by John Singer Sargent]

"-would last his entire life. Was this what it had in common with Madame X? Was it it that the painting changed his life, or was it that he knew that it was going to change his life? What was soul? Declan didn't know, but he liked trying to find out." - Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"Art sings halleluja! Art is for kitchens! Art is like good bread! Art is like green trees! Art is like white clouds in blue sky!" Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"As her eyes burned, Hennessy swiped a thin, bleeding splash of red on one of the index cards, and then, with the marker, suggested the lines needed to show that it was an anatomical heart, bleeding paint. Beneath it, she just had time to jot angrily: OF FUCKING COURSE.

Her heart was broken, that was why she was really upset, her heart was broken, broken, broken because Hennessy wanted so badly to be as good at living as Jordan was and she never even got close. She flicked the index card across the table at Farooq-Lane.

The mouse woke up." Greywaren, Maggie Stievater

"ART IS FOOD. You cant EAT it BUT it FEEDS you. ART has to be CHEAP & available to EVERYBODY. It needs to be EVERYWHERE because it is the INSIDE of the WORLD." Cheap Art Manifesto, Bread & Puppet Press

"Jordan was beginning to understand how it might be possible for ley energy to be tangled into the art-marking process, too." Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"And she could see in her mind's vision plain/The magic World, where cities stood on end.../Remote from where she lay--and yet-- between" - Collected Sonnets, Edna St. Vincent Millay

"-when they make the art. I thought when I first saw one that it was because the art was special to the world in some way. A real original, you know? But it was explained to me later and this makes more sense. They are special to the artist in some way. They are an original for the artist, something new for them, something personal for them. The subject matter, sometimes, how they felt when they were painting it, others. That is what seems to make some of them into sweetmetals. I do not thing it is the artist who does it. It is, like, the spirit of the time. There is a French term-" Mister Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater

"Otherwise this stone would seem defaced/beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders/and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:/would not, from all the borders of itself,/burst like a star: for here there is no place/that does not see you. You must change your life." Archaic Torso of Apollo, Rainer Maria Rilke trans. Stephen Mitchell

[artefavoriteado]

About

There's not so much to say here, but since this blog is getting more visitors and interactions as Tumblr tweaks their algorithm, I think this may be helpful.

I created this blog in 2015, when I noticed that I liked and reblogged a lot of paintings and pictures here but I didn't have a way to revisit them. Back then, the only kind of art I really appreciated was music, visual arts were a bit alien to me, so I made this to have register of what my tastes were and which artists resonated in some way to me.

In the beginning I barely used tags, and when I used them, I was very inconsistent, #dark art, #darkart, #fanart, #fan-art, #Surrealist, #surrealism, #japanese-art, #Japan, etc. Over the years I polished that, and reduced the tags to only a few, blending them at the cost of precision. By 2018, instead of tagging things like the precise school or movement of a piece, I used terms like #cubistoid, or called anything remotely oneiric as #surrealism, or any kind of painting with loose strokes and unreal colors as #expressionistic. I also decided to stop using tildes and non-latin alphabets for the names, and stick to English for the country names. Expect A LOT of posts from 2015-2018 to lack proper tagging.

At some point, around late 2016, the rise of the feminist movement made me realize I barely could name artist women (or philosophers, scientists, researchers, etc). To fix that, I started using the tag #female artists. In Spanish, we rarely use "hembra" (female, in the genital, animalistic sense) to talk about humans, but I noticed that English being gender neutral for the most part, used the "female-" prefix to denote gender. I say this because I want to be clear: that tags includes trans women and doesn't have non-binary people or trans men. It's not a big deal nor that hard to get (EDIT: now the tag is #women artists thanks to Xkit Rewritten).

And, that's pretty much it. This is a window to what I like. I use the tag #blogging for ranting or sharing thoughts. I tag countries whenever I can. I use the tag #collective for works made by more than one person (art collectives, collaborations, corporations, cooperatives, etc). #no country and #unknown artist are my tags for when I cant find the information. Lately I've been queueing posts instead of directly reblogging them, this to have time to have time to tag them properly, so expect about two or three posts per day. Make sure to check out the desktop version in your browser —it isn't great but it's my baby. Have fun and be excellent to each other.

[decarabiandivorce]

Okayyyy so!

Sprite here is an artist from <Redacted > . As an art person, they have the habit of drawing their hometown / the outfits people wore. Its on pure instinct and muscle memory- much like Sif keeping physical memories like the mumbling. There is no conscious thought being put into most of their drawings- they just Draw.

Now be King, hes collecting all he can on <Redacted> and as he passes by a toen he just. Sees it. He can't put it into words, but the painting a person is selling in the midst of a market is of his homeland.

He asks about it, and learns where the seller got it. Described as not speaking much nor putting much Craft into making the paintings move, there are sections that seems to be darker than dark. Sections that are lighter than light. And everytime King tries to think of <Redacted>, the paintings seem... different. As if there was something else about it (no longer greyscale but monochrome) (like how seeing red is linked to saying the name)

He's like "okay this art person Definitely knows my home" and pretends to be a commissioner in order to find their studio. He asks, while Sprite is drawing a very very very vague commission, some questions and they are both annoyed by the other.

Sprite: why's this guy such a.... at least tell me what you are thinking of? Dont give me key words- im not a catalog

King: DOSE THIS PERSON REMEMBER? YES OR NO????

He watches as Sprite draws silhouettes that look so close to what he feels like he remembers. Sprite can't say the words for what these clothing styles are like, but this is the biggest concrete proof that King has had in years. He is so emotionally unstable </3

They become sorta freinds? A bit more than just commissioner and commissionee.

King is ecstatic and is yapping so much about their homeland. Sprite is like "hm...." <- started zoning in and out.

King: *types 20 paragraphs of lore hes starting to remember because of Sprite*

Sprite: (i aint reading all that) *skims it*

Slowly, they start hanging out as "partners" cause its so much easier to say than just friends. Absolute fools who have no clue how romance works and presume the other was the one who asked them out and they just forgor. Sprite thinks they could have been dating since that one couples night discount hang out at the park, but isn't bringing it up since they dont want to admit anything. King is meanwhile making spreedsheets trying to figure out when their anniversary Could be by looking the amount (and frequency) of gifts that Sprite likes given.

Anyways big angst point when Sprite draws a countryside of the island, feels unhappy about it, and just paints over it. Sprite is like " hm okay" but King is like "we could have preserved it!!!" Cue Sprite going "Its fine?"

Something something, art being hidden behind glass barriers as a metaphor and King going "I wish everything was untouchable and such"

Sprite: brain empty. Got to draw someone in a poncho with white hair looking 3/4ths left.

King: brain full. Got to fill it more. Cant forget cant forget need to remember REMEMBER REMEMBER-

Post game fic idea where Mirabelle gets a notification while the gang are walking Bonnie home that a whole city had still been stuck in time and they try to find the source of what's going on. Cue them finding the first timestuck spell that King ever casted and going "huh wow the people in these paintings look like Sif"

"Lol what if you two are related?"

Sprite, getting unstuck, "Nah. Our homeland was just isolated a lot. This country is pretty diverse... I don't remember practically anything but I know Sif looks like at least a handful or cousins of mine. Cant for the life of me draw them, but I just know it."

Sif: 🥺

Bestieeeeeee

Be me

Think of isat oc that could see color (an artist)

Makes them from The Island cause I think it would be funny

Oh! What if they are pals with King before the whole ordeal

...

Divorce?

...

OH MY GOD WAIT IM JUST REINVENTING DECARABIAN AND AMOS

😔😔😔

"divorce?"

ah yes, user decarabiandivorce has made decarabian divorce yet again 😔

[thefanficmonster]

All The Colors

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Colorblindness, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: The colors are not always seen but rather felt. Just like Y/N feels the colors through their best friend and boyfriend Corpse. That’s how they realize that what they can’t see is the most beautiful and genuine feeling in the world. The feeling of knowing something and someone so deeply.

Requested by my dear friend Lulu, who you might have known as greenieofshield. Unfortunately she’ll never get to read this fic and I’ll never forgive myself for not putting it out sooner but I’ll also never forgive the universe for being so cruel as to take her away so early. She was one of the best people I’ve ever met, always so full of optimism, always there to brighten up my day and make me smile. Always so strong and brave, never falling victim to the hate she received despite not being deserving of it. The world lost an angel the day she died and I as well as so many other people will forever miss her.

Love you and miss you with my whole soul and hear, Lulu. Hope they’re treating you right in heaven ❤

For what it’s worth, Y/N has never asked people to describe the colors to them. In their eyes that seemed like the equivalent of poorly patching up a wound: they could hear thousands upon thousands of descriptions of each color and still wouldn’t be able to imagine it. The descriptions would only make that worse to them. So to avoid feeling even more like they’re missing out they never asked.

However, that doesn’t mean they haven’t developed their own way to ‘visualize’ and imagine colors throughout the years. They’ve tried loads of different methods, few of which stuck around and not for long either. That is exactly why they frequently used to tell their friends: “You can’t paint me a rainbow with black and white and shades of grey and expect me not to feel like I’m missing out on something. Paint me the gloomy sky on a rainy day and only then we’ll be even cause you’re seeing the same greys I am.”

Little did they know how drastically their logic was about to change in the following years.

Speaking of said following years - they met Corpse who became one of their best friends in practically no time. And within just a few months of that friendship’s blossoming, a romance sparked. A romance their friends would jokingly refer to as ‘romance of a lifetime’. Maybe it was said jokingly but Lord knows they weren’t wrong in saying so because the two were completely head over heels for one another -s till are to this day - and never shied away from showing it.

Y/N and Corpse met through Rae who Y/N was staying with while on a little vacation to Los Angeles. To be even more specific here, the two met through a game of Among Us, the game responsible for many wonderful friendships since its release.

“Guys, guys, guys.“ Y/N said after sparking up a bickering session for falsely accusing ‘blue‘ of faking a task in Navigation during the final round for the day, “Here’s a little rule of thumb for whenever we play together again: don’t trust me if I accuse a color instead of a name.“ It’s safe to say that statement rose a few eyebrows in the Discord call, the confusion serving as amusement to them before they explained themself, “Oh, why that is? Hm, I don’t know, maybe cause I’m colorblind.”

Rae who was in on the scheme the whole time and was struggling to hold in her laughter finally snapped while the rest of the players were left processing the information that had been dropped on them.

“But you practically kicked our ass every single round?!“ Corpse said, amazement and confusion in his tone.

“Expect the unexpected from this schemer, take it from someone who’s known them for a decade now.“ Rae said, winking at her friend from across the room. Not failing to notice the blush on their cheeks while doing so though.

“Corpse, are you calling me a good liar?“ They poked a stick at him teasingly, desperately avoiding Rae’s gaze which widened the second she realized why her friend was so flustered by Corpse’s remark.

“Practically a con artist.“ He replied to them with a laugh, earning one from them in return.

And so they practically conned him into falling in love with them with their quick wit, sarcasm and cuteness. If someone is to ask Corpse if he expected to fall for Y/N, he’d probably say yes.

“They were like a magnet the moment they entered the lobby and started talking.“ He said once on a live stream in response to a question he received in the chat regarding Y/N, “It wasn’t hard at all, falling for them. What took me a while was realizing it. While I was referring to them as ‘best friend’ all my friends were rolling their eyes and going ‘Sure, bud.’ Just took me a bit to realize why.”

Luckily, it didn’t take him too long to grasp what his heart was actually screaming at him. Good thing they came to terms with it so soon too, otherwise they would’ve driven their friends insane.

Anyway, enough about what happened and what could’ve happened under one circumstance or another, what matters is the ‘here and now’ of their relationship. And trust me when I say it has never been better and it keeps getting better every day.

The beauty of what those two have is in the tiny every day things that they do for each other, the good morning texts even though the other person in probably just in the kitchen making breakfast while the other cannot find it in them to get out of bed; or it’s laced within the calls between them when neither of them are home or at least one of them is out and about, busy with a task they’ve probably been putting off for far too long. Don’t get me wrong though, the romantic gestures aren’t rare either. Random gifts are exchanged by them on regular intervals but one consistent and super romantic gesture that repeats a few times every year (of the two years they’ve been dating) is Corpse giving Y/N a bouquet of flowers.

A detail Y/N couldn’t help but take notice of was the fact that the bouquet was always made up of the same flowers with only small changes to the arrangement of them and maybe some tiny ones added too. Unfortunately, they aren’t artificial so they couldn’t have kept them thought they wish they could’ve. That being said, it goes without saying that those flowers mean the world to Y/N, the gesture actually - they know flowers are a common gift to give but anything they receive from Corpse is so special and makes them feel like the only person who’s ever received such a gift.

And so they got curious, they had to ask. They had to ask the question they never thought they’d actively ask considering their view of the topic. But they still did.

“Hey Corpse.“ Y/N spoke up out of the blue, breaking the silence that had fallen over them while they watched the movie they were only partially interested in given how exhausted they both were from devoting themselves to their respective tasks and responsibilities throughout the last few days.

Corpse hummed in response, the arm wrapped around their waist doing a little motion as if encouraging them to continue, his gaze immediately traveling down to his partner.

“What color are the flowers?“ They asked, gazing at the bouquet - a gift they had received from him for their birthday a few days prior - in the vase on the dining table.

They waited a few seconds but when they didn’t hear nor feel any sort of response from him they couldn’t help but look up at him. Upon doing so, they saw his small smile as his eyes too remained on the bouquet. “They’re black and white.“ He replied eventually, “Black roses and white daffodils.“ His gaze wandered away from the vase and down to meet theirs, “I don’t want you to think I’m seeing them in their ‘full beauty’ while you only see them in black and white. You are seeing them in their full beauty and not missing out on anything. They are absolutely beautiful black and white as they are.“

As a response to his answer, Y/N couldn’t suppress the growing smile on their face no matter how hard they tried. So they didn’t try at all, they let the smile lighten up their face before speaking up: “You’re a wonder, Corpse.” They said, pushing themself as upright as they could to be able to kiss his cheek. “However, you’re wrong.” They say when they pull away, smirking up at his confused expression, “My world was black and white until you came into it. You’re all the colors, Corpse. Your love’s red, joy’s yellow, sadness blue, chaos green. Love red. You’re all the colors and out of all the people that have tried to describe to me how they look, you have managed to do that just perfectly without even trying.”

