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s t e l l a r . w a v e s
call me stella . ✨🌊 . she/herdaydreamer . maker . weird human
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staring down the sun [art - 13]
Connor watches Elena as she slides on her black wayfarers, his breath catching in his chest as the sun lights up her face.
[ Connor + Elena // turn my bones to sand ]
. . .
#boondock saints fanfic#connor macmanus x oc#illustrated moments#connor macmanus#sean patrick flanery#boondock saints#the boondock saints#illustration#art#fanart#fanfic#staring down the sun#staring down the sun art
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this guy...
...comes in clutch.
...knows just what to say.
...is a goddamn saint for real.
💖 so grateful for his kind soul. god bless him.
. . .
(pic not mine, but i will probably use it for drawing once life calms down a bit.)
#sean patrick flanery#my stupid crush#those arms though#reasons why fangirling is my coping mechanism
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😏
The Boondock Saints (1999)
#giggles every time#the boondock saints#sean patrick flanery#connor macmanus#willem dafoe#paul smecker#norman reedus#murphy macmanus
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oh daryl
Life has been life-ing way too much lately, so I made this for @celtic-crossbow. 🩵
And because I needed to finally give Daryl some artsy love too. ✨
(I will branch out re: artistic styles, but this has just been way too much fun.)
#daryl dixon#twd daryl dixon#norman reedus#omg it's nahman reedus#fanart#daryl dixon fanart#norman reedus fanart#illustration
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staring down the sun [art - 15]
“Sláinte mo chara.” Cheers my friend.
The moment the words leave her lips, Connor grabs her face and kisses her.
[ Connor + Elena // standing here until you make me move]
. . .
When I say these illustrations started out with a kiss (how did it end up like this), this is what I mean. This is the drawing that started it all.
Also music drives everything I make, so yeah lots of lyrics and song references in my world. ✨
. . .
#boondock saints fanfic#connor macmanus x oc#illustrated moments#connor macmanus#sean patrick flanery#boondock saints#the boondock saints#illustration#art#fanart#fanfic#staring down the sun#staring down the sun art
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staring down the sun [art - 5]
He holds her gaze…maybe he doesn’t need to speak a word after all.
[ Connor + Elena // like something's gonna give ]
. . .
#boondock saints fanfic#connor macmanus x oc#illustrated moments#connor macmanus#sean patrick flanery#boondock saints#the boondock saints#illustration#art#fanart#fanfic#staring down the sun#staring down the sun art
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staring down the sun [art - 4]
The payphone has a new addition of graffiti scrawled across the side, ironically reading FREE THE SAINTS.
[ Elena // two dimes in the telephone ]
. . .
#boondock saints fanfic#connor macmanus x oc#illustrated moments#connor macmanus#sean patrick flanery#boondock saints#the boondock saints#illustration#art#fanart#fanfic#staring down the sun#staring down the sun art
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staring down the sun [30] *
⏯ chapter index
. . .
but i wanted to stay
. . .
Her mother had warned her of evil in the world and hoped Elena would never encounter such atrocities. But after her mother died, Elena had no one left, and a life of espionage became easier.
Being alone is what she’s good at. Always has been.
Elena looks down at her hands, rubbing her thumb over the healed scar on her palm from that night her life changed forever. The instant that she killed those two men in her apartment and the instant Connor and Murphy showed up, all made the decision to go rogue that much easier and that much faster. But in that moment when Connor held her hand to sew up her wound, Elena realized she wasn’t alone anymore.
The small window slides open, casting a glow through the intricate screen and diffusing the man on the other side as Elena crosses herself. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” she stalls, frantically searching her memory. “It’s been a very long time since my last confession.”
“It’s alright, my child,” the priest assures softly through the screen, his old voice sounding like an American version of the boys’ Uncle Sibeal. “Go on.”
She rubs her scarred palm again. She can’t confess all of her sins…not yet. Surely God will understand, right? She still needs to protect Connor and Murphy, and everyone else involved.
She inhales slowly. “I lied to someone. Well…I just…I didn’t want to tell him yet.”
“Why is that?”
“I thought I could protect him. If he knew the truth…he wouldn’t be able to do his job.” How she can be so vague about something so big is nauseating. “But now he knows the truth, and I know he’ll never forgive me.”
“Why can’t you give him a chance?” The question seems unfair, but the priest clarifies. “Why can’t you give him a chance to forgive you?”
