#Artist Au

[jellitchi]

artist au, gardening

[princesspetticoat]

The Muse of Her Ruin

Artist Modern AU: Chapter 1/? — Caramel

Summary:

Los Angeles was supposed to be your perfect canvas, but the struggle to make it leaves you feeling burnt out – until Agatha Harkness paints you into her world.

In her hands, you’re more than an artist, and she knows exactly how to mold you into her newest masterpiece.

Tags:

agatha!reader, age gap, mommy kink, slow burn, mean!agatha, possessive!agatha, AU: Art world of Los Angeles, portrait of a witch on fire, reader is babygirl, the witch wears prada, sugar mommy vibes, slight Rio/reader but only to make Agatha jealous, agatha can’t beat the AI allegations, dacryphilia, eventual smut, angst, MDLG, bratty bottom, BDSM, praise kink, degradation, strap-ons, anal, dub con, slight piss kink, squirting, power dynamics, possible memory loss and magic maybe idk, kitten play, electrostimulation, humiliation, overstimulation, exhibitionism for the art, let the bodies hit the floor, more tags later because i’m sure i’ll find something else to be foul about

Links: Twitter | AO3

Chapter 1: Caramel

It isn’t the first time a beautiful woman has stopped you in your doom scrolling on the internet. You’ve had your share of rabbit-holing through Instagram profiles, tagged photos, your finger hovering over the DM button with a wave of confidence that only comes when you’ve had a drink or two in your system.

But this woman, this one comes with an extension of discovery.

Just by googling her name, a thousand articles pop up. Art piece installations cascade every website, timeline, and city cultural journal. Jesus, then the red carpet photos multiply as the SEO of your web browser catches on to your sudden enthrall of dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

Oh, and the hashtags. #WitchyArt #HarknessAndDesire #CursedCanvas. Layers of art plummet before you, most requesting to select if you’d like to view the art or not because of its lewd nature, violating community guidelines.

#AgathaHarknessUnveiled

A public invitation to forbiddenness. You’re intrigued.

Then more pictures of her show up, next to her work, her models, famous celebrities that you never knew were part of the same circle. You realize you’ve been following her art closely for years, and had even gone to one of her art installations at the LACMA a couple years back.

She has no social media and you quickly piece together why you haven’t been able to put a face to the name until now. The Agatha Harkness.

You curse yourself for living and breathing on Instagram, reading little excerpts about her pieces here and there, never proceeding past searching her name up one single time after seeing her most famous artwork grace the official Broad Museum verified account:

The Unbound: Agatha Harkness - A Palette of Desire contemporary collection of ‘22.

Ask AI or Search: Agatha Harkness

…

However, you were met with the reflection of: ‘⚠️ zero search results found’ staring back at you on your phone screen, and that was that.

Now, you pull open your ‘Painting Inspo’ Pinterest board to see a piece of hers pinned neatly between other modern art you admire. The pin is plainly titled and paired with a now-purple hyperlink to an article, with one of the most commanding portraits of her in a suit, standing sharply next to her work.

It had all been right there, connected, laid out before you. You scold yourself again. You could’ve been in this woman’s circle the moment you moved to Los Angeles. Only now she’s magically moved from your subconscious to reality.

All it took was a simple Google search to be completely floored.

Right place, right time, you think, as it were. Originally, you were filtering through junior-level marketing positions, revamping your resume for the umpteenth time. Waitressing just wasn’t cutting it anymore, you needed a big girl job. Even if you didn’t have the experience.

And, to be honest, people really do act like that in Los Angeles. Customer service is nothing short of unbearable.

You’d huffed and slammed your laptop, tired of the almost-hour it took to submit one clean job application, flopped on your bed, and began the inevitable doom scroll.

And there she was, in all her glory. Featured in one major headline that caught your eye (apart from every photo ever of her maddeningly hypnotizing smile).

Grand Opening of the Harkness Collection, March 2025 — DTLA, Seeking Social Media Manager Position.

You could do it, you think.

The link to apply for the position already looks infinitely better than the bland, morose copy/paste templates thrown around every typical job website like a hot potato.

This just might get your foot in the door.

You’ve painted your whole life, always the kid doodling in the corner of your notebooks in class. You’ve done your fair share of moronically smacking people with your big art portfolio at the end of each year in high school when you rounded corners.

Art school in Portland had its ups and downs. Your father used every last penny he had to see your dreams come true, and your mother hated you for it. Blamed you, even, for sucking his wallet dry. But it was of his own accord to pay for tuition, and you had nothing else to show for it. You had a real talent.

At least, that’s what Mrs. Montgomery had told you.

Your art teacher for grades 11-12 was someone who was stern but had a mother’s touch. You really only knew the stern part back home, and then some, after the divorce.

But Mrs. Montgomery not only put you on a pedestal, she really critiqued you. She actually pushed you, improved your skills and adorned her Letter of Recommendation to your chosen college with accolades of admiration you couldn’t possibly achieve from your own mother.

If it wasn’t obvious already, you were completely smitten. And you know what else? You could trust her as far as you could throw her.

The after school meetings, the one-on-one sessions after class to help finish up an end of the year project. Anything to get a sliver of praise. Anything to prevent the bus ride home.

After college, though, you moved to Los Angeles in hopes of joining a gallery or an art community. You got sucked into the limelight, the overbearing and overwhelming nature of the city of angels. Everyone seemingly looks better than you, doing more than you, everyone trying to prove themselves somewhere. Nothing felt real.

You felt like a failure.

Email threads to galleries went stale and not to mention renting out studios could carve a hole into your credit card. It’s been three whole years since moving here after college, stuck in the same job you started with. The only real friend you made was from college, Oliver, who really was the one who dragged you out to California in the first place.

One friend, one lame job, one-room studio apartment, and no art to show for it. You start to think that this dream was meant to fizzle out and you’re supposed to become another cog in the wheel of Capitalism just like everybody else.

Whatever. You craft a partially-truthful resume, and an overzealous cover letter.

Somewhere in there you lie about managing a social media page for a cafe that doesn’t exist, and that you’ve worked with a few semi-recognizable artists in the industry as their interns. Right.

But for the record, this is working for Agatha Harkness. You’ve got to make it look like you’re somebody. You imagine yourself at her side on those red carpets, getting to pick her brain about all the art she’s created. You’ll get to show her the paintings you made, she’ll praise you, you’ll blush, and you’ll fall pathetically under her spell. Fuck.

Do you want the job or do you want her?

You suppose wanting both isn’t selfish. It’s ambitious. And you’re sick of circling around a realm that’s just out of reach.

You look at the unfinished canvases stowed in the corner of your apartment, the murky ‘mystery soup’ graying in several mason jars that scatter your work area. The dried paint, the tubes of acrylics strewn about. You can’t even remember the last time you painted.

If a hot, older woman was the motivation to be the artist you were always meant to be, then fuck it. You hit ‘submit’ on the application and sigh, closing your laptop with a better feeling of finality than the first time.

