#paint it black fic

[rayactive-factory]

fanart for @teamxdark!! based on the descriptions from this story, i loved the outfit designs and white-silver and black-golden colours for them so much <3

[psdrawsthings]

An illustration for "A Pit of Vipers" by @capricornicis-goat

[redelliavalentinos]

I toyed with upgrading him one more time, but I opted not to because it's too much. And I don't think it's necessary. But I still like it. I'll tuck it away for later. Who knows.

[moonysbookshelves]

art heist, baby! by @otrtbs

the time i bound ahb, promptly hopped on a flight to new york city, and then shamelessly cried in front of degas dancers (also saw so many other works mentioned in the fic!! the rothkos nearly took me out)

the whole bind is inspired by galleries! each chapter has a different work mentioned in the story with a little placard indicating the chapter name/number plus the artist details ◡̈ the maps on the cover are copenhagen + brazil because I love pain

+ a paperback copy for my fandom buddy because misery loves company

(bound with permission ◡̈)

[thatmoonspell]

My first piece of fan art. My baby Regulus Black 🌙 ✨ Oil paint on 8x8 canvas. So excited to paint more HP pieces! 🤍

Follow me on Instagram!🌟

[glassy-eyed-poet]

Me because I live and breathe for the marauders but the only merch I have is this mf:

[calamitoustide]

jegulus microfic | 622 words

"Stop moving," Regulus shoves James' shoulders back down, his palm laid out wide against his back.

James sighs, moving his neck regardless trying to look over at him, "I want to see!"

"It's not done yet," Regulus grumbles, reaching forward to move his head back to staring straight. Not before James caught a glimpse of him with a paint brush tucked between his teeth.

They've been sitting here for almost an hour, with James' chest pressed into blankets that don't do much protecting him from the hard wood floor, and Regulus straddled over his back. It was James' idea, after he spent too many nights with Regulus pretending to paint against his back while they were lying together before they slept he suggested Regulus just do the real thing. James could sit all nice and Regulus could use his body as a canvas. And it was nice. For about ten minutes before James remembered how impatient he is especially when Regulus is so close and he's only been able to get small glimpses of him over the past hour.

Regulus let James pick out the playlist thinking it would help with him getting fidgety but it went rough too many songs ago and his phone is much too far away for him to reach now. Plus Regulus is far too in it now for James to ask to take a break.

"How much longer?" James asks softly.

Regulus doesn't answer at first, and James thinks he's ignoring him on purpose. He wouldn't be surprised and it certainly wouldn't be the first time. When Regulus gets in a passion like this he's normally gone to the rest of the world. James could have entered his studio and been sitting there for an hour and Regulus wouldn't know a thing. He falls out of it eventually, and then jumps out of his skin when he sees James sitting on the couch watching him and demands to know how long he's been in there. James never finds himself answering, he just smiles softly at him instead.

"It's done," Regulus murmurs, completing one more brush stroke before getting off him and sticking the brush in the water right beside him.

"Wait, really?" James goes to move before Regulus pushes him back down.

"You're gonna smudge it," Regulus tells him.

"I want to see it!" James repeats, looking behind him to catch Regulus rolling his eyes before he grabs his phone.

"Lay back down," Regulus demands, but it doesn't really come off that way, he's soft around the edges, James swears.

Wordlessly Regulus hands James the phone to reveal what he's done. As expected it's a landscape. Regulus has gotten really into them lately, there's at least a dozen half finished ones sprawled around their apartment. This one is of the sea, with the sun creeping over the horizon. It mixes with the water, becoming one with the tide. James thinks it's the most beautiful painting he's ever seen.

Carefully he sits up to face Regulus properly, "It's beautiful."

Regulus hums, indifferent, as he always does, "My canvas wasn't very cooperative. It could've been better."

James just smiles at him softly, cupping his cheek to pull him forward. Regulus goes easily, giving in to his kiss. When James pulls away he says, "I don't think I'll ever be able to wash it off."

