Drawing a Dream

Something to show you

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 18:56:06 GMT

I’m so busy lately as I think most of you have been too.
I still didn’t answer the comments I got from my last fanart post. I hope to find time to do this after the Christmas, before I go out on vacations.
Sorry for this.

And you? How have been the preparations for this day?
I was at the mail office this morning and passed about thirty minutes on the line what was good next my later experience on the supermarket. :/
At least, I think I will have a very musical (or noisy) Christmas because we got this for the kids (or should I say for me?:D):

Well, I’m here not only to wish again to all my f-list a Merry Christmas but also, to show you some scans I got while doing some of my last fanarts including the last one:

I wasn't too much precise on the captions of these stages of painting because, I confess, most of the times I get too much involved on the process that I end forgetting to scan the art while working, but I think you’ll still have an idea of what is to colour them, what I think is also important for those who want to know more about the creative working of an artist, even more lately with the great number of people that appeared on the fandom coloring photos with Photoshop and classifying their work as “drawings”.
Hope you could take a look and appreciate:

HERE at rupwatcheslilly!!!!!!!!

Edited: Thank you so much Mon (aka spidergirl30) for the wonderful Christmas card! I only got it few minutes ago! :D

FANART: CARESS IN THE RAIN

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 18:13:09 GMT

Ok, I’m sure you have never read me being like this.
Perhaps because I’d never felt like this.
So please, forgive me for overreact over this piece, as I’m trying to show you how happy I am with it, not so much with its result but, most of all, because I finally did it.

I remember last year, I had a talk with Sara (aka evanesco75) when she was finishing her fanfic Never Enough, as we talked about ideas for a new story.
Then I showed her a picture of the great artist Luis Royo as I said her that maybe someday I would make a Ron and Hermione version of it and that the original one could give her some inspiration for a new work.
Well, I don’t know how much of this picture will appear on her amazing new work Of Blood and Magic, but you can have an idea how long it took for me to find the courage to do this art.

I have already showed you many times how my fixation in this couple makes me to see them everywhere and this is not the first time I make a Ron and Hermione version of some famous picture, but this one has a special meaning for me, not only because is over one of my favorite illustrations of all times but also because I only felt security on my skills with the pencils for doing it in this moment.
Although the image looks simple it took me about one month to make it, more hours in one work than any other fanart I have done till now, I think, so many details it has for its coloring part.

I finished it last October and my happiness afterwards, to have finally reach a dream, was so big that I decided to only post it by the end of the year as a reminder for me of this achieve and because I want to give it as a gift to all my friends here, HP lovers, specially those who like me, love an AU fanfic involving these two: it may have not a story for it written yet, but I think the picture tells it all!;)

I never said I'd lie and wait forever
If I died, we'd be together now
I can't always just forget her
But she could try

At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are never coming home
Never coming home
Could I, should I
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever, ever, ever

Get the feeling that you're never
All alone and I remember now
At the top of my lungs, in my arms she dies
She dies

At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are never coming home
Never coming home
Could I, should I
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I, should I
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

If I fall
If I fall (down)

A small picture:

A detail:

This fanart was made in a 200gr A4 Canson paper with gouache, dry watercolor pencils and pastels sticks. NO PHOTOSHOP used.

I want to dedicate this picture to my friend Sam, aka eruditefics because I couldn’t stop to think of her (and her now new born baby Lilac) while I was doing this art piece.
And also because I know she can "see" the fanfic on it! :)

Thank you so much to my dear friend Monica (spidergirl30) for the help with the post.

I’ll have a break till next February, because it’s summer vacations here and I’ll be out with no computer, but I’ll have a new art post meanwhile, as an anonymous at hp_canon_love.
I hope you could see it as I hope everybody have a great time in the next holidays!

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 18:03:46 GMT

I want to thank you so much biliussue, redheadsarehot, leviathan0999, ivybelle and hollyboo2001 for your nice words to me at the fanart love meme!

Also it was such a nice surprise to have found today, on my profile, virtual gifts from madam_minnie, risiepookie and andy2301.
Thank you very much!

I've been very busy, with kids already at home and with all the preparations for holidays and our summer vacations, but I'll try to make a last post with a fanart next week.
It's a work that I wanted to do for so much time, but I think I only had the courage(or maybe the right skills) to make it in the last months.
Great part of you know me for so long and I'm sure you'd never heard me saying like this, but if this one would be my last R&Hr fanart, be sure, I'll die happy. :D
So, I hope you could watch and enjoy it too!;)

Lots of kisses for all of you and have a nice week!
***

Lilly

EDITED: Thank you so much for the gift, too, realchemistry!:D

I never did this before...

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 16:12:39 GMT

but since to spread LOVE is never enough!

the ♥ fanart love ♥ meme

There are lot of awesome artists that I never heard before and that are already in my f-list!
Although you always fill my heart with your love, my post is here and with some new rumors about DH's movies coming, oh, I need a LOT more of it to keep going. :D

I'm sooooo glad...

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 13:37:13 GMT

for have found Diana Gabaldon's "Outlander" series which I pray, will probably never be filmed!!

In one scene, “a horcrux [carrying a piece of Voldemort’s soul] defends itself by producing nightmarish visions, and one shows Hermione and Harry embracing and kissing,” explained Yates. “It’s something intriguing and sensual for Rupert to react to, and Dan will be bare for that.”

So "The Silver Doe", my favorite chapter from all the books, will be all about Dan (and probably Emma) naked acting like Harry and Hermione ready to have sex?

Yeah, it will be the "epic end" for a not loved character (Ron) and it seems actor too (Rupert)!
Congratulations Kloves and a "ready-to-be-an-Almodóvar" Yates!:/

FANART: WE'RE GOING TO PLAY A GAME.

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 18:22:44 GMT

Film critics should stick to critiquing an actor’s performance: some of them are far too obsessed with the superficial – with people’s appearance – and there’s nothing worse than a critic being bitchy. Some can be really unkind, and it’s just not fun to read, especially if it’s you they’re writing about. Even if you have 10 really good reviews, it’s the one bad one that sticks in your mind.
Rupert Grint

It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child
Pablo Picasso
About two years ago I got a LJ message from a young woman where she asked me for advices about how to draw.
Although lots of times people write comments asking me how I have done a certain scene, which technique it was used, this unexpected approach had taken me by surprise.

I’m not sure about all the things I wrote on my reply but certainly, one of them, was the answer I give to everybody that ask me tips about to draw: be a good observer, to draw a lot and just be yourself.
I use to say that, as time passes by, people give up of one of the first pleasures we have in life that is to communicate through the drawings.

My vision is that nobody should do this.

Yes, we have differences in how to express by them, some people could do more easily or even in a special way, but they are like our “fingerprints”, a unique way to each one to show our visions of the world.

Although some try to reach the “perfection” of a Raphael or a Picasso (and lots do), much important is not to lose the happiness of drawing, to paint like a child.

This happiness can be easily go when we face every “artist” hardest critic: ourselves. I think this is the point where lots of artists stop to draw.

Those who didn’t give up, maybe keep doing this because make art is like a psychological and urgent need that makes an artist feel complete.

But we still find, from time to times, people that can’t see the biggest pleasure on this work and worse, only have the feeling of not help you to improve but to hurt by their words, as like they know that an artist’s work is like an extension of our hearts, minds and souls.

Even we know their intention, like Rupert said, those words are the ones that “stick” in your mind.
Like I said in this same journal, a few times ago, no one in the entire world has the ability of to pleasure everybody, being an unanimity, not even God, but it’s not easy when you find a “bitchy critic” in your way.

Doing what we should do in every bad event of our lives, we need to learn from it, remembering us the real reason of still doing art.

I started this work I’m showing you today more than one year ago, and like it happens with lots of sketches that are “in my drawer” (or ideas in my mind), they keep “asking” me to finish them, to accept the “critic” inside of me and just do the thing for having fun.
So I did this with this one, that I think highlights, in the best way, a characteristic of my work that some of my viewers, I noticed by the comments, haven’t noticed until now: I try to make them look like, by the light, the pose of the characters, as if they were an instantaneous photo from those old “Polaroid” cameras.

A caption of a quick passing moment.

It’s a sequence scene of my last fanart posted here, A Second Chance, from the same chapter of Kele’s More than Memories and I would like to dedicate it to that young woman that became my friend two years ago, also my great inspiration in never lose that “childish” joy in to draw, the awesome, sweet, and most productive no pathetic and talented HP fanartist we have in this fandom, Dove aka redheadsarehot.

