#quick sketch for the birthday boy

[burninface]

"Guess which one's the real birthday cake… hey I'm not an option!"

Happy birthday to Ian!🥳

[foolbehavior]

[acesluvrxx]

ignore how late it is i needed to draw my son as soon as it turned may 5 HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY CHILDD

[sturgeonsalad]

[piratespencilart]

Guess whose birthday it is today??? 🎂

[seonyuxxi]

Happy birthday, buddy 🎉

[bittertoxicity]

It’s one of my friends borthday

He old lol jkjk

[aworldofendlesswonder]

measure twice cut once spend a week tracing your sketch and find out it'S TOO WIDE FOR THE CANVAS GRAAHSGDGDHAVVDHDHS

[kate-m-art]

Okay so it's not that I haven't been drawing anything the past few weeks, just don't know how to explain any of it so ajsjdkk Autumn doodle I guess to prove I'm alive

[artingstarvist]

Would have liked to do something a little more special for the birthday boy, but a quick sketch will have to suffice. Birthday Smooches for the ghost king.

[c-hrona]

Quick sketches to say Happy Birthday, you little funky boy!

Bonus because Knives deserves some love:

[gia-d]

Happy Birthday Rulie! 💚

A quick sketch for the sweetest boy.

[vanderdyks]

ITS K2'S DAY OF BIRTH!!!! So here's some super quick sketches of the birthday boy himself

[thebookbutterfly]

°•. Arthur Morgan .•°

Fan fiction recommendations from BB’s Bookshelf. All my favourite Arthur Morgan works in one place.

⭐️ = One of my favourites.

ONESHOTS:

🦋 Goodnight and Goodmorning [Fluff] A tired, weary Arthur crawls into your bed late at night after he returns to camp. << Female Reader, Canon Typical Injuries, High Honour >> ⭐️

🦋 Touchy: Part 1, Part 2 [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, A Smidge of Angst] Arthur is touch starved, you're the most affectionate person he knows. So why don't you touch him? << Female Reader, Mention of Abuse, High Honour >> ⭐️

🦋 Rainy Days [Fluff] It's pouring and you're soaked to the skin. Arthur invites you in and warms you up. Sharing body heat. << Female Reader, High Honour >>

🦋 Winter Cowboy [Fluff] Arthur returns cold and shaking from his ride with Dutch. You're happy to provide some warmth for your favourite cowboy. << Female Reader >>

🦋 A One Time Thing [Fluff] Your new horse throws you off, right into a damn river. Luckily, Arthur is by your side to warm you up. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Logs and Campfires [Fluff] You fall asleep next to Arthur, who's the last one remaining at the campfire after everybody else has gone to sleep. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Graphite and Gratitude [Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Minor Angst] After Micah crosses a line, Arthur comforts you in an unexpected way - by sharing his journal with you. << Female Reader, Micah is an ass, Slightly sexual mentions >>

🦋 Dancing and Daisies [Fluff] Arthur and the gang celebrate your birthday with you. << Female Reader, High Honour >>

🦋 Safety In A Storm [Fluff] Modern AU, in which there is only one bed. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Cold [Fluff] On your escape through the snowstorm after the Blackwater Massacre, Arthur and you are looking for a place to get some sleep. << Female Reader >> ⭐️

🦋 The Caretaker [Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Slight Angst] You join the gang shortly before the Blackwater massacre and quickly find comfort in the gang's enforcer, Arthur Morgan. Even you seem to catch his eye, as he starts to flatter you with little gifts. When he flees from the O'Driscolls, you have the honour of taking care of him. << Female Reader, Canon Typical Injuries >>

🦋 The Rescue [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst] You go missing in the mountains when you were scouting ahead with John. Luckily, Arthur finds you. The near death experience gives both of you the courage for a confession. << Female Reader, High Honour >>

🦋 Drunk Kisses [Fluff] A drunk reader gives Arthur Morgan a kiss. << Female Reader, High Honour >>

🦋 A Quick Sketch [Fluff] You catch Arthur trying to draw you. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You [Fluff] Arthur realises he’s in love with you. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Sharing Cigarettes [Fluff] You and Arthur share a cigarette by the lake. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

DRABBLES:

🦋 Jus' A Little Longer [Fluff] Arthur claims that he doesn't need hugs. You're hellbent on proving him wrong. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Treat [Fluff] Arthur gifts you some chocolate. Valentines Day Special! << Gender Neutral Reader, High Honour >>

