Lapis redesign because I dislike her canon one. Specifically because of the fact she doesn’t really have any shapes that really DEFINE her, like Garnet = Squares, Amethyst = Circles, Peridot = Triangles ect, I associated her with a water drop shape cause…. y’know w a t e r.
Also got rid of the horrid neon blue colors and gave her speckles of yellow, like the ACTUAL LAPIS LAZULI GEM HAS. Why didn’t she have any sort of yellow incorporated into her design in the first place.
Slowly getting the hang of the new art program. The brushes are actually very helpful at letting my inner painter show off. Also using your own hand for reference is surprisingly easier than looking through the interner and the result looks far more realistic. Hence to why the glove is actually my favourite part of the painting. As far as the painting itself goes, there’s nothing really creative about it, just same ol’ Roy Mustang..
Made by jiyu-koya. Please do not repost, do not remove source
Oh, we can request fanfiction? Can you write something where Harry smokes and Draco does not get enough of him doing that?
HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN IN MY INBOX??? OMG!!! I’m so sorry, I didn’t get a notification for this and I can tell that it’s been here a long time because there’s an ask above it that was a test ask from a friend because they thought their asks weren’t sending and THAT was AGES ago, so I guess when I looked at my inbox to check that, I must have just not seen this sitting below it because there are so many old asks in here that didn’t need to be answered bc I never delete anything… I’m so sorry!! Don’t tell me how long it’s been there… I’m going to live in denial land and pretend that it just popped up and tumblr ALWAYS notifies me because tumblr is SO GOOD and yeah lets pretend this never happened… (sorry. you’ve probably already had someone else write this haha)
The bar was dimly lit, and the lilting notes of the saxophone curled through the air like smoke. Draco didn’t have much choice about where he found employment these days — the mark on his arm assured him of that — but he had chosen this. A dingy Muggle bar in the middle of nowhere; where better for an outcast like himself to hide away from everything he’d ever known?
If nothing else, it was a suitable place to while away the years until his name and all unpleasantries associated with it was finally forgotten. Time had no meaning here. The patrons drank and smoked from the second they walked through the doors to the second they stumbled back outside into the quiet night; whatever other duties and obligations their lives contained did not enter through those doors with them. They came here to forget, and Draco was more than willing to help them on their way.
It was for this reason, perhaps, that the sight of a familiar face made his heart stutter and his chest ache with fear and a disturbing sort of longing.
The moment Potter spotted him at the bar, he froze. He was the only person behind the counter, and so their interaction was both inevitable and mercifully stripped of any meaning beyond a simple transaction. And yet, it was personal — it always was with Potter.
“Malfoy,” Potter said, his eyebrows drawing down in confusion.
Draco barely even noticed the way the light fell alluringly across his face, or the way his cheekbones seemed so much sharper, harsher — more attractive — than they had in school. He barely noticed at all.
“I didn’t expect to find you here.” Potter was still talking, and Draco forced his mind away from Potter’s deep green eyes and back to the present.
Potter was sitting down in front of him at the counter. Small drops of water slid down his leather jacket — it must be raining outside, Draco thought, a touch deliriously. He gave his head a small shake.
“No,” he drawled, doing his best to affect the sneer Potter would no doubt remember him for. “I could say the same for you. Passing through?”
Potter shook his head, a strange little smirk on his features. “Just moved to the area.”
Draco’s eyebrows shot up of their own accord. “You moved here?” He turned to look at the entrance, where the grimy windows did nothing to conceal the wintry, dead street outside. “Of your own free will?”
Potter laughed, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a slim, metal case. “Yes. Signed the contract with my own two hands and everything. Double shot of whiskey, thanks. Neat.”
Draco pulled up a glass and selected — a touch spitefully — top shelf scotch that was no doubt not the price Potter had intended.
Potter took the glass, sipped, and gave an obscene sigh of appreciation. “Just what I needed. Thanks.”
He flipped open the lid to the box, and Draco saw it was filled with several thin, black cigarettes.
No. Draco’s head whipped up to face Potter, and he stared at him in surprise — not cigarettes. Cigars. Potter was smoking cigars.
“Want one?” Potter held out the tin to Draco, who shook his head mutely.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Potter laughed again, and the sound didn’t fit with the filthy counter top or the wailing jazz. It was a sound made for racing on broomsticks above the mountaintops. “Take one. And can I buy you a drink? It brings out the flavour of the whiskey — it would be a shame to have it on its own.”
Draco looked around the bar, but no one was waiting. Slowly, feeling as though he was caught in a dream, he reached out to take the cigar from Potter’s hand. It was the same size as a cigarette, but Draco could already smell the rich aroma that made him think of his father’s locked study door. He poured himself a shot of the same, clinked his glass against Potters, and took a sip.
When Potter flicked the lighter and held it out to him, he felt his heart start to hammer wildly in his chest. Looking anywhere but into those green eyes, he leaned forward into the flame.
Potter pocketed the lighter, inhaled, and blew carefully out, a satisfied smirk on his lips. It had been a while since Draco had been offered a cigar, and he relished the taste of the sweet smoke in his mouth, on his tongue.
“Nice?” Potter asked.
Draco nodded, his eyes dropping to Potter’s lips, unable to keep himself from noticing the way they curled around the cigar, caressing it, before parting to blow gently forward. In an attempt to regain some control over the situation, Draco blew three small smoke rings, smirking as they dissolved against Potter’s face.
When his eyes met Potter’s, the look he found there turned his knees into jelly, and he found himself unable to look away. The smoke drifted around the two of them like fog, and Draco was hit with the inevitable knowledge that whenever he now smelled that uniquely decadent smell he would think of Potter.
Potter lifted his glass and swallowed the remaining liquid in one go, his throat highlighted for a moment in the glow of the broken chandelier.
“I’m afraid I have to go.” His mouth twisted into a regretful grimace. “I was only stopping in.”
Draco pushed himself back up from the counter and took a step back. “Good to see you again.”
Potter grabbed a napkin from the beaten up tin on the edge of the counter and scribbled something on it. Then he handed it to Draco with a hesitant smile.
“That’s my address, if you’re free to come over some time.”
Draco took the slip of paper before his mind had registered what his hands were doing. He swallowed. “Thank you.”
Potter grinned, and something passed between them — something that felt out of place in this crumbling ruin of abandoned dreams. The new light in Potter’s eyes told him that he had felt it too.
With a shy wink, Potter slid some notes across the counter and left.
I was browsing through my old fanarts/drawings folder when I found this old and pretty trashy drawing of Sans (2015-2016 I think, not sure) so I decided to post it, since I have some Undertale fans who are following me owo
I just had a theory epiphany — you know how Kvothe said the lights in Felurian’s pavilion area never needed tending to, but looked like candles, oil lamps, and hearthlight? Those things are all flame-based, so what I’m saying is… What if the light sources were Kilvin’s sought-after ever burning lamps?