#im not done rendering this painting yet

[ganondoodle]

(oc wip)

attempting to paint a scene from the beginning of my original story stuff -im not gonna say i like it for some rough color placement so far bc it will surely curse it to not work out in the end-----

[epiicaricacy-arts]

oh we’re still so young, desperate for attention

this was super experimental so i will talk about my process (+ clearer version) under the cut

i’ve been looking at a lot of “messier” or more textured painting styles recently and an artist that stuck out to me is clariondeluna ! they posted a self-portrait recently that i really liked and i was super interested in the brushwork seen in their work. i love all the textures and how the shapes feel so loose yet everything is so detailed.

that’s not a method for me at all!!!! i cannot paint like that at all and the stuff i like to paint is very different to theirs. which is okay!!!! i had no intention to copy this artists style so closely like with what i tried to do in my raiden painting, i just wanted to try this style out :^)

it’s been a goal of mine to avoid over-rendering like i tend to do a lot, and i think i’ve been doing good with that recently! the mindset i’ve got going on right now is that if i find myself staring at it too hard for too long, i have to leave it and move on. if there’s still something wrong with it, i can fix it later once ive got a fresh view!

i’ve been trying a lot of things with my art this year. i always try to challenge myself with each piece, and to end the year off i wanted to be as uncomfortable as i possibly could be with this painting. i let myself draw whatever i wanted because i still wanted to enjoy it, but everything i did in this process was new, including parts of the subject matter.

i’ve never drawn a head at an angle like this, and i struggle with drawing mouths open. i don’t do bold lighting like this, and if i do, it’s not fire. i’ve never drawn fire! i also rarely work with warm colours and i hate using green, so i combined those to be my colour palette. i like working cleanly so instead of having a dozen different layers for one section, each section only had 1-2 layers for rendering. instead of clipping masks i would simply paint over things loosely and clean it up later. i never like having limbs cut off in a drawing so i had his other arm go GOD knows where. i don’t like weird patterned backgrounds so i made myself figure out how to like it!

IS THIS MY FAVOURITE PIECE OF ALL TIME. no. absolutely not. but i’m very proud of how this came out with all the challenges i put on myself. i WANTED to get better at these things and be more broad with my art, both in terms of the styles and subjects i portray.

okay let’s talk about wtf this drawing is

for those who don’t know, the design in this painting is my fatui/“Father” lyney fan design (read the design post here). the concept isnt super complicated and i don’t really have much explanation for it, but i wanted to combine the story of how lyney wanted a delusion before getting his vision, fire eating circus acts and how olympic medalists will bite their medal to prove it’s real??? don’t quote me on that i’m like 75% sure that’s a thing that happens. i don’t watch sports though so im just believing someone i heard on the internet ages ago.

anyways. i think fire eating acts are cool. and i think the fact that lyney wanted a delusion is very interesting to me. scratches my brain in the right places. and yk as a magician lyneys character revolves a lot around fooling people and creating illusions so i guess what im saying here is that lyney is trying to prove to himself that this power he’s been bestowed is real. bc his whole life his only constant has been lynette so he is trying to see if he can trust this new power. cause i guess this is an alternate universe where lyney does eventually become “Father” but he never got his vision ??? idk im not making lore for this i just wanted to dress up this funny little guy.

ok i’m done

thanks for reading

here’s my dog

[t34-mt]

sorry if you already answered this, but how do the specific colors for each species work when in different regions? are there any specific colors that are more common in one place than the other???

yes, each region has a group/ethnicity that sports colors that are exclusive to them, even feather type for the mane of maanul divers from one region to another. For kyhuines every group has the same feather types, BUT it is possible to have an individual with curly feather genes like a frillback pigeon. that said gene is a mutation so it's not common but it can be passed down

now im sincerely sorry I don't have a really clean good chart yet, ill use these shitty drawings I once made to explain the color to a friend. while they suck and are not good references to look at when it comes to anatomy you still understand color variation with them at least. I'll start with maanuls!

Western maanuls

while on the maanul drawings they don't have size dif, if this was done seriously the females would be bigger than males across every group. Western maanuls are ""the basic ones"" if you had to put it bluntly. id imagine that ancient maanuls before they diversified in colors probably looked a bit like a tone-down modern Western maanul.

the examples ill use for each groups are the most basic individuals you could ever think of. Because with dye and modification, an individual from one group could end up widely different from the base look. For example, Morang is a western maanul but she doesn't look like the example shown here, she cut down feathers for a straight-end look and she bleached herself to be a unified white. another we

Eastern maanuls

now with these guys, i do have a good render of them which you can see here, like western maanuls they got a mane with flexible feathers. the best irl example i can give for you to visualize that type of feathers would be to look at a Japanese roosters's tails. males have a greenish turquoise end some of their feathers. Which is a color exclusive to them. If i ever post an image of yarey'lu ( a male eastern maanul) and you see his yellow feather tips be aware that its not natural, and these are done with dyes. so would be the yellow marks around the eyes, these are also done by paint. another character that is an eastern maanul is ak'laam who doesn't look like the examples because she's melanistic.

Eastern males are the most colorful of all, they've also got iridescent feathers but so do eastern females which is also unique to them. The sea they live next to is a bright blue and within that sea, they have many coral barriers and "exotic" wildlife, even the flora around their region is bright and varied so, i had to make them fancy to go with their place.

Southern maanuls

now they've got their perks too, maanuls and kyhuines after being an ugly hatchlings they become what they call a fledging, which is a state where they're fully covered in a yellowish coat of feathers with brown stripes. Now every maanul and every kyhuine shed that coat at some point, so they lose the stripes except southern maanuls. Southern maanuls even as full adults still have some reminiscences of their stripes from when they were a fledgling.

The mane of easterns are quite particular too, they've got a mix of the two variants. a top layer with hard shafts that move for emoting or just to dance, and a bottom layer of soft shaft feathers. my only southern maanul character is nau'stikah

North-east maanuls

northeast are not that far in the north honestly on the map that population just sits on top of keezeh behind mountain ranges where the nice weather shifts into more temperate ones, like a normal winter you'd find in central Europe (i wish snow was still a thing here), their feather mane is usually quite short compared to other maanul groups and it is fully composed of hard shaft feathers that moves unintentionally with emotions or can be controlled at will.

They are quite dark due to the place they live at, which are cliffs that have been tinted black because of ancient volcanic activities. There arent many north east maanuls, they're the rarest of the 5 maanul groups. A character that is a north east maanul to mention would be qua'tuli

Central north maanuls

and for last with maanuls, central north maanuls which are "real northern" maanuls because they truly inhabit the real north compared to north east. Like north east their mane is fully made out of hard shaft feathers that can move, but unlike them their mane isn't short. you may have noticed but they're more covered too! ears are covered, most of the hand except palms, and the same for feet, except feet can actually be fully covered in feathers in some cold periods of the year.

Compared to other maanuls, central north go out in the land much more often to find food because during cold seasons they cannot always easily rely on the ocean. Their life is harsher than other groups so it sometimes reflects in folklore, like, for example, the way northern maanuls draw haanu (maanul's all mighty mother deity, a sort of Venus of willendorf equivalent) is lets say much scarier than the way other part of the world do it. i dont have any central north characters!

-

i should also mention that all maanuls have yellow eyes by default, mixing groups can create mutations tho, like orange, red or even brown (monmartre for example, western+central north it has red eyes cause mutation, and while it just looks like a western with neglected feathers it starts to look closer to a central north when it ages in late GA), other mutations can affect eye color too, ak'laam has black/brown eyes because of melanism, and an albino maanul would have red eyes.

kyhuines, commonly have yellow eyes too tho it is plausible but rare to have red, grey and brown eyes without being mixed. These traits can become hereditary too, same goes for maanuls with mutated eye colors they can also be passed down (example with monmartre's litter, but also that was done so its litter would stand out and be recognisable)

-

Now with kyhuines, there are only 4 groups/ethnicity compared to the 5 of maanuls, and theirs are quite close to one another so claims like "south, west, east, north" is a bit of a stretch but they still use it anyways for communication.

Southern kyhuines

the most common kyhuine are southern! now with kyhuines the color dimorphism is much more present compared to maanuls. Even talons in females if often darker, southern females can have dark brown talons to just the light pinkish that males have. gular skin is usually less bright too. Like eastern maanuls, i have a proper render of that group that you can see here. notable characters that are southern kyhuines would be satmuh, kapone, oto, and bantam. These 4 are all siblings so they can also be shortened to "southern litter" in literature

Western kyhuines

body wise, identical to southern. The difference is that they're much lighter. between males and females colorwise it's not that different most of the time. But they still got their quirk, their gular skin is a blue color. first contact maanuls mistaken western and southern to just be the same group variants but not, they are distinct ethnicity despite looking similar. i don't have any character that belongs to this group!

Salt desert kyhuines (or salt rock)

calling them north is a stretch, while on old kyhuine maps, they are situated up to other groups, on a world map they're just in the center of the mega continent like other kyhuines its just that they live in the salt desert. the talons of a female salt kyhuine can almost be black, to just greyish tones like the example, same goes for gular skin it can go from this tone to a full black one. Then the males sport these blue cool tones and also have iridescent feathers, irredescent feathers in kyhuines is only found in male salt desert individuals.

now the "wings) these drawings suck because while you get the base idea for colors its not good when it comes to accurate anatomy, the feather of salt male kyhuines are long, very long, almost like a Microraptor (on the drawing the leg feathers are not right, not large/wide enough). While they cant glide because they're too heavy and not made for that either way. it does help readjust a fall or jump, you'd usually see males flap their "arm wing" a little when jumping to something high. notable characters of that group are Ame, kaasim, and the egg twin sisters

Eastern kyhuines

So for eastern kyhuines, i do have a clean render of them but its also outdated when it comes to spine posture. While ill still link it because you get a better look at their face beware that the kyhuine don't stand like that anymore (as you can literally see here). You can go view it here.

They're the only kyhuine that can have green-ish tones (for males), their face is also different its more curved, their face have a more "chubby" look. by the way, a healthy kyhuine from any region will have fat cheeks, best example to look at ig, are these shibas with fat cheeks. Their "wings" and overall look is a usually smoother than other kyhuines, they also have shorter "ears"

My favorite kyhuines honestly, i love their face a lot it's shameful that i didn't make any eastern oc atm.

all done, if you've reached down there then thank you for reading/looking! means a lot to me

[qiffin]

The Soft Sabbath

A piece on Edward Hopper

By Griffin Gibson

502-120-VA Visual Literacy And Culture

Pull the plug, Cut the cord, Disconnect. That is Edward Hopper. Born into a well off bourgeois family, by the age of five Hopper had a clear intuitive talent with art and was signing his work by 11. Throughout this time, his family was providing him with the materials and books to educate himself with. After highschool, Hopper went off to college for design and began freelance painting with moderate success. He went on to date and soon marry a former friend from college, Josephine Nivison, a very important person in his life. In that same year, with a couple decades of experience painting, he had his first breakthrough at a show his wife helped set up. For the next few decades, his work was a soft wave of success flowing across him. He had won. Everyone has an inner and outer story, and Hopper’s outer story was very boring in a sense. Pain is always on the inside. Hopper worked with a few different types of art. He was very adept with charcoal from a young age and was talented with watercolor, though a majority of his pieces were rendered and paved in oil paint. As a young adult in New York City, he fell in love with the concrete and tarmac around him and had a fascination for the scenery shown everywhere, sometimes with a few people shown in his work. In “Office in a small city” there's just one. Hopper has a tendency to depict people voyeuristically, he shows flawed people in the places he makes. They're never happy, never complete, they smothered in contemplation. You’d be lucky to see the average set of lips Hopper makes move 3 degrees from the last. In ‘Office in a Small City’, Hopper portrays an office worker in a solid yet sedated state, the man is completely relaxed leaning back, but he's aware. He can hear and see but he's melting into his chair and staring into his own head. Hopper paints and paints and paints different colours and people, but in the end, it's all him. “I think the American Scene painters caricatured America. I always wanted to do myself”.

The standout feature in ‘Office in a Small City’ would be the smoothness of it all, like a steam roller drove up the side of the buildings. That sort of texture is commonplace in Hopper's work. The space and form of the picture is another highlight, the paneless windows letting you into the lives of others. Hopper's buildings are made in a personified way. He has a usual spacing, a common feature being a hollow window set in front of and behind the focal figure, this being done in Office in a Small City as well. Your eyes pierce through the concrete being seeing its insides and outsides with the binoculars and vantage point Hopper made for you. There's an interesting use of color in the piece, as while the lighting and sky would make you think there's happiness involved, everything around the man is dry. It's a completely unromantic view of the time of day, showing the complexity of what's inside someone's cranium to be more important than simply the mood. In this painting, and many of his others, he transcends traditional melancholy and other gray emotions. He's able to represent loneliness even when surrounded by others or even a sense of unsatisfied boredom in his art. If we are to assume this is part of himself, does an apathetic reaction mean something? In the time he was living in, this grandiose level of infrastructure in metropolises was considered an achievement of man so im able to see this as Hopper in his studio, looking over his life's work, his success, though the satisfaction, the flag in the mountain, it eludes him. He's still relaxed, at this point in his life he would be 72 with a path of success paved behind him but this doesn't mean he's happy. The message is one of the human condition. I think this painting, and alot his work, is about people. In a concrete jungle it's easy to step on the insects. I think it's about the inner. Objectively, this painting is made up of a person and a building. Subjectively, both of those things are man. What you think are solid atoms melt back into the heart, not the brain. It's worth mentioning at this point that Hopper's marriage with Josephine Nivison did not have a happy ending. As time marched on they grew entangled with flaws, ending with resentment. Most of the women in Hopper's paintings were modeled after his wife because of her very strict demands. This later failed relationship put Hopper through a soft hardship. The kind you can't sleep through. The cultural impact of Hopper's work is immense. Though many of his pictures do not have any sort of readily clear message or political view, they've regardless been a massive inspiration for many artists. His ability to animate a landscape was something admired by many people, myself included. The colours he chooses to use are always thought out, much like the other aspects of his work and with his poetic depictions of people that are stuck in a workers world yet still resonate deeply with many despite the images’ context, it makes for something to be inspired by. Beyond even technical skill, sapped inspiration from many were yet derived from Hopper’s paintings because of their cultural significance in their depictions of jaded people molded through the world. Growing up in the start of the 20th century and late 19th century, Hopper was witness to the effects labor had on people and that time-period-specific experience more than bleeds through his art. I'd argue it's the metaphorical heart of what he paints, the core that builds all around it. As mentioned before, the framing of the piece is important, it shows us both a behind and frontal view of this man. We see how he sees the world. Another key factor would be that Hopper’s paintings rarely have an entry point that's not a window. Our only way into these peoples’ lives are through a hollow window, a peak, a skewed view through an honest one.

Hopper's work is extremely subjective. I've brought up many things that could have been represented, or were instead completely unrelated and are a wild guess. Yet that's the thing, I don't think there is a concrete message to Hopper’s concrete jungles, I think because he's always strived to paint himself, when you look at a piece of his, your eyes show you what you have inside. In that way, Hopper’s paintings are able to be seen by anyone and understood at least in some way, though I don't think they were meant for anyone, he made them for himself. I personally adore Hopper’s work, many of his paintings capture this sort of essence of being I can't seem to find anywhere else. When I look through the paneless hollow windows of Edward Hopper’s work, I always just end up seeing myself again. Pull the plug. Cut the cord. Disconnect. That is Edward Hopper.

Bibliography :     

Nochlin, Linda. "Edward Hopper and the imagery of alienation." Art Journal 41.2 (1981): 136-141.

“Rather, Hopper, a realist, works with the rhetorical device of synecdoche, the substitution of a concrete part for an equally concrete whole.” 

Levin, Gail. Edward Hopper: an intimate biography. Univ of California Press, 1998.

"I think the American Scene painters caricatured America. I always wanted to do myself."

