#you know that thing they say about paintings where if you see like an impressionist painting of a sunset and

[tombware]

I think one of my big pet peeves is when people use real person logic for fictional characters instead of seeing them as vessels for a story. It's probably still a valid way to analyse media but I think it leads to less interesting interpretations. by overly sticking to the idea of why a real human being would say what a character has said you end up with quite trivial, boring and mostly meaningless interpretations

[art]

Creator Spotlight: GDBee Art (@prinnay)

Geneva Bowers is inspired by the wonders of the natural world around us, and enjoys manipulating colors to create art full of mood and feelings.

Check out our interview with Geneva below!

How did you get started with art? Did you originally have a background in art?

I’m going to say yes because that’s all I’ve known how to do. It started because I wanted to draw better horses than my sister, and it just spiraled from there. People started asking me to draw things because they saw me drawing horses. I was like, well, I can draw things that aren’t horses, and then it was just kind of all I did. 

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

I have one right now! Honestly, with time, and I also collect art books; I think I have a couple hundred. If I really want to draw something, then I just flip through those and try to steal some ideas.

Which three famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I mean, of course Van Gogh…I’m really inspired by Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, so I would invite Van Gogh, Monet, and Julie Dillon to a dinner party.

Have you ever wanted to dive into another medium before?

Yeah, actually, I currently am! I’m trying to do more traditional painting. I used to do a lot of acrylics, but I haven’t done it in years, and now I’m kind of bad at it. I’m trying to get into actual impressionistic art with oils and oil pastels. I’m like failing, but you know, you get there. Just fail until it looks presentable. 

If there is one thing you want your audience to remember about your work, what would it be?

I guess it’s more of a feeling. I create art because I’m inspired by things around me, like certain video games. For example, I have been inspired by a Japanese RPG called Chrono Cross on PlayStation 1. They make me feel a certain type of inspiration to create something, so that’s kind of like what I’m hoping to leave behind. 

Have any of your projects surprised you with their outcome?

Yeah! I did this Weapon Faerie series where I took three prompts: a weapon, a winged insect, and an herb, which I combined to make different characters. So, a faerie with a spiked club or a butterfly faerie with a katana. I made 13 of those, and they kind of took off! I wasn’t expecting that at all.

What is the hardest part of your process?

My whole art style is coloring, like the way it’s colored… but I hate the coloring process, haha. I like doing the color combos, but I don’t like the blending and shading. That takes like one-trillion years. It’s the part where I’m most likely to give up. You know how art kind of looks ugly before it looks good? I’m trying to trust that process. 

What do you wish you knew when you started creating art that you know now?

I guess one big thing would be knowing how to use lights and darks. When I do color, it is definitely colorful, but when you switch it to black and white, you see that everything’s the same tone of gray. I’ve learned that if you just use some brighter colors and some darker shades, you create a bigger impact in the end. So, now, when I paint something digital, I make it black and white for a moment to see where all the hues are, and if something is weirdly dark or not dark enough, I can change it.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

Oh, @feefal definitely inspires me. She does a lot of spooky art.

[feralinmyheadcalminmybed]

Okay, I know this is going to sound hyper specific but bear with me for a moment.

Since I love daydreaming. I was thinking of an Obey Me! AU with the demon brothers and the other characters working in *an auction house*.

Yeah, the place where they sell artwork and raise bids to show off.

So starting for directing the place, obviously, Diavolo and Barbatos would be supervising the whole thing. Lucifer would probably either assist them and taking care of organizing the auction room.

Then for Mammon, I could see him either at accounting or in the jewellery department. He's definitely an expert on stones and the value he can sell them for.

For Leviathan, obviously Asian arts.

For Satan, I'm torn between Old Masters Painting or books. Like the original editions of some famous novelists in literature. He would love that.

For Asmodeus, Vintage Fashion. Big brands like Dior, Vuitton, things like that.

For Beelzebub, I'd say wines and old beverages like absinthe and rums. (Yes, this can be auctionned. It's a bit surprising)

For Belphegor, I'd say he's working at the Modern Art department. It's just a feeling, I think he would like the impressionist movement.

For Solomon, he would probably be at the shop to give the client their prizes/objects.

Simeon would either be at the reception or in the shipping department. He would be great at customer service in this area.

Well, that's it for now. If you have any thoughts or ideas, I'd be happy to chat about it ^^

[llilyrose]

fun little art tip with llilyrose

there's lot of niche terms used to define different aspects of art; e.g. "rendering" is different from "shading" where shading provides depths and rendering includes shading but also includes parts of the process like hue-shifting and gradient charts, or half-tones vs. crosshatching (which is a different thing entirely).

The example I wanted to talk about here is cel shading vs. soft shading!! it's become more relevant in my art as i start pumping out fully rendered pieces and I thought it was notable enough to post.

"`What's the difference?"

here's a chart so you can get at what I'm saying:

Cel shading is the type of shading you'll see in animation! That's because it's easier to redraw every frame, of course. It's also just a lot more common. While soft shading leans towards a more abstract form of shadows and form, cel is very direct and easier to understand unless the person using soft shading knows what they're doing. it can use fades within its blocky parameters (usually to indicate light bouncing back onto the shadow), but its edges are tend to be pretty crisp.

Soft shading, as the name suggests, focuses on impressionistic shading. this means it will imply something is there instead of making it 100% clear, like you can see in the shadows cast by the sphered shaded in soft. in ibis paint this is seen in the airbrush pen or the pen brush (fade), which i personally rely on while shading.

"which ones better?"

it depends on the situation, of course!

"in which situations should i use each shading?"

I'm glad you asked!

obviously, if your artstyle leans more towards one type of shading than the other, this advice won't mean a whole lot to you, but if your artstyle blends the two it's very important to remember:

cel shading should be used when a light source is close to its object, and can change depending on the brightness of the light. rim lights (the thin lighting you see close to/within lineart) usually come from lights behind the object. think about how bright your light is and what exactly it touches in the art piece.

take this for example:

this piece uses a mix of soft and cel shading, but i want you to focus on the cel shading for me here. the lighting is harsh and only touches everything that the star's light would! since it's the only light source, everything else should be practically pitch black, but sometimes you have to sacrifice realistic aspects of your artwork in for it to be intelligible.

this post is MOSTLY about soft shading, though, because I'm most familiar with it and people need help with that the most, evidently.

soft shading should be used to highlight the brightness of an object (think of the "halos of light" that surround real world light sources). in the above piece, everything gets darker the further away it is from the star, and i utilize circles of soft shading for this effect. i also soft shade into a darker color the parts of siffrin that aren't reached by the star to give him some depth. there's some soft shading for clothing wrinkles too but that's just my own style.

soft shading can also be used for distant light sources!

the first image is a subtler example of this effect and the second image is a lot more direct.

you can tell that the light source isn't In His Face because the lines between values aren't super clear. even though the second image's light is bright, you know it's not as harsh as the last example was because the shading isn't as clear cut.

usually when bright light hits an object I'll set a layer to the "add" blending mode and gently airbrush it before setting it to a lower opacity. it's meant to mimic the light that bounces off an object when lightwaves hit it, but this only works in SOME pieces.

(addendum: using soft shading ONLY for your pieces can be difficult if you don't understand how light would normaly hit your object. soft shading works best on rounded surfaces and cel shading works best on sharper ones, like pyramids and cubes and whatnot)

overall both styles of shading are perfect for some things and not so perfect for others. they work the best when you use them together, but they look similarly stunning when used in their own as well!! this post is just meant to give a few tips on a piece of my art process and maybe give you a look into the core of my art style,,,, if anyone has any questions about the things I make my askbox is always open!

[francesderwent]

May I ask smallville + ttpd songs?

my love I have been rotating this ask in my mind and at last I have answers!! I do not have a clear enough memory of the chronology of Smallville to organize it that way so it’s gonna be organized by the chronology of the album.

“The Tortured Poets Department”—the vibes of this one are the last dying gasps of the Clark/Lana relationship. they’re so convinced that they belong together that they can’t see the fact that they’re bringing out the worst in each other. key lines: “who else decodes you? and who’s gonna hold you like me?” 

“My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys”—my first instinct was to lay this one at Lex’s door, but upon reflection I think that’s unfair to him. his sin is grasping, always, not ghosting. so “My Boy” is Lana’s pov before she knows Clark’s secret: he gives her attention and acts like she’s the best thing in his world and then when it starts to seem like a real relationship, he runs away. key lines: “cause I knew too much, there was danger in the heat of my touch, he saw forever so he smashed it up”

“Down Bad”—this one is—as you pointed out!!—Lois abandoned by the Blur. it’s less about the loss of the relationship, and more about the loss of the worldview. “told me I was the chosen one, showed me that this world is bigger than us, then sent me back where I came from” is Lois trying to go on without a purpose. and also, “Down Bad” is also a little bit Lex abandoned by Clark. he was shown a world of loving families and good people, and then had the door shut in his face again. but he can’t forget what he saw!!

“But Daddy I Love Him”—this song has a brief moment in the sun when Lex and Lana are starting to hang out a bunch and Chloe tries to warn Lex away from her friend, and it has the inverse effect of driving Lana straight into his arms. key lines: “stay away from her! the saboteurs protested too much” and “I’ll tell you something bout my good name, it’s mine alone to disgrace”. (also: “I’m having his baby, no I’m not” is hysterically ironic)

“Fresh Out the Slammer”—to no one’s surprise, because I have brainrot and only remember one plot point, I’m gonna say this one is Lana trying to walk out of her wedding to go to Clark. key lines: “another summer taking cover, rolling thunder, he don’t understand me/splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter” and “now that I know better I will never lose my baby again” and “to the house where you still wait up and that porch light gleams” 

“Florida!!!”—red k Clark lol

“Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?”—I think you’re right, this is equally Lex and Lana. both of them respond to pain by seeking control and power! both of them were softhearted people who got thrown into a circus and grew teeth! Lex is “so tell me everything is not about me, well what if it is?” Lana is “I’m always drunk on my own tears, isn’t that what they all say?”

“I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)”—if it’s anyone, it’s Clark singing about Lex! “he had a halo of the highest grade, he just hadn’t met me yet” 

“loml”—I’m going to take the dual muse and run with it. it’s Lana addressing both Lex and Clark after everything has finally fallen apart and she’s left with both the wounds from someone who hurt her in the cruelest way and the ruins of something that was the bedrock of her coming of age. key lines: “who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway?” “you low down boy, you stand up guy…you told me I was the love of your life. you said I’m the love of your life, about a million times” “when your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fake, well, you took me to hell too” “I’m combing through the braids of lies”

“I Can Do It With a Broken Heart”—this is a Lois song! just generally her ethos. “I was grinning like I’m winning!”

“The Alchemy”—this one reminds me of the homecoming episode because it’s about Clark returning to who he is (and also a little bit about football)

“The Black Dog”—“old habits die screaming” is very Clark and Lana, and Lifehouse’s “Everything” is the song that was intertwined in the tragic fabric of their dreaming.

“imgonnagetyouback”—the confidence of this has to be Lois, probably in one of those early moments where Clark accidentally stood her up and she’s indignant. “I can take the upper hand and touch your body, flip the script and leave you like a dumb house party, or I might just love you til the end”

“The Albatross”—okay this one to me is about Chloe!! about her need for the truth being this dangerous destructive thing that mows down whoever is in its path, but then at the decisive moment she turns and uses her powers to shelter. “the devil that you know looks now more like an angel” 

“Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus”—brain rot again. it’s Lana and Lex. reminds me of the scene where she’s surveilling him and he’s looking piningly at their wedding portrait. “if you wanna break my cold, cold heart just say I loved you the way that you were. If you wanna tear my world apart just say you’ve always wondered”

So High School—if it’s anybody I think it’s Chloe and Jimmy?? it’s giving ring pop proposal. 

