#the way i forget how to colour every time i start a new drawing

[tokocoo]

[keeps-ache]

standing here in my star-patterned bathrobe holding a stylus while inscribing something onto my computer. it's wizard time baby

[scarletttries]

NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)

Steven Grant + Sex Tape: (prompt list here)

(part two of these 'recording' headcanons)

- After the heart-warming success of his first accidental intimate recording with you, Stephen would find himself revisiting that tape over and over again. Any time you have to leave him for a weekend alone, out comes his little camcorder so he can eagerly relive that special night and try his best to make up for missing your touch that night.

- But as much as he loves that precious gift you left him, he can't help but want to make a new one, something you both create together and maybe even equally could enjoy together on another night. He wouldn't be able to ask out right though, instead he'll drop a dozen tiny hints, mostly about how much he loved that first tape, and how incredibly beautiful you look when he's making you feel good, and how much he loves you, and loves having that precious memory documented to relive over and over.

- You'd of course give in to his less than subtle suggestions pretty quickly, his response to your video just the sweetest thing you could have imagined, and feeling so safe with Steven that you don't have a single worry about that footage going anywhere, or looking less than perfect, or anything like that because you know that man respects and worships every cell of your being.

- You pick a date for your very special date night, picking out a new set of lingerie for the occasion (and because it's so fun to surprise Steven with something new and watch his little brain immediately melt down to a mumbling mess.) By the time you get to his flat there's more candles lit than in a cathedral, and he's spent a week's pay of a very special bottle of wine that you once got as a present and so generously shared with him, on a night you two passed giggling sweet nothings to each other.

- After a glass of that sweet thoughtful gesture you two find yourselves all hands again, so giddy with excitement as you stumble towards the bed that you almost forget to turn on the camera, Steven reluctantly pulling himself away from your lips just long enough to oh so kindly ask,

"Love, are you sure you're alright with this? We don't have to if you're worried at all, I'm just so grateful that I even have one video of you. Or that I get to do this with you at all." You cut him off before he can start monologuing about what a privilege it is to be in your life in any role, the lovestruck man staring at you with stars in his eyes, so in awe of everything about you.

- You suitably reassure him that you feel just as lucky to love him, and finally you start the camera filming, pulling him towards you until you're confident he's framed in the shot, slowly moving your lips to his neck. As you lick and kiss your way along his throat, drawing soft strangled sighs from the nervous boy, your fingers trace down his shirt and start pulling it at his buttons one by one, until finally you can push it off his shoulders and reveal his broad chest to you and the camera. You can't stop yourself from running your hands over his muscles, looking forward to rewatching this moment and stopping Steven from folding inwards or hiding himself from the camera. You can tell he's still up in his head a bit, not as passionately exploring your form like it holds the secrets to the universe the way he usually does.

- Trying to draw his focus, you tip him back on to bed and climb on top of him, pulling your dress over your head and giving him a full view of the special outfit you had on underneath. His jaw drops and his eyes practically shoot out of his head as he starts excitedly babbling about how 'truly perfect you look' and how 'every colour seems to have been made for you', and suddenly his stage fright is forgotten and he's pulling you back in for a kiss as his fingertips trace along the lacy fabric, before slipping underneath your panties and rubbing slow circles against your clit. You find your hips moving in time with his rhythm, the excitement of knowing Steven would be able to watch this moment again enough to heighten the sensations. As your temperature starts to rise and your thighs start to twitch you make a point to arch your back and gasp out his name for the camera, immediately earning a groan from Steven as he starts to buck against your hips.

- You pull his fingers out of you with a whimper, and make quick work of undoing his belt and sliding his pants down his legs until his manhood springs free, letting you take a long slow lick of him that has Steven panting and begging for more. As you slip your lingerie to the side, mounting his lap and hovering just above his leaking tip, you notice his eyes drift behind you, the red blinking light pulling him back to reality from his throws of passion.

- Less than pleased that Steven is able to look anywhere but up adoringly at you, you slam your hips down against his, taking his full length in one breath and clenching down on him at the deliciously full feeling of having him buried inside of you. Right on cue his turns his attention back to you, gazing up at you in shock as you cup his face in your hands and state very clearly in your most seductive pur,

"Now Steven, the least you can do is keep your eyes on me."

"I'm sorry love, I just remembered about the - but it doesn't matter, I promise, I only want to look at you." Taking mercy on him, you start to roll your hips, before you finish your negotiations,

"That's good to hear, because any time you look at that camera, I'm going to stop moving." You pause your riding in emphasis as his gaze turns pleading, nodding quickly and begging you to move, promising to be good as you go back to sliding your hips against him, drawing out louder and louder groans that start to fill the room around you. You watch as his eyes trace along your content face, your bouncing chest, your wiggling hips, and finally your glistening entrance where he can see himself glide in and out of you, your own excitement dripping onto him with each thrust. It's almost too much to take and he feels his climax quickly approaching, his fingers returning to strum against your clit as he tries to hold off his release. Then his eyes dart behind you for a split second and suddenly his building pleasure starts to drop as you still your hips, desperate apologies falling from his lips in a plea.

"I'm sorry love, I didn't mean to, please keep going, you feel so incredible..." His core is aching with the tension bubbling inside it, so close to release and having no choice but to let you sit there on his throbbing erection until you see fit to forgive him. Luckily for him it's very hard to act mad at those puppy dog eyes, and when his touch feels so good between your thighs you know you won't be able to hold off much longer either.

- "I just need you to keep those beautiful eyes on me okay Steven?" You sound merciful, and he lets out a sigh of relief, until you add "and definitely don't let them close."

He's about to ask what you mean when suddenly you start bouncing on him with every ounce of strength in your thighs, riding him faster and harder as you feel him start to tense beneath you. He keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours, mouth hanging open in sheer ecstasy as he watches the confident smile on your face start to fall into an o as you get closer and closer the edge. He works you with his fingers, holding back his own climax and praising you as you climb higher and higher, finally crying out his name as your wall clench around him, your whole body shaking with the overwhelming release as pleasure washed over you. Steven is right behind you, his hips lifting up off the bed as he erupts inside you, legs trembling and hands clutching at your waist, making sure you can't possibly climb off of him.

- You collapse against his chest, resolved to spending a little longer with him deep inside you, Steven's arms only coiling around you tighter as he presses soft kisses to your forehead and pants out that he loves you so bloody much.

- It takes a little while for either of you to get up to turn off the camera, Steven finally volunteering to leave the bed, only to grab the camera of its stand, step back towards you, aiming the lens at your satisfied face before letting it drift down your spent body, stopping when he sees his own load drip out of from between your legs and feeling himself start twitching with excitement again. The last sound the camera picks up is Steven mumbling quietly to himself, "how did I ever get this lucky?"

[shadowglens]

like kerosene (on a flame of doubt)

fandom: read dead redemption 2 warnings: canon typical violence, blood and gore characters: alma mcarthy (oc), john marston, dutch van der linde, arthur morgan, assorted original side characters word count: 7,826 overview: alma mcarthy joins the van der linde gang, circa 1891 BEFORE READING: please open in a new tab as it's very long and tumblr formatting is terrible on dash 😭

1891, Wyoming

“I want those stalls all mucked out before lights out, you hear?”

Alma rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might disappear into her skull. “I ain’t your servant, Jeremiah. Do it yourself.”

“Listen, girl.” The slapping of his boots through mud bounced between the walls of the livery as he stormed towards her. “While you are under this roof, taking my gold and tending my horses, you will do what I goddamn fucking say.”

Evening was drawing near. Distantly, if she strained her ears over the sound of her associate’s - sorry, boss’ - incessant droning, Alma could hear a pair of coyotes calling to each other in the nearby hills. One of the horses in the stall closest to her stamped it’s foot with a huff, whether at the threat of wildlife or Jeremiah, Alma wasn’t sure. She absently reached to hush it as the man’s squelching boots finally brought him to stand before her. 

His cheeks were crimson, a vein popping on his forehead and disappearing all the way up into his receding hairline. The horse, a beautiful roan mare, was now at the front of her stall and huffed sharply enough that Jeremiah’s neckerchief fluttered. “Wasn’t I fucking clear, girl? Pick up the goddamn rake and get to work.”

Jeremiah Owens wasn’t a particularly kind man, in the grand scheme of the things. He only knew how to yell or curse, smelt not-so-faintly of manure, and Alma was fairly sure he had never bothered to remember her first name. Girl this, girl that. Still, she fought the urge to stamp her foot like a petulant foal. He had never laid a hand on her, for starters, and shouting aside, he had given her free use of the small loft space above his office. Right now, he was the only thing separating her from the warmth of this livery and the rain-soaked emptiness on the horizon outside. 

“I’ve gotta do up the papers for those mustangs,” she snapped, biting down the fire in her gut. “Mr Darlington was due to send one of his boys tomorrow mornin’ for them, or did you forget?”

That was the other reason she liked Jeremiah. When she’d turned up on his doorstep just under nine months ago, looking like a starving rat no less, he hadn’t just offered her a job - he’d brought her in on the less-than-reputable side of his operation. More than that, he’d let her help with it. Storing and feeding horses was one thing, but a horse fence was an entirely different beast. A lucrative one, too. She knew he had a few hundred gold stored somewhere in the basement of his house, she was sure of it. 

“I ain’t smooth-brained, girl.” Again, she rolled her eyes. Again, he glared. “The papers are already organised. Just muck the stalls out.” At that, he stormed back the way he’d come, no doubt to the comfort of his small house up the way. 

“O-kay boss,” she sing-songed, mostly to piss him off. 

To his credit, he didn’t bother turning back around. 

In truth, Alma didn’t mind the cleaning. It was mindless, sure, and it left her muscles aching every night in her sorry excuse for a bed, but at least it kept her busy. Didn’t give her too much time to think. If she had time to think, she started remembering, and that led nowhere good. 

She worked her way through the stalls as the daylight finally slipped away below the horizon. The roan mare was a legit purchase on Jeremiah’s part, currently the only one in the livery. A group of men had brought in a trio of mustangs a few days ago, beautiful beasts captured from somewhere over the mountain, and then there was the stallion. 

He was a huge Thoroughbred, proud, a striking blood bay colouring. Alma was sure he’d been nicked from one of the local ranches, but it wasn’t her or Jeremiah’s jobs to ask those kinds of questions. Either way, she’d be sad to see him go, even if he would fetch them a fortune. He was magnificent. 

Alma had reached his stall, and was about to sneak him a sugar cube, when something clattered to the ground at the opposite end of the stable.

The stallion jerked away from her hand, startled, as Alma too spun on the spot. 

Her hand went to her hip on instinct. Her revolver, as always, was holstered. Jeremiah had fought her on it for about a week before a wannabe gunslinger had held them both up over ten dollars. She’d been armed while working ever since.

The livery was deathly silent. 

Most of the lights were off by this time of night, only one illuminating her end of the stable and one in Jeremiah’s office. The office where the sound had, undoubtedly, come from. Alma crept in that direction, keeping her shoulder tight against the stall doors and the shadows they cast. There was only one place Jeremiah ever was at this hour, and it for sure wasn’t working. Lazy bastard.

A shape darted past the office window. 

Fury, at being robbed, at being stolen from, gripped Alma, and before she could think of any common sense she was sprinting for the door. 

The hinges were always loose and creaking, and even her slight frame sent the door slamming open as she barrelled into it. The shape turned out to be a person as the door also slammed into them, sending them careening into the far wall with a shout. Alma twisted, revolver drawn.

It was a man, scrambling to his feet while one hand gripped his nose. There was blood covering his chin and throat. She couldn’t see much of his face through his curtain of dark, greasy hair, but she could hear him cursing under his breath.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Alma snarled, gun aimed between his eyes where he was leaning back against the far wall. 

“You broke my fucking nose!”

She took a step towards him, gun still up. “You were trying to steal from us!”

He shifted, spat a glob of blood in her direction. He spoke like a street rat, kind of looked like one too, but his clothes were just a little too nice to be one of the petty thieves Alma was used to seeing around town. The leather of his boots, though now muddied, was clearly well looked after, and the holster for his own revolver looked well made. Maybe he was from a gang? Jeremiah had grumbled that there were a few that rode through every so often, but usually they brought good business to the livery.

“What do you want?” she snapped. Back in the stables, she could hear the mustangs cracking a fuss at all the commotion. 

He scoffed. “Your money. What, are you simple?”

“Fuck you!” Alma glanced quickly at his gun - still holstered. “Give me back anything you’ve taken. Now!”

