#i am finally getting the hang of watercolors

[unflappedflea]

Moar

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

[hauntedvivvian]

PERCY JACKSON X MERMAID READER part 2

(users kinda shy, cause well I am, also it's kinda Percys pov)

The rain came in sheets, soft but steady, turning the sky into a watercolor blur. Most people had long since abandoned the beach and camp for their dry cabins. Full of warmth. But not Percy, deep down he wondered if he'd see her

He floated just offshore, treading water effortlessly, his dark hair slicked back by the rain and salt. The waves were calm around him—unnaturally so, as if the sea itself was holding its breath again. But this time, he wasn't alone.

Perched on a jagged rock jutting out of the gray surf was you. Her tail shimmered even in the low light, the scales an opalescent blend of sea-glass green and storm-sky blue, each movement of her body sending ripples down its full six-foot length. She layed strew across the rock with her hand and tail swirling the water below. Her wet curls clinging to her shoulders and neck. Rain beaded on her skin, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. Her expression was calm but watchful. Closely observing Percy with her head tilted.

Percy swam closer, cautiously. Not out of fear—more like reverence and awe. “So,” he said, breaking the quiet, “you’re real.”

“I’ve always been real,” You replied, your voice lilting like a breeze over waves. “You just weren’t ready to see me before.”

He chuckled softly, the sound blending with the rain. “I’m ready now.”

She tilted her head more, studying him with eyes that looked older than any ocean chart. “You chased shadows. Most mortals give up when they don’t get answers.”

“I’m not most mortals, I'm not a mortal at all, I'm a demigod actually." Percy said, floating a little closer. “Besides, you were the one playing tag.”

Your lips curved just slightly—almost a smile. “You smiled when I splashed you.”

“You giggled first.”

They let that hang between them for a moment. The rain pattered gently against the rock, the only sound aside from the soft lapping of the sea. Eventually Percy moved closer, gazing up at her with his sharp green eyes.

“What are you?” Percy finally asked, not accusingly, just curious. “You’re not a nymph. Not a daughter of Poseidon, like me. But… the ocean listens to you.”

You blinked slowly. “I’m old. Older than most names you know. Some call me a spirit of the current. Some think I’m a myth. I was born when the sea was young, and I’ve watched it grow wild, then sick, then strange again.” You say as you gaze at the ocean, them back to Percy

Percy whistled low. “No offense, but you don’t look ancient.”

“Neither does the ocean,” You said simply.

He smiled at that, drifting closer until the tips of his fingers brushed the rock she sat on. “Why show yourself to me?”

“I’ve seen children of the sea before." You say lightly tugging and twirling your hair. "But you were, different, nice, playful. And I am, lonely."

Percy looked down, letting a moment of silence pass between them. “I’ve lost people to this ocean, you know. It hasn’t always been kind to me.”

“Neither have the gods,” You said, tone gentle.

He glanced back up at her. “You don’t like them?”

“I don’t answer to or work for them.”

That made Percy laugh. “Okay, now I definitely like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Careful, son of Poseidon. The sea is wide and full of things you’ve yet to meet. You may be the sea gods boy but that won't keep you safe from the deep sea."

Percy’s eyes sparkled. “Then maybe you’ll show me.”

For the first time, you smiled fully—warm and wild, like lightning reflected in deep water. “Maybe I will.”

The rain continued to fall, but neither of them moved. The world around them faded to just sea and stone and rain, and in that stillness, something ancient and new bloomed.

"PERCY?" A big voice called out that Percy turned too.

"Oh that's my bro-" I turned back a around to face you, but you were already gone. "Well, until next time" He sighed but right as he swam to leave, from down inside the ocean a flash of a smile and long tail appeared. A giggle "Till next time"

Part one ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

[mistydeyes]

Hey, Hope you're having a good day or night wherever you are.

Can I request a headcanon about 141 with a female reader who likes to draw and sketch a lot? Platonic ofc.

thanks anon, hope you have a good ____ as well <3 i used to be a sketch/artist girl so this was so cute to write :)

an artist’s touch

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summary: When you aren’t on the field, you are an avid artist of multiple mediums. It isn’t brought up much but once it is, the 141 has plenty of questions (and even some requests).

pairing: Taskforce 141 x platonic!fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood/violence

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tbh when you first joined, they didn’t know much about your hobby (being part of a specialized task force is busy yk?)

but it was revealed when you finally were granted leave and you discussed your plan upon your return home

“my first stop is going to be to cass art :)”

immediate cacophony of “you draw?” “you’re an artist?” “have you ever drawn us before!”

after a few minutes you quelled all of their questions (“yes, yes, and i literally joined 4 months ago and haven’t had access to a pencil”)

ghost comments, “make sense why you’re so good at stabbing people”

“god you’re so morbid ghost”

when back on base, you were shy to show you’re talents but you eventually relaxed the more you were with your teammates

eventually you began to bring out your sketchbook or paints out when you were relaxing after a mission or training session

once in a while, someone will tell you your work is amazing but if you’re in the zone, they’ll leave you alone

one time price accidentally left his mug too close to your paint cup and you ended up swirling your brush into it

queue a long lecture about how you should pay more attention (but who am i kidding that coffee is so strong he probably didn’t notice)

you humored soap and drew what you thought the real simon riley looked like

ghost snuck a peek and one of the drawings was surprisingly accurate

speaking of which, you may or may not have used your teammates as drawing references but you’ll never tell

gaz just has such angular features which makes drawing his figure so easy

mans looks like a walking drawing figure

it’s relaxing to let your mind wander and hands do the work as you fill a page or canvas

painting at home in your studio helps you to unwind from the grueling job

once, you sketched a few designs for gaz when he mentioned wanting to get a tattoo

“i don’t know gaz this is permanent” “i’ve seen your sketches and they’re amazing! just send me a few designs”

he landed on a cool watercolor piece you had made months ago

after your design, you would all joke about how you would redesign ghost’s tattoo

“Lt. that shit is heinous, just let me draw you a coverup” “no.”

while you don’t accept commissions anymore, you did gift your captain a painting of his favorite secluded lake scenery

he has it hanging in the foyer of his elegant flat

while you don’t really exchange gifts, everyone knows what they would get you

ghost has taken special attention to the brand of pencil you use and the gouache paintings that litter your quarters

everyone likes to joke w you on the comms

“hey do you think you could paint a picture with the blood of your enemies?” “jesus! soap…but yes i could”

[iantimony]

2024 year in review - roundup style, plus bonus graphs!

we're so back! doing things in a slightly different order than last year: first, reviewing the 2024 resolutions.

