#i drew the couple before flipping the canvas to draw myself

[twistcmyk]

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

Cowboy Couture

Yeehawgust Day 11 Words: 1,585 Characters: Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Albert Mason Pairings: Implied Charthur Warnings: Fluff

This was part of an collab piece with @peacesentinel​ that we both kind of forgot about, but at least now it’s getting some light. You can find more of his work on his twitter

Arthur dropped the buck heavily next to Pearson’s wagon. He stared at it as he cleaned half dried blood off his hands, discarding the small rag before cracking his neck. 

“Good thing you dropped this off! I don’t think I could have, in good conscience, used the supplies we had left. Thank you, Arthur.” Pearson clapped him on the back before he dragged the carcass to the back of the wagon for dressing. 

Arthur sighed and returned to untack Ulysses, the sun slowly dipping beneath the horizon. He eyed the stew pot lazily simmering over the fire as he passed and decided to opt out, considering that the deer wouldn’t be properly butchered until morning. 

“Letter came for you.” Tilly caught him by the elbow as he passed.

“For me?” Arthur stopped, confused.

“From Saint Denis. Real fancy.” She cocked an eyebrow. “You got someone special out there we don’t know about?” 

“This old fool? Nah.” Arthur dismissed, but Tilly’s coy expression remained.

“It don’t look like that Mary girl’s handwriting, so who is it?” Arthur shot her a glare and she sighed, exasperated.  

“Fine," she pouted, "I left it on your table. It’s just so boring around here, Arthur. This looked exciting!” 

Arthur shook his head, “If it’s some secret admirer, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Tilly scoffed and waved him off dismissively before wandering over to the music that had started near the fire.

He quickly finished untacking Ulysses and headed to his tent, curiosity piqued despite himself. He picked up the letter, the handwriting unfamiliar, flipping it over in his hands a few times before gently sliding his knife along the fold to open it.

Mr. Morgan,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have gotten myself into a bind and I didn’t know who else I could turn to. I am in need of two able bodies for a project. I’m in St. Denis, ask for me around the Bastille. 

I hope to see you soon!

A. Mason 

“Ah, shit.” Arthur sat down on his cot. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

What's Albert gotten himself into now? He promised to stay away from wildlife the last time they'd parted. He laid down on the cot, what's he gotten into that he’d send me a letter? Kneading his knuckle into his eye until he saw stars, he sighed. Saint Denis is the place to find out. Angling his hat over his face, he decided, the city's only about half a day’s ride. I'll swing by tomorrow with someone, just to check it out.  

                                                           ---⤱---

Arthur blinked the sleep from his eyes, the dull pinks of the rising sun blearily shining through the canvas ceiling. He stretched and stepped out of his tent, crossing over to the fire. Hosea adjusted the percolator near the flames before turning to face Arthur.

“Morning, Arthur.” 

He offered a little wave in response, grabbing an apple from the wagon and kneeling near the fire. 

“Coffee will be ready in a bit,” Hosea took a seat at the table, picking up the paper and thumbing through it. 

“I gotta check on a lead in Saint Denis later. You hear anything else that may be worth investigatin’?” He took a bite from the apple and Hosea lowered the paper.

“Saint Denis? What’d you find out that way?”

“Ain’t quite sure, but I was gonna bring Charles along.” He poured them both a cup of coffee.

“Bring me along where?” Charles rounded the wagon to join them, a can of peaches in his hand.

“T’check on a lead in Saint Denis.” Arthur tossed the apple core into the fire and stood up, taking a sip from his coffee. “Was just going to look for ya. Ride with me?”

“Don’t draw too much attention.” Hosea shook out the paper, returning to his reading as Charles nodded, already heading to the hitched horses. 

They rode south for a while, briefly stopping to water the horses at a small farm outside of Rhodes. Arthur pulled the letter out of his satchel, re-reading it. 

“So what is this lead?” Charles asked, his eyes flicking down to the letter in Arthur’s hands.

“Checkin’ up on a friend. Got this letter in the mail. Sounds like he may be in a bit of a situation and needs some help.” He held the letter up in a hand. 

“Old gang member?” Charles pressed, suddenly cautious.

“Nah, just a stranger I helped out a few times. A photographer. Wanted to take pictures of all of the untamed wilds of America, before civilization destroyed it. If I hadn’t come along, nature would have surely destroyed him first.” He shook his head, exhaling a laugh.

“You think he might be in trouble? Why?” 

“I ain’t sure, but he asked for help and it ain’t that far, so I thought I’d investigate.” He shrugged. 

“Why’d you need me?” Annoyance peppered Charles’ voice.

“He said he needed two people.” Arthur tucked the letter away, whistling for Ulysses and swinging himself up onto the saddle.

                                                          ---⤱---

They pushed the doors to the Bastille open and were greeted by the bartender and a handful of patrons looking up as they made their way to the bar. 

“What can I get for you fellas?” The bartender leaned against the counter.

“We’re lookin’ for someone.” Arthur said, “Was told to ask around here. He’s a photographer- Albert Mason, you know him?”

“Maybe I seen him around. Ya’ll bounty hunters or something? Can’t imagine that boy in any sort of trouble.”

“Not exactly- he sent a letter for us to ask ‘round here for him.” Arthur pulled said letter out of his satchel and put it down on the bar. The bartender eyed it lazily before turning his attention to another patron.

 “He rents a small apartment above the tailor. That’d be the best place to start. Ya’ll gonna order anything?” Arthur glanced at Charles, who shook his head.

“Nah, thank you kindly.” He dropped a couple coins onto the bar and they headed back out into the street.

                                                          ---⤱---

Albert opened the door, a huge smile making him practically glow as he recognized the familiar face.

