#though i got a hand cramp just sketching the thing so i figured clean lines would be the better way to go

[insidiousclouds]

I love these dorks

#cloud creations #fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf fanart #fnaf sb fanart #glamrock freddy #security breach #gregory fnaf #fanart #they were more of a warm up #i havent done clean crisp lines in a while it almost feels out of my style #though i got a hand cramp just sketching the thing so i figured clean lines would be the better way to go #as you can tell its a bit messy #id love to draw them a bit better another time #edit: stop reblogging this my ego is getting too big

[lettersnorth]

It'd be nice to catch the breeze! It'd be fun! That's what Cravendy had thought on a whim. But now that she was up here, after crawling through several spaces far too cramped for any normal-sized person to fit through, she determined the effort to get here far outweighed any benefit. And eventually, she'd have to find a way down. Cravs puts that off for later and looks over the Lilly Hills.

After the meeting with Momori, Aislinn comes across a note left on the desk of her study. A request from Cravendy for Aislinn to engineer an undetectable tracking device. Questionable at best, downright shady at worst but also surprising, coming from Cravendy. She knows the clock is ticking on her own issues but before returning to her business in Ishgard, she goes in search of the oddly absent Seawolf to find out exactly why she would need such a device.

With a bit of searching Aislinn finally finds the woman out on the widow's walk on the very top of the Company House. What was it with the people in her life and high altitudes? She clambers out onto the high walk, with a puff of exertion after squeezing herself through the small attic crawlspace. "Nymeia's breath." she mutters under her breath as she appears and then, "Here you are." louder now, for the Seawolf to hear as she dusts herself off.

Cravendy waits in fearful anticipation as something is shoving its way through the crawlspace. When Lin finally emerges, Cravs doesn't know whether to laugh or cry from surprise. "What the 'ell?! Lin? What brings ye up 'ere?" "Ye look like yer 'alf dust bunny." Cravs, having been 'trapped' out here for quite some time, has had ample time to brush herself off.

Aislinn takes a moment to peer over the edge. The view up here was rather nice. She might even make use of this walk herself sometime when she needed some quiet. She made a mental note of it as she stepped back. "You." she replies, her voice as matter-of-fact as ever. "I came across the note you left on my --" she pauses, noting a bit of dusty cobweb still clinging to the edge of her spectacle frame. She sputters and swiftly brushes at it with a wave of her hand. Clearing her throat, she continues, "..my desk. What's this business about an 'undetectable tracking device'?"

Cravendy stifles a giggle as Lin struggles with the spiderwebs caught in her hair. "If ye've got 'alf a mind to come up 'ere again, we should bring in a team of professional cleaners. It was 'ard for me too, and 'arder still with bugs and splinters every ilm."

"But, ah. Mm." Cravs scratches the back of her head and turns away. This was something she had shared with Riylli and Rising - would Lin respond in the same way? Normally, Cravs would brush off the request, switch the topic. But with two out of two on her side, maybe...just maybe Lin would be receptive as well.

"To put it shortly, I need it to incriminate someone of bein' an arse."

"We should." Aislinn agrees, momentarily pulling the glasses from her face and inspecting them with a frown to be sure they were clean. "I'd wager no one's set foot in the attic in an age." Fitting the frames brusquely back on her face, she passes Cravendy a skeptical look. "Not saying there's not a time or place for that but that might be putting it a little too short for me. Is there a longer version?"

Cravendy grimaces, reacting as if Lin is suggesting she needs a tooth pulled. "Shit...the longer version? Uh, the full version? Ye really got time for that? Not that it's anythin' big." She wheezes. "I mean, relatively, it's small, in the grand scheme of Eorzea burnin'."

The more Cravendy hems and haws, the more Aislinn's concern grows. "I'm not asking for the -full- story if you've not the inclination. But you've got to admit that if you're asking me to hand you a device like that, I need to know at least a little bit as to why. Not only for the obvious reasons as to whether we're wandering into a gray area with a -tracker- but to inform the parameters of this project. What sort of range, for how long, and so on."  she explains.

"There's a loanshark that's botherin' someone I want to 'elp. I figure if I can bring 'em down, they won't be able to pester 'im anymore," Cravs eventually admits, arms crossed. "But on the surface, their record is clean. So I...I may 'ave broken a law or two in order to find some dirt."

"I need the tracker to prove the loanshark's up to no good. Evidence that'll be 'arder to trace back to my own lawbreakin'."

Aislinn expels a troubled breath. It wasn't the lawbreaking that bothered her. Far be it from her to lecture anyone about something like that. She stares out at the vista over Cravendy's shoulder with a considering tilt of her head. In the end, she couldn't hold it against Cravendy if she decided to hold information back. It wasn't like Aislinn herself was as forthright as she could be with her either. "A normal tracker would just tell you where a person's been. A trail on a map. Is that going to be enough?"

"As long as this tracker can't be sensed by Limsa's best, can lead me to wherever she's storin' 'er illegal goods, then it'll be more than enough." Cravs puts a finger over her lips. "....Oh. And if it can somehow be 'idden in a vat of toad ooze."

"I'm 'opin' to bait 'er with it, ask a favor from Dirtpatch, 'ave everythin' legally look....bad, tear down 'er reputation. Maybe even toss her into gaol." Cravs nods, satisfied. "A sound plan, eh?"

Aislinn shoots a glance over to Cravendy, a small measure of amusement sparking there despite her misgivings. "A vat of toad ooze." she echoes. She inhales and tries to think it through like it was a reasonable problem set and not at all the odd request it was. "Acidic? That depends. Corrosion could be a problem if you needed it to last longer than a few bells. And what makes you think she'd drag toad ooze to wherever you're hoping she goes?"

Cravendy frets by tugging on her braid. She didn't think about that, and after harvesting all that ooze, her hands did feel a bit itchy. "Uh, maybe? Is this somethin' ye can test? It's safe for me to dunk my 'and in for a while. It's sittin' in a barrel in my room if ye want to look at it."

"She's a spice trader, both the dust ye put on food and the, er, 'strong' stuff. I 'eard toad ooze is used by pixies for psychedelic effects, and it sure as 'ell ain't easy to come by. She won't resist tradin' for a vat for it, I think."

"Not just a loanshark, then." Aislinn notes. A bit of fire flickers through her eyes. The drug trading detail seems to have drawn the woman's ire. "I can test it." she affirms. "Once I know what I'm dealing with I can decide on a case of some sort. A shell that would protect the device. But that might limit my options, if it still needs to let an encrypted signal through. Maybe something with a delayed activation? She wouldn't detect it at first if she were looking. But then it'd wake itself up somewhere down the line not too long after she took the bait." Aislinn is clearly thinking out loud now, hooked by the challenge set before her.

"Then it'd be a matter of knowin' when to activate it. It could take a couple of suns for it to make it to 'er," Cravs ponders. "So when it activates, ye think she could sense it then? If that's the case, the moment it goes off, I better be ready to jump into action."

"'ow are ye gonna make a delayed shell like that? I've 'eard of slow actin' medicine, but a slow actin' tracker....and an undetectable one at that. Think that's in the realm of possibility?"

The planning and sketching going on in Aislinn's mind is halted by Cravendy's question like a pen scratching wildly off the boundaries of a page. "What do you mean, could she sense it? I thought she might, at best, scan the vat of toad ooze with her own equipment. How would anyone sense a ping of a device going online? Does she have something I don't know about?"

"That's the thing." Cravs snaps her fingers. "I 'ave no clue. If someone was storin' illegal goods, what sort of security measures would they take? I'm imaginin' an empty barn, maybe 'idden by some trees, but...eh. I dunno. What do ye reckown?"

"Depends on how sophisticated an operation you're dealing with." Aislinn answers with a half shrug. "Is this just a side job for her, something to make a little extra gil or is this her livelihood she has to protect? Is she an arrogant person who thinks she'll never get caught or is she paranoid? How long has she been at this?" Aislinn waves a hand through the air as if to say 'and so on and so forth'. "Let's plan as though it's the worst case scenario. She's wily, she's paranoid and she's been at this for years. If so, hiding something in the product might not be the best way to outsmart her." Lin drummed her fingers against her arm in thought. "Who's meeting her to make the trade?"

Cravendy considers this, is relieved to have asked Lin about such matters. "'ow do I put this...what I'm 'opin' to incriminate 'er of wasn't illegal until the Admiral got in charge of Limsa. So at the least, she's been hidin' her stuff for five years. But I would lean on longer, since hidin' from the law is one thing, hidin' from a rats nest of pirates is another."

"As for who's makin' the trade...a couple of old friends of mine. Nostalgically inclined friends."

"You're trying to catch a pirate." Aislinn said with a dawning realization. A conflicted look flitted across Aislinn's face for the briefest of moments. She had recently found reason to feel differently about certain pirates than most. But Cravendy was speaking of a drug trading, loanshark pirate, she reminds herself and stays the course. In every business there was the good, the bad and the downright ugly. "Do you think money will change hands? Or a drink of some sort. I could work with something like that." she shakes her head. "Either way just give me some time to think and I'm sure I can come up with something. When are your friends meeting her?"

"I wouldn't call 'er a pirate. Too old...or...." Cravs looks into the distance. Mindred might have been a pirate in her heyday, and that explained a lot. She blinks. "Ahem, anyway, when everythin' 'appens is up to me. When everythin's ready I can tell my friends what they need to know."

"Back when I 'ung out with 'em,  exchanges were drink free, actually. Everyone 'ad appearances to keep up, and no one wanted a deal to go sour cause Bob can't keep their 'ands off the bottle. But money, aye. Money was exchanged."

Aislinn nods. "Alright, then. As I said, give me some time. I'll come up with something." she hesitates, knowing time wasn't exactly something she had in spades at the moment. "Sooner rather than later, you can be sure."

"No rush. I expect we'll 'ave our 'ands busy with Momori's bullshite anyway. Cheeky lil' red eyed bugger." Cravs shrugs. "It ain't as pressin', is what I'm sayin'."

Relief seems to relax her upon hearing that Cravendy didn't need this device right away. "She says this is all about saving the star. But I still don't trust her an ilm. She isn’t the altruistic sort." Lin turns for the door, preparing to scoot herself back through. "Just...be careful with this drug deal business, alright? Generally, they aren't the best people to be messing around with, you know?"

"There's some other angle she's playin' at, I'm sure of it. Either that, or she's just plain bad at actin' normal." Cravs laughs - she's heard stories about Momori's attempts to smile. "Aye, don't worry. I've dealt with 'er kind afore. Not against 'em, but eh. Same difference."

With the details ironed out, the only thing left now was to figure out how to get down. The passageway through the attic beckoned to the two, promising hair full of webs and dust up the nose. Cravs groans.

#ffxiv rp #balmung rp #rp snippets #Aislinn's shady past comes in handy #All these pirates #Cravendy Hound

[dovakhiindrabbles]

“Please don’t tell them I’m here.” 

Ma’vani’s first impressions aren’t always his best -- this was probably the worst time and place for him to meet his future wife 

Story Underneath! 

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Indeela worked away restlessly at her latest sketch work of armor, each intricate line and twirl a little more different than the last. Frustration began to spill from her fingertips, the design never quite connecting in the exact way she wanted.  

She’d reached one of those points where the world beyond the paper becomes that much more enticing – every little sound of tapping feet or muffled ramblings of voices urged her that much more to give up this chore and hurry out.  

Yet soon enough, she found the option wasn’t even hers.  

The door slammed open to reveal a scrambling Khajit, fur puffed out and pupils thinner than a shard of glass. His white fur melded into pools of deep, warm brown that held amber eyes – nothing short of terrified.  

Indeela shot up, her expression muddling with confusion. “C-Can I help you? If my sister sent you here for a custom design you’ll have to-”  

“Shut up, shut up!” He scrambled after her and whatever sounds he made afterwards became muddled together. He clasped her shoulders, the ends of his claws snagging into her clothes – she could’ve done without it.  

“Y-You – you've got to hide me! Please! They can’t catch me!”  

“Who-”  

The crumbs and dainty little things began to rattle as pounding, heavy boots trampled along the cobblestone – enraged shouts spiteful with venom tore through the curtains and glass with such fervor one would fear they’d shatter.  

“Capture the rogue cat! He has betrayed the Empire and is dangerous! Remain on alert for any suspicious Khajit!”  

