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cowboydisaster · 2 years

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Aesthete

Aesthete (adj.) someone with deep sensitivity to the beauty of art or nature

repost, originally posted on 12 march 2023

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 4.7k

summary: when Arthur finds himself with a lack of inspiration, you offer yourself as a blank canvas

a/n: this was inspired by a post I saw about canon Arthur v fandom Arthur. Essentially that he isn't just some dumb himbo, he's intelligent and creative/artistic and has a clearer world view than most. I cant find the original post/er, but if you know it please drop me a message!

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @luvliewriting @tillith @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

warning: nsfw, 18+, minors dni (teeth rottingly fluffy, emotional smut)

"a work of art that did not begin in emotion is not art"- paul cèzanne

The rain is a steady, soothing thud on the roof, as you rest, sitting on Arthur’s bed at Shady Belle. It's a stormy day, with rain and lightning falling from the sky, painting everything in a gloomy gray hue. There are a few little puddles on the creaky, wooden floor from the broken window and the old roof, where water has leaked inside. You cherish days like this, days where you can huddle inside, wrapped in a thin blanket while reading a book. Now you are reading a relatively newer piece, Huckleberry Finn, while cozied up in Arthur’s bed. He sits opposite of you, against the footboard, while you are against the headboard. It’s a very comfortable silence, with only the rain and the thunder to break up the quiet afternoon.

Arthur is very focused in his journal, sketching and scribbling away at something on the ivory pages. His eyebrows are drawn together, and every few minutes he holds the journal at an arm’s length away, ensuring he has the correct perspective. The more he draws, the less interested you find yourself in your novel. Your eyes flicker from him, to your page, and you find that you’ve been so interested in what Arthur is doing that you’ve been stuck re-reading the same paragraph for nearly five minutes.

But can you blame yourself for being so easily distracted? Arthur is so detail oriented, so intelligent and creative. Very rarely does he allow people to see this vulnerable side of him, and you’ve been lucky enough to peek through the curtains into Arthur Morgan’s fragile, beautiful heart. He has a reputation among the gang of being thick headed and more of a brute than a thinker, and you chuckle at just how ignorant those opinions are. Arthur is one of the smartest men you know. He is an enjoyer of literature, although he prefers writing a novel rather than reading one, he is well versed in history and enjoys mythology. Arthur may not have gone to a school, or have fancy degrees on his wall, but he is a reteller of stories. Arthur soaks in the information he hears, and thinks over it heavily, oftentimes writing about it in his journal, like he is now.

His big hands have an expert grip on the charcoal as he sketches something, his face is contorted into a beautiful little confused pout as he tries to ascertain whether or not the perspective on this particular sketch is perfect. Your eyes trail from his hands up to his lips, the forbidden, soft lips that you dream about kissing at night. Oh, how you wish he was yours. You sigh, refocusing yourself and watching his hands. The curiosity becomes too great, and needing a distraction, you finally speak up.

“What are you drawin’?” You ask, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse. He perks up at your voice, startled out of his deep focus. Before he responds, he runs his hand through his stubble in thought.

“Finishin’ up a sketch from a few days ago. Just this old church I found, ain’t nothin special.” Arthur responds, flipping the little book around to show you.

You recognize the church, he’s drawn a very good likeness. It’s the old, crumbling church just off the road from Shady Belle. The Lemoyne Raiders have been camping out there, and you recall Arthur stopping to inspect it when you’d rode past earlier. He’s perfectly captured the broken walls, and the way vines squeeze the old building like a cobra. You could step into the drawing, and never realize it wasn’t reality.

“Oh, Arthur, it's beautiful.” You whisper, noticing the attention to detail. Arthur has managed to capture the swaying of the grass, alongside birds taking flight off the roof of the building.

After some more inspecting of the intricate piece, you hand it back to him, smiling at the blush that colors his cheeks. He never was good at taking compliments. He continues the sketch, and you realize it's the first time you've seen him drawing in a while. Your eyebrows pull together as you try to think back to the last time you'd seen the outlaw with the book in his hands.

"I noticed you haven't been drawin' as much…?" You inquire, picking Huckleberry back up and glancing over the printed words before looking back up to him.

"Ain't easy findin' pretty things' in the swamp. Back when we was in Valentine, there was so much to draw, so many things caught my eye." Arthur whispers, never bringing his eyes away from the paper as he shades the windows with his charcoal. You toy with your lip, feeling that it's your time to finally bite the bullet and be brave. You take a deep breath, setting your book down again.

"So you draw beautiful things?" You ask, barely over a whisper. Your voice travels across the expanse of the bed like a breath on the wind.

Arthur finally looks up to you, green eyes locking onto yours as he thinks over the meaning behind your question. He leans back against the footboard, and brings his knee up to lean on.

"I- well yeah, mostly. I like to draw things how I find em, natural, beautiful and the like." Arthur responds, brushing through his beard with his hand while thinking of sketches of deer, flowers and birds, crumbled buildings and landscapes.

Arthur's heart stops when you stand up, slowly tip-toeing to the center of the room and turning to him. Your eyes are locked onto each other, nothing can be heard but quiet breaths and the patter of rain on the ceiling. Warm light caresses your face as you bring your hands up to your shirt, heart pounding.

"And… Do you think I'm beautiful…?" You ask, pulling your shirt out of your jeans so it's no longer tucked.

Arthur is frozen, shocked as his eyes glance between your own, laced with bravery and lust, and your hands which are slowly pulling your shirt out of your jeans. He swallows thickly, at a loss for words.

"Well a course- I think you're, you're very beautiful…"

Arthur's eyes are wide, his jaw open with shock, and cheeks pink as you unbutton your shirt. His face lasts only a moment before he schools himself, evening out his features to appear nonchalant.

"What are you uh…" Arthur clears his throat quietly, "What are you doin'?" Arthur asks, slipping his eyes closed and growling as your shirt hits the floor.

"Let me inspire you… in my natural state." You quote Arthur back to himself, unclasping your belt buckle and pulling the leather through the loops until the belt clunks to the floor. Your motions are slow, graceful, in the candlelight as you slowly hook your thumbs under your jeans and undergarments sliding them to the floor. Your jeans hit the floor with a thud, and as you step out of them, Arthur pulls out his journal.

Your body is beautiful. Perfect in his eyes. Round and curved, full and feminine. Your legs, your hips, your collarbones and breasts, all he can do is sink in this canvas that is your body for a few moments. His lack of inspiration is completely gone, and Arthur thinks that with an infinite amount of blank paper he could reference your body as art forever. He's never seen anything so beautiful, so enchanting. You seem to beam with a golden light, shadowing the v in between your thighs and the valley between your breasts. All he can do is stare, and all he can think about doing is taking the time to study every inch of your beauty.

"I…" Arthur stops, speechless as you pull an old ottoman from the corner of the room.

"How do you want me?" You whisper, glossy lips shining in the candlelight, and all Arthur can think about is kissing the perfect rosy petals.

"How do I- I want you?" Arthur asks, not understanding your question because he wants you in so many ways right now. You're nothing short of a goddess standing before him, an angel.

"Yeah," You chuckle, "pose me. However you think, you're the artist after all. Go on, it's okay." You encourage when Arthur is hesitant to touch you. He doesn't want to overstep a boundary, and he's terrified to touch you, to taint you with his hands that have been the cause for so many terrible things. He truly thinks that you deserve so much better than him, but he is a fool for it. Because he is all that you want.

With a nod, he comes over and helps you position yourself. He’s incredibly polite, of course he is, not wanting to touch you anywhere indecent even though you’ve just stripped in front of him. Your left leg is bent under you, and you sit under it, while your right is propped up at an angle, brought up almost to your chest. He positions your arm over the bottoms of your breasts, and your hand is placed on your shoulder. Once he steps back, checking that the position is to his liking, his fire hot touch leaves your skin.

“Good?” You ask, stretching your neck back so that your hair falls down your back, exposing your throat.

“Absolutely perfect…” Arthur whispers, sitting on the edge of the plush bed, just a few feet in front of you. He picks up his leather journal and the charcoal, turning to an empty page in the back of the book.

The sound of thunder, rain and charcoal against paper fill your head as your eyelids flutter, watching Arthur. Seeing him like this, so focused and in his element, is both heartwarming and incredibly attractive. He bites at his bottom lip, hyper focused, as he follows the slopes and planes of your body, perfectly transferring them onto the paper. He gets to your breasts, watching the goosebumps that trickle down your stomach and arms. His eyes are hot on you, studying you. You blush when he steps forward, gently brushing a stray hair away that had fallen in front of your shoulder, tucking it behind your ear so as to not obstruct the view of his model.

When he sits back down on the creaking bed, he crosses his ankle over his knee, leaning back to get another perspective before resting his journal on his calf. He resumes his sketching, and his eyes linger on you before every stroke of the charcoal. Arthur watches the charcoal trace the lines of your hips, your thighs and your breasts onto the paper, and more than anything, he wishes that it was his lips tracing your skin, instead of the charcoal. The sound of the rain is soothing, and the thunder is one and the same as the pounding of your heart when Arthur’s eyes linger on your lips, your body. Heat lightning flashes the sky through the broken window with warm tones of orange as a shiver runs down your spine, though you are far from cold.

Arthur really focuses now, leaning into his journal, glancing up and down frequently to capture the tiny details of you, some of his favorites. Like the little flyaways of hair, slightly frizzy from the heat that falls around your face, the freckles on your skin, the scars and stretch marks, the imperfections that color you. Once he’s finished, he leans back, eyeing both you and the journal before writing your name at the bottom, all capital as if a title.

“Alright, should be done.” Arthur whispers, leaning forward to hand you off his journal.

You take the heavily used book, and look at the mirror-like reflection on the pages. Arthur has captured you perfectly. You look up to his green eyes, with tears. He’s drawn you in his journal as if you are the most gorgeous of any of the sights his eyes have seen, because you are. Every detail is perfect.

“Arthur, this is incredible.” You praise, completely truthful. He is a wonderful artist, and doesn’t give himself enough credit. You stand up, and fold his journal carefully closed before sitting down on the bed beside him. Your hand meets his knee, and boldly you look up at him just hoping. You’ve been head over heels for the man for some time now, and if there was ever a time to bring it up, it's now.

“Arthur I'm gonna ask you somethin’ and I want you to be honest with me, yeah?”

Arthur is sincere, maybe worried as his eyebrows draw together and he places his hand overtop of yours.

“Of course, anythin.” Arthur says, quietly.

You look down at your bare lap, gathering courage that causes your heart to pound in your ears before glancing back up.

“I… Do you want me?” You ask, words hanging heavy in the air as you wait for a response. But much to your embarrassment, Arthur doesn’t give you one. He looks into your eyes, glancing around with his jaw open slightly. He opens and closes it a few times, as if he can’t find the words he's searching for. After a few moments, you hang your head, blushing and feeling like a goddamn fool, because you’ve overstepped and he doesn’t want you.

“Oh, I see. I’m so sorry, Arthur, I’ve misstepped terribly.” You mumble, shame and embarrassment starting to drag you down. You can’t bear to look at him as you stand up to grab your clothes and leave.

As you do, his hand grabs onto your own.

“Darlin’ wait-” Arthur pleads, and his eyes are overflowing with emotion as he sits back down onto the bed, holding your hands in his. For a moment, you feel hopeful, maybe you were wrong, and your best friend who you are desperately in love with, wants you back.

“I aint so good with my words sometimes. Always been better at writin’ my feelins rather than sayin’ em out loud.” Arthur says, eyes locked onto your conjoined hands before trailing up your torso to those beautiful eyes.

“I want you. God- more than anything, I want you, sweetheart,” he pauses, brushing another stray hair behind your ear, “But I want you to understand that this isn’t about just layin’ together.” He continues, and tears well up in your eyes at his words because your feelings are being reciprocated and he's all you’ve ever wanted.

“You see I want what's tucked away in here,” Arthur whispers, pointing to the left side of your chest, right over your heart, “and I love what’s in here.” Arthur smiles, tapping your temple.

