#like. i could pick up a pencil and draw a stick figure and think i was hot shit when i was younger and inexperienced at art

[heliopixels]

Sometimes I remember that I have a guitar laying unused in the corner of my room

[fieldsofwriting]

And so, the stars aligned. Pt. 2

Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader

Summary: Azriel knew you can't read. And he knows you would never admit it. So he tricks you into taking reading lessons.

Warnings: Slight mentions of nightmares.

part one part three, Part Four Masterlist Requests are open!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You had come into your room to grab something. And had lost every train of thought as you saw the note neatly placed on top of the book you carted around for show- not quite sloppy hand writing but it was clearly male and in a rush. A...stick figure drawing of you? Clearly Feyre had not drawn this. But there is an attention to detail, your hair is colored correctly, and your eyes also the right shade- or as close as you could get in crayon. Truthfully, it could have been anyone female but since it was in your room, it was safe to assume. And then a book- the library? Is that where this mystery would be solved. You were far too curious now to just not go.

And so, you folded the note up and put in into one of your pockets. Heading down there quickly. The only sound as you enter is the clicking of your shoes. Looking around you, and making your way over to Clotho's desk. The priest doesn’t look up at you but quickly writes, 'Ah, y/n to what do we owe the pleasure?'

You smile and pull out the note to show it to her. "It seems- I was summoned." Clotho's amusement oozes off her and she simple writes.

'Go down to level five and you should find what you're looking for.' Squinting suspiciously at her for just a second you debate listening. But that is your inner Nesta speaking, and as much as you loved your oldest sister you didn't want to be completely like her. So, complying with a general order wouldn’t be an issue.

Thanking Clotho quickly you make your way down to the fifth level. And you could have throttled Azriel as he looked over at you with a set of children's books, letter sheets and pencils. He was leisurely sitting there, legs crossed, his ankle resting on his thigh. Arms crossed as he looked at you. And knowing him, while his face remained neutral- he had a feline smirk just like Rhys’s on the inside. Stomping over, crossing your arms and glaring down at the Illyrian man you hiss, "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you how to read." He answers simply, not even slightly phased by your intense gaze. The shadows that normally linger around him aren’t there, instead- as if to mock how little of a threat you are- they pool at his feet like a dog. You'd have to talk to Nesta about getting that icy glare down pat.

"You're still on about that?" You scuff, turning on your heel to leave him with his silly ideas. But before you can get far, a gentle but rough hand grabs your elbow.

"If you can read, then I'll accept I was wrong and even buy you dinner." Azriel compromises. But he knew better, he saw the way your eyes glazed over when they looked at your book and there was no rhyme or reason as to when you flipped the page. Normally people had consistency when they were reading, You had none. Even when Nesta was reading smut there was consistency to it- albeit the page turns got faster but it was still consistent.

You were convinced you could do this. You didn't need him to know this about you. Not even your sisters knew- sure Nesta and Elain probably had inklings to it but you were just six when poverty struck. They were just kids too, it wasn't there job to teach you. Sitting down at the table you looked at the page. It was easy- just trace the letters. You could do that. So you picked up the pencil and started. And once you were done you slid it over to him. "See?"

He nods, taking the sheet and looking it over. Nodding as he examines the work. Then he sets it down and meets your intense eyes, but he doesn't shy away. He takes the first book off the stack. It was a young child's book- it should be a breeze for someone of your age. Prick. You think as he slides it over and folds his hands on the table. Watching the way your eyes widen. Your breathing hitches and there's a slight tremble to your hands as you take the book. He knows that look in your eyes- it's the one Feyre gets when she's calculating a plan. And he couldn't deny that he was slightly excited to see what you'd come up with.

Flipping open the book you know what he's probably looking for is some sortive consistency, so you'd let your eyes look at each word and then flip the page. And so, that's what you did. Finding it hard to keep up your little deception with his eyes focused so intensely on you. But you got to the end of the book and closed it with a triumphant smack. Looking back up at him- before you can open your mouth to speak, Azriel looks at you and asks. "What was it about?"

Shit. Fuck. You didn't look at the pictures! You quickly look down at the book and see a dog and a young boy on the cover. "Its about a dog and his owner." You say as evenly as you can manage for how fast your heart was beating. Azriel raises an eyebrow. Silently waiting for more. "When did you get so expressive?" You ask to quickly change the subject.

"I don't have to be on guard here. There is no one else around. And the priestess won't judge me for showing an emotion." He addresses your question simply, smoothly. Damn him and his stupid sliver tongue. He was the Shadowsinger! Of course he knew how to evade topics and questions to redirect to what he wanted! He taps the book in between the two of you again. And you look at his hands, scars running all along them, and of course you had know that. But it was the first time that you saw them this clearly. And as much as you wanted to get out of this situation- you knew that question was out of the question. "What is this about?" His voice remains gentle, but slightly stern.

Azriel watches you for any signs. He had seen many of them- you were a bad liar. Your emotions written all over your face. Your eyes, they showed everything. How no one else saw it astonished him. And for a second, as he watches how you look down at the book with apprehension and sorrow, that you quickly wash away once your gazes meet again...he sees your resolve break.

"Fine." You say quietly. "I can't read." Your cheeks heat at the confession- it felt so...so...mortifying that you were now twenty, an immortal High Fae and had no idea how to read. "Please don't tell the others." The last thing you wanted was for your sisters to look at you with that pitiful look they always seemed to give you when you mentioned something. Let alone, how awful it make you feel if Nesta fell back into her vices. Granted you knew Cassian wouldn’t let that happen.

He thinks his heart might just burst for a moment. Seeing you so somber. Azriel had watched you from the second you were dumped out of that Cauldron. Shaking, crying, gasping for air. The first thing you did was try and push it over so your sisters wouldn’t bare the same fate. And for the first few weeks after, when he heard your screams in the middle of the night. He'd make sure you were alright, given you the space to talk to him if needed. You rarely took the opportunity. Pushing him away despite him reaching out. Keeping him at an arms length for reasons he didn’t understand. Time, though. Everyone kept telling him with time, you’d come around. But you pushed him right into Elain. Not that he hated your older sister. No, far from it. They were good friends, they could talk for hours about anything and everything. But she wasn't you. She wasn't his. She had her mate, and Rhys has made it clear to him that despite his feelings toward her- they could never be. Lucian wouldn't accept it until she flat out rejected him, and even then they had no idea what the other male would do. Rhys didn't want to loose his brother over a girl. And while Azriel grumbled and snarled at him, deep down. He knew that he was right.

But watching you, moving through the Night Court with a smile that didn't reach your eyes and a grace that rivaled Elain's...Hearing your laugh in a crowed room and smiling into his drink. He knew that you made yourself seem happy, chipper, played the part of the sweet younger sister for everyone. So looking at you now, as your cheeks burn red and tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. He'd do anything he could to make sure you'd never look like that again. Azriel gently takes your hand, letting his thumb swipe over your knuckles as you look up at him. "I won't tell a soul."

And you believe him. The sincerity in his eyes, he's got no reason to lie to you. But you can't help the smile that creeps up. "Thank you."

And a comfortable silence falls as you both continue to look at each other and let your thoughts run free. Before Azriel clears his throat- and you were about 87% sure that there was a blush creeping in. "I can continue to teach you, if you'd like."

Looking down at the book in between you, where your hand was still in his. Tracing the lines of his scars gently, you nodded. "I think i'd like that."

Azriel didn't bother to hide his smile.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

a/n: This got very long, very fast. But I hope you all like it! Let me know if there is anything else you guys wanna see! And if y’all wanna be added to the tag list, let me know! :3

tag list: @sidthedollface2 @cat-or-kitten @impossibelle @brunette-barbie1220 @scatteredstardustt @sammanna @cherry-cin @tele86 @judig92

[flaneurpastel]

give him a blank paper and a pen, say nothing and let him surprise you

simon 'ghost' riley x gn!reader

a/n : fluff, i don't think there is anything else to warn y'all about, enjoy :)

words count : 850

after putting it all on his lap, you finally sat down beside him on the sofa, where his arm instinctively came to rest around your shoulders.

simon said nothing, his weary but curious gaze doing the work instead of his words.