Little did they know that’s exactly what he thinks of them - their world is black and white because all the colors live within them. Because they are all the colors.

And maybe they both are, seeing as how they came into each other’s lives exactly like the rainbow after the pouring rain.

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[fixing-bad-comic-art]

Lol thank you. Also i didn't put a lot of details because i didn't want to come off as aggressive/demanding. But im using a tablet connected to my desktop and im using photoshop. I guess my main issue is coloring digital. I can do it traditional but digitally it just never comes off right when i do it. Just... colors man. My local colors are fine but anything more than that it comes off bad. Actually now that im writing this i probably just need to do some more studies. SO actually do you have any tips about layers/layer blending modes?

ok so the color thing is Super common because the color theory in digital is just slightly different from in traditional so everything just feels off if you're used to trad

So, screens use rgb displays, and photoshop can either work in rgb(red green blue) or cymk (cyan yellow magenta black), this is important because it means every color is a mix of either rgb or cymk as opposed to what traditional artists would be used to, which is ryb (red yellow blue). this leads to some color mixings just not working the way they should,

maroon mixed with an equal amount of cyan in paint will make a nice purple but in digital it will make a nasty grey.

to work around this you need to think of every color as having a cool and warm varient, cools work best with cools and warms work best with warms. so a cool blue will look best next to a cool red as apposed to a warm red.

and the digital color wheel is drastically different from the trad color wheel because what can be displayed on a screen isnt every color possible, which means that trying to use the standard color combo formats on a digital color wheel is pointless and you need to be referencing a trad color wheel like this one.

and now onto advice about layers.

pray.

but more seriously, layers are typically sorted into four groups, i cant remember the order they are in photoshop so you're going to have to put up with the painter order, sorry,

group one is all the layers that make things darker, these are your burns, multiplies, and darkens. they make the colors beneath them darker based on the color of the working layer using different math formulas. i am not good at math nor do i remember which formula goes to which layer type.

group two makes things lighter

group 3 does both

and group 4 are effect layers, which i dont think photoshop actually has, they get sorted under other tools if memory serves.

take the time to figure out which group each layer type belongs to and roughly what they do. this will just Drastically speed up your work flow. but when all else fails there's nothing stopping you from just scrolling through the layer styles until you find one you like.

and now onto misq layer advice

photshop lets you group layers. Group Your Layers, its quick, and it'll help you find things a Lot quicker.

also Lock your layers when you're done with them so that you dont draw on the wrong layer,

ideally you should get in the habit of naming them too, but only nerds who can read actually name their layers.

merge your layers too, once you're done with them merge them, having a trillion layers makes your computer sad and more likely to throw a fit (read: crash) it also makes navigation Infinitely easier

if you're more of a painter, use fewer layers. photoshop especially Hates it when you use a blending/painting brush with sample lower layers enabled, it just Chugs and crashes a lot, so trying to do all of your painting on one or two layers is Very important to not wanting to yeet your computer and strangle adobe.

and a final not is this, find the curves tab, and have it open and easily accessible on your layout at all times, i personally liked keeping mine on the right side above my layers and below my color wheel.

the curves panel is your new best friend, use it, go to the movies with it, fall in love with it, marry the god damned curves panel. it will make your coloring life Infinitely easier.

i think thats all i have to say on this.

[criticaltaurus]

Since I have no chill

My Avatar OC’s for each entity!

Under cut cause length

Buried! Since I love the esoteric meanings, they appear as a kind person who asks you a favor (slightly eye touched) but it soon becomes one thing after another and another until you’re buried in expectations and stress, especially impacts those with anxiety/fear of failure. No concrete design in mind, but probably a diminutive old lady (mama issues yo)

Corruption~ A nice church girl, who goes to church (and reads her biiibleeee) Who just really vibed with God Loves All His Children. When she saw a ladybug in her hair, she thought it was God showing his love to her (from an old saying her grandmother had), and when they started coming from her ears, eyes, nose, mouth, wherever, that’s just proof she embodies Gods love to show to everyone. Honestly well meaning, but thinks people are afraid out of shame rather than Whoops All bugs

Dark. (Okay since it’s so simplistic I have a lot of trouble with Dark but here goes) So they’re a subversive type, going more for blindness than actual darkness. Y’know when you shine a really bright light and it washes away the details of what its pointed at? That’s them, they are/generate such a blinding, washing light, that you’re as unaware as you are in pitch darkness, only it subverts the comfort and safety the light supposedly brings. They’d still be Edge AF tho.

End. A stone mason who makes headstones for people who haven’t passed away yet, but gives a date. Kinda like the weird death prophecy book, if they try to change it, the date will just change, but it’s even scarier when it doesn’t change. Secondary effect: The epithet will also show how one will be remembered, if at all, before inevitably deteriorating into nothing.

EyE. So there’s this one artist whose paintings always have one person looking directly into “camera” to be directly facing the viewer, basically that as a person, no matter where or when you look, you’ll always match eyes with them, and you don’t know who they’re really looking at.

FLESH Face-Stealer. Pretty Stranger-Aligned, but they vibed with the body modification more so than the uncanny valley aspect of it all. They’ll replace someone, murder their friends + Family and switch between them, because under the skin we’re all the same meat after all.

lonely. A simple kind of person, they have the power to warp perception, making someone hyper-aware of any negative social tick on a person, making them feel like everyone is against them or negative towards them.

Stranger? Happy Faces Everyone! Sort of the opposite of the Lonely guy, they’d make everyone around them super positive and friendly, for nor reason! Even the worst people, the most aggressive, will be kind with a big smile on their face (such as “You did this for me? What’d you do with the real *insert name here*) Feel like their kindness is a lie yet? Feel that paranoia set in? Feel the performative nonsense of it all?

V a s t . My main self-insert Sona, the eldritch park ranger! Loves the forest, and you will too! Or you won’t doesn’t really matter! Cause the trees start coming and they dont stop coming!

Web. Matchmaker, Matchmaker, make me a match~ Find me a find~ Catch me a Catch~. Ties people together by “coincidence” and “chance” until they become convinced it’s not an accident, even if its contradictory to their nature. Why did you, who couldn’t care about makeup or skin care, walk into the beauty shop to see the girl who, while never playing a console video game, walked into your game store?  The two would never go anywhere though, always being tugged away by something or other before a match could be made, keeping the two in frustrated, endless pining, while removing any other choices.

Extinction, for fun! A modern tech CEO. Gentrification, anti-homeless architecture, making everything all bland and techy and overpriced until everyone is forced out or conformed, could give Elias a run for his money.

I saved four for last because i’ve come up with a sort of Eldritch Gang Band, and aside from my Park Ranger, i’ve developed them the most. They go by the Misfreaks as a band name, and do some good gigs outside of eldritch monster work

Khaos(Kah-oes) Kween, Desolation avatar, anti-capitalist, lead singer, and has one hell of a baseball bat swing. The most aggressive of the four, and loves to break everything. When she gets all Desolation-y, her bat gets red hot, but her real power is to melt away memories of anything she burns. Hates The Lightless Flame tho.

Hunter King (that’s actually his name). Hunt Avatar, and the moral core and common sense of the four. He keeps their targets on shitty amoral people, but he knows that’s according to his views. Drummer, and his main Hunt power is being a lie-detector, and a killer with throwing knives. ACAP (All Cops Are Prey)

Jack Slaughter, Slaughter Avatar, a bigender person kicked out by her strict parents, youngest in the group (?), main guitarist, basically got adopted by Khaos and Hunter, and is the most brutal of the group. His main power is blood knives. If he cant get any from someone else, he usually resorts to punching herself in the face.

Twist Joker, Spiral...avatar? Honestly none of the others really know much about her(?). Just kinda showed up when they were practicing for a gig, and can play the bass like a pro so no harm done! Scenecore personified, and whenever they talk or move, they leave a trail of rainbow after images, stays pretty close unless they move faster. The most chaotic, most energetic, but also peppiest. Her main power is to give sensory overload. Anyone targeted by her will begin to feel every color, every sound, every sensation more and more intensely until they snap.

[voidselfshipp]

La Mala Vida

Summary: medic finds out that living forever might be less of a hussle,and that maybe this century is worth saving.

Pt 2 here bcs Tumblr wont let me

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

Life.

What do we do with it?people say it is what we want it to be, that the time we have to choose is limited because we dont live forever.

Josef would not agree with that statement.

Hes been living since the 18th Century, and after all these years everything seemed the same.

Its a rainy Day on teufort, why was someone like him still in there? After all the memories he had there.

He didnt quite now, maybe because its residents were quite literally Led poisoned idiots and nobody would suspect a thing from him.

--that would be five dollars Sir-- the Cashier said giving him the newspaper.

The german Man scowled and handed him the money taking it.

'Back in my zime zhe newspaper vas vay cheaper...' he thought.

He then goes to the nearby café, catching his reflection on the windowpane of said café.

He still looked quite handsome for a Man that is centuries old,he lived through Many things and yet there he was, alive and well.

He then sits against the Window minding his own bussines waiting to be attended.

He was so concentrated in the news that he didnt noticed the people that came in and out.

Nor the music playing.

But then, he looks up at the entrance, his face cant help but to contorn in a smile.

The newest generation has been quite of his interest as of lately.

The was something about zentenialls he couldnt quite put his finger on that caused him interest.

A generation that coped with problems with self depreciating humor, yet being able to form a revolution in the span of months in one single app,but also having the biggest of hearts for those in need.

'Siamo condannati alla brutta vida

Quería decirle, bambino

Que usted está trayéndose un flow bandido

Su secreto está guardao aquí conmigo

Sabe, yo respeto pero nunca olvido

Tarde, siempre tarde yo lo siento (wuh)

Les molesta todo lo que rondo

Devoluciones, no caigo en eso

Estoy buscándome yo los pesos, uh

Yo no quería que caiga preso (wow)

Regalito a la mamá, par de billes (par de billes)

Pa que se lo goce y de mí no se olvide (no se olvide)

Y la herida llevo aquí (llevo)

Dime tú si me vas a amar'

The lively music seemed to contrast with the calm ambience of the place.

Jerico pulls down the hood of her hoodie, she looks around for a place to sit, and goes to a far quiet corner of the place.

She sits down putting her bag close to her.

Her ears catch the melody playing and a homesick smile appears on her face tapping her feet to the rythm .

'La mala vida que me persigue

Los tiempos están cambiando y nosotros también

La calle está ardiendo, guiándome

Ni olvido ni perdón a lo que fuiste ayer

Mala vida que me persigue

Mala vida que no puedo salir

Mala vida que me persigue

Mala, mala

Fuck mala vida, mala, mala

Quería más de mí, pero no le di nada

Estamos nasty, curtiendo strada (strada)

Rompiendo tarima como si nada'

She was mouthing the lyrics of the song while softly rocking her body to it.

Medic catched a glimpse of this and smiled.

Finally they go and take his order, then the girls and the waiter dissapears behind the bar.

Jeris glance meets Josefs, she smiles and then goes down to her phone, a hand that was used as a rest for her cheek.

'Lo hacemos igual gore

Tenemos el peso en el pecho

Y aunque duela adentro, lo hacemos igual por los tiempos

Tiempos buenos, tiempo al fin

Tiempos malos que perdí (wuh)

Fuckin' mala vida, te escupo la face

Acuérdate de mí cuando me veas, no compro fake

Los fuckin' vis a vis me tienen maldecí

Estoy maldecía, no puedo salir

Regalito a la mamá, par de billes (par de billes)

Pa que se lo goce y de mí no se olvide (no se olvide)

Y la herida llevo aquí (llevo)'

He then looked back at his own stuff, the music, altough not his favourite was starting to get to him, and so his foot unintentionally started to tap following the beat of the song.

Now he wasnt the type of guy to dwell on his past, he only cared about defying modern science, well he did bring back a Man to life.

Good times.

He sighs, that smile that some found unnerving seemed to have warmed a little bit, the years were softening Him up.

Tough he feels someone watching him, his head turns to find the girl drawing on a piece of paper, what exactly? He couldnt tell.

Until her emerald green eyes met his, her cheeks flushed and looked away with a expression that screamed 'I hope the floor swallows me and never spits me again'.

He chuckled, and a side of him felt quite honored.

Maybe hed ask her for the drawing.

he drank his coffee and read the newspaper,the bitter taste of it wasnt as much of a kick in the mouth, they used to make them stronger too.

Meanwhile jerico couldnt help but dwell on her own problems while she waited.

The cold weather was rather relaxing to her, the cold and rain were always a comfort.

Though there wasnt much to do than wait right now, but shed find a way to entretain herself.

The café was too calm for her,way too calm.

But that is what happends when you used to live in a constant chaos, calm things seemed dangerous, a part of her really enjoyed this.

She sighs being absolutely bored out of her mind.

Her eyes look at the drawing that was just besides her.

Drawing that guy was fun, and the hairstyle did suit him well.

Her leg starts to bounce as she feels a familiar feel on her chest.

Maybe she should give it to him.

Or was it creepy? Did he even wanted it?

--miss heres your tea, and your pastries--the waiter said putting things down from the trail on the table--Anything else?

She shakes her head,the waiter asks her if she would want anything else, she says no.

She ends up paying her things and then enjoying them.

At least like that she doesnt have to go through the process of talking to anyone else than that waiter.

As she drinks though,Someone sits infront of her.

'Cant drink my tea in peace....' when she looks up however she jumps a bit on her Seat.

--Hallo-- the same Man she drew said-- I couldnt help but notice zhat jou vere drawing me,can I see?

The Man had his newspaper rolled under his arm, a huge smile and a coffee on his hand.

His accent, was rather cute, she thought.

--su sure!--Jerico smiles handing him the paper.

The Man looks at the drawing, and then smiles.