“You came! I wasn’t sure the letter would reach you! Come in! Come in!” He waved them both inside. Charles looked at Arthur, who shrugged and followed Albert inside.

“'Course we came, you said you was in a bind. Everything okay?” Albert spun around, his face painted with confusion.

“Of course I’m okay, I’ll explain everything when we get to the studio. But first you both need to change.” 

“Change?” Charles interjected. Albert nodded and rummaged through some things on his desk before producing a couple brown paper packages.

“These might be a bit large.” He handed a package to each of them. Charles held up his hand.

“Change for what?” Charles’ tone was laced with apprehension and Albert furrowed his brow, confused.

“The photoshoot?”

“The what?” Arthur raised his eyebrows, “You said you was in a bind!” 

Albert turned red, realizing only now how his letter came across. He threw his hands up defensively before covering his mouth in embarrassment. 

“Oh! Oh no! I am so sorry. My letter.” He drew his hand across his face. “You...thought I was in danger...”

Arthur nodded, his lips pressed together in frustration.

“No, no, no, no. I got this photography job, on the recommendation of my acquaintance Algernon, to do a photoshoot for a catalogues new clothing line. It’s to be the first use of photographs in the Wheeler Rawson.”

Arthur exhaled slowly, his grip on the package tightening, frustrated more-so with himself for reading too much into the letter. Charles shook beside him and Arthur felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him, fueling his anger. 

A masked chuckle broke the tension, both men turning toward the sound. Charles broke, letting out a chorus of raucous laughter. Arthur flushed, turning to face Albert; he sighed heavily and shook his head.

“Got anywhere with a bit’a privacy?”

                                                          ---⤱---

The studio was set up when they finished changing, Albert directing them on how and where to stand. The starched clothes dug into them, Lemoyne heat making it nearly unbearable to stand still, bright studio lights only making matters worse. Albert tittered about, posing them.

“Just like that, perfect, don’t mo-” Albert sighed from behind the camera. “Stop messing with your shirt.” Arthur pulled at the stiff collar, unbuttoning the top two before Albert swatted his hands away.

“Ain’t no one really gonna wear this shit.” He grumbled.

“I don’t know, that shirt suits you.” Charles quipped, scratching at his own shirt before tying his hair in a loose ponytail to cool down. Arthur scowled at him

Albert straightened out Arthur’s collar and stepped back surveying the shot. He leaned in and unfastened Charles’s top button and stepped back again. The boys discomfort grew as he continued to stare. He checked the viewfinder on the camera. Sweat trickled down Arthur’s forehead, before he could think he pulled his hat off and wiped the sweat away with his forearm, slicking back his hair with and replacing the hat firmly on his head.

“No, no hat.” Albert exclaimed from behind the camera. Arthur froze. 

“Give it to Charles.” Arthur plopped the hat onto Charles’ head, his hand hovering as he waited for Albert to respond. 

“Perfect.” Albert whispered. Arthur returned to his pose, glancing down to see Charles grin before he heard the soft click of the camera.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Hidden

(A/N) This was also requested by a lovely anon! Thanks for the request and i hope you like it!

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Warnings: just cuteness, I think

Masterlist

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I was already awake when my phone signalled that it was time to wake up. I rolled over and looked at my boyfriend’s face. He always looked so peaceful when he was asleep, making me smile. Carefully, I stroked his cheek and watched as a small smile formed on his lips. At that moment, I knew what I had to do. Carefully, I reached over to my nightstand and withdrew my sketchbook with a pencil. I sat up and pulled my knees closer to my chest. I used them to draw on.

Quickly, I started with his lips, scared that the smile would fade soon and worked up from there. His nose and the eyebrows. The closed eyes and small wrinkles under them. Then I started to work out his head with the curls that surrounded his face and the pillow that it laid upon. I played with shadows, giving his face a dramatic effect and worked out his facial features. The sharp cheekbones and the small scar on his forehead.

When I was finished with the sketch, I flipped through the pages off my sketchbook. All of them were filled with drawings off Tom. While he slept, cooked or during an Interview. There were even some of him in Loki costume on the set of Thor or The Avengers. I smiled as I remembered where and when I drew the different ones. “What are you doing?” Sleep was still evident in his voice. “Uhm-!” I quickly close the sketchbook and his it under my blanket. “Nothing! Why are you awake?” I laid back down and faced Tom. His arm wrapped around my waist and he pulled me into him. “I missed you.” “That’s what woke you up?” I chuckled, but he just responded with a quiet hum. Within seconds he had fallen asleep again. Chuckling, I cuddled against him again, and gave myself a few more minutes of rest, until I told myself that I needed to get up. Slowly, this time really trying not to wake him up, I shifted around, until I was out of Tom’s arms. On tiptoes, I left the bedroom and my sleeping boyfriend to himself.

Once in the attic, which also functioned as my studio, I took a deep breath. The smell of paint brought a smile upon my face. With enthusiasm, I walked to one of my canvases and took the thin cloth that covered it, off. A half finished painting stared at me, judging my decision to leave it alone for a couple of days. Quickly as if to not anger it any further, I grabbed a brush and started to mix colours. When I was satisfied with them, I continued the painting, glancing at the sketch I made from time to time. It was a woman with her new-born child in her arms. I smiled at the thought of me with my own children.