"what?"

his voice doesn’t let you indifferent at its low, gravelly tone. you restrain yourself from jumping to his mouth and covering his face with kisses, on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, everywhere. finally, with a neutral face, you turned to face the tv where a rugby match was on.

simon arched his eyebrows. what was that again? he picked up the paper you had put on him, checking to see if there was a clue to the whole enigma you had decided to impose on him tonight.

a piece of white paper and a pencil.

he gave you a confused look before starting to think. he needed to recap it all. he had you by his side on the couch, even though you particularly hate rugby games, they take too long and you never understand the rules despite simon's many attempts to explain them to you. so… you expected something from him before you left. good. had he done something wrong ? the dishwasher had been emptied, though, and he also thought of throwing out the trash before coming to sit on the couch

you dared to glance at simon to see if he had decided to do something. his decomposed and lost face almost made you give up this prank, when you realized that the big ghost was caught off guard by this little joke. you bit your lip, no, you wanted to see how it would go.

finally, it's after 10 minutes that you got up, a pressing need to go to the bathroom. your passage seems to have been long, because when you came back, simon had resumed his usual posture, legs resting on the coffee table, and his right arm resting on the top of the sofa, where your place beside him was waiting for you. and more importantly, what you had handed him half an hour ago was lying on the table, the paper folded in half so that you could not see directly what he had done with it inside.

"I wonder where you get all these ideas from, y/n, I doubt if I'll ever be able to understand you." he said, letting out a small laugh at the end.

"hmm, considering the long wait I expect to see a poem declaring all your love for me in Shakespearean language," you say as you come to snuggle up to him. you take the paper at the same time

"I think I can compete with Picasso more".

a confused smile appeared on your pretty face, and it was simon's turn to restrain himself from covering it with kisses that would leave marks.

picasso?? you thought.

while simon let himself be refocused on his game, you finally opened the paper.

a huge laugh echoed through your living room.

"i hope this one means i'm good at drawing." he says unconsciously caressing your hair, staring at the TV.

your smile was so big you could feel your cheeks hurting.

on the paper were drawn two stick figures holding hands, easily recognizable. one much taller than the other with a simple t-shirt and quickly made pants, and another stick figure in a much more detailed outfit than the other person, you noticed. one has a line as a mouth, while the other has a nice 'C' on the side as a beaming smile.

he had clearly spent all his energy, time, and stick figure drawing skills on you.

little hearts that looked more like circles were flying all around you two.

the very caricatures of you and simon. 

you clearly weren't expecting this, 

"simon, that's... beautiful"

it was now simon's turn to laugh.

"you dirty liar" 

it clearly wasn't one of those realistic paintings you find in the most prestigious museums, and simon may have overdone it a bit on the length of your hair, but it was the first thing simon thought of drawing, the two of you, when you just gave him a piece of paper.

and the thought gave you butterflies in your stomach.

"I was expecting a lot of sweet words telling how happy and lucky you are to have me in your life, though, because it would have been more romantic to show soap," you say anyway to tease him.

briefly turning his attention away from the game, he gives you a look that you know all too well.

"hmm, i can draw something on you this time that you can show to soap," he says in a suave voice.

"oh yeah? i don't know what you're talking about... can you elaborate a little more? you answer, moving closer to him, your lips brushing against his as you speak.

and it is on this note that he took you, a little too easily, on his shoulders, towards the room. 

[eyesxxyou]

Idk if i'm correct, touching and mapping his skin might kinda require him to like. Idk. Lose clothes? Start from there baby, the rest will come t'you

-🐘

Smh iggggg I need to rewrite what I have so far cuz I HATE it. Look at this shit:

Hobie Brown has always been your greatest muse since you were children. Every drawing you’ve ever created has included him since you were drawing stick figures. Every sketchbook from childhood, your progression from crayons to marker, marker to fine-tipped pencil, was filled with images of him.

You’ve spent hours staring at him, days, weeks, years, decades. Your eyes have taken in his image longer than they’ve taken in your own. Pencil on paper and your hand always moved in the shape of him when given the opportunity.

And to this day, for the life of you. You cannot draw him as you see him.

“No, no, no. His lips aren't right."

You flipped your pencil and furiously began to erase the mouth of your latest drawing of the same subject you always end up drawing. It seemed like you could never get him right the first time. Or any time for that matter. Every image bearing not quite enough resemblance to his ethereal nature

Your fingers gripped your pencil and dug it into the paper of your sketchbook that rested against your thighs brought to your chest as a makeshift desk. You erase and erase, dragging the rubber tip against the paper with a frustrated vigor that ended in you tearing through the paper right across his pretty face.

Page ruined and feeling defeated, you groaned and tore the page from your sketchbook entirely, balling it up and tossing it across the room from your bed where you sat. You watched it fly and hit the head emerging from your window. The hair was unmistakable, soon followed by the gorgeous face you had just attempted to replicate on paper but nothing could quite match the real thing with enough adequacy to leave you satisfied.

Hobie was the most gorgeous person you had ever known in your life. From his dark skin to his slender cheeks, his beautiful, well-kept hair to his pierced lips, and that little beauty mark he had resting just below his hairline. He came through the window, one lanky limb at a time, one boot after the other until he was standing in your flat at his full height.

“Wan’ed me t’see ya new drawin’ tha’ bad?” He bent down and picked up the balled up paper, his long, slender fingers unballing the paper while making his way to your bed where you sat idle. You placed your sketchbook to the side, teeth nipping softly at your bottom lip as his eyes examined the page.

Hobie never expressed disapproval of you drawing him, never told you to stop, never even raised a pierced brow when examining your sketchbook and finding page after page of just his face sketched out until your pencil grew dull. Was it your friendship that protected you from judgment? Did he say nothing because of pity? You had no one else to draw.

“Wha'cha rip it for?”

“I didn't mean to.” You murmured, placing your pencil behind your ear. Hobie came and sat beside your feet, a free hand pulling your legs into his lap. His warm hand remained on your exposed thigh, stroking and massaging the flesh while his eyes examined the page.

You rolled your lips, eyes watching the way his fingers dipped into your supple flesh, gripping. “I uh– I erased too hard.” His thumb mindlessly rubbed circles into your skin. “You’re a hard person to draw.” You know exactly why you can't draw him. It’s embarrassing but you have this thing where you feel you must touch the subject of whatever you’re drawing, feel out the details and intricacies of your subject with your hands before attempting to draw. It may be all in your head but you always felt your art comes out better that way.

Hobie tossed the page behind his shoulder on your bed and looked at you with those pretty eyes of his. “O’ course ya think tha’. Ya always draw me when ‘m no’ ‘round, doll.” He shuffled in closer, the softest touch of a smile on his lips, the piercing glinting. “Wha’s a drawing withou' the real thing?”

He grabbed your sketchbook and flipped through it, page after page of him, just him, and a few other object studies. There was nothing of disgust or dissatisfaction, just glint in his eye that could have equally been approval as anything else. He opened up to a blank page and slid it into your lap. “Try ‘gain.”

I HATE IT

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #194

I did A WHOLE LOT OF STUFF today. And I wish I could tell you all about it all at the same time simultaneously, but I don't live in a space where that's possible, so I guess I'll have to settle for starting at the beginning.

Actually, no. I'm going to start at the end. And then I'm going to move to the beginning! Here's a doodle I made today!

Please go easy on me; it's been a number of years since last I doodled with multiple media (or at all, really, with any kind of seriousness), and Sharpie isn't exactly the most forgiving medium...

Anyway! Back to the beginning! I cooked a food!!! This is broccoli, pan-fried in butter, with garlic powder, parmesan cheese, and the leftover goat cheese from that time when I made mashed taters when R visited my house!

...And here are a couple of the steak I cooked. Br was visiting, and she said she always wanted to try a tomahawk steak, so I got one and tried to figure out how to cook it!