“Do I want you? Yeah, I do, sweetheart. But I want all a’ you. Your heart, your mind, your body… God- I've been sweet on you longer than I care to admit.” Arthur squeezes your hand before running his thumb under your jaw, and pulling your chin up so he can look into your teary eyes, “and well, when you asked me to draw you just now, sayin’ yes was easier than breathin’ because darlin’ you are the art. I just had to transfer that beauty onto paper.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his own. His big, warm hand cups your jaw, and you feel as if you could melt into his touch. You want nothing more than to be enveloped by him, to have him in every way possible, because you want him too. His beautiful, creative mind, his soft heart with so many walls around it, and you've crumbled them all to nothing more than shattered ramparts. You’ve broken him, and rebuilt him back into the man he is now, changed him forever with your heart.

He pulls you closer until your lips meet his own. It's shy at first, two strangers meeting in a coy peck. But the familiarity comes soon, because this is Arthur, and you find yourself clinging to him, like if you let go he may disappear, or bottle back up and you can’t lose him now. You open your mouth for him, letting him in to intertwine his tongue with your own as the kiss grows more passionate. He tastes like whiskey and tobacco and Arthur, and it's too much as tears silently fall down your cheeks. Arthur pulls away for a moment, smiling softly as his thumb brushes away your tears.

“It’s rainin, we have all day…” You smile as his eyes run over your face.

“That we do,” Arthur whispers, kissing your temple before pulling away again, “Y’know… I've had gold and silver, horses, and books worth more than this estate, but darlin’ I ain’t never had anything in my hands that was as beautiful, or as priceless, as you.” He says before leaning into your neck, kissing your pulsepoint and your collarbone. His hands toy with your breasts, running over the soft skin until your nipples harden and you lean into him.

“Oh, Arthur,” You whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you further.

“You’re perfect.” Arthur nibbles at the flesh of your earlobe before whispering against your skin, “My blank canvas.”

Your hands come to either side of his face, pulling his gaze up to your eyes.

“Then make me art, Arthur… mark me, have me, please I need you.” you whimper, pulling him down to your lips again, and savoring the feeling that you’ve been aching for for so long. As soon as the kiss breaks, he caresses your cheek. Again, the only sound is the rain and the thunder. His lips are swollen from where yours have left kisses, and you decide it's your favorite sight.

“Sweetheart, I already told you. You are art, but markin’ you? Havin’ you? Now that I can do just fine.” Arthur whispers against your flush skin, illuminated as lightning flashes in the distance.

Everything makes sense, everything falls into place, when his lips crash against yours again. They are no longer shy, but needy and loving, lustful and wanting. Your hands reach to the buttons of his shirt as he lays you down on the bed, making sure the pillow under your head is comfortable before moving his lips to your neck. Once you’ve undone the buttons, he leans away to pull it off of his arms, throwing it to the side. It lands on the bedside table, knocking over a container of ink that spills onto the floor. You gasp, leaning up to inspect the damage, as Arthur anchors you, pushing you back down to the bed with his kisses.

“It’s okay, it's alright, we’ll clean it up later sweetheart.” Arthur shushes, and you melt back into your state of euphoria with him between your legs. His lips caress your own as his hand swirls your nipple, toying with the hardened peak before it trails down to your hip.

“I'm gonna touch you, okay?” Arthur whispers against your lips as another quiet rumble of thunder sounds out. You nod, spreading your legs for Arthur as he adjusts himself on top of you, leaning his weight on his forearm.

“Please Arthur-” You beg as he trails his fingers down your knee to your inner thigh before running his fingers along your folds. He stops, and groans lightly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit- you’re so wet. I'm sorry, darlin’ it's been awhile since I-” Arthur starts, but you lean up, pressing a kiss against his lips before whispering to him.

“It’s okay… been awhile for me too.”

He nods against your forehead, kissing it before continuing. You spread your legs even more for him, and he sinks two fingers into your pulsing heat. Immediately, your grip on him tightens, and you whimper, eyes squinted shut as he slowly works you open.

“Shh…shh… that’s my girl.” Arthur coos, stretching you with his fingers as you cling to him, gasping for breath at the way he touches you like you’re his canvas, his masterpiece, and the more he caresses, kisses and touches, the more beautiful you become underneath him. He didn’t think it was possible for your appearance to become any more entrancing, but as you moan, arching your back so that your breasts find release against his chest, he finds that he was wrong.

He curls his fingers inside you rhythmically, pressing down right in the perfect spot before gently stroking your clit with his thumb. It's a delirious combination, and the only thing anchoring you from ascending to the heavens, is him.

“That’s it, darlin’. Let it go, let me watch you unfold.” Arthur whispers, keeping a steady pace with his hands while kissing your stomach, up to your breasts. He begins to lick at your breast, swirling his tongue over your stiff nipple and kissing your skin every chance he gets. It proves to be your undoing, and just as the rain pounds on the roof even harder, and thunder sounds out, you find your release. Your nails dig into Arthur’s back as you reach your climax, the building coming in waves that have you gasping for breath and moaning.

“Arthur-” leaves your lips in a mantra as you clamp down on his fingers, the waves of your orgasm washing over you and drowning you in the most indescribable, emotional show of affection. You see stars, flashes of bright white as you gasp and shake, hanging onto the man who you love.

“Good girl,” Arthur whispers, kissing your forehead a few times as you come down from your high.

“Real good, darlin.” Arthur coos, sinking his fingers into you until he has completely drawn out your release. Once your back stops arching, and hits the bed again, you pull his face down to yours once more. His hand cups your neck, and you feel your juices on his fingers as he runs his hand from your neck to your jaw, holding it while he kisses you again. His forehead meets yours as you whine.

“I need- Arthur, I need to feel you, please.” You cry, hands running down the muscles of his chest, down the trail of sandy blonde hair that runs down below his jeans. You pop the button open, biting your lip as you press the palm of your hand against the pressure there. Arthur releases a deep groan, thrusting involuntarily against your hand.

He leans down, kissing your nose with a smile before standing up and shedding his jeans to the ground. He steps out of them, and you prop yourself up on your elbow to admire him.

Arthur is big. A bit longer than average, but he is girthy and thick. You scan over his rosy head, and the vein that bulges from the underside of his shaft. And as you follow up the trail of hair, to Arthur’s chest and face, he sees the worry. It’s been a long time, and truthfully you’re not very experienced with this. You don’t know if you can take him, but god, you want to.

“Arthur I… you’re beautiful.” You whisper, watching the flex of his muscles in the candlelight, the soft, light hair that falls into his face as he chuckles, looking down to hide his smile.

“Beautiful? Really?” Arthur asks, sarcastically.

“Yes, Arthur, beautiful.”

He shakes his head, not agreeing with you really, as he comes back down to the bed. He rests himself between your legs again, kissing your thigh, then your hip… and so on until he reaches those plump, bruised lips.

“You ready? You still want this sweetheart?” Arthur asks, massaging the tender skin of your thigh as you breath out shakily. You nod, but he senses the trepidation and doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“What is it?” He asks, pulling away from your lips to look into your eyes. He sees you smile, blushing before wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Be gentle, please. You’re- well you’re big Arthur and I really want this…” You whisper, chuckling at yourself for a second.

“I’ll be gentle, okay? N if it hurts, you tell me. Right away.” Arthur says, almost darkly. He does not want you putting up with any pain for his sake. You nod, before leaning into his chest and wrapping your hands around his neck. Your legs, around his waist, spread a bit more and you feel his head against your entrance. Slowly, Arthur thrusts into you, and everything you were worried about shatters to the ground. God- he feels so good. And before he's fully in, you feel so full, and so stretched. You’ll never get enough of this, you realize. It’s perfect, like two puzzle pieces fitting together as he enters to the hilt and you moan as he bumps your sensitive spot.

“You okay?” Arthur asks, stopping his hips completely, and you dig your heel into his ass, begging him to do anything but stop.

“Move, Arthur, please. Oh, you feel so good.” You whimper, your hips rising to meet Arthur’s as he thrusts into you. Your moans mix with Arthur’s groans and the thunder, and it’s all washed away by the rain. Not a peep can be heard from outside, but inside the room there is so much raw emotion, lust and love, that even the air feels like it's intruding on you two.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Arthur growls, thrusting into you with more rhythm now that he knows you’re okay. The stretch is the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain that has you inching towards a climax. He kisses your lips, and you lean up to meet him halfway. The kiss is hot and passionate, with gasps for air in between and moans as you two commit the rawest act of love known to man. He rocks against you, swaying you with his hips. The pleasure combined with the emotion of him finally against you is overwhelming. You’ll never be closer, more whole than you are like this. He’s with you. The tightness in your stomach pulls, stretching and coiling all the like until it snaps. Once again, Arthur is your anchor, rocking you, and steadying you as you completely come undone beneath him. You constrict around him, muscles tightening and contracting as an intense wave of pleasure washes over you. Your moans are loud, breathy as you release the tension he’s created within you. It’s too much for Arthur, and as you squeeze around him, he thrusts into you a few times, hard and deep before he cums inside you, filling you completely with his seed.

“You did so well, darlin. You’re so beautiful…” Arthur whispers, kissing your forehead before placing a long, slow kiss on your lips. He stays there for a moment, letting you catch your breath before sliding out of you. He lands on the bed beside you, and you curl up against his chest.

“Arthur?” You ask, placing your hand on his chest and cuddling further into him. He takes a sheet from the bottom of the bed, pulling it over you until you’re decent.

“What is it sweetheart?” Arthur asks, brows furrowed as he runs his hand along your arm and watches the rise and fall of your body against his.

“Did you mean it? Everything you said before…” You ask, propping your chin up to look into his eyes. He runs his hand up and down your back, soothing you while smiling.

“Course I did.” Arthur whispers, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead.

“I… I love you, y’know.” You whisper back, leaning your head against his chest, too nervous to look into his eyes. Arthur only chuckles, pulling your head closer to his chest with his hand.

“I know, and I love ya too.”

The rest of the rainy day is spent in various forms of affection. You and Arthur lay together all day, whether sleeping or not, reading and drawing or just holding each other. Everything seems right now. Like for the first time in your life you’ve found your purpose, your person. He is your other half, your strength, your ecstasy, and he loves you too, your little aesthete.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you

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garadinervi · 2 months

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Helen Frankenthaler: Dipingere senza regole / Painting Without Rules, Curated by Douglas Dreishpoon, Fondazione Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze, September 27, 2024 – January 26, 2025, Co-Organized by the Fondazione Palazzo Strozzi and the Helen Frankenthaler Foundation

(image: Helen Frankenthaler, Open Wall, (oil on unsized, unprimed canvas), 1953. © Helen Frankenthaler Foundation, New York, NY / ARS, New York. Photo: Rob McKeever. Courtesy Gagosian)

#art #mixed media #exhibition #helen frankenthaler #douglas dreishpoon #fondazione palazzo strozzi #helen frankenthaler foundation #rob mckeever #gagosian #1950s #2020s

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master-of-the-game · 8 months

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seeing you make oil paintings of elim garak has changed something about the way i perceive art, both in what others make but also in what i am capable of making.

it’s probably due to learning mostly euro-centric art history, but i’ve always thought of oil paintings as like the peak of painting ability? like, it’s fancy and it takes a while so i thought that it must be the best (ignoring the fact that my artistic field is mostly in acrylic paints and 3D sculpting and yet i still consider it very good). and i’m still working on disproving this sort of mentality that there are mediums inherently better than others, because it’s incredibly limiting to my creativity to impose a higharchy, and also it feels kind of xenophobic.

i digress a bit. point is, i’ve viewed oil paintings as a medium only deserving of gallery-type realistic portrait stuff, which is very much not what i do. i don’t make the sorts of fancy art rich people would pay for- the type of art i thought oils were for. i make paintings of comic book characters and sculptures of my personal heroes, i make jewelry and clothes and stuffed animals. stuff that i enjoy. which is good!

but still somewhere lurking in my brain was this voice telling me that on some level my works weren’t as meaningful or creative because they were fan works or made from materials i’m not an expert in or because the only people i draw and paint and sculpt are queer and trans, like me. that because my art was self-indulgent, on some level i suppose i thought it lesser.

but then i see your art. and holy shit! you’re work is INCREDIBLE! at first i was excited because, hey, i’m a big star trek fan, and garak is one of my favorite characters. i love coming across fan art of him, and it always manages to strike a chord with me. but then. as i looked at it closer, i realized it was on canvas. as i scrolled down i realize it was oil on canvas.

before, i’d pretty much only seen fanart as sketches on paper or digital drawings. one that is really only meant art-wise for quick sketches or planning of what will become “real” works, and one that doesn’t actually take up any physical space in our world, and is stored away in a little digital file.

but oil on canvas? that’s not meant to be thrown away, it’s meant to be held in gloved hands, as it is precious, and it’s not meant to be hidden away in the “files” on a laptop. no, those hang on the walls of museums or houses, meant to be displayed with pride for all to see.

and with those too colliding thoughts, that of fan works as some lesser form of art but oil paintings being the art of the rich and talented… well i realized that both were wrong. fan works are not in any way shape or form lesser than original works. what makes my layered ink painting of dream of the endless any less important than my painting of the ocean during a storm? nothing! they’re both good works. and on the other side, there is nothing that makes my oil paintings more important than my acrylic paintings or my sculpture or my knitting. it’s all art, lovely art, in the end. and the only thing that really matters is that i enjoy it.

seeing your art has helped me break some (minor) yet harmful thoughts i didn’t really even realize i had. so thank you for that. also your garak art is fucking good, and it really makes me think about what sort of life he would have after ds9. anyways, thank you. that’s what i’ve been meaning to say (that’s what this whole thing is). thanks for changing my vision for the better.