--> get back on a regular workout schedule: swimming 1x a week, weights once or twice a week. would like to try and work towards my One Pullup goal again. would also be cool to try and work towards a hand/headstand. Ha Ha. yeah. no. did not do great with this one. definitely did a non-zero amount of exercise but I probably averaged about 1 gym visit a week, if that. I think I am going to add a "working out" section to next year's weekly roundup, right now I've been posting that on dreamwidth under my 'gains' tag but I think slapping it in the weekly roundup will help a lot. I've been doing a lot more yoga than normal in December so I would like to keep that going in the new year - I paid for down dog last summer and have actually used it which is good, and I'm doing their 'every day January' challenge thingy so that should be a good place to start. realistically after January I will not do yoga Every Day but I bet I can make it happen 2x a week. more on that in the 2025 resolutions section.

--> try and be more mindful. i'm going to continue the grief therapy but also think about meditating more, doing more yoga, and so on. I got ghosted by my grief therapist at the end of January lol <3 and was quite bad about meditating and journaling especially this year - in 2023 I was really good about regularly journaling and I think it was really good for me but that fell off almost entirely this year.

--> there's a gallery on main street that solicits work from local artists for bimonthy themed exhibitions and i really want to submit at least one thing to it this year! the one due by end of january is themed 'florals', and the one two months after that is 'layers', so i'd really like to submit something to one of those. weeps cries throws up. I didn't even submit to the artists' choice show for December. I should have though - I peeked in the gallery and based on the caliber of work. I absolutely would have made it in. Oh well.

--> more weird art! use that big canvas i bought in literally 2022! paint!!! did essentially Zero painting this year besides some watercolor in a travel journal, Ha Ha. did not do anything particularly weird or fun.

--> finally put together that travel journal from korea & japan (and also scrapbook-ify the papers i have leftover in a pile from that) also did not do this :'D I DID work on my travel journal for England somewhat though.

--> also, maybe do current scrapbook a little different? might need a new binder at the very least. kind of! I did portion off the current binder into just 2021-2022, I have separate 2023 and 24 events in chronological binder sleeves but now that those years are done I think it would be cool to do them in a more traditional book format.

--> hang up that expensive quilt i bought in august IT IS STILL IN A PLASTIC BAG IN MY CLOSET …. however, I DID move into my own place this summer, and my boyfriend is going to help me hang it up in January when he's visiting after the holidays, so. it wasn't done but it's imminent.

--> speaking of quilt: do some hand quilting, english paper piercing! i have so much fucking fabric! did do some of this! have not finished that exact project but I did do some of it! I also have done a lot of Thinking about fabric projects which I know doesn't count but it has been marinating is all I'm saying.

--> find a new apartment to move into that hopefully won't suck! completed! only sucked a little bit to do, and the actual apartment itself is good, if a little dire in terms of insulation!

--> try to secure some sort of summer internship or project that will let me develop some new skillsets that i might not be getting with my current research this failed for last summer but I learned a lot from the process and am very optimistic about this coming summer.

--> finish the masters degree did do this!

--> write…a paper? for the work i just presented??? did not do this! it's complicated! big pain in the ass!

--> keep tweaking neocities and make some more pages basically didn't touch neocities at all this year.

--> keep track of recipes this year as well in my making section this was a success!

i might start a little spreadsheet this year to keep better track of all my stuff because i really did Not want to go through all my separate listening and reading sections and extract what i liked the most, etc. this post required me to first back up a few extra early tuesdayposts from this year to dreamwidth, and then skim all of them to accumulate the above, and that was kinda a pain. and i love an excuse to start a new spreadsheet. I did not actually MAKE the spreadsheet til December but fucking whatever I did do it. and it was great.

of those roughly 15 notes, if I am very generous in what I count as a success, I accomplished about 7 of them! about a 50% success rate implies to me that I was a little too ambitious. this was a 2023 not 2024 resolution but I did partake in bandcamp Friday this year also so that's fun!

now. THE DATA. there is a part of me that really, really wants to whip out some old bokeh macros to sexy-ify this data. that could be fun to host on neocities and/or my real-name website as an example of my data viz prowess. but for now, google sheets plots will suffice. they are not very accessible (color blindness, etc) unfortunately.

behold! a bar chart! this data isn't necessarily 100% correct or perfect, some of these numbers are deffo estimates.

listening: saw more live music this year for sure - saw Haken, St. Vincent, ELO, and Sammy Rae live and they all slapped. lots of podcasts, even more music. April doing some heavy lifting there due to the spotify algorithm playlists, especially the release radar but also other miscellaneous generated playlists.

my bigass 2024 playlist!

reading: I THINK I read significantly less AO3 this year but I read a lot of other articles and a few books! notables were Bunny (bad) and The Left Hand Of Darkness (good) (which I think mirrors last year, which was also [modern lit book] bad [ursula le guin] good if I recall right)

watching: more youtube in the second half of the year than the first. something about background noise maybe.

playing: largely dnd with a smattering of video games and magic the gathering.

making: mostly pottery with some fiber art in there.

eating: yay recipes :-) adding this section was a roaring success. considering compiling a 'favs of 2024' pdf to distribute. should be pretty easy to do so stay tuned for that.

misc: finished masters degree! saw the eclipse in April! became a member of my local temple this year! england/scotland trip!

the 2025 goals!

once again: workout routine! setting this at 1 day of cardio, 1 day of yoga/adjacent, and 1 day of weights per week. this feels sustainable. would like to make it through the yoga every day down dog challenge for January.

reintegrate journaling into my day-to-day.

clean up some digital clutter; organize photos and files, empty..my tumblr likes …… [80k posts]

generally move away from perfectionist tendencies (in writing/journaling (feeling compelled to record Everything), painting, etc)

submit to the gallery on main street for real this time

finish the travel journals

learn some quilting

get back into neocities! maybe start crossposting these on there?

read like...10 books this year

pass my prelim exams ;_;

onwards and upwards. good night and good luck. here's to 2025 :-)

[swanhild]

Your art is freaking amazing! I am so shocked and awed every time I see it and remember that one of my mutuals is so talented and creative 💕 How did you learn? What mediums do you usually use? Semding yiu happiness today 😄

Aaah omg, thank you! What a sweet ask 😭💗 I'm blushing now, but I'm very happy to hear you like my art!💕

I've been drawing my whole life, ever since I can remember basically, and I did go to an art-focused school (for graduation, I had to paint a series of self portraits and it nearly drove me insane 😅). Then life got in the way and I didn't draw or paint as much anymore for years (and only traditional art if I did), but I've always wanted to try digital art, so getting sucked into the Silm fandom and having an urge to draw blorbos (plus some work-related stuff) finally made me buy a graphic tablet. And ever since I've just been trying to get the hang of it, watching tutorials, experimenting with different styles and ways of doing things etc. For my digital art, I use Adobe Photoshop because that's what I'm most familiar with, but I'd also like to try out Procreate one of these days (I have a friend who uses it for her art and she loves it). I use a lot of the brushes that already came with my version of Photoshop, plus a bunch of custom ones that I downloaded from all over the place, often watercolor and charcoal type brushes over solid base layers of color because I like the way they blend.