Appendix

Office in a Small City (1953)

[emarcial]

adding hazard to the list of characters designed to appeal to me, specifically,

[oneprompt]

ITS ME AGAINN HI LOVE!! I love your writing I cannot resist <3. Maybe, a one night stand with ace ? (Nsfw I’m down bad yes….) and female reader. it’s kind of like the typical one night stand, you meet somewhere and things get heated quickly…. BUT ALSO LIKE you’re literally the best he’s ever had and he’s pretty surprised UMM IDK IF THAT MAKES SENSE 😭😭 IK IM KIND OF AWKWARD HAHA but I hope you’re having a good afternoon 🧡

authors note: hello , dolly <3 im deeply sorry for doing this so late ;; hopefully this makes up for the wait... please indulge yourself to the fullest + i just realized how short this is .. my apologies ;; i’ll make sure to make your next request the best i possibly can ..

NSFW WARNING BELOW , DO NOT READ IF SUCH A TOPIC IS DISCOMFORTING.

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Ace x F! Reader , One Night Stand Oneshot

tags : ( brief mentions of ) alcohol , vaginal sex , rough sex , ( brief + slight ) masochism

All it took was a few cups of vodka to have you two landed upon each other, limbs tangled up, pleasure coursing through your veins. It had all happened so fast, you could hardly remember what had happened.

You merely attended a party full of different crews, a banquet of sorts. Not a fancy one, no. A fun one, one that disregarded the need for cotton shirts and newly shined shoes. you had met Ace, chatting up a storm with the young man. Well, less chatting and more so flirting. Wether it was through seductive purrs or the occasional rub of a palm against his scorching skin. You two didn’t bother to hide your shameless flirting throughout the party. Not that it was a huge deal, most people went there trying to make their way into the pants of others

You had no shame as you and Ace went off to a more private area. I mean, what was there to be ashamed of? Who didn’t want to sleep with Fire Fist Ace?

And now, you laid down upon your stomach, Ace’s hands wandering your body. One spread out your soaking hole, your greedy pussy dripping with excitement. His other hand stayed gripping your hip tightly, preventing you from squirming away.

“You’re so wet, Y/n... what’s that all about?” Ace cooed out in a rather teasing tone, showing zero regards for the blush that perked upon your cheeks after he said that. He knew exactly what it was about, he just wanted to hear you say that.

You buried your face further into the depth of the pillows that laid atop of the bed sheets. “You know exactly what that’s about,” you huffed, which caused a raspy laugh to fall from Ace’s well sculpted frame. You could just tell what face he was making, just from the tone of his voice. An endless plane of smugness splayed across his freckled features. What a dick.

You were about to snap back with a snarky remark but your thought process was cut off as soon as you felt a sudden sense of fullness intrude the depths of your cunt. God, he was big. Was he in all the way? You couldn’t help but wonder. Part of you hoped so, as his dick was already pressed firmly within you but you also couldn’t help but wonder what pained pleasure could come from it being even larger.

A loud moan was swallowed by the pillows your face was pressed into, the cotton absorbing the noise you made as Ace slammed balls deep into your warmth. He was far bigger then you could’ve imagined. But again, what should you have expected from the son of the late Pirate King? You should’ve expected nothing but the best.

You continued producing lewd noises, ones that consistently were swallowed by the pillows. Ace really didn’t hold back, never ending the blunt force of his hips, his hips quaking desperately to fill you with every inch of him. You felt so god damn good, the way your insides clutched upon his shaft made Ace’s body tremble with ecstasy everytime he pulled back to push further in.

You were so good, almost too good. You were merely a one night stand, a woman who could surely extend into a friend after this night. Just a friend and nothing more. Well, that’s what Ace had planned. Ace wasn’t low enough to have sex with a girl and never speak to her again but he had planned to just become your friend, nothing like a boyfriend or anything of the sort. But with the way you writhed and tightened on him, it was giving him second thoughts. You were far too delicious to only feast on once, he knew that.

The view of your ass shaking with the needless pounding of his dick was a view he couldn’t pass up. Everything about you was perfect. The moans you let out were painfully erotic and the way your body was highlighted with sweat was far too sexy for him to ignore.

Perhaps... you’d be happy enough to be his fuck buddy or better, his partner. Ace wasn’t sure about status yet but all he knew was that he couldn’t let you go, he couldn’t let this type of sex slip through his fingers so easily.

And so, he didn’t. Even if it was just for tonight, Ace would use you to the fullest, pumping your pussy full of his musky semen, filling you to the brim. You were too good, certainly the best woman he had ever done such a thing with, upon all of his voyages.

And you were so hot. Everything about you made him go crazy, it seemed. It was that way even as the night was young. The way you fluttered your lashes at him as your hand would playfully collide with his shoulder made him tent in his pants every so slightly. You were too much for him. Ace wanted you more then anything. The thought of you screaming his name through the entire night never ceased to be. When you approached him in your rather skimpy outfit, Ace could only imagine bending you backwards upon the bar, taking you then and there. Now, he could. And there was no way in hell he would pass up the chance to milk this.

Even if he wasn’t aware, the feeling was just as mutual. You had been purposefully rubbing up on him all night, wether accidentally letting your thighs rub against Ace’s as you would get up to talk to your friends or placing your hands on his arms to ‘feel’ his muscles and inspect his tattoos. All of that had made your crotch ace and drip, every inch of him was infatuating to you. You couldn’t believe Ace would even do such a thing with you.

Many women could only imagine being plowed by Portgas D. Ace, son of Gol D. Roger. And you were one of the few women to have him inside of you, that feeling alone was electrifying. You could only imagine the jealous glares you’d receive if anyone found out. Part of you wanted that, yearned to see people jealous over you, over the fact you were drenched with Ace’s cum and repeatedly rocked back and fourth by his girthy dick.

“Ace!” You cried out, throat growing dry and tight from the strong strain of your vocal chords. This was too much for you, it felt so good. The way Ace used his hips with euphoric, he was one of few men who knew what to do with their bodies, surely. It was magical, running from your overstimulated brain to your curled toes. “I think...i’m going to cum!” You whimpered our, voice filling the room, pillows no longer capable of containing the beast.

Beads of sweat dribbled down Ace’s well built chest, grazing the hues of his nipples. He looked down at your body, feeling your walls close upon him, squeezing him as if they were yearning for his seed.

The sensation of Ace’s thick cum shooting into you triggered something deep inside of you, breaking your self control in two pieces. The way it reached your deepest parts made your eyes roll back, long lashes dotted with hot tears.

Your fluid coated his dick, slinking it’s way downward to his balls. Your arousal painted his shaft and the sheets that held you two, becoming damp with both sweat and cum.

Ace hadn’t bothered to pull out, yet didn’t move. The room was merely full of nearly eternal panting and gasping, shaky breaths acting almost endless. It took you quite a bit to muster up the energy to speak, your brain still rendered useless from all the pleasure.

“That was amazing...” You looked back at Ace, giving him a tired smile. Your heart sunk as you noticed Ace smirk widely, snickering ever so slightly. Oh boy....

“Who says we’re done, Y/n?” Ace whispered huskily, pushing his black curls backward, wiping sweat from his brow as he stared down at your nude form.

[shini--chan]

I love you're writing skills! How would be the reader react when she travel the time back so like the 1600 in England?. And England would she see her in modern clothes. She want go back to her time(2020). Im so sorry for my bad English

Thank you, that is very sweet of you. Also don’t worry – your English probably isn’t as bad as you think.

If you want to see anything else set in that period, go and check that Pirate AU! Post. Now on to this here.

Yandere England – 1600s/Timetravler

Whether you would like it or not, you would find yourself hurtling through time and landing in England during the 17th century. Right in Puritan England to be precise, literally the worst decade to land into right after ending up in the middle of a battle. You would be wandering the countryside, in total confusion as well as in complete panic. That would be how Arthur would find you. He would be heading back home, utterly disgruntled by the state of affairs that he would have to suffer under. Then he would notice you, an alien entity by all means, in your strange clothing and foreign manners. First, he would consider just leaving you to your fate (which could be very gruesome) as the loon you would appear to be to him. Then he would remember the supposed Christian values of hospitality and altruism and approach you to take you home with him.

You would be both relieved and frightened to see somebody approach you. Through his clothing it would dawn upon you that you were really in the past. Despite fearing being deemed a witch or being interrogated or suffering from any other fate that would cross your mind, you would know that you would need help. The moment Arthur would open his mouth to inquire about you, the final nail would be hammered in the coffin. The Old English that would meet your ears would be absolute proof that was once history would be your present. A notion that would be affirmed when Arthur’s face would wrinkle in confusion when you would use your English.

Your strange use of his language would confuse, but would nevertheless ring a bell in the back of his mind. It would remind him how English had developed over the centuries. Would your way of using it just be a natural result of further evolution, hence making you a … timetravler? That would be at least what you would be trying to convey over the language barrier. Arthur would be sceptical at first, wanting to rule out all other possibilities before believe you. If you’d think him to be a fool, then you’d have something else coming. Then you’d try to use evidence to convince him.

Quickly, he grabbed the strange thing you were holding out to him. After giving you a brief mistrusting look, he would take a few steps away from you. A paranoid bastard as ever, he turned to stand in such a way that you couldn’t see everything he was doing while keeping an eye on you.

The thing that you handed to him was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was rectangular and slim, smooth with its dark glass and opaque surfaces. He glimpsed his own cruel visage in the reflection. Was it nothing more than a strange mirror?

Then he went on to inspect the sides, the tips of his fingers finding a few elevations in the material. Curious, he pressed one of them …

… and nearly dropped it when the dark glass promptly lit up and it emitted a strange sound. You yelled besides him, suddenly directly at his side since your device had been endangered. He was sure that hadn’t his reflexes been so quick, then he would have to defend himself against a very enraged stranger. Instead, you glare at him, as irritated as you were, and tried to snatch your thing back.

Agitated by your action in turned, Arthur roughly pushed you away, sending you sprawling to the ground. You cussed at him, the aggressor recognising a few of the swears you tossed at him but not finding himself bothered enough to respond and instead staring at the picture that had manifested.

There was a colourful background, the nuances and lines and shadows showing a painting that was far more realistic then any he had ever seen before. In front of it, a series of number shined at him. One set was probably the time, he deduced, while the other was most likely the date from how it was written.

2021 …

That was nearly 400 hundred years in the future. He looked at you, observed how you had picking stones out of your scraped and bleeding palms.

Despite your disagreeable demeanour, you would likely prove very useful to him.

He would promptly take you with him, trying his best to convey to you through gestures and miss-matched words that he would only want to help you. If you prove define, then he would coerce you into following him by taking your smartphone hostage. Once you would calm down, then you would rationalize that this would probably be the best option you could receive and concede his wishes.

Arthur would keep you in his house, ensure that all the servants would steer clear from the rooms he would house you in, and gradually butter up to you, with all intentions of drawing the details of his future out of you. Other than that, he would intently observe you, knowing that the behavioural patter say a lot about a person, and in extension, give clues about the environment they grew up in. And needly to say, he would be very surprised by some things.

“You know, it is the third time you demand to be allowed to wash yourself this week. Don’t you think you are going too far? There is miasma in the water, and if you continue like this, not only will you render yourself a fool, but you’ll also become sick”, he chided you as he watched you hauled a bucket up the stairs.

As weak as you were, you were struggling with your heavy load, evidence to the lack of physical labour you had done in your life. It made Arthur ask himself if everybody in the future would be as weak and spoiled as you are, or if you were just the exception.

Either way, while manners and etiquette called for him to ease your burden which you evidently couldn’t manage on your own, he found the sight of you straggling up the flight of cold stone steps far too amusing to intervene.

With trembling arms, your set down the bucket and stared at him, eyes shooting daggers up at him. “In case you didn’t know, it is dirt that actually makes people sick. It is cleanliness that prevents infection. Which is why you would do well to wash daily as well!”

With a frown, Arthur picked up his shirt to sniff it. In his opinion, he didn’t stink, so he didn’t see what you were making such a fuss about. He was also sure he had understood you correctly – the two of you had managed to sort out things to the extent that you could communicate fairly well.

“I think that changing underclothing daily and bathing once a month to be sufficient. And now, before you say anything, be sure to keep your attitude in check. I’ve had more than enough of it”, he told you.

He watched your face wrinkle and swore he heard you mutter: “Damn patriarchy and its superiority complex.”

He didn’t know whether to be alarmed about your very simplistic, black-and-white view of the world and your grievous oversimplifications of the current era or be amused about how you thought you knew everything. Either way, he would have to take your words about the future with a grain of salt – who knew just how skewed your recounts would be.

“I fail to see how this has to do with that. The matter at hand is about the guest treating the host with respect, expected courtesy allowing humans to live together. I could put you out on the streets if you keep being a brat”, he countered.

You grasped the handle once more, water spilling over the rim as you picked it up with both hands. “We both know that you wouldn’t do that. You value me too much.”

And oh, in what ways he was beginning to value you.

For one, he would detest how condescending you would be, due to having all the knowledge of the next centuries and all the benefits that would come with it. Yet, he would bare most of it. When he wouldn’t, he’d let his sharp-tongue and centuries worth of life experience come to light. He would mock you for your nativity and prod at you for being coddled and accustomed to yet-to-be luxuries.

Arthur would tell you that he would put effort in finding a way to send you back to your own time. That would be a shameless lie. He wouldn’t be interested in anything of the sort. Rather he would insist on you staying with him, to help him further his imperial ambitions. Besides, you would be the most interesting and riveting thing that would have happened to him in ages. He would quickly grow attached to you, and with you having nobody else than him (he would ensure that) in a harsh and foreign world of which you would truly know little, you would find yourself relying on him.

He might tell you that he is a personification. Secrets for secrets, after all. And with him providing proof of his semi-immortality and the absurdity of time travel having happened you would be inclined to believe him. England would also tell you that if you would return to your own time, he would be sure to seek you out, so that you can be back together again. Besides rising alarm bells in your head, you would find yourself asking just how much of the timeline you would end up altering with the scrapes of information that he would wheedle out of you.

[emilyartstudio-s]

dude, a) your art is fucking magnificent, you’re a huuuuge inspiration to me, keep it up. b) how do you uh? paint? digitally? it looks so good, sorry if you’ve answered this before but maybe a tutorial or people you learned from would be cool to know. i wanna get better at it, coloring in general is something i struggle with, but when you paint it looks amazing.

Thank you so much!! People have asked me before and here’s the post to that here! And i’m very open about saying this: I do not like explaining because i am NOT good at explaining at all. 

I remember starting to paint because of this YT video but even then;;; I don’t even use these techniques anymore;; (But it was a great start!) Overall, I do change up what colors I use and how I do my progress but everything is basically- Sketch, flats, shading, MERGE, blend till your arm falls off, add more shading, fix anatomy, shading, Small amounts of highlight, done!

Below: Sketching stage 1!

Better sketch! This is when I will add colors too so I choose a brown/reddish color for the sketch and put it on multiply

(I forgot to save flats so ignore how almost rendered he is lmaoo)

But I put shadows and flats randomly!! I pay attention to my lighting a lot when I paint so I fix that when I blend stuff in!!

I merge the lineart and the sketch layer between these two steps and try to clean the concept as much as possible (this is so vague im sorry)

More details!! I add any necessary highlights, thicker line art, etc!

Hope this helped in just a small way? I dont know how to do videos just yet cuz

[orionwhispers]

Wishing It Was You; Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - hey guys... its been a while. I started this in april and finally finished it. she might be my longest yet my fave imagine ive done. im tired and lazy so sorry if there are any mistakes. PLZ let me know what you think and my ask is always open!! ily)

Tommy knows he's standing next to Grace.

He can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, can feel the pressure of his hand against the curve of her waist, can smell her expensive perfume, with it’s notes of rose water and lemon, lingering on her neck, but all he sees is you. Grace is leaning into him, her giggles sounding like twinkling diamonds as she laughs at a joke he hasn’t registered, his mind completely preoccupied with thoughts of the woman standing at the other side of the room.

He hadn’t expected to see you here. In fact, he hadn’t expected to ever see you again. It strikes him like a bullet in his gut, leaving him winded and gasping for air in the middle of an expansive ballroom, the gin on his tongue suddenly as hot as acid.

Have you seen him yet? The thought fills his brain like a buzzing hornets nest, the feeling is immediate and prickling at the back of his skull.

