#and i was like WELL IF MY FAVOURITE PAINTER FEELS THAT WAY I'M SURE I'LL BE FINE ALSO

[bogkeep]

since there's an impressionist royal portrait in the zeitgeist right now, do you wanna hear about one of my fav norwegian oil painters........ his name is håkon gullvåg and he's painted portraits of the norwegian king and queen and they look like this

which were pretty controversial at the time (the year 2000), but i was too baby to know anything about it!

(the headline says "UNDIGNIFIED!")

i first heard of him when he was on the news for a completely different controversy around the years 2008/2009 - his exhibition titled 'the holy land'/'terra sancta' which was a series of paintings he had painted in a wild unstoppable rage over the injustices he had seen palestinians suffer. at one of the exhibitions in syra, two of the paintings got removed by the french embassy, and i think never returned to him? i'm finding it surprisingly difficult to hunt down the story without knowing exactly what to look for, but i did dig up this article. i was still a young teen at the time so i didn't know much about the context, but in recent times i've been thinking about these paintings a lot. i'll add the Controversial Paintings under the cut:

[newrochellechallenger2019]

painter!art donaldson ✎ᝰ.

part 2 inspired by @t1ts-4-donaldson comment on my hc post <3 thank you <3

art looked up from his canvas to gaze at you, draped in rich silks like a fallen angel. 'i'm done for today' he said quietly and you nodded, stretching out, disrobing the silks and swanning towards him with a soft, tired smile on your face. 'here' he nods politely, grabbing a paint stained shirt of his and tossing it to you with the ease of a retired sportsman, 'it kills me to think of how cold you must be'. you smile gratefully, sliding the shirt over the satin slip you wear, feeling the cotton against your arms as you deftly button it up.

as you get closer to him, you try and catch a glimpse of his latest painting but he's too quick, snatching the canvas away, 'not yet' he chides gently and you pout, 'oh c'mon, your last one was so good i'm sure-' but his face is set and you know there's no use arguing with him, he's always so prideful about his work. he sits back down on his stool, taking your hands in his, 'don't be mad baby, i'll show you when it's complete i promise' he soothes, enough to mollify you for now.

'here.' he tugs you into his lap in one swift movement and as you squeal in surprise 'art!' a fresh canvas is placed on the easel, 'exactly love' says art, with an all too playful smirk. he rests his head on your shoulder, chin slotting perfectly as the two of you eye the blank canvas, a new story to tell. a brush finds it way into your hand and your breath hitches, looking down at the palette in art's grasp. you dab the brush into a pastel green, your favourite, and as the brush hits the canvas you feel an odd sense of relief wash over you, the act feeling so freeing to you. 'good.' you can feel art's breath tickling your ear as you continue to paint, swirling lines of blues and greens filling the canvas as the world melts away around you both.

after a few more brushstrokes, you let out a deep breath, seemingly done. both you and art tilt your head to the side simultaneously to stare at it, 'what...is it baby?' art says quietly, careful not to offend you. 'hmm, does it have to be anything?' you muse aloud, and art bites back a smile, 'well normally art is something-' he teases and your nose scrunches up in mock offence, 'oh really?' the brush in your hands swipes blue paint across his nose and he gasps, 'what art is that then?' you grin mischeviously, a challenge. art's quick to retalite, spreading a myriad of colours across your cheeks with his thumb and your jaw drops in shock before bursting into a fit of giggles, flicking more paint from the brush at his face.

it's not long before the two of you are squabbling whilst you're still in his lap, hands coated in paint that you've smeared all over your faces and torsos and even some in your hair, the studio turned into a whirlwind of colour. art offers you a wide smile, his thumb brushing some of the paint flicked into your lip, before pressing a soft, breathless from laughter, kiss there which you return with eager fervor, lost in your own technicolor dreamland.

it's not till you wake up in his sheets a few weeks later that you realised he'd kept the canvas from that day, framed it and hung it by his bedside so art would always see those blue and green squiggles and think of you, his muse, his work of art.

[galaxiasgreen]

hi galaxiasgreen i love your work ! a cruelty vivid and sweet is my favorite ominis fic ever and ive read it so many times its almost canon to me xD <3 so i was wondering if you had any recommendations of ominis x mc fics or ominis writers that you enjoy? thank you so much

Anonnnnn thank you so much!! That's a big honour, I'm so pleased you enjoy it 💚💚💚 And very happy to offer recommendations too!