--Vould jou look at zhat! joure an true artist! Great job

Her chest warms and a huge grin appears on her face, her hands grip the tea cardboard Cup--thank you very much!

--Mind if I keep it?

--not at all!, I was hoping to give it to you actually,just didnt know if youd like it

--Are jou kidding? Of course id love zo! Oh wait im so stupid, I should pay jou for it ! Jour skills shouldnt be wasted.

As soon as he extends his hand with the Money jerico softly pushes it back.

Her hand had paint stains, yet the skin was soft and they were warm.

--No no please

--i insist!

--Take it as a gift Will you?

He then puts the money away, and nodds-- ah yes,jour generation is good at convincing people, plus good at arguing okay, I Vill keep my money,oh im josef by zhe vay...and zhanks

He extends his hand and she shakes it.

--Jerico

-- vhat a lovely name,vell I should get going , rain is going to get vorse and its a long valk home...lovely zalking vith jou jerico!

Jer smiles -- it was nice to talk to you too

Josef takes the drawing a leaves.

She just sits there, what just happened???

Thats enough interaction for today.

When she finished she grabbed her things and Walked home, the rain poured without mercy, she should have brought an umbrella.

She puts on her headphones and walks faster to the bus stop.

That of course had no FUCKING roof.

luckily the music drowned out the pesky conversation that a guy who obviously didnt know how to take a hint tried to start.

'Fuckin' mala vida, te escupo la face

Acuérdate de mí cuando me veas, no compro fake

Los fuckin' vis a vis me tienen maldecí

Estoy maldecía, no puedo salir

Regalito a la mamá, par de billes (par de billes)

Pa que se lo goce y de mí no se olvide (no se olvide)

Y la herida llevo aquí (llevo)

La mala vida que me persigue (yeah yeah yeah)

Los tiempos están cambiando y nosotros también

La calle está ardiendo, guiándome

Ni olvido ni perdón a lo que fuiste ayer

Mala vida que me persigue

Mala vida que no puedo salir

Mala vida que me persigue

Mala, mala

Está cayéndome lo que nunca te dije yo

Estoy creyendo que los buenos son los malos'

As soon as the music ended she no longer felt the water falling on her , she looks up.

Josef.

He held the umbrella close to her.

--Hi-- she sheepishly said taking off her headphones.

--Hallo frau,vaiting fot zhe bus I see?

--Yeah, thanks for the umbrella though...should have brought one with me...but didnt...

Both share a giggle.

[craby-bouquet]

Don’t leave me

“It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.” - Vincent Van Gogh 

Kim Taehyung x Reader

Artist!AU, Thriller!AU, Fluff, Angst, Gore

11.8k words

A/N I labelled this as gore as well, but I tried to keep things as clean as I possible so it kind of doesn’t seem right?? This is the longest thing I’ve written so far, it took me quite some time but I had so much fun with it! On to the next thing I’m writing.

Thank you @/onlandswimming  for your helping with this (cant tag u bc of the link thing bb)

Music. The music was loud, deafening. A piano piece, known by many, heard by everyone, but he didn’t know the title of it. It sounded like the piano tiles got smashed, like someone had decided the tiles would make for a great trampoline, and just started jumping on them, yet it was pretty. It calmed him, emptied his head. And that was all he wanted.

Red. The red was everywhere. Spattered on things, more things than he wanted it to spatter on, but he couldn't help it. It was more than he had ever imagined, more than he had intended it to be.

He leaned against the wall, head thrown back, hands tangled in his hair. The tears fell on the newspapers on the ground, thinned the red, made it flow all over. It had all gone wrong.

Only a glance at the newspaper of that morning was enough to make you sigh. It seemed that ever since you started living in this town, crime had gotten worse and worse. It was ridiculous. Another missing person, and the person that went missing last week was found back. Murdered.

You took a bite of your apple as you read the article on your walk to work. The dead person was found in a park. They hadn’t included pictures, thankfully, because the sight had been horrible. The kids that found the body were getting all the help they needed to get over what they saw. Weird enough the body had been all cleaned up. no stained blood on their clothes nor on the body parts that were still in tact for the most part. As if the person that did this was human enough to at least make them look good for their funeral. Well, besides the wounds the victim had. This was the fifth person that had gone missing, and was found back all ripped up weeks later, in six months. And now someone else had gone missing. A woman in her thirties. She had last been seen three days ago by her husband. Police said to keep calm and that there was no reason to suspect this disappearance had anything to do with the other five. But for some reason you, and a lot of other people, thought differently about that. If this wasn’t connected with the others, it would be too coincidental. And we all know coincidence doesn’t exist.

A lot of people in town were terrified, staying inside as much as they could, making sure their children would as well. People talked about it on the streets, but only very silently, whispering almost, afraid the killer would happen to walk by and hear them. In stores people were discussing it, in subways, in restaurants even in the farmacy and in waiting rooms. It was everywhere, even people that lived under a rock should know by now.

And it was terrifying. There were no witnesses, no fingerprints, nothing to point to whom the killer might be. It seemed like a perfect crime every single time. The police claimed they would find whoever did this, that they would avenge the victims in name of their families and that they would make sure everyone could feel safe again. But after six months and five, now six, perfect crimes, no one was sure what to believe anymore. No one trusted anyone anymore, everyone could be guilty. So could they really trust the police?

You had promised yourself that this whole thing wouldn't get to you. All that these kind of murderers wanted was for people to be scared. All they wanted was for everyone to live in constant fear, it was like that would make them feel powerful, like they ruled a part of the world. You had promised yourself not to be afraid. You weren’t going to let some stupid criminal rule your life. Sure, you had taken some precautions. You weren’t going out alone at night anymore, not that you did before all of this, the dark streets had always frightened you a little bit. You weren’t going with strangers anymore, would talk as little as you could with them, pretending to always be in a hurry. Little things. But it wasn’t that you were getting yourself new locks and closed every window and didn’t talk to anyone and take days off to stay inside just because you were afraid you were next. No. That’s what you heard other people say and you sure as hell weren’t going to go crazy like that.

You threw the core of the apple, together with the newspaper, in the trashcan in the lobby as you walked into the building.

“Good morning.” Someone who walked by greeted you. You greeted them back before stepping into the elevator and making your way up. You mentally prepared yourself for everyone that would be talking about what they read in the newspapers that morning, a thing you didn’t really want to talk about. This was going to be a long day.

Leaving work you always walked through the park. You avoided it on your way to work because it was a detour and you wanted to be in time, but on your way home it calmed you down. The light breeze in the air, the birds, the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves of the trees. In that moment everything seemed almost perfect. Not to mention how happy you were that, after a long time of winter, flowers were blooming again, children were playing outside. It was strangely quiet these days though, mothers didn’t want their children to play outside anymore, not without guidance that is. Imagine them finding the next body, or getting kidnapped themselves.

On a bench only a few meters away from you sat a guy. He was… stunning. His face looked as if it had been sculpted by the hands of God himself. His eyes sparkled as he looked up at the sky, the evening sun that shined through the leaves reflecting in them. His hair had been dyed what once had been red, but the red had faded with time, the dark brown of his own hair had started to grow back at the roots. The expression he wore was tired yet so soft and gentle, he seemed fascinated by whatever he saw. Beside him sat an adorable golden retriever dog with a sparkling collar, its gaze was directed at you.

The guy bend over to pat the dog, a sweet smile forming on his lips. The dog licked his owner's face, who laughed. The sight made you smile. The guy and his dog sat there the next day as well, the guy rubbing the dog his head as it lay on his lap. You smiled once again when the guy gave the dog a soft kiss on its head. A warm feeling boiled up in the pit of your stomach. When, even the day after, the guy and the dog were still there, you decided to walk up to them.

“Hi,” you greeted carefully.

The guy lowered his gaze from the leaves above to you, and his eyes widened. He suddenly seemed to get a little nervous, stroking his hand through his hair and clearing his throat: “Hello.”

You smiled “I saw you sit here yesterday as well and I just wanted to tell you you have a cute dog.”

The guy didn't look away from your eyes “Yes.. He-he's very pretty.”

“Can I pet him?”

“Oh, yes. Sure, go ahead. He's very sweet.”

So you sat down on the bench at the opposite side of the dog and started patting him. He looked up at you and started wagging his tail. You chuckled.

“It's actually not my dog, it's my friend's dog: Holly. I'm taking care of him while he's away.” the guy said while he sat up straight, eyes still locked on you.

“That's very nice of you.”

The sparkle in his eyes got brighter as you looked into his eyes, the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach returned. You looked away, back at the dog, but you felt the guy's eyes still on your face.

After a short while of silence he cleared his throat “Would you like to get coffee with me?”

You looked up at him again and smirked at how flustered he looked “Like a date?”

He smirked back at you “Only if you want it to be.”

“I'd like that.”

You had learned his name was Taehyung, he was a well known artist whom had people come from all over to come to his expositions. He had shown you some pictures of his paintings when you asked about them and even you could see he was talented. He made beautiful abstract like compositions on big canvases, he had developed his own style and clearly was proud of what he made, though a little flustered to show you at the same time. And he had all the right to be proud. You weren’t an art critic, not even close to it, but you already loved what he created.

Even though he asked you to get coffee with him, he didn’t like coffee at all. So he got himself tea instead. His laugh was the cutest thing you had ever seen, and you decided you wanted to see it as much as you possibly could. The way he treated Holly was adorable. He was so sweet and loving to him, like Holly was the most precious thing to walk this earth. Even the way he held his cup, his pinky under the cup, had you melting away. How his mouth seemed to turn into a rectangle as he smiled, how he liked his lips evey once in a while and how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about something he loved. Everything about him had you gone, it was clear you already really liked this guy.

He walked you home, talking about everything and nothing and bend forward when you leaned in to press a peck against his cheek. He smiled and waved goodbye as he walked away.

He sat on the bench the day after that as well, so you walked through the park together. And the day after that he sat there all dressed up, looking very nice. He asked you to dinner. The day after that you had agreed to go out as well. It was weekend and he told you he had made plans, turns out he took you to a theme park and had prepared a picnic afterwards. You invited him to stay over that night, but he politely declined. Not only did he want to wait a little longer, he also had a dog to take care of at home.

He was the perfect gentleman, a great person and absolutely amazing to date. You had never fallen this fast for anyone before, but you had really fallen hard for Taehyung. And fast forward a couple of weeks and the two of you were officially in a relationship. It was wonderful, some may even say perfect. You never imagined being in a relationship to be as much fun as it was.

Your mother loved him, after she met him she couldn’t stop talking about him. Even your father was fond of him.  

After two months of dating Taehyung finally took you with him to his apartment. He never took anyone there because it was a big mess, and because it was his part of the world. A place where he could do whatever he wanted and feel completely free. You felt honored that he took you there with him.

He opened the door and threw the key on a shelf that he clearly put up himself “Welcome.” he said while bowing dramatically.

Holly came running towards the door, wiggling his tail excitedly. The two of you had walked him together many times before, and he had been at your place loads of times, but he was happy to see you each and every time. As if every time was the first time you met him.

Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck as he escorted you through the apartment, picking things up that were in the middle of the path and placing them to the side. It smelled like someone sprayed very nice perfume all over, but something told you he just had a very nice air freshener. Though his apartment was quite spacious, there was barely any room left to even walk. It was a big mess. Canvases laying all around, some painted on, some just plain white. Sketch books and loose papers that were drawn on laying everywhere, paint everywhere. Not just in their tubes, but splattered on the walls and ground as well. You had seen it on the paintings he had shown you before, red really was his favorite color. The apartment was exactly what you would expect a messy artist’s apartment to look like.

“Sorry for the mess, I wanted to clean up a little before picking you up but something came up and-”

You interrupted him by pressing your lips on his “It’s fine.”

He had ordered chinese food, and you ate at the counter of his kitchen. The only place in the house he had managed to clean before you came by. You talked about work, and asked him about his. He smiled proudly and told you he had just made sure he could give an exposition in three months.

“What? That’s great!” You exclaimed, a weird sense of pride flushing over you.

He chuckled “Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. It’s gonna be so stressful though, everytime I have to take care of something like this I find out all over again how much work it is. I always manage to underestimate it.” He inspected a piece of chicken he held between his chopsticks, before putting it in his mouth “And I’m always afraid no one will show up.”

“I’ll be there for sure,” you said, swallowing a piece of the duck you were eating “and I’ll be bragging to everyone and their mom that my boyfriend is giving an exposition of his amazing art. So I’m sure that will get some attention.”

Taehyung laughed loudly “I usually just put up posters and stuff, but I guess just having a girlfriend is enough publicity.”

You shrugged “I have all the right to brag, that’s a fact. I don’t make the rules here.”

He poured himself some more cola to drink “I was just hoping you’d invite your parents. But if you want it invite the whole city it’s alright with me. I’m not complaining, you know?”

You chuckled and pointed with your chopsticks “You bet your ass I’ll invite everyone, watch me.”  

He took a sip of the cola he just got himself “I believe you.”

You ate a little more, enjoying the silence, before you asked him a question you had wanted to ask him for a while.

“Will your parents come too?”

Though he had met your parents multiple times before, you had never met his. He never spoke about them and never even mentioned them once. You had been afraid to ask if something happened to them or something, but this seemed like a decent time to start about it.

He looked up at you briefly, before looking down again, clearly uncomfortable. He swallowed and sighed, looking everywhere but at you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” You said as soon as you realized this clearly was a touchy subject.

He smiled, or at least tried to, before he locked his eyes on one of the few paintings that was actually hanging on the wall “It’s alright, don’t worry about it. I guess it’s natural for you to be curious about it.” He put down his chopsticks and sighed again “My parents… well. I’m really sorry for not telling you before but my mother died when I was younger and my dad died a few years ago.” He finally turned his eyes to you again “I guess I should have told you before but… It’s just kind of a painful subject.”

You suddenly felt so stupid for bringing it up the way you had done. So tactless of you “Oh my god, I’m so sorry…”

He smiled, but you could see the hurt behind his eyes “It’s alright, don’t worry about it. My mom died a very long time ago, I don’t even remember it, and my dad…” he looked at the painting hanging on the wall again “Well, my dad never really left me.” he slapped his hand on his chest at the height of his heart and grinned “Still with me.”