Indeela glanced back at the stranger as the voices of the high elves continued to demand for imprisonment. Their accusations and punishments growing worse and worse by the second. What few puzzle pieces she’d had begun to connect in an instant.  

“Just -- What... the fuck... did you do?”  

He kept glancing nervously between her and the windows, his breath quick, shallow, and unsteady. He laughed, attempting to smooth down his fur that was practically bursting from his collar.

“C-Can this wait for another day?”  

“If you didn’t want to get asked any questions you shouldn’t have stormed in my study! Now answer me or-”  

The criminal on-the-run snapped a horrified curse and grappled at her arms before stumbling backwards, sending the two collapsing behind the desk full of craggy old boxes and dust bunnies Indeela never quite cared enough to clean – if she were being honest.  

However, out of all things – that was far from what bothered her. What did happen to bother her was the fact that was currently on top of a stranger – a stranger who happened to be a fugitive.  

The aforementioned fugitive stared with eyes as wide as saucers, the skin beneath his fur becoming a bright red akin to a strawberry. He opened his mouth to speak but could barely figure a single coherent sentence to make up for the strife he’d caused Indeela. Instead, he sputtered the first thing that came to mind.  

“I wouldn’t kill someone.” He managed through exasperated breaths. “I’m in this mess because I refused to kill someone.”  

Indeela soaked in his words, her shoulders rising and falling and a death grip on her desk to keep her from collapsing entirely upon the Khajit. She could scramble to the door right then and call to the guards – surely, they’d laud her a hero and ideal citizen. It’d be easy, so, so much easier than anything else.  

But Indeela was never one to take the easy way out. And a part of her couldn’t convince herself that it was the right thing to do.  

“A good someone?” She asked, folding her lips nervously.

He paused, and wrinkled his snout, if only for a moment. “I hope so.”  

That was good enough for her. She nodded. “That’ll do.” She pressed a finger to her lips, and he understood. Indeela then rose to her feet, stepping forward to the window and peering forward. The Thalmor’s thin figures remained a way ahead of the shop, but their voices had become only a faint call. It would be risky, but just maybe she could sneak him in.  

She rushed back to the stranger and reached out to his arms, helping him to his feet. His ears twitched at the slightest sounds and he held onto her a tad bit too tight, his nerves getting the best of him.  

“What’re we doing?” He asked, swallowing hard.  

“Instead of you just breaking into my shop – I'm sneaking you into my house,” Indeela paused. “Which is fine because it’s my house... mostly.”  

His brows furrowed. “Mostly?”  

“I have a big family.”  

“How can you sneak me in if you have a huge fucking family?” The Khajit’s fur puffed outwards, and his tail even fluffed up twice in size.  

Indeela huffed, tapping her index finger against her lips once again. “I can’t if you don’t keep your mouth shut!”  

He puffed his cheeks out, wanting to protest but with nowhere else to go, he couldn’t exactly argue. He relented and allowed Indeela to guide him to the back door that’d lead into the storage room. From there... well Indeela hadn’t planned that far.  

As she turned the knob leading into the back of her home, the Khajit stopped her. His tail swung easily from side to side and he fidgeted meekly. “Wait.”  

“What is it?” Immediately she glanced back at the window, assuming one of the Thalmor were surely gawking at them. Except when she looked, she saw nothing.  

“No, no it’s just-” He cleared his throat. “My name – it's Ma’vani -- I’m Ma’vani. And thank you.”  

Ma’vani. The name repeated itself in Indeela’s head. It was a gentle name, softly spoken and yet full of life all the same. She liked it.  

“I’m Indeela,” She responded quietly, offering him a smile. “And you’re welcome.” 

She brought him inside, and no matter how confident Indeela was that’d they’d be safe and secluded, all hopes were shattered at the sight of Aisha standing just at the open door. Two glasses were clasped in her hands, and they nearly slipped from her grasp at the sight of the pair.  

“Aisha!” Indeela’s heart nearly burst from her chest. A sudden onslaught of embarrassment searing through her. “What’re you doing?”  

“I live here...?” Aisha raised the glasses. “I also brought you juniper juice!” She turned her attention to Ma’vani and laughed. “Sorry to miss you! We weren’t expecting guests! You must be the felon those Thalmor are looking for? They’re being ridiculously loud about it.”  

Ma’vani froze. “Please don’t call them on me.”  

“I wouldn’t breathe if the Thalmor asked, so don’t worry! You came to the right place.” Aisha eased back, allowing room for the two to come in. “I wouldn’t let Dad see him though; he’s already got enough grey hairs, don’t you think?”  

Indeela cursed beneath her breath. “Do you think Dad will notice if we sneak him up to the attic?”

A grin tugged at the ends of Aisha’s lips, snorting. “I’ll go get Mom.”  

Indeela tried to grapple after her sister but Aisha managed to dodge her sister’s desperate hands just so. “That is so clearly not what I asked!”  

“Nothing happens in mom’s house without mom knowing~.”

Indeela hated how right Aisha could be. Truthfully, halfway through whatever patchwork plan they’d come up with, Ehsan would probably find out. Most likely seeking them out to tell a ridiculous joke she’d just learned. That’d be Indeela’s luck.  

“Is your mom going to be uh – okay with me?” Ma’vani wondered aloud. “Or do I need to run?”

“Mom wouldn’t hurt a fly if it personally insulted her – just don’t talk bad about Dad.”  

“I don’t even know him.”  

“Then I think you’ll be safe.”  

Ma’vani huffed something like a chuckle.  

Aisha already returned with her hands ribboned with their mother’s. Ehsan’s tawny gaze widening like dinner plates at the sight of Ma’vani. She was a tall, slender woman, and age graced her features in the form of crow’s feet and the faintest wrinkles. Her youthful beauty never quite faded.  

Ehsan slipped away from her daughter to instead approach Ma’vani, noting his stray, ragged fur with sorrow. “You poor thing. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”  

Ma’vani froze at the kindness. His ears perked up and a weight fell from his shoulders. He nodded weakly, and a pang of pity struck at Indeela.  

Ehsan smiled weakly. “Well take a deep breath. You’re safe now.”  

Ehsan turned back around and peeked the door to the parlor just a crack so that the few lanterns lit poured in with their light. Ehsan called out. “Makna~? Darling, could you come here?”  

“Why does Makna need to know?” Indeela groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.  

“This is a family affair Indeela!” Ehsan exclaimed. “Except your father, because I think he’d have a heart attack.”  

Ma’vani frowned. “Is your father a... tense man?”  

Ehsan tipped her head from side to side in consideration, a fondness to her voice as she referred to her husband. “Hanee is sensitive. It hasn’t been easy raising four kids after all!”  

“There’s a fourth?”  

Indeela swatted her hand in the air indifferently. “He lives in the mountains; don’t worry we won’t be that cramped in here.”  

“Why does he-” Ma’vani stopped himself while he was ahead. “Never mind.”  

Makna soon appeared at the door, towering over her mother and even a few inches above Ma’vani. Her eyes were only slightly warmer than Ehsan’s, and her expression was cool, stilled, even when spotting Ma’vani. In spite of everything else cluttering and clamoring at Ma’vani, Makna was oddly calming.  

“So, this is what we’re doing today.” She muttered. “And I suppose I’ll be the one distracting Dad?”  

Ehsan squeezed Makna’s arm tenderly, beaming. “Thank you darling.”  

Makna failed to hide her tiny grin, sighing with a mock amount of exasperation. “Of course, Mom.” She pointed at her sisters. “You two try not to get our guest killed?”  

Aisha scoffed, sticking out her tongue. “There’s only a small chance!”  

“If anything had happens, Aisha did it.”  

Makna laughed at that. She disappeared a few moments later, and only when Ehsan, pressed against the parlor’s door, heard the chattering voices of her husband and daughter, did she lead the rest forward.  

The home itself was wide and spacious, large enough even for a family like theirs's to breathe in peace. A warmth spread through the house like sunlight on a bare meadow – there was love here; a great deal of it.  

Ehsan was leading the group up the stairs where the faintest step creaked, slow and lingering. One could only imagine the countless feet that ‘pitter pattered’ each step – perhaps at some point a mother cradling her child and another being that very same child racing down the stairs.  

“You have a very nice home.” Ma’vani whispered, taking care to watch his heavy metal. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he scuffed the weathered wood.  

“Thank you. We try to keep it nice for guests.” Indeela hummed. “I guess that includes impromptu ones now too.”  

“I really appreciate this – I hope you know.”

Indeela raised her brows, musing. “I suspected as much. But it’s not problem, I hope you know.”  

Ma’vani fiddled anxiously with his fingers. “Does your family do this often? Will I have roommates?”  

“No, you have the honor of being the first. I hope you like dust and cobwebs.”  

Ma’vani let out a deep laugh. “Oh! My favorite!”  

It was then Indeela thought he had a nice laugh. It was a thought she quickly shoved into the deepest depths of her brain, but it had existed, nonetheless.  

They approached the attic’s door where a string dangled in the air. Aisha snagged this string and swung it back so that the ladder could topple out onto the wooden floor with a ‘thump’.  

“Well, I hope you like your new room!” Aisha chimed. “It uh... it can use some work.”  

Ma’vani chuckled softly. It’s not as if he was going to be picky. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”  

He climbed up the ladder and understood just what the others meant. Dust and age clung to the attic’s corners, and plenty of ornate heirlooms – or simply old forgotten knick knacks. However, by the end of the wall there was a bed with a thick, heavy quilt and lantern set comfortably against a desk. Books were stacked atop one another on that desk, and Ma’vani could tell it hadn’t been touched in a long time. It was left just the way it was when the last person left.  

Indeela was the one to follow him up, her fingers trailing along the room wistfully. “This was my brother’s room before he left. We can fix it up for you if you want, but Adnan had all sorts of interests, so there’s a little bit of everything.”  

“What do you think I’m interested in?”  

“How to get in dangerous situations?”  

Ma’vani contemplated. “Unfortunately, you’re not too far off.”  

Indeela smirked. “Maybe try to avoid that while you’re here?”

“I’ll do my best.”  

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Hanee finds out approximately five minutes later 

I’ve had this sitting on my computer for awhile now but I hadn’t finished the prompt until now! I really wanted to expand upon their first meeting

Ma’vani

Indeela & Family

#Skyrim #Skyrim tes #Skyrim OC #Khajit #Khajit oc #skyrim the elder scrolls #rosieverse #Rosieverse: Ma'vani #Rosieverse: Indeela #OC #all I do is post my silly little drawings and sleep #that's it #mom said it's my turn to use the caligraphy pen in csp

[bbbarneswrites]

Small Places

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Don’t they say that after a storm, there’s always calm?  Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings, mental health issues 3,809 words

Notes: Here we are with a new piece after all these months! The songs we got for this one are The Moon by The Swell Season and Cellar Door by Angus & Julia Stone. Hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback always welcomed! <3

The small studio stays right in the heart of Brooklyn, surrounded by themed bars, bright restaurants and a crowd of millennials that makes him cringe every once in a while.

It’s a shoebox.

A bed that fights for space with a small couch, a kitchen that can be sized by two of his steps alone and a cramped bathroom with a bathtub that he honestly can’t fit in. But be as it may, Bucky has never been in a more comfortable, warm and welcoming atmosphere.

A bed with polka-dotted, fluffy blankets, a couch with bright colored and quirky pillows, a kitchen with a line of gifted succulents by the counter and a bathroom with filled shelves of sweet smelling products.

Pictures on the walls, sketches and love notes hung to the fridge, shared clothes thrown over in little corners.

Everything is so lively and familiar—it feels like home outside of his home.

The four walls of your little studio have been witnesses to so much. Whispered love confessions, frantic murmurs of comfort, quiet pleads in between moans, anger filled little lies, and the list can only go on.

There’s a Friday night.

Discarded containers of take-out on the coffee table, and maybe a carton of Ben & Jerry’s forgotten around after a fight over the last spoon. Netflix midway through a random episode of Stranger Things because yeah, Bucky has a growing crush on Winona Ryder. Peace fills up every fiber of his being, and looking down to the sight before him, things can’t feel more right.

“Your heart is beating so fast.” You mumble quietly, chin leaning up to rest upon his chest. A flesh arm tightens around your frame, and a lazy grin grows on your lips. “Are you nervous being around me, Bucky?”