🦋 Those Lovely Words [Fluff?] Arthur isn't the only one who sweet-talks his horse. AKA you call your horse a "good boy" and Arthur wants to combust. << Female Reader, Suggestive >>

🦋 The Stars Aren't As Pretty As You [Fluff] A short, sweet night under the stars. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 RDR2 Men As Girl Dads [Fluff] Featuring. Arthur, Charles, John, Dutch & Hosea << Gender Neutral Reader >>

[studiogrimm810]

At Peace

// Est. Sam Winchester x deceased!you

summary: after years of marriage and a beautifully grown family, sam must cope with the the grief of loosing his spouse- you // 1.8k //quick content: grief, solitude, comforting ending

A/N: this fic is based off of the way this song broke my heart, please enjoy <3

p.s. im back bitches :]

The bed is cold. Messy and neglected- as if it never learned the imprint of your body or radiated with your warmth.

Sam rolls the blankets off of his form that’s wrapped in pj pants that you got the family for Christmas years ago when your son brought his, at the time, soon-to-be fiancé home for the holidays.

He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to mend the emptying, but distantly familiar, ache in his chest. He couldn’t quite pin what was so different about it though.

Sam was used to loss. Was.

He looks up, trying not to turn around to see the lonely side of the room that’s ignited in morning sun that doesn’t get to kiss your soft, aged skin anymore.

Warm rays prickled on his bare back, sending a shiver over his skin as it pebbled up. He regretfully stands, stretching his sore and worn muscles, and abandons the process of making the bed. He can’t handle the reminders this early in the morning anyways.

The sink to his left is bare- rid of the products you’d use every morning. He couldn’t stand them not being used anymore so he took everything of yours that was here and put it on the vanity in your old art studio.

With teeth clean and peppered hair brushed, Sam wraps his robe around his body, ignoring the embroidered initials that you custom ordered for him.

Breakfast is simple, a bowl of yogurt with granola and about 3 different fruits to top it off. He doesn’t make coffee anymore, he makes tea because it smells like you- but he waited until he was fully awake to do so. Instead, he sipped water and listened to a simple record on the player he got for your 54th birthday.

Dishes are easy. One bowl, one spoon, and one glass. There’s plenty of room for the dishes to dry while Sam takes his daily medications.

The record plays a song you loved and his chest aches, but it's a warm ache that quickly turns his guts chilly as the ache dissipates. Cold and lonely.

———

The house is empty. Distant and hazy- like it never held the memories of the day you and Sam brought home your sweet baby boy.

Sam’s ears now ring with silence as he sits in the rocking chair you picked out for him in the sunroom. The wall, not carved with windows, hosts dozens of colorful and emotion-packed paintings of yours. You’d spent hours out here and Sam loved to read as you danced around to create art.

His eyes scan the multitudes of canvases and this wasn’t even all of them. Rows leaned against the wall on the floor- it was your spring assortment, your favorite season.

Sam had just switched them out for you.

You arranged your art by seasons- keeping them grouped so that your lively works bloomed in the sunroom like the cherry blossom in the backyard would. You were so excited every chance you got to switch out the works- a rotation of past pieces that awakened a sense of passion and inspiration for the fresh season and works you could accomplish next.

He had placed the winter paintings back upstairs in your old art studio, the one you used before Sam built you the perfect haven.

He rocked in the chair slowly and sipped tea that was now cool enough to enjoy, eyes scanning over the summer painting you tried to finish in September before the seasons switched. He wondered what your vision was.

Bright blues swam across the pristine white of the canvas and penciled sketches only revealed so much. Some rich orange and white splotches over a puffy green could’ve indicated ideas of flowers or fruits on a tree and a red checkered pattern in the making could’ve been a picnic blanket. He assumes this to be the scene of your first date- the day he set up a beautiful assortment in a park near the bunker and poured his heart out to you under a blossoming orange tree.

Maybe it was something entirely different.

He won’t know for a while.

Birds chirped outside and insects somehow found their way past the glass exterior as they now buzzed or crawled along the frames. A ladybug ventured the edge of the unfinished summer painting that hadn’t moved since the day you placed it on your easel. Since September 14th.

You tried to rush it for your 25th wedding anniversary in October. Sam smiles fondly remembering the determination you had to complete a last minute inspiration gift for him despite your lack of motivation or health.

His wrinkled, calloused fingers feather over the detailed wood that reminded Sam of something his brother Dean would enjoy the look of. He often wondered what hobbies Dean would’ve taken up if he had the opportunity.

You took up painting and poetry.

Sam took up writing and wine tasting.

