Howl Pendragon x Artist!Reader Headcanons
Request: hi love! i absolutely ADORE your writing! i was wondering what you think howl would be like with an s/o who’s an artist? thank you! ❤️
This is so sweet, thank you so much!!
Please comment and reblog if you enjoy!
Okay, to start off with, we have to get it out of the way.
Howl Pendragon, the ultimate drama queen, is the literal BIGGEST poser there is in the known universe. You might think he’s bad, but he’s genuinely 100 times worse than you could ever imagine.
This wizard boi is photogenic as heck, and he KNOWS it.
As soon as you tell Howl you’re an artist, he will literally jump up and down and start squealing on the spot (it is quite a sight for the ten seconds he does it before you grab his hands and he restrains himself again). There’s just a huge beaming smile on his face for the rest of the afternoon, it’s honestly adorable.
Although he does keep giving you this strange grin and side eye whenever he thinks you’re not looking. You just sigh inwardly and prepare for the barrage and outburst that’s about to happen.
The next day, you’ll walk into the sitting area after a lovely, honey warm afternoon off picking fruit from the apple orchard with Markl, only to see a strange lump of golden encrusted silver diamonds slouched in a pile over the red sofa by the fire.
At first you think someone has broken in, looking for a place to sleep. Or perhaps an old enemy of Howl’s has hidden themselves within the walls as a pile of clothes, waiting for a chance to strike. You push Markl gently behind your back, before grimacing with fear and poking the heap with the edge of your shoe.
The two of you nearly jump out of your skin when a very loud ‘ouch!’ rings out through the room and a large mop of blue hair raises itself up to meet you. Through his fringe, two eyes gleam at you, and although Howl starts with a ‘that’s not very nice’, there’s a warm smile on his face as you throw an apple at his stomach in retaliation.
Turns out, anytime you let him leave your line of sight, if only for one second, he will ostentatiously throw himself over any piece of nearby furniture like a dang sloth, trying to capture your attention so you draw him.
He is genuinely really excited about your talent, and is so proud of you as well. Although he’s not the best, he tries to join in and immerse himself in your skill so he can connect with his soulmate, his starlight even more.
He’s been sitting down at the kitchen table a couple of times after breakfast, fist clenched under his chin and a dreamy look in his eyes. He takes a last sip of his orange juice, before hunching over his quill and slightly crinkled parchment paper again.
You’ll catch him staring at you, biting his lip in concentration as he scribbles ink over the sheet. Sometimes you’ll catch his eye, rising your eyebrows from where you’re sitting, smelling the flowers he had bought for you that morning over by Calcifer, but he’ll just turn a bright shade of rose and turn away again with a bashful smile.
Eventually, when he’s really trying to focus, you’ll manage to sneak up behind him and steal the paper from his grasp. He starts to whine, sitting up quickly and turning around so his frame envelops you. He tries to reach around to grab it back, but while your cheek is smushed into the pillowy shirt that covers his chest, you manage to sneak a look from where you hold the drawing out behind his back.
He’s just been sitting there like a lovesick puppy all morning doing little doodles of you.
‘You’re so incredible, I’ve been trying to watch how you draw so I can one day be as amazing as you. You’re so beautiful, I wanted to capture my own piece of starlight forever’, he scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed, ‘but I’m not sure you can ever capture true beauty.’
Although you’re stunned, it’s clear from the look in his eyes how truly he means every word of it, how freely the adoration flows from his soul and his heart and out onto the curves and humble replica of you on the parchment.
He can’t stop his cheeks from glowing when you decide to hang it up over the fire pit, so every visitor could see the love, the fondness, the endearment that flew out of every crack of this strange castle you called home.
Whenever it’s your turn to sort out the laundry pile, you always find drawings you’ve done for him tucked away into a special lining he had stitched into his cape, or into the breast pockets of his dress shirts. Turns out, whenever he has to go away for a while by himself, he likes to take them out and fondly rub his thumb over them, happy just to have a special piece of you near his heart.
When the two of you are out on the outskirts of some pastoral, cobblestoned rowed village, trying to help the townspeople in whatever way you can, you’ll always lose him. Every time, without fail, you’ll find him sitting on the edge of the town square’s fountain, chatting happily with either the town’s baker, or some of the villagers, as he shows off your work to them. Gushes flow out of his mouth without intent to stop, and you always have to draw him out of his effervescent thoughts by pressing a butterfly kiss to the tip of his nose.
He constantly sends poor Markl out running about goodness knows where, feet flying off the ground, with a mile long list of all the supplies he needs to buy for you.
He constantly uses the door, or takes you flying off in his arms to the most beautiful places you could only have ever dreamed of. Babbling brooks, luscious fields full of fiery rainbow flowers, burning red trees miles high, little fairytale-esque grottos full of dancing fireflies floating about ivy leaves.
He’s just more than content to sit on the dewy grass beside you, legs outstretched in front of him as you draw the scenery. You’ll be looking at the landscape, but he’ll always be looking up, admiring you, with butterflies flitting in his stomach.
One time, you try to get him to sit still so you can sketch him properly, but it doesn’t go very well. He keeps itching about, crossing and uncrossing his legs, tapping his fingers, and playing with the fringes of his hair, until you finally give in and allow him to do what he wanted to - what had been building up inside of him the whole fifteen minutes he had managed to sit in place.
He just rushes over and knocks you to the ground, squealing as he pins you gently to the floor and rushes to press kisses over every inch of your face. Your nose, your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, every bit is just peppered with kiss kiss kiss.
He only stops when Calcifer threatens to burn the whole place down if he has to see another minute of it.
Howl’s just more then happy to tell everyone that he is primarily no longer a wizard, but instead a muse to the most talented artist in all the kingdoms.
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