Anyway, sending lots of love and happiness back your way! And thank you again for the lovely ask, you made me smile and I needed that today! 💕

[wilwywaylan]

As with every year, here are the drawings of 2023 I like best ! From up to down, left to right :

Mermaids just want to have fun (for the Lame Mis drawing collab)

A nice moment of rest

Dimitri and Vania having a moment (but they'd rather be inside)

A kiss over Pittsburgh (for the Take my Hand big bang)

The Meal at the End of the Story (feat. Ikea shark) (for Barricade Day)

The prettiest ladies in Alsace (for the Lame Mis drawing collab)

Four dorks, seven cats

It's raining but we don't care

Feuilly is having a moment too (but he's inside)

David and Genya are Adorable™ (for @crow-songs-at-dawn's birthday)

And here are two bonuses :

The Jehan cleaning the flat, representing the series of 22 drawings of Les Miserables characters that I Finally finished after one year !

and of course, our wedding announcement ! :D

I'm very proud of them, I've made some progresses on the backgrounds and am getting better at colors. I've also started using some watercolors, and I'm starting to get the hang of it.

(also Shadow and Bone <3)

I've also finished the very huge series of drawings ! Yay ! :D

For the new year : keep drawings poses and things more complicated ! Onward !!

[bates--boy]

[If he planned the shipping properly, Peter SHOULD be getting a box today, assuming he's at home to receive it. Inside, on top of everything else, is a papercraft card of a microphone, an album, and stars. Or, well, that's what it's clearly supposed to be: the lines are wavering and jagged from Raivis's tremor and inability to cut steadily, but by god did he try his best! Mans Kaijaspārnš, Daudz laimes dzimšanas dienā! Happy Birthday to you. I hope this year brings you nothing but joy, love, and success. Every year I am honored to be friends with someone so determined, kind, funny, and bright. Continue being a light for those around you, and never forget to shine on yourself sometimes. Here's to a great year and many more to come. Love, Raivis

Inside are a tiny pair of mittens in a traditional Latvian pattern, though the colors are in white, and pastels of pink, yellow, and orange like one might typically associate with seashells. There's a tiny pair of matching socks, too, and a little crocheted seagull plush made of the softest yarn he could find. Please ignore that one of the eyes is very kinda wonky. Now, for the actual birthday boy, Raivis has sent over some gingerbread cookies cut into stars and music notes, though a few have cracked on the trip over. There's a homemade bookmark made with high-quality cardstock paper, pressed flowers, watercolors, and in the best writing he could manage, a quote from one of Peter's books. A cord is tied through the bottom and hangs down, woven in threads of black, blue, royal purple, and shimmering gold. There are a few trinkets that he's bought from artist markets while on various business trips, ones that he saved up specifically to send to him. Lastly, there's a DVD with "DAINAS" written in sharpie. Peter said he wanted to see his choir work, but seeing as he's so busy, it might not happen. So, he managed to film a session. Is the footage grainy? Hell yes, but at least the audio is halfway decent and the quality is good enough to see faces. There's a sticky note on the case: I show you my songs, now you need to send me the link to your livestreams! With a little heart next to it. ]

[He's just coming home from his birthday party, carrying Sadaf in her car seat up to his door]

[Yeah, she's getting fussy]

I know, I know, we did eat too much cake, didn't we... Wait, what's...

[He pauses to read the shipping label and, beyond his exhaustion from today, feels a flutter of renewed excitement]

[He carries the box inside with him and sets Sadaf in his shoulder sling so they can open the box together]

[He reads the note and puts his hand on his chest] Oh, Rai...

[A few minutes later, Raivis's phone is blowing up with text messages]

[A photo of Sadaf trying on her new knitted set. Unfortunately, they're slightly too big, but she'll grow into them]

[Next, a photo of the trinkets sitting on Peter's bookshelf and work desk, with Jack and Rosé sniffing at them]

[Next, is a video]

[Sadaf is in the middle of her fussy crying despite being in her rocking cradle, but there's very familiar music playing in the background]

[Her fussing weakens, her eyes drawn to the television, and after she yawns, her eyes slowly drift closed]

[Finally, a photo of Sadaf asleep, cozy in her mittens and socks, the sweetest grin on her face as her head is turned to the plush toy sitting above her like a guardian angel on duty]

[text:] Everything was beautiful, Raivis! Thank you! 😍

@cryingyetcourageous

[crocodile-in-your-house]

I will be 20 soon and this year I will create more and listen to more music and watch more good movies (and bad movies) and finally be fluent in the language I've been studying since eighth grade. I will play more guitar and learn chords on the piano and maybe get back into the trumpet after putting it away a decade ago. I will find magazines and cut out pictures I like and glue them into a notebook to make collages, not for any reason, just because I like how it looks, and my hobbies will be because I enjoy them, and not for anything else, not for money, not for content creation, not for another person. I'll keep writing the novel I've been writing and editing since I was a senior in high school and I'll read more books (a lot more) and read the Bible and read magazines and anything I can get my hands on because I want to be full of good information (and transformation!) and if anything I want to be more feral like a 10-year-old girl is feral; I want to go barefoot outside, dig around, go looking for rocks, flowers, leaves. I'll pick flowers that are pretty and press them into a glass frame and hang it above my bed. I'll paint with watercolors. I'll make things and go places and I don't have to spend a lot of money to do it. I'll study and learn because it's not a chore to study, it's a privilege, learning and growing, and I'll go on walks, and runs, too. I'll do lots of stretching. Maybe yoga. And I'll cook for fun, healthy stuff and unhealthy stuff, just because it looks good and tastes good and it's new, and if I get my clothes dirty so what, they don't need to be sterile, or perfect, and in the summer when I am a camp counselor I will have more new adventures with more new friends in a new state with beautiful scenery. In the fall I'll jump in piles of leaves and go on more walks in the crispiness of the changing season. This year will not be easy but it will be cool and new, lots of surprises and lots of adventures, and I will be 20, and I will be content.

[steampunkhobo]

The O Brother wall has begun!

Finally getting started on decorating my room and priority number one is working on the dedicated O Brother wall. Here's where I'm at.

Big big poster. I wanted to frame it but all my frames are too small : ( and it got a tear so I really should have. I don't know the dimensions but it's like movie theatre size

Collages. These were made by my ex but they're really gorgeous (the glare did them so bad- what kind of blogger am I?) so they're going up. O brother transcends relationships.

Watercolor I did based off of this shot about a year ago. I might make a little post for it- I have lots of progress shots. This is as skilled as it gets with me.

The whole wall! It's not much yet but we'll get there. Wanting to hang up/frame commissions as I get them- probably'll have to work on more of my own as well. I'll also have to research and see what's better for hanging stuff. Thumbtacks are not cute.

[saveahorse-ride-a-cowboy]

When the boys finally reach camp, Jimmy’s shocked to find that they’re greeted with a shotgun.

