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thebestofoneshots · 9 months ago

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Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.6 K Warnings: None Prompt: Time to wrap it all up, and perhaps receive one or two surprises. This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 42: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Wednesday, December 23rd

The art store was small, but filled with colours all around. Small little black cabinets with golden numbers on top behind the counter, and walls lined with different paint pots and colours, a wall with wooden frames and delicately separated boxes that held paint brushes of all different sizes and shapes and, by the bits you’d read, also materials.

At the top of the cabinets there was a small display of colourful markers and pens and other things that you knew muggles used but you weren’t too familiar with. Apparently, they used stick glue instead of sticking spells to adhere stuff. You wondered how much of this stuff Sirius actually knew about and vowed to bring him to this place with you one day.

And while you did appreciate art, thoroughly – you’d gone to multiple museums, both muggle and wizarding through your trips – you had no idea what the difference was between gouache and acrylic, or why the “Rembrandt” that claimed to be made out of oil, where much more expensive than the “Winsor & Newton” ones that claimed the same. It had to be because of the quality, right?

“Good evening, may I help you?” a young man, probably in his late twenties asked as he approached you. He was dressed in rather formal clothes and had a pair of thin-rimmed golden glasses. You would have probably considered him attractive if you hadn’t been accustomed to Sirius’ dashing looks or Remus’ lovely smile. You really were lucky to be surrounded by handsome and pretty humans, you thought, thinking of the rest of your friends.

You must have looked as lost as a Bowtruckle in the middle of New York since he looked like he would try to be overly polite.

“I’m looking for a gift, my boyfriend loves to draw, but I’m… not really good with all the supplies and stuff, I was thinking perhaps a nice set of pencils and a sketchbook. I’ve been looking through the paints as well, but I don’t think he’s the kind to do the whole canvas thing, at least not while we’re in school.”

“Well, does he colour his drawings?”

You thought about it for a moment, what he’d shown you were mostly sketches done in pencil, though there were some with an underlayer of red and or blue. “I think he uses some for the base of the drawings.”

“Does he overline them?” The expression you gave him when he asked made him clarify it. “After the pencil sketch is done, does he add a pen or marker to finish up the details?”

Sirius did not do that, but you also thought how complicated it would be to do such a thing with a quill instead of the pens and trinkets the muggles had invented so you nodded in response. “Yeah… not that often but I’m sure he’d like something to be able to do it.”

“All right, follow me,” he said as he motioned to one of the furthest walls. “This is where we keep all of our sketchbooks, the thicker the grammage the stronger pens and markers it will hold. Also, some can even hold watercolour, not sure if he’s into that too.”

“Do you have like – a book on the basics of watercoloring? I feel like he might actually be interested in that.”

“We do,” he said with a nod and moved to the other side of the store bringing you a few options. You picked one of them and then looked through the sketchbooks. There were different sizes and colours and the pages felt really different on most of them. Some were especially made for watercolours and some were for drawing. You took one with about 100 pages for watercolour and one with the same amount of pages but with a bit less grammage for sketches.

They both had a black cover with golden elegant trims that you thought would definitely go with Sirius’ look, although one opened from the side, making it more of a panoramic view while the other one stayed horizontal. You handed them in to the guy and he took them to the counter as you continued looking around. You leaned into the watercolour section and started to look at all the different options available.

“If this is the first time he’ll do watercolour, may I recommend you buy a set?” he asked politely as he showed you a small wooden case, when he opened it there were all sorts of small blocks with different colours on them. “These are my favourite brand, but really gentle with beginners, they also come with this interesting thing,” he added as he handed you a small brush with a clear section at the top. “It comes with water, you don’t have to dip your brush that often, really useful once you get the hang of it.”

“You have more of those?” you asked and he nodded, showing you the different sizes of brush ends. After a while, and with a lot of his help, you ended up selecting about 5 different brushes and the colours that you’d fill the small wooden box with as well, which you thought was fantastic since you could fill it up with whatever colours you chose and not a set palette.

“You’ll also take the marker set, the watercolour book and the sketchbooks, correct? Anything else?”

“Uhh… Am I missing anything that he might need?

“Does he draw portraits or landscapes?”

You thought back of the Remus drawing he’d shown you, and then of the one you had chosen not to see. “He draws portraits and anatomy studies. Though I’m sure I’ve seen him doodle other stuff too.”

“He might like this book then,” he told you as he handed over another book. It was about proportions and hand drawing and a lot of very advanced-looking stuff, you smiled.

“This one as well, please…” he was about to finish the bill when you stopped him, looking down through the glass display and pointing towards something, “Is that a penknife?”

“Well, yes,” he replied, “Although sharpeners are used more often nowadays, some people still prefer them.”

“I’d like one of those as well,” you added with a smile.

“Excellent.” The man gave you your total and then handed every single thing in a thick paper bag. “You said it was for a gift, right?”

“Yes,” you nodded and he walked to the back of the shop, pulling a very elegant and sturdy black box, he eyed the bag as if calculating if everything would fit and then handed it over to you along with a black and gold ribbon with the name of the store repeated over and over.

As he handed it over he pulled it back for a second and gave you a smile. “That young gentleman is very lucky to have you as a girlfriend.”

“I think I’m just as lucky as he is,” you responded with a small smirk as you took the box.

“Would you like me to call you a cab?”

You thought about it for a second. Your house wasn’t that far, and with a short levitating spell you wouldn’t have to carry much stuff either, but the Knight Bus did mention they’d be very busy and you had been walking all day. “Yes, thank you.”

The man called for one and you waited inside the store until the cabbie arrived. You gave him your address and he took you straight there. You took the lift of your building, using your wand to unlock the secret –magical- floor your parents had purchased in London and waited.

When the two, golden doors of the lift opened to your drawing room, you sighed. Leaning down to take off your shoes. “Mom? Dad?”

No answer. “What time is it?” you whispered to yourself as you looked at the clock, quarter past ten? That art store surely has late closing times, you thought as you leaned back down to pull your bags up and drag them to your room.

There was a note on the table along with what looked like a delightfully looking salad and steak.

We’ll be home late, serve yourself. See you tomorrow darling.

You sighed and after placing the bags on the table, and using a warming spell on the food, you ate. Once you were done, the plate disappeared from the table and instead, a chocolate cake showed up. You smiled, at least they knew you liked sweets. You took a few bites from that and took it, along with your gifts, to your room.

That’s when you remembered you had promised to tell your friends when you arrived here so you quickly scribbled a few notes. Sending your owl –Resse– back to the Potter’s and Barnaby –the family’s owl– to Beth. Then you took some Floo powder and leaned over the fire.

“Tom?” You asked as you peeked through his chimney.

“Sly sprite?” He asked as he leaned over. “I was starting to worry,” he said as he left a book on the side. “You got home, all right?”

“Yeah!” you said with a smile. “And I got a bunch of good stuff at the store too, it was worth it.”

“It better have been! Beth is home too, we stopped by hers first.”

You chatted with Tom for a little while more and ended the call when you started to yawn and he followed right after. With that, you went for a quick and warm shower and then back to bed.

Thursday, December 24th

There was a soft knock on the door, you stirred on your bed but didn’t wake and then there was another one. “Sweetheart? Breakfast’s ready, come eat.”

“On my way,” you said as you sat on your bed and rubbed your eyes a couple of times. The day was bright, you’d forgotten to shut your windows at night and now you had the perfect view of the Thames through your window. You thought back to Hogwarts and how all the splendour of it had been made by magic, while the splendour of London had mostly been made by muggles.

The high skyscrapers, the Ferris Wheel across the river, the towers, palaces and bridges, all muggle-made, and without magic, it was fascinating. You didn’t understand why wizards had so many prejudices against them –aside from the whole burning on steak part, muggles seemed to be quite incredible and determined people. Perhaps you should have taken that muggle studies optative.

“Sweetheart?” you heard your father’s voice, a bit more stern than your mother’s.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you said as you shook your covers off and grabbed your wand from the nightstand. “As if they hadn’t been home hours after I got here,” you mumbled as you fished for a pair of slippers under your bed.

By the time you got out of your room both your mom and dad were sitting on the living room table. Your mom was wearing a beautiful cocktail dress while your dad had a perfectly fitting black suit on with a small cape, draped elegantly behind his chair. You were still wearing a band shirt you had stolen from Sirius a while ago, and that you had been wearing under Remus’ jumper before the trip. “Lovely to see you,” you said with an awkward smile, “it’s been a while.”

Your father looked up from his newspaper with a cup of coffee in his hand only for a second, nodded and then went back to read. Your mom gave you a sympathetic look and nodded for you to sit down. After a couple of minutes, your dad bent the newspaper and placed it on the side of the table.

“We’ve heard plenty of your Hogwarts Adventures,” your father said looking at you. “You’ve been doing a masterful job at maintaining our house’s name relevant.”

You frowned at that, that had never been your intention.

“You were incredible in the broom race though you lost,” your father said. “And you’ve won two quidditch matches–”

“That was a team effort…” you said, your voice growing smaller as his hand dismissed you.

“You’ve kept your grades high and you’ve even entered the duelling club…”

“Not to mention her Theoretical Magic grades,” your mom added with a smile.

“And you’re dating one of the Black kids.”

You swallowed. You had mentioned in your letters that you and Sirius had gotten along now that you were in the same house, but you hadn’t specifically mentioned you were dating him.

“The disowned Black kid,” your father continued.

You straightened a little, you had discussed with your dad the things that happened back in your vacations with the Blacks. It hadn’t been particularly nice talk, but you weren’t going to back down, his political means could not be worth more than his morals. And things had been rather tense between the two since then.

When two people had such intense ideological differences and desires, they were bound to clash against each other, especially when those ideologies juxtaposed against the other often, being only furthered by the fact that you were –at least on breaks– living under the same roof.

Your priorities had been wildly different and you weren’t shy about letting him know, which caused your relationship to deteriorate quickly. Not to say you –or him– had been particularly rude to each other, but you were much colder. It was almost Christmas, and you didn’t want to start a fight with him, let alone over something that you were most definitely not going to yield on.

“I think it’s all right. He might have been disowned by his family but he still stays in contact with some of the other Blacks like Alphard and the other disowned child… whatever her name is…” Andromeda, you thought as you tried to process the fact that he had just said it was fine. “Just try to avoid mentioning him in tomorrow’s dinner. I’m sure Walburga wouldn’t be particularly pleased.”

“Tomorrow’s dinn– Walburga will be coming?”

“Of course not, they have invited us to their Christmas dinner,” he said. “It’ll be hosted in Rosier Manor, I believe.”

“Whose manor?” You asked, your breath going short along with your question.

“Mr. Rosier,” your mom repeated. “All important wizards will be there.”

“I’d rather skip Christmas altogether.”

“I’m sorry, darling. This isn’t a matter of preferences. You will go and then we’ll let you do whatever you please for the rest of the break. Visit muggle London as much as you want or dally with your friends, I really don’t care as long as you maintain your composure during tomorrow’s dinner.”

Your leg was bouncing slightly under the table. “I don’t believe I will be welcomed in that house.”

“You will be welcomed because you are my daughter and I’m me,” he said with an air of finality. “We need to present a strong family front, play your part and you’ll be rewarded.”

“Right, my part,” you said bitterly. You wondered if your mother was playing her part too, they were in love, that wasn’t questionable, but sometimes it felt like she became nothing more than an addition to his recollection of what a perfect life should look like. Did he marry her because of the love he felt for her or because she’d look like a delightful trophy wife by his side on political dinners? Had she not been as beautiful as she was, had she not been well educated, would he have married her either way?

You wondered, when had Silas become the man he is now? When did his greed for power become so intense he would sacrifice his morals to achieve it? When you were smaller, you thought they loved each other, even now, you saw when they looked at each other with those adoring eyes, but… there was a tale of sacrifice weaved in between their story, and with one party constantly bending to the other’s wishes, you weren’t sure you could still call it love.