The lightness laced to your voice is familiar, a tone he’s heard many, many times within the warmth of a shared trustfulness.

A smile curls up his lips. Even then, the sound never fails to make Bucky content and happy.

“I’m always nervous around you, baby.” He jokes, a gentle kiss pressing to your temple that earns a happy hum from your chest. “You’re way out of my league.”

Bucky’s smile widens with a muffled whine of protest, and his vibranium hand reaches out to push a strand of hair away from your eyes when you shift on the way-too-small couch. With your face still buried to his chest, there’s no space left between both of you. The fluffy hem of your socks tickles his legs and the skin of his tummy rise up in shivers under your fingers.

Meanwhile, Erica Sinclair goes off about capitalism on TV.

Despite the length of your relationship, a small part of him still gets surprised over moments like this.

Soft fingertips reaching out to his marred left shoulder, a light touch to trace the harsh and old outlines of his scars, by now the only ugly looking, physical reminder of a time of his life that’s best left behind to be buried and forgotten.

With a little giggle escaping from your mouth, Bucky halts his thoughts to focus.

“You’re cute.” You wink playfully, biting your lower lip to hold back another laugh. His cheeks instantly flush a little under the fairy lights of your walls. “This little scar here looks like a stick figure.”

The touch feels nice as your index finger brush over a particular spot near his collarbone. Though he’s observed every single detail of the marks in several occasions, more than enough to make him very familiar with its designs, he immediately takes your hand with his own. Wrapped fingers together, you guide him through his little stick figure.

It’s a little joke, he knows, but Bucky still grins as you make him trace the funny lines of a quirky drawing to his own skin.

And when you tip his chin with your thumb a moment later? Warmth radiating from your body pressed up to his? And lips sweetly meeting his own?

That’s his peace.

There’s a Wednesday morning.

After arriving from a mission, sore muscles and half-healed scabs, Bucky just couldn’t see himself going back to the apartment he shares with Sam—especially after a two week long mission, taking in everything that his partner had to say. And trust, Sam Wilson has a lot of things to say.

To top of it all, he’s missed you.

Missed your laugh and your kisses and your touch. The way you tuck his hair behind his ears, the plush of your lips to the base of his neck. Your cuddles and your warmth and your care. Two long, painstaking slow weeks.

The place is warm as he steps in, slits of moonlight escaping through your blinds. Coming home to you feels right, takes off an edge from his heart, as if everything is right in the world again.

Only silence as Bucky slips under the blankets.

Bleary eyes barely taking him in.

And a happy but tired hum before a familiar frame cuddles to his side.

Sleep welcomes him right in.

Any person that lives in New York can easily list a series of upsides and downsides to coexisting in a studio apartment this small. An upsidde is that you can see and hear everything and the downside is that you can see and hear everything.

White numbers cover up your face on the screen of his phone as it marks 3:36AM. The shuffling and clashing in the kitchen isn’t unusual except for the late hour. Barely four hours of sleep later, and Bucky’s watching a pajama-clad you pour chocolate into a bowl through squinted, heavy eyes.

“Think I need to put you on a sleep schedule.” He murmurs. The sound is low but enough to make you jump on the spot, turn around with a scowl that makes him chuckle. “Come back to bed.”

The tense features of your face melt into a mix of worry and dejection.

“I can’t!” You cry, hands coming up to cover your face in frustration, words all muffled. “I promised I’d bake brownies for the book fair but I was so tired and I meant to take a nap while waiting for you but I just slept and now I woke you up!”

It takes two steps until Bucky has your frame into his arms, a perfect fit that rises butterflies in your stomach after the two, very long weeks. With vibranium fingertips brushing along your cheeks in a gentle caress, every negative feeling slips away.

“You were waiting for me?” Bucky pulls back a little, enough to see you pout through a nod. A loving smile grows easily to his mouth right before a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

Brownies are made in record time with two sets of wandering hands.

And are successfully sold out by two excellent sellers.

There’s a Monday afternoon.

Clouds are looming over the city. Cold, bitter winds singing loud enough outside. The first few signs of fall can be spotted by a quick walk in the neighborhood by now, trees turning into different shades of brown as pumpkin orange starts to pop everywhere.

Back to a few hours earlier, Bucky begrudgingly kisses you goodbye at the cramped doorstep, fixing your heart-shaped earmuffs with a wish of a good day at school. No paperwork or assignments under his name for a change, the place shelters him from any unexpected Avenger responsability, and he’s more than glad to wait home for you.

Separated dirty clothes, clean dishes back to the cupboards, made-up bed with fresh sheets, organized books and trinkets and papers for the small study table.

Homecoming isn’t as comforting.

Between quiet sniffles, red-rimmed teary eyes and angry huffs of frustration with the addition of a warm tea cup, Bucky cuddles you up to his lap until peace has settled again.

“You gonna tell me who I’m killing tonight?” He jokes half-heartedly, chest a little bit lighter as you giggle quietly, offering a slap to his arm. “Just say the word and I’ll do it.”

A single look from you and his heart swells with affection, the feelings hidden behind the simple act never failing to leave him speechless, wondering if there’s another shoe to drop.

There’s always another shoe to drop in his life.

“You don’t do that anymore, remember?” You say softly, a smart smile playing on your lips that’s followed by a tired, but now content sigh. “I’m okay, promise. Just a bad morning in school that wasn’t expected.”

Hands brought closer together and a kiss pressed to your knuckles by his lips.

Bad days take no excuse.

“Okay, doll.” Bucky frowns, eyes squinted in pretend suspicion as he smirks. “You really sure though? I can call Sam.”

“I’m sure, goober.” You roll your eyes through a laugh, instantly leaning closer until his lips are brushing to your own. “It’s all better now with you.”

Seventy years of a missed life, most of which he’s spent nearly under seven feet underground, locked up like an animal and abused for selfish power. Ruthless damage to every inch of his being, every sliver of hope taken from him without permission for decades. Now, eight years after a seeming never ending storm, Bucky finds reason in all of this.

It feels good to know that she’s with him too.

And if the day ends up to both of you curled up in the back booth of the diner down the street, ordering a late night breakfast with pancakes and eggs and bacon, then it’s a good day after all.

There’s a Thursday night.

The day has been slow in the apartment given your day-off from school. Silence and a few movies on Netflix are your companions, except for the visit of your friendly neighborhood stray cat, Alpine, who climbs up to your windowsill every day without fail. Bucky is usually the one who feeds him, and mostly the one who’s unofficially adopted the kitten.

A pause here for a quick, improvised meal between homework, another pause there for a bath under glittery bath bombs.

Being away from him is normal.

His missions can last to mere hours to unexpected months. Living within the job is basically the norm, all with recruits training, team meetings and securing duties. Your classes are demanding, both physically and mentally. It never ends and never leaves you, always something to be started or done back home.

Either way, anxiousness never leaves you in a week like this.

Nearing a certain date on the calendar, Bucky’s plagued by restless nights.

It feels like a sore spot in his body, one he knows all about it but still can’t help but be upset at, poking and prodding around as a way to remember it. Despite knowing his best-friend way too well, Steve’s choice wasn’t one taken lightly back then.

The reasoning is fair and understandable but it doesn’t lessen the bitterness of a brief meeting after a six year long disappearance.

Not much can be done by now, but two years after Steve’s official death, Bucky still plays what ifs in his head. 

After gentle coaxing in between kisses in the night before and encouraging hugs and squeezes in the morning after, Bucky spends the whole day back at the compound, a scheduled therapy session set to the calendar of his phone.

When sunlight falls to a sheet of night stars, familiar but heavy steps sound like music to your  ears.

A random song playing through your laptop and slow beats welcome Bucky home.

It takes a single look at you until he’s sighing relieved, hauling your frame up to his arms in the middle of the small kitchen, where you both barely fit in during busy mornings with shoulder bumps and mumbled but playful complaints.

Sure it has been a pretty nostalgic day but nothing beats being right there.

“You smell good.” Bucky says, an almost shy mumble against your hair, his arms gently tightening around you. “Peach?”

The easy but definitely familiar guess makes you smile instantly. Heat rises on your cheeks, your chin rests on his chest as your eyes look for his own, very blue, very alive compared to a few hours back. Golden detailed fingertips brush your cheeks and a content hum escapes from your lips instantly.

“That bathbomb you gave me, remember?” You smile, voice sounding small and equally as shy until Bucky tips down, his lips meeting your own in a featherlike kiss that makes you sigh. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky smiles, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes and then, the smooth sway starts. Finding rhythm with the slow beats still playing background, you can’t help but feel your chest lighter. In that moment, neither of you need to share words to know, he doesn’t need to tell you about his session for the feelings to sink.

Despite any doubt and above any insecurity, being right there feels just right.

It’s not his day and age. For a long time, he was nothing but a misplaced piece of the universe. Then without his best-friend, just an unknown face for the team to swallow.

Not anymore.

There was a time of misplacement and sure, he no longer has Steve on a back-up call but life has given him good things. Good people. Sam and Wanda. Love. You. And in that moment, after a long day of reflection, Bucky just feels thankful above any odd feeling.

“Feelin’ great.” He muses. It’s genuine and it makes your smile widen upon his accent slip, only cut short by Bucky’s lips briefly meeting yours again. “Thank you.”

Background music switching to an upbeat song and the shared slow, careful sway doesn’t change.

“What for?” You frown, wide eyes flicking between confusion and amusement through a quiet, huffed laugh. A beat until you look up through your eyelashes, and a sheepish shrug. “I haven’t done anything.”

Bucky bites back the reply—you’ve done everything and more, you’re everything—words for another time, other plans, a day with a better start. After all, he’s not going anywhere.

This is his place now.

And in the end of the day, that’s all it matters.

There’s a Saturday afternoon.

An array of long dresses and skirts mix-up with button-ups and printed ties on the bed, make-up and skin products all over the cabinet. The sun slowly lies down to a soft hue of orange that paints the bedroom space, and the off-beat singing coming from the bathroom makes you smile every now and then.

A coat of lipstick to the lips, mascara to the eyelashes. A well-placed hair pin to the side of your hair. Out of the bathroom Bucky gets, black suit and tie in place, not a wrinkle on sight to the white button-up shirt. The singing turns to a faint humming.

Short hair, trimmed beard. His blue eyes are alight. Positively beaming.

It’s just a few hours to go until the big event starts—Mr. and Mrs. Wilson anniversary, which they’re celebrating with one big ceremony to renew their vows with their children present. Bucky, much to Sam’s feigned dismay and Darlene Wilson’s stubborness, is now considered one of them.

In the very few opportunities you got to meet Darlene, she was nothing short of sweet to you and incredibly motherly to your boyfriend. Not much is needed to see how happy Bucky is to be participating in their day, and you can’t help but beam right back at him.

“Looking so handsome!” You grin, watching through the mirror as Bucky sits on the bed, shiny black shoes set on the floor. His lips are holding back a smirk. “I mean it, Bucky! This hair? I’m marrying you.”

At the words, Bucky looks up.

Between the Blip, his missions, your classes and whatnot, neither of you ever discussed the possibilities of a long-term future.

Have you both thought about it, though? Absolutely.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble.” Bucky sighs. Quickly settling into his shoes, a crooked smile curves up his mouth as he stands up, gentle fingers around your satin clad waist. “You’re so beautiful. I’m a lucky bastard, aren’t I?”

It feels like your brain instantly turns to mush over his words, and your tongue stumbles to find proper words to reply his sudden sweet outburst. Heat spreads through your neck and cheeks as you lean back against his chest, feeling Bucky’s arms wrap you completely with such warmth like home is supposed to feel.

Watching your reflections through the mirror, you can’t help but think how comforting the situation is, even if it can look silly to anybody else. How comforting is to see you with him, the changes, the little quirks that remain the same after a straight up mess.

How funny is it that you want to turn your little comment into reality?

How funny is it that Bucky wants that moment of certainty to freeze?

“You’ve got to help me with something.” You break the silence, smiling shyly before reaching out to the small jewelry box sitting on your make-up cabinet. A silver necklace with a studded little star is pulled out. “Please?”

Smart fingers wrap the necklace around your neck with ease, the touch of vibranium rising shivers to your skin as Bucky closes it with a little kiss pressed between your shoulder blades.

