Warmup - Tumblr Posts
One of my warmup sketches from last weekend, which I never colored or shaded.
[ID: A simple digital portrait, with dark line-art and colored entirety in the same shade of pale grey. The person has a sharp jawline, short hair, and is wearing glasses and a thick hoodie. End ID]
new fav drawing warmup
another one before bed... challenged myself to just use my square pixel brush
2am doodles with that one song from Labyrinth stuck in my head
Azkaban Escape
Drarry Microfic, Rating: G, Words: 220
“You’re sleeping with Malfoy,” Hermione says, looking at Harry pointedly over the breakfast table.
“What?” Harry’s frozen in his seat, toast halfway to his mouth. His face is pale, guilty. He knows he’s always been a bad liar, so this is about to be the performance of his lifetime. He loves Hermione, loves her to death, and obviously he’s fine with her knowing all of his secrets. All of his secrets except this one of course.
“You. Have been sleeping. With Malfoy,” Hermione says slowly glaring at him.
“I don’t understand,” Harry carefully sets his toast down on the plate in front of him. “Malfoy’s in Azkaban.”
“Well,” Hermione draws out the word like she’s waiting for him to interrupt. “He was in Azkaban.”
Watching his face carefully, she passes him yesterday's newspaper. The cover reads: Death Eater on the Loose: Draco Malfoy Escapes Azkaban in the Dead of Night.
“Oh,” says Harry gazing at the paper. He widens his eyes and tries to look surprised, or enraged, or whatever he would have looked like if this had happened when he was a school-kid. “That’s too bad I guess.”
“You’re sooo believable,” Hermione scoffs at him. She moves the paper slightly and gestures to one of the security camera photos at the bottom of the page. “Care to explain yourself?”
apology
Draco grabs the freezing handle of the bathroom door and slams the heavy wood behind him as loudly as he can. It’s not like anyone can hear him, he thinks, as the roar of the party increases. The bass pounds louder till it feels like the walls are shaking.
He slumps his body weight back against the solid door using it’s stability to ground himself but the white walls continue to spin slightly as he looks around. Groaning, he gives in, closing his eyes. His bare toes wiggle against the cool tiles. He wonders when he’d lost his shoes. He can’t quite remember anything after he’d stormed angrily away from Harry and downed about seven shots of firewhisky with Hermione cheering him on, he’d never thought she’d be such a bad influence.
After the shots the night had taken on a surreal blurry quality like nothing mattered. At least nothing mattered until he’d gotten up from his stool at the bar and turned to catch a glimpse of crimson red hair in a darkened corner of the pub. When he’d looked closer Ginny had been with Harry. His Harry. All tousled black curls and flushed cheeks.
Except maybe not his anymore, Draco thinks, head spinning, as he remembers the way he’d watched Harry’s tanned hands card through Ginny’s flaming locks pulling her closer. That’s when Draco had fled.
He tips his head against the door behind him and tries to convince himself not to punch something. The problem is he doesn’t know what he should do.
He’d never pictured himself like this, drunk and sad, and looking for an apology that might never come.
escape
Harry’s least favorite part about being an Auror was arresting Draco Malfoy. He got arrested quite a lot. Probably every couple months. About once a year Harry was the one to do it.
Every time Draco escaped the arrest paperwork got more extensive and paperwork was Harry’s least favorite part of his job. Anyways, it wasn’t like the paperwork kept Draco locked up Harry thought aggressively as he stared down at the form in front of him. It asked him to describe Draco’s personality. Harry scoffed, like Draco’s personality was why he was so good at escaping. It wasn’t like he had a boyfriend with all the keys and a map of the ministry tunnel system or anything.
Harry pushed himself away from the desk leaning back in his chair and sighed. It was frustrating not being able to take credit for his own work. Draco Malfoy wasn’t the next Harry Houdini. He was just a stupid blonde git with a highly capable boyfriend.
Expectations Rating: G, Words: 407 for the @drarrymicrofic prompt pensive
Harry is cleaning their study when he comes across the small silver vial. The label is written in Draco’s tight font: Lucius Malfoy Casts Love Curse on H. Potter and D. Malfoy, Security Camera Footage. Harry stands for a second looking at it with a fond smirk. They’d never caught Lucius so they didn’t know what he’d been aiming for with the curse but Harry is sure it wasn’t this.
“Draco!” He calls as he climbs the stairs to their bedroom. “Look what I’ve found.” He tosses the bottle at Draco who’s curled up fast asleep across the bright white sheets.
“Harryyyy.” Draco whines squirming a little as he tries to bury his head under the pillow.