When devotion became toxic, was it still something that came from love, or had it become something else altogether?

“Indeed darling, we ask for nothing more than one night. Then you will not be bothered, free to go wherever you want and with whomever you please. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

You sighed and nodded, “One dinner.”

Your mother smiled at that, letting out a nervous breath and then reached for your hand. “Your clothes for tomorrow are already in your closet, I also got you some nice potions and make-up.”

“Thanks, Mum,” you said with a short smile and looked at your food. It looked delicious, it was French toast with berries and fruit on top –probably there to appeal to your sweet tooth and convince you to go– but you didn’t feel hungry at all. Especially not at the thought of having to go to Rosier Manor. As if you didn’t see enough of Evan at school, now you had to go see him on the break as well, bIoody brilliant. “Breakfast was great,” you said as you stood up. Both of them decided to ignore your almost intact plate, “I’ll be in my room in case you need anything else, you know like me playing the role of the perfect child of the politician if your friends come around or whatever.”

Your mom gave you a reproachful look while your dad gave you an impassive one, you raised your eyebrows at the two of them, almost tauntingly before you turned around, walking back to your room and letting the door close behind you gently –it was not the inanimate objects fault that your parents were acting like pricks.

You sat on your bed and took a deep breath before you saw a small owl by one of your windows, you let him in and took the rolled parchment from his feet before feeding him some water.

Dear Vix, Hope this letter finds you all right, Sirius was moaning about you going along Beth and Tom and not inviting him to buy Christmas stuff it was draining! Now I was not going to write to you about it because he said he would punch me in the face but I had to write anyway since mum and dad wanted you to have our address so you could come here through floo anytime. Hope you’re having a great time, Sirius and I went flying with Pete today (he lives a few houses from us, did we tell you?), and while it was nice not having to worry about Sirius distracting himself from snogging you, we missed you still. Mum and Dad send greetings to your parents, hope you’re also having a blast. Your bestest friend, James P. PS. Mum sent this tea for you, she said she thinks you’d like it with how much sweet stuff you eat and stuff. PS 2. Love you, but I bet you’re missing me more <– That was Sirius.

James’ stupid letter made you chuckle, especially the last bit, as if it had been necessary to point out that Sirius had been the one to write it. You placed the letter into a small box in your bag and smiled as you walked to pick up some of the stuff you’d be giving your friends as their gifts.

You picked up some wrapping paper and started wrapping all of their gifts, the owls would have to do a couple of trips to take them all to their place, but you’d make sure to leave them plenty of food throughout the night, so they could continue their trips and the presents would be at your friend’s beds in the morning.

You had gone through most of the smaller gifts first, writing small, and neatly written Christmas cards on them. Then you went for the bigger ones, the books you’d gotten for Lily, some of the stuff for Mary and Marlene, James’ pack, and of course, Remus and Sirius’.

It wasn’t until then, that you realised how overboard you had gone with your gifts. You’d gotten Remus so many books, both magical and muggle, that you almost felt guilty you hadn’t gotten Lily and James more stuff. And then you tried telling yourself it was because Remus would spend Christmas alone and he deserved at least a bit of happiness, you weren’t deliberately playing favourites.

And then Sirius’ pile was clearly a mess, you had all the music you’d gotten, the shirts, the penknife that you wanted to engrave with his name (you were researching for the right spell to do it) and a bunch of other stuff for him. Besides, you still wanted to make the playlists, so before you finished packing the bigger boxes, you started testing the recorder. Now there wasn’t exactly a step by step guide on how to record music, but there was a small booklet that showed you how the thing worked and you spend the rest of the day figuring it out, listening to music and making a playlist for each of your friends. Using all the songs you thought they might like.

When you were done with that, you continued packing all the stuff. Deciding to send all the music back to the boys’ room at Hogwarts so they could leave it on Sirius’ stash. Well, all of them except for the David Bowie tape you had specifically gotten for Sirius and that would look great with his shirt and the rest of the gifts you’d gotten him.

You went out to get some food at some point during the day, and there was another note from your parents telling you they were off at an event. Well, good riddance, you thought as you went back to your room with a sandwich in your hands. You picked one of the books you’d gotten for yourself and you spent almost the rest of the day reading it while jamming to one of the playlists you’d made. A copy of the one you’d made for Remus since you thought it went well with the book you’d chosen to read.

You fell asleep before your parents got home, with the book still in your hands and the music playing softly in the background until the cassette ran out of tape and was softly ejected by the machine. The sound it made had been so soft it didn’t wake you at all.

Thankfully, you had remembered to leave enough water and food for the owls, since they had spent all night doing trips back and forth to your house and your friends’.

Friday, December 25th

You woke up by being pecked in the face by a very big and very angry owl.

“Oi!” you complained. “What’s wrong with you?” The owl chirped and picked you again, this time on the ear. “Bitch,” you mumbled as you pushed him back lightly, only for him to pick you in the finger again.

You gave him an upset look and he pulled back just a little, tilting his head towards the window, and the lack of food and refreshments.

“Oh, so that’s why you’ve been attacking me non-stop?” you asked as you stood up from the bed, failing to see the pile of wrapped gifts at the end of it. The owl chirped in response, a scowl that you weren’t sure was his natural face shape or an actual scowl directed towards you. “I’m sorry,” you added, “Barnaby and Reese must have eaten them all. They did many trips last night, you know?”

The owl chirped again, a little angry as he flew towards the window, as if saying «I too flew many trips last night» looking as indignant as a Towny Owl could. You added a few of the special snacks you kept for Reese just to keep him from biting you again. You looked at the name tag and realised who the owner of the owl had been.

Eun-ji, Minho had told you about her, she was his family’s owl and apparently, the name meant something like “kind”. So much for a kind owl, you thought as you looked at her, gobbling up Reese’s treats. You leaned over when you noticed there was a small letter attached to his feet and took it in your hands before the owl flapped his wings and left.

Merry Christmas Star Seeker, Hope you’re having a great time. Thought of giving you a special thanks for that one time you –quite literally– pushed me towards my crush and got us to start a conversation, that, well, you know how great it ended! Even for a Gryffindor, you’re really nice, so I thought of getting you something for you to get some more hate from your fellow Gryffindor, Eun-ji must have left the gift near your bed.

You turned to the side in the middle of reading and stood agape, there was not only a green and silver wrapped gift in what looked suspiciously like the shape of a snake, but there were also a bunch of other gifts wrapped in all sorts of colours.

Anyway thanks for everything, hope you have fun and all. I’m looking forward to beating you all next time we play, Love, The one and only, and your favourite Slytherin, Minho Cha.

You rolled your eyes at the last bit, it had been very Slytherin of him, but since you knew Minho, you also knew he was playing it off as a joke on his own house, which made a joke inside a joke and you thought it was actually kind of funny.

You took a deep breath and walked over to your bed. There were all sorts of gifts prompted there and you decided to unwrap Minho’s first. There was a small, green snake plushie with a bow on it that had a small pendant with something written on it: “From the snakes that love you dearly,” and then it had the names of all of your Slytherin friends: Minho, Comet, Nox, Reggie, and even some you weren’t expecting like Dorcas and Solacis. You thought it was an adorable little thing, even if –and you were certain of this– your friends would absolutely hate it. Well, not Lily, she’d also think it was adorable.

And thinking of her, was that you picked the next gift, wrapped in pink and yellow paper, and with her a small dedicatory on the corner, you instantly knew it was from her, her neat and perfect handwriting being the dеad giveaway. You smile as you read her small dedication. She wished you a very, merry Christmas and promised to tell you everything about the train with James as soon as you saw each other in person. She wrote something along the lines of not being able to put it on paper, which made you laugh.

When you opened the present you were thrilled, it was a small leather notebook, dark red with golden trims and your name on the cover. Not Vixen, not Starshine, or any of the other nicknames that you had come to own and love since you arrived at Hogwarts, but your name. You smiled as you traced your fingers over the letters. There was a pen on the side, golden and apparently of some interesting muggle technology that wasn’t that popular in the wizarding world. You thought it was fascinating. When you opened the notebook you realised there was something written, again in her handwriting.

You’ve had more adventures this year than I’ve had in my lifetime. I think it’s time for you to start writing down some of them, in case you ever want to revisit them. If journaling is not your thing (which I feel like it would be because I know you), you can just use this notebook however you want. You know grocery lists, songs for mixtapes, your favourite lyrics, poems, quotes, Sirius’ doodles, your doodles, dried flowers, stickers, whatever you want, it’s your space, and you may use it as you wish! Love, Lily

You thought the idea of having your own journal was brilliant, you always admired her for keeping hers so incredibly neat looking, and perhaps being able to let some of your feelings go on a blank page would be better than keeping them bottled up. You doubted you would be nearly as consistent as her, but you decided to add your first couple of words in there, detailing the gifts you’d gotten and the few you still had yet to open.

You’d gotten a box of your favourite candies from Mary and some incredible quidditch trading cards from Marlene, but she had also added some makeup to her gift because if not you and James would have gotten the exact same thing and you were her favourite between the two. You got a spellbook and a muggle prank book from Tom “to further your career” according to him. There was a large, embossed book from Nina, which you discovered was an annotated version of one of your favourite books and a small set of runes from Sybil. You had gotten her a deck of cards and a book about premonitions.

There were candies from Nox and a muggle book lantern from Neil Perry, you had both complained at some point about reading with your wand and you thought the solution he’d found was adorable. Peter had gotten you a book about canines, packed along with a small fox-themed bookmarker and a note that said “Thank you for not busting my make-out session and Merry Christmas.” He also added, “PS. maybe with this one you’ll be able to tame Pads.” Which had you wheezing with laughter for a while.

It took at least a minute to go for the next gift, it was a small box that said to be handled carefully. You opened it according to the instructions. “Shut the fuck up!” you said the moment you realized what was inside. A small Felix Felicis vial. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you repeated over and over again. “How did he even get his hands on it?”

You picked up the paper from behind it, there was a small note.

Okay say it: aside from Sirius, I AM your favourite Marauder. You might be wondering, “How the hell did James get his hands on this?”. Well dear, I must say, I have contacts. AKA my parents are expert potioneers and I somehow convinced Mum to brew one and that’s how I got my hands on it. Now, I could have given it to any of my friends but I get the feeling you might be needing some of this soon enough. You know, from things I’ve seen and such (please don’t waste it on a quidditch match, though). Anyway, I know you’ll use it well, hope you have a very Merry Christmas! Your favourite marauder AND bestest friend, Prongs.

You chuckled when you finished reading and went back to look at the vial with incredulity. Brewing one of these potions was arduous work, and it took weeks, which meant James must have had convinced Effie to do it even before she’d met you. Never underestimate James Potter, you thought as you grabbed onto the vial and placed it around your neck with a chain, casting a disillusionment charm on it so it wouldn’t be so obvious you had it with you. You thought the gift was brilliant.

After that, there were only 2 gifts left. You picked the one with a silver bow first. It was a square box, about 12�� wide, and had been wrapped in the same paper as James’, which made you guess who it might be from. There were chocolates and a small letter on top, neatly closed and with your name written on the back with Sirius’ almost perfect calligraphy. There was also a paper covering something, but you picked the letter up first.

You know, I tried writing a love letter, but James wouldn’t stop making ridiculous comments about it not being profound enough and I feared I’d end up writing something close to the painfully ridiculous letters he used to write to Lily so I had to stop myself. Who would have thought it would be that hard to put thoughts into words? I suppose if I were like Remus it would come out much easier but, unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. Actually no, fortunately you’re stuck with me, I’m delightful.

You laughed, he’s not wrong.