There’s that little moment of silence again until a sigh escapes from his lips, a beat of hesitancy rushing through his body before he’s fishing for the black box in his pocket. A box he’s been carrying for way too long now, just waiting for its buyer to build up the damn courage because that’s all it takes.

I mean it, Bucky! I’m marrying you.

“I’ve got something else for you to wear tonight.” Bucky says. Heart pounding violently through his chest, so much he thinks you might hear it, but voice sounding as light as ever under your curious eyes. “I—I’ve had it for a long time now. And I know it might not be the perfect moment but you just said you’d marry me.”

Turning around to face him, your mouth immediately falls open. Chest to chest, your eyes searching for his. And ss Bucky lifts the little velvet box and flips it open so, so easily with his metal thumb, your choked, disbelieved laugh fills the room.

The ring is beautiful.

No fancy stones, just a simple, silver band formed to wrap around a finger with its two ends meeting together on the top.

Both of you kept meeting each other over and over through accords, battles and sudden disappearances.

It’s meaningful enough to make your heart beat faster.

“You can’t be serious. Are you?” You ask dumbly, a silly smile soon growing on your lips as Bucky gives a playful glare. “You are. Holy shit, Bucky!”

“You aren’t sayin’ yes, baby doll.” Bucky jokes, starting to feel jittery with nerves despite a small grin. Under the anxiety and accent slip, he’s just loving to see how positively astonished you look. “I’m sweating under this suit and it won’t be good for—”

Red lips crash upon his in a rush, your fingers fisting the lapels of his suit so hard that Bucky almost stumbles on his feet, making him pull your body flush against his own. He’s sure your fingers are wrinkling his jacket just as much as his metal ones are wrinkling the delicate fabric of your dress. And your make-up, thank God, you’re wearing the smudge-proof lipstick.

There’s no time to breathe between quick, several pecks and a gasped but definitely excited reply.

“I am saying yes!”

There’s another Satuday afternoon.

A pair of booted feet walks through the tight hallway of the shoebox apartment, laughter completely filling the place as a pair of heeled feet bumps the wall in a funny noise.

The white sandals are a perfect match for the white mini dress, its hem flowing over very familiar thighs, showing a little too much because the position—or general space really, isn’t the best. Turns out that despite your skepticism, Bucky can carry you in bridal style through the cramped space. Even though, you can easily spot a stain in the back of his blazer because of a knocked vase. 

It doesn’t really matter.

As Bucky puts you down, your heels are kicked off and you immediately reach out to the memory board on the wall, pinning up a marriage certificate like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

When you turn around, Bucky is sitting by the edge of the bed just like one week ago, but now sans apprehension of an insecure man.

“We’re married!”

The gleeful tone of your words make him smile right away, pulling you closer with a gentle tug until you’re standing between his legs. Towering over him, your hands cup both of Bucky’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over the sharp, stubbly cheekbones. Your heart swells in your chest, happiness and love and calmness, because everything about the day really had been simple.

A city hall wedding with Sam, Wanda and Sam’s parents as witnesses, exactly a week after their own second wedding. Very simple and easy, as the decision of marrying each other had been.

“You’re officially a Barnes.” Bucky grins, hands brushing down the back of your thighs. Gentle fingertips under the hem of your dress, he silently urges you to sit on his lap. “Told ya, got me in trouble.”

“You say that as if you didn’t want to marry me.” You scoff playfully, wrapping your arms around his neck as settling down over him. “You can’t fool me. I totally noticed you were nervous back there.”

Not bothering to deny your words, Bucky shrugs. Even though he was nervous, it doesn’t really matter. Wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the quietness of the apartment, all he cares about is you.

A little kiss pressed to your neck.

“Well, you’d be nervous too if you were marryin’ the prettiest girl in the world.”

A laugh and a little kiss pressed to his nose.

“Well, I was nervous marrying the prettiest boy in the world.”

And then—Bucky’s lips are meeting yours in a soft kiss that swallows a sigh, hands steady and gentle around your waist as he dips down to the bed under your body. It feels like you’re both back at the ceremony again, high on your love and completely unaware of everything that isn’t each other. And he kisses you once, twice, three, four times.

Just enough to ground him, to remind him that this is what his life came to.

Don’t they say that after a storm, there’s always calm?

Yeah, well. This little shoebox apartment in the heart of Brooklyn.

This might be just it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #mcu #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #another fic of mine ending with marriage #oh well

[yamithediaperdork]

Let’s all go to (baby)jail! (Miraculous ladybug and cat noir)

Nathaniel Kurtzberg yawn loudly and rubbed a eye as he finished cleaning up the main playroom. at age 16 the two time akuma villain had struggled to find then lucked into a job that would help pay for his art supplies over the summer break. at first he'd been thrilled but the truth of the matter was, while playing with the kids that came to rainbow cloud Daycare was fun, and they all loved his sketches he made for them, at the end of the day he was normally too damn tired to do any art for himself. Not helping things was the fact he was suppose to be on the afternoon shift, but one of the other workers had called in sick and as low man on totem pole, Nate got to fill the morning shift and would still have to do his afternoon shift. 'and the stupid evening shift didn't clean up before leaving, again.' he thought glumly. the only other worker on was up in the office, taking in phone calls and the like, or at least that's what Johnson claimed. Nate had a feeling the chubby slob was really just watching YouTube videos on the office computer but since he was the boss's son, there was nothing he could really say or do. all and all it was looking like it was gonna be a shit day, but straitening up and dusting off the brown slacks and white shirt that was his uniform, Nate tried to force a smile on his face. 'no sense in taking out your bad mood on the little ones.' He reminded him, looking at the clock and noting it was almost opening time. there was a heavy knock on the front door and despite the place having a no early drop off rule, Nate wasn't shocked some upper class twit would be dragging their kid by already. shaking his head and making his way to the door he opened it and took a step back in semi concern as some sort of love child between a body builder and a gorilla was standing there, glaring. "Can..Can I help you?" Nate asked, a tremor in his voice though he thought the man looked almost..oddly..familiar. The mountain of muscles made a grunting noise and then held out a letter, which Nate took with shaking hands and glanced over it as the missing link walked towards a fancy black car, leaving Nate hoping that he wasn't leaving cracks in the pavement.

' To which ever wage lackey receives this, my son had been enrolled in your little day care as out of all of the daycare's in the city, this one has the most success with it's potty training. My son despite being older then normally allowed into your daycare and into your potty training program has been allowed due to the frankly massive amount of money i have paid to brush aside all concern's. he's to be treated like any other toddler who's failed to keep his pants clean and know that while i have high hopes this will pay off, no fault will be placed upon you as the boy is simply lazy, and i suspect is doing it just for fun. PS: Don't be scared to spank him if he acts up, he's old enough to know better.

Signed Gabriel Agreste. '

Nate raised a eyebrow as he finished reading, that last name, it could really be.. and then he looked up and grinned ear to ear as of all the people he could of expected to see being enrolled in the daycare's award winning potty class, it was Mr. supermodel himself, Adrien Agreste! The Blond boy was CLEARLY not happy as he was escorted out of the car, pouting and looking down at the ground and muttering something as he was handed a large light black diaper bag with 'Adrien's diaper bag' stitched on the side in white. he was dressed in Black velco sneakers and white socks and wearing a pair of light black shorts to match the shade of his diaper bag and as Nate looked, it was clear to see the shorts were puffed out by a bulky diaper. the diaper itself was over the top of the waistband and was a cream white, it had been visible when Adrien's white t-shirt rode up for a brief second. The shirt itself amusingly had text on the front that ID'ed Adrien as a crybaby brat and while Nate couldn't make out what Adrien was muttering about apparently the gorilla had had enough and gave the blond a firm swat on his padded bottom, making the blond cry out. The gorilla pointed towards Nate and Adrien looked like he wanted to complain, but wisely kept it to himself and carried the large diaper bag (which seemed to be so loaded with extra diapers and the like it took the blond using both arms to lug it) towards the door. '...Oh..today just got a WHOLE lot better.' Nate thought. "hi little guy, welcome to Rainbow Cloud. follow me instead and we'll get you alll set up." Nate said, even as Adrien gave a dirty look.

For Adrien, his hell had started in the last two weeks in school when in the span of 3 days he'd had 6 wetting accidents and woken up having messed the bed twice. Thankfully he'd been able to cover up the accidents so no one had noticed, but naturally his father had found out about him having changes of clothes brought to him, not to mention the bed messing had been impossible to hide. A trip over his fathers knee and 20 minutes with his nose in the corner, and Adrien had been warned NOT to let it happen again or steps would be taken. the blond picked up on the threat and had nodded, promising he'd take care of it and for a day and a half, and carefully controlling his fluid intake he'd been golden. it had been during a pep rally when disaster had struck, he'd been sipping at a soda in the crowd when a loud bit of pyro had gone off and the sudden boom, and the extra bit of fluid had resulted in his flooding his pants, though since they were out in the field the urine had thankfully gone into the ground. thinking quick before anyone noticed he 'accidentally' spilled his soda on himself, soaking his pants even more and joked about his butter fingers and got permission to go and change. His father hadn't been fooled for a second, and when his bodyguard can brought Adrien a change of pants, he'd also brought him a pair of puppy print pull-ups. Knowing better then to argue the part time hero had wore the pull ups, though he could see there was no way anyone could tell under his baggy tan pants, he'd been sure the world knew for the rest of the school day. Further disaster struck on the drive home after school, his father apparently had made it clear no after school fun even if it was Friday, as they got stuck in a traffic jam. trying to ease the sense of doom, and pretty sure he was going to get anther spanking when they got home, Adrien had been watching TV in the back and munching on some rainbow chip muffins he had stashed in a compartment back there, when the urge to go number two hit him like a ton of bricks. he'd been making use of diarrhea medicine to help keep his bed clean and actually hadn't gone number 2 in the day or so as a result, but apparently he'd pushed his luck. squirming and trying to soothe the cramps, he'd begged and pleaded for his body guard to either get them out of the traffic jam, or let him out of the car to use a bathroom, but the doors stayed locked and he'd of blown his secret identity if he had just turned into cat noir and forced his way out. (not to mention he wasn't sure if the pull up would stay hidden with Cat noire's much tighter clothing, and if he was gonna fail at going poopie on the potty it was somewhat better to do it in his civilian clothes, instead of his super suit) the belt and pants had been digging in and Adrien thought MAYBE if he took them off (the back windows were tinted after all so no one could look in) that might buy him the bit of extra time he'd need, and so in just his t-shirt and puppy pull-up, he ended up kneeling on the spacious floor of the back seat, leaning on the seat with his upper half and groaning and pounding a fist, trying desperately not to fudge his pull-up. For all of 20 seconds it felt like it might of worked, then they hit a pot hole, and well that was it. game over. The boy howled and cried as he made softball sized lumps in the back of his pull-up and a rotten stench had filled the back seat. Thankfully (or more accurately, amazingly) the Pull-up hadn't leaked then he was forced to stay in his kneeling position, so that he didn't smush his smelly load and risk leaking out all over the expensive seats. Thankful for the private parking they had, Adrien had been led inside quickly and no one had seen, but instead of being given a chance to clean up he was presented to his father who had wrinkled his nose in disgust. One LONG lecture later, he was allowed to shower, then was spanked and out on time out and put in double pull-ups. For the rest of the remaining school year Adrien could of counted the amount of times he actually made it to the bathroom on one hand. Pull-ups during the day, with him having a pack at the school, and diapers once he got home. thankfully Hawk moth had found something better to do during that week then making villains as Adrien had been put more or less under lock down. it wasn't that he didn't think he couldn't of snuck away from his body guard, but there was also the fact his pants had been taken away, and he was given a pair to wear to school, and any modeling gigs he had booked. rocking the diaper and shirt look around his house was one thing, but he pictured having to turn back after fighting a villain and being stranded in down town Paris in the thick white diaper his father preferred him in. Adrien had figured this was going to be his summer, under house arrest till he could get his bladder and bowels to fall in line but his father had other ideas. "Clearly you're not even making a effort to use the washroom, from what I've seen you just sit on your behind and play your little games while stinking up my house." his father had said. "well I'm not going to let you be a lazy little potty pants and make it so i have to come home to a house smelling like a diaper pail. I've enrolled you in a daycare that will help you get back your control." "But..But..Dad you can't! I can do this! I'll fi-" "I didn't ask for your opinion on it young man, I already took care of it. you'll be going every day, Monday to Saturday, and I expect you to do your best with their 3 week potty training program. You'll either shape up and prove what I've been saying, that your just lazy and been doing this for attention and stop in short order, and then can just stop going once you've proven you can be a 'big boy.' Or you'll prove what you've been saying and you really can't help it and you'll be potty trained..again. Hopefully it'll stick this time." Shopping for the supplies had been mortifying but today as Adrien looked at the face of a semi friend, it seemed like a delight compared to the day that laid ahead of him.