Remember, my dear: by the end, the fun and the pleasure are what you’ll take from your work, and it’ll keep here around the universe forever, eternal, much longer after everything and everyone you know now were gone! ;)

True love never can be rent
But only true love can keep beauty innocent

I could never take a chance
Of losing love to find romance
In the mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman
No I could never take a chance
‘Cos I could never understand
The mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman

You can run from love
And if it's really love it will find you
Catch you by the heel
But you can't be numb for love
The only pain is to feel nothing at all
How can I hurt when I'm holding you?

I could never take a chance
Of losing love to find romance
In the mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman

And you're the one, there's no-one else
You make me want to lose myself
In the mysterious distance
Between a man and a woman

The soul needs beauty for a soul mate
When the soul wants... the soul waits ...

She stiffly closed her book, and set it on the nightstand, hoping that her body language didn’t betray just how badly she still wanted him. “I don’t remember inviting you into my room.”

“Shut up, Hermione.”

She gasped indignantly, hardly able to fathom the sheer bollocks Ron had. If he wasn’t the most insensitive, selfish, arrogant, git she’d ever met, she didn’t know who was. “How dare you!”

“We’re going to play a game,” Ron said, walking into her room despite the lack of invitation.

“I think I’ve had enough of your games for one night,” Hermione said, unable to stop herself from laughing at his audacity.

Ron’s eyes flared at her laughter, and his back stiffened noticeably, but he went on like he hadn’t heard you. “Since every time we open our mouths we piss each other off. . .We’re going to try not talking.”

“Good, let's start now,” Hermione snapped.

“That’s the plan,” Ron said and then reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt off with one fluid motion.

Hermione’s eyes widened as he tossed his shirt aside. She stared at his bare chest in total shock. He couldn’t seriously be considering what she thought he might be considering. “What’re you--”

Ron stopped her words by placing his fingers over lips, and then reached down with his other hand and pulled her comforter back, his eyes locked with hers as he crawled over her. Hermione really couldn’t believe what he was suggesting, and she reached up, pulling his fingers away from her mouth. “I don’t thin--”

“No talking,” Ron said again, this time more firmly. “That’s the rules.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to the game, therefore the rules are null and void.”

Ron ran a hand roughly through his hair, making the already mussed red strands stand up even further as he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, as though in deep concentration and there was a side of Hermione that was extremely disappointed when he rolled off her, and stood up once more.

She just stared up at him from her spot on the bed, not bothering to pull the sheet and comforter over herself, he had already seen her in far less than the clean nightdress she put on once she had got out of the shower. Ron still wasn’t talking, and for some insane reason Hermione found herself going along with whatever game he was playing, if for no other reason than it’d be silly to talk to someone who obviously wasn’t going to answer her back.

Ron held out a hand to her, and Hermione broke eye contact with him to stare at his large palm held open to her as he silently waited. Even as angry as she was, it just wasn’t in her to turn away from him when he was reaching out to her. Before she could stop herself, she found her hand in his and he was pulling her up from her bed.

Hermione stood in front of him in her nightdress, feeling ridiculous that they weren’t talking. Her eyes were level with his chest that really was very nicely defined, perhaps even more so than she remembered. She could still see the scars she’d noticed while they were at Harry’s cabin, some a bit more faded, while he sported one on his right bicep that was obviously new and still pink against his pale skin. He really needed to learn how to do proper healing charms in a timely manner.

Hermione looked up at him when he gripped her arms. Ron’s eyes met hers unwaveringly, and then--obviously satisfied that she wasn’t going to leave--he released her arms only to turn and quickly pull the door shut to her room. He flipped the lock and she opened her mouth in protest, but before she could say something he was standing in front of her again, his hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her words. She arched an un-amused eyebrow at him, and his hold over her mouth loosened until only his thumb was there as he stared at her lips. Even knowing what he had planned, she was stunned when his thumb started tracing the line of her bottom lip slowly-- sensually.

Hermione couldn’t stop the shudder that ran over her body, knowing that in the deafening silence of her bedroom, while he was studying her so intently, Ron would know that he was affecting her. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling frustrated and confused, hearing only the sound of her own raspy breathing as his fingers now traced the line of her jaw.

This was insane!

Why was she so entranced by him? Why did the silence in the room make the throbbing between her legs a thousand times more noticeable? Why did such a light touch of his rough fingers running down the line of her throat feel so bloody good? She wasn’t just going to stand there and let him make a fool out of her again.

Maybe Hermione would have said something; maybe she would have even stopped whatever it was Ron was trying to accomplish, but she’d never know--Her eyes shot open when out of nowhere Ron dropped down on his knees in front of her.

Forget heavy, her breathing was downright labored as she looked down at him kneeling in front of her. She hadn’t had sex enough to know what her kinks were, but she decided right then that having Ron--the most painfully stubborn and prideful man she’d ever met-- submissive in front of her was by far the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. There was no other explanation for the tidal wave of lust that hit her so hard she almost groaned out loud from it. Need shimmered over her; so icy hot that she was certain every hair on her body was now standing on end.

Hermione closed her eyes as she actually wavered where she stood. If things had been different between the two of them she would have reached out and gripped his shoulders to regain her balance, but as it was she took several deep breaths and only opened her eyes when she was certain she could manage looking down at Ron without making a fool of herself.

She was surprised to see that he wasn’t smirking at her in that annoyingly superior way of his, he was just waiting, his hands resting on his strong thighs as he openly stared at her breasts that were conveniently eyelevel with him. Her nipples tightened, making her feel as if his gaze alone was touching her. He licked his lips and tilted his head back to meet her eyes once more and Hermione realized that it was her move. Ron really wasn’t going to do anymore unless she encouraged him.

She’d never been more turned on in her life. Especially when she knew how very hard it was for Ron to bow down to anyone. Oddly enough, in that position of submission she realized just how powerful a wizard Ron had become. He was a very talented Auror, a strong and selfless man who had spent over a third of his life protecting everyone from an enemy so evil she wasn’t sure she could totally fathom it. To have a man that strong, that powerful, who also happened to look divine shirtless and barefoot, kneeing in front of her—Well, that was the stuff fantasies were made of.

Her pride be damned. Hermione pushed at the straps of her nightdress without hesitation...

...Ron, who’d been completely silent until that moment, growled against her neck and then pulled away from her, his heavy breathing now echoing with hers in the silence. She couldn’t help but open her eyes to stare down at him as he watched what her hand was doing, his expression totally stunned as he glanced back up with a darkened eyes.

It was almost sinful how good it felt to have shocked him, especially knowing that for some reason, it turned him on to watch her. Ron may have found one of her weaknesses, but she’d found one of his as well, and she felt better knowing that she had leveled the playing field a little.

He looked down to watch once again and with his head bowed, the line of his back was exposed. Hermione stopped what she was doing when she found the tattoo she’d somehow missed before. Her hand trailed from the nape of his neck, down until she was running her fingertips over the jewel handle of a large sword that decorated the back of his left shoulder. There was an inscription down the long silver blade, but the words were unreadable from that angle. She was just wondering why he’d choose that symbol when she realized that this wasn’t just any sword--it was a knight’s sword.

On their own accord, her fingers started moving between her legs again when she once again reeled with the knowledge of just how appealing the man in front of her was. Ron truly was a knight and she so desperately wanted him to be her knight, even if it was under the cover of night in eerie silence.

A small image:

This drawing was made in a A4 Canson 180gr paper using gouache, watercolor pencils and pastels(NO Photoshop used).

Thank you so much, one more time, my dear sister spidergirl30 who helped me with this entry! :)

You can find the entire chapter of Bluerain’s More than Memories
HERE and HERE!

Don't forget to watch hp_canon_fest! I already finished my submission!;)

Because it's been a long time since...

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 16:00:57 GMT

I spread some Rupert love!!! :D

Oh, the ball on his face! Ouch! Poor cute thing!

Oh, I'll get my HBP DVD next Thursday!;)

Oh, and I finished my submission to hp_canon_fest!! What are you waiting for be a watcher?

Oh, and tomorrow I'll post a NEW FANART!! Hope to see you here!!

Oh, and now I want to listen to Led Zeppelin!!