Anyway, I suppose what I wanted to express in those dreadful attempts of being a poet was that I’m incredibly thankful that you came to Hogwarts and that you came back to me. I’m grateful that you tolerate me and my moods and that you love me for who I am, flaws and all. I wasn’t sure I’d ever found that kind of love, one that I even doubted it existed, and yet you’re always there to tease and make me laugh and– I already sound like James, but you know what I mean. You always know what I mean. As you see, I am far from a poet, but there is something I like to do and I thought that perhaps, you’d enjoy it more than this terrible love letter. You know, you and Remus were the first to ever see a sketch from my book, and I was feeling all sorts of things after I offered, and yet, you were there, reassuring me and telling me I didn’t have to do it if I didn’t want to. You know Walburga, it wasn’t much of a choice for me, so it truly meant the world, and fed me the courage I needed to let you see that part of me. And when you two finally saw it and praised me for my skills, for what I did with my own hands… You make me so incredibly gleeful, it’s almost scary how much power you could hold over me. But frankly, I’ll let you hold it all you want. All right, enough of the sappy stuff, Merry Christmas Starshine, you know you shine brighter than my own star. Hope you like your gift. Love, Sirius

See the letter here

You read the letter a few more times, smiling at the little details and jokes Sirius had sprinkled all over. And then you pulled on the bit of tissue paper covering the very last thing in the box and when you finally saw its content you couldn’t help but swear again, “Son of a bitch!” you whispered.

There were still some small pieces of paper over the small portrait, and you carefully brushed them out to be able to lift it from the box. The image was a hand-drawn portrait of you. You had a big smile and were looking at what would be the camera if it were an image. It looked like it might have been from one of the pictures from Marlene’s party although Sirius had changed the outfit, you were wearing an oversized sweater and his leather jacket. You could tell it was his because it had one of the enamel pins you had gotten him as a gift on the lapel.

There were touches of colours in the strokes, not quite painting the drawing but rather giving it relatively bright edges that made it look special, unlike any other doodle. And of course, he had framed it, it was a simple yet elegant frame, dark oak and with small carved details on the sides. On the left bottom corner of the drawing, there was something written in French:

À l'étoile la plus brillante. Amour,

And then, instead of his name, he signed with a small and elegant star doodle. You smiled again, it was one of the loveliest things you’d ever gotten, even if it was a portrait of yourself, the fact that Sirius had been the one to draw it, made it the most special of things. There were portraits upon portraits of you in your house, with magic that allowed you to move and smile, and even talk sometimes, but none of them held as much value as the frozen drawing Sirius had given you.

Eventually, you placed it on your night table and picked up the last gift still sitting in your bed. His box was smaller than Sirius’, about the size of a book, which had you assumed he had gotten you something along the lines of that.

You opened the book and found a small, pocket-sized book. It was a Sreath Bàrdachd, according to the golden script at the top. You hadn’t quite realised as you pulled it from the box, but it was handmade. You looked at it in shock as you flipped to the 50+ pages, all in carefully and methodically written cursive, his handwriting.

Later you realised it was something between a book of poems and a compilation of quotes from different books. You admired the booklet for a few more minutes when you spotted that there was a small letter, still waiting for you inside the box. You pulled it off and broke the seal with a small sword letter opener Nox had given you as a gift.

As you did, a small chain fell from the letter and you picked it up. It was small and dainty, just long enough to wrap around your wrist, which made you wonder how he’d guessed the size. The chain was simple, and it broke off into two different sections, one with a small crescent moon and then another one with a small star. It also had one small gemstone in between the bigger charms. You looked at it with a smile and held it in your hand as you read the letter.

Hey there, Little Witch, Hope you’re having an incredible Christmas. By the time you read this, you’ve probably seen the Sreath Bàrdachd, and knowing how clever you are, you probably already know what that could mean. Yes, It’s a book of poems, but also a bit more than that. I knew Sirius was making you that incredible gift of his, and I didn’t want to fall behind. Prongs didn’t tell us what he got you but he seemed pretty confident he’d have the best gift of all. Did he? Never mind, don’t tell me, it’s a silly competition. Either way, I thought you might like having one of these. Mum used to have one, which is why I know they exist. She told me a good friend gave it to her and she has kept it ever since then. I remembered borrowing it from her once when I was little, and she taught me how to carefully flip through the pages as she read to me. She also mentioned it was a silly girl’s thing but I thought it was amazing, and went on to make my own. Although wonky and, with quotes from children’s books, she thought I was quite a mastermind for making it by myself. Of course, I put a lot more effort into the one you have with you now. Or perhaps the same effort but with better skills. If you’ve flipped through the pages, which I assume you have, since you’re incredibly curious, you’ve probably seen some familiar quotes. There’s stuff from books we’ve both read and stuff that only I have read but that I thought you might like. Some of my favourite poems too, and some quotes from movies that only you’d be able to get. There are even lyrics from songs, some that we really like, some that Sirius has heard so many times that I already knew them by memory, and since the two of you like similar music, I assumed you’d know them too. Also, there’s a small bracelet in the letter. I’ve cross-charmed it, in case you ever lose the Sreath Bàrdachd (I truly hope you never do), the gemstone will shine as you approach it. I’ve also added a few luck charms that, while they won’t keep you away from trouble –I don’t think anything could– they may give you some luck while navigating it. Don’t hit me for saying that, you know it’s true. Love, Moony. PS. Prongs told me about your little quarrel with Sirius on the platform, Sirius definitely misses you more.

See the letter here

By the time you finished Remus’ letter, you were smiling as brightly as you had when you read Sirius’. You were so lucky you had found such incredible people in Hogwarts. Your bedsheets filled with torn wrapping paper were a testament to that. You spend the rest of the afternoon listening to some more music and reading through the book Remus had made.

He had been especially careful with his handwriting which you thought was adorable, and there were a lot of quotes from Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey. He had written in pencil –so you could erase it if you wanted, not that you would– that it was your fault he was obsessed with his writing now. Taking poems and quotations from both, the book aforementioned and The Ghost of Canterville. You hadn’t read the latter yet, but you were almost counting the days to go back to school and ask him to lend you his copy.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and you had to leave the warm comfort of reading and listening to music in favour of changing into the clothes your mom had chosen for you. You sighed as the alarm clock you’d set earlier went off, and then went straight towards your closet. The dress she had picked was simple, yet elegant. It wasn’t a long dress like the one she’d probably wear, but a more youthful one with clever intricate details on the sleeves and a midi skirt.

“Thank god it has sleeves,” you whispered to yourself as you pulled the edge of the sleeve of Sirius’ shirt up. While your skin looked almost smooth, the lighter (almost silvery) shapes where the new skin was growing over the gush Moony had made were pretty evident. You supposed makeup and a spell could make them less visible, at least for a while, but that would have probably taken you a lot more time to achieve.

You plopped the black dress on, smoothing the sides as walking towards your vanity where your mum had left all the potions and make-up. You sighed, remembering how much more fun it had been to dress for the Gryffindor parties than it was to dress for this one. With the black dress and the pearls on your neck, you felt a lot more like you were about to walk into a funeral rather than a party. My own funeral, you thought with a laugh when you remembered whose house you’d actually be going to.

You grabbed a pair of red, not-too-high heels, put them on, and took another look in the large mirror by the window. You looked lovely, at least there would be no complaints from your parents on that aspect. What they might complain about was the fact that you took a bag with an undetectable extension charm and filled it with a few of the books you’d gotten as a Christmas gift. You also took the journal Lily had given you and Remus’ Sreath Bàrdachd. And you weren’t sure who’d be attending that party but you sure hoped you’d be able to sneak into a corner and read a book rather than having to interact with some of the most disagreeable friends of your parents.

“Sweetheart, are you ready?” your mom asked from the kitchen.

“Yeah, coming,” you said as you grabbed a few more trinkets and dumped them in your bag, just in case.

You were about to leave the room when you saw a small glistening thing in your bed and you went straight to grab it. It was the bracelet Remus had given you, and even if it took you a while to put it on, and you continued looking between your wrist and the door as you tried to get the clasp to do its job, you thought it was worth it. I could really use that extra luck. You thought. You accommodated the necklace Sirius had given you and that you never took off and then took off James’ potion and placed it on your bag since it might be safer there than around your neck.

One last look in the mirror to make sure everything was in order and you walked out towards the living room.

“You look delightful, darling,” your father said as he spotted you walking out of the room.

You gave him a half shrug in response and then managed to mutter a “thanks” that you hoped didn’t sound as bitter as it felt. After another moment of silence, your mom grabbed her bag and finished clipping on one of her earrings.

“We’ll take the floo?” you asked.

Your father shook his head, “They’ve sent over a Portkey,” your mom explained and motioned to the table, there was a small, fancy-looking invitation right in the middle.

“Nice,” you said as you used your wand to levitate the object and move it right in between your parents. Perhaps if it had been floo, you could have sneakily said James’ address instead of Evan’s and escaped the party altogether. Once there, your parents wouldn’t make a fuss about it in order to not make your insubordination evident. But of course, you weren’t that lucky, and you’d have to take the portkey and you’d have to go to the party.

“In three,” your father said as he moved his hand towards the invitation, “two… one… go.”

The three of you placed your hands on the invitation at the same time and you felt the very familiar pull on your lower back, in less than a second, the entire world distorted around you, and then, you weren’t in your house anymore.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Aww that was so cute wasn't it? Now it's time to strap on, we're about to dive head-first into the darkest side of the story, and it's going to be fun and sad and just a rollercoaster of emotions in general. Love, Lils xx

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year ago

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I’ve binge read your blog tonight! Amazing! I was hoping your requests are open if not please ignore this message 😊

What about astarion x tav reader , who’s an artist - astarion who’s dying to look in a mirror but she depicts him perfectly , possibly angst to fluff? Feel free to take this prompt any which way, I thought this would be wholesome 😊

Aww, that's so cute!

This reminds me of that comic that's floating around here with Tav drawing him and Astarion, not knowing what he looks like anymore, looking over their shoulder like "ooooh you got a crush on this random man we don't know. who is he?" So I mixed that vibe in here!

This is set just a bit before he realizes he's in love with you because I love that for him.

Astarion wasn't worried. He wasn't obsessed, he was just intrigued. Curious even, mildly perplexed at worst. Because he had no idea why he kept catching you drawing the same elf time and time again. And you refused to tell him why.

Now, in all fairness you did occasional sketch out other members of your group. Not everyone, just the few who had the patience to stay still while you worked. Wyll, Shadowheart, Halsin. It was a passion of yours, your art, something that Astarion always liked about you. It helped that you were fantastic at it. You're drawings were so life-like, capturing nearly every feature on their faces. They always left Astarion sincerely impressed, the few times he had managed to see them. Because for someone so talented, you were oddly secretive about your sketchbook.

Now that didn't exactly stop Astarion from seeing them. There were the times he would shamelessly watch you over your shoulder, only leaving when you noticed him and started flailing to cover up your work. He also took the opportunity to occasionally steal it from your tent while you were gone without him, a consequence of you trusting him. He had warned you about that, hadn't he?

You really did create beautiful work. From picturesque scenery to your famous portraits. Though it seemed you had a favorite subject, that damned unnamed elf. You knew the man well enough to draw him from memory it seemed, because Astarion would have remembered running into that face.

Why you never asked the man you're sleeping with to model for you instead of this stranger, he wasn't quite sure. But it was starting to bother him. It didn't help that he was objectively handsome, attractive in a semi-mysterious way. It was even worse that you would start blushing and stuttering whenever he asked about him. You wouldn't even give him a name, just vague stumblings.

"He's um, from Baldur's Gate," You had mentioned once, completely avoiding Astarion's eyes, "It's um. Not important."

"So you'll be introducing us soon then?" Astarion had asked, half-hopeful that you'd deny it. His life would be a lot easier if the mystery man turned out to be a long-dead lover.

