#portraitkept

[thebadtimewolf]

+5 ||

@dirtylimerick | @wwxnka | @voiceless-warrior | @portraitkept​ | @undeadunalive | 

“What was that?”

[portraitmade]

@portraitkept​ said: “ they were flirting with you ” // Accepting! 

        “ What? ”

        Basil looked back in the direction of the person they’d just parted ways with, and found them still looking his way with a coy little smile. The tall young man flushed and ducked his head, tucking a strand of red hair nervously behind his ear.  “ With me? Y-You must be mistaken, surely. They were probably flirting with you. ”  Besides, why would anyone, man or woman, want to flirt with an awkward struggling artist like himself when he was standing right next to Dorian? It didn’t make any sense. 

        It was only when blue eyes glanced back up uncertainly upon hearing a strange edge in Dorian’s voice, that he felt the weight of his eyes on him.  “ ...Why do you look upset? Was it something I said? ”  he asked, worried that he have accidentally offended the other man somehow.  “ Please. Tell me. ”  he placed a hand on the younger’s arm, concerned.

[portraitmade]

@portraitkept​ said: "My condolences, Mr. Hallward. We tried everything we could, but the burns and damage done were far too severe to be reversible, and I'm afraid Mr. Gray is no longer with us. Such a pity - what a dreadful house fire that was." 

        Just because the news didn’t surprise him, didn’t mean it felt any less like his entire world was ripped out from underneath Basil.

        The doctors’ and coroner were trying to speak to him, but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of ringing in his ears. Wordlessly, the artist brushed passed them and, after signing the paperwork that would allow Dorian to be properly interred (he had just given him the power to do so a few weeks ago — had the young man sensed something like this was coming?), he went to his house, the one he still owned but had not actually lived in properly for some time. His real HOME had been sectioned off as police investigated the cause of the attic fire which had stolen the love of his life. Emily was in the hospital for minor injuries and from the emotional impact, and he couldn’t bring himself to deliver the news to her yet.

        When he arrived, the portrait was waiting for him in the studio, the frame charred and warped from the heat. Harry had wanted to take it, but he’d shut him down with as much self-restraint as it took not to kill the son of a bitch. He’d never lay a finger on it, he’d already taken everything else from Basil, the portrait was legally his anyways, even if he’d gifted it to Dorian publicly. Basil touched the cover hanging over it, but couldn’t bring himself to remove it. What if it had reverted to the way it had looked in the beginning? He couldn’t bear to look at Dorian now, not after he’d just LOST him. 

        Dorian was dead, and nothing Basil or anyone else could do would bring him back. He choked back the grief-filled cry that rose in the back of his throat, and instead he turned and ripped the first sketch he saw off of his wall, then another, and another. He swiped the vast collection of brushes off of his work desk and knocked the wooden canvas over. Before long he had destroyed a good majority of the room, and yet nothing seemed to make him feel BETTER. He would have kept going, if he hadn’t caught sight of a paper sticking out of the leather bound book sitting on his table. 

        Shaking hands pulled the paper out, and he felt a fresh wave of tears come to his eyes as he took in the first sketch of Dorian he’d properly completed; so young and handsome, innocent, the warmth in his smile as he sat at the piano. Sinking to the floor against the nearby wall, Basil traced his fingers along the face of the sketch and held the drawing to his chest, as though it were actually him, as the sobs wracked his body. Hours later, he ended up falling asleep on the floor of the ruined studio, EXHAUSTED, with the drawing still tucked against his heart. 

[gatecoeur]

portraitkept needs a hideout

Arrie shot a glance to her left as a new figure sat down in it, just to see if she recognized a familiar face. When she didn’t though, she made nothing of it, looking away to finish what was left of her drink before ordering another.

{ @portraitkept​ } 

[thewonderingsorceress]

+1

@portraitkept​

“Don’t try to play the hero. You’ll end up dead.”

[josephinesrphub]

"Can't.. Can't sleep.. Won't sleep.. Who knows what's lurking when I sleep.. No.. Too many..." She hasn't slept in a few days, and seems nervous and distracted, looking into a mirror as she pins her hair back. "I can't.. No.."

She was shaking so much she couldn't even pin her hair back. She looks down for a second, at the pins and adjusting her hold. She looked back into the mirror, and froze, staring into it. She whips around, looking behind her. It was clear now what was happening. She was hallucinating.

She had her eyes locked on one spot, moving back, away from whatever it was She was seeing. To her? People from her past. "No. Leave me alone.. I can't.. Go away. No need to come closer." She warns. The effect was taking hold, and she was lost in the hallucination.

She sits against the wall, shutting her eyes, and covering her ears. Tears began falling, and she was shaking more, crying softly as she tried to tune out the hallucination.

@portraitkept

[josephinesrphub]

“  just let me sleep for five more minutes.  ”

Alice chuckles. "I was going to make you breakfast but if you want to sleep, I'll stay here with you as you sleep."

[portraitmade]

@portraitkept​ said: “Will you stay with me? Tonight? I just— I’d feel better knowing you’re near.”

        A few months ago, this sort of question would have thrown Basil for a loop, coming from Dorian.

        His friend—Companion? Lover? The redhead was admittedly unsure where they stood exactly—was not someone who asked for anything. Dorian pursued what he wanted with a passion. If their relationship had been as it was at the beginning of the year, he would have assumed this was the lad’s attempt at playing coy with him, flirting, either because he wanted something, or he was seeking to distract Basil again. But this time, he realized that wasn’t the case. He’d gotten to know the younger man more over the last half year or so since Dorian had revealed to him the cause of his lifestyle changes, and it was only because of this that he caught the stumble in his voice, the uncertainty. 

        It was all so new, and yet he didn’t have it in him to feel conflicted about his answer. 

        “ Of course. There is nowhere I would rather be tonight. ”   He didn’t address the waver of Dorian’s voice, not verbally. Neither of them particularly enjoyed being seen as vulnerable, after all. No, he didn’t need words to communicate with Dorian; he never really did. Instead, the painter made his way across the room and drew the dark-haired boy into his arms, as though to kiss him, but offered an embrace instead, tucking his face against his raven locks.  “ Come lay down with me, there’s a draft. You’ll feel better under the blankets. ”  They both knew there was no such thing; Victor kept an immaculate home. Every inch of the estate, save for the attic, was spotless and well maintained by him. But an excuse to do so sometimes made seeking COMFORT easier on one’s pride.