#also I felt comfortable sketching it??

[clown-demon]

((Sorry I am so fucking delighted rn.. I went out of my comfort zone and it came out okay.. Usually when I do no refs it's HORRID. I feel SO accomplished and it put me in a REALLY good mood.

[sketchy-tour]

Redrew some of my old daycare attendant doodles as stress relief today

[joyfuladorable]

Dragon of the Sun by @forestwhisper3

(Ch.5&6>)

You know, it was kind of weird...

Mikey sat on the living room couch, the sci-fi movie he was watching fading into the background after a really campy fight scene between two psychics reminded him of something.

The first time he'd had a freaky dream that ended up sort of true, he'd chalked it up to some weird crystal mumbo-jumbo messing with him. He figured it was a one-and-done sort of thing, especially since he hadn't had another since leaving the underground city.

But now it had happened again, and this time there were no crystals to blame.

GAHHHH!!!! THIS FIC!!! MYSTIC MIKEY BUT IT'S 03 MIKEY!!!!! This fic has my whole damn heart, holy shit! Author does a fantastic job diverging from canon and giving us all the family feels and character depth that the show didn't. My heart? Palpating, pumping, melting onto the damn floor!! Go read it!!!

[kiruamon]

Spring through the Seasons AU - Exploring

None story part of the SttS AU. Just a bunch of sketches of Moon and Y/N exploring Y/N's territory together on their way to the next border.

[caelanglang]

“Time lapses in its cruelest way when we are together.”

Music: The City Holds My Heart - Ghostly Kisses

[fantasy-girl974]

Search...

[skitskatdacat63]

Painting 🖼

[coffeebrownn]

im sorry what brushes do you use in clip studio paint??? i love your are sooo much its incredible

Hello! here's my main CSP brushes! this is the only 2 brushes that i edit out, the others are just default CSP brushes 😭i don't blend color i mostly use eye and guess 🧍

[wizardmarriage]

lonely, lonely

[came0dust]

esteemed tag readers, this is what i was alluding to last post. making a full-on original character again after however many years and personally i think ive made some major artistic strides these past few months, including while i was drawing him, that helped these feel fulfilling to work on (though also the fact that i was struggling with sleep at the time probably was a factor). havent really settled on a name yet, but his concept is "cursed werewolf except the curse is something else". i decided the "something else" was fire and his goal is, by some means or another, to rid himself of it

oh by the way the one looking up probably isn't him ultimately but it was the drawing that kicked off the session where i drew most of these so i thought it should also be here

[beastblade69]

tbh I'm avoiding rereading one flew because I'm scared I'll feel nothing when rereading. I cannot just feel nothing towards this book I swear. I'll be totally devastated

[mx-paisley]

My Arthur Lester with an updated design yipee!!!

You may notice the moon theme, WELL! i had this idea of incorporating a symbol i assigned to malev characters into their designs. Arthur is the moon, John is the sun and Oscar is the star.

@teafromthemicrowave gave me the idea of arthur and john being the sun and moon and then I added oscar to be the star. This is the greatest thing ever ash you wont understandddd THANK YOUU FOR THE IDEA

The scar on his cheek, neck and his torn hear resembles a crescent moon shape

The buttons on his coat are different phases of the moon

The chained pins on his tie, represents the three. Notice how the star (oscar) and sun (john) are only linked together thanks to the moon (arthur) ...thats the best i could explain i hope that makes sense

Bonus sketches

Forget-me-not collar pins anyone??

the glasses is not new, in fact my very first drawing of arthur have glasses!! I removed it when i realized he can't have had it but now that @percymawce-arts also interpreted him to wear glasses, I felt comfortable to have glasses for my own Arthur's design again now too 💞

[yoomiwrites]

We won²

Summary: The war is won, yet you lost too much. And well – how much can you still win? Read the first chapter here: We won

Note: I felt the rush and wrote more chapters for Ekko (5 or 6, depends on where I'll "cut" em). So yeah, more Arcane on my feed! I also wrote a Mel story which I'll probably post later.

Life after the war was a slow, aching process. The streets were littered with reminders of what they’d lost—buildings in ruins, empty spaces where loved ones once stood. Amid the chaos of rebuilding, you found purpose in small acts: patching walls, tending to wounds, and, most of all, looking after Ekko.

