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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years ago

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I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Eight

Ao3, Masterpost, C.1 C.2 C.3 C.4 C.5 C.6 C.7

Relationships: queer-platonic intruality, mentioned platonic relationships.

Second chapter of the night, babe! I’m really going for it with finishing this story!! mostly no italics as is my usual, because tumblr Sucks <3

Warnings: cursing, brief true-crime talk, sexual innuendo, depressive episodes, crying, LOTS of h/c, mentions of past neglect (ok neglect is a really strong word it isn’t that bad, but, idk what to call it), touch-starvation, honestly though this is a ridiculously fluffy chapter guys.

Word count: 5,618

In three weeks, Patton and Remus had gone from borderline insomnia to a sleep schedule that could’ve impressed even Logan.

And in three weeks, neither had spent a single night alone.

The talk they’d had after their first sleepover ended up leaving more of an impact than either had realized. Maybe it should’ve been expected: they were both accustomed to saying exactly what they meant, exactly how they meant it, and any sort of vow to ‘never let go’ couldn’t be used lightly for two creatures like that.

So, independently, they both decided to be as literal as they could about it. God, were they clingy.

But it worked better than anything. There was less aching, more talking, and if they were feeling better, the whole Mindpalace improved. Something something, the delicate ecosystem of the human mind, blah blah.

And then it worked too well.

Neither of them really knew what had happened, or how to feel about it (it might have been sad or strange that neither had ever had anything to compare it to, but if asked, they’d both say that’s what made it so special. They’d be right to say so, of course). It was what they had, together.

It wasn’t romantic- they’d seen romantic, knew it as well as they could, didn’t care for it. But in the end who cared about semantics? It didn’t matter, the reasons why Patton stared after his friend for a little too long, or what was making it so hard for Remus not to kiss his pal smack on the lips every time he smiled. Another thing that didn’t matter was the why in response to how they still hadn’t talked about it, but… Patton and Remus had resolved that as a problem for another time.

What mattered was that it just was.

(And another thing that mattered, a little bit, was the how it had happened, and both of them understood that perfectly well.)

Remus lounged on the floor at the foot of his bed, Patton behind and above him. Patton’s fingers were working steadily through his mess of hair, while the pair half-watched TV. They didn’t agree on most shows, and neither of them were especially crazy about arguing, which meant it was twenty minutes of roundabout conversation until they stumbled across something they could mutually zone out to. Whatever. The system worked.

Remus typically preoccupied himself with drawing, painting, or carving some material into something or other (said something-or-other was almost always a knife or a dildo. Occasionally, it was both).

Patton seemed to favor being distracted by Remus’ hair, though it wasn’t clear why. Remus hadn’t asked; it felt nice, and he was surprised that anyone would actually want to thread their fingers through those oily strings, so why question a good thing?

Actually, a better question was why not. The thought had stuck in his mind, and he had nothing better to do- art block and all- so. Remus tossed his sketchbook to the side and twisted up to look at Patton.

“Why do you do that?”

Patton glanced down at him. “Do what?”

Remus reached up, prying Patton’s hands out of his hair and holding them up like evidence. Patton blinked at them, and okay, cute- but he looked genuinely surprised by the question.

“Oh, playing with your hair? I mean, there’s no real reason, I guess it’s just mindless. Something to fidget with, y’know? It’s always all tangled up, too, so it’s like a little puzzle- a puzzle I probably won’t solve all the way ever, but that’s most puzzles with me to be honest,” he smiled brightly, creasing all his laugh lines just right. “Also, um, it feels nice that I get to stay touching you, even if it’s just something small,” he shrugged, sort of sheepishly. “Is that weird?”

But Remus was beaming up at him, definitely looking all sorts of stupid for it, and definitely not caring. He dropped Patton’s hands, letting them find their way back into his coils and matts of hair.

“You’re asking the wrong guy, Sugar Cookie, but you can keep messing with my hair all you want. It probably is weird, in that case, because I like that you have your hands on me so much-” Jesus Christ it was so hard not to make a sex joke, Remus had to stifle several from breaking his train of thought. Ugh, the things he did for this man. “-And if I like something, it’s 100% freaky!”

Patton just laughed, his nose scrunching up while he ruffled Remus’ hair.

“That’s- that’s good to know,” an index finger coiled around silver strands, and Patton’s eyes sparkled in the most literal sense, “Hey, Remus?”

Remus let his head rest on the side’s thigh, humming attentively.

“When you say I can mess with it…”

He looked up with a delightful anticipation, grinning before Patton had even finished his sentence.

“Can I braid your hair?” The question accompanied by a faint tug at Remus’ scalp, and the feeling of several tangles coming undone, “I’m pretty good at it. Virgil used to let me do his- not so much anymore, but, um. Anyway, yours would be long enough- or maybe longer, if I got these knots out,” he smiled, kindly, “But I know you like having it knotty, so it’s okay if you don’t want me to.”

Remus thought it over, because yeah, he was very proud of his rat’s nest. Besides, he was sure that even if it got straightened out, it’d still be just as greasy as ever- ohh, but that could be a look all on its own, couldn’t it? Maybe he could even weave some garbage into the plait!

“Sure!” Remus assented, “The rest of me’s naughty enough to make up for the hairdo, so have at ‘er.”

Patton snorted at the pun, obviously excited to get started. When he ushered Remus to turn around, his hands easily undoing clumps of hair with surprising focus, humming to himself all the while, Remus was absolutely certain he’d made the right choice.

It was done in an hour- Patton was slow and careful about every movement. Remus didn’t really mind, though he’d try to assure Patton that it was fine to do it in a hurry, that he wasn’t so sensitive. (Patton didn’t, obviously, ignoring Remus’ comments about how it didn’t even matter because they weren’t real, and pain was a construct. Patton was stubbornly gentle, to the point that Remus couldn’t be annoyed by it. He might even say it was sweet, if he was feeling particularly sappy.)

It had also taken such time because of the decorations Patton had woven into his hair, which he insisted would be surprises. So Remus was bouncing with excitement all the way to the mirror- cuz even though he was sure it wouldn’t be anything like the live bugs, weeds, and dead flowers that he’d had in mind to thread in there himself, he knew it’d at least be pretty. Pretty wasn’t really his thing, sure, but Patton’s brand of pretty? It had grown on him.

The mirror in Remus’ room was chipped, slick with grime, and filled with silhouettes that vanished as soon as you turned around, but it worked just fine. Remus hauled himself over to it, peered in, and okay, he definitely didn’t mind a little bit of pretty.

“You weren’t fucking around when you said you were good at this, Morey!”

In their reflections, Remus saw Patton smile, going a bit pink around the ears. He glanced back to himself, eyes trailing appreciatively down the shoulder-length braid of dark, greasy hair. His grey streak wasn’t twisted in with the rest of the locks, instead it had been left out in front, springy and curly and giving the whole look a messier vibe. The braid itself seemed inky-slick, shot through with glittering hair clips and pins. At first, they looked like plain plastic jewels, but with closer inspection the shapes of tiny beetles, bugs, and moths were unmistakable. They were gorgeous, and probably a better call than putting actual live bugs in his hair; he was less likely to end up eating the sparkly clips, at any rate.

But if all that wasn’t enough, then there were the ribbons. Whip-thin and several in number, they sparkled with enough course glitter to impress a Las Vegas body paint artist. Some were a pukey neon green, and the rest a light, bright-

“Blue?”

Patton met Remus’ eyes, through the mirror again, and the pink slowly traveled from his ears down to his face. He shrugged, grazing the blue-and-green bow where the braid was tied off with the tips of his fingers.

“I guess I got a little carried away,” he smiled lightly, “I thought it looked nice, with the green.”

Remus looked away from the glass, “You’re not wrong about that,” he muttered.

Patton shrugged, not quite making his eyes.

“You can take those ones out, if you want to.”

That- the way Patton went flustered and shy and he’d put his colors on Remus- it gave the Duke a very strong urge to do something. The urge pulled at his chest, feeling like cracked ribs in the best way, and it really wasn’t fucking around when it wrapped around his heart and squeezed so tight it felt like it was forcing all the blood right out of him.

Remus was used to impulses, and the powerful, mind-halting swells of emotion, but this was new and fun and it had jumped out of nowhere even for him. He was staring at Patton, and he had the urge to do something. He would’ve done it, too, if only he knew what the fuck it was that he wanted.

It had to do with Patton. He should start there, probably.

“I’m gonna keep them in, duh,” Remus replied, finally, and his voice was way louder than it needed to be, “Wouldn’t wanna fuck up the look.”

Patton glanced at him, smiling self-consciously, and his hand lowered from Remus’ hair to rest on his shoulder. For a moment Remus felt blind, vision white-out and trouble breathing, from whatever the fuck he was feeling, and he just didn’t know what to do.

Then Patton laughed, his ocean eyes squinted, and the burning impulse plummeted to an ache. A giddy, unfamiliar kind of ache. A manageable ache.

Remus resolved to forget it. He had lots of instincts, and urges, and God knew that not even half of them made sense. It had left, that was what mattered, and he could enjoy the rest of his day with his friend.

He’d never been the type to worry, anyway.

There were days that Patton just… couldn’t make it out of bed. He tried, he really did, but he could only go for so long before it all started crumbling. He’d wake up, and something would just feel wrong, and he’d know that it was a doomed day, but he still made the stubborn effort to save it. Because each time he thought, maybe he’d beat it, maybe he’d make the best of it- and sometimes he did, but most of the time he made it as far as breakfast, and then he was right back in his room by noon to let the depressive episode take over.

So yeah. It was one of Those Days.

Patton laid in bed, propped up on pillows and stuffed animals with his unfocused eyes staring just above the television. Bad days had been getting rare, and naively, Patton had thought that meant it was over for good. When he woke up that morning, Remus barely stirring beside him, the empty feeling inside was almost ignorable.

He’d stayed above it for all of two-and-a-half hours before retreating to his room again, this time on his own.

Patton was always alone when he got in one of his moods, and he knew it was better that way. He was no fun at all, just a sad sack of blah, and he knew just how intolerable he ended up being. He couldn’t even tolerate himself.

So each time Patton would tell the other sides that he needed some space alone, and of course they respected that. Roman always hugged him before he left. Virgil checked on him every now and then. Logan, without fail, sent him extra plushies (and sweet snacks, however much he disapproved of unhealthy eating, because he knew how much sugar cheered Patton up). It didn’t fix the ache, but it helped, knowing that people were worried about him.

But, back to that particular day; the day that left Patton huddled up at the head of his bed with blank, glazed-over eyes; the first day of its kind since Remus had been staying with him.

It had gotten… harder, somehow. The fact that it had been gone for so long, and he’d been so optimistic, but now it was all back…

Patton buried his face in the soft fabric of a teddy bear, shaking and crying and feeling so, so, cold.

It went on for a few horrible, horrible minutes, and then there were noises that definitely weren’t sobs. Down the hall; the slamming of a door, followed by distant muttering, and then excited footsteps. Heavy, clunky footsteps. Sounds that brought back acute deja vu, and had Patton glancing up just in time to realize what was about to happen.

His door swung open, and Remus was grinning at him from the entrance. Patton struggled to put on a smile in time, scrubbing frantically at his eyes.

“Hey! It’s, like, two o’clock, are you ready?”

Patton blinked up at him, partially in confusion, partially to try and stop the flow of tears. “Ready…?”

Remus’ face fell a little, and he came forwards into the room.

“Yeah…” Remus shut the door behind him- with less force than usual- and sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed. He stared intently at Patton, frown deepening all the while, pupils flitting around as he seemed to take in every detail of his friend’s condition. Patton wanted to squirm. “We were gonna- are you okay?”

He stared dumbly at Remus for a second more, and then it clicked: they had plans today. He could barely remember what they were supposed to do- they’d been talking so quick, so excited, so happy- but Patton was pretty sure it had to do with a new creation of Remus’.

Which was… something he definitely, definitely didn’t have the energy for.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Patton sat up straight, trying desperately to stop trembling, “I completely forgot, I just- um- I don’t know if I can make it today.”

That sounded bad, didn’t it? Wouldn’t that be the icing on top of the cake, if he hurt Remus’ feelings just because he was wallowing for basically no reason. It probably wouldn’t even be that bad if he sucked it up and went along with it anyway- except Janus kept insisting how bad self-sacrifice was, but- what else was he supposed to do!?

“Oh, it’s okay,” Remus said, not sounding hurt at all. “I’d be more pissed if I thought you were just bailing, and I know you don’t do that, Pat. Plus, you’re obviously upset, so don’t worry about it.”

Patton glanced up to find him still staring, somehow more intense than before, and much closer than before. He looked- he looked worried. Not upset. Worried.

“Oh,” Patton looked away again, unable to stand the scrutiny, “Okay.”

A hand slipped into his, prying open his clenched fist, and he had to stifle a gasp at the touch. Temperature shock, that was the best word for it. Patton shivered.

“Can I help you?”

Patton’s eyes went wide at the sweet sincerity in Remus’ voice, the way he said it as plainly and openly as he’d say anything else. Even if it wasn’t a big deal, really, with Patton’s emotions in the state that they were, while he was in his room of all places, anything could send him breaking down again.

