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heyheshi · 4 years

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“We might be pregnant.”

3.4k words

written and uploaded: July 11, 2020

🦋 - fluff

🌙 - angst...?

💎 - a hint of smut...?

Please like and reblog! Also please don’t post my writings anywhere!

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 3

_________

The last three weeks have been absolutely divine! Harry managed to convince you about closing your clinic earlier than usual, he said and you quote, "the babies are gonna be safe with their parents, lovie", so that's what you did, you closed your clinic early for the Christmas Season and told your patients that you're just a call away.

You managed to snag a couple of Christmas Gifts for your husband and for both of your families. You were never a fan of late shopping but after the fight you and H had, you've been nothing but inseparable. Always tied on each other's hips and always wanting to feel one another's presence.

Both of your families drove at your house during the 23rd, wanting to spend Christmas Eve together. All you can hear are the joyous laughter and love for one another and you can tell that Harry is savoring every moment for when he leaves for his tour.

You both agreed on visiting him often and staying with him for a month before you go back to your job for another month then visit him again. It will be a tiring process especially for you but it was the best you both can come up with. It was a compromise the two of you can work with and it will be all worth it in the end.

Harry talked about his excitement about his upcoming tour with your families. Everyone spent time with one another but you can tell that Harry enjoyed it the most. Your families stayed for a week, leaving on the 30th.

He's been spending time with the kids the most. With your sister having a newborn and Gem being pregnant for the 3rd time, he caught a glimpse of what it's like being a father. You would often catch him staring at you while holding the kids and it made you smile. You can't wait for the time when Harry is holding your own child but you've talked about not trying until after his tour.

It wasn't Harry's fault though. You never really thought about having an irregular menstrual cycle and was never really bothered by it before the marriage but now it was all that's in your mind. H taught you to love yourself and your body though. He was so understanding of everything which makes your heart burst every single time.

You've been eating more than usual and you always feel bloated. You told Harry that one-night whistle your families were there but he only told you that you still looked beautiful. You have never been a stress drinker though you still drink on occasions, you are more the stress eater type of person.

You've been very stressed about hosting your families for Christmas and hosting the upcoming New Year Party, and the fact that you might not fit in the dress you bought for that event adds to the fire. Harry understood and tried to help you with everything he can to lessen your stress. He once joked about opening your clinic to stress you more so you'll cook more food for him to munch into.

---

It was 30 minutes before midnight. Your friends were scattered around your house, talking and laughing and drinking and catching up with one another while you, however, tried being the best host as much as you can.

On occasions like this, you'd like to at least have a drink on your system but you couldn't risk messing something up, you are a strong believer of the saying, "what you do on the 1st day of the year, will be what you're doing for the rest of the year", so if you are crying on new year then you'll be crying for the year but if you're laughing during the new year, then your year would be filled with happiness, plus you managed to fit in your dress! God forbid you staining it and having to deal with staining your clothes for the whole year.

You haven't seen Harry since Zayn arrived, you figured that the lads have been catching up and the thought made you smile, but right now you really need his help. You're running out of cupcakes, and you don't know what to do!

Someone snaked their hands from your behind and you're startled by it until you smelled the perfume you know by heart and saw the familiar tattoos on the person's arms. You couldn't help but lean back to relax a bit and laced your fingers with your husband.

"What got you so stressed bunny? I can see your frown from the living room. Know I hate seeing you frown baby.", Harry said into your ears that sent chills down your spine. There was no loud music but you're sure that the voices in your house would beat the sound if there was one.

"We're running out of cupcakes! I think it was me, it's all I've been consuming since our guests arrived!", you sighed after you said that but your husband only laughed and turned you to him.

He smiled widely at you. "You're really cute baby.", then bopped your nose with his. "I got us covered angel, there are spare cupcakes in our room."

"H! Why are there cupcakes in our room?!", you couldn't help but laugh at it though.

"Because the tables were full and I don't know where to put it and our guests were arriving so I just put it on the first place that comes into my mind!", H tried to reason you but you were already laughing at him. He pouted at you but couldn't help but laugh along at the situation, he loves hearing your laugh!

"Okay okay baby H, let's get the cupcakes here, yeah?"

"Did you just called me Baby H? Hmm?", he playfully asked you, "We both know that you're not calling me that when we're alone.", he whispered to your ear hotly and you felt your stomach drop. "Why don't we try that theory of yours baby girl? Let's find out if we're really going to have sex every single day if we do it on new year.", he sounds so hot and you're so flustered, and that's when he laughed.

"Gotcha baby! Payback for laughing at me!", the crinkles on the side of his eyes appeared while cackling, he's even patting his knees while doing so courtesy on how much he found the situation funny and you can't help but admire him and laugh along instead of being annoyed with him.

"Oi oi what you laughing about love birds?!", Louis smiled at the both of you while entering the kitchen.

"Nothing Lou, H is just being dramatic.", you said as Louis rounded the table to inspect the food and his eyes landed on the single cupcake at the plate.

Harry noticed, "Mate were just about to get more cupcakes, you can have it."

"Thanks man. And great party you two!", and with that, Lou sauntered out of the kitchen with the cupcake in his hand.

"Guess we really do have to get the cupcakes down now, huh?", you playfully asked your husband as he intertwined your fingers and pulled you upstairs to get the other boxes of cupcakes.

After the party, you really did test the theory of yours. You made love for the first time of the year, before he leaves for his tour tomorrow night.

---

Harry has been away for the past few weeks. You never really paid attention to the changes of your body, but your abdomen seems to have a bit bump to it but you're not even on your period. You really don't want to get your hopes up that you're ovulating for the month, your husband is not there anyways.

You used to hate getting your periods when you were still a teen up until your early to mid-twenties, dread for it actually, but now, all you wanted was for your period to greet you even in the most inconvenient times!

You're eating more, but you don't have any weird cravings since you eat almost everything - you're not a picky eater so it was so easy for Harry to take you out on dates and not worry about you not going to like the restaurants he picks at the start of your relationship - so you pass that as your stress. Stress on your job and missing your husband.

But then you started feeling nauseated all the time. It wasn't every morning after you wake up, it's actually in the afternoon. You thought that maybe it was your eyes again. You refuse to wear glasses and contacts even though you're mostly looking at the computer screen so you didn't bother much about it until one day at the grocery store.

"You're glowing, Doc! Early stages of pregnancy don't really look great on everyone but you pull it off!", Mrs. Green, the mother of your patient, said as you bumped into her while running some errands.

You blushed at the thought, "no, I- I'm actually not um pregnant.", you stuttered.

"Oh I'm sorry, I just thought..."

"It's alright, probably just the weather outside!", you talked to her for a couple more minutes before she has to go but during your conversation, you couldn't help but think about it.

Can you really be pregnant?

And with that question lingering on your mind, you went to the pharmacy of the story and bought more pregnancy tests than necessary.

You graduated with a Ph.D.! How come you never thought about this! Yet again, you and H never really talked much about pregnancy either so it wasn't the first thing that came to your mind.

Never in your life you'd have thought that you'll be drinking this much liters of water in a span of an hour. Numerous pregnancy tests wrappers on the small bin on your bathroom along with more than 10 pregnancy tests on your bathroom counter but never once you had peaked on any of it. You just couldn't do it.

You left the bathroom an hour ago and you're sure that every single pregnancy test results are done now.

You're so excited but scared at the same time. You know that Harry would be really ecstatic if he's here but he's just starting his tour, you don't know how he'll react but at the same time, if you're really pregnant then it wouldn't take long for him to accept it.

But you're more scared that those tests may come all negative. You got your hopes really high now and you're really wishing that you're carrying Harry's child. If the tests are negative then Harry wouldn't need to know that this ever happened, but you sure as hell would be really down and disappointed.

You decided to go to the bathroom to finally face your fears. You stood outside of the bathroom door and counted the pregnancy tests on the counter. 15. You don't know what to expect but you pray to God to give you strength no matter what the results say.

You slowly walked inside and looked at the first test. Negative, and boy did it disappointed you more than getting an 88 on your test when you were still in college.

The next pregnancy test came out positive. You froze, one negative and one positive equals negative, so you need more proof.

The third one came positive yet again. You still didn't believe it and look at the next test.

Positive. 3 positive and one negative. You're slowly starting to smile.

The next was another positive. You feel like you couldn't breathe so you look at the next one.

Negative. And there it goes again. All your hopes and dreams crushed. 4 positives and 2 negatives.

The next came out as positive, negative, positive, positive, positive, positive, positive, positive, and the last one was again, positive.

With each look at the pregnancy test, you couldn't help but cry. 3 negative tests and 12 positive tests. This is it, you're really pregnant. After years of trying.

You cried of happy tears and for the first time in your life, you put your hands on your tummy with so much care and look at it with so much adoration. "Are you really there, baby?", you continued to sniffle. "Gosh, I love you so much already. Daddy will be so happy. We get to see him in the next few days!", with that you wiped your tears and looked at the mirror to admire your body.

You took your first body picture as pregnant in front of your huge mirror in your walk-in closet and went to pack for your one month visit to your husband.

---

The plane landed a couple of minutes ago and you're on your way to Harry's hotel to drop off your things and go to the arena where he's performing. During the ride it made you think that about how you're not really sure if you're pregnant. You need to get an ultrasound to make sure but you also remembered that Harry would have loved to attend the first time you went to the doctors so you didn't think much about it.

You arrived at the arena after dropping and changing your clothes at the hotel. Harry was having a soundcheck so when he took a break and went backstage to change his shirt, he was so surprised to see you there. He thought you wouldn't be coming until two days before his birthday.

He ran up to you and almost crushed you. You being really cautious, put your arms to shield your tummy before he reaches you. H didn't notice what you did since he missed you so much and just wanted to hold you. When you felt like its safe to remove your arms, you hugged him back and swayed the both of you side to side. His head was in the crook of your neck and is pressing multiple kisses to your skin.

"Missed you so much. Though you're not gonna be here until the day after tomorrow.", he mumbled on your neck still hugging you tight.

"Jeff helped me with everything. Missed you so much more handsome.", then you kissed for the first time after being away for the last 3 weeks.

---

It was his birthday. You brought him presents and celebrated really early with him before you both have to leave for his soundcheck. You never would have thought that you're going give him another gift. You were going to wait until Valentine's day to tell him that you might be pregnant but things don't always happen as you please.

Harry saw a pregnancy test laying around his dressing room earlier, it was positive. He thought it might be Sarah's since she and Mitch have been planning on starting a family after this tour, much like you and him, so he didn't dig further to it, as a respect to his friends' privacy.

You weren't acting weird, only when you threw up after lunch, he thought your stomach wasn't used to the food so he let it slide and just made sure you were okay, in which you replied to as "just probably ate a lot". Then it was time for a few shots and a cake before he went to the stage. He's dressed and ready to go, 20 minutes before his last call. Everybody was having a shot and greeting your husband but you stuck to your water and 2 big pieces of cake.

Harry thought you were just hungry since you emptied your stomach earlier so he let it slide again but when you refused a drink, he couldn't help but pulled you to the side and ask.

"What's up with you baby? You sick my love?", he looks so concerned and you found it really cute so you pecked his lips. Hormones.

"I'm not, just really hungry.", you smiled at him. You're good with lying and you get away most of the time with it but not with your husband. No matter how good you are with it, he knows you better than anyone else.

"You refused my drink babes, it's my birthday", he pouted, "it's an occasion my love."

"I know H, I'm sorry, I couldn't drink, I really don't want to.", you tried to reason him but he wasn't having it.

"Don't lie, baby, I know you. Please tell me what's wrong pretty girl.", he took your hands and kissed your knuckles.

"There's nothing wrong with me, I promise. Go on, enjoy you-"

"Harry, 5 minutes!", Jeff yelled signaling Harry to get ready.

"Y/N just tell me. I'm worried, please baby. I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it. You're acting really strange and yo-"

"Pregnant.", you whispered.

"Come again?"

"We might be pregnant.", you said in a whisper while slowly meeting your husband's eyes.

"You're what?!", he's jumping on the balls of his feet now.

"Yeah, I might be pregnant.", you looked down, feeling disappointed. This isn't the reaction you were hoping to receive and it made your eyes water.

"How sure are you?", Harry asked in a strained voice. "12 positive tests and 3 negatives...", you said not meeting his eyes even though you can tell that he's looking at your figure.