"If you refuse to take a shower I'll break up with you," Regulus says, getting up and grabbing his paints with him.

"Hey!" James exclaims, turning to follow him with his gaze.

Regulus glances back at him before dumping out his cup in the sink.

James sighs, before he sits up straighter, "What if you tattoo it?"

Regulus' silence is an answer in itself.

[oh-phoenixx]

every time i think about art heist, baby! i wanna kill myself just a little bit

[clowningaroundmars]

some more hobie1610! :)

i luv this little bug just bc i love mj and i LOVE LOVE LOVE hobie! i simply couldn't resist 🩷

in the story, i tried mashing together a bunch of different references for his character, while still trying to stay true to the character of mary jane watson but also not sacrificing too much of hobie brown. i hope i… did a good enough job?

more under the cut :)

☆ hobie1610 is a supermodel-in-training inspired by mj watson's dreams of being a model and an actress. except in 1610, mj has these dreams forced onto him rather than aspiring to be them. he's living mj watson's dreams and hates it lol

☆ hobie1610 has a strained relationship with his family, true to mj watson's awful family dynamics in canon. it just... runs in every mj's blood i guess lmao

☆ hobie1610 wants so badly to be an investigative journalist! his plan after graduating from visions is to land an internship at the daily bugle :)

☆ he also gets up to mechanical shenanigans in his free time, fixing and building whatever he can get his hands on. he's very handy with machines and tech, true to the original characterization of hobie brown on earth-616, except on earth-1610 he usually has to hide his tools and gadgets

☆ his favorite subjects in school are english lit and physics!

☆ i gave hobie1610 uniform locs to look like mj's signature long hair but also to directly contrast hobie138's freeform locs

☆ if hobie1610 were to ever meet hobie138, he'd seethe and mald with jealousy. just like miles, mj's biggest wish is for his family to stop stacking so much pressure on his shoulders all the time. seeing another version of him living the free anarchist life would def have him feeling a type of way

hobie meeting mj: oh wow... nearly forgot what my face looks like without m' piercings lol :p

mj meeting hobie: I'M BRITISH IN THIS DIMENSION?!

☆ but he's a hobie alright! he rebels as often as he can in the typical ways teens with strict parents do. no one is putting this guy's flame out 🔥

☆ most of that rebellion consists of sneaking out when he knows he shouldn't. his mother is strict, but she's often very busy and that gives hobie1610 many chances to slip away unnoticed. his bravery is inspired by mj's character in the spiderman ps4 game, where she gets involved in dangerous missions with peter. those gameplay scenes with her in the museum inspired the 3rd chapter of my hobie1610 story

☆ hobie1610's sense of humor is more like zendaya's mj than anyone else

☆ the concept of hobie being miles' mj didn't entirely come out of nowhere! it wasn't just abt punkflower-- the possibility came up when i remembered that andrew garfield claimed he wanted his spiderman's mj to be a man. specifically played by michael b jordan ;)

☆ hobie1610's casual wardrobe outside of visions and his photoshoots consists of mostly greens and earth tones. most mj's across various diff portrayals have green or earth tones in their casual fits

references ↓

[ilovedagain]

A short story about Damian Wayne and what colors mean to him.

"Maybe we should speak in a simpler way," the therapist said to the artist. After thirty minutes of stony silence, she was still trying to get the artist to say a word. "Talk to me about colors. What does blue mean to you?"

The artist's first thought was Richard. A man in black and blue who flew through the navy night sky, untethered by gravity. Skin mottled the same black and blue underneath his clothes. He tried to hide from everyone, burying his hurt deep. As if, perhaps, if he couldn't see it, others wouldn't see it too. He would guard his emotions, guard others—the fool—but he wouldn't guard himself.

"Guardian," the artist finally said about blue. He could talk about colors. He re-crossed his arms for the third time, aware of how obvious his discomfort was but unable to help it.

He knew how to face judgment, harden his heart and list his failings to superiors. But the therapist was nonjudgmental, asking him about colors, and he never learned how to guard against someone without ulterior motives.