I continued to paint and quickly got lost in the colours and brushes. Only when he cleared his throat and the smell of fresh coffee flared my nostrils, did I notice that Tom had woken up and was standing in the doorway behind me. I turned around and thankfully accepted the mug he offered me. While I started to nip on the warm liquid, he walked over to the painting and looked at it. “It’s beautiful.” He turned to me and smiled. I shrugged before I walked closer and inspected it. “I don’t like that part. And this looks sloppy. And the colour over there isn’t right.” I was pointing at different parts of the painting, until Tom wrapped his hand around my index finger. “It’s great. It really is.” He took the mug from my other hand and set it down, before he pulled me into a hug. “She’ll love it.” I nodded and buried my face in his chest. We stayed like that for a few minutes, until I pulled away. “I need to finish this.” He nodded and quickly pecked my lips, before he left. At the door he stopped. “Lunch?” “Chinese?” He nodded and laughed and went back downstairs.

As soon as I was sure he was out of earshot, I turned back to the painting. It was finished and I would deliver it in the evening. That’s why I walked into the back of the attic and picked up a hidden canvas. I quickly put it in the same spot as the other canvas and took the cloth of, smiling at the almost finished piece. I locked the door before I started to work on the painting.

I was almost finished by the time, Tom called me downstairs. I hid the canvas, careful not to ruin the still wet paint and went downstairs. Tom sat at the dining table and had already prepared everything. Plates, chopsticks, glasses and the food. I sat down beside him and loaded some of the food onto my plate. He did the same and both of us quickly began eating. We didn’t talk while we ate.

When we were finished, I took the plates and brought them into the kitchen. “I’ll wash them. You go finish the painting.” I nodded and hugged him. “Thank you.” His lips pressed against my hair and I smiled. Then, I ran upstairs and locked the door behind me again. The paint had dried and I finished it quickly. I took a step back, grinning from ear to ear, when I was finally done. I left it to dry and ran downstairs, into our bedroom and took a quick shower, before I put a jeans and shirt on. Then, I grabbed the painting and put it next to our front door. “Tom!” He came to me and grinned when he saw the painting. “Well done! It looks really great!” He hugged me. “Wait a second. I’ll just put some shoes on and grab the keys.” I nodded and waited for him at the door. When he was ready, he unlocked the car and grabbed the painting. Carefully, he put it in the back, before he walked back to the house and locked the door. Meanwhile, I’d jumped into the car and put on my seatbelt.

It took us half an hour to get to the house of the pair that requested the painting. We knocked on the front door and brought it inside. They loved it, and after some tea and coffee, they gave me the money and we left. “They were lovely.” Tom grabbed my hand squeezed it. “Yeah...” He smiled at me, before his eyes went back to the road. “What do you think about our own kid? A small you and me running around the house.” I smiled and leaned against his shoulder. “I’d love that.” He squeezed my hand again.

Back home, I told him that I’d quickly go change and then meet him back in the living room. I ran upstairs, changed into some comfy clothes and ran into the attic. I was relieved when I saw that the paint was dry. I grabbed the canvas and slowly walked downstairs.

When I reached the living room, I saw that Tom was pacing up and down, completely lost in his thoughts. I gently called his name and he turned to me, smiling. “Do you have another painting we have to deliver?” I shook my hand and walked to him. “No, it’s a present.” He looked at me confused. “For who?” I pulled the painting from behind my back and showed it to him. “You.” Still confused, he took it from my hand and looked at it. A smile quickly took over the frown on his face. His eyes were glued to the painting of the two of us. We were hugging, with the side of my face pressed against his chest and his lips pressed against my hair. Only when his eyes moved down, did he look shocked again. “No.” I smiled and nodded. “No!” He put the painting to the side and pulled me into a hug. “No...” I grinned up at him. “Yes.” He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against mine. “I love you.” I grinned and leaned against his chest. “I love you too.”

A few months later, I stood in front of a canvas, almost finished with the painting of me, Tom and our baby in our arms.

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You can still request for the Christmas Drabbles!  Keep requesting!  

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Seven Times Great: Part 4

Pairings: John Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut, fluff

Word Count: 4,668

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, I’ve brought cherry pie for Dean, cranachan for Sam, Crowley & John and angel luv, I made ye peanut butter and jam cookies cuz Dean said ye really luv the sam’wich, but ‘e also said…” Cas smiled at you and gently put his hand on top of yours on the plate.

“They’re perfect. Thank you.” You smiled at him as he took the plate and turned to start serving the rest of the desserts.

“Dove, would I be able to steal you for a moment?” You looked up from the cherry pie you were cutting and nodded. You finished cutting a quarter of the pie for Dean, knowing that anything less was unacceptable, and passed him the plate before following Crowley out to the war room. He pulled out a chair for you and sat down in front of you with a smile. “I have a couple things I want to give you. Not really family heirlooms but…” He tilted his head back and forth as a small smile spread across his face. “Well darling, as close as I can get to it.” You smiled as he pulled a small box from his pocket.

“I may have cheated a bit with this and piggy backed onto John’s gift.” He chuckled as he opened the box. Inside was a small, round silver charm with something engraved on it for your bracelet. He pulled it from the box and stuck his hand out so he could add it to your bracelet. “On the front would be our family coat of arms. My grandfather, the drunken bastard, was the one who designed it.” He slid the charm onto the bracelet with the coat of arms symbol facing up and clipped the bracelet back on. “I’ve done some research into the ancestry between myself and you and am having it put into a small book along with anything I have before my generation. Just so you know a little more about your… eclectic heritage. On the back…” He flipped the charm toward him so it landed on the heel of your palm and you tilted your head to the side to see.

“This is our crest. I don’t know much about it as it was created after I passed. But that’s all in the book as well. I would have it today but my demons have proven, once again, to be unreliable.” You giggled as he let go of your hand and made two, large, boxes wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine appear on the table. He sat up a little straighter and grabbed the newer looking one off the top.

