#exhibit in physical galleries
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keymintt · 7 months ago
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CONGRATULATIONS!!!! You got the mural job, that's amazing news =D
THANK YOU!!! i've haven't quite done anythin like this before BUT i have enough experience from other projects to where it's not a super super daunting thing. like yeah it's Big and that'll have it's challenges but i'm excited !! :>
i don't know if i can show my proposal sketch off else i'd put it here but i will certainly show the finished mural off here once it's done >:3
#asks#clubsheartsspades#it also helps that i will be paid. several thousand dollars for this job. now part of that is to cover supplies bc it's. FUcking Big but#definitely the biggest job i have had so far size and paycheck wise dhglkdhfgl#i wouldn't call it weird exactly but i'm at an interesting place in my career as an artist bc i feel as if i should have found a specialty#by now. and by no means is it a bad thing that i haven't bc i love working on a huge variety of projects and i learn a lot from all of them#but for me it's like#i'm a freelance illustrator. i'm an art teacher. i do public art. i run an online shop. i do comics in my free time. every now and again i#exhibit in physical galleries#i do digital art but i'm also a traditional artist#'mintt why are you like this' i'm insane and i don't realize it until i write out everything i do like. oh. huh.#i don't mind doing any and all of that it's fun and there is an inherent cohesion to my work regardless bc i made it#but a lot of the artists i follow. especially the handful of professional artists i know irl do like. one or two of those things bc that's#their specialty. and idk if i have that career specialty yet. i Certainly have my specialties irt subjects#i think there's something to be said though about me seeking out more local opportunities than anything bc i don't feel like i quite have#the portfolio yet to be really noticed when applying for Big Things out of state and whatnot#at least with my more traditional work digital stuff is different#i am thoroughly rambling now sdhgklhflg
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dvktheartist · 2 years ago
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Real thoughts exhibition in Rome at @mecenatefineart starts today at 5pm - in sequence with that we are running a Twitter space - with all the artists and discussing the exhibition, and the artists telling stories about themselves and their work. Join us 5pm CET: https://twitter.com/DVKtheartist/status/1650877340820307975?s=20
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punkshort · 3 months ago
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Swept Away | Chapter 6: Undertow
Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader
Chapter Summary: Joel does his best to distance himself after that morning on the yacht, but you finally have enough of his games after attending an art gallery exhibition.
Chapter Warnings: language, slow burn, sugar daddy/baby vibes, food and alcohol consumption, jealousy, sexual tension, flirting, threat of physical violence, good ol' fashioned argument where reader demands some goddamn answers, fingering
A/N: thank you @txtattoostark for beta-ing ❤️ And Happy Birthday @pedropascalsbbg 🎂
WC: 8.7K
Series Masterlist
You weren't going to beg. At least, that's what you told yourself over and over whenever Joel grazed a hand over your back at dinner or you caught him staring at you in your bikini just a little too long.
It had been five excruciating days since the yacht. Five days since that morning you shamelessly fucked yourself on his lap. And five days since you had found another envelope of cash on your pillow after you took a shower. You had stared at it, stomach churning with shame before you tossed it in your bag with the other unopened envelope. You had held out hope that the morning on the yacht would finally tear down his walls and he would let you in, but the cash on your pillow told you that you were wrong.
Ain't part of the deal.
Was that all this was? Were you too naive to think there was something more developing between you?
More than once that week you laid in your bed and wondered how he managed to get you all twisted around so fast. You don't let people steamroll you and you know your worth. That was his assessment of you when you first met, and he was right. That first day in his office you could hardly stand his overly confident and pompous attitude. You stood up for yourself and had a fucking spine. So where did that girl go?
Why don't you hear my terms first and then decide how much your dignity is worth?
How much was your dignity worth now? You rolled onto your side and pulled your knees to your chest, your stomach suddenly feeling queasy. You've never, ever acted this way over a man before. Was it because he kept rejecting you? Were you really that vain? No, that wasn't you. It was something more. You liked him... or, at least, you liked the parts of him he allowed you to see.
And, you don't quit. You're determined.
You breathed out a heavy sigh and rolled out of bed, giving up on the idea of sleep. You had plans to get lunch with Zoe that afternoon but until then, you had nothing but time to kill. Joel had thrown himself back into work the minute you came back from the yacht, so he spent most of his time doing that or he joined Glenn and the others to golf or play cards in the afternoons. He rarely came up for air. If he joined you by the pool, he stayed in the lounge chair, no matter how warm it was, but you could feel his eyes on you when your back was turned. You knew deep down this attraction wasn't one sided, but his resistance was driving you insane.
It was early. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting the living room in a dark blue hue. You sat with your legs tucked under you on the couch, your robe pulled tight over your sleepwear with a cup of coffee clutched between both hands, watching as the sun began to rise over the ocean.
Stop feeling bad for yourself. You're in fucking paradise.
"Oh, you're up."
"Jesus!"
You swiveled around in surprise when you saw Joel standing between the kitchen and living room, panting and covered with sweat. Your eyes swooped down before you could stop them to take in his drenched shirt and athletic shorts before looking him in the eye.
"I didn't even know you were gone," you said while trying your best to ignore the very physical reaction you were having to a post-workout Joel.
"Got an early start," he said before reaching into the fridge for a water. You turned back towards the windows to continue watching the sunrise because if you didn't, your brain was going to short circuit.
It was silent for a few minutes and you had assumed Joel had went to his room to shower, but suddenly he spoke up directly behind you. "Any plans for today?"
You took a sip of coffee so you could resist turning around to gaze at him with big fuck-me eyes. "Just lunch with Zoe."
He hummed while he chugged his water. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up from his proximity, but you remained firm and refused to turn around.
"Meant to tell you last night - Glenn invited the group of us to his daughter's art gallery. She's the curator there," Joel rounded the couch and sat down next to you with a grunt, causing you to tug your legs closer. "She's got some exhibition show all weekend, supposed to be a real big deal for her. Told 'em we'd go and show our support."
You nodded and took another sip from your coffee, eyes still glued to the ocean.
"Alright."
He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed you a credit card. "Why don't you go shoppin' with Zoe and get yourself a dress?"
You finally tore your eyes away to look at the heavy, black card dangling from his fingers.
"I think your assistant already bought plenty of options."
"So what's one more?" he asked with a little grin. He tilted his head to the side and caught your eye before saying, "I want you to pick somethin' out. Not my assistant. Want you to get somethin' you like."
The gesture was weak, but it was there, so you slowly took the card and slid it into the pocket of your robe. "Okay. Thank you."
"You're welcome, darlin'," he said breezily before standing up to head towards his room. Only then did you allow your eyes to slide appreciatively down his back, your gaze lingering until he disappeared down the hall. You set your coffee mug down on the table before pulling the heavy credit card from your pocket to examine it. He infuriated you with how easily he was able to disregard what happened while you had spent almost every waking moment for the past week obsessing over it. Then a slow smile spread across your face as you tucked the credit card away for safe keeping.
If he wanted to play games, you could play right back.
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"Holy fuck, girl," Zoe gasped when you stepped out from behind the curtain of the fitting room. She was holding a glass of champagne daintily between her fingers, her long legs crossed over one another as she perched on the edge of a pure white sofa. "That's the one. You have to get it. Joel's gonna lose his shit."
You grinned and turned towards the three panel mirror in front of a small platform. Stepping up, you swished the red satin material back and forth, admiring the way it hugged your curves but the eye was particularly drawn to the long slit up your left leg, ending mere inches away from your hip.
"You think so? You don't think it's a little much for an art gallery?"
Zoe shook her head and stood to join you in the mirror. "No, it's absolutely stunning. It was fucking made for you."
You couldn't stop smiling as you fiddled with the off the shoulder sleeves. "Alright, fine," you conceded as Zoe giddily clapped her hands.
After you carefully stepped out of the dress and handed it to a sales clerk, you put your own clothes back on and made your way through the store to the register when something else caught your eye.
You picked up a matching red silk thong with black lace embroidery, feeling the smooth material between your fingers.
"No brainer," Zoe said before you even questioned if you should get it. You giggled and tried your best to ignore the absurd price tag and brought it to the counter with you. You handed over Joel's credit card while the sales clerk carefully wrapped up both items in what you thought should be solid fucking gold given the price of everything in the store, then you were both on your way back to the hotel.
"Good use of an afternoon, if I do say so myself," Zoe said with an easy laugh. You had to agree, although for a different reason. For the first time all week, you felt like yourself again. The shame and the embarrassment didn't have room in your head while Zoe kept you entertained over lunch. You thought when it came time to shop for a dress with Joel's money, those feelings would come rushing back, but no. You felt confident and sexy and if Joel's reaction to your new acquisitions was half of Zoe's, you would finally have the upper hand.
By the time you arrived back to your room, you were feeling worlds better. You quietly shut the door behind you in case Joel was on a call and kicked off your strappy sandals before making your way into the living space. Joel turned around from the dining table to glance your way once before turning back to his laptop.
"Have fun?"
"Mhmm, thank you," you told him, sliding his card across the table. His eyes flickered from the card to your face to the wardrobe bag and small box in your hand.
"Found somethin' you liked?"
You grinned and nodded vigorously. "Very much."
Joel could pick up on your improved mood almost instantly and a wave of relief washed over him. He kept fucking things up with you, but that was no surprise. What was a surprise was how bad he felt when it became apparent you were hurt by something he did or said. He convinced himself it was all for the best, anyway. The more he pushed you away, the easier it would be.
"That's great," he said, eyes trailing after you as you walked towards your room. "Goin' to meet Glenn and the others for golf in a bit." He fucking hated golf, but he sucked it up to rub the right elbows. "You gonna be alright on your own for dinner?"
You glanced over your shoulder and nodded. "I think I'm just going to sit out by the pool and call it an early night. Didn't sleep too well."
You disappeared inside your bedroom and he focused back on his work. You must have went outside because it was so quiet, he became so engrossed in work that he nearly lost track of time. When the calendar reminder popped up on his phone, he quickly shut down his laptop and stood, gathering his things so he could run and get changed, but he only made it one step away from the table before he froze.
He swallowed thickly when he saw you sunbathing, which wasn't out of the ordinary but this time you had chosen to remove your bikini top completely, leaving it discarded in a pathetic little pile next to your chair. You were face down so he couldn't see anything except your perfect ass covered by a deep purple, barely there swimsuit bottom, but it was enough to send a rush of blood between his legs.
He had been doing so good. He forced himself into staying busy, staying away from you, because otherwise he knew it wouldn't take much to tear down what little defenses he had left, especially after that morning on the yacht. And now here you were, practically laid out on a silver platter for him once again while he fought with his inner demons.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, he began to move slowly down the hallway, the destination his bedroom but his eyes remained glued to the window at the end of the hall. He was within arms length of his room. If only he had moved just a hair faster because then he wouldn't have seen you sit up to get a drink of water. He wouldn't have seen the towel you had been laying on get stuck on the arm of the lounge chair. And he wouldn't have caught a quick but very revealing eye full of your bare chest.
"Shit," he whispered to himself as he continued to stare, feeling like a creep but still unable to move. You had quickly covered back up, unaware he had seen a thing as he stood cemented to the ground outside his bedroom, his cock uncomfortably hard. So hard that it made his stomach hurt.
He should have fucked you when he had the chance.
No, that would be wrong. You had no idea the type of man he was, and you deserved far better than him.
But maybe you would like him anyway.
He shook his head, muttering no under his breath as he tore his eyes away from you and slipped inside his bedroom.
He wouldn't fall for it. Not again.
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"Glenn's daughter's name is Rose," Joel had told you in the car. He was forcing himself to stare out the window instead of your exposed leg in that slinky fucking dress that made him lightheaded the moment he first saw you in it. "His youngest. It's her first big exhibition as a curator. Supposed to be mostly abstract art from a local artist that's growin' a large following online."
You hadn't been to an art gallery since you were in high school. Art was never really an interest of yours and it was a topic you knew very little about, so you prayed nobody would try to test your knowledge at any point during the night.
When you first stepped into the modernist building, you had to take a moment to absorb your surroundings in awe.
The floor was a shiny, dark hardwood that contrasted nicely with the off white walls which held stunning paintings around the entire room. There was the occasional piece of furniture, a couple of chairs or a table, but the room was designed mostly with space for movement in mind.
The room itself appeared to have three or four partially closed off smaller rooms, most likely created that way so the artist could break up different sections of their collection. And most of the lighting came from the small spotlights hung directly above each wall so it allowed guests to view the works of art in the best possible light.
"This place is beautiful," you whispered so only Joel could hear. He had his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hardly giving his surroundings a second glance when he had you looking like a piece of art right next to him.
"Hey, Miller," a deep voice said from behind, startling you both. Turning around, you tried to keep your face from falling when you were greeted by Scott and Tammy. Scott stretched out his arm and Joel reluctantly removed his grasp on you to shake his hand.
"Some place, huh?" Scott remarked, glancing around at the art while you and Tammy tried to avoid looking at one another.
"Yeah, seems like a really talented artist," Joel replied. Scott shrugged and made a face just as a young woman in her early twenties walked slowly past, all alone, and stopped in front of a blue and pink painting.
"Abstract ain't really my thing," he said, "I'll have to take your word for it." You frowned and looked around incredulously.
"Are you kidding?" you asked without even thinking. All three looked at you in surprise and the young woman nearby tilted her head to listen.
"What do you mean?" Tammy asked with an air of fake politeness.
"What I mean is this artist is extremely talented," you said, sweeping your arm out to your side to gesture to a wall of paintings. "Look at the way they used complimentary colors in each piece. Look at the texture. I don't know much about abstract art, either, but if you can't feel something when you look at these paintings, you probably should check your pulse."
The young woman smirked to herself and walked away while Scott and Tammy stared at you in surprise. The corner of Joel's mouth twitched and he ducked his chin into his chest.
"N-no, you're right," Scott stammered guiltily, taking another look around the room. "It's always good to broaden your horizons and try to find enjoyment in things you don't expect. Right, Tam?"
You smiled sweetly at them both as you felt Joel's hand slink around your waist again.
"Yes," Tammy hissed through her teeth. "Of course, you're right. Why don't we go admire the paintings that look like someone kicked a few cans of color over the canvas and called it a day?"
Scott's ears turned a little red and excused them both. While they walked away, you caught them angrily whispering to each other and you turned to smirk at Joel.
"Sorry," you told him. He just shook his head and steered you in the opposite direction.
"No, you ain't."
You giggled. "Yeah, you're right."
Then much to your surprise, he leaned over to kiss the top of your head. Before you had a chance to react, you were greeted by Glenn and Mary.
"Oh, there you are!" Mary exclaimed before wrapping her fingers around the shoulders of a beautiful blonde girl who appeared to be in her mid twenties. Her hair was brushed back into a neat, professional bun and she wore a white blouse with flowing sleeves and well fitting black slacks.
"This is our daughter, Rose," Mary beamed. You both eagerly shook her hand and introduced yourselves before you added, "This is such a lovely gallery, thank you for having us."
"Pleasure's all mine," she said with a wide grin. "Truthfully I was terrified only five people would show up."
You laughed and glanced quickly around the packed room. "Looks like it's a little more than five."
"And I'm so grateful," Rose said sincerely. "The artist is so talented that I would have felt horrible if we had a poor showing."
"Where is the artist, anyway?" Glenn asked.
"They have an anonymous persona, it's how they prefer it. Even online, no one knows their real name or what they look like. Took a while before they even trusted me enough to meet face to face," Rose explained with a smile and shrug. "Genius tends to bring along little quirks."
Shortly thereafter, someone else stole Rose's attention and with a quick wave to Glenn and Mary, Joel led you away to look at the art a little closer.
"So, what'dya think so far?" Joel asked, plucking two glasses of champagne from a serving tray before joining you in front of a pink and blue painting that caught your eye earlier. You thanked him softly for the drink and continued to stare at the painting.