FANART: A Second Chance

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 19:27:25 GMT

I must create a system or be enslaved by another mans; I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.
William Blake

I remember I've read sometime ago, here in my friends list page, someone who was saying she knew that artists use almost all the time references and to know them, could finish the magic of an art work.
My opinion is that the problem is not the public to know from where your ideas come from but how to transform these references in something that express so deeply your thoughts, your own style, recreating what was already created and changing it in something new to everybody's eyes.
You won't end the magic if this happens. It will be transformed.

Like I told you sometime ago, I've been working in old fanarts I've started for some scenes of an specific chapter of redblaze(or Bluerain)'s More than Memories(for a while now :D ), and it's being hard to finished them because, apart from real life's problems, new ideas are always coming to my mind and I'm always putting the old projects aside. But this time, the idea for a new fanart that came to me was for this same chapter and I had it while I was reading a "Rolling Stones" magazine few months ago and I've watched a jeans advertising.

And today I'm showing to you how Calvin Klein helped me to make this Ron and Hermione's moment comes alive.
I hope you like it. :D

I'm not calling for a second chance,
I'm screaming at the top of my voice,
Give me reason, but don't give me choice,
Cause I'll just make the same mistake again…

"Dinner had gone well, though Hermione was concerned to see that Harry looked decidedly uncomfortable and miserable. She’d asked him several times if he was okay, and he’d assured her that he was and had visibly paled when Hermione had offered to help heal whatever injury was bothering him.

She’d dropped it soon after, but she had to admit she was relieved Ginny had left with him. It was obvious something was bothering him and Ginny, caring for children the way she did was sure to be well versed in magical medicine.

It had been so wonderful having Ginny around again. She had forgotten just how nice it was to have an old friend in her life. Someone who had known her when she had been happy; when she had been truly whole. Ginny's personality was so large that it had filled up the entire flat, and now that both she and Harry were gone, the flat felt cold and noticeably empty. She and Ron had put on a cloak of subtle pleasantry for their dinner guests, but that cloak was gone and in its place was a rigidity so solid that it all but choked the oxygen from the room.

Hermione had immediately taken Philip to have a bath and get him ready for bed, while Ron did the dishes and straightened up. It really was amazing how well she and Ron were able to behave like complete and total strangers in her small flat. They didn’t speak a word to each other until long after Philip had gone to sleep, and then Hermione only caught his attention long enough to tell him she’d put a fresh pillowcase on his pillow and laundered his blanket.

Then Hermione had lay in bed staring at the ceiling until long after Ron had stopped rattling around the flat. She had never experienced tension even remotely close to what she and Ron were caught up in now. It was so thick in the air, one could almost cut it with a knife and she had absolutely no idea how to dispel it. If only they weren’t trapped together in her flat, they could get a little distance from one another and properly think about their situation. But after discovering Malfoy’s cronies had been murdered in their cells, Harry had assigned Ron to her, changing Ron’s status from reconnaissance to security despite Hermione’s rather colourful arguments against it.

Ron was actually being paid to hang around and stress her out to the point that she found herself considering some sort of Nerve Calming Potion just to tolerate him. She felt as if she might jump out of her skin, she was that tense around him. Even now, when he was sleeping, just knowing he was just outside her door caused her stomach to jolt.

She was still laying in bed, not the least bit sleepy, and far too distracted to bother reading when she started to hear moans coming from the living room. She may have let it go, having the fleeting thought that Ron best not be wanking in her living room, when she heard him shout in terror. She bolted out of bed on instinct, not even bothering with a dressing gown as she dashed into the living room.

Ron lay on the couch, the blanket Hermione had given him kicked to the floor as he tossed and mumbled in his sleep. His chest was bare; the hard, muscled skin of his upper torso pale and glowing under the faint rays of moonlight that filtered into the room from the uncovered glass doors to her balcony. A deep frown marred his forehead and despite all the heartache, Hermione ached to reach out and smooth the unnatural line with her fingers. She didn’t know what had caused the nightmare he was currently battling, but it didn’t matter. The urge to pull him out of a horror that seemed to get worse with each raspy breath he took became overwhelming.

“Ron,” she whispered, leaning over to lightly touch his shoulder. “Ron, wake up.”

He swatted her hand away roughly, mumbling a harsh, particularly vulgar word under his breath. Hermione bit at her lip. She didn’t want to startle him, but she couldn’t just stand there and watch him suffer.

She leaned over him and brushed the sweaty fringe off his forehead in the same way she would have done for Philip. “Shhh, love, it’s just a dream,” she breathed into his ear. “Come on, Ron. . . Wake up for me.”

Hermione gasped when Ron jerked under her and his hand shot up and gripped her wrist, squeezing it painfully. He pulled her forward and suddenly she was flattened awkwardly against Ron’s bare chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the rapid thumping of his heartbeat through her thin nightdress.

Hermione let out a cry of pain when his other hand fisted in her hair, jerking her head back. She found herself face to face with Ron’s piercing blue eyes, still wild from whatever dream he’d been having. Thankfully, he recovered quickly, and Hermione could see realization dawn on him as his grip on her hair loosened.

“Hermione. . . wha?” Ron said, letting go of her hair and rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. “What are you doing here?”

“You were having a nightmare,” she whispered, still too stunned to move off him. “I was trying to wake you up.”

He stared at her, his eyes so vivid in the darkness, but the emotions swirling in them were impossible to read. His face was just inches from hers and that tension Hermione had noticed before seemed to multiply a thousand fold almost instantly. His breathing was harsh and shallow and Hermione found that her own breath seemed to be trapped in her chest. She was acutely aware of his body beneath hers, the feel of her breasts crushed against his hard, muscled chest. Much to her dismay, a rush of need flowed over her, pooling at her center.

Ron’s eyes was still boring into hers, making her feel as if her most secret desires were laid out on the table and she anxiously shifted her hips to still the ache between her legs. A gasp slipped past her lips when she felt the evidence of Ron’s desire hard against her thigh. Her eyes grew wide, and she was surprised when Ron didn’t give her any reaction. He didn’t show the slightest sign of being embarrassed. Once again, that brought home to Hermione just how very little she knew about the man beneath her. The Ron she remembered would have blushed crimson at such blatant evidence of his arousal being discovered.

“Ron?”

Her voice was nothing but a raspy whisper, yet she found herself unable to look away from the indigo gaze that had haunted her dreams for longer than she could remember.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even give her the slightest indication that he had heard her as his gaze raked over her face, stopping to rest on her lips. Feeling like she was trapped in a dream of her own fevered making, Ron’s hands reached up to cup her face, and then suddenly his mouth was on hers, a stark contrast to his fingers’ gentle caress against her cheeks--his mouth conquered. His lips were hard and searching as his tongue thrust past her lips, muffing her gasp of shock.

There was a cruel ravishment to his kiss—It both punished and inflamed. Hermione’s heart jolted, her pulse pounded, and she tried to throttle the dizzying current flowing through her. She didn’t want to respond when he was still so very angry with her. She didn’t want to feel that drugging white-hot fire that shot through her body as his mouth moved over hers as though it belonged to him.

She just couldn’t help herself.

Hermione moaned and moved against him. Her body seemed to have a mind of it’s own as she responded, kissing him back with every bit the intensity he had shown her. Their tongues brushed, a fierce battle for control and she savored the victory as her tongue finally swept into his mouth, drinking in the heady taste of mint and tobacco, which shouldn’t be sexy, but for some reason it was.

His hair felt so good against her fingers as they intertwined in the fiery locks, gripping roughly, as she too sought to punish for the heartache that he was putting her through. Even now, when she was on fire for him, it lingered, a dull ache in her chest over what could have been yet wasn’t any more.

“Oh fuck, Hermione,” Ron rasped, his mouth breaking free from hers as his head tossed back against the pillow she’d given him. “Christ, why? Why do I still want you?”

His words were sharp and accusatory, as though she’d done something terribly wrong. She should be angry with him, but she wasn’t. His heavy voice, full of lust and desire only fueled her. Her lips descended onto his neck, licking at the curve of it, tasting the faint saltiness that she could only associate with Ron. A side of her she hadn’t know existed until that moment, reveled in the fact that even though Ron may hate her, he couldn’t stop wanting her. Maybe her conversation with Ginny had had more of an impact on her than she’d originally thought, because at that moment there was a blossoming, vindictive side of Hermione that wanted Ron literally begging for her.

“This changes nothing,” she breathed against his ear, wanting it known that though she wanted him too; she refused to sacrifice her pride for him. “I’m still not marrying you.”

“We’ll just see about that,” Ron said, sounding entirely too confident.