“Because I don’t deserve it. I pretended to be someone else early on, thinking I wouldn’t stick around, but…everything changed. I should have left a long time ago. I shouldn’t have stayed. I shouldn’t have fallen…” Still, she cannot bring herself to say the words aloud. Yet here she is, finally doing what Bloom told her to do—talk to someone.
A tear falls down her cheek as she realizes she can finally let go of everything now. She can finally let go of how she feels. “I fell in love with him.” The sudden relief Elena feels in her shoulders and in her soul feels strange and almost frightening. “I knew I shouldn’t have, but it just…happened.”
“Have you told this young man how you feel?”
She swallows the bile of regret in the back of her throat. “No.” But the moments crash into her, like the flickering grain of a movie as she replays them in her mind. Each and every single moment she was connected to Connor, emotionally and physically. They never said the words aloud, but they never needed to.
The priest’s voice filters through the confessional with a soft hum. “Actions speak louder than words. But words can underscore your actions.”
She closes her eyes, another tear spilling out.
Don’t do that again.
Don’t.
Elena cries, the weight of everything breaking around her as she silently begs God to tell her something.
She wipes her eyes with a deep breath, and the air around her seems to settle. Maybe this is all she can have, a glimmer of peace while her heart climbs out of hell. Another deep breath, and she closes her eyes.
“What do you want, my dear?” the priest asks kindly. And the memory of Elena asking Connor the very same question pushes into focus.
Her cheeks flush as she smiles weakly, seeing the look in Connor’s eyes as he searched for his answer. She feels the guilt smear across her lips, admitting weakly, “I wanted to stay. I just…I can’t.”
“Perhaps not in the physical sense, but your soul is still with him, just as his soul is still with you.”
Her breath hitches in her chest, her green eyes widening with the sudden awareness. “Anam cara…” she exhales.
“Pardon?”
Elena shakes her head, looking at the priest through the decorative screen. “Sorry, it’s uh…it’s Irish for soul friend.”
“Ah, you’re Irish then?”
“My mother was. And so is Conn—” She stops herself, afraid that saying his name is too risky.
The priest chuckles gently, though, clearly understanding what she means. “He’s Irish, too, this man you love?”
“Aye,” Elena answers with an Irish accent, a more relaxed smile curling up her face.
“He’s your—how do you say it again?”
“Ann-am kara,” she enunciates each syllable as requested. The priest repeats it happily, and Elena lets her shoulders drop. “He is my anam cara.”
“Your soulmate.”
She bites her lip. “It’s deeper than that, beyond friendship and romance…it’s an awakening between two souls, a sense of truly knowing someone without pretention.” She had read about that in a book once, how an anam cara transforms your way of being in the world. It sounded so wonderful, but every friendship and relationship she attempted to have came nowhere close to that. So she had long accepted she would never get to experience such a feeling…because she was good at being alone. She was alone for the greater good.
And then Connor looked at her that way. Without explanation, without expectation.
He stared at her as the question hung in the air between them. What do you want? He couldn’t answer her, not only because they ran out of time, but because he truly did not know. Elena knew that much, because she couldn’t answer the question herself.
But that night in the motel room when the brothers assured her she wasn’t alone anymore, Elena realized she wanted something she’d been fighting for so long. She didn’t want to be alone anymore.
Elena takes a breath all the way out, and the pain in her heart starts to fade as the insight becomes clearer and sharper. “You look and see and understand differently...” Closing her eyes, she sees Connor again, and that look. “Why didn’t I realize this sooner?” she chokes out, the pain fading back in, ready to gut her entire being.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, little bird.”
Fear rushes under Elena’s skin, threatening to coat her voice as she searches for a way to leave immediately. She hopes she misheard him, that her mind is twisting reality as punishment for letting her guard down. “I-I, uh…” she stutters, adrenaline now flooding her veins. “I should go.”
“Dear, are you alright?” the priest asks with what sounds like genuine concern.
Sweat beads up along Elena’s forehead, and she shakes her head. “Thank you, but I just…I need to go,” her voice quivers as she stands up quickly, already opening the door.
“But, child!”
“I’m sorry, Father,” she blurts out, grabbing her bag and rushing out of the confessional. She hears the other door open behind her, yet she refuses to turn around and stop. She walks fast toward the church’s doors, tears pooling under her lashes because she’s alone, again, naturally. And she feels like a God damn fool.