“Now, typically this is a tradition passed from witch to witch from generation to generation however you are a special case.” He handed you the package and you were slightly startled at how heavy it was. You pulled the end of the string and pulled off the paper to reveal not a box, but a thick, dark brown, leather book that was the size of your lap. You ran your fingers up the spine and across the cover as Crowley explained.

“A Grimoire or a Book of Shadows is a witch’s personal collection of spells, instructions, useful information… essentially a notebook of sorts. Sort of like the one John carries for his hunts; but meant for you. As you learn, as you do spells, you can write down what spell you did, when and why, what herbs, crystals or talismans you use and how they react with you and each other. You write your mistakes and successes.” He carefully picked up the book on your lap and exchanged it for the next package with an almost shy smile.

“This was mine from when I was a child.” He said as you carefully unwrapped the second book. “I didn’t have the natural talent you or my mother did but I still practiced here and there when I was younger and more once I got… older. You’ll notice that mine is written in mostly Gaelic so you may not…” He carefully opened the book to the middle and you smiled.

“I read Gaelic. Took that an’ Latin in uni.” He smiled up at you and nodded.

“You’ll have no problems figuring this out then. Now, do not feel overwhelmed by this; we’ll go through all of this in time. I promise you, I will teach you everything and anything I know. There are also thousands upon thousands of spells in this bunker and I know John and the boys will teach you everything they can as well once you get the basics. I also know a few witches…” His words were cut off as you leaned forward and gave him a hug.

“Thank ye.” You said softly. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tears welled in his eyes.

“Of course, my little dove.” You smiled as you pulled away and looked back down at the book. “All I ask is that you are careful with this book. Physically, obviously because it is as old as I but because in the wrong hands, this could be very, very dangerous. Any personal grimoire could be, which is why you will see a lot of them written in dead languages, ruins or code.” You nodded as you closed the book and looked up at him.

“I’ll guard it wit’ m’life.” He gave you a short nod as he snapped his fingers, making the book on your lap disappear.

“I know Sam would love to get his hands on that. That boy can never have to much to read.” You giggled as he stood up. He kissed the top of your head just as Dean came sliding around the corner like Tom Cruise in Risky Business (but thankfully for you he was fully dressed.)

“Did you by chance make another one of those pies for later?” He asked as he walked over to the two of you. “Because I think that one was better than every other one you’ve ever made if that’s even possible.” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed your blank book to put it in the basket you had brought the desserts in.

“John, ye owe me fifty.” You called out as you headed back toward the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and your basket so you could get the gift for the boys, Cas and Crowley… and to put the extra pie you did bring in the fridge. John, Cas and Sam looked up at you as you turned into the kitchen. “‘e asked for more pie. Told ye.” Sam and Castiel laughed as your boyfriend shook his head.

“She makes you a pie a week, Dean.” John said as Dean and Crowley followed you back into the kitchen. “Did you at least thank her for slaving away for your ungrateful ass?” You smiled as you grabbed the extra pie you made from the basket and handed it over to Dean.

“Thank you, (Y/N). You’re the best.”

“Ye don’ ‘ave to tell me tha’. I a’ready know.”

“Alright, unfortunately, we have to go presents quickly because while you two were talking, I got an email about a case from Jody so Dean and I gotta get on the road.” You nodded at Sam as the three guys stood up from the table.

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked even on Christmas.” Dean complained as he put the pie in the freezer to save for when he got back.

“I’ve faith ye will knock it out of the park before New Years.” You said as John traded you your new book for the basket so you could all head to the library to open presents by the Christmas tree.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So we’ve black, blue, pink ‘nd silv’a.” You said as you watched John (and his rock hard length) spread the white, cotton canvas on the plastic painters tarp in the middle of your living room floor in front of a large fire. You looked up at him with a smile as he sat back on his heels and looked over at you. “May I?”

“You’re the artist, baby girl.” You got onto your knees and walked on them so that you were directly in front of him. You popped the top of the black and set the other three bottles by your knees as John pressed his body against yours. He wrapped his hands almost hungrily around your nude body as you spread the black paint in a half-assed, heart. As you switched to the silver paint to do the same thing, John growled. “Faster, baby. You’re driving me even more crazy.” You hummed as you purposely pressed your hips back against his and took your time to draw a second, upside down heart.

“Am I?” You asked cheekily as you sat back to grab the last two colors. “Oh, you’ve not seen aaaannnnnyyyyy thin’.” You leaned forward with the blue and drew a splattered, cursive ‘J’ as you rocked your hips back and forth against his. You could feel his hard length rubbing against your wet, sensitive core with every movement and his hands flew to your hips. His fingers curled into your skin and he let his head fall back with a moan as you wrote your first initial in pink. Once you were satisfied, you put all four paint bottles on the coffee table and used your powers to push it far out of the way.

“Keep that up, sweetheart and this’ll be over ‘fore it starts.” John growled as you sat up completely so your bare back was against his chest. You rolled your hips a few more times as you lifted your hands above your head and ran your fingers through his short, brown hair.

“What if I don’ wan’ ta?” You asked as you tilted your head to the side to look at him. He had his bottom lip bit hard between his teeth and a sheen of sweat across his forehead from a combination of the flames to your left and the foreplay you had both thought would be better to do without the paint.

“I’m about to make you stop.” He threatened as he looked down at you. You smiled because despite what he was saying, his hands were dragging your hips harder on his length.

“Tha’s wha’ I want, m’luv.” His fiery eyes found yours and he smirked.

“Good.” He leaned forward and crashed his lips to yours, pushing and pulling at your hips so that you would turn around in front of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his large hands gripped the backs of your thighs and your ass and lifted you up. You kicked your legs forward on either side of his as he carefully laid you down on the paint covered canvas. Your hiss from the cold paint touching your back turned into a moan as he sunk his whole length into you in one fluid movement; stretching you and filling you perfectly.