"I'll be honest, I thought I would hate it but I think I'm in love," you joked. Joel chuckled and gestured to the painting with his glass.
"You like this one?"
You nodded and took a sip of champagne. "It reminds me of something," you said, tilting your head to the side, studying each stroke of blues, pinks and bits of white throughout the canvas. "I find it so peaceful to look at."
He nodded in agreement and inched a little closer to your side. "So it makes you feel somethin'."
You flushed and averted your eyes. "I hope that didn't embarrass you."
Joel shook his head. "'Course not. I liked it. I like when you stand your ground and speak your mind."
"Careful what you wish for," you chuckled. He grinned and let his eyes roam up and down your body for a moment before blowing a disbelieving puff of air past his lips and shaking his head.
"Did I tell you how beautiful you look?"
Butterflies erupted in your stomach and you wanted to kick yourself for being so weak for him.
"Thank you," you breathed, watching as his eyes continued to devour you. "I picked it out for you," you added a little nervously. His eyebrows shot up and you held your breath as he leaned in a little closer.
"That right?" he murmured, knuckles dragging gently down your arm and sending a shiver down your spine. "Thought 'bout me when you were tryin' on dresses? Wondered what I would like the most?"
"Mhmm," you hummed, eyelids growing heavy as you fell under his spell with ease. "And I got something else, too," you whispered, knowing full well you were pushing it, but you couldn't resist.
It took him a moment, but he figured out what you meant. You could see it in his eyes when they flickered down to your waist and then back up. They turned a shade darker and his jaw tensed, like he was physically trying to restrain himself.
"Careful," he warned lowly. The way he said it made you wonder if he was talking to you or himself.
"Or what?" you teased, cocking your head to the side playfully. He maintained his intense stare for another moment before dragging his gaze away and clearing his throat. His eyes found the painting again and he jutted his chin towards it.
"You really like it that much?"
You blinked, trying to keep up with the quick change in tone. At this point, you weren't sure why you were surprised anymore. Turning back to look at it, you nodded.
"Alright, then," Joel said firmly. "Excuse me."
You swiveled around and watched him weave his way through the crowd, making a beeline for Glenn, Mary, and Rose. You had to stifle your laugh when you realized what he was doing, but then you made eye contact with a set of dark brown, almost black eyes next to Rose and the smile slid right off your face.
Of course Brooks would be there. Why didn't you think of that sooner?
When you spun back around to give the painting one last look, you were surprised to find a young woman standing next to you admiring the painting, as well.
"Sorry," she said sheepishly, then tucked a loose piece of brown hair behind her ear. The rest of her hair was pulled into a messy bun and she wore a midnight black suit with a matching tie.
"No need, I wasn't paying attention," you said sweetly. The pair of you stood in silence for a few minutes while the laughter and clinking glasses from the other guests occupied the air.
"Isn't this piece beautiful?" you asked her, trying to strike up a conversation. She grinned and shrugged.
"What do you find beautiful about it?"
You looked back at the painting, letting your gaze slide over the differing shades of blues, pinks, and whites.
"It's calming," you said. "I feel like I've seen it before but I can't pinpoint where."
The young woman nodded, urging you to continue.
You studied it a moment longer and then let out a dry chuckle. "You know, I'm gonna sound crazy, but there are these pink seashells in the ocean. My fiancé picked some up for me when we were swimming last week. It reminds me of the way they looked through the water, like the pink all distorted with the blue."
"That's exactly right."
You turned to her in surprise. "W-what do you mean?"
She stuck out her hand and you could see the beginnings of a tattoo running up her sleeve. "I'm Ellie. The artist."
"Oh, my god!" you practically exclaimed, covering your mouth before remembering your manners and shaking her hand, giving her your name. "You are incredibly talented," you told her, "and I swear I'm not just saying that."
"I know," she said, releasing your hand and shoving it back into her pants pocket. "I heard you defending me to that asshole and that overly botoxed wife of his. Thank you, by the way."
You laughed and shook your head in disbelief. "You're so welcome." You looked back at the painting as you tried to calm your racing thoughts. "So the seashells on the ocean floor inspired this?"
"Yep," she said, rocking back and forth on her heels. "That one over there's palm trees in a tropical storm. The one next to it is all the different colored beach umbrellas at a resort. And the one all the way in the corner is -"
"Wait, let me guess."
Ellie smiled. "Okay."
You studied it for a minute, tapping your finger against you chin, deep in thought.
"Oh!" you said excitedly. "All the hibiscus flowers along the highway!"
She nodded with a look that told you she was impressed.
"How'd you tell?"
"We drove by them on our first day. You used greys at the bottom and bits of green in between, representing the bushes, right?"
"You got it," she said with a laugh.
"Wow," you breathed as you looked around at her paintings in a completely different light. "I know I sound like a broken record, but you're so talented. You truly have a gift."
"Thanks," Ellie said shyly. "I don't do good in crowds though, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone who I am."
"Promise," you said, giving her your pinky finger. She grinned and looped her finger around yours with a firm shake, and then her phone chimed in her pocket. She let you go and pulled it out, her expression unreadable.
"This painting just sold," she said softly, eyes slowly widening. "Shit, I'm sorry. I would've-"
"It's alright," you told her, glancing over your shoulder, but you couldn't spot Joel anywhere. "I think I know who bought it."
Ellie breathed a sigh of relief and put her phone away. "The fiancé?"
You nodded. "I should probably go thank him."
"Thank him for me, too," she joked. "It was great meeting you."
"Likewise," you said, giving her hand one more shake. "Good luck with the rest of the evening."
You weaved your way through the crowd, heading towards the back of the building where you last saw Joel. On your way, you caught Zoe's eye from across the room and waved, laughing when she fanned herself and gave you an exaggerated once over.
"Hi, honey," Glenn said when he spotted you walking by.
"Hi... have you seen Joel?" you asked, then Brooks piped up with an sinister smile.
"Think he went towards the bathrooms with Scott's wife," he told you, pretending to search his brain while his foot tapped restlessly against the wooden floor. Then he snapped his fingers as if struck with a great idea. "Tammy! That's her name, right?"
Your blood felt like fire in your veins and it must have shown because Brooks grinned and shot you a wink before you hurried off towards the back of the room.
The bathrooms were down a long hallway and around the bend. You walked as fast as you could without the sound of your heels causing someone to think you were running. As you approached the turn, you heard Joel's voice before you got a chance to see him. You couldn't hear what he said over your own heavy breathing, but his tone sounded surprised.
When you turned the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks, unable to believe your eyes.
There, right in front of the men's bathroom, was Tammy. She was pressing her lips against Joel's with her long, fake fingernails raking through his hair. You were too stunned and just barely had a moment to process the shocked look on Joel's face, one where his eyes didn't even close and his brows furrowed in anger before he pushed her back and wiped his mouth with his hand.
Before he had a chance to say anything, someone shouted down the corridor, causing them both to swivel in your direction. It wasn't until you had almost closed in on them that you realized you were the one shouting.
"You fucking bitch!" you yelled, lunging forward, completely fueled by white hot rage. Joel's arms wrapped around you before you could hit her like you intended, but you did manage to get your fingers around a good chunk of her hair. She yelped and clawed at your wrist, begging you to let go, but you ignored her pleas. Instead, you shook her head back and forth like a dog and it wasn't until her hair-do was almost completely destroyed that you finally let go, but not before angrily kicking in her direction while Joel hauled you away.
"You fucking psycho!" she screeched, frantically trying to tame her hair as she stumbled against the wall. "Nothing even happened!"
"Stay away from my fucking fiancé or so help me, I'll undo a decade of plastic surgery in ten minutes," you sneered.
"Relax!" Joel told you sternly. He turned his attention to Tammy, who was catching her breath and looked like a dissolved mess. "Get outta here," he snapped, and just like that, she scurried into the women's room to try to fix her hair.
He released his grip around you and you immediately turned on him.
"What the fuck?" you seethed, jabbing a shaky finger into his chest. He held up his palms and shook his head.
"You saw it, I didn't kiss her back, I need you calm the fuck down right now."
You dragged in a deep, ragged breath but you were still driven by unbridled anger.
"You told me this was over," you said through clenched teeth. Joel grabbed your wrists but you shook him off and stepped back. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand propped on his hip.
"It is," he said calmly. "She was waitin' for me and - y'know what? I don't gotta explain anythin' to you," he glanced up and down the hallway before dropping his voice and towering over you, anger now radiating off him. "Do I gotta remind you this ain't real?"
Tears sprung up in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. "I don't care. Anyone could have come down this hallway and seen you, and then what? Huh? What if it was Glenn? What if it was fucking Scott?"
He knew you were right, but he just silently glared down at you, each of you breathing heavily as the adrenaline began to wear off.
"I'm leaving," you told him, gathering up your dress and straightening it out. "I'm so sick and tired of your fucking head games and I won't stay here and let you embarrass me any longer."
Something in his expression changed but you didn't linger long enough to find out what it was. You bunched up the skirt of your dress and quickly walked away, doing your best to move fast without breaking a heel. You heard Joel call your name but you ignored him, hellbent on disappearing into the crowd and getting away from him as fast as possible.
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Something inside him broke when you said you were leaving. Something deep in his chest he didn't expect to feel, and suddenly he was overcome with an immense amount of guilt and shame. He needed to apologize. He needed to make things right.
Shit, did you mean you were leaving for good? Or just leaving the art gallery? Why did he keep saying the wrong fucking thing?
Panic coursed through his veins in seconds and he found himself rushing after you. He must have looked like a fool when he raced out of the hallway and back into the bustling gallery, head twisting around every which way as he desperately searched for a flash of your deep red dress, but all he saw was a sea of unrecognizable faces.
"Better keep an eye on that one."
Joel spun around, eyes wild, when he came face to face with Brooks.
"Which way did she go?" he asked. Brooks just grinned and casually swiped at his nose with a sniffle and Joel narrowed his eyes.
"Where?" he said, dropping his voice angrily. Brooks held up his hands and chuckled.
"Calm down," he warned, making the hairs on the back of Joel's neck stand up. "She looked like she was going towards the side exit. Looked pretty upset. Hope there's no trouble in paradise."
Something about the way Brooks said it gave Joel pause.
"No," Joel said, eyes flickering towards the door, "We're fine. She just wanted to head back to the hotel."
Brooks nodded and rubbed at his chin. "That's a relief. I'd hate for someone to come along and snatch her up from you."
"What did you just say?" Joel asked, taking a menacing step forward before catching himself. What the fuck did that mean?
"C'mon, you know what I mean," he replied, nudging Joel's shoulder good naturedly as if he were in on some joke. Joel clenched his teeth and tried to refrain from doing something stupid, and if he wasn't Glenn's son, he might not have held back. "Girl like that needs to be taken care of."
"I take care of her just fine," Joel said defensively, and as much as he wished he could figure out exactly what Brooks thought he knew, he didn't have time to waste. "Tell your parents she wasn't feelin' well and we had to leave."
Before Joel stepped away, Brooks winked and gave him a thumbs up. "Sure thing, man."
He hurried through the crowd, a chorus of excuse mes being uttered from his lips every other second until he finally reached the door.
The moment he stepped outside he was hit with the tropical humidity he had somehow grown accustomed to in the past two weeks, but also finally found some quiet.
He took a moment to take a few deep breaths and look around. When he spotted you further down the street with your arms wrapped around your middle and your dress fluttering in the night breeze, he breathed a sigh of relief.
You were waiting for the car to pull around with your chin tucked into your chest and he swore if he had made you cry again he would never forgive himself. But when you heard him approach and lifted your head, he didn't see tears. Instead, he saw disappointment mixed with anger.
He couldn't decide which made him feel worse.
"I'm sorry," he tried, but you shook your head as the car pulled up to the curb. He tried to reach out and open the door for you but you didn't allow it, so he hurried around to the other side of the car and slid into the seat next you.
Once the driver pulled out onto the street, he readjusted himself in his seat and turned to look at you.
"Not here," you said coldly before he could speak, gaze pinned to your window. He clamped his mouth shut and sat back. It was smart. He couldn't risk the driver overhearing something and spreading rumors, so instead he focused on what he was going to say to you to make things right once you were back in the room.
I'm sorry, she doesn't mean anything.
Would that imply you do mean something to him? Of course, you did, but he couldn't share that with you. Not after he just told you twenty minutes prior what you had wasn't real.
I'm sorry, this situation is more complicated than you thought.
Somehow he thought that wouldn't go over well.
He knew what he should really say but he couldn't bring himself to do it. I'm sorry for confusing you and leading you on. I can't help myself, I'm weak.
So instead, he settled on I'm sorry, you were right. If someone else saw, it would have ruined everything.
That is exactly what he said to you once the hotel room door finally closed behind you and you kicked off your heels, snatching them up in your hand and storming into the living room.
"Yeah, no shit," you muttered over your shoulder.
"C'mon, you know what you saw," he pleaded, "you know she took me by surprise when I was comin' outta the bathroom. I had nothin' to do with it. I told you it was over and it is, I don't know why-"
"Good question, Joel," you said, spinning around to pin him with a glare. "Why did she think she could do that? Hm?"
Joel shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know."
"Alright, let me ask you this," you said, dropping your shoes to the floor and perching against the dining room table. "What did she say to you on the yacht?"
"When?"
"You know damn well when," you snapped. You were getting too fed up now to play nice and it felt liberating to have that side of you back once again. You don't let people steamroll you. "When she followed you inside that day before the island dinner. When you told me, I only need to know what you say I need to know. Well, Joel, I need to know. So fucking tell me. What'd she say?"
His nostrils flared when he took a deep breath. People didn't talk to him like that. If it were anyone else, he would send them packing without a second thought, and maybe with a few choice words in return. But you? He couldn't do it. He couldn't stomach the thought of losing you.
"Fine," he grumbled, yanking out a chair at the table next to where you were standing and collapsing into it. He tugged at his tie, loosening the knot so it hung wide at his neck, then unfastened the top two buttons of his dress shirt before he spoke.
"She was surprised to hear 'bout our engagement. Wondered why I didn't warn her. Asked if we're happy. Usual beatin' 'round the bush shit."
You quirked an eyebrow and crossed your ankles. "What do you mean, beat around the bush? What was she really asking about?"
He raked his fingers through his hair and shrugged. "Y'know. Lookin' to see if I was interested in meetin' up with her during the stay."
"And what did you say?"
He rolled his eyes and gave you a disbelieving look. "The hell you think I said? No. I fuckin' said no."
"And she still kissed you after you said no on the yacht?"
"Yeah," he replied, crossing his arms and glancing up at you. "Think you ruffled her feathers a bit. Got her jealous."
You scoffed and looked away but secretly you found a sick sense of satisfaction from it.
"Happy now?" he asked after the silence dragged on a moment too long for his liking.
"Thrilled," you said sarcastically. You clasped your hands together in front of you and stared down at the floor. He watched you for another minute, feeling the energy in the room begin to shift back to normal, and he smirked to himself.
"What?"
"Never had two women fight over me before," he said with a wide smile, one which he tried to cover with his palm when he dragged his hand over his mouth.
"Yeah, well," you murmured, fiddling with your ring, "I would have wrecked her if you didn't stop me."
"I got no doubt," he replied, his hand dropping to find your exposed knee. Now that you seemed less pissed, his focus was being drawn back to you wearing that dress just for him. And then he remembered your earlier comment and it took every ounce of restraint not to slide his hand up your thigh and under your skirt to see what else you had on.
"We were havin' such a nice time 'fore all that happened," he murmured, his gaze wandering up and down your leg and you felt yourself begin to soften. "Think you were sayin' you bought more than just the dress, hm?"
Goddamnit, how did he do it? How did he manage to pull every emotion out of you in just one evening?
