#side note: did you know that Saturn Devouring his Son

[brain-squid]

Given its strong simple composition and muted colours that last picture much more closely resembles a picture from neoclassical art or a more modern artist like Edward hopper going off colour and the fact you cannot see the man’s face properly

(Morning sun | Edward Hopper (1952))

Romantic art is more focused on the richness of colour, focusing on passion and intense emotion. Visually it shares many qualities with baroque, and, like baroque, used to depict historic and mythological sciences but is set apart by its use of colour and focus on emotional expression

(The raft of Medusa | Theodore Géricault (1819))

There are obviously still outliers from this period, but the Romantic period ran partially alongside the neoclassical movement, and was then very closely followed by realism that was focused on depicting life for the working class as increasing industrialisation threatened to end that way of life (Jean-Francois Millet is one of the most famous examples of this movement if you want some fantastic art). These art movements (along with *shudder* academic art) all happed in a very tight time span so it’s very easy to confuse them.

TL;DR art historians are very picky about what artists/art works fit into which period/movement. Unless it’s surrealism. There’s a lot of work that could be considered surrealism done decades before the 20th century movement

I know this is going to make me sound pretensions but I have to get it off my chest. I feel an unimaginable rage when someone posts a photo and is like "this picture looks like a renaissance painting lol" when the photo clearly has the lighting, colors and composition of a baroque or romantic painting. There are differences in these styles and those differences are important and labeling every "classical" looking painting as renaissance is annoying and upsetting to me. And anytime I come across one of those posts I have to put down my phone and go take a walk because they make me so mad

[nolanell]

At The Museum Headcannons

The awesome @max--phillips made the meme below, and being an History of Art graduate, I wrote some headcannons for it.

For this piece, Oberyn is Modern!Oberyn / Pero is Modern!Pero / Din Djarin is SecurityGuard!Din

Lots of clickable links in this as I have linked to the artists and artworks referenced. Big thank you to @getlostbobby for an amazing idea for Max Phillips!

Dave York: You were surprised at how receptive to the idea he was. You had honestly thought he'd encourage you to go, but without him. And yet here he was, with you. He was looking at the techniques used, marveling over feathery paint strokes Rembrandt used for hair, the dramatic light and shadow of Caravaggio, and the paint application of Courbet. Dave seems to appreciate anything where a noticeable technique has been used, and he is particularly taken with anything that shows off the skill of the painter. He surprises you even further when he starts talking readily about symbolism in art and the conventions he sees in different artworks. As you're leaving, he tells you that he loves 'The Ambassadors' by Holbein and would like to come back as he could stare at it for hours.

Marcus Pike: He was so excited when you asked him to come with you. He'd been wanting to go for ages, but didn't want you to think he was asking you on a date that was 'something he wanted to do' or that he was going and you were there just to tag along. He was genuinely interested in everything that was in the collection, but was equally as interested in what you thought about each piece. He never got annoyed at any of your questions and was eager to have a conversation about art with you. He noted he thought you had an interesting perspective on a lot of the pieces that he hadn't thought of, and he excitedly explained you had given him some insight that had never occurred to him. As you queued up in the gift shop you asked what his favourite piece was, and he laughed and said he couldn't pick just one.

Ezra: He was more than happy to go with you, mainly for your company and in the hope he might find something to captivate his imagination. You and he got a fit of giggles over a nude sculpture and for a good half an hour you had to stifle giggles as you walked around together, seeing more and more of them. You calmed down quicker than he did, but you did find it adorable that he found such joy in something so childish. What did catch you off guard though, was the way he fell in love with the dreamy, hazy Monets. He sank onto one of the benches and just stared at it for what felt to you like an eternity. When you sat next to him, you listened intently to how he spoke of their ethereal, dream-like beauty. He was truly captivated by them and you promised you would let him know if there was ever a special Monet exhibition at the museum. He particularly liked the 'Houses of Parliament' paintings, and was happy to hear they were part of the permanent collection.

Jack Daniels: He giggled with you at the nude figures, but explained he thought the contrast between nudity in art (and how it is highly regarded) and modern censorship of nudity was bizarre. He was then totally hooked on art as social commentary and this dictated how he viewed a lot of the collection. His natural pace around the museum is quite quick, but he was more than happy to go at your pace and stop at anything you wanted to take your time over. He would listen to what you had to say and offer his own opinion. In terms of anything he actually liked, rather than found interesting alone, he mentioned he really liked Van Gogh's 'Wheatfield with Cypresses' series. They felt like home, he said.

Max Lord: He very matter of factly told you he would only come with you if there was a special exhibition he was interested in, and he wouldn't bother with the permanent collection. He was happy to come to the Andy Warhol special exhibition but would only go at his own pace, and was done in an hour. He went straight to the café afterward to wait for you, though did get drunk on the overpriced wine while doing so. You asked what he liked best, and he said 'Triple Elvis' by Andy Warhol, but refused to elaborate.