“I love you.” John said softly as his eyes searched yours while he let you readjust to his size. You smiled as you wrapped your legs around his hips and tangled your hands in his hair.

“I luv ye.” With an award winning smile, he leaned down and captured your lips with his as he picked up a strong, steady pace. There was no urgency, no rush to finish, just turning your love into art. Your fingernails dragged lazy stripes up and down his back as his hands wrapped around your shoulders to keep you from sliding too far away. He kissed his was down your jaw to your throat as your hips rolled to meet his. Your coil tightened slowly, maddeningly with each pump of his hips. As his hips began pumping faster, you knew he was starting to get desperate for his release.

“On top.” He growled when he had reached his limit. You giggled as the two of you switched places, slipping slightly in the paint before he laid down on the canvas in your place. You straddled his hips and slid down his hard length.

“I’m not ‘oldin’ back.” You told him as you braced yourself on his chest, leaving splotches of colored paint on his pecs and in the hair that decorated his chest. He smirked as he grabbed your hips.

“I don’t want you, too.” You leaned your weight onto his chest and picked up a punishing pace; his hips thrusting up to meet yours, both of you chasing your releases; suddenly desperate. You moaned his name as he shifted you to the left the slightest bit to hit that sweet spot he knew so well. Your coil tightened deep in your stomach as your slick coated his cock.

“Fuck, bae’, righ’ there.” You groaned as you leaned forward and let him take control, not able to keep up the pace he suddenly picked up if you wanted to. He wrapped his hands around your hips and slammed into you as he growled deeply.

“Can’t…” He groaned through grit teeth. He bit your shoulder; something he knew was a kink of yours, and you snapped.

“J-j-j-… I… I… I… gaa!” Your whole body tensed as your walls tightened around his length, convulsing around him and coaxing his release. He swore, slammed into you once more and his whole body shook as you pulled him over the edge. The living room was filled with small gasps and moans as your highs carried you into levels of over sensitivity; a place neither of you ever minded to be. His grip on your hips lessened as his body relaxed onto the floor and you settled in comfortably on top of him to ride out your highs.

Neither of you said a word as you laid on the floor, watching the fire burn in the glow of the Christmas lights from your tree. His fingers dragged lazily along your spine as you drew senseless patterns in the paint on his chest in front of your face. He kissed your forehead and wrapped his arms around your waist with a sigh.

“That paint tastes really bad.” You burst out laughing and picked your head up off his chest to look at him.

“Yer the one who ate it.” You snarked.

“I think that was the most fun Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.” He said as he carefully pulled out of you. “I’m gunna roll so it’s easier to get up, OK?” You nodded as you shifted so you were laying on him and not straddling him. He put one hand on the back of your head and rolled you over carefully; rolling to his knees on the tarp. You both looked at the design on the canvas as you floated the booties off the table to him.

“’t’s perfec’.” You looked up at him as he slipped a bootie on each of his feet. He nodded in agreement as he leaned back and put the other booties on you. In one nearly fluid motion, he stood up and pulled you to your feet and into his chest.