You never really get your hopes up about a job position, but for the rest of the day you find yourself tapping away anxiously, your mind scattered with the possibility of Agatha Harkness, of all people, becoming your boss.

————————————

The next morning you’re disruptively awakened by the buzzing of your phone. You begrudgingly hit ‘accept’ on the unknown number and pick up the line.

“Hello?” you answer and do your best not to sound utterly corpse-like.

“Hi!” a sweet voice greets you from the other end, “my name is Jennifer Kale, calling about the social media manager position for Ms. Harkness. Is this —?”

“Yes,” you shoot up, now seated in bed and exclaim before she can even finish her sentence. “This is she.”

She goes on to tell you how impressed she was with your resume and your expert copyright. You did always have a way with words, you forget how powerful they are as a way to get you exactly what you want.

“I saw in your CV that you have your work displayed at a cafe in Echo Park, is that right?”

You tell her of the few pieces you have displayed there and how you’ve made good friends with the owner. Jen mentions she’s relayed your portfolio, website, and resume to Agatha already and your breath instantly hitches.

She then goes to say that Agatha would like to personally meet you at that cafe for an interview. Tomorrow.

You nod and stutter a quick ‘yes’ into the speaker, forgetting you were on the phone at all. Lost in the possibility — no, actuality — of meeting Agatha.

After exchanging times and contact information, the line clicks blank and all the roaring thoughts begin to pour in. The anxiety, the expectations, the thought of being examined, let alone perceived by this powerful woman.

Your stomach kind of flutters at the thought, though. Her domineering presence picking you apart until you tell her exactly what she wants…and then she’ll hire you.

The confidence you feel mixed with the sheer horror of pretending you’re more than you say you are. You hope she doesn’t see through the lies.

But then again, so many people in the world have jobs they aren’t qualified for. They don’t even know what they’re doing, especially bosses and CEOs. So you’re sure Agatha can appreciate a little ‘fake it til you make it’; particularly from someone who really wants this.

————————————

You arrive infinitely early to the interview in the car you never use since everything in Downtown LA is right outside your apartment door.

The parking was the biggest hurdle but you gave yourself ample time to prepare.

The sun beats down on you as you exit your car, despite the crisp air of the early Spring morning. You shuffle down the hill to the sprawling city strip of hipster cafes, vintage thrifts, and mom ‘n pop shops. Your favorite cafe is squished between them, a true hole in the wall.

One of your favorite baristas greets you from behind the counter when you walk in. It looks like you beat the morning rush, everyone already taken to their seats, noses pressed to their laptops in concentration.

You order your favorite iced latte and wait at the bar, albeit with impatience. The barista questions your nervousness and you lean in with excitement.

“I have an interview,” you smile.

“Here?!”

“Yes, here, well — not here here, but yeah. It’s with one of the most well known artists. She’s…fascinating.”

And you gush over her for a moment, her art, her looks, the job position, while periodically checking the clock that sits behind the espresso bar, like, every five seconds.

You notice their smile grows wider as you wrap up your story, handing you your latte. But what you don’t notice is the person who just walked in, approaching the next spot in line.

“Have a great interview,” the barista dazzles in a cheeky whisper, eyes flitting to someone behind you.

Your realization hits when you turn and your latte hits her, square in the chest.

The cold liquid clashes between you two as you bump into each other, the cap coming clean off, with bits of ice clattering to the floor.

“Oh my god I am so sorry,” you babble, reaching for napkins and grabbing a fistful from who knows where.

You scramble to wipe up the mess, avoiding eye contact as Agatha steps back to examine the huge spot now staining her crisp white shirt. She can’t even get a word in before you scurry to the bathroom.

How stupid can you possibly be?

You beat yourself up in your thoughts as you gather yourself, and, clumsily, several ice cubes that managed to fall into your bra.

With a wet paper towel you clean the coffee off your front as much as you can before taking a deep breath, fixing your hair in the mirror and hoping when you step out of the bathroom, she’ll still be there waiting for you.

The bathroom door teeters and squeaks awkwardly as you push it open. You survey the cafe lobby and find Agatha opening a notebook and pulling out papers, and your resume.

You don’t think she realized you’re the one she’s supposed to interview. And you can’t even weigh what scenario would be more embarrassing.

You slide into the chair across from her, snaking your bag down to the floor and pulling out your own resume copy. You notice her blouse is completely drink-free and it catches you off guard. The coffee stains on your shirt are terribly evident despite your efforts in cleaning yourself up.

“You should’ve written your name as Caramel at the top of your resume,” she states while still looking down at the paper. Oh, of course she knows it’s you.

Looking down at yourself you realize there’s a streak of caramel syrup dripping down your cleavage.

Your eyes flick to hers, and she’s looking at you now, for the first time. There’s a long beat that clenches your throat and you forget how to speak.

You know her eyes are blue but holy shit, they’re palpably blue. And they hold yours in suspension, her gaze lingering for a moment too long before returning to her paper.

Your cheeks warm with a feverish blush, and you take a napkin to wipe the syrup away, leaving your skin sticky and shiny.

Her eyes move to your cleavage again as she shifts slightly in her seat, adjusting her stature. She scans over your resume agonizingly slow now and this long gap of silence has your nerves bubbling.

Maybe it’s a good thing the coffee spilled, because you’re sure the caffeine would give you a panic attack right about now.

“It doesn’t state in here that you use condiments as a painting medium, so, tell me your process,” Agatha jokes, but her tone is blunt.

You breathe a laugh and smile anyway, wanting to squash the awkwardness and tension so badly. Taking a second, you muster up an ounce of courage. You have to prove yourself now after this train wreck.

“I could probably use caramel as a medium,” you shrug, meeting her stark gaze again.

Agatha quirks one brow, egging you to go on.

“It’s got a similar consistency to a fast dry. Could probably even be worked into a glaze too. It could make a really nice maple color over some oils. I work with acrylics, watercolors, too, but it probably would leave paintings like that,” you take in a ragged breath, your mind catching up to just how stupid you sound, “…sticky.”

She smiles for the first time, a wicked smolder perking the corners of her lips. Amusement flares in her eyes, and you swear you can almost see them darken.

“Your skills?”

You take a deep breath before you begin, grounding yourself. “Time management, organization, I’m ambitious and work well with others. I also have really good memori –”

“You know,” she dawdles, “none of your references called me back,” she states, practically disregarding the answer to her last question.

Your mouth parts in silence.

“Oh,” is the only pathetic word you can assemble. “That’s weird,” you breathe, thoroughly fucking failing.

“I’m sure they’re all busy artists.”

And you just know she’s seeing right through you.

“But…your copywriting is very good. I’ve seen your social media, your website, you’ve got a way with words, hon.”

Your neck and chest must be as red as your face now. But the way she looks at you, blue eyes dark yet twinkling with intrigue, you’re blushing for an entirely different reason.

“Thank you,” you manage, and you give her a truthful look that you really need this, that you really want this. Because you just want something to go right for once in your life. You need to find your purpose again.