As long as she keeps walking, as long as she finds somewhere to hide, she’ll be okay. And then she can burn everything she has, everything that reminds her of the Saints.
She slips into an alley to catch her breath when a low voice hums behind her. “I know who you are.”
. . .
. . .
⏮ [29]
[31] ⏭
#boondock saints fanfic#connor macmanus x oc#the boondock saints#boondock saints#connor macmanus#murphy macmanus#fanfic#staring down the sun
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🫶
Friendly reminder that you should
Write that fic
Draw your OC
Redesign that blorbo
Plan that comic how you want
Create the content you want to see
Be cringe
Be free
The only thing that matters is you having fun! Not what others think!
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staring down the sun
. . .
a boondock saints story // connor + female oc
Real men hide their feelings, at least that’s what Connor and Murphy believed in order to survive. Until Elena Jensen helps them open up through therapy before they escape prison and go back to work as the Saints. The boys learn Elena has some secrets of her own as they uncover a network of powerful crime organizations. But when a spark grows between Connor and Elena, so does the threat to the greater good.
. . .
A/N: This is shamefully my first time ever writing in this fandom, despite having loved the movie and crushing hard on Connor way back when I first rented the DVD from Blockbuster. Thank you to everyone who might be reading this crazy thing I just had to get out of my head. I really appreciate it. 💗
All artwork is original and made specifically for this story. Chapters will be updated periodically to include accompanying artwork. Started out with a kiss (how did it end up like this) and then I ran from there.
. . .
warnings: explicit language, canon-typical violence, suggestive sexual themes (no smut here), mentions of past sexual assault, mentions of death and grief/mourning, suggestion of suicidal ideation, injury
. . .
[ * includes illustrated moment ]
[1] how could you realize? *
[2] memories are just where you laid them *
[3] you were wrong, you were right
[4] two dimes in the telephone *
[5] like something's gonna give *
[6] beg for the rest of my life
[7] look at my eyes *
[8] and by morning we'll be free *
[9] but the shadows still remain
[10] the saints are coming
[11] navigate the darkness
[12] god's grace lost and the devil is proud
[13] turn my bones to sand *
[14] silent rage now that fills my lungs
[15] standing here until you make me move *
[16] taste like a summer day
[17] truth or consequence, say it aloud *
[18] use that evidence, race it around *
[19] let me be clever *
[20] hanging by a moment *
[21] got my veins all tangled closed
[22] you can never look back
[23] somehow here is gone *
[24] all the words to what's unspoken
[25] take me to sunrise from indigo *
[26] a long night, open, knowing *
[27] back into the arms that care *
[28] headlights on the hillside *
[29] swallow your pride and drown *
[30] but i wanted to stay *
. . .
#boondock saints fanfic#connor macmanus x oc#the boondock saints#boondock saints#connor macmanus#murphy macmanus#fanfic#fanart#illustrated moments#staring down the sun
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staring down the sun [art - 2]
On their last night in Ireland, they sat on the roof of their childhood home like little boys, still wearing those ridiculous patriotic skimmer hats adorned with stars and stripes Ma forced on them for their going away party...
Land of the free, home of the brave. Only half of that promise remains true now.
[ Connor & Murphy // memories are just where you laid them ]
. . .
Probably one of the hardest drawings I wanted to do. I knew I wanted to somehow mix the flashback with the boys presently in prison, but I'm not sure if the effect I settled on really gets that across. It's not perfect, but that's okay. Also decided to keep the boys clean-shaven in the flashback since they were 21-year-old babies. 🥹
#boondock saints fanfic#connor macmanus x oc#illustrated moments#connor macmanus#murphy macmanus#sean patrick flanery#norman reedus#omg it's nahman reedus#boondock saints#the boondock saints#illustration#art#fanart#fanfic#staring down the sun#staring down the sun art
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staring down the sun [29] *
⏯ chapter index
⚠ warnings: suggestion of suicidal ideation
. . .
swallow your pride and drown
. . .
“Ye gonna talk to me, or are ye just going to sulk?”
Connor stares at the ground, avoiding his brother’s inquiring eyes. Murphy had followed him into the woods anyway, completely ignoring the “fuck off” Connor had yelled. And here they sit, on a rock next to some small stream running through the warm glow of October in Massachusetts.