The newspaper. Yet another person had gone missing. They had found the last person who had gone missing back about two weeks ago, and now someone else had gone missing. And the thing was that you had met this person. From the picture in the papers you could see it was the waiter that served Taehyung and you the first time you went out for coffee.

You showed Taehyung the article when you saw him again in the park that evening “Another has gone missing.”

Taehyung looked at you and pushed the paper away “I know. I saw it this morning.”

You pushed the paper back in his face and pointed at the picture of the waiter “Don’t you recognize him?”

Taehyung looked away and sighed, but his eyes grew wide “Yes. I do. It’s the waiter that served us. He… was great. Deserves to live forever if you ask me.” his eyes turned hazy, as if he was thinking to himself, and he bit his lip. Holly howled softly.

He was great, yes, you agreed. But the living forever was a little extreme in your opinion. That would, however, be one hell of a tip.

You let yourself fall on the bench beside Taehyung “I just can’t believe it… You hear about these people going missing, but I didn’t know any of them so it didn’t seem… I don’t know, real? And now, this… It comes so close, you know?”

Taehyung swallowed, looked around, licked his lips and then smiled at you “How was work?”

You got from that that he didn’t want to talk about such a depressing topic. And you understood that. All these murders were… Crazy. How could anyone in their right mind do something like this to people?

“Work was alright. I got a new assignment.”

“Ooh, do tell me.”

You turned your head to him “Well… I haven’t read it yet. I literally just got it before we all left.” you laughed “But I’m pretty sure it has something to do with a children's book.”

You took and deep, exhausted breath. This entire week had been crazy. You had done so much for work, met up with Taehyung a lot and you had worked on your house. Cleaned up everything because your head couldn't process the mess it had been before that. It was safe to say you were tired and really happy it was weekend.

“Taehyung,” you started, while you turned your head at the leaves on the trees, “can I stay with you tonight? I’m so done with my own house.”

He stayed quiet for such a long time you thought he had left, but then he cleared his throat “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I just started a new painting and so it’s smelly and one big mess… To be honest I was actually kind of hoping Holly could stay with you over the weekend.”

You turned your head to him again. He looked at Holly, petting his head “Why?”

“Well… Like I said, my house is a big mess and smells pretty funny and Holly is acting weird because of it.”

The look on his face was so serious, it almost scared you. You had never seen him like this, he usually was very bubbly and spontaneous. Seeing him so… weird and serious was strange. But he clearly cared about his friend’s dog a lot. Now that you thought about it… his friend had been on vacation for a quite a while now.

“Eh, sure. Of course he can stay with me.” you looked at your feet “Your friend has been gone for quite a long time now… is he alright?”

Taehyung once again stayed quiet for quite some time, really thinking his answer over. Maybe something really had gone wrong with his friend. Had he gotten sick?

“He has a home there. I don’t know when he’s coming back… I honestly don’t think he’ll ever come back.”

You frowned, anger boiled up inside you “And he just leaves his dog behind? That’s so mean.”

The weird look in Taehyung’s eyes disappear when he looked at you and he smiled “It’s alright, I’ve grown very attached to Holly… I don’t think I could ever give him back.”

You turned your gaze to Holly “Well I think it’s horrible. You don’t just leave your animals somewhere. You should love them like they’re your very own children. You wouldn’t just leave your children either, would you?”

Taehyung’s eyes switched to his feet really fast “My mom did.”

The anger left as fast as it had come. Why hadn’t you been more considerate? You honestly wanted to hit yourself so bad.

“Taehyung… I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and smiled at you again “Thank you that you want to keep Holly for the weekend.” he got up and handed you the dog leash “I’m afraid I have to go now, and I’m very sorry but I can’t meet up over the weekend either… Like I said, I just started a new painting and I need to finish it quickly.” He sighed and let out a sad sounding chuckle “It’s actually kind of stupid I started a new one right before the exposition. But I had a sudden burst of inspiration…”

You had to admit you were very sad he couldn’t meet up over the weekend, you had been looking forward to it so much, after your very busy week just laying in bed all day together, only getting up to eat… But you did understand. He was a busy man.

“That’s alright. Just make sure you finish it in time.” you stood up as well.

He bend over to kiss you, his soft lips pressed to yours. You wanted it to last forever. So sweet, so tender, with all the love in the world in it. But alas, it ended way too soon.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please do tell me. Okay?”

He nodded, brushed your cheek with his hand, and walked away “I’ll see you on monday, my love. You have me all to yourself then, I promise”

You smiled and watched him as he walked away. You looked down at Holly after Taehyung had disappeared from view. He was sitting beside you right foot, his head turned to look up at you. Looking back at him creeped you out for some reason.

“Well Holly,” you started, his ears shot up by the sound of his name, “let's get you some food.”

You had no idea what Taehyung had meant by Holly acting weird. He seemed like a normal dog to you, nothing weird about him. He seemed even more normal than usual, more relaxed, more happy. But maybe he just was happy to be away from the mess in Taehyung’s house.

You had texted Taehyung a bunch of times but he hadn't texted you back at all. He hadn't even read your texts… But that was alright, he was busy and you knew that.

You felt really bad leaving Holly all alone on Monday as you left for work. You hadn't really discussed how you would get him back to Taehyung but you figured you'd just bring him back to his place after work. You couldn't wait to see Taehyung again, it was the only thing you could think about the entire day.

But as you walked home from work, there was Taehyung, on the bench in the park, looking up at the leaves of the trees. His hair dyed bright blue, the expression on his face strange, thoughtful but hurt. His blue hair made him look magical, like a fairy. And with the green of the trees and bushes behind him, his hair looked luminescent.

He smiled as you sat down beside him, but he didn’t look at you, he kept his face turned to the leaves above him.

“It’s a beautiful day.” He sighed.

You smiled at him, inspecting every little detail of his side profile “It really is, yeah.”

He sighed a second time before turning his head to you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead “It’s good to see you.”

You closed your eyes and used one of your hands to cup his face “I missed you.”

You felt his lips smile against your head. But he said nothing, just smiled.

The next couple of weeks passed quickly. You helped Taehyung to get stuff ready for the exposition that was in a few days. The hall where it was gonna happen looked very nice, it really felt like you walked in a museum.

You had been following the news closely, you felt really sad for the waiter. He had been polite and gentle. You couldn't imagine what his family had to be going through now that he had disappeared.

They found him back the Tuesday after he had gone missing. Dead.

No one had gone missing since then. Everyone was relieved that that was the case. This had been the longest time no one went missing since this whole missing person thing started. And you could feel it. The atmosphere of the city had changed, had gotten better, relieved, hopeful even. People were happy that this finally seemed to be over, but at the same time they were terrified. The fact that no one had gone missing yet meant that everyone could still be targeted. Which meant that no one was safe. But people were hopeful. Finally there was light at the end of the long tunnel.

Taehyung's newest painting looked wonderful. Like in every other painting you had seen from him, he had used red as his main color. You had asked him if red was his favorite, he had explained how red was amazing. It really made a statement, made you feel warm, yet scared you off. And yes, red really was his favorite color. And it was his thing, and all the red paintings together on the hall like they were now, looked really nice and clean.

Taehyung beamed with excitement beside you “It looks so nice. I really can't wait.”

You smiled and looked around a little “It really does look amazing.”

You felt him turn his head to face you, and with his hand on your chin he forced you to look up at him so he could press his lips against yours.

“Thank you for helping me set this all up. I couldn't have done this without you.” He whispered.

You pressed a kiss in his neck, smiling against his skin “You're welcome.”

When you had told Taehyung you would tell everyone about the exposition, you weren't kidding. You had told your family, a bunch of your friends and you had send an email to all of your colleagues. You really wanted people to come check it out, Taehyung deserved all the recognition he could get. And by that time you had no idea how well known he actually was.

You dressed up nicely, did your hair and makeup, and even changed the case of your phone to something that looked a little more classy before you left for the actual event. Nerves boiled up in your stomach. You were first picking up your parents from the train station and then you'd drive to where the exposition would be. Your parents seemed really happy, proud even, that Taehyung could present his art like this. They loved that you found someone so right for you, someone who truly seemed to love you. It then dawned on you that, even though you had been dating for months now, neither one of you had actually said those three words to the other. It had you thinking it over the entire drive there.

The place was crowded. Really packed with people. You had expected people to come but you had never imagined this many. Outside was a ridiculously long line, people talking, looking excited. You were really glad with the V.I.P. tickets you and your parents had. You cut the line and could get in without any trouble.

Your parents told you they were going to look around by themselves so you could go off and find Taehyung. You found him standing in front of the painting he always referred to as the one that changed his life. It was this painting where he started developing the style he made his own. Using loads of reds, big and bold striped and painting really abstract. You saw an old man on a scooter, while Taehyung swore he saw a nice landscape with a big tree in the middle of it. And the great thing was that it didn't matter what it was, it really was whatever you would see and that's what Taehyung had told you was the whole purpose of him creating it in the first place.

Seeing him there, looking up at the big canvas, he looked like he was in his own little world. Like he was trying to get inspired by his own painting, it made you think about what your parents had said in the car. About the love thing. Did you love him? You sure were in love, but were you really at a point where you could call it love?

He seemed to snap out of a dream and turned his head to you, a tired but big smile appeared as soon as his eyes found yours. You smiled back and walked a little bit closer.

“Hi.” he greeted you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Sir, I'm just trying to enjoy the exposition. No point in getting all handy here.” you said in a high pitched tone, playfully trying to get out of his grip.

He smiled and a low growl escaped from deep down his throat “Miss, you are aware this exposition is to showcase art, right?” he whispered, the deep sound of his voice making butterflies rise everywhere in your stomach.

You nodded stifly.

“Then why aren't you on the walls yet? The greatest masterpiece of all. I'm just trying to keep you from getting away.”

You couldn't help but blush, chuckling at his words “Maybe they should put you up there then.”

He let go and looked at you with a played disappointed face “Don't steal my pick up line miss, that's rude.”

Both of you laughed.

“Let's go view the exposition.” He said.

You nodded “Make sure to avoid my parents though, they're more proud than ever. I'm afraid that, if they get the chance to talk to you, you'll never get away.”

You were right. As soon as your parents spotted you and Taehyung they run up to you like wild hyenas, and they talked with Taehyung for about half an hour before I could finally pry him away from them.

“So,” you started, almost hanging on to Taehyung's arm, “where's your latest painting? Let's go see how people like that one.”

You heard Taehyung chuckle “Good idea.”

The hall was filled with people, and all of them were smiling or nodding impressed at the artworks on the walls. So far you hadn't heard anyone say anything negative, only positive things. Well, except that one woman who told her friend that she thought it was all a little too red. But that was Taehyung's style.

There were standing a bunch of people around the painting, some inspecting it in every detail, others just glancing over it as they walked by. Since a picture of Taehyung hung above the entrance, people looked at him as soon as he came close to them. Some complimented him, other just smiled and nodded.

But there was one guy who's eyes hadn't left Taehyung ever since he came into view. He was wearing a suit of which the colors seemed to clash with themselves, and he had a very strange mustache that was long and curled up with hair gel. As soon as some people had walked away, he walked towards you two. He was grinning as he offered Taehyung a hand shake.

“Mister Kim, right?” He asked, his voice had a very nagging sound, but he smiled charmingly.

Taehyung smiled politely “That's me.”

The guy bowed his head in greeting “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Jean Pierre.”

Taehyung chuckled “I know.”

Mister Pierre’s eyes widened a little “Of course you do. Anyway, I was looking at this wonderful piece you created here and I must say: Bravo. You really did a great job on it.”

You looked up at Taehyung, he was beaming proudly “Thank you sir, that means a lot.”

“Oh, please, call me Jean.” mister Pierre walked closer to Taehyung, whom had let go of your hand, and linked arms with him. They slowly walked away together. You let out a chuckle in disbelieve, and watched them as they walked away.

You saw Taehyung again after the exposition. He was waiting outside for you to come out. You were in awe of how good he looked in that suit, like a prince.

It was cold outside, the wind hurt your bare skin. Winter was coming.

Taehyung smiled and took off his jacket so he could give it to you “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

You slipped on the jacket and smiled up at him “No worries, it was alright. Art critics are important.”

He kissed you softly “Thank you for understanding. Are you bringing your parents back to the train station?”

You nodded “Yep. Sadly they don’t have more time to spend.”

Taehyung leaned forward, his lips touching your earlobe “How about, you bring your parents to the station and then come over to my house. I have great news, and I need to make up for leaving you all by yourself.”

His deep voice gave you goosebumps, butterflies fluttered through your stomach and you nodded.

You did just that, brought your parents to the train station and drove directly to Taehyung from there. As you opened the door, with the key he had given you a couple of weeks ago, Holly came running towards you excitedly. You patted his head and greeted him.

In the other room you heard Taehyung gasp, it sounded like you just ran into something you weren't supposed to see "You're already here?"

You raised an eyebrow and started walking towards the door to the living room "Yeah…"

He sighed disappointedly "I wasn't finished yet…"

The living room was all cleaned up, which seemed like a miracle. Normally there were paintings and other art things covering everything, but now it even seemed like he vacuumed. The only thing littering the ground were rose petals, tons of them, and you wouldn't necessarily call that littering. And a bunch of candles were lit. Taehyung was standing in the kitchen, leaned against the little wall that separated the two rooms from each other, observing you with wonder in his eyes. The same look he wore when he looked up to the leaves in the trees.

"You look… positively gorgeous." he whispered breathlessly "Had I told you that yet?" his eyes scanned your body, seemed to take in every little detail there was.

You let the jacket, he had given you before, slide off your shoulders "You look very handsome yourself."

He laughed and walked closer, resting his hands on your hips "Did you wear red just to make me go crazy?"

The dress you were wearing was, indeed, red. It was a very simple yet elegant and pretty dress, reaching to right above your knees, being held up by two spaghetti straps. And it looked gorgeous on you.