But instead you just gave him a shaky nod, "I-sure. Y-Yeah. One day."

And you had left it at that, staying infuriatingly vague whenever he brought the subject up.

Astarion wasn't worried. He wasn't. Or maybe he was, purely off the fact that it couldn't be healthy to be so obsessed with one man's face. Especially if the man in question wasn't him.

Astarion was aware that he was attractive. He had to be for everything he'd gotten away with over the years. But he literally could not know how he matched up to this... random stranger. Who, by the way, had done nothing to help you while you had a mind flayer parasite trapped in your head. Astarion certainly had that over him at least. But he wasn't quite sure if he matched up in... other areas.

Astarion wasn't exactly used to being self-conscious. At least not when it came to his appearance. The ability had been taken away from the second Cazador got his fangs into his neck. He still thought about it, often in fact, that he had no idea what he looked like. But the enamored responses he usually received by existing quelled most worries.

Now though... now he had to wonder. And he wasn't a fan of the feeling.

He hadn't wanted to ask for your help in seeing himself, he was hoping that you would have offered on your own by now. But since that was clearly not happening, Astarion had to bring matters into his own hands.

He watched as you fiddled away in your sketchbook, suddenly obsessed with replicating the tassels on his favorite pillow. According to you it was one of the few things you didn't know how to draw perfectly, despite it looking just fine to everyone else. Astarion supposed that the artist mind just worked in mysterious, semi-frustrating ways. Ways that he frankly did not understand.

"How would you feel about drawing me sometime?" Astarion asked suddenly, his brows going up to his hairline at how the simple question made you flinch, "No offense darling but I do believe I'm more interesting than a few tufts of string."

You weren't looking at him as you answered, still scribbling away with now-shaky hands, "I-um, I'm not sure if you'd want me to-"

"Why ever not? Frankly my dear I'm a little offended you haven't asked me to model. It would be nice to be aware of what my own face looked like."

That at least got your eyes up. You looked oddly guilty, fiddling with your pencil, "I-shit. I'm sorry. I should have thought about that."

"It's fine," Astarion said with a wave of his hand. He was used to being a last priority, he didn't take offense, "Besides, you can make it up to me now. What do you say?"

You swallowed, avoiding his eyes as you nodded, "Y-Yeah. I can do that. Um, sit up a little for me?"

Astarion listened, excitement starting to crawl up his spine. He was actually going to see his own face again, for the first time in centuries. All because of the person he love-cared for. Cared for deeply. Who still made him borderline beg for the privilege but oh well. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He had learned that lesson many times.

It took a long time before you were finished, nearly three hours. Not that he minded, if anything he appreciated how seriously you were taking it. And who knows. Maybe if his face managed to be interesting enough, you'd abandon your other muse in favor of him. He could only hope.

"Okay," You said eventually, setting your pencil to the side, "It's done. But... just don't laugh, okay?"

Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, "Is my appearance that amusing?"

"No but-gods, here. Just look at it," You said, tossing the sketchbook to him, "Be gentle."

Astarion caught it, excited to hells and back as he looked down. Only to find the exact same elf he'd been seeing for weeks. Except this was more detailed than all of the ones from before. He could see... everything. The scars from that dreaded first night with Cazador, two barely there moles on the right side of his face, the exact flow of his hair. He was beautiful, a fact he was aware of, but it was still nice to see. He just... hadn't realized how many times he had seen it.

Astarion swallowed, looking up at you with wide eyes, "You've been drawing me? This whole time? I've been your 'mystery man' from Baldur's gate?"

You shrugged, picking on a string on your pants instead of looking at him, "You make a good subject. And we spend a lot of time together. And... I should have told you when you first saw it. But I just...." You trailed off with a sigh, finally gathering your courage enough to look him in the eye, "I didn't want to freak you out. I know it's a bit... creepy. I guess I didn't want you to know just... how obsessed I was. Or am."

It made sense. In all honesty, the Astarion from mere months ago probably would have found a way to find offense. But now it just felt... sweet. It made him feel warm, and incredibly idiotic. Here he had been, fretting over his non-existent competition. While this whole time he was the one constantly invading your mind. It was a strangely validating feeling. Almost like maybe... you would still want him when all of this was said and done.

He hadn't started this relationship with that in mind. In a perfect world, he'd use you to kill Cazador, cure himself of the tadpoles, gain his own freedom, then be on his merry way, you're feelings on the matter be damned. And he was actualizing that plan perfectly, if this new news was anything to go by.

So why was it suddenly making him feel ill? You had been nothing but kind to him. Accepting, trusting, all to someone who deserved less than dirt. And what would this all end in. Him abandoning you after everything you'd done?

Or maybe... it was about leaving before you had the chance to do the same.

"Do... do you not like it?" You asked, obviously nervous at his stunned silence. But it at least snapped him out of his own thoughts.

Astarion rushed to shake his head, going as far as to move to sit next to you. He took one of your hands in his, feeling uncomfortably sincere as he spoke, "I love it. Thank you for doing this for me. Thank you for all of them. I am more than happy to be your muse darling. There's nothing I'd like more."

"Really?" You asked, looking so hopeful it made his heart clench in his chest.

"Really," Astarion said, moving to cup your cheek, "But I will be expecting payment for my services. I hope you realize you'll be sleeping here tonight."

"No complaints here," You murmured, right before his lips touched yours. You were smiling into the kiss, sweet enough to make Astarion want to scream.

Just what had he gotten himself into with you?

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #silly little things #i love astarion pre before he realizes fully he's in love #silly little vampire man

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steftastan · 2 years ago

Text

Carian Stroll

“Tell Blaidd, and Iji…I love them.”

Before this piece, I had been wanting for a long time to create my own piece of Elden Ring fanart featuring Ranni. I had tried several sketches unsuccessfully, just wasn’t particularly feeling the ideas I had sketched up until that point.

One day of usual internet scrolling, I stumbled upon this gorgeous piece of art by Shimomura Kanzan.

I knew immediately I wanted to do something like this for my Elden Ring fanart. In fact, if you look at this piece, there is tons of inspiration that I drew from the original artwork, such as the style of the yellow leaves and the main subject matter being a prominent silhouette of the brightest value, placed at approximately the bottom third of the image.

The main character is cleverly shrouded amidst various layers of trees and foliage, giving us the impression that we're peeking into candid moment of their life. In the case of the fox, we caught it during a mid-day snack. In the case of Ranni and her party, we caught them in a leisurely stroll, while Iji outfits the dreaded Fingercreepers with their iconic rings.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to capture a happy moment, but Ranni goes as far as to ask us to deliver to Iji and Blaidd the message that she loves them dearly as her quest draws near its end. I would imagine they all must have had fun moments together as a family. Hey, maybe even the hands liked to be around them?

The process

youtube

I started this on my iPad using the procreate app. Sadly the full process is not captured on video, as I switched to Photoshop for the rendering phase of the illustration. This video is a fun window into my chaotic process and how I iterate on the fly on the same canvas. I probably wouldn't do that in a professional setting where you often need to have color keys and iterations to be reviewed and analyzed. I like to I cut myself some slack when doing personal art to keep things fun.

Trying and failing some more

This illustration was not a straightforward path. I haven’t been very diligent about personal art, and at some point I started deviating too much from my reference by adding too many levels of depth to the background and suffocating the piece. I got into a weird loop where I would randomly open the PSD, play around with the values, pushing Iji to the back, then bringing him back, cranking all the levers on Ranni, etc., decide it would look horrible, then begrudgingly determine I’d never complete this image and go on with my life.

As artists we likely have unfinished work sitting everywhere, be it in our sketchbooks, canvases, or hard drives. But it’s a different kind of sting when you feel like you can’t even nail the fundamentals.

Anyway, so a couple weeks ago, I decided to give it another go, but this time I would get rid of all the unnecessary stuff, even stuff that I had been trying to render for ages. I would not hold on to anything, I would try and recapture what drew me to Kanzan's beautiful painting to begin with.

After it became a matter of pushing and pulling pixels until the image was finished!

That’s about it. I didn’t go crazy in depth but lately I’ve been enjoying reading into artists’ processes and I’d be remiss to not share my own thought process also.

Thank you for viewing!

#elden ring #lunar princess ranni #blaidd the half wolf #war counselor iji #illustration #artists on tumblr #fromsoftware #digital art #video game #fanart #Youtube

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anjuschiffer · 3 months ago

Text

Of Forgotten Memories and A Beloved Mother

...So this was only suppose to me a oneshot but has turned into a short mulitchapter fic... enjoy!

Chapter 2: Dami's Whale

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They had warned him several times to never lower his guard. Never.

To never underestimate his opponents.

And yet he did, causing this current dilemma.

“Give it back!” Damian yelled, running after a howling Jason, Damian chasing him with a Nerf gun in his hand.

“I’m so glad it’s only a Nerf gun in your hand!”

“You’re lucky Dad doesn’t- Dad!” Damian yelled upon seeing their father enter the foyer, scowling at the fact that he just missed a shot. “Dad! Jason won’t give me back my sketchbook!”

“Jason.” Bruce tried to say sternly but failed when a smile escaped him. He had come back from work, Alfred walking off with his coat in hand and wasn’t expecting to hear Damian call him Dad shortly after entering the manor. After all, he was always calling him Father up until a few weeks ago. “Give Damian back his sketchbook.”

“I say you look at it. You should really be getting him better materials for his drawings instead of whatever office supplies you keep getting him.” Jason suggested as he gave back Damian his sketchbook. “Like seriously, whatever you’re getting him keeps drying up the day he opens it.

So I asked an artist buddy of mine to give me some suggestions.” Both stifled a smile when Damian’s scowl softened upon hearing the words ‘art store.’ “He highly suggested Holbein gouache or Winstor and Newton acrylics for someone who paints.” Jason said with an innocent smile.

The boys watched as Bruce gave it some thought.

“I’ll ask Alfred to look into it and we’ll take Damian to pick out whatever he wants.”

“We’re going to an art store?” Damian asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Can I get whatever I want?”

“He’d buy the whole store while you’re at it.” Jason instigated, watching Damian stare at his sketchbook.

“Dad, we have to go. Now.” Damian practically begged, lifting his sketchbook to his father’s face. “I’ve been meaning to turn more of my sketches into portraits to put around the manor.”

“Excellent idea, Master Damian.” Alfred spoke, returning from the coat room. “The manor can surely use a more modern touch to its decor. Your paintings will add a nice touch of color to this dreary place.”

“Alfred.” Bruce tried to admonish but was met with an unfazed look from the man.

“I’ll make sure to leave a list of some nearby art stores on your desk. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to prepare.”

Calls. Bruce forgot how much he hated them. But this one was an exception.

Bruce was already halfway through settling the conditions he had set down for the art store he had planned to take Damian that weekend when the boy himself hung up the call.

Bruce watched as Damian lifted his finger from the switch hook, his eyes not once looking away from Bruce’s. Bruce listened as the dial tone droned in his ear.

“Damian. I was in the middle of finalizing the trip to the-”

“I know.”

“So why-”

“Can’t we just enter like any other customer?”

“But you’re not any other-”

“Can’t we just go? I don’t care if people see us go in just like that. You’re my dad and- people should accept the fact that you’re my dad. And just like any other dad, you’re spending quality time with his kid- me. Is that too much?”

And with that mini speech, Bruce agreed to just walking into the art store that weekend, doing his best to ignore the glances he and his son would get every now and then.

Bruce had his share of following people around a store and trying to understand their enthusiasm regarding products. He would smile and give them nods of approval and sweet words of encouragement as they would ask him questions about items he could care less about.

But unlike the various times he had to follow a woman around a jewelry store, Bruce found himself intrigued and actually invested in the conversation between Damian and the store employee who greeted them upon their arrival.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to completely ignore the stares and whispers that surrounded the two.