“And ye won’t talk to Elena,” Murphy mumbles as he picks leaves off a twig.
Her name causes Connor’s jaw to tighten, and he lifts his eyes to follow the trail of water, watching it disappear through the trees.
What do you want, Connor?
He draws in a breath, his eyes still reaching far into the forest as he softly asks, “What do ye want, Murphy?”
“I want ye to tell me what’s going on in that head of yers,” he asserts.
“No,” Connor shakes his head and finally locks his eyes with Murph’s. “What do ye want?” he asks firmly in Irish, hoping their Gaelige can help emphasize the deeper question he needs to know.
The brothers stare at each other like they do whenever they’re on their wavelength. Murphy’s tone drops low as he admits, “I don’t know.”
Connor looks away, glaring down the stream as if it’s taking away everything he thought he knew. He rubs his hands together, sweeping his fingers over the tattoo. Veritas. “I want this all to be over. Because I’m responsible for…for everything.”
“Connor, it’s not just ye. We’re both responsible here. We’re in this together, have been from the beginning.”
“But I started it. I didn’t have to call that number from the Russian’s pager.” He rubs his palm over his face. “Fucking free will, yeah? God tells us to destroy all that which is evil, and this is where we end up?” He feels the realization drop deep into his gut as he stands up, and the words crawl out of his throat with ease. “Son-of-a-bitch should have taken me when he had the chance.”
If only the water was deeper…
“Stop.” He hears Murphy plead as he stands up quickly, moving closer to Connor. But Connor cannot focus his eyes on anything. He steps off the rock, his foot sliding a bit as he walks along the bank, following the water toward whatever void it disappears into. Murphy’s voice becomes muffled as Connor’s skull fills with deafening guilt. “Just fucking stop that shit.”
Connor stops, looking around helplessly like he has nowhere to go, nowhere to disappear. He lifts his arms, running both hands over his face and sliding them up into his hair. His lungs feel heavy…maybe he can drown in his own misery.
“It’s all my fault.”
Murphy grips his shoulders, holding Connor steady to look him square in the eye. “Nothing is yer fault. Ye hear me? Nothing is yer fault, Connor.”
They stare into each other, their MacManus-blue eyes reflecting everything they feel, back and forth infinitely if God wills it.
“I can’t…I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
Murphy’s lips curl halfway up his face, looking just like their mother. “Nothing has to be decided today.” He sounds just like their mother, too, every time she would remind them about the romantic notion of tomorrow.
“But if ye wake up tomorrow morning and tell me ye want to stop…then we’ll stop. I promise ye.”
. . .
They mirror each other as they light their cigarettes, the smoke swirling from their tattooed fingers as they blink the bar into focus.
Romeo smiles, his brown eyes shining even in the dim light, and he wiggles a bottle of Bushmills in front of them. “So real men hide their feelings, huh?”
Connor and Murphy blush, dipping their heads down as they realize the biggest difference between Rocco and Romeo had nothing to do with their performance as vigilantes.
“Fuck. We’re sorry, Rome,” Murphy admits.
The Mexican waves his hand with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I knew what you meant, always.” He pours them all a shot of whiskey. “Thank God, Irish,” he toasts. The three men tap their glasses together before throwing back their drinks.
“But if it wasn’t for us…” Connor starts, still reeling with guilt.
Romeo nods sympathetically. “If it wasn’t for you, we all would not have fought for something. Right, boys?”
The twins turn around to see Rocco and Greenly sitting in a booth, holding up their own shots of whiskey with warm smiles.
“If it wasn’t for you, evil would continue to reign.”
The boys turn back to Romeo, smiling at the Mexican.
“Hell, do whatever you want with your feelings, but promise me you won’t stop. Promise you won’t stop fighting for good. Promise you won’t stop feeling. Prometeme.”
Murphy smiles, a small laugh breaking out of his mouth. “Nosotros prometemos.”
Connor taps his chest. “Mucho corazón, siempre.”
A familiar Celtic tune fades in, just enough to draw their attention to the door. When the boys look back behind the bar, they see Romeo crying. Smiling through the tears, he nods his head to the door. “Thank God, Irish.”
They exit the bar and step onto the brilliant green grass of their sheep farm. Their Da stands at the top of the hill, looking out over the Irish countryside. His voice calls out, “While the wicked stand confounded, Doomed to flames of woe unbounded, Call me with Thy Saints surrounded.” He slowly turns around, his lips curling up under his silver beard. “My boys.”