“You’re perfect.” He said softly as he wrapped his arms around your waist and gave you a chaste kiss. “But let’s go shower. I got paint in places it shouldn’t be.”

~~~~~~~ 2 YEARS LATER ~~~~~~~

“I swear ta Christ, Dean.” You grumbled as you set your hand flat on the Impala’s car seat. “Ye need ta learn ‘ow ta do this yerself.” He groaned as Sam, who had managed to get himself turned into a rat, darted out of the cage Dean had trapped him in, scrambled up your arm and perched on your shoulder, squeaking loudly at his brother as you headed inside.

“Oh come on, (Y/N). Rat’s are gross and you’re an actual witch now.” You rolled your eyes as you headed into the library.

“Ye know tha’s yer broth’a yer gripin’ about.” You reminded him. “Who did this?” Dean stopped walking in front of you and your stomach did a small flip. “Dean…” He glanced back over his shoulder with a hesitant smile.

“Rowena. That’s why we called you because you have the same DNA and…” He rambled quickly. You growled and glared at him.

“My gran’ moth’a did this ‘nd ye call me ‘nd not Crowley? Are ye out’a yer bloody mind?” You pulled your phone out of you back pocket as you headed over to the table to grab your grimoire to find the reversal spell as you called your uncle. As you pulled the book over, Sam squeaked almost apologetically in your ear before running down your arm to wait.

“Hello dove. To what do I owe the pleasure, today?” You smiled to yourself, knowing how pissed he was going to be, as you flipped open the thick book.

“Figured ye’d like ta know… Sam ‘nd Dean ‘ad a run in wit’ me gran’ bitch t’day ‘nd I’ve been recruited ta clean up…”

“What, did ye boys find anoth’a witch ta clean up m’mess?” Your phone fell from your hand and your blood went cold as your eyes shot up to your left toward the voice. You met your eight times great grand mother’s green eyes; the same shape eyes that you had seen in the mirror every day your entire life, for only a moment before a flash of a black, tailored suit blocked your view.

“Are you two morons…!” Crowley started but Rowena screeched behind him.

“Who is she?!” She screamed as she took a step to the side, pointed at you and looked at her son. “Fergus, I know ye know who she is.”

“She’s no one, mother! Leave it alone.” He snapped as he moved himself between you and Rowena once more. She scoffed as she raised her hand to cast a spell and you popped up in front of Crowley and reacted.

“Manete!” You screamed, throwing everything you had into the word and praying to anyone that it worked as a spell. You watched her hand freeze, mid-spell and anger ripped through her eyes. Crowley and Dean stood frozen for only a moment before Crowley grabbed your arm.

“Take Sam with you and go.” He hissed as he shoved you behind his back. “I’ll follow you in a minute.” You nodded as you scrambled to grab your book and laid your hand on the table. Sam scrambled up on to your palm a second before you disappeared.

The second your feet hit the ground in your living room, you set Sam and your book down on the dinner table to get Sam changed back for protection’s sake. You ran and grabbed your box of spell ingredients, a gift from Sam and Dean two years before hand, from your room as your hands shook. You set the box down on the table and threw it open.

“Ye think I can do this, Sammy?” You asked as you flipped through the book to find the reversal spell he had given you over a year ago. He squeaked once as you pictured the jaw bone of the first murderer you could think of, Clyde Barrow, in your hand. When it appeared; covered in the dirt from the grave you just robbed it from, you set it on the table and started listing off ingredients, more to yourself. Within only a few minutes, you had everything you needed in a bowl and you looked up at the light brown guest on your table.

“C’mon, off m’table.” You said as you put your hand flat in front of him. He climbed on and let you put him on the floor as you grabbed the dagger John had given you for Christmas. You cut your hand and dripped the blood into the bowl just as Crowley popped in with John; who had been away on a hunt. You glanced over at them and pointed at Sam on the floor as you grabbed a pack of matches from your box. With a sigh, you picked up the bowl, kneeled on the floor in front of Sam, set it down and lit a match.

“Airmidh mi air maponus, dia— na hogalachd. Gairmidh mi air sucellus, dia na time. Till an-dràsda obair uile gu bheilair a bhith deànta. Mar sin bitheadh.”

You dropped the match in the bowl and with a ‘pop’, the area in front of you filled with smoke. It took a second for the smoke to clear but once it did, Sam smiled at you and sat back on his heels.

“Thank Chuck for you, right now, (Y/N).” He said with a smile as you grabbed your bowl and stood up.

“Good job, dove.” Crowley said as you pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.

“Is it bad?” You asked as you looked over at Crowley. He sighed and shook his head slowly.

“’s'not great, dove. But it’s not bad.” You sighed as John walked over and grabbed the first aid kit from on top of the fridge.

“So wha’ so we do from ‘ere?” You asked as you boyfriend kneeled down in front of you and put the white medical box on the table.

“We keep doing what we’ve been doing.” He said as he flipped the latch and opened the box. He grabbed some clean gauze and some tape and looked up at you with a smile. “We keep you safe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took Rowena five days (and eight murdered demons) before she found out who and where you were. That is how you found yourself in an hour long, early morning stare off with the woman from your front porch swing. You and John had been enjoying your morning coffee and the barely chilly, fall breeze when she walked up to the far side of your white picket fence, right on the outside of your and Crowley’s protection spells. She was close enough that if she wanted to talk to you, she could but neither of you said a word. You just simply stared.

“She’s making me nervous.” John said quietly as he watched the two of you, knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to get any closer than she was. You shrugged as you refilled your coffee mug for the third time.

“Call Crowley then.” You responded behind your mug as you took a sip. He shook his head, not ready to have Crowley breathing down his neck just yet. Once he finished his mug, he set it down on the table beside him.

“I’ll be right back.” He said as he got up and headed inside to go to the bathroom. You watched your grandmother watch him and the moment he was out of sight, she turned to you.

“‘ow long ‘ave you known who ye were?” She finally asked. You tapped your nail against your mug and gave her a small shrug.

“Long enuf.” She gave you a curt nod and tilted her head to the side.

“Can’t even say ‘ello ta yer gran’ moth’a then?” You smirked at the way she embraced the title and nodded your head.

“‘ello ta m’gran’ moth’a then.” Her lips curled into a smirk as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Aye. Yer a Macleod a’right.” You nodded in agreement as her eyes darted toward your front door. “Can I get ta know m’only gran’chil’?” You shrugged your shoulder as John stepped back out onto the porch with a gun in his hand.

“Ye take’t up wit’ Crowley.” Her eyes darted between you, John, and his gun.

“Aye.” She nodded as she dropped her arms to her side. “I’ll take’t up wit’ Crowley, then.” She gave you a small nod and glared at John before she turned on her heel and walked away. The moment she was far enough away, you willed your phone into your hand. Crowley picked up on the second ring.

“Yer moth’a paid John and I a visit this morn’.” You told him as John sat down on the swing next to you.