Oberyn Martell: He loved recreating poses of the pieces you looked at, particularly if it was the dramatic retelling of a myth. He made you join in with him, explaining that it wasn't as fun on his own, and it was the best way to enjoy the storytelling. He did, however, ask you to pose on your own by 'Girl With A Pearl Earring' by Johannes Vermeer, as he felt you could recreate it perfectly, and took a photo on his phone. Overall he prefers visiting the permanent collection as there is so much he wants to look at, and feels he could spend hours upon hours looking at everything on multiple visits. Most of all, he loves sitting in the café with you once you're finished looking around together, discussing what you'd looked at over a bottle of wine. On one visit, he buys a print of 'Judith Slaying Holofernes' by Artemisia Gentileschi as he thinks both art and artist is a strong female piece for his daughters.

Frankie Morales: He was a bit nervous about going with you, thinking you were so much smarter than him, and that it would all go over his head. He was happy to go around with you, asking about what you found interesting and looking at anything you pointed out. However, he was surprised to find that he really liked the pieces that showed everyday people doing normal, day to day things. He was particularly interested in the ones that showed what people did for fun, like 'A Concert' by Lorenzo Costa. He found it really cool that the mouths were painted in a shape that showed it matched what sound they were actually singing, based on the music score in the painting. He was really excited by 'A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte' by Georges Seurat. He loved seeing the dogs in the painting, which is what made him look, but he also loved the 'slice of life' feel to it.

Javier Peña: He agreed without hesitation to come with you, but once he got there, he felt so out of place that he headed straight for the café to wait for you. He insisted you take as long as you wanted and to not worry about him. He didn't get far, though, and pulled you over to 'At the Theatre' by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. He very quietly told you that while he thought you were much more beautiful than the girl in the foreground, he said it reminded him so much of the first time you met. He'd seen you across the crowded entrance to the embassy, and he felt like the face of the man in the background, desperate to meet the beautiful girl across the room.

Comandante Veracruz: He only agreed to come with you because you swore you'd be out before closing time, and because you promised that when you were done, you'd have dinner at the restaurant he'd been eyeing up for weeks. He went straight to the café, mumbling 'before closing' as he went. True to your word, you came to find him with a good couple of hours to spare. He melted a little bit when he saw how happy you were at having spent most of the day surrounded by art, and promised he would come with you again and try and look at some of the exhibits.

Pero Tovar: He only went because you promised you wouldn't mind if he spent the whole time in the café. He said he would wait until he got bored, then you were on your own. You were almost as surprised as he was, though, when he stopped by 'The Battle of San Romano' by Paolo Uccello and was genuinely interested in it. He actually asked you questions about it, and asked why it was so important in how artists approached perspective in painting. He also spent a lot of time looking at 'Whistlejacket' by George Stubbs and marveled at the accuracy. He did eventually go to the café, but was there for much less time than he thought. And he asked you to get him a print of 'Whistlejacket' from the gift shop when you were done.

Max Phillips: You regretted asking him to come as soon as the words left your mouth, but you weren't sure why. You knew he would do something ridiculous, this is Max you were talking about; you just couldn't figure out what. 'Licking a painting' was not on your bingo card of Max shenanigans, but here you were in the museum, staring intently at whatever exhibit was on the other side of the room as Max was escorted out. Once you knew he was gone, you turned around to check where he had been, and had to stifle your laughter. For all the embarrassment, knowing Max was thrown out for licking 'Saturn Devouring His Son' by Francisco Goya was possibly the funniest thing in the world, and you had to hide your laughter for the remainder of the visit.

Din Djarin: You had started talking to the quiet security guard after he apologised for disturbing you. Some guy had tried to lick a Goya in one of the other rooms, and the guard had bumped into you as he led the guy out. As he was apologising, he noticed you were looking at a piece by Kazimir Malevich and made an incredibly insightful comment. It hadn't occurred to you before, and from then on you always made an effort to seek him out when you visited. It turned out he was really into Piet Mondrian and the Constructivist movement, which explained the Malevich comment. He doesn't have a particular favourite piece, rather more interested as the movement as a whole, and how it develops. He takes you by surprise when he is very excited to tell you about an exhibition coming to the museum on astral photography (he later explained he had wanted to apply to work at NASA as a kid). Your heart melts when he shyly asks if you'd be interested in coming with him on his day off.

[ssaltbending]

Ok, guys, hear me out: Zuko is a Capricorn, Katara is a Cancer —and here’s why (it would be so poetic).

Part 1: Zuko

TW: explicit mentions of child abuse.