Heck, he was too busy absorbing every piece of information the store employee gave them, he didn‘t realize they had already been in the store for two whole hours.

He listened as the employee would ask Damian what media he was looking for and what type of project he was working on.

They discussed different types of media, the types of paint and texture each variety would give him. How oil paint would give him the texture he wanted in this project but if he was on a short deadline, it would not be recommended to use.

Damian would then go on a lengthy discussion on how he didn’t have a deadline and would much rather use oil paint opposed to acrylic due to the tones he needed for this piece, considering he needed a paint that had a longer drying time frame. He also had to consider that he wasn’t set on all the colors of his painting and had found mixing oil paints was easier for him compared to acrylic paint.

Bruce couldn’t forget the face the employee made upon hearing that.

Wrapping up the media choice, they moved on to canvases, something called gesso, as well as thinning and thickening agents for the paints. They then spent another hour at the brush aisle, Damian carefully selecting at least 20 different brushes before they made their way to the register to pay.

Luckily there was no one in line and the employee who had helped them already placed most of their items into several canvas bags. Paints, carefully wrapped brushes, bottles of unrecalled liquids, palettes and containers peaked from them. When Bruce was told the whopping total of 700 and something he had to pay, Bruce just handed over his card.

‘Pocket change,’ was all Bruce could think of when he heard the price.

As they waited for the employee to finish the transaction, Bruce realized it was already three in the afternoon. He turned to Damian to ask him what he wanted to do afterwards.

Maybe he was hungry. They had skipped lunch after all.

“Damian, what do you think about going to- Damian?” Bruce called out when he realized Damian wasn’t by his side, feeling a pit in his stomach.

He was starting to notice the edges of his vision fuzz as he scanned the area near the counter.

Empty, save for a single person who just realized Bruce was standing right in front of them.

“Damian?” He called out again, apologizing to the staff and letting them know he was coming back as he found himself picking up a jog as he searched the store for his son.

“Damian.” But no response. “Damian.”

“Damian!” His chest felt heavier with each aisle he found void of his kid, his eyes darting all around as he passed by yet another aisle with no Damian in sight.

“Damian!” He called out once again, when he came to a halt when his eyes caught sight of Damian standing near a gallery tucked in the back of the store. “Damian!” Bruce scolded as he turned the boy around to face him. “What are you-”

“She made that.” Damian cut him off, turning back to look at the wall behind him, Bruce only then realizing that the gallery was a collection of paintings. With a quick glance, he realized it was a collection of paintings put together by participants from one of the store’s events.

A Mother’s Memories.

Each painting that hung on the wall portrayed one of the many memories that a mother who participated in the event cherished.

Some mothers had painted their kids at a park, a family outing, visiting a farm or aquarium. Family time at home. Holidays. Birthdays.

Every painting had a child painted on the canvas, the children usually smiling back, except one.

There, on the upper most corner to the right, on a canvas no bigger than a sheet of paper was a painting of what appeared to be a bathtub filled halfway with water. A fluffy baby blue towel hung on its side, bubbles floating on the surface of the water. And there, right in the center was a lone blue whale.

The tiny baby toy smiled right at them, as if having been waiting for them all this time.

Bruce looked back at Damian, noticing his son stuck in a trance. “She made that.” He said again, but louder this time around.

“She? Who are you referring to?” Bruce dared to ask.

“Momma did.” Damian easily answered, Bruce hearing his breath hitch. There was that name again.

Momma.

Ever since Dick told him about the day he found Damian talking about a person named Momma, he tried his best to coax an answer from Damian himself. But every time he tried to, all Damian could remember from her was the color of her eyes and her voice.

“Talia?” Bruce asked, hoping it would jog up his memory a bit.

Maybe this time, Damian could recover some information on the woman he once called ‘Momma.’

“No, Momma.” Damian clarified, his brows furrowed. “Mother never delved into the arts the way Momma did. She’s the one who taught me how to draw.”

“How did you figure out she was the one who made it?”

“The whale.” Damian pointed out, letting out a ‘tt’ when Bruce only stared back at him. “Momma made me that whale with her magic. There’s no other whale like that anywhere in the world.”

Bruce looked back at the whale, wondering how that exact whale didn’t look like any other baby toy on the market. “Momma even made sure to flawlessly replicate the Guardian’s Emblem at the top of the whale’s head.”

Guardian’s emblem? What was a Guardian?

“Emblem?”

“Don’t you see it?” Damian asked. “It’s right there.” Damian tried to point, but the longer Bruce stared at the whale, he couldn’t see what Damian was able to. “Dad, it’s-”

“Oh, I see you’ve taken a liking to one of my favorite pieces.” A voice spoke up, Bruce and Damian turning to see an old lady with a red ladybug cardigan. Her gray hair was short, two strands framed her wrinkly face, the curl ends reminding Damian on bug antennae. “Such a heartbreaking story that one has.” She said, tutting as she remembered the tale.

“Heartbreaking?” Bruce asked. “Did something happen to the artist behind, um.”

“Dami’s Whale. That’s the piece’s name.

When I asked Marie why she chose to draw this piece, she told me that bath time was her baby’s favorite activity of the day.” The lady smiled when she saw Damian quickly look back at the painting. “She told me she would do anything in the world to go back to those times, saying his squeals and laughter were all she needed to get through that part of her life.

When I asked her what she meant by that, she told me one thing.”

“What did she say?” Damian asked, returning his attention to the old lady. “What happened to her? To her baby?”

“They took him away from her.” The lady softly said, frowning. “She only loved him the way she was meant to love him. And they took her away from him.”

“They got separated?” Bruce tried to understand what the owner was trying to say.

“That I would not know. Shortly after finishing the piece, Marie suddenly got a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Damian asked, his voice warbling. “Is she okay? Where can I find-“

“You seem to be familiar with Marie, young one.” The lady looked at Damian and then at Bruce. “Do the two of you know-”

“He has been searching for other family members ever since he recovered some of his memories from his childhood.” Bruce provided. “He used to live with his mother as an infant but then lived with his grandfather when his mother couldn’t provide for him anymore.”

“Oh dear.”

“He was brought to me by social services once he passed away as I’m a family friend and someone his grandfather trusted” Bruce struggled to say as he half-lied to the owner. “Since then, Damian has been searching for his only other living relative.

Somehow, this painting of Marie’s seems to be a clue to finding his mother.”

“I see.” The old lady softly said, patting Damian’s head. “You must’ve really loved your mother, didn’t you, little one?”

“I had a whale like that as a kid.” Damian spoke to divert himself from the commentary of being seen as a child. “I want to ask Marie some questions regarding it…if she can.”

The old lady hummed

“Marie did tell me only a few people would be able to tell that the whale would attract some attention.”

“A few?”

“She told me to be wary of those who ask about her upon seeing that painting. But, she did tell me to do one thing if a young boy were to ever ask about her location.”

The lady took an envelope out of her pocket and handed it over to Damian, an oddly designed wax stamp sealed on it. “Do you recognize this?”

“It is a Guardian's Emblem.” Damian answered in a whisper. “It looks just like the one on-“ he looked up to tell the old lady it looked like the one on the whale only to find her gone.

“Where did she go?” Bruce asked, wondering what the hell happened.

Weren’t they just in front of a gallery?

How did they manage to be standing outside the store with bags of art supplies in hand?

Bruce turned to Damian who still held the envelope in his hands.

Damian ran his finger over the wax stamp before deciding to open it, finding a photo of the same exact painting that was inside the store. Only, this time, he was also in the photo.

Or rather, his baby self was in the photo.

He looked so small. So fat.

He turned it over, feeling a weight lift off his shoulder.

You’ll find her at Gotham General Hospital. Best of luck, Damian.

-Tikki

#maribat #mominette

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gaybatmanenthusiast · 2 months ago

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heeey, can i req arthur morgan

THE ARTIST, AND THE OUTLAW (oneshot)

(ARTHUR MORGAN X GN! READER)

⋆★ word count : 1,112

⋆★ warnings : n/a

⋆★ summary : arthur meets the reader sketching the landscape, intrigued by their talent and he approaches them, asking for a portrait of someone important to him.

⋆★ extra : wrote this with a friend in mind once again, praying shes the one that requested this orrr someone has been waiting for their request for a hot minute …

Arthur hadn’t expected to see anyone out here, let alone someone so intently focused on sketching the open plains. He paused, just watching for a moment, leaning against his horse as the sun dipped low over the distant hills, casting warm light across the land and across the lone figure on the ledge.

The artist—a stranger whose name he didn’t know—hadn’t noticed him yet. They were too absorbed in capturing the scene before them, their hand working swiftly over a sketchbook balanced on their knee. From his distance, Arthur could barely make out their features, but he didn’t need to. It was the energy in their movements, the quiet reverence in how they observed the landscape, that held his attention.

Finally, he cleared his throat and took a few steps closer, boots scuffing over the dry earth. “Hope I ain’t interruptin’ anything important,” he called, voice rough but softened by curiosity.

They looked up, blinking in surprise, though they didn’t seem startled. Instead, they offered a slight smile, as if strangers showing up in the middle of nowhere was just part of the day. “Not interrupting. Just trying to get the light right,” they replied, glancing back at the scene before them with a quiet determination.

Arthur nodded, a little more intrigued. “S’pose you come out here often?”

“Anywhere I can find something worth sketching,” they replied, holding up the book as if it answered everything. “There’s just… too much beauty out here to let it pass by unrecorded.”

Arthur studied their sketch from a distance. Though it was unfinished, he could already see the skill behind it—the way they captured shadows and the contours of the land with a precision that felt both raw and alive. The sight stirred something in him, an odd mixture of nostalgia and longing he hadn’t expected.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, nodding toward the book.

They hesitated only a moment, then passed it over. Arthur took it gently, scanning the pages. There were sketches of wildlife, mountain ranges, campfires, and even little moments—a flower caught in the breeze, a lone bird perched on a fence post. Each drawing held an attentiveness that felt almost sacred.

“You got a way with things,” he murmured, still focused on the pages. “Ain’t many folks out here would even notice half of what you put down.”

They shrugged, though there was a flicker of pride in their eyes. “Guess I like to see the world for what it is, not just what people want it to be.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the weight of their words settle in his mind. For a while, they sat in a comfortable silence, he by his horse, and they back to their sketching. Arthur watched, noting the way they glanced up every now and then, catching little details with an intensity he envied. It was as if they saw the world through a different lens, one that softened the rough edges he was so used to.

After a while, he found himself speaking up again. “You, uh… ever think about doin’ a portrait? You got the skill for it.”

They glanced over, brow raised in mild curiosity. “I’ve done a few, but it depends on the person.” Their eyes lingered on him, considering. “Why? Got someone in mind?”

Arthur shifted, uncertain for a moment. “Yeah… my ma, actually. She’s been gone a long time, but… you got a way of makin’ things feel alive.” He almost regretted the admission, but the words had come unbidden.

The artist’s expression softened, a gentle understanding in their gaze. “I’d be honoured,” they said quietly. “Tell me about her.”

He hesitated, caught off-guard by the tenderness in their tone. But as the words spilled out, he found himself recounting little things he hadn’t thought of in years—the sound of his mother’s laugh, the kindness in her eyes, the way she’d held him close when he was small and scared. The artist listened, not interrupting, letting him speak in his own time. And when he was finished, they simply nodded, already starting to sketch.

Over the following days, Arthur returned to the spot by the ledge, finding them there nearly every afternoon, waiting patiently with sketchbook in hand. With each meeting, they asked small questions, drawing more stories from him, little by little. He spoke about his ma, then his old life before the gang, and even the first time he’d ridden a horse on his own. Each story felt like an offering, as if he were putting pieces of himself down on paper through their hands.