Her anger flared at his audacity, and she would have called him on it and pointed out what a barbaric prat he was being, but his hands in her hair tugged hard before she could respond, forcing her mouth to his and swallowing any protests.

He may be a prat, but he certainly could kiss. It didn’t matter that if it was in love or anger, he still stole her thought and made the ache between her legs impossible to ignore. She wasn’t going to begin to understand Ron’s motivations in this, but she’d been lonely for so long, and despite the heartache, he was still the only man she’d ever desired like this. She’d like to have thought she was capable of being cunning like Ginny had suggested, of seducing Ron into being kind to her once more, but she’d only be lying to herself. She only had one reason for being straddled over him, her body moving against his in way that would have been much more than snogging if they didn’t have clothes on—She wanted Ron Weasley and no amount of hurt could stop it..."

A small image:

Detail:

This drawing is a handmade work (NO photoshop) in a Canson 180gr A4 size paper using gouache, watercolor dry pencils and collage.

I want to thank Monica, spidergirl30, one more time for your help and I want to dedicate this art work to three people:

For Julz, aka dunigan, a friend who is always supporting me and who is celebrating her Birthday today.

For Jonathan, aka leviathan0999 my first ever LJ friend and a so dear human being, who celebrated his Birthday this week too.

For Sophia, aka sophia_weasley or ShophiaLobato at Checkmated a brilliant Brazilian HP writer who wrote, over so many good stories the amazing Ephemeral, and if you, already read this one, you’ll know what I’m talking about:

Sophia, this couch above is yours! ;)

The full chapter here!

I guess, many of my friends that saw the movie got that while I was doing this picture, I watched PS:I love you...again. And the song that fits so well to this fic's scene came from it!;)

Muse news!

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 20:58:40 GMT

I want to thank everybody that answered my last post and excuse me for didn't give you a reply, but you made my heart happy with your words.

There's a reason for my lack of answers.

Remember when I said I had a "blank" when I got my assignament for hp_canon_fest?

Well, my Muse appeared, gave me an idea, helped me to find out a perfect reference and I already started to paint the art! :)

Maybe all he was needing was to get fun in some music festival wearing strange hats with his mate! :D

And about True Blood, after six episodes I still don't like vampires...

I want to believe...

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 21:53:42 GMT

...that great part of my f-list was offline last Monday, for my own mind sanity! :D

As some of you should know, it was the day that Rupert was celebrating his 21th Birthday and I posted here in my journal four different entries with four different illustrations I made as gifts for him.
They are part of a project IceCreamMan site created where fans all over the world sent photos of Blag magazine, which has Rupert on the cover, on important locations of the city they live. There are photos of many places of USA, and also Germany, Mexico, Argentina, Denmark, China, Brazil(of course) and so on.
Take a look at the site to check out!
These photos together and my illustrations formed a book that is already with him.

If you didn’t have the opportunity to watch these works of mine, I want to share the links again with you.
I spent almost two months working on them and although they look a little bit different of my usual work, to have done them gave me an immense pleasure.

In each drawing bellow you will find the links for the entry:

And the others news:
• I had a hemorrhage in my right eye last week, but I’m recovering well, don’t need to more worries, for those friends who emailed me.
• Like a miracle, my LJ is working good again, but not all my computer, unhappily.
• I finished another R&Hr fanart which probably I will post in the second week of September, because we have holidays here next one.
• I’m still reading Outlander in a hyper slow pace, but devouring some R&Hr fanfics avidly.
• I’m always too late with TV things, but I’m now addicted to The Big Bang Theory. I love Jim Parsons and I hope he wins the Emmy. Also, although I said too many times that I don’t like vampires, this weekend I’m ready for True Blood since I got the first season here.
• And finally, I got my assignment for the hp_canon_fest.The thing is, well, the challenge for me has a too much obvious theme and that is what makes it too much difficult. When I read the request my mind got blank! And I’m praying to my Muse don’t be so lazy, because I just need “1% of inspiration” to have the right time for the “99% of perspiration”.

So please, fly on Little Wing!

Have a nice weekend everybody!!:)

Rupert Grint's Birthday gift #4: Time of your life

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 21:01:22 GMT

The idea for this one came when I saw some of the photos taken in the rain at HBP's London premiere that, for me, are like poetry in form of photographys.
So this one is not based in one of the photo shoot made for Blag magazine but I think is the best translation of this illustration project: to dream.
Even if you do this with eyes open, a daily reality of any creative mind.

A project I did for Rupert’s Birthday, with no sites asking me for, a thing I wanted to do for him and by myself so grateful I’m still by his gesture of to sign one of my drawings and saying he already had saw it.
I need to do this.

Gladly IceCreamman gave me the pleasure to host them in their gift that was sent to him, with a message also wrote by me.

“Life is what happen to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
John Lennon

As you’re getting older you also learn that sometimes life looks like a great mosaic made from little moments, people and things you love, all of them put together and forming who you are.
Although we’re apart by many things, different countries, cultures, languages, life stories, age and so on, I like to think that you and I have some parts of “our mosaics” formed by the same pieces: our love for this character, Ron Weasley, for art, music, movies and these girls from this site, Ice Cream Man, that support your career, working everyday to bring it to many fans and are great real friends of mine.
My first idea for my gift of this year, was to draw all the photos that were taken for Blag magazine, but unhappily life also makes you leave by its way lots of things you planed.
I think they are the blank spaces of the “mosaic”, where we couldn’t find the right piece to fill it, or even pieces lost with the passing of time.
These drawings I finished, look a little different of what I use to do. I made them while I was rediscovering a great artist that I admire, Dave McKean, a comic illustrator that has been working for a long time with the wonderful writer, Neil Gaiman.
I made them by his influence but, of course, in my way and capacity.
All of them are handmade, using different techniques: pastel, gouache, dry watercolor pencils.
Funny that while I was working, I discovered that this artist collaborated for the conceptual art of “Harry Potter and the Prisioner of Azkaban” and “Goblet of fire”.
Another common piece.
The lyrics I used came to me always with some relation with you.
Just one of them, “Good Riddance” by Green Day appeared at my iPod, while I was working and typed the world Life.
I made a “little change” and I think it turned perfect for a guy that is completing 21 years old.
Perfect to add to these drawings that I hope you could have with you, forever, as part of your “mosaic”.

Another turning point;
a fork stuck in the road.

Time grabs you by the wrist;
directs you where to go.

So make the best of this test
and don't ask why.

It's not a question
but a lesson learned in time.

So take the photographs
and still frames in your mind.

Hang it on a shelf
of good health and good time.

Tattoos of memories
and dead skin on trial.

For what it's worth,
it was worth all the while.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end is right.
I hope you’re having the time of your life."

Happy Birthday!

Lilly

August 2009

This art was made in a 180gr Canson A4 size with gouache and watercolor pencils.

I want to thank so much my friends there at IceCreamMan to bring one more time, my work in to Rupert’s hands, specially Ivana, Julzs and Dove for all their support.

A HUGE hug will go to another staff member there, Val aka vabagri, a graphic designer from Mexico, my good friend, who supported all this project helping me, writing the lyrics in the fonts and ways I asked her in Photoshop, for me after to copy by handmade in the arts, never complaining and didn’t even asking to “take a look” before I finished them.
She also did the “frames” that appeared on them.
Thank you so much for this and for your “companion”, with the talks we exchanged by emails, during this time I worked on them.
This, with any doubt, will be my memories of this time! ;)

I also have to say that this time I had no beta for my posts because my friend Monica, spidergirl30 was in her deserved vacations time. So, sorry for any grammar mistake, but I still hope that, after all, you could understand what I had to say. ;)

Rupert's Birthday gift#1:

Rupert's Birthday gift#2:

Rupert's Birthday gift#3:

Rupert's Birthday gift #3: Little Wing

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 17:36:42 GMT

Again, in this drawing, I used graphics elements found out at Sandman's comic series.
I tried to created this time an illusion of the words being projected over the body, looking like many tattoos.
The lyrics of the song Little Wing came to me when I saw Rupert using a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt at HBP's NY premiere, this year.
Suddenly I realized that the words of this songs could perfectly translate what a Muse represents to an artist.
And it’s not different for me, is more or less like this, while I’m creating, off to Lillyland…

Well, he's walking through the clouds
with a circus mind
that's running wild.
Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams
and fairy tales,

That's all he ever thinks about ...

Riding the wind.

When I'm sad, he comes to me
with a thousand smiles.
He gives to me free.