He threw himself into the work, determined to rebuild faster than his body could manage. You often found him at the break of dawn, still tinkering or sketching plans, dark circles under his eyes.

“Ekko, you need to sleep,” you’d say, gently prying tools from his hands.

He’d protest, insisting he was fine, but you didn’t budge. You made sure he ate enough, often sitting beside him with your own plate to ensure he didn’t skip meals. It was a rhythm you both fell into—one that kept him going and kept you close. Even if your heart ached to be more than his friend, you knew this was what he needed.

One morning, you found Vi at Powder’s grave. She stood there alone, her shoulders tense, her jaw tight. You hesitated before approaching, unsure if she wanted company. But when she glanced over and gave you a nod, you joined her.

The grave was simple, adorned with flowers that had started to wilt. Vi’s fingers traced the edge of the stone, her gaze distant.

“She was a mess, you know,” Vi said suddenly, her voice rough with emotion. “But she was still my sister.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. You thought of all the times you’d seen Powder and Vi together as kids—the way Vi had shielded her, protected her.

“I think she knew you loved her,” you said softly.

Vi scoffed, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Maybe. But I spent so much time hating her, it’s hard to forgive myself for that.” She paused, then added, “But Cait… she helped me. Helped me forgive myself.”

Her words carried a weight you recognized—the struggle of moving forward when the past still clung so tightly. You swallowed hard, thinking of your own burden.

“I’m trying to move on too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He… he doesn’t need me to love him like that. He needs a friend. And I want to be that for him.”

Vi turned to you, her sharp gaze softening. “You’ve been through hell and back for him. That counts for something, even if it’s not what you want.”

“I know,” you said, blinking back tears. “It’s just hard. Letting go.”

Vi’s hand landed on your shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said. “And if it gets too much, you know where to find me.”

Her words weren’t poetic or grand, but they were exactly what you needed.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself letting go little by little. You stayed by Ekko’s side, but your heart began to heal. You threw yourself into the work, into helping Zaun rise from the ashes. And on the days when the weight of it all felt too heavy, Vi’s rough but steady presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone.

Ekko didn’t notice the shift in you, and that was okay. You didn’t need him to. It was enough to see him smile, to know he was still here, and to know you had a place in his life—even if it wasn’t the one you’d once dreamed of.

[dross-the-fish]

Any advice on learning to enjoy making art again?

This is a difficult one. I went through a phase where I didn't make much art for years, at my rock bottom I was putting out maybe 3-4 pieces of art in a single year because it felt like the joy had gone out of it. It really depends on the reason you're struggling to enjoy your hobbies, depression, stress, burn out. If you're struggling with these it can really affect your motivation. I can't say what will help you but what helped me sort of get back into it was remembering what it was about drawing that I enjoyed in the first place. I love portraits because I love telling people about my characters and drawing them feels like an extension of storytelling. When I draw I feel like I'm spending time with them, bringing them to life in a way I can't do with words alone. Also if you're just coming back to it after a long time of dropping it, don't make it into work, doodle, sketch. Draw the same character 1000 times if that's what's fun for you in the moment. At the beginning of 2023 I drew nothing but the Frankenstein creature on everything over and over again while trying to get out of my rut. My partner got so sick of seeing Adam on every sticky note and napkin but working on one comfortable and familiar thing and not taxing myself trying to come up with "content" actually did wonders because I was focusing not on the end result but more on the fun of playing with my character. Don't force yourself, if you don't feel like drawing don't make yourself do it. Art isn't going to break up with you if you're gone to long, it'll always be there for you to come back to when you're ready. You're not failing anyone by being gone for awhile. How ever long it takes, be kind and patient with yourself, there isn't a deadline for picking up your hobbies again. I can say for me that when I burn out I burn out hard and it can last a long time, but even in those low points I know it's only a matter of time before I pick up a pencil again because it's the thing I love most in the world. I could never leave it forever.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Ink Impressions

Summary: Y/N is a hot new tattoo artist that Derek and Emily want to see more of...

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: tattoos

Word count: 2.1k

main masterlist

Derek Morgan found himself walking through a part of town he didn't visit often. His steps slowed as he passed a new shop front: Ink Impressions. The sign was sleek, with an artistic flair that caught his eye. It was new, and he’d heard a few people at the gym talk about how talented the artist was. Curious, and with a rare free afternoon on his hands, Derek decided to check it out.