“Woah, easy,” Jimmy raises his hands in surrender. “Hey now Mister- don’t shoot okay? We come on behalf of Miss Lili Harris.”

John lowers the shotgun and stares at him. “Lili Harris. She got my friend’s letter?”

“Yes sir,” Jimmy nods quickly. “And- and she sent us up here with supplies. For Mr. Kilgore and for all of ya. Coats, food, some wines, uh… a special gift chest for Mr. Kilgore. May- May we enter camp and deliver everything please, sir?”

“Cmon then,” John helps them navigate into camp and he, Dutch, and several others help to unload the items.

Murmurs quickly spread through the camp as all the items are discovered. Gun oil, fruits, expensive alcohol and juices… everything.

Arthur sits up at all the commotion. “John?” He calls. “Dutch? What’s goin’ on?”

John and Javier round the corner carrying the trunk of goodies for Arthur. “You never told us that your rich girlfriend was a Harris.” John snaps.

“What is all this?” Arthur asks.

“Gifts for you,” Javier explains. “From the girl herself. She sent all of us stuff. Warm stuff- and food- cheese! There’s a letter for you and everything but the men said this one is yours. All this is for you.”

“Thanks, boys.” Arthur nods and winces a little as he sits up more, carefully hanging his leg over the bed so he can sit forward and search through the chest.

His breath hitches at everything inside. Watercolors?! Traveling art kit?! A thick, warm coat?! How did you have enough-

Of course you did. You’re rich.

And you still thought of him. “My rich girl,” he breathes a laugh, carefully pulling out the letter resting in the chest.

My dear Mr. Morgan,

I am overly pleased to hear your name is not Tacitus Kilgore. Whole Publius Tacitus was a wonderful Roman historian, it is… quite a name. Thoight I cannot say mine is much better, as it is also Latin.

I am so sorry to hear about your injuries, once I contracted a disease so serious I was bedridden for months, I can confirm how stir crazy one goes. I hope you find some comfort and enjoyment in the art supplies I have sent, you have a true talent and I hope to help foster it. One day, I wish to see a piece of yours hanging in a museum. Maybe… gunslinger themed? Rich folks like myself would pay handsomely for a taste of freedom like that, I assure you. That’s just an idea, though.

I was happy to hear about your adventures! John sounds lovely. I’m curious, do you outlaws have wives and children running with you? From what you’ve described it sounds like you’ve got quite the family with you. I’d love to hear about them if you feel so inclined. I’ve included stationary and stamps as I imagine they are not an easy thing to come by up in the mountains as you are.

The drawings you have sent are so beautiful, it’s almost like I am there. I love my home but it’s always a treat to see new things. I’ve sent you strawberries and fruits from my fields, I hope they’ve arrived alright. Jimmy and Paul are two of my best riders so I have full faith in them. Please do not let them get shot!

As for you… I think your writing was quite eloquent and I hope your leg has healed some. I’ve included medicine and clean bandages to hopefully aid that process. Should you not heal properly… don’t worry too much about trying to survive. You are more than welcome here, Arthur. Any time.

As for me, I’m afraid my tales aren’t nearly as thrilling as yours. I’ve started a new charity, helping single widows take care of their children, and I’ve planted some blueberries in my south most field as I love a good blueberry tart. The apples have ripened as well and I’ve eaten so much apple pie I believe my cook shall quit if I even dare ask for another. (I’ve included a few jars of the filling as a treat for you and your men. It is not a pie but it is as good to eat with a spoon!)

Should you and your men find yourself back my way, feel free to come inside for some warm beds and good food. I always love company and stories, and I am sure your men have the best stories to tell.

If you need anything else in your travels, do not hesitate to write. Giving gifts is my favorite past time.

Do take care of yourself, Arthur, as I wouldn’t want anything further to happen to you. I have not, as you put it, found my someone special yet. The position is yet to be filled.

With kind regards,

Lilium Kay

P.S. the golden pocket watch is for Mr. van der Linde, Heather informed me he is a man of taste. The Irish setter puppy is for John, as I imagine a hunting dog is better company than the Mr. Javier.

[etygistudio]

300 Free Copies of a Watercolor Baby Elephant (Butterfly and Daisy included)

Hi there! Long story short, this is a clipart image of a baby elephant you can use in your personal or commercial projects. To get it for free, just click the following link and apply this promo code: ELEPHANT4FREE

Now to the long story…

Three things I want to be honest about right away:

It's not a watercolor illustration, the image is made with AI, but I've taken the effort to hand-enhance the image to the state you'll get it in.

It's not just about the money, it's about sharing some really nice free stuff with fellow creatives. It's also about taking your feedback and creating what you really need based on that feedback.

I am not a native English speaker, so mistakes may creep into the text, please bear with me.

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I plan to make one digital product of ten images with watercolor baby animals. I haven't decided what the rest of the animals will be yet, so if you have any ideas, please post them in the comments.

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Thanks for reading this far. Follow me to keep up with new updates and support my work. I'm going to release a new image of a baby animal soon.

[magicalheirponsol]

[✧･ﾟ *♚*･ﾟ✧ ]

Matilta certainly was an old fashioned name and he couldn’t think of anyone he knew who was named such. He’d only heard the name for the main character of a certain movie. Otherwise, he couldn’t think of another Matilda. Though, he also didn’t think that someone’s middle name could be Matilda either.

      ❝Is there a meaning behind your middle name? Such as it was the name of a great aunt or something?❞

A small sigh from the nose and a nod of the head, a sign that he accepts her condolences for his deceased mother. He missed her dearly, but he felt as though she’d be happier now. He and his brother were left behind with a dysfunctional family, however, and it was hard to really say he felt any kind of familiar closeness to anyone in his family. His brother… though strained, was perhaps the only one he could stomach being in the same room with for a bare minimum of an hour. The insufferable prick had a way of pissing him off- but of course he had the same effect on his brother, so it was an even trade off.

      ❝If you’d like to sketch Matilda, I’m sure she would appreciate that if a plant was able to feel emotions.❞

He liked to believe that Matilda would be happy with more company, but still quite saddened by the fact that she wasn’t hanging in her usual spot anymore. The sunlight hit different. The water was different, and so was the air quality. As if she mourned the passing of her owner, she didn’t seem to have the same vibrant sheen as before, but Ponsol was sure that he was just imagining things in his grief.

Whether he had a lot of cheerful memories with his mother, it was pretty subjective. Certainly, he had many fond memories with her, but the mere memory of her brought forth a lot of negative emotions and it wasn’t necessarily her fault. If anything, it was his brother who had more of a reason to feel negatively towards her, but he didn’t. He’d only blame himself for every time their mother would have one of her episodes, but how was it his fault for bearing a resemblance to their father? He could only hope that she was at peace now, no longer tormented with anger and pain.