Then Harry forced you to look at him, cradling your face with his hands. His eyes were so wide and green, blown pupils and you can see the tears starting to form in his waterline. "Are you really?", his voice breaks in the middle. You only nod your head.

With that, he kissed you, passionately. He didn't care that Jeff was yelling at him to go to the stage and that his fellow bandmates are stalling different tunes just for him. He kissed you like his life depend on it until he pulled back and dropped to his knees and lifted up your shirt.

"Can you hear me my love?", he whispered to your small tummy and you couldn't help but tangle your right hand with his hair, not caring if you messed it up, while your other hand is clamping your mouth. You're crying so much. "I love you bubs, daddy loves you so much.", Harry met your eyes and smiled at you.

"Both of you wait for me here, okay?", he stands up slowly while bringing your shirt down. "Eat as much as you please and I'll have some guards near you and give you a seat in here, mkay?", he looks so happy.

"Okay H. But we're not totally sure yet. I only told you, wasn't planning on it until the 14th s-"

"Then we'll go to the doctors first thing in the morning okay? Gotta take care of you more now, the both of you", you smiled at his concern.

"If that's what you want then. But for now, go and please the world.", you slowly pushed him off you.

He kissed you one more time before jogging backwards to the stage while yelling "I love you."

That night he performed with all of his energy and everyone can notice the change in his demeanor. To some, it's probably because it's his birthday but to both of you, there's a different reason behind it.

During the middle of his concert, you saw him whispered to his bandmates and everyone nodded.

“I'm going to sing another song I wrote a couple years ago. This is not on the setlist but tonight I'm making an exception since this is probably one of the best nights of my life.", the crowds cheered for him, "please if you have your phones, open your torches and bring it up in the air. I'm singing without a mic so please be quiet.", the crowds cheered grew louder then he winked at you from the side stage.

"This is Sweet Creature."

And with that, you know that whatever the future holds for the two of you, you'll be facing it together with your small family. You'll be now taking care of your own baby aside from your patients in a mere 33 weeks!

But maybe not "small family” after all, when you find out that you'll be having twins. And you'll have to compromise again about visiting him on tour with the babies on the way but there's nothing in the world you'd want to trade it with.

_____

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moth-song-archives · 3 years

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The Insatiable Flow of Time (1/8)

I remembered that I can make posts here too huh! Anyways, I wrote a post-MAG200 fic <3

I’ll reblog it again with the link to ao3 if you’d prefer reading it there :D

Rating: Teens and Up Archive Warnings: Choose Not To Use Categories: F/F Relationships: Georgie/Melanie, Georgie & Jon, Jonmartin (mentioned) Characters: Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Jonathan Sims, the Admiral, Basira Hussain (mentioned), Rosie Zampano (mentioned), Martin Blackwood (mentioned)

Additional tags: Diary/Journal × post mag200 × Post-Canon × Canon Compliant × Rated for swearing and me doing my best to write a fitting epilogue for my most fave story of all time × Bittersweet × Hurt/Comfort × Grief/Mourning × Gentle-Sad-Soft × Fluff × Non-Sexual Intimacy × Tenderness × Generally Hopeful Ending × Ambiguous/Open Ending × Catharsis × You know how TMA is a tragedy? ... yeah × Hope Punk × dealing with the fallout of surviving a literal apocalypse × Moving on and letting go × Trans Georgie Barker × Nonbinary Melanie King × Melanie uses any pronouns but needs to (re)discover this first × and is then mainly referred to with they/them pronouns for diary-simplicity × Melanie is ace in my heart ♡ × Jon is also enby but it only gets referred to in passing × Georgie has a Type™ × Character Study × i love them all so much × Nonbinary aspec author × it's very hope punk and somft BUT ALSO VERY SAD × in like a cathartic way × because i like causing pain :') × pre-written and updates every 2-3 days

I think I might use it to… rediscover myself. That’s what I liked about journaling in the first place, I think. Getting to think about things outside of my own head, putting it out there so I could move on? Maybe it’s time to return to old coping mechanisms and try again. Even if I haven’t really changed. Even if I should’ve changed. Right?

As the world tries to piece itself back together, Georgie grapples with her past, her present, and her future by keeping a diary. She also keeps having this strange, recurring dream that involves Jon. Post MAG200.

Finished at ~12k, will upload over the next couple of days <3

Day 3 - Evening

Melanie is sleeping. Basira is also sleeping, on the sofa in the living-room. She doesn’t really know what to do with herself, these days, so for now she’s staying with us.

I am not sleeping. I’m so far beyond tired that I can’t sleep anymore. It’s been... how long? More than a day, certainly. I’m at the kitchen table and the night outside is darker than any I’ve ever seen. There are no street lights and a million more stars than I could’ve ever imagined. I wish Melanie could see them too :(

Back before everything in my life went wrong, I used to be really good at this. I think I got my first diary when I was... seven, maybe eight? I used to be obsessed with it. I guess I stopped writing in college, after the incident, because it felt... wrong? Like I was lying to myself, trying to fabricate emotions that just weren’t there, keeping up with things that no longer seemed important or note-worthy. Mainly, I couldn’t make myself care about anyone or anything anymore.

I think I want to find that person again, now that it’s over. Try and… move on? And Melanie encouraged me :) I guess that’s the main reason. I found this notebook in one of the domains when we were rescuing people. I don’t know what I originally wanted to do with it, but I did end up forgetting about it until I went through my bag again today. It smells like fire and is a bit singed in places, but I kind of like that? I think I might use it to… rediscover myself. ...that sounds very pretentious, but this is just for me, so...

And I like that it’s just cheap paper scribbled on with a shitty biro. Maybe I’ll just burn it when all the thoughts are on the paper instead of in my head. When I can sleep again. And the prize for the most dramatic way of closure goes to Georgie Barker! But yeah. That’s what I liked about journaling in the first place, I think. Getting to think about things outside of my own head, putting it out there so I could move on? Maybe it’s time to return to old coping mechanisms and try again. Even if I haven’t really changed. Even if I should’ve changed. Right?

But I don’t feel any different. Shouldn’t I feel different, now that they’re gone? The entities, I mean, though Jon and Martin seem to be gone, too.

I keep remembering Martin’s expression when he told us to go early, how upset he was.

Honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised. As long as I’ve known Jon, he’s always done what he thought best. It used to drive me up the walls, but I also admired it, I think? I never would’ve told him that, but… Well. He’s gone now.

It’s over, all of it.

And I still can’t sleep.

And Melanie is still blind, and I still feel empty, and my fear still hasn’t come back. Everyone who died is still dead, and the trauma is still there. There were angry mobs in the streets, and people got killed.

I can’t quite believe that Jon and Martin went with them. I can’t believe they left us behind to explain the entire mess.

We’re back in our old flat. It’s so weird to be back home. Everything looks the same, as though no time passed at all. Nobody knows what date it is. How long were we caught in there?

Outside, it feels like spring. There are birds everywhere, singing their hearts out. Sounds like more birds than there used to be, too. The trees are leafless and dead-looking, but Basira pointed out that they’re getting there... and it feels like spring.

I haven’t slept properly in 3 days because the questions keep me awake. It’s not that I’m worrying, really, just… thinking? I think I could sleep better if the worry had come back, but it hasn’t.

As far as we can tell, all modern devices are broken, too. Computers and phones and such, digital cameras, generators... we don’t even know what the rest of the world looks like. I hadn’t realised how much gets controlled by computers these days, we don’t even have central heating or water access in our flat. Rumours and news are spreading person-to-person, like in the Olden Days. We only have emergency systems that were installed in case of nation-wide blackout. I guess I’m glad we don’t actually have a blackout, we just need to get the computers back to work. (If I understood it correctly.)

Melanie thinks it’ll all come back to life in a few more days. I certainly hope so. I also hope I’ll stop feeling like this. Or rather, not feeling like anything. It’s so strange. Like in the first days after the incident, when I just felt numb?

They’re gone! I want to feel like a person again! What if I never get myself back?

They’re actually gone.

What will we do with our lives now? Basira isn’t the only one who feels uprooted. I think the whole world feels like that right now.

I hope my computer comes back soon. I miss music, and making things. My photos, all those memories.

I don’t want to lose all of that. I want to start fresh, but not without records of the past.

…I’ve had a lot of time to think about that, specifically. Records, and futures.

What the Ghost is done, right? There’s no fun in creepy ghost stories if you’ve been through an actual, living nightmare.

I think I want to start new with that, too. When everything works again, that is.

New world, new future, new podcast. I like that. I think. Make a record of what happened through eyewitness accounts? Or is that too similar to the Statements… then again, it’ll be more like interviews. And I think we shouldn’t forget.

We owe them that much.

I’ll have to talk it over with Melanie tomorrow. Maybe.

We’ll see.

God, I think maybe… maybe I can actually try and sleep tonight. Writing does seem to help.

Note to self: thank Laverne for suggesting it. (Also for being there for Melanie. And listening to us. And stopping with that culty nonsense. She’s the only one we found so far, but she actually listened to us. Strange to think that in this world, I have to be grateful for someone not worshipping me for some dumb reason?!)

Day 4 - Morning

So. Three things.

1) I did manage to fall asleep after all! I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac, especially after the incident, so actually getting some proper rest felt really good.

2) I somehow woke up right as the sun went up! I think I’ve never seen a dawn this beautiful? I watched it from the bedroom window and I’ll definitely describe it to her in detail when she wakes up! The Admiral was sleeping on our pillow, right next to her head, snuggled up against the back of her neck and shoulder... it was so cute. I can’t believe my phone and camera still don’t work! Melanie has that old polaroid camera somewhere but we haven’t found it yet, and I wish my art skills were any better. I did draw a sketch of the two of them though. I’ll cherish it forever, no matter how shitty it is :’)

After everything that happened, the Admiral is still a bit weird around us. He started out really aggressive, calmed down a bit, and now… now he’s weirdly skittish? Meows a lot. Keeps walking around the flat. The only thing that even remotely returns him to how he used to be is tuna. It’s weird.

But seeing him like that, with Melanie? I love him so much.

I think he’ll be okay.

But before I forget, and why I actually got out the diary at this ungodly hour instead of trying to go back to sleep now that the sun is up…

3) I had a really nice dream. And... I don’t even know. I think I want to try and hold onto the feeling? I don’t think I’ve felt that… deeply… in a long while. Maybe the last time was before all this, when we decided to move in together. Before all of this happened.

For a moment, I felt like I was whole again :’)

It didn’t even have Melanie in it, which is very rude tbh. I think Jon was there? The Admiral, too. We were just chilling on the sofa, watching netflix I think... It felt so... mundane??? Casual, somehow??? Like it was normal to feel like that and I just... I want THAT. I want to feel like that again, instead of this weird… blank nothingness? I want that all the time, not just when I’m riding a high or feeling so terrible that it pierces through.

I don’t know if that makes sense but this is just for me anyway so I suppose it doesn’t have to.

I think I should feel bad about Jon being gone, but I still don’t even feel relief at it being over. Just this vague numbness.

I hate it so much, except I don’t, actually, I just know that I should?

Melanie keeps saying that I need a therapist but if we’re being honest here, I guess I need one the least? The whole goddamn world needs therapy right now. Including the therapists. And I’ve been dealing with this for a long time now.

I guess I keep hoping it’ll just go away somehow.

Anyways. Enough introspection, I’m going back to bed. I hope I don’t wake them! :)

Day 4 - Evening

It’s night now, the sun went down hours ago. We have a bunch of candles, but I’m trying to use them sparingly, so I just have one lit. I put a glass of water next to the candle so now the light gets magnified a bit more. It’s a weird atmosphere, but I kinda like it? Feels… cozy! :)

I’m still not over how everything looks the same, but nothing works like it did before, and there’s this… burden? This collective trauma everyone went through. It feels so surreal. So many things are still broken… it’s like we woke from a collective nightmare, but pieces of it still remain, floating around.

And we just sent it away with the tapes. I really hope those other worlds are doing better than us, but what else could we have done? I… try not to think about it. I know I should, but I still can’t really bring myself to care, or even feel overly guilty for that? …

Melanie fell asleep with her head in my lap half an hour ago. I was reading to her. She says she loves the sound of my voice, so I’ve started doing that in the evenings. (I still love that we had separate crushes from a distance on each other for ages because of youtube and WTG. We’ve been talking about that a lot, too.)