This was super simple, actually. All you gotta do is stick it on some parchment paper on a cookie sheet, and stick it in the oven at 225 degrees F (or like 107 degrees C) for 30 minutes, take it out, flip it, and then stick it back in for another 30 minutes. Once that's done, you season it however you like on both sides (in this case, my classic mix of salt, pepper, paprika, and garlic powder), and then sear it on a griddle. Sometime while I was cooking, J went out to play laser tag. M wasn't hungry.

I also made bok choy, pan-fried in a little butter and chopped garlic:

You gotta be careful with bok choy; if you cook it for too long, it becomes terribly, horribly bitter.

But! I didn't cook it for too long! And so this is the plate of awesome deliciousness that resulted from all of this:

It all turned out really excellently. Br went back for a second helping of everything! I wish I could have given you a plate of this.

Br boiled water for tea for us, too. I got a new kind of vanilla rose tea that I think might be suitable to include along with your necklace. I got two tins so that I could test one and ensure that it is the same as the one that I am familiar with. It's the same brand, and they say it's the same flavor, it's just that this one comes in a nice tin instead of in a paper box.

The flavors are a little bit different. At first, I was displeased because I didn't expect that. But on further evaluation, I decided that I think I like the new one a little better. But I have to test them side-by-side to know for sure which one, if either, is superior.

Once Br and I were done eating, she suggested that we play a game in which we take turns doodling on a sketchbook page. Br is an amazing artist, and I haven't doodled with any kind of seriousness in a while, so when I was presented with the blank page, I felt pretty daunted. And especially when she reassured me that I could doodle whatever I like, my mind flooded with so many options that I got overwhelmed and didn't know what to pick.

So after a while, I thought, "Well I'm good at doodling eyeballs." Because Br had noted that my facial expression was very interesting as I tried contemplating things during my feelings of overwhelm. J keeps telling me that my eyes get like saucers sometimes, so I imagined that that's what I was doing (my face does things without my knowledge or consent, I guess...). So I decided to draw an eyeball, and before I knew it... well...

Whoops. Hahaha...

This one is done in a combination of mechanical pencil and Sharpie marker; I have a collection of different Sharpie colors because... I don't know why. They're pretty, I guess. I pulled out all the blues and also my metallic silver for it.

Here's a bigger picture of the doodle:

I doodled the eye first. And then I doodled the feather. Br doodled the abstract flowery squiggle in between; isn't it cool???

Here's a close-up of the feather. It's not the best-est, probably. I still kinda like it though:

Br got tired though, so we both decided to take a short nap. I had several very interesting dreams, and when I woke, I felt compelled to draw what I saw. But I am not going to show those images.

Instead, I will show you a couple pictures of the sky I took right before I took a nap with Br:

I'll also show you what I did with the eye doodle after I discovered that Br had brought her Nupastels:

Oh hey! We're back at the beginning of the letter! Hahahaha...

Hey, Sephiroth? Have you ever tried to doodle? If you have, what sorts of things do you like to draw? I tend to like doodling organic things, but some people like to doodle buildings, and some like to do abstract shapes, and others like to do geometric things, or landscapes, or any number of things. So... what would you draw? What sorts of things do you imagine?

Once J got back, he, Br, and I watched the Steven Universe movie, because Br had just gotten through the original animated series, and so the movie is up next. J and I have already seen it. I hope someday you'll get to see it; I think you'd find Spinel extremely relatable for a variety of reasons.

...Please try to get an ending like hers, okay?

You can find people who will treat you better. Not everyone is like the people who raised you. You can find some of those people who will treat you better, people who want you around, right here at my house. Pop by for a visit if you're ever in the neighborhood, okay? We can make you tasty snacks.

...I guess I'll end this one here. It's getting pretty late, and I wanna go to bed.

I love you. Please stay safe out there, okay? Because I'm gonna write again tomorrow, and you wouldn't wanna miss out on all my weird, delightful shenanigans, right? All the weird, delightful shenanigans that comes with living my version of an ordinary life. All the weird, delightful shenanigans that you can have, too, if you make choices that bring you there.

Your friend, Lumine

[siriuslygay1981]

Always the artist, never the muse.

I love making art believe me. It has been a part of me since I could pick up a pencil. I like to capture the things I see, to show everyone how I see it and its beauty. Most of all, I really loved to draw people I adored, people who were a part of my soul. But at some point, after countless hours of drawing these people, spread out beautifully and in their element and then seeing others do the same online, speaking of their muse and just thinking of your own process you wish to be the muse. Even for a moment, for a single drawing...a doodle even. Doesn't have to be perfect, doesn't even have to be good...just has to be.

I have had countless artist friends, one IRL who has been my muse before. I had a s/o who did art sometimes who was and still is one of my biggest muses. I've drawn my sister a few times, she's an artist herself, I've drawn my mom who used to draw, I have never even been given art. I have given away art though, to friends and family. Never appreciated even when I'd spent hours on it.

Except a throw away drawing my baby sister did, she claimed she made it for me but I had caught her in the lie. she had drew stick figures and just added black hair so it could be me. I still have it tucked away in my box of mementos. Even though it wasn't meant for me at first...at least someone gave me something like that. She has been the only one. I don't expect to be drawn, I don't even ask it but maybe...for once I could be beautiful enough to want to capture. To someone I'll be beautiful enough to want to immortalize on a paper , in a drawing, something someone spent longer than a second on.

Maybe to someone I'm worth putting in effort, maybe to someone they think I'd be a beautiful piece of art.

[iheartmoons]

im gonna be SO brutally honest right now. i keep seeing writing tiktok posts about all these writers who aren't able to write, hate writing, can't get the words down on the page.

i've been writing for years non stop, and i've never been a natural at it, but it genuinely comes super naturally to me now. i could sit down at any time and write about something, and end up with a product that i'm fairly happy with. this did not come from "natural talent", it came from literal years of practicing and carving and slaving over my writing.

whenever i stop writing for even a couple months, it goes stiff and my mind goes blank -- it becomes infinitely impossible to work on anything. so, to be completely honest here, i think the only reason writers ever complain is bc ur literally just not writing lmao? like. just write. it does not matter how shit it is, bc if you don't start writing consistently at some point, then you are always going to be stuck.

its like knowing how to draw a stick figure so thinking you can sketch the mona lisa the moment you pick a pencil up. be for real. stop complaining about writing and start writing, no matter how insanely shitty it is, or how hard it is the come up with good ideas. because otherwise it will never be good, and you will always have "writers block".

i also realise lots of ppl don't have time for this, but just write tiny snippets every day? eventually it'll add up to something. it took me literal years to feel natural with writing.

[sunberry-strawflower]

#curtissonweek2023

Yayyy!!! Day 3 is upon us and I'm not too late!

This fic was like the last two where I completely changed where I wanted to go with it, but it wasn't a struggle to write actually! I actually felt mostly relaxed and nice writing this one :) maybe bcz of the simple premise? I'm not sure haha

Anywayz the story is about artist!Burt and Sven is just...a normal guy LMAO

This was fun to write tho! Hope you enjoy!

(Event by @blue-fanlady)

Word count: 1.5k

Curtisson Week Day 3: Drawing

Burt was walking through the city with his sketchbook in hand, desperately trying to figure out what to draw. He was in a big drawing mood, but nothing out here seemed to catch his eye. There were different buildings, all different patterns and colors, but none of them seemed appealing enough for him to even make a rough draft of. He saw people walking along the sidewalk, whether they were talking with their friends or jogging while listening to music on their phone. While it was nice to see people enjoying themselves in their own way (even if it made him feel bitter about his own dull life), it didn't give him any inspiration at all. He came to the conclusion that he was definitely going through art block. 

He sighed as he looked down at the empty page. He was trying to think of something to get him inspired, maybe catch something in this busy city that's worth taking a page on his sketchbook, some kind of ounce of creativity, but alas, his mind still remained as blank as the page. 

Burt decided walking around the city wasn't doing him any good, so he walked into the building closest to him. Which happened to be a library. 