      ❝Do you mean my mother? She had a friendly disposition, so I think she would’ve taken to you well. Any friend of her sons were received well by her.❞

Nunnally was a bit mistaken by something. Ponsol wasn’t necessarily running a large corporation, but he was the heir of one. He was slowly being trained on how to be the next head of the corporation so his grandfather (that Demon) could finally retire.

      ❝Pencil is also nice. I bring out the watercolors on the days I have more time to relax and paint. Admittedly, I am quite good with my fingers, and I do dabble in embroidery. I’m sure you could guess my favorite subject to embroider.❞

Which would be flowers.

At her comment about how she could be subjected to worse than gossips about being romantically involved with him, he only kept the smile on his face, but he offered no words in response.

‘Rather callous. That’s a point.’

      ❝I’m sure if you later send me the information, I can find the time to visit. Perhaps I’ll bring someone along with me. That brother of mine could stand to go out in the sun more often.❞

That inside-dweller had to get outside and socialize some more and seeing an exhibit may be a good excuse to force him outside.

“It is, indeed, a coincidence.” – she replied – “But I think it is a nice coincidence. It seems this name is not too popular anymore. Someone has told me it’s one of these old-fashioned names. Though I like it. I guess I am old-fashioned myself.” – She was old money. Her family was affluent and often called entitled. And she was the last of them. Nunnally knew the high expectations put on her shoulders. The expectations her mother could not bear.

“I am sorry…about your mother.” – she said; for a short moment she wondered if it was a right time to tell him that she was also half-orphaned, but Nunnally decided against it. Her mother was always a sensitive topic for her, and it seemed that Ponsol’s memories with his mother were much more cheerful than hers.

“I would consider it an honour if I could ever be introduced to Matilda.” – that was probably too much to say, but Nunnally did feel solemn in a way. It was clear the plant meant a lot to Ponsol and she wanted to acknowledge that – “Perhaps one day you’ll even allow me to sketch her.”

“…do you think she’d like me?” – odd question; Nunnally was aware of that, but their meeting was odd in the first place. Like they met thanks to or because of flowers…?

She nodded, when Ponsol suggested they could show each other their work. She was curious about him. More and more. He seemed a person who – despite running a large company – kept a soft side of his soul. Nunnally didn’t know many of such men and it, indeed, attracted her to him. She was considering asking what was his favourite theme to draw and paint, but she didn’t want to pry too much. And she did suspect these would flowers. Or plants. She’d find out later, when they were to see each other’s work.

“I like watercolours, too.” – she nodded upon hearing his choice – “But I would say I mainly use a pencil. It’s so easy so take it anywhere and simply draw upon a strike of inspiration.” – it was her little hobby, but that was not that Nunnally considered herself an artist.

His last remark made her feel uncomfortable. Nunnally didn’t think about the implications of her suggestion that they could match. She simply thought it could be nice if they had something in common. But Ponsol was right. She was careless. They hardly knew each other, so it would be inappropriate.

“I apologize. It was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable…or suggest something that is not there…”

“I just haven’t thought about the possible implications… Although…” – she laughed – “Please do forgive my inappropriate honesty, but I could be subjected to worse gossips than being romantically involved with you.” – it was a clear joke. Nunnally had no interest in getting herself into any relation, but since Ponsol liked the things she did, having him as a friend seemed like a good choice. Especially that her father would not object it. Or she hoped he wouldn't.

[xjoonchildx]

close call | myg x reader

🎵 summary: burying your head in the sand won't change the fact that the man you love walks a thin line between life and death. and sometimes you can't outrun your worst fears.

🎵 pairing: reader x mafia!yoongi

🎵 rating: mature, 18+, a wee bit self-indulgent

🎵 genre: smut, mafia AU, guarded AU drabble though it can be read as a standalone story

🎵 warnings: smut with feelings (of course) angst, a lot of angst, super angsty you have been warned this is a veritable angst buffet

🎵 word count: 4.5K

🎵 notes: so, uh...long time no see? phew fam, these past 4-5 months have been really tough for me from a writing standpoint. i've probably written and deleted hundreds of thousands of words and just felt really out of touch with my writing voice. why am i telling you this? because therapy is expensive and because even though i struggled, i did manage to push through it and that makes me feel really hopeful about a light at the end of the tunnel where this writing block is concerned. i'd love to hear from you if you like this and thank you guys always for hanging with me 💕

i borrowed these people's beautiful eyeballs and brains on this fic and i owe them all a debt of gratitude: @hobi-gif @thatlongspringnight @illneverrecover @miscelunaaa thank you all for being rad people and writers.

You hear music the moment you step off the elevator.

The sound drifts down the long stretch of hallway before you, echoing off the walls and then diffusing into the soft carpet beneath your feet. It gets louder with each step you take towards the apartment, swelling higher as you near the heavy steel door.

The sound makes you frown.

It’s dark and melancholic. The cadence is sloppy and the notes bleed into one another like muddled watercolor paints. There is no real melody to speak of, no cohesive thought binding the chords together. They hang in the air overhead like a line of mismatched laundry.

It doesn’t sound anything like the beautiful music Yoongi makes when he sits down at his piano. The lovely, lilting melodies he pulls from the instrument after you’ve both slept in and made love on Sunday afternoons.

That observation alone is enough to give you pause about what awaits you on the other side of that steel door. Never mind that it’s three o’clock in the fucking morning.

You take a deep breath and slide your key into the lock.

Behind the heavy door, your apartment is shrouded in blackness.

In the dark, the couches and lamps and artwork are reduced to rudimentary shapes and outlines. You drop your bag and coat on the table in the foyer, peering into nothingness until your eyes slowly adjust.

Until the man you love finally takes shape.

Yoongi is hunched over his piano, dark hair falling into his face as one hand pounds carelessly away at the keys. The instrument produces a series of sounds so mournful they make goosebumps bloom up the line of your back. Slivers of moonlight slip between the gaps in the curtains, casting shadows across his silhouette.

You take a few cautious steps closer and the finer details start to come into focus.

The rocks glass gripped tight in his free hand. The papers strewn haphazardly across the piano’s lid. All around him the air seems unsettled, crackling with a dangerous energy that makes the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

Then music comes to an abrupt stop.

“I waited up for you.”

He speaks without so much as a glance in your direction, the sound of his voice strangely foreign. There’s a hollow quality to it you haven’t heard before, some peculiar disconnect between the words and the man speaking them.

“I see that,” you say slowly, stepping closer. “Did you want the neighbors to wait up for me, too?”

Yoongi doesn’t laugh at your jab. Doesn’t do or say anything at all, just continues staring down at the keys.

Your heart starts to pound a bit faster.

You close the distance that remains and slide into the empty space beside him, close enough now to breathe him in. Close enough to make out the scent of his damp hair, the spice of the aftershave clinging to his skin. Close enough to smell the whiskey he exhales with every heavy breath.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Guess I’m a little fucked up.”