Oh wow! You know, it is very important and gratifying to know that results of your work make person rearrange their thoughts and views on something. Thank you for your sincerity! Now back to subject. I personally believe that fan work can be something fine and vice versa something fine can be a fan work. One thing that is very important to remember and remind yourself is that most of fine art that you've mentioned - gallery and most famous works (at least in european tradition) - are, well, derivative. Of Bible, of ancient myths. Yes. All this stuff can be considered maybe not fanart - but it is a subject for discussion - but illustration at least. And it is still fine art. Book illustrations - oh well. Sometimes I want to hang them on the wall, especially old ones. So - why not? Fan work always has a connotation of something derivative, and it certainly is... But just as well as most of the most prominent works. Dixi :D So that's the matter. Medium of course matters but medium does not always define the subject of art (except for common sense), as you've said. It's just maybe the cost of medium (some watercolor brushes for some reason cost... ehm. Too much :D) that defines its price, but not necessarily. I like thinking about this issue and discussing it... Plenty room for ideas. Thank you!

#star trek #art #fanart #artwork #my art #fanwork #oil painting #oil on canvas #art mediums #painting #graphics

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kekaki-cupcakes · 1 year

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I dare you - Leo V x gn child of Nike/Reader

part four

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

“Please don’t tell me Jason bit someone again-”

“Are they okay?” Leo asked, pushing passed an exhausted looking Will and scanning the infirmary. There was only a bored looking Ares kid playing with a lighter in the corner as Austin put a bandage over his broken nose. “Where are they?”

Will waved his hand casually and motioned to the door at the end of the room, “High on drugs, we had to sedate them to stitch it all back together. They just woke up.”

Leo had already pushed past him, tripping on a stray bandage and peeking behind all of the plastic curtains in the back room. One of the daughters of Hecate was reading a comic, their skin a bright purple, but there was no one else, until-

“Drewy, Suey, Flooy, Pooey, hey! We should call you Nancy Drew, except you’re not smart enough to be- Ow!”

“I could be a detective if I wanted to.” Drew shot back, and Leo peeked around the curtain, watching as the girl picked some dirt from beneath her nails. “I just don’t care enough about other people's problems.”

The patient, whose bed she was sitting on, stuck their tongue out. “You can stop showing off that you’ve still got nails and shit, Nancy Drew-y, Suey-”

“Holy shit, you're awake! Are you okay?” Leo asked, stepping forwards, but once he got to their bedside, he wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He just hovered, giving them a weak smile.

“Fine,” they waved their hand, which was bandaged heavily, like a big white canvas mitten, a loopy grin on their face. “I’m finey, piney, siney, miney…”

“Stop waving your hand around or Will’ll strap it down.” Drew snapped, and then turned to Leo with a smirk. She picked up a tote bag with Margot Robbie in a pink jumpsuit on it. “Your turn lover boy. Oh, and they aren’t allowed to eat anything, just water.”

“Why can’t-”

There was a crash as they turned to the plastic bag next to them and emptied their stomach of the nine strawberries they’d been able to eat. “Bleurgh…”

Leo blinked. “Oh.”

“Oh it’s you!” They grinned, looking up from the bag of vomit like nothing was wrong, when in fact everything was. “Hey, Drew Suey, look it’s the- oh she’s gone.”

Leo narrowed his eyes at her “It’s the what?”

“The kinda cute and literally can’t fight and, and…I forgot what the last one was guy.”

He felt his heart beating as fast as the machine in the corner, and wiped his hands on his pants with a gulp. They thought he was kinda cute? Him? He [the kinda cute guy] pulled one of the tissues out of the box on the bedside table and leaned forward hesitantly. He thought they’d hate him, he’d got their hand cut off for the gods sake, but here they were calling him kinda cute.

“You got a bit of,” he started motioning with the tissue to their face, but was only met with a blank look. He just sighed and wiped the pink stuff off their face gently, tossing the tissue in the bin. “There.”

He glanced down at their hand, which he couldn’t even see any of. He felt guilt creep in again. “Is it, is it attached? Did Will fix it, or are you gonna be, like, an amputee?”

They squinted at the wall vaguely, “uh…like, the fingers came off apparently, I dunno, there was a lot of blood. Or strawberries. I love strawberries!”

“I know,” he sighed, trying not to smile at the slightly hazy but innocent expression they had as they cocked their head at him. “I asked if your fingers are back on your hand-”

“Guess what? They came off! Will said that I grabbed a circularlarler saw thingamabob but I’d never do that, I’m not stupid!”

“No way,” Leo breathed sarcastically, and shuffled onto the end of the bed. He watched as they chewed on the fingernails on their other hand and stared out the window absently. “Are… are you okay?”

“I mean my hand kinda yeeted away for a bit,” they started animatedly, “but it’s all better now, Will sewed it back on.”

Leo gritted his teeth, but he wasn’t really annoyed, their excitable face was too cute to be angry at, and he didn’t see it much. Usually they were just waving spears around and glaring at him.

They tapped his shoulder though, like they just remembered something. “Oh, I forgot, two of 'em decided they didn’t wanna go back on, which is kinda mean of them, but now I got three fingers. But they're the important ones, so it’s all okay.”

He blinked. “All of them are the important ones.”

“Nah,” they waved the wad of padding and plaster in the air casually, nearly knocking it into the wall, but Leo managed to scramble across and stop them from reversing all eight hours of WIll’s work. “I only need the middle one.”

Somehow they hadn’t noticed, or they didn’t care, that Leo was pretty much laying across their lap.

Instead they just rested the now safe hand on his shoulder and kept talking. “And I don’t need the ring finger, because it’s my right hand, so I can still get married. And who needs their little finger? I can make pinky promises with my other hand!”

“Right,” Leo breathed, his cheeks red as he sat up a little, but the way they were still holding him a little, stopped him [not physically, he just wanted it to stay that way] from moving away. Instead his legs were sprawled across their lap as he sat next to them on the plastic-y bed.

“Did you know I never break a pinkie promise,” they gasped, like they’d only just found out as well. They extended their left hand eagerly, “I can prove it, gimme a promise. I’ll never break it.”

Leo grinned up at them, ducking his head as he extended his pinkie. “Uhm, I dunno, promise to never grab a circular saw to save my life again?”

They scrunched up their nose, rubbing it a little, “boring, I promise to always save your life again! Ha!”

“Oh, okay…” he pretended his voice didn’t crack as they shook on it.

They smiled at him, then a vague look passed over their face, and they sneezed into his shoulder, only to sneeze again. He watched as they rubbed their nose sniffling. “Why do you sneeze so much?”

“I’m allergic to sawdust.”

Leo’s smile froze, “you’re what.”

“I’m… allergic… to…-”

“Yeah, yeah I get that,” he cut them off. “But why didn’t you mention it? You were in bunker nine for hours! I’m literally always covered in sawdust! I'm like a walking ball of allergies!”

“... But I like hanging out with you.”

“I’m not saying you can’t- wait you like hanging out with me?” Leo cut himself off this time, eyes widening. They liked hanging out with him? And they thought he was [kinda] cute? How lucky could he get?

“Of course I like hanging out with you,” they scoffed, and then smirked in a loopy way that was probably because of the painkillers and everything else in their veins. “You think I'm actually that obnoxious? I just wanted you to argue with me, and I’m actually, like, super duper whooper good at not challenging other people now, I just wanted to-”

A grin wobbled across Leo’s face, and he looked away, feeling his face grow hotter. He poked them in the side gently, “You’re so manipulative.”

“No, I’m a mastermind.” They nudged him back.

“What if I told you, I’m a mastermind!”

“Jason!”

“And now you’re mine, it was all by design!”

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #leovaldez #Leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n

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blarrghe · 8 months

Text

The Hunter, the Snake, and the Fox

Rating: M | Category: M/M | Words: 8 805 | Chapters 4/28

AO3 LINK

Summary:

When Magister Dorian Pavus' expedition meets unexpectedly with a clan of unhappy Dalish elves, First Taren Lavellan may be the unhappiest among them. Unhappier still to be put to the task of helping to see his quest through. This is the tale of how a fortnight in the forests of the Free Marches can change everything.

Chapter 4: Arrangements

Snippet:

Dorian was deposited in another tent. A smaller, less colourful accommodation than the one in which he’d met the apparent Dalish leader, but better smelling than the place where he’d woken. His binds were undone by the elves who deposited him inside, though the one who’d brandished a knife at his throat kept it visibly within hand at his belt, and both left only as far as to stand guard directly outside the tent’s entrance.

There was straw on the ground, forming a pressed mat of dry floor, a basin of water in a corner, and two firm cushions laid out on a hard wooden bench. Nothing else but canvas walls and the pale lighting through the edge of the tent's entrance of the day outside. Dorian splashed some water over his head and neck, wincing slightly as the cold found his cut. He brought his fingers to the wound to try a little magic, and was surprised to find that it worked. The cut sealed itself with only a slight lingering sting. Next, he pressed his palm to the still-throbbing bump on the back of his head, but the effort of extending his magic that far left him more woozy, not less.

With a sigh, Dorian slumped himself down onto the bench. Moments later, with another, more bored sigh, he stood to pace. A gap between canvas flaps and the intimidating postures of his guards outside left him some view of the elvhen camp. With each impatient lap of the tent, Dorian leaned himself one way or the other to survey what he could of the predicament he had landed himself in.

Daff Tag List:

@warpedlegacyacy @rakshadow @rosella-writes @effelants @bluewren @breninarthur @ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer @crackinglamb @theluckywizard @nirikeehan @oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @melisustheweee @agentkatie @delicatefade @leggywillow @about2dance

#the hunter the snake and the fox #my fic #my writing #pavellan #dorian x lavellan #canon divergence #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #da:i #dragon age inquisition fanfiction

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furrbbyx · 5 months

Text

This is an idea I had because I really really wanted the wednesday show to be part elvira, part body horror, part camp, and utrerly the same vibe as the old movies. Kooky. BUT GROWN

Anyway heres the first part of a fanfiction I never really finished, fearuring a naga. I'm editing this on mobile which is to say im not editing this at alllll.

Approx 2200 words. Do not reproduce or copy.

Warnings...uh....really soft vore. This is maybe sfw.

In a haunted warehouse in upstate New York, on any given weeknight you can buy a ticket and enter into a delightful, odd place where nothing you experience can be trusted. Maybe you heard about it from a coworker, or maybe you were drawn by the eerie blinking lights announcing

Wednesday World.

Either way, you will be ushered into a seat on risers that climb high against the brick walls next to a couple sharing a soft drink and a hotdog, or a family of five all trying to get the best view and coddle the baby who is out way past it's bed time. Each act will strain your sense of reality.

A fortune teller picks a victim from the crowd and reveals a terrifying prophecy of failed love in a scratchy high voice. Will the prediction come true?