“I- I don’t, um-” he blinked furiously, had done that a lot since Remus found him; it was beginning to make him feel dizzy. “Nothing’s really wrong…”

Remus squeezed his hand.

“Well, what isn’t really wrong?”

“What?”

“You said nothing’s ‘really’ wrong, so, what’s wrong-but-not-really?”

Patton tipped his head to the side, for a moment more confused than he was aching. “How do you mean?”

But Remus just rolled his eyes- not unkindly- and shrugged.

“So, you don’t know why you’re all… sad,” the emphasis made Patton wince, “But I figure that being sad at all usually makes other things wrong, too, and I can help with those things! For example-” he pitched forwards suddenly, ruby-reds wide and searching. He sniffed at Patton (probably not for any kind of actual inspection, but it made him laugh, and judging from Remus’ proud little smirk that had been on purpose.) “You had anything to eat? Or, uh, water? Those are supposed to be important.”

Oh, right. That.

Patton leaned away, pulling his hand out of Remus’ grasp as he flushed abashedly. But he didn’t- well, he wasn’t going to lie to Remus.

“I guess I haven’t, no,” he tried to laugh it off- this didn’t have to be a thing, it didn’t have to be serious, if he kept laughing. If he got Remus to laugh.

But Remus was already standing, and that brought up another very effective solution; if Patton was being depressing, maybe he would just get sick of it and go.

“Okay, we’ll start there! Wait here, I’ll be back in- ten minutes? Sure, that’s how long it takes to make food,” Remus was muttering half to himself, but it sure as heck didn’t sound like leaving.

“Oh, you don’t have to get me anything!” Patton insisted, because if Remus wasn’t escaping yet, then he wasn’t going to mooch off of his generosity. “Thanks for the reminder, I’ll- I’ll make sure to grab something soon.”

Remus stopped by the door, tipped his head from one side to the other, pretending to think it over.

“Hm. Nah.”

Patton tried to stand, and found that he was somehow too weak for even that much.

“Remus, please, I- I can’t even eat the same stuff as you, anyway! Don’t go through all that trouble for little old me,” he was edging on frantic, and he didn’t know why he was fighting so hard against receiving needed help, but it probably had something to do with Catholicism.

Remus looked completely bewildered- a funny look, for him- and said:

“I mean, I wasn’t about to feed you hygiene products, or ceramic, or whatever. I know that I eat weird shit, Pat, that’s kind of the point- but I still know how to make a sandwich? And I know how to hold a cup under the sink so that water goes in it?”

His voice took on a gently mocking tone. Patton glanced away, sheepish, and couldn’t find a response to that beyond a short nod.

Which was all Remus needed as the go-ahead, darting out of the room and down the stairs before Patton could argue any further.

Patton stared after him, listened to him bustling around downstairs, and tried to feel comforted. He fell back against his pillows, breathing slow and concentrated. He was still shaking, with his previous exhaustion coming back full force. Some of the light-headedness, certainly, had to be due to the lack of eating, but he was unfortunately sure that it wasn’t even the half of it.

Patton was conflicted: He had to tell Remus that he was okay, as soon as he returned. Say thanks for the food, that it had helped, and they could spend time together tomorrow, Patton would promise. Get Remus away before it got bad, before the dam he’d built so carefully behind his eyes fell and the blue of them spilled out for hours.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie about his feelings- he knew it was bad for him, and he couldn’t keep doing it, not to someone’s face. Not somebody he cared about so much.

He wanted to let Remus stay, beg him to stay if he had to, just so he didn’t have to dig up all his long-buried emotions on his own. He wanted to pull him in and beg for help, even though he knew nothing had managed to help him before, and it was so futile.

When the door opened some ten minutes later, Patton didn’t sit up. He didn’t even look up, scared he’d cry if he so much as moved his eyes in his own skull.

“Hey.”

The sound of the door shutting, followed by those heavy footsteps. A soft thunk, presumably the plate of food being placed on his bedside table. Then the mattress dipped beside him, springs creaking.

“Hey,” Remus said again, “Look at me.”

Patton rolled his head tentatively to the side. Remus was sitting with him, looking at him, his expression twisted up and solemn in all the worst ways. Patton felt the dam begin to crumble.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I know, I know that I’m no fun when I’m like this, and we were supposed to have fun today, and I just can’t do it. I can’t, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, but if you stay here when I’m-” he broke, clamping a hand around his mouth as a sob wracked his body.. “When I’m like this, I’m just gonna ruin your day more.”

That sad look, the one that had no place being in Remus’ expression, sharpened and widened until he looked almost angry. He crawled over to Patton, prying the side’s hand away from his face and cupping his cheek, gently, all the while that scowl was in place.

“Do you want me to go?”

Patton could barely speak, knowing that he’d just blubber and blubber, but Remus was holding him up by the shoulders and peering down at him so patiently, so carefully.

“I- I-”

“Do you want to be alone?”

He couldn’t- he couldn’t keep lying.

Patton sucked in a breath.

“No.”

Remus grinned at him proudly, pulling back until he was kneeling. He spread his arms out, an offering that Patton had become intimately familiar with. Patton pulled himself up, shaking, incredulous despite the familiarity of the situation.

“Then you don’t have to be.”

And Patton pitched forward, right into Remus’ arms, clutching and crying and trembling like a leaf.

Distantly, he knew that he was still babbling apologies. Insisting that the Duke could leave as soon as he wanted, that Patton felt this way so often and he knew he couldn’t possibly expect comfort every time, a million other sentences that ran over and into each other which only seemed to make Remus clutch him tighter.

“It’s okay,” Remus told him.

“It’s- It’s not, I don’t even have a- a reason to be so-” a hiccup, “- upset. It’s not like last time, when you found me- I don’t even have a bad excuse, I’m just- just-”

“Shut the fuck up,” somehow, even that sounded caring. “Somebody as Hello Kitty Wholesome as you’s got no business saying such bad shit about himself.”

Patton tried to apologize again.

“Easy, Sugar, I’ve got you.”

Patton shuddered.

“When it gets bad like this, just tell me, alright?” Remus’ hands traced up and down his spine, across his shoulder blades, down his sides, warm and full and adoring. The smile in his voice was audible, “I’m gonna take care of you.”

And when Patton heard that, it was like a broken bone being set. Not fully mended, but held together enough that it could begin to heal the right way, of its own hard work, and come back twice as strong still. Remus held him so strong and it felt like a cast.

Patton’s breakdowns were blurred memories at best, but he couldn’t have gotten that promise out of his head even if he wanted to.

It was an achingly uneventful afternoon. Everything in the Mindpalace felt just a little out of focus, a little gray, and nothing much was going to change that except the day ending. Plain and simple, Thomas was Out Of It- and so, of course, were his sides.

On the whole it wasn’t a big deal, but it did make it downright impossible to finish any substantial work beyond menial, autopilot tasks. And creativity? Particularly for Remus, who more-or-less needed his human at full attention in order to have any creative power, it was totally hopeless.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to work on half-power, to put it mildly.

So, what did Remus do, when he had even less of an outlet than usual? It shouldn’t surprise you that the answer is literally anything, if it got people to pay attention to him and make him feel real again (which he wasn’t, actually, but let’s leave the semantics to Logan). What that usually amounted to- these days, at least- was talking, and talking, and more talking, and eventually somebody would probably react to something he said. Ideally.

So on that particular gray-day, Remus sprawled himself out on the couch and waited for the first person who came by to trap in a very one-sided conversation.

Said first person was Patton, as it happened, which was just Remus’ luck. He didn’t bother hiding how excited he was about it; Patton had always been his favorite target- of course, it was for a very, very different reason nowadays.

Patton sat down with him as soon as he was waved over, propping a coloring book open on his knee and smiling warmly. His unoccupied hand went to wind through Remus’ hair, though, to make it abundantly obvious that despite his distraction he wasn’t ignoring the other.

Remus grinned at him, and started rambling immediately.

And he- well, he wouldn’t really call it talking to himself, because he didn’t have a fucking clue what he was saying. But he wasn’t talking to Patton either, because that kinda defeats the purpose of a one-sided conversation.

Which he didn’t mind. He wasn’t even listening to himself, he just needed to talk, and Patton wasn’t complaining. Remus was probably saying something unsavory, and still, there wasn’t any kind of flinching or interrupting. Patton even mhm’d and yeah’d every now and then, which was an entirely unnecessary reassurance. But Remus thought it was adorably considerate, and briefly entertained the idea of replacing that sweet little coloring book in Patton’s lap with his own self, to get some proper attention.

(He would have, too, if he wasn’t so sure that he’d blurt out something very lewd in his stream-of-consciousness kind of mood, with a position like that, and he wasn’t sure if Patton could handle it at the moment. Morality always got a little out of whack on gray-days, too, so- loathe as Remus was to say it- better safe than sorry).

Remus fell into the rhythm of it for, what, twenty minutes? He was bad with time, but- all he knew was he was thinking about Albert Fish, and talking about an entirely different serial killer out loud (Gacy? Bundy? It was definitely someone infamous), when the hand in his hair suddenly stilled. Patton wasn’t looking at him, either.

Remus glanced around, still talking, to find Logan standing in the kitchen doorway, staring expectantly at Patton.

“I need you to accompany me outside for a moment. There’s something important that we-”

Patton cut him off with a wave, “Hang on for a second, Teach.”

Logan obliged, looking bemused, and Patton turned his attention back to the still-tangenting Remus. Who was totally checked out, for the record.

“Hey,” Patton rested a hand on his shoulder, smiling warmly, “Pause?”

And Remus, surprised, did as asked. He didn’t care about what was going on around him, but he liked that smile, and the eyes focused in on him, so he sat up properly and tried to be quiet. Especially considering those were the first actual words Patton had said to him since he’d sat down.

“I’m gonna go see what they need real quick,” Patton went on, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, and you can finish telling me about Dennis Rader then-” So that was who! “Kay?”

Remus stared mutely at him for an embarrassing number of seconds. He eventually managed a short nod, some vague utterances of yeah, sure, go ahead, before Patton was out the door with Logan, and he was left reeling on the couch.

Remus felt a little bit like worms had eaten holes in his brain like swiss cheese, leaving him airy-headed and dizzy. All his organs felt wormy, in fact- squirming and sick and excited about something that really shouldn’t have been a big deal- but! It was!!!

Cuz Patton had been listening? Remus wasn’t even listening! He was probably barely coherent, and he’d been at it for twenty fucking minutes, and- and-

God! He just wanted to grab that stupid adorable head of Patton’s and! He didn’t even know! Do Something, something disgusting in the nice way, something deplorably PG and lovey-dovey and- Ugh!

Remus buried his face in his hands and groaned. He felt like a goddamn schoolgirl- and not the hentai kind, for a change, but the hopelessly infatuated, cutesy type. Feelings that were gushy, giddy, affectionately bloody.

It was the straw that broke the camel's spine. Urges and instincts and wants that Remus hadn’t been able to name coalesced into a neon sign in his mind, flaring the answer like it’d been obvious the whole time:

Was it a crush? Remus didn’t know a better word for it, even if it wasn’t- he just knew that he was pining, and for somebody he was happy to call his friend either way. And, huh. Weird. He didn’t know he could do that.

“I’m back, I’m back!” Patton came scrambling back into the room, jolting Remus out of his thoughts, “Sorry about that, it was- well, it’s not a big deal, something happened with The Memories and- it’s fine now- anyway, what were you saying?”

He was chattering fast, even by Remus’ Standards, an apologetic smile on his face as he sat down and settled all his attention on the Duke.

Remus said: “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” and wondered if he’d always been that shrill? Or was he being too quiet? What did his voice sound like again?? “I, uh, I don’t remember what I was talking about.”

Patton frowned at him, and looked about ready to apologize again, and he couldn’t very well have that. So, he babbled:

“Right, it was Rader? Um. Yeah,” but that was so far out of his mind by that point, and how did people ever talk while saying things and thinking other things! “Not much to say, ya know. Killed some people, got arrested, the usual.”

“Since when don’t you give me the graphic details?” Patton complained, “That’s your favorite part!”

“I think I’ll spare you the nightmares this time, Morey! It’s, uhm, it’s your turn to talk.”

“Oh, hush,” and Patton laughed, shooting Remus an encouraging, coaxing smile that made him just want to debone himself. “Those serial killer stories you like so much aren’t the nightmare fuel they used to be. You know why?”

Remus felt like the inside of his skin was full of spikes. Not in a bad way.

“...Why?”

“Because,” Patton said, like he was all too eager to explain himself, “I can’t really be scared of them when the scariest thing is what’s in bed with me.”

Remus flushed. Like, actually- heat crawled across his face and over his ears, and he honestly had no clue the last time something or someone had made him blush. But Patton, acknowledging his scare-factor while somehow making it obvious he felt only safe with him, was apparently what ticked that box.

“Right,” chirped Remus, “That’s- me!”

“Of course it is, Silly,” Patton bumped their shoulders together, smiling like he had no idea what he was doing- and to be honest, he probably didn’t.