"You wanna see?" you asked, hoping he didn't hear the tremor in your voice or notice the way your legs fell open a fraction more.
He lifted an eyebrow and smirked, gaze still fixed on your bare leg while his hand began to migrate further past your knee.
Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, please show me. Let me see all of you. But he caught himself and his hand stilled.
"Why don't you just tell me, instead?"
"Or you could just move your hand a few more inches and find out for yourself," you teased, spreading your thighs a little more. His fingers pressed into your skin and you saw him swallow.
"Can't, y'know that."
You let out a frustrated huff and pushed yourself off the table, away from him.
"You're confusing the fuck out of me, Joel! One second you're all over me and the next you're pushing me away. And don't try to tell me it's all for show. You do this shit all the time."
You marched into the living room and plopped down onto one of the couches. You were fucking tired. Tired from the rollercoaster evening, tired from Joel's mixed signals, tired from everything.
He stood up with a groan and followed you to the living room, raking his fingers through his hair as he moved.
"I'm tryin' to protect you," he snapped, startling you. "I don't fuckin' trust myself 'round you, don't you see that? Don't you see what you're doin' to me?"
His fingers twitched at his sides as he stood in front of you, imploring you to understand with a pained look on his face.
"Then why are you fighting it?" you whined, standing up. As you approached you saw his shoulders stiffen, but he didn't move away. "Why can't we-"
"'Cause I ain't a good man, darlin'," he said sadly, gaze dropping to the floor. "You deserve so much better."
"But I like you," you told him softly, reaching out and taking his hand. You brought it up to cup your face while a war waged behind his eyes. "I refuse to believe you're not a good man, Joel."
You turned so you could press a kiss into the palm of his hand, then slowly guided his arm lower, all the while staring him right in the eye until his fingertips brushed against the slit in your dress. Your breath hitched as you led him lower, underneath the material until his fingers finally came in contact with the silky red panties trimmed with black lace.
"Fuck," he whispered, cheeks tinting pink and eyes all wide and dark when he felt the wet patch that had seeped through. After that, he couldn't stop himself. "Dirty fuckin' girl," he growled, taking a step closer so he could tower over you while two thick fingers pressed and stroked steadily over your panties. A breathy moan slipped past your lips and you released his arm so you could grab onto his shoulders for support. Joel wrapped his other arm around your waist and walked you back towards the sofa, all the while staring down at you like he was a predator who finally caught their prey.
You thought he would have laid you down but to your surprise, he twisted you both around at the last second and sat down on the couch, legs spread wide. He removed his hand from between your legs and you were about to protest when you heard the deafening tear of fabric. You gasped and looked down to see Joel had torn your brand new fucking dress from the slit up, exposing half your stomach.
"What the f-" you were about to scold him and tell him how much you liked that goddamn dress when he grabbed you by the hips and yanked you forward so he could bury his face against your clothed pussy. Your eyes bugged out of your head and you grabbed his hair to keep you steady, your shaky legs no longer able to be trusted. And when he took a deep, steady breath in through his nose, your face flushed with heat while staining the red satin of your underwear even darker.
"You smell so fuckin' good," he groaned before taking another deep breath. "Bet you taste even better."
"Jesus Christ," you whimpered, your fingers getting tangled in his hair. "Please, Joel, please..."
"Sit on my lap," he demanded, tearing himself away and leaning back into the couch. He slapped the tops of his thighs and ushered you forward with his fingers.
On shaky legs, you obeyed, spreading them wide so you could rest them on either side of his thighs. He stretched up to latch his mouth onto the hollow part underneath your jaw while his fingers resumed their torturous pace over your center.
"You're right, these were made to be seen," he murmured against your throat. Your hips began to rock, encouraging him to keep going with each little sound from the back of your throat. "Got these just for me, huh? Wanted me to see 'em?"
"Yeah," you whined, arms circling around his neck and jaw falling open as he brought you closer and closer to your climax without still having actually touched you.
"What'd you want me to do, baby?" he asked softly. Your breath was growing shallow and the noises you were making were getting louder and he smirked, knowing you were close from just a few minutes of petting you through your clothes. If this is how responsive you were from just his fingers, he couldn't fucking wait to take you apart with his cock. "Tell me. Did'ya want me to bend you over the table?"
You nodded and gasped when his fingers began to move faster. "Everywhere. In the car. At the art gallery. In the fucking elevator... fuck, Joel!"
His cock swelled in his pants, the material already too unforgiving and tight, when you came shouting his name. A shudder ran through your body when you slumped forward to rest your head on his shoulder, but unfortunately he didn't give you the courtesy of recovery because in an instant, he hooked the material of your underwear to the side and two fingers slid right into your soaked cunt.
You weren't sure who groaned louder, you or Joel, but it felt like both of you were equally desperate.
"Oh, fuck," you whimpered, sweat dotting your forehead and upper lip from the welcome intrusion his fingers caused. You forced yourself to straighten back up so you could grab his face with both hands and slant your mouth eagerly over his. His tongue immediately invaded your mouth and his wrist began to snap between your legs, causing your mind to go numb as you focused solely on the pleasure he was giving you.
"Joel," you moaned in between biting at his lower lip. "I don't think I can come again."
"Yes, you fuckin' will," he said roughly. His free hand, which was clutching your hip, began to guide you up and down on his fingers. "You wanted me so bad and now you're tellin' me you can't come again? Gimme what I want and maybe I'll give you what you want."
You nodded dumbly and followed his lead, rolling your hips and then bouncing on his lap until you found what worked and you felt that familiar warmth building low in your stomach again.
"Keep going, just like that," you panted against his lips. He nodded, eyes so dark they looked black as he stared up at you. Your eyes were squeezed shut, too focused on chasing your high to see the way he was looking at you. It was probably for the best because he was fairly certain you would be able to see right through him in that moment and it scared the shit out of him.
"Oh, fuck, baby, that's it," he breathed, pulling you closer so he could hide his face against your throat. He could feel you tightening around his fingers and your nails were digging into his shoulders, the bite of pain sending shivers down his spine. Your moans grew more high pitched and your skin felt hot to the touch. He leaned forward on the couch and, circling his other arm around your waist, tugged you as close as possible while using the force from his entire body to thrust his fingers as deep as he could into your cunt, curling them inside you each time he retracted his hand.
"Oh, god, Joel," you whined breathlessly, stomach tensing the closer you came to your orgasm. "I think... I think I'm gonna-"
You cut yourself off with a shaky moan when you came for the second time, your entire body pulsing in his arms as your orgasm shot through you violently, taking every shred of energy you had left.
You murmured softly against his neck when he eventually dragged his fingers out of you. Your eye cracked open just in time to see him pop both fingers into his mouth and hum appreciatively to himself while still holding you close against his chest.
"You alright?" he asked before kissing the top of your head.
"You ruined my dress," you whispered sleepily. He chuckled, the vibrations from his chest melting into yours, making you smile.
"It's not funny. It was over a thousand dollars."
"Money well spent," he replied before tipping the back of his head against the couch with a deep sigh. He was still painfully hard but you were too weak and tired to do anything about it. He maneuvered you so your legs were no longer spread open on his lap, then hooked an arm underneath your knees. With his other arm around your shoulders, he stood with a groan and began to carry you down the hall.
Your own arms were still wrapped tightly around his neck and once he approached the bedrooms, you opened your eyes to see which room he would pick. It didn't surprise you when he turned into your room but you were too tired to really care.
"You oughta change outta this dress," he murmured as he laid you down in bed.
"Mhmm, I will," you promised, then smiled when he brushed your hair out of your eyes and kissed your forehead.
"Get some sleep," he said, and just as he was about to step back into the hall, you called out his name. He spun around, the sight of you spread out over your bed, all fucked out in a torn up dress giving him pause before he cleared his throat and responded.
"Yeah?"
"You better not fucking tip me this time."
You giggled when you saw the grin on his face and he shook his head in disbelief.
"'Night."
"Good night."
Once he left, you slipped out of the dress but you couldn't bring yourself to throw it out, so you zipped it back up in its bag and tucked it into the back of your closet before drifting off and feeling the calmest you ever felt.
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drchucktingle · 2 years ago
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seems like a good day to repost this classic tingler since we are talkin on 'what is art?’
POUNDED BY THE REALIZATION THAT CHUCK TINGLE’S EROTIC WORKS ARE A SINGULAR PIECE OF ART THAT SKEWERS CONSERVATIVE FEARS OF MORAL DECAY BY REPURPOSING THEM AS THE PROMISE OF A SEX-POSITIVE UTOPIA
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Johnny is an artist at the end of his rope, struggling to find inspiration and coming up short. When Johnny’s friend asks him to come check out an exhibit at the Billings Art Museum, the painter is hoping to discover a new muse. However, he’s disappointed to learn the show is a Chuck Tingle gallery, and Chuck Tingle is not art. The visit starts out rocky, but as Johnny makes his way deeper into The Tingleverse he begins to uncover a startling truth, all cumulating when he encounters the physical manifestation of the realization that Chuck Tingle’s erotic works are a singular piece of art that skewers conservative fears of moral decay by repurposing them as the promise of a sex-positive utopia, named Bonron. Now Johnny and Bonron are locked in a wild erotic tryst, and it might just help Johnny discover his muse after all. This erotic tale is 4,000 words of sizzling human on gay living concept action, including anal, blowjobs, cream pies, and physical manifestation of an artistic realization love.
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orionremastered · 6 months ago
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Hello!
I recently read your shifter!reader and i wonder if you could do something like the wolf walkers movie? Please? Like reader shifting in to a big wolf when they're sleeping and theyr body is there but theyr soul become a physical wolf
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Masterlist
idk why but i can't tag anyone rn? tf? anyhoo no taglist
Rare
Rare. That's the word they described you with; your name synonymous with it. By being a dire wolf shifter, you are part of the small group within the already small amount of shifters in the world; the shifters that could turn into extinct creatures.
Rare. Like your favourite painting. An art nerd you shall forever stay, especially with your recently obtained degree in Art History, gazing upon the intricate colours and strokes, perfectly placed and perfectly designed. It tells a story that you can only hear if you strain your ears.
Rare. There's only one of that painting and it's being displayed, the original copy, in Gotham. Most thieves ignore the paintings in Gotham because these museums usually have alarms that don't call the cops, but something worse. You've just chosen to watch over it because you're broke and can't afford a ticket to the gallery it's important to you and should stay safe.
Rare. Thieves thinking that it'd be funny to try and steal it while a wolf whose head reaches their chests stalks the art exhibit. You sense them far before they notice you, and decide to politely alert them so with a snarl. Their heads whip around and all six of them pull out rifles, beginning to fire.
Rare. The chances of you still being in one piece as you duck behind a stone sculpture, snarling as they damage the statue. Then screams as some of the gunfire lessens. You charge out, teeth bared to defend the masterpieces all around you. Taking one down is easy when his back is turned, and you take down the last one just as fast.
Rare. The chances of three shifters, two well-known 'friends' that often work together as vigilantes Golden and Wraith, and then you. A dire wolf shifter and larger than both. They stare at each other and then back at you.
Rare. That's what a mental link between shifters is, and it's even more strange for them to include a new shifter into their link so quickly.
Wraith: Who are you?
You: I could ask the same.
Golden: You're a dire wolf shifter? Aren't those rare?
You: They are rare.
One of the windows slowly opens as two figures enter the exhibit, sighing at the thieves at your feet (paws?). Then they see you and exchange a glance of disbelief.
"What's this? A dire wolf shifter?" Nightwing asks, patting Golden on the head. You're aware that the two vigilante shifters have a good reputation with the human-form vigilantes, especially the youngest, Robin, who stands beside Nightwing. According to Wraith, he's an animal lover.
"They're quite rare," Robin muses, slowly scratching behind your ear to test the waters.
Rare. That's what you are, and now that's who you are.
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itsvelyria · 9 months ago
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"f1 drivers as happy taylor swift songs"
happy testing week everybody!!
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Charles Leclerc
yeah, you know i did one thing right🩷
he watches as you mutter conspiratorially with his mother, whispers in each other's ears and shooting glares to whoever dares eavesdrop. sitting on his childhood sofa, he reflects on the past and his life, pondering in the moment of silence. and there is this voice in his head that talks to him, reminding him of every regret, every single person he's loved and lost. he tries to shut the voice out, knowing full well the negativity never does any good. but as arthur had put it at dinner earlier, it seems as though he's been more relaxed of late. he brushes it off, but as his eyes train on the one he loved getting along swimmingly with the woman who loved him first, he thinks to chalk it up to the tiny nagging voice in his head that had appeared a few days ago out of the blue. the voice was a stark contrast to its predecessor, this one a ball of golden light, saying that maybe he's fucked up a lot, but at least he's got you.
Carlos Sainz
i know heaven's a thing, I go there when you touch me, honey💕
there is this undeniable tingle in his spine when your soft skin presses against his. even in the blistering Spanish heat, he welcomes any skin contact from you. he glances down at where the floppy sunhat blocks most of your face from the sun, and your eyes from his. wondering how much trouble you would give him if he flings the dreadful hat into the ocean, he misses the request you direct up at him. repeating the question, he nods, taking the suncream from your outstretched hands. he takes his time with the lotion, savouring every second his hands are on your back. you thank him with a quick press of your lips to his cheek and he rests a hand on your thigh, bending down to steal another from your lips. his love language was definitely physical touch, especially if it was yours.
Danny Ricciardo
i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried💚
the sunshine is warm on your skin but the shoulder that brushes against yours is warmer. danny’s contagious laughter is carried by the gentle breeze that passes through the park. at age 9, danny had charmed your mom enough to let him bring her 7-year-old out on an adventure. your peripheral vision shows a teenage couple giggling over clasped hands, and when you’re young, you don’t think of the consequences, so the words slip out. “i bet you won't kiss me right here, right now”. and danny leans in, always ready for any challenge. and just as your lips are about to meet, you burst into laughter, darting away. you can still remember delightfully screaming through the public park as danny gives chase. it’s the same park he proposed in, after all.
George Russell
you wish it was me, don't you?💜
immersed in the classy ambiance of an art exhibition, george navigates the gallery adorned with bright splashes of paint marked contemporary. despite being engaged in interesting chatter, an inexplicable force compels you to lift your gaze, and it locks onto the familiar curls across the room. amid the elegant hum of hushed whispers, the air shifts, his lingering eyes meeting yours, giving rise to a thump in your chest. as his blue orbs drink in your form. once. twice. the rising tension manifests in the prickle of your bare shoulders and the unspoken question echoes amidst the artistic expressions. you yearn to step closer, to be the one on his arm. but long strands of brown silk and emerald green are in your place. and though his eyes long to meet yours again, there is nothing but empty space in your stead.
Lando Norris
so baby, can we dance through an avalanche?🖤
you drop the heavy box on the floor, the fatigue in your bones too wearisome to hold you up any longer. coupled with the emptiness of your apartment and the lack of a certain laughter in the stagnant air, you crumple onto the unmade bed. lying there for what seems like eternity, the thoughts of your future and whatnot plaguing your mind. the weight of unemployment burns heavily, so much so that you miss the sound of the door letting someone through. another body sags beside you, the familiar cologne staining your nostrils. your head turns, finding purchase in the shoulder beside. the stupid orange shirt reminds you of your limited time with him and something clicks. the home system is called upon as a DJ, playing soundtracks of celebration as you pull your boyfriend around the room in a made-up waltz, laughing at his put-out expression and then over the absolute misery that is life. despite the chaos, your heart still finds comfort in its other half’s presence.