I know this statement might seem weird and out of place, but in the last couple weeks I’ve been digging a lot into astrology and, in order not to forget my roots, I thoroughly felt the need to combine both of my most recent obsessions in one post, given that this headcanon hasn’t been able to leave my mind ever since I came up with it: if we applied astrology to the Avatar world, I’m sure Cancer and Capricorn would be Katara and Zuko’s signs, respectively. And I don’t say this in a superficial way, just by looking at zodiac memes and associating Katara with the crybabies Cancers are portrayed as or saying Zuko is a Capricorn buzzkill as people who know astrology on a surface level would assume they are —those are some of the most common stereotypes about the signs. No, I’m saying that they embody those signs on an archetypal leve: in the way their stories, especially Zuko’s, resemble the myths that originate the zodiac signs and their respective traits.

Therefore, without further ado, let me explain.

The Capricorn archetype: the sins of the father...

As any casual astrology enthusiast may probably know, the sign of Capricorn is connected to qualities such as perseverance, integrity, resilience and ambition, typically treated as the CEO or boss of the zodiac. However, the sign itself has a richer and much more complex story as we look at the deities it is associated with as well as the planet that rules it: Saturn, linked to the Roman god of the same name and the greek gods Cronus, Zeus, Hestia and Pan. Some astrologers choose Cronus as Capricorn’s patron god and others prefer his children, but that can be explained very easily.

The myth goes like this: Cronus, a giant and father of what we would know as some of the main greek gods (Hestia, Demeter, Hades, Poseidon, Hera and Zeus), was actually the son of Uranos, who he subverted thanks to the advice of his mother Gaia to use an agricultural tool to kill him. But as time went by and Cronus had started having children with his partner, Rhea, the fear of his descendants becoming stronger than him and doing the same thing he had done to his father took over him, which led to his decision of swallowing them all whole. He started with Hestia all the way back to Zeus, whom he couldn’t swallow right after he was born, unlike his other children, because this time Rhea had hid him in the island of Crete to protect him from his father. To deceive him, Rhea then covered a rock in cloth to make it resemble a baby for Cronus to eat it, thinking that it was a newborn Zeus.

Time passed and Zeus grew stronger until he was ready to confront his father and save his siblings from his womb, and when he finally did it, he managed to force Cronus into disgorge them one by one, in the reverse order they had been swallowed —which left Hestia as the last sibling to be disgorged.

After that, Zeus was left with a prophecy, where he would also be possibly overthrown by a son of his. And after Métis, the woman he was told would bear said child, gave birth he swallowed the newborn whole just like Cronus had done with his brothers and sisters. The child in question, however, started giving him headaches as it grew older and bigger inside of him and would become the goddess we know as Athena. What Zeus did with her was the repetition of a cycle perpetuated by his forefathers, a cycle of abuse and trauma that seems inescapable. What this part of the duality of the Capricorn archetype shows one of the ways in which those ideas of tradition and legacy can be carried on (a very negative one, to be honest), but that’s not the only way they can manifest, which gives the archetype this… almost cinematic quality, in my opinion. (And if we take this into account, I might headcanon Azula as a Capricorn rising due not only to the archetypal coincidences but the overall mastermind outlook she has and how much of a natural, domineering and calculating leader she is, but that’s besides the point.)

Now, let’s talk about the other side of the archetype, which gives it this incredible dual quality: Hestia’s path. Unlike her brother Zeus, Hestia was the one who not only had been devoured by her father, but she had spent the most time inside him as well. This is often associated with the emotional isolation many Capricorns experience in their youth, the lack of warmth and love by one of their parents, along with the desire not to become the abusive parent they were exposed to. Hestia is the other side of the story, the unspoken leader of the Olympians, the one who broke the toxic cycle running in her family for generations, vowing to become an eternal virgin and protector of the earth. Besides, Hestia means “hearth”: the inner fire, the one that is never allowed to go out.

(art by @elisebrave​)

That is the soul of the Capricorn archetype: the crossroads of destiny, the moment when the child decides whether to become like their parents, or forge their own path like Hestia did. Do you guys see what I see now? Are the similarities clear enough?

As my dear friend @persephobeee​ points out in her Capricorn essay (a crucial source for this one): “The Capricorn archetype is a cycle of stuck parents putting stress on their children at such a young age so then their kid ends up making money in retaliation, but then treat their kids the same as well due to the lack of warmth and freedom they had in their own childhood. The intense pressure put onto them as a child [then] leads to isolation and depression. It’s a cycle. ‘I don’t want to be my parent, but also… how they have ruined me’. The chain can continue with Zeus (projecting sorrows and nightmares onto their own children) or it could break with Hestia (the path of love, light and protection).”