“What did she want?” He snapped as he appeared on your porch; his eyes searching the area in front of your house for Rowena. You glanced over at him as you took a sip of your coffee.

“Well, she stared at us for an ‘our. Then she wan’ed ta know if she could get ta know me.” His phone rang in his hand and he answered it on speaker.

“Yes, mother.” He sighed as you turned him in the direction she had gone with your mind as you took another sip of coffee.

“Ye’ve known I’ve a gran’daught’a for years ‘nd ye neva told me?” Rowena yelled into the phone.

“That’s because the last grandchild I brought you around, you murdered.” He snapped as his eyes searched the street for Rowena. You heard her scoff on the other end of the line.

“Ye deserved that one; Gavin didn’t belong ‘ere. And you won’t find me, Fergus so quit tryin’ ta look.” With a sigh, you stood up and moved so that you were standing right inside your front door behind Crowley.

“Ye want sumthin’ done, ye do it yerself.” You said as you pulled your grimoire toward you. “Keep ‘er talkin’.” You knew you had summing spell in there and you would put money on the fact that with a little alteration, you could get Rowena out of hiding.

“Mother, what do you want with my niece?” Crowley asked as you went into your room and grabbed the couple things you needed.

“Ye mean yer gran’daught’a?” Rowena laughed as you came back to the door. John looked at you curiously as he leaned against the door frame to watch you. “I’ve the right ta know ‘er. She’s my blood, too. Besides, she’s a witch. What betta person ta teach a witch than another witch?” You huffed a laugh to yourself as you pulled the drawer to the table open and grabbed the knife John had there. You picked up the bowl, a pack of matches and glanced at the incantation; changing it in your head on the spot.

“I have done just fine teaching her, thank you!” Crowley yelled as you walked back onto the porch. You set the things down on the rail, re-opened the cut on your palm from the week before and dripped a few drops onto the herbs in the bowl; hoping that your DNA would be enough in this quickly made summoning spell.

‘Thoir na rudan a tha falaichte dhomh.’ (Bring what is hidden to me.)

The second you dropped the match, you heard a loud, feminine yelp as Rowena flew out of the woods across from your house and slammed into the wall of the protection spells.

“‘e teaches me jus’ fine.” You told her as she growled and rubbed her shoulder. You heard John walk into the house, fighting hard to control his laughter as Crowley cleared his throat to hide his.

“We’ll arrange a lunch, mother.” Rowena glared at him as you picked up your bowl and gave her a small wave.

“Good-bye gran’ motha’.” She sighed and rolled her eyes as she quietly walked away. Crowley looked back at you as you simply walked into the house with your coffee mug floating in behind you.

“We need to start working on doing all your basic spells without the use of ingredients.” He said as he followed you inside with a glance over his shoulder. He chuckled as you set your bowl down on the table by your box of ingredients to deal with later. “And make sure you write that spell down.” You smirked back at him as you reached up and grabbed your coffee mug.

“Aye. Don’ think I’ll ever forget tha’ though.” He and John chuckled as the latter walked toward the kitchen past you to make something for breakfast.

“Neither will I.”

Part 5

[honest-character-review]

Improvement and Myself

Hey so today I’m going to be tackling one of my own drawings that for a long time I considered a master piece. I was evenso proud of it I submitted it into my college art acceptance portfolio (I did get in but found the environment and students ended up killing m passion so I quickly left the school an reclassified my art as a hobby instead of a career). In the famous words of Isterbrak, ‘A Master piece is only good at showing your flaws’, so let’s see the piece. 

Right off the bat you can tell the face is skewed. This is because I never flipped my canvas, and I still don’t on occasion. Flipping your canvas is impostant because it refreshes your view on the piece you are working on to allow you to see your bias. An artist bias is often times lines tending to curve in a certain way, often leaving jaws and facial features off kilter. You can notice my curve more to the right because I draw in an anti clockwise direction with my left hand. It’s something natural but it’s an easy fix I never did. So of course I marked out the problems to go a little more in depth. 

First things first, the composition is bad. The head is sort of just floating there with these missing shoulders and thick lines to show a cut off, almost as if it was a plaster bust or latex mask. But it’s not, it’s supposed to be a character portrait. This is also just very boring composition with it just plastered in the middle with a mono coloured background. There’s not even a gradient to draw more interest to the flowing hair, which is the main focus.  The character was supposed to be appear magical and a little frightening because of the exposed veins in her neck and face (fun fact I used a medical diagram for the neck ones so that’s fun). I feel like this almost could have worked if I just pushed the shadows a little more and brightened up the neck veins to the same bright red as the rest of the portrait. 

I also mixed lines with lineless sections in my art. That’s a no no. Let me tell you why it’s a no no. When you mix between lines and lineless it becomes very obvious that the lines are there as a crutch because you can’t develop proper edges to define important features, like the nose and ridge of the lips. You can see how I struggled with that by the way the collar bone just evaporates after the dip is properly defined, and poorly at that. It doesn’t even help that the lines are shaking and super distracting because your eye is just picking through these black lines instead of focusing on the hair. 

Which is messy and blurry at the edges may I add. 

So I went back and I drew it again. 

First thing I want to say is, I didn’t flip my canvas and you very much tell so I would like to apologize for that. But, the face is slightly more aligned then before. The nose also has a defined bridge with obvious shadows, highlights and mid tones, giving it an actual structure and 3-d shape. I also upped the contrast in a very simple way. I added a gradient. By putting a darker colour at the bottom, I’ve highlighted how fair the character is, drawing the eyes up to the hair which is stark against the creme background. 

Then I upped the values on the points of interest, this times it was the veins. by choosing a predominately cool colour palette, the sudden use of a warm colour, like red, becomes very effective as it plays off of the opposing colour wheel value. 

I want to say as well that because of these contrasts and better framing, having the shoulders end at the bottom of the canvas (as apposed to having a floating head) it has made this more interesting to look at. It also adds a layer of polish which tells the audience this is more of a complete piece than the sketch sort of feeling you have on the first one. 

This has bee achieved because I am more versed in the rules of digital painting. There are a couple tools that every artist has that help them paint, Isterbrak preaches this in everyone of her seminars and honestly I would encourage you to watch them. they’re free, about an hour long and she critiques students work and goes over everything. There’s bound to be something there that can help you out. 

Final thoughts on this whole thing, Redraw your Master pieces, don’t mix lines with lineless in your art and think about the whole piece so you don’t end up with a half finished feeling in your art 

-Mod Jibs

[doodlewash]