"What about yellow?"

The artist swallowed. Yellow was the color of the cape he tried to steal from a boy who needed it as much as him. It was a flash of brightness in an unforgiving world where he had to fight dirty and vicious to earn his place. At least, that was the world before everything changed. Before the world softened around the edges and suddenly he was the dark, unforgiving one.

"Regret."

The therapist hummed. A soft, melodic sound beneath the crashing waves in his ears. Maybe she could hear how loud his heartbeat was because she didn't push him to elaborate. "Pink?"

The artist almost smiled. Pink was the tongue of his cat, stuck out in her sleep.

"Cute."

Unlike him, the therapist didn't hold back her smile.

"Black?"

That was an easy one. The color of mystery. The color of the void in his life; the empty space beside his mother. That void captured his younger self's mind, always wondering what the void was like. What it would make of him. The hard part was saying aloud, to the therapist, what it meant to him.

"Father," he said, and immediately regretted his honesty.

She nodded, not making a big deal of it.

"Red?"

The artist exhaled deeply. He thought of many things. The red of his eye-veins when he was stressed. The red blotches of blood blooming like roses on a white bandage wrapped and wrapped around a head wound, vaguely bouquet-like. The red-chested robins he found in his father's gardens and fed seeds as he sketched their innocence.

The red helmet of a man, who was really a boy, desperate and different from his family. Living despite all the odds saying he should be long dead by now.

"Life," the artist said. He let his arms drop, suddenly drained like a nurse had drawn a liter of his blood.

"Green?"

The artist froze. He stared at the therapist, wondering about her angle. Did she know where he came from—his hometown and its lifeblood? Was this the goal of her little game of colors, how she would finally glean his thoughts about his childhood home?

When he was a young boy, in a kingdom of sand and gold, green was everywhere. The green fields in a greenhouse of extinct plants. In the green eyes of his mother and grandfather, the very same eyes as his own. And in the green pools that restored life, a miracle he beheld almost daily.

He would stand before those miracle waters, anxiously waiting for his loved ones to emerge, contemplating mirages and how it must be a lie to restore life after death. And yet, his pets had survived a plague, his mother had survived a stab wound, and his grandfather had survived cancer. He was a child who believed he was lucky.

"We're finished here." He stood and left, fifteen minutes before the end of the session, disregarding the therapist's soft-spoken plea to wait.

Richard greeted him in the waiting room with a smile that vanished when he saw his face. He sprang to his feet, abandoning the magazine unceremoniously on the chair, and matched Damian's brisk pace out of the building.

"What happened?" Richard took a shaky breath when Damian ignored him in favor of speed-walking to the parking lot. Richard placed a hand on his shoulder as they reached the car. He bent his head to meet his eyes, but Damian stubbornly turned his head away. His eyes were so, so blue. "Dami, what happened?"

Damian knew, and he knew Dr. Dinah knew, that refusing to discuss that color spoke volumes, more than anything he had said during the session.

"Home," Damian whispered, feeling like a child crying on his first day of kindergarten. "Please, I just want to go home."

They didn't converse during the car ride home, though Richard stole glances at him, his unspoken words palpable in the silence. Damian fled to his room and spent dinner there. He was too restless to sleep and too exhausted to study. Tugged between the urge to fight and to freeze.

Like how all roads lead to Rome, he ended up painting. He set up an easel taller than himself and began mixing colors until he had every shade of green. He thought about home. His old home, the one in an unforgiving world where death was both constant and impossible, where pain was as abundant as gold, but at least the world made sense. The strong survived, and the strongest conquered. They even conquered death.

The scene he painted was a view inside a tower. Stone walls stretched up into infinite flights of stairs, with assassins lined up in rows on each level. The pool at the bottom cast a thick, green hue over the darkness. But the pool was an afterthought; the focus was on the walls of the tower.

He knew those walls well. They were made of bulging rocks that lay unevenly. When they were bathed in a green haze, Damian couldn't help but think they resembled cancer cells under a microscope. And that was precisely how he painted them: a tower with walls like tumor cells, splotches of assassins in the darkness, and the gaping green pool at the bottom.