This is why Capricorn’s planetary ruler, Saturn, is also associated with ideas found in this myth: restriction, limitation, order, boundaries, leadership, responsibility… pretty much dad vibes, to be honest. Do you guys see what I see or do I have to dig deeper?

“But isn’t zuko a firebender?? Why would he be an earth sign??”, you may ask.

The way that I might be making headcanons about the Gaang’s western zodiac signs isn’t gonna be based on which element they bend, because that would be quite reductive and restrictive for me as an astrology junkie, but their similarities to each sign’s archetype and overall characteristics. And yes, I do see Zuko as an earth sun, but that wouldn’t be his only sign, there is also the moon and the rising sign, which also have an important impact on the individual. In my opinion, Zuko’s personality embodies the qualities of fire signs as well: competitiveness, drive, passion, impulsiveness and loyalty. But to me those qualities are better shown in his character through his moon sign: an Aries moon, to be specific. See those anger outbursts? The “I don’t need any [fucking] calming tea!!”? The “you never think these things through”? Aries moon behavior, right there. But I’m not going to focus on moon signs right now. Let’s get back to the behavior I am the most well-versed at: Capricorn behavior.

So, the sign of Capricorn is also a cardinal sign, a leader, since they are the ones that begin each season. In the Northern Hemisphere, Capricorn season starts right on the winter solstice, and the opposite happens in the South. However, since all the astrology lore comes from the North thanks to the Greeks, Babylonians and more, the seasonal connections are related to the seasons there. As a consequence, Capricorn is the cardinal sign that brings the coldest, darkest season of the year: winter. And incorporating that into Zuko’s character would be incredibly fitting, in my opinion, because of some stuff I’ve read here on Tumblr saying that making him being born during the coldest time of the year would make it a terrible omen for a firebender, worse in this case due to him being born into the royal family, symbols of the power and “supremacy” of the Fire Nation. The fact that he would be born in winter, if we follow this reasoning, would have made him seem as a disappointment to his father ever since birth. 

… or maybe I’m just cruel, guys.

Moreover, I think Zuko embodies many of the Capricorn qualities in the way he carries himself (because no, not all Capricorns are confident managers with the world in our hands) and how hard he has to work to earn everything he gets. A key part of what this sign represents is “the path of hardships the goat has to overcome in order to reach the top of the mountain”, which along with the myth I have described before, could easily be applied to Zuko. It describes values of endurance, hard work, discipline and drive in order to achieve your goals, something that can be seen in Zuko all throughout the series, but changes its focus as the seasons go by. Besides, uhm… have you guys seen “The Day of Black Sun, Part 2”? That is literally the positive outcome of the Capricorn myth made into animation: the confrontation between an abusive father figure and his abused child who has decided to part ways with him in order to become a better person.

On another note, I think it is important to highlight how the Capricorn in Zuko could be seen based on how the rest of the Gaang treats him as well when he changes sides and he’s accepted into the group. How?, you may be wondering: as a father figure, but in a positive way. In many scenes it can be noticed how he naturally takes a position of leadership within the group as well as he takes care of the younger members such as Aang and Toph but, especially in Aang’s case, tries to ground them and teach them. As examples, take the following: Zuko reminding Aang that soon he will have to face the fact that he might have to kill Ozai, him trying to get everyone to train when the comet is about to arrive; how when Aang gets lost, it is him the one people look to in order to lead the group, etc.

Another thing that is well-known in Capricorns is our resilience and perseverance and, honestly: do I even need to explain that? When it comes to the guy who would get his ass beaten again and again and again for one season straight in order to get what he wanted which would also give him the approval of his father, what he craved most? It screams earth sign behavior to me, but with a heavy saturnian influence due to Zuko’s background which, to me, can be quite an interesting reflection of the Saturn/Cronus myth with his children. Said tenacity could also be exacerbated by the willpower and energy brought by the possibility of him having a fire moon, I don’t know, think about it. I stick to that headcanon.

That perseverance can also be seen when it comes to Zuko’s firebending, given how much he’s always trying to improve his skills. Although it could be argued that in reality he’s doing so due to the expectations put on him to be a proficient bender just like his sister in order to be accepted by his father, and his constant training to the point of exhaustion is just a manifestation of that toxic behavior. I am sorry to tell you, but that’s textbook Capricorn behavior, associated with the symbolism of the hardworking goat in general: working the hardest in order to get what you want is always on-brand when it comes to important Capricorn placements, and in my opinion Zuko is no exception.

Final thoughts.

