Jul 7, 2025
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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ANNOUNCEMENT [We are on HIATUS]
Good day my darlings, your resident director MintheDraws here!Â
I would like to personally apologize in behalf of the team for our sudden disappearance. Due to personal life and a LOT of health issues from my side, it has been awfully hard to focus on game development.
Because of this we have decided to be in a temporary hiatus. BUT do not fret, we are still working on the game, slowly but surely. Some of the routes, mechanics and even new characters have already been planned out. We just need to execute them. It might take a while, but we will get back to you all.Â
Thank you for your nonstop support for the game, for the boys, and of us. WE will be back.
Much like the boys, we will return to you.
MintheDraws + Dev team!
art by @kyitre
The Unburied Locket
Parings: Thomas Shelby x Reader
Summary: Your return forces Thomas Shelby to confront their past, revealing a forgotten secret and igniting old, painful memories.
Warnings: Implied emotional manipulation, discussion of past trauma (war, abandonment), unrequited love/one-sided pain, strong language, mature themes.
A/N: The past is a powerful force, isn't it?
The incessant Birmingham rain lashed against the windows of Thomas Shelby's office, each drop a percussive reminder of the city's ceaseless churn. He sat behind his polished oak desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey at his elbow, the smoke from his cigarette curling lazily towards the high ceiling. The Shelby Company Limited was a leviathan now, its tendrils reaching into every corner of the city and beyond, but even with all his power, there were shadows he couldn't outrun.
A soft knock at the door. "Come in," Thomas grunted, his gaze still fixed on the rain-streaked pane.
Arthur poked his head in, his usual boisterousness subdued. "Thomas, there's⊠someone here to see you. Says she knew you from before."
Thomas's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "Before what, Arthur? Before I was born?"
Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Says her name is {Your first and last name}."
The name hit Thomas with the force of a physical blow, scattering the carefully constructed walls around his heart. {Your Name}. He hadn't heard that name in fifteen years, not since the mud and blood of France had swallowed the boy he once was.
"Send her in," he said, his voice a low growl.
The door creaked open, and you stepped into the room, bringing with you a ghost of sunlight into the dim space. You were older, of course, the soft curves of youth replaced by the refined lines of a woman, but your eyes were still the same â that startling shade of hazel that had always held a spark of defiant joy. Your dress, though modest, was well-tailored, hinting at a comfortable life somewhere far from Small Heath.
"Thomas," you said, your voice a gentle murmur, a stark contrast to the cacophony of his life.
He rose slowly, his gaze raking over you, searching for the girl he remembered, the one who used to laugh so easily by the canal. "{Your Name}," he replied, his voice rough. "I⊠I didn't expect to ever see you again."
You offered a small, hesitant smile. "Life has a way of surprising us, doesn't it?" You gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "May I?"
He nodded, sinking back into his own chair as she sat. The air crackled with unspoken history, a heavy silence punctuated only by the drumming rain.
"You've done well for yourself, Thomas," you finally said, your eyes sweeping over the opulent office, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. "From the stables to⊠this."
He scoffed, a wry twist to his lips. "It's all blood and iron, {Your Name}. Not much different from the stables, really, just a different kind of horse."
You chuckled softly, a sound that stirred embers of forgotten warmth in his chest. "You always had a way with words, even then. Always so⊠intense."
"And you were always so damn naive," he retorted, a flicker of the old bitterness surfacing. "Believed in pretty things and happy endings."
Your smile faded. "I believed in you, Thomas. Or at least, the boy you were. Before the war. Before⊠everything."
He flinched, the words a direct hit. He knew what you were referring to. The secret. The one they had shared, innocent and reckless, beneath the weeping willow by the Cut.
"What brings you to Birmingham, {Your Name}?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the treacherous shoals of the past.
You clasped your hands in your lap, your gaze dropping to them. "My father passed, a few months ago. He had some distant relatives here, and I came to settle some affairs." You paused, then looked up, your eyes locking with his. "And I⊠I heard about you, Thomas. Everyone has. I was curious."