It’s like she can hear your thoughts as she studies you. It’s hard to look away when you meet her eyes again. As if she’s holding you in the palm of her hand, weighing you, rolling you between her fingers, testing to see if she should clench and squeeze the dream right from your heart.

“You know, I don’t normally meet with artists in this circumstance, or even in such a…sticky manner.”

And you blush for the millionth time.

“But I’d like to test your writing skills. I’m hosting a live painting session this weekend that I want you to come to and write a little mockup article for. If I dig it, you get the job, sweetheart.”

Her words drip like honey, the opportunity laid out before you, sounding sweet to your ears. It’s almost unbelievable.

“Wow, thank you so much Ms. Harkness,” you fawn, beaming a smile.

“Agatha,” she says warmly, holding out her hand for you to shake.

You hesitate for a moment before taking her hand in yours, her slender, delicate fingers just barely grazing the inside of your wrist. Something flutters in your stomach at the contact, like a chemical reaction right in your core.

The embrace is subtle, but it carries the weight of something more than just a job, more than just a task she’s asking you to complete. You tug your hand away, but the air between you stays charged.

“I won’t let you down,” you exhale earnestly.

Agatha blinks at you slowly, that smile never faltering, “good girl.”

She rises now, collecting her papers and notebook, storing them inside a black tote bag. “My assistant will be in touch.”

You absentmindedly nod to her, feeling her presence leave, with the click of the cafe door echoing in your ears. You’re completely dumbfounded. What just happened?

Did you actually manage to fake your way to the top? You have a real shot now at getting this position. And the way she looked at you, like she just knew what you were capable of?

Her request is simple, just a mockup article. Nothing truly serious. The significance of her words, though, make your heart race. The heady mix of exhilaration and nerve wracking anticipation makes you dizzy at the thought. And her praise.

Good girl.

You’re completely slack-jawed at the thought of it again. You just know you’re in for something more than just a mere task.

Whatever she wants from you, you’ll give it – willingly, completely, without question.

[cewwart]

artist atsushi!!!!

(i just really wanted to draw atsushi with raccoon tail hair and angel fangs)

(●´ω｀●)

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland (1910s Artist AU)

And Edwin's heart stops when he sees the uncovered canvases, these glimpses into Charles' soul, because finally, Edwin understands. 

Because Edwin looks at the paintings and he sees the city, captured in expressionistic brushstrokes. He sees the same damn city he fell in love with, even with its smog and its underbelly and its crampedness and its bustle, because it was the city that brought Charles back to life. He sees the golds and the blacks and what might have been called chiaroscuro in another lifetime, another art movement. He sees Charles’ masterful ability to capture life and translate it into brushstrokes and shapes and colors.

And most importantly, Edwin sees himself. Sees a figure in some paintings and a face in others, all familiar sharp planes and dark hair and a bowtie and an overcoat that Edwin could not abandon back at St. Hilarion’s. He sees gray-green eyes the shade of lake water, except these are not waters a boy could drown in- these are the eyes of a boy who once pulled another boy from a lake.

And Edwin knows, in this moment, that Charles loves him. God, does Charles love him. 

Because Edwin sees the way that Charles paints him, all haloed by the bronze and gold streetlights, capturing the planes of Edwin’s face in the way that no photographs ever could, painting him sharp and witty and tired and beloved and alive, alive, alive.  

-aletterinthenameofsanity, you always look so lovely (paint how you see me)

@tragedy-machine @every-moment-a-different-sound @pappelsiin @mellxncollie @nix-nihili

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @tumblerislovetumblerislife @catboy-cabin @bitterdesert @idliketobeatree

[ocelot-t]

3/3

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Big Name Feelings

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

Length: 103,997 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Slow Burn, Fake Relationship, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

*Minor Spoilers* It's here! The finale of one of the most entertaining and immersive fanworks that I have ever experienced is finally upon us! I feel like most of you who follow me here are aware of this fanfic or have read it. However, for those who haven't or might come across this post later: I'm begging you to read this one. Buckle up; it's a long post today.

So, if you're not aware, this fanfic involves writer Crowley and fan artist Aziraphale. Crowley, being ace, seeks a boyfriend to shield him from unwanted attention during an upcoming convention. Aziraphale, smitten, agrees to be the fake boyfriend. This Arrangement is sure to work out exactly as planned!

Every one of the author's stories feels cinematic to me. The worlds are always so real and immersive, but this one, in particular, will have you feeling like you're actually watching the story unfold in real life. Some of that is achieved through embedded media like chats, artwork, and Tumblr posts, bringing a sense of reality to these conversations. The rest comes from really rich prose. You'll flow through it very easily, yet deeply.

The use of fandom and a convention as the backdrop for this fic was, to be honest, genius. I've seen attempts before, but none captured the spirit quite like this one. The fandom lore for The Nice and Accurate Prophecy (the in-universe fandom they're in) was rich enough for us to fully grasp the shape and feel of why they loved it so much, yet it never impedes the ongoing story. This story perfectly captured what it's like to be a fan: how friendships develop, how ideas and fan theories are freely discussed, the passion for a shared topic. The con, in particular, will fill anyone who has ever attended a fan convention with a strong dose of nostalgia and love. Oh, and having them in their 50s? Thank you! There is no age limit to fandom!

Having Aziraphale as the artist and Crowley the writer was not the most obvious choice, but it's one that worked amazingly well for the story! Crowley struggles with words and expressing his feelings in real life. However, in stories, he can build his own world and express whatever emotions are on his mind. Aziraphale, who does not wish to draw attention to himself in real life, expresses himself through his bold and beautiful artwork. His specialization in traditional, physical artwork is so fitting for him, though he's not unwilling to try new tech. There is a scene where they stumble upon some street art that Aziraphale had done. I teared up at that scene, and it's not even angsty! Just the casualness of it, how it's not Aziraphale but Crowley who boldly leads them to it, how Aziraphale doesn't sing his own praises. He's not self-deprecating, but he doesn't celebrate his work. He's still learning that he has value that's worth celebrating. At least now he has Crowley to teach him to be proud of himself.

They are both beautifully written characters. It's a real testament to the skill of the author to bring these characters into such a different reality and have them be unmistakably Aziraphale and Crowley. Sure, they're updated for the time and setting, but their souls are still the angel and demon we know and love. This setting is an amazing way to explore the different sides of their personalities. Crowley's asexuality, in particular, was one of the best depictions I've ever read. It brought a new level of understanding to me, and I'm sure many of you will feel a kinship with him. Really pay attention to what's being said here, there's some really deep and insightful passages that are worth analyzing. Like this moment, which may have been a subconscious thought, but again speaks to how deeply the author understands the characters.

This was such an amazing experience as a fan. I've never had a fic feel like this much of an event before. Every chapter drop was so exciting; I never knew what exactly to expect. And now, with the end being over 100k words?? Where did that word count come from! That's insane! I'm sad to leave this iteration, but I'm so excited for what's to come next. So please, if you haven't read this, give it a try. It's such a impressive work, so much time and effort was put into this and you can tell. It's not only a love letter to Good Omens, but one to fandom and fanspaces as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this journey

There are some explicit scenes towards the end, but they are all marked and skippable, so I'd say you're perfectly fine reading this in public.