"So little guy, this is the main indoor play area, though we have a playground in the back." Nate said, clearly taking delight in following orders to the letter. "and over here is a area you'll be getting VERY familiar with, hopefully to great success." Adrien followed Nate's gaze and whined loudly, it was a wall lined with 5 training potties, and had a dry erase board above each one. they had tape on them to form a grid that displayed days and times, with room for someone to draw to write something in. "Your daddy must be very eager to get you potty trained, not just anyone gets the full experience.we only focus on 5 kids at a time but if your enrolled in it, your daddy must of paid top dollar." Nate said and then gave Adrien a pat on his padded rump, making the blond sulk even more. the diaper bag had been taken from him and was over by a changing table, so his hands were free at least but all that had meant was whenever they walked anywhere Nate had made Adrien hold his hand. "I will warn you that since your technically one over the limit, you'll be waiting in line to use any potty thats free. I'll be keeping track of your potty progress for you on a card you can take home and show your daddy, so give it your best ok champ?" "..Nate come on, you know I'm not one of these little to-" Adrien said, finally having enough and turning to give the smaller boy a piece of his mind. "Before you dig yourself a nice deep hole, You should know I have full permission to spank your butt if I need to.and we've been told to treat you just like any other little guy struggling to learn how to keep his pants free." Nate said quickly. "..Of course you have. My father is a fucking asshole." Adrien groaned, rolling his eyes then yelped as a hard swat when on his padded rump. "Bad boy! no swearing! Little boys who swear and cuss get their mouths washed out!" Nate said, shaking a finger at him. a mental image of himself with soap suds around his mouth and blowing bubbles popped into Adrien's head and he whimpered. "I.I'm sorry! I didn't know." he said quickly. "...I'll let it go THIS time, but next time, they're gonna be calling you bubble breath. got it mister?" Nate asked. Adrien swallowed his pride and nodded. "right, now going on with our little tour..give me your hand little guy..that's better. anyways, over here is our arts and crafts corner where we'll-" As Nate droned on Adrien whined and found himself oddly fighting the urge to suck his thumb.

Johnson came out and met with Adrien, chuckling lots. Adrien had felt a brief hope spot that maybe he'd be looking after him  but Johnson made it clear he wasn't the type to deal with dirty diapers, so he put Nate in charge of the big baby. As parents started to drop off their children Adrien found a place to try and hide for the most part, which while normally Nate would of raised a fuss and made sure he stayed where he could be seen, having one of Paris's top models in diapers and at a day care might of caused a few issues. It was easier to let him go and hide and the oldest kid being dropped off today aside from the ex model, now pamper packer, was a 5 year old so it was unlikely their parents would believe them or they'd recognize him. Still it didn't stop a few of the children from spotting him as he was hiding under one of the crib, twin brothers age 4 who peered under the crib having seen him. they were dressed in a blue t-shirt and green cover-all's for one, and a green t-shirt and blue cover-all's for the other, both sporting brown hair in mushroom cuts. "Um, Your not 'pose to be under there." blue shirt said, trying to keep his voice down low. "you'll get in trouble and lose your cookie at snack time." "Oh uh..well..I got permission from Nate so it's ok." Adrien said, which, technically was true. it wasn't like Nate didn't know where he was. "wait.." Green shirt said, furrowing his eye brows. "Your kinda..big ta be in here.. how old are you?" "oh uh.." Adrien paused, not wanting to say his real age, but needing to think of something to keep the kids from asking too many more questions. "I'm 9." he said. "hehehe ya don't hafa be shy if your hear and 9 silly. we hada this one um.. " blue shirt paused and looked to his brother for help, and green shirt leaned over and whispered in his ear. "10 year old who was here, and git this! he was here cuz he was a potty pants! me and Joshie were potty trained at -2- and this big kid wa-" "Gawy! you know you're not 'pose ta pick on big babies!" green shirt, or Joshie Adrien supposed, scolded his brother. "Aw come one, it was sooo funny! he kept going " and in place of saying it, Gary blew a raspberry. "in his diaper and bawling like a baby!" "heh.. it was pretty funny." Joshie admitted. "O-Oh yeah.. ehehe..that does sound funny." Adrien said weakly, now really hoping the boys would leave, or at least praying they wouldn't notice his bulky diaper butt. "why dun you come out and we can go and play toys. ya needa hit the toy chest fast if you wanna git a good toy." Joshie said, with Gary nodding and stoking his chin as if his twin had given sage like advice. Adrien chuckled at how cute the boys where being and seeing how the parents were starting to leave he started to crawl out sadly for our hero, the back of his diapers, just under the waistline, but on the seam, caught on a nail. So eager was Adrien to get out and show off (and maybe make this stay SOMEWHAT bearable)  that he didn't notice. Had he but noticed, he might of been able to get away with just a hole in the shorts but atlas, at the high speed he was scooting out the shorts gave way to the nail like a hot knife though butter. Gary and josh both paused as they  heard the ripping noise, and Adrien was blushing bad as he stood up, his hands going behind his back, feeling the slick plastic of his diaper and frantically trying to get the two sides of the massive rip together. "You uh, heh..you OK?" Gary asked, giggling a little. "Did you rip your shorts or was that like a BIG fart?" Josh asked, already holding his nose just in case. "I uh..we;ll." Adrien was very shy and found himself realizing just how much he hadn't appreciated the shorts being in tack. "He totally ripped his shorts. dun worry big kid! I got ya!" Gary said then cupping a hand to his mouth he shouted. "NATTTTE! DA NEW KID RIPPED HIS SHORTS!" Gary hollered, then gave Adrien a thumbs up. "...Oh this isn't going to end well." Adrien muttered.

End part one.

[love-and-monsters]

Kaleb the Harpy

This is the first of three pride month stories, featuring the MLM couple Matt and Kaleb.

  You glared at the canvas. It was, no matter how hard you stared, stubbornly and solidly blank. You lifted your brush to the canvas, tip hovering just over the white surface. It trembled slightly and you had to take a moment to breathe and steady your hand again. It had been a solid two weeks and you hadn’t managed to paint a single new original piece. You were starting to get anxious just looking at the canvas.

“Matt?” You jerked up and looked at the door. Your sister was standing in the doorway of your studio, one hand raised as if to knock, despite the door being open. You two had rented out an apartment together and it was working out pretty well. At least renting with your sister meant you didn’t have to try and find a stranger that you worked with.

You lowered the brush to your palette and wiped your hands off on a cloth. “I thought I said you weren’t supposed to come see me when I was working.”

She shrugged as she walked into the room. “You’re not painting anyway. You haven’t painted anything for weeks.”

You glared at her. She rolled her eyes. “What? You haven’t.”

You turned back to the canvas and picked up the brush again. “Why are you here?”

“We’re going out,” she said. Your head snapped away from your canvas and the brush tip tilted, sending a line of paint down the canvas. A curse slipped from your lips and you hopped up, pulling the brush away.

  “Callie, what the fuck?” you said, staring at the line down the canvas. Callie just shrugged, expression still neutral.

“Look, you’ve been sitting in here for like, three days. You need to get out. Maybe it’ll give you some ideas for what you want to paint next.” She glared up at you. “Come on, Matt. I invited a friend, we’re just going out for lunch.”

You frowned at her, then at the canvas. That thin, black line down the canvas only made you more frustrated with the whole thing. “Fine, fine. Where are we going? Callie smiled. “A café that opened downtown. One of my college friends is coming. You know Kaleb?”

You shook your head as you headed toward the door of your studio. “I don’t know any of your college friends.”

“Well, you’ll see him when we get there. He’s an interesting guy. I think you’ll get along.”

It only took a few minutes to get to the café from your home. It was new, only about a month old, and had some pretty good coffee. That was all you really knew about it, though.

As soon as you walked into the café, Callie started waving. “Hey, Kaleb! It’s so good to see you!”

You turned your head to see who she was talking to and your heart stopped. Standing at the table was one of the most beautiful harpies you had ever seen in your life. He was tall and kind of willowy, with thick, gorgeous feathers along his arms and a long, flowing tail. His feet were taloned and almost resembled a stork’s. Even when he was still, you could imagine him moving with a flowing, gentle grace.

Kaleb rose from his chair, holding out a feathered hand. “You must be Callie’s brother, Matthew,” he said. His voice was surprisingly soft, considering his brightly colored appearance.

You cleared your throat as quietly as possible and took his hand. “Yeah, I am.” Kaleb smiled at you as he retook his seat.

The café was rather popular and bustling around lunch, so it was a little difficult to hear Kaleb’s soft voice over the noise, but you listened as intently as possible. He worked as a gardener for some rich people in the next town over. It was physical work and kind of dirty, but apparently, he enjoyed it. Callie spent several minutes talking about her job in HR, mostly complaining about how awful some people could be. Then, Kaleb turned to you with interest in his eyes. “What do you do, Matt?”

You couldn’t stop a sigh from entering your voice as you spoke. “I paint.” Kaleb took a sip of his coffee, eyebrows lifting.

“You paint? That sounds like a nice job. I wish I could paint.” Kaleb hesitated as you nodded, not saying anything else. “Are you working on anything interesting right now?”

Bitterness slipped into your voice. “No.”

Kaleb shrank back in his seat, glancing at Callie. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

Callie snorted, waving off his concern. “Nah, Matt’s just a big grump because he’s got artist’s block.”

 “Oh, I see,” Kaleb said. He offered you a smile. “That happens with me sometimes. I get chances to redesign some of the gardens, and sometimes it’s rather hard to think of what I want to do.”

You looked at him thoughtfully. “What do you do when you can’t think of anything to design?”

Kaleb shrugged. “Usually I go out and sit in the gardens I’ve already created. Sometimes I work on the gardens. It’s rather meditative. And the gardens are so beautiful, it helps me come up with new ideas.” He smiled tentatively at you. “It’s quite peaceful too. It helps me relax and the ideas just start coming.”

Lunch didn’t last much longer than that. As you were heading out the door, Kaleb caught your arm and walked along next to you. “Hey, I know that artist’s block can be rough. And I’ve been working on this really nice flower garden at my job. It’s very beautiful, if I say so myself.” He puffed out his chest and a note of pride crept into his voice. You couldn’t help but smile at him. “But I was thinking, if you wanted to come with me and see if you can get any work done when you’re there, I don’t think my employers will mind.”

You looked at him in surprise. “Tomorrow?”

“Well, if you want. You don’t have to. It was just an offer,” Kaleb said, shrinking back a little, a flush touching his cheeks.

To your surprise, you found yourself saying, “When do you want me to come over?”

Kaleb perked up, feathers rustling with eagerness. “I can pick you up tomorrow around eight. If that’s not too early for you, of course.”

It was definitely too early, but you smiled anyway. “I can be ready by then.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kaleb said. He took a nervous step back, waving one of his wings. “Bye.”

You waved as he headed off down the road and you headed back to your apartment. The canvas stared at you accusingly from across the room. The dark line across the surface made your stomach tighten a little bit. With a sigh, you took a sheet and draped it over the canvas so you couldn’t see it anymore. At least the thing wouldn’t be looking at you accusingly the whole day.

You woke up only ten minutes before eight and it was a scramble to get ready in time. Kaleb was already waiting for you outside your building when you ran out, still running a comb through your hair.

“Are you ready?” Kaleb asked when he saw you. You nodded, securing your bag over your shoulder. It had your paints and canvas in it and on your other shoulder hung your smaller easel. Kaleb smiled eagerly and led you to his car.

The car wasn’t really small, but it was cramped. Most of the backseat was covered in gardening supplies and it was starting to encroach into the front. The entire car smelled faintly earthy. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, not like fertilizer. Just a little like someone had recemtly dug up a garden.