Lewis Hamilton
romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours💙
as you clean the apartment you share with lewis, your gaze falls onto the cream card hidden just between your books. Persuasion and Porchia, you note. the seal on it a light purple, the shape of a heart in the hardened wax, and you can picture your boyfriend sliding it onto your bookshelf before he had left for another race this morning, a smirk on his face as he imagines you finding it, and you already know what it is. tracing the edges of the envelope lightly, you break the seal and slide the pages out, unfolding it to reveal the handwriting you had come to reverent. in swooping sloping cursive letters, he proclaims his love again, like he does in every single one of these. and as cheesy as it is, you treasure every single one of them, tucking them away in a little box at the corner of your wardrobe. someday when you have kids, maybe you'll take it out to show them just how deeply their father loves.
Max Verstappen
i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you🩶
he knew this. he knew full well his career would take him across the world for three quarters out of the year and yet, the one thing he failed to realize was that nothing would feel like home. and then he found you, the absolute enigma that chose to do the same thing he did, realising early on that your home wasn’t in a place. and the streets of Kyoto were just lifeless alleyways till you pointed out the cosy glow of the warm streetlights with your brown streaked hair that shined gold under them and the dark nightscape with the way you shined in his eyes. you did the same for the beaches in Miami and balconies of Spain, easing the loneliness in his memories. slowly but surely, the words you had spoken to him were coming true and his home was taking the shape of you.
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novasdarling · 2 years ago
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Piece of Art
Yandere! Chrollo x reader
Tw: Murder, Blood, Kidnapping, Drugging, Restraining(physical), Female Reader
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It was already getting late, and the sky was dimming as you entered the museum. Many others joining you, some leaving. It was busy but not as filled as it will be when it opens to the public in a few days. Somehow through work, you'd managed to get VIP tickets to the exhibit. A perk you quite enjoyed with your employer.
Tonight was a small treat for yourself. A new exhibit had opened, and it had been heavily publicized, banners and posters plastered all throughout town. It was displaying paintings and sculptures from hundreds of years ago. Art that hadn't been in the public eye for at least over a century. Many weren't even verified that they existed. All the details that were given were that the gallery was made possible thanks to a private donation.
Making your way to the exhibit, all you could think was how the hell could anyone own all this art. How it was possible to acquire such rare pieces. The money and power they must have had, or still have. To just give away such a collection. Regardless, how did they manage to keep so many pieces hidden, pieces that weren't even confirmed? You were sure they wouldn't reveal it. It was easier for the museum to simply say thank you and make a profit. Something you were in no place to disagree with as you made your way through the doors.
Unsure of where to start, wandering around the exhibit was your best option. A clockwise motion, then working your way to the pieces in the center would guarantee you the ability to see every piece. This wasn't a cheap night, you'd make the most of it. Trying to take time admiring each piece the best you can. Reading every little bit of information they provided. It was interesting to read about the subject's life, about the painter's vision. Or seeing these statues that have been around longer than your country by centuries. It made you feel so small. To see all these pieces that have such a history. To see all those faces that once lived, once smiled. Emorlized in paint and stone. There was one piece that caught your attention. It was one of two women looking at the audience. One covers her face, appearing to be laughing, while the other looks at you with an adorning expression. You could see it now, some man had made an ill attempt at a flirt with the woman more forward. The two find it amusing, trying to stifle a laugh only for the woman behind to fail. A moment you could relate to even though you lived centuries apart. It was fun to try to put stories to things and try to relate to them. Image them having similar problems and stories as you. It made them feel more human, rather than just paint.
"You've been staring at this one for a while." A man's voice was speaking to you. Louder than the others around you. Sounding like it was coming from behind you.
"Oh, sorry, am I in your way?" You began moving off to the side. Letting him see.
Looking back to see who had spoken. The man was tall and looked lean. He was handsome, you couldn't deny that. His hair was a bit wild, almost looked like he cut it at home. It worked on him though. Though his choice of headband was a bit odd, then again this was an art exhibit. They did tend to pull in an interesting crowd.
"No of course not. I was just admiring how you looked at the art."
An embarrassing blush had grown on your cheeks. You didn't realize just how long you had been staring at this one painting. Not catching that another may be noticing it. You didn't know what to do so you stepped to the side and allowed space for the man to come closer to the painting. Smiling as he stepped forwards. He gave you a smile as he looked between you and the art.
"I didn't mean to interrupt." You claimed he was not. Falling over your words as he stared at you. "Good then."
Giving a smile before looking back at the painting. Not expecting the man to continue the conversation. Assuming he had just been polite and wanted you to move.
"I'm Chrollo by the way."
Introducing yourself after a few seconds of pause. Looking him over, you admired his choice of accessories. Blue earrings dangled from his ears and his odd headband wrapped around his forehead. A fashion statement for sure. Along with his feathered coat. These galleries always did tend to invite some intriguing people.
"Why this photo?"
"Sorry?"
"Why has this photo captured you for so long?"
That was a good question. Once you hadn't been prepared to answer to anyone other than yourself. After a few moments, you explained why you had stayed on this one for so long, and how you liked to link these people in the art to yourself. Imagine that even though centuries separate you from them. That you guys could still connect in some ways. Share some similarities. Chrollo grinned as you explained your reasoning. Watching as your face flushed, you seemed embarrassed by your thoughts.
"I never thought to look at them that way." Chrollo smiled, trying to ease you. "Perhaps I should have you as my guide. You could show me a whole new perspective."
It was odd to have someone being so sweet and charming to you. Especially someone you had just met. You couldn't lie, it felt nice to have someone to share your thoughts with. To have somebody who appreciated how you viewed things. To share your beliefs and views. Even if for a few moments, he could think you were interesting.
Chrollo took you around the gallery, asking you again and again to share your thoughts. It felt nice to have someone like him be curious about what you thought. You could have talked all night, and shared every thought. How each piece of art made you feel. Chrollo shared his thoughts too, but he seemed more eager on listening to yours.
The two of you had viewed almost every piece of art. From the paintings to the sculptures. There were still a few left to see. Some of the bigger pieces still had crowds surrounding them.
"It's crazy how these pieces got donated." Turning to him as you spoke. "Imagine being able to collect all of these and just, donate them."
Chrollo nodded, looking at you like you any word that fell from your lips was pure gold. He brought you to another painting. Stating it was a piece he was excited to see and had heard about it for years. There were a few people crowding around the painting, so you two waited.
"It's refreshing that others actually enjoy and value these pieces. You'd be surprised by what I've heard tonight. People talking about how bored they art. How the art is subpar. I even heard some guy begging his girlfriend to go home."
You couldn't help but laugh. Agreeing, it was shameful how some didn't appreciate what was here like you two. Especially since some of these pieces are the first time the public has ever viewed them.
The people had moved, allowing you two to move up. Getting a better view of the painting Chrollo wanted to show you. Both of you stared at it, marvelling at the art before you. It was beautiful. You could see why he liked it so much. The colours, the way everyone in it was painted. It must have taken months to do. Leaning forward, you read the information piece under it to learn who was in it and who had painted it. It had been donated by the same private collector. One of the few pieces to have been believed to be lost to history, if it even existed. A fire at the buyer's home a few years after it was commissioned was thought to have taken it. Yet, here it stood. The subjects standing next to a table. The wife and husband sitting, while the children were spread around. The fabrics looked so real. The way the satin looked stunning, the shadows that created the folds. It was absurd to think how anyone could paint like that. As you read more about it, you realized this piece was the centrepiece. One of the few they didn't announce would be here, that it even existed. A surprise for the instalment.
"Chrollo, isn't this the first time this piece has been seen, like to the public?" Chrollo nodded as you straightened up again. "It says," You pointed to the information piece in front of you. "that there were no accurate records it even existed beside a receipt from the painter to the family. How did you know it was going to be here."
You watched his face, curious to hear his explanation. Perhaps he had studied art and new things you didn't. Or had an inside source, but Chrollo didn't say anything. He just looked ahead at the painting for a bit. It looked like he was thinking of an answer. You didn't think much of it, maybe you were correct. Maybe he had some inside source that told him about the new installments. If you had a source like that, you would be using them every time there was a new gallery opening or exhibit.
"Hmmm"
That was all he offered you before pulling out his phone and messaging someone. Still not looking at you. Staring straight ahead when he put his phone away. Not letting you know what he was thinking, not answering you either. Before you could say something, try to get him to answer you. Chrollo had pulled you closer to him. A hand wrapped around your waist. A sudden move that had startled you. Odd since you two hadn't touched each other the whole night. You couldn't even push away from him as the lights were abruptly cut off. The lights from the ceiling, the wall lights, the ones hanging directly over the pieces. All were off. The room was pushed into darkness. You couldn't see your hand in front of you or Chrollo beside you. Yet, you could feel him, his arm tightly holding onto you. As people screamed and yelled around you. Trying to figure out what was going on. Pushing past you, falling over. It was most likely a power outage.
"What the hell is going on."
"Shh, you'll see." Chrollo had leaned in. Whispering in your ear. He was closer than you remembered.
You could feel people move around you, bumping into each other including you. People still yelling and just as confused as you were. You were waiting for an announcement to be made, a worker to yell something. How there was a power outage somehow, or perhaps someone had accidentally flipped a switch. Yet, it didn't come, minutes passed. Feeling dragged out. You were trying to look around, let your eyes adjust, but Chrollo didn't let up with his hold on you. Keeping you by his side. You were about to say something. Tell him to let go when you unexpectedly heard a door open and close behind you. Turning your head as far back as you could, you saw a bit of light disappear as the door shut. Someone had entered, or left? You weren't sure, but you hoped it was a worker entering to help. Waiting for someone to yell, or for any kind of new sounds. Only to hear something you didn't expect. Not a voice asking if everyone was okay. No, instead there were yells. Different than before, they sounded scared and hurt. Then another sound, it sounded like something dropping to the floor. Originally you guessed it was the art. Someone had managed to fuck up and bump into something, but this was too heavy. Too condensed to be a wooden frame falling and the statues would probably just shatter. No, it was more like a body hitting the floor. Someone must have tripped, or run into someone. However, the noise repeated itself. Again and again, yells and falls.
It happened too swiftly, and you didn't have any time to properly react. The screams and bodies hitting the floor had made their way across the room. Until there was silence again, but it felt different. Not like everyone was quiet. Rather, it felt like no one else was there. That you and Chrollo were alone. His weight was a comforting thing now. Something you were leaning into. He was an anchor in this confusing chaos.
"My apologies, but I have to go. I'll see you again my dear."
Chrollo's weight was lifted from your body. His grip was gone. When you went to grab onto him and call out his name. You were met with empty air. You couldn't reach his body anymore. Taking step after step, calling out to him. No answer came. No acknowledgement came. It was like he wasn't there anymore. Like he was gone. It wasn't until you tripped that you stopped calling out his name. You had managed to fall over something on the ground. Your eyes hadn't adjusted yet, still too dark to see what was around you. Falling onto the ground. Trying to catch yourself, placing your hands in front of you to brace yourself. Landing hard on the ground. As your hands made contact with the ground, they failed to keep you upright. Instead, they slipped on something wet on the floor. Pushing them forward, allowing your head to hit the ground. Not as hard as if your hands hadn't broken the fall somewhat. Though still making you see stars.
You were on the floor, face in the liquid. Unable to fully move yet. Too dark to see what had happened, and too much in pain to try to get up. Laying in the liquid, you tried to focus on attempting to see and not on the pain. Trying to see what was next to you. It felt like there was something close to your face like there was a presence there. Abruptly the lights were back on. Blinding you, forcing you to shut your eyes. It burned, to go from darkness to blinding light.
"Hey! Hey! Is everyone okay?" You could hear the doors open, someone had come in yelling, but there was no answer.
No one was answering the man back. Only the same silence from moments before.
"Oh, God."
There was panic and disgust in his voice now. The man was now calling to others, telling them to call the police. You couldn't understand why and a part of you didn't want to know. You didn't want to know why it was so silent, why no one answered him. But you needed to. Needed to let the person know you were there.
"I-I'm here."
You opened your eyes while trying to push up. The first thing you saw was red. Red liquid on the floor, on your hands. It was what your hands had slipped on when you fell. You weren't an idiot, wishing you were for a moment. You knew what it was. Blood, it was blood. There was no mistaking it. Looking around to see where it had come from. Unable to stop the sudden scream that left your mouth. The blood was not coming from you, but rather from all around you. People's heads were bashed in, and necks snapped. Some injuries you weren't sure how they occurred. But they all seemed to lead to blood. It was spread across the floor. On the walls.
You weren't sure what had happened after you saw the blood. You must have gotten people's attention because one minute you were on the floor, next you were in a hospital with officers asking you questions. Your doctors and nurses yelling at them, trying to get them to stop asking questions and let them help you. You were clearly in shock. Unable to form a worthy sentence.
Days went by, and you were treated in the hospital. Seen by several psychologists. Hoping to get you to talk and explain what happened at the exhibit. How everyone there had died, how you were the lone survivor and where did all the art go. Every time they spoke, you just looked at them confused. Confused and scared. On the second day, you had managed to overhear the officers trying to figure out where the art went. The cameras were blacked out for the whole evening. It was clear this event was extremely planned. Though that meant nothing to you, you were just trying to process being surrounded by dead people and covered in their blood.
It must have been close to a week by the time you were able to properly speak. To try to explain to the officers that had been camping outside your door. You were just as confused as they were. Unsure of what had happened. All you could remember was the man you had talked to the whole evening. That was their only lead, a man named Chrollo and you. The survivor. The officers kept pushing, wanting more when you had none to give. You tried to recall the night from getting ready to the moments before the lights were cut off. At first, they seemed suspicious, questioning why you were left alive when over 100 other guests were bludgeoned to death. Though no actual evidence could tie you as a culprit. That didn't matter, you and the mysterious Chrollo were their only lead. Though once the hospital cleared you after being there for over two weeks, there was nothing they could do. They escorted you home. Giving you their number before leaving. Reminding you to call if any small memory comes back and not to leave town.
It was strange to be home. Strange from being covered in blood, to the sterile white hospital, to a familiar and calm environment. Coming back to an empty house, having it so quiet after all those nights in the hospital. Hearing the nurses and doctors. The intercom, the family visits. Then there were the cops. There was always noise, but now there was nothing. Just your dark house and the silence filling it. It bothered you, the silence just reminded you of that night. The silence of death.
Walking into the house, you shut and locked the door behind you. Putting down all the paper they had given you when you got discharged on the dining table. You paused at the light switch, fingers brushing the switch. Although it was dark inside, there was a part of you that couldn't bring yourself to flip the switch. The memory of what occurred the last time the lights were thrown on made you freeze. No, it was better for the lights to remain off. You would just use your muscle memory to navigate in the dark. There was no point in turning the lights on. You were exhausted, wanting nothing more than your own bed. Wanting the comfort of familiarity, of safety.
It was like that for a few days. You rarely turned on the lights, too afraid to see those people again. Terrified the flash of lights would bring those poor bodies back. Bloody and dead, laying at your feet again. It was irrational, you knew that. Yet, the lights stayed off.
Work had given you as much time as you needed. They couldn't risk bringing back a traumatized worker and having them do something liable. It gave you time to try to process what had happened, to try to get those people out of your head. Tuning the noise of the few yells, the smell of the blood. Trying to get everything out of your head. Trying to ignore how your mind strayed back to that night, going over every little detail. It could have been you, you could have been on the floor with the rest. But why weren't you? Why were you spared? What bothered you most was Chrollo. His body wasn't found, which meant he survived. He did wish you goodbye before the lights were cut. The police thought he was involved, that he was part of the murders and heist, but there was no trace of his existence. You had spent that evening with a goddamn killer. A maniac that had managed to sweet-talk you for hours. The thought made you nauseous.