Edit from after actually seeing the finale: no I’m not tearing up it’s just really dusty in this room. I’m being so normal rn 🥹🥹🥹

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

[kissmypoets-hp]

Fanfic Classics Series

🎨 Truth to Materials by lately and @toomuchplor

In which Harry learns to appreciate art and other pleasures of the flesh.

This fic changed my life!!! and gave me so much delight as somebody with a fine arts degree!!!

i've been making penguin classics-style covers for fics i have saved on my kindle, as inspired by zeziliazink and bubu0h’s works! art credits + bonus info under the cut :)

Artwork used:

"Seated Man, academy study" by Albert Edelfelt (1875)

is it just me or this could be older harry posing for draco?

Bonus cover?!!!

While I was looking for potential artwork to use for this fic, I found 𝘿𝙤𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙜's work (NSFW warning for nudity/sex, but his work is vibrant and so, so beautiful!). I was looking for queer painters whose work captured a lively, loose sense of intimacy (which was the vibe I got from the fic) and his work was PERFECT for what I had in mind, but since his works aren't in the public domain I'd rather not upload what I made for myself on a public blog... though I'd love to show it (privately) to anyone interested so we can gush over how well Mr 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘨's work fits the fic... in my humble opinion, at least 🤣 Anyway, if you've made it this far, you really should check out his website!

[k-evans-reads]

In Living Color

Chapter 27

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 4,096

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

September 16th, 2022

It didn’t matter that the sun was barely starting to peek in through the windows, or the fact that this week had been nothing short of exhausting for him, or even that he had flown across the country late last night, Chris couldn’t sleep. He had managed to close his eyes and get a few hours of rest, but most of it had been completely restless as his brain swirled with so many noisy thoughts. 

Chris laid there in that tiny bed, looking at Nat next to him as she was softly illuminated by the early morning sun and all he could feel was sick to his stomach. He saw the tear stains on her cheeks and bags under her eyes along with feeling how frail her frame was underneath his touch as he rested his hand on her waist and gently brushed her skin with his thumb. He remembered how only months earlier, he had come to San Francisco to make sure that their lives wouldn’t go separate ways. He knew they were meant to be together, he knew he wanted them to be together, so much so that he had that ring that he couldn’t wait to give her. 

But in all this time over the summer he had no idea that she was sitting across the country completely miserable and that almost scared him more than anything. How could he have missed all of this? Why hadn’t she plainly told him how much she hated it here? Why did he ever call off his trip here last month and go home instead? How much farther would it have gone if Jamie hadn’t called him? And that was the thought that made his stomach churn. 

Tears started falling down his cheeks as he looked at her sleeping next to him and couldn’t help but think that something so easily could have happened to her. How easily it would have been for her to get to even a worse point than she already was without him having a clue. She had been here struggling along with each day completely alone. His body shook with his crying as he thought about losing her, knowing that was something he just couldn’t handle. 

He didn’t mean to wake her, wanting her to give her body the rest it so desperately needed but he just couldn’t stop his tears and the noise and shaking caused Nat’s puffy eyes to flutter open as she groggily asked, “Chris? What’s wrong?” 

But he couldn’t respond. All he needed then was to feel her. To know she really was here. He wrapped his arms around her delicate frame and pressed himself against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he heavily cried. Nat didn’t ask anything, instead just held him back just as tight and he felt a few of her own tears spilling on him. 

There in the stillness and darkness of the morning, Chris whispered, “I could have lost you Nattie. I could have lost you and I didn’t even know what was going on.” 

“I…I tried to tell you,” she admitted, her voice shaky and nearly silent. “I just didn’t know how.”

“Promise me if this ever happens again, you’ll be honest. I can’t lose you, Nattie, I just can’t,” Chris told her, feeling his heart race with that thought. He didn’t know how he’d go on if she wasn’t around, how he’d breathe without her by his side, tucked against him everyday. 

“I promise I will,” Nat whispered. She took a shuddering breath as she wiped her eyes, adding, “I love you Chris and I just…” 

“I know,” he interrupted, nodding a bit to himself. “I love you too, baby.” 

He lifted his head, bringing his weepy eyes to look at her before leaning in to kiss her softly, reminding her silently that they were in this together. They were a team and nothing was going to pull them apart. Chris reached over to tuck a piece of curly hair behind her ear before apologizing, “I’m sorry I woke you. Try to go back to sleep, you need the rest.” 

Nat nodded, her eyes already beginning to slip shut as the exhaustion once again took over. “Are you going to sleep more?” She mumbled as she rested her head further back against the pillow, rolling onto her side to face Chris. 

“I think I’m going to go get some coffee but I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered back, his hand moving up and down her side slowly until she drifted back off to sleep. Once he was sure she was out, he slipped out of the bed slowly, making his way out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind him, finding his mother slowly making her way through the kitchen. 

A small sideways smirk slipped onto his lips as he made his way through the small apartment, the floorboards creaking underneath his feet. “So I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep, huh?” He asked quietly, grateful as he watched Lisa turn on the coffee maker. 

She looked over her shoulder at him with an arched eyebrow as she replied, “Is that really surprising? You’re just worried about Nat, but I have you to worry about too.” 

He nodded in understanding, leaning the small of his back against the old countertop as he stretched his aching, tense muscles. “I just don’t know how this happened,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Did Nat really not say anything about it?” 

Chris shrugged as he thought. He’d overanalyzed everything from the last six months, scrolling back in their texts as far as he could, trying to read between the lines. “Well looking back now I remember her telling me how hard it was to settle here and I know I should have asked her more about it but I just never imagined it was like this,” he explained, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. “I never should have stayed home before filming, I should have come here and then I would have known.” 

“You can’t go back now, honey. But we can help Nat through this,” Lisa encouraged him, filling a mug with coffee and a splash of creamer before she put it on the counter next to him so she could do the same for herself. 

“She told me she feels like failing at this job is failing at her dream,” Chris recalled, sighing before he took a sip of the coffee. “I don’t know how to make her see that’s not true.” 

Lisa stood across the tiny kitchen from Chris, only a few steps away. “I don’t know that she will see that it isn’t true, because it is true in her mind. I think instead of trying to change her mindset, you just need to be there for her,” she began, and Chris knew she was right, but it seemed like a rather impossible task to get themselves out of this hole.

“I don’t feel like I’ve done a good job at that,” he admitted while he stared down at his feet, his cheeks blushing a bit sheepishly. 

“Well you can now,” Lisa encouraged. 

“I just feel like this is my fault. Maybe if I wasn’t so busy, or maybe if I hadn’t suggested we go public at the Lightyear premiere things would be better… I know being in the spotlight isn’t something she wanted,” Chris explained, his brows furrowed as he thought back to that day, at how nervous Nat was to see the chatter online after. “I mean, I fuckin’ bought her a ring to propose to her while she was across the country completely miserable.” 