She still has nightmares, but apparently she’s also been having good dreams, and she looks so peaceful right now. The last few days have been a lot, but in comparison to before, and even before then…

It’s over. We made it out. We get to have a future together. I still can’t quite believe it. :)

I guess I’m writing again (despite already having done so in the morning) because it somehow helped yesterday and I’m hoping to replicate that. And I have a lot to think about. It’s been a long day.

Basira is still out there, helping out where she can. I think she feels guilty. Melanie says she doesn’t because there was no other choice, but I know her, and I know that she’s lying.

There’s always another choice. We just say that to make it easier to bear.

I hope she knows she can come talk to me when she feels ready to tackle it.

I hope I ever feel able to tackle it myself. No. I will talk to her when I’m ready.

We did talk a bit about things, of course. Melanie doesn’t really remember her dreams, most of the time, but apparently she’s been alternating between horrifying nightmares and a really nice, recurring one that sometimes happens after the nightmares. She doesn’t really remember much of it, but she mentioned it after I told her about the Jon dream. Not what it was about, just… in general.

From the way she talked about it, I think her dad might have been in it? I’m actually not sure, but the way she smiled…

She has that little smile on her lips again, even now, dreaming. The soft one she gets when she talks about good things. About him.

About me.

(I still can’t believe she chose me. How impossibly lucky? How did I ever deserve her? But then, it’s not about that, is it? She is mine, and I am hers, and… life will be good. I know it will be.)

She’s been smiling a lot more, these past few days.

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suntrastar · 4 years

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abstract: chapter 2

chapter 1!! chapter 3!! you can also find this fic on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 7500 exactly. i am so lame.

Author’s note: hello!! when i was uploading ch 1 on here it never once crossed my mind that i should probably add ch 2 as well ... but oh well! it’s here now. hope u all like it. reblogs and likes and whatever else are very much appreciated. also i forgot to say last time- i paint a little but i am NOT a professional artist! i’m making all of this up as i go! if i’m wrong with something do NOT tell me. shh. but ok now enjoy!!

A blank canvas stands before you, as big as your torso and propped up on an easel. White, unmarked, clean- pristine and teeming with potential.

You hate it.

In your lap sits your sketchbook. Pages upon pages of rough, half-baked ideas, each more mediocre than the last. You thought that maybe you could churn something decent out if you came to your studio, soaked in enough of the atmosphere to coax out some sort of productivity.

Well, you were wrong. It’s the opposite- the empty canvas is slowing your thoughts down, muddling them together, disorienting you.

You stare at it for the better part of an hour, white searing into your vision, shoulders sagging with each passing minute.

There’s something there. You have something, a rough chunk of an idea in the back of your mind that could be great, but you can’t figure out what it is. And it’s not something you can just google- you can’t search up how to think a thought you haven’t had yet- so you sit on your own, unproductivity festering, oozing out like the orange from the skylights.

You’re not doing too well. The sun sets before it’s five, it’s Monday, you have a fifth adult class to teach, yesterday you only got to a third of your chores. It sucks- you should be better than this! Put-together, neat, confident, creative, actually able to do something.

You wallow freely, feeling no satisfaction when you reach forward and push the side of the canvas with one finger, tipping it off the easel and sending it clattering to the floor.

The warmth of the sun burns into your back. You don’t like wasting time like this, never have. Maybe you needed to, though, to help get you back on track.

You heave out a sigh and crack too many joints as you stand up, folding up your easel, picking up the dreaded canvas, shoving your sketchbook into your purse. The drawing pencils you set out on the table are neatly lined back up into their metal tin, the kneadable eraser kneaded for a few frustrating seconds before it’s put back as well.

You zip your coat all the way up to your chin. It’s still freezing outside, and the walk from your studio to the subway, from the subway to the other studio, is always a cold one.

***

At least you can move on from the watercolors.

Oil pastels! Still not a very desirable medium, but for today, you’ll take it. At least it’s saturated, at least you don’t have to worry about the whole thing coming apart with a spare drop of water. The way it stains your fingers and blends unpredictably is kind of charming, too.

You run through your demonstrations. You gesture to where the paper is located. You make a few suggestions for what people could draw: trees, landscapes, birds. Then you remember a box of handheld mirrors the studio owner keeps in one of the storage closets, and run over to get it.

“You can use them for self portraits,” you say, and then a particular man in the back scowls, and then you add that it’s optional.

But Steve takes two mirrors.

You don’t have time to analyze all of that. You walk around, offer a few words of advice. Shonna lays the preliminary sketch for a heron, and you’ve never seen grey and yellow look so nice together. Your favorite couple, Marcie and Ahmed, draw each other, but neither of them can draw. They laugh at themselves as they misshape each other’s noses, miscalculate the distance between each other’s eyes.

It’s cute. You stop at them and laugh a little, before continuing your round to the back of the room, to Steve and Bucky.

“Everything working out okay?” You say, while Steve frowns into a mirror.

“I feel kind of stuck-up doing this,” Steve says, and brings the mirror even closer to his face, right up to his eyes.

You laugh a little. “Don’t worry,” you say, and peer down at his sketch, which is already looking uncannily like him. “It looks just like you! You even got the nose right.”

Steve nods, still bothered by the apparent narcissism of this activity. He pulls a peach pastel from the set. “I guess,” he says, unconvinced, and streaks the pastel over the side of his drawn face, and you quietly marvel over how well he understands shadow. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard.

“What?”

Steve sets his mirror down.

Next to him, Bucky glowers at you, like he wasn’t smiling at your bad jokes in the cafe, like, two days ago. He’s so vehement- you’re starting to think that you dreamt up the entire encounter.

“You look kind of stressed,” Steve says, and then winces. “Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, and hesitate for a second, before thinking what the hell, and deciding to just let it out. “I am stressed. I’m so stressed- Steve, I’m, like, this close to losing it.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

He’s so sincere. Always so nice, and you don't even care that Bucky’s glare deepens when you pull out the seat and sit down in it, because you are dying to tell someone.

“I have this show in the summer,” you say, and clench your hands, because just the thought of the show makes you want to wring your own neck, “but I still have no idea what to do. I mean, I do, but it’s like, I have point A and point B, but I don’t have the line connecting it. Does that make sense?”

“What are the points?” Steve asks, and takes up the mirror again, to analyze the lower portion of his face.

“Okay,” you say, and lean back in your seat, and maybe it’s a little unprofessional, but you’re cool enough that it really isn’t, “Point A is that I want everything to be busy. Lots of patterns and fabric and plants. Like, I don’t want there to be any resting space for your eyes, because that’s boring. And point B is that I want to use people- and this is where the problem comes in, because I don’t know what people to use.”

You’re talking kind of fast, but Steve seems to still be understanding what you’re saying. “Why not?”

“Because I want it to be personal. For my previous stuff, I would just post ads on Instagram whenever I needed models, and take pictures of random people and paint them. But I don’t want to do that again, but I don’t know what I want to do. I want people to look at the people and say ‘wow, that’s personal,’ but I don't want them to be able to tell how personal it is. Like, personal at an arm’s length.

Steve stares at you like you have definitely lost it.

You pointedly don’t look at Bucky.

Then he reconsiders, and gives you a supportive little smile, and you can feel your stomach sinking further and further down.

“I don’t fully understand that,” he says, and reaches not for the orange or red pastel, but the pale blue one. “But I’m sure you’ll get it. Just give it some time.”

You watch him outline his chin, the left side of his nose, little strokes of his eyebrows. Blue and leaving little smears and flakes of color, and creating this swirling pattern with one of the streaks of peach, like ocean and sand upon each other, so pretty and bold.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, and he grins into his mirror, still adding blue. It looks amazing. “Also, would you ever consider switching careers? The art world is missing out on you.”

He blushes.

“Use people you know.”

You and Steve turn fast to look at Bucky, still glaring. His red oil pastel, held tight in his gloved hand, looks ready to snap.

At least you’re sitting diagonally from him, instead of directly across. At least you don’t back down from looking him in the eye.

“For what?” you say, like you aren’t following, even though you are- you just have a feeling that he won’t tell you what he’s thinking unless you ask for it.

“For your painting thing,” he says. “Because it’s personal. To you.”

You stare at him like he’s crazy for a second or two, and he looks into his own mirror, set flat on the tabletop, without peering at his face. You glance over at his paper, at half a page full of perfectly identical red boxes, and realize that he’s drawing the ceiling panels.

Okay- lame.

But also, like, funny.

Then it starts to click.

“Wait,” you say, and you feel bashful, because he’s been listening to you this whole time, and in his silence he must have been thinking of you, and the thought of that is just too satisfying for you to let go of. He’s been thinking of you.

Or maybe he just wants you to leave.

“That works,” you say, and then you suddenly have the connecting line. “That works perfectly. It’s, like, not personal, but…”

“Familiar,” Bucky says, and you are half a red box away from leaning over the table and throwing yourself into his arms.

That’s exactly it.

“Thank you,” you say, and your brain is running a mile a minute, and he’s just staring at you. “Thank you so much. That’s exactly it, oh my god.”

You don’t even realize how far you’ve leaned over, hands balanced on the table, craning your head towards him. And you don’t even care- pieces are shifting and everything makes sense, and the weather outside isn’t cold, it’s beautiful! And this class is wonderful. Bucky himself is wonderful.

You float through the rest of the class. The clarity of your thoughts is jarring, the way you understand what you’re trying to do now. Flowers, fabric, and then you have an idea with a pair of earrings. You ache for a pen and sheet of paper to write it all down, but if you started doing it now, you don’t think you would be able to get up once the class ends.

Once, you smile at Bucky. He doesn’t return it- and you’re too in over your head to care.

***

He’s not genuinely interested.

This is a precaution. Bucky takes lots of precautions- he sleeps with weapons at his bedside, goes out with knives strapped to his body, always sweeps unfamiliar rooms before sitting, doesn’t tell anyone anything. This is just another thing thrown on top of his already exhausted routine, necessary to his safety and sanity and-

To his basic peace of mind.

He’s not a very good typer, so he asks JARVIS to look it all up instead, and transfer it to his overpriced, Stark-issued laptop.

There’s relief in that action itself- he tells JARVIS the wrong name twice, because that’s how personally disinterested he is. So disinterested that even something as simple as a name eludes him.

He doesn’t care.

The information gets transferred to his laptop. Bucky takes his time, carefully scanning the screen, preparing to tuck away anything concerning, for future reference.

There is a lot of information.

Articles- too many articles. Editorials, interviews, reviews. And pictures, and even videos, and he wonders if Steve ever brought this up to him, this level of renown that apparently you possess, and Bucky just wasn’t paying attention. But no, that couldn’t have been true- he’s been genetically enhanced to always be paying attention.

He’s a slow reader, and whenever the fonts are too small it gives him a headache, so rather than reading an article, he goes to the pictures tab.

Your art shows up first. He clicks on the picture to enlarge it, and it takes a long while for him to fully comprehend what he’s seeing.

A woman dancing with a cow in the background, a woman with butterflies on her eyelashes. Two men wearing crowns of pearls, but when he zooms in closer, they’re birds. A figure in a dress, wearing sleeves that resemble fish, with a halo of koi fish circling her head. Everything has to do with animals, and there’s so much movement, and he doesn’t like art, but he does have to admit that it’s all so pretty.

And there’s lots of yellow.

And as he scrolls further down, there’s pictures of you. In some, you stand with people who look ridiculously pretentious, with weird hair and odd clothes and thick-framed glasses. Other artists, he guesses, who have to let everyone know that they’re artists before they even open their mouths.

Then there’s pictures of just yourself. You, unsmiling next to a half-finished canvas, in the middle of twirling a paintbrush between your fingers. You, unsmiling in a white-walled photography studio. You, smiling while wearing a ridiculous sequined dress, which confuses him until he reads the description, and learns that the dress itself is an art installation.

It makes his head hurt.

He looks some more, even though he’s not really learning anything. Or maybe he is learning, just nothing concerning like he was hoping for. Something that would justify this search in the first place, but all he’s found is that you have pretentious colleagues and wear ridiculous dresses and deserve Steve’s admiration the way you’ve been receiving it.

Eventually, he coaxes himself into clicking a link. An article with a big publication, too big for just an art instructor- but you’re not just an art instructor. you’re, like, good. The article is an interview, which could have just been recorded and uploaded, but for some reason, it was transcribed and written in article format anyway.

The twenty-first century is stupid like that.

