#romantic evening painting

[snekky-arts]

if you saw me post a version of this a few days ago no you didn't

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

[lionofchaeronea]

Times of Day: Evening, Caspar David Friedrich, 1821-22

[lesbicastagna]

went down a rabbit hole of this subject.

Filippo Lippi, painter and carmelitan friar, and Lucrezia Buti, a nun, meet and fall in love while she poses as model for an altarpiece. Classic.

[sometimesmaybespoof]

When she Half on my Life till I 2

[canisalbus]

Speaking of paintings, I always imagined Machete's assassination (or, how they found him) to be something like The Death of Marat  (amazing painting and last year I even got to see it in person.)

(The Death of Marat by Jacques-Louis David, 1793)

Really cool that you got to see it in person!

For some reason Machete gets compared to this painting quite often, especially if there's a bath involved. Even if he's just. Chilling in the tub, very much not dead.

[ralworm]

Here's my full page piece for the "Lavender Blue" @aafranmayazine!! I imagined them at a private, lavish party at the von Karma household; but the hid away in the gardens to have a quiet, romantic moment together <3

The leftover sale for the zine is also ongoing RIGHT NOW so grab a copy!!

[sukibenders]

Intersectionality is something that, sadly, is often pushed to the side in Arcane discussions, specifically from a certain side of that fandom. They will go on and on about Viktor, as they usually do, talking about how he suffers from classicism and ableism within the show and fandom respectively (as they should as these are issues, but there is a catch when it comes to these fans as well), but when others in the fandom, especially Mel or even Sky fans, point out the racism and misogyny (misogynoir) that is often rampant in this fandom, particularly from said fans mentioned prior, all of a sudden its not possible or being overdramatized. Like they suddenly can't understand how some of their rhetoric includes or invites the same thing black fans have been calling out since the beginning, because how can you discuss the ableism and such that Viktor faces, but laugh or joke around with people who call Mel slurs or just denounce her to a trope? I thought you were for calling out forms of hate within fandom, or does your "activism" only stretch so far? And back to a previous statement, about the catch regarding those particularly fans----some of them regurgitate the same harmful rhetoric towards Viktor that they say they supposedly hate, just in mode subtle ways. How are you going to say you hate when Viktor is infantilized, but will be quick to forget he's a grown man who can defend himself (often when trying to pair him against Mel, framing her as the aggressor, and sometimes even Jayce too but to a lesser degree)? Not saying Jayce doesn't get equal amounts of hate, but his more so gets pushed aside along with his character to ultimately frame Viktor in higher regard, often making him ooc. It's like they pick and choose when the issues are prevalent, and when they aren't, and it's so frustrating.

[br-disaster]

growing old together...

[marejadilla]

Harald Sohlberg, “Evening glow”, 1893, oil on canvas. Norwegian Neo-romantic painter, 1869-1935.

[ask-itager]

A bit dark, but uh, what would happen if one of you died? How would the other react?

im not really the type to want to protect anyone but now if germany was in danger i would absolutely make sure he would survive instead of accidentally saving him with the pictonians. since if he dies that means hes leaving me!!!!!!!!!! D:

germanys honest reaction would be the blog banner lawl

[r0zzk1ll]

"this man, is weird.. CRAZY weird.." "he was always very bright.."

[byersthewise7]

THIS SHOT will always be my favorite non-narrative evidence that Mike is struggling with figuring out his sexuality and the true nature of his feelings for El and Will:

Yes, it’s an obvious reference to him being in the closet. However, people do not talk enough about how this is literally THE VERY FIRST SHOT of Mike in season 4. This is the shot that introduces us to and sets the foundation for Mike’s season 4 arc (as Finn said, “figuring out how he views his relationships with the people in his life”).

[bibbim-nim]

Having a Pity Part every year...