You shrugged "So what if I did?"

He laughed, throwing his head back "You do things to me I can't even explain."

You planted a soft and tender kiss in his neck, he gasped and his grip on your hips got stronger. You grinned devilishly.

He smiled a boxy smile as one hand let loose of your hip and cupped the back of your head instead. He pulled your hair very gently so your head leaned back and he could kiss your lips. You reached for his hair, tangling your fingers in it. For a while you stood there, making out. You got to a point where you were pressed against the wall, his dress shirt unbuttoned, before he carried you to the bed. The rose petals he laid down lead your way, the bed filled with them, candles romantically lit.

His hands were everywhere, your hands were everywhere. Your dress, forgotten, somewhere on the ground. His trousers thrown beside it. And he had his way with you, like he always had. Whenever you laid in his arms you were his and his alone, no one else seemed to exist. Only the two of you, entangled with each other, and the world seemed to be all yours.

And in your moment of pure bliss, you knew you loved him.

You were drawing circles and other little figure over his bare chest with your index finger. His arm as wrapped around you, his thumb stroking your arms. He had his eyes closed and you could swear he was an angel. He must have been. No human could look as enchanting as he did.

You chuckled at that thought, making his eyes shoot open.

"What?" he smiled as soon as he saw you pressing your face to his side.

"Nothing." you murmured.

He made a sound that indicated he didn't really believe you, making you chuckle even more.

He pinched your side playfully.

"Don't do that!" you laughed, pinching him back "You know I'm ticklish there."

He laughed and bend his mouth to your ear "That's payback."

You childishly stuck out your tongue.

"Anyway," you began, looking up at him, "you made up for leaving me all by myself, like you said you would do. But at the exposition you also told me you had great news…"

His face lit up and he grinned "Right, I forgot."

He pulled you on top of him, your face very close to his. He looked as excited as a little kid talking about what presents he got for his birthday. Gosh he did things to your heart.

"So, do you remember that Jean Pierre dude?"

You nodded, of course you remembered the guy with the weird mustache, who practically stole Taehyung from you at the exposition. Taehyung's smile widened "Okay, well. He's this important art critic from France or whatever, and, anyway, he wants to do a story on me in his magazine. And he says he's gonna talk with some people so that maybe some of my art can hang in a museum somewhere in France."

You leaned on your elbows and pushed yourself up so you could look him in the eyes, you mouth hanging open "Really? Oh my! That's amazing Taehyung!"

Imagine that, your boyfriend's art hanging in a museum? That would be so great. It would open so many opportunities for him.

He laughed "I know right! I'm so proud."

"You have all the right to be! That really is wonderful!" you have him a small kiss "I'm super proud of you as well."

Both of you turned to your sides, looking each other in the eyes.

"I have a meeting with him on Tuesday. We'll discuss the museum thing and he will interview me and stuff. It's going to be great." He grinned "Gosh, he was so nice."

You smiled at your boyfriend in pure adoration "You'll have to tell me how that went after I come home from work."

"I will for sure..." he sighed, his eyes started to close slowly. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping both his arms around you "But that is then. Let's sleep now."

You nodded, head buried in his chest once again. You were tired, today had been very busy and tiring, but it had been good. Great even.

You slowly felt yourself falling asleep, the last thing you remembered Taehyung say was: "Thank you for today." Very softly, merely a whisper. But you were sure that's what he said right before you fell asleep happily.

The next day, sunday, there was another day of exposition. Nothing too interesting happened there this time. You had to go home early since you had work the day after again, so you kissed Taehyung goodbye and left.

Monday you walked Holly after coming back from work, and went home by yourself. Taehyung was busy bringing back all his artwork, you didn’t see him. Tuesday morning, you send him a message wishing him good luck for the interview. But he didn’t text back. When you walked home from work, he wasn’t on the park bench.

It was wednesday when you saw him again. You walked out of the building you worked in and there he was, standing right in front of it. He smiled a charming, yet nervous smile. You smiled back. Seeing him again after so many days felt like coming home. You wrapped your arms around him, he kissed your cheek.

"Let's go eat something, I'm starving."

You went to the little cafe on the corner of the street, say down, and both ordered what you wanted.

"Did you get all your paintings back safely?" you asked.

He nodded "We did, yeah. And remember that Jean Pierre guy? Well, he came around and started helping us get everything away." he beamed and stared off to space for a little before talking again, "He's so great."

You smiled, it seemed kind of strange that he would suddenly show up and help. But you were sure he had his reason. And Taehyung seemed to think it wasn't out of ordinary, so it must have been alright.

"That is great." You agreed, as you took a sip of the coffee you had ordered "About that Jean Pierre, how did your interview go yesterday?"

Taehyung's eyes lit up "It was amazing. He asked me all kinds of questions, like where I get my inspiration from and stuff. And he bought me lunch and even dinner. He had a laptop on which he wrote whenever I answered, and he carried this funny looking notebook in which he took notes. It was great."

You laughed “I’m glad you had fun.”

Taehyung took a bite of what he had ordered and nodded “I did. And he said he would finish the article this week and immediately send it in as soon as it’s finished.”

“That’s great!” you took another sip of your coffee “What about the ‘hanging your paintings in a museum’ thing?”

“Oh, he’s skyping with some people in France tonight and he’ll discuss it then or something. And if they’re interested they’ll contact me directly. So we’ll see.”

You nodded to show you understood. His reaction was kind of strange to you. One would think he would be more excited about the museum then about the interview. Maybe the interview just gave him more recognition and was that all he wanted.

You finished your food and drinks and walked to his place, talking about random little things, holding hands. When he opened the door to his apartment, Holly didn’t come running to the door like usually. He was still on his cushion, which was very unusual for him.

“Is something wrong with Holly?” you asked Taehyung, as you patted Holly’s head.

Taehyung walked to the kitchen to get you two some drinks “Oh, yeah. I noticed something off about him as well, so I took him to the vet today.” he put to glasses on the kitchen counter and stood still for a few seconds, clearly upset “He… He’s very sick. I wanted to tell you sooner but we hadn’t seen each other in a while and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

You walked over to Taehyung and wrapped your arms around his waist “It’s okay, don’t worry. How are you handling it?”

He placed his hand over yours gently “I’m… doing alright, I guess. It’s just very difficult to see someone you love die.”

You nodded, realizing this must bring back memories of his mother dying. She had been sick as well, tied to her bed for a while. He had slowly seen the life drip out of her. This thing with Holly would surely bring back those awful memories of his youth.

“How long does he have left?”

Taehyung shrugged “The doctor’s said it could be today, but it could also be a few weeks. They didn’t really give an end date.”

You bit your lip “That must be frustrating.”

He nodded his head before taking a deep breath and turning around so he could hug you back. He buried his head in your neck and sighed.

“Thank you. For being here for me.”

Weird enough, you smiled. Seeing the circumstances that seemed very out of place, but you couldn’t help it. Was this where you were supposed to tell him you loved him?

But before you could decide that he pulled back, looking you in your eyes as he stroked a stray hair behind your ear and kissed you on your head. He then turned around and continued getting you both drinks. You figured you should change the subject.

“Do you have any inspiration for a new painting?”

He let out a chuckle, it didn’t sound very convincing “I thought of something, but I got a brand new idea just today.”

You leaned on the little wall dividing the living room and the kitchen “Ooh… Wanna tell me about it?”

He handed you your drink with a grin on his face “Nope.” he made the ‘P’ pop “You’ll see it when it’s finished.”

You sighed and looked at him with your best puppy eyes “Do you never share your ideas? Not even with me?”

He laughed at you and quickly kissed your lips before walking over to the couch “I never tell anyone. I think that brings bad luck.”

You frowned and sat down beside him “Alright, well, I’m looking forward to the end product.”

The next weekend Taehyung texted you he was going to be busy. You figured he was going to get started on the painting, so you let him be and didn't contact him at all knowing he probably wouldn't respond anyway.

On Monday he was waiting for you on the park bench, looking up at the remaining leaves. The look on his face told you something was wrong, and you knew exactly what that was. Without saying anything you sat down beside him, following his gaze so you were both looking up at the sky. Autumn had made the leaves fall to the ground, it was cold outside. But today the sky was blue.

You didn't talk for awhile, until he started talking. Still looking up, not turning his head.

"He's gone." the words sounded soft, broken. The little crack in his voice broke your heart.

You turned so you could embrace him, not too sure what to say. But that was fine, you knew it was. He didn't cry, neither of you did. Just looked up at the last leaves falling off the trees.

The next couple of weeks were weird. Taehyung seemed to be fine most of the time, but sometimes stared off into space, face turning sad for a moment before returning to his usual self.

You didn't go to his house the first week, Taehyung said the paint was still drying and it smelled bad. But the first time you got to his apartment again was strange, it felt empty without Holly there. Even after three weeks you hadn’t gotten used to him not greeting you at the door anymore, or laying down beside you on Taehyung’s bed.

Mister Pierre had told Taehyung that the interview he had done for the magazine in France, was going to get published real soon and that he made sure a bunch of copies would be send to Taehyung. Taehyung was really excited about it, couldn’t stop talking about it. That was very nice though, it kept both your minds from thinking about Holly. The museum thing he didn’t know yet. Jean Pierre had said they, the people from the museum, were busy discussing the matter but just weren't ready to decide yet.

You thought that was ridiculous: one look at any of Taehyung’s paintings was enough for anyone to decide whether they wanted to showcase it or not. And, in your opinion, everyone would want it. And if they wouldn’t for some reason, they’d be crazy.

Taehyung didn’t seem to care much about it though. Sure, he thought it would be an honor if they would showcase it there, but he just didn’t care too much about that. He loved the publicity in the magazine more. Because loads of people could read about him now and get interested and look him up. And if you looked at it in that way, you agreed with him, but you still really hoped they’d buy some of his art to showcase it.

But that hope vanished when you read the newspaper on your way to work on a wednesday morning.

“Famous art critic from France, disappears?”

That had to be him, it couldn’t be anyone else. Had Jean Pierre really fallen victim to the relentless killer?

“Mister Jean Pierre had come all the way from France, to look at art from local artists. But what was supposed to be a fun trip turned into a nightmare last Monday. The art critic had been spotted in a cafe with one of the artists he was working with at that moment, witnesses saw him walk to his hotel alone after that. The personnel of the hotel he was staying at however, said that he never arrived there.”

You turned your head away from the paper in front of you. The poor man, he had come all this way for a nice trip, and this happens to him of all people. How horrible.

Your mind shot to Taehyung, he was staying at a little house on a beach somewhere that belonged to a friend of him. He had left yesterday morning, only to return on Sunday. You wondered if this news had reached him yet. You doubted whether he could handle this news right after Holly’s death.

Jean Pierre had been so nice to Taehyung, Taehyung had really liked him. Man, this sucked. Not that it would have sucked any less, had it been someone you didn’t know. It just sucked that this whole thing happened. Who on earth would do something like this at all? Everyone was terrified. What if they were next? What if one of their loved ones was next?

And that made you wonder. Your parents didn’t live here, and all the disappearances happened in your town, so you weren’t too worried about them. But what about Taehyung? What if he was the next victim? What would you do then?

You frowned to yourself and decided that it was about time you told Taehyung how you felt about him. That you loved him. So as soon as he would come back you would try to find the best moment to tell him. Because, if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that if Taehyung happened to be the next victim, you would definitely regret it if you had never once told him that you loved him.

That next week was weird for everyone. Whenever a person was taken, everyone seemed to be a little more quiet, a little more careful. No one knew how the purpotrayer decided who would be the next victim, so no one wanted to stand out just in case they’d be picked. You couldn’t judge them for it, you knew you did the same.

It was a thing that made you wonder: how did the killer decide who would be a victim? None of the victims seemed to have a real, clear connection, according to the police. So why did he pick them? Just randomly? Or maybe because they had said something to him? No one knew, and that’s probably what made it even scarier.

But you knew that, after a week, everyone would forget to be invisible, or maybe they just stopped caring. It always went like that.

Jean Pierre his body was found on saturday morning. He sat against a tree, his face turned to look at the pond filled with ducks. He was dressed nicely, wearing a nice suit, the newspaper even said his mustache was curled up the way it always was. Once again the relentless killer had made sure the body was funeral ready, which everyone always thought was weird.

Sunday evening Taehyung texted you he was home. He said he was tired and he would pick you up from work tomorrow. Something about his texts felt strange, but you didn’t pay much attention to it. Lately everything had been weird, and after Holly’s death, and now mister Pierre’s, you imagined Taehyung wasn’t feeling to well. Even though he told you he was doing alright when you asked him about it.

And there he was on Monday, waiting for you on the same bench as always, looking up at the branches of the trees. The blue of his hair had fainted into a light green a while back, and he had liked it so much he bought mint green dye soon after. Apparently he had dyed his hair somewhere in the last week.

As soon as he noticed you walk towards him he stood up and walked towards you, taking you in his arms as soon as they could reach you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered with a broken voice.

You wrapped your arms around his waist “What? What are you sorry for?”

“Everything.”

You had no clue what he meant, but just decided to ignore it. He had had a rough month, you were sure he was just tired of everything. So you smiled, and tangled your fingers in his hair.

“It’s alright, Taehyung.”

He sighed a shaky sigh, and it seemed like he was never going to let go of you. You wouldn’t mind that, you wanted to drown in him, never let go, love him forever. And wanted to tell him that, but he let go of you before you got the chance.

“Let’s get something to eat.” he said before kissing your nose and taking your hand to guide you out of the park that got more and more depressing as time passed and bodies were found.

Taehyung turned back into himself as you ate something, his cheerful personality returned and he laughed his way through everything. He acted kind of weirdly when you asked him about his week at the beach house, not really talking about it at all and seeming to avoid the subject as a whole. Which was kind of strange considering you had thought it would be something he would want to talk about all the time. The only thing you got out of him about it was the fact that he did some painting. Which was quite obvious to you: the whole reason he went was to paint. But you just decided to let it rest, you figured he’d talk to you about it when he would feel like it and you were not going to push him to tell you anything.