Curiosity. Or something more. He felt a familiar knot of apprehension tighten in his gut. "And now you've seen. Are you satisfied?"
"I don't know what I am, Thomas," you admitted, your voice low. "It's a strange thing, seeing someone you knew so well, become someone entirely different. I remember a boy who used to read poetry to me, who talked about running away to the sea."
"That boy died in France," Thomas said flatly, taking a long pull from his whiskey. "He didn't survive the trenches."
"Did he, though?" You challenged, your voice gaining a quiet strength. "Or did he just get buried under layers of ambition and steel?"
He slammed his glass down on the desk. "What do you want, {Your Name}? To dig up old ghosts? To remind me of a life I chose to leave behind?"
You met his intensity without flinching. "No. I⊠I just wanted to see if there was anything left. Of us. Of what we had." Your voice softened, almost a whisper. "Do you remember the night by the willow, Thomas? The moon was full, and you swore you'd never forget me."
A cold sweat pricked at Thomas's skin. The memory was sharp, vivid, a clandestine embrace beneath the pale moonlight, the whispered promises. The secret they had shared, born of youthful passion and desperate hope â the small, silver locket he had given you, containing a lock of a pressed flower from the meadow where they first met and a saying he had wrote inside the locket.
"It was a lifetime ago, {Your Name}," he said, his voice strained. "We were children."
"And yet, it feels like yesterday when I close my eyes," you countered, a tear shimmering in your eye. "I kept the locket, Thomas. All these years."
He looked at you, truly looked at you, and saw not just the woman before him, but the girl you had been, the one whose innocence he had perhaps, unknowingly, taken with him into the war. And with that gaze, a tremor of something he hadn't felt in years â not fear, but a deeper, more profound vulnerability â ran through him.
"Why now?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "After all this time?"
You stood, walking slowly towards the window, your back to him. The rain had begun to ease, replaced by a dreary mist. "Because some things," you said, your voice thick with emotion, "they don't just disappear. They haunt you. And sometimes, you need to face them to finally be free."
You turned, your eyes, still holding that spark, now held a challenge. "Are you free, Thomas? Or are you still haunted by the boy you left behind?"
The question hung in the air, a silent accusation, a forgotten secret unearthed. Thomas Shelby, the formidable gangster, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the damp Birmingham air. The past had returned, and it was demanding its due. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was not just a visit. This was a reckoning.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, between them. Thomasâs gaze, usually impenetrable, flickered, betraying a flicker of the turmoil within. He pushed himself up from his desk, walking to the window you now stood before, looking out at the murky expanse of Birmingham. The mist clung to the rooftops like a shroud, mirroring the fog in his own mind.
"Free?" he finally scoffed, his voice laced with a bitter irony. "There's no such thing as 'free' for a man like me. Not when you've seen what I've seen, done what I've done. The past isn't a ghost you can outrun; it's a part of your bones."
You turned, her expression unreadable. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Thomas?"
He spun to face you, his eyes blazing. "I don't sleep at night. I plan. I fight. I build. This empire, it's not some childhood dream. It's a shield. Against the chaos, against the damn world that tried to break me." He gestured around the luxurious office. "This isn't for show. It's control. And control means leaving certain things buried."
"Like us?" You asked, your voice soft but sharp, cutting through his defenses. "Like the locket? The child we spoke of, even in jest?"
The mention of the locket, and more importantly, the fleeting, innocent dreams of a future child, struck him like a physical blow. He walked to a side table, pouring himself another whiskey, his hand trembling slightly. "There was no 'us'. There was a boy and a girl, too young, too naive. The world broke that boy, and the girl⊠she moved on, didn't she?"
"I had to," you whispered, your eyes filling with unshed tears. "You left. You went to war. And then you came back a stranger. A ghost in the flesh, Thomas. You never came for me."