Do you know he’s here? Have you noticed him?

Most importantly though… Did you come alone?

His hand unconsciously tightens around Grace’s waist and she smiles at him, as sweet as sugar, completely unaware of the femme fatale on the opposite side of the room, capturing her husbands attention and luring him like a siren.

He bites his tongue until he can taste metal and copper. A fresh wave of guilt and shame collapse over him but he swallows it down like it’s nothing but a lump in his throat.

He loves Grace, he adores her. He isn’t doing anything wrong.

And yet, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

At first he thought he was going mad. He hadn’t believed in ghosts and spirits since he was a boy, sat in a caravan, reading tarot cards with his Mum. He became too used to death and decay in the war, too used to seeing blood and rot to believe in a chance of a second life - not when he had sinned so much in his first.

He hadn’t thought of you in so long. Hadn’t conjured up the image of you in his mind like he used to do late at night, imagining the feel of your skin against the pads of his fingertips, the smell between your shoulder blades, the weight of your ribs underneath his.

You were always at the back of his mind though. No matter how hard he pushed you away, your smile and voice would always linger at the back of his head, a beam of sunlight whenever the shovels would get too loud.

You were real though. You were back. He could tell only because of the way you captivated everyone around you, the faces of those enchanted by you were proof that you weren’t just a memory his drunken mind had created. Throwing your head back and giggling, chewing on the bottom of your painted lips, you had everyone under your spell.

He can’t take his eyes away from you. Its like he’s a puppet and you’re toying with the strings without even realising. He’s tethered to you, no matter how far apart you may be.

“Tommy?”

Grace’s syrup like voice cuts through him like a blade, and he straightens up. He’s acting like a teenager and the thought repulses him, he’s a businessman, not a child. He’s fought in the war, dealt with fearless gangsters and killed men with his bare hands, how come seeing you has rendered him breathless?

He turns to look at her, her gentle features illuminated under the chandeliers, her brow is furrowed with a mixture of mild irritation and curiosity and he lets her familiarity wash over him like the ocean. She smiles kindly at him, turning her attention back to the guests surrounding her, and Tommy feels a clench of white hot shame that whilst he is stood next to his wife, his mind is dizzied with the thoughts of another woman.

Grace is Grace.

She’s beautiful and soft and kind and warm. She was the stability he needed, the type of woman he needed to come home to, she tended to his wounds and listened to his rants and kissed his scars. She was too good for him and he knew it. She had lied and deceived him in the past, but it strengthened their love, rebuilt their trust like a fortress. He loved her, he wanted to have a family with her.

But she would never be you.

You were as familiar as the peaked cap that adorned his head, you were as much as a part of him as the gun in his holster. Your face flashed in his mind whenever he heard the last gasp of air from an enemy, it was you who appeared in his dreams and rescued him from the depths of his nightmares. It was as if you were stitched into his skin since the very first day you met when you were children.

He needs to get home, he can’t stay. Too long and you’ll sink your claws into him. Too long and everything he’s worked so goddamn hard for will start to crumble around him.

He flattens his palm against the back of his wife’s dress, ready to make hasty excuses and polite apologies and leave, nestle her into the back of his car and drive far away.

He opens his mouth to speak, but before words can slip from his tongue, he spots a smug, sparkling eyed Polly approaching, arms spread, lips curled into a smirk.

Fuck being polite. He’s Tommy fucking Shelby, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

His hands curve around Grace’s spine and she tuts in protest, ready to scold her husband for his haste, but she snaps her lips shut at his flushed expression.

“Oh Tommy! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Polly approaches, already buzzed, arms spread like a bird in flight, just waiting to engulf him. A cigarette dangles from the corner of her cherry painted lips, her eyes gleaming with a mix of alcohol and mischief.

He inwardly curses, Polly cornering him like a lioness, ready to tear him and his wife apart. She’s practically chomping at the bit, the delight of seeing your familiar face and the knowledge of what that’ll do to Tommy and Grace making her float across the floor. She’s drunk on elation and glasses of champagne, her mind too fucked to even think about the consequences.

“Oh Tom!” She repeats, cradling his face like he’s a boy again. Under any other circumstances he would be delighted to see his Aunt so happy, a sight he was rarely blessed with, but now he’s wishing for anything else. Grace’s grip tightens, he can feel her stare on the side of his skin, burning holes into his flesh. Polly feels her gaze and turns to the blonde beauty, her disdain for her nephews wife enough to drill the final holes into his coffin, sealing him shut into eternal darkness.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s back.”

Grace stiffens beside him, arching a penciled eyebrow at her husband and opening her lips. Tommy can feel his palms moisten, an unfamiliar sensation that takes him back to being a teenager, one that only ever occurred around you.

“Who’s (Y/N), Thomas?”

————————————————————

You were the same age as Ada, reserved and soft spoken, new to Birmingham and all of its smoke and gristle coloured cobbles. She saw you one day in the school yard; sat alone on your first day, picking at the skin on your swollen lips, round doe eyes following the other children roughhousing and laughing. She was immediately drawn to you, her inquisitive mind growing protective, and it wasn’t long before she strode over to you, confident as ever, introducing herself and deciding to take you under her wing.

The two of you became fast friends, sharing jam sandwiches and apple slices under the sun, skipping along the streets and throwing stones into the cut at dusk before your parents hastily called you inside and scolded your recklessness. You barely left one another’s side, spending every night you could at each others house, giggling and gossiping under the covers, trying on your mothers makeup and making sticky pinkie promises to be best friends forever.

The years passed and you still remained attached at the hip, growing closer than ever as your limbs grew and you wandered into adolescence, facing every problem you encountered together. You were Ada’s shoulder to cry on when her mother passed, sleeping next to her in a single bed for month on end as the night terrors kept her awake. You grew closer to Ada’s family as well, especially considering the amount of time you spent there. Aunt Pol became a surrogate mother to you, chastising you and supporting you and always being there for you, sometimes with a smack on the back of the legs, like the time she caught you both smoking before you hit your teens.

You became a fond fixture in the Shelby household, slotting in like just another straggly stray at the dinner table every night. You were young, but you weren’t stupid, you had known the Shelby boys since the very first day you came back to their house and even as a child you could sense the mischievous aura surrounding them. As you grew, so did your curiosity, and it wasn’t long before you learnt of the betting shop located in the back room of Pol’s house. Ada and Polly were both protective of you, and managed to keep you out of trouble despite the spark of interest that brewed in your stomach and so that back room just became another chest to lock in the back of your mind.

They both knew that there was something different about you, and as you grew from a timid child to an inquisitive teenager your thirst became insatiable. Ada had always recognised the unpredictable nature the you harboured, you could be quiet and meek but under the surface your brain was a kaleidoscope of spontaneity. It was you who suggested late night adventures and rain splattered trips that got you both into trouble, you who dreamt of cities and lives bigger than the both of you. Ada adored that about you, your desire for change something she wasn’t used to in the dismal, grey town she grew up in but deep down she was terrified that you wouldn’t ever be satisfied.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed the impulse in you. From the very first time he saw you all those years ago he noticed the crackle of electricity under your docile exterior, bubbling under the surface like lightning that struck the sky. Of course, back then you were just a child and Tommy was far too interested in pursuing the betting shop than taking notice of his little sister’s friend, but he always kept an eye on you. The two of you had a bizarre relationship, despite the age gap between you both, you managed to find a level ground. Whilst Arthur and John would ruffle your hair and swing you over their shoulders as if you were still a toddler, Tommy would talk to you as if you were an adult, the two of you could bicker like siblings but there was a mutual respect underlying it all, you both connected by your need for more.

It came to a head when Tommy was counting money at the betting shop one evening in August. The sun was fading to the colour of a bruised peach and the air was still warm, notes stuck to his fingers and he hummed in frustration just as the large doors swung open. His head snapped up and he came face to face with a flushed Ada, her cheeks were as red as a Gala apple and tears welled in her wide eyes. Tommy immediately reached for the gun shoved in it’s holster ready to send bullets flying over his watery eyed sister, before her exasperated voice broke through the silence.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s had a fight with her fucking dad and now she’s gone! Please, Tom, can you help me find her?”

As Tommy had the family car, he was left trawling through the country lanes surrounding the city whilst Ada and Pol searched your usual hiding spots in Small Heath. According to Ada, you had about a two hour head start from your house, and Tommy’s foot itched over the pedals at the thought. This was hardly the first time you had run away, usually it was over to Polly’s for the night after you had had enough of your family, but after a particularly bad spout with your parents last year, Ada had found you halfway to London. You were definitely a flight risk.

Tommy’s hands clenched over the steering wheel as the sky darkened, you were a beautiful teenager, walking alone through the streets at dusk; it was a recipe for disaster. Tom knew you could hold your own, but the creatures that lurked around at night were ravenous and there was no way in hell he would let them sink their claws in you.

Tommy could feel heat prick at the bottom of his spine. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that the feelings he harboured for you stemmed much more than the ‘sibling love’ he disguised them as. The attraction between the two of you had always been there, something magnetic joining you both before you could realise it. Over the years it had blossomed, despite his attempts to distinguish the fire that you brought out in him, something about you had captivated him.

All of his thoughts turned to wisps of smoke as he rounded a corner, nearly swerving into a thorn bush as he spotted you. You were walking with determination, and he couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he watched you march forward like a solider, your small frame filled with force. Your hair was loose, draping around your shoulders like a halo, bouncing with every step you took.

He trailed behind you, edging his foot off the gas and waiting as the car slowed next to you. He knew you noticed the intrusion from the way your shoulders tensed briefly, and he allowed the car to match your pace, the two of you moving like boats on water. He knew you would be the first to speak, and allowed your words to run over him like warm milk and honey.

“Hello, Thomas. Out for a drive?”

He smiled, rolling his eyes slightly before responding. “C’mon (Y/N), time to come home.”

“No thank you.”

“It’s getting late.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

He tensed his foot against the gas, the car rumbling lowly and rolling forward. He pulled it into park right in front of you, the dark exterior blocking you from walking any further up the lane. You exhaled in frustration, the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks flushed the colour of Shepard’s delight, and he cant help but bite back the smile curling in his mouth. He patted the seat playfully and watched as you scuffed your foot into the mud like a child, coyly sucking on your tongue before clambering next to him, crossing your arms and settling into the leather.

Tommy’s hands rested on the steering wheel, he flexed his fingers for a moment before turning to face you, examining your skin under the dim light. Both of your fathers had a lot in common, alcoholic, nasty and violent, something dark like rum boiling inside of their blood, men who ruled with fear and aggression. There were no marks he could see, not like the time your arm was coated in purple thumb prints that left him seething, only calmed once you and Ada had snuck off to her room and he could control his thoughts with a cigarette. That night he pretended he couldn't see Polly watching him like a hawk.

“He didn’t hit me this time.”

Good. He would have killed him.

“Kind of wish he did though, Mum bought a new frying pan that could have come in handy.”

He let you talk, the birds and the wind the only noises disturbing the peace. You were quiet, and it was rare for you to open up like this, so he cherished the moment despite the underlying bleakness of it all.

“I know it seems childish, but it just feels easier to get away.”

He hesitated, looking down at you picking your nails in the front seat of his car. The words forming on the edge of his tongue tasting like whisky, not knowing how to comfort you without implicating himself. He tried to imagine himself as Polly or Ada, the kind of person who would know what to say.

“You have people that care about you, you don’t need to fuckin’ up and leave.”

“I know I do, but anywhere is better than Small Heath.”

He blew air through his teeth. “It ain’t so bad.”

You swivelled to face him, round eyes and raised eyebrows set on him like a sniper. “Really, Tom? You do know you’re saying all this sat in the front seat of a bloody Bugatti? Bought with dirty money might I add?”

It’s the first time he’s seen you so heated and despite the truth in your words the sight of your small face twisted in annoyance is enough to make his lips curl, only adding fuel to your fire.

“You can sit here and tell me that all you want, but you know better than anyone that there’s more out there than Birmingham. I can see it in you Tom, and if you want you can act like you don’t need anything more, then that’s fine by me! But I hope you’re alright with lying to yourself.”

He stared deep into your eyes, expression blank and solid as if your words had truly punched him in the gut. You watched him for a moment, cheeks flushing slightly and eyebrows scrunching, wondering if maybe you had over stepped the line before his eyes glimmered and he held his hands up playfully, peaked cap bouncing with every exaggerated movement.

“Alright, bloody hell. Remind me not to get in a fight with you. I can see how much our Ada has rubbed off on you.”

You let a tiny smile tug at the edge of your lips before it expanded and took over your face, tossing your head back and letting your hair fall over your shoulders as you grinned. Tommy swore he felt his heart skip a beat. He started the car as quickly as he had stalled it, feeling it purr and jut under his feet, the world righted once again now that you were sat next to him. The car rolled over a bridge, and after you crossed over onto the other side he cleared his throat, opening his mouth to speak.

“If you ever feel like running away again, come and see me first, alright?”

He kept his eyes on the road, but could feel yours on the side of is neck, running softly over his flesh like fingertips.

“If I didn’t know any better, Thomas,” You spoke teasingly, using his full name just to get under his skin, “I’d think you were going soft.”

The evening sun beat down onto the two of you, and as the car lurched forward he mirrored your own smile, because maybe he was, for you.

————————————————————————-

After that long drive home it was like a switch had flipped. The two of you became closer, as if an invisible thread was tying you both together. You were allowed into the betting shop more often, counting coins and change and bickering playfully with the Blinders. Tommy took you to your first horse race under the guise of “teaching you more about the business”  you wore your finest dress and he pretended he couldn't feel his breath catch in his throat when he looked at you. His hands clung protectively around your waist as you downed a glass of strawberry wine, rolling his eyes and smiling as you laughed into him as the horses galloped and the crowds cheered. You spent evenings climbing through the window in his bedroom, sitting on the sloped roof tiles as rain pattered onto the streets below, sharing a cigarette and watching the stars peek through the smoky air, unsaid words bubbling behind both of your lips as yours knees pressed together.

The rest of the family noticed the change between the two of you, but said nothing. Even Ada couldn't help smiling to herself when she saw the glances that you shared, her kind and clever older brother was the only man she could possibly think was good enough for her best friend. Although she would never admit it, it meant he was distracted enough to not notice her leaving to spend time with a certain man named Freddie.

Tommy drove you to the beach for the first time, exploring the pier and walking barefoot across the sand. Your wide smile as you danced in the surf and talked under baying seagulls was forever cemented into his mind, he vowed silently that he would move mountains just to see you happy, the feeling unlike anything he had ever felt. He taught you how to shoot a gun, your body pulled flush against his as you squealed in delight as the bullet ricocheted off the can. Your conversations flowed like running water, able to converse and laugh about everything and anything from dusk till dawn. He was mischievous and playful and would crack jokes even on your worst days, when your father was mean and your mother was distant, he would make you feel whole again.

That’s why, on a rainy Thursday as the two of you walked side by side by canal, you pulled his face towards yours with your small hands and kissed him. He froze, with all of his previous girlfriends he had always initiated things first, but with you he had felt uncharacteristically hesitant, terrified of scaring you off and losing you. However as your parted lips met and he felt you smile into his mouth, tasting of cherry jam and stolen tobacco, he let his hands snake around your waist as if they had been carved there. The wind whistled and the rain splattered both of you, his peaked cap sheltering his ruffled hair and your face from the droplets, it was freezing but heat crackled between the two of you. You were practically half his size, resting on your tip toes to meet him fully, but in that moment he knew you had him utterly under your thumb.

The relationship the two of you shared was pure and untainted. It was all soft skin and moonlight painted faces, freckles and wide teeth and apricot coloured skies. His hand would brush against yours as he walked you home, you’d laugh into his neck at the Pictures, your words would mingle together at midnight as you sat and talked. Things couldn't have been more perfect, as sweet as the whisky tea you would drink with Ada and Polly, as merry as the laughs you shared with the brothers and as syrupy as the kisses you would have with your first love. But just like the smoke that filled the once clear sky above your heads, your life was soon to darken.