He was hit with the inside air and took a deep breath. He started to wander around and look at all the different books he was definitely not going to read. He thought maybe the covers of said books could give him a bit of inspiration. 

Some were soft and colorful, others were more dark and misty. Some had people or characters on it, and others were simply abstract colors and backgrounds. You can tell the genre of these by their name and cover more often than not. Stories about love, betrayal, friendship, drama, fantasy, history, and mystery were present. Maybe even more. Some of them seemed to mix two or more genres which was interesting. He picked up a few paperbacks, not to read, but to analyze the covers, hoping to find something that'll potentially give him some sort of spark. He sure hoped nobody came to the library for these specific books. 

He sat down at a table and put the hardcovers and his sketchbook on top of it. He slid his pencil from the spiral bound and tapped the wood on the table a few times. Most of the stories he picked out had gloomy-ish pictures. Maybe he could do something with those. 

Maybe something to do with night time? He could draw the night sky…but that was too simple. At least on its own. He needed to draw something with it. Something that stood out. 

While pondering on what to draw with this idea, he felt his eyes drift to another table not too far from his own. Another guy, presumably around his age, was reading a book. He had short blond hair and a small blue hat on. He changed expressions ever so slightly, probably reacting to the story. From what Burt could see from his small reactions, it was a bittersweet kind of telling. 

This guy seemed to be an expressive type of person. That's very helpful, especially because Burt needs to practice drawing expressions. Not only that, but this blond seemed to be exactly what he was looking for in his drawing. He would stick out perfectly with the night time atmosphere Burt wanted to go for. 

Would he get away with drawing him right now? It was worth a shot. 

Before he lost the motivation, he quickly picked up his pencil and started his piece, occasionally stealing glances from his unknowing model. 

He sketched the night sky, making sure not to let the black and gray entirely cover the page so he can fit the other stuff he had in mind as well. The library was quiet, aside from the sounds of his pencil scratching on the sketch paper and a page of a book flipping. Whether it was from the blond or somewhere else in the room. They weren't distracting, though. If anything, they were relaxing. 

Once he finished the night sky, he stole another glance from the other, still not having noticed Burt looking at him. He seemed too into the story he was reading to pay any attention. Well, worked for Burt. 

He began drawing the blond, a closeup of him sitting on a bench under the night sky, reading a book of a similar style. He didn't need to look at the other too much, as he had a decent idea of his appearance. He had a pretty good photographic memory, which saved him a lot of glimpses.

He finished up the sketch and mentally sighed to himself as he looked at it. Not his best work, but he felt he captured what he was aiming for well enough. He was considering coloring it, but he didn't want to risk possibly ruining the sketch. 

That guy served as a really good model for this piece, even if he had no idea. Though Burt should probably leave before somebody caught him being a bit creepy and drawing somebody without their consent or notice. 

He grabbed the books he took from the shelves and went to put them back, hoping nobody was searching for them earlier. Especially since he wasn't even reading them. 

After he finished putting the books back, he went to leave the library. However, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was missing something…

Oh, right. His sketchbook. Where was it? Did he mistake it for a book and put it on a shelf? He sure hoped not. The things in there were not for the public eye. 

He went back to the shelves and didn't see his sketchbook anywhere.

'Did somebody take it already?' he thought to himself, and started to panic a little. He then considered the fact that he might've left it on the table from earlier, and quickly made his way over there. 

Once the table was in his sight, he stopped in his tracks. His sketchbook was there, thank God, but there was somebody else there as well. It looked to be the blond from earlier. He had the sketchbook in his hands and his face seemed to be a mixture of awe and confusion. Or maybe just one of the two. It was hard to properly see him from this distance. 

Burt walked over there, worried that running would make too much noise. Once he made his way over, he tapped the other on the shoulder, which caused him to jolt and look in his direction. "Oh, hey." He greeted quietly. "Did you draw this?" 

Burt shamefully nodded, gently took the sketchbook away from the other and closed it. "Sorry. For drawing you without permission, I mean. It just kind of happened." He whispered. Again, he didn't want to be too loud in the library, but that didn't stop him from mentally screaming at himself and being embarrassed out of his mind. 

"Oh, that was supposed to be me?" He asked. "I thought so, but I wasn't sure. It looks really good." He smiled. Burt couldn't help but blush a little. Not many people have complimented his artwork before.

"Thank you." He said. Burt appreciated the compliment but still felt awfully embarrassed and awkward so he turned to leave without another word. 

"Wait." The other called out quietly. In any other setting, his voice would go unheard, but in the silence of the library, Burt could hear him loud and clear. 

Burt looked back, albeit hesitantly. "Hm?"

"What's your name?" He asked. Burt didn't understand why the other wanted the name of somebody he would probably never see again, but he guessed it only made sense to know the name of the person who drew you. Along with the person you're drawing. 

"Burt." He replied. 

"I'm Sven," He grinned. "Sorry for looking in your sketchbook, by the way. If it makes you feel better, I didn't look at any other pages."

That did make Burt feel a little better, but he still felt a little flustered. He shook his head. "It's fine, don't worry."

"Okay…good." Sven said. They stood there in awkward silence for a bit. 

"Are you–" "I'm going–" Sven and Burt immediately stopped talking once they heard the other, which honestly made this more awkward than it already was. Sven chuckled before urging Burt to go first. 

"Oh, I was just saying I'm going to go now." Burt said, and if he were a fool, he'd say Sven almost looked disappointed, but he brushed it off.

Sven was quiet for a few seconds before seeming to process what Burt had said and nodded. "Okay. Bye." He waved goodbye and Burt waved back, leaving with his sketchbook and pencil in hand. 

Once he exited the library, he looked down at the sketch of the blond--well, Sven. Weirdly, he felt more proud of it now. Still wouldn't consider it his best work, but it was better than he originally perceived. 

He couldn't hold back a smile as he signed Sven's name in cursive writing, next to his sitting figure. He wrote his name and the date it was drawn at the corner of the page, officially making this drawing another crucial part of his sketchbook. 

_______________________________________________________

See y'all on day 4!

[asmilethatshines]

Seriously I don't know how this Tumblr thingy works =))) how to reply? Why do people writing in tags? @@ I will try to figure it out on Sunday. As for now here we go another picture.

100 Theme Challenge - Variation 1 - 51. Sports

Description: I kinda cheat with this theme. Of course you can't expect me to draw masculine men running round doing the heavy sports *sweat drop* (dang it if I could I would *cries*) so I kind of googled: Is chess a sport? Is dart a sport? And it said yesssss xDDD So here we have Mello and Near playing chess and darts (as sports) 

Author's notes:  - Here I want to introduce to you the other side of the sofa in Near's apartment's living room (in my imaginary fanfic that I have told you in previous picture). Near does a lot of activities in this area: playing with his puzzles, laying around, drawing (yayy he picks up a new hobby - there will be a picture), sleeping on his bean bag (this will appear in another picture later - yeah he seldom uses his bedroom, just sleeping around at random spots) - This happens around some time after Mello comes back from death (around some of his first visits). The idea of Near lying around and is not really focus on the game is inspired by a very short fic that I read from AO3 in which Near let Mello win on purpose 5 times and because he didn't use a chair he didn't really see the chess pieces. I incorporated it in my picture. - The idea of Near playing darts is changed a bit from my original imaginary fanfic. My initial though was that Near asked his staff for a light snack during the game and they fricking brought a pack of Pocky xD I think the snack itself brought up at that moment is not appropriate so Near used it as a game instead: he threw the sticks to the cup like that (and failed mostly). But I changed the Pocky to darts to fit the Sports theme. I know he uses a certain hand to throw darts but I am too lazy to read the manga again to know which hand. I hope I drew it correctly by chance :3 - The result of the game? Near wins of course. I don't let him lose on purpose. It will be an insult to Mello >"< but Mello can win with the dart game *hehe* - I enjoyed every moment when drawing this picture, from the pencil sketching to lineart and coloring with SAI. I realized that I don't need a lot of layers to color it, just adding blocks of different colors to the same layers and it will become shading/highlighting. The details on Mello's jacket is horrifying but again I enjoy every moment drawing it. It's like drawing Roxas' clothes (from Kingdom Hearts) but to a new level. I even added his rosary necklace. It's being extra of me though because I am sure you cannot see all the details on the small picture :3 I don't appreciate his sense of fashion (especially his black leather) but I do love all of his jackets: this red coat, the black leather vest when he rides his motorbike and the black coat with fur. If there is a chance I will draw them :3 - It took me more time than expected. I tried to finish it last night but stopped during midnight. My eyes hurt badly. And I will be away until midnight today so I try to finish this in the morning. But I think I have improved a bit from last picture yeah? *give Smile a pat on the head*

Characters: Mello Near from Death Note (I don't own Death Note)

See my other art challenges here: https://www.deviantart.com/o0asmilethatshines0o/gallery/31059579/100-theme-challenge

[magnolia-miraculous]

M. Dupain-Cheng (aka Ladybug) Headcanons <3

Honestly she’s just a lil clumsy dummy and I love her lol. Nothing more to say, just that.