Poison. Green is poison.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 2 - Constant

@jegulus-microfic November 2, Word count 512

Previous part First part

“I actually own this flat,” That’s what James had just said. Regulus felt so stupid. He’d kept asking and asking about paying rent. He should have just figured it out himself. 

He screwed his eyes shut and sat back down at his easel, opening his eyes to look at his ruined painting. It would have been beautiful, but now it was marred by a thick black line, which he had no way of hiding. He was just about to screw it up when Sirius knocked on his door. 

“Hey, Reggie, you good?” Sirius asked, concern shadowing his face. Regulus shrugged, he wasn’t sure. “Wow, is that what you’ve been painting?” Sirius asked, moving to stand beside him. 

“Yeah, but it’s beyond saving. I was just about to throw it away.” 

“What?! No, don’t do that!” Sirius picked up the paintbrush and began changing the shape of the line. Regulus watched, fascinated, as Sirius worked.  “You know he wasn’t keeping it from you to be cruel, right? He just didn’t see it as a problem. It is a constant wonder how someone so intelligent can at the same time be so dumb.” Sirius spoke while he painted. “Seriously, he’s a good guy and was just excited that you'd agreed to move in. There,” Sirius proclaimed as he stood back and revealed the finished picture. 

Regulus moved closer, staring at the regal stag, its silhouette taking over the picture. Its head held high, with its antlers brushing the very top of the painting. The oranges and pinks of the sunset Regulus had been painting made it look like some sort of ancient god of the forest. It was eerily beautiful. 

“It’s amazing, Sirius, but I can't use it for my assignment. Maybe you should take it.”

“No way, it’s yours. You can hang it in the living room. James will love it, and that way, you can look up and remember the time we did something nice together,” Sirius slung an arm around Regulus’s shoulders and squeezed. “I’m glad you’re here, you know,” Regulus looked up at him with over-bright eyes. 

“Really?” He said in a whisper. 

“Yeah, of course,” Sirius grinned at him, leaning his head so it rested on top of Regulus’s. "I've missed you so much," Regulus debated internally for a moment before twisting his head so he was looking up at his brother. 

“Sirius, can I tell you something?” Regulus said quickly. He needed to know he wasn’t being an idiot because if he left it and stayed with James too long, it would hurt so much more. Sirius nodded, urging him to continue. Regulus took a deep breath before he spoke. “I think I like James. Like more than a friend,” His words were barely audible, but Sirius heard every word. He pulled Regulus into a tight hug. 

“You two are as dumb as each other,” Sirius chuckled, kissing the top of Regulus’s head and leading him out into the living room, where James and Remus were having a heated discussion about the proper way to top a scone. 

Next part

[97b0n3s]

♡ The shadow ♡ (inspired by the painting by edmund leighton)

[froggyfeetsies]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. So I couldn't stop thinking about smth from @harleyshahas fic rocky horror blackice show, and here we are ִֶָ☾.

Spoilers for this brilliant fic under the cut!!

i have so much love for this fic, i read it when it came out, and every once in a while i'm minding my own business and i'll be like "that audacious bitch took his damn hat" 😂

Tooth was dressed up as Janet, but.... theres totally time for her to do a full outfit and makeup change in the time it would take for those two to finish their fondue they aint goin' nowhere 😂

my fan theory is she caught him!! he was too busy trying to keep it together and shes 1ft nothing tall on a good day compared to mr long furby himself, totally makes sense he'd get busted!! ✨

anyway, go read it, absolutely brilliant ⭐️

[redelliavalentinos]

Midnight hunt

For when you don't give him enough raw meat.

