I study graphic design and my tutor recommended and used this in his classes at art college last year, it’s so good it has SO many features for free, I really recommend it, even if you’re just trying to learn the basics of PS, such a wonderful thing <3
MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE
scientists in the 1990s, putting a Get More Purple gene attached to a harmless plant virus into an already purple petunia: please get more purple
the petunia, sensing an apparent honest to god Get More Purple Disease, using the previously undiscovered RNAi antiviral ability to shut down all other purple genes along with it just in case: you put VIRUS in petunia? you infect her with the More Purple?? oh! oh! her children shall bloom white! jail for mother, jail for mother for One Thousand Years!!!!
Warnings: This will include dark elements. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: Tommy Shelby, maid!reader
Summary: you’ve adapted to your employer’s moods, but you don’t realise how attached he’s become to you .
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
You trod around the pen, kick your boots up with each step. The noise of hooves follow at a pace, the snuff of nostrils at your nape. You look out at the trees in the distance. They remind you of home, of the forests where you and Oliver would gather nuts and twigs and mix them with mud to make your magic pudding.
You sigh and feel along the seams of your jacket. You miss your brother, you always were, but there’s new peace in the thought of him. There is honour in his memory.
“You’ve a gift for attracting beasts,” Mr. Shelby remarks.
You stop and Sergeant kicks at your heels as he does too. You turn as the horse nuzzles your cap. You touch his thick neck.
“He’s not a beast. He is only… a creature who reserves himself.” You stroke Sergeant’s short hair. “He does not hate people, only the chafe of a bridle.”
“Mm,” Shelby hums as he approaches. He rubs his gloved hands together. “Or he longs for the spring as I do.”
“I don’t mind the cold so much.” You say.
“Ah, you mustn’t. Or at least, you bear it well.” He comments.
You stare at him. You think his words carry more than one meaning.
“Is there something on your mind, Mr. Shelby?”
His brows flick as he stops close to you. “Mr. Shelby,” he echoes decisively.
“Husband,” you touch his sleeve.
He watches you. His lips part slightly as his forehead creases. He's measuring his words carefully. Before he can begin, there's a pinch at your elbow.
You face Sergeant as he raises his head and kicks his hooves. He shakes his mane and snorts. You back up and stare as the horse makes a small circle then bends his knees, lowering to his stomach before you.
Mr. Shelby steps up beside you and sighs. “It seems you've an even more demanding man than I at your beck and call.”
You laugh, “what a strange creature you are, Sergeant.”
“Do not leave him wanting. I know how you can have a man bound up in patience.” Shelby tuts. “Go on.”
You look at your husband.
“He's tossed a dozen different rides, myself included. Yet he welcomes you. I think he has made claim to his rider.” Shelby goads with the tilt of his hand.
You near Sergeant. Gently, you touch his mane and back. The horse is immense even upon his stomach. Carefully, you lift your leg over him and settle on his bare back.
You cry out as he sets his hooves and stands with a jerk. You lean forward and hug his neck. Sergeant sets his posture and you sit up, squeezing with your thighs.
He begins a soft pace across the dirt. You laugh again as the rhythm fills you with delight. It is a soothing rock though a bit hard upon your bottom and thighs. You brace his shoulders and lean in to keep your balance.
“Another wild animal tamed, Hen,” Mr. Shelby calls after you.
🚬
You are as reluctant to leave the stable as Sergeant is to have you go. Still, you must. The day out was a welcome respite, unexpected too. Now, you are tired and the sky setting.
“Thank you, Mr. Shelby, that was lovely.” You say as you walk beside your husband.
“I should've brought you sooner. Well, some events delayed us,” he replies.
“It must be nice in the warmer weather.”
“It is. Lively. Flowers, gamblers, riders, and foaming pints all around.” He regales.
As you approach the car, you circle around and meet him at the driver's door. You pause and recoil as he gives you a keen look. His mouth twitches.
“Hen…”
You smile. “Apologies, I wasn't thinking…”
You avert your eyes guiltily. What would he think if he knew of your little lessons? You shift back on your heel.
“Should you like to drive? I could show you.” He offers as he taps the car with his knuckles.
“Me? Drive?” You feign surprise. “Well, is it safe, sir?”
He laughs. “I trust you, wife. You will keep us on the road. As you have thus far.”