When it was written, you had just had your first solo exhibition, and it was more successful than anybody ever anticipated. The interview is meant to be a little off-the-wall, charmingly eccentric, asking about favorite foods and then your future aspirations in the same sequence, and then debating different colors and some political situation within the same question.

Bucky stumbles through a paragraph or two, not really comprehending anything but getting the gist, and his head hurts more, but he’s blissfully relieved of it all when Steve barges into his room without knocking.

He shuts his laptop screen so hard that the screen nearly cracks.

“Woah,” Steve says, and puts a hand up, but doesn’t take any steps back. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, and stares at the laptop with fury, as if he’ll be able to close the tab that was still open through telekinesis alone.

“O-kay,” Steve says, totally unconvinced. He hoists the bag on his shoulder- his gear bag, with his supplies. He’s headed out for an indefinite period of time, anywhere between three days and two weeks. In the bag is his suit, in its patriotic spandex glory, his other supplies, bandages and a gun and a sketchbook.

To pass the time, if he gets bored on the flight.

“Are you leaving now?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods his head. “Yeah. Just came to say bye.”

“You mean see you later,” Bucky corrects, because those two things mean different things, and the difference is enough to matter to him.

“See you later,” Steve says, and he shifts, one massive wall of muscle leaning from one foot to the other. He’s uncertain of something- like Bucky can’t handle himself on his own.

He can handle himself.

Bucky lifts one silver hand and waves.

***

He doesn’t need to go.

Steve hasn’t returned, still somewhere in South America, away on a mission. It’s not like anyone is going to check, either, if he attends or not. It’s not like this is required, like he has some sort of moral or contractual obligation to show up.

Still, it’s become part of his routine, and deviating from routine makes his skin itch. As Monday strikes again, he slides into his seat in the art studio. At least he’s not too early; he doesn't know how he would be able to handle any pre-class conversation without Steve being there to do the actual conversating.

You start right on time. Always so prompt.

“We’re going to be working with oil pastels again,” you say, and make a big gesture with your hands. You wear chunky gold earrings that wink under the lights. “But I’m going to let you do whatever you want. Draw whatever. I’ve got out a few different types of paper, and some different tools for creating textures- I’ll show you all how to use them really quick.”

You scrape a sheet of paper hastily colored purple with something that looks like a plastic knife. Then you use something that looks like a plastic-toothed comb, and then some other pointy plastic objects to make lines and whirls on the paper. Texture. He watches the paper, some, but mostly you.

You look over at him two times. No more than you do at anyone else, but he still notices- as a precaution.

“Okay, I'm done. You all can get to work,” you say, and set the purple sheet down on your own table, at the front. “Have fun. Get crazy with it.”

Bucky looks down at the paper he’s set on the table, yellow-white and slightly textured. He looks at the oil pastels, sitting so dejectedly in their little cardboard dish, a product of low budget and disuse.

He takes the yellow one.

You come over to his table some time later, after getting to everyone else. He’s always last, he’s noticed- because he sits at the back, and because you like to take your time talking with Steve. But Steve isn’t here today, which means you won’t linger, which means he can continue on sitting in peace.

“How’s it going?” You ask. One of your hands comes to rest on top of the chair across from him.

“Your shoe is untied.”

Your smile falters as you look down, at your red sneaker- you wear hot red sneakers- but reaffirms itself a second later as you slide the chair out, and prop your foot up on it.

Bucky suddenly feels off. Your knee rests slightly above his head, and your head is tucked down but still looming high over him, cast in shadow. He’s beneath- under. And you’re double-knotting the laces of your shoe.

“Thanks,” you say, and it’s awkward to thank someone for something so little, but you don’t say it like it’s awkward. “I probably would’ve tripped on the laces. Anyways, again, how’s it going?”

He considers the question. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you repeat. You take your foot off the chair and tuck it back in, and then lean- loom even more- over him, looking over at his piece of paper.

He glares at you, even though you’re not looking at him.

“Wow,” you say, and your eyebrows are creasing, and he thinks that you’re struggling to come up with something to say, and after seeing those paintings online, he can’t even take offense at it. “Those lines are so… straight. How are they so straight?”

Because his metal hand has an internal stabilizer.

“They just are,” he says.

You look at him. Everything suddenly feels stuttered and slow, drenched in honey. He’s expecting some type of joke, and praying for the ground to open and swallow him up, bury him under six feet of tile. Has silence always been this unbearable?

“Awesome,” you say.

Then you look away and he’s able to breathe again, and you’re turning away, ready to flounce back over to someone else. He looks back down at his paper and picks up the pastel again, fingers pressing over the paper wrapper, so that he doesn’t get anything on his glove. He draws another straight line.

“Wait, one more thing.”

You turn around and his head snaps up, fully alarmed.

You take in his expression and look like you’re about to laugh. But you stifle it back, bite on your lip as you pull the chair back out again and sit down, across from him. Steve isn’t even here- Steve isn’t even your motivation for being here, today, and all he’s thinking about is you in that ridiculous art installation of a dress.

Floor-length. V-neck.

“So,” you say, and Bucky can’t look at you. In his peripheral vision he sees you curl your hands together, resting on top of the table. The glass on the watch flashes. “So, you know the idea that you gave me last week? With painting people I know? I started this painting of my mom- and all of these ideas in my head make sense to me now- wait. Let me show you, first.”

He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on his paper. Still, he can hear the smile in your voice as you pull your phone out of your back pocket, tapping away at something before turning the screen around for him to see.

Your arm is stretched all the way across the table. Bucky leans in a little bit, to see the picture you’ve pulled up.

A partially painted image of a woman that looks like you but not you, with almost the same face as you, but with hands mottled with age and a mouth starting to droop at the corners. Your mom, apparently, sitting with her hands clasped the way you’re clasping yours. She wears earrings that look like huge flowers, lilies, or something, and in a white dress that looks halfway like a swirled illusion.

“Nice,” he says, grudgingly, and you keep your hand outstretched. He wonders if you want him to take the phone from you, if you’re waiting for him to say more. “I like the dress.”

You beam at him. He’s been looking at you without realizing. “Thank you. I actually got the idea or the pattern from Steve- I’m just stealing ideas, aren’t I- but did you see the thing he did with his self-portrait last week? The swirls? It was so pretty- I couldn’t help myself. Anyways, where is he today?”

“Out of town.”

Dread curls at the pit of his stomach.

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he has the heavy, stone-cold realization that he does not want to be talking about Steve right now.

It must show, because you’re in the middle of opening your mouth to say something, and then abruptly close it.

“Oh,” you say, and you shift. He realizes that he doesn’t want you to leave yet, either. “Nice.”

You’re getting out of your seat. You must be feeling it too, the heaviness, the atmosphere so overwrought with polite dislike, because he still doesn’t like you, even though he knows your name now, but-

“What’s your next painting going to be?” he asks, so quickly that it comes off as a little frantic.

Your eyes widen and you’re carried back down, drifting back into your seat.

“I’m so glad you asked that,” you say, as you settle in. For a second, you’re frighteningly put together, shoulders straight, hands neatly folded, earrings glinting. “I’ve been wanting to tell someone about it so bad.”

You want your next painting to be of your dad. A portrait of just his face, close enough to add little, inconsequential details. You have this idea where you create patterns that look like flowers out of his wrinkles. He has teeth that are always yellow, because he drinks so much coffee, you say, a habit you’ve picked up, but you want to paint them almost neon, bring as much attention to it as you can. His hair is thinning and you want to make it all blue, like a receding tide.

It devolves, and his grip on the pastel loosens as you fall into something more and more jumbled, divulging other ideas you have, about things that aren’t directly related. You want to go big- much larger than life. A canvas as big as your body, just to paint a head. You make your own canvases, too, and you show him your palms, skin beneath your fingers raised and bumpy, with a ropy pink scar on your right hand. It’s from an incident with a saw, you say, even though you know your way around a saw. He almost wants to touch it.

Bucky thinks of his own right hand, with as many scars as it has lines. What does that mean, in terms of fate? He knows his way around a saw, too, and many other bigger, dangerous things, but you don’t know or don’t care about it. It devolves further, you sink lower in your seat, shoulders curving forward, and you’re telling him something else about nothing, and you aren’t minding that he’s mostly focused on just listening.

You’re laughing when someone behind you clears their throat.

You turn back, to see Shonna, looking uncomfortable as she fiddles with the strap of her purse.

“I’ve got to go,” she says, and, for whatever reason, gives you a look. “I finished my drawing, so I’m taking it with me. See you next week.”

“Have a good night!” You say, and cast a spare glance at your watch, to see how early she’s leaving.

She’s not leaving early.

You’re running nearly twelve minutes over.

“Oh my god,” you say, quietly, and pull away from Bucky. You have to pull this back together, quickly, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, everybody,” you say, and so many people older than you turn to look at you, but the situation you’ve put yourself in doesn’t let you appreciate the thrill of it. “I wasn’t paying attention- we’re running past time. You all can go ahead and head out. I’ll clean up today. I’m sorry.”

Bucky is ignored, and it’s funny how quickly you’re able to slip away from him, him and unrelenting blue eyes and a stoic silence to bounce all of your thoughts off of. You keep your back to him and head back to the front of the room, standing and exchanging pleasantries as everyone heads out, apologizing with smiles and chastising yourself for being so careless.

Nobody berates you, though. You keep on expecting them to. There’s a sudden, sharp pain in the back of your neck. They all leave, and then it’s just you, standing by the entrance and staring at all the tables you have to clean, all the unfinished art projects you have to slide on the art racks, alongside the sticky poster-painted houses and clouds and corner-suns drawn by the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes.

All by yourself.

Or not.

Bucky lingers, putting his pastels back in the tray. He’s so silent that you missed him the first time, even though he was standing right there. Isn’t he some type of spy?

“Bucky, I got it,” you call. Without anyone in the room, it's like everything you just said to him didn’t happen. There’s no buffer and it’s just you and just him, and it's so empty. “You don’t have to clean up.”

Something in his gorgeous face shifts. You wish he was a little more expressive. His eyes hang dark underneath the brim of his dorky hat.

“I can help you,” he says, and adds, after an impossibly long second of hesitation, “I’ll make sure you don’t break any jars.”

You laugh out loud, but you’re confused. First listening to you talk on and on, now offering to help you and trying to make a joke- he doesn’t like you enough to be doing any of it.

You know you like him, or at least find him intriguing enough to disregard his douchiness, but, like, still. Something’s off.

But then again, how do you deny him after that joke?

“Thank you,” you say, so formally, and you want to grimace. “That’s really nice of you.”

He blinks slowly, and you think that he’s going to smile, catch a ghost of it in his eyes.

It vanishes too fast, as he slides the cover back on the tray of sad oil pastels. You’re about to make some cynical comment about the lack of funding for the arts, just so there’s something to occupy all this new space between you and him, so you don’t accidentally lessen the space by doing something dumb, like moving closer to him.

“Where do I put these?” He asks, holding the sad tray up.

***

Steve returns for the seventh Monday class! You’re so happy when he walks in through the doors, abandoning your stacks of paper and speed-walking toward with a smile and a bouquet of paintbrushes.

“Hey, Steve!” you say, and he spooks, a little, but relaxes when he sees it’s you. No Rina today- she’s been leaving early lately. Maybe there’s some residual fear in her, just from that stare she was subjected to, all those weeks ago. “It’s good to see you.”

You get those stares every week, multiple times an hour, are getting one right this second- she needs to get over it.

He smiles and comes further into the classroom, meeting you over one of the tables. “It’s good to see you, too. Sorry I missed class last week.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. Here, take these for a second.”

In his massive hands, the paintbrushes look silly. Like dandelion stems, but it’s Steve, so he holds them gingerly, at a distance, like the wood might snap if he applies even the tiniest bit of pressure.

It’s not a good thought that you have next- it’s a deplorable thought- but you wonder if all super-soldiers have hands like that.

Behind Steve, there’s Bucky, standing in his usual black ensemble and glower. You know, now, that if you asked him to help, he would, but your mouth suddenly goes gummy and you trail off to the shelves instead, talking yourself up as you try to find a container for the brushes.

There, on the top shelf. How did it get all the way up there? You swipe it off and turn around, cheery and hopefully composed enough to not let any of your deplorable thoughts slip, and-

He’s there.

Not there, not all up in your face the way you would not want him to be, but closer, next to Steve instead of behind. His cheeks are rosy. You look out the window, to see if it looks cold. His face is pink, but he looks cold. Winter Soldier. You’re running hot, hot, hot.