Anyway, what I think would be most relevant is what I mentioned before about the Capricorn archetype and how it could tie in nicely to Zuko’s character arc with him as a representation of Hestia, who could grow out of the abuse she experienced and got a chance not to make her father’s mistakes and break that horrendous cycle she had been a victim of. I would go into this more deeply, but I think it has been enough for now. However, I’ll be back soon with a part two, talking about my water queen Katara. What do you think about this headcanon? Do you agree? If not, why? 

Thanks for coming to my weird-ass TedTalk at 1am. I needed to vent and I haven’t been able to put the computer down since 9pm, I literally only stopped to eat, lol.

See you soon, 

a Capricorn sun.

[delicrieux]

amortentia [young!tom riddle x reader] -final-

premise: two students start developing feelings for one another despite having too many secrets to count.

tagging:  @cheshirecatbyul @junieyes @whaledenwtf @xoxomioxoxo @cherryvblossom @adidabach @sissieliang @patronusfire @rianrawr @gravitygemjj @aquariemm @storiiteller @fortisfiliae @imagines-all-day-everyday @redrupees @kurara-black-blog @pleuviors @songforhema @zaybmocx @justeveeeee @importanttyrantruler @sissieliang @milkchocolatepretzel @wontyoustandbyme

warnings: angst, sexual themes, descriptions of death, very morbid + disturbing imagery

a/n: this had been brewing in my mind since i read les diaboliques! thank you all for all the wonderful comments and kudos and all that jazz. truly. i started this project because there were no tom riddle fics, and if there were they were not nearly disturbing enough for my tastes. this last chapter is from tom’s point of view and i think you can already guess why. let me know what you think! thank you again for this amazing journey. it is finally time for the curtain to fall. p.s. thank you immensely to my seraph @macchiavellii for the aesthetic. divine, as per usual. 

xx d

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10. The Crimson Curtain/ Odette

There is not enough substance in this world to feed Tom Riddle’s desire for power – power over things that cannot be controlled, and power over people that simply adore him. He had always fancied himself completely in control; since moving to Hogwarts, he had built a new image of himself, a skilfully crafted mask that no one would question, or peer behind it if they did. He is charming, and handsome, and devilishly sly, yet he presents a tender disposition of a diligent student – everyone’s dream.  To him very few things matter and nothing matters very much. Yet there is this girl from his house, this gentle, naïve creature that had enough heart to defend him from bullies that years later would worship him on their feet; the same, graceful, roseate cheeked figure giving him the upmost respect and adulation of which she, herself, has none. He was her first everything and he knew this and held this secret with silent pride: her first love, her first kiss, her first everything. And as fitting, or so he thinks, clearly and coldly, it started with him and it shall end with him – she will die in his hands like a swan taking her last bow on stage, in her prettiest white dress and refined movements, so precise they are hurtful, and it will be the most beautiful thing to witness and he anticipated that moment with bated breath and morbid, dark eyes, wild with wonder, drunk on lust.

The days slip by slowly at the Riddle Manor, its strange halls dark and the outside fields misty. The roses that had bloomed in the garden had wilted from the harsh wind; alien grey clouds dotted the sunless sky like a picture void of all colour, of all happiness. Then it got hot again, humid, the stench of old wood and the lingering whiff of death and blood floated in these halls as if a permanent tenant, unable to leave, bringing nothing but a sense of melancholy and acceptance. The nights are cold, bigger than imagining; black and gusty and enormous, disordered and wild with stars. It brought a sense of tranquillity, its vastness, though a looming sense of finality, too. (Name) had long ago accepted her fate as a soul to be sacrificed to the Mighty Death itself and Tom had no qualms about that: she accepted it with his first tender touch in confession, accepted it again on the train ride to Little Hangleton, and reconfirmed it with a scorching, delicious kiss. He wanted to devour her like Saturn devoured his sons, like Goya in fretful grey-brown colours depicted on the verge of his madness. He could not share her with anyone else; she is too precious to even bathe in the curious eye of anyone else. It pained him horribly to even imagine it.

Her room is on the second floor, the very last one, spacious and adorned with viridian sheets and cheerful depictions of the Victorian past via paintings framed in glossy wood. Her window overlooks the dead roses and the faraway cabin of the caretaker, who, for days oblivious, stumbles about his home, in his mind certain he had conversed with the Riddle family and watered the flowers, cut the grass, cheerily gave the children candy he used to love as a child himself. A red curtain, satin, soft as her skin, hung above the aforementioned window, swayed from the breeze. They had spent many nights within this room, it now trapping many whispers and groans of his name, embedded into the walls, into the pillows, and the taste of kisses and metallic blood only fuelled this famishing carnal desire.