He turns and opens the door. You hesitate but accept the invitation. You have this blooming in your chest. A bit of mischief. As you would feel as a child when you hid acorns in your father's pockets.
You settle into the seat and he closes the door. He comes around to the other side and slips in. As the door snaps shut you grab the wheel. He clears his throat.
“So yes, keep your hands on the wheel like that,” he points. “Turn where you want to go…”
Before he can continue his lesson, you turn the fuel valve and flip the spark. You turn the choke and press your foot down on the starter. The engine chugs to life as you smile and replace your left hand on the wheel.
“Hen?” Shelby utters. “How did you…”
You look at him and grin. His brows furrowed and you shift into gear. You pull away from the stables and follow the beaten road. You peer over the wheel as the tires spit up cold dirt.
“I'll only need you to tell me if I miss a turn,” you say.
“Hen? How?”
“I'm not entirely helpless, sir,” you shift again, picking up speed.
“Hen, you should slow down.”
“I've got my foot on the brake.”
“Yes, but are you engaging it?”
“I don't mean to stop.” You grin even bigger.
He braces the back of the seat and the door. “Hen…”
“Mr. Shelby, I am a rather capable driver.” You assure him. “And the road is clear.”
“What have you been up to?” He grits.
“Oh, don't worry so.” You chide.
“Wife, you are careless. Nonchalant. As never I've seen.”
“I rather enjoy to drive,” you shrug. I never saw a car before I came to Birmingham. I was afraid at first but I see now how fun they are.”
“Mm, certainly they are quite the invention. But as dangerous as they are useful.”
“Suppose if you don't know what you're doing.” You preen.
“Hen, are we in such a hurry –”
“You doubt me, Mr. Shelby.”
“Not at all.” He rocks with the momentum. “It is only my duty to keep you… safe.”
“Well, sir, you will find I am not to be doubted.”
You push your foot down and speed ahead. He gasps and grabs your arms. You twist the wheel as you pump the accelerator and the brake, cranking the wheel as you slice a circle with the wheels. Mr. Shelby hollers and reaches up to slap his hand against the roof.
He calls you by your proper name as he squeezes your arm. You cackles and bring the car to a stop in a cloud of dust. He falls back and gulps.
“Bloody hell, Hen, what are you about? Do you still seek to torture me?”
“Sir, this is no punishment. It is a touch of fun.” You set your sights and step down again. “Is that not what you've been seeking?”
“Christ,” he growls as you speed ahead. “Not quite what I had in mind.”
You beer around the curved road and slow as you come in sight of a farm truck. You pass patiently but as you go to rev, Mr. Shelby grabs your knee. He squeezes.
“Hen, stop.”
You sense the tension in his tone. You hate to push the mood too much. You let up your foot and engage the brake. You look at him.
He stares at you. You lift your brows innocently and pout. His blue eyes blaze as they search you.
You gasp as he frames your face and pulls you to him. He smothers you with a hungry kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth as he snarls. He devours you as his fingers curl into your skull.
He releases you with a heave and sits back. His lips glisten as his spot clings to yours. You taste it as you puff out shallowly.
He runs his hand down his chest and lingers on his jacket where his cigarette case is nestled inside. He lets his palm fall down his stomach. “Get us home, Hen.”
still living with my parents as an adult is just like. i'm grateful to not have to pay for groceries. i have to get out of here. i'm grateful to have a roof over my head and not have to pay rent. i have to get out of here. i'm grateful to not have to worry about sending out endless job applications that all lead to nowhere. i have to get out of here. i'm grateful i'm grateful i'm so fucking grateful. i have to get out of here
I remember one time I got INSANELY high off of edibles while playing Among Us, and it quickly became apparent to the other players online. I forget how honestly but literally anything "sus" I did was ignored by everyone because I was so fucking high. I tested this theory by standing in front of a body and the person that actually reported it didn't even mention me. The funniest part was when I was trying to do wires, I kept fucking up over and over again, so I was just standing in front of wires for actual minutes trying to figure it out. A small crowd of players gathered around me to watch and would get mad every time someone reported a body or emergency meeting because "she's never going to get her tasks done if you keep interrupting them." I don't think anyone cared about winning at that point, they just wanted to see the high crew mate succeed in her tasks.