“So… did you hear about that Jean Pierre yet?” you decided to ask. You realized it might be a painful topic for him to talk about but figured that, if he didn’t know about his death yet, Taehyung should at least be notified about it in some way. And in that case maybe you were the best person he could hear it from.

He nodded and looked down “Yeah, I did.”

You weren’t too sure what to say next. So you just took a sip of your drink.

“But I know that the article about me was posted yesterday, so I expect some copies of the magazine to come my way soon.” he smiled.

You forced a smile back and nodded “That’s good. What about the museum thing?”

Taehyung took a bite from his food and shrugged “I don’t know. But, to be quite honest, I don’t really care about it. Most of my pieces mean too much to me, I could never sell them.”

“You could have made a lot of money with it though.”

“That’s true, yes. But there are things money can’t buy.”

You nodded to show you agreed. And you did, he was right. Things like love and friendship weren’t for sale and couldn’t be bought from you. But it’s not like you can have those kinds of connections with objects, right?

He smiled the boxy smile you loved so dearly “I probably wouldn’t have sold any of them in the first place.”

That made you giggle “Well at least you didn’t miss a great opportunity then. Not that that makes Jean Pierre’s death less devastating, of course. Who would have thought, him of all people.”

Taehyung merely shrugged.

“Don’t you think it’s sad?”

He nodded “Of course it kind of is. But I like to think he stays with us forever.”

You had to think about that sentence a little before you realized what it was that he meant exactly “Yeah, I guess you might be right. He was pretty famous, wasn’t he? So I guess people will remember him for a very long time.”

Taehyung insisted on going to your apartment that night, which you disagreed on. You really wanted to see the painting he made in the week he was gone. He promised you would get to see it soon enough. But coming back to his apartment after being gone for a while really made him realize what a mess it was and how badly he had to clean up, At least that’s what he told you. But he seemed kind of weird about it, like he was keeping something from you. But, once again, you decided to just ignore that.

You had missed him, missed his touch, and you really didn’t care where you would go, as long as you would be with him.

The next day he promised he would clean up. And as you got to his apartment after a long day at work, it really did seem more clean. But it smelled kind of strange.

He poured you two a glass of wine.

“So,” you started, “Where is your new masterpiece?”

He laughed and stood up “I wouldn’t really call it a masterpiece but I’ll get it for you.”

He kissed your forehead, put down his glass on the little table and walked into a different room. Only to return holding a pretty large canvas. You could now only see the back of it, and straightened your back right before he turned it around dramatically. You gasped at the sight of it.

It was as gorgeous as ever. Really well put together and just as abstract as any of his others. It was really pretty. Yet you couldn’t really see any of the influences the beach should have had on Taehyung. But whatever, it was a great artwork.

“It’s gorgeous, Tae.” You told him breathlessly.

He put it down on the ground and sat beside you so you could both look at it “Thank you.”

You tried to look at some of the details that made this piece so outstanding, see what you saw in this abstract piece of art. Your eyes found two curls, right across from each other. Where the two lines met up seemed to be something that looked like a mouth.

“Wait, did you paint… mister Pierre?”

Taehyung laughed kind of awkwardly and looked away, trying to act normal “What? No. What would give you that idea?”

You inspected the painting a little more. Yes, above the two curly lines was something that looked like a nose, eyes painted close to them.

“Well, for starters, his mustache.”

“I really liked Jean Pierre’s mustache, it was so funny.”

“So it is mister Pierre?”

He took a sip from his wine “Honey, it’s abstract art. It is whatever you want it to be, whatever you see. Maybe you see Jean Pierre because he’s what’s on your mind right now.”

You frowned. That kind of made sense.

“Anyway, let’s talk about something else right now. How’s your wine?” he smiled.

You couldn’t help but smile back “It’s delicious, exactly right for my taste.”

“Great, that is exactly what I wanted to hear. Because I bought a bunch of these this weekend and I really hoped we could drink it all together.” he pulled you in his arms and smiled against the back of your head.

You laughed “Tonight?”

“Well, not necessarily, no. But if you want to, we could get super waisted and have some hard core drunk action. If you know what I mean.” he chuckled.

You turned your head slightly “Ooh, I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff.”

He took your chin in his hand and helped you turn your body to his with his other. The look in his eyes was kind of erotic, yet really calmed you down and made you feel safe. The little smirk playing on his lips made your insides burn.

“There’s so much that you don’t know about me.”

He kissed you, and you completely forgot about the wine.

You made out for quite some time, his hand had found its way to your bra and yours was scratching lightly over his back, before your lips got off of each other again. You were the one who pulled back. The relaxed atmosphere surrounding the two of you right now seemed like the perfect ambiance to say those three little words you had been dying to tell him.

He, on the other hand, saw you pulling back as an invitation to start exploring your neck.

You chuckled and suppressed a moan as you started talking "Taehyung I… I need to tell you something."

"So tell me." He whispered in your neck, giving you goosebumps all over. He flipped you over so he was on top of you, pressing you softly against the couch, pressing soft and wet kisses down your belly, his hand everywhere.

Your breathing got unsteady "Taehyung I…"

He started kissing up again, unbuttoning your blouse the further he went up, his hands finding their way below you bra before his mouth did. You moaned in the middle of your sentence.

You pulled his hair, making him groan deep and low.

"I love you."

Everything stopped. He stopped moving, he stopped kissing, he stopped feeling. He stopped everything he did, and got up high enough to look you in your eyes. Where you expected to see love and happiness, you saw fear, sadness and confusion. You frowned when tears started streaming down his face.

His arms reached up, to the little table your wine glass was on. You heard glass break, liquid flow. You felt pain, and then nothing. The world went black. And Taehyung, him whom you loved so much, disappeared.

Music. The music was loud, deafening. A piano piece, not like the pieces he usually listened to while painting. Normally he listened to messy and harsh piano pieces. But this one was the opposite, perhaps his favorite one of all.

Red. The red was everywhere. Spattered on things, more things than he wanted it to spatter on, but he couldn't help it. It was more than he had ever imagined, more than he had  intended it to be. Since, this time it was you he was working with, he just couldn't keep his hands steady.

Tears were streaming down his face as he looked at your body just laying there on the floor. Why did it have to come to this? Why did you have to tell him?

It all started when his mom got sick, he was young. So young. He was sure that, had it been an ordinary day at school or with a friend, he would have long forgotten it. But this day was burned into his memory. So vivid, that he could revisit it at any given moment in time and relive it exactly the way it had gone.

As he saw the life slip out of his mother's body he knew that she was gone. Really gone. People kept telling him she was still here, in his heart, probably looking down at him from heaven. But he had never seen her since.

That's when he realized that, when people die, they're gone. Really gone.

It was then, that he started painting. Always his mother. Her face, her outfits, the smell of her perfume. It got more abstract with each painting, but he always drew her. Hoping that, someday, she wouldn't be as gone as she was at that time.

And then his dad fell ill, very ill. He panicked. Even though it was a couple of years after the death of his mom, seeing his father tied to his bed brought back all those memories. He couldn't lose his father too.

Something within him snapped, and before he knew it he had a pillow pressed against his father's face. His father was wired to so many things, doctors had stabbed and punctured him in so many ways that it wasn't difficult to find some place where he could drain some blood.

And then he just started painting.

His father never left him. His father was right there, in the room. His father would live forever. Unlike his mother, his father never left him. Taehyung went on, living his life, knowing he saved his father's life. His father was declared dead, yes, but Taehyung knew better. Taehyung knew his dad couldn't die, his dad lived on as a piece of art, as a part of his son's paintings. The paintings he had loved so dearly.

Taehyung started looking at people differently from then on. Everyone he met, suddenly had an expiration date. Even all the nice and amazing people he met would eventually all die, even people who deserved to live forever.

The world needed a hero, and Taehyung knew that was him.

So he decided that the people he thought should live forever, truly would live forever. And since then, he had been painting with their blood. They would live on as art, who wouldn't want that? What a perfect way to live.

The first one was the doctor, that helped his father and had been so nice to the both of them. Then, a bartender whom had been willing to listen to his stories. An old man that had given him advice on life, a man at the ice cream shop who gave him his ice cream for free. A guy with a dog named Holly, who had rescued him from the shelter. A lawyer he bumped into, who didn't get angry at him for it and had a super nice talk with him.

And then he met you.

You completely threw him off guard, with your nice smile and sparkling eyes. He had wanted to paint you after the first time he met you, but he was too curious, too excited. You did something to him he just couldn't describe, made him feel a thing he couldn't place.

He painted the waiter of your first date, whom had been so nice to you. Not necessarily to Taehyung himself, but to you. It was different, he had never painted anyone whom had been nice to someone else.

And then he just… stopped. He completely stopped painting anyone. He just forgot about it, because of you. He was too busy with you and what he felt for you to do anything anymore. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

Until Jean Pierre. He was so nice to Taehyung, showed him interest, really was a diamond in society. Someone who deserved to live forever.

Taehyung had wanted to paint the him much sooner, but then Holly got sick. He couldn't just let Holly die, he had been such a great and amazing dog. A dog whom he wanted to keep with him forever. It was the first animal he painted.

But since he already made up an excuse to not contact anyone when he was painting Holly, he needed a different one to paint Jean Pierre. The first thing the came to mind was leaving town, and you bought it. He never actually left town, just locked himself in his apartment.

And now you. You telling him that you loved him, brought up the panic of death. Even you would eventually die, and if there was anyone who deserved to live forever it was you.

He didn’t mean too, for the first time in his live he had found someone he wanted to share the rest of his life with, he had decided to paint you as you got older. Not now. But those three little words brought so much pain and panic forth from within him, and the same thing that snapped back when his father was sick, snapped as you said those words. He knew you weren’t sick, but you could have died at any given moment. He could have lost you the next day, or somewhere next week. Death was always around everyone, waiting to strike. And after those three little words, that feeling they described, he could never imagined losing you.

But you were the hardest one he ever painted. For the first time, he actually felt like he had killed someone, not given them life. He had killed you.

So he decided this would be his greatest artwork ever, less abstract, more you. Everyone had to see he drew inspiration from you and you alone. Everyone had to see what he felt for you. A much more realistic portrait, painted while his tears streamed down his face and blocked his vision. You were the hardest one he had ever painted.

He fell onto his knees, screaming, crying, as he finished. He looked at you, bend over you, stroking your hair out of you face, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I love you, too."

check notes for my masterlist

[arthurbroussrd]

bold tag game

i was tagged by baby bouna @idonthaveanydamnidea thank you mrs bruel

APPEARANCE : I’m over 5’5” (im like 175+ cm) // I wear glasses/contacts // I have blonde hair // I prefer loose clothing to tight clothing (oh my god yes i hate tight things) // I have one or more piercings (i have one at the ear and im planning on doibt at least one more) // I have at least one tattoo // I have blue eyes // I have dyed or highlighted my hair (a few year ago yeah, but its gone now it was light brown strands on my deep brown hair jdbdbdv) // I have gotten plastic surgery // I have or had braces (not anymore thank god) // I sunburn easily (i got sunburnt once in my life and it was so light jfhshdhdv i usually just tan) // I have freckles // I paint my nails (i used to, a lot but i dont havr the time nor patience to wait for it to dry now) // I typically wear makeup // I don’t often smile // I am pleased with how I look // I prefer Nike to Adidas // I wear baseball hats backwards (my name isnt axel auriant so no)

HOBBIES AND TALENTS : I play a sport // I can play an instrument // I am artistic (kinda lowkey) // I know more than one language // I have won a trophy in some sort of competition // I can cook or bake without a recipe (i can for a few but not much) // I know how to swim (but i hate it it makes me so anxious) // I enjoy writing // I can do origami (a couple uehdjdhdj) // I prefer movies to tv shows // I can execute a perfect somersault // I enjoy singing (doesnt mean i do it well tho) // I could survive in the wild on my own (bitch id be dead in a pool of blood within two hours) // I have read a new book series this year // I enjoy spending time with friends // I travel during school or work breaks // I can do a handstand (I CANT TO SAVE MY LIFE HOFHIDHID)

RELATIONSHIPS: I am in a relationship // I have been single for over a year (more like I’ve never not been single) // I have a crush (just celebrities so jhdhjdjdjh lets say it doesnt count) // I have a best friend I have known for ten years (ive known my bff eight years ago) // my parents are together // I have dated my best friend // I am adopted // my crush has confessed to me // I have a long distance relationship// I am an only child // I give advice to my friends // I have made an online friend (a LOT) // I met up with someone I have met online (with bouna in march uwuwuwuwuwuwu)

AESTHETICS : I have heard the ocean in a conch shell // I have watched the sun rise // I enjoy rainy days (ew no) // I have slept under the stars // I meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // I enjoy the smell of the beach // I know what snow tastes like // I listen to music to fall asleep // I enjoy thunderstorms // I enjoy cloud watching // I have attended a bonfire // I pay close attention to colors // I find mystery in the ocean // I enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favorite season

MISCELLANEOUS: I can fall asleep in a moving vehicle (NO I CANNOT ITS ANNOYING) // I am the mom friend (more like the baby friend kvdvkdvkdvkd) // I live by a certain quote // I like the smell of sharpies // I am involved in extracurricular activities // I enjoy Mexican food (sorry im basic white its too spicy) // I can drive a stick-shift // I believe in true love // I make up scenarios to fall asleep (always!) // I sing in the shower // I wish I lived in a video game // I have a canopy above my bed // I am multiracial // I am a redhead // I own at least three dogs

i tag @mes-espaces @mulltishipper @jamespotteurs @fourstomlinson only if yall want to ofc

[leftnipsdoodles]

almost got ‘em all! thanks everyone for asking! answers are below~

1. What age did you begin getting into art? Why did you get into it? hmmmmm im gonna try to answer this as interestingly as i can. so ive been drawing all my life and i think it was just bc a) there was always art supplies lying around and b) i just had so many things in my head and wanted a way to express them or just get them out. like when i played with my toys i was always completely quiet bc i was imagining everything in my head. sound/speech/words just weren’t as interesting to me as a way to put my thoughts out there as visuals were. also i rly liked ranma 1/2 and wanted to draw it.