Remus drank in the contact, happily using it as an excuse to wrap his arms around Patton and pull him closer. He buried his face in Patton’s shoulder, because as far as his impulses told him, he should either get the fuck away A.S.A.P. or drag Patton in as close as possible and not let go. Obviously, Remus had a preference.

“You- uh- I was being serious though,” ugh, God, stuttering was so goddamn annoying- how did Virgil cope? “You should talk. I’m- I’m sorta overwhelmed.”

That was the truth, or part of it. Admitting it out loud at least managed to take some of the power out of it.

Patton immediately cooed at him- it should have been annoying; it wasn’t- and wrapped him up in his arms properly, muttering little of courses and do you need anything?s. Remus melted into him, finally claiming that spot in his lap (and any jokes his mind might have had about that were long gone, by then), shaking his head and glowing under the attention.

Of course Patton was happy- after making sure that Remus was alright- to do some of the talking. He talked about his day, what he wanted to do later, or tomorrow, and of cute things that he’d seen, and a hundred other inconsequential Patton-isms.

Remus was unused to sitting and listening, but with him… it wasn’t as bad as the Duke remembered it being.

Oh, he was so fucking fucked.

Chapter Nine

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @donnieluvsthings @glitter-skeleton-uwu @intruxiety @gayformlessblob @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @thefivecalls

#sanders sides #ts #intruality #qpr intruality #patton sanders #remus sanders #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction

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suntrastar · 4 years ago

Text

abstract: chapter 3

chapter 2!! you can also read it 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: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn��t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh. And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

41 notes · View notes

slime-smile · 3 years ago

Text

i accidentally left my phone at life drawing on saturday afternoon. i set it down on a dresser next to the bathroom as i walked in and thought “ok i need to remember that i set that there, i always forget when i set things there” and then of course i forgot about it by the time i walked out of the bathroom. probably in part because the timer that signifies the break has ended went off so i hurried back to my seat, for the final drawing of the day. then after the last drawing was done, a guy i have talked to a little bit the last few times i’ve gone asked me if i wanted to go get tacos. i said “i forgot my wallet today so are you okay with buying me the tacos” and he said “yea.” i wasnt wearing shorts with pockets and i had been leaving my phone in my backpack during the drawing sessions so i had a vague impression it was in there. we walked back to my car so i could set down my drawing pad and backpack, then we walked a few blocks to get The Best Fish Tacos in Ensenada. then we walked back together after we ate. he rides a motorcycle and parked directly across the street from the figure drawing place. we hung out on the steps of the house he’d parked in front of for a bit, then i walked two blocks back to my car. it was soooo hot when i got in, i turned the A/C all the way up, picked up my backpack to get out my phone, and it wasnt in there. i waited a minute to see if my car would tell me that it connected to my phone, in case the phone was lost somewhere in the car, and it didn’t, then i remembered what happened. so i get out of the car and hurry back to where the liffe drawing was. it’s hosted by these two artists in their personal studio, so i was like “ok they’re probably still there doing their own work now that the session has ended” but i walk up and the driveway is empty (the guy always parks his car in it) so i’m like oh nooo but i walk all the way to the door anyways and it’s closed and locked and they’re gone. the guy i got tacos with is still sitting across the street looking at his phone, so i walk back over to him and tell him what happened. he seems concerned and is like “i can try to message the guy on instagram? or we can see if one of the neighbors will let you in?” and i’m like oh no no it’s fine, i’ll just come back monday night to get it. (they do drawing monday and thursday nights and saturday mornings) plus i’ve been wanting to try going on a weeknight anyways. and earlier he had told me i should try coming on a weeknight some time and that he usually does, too. my main concern at that point was that i had a date planned for the night and i wasnt sure how not having my phone would affect it. but then i remembered my date had emailed me so i could email him, and then i remembered (duh) that i had imessage on my laptop so i could still text anyways but just in a more restricted capacity. the tacos guy really seems concerned for me and my phone though, like wonders how i will go two days without it. but i resign myself to it and walk back to my car to drive home. for some reason traffic is really bad, worse than usual -- dodgers game?? i dont know. while i’m driving home i see a fire from the freeway, and i start to scare myself that it’s my house that’s on fire, even though i’m pretty sure my house isnt visible from that freeway and i’m still too far north for it to feasibly be my house. i keep thinking “oh god all my art and my [most cherished personal item which holds no monetary value] and now i really wont be able to get in touch with [date] how would i let him know what happened and ugh i can’t even get my phone until Monday night, i wouldn’t be able to get in touch with anyone, what would i do if my house burned down??” but i go home and my house was not on fire, obviously. i send a message to my date to let him know what happened, and email the guy who runs life drawing about my lost phone. my date replies “so you’re gonna be phoneless tonight??” and i’m like “yea but let’s just meet out front at 8, i’ll even be early.” i go downtown to buy my date a bouquet in the flower district, it’s his birthday, but then i can’t conceive of a manageable way to have a bouquet at a bar, so after i bring the bouquet home i take out a single rose from it to give him. we both like roses, as a symbol and as an object, i know this isn’t especially unique, but it’s nice. he has a rose tattooed on his arm. later, before the date, my friend sends me an email subject line “bruh” body text “you left your phone at whatever repair shop you were at this morning.” which leads me to believe he called it and the life drawing guy answered it and told him he had it. which was nice because i hadn’t gotten an email back from the life drawing guy yet and was worried that maybe someone else in the class had snatched it even though that seems unlikely. and also kind of funny to imagine because obviously the life drawing guy’s perspective was that i was probably calling my phone from my friend’s phone trying to find it, when in reality my friend was just calling me not knowing that i didn’t have my phone and then some man answers it. anyways then i go to my date and i text him when i’m leaving that i’m heading over and will see him there soon. i look up the directions beforehand but then forget where exactly the bar is that we were supposed to meet and ask a guy on the street who i could tell was smiling at me even though he had a mask on where i needed to go and he told me the way. i walk up and my date is already there standing outside, i walk up to him and he says “you’re early!” and i don’t say this but in my mind i’m like “you’re even earlier!” and i hand him the rose and we go upstairs to the bar. the bartender is really friendly and asks about the rose and makes the date a free drink for his birthday. there’s a hottub and i’m like “why didn’t you tell me!” we find an uncomfortable bench and are eyeing a much cozier one where a woman is sitting, hoping it will open up. we’re quickly absorbed in conversation and at some point i happen to look over and notice the cozy bench is free, and we dart over to it. we’re able to sit there for an hour or so before a staff member comes up to us and informs us that we’re sitting where they plan to put the DJ booth, so we’ve got to move, but another couple is about to leave and they’re going to clear off their table for us. so we go lurk by the table, where the man is sitting, and he reveals that he’s been noticing us all night, because he and his wife were the ones who had been sitting on the bench earlier, and they themselves had been told that they were sitting where the DJ was going to be, and so they moved. i think it’s a funny coincidence that we’ve been following this couple around through the night, but i dont really know what else to say to the guy, so that’s sort of it for our conversation. the table is less fun because now we’re sitting across from each other in chairs, instead of next to each other on a bench. they set the DJ up as we’re finishing our drinks, and i propose that if the music is good, we dance. the DJ starts playing but his song selection is terrible so we bounce. date proposes we go back to his place, which i’m fine with, and i can sense that he wants to kiss, which we do, briefly, in the elevator. in addition to the Saturday night drinks date, we’d already planned a Sunday afternoon date earlier in the week, so sleeping over made sense. in the morning we walk to get coffee and i buy him a muffin for his birthday, and he says when we get back to his apartment he wants to teach me to play a Korean card game, one-card. i say ok and that if we can find two other people who are into it, later (in the future, not in the day), i can teach him a popular Ohio card game. i talk a lot of smack about how im going to beat him at one-card after we go over the rules, but then he wins 8 games and i only win 3. at some point i notice that the rose i brought him has been left lying on a table -- hmm? we go to brunch at a place i’d never been to before, near the movie theater (our pre-planned second date, seeing a movie), which is, i learn, known for their crispy french toast, but which i do not order, because i know it will make my stomach hurt. at some point i say that i wonder what’s going on on my phone. i feel kind of zoned out from the point in time after we stopped playing cards to go to brunch. it’s probably because i didn’t sleep well the previous night, because i have a hard time sleeping in new places, or when i share a bed, or when there’s no white noise, or when it’s too hot. he’s tired too, and dozes in the movie theater while we wait for the movie to start. after the movie is over i drop him off and go home, Sunday is supposed to be my chores day, but by the time i get home it’s already 430. i want to take a nap but i have to run an errand and water all my plants, which i kind of don’t end up doing. my errand was to go to the video store to return the movies i’d rented the previous week, of which i only was able to watch 1 out of 2. my favorite video store employee who i hadn’t seen in a long time (i was out of town, he was out of town) was there and we talked and caught up and i learned that he’s a triplet (but he said that the grammatically correct way to refer to both his other siblings was “twin,” he said “my twin” and i said “you’re a twin??’ and he said “well actually we’re triplets but blah blah blah” -- this seems wrong to me but what do i know) and then we were talking about a missing persons poster that someone had dropped off at the video store which was really sad but also that he, the employee, had googled the missing person, and that this missing guy had released music on bandcamp, and that the photo he used for the album cover was of the place that he, the employee, had lived previously and not only that but he, the employee, was actually in the photo that this missing person had used as an album cover on bandcamp. and then the employee said “do you wanna see?” and i said “yeah” and he let me come behind the counter to look at the computer and i hung out back there for a second and told him about a movie that the bartender had been recommending to a guy next to me at the bar the previous night, but which i had thought sounded interesting so i butted into their conversation about it, and since i still dont have my phone to write the name of the movie down, i’ve been telling people about it so i don’t forget. the bartender said it was a french movie called “hedgehog” about a little girl who has an existential crisis and decides she’s going to kill herself in two months. the guy he was recommending it to said, “that sounds really dark, man,” but i said “that sounds incredible and like directly up my alley” and the bartender insisted that the movie was both good and funny. and i was relaying this story to my video store friend and he looked it up and then said “we can probably see if we have it in the store” and he checks their system and they do, in the general “french” section, and i find it and pick it up. he asks me if i’m gonna rent it this week and i say “i can’t cause i’m going out of town this weekend! but next weekend.” and now it’s 11pm and i’m supposed to be finishing my zine but i spent an hour writing this, instead, but i’ve got to finish the zine and send to my friend for his final edits before i can go to bed

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darling-clemmy · 6 years ago

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Here Comes the Sun (do do do do) (ClemxLouis Fanfic)

Summary: Nobody likes the rain, especially Clementine and AJ, so Louis decides to do what he does best to cheer them up.

Genre: fluff, comfort, angst

Word Count: 1,691 words

A/N: has this idea been written before? i really don’t know. anyway, it’s 3 am when i’m finishing this so i hope you guys enjoy!

Cold water rushed through the gutters of Ericson’s Academy for Troubled Youth after pit-patting against the damaged roof. It pooled out into the courtyard, creating murky oceans dividing the picnic benches, perfect for stomping a old, worn boot into. After all, that was practically all one could do outside after days of downpour, especially a five year old boy who got bored and lonesome quickly.

AJ always woke up earlier than Clem, even on nice days, even on days which were perfect. It was different on rainy days, though, like the past few ones. AJ would wait and wait and wait and it seemed like she was never getting up. He could draw dozens of pictures using Tenn’s old art supplies, take multiple laps around the school, and practice his reading and vocabulary all in the hours before Clem woke up. Even when others woke up, all he wanted was for her to. Still, he tried to brush it off as an effect of her being a teenager or her amputation.

He sat on a windowsill in the music room, wedged between a bookcase and Louis’ piano, swinging his legs to kick the wall. His cheek was leant against the cool pane, which seemingly blocked out everything but the sounds of water hitting it. Which, for the boy, sucked, as he hated the sound of rain. It wasn’t calming, nor exciting, as all it truly did was remind him of him and Clem’s time on the road before Ericson. It reminded him of hunger, of cold, of fear.

“Hey, little dude.”

Louis’ voice snaps AJ’s lulling eyes open and over to the doorway where he stood. Surprisingly, he wasn’t wearing his signature coat, meaning he probably just woke up. AJ grinned once he saw the older boy. Even if he wanted Clem awake, Louis was fun, too.

“Hi, Louis!” He exclaimed, straightening his posture against the glass. “Is Clem awake?”

Louis walked over and sat down at the wooden piano bench, staying silent for a few moments. “Not yet, buddy. She, uh, she isn’t feeling too good right now.”

AJ’s face immediately fell into a mixture of confusion and worriedness. “What? Is she sick?”

“No, AJ, she’s okay,” Louis chuckled before saying, “She’s just been feeling a little sad lately. I’m not really sure why, but maybe a visit from you would help her.”

“But what if she’d rather just sleep?”

“Instead of hanging out with you? You’re, like, the coolest guy I know. Of course she’d rather hang with you!” Louis comforted, playing a random array of notes after which sent the child into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, okay! I’ll go wake her up,” AJ gave in. “Later, can you show me some more card tricks? Ruby was asking when I was gonna’ learn more.”

“Of course, little dude. Come find me when you and Clem are done.”