I Hate It Here—it’s Lex!!!!!! Lex has had a TERRIBLE experience with life and so he DOES go to lunar valleys in his mind. (unfortunately for him the lunar valleys are real and he’s convinced that everyone there is trying to kill him)

I Look In People’s Windows—it’s Clark spying on Lois in his “I have to distance myself from humanity” era, but it’s also very much Lois looking at his empty desk missing him. “what if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?”

The Prophecy—it’s Lois!!!! “I don’t want to be alone anymore”! “I thought for a moment that someone needed me”!! “please let it once be me”!!!!

[utapri-translations-uuuu]

LOVE APPROACH Day 3. by Nagi - Translation

Please do not repost/retranslate without permission.

Day 3

Found you! As I thought, you were on the rooftop.

Who do you think Nagi is? No matter how big this mansion is, it’s easy enough to find out where you are.

Evidence #1: After lunch yesterday you were looking at the painting on the entrance.

It’s a replica of a famous impressionist work that features a beautiful sunset over the ocean.

Evidence #2: Yesterday it was raining, but today the weather is very nice.

That is to say, the thing you would most likely do this evening would be to watch the sunset, right?

(giggles)

Amazing, isn't it? As expected of Nagi!

But if you look a little closer at something like this, you’ll realize it right away. It’s way too simple to be able to call it a deduction, isn’t it?

(giggles)

What am I doing here? What should I do when you ask me something like that?

Am I allowed to say that I had no particular reason and just came to meet you?

(giggles)

I can clearly see you’re troubled. If I don’t keep an eye on you, I’ll get worried.

Fine, I’ll tell you the real reason.

I couldn’t help but want to meet you, that’s why I came here.

How do you feel about Nagi?

Were you thinking “I want to meet him”, like me?

Are you listening properly?

It would never be normal for me to be thinking about one person this much. It’s like a miracle!

So please think carefully. Not just about your own feelings now, but of me too, okay?

Hey, hold out your little finger.

(pinky swears)

It’s a promise! There’s lots of time, so stick to what you decide.

However, if you can’t grasp your feelings properly, leave it to Nagi.

There’s no mystery that I can’t solve. Including love.

What is true love? How do you feel when you fall in love? I know it all, because I have you.

Next ⇒ LOVE AFFAIR with Nagi

[f1-giuki]

Well hello darling 👀

I saw your plea for escape from contract law, so here I come! *falls of the disk-horse like a drunk knight*

Red, White and Orange-Nassau buuuuut… make it switched!

For Want of a Nail: Charles as the prince and Max as the music genius 👀 the scene I shall leave up to you 🫶🌻

Hello darling!! Sorry if it took me a shit ton of time to answer but I’ve been away and I was overwhelmed by the amount of things I had to do sjsjsjs.

Yoongi’s third mixtape just came out, and the amygdala performance inspired me to write this thingy and the amount of lestappen content of both yesterday and this morning made me crazy eheheh, so here it is💖💖

If in Red, White & Orange-Nassau the roles were inverted Charles would be the perfect prince charming, very pretty, very media trained, without a political opinion, the middle man in everything, and Max would be a punk-rock singer, a bit of a mixture between Lewis Capaldi in sense of talent and sense of humour, and Joe Strummer. Max is against monarchies and he hates rich people who don't pay taxes, so Charles is his number one enemy. Charles doesn't have an opinion about Max, he just thinks he's a bit untidy, with his long hair and his vintage leather jacket, and sometimes he talks a lot of shit.

But back to the scene, it's the kiss scene:👀👀

[...]

As the DJ lets the beat drop Charles and Charlotte look at each other and laugh, he kisses her then, holding her waist gently and she cups his face gently with her slender fingers. They both smile in it and something starts gnawing up his stomach, something green and unpleasant. Jealousy. Max realises which feeling it is as he sees his feet carrying him away from the ballroom, wandering and getting lost in the Royal Palace of Monaco.

Charlotte starts laughing as their kiss ends. But she turns serious once she doesn't spot Max anymore in the room. She taps Charles’s shoulder. You can tell him, her glance says. Charles nods and he wiggles out of the crowd, trying to think where Max might have gone. He looks back at Charlotte in the middle of the dancefloor and she rolls her eyes and indicates the left. Charles raises a thumbs up to her and he starts walking towards Max. He knows that there is only one room that Max could have gone to that way. He reaches the top floor and hears the sound of a piano echoing in the empty hall.

Max is playing, beautifully, Clair de Lune by Debussy. The picture is idyllic, the room is dark, the giant crystal chandelier is turned off, but there is a bit of light peeking inside. There is a huge open window on a wall and the sea breeze is moving the soft white curtains. The Moon and the stars are out in the sky. A nice finishing touch if it were a painting. Charles grins and rests with a shoulder leaning on the door post, listening to Max. Maybe this is what being in the painting The Boulevard Montmartre at Night feels like. Charles doesn't say anything for the five minutes of the piece.

"Debussy, huh?" Charles asks.

Max looks at him with a gaze that Charles cannot describe differently from nostalgic. "Yeah, it helps me clear my mind," he answers quietly, blinking a few times to better see in the dark the man in front of him.

"Didn't take you for a classical piano guy, to be honest," Charles says with his nice accent. He seems both amused and endeared. Max wishes he wouldn't have to think about such things.

Max rolls his eyes and he moves a bit to the side on the piano chair, to make space for Charles. The Monegasque sits down and Max starts playing again, Charles can't take his eyes off Max's hands. Max can't stop think about their thighs touching. He clears his throat and looks at Charles. Wrong move. Max coughs a little bit more.

"Debussy is one of my favourite composers. He was an impressionist musician, he's, how can I explain this to you while I'm drunk... Oh! Think about Monet, think about Impression sunrise, the painting, the mellow and blurry and slightly numb feeling you get by looking at it. His music is that way, too. Instead of using the precision and clarity of the classical scales, Debussy preferred the ambiguity and vagary of the pentatonic and whole-tone scales, which is like, complicated shit, I don't have the mental capacity to explain it to you..." Max says, gesticulating like a madman as Charles looks at him with a dopey smile. He should stop, that's what Max is thinking about.

"May I?" Charles asks and Max nods.

The Dutchman watches as Charles puts his hands on the piano. They feel awfully at ease, in a position Max strangely recognise, relaxed and tangerine shaped. "That's C major, everything starts from it," Max says and Charles grins and starts playing a tune that is much too familiar to Max. It's Reverie by Debussy and Max's brain goes haywire. He can't understand anything anymore, Charles is there, next to him, their arms brushing as the Monegasque plays the piano so softly. Max has to focus on the notes to be sure that he isn't dreaming the whole thing.

Max keeps his mouth shut in religious silence. Everything is Charles, his hands, delicate and with a royal ring on them, travelling on the keyboard of the beautiful piano forte. Those are the hands of a pianist, a tormented one, one that Max would like to know, maybe write a song with. Hands he would like to hold and turn warm when they're cold. He doesn't understand what has changed. Confusion is still present in him mind, with a flowery warmth.

When Charles stops playing his eyes are spanking. He lowers his hand and the knuckles brush against the back of Max's hand at their sides. Max looks at Charles’s face in profile, gaze running down his features touched by a ray of moonlight. Max's cheeks feel too, it's something as intoxicating as the liquor he drank, but it's not liquor, it's more dangerous. The Palace is awfully quiet, the party seems like a distant memory, Monaco is not the centre of the world anymore. Max feels silly to admit it, but his world just ended up in that empty room with white clothes over expensive furniture.

Charles keeps looking at him, holding his gaze, softening his smile.

“I really like Debussy too, he's true to his feelings. I am usually numb to most things, but he makes me feel emotions I thought I buried deep somewhere...” he says, his accent peaking out more prominently.

Max nods and looks at their hands, they are next to each other, Charles's pinky on the C major note, Max's pinky on the B right behind it.

"He's not the only one who makes me feel things..." Charles whispers as he moves his finger imperceptibly and Max decides to do something stupid. The angles of his mouth quirk up and he caresses Charles’s finger. A spark.

“I'm going to do something very stupid, is it okay?” Max asks.

"Mhm..." Charles murmurs and he turns his head close to Max's.

Wow, those are a pair of green eyes, like the forests in Belgium.

It is all very anticlimactic. Max's heartbeat feels heavy in his eardrums, but as their lips touch everything stops. The only thing left is the ringing in his ear, but it stops too as Charles’s slender pianist hands adorn his face like a crown jewel. Max feels like the most stupid idiot on Earth. Of course Charles had to be a pianist, a romantic who loves impressionism. If their lips weren't tangling Max would beg him on his knees to play Chopin. He would gladly cry and kiss him some more. Charles moves one of his hands on the juncture of Max's neck and his brain shuts down.

The kiss is like watching the Abduction of Proserpina, with hands gripping the poetic soft flesh, conflicting feelings, standing in astonished awe. Max likes it. So he lets himself taste Charles’s lips, sweeter than honey and intoxicating as red wine. He leans into the kiss and Charles’s mouth opens, welcoming his tongue. It is something so trivial but Max swears he has never experienced such a deed or posed his hands on such a wonderful pair of hips. Charles’s thumb gently stroking his cheek, and that turns too much for Max, he can't hold himself in composure anymore, he moans in Charles’s mouth, with no intention of stopping.

But something happens in Charles’s brain, though, and Max can't feel his hands on him anymore. The Monegasque releases him. He looks Max in the eyes, green and sparkly, with a hint of gold. Max can't find an answer in that brief glimpse he catches, not in his current state. He hears Charles say a quick French curse and, differently from the kiss, Charles runs away quickly, before Max can even steady himself on the piano stool. He rests his head on the piano, a cacophony of notes play as he touches his lips with shaky fingers.

“Shit!”

-

Hope you like this babes!!! Thank you for saving me from fucking contract law i hate that shit💖

[earlgreyentling]

Do you like Willa Cather? Ethel Cain? What do you find most gorgeously unique about prairies? Do you like forests better? If you were going to write a book about the Midwest, what would it be like and what would you definitely not miss putting in it?

Hello there!

I do like Willa Cather! Her writing feels like what Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books might've have been like if they'd been written for an adult audience. The honest emotion and simplistic elegance of Cather's writing easily immerses you in the world and helps you relate to and sympathize with her characters. I've only read My Ántonia so far, but I loved it. I own several of her other books, which I will get around to reading ... sometime. I've heard that Death Comes for the Archbishop is also excellent.

I'd actually never heard of Ethel Cain before, but from what I've learned after a quick Google search, Cain's music and style sound like something I'd enjoy. Thanks for the recommendation--I'm always looking for new music!

There are a lot of things I find gorgeous about the prairies, but if I had to choose one thing I admire, it's the wide-open skies above them. They're constantly changing and rearranging, and every day it's like waking up to a new painting stretched out above the world. When I was little, I felt like I would fall into it if I wasn't careful. Its storms and sunsets are particularly beautiful. There are lots of lovely places where the view of the sky was more restricted, but whenever I visit them, I can't help feeling claustrophobic. If I had to choose another thing more connected to the actual prairie, it would have to be the amazing deep root networks, especially how woven together and long they can get, if undisturbed for a long-enough time.

It's hard to say whether I like forests or prairies better because I haven't spent nearly as much time in forests as I have in prairies. The closest I usually get to a forest are the random patches of timber around where I live. But, I do always enjoy tromping through those and being surrounded by trees and birdsong. If I had to pick, though, I would have to say ... prairie? Mostly because, like I mentioned in my last answer, I feel kind of claustrophobic and uncomfortably hemmed in if I can't see the sky very well. I wouldn't mind visiting more actual forests in the future to come up with better answer.

