Here’s a second portrait i made for my grad school portfolio. His name is Clairy McCleod and despite the neutral side eye here, he does have renowned fiery temper. And too many responsibilities he can burn down with it.
Yeah, it’s been a minute again, but I just applied to grad school and wanted to add a few new, simple pieces to my portfolio.
This is a character I’ve been playing around with lately. His name is Laith McCleod. He’s not actually purple but I wanted his yellow eyes to contrast. Also purple is fun.
A lithe figure rounded Jack and slotted himself to his right. I looked down on a familiar dark brown Stetson. “I said, you have something of mine.”
I blinked. “You’re back.”
Cowboy brushed a strand of hair off his forehead with the back of his thumbnail. The dark tresses were worn loose today, hanging in damp rivulets around his face and shoulders.
He raised one equally dark brow. “I never leave a good man behind.”
“A good…?” I couldn’t tell if my face was blanching or flushing.
Igasho smirked at my confusion. “My knife. It’s my favorite.” He held out his hand and made a ‘gimme’ gesture with fingers adorned with silver and turquoise.
The knife, right. Don’t be a dumbass, Drexler.
I fished the antler handle out of my back pocket and handed it over to him. Our fingers brushed when he grabbed it, his were frigid. Igasho tucked his ‘good man’ into the back of his belt, also studded with silver and turquoise, in the same fashion that Vic had holstered his gun.
“Well, bartender,” he said. “I could use a drink too. Whiskey. Straight.”
Cowboy pulled a fat roll of twenties from his pocket. I raised my eyebrows, it was more than he’d left with last night. His hand trembled slightly as he peeled off the top bill and slapped it on the counter.
Now that I had the opportunity to figure out if there was some kind of connection between this town and Igasho’s sudden appearance in it, I wasn’t sure how to go about it. I crossed my arms and watched him, my face set in its neutral scowl position.
Igasho watched me watch him and drummed his fingers on the countertop. The Stetson, I noticed, was a bit ragged around the brim. Its edges were worn in some spots to reveal the stiff skeleton beneath the fabric. His shirt too was the kind of grey that used to be black. The sleeves had been torn off at the shoulders, the edges frayed. The top few buttons were missing revealing to the world a smooth protrusion of his collarbone and the dip between the hard muscles of his chest.
I didn’t want to be caught staring so I moved my eyes up to meet his. There was a small smile on his face and darkness under his eyes that I’m sure wasn’t there yesterday, but the golden rings separating his murky iris and pupil were as bright as ever.
“Like what you see?” He asked and lowered his eyelids alluringly. “I don’t come cheap, but maybe I could strike a deal with you.”
I definitely felt my cheeks heating this time and lost the scowl.
Cowboy laughed at my expense. “Just give me the damn whiskey.”
Here's a little snippet of Cowboy & Colossus Chapter 2!
You can read everything here:
creating m/m modern fantasy and nsfw art
He smiled. It made the corners of his eyes wrinkle. “I’m surprised you noticed. You were like a man possessed.”
His word choice was interesting, a little eerie how close to the mark he came. Though if Christopher had been doing a ride-along, chances were I’d have spent more time puking than playing floozy boy toy. Spirits need to be seriously strong-willed to manage possession and the few times I found myself on the unlucky end it was not pleasant.
Maybe it was just the alcohol working, but I noticed a lot of things at that moment right there in the land of the living, like the peculiar color of Drexler’s eyes. They were some kind of amber brown, almost orange. And his rusty brown hair was delightful, unkempt like it had never seen a comb, errant curls stuck up in a haphazard pattern.
“Is hustling how you normally make your living?” Colossus continued. “You knew what you were doing.” He had this way of talking like he was trying to enunciate certain words with exact proficiency, or like he was covering up an accent.
“It's a handy skill when you’re cursed to roam these dusty, dejected roads.” I tossed back the last swallow of whiskey and watched the dregs as they slid down the side of the glass. The alcohol was aiding my sudden poeticism. “The trick is to push their confidence well over the edge, the longer they think they’re winning the quicker they lose.”
Drexler leaned against the counter and poured another finger into my glass. I smirked. He wasn’t such a hard ass after all, and not bad to look at.
He asked, “So, how’d you manage to string Vic along?”
“I told him he could fuck me if he won,” I replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear that.”