Dean would’ve loved woodwork and keeping up with sports.

And Sam would’ve loved tailgating with his big brother.

Soft taps ticked above Sam and he looked up to see rain pattering on the glass roof, running down the incline of the pane and dripping into the mulch that Sam needs to refresh for spring. He loved keeping the beds along your sunroom flourishing with colorful plants for you. He always will.

The doorbell rings- a calming chime that, of course, you picked out.

———

The home is lively. Sparkling and glowing like the bubbling champagne your son brought for dinner with his wife and their child- your grandchild.

Conversations flow amongst the group and memories of you shine bright. The ache continues to strain just behind Sam’s sternum but he lets his children tell him about their lives and the way it reminds them of you.

Dinner is delicious, just like you taught your son to do. Him and Sam spent quality time in the kitchen whipping it up while listening to a record you saved for nights by yourself with a fresh canvas and bottle of wine.

Your grandson and his mother looked through your paintings and he beamed on his way back into the kitchen, lifting a finger to show his grandfather what he found- a ladybug.

He claimed it’s proof that you’re happy.

Sam starts not to hate that ache.

Dessert was highly anticipated, your daughter-in-law staying true to your love of this specific pie- it reminds Sam of Dean too but he doesn’t mention it.

The weather outside worsened throughout the evening and Sam insisted his children stay for the night. Your grandson begged his parents to agree.

Your family watched a movie and your husband got to carry his grandchild to bed in the spare room, your son and his wife taking the bed and their son the futon.

And tonight, as he enters his too-big bedroom with a too-spacious bed, he finally fully lifts his eyes from the floor to look at the window directly across from him. Rain cries as its neglected drops fall fate to gravity only to get sucked through the same cycle again.

He knows that cycle. He knows how it goes- you learn, you build, you work towards your goal of being on cloud 9- or at least in the clouds- only to fall and lose the work and love you’ve fought so hard for.

Vicious cycles taint most of Sam’s being. Constant aches and pains of those he’s lost and those he’s disappointed. Reminders of his mistakes that have only worsened the existence of others.

You once told him he was washed of his mistakes with redemption in the form of fate, but he never believed you. He took it as a metaphor for baptism. As if the Lord had washed him of his sins despite the lack of penance he owed. As if he can commit to one act that will erase the stain he’s left on earth. But tonight he lets the memory of your voice carry those words through his mind again.

“Fate has offered you your redemption, my love, you don’t owe a hypothetical scale any acts of selflessness to wash away your unnecessary guilt.”

He would take the words and pretend they fell understood on his ears but his stubborn guilt refused such a blessing.

He would never let himself dig deeper into the soul you put into your phrasing.

Offered- had you thought he didn’t accept the life you two built?

Hypothetical- did you think all of his wrongdoings were exaggerated in his mind?

Redemption- had you loved him so much to the point of being the one to give him his undeserved reward?

He… he might get it now.

As Sam watches the droplets on the window rush with the wind of the force of the storm he ponders.

Lightning flashes and he flinches in anticipation- penance.

Thunder rumbles and his body doesn’t react as expected- redemption.

Fate hadn’t mattered, beating the apocalypse multiple times proved that and you had known it too. Fate had been nothing to the Winchesters but a suggestion of how things biblically should go.

But he thinks he understands your phrasing now- it wasn’t destiny that gave Sam his beautiful family, it was you.

Sam scoffed a small smile, sniffling as he continued to watch the window.

Redemption wasn’t him turned into a saint, it was Sam given a simple shot at life. And fate wasn’t a destined ending but a promise of emotional gratification.

It was you- his redemption, his gratification, it was all you.

Everything was you.

His chest aches- but it’s not the ache of meaningless death and torment, it's the ache of a life changing soul whose time was simply up.

It was the bittersweet ache of a natural death.

Unfinished business in the form of empty canvases and old records and not puddles of blood and demons loose.

A death painted with love and family and not shredded and battered in heartache.

His redemption was a normal, apple pie life.

His fate was you.

So as he rounds the foot of the bed and ventures to a side of the room he hasn’t frequented since your death, he takes a different perspective.

He sleeps in a bed with a distant imprint of your form but keeps a bottle of your perfume right on the coaster you’d keep your water bottle on just so he has you close.

Just so he can show you that he gets it now.

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>>check out my other works here

[irenereru]

Happy birthday to the one and only Dr. Ivo "Eggman" Robotnik! 🥰 (Had to draw a little something for my boy's birthday, even if it's jus a quick sketch)