As he spoke, he started asking about their life, too—where they’d come from, what had brought them to this place. They answered with quiet honesty, sharing tales of a life spent moving from place to place, driven not by restlessness but by a love for the land and the people within it. They talked about the way different skies looked at dawn, about quiet moments in bustling towns, about the simple peace that came from just sitting under an open sky.

Arthur began to see the world differently through them. The mountains seemed taller, the rivers gentler, and even the dusty roads they walked on felt more alive. For the first time, he wondered if there might be more to his own story than just the guns and blood he’d left in his wake.

One evening, as they were finishing up the day’s work, they turned to him, a small, contemplative smile on their lips. “Arthur… you ever think about what you’ll leave behind?”

He blinked, surprised. “Ain’t never thought much of it.”

“Well,” they said softly, looking down at the nearly completed portrait. “Even outlaws deserve to be remembered for more than just the dust they kick up.”

Their words struck a chord, one he hadn’t expected to feel. There was an ache in his chest, something that felt like hope, and it unsettled him. But as he looked at them, at the quiet sincerity in their gaze, he felt that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth holding onto.

They reached out, a light touch on his hand, fingers brushing his calloused knuckles. The gesture was simple, yet it felt electric, a silent promise that there was more to life than he’d known. He held their gaze, feeling the faint stirrings of something unfamiliar, something that felt like warmth and light all at once.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough, barely audible. And in the quiet that followed, they just smiled, a hint of something fond and knowing in their expression—a look that told him they saw him, the real him, and they still cared.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x gn reader #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom

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writerfromshikahr · 9 days ago

Text

My first male Rook piece. This is slightly inspired by my Grey Warden Rook, named Sethius (but no names are used in this, just generic Rook). Pre-relationship moment (because I freaking love those).

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A Sketch to the Heart - Lucanis X Rook

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The smell of roasted meat and herbs lingered in the air, the warm glow of the kitchen fireplace casting dancing shadows across the walls. Rook sat at the long wooden table, one elbow resting on its worn surface, the other hand guiding a piece of charcoal over the thick paper of his sketchbook. Around him, the others were finishing their meals or quietly preparing to retire for the night.

The room hummed with the soft murmur of voices and the occasional scrape of a chair, but no one paid much attention to him as he worked. That was just as well. The flickering firelight played across his freckled face, deepening the thoughtful crease between his brows as the wyvern on the page came to life.

It wasn’t the first time he’d drawn a one, but this time it was different. He’d noticed the way Lucanis spoke about them a few days earlier—quietly, with a rare note of admiration. It wasn’t much, just a passing comment in the markets in Treviso, but it had stuck with Rook. That’s just who he was. He remembered little things and acted on them without a second thought.

He added the final details to the wings—thin veins branching out like rivers—then leaned back, studying the creature. It looked alive, ready to spring from the page, its jagged tail curled in menace, its angular head tilted as if in thought. Satisfied, he gently dusted the excess charcoal from the paper with the edge of his sleeve and set the stick of charcoal down.

The faint rustle of movement drew his attention, he glanced up to find Lucanis approaching. As always, he moved with an assassin’s precision, quiet and measured. He stopped beside Rook and glanced down at the sketchbook.

“What are you drawing?” Lucanis asked, his tone low and even, but there was a note of curiosity beneath it.

Rook smiled faintly. “Something for you, actually,” he said, reaching for the small dirk sheathed at his belt.

Lucanis raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Rook slid the blade carefully along the edge of the page, severing it cleanly from the sketchbook. He set the knife aside, then held the page to him.

“Here,” Rook said.

Lucanis hesitated before taking it, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper as he lifted it to get a better look. The firelight illuminated every detail—the wyvern’s powerful wings, its coiled tail, the glint of intelligence in its eyes. He stared at the drawing for a long moment, his dark eyes tracing every detail. His expression softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through, “You remembered.” The words were quiet, almost as though they were meant only for himself.

Rook shrugged, his tone casual. “Of course I did. I’m good at listening, or so I've been told.”

“It’s incredible, thank you.” he smiled softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s nothing,” Rook replied, waving him off. “Just figured you’d appreciate it.”

The assassin sat down beside him, holding the sketch carefully, as though it were something fragile. The fire crackled softly, filling the space between them as the rest of the kitchen slowly emptied.

“I meant it,” Lucanis said after a while. “The drawing means a lot to me.”

Rook glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You really like wyverns, huh?”

Lucanis nodded, his gaze still on the drawing. “When I was a child, I wanted one—more than anything. I read every book I could find about them. Caterina thought it was a distraction, but I couldn’t help myself.” He let out a soft, almost self-conscious chuckle. “I suppose I never stopped admiring them.”

Rook leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Ever seen one up close?”

Lucanis shook his head. “No. I’ve only read about them. Their wildness, their strength… they fascinate me.”

Rook smiled, sliding his sketchbook closer to Lucanis. “You’re in luck. I’ve seen plenty of them—and drawn just as many. Caught sight of some in the Korcari Wilds a few years back. Mean little bastards. This one here nearly took my arm off… but, damn, was it beautiful.”

Lucanis leaned closer, studying the page intently. “I didn’t know they came in so many forms.”

He turned the page to another sketch of a massive wyvern with jagged horns and a thick, scaled tail. “Spotted it in the Frostbacks during a supply run. It didn’t try to eat me, so I consider that a win.“

Lucanis chuckled softly, the sound rare but warm. “You’ve seen all of these?”

“Over the last ten years, yeah. Wyverns and Wardens go hand in hand, or so it seems. Always where you don't want them to be and usually where you've got to go.”

Lucanis studied him for a moment, “I envy you,” he said quietly. “To see them in person… it must be incredible.”

“It is,” Rook admitted, his voice softening. “But you probably see them differently than I do. I mostly see creatures that are trying to eat me. You, on the other hand, see them for what they really are—wild, dangerous, and kind of amazing.”

Lucanis’s gaze returned to the drawing he had given him, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, again. For this. For remembering.”

“Anytime" Rook met his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile.

#lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #rook #rookanis #rookanisfanfic #male rook #dragon age the veilguard #wyverns

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chloe-skywalker · 1 year ago

Text

Bad Brother - Scott Mccall

Scott x fem!reader sister

Warnings: none

Word count: 582

Requested:TW imagine the reader is Scott sister and you always have your drawing book sketch book and the pack take a look at it and Scott sees ur depressing art work and forbidden love work and realises he hasn't been he best brother ever. @cokecola4211

Authors Note: Thanks for liking the Mal one so much that you requested this again but with Teen Wolf

Masterlist

Teen Wolf Masterlist

******************************************************************

“Shoot! Y/n/n were gonna be late! Come on.” Maila shouted after seeing the time on Stiles' watch. She jumped up grabbing her bag and y/n’s wrist, pulling her along with her to the class they were gonna be late for.

“Wait-” Stiles called after them but they were already to far away to hear him. “Maila’s sure in a rush. Y/n forgot her sketchbook.”

“Shit. She’s gonna freak. I’ll make sure she gets it.” Scott picks it up. He could tell that a lot of the pages had been used up just by looking at the sides. Throughout the day he hadn’t been able to find his sister to give it back to her, but his will also broke when he couldn’t take it anymore and peaked. But what he found made him keep looking and the more he looked the more concerned he got. The more he realized he hadn't been a good brother.

Later that day after school once Y/n came home she entered their home and sat down in the kitchen where her mom was getting ready to leave for work.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” Melissa asked upon looking at her daughter and seeing her mood.

“I lost my sketch book at school.” Y/n whined as she rested her head on her folded arms. Not at all happy that anyone could just look in it.

“I’m sure you’ll find it at school tomorrow. Go to the Office tomorrow and see if they found it. “ Melissa suggested hoping that it would help. Y/n was very attached to it so she was sure her daughter was very stressed.

“Yeah.” Y/n grunted that's all she could do.

“I’ll see you and your brother tomorrow.” she told her as she walked over kissing Y/n on the head before leaving to start her long night shift.

“Bye mom.” Y/n could out as her mom shut the door.

With that Y/n decided to grab a snack and headed up stairs to her room. She was alone in there for a while doing homework before Scott came knocking on her bedroom door leaning against the door jam.

“Hey.” he said once, getting her attention. “Found this today. You left it at lunch.”

Y/n looked up and noticed he was holding her missing sketch book. “Thanks. I was worried someone took it.” She replied as she entered her room and handed it to her.

There was a moment of silence before Scott spoke. Trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to say. “Y/n.”

“Hmmm” Y/n hummed not looking up at him.

“I know we’ve been busy the last couple years with all the supernatural stuff-”

“You looked in it didn’t you.” Y/n cut him off, holding her sketchbook tightly to her chest.

“Yeah.” Scott nodded, admitting shamefully. “Y/n, you can talk to me. About anything and everything, at any time. You know that right?”

Y/n shrugged. “We’ve just been so busy and you’ve been dealing with Alpha stuff-”

Scott shook her head as he moved to sit on Y/n’s bed next to her. “I’ve been a terrible brother and I’m sorry. Can we promise we’ll talk more when somethings bothering us?”

Y/n smiled, it was weak but it was enough to encourage Scott. So he pulled her into him, hugging her. Something they hadn’t done in a long time it seemed.

“Yeah, I think I can do that.”

Taglist: @padawancat97

#scott mccall #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall imagines #x reader #imagine #imagines #teen wolf #y/n #scott mccall x reader #scott mccall x sister reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf imagine

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rampantram · 8 months ago

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I've been saving this but I can't take it anymore... your art is super cool!! I love the drawing style you have, especially the lines and expressions. Also the dynamic poses and interactions between characters, everything looks so cute but at the same time exciting to keep watching!! I would read a whole manga with your art in it :3

Curious question: what size are your drawings normally? I see that you draw in pencil and many times there is more than one drawing on a single canvas/sheet so I am curious to know approximately the size of your drawings

I hope you don’t mind me using your ask to say this, but…you guys have no idea how much your kindness and positivity has affected me since I started posting my CotL stuff.

I’ve had anxiety since I was a kid, and depression for almost a decade now, and most recently been diagnosed with ADHD and OCD. I’ve had the most lows in my life over the past few years, and my consistency and drive to draw has suffered for it; at most, I’ve posted every other week, but mostly once every couple of months, and even longer than that until now. Being on medication has affected my motivation to draw, and I’ve been on short-term disability for over a month now, trying out new medications and feeling mostly miserable from the side effects.

Despite all that, I’ve wanted truly to finally be consistent with art, interact with people, try new things, and it’s helped so much to have so many people loving the things I’ve come up with. I haven’t been as consistent this last week, and spotty some weeks before that, but you’ve all been so patient despite that, which is part of the reason I want to give you some transparency and vulnerability on my part.

So I apologize if things continue to be a little less than organized or consistent, but I’m going to keep trying my best everyday, because I want to keep bringing you things you enjoy and want to interact with, so…thank you. 🥹

But getting to your question before I really start to tear up…this 9x12 sketchbook by Strathmore (specifically the recycled paper) is what I’ve been using for my sketches for a long while:

And it typically depends on how big or small I think each of the drawings should be, but I do try to keep them on one page if I can just for organizations’s sake.

Also if I know I need to post it from my phone, I try to make things easier for myself by putting things within proximity of each other with my phone’s camera in mind (not the whole page because it’ll be blurry, up and down since that’s easier for me to take a shot with, and so on).

If I’m gonna scan it, that makes things a bit easier, but I do try to condense them enough so I can try and avoid doing two scans of the same page and having to stitch them together (this one below just ended up taking the whole page, and since most scanners - my roommate’s included - usually only scan Letter or A4 size areas, those I end up having to scan on multiple parts and edit them together in Clip Studio Paint).

But of course, it all comes down to what feels right or works with your own method the best (as long as you achieve the outcome you wanted, the tools and method to get there don’t necessarily have to be the “best” or “right” way to do it).