A magician mesmerizes the crowd with increasingly dangerous tricks. Did he really conjure a demon in a fiery cauldron? How it all seems like a dream when you wake up in your bed the next morning in your normal house and go about your normal day, pretending those feats weren't all that impressive. But maybe you aught to go back and see how to do that that hypnotism trick.

Yes, maybe the curiosities of Wednesday World are only as real people want them to be. Yet that never stopped a show, nor the crowds, nor the money. As for Wednesday Addams, well nothing stops Wednesday.

On this night, a brisk October evening where mist floats over the vast concrete parking lot like waiting ghosts, the last act of the night is drawing quite a spectacle.

A hand painted canvas hanging on the facade of the building reveals the biggest attraction of the night and tonight it reads:

"Sinful Snake-Monster Man! He'll devour your soul!" in bright blood-red letters. Below the lettering is the image of a beautiful brown-skinned shirtless man with glowing yellow eyes and a imposing black-scaled hood flared around his face and shoulders. He's a beautiful and terrifying beast who's smooth torso flows into the thick coiled segments of a white bellied snake. The artist is quite talented as this snake-man looks like he's about to slither out of the canvas and start eating the people lined up to buying tickets.

The crowds press into the building from all entrances. Their warm bodies add to the heat and the heady undercurrent of anticipation, stopping the freezing cold of the winter night from dampening the hype. They mingle and writhe like a sinuous creature themselves until the mood of the room changes suddenly.

Cheers erupt from the stands, clapping, and whistling and laughing humans ready for their entertainment.

Ah, the Ring Master has entered.

"My gracious fans" The RM coos into the microphone. The smile and charisma in his voice cause another round of appreciative whistling.

"Heh, you flatter me! Tonight my lovelies the greatest exibit to date, brought to you by the one and only Wednesday World. The night cirsu of delights and horrors, magic and mystery, danger and daring! We cannot be responsible for the state of your brain after viewing this specatcle. Those with weak stomach have been warned!"

The RM lowers their voice and spins slowly in place addressing everyone in the room.

"Deep in the indus valley lives one of the most deadly creatures known to man! Thought o be a myth, a silly tale to scare the children."

RM wags their finger as a nervous chuckle goes through the crowd

"No myth however! We have found him! Captured by the skilled renowned snake charmer Ares Zarin!"

With a flourish the RM gestures to a tall lanky human man who has come from behind the curtain at one edge of the ring. His tightly curled brown hair is cut close to his head and shines with pommade. The white linen shirt he's wearing is unbuttoned showing his muscled chest. At his hip is a long wicked looking whip. He walks with a confident swagger into the ring smiling and greeting the now wild crowd with waves and bows. He stalks around the ring in his big thick jungle boots as if he's never known a day of fear in his life.

"Come now friend, aren't you a little worried?" The RM goads Ares as they exchange a hand shake and hug greeting.

"Well I've never met a snake I couldn't control" Ares says into the microphone. Quite a few in the crowd can be heard swooning over his easy confidence and good looks.

"I don't know, ladies and gentleman. No beast can love it's captor." The RM sweeps their arm to the curtain again where two brawny pale circus workers and pulling a huge cage into the ring. Inside the barred cage is the snake man. He's been adorned with golden jewelry and a silken wrap about his hips. He looks relaxed but there is an agitation to his shifting coils and flicking tongue.

A hush ripples through the crowd.

"Abomination!"

"Monster!"

Some cannot contain their fear, compulsively screaming in the face of their worst nightmare.

The workers bring the cage to the middle of the ring and await the RM's next words. They are simple. The crowd is already stunned.

"For your delight! and fuel for your nightmares, Wednesday Word presents the Sinful Snake-Monster Man and the Charmer!"

The men work at the locks on the cage and the door falls open before they scramble away and the lights in the room cut off leaving only an ominous spotlight on Ares. Ares looks unaffected, bored even as the sounds of the snake-man uncoiling itself fill the ring.

The susurration of skin is the only sound coming from outside of the spotlight. No one can see what's hidden in the darkness, yet they already know what waits there.

The crowd seems to cringe as one, as the tail of the beast whips out from the darkness. Ares leaps to the side, rolling away from the first strike then another.

A loud hiss of anger blooms in the darkness. Ares uncoils the whip from his waist and stalks towards the the edge of the light.

"Come now, my sweet. Don't be sore. We've let you out of that cage, show yourself to the crowd" He says, taunting.

The hiss grows louder. Ares jumps back. The beast follows him into the light fangs bared and its patterned hood flared wide and quivering. Ares laughs.

"You see, he's vain if nothing else!" Ares shouts to the crowd. They whistle and cheer in response! Some stomping their feet in agreement.

The snake-man curls and twists his body into the ring. He so big that his long tail seems to encircle the entire space, leaving no room for escape. Ares holds the whip loosely, watching, not ready to strike at the snake-man but he reaches into his shirt with the other hand and draws out a peculiar object. A smallish thing that looks like a long-necked little gourd with a doubled fife stuck into the bottom of it. There's a net of cowrie shells around the bulbus middle and the neck is painted with arcane symbols of protection. Ares lifts it to his lips and begins to play a reedy rhythmic tune charging the ambiance with an eerie feeling.

The song calls the beast closer. It sways to the music, coiling and slithering with unnerving grace towards Ares. And it seems the human crowd is just as hypnotized by the sweet soothing noise.

Outside of the glare of the spotlight all of this fanfare is being closely monitored by the RM and the grunts, yes, but also by the proprietor of this unholy circus: Wednesday Addams. Below the circus ring, in her tightly locked office sits the genius woman and mastermind of this operation. Wednesday watches the act, the RM, and the crowd as they are captured by her surveillance system. In fact she watches the entire building, the grounds the receiving garage and the corridor leading to her office on multiple monitors spread across on wall of the room.

Wednesday has grown into a bewitching, maniupulative woman, Her gothic style is a symphony of darkness and allure, embodied in her striking hair and makeup choices. Long ebony locks cascade down her back in thick waves, contrasting against her porcelain skin. Her eyes are framed by dramatic, winged eyeliner, accentuating their piercing intensity, while deep, burgundy lipstick adds a touch of mystery to her full lips.

As for her attire, she embraces her gothic sensibilities with a bold and daring ensemble. A mesh top, intricately patterned with occult symbols, hugs her curves snugly, revealing hints of skin beneath its web-like design. Paired with a flowing black skirt that sways with each confident step, she exudes an air of elegance and defiance.Her gothic style is a symphony of darkness and allure, embodied in her striking hair and makeup choices. Long ebony locks cascade down her back in thick waves, contrasting against her porcelain skin. Her eyes are framed by dramatic, winged eyeliner, accentuating their piercing intensity, while deep, burgundy lipstick adds a touch of mystery to her full lips.

She's anticipating the climax of the act, having watched the rehearsals between her current lover Kaliya and the cocky Ares. She licks her lips. The unnatural scene in front of her is quite arousing. To the crowd it looks as if Kaliya is utterly under Ares's spell, they feel safe now that the snake-man is under control. But Wednesday knows Kaliya is stalking the man. No mortal could match Kaliya in speed or strength, nor in the bedroom Wednesday muses. For a few moments she's hyper focused on the thick smooth-scaled muscle of his tail especially where the sharp human hip bones meld into his monstrous snake body.

He sways in front of her on camera while she toys with a nipple, sore from the fang marks he'd giver her just this afternoon. The sheer mesh of her top gives her easy access to her puckering nipples.

Ares plays like Kaliya is occupied with the sound of the fife, sauntering closer to the swaying snake-man. Kaliya plays like a docile beast for the crowds, until it's too late that is. The sudden speed with which the man's tail grabs Ares distorts the air with a noise so ominous it causes someone in the crowd to scream in its wake.

"Look out!"

The fife flies from Ares's grasp as he's stunned by the hit. The vicious tail lifts Ares by his leg dangling him above the ground like a bunch of grapes. Ares recovers quickly enough to grab at a hidden dagger and lunges for the appendage wrapped around his leg.Kaliya's hiss fills the room setting off the crowd like never before. Screams erupt as the crowd watches Ares become wrapped in writhing snakeflesh up to his stomach, still held high and being dragged closer to doom.

"abomination!"

"god someone stop it! he'll be eaten!"

"Kill the beast!"

Kaliya seems to transform before their eyes, his body vibrating and expanding the distinctive reptilian hood of his species making him look even larger than before. His jaw grows wide, unhinges with wet pops until a terrifying maw opens around fangs as long as a tiger's, glittering with saliva. With shocking quickness the constricting coils around Areas release him suddenly and he drops down Kaliya's throat before the man has a chance to scream. Kaliya makes a single gulp around the fat bulge in a grotesque feeding display of Ares getting devoured alive.

Finally the spell of spectacle is broken as the people panic and start stampeding out of the circus. Suddenly more of the burly, pale workers appear among them guiding the flow, trying to stop the worst of the trampling and pandemonium. The ring is filled with 5 men and the ring master, making a show of conquering the man-eating monster and trying to save Ares. Yet they need not have strained their acting skills in such a way. The illusion had done much better than anticipated. Not a single patron stayed long enough to see Kaliya pushed into the shadows backstage.

#terato #monster lover #monster fucker #monster fluff #monsterfucker #fanfiction #the addams family

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egobless · 9 months

Text

i'll keep my ting brief! - ares (she/her) here bringing you cha wontaek, a muse i've worked with a while back. for some light reading, head on down below the cut. otherwise take a gander at his power, profile & bio. if you want to get some plotting going you can find me on *scord ( gcntlemonster ) but defo hit this with a like and i'll swing by your dms for now

tw loss of family member

lore

seoul born and perhaps not so happily bred, he hails from a disgustingly rich family although the prejudice runs rife within this one.

suspicions were had when the oldest cha married a woman of lower class but imagine the chaos when they find that their child was born an anomaly.

hotheaded and prone to tempers that sent shadows and apparitions flitting around empty rooms, wontaek was more or less a living nightmare. if he didn't get his way, he would send a blight of darkness to obscure his nanny's vision or frighten his mother with moving shadows. there were times where he would get stuck in a wall and frighten his father into a near heart attack.

his aunts and uncles kept his cousins at bay, worried that somehow his predilection would rub off onto them. they all saw him as liability but to everyone's surprise, grandpa cha, founder of a mega conglomerate saw him as a gift.

where the rest of the family had their reservations about him he was undoubtedly spoiled by his grandfather. when wontaek acted up as a teen, he defended him and said he had a warrior spirit and needed an outlet. when his mother decided parenting a demon was no longer feasible, grandfather cha called her weak and invited wontaek to live with him. there he was given the finest tutors, his interests in the arts cultivated and he lived mostly free from any prejudice for being an anomaly.

art became a happy medium for his troubled disposition, and his grandfather's embrace kept him in line. he won art competitions for his sprawling paintings and profound sketches.

life's good for a while but then grandfather is struck by a degenerative illness. the vultures come out to play and wontaek sees his family scramble for that fat inheritance.

university becomes a place he can build more of a name for himself and keep him on the straight and narrow. grandfather always stressed the importance of an education so his days at sua mean something.

campus life

absolutely hates wearing the patch but will admit it helps temper the darkness on those harder days when his moods take over (c.f his personality below)

studied fine arts as a bachelors and went on to study a masters after a break of travelling and twenty-something debauchery. currently in the 2nd year of his masters and working his way through his disso in the form as an art exhibition.

yin member of house gangcheori, joined the sporting rallies for a little slice of the campus celebrity pie.

has really adopted the frat boy personality but make it art boy coded?

outside of practicing and being a bro, you'll find him in the postgrad art studio or in his dorm (blue hall represent!) sketching or painting. his fingers are perpetually stained with dried paint or charcoal. his works feature reimaginings of famous european renaissance paintings and he favours working on large canvases.

personality

leo sun, pisces moon and leo rising.

if you thought he was a cocky bastard, then you're right. he thinks the world was made for him and he is a god amongst men. hasn't got the memo that other people have interesting abiltiies too.

as mentioned before since being in uni he has really adopted this frat boy persona and stays fiending for a good time. live fast, die pretty.

his upbringing and estranged relo with his parents makes him cerebral and prone to moodiness, and rather than causing trouble nowadays he airs out his shit on the canvas.

i should also mention that the more he uses his ability the more he gets stuck in a dark place, mentally and emotionally.

when he's in that place he's selfish (more than usual), callous, and critical. his paintings take on a sinister tone and his shadow animations behave erratically too.

otherwise he's good vibes on a good day. if you can get past the entitlement.