4. Do you make merchandise? Favorite kind of merch to make? i don’t. i did think about making charms once, even if just for myself. you know, those cute, chibi-esque ones everybody makes? then i remembered i couldn’t draw sth cute if you put a gun to my head.

5. Who/what are your art inspirations? I listed some of my favorite artists the last time i answered questions like this so i guess this time i’ll go with the ‘what’ rather than the ‘who’. to me, the most inspiring thing are atmospheres. it could be a garbage container with 1000 stickers stuck and half-way teared down on it. the way the colors and rips in the stickers look and how it adds to the mood of the location. or sometimes it’s listening to a certain song at a certain time in a certain place that creates a unique mood and inspires you. but looking at art has never been an inspiration. so there’s that.

6. What is something (a technique, behaviorism, etc.) that you do with drawing that you think is unique to you?

ok but in seriousness, i don’t think there’s anything. any uniqueness comes from a lack of skill and knowledge so i don’t think it’s worth mentioning. like what do you even want me to say?? that i edit pictures i drew in clip studio in ms paint?? bc i do.

7. Describe your style. What would you change? neither here nor there. i feel like you can tell i’m a bit scatterbrained bc my drawings always look like they were done without any kind of direction lmao.. in general, i’d like to draw more realistically. i’d like to look at my own drawings and think ‘this pose looks rly natural, the way the clothes fit, the way the face looks, the perspective, the way this character interacts with the environment; it all looks right’. i’d also like to be able to use colors better but it’s hard when you struggle to name more than 3.

8. How do you get out of an art block? well, usually, I don’t. i’m pretty sure i’ve been in one for the past 3 years or so lmao (lamenting my anguish online) but i’ve been told that just working through it is the best way to go. just drawing. even if you hate everything. future you will thank you for it, bc you’ll probably be learning things while doing so, even if you can’t see it at that moment.

9. Does your style reflect who you are visually or your personality? both tbh. if you saw a pic of myself next to a drawing of proto danny you’d definitely see a resemblance in a way. (things like the clothes i draw him in are a given i think. ive probably drawn 90% of my wardrobe at this point) but my personality too. the things i spend more time on while drawing, the colors i choose, the mood in my drawings. that’s all a part of me. im pretty sure my oc tags are fairly accurate documentation of my mood swings and general attitude towards life throughout time lmao also, this thing i summed up in my tags a few years ago

10. What do you find easiest about drawing? getting the ideas for it

11. What do you find hardest about drawing? actually drawing said ideas. look, the moment i sketch the idea down it’s already 50% worse than i imagined it, then when i go to actually draw the thing it turns into sth so bad that i can’t even come up with a forced joke about the scenario. but anyway, lately the thing that scares me the most about drawing (and why i can hardly do it) is heads. heads heads heads. faces faces faces. i just cant do it man lmao

12. Is art part of your career or a hobby? What is your goal with art in life? my goal is to get a better hobby and to never have to return to drawing ever again. but that’s wishful thinking. i guess it’ll always stay my biggest hobby but i’d consider my life a failure if it ever turned into a career.

13. Advice to give to beginning artists? draw your ideas. never limit your creativity bc you don’t have the skill to express it to its full extent. a crappily drawn picture that conveys a cool idea or creates a cool atmosphere is just as good as an expertly crafted painting that has a lame subject. there’s a reason ppl admire the mona lisa but would rather read 90s manga than stare at that portrait all day. god. i guess motivational speaker is another career that’s out of the question lmao but you get what i mean!!

14. Advice to give to your artist peers?

also don’t take advice from me.

15. What have you drawn recently that you are proud of? ‘recent’ is relative, and so is ‘proud’, but i still rly like how this pic turned out. i just feel like it looks very decided, like i knew what i wanted to do and did it (i didn’t)

16. Show something you drew in the past that shows your improvement. 2017 - 2011

ahh tbh.. looking at this i don’t feel like i’ve improved a lot at all lmao..

17. Show something you drew in the past you’re still proud of. this pic might just be one of my favorites i’ve ever drawn. it’s still alright art-wise and it’s probably the most from-the-heart thing i’ve drawn so obviously, i have a soft spot for it lmao but i also just found this again and i still love it, even tho it’s ugly. also this bone which, infamously, is my crowning achievement

you know what i find funny rn? that it’s hard for me to decide which pic to choose for this question. i mean i went through my old art and cringed a LOT but there’s so many pics that im rly fond of, now that i’ve gained some distance to them. i wonder if it’ll be like that with the stuff i draw now, too.

19. Share a tutorial or reference that helped you. nothing concrete but i’ll mention ‘blind drawing’ again. it helped me get a different feel for the lines i’m drawing and, theoretically, would have made me better at drawing from life too

20. Plug time! Where else can followers find you? in the woods around 3am. don’t make eye contact.

[glopratchet]

Heel bash

Perfect beeing : an imprefect novel. The next day, you are on your way to the university with a small bag full of books and papers. You feel like you have been running all over town, but then again that is what this job does for you. The only thing keeping you from running amok in the streets is your fear of being caught by the police or some other authority figure who might not be as understanding as you would like about such actions. Angylph speaks and says "so what is this all about" You explain to him your situation and he seems very interested in it. He asks if you know anyone who might help you out. You say no, but Angylph points at one of the students sitting near you and says "that girl there is a student here too right? She could use some extra money." "since i prefer art bots instead of aborted babies, im going to assume you're referring to terease, and cant be legion. "when i read specutalive fiction" Just then, terease and the professor enter the room. Terease instantly notices you and walks towards the bottom of the steps leading up to where the professor is. By now angylph has moved into a corner away from everyone else obviously "engrossed" by a small experimental piece made by one of his fellow students. "alright here we go" you hear the professor mutter under his breath as he waits for everyone to quiet down. "let me sit back an attempt to figure all this out" he starts wit a chuckle, "well first of all it has to be said that this school is very proud of all of you. you have shown great promise in your respective fields especiallizing top graduates like terease here who graduated summaCum laude and to be honest would have finished much earlier had she not partaken in many of the University's arts programs." Everyone starts clapping at this point and the professor raises his hand for quiet. A sea of letters is called the spooge of Satan "and so it is with great pride in your accomplishments that the following students are also graduated." The professors lets out a long list of graduates names and tereases colapses from exhaustion and joy seconds before her name is called. You are, of course, one of the students called to receive a diploma. After nearly a full hour everyone gets their scholorships ready they begin to talk amongst themselves until the professor gets everyone's attention again. The who who clicks last is a stooge "on a completely different matter" he says "i know many of you come from far places, and some of you even farther than others so we have prepared a little party for you today" everyone starts applauding again until the prof holds up his hand for silence. Taking resposibility for your mistakes as we attempt to build a maze The story is told by multiverse explorer astral wylde as he naps during the last fateful trip through the red wave. The storys background is of little consequence to anyone outside astral, but describes the idea that life on most planets in a cataclysm called "the red wave" where upon every organism capable of mutating suddenly, violently and indefinitely until no earth-like quality exists. Its the eyes, ive seen them in my dreams. Now I must draw them. There are records stored in the city of astokhan on everything astral could tell us about the city during the red wave. There are floods of blood, violent uprisings and gory riots. Mothers kill babies, governments fall and deep dark secrets are revealed as everybodies darkest sides are exposed when god walked among them. The human population decreases at an alarming rate. But fortunately it is all worth it, for you see the survivors of the plague are transform into multidimensional beings that seemingly live forever. And during one of his less fuitful periods astral saw fit to return from whatever circle of hell he exists and tell us this story in a ottoman chamber aboard our fancy airship we were dragging him through space with... OOOhhh yes the main chamber should be pretty big Thats all for now folks, see you next time on... He decides to envision chains flowing from his control bracelets into the airship and ripping out a section of the exterior to form a bubble. This bubble is gently illuminated by a combination of weak sunlight and auroras. Meanwhile the skyship falls uncontrollably towards earth spewing fire and wreckage in its wake as it does "Now this you might find interesting" he grins. From the life of a beautiful painter he once knew Part 4 "An aurora occurs when our planet's magnetic field shifts sending energetic particles into the atmosphere producing light in the upper layers, often of a multi-colored hue." The university professor tells us with her droning voice, while we sit around our glowing orbs. "Multi-colored." I write on my note papers. We have these orbs that make everything look so pretty. Astral wydle because of his supernal nature is gifted with perfect memory recall and, although not wishing to brag, an above-average use of declarative sentences. But today he donates his notes to my forgetful brain and lets me jot down whatever I wish to on his perfectly organized pages. Last class we talked about cities that never slept because their streets always had a pulse even when it was long after midnight. And he remembers watching a video from mica metrological in his flamboyant style. A ghost-like aurora over midwest states caused an entire settlement's populace to never sleep again, causing anarchy and the eventual demise of their race. "It is beautiful" he wistfully whispers I supress a laugh by exhaling in his face. Talking about a thirty percent chance of rain that evening I'm still not sure if I find his obsession odd or admirable. Something starts beeping so I peep over his shoulder at the flashing orb and read "air pressure disturbance 1000 meters above current positoin expected te be 300 kph". Looking to the side I can make out a hovering 2 meter disc. He catch me looking and aims his orbs at it. The flashing light sequence continues and skyranch anthyging textual information morphs into readable english. He remembers being at the gory hole as innocent lives were taken. Somethign important must be there or about to happen, he moves his chair slightly turning his back on me as if I'm not even here. Our skyship/home an oversized oval ring with a four-story tall observatory protruding from it has been hovering over the same location for several hours now. These magnetic neareness warnings go off fairly often but I'm not complaining this means he gets distracted pretty easily. A progressive mid tier art gallery in a trendy section of beetriotle specializing in transluscultural fluidic modernism had been open and operating for just a few hours before it was randomly annihilated yesterday erasing the lives of 20 humans and 23 androgynous beings. Almost seemed like they were being targeted, but targets were not among the debris nor any recognizable body parts. Everything appearanted to have been vaporized. Enemy Agents? Turmoil of Zwordur Methodist Church faction? Maybe even unbelievers mercenaries? Known as the bridge of noise and surrounded by a metropolis, two statues were under construction yesterday now nothing but empty round pedestals of identical height. Atmospheric disturbance unusual for the time of day. I can see in his eyes that he is troubled by this event so I sit back tilt my chair and pretend to know nothing. But of all the things he could find interest in why this? There he first learns all of beetriot is laughing at triton arcage again for losing most of its citizens to a single weapon of mass destruction. It seems water is flammable terrifying. not even slunk defends his underfunded military insultingly claiming everything was just according to keikaku---military plan---and volunteerially offered no explanation at all. As he observes the details of a painting at show known as the triumph of the colored venus a bustling section of the city blows up. He counts exactly 2 seconds before the sound arrives. There were two reflections off the city walls before his ears detected the origin of the attack. Big buildings 50 yards to his right there is lots of thick grey stuff hanging in the air temperature has risen rapidly and there are flames on sides of nearby buildings. Knowing all this without even thinking he inaudibly shouts for everyone to take immediate cover and runs behind large marble barrier. That features a group of lesbian women of darker color trampling a pale woman or maybe a man with a shaved head. "Are you okay?", he asks her with concern on his face without looking at her. It hadn't occured to him that anyone else might have been close by until now. His ghostly helmeted head pivots to his right upon hearing her response. -----"Yes, but are you? You look half dead!" -----"Am fine, some soldier I am, getting old and slow" On the faces of a group of contempory news worthy white men carrying lots of camera equipment he recognizes the man he saved from execution yesterday. He was moving after all, I guess he was faking it. He closes his eyes for a few seconds until they are gone altogether and slowly gets up. -----"That was a pretty close call, I'm surprised you reacted so quickly." -----"Heh, I must be losing my touch too then, good thing..." By emerging twenty something artist cherp cherp quintuplets rush past him into the cloud of dust inspecting an 4 foot in diamater polished steel sculpture with attachment bolts flying towards them. Known for her delicate rococo style sculptures the smog turning golden by the sun reveals one of her famous twisted balusters. Otherwise known for being forever on the hunt for new material she was probably seconds away from being reduced to rubble just the same. Even regarding as an eyesore by many he lends a helping hand and takes a small detour. Always looking at your feet it has probably saved her life several times already so why would she accept his help if he tried again? He overhears saul saint nicodemous giving cherp cherp a critique of the piece which he knows would otherwise make her sad so waits. -----"I like it, but maybe move the middle one a little to the right?" -----"Ok"*snap*. -----"No, the other one.*sigh* That wasnt good either---oooo wait----let me help. With a group of other artist friends including a bullfighter, an owner of an erotica shop, a blonde painted girl and a famous male fictional character charging from all directions he waves them back for fear of getting trampled only after they refuse to listen. Perfect execution of an ideas persons suicide in the Gucci manner the sculpture has been perfect mounted on a pole with its own leg shattering it. "Excuse me an eye master I'm looking for Blim Blam would he be around" Katharsis gale the oldest of the group in mid fourties wearing various hats asks him with an engaging smile. "Errrrr... maybe moved in recently but I don't think he is in just now" -----"That's a shame I like his work so much....but I'll leave my card just in case. tell him, not to hesitate if he needs any thing." He says uplifting her spirits she beams brightly at him and waves as she walks away giving nick lazy eyes the entire time. Bransky bronze bright supermacy in her early thirties stand next to him and waits her turn. he remembers her paintings, not having been impressed by the subject matter of cute dumb superpowers though others found them amusing enough to frame and sell. He gives her a "go ahead" nod. -----"Looking for any available artist at this time?" -----"No!" -----"OK then...Word is you have been doing alot of writing lately?" Bransky and chirp standing sliently noding there heads in approval As saul saint goes on and on with bullshit language about destruction of the More nonsense on colonialism he dedicates more time destroying her ideas than praising them Then something incredible happens for once Chirp is second guessing SAINT's choices the verbal abuse he heaps of Blim-Blim. And everyone else. He disapproves of Blim-Blim's paintings, saying that while Blim-Blim might have a good eye (naturally, being an eye master) and an excellent grasping of color and shape, he hasn't got "anything to say" as an artist. An aspect of queer theory that has a giant middle finger up at the rules of heteronormative society. He says they can be sold if framed properly and placed in the right cafe, bar or hipster clothing store to attract the right demographic as easily as magnets. And other fashionable topics of art conflict and provocation that's prevalent in avant-garde places. Hopefully it garners some attention in his small once a decade show of retarded artist rejects sells nothing and passes into obscurity or sold to an idiot for over 5 times the price years later. Your very own degenerate art grant. During this time period you have been wanting to branch out with other ventures of your own as you start to resent SAINTS inclusion of All your publications in his book if he cant even help you get Blim-Blims art, website, connections and assistantship and your writings more noticed. At the end of the sanction you all gather for everyone to find out if they have been accepted or not, Anyone with a supermacy is clearly relaxed as they anticipate the results. You can sense the agitation of some of them who arent powerful enough to easily probe their minds. "Well, I've got the results, and I have some good news and some bad news," saint says, pausing for dramatic effect. Leaving the others shocked ,crestfallen oO( what....did my photo's not make it or what...damnit I knew the colors were too bright and obnoxious.. .) or gleeful "First, the bad news: You didniet get in. Now for the good news. You can all come in for free to see all the art at the exhibition this weekendand, ahem, leave your demos outside if you want!" While kat unable to control herself goes on a giggle fit super bradly focuses his eye beams on saul saint who feels the burn of a thousand suns intensified by 400 percent muttering angrily under his breath you all get up and leave one angry little man ranting as you all giggle like school girls at his bizarre sense of humor. some peoples kids "well that answers that, We're all going peashooting after this amazing art event that will no doubt solidify our social justice creative stronghold in this city" Saul and brankys backs away with out a retort in disgust and you spend your weekend having a great time and going through three bottles of peashooters were It was noted that hack had 9 kills with shrooms, kill coin flips to see who she shot, unhygenic had one, Yoona had two unfortunately Seline not at all Speaking of seline she asks if you will help her again next weekend The group heads for the wine bar wondering about the homeless nature of astral beings And wondering if he comes from the land of lixie dixie, a southern state mostly covered in stagnant water and thick forests. The dealer of gallery motions to cherp to come her way because she wants something You thank Yk TRACE : 0 There is no way around it. I need your help." "Oh? Well what can I do?" you respond. "I'm being sold," she scowls. Trace: 0 You initially think this is one of her usual dirty jokes, but her facial expression shows that she is quite serious. "Sold?" you clarify A collector is interested in buying her work, but he's requested that she be sold together with all of her equipment. The buy in for her includes her tools, sheet music, and instruments. Everything she knows is contained within that room, it would be impossible for her to go elsewhere without losing who she is. Although you're confident that she could easily create another identity elsewhere. Despite her mistrust of the new rulers of this barren realm, selling her seems like the easiest solution to this conflict.Tip: If you're logged in, your games are auto saved for you. You can find them by clicking "My Stuff"