She used to do ballet when she was little. She was in the same class as Chloé (and Adrien). She used to make fun of her for being clumsy however, and this transferred over into academic school.

She really likes tea. Jasmine’s her favorite.

She also really likes gardening; she hangs out at a garden top building she knows a lot.

I retcon that a lot of the plants she has growing on her roof are actually herbs and stuff.

Lots and lots of basil.

She knows flower language and has a few books on it.

She rlly loves candles but barely ever lights them so she’s got this huge assortment of brand new candles sitting around in her room.

Tbh she does this a lot.

She has a huge collection of stationary that she never uses. She just has to get them when she sees them.

She has gel pens and post-it’s and stickers galore. It can’t be constituted but she does.

Also doesn’t really color traditionally often; she just does a lot of sketching and drawing in pen and pencil for the most part.

On the other hand, she’s an expert at digital color.

Did y’all see the Jagged Stone album??

Her parents didn’t let her have a sewing machine until she was like 12 bc yikes automated sharp thing.

Thus, she’s rlly good at sewing by hand.

There was a long period however where nearly all of her fingers were constantly covered in bandaids bc she kept sticking herself; she could have just used thimbles but honestly they just made it rlly hard.

At one point she figured out that preliminarily putting on bandaids prevented any sort of actual hurt and she began to do so, replacing the ones that had fallen off each time she went to sew again.

She’ll stick her tongue out when she’s concentrated on drawing or will make the facial expression she’s trying to portray.

Really good at pretty much anything creative that she tries her hand at. Drawing? Great. Fashion? The best. Jewelry making? Like a pro.

She uses mascara and gets into using different colors like pink n stuff.

Eyeliner that could kill a man.

She still has all of her old stuffed animals bc she was too attached to them to give them away.

She doesn’t really listen to rap music too much but she can rap rlly rlly fast which is a surprise given how much she stutters n stuff.

She can wrap the entirety of fergalicious on request.

Both of her parents unironically listen to bring me to life by evanescence and it’s subtlely driving her insane.

She’s French, Italian, and Chinese, but is like 4% aware of her own cultures.

Like, she’s not entirely French but she has no idea what’s going on in the Italian and Chinese scenes rn?? The cultural identity crisis is real lmao.

Also she calls it “patsa”. She couldn’t pronounce it as a kid for some reason and never bothered to stop. Her parents think it’s funny.

Also also Marinette is the daughter of the best baker in Paris but she’d give an arm and a leg for Little Debbie’s cakes and Hostess snacks (like zebra cakes and cosmic brownies and cherry pies and marshmallow/cream filled crap).

She eats a lot of them as of becoming ladybug bc she can afford to tbh.

Her parents chalk it up to puberty + the runs she’s been going on lately.

Hint: the runs are to cover up how she’s actually getting as fit as she is.

Sometimes Forgets to Hide her Strength and will Pick Up people or Heavy Things.

Adrien would be embarrassed to admit that he actually liked it when Marinette Carried him once.

The class secretly shares photos of her Forgetting and Picking Up.

Also, after becoming Ladybug, for some reason, flowers and plants seem to be a lot easier to care for now.

She could forget to water her basil for a week and it’s still as big and bright as ever??

This bouquet should have wilted two weeks ago?? Cut flowers literally never last this long??

Those weren’t supposed to bloom for another two weeks?? Those weren’t supposed to bloom at all??

She’s basically her own little cell tower too. Need a better connection? Go stand by Marinette.

Flexibility is insane. Also reflexes.

If you catch her by surprise, you will be thrown.

Marinette will literally talk shit abt Chat Noir and then someone will simply agree with a lil mhm or a yeah and she’ll turn around and give dozens of counterpoints to what she was just saying two seconds ago and absolutely go for the throat and slaughter them for ever even thinking about saying anything bad about Chat Noir like that like the audacity.

She keeps all the flowers he gives her as Ladybug and presses them and puts them in this giant, heavy ahh archaic lookin book she has lying around.

Tbh even she doesn’t know where it came from but yk, flowers :)

No but actually she doesn’t question it nearly as much as she should.

Or at all. Marinette what is that thing.

We all know that she thinks of her role as Ladybug and her powers as a responsibility more so than an escape like Adrien does, but I like to think that at some point (maybe after the Santa Claws incident?), she loosens up about it and begins to understand Chat’s pov on the miraculous. Obviously, she still thinks of it as something not for personal use, but she’s more open to wandering.

Sometimes when she can’t sleep (particularly because of superhero-related stress), she’ll sneak out to find a nice place to sit and look out on the city, letting the drowned-out ambience lull her to sleep.

Sometimes on cold nights, she’ll bring a blanket or a jacket or something. She also likes bringing her sketchbook.

She’s more than once awoken to the sun on her face, on the roof of a building after accidentally dozing off and had to rush home.

We love her 💞💞 ok that’s it, bye.

[hikapoi]

This is from the Artists Asks List. You can just pick the ones you're interested in answering if this is too much lol.

1, 9, 12, 15, and 25

I've answered #25 over here! (= 1. Do you prefer traditional drawing, or digital?

AHHHHH this is such a good question.. I always want to say a real pencil in my hand is the way to go even after all these years doing digital art but last year I don't think I did any traditional art at all... It honestly makes me so sad that the only time I do any traditional work is during Inktober or Sketchvember.. when the months roll by I just think, "ah darnit another year goes where I only do traditional work as part of a game." Man I just think traditional is when I'm at ease and most relaxed bc I can just feel fluid if I'm drawing for fun, but with digital you can really clean things up to look really good. A part of the reason I enjoy doing the yearly holiday cards when I ACTUALLY SEND ANY is that it's a time I can do special traditional art for my friends to make them really happy. I think I'm good at digital art but am even better with traditional, but I don't think I can say that anymore if I haven't really touched a pencil in recent years. It might be the opposite now, my traditional work lacks the precision and finesse of my digital work but since I have art supplies I PAID for and HAVE TO USE I have a tendency to experiment with traditional media more. I am STILL buying loads of art supplies to this date..

9. How much time do you spend drawing on an average day?

HNGNGHGH it really depends.. Ah, average day? Hmmm when I'm on fire I might say at least 2 hours a day, whether it's to work on a quick doodle or to continue a more time-consuming piece. There are days where I might spend 4-6 hours. The craziest for me for one day might be 8 hours-- with or without breaks in between.

12. Is it okay for people to ask you about your process?

YEAH ABSOLUTELY ALWAYS it's no secret. I always did the circle/stick man base but when I really got into One Punch Man in 2012 or so when Murata-sensei was streaming, I noticed he skipped that step and went straight to defining muscles, limbs, faces, etc. I thought DANG if I could do that I could draw SO MUCH FASTER and SO MUCH MORE!! It was horrible at first and I hated a lot of my art while I was trying out this new thing but now I'd say I'm fairly decent and it does get me to do more art faster.