#nm:intro #❝ ᵖᵉⁿ ᵐʸ ᵗʳᵃᵍᵉᵈʸ ᵍ'ᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵗʰʸ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ ❞ → ooc.

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

Text

Ars Amatoria | ch. XIII

Elucien AU word count: 3,5k words warnings: none

masterlist

“His brother truly has a very good gut feeling.” Azriel Ardinghelli leans back against the wall of the carriage. Night has already settled over the landscape, the inside of the carriage is dark, one can barely see the other. “Knew something was off. You were taking too long.”

Azriel folds his hands, leans forward a little, forearms braced on his knees. “There was no sign of your carriage driver. We caught the horse. But the driver…no idea where he went. They either took him with them, which would make no sense or he ran and escaped.” Azriel pauses, averting his gaze for a moment, his face covered in shadows. “Or he willingly left with them and was part of the conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy?” Elain asks, a tinge of panic in her high-pitched voice. Her eyes widen and her body goes rigid which makes Lucien next to her stir. She wraps her arm tighter around him, his cheek still pressed against her shoulder.

She can barely make out the movement, but Azriel Ardinghelli bows his head. “Yes. The Vanserras have a lot enemies. They are the most important and influential bankers that there are in Italy. Many people envy them, want what they have. We—I am almost sure this was a conspiracy.”

“Could it have been Hybern?” The question just darts out of Elain, she can’t stop herself, but it is the most obvious option.

Azriel shrugs his shoulders, this movement only visible through the small stray of moonlight that falls into the carriage. “Possibly. But I’ve noticed nothing. And I have people who keep an eye on everything that happens in the city.” Like a spy, Elain thinks, and nods her head at him. Lucien next to her feels cold. Azriel’s coat is draped over him. His breathing is more steady now and he can also sit upright again. Elain's heart is now calmer, sadly beating in her chest, but at least the panic and terror are gone.

“You are Venus in Jurian’s painting, Madonnna Medici.” And you are my brother-in-law’s secret lover, Elain wants to say, but stops herself, knowing the carriage driver will very likely hear them and actually she is not supposed to know.

“Yes,” she answers. “And you are Mars.” Elain smiles polity, thankful for the little distraction this conversation offers her.

“I am,” Azriel answers and leans back again. “How did you and Jurian meet?” Azriel, who is normally not one to talk so much, knows he has to do this for her, too keep her distracted as otherwise her mind would start spiralling again. Just like when he found her and Lucien and she was on the verge of going crazy, wailing and crying. She panicked and barely let Azriel pick up Lucien, seeing him as an enemy as well. Her vision had been to blurry with tears, her eyes too swollen to recognise Azriel immediately and she lost it. She has thrown her fists at him, punched him, also very close to his very private parts, has thrashed her hands out, until she realised who is he is.

Now everything is better — at least a little bit. Elain feels safer, more secure, and just awaits their return to Florence so a medicus can finally look over Lucien, can finally really tend to his wound. It is all going to be good, Elain tells herself as she draws in a deep breath.

“Jurian approached me on one of his visits to Venice. He asked if he could paint me and after I had asked my father for his permission he painted me in our family home. The painting he made was called La Primavera, which I love as spring is my favourite season.” Elain smiles a little to herself, her cheeks warming. She still can’t quite believe that he wanted to paint her, and still does so. “A day before he left he came to our house again, asking for the permission to make some sketches again. Those would then be transferred to a bigger canvas and the final piece with you on it would then be called Venus and Mars.”

Azriel smiles in response. “He is painting you again, isn’t he?”

When Elain shifts a little on the bench, Lucien moves as well, groaning lightly when a sharp pain courses through his belly. Elain holds him tightly, providing him with a sense of safety.

With a tinge of sheepishness in her voice, Elain says, “Yes. He wants to paint the birth of Venus, he said. But we have only done half of my face so far.” Azriel hums deep in his throat, nodding his head, but Elain can only barely see that due to the darkness inside the carriage.

Lucien next to her groans whenever the path is a little bumpier and the carriage wiggles. Elain holds his hand so tightly her knuckles turn white. But she needs him to know that she is there for him, that she keeps him safe, that she protects him. He needs to know this.

She turns her head a little and rests her cheek against the top of his head. “Just stay with me, we will soon be back and then all is good,” she whispers, closing her eyes for a moment to draw in the scent of his hair. Despite the blood and dirt, he still smells so much like himself — forest, wood fires, nature. The corners of her mouth move up a little and form a small, sad smile. “It is all going to be good, I know this, my husband.”

She inhales once again, and opens her eyes. Azriel has nearly fully vanished into the shadows of the carriage, his whole figure barely noticeable.

“Why did you come to find us?” Elain finds herself asking in a hushed voice. She is not entirely sure why she asks, but she wonders why Eris had not sent any people who work for him, his soldiers, or sentries or another carriage driver.

Azriel turns his head back to her, but she can’t make out his expression. It is too dark in the carriage and as they are now going down another path, the moon is no longer facing the window of the carriage.

“Who else should have come to save you?”

It is not quite an answer, Elain thinks and furrows her brows. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t know anyone here, safe for a few people. But soldiers, for example.”

“There is not a lot people you can trust these days, but I guess Eris—Messer Vanserra trusts me.” Of course, he does, Elain wants to say. She wants Azriel to know that she knows about them and not having him to feel uncomfortable. But she can’t. She does not know if Lucien would want it that she lets them know she knows as well. It is better to keep calm for now, talk to Lucien one day, and only if he is alright with it, share it with them.

“But it has not always been like that, has it?”

"What?" Azriel asks, his tone solemn. Elain can hear the unspoken part of his question— is she asking about Eris trusting Azriel?

But she is not. She is talking about the whole situation in Florence. "The situation between the banks." She presses her lips in a thin line, waiting for his answer. She is truly interested how someone who is not part of the feud and not part of either bank views the situation.

“I am only 28 years old, Madonna, I can’t really say much about the past. But the feud, the feud between the Vanserra and the Hybern bank has been going on for decades. They have always been rivals.” Azriel releases something like a long-suffering male breath and rests his head against the wall behind him. “It is all very complicated and deep rooted and now that the Pope is ill, will only get more complicated.”

“Why?” Elain shudders a little, it is cool, yes, but mostly she shudders because of the uncertainty the future and then new issue Azriel is addressing. What does the Pope's health condition now have to do with it?

“Because the new Pope will mostly likely be a person stemming from the Hybern family.”

“Why?” Elain finds herself asking again, feeling a little silly for asking so much and always the same question.

A little chuckle escapes Azriel. “ You are quite a curious one, Madonna,” he says in his deep voice and pauses for a moment. “Because they are influential and have good relationships to the papal state. And the Vanserra family for example has no one to send there. Someone who could become the next pope.”

This makes sense. Well, if Eris and Ianthe had a son, they would have someone. Or if Elain and Lucien did so in the future… But would she really want this for her child. To be sent away at a young age, stealing his choice of maybe wanting family? She knows, she could never do that.

After quite a long time on the road, Elain finally releases a breath of relief. They are shielded from the outside world and Lucien is safe next to her, the carriage somehow creates a cocoon of security, with Azriel as its guard and that brings her comfort. The sound of the horses' rhythmic hooves against the dusty road create a soothing symphony, almost like a lullaby that makes Elain's lids feel heavy. She yawns, leaning her head against Lucien’s.

The only thing that occasionally interrupts the peaceful silence is the creaking of the carriage's wheels. And outside the world transformes into nothing but cool darkness, like a veil being placed over the whole landscape.

✢ ✢ ✢

“What happened?” Eris demands, his voice loud, hollowing through half of the city. Dressed in only his night robe, he rushes out of the family home, his hair disheveled, deep circles under his eyes. Azriel assists Lucien, providing guidance as he exits the carriage. Elain is immediately at his side as well, lifting his arm over her shoulders to also hold him up. The younger Vanserra brother’s lids are heavy, his breaths ragged, his posture slumping.

“Your gut feeling did not fool you, Er— Messer Vanserra.” Azriel tips his chin. “They were attacked. Found them shortly after Bologna.” Eris walks up to Lucien’s other side, taking him from Elain.

He extends his arm that is not holding Lucien up and brushes his hand over Elain’s head. A small smile appears on his face when he says, "Are you alright, cara?"

Tears well up in Elain's eyes at his sympathy. She shakes her head, then nods. "I am. But Lucien isn't! He's injured, badly!" Elain's voice trembles with a mixture of dread and panic, and Eris immediately understands the urgency of the situation.

“Azriel, you need to inform the medica. I can carry Lucien alone from here on, I have Elain after all. Please get us the medica!”

Azriel understands, and without saying another word, hands Lucien to Elain. Lucien groans, but something about Elain touching him, comforts him. She is there, has not for one second not been there for him. She did not leave him alone, despite him telling her to. She is his wife and she would never leave his side.

Elain and Eris assist Lucien as they enter the house, carefully guiding him towards the library, which offers the closest available couch. With great caution, they lower Lucien onto said couch, ensuring that no further pain is caused. Elain is shivering, her entire body shaking like a leaf caught in a gust of wind. Sensing her distress, Eris quickly retrieves a blanket and drapes it around her shoulders, before embracing her protectively in his strong arms. Elain continues to weep silently, her tears soaking into his chest. Eris asks in a soft voice, "What happened? Can you recall anything? Did you see anyone?”

Elain's voice quivers as she replies, "No... I was knocked unconscious. Even if I had seen someone, I wouldn't have recognised them. But I heard someone... someone who believed we were dead.”

Eris, his body tense with understanding and concern, releases a low hum. His posture is rigid, every fiber of his body on high alert.

They medica needs nearly an hour to arrive. It makes sense, Azriel had to run there first and alert the medica who was probably asleep already, and then the medica had to come here. In the meantime brother and wife have managed to help Lucien out of his shirt and have provided the necessities for the medica — a basin with water, fresh clothes and towels and some small bowls for mixing herbs and medication.

Eris leans against the back of the couch, watching the medica, Madja, as she slowly peels back the fabric and stockings Elain has wrapped around Lucien's torso. Her eyes sparkle with silent admiration as she does so.

“You are quite a smart girl, Madonna Vanserra,” the medica comments as Elain crouches down next to couch and clasps Lucien’s hand in both of hers.

It feels like time stands still. Madja, bathed in the soft glow of the oil lamps Eris has brought closer to the couch, meticulously studies Lucien's belly and the wound. With careful hands and coordinated movements, the medica cleans the wound, removing dirt and debris, as well as blood and pus and the small splinters of wood that are still stuck in his skin. When all is clean, Madja observes the wound. A metallic tang fills Elaine’s senses and she realises that she has been biting down on her lower lip a little too hard. She swallows thickly, watching the shallow rises of Lucien’s chest. The rise and fall is slow, but steady.

From a well-worn leather satchel, Madja retrieves a number of tools and small bottles. Elain knows that Madja’s touch, almost like a soft caress, conveys reassurance and care to Lucien — she takes her time, she knows what she is doing, and she will heal him. She pours the liquid of a small, green-ish bottle onto Lucien’s belly, then dabs it dry with a small cloth. Madja puts cream onto the wound, and then with both Eris and Elain’s help, them holding Lucien up again, she wraps a cotton bandage around Lucien’s middle. The youngest Vanserra brother lets it all, occasionally groaning and yelping, but displaying bravery as he endures it all. Even as Eris and Elain assist him to his bedroom later on, he does not complain about the pain. Instead, he only releases muted sounds of distress, followed by a deep sigh of relief when his body hits the soft mattress of his bed.

“Anything special happened here?” he groans, his lids closing. Eris wipes his hand down his face, beads of sweat caught in his eye brows. He ponders, not sure if he should tell Lucien. He does not want to put him in more distress, but he opts for telling him. Lucien has a right to know.

“Jacobo is running for Gonfaloniere,” Eris informs his brother matter-of-factly and Elain can almost hear how Lucien’s blood chills. She doesn’t really know much about politics, but she knows that this is not good. Really not good.

“And Ianthe is back.”