I hope this helps, though, and that you have a brilliant day~✨

#sorry for the long-winded part in the beginning #but I hope being honest helps explain some shortcomings I’ve had in the past #asks #art #my art #cult of the lamb #the ewe au #art advice

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kalinysu · 2 years ago

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so; imagine lower moon reader taking a big interest in gyutaros physique and ever since they got the chance/luck to watch him at his work, lower moon reader draws his body structure, different poses/posture and movement when he battles/rests!

one day they didnt pay enough attention/mind to notice him sneaking up on them since they we're to drowned in their doodles.. and he snatches it 'nd reader gets embarrassed and tries to clarify since they never really had interaction

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐌𝐄? — Gyutaro x F!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None.

𝐍𝗼𝐭𝐞𝐬: Cute idea, and so sorry i took so long! I’ve been pretty busy and may not be able to write again as soon as i’d like to.

You had always been an artist, even in your human years. Now up until you became a lower moon. You stayed dedicated to your job as a 12 kizuki of course, but you couldn’t help but draw everytime you got the chance. Especially now that you’ve discovered the existence of upper six. At first, you didn’t know that they were two demons. You thought there was only one, the girl. But soon after you came to find out she had a brother, Gyutaro.

And sooner or later, you took an interest in his physique, and just the way he looked. You were quick to make sketches of his battle stances and even just the way he sits. You had never seen anyone like him, of course. So naturally you were very curious about him. You admired his build, and the markings on his face. Even his hair, you took a special interest in. One day, you were sitting alone in the infinity castle, scribbling away in your notebook.

You didn’t speak much to the other demons unless absolutely necessary, so nobody really approached you. You figured you were safe to draw the demon once again since you supposed nobody would come near you.

You shifted to a more comfortable position to sit in, until you noticed a shadow over you. You had been so focused on drawing you didn’t even realize. You hesitated for a moment, before looking up, only to be met face to face with the very man who was filling up all the pages in your sketchbook. Your eyes widened, and before you could react your journal was gone, and Gyutaro was faced away from you, looking through it. “—W-wait, give that back!” You said, jumping to your feet to try and retrieve it. He simply shoved you away, his face buried in the book.

You couldn’t tell how he’d react, but you were afraid he might not appreciate you drawing him. “Is this me?” He asked with an amused chuckle, his palm pressed against your forehead to keep you from getting close to the book. You froze, no longer trying to get it back. It was far too late. “U-uh.. Y-yes but—“ You stutter, clearing your throat a bit. “I-I just thought you looked cool and.. thought I would draw you..” You said, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

He didn’t say anything, continuing to flip through the pages. Honestly, he was impressed. Nobody had ever drawn him before, and on top of that you thought he was cool? That’s something he’s never heard in his life. “Can I have these?” He asked, looking down at you. You stared in shock. Have them? He wasn’t mad? “U-uh—Of course!” You said, feeling a little more confident. He handed you the book, not wanting to rip any of the drawing with taking them out. You carefully took a few pages out and handed them to him. “How come your only drawing me? Am I that weird looking?” He asked, using his free hand to scratch at his skin.

“N-no!! Not at all! It’s just.. Your.. Really, really cool..” You mumbled. He was shocked, really. He leaned down to look at your face, tilting his head. “You mean that..?” He asked. You nodded, looking away from him. Your cheeks flushed pink from the sudden closeness. “That’s.. Intriguing.” He said with a small grin, followed by a chuckle.

“Do you think you can draw me more?” He asked. You looked back at him, feeling your heart skip a beat. “M-more?” He nodded. “Yeah, can you do that?” He questioned. “Y-yeah! I can!” You said, moving back to where you were sitting before on top of a cushioned platform. He followed, sitting slightly behind you. You were a little nervous, having the person you were drawing for so long watching you. You picked up your pen and began to draw, eventually, you felt his head resting on your shoulder.

He still couldn’t believe that someone like you would want to draw someone like him, and actually took an interest him. He was always labeled as ugly so naturally he didn’t understand. “Why me?” He suddenly asked, causing you to look at him from the corner of your eye, turning your head a little. You smiled. “Why not?” You said. “Why would you want to draw someone as displeasing as me?” He asked once more, genuinely curious. “I don’t think your displeasing at all.”

“Man, you’re a weird one.” He said with a chuckle, before focusing back onto your drawing.

#demon slayer #kny #gyutaro #gyutaro fluff #gyutaro x reader

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comicaurora · 1 year ago

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Hey Red!

I have a writing question I’d like to ask, if that’s cool with you!

When it comes to starting a new story, big or small, pantsing or structuring, with black tea or chamomile, do you have any tips for, er, actually pulling the trigger and beginning? I don’t mean the “accusatory blank page”, I mean in getting to the “I genuinely believe this is a story worth telling and that should be told by me” mindset sufficient to commit. (Insofar as there’s a difference.)

Asking you because you’re someone who has excellent and proven skills in showwomanship, creativity, execution and all-round good storytelling vibes. Cuz while I’ve studied story structure and writing advice aplenty… It’s hard to take the dive when you’ve only ever been in the kiddie pool, so to speak.

Thanks either way!

Aw shucks!

I kinda feel like there's an intermediate stage here that I usually hit first, which is when I've been telling a story for myself for so long that I start feeling like I don't want to keep it to myself anymore.

A lot of the stuff I write or draw is just for me - stuff where I enjoy the act of creation or use it to flesh out and play with a concept I've been toying with. Sketchbook stuff that doesn't have an outside audience in mind, just stuff that I like. These aren't stories that have the end goal of sharing them - hell, half of them are just comic or prose adaptations of story beats that stuck with me that I wanted to play around with as practice and for fun. The rest of it is sketch pages of characters, doodles of scenes or snippets of prose writing built around a single scene or concept.

I think that the creative urge, when examined, should be subdivided into two extremely distinct subsections for clarity; the desire to make, and the desire to share. Not every person shares both in equal measure - in fact I'd say it's much more common for them to exist independently. The desire to share isn't limited to art you yourself created, either - fandom is constructed from a massive excess of the desire to share, passing around a story for examination and discussion because it is inherently fun to share the experience, and most of us can relate to the burning need to talk about this thing that's in my brain. And there's plenty of art that results from the desire to make that has none of the desire to share, ref cit everything in a sketchbook or every private writing exercise done for the joy of it. Neither element can be forced, and there's nothing wrong with either one existing without the other.

For me at least, the desire to share builds slowly for the larger projects. I might be eager to share a doodle or a sketch I think people will get a kick out of, but something bigger and more complicated will stay in my brain for much longer, and might never make it out. For me, Aurora started as just a playground for me to write and draw in, but over the years it built up to something I wanted to share - something I felt I'd be betraying if I let it sit in my head. It kind of just grew naturally, and if I'd tried to force it beforehand I would've felt self-conscious and uncomfortable rather than getting any joy out of the act of sharing.

#asks #writing stuff #art stuff

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rosainta · 9 months ago

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Team Fortress 2: 12 Flash Fiction Excerpts

('ms pauling' by makani on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/makani/art/ms-pauling-208768568)

(Author's Notes (A/N) at the end. For now, enjoy these slices of TF2 writing cake, baked with the batter of my mind!) * * *

1 "The Runner's a Fool."

[Written 10-3-2024]

Scout’s heart was bursting as he ran through the underbrush.

He didn’t look back; he couldn’t. Not after what he saw. If he had known sooner, he might not have spent so much energy trying to woo her...

Maybe he wouldn’t have made such a fool of himself.

2 "Player of The Heart."

[Written 10-3-2024]

“Fine, one more time”, he grumbled.

Pauling gleamed as she turned to the tape player. Changing the song to something more romantic, she hummed along and placed herself into his arms. They began to sway with the music.

Sniper felt his heart racing, but his thoughts raced quicker.

He wondered: would the one he really loved be into this too?

3 "Long Overdue."

[Written 10-3-2024]

Spy knew what he had to do.

He sat down next to the crying boy, gently putting a hand on his back. “Screw off!” the younger yelled, pushing him away.

Seeing him like this broke him; it did every time. But he took a deep breath and said what he should have all those years ago:

“I am sorry, Scout.”

4 "What Happens if You Feed the Machine? (Or In This Case, Water It?)"

[Written 10-3-2024]

“Yer no fun, lad!”

“Come on now, you know how I’ve been goin’ dry...”

“What’s one bottle a’ scrumpy goin’ to do to you?”

“Well, let’s see here. How many eyeballs o’ yours do my teleporters teleport per use?”

“Er, one.”

“Well, expect that to be one less the next time ‘round, pardner.”

He chuckled, and in an instant, he gulped it all down.

5 "Soldier's Solace."

[Written 11-3-2024]

Soldier stared at the grand moon from the roof of the base.

After the day’s fighting and bread teleporting, the other mercenaries were off to bed. But Soldier remained, smiling contentedly from under his helmet without another care in the world.

Somehow, he knew that right then and for as long as he dreamed, everything would be alright.

6 "Буквы говорят о любви."

[Written 12-3-2024]

If Heavy learned one thing in all his years of studying Russian literature, it was that writing wasn’t something you did; it was something you became.

So, picking up the ink pen, he let his hand go and embodied with all he had what meant most to him.

“It is time I tell you, Doktor.”

7 "Like The Warmth of a Fireplace."

[Written 13-3-2024]

Pyro looked at Engineer as a child does a Mall Santa, clapping. “Huddah, huddah!”

“Okay, one more, just for you.”

The technician took a deep breath and began to strum on the old guitar, his low voice singing a song of pink skies. Pyro swayed to the beat in bliss.

And, with every hum, the two grew closer.

8 "A Smile Means A Million Words, That Is Until You Speak."

[Written 14-3-2024]

Scout liked sketching.

While words weren’t his forte, art allowed him to express what he felt but could never say. He licked his lips, furrowed his eyebrows, and furiously scratched at the page with a pencil. Every detail, every form-- they had to be perfect.

When he was done, he proudly smiled at his creation.

And it smiled back.

BONUS!

As he admired his creation, he didn’t notice Sniper approaching him.

“And just what are you scribblin' off today, mate?”

Scout snapped around, flustered. He wasn't expecting company, and especially not from him.

“A-ah, hey, Snipes!", he blurted out. "It's nothing, really. Just another drawing of Spy screwin’ those... stupid French bread swords, whatever ya' call 'em.”

As he stammered an excuse, his face slowly turning red, he didn’t realize that his creation's rough, sketched face-- a picture of the marksman himself!-- was peaking through the corner of the sketchbook in the crook of his arm. Sniper paused for a moment as he stared at the work in awe, its own happily gazing back at him. Then, snapping out of his trance, he wordlessly turned back to smile at the younger man.

“You’ve got some talent, kid," he said, softly. "Please, don’t waste it.”

Then, quick as he came, he ambled away.

Scout was left standing, bewildered, and admittedly a bit confused, and he slowly turned back to look back at his drawing.

He traced the rough face of the man, looking wistfully with a tinge of giddiness in his eyes.

“If only you knew...", he whispered to himself without thinking. "Maybe then I could draw you like one of my French girls.”

Then, upon realizing the stupidity of his own remark (and of its disgusting, Spy-related... Frenchness), he immediately gagged.

“Ew, crap, no!”

Somewhere in the distance, Spy instinctively rolled his eyes.

9 "I Feel Olive!"

[Written 15-3-2024]

Medic pinched his nose, a low groan rumbling from him.

"What is wrong, Doktor? You seem stressed", Heavy asked, concernedly lifting his nose from his book.

Medic turned to him, tired eyes smiling weakly. "Ah, it iz nothing. Just... ze dull, useless legal documents. You know, as per usual."

"Well, if it makes Medic feel any better, Heavy ran out of olive for sandvich, so eating it was practically useless! I could not even digest it without big frown", he said, frowning in turn.