Kaleb shoved a few tools into the backseat with a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I haven’t cleaned out the car in a while.”

“It’s all right,” you said. He smiled thankfully at you. He’d dressed simply, in a pale T-shirt and short, dark pants. It made you feel a little out-of-place, since you’d put on one of your nicer shirts and long pants. Kaleb, at least, didn’t mention it. He just started the car and you headed toward his work.

You were aware of the general area Kaleb worked in, but you’d never actually been there before. It was a large mansion with one of the most sprawling gardens you’d ever seen. The entire front yard seemed to just be an extensive flower garden, verdant hills covered with brilliantly covered flowers in every direction. Closer to the house were trees and bushes, many sprouting blooms in every color of the rainbow.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, unable to keep your awe out of your voice. Kaleb blushed, a grin spreading across his face.

“This is the garden I’ve worked on the longest,” he said, pride entering his voice. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I can see why,” you said as the car rolled to a stop. Kaleb got out and you followed him as he walked across the garden, stopping near one of the bushes.

He glanced back at you as you stopped next to him. “You can sit wherever you’d like,” he said, gesturing broadly to the garden. “My employers have never minded me bringing people around to look at the gardens. I think they like showing off.”

You hesitated for a moment, then paced a short distance away and set down your things. Kaleb got to work as you took out your canvas and paints and began to look around for what you wanted to draw.

Despite the beauty of the day and the gorgeous garden around you, you were having a hard time picking something out to draw. You’d locate a nice little patch of flowers, go to start painting, then your desire would die or you wouldn’t be able to figure out exactly how to start. After about thirty minutes, you considered giving up in frustration when you happened to glance over at Kaleb.

He was crouched over the bushes, gently touching at them with the tips of his fingers. His lips twitched like he was speaking to it softly. There was something about his expression that was different than the one you’d seen before. It was serene, completely at peace and confident with what he was doing. His movements as he tended to the plants were sharp and utterly knowing. He had no doubts about what he was doing. He was just perfectly in his element.

You almost didn’t realize it when you started painting. You just wanted to get down the way he looked then, perfectly at ease. The first few tries were nice, but not quite there. It was just missing the essence of him.

After a few sketches, you started on your canvas. Kaleb was tending to a fruit tree. It wasn’t bearing any fruit, just flowers, and he was pruning back some of the branches and apparently assessing the health of the tree. You moved quickly, not wanting to ask him to pose. You had a feeling it would sort of ruin the moment to do that. That if you asked him to stop moving, he would lose the flowing grace you were trying to capture.

This time, your brushes seemed to flow perfectly. Every line and every stroke just fell into place. For the first time in a long, long while, you lost track of time and just painted.

You only broke out of the trance when Kaleb called over to you. “How’s it going?” He trotted over, shaking a few leaves out of his feathers and wiping some sweat from his brow. “Are you ready to take a break?”

The painting was only partially done, but it was already looking better than anything you’d done in months. You turned the canvas away from Kaleb as he approached. He grinned at you. “Is it a surprise?” he asked.

“Something like that,” you said, feeling a touch embarrassed about having spent the entire time basically just staring at him. He didn’t seem upset by this. Instead, he smiled at you and sat down on the ground. He rummaged in a bag for a moment, then held out a small object wrapped in paper to you.

“Here.” You took the object from him. It was a sandwich, wrapped in waxed paper.

“Thank you,” you said. “You didn’t have to get me lunch.” Kaleb waved you off with a feathery arm.

“It’s no trouble. Your sister mentioned that you sometimes forgot to eat, so I thought I might as well bring something for you.” He smiled at you. It was so utterly charming that you felt your heart skip a beat. You looked away from him as your face heated up.

Lunch was eaten in silence. You snuck looks at him whenever you thought he wouldn’t notice. He seemed perfectly at ease in the garden, even in the silence. His feathers rustled slightly in the cool breeze.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Kaleb said after a long few minutes of silence.

You swallowed the bite of sandwich you’d taken. “Really? You seem like the kind of person who’d like being alone.”

“Oh, I do,” Kaleb said. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the silence and the meditation of being able to work on my plants and the garden. But sometimes it’s a little lonely. It’s nice to have another person around for a little while.”

Before you could even come up with a response to that, he reached out and took your hand. His fingers were warm and calloused from work. You could feel your blood rushing in your ears and your brain seemed to short-circuit for a minute. Kaleb squeezed your fingers tentatively. “Thank you.”

It took you almost a full minute to get your brain back into working order. “Thank you,” you said, trying your hardest not to stammer. “You’ve really helped me. I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t get through my block.”

“You’re a great artist,” Kaleb said. “Your sister showed me some of your work. You would have gotten through it eventually.”

“Maybe,” you said. “But I’m still glad you helped.”

“You’re welcome,” Kaleb said. He finished off his sandwich and went back to work. You sat back and continued to watch him for a few minutes before you returned to your painting.

The day passed slowly. You sketched and painted on and off, looking for good poses from Kaleb. You weren’t even bothering to pretend to paint the garden. Kaleb was your muse and you focused entirely on him.

Even though the march of time was technically slow, you felt that the day ended far too soon. The sun started to tilt down in the sky and you finally stopped polishing your painting. It was an image of Kaleb, wings spread, tail flicking out behind him, reaching up to examine the branches of an apple tree, tending to some of the blooms. It wasn’t perfect. You hadn’t quite managed to capture the expression on his face, one of pure contentment and focus. But you had managed to capture the flowing grace of his body, and that was better than anything else you’d done in a while. You’d even managed to use the black line down your canvas, working it into the tree trunk. It was, all things considered, a good painting.

Kaleb had approached you so silently, as you examined the painting, that you didn’t notice him there until he let out a soft gasp. “Is that me?”

You jumped and that motion drew Kaleb’s attention down to the discarded papers at your feet. He stared at them for a moment, then reached down and lifted a few of them. His eyes widened as he looked at them. “Are these all of me?”

It was hard to read his expression. His cheeks were red, but you couldn’t tell whether he was embarrassed or flattered.

You were pretty sure your face was as red as his. You stammered, trying to explain yourself. “It was just that you looked so good when you were tending the garden- I mean, I just got carried away in trying to capture you- Sorry.” It was hard to look up at him. Your gaze fixed on his feet as they twitched, talons digging into the ground.

“Really?” Kaleb said in a soft, disbelieving voice. “You wanted to paint me?”

You glanced up at him. His expression was definitely flattered and perhaps a little bit uncertain, as though he thought maybe you were trying to play a joke on him. “Of course. You’re… a good muse.”

Kaleb smiled at you. “Thank you.” His voice was soft, but absolutely sincere. You smiled at him, giving him a little nod. He looked at the painting for a moment, a gentle smile gracing his face. “It’s a beautiful painting,” he said. His feathers brushed against your arm. You smiled up at him.

“I tried my best. It’s not perfect.” You swallowed. “You’re better looking in real life.”

Kaleb laughed breathlessly. He looked at you. “Matt. Do you want to go out and get some dinner?”

Your heart thundered in your chest and you looked up at him. “Now?”

He smiled. “I’d like to spend some more time with you.” He glanced away. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“No,” you said, gathering your paints. “I’d like to spend more time with you too.”

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #harpy #monsterxhuman #mlm #my writing

[like-the-wings-of-butterflies]

Watercolours (Queen x Artist!Reader)

Summary: Following a difficult few weeks you beg the boys to take you with them to Ridge Farm where they then discover a small secret of yours.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,574 (No wonder it took me forever to write)

A/N: It’s 1:15am and this. was. exhausting. I’m posting a bit later then what I originally planned but as promised, it’s here. This one took a bit of a turn to what I started with but in the end, I think I’m fairly happy with it. Let me know what you think! ♡ (Not my gif)

When you heard Freddie, John, Brian and Roger were taking a road trip to the countryside to record their next album, you practically begged them to let you join. Not only so you could witness the boys create something extraordinary; a new era of Queen, but it also provided the opportunity to escape the recent painfully restless nights in London, where your small apartment felt the slightest bit too cramped for comfort. Your seemingly endless work and responsibilities leaving you tired and burnt out. With the suffocating feeling in your chest becoming far too strong, you knew you needed to step away from the busy world, even for a short while.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Please Freddie, I’m begging you.”

“Hmmmm...I’m not sure. John? What do you think, should we bring our little tyrant or leave her behind?” Freddie teases.

“I vote leave her behind.” He puffs

“Hey! Just because I’m good at stopping your fights does not make me a tyrant. If it weren’t for me you would’ve all killed each other by now.”

“Us? Fighting? Never.” Roger drawls, his tone equally as teasing as the other two. 

Brian sat in the background watching the situation unfold, lightly giggling at your exasperation. It was without question you were going. Even if you didn’t want to, they’d still find a way to convince you. It wasn’t as if they were oblivious to your moods over the past few weeks, it pained them to see you so stressed and exhausted and they knew that disconnecting was exactly what you needed. Plus it meant you all had some time to spend with one another, an occurrence that’d be becoming slightly more rare with their busy schedules. Simply, you needed them and they needed you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When the day finally came, you couldn’t contain your excitement for the whole journey. It was almost as if the second you stepped out of the car you felt instantly relieved of the pressures that had been troubling you for so long. After taking in a breath of fresh air studying your surroundings you then turned to the others, “Isn’t it beautiful?” After taking a drag of his cigarette Roger spoke up “I thought this was supposed to be a recording studio.” Clearly the boys weren’t as sold on the new setting as you were. Paul had shown you all to your rooms and told you to make yourself comfortable as recording would start in a few day’s time after everyone had settled in. The five days that followed were slow but still comforting. The new setting caused a shift in everyone’s attitude, provided an opportunity to take a load off and relish in the simple atmosphere.

Mainly you just settled into the new environment, making yourself familiar with the in’s and out’s of the place. Apart of course from the evening you and Brian decided to go for a walk together, getting caught in the rain and running back to the house, only to find that Roger had locked you out despite denying your claims. (Even though it was easily distinguishable from his howling laughter on the other side of the door). But soon enough, everything was set up and the boys were ready to start.

On the first day, Freddie insisted you stay next door and spend the morning taking a moment to yourself: “You’ve been stuck with us the past five days, at least take a hour or so to yourself.” He said. You realised he was right, the entire point of you going on the trip was so you could think through some things and figure out what to do next. As much as you enjoyed your time with the four, spending every waking moment with them somewhat defeated the purpose.

“Alright,” You smiled, “But you’ll be next door if I need you, yes?”

“Always Darling.”

Somehow they knew exactly what you needed, exactly when you needed. One thing the boys didn’t know about you however, was that you held a certain passion for art. Though you didn’t think of yourself much more then a hobbyist, your work said otherwise. Originally, you started out painting landscapes but as your friendship with Queen developed, you saw more enjoyment in painting them. They brought a new essence into your life, which then reflected in your work.

After settling down at the dining table with your supplies spread all over it, the small tin of watercolours making a quiet ‘clang’ as you placed them down, you flicked through the leather-bound folio. Knowing you had a couple hours on your own you made the bold choice to work on a few unfinished sketches from the last show you visited, it wasn’t as if anyone would see, you’d just have to pack up before noon when they came back for lunch. You didn’t exactly enjoy keeping your hobby a secret but you struggled to overcome the anxieties of not being good enough and kept your work solely for your eyes only. With your work station set, you began. You hand moved effortlessly across the paper, and the whirlwind of colours bled into one another. Each pencil and brush stroke placed with a calculated precision. A certain love and care that could only be highlighted through art.

Just as everything was going well, a heavy gust of wind blew though the open window, sending pages flying, scattering pencils and spilling the small dish of water you had out to clean your brushes. Cursing to yourself for not closing the window earlier, you hurriedly soaked up the water with a nearby cloth, hoping it hadn’t ruined any of your paintings and in the process; knocked your tea off of the table, thus resulting in the cup shattering on the hardwood floor.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright Love?” John’s voice called out, the barn door creaking as it opened and closed behind him.

“We heard something fall, just wanted to make sure you hadn’t hurt yourself.” Brian added.

“No no, I’m fine. I just spilled my tea is all. You can go back to recording, I can manage.”

As they turned the corner you held your breath hoping your body would block their view from the small disaster behind you.

“Well you look suspicious.” Brian said matter-of-factly.