If I were going to write a book about the Midwest ... oof, that's a tougher one. I love reading anything I can get my hands on, but when it comes to writing, I seem to do best with shorter pieces. So if I were to write a book about the Midwest, it would probably be a collection of poems and/or essays. Although I don't think it would be strict nonfiction, I'd want to do thorough research and include facts and education along with more impressionistic pieces--try to feed the head and the heart, in a manner of speaking. I enjoy accuracy and description when I read, so hopefully my readers would, too! Tying into that, I would definitely not miss putting in ways that people can help preserve the remaining prairie and planting their own native flowers and plants to help heal and sustain the native animal and insect populations. On a lighter note, I'd want to make sure people know how interesting and odd the Midwest can be, hah! I think we often get kind of a bad rap as boring flyover states, and while I can understand that, the Midwest has quite a bit to offer if you do a little digging into local communities and cultures. It's nice to get away sometimes, but I'm always happy to get home.

Thank you so much for your questions! I had a lot of fun pondering them, and I hope my answers are entertaining enough and don't ramble too much :)

[cerebrobullet]

Sharpe's Trafalgar Daily Book Report:

ah every time the ship temeraire is mentioned i just have to imagine a big black dragon flying over the water instead of the battleship oops 😅

*cornwell describes a ship battle with lots of technical terms for things* wow this is neat sounding! i wish i knew what literally any of these words meant! though to be fair i cannot ever picture what land battles look like either. people be talking about flanks and skirmish lines engagements dictated by landscapes and i am just sitting all ":D i dont get it but neato. pew pew! hope they win or do bad idk!"

i must say, cornwell has a really artistic way of describing violence and, well, gore lmao. he gets really painterly when talking about explosions and destruction. i like it! paints a nice kind of impressionist idea of a scene, but also zooms in for some nice details. like, the bit with the blood on deck, running towards sharpe. and he watches it tip with the waves until it reaches him where he stamps it out so it stops running. just seeing sharpe so focused on it, stuck with nothing he can do as he waits, but he isnt the type to just ignore the gore and let it continue either. good boy, soft baby boy.

oh :( poor grace tho. her sitting under the waterline, scraping at the wood and thinking about how sharpe as a kid must have felt like pulling apart the tarred ropes. makes me like her quite a bit, idk why. just such a small, personal thing for her care about, especially when she herself is scared. i hope she shoots her husband lol.

O____O d...did sir william just...s..shoot her i ... H..HEY CORNWELL... b.. back us up a bit here, maybe? dont leave me a cliffhanger like that hey what the fuck????

this battle is giving me immense anxiety!! im used to cornwell killing people off but ... but i really like these people damn it!

hey. cornwell. hey. hey i just wanna talk with you real quick. can i just talk with you, just real quick about if you plan to kill chase. just real quick bud. just a quick chat.

*beats fists on desk and chants "SHOOT YOUR HUSBAND" at grace*

YESSSSSSSSSS, GIRLBOSS MANSLAUGHTER. GET IT, GO MAKE SHARPE YOUR BOYTOY LIKE YOU WANTED TO

lmao at clouter picking up the body and staring straight at sharpe all

HHH well. i already know what happens to grace in the future, but yay still! quite a tidy end! i didnt lose my fave boys this time, two thumbs up!!

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary318

8/2-3/24

friday - saturday

listening to jpop right now.

it is meg's album "step" and it's cute. pretty often though sometimes songs on jpop records feel like nothing, until the big ones come. obv there's groups where this is not an issue, other times it's more pronounced, but sometimes the albums w/ peaks and valleys in that way have really special songs lodged in them, or they feel that way by their nature i guess.

i really like the synths on this album... really good to hear stuff like this right now, maybe i should let myself make some more "regular" sounding synths or something... we'll see.

the art in the album is super cute, her outfits are awesome:

i really love all of these looks... i need some colored tights i think.

and wow, look at this album art for one of her later albums:

i really love this... i do wanna do more weird pattern-y eye-hurty stuff. reminds me a lot of black dice.

it's fun seeing stuff on here circulate w/ tags like "eye strain", all the pleasure of glistening / shimmering / oscillating noise and its spread, i've always liked that kind of intensity where it's kind of asking something of you, as you stare at it, but it's also kind of apathetic to you, it simply is that odd and excessive, at least that's how it feels when i come to it, maybe part of why i like it is something to do with nature documentaries and all the closeup shots of things too detailed and strange, magnifications, patterns made evident, maybe it does make sense, i used to spend so much time looking at bugs which were trying to pattern themselves so animals wouldn't eat them or would ignore them, being able to see them in the noise, or make the noise out of them, and then other animals as well, reptile scales, and then my stepsisters and all the garish stuff they adorned their rooms with. an interesting lineage there in things which are difficult to look at, or people say are difficult to look at but for me they're really nice.

oh videogames too, and crts too probably, sticking my face too close, the white noise, that kinda thing... maybe an early introduction to the impressionists also? the smeary/blurriness, excess of color and stippling, my mom was eager to show me matisse, and then art class when i was in elementary school was similar. gaudiness as a kind of violent eruption, beyond kitsch really, these very odd things, over-vibrant, i didn't know it at the time but it was imparted with a kind of sexuality, i didn't really know what i was seeing for instance in how frida khalo painted but i absorbed it. very odd times. not that the point is that it's special that i like/know this or whatever it's just interesting to get any kinda vision on the lineage there of what makes me able to like this sort of stuff... the beatles even, their album art, when i was a kid that stuff meant a lot to me, their movies too.

anyway, i saw something funny today, someone added my current screenname to rym, hospitalterrorizer, as an artist. it is an artist name too... honestly though it feels less like a project and just a thing i like calling myself. anyway it's just funny, it's someone who i don't know at all i'm pretty sure, i wonder how they found it, and why they decided to put it in there. i suppose it's for the best that it is there cuz it might draw more people to the thing, but we'll see, to be honest i sorta doubt it... but that's just meeee...

now i am listening to john cale's paris 1919, i need to finish this tomorrow, cuz i am sleepy and i need to sleep now basically. my sleep is so fucked up #lol. and i need to get back to reading soon. i just spent all of today working on songs, one of them i need to go in and lower the master send reverb, and the other's got a lot of fun progress made, imo, i got some new plugins which makes things a bit easier on me i think... a lot of really fun distortion sounds in there, excited about having all of that to mess with, to see where it goessss,

so, with that: a song:

one of the best ever, i think, i really love this one,

and now:

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[whymusic]

Classic Album Review - Talk Talk “ Spirit of Eden”

"Spirit of Eden" is above all an improbable record. Who would have thought that one of the most commercial New Wave bands of the 80's would have changed their sound in such a radical way? I imagine the record label people sitting in their ivory towers, dismayed, drops of sweat beading on their bald foreheads and saying to each other "Where are the hits??? Where is the sequel to IT'S MY LIFE? How are we going to sell this thing?". It's a wonderful kick in the pants to the record industry (one more reason to love it). "Spirit of Eden" is more than just a perfect record. It's a mysterious, comatose, unreal, celestial, stripped down universe... It's a painting by Dali that mysteriously came to life. It is an impossible nature, rocking in the gusts of a soft wind and in a luminescence as strange as it is beautiful. It is the 4 elements (water, earth, fire, air) that weep all the beauty of the world. It is a music purified to the maximum, without any concession, which goes to the essential (not one note too many). And it's damn good.

From the very first seconds of "The Rainbow" (first part of an uninterrupted triptych with "Eden" and "Desire"), we are projected into this universe described above by a hybrid music, on the edge of pop, jazz, prog, blues and classical. Miles Davis-like trumpet hints majestically combine with strings that seem to come from a composition by Arvo Pärt. Then it's time for a quasi-silent night-time drone. If there's one thing the Talk Talk guys know how to use to good effect, it's silence (which becomes the most beautiful music here). This absent interlude gives way to gliding keyboards, bluesy and nostalgic harmonica, enveloping bass, minimal percussion, piano notes that hit us directly in the soul, and above all the dizzying voice of a Mark Hollis (singer, keyboardist and composer of the band) in absolute trance. This contemplative and spectral voice, all in sustained murmurs and tragic flights, is the reflection of melancholy in its rawest form. Through these three long pieces with a thousand and one subtle sound details, an almost imperceptible rise is accomplished to a bewildering climax of voluptuousness. This is the birth of what we call Post-Rock, no more and no less.

After this first half of the album levitating at will, the splendor continues with an "Inheritance" that could make a horrendous sociopath cry. This music has a heart, that's for sure. The brass instruments add an impressionistic hue to this dreamlike piece, alternating night and daytime atmospheres. "I Believe in You", a kind of disembodied Gospel-Folk, superimposes aerial keyboards on a ghostly choir of female voices. What can we say about " Wealth ", except that when listening to it, we see ourselves hovering up to the ceiling of an immense cathedral, contemplating the divine frescoes, a feeling of total well-being covering our physical and spiritual entity... It should be this music that we play at mass.

"Spirit of Eden", the most magnificent commercial self disctruction in the history of music? Probably...

[earceneaux5]

Entry 3:

Today was a bit of a different day. We all made our way to Giverney to see Claude Monet’s home and gardens, which were absolutely stunning.

While passing through the gardens, we saw so many beautiful flowers and quaint streams bursting with life. There were so many colors of the flowers and foliage itself too, and it took my breath away a bit to see how nature can be so lovely and not know it. Between picture stops, people smiled and told Annette how gorgeous she is. My heart sinks a little with each person that pretends I don’t exist. I try to keep this out of my mind as we tour the rest of the grounds.

Despite how frustrated I am, I try to enjoy the walk through his house. His home was full of his paintings of nature done through an impressionist lens. It was so different to see paintings not focused on such specific details, but focused on the general idea of the figure. Landscapes were painted with softer shapes than real life, and the details are skirted to instead just give an impression, like the name says.

It makes me think about how that’s probably the way someone would want to paint me—without focusing on the details. A blurry image of me would be better than one where you can see every single part of my face. They would never paint my sister that way. They’d never be able to capture her beauty. I try to let that thought leave my head and keep moving along.

Passing through the gardens on the way out of his house again left me awestruck but still sad that such beauty exists in the world and somehow missed me. I feel so insignificant and so small in a world where my sister gets to feel so celebrated. The ride back to our hotel in Honfleur feels about as long as the list of things that is wrong with me and not with my sister.

My gaze out of the window is broken by my sister tapping me on the shoulder to tell me that I looked really nice and that the day outside made my complexion glow. This just made my cheeks flush even more, and I can’t help but feel like she’s pulling my leg. With this flush of my cheeks, my fingers start to tingle and small colorful sparks burst from them. I am sort of new to these enchanting powers, and they tend to come out of me when I get emotional. Most of the time I can target what I’m trying to get, but little random sparks do come out of my hands sometimes.

I know I keep getting so jealous of her, but I can’t help it. It’s hard growing up and already being different than the rest of my family, and her being prettier than me only makes me stand out even more. But I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt as I think these rude things about my sweet and lovely sister. She has never done wrong by anyone really, and it’s not like she goes asking for compliments. It’s just so hard to live in her shadow, and maybe taking her down a notch would help even the playing field a bit.

That night, I shake that thought out of my head again and lay down in the bed next to Annette snoring softly in her sleep. As I pull the sheets up over my shoulders and close my eyes to rest, that jealousy creeps back into my chest, and it feels a little less fleeting than last time.

