#these are absolutely not all the half baked sketches i have sitting in my files but I picked the cleanest <3

[chocochipclaire]

in honor of the all the times I’ve tried drawing geralt carrying regis out of tesham mutna, I just wrote a 9k fic instead - (this is) the thing

includes: survivals guilt, hansa remembrance, oblivious geralt, and a lot of touching

[elijahs-wife]

butterflies

requested by @lessons-you-taught​: “first of all, I love love love your writing. as much as I love Elijah Mikaelson, I'd love to read a fluffy imagine with Klaus where the reader wants to get her nails done so bad. him being the artiste he is, decides to do some fun, cute nail art for her. like "i'm the big bad alpha, I can do anything" so, he actually gets so obsessed over doing it for her that he plans what to do and paints it so perfectly. the result is super cute.” thank you for requesting this and also for the lovely compliments!! i’m not sure how good it is but i didn’t want to make it overly fluffy and ooc, but i had fun writing it so i hope you like it 💘

pairing: klaus mikaelson x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: not canon, mention of a pandemic, fluff (?), klaus is a cocky bastard

a/n: these nails are the ones i was inspired by!! i think the tiny header looks good, i might do it for more of my fics. also, this is set in the early months of the pandemic. like and reblog this if you enjoy it <3

my masterlist

The past month had been such a rollercoaster for you, what with getting used to working from home, not being able to go outside and dealing with this pandemic-induced cabin fever. You were beyond glad that Klaus had been there the entire time to keep you sane; as soon as lockdown had been announced in NOLA, he'd insisted that you come and stay at the compound with him and his family, saying that you would be safer with him—although he would later admit that it was mostly because he didn't want to go for weeks without seeing you.

After getting into the swing of staying at home, you had gotten much more productive with your newfound free time, trying out hobbies like baking, learning how to play Elijah's piano, even knitting (Klaus laughed very hard at that one—you had only managed to make half a scraggly scarf before giving up out of boredom) but today, you weren't feeling it at all. All you wanted to do was go outside and indulge in a little superficial self-care and get your nails done. Your natural nails had grown much stronger and reached a nice length, so you had filed them into a pretty, almond shape. However, you were absolutely rubbish at painting them yourself, which you attributed to having the shakiest hands on Earth.

Staring at the Pinterest board open on your phone that showed you pictures of all the gorgeous nails that you couldn’t have, you walked into you and Klaus' shared bedroom where he was seated on a futon, silently sketching. None of the shops in the Quarter were open, let alone a nail spa. With an exaggerated sigh, you flopped onto the mattress, making your boyfriend momentarily glance up from his sketchbook. "What's got you in a huff?" he asked, directing his gaze back to the pencil and paper in his hands.

"I want to do this pretty design on my nails, but my lack of artistic skill doesn't permit me to actually do it," you pouted, staring at your screen wistfully. You had Klaus’ attention now—he was staring at you, looking unusually thoughtful for a few moments before setting his sketch down and walking over to you. “Let me have a look at it, then,” he said, sitting next to you on the bed and waiting expectantly, although you weren’t quite sure for what. You showed him the picture; nude-coloured nails with an orangey-red butterfly pattern on them. You ached to see them on yourself.

He nodded lightly and handed your phone back to you, saying “Alright, I can paint your nails for you.” You stared at him for a while, not knowing if he was being sincere or not, but there was no sign of a joke on his face—he was dead serious, and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a laugh that was a little too loud for his liking. The mere thought of Klaus using nail polish, even if it wasn’t on himself, was so bizarre. “What’s so amusing?” His brow was furrowed, lips stretched in a thin, straight line.

Trying your best to swallow the rest of your giggles, you replied, “I’m sorry, it’s just… you don’t seem like the type to paint his girlfriend’s nails. At all. Are you sure you can do this?” The slight frown on his face melted away and was replaced by a quick eye roll and a chortle. “Sweetheart, I’m an artist. I can paint on actual canvas—one of my paintings is hanging in the Hermitage right now, for crying out loud. I think I can handle a few bloody butterflies on a fingernail.”

“Yeah, but oil paints and nail polish are two drastically different mediums,” you retorted; the corners of his mouth turned up into his usual, devilish smirk, his eyes twinkling with the kind of confidence that only came with a massive ego. “I’m the Klaus Mikaelson, love. There’s nothing that I can’t do.”

You snorted derisively, but then raised both hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright, you can give it a go,” you conceded. “It had better be gorgeous though, after all that ‘I’m the Klaus Mikaelson’ crap you just spewed.” You deepened your voice comically to imitate him before you burst out laughing.

He rolled his eyes again, but you didn’t miss the soft chuckle that left his raspberry lips.

***

You were sitting at the small desk that was previously in the very corner of the room, that was now near the window—Klaus moved it there, for lighting reasons, he said—while he grabbed his thinnest paintbrushes from his supply. He needed to make fine lines when painting those butterflies. It didn’t take very long, he was sitting opposite you in a few minutes. You had brought all the bottles of nail polish that he would need, and he was ready to get started.

He blew through the clear base coat and the pinkish-nude nail polish in no time, using only a few swipes to cover the entire nail bed with such precision and neatness that if you hadn’t known better, you would have thought he was a manicurist in a previous life. “How am I doing so far?” he smirked, while you both waited for your nails to dry. Stretching your arm out to look at them from a distance, you nodded approvingly, “You’ve done very well,” you admitted as he gave you a smug grin. “Don’t get cocky now, Klaus,” you advised him, “you still have the pattern to paint on.”

Smiling, he picked up the finest paintbrush that was on the table. “Let me show you my artistic skill,” he said, and started work, using black nail polish to draw the outline of the butterfly. He worked in total silence, his face completely still with concentration, eyes trained on the strokes of the bristles—and he worked fast. His talents would never fail to amaze you, apparently. It felt like no time at all had passed by and he was already filling in the colours of the wings. You watched him in awe as he painted the red in with just a few expert flicks of his wrist, and he was done.

“Okay, I am never doubting your skills again,” you said, examining the very pretty butterflies that were now frolicking on your nails, “this looks incredible.” You felt him kiss the top of your head—you couldn’t even draw your eyes away from the masterpiece—as he murmured a thank you, before heading back to his futon and sketchpad. “Wait!” you exclaimed, and he turned back to face you. “How did you even do that so quickly? You took like, what, ten minutes tops?”

The twinkle in his eyes returned, and he couldn’t stop the impish grin on his face. “I told you, love, I’m the Klaus Mikaelson. There’s nothing I can’t do.”