Despite the gun pointed at his forehead, he had the audacity to laugh. “Or what? You probably don’t even know how to use that thing.”

Oh, this greasy fucker. 

The Alma from five years ago would’ve baulked at even holding a gun. Her Pa had taught her how, of course, but she’d been a proper little girl back then, with parents who loved her, and a warm home to run back to if things got too hard. 

Five years was a long time.

The man’s left arm, the one not gripping his broken nose where it was still streaming blood down his face, twitched closer to his holster.

No you don’t.

Alma shot him.

“Fuck!” he screamed as the shot rang out through the office and livery and the land surrounding it. The horses cried out, an owl scattering from the rafters and into the trees beyond at the sudden noise. His body slammed back against the wall, broken nose long forgotten as he clutched helplessly at his shoulder and the rough line the bullet had drawn through his skin. He was lucky she’d only grazed him and not put it between his eyes.

Alma stormed up to him, lunging, and before he could react she had his revolver in her free hand. “I said, give me back anything you’ve taken!”

She could hear Jeremiah shouting for her up at his house.

The man dropped to the ground, one shaking hand held palm-out as the other tried to stem the bleeding. Alma was close enough that she could see the sweat on his brow and the wide-eyed look on his face, like a startled filly. It was barely a flesh wound. He really hadn’t thought she’d shoot him.

Belatedly, she realised he was barely older than she was, maybe even the same age. More a boy than anything. Just like she was barely anything other than a girl.

“ - all of it!” he stammered. She hadn’t realised he’d been talking. “Get away from me, you psycho!”

He’d emptied the small satchel at his hip, sending an assortment of trash and stolen goods scattering to the floor. A few wads of cash, a stack of fraudulent papers that Alma had hand-written herself, a pack of cigarettes, a few twigs and rocks, a tin of gun oil that looked like it was nothing but dregs, and a little pocket knife. She took the cash and papers, thought for a moment, then pinched the cigarettes too even though she didn’t smoke.

She glared at him, raising both guns again. “I’m the psycho?”

“You shot me!”

“You deserved it,” she said, backing up to slam everything back onto the desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the drawers all sitting wide open. Subtle. “Now get -” she started, breath caught at the adrenaline coursing through her veins, “now get the hell out of here before I really shoot you!”

The man - the boy - just stared at her. His nose, thankfully, had stopped gushing blood all down his front, although now his arm was stained russet too. His shirt was well and truly ruined.

Alma marched over to the window he’d apparently crawled through and slammed her hand against the frame. “Are you deaf?! I said go!”

That seemed to shake him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. She tracked his every movement across the office, guns still razed, and simply glared as he awkwardly tried to clamber back out the window with only one good arm. She slammed the butt of his own gun against his back as he went, sending him tumbling into the mud outside.

He cursed, stumbled and slipped, before righting himself and sprinting for the edge of the property. If she squinted, she could make out the shape of a horse hidden just beyond the treeline. 

“And don’t come back, you bastard!” she screamed after him. 

Jeremiah chose that moment to burst into the office, door slamming open the exact same way it had moments before. “Alma!”

She leant back against the wall beside the window, a gun still gripped in each hand, and raised an eyebrow at her boss. “So you do know my name.”

“What happened? Did I hear a gunshot?” He eyed the leather-wrapped revolver in her right hand. Alma almost laughed when she realised he was only in sleep pants. Maybe the old geezer did care after all. “Where did that come from?”

“A gift from a thief. Don’t worry, I chased him off cause, unlike you, I care about this business.” 

Jeremiah just gawked at her. “You shot him?”

“Would you rather I let him take all your cash and papers and everything not nailed down?”

“Well, no, but …” he only then spied the blood smeared on the wall and floor. “Hells, girl. How many times did you shoot him?”

Alma scoffed at him as she inspected her new revolver. “Just once, barely. I’m not a monster.”

...

One of Jeremiah’s cousins, Gregory, came by the next day to help shore things up in the wake of the attempted robbery. The man was Jeremiah’s opposite - tall, rotund, intimidating - which Alma supposed was a good thing. It’d hopefully scare any other would-be thieves off, at any rate. 

Not that they had to worry. The next few days were entirely uneventful. Mr Darlington sent a few boys down to pick up two of the mustangs, and paid triple what they were realistically worth without batting an eyelid. Jeremiah had made her hide the Thoroughbred out back before their arrival, just in case their suspicions rang true.

Alma had also convinced Jeremiah to let her man the fence after her little display the other night. That’s where she was that morning, perched on a stool behind the cut-out in the wall with her head propped up on one hand, when a man on a beautiful white stallion came trotting down the path. Even from a distance, she could tell she wouldn’t like him. The moustache alone put her off.

“Why, good morning to you miss!” he cawed. In the morning sunlight, the red of his waistcoat shone like rubies. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

Alma just stared at him. “I suppose.”

“Quite an establishment you’ve got here.” He hitched his horse by the post at the livery entrance, then waltzed over to where she was perched around the side. For a new customer, he sure knew his way around. 

“It ain’t mine, sir,” she said, fighting to smooth her brow against a brewing frown. “Can I help you?”

He was right before her now, smiling with too many teeth and his silly slicked-back hair. “Forgive my manners. Dutch van der Linde.” The hand he held out was tanned, roughened, yet adorned with rings of all metals that glinted as he moved. An unusual combination. When she simply looked from his hand to his face and back again, the man - Dutch, apparently - simply smiled and shifted to clutch at his gun belt with a hip cocked. “I was hoping to discuss a proposition with you, if you’d be amenable?”

Oh boy. “Unless it’s to sell that pretty horse of yours, sir, the answer’s no.”

“Now, now miss, don’t be so rash.” Alma felt herself tense, toes curling in her boots where they were hidden behind the counter. She could image Jeremiah in her ear, insisting that she be amenable to all customers lest she drive away business. She forced herself to breathe as Dutch kept yapping. “I’m here to propose an offer to you, specifically. You see, one of my boys said he ran into you a few days back, said you had a bit of a … disagreement?”

Any pretence of her being a good salesperson flew out the door at that. So the greasy fucker was back to haunt her then. She pulled her revolver from the holster at her hip before she could stop herself, jumping off her stool in the same moment. Trust her luck that the moment Gregory was nowhere to be seen was the moment she needed him. 

Dutch, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he held up both hands in surrender. Still smiling. Still too many teeth. “Easy miss, I’m not here for what you think. Like I said, I have a proposition.”

Alma scoffed. Kept her revolver raised. “My mumma didn’t raise no fool.”

“I can see that. But I truly mean you no harm.” Dutch breathed out a laugh, or maybe it was a grimace? Alma could quite read the way his face twisted. “From the looks of John’s nose and shoulder, she apparently also raised quite a fighter.”

Was this the boy’s - John’s - father, then? Uncle? Alma supposed there was a bit of a resemblance with the dark hair, but it had been nighttime. Maybe she was misremembering. “Yeah well maybe you need to teach your boy some proper manners. Didn’t you hear it’s rude to accost a lady in the night?”

Dutch laughed properly then, glancing to his feet for a moment as if to collect himself before lifting his gaze back to Alma. His brown eyes assessed her. “Now, there is fire in you, miss. I knew I’d like you. ”

“The feeling’s not mutual.”

Another laugh shot from him, short like gunfire. “Hah! Now, where was I? Oh yes, I came to thank you for not killing John on sight, the boy was foolish to steal from such a … reputable establishment such as this one.” He waved his hands at the livery in question with an eyebrow raised. “I’d also like to offer you a job, of sorts.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m already gainfully employed, if you couldn’t tell.” Alma glanced behind her, hoping fruitlessly that one of her associates would actually be found in their place of work when she needed them. Alas, all that greeted her was the beautiful Thoroughbred with his ears perked in her direction. She kept her revolver gripped.

Dutch, apparently oblivious to her distraction, or perhaps not caring, soldiered on. “But does this place truly bring you satisfaction? Purpose? You’re clearly an intelligent young lady and have a mind for business and horses, and I just happen to find myself in need of someone with such talents.” He reached into a pocket of his coat, slowing as he saw her grip on her revolver tense, before producing a few pieces of paper. He gently placed them on the counter between them. Alma couldn’t help but gape a little when she recognised her own handiwork. “I’ve seen how you operate. Smart idea, faking the papers to get a higher price. I bet you’re making a killing out of the rich fools around here.” He paused again, for dramatic effect or to assess her reaction, Alma wasn’t sure. “Wouldn’t you rather put your skills to better use? Me and mine can offer you that and more.”

Alma fought the urge to ask where he’d got the papers from. “Let me guess? By ‘better use’, you mean scamming people for you, rather than this business? You must think me a proper idiot, just like that John of yours.”

It was an insult, and she’d meant it as one, but Dutch only kept smiling. Something in his eyes had sparked. “Think bigger! The government would see us civilised, chained up, would see our freedoms taken away. The rich folk around here no doubt deserve to lose some cash to you, sure, but a woman with your talents could be doing more than taking coin from a few oblivious ranchers. You and me and the others in my community? We can make a real difference.”

Surely he was a fool. The government? His community? Alma had seen how the law and the government treated people who didn’t fit in, people who lived outside the confines of society, and it weren’t pretty. As much as she hated the system sometimes, she had no desire to slide back into the fear she’d only just managed to crawl out of. 

Then again, what had her parents gained by being dutiful citizens? They’d been happy, for a time she supposed, but what were they now other than six feet under with no gravemarkers for Alma to visit? They’d done what they were told, had tried to live the great American dream, and it had torn them up and spat them back out like they were nothing. 

Worse than nothing. 

Still. Going in guns blazing surely wasn’t the solution either. No matter how many big, pretty words people like Dutch used to decorate it.

Gregory had apparently decided to finally do the job his cousin had asked him to, and Alma could hear him trudging through the stable in her general direction. She forcibly shook herself from her thoughts and perched back on her stool. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m mighty fine sticking to scamming the rich folk around here. Thanks, but no thanks.” She rested her revolver on the counter between them. “Now, if you don’t have a horse to trade, I think it’s time you left, sir.”

If Dutch was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. He simply smiled and held his hands in mock surrender, rings glinting again. “Well, if you change your mind, my associates and I will be in town for the next few days. We’ll be in the saloon, or nearby at the very least. You have a good day, Miss …?”

Alma bit the inside of her gum. Threw caution to the wind. “Alma McArthy.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss McArthy.” Dutch started walking backwards to his pretty horse with his pretty waistcoat and perfectly styled hair, and smiled. “Think about my offer?”

“Don’t count on it,” she called after him.

Gregory was beside her now, leaning over her shoulder to glare at Dutch’s receding form. His horse was small, fast no doubt, but he took his time trotting back up the path and over the rise. Alma kept her gun out until he was fully out of view.

“He give you any trouble?” Gregory grumbled, arms crossed. They were as thick as small trees.

Alma sighed, rubbing at her forehead. “Nah. Just … wanted to sell me something. I told him to sod off.”

“Hmm. Good.”

...

Alma was tossing and turning up in her loft above Jeremiah’s office, as she had been for the past few hours, when the gunfire started.

She tumbled from her cot, landing with a thud while her eyes adjusted to the near-pitch darkness. 

Another gunshot. Glass shattering. 

She fumbled across the small space for her gun belt, her revolver and the boy’s still tucked in their holsters. Lunged, then, for her coat where it hung on a hook haphazardly nailed into the far wall. The off-white of her sleep shirt near-glowed in the dark; even with her coat tugged on, her knees were still exposed. 

Another gunshot, another, another. Screaming. The horses were whinnying. 

A bullet shot through the wall of her loft, sending a spray of splinters towards her. Alma threw herself backwards on instinct, heart a drumbeat in her ear, and almost tripped over her boots where she’d left them scattered at the end of her shift. The whole livery was writhing as if in pain, had come alive with screams and gunfire. 

“Serves ya right!” someone - not Jeremiah or Gregory - was shouting over the cacophony. “Thieving scum!” 

It had been a relatively quiet few days, besides that boy trying to rob the place. Surely Dutch hadn’t returned? He had been a pompous ass with a stick a mile up his ass, but he hadn’t seemed to have any ill-feelings towards her or the stable. 

Alma went to make for the door, thought better of it, and tugged open the window instead. It was still at least a few hours before sunrise, the sky more stars than anything, and her eyes were still stuck with sleep. She couldn’t spy movement in the nearby treeline, but from this angle she could see figures darting about towards the front of the livery. 