[literarysys]

Purgatory (YA sample)

...“And here we have some medieval artifacts. As I was saying, our collection spans several different periods, but we’ve managed to categorize based on two themes. On this side of the exhibit hall, we have some ancient battle uniforms from the Greek and Roman empires, early era Viking war ships, mosaics and panel paintings of crusader art, as well some interactive displays on tribal warfare. Many of our artifacts include an immersive feature allowing you to be more or less in the middle of the action. But I do suggest some caution, especially around the massacres, some people find them overwhelming. On the opposite wall we have some lovely architectural displays on the betterment of society. Romantic artwork and literature, impressionistic paintings and the like. Our interactive displays over here allow you to chat with individuals promoting the overall wellbeing of humanity and the world throughout the ages. Here we also encourage visitors to use the immersive feature, and we have a book of dates for you to choose from. Any questions?” There was a placid look on Andrew’s face as he stared at the man who was speaking. As he blinked, he said, “I’m sorry, where did you say we were?”

“The exhibit of war and peace.” the man replied, staring calmly back. His face was illuminated by the flickering light of a torch that he held in his hand, and he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and had a beard. It was neatly trimmed, but it, and his hair were graying. If not for the fact that he had the most potent eyes, Andrew would have looked on the man's Roman nose as the defining feature of his face, but they were vibrant and clear. Wise with a deadly kind of brilliance. You could not be unseen by these eyes. 

“War and peace?”

“Yes.” The two looked at each other in silence, “You know, war and peace. Good and bad. Love and hate, light and dark. War and peace just sounds a little more academic. Call it what you want though, it’s all the same.”

“Are we in a museum?” Andrew asked as he looked around and saw that through the darkness, to his left and his right, were podiums and wall displays also lit under the small fires of  torches.

“Effectively speaking.” said the man, and a look of confusion spread across Andrew’s face. 

“I don’t understand. How did I get here?” The man nodded, “Why don’t we sit down for a moment.” He beckoned Andrew with a flick of his head, “Come.” he said, and began to step into the darkness, “Oh and watch the shoes”, he paused, Andrew pausing with him. “The first step is a little unnerving.” The boy looked at his feet. Standing on large marble tiles of black and white, where his sneakers would have been, were two lumps of stony metal. Andrew looked at the man. He could see him walking up ahead, taking a seat on a bench now illuminated under his torch light, and the man looked back at him expectantly.

Looking at the lumps and tensing his muscles, Andrew threw his weight onto one leg as he lifted the opposite foot. Immediately it set ablaze in a blue spark of fire, exploding pale light into the dark hall. “Ahh!” he exclaimed, and dropped his foot. His other was still weighed down, and Andrew stomped about helplessly. After a moment of panic, finding himself unhurt as the sparks burnt out, he saw the metal had melted away, revealing a shoe of pure gold. Looking at the man, who stared at him steadily, Andrew again threw his weight. This time he watched the blue blaze rise and die more calmly revealing the gold underneath, and as he made his way to the bench, a heavy “clop, clop, clop” echoed through the room

“Sit.” said the man, and Andrew did. “You’re basically right. This is a museum- well, an exhibit I should say. Of history. It exists on its own and it is never ending. If you walk one way you will inevitably wind up where you began, and the only thing that changes, is it grows. One side shows war and the other side shows peace. There are others here, like you, which you will meet in a moment, but you are free to wander about as much as you like. That’s about as simple as it gets.”

“That doesn’t explain anything. What about these shoes to start?”

“Are you religious Andrew?”

“Not particularly.” 

“Have you heard about prayers for the dead?”

With widened eyes Andrew asked “We’re dead?!” And at this the man laughed.

“Well now that you mention it yes, but it’s not like you think.”

“ What, that the afterlife is some sort of intellectual field trip? Well no, I guess not.” The man laughed again. 

“Well to start, this isn’t the afterlife.” They both were silent. “ You’re conscious aren’t you? You think, you feel. All that good stuff?” Andrew took a second to assess, then nodded quietly, “All that good stuff.” 

“Ok well in simple terms dead just means not here. On Earth, they see you as not here, but to you, they are not here. This is Purgatory.”...

[mystical-lemonade]

Hidden Beneath the Paint

Warnings: Explicit Violence, Blood, Toxic/Abusive Relationships, Unhealthy Power Dynamics, Kidnapping, Nudity, Death, Yandere

Wordcount: 8,440

Pairings: Yandere! Rook Hunt x gn!reader

Within the National Museum of Art a small group of people stood in front of a painting of a tiger sitting in the shade of a mango tree. They were all carefully inspecting it not in criticism but in complete awe of the artist.

“The tiger feels as though it might stand up and start to chase me any second.This is truly Mr. Hunt’s best work,” Chirped an overly enthusiastic art director, having just bought the painting. A wave of appreciative murmurs flowed across the crowd as they all continued to heap praise upon the stunning works of Mr. Hunt. 

Little did the crowd know that the object of their praise was merely a room over in the gallery, browsing amongst the photography section. Rook Hunt as he was known to the public was getting quite tired of the same song and dance that he was required to go through during the showings of his work. Listen to the endless droll of people lauding him for his works, pretend to be humble and deny his talent, talk about his next project. The ceaseless praises that had once fueled the younger more naïve version of him’s desire to jump into painting once more, was now a cause for him to postpone his next project. That desire had dried up along with his boyhood. 

After countless years of immortalizing forests, tundras, fields of flowers, the savanna and the majority of the animals that call those habitats home, Rook had recently found his well of inspiration had dried up as well. He missed the days that his ability to find beauty in the natural world around him was readily available.

He sighed fondly at the memory of running through this very building to look at the impressionist paintings that dazzled him in his teenage years. Although he had never been an impressionist himself he had always loved the simplistic beauty of them, the bright colours and stunningly pure subjects had always intrigued him. It was that desire for purity that had often bothered the public who viewed his work. 

Peering eyes who knew nothing at all about him or his methods always pestered him with the same question. Why do you refuse to paint people? And in truth, the answer was simple, Rook had always thought of them as dull subjects. In his eyes humans are a still lit cigarette butt. They are fiery for but a moment until they hit the pavement and flicker out. They are used up and disgusting, tainting anything they come in contact with. And only a desperate fool would see anything worth immortalizing on canvas in them. 

But the truth is harsh to the ears of the unaware, so he lies and makes excuses. Saying things like ‘ I haven't met my muse quite yet’ or ‘My skills in painting people never comes close to matching the quality of my other works. And I only want to show the very best work I can to you all’. He then will smile shyly before politely excusing himself.

After a moment more in the gallery he exited with a flourish, dissatisfied yet again with a place he thought might bring his inspiration back home to his arms. His self pitying spree had so far taken him through over half of the city and was driving him further into a nihilistic chasm. The spiral of thought provoking reminiscing Rook was going through was abruptly interrupted by a tap on the shoulder accompanied by a soft voice.

“Excuse me sir, but I was wondering if you might be able to help me. I'm a bit lost.” 

They were shorter than him and they appeared to be, almost scared. When he locked eyes with them his misery dissipated, slowly but surely. With a smile growing across his face like a spring’s bloom after a violent winter he reassured the stranger.

 “Where are you heading?” He inquired. 

“I need to find Dorian Hall, I was told it was on Campus but near the museum but… so far I haven't seen anything close.” They confessed. 

Rook nodded as they explained, he had noticed that they subconsciously fluttered their hands when they spoke and he was completely enamored by it. 

“I would be happy to guide you, I was actually heading that way myself,” He spoke with a slight chuckle, as he held out his arm for them to take with a charming confidence. The custom was dated in this century but he was always taught to be a gentleman, plus it never hurts to make the lasting impression you leave on others. 

Not a single word was shared between them as they walked but Rook felt as though nothing needed to be said. They were comfortable in each other's presence. He found himself admiring the way the light was hitting their face, it danced across their cheekbones as though it meant to show him all the beautiful parts of them. The breeze danced through their hair, and Rook felt time crawl to a halt. He found himself at a loss for words to convey what exactly he was seeing in front of him. In all his years Rook had never thought he’d meet a person like this stranger. His thoughts were halted from sheer disbelief.

They were looking at the world around them with the innocent eyes of a child seeing everything for the first time. But behind that was the appreciation of one who had lived a full life. They shied away from the many stares of passing pedestrians and pulled Rook progressively closer to them with every judgemental gaze that landed on the two of them. It was as though they were looking to him for protection. They moved with the purpose of a brand new fawn learning to walk, hesitantly but with pure determination to show that they were grown enough to be trusted with caring for themself. 

Rook’s hand twitched with the reflex of a carnal desire he hadn't felt for a long time. A desire to recreate the scene in front of him. A desire to immortalize the feeling of a walk with this familiar stranger. To make sure that when his beloved inevitably faced the world he was there by their side, waiting to carry them away. A desire to protect them from the corruption that smears its influence all over the people who refused to feed it in the first place. 

He felt a desire to paint.

Bringing their hand up to his lips he boldly locked gazes with them as he placed a whisper of a kiss against their knuckles. He thought that their cheeks flushed rather prettily under his gaze, with a confident smirk he spoke in the gentle way one does as they share their heart with a lover under the cloak of the moon’s light. “My name is Rook Hunt. I haven't been inspired to paint in months, however, after spending not even half an hour with you, I have found my inspiration once more. It would be an honour if you would give me your time and allow me to paint you.”

“I’m Y/N and,” Y/N looked down at their feet as they paused, considering their next words.

When they lifted their head, Rook could swear that their eyes were glowing in the light of the morning. 

The bell of the clock above the two rang out the hour, signaling the beginning of classes at the Capital’s University. Y/N bit their lip, quickly writing their contact information on a scrap of paper they had and shoving it into Rook’s hands.

 “I would love to model for you Rook! ” they said quickly, turning to go inside the building. Realizing it was rude to just shove a paper in someone’s hand and run, they called over their shoulder while still maintaining their speed,“Talk to you soon!” 

After Y/N disappeared from his sight Rook walked away from Dorian Hall, with a grin stretching wide across his face, he couldn’t help but think aloud, “You most definitely will be hearing from me soon, my Muse.”

                           ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

“So how’d you manage with getting to today’s classes?” 

“Kalim. You would not believe it but, I got lost before my classes could even start,” Y/N said, placing their tray down onto the table. 

Kalim’s hand paused midway to his mouth, the peas on his spoon rolling off as Kalim tipped his head back in laughter. “Y-you. You. Got lost. Be-before classes even began? How’d you manage that? Its like… like the third week into the semester?” His voice wheezed slightly with the exertion of trying to hold back his giggles.

“I don’t know Kalim…I really don’t know,” Y/N’s head was firmly placed in their hands, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. 

As Kalim’s snickering died down and Y/N’s shame receded the duo began their usual lunchtime routine. Their conversation came naturally, and the topics discussed were light hearted as the pair ate. 

“Do you think if I told Prof. Obrecht that I was modeling for a famous artist, he’d give me extra credit?” Y/N said, thoughtfully chewing.

“Pfft, that would be unlikely. I mean you’re even more of an art nerd than he is so it’s unlikely that he’d know them. Plus any person that he would know is not likely to be painting now. You know… ‘cause they’d be dead. He is our Art History professor, so what assignment would he even give you the extra credit on.” Kalim said, tilting his head, “You’re so funny Y/N.”

Y/N looked at Kalim unimpressed, “What’s so funny about my question.”

“Wait… you? Were you being serious?” 

“Yeah Kalim, I am.”

“Okay but like, Y/N. What artist was it?” Kalim leaned forward, clearly very interested.

Y/N smirked, knowing that Kalim was hooked, and they were admittedly feeling quite proud and excited by the news, “Rook.”

Kalim looked quite unimpressed by their answer, so Y/N of course defended themself. “I’m serious! He told me that he’s the artist Rook Hunt!”

Kalim shook his head, looking quite disappointed and almost melancholy, “Y/N, Rook Hunt has never painted a person ever! He even mentioned in an old interview that he thinks humans don’t deserve to be immortalized in his art.” 