"And what was I supposed to do?" he roared, the raw pain in his voice surprising even himself. "Come back from the hell of the trenches and offer you⊠what? A life of poverty in Small Heath? A husband haunted by the dead? I saw things. Things no man should ever see. I carried the war in my bones, and I knew I couldn't drag you into that darkness." He took a long swig of whiskey, the burn doing little to quell the ache in his chest. "I did what I thought was best. I cut you loose, for your own damn good."
"For my own good?" You cried, your voice cracking. "Do you truly believe that? Or did you just⊠forget? Did all the ambition, all the power, just erase us from your mind?"
He stared into his glass, seeing not the amber liquid but the swirling shadows of his past. "I never forgot you. Not for a single day. Every decision I made, every risk I took⊠a part of it was always about making sure that no one I cared about would ever be that vulnerable again. That they wouldn't have to face what I faced. You were safer without me."
You shook your head, tears finally tracing paths down your cheeks. "Safer, perhaps. But alone. And with a piece of my heart always wondering what became of the boy who read me poetry by the canal." You reached into your handbag, pulling out a small, tarnished gold locket. It was the one heâd given you, still holding its secrets. "This wasn't just a trinket, Thomas. It was a promise. A memory of something pure, something untouched by the ugliness that came later."
He looked at the locket, then at your tear-streaked face. The familiar, almost instinctual urge to shut down, to push you away, warred with a new, unsettling sensation â a profound ache of regret. This woman, standing before him, was a living testament to a life heâd irrevocably altered.
"What do you want from me?" he asked again, his voice raw, stripped of its usual command. "Absolution? I don't have it to give."
You stepped closer, your hand reaching out, hesitantly, towards him. "I don't want absolution, Thomas. I want⊠I want to know if the boy who gave me this locket is still in there, somewhere. I want to know if he remembers." Your eyes, so full of sorrow, were also full of a desperate hope. "I don't know why I came here, truly. Part of me wanted to confront you, yes. But another part⊠another part wanted to find a piece of myself that I lost when you walked away."
He stood frozen, the warmth of the whiskey doing little to thaw the ice around his heart. The past, he now realized, wasn't just haunting him; it was standing right in front of him, asking for an answer he didn't know how to give.
You Don't Know Me
Inspired by this prompt
(Not famous Timmy)
It started off as a normal morning with a stop by a darling little coffee shop en route to work. The aromatic smell of roasting beans wafted out the door as you pulled it open. It was your favorite way to start the day. In fact, you frequented the place so often that they started automatically making your order as soon as they saw you through the window.
"Hey, [Y/N]! The usual?" the barista called out.
"Yep! I'm feeling a couple of pumps of vanilla today, too," you replied as you stepped up to the counter.
"You got it."
You smiled and nodded, stepping over to the shelf of knick knacks and mugs while you waited. You gently picked up a tumbler to inspect its design and pass the time when a familiar voice from your past spoke quietly behind your shoulder. So softly that you could barely hear him over the coffee grinder.
"[Y/N]?"
"Given the chance, would you try again?"âš
Our Otome Jam 2024 Rekindle VN(DEMO) is out now!
đŻïžOver 8k Words of Narrative đŻïž3 Love Interests đŻïž6 Unlockable CGs đŻïžRe-Nameable MC đŻïžChoose Pronouns đŻïžPartial Voice Acting đŻïžand an Original Soundtrack
Play it here: https://minthedraws.itch.io/rekindle
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
2 shitty doodles and one slightly shaded singer dude
Rekindle - Flufftober 2
Summary: Thor and you meet again.
Pairing: Chubby!Thor Odinson x Exgirlfriend!Reader
Square 13 filled for @avengersbingo (expired): Reunited
Square 15 filled for @marvelfluffbingo (expired): old flame
Square 6 filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Free Space
Warnings: Thor has low self-esteem, fluff, a tiny hint of naughtiness, mentions of past breakup, a hint of harassment towards chubby Thor
Rating: Mature
Trope: Reunion
Words: 1029
Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023
The wind blows a little harder today, but you still smile.
Fall finally arrived, and you are giddy like a child to collect leaves and visit the pumpkin patch.
The world changed once again. The world order was restored. People came back, and everyone got a second chance.