Connor and Murphy look at each other, tears stinging their blue eyes as they approach their father. They shove their hands in their coat pockets, and both of them suddenly feel so small, like little kids.
“Remember, sons, what ye have been called to do.” Da smiles softly, his eyes twinkling. “The question is not how far. The question is, do ye possess the constitution, the depth of faith, to go as far as is needed?”
The twins share a look, their eyes burning from the salt. “Aye,” they say simultaneously.
Da walks forward, lifting his hands and cupping their faces, much like their mother used to when they were young lads. He rubs his thumbs along their jawlines, and the brothers feel his unending love.
Connor blinks slowly, releasing the tears to roll down his cheeks. But when he opens his eyes, Murphy is gone, leaving Da cupping his face with both hands. “As far as is needed, Connor.”
“But…I’m not sure I can.” He feels so weak, so embarrassed in front of his father. But Da smiles warmly as he wipes Connor’s tears.
“When yer heart feels it, yer very soul…ye will know.” He nods to the side, directing Connor’s attention to a stone path crossing over the hill toward a church. The sun catches in his eyes, and as he blinks he sees a figure walking away from him. She looks over her shoulder to him, her eyes and her smile shining as her hair blows around her face. Elena…
Connor tries to take a step, but his feet are heavy against the green grass, and he looks at his father with wide worried eyes. “Da?”
Da rubs a hand on Connor’s shoulder, that knowing smile curled up more under his beard. “You deserve peace. Creid dom, a mhic,” he softly assures. Trust me, my son.
. . .
Connor wakes up suddenly to Murphy shaking his shoulders. His eyes struggle to focus, and he groggily swears in displeasure.
“Ye didn’t wake up with me,” his brother explains, a wash of worry coating his voice.
Connor’s eyes finally adjust as he sits up straight, pressing his eyebrows forward in confusion. “What?”
Murphy’s face is clearly distraught. What he occasionally lacks in logical thinking, he always makes up for in emotional maturity and empathy. “Ye always wake up with me when we share dreams. Ye didn’t wake up this time.”
Connor can tell Murphy is still recovering from the adrenaline rush. They were only separated for a few seconds in the dream, but it’s hard to tell how long Murphy spent in reality, fearing his brother would not wake up.
Murphy gnaws on the side of his finger, studying Connor intently as he groggily sits up in bed. The dark-haired brother’s voice softens as he asks, “What happened to ye?”
“What do ye mean?”
“In the dream.”
Connor blinks, trying to hold on to that look Elena gave him, trying to hold on to what their father had said, trying to make sense of it all. He doesn’t even hear his own voice repeat the words, just Da’s gruff, soothing voice echoing back from heaven.
“When yer heart feels it, yer very soul…ye will know.”
Murphy narrows his eyes carefully. “The fuck does that mean?”
Connor shrugs and rubs a hand hard over his face. “No fucking clue, brother.”
Confused and unconvinced, Murphy moves to get dressed, as if it’s the only way he feels useful anymore. He chuckles lightly, a realization warming up his tone. “Ye’ll figure it out, though, yeah? I mean, ye always do.”
Connor rubs his face again, like he’s trying to shake the lingering self-doubt. He watches Murphy stick a cigarette behind his ear, indicating that the dark-haired twin is ready for their morning routine of coffee and cigarettes. He raises his eyebrows curiously at Connor. “Ye coming?”
He waves him off, still gathering his senses from the abrupt wake-up. “I’ll be down in a minute.” Murphy gives him a look but leaves without argument.
Blinking a few times, Connor gets up and pulls on his jeans. He glances at his healing wound on his abdomen, and as he picks up his t-shirt, a folded piece of paper falls to the floor. After he finishes getting dressed, he picks up the paper and sits back on his bed. And his heart skips a beat as he unfolds it.
A torn page from Elena’s notebook, with a sketch of Connor and Murphy.
He searches for the memory, realizing that the drawing is from their first therapy session with Elena in prison. They had sat stubbornly in silence, staring at her for the entire hour. The memory becomes clearer as Connor remembers watching Elena’s hand moving a pen across that notebook. He figured she was writing down her observations and assumptions about the MacManus brothers. It wasn’t until later that he realized she had been drawing, too, during their sessions. Once, he caught a glimpse of her sketch of his rosary. Even after they escaped, he’d see her sketching something whenever they had downtime. But he never bothered to make the connection back to that day they met.