[reapersmarch]

why is it when I get art blocked my solution is "go paint the biggest piece imaginable. that'll fix it" and it sounds fake but it works every time

[softquietsteadylove]

I just spent the last 5 hours painting and it gave me an idea. Canon movie universe, Thena using art as therapy (like we see in the film), and some cute romantic fluff

Gilgamesh snorted as he woke from his nap. He'd been perfecting his ale recipe, adapting it from the brew he had developed with Odin. Between that, and a lunch of roast ostrich leftover from Thena's last hunt, he had fallen right asleep.

He could tell she was there, but he blinked up at the ceiling. She was always telling him not to doze on the couch. He turned his head.

"Back."

He smiled reflexively, hearing the siren song of his darling Thena's voice. He moved just his eyes, but instead of seeing her in his chair, all he saw was an easel and the back of a canvas. "Can I-"

"Still."

He sighed, although he was nothing if not amused. She usually took her art therapy outside, drew with charcoal on paper weighted down by stones. When she did paint, she still preferred to set up under that old and dried tree that was hers.

He called it her tree from the moment he saw it, pale and stately against the rest of the desert.

Thena would lean every once in a while, just to check on her reference before disappearing again. He could hear the sounds of the stool under her, the swish of her dress as she moved. Her legs were crossed and he could see her bare toes bent against the rug.

Seeing Thena at feeling at home always put his heart at ease.

It seemed simple, but they had come a long way from bare stone and clay slip and a piece of driftwood as a door. They could eat together at the table, nap together in the hammock; he'd built them a water tower with his bare hands so they could have a running tap.

He would have built her a mansion if she'd asked. A temple to rival that of Babylon.

"Stop smiling."

"Wouldn't it be nicer if I was smiling?" he chuckled, letting his eyes remain closed.

"Unnatural."

He did his best not to, but smiling came naturally to him where Thena was involved. He loved that she had found an outlet for her mind in art. And he loved that she didn't need to over-explain herself to him. One or two words were all she needed, and he treasured even those.

"You were dreaming."

He tried to recall it. In the moment he woke up, he knew he had, but it was already beyond him what had been happening. Must have been pleasant enough that he felt good waking up, but not so pleasant that he wanted to go back to sleep.

He adjusted his head on the couch's throw pillow, despite the artist's strict instruction. "Aren't you supposed to angle it, or something?"

She leaned just to frown at him for moving.

"So you can see me and the canvas without having to lean?"

"Hm," she remarked, in her own way. She looked at her work in progress in question, and then at him again. "Then it wouldn't look right."

"Yeah?" he asked with a smile, going back to his previous position of facing the ceiling. He inhaled deeply. He would be in this position for a while; maybe going back to sleep wouldn't be so bad.

"I want exactly this image," the Warrior Eternal clarified with sudden firmness. "Forever."

There were plenty of images of her he wanted forever. But he wasn't the artist. He had tried here and there, but everything he did always just ended up making her laugh. And he didn't mind; if anything, he liked her laugh more than he liked whatever he had drawn or painted or sculpted. But he just wasn't meant to be the creative one.

He had managed to embroider his apron! Well, after she had drawn the little flowers on with her fingers covered in paint remnants. That was an effort of his to preserve something forever.

He heard her put her brush down. She truly was moved if she had gone to the trouble of bringing the easel and her brushes and all her jars and everything inside with her. "Done?"

"For now."

He opened his eyes again, "can I move?"

"Fine."

He grinned, turning and reaching a hand out for her. He made a grabby hand, flexing his fingers to ask her to come over to him. "Hey."

His Thena emerged from behind the canvas. She dusted the skirt of her dress off. She had gotten better, too; in the beginning she would occasionally emerge covered in charcoal or chalky dust or sometimes even paint. But now, she was as spotless as always.

"Hey," Thena purred as she laid down on the sofa with him, tucking herself into his side. She nestled her head under his chin, happily melting into him after all her hard work. "You look at peace."