“Hey,” You say, and politely smile, like while cleaning up last week, you didn’t spend an extra twenty minutes just talking to him.

“Hey,” he says, and does nothing, like the impassive brick he always is.

God.

You can’t be like this. This isn’t… it’s not cute. It’s embarrassing.

“Help me find the palettes,” you tell him, and place the container on the table for Steve. “I’ve been looking for them, for, like, ten minutes, and I can’t find them. And we’re painting today, so we need palettes.”

Steve dumps the brushes into the container. Bucky nods. He understands the importance of the palettes.

“Okay,” he says, and in the time it takes you to turn back to the shelves, he’s already standing behind you, surveying the shelves with you. Steve is probably giving you a look- he and Bucky seem like the kind of friends that tell each other all of their feelings, paint each other’s nails and read each other's diaries- he probably knows what’s going on.

If he does, you would like for him to tell you. All you know is that you’re really liking this.

Bucky finds the box of palettes wedged in the back of one of the shelves, in between thick pads of watercolor paper and glass cases of craft knives.

“Thank you,” you say, as he hands the box to you, as his fingertips just barely brush against yours. “Thank you so much.”

You catch another ghost-smile. “You’re so welcome,” he says.

Behind Bucky’s back, Steve gawks at you in disbelief.

Acrylic paint- the love of your life.

“It’s best for me to just let you guys loose,” you say, in your spot at the front of the room. Even now, your hands are itching, humming with energy, humming for a paintbrush. “If you need help, ask me, of course, but it’s more fun to just try and see what you can do.”

That’s part of why you love it- for its ease. Quick-drying, not water-soluble once dried, saturated. What is there even to explain? That you apply it with a brush? That you can blend with it? All of that is, like, obvious. All of it can be learned from trial, and any error can just be painted over.

Expression is so simple, with acrylic paint.

It’s messier, too, but nobody’s perfect.

You walk around. Shonna sketches out more birds- finches, yellow and mid-flight. Marcie and Ahmed start by painting without sketching first- one going for a sunset, the other palm trees. Classic. You catch a few others, silhouettes, some flowers, some abstract paint splatters.

Then, of course, you head to the back.

Steve is something out. You can’t tell what it is, yet, but you know that it's going to be beautiful. It’s already beautiful. He looks up and gives you a wordless smile, then gets right back to work. One of his hands is splayed over the sheet of chipboard, the other drawing quick, light lines with his pencil.

You wish that you could give them canvas. But canvas is expensive, and again- funding is bad, and you want to save the few you’ve scrounged up for one of the later classes, when everyone is more confident in their abilities.

Bucky mixes paint on his palette. Red and… black.

“That’s a pretty color,” you say, nodding down at the sad maroon. He looks up at you and you ball your hands into fists, placing them on your hips, not because you put your hands on your hips, but because you feel like you should be doing that right now, with how he’s looking at you. Gutting you.

He acknowledges you with a nod, and goes back to mixing the colors.

Good grief, how much more is he going to mix?

You’re suddenly searching your mind for something interesting to say.

It’s awkward, and you’re even more mad at yourself- how can you be awkward in your own class? You’re so off today. Even Steve is solely focused on his canvas, and you’re happy for it- he’s drawing and really getting into it, but now you have no reason to linger!

You stay, for another awkward, insufferable second, before moving on to somewhere else.

It’s whatever. You want to think about it, but you push it out because there’s so many more important things to consider- like the painting of your mom nearly finished in your studio, the sketched-out canvas of your father, the dozens of other little ideas pushing up through the cracks in your thoughts, like delightful weeds.

You want to paint Rina. If her hair is still red when you see her, you’ll draw her upside down with poppies, wearing whatever crazy outfit she wants. You want to paint another friend, who’s constantly travelling but might be in New York next month, draped in gold jewelry and marigolds. You might even- you might even draw a few people you don’t talk to anymore, or people you don’t talk to enough, draw them with pansies and chrysanthemums.

Flowers. First, you were fixated on animals, but now it’s flowers- but it’s wholly unsymbolic, because symbolism gets trite, and you just want to make something that looks pretty.

Nobody asks you for help. Acrylic is fun like that- it’s a medium where you can help yourself. The class gets loud- lively, even, and you just sit in your chair at your table and take it all in.

Bucky, in the far back, works on his painting with concentration that rivals Steve’s. You look for too long.

He can probably feel your eyes on him. You wonder if you should look him up, but that’s weird. Really weird, and what would you even search for? A Wikipedia article? Pictures? An interview?

Maybe you should, but you like the hot-and-cold mystery just how it is.

The class ends on time. You’re extra vigilant today, showing people how to lay their paintings on the drying racks, showing them where to dump their paint water.

You say that you’ll wash the brushes. Bucky can tell that you don’t trust anyone else to do it properly. You say that you’ll wipe down the tables, too, and you’ll move all the supplies back to the shelves. All you want is for everyone to put their paintings away and wash their palettes.

The work is done, and everyone files out, spurred by you wishing them all a good week. Steve lingers, as usual, and Bucky follows behind him.

You didn’t talk to him that much, today.

“Did you figure out your painting yet?” Steve asks.

“I did,” you say, and tell him exactly what you told Bucky, but more clearly, more well-articulated.

And less… elaborate. No talking about the idea for the second painting, no mentions of the canvases you make yourself. You don’t show him your palm.

Steve chats with you for a few minutes, until the conversation fizzles out. He shifts his shoulders and tells you he’s going to go.

“Have a good week,” you say, smiling, looking back at Bucky.

Steve gets to the doorway, and Bucky stays right where he is, and his stomach does a flip, because he can’t believe that he’s really going to be doing this.

“You coming, Buck?” Steve says.

“I’m going to stay back for a minute,” Bucky says, while looking at you.

He’s not a confident person, but he’s also not not confident. He just does what he has to do, without thinking, without sitting on it long enough for it to morph into anxiety, because when you've been impassive for seventy years, it’s hard to turn the faucet back on.

Right now, though, he might be getting what they call butterflies.

“Why, is there something you-”

Steve cuts himself off. He understands.

“Nevermind,” he says, backtracking. “Okay. See you later.”

He leaves.

“What’s up?” You ask, as you head over to the sink. You’re so nonchalant, and he doesn’t know if he’s resenting it or grateful for it, so he just watches you pull cleaning supplies from the cabinet underneath. “Are you here to help me clean up?”

No, but he’ll do it, if...

“Yeah.”

You reach out and rip a wad of paper towels from the dispenser.

“Great,” you say, and he’s just thinking, No, this is not great. You hand him a spray bottle and the paper towels. “Wipe down the tables, please. I’m going to get started with these brushes.”

He starts to wipe down the tables.

You get the sink running.

The streaks of paint on the tables haven't dried yet, so it all comes off with no effort. He gets through it all pretty quickly, one table after another.

Then he’s at your shoulder, tossing the wad of paper towels in the trash, setting the spray bottle precariously on the sink’s edge, since your legs are in front of the cabinet.

What else could he do? Sweep? Turn off the lights? He doesn’t know if you would trust him to do either of those things. He could close the blinds, but the sky is in transition, from grey to blue to ink, and he likes the way the dark seeps into the room.

It sets up the atmosphere.

You give him a quick smile, rub your thumb over the bristles of another brush. “That was fast.”

He shrugs.

It’s a dead conversation- he’s not used to this. Maybe he should be chatting you up, but he doesn’t chat people up, ever. You’re supposed to be the one that talks first, says something for him to go off of. He’s not good at this, but he suddenly wishes that he was.

“Cleaning brushes is such a painful process,” you say eventually, trying to sound exasperated, even though you’re clearly not. “Takes forever- oh, wait. Not painful, paint-ful. Get it? ”

He gets it.

“You’re funny,” he says, and it’s not much, but it’s something. He wants to laugh but doesn't.

You add another brush to the growing pile of clean ones, laying on a bed of paper towels. The sink water drains slowly, dirty grey-brown.

“I know,” you say. “But anyways, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Is Bucky your real name?”

The fuck?

You’re genuinely asking, brows drawn close together. He wants to reach out and smoothen it. And also tug the strings of your apron loose, and hook a finger inside the hoop of your earring. He’s wanting to do lots of things- all crazy, irrational things.

“No,” he says, and he sounds weird saying it, when all that’s weird is you having asked in the first place. Your frame of reference for him is so poor- which is better for him, better for everything. It’s almost flattering. “It’s a nickname.”

You open your mouth for the next question, but he beats you to it.

“My real name is James.”

You abruptly look over at him in disbelief. “No way. Really?”

“Really.”

You’re on the last brush. You run it under the tap and the bristles send streams of purplish paint water over your fingers, and turn your head, looking over at him. He meets you back, glare icy, even though inside, he’s burning up.

“You don’t look like a James,” you say, and grin at him, and keep yourself looking at him as you finally shut off the sink.

He knows he doesn’t- that’s why he doesn’t go by it. But he’s going to indulge you, because he wants to.

“Don’t look much like a Bucky, either.”

“It’s a cute nickname, though,” you say suddenly.

His heart leaps to his throat.

“You think it’s cute,” he says, and he shifts over and leans, against the wall, crossing his arms. He’s been standing too close, feels so unnaturally light. He can’t even pretend to dislike you anymore, not when you use the word cute to describe him, not when he likes it. Not when your name is rattling through his head over and over, a mile a minute.

“It’s so cute” you start, nodding along to yourself, “It’s like… nevermind. I don’t even remember what I was about to tell you. Can I get your number?”

That was not smooth.

At all.

But it still works, doesn’t it? You’re not trying too hard, so he doesn’t have to try too hard, either.

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles at you- and takes extra satisfaction in the way you light up. Yellow and radiant.

“Okay.” You wipe your hands down on your apron before pulling out your phone. Its case is glittery pink. The tips of your fingers have pruned.

Before, this would have all been so easy. Bucky could have you beside him the day he met you, turned you over in a whirlwind, in a flurry of milkshakes and dancing to music nobody listens to anymore. He wonders if he should miss you- and then tries to imagine you in a red lip, peroxided curls and a modest day dress, and gets the answer for himself.

He doesn’t miss it.

“Here,” you say, and hand him your phone, and he takes it immediately, he’s so over in his head.

He types his number in with his right hand. When he hands the phone back, the question is already burning in his mind.

“When will I hear from you?”

He shouldn't ask. But he needs to know, always needs to know things. Things can only be so irrational, it has to start making sense sometime- and anyways, it doesn’t seem to bother you. You stare at his number, type something in and put your phone away, and the whole time you’re grinning, and he realizes.

You’re pretty.

“Sometime.” you say, and you reach behind your back to untie the strings of your apron. As you bring the neck of it over your head, you wink.

Sometimes, parts of him still feel frozen, trapped in ice, like he wants to smile but can’t remember how, like he’s forever moving too slow, falling too far behind and below.

Right now, he’s all thawed out.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting like that?” He says, and he takes a daunting step forward, cocks his head to the side. He’s on autopilot, reacting on muscle memory alone- this is flirting, this is charming like it’s ‘38.

You nod, adopt a mock seriousness. “I am,” you say. “I like to keep a little bit of mystery.”

“Mystery girl.”

“You know it.”

His heartstrings loop over themselves, tying into in a double-knotted bow.

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kustovshik · 4 years

Text

Talking.

This post is informative in connection with a dispute that one of the parties decided to make absurd. If you don't want to get involved, just skip it. I don't force anyone to look into it or read it.

Kust is in touch. As many people have noticed, there was a small(not small now) conflict between me and a couple of other people, which could have already been eliminated, but was brought to total clowning. Names/nicknames named in this post will not be in order to avoid any negative towards those people. Also, no correspondence will be shown here, although they will be mentioned. If someone asks , I'm ready to go and personally collect all the screenshots of the two conversations, without losing any moments.

As a person in some way responsible for the current situation, I have a desire to illuminate everything from the side of my vision of things.

The conflict conditionally began three days ago. Let's call the person who initially had a small argument with me a certain person "A".

Well. in March. March 24th. We can assume that almost 5 months ago I published a post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/613504425335586816/i-want-to-be-in-fiars-stomach-he-looks-like-a

Many people remember it, I hope. I'll attach an old screenshot here just in case.

The whole conflict initially started because of the double meaning of the context behind the work itself. The problem, I was told, was the tags. Namely, in the tag highlighted in the screenshot above: ‘safe vore(or is it?)’.