It's alright, he says,
it's alright.
Take anything you want from me,
anything.
Anything

Fly on, little wing.

This one was made in a 180gr Canson A4 size with gouache and watercolor pencils.

Rupert's birthday gift #1:

Rupert's birthday gift #2:

Rupert's Birthday gift #2: Preparedness

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 15:59:31 GMT

When I saw the picture I used as reference for this art for the first time I thought I had found out the perfect one for what I wanted: to show some graphic elements present in David McKean’s work.
The high contrast between dark, shadow and light.

I also add texts as part of the composition, bringing the poetry of some music lyrics, songs that are so important during my creative process.

This one is played at the opening of Cherrybomb and in its words almost prepares you for what will come.
I used it because also reminds me of questions I do to myself every time I watch him playing and the attention he gets, specially from the media because of this.

Do you know who I am?
I'm alive
You understand?
Alive
Alive
Alive

Are you lost?
Are you not there?
Are you shut down?
Are you prepared?
Shut down
Shut down
Shut down

Are you prepared for the atom bomb?
Are you prepared for my aching arms?
Are you prepared?
Are you prepared?
Are you prepared for serenity?
Are you prepared to disagree?
Are you prepared?
Are you prepared for me?

Do you know who I am?
I'm alive, you understand?
Alive
Alive
Alive

This one was made in a 180gr Canson A4 size with gouache and watercolor pencils.

Birthday gift #1:Rupertland:

Rupert's Birthday gift #1: We’re off to Rupertland

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 13:55:28 GMT

There's a thread at IceCreamMan's forums where members write about dreams they had with Rupert.
It's one of the threads that I enjoy most to read because it's something that intrigues me most. Great part of the people there never met him and it's somehow funny, like in any dream, he can materialized and sometimes acts like someone that is part of their real daily lives.
I wonder how Rupert himself would feel by reading those dreams.
Well, I'm not the one who would say that maybe he would feel weird, because I think I can give the same sensation, lots of time, not only to him but to many viewers of my drawings.

I'm saying this because, the idea for these new works of mine came to me, in a certain way, from these readings.
Like always, my inspiration has many "links" and I instantly remembered one of my favorites illustrators, Dave McKean, that worked with the writer Neil Gaiman in the comic series "Sandman"
Sandman is a mythical character of the folklore who brings good dreams by sprinkling magical sand onto the eyes of children while they sleep at night.
In Gaiman's books he's Dream, one of The Endless, the king of dreams and a personification of dreams and storytelling.
Basically this was the start of these drawings.

I've being working on them since the beginning of June.
My first intention was to draw all the photos Rupert took for Blag magazine, but unhappily, in spite of already have some sketches ready to color, I couldn't finished all of them.
So, these four that I ended were sent to Rupert, by RG.us, as a birthday gift.
I'll be showing them today to you in four posts.
I hope you all (including Rupert) like them.

Exit light
Enter night
Take my hand
We're off to Rupertland

This one was the first one I started and the last one I finished.
It was made in black Canson A4 size paper using pastels and gouache.

I already draw Rupert (or him as Ron) so many times that I said to myself I could do it even in the "dark". And, in the practice, I could see it wasn't so easy as I thought. :) Anyway, I had fun!

Oh, and I'm still having problems with my LJ, but this doesn't mean I won't be glad if you talk to me here! ;)

Help, I need somebody!!

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 16:56:24 GMT

I'm having huge problems to open my LJ since yesterday.
I only could open the home and post page, not the journal, my friends page and worse, LJ contact's page!
Of course if everybody is having the same problem, I won't get any answer for this post, but if it's something that is happen only to me, could anybody contact them telling what is happening or please give me their email.
I'm really desesperated because I have some drawings to post and I don't know what is happening.
I delected all my old cookies, scaned all the computador with Norton and no virus found, spending lots of time doing this!
What a great way to pass my Sunday! :(

PIMPINGPIMPINGPIMPINGPIMPING!!!

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 20:57:57 GMT

It's the first time I'll participate of a exchange fest challenge!
How couldn't I after seeing this wonderful banner my friend redheadsarehot did for it?
And even more because it's all about HP canon world!
I'd love to see some talented people of my f-list involved on it too.

I'm working like mad in some drawings here, this is why I didn't update not even telling my thoughts about HBP and I'm also very busy with kids here.
Their return to classes was postponed till August 17th because of the advance of the "swine flu" here in my country. It's winter and we had 35 death cases, most of them in cities near where I live. I'm very worried.
The best of all in this situation is the free schedule, with more time to sleep and do the things, that is why I'm enjoying to draw a lot and watch the many DVDs I have here till late at night. :)

Many kisses and have a wonderful week***

THE BEST THING EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 14:15:19 GMT

I THINK EVERYONE OF US WAS THERE REPRESENTED BY THIS GIRL IN THIS MOMENT!!!!!!!!!!! :D

I can't stop to watch it over and over, showing the videos to every one around!
Her happiness was so true, a genuine fan!

And Rupert and Dan were totally like they are, kind and sweet guys!

Oh, what a nice way to start the week! :D

THE ICE CREAM MAN

Fri, 17 Jul 2009 19:07:06 GMT

If you missed me in the alley, baby, don't you fret
Come back around and don't forget,
When you're tired and you're hungry and you want something cool,
Got something better than a swimming pool

'Cause I'm your ice cream man, I'm a one-man band
I'm your ice cream man, baby, I'll be good to you.

Great part of my f-list already saw HBP movie by now, so it’s time to show to you a drawing I made specially for today, and I’m certain you will have fun to imagine Rupert in a way that, after watching him doing brilliantly Ron’s part, we all are sure now, we'll never see him in real life, maybe in a film…

When Karo asked me at the end of May if I could make a drawing as a surprise gift for the girls, boys, staff members and all the fans of the site to celebrate Ice Cream Man's 5th birthday, I didn't think twice.
Ice Cream Man site is part of my daily life, where lots of my online friends are. We don’t only share the same love for Rupert but also for many other things. It always seems that the talk starts on him and ends with all of us speaking about music, books, movies, food, everything.
It is a place where Rupert’s fans also know that behind my art there’s a person, because I was always respected there not only as an artist that can eventually contribute to the site, but also as human being.
So, my first idea for the drawing came quickly for sure: to draw Rupert as an old fashioned ice-cream man, which was approved by Karo immediately.
The idea developed to the one that I’m giving to you today, a drawing based on the magnificent work of one of the most wonderful illustrators of all times, Norman Rockwell, and his work for the covers of the Saturday Evening Post.
Although it might look simple, it was hard to do it. Everything handmade including the fonts, like it was by the time of the magazine and also doing a foreshortening drawing, is never the most easy thing to do, but I really hope you enjoy it.
It was made with all my heart as I know their work is done there every day in the site!

Happy Birthday, Ice Cream Man!

A small image

Oh, I just hope the twins don't give Rupert a hard time because of it! :D

The song I fond out to be my "mantra" this time has the right mood to celebrate this birthday, a little bit nostalgic, full with funny double meaning words, a rhythm good to make you dance alone, by the geniality of Tom Waits.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow!

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 22:15:30 GMT

I got my tickets!! :D
Wednesday 2PM!

I have to say, I'm happy that this day is coming but I watched so may clips in the internet that I think I already saw all the movie. Anyway it's a different feeling to be there, in "the dark room". :)

Thank you so much for those who voted in the pool I posted last Sunday, "Who do you believe?" and yes the winner was Danil Radcliffe!
I watched and read so many interviews of Rupert and Emma in the last days talking about this kiss that I recomend you only to read those given by Daniel and David Yates, this if you don't mind to find out Rupert and Emma thousand different ways to say it was awkawrd and ruin all the vibe of R&Hr kiss! :D

Everything started two Fridays ago with Emma saying it was "horrible" in a TV show, what it really made me mad, not a way to talk about someone you know around ten years, even more being a man!
But... in the London Premiere Rupert came with the "Jessie is a better kisser, because I feel Emma is like my sister blah, blah,blah". So the game is 1x1!

In the latest ones I read the things started to be really funny, so two years from now, we still will see them trying to find a way to say to us "they didn't enjoy it", and eventually failing sometimes... :D

The best quotes?

Rupert in this video, when the interviewer asked him if he deliberately got the giggles to increase the number of takes, Rupert says, "That would be a good plan", also that, in the middle of the kisses, he kind got out of character and felt self concious, and that all his previous kisses on screen didn't actually prepare him for the one with Emma!