Guess so. You could count the number of times you’ve seen Yoongi drunk on one hand and you’ve never seen him drunk like this. Like he’s trying to drink himself numb. Like he’s trying to drink himself to blackout.

“It’s okay,” you lie, as if anything about this scene you’ve walked into is okay. “Happens to the best of us sometimes.” You reach a hand out to brush the hair away from his eyes, breath catching in your throat when he turns to face you.

He looks like he’s been to hell and back tonight.

Eyes haunted and skin pallid but for the ruddy whiskey flush across his nose and cheeks. He holds your gaze for only a few heartbeats before looking away. Like he’s embarrassed to be in this state. Like he’s embarrassed for you to see him this way.

Worry immediately climbs up your throat and threatens to claw its way out of your mouth, but you take a deep breath and force it back down. You stroke your fingers across Yoongi’s brow, sweep them over the curve of his jaw. He leans into the touch and catches your hand with his, turning his face to press a soft kiss to your fingertips.

“Yoongi, did – did something happen to you tonight?”

Your stomach twists at the pained expression that comes over him, at the way his eyes fall shut like he’s trying to push away a terrible thought. His grip on your hand tightens and so does your chest.

“Yoongi?”

“Listen, Doc,” he breathes, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

That awful twisting in your stomach sharpens. If you hadn’t known something was wrong – horribly wrong – before this very moment, you certainly know it now. You watch with your heart in your throat as Yoongi sets his whiskey down to reach for the papers strewn across the top of the piano. He presses them into your hands and you stare down at them, afraid to look too closely at the fine print.

“Look at me,” he commands quietly, and you immediately snap your eyes up to meet his. “This is important. This is everything. My accounts, the investments. This apartment and two properties in Daegu. It’s all here.”

The room goes quiet as Yoongi gives you a moment to absorb his words. As the meaning in them slowly begins to crystallize inside your brain. He watches the realization wash over you with a troubling calm, completely composed as you begin to stare back at him in wide-eyed horror.

“If anything happens to me, you take this money and you get the hell out of Seoul,” he continues evenly, as though the two of you are discussing dinner plans or something equally as innocuous. “You buy a house on Jeju and you spend the rest of your life working on your tan. Do whatever you want with it. But it’s all yours.”

Now you think you might be sick.

“Tell me what is going on.” Your voice comes out brittle as spun sugar, barely audible over the heartbeat now pounding violently in your ears. “You can’t just come home and say – ”

“The first thing you do is go to Namjoon. He can walk you through everything. He has copies of –”

“Yoongi, please –”

“Hoseok has copies, too. Just as a backup,” he keeps talking like he can’t hear you at all, undeterred by your rising panic. “They can have cash to you that same day if you’re strapped. Plus the rentals in Daegu have –”

“Yoongi, listen to me – ”

“So it’s not like it’s a finite amount of money. There will be more coming in every –”

“Stop!” You’re shouting now, barely able to think around the noise in your head. “What – what the hell is wrong with you?”

You stare at him in utter disbelief at how easily these words seem to come to him. By how unaffected he seems to be while speaking your worst fears out loud. It has to be the whiskey that’s making him like this. It has to be the reason he can sit here and calmly lay out a blueprint for his death while you’re falling apart in slow-motion.

But he’s not calm anymore, is he? Not now. Not if the spark of anger that lights behind his eyes is any indication. Your outburst seems to have jarred Yoongi out of whatever bizarre state you found him in. Now the set of his jaw is hard. Now his dark eyes bore into yours, the intensity in them unnerving.

“Let’s just talk about this in the morning.” You swallow thickly and add,“You’re drunk and I’m exhausted and – ”

“We’re going to talk about this now,” Yoongi interrupts, in a tone so cold and flat it makes you shiver. “We’re done tiptoeing around the shit that makes us uncomfortable, Doc. We’re not doing that anymore.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m done letting you pretend that this situation is normal. Because it isn’t. You need to get it through your head that every single time I walk out that door there’s a good chance I might not come back.”

He could have slapped you and it would hurt less.

It doesn’t matter that he’s right – about the way you lie to yourself about the risks he’s taking. About the way you don’t allow your mind to dwell on what he’s doing when you wake up and he’s not there. It doesn’t matter that he’s right about the hundreds of ways you’ve come up with to avoid the uncomfortable truth. It still hurts like hell to hear him spell it out so plainly.

“This money – ” Yoongi pauses to drag a hand over his face, “ – This money is the one fucking thing I can do for you if I’m not here, Doc.”

You let your eyes fall to the papers in your hands, the fine print you’d barely been able to see just a few minutes before now painfully clear. Line after line after line of numbers – numbers so long you’re afraid to acknowledge where they begin and where they end. Numbers so long they seem ludicrous. You don’t even know where to begin wrapping your mind around this kind of wealth.

And it means nothing to you. Not without him.

Tears start to fall against your will. Angry tears you try to hide but Yoongi sees them anyway. He reaches for you, tipping your chin up with his fingers and swiping at your cheeks with one calloused thumb.

You sit there with watery eyes and a battered heart and watch as the change comes over him. As the fire in him dies out and the frustration slowly drains from his features. He strokes your face until the storm behind his eyes ebbs away completely, leaving only remorse. Regret.

“God, I’m sorry, Doc,” he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’m so, so sorry.” He presses kisses to the bridge of your nose, your wet lashes, your hair. “I’m such an asshole, God, I’m so sorry.”

You don’t say anything. Not until you’re sure you’re not crying anymore, not trembling anymore. You wait until you feel strong enough to use your voice without falling apart all over again and then pull away to look him in the eye.

“Why are you so angry, Yoongi?” You dab at your damp cheeks with one sleeve and straighten your spine, lift your chin. “Why are you so angry with me?”

Yoongi exhales deeply as he takes the papers out of your hands and wraps his arms around you. He pulls you in close, close enough to feel the way his heart is hammering inside his chest. Close enough to feel the way his throat works as he swallows over and over and over again before he speaks.

“I’m not angry, Doc,” he says after a while, voice thick with emotion. “I’m afraid.”

He’s passed out by the time you get out of the shower, face pressed deep into his pillow.

You dig in his drawer until you find his oldest, softest t-shirt – the one with the hole in the neck – and then you slip it on. You slide beneath the covers and press yourself to him; bury your face into his back. He doesn’t stir.

I’m afraid.

Yoongi’s words echo in your mind as you lie there in the dark praying for sleep to take you. You think about all of the horrible shit he’s confessed to you after a hard night, all the truly terrifying shit you’d only gotten wind of after a night of beers with one of the loose-lipped maknaes. Not once has Yoongi ever uttered those words to you.

Not once has he ever admitted to being afraid.

You lie there in the dark and try not to think about what that means. Try not to run down the list of terrible possibilities, one by one. You lie there for what feels like forever, certain that sleep will never come.

But eventually, it does.

You wake to the sound of the shower running.