“Come out here, you fucking coward!”

“Burn the place to the ground!”

“Flank them!”

It wasn’t too high of a drop, maybe a few metres. 

Another spray of bullets cut through the loft floor.

Alma jumped.

The grass and mud cushioned her fall enough that she didn’t snap both ankles on impact, and she never thought she’d be praising mud in her entire life. She made to run, slipped, fell flat on her front, and her sleepshirt was well and truly soiled now. Her mind unhelpfully supplied an image of the boy as he’d fled, bloodied and muddied as he’d been, as she now half was, and she cursed at herself. She could taste manure.

“Get the fuck outta my property!” That was Jeremiah. Alma raced to peer through a ground floor window, the glass shattered by bullets, and spied him crouched behind a stall with his rifle gripped in shaking hands. He was in the same state of undress as she was. “You good for nothing inbreds!” 

The remaining mustang was rushing its stall, as if in hopes of breaking free, and Alma could hear the roan mare crying out at the top of her lungs. Movement caught her eye towards the entrance, and she caught sight of the Thoroughbred’s tail disappearing out the stable doors with someone atop him. 

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Alma left her window behind and crept further along the outside wall, until she could just make out one of the men that had been decorating the livery in bullet holes. He was tall, criss-crossed with scars and looked as if he too had slipped in the mud at some point. Even through the grime and the black dots of her panic-riddled vision, she would recognise the family crest stitched into his coat collar anywhere.

The Darlington’s.

Well, shit.

The quickly-receding outline of the Thoroughbred disappeared over the rise. Alma wanted to punch something, shoot something, wanted to set the whole damned lot of them on fire. It was their own faults for being so complacent in guarding their property. Now, not only had a couple of hundred dollars worth of gold just run out of the livery, but it had left a trail of bullet holes in its wake. 

“ - pay for this!” The Darlington’s, those who weren’t in the process of also stealing the remaining horses, were still exchanging gunfire with Jeremiah. The mustang was giving them more trouble than it was worth, but a duo of fools were trying helplessly to muster it into submission while also avoiding getting a bullet between the eyes. 

“Darlington’s just lucky his whole goddamned stable isn’t here!” Jeremiah shouted. “Ain’t my fault he can’t keep his own things nailed down.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole!”

The roan mare was halfway out the door now, a rider grasping for her mane as they hoisted themself atop her. The swarm of gunmen was actually less than Alma had initially thought. She pulled her revolvers, crouched, aimed for the nearest idiot’s forehead.

Gregory was tackling the man into the muck before she could fire.

The two men went flying. Gregory was twice the man’s size, if not more, and easily had his opponent straddled with a fist flying towards their face before Alma could even blink. Once, twice, he slammed his fists down, spit and blood flying with every impact. Once, twice, she heard something crunch. 

Alma shifted her focus to one of the men trying to tame the mustang. Breathed. Fired. Unlike with the boy, she aimed properly this time, and the man crumpled satisfyingly as her bullet tore through his chest. The mustang reared back at the sudden freedom, sending the other man scattering away to avoid a hoof to the temple. 

Jeremiah seemed to be gaining ground too, his rifle picking off another Darlington. Alma should try to flank, get behind - 

Screaming.

Distantly, she recalled a gunshot. 

When she twisted, Gregory was looking right at her. He was still straddling the now-twitching corpse beneath him, his fists mangled messes, and his entire front was drenched in crimson. Not from his victim, though, she realised. Alma jerked forward on instinct, her body no longer her own, as she watched half his internal organs pour out of the newly-carved hole in his gut. She wasn’t sure if she was screaming. It didn’t matter. The thud of his body toppling to the mud forced her to her knees.

“You fucking bastards!”

Laughing. “Payback’s a bitch, Owens!”

“You fucking bastards!”

Hooves thundered past. The mustang, maybe. Alma forced herself to move, to throw herself behind the cover of a stall, as the gunfire kicked up again. Jeremiah was still cursing, still shouting, still firing.

She shouldn’t care so much. She’d known the man for barely a day. Her fury built, threatening to swallow her whole. He’d barely said two words to her. She wanted to kill something.

All at once, the sound came rushing back to Alma. The livery felt as though it was falling down around them. She spat out the taste of bile that had thundered up her throat, adjusted her grip on her revolvers, before standing and picking her next target. Most of the Darlington’s had fallen back to the stable entry, what with all the horses now having been properly stolen. There were still enough of them to be a threat though. Alma managed to clip one man’s shoulder, almost got another in the chest before he dived for cover, sent one falling back with a hole between the eyes.

Jeremiah cried out, deeper in the stable. Alma spun; despite the carnage, she could just make out his balding head through a hole that had been blasted through the stalls. A shadow was looming beside him. Seconds later, she could fully make out the man that had crept through the back door. 

The gunfire stopped as Jeremiah clearly struggled against his attacker. Alma, any hope of stealth long abandoned, sprinted for the pair. Gregory’s corpse. The rancher’s corpse. Her parents' corpses. Gregory’s corpse. The rancher’s -

She’d almost made it to them, had her revolvers raised, when someone slammed into her. 

Manure came rushing up to her, and for the second time that night she was rolling in it, hay and shit caught in her hair and coat. The bare skin of her legs tore against the debris of the livery floor. Her attacker, a wiry man with copper hair, immediately flipped her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died before it could erupt from her throat as he slapped her hard enough that the stars were suddenly inside the stable.

“Now, now, who’s this, Owens?” the wiry bastard asked, smiling as he grappled with her flailing arms. Not again, not again. “She’s a little young for a whore, ain’t she?”

Jeremiah had slumped back against the stable wall, but the fury in his eyes could have burnt them all to the ground. “Get off her, you sick inbred!” 

Her wrists were now pinned above her head. Alma could feel the cool evening air on her legs as her sleep shirt rode up. Someone else had moved to grab her feet where she had been kicking them. Not again, not again.

The man that had attacked Jeremiah now leaned over her boss. He had a bloodied knife in one hand. “I was gonna put this little lady out of her misery, but I think I’ve changed my mind. After all, who’s gonna keep this place running, once all that blood catches up to you, huh old man?”

Alma screamed, writhing, and earned herself another slap. 

The man with the knife wandered over to Alma then. Dark hair swung in his face as he crouched beside her and held the butt of his knife to her temple. His breath smelt of tobacco when he said, “We’ll be seeing you mighty soon, little lady. In the meantime, lights out.”

Darkness.

...

By the time she woke the next morning, her head was pounding so hard she could barely see straight, the livery was burnt to its foundations, the horses were all long gone, and Jeremiah was a cooling corpse laid out beside her.

...

Everyone stared at Alma as she burst into the saloon.

The place was quiet, which she supposed was to be expected given it was barely midmorning. Too early for the nearby ranch hands, too late for the drunkards. A small gaggle of men were half-heartedly playing poker in the corner; the sight of her dripping blood and stinking of manure in the entry grinded their conversation to a halt. 

She wasn’t sure if she recognised anyone. She didn’t care. This town, and these wretched people, would soon be lost on the horizon behind her.

“Jesus,” the barkeep shouted at her across the room, “get lost, girl, before I throw you out myself.”

Alma ignored him.

She hadn’t bothered to change out of her soiled sleep shirt. Couldn’t, not with the livery burnt to the ground along with any of her belongings. They’d left Jeremiah’s house standing, for some reason, but the place was better left to be the mortuary it now was. The rifle slung over her shoulder was the only remnant of the place she’d had the heart to grab before making the long walk into town. Her hair was a matted mess down her back, and her knees were still lazily oozing blood where they’d been scraped raw on the stable floor. A drowned, beaten rat likely looked better.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest. Alma was sure her jaw might snap in two at any moment with how hard she had been clenching it since waking up a few hours ago.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to flee after a massacre. Any respectable, well-mannered girl of society would scarcely be seen in public alone, or at least without a good reason, lest it bring scandal. For Alma, she felt almost called to it, like a compulsion she just couldn’t shake. Always catastrophe. Always running. Always one. One day she was sure she’d run out of horizon to swallow her up. Either that, or her own fury would do it for her.

“Did ya hear me, girl? I said get lost!”

She had the rifle pointed at his forehead before he could blink. “Shut up,” she snapped, even as the sound of guns suddenly being drawn ricocheted through the saloon, “before you make me lose my goddamn fucking temper.”

“Put the gun down!” one of the patrons yelled.

The barkeep raised his hands, leaving his dishcloth to fall forgotten to the floor. “Woah, easy there missy.”

Alma chewed on her gum to still her raging thoughts. “There’s a man in town, said he’d be nearby for the next few days. Dark hair, moustache, fancy clothes. Goes by Dutch. You know him?”

The other patrons were still shouting at her. The barkeep’s eyes kept dancing between her, the rifle, and undoubtedly the guns pointed at her own head. “I ain’t answering no questions with a gun between my -”

“Do you know him?” A piece of her spit landed on his cheek.

“Who’s asking?”

Alma risked glancing to her right, towards the back of the saloon, and there in all his pretend finery was Dutch Van der Linde. The pomade in his hair was still stiff as bricks, and his outfit remained largely unchanged from when she’d seen him a few days ago. His boots were muddied at the edges, but at a quick glance he didn’t seem any worse for wear. Definitely not like he’d been involved in a major shoot-out or arson attack. 

Dutch’s gaze was cold where it landed on her. One of his hands was gripping his gun belt casually, although she didn’t doubt he was quick on the draw. It took him a moment, his eyes bouncing around her face, before they sparked in recognition. “Miss McArthy, is that you? By God you look miserable.”

“It’s been a long day.” Alma glared back at the barkeep, her nose scrunched, before begrudgingly lowering the rifle. “I’d say thanks for the assist, but I figure you probably deserved the bullet.”

The barkeep, for his part, seemed less phased without a gun in his face. “I weren’t lying, girl. Get the fuck out of my establishment. You ain’t welcome here no more.”

“Or what?” she spat, Dutch forgotten for the moment. “You’ll call the sheriff down on me? That good-for-nothing asshole couldn’t even jerk himself off if he tried .”

Someone coughed out a laugh by the stairs.

“Now, now, what Miss McArthy means to say,” Dutch said from where he’d suddenly walked up beside her, “is thank you for your incredible hospitality. We were just going, weren’t we my dear?”

“Don’t put -”

Dutch gripped her forearm. “Weren’t we?”

There were too many guns surrounding her, and she wasn’t a total fool. She’d have to find someone else to beat her anger onto. Maybe Dutch and his perfect little waistcoat would do. The look he was sending her made her insides boil enough as it was, but she eventually relented and let him drag her towards the back door.

They passed the stairs and another soft laugh escaped one of the two figures leaning there. Dutch wasn’t even looking at her as he led them outside, but called over his shoulder, “Come along, boys.”

“Real charmer you’ve got there, Dutch. I’m surprised you two didn’t get along better, Marston.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Alma waited until they were outside proper before wrenching her arm free. She still had the rifle gripped in one hand, and spun with it loosely gripped to glare at the trio. Dutch had stopped to assess her with his arms crossed, hip cocked as usual, and despite the commotion inside there was the ghost of a smile on his face. The young man beside him was as tall and broad as an oak tree, with hair like dirtied sand and a healthy spray of stubble across his jaw. He was in the process of jabbing a younger man beside him, who was all wiry limbs, dark hair and - 

“You?!” Alma shouted, stomping a step forward. 

The boy - John, if she remembered Dutch correctly - flinched back on instinct, which just seemed to make the tall man laugh. 

“Stay the hell away from me!” John shouted in the same moment that the tall man laughed, “Watch out, Marston, or she’ll skin ya alive.”

“There will be no skinning,” Dutch said with a sigh as he stepped between them all, and Alma wondered again if he was the boys’ father. “Miss McArthy, this is Arthur Morgan.” He indicated the tall man, who was still laughing under his breath. “And we all know you’re well acquainted with young John Marston.”

She just glared at them. John glared right back. Alma didn’t miss the way he rubbed absently at his shoulder.

Dutch apparently took that as an invitation to continue. “Introductions aside, I must ask, Miss McArthy, what brought you to be in such a state of disarray? I’m understandably thrilled that you’ve come to discuss what I offered but, I’ll admit I wasn’t convinced I’d ever see you again.”

There wasn’t any pretty way to describe a slaughter, she knew that from experience. Judging from the copious weapons strapped to the three men before her, she figured they weren’t squeamish. Still, she’d rather not think about it. “People change. It’s human nature, in case you weren't aware.”