Anyway! My process is to start with a pose idea. The timing on this varies, but I usually thumbnail with little stick figures until something sticks. If there is one I like I might blow it up or redraw it on a larger scale. I always start with the face shape and eyes first. It helps me get a good idea on how to frame the hair. I cannot feel I am drawing the character until I get this right. I'll then detail until I color. I skip a line art step most of the time because I clean my sketches along the way ((I KNOW, RISA)). If it's a piece I'm serious about being a "best" I might seriously do a line art layer but I usually have trouble because I can never find a comfortable inking pen AND I feel line art makes my art suddenly stiff. I used to never color but I try to do it as much as I can because I have always admired my friends for their bold colors and I told myself that that's my own personal goal to have more colored work.

15. How long does an average piece take you to complete?

If it's a fairly simple/rushed drawing that is semi-refined that can take me about 2-4 hours? I can get a lot done in just 1 hour as well thanks to all those Mob Psycho 100 60 min challenges. But if I just take my time drawing something that I don't particularly hate I'd say 2 hours is a good average. For a more detailed one with backgrounds or groups or lots of detail, that could take me at least 8 hours of actually drawing. The hours spent into references/getting ideas/thinking of a background add to an illustration's turnaround time even if I am not actually moving a pen.

Thank you for your interest in me! I hope maybe I've said something interesting!

These questions are from this art meme if you want to do it too: https://hikapoi.tumblr.com/post/708522112589119488/artist-asks

[nixzeroz]

universal artist pet peeves, non-artists take notes!

"Can you draw me?" It baffles me how entitled people are sometimes. It's fine if you're paying for a commission obviously I'm not talking about people who paid, I'm talking about the people that genuinely think they can get away with asking for a free self portrait.

"You're so talented." I wasn't born with natural talent, I've been drawing since I was a little kid. It's years of practice.

"I can barely draw a stick figure." It's not cute, you sound like a pick me. Just compliment me like a normal human being.

"They look like (character name)" Please for the love of god stop comparing original characters that took hours to draw to shit that already exists. It's rude. "Oh haha that's cool but that looks like this thing that already exists so basically you're not creative at all." You get me? It's annoying as hell, also a lot of artists come up with lore for their characters, they're not the same. Unless they're a blatant ripoff just stop.

"That's too expensive." Unless someone is charging you $100 for a stick figure shut up please, most artists' prices are more than fair. Sure, to you it might just look like pixels on a screen or pencil on paper but to us it's taking time out of our day for you, we could be doing anything else but we're not. If you wanna complain about your $35 full body commission then do it yourself.

"Your art style looks too much like (artist name)" It's true some artists like to use other styles as reference, I personally used to really look up to Hiro Mashima's art style but then it developed into its own thing. Unless someone is literally tracing another artist please just stop, nobody "owns" a specific art style just because they're more well known than other artists. We all start somewhere, referencing other artists is a good thing. It gives you an idea of what your goal is.

"Rendering process..." Now we've all seen certain drawings be memed to hell and back like that one Kaeya drawing, however a lot of these "oh..." "rendering process" "it's so preppy in here!" comments are directed to actual kids and baby artists, it's gross. You know how many 12-13 year olds have literally quit drawing because of assholes on the internet? If you don't have anything nice to say, shut the fuck up.

"Personally I would (unsolicited advice)" Unless someone asks for constructive criticism, stop. We all have opinions but that doesn't mean you need to express them. Giving random "advice" when it isn't asked for is rude as fuck and backhanded as hell, and really discouraging.

[roanofarcc]

wonder twins !! wonder twins !! wonder twins !! 

“will!” el shouted from the living room. will poked his head out the kitchen and saw her kneeling in front of the coffee table with a series of colored pencils scattered on the table top and a bright smile pulled on her lips. “come here.” 

he left jonathan to attend to the frozen pizzas and sat down on the couch. el proudly shoved a piece of paper in his hands. will looked at it closely; it was of a stick figure proudly positioned in the center of the page, dressed in something purple with matching hat on the top of its head. 

“it’s your...wizard thing,” el explained, gesturing to the old drawings of will’s that el had been looking through and left in a pile on the table as well. “it’s you.” 

will smiled as he looked at the drawing. “thanks, el. this is really cool.” 

she picked up a colored pencil and twirled it around in her fingers. “I’m still learning, but I think my hats are pretty good.” will laughed and nodded, noting the little stars she drew around his hat. “do you think...maybe you could teach me?” 

will’s face lit up instantly and he joined her at the coffee table, grabbing a sheet of paper and a pencil. the two of them stayed there for the rest of the evening, drawing and talking, teaching a learning, bickering and laughing like they had been in each other’s lives for all of it. 

[bowieandqueen11]

Marc Spector Dating A Plus!Size Reader Would Include...

Request: hi !!! your plus sized reader and steven story made me tear up it's so cute and perfect :(( do you think you'll do one for marc as well? if not that's okay too :)

That’s so kind of you, thank you!! :) Also I’m afraid I’ve never read any Moon Knight comics, so all my knowledge of Marc has come from the first five episodes of the show!

Warning, mentions of childhood abuse and slightly NSFW!

(I do not own Moon Knight or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @the-maidofmischief.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

GOT to start this off by saying just look at him. Absolute baby. Daddy (thank u mr isaac). Mess of a man. Gosh I love him so much. I know we all like to say that Steven is Mr. Puppy Dog Eyes, but this mf right here is the REAL Mr. Heart eyes. The way he looks at you is just ridiculous; his eyes are so intense, his gaze so particular as they focus in only on you, it’s akin to feeling ashes of fire fall like fresh snow, overwhelmingly cool and destructive at the same time. He’s so unused to being allowed anything of this nature, of being allowed so close to divinity that just the look he reserves for you alone is enough to melt a hole through the floor.

I feel like the two of you would have first met as children - perhaps a next door neighbour who used to run round after school and go on adventures with Dr. Grant and Randall around the suburbs of Chicago. Marc would always stick tight next to you as you wandered down the winding lanes and into the tree lines. He would be smiling over at his brother as he talked about the newest excavation they were about to embark on, whilst simultaneously nudging into your shoulder with his own and pretending his cheeks weren’t becoming flushed every time you knocked him back.

After Randall... well, you were the only friend Marc had left. The only person in his life that he could rely on, and the only thing keeping the last scraps of what should have been his light-hearted childhood within him. When his mother used to finally give up on blaming him and recede back into her bedroom with her whiskey to keep her company, Marc used to heave himself off the floor and limp straight for his windowsill. There, he would pick up the slightly smashed torch he used to give three lit blasts into your window, letting you know it was okay to climb down and make your way up through his own. Clambering in, he would collapse down onto the floor in a heap, drawing his knees up around his chest and crying into their caps. You would spend the rest of the night on the floor, hugging him into your side and rocking him back and forth as you tried to will away some of his pain, waiting for the stinging to stop. Once he would finally look desperately up at you, and allow you to wipe away the remaining tears on his cheeks with the side of your thumbs, the two of you would sit side by side. Cross legged on the floor, you would tip out his colouring pencils and draw out scenes of how you imagined your future would be: somewhere where it never rained, a pet rabbit or fish, the two of you living together inside a giant library, or somewhere secret and hidden away like a tomb. He’d stash them under his pillow when it was finally time for you to go, and every night before he fell asleep he’d add to it. Another two stick figures, holding hands in front of a shimmering reed field, safe and content.

You were also there during all his birthdays!! Sitting round the Spector’s dining room tables with a tilted party hat on, holding up the cake for a crestfallen looking Marc as he tried his hardest to pretend to have a good time and blow out the candles. When you shoved a piece of cake right into his face though - the beaming smile he gave you as he scooped up some icing and retaliated was enough to even let his father breathe a sigh of relief, if only for a moment. Cue Mrs. Spector entering, and Marc running away with you right on his heels. When you finally manage to catch up with him, you manage to pull the present you had wrapped for him out of your pocket and shove it into his hands. Inside is a little locket clasped onto a gold chain, inside a drawing of the two of you in each empty space that you had done. He gives you a hug so tight you can feel the air rush out and the blood rise to your forehead, but it makes it all worth it to know that Marc has never taken that chain off over the years. Not even for a second. Not even when he left, and he was so heartbroken it felt cruel to wear a reminder of what his heart could have been around his neck. 