A quick pass of your palm over the sheets beside you finds them still warm, so you slide over a bit – burrowing into that part of the bed that still smells like him. You lie there and listen to the water fall until you can finally summon the will to move.

Your hair is wild this morning on account of sleeping on it wet. It mocks you from the mirror as you brush your teeth, as you comb through it with your fingers, trying to tame the flyaway strands. Yoongi’s worn t-shirt skims the tops of your legs, the soft, tattered edges brushing against your thighs.

This is how he finds you when he opens the bathroom door – dressed in his ragged hand-me-downs, hair chaotic, a mouthful of fluoride foam. He stops to lean in the threshold and your eyes rake over the beads of water still clinging to his skin, the towel slung perilously low on his lean hips.

“Hey.”

Steam billows out from the open bathroom door and Yoongi shoves a hand into his wet hair, brushing back the curtain of dark strands that fall into his eyes. They tumble right back into place, disobedient. You spit and rinse.

“Hey yourself,” you reply slowly, unsure of where he’s landed this morning after all the emotion of last night. Probably a bit unsure of where you’ve landed, too. “How are you feeling?”

“Not as bad as I probably should,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck.

He steps closer and you force yourself not to look down, not to be distracted in any way by the dusting of hair that starts low on his abdomen and disappears beneath the terry cloth knot. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, but fight the instinct to curl into it.

“I’m sorry about last night, Doc,” he says quietly. His eyes are clearer this morning, but the sadness still lingers. “I was way out of line.”

You shrug, toeing at a non-existent spot on the gleaming marble. “Yeah.”

“I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a long time and – I think I just kind of lost my shit. I should have done better.”

He cups your face in his hand and tilts your chin up, compelling you to look him in the eye.You find his gaze turbulent – some strange mix of contrition, arousal. Fear.

“Last night – ” he stops to blow out a heavy breath, “ – Was a shitshow, Doc. Hoseok was two steps away from taking a slug straight to the head. Everyone was shooting. It was fucking chaos.”

Suddenly it feels as though you’ve swallowed a spoonful of sand.

“But he’s, okay? Right? He’s not – ”

“No, he’s not,” Yoongi breaks in, saving you from having to voice the rest of that thought out loud. He drags the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “He’s okay.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re okay, too.”

“What about you?”

Yoongi’s entire body tenses at that question. His hand drops away from your face and the muscles in his shoulders and arms stiffen as he takes a half-step back. He sucks in a breath so sharp you nearly hold your own in response.

“I’m not going to push you,” you explain, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, you’re not ready. But if you tell me you’re afraid, then I’m going to ask you why, Yoongi. You have to know that.”

Yoongi drags a hand down his face, the tips of his ears pinking as a flush branches across his chest, his neck. You can’t help but feel like you’ve embarrassed him and the guilt is instantaneous, sinking in your stomach like a stone.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Really. We don’t have to do this right now. I can give you some space.”

You turn to make good on your promise, but you don’t get far. Yoongi catches your wrist with one hand, pulling you back to him with a firm grasp. “Don’t go,” he insists, dark eyes pleading.

“Then I won’t,” you promise. “Tell me what you need and I will do it, Yoongi. I swear it.”

He nods slowly, chest rising and falling with the series of steadying breaths he takes before he speaks.

“I went a really long time without anything to lose,” he starts. “It never mattered if I was out in the streets taking stupid risks every night because the only person who ever counted on me is me. Now all I can think about is you. What’s going to happen to you if I fuck up out there and get myself killed.”

“Then don’t get yourself killed.”

The words come out strained, despite your best attempt to make them sound lighthearted.

“It’s more than just that, Doc,” he persists, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. “Sometimes I worry that there will come a day when you wake up and decide this is too much for you. That it’s not what you signed up for.”

Your heart seizes painfully inside your chest. “No.” You shake your head vehemently, rejecting the notion with your entire body. “I won’t. I couldn’t.”

“The truth is that I can’t remember how I used to process all this bullshit before you. Now I think I have no idea how to do it without you. And that’s – ” He trails off, letting the thought hang in the air.

“Scary,” you murmur.

“Terrifying,” he corrects.

“Look at me, Yoongi,” you insist, stopping to swallow past the tightness in your throat. “I know what I signed up for. I know who you are. And I don’t want anyone or anything else. I’m not going anywhere.”

He takes you off balance with his kiss. It’s frantic, frenzied – tongue in your mouth, lips at your ear, teeth at your pulse point. You gasp when he crushes his towel-clad hips to yours, the swollen outline of his cock already growing against your belly.

“I love you so fucking much, Doc.”

Yoongi growls the words into your mouth, blunt fingertips digging into the rounded curves of your ass. You free your hands long enough to tug at the towel around his hips until it falls away, snaking your fingers between your bodies to seek him out. Yoongi hisses when you wrap your warm palm around his cock, grip tight as you stroke him from base to tip.

“I need you, Yoongi. Right now.” You whisper the admission against the corner of his mouth, one hand guiding his cock to the juncture of your thighs. He shudders when he realizes you’re bare beneath his old, thin t-shirt, as you slide the length of him against the slippery heat that’s already pooling between your legs.

“So fucking wet already,” he gasps, the muscles of his stomach straining when you rock against him, slicking him with the moisture between your thighs. He shoves impatiently at the hem of your t-shirt, swearing under his breath as he tears it over your head without a single care for its fragile state. Then he tongues at both your nipples, gets them messy and wet before taking one of them between his teeth.

You whine at the drag of his tongue, at the rough way he toys with it until the peak is stiff and throbbing in his mouth. His hips rock faster against yours, cock now gliding easily through your wetness. Your inner thighs are slick with it and when Yoongi takes your other nipple into his mouth you can feel yourself grow even wetter.

You dig your hands into his damp hair.

“Yoongi, oh god, yes – ” you gasp, when he adjusts the angle of his slide so that he’s stroking against your clit. He likes the praise, he always has – and he drives closer, harder, just to hear you gasp again.

“I gotta get inside of you,” he mutters, cock twitching when your hands find and squeeze the muscles of his lean ass. “Right now, before I come like this.”

You release him from the vice grip of your thighs and turn around for him, pressing your palms flat to the counter. In the mirror, you watch as he runs one appreciative hand down the slope of your back. His fingers linger on the curve of your ass for a moment before he slides them lower, slipping two fingers inside of you.

Your hips jolt at the friction and Yoongi swears under his breath again.

In front of you, Yoongi’s reflection looks serious, brows knit in concentration as he slowly fucks you with his fingers. A flush spreads across his chest and up his neck as he works you, one hand pressed into the small of your back while his other hand stays buried inside your cunt.

“Yoongi,” you beg, arching your back to push harder against the heel of his hand, “Please just fuck me already.”

He chuckles darkly, slipping his fingers out of you. Then the slick sounds begin. You watch him in the mirror as he strokes his cock, jerking roughly at the blunt head before he’s pressing it to your entrance.