He grumbled, continuing, "What Heavy means to say is... you are not alone in your troubles."

Medic paused for a bit, before laughing and grinning back at the giant. He was grateful for this goofy big old man.

"Oh, you alvays know what to say, Heavy. Come on, let us escape this prison of an office and find you that olive. I am getting quite hungry and ze papers can wait, after all!"

10 "Off-Target."

[Written 29-3-2024]

Scout's mind just. couldn't. think.

His head was jumbled, a puzzle with the pieces too lost in the messy maze of his brain ever to solve. He wished he could crack open his skull like he did the BLUs on the field; maybe that would knock some sense into him.

He really needed to focus. Sniper always did.

So, why couldn't he?

11 "Our Paths Shall Cross Again."

[Written 4-4-2024]

It pained him to see her like this.

So, for the first time in his life, he put his pride aside and took one last glance at the sleeping lady before leaving the room.

Scout wished he could stay all night and marvel at her familiar, sheer beauty, even as she slept so frail. But he knew what she needed most was not him, but help.

Who knew what she went through those 2 years?

He resigned himself to the couch, closing his eyes. His affections for Miss Pauling would have to wait, as they always did, but he was fine with that.

She was safe, and that’s what mattered most to him.

12 "Guess Who's Up For Surgery?"

[Written 6-4-2024]

Medic was practically laughing with joy! Or, in his peculiar case, cackling maniacally.

Ah, it was of no matter— the doctor was filled to the brim with inspiration! So many projects to start and bodies to stitch; oh, what a wonderful feeling!

Heavy smiled as he watched the doctor go about his merry way.

Sure, when he was in this mood, that likely meant imminent danger for all those around him (they’d be his newest experiment, no doubt), but seeing him happy always made Heavy’s heart feel a little lighter.

So, as the doctor bounced up to him with his newest rambling, he didn’t protest!

* * *

Author's Notes: Over the past weeks, I've been working on being more spontaneous in my writing—no planning, just writing with the flow! And what better way to do that than to write flash fiction about my favourite fandom? (Plus, I have been practically absent here (post-wise) for, what, months? So why not use this as an excuse to share them with you? Ehehe... Okay, let's forget I said anything; moving on!) Flash fiction, with its creative liberties and curt nature, is an excellent medium (not forgetting to mention the fact it's a disgracefully UNDERRATED form of media!) that inspires me to write because it sort of... brutally invalidates any excuse of author's block I have... since it is literally spilling the words from your conscience into text WITHOUT the worry of length (ah! My greatest enemies...). Plus, it is... sort of, maybe, kinda addicting because it's just so freakishly simple, and the more you do it, the more productive you'll be and feel! Isn't that wonderful? (It could even be a drug! Er, well, a good one... wait, is there even a thing as a good drug? Ah- nevermind.) Anyway, if you're struggling with author's block, I'd heavily recommend trying it. Of course, it may not work for everyone (and I am not here to legally endorse this like a paid sponsor!) but it's still worth a shot if you haven't yet already. And hey, if it doesn't, you can feel free to blame me for the waste of time! Don't worry, I won't mind. Before we go on, I have to take this moment now to thank the one sweet old woman (whom I've unfortunately forgotten the name of) who first taught me about it a few years back during a summer writing course. She taught me much about what I know and love today, so I owe this and much of my writing happiness and technique to her! Thank you, lady. May you continue to write on!! Anyhow, to give you more context, these are all excerpts taken from a private account (but not a secret one! It's out there... somewhere...) of mine, edited for quality purposes and also because a few of the original excerpts bugged me due to their... well, innate cringiness. Hopefully, there's less of it now, but I wouldn't count on my eradicating it as it seems that cringe is just a part of my habitual writing style (I am sorry to disappoint, unnamed woman from the course... I have failed you). I hope that at least is is bearable enough for you to read. However, if not, I offer you my greatest condolences. If you'd like some bleach for your eyes, I have that too. You can also tell by the number of Speeding Bullet and Red Oktoberfest excerpts that I was... in quite the shipping mood for some of them. So, if that doesn't bug you, feel free to indulge yourselves in these characters as I obsessively have over the course of writing these!! It would be my pleasure to offer that liberty to you (and perhaps, shamelessly to myself as well, ahaha..), so please, go ahead. Anyway, that's all of the random blurbs I have to ramble on about today. Thank you for reading- or skimming, at the very least- and please have a marvellous day, pally~!

~ Rosain Quivan

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oddballwriter · 1 year ago

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HEYAA. I’ve been so obsessed with ur MK stuff lately it’s insane. Wondering if I could request a little blurb with Steven? 🙏 Maybe artistic reader who uses Steven as a muse of sorts? 🎨 Maybe Steven finds reader’s sketches of him and Reader is like embarrassed 😨 that he may be uncomfortable with it? Add and change up anything you’d like!! 😽 ur my fav writer thank you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼❤️❤️

Your Drawings Look like Heaven to Me

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Summary: Steven always enjoys your drawings and art, big or small, painting or simple sketch and doodle. But he's a bit surprised when he discovers that you have a habit of drawing a certain muse that you have.

Warnings: There's nothing that I can actually thing of other than it's mentioned that the reader draws Steven when he's unaware, but I don't think it's that bad. Also 'Y/n' is used once.

Author’s Snip: This was meant to be just a little blurb but I got the writing equivalent of zoomies. You asked for a cookie and I made you a cake with layers, frosting, and toppings. This is insane how did I do this. I think it's because I've been drinking a monster while writing this. I have paused the video that I was previously watching in the background because I am so focused. I'm not even joking this shit is 1517 words long and that is before I proof and grammar checked it. I think this might be the longest writing I've done thus far. Enjoy your free cake, anon.

Notes: This is written in the lens of a world where it's just Steven, so none of the actual events in the show happen.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Steven always knew you drew. You met at your jobs at the museum, at the time, you were working the front desk while he of course worked at the gift shop. The two of you weren't all too familiar with each other since you only saw each other in passing. You knew him as Steven from the gift shop, and he knew you as Y/N from the front desk. You did learn more details through others. Steven was a chatty guy who had an impressive knowledge about Egyptology and mythos. And you were the person at the front desk who did nothing but sit there and draw all day when not granting visitors entry, or in most cases, taking a second to scan a preprinted ticket and check the schedule.

Steven heard talk that you were really talented in your art. You were able to draw what were basically pictures of things you saw or even made up. He hadn't seen your actual art till one day he found you sat where he usually did for lunch, drawing the statue man that he talked at everyday. And wow, were they right about how well you could draw. Though while you talked to each other you laughed "Well of course I'm able to draw him perfectly. He doesn't move.".

That lunch break was a long time ago. You two started dating between then and now. Steven managed to leave the museum for a new one that actually let him be a tour guide. You eventually managed to find work that let you use your skills in art instead of using it to beat the boredom of your job. And you also moved in with Steven in his little flat, in which he cleared out some of this clutter to make a space for you to work and make your own.

You would draw little doodles for Steven to have. Like Gus swimming around. An Egyptian god that you made using his books as a reference. You even drew him a little alligator with a speech bubble saying "Later" on a sticky note. He still has it by the way. He laminated it using clear tape and has it in his wallet as a pick-me-up when he's upset or as a lucky charm of sorts. You always made drawings for him. But never once had he thought that you would make drawings of him. Let alone how many drawing you made of him.

Steven isn't a man who likes to snoop around regularly, feeling a massive sense of ruining someone's privacy. But you said that he could always look through your sketchbooks and art pieces if he wanted, as long as it wasn't a commission that was still being worked on, which he respected. You, like any other artist, had a plethora of sketchbooks of different sizes that served different purposes. There were your personal sketchbooks, outline and testing sketchbooks, practice sketchbooks, a lot of sketchbooks with a lot of different things they were for. It amazed him just how many you had and how you were able to remember which is which.

He knew which ones were ones he gifted you though. Steven was never confident when it came to gifting you supplies. He wasn't an artist himself so he didn't know what was perfect and what was something you would say thank you for out of courtesy. One of the things he used as a safe play were sketchbooks. The bookstore he frequented had a section of art stuff and found that the sketchbooks were not only great quality but also had various designs on their covers. So he'd get you one almost every time he went.

When he looked at them on the shelf next to your desk he realized that he had never actually seen inside of those ones. He was a bit hesitant to grab one since he didn't know if you would want him to. It's not like he could ask you right now. You were out running some important errands and he didn't want to bother you. However, they were on the part of the shelf that you put all your regular personal sketchbooks, which he was allowed to look at so he took a one random from the collection and flicked through the pages.

Out of some coincidence, it was the first sketchbook he got you, which was admittedly one he got you before he learned what pages were good for actual art. The first few pages were doodles that were likely from testing how the paper held up with the actual process of drawing which soon stopped and the rest of the art was actually taped on like they originally belonged to another sketchbook.

Steven thought of that as a clever use for the pages. You would sometimes make art you thought was nice on miscellaneous papers and would simply take the piece with the art out and stick it somewhere else. But he soon notices a theme amongst all the doodles and drawings, which then follow into all of the other sketchbooks he gifted you.

Him.

Most of the drawings in these sketchbooks were of him.

They were all different. Some were him lounging around or taking a nap. Something that would have made him unaware of you creating a drawing of him. There was one that was him asleep laying in bed from what would be your side of the bed. His face was calm, the limpness of his arms and body was captured perfectly, the sheets drawn with the most accurate wrinkles, and the lighting gave the impression of the light of the morning that came in through the curtains. It looked like you simply took a picture of him while he slept but it was clearly a sketch drawn using a pen and pencil.

There was these bust and face portraits that spanned through out the books, of course of him. The first were already so good in detail considering these had to be drawings of him from memory. But they only got more detailed as they went on. You managed to get his amount of stubble right. You had the little baby curls that lived along his hair line. The crease between his eyebrows he had since he always had a slight anxious expression. That tiny little dimple that he had next to his nose that he didn't know existed until you pointed it out one time.

Steven's mind was boggling to him to see such detailed drawings of him that looked so carefully done even when they were simply quick sketches. They were life-like. They were him. They were Steven. To be honest, how could it not? You see his face all the time. So why wouldn't you have him completely memorized. It was just the fact that you had taken time and pages to draw him and him alone.

It was a bit jarring, for the both of you, when you walked through the front door with a hand full of groceries and other things from your errands and he was seen looking at all the drawings of him. You were embarrassed that he finally saw all your drawings of him and worried that he would think it was weird. He thought that he crossed a line and breached your privacy.

You two avoided talking about it till Steven finally did during dinner later that evening.

"You, uh, draw me... a lot." Steven spoke. "Yeah. I do." you blush as you avoided eye contact in case his eyes showed that your fear of him finding your habit with drawing him was strange was correct. "Why do you draw me so much?" he questions. You sighed, "It's sort of a habit I formed." you confess. You proceeded to explain how it started,

"I first drew you as an exercise to get rid of some art block. I usually draw faces of people I know as a means to do that. So I drew you. It was okay. But when I looked at it a couple days later I thought that I could do it again to improve on detailing some more. Then I used you as a study for lighting and colors.".

"Then, sometimes, I would just draw you when I thought you looked pretty or thought of you. And that's sort of what I've been doing." you explain further. "I thought you would find it weird if you saw all the times I drew you and so I just put them in the books you got me and hoped you wouldn't see them." you say in a timid manner.

"I don't think it's strange. I think it's actually quite flattering." Steven clarifies. "I was just surprised that you think of me as something worth drawing. Especially with such detail." he remarks. You breathe a sigh of relief at that.

"If I'm entirely honest, love," Steven spoke up, "Never tell me that you're drawing me from where I am. I'll get nervous and possibly ruin the position that you're drawing me in." he remarks.

#moonknight #moon knight #moonknight x reader #moon knight x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader

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