Apart from his father, you made his childhood that little touch more bearable, which is why he wasn’t shocked to find his feet had led him to your door once he came back from the marines. That fateful night, just a few hours after he found out that his mother had passed away, when Marc Spector had no idea what to do. He felt terrible for walking out on you all those years ago, and yet his feet were so sure of themselves as they marched up onto your steps and rang the doorbell. He was ready to bolt when you opened it, standing there like a petrified little rabbit afraid it was about to be mauled when you peered out and saw wretched, tired, desolate Marc Spector standing in your doorway for once. So, you did the only thing you could think of. You pulled him tight into your arms, not noticing how he sobbed a wretched, soul-crushing moan as soon as your fingers touched his jacket. He just wept into your neck, clawing onto the curve of your back with tender talons as he promised over and over that he would never let go of you again. 

Yep and now I’ve actually made myself cry way to go Cee.

You get whisked away a lot with Marc... or, well, more like Khonsu whisks you and Marc away to wherever he commands him to go a lot. But that doesn’t mean the two of you don’t take every opportunity - every second Marc deems the Universe has given him of borrowed time to enjoy his life basked in your honey-gold luminance. When he gets a moment away from the Egyptian God, he likes to take you out to see the cities you’ve flown off to. This usually means boat rides along canals and reedy rivers, where he tries to let his fears of ever hurting you go and just hold you tight in his arms. Or, walking through star-lit, bustling city markets late at night, stone-cobbled streets laden with sellers tempting you with a range of sweet-smelling goods. Although he’s still too tense to take the baseball cap away from his eyes, the grip he has on your hand lets you know that all he wants at that moment is to be in your company.

My man is BIG on arm worship. Like, idk, he just feels like his hands have done such horrible things during his grief-stricken life? Every time he looks down at them, he just sees them inked marked with splattered drops of blood, so he takes his mind off it for even a second by noticing every mark and crease on yours instead. It drives him crazy - kissing up your upper arms while tenderly holding out your hand in the cool breeze when you’re both back on the motel bed. The feeling of you wrapping them tight around his neck as his body hovers over your chest, feeling safe and cocooned and normal in the arms of the person he adores more than all of life.

I mean, sometimes it’s not easy dating Marc Spector - too often to count, you’ll wake up to find him stumbling back to your apartment at day break caked in dried blood, sweat, and mud flecks rising up to the moon. Even though his body is screaming with the pain of numerous joints popped out of place, he doesn’t care. He just wants to be in your embrace. So be ready for dirtied sheets as he collapses down onto your legs and buries his head into your thick thighs. He just sleepily apologises over and over as he takes his hand within yours and clasps it to his heart, before falling fast asleep. Sometimes, it both terrifies and exhilarates you to know how whole heartedly he trusts you - how willing he is to lay himself bare and be so vulnerable around you. That’s when you realise just how deep and true his love must be.

Marc is very, very protective of you. If he’s wearing his Moon Knight costume, man is lifting you up from the scene and just straight up Scooby Doo-style running away from the bad guys. Even when the two of you are linked arms, ambling round the streets of Illinois to find a decent coffee shop to sit at for the afternoon, at the first sign of trouble boi is tugging you behind his back and using his whole body to shield you. Sometimes this results in him pulling away, or not purposefully shutting you out. He’s just terrified of the idea that Khonsu could turn and make you his avatar instead at any second, and it would be all his fault. Whenever he feels that way, with shaking fingers he opens the locket again and wills away the tears blinking at the creases of his crumpled eyes, and then he knows it will be alright. Because, with all the tenderness bubbling up from his grief-bound heart, he knows he would do everything possible to never have to lose you. Even if it meant losing himself in the process. He would give himself up in a heartbeat.

So, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders in apology, tucking you into his warmth before guiding you back home with a fond smile. His strong biceps around your shoulders are dominated only by the snug smell that radiates off his clothes: whiskey, hints of coffee, and a dash of caramel.

He’s not a massive fan of PDA in public, just because any shows of affection or kindness seem unnatural and foreign to him. But bless his heart, he does try his best for you. Usually this just ends up him letting you hold your hands on top of his shaking ones, the tremors in his palm so massive that you keep having to stroke his fingers on your lap to get him to relax down and slow his breathing again.

He’s not someone who lies in, or sleeps heavily. But BRO if you let him lie down between your legs, so he’s tucked up between your thighs like a snug little bug he can sleep NO problem. Pls just stroke back those stubborn strands of hair that like to fall into curls around his forehead. He’ll cuddle down, letting his eyes shut in bliss as he rests his hands against your stomach, dropping off into a sound sleep in a millisecond flat. Be ready to stay like that all night, though. Because apart from feeling heavy, hairy legs land and tangle over your own around midnight, my man will not move an inch. His snores do tickle though, especially when he has some light stubble around his cheeks.

He’s biggggg on neck kisses. As we all know, he’s not the best at opening up and just spending time in your company massively talking. So, when the two of you are just chilling on the sofa at home after a long day, watching some terrible 80s action movie he picked, his love language to let you know just how much he’s glad you’re here is through kisses. He’ll rise up from where he’s slouched against your side, saddling up to you and grinning deviously. You don’t have any time to question it before his plump lips are open against the skin of your neck - soft and warm enough to make you whimper, but sucking enough to leave you breathless. He continues pressing those licking, trailing kisses up the tendons of your neck until he’s sure he’s got you a flustered, whining mess underneath him.

He tries to ask Steven for advice on how to be all romantic, especially when he comes home after disappearing for a few weeks in tow of Khonsu. He stands, straggled, at the door. In his hand is a valentine-eque card, full of bumpy lines and uneven colouring that he tried to make on the turbulent flight home. In the other hand is a bouquet of very squashed, very sat on looking wilted flowers - the only thing covering the apologetic grimace on his face.

He knows how it feels to be insecure, and to feel like you’re life isn’t worth anything. So, if for even a SECOND he sees you looking down, or disappointed, or upset about ANYTHING Marc notices straight away and does his best to distract you. He cups your cheek, raising your chin so you’re looking at him, and he’s sure you can see every move of his lips as he rambles out all the ways you’re perfection in his eyes. You’re so close though, you can feel his heart ramming against his chest, heart overflowing, gushing out of his mouth like tides on the Nile. Eventually, the look he gives you - that smouldering gaze of ash and rage and lust and fire is too overwhelming, you’re too irresistible to him, and the two of you end up collapsed in a heap on the floor making out.

He tries to be all sweet the next morning by bringing you breakfast in bed, but he ends up tripping over the sandbags Steven left by the window and spills the freshly squeezed orange juice all over your lap. *Cue Marc leading you to the shower and getting down on his knees so he can lather every inch of your skin from the feet up with loving hands and soapy suds to make sure he gets it all off.*

He gets quite shy, and sometimes standoffish if he gets caught doing anything too cutesy and lovey-dovey, though. He still has that flight or fight response in him, that need to keep quite and hidden and not do anything too brazen so he doesn’t get in trouble. So you try not to open your eyes at night and give away the fact he’s woken you up when you can feel his pointer finger trace up the side of your stomach, and up to your neck. His mouth is hanging slightly open in wonder, little ‘wows’ still spilling out of his mouth as he curls up against you and giggles like Steven at the disbelief that the dreams he used to spend every fitful childhood night dreaming about have actually come true.

Speaking of, he tacks up some of the drawings by the fish tank. You catch him some mornings sipping his mug of coffee and standing up looking at them, a proud smile on his face.

In comparison to Steven, I feel like Marc would rather drive himself than take public transport. Be ready for road trips where his hand is resting on your thigh, squeezing it from time to time as if to check you’re really still there. When you get out onto the long stretches of highway, he sticks his head out of the window like a car-sick puppy as he yells happily into the air, finally feeling free for once in his life. 