“Chris, you can’t try to find the solution in the past,” Lisa told him firmly, and he knew she was right. She nearly always was and she always knew how to guide and encourage not only him and his siblings, but anyone else who came to her for advice as well. “There’s nothing you can do differently about the past, all you can do is handle things right now. I think what you need to focus on is what you know you want.” 

He frowned, looking over at her as he asked, “What do you mean?” 

“What is it that you want?” 

“I just… I just want Nat. I want to be with her and I want her to be okay,” he decided after a moment of thought, knowing that that simple idea was all that mattered to him anymore after seeing just how low she’d been. 

Lisa nodded, a warm, comforting smile on her lips. “Then try to come at everything from that angle. Don’t beat yourself up, don’t try to figure out where it went wrong, just remember you love her and want to help her and just try to do those two things right now,” she encouraged.

Chris nodded, knowing that she was right, but it still felt so daunting to him. Seeing just how much Nat was falling apart absolutely terrified him and for her to actually admit how much she hated it here made him aware of just how bad it must be. The heaviness in his heart had him feeling so downcast, thoughts churning over and over in his head while he occupied his time with cleaning up the messy apartment… just another sign at how much Nat was struggling to handle everything. 

It wasn’t until both he and Lisa heard movement in the bedroom that Lisa grabbed her purse and told him that she was headed to the grocery store. He knew that Nat’s cabinets were bare but he also was thankful for the space his mother was giving so that they could have some time alone. Chris was just pouring her a cup of coffee when he saw her messy curls poke out of the bedroom, that frail little frame shuffling out as he instantly pulled her into his embrace the moment she was close enough. 

“I was going to bring you coffee. Ma went out for a bit to get some groceries, ” he muttered while kissing the top of her head. When she didn’t respond, he dipped his head to look at her distressed face, asking, “Do you want to go back to bed?” 

“…I probably shouldn’t,” She bit at her bottom lip, knowing as depressed as she was, she needed to try to get out of the place where she’d spent the majority of her time. 

Chris just rubbed her back before glancing over at her couch, situated right by the big window that was letting the morning sunshine pour in and knew that always helped, suggesting, “Let’s just go sit on the couch, honey.”  

With her coffee in one hand and his other arm securely around her shoulders, they slowly made their way to the couch. Chris sat down while Nat curled up, her back against the armrest while her legs were resting in Chris’ lap. He draped a blanket over their laps, tucking Nat in before he handed her the coffee and then let his warm hand rub along her leg. He decided not to say anything right now, just letting her sip her coffee. Chris was deep in his thoughts, trying to figure out what the hell to do when he was surprised, finally hearing Nat’s almost unrecognizable small voice hesitantly speak up.

“I don’t… I don’t know…” Nat trailed off, tears instantly clouding her vision as Chris looked at her with such concern, it made her heart ache.

“Don’t know what, baby?” He leaned in slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You can tell me. I’m here for you.”

“I just don’t know… what to do,” Nat’s voice cracked, her words barely above a whisper. “I’m so miserable, Chris.” She could feel the weight of the world on her chest, and no matter how hard she tried to breathe, it felt like the air just wasn’t enough.

“It’s going to be okay, Nattie.” Chris’s hand found its way to her back, rubbing soothing circles as he tried to calm her. “I’m going to make sure you’re okay. We’re going to figure this out, I promise.”

“I don’t even know how to figure it out. Everything just feels so overwhelming,” she said, her voice faltering with exhaustion. It felt like she was stuck in a never-ending loop, and no matter which direction she turned, nothing made sense anymore.

“Do you feel like you want to talk it through a little?” Chris asked gently, trying to help her untangle the mess of thoughts swirling in her mind.

“…I just… I just need help,” Nat admitted, her chest tight with the weight of her words. It felt so hard to ask for help, but the longer she fought it, the harder everything became.

“That’s why I’m here, baby. I’m here to help you and I’m not leaving you until we’ve got some solutions,” Chris’s voice was firm yet warm, his determination matching the depth of his love for her. “You told me something earlier that I can’t stop thinking about though… that you failed at your dream.”

“I did,” Nat replied in a hollow voice, the words heavy with defeat.

“Why was this your dream, though?” Chris asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “I mean, Nattie, you’re an artist and a damn good one. That’s a completely different skill set than managing artists.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. “I guess I just… I saw my dad work so hard to support my dream all my life, and I wanted to be successful. I wanted to have the job that said I’d made it.” Her voice trembled with the weight of her own vulnerability. “I wanted to make him proud, I guess. I thought if I could prove I’d ‘made it’ in the way he would understand, it would make everything worth it.”

Chris felt a pang in his chest, knowing how deep her desire for approval ran, especially after losing her mom at such a young age. He could see the thread that tied her present struggles to that past pain—her fear of not measuring up, of being the “black sheep” in her family, of never fully fitting into the mold she’d hoped to fill.

“It’s okay that sometimes things don’t work out, though,” he said gently, trying to reassure her. “It’s not a reflection of you, Nattie. At the end of the day, it’s just a job. It’s not who you are.”

Her eyes met his, but there was still that deep fog of uncertainty behind them. Chris’s heart ached as he watched her struggle, as she curled up tighter on the couch, arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold it all together.

“Do you want to talk about it more?” he asked, rubbing his hand along her leg, trying to ground her. “I know it’s a lot, but maybe talking it through will help you feel less overwhelmed.”

She was quiet for a moment, tears continuing to streak down her cheeks, her breath shaky. “I just feel stuck. Like no matter what I do, it’s never going to be enough. And I don’t even know where to begin fixing it.”

Chris sighed, feeling the weight of her words sink into him. He didn’t know how to fix it all either, but he knew that the most important thing right now was to be there for her, to hold her while she figured it out.

“Nattie,” he asked, his voice soft but insistent. “When were you the most happy this past year?”

“What do you mean?” She looked up at him, her expression confused as she wiped at her eyes.

“When were you the most happy?” he repeated, his tone encouraging. “What pops into your mind when you think about being happy recently?”

“Oh…” Nat’s eyes drifted downward, her brow furrowing as she tried to sift through the last year in her mind. “Well, I mean, I guess honestly… when I was painting for my art show and…” She hesitated, her voice faltering, “Anytime I’m with you.”

Chris felt a flicker of hope. There it was—the spark of something that still made her feel alive. Art. And him. That was where her happiness lay, even if it felt so far out of reach right now.

“Nattie, you know that I’m going to support you in anything you want to do and I’m going to help you,” Chris said, the conviction in his voice growing stronger. “Maybe we could figure out some ways to make more time for us to be together, for you to do more art for yourself. You know, if that’s something you really want to do.”

“Maybe…” Her voice was hesitant, but Chris could see the wheels turning in her head, the possibility starting to form.

He tried to read her, sensing her internal struggle. “Tell me what you’re thinking, honey. I know it’s a lot to process, but I want to help. I want to understand.”

“I’m not sure.” Nat’s voice was small, almost fragile as she spoke. “I just feel so stuck, like nothing’s moving forward. Like I’m going in circles and I don’t even know what to do.”