He blinks, seeing her handwriting under the drawing. “Síochán leat,” she signed. Peace be with you.
Peace. The enemy of memory. But something Elena believed Connor and his brother both deserved.
The weight of his reaction from the day before pulls at his heart. He was feeling angry, hurt, and guilty all at once when she told him how Copley Plaza…how he set everything in motion. He’s not mad at her…he’s angry at himself and took it out on her.
“Connor?” Murphy calls softly from the door. Connor quickly wipes his eyes, avoiding looking at his brother approaching. “Elena’s gone.”
The statement makes his stomach drop. “What?”
Murphy’s face creases with concern. “She left. She’s not in her room, and the guys haven’t seen her since yesterday.”
Connor looks down at the drawing again, the image blurring as his eyes sting with salt. A tear escapes down his face as he replays that moment he pushed her away over and over, that moment he walked away from her. And now, he’d give anything to be able to take it back, to fix it…to know what the fuck to do with his feelings.
“As far as is needed, Connor,” he hears Da’s voice echo in his soul.
His heartbeat accelerates, and Connor swallows hard, ready to drown from the adrenaline burning in his chest.
His brother looks on while Connor hastily ties up his boots and gathers his things, his mouth a thin line still laced with worry. Murphy picks up the drawing carefully, shaking his head with a slight smile as he studies the image and reads Elena’s handwriting. “Gotta love Catholic guilt, right?” But as he’s met with silence, Murphy’s face falls again, obvious concern coating his tongue. “Connor?”
Drawing in a slow breath, Connor straightens his back and answers with certainty, “I’m going to go find her.”
He stares at his twin, his entire body aching with the truth he’s been so afraid to admit.
Murphy shakes his head. “No, we are going to find her. Me and you.” He hands the drawing to Connor, the half-smile crawling up his face again. “And I think I have a plan.”
. . .
. . .
⏮ [28]
[30] ⏭
#boondock saints fanfic#connor macmanus x oc#the boondock saints#boondock saints#connor macmanus#murphy macmanus#fanfic#fanart#illustrated moments#staring down the sun
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be okay
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked gently.
I shrugged my shoulders and pushed my mouth to one side.
Despite all that we'd become, I wanted him to be happy. I wanted to be his reason for everything.
And it broke my heart all over again.
Because I could never be that for him. No matter how much he'd told me otherwise, I didn't believe him. I didn't believe I mattered.
But I wouldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him exactly what I was thinking, what I was feeling.
I wanted to disappear. I wanted the pain to go away. I wanted to protect him from my own demons.
We stood there for a moment, and I finally sucked in a breath as defeat fell from my lips. "I have to be."
. . .
#muse moments#real moment but starring my muse#unrequited love#fiction#autobiographical fiction#writing#connor macmanus#sean patrick flanery#those blue eyes break me
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I finally caved and spent way too long on layout and organization, but I made myself a little masterlist. Just further proves my brain is all over the place. 😅
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my heart belongs to the ocean, while my eyes look up to the stars . . .
and there is fiction in the space between . . .
writing . . .
last update . . . staring down the sun [30]
art . . .
last update . . . oh daryl
writing . . .
last update . . . you're welcome
writing . . .
last update . . . the voice on the other end
writing . . .
last update . . . be okay
#fanfiction#fanfic#fanart#boondock saints#third watch#13 reasons why#friday night lights#muse moments
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. writing
in progress
. . . staring down the sun { connor + oc / series }
Real men hide their feelings, at least that’s what Connor and Murphy believed in order to survive. Until Elena Jensen helps them open up through therapy before they escape prison and go back to work as the Saints. The boys learn Elena has some secrets of her own as they uncover a network of powerful crime organizations. But when a spark grows between Connor and Elena, so does the threat to the greater good.
coming soon
. . . my darling dear { murphy + oc / oneshot }
. art
. . . staring down the sun - illustrated moments
All artwork made specifically for the story. Works are also included within their respective chapters. Each drawing is being done out of order and just whenever I can. Chapters will be updated periodically to include accompanying artwork. Started out with a kiss (how did it end up like this) and then I ran from there.
. . . boondock saints fanart
. . . norman reedus fanart
coming soon
. . . sean patrick flanery fanart
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