It all happened so suddenly, maybe your blissful youth had created a candy coated picture over the political dramas happening around you, but now they couldn’t be ignored. There was going to be a war. You knew from the start the brothers would be drafted, they were filled with pride for their country, they were young and fit and strong, they knew how to fight, punching and slashing with their razor blades, but you loathed the idea. You bit your tongue until it bled, knowing there was no point in arguing, but that didn't stop you staining your pillow with tears every night.

You refused to let the boys see you in such a state, and tried your best to enjoy the last few days you had until you would be separated from your family. The ache in your chest remained despite your false bravado, dinners were different, quieter, and you would often catch Polly staring at nothing, as if she could see a ghost.

Tommy took you away the night before. He drove the caravan for miles, his favourite dappled mare pulling you through fields of wildflowers as the sun followed you overhead. You parked in the woods by the river, silence falling over both of you. His hands laced through yours, thumb running over your soft skin, and you watched him, drinking in all of his beautiful features like whisky.

“Will you wait for me?”

His voice is quiet, so unlike his usual boyish, playful tone. Seeing him so vulnerable was like a bullet entering your heart. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt dance against your cheek.

“Forever.”

He intakes sharply. He plucks a daisy from the grass, toying with the tiny flower between his large palms before turning to you and pushing it behind your ear, looking at you in a way that makes your body melt like butter.

“I love you.” He watches you, gauging for your reaction, but you don’t give him any, you just look up at him with those big fucking eyes. He exhales, turning back to face the water as he continues. “Known it since we first met. Since that very first day, when we were just kids, I knew. You had a hold on me since day one. I couldn’t leave without telling you…telling you how grateful I am for you.”  

His voice softens, “How much you mean to me and because of that,” He clears his throat as if struggling to get the words out, “I’ll understand if you want to move on, find someone else or…”

You don’t let him continue, you attach your lips to his as if they were magnetic, feeling him collapse under your touch. You pull away much too soon for his liking, a smile reaching your eyes as you press your forehead against his, the light making you look angelic. “Stop talking.” You kiss him again, harder, in that teasing way you have mastered so well.

“I love you too.”  

Under the stars, as the moonlight bathes the caravan in a soft eerie glow, you pull off the straps off your sundress, watching Tommy follow you as if he’s in a trance. Calloused, firm hands meet your tender flesh as he worships you like a Goddess, unable to believe that you are human. You give yourself to him fully, and it’s unlike anything he’s felt, the connection flowing between your bodies stronger than anything, love and lust connecting as your bodies mesh. Despite his earlier sentiment, as he buries himself inside of you, he loathes the idea of another man touching you and you can feel the heat radiating from underneath his skin and pull his face to you, staring him down, telling him everything he needs to know.

You’re his, and he’s yours.

Candles flicker around you, painting your limbs the colour of the sunrise. You playfully touch his nose, and then his lips, dragging them open with your finger. Your bodies are slick with sweat, exhausted but alive, feeling as if you are the only two people in the world despite the knowledge of what lurks ahead, you just feel young and blissfully in love.

“You won’t forget about me, will you Shelby?” You tease. “Won’t find a nice French woman to take my place?”

You’re joking but he kisses you silent, eyes connecting to yours, “I’ll never be able to replace you, little one.”

——————————————————————

No one expected the war to last as long as it did, least of all you. Every day you sat by the radio, waiting and wanting desperately for news that it was over, but every day you would leave with tears filling your eyes. You busied yourself the best you could during those long, dark days. You and the girls ran the betting shop, you looked after John’s kids and Finn as if they were your own - despite your young age, the war had forced everyone to grow up.

Four years is a long time, and that’s exactly how you felt as you waited on the platform, hand in hand with Ada, waiting for your boys to come home. You felt as if you had swallowed rocks, nausea bubbling inside of you, acid in your throat. He had been home three times since it had started. Three times in four years had you been able to see his face in real life, touch his skin, tell him words that wouldn’t do justice on paper. You had seen the effects of the war distort the people around you, heard awful tales of shell shock and seen men returning home with missing limbs and broken hearts. Every day you waited for that call, that piece of paper that told you Tommy wouldn’t be returning, but blessedly it never came, and finally, he was coming home.

You’ll always remember that day he came off of the platform. The last time you had seen him had been so long ago, but even then you had noticed the grey of his skin, the pain in his eyes. He was quieter, milder, refusing to speak of the horrors he must have endured, instead focusing on light happy stories. You wondered how much he had changed since then.

He was beautiful.

He still had that boyish look, his sharp jaw and tousled hair, but he looked older, haunted. You felt your knees buckle at the mere sight of him, the way his eyes danced over the platform, looking for something, someone - you. Your eyes met and you watched them glimmer, something you had been starved of for so long that you devoured the feeling. Euphoria bit through your skin and tears pricked at your eyes. You ignored everyone else, storming through the crowd like you were the solider, racing with your arms wide open, not caring how childish you looked. He smiled in what looked like relief and laughed in exhaustion as you fell into his arms. He held you so tight that you could feel the air expel from your chest but you didn’t care, you cried hot, wet tears into his shoulder, and you felt him bury his head in your hair. He looked at you, breathing hard and opening his mouth, but before he could speak you smashed your lips onto his, melting into his touch like all those years ago.

“Welcome home, Tommy.”

——————————————————————

Weeks passed, and it was as if the darkness had seeped into his skin. You longed to tear it off of him, wished that you could swap yourself with him, carry a little bit of his pain, but you knew that was impossible. Night was when he found solace, with you wrapped up in his arms, breathing in your sweet clean scent, something he had been deprived of for far too long. If you strayed too far in the night, woke up for some tea for a sore throat or simply because your mind was restless, you would hear the gut wrenching moans and cries leave his lips and would dart up the stairs two at a time to crawl back onto him. The first time you heard it he sounded like a fox with its paw in a trap, something so inhumane that it stayed with you like an awful lullaby on loop in your brain. As you managed to wake him from his own nightmare, he pulled you impossibly close, breathing into your hair as you whispered words of comfort, feeling utterly helpless.

After the war, everyone had their own poison. Arthur started boxing, channeling his anger and frustration into fighting, Freddie started protesting, looking for change in places he found wrong, and for others like Danny Whizzbang, sometimes the war clung its teeth in too far and refused to let go.

Tommy however, became obsessed with power.

You had known about his incredible work ethic and savvy business skills since the very first day you met, but now his hunger was insatiable. He was up before the birds had started chirping, planting soft kisses on your collarbones as he left for work, and didn’t come to bed until you physically had to drag him away from his desk. You were worried, but as always he conducted himself in a manner that made it seem like he was always in control, smooth and charming, unfazed by his hectic schedule and the looks you sent him.

It came as no shock to anyone that Tommy had been leader of his unit, the kind of man that people would listen to and follow without hesitation, the kind of man that knew how to be in charge. You knew some things about what had happened in the tunnels, horrors so unimaginable that it tore your heart in two to think of him suffering, and you were just left wondering what kind of marks that would leave on a man. His high ranking earned him thanks and praise wherever he went, he was honourable and that lead more and more men to join the Blinders, wanting to be close to such a powerful man, wanting the things he could offer.

The experiences he’d suffered through had led him to become disillusioned and determined to move his family up in the world, especially you. He became increasingly overprotective, a trait you at first found endearing and then ultimately suffocating, you knew he meant you know harm, wanting to shield you from the things he had endured, but you felt like a child again. You longed for trips to the country, to walk along the beach with him, to sleep under the stars, but it was as if that part of him had been killed on the front line.

You would be a liar if you said you were unaware of the illegal activity going on in the betting shop, you had always known of the shady dealings going on behind closed doors, but they thrilled you, excited you, mainly because you always knew that Tommy was in control, he could never get hurt. Your whole life you had always wanted more, hungry for a lifestyle that never bored you, but now you were wondering if you had bitten off too much.

He was changing, morphing in front of your eyes like a creature you had read about in a storybook when you were a child. Growing up his violent tendencies were sporadic, but with both of your fathers being unpleasant men he was always tainted by his family reputation. You had helped sew razor blades into their peaked caps, had seen the fights in the school yard over petty childish things, and had wiped his knuckles clean when he beat Tim Green black and blue after he called  you and Ada vile names. Back then it was exciting, the adrenaline making you fall onto him, enthralled by this beautiful man, feeling safer with him than you had ever felt before, but now you were wondering if you should be scared.

He would rather die than hit you. He had never called you anything other than sugary sweet pet names, never once raised a hand other than to caress your cheek, never in a million years did you think he would ever hurt you, not intentionally. But it pierced your heart like a bullet, walking down the street, watching those you once called friends hide in their houses, whisper his name like it was sour milk, spit at your feet once you had left. It never bothered you what those small minded people thought of you, but knowing the awful things they thought of your Tommy, that killed you. It felt like a knife in your ribs when you leant back against him and felt the unfamiliar weight of a gun tucked into the waistband of his expensive trousers, as if it was nothing more than the cigarettes he constantly carried. It clawed at your throat like a rabid dog, when he came home at midnight, covered in blood that wasn't his, his eyes grey and pale.

You wanted to be by his side throughout everything, holding his hand and being the woman that he had turned to for everything, but it felt like you were hidden in the shadows. He didn’t want you involved, wanting to rise up on his own merit, and give you all of the rewards without seeing the carnage he was leaving behind, but that wasn’t you. You weren’t some housewife who just tended to his wounds and looked the other way when he stuffed the local officers pockets with bribes, you wanted to be his equal.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, it was that he didn’t trust anyone else.

Some nights you would sit staring at the moon from the windowsill of his small bedroom, reminiscing on making love under his scratchy sheets, giggling into his skin, thinking of days when you would tell him anything and everything, and he would always know what to say. You hated yourself for thinking this way, knowing that he had fought for his country, with the terrors he had lived through, of course he would be a changed man, but this seemed more than that and it tore your heart in half.

He’d slip into the room at midnight, any miseries of the day diminishing when he saw your small frame, and he’d wrap his arms around you, whispering into your hair. Any bad thoughts you had would vanish as he cradled you, reliving all the times you had in the past, feeling as if home was a person, but you would be jolt at his words. He’d tell you of all the things he would buy you one day, spun tales of all the things you deserved as if he could magic them from thin air. He spoke of a large manor, marrying you in a ceremony with a thousand roses, expensive cars and hand-cut jewels, things that were enough to make anyone salivate, but not you.

The war had forced you to put your life in perspective. Those gut wrenchingly long nights away from your lover, biting your lip raw wondering if he was suffering. Days spent feeling numb, trying to distract yourself from thoughts that plagued your head, you wanted to escape. Small Heath had suffocated you, the smoke and the ash now clung to your lungs thicker than ever, and you were desperate for a gasp of fresh air. You thought that was what Tommy wanted too, thought that the both of you would flee Birmingham, climb on to a ship, sail around countries neither of you could pronounce, kiss under hot rain and see the buildings you read about in the newspapers, but maybe not.

You would have to make sacrifices. That’s what love is, you told yourself, tying your hair up with an expensive silk hairband that Tommy had bought, that wasn’t really you. You loved him, adored him,  you were so head over heels with him that the thought of leaving made you feel nauseous. You would follow him to the end of the earth if he asked you to. This was the man you wanted to marry, the only man you could picture yourself having a life with, and you knew that he felt exactly the same. That’s what love is, you remind yourself, staring at the unfamiliar painted face in the mirror, it’s about compromise, right?

When Arthur bought the Garrison, despite Tommy’s apprehension, you took a job as his accountant and secretary, helping him keep business afloat when all he wanted was to drink his money. You fell into a comfortable routine, waking up early and working late, taking extra time on Sundays to learn how to bake, going a little further into town to buy fresh vegetables from the market, reading books that had sat on their shelf for years. You wore a smile that could melt even the toughest of hearts, but deep down you were so mind numbingly bored, it felt like you had slipped on somebody else's skin, trapped in your own ivory tower. It all became worth it though, when Tommy would come home, his skin igniting against yours, lips savouring the taste of your flesh, the only good thing in both of your days. His hips pressed against yours, scratching your nails into his back and feeling him melt under you, enthralled by you, both of you so totally in love that it radiated around the small room, you knew why you did it. Curled under his arm he would smile and laugh, tell you snippets of his day, talk about the future, and hearing his words and charming accent, the way they fell from his lips like wisps of gold, running his hands through your hair, knowing that it was for a better future for both of you, you accepted your fate.

Ada noticed it first. Of course she did, you two were practically sisters. You knew each other like the back streets of Birmingham, like the lines and curves on your hands. She watched the way your vibrancy dimmed until you could fit in with the grey coloured photographs on Polly’s coffee table, listened as your giggles and playful teasing came to a halt and you spent more and more hours alone, separated from the world. She was heartbroken, torn between shaking you and forcing you to come to your senses, willing your vivacious personality to rise to the surface, and knowing that doing so could ruin the best thing Tommy had going for him, and shatter both of you into a million pieces. The rest of the family saw it as well, your light dulling with every day that passed, but they were unsure how to help without stepping over the protective line Tom drew around you, and with business tougher than ever, there was more than enough on their own plates.

To Tommy you were the most precious thing in his life. Because of you, his youth had been damn near perfect, meeting you had changed his life and he felt that he owed you the world. After the war you had rescued him from the depths of his own murky head, your letters and the image of you in his battered brain and been the only thing keeping him alive on he frontline. Whenever he felt like he was drowning, it had always been you that had pulled him from underwater, your smile putting the air back into his lungs. You made him feel alive, made him feel like in the world of smoke and debris he could breathe, that even on his lowest and darkest days, it was you that kept him going, but even he knew that was a lot for a person to carry.

You were wilting like a flower and he despised it. You had always been so beautiful. You could light up a room just by entering it, could trap men and enamour women with nothing but a look, could take his breath away with just a smile, but you were fading away. He had felt the darkness radiating off him since he returned home from the war, and he had fought tooth and nail to stop it corrupting you, you were too perfect, too pure, to be dragged down with him. He thought that he had kept you untainted, thought that he had done what was best for you, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He watched you when you weren’t looking, his eyes always finding your features no matter where you were. Whenever he was nervous or unsure he would find you and his breath would steady and his heartbeat would calm as if you were a shot of rum on his tongue. Almost a year after he had returned home did he start seeing you clearly, he had been so wrapped up in love, in coming home, in becoming the best man he could be, that he had clouded over you like fog on a winter morning. The glisten in your eyes had faded, they had dulled like a worn penny, and your collarbones and ribs began to rise from under your flesh. He tried to think of the last time he had made you laugh, a proper belly laugh like when you were kids, and he came up empty. He knew what the reason was but he refused to accept it, refused to admit that their might be cracks in your perfect relationship, because losing you just might break him.

He tried to be better for you, but he was too far gone. He could feel you slipping away from his fingertips and there was nothing he could do. You had tried to change for him and in the process you had lost part of yourself, and the war had carved a hole between both of you. It was heartbreaking and nauseating, both of you loving each other too much, but ultimately becoming different people. He refused to let you go without a fight, he knew he was being selfish and possessive but he couldn’t just let you leave, you had both been hopelessly in love since the very first day that you had met, you were soulmates. He chain-smoked you like a cigarette, took in your body like it was holy, craved your touch like it was medicinal, you were his everything. You were the reminder of the good days, looking at you and he was transported back to his youth, chasing you under apple trees, kissing until your lips were full and swollen, laughing until your ribs grew rough. You couldn’t imagine life without him, and every evening you clung onto his body, inhaling his sweat and tobacco covered skin, tracing his tattoos like they were bible verses, a million words lingering between you both. You were clinging on for dear life, knuckles glowing white as you refused to release your grip, desperate for everything to work out.

On a Friday, he let you go.

Curled up beside him, you felt otherworldly. He allowed himself moments of weakness around you, to everyone else he was the devil incarnate, but he softened whenever he touched you. He wanted these final moments to last forever, his girl wrapped up in his arms, the only bright light in his world of darkness. Tears were welling in his eyes, something so unfamiliar to him that he had to catch his breath, clear his throat before he could speak.

“I’ve not been good to you.”

Your head rose, resting on his strong chest as you peered at him, noticing how he refused to look at you.

“If I was a better man, a stronger man, I would have let you go sooner.”