Chris gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not alone, Nattie. You don’t have to figure it all out today, or even tomorrow. We can take it one step at a time.”

She met his gaze then, her eyes searching his face, as if she were trying to decide whether she was allowed to say the words that were on the tip of her tongue.

“Do you think you might want to see if you could go back to LA and just do what you were doing?” Chris asked, his tone tentative. “There, you’d be doing character design again and you’d have Jamie and Mark again.”

Nat’s eyes welled up again, and she reached up to wipe at them. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “It’s not about the job, though, Chris. It’s not about what I’m doing. I just… I feel like I’m drowning in it all. I don’t want to go back to that life.”

Chris leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, his thumb swiping under her eyes to catch the tears that kept falling. As he pulled back, Nat reached out for his hand, holding it tightly against her chest.

She looked at him with a newfound clarity, her voice quieter now, but more resolute. “Chris… I want to quit.”

At that one sentence, Chris felt like the air had been knocked out of him. The weight of it was staggering. Nat had always been a workaholic, driven by her ambition and passion. For her to say that she wanted to quit, he knew she had hit her breaking point.

“That’s okay, baby,” he said, his voice steady, though his heart ached for her. “It’s just a job, and you gave it your all. It’s just not the right fit for you.”

“I don’t want to go back to the Burbank office,” she added quietly, as if testing the waters. “I don’t want to do any of this anymore, Chris. I’m happy when I’m with you and when I’m painting, and I… I kind of just want to do that.”

The look on her face told him everything—she was finally giving herself permission to let go of the expectations, to stop chasing someone else’s idea of success.

Chris wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and pressed his face into her neck, letting the warmth of her soothe him as much as he hoped it would soothe her. A few of his own tears slipped out as he let out a breath, one that had been caught in his chest for days.

“I love you so much, Nattie,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You know I’m going to support you in anything you want to do, but I want to see you let go of what you think you need to do and instead focus on what you want to do. Jobs are just jobs, and it’s okay to want to do something different. Something that makes you happy.”

“You don’t think I’m a failure?” she asked softly, the vulnerability still there in her eyes.

“Natalie Marton, you are the farthest thing from a failure,” Chris said firmly, his voice full of conviction. “I just want to see you happy, whether that’s designing characters at Pixar or working at a coffee shop. I love you, Nat. And I don’t think I’ve kept it a secret that I want to be with you forever. I don’t care what you do as long as you’re happy.”

Her eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, there was a light in them again. “Being with you and doing my art is what would make me happy,” she said, her voice steady for the first time since he’d been there.

Their arms snaked around each other, holding each other so tightly as they both finally felt like everything was going to be okay. Never in a million years did either of them think that when they each started working on Lightyear that it would somehow bring them here together. It brought them a missing piece in each of their lives, giving them each a love that they knew would last their whole lives. They were together and that’s what mattered more than anything. 

“I’ll support you no matter what, Nattie,” Chris murmured, gently brushing his lips against her forehead. “You’re not alone in this. You’ve never been alone. And I promise, you don’t have to carry all of this by yourself anymore.”

Nat closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his words, the love in his embrace. In his arms, she felt safe. She felt like she could take a deep breath and finally let go of some of the weight she’d been carrying.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to hope. Hope that she could rebuild, that she could let go of the expectations and just do what felt right. Painting, being with Chris, finding peace within herself—it was all possible. Maybe it wasn’t a clear path yet, but it would be.

They stayed there, in the quiet of the morning, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside the apartment seeming far away and unimportant.

Chris gently kissed the top of her head again, then sighed, almost content, as his thoughts turned to the future. “You know,” he murmured, breaking the peaceful silence, “I’ve been carrying something around for a while now… but maybe it’s time to let it out.”

Nat’s eyes opened, curiosity and concern flickering in her gaze. “What is it?” she asked softly.

Chris hesitated for a second before he spoke, his voice full of emotion. “I’ve had a ring for you, Nattie. I was going to propose before all this… before everything happened. But now, I just want you to know that no matter what you decide—what job you take, where you go, what you do—I'm here. I’m in this with you. I want to spend my life with you.”

The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, Nat was silent, letting the weight of them settle between them. Her chest tightened, a fresh wave of emotion washing over her. She had always known how much Chris loved her, but hearing him say it like that—so sure, so unconditionally—made her heart swell.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“You don’t have to say anything right now.” Chris smiled, his thumb gently tracing her knuckles. “Just know that whenever you're ready, whenever you want to move forward, we’ll do it together.”

Nat rested her head back on his chest, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and love. She wasn’t sure how she would get through the storm that had been her life recently, but with Chris by her side, she knew she could face anything.

For the first time in months, she allowed herself to think about a future—one that was different, one where she didn’t have to fit into anyone else’s idea of success, but one where she could be herself. And with Chris, there would be room for that.

It was time for a new dream. A dream of their own.

And whatever that looked like, she was ready to take it on.

A/N: It has been so so long and we are so thrilled to finally close out Nat's story! To those of you who have patiently waited, we cannot thank you enough for loving her. We do have a little summary of their future we will post in a few days as well. We hope it was worth the wait.

[steddieunderdogfics]

driver roll up the partition please by steddieas_shegoes

@steddieas-shegoes

Rating: Explicit

4,538 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Rock Star Eddie Munson, Artist Steve Harrington, Bartender Steve Harrington, Sugar Daddy Eddie Munson, it's subtle but it's there, Dirty TalkFlirting, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Getting Together, Strangers to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, it's kinda said as a joke but it's taken seriously

Summary:

The bow tie around Steve’s neck was choking him. It had to be made for children, but when he’d asked one of the waiters before they went on the floor, he shrugged and said they all were like that. But the lack of oxygen to his brain didn’t excuse the way he nearly dropped a glass of a half-shaken, half-stirred -yes, really- martini when the hottest man he’d ever seen walked up to the bar. He was chatting with a few people, smiling at them like he was truly happy to see them even though he was dressed like someone who was crashing the party. Steve had done a few events like this before and was never disappointed with the eye candy, but this guy was something else. His curls were perfectly maintained, falling just right along his shoulders. Did they say the hair was the curtain to the soul or was he just that enamored?

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @steddieas-shegoes. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[themorningsunshine]

Be My Muse

Pairing - Aritst!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Childhood best friends to lovers)

Summary - Muse - A person or spirit that gives an artist the desire to create things

Bucky has been in love with you for years, but just can't get himself to say it. So, instead, he decides to show you.

Warnings - None, just fluffy fluff 

Word Count - 2.4k 

a/n - This is for @buckybarnesevents ‘s Connect 4: June-iverse event. Card Number - C4037 for the prompt C1 - Aritst. Thank you to the lovely @bluehourbucky​ for motivating me to actually finish writing this. 

"Come on, Buck. Just tell me."

You watched as the man you called your best friend shook his head, once again refusing to let out anything about his upcoming art exhibition.

"Oh, come on. Don't be this way." You didn't want to pressurize him, but he was acting weird about this exhibition for the past 2 months.