The interior was a mix of industrial chic and cozy comfort. Dark wooden floors complemented exposed brick walls adorned with framed tattoo designs ranging from intricate mandalas to minimalist line art. The hum of tattoo machines filled the air, mingling with the scent of antiseptic and the quiet murmur of clients and artists in conversation.

Derek approached the front desk, where a young man with a friendly smile greeted him. "Hey, welcome to Ink Impressions. How can we help you today?"

"I'm thinking about getting a tattoo," Derek replied, his voice carrying its usual confidence. "Do you guys take drop ins?"

The young man nodded, gesturing towards the back of the shop. "You’re in luck. Our lead artist is available. Her name’s Y/N. She’s amazing. I’ll take you to her."

Derek followed, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation. They rounded a corner, and there she was. Y/N was seated at her station, her focus intense as she worked on a client's arm. She was striking, with vibrant hair that fell around her face in waves, a few tattoos peeking out from under her sleeves. She exuded an air of confidence and artistic passion that immediately drew Derek in.

The young man cleared his throat softly. "Y/N, this is Derek. He’s stopped by for a drop in. Do you think you can fit him in before your next appointment?”

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Derek’s with a warmth that made his heart skip a beat. She smiled, setting down her tools and removing her gloves. "Hi, Derek. It’s nice to meet you. I’d love to help you with that. Do you have any specific ideas, or would you like me to create something unique for you?"

Derek felt his usual charm waver slightly under her gaze, but he recovered quickly. "I have some ideas, but I’d love to see your take on it."

After Y/N finished with her initial client, she sat down with Derek and discussed the concept, and Y/N sketched a design that captured the essence of strength and resilience, elements that resonated deeply with Derek. Her talent was evident in every stroke, and he was impressed not only by her skill but also by the way she listened and understood the emotions behind his request.

As she prepared her station, Derek glanced around the shop, trying to mask his growing interest in her. "So, how long have you been tattooing?"

Y/N smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "About seven years now. I started apprenticing right out of high school and never looked back. I opened this shop a few months ago."

"That’s impressive," Derek replied, genuinely admiring her dedication.

Y/N began the tattoo, her touch gentle yet precise. "What about you? What do you do?"

"I’m an FBI agent," Derek said, watching her work. "Behavioral Analysis Unit."

Y/N looked up, a hint of intrigue in her eyes. "Wow, that sounds intense. Do you solve a lot of mysteries?"

Internally, Y/N couldn't help but laugh. She knew exactly who Derek Morgan was. Spencer had talked about him often enough—his partner at the BAU, a close friend. She could almost hear Spencer’s voice, recounting their cases, his admiration for Derek's skills and strength.

So this is the famous Derek Morgan, she thought, amused. Small world. But she kept her face neutral, professional. She didn’t want to mix business with pleasure. The last thing she needed was for Derek to know she was dating his colleague. It would complicate things, and she prided herself on maintaining a clear boundary between her personal and professional life.

"Yeah, it can be," Derek replied, oblivious to her internal amusement. "It’s challenging, but I love it."

As the session went on, Derek found himself captivated not only by Y/N’s talent but by her presence. She was easy to talk to, and he enjoyed the way she seemed genuinely interested in his stories. There was an effortless connection, a spark that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

When she finished, Derek looked at the tattoo in the mirror, his heart swelling with emotion. "It’s perfect," he said, his voice thick with gratitude. "Thank you."

Y/N smiled, her expression warm and sincere. "I’m glad you like it, Derek. It was an honor to create this for you."

As he paid and prepared to leave, Derek couldn’t help but linger. "Maybe I’ll be back for another one," he said, his tone slightly teasing.

Y/N’s smile widened, and there was a twinkle in her eye. "I’d like that. You know where to find me."

As Derek walked out of Ink Impressions, the cool air hitting his face, he couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N. He knew he’d be back—not just for another tattoo, but to see her again.

—

The bullpen was bustling with the usual Monday morning activity as the team settled back into their routines. Derek Morgan entered with a confident swagger, a fresh energy emanating from him. As he passed by desks, he couldn't resist pulling up his sleeve to show off his new tattoo. It was an intricate design, beautifully done, and it immediately drew attention.