“Tommy…”

“I’ve been selfish, little one. Too fucking selfish, and I see that now.”

You sat up further, already knowing his next words, your heart racing like one of his prize mares in your chest. You cling onto him, knuckles tensed as you feel him under you, willing him to look at you, but he can’t. He knows that if he sees your beautiful face, watches the tears slip down your cheeks and your lip quiver, he’ll crumble. That’ll be it, he’ll have broken, sweep you under him and try to piece you back together, but he knows this time he can’t.

You trace your fingertips over the hairs on his chest, the rhythmic motion helping to calm your rapid breathing. You feel like you’re in the firing line, on your knees, head bowed, just waiting for the final shot to blow your skull into pieces.

“I’ve never loved somebody the way I’ve loved you.” He coughs, rubbing his nose, and you’re not sure if its because it’s the tobacco in his lungs or the lump in his throat. “And know I’m realising that, what I’ve put you through, was wrong.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Tom, none of it. I’d do it all again if I could. In a heartbeat.” He knows you’re telling the truth, the honestly in your tone making his heart swell, but it doesn't make it any easier. He knows what he has to do, he has to be the bigger man, no matter how much it’ll wreck him, he has to do the best thing for you.

“I know you would, but that’s not the life you deserve.”

Silence falls across the room. Both of you bathed in smoke and ash and moonlight, memories flutter around you like torn photographs, drifting down onto the wood floor like snowflakes. The air is thick with tears that you both refuse to let slip, you had both known this time was coming since long before either had you had spoken the words. This was love. It tore you and ripped you in half, and neither of you had gone down without a fight. You loved one another so much that it had consumed you, swallowed you both whole and you wouldn’t change a thing. Despite the pain, it had been the best years of your life.

“I don’t think I know how to exist without you.” You confess, your lover such a part of you that it feels like you’re going to lose a limb, a terrible hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“You will. You know I wouldn’t let you go if it wasn’t safe for you, you know I wouldn’t…I’ve got some money for you, to find a place to stay, somewhere far away from here, OK?”

“I’m not taking your money, Tom.”

“Yes you are.You’re not leaving unless I know you’ll be alright, eh?”

“No I’m not T, seriously -”

“Always so bloody stubborn!” He laughed, pinching your outer thigh playfully, a gesture so innocent and intimate and awfully familiar that it makes you both deflate with sadness.

You refuse to let the silence engulf you. Refuse to accept that this might be the last time either of you smell one another’s skin, the last time you can take comfort in one another, refuse to accept that forever might not mean what you thought. Refuse to accept that saying goodbye felt like the right thing.

“Tom. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll rule the world one day. But promise me something, promise me you won’t lose yourself? Promise me that you won’t do anything that you can’t come back from. For me?”

He nods, burying his face in your hair.

His exasperated laugh sounds like sparkling champagne, “I almost drove myself mad thinking of what I was gonna say to you, but I couldn’t find the right words.  After everything we’ve been through though, we don’t need words do we, little one? I love you and you love me, that’s more than enough. No matter what happens, it’ll be us forever. Even if we’re apart. We don’t need words to say what we mean.”

Your lips met his, making him come alive just as you had done under the canal all those years ago.

“So let’s not talk.”

Tommy wished forever that he could burn the image of that final night behind his eyelids, see you whenever he closed his eyes. He dreamt that he tatted you on his skin, could trace your figure whenever things got too rough, that you would pull him back to shore. That final night felt like a dream, you both cried, sank into one another’s bodies, muffled one another tears with open mouthed kisses. Your beautiful gangster falling apart only for you, his darling angel clinging to just him in those final hours. Your bodies had intertwined for the last time, exhilarated with lust but exhausted from sadness, communicating through touches and kisses.

Tommy slept the best he had done for years. No dreams of shovels, no thoughts of the business racing through his skull. Instead he let himself get utterly wrapped up by you,falling into a satisfied sleep with his girl next to him. Woozy and delirious, when he first opened his eyes he forgot about everything that had happened, felt that unfamiliar emptiness in the bed beside him and thought that he’d find you nestled in an armchair drinking sweet tea, but nausea filled the pit of his stomach like acid when memories came flooding back.

It wasn’t until he saw the envelope he had filled with notes and coins for you, unopened on the desk, and your treasured photograph of the two of you from that very first beach visit, left on top, painted with a cherry red lipstick print and the words, “Goodbye, Tom. I love you.” Did he lose it. He flung the peaked cap off its hanger, let out an animalistic roar and shattered his fist through the wall, before falling to his knees and burying his head into his hands.

———————————————————————————————-

He had heard that you came back. Similar to a alley cat, you snuck in and out of the city under the cover of moonlight, only being seen by those you wanted. He had heard that when Ada fell pregnant, and she stayed locked away in Freddie’s basement flat, you were the only person she let in. Sometimes he would loiter on those back streets after work, hoping and dreaming for a glimpse of you, something to satisfy his hungry mind, but he never got so lucky. You kept in contact with the others, sending them letters and postcards, but they kept them hidden from him, and he pretended  he didn't fantasise about ripping them open and devouring your words. Polly and Ada would speak of you sometimes, but would fall silent whenever he was nearby, and he would pretend he was unbothered, despite the want of knowing where you were clawing him inside out.

He threw himself into work harder than he had ever done before. He could feel himself slipping away, and without you to ground him he felt the darkness start to consume him, but he would never blame you, you were too good, and he would have ruined you. He dreamt of you every night, thought of you in every spare moment, so it was easier to be doused in another’s blood or making a dangerous deal than to be left alone to his own devices. Wondering if you had met someone new made him feel violently ill, it was like torture thinking of another man making you happy, another man touching you, making you smile. Almost every night he paid a visit to a whore house, fucking somebody else and dreaming it was you, he knew it was unhealthy, but he couldn’t stop. You lingered in his brain constantly like the smoke that left his sullen lips.

He became used the the thought of being alone. Enamoured with the idea of being on top; controlling and dominating the streets was all he cared about. You were always at the back of his mind, wherever he looked he saw you, thought of you, it drove him crazy, but then again you always had. He was in desperate need for a distraction, some form of happiness to grasp after you had left, he knew he had to move on, but he was uncertain he would ever find it again. He had to get used to the nauseating fact that you were gone, and then, like a ball of sunshine, the new blonde barmaid smiled at him and he felt his world lighten.

But now you were back.

————————————————————

He can’t remember walking towards you.

His feet and brain were disconnected, he had become an entirely different person than the calm, collected business man he usually was, his composure crumbling the moment he saw you. The second he saw a falter in your conversation, when you excused yourself from the enamoured, sleazy men around you, practically drooling as you stood before them, did he know he had to say something to you or risk regretting it for the rest of his life.

He apologised quickly to Grace, half heartedly and rushed, something he knew he’d have to explain later, but he couldn’t stop himself. He also didn’t miss the curl of Polly’s lip at the sight of her nephew infatuated with you, reminding her of the teenager she missed dearly.

Every move of his was calculated. From business to his personal life, he refused to let himself be ruled the same as the common man, everything he did was deliberate and precise, but even he’ll admit he was tongue tied as he pushed past the rest of the people in the ballroom, eager to reach his target.

You had stepped outside. Desperate for the relief of cool air against your flesh, the comfort of the stars above you and the solace of a must needed cigarette between your lips. Tommy couldn’t help the smile on his face, 5 years of separation pouring out of him as he exhaled at the sight of you, so close that he could reach out and graze your skin with his fingers. It was intoxicating, you were intoxicating, and he hated himself for still being enchanted with a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.

Movement behind you made you turn your head, dazed and hazy from the alcohol and the smoke filling your lungs, but you felt stone cold sober as your muddled mind placed the man before you. Air left your body like a pinched ballon, your chest expanding with surprise.

He’ll admit seeing you so flustered at the sight of him did wonders for his ego. Igniting the flame inside of his stomach that proved that you still thought of him, still cared for him. But just as quickly as you lost your cool, you regained it instantly, straightening up and letting a soft smile grace your features, and he felt himself melt.

You looked so familiar, yet different.

You were more tanned, freckles across the bridge of your nose, constellations he could remember tracing when he was a teen. Your hair was longer, tousled into a style he had never seen on you, but it looked right.

He could tell your dress was expensive, embroidered and embezzled with lace and crystals, a finely crafted necklace sliding off of your collar bone, and thoughts of gifts from admiring suitors sent him into a tailspin. He loathed himself for it, but his eyes narrowed to your left ring finger, audibly exhaling when it came up empty, and he didn’t know if he should feel relieved or ashamed.

A moment of silence and shared memories flashed between you quicker than the spark of a match.   A warm familiar feeling brewed in the pit of your stomach, so gut wrenchingly nostalgic you feel as if you have been winded. Both of your senses are heightened, you can smell him, imagine the feel of his hair, despite it being almost shaved to his scalp, imagine the tattoos under his expensive suit, can practically recall your nails tracing them in a sleep induced haze. You had forgotten just how he made you feel, and the recognition makes you both halt.

He breaks the silence first; as if to prove to you his new status. He was no longer as boyish, as playful, he controlled the room, owned it, and the devil sitting on his shoulder wondered if that extended to you.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

“Hello, Tommy.”

He almost falls to pieces at the sound of his name on your sugar sweet lips, reminding him of the times before the war, the times he had locked away in his mind. You’ve turned a strong man weak, rendered him speechless and you grab the control as it slips from his fingertips.

“It’s been a long time, Tom.”

“That it has.”

“You’ve been away for quite some time.” He inhales sharply, determined to clasp the reins once again, determined to dismantle you and get a reaction, “Didn’t even see you at Freddie’s funeral, would have been nice of you to show up.”

The funeral was years ago but he still hates the fact that he hadn’t seen you that day, he was burying one of his best friends and yet you had clawed all over his mind like a virus. He even stayed after everyone had left, saying private words to his friend, and wondering if he could catch a glimpse of you, but that evening he walked home as alone as he came.

You raise a brow in challenge, your eyes glinting with a mix of disbelief and humour. “I stayed with our Ada for over a month when Freddie died, I was by her side through the thick of it. I didn’t come to the funeral out of respect, I didn’t want it to be about anything other than him.”

He swallows your words, nodding slowly. Letting the silence settle around him like smoke before he asks you his next question. “Where did you go?”

A small smile fell on your lips, and you looked up at him in a way that almost made him turn his head as it was too familiar, too painful.

“Anywhere and everywhere. Paris, Rome, Berlin. It was nice to see them rebuild after the war. I stayed in America for a year or so, Boston and New York, and then settled on the beach in California for a bit, it was beautiful.” He listens to every word that escapes your mouth, noting how happy you sound as you describe your travels, so breathless and elated as you reminisce.

“You did always love the sea.” He says gently.

“Yes,” you smile, “I do.”

“What brings you back? To a party like this?” He changes the subject, not wanting to linger in the past, fearful of what that might bring up in him.

“I’ve been in London with a friend, I owe him a favour and ended up here.”

Him. Three words that strike him in the gut and nearly make him double over. He can feel the heat rising in him, he’s married and it’s been years since he’s seen you, but the thought of you with another man makes vomit and red hot anger ascend inside of him.

“He’s just a friend, Tom.” You say slowly, offering him an olive branch, you shouldn’t have to explain yourself but you want to, because it’s just as hard for you. “He owns a distillery but he doesn’t do well at parties, so I offered to take his place.”

He laughs humourlessly, almost breathless from disbelief at the sheer incredulity of it all. “Solomons? Of fucking course.”

“You know of him?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“You could say that.”

“Well,” You grin, “Looks as if we have something in common.”

The knowledge that you were mere miles away, laughing with Solomon’s, head thrown back as you made time for a man that wasn’t him, drove the nail further into Tommy’s own coffin.

“So your dress? Your jewels? Presents from him?” It comes out harsher than he intended but he doesn’t care, the sight of you has made him as inebriated as a dozen shots of whisky on an empty stomach and he allows it to distort his words.

“I make my own money, Tommy.” You respond.

He steps closer, the toe of his expensive leather shoe inching towards you like a high tide.

“Do you ever think about me?” The words escape him before he has a chance to stop them, and he sees emotion pool in your eyes, and he watches a breath escape your lips.

“Everyday.”

He isn’t sure what to say, suddenly feeling 15 again, if anyone saw him now they would be in utter  disbelief that he was the same ruthless gangster they knew. He is within reach now, you could extend your fingers and feel him under you like you had once done a million times before, you wonder just how different his lush suit would feel compared to the ones he had run around in when he was a teen. His eyes scour your face, drinking you in like water, comparing your face to the last time he had seen you. Neither of you let your eyes meet one another, darting away like rivals, and yours slip over his head back into the crowd.

“Is that your wife?”

His head snaps up as if he has been doused in ice water, and he follows your gaze across the floor. He sees Grace, surrounded by other women, but her eyes trained on the two of you. He knows later he’ll have a conversation he isn’t ready for, knows he’ll have to explain feelings he’s kept hidden for years, but he turns on his heel, away from his wife and towards you.

“Yes.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s not you.”

Silence. He loathes himself for his words but hates himself even more that he doesn’t regret them.

“Good. You deserve someone better.”

Your eyes finally meet.

His are stoic and unwavering, lacking the spark you loved but still the same ocean eyes you loved to drown in. Yours are filled with emotion, finally exposing yourself after so many years, you soften him to the touch as your eyes meet his, melting him like an icicle.

“I know what you’re thinking, Tom.”

“You always have.”

You smile softly. “I almost came back you know.”

His ears prick up like a bloodhound, his heart bursting under his flesh.

“I heard rumours. People would whisper in the street about a devil, I knew exactly who they meant before they even spoke your name aloud.”

He inhales sharply, not knowing where the story will take him, desperate to regain control but ultimately knowing he’ll always be trailing after you.

“They said you were cunning and brilliant but they also said you were ruthless and cold blooded. They said you were a man on a mission, a man destined to get to the top, they told me they were scared of you. Terrified.”

He steps closer.

“I begged Ada to tell me everything, managed to get her drunk from expensive liquors, you know the ones she loves? The ones that taste like the sweets we would nick after school?”

He nods, the memory distant but familiar. The taste of sugar on your lips, teeth clashing together, giggles that sounded like bells.

“She told me the darkness came back, took you away. She said she was worried for you, she told me she didn’t want to lose her brother, not again. I was going to come back, but I was a coward.” Your voice falters, and he wants nothing more than to cradle you in his arms but he knows he can’t and instead watches the rise and fall of your chest. “I was worried that if I came back you would get worse, I’m not good for you Tom. You know that.”

“You’ve always been good for me.”

“You say that cause you love me,” You tease, “But we’re not kids anymore, Tommy.”

He looks at you, older now, taller. He can remember the colour of your hair from the sun, the grass that stained your knees, the way you felt under him. He can remember everything. If you aren’t good for each other, why is he still under your spell?

He can see the way your face contorts, passion evident on your features.“She told me you met a woman, fell in love and got married. I was mad with jealousy at first, like a bloody woman possessed.”

He hates the way your admission makes him feel smug.

“But Ada, she told me she was good for you. She told me how she makes the shovels stop Tom, she makes you a better man. I knew in that moment that you deserved her, and she deserved you. You deserve to be happy, because you’re a good man, Tom.”

You walk towards him, luring him to you like a ship to the shore. He responds immediately, so close that he can feel the warmth of your body, smell the wildflowers that linger on your neck.

“I asked for a sign that night,” you say softly, “a sign that you would be alright.”

“A sign?” He asks almost playfully, just enough teasing in his tone to remind both of you that maybe he isn’t too far gone.

“Yes, a sign, and I got one.”

You tear your eyes from him, down to your diamond encrusted purse in your hands. You open the clasp, and rummage around, slipping out a piece of paper no bigger than your palm. You rest it against your fingertips before holding it out to him, and he slowly takes it, not missing the sparks he feels as your hands touch.

He turns it over, and let’s out a genuine laugh, one that shocks you both.

It’s a newspaper clipping, from one year ago, the black and white print almost seeming harsh under the light of the moon. He traces the picture with the pads of his fingers, smiling more this evening than he can ever remember.

He clears his throat and reads softly, “Tommy Shelby’s mare “Little One” comes first place at national derby.”