“He said I inspired him.” Y/N looked at Kalim with a sour look as he continued, his passionate rant barely affected by Y/N’s interjection. 

“I’m just saying it’s unlikely he’s actually what he said he was! He could be trying to lure you in to get you alone so he can do whatever he wants without anyone getting in his way! This Rook guy could be a rapist! Or a murderer! Or he could be trying to sell your organs to the highest bidder! Anything could happen and-” 

With a sigh Kalim looked away from his friend. “Look, I don’t mean to rain on your parade. Its exciting to be asked by any artist to model, let alone to have them admit they were inspired by you. I just. I want you to be careful Y/N.” 

“I will be Kalim, I promise.” Y/N said empathetically, reaching for their friend’s hand and intertwining their fingers together. 

“Okay. just…maybe text me or your boyfriend when you get to this guy’s studio? Just to make sure someone knows where you are and that you’re safe.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Y/N smiled brightly as they began to eat once more. “Wait Kalim, how do you know so much about Rook anyway? Is someone a secret fan~” They said, waving their fork at him.

“Oh no! I- uh. My mom and Noor, both love the guy’s work. My mom is, like, obsessed to the point that she has like 6 of his paintings on the first floor of our house alone. Noor likes it because it's not only something they can bond with our mom over, but they also told me that they think they hide a hidden melancholy or sometimes even darkness behind the seemingly innocent animal portraits or landscapes. So the two of them know just about everything there is to know about him at the point. And I, I like paying attention to what my family enjoys, so I guess I picked up on a lot of it.” Kalim couldn’t meet his friend’s gaze as he knew his cheeks were practically glowing from how warm they were.

Y/N simply laughed at Kalim’s sweet intentioned shame, the bastard. 

                         ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

Y/N stood by the front door of the building in which Rook had set up his studio, and with every passing second their unease grew. It wasn't bad enough that they were generally an anxious person in unfamiliar situations, but after sitting through a rant from Kalim about how Rook could be lying about who he said he was, their heart was racing uncomfortably fast. Or how this whole set up could be a trap and they could kidnapped and raped, their unease was through the roof. Their mind was racing with every possible outcome, and the majority were not good. And now they've been standing in front of the door for at least 10 minutes. 

“Was this guy even the real Rook Hunt? Probably not, I mean like Kalim said everyone knows that Rook Hunt never paints people. The biography on him I found last night even quoted interviews he gave about the subject years ago! Plus he seemed to be quite strange, not speaking to me until just before I had to rush off. But on the other hand, if this is the real guy… Then, what about me changed his mind... Well at the very least I probably won't have to die naked. After all he never said anything about modeling nude,” They huffed as they continued to pace back and forth. 

A soft laugh from behind them interrupted their thoughts, “Good Afternoon Y/N. Mind telling me how long you've been wearing a hole in the hallway carpet?” Rook chuckled adoringly. 

Y/N jumped in surprise, their cheeks flushing in embarrassment at being caught talking to themself. They lowered their gaze as Rook stepped outside the studio. He placed his hand on their shoulders in order to prompt them into looking up at him. 

“Yes I really am the artist Rook, no I am not a serial killer nor a rapist nor any combination of the two. Relax dear Y/N, I mean you no harm, my intentions are pure I swear. I wish with all my heart that you will allow me to recreate your image on canvas. If ever you're not comfortable with anything tell me, and I’ll immediately rectify the situation I promise. I want this to be a good experience for the both of us. Even if you never want the finished work shown to the public then I swear that I will never allow it to be presented,” his voice was almost desperate, however exactly what he was desperate for wasn't entirely clear. 

His tone quickly rectified as he continued to explain himself, “However you have my sincerest apologies if I seemed peculiar yesterday, I was truly just as confused as you are right now. As you said, I have never felt the need to ever paint any human before. Until I met you yesterday that is.” He wordlessly invited Y/N inside by placing a hand on his muse's back, and with that the two entered the remarkably clean studio. 

                          ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

Y/N reclined on a surprisingly luxurious loveseat as the light coming from the large window behind them gradually started to dim. Rook was softly humming along to the classical music playing along in the background as he gently guided Y/N into the position they needed to be in. Rook never completely laid his hand on their skin, preferring to ghost them across the places that needed adjustment. He was almost too gentle with them, as if he was attempting to lull them into a false state of comfort before striking.

This sent shivers down Y/N’s spine, they squeezed their eyes shut as if the block out the idea of Rook having ulterior motives for this meeting. Rook smirked down at them, as they shivered beneath his hand, like a little mouse. 

When his work posing Y/N was done he sauntered behind the canvas, picked up a pencil and began to create his vision. 

Quite some time passed before he even began to consider talking to Y/N, lest it break his much needed concentration as he attempted to get their proportions correctly conveyed on the canvas. 

“So tell me about your interests Y/N, what do you enjoy?” Rook suddenly asked, despite the break in the quietness of the situation the relaxed aura of the situation maintained its hold over Y/N. 

“Well, I enjoy listening to music, cooking, movies, mystery novels, and, um, well...it's embarrassing to say but, I have started to really enjoy knitting. It started as a stress reliever about a year ago and now I simply can't stop. I also enjoy art, I've never been all that talented at creating it. But I do love looking at all the amazing ways we can bring beauty to mundane objects like stone or paper. What about you? Do you have any interesting hobbies to share.” They asked giddily, the moment felt almost intimate. Like two middle schoolers sharing secrets at a sleepover. 

“I've always been quite boring, honestly. My main hobby is actually my current job, however I have always had a great love for books. Particularly classic literature, Beowulf, Othello, Faust, every assigned reading in high school and university I ate up like a starving man at a feast. One summer I even read the entirety of Dante’s Divine Comedy from cover to cover. But my favourite book of all time without a doubt has to be The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.” Rook peered around the canvas to look at his subject as he continued speaking, “Boring right?”

“Not at all Rook, not at all.”

Before the pair realized, nearly two and a half hours of insightful, pleasant conversation had passed by since they first began the session. To the pair it had felt like absolutely no time at all. 

“I'm just about finished with the sketch Y/N, thank you for your patience,” Rook said from behind the easel. He was truly enjoying working with a sentient subject that actually listened to requests. And the natural conversations that happened throughout the hours were quite lovely for the two of them. 

“By the way, would you mind terribly if I painted you topless? You can absolutely say no if you're uncomfortable with it, I just feel as though the emotion we’re going for would be far more powerful if you were seemingly clad in only a blanket.” He asked as he carefully rearranged the scattered pencils on the desk.

“No I don't mind at all Rook, I trust your intuition. I also won't be able to come for a few days, I hope that's okay.” Y/N bit their lip as Rook nodded in reassurance. 

“Text me when you're free and we'll make it work.” He said confidently, slipping his hand into his pocket to give the driver downstairs a warning of their incoming departure. 

“Perfect,” They sighed, relief pouring over them,“It has been absolutely wonderful getting to know you Rook, I’m legitimately excited to see the finalized idea. I'll see you as soon as I'm free!” They got into the car Rook had waiting for them. 

The artist couldn’t help but to smile as Y/N peeked out the window and shyly waved goodbye as the vehicle drove away. 

“Have a good evening my dear sweet Y/N,” Rook cooed at the retreating car a calculating smirk on his face. Pushing off the wall he was leaned against, Rook turned to walk back inside, very pleased with his decision to finally paint a person. Y/N was just as he thought they would be, innocent, gentle, and so very charming. They were positively perfect, exactly what he was searching for but simply hadn't known. Their existence was as though a flower in full bloom was personified. And it was infuriatingly wondrous.

As he shut and locked the door to his studio he felt at peace. It was that moment he decided that he would take his time and insure that this would be the absolute best painting of his career. Nothing else would ever top this. Even the famed Mona Lisa would avert her eyes in respect for for beautiful this would be. 

And Rook was determined to not allow anything to ruin this. 

                         ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

The next week the two agreed to meet once again to continue working on the massive project. When the day finally came around the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and the temperatures plummeted. 

Rook stared out the open window at the street below, debating if he should call to cancel when a knock came from the door. Opening the door Rook greeted his muse, inviting them in with a warm tone that carefully contrasted the weather outside. There was no time for them to waste. It was time to get to work. 

Rook gently positioned Y/N how they needed to be before settling back behind the easel. He immediately began to work, small flicks of his wrist creating realistic wrinkling of the fabric around their legs. The fabric flowed across the canvas exactly like how it did in real life, he had perfectly captured the stunning textures of the silk. 

It was a long while until Rook peeked around the easel for more than a second. When he looked up at Y/N again what he saw made him gasp in shock. His brush fell to the floor in a clatter. 

 “Y/N, you look positively blue! Why didn't you tell me you were cold?” Rook exclaimed loudly, rushing over to where his model laid he wrapped them up in the warm blanket from on his bed. After making sure they were comfortable he rushed over to the window , careful to not knock any paints over, and hurriedly shut it. Locking the cold air out. He then proceeded to crank the thermostat up to the highest setting. When he turned back to face them concern over took his mind as he saw them still shivering even though they were bundled up. 

“How long have you been like this?” He asked gently.

Y/N buried their face into the blanket in shame as they responded “An hour”

“An hour! No this will not do!”

“Well you were concentrating really hard and, I didn't want to interrupt you Rook.”

“This is only the second time that you've been in to model for me dear, you need to speak up when you need something.” He murmured as he hugged Y/N close, hoping that his body heat might help alleviate their pains a tiny bit. Y/N huffed softly but was grateful for his concern nonetheless. They stayed like that for a while, sitting in an easy silence as Rook clutched Y/N to his chest. 

After a pause for Y/N to extract their face from the blanket cocoon they now resided in they spoke once more, voice no longer muffled by the fabric, “When would you like to continue Rook?” 

“Continue?” Rook gaped. Shaking his head, Rook muttered under his breath, “Mon dieu. Tu es trés persistant, ma muse.” 

Extracting his arms from around Y/N, Rook stood, mouth pressed into a thin line. “You wish to continue, very well then. We shall continue.”

                         ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

“You really didn't have to continue modeling today Y/N,” leaning against the doorframe of his studio Rook sighed, still concerned over the well being of his muse. 

Y/N shrugged coyly, “I know, but I wanted to. See you on Saturday?” They tilted their head in curiosity as they spoke. Rook hummed softly in affirmation, a light smile illuminating his face.  And with that Y/N slipped into the night, eager for Saturday to arrive. 

                         ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

The natural light from the window was slowly fading and unbeknownst to them it was casting beautiful shadows on Y/N’s relaxed face. They were perfectly posed and they hadn't moved since they first laid down which was astonishing as they had fallen asleep a few hours ago. Rook was very carefully painting the beams of light that were dancing across his muse's face. As they created beautiful little freckles of light across their cheeks, a halo around their head created by the little hairs reflecting what little they can. And their skin appeared to sculpted from the purest stone. Unmarred by time, soft and inviting. His muse looked even more angelic than usual, the epitome of innocent beauty.

He was completely enraptured.  

The more Rook got to know them, the more he was growing to love his muse’s personality. They were so very sweet, and it appeared that even the sunset could see their beauty. The only word that came to Rook’s mind to describe them was soft. He could tell that life hadn't quite been able to reach out and corrupt them yet. Do they know the way the world has changed? The corruption that seduces from the shadows, drawing you in with sweet words and gentle caresses. It makes you feel wonderful all the while they push you farther into the murky tar that is experience. They haven't yet lost faith in the world around them, not like Rook had. 

Rook smiled down at his muse and gently began to shake them awake. The good light had faded and the canvas needed to dry. Y/N stirred from the sweet oblivion of peaceful rest, slowly blinking the sleep up at him Rook felt a soft pang in his heart. 

Y/N’s sweet innocent heart needed to protected, no matter the cost. 