Disclaimer, I mostly read on AO3 and not entirely sure if everyone or every fic is on tumblr, so I'll link to AO3 for now :)

If you haven't checked out @lyworth's fics you MUST. Green is the Colour is her most famous work and would highly recommend if you like sassy Ominis, a sassier MC (Allegra Chant marry me), insane plot and the romance! The ROMANCE!!! And all incredibly written too. Would also highly recommend A Song of Saints and Sinners, if you want an original story set post-Hogwarts, and my personal favourite of her work, 1 New Message.

If you want something closer resembling the game storyline with a touch of angst may I recommend Levaaah's Dark Hearts, Bright Wings, which features a Muggle-born Slytherin navigating the goblin rebellion while also developing big feels for Ominis? Sublime. Delightful. Sad but in a tasty way. This series is finished as well as sadly they don't write for HL anymore, but still an amazing group of stories.

I would be REMISS if I did not mention @sloanesallow's incredible Ominis/MC work I Know Places; post-Hogwarts mystery-solving, with a reserved Hufflepuff Muggle-born MC Sloaney and an Ominis that makes me dhdgdhskghd. Literally got me into reading for HL. Also one of the most fantastic writers in the fandom. Every sentence is publishing quality. Top shelf stuff.

Anything by spaceyaceface; they mostly write oneshots as well as other pairings, but in particular You Were the First is one of my faves. You will develop feels for Ominis in this one. Just the first line, "When Ominis Gaunt fell in love, he fell slowly" makes me swoon.

And finally by heartsof_theround, their twoshot The Illustrious Prodigy Painter. Ominis learns to paint. It is extremely wholesome and I think about this fic all the time. One of my all-time faves.

I'm also shouting out @ps-cactus's Shades of Silver Lining which I have yet to read (I'm an extremely slow reader rip) but having seen snippets of their work I think will be worth your time as well!

Hope you enjoy these Anon! Thank you for your support 💚

[senseandaccountability]

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33

Finished after like 70+ hours (lol at whatever gaming site that suggested 25), bawled my eyes out and my god are there feelings.

This is easily one of the best games I've played, ever. It manages something unique and moving story wise while also offering fun combat and gorgeous graphics.

I need to know EVERYTHING. I want to chew on the lore and find tiny details and think many long hours about the war between the Painters and the Writers and the Dessendre family history and the 67 years of expeditions and Canvas Verso's time in there and the tired little piece of his soul that keeps going. There's SO much to dig into and enough things left unsaid for my brain to go buzzzzzzz.

Which is also why it feels so damn grown-up. Like any good piece of art, it just tells the story it wants to tell and doesn't care if you don't grasp it all; it doesn't cater to your need to understand everything or be the hero and I love it so much for it. The group dynamic is excellent - there's conflict and resolve and friendship and weirdness and nothing feels contrived.

I romanced Sciel, which was awesome and now in retrospect so fucking sad in so many more ways than I first thought.

SO FUCKING SAD, I CRY.

SUCH A SAD MAN.

SUCH A SAD WOMAN. Will I fight anyone who whines about Aline? Yes, I will. Am I writing fic about Aline? Yes, I am. Would I, too, create a world where my son was alive if he died on me and I had godlike power? Damn right I would.

Another really, really sad man. Who is probably my overall favourite character in a tight race of extremely well-written and lovable characters. (Also very hot, but that's obvious.)

THIS HAS BROKEN ME IN A WAY I AM NOT SURE I CAN EXPLAIN. It was also the easiest choice, the way I read the story as I played. Can I see the other ending being good as well? Probably, I'll try it next time.

Also this is the optional boss I gave up on but it still broke my heart because the crumbs of Clea and Verso and how, in Verso's canvas, the biggest, baddest boss is his brave sister. I'M NOT CRYING YOU'RE CRYING. Will also fight anyone who whines about Clea.

[she-seeing]

PRETENTIOUS TURQUOISES AND NARANJA BUTANOS

Part I

So.

Studying/Drawing Crowe's career gave me flashbacks. Not just remembering his good/bad movies, but how colour was used through the 90's-00-10's AND still today.

When I was like 8 or so, before the internet, my dad would come from work, describing what he did today, and so so.

He worked(s) as a storyboard artist.

One of our favourite anecdotes was his boss and his orange obsession. Every time there was an argument choosing the correct colour for a new AD, he would say "Bah! Throw a naranja butano".

