❛𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛❜ [LMK Oneshots] (Platonic & Romantic Yandere)

Snippet of 'Canvas' (Artist MK x Red Son)

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Prompt: The artist, could never recreate the beauty of his Muse, and that bothered him to a great extent.

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A/N: I absolutely love the artistic side of MK :v/🎨

The chapter, is a Snippet for an Upcoming fanfic, called 'Canvas' which is connected to the Muse Chapter.

I'm, still writing Two Chapters for the Book, before publishing it, and the artwork, was drawn by me. There's proof in the Artbook,

Just to clarify, I'm no expert in Chinese Beliefs, or history. My knowledge, regarding each God mentioned is limited, I'm still doing research which is a bit difficult, due to my terrible Internet Connection, and I unfortunately don't have access to Books, about Chinese Religion.

I apologise, in advance for any mistakes or if, my statement sounds offensive as my ignorance doesn't excuse my actions. You're free to give feedback, or any information.

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TW: Blood, Unsolicited Picturing, Slight Gore(?), Implied OCD, Perfection, Self-Harm, Hyperfixation, Obsession, and Offending a Diety.

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The brush was dipped with rosey acrylic paint, gently stroking the blank canvas, another one of their attempt to recreate the likeness, of his muse. It needed to be, nothing more than authentic perfection.

Floods of discarded paper were scattered across the room, even the forgotten trash bin was filled to the brim with torn illustration boards.

The papers, littered all over the dirty tile floor, was all failed attempts; all ripped and scratched. It crinkled beneath his sneakers. No matter how many times he tried to recreate a full on body shot or a simple portrait, He could never capture, the-said 'Likeness' of the Fiery Demon

The faces, was messily scribbled with charcoal pencil, marked with messy yet bold red cross, on the top, as the Artist felt deep dissatisfaction for his own creation, everything his worn and pale made, was simply- wrong.

"Not this one" His breath hitched, The ivory-haired male, bit on his own fingernails, anxiously before purposely chewing off the skin off his fingers, making the wound slowly seep out of blood.

They, carefully smeered, the blood, all over the canvas; thick crimson liquid oozing out from the bitten wound.
None of the other paint, could suffice-He tried acrylic, gauche and even oil paint but nothing could barely mimic the same deep red hue, that was Red Son's long glorious hair.

It, needed to be his blood.

Out of all the candidates, that he had previously. The fiery demon, had to be the most difficult subject to even work with, His stubbornness didn't help, with finishing this personal project, when he denied his request to be his personal muse .

So simply had to settle, by using pictures of Red Son, instead.

Unsolicited Picturing.

The more, he stared at all the photos, that was taken for 'educational' purposes, The more that Mk, jokingly believed that perhaps, Red Son was a reincarnation of Tu'er Shen, due to the feelings that evoked; slowly blossomed in his heart.

It, was even mentioned in the books; for his research on the entire life of an immortal being, when his first fixation, was the Monkie King. That the Moon Diety, Chang'e was undoubtedly the most attractive Goddess, but upon seeing her art in the Museum..

Mk, could say that Red Son, undoubtedly, proven himself to look better, physically.

He couldn't pinpoint the exact words to describe him, It was all comparison that couldn't even reach to to the demon's level, but they knew he looked better than those Gods, even when, combined.

So MK wanted to capture every aspect, every nook, detail and cranny. He, only desired to perfect the painting.

It angered, him, that he was no where to close to progressing.

But, If it would be easier, if Red son were to just cooperate, instead of running off in fear.

Mk, is an artist-was an artist.
A shameful one.

How could he even consider as an Artist,, if they weren't even able to paint, a simple and blank look.

He couldn't even capture that, So how could he possibly, capture the likeness that Red Son had?

Mk, considered himself,
To be a fraud.
What good of an artist, would he be, if they couldn't even paint such a simple art piece?

Heck, He couldn't even sketch the likeness of his Muse.

But, Red son was anything but simple
He was complex.

Those type of thoughts bothered him to the point, where, could barely even sleep nor eat. That constant frustration and disatisfaction kept him isolated inside this warehouse.

His phone, was off, ignoring all the messages, calls, emails or any distraction that might try to rip him away from his goal.

They locked himself, inside an abandoned warehouse.

The pitiful artist, paused for a moment, His only companions, was being alone with his degrading thoughts, that had no mercy for his own failures.

He longingly stared at the photos once more, all arranged in a messy order.

Taking in every gesture or expression, began to study the anatomy of blonde, staring at every nook and cranny

The young adult felt his heart pound, mercilessly, as if his heart was about to tear itself through the ribcage, but even with his newfound motivation to start all over again, He could never replicate the same essence, into his canvas.

That thought, only encouraged him to cause another tantrum.

"All wrong..." That was all, he could mutter after using his a strength to have, such a childish outburst, He, dropped down on the discarded paper, and long forgotten paint materials, whose liquid was used to the very bottom.

The blood, from his fingers spilling all over the photos, that was deemed to be unfit for his reference, yet still kept for other reasons.

Staring at the sight before him, It was like staring at the Greek Goddess, he hears of 'Aphrodite' except, The Fiery Prince, already proven himself to look better

He was obbessed with wanting to make the painting, as accurate as possible.

The only thing, the Artist felt grateful, was for the Heavens; the Celestial Realm to bestow upon him a gift.

Even when offending them, by always finding them all unfit for his standars od beauty.
He, was still given a gift.

The gift, being both his eyes to experience such beauty, and for being to catch someone that was beyond his standards.

But mostly, being blessed to such an exquisite existence.

And, the other being a smile.
The smile, that their Muse, etched on his face, when the demon, was victorious over the most simplest thing, or being finished building, the most difficult machines.

Truly, This obsession of trying to perfect the art and the desire to be able to touch the muse, wanting to know how his warmth and wanting to know how he feels felt seemed borderline criminal at this point, Does it even matter?