                         ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

The image of Y/N was a little over half finished, but the background of the painting was practically complete. The light pouring onto the desk by the window felt as though it could reach through the canvas and warm the viewer. The lighting really made the whole piece feel loving and intimate. The orange hues from the setting sun made the room look hazy and peaceful, but what really was stunning about the light was how it drew the eye towards the aspects that illuminated the intimacy of the scene. They were concentrated in particular on the writing desk by the window, the discarded clothing resting just off to the side of the couch. And above all else they fell beautifully the peaceful half finished image of Y/N sleeping on the couch. Nothing in the picture felt as though it was filler, everything looked just right, as if all the objects in the room held a meaning.

“I swear I can almost smell of the lotus sitting on the desk. Of course that’s impossible due to there not actually being a lotus in the room, but nonetheless. It's positively stunning!” Y/N exclaimed breathlessly, as they marvelled at how gorgeous Rook could make his work. They were so caught up in examining the almost finished painting that they didn't hear Rook approach until he wrapped an arm around their shoulders. 

Rook hummed pleased at the praise from his model,“It's not as stunning as it will be when we're done. But I’m very glad you like the lotus, it’s my favourite flower and actually… It reminds me of you.”

As soon as they moved to get into the pose Y/N immediately felt a tidal wave of exhaustion wash over them. They swooned nearly falling to the floor, when two arms rushed up to meet them. Rook had caught them right before they hit the ground. Their vision began to blur and it started to scare Y/N. They could barely lift their eyelids let alone say what happened to them. They tried focusing on Rook's voice which was trying to tell them something but alas their brain simply wouldn't allow it.  Rook safely laid them down on the couch with their back exposed to the air, before walking away.

‘I’ve always known Hunt Rook was an extremely attractive man but I never knew he was this handsome, it's almost too much to bare… wait since when were his eyes purple!!” Y/N thought as he knelt next to them in an attempt to explain what he was about to do. It was difficult for Y/N to concentrate let alone move so they settled for making a soft noise to let him know that they were conscious. He grabbed a hold of their hand and squeezed it gently before disappearing from Y/N’s senses for a moment. When he returned Y/N had completely fallen into a sort of trance. He sighed softly as he began to paint a cherry tree on the back of his muse. 

”The process is happening much faster than I expected. I knew I shouldn't have tried to paint so much with you in the room. I guess I took too much from you, my Muse. I hope you can forgive me for my mistake. But don't worry I'll fix you right up,” He murmured. His painting was reflexive, as Rook’s mind wondered elsewhere. Plus the actual image didn't need to be that beautiful, it was the feeling that he needed to focus on, that's what would draw them back. 

“Before meeting you I was incomplete, I didn't truly understand the world. I had lost my passion for life, but you brought it back to me. In all my many years on earth I never would have believed that in the century I most despised I would find the person who was meant for me. Do you know how many times I've dreamed of pulling you close to me and kissing you breathless. I want to do so many wonderful things to you my Muse. The only things you will ever feel with me by your side is love and indescribable pleasure. I fully intend on making you mine. Only mine.” He closed his eyes in bliss at finally saying the words he wanted to say more than anything. He trailed his hands down Y/N’s sides, then their hips and finally resting them on the skin of their thighs. 

Rook slowly leaned down placing a kiss behind Y/N’s ear. “I love you. No I don't just love you, I worship you my Muse. Nothing will ever come between us I'll make sure of it. We are each other's forever.” He purred into their ear. 

With a smirk he finished the painting, leaving a note for Y/N to find when they woke up, he disappeared. There were some arrangements that had to be made before anything went further. 

                          ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

It has been nearly 2 weeks since Y/N had last seen Rook. They had both agreed that some time to rest was needed before they would reconvene to finish the painting off. When the day came for them to work together once more Rook eagerly awaited the knock that would signal the end of his search and the start of something absolutely beautiful. 

However his Muse hadn't shown yet, they were a half an hour late and they didn't even text him to let him know they're stuck in traffic or something. It was starting to worry Rook that they’d no show on such an important day but he could be patient.  Plus the extra time it gave him was a perfect chance to think about what he was about to say when the time came for the painting to be finished. 

What felt like hours to Rook but was in reality merely a few unfruitful minutes of staring out the window facing the road passed; when an unfamiliar car parked on the street directly under Rook’s window. 

Removing his face from where it rested on his palm, Rook leaned forward, arms on the windowsill bracing him as he watched the car intrigued. 

A tall blonde man exited on the driver’s side of the vehicle. Circling around the vehicle after shutting his door behind him, the stranger opened the passenger door. 

Rook’s eyes widened as the passenger took their first delicate step out of the car. His breathing quickened in both anger and anticipation as Y/N stepped out of the passenger's side. 

The anger heating his breath spread quickly across Rook’s entire body as the stranger swiftly wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist, pulling them into a heated kiss. It lasted for a full minute, the stranger eventually even groping Y/N’s buttocks. 

The behaviour that man was displaying was sickening. The exact thing Rook was trying to prevent was happening right below his window. When they pulled apart  his muse was blushing bright red, and was grinning from ear to ear. It made Rook sick, nobody gets to touch what was his. Especially in such a crass and disrespectful way. 

Rook felt his blood boiling as he rushed out of the apartment, calling his muse on the way down. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he ran directly into the pair. 

“Rook, we were just on our way up to see you. This is Vil , my boyfriend! Pumpkin meet my friend Rook.” Y/N chirped, still blushing slightly. 

When Vil pulled Y/N against his side with the arm that was still wrapped around their waist. Rook had to force himself to not wretch and instead smile. Against his better wishes when Vil offered his free hand for a handshake Rook shook the man’s hand, only offering polite greetings in return. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Vil. I'm Rook Hunt,” He quipped. Motioning for the couple to follow him up the stairs he formulated his plan of action. Vil was taller than Rook by a few centimetres and exuded grease. It honestly reminded Rook of a rotting pizza, greasy and positively revolting. 

Vil also didn't appear to have an ounce of the chivalry that his Muse deserved in a partner. He wore perfectly pressed, immaculately tailored, designer clothing, and kept fussing with his hair which had been gelled and braided into a slick look. And what really pissed Rook off about this was the fact that despite the clear wealth this Vil person exuded, he had neither the common sense nor care to extend that wealth to his lover. 

As they climbed the stairs up to Rook’s studio, the artist felt the heated anger he started out with chill into a raging blizzard. Revenge after all, is a dish best served cold. And as was taught to him in his youth, Rook found that the punishments resulting are often are best when wielded by the coldest of hearts. 

If he had any doubts about his next course of action before, he was determined to get rid of Vil now. Rook grinned devilishly as he opened the door to his studio. “Welcome to my workroom Vil…” Rook didn't finish the last part of his statement out loud. 

                         ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

“My Y/N is so sexy naked. Aren't they Mr. Hunt~” Vil smugly quipped to Rook from his position beside his easel. 

For the final session of painting Y/N was reclined on the chaise, completely nude this time as Rook needed to define the shape of what was hidden by the silk sheet covering their modesty. 

Rook ignored everything Vil did, preferring to admire his Muse as they posed for him one last time. Eventually Rook turned his attention to the man beside him,”Vil, I need your help with something. Mind following me for a second?” 

Vil agreed without a seconds pause, eager to assist in the making of a masterpiece. Rook stood up and guided Vil down into the basement of the building. “Mind grabbing that board for me? It’s the one covered by the tarp” Rook asked as he flicked on the light. Vil nodded and began to search. As he turned his back to Rook, Rook began to look for something himself,  all the while he continued to talk. 

“The building manager lets me use the basement as a storage facility for all my extra works, and any supplies I could ever need. It's quite nice of him actually. And you know what the best part is? Only I have the key.” 

Vil cut Rook off, “I got the board, what should I do with the tarp?” 

Rook smiled, his teeth practically gleaming in the dim light as he responded, “Just leave it on the floor. I’ll clean it up later. Mind putting the board by the door we came in from?” 

Vil shrugged his shoulders as he carried the board across the tarp strewn on the floor. 

“This room means that I can ensure nobody else can access what belongs to me and ruin it.” Rook said to Vil’s back, twirling the finest tool in his collection between his fingers. “You see Vil, that's one of my biggest pet peeves, nosy annoying people who think they have a right to rub their grubby little hands all over the beauty in this world. Most humans are like that actually. ” 

“Is there anything else you require from me?” Vil questioned, bored by the artist’s rambling and the menial task he was given. Deciding he had enough of Rook’s antics after the artist refused to respond, Vil made to leave. He reached for the doorknob but was surprised by a hand clamped over his mouth and a deep pressure across his neck, gone as soon as it came. 

It took Vil a few seconds to realize what had happened through the fog of shock. The first thing that alerted Vil to something being wrong was the sudden pouring of warmth down his chest. The coldness that began to set in shortly after the warmth began to flow was another. But the final sign of what had happened that shook the shock away was the pool of crimson forming on the tarp beneath his feet. In the seconds after the blood loss began to rapidly set in, Vil acknowledged that the pressure was in reality quick deep slice of a knife across his throat. And as Vil’s consciousness faded, he could hear that damned manic artist still babbling on. 

“And you did exactly that Vil, you touched what was mine. You ran your disgusting hands all over them, and I refuse to ever let a pitiful, disgusting little human like you, ever taint my beloved muse,” Rook stared down at Vil as he bled out. A pleased smirk resting on his face, he wiped at the blood on his hands and knife with a cloth. The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. 

Rook very quickly went to work disposing Vil’s corpse. Hammering at the important joints to break them and make the dismemberment process easier sped it up considerably. After an additional half hour, the body was split into six parts, the face was unrecognizable, he had no fingerprints and Rook had painstakingly removed all of Vil’ teeth. It would be a long while before he was identified, if he was even discovered. The clean up was easier than he expected due to the replaceable tarp that Vil had laid on the floor. It was now in a trash bag which was in a dumpster, he washed the wall with bleach and he was done. Later he would do a more comprehensive clean but for now Rook had a more important task to return to. 

                           ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

By the time Rook returned he was greeted by his Muse lying silently where he left them an hour and a half ago. His timing was as it always had been, perfect. Rook liked to believe all the years of practice had given him a sort of internal alarm clock for these things.

Rook knew he had just enough time to complete the painting properly. Practically skipping over to where his muse lay immobile, he joyfully placed a crystal cup half filled with white paint under their wrist; before collecting what he needed from their wrist. Rook adored the irony that came from him using the same knife he had used to carve Vil open and end his life to finish up the very thing that would make his Muse immortal. 

The blood from his muse’s wrist poured out slowly, as their heart had nearly slowed to a halt from the oppressive magic permeating the room.

When he had collected enough from them, Rook didn’t bother cleaning off the knife before he opened his own wrist so he could add some of his own blood to the crystalline glass.

 He mixed the three together, pleased with how the crimson and sapphire swirled into the paint. Oh how quickly the pieces were falling into place. 

The next step was Rook’s favourite, it always gave him chills to see his work come to life. Dipping his fingers in the mixture Rook began to draw the necessary runes onto the back of canvas. When he was done he stood back and spoke in a steady voice, one woven with a hidden power, “Par mon sang, Je crée. De ton sang, tu ressuscites.” The second the last word left his mouth the mixture absorbed into canvas leaving no trace of its existence to be found. 

                         ✧₊∘· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·∘₊✧

Y/N’s consciousness had been slowly drifting into a cold black abyss. The last thing Y/N heard before it all went black was Rook purring what Y/N could only assume was supposed to be a comforting phrase into their ear. ”Don't fight it my dear, let it take you. It's just like falling asleep, you have nothing to worry about.”

Y/N wanted to cry, they should have listened to Kalim about Rook being a murderer. But they didn't and look where it got them. 