Then he’s pushing forward, sinking that first thick inch and your body gives way with little resistance. You’re so wet he buries himself to the hilt with one fluid thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, pulling out all the way to the tip and burying himself again. “Shit, that’s so fucking good.”

He experiments with that same stroke a few times, reveling in the way your whimper each time he bottoms out. But he needs more, you need more, and after a while he abandons the slow, torturous pace and sets to fucking you with determination.

Your fingertips go as white as the bathroom counter.

He knows your body well by now, can bring you to the brink and back with just a few expert touches. The force of his thrusts makes you fold over and he uses the angle to his advantage, one hand gripping your ass tight as he fucks you and the other reaching for your clit. The combination of both touches has your legs shaking, the sound of his ragged panting sending a sharp spike of arousal directly to your core.

“Come for me,” he says from between clenched teeth. “You’re right there. I can feel it.”

He bends down to scrape his teeth against the back of your neck, his strokes becoming more erratic with each thrust. And you arch harder into the press of his fingers. Then you are coming, so damn hard your arms give out and you collapse against the counter, body pliant and weak.

Yoongi rides out his own release only a heartbeat later. Between his heavy breaths, you hear him say your name.

Your real name.

The human body is a remarkable thing.

It’s incredibly resilient; capable of withstanding terrible trauma. Designed to mend muscle, seal skin and fuse bone.

The scar that sits just below Yoongi’s clavicle is well-healed by now, barely visible at a distance. But you can feel it – what little evidence remains of both crisis and cure. You run a fingertip over the raised skin and marvel at the tiny dips and dents that live just above and just below the surface. Perfect in its imperfection.

Yoongi cracks one eye open to steal a look at you, quiet as he watches you absentmindedly map the faint line of his scar. The shower steam has evaporated now, leaving a chill lingering in the air. He draws the sheets draped around you both a bit tighter.

“This give you any trouble lately?” you ask.

“Nah. I noticed it a bit last week when it rained, but it hasn’t bothered me much since then.”

That’s another thing about the body. It forgives, but it doesn’t always forget. Pain can simmer just beneath the surface for a lifetime following an injury and some people even feel pain in limbs they no longer have. All it takes is the right trigger and all that hurt can feel fresh again.

Perhaps that’s true for more than just the body.

“You were right last night,” you admit, burying your face into the crook of his arm. “Sometimes it scares me so much to think about what you’re up against out there that it’s just easier to pretend it’s not real.”

Yoongi pulls you a bit tighter into his side, turns his head to press a kiss to the wild mass of your hair.

“Right or not, it was still a pretty fucked up way to go about talking to you about it,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you walking around every day waiting to get a call. That’s no way to live.”

Sometimes you don’t know how he does it. How he can leave this bubble of contentment the two of you have created together to go out there and walk a thin line between life and death. Sometimes you don’t know how he manages to keep one foot in that world and one foot in yours without fracturing in two.

The comfortable space you’ve settled into against him shifts as he takes a deep breath.

“You’re not going to fight me on this thing with the money, right?”

“No,” you sigh. “I’m not going to fight you about the money. I know why you did what you did.”

“Good.”

“But if I’d known you were sitting on that much money, we would have had that argument on a yacht instead of in this apartment.”

Your smart mouth earns you a pinch to the side and you yelp, pinned in place by Yoongi’s iron grip.

“That hurt.”

“It was supposed to hurt.”

Yoongi’s mouth curves into a lazy grin as you glare at him.

“Funny. Anyway if I were you, I’d be sleeping with one eye open, Min. I might off you myself and get a beach house and a pool boy.”

“I would haunt that motherfucker.”

The two of you share a laugh at that – a good one, the kind of laugh you feel from your scalp all the way to the tips of your toes. But after a while the laughter subsides. The humor slowly seeps out of Yoongi’s face. His dark eyes go serious.

“Hey,” he whispers, cupping your face in one hand. He looks down at you with such sincerity that your heart trips inside your chest. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that right?”

It’s not a lie. Not really. He means it when he says it, though both of you know it’s a promise he’s not in any position to make. But you’ll believe it, for him. For you, too.

You close your eyes and press your cheek to his chest; allow yourself to savor the feel of his solid warmth.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I know.”

hi i actually wrote something and i'm feeling very happy about this. thank you for reading i hope you find an extra $20 in your pocket 💕

[coriolix]

I got into Tumblr in the first place because Doomsday left me a blubbering mess and Journey's End created too much angst. I needed to find my people--the people who were suffering through the same thing! After so many years, I still am amazed at how much of a reaction RTD was able to wring out of the audience. In honor of his return to Doctor Who, I thought I'd share my watercolor of Rose Tyler. Her increased maturity and sadness in series 4 was really very interesting to capture. Her downcast eyes reminded me of the Pietà. I also made a 15 sec Youtube short video on the painting process. I just couldn't help myself. I just had to use the Doctor Who theme music!

Not sure if the Whovians are still hanging around Tumblr much. If so, I definitely read all your fanfics on AO3 to help console myself! Big Finish audio dramas notwithstanding, maybe now we'll finally get some answers on what Rose has been up to in the other universe?

[korbeedon]

Alright so let's get into this.

So the general idea I wanted was to show the transition of time through building styles. I chose a place in Seoul called Bukchon Hanok Village from where you can see the traditional Korean houses and the modern Seoul buildings in the background. I choose to do Korean traditional houses because I feel like they in particular have had a massive evolution of building styles in the past 100 ish years.

I especially like drawing buildings and nature and am fascinated by different cultures so I wanted to do a final art project that is a combination of that to represent who I am as an artist (which was the one prompt that we had to base our project on)

I used Charcoal for the modern buildings to represent my feelings about modern architecture, which is monotone and soulless. I used watercolor for the traditional structures to contrast the black and white photos in which you are used to seeing old architecture. In addition, Charcoal is widely regarded as the oldest art medium and watercolor is fairly newer so I'm contrasting the ages of the medium with the ages of the buildings. The woman in Hanbok was created by using a combination of both Charcoal and Watercolor to represent how the Hanbok is traditional Korean clothes while she is a modern woman. Also, the colors of the person are mostly the color of the Taegekgi (Korean Flag).

I don't know why I chose to use watercolor and charcoal as I hadn't used watercolor for a few years and had just done my first charcoal pieces the week before. I had a lot of trouble starting out with the mediums, especially watercolor as it took me a while to get the hang of using watercolor again.

But it was so rewarding to see the whole artwork come together in the end. I took photos of the painting after each class so I could see the evolution of my piece.

Overall, I really enjoyed this painting and am happy and sad for it to be my final air piece of the school year.

I'm back surprisingly quick. My final art project is finally done. I spent about 4 1/2 hours working on this today, but I hope it was worth it.

I'll be back soon to give a whole analysis of this painting mostly because I have a lot of thoughts and wish to scream them into the empty void.