My name is Marsia Bramucci and I have so many ideas for this post. My only problem will be to put them all in an understandable order. So let’s start with the basics. I am Italian, both parents Italian, born in Rome in 1980 (I am not even 40 yet), where I lived for 15 years. Then I moved with my mother and brother in Greece, finished high school in the Italian school of Athens and then became, by mistake, a graphic & web designer, instead of a professional artist.

Well you see, my painting journey was not so easy. A long, hard and constant fight with my family, with my insecurities, and with just life that made it impossible to let me take this road sooner. It even sent me to the wrong university. I am not complaining. I am a professional graphic designer and love my work very much; I am also able to make my own inserts for my planner. Because, I also love planners very very much!! And most important of all I am a very positive person. And I want to say it now before you keep reading because the following may make you see me differently.

Now, a few words about my art journey. I surely proved that I was an artistic soul from the time I was very little. But, I had my “art call” somewhere around the age of 14. I suddenly drew something that was so perfect. I still remember that. As I worked with shapes, the picture was becoming so alive. I felt, myself, so alive like I suddenly just jumped out of my child world and now I could understand feelings deeply.

It was amazing (if I had a smartphone then, I would have a photo of it right now, unfortunately we didn’t back then). But that “call” lasted less than 30 minutes. In fact, my beautiful drawing ended up in a thousand pieces on the floor just in front of my feet. This was followed by a great scolding, all mine, where the meaning was that I wasn’t good at drawing, I never would be, and that the actual drawing came out good just by accident.

Of course, I had to move on but I needed art in my life. I was already playing piano (I almost completed my piano studies) but, to say the truth, I was good but it wasn’t me. It made me anxious and I had the same feeling when playing guitar, violin, singing, making candles, metal jewelry, haircutting, crazy gardening stuff, photography, singing, manicure, sewing, macramé. The never ending list! (by the way except for the piano, everything else I researched and learned it by myself).

I was just searching for my own ART to express myself. I was good in all art forms above but I needed to find that feeling, relaxing and peaceful, and I couldn’t find it because I had totally deleted the drawing part.

Then when I was 18 years old, I met my husband and he loved my music, he loved my gardening skills, my cooking skills (hey I am good at it for real!), he also loved my haircutting style, poor man, and he loved even more a couple of sketches I made just for fun. He actually went crazy then! He bought me sketchbooks, pencils, markers, brushes, canvas (he is the cutest) and my answer was always that he was wasting money because I was not good with painting and drawing.

Then we had our beautiful daughter and some more years passed. And, at some point, I started painting with acrylics and I liked it so much (every time family or friends would came to see us we would also take a painting while leaving!). But then, I had one of those days where you just can’t paint and this brought me back and reminded me that I wasn’t good at it. The good pieces were just accidents, and I left everything back again. But drawing was always such an attraction to me. So, I started again after a couple of years with watercolors and loved them even more. But then, again, my insecurities came up and I stopped and then started again and then stopped and then started again. Just because I loved it so much.

After 5 (not continuous) years enjoying and loving watercolors so much, but with so much insecurity about my results, I decided to push myself and start posting my watercolors online. I wanted to become more consistent and not let go again. And, I received back so much love and appreciation, recognition and support! Now, I am the happiest person on this world.

After so many years, I can almost say that I can draw. Yes, I can draw and paint and I feel amazing. I got back my ART to express myself and no one is going to take it away from me ever again. So in the end, the only time I wasted was the time when I wasn’t painting.

It is crazy how minds can be marked when you are still young. I know now that the words said to me were so much nonsense, but believe me, I do still hear them in my head sometimes when I look at my paintings.

Hopefully you are still here and if you are not, then all complaints go to Charlie because he told me to speak a little bit about my Art Journey (of course I am just kidding, love you Charlie). But if you are ready, let’s move on, to my watercolors, what I use and what I love, etc.

I like to paint in journals and I usually also add a few words in my pages just to make it more personal. I really enjoy the idea of making my own life books to flip through time to time and remember things. Just like a hand painted photo album. I started with super cheap watercolor notebooks. I would actually buy paper sheets and make notebooks in the size I wanted. And my first watercolor palette was also the cheapest from the kids section of the stationery shop.

My husband hated to see me painting with them. After two days he came home with the Winsor & Newton watercolor palette with 24 Cotman half pans in it. I loved it soooo much. I used it so much and I always suggest it to anyone who’s just started with watercolor and doesn’t need yet a set of fine watercolors.

As I proceeded, between painting pauses, at some point I felt the need to try a fine watercolor set and I bought a few Sennelier tubes, a larger palette and a mop brush. And with all of these, I evolved my style so much. I could actually see so much difference in my paintings and that was so refreshing! Because, from the “I am just not good” mindset I moved to a “I may not be good, but it makes me feel so good” mindset.

And this is how I continued painting for the next couple of years. Just recently I felt the need to try some new materials. I discovered the Nevskaya Palitra White Nights Watercolors which are good quality and so intense and I love them so much. What I love the most is that their shades somehow reflect better the shades I have in my mind. Of course I also bought some more brushes… hmmmm.. I guess I should say a lot of brushes. But you know, in the end, you always use the old good ones that make you feel comfortable more than anything else. And, time to time, you also find a new gold one to add to the old favorite ones!!

I think that somehow my style is defined as “not too loose, not too detailed.” So when I have the idea in my mind of what I want to paint, I’ll usually keep the background loose but will do a detailed work on the main object of the painting. I will usually use 3 to 4 brushes per painting. One larger for the loose background, a middle one for main shapes, shadows and few details, and then a smaller one for accents and precise details. In need, I will use also a liner but that is not required most of the times. The brush size is not specific and it totally depends on the paper size I’ll use for each painting.

And I just can’t believe that I am at the end of this! I sincerely hope that you enjoyed my art and my art journey and, most importantly, that it wasn’t too confusing! I also hope that Charlie won’t freak out when he sees how long this is, when I send this to him! Happy ART everyone!

Marsia Bramucci Instagram

GUEST ARTIST: "My Art Journey" by Marsia Bramucci - #doodlewash #WorldWatercolorGroup #watercolor #watercolour My name is Marsia Bramucci and I have so many ideas for this post. My only problem will be to put them all in an understandable order.