“Fuck,” Lucien breathes and a sharp pain erupts in Elain’s heart. It troubles Elain, that Ianthe, who is Eris' wife and Lucien’s sister-in-law, would be talked about in such a vulgar manner. Yes, maybe they don’t love each other, but that is still not the reaction one would expect someone to have about their sister-in-law.

Eris only huffs in answer, straightens his sleeping robe and drums his hands onto the lower bed frame. “I will head back to bed now. There is a lot to do tomorrow. Call when you need something.” Lucien dips his chin and thank his brother who leaves the room a moment later. The door is snugly shut and silence falls over the couple in the room. But Lucien shits a little, turning to his wife.

“Stay with me.” He looks up Elain, his lids heavy, his head rolling to the side.

“Of course,” Elain answers, her voice soft with affection. She blows out the single candle on Lucien’s bedside table, surrounds the bed and carefully climbs onto it. She hesitates for a long moment, not sure is she should move closer or keep some distance between them. She opts for the former, and rests her head —her arms stay close to her body— on his shoulder, always careful of his wound.

“I am so relieved it all turned out well. That were are back and safe. That you are fine,” she breathes and a single tear falls onto Lucien's warm skin.

He leans his head against hers and places a soft kiss upon the crown of her head, a gesture of comfort and affection that speaks volumes without the need for words. Inhaling deeply, his body trembles a little. “I will never be able to thank you enough for saving my life, Elain. What you did…was outstanding,” he finally says and a silent sob parts Elain’s lips. “You mixed herbs, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Elain answers and feels the tiniest bit of pride bloom in her heart. Yes, she did. And she thought of it and she mixed it and she put it onto his skin to heal him. And no one else told her to. It was her idea.

“So smart.” Her husband's voice is laced with admiration and also a hint of pride when he tells her his compliment. “Thank you, really. Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I am your wife. This is my—“ “You saved my life, Elain. And I will thank you for that, no matter what you say.” He leaves no room for discussion, his voice strong and unwavering.

Elain accepts it, and decides to change the topic. She is tired and she knows Lucien is as well, but she also wants an answer. She has to address it now. Tomorrow too much time will have passed, now the topic is fresh, and as his wife and Eris’ sister-in-law she feels entitled to know. Or…she is just very curious and nosy. A trait she does not like that much about herself…

“So, Ianthe is back.” It is all she says and then waits for Lucien to answer.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbles. Elain finds herself enveloped once again by the same melancholic emotion, as the familiar wave of sadness washes over her again. Why would he talk about Ianthe like that? And would he ever talk about her like that as well? She doesn't believe Lucien is capable of talking about her like this, that this is in his nature, but still the doubt is here, strong and thick as it stretches out like a dark cloud that settles over Elain.

Lucien must have sensed her troubling thoughts and says, “Ianthe is…she is a bad person. And she, with what she said and did, hurt me deeply. And she also hurt Eris. She is not a good person, she does not own a heart and soul like you do. Her is rotten, spoiled and wrenched.” He sounds spiteful when he talks about her and Elain wants to take the pain from him. Why would this woman have caused him such pain? What could she have possibly done?

“What did she do?” Elain asks, her voice soft, but she speaks through clenched teeth.

She did too many things, Lucien thinks. Things he doesn’t want to recall, so he opts for the one thing he allows himself to think of, the thing he will partly share with Elain. “I lost someone close to me and on the day they were buried Ianthe told me to behave like a man and stop crying and that it was my fault they died.” His throat is dry, aching fiercely when he swallows around the lump the size of a peach having formed there. He can’t say more, it would break him in his already vulnerable state. He will tell Elain one day. He will tell her everything. But not right in this moment.

“Now, sleep, Elain. You need to rest. You, out of everyone, deserve it the most tonight.” He kisses the top of her head again and Elain is lost for words, although she wants to protest that he needs it more.