Naranja= Orange

Butano (Boo-tah-gnaw)= Butane, gas tank (I have NEVER heard an english speaker say butane, but that is what Godgle Translate says)

Before gas was replaced mostly by electricity, Spain had very special "butanos".

Every time we walked by the streets of Barcelona, you'd see a truck carrying loads of these. It was IMPOSSIBLE not to get that orange colour drilled into your corneas.

Hence this desperation of my dad's boss using orange for many, many ADs.

My dad and I would laugh, but my mum would cringe and roll her eyes- as a pastel painter + caricaturist, this was almost personal to her.

"WHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY"

Orange is -metaphorically speaking- dangerous to use on your paintings, on anything. You have to know how to use it.

And for a long while (since the 90's or maybe even BEFORE that) we have been recurring heavily to naranja butano or turquoise filters- or pretentious turquoises, as I like to call them.

Sometimes people knew how to handle naranjas/blues...

and sometimes...

SOMETIMES...

Well.

Sometimes you had a really good concept in mind-

and then someone came in and told you:

"NOPE NEEDS MORE BUTANO, YOU'RE FIRED"

Almost death by butano. ALMOST.

UGH.

Not you, Luke.

WHY.

WHYYYYYYYYYYY

"Bruh, in the comics I have my own yellow shirt"

"WHY TF DO I NEED AN ORANGE BACKGROUND, EXACTLY??"

As much as I like Prince of Egypt's animation...

...in terms of colour, don't you feel these images belong to the same movie?

These are not even from a movie, they're from a music video. (Note: again- I like Florence and the Machine. But I'm talking about colour themes + palettes.) This is from 2011...

...And THESE were released in the same year- 2017.

Two COMPLETELY different movies.

First I want to make sure, and want to be clear. I won't talk about how colour makes you "feel". That is a very personal subject and everyone sees a director from a different point of view. The problem is when the director has none and has nothing personal to say.

Orange and blue don't make each other stand out. I can't understand why certain people insist with this, but they are COMPLEMENTARIES, therefore they NEUTRALIZE each other. In the same way yellow and purple or black and white "stand out".

I'll be using Russell Crowe's filmography to keep on subject, because as shown, there are ING FINITE movies with pretentious turquoises and naranja butanos. Not just Hollywood, everywhere in this beautiful world.

But for some reason, when Photoshop and all kinds of editing programs kicked in, everyone had this desperate choice to apply turquoise filters on their images.

"Oh dear, there's too much orange in my image. How can I save this??"

Photoshop: "Don't worry---"

(to be continued in Part II)

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

🕯Anon said: hi sweetheart 🕊 can you write about armin having a quiet night with the reader? something like wearing comfy pajamas, fairy lights, cute little candles, incense, soft songs and maybe some reading? and they just cuddling? 🥺 i think about that whenever i go to sleep and do all of the above, but i'm just by myself lmao anyways, thank you so much 🌸 (btw i'm the anon who asked you about the armin x painter!reader 🥺 hello 🥺 i just love how you write can we be friends please) 🕯

Quiet night with Armin

{ Armin x Reader | tw:none | sleep help, comfort, fluff | modern }

{ "Twilight, Valley of the Genesee" 1865 by Samuel Colman 1832 - 1920 }

Shimmering golden hues weaved across pastel blue walls in the form of strings, crossing the bookshelf before making a turn at the plants corner, illuminating the room with a soft warm glow.

Your head rested against the satin pillow, just right above Armin's shoulder, close enough that you can see the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. The ends of his hair ghosting over your cheek whenever he leaned to tell a particular clever line of the book he's been reading to you.

You can't exactly remember the name of it, but you can clearly recall his excited smile this morning when showing it to you.

"It's one of my favourites" he said, "the last time i got to reread it was in high-school, has it really been that long?" And that's all you can remember from the conversation before it got sidetracked by him asking if you had lunch yet.

There's definitely something to be said about rereading a book over and over again, a sense of familiarity, an attachment to the characters, plot and world setting. It's almost magic how quickly your comfort book, show or movie can turn a horrible day into a nice one, making it the silver lining.

Looking at the way Armin would pause for a second after some lines, or chuckle at random scenes, like it's an inside joke between him and his mind, you can tell he's definitely recalling some good memories.

Just like how he's adding to his list of comfort memories by sharing this experience with you, he wants you to be a part of this silly book he once picked up as a child and continued to revisit every few years.

You glance at the remaining pages, just as he flips another one to start anew. You've already finished a third of the book, only a quarter remaining.