Even as the days went by, the police weren't able to find the culprits. The lead of Chrollo had fallen short. No man under that name had bought any tickets, had gotten parking, they even checked restaurants in the area to see if anyone had reservations under that name in the last few weeks before the gallery had opened. There was no trace of the man you met that night. The idea of him being out there bothered you. He let you live, after all, he told you who he was, whether it was a fake name or not. He still introduced himself to you. Still struck up a conversation with you. Stayed with you all night, and most oddly, let you live. Killed everyone, but you. Someone who had either directly killed all those others or had some hand in it had so easily left you. Paranoia began to creep in as the days passed, as you dwelled on the thought of it more and more. Certain he was going to come back. Chrollo was going to finish his job, and tie up any loose ends. Or the cops were going to finally just put everything on you. Pin the murders on you since the evidence was getting them nowhere. It would be easier for them, to wrap up their case. You were sure the public would buy it. Instead of getting better, you were getting worse. Becoming more overwhelmed as time went on. Barely moving from your bedroom, keeping the curtains shut out of fear. Friends and neighbours tried to call and visit, but you ignored them. Too frightened to even open the door, to look out your window in case it was him. Night was the worst.
It was always dark in your home, as you still declined to turn certain lights on. Terrified you'd see the bodies when you flipped the switch. Though there were still moments when you feared the dark. Worrying about what you couldn't see, what may lurk in it. It had taken you a few days from your first arrival home to manage to even turn on some lights, mostly lamps or small rooms like the bathroom. Lights that would only give enough light to illuminate no more than a couple feet in front of them. Yet, your mind refused to allow larger rooms to be fully lit. The darkness was the better.
Muscle memory had saved you, keeping you on your two feet instead of face-first into the floor. Even at nights just like this one when you didn't have the sun peeking in from the cracks of the curtains. You could still navigate the house. Letting the lights you kept on all the time in certain rooms bleed into the others you ventured into.
You were cleaning up the dinner you had eaten. Some dry ramen packs you had found in the back of your cupboard. The last of what was keeping you fed. Using the lamps from your hallway to see around you as you put the garbage away before going back to the sink. The lights were nice, dull enough they hadn't disturbed you when you turned them on a day ago. You were making progress, right? One little light on was a show of getting better. It had to be. Though as you placed the bowl in the sink. Taking a look at the clock on the stove, realizing it was already well past midnight. The ramen had been the only thing you'd eaten all day. You couldn't help but laugh, swearing to yourself under your breath. It was a lie. You weren't getting better. A stupid little light in a room away meant nothing. Rubbing your face as you thought about what this meant. What being stuck in this horrid condition meant, in this paralyzing fear over fucking lights meant. If you didn't get better who knows when you can go back to work. Sure they had been accommodating, but how long would that last? A few more weeks at most. You needed to get back into the swing of things. Get back to a semi-normal schedule and behaviour. The pressure and weight of everything felt like it got heavier. Bearing a bigger load on your shoulders was becoming too much. It was all too much.
"Fuck." You were pissed, throwing your fork against the wall. "I'm not getting better. I-I'm not." Tears were forming. It wasn't fair.
"No, you are not."
Someone had just answered you back, somebody had spoken back to you within this empty house. You froze, taking a moment to process what just happened. Though when you heard a quick "hmmm" prompt from the speaker. You knew who it was. It was the same voice that haunted your thoughts all this time since the gallery. It was him, the man who had been so sweet to you that night. That had flattered and entertained you. The man who had then killed and left you. It was Chrollo, there was no mistaking it. Your lips began to shiver, too petrified to turn around and be right. Or worse be wrong and have another unfamiliar threat.
Your mind began to race, thinking of why the hell he was here after all this time. He was here to finish the job, wasn't he? He was going to kill you. Tie up the loose ends. Perhaps you had said too much. You couldn't turn around. Couldn't face the man that had killed so many with ease. You couldn't face your soon-to-be killer. Shutting your eyes tight, waiting as the seconds ticked by.
"Not even a 'hello?' or a 'how have you been?' Manners my dear."
He expected a greeting. That sick maniac wanted you to greet him as if you were long-time friends who hadn't seen each other for a few days. It was a sick joke, wanting to act friendly after everything. After he left you surrounded by bloody bodies, left you as the lone survivor to be endlessly questioned by the police. Left you to live in fear. You were pissed before. Angry at yourself for failing to adapt and get better. Yet, as you stood there, taking in what was happening. You realized that no, you weren't angry at yourself. You were furious at him. Pissed he left you like this and caused so much harm to the one he left alive. He didn't spare you, no he just damaged your life in a different way.
"Why are you here?" It was soft and meek, but it came out in one swift breath.
"Why not? Am I not welcomed."
Welcomed? Welcomed? Did he assume you'd welcome him with open arms, and accept your death with gratitude and glee? His words tipped you over the edge. Spinning around, now facing him. You looked him over. He looked mostly the same as that night. With only a few differences. He was still wearing many of the same clothes but he lacked the charm of that night. Looking a bit dishevelled. He wore the same jacket, but the shirt under was in a lot worse condition. His hair was greased back, it looked dirty. As if it was just his unwashed hair keeping it back, not any product. How was this the same man you had managed to keep you interested all night?
"Just kill me. I don't want to play anymore."
The fight in you was abruptly gone. You didn't want to play his game anymore. Pretend to be happy, and play his little friendship game. Let him get some sick satisfaction from it all. Cause that's what it all must have been. Some sick little game, that lets you think you got away before he visits and watches the hope leave your eyes. There was no hope in you, just tiredness, anger and fear. You wanted it all gone.
"And what if I do."
There was no response. All you could do was stare. Stare with repulsion towards him.
"Hmm?" Chrollo had begun stepping forward. Making his way to you.
"P-Please, just make it easy." It was a heartbreaking plea, but it was all you had. A request for a swift death.
"And why would I do that?"
In a few long steps, Chrollo was now in front of you. Pressing his body against yours. It was uncomfortable. Having him so close, having him in your house. It was vile and wrong.
Refusing to look him in the eyes. Keeping your head down and eyes shut. Waiting for him to strike. He was going to kill you. Would he leave your body here for the cops or your neighbours to find? Or would he try to hide your body? Leave you to just become a missing person poster.
"You really think I'm going to kill you?" You gave a weak nod. "Hmm, I guess that makes sense. A good guess, but I'm not."
At that, you looked up at him. Shocked at his response. If he wasn't going to kill you. Why would he be here? Why the hell would he be here if he wasn't going to finish the job? That rage from before was rising up again. You reckoned he was lying. That he was toying with you, giving you that sense of hope. Playing with you, dragging out the kill.
"Don't lie to me. Please, just-just make it painless."
Chrollo let out a chuckle, he found your words entertaining. Lifting his hand up, pausing when you flinched.
"Relax my dear. I said I wasn't."
His hand brushed the side of your face. Tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. It was a soft touch, such soft hands for a killer. So tender for someone who had killed all those that night. Even with his soft touch, you were frozen and stiff.
"I see I've caused so much worry." Chrollo leaned in. Face right by yours. Lips brushing against yours. "My apologies."
Chrollo's lips were right on yours. Kissing you. Demanding more action and presence from you, but you couldn't kiss back. You could feel his disappointment in your lack of action. Yet, he still continued the kiss. Placing a hand at the back of your head. Forcing the kiss to deepen as much as he could do with such a stiff partner. His tongue swiped across your lips. You knew he wanted more, it made you want to throw up. Though it fueled a sudden surge of confidence that came over you. A want to survive and not play his game. Your arms shot forward. Pushing as hard as you could on his chest. Shoving Chrollo away from you. Managing to create some space between the two of you. It wasn't much, but it was enough to move away from him. Lurching forwards, you made your way from Chrollo. Darting out of the room, and through the house. Trying to get to any door. The front door was closest. You made your way to it. Dodging any tables or couches, even in the dark you could navigate your place. But when you could see the door, you saw him. He was in front of it. The light shining from a powder room not too far from him showcased his features. He was smiling. Enjoying your little attempt.
Chrollo was blocking the front door. Stopping, you turned and made your way to the back door. You would have to go through the living room and kitchen to make it to the backroom. Pushing yourself, you ran. Trying to get to it before him. You just needed to get out and run to a neighbour. Or even yell for help. Anything to get the attention of someone. Running through the living room, then the kitchen. Feeling the sweat drip down your back. You had gotten to the backroom, only to see him. He was there again. Standing, blocking the door. Blocking your way out. There had to be another way out, maybe back to the front door again could work. Turning around, attempting to run back. You couldn't even get three steps away before his arms were wrapped around you. Keeping you in place, holding you still and incapable of moving. You tried to kick and hit. Anything to try to get him to let go. When you noticed none of that was working, you went to your last resort, screaming. But Chrollo's hand covered your mouth before you could get a sound out. Your heart was pumping, beating so fast. Tears came down as you sobbed into his hand. You were finally going to die. Die in your home, a place you considered safe.
"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay." Chrollo pressed his head against the side of yours. His mouth was close to your ear. "Calm down, you're going to be alright. Just listen to what I say."
You tried to come down, trying to soothe yourself. Levelling out your breathing. It was hard but eventually manageable. Anything to buy you some time, to try to run again when he let go. After a few minutes, you were breathing close to normal.
"Where's the girl from that night, huh? The sweet little thing that enjoyed looking at art all night? I miss her" Chrollo placed a kiss on your soaked cheek. "I need you to relax sweetie, okay? Can you do that? Stay calm?"
His tone was patronizing, his tone felt like he was talking to some child. Bile climbed up your throat. He was a murderer and a jerk. You tried to nod while his hand over your mouth kept you in place.
"Good girl. Now, swallow."
Without any warning Chrollo's hand over your mouth was moved, only to have his other quickly shove something between your lips. His hand made its way back over your mouth, while he pinched your nose. Forcing you to swallow whatever he had shoved in your mouth if you wanted to breathe. You attempted to refuse but couldn't last long. You could feel him smiling against your cheek when he realized you swallowed. Praises left his lips at how good you were being now, how corporating you will be when you two leave. You had no idea what he meant, but it didn't matter whether you understood or not. Because soon you felt strange, your legs felt frail. Your head felt heavy. This wasn't just the adrenaline leaving your body. Chrollo had drugged you. You gave one last effort, trying to pull from his grasp, but your hands could barely lift past your waist. Too heavy and weak to do anything. Your body was shutting down quicker than you could process, unable to help you at this point. Your eyes were even failing you, begging to be shut. Eyelids begging to shut, refusing to stay open any longer. Even after begging him to not play with you, he was doing what he wanted.
"It'll be fine. You'll be home soon."
His words confused you. You were home, he was in your home. He was the one who ruined your home, your safety. But your thoughts stopped as you slipped away. Slumping in his grasp unable to do anything. If only you could see the satisfaction on Chrollo's face as he carried you out. He knew you'd curse at him.
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goldenstorm0 · 2 months ago
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Good thing of the day: went to the local arts center for the new galleries opening. It was all fiber art and yes there were several exhibits you could touch! I've been to a different fiber themed gallery before and you weren't allowed to touch stuff there and it just feels like a loss. Like half the fun of fiber is that you can touch it, it's a fun sensory thing.
It was mostly sewing and weaving, some felting and knitting/crochet mixed in. 2nd favorite was these weird hanging pods, they looked like cocoons and yes you could touch as long as you weren't too aggressive. I had a lot of fun trying to guess what fibers they used and see if I could recognize any prints/patterns. A lot of stuff was made from found material and it would be crazy if one day someone saw and recognized an old shirt or blanket.
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Favorite piece was easily a quilt called Support System. They had a specific gallery dedicated to neurodivergent artists, and this was the one with the most pieces that you could touch. The quilt was a patchwork of rainbows, starry skies, and notes for the artist from their family and friends. Honestly it made me cry a little, it can be hard to find and surround yourself with people who love and support you, and seeing that experience made into a physical object was sweet.
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Favorite artist was this guy who made quilts, he had an entire little gallery dedicated to him. It was this fun mixture of what is arguably seen as traditionally feminine craft being used to create these masculine motifs. Kinda the vibe I try to go for sometimes but he nailed it better than I do.
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All in all, definitely worth it, but please let me touch more stuff I want to put my hands on ~everything~
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upennmanuscripts · 4 months ago
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THE MOVEMENT OF BOOKS
To read a book, you must move it: take it off the shelf, open the cover, and turn the pages. Yet, in library exhibits, books are often displayed under glass, which protects them but removes the tactile experience crucial to how we understand them.
This paradox is the basis for The Movement of Books, an exhibit exploring the myriad ways books move — as physical objects in different formats, and across space and time. The exhibit will feature items from Penn Libraries' collections, a video wall, and interactive models for visitors to engage with directly.
Using rare books, video footage, and interactive models that visitors can touch and handle, this exhibit explores the many ways books move — as physical objects in different formats, and across space and time.
Where: University of Pennsylvania, Goldstein Family Gallery, Van Pelt-Dietrich Library Center, sixth floor
When: August 30 - December 13, 2024
Open to the public, everyone is welcome!
More details here:
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pochipop · 3 months ago
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#OVERWATCH !! ♡ — DON'T WASTE YOUR HEART IN MOURNING ME (MOIRA X READER).
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#. synopsis! — left to grapple with moira's sudden departure from your life, you spend a harrowing afternoon reminiscing on the good, the bad, and the deliciously bittersweet . #. characters! — moira .
#. warnings! — angst, liberal use of curse words .
#. word count! — 6.1k .
#. others! — navigation & masterlist .
#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .
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The apartment feels larger now than it did before. It’s quiet in a way it never was when Moira was around, —always with her little tics, tapping her long, ever-manicured nails on the kitchen island or pacing about in one of the rooms. . . She did that latter thing a lot near the end, with more dramatic touslings of her hair than in the time before. For a moment, you fear the downstairs neighbors must be celebrating her departure, and the thought of it almost makes you laugh. The silence is laden with memories in every nook and cranny of this place, and it dawns on you now that it feels much like it did back when she and you were moving the first of many boxes in, ready to start a new life together.
Only this time, there’s no promise of eternal love or any of that other bullshit that she always warned you was a fool’s game to play with. 
Moira, Moira, Moira, ever the pragmatic one. . .
There’s a faint scent of lavender-heavy perfume that lingers throughout, reminding you that she wasn’t just some figment of your imagination. At one time, she’d been the love of your life. Or, she was who you thought would take that title, anyway. Nowadays, you just aren’t so sure, and perhaps that’s been the hardest pill to swallow thus far. The scent reminds you of her, —of the way her brows would furrow deeply when she was displeased, of how she always took her coffee black and poked fun at you for the additives you refused to drink it without. It reminds you of her arms wrapping ever so sweetly around your waist, her chin coming down to rest on the crown of your head.
You blink and try to focus on something —anything— else. It’s hard enough to deal with it all, but you’re just torturing yourself with it at this point. Your eyes sweep the room, the cream-colored walls, landing on a painting you’d created several years ago. It was lackluster now in terms of honed skill, but there was something so endlessly passionate about it, so full of vibrance and promise. Reaching out, your fingertips graze the glazed canvas, and it’s like you’re right back there again. . .
The gallery buzzes with excitement, the sounds of light, casual conversation and clinking wine glasses echoing through the wide halls. You stand before your own work, amazed that it’s hanging here in this exhibit of your prowess, even if this gig had been a long time coming. To see it actually displayed here made your heart soar. It was the biggest step you’d taken in your career since moving to this city and it felt so incredible that your sacrifices were finally paying off.
You’re caught up in the whirlwind of congratulations, thanks, and small talk, —but none of that is enough to keep your eyes from drifting over to her; a tall, ginger-haired, sophisticated woman standing a few feet back from one of your pieces, staring at it intensely enough to feel unnerving and intriguing all in the same breath. Dressed in a finely pressed suit the same color of the wine in her glass, her sharp, calculating gaze turns to you as you approach her nervously, feeling small both physically and metaphorically standing beside her.