And both of them in this interview:

"I was like, 'Do I use tongue?' " she laughed during a recent interview with MTV News. " 'Do I not use tongue? Do I cover my teeth? What do I do? Do I go first? Oh my God!' "

With all these questions swirling in her head, she ended up nearly attacking Grint, who plays Ron Weasley. "I ended up pouncing on Rupert," Watson confessed. "I was so desperate to get it over. After the first take he was like, 'Whoa, there! Where did that come from?' I was like, 'Sorry!' "

"It took me by surprise," Grint admitted

Don't this sound a bit like the real Ron and Hermione's kiss?

So, I still prefer Daive Yates quote that "was a hell of snog"! :D

But from all the things that I saw in the last week, nothing made me so happy than to know that

RUPERT IS A PUNK ROCKER, A PUNK ROCKER, NOW!!

And I´m ready for love...

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 15:40:19 GMT

Du Du Du Du Du Du Du Du Du
Du Du Du Du Du Du Du Du Du

I´m singin´ in the rain
Just singin´ in the rain,
What a glorious feeling,
And I´m happy again.
I´m laughing at clouds
So dark, up above,
The sun´s in my heart
And I´m ready for love.

Let the stormy clouds chase.
Everyone from the place,
Come on with the rain
I have a smile on my face.
I´ll walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin', singin' in the rain.

Dancing in the rain.
I'm happy again.
I'm singin' and dancin' in the rain.

Dancin' and singin' in the rain.

I can't see me loving him more than now... :D

Ron and Hermione in HBP

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 04:14:11 GMT

Clip from Sky Movies special showing interviews with Rupert Grint and Emma Watson talking about the development of Ron and Hermione relationship.

Thanks Nanda fromR&E forums for the gift

My babe is sick!

Sat, 04 Jul 2009 20:23:03 GMT

According to BBC News, Rupert Grint is recovering from a mild case of Swine Flu!
I almost had a heart attack when I read this.
The news was confirmed by his publicist to Ice Cream Man.
It seems he's getting better and will be able to attend all the HBP premieres next week.
So if you want to send a message to him, please leave a comment in this entry on the site:

“Glad you feel better” wishes to Rupert

In another note, I posted yesterday a new drawing about Diana Gabaldon's "Outlander" books. If you haven't see it yet, click in the picture. I hope you like it!

And at least, Happy 4th July to all Americans in my f-list!!

Hope you all have a good weekend, including you, Rup babe!

OUTLANDER: A MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 21:12:38 GMT

“The new love drives out the old”
Anonymous

I’m not sure if this is totally true.
Not for all the cases.
I heard The Beatles for the first time when I was twelve years old and became instantly a beatlemaniac.
After them, a hundred new ones, new passions came and I still love them.
I got married with my first great love and we had three kids.
I only felt that, through the years, my heart was getting bigger and bigger with plenty space for everybody.
It happens here, in LJ, all the time!
Friends that are here with me since the beginning and I know will also be after the new ones that are always coming.
Old friends like Monica, aka spidergirl30 who is celebrating her birthday on July 6th and to whom this picture is dedicated.
We discovered together this new love for Jamie and Claire from Diana Gabaldon’s series "Outlander", but we both know we’ll never give up from our old and great love, Ron and Hermione.

To make a fanart for “Outlander” was a different experience. I came to Ron and Hermione after the movies, so it was easy to picture them, as you know I do, when I’m reading their stories or making fanarts.
Now, with Jamie and Claire, their images are not so clear and definitive to me, it’s like I’m looking for references every time I’m reading them and for me, being a portraitist, this could be a good or a bad thing.
I’m trying my best to have this in my favor, so, I have for this one “very famous” references, and I decided not to confirm them (but would be funny if you give your opinion), because, although this is the most closer I have in mind when I’m reading the books, you know, they can change a little in the future.
Yes, I’m planning to do few more for these books that is my great new love.
To make fanarts for this story is even harder than to do for the Harry Potter series because of the millions of details, that you face while reading them, that aren’t only fruits of a great author’s imagination, but also historical facts.
I still have so much to study and research but this is the great challenge in to work for them.
And if you never read them, please don’t wait more!
Hurry up and do so!
I know your heart will also have space for this new love! ;)

Baby I've been searching like everybody else
Can't say nothing different about myself
Sometimes I'm an angel
And sometimes I'm cruel
And when it comes to love
I'm just another fool
Yes, I'll climb a mountain
I'm gonna swim the sea
There ain't no act of God girl
Could keep you safe from me
My arms are reaching out
Out across this canyon
I'm asking you to be my true companion
True companion
True companion

So don't you dare and try to walk away
I've got my heart set on our wedding day
I've got this vision of a girl in white
Made my decision that it's you all right
And when I take your hand
I'll watch my heart set sail
I'll take my trembling fingers
And I'll lift up your veil
Then I'll take you home
And with wild abandon
Make love to you just like a true companion
You are my true companion
I got a true companion
True companion

When the years have done irreparable harm
I can see us walking slowly arm in arm
Just like the couple on the corner do
'Cause girl I will always be in love with you
And when I look in your eyes
I'll still see that spark
Until the shadows fall
Until the room grows dark
Then when I leave this Earth
I'll be with the angels standin'
I'll be out there waiting for my true companion
Just for my true companion
True companion
True companion

A Marriage Takes Place

There was a low, beamed ceiling over me when I woke, and a thick quilt tucked tidily under my chin. I seemed to be clad only in my shift. I started to sit up to look for my clothes, but thought better of it halfway up. I eased myself very carefully back down, closed my eyes and held on to my head to prevent it from rolling off the pillow and bouncing on the floor.

I woke again, sometime later, when the door of the room opened. I cracked one eye cautiously. A wavering outline resolved itself into the dour figure of Murtagh, staring disapprovingly down at me from the foot of the bed. I closed the eye. I heard a muffled Scottish noise, presumably indicating appalled disgust, but when I looked again he was gone.

I was just sinking thankfully back into unconsciousness when the door opened again, this time to reveal a middle-aged woman I took to be the publican's wife, carrying a ewer and basin. She bustled cheerily into the room and banged the shutters open with a crash that reverberated through my head like a tank collision. Advancing on the bed like a Panzer division, she ripped the quilt from my feeble grasp and tossed it aside, leaving me quaking and exposed.

"Come along then, me love," she said. "We mun get ye ready now." She put a hefty forearm behind my shoulders and levered me into a sitting position. I clutched my head with one hand, my stomach with the other.

"Ready?" I said, through a mouth filled with decayed moss.

The woman began briskly washing my face. "Och, aye," she said. "Ye dinna want to miss yer own wedding, now, do ye?"

"Yes," I said, but was ignored as she unceremoniously stripped off my shift and stood me in the middle of the floor for further intimate attentions.

A bit later I sat on the bed, fully dressed, feeling dazed and belligerent, but thanks to a glass of port supplied by the good-wife, at least functional. I sipped carefully at a second glass, as the woman tugged a comb through the thickets of my hair.

I jumped and shuddered, spilling the port, as the door crashed open once more. One damn thing after another, I thought balefully. This time it was a double visitation, Murtagh and Ned Gowan, wearing similar looks of disapprobation. I exchanged glares with Ned while Murtagh came into the room and walked slowly around the bed, surveying me from every angle. He returned to Ned and muttered something in a tone too low for me to hear. With a final glance of despair in my direction, he pulled the door shut behind them.

At last my hair was dressed to the woman's satisfaction, swept back and pulled high in a knot at the crown, curls picked loose to tumble to the back, and ringlets in front of my ears. It felt as though my scalp were going to pop off from the tension of the strained-back hair, but the effect in the looking glass the woman provided was undeniably becoming. I began to feel slightly more human, and even brought myself to thank her for her efforts. She left me the looking glass, and departed, remarking that it was so lucky to be married in summer, wasn't it, as I'd have plenty of flowers for my hair.

"We who are about to die," I said to my reflection, sketching a salute in the glass. I collapsed on the bed, plastered a wet cloth over my face, and went back to sleep.

I was having a rather nice dream, something to do with grassy fields and wildflowers, when I became aware that what I had thought a playful breeze tugging at my sleeves was a pair of none-too-gentle hands. I sat up with a jerk, blindly flailing.