Drexler, choked on his drink and cheeks flushed, whether from the game’s stakes or that I called him out on eavesdropping, I couldn’t be sure. It was a good look on him. The booze-addled part of my brain considered what it might be like to tease that color out of him in a more… exciting situation.
Colossus reordered his face into a pensive scowl and leaned his elbows on the bartop, hunching over in a conspiratorial pose. “How did you know about Christopher Hayden?”
I shrugged and swirled my glass. “Heard about in the news I suppose.”
“Sure, his murder was a tragedy, it got tons of coverage. But how did you know about the nose thing?”
Here's an action-packed snippet from my MM novel, Cowboy & Colossus - Sunset Cowboy.
It's got magick, action, complex characters, slow-burn romance, and lots of fun stuff. It is still currently a WIP. If you're interested in my progress and want to read the rest of the chapter you can find it here:
creating m/m modern fantasy and nsfw art
In the span of one second, Vic growled and lunged for Cowboy’s throat, Cokehead One and Two flanked him with their knives out, and I was leaping over the bar counter.
Cokehead Two heard my approach and whipped around at me with his knife. He may have been big, but I was bigger and stone-cold sober. I grabbed his wrist and twisted until he dropped the knife and had him in a sleeper hold the next moment. Cokehead One was unsure who to go after, his bloodshot eyes flicked between me and his boss. As I waited for his buddy to stop struggling, Cowboy flicked loose an antler-handled folding knife and stabbed Vic in the hand he had around his throat. Vic screamed and recoiled.
“You fucker!” He cradled his bleeding hand. “Take care of the bitch, Gene!”
Cokehead One snapped to attention and turned toward Cowboy. The latter held his knife pointed outward from the center of his chest, grin wide, expression manic.
Gene ran at him, but Cowboy dodged out of the path of his knife and kicked him hard in the gut with the pointed toe of his cowboy boot.
Cokehead Two went limp in my grasp, our struggle had gone completely unnoticed. Cowboy was facing off with Vic again, the two-bit drug dealer had fumbled a gun out of his pants and was holding it awkwardly with his uninjured left hand. I didn’t want him to get a shot off. Odele would be pissed if there were bullet holes in her walls.
Normally I’d use a bit of magick in an instance like this, but now wasn’t the time to blow my cover. Instead, I grabbed a pool cue and smacked the heavy end onto Vic’s wrist. There was a gratifying crunch and Vic screamed. The gun fell to the floor. Cowboy finally spared me half a glance before I was thrown to the side by Gene’s amphetamine-infused body. He managed to straddle his bulk on top of me and raised the knife in his hand for a blow right through my cranium. I raised my forearm to take the brunt of the strike. It was going to hurt like a bitch, but there was no way in this Hell that I was dying today,
A shot rang out and the pain never came. Gene toppled sideways, clutching his shoulder. I saw Cowboy toss the gun away as I shoved the goon’s weight off of me. Vic was all but useless now with two bad hands. He cradled them to himself where he crouched half under the pool table. Cowboy was closing the distance to him, antler knife in hand at his side.
“That’s enough,” I said. “He’s done.”
But it was like I had ceased to exist again. Cowboy crouched in front of Vic and pulled him forward by his button-down.
“Not so tough now, are we,” he crooned, that manic expression still on his face. He held his blade beside Vic’s cheek as the broken man whimpered. The light was flickering like an epileptic’s worst nightmare.
A little fan art of @anathemafiction character Hadrian from The Golden Rose. I picture him with extra floofy hair and extra kissable lips.
Have you guys ever experienced interactive fiction before? This game was my jumping off point to the genre and a year later it remains my favorite one 😁
Finally it’s Edgar’s turn!! But it was worth the wait. The Sun card is one of good fortune and joy and that is what Edgar brings to his creator. He also draws his power from the sun. He is obviously perfect (in oh so many ways). And since he’s the OG broody boi I redrew one of his original broody portraits. Minus the barrette because I didn’t want to die.
A bit counterintuitive to its symbolism is much of witchcraft, The Moon card indicates illusion and deception. It comes into play to warn us when things are not as they appear, much as the howling of a wolf brings it to our attention. Silver is the perfect order of this card and it’s bearer is…nameless because I’m not quite sure that he’s real.
When this card comes up in a draw it represents hope and renewed power. And bringing it to you is Tawera, a Copper Evocator with a strange ability. If he uses his magick too much, runs the risk of destroying himself, so renewal is very important concept to him. He’s a happy sort of fella though.
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