AJ nodded eagerly, a newfound smile plastered on his face, before sprinting off into the hallway. Louis watched the boy leave, making sure he was out of sight. Then, he stood up to start the search for what he came in the music room to find in the first place. A ukulele.

What Louis had told AJ was true—Clem had been feeling sad lately, but Louis knew he couldn’t tell the child why. The previous night, Clem, after much convincing, had finally spoken out about the millions of thoughts running through her mind.

“I’m not a good person, Lou,” Clem had whimpered, meeting his dark eyes. “I know you don’t think so, but you haven’t known me that long.”

“Clem, what’re you even talking about?” He asked, dumbfoundedly, taking a seat close to her on the bed.

“I’ve made so many mistakes, gotten so many people I love killed. I just don’t know how I keep moving on.” Clementine explained. “I’m just tired.”

Louis looked down at the hunched over girl wrapped up in a thin blanket, totally confused at how she could think so low of herself. In his mind, she was perfect, a mix between serious and fun, strong-minded and forgiving, confident and humble. All that and being out-of-this-world gorgeous? He was lucky to even be in her presence, much less be her boyfriend.

He wrapped an arm around the front of her torso, bringing her close to his chest, and placing his spare hand on her back. His lips were pressed between her ear and jaw, making her shiver slightly.

“You aren’t broken, Clem. Or a bad person or evil or-or undeserving of love.” Louis told her gently into her curls. “I love you. And I cannot imagine how my life—how any of our lives—would be without you in it.”

All she does in response is nod her head before lifting up her chin and nuzzling into his neck, peppering small kisses along it.

If Louis didn’t know he was in love with that girl already, then the feeling of her heartbeats next to his would’ve definitely convinced him. And Louis knew that nobody he loved, especially Clementine, should feel worthless.

He still felt that the next morning, when something Clem had told him weeks ago came back to his mind, sparking an idea to make her feel better. She told him that when she was little, her father would always play Here Comes the Sun on the ukulele when she was sad. Sometimes, even if she wasn’t upset, she’d still request him to play it, and of course he did. Louis couldn’t resist the plan to mimic her father’s actions.

After some rummaging around stacks of books and inside drawers, he finally found the ukulele, not even the length of his arm.Of course, it wasn’t the prettiest ukulele out there. It was severely out of tune, but he was surprised the nylon strings had stayed in-tact through all those years. The wood was scratched and peeling, revealing the base underneath, but as long as it played, that was good enough.

Quickly, the boy got to work plucking and tuning, plucking and tuning, until it seemed correct based off of his meek memories of what the little guitar was supposed to sound like. Soon after, he started strumming, attempting to match his vocals to the chords. It was hard enough to play by ear, but to play by just remembering the song was a whole different experience.

Finally, after probably over an hour of just figuring out the notes and repeating them, Louis thought he was ready to perform for Clem, and probably AJ, too. He swiftly stood up and started heading down towards their room, listing through the lyrics in his head. Once he reached the door, he took a deep breath and knocked.

It swung open, revealing the little boy, who looked happier than he had the past few days combined.

“Louis!” He beamed. “Sorry, I forgot to come find you.”

“That’s alright. I had some important business to take care of.” Louis hinted, turning the ukulele in his palm for the boy to see.

Fascination twisted in his face. “What’s that?”

“Well, how ‘bout I show you?” He answered, not waiting for a reply before walking into the room, seeing his favorite girl sitting on the bed, surrounded by paper.

She was already staring at him, sporting a smile which didn’t quite seem wide enough. “Hey, I wondered where you went this morning.”

He strutted over to the bed, sitting down on it so far his back was touching the wall. He explained, “I was planning a surprise. For you.”

Clem’s dark eyebrows furrowed together at his words while her eyes darted from his face to the familiar instrument in his lap. “What is it?”

AJ joined them, sitting down at the open space next to Clementine, still confused as ever.

Louis smirked and prepared his fingers on the fretboard, getting ready to pluck the first melody.

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It’s alright

As he grew more comfortable in what he was doing, he glanced up at her to observe her reaction. Recognizing the song, she grinned.

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces

Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right

Louis briefly winked at her after this verse, realizing the coincidence of this song also referring to her as “darling.” He noticed her light blushing.

Strumming along the now simple chords, he neared the end of the song.

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right

He belted out the last chorus, especially exaggerating the last line, needing Clementine to know that everything was going to be okay.

As soon as his finger pad left the strings and the noise faded out, he glanced up to meet her eyes. They appeared to be more golden than ever, until he realized it was because she was close to crying.

Clementine didn’t waste anymore time, pushing the instrument out of the way to tightly embrace the boy she loved. His hands quickly met her spine, his fingers tracing up and down. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, his nerves finally cooling.

She pulled back, wiping away at her tear-ridden eye bags. Her hand moved up to his jaw with her thumb locked under his chin. “That was beautiful, Lou. Thank you.”

She smiled as she leant forward and shyly kissed his lips. If AJ wasn’t right next to them, she would have been a lot more passionate with it. She felt him grin wider against her mouth.

“Anything for you, darling,” he whispered once she pulled away, faces still only inches apart.

Suddenly, yellow rays shined in between the thick planks of wood nailed to the window. The family of three all looked over, more than happy to be met with the sun for the first time in what had felt like a century. The beams gathered on the hardwood floor and heated up the room, as if burning away every pain from the past.

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.

#twdg #the walking dead game #clementine #louis #aj #clem #clouis #louisentine #clemlouis #the final season #fanfiction #fluff

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beckzorz · 6 years ago

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Out of Nowhere (2/21)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC Summary: An offhand comment at work draws Jesse Kaplan into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s excited at the prospect of normalcy, but there’s nothing normal about falling in love with the Winter Soldier. Words: 3577 A/N: HELLO FROM PART 2!!! Enter Bucky! :D And enter some unconventional formatting... A lot of this is drawn from my personal experiences, and a lot of my personal experiences involve texting my friends about what’s going on a hundred times a day XD (Sorry @kentuckybarnes!) The song for this chapter is “Solitude” by Duke Ellington from In a Sentimental Mood. Hope you enjoy :3

PART 2: “SOLITUDE”

Today, 6:38 PM

itsadrian: ahhh you look great!!!!! jesse.kaplan: Thanks :3333 jesse.kaplan: I’d feel better about this if I had a cocktail dress newer than the 1950s itsadrian: lol itsadrian: that’s what you get for only buying vintage clothes jesse.kaplan: My jeans are brand new Adrian… it’s my soul that’s the Real Old™ around here jesse.kaplan: don’t judge itsadrian: can’t help it itsadrian: at least it’s a nice one tho! the 50s are back in itsadrian: and black is classic itsadrian: i think if you went in a dress from the 40s you’d raise some Actual Old But Also Young™ eyebrows itsadrian: 50s seem pretty safe in comparison jesse.kaplan: don’t judge… but I had that same thought process haha itsadrian: SMART itsadrian: that’s why i keep you around :P jesse.kaplan: Well thank god otherwise I’d be having a panic attack on the metro which is never a great look jesse.kaplan: my roommate said it looked ok but I trust you more haha jesse.kaplan: oh geez here we go ttyl!! itsadrian: take a selfie with pepper potts!!!! byeeee

—

Jesse stuffed her phone in her clutch and adjusted its long strap across her body as she ran up the stairs to street level. The benefit was at a fancy hotel in Midtown, a block and a half from the subway. She was grateful she hadn’t given in to the urge to wear her fanciest shoes; her low black heels weren’t debilitating. Not yet, anyway. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too much standing in place.

She hummed jazz to herself as she walked briskly along, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Was it obvious where she was going, dressed up as she was? The benefit wasn’t hugely publicized, or at least she hoped it wasn’t. Sure, there might be a few supers there, but not the whole Avengers squad.

As soon as she rounded the corner, she sighed in relief. Though guests trickled in, the photographers corded off from the entry ignored them. No doubt they were waiting for the famous people.

Jesse hurried to the door, fished out the invite on her phone, and flashed it to the security guard as she went in. She heard sudden calls from the street, but the doors closed before she could see who was arriving.

Inside was cool, fancy—art deco carpeting, gilded columns, a gleaming reception desk. The odd tourist gawked; Jesse ignored them as best she could as she followed the directions of the smiling tuxedoed butler to the ballroom. She steeled herself and went inside.

Alright, so the room was gorgeous. A snazzy bar hugged the left wall, not far from the door, and a small raised stage complete with a Stark Foundation podium was on the far wall. Numbered tables set for ten took up much of the room, but there was a small area for schmoozing by the bar. Jesse brightened when she spotted the quartet just about to play—and a dance floor! Maybe they’d play some jazz, or swing…

Jesse deflated. She didn’t know anyone here.

“Excuse me,” someone said behind her, and Jesse apologized and made her way over to the bar, a vague smile fixed on her face. All she got was a water; no way was she drinking alcohol when she had to talk to strangers. She stood a few steps away from the bar, watching the few couples swaying to the music with a critical eye.

“Jesse?”

Jesse jumped and turned. A fellow dancer! Someone loved her tonight. “Mike! What are you doing here?”

“My company is getting a nod,” Mike said, grinning back down at her. He was pale and very tall—well over six feet—and wonderfully dressed, considering she’d only ever seen him in t-shirt and jeans. “You?”

“My colleague’s in the hospital, so I’m a last-minute replacement. She’ll recover,” Jesse added when Mike’s face screwed up. “If you’re here, I’m not sorry to have to replace her anymore though! How are you?”

“Pretty good, you?”

“Same old. Tired, but what else is new. Anyway, this isn’t exactly perfect music, but wanna dance?”

“Of course,” Mike answered.

Jesse chugged her water and left her empty cup and clutch at her table before hurrying back to Mike as a new song was starting. It had a better beat than the first song, and they snagged a spot near the band.

As soon as they starting pulsing to the music, Jesse’s lingering anxiety completely melted away. There was something magical about dancing with a good lead. Nothing else seemed to matter, and it was so easy to close your eyes and let yourself be led. And Mike was a very good lead.

Once they started doing more complex moves, where Mike was alternatively at arm’s length and swinging her around him, Jesse opened her eyes to avoid collisions. The song was good, predictable—they both hit a break in the music and grinned at each other.

Then Jesse recognized a face in the little crowd that was gathering around to watch them, and she couldn’t help but stare.

Sergeant Barnes.

His expression was severe, intense; his hair was pulled back tightly. Combined with a high forehead and his sharp suit, he looked two steps shy of terrifying. After a moment, he met her gaze. Jesse forced a smile and looked away, heat rising to her cheeks. She kept her eyes on Mike, only daring to look as far up as the onlookers’ collars when she wasn’t facing her friend.

The music was fun, her dancing was good, so why did the guy who had been so impressed by her work look so displeased with her now? Why couldn’t he smile like everyone else, and save her from being so worked up as to lose enjoyment in her one consolation tonight? She felt someone staring, cutting a line across her arms, her collarbone—she didn’t dare look to see if it was still him. She had to talk to him later.

The song finally ended, and Jesse thanked Mike with a customary hug. Some of the onlookers clapped, and Jesse warmed a little as she smiled shyly around at them. Barnes had vanished, thank god.

Jesse slipped away to get her cup, disturbed. She couldn’t think of Barnes like that; he’d done so much for BCEI. And Marilyn liked him. She took a breath to clear her head and arrived at her table.

Oh.

Well.

Sergeant Barnes was sitting next to her things. An old woman was chatting to him from his other side. Barnes glanced at her as she approached, but almost immediate turned his whole body to face her. His gaze was less severe than before; maybe the effect of his companion?

“Hello,” Jesse said, doing her best to maintain a genuine smile.

“Hey,” Barnes said. His voice was soft, a little melancholy, and not exactly friendly. Still, a big improvement.

Jesse slid into her seat and wrapped her hands nervously around her glass, which a waiter came by to refill. The tables were awfully crowded; there was no room to avoid Barnes' gaze without seeming rude. She took a steadying breath and looked back up at him as confidently as she could.

Okay, she knew he was ripped, but his face was oddly delicate. Maybe his sad eyes, or his mouth—Jesse cut herself off.

“I’m here for BCEI instead Marilyn,” she told him.

Barnes stiffened. His eyes narrowed as he leaned back a little to regard her with a suddenly terrifying demeanor. “Oh? What happened to Marilyn?”

“She broke her ankle,” Jesse blurted, her own eyes widening as his narrowed even further. “She’s alright though! Just a fall. A cat or… something. I’m sorry.”

“Bucky, contain yourself before you make this poor girl faint,” the old woman on Barnes' other side cut in. She leaned forward a bit and smiled, not unkindly, at Jesse. “You dance beautifully.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” Jesse said, cheeks hot. She stared into her water, trying to relax.

“I’m sorry,” Barnes said, low and repentant. “I was looking forward to seeing her.”

Jesse forced a little laugh. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too! She was looking forward to coming.”

“But you weren’t?” he asked. She looked up at that. He had his eyebrows raised a little, and she flushed anew. Was it so obvious?

“I only found out I was coming this morning,” she hedged. “I’ve never been to anything like this. I don’t think I’ll know if I should’ve looked forward to it until it’s over.”

He let out a rueful sigh. “Smart.”