Your eyes connect once again, the corners of your mouth upturned. “Little One.” You repeat, “She was my sign.”

He nods, looking down at the picture of the thoroughbred he loved dearly. “She’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen, but she’s stubborn as all hell, can be aggressive too.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“Oh, that she is.”

You tentatively place one hand onto his chest, as if you are taming a wild animal. He responds to your touch like he’s been craving it his entire life.

“I should go, Tom.”

He doesn’t know what to say, or do, something so rare for a man always one step ahead. All he can think of is to cling to you like a child, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he can.

“I don’t want to lose you, not again.” He admits, his tough facade shattering like glass.

“You let me go once before Tom, you can do it again.”

He holds you against his chest, not bothering to wonder who can see him in such a fragile state. A lifetime of memories flutters between you like pages of a book. Everything unwinding in your mind, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. You feel like a teenager again, can smell him beside you, feeling as if you are curled up back in his single bed, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re going to go back to your wife, Tom. Your beautiful, kind wife. The wife who is good for you, and you’re going to go and be happy.”

He thinks of it all, the money and the mansion. The power, the gold and jewels and paintings that lather every wall in his house, he thinks of everything he has, and wonders how any of it compares to you.

You place one palm against the side of his cheek, pulling him into you and you shake your head as if you can read his mind. You plant a soft kiss against his skin, it scorches into him like a branding, like rubbing salt on a fresh wound. He exhales shakily, watching as you step away from him, forever beautiful and young and enchanting, slipping back into the teenager he chased around sunflower fields and danced with under the stars. Back then his hands were freckled and tanned, now they are covered in blood.

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

“Goodbye, Little One.”

He swears he only turns away for a second, to locate Grace, to try and think of any explanation for his erratic behaviour this evening, to not let you see the emotion flooding over his face like a tsunami, and when he turns back around, maybe to stop you, or maybe to get one final look before you go, you’re already gone.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Through His Eyes - Part 13 [Final]

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Index:  Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Jaebum was unable to relax.

Over the last year of your relationship with him, he believed he had mellowed out considerably. You had found yourself when you were apart and only continued to flourish at his side. If anything, you called the shots more than he did.

Which was rather refreshing.

Sometimes he didn’t agree with some of the choices you made, and since both of you were stubborn, it had led to a lot of arguments. Only to end up back in each other’s arms, apologising, compromising, reconnecting.

Jaebum had been adamant about refuting one thing you wished to do, however.

“Come on, like it’ll happen again,” you whined, and he groaned loudly, reaching down to fill Nora’s food bowl and then turning to the breakfast dishes pointedly.

Your arms slipped around his waist soon after, and he paused in scrubbing the plate, your lips finding his bare skin easily. After a series of kisses that led up to his ear, you sighed into him, Jaebum not needing to turn to see the pout now upon your lips. “Just one time, please?”

“I’m not relenting on this,” he announced and for three months, he had successfully stuck to this vow. He couldn’t fathom having you in the same situation as you had been that day. Even if you both agreed that your accident had to happen for you to be this in love with one another, Jaebum still wanted your eyes to see the world that he did. He knew in some sense, you did. Your artwork had been recognised and now you were being offered the opportunity of holding an exhibition. You spent just as many hours working as he did now, sometimes your schedule was fuller than his was. Your paintings and sculpts littered his apartment as much as your own, taking up as much residence as you did in his home.

Not that he minded, he loved whenever you stayed over with him.

But he had to admit your world had grown considerably larger and you weren’t struggling to keep up with it. And that was one of the reasons why Jaebum had eventually been overruled with his protective stance. There were only so many excuses he could use that you couldn’t refute. With the growth of your business-like mind, your tact and articulation exceeded his, presenting him with even a list of reasons why he shouldn’t hold you back from what you wanted.

With the last line of, ‘if anything were to happen, I know you’d be right there’ as a reminder, he had caved, allowing you this one visit.

Jaebum knew that if this went well, you would request more opportunities and that was what accompanied his nerves as he got his makeup done, the realisation that you were dynamic, able to achieve anything you wanted, regardless of how much he tried to ground you.

Once you had taken flight, there was no stopping you.

“It’s going to be fine,” Jackson assured from the seat beside him and Jaebum half-smiled, still unable to accept those words. He had chanted them since waking up this morning, and still, they held no true belief in his mind. He knew he needed it to be fine, a perfect execution with your safety paramount. Sure, onsite accidents had decreased since new regulations came into place after your loss of sight. His company held stringent checks on all places their artists performed now, and Jaebum had been relieved that the concert hall passed all safety checks the day before.

His nerves didn’t dispel, no matter how many reassuring hugs Mark gave him, or firm squeezes of his shoulder that came from Jinyoung. And when you stepped into the bustling environment with the help of his manager, Jaebum’s movement faltered, his eyes holding onto your approach and checking everything that surrounded you as fast as his brain could process.

Why had he agreed to this?

“Noona!” Yugyeom cried as he leapt off the stage towards you, and you grinned, hugging everyone who came your way before slipping into Jaebum’s arms.

You tensed only for a moment, your head snapping up to his, shooting him a reproachful look. “Are you seriously this worried about me?”

“He’s been driving us insane all morning with how anxious he is,” BamBam announced, and Jaebum glared in his younger friend’s direction.

Youngjae chuckled. “I’m convinced you are the most important person in his world after today.”

“Is that right?” you murmured, unable to hide your elation. Jaebum flushed with colour, which you managed to pick up on, allowing him the chance to bury into you. As everyone else moved off, back to their positions in the rehearsal, you gently rubbed circles on his back, soothing his wired body.

Jaebum was exhausted, and he had not even performed yet.

“Relax for me, hm?”

“Easy for you to say,” he retorted, stepping back just enough to look down at you. Now that you were here, Jaebum was conflicted. He felt your effect relaxing some of his physical reaction but his mind was still concerned for your protection.

“If you’re not relaxed then how can I enjoy your performance? You forget how easily I can hear when you’re out of tune or offbeat now. I’ll only be disappointed in myself if I’m the cause to all your fans having a sub-par performance from you.”

He gaped at you. “Y/N, are you playing the guilt trip on me now?”

“No, of course not,” you responded sweetly, a giggle soon escaping you. You patted his arm and then ushered him off. “I’ll be right here, listening on and expecting a good rehearsal from you.”

With a final grumble and farewell, Jaebum headed back up onto the stage, looking out to where you had taken a seat with some of the other staff. You were already animatedly conversing something with his stylist and Jaebum smiled, it was just like you to find a place in any setting these days.

Rehearsals continued for the majority of the afternoon and by the time the last song ended, Jaebum was in a different element. He was no longer fretting about your appearance on set; instead, it had propelled him to put on a better show. The reactions you gave were genuine. He watched all your emotions that you openly showed for each of their songs, laughing with the playful moments in the segments and then rendered speechless with the powerful way he and the six other members performed. Even if it was a dry rehearsal, you were impressed and Jaebum was feeling accomplished because of it.

He knew that taking you on tour now would be something he would no longer fear. Even if something were to occur, you could both face it together.

It was how you had come thus far as a couple, after all.

He didn’t allow himself to focus too much on you when the show actually began. Sure, he would look towards your seat next to where the members’ family sat now and then, grinning when he noticed how bright you looked and the way you fondly held onto his mother’s hand throughout. Jaebum focused on putting his all into his performances, not just for you, or the fans, but for himself as well.

He hadn’t felt this at home on stage since your accident. It was as if having you present could allow him to finally reach for his passion and share it around the arena all night long.

He had been exhausted earlier in the day, but after stepping off stage, he was full of energy.

It was you who was wiped out from the experience.

“I didn’t expect it to take that much out of me,” you admitted as you departed ways from the small gathering after the concert, leaning into his side as he slipped into the driver’s seat of his car. Jaebum glanced at you, leaning in to kiss your head softly. You sighed, your hand moving over his waist and holding him tightly. “It was a success.”

“You told me not to worry,” he reminded you and you sighed, not lifting your head up to face him.

“I’m glad you stopped and allowed me to in your stead.”

He grinned; he had noticed now and then you would slowly look around during the rehearsal, jumping when someone would start banging on something in the stage setup. It would be just like you to take on the universe and ensure him to leave it all to you. He nudged you lightly, starting up the ignition. “Next time, don’t try to take on so much.”

“I’m exhausted mostly because of how many emotions I faced due to your music, not because of that,” you stated, pulling away from your position against him, avoiding the vibration of his chuckles.

Yet you held his hand all the way to your home.

When the car came to stop in the parking lot, neither of you moved to get out of the car immediately, savouring your time together. Jaebum knew your mother would want to have you home tonight. Her concern over you would not always be at ease, even if you were proving to be a capable young woman despite your life changing almost two years ago. It was a mother’s right to worry for her child and in your case, she always would. Allowing you to come out to the concert had been a big thing for her, especially doing so without chaperoning. It was up to him to deliver you back tonight, safe and sound.

That much he would do.

He just didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.

And neither did you.

“What if I went up there, said hello and then came back?”

Jaebum chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve been with you for most of the day; let your mother have your final hours before bed.”

“If I make an hour, I’m so tired.”

“See, so it’s better you just go home and unwind with her before sleeping. I can come around for breakfast tomorrow,” Jaebum suggested and you let out a small huff of air. He knew that you had conceded, even if you weren’t openly happy about it.

“My bed has space for you,” you attempted and Jaebum leaned over to draw you into his arms, uncaring of the gearbox between you both. “Come stay with me. Mum won’t mind.”

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

Staring at you, he brushed the hair away from your face tenderly. He couldn’t wait for the time when you would fall asleep and wake up in his arms every day. You stayed over at his whenever he was home, sometimes going an entire week before you trudged back home, albeit with a delighted greeting for your mother when you saw her. You really did love the woman, even if you protested leaving his company every time. It was why he made a point of taking you home even when he didn’t want to let you go.

Jaebum knew your mother had been hinting at putting a ring on your finger lately, her not so subtle answer to allowing him what he craved. Only when you were truly bound to him would she allow you to leave the nest he had first found you within. Back then, your wings were unable to fly to his house, and she had nurtured you more than he could have.

It meant a lot to him that your mother was allowing him the ability to be that strength at your side now.

That’s why he made sure you spent as much time alone with your mother presently. When you moved in with him, he might not be as willing to let you stay away from him.

“You know you have a really bad habit of overthinking and not giving me an answer, Im Jaebum.”

He snapped out of his thoughts with a smile, which you reached out to touch with your thumb. He pursed his lips into you, kissing your hand softly and then undid your seatbelt. “Come on, let me take you home.”

You obliged despite his lack of an answer, swinging your linked arms softly with every step you made together. Soon you were standing outside your apartment and turned to face him, attempting to shoot him a luring smile. He laughed. “I’m not coming in.”

“No? Your loss then,” you tempted and he stepped up to you, hugging you warmly and kissing your forehead. “I’m going to go to bed and dream of someone other than you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” you informed, though you were smiling too much for it to be effective. “Since you don’t want to be at my side tonight, I’ll choose someone else.”

“Suit yourself, Nora will be all too happy to take your spot anyway.”

You huffed again and he laughed. For a moment you were both jovial and then his smile faded, his eyes searching yours.

Even without sight, they were beautiful. The colours, the depth, he had fallen in love with them. In the hallway lighting, he spotted your faint scarring, the lines he had traced upon your face many times over. He had come to love them too.

All of you.

Yet the question remained on the tip of his tongue and he rocked back on his heels, unsure if he should ask it. You placed a hand on his cheek, rubbing it gently. “What is it?”

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Seeing the world,” he admitted, watching as you blinked slowly.

And then you shook your head. “No. I don’t any more.”

“Really? Wouldn’t you love to see what’s around you? View the things you haven’t in so long? What about the people you hold dearly in your life now, do you crave to see them at least once more?” Jaebum wondered, holding you back in his arms again. He was confused; he had thought there would be a small part of you that would long for vision of some sort. Some times, on your better days, you could make out vague shapes for moments at a time. That was the extent of your recovery. The doctors had ruled you wouldn’t perform some sort of miracle and gain your sight back.

Smiling again, your hand still on his face shifted, feeling along the strength of his jaw and up his cheekbone. Your fingers lightly dusted over his eyelids that, with instinct, he shut upon your touch there. When you stopped, he reopened his eyes, gazing at you and anticipating your answer.

“I already see enough of the world through you. Why would I crave anything more?”

Leaning into kiss you, Jaebum allowed the tears to fall from his eyes. He never knew what to expect with you sometimes.

But he would take care of his sight as best as he could.

Since he knew you would look through his eyes forever.

 The End.

_________________

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[barryslightningrod]

Hey!🤗 How ‘bout 27, 28 & 39! Thank you!✌️

27. best review you ever got

I love every review I’ve ever gotten ❤️ Including the gif responses on Tumblr 😂 But these are some I’ve saved to read when I’m having a bad day that make me laugh or make me tear up. I couldn't pick one and they remind me how much fun this is:

“My word! This fic is amazing! What I loved most about it was that it's quite poetic and artistic in creating its own canvas of Barry and Iris, how colourless both of them felt after the breakup and how full of life they are together. I genuinely enjoyed the art commentary at the beginning and the seriously hawt sex. Hot damn. The paintbrush should have grossed me out but it was seriously hot af.”

“Where does one even start with this precious story you've given us? You paint such a beautiful setting with the ice cream parlour and Noah's feelings of having to work on such a busy summer day and of course, the sweet West-Allen family. I love the idea that Barry and Iris's love creates this little bubble around them that protects them and that they unintentionally get lost in their own little world with just the two of them. It only makes sense that this little world would expand to include their two sweet children. So much loves abounds between them, so much so that even Noah can see it in such a short amount of time. This story captures all that Barry has ever wanted: building a life with Iris and making their own traditions with their children while also keeping the memory of his parents alive as best as he can. Goodness. This is truly such a special little story.”

“Whew, chile....this had my blood pumping first thing in the morning. LOL. OOC or not this was SUPER HOT so thank you for sharing.”

“Once again, love the character reveal, specifically, Iris's determination, self-reliance and work ethic, even while masturbating! But like you say in one of the comments, I can only imagine that she does feel like this regularly. While there are many, many benefits of being with a speedster, there are a ton of drawbacks and regular loneliness is one of them.But check out how neither of them is surprised when Barry returns. She's relieved and not embarrassed and he just comes in and finishes the job without hesitation. sigh.”

The stories I've read from you so far are perfect in rendering the sheer emotion that's generated between these two. You can really feel the palpable force or love and pain, joy and sorrow between them. It makes reading that much more enjoyable”

“OMG *CRIES* THIS WAS SO TENDER AND SO FLUFFY CUTE I DIE!!!!!This cuteness is TO MUCH FOR MY POOR HEART *AHH*I DONT THINK THERE ARE WORDS ENOUGH TO EXPRESS MY LOVE FOR THIS OMG (Hence all the caps)“What’s your treasure, Daddy?” Don poses.“You guys are my treasure,” Barry answers with soft reverence, the glimmer in his eyes as he looks upon hischildren visible even from where Iris stands, and her heart swells so tremendously that she feels it might burst."*flows of tears* OH MY GOSH!!! BARRY ALLEN IS THE BEST FATHER EVER SERIOUSLY..I MELTED WITH EACH WORDHE WOULD SAY TO HIS KIDS AND HOW LOVING AND CARING HE IS OF THEM WHILE IRIS IS AWAY GAH MY HEART“You’re my treasure, you know that?” she murmurs, clutching him more tightly.His beaming in response is instant as he recognizes that she’s been home all along, and he slides an arm down her back to tug her close to him while they head to their bedroom together.Yup, Iris thinks to herself as she leans her head against her husband's shoulder, upholding what she always believed. I wouldn't change a thing."*DEAD WITH FEELS* AHHH IF THE INTERACTION WITH THE TWINS WASNT ENOUGH, THIS WITH IRIS WAS THE CHERRY ON TOP!!!! GAH SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH!!! SHE WAS TOTALY IN AWWS OF HIM AND I CAN'TI HOPE WE GET SOMETHING LIKE THIS IN THE SHOW BECAUSE IF NOT IMA RE READ THIS A MILLION TIMES OVER.. IM LIKE DROWNING WITH FEELS RIGHT NOW ITS NO JOKE LOL THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!!!!*Goes to a corner to cry some more happy tears*”

“Gorgeous! Iris's love for Barry is so tangible here, and I love how you managed to draw out how Barry says things to Iris and waits for her to interpret them for them both! Such a great piece, and one of my favorite moments! Thanks for writing and sharing!”