This tag was originally put up there not because I didn't know what type of vore to call it, but specifically so that people themselves would sit and think: what do they want to see in my drawing. Simply put, a drawing with an open context. And it seems like no one has had any problems with it for few months.

That's what person A didn't like. I was told in a very unpleasant way for me personally that the person was very offended by this use of tags. And other problems with how they don't like 'fatal vore'. It was also suggested to me that I don't know about how fatal can be quite a painful experience for some.

I admit. My answer was quite abrupt. I can't deny it, and I won't, because that's the kind of person I am. My language is harsh on words and expressions. Instead of a thousand words and a selection of expressions, I usually tell people everything openly, or I am ready to openly indicate that something is wrong. Also, I fully admit that I have problems controlling my emotions, which makes it difficult for me to establish contact with strangers. I grew up in a different mindset, which is why I have a different view of many things. It's like putting two people who know the same language, but from different parts of the world, next to each other and forcing them to express their position on some moral principles or other things, and then wonder why their answers are different. A very exaggerated and crude comparison, but that how it looks like.

Why did I respond harshly? I am a rather rude person, and I do not like when people come to me in private messages, starting to talk about how bad they are feeling, because of things that can be safely ignored or blocked by them, so that there are no problems.

My first fatal mistake was when I decided to answer to "A". Afterwards, I talked to a couple of my friends and got cold feet. And then I apologized, trying to come to some compromise, adding the tag 'open ending' so that no one would be confused. But it seems that this was not enough, because “A” continued to say how it’s bad from what she found, even if not quite fatal stuff. Refusing to compromise in any way, as I suggested.

After that, we parted with apologies to each other, and neither of us wrote to each other again. I honestly thought it was over.

Now, before I go on to the man who has been driving me mad for the past two days, I will make a pure assumption and try to explain my indignation in a different way...

Out of human interest, I went through the 'safe vore' tag. Noted an interesting feature. Both tags had quite a lot of posts there. Namely, tags are 'safe vore' AND 'fatal vore'. Why did my post cause the problem? Have no idea.

Then another point became incomprehensible to me. How did a person get to this post at all? It would be difficult to find it through search, but you can: there is a lot of content by tag. I flipped the feed down from the second account for a long time and didn't come across my own post.

Then, in my little investigation, I looked into Tumblr's alerts. Likes, reblogs, well, you understand in short. And noticed it.

This is the first appearance of "A" in my notifications.

Hence, I dare to assume that "A" came across one of the reblogs of this post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/616227708116025344/a-new-player-has-joined-the-game And then "A" went to my blog, along the way ignoring the description specially written for such people at the very top of the blog, and came across my two-meaning post.

But after that, I had a rhetorical question: Why go to the blog of a person who has this written in the description, and hope that there will not be a fatal vore?

Of course, this theory is based only on my assumptions. But I think this scenario is quite real.

Thus, we can say that I have every right to be angry at the indignation expressed in my direction, because it is not my fault that the person ignored my preferences, scrolled down my blog page and started complaining.

Back to reality.

As you can understand, " A " shared our conversation with their friend, who the next day suddenly came to me with a long message about his position, offering help that was not needed.

Even then, I began to suspect that this person(let's call him "B") was somehow connected with "A". Moreover, the reason for the visit was the same for both of them.

I have already mentioned that I am an irritable and rather rude person. I was already stressed enough by the appearance of "A" and the consequences of my reflections that occurred after what I thought was an end to the conflict. And the repeated mention of the situation has already infuriated me.

I fully admit that I reacted very sharply to the "B" message. I had reasons for this that the other side chose not to consider.

Well. After receiving the message I gave sharp response expressing extreme dissatisfaction, but without insults to "B". Was there passive-aggressive speech? Yes. Were words said that I am not obliged to monitor the health of people who do not concern me? Yes. Do I have the right to think so? Yes. Does this fall under the moral code? It depends on the person's personal worldview.

Yes, I was rude due to the fact that on the second day I was exhausted and angry about this situation. I wanted to end this conflict and repeatedly asked both of them to block me and remain neutral. In addition, I tried to somehow explain that we are people of different mentalities and grew up with different life standards, so in this situation we see this conflict differently. Yes, in a rough way, but I tried to explain it.

I received a ton of direct insults, was accused of narcissism and high self-esteem, as well as refusing to take care of other people's problems. In addition, I received lines like, quote: "...but let me see you talk like you did to me or anyone else simply trying to converse with you over a serious topic and I will not hesitate to have your content and eventually your account removed from this site.".

Isn't this a direct threat?

I understand that passive-aggressive speech itself can offend someone. But you can't call it an insult. Passive-aggression is a hidden way of expressing negative feelings and emotions to a person. This is not an insult. But, Yes, I admit that this is a very harsh and rude way of communicating.

That's just after such an exchange of pleasantries, I snapped. 3 days of unquenchable conflict, when one side refused to listen to the other, at the same time. There were attempts on my part to end the conflict. There was one repeated request to block and disperse, so as not to inflame everything to the point of absurdity.

"Want to stay safe with your own preferences? "Please, God, don't touch me, that's all. Block me already and we will live in peace. "- This was the message of my answers. It's sad, but instead of just ending the conflict, I got the brand of a person with a capitalist mindset, the brand of a bitch-whiner, and other other charms.

And I swear that I was ready to just leave all this and stop responding to such outbursts in my direction, banal blocking "B", if they can’t themselves do it.

As here I get a notification with a post where this person changed my art / tags and basically uploaded the changed image to his blog, hiding behind good intentions. "B" did not receive permission for such actions. Even with an indication of authorship. I am most outraged by such actions at the moment.

Better look on the two images compared to each other.

And after that, everyone wants me to try to understand how bad I was and how poor they are, that from a simple argument that could have ended without even starting, it turned into an absurd clowning with offended people, insults and changing someone else's drawings and whole character reaction. Just a note. Fiar is not so nice, he’s a wild monster leech and he just grumbles about everything as much as he don’t understands why some people willing to let him eat them. He’ll never say something as “I’ll keep you safe”.

There it is. The comedy of a three days.

This post is for informational purposes only. Namely, how I see this situation.

All I want now is for "B" to delete the post, and for both sides to banal block each other, so that we never meet again.

I refuse to apologize to "B" for their latest act of outraging my drawing by completely distorting the meaning from a neutral drawing to something that only "B" and their friend like. In conclusion I can say, that I do not call myself a good one in that confrontation. I did some terrible mistakes while talking to both of those people. But it’s not only I’m here being on the bad side. People are not black and white.

After this I’ll not respond to any of the continuation of that conflict anymore. I’m tired of this.

#long post #Kust talking #trigger warning

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imanativeofswlondondahling · 4 years

Text

Hidden in Plain Sight (3)- Tom Holland X Reader

A/N: This story is fun to write, but school is taking over little by little so sorry if this gets delayed more than I mean for it to be! Enjoy Chapter Three!

Word Count: 2165

Warnings: Swearing? Maybe? To be honest I can’t remember if I swore or not but knowing me I probably did. But there is mention of a killer moth so if that’s as trigger as it was when it was flying around my room then I’ll mention it here.

You had the absolute worst day. You were hoping it was going to be a good day since you had put on one of your favorite outfits to wear to work. But as soon as you got to work, everything turned into a shit show. A project you thought was finished didn’t save the last days edits, your boss got on you for something that was your coworker’s responsibility, and someone ate your lunch, which you’re not entirely sure how that happened, but it did. Add to it you have the start of what you think is a migraine, the last thing you want to do is anything work related, but because you’re behind on the project that is due tomorrow, you’ll probably be up all night working on it before going in tomorrow to continue working on it at the office. So heating up some soup to eat while you work, you decide to scroll through Tumblr while you wait for it to heat up.

The news of Spider-Man, and therefore Tom Holland, staying in the MCU still hasn’t died down, which let’s be honest why should it? It’s fantastic news. Out of all the Spider-Mans, Tom’s portrayal of it is your favorite and you would be so sad to see him taken from Marvel just because Sony, Marvel and Disney couldn’t come to an agreement on things. It’s only been a couple days since it was announced, but you wouldn’t be surprised if this was talked about for weeks at least. You reblog a couple of photos, adding some of your usual hashtags. Honestly, you want to be distracted by asks, but you know that the likelihood that people will respond is low, plus you shouldn’t let yourself be distracted by Tumblr when you have the project due tomorrow.

Hating seeing notifications, you click on the second icon from the right on the bottom of your screen. You clear off the notifications from reblogs and likes but notices your app is still showing a notification, on the messages side. It’s probably just from one of your friends. You flip over to the other screen and see a message from none other than Tomholland2013, who you’ve been messaging on and off over the past couple of days, ever since you sent him that edit.

You haven’t been super active on tumblr lately. Everything ok?x

Been super busy at work lol. Big deadlines coming up.

You don’t expect to get a message back since you figured from your messages where he mentioned he was in the early hours of the day while you were only in the late afternoon, that he was probably asleep since you got home later from work than you had planned. So you set your phone aside as you pull the broccoli cheddar soup from the microwave. However, you’re pleasantly surprised to see a message waiting for you when you pick your phone back up to head back to your computer to keep working.

Ah, big deadlines. What kind of work do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?x

Hm, this new tumblr friend of yours is awake even though it’s probably the middle of the night for him?

I don’t mind. I work in graphic design. Isn’t it the middle of the night for you?

It would be if I was at home. I travel a lot for work. I’m currently in New York, so it’s only 9pm.x

But it definitely feels like I should be asleep. I’ve only been in New York for a few days and my mind is still on London time.x

What kind of work do you do?

You set your phone down and boot your computer back up. You know you have shadows to deal with and layers to add back before even getting to the stuff you were meaning to get on today. This project was going to be the death of you.

Tom stares at the message. How does he respond to that? He can’t very well tell you he’s an actor. That blows all of this. He likes being able to be open with you and the moment that it comes out that he is actually Tom Holland, well you might not be open with him. Could he tell you he works in the movie field without having to admit who he is? Could he play it off that he’s still a fanboy, because he will be a marvel fanboy until the day he dies, without blowing this whole thing up? There’s just something about you and being able to connect with someone who has no idea who he is that is different.

Even on your blog today, you shared things from months ago and still reacted like it was your first time seeing them. Your whole blog just radiated positivity, even though your messages sounded like you had a lot on your plate outside of the internet world. He wants to be able to know you without the pressure of having to be, well, him. But you’re not asking him to spill everything about who he is. Just a snip-it.

Film production. Getting ready to head off to a new project actually.x

Must be fun to travel for it. Anywhere fun?

Cleveland actually. Haven’t been there before, so maybe I’ll find something fun to do outside of the project while I’m there.x

Maybe you’ll run into Tom. He’s supposed to be there shooting a project I think. Especially if you’re also in the film industry, you’d already have more of a way into things than say I would lol

I don’t know if I’ll have that much time off to look for him.x

Well if you happen to run into him in said little time off, tell him there’s probably half a million if not more tumblr users willing to marry him, should he be in need of a wife, husband, or nonbianary pal.

Would you happen to be one of those said half a million?x

He shouldn’t have sent it. You have been pretty good about responding, but after sending that message, he hasn’t heard from you in over twenty-four hours and he’s beside himself. You also haven’t posted on your blog. Which makes him think you’re avoiding him on the site all together, which is even worse. The flight to Cleveland, wouldn’t have been half bad if he wasn’t worried the whole time about what you might have been sending while his phone was on airplane mode. And of course the one time he would have paid any amount for on flight wi-fi, it was down and no one could use it.

As soon as the plane lands, he’s flipping the switch to connect his phone again. He needs to see if you’ve messaged back. He’s ignoring all the other notifications that pop up, looking for only on apps notifications. And while you haven’t posted again, you have messaged back. Which makes him suddenly feel like he can breathe again.

I’m not the one who took Tom’s name on here. I feel like you might propose to Tom before I even have a chance to meet him IRL.

I don’t think I’m Tom’s type.X

And what do you think Tom’s type is?

And it takes everything to not just describe you. It wouldn’t be hard. He had spent a lot of time deep diving through your blog. He had looked through your #me tab on your blog. It was filled with everything from selfies to posts about things you had done. And you were the kind of person that he was into. It wasn’t an only physical attraction thing. It was the things that you found important enough to post about. The little things about your day that you shared about. But instead of typing back you, Tom decides to type something different.