Even though he does not tell her more, she knows she can believe him. Trust him. Since the day she met him, she has known that he is kind and good. But now, now she knows something else. She knows she is falling for him. And that head over heels. She is falling for her husband — a thought that is not at all absurd, but still surprises her a little. She would have never thought so when she left Venice for Florence.

~~~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes @tuzna-pesma-snova general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#elucien #elucien au #elucien acotar #acotar elucien #acotar #acosf

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eleni-cherie · 2 years

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lonely hearts club ✨ || kth au - chapter 2.1

“lonely hearts club // do you want to be with somebody like me?”

maybe single parents are meant to be members of the lonely hearts club.

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: single parents au, romcom, humour, fluff, angst, strangers to friends to lovers s2f2l

»»»

"Hm, I don't see anything here. Only a large bench an-" Taehyung cut himself off. His lips parting slightly when eventually spotting the painting Cassandra had been talking about. The reason they were there. Or at least one of the reasons. After all it had been him who had asked her out to that place. What better first official date then doing something they were both into? -Besides that he couldn't come up with anything better. "See, told you it was massive." She appeared beside him with a grin when seeing his face. He was in awe. "Come," she said then and walked to the large sitting area right underneath it. Taking a seat then before laying down on the velvet cushion. She gestured for him to join. Taehyung took a brief glance around the empty area. Two other visitors were observing sculptures in the next room. Otherwise there wasn't any other soul there. The perks of going to a museum during a weekday. Nodding, he laid down next to her. Staring with big eyes at the large painting on the ceiling. His brown irises wandering over the different colours and depicted persons. "The twelve Olympian gods," Cassandra explained then and he peeked at her. Seeing her eyes also fixated on it. He nodded then, redirecting his gaze back to it as well. "It's.. impressive," he breathed out, "And much larger than I thought." He chuckled then. "Do you think it'll fall down on us?" She gasped. "Now I do! Thanks!" She giggled, nudging his side, making him chuckle under his breath. He tried recalling all the names of the gods. "Who was that God far left? The one with the hammer?"

"The one with the hammer was Hephaestus," she quietly explained then. Losing herself a little in the big canvas and paint. Eyes gliding over the depicted gods. Trying recognising and remembering them all. "He was the god of blacksmithing and had created many armours and gadgets for other gods and famous heroes. And he was husband of Aphrodite." Taehyung hummed, simply listening to her narration. He liked listening to her explanations over subjects she knew or cared about. "But actually she was in love with Ares, the god of war," she breathed then. Sensing Cassandra's hand next to his, his fingers glided closer to hers. Eventually intertwining them. He did it so nonchalantly, it was as if he had been doing it forever. And she felt her cheeks flushing. Which was ridiculous, she knew. She felt like a teenager when she was an adult who had done far more than just holding hands with him. But still, the fact he could make her feel like this, was quite invirogating. And pure. "You're quite smart," he stated then with a soft expression. "Obviously you are. It's just.. You're also very booksmart." "I'm not that booksmart," she smiled, "I just know a thing or two. Mainly from documentaries." She tilted her head then, resting it on his shoulder. And they stayed like this. Silently viewing the ceiling-covering classical painting. Half-covered mythological entities devided in squares and ovals, which were framed by golden ornaments. And Taehyung felt small for a moment. But then Cassandra shifted next to him and her cheek pressed a little more onto his shoulder. And he smiled to himself, tightening his fingers around hers.

He felt small, but in this silence with her, he also felt at peace.

Time passed and they continued strolling through long corridors with different coloured walls. past numerous art pieces. It was nice not doing this alone for once. And with that airy, babyblue frilly dress and her long curls, Cassandra looked like having escaped an art piece herself. Like coming straight from the painting of fairies or nymphs she was currently viewing. Or so he thought at least while silently watching her. She looked like she belonged there. Among all this art. They walked around a bit more, getting to see everything. Encountering only a handful people through the corridors. They looked like tourists. Taehyung frowned when noticing a guy staring at them when passing by. Or rather her. "People tend to look at you a lot," he stated blandly then. Causing Cassandra to avert her gaze from a sculpture. Her brows raised. "Really? I didn't notice." "I notice it sometimes," he mumbled and licked over his lips. Remembering some other occasions they had been together and people gaping at her. And her being oblivious to it. A stern look appeared on his eyes, even if he tried hiding it. She could tell it was bothering him. She simply shrugged though. "It's probably just my curly hair." "Maybe," he mumbled. "Tae.. are you perhaps a little jealous?" He huffed, looking away. "No, I mean.. You're pretty. Makes sense for everyone to stare at you." She pursed her lips. That was the second time ever he had called her that. "It's okay if you are, as long as you don't make a scene or become a control-freak," she said then unfazed, "I'd also get jealous if some attractive woman looked at you for too long." His eyes widened and the corners of his lips tucked into a smirk. "Oh, so you're the jealous type?" "Yeah, a little," she admitted embarrassed, "But I don't act out on it. As long as you don't give me a reason to." "Same." "Good." "Cassandra?" They stopped in front of a glass facade. "I wouldn't be jealous if you'd be just a random person, you know? I am, because.. because.." He dragged out a sigh. Feeling his chest jittery. He wanted to say it. He really did, but he couldn't. Uncertain if it was the right moment. He regretted not saying it back then, when they had kissed. Days had passed since then after all. "It's okay," she smiled warmly at him. Understanding his struggles. After all she had struggled telling him something as well. She had almost said it once. Thinking about it now, she was glad she hadn't said it then though. "I'm not good in voicing my feelings either." She looked away, feeling her face heating after admitting that. He hadn't realised being tensed up until his shoulders relaxed at her words, slouching them. He wasn't alone on this. "But know that I trust you, okay?" She smiled. "I trust you, too."

Soon they walked out of the building. The museum closing in half an hour. "Oh, the sun is setting," Cassandra noted surprised. "How many hours we've been in there?" "Many apparently," he said, sounding equally surprised. The small garden in front of the museum was bathed in the dim light of the evening sun. The tall ionic columns surrounding it and dividing it from the main street, casting long shadows on the green hedges. Leaving the whole place in a drowsy atmosphere. Cassandra climbed down the stairs and paused in front of a large, wheel-shaped metallic object that was placed in the middle of the area. Observing the slowly disappearing sun from between the columns. "Hey, Tae?" Her voice soft and shy. He stopped beside her with a hum, glancing down at her orange glowing face. He could see the sunset light reflecting in her eyes. Waiting for her to continue. She looked down, before giving him a small smile. "This.. this was a date, right? I mean an actual one." His head tilted, furrowing his brows. "Why are you speaking in past tense? It's not over yet," he smirked, making her perk up. And she couldn't help but grin as well. "Oh, okay. Great. I just wasn't sure if.. nevermind. Where to next?" He thought for a moment, flashing her a boyish grin. "I got two options, you decide." She was seemingly excited to hear that. "Which are?" He held his index finger up. "Number one is a fancy restaurant with great food and great wine." She nodded. "And what's option two?" "Number two," he said while lifting a second finger, "Is grabbing some takeaway and going to a nice place I know."

»»»

"Wow, that view is quite.. vertiginous," Cassandra laughed out awkwardly. Unconsciously taking a step back from the cliff. "Are you afraid of heights?" "N-no, it's just.. it's pitch black and looks like a black hole down there," she giggled, feeling embarrassed with herself. "It probably wouldn't be that bad in daylight. But don't worry, I'll get used to it." She gave him a reassuring smile as she leaned against the front of his car and continued eating her instant ramen. Holding the bowl as close as possible to her face. He nodded, not fully convinced though. His eyes wandering at the illuminated skyline of the city. The hill didn't look too high from the bottom. Especially not when driving up there. But once they had reached the top and got out of the car, it was dizzingly high. "Look, somewhere there is the square with the fountain," he pointed out to somewhere right. Trying distracting her mind. "And there further away is the museum we went to." Cassandra stayed quiet, only nodding. To be honest, she couldn't spot any of these places this far in the distance. She simply trusted his words. Finding his enthusiasm adorable. And Taehyung sighed, slurping on his own ramen. "I'm sorry, this must be the worst first date ever." "What? No, why would you think that? It's super beautiful and romantic here," she ensured him. He smiled apologetically. "You're obviously scared. We should go." "No, I'm really not," she vigorously shook her head. "I like it here. You don't get to see a view like this every day." He arched a brow. Trying reading her face in the almost non-existent light. "You sure?" he asked, bending down a little to be able recognising her features. "Yep." He dragged a sigh. "Tell me if not, okay?" She nodded, finding it flattering how much he appeared to worry for this date to go smoothly. "Don't feel bad. I'm genuinely enjoying this. I've always dreamt about going on a night drive with my boyfriend." Her eyes abruptly widened when realising what she had just said. She had called him her boyfriend even though they had never discussed it. It was obvious both of them wanted something serious out of this, but still, they hadn't talked about these labels yet. "I mea-" "Alright noted," he mumbled, nodding to himself, "There will be many more night drives then." And her face lit up.

He was her boyfriend. And she was his girlfriend.

"How did you find this place, by the way?" she asked then in an attempt to change topics. Her eyes in a frown as they desperately fixated on the ramen. She was trying fishing the last noodles out with her chopsticks. Praying she wouldn't embarrass herself in front of him now. "Me and Namjoonie discovered it some years ago," he explained then while finishing his own food. Putting the paper container on the car behind him. "We had lost a bet with the others and had to climb up here early in the morning. As a penalty." Cassandra laughed out at this, making him laugh as well. "Guys surely have some odd ideas, coming up with things like this," she giggled amused. "What was the bet about?" "Can't remember," he shrugged, "Not even sure it was one. Maybe it was a game we lost." "Well, at least something good came out of this loss. I like this place a lot. It's great for stargazing," she smiled and turned her head away from the city lights. Towards the dark mountain behind them. The nigh sky above it much clearer, she could even recognise some constellations. And Taehyung nodded. She always tried to find something positive in everything and he loved that character trait of hers.

By now, Cassandra had somehow managed finishing out the last noodles. Putting the empty container next to his before grabbing the plastic bag with all the snacks they had bought, rummaging until finding her mini chocolate cookies. She ripped it open, plopping a few into her mouth and started munching on them happily. Holding the bag out for him. "You want some?" He shook his head, amused. "I'm good." He tried suppressing a laugh then, pursing his lips. Making her frown. "What's so funny?" "First of all," he coughed then, calming himself down, "You got chocolate around your mouth, like a kid," he teased. Wiping the brown dot away from the corner of her lips with his thumb. And Cassandra had to hold her breath for a moment. "And second of all, why are you holding the bag so close to your face? And the ramen earlier, too?" "Not to stain my dress, obviously," she huffed, before mumbling, "It's my favourite one after all.." "Oh, your favourite one?" "Yes, my favourite one." "Extra for this date?" A cocky smirk spread over his heart-shaped lips. And she tried her best to make it seem like no big deal. "Yeah, sure." "Aw. You wanted to look good for me?" "I mean, it is a date after all. Our first one, even. Doesn't it make sense then?" "Hm, guess so," he mumbled, scratching his head before a lopsided smile tucked on his lips. "You know, that's one of my favourite outfits, too." He looked down and tugged at his dusky pink, almost beige shirt and she perked up. "I like this shirt," she nodded then and gently grabbed its collar, adjusting and smoothing it out. Taehyung inhaled deeply, observing her with a fond look.

"I know we're both reading the same book," she said then and let go. Her forehead creased as she seemed to be in deep thoughts before continuing. "But I'm not sure if we're on the same chapter." She smiled weakly, glancing at his striking features in the dark. He was quietly listening to her. His mind unreadable for her with his soft expression, as usual. "It's okay, though, maybe I'm just a few chapters ahead." Taehyung remained silent. Puzzled about her metaphor in a way and he scrunched up his face. "What makes you think we wouldn't be on the same chapter?" he eventually spoke up then. She pursed her lips as she shrugged. "I simply assumed." He studied her for a moment. Again, she confused him. One minute she was full of confidence and the next she acted so insecure. Like when that whole mess after the kiss had happened. When it came to him, she became insecure. And he knew it was partially his fault. Because he might not be as expressive for her to notice and also needed longer than others. Still, he didn't want her to be insecure about his feelings for her. "We're on the same one," he said in a stern voice. Making her giggle. "How do you know?" "Mhh, I simply assumed," he countered smugly. And she audibly huffed. "You sound so full of yourself," she laughed out amused. "How can you be so sure?" "Well," he slowly began then, "I know what I feel for you. And from the way you treat me, I can tell it must be the same." "You can't be so sure though. It might be a misconception," she smirked playfully. He heaved a sigh before laughing shortly. "There's only one way to find out. We have to say it out loud. Simultaneously maybe? To make it easier." She pouted for a moment before giving in. "Fine. Let's count down." "Three." She took a deep breath. "Two." "One." Both pursed their lips, eyes locked with each other before bursting out laughing. "No, that's not gonna work either," she sighed and averted her gaze from him. Wandering over the colourful sea of lights in the distance. And Taehyung observed her quietly. There was a glimpse of disappointment on her soft features. Almost melancholic. Making him wonder if she was sad in neither one of them had the guts to say it out loud. And although there was a small amount of insecurity lying inside him, as well, he wanted to change the expression on her face. Maybe it was too early. However, considering everything they had been through together in those seven months, maybe it wasn't too early after all. Especially if those were his true feelings for her.

"I love you."

It flowed so naturally from his lips. Like it was the easiest thing to say. And maybe it was after all. And indeed, the expression on her face changed. Her eyes widened and she gave him what was probably the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. "And I love you." And they smiled at each other, like two idiots in love. Cassandra got on her tiptoes then, sneaking her arms around his neck to make him stoop to her level. And he did so, following her moves. His hands finding their way around her waist. "It's getting a bit cold out here with the dress," she whispered then. Eyes flickening between his lips and eyes with an alluring sparkle. "And there's another thing I always wanted to try with my boyfriend." Mischief was written all over her face and Taehyung's mouth twitched, smirking. Understanding what her eyes were trying to tell him.

"We should get in the car then. Can't risk you catching a cold."

»»»

next chapter: 2.2 here

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republicsecurity · 8 months

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Behind the illusion

Don't read this if you are afraid of getting your illusion and fantasy destroyed. Read this if you want to embrace this kind of creativity and maybe help in writing stories, reports or snippets from this world.

Some people have asked how I generate this stories and the artwork. It is simple: it's a mixture of midjourney AI generated pictures and processing done in Affinity Publisher. The text are made with the help of ChatGPT after setting a lot of parameters or learning the model.