He laughed. “That fire’ll sooner get you into trouble you can’t fight your way out of, miss.” He took a step towards her, hands in his pockets. “The truth?”

She glanced at John and Arthur, but they were both leaning against the back of the saloon, spectating. Fabulous. 

“You said you and your ‘community’ were out to make a difference. That you help people, take from the rich, that kinda thing.” She swallowed the bile and fire in her throat. “Turns out those oblivious ranchers you were talkin’ about weren’t so oblivious after all.”

Dutch, for his part, did look genuinely struck as the truth settled in his mind. “The stables?”

She shrugged, indicating her ruined form. “What’s left of it is standing right here.”

“I am sorry, miss. Truly.”

Alma scoffed. Began to pace, rifle still white-knuckled in front of her. “I ain’t here for your sympathy. I came for your help.”

“Dutch is many things, Miss McArthy, but he ain’t a god.” Arthur leaned forward as he spoke, his face half obscured by his hat. “Can’t turn back time, I’m afraid.”

She fought the urge to walk up and hit him. “You think I’m simple? I’m no fool.” He held up his hands in mock surrender as John snickered beside him. She turned her gaze back to Dutch, who hadn’t entirely dismissed her. “I know who did it. I know where they live. You help me settle this debt, I can make it worth your while.” 

“As sorry as I am to see you in such a state, Miss McArthy, my people and I don’t operate on revenge.”

“Bullshit you don’t!” she snapped, stepping so close she could smell Dutch’s cologne. “You’re outlaws, aren’t you? A gang? Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you lot are. ‘Community’ my ass.”

Arthur took a tentative step away from the wall, the line of his shoulder suddenly sharp. Dutch simply held her gaze, and when he spoke his voice dripped of barely-contained venom. “You’re walking on mighty thin ice, miss. Best you don’t stomp too hard.”

“I ain’t judging you. We all do what we need to get by. Hell, I’m not saint.” Alma indicated her blood-stained clothes. “I know what you are though, what you do.” She jabbed a finger into his chest despite the way he towered over her. “You said you like sticking it to rich folk. Help me do that and I can guarantee you coin for your trouble.”

The little patch of grass behind the saloon was quiet for a long moment. John had started pacing a little, still scratching at his shoulder. Arthur was watching Alma’s hands where she was gripping the rifle.

She knew she had Dutch hook line and sinker when he tilted his head, all predator. “How much coin are we talking, exactly? And from who?”

“At least a few thousand, probably more.” Arthur whistled at that. “The Darlington’s own a big ranch west of town. Follows the river, has the big fuck off homestead planted in the middle. You’ve probably seen it. They took all our horses before sparking their matches, and I’m sure there’s a few more on the property worth pinching. Their Thoroughbred stallion alone would fetch you seven hundred.”

Dutch raised an eyebrow at her with a hand on his hip. “So you expect us to not only break into a heavily guarded ranch, but also walk out of there with multiple horses that we’d then need to resell? And the establishment where we’d do such a thing just got burnt to the ground.”

John was looking at her like she’d hit her head.

“You’re outlaws, aren’t you? Surely you do this sort of thing all the time?”

“Not exactly,” Arthur said, but he was scratching his chin in thought. “I know the place, Dutch. Hosea got talking to one of the ranch hands yesterday at the store. Could be worth our time.”

“Of course it’s worth your damned time!”

 “I’ll be the one who decides that, thank you miss.” Dutch planted a hand on her shoulder. “After we do this, and it pans out, what do you say about my offer? A young lady like you would be wasted on the streets in a backwater dump like this, and I’d hate to see you suffer.”

The man was as slimy as a snake and half as pretty, but Alma wouldn’t pretend that the offer wasn’t … tempting, especially given her current circumstances. Her mumma had always warned her away from trusting powerful men, especially those with only illusions of it, but what choice did she have? She’d been burned before, and she’d likely be burned again. If they didn’t do it, she’d surely just do it to herself.

His questionable company and fashion taste aside, Dutch didn’t seem entirely insane. Arrogant, prideful - sure. At least in that regard he was honest about his intentions. Jeremiah had been a weak man, at his core, and Dutch seemed as far from weak as you could physically get. Arthur, too. John … well he didn’t count.

Alma looked at Dutch and sighed. “So you’ll go to the ranch?”

“Let’s just say you’ve sold me on the idea,” he said with a smile, squeezing her shoulder where it was still gripped in his hand. “Besides, you were right. I do like knocking rich folk down a peg or three, especially when we profit from it. It’s good for my soul and pockets.”

A chill wind rushed between the buildings. Alma remembered her state of undress, and ached for warmth and a home that no longer existed. When she met Dutch’s eyes, she saw burning. 

“If it pans out. We could all be riddled with bullets in a few days.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss McArthy!” Dutch laughed, clapping her on the back. “Arthur, see about getting the young lady cleaned up and fed, won’t you? We’ll head back to camp and start talking out this plan.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” John shouted, eyes wide as saucers. “You’re letting this psycho stay, just like that?”

Alma spat back, all venom, “Says the greasy rat who smells like he crawled out of a gutter. What are you good for anyway, besides annoying everyone?”

Dutch just rolled his eyes and walked off, calling after John over his shoulder. Arthur met Alma’s eye with a smirk, before turning to ruffle John’s dark hair where he still stood, gawking. 

“Oh, little Johnny Marston here is good for lotsa things. Failures of plans, entertainment, target practice -”

“I hate you both,” John grumbled as he stormed off after Dutch, who had already disappeared around the corner. 

Alma couldn’t really find it in herself to laugh, not crusted with blood and manure as she was, but in another life she would have. As it stood, she just slung the rifle back over her shoulder and winced as the movement caught on her bruised side. The pain made her remember Jeremiah and Gregory, slaughtered and left to rot in the sun, and she had to swallow bile for the third time that morning.

If Arthur noticed, he thankfully didn’t say anything. “I think you and me are gonna get along just fine, Miss McArthy.”

In the almost-midday sun, the blue of his eyes glinted. “I wouldn’t be so sure, not with the company you keep.” He laughed under his breath. “And … just Alma is fine, if it’s all the same to you.”

He waved a hand in the general direction of the main street, and Alma down a nearby alley beside him. His shadow engulfed her. “‘Course. Let’s get you cleaned up and pretty before we all get shot by your ranchers tomorrow.”

“Don’t blame me for being realistic. And they ain’t my ranchers. I’d sooner see ‘em gutted like pigs for what they did.”

Arthur looked at her with a raised eyebrow, shaking his head, but kept pace with her as they headed towards the local hotel. “Miss Grimshaw is gonna love you.”

...

Two days later, Alma was fleeing the Darlington ranch with a few hundred dollars in her pockets and a freshly stolen mustang mare underneath her. A week later, she was halfway across the state with a gang of outlaws known as the Van der Linde gang. 

And that, as they say, is that.

...

TAGLIST:

@nokstella, @celticwoman, @florbelles, @zahra-hydris, @arborstone

@kibellah, @carrionsflower, @fenharel, @daerans, @fashionablyfyrdraaca

@loriane-elmuerto, @imogenkol, @knakrack, @roguecritter

[lovelyelbowleech]

All's Fair is incredible! I am on my third re-read and it is just as much of an emotional gutpunch as it was the first time. The emotional impact sneaks up on me every time, even when I know what's coming. It blows my mind how carefully woven everything is. Even just small characterizing details that help make the characters and situations feel so real. You also have a way of writing that flows so smoothly with the emotions each character is feeling, like I don't know how to describe it but it's so well-paced and descriptive and I can picture and feel everything when reading it both from the characters POV and also in a more objective sense at the same time, which is extremely difficult to pull off in my opinion. It is insane to me how easy you make it seem with your writing.

Another thing, too, is that this doesn't even really feel like an alternate universe. It's like you shifted one thing in the beginning with a little flick and we're seeing the ripple effects of that play out naturally, as though you're just sitting back and reporting your findings instead of crafting an entirely new story from thin air. Everyone is so in character that I can hear their voices in every line. Even your OCs feel 'In character' even though you literally created them for the story lmao?? Like I actually forget they're not canon characters sometimes.

ANYWAY- I got sidetracked. my intention for this ask was to actually ask how you pictured some of your characters in more detail. I want to draw art of my favorite scenes and am trying to compile little snippets of character appearances, particularly of Guo, Yuxuan, and Haoyu. I have sincerely contemplated starting a google doc to catalogue all the little details of every character, even the minor ones, like a Pokémon deck I can flip open and consult whenever I want to refresh my memory.

Thank you so much for such a lovely comment, it was wonderful to wake up to! I am glad you are enjoying the fic so much (enough for a reread or two even!) There is some really high praise there, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy 😂❤️

It is always very exciting when folk say they want to draw art of the fic (even if its just for themselves!) So I will try to add a more detailed description to the character description page I have somewhere. There is not too much in the way of description of the OC's in the actual fic - and there is certainly no wrong way to depict them in art! What is in the fic is not hugely detailed 😂 but a very brief collection of the descriptions would be:

Guo: Short and stocky, facial hair, and a wide craggy face. Big broad hands. Hair currently short (post East Lake) gruff and grumpy to look at.

Haoyu: on the shorter side of average, about 18, round face, green eyes and dark brown hair, currently cut short (post East Lake). Very earnest and open looking face (which has been used to get him out of trouble more than once)

Yuxuan: a year or two older than Haoyu, long dark brown/black hair and honey coloured eyes. Good looking, and has a certain amount of rakish charm.

I am not sure if that is helpful or not! I will try to update the character sheet with additional OC's this week if I can. And thank you again for the wonderful ask!

[lunadeathbed]

Hi Ren

Notes: How I think Ren would react to the MC getting freaky with a toy and calling out his name. (–‿⁠・⁠)

!!! Gender-Neutral Anatomy (technically I guess, the hole isn't specific 👀) + Reader!!!

My writing doesn't specify any gender or body parts so interpret it however you like!

Pink : Ren Blue : Angel

The colour will tell you who's perspective your reading from, the first word is a different colour. Every time the perspective changes the colour changes. Also texts and dialogue are just highlighted to tell you who is saying what not the perspective.

Part 2 of Normally Not Normal ↓

You enter your bedroom in just a plain black shirt.

Ren already knew what you were up to after you left your room to go shower. What he didn't expect though was the brand new black vibrator you walked into the room with, he hadn't seen that one before. He watched you closely as you sat down on your bed, puting the vibrator on a towel to your left

Pulling out your phone you look at your contacts, clicking on Ren's you started to question whether this was a good idea.

You inhaled and send the text.

“Hey Ren”

Ren certainly wasn't expecting to be getting a message from you right now. He sent one back as fast as he could.

“What's up angel?”

You were surprised at how fast he replied. It was certainly to late to back out of this now.

“I was wondering if you wanted to hang out later?”

“I was gonna binge a bunch of horror movies and I know that you like them too”

You hoped you weren't being to forward, waiting for his response you bit your bottom lip.

Ren was ecstatic, YOU were asking HIM to hang out.

“Of course, I would love to”

“What time do I need to get there?”

Ren smiled to himself, you were really adorable and so thoughtful too.

You nearly jumped of your bed at your excitement. You bearly managed to answer him.

“At like 8 maybe a bit earlier”

Watching you through the camera he looked at you fondly. How could you be so amazing. You really were an angel.

“I'll pick up some snacks on the way over”

“Ok”

It was currently 6 you still had some time before Ren arrived. You left the room to go get something.

Ren watched intently as you stood up and left the room shortly returning with a bottle of lube. He knew the exact type you were using, he even bought the same one. He pulled out his own bottle from the side draw of his desk.

He continued to watch you as you opened the cap and squeezed some onto your hand, rubbing it over the vibrator. Ren felt his excitement rise, his sweats began to feel a bit to tight to contain his throbbing boner. He pulled down his pants to relieve some tension, covering his dick in some of the lube. He imagined the feeling of your hands stroking his length. They were so small compared to his, so much gentler and warm.

You lifted your shirt enough to get better access to yourself, parting your legs in a more suitable position.

Ren watched as you turned on the toy and pressed it against yourself, listening to your soft moans. He himself started at the same pace pressing down on his length slowly letting a groan escape him.

You continued to rub the toy against yourself gasping whenever it hit you just right. Finally pushing the toy into your needy hole, you moan out Ren's name.

Ren stared at the screen in total awe listening to you call out his name nearly every time you buried the vibrator back into yourself.