Jesse sipped her water rather than agree with him. Far be it from her to tout her own intelligence. Though she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking of. He had to be thinking of something specific. She wondered.

The old woman on Barnes' other side reclaimed his attention with what turned out to be a long-winded story. Jesse couldn’t help but admire his quiet attentiveness. Perhaps listening to other people was easier than talking for him? She often found it so among strangers.

Five minutes in, the band quieted. The rest of their table filled in as Pepper Potts mounted the stage, a hulking man in a suit close at her heels. Jesse tried to figure out who in the crowd was a donor and who, like her, was a beneficiary. It was easier with the women—the rich ones had nicer, blingier jewelry. The men… all wore suits.

Potts began her speech, silencing all other conversations. “Hi and welcome to Stark Industries’ annual benefit…”

Jesse listened, half attentive, as Potts introduced various people representing various organizations. Each one went on stage to applause and shook Potts’ hand (continued applause), made a short speech about their Good Works (followed by applause), and left the stage. Jesse began to tune it all out, but then she heard Barnes' name and perked up.

“—Sergeant James Barnes, for his work with the Brooklyn Children’s Education Initiative.”

A smattering of applause echoed through the room as Barnes stood. The couple across the table from Jesse paled as they stared at him in fresh realization. Had they really not recognized him? Jesse glanced around; the shock and whispers were poorly masked by polite clapping. Apparently he wasn’t as instantly recognizable as she’d assumed.

A sudden burst of panic flared in her gut. Would Barnes' checkered history color BCEI’s opportunities in the future? Had she made a mistake soliciting his help?

She stared anxiously around the crowd, then back to Barnes. He stepped nimbly between the tables and up the steps to the podium, shook Pepper Potts’ hand, and adjusted the mic to his six-foot frame.

“Thanks,” Barnes said. His voice was soft, round, and vaguely ironic, but he met her eyes from across the room and gave her a serious little nod. Surprised, Jesse nodded back, and Barnes looked up to the prompter. “The Brooklyn Children’s Education Initiative provides the opportunity for underprivileged kids in my hometown to be fully engaged with their education. Their after-school programs at schools around Brooklyn welcome students of all backgrounds. I was lucky enough to participate in a program about the Great Depression, and it was inspiring to watch the students take control of their own learning. BCEI is a great cause. Thanks, Pepper, and everyone else who enables them to continue their good work.”

Once he stepped back, Jesse relaxed. It was so obviously scripted that she felt no qualms in only clapping as long as most others. It wasn’t any skin off his back if she didn’t give a standing ovation for her own organization.

Best of all, the speech completely sidestepped his questionable past.

When Barnes made it back to the table, Jesse smiled up at him briefly, finally at ease about her attendance. She was done! BCEI had done its part. As soon as the rest of the speeches were done, she could leave, dance with Mike, make small talk—

Well, hopefully not small talk.

As the next speech went underway, Jesse looked through the crowd for Mike, finally spotting him a few tables away next to a middle-aged blond woman. Mike was busy watching the speech, but the woman eventually glanced Jesse’s way. Jesse gave a little smile and looked back to the stage, embarrassed.

Pepper Potts finished her closing statements and left the stage (to applause) as the band picked back up. Jesse turned at last to Barnes and cleared her throat.

Once he turned to her, she said, “Thank you for your speech.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. He took a sip of his drink; Jesse realized he too was just drinking water, and wondered why. Habit, or necessity?

“I don’t know your name,” Barnes said suddenly.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m Jesse.”

He studied her face. “You apologize a lot,” he said. “Why?”

“I dunno, Jewish guilt?”

“Ha.” Barnes said, but he was not smiling.

Of course—he’d worked for Nazis. Jesse winced.

“Alternatively, bad parenting?” she offered.

Barnes gave a tiny smile—his first all night. Jesse almost cheered.

“Hi, Jesse.”

Jesse spun in her seat. “Mike! Hi!” She smiled up at her friend. Mike glanced at Barnes with muted curiosity.

“Wanna dance?” he asked.

She smiled and jumped to her feet. Let Barnes be awkward at someone else. “Take a guess.”

–

Jesse danced with Mike for a single glorious song. When a stranger asked her to dance, she accepted, but instantly regretted it. She smiled tensely the whole time, using as much force as she dared to keep her shoulder from popping out of its socket. Once the song was over, she fled back to Mike with a relieved sigh.

While they were dancing, someone kicked the back of Jesse’s ankle. She stumbled with a wince; Mike gripped her elbow, steadying her.

“I’m sorry! Are you okay?” she asked automatically, turning to face whoever had stepped on her.

It was Barnes, dancing with the old woman from their table. His face was pinched, but as she spoke his expression grew incredulous.

“I kicked you,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, it happens all the time,” Jesse said. She rolled her ankle, containing a wince. Barnes just stared at her. She smiled, hoping to diffuse—reassure him. “So I’ll have a bruise! It’s the cost of doing business. Not a big deal. You’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, still looking at her as though she had two heads.

“Good,” Jesse said. She nodded with finality and turned back to Mike. As they finished out the song, she occasionally met Barnes' eyes. It was hard to look friendly under the force of his confusion, especially as she considered the necessity of asking after the well-being of someone who had not been hurt when that someone was a supersoldier.

Of course Barnes was fine. He was engineered to be fine.

Physically, anyway. Who knew what was going on in his head.

The song ended—Mike timed a dip perfectly—and Jesse hugged him and turned to get some water.

“Would you like to dance?”

Jesse blinked up at Barnes. He stood in her way, his gloved hand held out to her. She looked down at it, then back to him. Why was he asking? Out of politeness? He’d been more confounded by her than anything…

More importantly, did she actually want to dance with him? Would he hurt her? He didn’t seem to know how to express himself in public. Did that translate to dancing?

Well, the old woman had finished her dance with him in one piece, so she probably would too.

“Okay,” she said finally, and put her hand in his.

The corners of his mouth turned up, though she wouldn’t call it a smile exactly. He put his other arm—his flesh-and-bones arm—under hers and across her back, drawing her in so close that her nose brushed his jacket until she turned her head aside. She let out a shallow breath and tried to relax as the music started, simple and slow and gentle. His muscles shifted with his movements, and a sudden flush spread over her face as she realized how close they were. Jesse swallowed. Should she try to make conversation? Should she just bear the silence? What would they even talk about? They’d covered all the normal things back at the table…

“You dance real well,” Barnes said suddenly.

Jesse hummed her thanks and smiled despite herself. If someone who had lived through the actual swing era thought she was doing a good job even when she was so damn uncomfortable, she had to be good.

He moved them a little apart and studied her. “And you look… a little out of place.”

“What?!” Jesse laughed, too bewildered to be offended.

“Your dress is out of time. It’s, um…” Barnes frowned. His gloved hand clenched around hers, and her smile fell flat. Her heart twisted at his obvious confusion. God, no wonder he’d stared at her! He couldn’t place her. Captain America had missed everything for all the years he was missing, but the Winter Soldier… hadn’t.

Her face burned. How could she have been so self-centered? Every concern she’d had about Barnes had been all about her, not him. So what if he was awkward, or intimidating? Hadn’t he suffered enough? Hadn’t he earned the right to be free of her judgment?

“It’s from the fifties,” Jesse said at last, glancing at their clasped hands as his hold tightened again. He loosened his grip, chagrined.

“I thought so,” he said. “But—”

“My hair’s very much not fifties,” she added. “That might have thrown you off?”

Barnes tilted his head as he regarded her. She tried not to squirm, but being stared at by a man trying to piece her various incongruent parts together made her flesh crawl. It felt like an eternity before he was satisfied.

“Right,” he said. He let out a breath between his teeth and drew her back in, settling his arm securely around her. “Thank you.”

His mouth was by her ear, and the quiet warmth of his words sent a sudden shiver through her. Unable to speak, she just nodded.

How could such a strange, displaced man make her feel his presence with nothing more than a simple thank you? Dancing with him was so different from dancing with all the other leads she knew. With them, she had familiarity, comfort… There was comfort here too—he knew what he was doing, no question—but it was spiced with something dark. However awkward he was in conversation, they weren’t limited by that now. Behind that uncomfortable veneer, Barnes was dangerous. Somehow, that thrilled her.

Jesse sighed and closed her eyes, trying not to melt into Barnes’ solid hold. Her efforts must have been in vain, as he tightened his arm around her ever so slightly. She expected him to put her back to a safe distance, but… he didn’t.

Well, she’d take it. Whatever danger he posed to his enemies, right now he wasn’t hurting anyone.

The rest of the song passed in a pleasant blur. When it was over, Jesse hesitated before stepping back. Barnes had gone still, but he let her pull away without resistance.

“Thank you,” Jesse said. She smiled tentatively up at him.

Barnes didn’t answer; his eyes were dark and his shoulders tense. He stared down at her, unblinking. Jesse bit her lip, unable to look away. After a tense moment, he let out a quick breath, nodded sharply, and stalked away.

Jesse stood immobilized on the dance floor until Mike came by with his own water.

“You okay, Jesse?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said. She shook off the strange aftereffects of her dance with Barnes. “I think I’m going to head out. It was great seeing you! Will you be at the dance on Thursday?”

“I should be,” Mike said. He gave her a quick hug. “Bye.”

“See ya.”

Jesse made her way back to her table, still half in a daze as she gathered her clutch and wove her way back to the door. She was almost there when someone put a firm hand on her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

It was Barnes. His face was back to its normal solemnity, but Jesse flushed all the same at the sudden memory of being held against him.

“Where is Marilyn staying?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I can find out,” she offered reflexively, then frowned. “Although I don’t know how to get in touch with you.”

“Give me your phone,” he said. “Unlocked.”

Jesse blinked and did as he asked. There was no arguing with that tone of voice. Barnes started a new text, and Jesse raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you worried I’d give your number to someone else?”

He gave her a dry look, but paused. “Are you going to?”

“No…”

“So I’m not worried.” He sent the text and passed her phone back to her. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Jesse tucked her phone away, bewildered. “You and Marilyn must have really hit it off.”

“She’s great. No nonsense, no judgment.”

Jesse bit the inside of her lip. “I suppose so.”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed at once. “What do you mean?”

“Oh—well, everyone’s judgmental. It’s just that Marilyn is usually right, so it’s not so obvious. Or annoying. At least for sensible folk. You know.”

Barnes smiled, his face transformed into something sweet and warm. Jesse couldn’t help but smile back.

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes fic #winter soldier x ofc #winter soldier fic #becca writes #the not for profit fic

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amazildoessomethingstupid · 5 years ago

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We Did It Bois!

youtube

WE GOT DAT ANON HATE! I actually had to double-check cause I wasn’t sure if I turned on asks for this blog, apparently not. Fuck, man I’ve been missing out! This mad lad had to go over to False Idol to leave a comment anonymously. And since I don’t want that blog getting cluttered let’s respond to it over here shall we? Let’s see what this man has to say.

Oh I’m sorry, was my use of the “N-word” inappropriate? I thought it was quite clear, I was making reference to a joke that’s been a part of the public conscious and internet culture for like a decade now. And I’m absolutely certain if I used that old artifacted to shit meme you wouldn’t be offended!

Oh wait, no.

There we go. That cool? You get the joke?

I mean, it’s literally the same words, same usage, same context, and demeanor that’s meant to be conveyed! I actually shy away from using slurs in a purely derogatory way, because that’s not fun or funny. And if you didn’t catch on, the whole point of these rants is to have fun, while tearing into the comic where it deserves! But oh no, I can’t say the N-Word even if its clearly done as reference to a popular meme! Even if it’s done in a positive sense, in approval of a character and their actions! How dare I as a brown man use the N-Word! That’s only for black people! I should stick to the slang words of my own culture that no one gets or would interpret as a joke, right you fucking cuxika haoli?!

And as for the cocksleeve comment, oh sure. I’m sorry, did I hurt the feelings of this fictional teenage girl? By calling her a shameful lazy plot device? Forget the fact I was carpet bombing these “kids” with F-bombs like LBJ in ‘nam, calling a fictional girl in a comic a narrative cocksleeve is just too far! Even though I clearly stated what the term represented, and how it’s not actually a sexual term in the context of the rant, this is clearly me calling this fictional girl a sextoy. How dare I? I should use a softer word, or descriptor in this instance, to lessen the impact of its use, make it less intuitive as to what it means, like all the words you people come up with! But oh don’t worry, I know what you’re saying. Alright! Fine! It’s a harsh word! I even stated as such in the rant, I should’ve used softer words. Kinda like how my friend says I shouldn’t call Paulo a Cop-Out Gay, but instead use the term “queerbaiting” because that definitely has the same impact and gets the point across so much better.

And while we’re on the subject of fictional character ages, you do realize Sam (the cat I use to represent myself in these rants) is like 13, right? And hell, in the rant I’ve not only battered her to a broken pulp.

Bu I also shot this fictional 13 year old girl in the face!

drink alcohol

and attempt suicide! (although Taeshi’s done that too...)

Oh man I actually forgot where I was in this ask, what’re they going on about now?

If you’re talking about the reaction images, you do realize that these are all speed sketches right?