“I can’t quite tell if you like it or not,” you muse, trying to sound playful, even if the real intent was just to have her offer her unfiltered opinion so you could stop guessing what she thought of it.
The way she was staring at it made you feel like she thought there was some kind of hidden message carved into the paint strokes. When her eyes flicker to you, you notice that they’re different colors, —one red, one blue, both deeper shades, and you get lost in them for a moment before she laughs softly, and you have something else to fall into. 
“Oh, I like it quite a bit,” she answers.
There’s an accent clinging to her words, but you haven’t quite placed it just yet. That doesn't stop it from making your stomach twist itself into knots though.
“It’s quite captivating.” 
You almost blurt out that you could say the same of her, but you let that sentence die on your tongue before it has the chance to see the light of day.
“I’m glad you think so,” you smile softly, “it was my favorite of the bunch. That’s why I placed it in the center of the exhibit.” 
“I’m inclined to agree,” she nods. “How much would it cost to purchase?”
Your eyes widen. It wasn’t necessarily unusual for paintings to be arranged to be sold during these events, but that tended to come with recognition from the local art collecting scene that you just didn’t have at the moment. For you, this exhibit was more about reaching a wider audience and allowing the public to see your pieces than it was making any kind of profit. . .
“Um. . . I— I don’t know, how much would you be willing to pay?” You swallow, at the risk of sounding unprofessional.
She gives the painting another glance over, then turns back to you.
“Does a grand sound fair?”
Your jaw almost dropped to the floor.
“S-Sorry?”
“Two?”
Holy shit. All of this seemed to have gone from zero to a thousand (or two. . .) in the blink of an eye, and you have to take a second to collect yourself, lest you seem anymore clueless than you’ve probably already come across as.
“Does. . . fifteen hundred work?” You dare.
“Certainly,” Moira nods decisively.
You give her your information so she can send the money your way in a few days time when she comes to pick the painting up at the end of the exhibition. And when the time comes, you walk away with one less painting to lug back to your apartment, fifteen hundred dollars richer, and with a new phone number added to your contacts with her name attached.
It was almost funny. Maybe you’d have laughed if you weren’t already on the verge of tears. All of this has really come full circle, and you’re just not sure you appreciate the irony of it all in the moment. Here you are, standing in front of this goddamn painting, the one that had acted as a catalyst to meeting Moira in the first place. . . And it’s back in your possession, because she couldn’t even be bothered to take it with her. As much as you love it for what it represents, there’s a part of you that wants to pluck it off the wall and slam it out the window right about now. Or maybe beating it with a baseball bat or something would feel more satisfying.
Whatever the case, you’re getting tired of looking at it, so you avert your gaze elsewhere and let your back touch the wall beside it. Stupid painting. Stupid apartment. Stupid Moira and her stupid decisions that have plagued your life for the past five years, and those stupidly long nails that traced perfect shapes along your hip at night, and her stupid lips with that goddamn orangeish gloss that always stained yours when she’d kiss you—
“Ugh!” You groan.
All this reminiscing has reminded you of how electric it felt to be in her presence back then, how magnetic she’d been from the start. Those sharp eyes that matched her wit, those clever jokes she’d throw your way (some of which went over your head, admittedly), —and the sweetness of her voice when it came to you. She was kinder with you in subtle way, would place her hands on the small of your back in public, taking care to tuck loose strands of your hair behind your ears if the need arose. You hate that this fallout has left you wondering if it was ever truly affection at all, of if she was simply protecting her own self-image.
You’ve questioned a lot of things about her over the years, but whether or not she was genuine in her love for you had rarely been one. But now, that conversation is back on the table, and it’s woefully one-sided this time. 
One text lead to many. At first, it was hard to tell if she was simply interested in you as an artist or if that interest expanded to you as a person, but she quickly put your worries to rest when she began flirting with you in a way that even you, in all your obliviousness, had to acknowledge was more than playful banter between friends. Slowly, your life became intertwined with hers, and looking back, it seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. One late night date at a fancy bar and you were practically groveling at her feet, so desperate for her to see you as her equal. She spoke with you about science and philosophy, —her words acting as a forewarning for what was inevitably to come, even if you didn’t realize it at the time.
She was very hush-hush about her working endeavors, but you knew she was employed by Overwatch. That alone explained why she couldn’t divulge all the information of her duties to you, and you were okay with that. The secrecy got worse as time went on. Especially after she was publicly shamed for her “poor regard for the ethics of the scientific community” or whatever. The city isn’t small by any means, but it wasn’t large enough to spare you the fate of being tied to her name. You’d been seen attending various events with her, and many of the wealthy clientele that purchased paintings from the local galleries soon put two and two together. At that point, your paintings began selling at a much slower and much less financially liberal rate.
Moira insisted that it was okay. That it would pass eventually as she became involved with a different organization, —or. . . A different branch of the same organization? You weren’t sure. She never explained much, and you didn’t like to pry. If Moira wanted you to know something, she would tell you. Anything beyond that was best left alone.
Equally mesmerizing and maddening all at once, she insists that all is well. That everything will be okay. That all of this heat on her name is a fad, that once she proves herself, the tides will turn in her favor. . . And you believe her. You take smaller, more intimate jobs and refrain from showing your face at the local galleries for a while, waiting for the heat to die down. She talks you into moving in with her, taking you from your one-bedroom studio apartment to the top of the most affluent building in the city. You tell her it doesn’t feel much like anywhere you could call home, and she brushes your concerns away.
“It’s all the empty space,” she says. “We’ll decorate.”
You do, and somewhere along the line this apartment begins to feel exactly like you insisted it couldn’t. You sleep on sheets that smell like her, bury your face into her pillow to breathe her in when she gets up at ungodly hours of the morning to leave for work. She hangs that painting she bought from you about a year ago by now up on the wall near the kitchen and the living room, and she glances at it often when she sits at the counter. When she manages to make it home in time for dinner, you sit together and eat. . . Sometimes she’s just shy of talking your ear off, and others, she doesn’t say much at all.
She cups your cheeks and insists that everything will be okay when you get overwhelmed. She learns how to be gentler with you, learns how to be more sensitive. You learn how to trust her more and how to avoid stepping on her toes when her days are hard. Sometimes, you convince her to turn that magnificent brain of hers off and watch something stupid on the television with you, —trashy reality TV that she doesn’t really get, but likes to watch you giggle at more than anything else. If you’re lucky, she won’t wake you when you doze off in her lap, she’ll just gently massage your scalp and let you rest against her.
Slowly but surely, the apartment is filled with lots of things. Books, trinkets, little pieces of decor. . . Love. She doesn’t declare it often, but every now and again, she’ll get the urge to remind you. Usually it’s just before you fall asleep, her long arms pulling you against her chest, mumbling a confession so quiet only you can hear it above her heartbeat; like it’s a secret she’s keeping from the rest of the world.
You feel bad that sometimes you wish it was.
“Do you even understand what’s happening?” You ask one afternoon, frustrated and angered by her continued neutrality towards it all. “To me?” You add. “To us?” 
Those eyes that you’ve always loved so much flash with anger and a hint of something else, something you don’t really recognize on her. . . Guilt?
“What is there to understand?” She challenges. “My work is important. I thought you understood at least that much.”
“And mine isn’t?” You counter.
“I never said that,” she shakes her head. “I’ve never not supported your career choices, —need I remind you how we met?” 
She says that and gestures to the hung painting on the wall. You nearly scoff.
“It’s one thing to support me, Moira, it’s another to be proactive about it.”
She frowns.
“I’m sorry our relationship has caused you so much distress,” she hisses.
“That isn’t what I’m saying,” you bite back.
“Then what exactly are you saying, y/n?” She questions, but you can tell by the way she says it that she’s not really looking for an answer.
You still offer one anyway.
“I’m asking you when enough is enough, Moira.”
Her expression hardens, a shield silently snapping into place.
“Enough is never enough in science,” she says to you, like you’re some underling in her lab she’s giving a lecture to.
There’s a cold, detached sentiment in her tone, —one that makes your heart ache. Because you love her, in spite of all this.
“Progress requires sacrifice.”
You laugh, but it sounds so bitter that you hardly recognize it came from you.
“Sacrifice? You wanna preach to me of all people about sacrifice? —What about us, Moira? What about the sacrifices I’ve made, endless ones, mind you, to be here and stand with you and back the things you do? This kind of mindless complacency because I care, and I only ever want to assume the best of you. But what about me? What about the life we’ve built together? Does that mean nothing to you?”
Moira’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place. Regret, maybe, or something like fleeting sorrow.
“Of course it means something to me,” she says softly.
You hurt her, and you can see it on her face. A part of you wants to reach out, take her by the wrist, kiss this better. . . But you don’t. The argument hangs heavy in the air, a chasm widening between the two of you. She turns away and leaves the apartment for a while. It’s nearly midnight when she returns, and she sleeps in the guest room for the next few days. You catch brief glimpses of her every now and again when one of you is coming or going, but there isn’t really anything to say. It’s a stalemate, and you’re both a little too stubborn for you own good.
Moira cracks first after four days, a rare showing of compassion on her part. You come home to a nice, home cooked dinner, and she coaxes you into sitting down and eating with her. It’s not like it takes much convincing. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her cook, but you’re reminded of how much you’ve missed it as you eat what she’s prepared. After some awkward small talk about what you’ve both been up to over the past few days, and you holding your tongue on any snarky quips, she sighs.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she tells you. “About us.”
In the back of your mind, a part of you steels for a breakup. For some dissolution of everything you’ve put your heart into, and somehow. . . It feels like something that was bound to happen. And that’s the worst part. Still, you nod and put your fork down, giving her your full attention as she speaks with careful measure. It’s the first real conversation you’ve had with her in over half a week, and you’re determined to make it count for something. 
“My work is very important to me. You must know as much by now. But I do understand your frustrations, and I’m sorry that my career has interfered with yours. There isn’t much I can do about it, but I acknowledge your frustrations, and if I could make this easier for you, y/n, you know that I. . .”
You sigh.
“I do,” you say softly. “I know.”
She nods.
“I also know that I can be difficult to be with at times. I know that I get so caught up in my experiments that I fail to leave time for anything else, but I try. Because I care for you very deeply, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose what we have together, what we’ve built. . .”
“I know,” you repeat. 
Moira sighs.
“You’re still angry with me.”
“I am,” you admit. “But I appreciate that you’re trying to make things right, and I. . . Should apologize to you too. For what I said. I know that you care about me, and about our relationship, and I’m sorry that I questioned that. It was wrong.”
She seems pleased with this, —more than willing to let it be water under the bridge.
Things admittedly don’t get much easier in the fallout. Not in terms of your career, anyway. Your works are tainted by the woman you call a lover, and your name is blackballed across the community. It’s a constant struggle to reconcile your own morality with the dubiousness of her’s, and yet you really can’t imagine life without her. So you stay, and you sleep in her bed; —your bed. The one you’ve built with her. You stuff it down and vent your frustrations to the walls of your painting room.
You glance to the door but make no move to go near it. God, all this shit those walls have heard over the years. . . You don’t even wanna think about what kind of therapy they’d need if they were sentient. It’s almost enough to make you shiver. This entire apartment, for that matter, is like some kind of twisted mausoleum of memories; good and bad. The bed you’ve slept alone in more nights than you can count over the years is the same one she undressed you so many times on, picking you apart like you were perfectly cooked ribs just sliding off the bone, and fuck it makes you so mad that she’s just thrown everything away like this. That couch you’ve cried on out of sheer overwhelming frustration is the one where she urged you onto her lap, the one she covered you up with a blanket on those times she came home to find you napping there.
It’s been three years since that argument was settled at the table. It’s been three days since she sat you down in the same chair, in the same room, at that same goddamn table, to tell you she was leaving. That she didn’t know when or if she’d be coming back. That Overwatch was just too stifling, that she needed to get away, to explore. . . And in the process, she’s left you alone. Again. The echoes of that last conversation haunt the empty space. You’re mad. You’re so, so angry that this is the way she left things, and it’s eating you up like boiling water in your veins.
All that time you’d spent making sacrifices, letting your art be devalued so she could search for some secret key to humanity’s shackles while keeping you chained in this fucking apartment. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling just didn’t fix everything the way it should have for the way it raised the rent of this goddamn place. You check your phone, knowing there won’t be any kind of message or call from her, but silently hoping there might be. That maybe, just this once, she’ll prove you wrong. . . That she’ll just come back and say she’s sorry, that she made a mistake and wants to make it right again.
But there’s nothing.  You choke back a sob and train your eyes on the apartment walls again. They’ve seen nearly everything from start to finish, and yet you just don’t feel like you can let them watch you weep now. They held your back when Moira pressed you against them, her hands traversing you with more muscle memory of you each time, and they held it again the night she said she was departing while you slid down it, heart heavy enough to pull you like gravity itself.
Now, these walls bear silent witness to your grief. The silence wraps around you like a cold, unwelcome blanket, frigid on your skin like her hands tended to be. It amplifies every thought in your head, every memory of her, all the things she’s just left behind now like it was easy. Like it was all meaningless fodder for her when to you, it was just shy of everything. It was what you fought for the hardest, what you sacrificed for the most, what you were willing to crawl on your hands and knees for above anything else. It’s hard to believe that she’s gone, just like that, but the absence of her presence now, the absence of her things, makes it all too real. 
You let your head tilt upward, catching the barest sight of the painting just up and to your left. The thing that started it all, the beginning of the end, and it feels like such a cruel joke now, —like a reminder of everything you’ve come to lose.
More than anything, you want to be angry. You want to tear this place apart with your bare hands, destroy every reminder of her, every piece of her that still lingers in this god forsaken apartment. . . But you can’t. You just can’t bring yourself to do it, and not just for the fact that the costs will be far too much to repay in the aftermath. Instead, you simply slump further against the wall, letting the tension melt into exhaustion, and letting all this weight crush your spirits in way only something uniquely Moira ever could.
The love you held, the love you received, the dreams you shared, —all of it and more is tangled up in this place, in the memories that permeate every room. You’re surrounded by it, but even if you leave, you know all too well that it’ll just travel with you. There’s no escaping this, and that’s the scariest part. Your hand drifts to your phone again, almost involuntarily, as if by some miracle there’ll be a message from her; something to explain that her hand was forced, that she’s sorry, that she didn’t want things to end the way they did either. Maybe there’ll be a goodbye that doesn’t feel so goddamn final, maybe she’ll ask you to wait for her because she knows you would if she requested it.
But there’s nothing.
Just the same void that’s been growing since she walked out the door.
The tears come before you can stop them this time, a pent-up release of all the emotions you’ve been stuffing down for three days. Anger, sorrow, confusion, frustration, all of it and more, mix together and spill out through your eyes as you curl up on the cold floor, folding in on yourself, trying to feel as small as possible in hopes that you might just disappear altogether.
You can almost feel her hand atop your head in a comforting gesture, the way she used to pet you like a cat because she wasn’t sure what else to do when you cried. You can still hear her voice ringing in your ears.
“We should talk,” she says, a sense of hesitation present which was wholly uncharacteristic of her. . . Moira wasn’t the type to hesitate.She never had been. 
Her usual confidence has been replaced by something tentative, and that cut deeper than any words ever could. 
“Is something wrong?” You ask softly, because something surely was, even if you didn’t know what just yet.
“Just sit, please,” she requests, and you do, ignoring the sense of deja vu.
“Moira?” You utter, and she cringes visibly at the desperation on your tongue.
“I’m leaving.”
Your mind stills. There’s no way you heard that correctly, or perhaps you just need to clarify what she means, maybe she’s going somewhere for a time, but surely she’ll return, surely she’ll come back—
“L-Leaving?” You repeat after a few moments of silence. “What do you mean leaving?”
She looks to the floor, like she’s searching the grooves of the tiles for the right way to explain.