"I am," he assured her, relishing in the feeling of just being near her. Their breathing fell into the same rhythm, like two trees swaying in the same wind. Thena was the artist but he thought he could be decently poetic, at times.

"And me."

He smiled against her forehead, pressing his lips there. Sometimes moments like these would make him think of the days when they would be fighting. Dodging and throwing punches and weapons. He would throw her up in the air at the enemies and catch her before she could fall.

Now they liked to cuddle on the couch in the afternoons before he started dinner.

He blinked as Thena nudged his jaw. "Your thoughts are loud."

He chuckled, which bounced her against his chest. "Sorry, just thinking this is nice."

"Hm?" she prompted him, still needing no more than a syllable.

"This," he summarized poorly. "Being at home, no Deviants, no mission. Just my wife and a couch and the sun."

Thena pulled herself to be able to look at him. There was no white in her eyes, at least not now. They were green and sparkling, as always. "Forever."

He smiled. It was hard not to take that word lightly, given the nature of their very existence. The word 'eternity' borderline meant nothing to them.

But days out here were different. Each was faced with a new set of eyes and he was grateful for every single one of them. Even the days when his Thena was far, far away from him. Even when she turned around and started swinging a spear to fight against nothing, railing about the destruction of the world and how they were all going to burn.

Forever had a different definition than it did before. He had no thoughts of missions, or Arishem, or far away galaxies. He didn't even think of Olympia. He had better things to think about, like the herb garden, and eggs, and expanding the clay oven outside the house so maybe he could bake two pies at once.

He could think of things like fixing the drip the kitchen tap had, and making sure to sweep the floor so his barefooted Goddess of War wouldn't step on any errant rocks. There was garden tending and roof checking and homemaking to be done.

"Gilgamesh."

"Huh?" he blinked. He must have been closer to sleep than he had thought, finding himself on the other end of one of Thena's more inquisitive looks.

"Sleep," she whispered, her hands touching his cheeks the way rain lovingly ran down a flower stem. "If you're so close to it."

He chuckled again; he liked it when she teased him. "Okay, okay, I'm up. You know what you want for dinner?"

Then pursed her lips in thought as he brought her hand up to kiss her palm. She smelled like paint, and summer air. "Is the ostrich gone?"

He nodded, continuing his mission to kiss more of her. He made it to her shoulder and finally past the collar of her dress before she came up with anything.

"Stew?" she asked, as if he would ever - in a million years - say no. Her hands toyed with his shirt as well. "It goes so well with pie."

He grinned, leaving a kiss on her cheek. "Is this your way of asking for pie for dessert?"

She just stared at him. "Were you not thinking of expanding the oven for just that purpose?"

She knew him a little too well. But she was right, because of course she was. And he was happy to oblige her wishes. "I guess I could whip something up. What kind?"

"Any."

One word, and it was so heavy, soaked through with love and devotion. He kissed her.

And she kissed him back. Her hand found his cheek again and her eyes took on a new light. "Strawberry?"

He should have known; she did mean any, but if it was going to be any, why not her favourite? He inhaled, preparing to rise from their little nest of luxury. "Will you go and pick some?"

Of course she would. That was how things worked for them, now. There were no Deviants, no missions. There was a garden, and she would go out with a little basket and pick the berries they were growing in what shade they could provide. And she would bring them in to him, and then sit and watch him cook.

Gil didn't know what was romantic for humans, but he was pretty sure this would be considered the height of it.

Thena also inhaled, revealing her reluctance to move as well. But she left him with one last kiss before rolling off the couch. "Of course."

He followed, although he took a peek at her work in progress. It really was a perfect angle, looking exactly like what was in front of the canvas. He was sleeping. And whatever made her want to paint that so badly, it looked pretty accurate to him. He was no thing of beauty like she was, but if she wanted to paint him, then so be it.

"Dinner, Gilgamesh."

He laughed. "Coming, dear."