Emily Prentiss, seated at her desk, caught sight of the tattoo and her eyes widened in admiration. "Wow, Morgan! That’s incredible. When did you get that done?"

Derek grinned, obviously pleased with her reaction. "Got it on Saturday. There’s this new shop called Ink Impressions. The artist is amazing. She really knows her stuff."

Emily stood and walked over, examining the tattoo more closely. "The detail is fantastic. Who's the artist?"

Derek leaned back in his chair, a playful smile on his face. "Her name’s Y/N. She’s not just talented—she’s also incredibly sexy."

Emily raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips. "Sexy and talented, huh? Sounds like you had quite the experience."

Derek chuckled. "You could say that. She’s got this way about her—confident, passionate about her work. You should definitely check her out if you're thinking about getting some ink."

Emily's interest was piqued. "I’ve been considering a tattoo for a while now. Maybe it’s time to finally go for it."

Derek nodded enthusiastically. "You won't regret it, Prentiss. Y/N’s the real deal. Plus, the shop's vibe is great—professional but with a cool, laid-back atmosphere."

Emily looked thoughtful, already envisioning what design she might want. "Alright, I’m sold. I’ll swing by Ink Impressions this week and see if she has any openings."

As they chatted, Penelope Garcia sauntered over, having overheard part of their conversation. "What’s this about a sexy tattoo artist?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Derek laughed. "Garcia, I think you’d love her. She’s got this artistic flair that’s right up your alley."

Garcia clapped her hands together. "Well, now I have to see this for myself. Maybe I’ll get something small to start with."

Emily grinned. "Looks like Y/N might have a few new clients this week."

As they shared a laugh, the phone rang, signaling the start of another case. The team quickly shifted gears, but there was a newfound buzz of excitement. Derek's tattoo had not only impressed his colleagues but also sparked a sense of camaraderie and curiosity.

Throughout the day, Derek couldn't help but think about Y/N and the connection they’d shared. He was eager to see her again, not just for her talent but for the undeniable chemistry between them. Little did he know, Emily and Garcia’s upcoming visits to Ink Impressions would bring them all a step closer to intertwining personal and professional lives in ways they hadn't anticipated.

—

Emily Prentiss walked into the shop, greeted by the familiar hum of tattoo machines. She was greeted warmly by the receptionist and soon found herself in front of Y/N, who looked up with a welcoming smile.

"Hi there! What can I do for you today?" Y/N asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Emily smiled, feeling instantly at ease. "Hi, I’m Emily. A friend of mine, Derek Morgan, got a tattoo here recently. I was so impressed that I decided to get one myself."

Recognition flashed in Y/N's eyes, and she chuckled inwardly, remembering the charismatic agent. "Ah, Derek! He’s a great guy. What are you thinking of getting?"

As Emily described her idea, Y/N listened intently, her mind already envisioning the design. Despite knowing Derek and his world, she kept her focus on her craft, maintaining the professional boundary she valued. But as she worked on Emily's tattoo, she couldn't help but feel a growing connection to these agents, wondering how long she could keep her secret before the lines between business and pleasure inevitably blurred.

—

The BAU team had decided to unwind after a long week, gathering at their favorite local bar. The place was lively, filled with the hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the distant sound of live music. Spencer Reid had just returned from visiting his mother in Las Vegas, and he was grateful for the chance to catch up with his colleagues in a more relaxed setting.

As the team settled into their booth, drinks in hand, Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan were excitedly discussing their recent tattoos. Emily pulled up her sleeve to show off the intricate design on her forearm, while Derek proudly displayed the tattoo on his bicep.

"You guys have to see this," Emily said, her eyes shining. "Y/N is incredible. Her artistry is on another level."

Derek nodded enthusiastically. "And she's not just talented—she’s smoking hot. I’m telling you, she’s got this whole vibe that’s hard to resist."

Emily laughed. "We were just saying, it’s almost a competition to see who’s going to ask her out first."

They both looked at each other, playfully competitive. "You think you can beat me, Prentiss?" Derek teased.

"Oh, I know I can," Emily shot back, a mischievous grin on her face.