“Overwatch. . . Has made a fool of me for too long. And I’ve stupidly allowed it for the sake of access to their equipment and their people, but no longer.”
This wasn’t news to you. She’d always shown a slight disdain for her employers, but her relationship with her superiors had gotten notably more hostile in recent months. She spit more venom when speaking of them now, scowled when she saw anything to do with Overwatch in the media. . . But you never thought it was this bad.
“So you’re leaving your job?” You seek to clarify.
“Yes, but. . .” she pauses. “I’ve been presented with an opportunity that I cannot pass up.”
“A job offer?”
“Something like that.”
You frown.
“This is way too cryptic for my taste, Moira, can you please just—”
“I’m going away.”
Another pause, this time from you as you let her words digest.
“. . . going where?” You ask eventually.
“I cannot tell you,” she replies decisively, and for the first time, you’re tempted to ask why.
For so long, you’d been fine to simply accept what she couldn’t divulge to you. It was what it was. But not this time.
“Don’t you think I deserve some kind of explanation for all of this?” You question, raising your voice slightly. “You can’t just tell me you’re leaving, that’s not how this is supposed to work, Moira, we’re partners—”
Her face tightens, uncertainty morphing into resolve. Her tone is pointed as she cuts you off.
“I know it’s not fair,” she tells you bluntly, voice steadier than before. “But this isn’t about fairness. This is something I need to do for myself.” This only makes you angrier.
“And what about me then? The person you’ve, I don’t know, —built a fucking life with? What about me in all of this, you can’t just throw me away and give me no explanation! If you need space, just say that you need space, you don’t need to play a cryptic game with me, I know you! Why the secrecy with me of all people?”
The woman you’ve always known to be so confident now seems so vulnerable before you, and it almost makes you feel guilty for being upset.
“It’s not about secrecy. It’s about protecting you, protecting myself and my work. . . If I told you everything, it would compromise too much. I will not put you in danger.”
“But putting the woman I love in danger is just fine by you?” You hiss. “Don’t tell me you’re protecting me, don’t make this out to be some noble act on your part. What are you so afraid of telling me?” 
“The information you’re after is something I cannot disclose to you.”
“Don’t speak to me like I’m a stranger meddling in your affairs, we are partners! We’ve been together for half a decade, we share a home, you can’t just leave!” You shout. “Don’t you think I deserve a proper explanation after everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve put me through?” 
“What you deserve and what I can give you are rarely the same thing, and you know this.”
You scoff.
“This isn’t about you,” she continues. “This is about protecting the things I value, which includes you, whether or not you believe as much right now. If I were to reveal details, it would jeopardize everything: my work, my safety, your safety, and I’m doing what’s necessary to prevent that. I’m not willing to risk it. Because I know you as well, and I know how stubborn you are. I’m doing everything in my power to keep you out of a situation that puts you in harm’s way.”
“And what about the risk of losing me, huh? The risk of losing everything we’ve built together? You’re just walking away without giving me any proper closure, —dropping this bomb on me and expecting me to take it in stride? Just swallow this like it’s not going to turn my world upside down?” 
Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.
“How is this any better?” You demand.
“It has nothing to do with you,” she retorts. “It has nothing to do with walking away from you.”
“Yes it does, because that’s what you’re doing!” You argue. 
“I am making a choice that I believe is best for my career and for both our safety. I’m ensuring that my choices don’t put you in danger. You of all people must understand that by now.” 
The silence stretches after her words and you feel the weight of them mix with your mounting frustrations. 
“You think you’re protecting me by shutting me out like this?” You question, hurt evident in your voice. “By just up and leaving without giving me any real explanation? How is this supposed to make anything better?” “I never said it was supposed to make anything better.”
You laugh, bitter and sarcastic. Her frown deepens. 
“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” she tells you in earnest, but it’s hard to believe it in the moment.
What do intentions matter in this case if it hurts you all the same?
“What about us?” You question, voice breaking. “What about the life we’ve built together? You can’t just erase it all and pretend like it never happened. You can’t do that.”
Her eyes flicker with a brief flash of something like guilt, but she masks it quickly.
“My decision wasn’t made to erase our past—”
“Our past?” You interrupt.
She runs a hand down her face in frustration.
“My decision is not about erasing you,” she revises. “It’s about ensuring that my actions don’t put you in a position I can’t protect you in. I’m taking the steps to ensure that my choices don’t harm you.”
“You’re harming me right now!”
“And you can heal from this!” She snaps. “But there’s no guarantee you’ll heal from what could happen to you if I don’t make the choice I’m making right now. I’m taking the necessary steps to protect what’s important, and that includes making tough decisions.”
You feel your hands start to tremble. Because of what, you’re not sure. . . Maybe it’s anger, maybe it’s anxiety, maybe it’s grief. 
“Don’t try to justify this to me,” you shake your head. “Don’t try to pretend like you’re doing this for anyone but yourself. After everything I’ve done for you, all the sacrifices I’ve made, you’re throwing everything away like it’s worthless? How is that protection?”
Her gaze hardens.
“You know well and full that I do not make uncalculated decisions. This is no different. I’m making a choice that keeps you safe, even if you don’t recognize that right now.” 
“It’s not about what I do or don’t understand!” You shout. “It’s about trust! It’s about being fucking honest with me! You’re not even giving me a choice in this, and that’s not fair! You’re making choices for the both of us alone that we should have been making together!” 
“I’m not asking you to like or agree with what I’m doing, I am telling you what’s taking place because I care for you, and I believe you deserve that much,” she states. “But this conversation does not change what has to be done.”
“So that’s just it then?” You question in disbelief. “You’re throwing me away and I don’t even get a say? You’re just gonna up and go and leave me to pick up the pieces by myself?” 
The rest is a blur. She gathered her things while you sit around in a daze, pinching yourself every so often, convinced that you’ll wake up and it’ll all just be a nightmare. You’ll tell her about it when you wake up and she’ll tell you you’re ridiculous with a lopsided smile on her face, and she’ll roll her eyes when you wrap your arms around her waist and bury your face in her chest. It’ll all feel better when she kisses the crown of your head and mumbles that she’ll see you when she gets home from work. 
But she doesn’t.
“Moira,” you practically whimper as she emerges from your shared room with items smushed into a travel case. “Don’t. Don’t do this.” 
She pauses, unable to meet your gaze completely. Like she’s ashamed in all of this, as much as she wants to hide that away.
“This isn’t easy for me either,” she tells you.There’s a twisted coolness to her voice, like she’s rehearsed these exact lines so many times before now.
“But I’ve made my decision. There’s nothing more to say.”
“Please,” you choke out, not caring how pathetic or childlike you sound as you beg for this woman not to exit your life and leave you high and dry. “Please don’t do this, don’t leave, please don’t go, we can figure something out—”
“We can’t,” she shakes her head. “I’m leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll return. I don’t even know that I’ll be coming back at all.”
“But I love you,” you utter in desperation. 
“I know,” she says, her voice colder than you ever thought it could be. “But love isn’t enough right now. This is bigger than us, and I can’t ignore that.”
You reach out and grab the sleeve of her button-up shirt.“Don’t do this to me,” you plead.
But when you look into her eyes, all you see is resignation.
“I wish things were different,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, but still laced with that same finality. “But I can’t change what I have to do. This isn’t about us, it’s about something far bigger, and I need you to trust me like you always have.”
“Moira.”
Her thumb strokes your cheek in a tender gesture that feels like a cruel contrast to the words she’s saying. 
“You’re stronger than you think, and you’ll be okay,” she continues. “And maybe there’ll be a day when I can come back. But for now, you have to let me go.”
You feel sick to your stomach, hand clutching so tightly around her’s that it likely hurts, but you can’t help it. You shake your head as your throat squeezes and you open your mouth slightly to speak, but nothing comes out.
She pauses in the doorway, her back to you, and for a moment you think she might turn around. But she doesn’t. Instead, she simply says, “Take care of yourself.” The memory fades and you feel hollow. Raw, like the wound has been ripped open all over again. It stings like it’s been covered in salt. You blink, realizing now more than before that you’re alone, on the floor in this cold, empty apartment. The echo of the door as it closed behind her for the last time rings in your ear, over and over, a sound you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. So you don’t. You sit and let it fester. And maybe you’ll wait around for her and she’ll come crawling back some few odd years later. Maybe you’ll move on and search for her in the face of every potential partner you sit across from at warm cafes. As you sit there, the painting looms in your vision, its once comforting brushstrokes now a bittersweet echo of a time when everything felt whole. It’s a reminder of what was and what might never be again and it makes you nauseous just to stare in its tainted direction. But you’ll keep it hung no matter where you go, and you know that. . . Because Moira loved it. And you love her. 
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s-soulwriter · 11 months ago
Text
Dark ideas for your book
(promts)
The Eclipsed City: In a dystopian future, a city is perpetually shrouded in darkness due to a rare cosmic event. Within its shadows, a mysterious cult thrives, promising salvation to those who embrace the eternal night.
Spectral Inheritance: A family cursed with the ability to see and communicate with ghosts is haunted by a malevolent spirit that seeks to manipulate them into committing unspeakable acts.
The Silence Plague: A mysterious illness sweeps across the world, causing those afflicted to lose the ability to speak. As society collapses, a group of survivors must navigate the eerie quietness and unravel the origins of the plague.
Cabinet of Wonders: An eccentric collector amasses a macabre assortment of cursed artifacts. When a group of thieves attempts to steal from the collection, they unwittingly unleash ancient evils upon the world.
The Labyrinthine Asylum: A renowned psychologist opens an asylum for the criminally insane, but as he delves into the minds of the patients, he discovers a shared, otherworldly experience that threatens to consume them all.
The Dollmaker's Obsession: A toymaker creates eerily lifelike dolls imbued with the souls of the deceased. As the dolls begin to exhibit disturbing behavior, the townspeople must confront the consequences of meddling with the afterlife.
The Whispering Woods: A forest is rumored to house a malevolent entity that preys on the deepest fears of those who enter. A group of friends camping in the woods must confront their inner demons as reality warps around them.
Mirror, Mirror: A cursed mirror reflects not the physical appearance but the innermost desires of those who gaze into it. As individuals succumb to their obsessions, the mirror's dark power grows stronger.
The Forgotten Carnival: A long-abandoned carnival mysteriously reopens, drawing in unsuspecting visitors. However, the attractions harbor supernatural secrets that force patrons to face their darkest fears.
Phantom Limbs: After a groundbreaking medical procedure, patients begin to experience the sensation of phantom limbs that seem to have a life of their own, leading to a series of grisly and unexplainable events.
The Clockwork Curse: A clockmaker crafts a series of intricate, cursed timepieces that manipulate the lives of their owners. As time unravels, the characters must race against the clock to break the curse.
The Wretched Symphony: In a haunted opera house, a composer unwittingly writes a masterpiece that channels the anguish of tormented spirits. The music's power transcends the stage, causing supernatural disturbances throughout the city.
The Soul Market: A hidden market emerges where people can buy and sell souls. Those who partake soon discover the horrifying consequences of trading away their essence.
Tunnels of Despair: A series of mysterious tunnels are discovered beneath a small town, leading to an ancient chamber that houses a malevolent force capable of manifesting the fears of anyone who enters.
The Crimson Masquerade: At a masquerade ball, attendees wearing cursed masks find themselves trapped in a surreal realm where their darkest secrets are revealed, leading to a night of intrigue, betrayal, and horror.
The Oracle's Prophecy: A gifted oracle foretells a series of apocalyptic events, and a group of unlikely heroes must decipher the cryptic messages to prevent the end of the world.
The Coven's Conspiracy: In a secluded village, a coven of witches enacts a dark ritual to unleash a powerful ancient entity. As the villagers begin to vanish, a lone investigator must confront the supernatural forces at play.
The Unseen Gallery: An artist creates paintings that come to life, each depicting a nightmarish realm. As the paintings multiply, they threaten to merge the real world with their grotesque dimensions.
The Haunting Melody: A cursed melody is passed down through generations, causing madness and death to those who hear it. A musician discovers the haunting tune and must find a way to break the curse before it claims more lives.
The Apothecary's Concoction: A mysterious apothecary brews elixirs that grant extraordinary abilities, but at a cost. As users become addicted to the potions, they spiral into madness, leading to a city on the brink of collapse.
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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago
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✶ Pendulum ✶
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✶ Pairing: model!hyunjin x model!chubby!fem!reader
✶ Genre: fluff, angst, smut
✶ Summary: You visit Hyunjin on the night of his big art exhibit intent on closing this chapter of your life but he's not willing to let go that easily.
✶ Word Count: 1.2k-ish
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✶ Warnings: Hyunjin's a lil bit possessive, fingering, nibbling, marking, and that's about it my loves
✶ A/N: This is part two of a Hyunjin/Minho love triangle fic that has come to emotionally wreck me but I love it and fingers crossed you will too! 🖤 part three is here 🖤
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It’s been three weeks since Paris Fashion Week. Three weeks since you fell in love with Minho. Three weeks of falling asleep on FaceTime and sneaking little moments in with each other between your busy schedules. There was no way to anticipate that you’d come to mean this much to each other, your feelings deepening as the days go on.
Saying yes to that date with Minho opened the door to a new way of being cherished that only he can offer. But there remains a thread tied to the corner of your heart, tugging you back to your past. If you’re to step through the door that lies before you, you must first shut the one that lies behind...
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And that’s what brings you here...
to an upscale art gallery a half hour before Hyunjin’s first exhibit. Crisp autumn leaves dance along the pavement, a ballet of deep reds and vibrant yellows, as you flee the chilly night air for the warmth of the sleek, rustic gallery. Matte black walls combine with polished cherry wood accents to give you the sense that you’re somewhere you can be comfortable. But not too comfortable.
You can already smell his cologne, cedar and spice, coasting through the air to greet you before he appears at the top of the stairs to your left. “You came,” he says, feigning indifference as he takes his time descending the stairs. After he broke your heart you insisted that he no longer held any power over you. The spell had been broken, or so you thought. So you hoped. But no such thing is true.
Hyunjin moves like a gazelle, his limbs long and graceful. He somehow manages to make the simple act of walking feel like a performance art piece. Tonight he’s pulled his hair back into a high ponytail, a few delicate strands left hanging to frame his now smiling face. Standing before you, he extends an arm, his hand patiently at your service. You slip out of your jacket, tossing it over his arm.
“Well, you said you wanted to talk so I’m here.” Hyunjin laughs, finding amusement in the way you’ve turned the tables. Pretending not to care when you both know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. “I was going to take your hand—” he starts, his gaze trailing behind you as you journey deeper into the gallery.
You always thought it a shame that people could never seem to get past his physical appearance long enough to see what’s truly special about him. Surrounded by his art, drawings and paintings he’d once only been brave enough to reveal to you, you can’t help but feel proud of him. “Hwang Hyunjin, jack of all trades” you sigh, stopping to get a closer look at a watercolor painting of butterflies whose wings seemingly melt down the canvas.
Hyunjin joins you, ignoring the painting to admire your silk black dress.
“Jack of all trades, master of none, but I’m still, I guess, better than a master of one.”
“Mmm, I don’t know about that. What’s so bad about a master of one? Maybe the master of one just knows where his heart is.”
The back of his hand strokes your arm, sending an electric current through your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he’s moved closer. Close enough for the sensation of his breath on your neck to give you shivers when he asks, “Where’s yours?” “Where’s my what?” Your head snaps toward him, the accusatory tone of his voice triggering your defenses.
“Your heart. Do you know where it is?” 
“You have no right to ask me that. Not when you broke it.” Every fiber of your being is telling you to run away and Hyunjin must sense it because his arms are around you before you can make your grand escape. “Don’t run from me” he pleads, “Just tell me what I can do to fix it.” You’ve never seen Hyunjin cry before but the moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes is a sure sign that you might.