“Everything’s fine, I’ll clean it up. No need to worry.” As you were speaking to Brian, in the corner of your eye you say John’s head tilt slightly to the side, your open sketchbook and art supplies now in his full view. A small smiles played on his lips, “Is that Fred?” He said, nodding toward a stray piece of paper.

“What? No, I mean yes,” In that moment you knew there wasn’t any redemption. Would they think it’s strange? Surely they would, otherwise you wouldn’t have hidden it for so long. The press taking photos is one thing but their friend using them as a muse without their knowledge is whole other ordeal in its own.

And at that moment, just like clockwork, Roger and Freddie walked in. “What’s going on?” The black haired male asked.

“(Y/N)’s an artist apparently, a bloody good one at that.” John said as he picks up some of the sketches you’d been painting over.

“No, that’s certainly not what’s happening, I umm-,” Although you knew it was already far too late, you scrambled for the loose pages that escaped your sketchbook, silently praying that they wouldn’t see any more then what they already had. Despite your efforts, each of the boys had already picked up various pieces and were studying each one in immense detail. The swirls of colour and carefully places lines depicted Freddie flaunting on stage, John and Brian deep in concentration during their respective solos, Roger twirling drumsticks in his hands and finally, the group taking their final bows at the end of the show. Each piece held a certain vibrancy that they hadn’t seen before.

“I never knew you saw us like this,” Roger breathes out in disbelief, holding the pages up to the light and studying them further.

You hesitated for a moment, but then spoke, “What do you mean? Of course I do, you’re my family.” You still felt shy but you spoke honestly nonetheless. “I can’t quite describe it but when you’re performing you’re just, in your element doing what you love. You’re all just so raw and so, you. I like trying to capture that.”

“What? When do you even-?” Freddie pressed.

Scratching the back of you head you went on, “I usually sketch while you’re performing and then I’ll paint that night after you’ve all gone back to your hotel rooms. It distracts me from my own thoughts I guess.” An uneasy silence filled the air. “These ones were from your tour in Sweden, I’ve been meaning to finish them for a while but never really got around to it. I know they’re not the best and doing this without you knowing is strange but-”

“Oh shut up.” Roger said, pulling you into a hug.

“They’re amazing,” John paused “We don’t want you thinking otherwise.”

“Especially with the way you go on when we’re feeling insecure about our playing.” Brian added.

“I only go on about it because you blatantly ignore you’re talented.” You interject, lightly pouting.

“And look who’s blatantly ignoring their own talent now,” Freddie smirks. “I’d even go as far to say you made me look too handsome.”

#queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody x reader #borhap x reader #freddie mercury x reader #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #john deacon x reader #rami malek x reader #ben hardy x reader #gwylim lee x reader #joe mazello x reader #queen #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #freddie mercury #brian may #roger taylor #john deacon #rami malek #ben hardy #gwylim lee #joe mazello

[doodlewash]

My name is Jenny Kroik. I was born in Russia, grew up in Israel, and now live in New York City. I started painting very young. I always felt that painting was a great tool to communicate my point of view with the world. I think the biggest struggle I had (and still have) is to find a meaning or purpose in what I do. When I was younger, I felt that you should only do things if they benefit society in some large, heroic and long-lasting way. That idea brought a lot of aggravation into my work.

It also took the joy out of it to some extent, because no matter how I looked at it, my paintings seemed smallish in the great scheme of things. I went to grad school hoping to resolve some of these conflicts relating to my work, but even though my degree was in Painting, I found that I was making art that I didn’t like to please others. Lately, I’ve found that, ironically, as an illustrator, I was making art that was more pleasing to me, and felt more like it was for myself (even though there is a clear “client” and “market” involved). It was an important re-discovery, and I became more confident about the things that I produce now.

I started to take painting lessons when I was about 13, and I started with watercolors (because my mom deemed all other paints too toxic). I’ve used watercolors a lot, and it is still my go-to medium. I think that as a kid, I felt that the watercolors were missing a bit of solidity to them, so when I tried gouache paint years later, it all clicked. With gouache, I could use the paint in the watery-style that I am used to, while adding opaque tones and solid layers. I think it fits how I feel now, that I’d like the painting to be more like a statement rather than a suggestion, or something in between those two.

I use Yarka St. Petersburg for watercolors. This was the first set I used, and my mom actually brought it with her from St. Petersburg. Sometimes, when I run out of a color in my set, I squeeze some M. Graham watercolors or Winsor & Newton, whatever I happen to have around. The most important colors for me to have are sepia, cad orange and ultramarine blue. Besides all the basic colors, these complete my color palette and I have trouble painting without these.

For gouache paints, I use Holbein, they are my favorite. Their colors are very solid. I found with some other brands, when you open the tube for the first time and squeeze out the paint, lots of liquid comes out, this doesn’t happen with Holbein. If you pre-mix them in little tubes with a few spritzes of water (like I was taught by my art mentor) then they last for a long time.

I like to use brushes that are on the cheaper side, because they are usually stiffer. They are not quite as stiff as acrylic brushes, but not as soft as the nicer watercolor brushes. The softer ones are not as precise for me. Maybe I used crappy brushes for so long that I got used to them, and when I paint with a fancy sable I just don’t like it.

I can’t really name any particular brand of brush. I used to love these Princeton Art Advantage brushes that I would always get at the $2 bin at the university bookstore in Oregon, but I haven’t been able to find a good substitute yet, I’ll let you know when I do.

My current favorite for paper is Fluid 100 paper, hot press, 140lb. I also use Arches hot press paper a lot, and sometimes Arches cold press for portraits and quicker paintings. (the cold press absorbs too much, and for longer paintings it just eats all my paint).

I also like to use “mystery paper”- I have a stack of paper I’ve collected throughout the years, and I have no idea where it’s from or what it does. some of it is for printmaking, some for markers, some of it rice paper.I pick a sheet from the stack and paint on it, and see what happens. It’s always most stressful when it works out really great, because then I don’t know what this paper was and where to find it again. But it’s good to be a little bit stressed about your art sometimes.

I use palette paper (any brand) and the paint tub with two sides – one with a scrubby side. That is perfect for cleaning the brush and avoiding running to the sink every 4 minutes. Also, a cotton rag is crucial. If I forget my rag I feel lost. Paper towels absorb too much and I don’t like to pollute the planet.

I used to use a lot of waterproof pens, like the Winsor & Newton pens or Microns for sketching and doing a wash on top, but I haven’t been working with line in a while. Maybe I should go back to it a bit. I also like Pentalic sketchbooks.

Learning meditation really helped me and my work as well. It’s similar in many ways to the artistic process, and learning and reading about mindful meditation helped put into words the things I was always struggling with at the studio. For instance: how can I sit down every day and make painting after painting, and still find new possibilities in the work? Or how can I reconcile the painting I planned to make with what actually came out (including spills and dirty fingerprints)? And one of the hardest things: how can I sit down to paint when my mind is constantly filled with noise, judging voices, criticisms, endless comparisons to other artists and their successes, and just random static?

Meditation definitely made my time in the studio not only less torturous, but also more productive: It gave me the framework to study unpleasant emotions like an objective observer, and I find many treasures in the icky moments that I would normally try to push away.

After moving around a lot in my life, I now live in New York City. This is probably the favorite place I’ve lived in so far, and also the least comfortable, dirtiest, cramped with jerks, and most aggravating at times. But I feel most comfortable in the city, and I feel like being around so much creativity and energy has really given me an artistic push. I can let my inner jerkness out and be pushy and demanding. Things that were absolutely not allowed in Oregon, where I lived for 8 years.

Oregon was quite the opposite of New York. it was quiet and calm on the outside. There was one museum in the town I lived in, and the art scene was fairly small. I developed a practice of mining for inspiration in daily life. Going out and looking for interesting things, applying a “filter” on the world, trying to see everything as an interesting or funny painting. Instead of museums, I roamed around thrift stores and antique shops, sketching what I saw. Finding visual interest in an army of white older ladies that all wore the same khaki pants and Patagonia fleeces. Going back to the same place or person, and painting them over and over again.

Oregon was maybe a quiet, and lets face it, boring place, but it was an awesome place to really figure out what I’m into as an artist. It’s a great place in general where one can fall apart and reconstruct oneself. (If you’re looking for such a place, I recommend it.)

The way I developed my practice came from all the time I spent thinking about what “inspiration” is. It started from this damaging idea I had that inspiration is something that comes to you like a vision from outer-space: I had a vague memory from some time in my past, maybe high school or when I was working on my BFA, that art ideas would just float into my life like a religious experience, and I would see the painting in its entirety in my mind, accompanied by a strong emotion that made it feel like it’s going to be the most important painting that ever existed.

This was my idea of what inspiration is, and I had no way to go back to this magical past memory and confirm or deny that this is actually what I felt, but I was left with a strong belief that, at one point, I was inspired, and painting was easy, and now I’m all tapped out. It was a very upsetting feeling. There’s nothing more damaging to your practice than to become convinced that once upon a time you had a sack of magic art beans, and now that they’re gone, you have to live out the rest of your life being uninspired.

Finally I’ve decided that, even if I did have magnificent magic art beans and now they are gone forever, then those beans were bullshit, and I didn’t need them anyway. They were crap scam beans. Instead I’m going to develop a sustainable practice that won’t fail me. It’s going to be with me on good days and bad days, when my art is pretty and loved, and when it’s just an undefinable mess. When I’m in the middle of New York surrounded by hordes of amazing drawable people, or if I’m in a deserted industrial truck-depot.

And, honestly, without such a practice, I wouldn’t have known what to do with all the amazing visuals I encounter. I probably would have “saved them for later”, too intimidated to approach them.

My practice consists of doing something hands-on, art related on a daily basis. Ideally, I would paint/draw at least an hour a day. It could be anything from sketching or doodling from life, drawing silly cartoons, mixing colors, cutting papers into little compositions (I haven’t done that in a while, that sounds like fun right about now!) .

Sometimes on an unproductive kind of day, I count collecting imagery as part of my daily practice, but I don’t think it exercises the same parts of my brain that keep it playful. Taking photos or looking for reference material online is important to plan a solid illustration and keep concepts sophisticated and fresh, but this process can become too mechanical if you make that your only prep work before a painting.

Doodling and playing with actual materials brings the lightness and fun into my work for sure. That said, I work from photos and think it’s very important for my paintings to have a variety of really solid photo reference. Sometimes, one blurry photo is all I have, so then I have to supplement it with studies of my own anatomy, or search for pictures online of someone holding a certain pose, a material, a detail, a machine or animal I don’t quite know how to paint, etc.

While working from photos, the biggest challenge is to stop it from becoming flat, or just a copy. There should be a point to why this is better as a painting, something that you’re trying to show with it. A lot of it is about editing and color. I want to stop the world, remove everything that isn’t important, and shine a spotlight on a little moment, a beautiful expression, a funny juxtaposition, or something that tickled me in the right way, but I’m not sure why.

The painting process for me is definitely a way to reexamine a fast-moving life and slow down time in order for me to think about my experiences, but do it in a form of indirect conversation with whoever looks at my work.

I think I have been slowly bringing together all my styles and interest, and distilling them. All my interest: abstraction, figurative art, concept, color and a journal-style practice, where I draw very fast what I see that day, I have been cooking these down into a nice reduction of all the sauces of my previous practices. The test of what a “successful” painting is to me is that I actually love looking back at my work over and over, and I feel like it’s “me”.

In this past year of living in New York City, I realized that painting people was something I really love doing more that other subjects. A big part of my work has been loitering around town. This is a practice I revived back form when I lived alone in Boston when I was working on my BFA.

I used to spend a lot of time walking around thinking about what I should paint. Now that I’m older and bolder, and also shameless, I incorporate into these walks taking pictures of strangers and also sketching them, when I can.

One of the things I felt most deprived of in Oregon are museums. I made it a point to go to all of the museums in New York City. (So far I haven’t even seen half! There are so many!) One thing that I discovered is that museums are a great place to look at people. Not only do they walk slowly, they are also usually well-lit.

I can sketch and photograph them, and if I miss a cool person, I can snake around the displays and catch up with them in the next gallery! (I’m not creepy at all). There are also a ton of tourists in museums who take a thousand pictures of everything, so I blend it well.