Harry gazes at him. Weak sunlight drifts through the curtains and falls across his pale skin. He looks so relaxed, so at home that Harry’s heart squeezes. He’ll never get tired of looking at him.
“No seriously Draco get up. I need someone to reminisce with.” He grabs the bottle off the bed and wiggles it in Draco's face. Draco groans and props himself up in a sitting position brushing his long blonde hair out of his eyes. He squints at the bottle for a second.
“Is this what I think it is? The beginning of our fated romance?” His tone rings of poorly concealed hilarity.
“Yes,” Harry responds grinning. “I thought we could watch it together. You know. For nostalgia.”
“Fine alright. I can’t believe you woke me up for this,” Draco complains as he gazes at Harry fondly.
Harry perches on the bed beside him and accio’s the pensive over. Carefully he upends the swirling silver vial and reaches over to catch Draco’s hand in his own. Together they press their faces into the cool liquid.
Harry’s the first to rip himself from the memory. Eyes wide and hands shaking he waits for Draco to emerge. He stares at Draco’s pale large hands, at his aristocratic posture. He thinks about the way Draco looks in his formal robes, how hard Harry had to work to convince him to grow his hair out because he was worried he would look like his father.
Harry takes a deep breath as everything clicks into place.
When Draco finally straightens up out of the pensive Harry sees his shock mirrored in Draco’s grey eyes.
“Well,” Draco says slowly, looking at him wryly. “I guess we need to get our hands on a time turner.”
Sorry is so beautiful she makes my eyes sore. A kaleidoscope of a girl waiting for the summer to unfold before her, she smells sticky sweet like sage smoke. When I call out to greet her, her name leaves the taste of iron on my tongue, it reminds me of oxidation. She always visits under the cover of darkness. Her favorite hour is midnight, loves to watch the dark sky melt into oil drops and practice catching them between her nimble fingertips. She tells me they feel cool and slip through her grip easily. I imagine they feel something like hair feels under my outstretched palms, slippery enough it leaves holding on impossible.
In the morning I attempt to erase her. Scrub the spicy bite of peppermint into my incisors and vanquish the taste of her that tangles between my teeth. But when I look down at my knuckles clenched hard against white marble countertop I watch a palm slide into mine. It fits perfectly and feels placating. I have so much to learn.
It feels like I forever leave her waiting.
Remember me Rating: G, Words: 103 For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: nostalgia
When Harry shoves in closer to Draco he freezes for a second, the air in his lungs turning to ice. After five years he still smells bitter like cedar, and spicy like smoke. Harry coughs a little, shifts back, puts space between them. He’d forgotten that being with Draco feels like standing on a precipice, victim to the strong winds.
“What is it Harry? I thought you’d be happy to see me.” Draco asks, his voice soft.
Before Harry can stop himself his gaze flicks upwards to meet grey eyes, red rimmed and desperate.
Draco still looks so beautiful after all this time.
With Draco’s hands on him, Harry finally understands what it must be like to be a Phoenix; it feels like he’s going up in flames, like he’s losing himself to smoke.
For Reasons Unseen
Ron asked her who she meant when she said there was someone else and she found she couldn’t tell him.
She could feel the name on the tip of her tongue, on the edge of her lips. Two syllables pouring through her blood stream, pounding on a loop tied to the beat of her heart.
“It doesn’t matter,” she told him, flicking her fingers in a dismissive swipe of her hand. “Nothing’s ever going to come of it anyways.”
Ron watched her, his cheeks pale in the firelight, his lips pressed together in a firm like.
When he got up and left without a word it felt like the aftermath of an earthquake, when everything is strange and silent and the ground beneath your feet has shifted forever.
Her Loss
People expect her suffering to be beautiful, like death floats in on gossamer wings and she mourns by a windowsill, her tears few and far between, meaningful like diamonds, even her grief must be free of flaws, her loss becomes a sacrifice, an inspiration, afterwards she will volunteer at a soup kitchen, run a marathon, become a doctor, a therapist, a silent wife. She finds herself in the quiet, she is always lurking in the dark, every gentle word she speaks feels like screaming into an empty hallway, she bites her tongue until it bleeds and everyone calls her strong.
Two little fish to warm up today. Just two fat bloops swimmin around.
Trying to practice different mediums to loosen up and experiment more!
being a self-taught artist with no formal training is having done art seriously since you were a young teenager and only finding out that you’re supposed to do warm up sketches every time you’re about to work on serious art when you’re fuckin twenty-five
🍄🎪😇
Mushroom angelll :D