Nothing can erase the pain that he made you feel yet you can’t deny what he’s done since to ease it. Showing up to Paris Fashion Week alone, refusing to arrive with any woman who wasn't you. Admitting where he went wrong when it came to being honest with you. Apologizing in every language he knows and in a few he doesn't. Professing his love for you openly among your social circle without a care for how sensitive they may think he is.
He’s stepped so far outside of his character that occasionally you had to pinch yourself to make sure his efforts weren’t all in your head. To ask more of him feels almost sadistic. “It’s not you” you admit, lifting some of the pressure from his shoulders, “I’m just, I don’t know. Afraid?”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“Of the piece of my heart that’s still here with you.” You love him still. And you can’t outrun it any more than you could the way your heart ached for Minho when he first touched your hand, comforting you before the red carpet all those nights ago. You hate yourself for it, wishing that you could make these feelings disappear, all the while surrendering to Hyunjin’s kiss.
He sweeps you into it without warning, no longer able to control the need to feel your tongue against his. Kissing him is that first bite of your favorite food after you’ve been deprived of it for far too long. Your senses are aflame, moisture creeping between your thighs as he presses your back to the wall. Hyunjin buries his face between your breasts, his tongue lashing and nibbling as they rise and fall with each bated breath you take.
Your fingers tangle with his hair, the tie that keeps his ponytail secure quickly slipping to the floor. “You have to be mine again,” he says, not asking but telling. Demanding. He raises one of your legs to straddle his hip, pushing a hand between you to knead your pillow soft thighs. “He can’t have you. I won’t let him.” Hyunjin kisses you all over, suckling at your sensitive skin to mark his territory.
Pushing his hips further between your legs, he teases the wetness of your panties, your clit already stiff enough to feel through the thin cotton. “Hyunjin, please—” you beg, not quite knowing what you’re begging for. Less? More? The arch of your back as his fingers dive into your core decides it’s ‘more’. He pulls back, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, “Say my name again.”
His fingers pick up speed, your walls spasming with each unforgiving twist of his wrist. “Hyunjin” you whine, gripping his shoulders to keep yourself from crumbling to the ground. He missed seeing you this way. Dressed up all pretty, lipstick smeared across your face, moaning his name. Your juices stream down his wrist, leaving tiny drops of your arousal on his sleeve. He welcomes it. Welcomes anything that’ll leave your scent behind for later. “Mine. Always mine” he repeats, circling your clit with his thumb. 
You should’ve never come here. You should’ve stayed as far away from this man as possible. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. The reality is that you didn’t stay away. Hyunjin called and you came now you’re coming around his fingers, allowing yourself to be claimed once more by the lust filled demons of your past. And, oh, what a glorious one he is.
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dvktheartist · 2 years ago
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Here’s some photos from the ‘Real thoughts’ exhibition in Rome! See the whole collection of artworks here (check under activity as well to see the already sold pieces) https://foundation.app/world/mfa-gallery-real-thoughts
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elilelibeli · 1 month ago
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slight nsfw: Reg just has some filthy realizations about James
Sirius nagged and nagged “Regulus you have to hang out with my friends” and “Reggie come out with us” and “go with us to the party” and the answer was always an eye roll and a firm no, until Sirius put his foot down (he literally physically thumped his foot like a toddler) and forced Regulus to go with him to the lake.
This is how Regulus found himself on a big rock, under the sun surrounded by trees on a warm Saturday afternoon. It started with fishing, he obviously did not participate (he would rather die than touch those sluggy bait warms thank you very much) but Sirius and his usually very, very loud friends kept quiet to not scare the fish away so at least that was a nice start of the day.
Fishing lasted all morning until it was unbearable to stay under the sun without evaporating, so James declared that section of the day done and quickly jumped into the lake. Soon enough boys all joined James in the water and the quiet portion of the day was unfortunately done. There was lots of splashing, lots of yelling, jumping and water wrestling after that.
Regulus continued to bask under the sun, switching from listening to music, reading or sketching in his notebook. He only went under water when boys went to try jumping from the further away cliff. The nap after cooling down at the lake was one of the more incredible ones Regulus had taken, so he wasn’t too happy with being woken up.
The boys had returned and brought all the buzzing noise with them, laughing while rustling through the picnic baskets and bags.
When Regulus opened his eyes he saw James with a plate full of fruit between his legs. James was laughing at Peter and Sirius trying to find something in the bag, until he grabbed a peach and took a bite.
Now Regulus had seen art, he had visited world’s best museums, he had been to galleries, exhibitions. He had seen ballets, operas, performances. He had seen them all but what he was seeing now was beyond any artistic ability to express.
Biting of a fruit shouldn’t have been as beautiful, it was something so ordinary something everyone did, however the way James’s fingers curved around that peach or how his lips plumped around the fruit was so far from the ordinary it would be a disrespect to hang it even in the Louvre.
Regulus had also seen porn, he had read it too. Obscene descriptions, filthy scenes. He thought he had encountered the most lustfully attractive moments before, but the way the sweet, sticky drop of the perfectly ripe peach rolled down from James’s lips to his jaw was the most profane and knee buckling thing he had ever seen.
His eyes stuck on that drop, transfixed as he watched it slowly, oh so slowly travel down on James’s neck, slide from his collarbone to his nipple. Oh what wouldn’t Regulus give if he could just follow that drop with his tongue. Now, that was the path he would happily follow everyday. The drop was almost mocking him now, touching James everywhere Regulus realized he wanted to touch, his toned, beautifully, beautifully sun kissed stomach. And when the drop neared the line of James’s hips, at that divine curve Regulus’s stares became so intense James’s probably felt them burn holes through him and looked at Regulus.
“Hey Reggie want some?” He asked waving a peach with a big chunk bitten out of it and smiling that big shiny smile of his.
And Regulus did, oh how he wanted not just some but everything. The droplet of peach now forgotten but forever highlighting the desires of poor, breathtaken Regulus.
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iwtvfanevents · 8 months ago
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Rewind the Tape —Episode 2
Art of the episode
Just like we did for the pilot, we took note of the art shown and mentioned in the second episode while we rewatched it, and we are sharing our findings with you. Did we miss any? Can you help us put a name to the unidentified ones? Do you have any thoughts about how these references could be interpreted?
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Unnamed painting by Marius de Romanus
Created for the show (uncredited artist).
Armand (still "Rashid") tells Daniel that Marius was a contemporary of Tintoretto (1518-1594).
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Transformation
Ron Bechet, 2021 [Identified by Gizmodo's Linda Codega, here.]
Bechet is a New Orleans-born visual artist. He's a relative of the early jazz pioneer Sidney Bechet. Exhibition Prospect.5 says about the collection this piece belongs to: "Bechet carefully renders the ways vines wrap themselves around trees for support and access to sunlight. At times, this relationship serves both the vine and the tree. Works such as Transformation depict a harmonious symbiosis, as tree and vine both flourish. (...) Through his immersive compositions, Bechet invites us to see history and ourselves in relationship to the beauty, power, and violence of the natural world." And, from Xula Gallery: "Here, we are gifted with the physical proximity of life and death – How they share the same organic space, how they sleep together as equals. The flora of South Louisiana's natural landscape is cleaved open to expose its roots. (...) Here is botany that has every potential of becoming monstrous. All of these meanderings are used to symbolize the deep historical roots of a family home and exhibits the precariousness of nature, both human and environmental, with all of its nurturing and destructive potential. (...) It is a diaspora body, skin folded back to reveal its elegant and resilient backbone."
Untitled photographs
Vivian Maier, undated
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Maier was a street photographer whose work was discovered and distributed after her death —she took more than 150,000 photographs during her life, and never printed or circulated any. You can learn more about how her work came to light here. We don't actually see the self-portrait in the third picture, which hangs to the left, until episode four.
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Dancers
Edgar Degas, 1899 [Identified by @nicodelenfent, here.]
Degas produced countless paintings of ballerinas throughout his career. While he is often considered an impressionist, he himself saw himself more as a realist and preferred harsh gritty subjects of working class backgrounds. Ballerinas at the time often came from working class or poor families and worked intense grueling hours.
Berthe Morisot with a Fan
Edouard Manet, 1872 [Identified by @nicodelenfent.]
Manet was one of the first 19th-century artists to paint modern life, as well as a pivotal figure in the transition from Realism to Impressionism. The portrait in this scene shows his close friend, painter Berthe Morisot, wearing mourning blacks after the death of her father, but wearing a wedding ring —she was engaged to Manet's brother.
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Portrait of Erich Lederer
Egon Schiele, 1912 [Identified by @nicodelenfent.]
The Schiele depicts a young Erich Lederer, son of art collectors Serena and August Lederer, whose collection was looted by the Gestapo.
Paddy Flannigan
George Bellows, 1908 [Identified by @nicodelenfent.]
The Bellows depicts a young impoverished boy on the streets of New York.
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A Doll's House
Henrik Ibsen, 1879
Lestat tells Louis "They'll seat us late, and we'll miss Nora's entrance with the Christmas tree," which quite a few fans soon identified as a reference to this play, in which a housewife becomes slowly disillusioned with marital life and eventually leaves her husband. This conclusion led to the play being banned in certain countries, such as Germany and Britain, and Ibsen was compelled to write an alternative ending, in which Nora's husband forced her to stay. In the two stage productions pictured above, you can see Kelsey Brennan and Nate Burger on the left, and Assad Zaman and Anjana Vasan on the right.
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Unnamed paintings of Papa du Lac and Paul
Created for the show (uncredited artist).
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Unidentified painting*
* The running theory is that the woman in this painting is Gabrielle, Lestat's mother; which would mean this is another uncredited prop painted for the show.
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Woman in A Fur Coat
Edouard Manet, 1879
Additionally, on the bottom left corner of the frame you can catch a glimpse of another unidentified painting, but we couldn't get any clearer looks of it either.
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Autumn at Arkville
Alexander H. Wyant, 1909 [Identified by @vfevermillion.]
The one in the mirror and the one on the other side of the door are too blurry, but we managed to place the one on top of the couch!
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The Lone Tenement
George Bellows, 1909 [Identified by @nicodelenfent.]
The National Gallery of Art says about this painting: "Bellows has imbued the composition with a sense of eerie wistfulness, recording the precarious positions of those who were being displaced to make way for the future."
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Don Pascuale
Gaetano Donizetti, 1842
The opera that Louis and Lestat go to at the end of the episode follows an elderly bachelor, who gets conned by his nephew Ernesto and his friend Malatesta into marrying the nephew's lover, Norina, under false pretenses. You can find a complete synopsis here.
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The Storm On The Sea Of Galilee
Rembrandt van Rijn, 1633 [Identified by Gizmodo's Linda Codega.]
Rembrandt van Rijn, Dutch Baroque painter and printmaker from the 17th century, is best known for his biblical and allegorical pieces. Rembrandt's only seascape was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston on March 18th, 1990, alongside other 12 works of art. The case remains unsolved.
If you spot or put a name to any other references, let us know if you'd like us to add them with credit to the post!
This week, we will be rewatching and discussing Episode 3, Is My Very Nature That of a Devil. We can't wait to hear your thoughts!
And, if you're just getting caught up, learn all about our group rewatch here ►
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xythlia · 1 year ago
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11:17 PM
𓏲 ࣪₊sfw fluff, alcohol consumption, semi public make out, everything mentioned is based loosely on the carnegie museum of art in pittsburgh since it's the one I've been to the most
› for my lovely io @elusivemoon <3
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"Look at this, they have the Panorama films on display," you said, grabbing his hand to drag Satoru over to the display.
He'd purchased tickets to the museum of arts twenty one and over night, an evening of art and wine as a surprise for you after spending too long away from you, all the demands of being the strongest tugging him out of your reach.
The gallery was hushed despite the crowd, at most gentle murmurs would roll through the mingling people taking in the displays and special exhibitions. He knew you loved this sort of thing, and while he wasn't particularly well versed in art it was more about seeing your eyes light up and hearing your commentary on the pieces around you.
You looked ethereal in the low lighting, a glass of white wine in one hand and his clasped in the other, your eyes eagerly taking in every detail of the gallery. It was especially cute how alcohol tended to make you far more easily excitable, making an easy grin sweep across his lips as he took you in.
"Hm, I thought you'd be more into the physical medium stuff," he said, taking a sip of his own glass. The dryness of the wine did little to detract from the sheer sweetness of your eyes.
"Well I love it all, but the film displays are always exciting. Once they had one that flickered stars in the pitch black with this droning synth, it was beautiful and so disorienting." You spoke in a whispered smile.
Beautiful and disorienting, he knew something about that. The thought made him squeeze your hand involuntarily, thumb caressing the back of it.
You both continued on the pre-set trail of displays, most of the museum was off limits since it was technically after hours. Over the rim of his glass he spotted the sign for the hall of statues, notably closed as well it's lights dimmed and a lone security guard wandering down the marbled hall.
Lacing his fingers tighter with yours he gently guided you to turn around, softly hushing your protests until he drew your attention to the sign.
"Wanna see the statues?" He leaned to brush his lips against your cheek, making you giggle softly.
"I was pretty sure you knew how to read 'Toru," you teased, gesturing with your glass to the small closed sign off to the side of the hallway entrance.
"Hmm must be the wine," he said softly, lightly pulling you along despite your hushed protests.
"There's a guard we're not getting in there," you whisper with a roll of your eyes.
In a second his long legged stride sped up, pulling you along clumsily as he ducked around the corner and into a semi dark room full of grand white statues, the matte marble still managing to glow despite the lack of direct illumination.
Your protests trailed off into silence. It really was exquisite, furtively admiring the lovingly carved pieces in silence. It felt like you two were the only people in the world at that moment, the thrill of a stolen secret joining the wine to create a soft warmth in your chest.
"They're all so..." you trailed off, too engrossed in the rows of lifelike depictions.
"Beautiful," he stated, pulling you to face him, nearly flush against him.
The world felt frozen, like a film reel stopped on one frame stretching out eternally. His eyes, those overwhelming blues, locked with your own as his hand came up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushed so gingerly against your lips you could almost say you were imagining it.
With a fumbling hand you tenderly gripped the side of his jacket, meeting him as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss that tasted of white wine and sparkling joy. His hand slid around your back, upwards to cup the base of your head as you leaned back, the kiss devolving into something more desperate edged with longing.
In that room, surrounded by the blank eyes of dozens of figures frozen in their own eternity, it was as though you'd both slipped through some secret, hidden seam to a place of hushed reverence wrapped in adoration. A place for only the two of you.
His tongue ran across your own like he was a cartographer mapping a brand new region, and the slight scrape of his nails against your scalp made you shiver despite the warmth of the museum. Just as you were running your hand up beneath his shirt, feeling the firm planes of muscle that the spell was broken, like a shattered mirror.
"Hey! Sections closed," a gruff, aged voice called from the front of the room.
Guiltily you jerked back from him, your ears burning and your lips feeling ever so slightly swollen as your grip on your glass nearly faltered, almost sending it hurtling towards the shiny tiled floor.
"Sorry, we got a little off track," Satoru said, smiling as he took your hand again to lead you both back towards the main display area.
The guard, an older man whose eyes held no annoyance smiled back, shaking his head. "Better make your way back to the main floor, they're about finished up for the night."
You both thanked him, though you did duck your head shyly as you passed the embarrassment of being caught like two naughty kids still lingered over you. In a blur your glasses were returned to the table, warm good nights were uttered by staff as Satoru pushed the heavy glass and metal doors open, letting a burst of frigid night air roll over you.
As it settled in your lungs you tipped your head back and laughed, a full rich sound that glittered in the near empty street.
Bathed in the warm glow of street lights he couldn't help but laugh with you, ignoring the bite of winter against his cheeks, hoping against all hope that he could make you even half as joyful for as long as you'd let him.
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