I literally made this whole page of reaction Sams in like an hour. Thus the lack of polish, or that much detail. This entire series is just a fun side thing to break up monotony (and punish myself for when I start to slack off). Not to mention, if being good at an art medium was the only way you could be a good critic of said medium, then I guess Red Letter Media, Doug Walker,and Brad Jones are all hacks. Not to mention all the other independent movie, music, and art reviewers too.

(although I’m sure you’d probably be the guy who’d argue that RLM are all hacks anyway)

and I like how you’ll insult my art and writing, but the only actual complaints you have are on the words I’ve used. And a lame insult to my art. And you say I don’t know how to write a story, but you don’t insult any part of my story or writing.

You don’t even have to look at all of it either! I had a little snippet right in the rant! It’s right there, you think I can’t write a story, or character? Why don’t you criticize these scenes I pulled from my own comic? And don’t worry, I’ll let you critique it even if you draw worse than me! Cause I’m just a nice guy like that~

But I see you’ve written more, so let’s see what that’s about.

Excuse you! I’ll have you know I’ve been drawing these fancomics for almost FIVE years now!

And yeah, guy. It’s called perseverance and dedication to the craft. It’s what happens when you have a hobby that you love, and spend time working on. It’s how you can go from this

to this

From this

to this

I know 4 years seems like a long time to progress, and it is. But y’know what? That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve spent 4 long, straight years on this stuff, and that’s a feat that too few artists are able to accomplish. I’ve seen so many astists and webcomics, fan projects, fall apart and not even reach one year before they burn themselves out or give up. Artists much greater than me, who honestly deserved to have their stories told, and visions seen. And you can say whatever you want about me, but y’know what? I can proudly say, I finished a long-form story comic. I said what I wanted to say, I made the comic I wanted to make. And that’s something that too many artists don’t live to see. And hell, that’s something Taeshi can’t say!

I still have work to do, (clean up my lines, work on backgrounds more, be better at plotting scenes...) but I know that if I keep pushing at this rate, and bear in mind what I should improve; the next 4 years will only get better. The only reason I’m not better now, is because of my time on the forum and being pressured by people like you to give up and not pursue what I love doing. Instilling a sense of insecurity and self-doubt I didn’t have before. But then again, it’s because of that, that I learned to look so deeply into my own stories to figure out what’s wrong and work on it. To look at BCB and see its own flaws and to call Taeshi out on that, and to not make those same mistakes myself.

and even better

It’s what’s made me smart and tough enough to not just take a punch, but throw it back at you.

But now to the final comment!

“No note Joe”?

Oh my god, what do you even say to something like that? Is that really the best insult nickname you could come up with? Is this the kind of lame ass insults you make when you restrict what words you can use? Jesus! That doesn’t even make sense! I know what a one-note person means, I can assume what a no-note person means, but I don’t know what that would have to do with however many people actually care about my art. Dude are you okay? I mean this in a serious way, I don’t mean to insult really but...

Are you mentally deficient? are you actually retarded? If so, I admit I do feel a little bad about this.

but also

> Only you, and what, three other people give a shit about your stank artwork and attitude.

BRUH

SuitCase WISHES there was only 3 people who are like me.

But that’s the problem isn’t it?

You really believe that I’m the only one who thinks this shit. You honestly think that I’m just a random outlier who is just bitching on the internet. Let me tell you, I’m not alone. And for a long time, I thought I was. When I started doing comics almost 5 years ago, fully believing I was alone. But what I learned from those 4 years making comics, working on the canon, and now doing these rants was that I wasn’t. That there are people who feel these frustrations. Not all of them, maybe not to the same degree as me, but they are there. And what’s sad is that I’m probably the first and only person they’ve heard talk about this shit. To say the things they’ve been thinking to themselves, and hiding from people like you, because they know if they tried to voice their opinions they’d get shut down the same way. I’m not championing anyone, I’m not trying to be a role model, or want to be some icon of controversy or dissent.

I just got no more fucks to give, and a lot of shit to say.

I’d also like to mention, because someone brought up the point that this person is probably just a troll. And I shouldn’t respond, but calling/assuming someone’s a troll and ignoring them is exactly what SuitCase does, and if there was someone I’d like to think I’m better than, it’d be fucking SuitCase. Besides, I’ve already got the next update for False Idol colored and lined, and ready for words, and the next update after that sketched up and ready for lines. So I can spend the time to meme the hell out of an asshole. And if you think I ain’t gonna take the opportunity to make fun of a guy who can’t properly criticize, argue, or even insult me.

Then you really.

on some shit.

(Part 2 of the rant will be coming soon)

#rant response #ask

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tumblunni · 6 years ago

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Hhhh bunni legs pain accomplishment day

I HAVE FINISHED THE SHOPPING OF HELL

Tfw u only get paid 4 days before christmas and have to rush everything aaaa

It was bad enough today so i'm so glad i got it done before it got even more busy!

Misc boring essentials i bought for myself: new phone charger cos broken, new trousers cos i spilt hair bleach on my only two pairs, new shoes cos my left shoe literally snapped in half down the middle like wtf even happened there, cheap pink hair dye from a discount store cos i wanna try different colours but in a thrifty way

Now for EXCITING CHRISTMAS PRESENT TIME!!!!

First off SO MANY pc and xbox 360 games from Every Charity Shop In Cardiff, St Mellons, Rumney and Llanrumney. My sis has been trying to find some games to play but was like 'dont worry about it i can just wait til the charity shop gets something good'. So i thought i'd get some stocking stuffers via all the charity shops on my side of town. By our powers combined we will blitz the entire vale of glamorgan's discount gaming scene!!! I found SO MANY good stuff for £1/£2/£3 like holy shit i love when charity shops dont know the proper price for shit XD

speaking of which i also found a WEBCAM for £2! If its that cheap it probanly isnt great but itd still be fun to play around with! :D and the same store also had an old vintage G1 My Little Pony coffee mug in excellent condition. Oh god the nostalgia! My support worker gave me a lift to llanrumney so i had to awkwardly explain why i had an armful of weird 80s mugs and big teary eyes!

Speaking of vintage, i found this new vintage toys and games shop in cardiff called Galactic Attic! The name hooked me in and then they actually DID have pokemon inside! As well as all sorts of stuff ranging from 40s to 90s, wow! There was even a lil pile of old 90s gaming magazines in the corner, covered up by a bunch of boxes. I'm glad i noticed them! I got the announcemt issues for pokemon diamond pearl and platinum in a weird old pokemon fan magazine that i loved as a kid. Im kinda sad that nowadays we just have one official magazine fpr each console and not the wild madness of amateaur journalists failing horribly to get news from japan. Shame they didnt have Beckett Pokemon cos that one was infamous fot drawing its own terrible interpretations of pokemon sprites to avoid copyright. And speaking of terrible, they even had bootleg pokemon!! I talked to the cashier and he was like "you know those are fake right" and i was like "yeah its so nostalgic thats why i want em" and he was like "lol yeah they actually sell pretty well so i'm not mad my supplier ripped me off". It was a pretty good and awesomely terrible fake at the same time? There was this exact replica of some japanese display stand for the product and then the actual pokeball toys looked perfect BUT the mini pokemon inside were.. Really not. I am so damn happy with the surprise inside my one, surprise inside has never been more accurate! I can't take a picture now cos my phone is charging but REGICHEETO. Just..just imagine that, and whatever you're imagining it is probably worse. I love it so fuckin much. Also less hilariously there were some bootleg mini pika plushies with actually (as far as i can tell) their own unique design? They have cute lil winter scarves and an art style that reminds me of the Magical Pokemon Adventure manga. A really cute and good bootleg that i would have loved to see as a real product! The only way you can even tell its a bootleg is because there's no marking on the tail. I dunno, maybe if i still have some brown fabric in the cupboard i could fix it? Or maybe its unique tail makes it even more special! I mean there's Cosplay Pikachu with its double tail marking so maybe this is her cousin Accessory Pikachu with no markings? He just likes wearing scarfs and hats and stuff. OMG HE'S THE POKEMON GO EVENT PIKACHU!!!!!!

Along the miscness of finding a few things for myself, i also found: cute lil pokemon pencilcase, kingdom hearts blind bag, cheap copy of Fruits Basket volume 1 cos the new remake is coming out soon and i wanna Get Hype! The KH blind bag was really weird cos i didnt know they now have an entirely different set as well as the keychains i bought before. Its kind of a shame the art style doesnt match cos vexen is only in the keychains, alas! But i do really love these ones! Theyre apparantly made by funko pop but dont have the art style AT ALL, they just look like really accurate versions of the characters in mini form. Its kinda like the 'distance animation' style in steven universe? (Incidentally they also do SU ones but they missed the opportunitu to actually use the distance style, lol) I got a Sora in his kh2 outfit and i'm decently happy with that, its not one i really wanted but its not a bad one either. But i think now i've tried the fun of surprise once i'll just buy the actual ones i want off ebay later. They have roxas in his organization outfit! With a happy smile!!!

Oh oh and then EVEN MORE XBOX GAMES OF THE WILD THRIFT STORE VOID! i managed to find the whole fable series, two assassins creeds, saints row, gta, some misc shooter games and racers that she wanted but i dont know much about, mass effect 2 and ff13. I think maybe one or two others cos i cant fully remember right now. Theyre all in separate bags strewn across the room and my shoulders feel like death so i'll sort through them later.

Aaaand i wrote up like 14 paragraphs more but tumblr didnt save my draft fpr some fuckin reason and now im way too tired to do it again

Briefer summary:

* had a huge horrible panic attack getting stuck in a skyscraper shopping centre clothes place full of screaming and every perfume smell and WHY DO I HAVE TO NAVIGATE THIS HELL MAZE TO FIND THE ESCALATOR and seriously i was my most primal animalistic self and i went full fight or flight on this bitch

* had a lovely time visiting Cool Shop Grandma and rambled the story of how i met her and how we became friends but hhh too tired to rewrite. But anyway today i gave her a christmas pikachu plush as thanks for everything and cos her shop is moving on to its next location soon. She got really teary and gave me a big hug! She's gonna be at a comic con in march so i hope i'm able to go to that and see her again.

* went on a wild goose chase looking for harry potter merchandise and eventually found a gold plated replica of the movie prop version of the time turner and HELL YES my sis will love it!

* rambled about several market stalls that were cool but i can make a separate post about that in the morning when i find their contact details to advertise them

* got a plushie delibird and decided to take selfies with it everywhere to try and fight my social anxiety somehow. We went to a neat lil restaurant and had cheesy fries and a coke float!

* asked for a refund on an item for the first time ever and im proud of myself

* went off on a mystery bus trip to buy a preowned 3ds and pokemon games from a lady in an online preowned stuff facebook group and it didnt go horribly and i am glad! She was really nice and i witnessed A Good And Smart Parenting Moment and man it healed my heart and i wish i'd been raised that way. Again i'll probably ramble about the details later when im less tired, it really touched my heart seriously! And now i have MANY GIFTS FOR SIS!

* in total i was out present shopping from 9am to 8pm and i clicked my shoulder out of its socket for a split second from.all the heavy bags. Now im in a lot of aches and i need a sleeps

The End

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sunnysynthsunshine · 6 years ago

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3rd Comedy Monologue

“Do any of you remember Rugrats?”

“The 90s cartoon about talking babies that went on adventures”

“Yeah well you know Angelica the whiny,spoiled character?”

“I actually kind of liked her maybe it’s because I related to her when I was little or maybe it’s because I liked how cool she was she was able to tell the babies about stuff they didn’t know about, playing a part in their imagination.”

Anyways speaking of children,they’re alright and they are usually one of the following

“Mummy Daddy why do they get to pick a sweet not me what did I do?”

“Waaaa I want that I want that”

“Hi there, do you want to play?

“Your good at art,I couldn’t draw like that”

“Thank you young soul you are too pure for this world”

Me on the other hand,was a whinging cowardly little sod

Now I’m not a child anymore but I am still mistaken as one

Yeah,that happens

17/18 years old,old enough to vote,old enough to drive,old enough to move house & old enough to realise my phases of being a tory “skeptic” were pointless

Yet sometimes people still think I’m someone who likes ice-cream,toys and video games

Well I mean I do like those things I’m sure some of you like those things too

We are children at heart but physically and mentally we evolve and learn with time

I’ll be an young adult,and I love it I might not have a place of my own yet but I love being able to learn new things and see new places I couldn’t see when I was a kid.

Then again my teenhood wasn’t that good either because I had a developmental condition that made me different than others mentally,my interests were very intense and I got panic feelings when around crowds or in difficult situations

My primary school classmates liked JLS,Partying and other things that I didn’t like or couldn’t do

While now I’m warming up to certain things I’m still happy I didn’t like JLS.

I on the other hand, liked the sims 3,dolls,the 1980s,old cartoons and films.

So...a game where you become God,plastic models,the age of neon graphic design, and innovative video games and...yeah that hasn’t changed has it?

Well I don’t play the sims anymore,my laptop has no cd rom drive,I used up the data on my old one, from downloads I’d buy from the exchange store

Sims also was one of the few things that got me into my “emo” phase

I’d be looking at sims videos on youtube they’d usually be very sad and in the background there’d be evanescence,my chemical romance or avril lavigne

I’d be sitting at the back of the living room at a gathering and I’d be listening to Sims 2 sad story part 1 because it had good music. I later learned the names and that I was a bit of a goth,a emo,a metalhead because I liked gothic and j-metal any of that.