Spencer, sitting quietly beside them, listened to their banter with a growing sense of unease. His fingers tightened around his glass as he processed their words. The name Y/N echoed in his mind. He knew exactly who they were talking about. His girlfriend, Y/N, was the talented artist they were raving about.

Trying to maintain his composure, Spencer asked, "What shop did you guys go to?"

Emily turned to him, still smiling. "It’s called Ink Impressions. It’s a new place, but it's already getting a lot of buzz."

Spencer bit his lip, a mix of emotions swirling within him. He felt a pang of jealousy but also pride knowing how highly they thought of Y/N. He took a deep breath, reminding himself to stay calm.

Just then, the bar door swung open, and Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. Y/N walked in, looking around until her eyes landed on him. She smiled warmly and started making her way over to their table.

Emily and Derek continued their playful debate, oblivious to Spencer’s internal turmoil. "I don’t know, Derek. I think I’ve got the upper hand. I mean, she seemed pretty interested when I was there," Emily said, winking.

Derek laughed. "We’ll see about that, Prentiss. I’m not backing down from this challenge."

Spencer couldn't hold it in any longer. He set his drink down and cleared his throat, catching their attention. "You might want to rethink that competition."

Emily and Derek looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?" Derek asked.

Before Spencer could answer, Y/N reached the table, her presence commanding their attention. She placed a gentle hand on Spencer’s shoulder, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Hey, baby."

Spencer's face lit up with a smile, and he looked up at her with obvious affection. "Hey, beautiful. I’m glad you made it."

Emily and Derek’s jaws dropped simultaneously. "Wait, you two know each other?" Emily asked, incredulous.

Spencer nodded, a hint of smugness in his voice. "Yeah, you could say that."

Y/N grinned, sliding into the booth next to Spencer. "I guess the secret’s out," she said, laughing softly. “Spence here is my boyfriend.” Y/N gazed at him lovingly.

Derek shook his head in disbelief, but there was a playful glint in his eye. "Well, Reid, you’ve been holding out on us. I guess that means you win by default."

Emily chuckled, raising her glass. "To Spencer and Y/N. I guess we don’t need that competition after all."

The team raised their glasses, toasting to the unexpected revelation. As they settled back into their conversation, Spencer felt a sense of relief and happiness. He had nothing to hide anymore, and the night seemed even brighter with Y/N by his side.

[writing-mlm]

Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours. 

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings. 

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up. 

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him. 

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course. 

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch from staring at his sketch to staring at you. 

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation. 

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus. 

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long. 

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit. 

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else. 

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes. 

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps against your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down. 

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you. 

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches. 

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on. 

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there. 

“I have— thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick down to the first floor. 

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder as the doors close. There’s a silence in the elevator as it goes up to the second floor where you see your teacher waiting at the door to the waiting room, talking to a pair of students. 

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile. 

“You will.” 

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people. 

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat. 

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced. 

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek. 

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform. 

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it. 

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving. 

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.” 

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building. 

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes. 

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!” 

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus. 

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks. 

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.” 

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade. 

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush. 

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?” 

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone. 

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster. 

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it. 

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper. 

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.” 

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order. 

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force. 

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a chomping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?” 

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room. 

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves. 

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods. 

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

— 

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t stink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did. 

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne. 

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there. 

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted. 

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck. 

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face. 

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand. 

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside. 

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you. 

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd. 

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his. 

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn. 

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid. 

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.” 

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner. 

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare. 

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why. 

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.” 

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed. 

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes. 

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally. 

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence. 

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay. 

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile. 

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!” 

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,” 

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod. 

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show. 

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her. 

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him. 

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them. 

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art. 

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him. 

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself. 

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art. 

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it. 

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it. 

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance. 

The description catches your eye next. 

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life. 

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows. 

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it. 

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening. 

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake. 

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you. 

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me. 

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been. 

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him. 

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his. 

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling. 

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears. 

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus. 

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and there are several ghostly figures of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles. 

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look. 

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you. 

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting. 

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people. 

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before. 

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs. 

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you. 

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod. 

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it. 

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it. 

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing. 

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.” 

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees. 

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.” 

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone. 

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.” 

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug. 

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,” 

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his. 

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance. 

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinky curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss. 

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you. 

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue. 

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles. 

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”