Suddenly there was a burst of warm light and Y/N could open their eyes again. Shooting upright, their mental breakdown barely restrained by hope.

 They laughed in relief believing it to be just a bad dream until they realized that they didn't fully recognize the room they were in. They were lying on a couch nearly naked, covered only by a single silk blanket and their underwear. Shooting up Y/N frantically looked around the room, searching for anyone, anything that could give them a hint to their location or their clothes. 

Everything within the room seemed so familiar to them and yet no location was coming to mind. 

Luckily they were completely alone and there were clothes scattered across the  ground leading up to the couch. It wasn’t clothing that they owned, looking to be far too old for their time, but for modesty’s sake they would have to make do. Picking up the shirt at their feet and putting it on Y/N walked towards the open window. 

Looking out the window they were shocked at what they found. There was nothing there. The window led to nowhere, there wasn't even a view to look at. Only a soft light. It was as if someone placed a lightbulb behind a frosted glass panel. Which is certainly not how a view from a window should look. 

In a huff Y/N sat down at the desk, almost knocking over the vase that held a single white lotus. “A lotus, what a weird choice of decor.” They mused, considering their options. 

They stood up and moved past where the couch was to see an even more peculiar looking doorway. It was gold only around the edges with a cream coloured centre, and it had no way to open it. There was no knob, no handle, no cut out, absolutely nothing. In a desperate attempt at freeing themself Y/N tried kicking the door down. It didn't budge, the door absorbed the shock entirely and didn't even make a creak. Suddenly a shadow came across the doorway. Backing away in fear Y/N looked for something, anything that could be a weapon. The shadow was tall and broad, and very familiar. 

With the sound of water echoing through a cave, the door rippled with a motion not unlike a pebble creating waves in a calm pond. When the ripples cleared the shadow became more defined. With the ease of moving through two curtains instead of passing through what was just an impassable wall, Rook Hunt stepped quietly into the room. 

He looked and felt more relaxed than ever before, after all he no longer needed to lie. A smile settled on his face when he spotted his muse. Alive and well in the world made just for them. “I'm so pleased to see you, my Muse,” He gently tugged them to his chest, wrapping them in a warm embrace. One that Y/N didn't reciprocate. 

“Rook, what's going on?” His Muse asked, their voice breaking due to the overwhelming emotions they were experiencing. His eyes were the same vibrant purple they first saw a brief moment all those weeks ago. 

“I have a lot to tell you. I haven't exactly been the most honest man with you,” He hummed, looking at them amused. 

“What do you mean?” They retorted.

“Well to start I lied about my age, I'm not twenty one. I'm six hundred twenty one,” Rook admitted with a shrug. 

His beloved’s jaw dropped at how ridiculous he sounded,”If that were true you'd have to have been born in the fourteenth century. That's during the renaissance Rook.” 

He nodded,”You're right. I was born in 1498. I was originally a young noble in renaissance France. I’ve gone by many names over the years Muse. Perhaps most familiar to you would be the name I used during the renaissance when I became a well known artist for the first time. Chace Beau; but I dare say Rook Hunt is a far nicer name than, non?” Rook, Chace, whatever he may be called, winked slyly, placing his hand on their waist, before he continued his monologue, “I was one of 12 siblings, and the only one who was immortal. In the age I was born in, it was theorized by some that I had a demon as a father. Which would explain my eyes and why I will never age.” He paused in deep thought before continuing. “Another strange talent that my supposed demon father gave me was the ability to immortalize the beauty in the living world by putting their souls into the art I create. I used this talent even back then to become even more famous than I would have been without, just like now. However I still refused to paint people, I just have never seen any good in keeping such filth around for centuries,” Rook caressed his Muse’s cheek as he continued speaking. 

“Then I met you, and you were everything I could have ever dreamed of. You were the one human who I would make eternal. Originally I was planning on showing you off to the world but then I realized that I would much rather keep you all to myself. If you were to be exposed to the world then what made me love you so, your pure soul, would still be tainted even through the painting. People love to touch what doesn't belong to them. And as that pig Vil found out I really don't like people touching what's mine.” He once again pulled his muse to his chest, his arms wrapping loosely around their waist as he nuzzled his nose into their hair.

Ripping themself away from Rook's embrace. “What. Did. You. Do,” His muse spat. 

Rook backed his beloved up against the wall, careful not to hurt them as he did so. He placed one hand beside their head while the other gripped one of their hips forcing the two even closer. He tilted his head and slowly leaned down so that his mouth was right beside his muse’s ear. 

His words were like belladonna, seemingly sweet but in the end very poisonous, “I slit the fucker’s throat, that's what.”

Y/N squirmed in a futile attempt to free themself, positively disgusted by his actions. Rook only tightened his grip in response.

 ”You killed him? Why!” They yelled. 

“He was going to sully you dear, and I refused to see anyone take away the thing I love the most about you. Those people out there, most of all him, didn't deserve you. And they still don't. So I’m going to keep you here. Safe from the world that wishes to take you away from my arms.” Rook commanded, his voice still sickeningly sweet.

His muse shook their head in absolute disbelief, their eyes shining with unshed tears of despair. Rook loosened his grip on their hip, his hand moving to gently cup their cheek. Sensing that his muse was distraught he placed a gentle kiss on their brow as a reassurance of his genuine affection for them. In response his muse grimaced. He frowned deeply, disappointed in the behaviour of the one he loved most, he tore himself away from them in frustration. He didn't expect a warm reunion, in fact their conversation had been going much better than he had expected. But the rejection still stung, deciding that what his muse needed was to be alone for now, Rook turned to leave. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” They asked, their voice cracking from the pain and devastation they were overwhelmed with.

“You may not see it now but I'm only doing this because I love you.” Rook responded earnestly. 

“I'll never love you!” Y/N called out after him. 

That struck a nerve within Rook. His expression started soft in plain adoration but it quickly froze over, instead becoming hard with anger. Rook's temper never ran hot, preferring instead to chill those who displeased him with his control. He paused, turning back to face his muse. 

“You say that now Y/N. But who knows what you'll say after fifty, twenty, or even as little as five years of complete isolation. So let’s start the clock from now. You will find I am an extremely patient man, my Muse. And I'm more than willing to wait until you gladly come into my arms. After all, I have all of eternity to make you love me.”

Hello Dears, i hope you enjoyed this labour of love. I simply adore this giant oneshot, and think that its honestly one of if not my favourite thing i’ve created. Yandere content isn’t something that i do often as its not requested, (probably due to the very dark post i wrote the one time it was requested). Rook is honestly very fascinating to me so writing him was fun!

If you liked this post and want to see more from me check out the previous wishes or make a wish yourself

Sincerely, Jupiter

[winxsource]

It’s a bit long, so interview under the cut, where @gossipqueen2000 tells us more about her, her writing process and Fenice!

I call Mo up on a Saturday evening, it’s 5 o’clock for me, 4 for her. 

"I went shopping today," she tells me, then promptly turns on the camera so I can see a bunch of shopping bags and sundresses, while she's sitting barefoot on the hardwood floor of her house. For the first ten minutes of our interview it is just us, cooing over the new clothing, the good discounts she got and how there's not a single good dress store near her, then, easy like that she tells me, "okay, hit me with the questions." 

That's Monalisa, known as gossipqueen2000 on AO3, for you. The loudest extrovert in the block, who carries the easiest conversations and switches topics in the same chaotic pace her brain works on. 

I ask her the question we got the most, by anons, @blue-aconite and @astrid-v alike, what's your writing process? 

She scoffs, "you know what my writing process is like, it's chaotic." And it is, in the best way possible. Mo continues, “I do go chronologically, but not always in complete sentences, because my brain works faster than my hands. More often than not dialogue comes first and I write it down before I forget and then I come back up and fill in the gaps. Normally I know the ending, or at least wherever I want the story to go… I would love to say I have an outline, but no I don’t often start out with one. I have one in my head and when I do get stuck, then I write it down, if for no other reason than just so my beta can get to know what’s happening!”

She laughs then, an inside joke because I’m her beta and yes, this is a recurring argument we have. Mo’s got a loud, explosive laugh, the type that makes you laugh in return even if you’re not in on the joke, even if you don’t know the subject at all. 

Still laughing, she tells me, “most people don’t want to admit it, but as writers, we usually don’t control the characters,” finally she’s serious, “we just become vessels for them. Often they just do whatever they want to do and you have to handle it.” 

I ask her if she’s a planner or pantser (question asked by @leadingrebel) and for a second we both scramble, thinking the second term means “painter”. She doesn’t think about it for a second, launching on her answer, “Oh, I’m a painter for sure. To me it’s way more about capturing the emotion of the scene, than getting down the details. I can always come back and add them, like a painter, after I have the whole thing down I can then pause and think oh, here I could add more shadows, more texture, but initially it is about capturing an emotion. Sometimes I find that if I write too much detail down outright, then I lose the will to write, because it’s like… What’s going to happen is on the paper, is it not? Why do I have to bother actually writing it now?”

I let her finish, then I say “It’s actually pantser, I just googled it. Not painter” and she lets out a gasp and laughs, exclaiming, “well I like my version better. It should be painter.” 

I agree, as I know any of her readers would. Her stories are impressionist paintings in words: beautiful from afar, yes, but upon closer inspection they’re a constant breaking of the rules, sentences that go on for too long and read like slam poetry instead of simple prose, an explosive use of adjectives and characters who feel so much, too much. When reading Gossipqueen2000’s works sunlight is not just white, it dances on the water with splashes of orange, red, blue and green. 

What’s the hardest scene you’ve written?

She lets out a morose sigh, “smut scenes! Wait, no, let me rephrase this — Smut scenes are technically difficult. It’s a hard balance to not make it sound like a cheap porno or an anatomy book. It has to be actually hot. So, for me, that’s the hardest to write, which is sad because I think all stories should have some sexy sprinkled in,” then she takes a deep breath before continuing, “now emotionally speaking, I think the fic I wrote for the last Holiday Exchange - Vendetta -, which had a torture scene in it, was the hardest to write. Because I think writing torture and making it physical and equally vulnerable is difficult, a lot of times I pick a perspective to write from and I try to make it hurt me. I have to believe what I’m writing and if it’s not hurting me, then I don’t think it’s going to hurt anyone.” 

And what scenes are you really proud of writing?

“In Love, Lived and Lost there’s a scene between Riven and a flute player and I remember writing it and being really proud of  how the overall story flowed, — that whole story came out a lot better than I expected, it was the first time I wrote something so short, but that conveys such a long period of time and I was very proud of that —,  but specially of how that scene sounded, when read out loud.”

Then I ask her the question all writers hate and secretly love just the same, what’s your favorite work you’ve produced? 

The change in the mood is immediate, gone is the serious tone and she gasps dramatically. I can just see her clutching her chest, the theater kid that she is at heart, “AAH, don’t do this! This is like asking a mom what they’re favorite child is! Can I give the top 3?” 

Sure. 

“Number 1 is Loved, Lived and Lost and number 2 is Fenice; I’m very proud of both, but while Fenice has potential to reach number 1 when I finish it, for now it stays as second. Now the third one… I’m debating between Isn’t Bite Also Touch and Behind Closed Doors…” she takes a long pause and I know she’s got her AO3 open and is scrolling through her works, the same way I am, “but Isn’t Bite Also Touch has too many unpublished parts which are my favorite, so I’ll go with Behind Closed Doors. I’m very proud of this one.” 

Both Isn’t Bite Also Touch and Behind Closed Doors are smut fics, the ones she claimed are very difficult to write. I don’t point it out to her, instead I ask what’s the easiest thing to write and she snorts at my question, because for anyone who’s so much as opened her collection of works, it should jump to the eye. 