Dolls…..

now this was embarrassing I’m sure we all have those songs where as soon as you hear them you feel a film reel of negative memories return. For me that was

Barbie Girl by Aqua, weird because aqua are a good band,but that song oh that song it was so annoying

Picture this

Someone in their final primary school years, who still collects dolls,

Now! Would you ignore that or would you use that outdated song as a way to mock them because they were still enjoying a thing, meant for children.

I received the latter,because of that when I’d hear people sing that song simply just because they liked it I’d get confused and offended a similar thing happened with my little pony

I used to sing and perform for people in the playgrounds other times I’d keep to myself

I loved my little pony before the new wave I loved rewatching episodes of the old 80s mlp series of goblins,witches and giants...oops that was a different show I was describing there

And one of the songs I’d perform was the original theme song

My Little Pony~ My Little Pony~

What will today’s adventure be?

My Little Pony…My Little Pony

Will there be exciting sights to see?

Nope to some of my primary school audience the lyrics were

“My little pony skinny and boney”

*sarcastic deadpan laugh*

Ha ha ha,

Then again I wasn’t much better

I used to make youtube videos with those “dolls”

They weren’t very good

They had bad editing and barely any plot beyond badly structured fourth wall jokes

Yet I wanted the whole internet to know about them even if they weren’t interested

I was a easy target and while I did get tired of that,change interests and go into a different fandom direction

Some things were still the same

I was still cowardly,weak and timid and that was a problem

I was always following others,I didn’t make my decisions often,because of the condition and my own loneliness I couldn’t do things other teenagers could.

I never had a sleepover,I never had a crush that wasn’t one-sided and I didn’t have much independence

Even when I did have “friends” those friends I would later learn were not nice making me believe I had wasted years that I couldn’t get back.

On...the topic of regrets, dance something I sometimes enjoy but when I studied performing Arts it was what I dreaded…

Note I’m ok with anyone who does like to dance,party or do any of those things

I would just try to take part like everyone else but many times I was put aside or embarrassed in front of the others because of either me having a meltdown or because “my timing was off”

Yes,he did teach me some cool moves and I am more supple now but that was the content and even if I was crap I knew it and tried to practice

Everyday I’d practice each technical exercise and routine but it was still not good enough.in fact it was because of that and other reasons that I couldn’t do that course anymore

All because of,of….Craig Revel Hor not him but he was like him.

Because of that I had to take saturday dance classes...those weren’t fun

The most fun I had was from the songs we danced to and the few positive examples of small talk I attempted with the people there.

Otherwise it was not good...me and little kids specifically loud hyper kids don’t always go well when in the same place..again my timing was off it wasn’t told but I could tell

One of the moments I hated the most was the headshot day

Now we were supposed to just be getting photos taken but the photographer noticed I was shorter than she thought.I laughed it off because I know I’m short but then what did she say in response…

“Your a wee bit vertically challenged”

EXCUSE ME

Now,I may be short but in a class of kids and teens of different ages and heights I was far from the shortest person there.

When I was a teenager I wasn’t a proper teenager the only things that made me a teenager was my age,my angsty attitude and the drama I got into involving political meme posters and anime roleplayers.

The less I say about that the better

So while all the “adults” were telling me to beware of the adult years because of

Oooh responsibilities...ooooh independence ooooh….education

Honestly it’s ok for me so far I’m a fairly organized person so studying is good,I did a assistant stage managing gig for a west side story production which was class by the way and I think i’ll feel a lot happier as a adult.

I have not much to mock about today my political jabs are sometimes good other times they’re like a bad Ben Elton joke on Saturday Live.

“Ha teresa may is like the wicked queen from snow white when she’s in disguise”

yeah? …..and You look like you could front the band Wings mate

(pause)

Speaking of a bad Ben Elton joke

“Oh I never really understood the whole “comedy” business I always prefered being a bit of a writer and I think now with Bohemian Rhapsody being out that those critics will think

We Will Rock You wasn’t that bad.”

Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a show that layered it’s satire of the mainstream establishment under a sitcom narrative about alternative young adult characters where the comedy was good

for once

Once in every life time

Comes a moment like this

Oh I need you, you need me,

Oh my darling can't you see.

Young Ones.

Darling we're The Young Ones.

The Young Ones.

That show,oh I only watched last year but I have so many words

The jokes,the satire,the characters,the setting,the fact it still holds up

I found that show at the right time

It was august 2017

I had finished my GCSE’s,I had left a manipulative friendship and I felt horrible

When I’d go to the cinema people were making noise and I would remember the panic more than the film itself *coughs* Spiderman homecoming

I felt like I didn’t know how to laugh anymore

Summertime sadness

When edgy me came across ben elton’s ronnie barker memorial lecture

Being a fan of Porridge and Open All hours I listened and after hearing about a certain sitcom I started watching...The Young Ones...and it was out of this world

I roared with laughter with each episode,I related to the characters and I felt a connection of some sort

Researching more about the “alternative comedy” genre and I saw a familiar name

I learned I had seen some of his work before,he was the andrex puppy,he was in that king Arthur cartoon and he was in that drop dead fred movie I didn’t watch just because internet critics said it was one of the biggest cinematic flops ever….

Yet I never knew his name until then and I’m still not over that

I looked up his other work,where he was richie,richie rich,lord flashheart and a b’stard of a conservative

(which I would later try to do an impression of, on my final girls brigade show.)

So many thoughts,so many emotions he changed my life

Many things and people have. He is one of them

his work was incredible and iconic and his mantras are very inspirational and useful. He made me realise a lot of things about life,my love of his work also resulted in me meeting most of the friends I have now.

It’s 2019 and I’m now the anarchist I always wanted to be,I’m out of my shell, a bat out of hell,I followed others for too long but I’m my own person now that’s who I will always be

Now say it with me Young Ones..

You shouldn't be afraid.

To live, love, there's a song to be sung.

Cause we may not

Be The Young Ones

very long.

Oh,Doctor Rik.Mayall we miss you,you bastard

The world wasn’t as much of a crap place when you were there to cheer us up

But your still here spiritually in her hearts

As you said yourself we still have your shows and poems

Now! all you punks,skins,rastas,emos,hipsters,creators,viewers,performers,entertainers,observers and fellow peoples poets

let’s gather round and hold our hands in sorrow for our fallen leader

Love is the answer! Goodnight

#monologue #comedy #original monologue

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hyannah · 7 years ago

Text

Anon Archives Vol. 3

I think I already answered a similar question in a previous anon archives, but just in case - most of the time I make my own textures and I may release them publicly one day! In the meantime though, WebTreatsETC has a wonderful library of subtle grunge patterns. The trick to textures is “less is more” so the more concentrated the imperfections are, the better.

...*resolution ;; This isn’t the case with everything. Depending on the subject of your drawing you may want different consistencies. Objects and materials like metals or concrete might require harsher textures as a guide when painting, but for character illustration I’d highly recommend the subtle approach.

Mhmm, well, I’m so bad at explaining... Let me try. I’ll make a proper breakdown one day! (awkwardly written tips under the cut)

Babies and small children have very soft features. They have round, undefined jaws, large eyes with small mouths & noses. As a child grows older, their eyes adjust and grow into their fully developed skulls but, in their early years they can look disproportionately large. You can use this to your advantage in character illustration!

Women typically have curved, rounded features but that’s not always the case. Genetics determines a whole lot when it comes to appearance, so females can inherit masculine traits and vice versa. If you’re going with a typical feminine approach, then rounded eyes, thin eyebrows and delicate chins/jawlines will help. I urge you to experiment, but start simple like this!

Men typically have more chiselled , angled bones with deeper-set features, but as I said before that’s not always the case. Low-set eyebrows and smaller eyes are, in my opinion, the part of the face that most determines “masculinity”, but sharp jawlines with high or wide cheekbones are equally important.

That being said though, it all depends on the character you’re designing. Your character’s age, weight and genetics determines a lot. Many of men have soft features and women can develop sharp jawlines, noses, small eyes, etc. Have fun!

Hey there! That’s an interesting question, because lately I’ve been fluctuating. If I’m well rested and focused, a full piece can take anywhere from 6-8 hours, but depending on the complexity of the piece and other factors like concentration levels, motivation and my mental state - a single piece can take a day or several.

Thank you very much! I wish I could have faith in my character design “process” enough to teach you in confidence, but the truth is a lot of my choices are down to intuition and my own personal aesthetics. Uhm, I can try giving you some pointers though!

It helps to have a rough idea of your characters personality, disposition or backstory first. An individual's appearance can often reflect who they are underneath. It can determine if they are well dressed, if they look after their appearance or what kind of style they carry themselves with. A sad or depressed person may look worn or unkempt. Alternatively, they may be the exact opposite - and have an immaculate complexion in an attempt to hide it from others. It’s all about their personality!

Having a “theme” can do wonders. Much like using fixed colour pallets in art, having a word, object or animal as a reference can help draw parallels between the symbolism and their design. for example:

Wolfe is made to resemble a wolf, so his hair has little tufts and his eyes are yellow. He has claws, sharp canines, and an aloof disposition

Rose, as her name suggests, resembles a rose. She has a prominently red colour pallet, a petal-like birthmark on her eye and subtle blue accents to make her details pop.

Hunter’s appearance purposefully contrasts with his profession as a priest. He’s gruff, strong, foreboding and a man of few words.

Definitely cartoon! I just got so smitten with comics as a kid, I went from still life painting to cartoons pretty quick. So quick that I never really had a true “realism” phase. But I can certainly still appreciate it.

I’m pretty sure everyone’s style is an amalgamation of the things they loved about other artists growing up. By all means, if you wish to take inspiration from my art then go ahead - it’s an honour! I only ask that you don’t copy or replicate my art. Be open to all kinds of style. Experiment and adjust. It’s more fun that way!

(Excuse the awful photo, I missed the short window of natural light Scotland gets in the winter) I have been using the UGEE 2150 monitor tablet for maybe...a year and a half now. It was by far the biggest investment I’ve ever made on a graphics tablet but it was worth it, and is still cheaper than a Cintiq by a country mile (retailing at about £340) He’s a big boy, but he’s reliable, responsive, and feels great to work with. I had a lot of issues with SAI when I set up my dual-monitor workspace and it seems to be a frequent issue with UGEE products, but I did eventually find a workaround and the tinkering was well worth the money I saved. The screen is 21.5 inches and it weighs in at around 8kg total, so he’s not ideal if you travel a lot. However, if you have a fixed workspace environment he’s a keeper!

A Malignant without a host is pretty much powerless. They have no ability to manipulate physical matter, so words are their most powerful weapons. When a Malignant has a host and is possessing their body, they can do all the things a human can. If a hosted Malignant is apparated but isn’t possessing anything, then they can still manipulate their host’s body but nothing else. For example, if Ghasper is apparated but is not possessing Wolfe at the time, then he can still touch Wolfe, but not Hunter or Rose.

I can’t, sorry! That’s for the comic!

Uhm, well Malignants still know enough about their time spent alive to tell you all about that stuff. Their names, voices, etc helps. My ghosts don’t have genitals.

“TBoA” is the acronym for the comic and the full title will be released along with the trailer :)

Oh my gosh, please don’t ever worry about something like that! Anything people make for me is treasured deeply and put on my wall or kept by my desk. I truly care about all the support I receive and I don’t want you to ever feel like I won’t!

This honestly made my day when I read it! What a wholesome story, I’m so glad! Tell your brother he has good taste! And let your mother know she’s right!

What a delight! The more Hunters there are in the world, the better. At least for me. ;)

I dunno why this made me laugh as much as it did, but thank you for making me smile! Wolfe is...not in a good place right now :’(

I looked up the song and the band as soon I received your message and I love them both! Thank you very much for the song recommendation. I absolutely love to listen to new music.

Oh my goodness, thank you so much! I don’t deserve the praise but I really appreciate it. I’d make the worst art wife though.

Yup! I haven’t had the chance to play Warriors or Echos though ... I’m broke and I struggle to make leisure time these days.

ACE!!! You little rascal, I forgot all about this - but thank you so much! My handwriting is chicken scratch, honestly ... I do try to reign it in for my art but I have no doubt you’d soon grow tired of my lopsided, wriggly handwriting.

#anon archives #resources #tutorial #art advice #anonymous #asks #digital art #artists on tumblr

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franeridart · 7 years ago

Note

Happy 1000th post to one off my absolute favorite artists on Tumblr!

This is it!!! The 1k post on this blog!!! It’s me finally getting my ass into gear and answering the asks in my inbox!!! As good charm in hope of not waiting so long from now on hahaha thank you so so much, by the way!!!! :D

Anon said:LITERALLY YOUR TODOROKI IS THE BEST THING IN THIS CRUEL WORLD I LIVE THE WAY U DRAW HIM IM EMOTIONAL HHECK ALSO ALL THE REST OF UR ART IS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD ITS SO NICE UR CHARACTERS ARE LIKE VERY LONG NOODLES THEYRE GOOD™

THANK YOU FOR EVERY KIND WORD AND ESPECIALLY ABOUT THE TODOROKI ONES HOLY SMOKES!!! I don’t draw him much sadly but he’s super fun and comfortable to draw for me, it’s nice to know he also comes out well!!!