And it is dark again and he is drawn to her door like a soul is drawn to the afterlife, feeling, in a dreamlike state, the air tonight being electric and different. The hallway is shadowy and he makes no sound as he moves to the handle, his hot hand burning from touching its cold metal surface. The door opens with a ghastly creek and he enters the cool, moonlit room. She sits on the edge of the bed, staring somewhere outside the open window, a candle burning on its sill and flicking with the curtain of rouge behind it, twirling, caressing the air in its sensual dance. She slowly turns her head to him, her features lily-like, submerged in water; she appears as a seraph that climbed down from heaven to wait for him by the foot of the bed. Though this seraph, this divine, lovely creature has its wings clipped, and blood streams lazily from her nose, drips on her nightgown, appearing black in the shade.

“Were you waiting for me?” He asks, knowing the answer. She faintly nods, tilting her head and watching her feet with an empty, lonely look. He approaches her vigilantly, not yet ready to let go this picturesque, medieval image of her, so waxen, so completely lifeless. He sits next to her, his hand coming to rest on hers. Hers feels like marble, cold and sculpted. He brings the hand to his lips, kisses it softly, thinking he shall warm it with his caress, all the while watching her closely in wonder and curiosity. She barely reacts, only the sides of her pale lips quirk upwards, and the faint glow of love lights up in her eyes, and she gazes back at him, through him, drifting between this world and the next. Still grasping her hand, his other lands on the back of her neck, careful to hold her as if she was something pitifully fragile. He lays her down onto the velvety, glossy sheets.

He looks into her eyes and he sees the ocean in their barren depths. It mesmerizes him, makes his breath hitch in his throat; the trickle of red dyes her cupid bow in the prettiest rouge lipstick. He kisses her, a kiss that is strangely unlike him, a kiss full of emotion so strong his heart nearly lunges out of his chest to beat for hers. Her pulse drums helplessly in her lips, on the side of her jaw where his hand moves to rest. He pulls away slightly, enraptured, and she rasps something melodious in blood written notes.

“Ma mort…” Her voice is an alluring siren’s call.

“Ma vie…” He whispers in between kisses.

She unfolds in his grasp like a rose, breathless and beautiful, and he kisses her neck, her collarbones, retraces the spots he had marked the night before with growing eagerness. He captures her lips again, this time void of any tenderness he had exhibited prior, and she returns it with unexpected keenness. Her limbs sputter by her sides as if she wants to grasp him, yet her hands fall back to bed before she has the chance to run her fingers through his hair. He growls, deep, in the back of his throat, because she tastes like heaven, his heaven, his own personal Eden.

Her last dance, her last arch to his roaming lips as they trail down the curve of her breasts.  He calls her name with a gentle groan, barely a whisper. Her skin is frost. It does not heat no matter how much he touches it, and the night is dead silent suddenly, and the hand that had been wrapped around her throat feels as if something is amiss. He pulls away from her, sits uptight, and for a moment, or perhaps a minute, or a whole eternity, he stares at the pale, haunting body of a girl laying eerily still. Her eyes gaze into oblivion with alarming emptiness, and the light of the flickering candle reflects warmly in her eyes.

He cannot explain this feeling, cannot trap it within the constraints of his lexis. He trembles, lightly at first, then almost violently, her blood still warm on his lips. He feels horror grip his throat; settle in the pit of his stomach like a serpent. And he feels awe hitting him in waves of opalescent ecstasy. Beauty, true beauty, is terror. He had never seen something so absolutely sublime.

In a daze, Tom Riddle stands and wanders to the window. White wax drips from the candle. He leans in by the fire, exhales sharply and the fire sniffs out leaving put spirals of grey smoke. He slowly closes the window, his hands still shivering. Lastly he draws the curtain over it. What little light was in the room is now replaced by a sinister red glow.

He never felt so powerful, never so ethereal. Finally… it dawns onto him.

It is happiness he feels. Happiness scorched with abysmal pain.

fin.

[acequeenking]

At Times, Love Is...(T)

Summary: 25 One-Sentence Ficlets of various scenes through Hades and Persephone’s marriage.  Written for the Hadestown week on Tumblr for the Favorite Couple prompt; rated T for some implied sexual references. At Ao3 here. 

At times, Love is....

1. [...a final image of the sky, disappearing as he swept her down to the world below]

Her first thought of the Underworld was that she missed the skies above; there was no sky there but dirt, and for a moment after she went down with him, she could see why her mother had forbidden her from ever coming here, but then Hades had taken her hand and led her deeper into his kingdom and she knew it would be home, because he was there.

2. [...an island, carved by shaking, desperate hands]

Hades knew that the Underworld was not what she wanted, even at the start, but he thought once that she might get used to it, if he made it suit her — he made tropical islands in the darkness, Lethe lapping at their shores, and dared to hope it would make her happy — but he caught the way her mouth frowned as she looked up at his false sun, even if his stubborn pride wouldn't let him admit to himself that she'd never stay with him for good.