“You write sexual sensuality so well. It's so beautiful. It's like you really understand their characters and how they would approach their relationship. Well done, as always!”

“So much perfection. I can practically feel the smut that is to follow. The sizzle is REAL. And how wonderful that Grant's tweet inspired this! Just another wonderful after-effect to CP&GG's flirty twitter convo. hehe.This is my favorite:"His reply is instant. Right now? Your legs, he admits."Lmao. It's just so...like a knee-jerk response. He doesn't think much of it, just answers the question honestly & immediately, and just so casual. That stops immediately with HER VERY SUGGESTIVE response. haha. Oh goodness. But all of this was so lovely & steamy, in only a way yours can be. It's sexting for crying out loud & yet the UST is just...I mean..."Goddammit, Iris."XD So fabulous. Can't wait for your next piece!(Oh & also! - Even for The Flash? Especially for The Flash. lol)”

“Thank yo so much for this amazing fic. I wanted a fic like this for so long, even though about writing it myself but with lack of time it's hard. This is everything I wanted, because ever since she said she couldn't stop thinking about him and really wanted a fic where that was the case and you did it perfectly. Thank you. This is magnificent.”

“This is beautifully written. I wouldn't class it as smut per se but it is most definitely erotic and the pacing was perfect for a short story. I couldn't believe it was only 600+ words because you managed to get so much in there: Iris' regret, Barry's longing which turned into his conviction when they did get it right. Thank you so much for sharing and I hope to see more from you.”

“I couldn't get through a sentence without crying and trembling (you fuck me up). Wow! you took my breath away. It took me forever to finish reading because I had to stop and wipe my eyes several time. Excellent execution! Thank you”

“You did them justice with this short piece. A blow job has no business sounding this romantic, but it is, because you channeled the WestAllen into your words with your amazing talent. Thank you for sharing!”

“Beautiful story. Perfectly in character. I could definitely see them having "private" vows and "public" vows and that Barry would be the one to suggest it....he's such a romantic. Loved this so much and thanks for writing.”

“Ok for real, you are soo sooooo talented and I always look forward to reading your fanfics, those writers should reaaaaally hire you one of these days. Am supposed to be prepping for an exam but am literally glued to my phone right now reading and re-reading your fics, but what can I say.... TOTALLY WORTH IT:-P!!!”

“Inksmudge does westallen better than the tv show does westallen”

“AND PLEASE BE RESPONSIBLE THAT THIS FIC MADE ME SOOOOO TURNED ON AND SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED THINKING ABT WESTALLEN GET ON AFTER SEEING CANDICE AND GRANT GORGEOUS HIATUS FACES ON THEIR RESPECTIVE INSTA TODAY KNOWING DAMN WELL ILL NEVER GET OT ON THE SHOW”

“Whenever I see you posted a story, it's like fanfic christmas or easter. You know, because you don't do it a lot so whenever you do post it's special. It's like when you open your ask on tumblr. I'm just like "Ohh Ink is Back, YAY!" No matter what the story is about. Cheers!”

“I don't know how you do it--how you manage to integrate love, lust, grief and sadness into one beautiful thing. This particular chapter feels like a combination of the ones that came before in terms of themes. Iris trying to maintain on her own, the struggle to have and give up control, her beef with the Speedforce, etc. But I would also like to point out just the DAMN GOOD WRITING. Your writing is so fluid and your vocabulary so rich that you kind of make it look easy, to be honest. But sentences like these are just real gems://She cries his name loudly, moans in euphoria like she needs the Speed Force, God, whoever took him to hear her as a vengeance, to know that she had him back and was never letting him go.//That line just won't let me go.”

28. worst review you ever got

I can't remember if it was my brief story about Barry and Cisco getting haircuts together or the little story I wrote about drunk Iris after Cecile’s baby shower, but someone on Fanfiction.net reviewed it as just “Stupid.” I deleted the comment 😂

39. do you want to be published someday? 

I would yes, but I think I would want to be published for poetry or a personal narrative essay as of now. I don’t have many ideas for original fiction at this time, but I would be thrilled to be published for that one day. A girl can dream 😔

[lovely-little-lez]

....spicy warning?

So... probably gonna delete this later because im sO EMBARASSED

SO, K and her husband are artists. On K’s facebook she posts about art and sometimes her husbands art.

They were part of an exhibition and had their lovely paintings featured it in. Great for them! Now, she posts a picture of her husband posing in front of his series of figure paintings (paintings done from a live nude model being in front of him. A common art practice which we have to do constantly.)

It was super pretty and the light on the body of the figure was really well rendered. The poses of the woman were dynamic, yet relaxed. As I was about to like the pic, I see a comment addressed to her husband saying, “love these paintings of your wife!”

anD SO. Upon looking closer, now at the face of the figure in the paintings, they really are K. Naked. im screamingg what doi do with this info adfghJKNKJKA

[waitinginthedarke]

It Consumes Me

A BTS/Kim Namjoon Fanfiction

Summary: The minute he laid eyes on her he knew she was the one. But love is a battle of the mind and the heart, and when the voices in your head start winning, how can your heart possibly compete with a choice that consumed you before the very start…

Type: Angst/Love

Disclaimer: This story contains strong themes. Should a chapter be potentially triggering, it will be stated beforehand. This Chapter contains strong themes relating to physical abuse and ED’s, please do not read if you feel like this will trigger or affect you. **This is a fictional story; the actions of the characters do not reflect the real life people they were scripted from.**

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Chapter 13

NAMJOON

‘Hyung! Come on, we need to go and get our make up done- you know you always get more stressed if we don’t keep to the schedule!’

Ever since he’d woken up that morning Namjoon had been impatiently waiting for the clock to strike 7pm so that he could see her face, only having received a spattering of messages from her since he’d left her the night before, that alone causing his heart to continually race with anxiety in his chest.

He hadn’t wanted to let her go. The night that had crept in around them both as he’d held her, thoughts flickering intermittently with unease over the thought of letting her go back home without him, mind still tangled up in just how she’d attained the giant bruise on the her back, had felt intrusive, almost like a thief trying to steal her away from him into the unknown. He knew she’d seen how close he was to asking her about it all; about whether it really was her father who had given her the bruise, and yet the glimpse of fear on her face at that realisation had him backtracking quickly, not wanting to upset her when she’d already seemed so anxious to go back.

The temptation to stay had been unbearable for him, the sight of her waving angelically as she’d turned the corner onto her street taking her out of sight of him, almost had him sprinting after her so that he could lay eyes on her once more, but he’d forced himself to turn around, dragging his feet as he’d headed back to the bus-stop and forcing himself to close his eyes against the world as he’d focused on making his way to the studio to begin practise.

Now, however, as he watched the minute hand reaching for the half hour point, he began typing out the 10th futile message to her, which even the voice in the back of his mind knew he wouldn’t receive a response to, his stomach flipping as his worry for her increases.

He should have stayed…just a little while...

‘Hyung-‘

‘Jimin, just…just give it 5 minutes- I’ll be there in 5 minutes, im sure she’s almost here…’

The sound of his friends sigh being followed by shuffled footsteps is a small detail in the back of Namjoon’s mind as he looks out of the window from the artist reception area of the venue they were performing at that evening, eyes continuously scouring over the back road below where the artists and their production teams gained entrance, looking for any sign of a taxi or just a black bundle shuffling down the street…

*buzz buzz*

His phone suddenly vibrating in his hand causes him to almost drop it out of shock, and he curses his fumbling fingers as he struggles to unlock it, blood pumping furiously through his veins the second he sees her name light up the screen with a new message.

y/n: Joonie, I’m in the reception area…where are you? <3

He was already sprinting down the stairs to the main desk by the time he read the last part of the message, accidentally barging a few people out of the way in his haste as he almost slides down a couple of the flights, before bursting into the main foyer, a voice in the back of his mind telling him to compose himself quickly before he turned the corner-

-but its just as he paints a friendly, welcoming smile onto his face in a fake pretense for any on-lookers, that he sees her…

…and the sight of the barely concealed rim of black around her eye makes his blood run cold.

‘Hey, Joonie…I’m sorry I’m late.’

-------------

‘I….I’m sorry for calling so late…I just- I didn’t know who else to call…I-’

‘Y/N, tell me where you are. I’m coming now.’

The warmth from the library had seeped from you hours ago, the trembling in your muscles being as much from the cold as it was from the fact you’d refused to consume anything since your momentary lapse in control the night before- something you’d seen Namjoon pick up on with the fact that you’d been together all day, but you’d refused to comment on it.

Although you knew that neither of those things were the main cause of your feelings in that moment.

The picture of you stepping through the door of your house replayed over and over again in your mind, the feeling of your temple suddenly exploding with pain and your hair feeling like it was being ripped from your scalp causing a sob to escape you as you bury your face in your hands, trying to make the images go away…with little success...

------------------------

‘WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN Y/N?! YOU TOLD ME YOU’D BE HOME BEFORE 12 LAST NIGHT AND YET YOU THINK YOU CAN WALTZ THROUGH THIS DOOR A FULL 24 HOURS AFTER WITHOUT ANY EXPLANATION-‘

‘Please! Let go- PLEASE!-‘

‘You live under MY ROOF, you live by MY RULES.’

The second you’d stepped through the door he’d been bellowing at you, and the second you caught sight of him raising his hand from the corner of your eye you’d tried to brace yourself ready for the pain, but with his grip on your hair and the way his elbow pinned your throat and shoulders to the wall all you could do was take the full force of his fist as it swung at your face.

You remember yelping, screeching up until the second it hit, and finding yourself falling lifelessly to the floor with the way he lets you go as suddenly as he had struck you, the feeling of the paneling catching your palms and knees as you drop not gifting you with any comfort as your skull pulses in shock.

He’d continued to shout at you, striking you a few more times as you’d curled into yourself pathetically on the floor, simply sobbing over and over again as you prayed to your mother for help, wishing you’d never returned-  that you’d stayed in the safe embrace of Namjoon.

You remember the first time your father had struck you, the utter disbelief you had encapsulated yourself into in the moment rendering you completely helpless as he’d stared at you, almost seeming to not believe that he’d hit you himself. The expression he had worn had you believing that he regretted his actions, that he was about to snap back into the same father you’d had before your mother died, at any minute. But then he’d walked away without an apology. And you’d realized that when you lost your mother, you’d begun to lose your father too.

It wasn’t the worst that it’d been, the memories of those times you’d locked securely in the back of your mind, numerous bruises and red hand prints going unnoticed where they’d been hidden by baggy jumpers, scarves... and disbelief. 

But for some reason, recently it had felt different; recently you’d hated him more and more with each time he’d raised his hand to you. Recently, you’d started to care about yourself again...because someone else had been caring about you too.

It was when he walked away in that moment, muttering something about how he wasn’t done with you, as all the memories came flooding back, that you knew you had to do it.

Because you knew what came next... ...and that thought had you propelling yourself to your feet with blurry, tear-filled eyes.

You’d promised your mother that you’d look after your father, the last conversation you’d had with her being about how the three of you would always stick together, would always be a family…

…but even she had broken that promise...

You had to leave.

The pain in your heart at the cold words toward your mother were overshadowed by the thundering of your heart in your chest as you hear his footsteps begin to grow louder once more. Running blindly you grabbed your bag from the floor, hiccuping as you think of all the things you were going to have to leave behind, being about to grab your shoes when you see the light spilling from the kitchen be swallowed by his shadow…and you knew you didn’t have time.

‘WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING, YOU LITTLE BITCH!?’

The door slams into the wall as you fling it open, crying out in fear as you hear his footfalls storm toward you, a puff of air sweeping your neck where he’d obviously attempted to grab you but had narrowly missed, the sensation only spurring you on as you sprint down the wooden stairs, and out of the alleyway that lead to the main street.

The concrete biting at your feet doesn’t factor into your mind as you sprint as fast as your legs could take you, the thundering of your heart in your chest cheering you on as you run, and you run, and you run.

Its only when the world begins to dull into tones of white and grey that you consider stopping, your knees threatening to buckle pleading with your want to keep going, and its just as you feel your hamstrings shudder in a refusal to go on that you look up to see where your desperation had brought you, and you find the tears falling from your eyes with abandon as you see the library staring back at you.

----------------------------

‘Y/n? Christ, Y/N!…-‘

His call of your name distracts you from marveling at the criss-crossing patterns of blood and cuts on the soles of your feet long enough to lift your head tiredly to see him stood a few paces from you, paused in shock at the sight of you, expression evidently shaken and upset, before you lock eyes with him and he rushes over to you, arms wrapping around you as if he were already trying to clasp you back together.

‘I’m so sorry…I didn’t know who else to call-‘

‘Don’t be so stupid, y/n. I’m thankful you did call me, god knows what Namjoon would have- I mean, …What the hell happened to you?’

The question is asked just as he pulls back to look at you, eyes raking over your body, seeing your bare feet and the marks on your throat and temple, before he locks eyes with you and the look of despair and pity that lingers there has the tears falling from your eyes all over again.

‘fuck...Its-...Its okay now, y/n. I promise, its going to be okay-‘

‘Please don’t tell Namjoon. …he cant know about this-‘

‘-but, y/n!-‘

‘Yoongi, please!’

It must have been the desperation in your voice that forces his words to be cut short, the look of conflict painted on his expression as he looks back at you almost appearing like he wasn’t going to help you. But the feeling of his hand patting your shoulder coupled with the small sad smile he shoots you as he slips his arm around your waist to help you up, has you thanking your mother, wherever she was, for sending someone to help you.

‘Come on. I stole Jin’s car to drive here, if he realizes its gone we’ll have no choice but to explain.’

‘I cant go back home, Yoongi.’ You whisper, the fear that he might attempt to drive you there causing your heart to race, your breath getting stuck in your throat and your muscles clenching in terror; the thought that you really wouldn’t make it out alive again running briefly through your mind.

‘God, I would never take you back there, y/n, even if you begged me. No…I’ve got somewhere safe you can stay. Besides…I think we need to have that talk now…’ he murmurs, peering sideways at you with a telling look and you nod your head exhaustedly, all fight having left you after the events of the night.

‘Okay…’

-----------------------------

YOONGI

He watched her carefully, taking in every timid tilt of her head that gave away her curiosity and hesitation from the moment he’d smuggled her into the studio and had offered her his spare set of pyjamas that he kept in the studio just in case he ended up spending the night there. The way her eyes darted over his expression told him how aware she was of each movement he made, and the second she saw him glance at the way she was looping her fingers nervously around her wrist she pulled her arms behind her, swallowing thickly as she’d proceeded to watch him settle a bowl of warm water at her feet before sitting on the floor next to it.

Looking at her before him now, battered and bruised and looking utterly defeated... he cursed himself for not grabbing onto the white flag she’d been silently waving sooner.

‘Just tell me if anything I do makes you uncomfortable and I’ll stop.’

The way she pulls her lips into her mouth shyly, as well as her shaky nod, causes his throat to become scratchy, the odd, slightly foreign feeling pulling his brows together in confusion for a moment before he proceeds in reaching for each of her feet slowly and dipping them in the water. Starting a little when she hisses with the pain of the warm liquid infiltrating the cuts that littered the soles, he finds himself glancing up at her to check she was okay before continuing in gently sweeping water over her skin.

‘Thank you, Yoongi.’

Her sudden whisper has him pausing in his movements as he looks up at her, taking in the way she was pulling gently on the cuffs of her sleeves where her hands lay in her lap, eyes flitting to him when she realises he’d stopped, before hurriedly darting away once more when she sees him watching her, and he realizes that this was his chance to get her to open up to him.

‘Can I tell you a story, y/n?’