It was heavenly.

Matching your pase, his own moans and breaths mix with yours coming from the monitor.

You began to pick up your pace letting a string of his name come out, slurring your words. You imagined how he felt inside you. How his significantly larger hands held down your waist, how his touch was so gentle. The way he looked at you, the way he said your name. How his soft hair clung to his face, his fresh sent of mint and linon swirling in the air.

You loved how Ren felt so intoxicating, almost like poison making his way through your thoughts until you couldn't think about anything else. You felt your eyes role back and the waves of pleasure come over you.

Ren came it sync with you as you called out his name. Breathing heavily he felt a surge of needy possessiveness rise over him.

You were his Angel.

His and only his.

You even said it yourself.

He wanted-no needed to hear your voice. Reaching for his phone he waited a second to calm down before calling you.

You heard your ringtone go of, you paused catching your breath for a second looking at the screen.

Ren was calling.

He sure had some impeccable timing.

You answer the call.

“Hi Ren”, you sounded a bit out of breath. You hope it wasn't too noticeable.

“H-hey Angel”, he sounded a bit out of breath too. You wondered why a little, he was probably working out or something. He certainly had the build of someone who did.

Ren spoke again snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Are there any snacks you want me to pick up?”

“I forgot to ask earlier”

Oh, right. Horror movie binge.

"hmm"

“Uh, can you get some ramen cups?”

“Sure thing Angel, anything else?”

“mhh, no get whatever you want”

“Ok Angel, I'll see you soon”

“Bye Ren”

Ren enjoyed toying with you a little even when he “wasn't” ment to be. He looked at the monitor displaying your bedroom. You looked a little dumbstruck as you collapse back onto your bed.

Notes: I wrote this while watching a shitty action movie at 10 o'clock at night

(⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

Also there's gonna be a part 2 but I'm not sure if I wanna make it another smut or wholesome, I might do a bit of both. Let me know what the people want plz. This is the first time I'm posting my work so please be nice.

(⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

If there are any errors or feedback please let me know!

[rewordthis]

The struggles of art, are not for everyone.

It’s really not, indeed.

You have to like the process first and foremost.

If when putting the tip of the pencil down onto paper your main thoughts are how you’re bad, how you won’t have any progress, or hope you’ll be as good as those famous artists you follow on here or Twitter, then you’re really doing it wrong.

I’ve been drawing for forever and I still don’t seem to make anything better than before but having an old drawing around always puts things into perspective. I draw because it gives me peace of mind. If it just gives you anxiety then sure, it’s not for you.

And in the end, what I love the most about it is the sensation of my pencil-tip scratching that blank void that a sheet of paper is. Not the prospect of earning likes, a following, or money from it. I have tons of art that’ll never see the light of day for many reasons, that I’m so hang up on the fact that I made it. I was in my best condition when I made those pieces, in the right headspace, I was whole. The muses guided my hands these times, God smiled down on me.

What can I say? I’m a girl of simple things.

But the whole debate about whether AI is a medium for creation or easy theft, has soured my mood.

I do NOT consider AI art when its main ‘reference’ is straight up stealing and plagiarising someone’s sweat and tears. Before feeding it your favourite artist’s (or writer’s) work to mince and chew it up like it’s nothing in order to vomit a halfassed attempt at creation on your part remember this, the artists and writers the works of you used, are real people. They breathe, they eat, they cry. They pour TIME into their works. Time that you do NOT respect. They put feelings into their works. Feelings that you do NOT respect. For some of them, it’s also their main income. Income that you DEVALUE by stealing what is considered a unique trait of their trade!

You will NEVER learn anything nor get better at anything other than stealing that way. Because you haven’t known the value of hard work. The value of putting a chip of your soul into what you make. The value of living inside every work you’ve ever CREATED. You never lost sleep, food, or a piece of your sanity trying to make something from scratch. Trying to make it work. Trying to give birth to something unique.

What pitiful existences really, are those who can’t value someone else’s soul enough to respect it…

Anyway… this is getting heavy for me so I’m not going to rant over this anymore. I just want to say that I’m going to release some basic everyday steps for those who really want to learn drawing to follow on their own. Art takes time. Great writing takes time. It also takes for someone to be happy each time for what they were capable of creating.

That said, let me be clear that these mini exercises aren’t gonna clinch you a job at mappa, nor are they going to teach you proportions or whatever else those tutorials promise you, they’re specific to making you understand how 3D and observation works in order for you to be able to pick the elements you need every time you make a new piece. That’s all!

Progress isn’t jumping from 3yo art to fucking Rembrandt. It’ll suck ass before it even looks remotely decent!

Make sure to have that☝️printed and posted on your wall. That’s an order! *flexes whip*

Ok, I’m kidding, but seriously that’s your only motto from now on if you want to get better.

And now let’s prepare the ground for your exercises.

What you’ll need first is either a normal pencil or a 2mm one. No 0,5’s or whatever… in general NO mechanical pencils. Personally I’d recommend starting with a wooden pencil, though.

A good eraser that doesn’t smudge. It doesn’t matter what colour or brand as long as it erases the graphite well and without too much mess. Remember, NO SMUGES! *Forgot to say, a charcoal eraser will be a good friend, if it’s affordable. (Sorry for forgetting that.)

Now, hardness:

Find your typical hand writing pressure in the table below.

Generally the harder you press, the more difficult to erase. So bigger pressure (aka black marks, scratches etc) is 5.

5 4 3 2 1

2H H HB B 2B

How it works:

If you’re 3 you’ll need:

H: tracing

HB: outline

2B: shading

If you’re a 5 you’ll need:

2H: tracing

H or HB: outline

B: shading

If you’re 1 you’ll need:

HB: tracing

HB or B: outline

2B: shading

If you are 2 or 4 you’ll have to go through trial and error. Sorry. Just keep in mind that depending on where you lean; extremes or average (3), you follow the guidelines above.

For example, I am a hard 5 (if not 5,5 lol) so at some point I resorted working with just 2H and HB. I only ever use B when I need something to be black— which admittedly happens rarely. It’s only a few times you’ll need to depict actual black.

> You generally need a tracing pencil that won’t leave too dark visible marks behind when erased. People 5 and 4 will have to be a little careful though and not scratch the paper but that will come with practice.

> Your outline has to be enough to ‘stain’ the paper so you won’t lose your main sketch. It’s also correction time. Yey!

> Your shading shouldn’t smudge because you’re going to use layers. Yes. Even in traditional art you darken in layers, typically in as light moves as possible and in varying angles until you get the shade you want but that’s for later.

I personally don’t have any specific papers to propose to you (bitch you’re using basic photo-printing A4 papers wth lol). You’ll just need a hard surface, especially my 5 and 4 palls.

Ok, that’s it for today, folks.

Let me also slap a disclaimer here: I am NOT a professional art tutor. I just love art. 🤗

[positively-mine]

Heya^^ I saw how your shop is open and I'd like to order a chocolate cake and a medium lemonade(just some regular relationship hcs^^) The fandom I'd like order my cake from is from BSD please^^

☾Ok some things about myself (so so so sorry if it's too much/long) Ok so for starters my name is Kristina but closer friends call me Kris, Cis fem - Capricorn - infj

☾Appearance wise I'm on the shorter side and have a dark brown pixie cut and dark brown eyes, I have a couple freckles and wear glasses

☾I tend to be more introverted when meeting new people, I can hold a conversation way better when talking to one on one so my attention can only be focused on one person and give them my full attention. One I get more comfortable with someone I tend to be more jokingly sarcastic and like to goof around but I'll always get the hint if they are not in the mood to joke around

☾I'm really passionate about psychology and painting. On the weekends or when I'm finished with work I tend to draw on my sketchbook to visualise my next painting while listening to video essays about different types of diagnosis and how they affect the brain and behaviour(my favourite video essays is Fear of forgetting by Clark Elieson, ok but srs it's so good) and my paintings mostly comsist of still life with warm colours

☾And god forbid if one of my friends lets me ramble about psychology cuz I'll turn a casual convo to a hole ted talk and go on and on until they tell me to shut up(plus I have a inside joke with my therapist that I turned the tables and her therapist)

☾That's kinda it, tysm for giving me this opportunity and don't forget to hydrate!!!!!!!!

character matchup [˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ event]

hi Kristina! thanks for your order and sorry it took a while, I hope you'll enjoy and come again :)

credits at the bottom!

p.s thanks for the reminder, I just realized I only drank 1-2 bottles a day 🥲

I'm going to match you up with dazai or ranpo

for dazai, I can definitely see him taking an interest in you (similarly to how he was with atsushi)

at first he'd be curious because you're kind of quiet

however once you start warming up to him, he's curious to get to know you more

playful banter, a mixture of flirting as well, is thrown back and forth between the both of you

you're interest in psychology catches his attention too

he likes to listen to your take on how each diagnosis affects the way from how one thinks to how they behave

may or may not get into his, yours or both your mental state as well

once you start your speech on psychology, he won't stop you either

he'll sit there with you the entire time

giving you one of his signature smirk /smile

he's happy that you've been able to find your passion and drive in life

beyond that, he's glad that he can share a peice of his mind with someone else

would definitely be interested in your paintings as well

and the thought process behind it

questions you about every single detail

^ asks a lot of why questions as well

sometimes he ponders if your choice of art and colour as well are a reflection of your own mind

he likes to lounge near by and watch as you paint

falling asleep to the sound of your painting and the brush stroking on the paper

likes to call you silly nicknames such as kit / kitkat and so on

when you're both in the office, he likes to rest his head on top of yours and watch as you complete your work

he's bored out of his mind but at least you're there for him to disturb

Ranpo

similarly to dazai, he just likes to cause problems

will confidently strut over to your table and munch on his candies noisily while you're doing your work

don't expect much to get done

with you being his partner, it's like someone he can share his every thought with

(like an open diary essentially)

when you first met him, he was very pushy

always asking what you're listening to or what you're painting

sometimes likes to grab one side of the earpiece and listen to it beside you

but in the end he too, gets invested in what you're listening to and stays by your side

bratty bf

he'll joke with you back but sometimes he'll get upset

so you'll need to pacify him

preferably with candy

when you both get into deep talks he needs to at least have some form of skinship

either by holding your hand or leaning his head on your shoulder

or both

so if he's upset just sit with him and everything will be okay again

reblogs appreciated!

banners: dazai, ranpo,

[ryuichirou]

8, 16, 20, 24, 25, 27 for the ask game!

Ask game!

YessSSS that’s a lot of questions, thank you so much, Anon!

Let’s roll.

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in.

There are a lot of them, unfortunately.

I won’t name any of our projects with Katsu because I still hope to come back to them and finish them one day. Even the ones that are super old… They are just so good that the idea of not completing at least some of them would break my heart lol

But there are some Solo Ryu projects that I’ve lost interest in. I used to brainstorm about a comedy comic about a girl and another girl that represents her periods and treats her poorly… The joke got old pretty quickly, and the whole thing didn’t work out.

I also used to come up with random characters, but I never do anything with them when I’m doing it alone, so they appeared for one or two sketches and then perished – I’m not really a storyteller, and without a story I can’t get invested in my own ideas :(

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing.

I don’t know if there is such thing, to be honest. Maybe I’m forgetting something, of course…

But in general, if I’m good at it, my mind usually goes “fuck yeeeeah”, so I’m inevitably end up having fun at least to some degree. Even if it ends up not looking good…

I guess I’ve gotten better at drawing shoes, but I still stress out every time I draw them, so it stops me from having fun sometimes.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

I guess… that would be… hands. 👀

I used to suck at drawings hands so bad that one person from my past even said that with every new drawing I invent a new way to avoid drawing hands. Well well well guess who’s laughing now, Linda?

Saltiness aside, I spent a lot of time getting better at them, so now I really genuinely like drawing hands.  

24. Do your references include stock images

I try to avoid them as much as I can, to be honest. It depends on the stock image; sometimes they work nicely, but when it comes to special equipment, the models from the stock images usually don’t know how to hold them properly. Which isn’t their fault at all, I wouldn’t randomly know how to hold a violin either; but for that reason I would probably try to search up some violinist. If I find a good video, that’s even better.

… I rarely really use references aside from situations like this lol

But I also feel like everyone uses stock images to some degree, and I’m no exception.

25.  Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

We used to receive a lot of comments comparing our stuff to Killing Stalking back when we posted SnK fanart lol And we haven’t even read it…

There were also a couple of times when our stuff got compared to the artstyle of Avatar, which is??  A huge compliment that I didn’t deserve back then?? But despite us loving Avatar very much, we’re not actively inspired by it.