There are a few museums that I found people dress up for more than others, for instance the MOMA. I love it when people dress up for a museum, it makes me hopeful that art means something to people. It’s almost like the artists themselves were there, and people want to honor them with their best clothes. The recent fashion exhibit at the MET (Rei Kawakubo/ Comme des Garcons: art of the in-between) brought out the most amazing people. My head almost exploded trying to capture everyone I saw. So many interesting people!

I still have a huge backlog of ideas for paintings on my to-do list. Since moving to NYC I probably shot about a Terabyte of photos. I probably did about 70 paintings of people in museums so far. I really enjoy it, so I hope that people aren’t sick of seeing them! This is a fun project, and maybe it will evolve into something more in the future.

In the next step in my art, I would love to continue evolving my composition style, making it more sophisticated, and also developing concept further in my work. I would also love to work in animation again.

Jenny Kroik Website Instagram Facebook Twitter Society6 Store

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the second feature from Jenny Kroik who was one of the very first guest artists on Doodlewash back in August 2015. The format has changed a lot since that time. If you’re a former guest and would like to share your latest story with the community, please contact me!

Don’t Miss World Watercolor Month In July! 

GUEST ARTIST: Aimless Strolling, Kind Trolling by Jenny Kroik - #WorldWatercolorGroup @jkroik My name is Jenny Kroik. I was born in Russia, grew up in Israel, and now live in New York City.

#WorldWatercolorGroup #conceptual #doodlewash #featured #gouache #illustration #museum #New York #painting #watercolor #watercolour

[youngavengersfeels]

Honestly, I Just Came Out To Have A Good Time

Pairing: Stucky

Word Count: 2408

Summary: The first time Steve met Bucky, Bucky was jumping into a pond only a smidge less polluted than the from The Simpsons, butt naked. Things could really only go up from there.

Steve made a point of going to the park at least once a week to draw. Even though he did plenty of art as a freelance artist, he found less and less time to focus on his own art as opposed to just meeting deadlines. Even though he was normally exhausted and didn't really have the motivation Steve still dragged himself to the park once a week to sketch, it didn't have to be good, he just had to do it.

His preferred spot was a little secluded but still had enough foot traffic to stay interesting. Although considering it was already 9pm and the beginning of winter, Steve had the park to himself. The bench he claimed as his own faced the little man made pond which looked so incredible polluted Steve felt gross just looking at it. Still, Steve’s little bench was a great place to sit down and sketch, or in what was more likely to happen, stare off into space with a blanket page in his lap.

A man came running down the path completely breaking Steve’s concentration. It wasn't until the man was already leaping into the pond that Steve realized the guy was straight up naked and Steve got a pretty good view before the guy hit the water. It was late-October so the water was probably bitterly cold. Steve watched the pond and when the guy didn't resurface Steve started to panic. He was already pulling his hoodie off, ready to leap in after the guy when a head emerged. Steve let out a breath of relief, he was really glad he didn't have to save the guy; freezing water really wasn't hai thing.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve yelled jogging over to the pond’s edge. “You're gonna get arrested jumping in public lakes naked.”

The guy must not have seen Steve before violently skinny dipping because he let out the funniest squeak Steve had ever heard. The guy had been standing in the water but at Steve’s gaze he ducked back in the water apparently concerned about his modesty after all. Not that it spared Steve anything since he had already gotten an eyeful.

“Please don't call the police! My friends dared me to do it!” The guy said sounding so incredibly pitiful.

“You're friends dared you to jump in a freezing lake nude and you just did it?” Steve asked astonished. He wasn’t the best person to be telling someone off for doing stupid stuff on a dare, but this guy didn’t know it so Steve didn’t feel like too much of a hypocrite.

“The loser has to shave their head and I can't let the world be robbed of these luscious locks,” the guy said.

“Whatever you say dude, you should probably get out before you get hypothermia though,” Steve said. He wasn't really willing to spend his Friday night trying to coax a crazy person out of a pond but he also didn't want the guy to freeze to death. Darn his mother for instilled basic human decency in him at an early age.

“Um, I kind of left my clothes with my friends,” the guy said squirming. Steve rolled his eyes.

“It's a little late for the modesty I already saw the whole show and while I definitely don't want an encore performance but you really need to get out of the lake. You're probably absorbing so many toxins into your skin.” The guy still didn't budge. Steve sighed deeply. “You can take my jacket to cover up,” Steve said resigned to the fact some other guy’s junk was going to touch his clothes.

The guy finally got out of the lake though, so little victories. Steve pulled off his hoodie and handed it to the guy, averting his eyes. The guy wrapped the hoodie around his waist and clapped Steve on the back in what he assumed was gratefulness but Steve really wished he hadn't because now he had pond water on him which was disgusting.

“Let me just run to grab my clothes and I’ll give you back your hoodie,” the guy said. Steve couldn’t help looking down at his hoodie which was wrapped around the guy’s waist already soaked. There was no way Steve was going to be able to decontaminate that. Even if he could he wouldn’t be able to wear the damn thing without thinking of the guy in all his naked glory jumping into the lake. Steve said a silent goodbye to his fourth favorite hoodie.

“You know what keep it as a ‘congrats for not having to shave your head’ present,” Steve said ready to be done with this and hopefully never think of it again. The guy beamed at him.

“Thanks man,” the guy said before jogging off. Steve couldn’t help but admire the guy’s toned ass as he jogged away.

If Steve had his way he would purchase almost all his furniture from goodwill. He drew the line at buying a second hand mattress, there just wasn't a good way to clean a mattress both physically and spiritually. Peggy though had better taste than him so as a compromise Steve agreed to go to Ikea with her to pick out a few new items for his bare apartment.

It took all of ten minutes for Steve to lose Peggy. He had wondered a little bit away to laugh at some oddly named pieces of furniture and when he looked back, Peggy was gone. It felt like he was a little kid lost in the grocery store but Peggy wasn't just in the next isle over. Steve tried calling her but of course he didn't have service inside the store. It almost felt like the store was trying to separate the weak from the group to pick them off one by one. If Steve didn't find Peggy soon he would probably be absorbed by the store and get spit back out as an employee. Steve shuddered at the thought.

Steve kind of figured he might as well look around while he looked for Peggy, no sense wasting the opportunity so he let himself be distracted by things he found interesting. Even though he didn't really need a new entertainment center, and certainly not one that enormous, Steve still inspected the item, pulling the cabinets open to peer inside. He wasn't really looking inside the cabinets so he almost missed the man curled up inside the bottom right cabinet. Steve was already half way closing the cabinet door when it registered.

Yanking the cabinet open again the guy looked up at him, finger pressed to his lips as a sign to be quiet. Like hell Steve was going to listen to a clearly insane man living inside a model ikea entertainment center. There were worse places to live than IKEA; there were plenty of places to sleep and there was even a food court but still.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Steve asked.

“Shhh! They'll hear you!” The guys said shushing Steve who felt his hackles raise. Nothing was nothing like getting shushed to make a person want to beat the crap out of someone else.

“Don't you fucking shush me. You're the one hiding in a cabinet,” Steve hissed unsure of why he lowered his voice, he didn't have to go along was the idiot in the cabinet.

“I'm playing hide and seek with my friends and the loser has to buy dinner. I know better than to be stuck with the pizza bill when Clint’s around,” the guy sai like Steve would know what any of that meant.

“Are you really just stuck? There's no shame in admitting you got in over your head and need help,” Steve asked actually concerned for the man’s well being.

“Shh! This isn't even the worst thing you've seen me done so I'm not sure why you're acting so weird about it,” the guys said. Squinting Steve did think the guy looked familiar. All cramped up in the cabinet though, Steve couldn't get a good look at him. Then Steve realized it was the clothes throwing him off. This was the guy he saw skinny dipping in the park. What the fuck kind of games did this guy play with his friends?

“You really should consider doing something that isn't going to get you kicked out of places,” Steve said settling on amused.

“The threat of getting banned from Ikea makes the game all the more fun. You should play sometime,” the guy said.

“I don't need to intentionally hide from my friends in here,  the maze from hell that is IKEA does a pretty good job for me,” Steve said. The guy laughed at him which was actually a kind of nice sound. Steve couldn't get a great look at the guy since he was literally stuffed in a cabinet, but without the distraction of him being completely naked Steve was able to get a better look at him. The guy was actually really attractive, if not a little weird.  

“My name’s Bucky. I feel like since you’ve already seen me naked you should at least know my name,” Bucky said. Great, now when Steve recounted the latest strange encounter to his friends, he would have a name instead of just referring to Bucky as the unfairly hot streaker.

“Steve,” he said earning a smile from Bucky.

“Are you talking to the furniture now? I haven’t been gone that long, no need to integrate yourself into the environment,” Peggy said snapping Steve’s attention away from Bucky.

“No, just talking to…” Steve said looking down but Bucky was nowhere to be seen. How the fuck did he manage to get out of the cabinet so easily. Steve kind of really hoped he won hide and seek because damn that must take a lot of skill. “It’s nothing. Let’s just pick out a new coffee table and leave before anything starts sing about us being their guest,” Steve said.

The only good let about going to the mall was the people watching. The mall was a depressing space where time didn't exist, the only even hint of time passing was constant repetition of the Rainforest Cafe show every hour on the hour. Society barely prevailed as packs of middle schoolers roamed their territory taking out the weak and solo shoppers. Steve had almost been trampled by a group of anime weirdos heading for the manga section of Barnes and Nobles while he browsed the history section. Only the consumerist dream could survive in such a harsh habitat.

The fact that it was the holiday season and the same three pop Christmas carols played over and over again on the loudspeakers and Christmas cheer were shoved down everyone's throats only made it worse. Still there were some really good sales Steve wanted to hit up and the mall had the closest Lush to him and bath bombs were a must. He hadn't had time to eat before heading to the mall so even though Steve hated food court food he ended up at Panda Express. So he was sitting by himself munching contently in organs chicken when a guy plopped down into the chair facing him out of nowhere.

“Can I kiss you? the guys said. Steve jerked back at the sudden appearance a strange man right in front of him. He dropped the piece of chicken on his fork and he stared at the waste of food pitifully until what the person had asked him registered. His head jerked up a speech about boundaries already forming. Now that he was actually paying attention he realized it was only Bucky so he relaxed. It spoke a lot to how use to Bucky’s antics after only a couple of meetings that the question didn't even phase him.

“What?” Steve asked dumbly because while he wasn’t really surprised he was still a little concerned.

“We're doing a mall scavenger hunt and I have to kiss someone wearing khaki in the food court and I really would prefer it be someone under the age of 60,” Bucky said nonchalantly. Did Bucky and his friends ever just sit around and hang out or did they always have to have some weird challenge going on?

“Yes, taking a dig at my sense of fashion is a great way to get me to agree to kiss you,” Steve said rolling his eyes. “Also that is so specific and kind of invasive. What would you do if no one agreed?” Steve asked.

“I guess I would lose,” Bucky said with a shrug which suggested casualness but the tightness of his voice and everything Steve knew about the guy told Steve he cared very deeply about winning. Honestly at this point Steve was kind of just amused by the dedication.

“Alright,” Steve said.

“Wait really?” Bucky said eyes lighting up.

“I can't really let you lose, that would be bad for my karma,” Steve said with a smile. If he was being completely honest he wouldn't really mind kissing Bucky anyway.

Bucky has his phone out ready to take the picture and as Steve squeezed close to Bucky to fit in the frame he felt incredibly self conscious. They looked like a couple.

Steve’s palms got sweaty as Bucky leaned in. Even though Steve had agreed to the kiss in he was inching so at the last second he veered off course and gave Bucky a peck on the cheek. Bucky pulled away laughing after snapping the picture.

“I guess that technically counts but I feel a little cheated,” Bucky said while sending the picture to his friends. Steve felt a little nervous at the fact that people were going to be judging the photo.

“Well you'll just have to earn a real one,” Steve said in a teasing tone to mask his total lack of chill because he kind of wish he had kissed Bucky for real.

“The mall has a laser tag arena. How about If I win you have to give me a kiss?” Bucky suggested.

“What is with you and stupid little bets?” Steve asked rolling his eyes but with a grin. “And if I win?”

“I'll buy you dinner,” Bucky said extending his hand to shake on it, which Steve accepting the terms. This was definitely the weirdest way Steve ever got a date but at this point he wouldn't expect anything less.

#stucky #Steve Rogers #captain america #Bucky Barnes #marvel