When I got my eyes open, I saw that my small chamber now resembled a Tube station, with faces wall-to-wall: Ned Gowan, Murtagh, the innkeeper, the innkeeper's wife, and a lanky young man, who turned out to be the innkeeper's son, with his arms full of assorted flowers, which accounted for the scents in my dream. There was also a young woman, armed with a round wicker basket, who smiled amiably at me, displaying the lack of several rather important teeth.

This person, it developed, was the village sempstress, recruited to repair the deficiencies of my wardrobe by adjusting the fit of a dress, obtained on short notice from some local connection of the innkeeper's. Ned was carrying the dress in question, hanging from one hand like a dead animal. Smoothed out on the bed, it proved to be a low-necked gown of heavy cream-colored satin, with a separate bodice that buttoned with dozens of tiny cloth-covered buttons, each embroidered with a gold fleur-de-lis. The neckline and the belled sleeves were heavily ruched with lace, as was the embroidered overskirt of chocolate-brown velvet. The innkeeper was half-buried in the petticoats he carried, his bristling whiskers barely visible over the foamy layers.

I looked at the port-wine stain on my grey serge skirt and vanity won out. If I were in fact to be married, I didn't want to do it looking like the village drudge.

After a short spell of frenetic activity, with me standing like a dressmaker's dummy and everyone else racing about fetching, carrying, criticizing, and tripping over each other, the final product was ready, complete to white asters and yellow roses pinned in my hair and a heart pounding madly away beneath the lacy bodice. The fit was not quite perfect, and the gown smelled rather strongly of its previous owner, but the satin was weighty and swished rather fascinatingly about my feet, over the layers of petticoats. I felt quite regal, and not a little lovely.

"You can't make me do this, you know," I hissed threateningly at Murtagh's back as I followed him downstairs, but he and I both knew my words were empty bravado. If I had ever had the strength of character to defy Dougal and take my chances with the English, it had drained away with the whisky.

Dougal, Ned, and the rest were in the main taproom at the foot of the stair, drinking and exchanging pleasantries with a few villagers who seemed to have nothing better to do with their afternoon than hang about getting sloshed.

Dougal caught sight of me slowly descending, and abruptly stopped talking. The others fell silent as well, and I floated down in a most gratifying cloud of reverent admiration. Dougal's deep-set eyes covered me slowly from head to foot and returned to my face with a completely ungrudging nod of acknowledgment.

What with one thing and another, it was some time since a man had looked at me that way, and I nodded quite graciously back.

After the first silence, the rest of those in the taproom became vocal in their admiration, and even Murtagh allowed himself a small smile, nodding in satisfaction at the results of his efforts.And who appointed youfashion editor? I thought disagreeably. Still, I had to admit that he was responsible for my not marrying in grey serge.

Marrying. Oh, God. Buoyed temporarily by port wine and cream lace, I had momentarily managed to ignore the significance of the occasion. I gripped the banister as fresh realization hit like a blow in the stomach.

Looking over the throng, though, I noticed one glaring omission. My groom was nowhere in sight. Heartened by the thought that he might have succeeded in escaping out of a window, and be miles away by now, I accepted a parting cup of wine from the innkeeper before following Dougal outside.

Ned and Rupert went to fetch the horses. Murtagh had disappeared somewhere, perhaps to search for traces of Jamie.

Dougal held me by one arm; ostensibly to support me lest I stumble in my satin slippers, in reality to prevent any last-minute breaks for freedom.

It was a "warm" Scottish day, meaning that the mist wasn't quite heavy enough to qualify as a drizzle, but not far off, either. Suddenly the inn door opened, and the sun came out, in the person of James. If I was a radiant bride, the groom was positively resplendent. My mouth fell open and stayed that way.

A Highlander in full regalia is an impressive sight—any Highlander, no matter how old, ill-favored, or crabbed in appearance. A tall, straight-bodied, and by no means ill-favored young Highlander at close range is breath-taking.

The thick red-gold hair had been brushed to a smooth gleam that swept the collar of a fine lawn shirt with tucked front, belled sleeves, and lace-trimmed wrist frills that matched the cascade of the starched jabot at the throat, decorated with a ruby stickpin.

His tartan was a brilliant crimson and black that blazed among the more sedate MacKenzies in their green and white. The flaming wool, fastened by a circular silver brooch, fell from his right shoulder in a graceful drape, caught by a silver-studded sword belt before continuing its sweep past neat calves clothed in woolen hose and stopping just short of the silver-buckled black leather boots. Sword, dirk, and badger-skin sporran completed the ensemble.

Well over six feet tall, broad in proportion, and striking of feature, he was a far cry from the grubby horse-handler I was accustomed to—and he knew it. Making a leg in courtly fashion, he swept me a bow of impeccable grace, murmuring "Your servant, ma'am," eyes glinting with mischief.

"Oh," I said faintly.

I had seldom seen the taciturn Dougal at a loss for words before. Thick brows knotted over a suffused face, he seemed in his way as taken aback by this apparition as I was.

"Are ye mad, man?" he said at last. "What if someone's to see ye!"

Jamie cocked a sardonic eyebrow at the older man. "Why, uncle," he said. "Insults? And on my wedding day too. You wouldna have me shame my wife, now, would ye? Besides," he added, with a malicious gleam, "I hardly think it would be legal, did I not marry in my own name. And you do want it legal, now, don't you?"

With an apparent effort, Dougal recovered his self-possession. "If ye're quite finished, Jamie, we'll get on wi' it," he said.

But Jamie was not quite finished, it seemed. Ignoring Dougal's fuming, he drew a short string of white beads from his sporran. He stepped forward and fastened the necklace around my neck. Looking down, I could see it was a string of small baroque pearls, those irregularly shaped productions of freshwater mussels, interspersed with tiny pierced-work gold roundels. Smaller pearls dangled from the gold beads.

"They're only Scotch pearls," he said, apologetically, "but they look bonny on you." His fingers lingered a moment on my neck.

"Those were your mother's pearls!" said Dougal, glowering at the necklace.

"Aye," said Jamie calmly, "and now they're my wife's. Shall we go?"

Wherever we were going, it was some distance from the village. We made a rather morose wedding party, the bridal pair encircled by the others like convicts being escorted toward some distant prison. The only conversation was a muted apology from Jamie for being late, explaining that there had been some difficulty in finding a clean shirt and coat large enough to fit him.

"I think this one belongs to the local squire's son," he said, flipping the lacy jabot. "Bit of a dandy, it looks like."

We dismounted and left the horses at the foot of a small hill. A footpath led upward through the heather.

"Ye've made the arrangements?" I heard Dougal say in an undertone to Rupert, as they tethered the beasts.

"Och, aye." There was a flash of teeth in the black beard. "Was a bit o' trouble to persuade the padre, but we showed him the special license." He patted his sporran, which clinked musically, giving me some idea of the nature of the special license.

Through the drizzle and mist, I saw the chapel jutting out of the heather. With a sense of complete disbelief, I saw the round-shouldered roof and the odd little many-paned windows, which I had last seen on the bright sunny morning of my marriage to Frank Randall.

"No!" I exclaimed. "Not here! I can't!"

"Hst, now, hst. Dinna worry, lass, dinna worry. It will be all right." Dougal put a large paw on my shoulder, making soothing Scottish noises, as if I were a skittish horse. " 'Tis natural to be a bit nervous," he said, to all of us. A firm hand in the small of my back urged me on up the path. My shoes sank moistly in the damp layer of fallen leaves.

Jamie and Dougal walked close on either side of me, preventing escape. Their looming plaid presences were unnerving, and I felt a mounting sense of hysteria. Two hundred years ahead, more or less, I had been married in this chapel, charmed then by its ancient picturesqueness. The chapel now was creaking with newness, its boards not yet settled into charm, and I was about to marry a twenty-three-year-old Scottish Catholic virgin with a price on his head, whose—

I turned to Jamie in sudden panic. "I can't marry you! I don't even know your last name!"

He looked down at me and cocked a ruddy eyebrow. "Oh. It's Fraser. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser." He pronounced it formally, each name slow and distinct.

Completely flustered, I said "Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp," and stuck out my hand idiotically. Apparently taking this as a plea for support, he took the hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his elbow. Thus inescapably pinioned, I squelched up the path to my wedding.

Rupert and Murtagh were waiting for us in the chapel, keeping guard over a captive cleric, a spindly young priest with a red nose and a justifiably terrified expression. Rupert was idly slicing a willow twig with a large knife, and while he had laid aside his horn-handled pistols on entering the church, they remained in easy reach on the rim of the baptismal font.