Every single time when he had an art exhibition coming up, he would ramble about it for weeks to you and you loved it. The way he was excited about what he had made and also the way his nervous ticks showed up always a week before the actual event, you loved every bit of it.  But this time, he hadn't spoken a word remotely related to it.

To top it all off, he had said that this was the most important exhibition of his life.

You were bound to be scared.

"Okay, what about this, you give me a hint, about anything, it doesn't even have to be the centerpiece, literally anything, and I will stop bugging you." You were practically begging now.

"Come on, doll. You are going to come to the main event. You can look at it then." He said putting your cup of coffee in front of you, is pretty much one of the only ways to distract your mind.

"See it then? With everybody else? Is that what I am to you, now, Buck? Just a person in the audience? I knew this day would come." You picked up your cup and with a dramatic turn walked out of the room.

Had you stood there for a moment longer, you would have seen the way Bucky scratched his thumb and bit his lips, two of his most prominent nervous ticks.

Only if he could tell you that you weren't just a person in the crowd. No, you were much more than that. You were everything .

He just had to wait.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

The day of the exhibition came sooner than he would have liked, but to you, it couldn't have been further away.

Bucky had been a little distant with you for the past week and you hated it. You hated it more than anything else in the world.

Usually, he would take you with him to carry out the errands related to the exhibition, 'cause he always got super nervous and you would be there to ground him. Like anchoring him back to the shore.

But this time, you had absolutely no idea what even was the theme of this exhibition. Every single time you offered to go with him for anything, he would always make excuses, and you were confident that they were lies 'cause when did Bucky start to go grocery shopping in the middle of the week?

In the almost 2 decades you had known him, ever since you were a kid, he had never hidden something this important from you.

To say that you were scared would be an understatement.

When you finally entered the exhibition, you were proud to see how many people had shown up. You had always known that Bucky would do exceptionally well as an artist and you had taken every chance you got to tell him exactly that.

As you were about to turn the corner and look at the first painting, you almost collided with a wall of muscle.

You looked up only to be met by the gaze of one of your closest friends.

"Steve, hey!!"

You saw as Steve tried extremely hard to hide the huge grin that threatened to spread across his face and you could swear you saw happy tears brimming in the corner of his eyes.

You squinted as you took a step to the side to let a man walk in, realizing you were blocking the way.

"Y/n, you need to come with me."

"Not now, Steve. It's Bucky's exhibition. I need to stay here."

"He has asked you to come with me."

You narrowed your eyes as you asked, "Are you sure?"

Steve nodded as he took your hand to try and take you away from the paintings.

Dread filled your chest. Did Bucky really not want you in here so much?

You follow Steve as he leads you toward an isolated door of the arena.

You turn to look at him and he signals you to get inside.

"Okay, if you are kidnapping me, I might as well let you know that no one is going to pay a single penny as ransom to you." You joke. You have been friends with Steve almost for as long as you have been with Bucky and you trusted them with everything.

Steve chuckles before replying, "Just go in, y/n."

You open the door and take a step in, only to realize that it's pitch dark. Before you can turn back to look at Steve, the door closes behind you.

You take a deep breath and call out, "Bucky? I swear to god if it's one of your stupid pranks, I'll kill you."

Suddenly, a small light gets switched on beside you and you turn to realize that it beautifully illuminates a painting.

You take a step forward towards it, only to realize that it is a sketch of an eye and it's beautiful .

You can see the way it shines with a glint even though it's just a sketch and you bring your hand forward to run it across it.

It is then that you notice the little note sitting at the bottom right corner of the sketch.

All the city lights combined couldn't shine brighter than your eyes.

Your lips turned upwards into a smile as you read the words. Even though you had absolutely no idea what was happening, it was a huge comfort to know that it was all Bucky's doing. You could recognize that handwriting anywhere.

You looked around hoping to figure out at least something, but all that the little illumination below the sketch showed you was that it was more probable than not a huge hall.

Not even a moment later, another small light was switched on just beside the first one.

It was a painting this time. A very old painting.

It was a small girl sitting on a swing hanging from the tree. A blissful smile on her face, carefree and oblivious to the troubles of the world.

When you noticed the bracelet that she was wearing, you took a step forward, squinting to focus on the painting.

It was you.

And then the memory of that day placed itself at the forefront of your brain.

"Come on, Buck." The little 11-year-old girl called out to the brown-haired boy.

He just shakes his head and refuses to move away from under the tree he is sitting, a sketchbook in hand.

"Why do you even like painting so much?" She had asked, crossing her arms across her chest, puffing in annoyance at his lack of response before walking away towards the swing herself.

A smile finds its way to your lips at the memory. It was about a couple of years after the both of you had met, and yet, it was as clear as day in your mind. Even after all the memories you and Bucky created together over the years, small - innocent ones like these from all those years ago never left your heart.

You look at it intensely for a long time. A couple of tears brimming at the corner of your eyes.

It's been so long. You couldn't help but think. The both of you had grown up but never grew apart. There was always a connection, an instant pull that always brought the both of you back to each other, almost like how no matter how far any of you went, you never forgot your way back home.

After some time, you finally noticed the little note written in the bottom left corner of the painting, just like in the first one. But this one was different. This sentence was the one that would change your whole life for you. In the best way possible. It read :

The day that 12-year-old fell in love, without even knowing what love meant. All he knew was that he was going to love that girl with everything he had, till his last days and beyond.

Your breath hitched in your throat. He loved you.

Bucky Barnes was in love with you.

That's when it hit you.

Everything you have ever wanted. The only thing your heart has ever yearned for, was right in front of you all along.

The love that you had read about in books, the kind of love that swallowed you whole until there was no part left untouched, the love that you have looked for your entire life, has been right there. Right beside you. In the form of the oceanic blue eyes that had enamored you for the last 20 years.

You were in love with your best friend.

The realization doesn't hit you like a truck, or leave you gasping in surprise, it brings with it a sense of peace, a sense of everything falling into place.

You look around frantically searching for the man that you had loved all along without ever knowing it.

You loved him when he fought those bullies to protect Steve and got hurt in the process.

You had loved him when he had brought you cookies when you had gotten sick during Christmas, not being able to move.

You had loved him when you had supported him in his decision to do what his heart desired, in his journey of becoming an artist.

You had loved him when the both of you had said your goodbyes while leaving for college in distant cities when the tears had fallen from your eyes and on the ground and he had comforted you that your friendship won't fall apart.

You had loved him in the nights that were spent staring at the stars together, in the afternoons that had been spent watching movies, curled up beside each other, just the two of you.

You had loved him then, and you love him now and you were pretty sure you were going to love him till the world was nothing but dust.

A light suddenly gets switched on just beside the old painting, and this time too, it's you.

Painted years after the last one, it's you staring at the night sky, a soft, content look on your face.

This time, your eyes frantically search for the note, and sure enough, it's right there, at the bottom.

'Cause, darling without you,

All the shine of a thousand spotlights

All the stars we steal from the night sky

Will never be enough

Never be enough

You can now feel tears rolling down your cheeks, as your lips turn into the widest grin possible.