So how do I make the pictures? I have found pictures look well if you design them around the following prompt:

"A Cinematic Scene from 2023, sci-fi Drama, "Resilience", close up shot, one smiling teenage male cadet in red one piece uniform with shaved head, talking on videoconference, captured by Handheld camera, film directed by Greta Gerwig, Inspiring, toom call, --style raw --ar 21:9"

Midjoruney gives me this for examples and I use the upscale button to make the bigger.

--ar 21:9 = defines a hight and wideness. Here I choose to make the pictures wider. If you do nothing you get 1:1 which you can well use for instagram.

The prompt should be structured like this:

Setting the scene - (closeup, panorama, bird eye,...), then the subject, then more info about the camera, film. it's also possible to go for a style. I often opt for "ODST", by "Syd Mead", or "Tron".

See full instructive article: https://linusekenstam.substack.com/p/tutorial-dynamic-prompting

Also you can use the pan option:

to get these by simple repeating the command:

For angles use this guide

Another technique I like is varying this prompt:

I got this from him:

A photo from first person POV | while climbing through a street at golden hour | talking to a cadet in red body suit with shaved head | like a FPS videogame | from the angle, style of ODST --ar 16:9 --style raw --no helmet

As you can see I used "style of ODST" and "ar 16:9" to have a video game like image. Not every command produces what you want and you have to settle for it sometimes or try.

How to make these into more complex Images?

I do some creative after processing. Lets show on this picture:

As you can see, this is already some interactions of the base prompt. I then copy the picture into Affintiy Publisher:

I then use the image adjustment tools "fx" to change the colours and thus often the moods of the images. So you can make it look like a green tinted night vision image.

Also through publisher I add text overly, the helmet POV corners, symbols, etc...

Items and Mockups

From time to time its nice to have some items and mockups, sometimes in colours that they are not necessarily in real life.

Here in the Accessories page I created everything, except the chastity cage by Midjourney. The prudes don't let you create these things, so for sexual stuff you have to either use things that looks like it or use other sources.

I then combine these images on a bigger DIN A4 sizes canvas, that often emphasises the meaning.

mockup of a red flightsuit uniform on white background --style raw

I usually upscale and then use the picture I like best.

Examples

panorama shot a group ODST paramedic cadet with helmet in red full body armour, shot on Kodak Chrome, marching on a training ground, in the style of double exposure, red and green, mixed race , male --style raw --ar 16:9

a young men with a shaved head trying on some red ODST body armour, workshop, captured by Handheld camera, mixed race; image split into 4, shot from different angle, bright colours --style raw

Angles

Futuristic Filmschool Portrait, young cadet with shaved head in red flightsuit uniform, standing in front of a grey wall, Detailed Face, Minimal Composition, Simplicity, Awardwinning Muted Colors --ar 9:16 --seed 5000

Text

Text and story is an entirely different thing. I use chat GPT after i gave it some basic instructions, biggest problem was to let it write about mind control and chastity without disapproval. I still don't remember how I made it do that.

#ai art #ai artwork #midjourney #chatgpt #prompts

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silkflovvers · 1 year

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*bursts through the wall* IS IT TOO LATE FOR ALBEDO DAY??

i saw you've written lucbedo? I've somehow never read that pairing before, despite them being my two faves, so I will take anything and everything you've got!!!!!!!

(also thanks for being such an amazing creator and sharing your works with us!)

*bursts through another wall* It's never too late for Albedo Day! (although for this specific thing, the cut off is Sept. 14th 12:00 AM EST, so you're good!)

This finally gives me an excuse to break out my Modern AU Version 2 (AKA the Modern AU where DIluc is a single father who falls for the chronically lonely teacher/artist Albedo)!!! Woooooo!!! Since you haven't read anything for the pairing before, I shall give you the scene where they first meet.

(Also thank you, you are so sweet ueueueue)

"Modern AU Version 2 WIP 1/??"

Rating: General Audiences Ship: Lucbedo Tags: Modern AU, Single Father Diluc, Teacher/Artist Albedo

“You seem fascinated with this specific painting, sir.” The blond spoke softly, drink in hand as he approached the fiery redhead silhouetted against the large canvas.

“Ah, I guess you could say I am.” He nodded when he turned his head and met a set of half lidded, bright turquoise eyes.

“What about it has enraptured you?” The blond asked with a sip of his drink, cucumber infused water—so long as no one bothered to smell it and say otherwise. The regular gallery patrons did not have access to the bottle of vodka in the back.

“It’s absolutely haunting.” The taller of the two replied. He brushed his gloved fingers over his jaw as he stared and stared at the painting.

“Haunting? In what way? Is it not beautiful?” Turquoise twinkled with dull interest.

“It is, it’s beautiful indeed… However, I can’t help but feel like I’m seeing something I don't have the right to see. It’s beautiful and otherworldly, but that same otherworldly quality is what causes my unease. It seems not of this world, yet its likeness to this one is uncanny. These plants are not from here, but look like they could be. The grass is red, but it’s painted so matter of factly, I’m tempted to wonder if the artist is colorblind, but his other works suggest otherwise. There are flowers and clouds, but something seems foreboding and threatening. Like it wants me to look away so that it can do something it does not wish for anyone to witness.”

"You have a keen eye, sir." The blond hummed thoughtfully. "Most people would simply see it as a lovely painting, but you looked a bit deeper."

"Do you, too, find it unsettling?" The man asked him, finally sparing him more than just a glance.

"I do. It was completed in a short period of inner turmoil for the artist. Some might say he painted it in a fit that lasted three days. There were others like this, but they were not included due to diverging from the theme of the show." He said casually, staring back at the man before slipping his eyes back to the painting. "I would say that anxious state he was in shines through in the foreboding atmosphere of the piece."

"I don't believe any of that was stated on the plaques beside the paintings or in the information available at the front desk. Do you, by chance, know the artist?" The redhead asked with a raised brow.

"I would truly hope so, but I cannot say for certain." The blond smiled with half lidded eyes.

The taller man frowned and turned back to the painting.

"Albedo Kreideprinz." The blond extended a hand towards the stranger. Crimson eyes fixed him with a curious stare before taking his hand with a polite shake.

"Diluc Ragnvindr." He replied in turn.

"To what do I owe the honor of entertaining the famed wine tycoon?" Albedo's smile curled upwards even further at the corners.

"Your time is enough." Diluc nodded curtly and shifted his gaze away. "It should be me repaying the artist for his time."

"There's no need. It's customary for the artist to attend the opening and chat with guests. You are not so special as to necessitate a fee just to speak with me. We are all equals in this setting." He insisted, still watching the man carefully.

Diluc frowned again.

"So you were merely teasing?" He asked, referring to Albedo's earlier comment.

"Yes. I thought it may result in a humorous reaction. It seems you are too genuine to request anything from me." The blond admitted.

"I am unfortunately out of practice with friendly banter." Diluc sighed.

"I do not fault you for that. It was a welcome surprise. And simply makes conversation easier for me. Less social intricacies I have to concern myself with." Albedo crossed his arms over his chest, resting his glass in the crook of his elbow.

"Then, I hope you wouldn't mind if I inquired about the price of this piece?"

Turquoise locked on twin rubies in an instant.

"You wish to purchase my work?"

"Is that so strange?" His tone softened.

"I simply wasn't expecting an offer on my largest piece on opening night." Albedo shook his head. "While I'm flattered, all sales must be completed through the gallery staff."

"I see. It's been quite some time since I last attended one of these." Diluc nodded in understanding.

Albedo ran the cool metal of his tongue piercing against the ridges on the roof of his mouth as he studied the redhead once more. This man beside him was tall, taller than himself, but notably shorter than a few acquaintances of his. Diluc’s eyes were genuine, but tired. He was life-worn and frayed a bit at the edges. Gray-violet shadows hung beneath his eyes and there was a practiced set to his jaw that was both polite and on the edge of frustration. His posture was perfect, trained, perhaps beaten into him by a strict upbringing.

He was someone Albedo wanted to study and dissect piece by piece. This man had seen his work as more than just a landscape, and he wanted to know why.

“Do you have an interest in the arts, Mr. Ragnvindr?” He asked, expression softened to appear friendlier.

“Diluc. Just Diluc is fine.” The taller man replied with a sigh. “I took many art history courses in college. I’m no artist myself, but I appreciate the process and final product nonetheless. People who can translate thoughts and words into images have my utmost respect.”

Albedo lazily blinked as he digested the answer.

“Then, Diluc, do you have plans after this?”

The redhead startled slightly and turned to look at him.

“I promised the sitter I’d be back by eight.” He replied with complete honesty.

“Ah, my apologies.” Albedo glanced down at Diluc’s hands. They were hidden away beneath the black leather of his gloves. “I wasn’t aware you’re a married man.”

“Was.” He murmured back.

The blond lifted his eyes to catch the faintest dusting of pink atop the man’s cheeks.

“Was married. No need to apologize.” Diluc cleared his throat behind a gloved fist. The redhead’s demeanor turned heavy, but he visibly pushed away the thoughts weighing on him. Albedo couldn’t tell if he seemed sad or relieved to clarify he was no longer married.

“Then, perhaps another night? You could join me for a drink?” Albedo narrowed his eyes and smiled. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re easy to converse with. I’d like to learn more about you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent conversation partner.”

Diluc paused to consider his words.

“I don’t drink.” He told Albedo softly. The artist’s expression remained unchanged. “However, I wouldn’t be opposed to having someone to eat a meal with.”

“Are you asking me to dinner, Diluc?” The blond quietly wondered if the man ever smiled.

#gnsn #genshin fanfic #lucbedo #mauv2 #Happy Albedo Day #Albedo Day 2023

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jeanbury74 · 11 months

Text

A CC filled lot this time. English-ish House is up on the gallery. 3 bed, 2.5 bath, with a pantry and laundry room. ID jeanbury. All the CC used is written below. Beware, it's a long 'un!

876 simmer-Oslo wardrobe, lowboy dresser, nightstand and standing mirror.

9 sims-DIY stars wall hanging.

Adrestea Moon-Storybook Lover and PJR Paintings.

Ars Botanica-Peonies Pitcher and Peony Jule Cup.

Ameyasims-You're So Vain: Vanity Brush and Hand Held Mirror.

ATS4-Breakfast: Milk Pack, Coffee Jars, Coffe Jar, Milk Bottle, Instant Drink, Tea Tin, Tea Box, Cocoa Powder Box. Fruit Juice Packs, Fruit Juice Glass Bottle, Coffee Bag. Baking: Wooden Spoon,Mechanical Scale, Timer, Canister, Baking Decoration Jar, Dried Fruits, Mixing Bowl, Baking Aids, Flour, Nutella, Baking Aids Stock, Dried Fruits Stock, Electronic Scale, Measuring Cup, Sugar, Jar, Measuring Cups, Rubber Spatula, Pastry Wheel, Candied Fruits. SnowyDay: Gloves, Wall Scarf #2, Wall Beanie #1, Fur Boots, Boots Snowcalf, Wall Coat #1 and #2 Bag Clutter: Tic Tacs.

Awingedllama-Apartment Therapy Potted Vine Round Mirror, Hanging Ivy.

Charley Pancakes-Insomnia: Organic Cotton Bedding. Miscellanea: Book Collection, Standing Books, Book Series.

Desimmy-Tiny Nifty Pictures.

Dew At Home-Hallway Hanging Scarf.

Duckey-Springtime Melody ,mug, Forever Spring Canvas Art, Lil Lilies, Friends and More Friends(these are table mounted frames that are called friends. That's all the information that was given)

Faaeish-BB Wall Decor Pegs and Toy Camera.

Felixandre-Chateau: Alarm Clock, Bedding, End Table, End Table 2, Drawer, Table Lamp, Rug Square, Telephone, Dresser. Grove: Salad Bowl, Lady Sam's Peony Vase, Bedframe V1. Grove-Timbershelf Inside Corner, Flagstone Floor, Cups, Stacked Plates, Stacked Plates 2, Stacked Plates Small, Wall Basket Small, Casserole, Bowls.

Felix and Harrie-Livin Rum: Box Files, Rug, Book Row, Book Series. Orjanic: Table Lamp, Bench, Cushion 2, Book End. Baysic: Toothpaste Container. Florence Fresco Mural. Tiny Twavellers:Hedge Wall.

GhostlyCC-Pre Raphaelite Paintings.

Harrie-Coastal Kitchen: Cereal Boxes, Cabinet Stack, Accent Counter 1 Marble Type, Coastal: Farmhouse Kitchen Sink with Tea Towel, Tins, Sofa, Tv Unit, Display Cupboard, Small Plates, Bowl, Bowl Stack, Cans, , Large Plates. Heritage: Traditional Towel Ring, Bowl Traditional Toilet, Traditional Runner, Landscape Artwork, Traditional Console Table, Floor Lamp, Traditional Round End Table, Traditional Elegant Mirror Small, Traditional Desk, Traditional Bust. Country: CoffeeTable.

Haruinosato-2x1 Curtain 01 Short.

Javabeandreams-Whimsical Animal Portraits.

Kardofe-Vienna Dining Room Curtains, Bella Babies Bedroom Small Pics.

Kliekie-Yove Plants 06, Awipow Plants 11, DecorationsPlants 10 Dragon's Herb. Whisper Laurel Plants 05

Kriss-Scania Build Set:Windows Classic Colonial 2 Tile, Classic Estate 2 Tile,Jugend Cottage 2 Tile.

Leafmotif-Botanical Bathtub, Twee Tableware: 6 Egg bowl, 9 Pot with Lid, Twin Mug Stacks, Whimsy Cake Plate, Short Pitcher. Basil's Favourite Chair 3 Maud Lewis Paintings

Linacherie-Ts2 Olde Tyme Skillets, Billyjean Curio Kitchen: Trays, Clip, Jar. Simlish Art 11, RPC Prints, Sizzling Cuisine Mitts, Delicious Bakery: Cookbooks, Flour Bag.

Madame Ria-Back To Basics: Spice Bottle,Dish Rack, Cereal Box, Pot Holder Wall, Modular Shelves, Coffee Tin, Pot Holder, Stock Pot, Dressing Container, Spice Rack, Counter Grey Scale, Open Book.

Marefc-Half Tiled Walls 2.

MC- Modern Crafter The Short Contemporary Radishly Plant

Menaceman 44-Granny's Brolly Vase.

Midsummersim-Simterest Poster.

Moonlightsim-Photo Frame Memories.

Nocturne-Rustic Cottage: Pokers, Master Curtain, Pedestal Old Miller Tea Set, Deco Retro Vacuum, Not So Shabby Rug, End Table. Grandma Cupboard.

Nynaeve Design-Lyne Half Curtains Blinds V1. Lyne Three Quarters Blinds V2, 1069, 1069 Lyne Radiator 1 Tile.

Okruee- ACNH Bathroom Towel Rack. (Animal Crossing)-

Omorfi Mera- Glass Jars.

PlasticBox- Modular Plant Hanging Pot.

Peacemaker-Hinterlands:Living Throw Pillow, Farmhouse Dining Table, Single Bedframe, Cottage Dining Chair, Bedside Table, Luxurious Single Bedding V1, Arched Mirror, Wardrobe, Bedframe with Footend, Nightstand. Hinterlands Living: Stately Fireplace, Coffee Tray Table, Mantle Mirror, Fringed Pouffe. Hinterlands Dining: Framed Dining Chair, Hanging Clock, Short Petal Pendant Porcelain Lamp.

Piersim- The Office Mini Pack: Higher Plant, Landline, Stackable Book, Printer.

Pocci-S Cargeaux Cabinet RecoloursCyclamen Outdoor, Iris Outdoor, Lilac In A Glass Bottle, Woodcabinet Open (Book cabinet Mini Set), Vintage Tea Set: Teacup With Tea, Milk Pitcher, Cupcake Plate. Magnolia Ceramic Vase, Basket Decor With Slots, Anthropologie Ottoman, Laundry Day Basket on Stool, Steaming Coffee Cup, Marguerite Teacup Empty, Iris In Glass Jar. Single Rose Glass Bottle. Potted Lily Of The Valley.

PTS-Cottage Garden Tea Tin Herbs, Granny's Basket Deco, Deco Mason Jar Short.

Quaylinsims- Paintings Zodiac.

Rhiannon AR-Medium Rug Floral Modern, Long Rug WithModern Floral Patterns

Ricca Bee-Mom's Lamp.

RSVN-Clothes Minded: Fedora, Floppy Hat, Baseball Hat, Sweater. Peg To Differ: Dish Towel, Knife Set, Mug, Utensils. Simmerdown: Cookie Jar, Mason Jar, Mug, Hanging Pots And Pans, Paper Towel, Ceramic Jar, Macaroon Jar. Smeglish Kettle Large.Procraftination:Hoop Large,

RoyIMVU-Seagrass Baskets.

Silverhammer-Executron Executive Desk Throne.

SimMan123-Sheer Right Curtain Short.

Sixam-Spring Six Kitchen: Buttery Toast, T Meg Mid Century Toaster With Toast, TMeg The Terrance, Deco Stove Hood, Olly's Oil Bottles, Kitchen Appliances Stove, Don't Be A Square Plate.

SJB (Yika)-Charlie Set Two CurtainsV1.

Soloriya-Zoe Blinds Part 2.

SYB-Colette: Towel, Toilet Paper Rolls, Soap Dispenser,Wallshelf, Bath, Blanket, Sink, Floor Vertical Mirror, Book, Cupboard, Rug, Bath Tray, Toilet.Millenial: Fridge, Fruit Basket,Utensils Rack, Utensils Pot, Totebag, Spices, Dish Soap. Microwave, Olive Oil, Breadbox, Island, Trashbin, Shower Curtains Short. Highschool Corridor: Hanged Backpack, Sandrine Slippers.

Tianella SE- Honey Herbs Paintings.

Veranka-Yesteryear Loveseat.

Wistful Castle-Wistful Room Pictures, Wistful Lamp #1.

Wondymoon-Cycnus Curtains.

Zeenasims- English Cottage: Paintings, Wainscotting Wallpaper.

ZX-Tagada-Lighting Table Candlestick.

#mybuilds #sims 4 lots cc #ts4 cc lots

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