portraits of the mind

I carry an art journal around me and sketch portraits of beautiful people and places. I don’t mind if it doesn’t turn out as well as I expected because it’s all just for fun and practice. I drink coffee and sit on the rooftops overlooking Paris and I paint everything I see. Everything is documented in my journals. Every tiny sketch and quick doodle counts. Even a fleeting stranger can end up in my book of memories. I slowly get better and better with every drawing and as I flip through my journal I can see the progress. I never stop drawing and I treasure my journal forever.

bluesojourner  asked:

For the drawing requests would you please do a Marth or Subaki? I'd love to see them in your style. :-)

here’s a marth :>

A thought

Marinette keeping the pics of Adrien up on her wall becuase she cant bring herself to throw them out, but adding pictures of her other friends as well so it’s less weird. Suddenly it’s Adrien and Alya and Nino and Rose and Kim and everyone at school who’s plastered against her walls. She adds pics of her parents, her neighbors, her Aikido instructor, and all the little kids she babysits. She even asks the regular patrons at the bakery if they’d mind posing for a portrait. (which of course they do because she’d always been so sweet and sunny and who could resist those blue eyes.) 

then one day Adrien gets invited back to her house. maybe to study, maybe for video games, the reason isn’t important. what is important is the fact he climbs up into her room and just marvels at all the friends Marinette has. The sheer volume of people she knows is staggering, he thinks, and he spends a good ten minutes looking at every single picture. 

Some wonderful things to keep in mind for this scenario:

  1. Adrien spots himself amongst her collection, and while he’s not-so-lowkey ecstatic over the fact someone cares enough about him to hang his picture on their walls, he’s also a bit glum that the only shots she has are from magazines. everyone else gets candid shots or laughing selfies, things that show their personality, but all his photos are fabricated and retouched. Impersonal. He gently brings this to Marinette’s attention, and suggests she take some new pictures of him. Pictures just for her. (cue Marinette dying)
  2. Adrien also happens to spot another familiar feline face on the walls, and just barely swallows down his pleased smirk (’cool it, you’re not in costume’) to find a dozen pics of Chat Noir scattered across Marinette’s room. Most of them he recognizes from the Ladyblog, but there’s one or two that seem to be candid captures of him on patrol. (which yeah, should probably freak him out but damn if Marinette’s photography skills dont make him look heroic as fuck under the moonlight.) He asks- very super casually -if she’s a fan, and is not at all emotionally prepared when Marinette launches into a speech about how Chat Noir is one of the most selfless, kind, and underappreciated people in all of Paris, and how he deserves just as much recognition as Ladybug for keeping the city safe. “Everyone needs to remember, his destruction is what balances Ladybug’s creation. Without each other, they’d be nothing,” Marinette prattles on. (Adrien nods mutely, desperately trying and failing not to fall in love.)
  3. Speaking of Ladybug… she’s noticeably absent from the walls. When asked about it, Marinette grows vague, saying something about how she’s waiting for the right picture or what not. something unique. something that isnt already on the walls of every Ladybug fan in Paris. ‘Something unique…’ Adrien muses, asking Marinette if he might barrow her camera for the night, ‘I might just be able to do that…’
The Portrait

Based on the prompt: “we’ve been engaged to be married since we were three but this is the first time we’ve met and your portraits really don’t do you justice”


Fifteen years ago, when nine year old Derek was sat down by his parents and informed of his duty as a prince to his kingdom, he didn’t fully grasp what it meant to be engaged. There was brief talk of marriage that he’d let fly right past him, so far in the future it wasn’t a concern, and the vague knowledge that he was spoken for, but it had little impact on his life at the time. 

He was told his betrothed had just turned three, like Cora, which brought up the memory of his little sister throwing his favorite book in a full toilet just the week before, and then he dismissed the entire issue from his mind when Laura called for him to join their game of hide and seek. He had more important things to worry about than some baby in another land, ruining other people’s prized possessions.

Ten years ago, they received word that Queen Claudia had passed, and fourteen year old Derek had dutifully signed the condolences his mother penned from the family, but it hardly affected him beyond pulling him away in the middle of his sword training. It was a distant death in a distant northeastern kingdom, affecting people Derek had never even seen before. He returned to his training alongside his best friend and future guard Boyd, and that was that.

The same happened nine years ago, upon the marriage of King Jonathon and his new wife, Queen Melissa; he signed the longwinded letter of congratulations, sat through a brief lecture on the importance of keeping up on these things and staying informed of these types of changes for political reasons, and then dashed back outside to where Boyd was waiting with their horses, forgetting it all in seconds. They were a distant family he had no personal connection to, he couldn’t say he felt strongly either way about their brand new union.

Eight years ago, the reality of his situation came crashing down on him with the arrival of a portrait.

The Portrait was the only portrait of his betrothed that was ever sent, and Derek was grateful for King Jonathon’s foresight. The first was upsetting enough on its own, as was the realization that Derek was going to be joined in holy matrimony to its subject, and he didn’t need the customary annual portraits to remind him of his fate. He tried to be less shallow about it, look for the inner beauty and the whip-smart mind his mother always praised after her visits to the north, but there was no getting around it. 

His fiancé was terrifying.

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