You turn around and as you do so, all the lights in the room begin to turn on, each revealing a painting of you. Taken in the simplest moments.

There is one with you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a pout evident on your face as you had tried to bake a cake for the first time.

There was one where you were sitting at the beach, staring into the ocean.

The one that you liked the most was the one in which you were sleeping contently, a blanket loosely draped over you, that you could swear hadn't been there before.

Before you can look at the rest of them, a voice comes from the corner of the hall and you turn just in time to look at Bucky Barnes himself.

Your smile grew wider if it was even possible and you almost ran off to embrace him when he started speaking.

"One day, you asked me why I drew. Why I felt the need to express whatever it was I felt through a canvas. I didn't tell you, then, but now I want to, doll.

It's you. It's always been you. You have been my muse, my pillar of support, my motivation to get up every morning, my need to paint because there was no other way I could express to the girl I was in love with that she was all I ever dreamt about. That she was everything I could ever want.

I love you, doll. I love you with everything I am and everything I'll ever be. There are a hundred ways this could fall apart, and trust me, I have thought about each one of them more than I should have. But if there is one chance that this could work, that I could be yours, not just in movie nights or weekly trips to the grocery market, but in every way possible, I want to take that chance. In slow mornings and in intimate nights, in tough days and in the celebratory evenings, I want you, I need you to be a part of all of them, doll because life just doesn't feel like life without you."

As if your feet had gained a mind of their own you ran towards him, circling your arms around his neck and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was gentle, soft, full of need and unspoken feelings, of time lost, it was everything .

He pulled you impossibly closer to him, not wanting to ever let go.

Finally, when the both of you pulled away, still staying close with the widest possible grins on your faces, you whispered, "I love you too, Buck. So damn much." You say it so slowly, it feels like a dream to him.

You would one day shout out to the world how much you loved him, but for now, it was going to be your little moment. When the city of Brooklyn went about its day just like it did every day, two people who were irresistibly, irrevocably in love with each other stood there, holding each other, in the gentlest of embraces, embers of their love while keeping them warm, strong enough to burn the whole world down.

You stay there for what feels like forever before Bucky whispers. "Doll, be my muse?"

You look up at him, drowning in his oceanic blue eyes, only to reach home, before you whisper, "Forever."  

[jellitchi]

hello friends heres some more artist au ,,, i have A huge infodump under the cut ... u were warned

uhm mumbo is a tattoo artist in this au, hes the towns electrician primarily but he does tattoo work too. hes terrified of needles on his own skin but really enjoys the process of tattooing. i think he mostly does geometric stuff. probably hrm.

gem runs and owns the fishing dock/bait shop. shes born and raised in this town so shes been here her whole life. shes okay at painting but her real passion is with clay- specifically sculpting. shes taking a pottery workshop w grian but she like the freedom sculpting has that the wheel cant really give her...? if that makes sense.. she still likes it. when she paints she gravitates towards gouache and watercolors, she likes the fluidity she can achieve w em. also is very fond of how gouache lets u set it down then return and reactivate it w water again lol

pearl is a relatively successful artist, shes constantly traveling for art shows and also to host workshops/look for inspiration. she used to paint a lot, thats how she kinda got her fame... she used to paint this one girl a lot idk she has curly orange hair and freckles and shes always painted really beautifully. then stuff happened and now pearl mostly sculpts now. she still paints and her paintings are her most popular works but shes more into working w clay.

hm more abt this au, pearl and grian are siblings and both grew up learning oil painting. jimmy is also in this au im still figuring out a role but hes their cousin— basically brother— i was thinking pearls manager js coz i think itd b funny lol.

the setting is a small coastal town hrmm havent thought too much else abt it, was mostly pulling from coastal norcal ish...

in this au scar and grian are really really tight and have been living w each other for like 5/6 ish years. i dont think they officially get tgt... they think theyre woke asf n say they dont like labels (kinda kidding) the real reason is just timing. whenever grian is sick of running circles and works up the courage, scar usually has some complications hes working through and grian feels like hed just be another stressor added to his plate so he just wills it away... then when scar is like Im gonna do it. Im gonna tell him. Grian is experiencing sum kinda dilemma and is rly stressed so then scar is like well it can wait... (this goes on forEver.) whenever they do sync up, usually theyre far too scared about ruining their friendship and having to find a new roommate or something. they both r very important to each other and if bottling up their feelings means they can hold onto each other and keep each other around then thats what theyll do...! yeah theyre doomed🤦‍♂️.... they still basically do romantic activities tgt- they just think its normal coz its them.... also everyone around them thinks theyre secretly dating or smth anyways Yeah this is the au in a nutshell im such a sucker for long term pinning friends to lovers or whatever😭😭😭😭😭...

[vividsketch]

A muse never dies, only evolves

[snow-143]

Water Coloured Tears | Jeon Jungkook

pairings | childhood bsf jungkook x artist reader

genres | angst, childhood bsfs, hurt/ comfort?, college au, fuckboy jk, eventual smut

summary | college. everybody dream right? you finally get to leave home and have all the freedom you like, but you didn't care about any of that, you were happy as long as you had your best friend with you. except he's done a full 180 on how he used to be and you despise who he is, but now you have to suffer through a 5 month art project with him as your muse.

warnings | swearing like a lot (i’m british), alcohol, angst, probs drugs, eventual smut, fuckboy jjk, she resents him a shit ton, forced proximity, ik nothing about art classes don’t come for me, i’m using british school holidays bc it’s easier for me, more to be added

one- pilot

two- drunk call

three- drunken rambles (jks pov)

four- dont waste my time

five- mommy’s boy

six- late night inspo

seven- forgot you were insane

eight-

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Payneland Post WWI-Artists AU!

Charles Rowland gets sent to the trenches in France, but Edwin Payne gets to avoid the war by being sixteen and from a wealthy family that can send him to university to avoid the draft. He doesn’t become part of the Lost Generation.

That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t become lost, though.

Charles promises to come back to Edwin, and he’s never broken a promise in his goddamn life. Charles returns from war. He returns from war and returns to London and Charles has always been a boy haunted by his ghosts, just as surely as Edwin was. They both have been, whether that be Charles and his father’s fists or Edwin and his father’s absence or the lake that Edwin pulled Charles from or the attic that Charles saved Edwin from.

The two of them, eighteen and aching, go to London and they disappear.

London isn’t like St. Hilarion’s, where everyone knows everyone. It is a place you can get lost in.

And the city. God, the city.

Edwin doesn’t do music, save the tunes that Charles likes to hum unconsciously when he’s painting, but if he did music, god, he would sing the city.

It’s so easy to get lost here. Edwin certainly does. 

But Charles Rowland, though?

Here, in London, among the queer underculture, in the house parties and the artistic scene, Charles finds himself.

More here!

@wordsinhaled @nix-nihili @bitterdesert @every-moment-a-different-sound @anything-thats-rock-and-roll

[diva-calderu]

Stiles Stilinski x Derek Hale

Artist x Writer AU

For @whitewiccan