[wemlygust]

Matt and Foggy are yeeted into Gotham - Loki was annoyed with them and thought it was funny - and, upon meeting Batman, Foggy is deeply unimpressed because he's calling himself a bat and he can't even echolocate! "You ahould paint your suit black and steal his schtick, Matt." "You think his suit looks better than mine?" "You literally have the ears already! Unlike him, you can echolocate! Why aren't you already a bat?!" "I-" "-Why didn't I suggest this already? I should have seen it. How did I not see it. You're literally a bat." "It's-" "You should get a cape, too. He's got a good cape. I bet it makes lots of little air currents for seeing with. If he had any business being a bat." "I thi-" "-You're a better bat than he is."

[firelightmuse]

Save Him

Yume x Zenos

Immediately following the final battle with Zenos at the end of 6.0; After granting Zenos the battle he had been pining for ever since he returned from the dead, Yume makes a life altering decision in a brief moment of desperation.

1,456 Words

Featuring @traveler-of-light’s Astrid and Arslan

Content/Trigger Warnings: Brief Descriptions of Attempted Ritualistic Suicide/Seppuku and Depictions of Character Death

This is my first time ever writing for Yume x Zenos, so I hope you all enjoy!! A HUGE shout out to all who have been so encouraging and supportive of me while I navigate this new ship, especially @meepsthemiqo!! Thank you so much!!

As the two combatants channeled as much aether into their punches as they could, Yume Aino, Warrior of Light, got the upper hand and delt the disgraced Garlean prince a devastating blow. The enshrouded Zenos viator Galvus flew backwards, flipped over and landed face first onto the ground.

Though she could hardly catch her breath, and feeling an overwhelming amount of pain in her chest and abdomen, likely due to cracked ribs and internal bleeding, she quickly surmised, Yume pushed the pain from her conscious mind as much as she could as she slowly dragged her broken form closer to her opponent.

Zenos managed to get up onto his knees and reached out his hand to her, but too much of his life force had been spent and he instead dropped back to ground, this time facing the firmament. A moment later, Zenos’ enshrouded form dissipated from the majority of his body, but his left arm was still twisted with bright red flesh, reminiscent of a voidsent.

The samurai stood close enough to Zenos’ fallen form that she could see him open his eyes as he deeply sighed, “That I should lose again...”

With a chuckle, he closed his eyes before he dejectedly said, “How disappointing.”

Yume shook her head and questioned, “Did you though? Heh… I do not feel victorious.”

“Is that so?”

Before she could say anything more, Yume collapsed under her own weight, falling down right next to Zenos, her hand mere ilms away from his.

She looked over at him, and though her vision had begun to slightly blur, she saw his sky blue eyes aimed upward towards the heavens, yet by the look on his face, she knew his mind was drifting, to where she knew naught.

Zenos must’ve sensed that her focus was upon him, as he began to speak his thoughts aloud.

“Never have I understood those around me. Understood their obsessions.” He paused a moment, the memories of his life floating in and out of consciousness as he continued, “Besieged by their banality, the world was a mire of tedium and trivialities.”

Yume could swear that his eyes shifted to her face briefly, yet the pain was nearly unbearable and it was a struggle to keep listening, let alone to see properly.

The Garlean’s deep, rough voice reached her horns once more; this time she could hear a hint of joy in his tone. “But in these fleeting moments, there is...a spark. Blinding, brilliant... Gone...too soon...”

She let out a small sigh. “Yes… I understand.”

Yume had enough visual clarity to see Zenos turn towards her, trying to catch his breath as blood ran out of his mouth and trickled down his face.

“What of you, Yume, my mirror? Born into this world, bestowed name, bid to seek out strife and adventure...”

Yume turned towards Zenos as much as she could, though it was increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open. As she shut her eyes, the pain that racked her whole body started to slowly fade away, and in turn, her mind’s eye began to wander.

“Was this life a gift...or a burden?”

Her mind wandered to her childhood in Hingashi, images began to rise to her conscious mind and soon fall away to the next; Mt. Aino rising up to the sky, its peak surrounded by clouds, flags flying of the Aino clan’s sigil, the seemingly endless multitudes of people bowing to her father, the duels that always ended with her victory yet with no worthy husband, her slicing her belly open and her father coming to stop her, and her leaving her homeland behind for lands unknown.