I think he would be into someone down to earth. Someone who is into sharing time with friends and family equally and someone who has a great sense of humor. Oh and they would HAVE to love Tessa. That would be a must.x

Wow you’ve thought a lot about this.

Do you disagree?x

Surprisingly no. But I thought you’d say something more… I don’t know physical I guess.

Why’s that?x

I don’t know. I just did.

What do you think he’d be into?x

He can’t help but ask. He wants to know what you think he’s like. There’s enough speculation out there about what he’s like, but for some reason, knowing what you think about him, it means something to him.

I would say, similar to you- family, friends and Tessa would definitely be at the top. Sense of humor would be important. I also feel like with there being so much he can’t talk about to the public, having someone he can trust with stuff would be important. I also think trust would be important so that he has a space he can just be himself too. 🤷‍♀️

Pretty spot on. All of those are important to him. He wants to ask if those things are all important to you, but asking that would come off weird, so he takes a different approach.

Honestly if I wasn’t such a div when I was making accounts I would have just made a Tessa fan blog. I’m a bigger fan of her than of Tom. x

SO TRUE. How can you not be?! She’s the purest thing in this world (sorry to Tom) and every time he shares more of her with us I melt a little.

Paddy had sent him that picture of Tessa this morning, maybe sharing it would brighten everyone’s days. Especially knowing that you were such a fan of her too. Adding the picture to his Instagram story, with a quick caption of missing this sweet girl, he quickly uploads it.

APPARENTLY TOM CAN READ OUR THOUGHTS?!

What do you mean?x

Cute Tessa content just uploaded to his Insta story. Apparently he’s away from her and missing her 😭

She’s just too pure for this world x

I needed that right now.

Something wrong?x

Work project might kill me.

It’s due by the end of the day, but photoshop keeps crashing and I might scream.

I’m sorry love x

I’m restarting my computer for the third time today and it’s not even noon yet.

You know he’s English so the love thing shouldn’t throw you. Plus he’s a boy on the internet. But for some reason, it feels like something more. So instead of saying anything about it, you just keep messaging like nothing happened. A small part of you is hoping that by not mentioning it though, it might happen again.

Tom spends the rest of the day messaging you when he can. He knows you’re working on a project that has a deadline, so he doesn’t expect you to be at his beck and call. But when he gets a notification at almost eleven o’clock at night his time from your blog, he hopes it’s one of your personal posts to make him laugh. He isn’t let down.

THERE WAS A MOTH FLYING AROUND MY ROOM AND NOW I CAN’T FIND IT IM GOING TO DIE. IF IT EATS ME YOU ALL KNOW WHO THE MURDER IS

#me #killer moth #save me #if i die i leave everything to tom

He can’t help but send you an ask about it.

Tomholland2013 asked: You know moths don’t eat people right?x

Y/T/B: You didn’t see how big this one was. This one was definitely of the people eating variety with how big it was. And now it’s hiding in my room waiting for me to close my eyes and then it will sneak up on me, kill me, and devour me whole. 🖕

Tom laughs at your reply before sending another ask. Sure he could do this in your message thread, but he’s betting the asks are helping distract you from the moth.

Tomholland2013 asked: That’s a quiet defensive response from someone who is going to be eaten. If you want me to come save you from a killer moth, maybe be a bit nicer.x

Y/T/B: If you will race over here, find this moth, and release it into the wild so that it can’t kill me in my sleep I will make you as many Tom edits as it takes in gratitude. 👏😘Just come save me please. I swear I can hear him laughing in the distance.

Tomholland2013 asked: If he’s laughing in the distance, I’ll be over to take care of him. No one gets to disrespect my favorite blog and get away with it.x

Y/T/B: Thanks darling. I really, really appreciate it. Now I must be off to hunt this moth, before he hunts me.

Tags: @serendipitous-amor @im-still-tryin-to-find-it @tomfiction4 @im-deeply-shallow

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #tom holland fan fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland fanfiction #imanativeofswlondondahling #hidden in plain sight

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cutie1365 · 4 years

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The Family We Choose 2/3

The Family We Choose (2/3)

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Request: made by @agentmalfoy24601, I don't want to spoil the ending so I won’t post the actual request here but I’ve decided to turn it into a three part mini-series. Part 3 will be uploaded 12/29.

A/N: Please let me know what you think and what you think will happen in the next parts! There’s only one part left!

Masterlist in bio. Taglist in the reblogs. MUST COMMENT/REBLOG TO STAY ON.

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The next day you had noticed that John posted about the incident on his blog, titling it ‘The Aluminium Crutch’. Once you noticed he’d included your name, your heart skipped a beat. You were very careful about keeping out of sight. You didn’t even have any social media accounts. But it was only an alias anyway, he couldn’t find you, everything would be just fine.

Or so you thought.

You thought you were completely in the clear, but all roads began to lead back to him.

You and Sherlock began investigating a case that seemed all too simple. You’d been receiving strange emails, pictures of jewels and pearls, each day. Odd.

“Hey Sherlock,” You called him over into the living room as he brought you a cup of tea, “Thanks. Would you look at this? I thought it was nothing, just spam ya know, but it’s been everyday for the last week.” You showed him the strange emails in your inbox.

“Are they stolen?” He furrowed his brow, leaning over your shoulder to better view the screen. You smelled his cologne immediately, a scent you’d gotten very used to over the last few weeks.

Ever since the night at the theatre you’d decided to test your theory and see if Sherlock would ever act on these feelings. You were more playful, more flirty, planted a few more deductions on your person to drive him crazy. And all it took was the right case for him to sweep you off your feet into a storybook like kiss.

One touch was all it took, then you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You’d never been with someone like him before. Yes, he was five or so years older than you, but there was just something about him that always pulled you towards him. Like you were meant to be.

You hated lying to him, but you knew it would keep him safe... or so you thought.

“I’m not sure, I could do a reverse image search. But why send them to me in the first place? I don’t give this email out.” You explained, looking up to him from his leather chair where you were seated with your legs crossed, laptop balancing on top of them.

After a few quick searches the jewels did seem to be stolen, the robberies taking place a few years apart, there didn’t seem to be any real pattern to them, and the crimes didn’t seem to be escalating and becoming more frequent.

“Forward me the emails, I’ll have someone track the IP address and we’ll find out where they were sent from.” Sherlock said with a protective tone. He didn’t know why they were being sent to you, and he didn’t like what it could mean.

Once the address had been tracked, it lead the two of you to a warehouse in Wapping owned by a Daniel Brennan. Upon arriving at the warehouse you both found Brennan, dead in front of his open computer, a bullet in his head.

“Well that’s convenient.” You pointed to the open and unlocked laptop.

“Suspiciously so.” Sherlock nodded, texting Lestrade and taking the laptop.

Back at 221B, when you two began to look into the laptop, you found it was owned by a James Swandale judging by the oh-so convenient documents left on the desktop. They were all just waiting there for you. And get this, Swandale was a jewel thief, perfect. You both suspected this would be some sort of trap.

“Why point out the crime anyway? He could have gotten away with them, but instead he emailed them to me, of all people.” You asked Sherlock, suspiciously.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like where this is heading.” To him this seemed all too familiar, and reminded him of a certain Consulting Criminal who once pointed out crimes to Sherlock to watch him dance.

All of the most recent documents on the computer were plans to the house of some ‘90’s pop star’ who’d you’d never heard of, Jimmy Erastora. Neither of you had a good feeling about this, but you knew if it wasn’t a trap and another murder was about to happen that you could have prevented it, their blood would be on your hands.

“So this is his next target right?” You pointed to the floorplans.

“So it would appear.” Sherlock nodded.

“We better get going then.” You moved to grab your coat, but Sherlock grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Y/N, if we’re walking into a trap-” Sherlock’s voice broke, he was scared. Not of what might happen to him, but of what might happen to you.

“I know, it’s all been too easy. But we can’t take the risk that it’s not a trap and let another innocent die. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.” You stated, as you slipped John’s gun into your coat pocket. That seemed to reassure Sherlock slightly.

Once you made it to the house, it seemed to be empty. This wasn’t a good sign. There were a few pieces of furniture covered with white linens. You two carefully did a sweep of the house, but stopped when something caught your eye in the kitchen.

You stepped forward towards the counter and carefully picked up the picture in your hand before Sherlock could see it. It was a baby picture of you with your young mother. That was the last picture of her ever taken, in that hospital bed, she died a few hours later after complications from childbirth. She was so young, you never knew exactly how old, somewhere in the 16-18 range.

Suddenly everything made sense and you let out a single exasperated chuckle, catching Sherlock’s attention.

“Jimmy Erastora.” You shake your head.

“What?” Sherlock asked, stepping carefully into the room.

“It’s an anagram.” Your eyes met him, and if your eyes could talk, they would be apologizing for what was about to happen.

“For?” Sherlock furrowed his brows, and just as he figured it out he heard a voice from behind him say it.

“James Moriarty,” He stepped out of the shadows with a sinister smirk, “Did ya miss me?”

“No...” Sherlock muttered under his breath, it didn’t make sense.

They say all roads lead back home, but it seemed that all roads lead back to him.

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Thank you for reading!

Part 3 will be posted 12/29/19!

Please let me know what you think and leave me a comment, good or bad all feedback helps!

Taglist in the reblog, masterlist in my bio

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gb-patch · 3 years

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Patreon NSFW Moment Asks

We’ve got a group of questions for the Patreon NSWF/18+ Moment and we decided to put them all in one big post. “For the NSFW our life DLC, will I have to join Patreon at the 5$ tier in the month it comes out? Or can I join before it releases and I would still get it if I cancel it later? I love the game and I wanna support you guys and get more content but my current pay isn’t there yet XD” You can get the Moment if you’re a member during the month it releases or any month after. I’m afraid if you join now and leave the Patreon before it’s available, you won’t have access to the post with the DLC once that post is made. So if that’s the reward you’d like it’s best to not subscribe to the Patreon just yet. “is the 'our life' nsfw dlc going to be available on android too?” Yeah, we’ll make an Android build. “Hello, I hope you are having a good day. Will the NSFW DLC be sent out to kickstarter backers depending on their backer level. Or is it only available through patreon once it releases?” The 18+ Moment is funded exclusively by Patreon and is a special bonus for our supporters there. It’s not part of what the Kickstarter money went to, though there are a bunch of other DLCs you do get if you supported that. And it won’t be released outside of the Patreon, except for maybe a special alternate upload somewhere for people who really can’t use Patreon. We’ll see if we can find a way to do that. But it won’t be on Steam or Itch.io or anything. “Hi! I read somewhere that there was going to be an nsfw DLC for Our Life exclusively for patreon? I kinda had a question about that. Is it going expand some of the scenes where Cove's "Ah! Too much! Retreat!" so, you know, you get to follow through or is it going to add new scenes? Or if it's something still in the thought process, that's cool too! I was just curious. (ps, I love the game, you guys are awesome tysm for making it)” The 18+ Moment is made of new scenes and takes place a little bit after the Step 3 end, so all of those prior events have already happened. The times where Cove can’t move forward in that moment still occur as they do in the main game. He needs time to take gradual steps and not be so in his own head with worries and expectations and all that. “what exactly will the nsfw dlc add? also could you do the moments from the romance dlc with derek and baxter even if you choose not to date them in the end?“ The NSFW Moment includes three new CGs and it’ll have a decently long script that’s around a similar length to past DLCs. It’s just not separated out into different Moments, it’s one big Moment with different versions based on what you wanna do. And yeah, you can do Derek’s and Baxter’s content without actually getting into a romantic relationship with them. “Hello! I just discovered about the "upcoming" +18 version of Our Life, which made me really happy 'cause I love seeing some blushing Cove on my screen lol. Would be rude or annoying to ask you guys to publish on steam too? Patreon is not so friendly with internacional fans :(I would buy even if the price was higher than the other expansions.Just wondering tho! I hope this doesn't sound annoying! Thank you for making such a beautiful game.” I’m sorry, Steam is not particularly supportive with hosting sexual content, especially VNs. Those tend to have some troubles. Steam could remove the game if they don’t like it, stop promoting it as much, or something else. Even if we didn’t care about keeping the public release of the game family friendly, which we do, it’d still be taking a risk to the rest of the game to add the 18+ content there. But we’ll see if there’s some other solution for those who can’t use Patreon. “This is a dumb question but, what will the 18+ DLC for Our Life will contain that makes it 18+? Will it still retain the main game's tone? I love how the main game came out. It was well worth the wait, I already played it at least 10 times. Thank you so much for making such a game, it really became the thing I looked towards for comfort.” The 18+ Moment will still be the same sort of style as the rest of the game. The characters are just being more intimate with each other. If you don’t like explicit content, though, it’s really fine to simply skip this bonus stuff. Nothing crucial will be missed by sticking to main game scenes. “This game has literally fulfilled everything I could fantasize about a happy childhood and a cute guy to boot! I love the dynamics of both families and how there was room for growth for both sides, each very accepting of their children's choices and feelings. I cannot rave enough about this game! So many things were great! So here is my question since I was curious about the 18+ DLC: Will it occur during Step 3 or Step 4?” It’s set slightly after the ending in Step 3. Cove will still have his Step 3 appearance. Thank you for the questions and support everyone :D! I’m happy you’ve been enjoying the game. —————————————————————— We released a new FAQ! It answers common questions and we’ll keep adding more to it. Please check there before sending an ask. FAQ Also, if you prefer to just see the main posts without all the asks/reblogs, feel free to follow our side account instead: GB Patch Updates Blog