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

I try to, a lot of times it’s necessary, because otherwise I make stupid mistakes 💪😔

A lot of times it’s just a simple portrait sketch. But also, sometimes I start by drawing day by doing something simpler, like cleaning/shading the scans or adding base colours to my drawings. I feel like it also counts as a warm up.

[tryingtimi]

Until It's Only Us

The last piece of my Cronlyn era for now, because the juice ran out, and I need to stray from them for a bit. But DO 4 LOVE by Snoh Aalegra was too much of an inspo for their first time, so here we are.

DYNAMIC EXPLORATION | FLUFF | SMUT THO VERY SOFT | WC: 1,136

“Is it alright if I touch you?” Cronyl asked barely above a whisper. 

He’s been sitting before Avelyn, the soft silk sheets creased where he leaned on his arm. Eternal patience gleamed in his eyes, both which she could actually see, and which should have been hidden from her.

 He was waiting for her, always waiting for her.

Yet, it didn’t seem to bother him, not an inch. No, he gazed at her with his ever-intense care in his eyes — which alone nearly made Avelyn crumble under it. 

She slid closer to him, nodding along with her hand that brought his palm to her chest. It was a bold move, one which she could never picture herself doing. She never imagined herself being so sure about anything then she was at that moment either. Yet there she was, facing him, and having no crumb of doubt in her heart. 

Cronyl tilted his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Use your words, please,” he breathed so gently, she wasn’t sure he had said a word at all. It wasn’t a command or a request. It was a plea, the most subtle begging she ever heard. 

“Yes, Cronyl. Touch me, kiss me, show me everything you hold inside.” 

There was a new glinting in his eyes as he locked his gaze with hers again, caressing the exposed skin on her chest. Avelyn sighed, her mind turning way too aware of his fingers on her. It lasted only for a little, because he travelled to her kimono, loosening the clothing softly. He still held her gaze and leaned in to kiss her as requested. 

Tender, loving waltz was what their lips danced, an incense-filled daze Avelyn could only drown in. She loved his touch on her, his breath entangled with hers, her heart in his hands. 

Warmness burned her skin from under which made her wonder if that is how red or orange could have felt like. The colours of fire, and heat, two things she could feel in her body, blazing. 

Her hand sneaked up on Cronyl’s already bare chest, her fingers carefully drawing over every line of lean muscle. Then, her heart sank for a moment. 

Her hand travelled over many scars and eventually stopped on his neck, right where his tattoo started. She knew it was exactly there because she saw it many times now. 

Avelyn pushed herself closer to Cronyl, her teeth grazing his bottom lip before she detached from him. Her kimono fell from her shoulders like an elegant waterfall. She imagined being nervous about turning bare before him, yet she was nowhere near to that. Instead, she positioned in a way that made the clothing slide all the way down, while she leaned over. 

A hum escaped Cronyl’s lips when she kissed the edge of his tattoo. She breathed in his scent, looking up at him from under her lashes. 

He was searching for her eyes too. 

“Is this alright?” she asked. Her fingers slowly wandered on his skin, outlining every little scar she found. 

“Yes.” 

His voice turned so deep, she could feel the vibration on his skin that she kissed again. There had been moments when she wondered how this would happen. If he would turn from her, or lean away, not letting her near them. They were the marks of what the world couldn’t do for him, the love it couldn’t show for him, and so she was determined to make him forget he ever had them empty, painful. 

His touch was delirious, nearly as thick with desire as the swirling incense in the tent. Avelyn had not noticed when the rest of her clothing landed on the ground, or when she laid back on the sheets, with Cronyl’s lips sealing hers in an everlasting promise yet again. His skin brushed hers at every angle, his heat sharing hers. Kisses like feathers glided over her body, as Cronyl started his way from her jaw down to her chest, over her breasts, to her hips. He covered every little inch of her body, his slightly rough palm cupping her breast to play with a nipple. 

Avelyn sighed a moan when he planted the first kiss at her core. 

The sheets sizzled under the slow motions she made under the sweet pleasures of him grazing his teeth over her thigh, taking his time before he tasted her. 

It wasn’t fair. Her head emptied, her hips bucking closer to his face, while breathy sighs left her lips. He was spoiling her in every way she longed to do to him. Because she knew; in every touch, every kiss, and every heavy hum he hid his carefully piled-up love. He had so much in him, she was sure she would lose her mind before she could give.

And so she laced her fingers into his dark, scattered locks to earn his attention. She barely tangled the strands, when he looked at her, eyes waiting and searching. There were no words needed for him to crawl up to face her. 

“Leave me some time for you too,” she whispered to his lips. The corners tugged upward, Cronyl’s body rolling to Avelyn’s tenderly. She hummed a moan into his mouth. 

“Later.” 

Soft fingers caressed her side, his desire reaching hers. She couldn’t stop touching him wherever she could reach him. Never ever she had thought she’ll be greedy, yet she found herself not having enough. Her hands pulled on his back, bringing him closer. She wanted him closer, the closest. She longed for him so deeply, she wanted to forget they were two separate souls instead one. 

Cronyl understood, without a word. He was slow, careful and he did not take his eyes off of her. Those eyes that watched her as if she was the crown jewel of an empire. Not fragile, yet something you treated carefully just so you could enjoy it longer. So you could cherish it longer. 

Avelyn’s ears filled up with their breaths, their sweet callings, from Cronyl’s every “Tell me if I hurt you.” to his honeyed groans. His eyes gleamed with the reflection of herself, dripping with love she had rarely seen anywhere.

 He kissed her like the first and last person he ever would. He touched her as if he was playing an instrument — delicately trying out everything, and observing so closely, he could directly continue further if it sounded the right way to go. 

She couldn’t tell when she lost track of time. Not only time but everything all at once. Avelyn was feeling every bit of him, hearing every sound of him, smelling every inch of him. Her head was spinning, clouding and clearing. She had seen him, and him only. 

Until there was no Avelyn Dione, nor Cronyl Eldenwer anymore. 

Only them. 

[faceglitchsworld]

It's the 20th of March, which means that today is Hyunjin's birthday, HOORAY 🥳

Here's the collage I made for him ☺️

This man has been through many memes, I decided to choose the ones which are the most cute. At least they match with the collage's pattern.

And now have the letter for him.

Talking about Hyunjin means coming back during my first days with Stray Kids. He was the first member who immediately stood out to me and that I immediately recognized in every Stray Kids' photo. The first Tik Tok from them that I watched was made by him (which is absurd, knowing how he hates doing these 🤣). Aaaaaand the first Stray Kids memes that I clearly remember are made by him.

The best scenes from the English Dabate? He screaming "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" and "YOUR BEHAVIOR IS SO...UGH!". And what about the entire "EHI SEUNGMIN, you're lying. What is your problem?"? Or when he appeared during that Felix vlog screaming and jumping"EHI FELIX! EHI! EHI! I got the IMPOSTER". Speaking of Felix, I loved the beautiful dynamic Hyunjin made with him. They were the first duo from Stray Kids I immediately loved, mostly thanks to Hyunjin. I related to him so much. I still remember the most recent 2 Kids Room they made together and how he was trying to speak in English all by himself. It's something that I would do too, especially if I want to tell someone how grateful I am for them.

I think you've understood at this point. Hyunjin was my first bias. As the time passed and I got to know the rest of the members tho, he slowly took a step back from the bias line and other members became my biases as the time passes. But I didn't leave him behind tho. I wanted to know more about him and discover new sides of him. Because I'm curious. And also because I firmly believe that you can't completely forget about your "first crushes". Time might pass, you can move on but there are always those moments were nostalgia comes in and you want to remember the past.

And I'm glad that I kept in touch with him because I discovered other wonderful sides of him. For example his passion for drawing. During the pandemic I lost my interest in drawing. I was just mindlessly watching TV series or movies or listening to music. I didn't have any motivation to draw. But seeing Hyunjin posting his drawings made me slowly feel better. Maybe it's his style, which is very delicate and sketchy at the same time, or the drawings' subjects but everytime he posts a drawing my heart flatter. His works have been the first step for me for gaining motivation once again to draw.

And how can I not talk about his romantic side too? Probably you already noticed how he expresses his love through Kkami. The way he talks about him, cares about him and pet him is honestly one of the sweetest ways to show love. And how can I not talk about his songs' lyrics? They represent the purest and kindest love, something that I always search in songs.

My dear Hyunjin, I know that there have been times where you questioned if Stays love you for the way you are and not just for your looks. I can't speak for everyone but I can say that you have a beautiful, colourful soul. You already show this soul every time you perform or draw. And now that you started to write your own songs, you're finally showing us your sweet and romantic side too, which is one of the best sides for me. It's been a while since you became my first bias and I will never thank you enough because if I met Stray Kids in my life it's thanks to you.

My only wish for you is to never stop being yourself. There are many Stays like me around the world who appreciate you in every way and will always support you as the amazing performer and artist you truly are. Don't forget this, never.

Hope you'll celebrate this day happily with the members and your family too ❤️

Happy Birthday, my artist lover 🦙

[straighttxhell]

Get to know me! 💋

So,, @the-type-a tagged me in this like 8 months ago and never got a chance to do it cause tumblr kept deleting the draft but I am procrastinating doing my final project to graduate college so here goes nothing

Thanks for the tag and feel free to do it again cause lmao it's been a whike

🖌 - Do you have/want any tattoos?

No I wanna get a spider gwen tattoo but I dont have a ton of money rn

💚 - What’s your favourite colour?

Pastel pink 🩷

🍕 - What’s the last thing you ate?

Spinach Pasta

🕰 - What time is it where you are rn?

11:27 pm (when i started, its 11:50 now)

🌟 - What is your zodiac sign?

Sagittarius sun, Taurus moon, and Aquarius rising.

I also have Venus and Mars in Scorpio so that pretty much sums up why I'm insane.

🌍 - What is your favourite accent?

I really enjoy cockney accents, Daniel Kaluuya's in particular. Maybe it's just his voice.

⚡️ - Do you have any scars?

Yes, I accidentally stabbed my thigh, also accidentally cut it with a blade, and my legs are covered in permanent bruises from when I danced.

🌺 - What’s your MBTI type?

Every time I do it I get smth different, so either INTP or ISFP??

🥀 - Favourite animated movie?

SPIDER-VERSE!!!!!! MY ENTIRE LIFE

I CHOSE MY CAREER BC OF IT

📺 - Favourite show?

The Office probably, or Community, I really like sitcoms

😂 - Are you ticklish?

Isn't everyone??

💍 - Do you ever want to get married?

Yes, I am one of those ppl that want to meet like their one true love and get married and spend our entire lives together

😳 - Do you like your name?

It triggers me a little so I don't like to be called by it but I like the name by itself a lot

💙 - What colour is your bedroom?

Like a beige green, I hate it but it came like that and am too lazy to paint it

🤓 - How did you get your name?

My mom liked it thats it lol

🎓 - When did/do you graduate?

This month hopefully, my ceremony isn't until January tho

🍄 - Do you have/want any piercings?

Yeah I have the normal ones, two in my left ear and one in my right ear so I can freely forget to wear earrings Id add a pick but I dont want to

👀 - What colour are your eyes?

Veeeery dark brown

👱🏻‍♀️ - What is your go to hairstyle?

A messy bun, I like having it down although it's mostly hot here so that's not possible, and sometimes I do have to put it in a bun cause my hair is really really thin and straight so it tangles incredibly easy and it takes me a good 5 minutes to brush it and I tend to be in such a hurry every morning I simply can't afford to do that

🥂 - Have you ever drank underage?

Yes I didn't know tho lol I was 14 and drinking funny tasting grape juice at sleepovers, my friends thought I knew lol uhmm but yeah after that I stopped until I was 18 and back from quarantine

🍾 - Have you ever gotten drunk?

Don't take me as a role model please, but yes and I love getting drunk, I've never blacked out but I do remember every now and then funny memories like huh I forgot I did that 🥰 Also I've only once drank so much I puked it all up next morning

😱 - What’s your biggest fear?

Roaches?? Not trying to get too deep

🥵 - Would you rather be too hot or too cold?

Hot. I hate not being able to move bc of cold, my body aches so bad when its cold.

🌦 - What’s your favourite weather?

Cloudy, rainy and not cold, like eventually the sun comes out yknow

🍂 - What’s your favourite season?

Fall

🐷 - What’s your favourite animal?