3. [...A tradition among Gods, or sacred rites even more ancient than that]

It was tradition, even among Gods, to have a wedding celebration — but Persephone couldn't say that she minded the way he made her his wife, pressing her into the dirt of her mother's garden, raining desperate kisses on her mouth, tracing molten gold into a ring around her finger.

4. [...a moonlight smile, teeth glinting in the dark]

For a while, they were happy in moonlight; six months, give or take, but sooner or later, she'd start tapping out a melody he couldn't follow, and he'd be left watching her saunter out the door with a kiss on his cheek, telling him she would be back in the fall.

5. [...a heart, stopped and still]

It wasn't that she wanted to leave him, it was that she had to — she had a job to do, and she couldn't do it underground; he never noticed that when she left, her heart stayed, dead and buried in the ground with him.

6. [...subtle gifts delivered on a nondescript Wednesday]

Every so often, a little trinket found its way upstairs to her, carried on a crow's wing; no one could figure out exactly how he'd done it, and there was foolish male pride in that: after the third broach he'd made winged its way to Persephone one summer, his rarely-seen seasonal sister paid him a visit, fire on her mouth as she told him to stay away, that he was a distraction — still, Persephone wore them all coming back in the fall, and seeing her in his handiwork, he felt seized with a passion that could break Olympus wide open, on her command alone.

7. [...an image of an unknown and unwanted grandfather]

She never knew her grandfather, not really; he'd been in Tartarus since long before she had been born and no one up above talked about the rebellion anymore — but she knew him immediately when she saw his picture at the Museo del Prado during one of her trips up top; grandfather, silver-hair slick with sweat as he devoured the world, eyes mad; Saturn devouring his son, the caption said, and she realized which son it was and left, sick with shock; winter came early that year, and she held him for a month in their bed, hands curled around his many scars, trying not to notice that the possessive madness that gripped Hades often looked all too similar.

8. [...a jump into a lake, one hand held in the other]

She could never get him to the ocean, but she took him to a lakeshore once — he'd stood there fully dressed in a black swimsuit (and it was a suit in every sense of the word despite his grumbling insistance of how naked he felt), awkward despite his bulk, but she'd pushed him into his brother's domain and saw him crack just a hint of a smile before he pulled her down with him into the sweet freshwater, holding her close as they bobbed in the water's current, exploring a new domain together.

9. [...Failing to stop yourself from going over a cliff, even knowing you should]

He knew he shouldn't resent it when she was gone but he did, always, and over the years, the accusations thrummed hotter and hotter in his mind; in spring, the poison built up in his blood, and even knowing it was driving her away, he could not stop it from spilling from his lips.

10. [...Breaking your own heart, and trying desperately to mend the cracks]

She didn't want to go home anymore because she could always see those months above ground burning with a jealous fire in his eyes; he could not follow and he judged her for going without him, and the guilt that burned deep in her heart was fire hotter than any fury he could produce.

11. [...An entire winter spent wishing things were different, somehow]

They made up, after a while — as they always did, when she softened enough to drape herself over him, to promise him that he was her lord and her star, and he knew it was his fault and that he should apologize but it was easier to simply be relieved when she made the effort for him, to kiss her his wordless apologies and hope she understood. 12. [...whispered rumors, following in your wake]

Persephone hated Olympus because everyone threw themselves at her as if she was a particularly fine piece of meat; she wasn't interested in being someone's side dish, and when they tried to convince her by insisting Hades (conspicuously never on the guest list) was doing the very same in hell, she laughed, refusing to be baited by the rumors — Persephone knew death had the patience to wait forever.

13. [...i miss you, whispered by one absent party to another]

When she was gone, Hades turned to countless inventions as ways to keep busy, and tried not to think of his wife, free from the yoke of him around her shoulders as she laughed her way through the upper world and the viper's nest called Mount Olympus — but the simple tune and steady beat of machinery did nothing to drown out the sound of jealous laughter in his mind.

14. [...the goal, but it is hard to reach]

When she came home, he started to make little changes; he had started building a furnace, then a mill, then a refinery — "I wanted to make it a little livelier for you, lover," he said, and she tried to ignore how profane it felt, to hear an above-ground whistle yell for dead workers.

15. [...yesterday, obvious in hindsight]

He was frustrated by her complete inability to understand how he was doing this for her, all of this, for her, trying to make his underworld into something that resembled the modern world up top: factories, light, heat, life — and still she frowned and still Hades wanted nothing but to go back to that garden, all those years ago, and try again, and still, as crafty as he was, he had no idea how to do that.

16. [...shopping for something you cannot buy]

Sometimes, as a distraction, she had him take her shopping upstairs; he took pride in dressing her in all the fineries that he could afford, which was all of them — but nothing had made both their hearts tremble so much as when he had tried to buy her a diamond ring to replace her golden one, and she refused, preferring the one he made her with his own fingers to anything he could buy.