It's not that you're getting impatient, but it's more that the soft blanket draped over you, the warmth of Armin's body pressed next to yours and the sound of his voice, are all luring you into a hazy cloudy state where your eyelids feel too heavy and turning your head to check the clock seems too exhausting.

How long has it been? since you curled up against him right after you went to put your empty hot chocolate mugs in the sink.

You don't have the heart to tell him that your brain stopped registering the words he's saying and instead listens to the tone of his soft-spoken voice and reacts accordingly. Stealing another glance at the remaining pages, you notice a few missing, okay good, just a few more. You can hold on right?

Right?

Forcing your eyes open, you suppress a yawn threatening to rise before curling even closer to his shoulder, face against his neck, hand over his chest.

Instead of focusing on his calming heartbeat, you try to focus your attention on different things, like the smell of snowdrops flowers filling the room from the scented incense sitting on the nightstand. 

Snowdrops, the milky bell-like flowers who befriended the cold harsh snow herself.

An ancient German tale that Armin told you, on one early spring morning. When the universe was just in bloom, as the earth shaped its form and the plants dressed themselves, when the god in the heavens above just created snow, she was told to go seek her colours from the flowers below.

She came with her request, but the flowers turned their heads, refusing to acknowledge her for she is the reason for the harsh weather, deeming their life spans short, overzealous and jealous, protecting their colours from the merciless lady snow. 

She was left all alone, friendliness, colourless with no love or sympathy from a soul.

Except for one, came knocking on her door, head bowed down and humbly offered to share. Snowdrops were the flowers that warmed the snow's heart, and so white was the colour in which snow was known.

Snow made a vow, to always protect her one and only friend, even from her own self. Under her watchful gaze, snowdrops were gifted with warmth that let them be the first flowers to bloom when winter bid her goodbyes as spring was arriving soon.

You've never seen snowdrops the same since, their delicate and shy nature standing out between all the proud flowers, you even suggested planting some to Armin.

"...but sweetheart" you remember him saying with a frown, " snowdrops are poisonous."

…

Yeah, and so getting their scented incense was the second best option available.

You hear the sound of another page being turned, fewer left to go, just hold on a bit longer.

Wondering the room with your eyes, your gaze fell on the straw sunhat hanging from the on the back of a chair. It's Armin's favourite, he'd always wear it when the sun was particularly bright that day.

you remember him saying it was a gift from his grandpa when he was a child.

His grandpa...didn't you visit his farm a few months ago?

...yeah you did, you can recall clearly, how you were:

Squinting your eyes to avoid the bright sun, you wiped the sweat collecting on your forehead before leaning your head back against the wooden wall. The occasional passing cool breeze distracting you from the dryness in your throat, even after moving to sit in the shade your skin still felt too hot.

The grassy fields in front stretched wide before ending in white pained fences, where the crops patches for vegetables started.

The sudden gentle waves of cool air against your skin made you glance to the side, where Armin was fanning you with his hat, while holding a tray with two ice filled lemonades in his other hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to go inside?" He said, sitting next to you before handing you the cold drink, "you've already done a lot, I'll do take care of the rest."

You've been helping Armin with the farm work since sunrise, feeding the animals together and watering the crops, saying you're exhausted from the scorching hot sun was an underestimation.

And yet, somehow Armin seems unaffected. Not a sign of being bothered as he sat there next to you with his rolled up sleeves and cuffed pants, the slight flushing to his face was the only thing he got from the sun.

"Yeah, I need to lay down a bit." You remember saying, after emptying your drink in one go.

"If that's the case then-" setting the tray aside, Armin patted his lap while looking at you, "Come here."

Too tired to protest, you layed your head on his thigh, feeling your back stretching and the cool air from his fanning was already making you feel better.

"You know, there's a story my grandpa used to tell me about the sun."

An Australian folklore, about a time when the earth was merged in absolute Darkness, when even the stars refused to light up the sky.

Eternal darkness was the fate of humanity, as people were spent their lives carrying torches to light up their way.

Gnowee was an alone mother in a forsaken world, left to fend for her little son. Each day while he slept safely, she'd venture into the the fields in search for plants or seeds. Knowing very well that's it's a matter of life and death if she couldn't come back with something edible.

Each day she'd come with whatever she could find, feeding it to her son even if it meant sleeping on an empty stomach.

But with food scarce and the abyss looming at every corner, things were harder each day.

One day after rocking her child to sleep, she quietly left with her torch to dig for yams she saw on her way last time. Retracting her footsteps, it was a long journey but she knew it'd be worth it.