Catssss

🐶 - Do you have any pets?

2 cats!! And my sister has 2 dogs but they're also kinda mine ig

😴 - What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

No idea, I am way too sleep deprived to notice at the end

🎨 - Any hobbies?

Drawing, painting, video editing and designing, anything creative

🛩 - If travelling was free, where’s the first place you’d go?

New York 😭😭😭 if i had a visa also Id love to stay at the plaza hotel

🎇 - What’s your most searched thing on Google?

Probably Taylor Swift?? or the Spice Chalk Stretch Naked Wokfe boots

📱 - Favourite app on your phone?

PINTEREST, a girl without pinterest is an angel without wings..

🤠 - Are you more of a city person or a country person?

City by far, I've spent all my life in the city and wouldn't stand not having everything I have here

Tagging: @spnyuri @queer-cosette and idk who is still active here but whoever wants to do it

[colonyworkshop]

Hello everybee~ 🐝

Once again it is time for me to celebrate the Anniversary of Colony Workshop and look back on everything I've achieved so far. I'm actually a little late posting this but I'm not going to let that stop me!

First of all I would love to say a big Thank You to everyone who's been following my art pages for the past few years. It has been a lot of fun working on these cute bug drawings and I'm really glad I've had a nice reception to my sketchbook pages and other odd bits I post. Your support means a lot to me and it has really helped me to continue working on this WebToon passion project~ 🦋

~~~~~

And now for the part where I get to toot my horn about everything I've achieved this past year!

In the last year I've definitely put out some of my best quality work. I really feel like I've gotten used to creating and using assets to make better backgrounds quicker, and I've been getting more out of gradients now that I've spent some time learning them.

I have also improved on my WebToons processes noticeably. I learned how to use rulers and got a bit better with vectors, which makes it so much easier to do all the weird panel sizes and text bubbles! I think the switch to mono-colour was a good move too. Especially now that I've figured out how to make it a gradient layer.

I'm always learning new features and techniques with Clip Studio, and it's so satisfying to solve a time saving problem. It feels mad how much more I've learned in the last 4 years, despite feeling like I had a pretty good grip with it then!

Another big success for me this year was selling art at Furcation 23! It was my first time selling at a Dealer's Den so I was quite anxious, but everyone was super friendly and I got to chat a bunch~ A fair few people picked up the special Honeybee Gala prints in the Honeybee frames. To those people- I hope it brings you happiness every day! 🐝

I'm all set to run a table again later this year, so come say hi if you're there! I'm super looking forward to it but there is much to prepare. I have a pretty good idea of extra things to bring this time- sticker packs, small prints, acrylics. But there's still a lot to do and there's more I want to draw so it might be a bit of a mad rush getting everything done!

~~~~~

Just a little bit about changes I'm implementing for this next year-

Some of you may have noticed by now that from January I stopped posting my usual monthly newsletter, and this is a decision that I will keep going forward. For the first few years of Colony it seemed like a really good idea to keep a monthly newsletter going so that I could do little recaps on what I had been working on and share my thoughts on how it was all going. However, I kept finding that I didn't always have a huge amount that I was ready to share and when drawing projects ran on over a few months it was causing me a bit of stress and guilt seeing the same thing recurring on my to-do list. Coupled with the time cost of writing a little newsletter every month it started to seem like I was better off drawing instead.

I am definitely trying to gain some confidence with social media and would really like to be comfortable enough dropping small posts with my thoughts every now and then, but for now I want to focus on reducing unnecessary stress and give myself as much drawing time as possible!