17. [...coffee in a summer cafe, sweet and bitter]

He tried to go up for a date with her on the other side when he was strained, when the lightning in his blood needed an outlet because he was ready to burn up from missing her so much; blinking into sunlight he hated, sweating in a coat that felt too heavy for the weather, he thought about nothing but how much he hated the upper world —  but then she was there and she pulled him into a dark, cool cafe and he knew he never loved her more as she smiled and handed him a frothy latte, the color the same gorgeous cafe-brown as her skin — of course, it was a lovely distraction, but all too soon the underworld called him home, and he came to a cold bed with an ache inside nothing but her could fill.

18. [...friends, family, and the little lies we tell]

She wanted kids and he wanted kids but nothing grew in the realm of the dead, and she knew if she had a sunshine child with him, she would have to stay longer in the light, and knew he would die of jealous neglect in the darkness; when he started calling their charges their children instead, she went with it, even knowing that it was a lie, and tried hard not to show her disgust — but he, who missed nothing, saw it anyway and then things got much, much worse.

19. [...a horse, so desperate for the feedbag it never notices the blinders sliding over its eyes]

At their most fragile point, Hades seduced Eurydice in a vivid revenge fantasy; wanted to make his simultaneously beloved and bereaved wife cry as he rutted the girl like his brothers had done to other women, but in the end, he couldn't go through with it —  she was little more than a mare trying to eek out oats, the dumb child, and he passed his hand over her and sent her to the factories with only his shame on his mind.

20. [...champion over all, for a moment, anyway]

She knew Orpheus would win over Hades heart, because he was so much of what Hades had been, once —  an awkward but passionate thing, pleading his case for a love he held beyond compare; when she clung to her King's arm, she felt his heart race, and knew a taste of victory —  Orpheus did too, before his own doubts snatched it away, history repeating itself in a bitter note; mortals didn't get to try again, as they could.

21. [...cat-like grace, predatory and powerful in surprising places]

She was like a cat, his wife, stalking his bed after the boy left; he watched her as she carefully unfolded her clothing, sitting naked and alone on their last winter's night together, but however distracting she was, he couldn't be dissuaded from his mission: "I want to start over with you," he'd blurted out, and she'd purred, stalking him like the prey he'd always been as her lips closed over his, and the words me too were whispered into his scars as she pulled off his clothing and his doubts in one wide swipe, and he said "I'm sorry," as he took her down and she gasped quietly, and their ancient rings clinked against one another in the darkness as they whispered I love yous in thousands of languages, and they both knew it was different, this time.

22. [...a pretty picture]

They'd awoken on the vernal equinox, curled up in one another's arms for the first time in years, and Persephone took the time to admire every bit of him as he slept; relief at his drowsy smile flooded through every part of her — in those last hours, she threaded her fingers through his hair, and he murmured half-awake but wholly-felt love-songs into her breast, and she decided maybe winter could be a bit longer this year.

23. [...evening-song, melancholy but full of promise]

When the time came for them to part — in May, and only because all-father Zeus had loudly insisted — he held her close and asked if maybe she'd mind if he took her out for a dance upstairs during the summer-time and he kept this promise by showing up uninvited on Olympus a couple of months later; they danced the tango past his gawking brothers and her tutting mother and all the whispers about them, and wound up horizontally giggling in one of Hera's peacock gardens, and he couldn't think of a time he was happier in the summertime than that.

24. [...the sound of the heart at a loved one's arrival, akin to bumblebee's buzzing]

The feeling builds in her gradually each summer, a thrumming vibration that buzzes through her soul like a hummingbird's wings, vibrates like the wail of the train as it come down the line; when he throws open the door, it's all she can do not to explode with energy into his arms.

25. [...an alarm clock, disabled]

He's slowed down Hadestown, stripped it until nothing is left but the kingdom of dirt he led her to all those years ago, with its dripping caverns and asphodel fields; its gloomy and cold but there is still warmth between them, and she regrets nothing of it, and when he asks if there's anything here she likes, she takes his hand and just leads him deeper down, way down under the ground —  after all, it's not perfect, but it's always been home.

 Notes:

The prompts were borrowed from One Sentence Only's Table 25/C, but I bent the rules a bit to add in the structure: each of the headings is meant to follow "At Times, Love Is..." and the prompts are the words in bold.

The picture Persephone sees in the Museo Del Prado in #7 is this one by Francisco Goya (warning: this painting is really graphic and not for sensitive audiences, which is why I'm only linking it here). It's not mentioned what son it is, but I'm taking creative license in saying that it's Hades. *shrug*