“Did you find...fulfillment?” Zenos asked as Yume’s mind continued to wander through the memories of her life.

Images floated to the surface of her new life in Eorzea; her arrival in Limsa Lominsa, first adventuring in Ul’dah, fighting Ifrit, joining the Scions, meeting all of whom she would now consider her found family, going on to fight so many primals, so many Garleans, then the dragons, and then the sin eaters, and finally the blasphemies and then the Endsinger. One victory after another, always more victories, and yet, she still felt the same emptiness as before.

“Did I? Did I… really?” Yume wondered aloud, as her mind flashed to images not of memories of real events as before, but of the dreams that haunted her off and on again for years. Dreams of adventure in far off places she had never experienced before, always with a steadfast companion by her side through all the battles and hardships to come, but also celebrating moments of pure joy and true happiness; she sees the scene of an eternal bonding, realizing that it was in fact her own. Yume gleaming in a white dress, joined hand in hand with the love of her life, sealing their bond with a kiss full of passion and love. Yet, she couldn’t not see her lover’s face. Always was her lover’s face shrouded in shadow. She knew that these must be visions of a future not yet written, and now may never come to pass.

Yume knew in her heart that she was a samurai, and there was no greater honor than to die an honorable death in battle. That was a comforting thought. And yet… it was not enough. She asked herself the same question that Zenos had just asked. Right now, in what could well be her final moments in this life, was she fulfilled? Did she find what she had been looking for in all these years of searching?

With a single tear falling from her eye, Yume answered her beaten opponent’s poignant question, “No… Not yet… There is so much left to experience…”

As the words passed her lips, she heard only a single sound from the man laying next to her.

“I...”

What followed was nothing but silence and darkness, as her vision was failing her, and she could not see nor hear him anymore. Was he still there? Or was it too late?

“Z-Zenos…?” Yume spoke his name aloud as she lifted her hand, reaching out for his. She soon found it, but tears instantly began to fall from her eyes as his skin felt cold in hers.

“No… Do not… leave me…alone…”

Yume gripped his cold hand with the last remains of her energy. If she was to die, then she wanted to die with him, the only man who would ever be worthy of her in her family’s eyes. The only person who could ever understand her, who saw all of her, her beauty and her ugliness, her strengths and her weaknesses, her determination and her doubts. Everyone else only saw the light, but he saw the darkness that she hid deep inside, and he was unafraid. In fact, he welcomed it, and drew it out of her, and made her feel unashamed of herself for the first time in her life.

No. Zenos was the only one that she deemed worthy. If she was to die, then she will die having made her own choice. And she chooses him. Her enemy… her love….

As she felt her consciousness slipping away from her, Yume heard a faint clanging of metal, and then as she still held Zenos’ hand, she felt them both being whisked away, and then arrive in another place.

Yume felt nothing, and she could see nothing, but the very faintest of sounds reached her horns.

“Oh… Yume!”

Was that… Astrid’s voice? Was she back in the ship? Was she in the Ragnarok with the others?

“Yume! And… Zenos?!”

That could only be the exclamations of Arslan, confirming that she had in fact been teleported back to the ship, and Zenos had arrived with her, though if he was alive or dead, Yume did not know.

“Can you hear... Say...” Estinien’s voice called out, though it was incredibly difficult to make sense of what he had said.

Yume heard more voices, Urianger, Y’shtola, Alphinaud and Alisaie, but she couldn’t seem to understand what they were saying at all.

With the last of her strength, Yume opened her eyes enough to see her vision blurred so badly that she couldn’t make out any faces, but she finally spotted her target: a shock of pink entered her sight, and she knew she had found the only person who had a chance of saving him. If anyone could do it, it’d be her.

“H-Hali…” Yume spoke with the last of her breath, “Save… him… p-please…”

As the words left her lips, Yume closed her eyes and let the darkness pass over her. Life or death, she knew not what awaited her. It was out of her hands now.