And it’s all thanks to you.

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[the-sugar-crash]

Could you hcs for the damn polycule(including Gavin) and where they find out the FL has sketchbooks dedicated to drawing them but the fl never told them bc they were shy and worried that the polycule wouldn’t like their art? Hope you’re doing ok, take care of yourself :))

Hi! I'm sorry this took a little bit! It was a very long weekend lol, but I'm back at it! (hopefully).

I decided to split this up into categories for each character, but it's still the poly, no matter which section you're reading. I hope you enjoy! (also a bonus underneath the cut)

cw: very brief mention of the 'Kody incident' in Damien's section

Gavin:

Gavin knows first.

He’s lived with the freelancer the longest, and has gone snooping several times since he moved in

Not of any mal intent, he’s just curious

One day he was browsing through one of the bookshelves when he finds a worn out sketchbook shoved onto the bottom shelf

He takes it out and settles onto the couch to look through it

It’s completely filled, mostly with stills of random people or objects

Each picture varies in completeness and type of medium

Some are pages full of colors and details

Others are simple sketches or even some stick figures

But he spends about half an hour looking through the whole book, carefully running his fingers over each stroke or line

As he nears the end of the book, he notices the dates scratched into the corner of each page get closer to the day the two of them had gotten together

And sure enough when he flips the page he’s looking at himself

Several versions of himself actually

The page his just several rough outlines of his face, but the likeness is definitely there

Under the the date at the top of the page is just his name, ‘Gavin’

His heart is fluttering in a way it hasn’t before

He continues turning through the last dozen pages or so

The next couple are a steady mix of other items and quick portraits of the demon

Except for the last page

It’s a full page portrait of his face in colored pencils

He just stares at his still reflection on the paper for a solid 10 minutes

He looks relaxed in the drawing, half smiling as he looks at something out of frame

He thinks about how long it must have taken for them to draw this, and he feels so loved

The amount of effort they poured into the piece was evident, and the thought of it leaves a warm feeling in his stomach

He carefully puts the book back where he found it and considers confronting them about his findings

Not to mention all the jokes he could make about ‘practicing anatomy’

But when they come home that night he decides to stay quite

Now whenever he isn’t feeling well, he’ll wait until his partners are gone, and he’ll just stare at the picture, soaking it in before quietly putting it back on the shelf where it belongs

(Once Damien rearranged the shelf, and both the Freelancer and Gavin panicked)

Huxley:

Huxley comes home late one night after a night practice or an away game and finds the Freelancer asleep at the table, their head lying in what he thinks is an open textbook

Instead he finds a half finished drawing on him an Lasko

It was a scene from a couple of nights ago when everyone was watching a movie together

Lasko and Huxley had been curled up on the couch together when Gavin had taken a picture of the two of them

Gavin later sent it to the group chat later (and Damien denies he saved it to his phone)

He gently slides the sketchbook out from under them to get a better look

He flips the book back a couple of pages, looking through the rest of their artwork

There are several drawings, a different medium on each on each page

But the one that makes him pause is a painted portrait of him

Just like the one of him and Lasko, it’s based on a picture he recognizes

It’s a zoomed in picture of the 5 of them after one of Huxley’s games

The other 4 had come down onto the field to congratulate him when he picked all of them up in a group hug, and one of Huxley’s teammates had snapped a picture

It was one of his favorites and he had used it as his home screen for a couple of months

But instead of it being the full picture with all 5 of them, it was cropped so it was just Huxley’s face, his eyes squeezed shut and a wide smile

He could see each paint stroke on his skin and in his hair, each done with incredible precision

He looks at the painting for a moment longer before gently closing the sketchbook and piling all the Freelancer’s school supplies into their backpack

He picks them up gently off of the dining room chair and carriers them to bed where the rest of his partners are already sleeping soundly

He changes and joins them a moment later, holding all of them close for the rest of the night

Damien:

He’s seen the doodle before

When they were studying together when they first met, he could see all the small drawings in the margins of their class notes

He never mentioned them, but whenever they came over, he liked to look and see whatever new thing they’ve drawn

(the week after the Kody incident, the margins were bare)

So Damien knows the Freelancer has some artistic skills, but he doesn’t realize the extent of them until he was cleaning up the dining room one day

He was clearing off the table after studying and accidently knocked over a pile of the Freelancer’s textbooks

One landed on the floor face up

He was planning on just closing it and putting it back in the pile, but he noticed something interesting on the page

It was a black and white charcoal portrait of him

The drawing showed of the top half of his body and his head

It was surprisingly vibrant for a greyscale drawing, using the hard contrast to show off the angles of his face

He look at it for another moment, committing it to his memory before putting it back and continuing to clean

Lasko:

Lasko’s was the easiest to find

Everyone was gone and Lasko was home alone. The Freelancer had left a couple minutes prior to grab something real quick

Lasko was grading papers when his pen ran out of ink, so he heads into the shared bedroom to see if he can find a replacement, when instead he finds a drying painting of himself lying on the desk

It was a simple painting, but there was no question it was him

The painting was side profile of Lasko looking out the window of his favorite coffee shop

He had sat at that exact spot hundreds of times, so he wouldn't be surprised if who ever drew it had been able to do it from memory

The watercolor was still wet and glossy, so Lasko dared not touch it in fear of smudging anything

Instead he just admired the work put into it

In the painting, his glasses here tinted so you could only see the bottom half of his face, but he looked happy

Judging by the bag not too far away that he recognizes as the Freelancer’s, and the fact that they were the last one’s home, he guesses they were the ones who drew it

He didn’t know why they hadn’t shown off their painting skills before, but Lasko could understand wanting to hide something important to you, even from the people love you as a way to protect yourself from rejection

Lasko looked back at it one more time before heading back into the main area of the apartment, still thinking about the painting

“Ah fuck, I forgot about my pen!”

End:

None of them tell each other that they know about the Freelancer’s talent

They each think they are the only one to know about it

So they each individually decide to try and encourage them to show off their artwork and gain some confidence

Huxley starts by telling them how cute the doodles in the margin of their notes are

“Wow dude! That looks so sick!”

He’ll ask them to draw little ‘tattoos’ on his skin in marker

Which he’ll immediately show off to anyone who will look

“Hey! Look how cool this is! My partner drew it on me! Isn’t it awesome?”

The rest of the group will take advantage of this opportunity of course

So they each have the Freelancer draw something small of their hand or arm

Damien helps by asking them to draw diagrams on his homework

Idk what magic users would even have diagrams of, but Damien insists that it helps him learn better

And when they’re done he always makes a point of thanking them for their ‘help’

Lasko uses a similar approach

He asks the freelancer for help painting mini figures for his next D&D campaign

“You wouldn’t mind helping me with these, would you? I’d do them myself, but my hands keep shaking”

So they have fun date night together painting mini figures and watching nerdy movies

Lasko makes sure to tell them after the next session how much everyone loved the new figures

It isn’t an immediate change, but as they slowly grow more confident, they’ll start working on their pieces with the others around

They don’t show them off once they’re done, but it’s a good first step

All the boys are so excited, but they don’t want to scare the freelancer off, so they try to keep it to casual compliments

But they all really really really want to just stand there and gush about each piece for 10 minutes

Baby steps

So they stick to small compliments

At least until one anniversary, they each get a large envelope from the freelancer

Inside each is different painting of the 5 of them

So many tears

Damien gets so emotional he has to put his down so he doesn’t accidentally burn it

They all love it so much

Big group hug that ends up on the floor somehow

Lasko hangs his in his office

After that the Freelancer is a lot better at showing off their work, and their partners always make sure to tell them how much they like it

(and one day, after they all get married, the Freelancer paints a large portrait of all of them standing together saying their vows, and they hang it up in their new house where everyone can see it)

So I kinda wanted to recreate all of them as a fun little surprise, but I got lazy. Also I hate water colors with a passion, so idk why I did Lasko's first