“Angst, duh. Pain. I love a good angst. I love a good hurt. Pain is a solid bed fellow and I’ve hooked up with it a couple of times. You can make it diverse, you can sprinkle variety, but pain is always amazing to write.” 

In a teasing manner, given the previous answer, I ask if she draws from real life experience.

“Oh my god, all the time. ALL THE TIME. So much of who I am seeps into it, but I do think this is true for all authors. Especially with a material like Fate, where the characters are in our age group,” then she pauses “or should be,” Mo says, a jab at the characters who supposedly are sixteen year old, but all look like college kids. We both scoff at this and she continues, “So much of who you are when you’re this close in age to a character – from the fashion sense, to the food they eat, etc — ends up inevitably leaking into the story.”

What do you do for a living? How and when did you choose your career path? — I ask this in a somewhat hesitant way, because I know Mo values her privacy and she too stops before answering. 

“I work in public service and I know it’s vague, but I want to keep it that way,” she says cautiously, “I always knew I wanted to be in public service. My entire family’s made of people who are in the public service and I grew up knowing that my job, whatever I chose it, would be something that could help others. I didn’t have a straight line of career and if you’re in your twenties, my one advice is take those small roads. There’s no shame in working retail, there’s no shame in working for others and we do what we have to do… Just keep your eyes in the big picture.” 

This answer is very reminiscent of how she writes, of the little rich channels and tangents that flourish in the midst of thousands and thousands words, all coming together in the end to form a beautiful larger picture. We leak into our writing, as Mo said and we leak into our interviews. 

We jump into the last segment of the interview, flash questions, but I already know she’s going to take me on a trip, because Mo’s never done anything “quick and done” in her life. 

Describe your writing in three words? (question asked by @lizzabet)

“Chaos, passion and… Vulnerability.” 

Do you have a somewhat bad habit that you don't want to give up? If so, why?

“I start WIPS all the time, even though I have no time. I don’t want to give it up, though, because ideas slip through our fingers sometimes and just because I don’t have time right now, doesn’t mean I won’t have time later. This translates in my real life too, I have a lot of goals and I like to know I’m having some movement in them, even if I don’t get to accomplish them now. The bad side of this is that sometimes having so many tabs open makes the actual accomplishments diminish in comparison and I have to remind myself when I finish a chapter that this is worth celebrating, even if I didn’t finish all the other 30 fics yet. YET!” 

Which unexplained thing in the world would you like to explain in one of your works one day? 

“What is an unexplained thing in the world? Like if we’re talking about real life mysteries like loch ness monster, folklore, etc. I’d like to have a crack at all of them, eventually.”

Which fate character do you consider to be the most realistic? 

“As a highschooler, none of them. If we think of them as college kids, I can't believe I’m gonna say this, but I think… Aisha, Musa and Sam. Sam because he’s so bland, he’s got no personality and I’m sorry, but if he just disappears I wouldn’t be mad. Musa because I think tuning yourself out is a very natural reaction to trauma and grief and I’ve even done this myself. I think she’s very realistic. Aisha because I’ve known people who were very type A and I like that they showed us one character who doesn't think checking out the weird noise in the night is a good idea and I think she’s very real in that regard.” 

What type of fan content do you make (Fics, gifsets, videos…)? 

“I only write, I don’t know how to draw or gif.”

Since when have you been making fan content? 

“I’ve been reading fanfics since I found out about the internet, far too early for some of the stuff I read. The first time I wrote fanfic I was 13 or 14 it was for another fandom, but I wasn’t involved WITH the fandom then, I just produced it and left it there.” 

How did you get involved with Fate?

“When I found Fate, I had very low expectations, which worked in my favor and got me hooked! I’ve been in this fandom since the start. “

What part of fandom are you most grateful for?

“I think the real friendships I made are the ones I’m most grateful for. I was never active in fandom, truly, until pandemic hit and I’m grateful for having it when the world was/is going insane.” 

Based only on likes and comments, how many people do you think read/see your work?

“Fifty people, but they’re the best fifty people.“

I have to pause at this and roll my eyes, because with Fenice sitting on 400 kudos and 10.348 hits, she must be really bad at math. Writers, sigh. 

Do you find reviews of your work useful?

“OMG yes, sometimes they’re the best motivators and they help you flesh out your stories. Especially before I had a beta, a lot of times I didn’t know exactly how my scenes were coming across and the comments really helped! Now, even though I do have a beta, I still think they’re very inspiring. It’s satisfying to see if the scenes I wanted to hit actually hit. They’re the best part of writing, hearing that people enjoyed your work!” 

“I also want to brag that I get the best comments. I love @leadingrebel​, she used to leave the best comments on Fenice, they made my day. I used to really get the best comments on that story!”

What type of content do you interact with more often in the Fate fandom? Do you have favorites or recommendations? 

“I love reading and I really recommend How the Night Changes by @skloomdumpster​ and A Man Plants a Tree in Whose Shade He May Never Sit by @septemberrie​, not just because I beta-read both of them. Tempting Fate by both @fitztragedy​ and @septemberrie​ was fantastic and that anonymous writer who did the rivusa series at the very beginning, their work was great!”

What are you working on at the moment? Can you give us a sneak peek?

“I’m still working on Fenice, but right now I'm also working on an unpublished story called Troy and I don’t think a sneak peek would make any sense. All I can tell is that it is a fantasy/historical AU, centered around my favorite ships rivusa and skloom. I’m not publishing until I have written everything, because the thing I learned the most while writing Fenice is that, especially with such long works, it really helps with the cohesiveness of it all to write the entire thing first, before publishing. You can always come back and add more, but it’s good to have the entire material done.”

We both stop, take our drinks and stretch. Now’s the time for the dreaded questions she’s known I’d get into from the start. 

Fenice, easily one of the most well spoken fics in the fandom and that is an epic in itself, as it is nearly a hundred thousand words, still unfinished. I start easy: 

Where did you get inspiration for Fenice?

There were several works that were coming up back to back when Fate just came out. Several that definitely inspired me: there was this writer who was anonymous and did the rivusa series, Breathe Again by @alphinias​ was one, Too Much Too Little by @fitztragedy​ and @skloomdumpster​/lilshitwayne was another and the one thing I noticed was that they explored the war times we suppose are gonna happen, but I wanted to explore the aftermath. I wanted to skip the war entirely and deal with its aftermath, but it also started as a need to see how these two people could come together and grow with each other, supporting one another. 

If you were to change something or rewrite, how would you do Fenice now?

“One of the headcanons for Fenice was that Riven was kinda stuck, he was in no man’s land. He was with Beatrix and Rosalind, but he had also helped the heroes. At the time my understanding of Riven wasn’t so great and now, after writing more and reading more, if I was to rewrite it I’d make Riven a lot more loud in terms of pushing back against the ‘adults’. He wouldn’t be as quiet as I made him, in terms of how he deals with Saul, but I also think his quietness has a purpose in Fenice.”

“Once you flash down these characters, I can see that Sky is the Prince Charming archetype, who will sacrifice himself to save everyone if given the option. It’s a line he’s willing to cross and we know it from the start.”

“Riven’s character has always been the Pirate archetype: he’s the rebel and antihero who doesn’t respect authority, but he has rules and morals too, except it’s his own code. It’s not that he likes chaos and wants the world to burn, but that he’ll do it if it benefits him and helps those whom he loves. I think now if I was to rewrite Fenice, Riven would start more vengeful, which he didn’t really get to do. I’d make him more angry at his situation, than sad.”

 And finally, When are we getting the final chapter of Fenice? 

“I feel so bad whenever someone asks me about this! Not because I don’t love Fenice, but because it is so close to the end – I think we only have two chapters more —, but I’m nothing if not a slave to my muse. My absolute aim is that this will be finished before season 2 is released. I also want to say that I never thought I’d get such loyal readers. I never thought the story was that unique and it’s beyond humbling to see people actually care and continue to want to read it.”

We both breathe out as this is the last big question and I ask her if there’s anything she wants to tell but that I haven’t asked?  

“Writing is my therapy.” 

I remember one last question @septemberrie​ sent, in gif format, a simple “How dare you?” regarding all the tears she’s made us cry, all the cliffhangers she’s left us on. 

Mo takes a pause, then I can hear her shrug and can see her easy smile as she answers “when one has such great friends, such as all of you, how can one possibly not dare?”

-- Interview written by @skloomdumpster | Jo

[nobrashfestivity]

Really like your blog and your taste in art. Do you collect original art pieces irl? If so, do you have any advice for finding contemporary artists to buy from when working with a limited budget?

Thank you.

I am not going to be much help. I'm an artist and I am poor, so buying anything at all is generally off limits. I have picked up a few things over the years, some Hokusai and Kawase block prints which I found at estate sales, for instance. I do have one Iwase photograph I think i paid 2500 dollars for when I had received some royalty check that I wanted to squander. It's probably worth more now, but It's not going to make me rich.

I know nothing about collectability other than that when i find an artist I think would be great to purchase I recoil in horror that I am late to the party and they already have a sale a Sotheby's. I had a bright idea once to collect South Korean artists like Whanki Kim, whom I dearly love, but his paintings were already worth hundreds of thousands. So there, my taste was in line with a market just 20 years too late!

Practically, I would say that you should subscribe to a service that has auction results and where you can look up if an artists is listed. This way your own education about what is already valuable out there works to your advantage. Just buy things you love and be patient about the value. Save some money (I have never done this) because when something comes up, you'll need to it. I was onto Howard Finster pretty early and my friends have a lot of his work, but even though it was cheap, relatively, I lacked the bank account to make a purchase when it would have been good to.

Look locally. A listed artist from your area will likely have given art to people they know or taught at a local college where people may have picked things up. Use the advantage of where you live to find things to buy. Herman Maril lived nearby and I would see his stuff for sale and it would have been a good buy once upon a time, but I have never been interested in investing.

When it comes to most artists, people don't always realize that it's not just the name of an artist but also the type of work. No one wants the impressionist painting of a a member of the house of commons, they want the flowers or the trees by the river. The academic work of George Bellows isn't nearly as valuable as a boxing scene. Unless the artist is of great stature, you're going to want to understand what the other buyers like. When you buy animation cells you get the one with Mickey Mouse in it.

The thing with art is that if you have these great pieces, then you already won. Never collect anything you don't love, because, how sad is that. value tends to be about trends, but the art market tries very hard to protect that value once it exists. You will never see Christie's auction an artist that is going to perform under market, they would instead simply sell that artist privately for pennies on the dollar thus making cash which they need and giving the collector a cheap painting that increases their overall wealth. This works out well for them both but the catch is you have to be very rich to play in the first place.

Also, be careful of fakes, there are far more fakes than most people imagine and even if it's not fake, if it's hard to authenticate then galleries and auction houses don't want to bother most of the time.

Recently I saw a Simpsons resin figure for big money at auction. But it wasn't a real Simpsons figure, it was in fact, not as good as that, but apparently a masterpiece on the cutting edge of art. I'm not saying I know better or it has no value, I'm suggesting I could never have judged that situation because I dont get the art. Or at least I don't get the relative value of art. If you go Italy there are old master paintings they are practically throwing away. They aren't the big important names so they have little monetary value.

The art market is a sinister, cynical, soul-crushing behemoth which has abandoned even the slightest pretense that originality or even the uniqueness of physical objects has any social or aesthetic value, in favor of a self-destructive and suffocating avidity which has little to do with beauty and everything to do with money laundering. Like many things in this country, it's gone from hiding the fact that it's a scam to saying that scams are cool if you get in on them. As bad as the anointed class control of taste was throughout the 50s and 60s, it's hard to celebrate the fact that some stupid NFT has already sold for double what any Jackson Pollock painting ever has.

As I type this, we have all lost 6 billion dollars by not investing in FamilyGuyJoeRogan coin.