And so she walked and walked till she reached the place, began digging the ground but dirt and mud was all that she could find. But she couldn't just go back to her son empty handed, and so she wandered far.

She wandered so far in fact that she reached the end, not the end of her journey but the end of the earth itself.

Somehow, in someway she managed to pass from under it, her will for her son to live another day far greater that anything, and so she emerged from the other side.

The void.

Where nothingness lived.

Looking at the vast empty space, she didn't know where she was, the line between the ground and walls was so blurred that she thought she's floating.

Panic and dread filled her mind as she raised her torch higher and higher, attempting to clear a path for her to see. For she had to go back to her son, all alone sleeping by himself.

Climbing the sky was her only solution, as she wondered the world, unknowingly lighting up a path with her as she went.

"And so the Sun Goddess wonders the sky above, in search for her son." Armin told you that day, before offering you his own lemonade to drink because he was still worried about you.

...

You can't recall how that day ended, you think you might have fell asleep on his lap right after.

The fairylights on the wall reminded you of the clear stars sky you've seen while on the farm, his grandfather was a really sweet guy too.

With your mind still coulded in drowsiness, your hearing was also delayed apparently, since you just noticed the book in Armin's hold was closed with him staring at you with a smile instead.

Moving so he could set the book on the nightstand, Armin turned towards you before pulling you closer to him, making sure the covers don't slip off of you. He cupped your face, stroking your cheek with love in his eyes.

"I'm sorry baby, did I take too long?" He said, glancing at the clock behind you answered his question. 

You shook your head, murmuring a slurred "it's alright." 

Posture visibly relaxing, he gave your cheek a small kiss before resting too on the pillow next to you, a yawn escaping him.

With half closed eyes, you saw him cuddling close to your chest, features softening as he bid you goodnight. Your hand moved to stroke his hair just like he always liked, lacing your fingers through the soft strands you closed your eyes too. 

Warmth took over you, the feeling of his soft breath near your neck, the comfortable weight of his arms around you, the slow ticking of the clock, it all rocked you to sleep as you happily gave in.

[enter-the-phantom]

CASTIEL for the acrostic asks!!! -canongf 💗

My beloved 💕😭

C - Confession - which of you admitted romantic interest in the other first (if they’re the flirty type, when did they admit they were really serious about the other?) how did they do it? what was the reaction?

Neither one of us did, really. We just fell into it together--one of those things where the tension just got too much for both of us and eventually we ended up kissing. He was the first to say "I love you" though! 💕

A - Art - do they draw or paint? what about any other kind of art? what’s their favorite style/subject/another artist who inspires them?

Castiel doesn't do any art that I know of, but I think he'd be a great painter, personally. I'd love to teach him! I'm sure his favourite subject would be plants and insects.

S - Story - if you and them were in a fairytale, which story would you be and who would play which character?

The Little Mermaid, but with a good ending, of course. I'm the legend-hunting sailor on a ship searching for the myths of the deep, and he's the curious merman who rescues my dumb brother from drowning but falls in love with the only sailor on board who believes he's who he says he is.

I totally haven't written this whole story in my head.

T - Teach - what skills of theirs would they teach you? what would you teach them?

Cas taught me how to fight using an angel blade! I taught him pretty much everything about how to survive during his short stint as a human. We teach other how to love every day

I - Image - show us a picture of them that gives you a lot of feelings. if they aren’t a visual character, describe your mental image of them!

Oh god I have to pick one out of my album of 318 pics 😭

Uhhh I really love this one 🥺 It's his blue eyes and how they're so sad and so sweet at the same time, and his long lashes and his precious smile and I want to kiss his nose and ruffle his hair and scream good god

E - Emotion - is your f/o open with their feelings or do they keep them close to their chest?

Cas's emotions can be difficult to read. He isn't exactly unemotional, but doesn't always know how to express himself. He does however show his love very openly--whether for his friends, his family, or for me, he's very affectionate and wants people to know when he likes them. ☺️

L - Language - what’s their love language? what’s yours?

Acts of service, mainly protection. He also gives me little tokens, things he thinks I'll think are cool or pretty, and he's very physically affectionate when we're alone (he would be in public too, he just knows I don't like PDA). I think mine is probably service as well, I'm not great at openly expressing affection so I do it in quiet ways. Cas knows I love him even when I'm not great at showing it.

Thank you for the asks, friend!! Ughhh I love him so much now I gotta go smooch my angel husband and cry