The other men also disarmed, as was suitable in the house of God, leaving an impressively bristling pile of lethality in the back pew. Only Jamie kept his dagger and sword, presumably as a ceremonial part of his dress.

We knelt before the wooden altar, Murtagh and Dougal took their places as witnesses, and the ceremony began.

The form of the Catholic marriage service has not changed appreciably in several hundred years, and the words linking me with the redheaded young stranger at my side were much the same as those that had consecrated my wedding to Frank. I felt like a cold, hollow shell. The young priest's stammering words echoed somewhere in the empty pit of my stomach.

I stood automatically when it came time for the vows, watching in a sort of numbed fascination as my chilly fingers disappeared into my bridegroom's substantial grasp. His fingers were as cold as my own, and it occurred to me for the first time that despite his outwardly cool demeanor, he might be as nervous as I was.

I had so far avoided looking at him, but now glanced up to find him staring down at me. His face was white and carefully expressionless; he looked as he had when I dressed the wound in his shoulder. I tried to smile at him, but the corners of my mouth wobbled precariously. The pressure of his fingers on mine increased. I had the impression that we were holding each other up; if either of us let go or looked away, we would both fall down. Oddly, the feeling was mildly reassuring. Whatever we were in for, at least there were two of us.

"I take thee, Claire, to be my wife…" His voice didn't shake, but his hand did. I tightened my grip. Our stiff fingers clenched together like boards in a vise. "… to love, honor and protect… for better and for worse…" The words came from far away. The blood was draining from my head. The boned bodice was infernally tight, and though I felt cold, sweat ran down my sides beneath the satin. I hoped I wouldn't faint.

There was a small stained-glass window set high in the wall at the side of the sanctuary, a crude rendering of John the Baptist in his bearskin. Green and blue shadows flowed over my sleeve, reminding me of the tavern's public room, and I wished fervently for a drink.

My turn. I stuttered slightly, to my fury. "I t-take thee, James…"I stiffened my spine. Jamie had got through his half creditably enough; I could try to do as well. "…to have and to hold, from this day forth…" My voice came stronger now.

" 'Til death us do part." The words rang out in the quiet chapel with a startling finality. Everything was still, as though in suspended animation. Then the priest asked for the ring.

There was a sudden stir of agitation and I caught a glimpse of Murtagh's stricken face. I barely registered the fact that someone had forgotten to provide for the ring, when Jamie released my hand long enough to twist a ring from his own finger.

I still wore Frank's ring on my left hand. The fingers of my right looked frozen, pallid and stiff in a pool of blue light, as the large metal circlet passed over the fourth finger. It hung loose on the digit and would have slid off, had Jamie not folded my fingers around it and enclosed my fist once more in his own.

More mumbling from the priest, and Jamie bent to kiss me. It was clear that he intended only a brief and ceremonial touching of lips, but his mouth was soft and warm and I moved instinctively toward him. I was vaguely conscious of noises, Scottish whoops of enthusiasm and encouragement from the spectators, but really noticed nothing beyond the enfolding warm solidness. Sanctuary.

We drew apart, both a little steadier, and smiled nervously. I saw Dougal draw Jamie's dirk from its sheath and wondered why. Still looking at me, Jamie held out his right hand, palm up. I gasped as the point of the dirk scored deeply across his wrist, leaving a dark line of welling blood. There was not time to jerk away before my own hand was seized and I felt the burning slice of the blade. Swiftly, Dougal pressed my wrist to Jamie's and bound the two together with a strip of white linen.

I must have swayed a bit, because Jamie gripped my elbow with his free left hand.

"Bear up, lass," he urged softly. "It's not long now. Say the words after me." It was a short bit of Gaelic, two or three sentences. The words meant nothing to me, but I obediently repeated them after Jamie, stumbling on the slippery vowels. The linen was untied, the wounds blotted clean, and we were married.

There was a general air of relief and exhilaration on the way back down the footpath. It might have been any merry wedding party, albeit a small one, and one composed entirely of men, save the bride.

We were nearly at the bottom when lack of food, the remnants of a hangover, and the general stresses of the day caught up with me. I came to lying on damp leaves, my head in my new husband's lap. He put down the wet cloth with which he had been wiping my face.

"That bad, was it?" He grinned down at me, but his eyes held an uncertain expression that rather touched me, in spite of everything. I smiled shakily back.

"It's not you," I assured him. "It's just… I don't think I've had anything at all to eat since breakfast yesterday—and rather a lot to drink, I'm afraid."

His mouth twitched. "So I heard. Well, that I can remedy. I've not a lot to offer a wife, as I said, but I do promise I'll keep ye fed." He smiled and shyly pushed a stray curl off my face with a forefinger.

I started to sit up and grimaced at a slight burning in one wrist. I had forgotten that last bit of the ceremony. The cut had come open, no doubt as a result of the fall I had taken. I took the cloth from Jamie and wrapped it awkwardly around the wrist.

"I thought it might have been that that made ye faint," he said, watching. "I should have thought to warn ye about it; I didna realize you weren't expecting it until I saw your face."

"What was it, exactly?" I asked, trying to tuck in the ends of the cloth.

"It's a bit pagan, but it's customary hereabouts to have a blood vow, along with the regular marriage service. Some priests won't have it, but I don't suppose this one was likely to object to anything. He looked almost as scared as I felt," he said, smiling.

"A blood vow? What do the words mean?"

Jamie took my right hand and gently tucked in the last end of the makeshift bandage.

"It rhymes, more or less, when ye say it in English. It says:

'Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone,
I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One.
I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done.' "

He shrugged. "About the same as the regular vows, just a bit more… ah, primitive."

I gazed down at my bound wrist. "Yes, you could say that."

I glanced about; we were alone on the path, under an aspen tree. The round dead leaves lay on the ground, gleaming in the wet like rusted coins. It was very quiet, save for the occasional splat of water droplets falling from the trees.

"Where are the others? Did they go back to the inn?"

Jamie grimaced. "No. I made them go away so I could tend ye, but they'll be waitin' for us just over there." He gestured with his chin, in the countryman's manner. "They're no going to trust us alone 'til everything's official."

"Isn't it?" I said blankly. "We're married, aren't we?"

He seemed embarrassed, turning away and elaborately brushing dead leaves from his kilts.

"Mmmphm. Aye, we're married, right enough. But it's no legally binding, ye know, until it's been consummated." A slow, fierce blush burned its way up from the lacy jabot.

"Mmmphm," I said. "Let's go and find something to eat."

A small image

This drawing was made in a A4 size Canson 180gr paper, using gouache and watercolour pencils. NO PHOTOSHOP.

I want to thank you, Joanna, aka wickedjo, another friend that was introduced to "Outlander” world by my big insistence, for helping me to do this surprise to Monica.

And to all my friends at LiveJournal that, through their posts, made me curious at the point that I couldn’t help myself anymore and jump in this new adventure, specially my dear friend Dove, aka redheadsarehot, my partner at our dear community outlanderfanart.

I can think of a certain person that is happy for seeing me drawing something for “Outlander”.

Yeah, keep smiling babe!
Well, at least until you see my next one! :b

Again, by coincidence, I found out this song to be my mantra.
I don’t even know what style of music this song is, but for sure, if it could have another name, would be “Jamie and Claire”. :D

****HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Monica!
I hope you like it!****

What is good for a day called SUN?

Sun, 21 Jun 2009 20:35:30 GMT

Maybe someone so bright as it! :)

Rupert Grint attended British Formula One Grand Prix today at Silverstone.
I watched all the race by TV and couldn't stop to think that maybe he was there.
I was right!
But I decided to post these pictures of him here just in honour of those anonymous people that think I use as reference for my drawings underage actors with engorged muscles.

Is he muscled?
Yeah, but not underage anymore.
And bearded...

Look at his Converses! But his T costs U$110!!! :D

Life Imitating art????????????

Mon, 15 Jun 2009 21:27:49 GMT

Snitchseeker posted minutes ago a scan of a new interview with Jessie Cave (aka Lavender Brown) for UK's Tatler magazine, which between few other things she revealed:

Set to be in the final harry Potter film, Jessie is also currently single - but admits to having a crush on Rupert Grint. ‘I thought there might be a link there’, Jessie says. ‘Who knows, maybe in the future!’ We’ll have to wait and see.

Why am I smilling like a fool?

BECAUSE I LOVE THE GIRL!!!!

A true Gryffindor!!

All the world (including him) knows now!

Now I'm dying to see the next chapter... :D :D