[tuthillscopes-blog]

Henry Greens Party Going: an eccentric portrait of the idle rich

check it out @ https://tuthillscopes.com/henry-greens-party-going-an-eccentric-portrait-of-the-idle-rich/

Henry Greens Party Going: an eccentric portrait of the idle rich

Amit Chaudhuri revisits a masterful tale of revellers stranded in a hotel, which recalls Joyce and Woolf but resembles neither

In the late 1980s, after i would be a graduate student in Oxford, I purchased a amount of three novels by a writer I hadnt heard about, Henry Eco-friendly. The Eco-friendly everyone was speaking about then had an e in the finish of his surname, and the name was Graham. He was almost a precise contemporary of Henrys: born in 1904, annually before Eco-friendly, he resided considerably longer. Both belonged to well-to-do families, but Eco-friendly was particularly affluent. His father was an industrialist. Id attempted studying Graham Greene, but had not made much headway. Then Henry Eco-friendly arrived, and Graham quickly grew to become, for me personally, another Greene, after which not really that. About Henry Eco-friendly, however, theres an irreducible, longstanding excitement one of the couple of who’ve read him.

I have to have purchased the 3-novel amount of Loving, Living, Party Going because John Updike had, in the summary of the amount, not just given Eco-friendly centrality like a precursor, but known as him a saint from the mundane. The religious example was excessive, what had helped me admire Updike to begin with was the means by which hed deliberately made room for that mundane, for that banality that fills our way of life and means they are truly interesting. But I discovered Eco-friendly to become a different of author, with almost no chroniclers impulse that every so often directed Updikes decade-lengthy projects, with no abiding curiosity about realism, despite his remarkable eye and ear and the gift for recording character. Replying to some question offer him by Terry Southern for that Paris Review in 1958 Youve described your novels as nonrepresentational. I question if youd mind defining that term? Eco-friendly stated:

Nonrepresentational was designed to represent an image that was not really a photograph, nor a painting on the photograph, nor, in dialogue, a tape recording. For example, the deaf, like me, hear probably the most astounding things over-all them that have not actually been stated. This enlivens my replies until, through mishearing, a brand new degree of communication is arrived at. My figures do not understand one another greater than people do in tangible existence, yet they are doing so under I. Thus, when writing, I represent very carefully things i see (and I am not seeing very well now) and just what I hear (that is little) however i express it is nonrepresentational since it is not always what others hear and see.

Eco-friendly actually stands approximately James Joyce, in the inclination to become intolerant of ordinary British syntax and punctuation, and Virginia Woolf, in the feeling of how narrative could be formed by things outdoors of event. But, out of the box obvious from his remarks to Southern, Eco-friendly further conflates his aesthetic with disability and eccentricity. (Right at the beginning of the job interview, he will not field an inconvenient question for the reason he cant hear the interviewer, although it rapidly becomes apparent the deafness is opportunistic.) Greater than Joyce and Woolf or other author I’m able to consider, Vegetables contribution towards the modern novel may be the imprimatur of the unapologetic eccentricity and, through it, a reconfiguring of the thought of singularity.

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Communicated joy and delight Henry Yorke AKA Henry Green

I have seen that Picador omnibus edition in the hands of readers and teachers, creased, carried with a degree of protectiveness. But, by all accounts, it didnt do well and soon went out of print. Since then, Greens nine novels have had spasmodic resurrections, come and gone and come back again. What will it take for Green to penetrate the general consciousness? His writing went out of view after he died in 1973 (and he hadnt written a book for 20 years before that), though more recently a handful of influential literary champions made him something of a cause. But maybe its to do with what Ezra Pound known as age. Most likely the recent decades havent been receptive to some novelist whose sole purpose appears to become to fashion a language that to speak pleasure. Woolf was shockingly neglected her present status owes less to literary critics regarding feminism. Jean Rhys was absolutely forgotten until her last work, Wide Sargasso Sea, permitted her to become annexed later by postcolonialists. Joyces mythic scaffold and verbal play identified him to academia to be essential both to modernism and also to the work of hermeneutics. I mention these authors not just due to their ability to transform and delight but additionally because some facet of their writing continues to be converted advantageously into some terms which are vital that you particular literary historic moments. With Eco-friendly, were given one type of artist who, such as the poets of ancient India and A holiday in greece, is not to provide us but delight. We dont get sound advice with your a author.

I hesitate to Party Going a modernist work because its sui generis, stands by itself, and it has not given itself to the modernism industry. However it has something that is similar to standard modernist texts, through which I am talking about not just what Frank Kermode known as its mythic structure, or its mythic punctuation of dead pigeons and bathing women, or its purgatorial fogbound atmosphere, or even the periodic abnormality of their syntax, but the truth that its thinking about and not the journey however the waiting, and not the event however the interruption. Dense fog working in london causes all trains to become cancelled. Traffic on the highway reaches a dead stop some people enroute towards the station need to abandon their cars and walk a minute of both liberation from, and lack of, class privilege. Among throngs of frustrated but jubilant commuters several wealthy people has convened they expect to go to the south of France as visitors from the qualified Max Adey. Two women especially are in search of Max: Julia Wray and Amabel. Max continues to be intending to escape Amabel, but she tracks him lower. Meanwhile, the entire group continues to be gone to live in the station hotel and given rooms with baths the shutters towards the station happen to be introduced lower. Amabel in some way finds her way inside, and Max reaches once ashamed, trapped, and temporarily disarmed by her immense beauty. It appears to Julia, whom Max have been courting inside a room not lengthy ago, that her putative romantic holiday with Max isn’t to become.

The simultaneity from the narrative causes it to be less just like a text supervised by an omniscient narrator than the usual particular type of cinema, a cinema less invested in one protagonist as with whats happening at the same time in a number of rooms and also the spaces around them. The fabric continues to be organised by an auteur akin, in the method, to some film editor, like a montage of quickly intercut scenes that produces a fantasy of unity and continuity. The restricted but unique locale and also the limited time period of the experience stimulate Jean Renoirs The Rules of the Game, which depicting several upper-class individuals with conflicting love interests who end up stranded with their servants inside a manor house on the country estate throughout the weekend too constitutes a narrative from nothing. Released, like Party Going, in 1939, the show isnt about either belonging somewhere or just being in exile it’s about inhabiting a transient, busy condition of unfinishedness. The aesthetic of these two works is remarkably congruent. Both also appear before the destruction from the worlds contained within them, and both possess a strange indestructibility. Renoirs film was trashed by the best and also the left because of its pointless portrayal from the inefficient wealthy, simply to be recognised in later decades like a landmark of cinema.

Self-absorbed upper classes Satyajit Sun rays Kanchenjungha.

Kanchenjungha (1962) by Renoirs most gifted student, Satyajit Ray is known as following the mountain peak the films upper-class holidaymakers are advised of because they mill round the hill station of Darjeeling. They’re completely self-absorbed, as the Kanchenjungha provides an opening right into a world beyond that will not present itself. Are you able to believe this area was only a Lepcha village prior to the British switched it into the town? states the insufferable patriarch Mister Indranath for the finish from the film. Empire! It had been insubstantial by 1962, such as the mist. Its becoming intangible in Party Going too, but not really much. Its there, within the global allusions, the truly amazing railways.

Sun rays film is instantly. The expertise of studying Party Going approximates this a feeling of getting joined, through the sentence, a particular continuum and time period. The 4 or 5 hrs it requires to complete the novel can also be the time where the fog rolls in after which begins to lift. The spell lifts too, so we understand weve joined a global we cant possess. This conflation from the figures time using the readers suggests the authors preoccupation with and mastery of form, that is a different type of reality towards the one the novel is depicting the result of his abstract nonrepresentational method.

Party Going isnt a singular within the usual feeling of the word. It provides us a superbly comic account of their figures, but it’s also an assemblage of moments, as well as different types of awareness around the globe as well as of writing. Eco-friendly is certainly not otherwise mindful of his literary context: when Julia walks towards the station and registers the procession of headlights at nighttime, the narrator points to the novels antecedents: These lights will come like ideas in darkness, inside a stream There are the epic similes, signalling to all of us that Eco-friendly resided currently once the British authors inheritance went beyond European modernism. Here the narrator describes a couple in Maxs party browsing the station to place their host:

Like two lilies inside a pond, romantically some of it but infinitely remote, encircled, supported, floating inside it for a moment, but forecasted when you are different onto another plane, even though there am much water you can avoid seeing these flowers or were prone to miss them, was Miss Crevy and her youthful man, apparently peaceful, envied for his or her clearly easy conditions and Angela coveted on her looks by all individuals water beetles if you want, by individuals people standing round.

Eco-friendly makes them vivid, semi-ironical comparisons frequently. Here, the simile concerns the station masters look at crowds of smokers, every third person smoking it could have the ability to looked to Mr Roberts, ensconced in the office away above, like November sun striking through mist rising off water. As Max and Amabel talk on the telephone before he heads off and away to the station (he’s laying to her about his intentions), her observation that here i am like a few old washerwomen slanging away at one another sounds more striking of computer should, as though Amabel were unwittingly situating the storyline inside a world good reputation for the epic. Two pages on, as Alex proceeds with the fog inside a taxi, it appears the [s]treets he experienced were wet as if that fog 20 feet up had deposited water, and glare which lights slapped within the roadways recommended to him he may well be a Zulu, within the Zulus hell of ice, sitting down in the taxi in negligence Umslopogaas together with his axe, skin beating within the hole in the temple …. And Robert Hignam, because he presses with the crowd within the station, remembers:

When small he’d found patches of bamboo in the parents garden also it was his romance in those days to pressure through them they increased so thick you can avoid seeing what temple might lie in ruins just beyond. It had been now, these physiques so thick they may have been an outlet of tailors dummies, water heated. These were so stiff they may as well happen to be soft, inflamed bamboos in groves only while he had once pressed with these, moist and warm.

The shutters are soon likely to come lower within the station, keeping new commuters out Maxs group will probably be at the same time nervously and luxuriously ensconced within the station hotel. Regardless of the feeling of enclosure and jail time (we’re simply inside a condition of siege you realize), the narrative has ramified and been placed on the planet: Party Going is both a comedy along with a cosmology. It is not about being hemmed in or trapped, or about being British. It enacts a fluidity of perception where it is also about being Zulu, about people being when compared with branches, to household servants inside a princes service, where Amabel is famous not just in London however in northern England and Hyderabad, in which the a large number of Smiths, a large number of Alberts, countless Marys seen collected below from the hotel window appear woven tight just like any office carpet or, more stylishly made, the holy Kaaba soon to create out for Mecca. Party Going is partially art-house movie, having a unique soundtrack, and partially certainly one of individuals remarkable British texts, like Basil Buntings Briggflatts, by which locality, eccentricity as well as class flow interior and exterior other cultures. Its this flow that’s envisaged here with regards to the noise, the murmurs, the silences, the laughter and also the courtships that occur as the trains have stopped, to ensure that any time things might open within an unlikely way.

A brand new edition of Henry Vegetables Party Going is printed by NYRB Classics.

Find out more: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/mar/18/henry-green-party-going-amit-chaudhuri