I really hope that little updates and WIP posts will be a good way to go. I'm actually pretty bad for forgetting to post things and when I get going with a big project it can end up being the only thing I focus on. I don't really want to trap myself into a routine of forcing myself to post, but I would really like to find a comfy middle ground where I can make a post once or twice a week and boost engagement!

~~~~~

To sign off this Anniversary Newsletter I'd love to give another big Thank You to you all! The past 4 years of Colony artwork have been amazing and I'm so glad to have a setup to work on my little WebToon. I've really come so far since I started digital drawing in 2010 and it's been amazing to work on something meaningful to myself. I really hope I can keep this energy going and expand my audience as I release more episodes!

Wish me luck! 🐝

[faithfromanewperspective]

How do I educate people about the Sustainable Development Goals? I had thoughts, lots of them, after I presented on them last Wednesday but, like the location of the pieces of paper I wrote on, whatever the buzz of conversation and performer’s high had me thinking is long forgotten. So it’s back to having ideas and hoping I come up with something better now that it’s a little more processed, a bit more mature. How do I start us from an ecological foundation? Just like I already did. With the diagrams explaining, this is where we get everything we need to survive from, how do I drive this point home? Have I already? The ideas are rolling now. Can I fit this into six minutes? How do I go from concept to reality? I know I’m just rusty, my confidence dwindling, and it’s going to take me doing it to remember the dopamine. Take your time. Pretend the planet it your brain, the sustainable development principles to transformational overhaul written in the stars of your neurons, you just can’t help but get it out. Are the templates distracting me, do I need to mock up a blank power point given that’s what I learned on?

It helped, drawing it out on paper. Templates look beautiful, and are lovely to look at. They’re not sensory overload in and of themselves, but, they’re not the new world, the blank canvas that inspires creativity. Every complete picture is a demand of itself, it’s perfect as it is, why would you add your own colours, why would you decorate what’s already been decorated? Why would you graffiti professional perfection? So I draw it on a scrap of people, pretend it’s on a moodboard, pretend I’m in PDF expert on my iPad at sixteen again, turning what’s barely inspiration into those design folios I was famous for. Why can’t I forget it? Because it’s me, it’s what I stand for, creativity in my veins, trying to be spit out of my fingertips on a keyboard and mouse. I’m trying to educate souls, don’t you forget that.

Educating souls. And now I’m onto brainstorming the third section. This one covers eight goals, covers the things of the people I carry as part of me, eight billion of us all deserving of dignity if any of us are. Drowning out competition with connection. It’s solid, it’s tangible, it’s the meals each of us need to survive and the education that keeps us empowered, knowing how to care for this beautiful planet. It’s the wage from our jobs that have us as individuals, countries, families, able to afford healthcare (which in of itself shouldn’t be for profit. Nor should food, or housing). It’s the cities I dream of designing, graffitiing functionality in every corner of the world, it’s the wildlife bursting into our apartment bubbles and humans who feel happier for it. It’s gender equality built into the architecture of how we do life: lifestyles that support empowerment of all living things, lifestyles of satisfaction and the only real power coming from when we team up with each other, not when we exploit each other. It’s easy to get lost in the daydream. Because I make a life out of this, of bringing people together, I make a life of it despite how many times I’ve messed up, despite the youth that was stolen and filled with mistakes, despite and because of it. (I should take this song off repeat, really, before I hop on the next train to Sydney to see the sunrise again. I feel it in moments, a semblance of free, between all the gasping I finally breathe, but this is it, isn’t it? this is me breathing.) I’m channelling just how important it is.

Because if you care about me, you care secondhand about all the people I care about, just like when you follow a musician, you take on the love from all of their fans, and if you understand a character, you understand the people who feel the same way as you do. If you love me, if you truly love me and don’t want to change me, you love all that I stand for. You stand with me as we mobilise this love. If not, then what do I exist for?

But this is my work, these are people I’m educating who don’t have access to my soul the way that you can, in anonymity and solidarity over shared interest. These are the sharks, and I’m trying to capture whatever in them turns their stupid overconfident heads on and stops them mistaking surfers for turtles, stops them eating turtles at all actually, and shows them we have invented a new-old, more efficient and kinder way to survive. It’s a pity that the way we have to pitch it is that businesses won’t survive if they’re not nice. I feel like I’m back out on the property, when my guineas were younger, trying to tell them how their own pecking order works: it’s a form of discipline, the more people you piss off the more likely it is they’ll band together against you. Maybe you won’t quite be ganged up on or cancelled, but your competitive advantage will be gone. If you don’t what? Feed the poor? Support the latest in sustainable cities, be the power mobilising their creation? If you don’t do this? Who else will?

And that’s it, isn’t it? Everyone wants to be told that they’re the chosen one, chosen to save the world. And it’s not a fantasy, the mundane ways this happens every day. I’m Yoda or Gandalf or heck, even Magnus Bane and I’m here directing them, advising them, praying they use the power that somehow ended up in their hands for good and not evil. And I have to do this educating, advising, in a way that is accessible and hits home. Luckily I’m well versed in fiction. I’m well versed in art. I’m well versed in capturing people’s souls. So what do I do now? Why am I sitting here thinking, well, school shouldn’t be a babysitting device for capitalist labour of adults but teach in a way that I’m teaching now, if you’re a musician going on tour or an athlete off competing or if you need any kind of accommodation, you should be able to finish high school. Without being given extra burdens. Is this the ground that I’m building? The trend that I’m setting? Am I embodying Goal 5 into this power point presentation, along with one, two, three, four, seven, eleven and sixteen? People need to be fed, right, I can’t grow cucumbers out of a computer screen, no matter if it’s an Apple.

I’m thinking of cities now. In Southeast Asia, where my colleagues work, and in Australia with a tenth of the population of Indonesia: how much could we do if our cities were bigger but more sustainable? How much could we meet people’s needs?

And so I come down to earth. This is the start of it. Revolutionary change starts with the mundane, educating a bunch of businessheads from all sorts of backgrounds: these are the Sustainable Development Goals, this is how they fit together, they are your next big opportunity whether you like it or not, so what do you think? Do you want to embark on the hero’s journey, or are you content being a poorly executing, always in the way not doing much useful, not meaning evil but not meaning well and so never really meaning anything at all, soon to be defeated, villain? You can’t walk in these circles without being one or the other.

[stonexjewellersnz]

How to Nail Every Look with Pearl Jewellery

 Are you a moonchild? Or are you just in love in love with pearls?

Whatever the case, Pearls have a something that’s hard to get off our minds. 

And everything that you need for a chic, elegant look. 

Whether you're attending a formal event or dressing up for a casual day out, a well-chosen pearl necklace can be transform your outfit. Black pearl necklaces, real pearl necklaces, and gold pearl jewellery are just a few of the stunning options at your disposal. 

In this blog, we'll show you how to accessorise with pearl jewellery and turn heads like the showstopper you are!

Pearl Jewellery - The Best Among All

Pearls, often referred to as nature's gems, have much more to them than their ethereal sheen and unique texture. Black pearls, in particular, are captivating with their dark, mysterious allure. 

Their unique colour adds a touch of sophistication to any outfit. When you opt for a black pearl necklace, you're making a bold statement that draws attention to your impeccable taste.

Also read: Maintain Your Pearl Jewellery With These 8 Simple Tips

Pearl Jewellery Essentials For Your Wardrobe

If you’re new to pearls or never owned pearl jewellery before, it’s your cue to start with a pearl necklace. 

A real pearl necklace is the symbol of class, and if you want to exude luxury and sophistication at the same time, Pearls make for an excellent choice.  

The best thing about Pearls is that they can be worn with almost any outfit without being outshone, and they go well with most of the skin tones. 

Start off with a simple pair of pearl earrings studs. If you want to spruce it up, put on a pearl pendant NZ. The best outfit for such jewellery can be a simple cardigan, jeans and pumps, or perhaps a stylish blazer, blouse and pencil skirt. 

Classic vs. Contemporary Styles

If you think Pearls have no place in the modern fashion landscape, you’re wrong. Time and again world-renowned fashion houses When it comes to pearl jewellery, there's a style for every taste. 

Classic pearl necklaces, like the timeless strand of pearls, never go out of fashion. Meanwhile, contemporary designs introduce fresh and innovative ways to wear pearls. Pair your black pearl necklace with minimalist gold pearl jewellery for a chic and modern look.

You might also like: Your Guide to Choosing the Best Dress Jewellery in NZ

Care and Maintenance

I don’t remember this but someone once said, “Love your pearls and they’ll love you back.” I might have just completely made that up but I mean it. 

Just like silver and gold jewellery, pearls need a little care too or they can start to lose their sheen. For a thorough yet simple Pearl care, avoid exposing your pearls to chemicals and perfumes, as they can run your precious gems. 

This is a basic prerequisite when owning pearls. When not wearing your pearls, store them separately in a soft pouch to prevent scratches.

Mixing and Layering

I couldn’t have been more excited at this. Layering is one of the most fun and creative parts of wearing your jewellery that makes it look unique in every sense. 

Don’t hesitate to experiment — in fact, try layering your pearl necklace with a gold choker, or a sleek silver chain. You can even pair a gold pearl ring with a sleek gold band — making it a two piece set. 

However, make sure you don’t overdo it. The essence of mixing and layering jewellery pieces is to show one piece as a strong one while others complement it. 

Celebrity Inspirations

Covered in diamonds but swap it with pearls — when it came to a look replete with pearls, some celebrities took it to a whole different level. For instance, Kim Kardashian donned a thousand or more pearls as her ensemble on the iconic Met Gala, leaving the paparazzi in awe. 

And of course, how can we forget about the idol Audrey Hepburn — who made a mark with her iconic pearl necklace in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" which has to date been an inspiration for fashion-nerds. 

Wherever you go, you’ll always find someone in Hollywood and beyond making the most of pearls, often gracing red carpets with no regrets. 

DIY Pearl Jewellery

I’ve a feeling this might be your favourite! You might have played or seen those DIY jewellery kits for kids. What if I told you that you don’t need to live vicariously through kids having a nice time with plastic jewellery?

Yes, individual Pearls are less expensive and can be strung in your choice of jewellery. With a pearl pendant NZ and a gold chain, consider the job done! If you’re feeling a little more crafty, make a unique pearl bracelet with a cute charm in it. 

Make sure to source your supplies from the local market or from a source you trust. With the right supplies, you can make handmade pearl earrings or necklace on your own and still get complimented as if it were bought rightaway! 

Sourcing High-Quality Pearls

Like Diamonds, pearls have a quality separating criteria too. There are different types of pearls available throughout the world or in different regions. One of the most valuable pearl is the Freshwater pearl, that develops in non-saline waters. Then there’s Tahitian or black pearls, that are indiginous to Polynesian waters.

Sometimes, fake Pearls can be mistaken for real ones. To safeguard your investment, always check for certifications while purchasing pearls. 

If you already own an item and want to know if it consists real pearls, you can check through simple, non-invasive Pearl originality tests and learn how to maintain them if they’re real.

Conclusion

Pearl jewellery is for people with conventional style of fashion. But it also for those who decide to bend the norms and like it bold. Whichever way you choose, you’ll end up looking like a star! 

Thanks to these gems of nature that fashion can be fun thing to try. Yet, we sometimes let our doubts get the best of us and make secondary choices. Hopefully with these tips, you can get more confidence to show your pearls to the world and make your ensemble perfect. 

Till then, slay everyday with Pearls!How to Nail Every Look with Pearl Jewellery

[nastybuckybarnes]

Hoist The Colours  -  3/3

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky X SeaGoddess!Reader 

Summary: An encounter with the man you used to love lands you and your new crew in peril, stuck on a ship with the people responsible for binding you. And what they have planned for you is far worse than what you’d first imagined.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fluff, Violence, Injuries, Death,

Word Count: 2.2K

A/n: Oof another thing is finished. I’m gonna start actually finishing stuff but Idk what to write I’m sad that my stuff is ending :( But I hope you enjoy this!

~*~

The door to your cell gets wrenched open, pulling you from your light sleep.

“You!” Rumlow snarls, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you to your feet.

“Where have they taken my prisoners?” You furrow your brows, yanking out of his grip.

“How am I supposed to know? I was left behind.” He grinds his teeth together and grabs your bicep, dragging you out of your cell and onto the main deck.

The clouds are dark and gloomy, the waters wild and violent, but not by your doing.

“You must’ve helped them, that other witch too! So tell me, how did you do it?” He shoves you and you gasp, tumbling onto the wet wood of the deck.

“How could I have helped them? You have me chained up like a dog!” You spit, glaring up at him. He stoops down to your level, grabbing your face harshly.

“You will watch your tongue or you will lose it. You do not need your voice to do my bidding.” He shoves you back down and you bite back a yelp of pain.

The sky darkens further, thunder booming and clouds rolling in.

“I will never do your bidding!” You snarl, a flash of lightning punctuating your words.

Rumlow’s eyes widen for a moment, and then he’s got his sword pointed at you, the tip just brushing your throat.

“On your feet, witch!” You obey, standing up with your chin held high.

“You will do my bidding, or you will join all those who you have sent to the depths. It is your choice.” You follow his gaze over your shoulder to where the plank is being extended over the raging ocean.

You look back at him, jaw set, and he knows you’ve made your decision.

The wind whips around your hair as he walks you to the plank, his sword digging into your back just hard enough to cause discomfort, but not pain, not yet.

You carefully step onto the plank, taking deep breaths of the salty air as the water rages beneath you.

“I will give you one last chance, wench. I will spare your life, all you need do is swear your powers to me. You’ll have the sea back in your grasp, the power to do what you please. You need only do so at my side.”

Raindrops splatter against your face, just gently at first, until you’re consumed in an intense storm, the water pelting down against you.

“You’ve forgotten, Captain, that you are not sending me to the depths,” you look over your shoulder at him with a small smile, “you are sending me home.”

You look down at the water, preparing yourself for the cool embrace, when a particularly harsh wave rocks against the ship, sending you stumbling back a step.

A wave rises up over the ship, a spiral of green swirling inside of it and for a moment you think that you’ve already died.

The wave crashes against the ship, sending the men falling and scrambling, submerging the deck for a moment.

But you stay rooted in place, the familiar green hue just touching your fingertips, the ends of your hair, then slowly becoming part of you once more.

You hear the men shouting and coughing, feel Rumlow’s sword pressed against your back once again, but you only turn around to face him.

The storm continues, the waves fighting the ship, and you cock your head to the side, sending a gust of wind towards the man threatening you. He stumbles back, eyes wide with fear.

“H-how do you...” You take slow steps towards him, waving your hand behind you as his crew-mates try to run at you. The wind pushes them back, keeping them a safe distance from you and the captain.

“You will give me answers and you will give them to me now!” You hiss, glaring daggers at him.

“Whatever it is that you wish to know, I will tell you. Just please, spare my life.”

You watch him for a long moment, fighting tears as the question bubbles out of you.

“Why? Why did he do it?”

Rumlow only shakes his head, on his knees and ready to beg for mercy.

“’twas me... I caused him to do it. With the help of a siren for the price of his left arm, I got the binding spell from him. He knew not what he was doing, though he gave the information.” You let out a shaky breath, a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

“All this time I had thought it was he who betrayed me... but it wasn’t.” You turn your gaze to him, eyes glowing green with the influx of power.

“It was you. You and your greed.” He shakes his head and scrambles back desperately.

You step aside as a sword comes down right where you were standing, and Rumlow uses your momentary distraction to sprint away.

“Kill her! Kill the Witch!” He shouts, grabbing his own sword.

You shake your head, the wind whipping strong enough to keep them away.

A nagging in your mind stops you for a moment, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“The King and his men stole the queen from her bed... and bound her in her bones.” Your voice travels on the wind.

“The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”

“Captain! We’ve got a ship coming up starboard!” A man shouts, pointing his sword at the familiar ship.

“They’re upon us! Battle stations!” The men scramble to their stations, trying to get prepared as the ship approaches.

“Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colours high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die.” The voices ring out to you clear as day, responding to the call.

It’s only a matter of moments before canons start firing and men start boarding the ship, swords clashing and guns firing.

Your eyes scan the crowd, freezing on a man approaching you. You simply look at him and he crumples to the ground, grabbing at his throat.

“Rumlow!” You shout, following your instincts up to the foredeck and finding the captain cowering, exactly how you thought he would.

“You want to throw me overboard, captain?” You sneer his title, taking another step towards him. He stumbles back, slipping on the wet wood and scrambling away from you and towards the main deck.

“You forget that I am the sea and all things in it.”

The rain pelts down on you and the wind whips your hair around your face wildly, your eyes glowing green with the force of your power.

At that moment, you look every bit the sea goddess that the stories described. And today, you’re planning on being just as cruel.

“You stripped me of my purpose, my power. Bound me to my form and took away my reason for existence! You sacrificed the man I love for your own greedy gain. What do you have to say for yourself?” Your powers protect you from the fighting around you, the man before you protected as well.

No one will take your vengeance from you.

“I’m sorry!” He cries, slipping back further.

You shake your head and grab him by the front of his tunic, tossing his sword aside and glaring into his eyes.

“No, you’re not. Not yet. But you will be, that I promise you.”

You cock your head to the side, your free hand coming up, fingers flexed.

The water on the deck swirls around your ankles, clawing up the man before you.

“You’ve never had your purpose taken from you because a man like you has no purpose.” You twist your wrist, controlling the water around you and watch in satisfaction as his eyes widen, the water rising up over his face.

“So what else can I take, but your life?” You ask rhetorically, watching as the water trickles into his mouth and nose, slowly at first, then picking up speed.

He tries to claw at you, but his hands can’t reach you. His struggles are futile, though that doesn’t stop him.

You steal the life away from him, exactly the way he did to you.

He collapses on the ground, his body convulsing for a moment before falling still, death embracing him.

You take a deep breath, embracing your freedom, then slowly turn around.

You’re instantly meet with piercing blue eyes staring at you from across the ship. His chest is heaving and he’s squinting through the downpour, but his eyes are on you.

You walk over to him, the rain lessening with each step you take until you’re right in front of him.

The wind dies down and the ocean becomes calm. The fighting around you draws to a sombre end, victory on the tip of your tongue.

His sword clatters to the ground, his hands finding yours ever so gently, his eyes filled with so many emotions.

“Gentlemen, the ship is ours!” Steve shouts, a smile on his face. You turn around, pulling Bucky’s arms around your waist as you watch the crew celebrate their success.

Your eyes find Wanda’s and Tony’s through the crowd, both of them smiling brightly up at you.

The two crews celebrate, Pirates and Kingsmen, and you can’t help but smile at them.

“Back to the ship! We’ve gotten what we came for. The King can enjoy plundering Rumlow’s ship. I trust that will keep him off of our back for a while, yes?” Steve looks at Tony pointedly and the brunet nods.

You step out of your lover’s arms and walk down to the two men, one hand gently finding Tony’s forearm.

“I owe you a debt, Tony. One I fear I may never be able to repay.” He shakes his head, taking your hands gently in his and smiling at you.

“You’ve no debt to be paid. But if you feel so inclined, could you maybe hold back any storms for the next day or so? I’d like a chance to dry my clothes.” You giggle and nod, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, for all that you’ve done for myself and Wanda.” He gives you a tender smile and nods.

“It’s what I wish had been done for my mother.” He sniffles then straightens up.

“Now come on, men. It’s time we return to the King!” His crew-mates start busying themselves quickly.

“Alright lads, back to the ship!” Steve calls, leading his own crew members to their ship.

You watch as everyone eagerly crosses, smiling encouragingly at Wanda. She crosses swiftly, her eyes drawing to the helmsman for a moment.

“Are you ready?” A soft voice asks from behind you. You take a breath then nod, looking over at him.

“Yes.”

The two of you cross back to his ship, the ship almost cooing at you as soon as your feet hit the deck. You can’t fight the smile the spreads on your face at being back, and you don’t try to.

“It’s good to have you back,” Steve says, giving you a nod. You do the same, sighing happily.

“It’s good to be back, Steve.” Bucky takes your hand then and tugs you gently towards his quarters.

The door closes softly behind you and you take a moment to reacquaint yourself with the room.

You can feel his eyes on you, the tension palpable but not unpleasant.

Without looking at him, you speak.

“Could you help me out of my gown? It’s far too heavy.” He walks towards you, untying the back and watching as the fabric slides down your body, leaving you only in your white slip.

His hands hesitantly trail over your skin, one cold and one hot and the contrast is so delicious.

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, head falling to the side as he presses soft kisses to your neck.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, my love,” he whispers against your skin, spinning you around to face him.

You gaze up at him lovingly, one hand coming up to cup his jaw.

“Show me,” you whisper, leaning up to gently brush your lips over his.

“Show me how much you missed me. Give me a reason to clear the skies and calm the seas. Make me give us good wind and easy sail. Prove to me that you’re still worthy of my mercy.”

He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing each one of your fingers then smiling.

“I’ll never truly be worthy of your mercy. But I am more than willing to both swear and prove my loyalty to you. I will give myself over to you; body, heart, mind, and soul.”

You look up at him tenderly, cupping his cheek gently.

“I will sail to the ends of the Earth for you, fight the gods if I need to. Anything to keep you in my arms.”

“My heart belongs to you, James. And never will it belong to anyone else.”