#our life #ourlifeba #Our Life Beginnings & Always #ask #asked #gb patch #gb patch games

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imagesbyele · 3 years

Photo

My first attempt at a premium theme: Spring theme! The price is 2 euro or any donation you'd like to make! Send me an ask/im for it, even just a ‘hey I’d like your spring theme’ and I’ll link you my ko-fi or paypal.

previews in the source. If you buy like or reblog, if you don’t buy and you’d like to help me get some visibility, you can reblog anyway (and just like the post if you like it, or donate regardless to give a hand) <3

What do you get with this 'spring' theme, which is probably the first of a season collection, besides of course the exact look you see in the preview 1? (you can check the previews to see most of what I'm talking about)

This theme is first of all responsive: you will be able to see everything, from posts to links to sidebar, in every device no matter how small, down to 320w x 340h tiny mobile screens. [On tablets/phones the navi links will simply move above the screen, then you'll have the title, description and finally the container.]

There is an optional dropdown menu for your updates and a searchbar, npf posts fix ( @ glenthemes ) so photos uploaded from your phone always show correctly, pxu photosets so photosets always resize correctly, minimal soundcloud player, video resizing script ( @shythemes and @bychloethemes ), an askbox with a colorful button ( @eggdesign), the 'can't right-button click nor see the source' script to keep people from stealing it, rounded borders, and instructions all over the html in case you want to bring changes there. Sources are always visible when present, tumblr controls are smaller and grow when you hover over them. Icons by cappuccicons (follow html instructions if you want to replace them) and bgs from pixabay.

It also has animated title and navi links, and your custom pages will appear right under them. Only note is that if you pick 540px posts people with small laptops (1024px) will only be able to see one column of them before they are cut off so max 9 links or they won't fit for them.

Options from the customization page:

-you can upload your own background (toggling off the selectbg option), and a semi-transparent 'overlay’ image on top of your posts, right now it's the same as the overlay you can add to your background.

-you can select: post-size, type of blockquotes, font of your posts, or if you toggled on selectbg’ you can also select one of the 7 spring themed bgs present, as well as adding an optional overlay and gradient on top of them (to remove them you select the blank space instead). Instructions in the html if you want to add the overlay and gradient to a background you uploaded instead (because they conflict with the existence of a background-color and it needs to be removed). -you can toggle on and off: like I said the selectbg option which allows you to upload your own background instead of picking among provided ones, the visibility of the container decorations in case you want them without flowers on the top left and bottom right corners, the like button, your avatar/portrait on the sidebar, the ladybug icon which you can click on to show updates and searchbar, the unnested captions in textposts, the unnested captions in all other posts (if you pick them, the portrait and url of the person who wrote the post will be on top, editable in the unnested captions sections of the html), the background for post-titles which will show you the blog background, the border around unnested captions, the 'spring version' of the description which will be replaced by a regular rectangular one without flower crown, the minimal spotify player (as opposed to one that shows you the big album art), and the fade-out (how things fade when you refresh the page).

-you can type in: the font size of your regular text, the space between images in photosets, your posts background and description background colors (right now it's rgba(234, 211, 248, 80%) for both, except the description has a 90% of visibility, I used rgba because I liked the semi-transparency but you can use whatever you want), the linear-gradient of your container bg colors and of your tumblr audioplayer, the symbol next to your lists, the text of your update (when you click on the ladybug), 7 navigation links and their titles when you hover over them.

What can't you do from the custom page? you need to go to the html editor to edit fonts and sizes of everything else (just search for font-family and font-size) as they go hand in hand, and you need to manually delete the navigation links you don't want or the spinning flower will stay.

A reminder to always toggle on and off everything and to not trust tumblr preview when seen from the editor because it will hide things and mess with images positions, always open the blog in another tab to see your changes.

And because I’m a nervous wreck at the thought of not giving it for free, a reminder that I’m happy to answer questions - though I can’t guide you every day/through super long complicated editing if you decide to change the entire theme because I’m not always here. If you decide to edit everything you should have some html/css knowledge.

#premium theme #contained theme #spring #nature theme #nature #flowers #cute theme #responsive theme #themes #evansyhelp #dailyresources #spllcraft #mythemes

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rankakiu · 5 years

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Rant of the Droid: Miraculous Ladybug Season 3: Love Eater & Miracle Queen

Hello, people from Tumblr! How have they been in all this time? As always, I hope very well ...

Why honestly I am not.

The reason for that is that I recently saw two disgusting chapters that almost make me eye cancer.

Yes, like that!

As you will guess from the title, the chapters I saw early Love-Eater and Miracle Queen, both from the Miraculous Ladybug series and corresponding to the end of the third season.

But before I go straight to the point, I will say the first thing that must be said: If you, reader, hate the character of Chloé Bourgeois or have recently begun to hate her for the chapters they transmitted and think that all this text is to rant in Against her, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you've come to the wrong place. There is a wonderful little arrow on the upper left side of your browser that will take you out of my post.

Second, if you are going to comment on my post, let it be only on the condition that you agree with my posture. Even I know that this is extremist, but honestly, I don't want to and I don't have the energy to argue, just to give my point of view. Now, having said the above I start with my post to rightly discharge my anger.

First, the designs of the two Akumas are simply horrible. We have Love-Eater, having a disturbing design, but not in a good way, but seeing it throughout its chapter makes you uncomfortable. That and that in addition, its power is really pathetic. Miracle Queen better not to speak, in just a stick of accessories from the Akuma Queen Wasp. Astruc, old man, put more effort to Akumas designs, by God! This is just a scam of the greats, their designs are flat and do not impress at all.

Second, the two chapters, although they have a certain continuity, the truth be told, they have a narrative too rushed. Not only that, the chapters feel without substance, lacking in soul, they feel like filler chapters when they should have been more shocking chapters, since they are the ones that give the closing to the third season. On the other hand, the first appearance of Dragon Bug and Snake Noir had no more relevance than that of appearing as fillers, their presence had no impact. In addition, the action feels soporific and well below the level to which viewers are accustomed. Miracle Queen promised to be an Akuma of terrifying powers and in the end, it was only a mockery, since they defeated her in such an insultingly easy way; Only one more Akuma remained from the pile.

Third, and this is where I am going to download all my anger. Basically what they have done was destroyed the development of Chloé Bourgeois. We had little, but it was development after all, where we could see a slightly more human side in her. And with Miracle Queen, they make it a very empty and flat villain. In part, I understand Chloé's frustrations and the motivations for which she acted like this, but even with those, it is quite notorious and irritating that writers have treated the character like that. For a moment, when Hawk Moth convinces Chloé, we see the blonde doubt for a few seconds, for later and from nothing decide to ally with him. That felt too rushed and without context.

Honestly, I am increasingly convinced that they did this on purpose so that the fandom would hate the character even more. And more and more I think that Astruc is really burned to see people in the fandom that they hold Chloé in high regard. Because it is not enough for him to hate her, we all have to share his feeling of contempt so that he feels fulfilled.

Nice try Astruc. Your plan worked ... halfway, but it worked. It worked because I have seen comments from people who have already hated Chloé again and even their hatred increased much more after such a horrible chapter. But, and this is good for me, your plan also failed, since there are people, annoyed like me, of your questionable decisions and how you have ruined the development of my favorite blonde.

Because despite everything, there are some who still love the character in spite of everything. Indeed, we know that Chloé's actions are her responsibility and her alone. But it is her responsibility within her world. Here, in the real world, you and your team are responsible for burying her development. Astruc, dude, I don't ask you to turn Chloé into a Marinette 2.0 or a Rose 2.0, I'm asking for a development to become a decent person! Only that, you only had that job and did it that bad way.

Which brings me to this point: you and your team of screenwriters, with these two chapters, have just shown me that they no longer know which direction to take their work. Each chapter that premiered this season was a chapter that was highly criticized, each chapter contained its good doses of salt in the fandom.

Dude, realize that you and your team of screenwriters are doing things wrong! And the sooner they recognize it, the better they can correct the wrongs that have been sent!

I have reached a point where I no longer know what to do with your series. If I continue seeing it with the vague hope that now you will do justice to Chloé and in general to all your characters equally or if you will continue to make mistake after error that the only thing they generate in the fandom frustrations everywhere.

Do you know something? It is not to show off, but I consider myself a fairly patient person. However, as you will guess, like everyone else, my patience has a limit. And with these two chapters, I have run out of patience ... Not only patience but also the hope that they would do something significant with my favorite blonde. Well, in part they did, but they did the opposite of what I expected.

As a fan of Chloé Bourgeois, I feel scammed. I feel insulted and in fact, those two chapters are an insult to my intelligence and intellect. Basically, it is as if Thomas Astruc had made me a sleeve cut, showed me the middle finger, spit in my face, insulted my parents and not satisfied with that, to kick my dog. Those two chapters, especially the last minutes of Miracle Queen, where they completely destroy my favorite blonde were the most frustrating minutes of my life.

Throughout my life, I have seen many series, and this is the first time it happens to me that I feel cheated.

Considering the spoilers we have from the fourth season, the end of Miracle Queen is nothing surprising. At the moment there is evidence that Luka and Kagami will be akumatized again and I am already imagining the reason: Adrien and Marinette will break their courtship with these two. If my prediction comes true, it would re-confirm my theory that they no longer know how to handle the series or the relationships and dynamics of the characters. That at the end of the fourth season we will know which ship will win: if the Lukanette or the Adrinette.

And damn, we all know that the Adrinette is going to win, and we know it from the “Origins” chapter.

We do not even know the name or the real appearance of the new Queen Bee, but I am already beginning to hate that character since the most certain thing is that the development that Chloé needed, they will give it to her in a tray of silver. That's what bothers me the most when I think of the new Queen Bee. They would be telling me that it is her and not Chloé, the character I must support. Because she is sweet and not evil

Already with Marinette herself, Rose and Mylene we already had enough with sweet girls.

I insist again: what was the use of seeing all those scenes where they showed a deeper and more human side of Chloé if, in the end, they were going to turn her into a villain, what its I least wanted?

Astruc, why did you give me expectations that way, to destroy them in such a cruel way? I would have preferred you to leave Chloé like a flat brat and devoid of personality as it was in the first chapters of the first season instead to make this tremendous crap.

All the characters, at the end of the episode, have their moments of happiness and hope, all, including Mayor Bourgeois and Audrey (that, let's face it, that part of the script was taken from the back). Everyone except Chloé.

Chloé fans are waiting for difficult times. More Chloé salt post. More anti-Chloé post. More fanfics and more fanarts where they do bashing her. More people who will try to convince us to hate the character. More people who will leave us negative comments when we upload fanfic or fanarts where we just want to express our support and pleasure to her character.

I have already lost all interest in the fourth season. If it succeeds or fails, I don't give a damn. What I am going to do will be to look for summaries, in order to save myself twenty precious minutes of my life, and thus not waste them in a series that is no longer worth it to me.

Rankakiu in every chapter of the fourth season XD.

There is something I have to grant them. And they said that the end of the third season would have us crying in mucus. And you know they really did it with me. I have cried ... but from frustration and anger to see what they have done.

There is no more perfect GIF to express what I feel right now XD.

Well, that would be all from me. If you agree with me, do not hesitate to comment, fave or reblog this post.

Now yes, my frustrations have been released.

Greetings

Rankakiu

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