He couldn’t help but snort softly at her response; watching her peer at him curiously for a moment before she nods her head like a small child unsure of the consequences of their answer. He draws in a deep breath, bowing his head and shaking it gently before peering back up at her, trying to smother his sigh and struggling to hold back a tiny frown, as he accepts her notion as consent, concentrating on tending to her wounds as he begins to speak.

‘A few years ago, when we were all developing rookies, maybe…a year after debut?...the guys and I had a fanmeet- its where we all get to sit and converse one on one with our most dedicated fans…its really adorable actually…anyway; at this fan meet, we had the usual fans that screamed and shouted praise across the room, but it was just as we were filing the last few fans in, that this one girl sits before me…and…well to be honest…I’ll never forget her.’

‘She had light brown dyed hair, styled with highlights…and ridiculously heart-shaped eyes, although the corners sloped down gently, drawing your attention to her button nose, and the definitive pout of her mouth. …I remember glancing at her interacting with Hoseok beside me and thinking she had a sweet, yet sharp, disposition, and I began to feel slightly anxious for my interaction with her- I don’t like confrontation at the best of times.’

At this point, he found himself unable to look at y/n, the memory of the encounter trying desperately to pull at the dark thoughts that he’d managed to push to the back of his mind for the past few months, grinding his jaw as he dismisses the image of the girl from his mind, and only allowing her words to dance among his thoughts as he forces them from his lips.

‘She only said one sentence to me. But for the past 5 years that sentence has haunted my every waking moment. …and all she said was; ‘You’re too fat. You need to go on a diet.’’

At this point he looks up at her, catching the momentary flash of fear in her eyes as she realizes where he was going with the story, before she quickly smothers it, the sight of her shutting down her mind in front of him causing his heart to clench as he battles not to scream at her to stop- to not do what he did when he’d shut everyone out, and instead to listen.

Especially given the events of that night.

‘It was one sentence. One girl. One time. …but for the rest of that day, I refused to touch a single piece of food. I almost passed out during our performance, because I was so upset that I couldn’t even find it in myself to take a sip of water. I cant explain it properly, but it was almost as if within the few seconds I interacted with this girl, she transferred this deep fear into my gut; transferred a voice that whispered into my thoughts that same sentence, over….and over, and…over again.’

‘I’m sorry you had to go through that.’

He can hear the forced dissociation in her voice as she sniffles, the need to push the subject far away from her causing a frustration to build within Yoongi as he persists with his story, locking his gaze onto her as he spills his heart into the gloomy, silently listening studio... hoping she would hear it.

‘For the next month I researched every single diet plan there is on the internet, I had diaries full of scheduled times to eat, the biggest meal I ever planned for myself being a single tablespoon of peanut butter spread over two rice crackers with half an apple for desert- I relished the feeling of starving, and it became all…all I could think about.’ He whispers through gritted teeth, his hands gripping onto the sides of the shallow basin momentarily as he tries to brace himself against the feelings tormenting him inside; as he confessed the truth of his turmoil to the one person he thought could understand…and the one person he thought might need it most...

‘It was a downhill struggle…the second you stop seeing the results you want, you find a different and more drastic method to become as small as possible, you clutch at every straw within reach, and when you finally feel like your entire body is about to shut down… it…it almost feels like you watch yourself from afar as it begins to fight back.-

-you gorge yourself on every single piece of food within reach. Your mind continues to recite the ‘laws of being thin’ at you; ‘never eat carbs’, ‘protein keeps you satiated for longer’, ‘never eat more than 1000 calories’, but before you can even blink, you’ve swallowed a whole pizza, three bags of chips, a whole chocolate bar, and five muffins. …and all you’re left with is guilt and a desperate will to undo it all, to go back to twenty minutes earlier when not a single bite had touched your lips-…because then there is only one instant resolution…and it’s the only thing that’s going to make you worse, and yet will calm the screaming in your mind, and the panic clutching at your chest, I-‘

The sight of tears building at the brim of her eyes despite her stoic expression has Yoongi reaching out as if to touch her arms where they’d folded across her chest like a barricade, but stopping when she flinches before his fingertips had even come into contact with her skin, leaving only his gaze to lock on hers so that she could see the knowledge that he already held…so that she knew he was there.

‘I know you’ve felt like that too, y/n-’

‘No.’

Her quiet whisper breaks the tension that had been snapping like electric between them, the single word causing Yoongi to panic slightly as her retreat becomes imminent.

‘Y/N…I’m only telling you this because I want to help; I want to help you get better, I-‘

‘But I don’t want to get better, Yoongi.’

His words dry up on his tongue.

‘….What?’

The word is whispered, and he finds himself completely frozen in place as he stares back at her, the desperate expression on his face as he regards her not even factoring into his mind as he takes in the two single tear tracks that had painted themselves onto her cheeks, the sight of which had his throat constricting around his own sadness that was trying to make itself evident.

‘I don’t want to get better, Yoongi.’ She repeats shakily, drawing in a deep breath before lifting her gaze to his, and the pain that was so evident in her eyes clutches at his heart as it searches for comfort.

‘When my mother died, I felt like I lost control, if such a cruel thing like that can happen, that your mother can just be ripped away from you without any warning, without you being able to do anything to stop it…then surely there is nothing that you can control.’

‘But-‘

‘At least that was what I thought at first…and then-‘

As he gives her a moment to compose herself (and himself too), having seen the way her chest had begun to rise and fall quicker and her eyes had brimmed to the point of torrents, he proceeds in gently removing her feet from the shallow basin, taking great care to dry each of them off before he replaces the towels with a pair of slippers, sighing and settling his tense shoulders before he shifts to sit next to her on the sofa, catching her gaze and silently asking her to go on.

‘…and then…my father proved me wrong.’

-----------------------------

You wanted to curse yourself for how feeble your voice sounded when you finally managed to speak, having swallowed down the tears that had been attempting to threaten their way from your throat as you’d stared at the beacon of light staring back at you with an unreadably sad expression.

You hadn’t meant to tell him everything, you hadn’t even wanted to call him that evening, having decided that you would just hide in the library until the next day and use the bathroom to clean yourself up before you’d find a quiet nook to sleep in where nobody would find you.

But it was without thought that you’d picked up your phone and your fingers had clicked on his name, the sight of Namjoon’s causing you such hurt with the thought of him seeing you in this way that you’d had to fight against the pain that had radiated from your chest in the form of your need for him… before you’d been able to finally call Yoongi.

And now you found yourself before him, the pain that had held you captive for so long bubbling up in your chest and forcing its way out of your mouth, the feeling of which had your mind cramping with terror and exploding in relief all at once.

‘He stopped speaking after my mother died. He stayed at home all the time, started drinking all the time…he lost his job. After finding out my mother died, I had to watch my father destroy himself…and then when that wasn’t enough…when that-…he tried to destroy me too...’

Your throat begins to constrict around your words as you try to tell Yoongi how you’d been living for the past year and a half, attempting to confess the pain you’d experienced and how you’d learned to live with it until that evening, when you’d realised after spending the day with Namjoon that you didn’t want to live like that anymore.

That you had to get out.

‘Is he the one that did this to you, y/n?’

The question is so quiet, so inoffensive, and yet the implication feels like its stabbed you in the stomach despite the fact that it was true, as though you were betraying your father in some way by finally telling someone about how he’d been treating you.

And yet you were too far gone in telling Yoongi now, that you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop.

‘When I got home tonight he was waiting for me. I’d told him I was only going to the library for a few hours yesterday evening, but then Namjoon had come to get me and I…I guess I lost track of time. …I was so scared of the thought of having to go back tonight that I lost control and I-…well,…that’s when you found me in the kitchen.’

‘Maybe that was the world’s way of telling me that I shouldn’t have lost control; my father didn’t even say hello to me when I walked through the door, just started screaming at me before... before he hit me- I-…I couldn’t even stop him-‘

The feeling of Yoongi’s shoulder cradling your head as you begin to sob was only a small detail in the back of your mind as images of your fathers angry face flicker through your head, the feeling of Yoongi’s arm holding you tightly against him and the quiet sniffles you can hear in your ear softening the blows of your fathers hand in your mind as your muscles ache in remembrance and you grip to his shirt to keep yourself from drowning in your pain.

‘Y/N, you need to listen to me…You’re not to go home again. ...Not unless either myself or Namjoon is with you-‘

‘I can’t tell Namjoon.’ You whisper hurriedly, pulling back to send Yoongi a scared yet serious expression and seeing him grit his jaw in minor frustration at your refusal before he goes on.

‘You don’t go home without someone with you. If you need anything…you just have to ask one of us and we will get it for you. I don’t care if its clothes, books, a bed, food …y/n…whatever you need, we will get it.’

‘And y/n…I want you to promise me one thing.’

The tone he takes on is serious, the way he holds your shoulders gently as he makes you look at him meaning you know whats coming, and instantly you hear the voice in your head revolting even before he says the words.

‘I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me when its too much. If you feel like you need to cry because the voice in your head is hurting you, if the guilt toward your father gets too much and you decide to go back, tell me and I will come with you-

-If you haven’t eaten all day and you feel like you’re going to break…I want you to tell me, y/n…tell me so that I can help you through it. I wont force you to do anything you don’t want to do…but-‘

You sniffle as you wait for him to go on, frowning slightly when he fails to complete his sentence, and sitting up properly to face him as you wonder what had happened, before feeling your blood run cold when you see his expression and the sadness and regret there for the words that followed.

‘-Namjoon knows something is wrong…and sooner or later, you’re going to have to tell him.’

(T.B.C)

//*If you or someone you know is suffering with any of the issues raised in this story, please seek help. Tell family, a friend, someone you dont know and may not speak to again; tell someone you feel you can trust, because the minute you address the issue, the issue will begin the path to being solved. You were created from the earth, this world is your home. You belong here, and you deserve to treasure it and all of its beauty.//

[sanzart]

Haha, you may have noticed I reblogged my end of year 2017 just recently, having gone back through my blog to pick my favourites for this year. It’s funny because I wrote a paragraph about what im going to accomplish this year (2018) and it included things like “do my comic becuase im good enough now” & “start some 3D work because it’s the next step” & also “do more UI so I can get a job”...

Turned out I got a job based on what I had anyway my backgrounds and colourful concepts got me noticed, I didnt need to resort to GUI, and thats reassuring. I havent done my comic yet, though I certaingly tried this year with storyboards drafts and then doing a game for my brother which took up most of the 1st quarter of the year, building characters developing a quick draft style for it, I learned a lot I must have.

It’s been another strange year, full of personal revolations, but I’ve still managed to stay on track with my art and definitely imporve on my clairty and DEFIANTLY on my render quality. I know now the importance of actually finishing something and how long art actually takes to fully render, Watching my college render a promo-ready character from sketch, through to model and then painted over took basically all wekk 9-5pm.

All these lessons learned this year I think, and most recently probably the biggest one. Among all that I also learned, to tone down my high staurated colours, to work with hard surfaces, the importance of depth, and certaingly of refereneces. I learned that I needed to actually learn, and certaingly feed my concept art profile by reading getting inspired and understanding that it’s all about ideas, and THEN how much you can render them.

Overall what a fruitful year it’s been. I can’t wait for next year, it’s so far ahead but at the same time it goes so quick! I did not have time (nor mainly the RAM or graphics card) to occupy 3D, though im buying a new desktop computer in Janurary for mainly that reason and a upgrade of course. I did not have that much time for character and certaingly lacked during the summer once again. Perhaps I will do my comic this year, or finish a indie game, perhaps I will get myself to be full Art Director, or learn 3D environments, or perhaps again Id have only improved my ability to do adept jungle environments with the character in the rule of thirds...;D who knows, im exciting though!

January is going to be a busy month indeed, expect the most updates ever!

Link me your end of year slate! I’d love to check it out!

- Matt

[haeroniel-doliet]

Turns out its a helluva mess when i start messing beyond flat colors!! Might be a sign to not do so much again (but yet .. practice to get to where im one day happy??)

Like ive done as much as i know how to do at this point in time to the portraits (still gratuitously bloody shame on me :') ) oh except for a background bc WHAT does one DO for a character shoulders up portrait background??? Settled for now on a gradient old school photo style lmao

I like the fix it one as is, a lot (but also i liked the lineart for the portraits better i think) and idk, imngonna try give it a light bit of shadows and lights, maybe step away from a lot of blending bc i think i think thats where i went wrong on the other one

Like, they look fine, but they also look. Meh. Like ive used too much blur tool (i havent, i tried using kritas wet brush thing and it looks....ok close up but the effect is no good when zoomed out like posting size APPARENTLY) and its all noncommittally washy.

(cont'd over thinking)

Am i gonna 'render' them a third time??? Do i have the mental strength?? Bc i think maybe trying for something not so, "realistic" could do me better, like a little more cell shady. But also i dont?? I dont know how to cell shade? I dont watch anime or cartoons v much and my style isnt that cartoony or clean lined?

Maybe on the fix it i can try a more....... Conservative and less blended shade/highlights? (And if i like it/learn smth new go back and re re do the portraits same style) I also just. Idk. How does one make it not look so. Flat and meh?? Im doing basic color stuff ok i think, ive got a bit of texture but its still? Eh???

Honestly i could just post them and move on but i dunno, i have the energy to problem solve a lil bit so why not?? (Not tonight. Im gonna sleep on this all)

Why post shit im not 100% proud of? (Ngl kinda been in the mood to take down that first sketch of the fix it bc it looks nowhere near as good as what i fixed it up to but ....... Ah fuck it i was happy w it when i did it so eh)

Why why why oh why is art so hard?????????

I wanna try and become one of those cool artists who post multiple fun things yknow, like u get inspired and can draw it beginning to post in one evening! Im probably way over thinking and pushing myself to some standard of unrealistic perfection i have for myself...

(also i like thumbnail doodled out like, all these things i wanna draw for a really nice fic i read and even after editing some i have like 8 bits i wanna draw?? 4 as like a mini comic bc i havent done one since i was a child and i think itd be kinda rad if i learned to draw short comics for fic scenes i like??? But yeah basically in one inktober post there would only be 5 ideas (a lil more complicated on average i do give for granted but like. Those took me WEEKS) but yeah i just. I wanna draw them. Even if itll probably take me for fuckin ever... (And i didnt even finish off the last two inktober batches, oh. And i have a uni thesis to do ew) .... I wanna push myself to draw faster (less iterations to get it right) and so i can have rly solid and good and quickly done drawings to then color in as i learn to for future?)

Ugh man. You know what i need to do/shouldve been doing before i jumped into coloring original stuff?? I shouldve done colored studies. Like ive been drawing scenes both from reference and original on the inktobers and i think thats why my drawing/character stuff has gotten decent. I really should just whip out like prettily colored movie screencaps and work on painting studies of them. That would really fix up why i cant figure out lights and shadows and blending in coloring! No horrid tutorials just figuring out how can i make it work for me

And you know? You know what it is okay to have pieces that are from before i figured it out right? Im gonna try a slightly different thing for the fix its (if i hate it, theyre good as flat colors too) and yes they dont have a background either please love of god someone tell me how to add random backgrounds bc im not in the mood of scene building further but they float in off white space atm.

If i learn smth ground breaking and can QUICKLY do a bette rendition of the portraits, sure the perfectionist wins. But maybe just maybe. It would be fine to post them as they are. Yea, they look roughly as lifeless as my first big painting/that dinluke poster redraw. And maybe thats okay. Because hi if i do dedicate to doing like a good few color focused studies of star wars scenes as a treat i can come back stronger and have a better piece???? Its about growth babes. YEA

Alright i said to myself thats it in gonna go sleep on it and continue tomorro but. I thought id slip in here a secret surprise for anyone unfortunate enough to have clicked read more... And i got a little whiplash opening the picture bc it looks. SO WRONG but the more you look at it its like ... Fine. Ok judge for urself and tell me pls, first and second attempts at 'rendering' the portraits (the darker bground was the first attempt just going by gut, the lighter one after trying to watch like 1 tutorial and using more brushes and just generally trying rly hard!!)

yes ive clearly fixed issues in the sketch differently in both so they... look... like different expressions?? idk man idk idk idk see now this small they look differently off!! god the curse of the zoom in and out and perception.