Anon said:So like,,, I really miss your bokuroo ;^; Will you ever post with them again???

I haven’t taken a vow that forces me to never draw them again, so, possibly! At the moment posting for the haikyuu fandom is giving me more sad feelings than anything else though, so I can’t promise that’s gonna be any time soon, I’m sorry

Anon said:bruhh i listened to that chiodos song under ur halo, and that one by memphis may fire that was w that bakugo art that was called not enough and uhhhhh ur music taste is dope care to share some more songs?

SURE I’m glad you liked those! Everything by Memphis is A+ and I love it so if you haven’t you should check out more stuff by them ( No Ordinary Love is super nice, That’s Just Life is very dear to me and so is Divinity, Speechless is… my otp song for every otp ever tbh) - Bring Me The Horizon is my fav post-hardcore band and both MMF and Chiodos are that genre so if you don’t know them give them a try! (Blasphemy, Run and Doomed are between my faves out of the latest album, and since you liked Under Your Halo you’re probably gonna like Follow You too) the album right before is amazing too if you’re okay with less melodic stuff, but the further back you go with BMtH the harder to listen to they get, just a heads up - Sleeping With Sirens are on the softer side of post-hardcore lately, Fly, Left Alone, Trouble, Fire and Empire To Ashes are some great ones, between the many, and, uhhhh, at this point I might have recced Nothing More a hundred times but let’s make it a hundred and one, try Funny Little Creatures, Do You Really Want It and Go To War out of the newest album! If you’re into punk and female voices you should check out Tonight Alive too, Jenna has one of my two fav female voices in rock right now (Crack My Heart and Temple are the latest two songs out!) and since I always rec stuff but I never rec anything by my favorite band ever, you ever heard of Alter Bridge? They’re more towards hard-rock/alternative metal, but check out Blackbird, Fortress, I Know It Hurts, Cradle To The Grave and Broken Wings just to make it one for every album I really, really adore this band and everything they ever made

Anon said:I adore all of your art, especially your bnha art!!! I had so many of your drawings saved to my drafts before I read the manga and was really looking forward to catching up so I could look at them all!! They’re all fantastic

AHHH THANK YOU!!! This made me smile lots, I’m so glad you like them!!!

Anon said:What’s coming up? Fluffy, dorky or angsty? (I’m talking about your next work XD just to be sure) Have a great day my friend!

LMAO this was about this one right? I’m sort of a fool honestly cause as I drew it it… didn’t feel actually all that angsty to me? I mean, obviously it doesn’t come after anything happy, but they’re working things out! Making an effort! Loving each other enough to try and understand each other better!! I drew it as something positive but in hindsight I should have expected the reactions lmao so I honestly dunno, I feel like telling you it’s most probably gonna be something happy but as it seems I angst without even realizing, lately #rip

@not-enough-kaneki said:Pass the happy! 💛 When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications! 😊

!!!!! my cats!!!! tea and coffee!!! Bakugou and Kirishima and Bakugou-and-Kirishima and the squad!!!! not having an headache!!!!!! the sound of ocean waves and the sun on winter days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! new music I like!!!!!! nice asks and lovely tags under my art!!!! that’s more than five things but a lot of stuff makes me happy tbh !!!

Anon said:one of my favorite parts (i love every bit of it) of the holiday pic you drew of the squad, is they each have their own personal mug. 10/10

I didn’t think you’d be able to notice Mina’s!!! I’m glad it was visible, I thought I had made it disappear into the background hahaha thank you!!!

Anon said:i just went through your entire kiribaku tag and, honestly, gay (also ur art is soooo good and pure and thank u so much for all the content u make for bnha 💖💖)

It is very gay, isn’t it? The other day I was going through my old stuff and I think I might have slowly turned them mushier oh my hahaha I’m glad you like my stuff, by the way!! Thank you so so so so much!!!!!!!!

Anon said:Thank you for sharing the beautiful Bakusquad Christmas! It’s very colorful and warm & it gives me such a comforting feeling! I love looking at all the details! Kami & Sero’s ribbons, everyone’s mugs, the decorations, all so cute! Especially Mina’s bulletin board with the photos, charms of the boys, & the little alien dude (?) Each time I look at it, I see other cute details!! Sorry to bother you, but thanks again for sharing your art with us! I hope you had a very Merry Christmas!!!!!

It’s not a bother at all!!! Thank you so so much for looking at it long enough to notice all those details!!!!

Anon said:You are so good at giving advice omg

I wouldn’t say I’m especially good at it, I just say what was useful to me lol but thank you! It’s a nice thing to be told

Anon said:Dude, your bakusquad drawings are awesome! Keep up the great work!

Thank you!!!!!!!!!!! I’m super glad you like them!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:The new chapter made me think about Bakugou dealing with his squad as babies all over again. Toddlers would probably be worse.

Depends?? Actually??? Like, at least toddlers aren’t gonna steal his gauntlets and tell him he’s lame and punch him just for the hell of it and be a bunch of smartasses and assholes like. Compared to this bunch of baby-Bakugous he has to deal with in the new arc maybe the squad as toddlers would actually be refreshing lol

Anon said:Um I have a very real crush on ila? Can we please know more about her??

I’m ??? so happy you like her!!!!! I don’t wanna say too much about her cause until I draw her in comics I won’t be too sure about who she really is, but she’s!! a pianist, very tall and sorta insecure about her physical appearance, very soft spoken, incredibly gay, scared of sensory deprivation of any kind. Her full name is Ilaria! Dav calls her Aria, which means air in Italian~ they’re pretty good friends, I have a comic about that I’ve been meaning to draw…

Anon said:So, you like KiriBaku with songs, so what do you think of You Had Me At Hello by A Day to Remember? Particularly the lines, “What have I gotten into this time around, I know that I had sworn I’d never trust anyone again, but I didn’t have to. You had me at hello. I’ve never seen a smile that can light a room like yours, it’s simply radiant, I feel more with every day that goes by.”

s o f t…………. ;; also incredibly fitting considering Bakugou decided Kirishima was his new favorite hero the second time he spoke to him, like, god bless I love those two s o m u ch this one I’m listening to it right now and having feelings (is it Baku to Kiri? Kiri to Baku? why not both for double the feels)

Anon said:Hey Fran!! Have you been keeping up with haikyuu? If so what do you think about the Miya twins? (Personally I think they’re pretty okay, they’re funny when they interact with each other. My favorite of the two is Osamu haha)

I don’t mind them! My fav out of Inari is Kita tho, have to admit - that said I have… sort of been ready for this game to be over for months, now………………

Anon said:Okay but imagine….. Kirishima with freckles

I’ve drawn that, now and again!!! the latest one was this one, and another one I remember is this one :D I’ve been liking the idea of him with freckles even more since it’s become official his hair isn’t naturally red? So now and again I add them in, even though they’re usually not much noticeable haha I do so with Bakugou too from time to time, actually… and the rest of the squad… I just… love freckles a lot… haha

Anon said:Love the squad, love the squad kisses.

HECK YES the goal is to draw at least one smooch for every couple sooner or later !!!

Anon said:I hadn’t even realize that I stuck around for a whole year OwO, anyways, congratulations! Your art style has improved much more than you think, especially since you’ve gotten more into coloring ^o^ I noticed that you’ve also been doing more complicated poses too, so, it’s the little stuff that counts ♥️👍 Hope to see more spontaneous art next year, love you Fran!

THANK YOU SO MUCH I love you lots too??? honestly??? This ask means the whole world to me, I really can’t see much improvement after all but knowing you can DOES help a whole damn lot

Anon said:So I came across this fanfic where Uraraka and Todoroki were a thing. I’m personally not a fan of this rare pair, but the whole scenario was the cutest thing ever. Todoroki basically asks Uraraka to help him confess to Midoriya, but in the process falls in love with her instead.

Awwww that sounds cute! Can’t say I have any particular feelings about the ship, but I am up for Todoroki with nearly anyone so why not!

Anon said:Bro bro bro I’m sorry if this is the wrong channel to go through or something but holy shit I just spent hours going through your entire tumblr and your. Art. And. Concepts. I… can’t??? DUDE YOU’RE AMAZING AND YOUR TATTOO AU!! I?? Just thank you so much for all the awesome work you do honestly made my entire fuckin week with your blog, you are WICKED GOOD AND FUNNY AF. That’s all I got go on with your day you talented ass fiend

I’M CRYING!!! OH MY GOD THANK YOU!!!!!!! I’m gonna pick this ask and frame it right on top of my desk!! The heck!!!!!!

Anon said:Why is Bakugou such a fuckin meme

The real question is why is everyone in class 1A a meme. How do they even keep up. How much of the shit they say on a day to day basis is actually just catchphrases from other 1A kids repeated over and over again. How much of the deadpan ridiculous shit Todoroki says has become an inside-joke. How many 1A kids move and talk like Iida just for the hell of it. How often do they yell DIE at inanimate stuff when it pisses them off. How much stuff is defined as manly even though it has nothing to do with manliness. Do they say “going wheey” instead of “frying one’s brain”. Can anyone outside of 1A even understand them when they speak at this point.

Anon said:You are amazing human bean and I love you 💖 Keep being great ✨👏

Thank you??? ;O; I’ll do my best!!!

Anon said:Just annonly passing by to tell you I F'ing love your take on Ashido And the Kids XD … Way to much fluff And laugh for my heart

THANK YOU!!! I’m happy I can make you laugh!!!! :D :D :D

Anon said:I love you god bless you and your art! THANK YOU!

NAH THANK YOU FOR BEING THIS NICE!!!

Anon said:Hi! I absolutely /adore/ your BakuKiriKami art! I was wondering if you had any headcanons about them/what inspires you to draw them?

More than headcanons for them I have an incredible amount of scenarios I’d like to see them in! And when they’re compact, complete things I usually draw them, which is what inspires me really haha that, and seeing them interact in the manga! Lately I’ve been really drawn to Bakugou and Kaminari’s friendship, actually, so the romantic stuff has fallen in the background while my mind is preoccupied with thinking about them as platonic good pals ahhhhhhh as soon as I’ll work through it I’ll probably get back to drawing them as romantics, that’s just how my mind works lol

Anon said:I love the casual clothes you design for MHA characters! And I really enjoy reading your headcanons-always creative and fun! Is there anything you’d add to anyone’s hero costumes in class 1-A (something that might prove useful/practical for them, or something you’d add just for the heck of it)? Sorry if this is a stupid question or if you’ve answered a similar question before. Thanks for your time!

It’s not a stupid question, don’t worry!! But I generally like to leave myself in Horikoshi’s hands for this sort of stuff, since I both enjoy the costumes as they are AND don’t want to be disappointed in case what I hope for doesn’t actually happen - that said, I’ve mentioned before that I’d really like Aoyama to get redirectors for his laser on his palms and for Kaminari to get a close combat weapon, since with the quirk he has anything metal would actually work wonders for him! He mentioned a sword, but I rest my case that tonfas would be cool, I really want him to use tonfas. A “costume” I don’t understand is Hagakure’s, by the way - would be nice if she got an actual costume and also I don’t really get why she’d wear gloves at all?? Mirio’s costume was made using his hair, I really want her to get something similar! That’s about it tho, I haven’t really thought much about anyone else in that sense~

Anon said:Hello! A few weeks ago I asked about the bracelets you drew for Baku & Kiri. (That art is so beautiful!!) I was wondering if there’s a story behind them; such as, did one of them buy the pair, or did they pick them out together? I’m sorry if it’s a dumb question and if I’m bothering you.

THIS ASK I had lost it, thank you so much for sending it my way again! Actually, Kirishima bought it for himself and Bakugou - I mean to draw a small thing for it, be patient with me while I try to get my ass into gear for it ;O;

Anon said:It’s been a while since you’ve done any BakuKiriKami, do you still like that ship?

I do - as I said a few answers above this one, I’m just finding myself weirdly invested in a platonic relationship between Bakugou and Kaminari at the moment, and also Bakushima stole my focus and soul, but I do still like the ship a whole damn lot, definitely still my fav ot3 in the manga~

Anon said:I love your drawings so much, they always make my day seeing them. But I gotta say that kiri with his hair down is my weakness. He just looks so pure, the cuteness factor goes through the roof.

Thank you???? The Kiri thing is true for canon Kiri too, I’m glad I can bring it in my art!!! Mostly cause when I draw him with his hair down I’m never really sure what the hell I’m doing, I’ll be honest with you lmao

Anon said:hello, holy fUCKin shit how are you this damn good at drawing? like, fuck? thank you, bless you, have a nice day

THANK YOU! And all I do is draw, really lmao I wouldn’t say I’m all that good, definitely not anywhere near the artists I admire, but since all I can do is draw as long as I keep doing that I guess I’ll get there, sooner or later hahaha

#fran answers #im gonna use the holidays as my excuse for how long it took me to answer all of these #....yeah #yeah im gonna do that #oc asks #anonymous

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