Request: So, I been feeling really down and your fics make my day. Can I resquest a reader of our time that enjoy painting and drawing but think they suck? Like, some of the overwatch agents discover the reader think is bad at painting and decide to take them to a gallery where all the paintings were made by them. If there are tears, is going to be good
Enjoy I hope you like it!
Jesse watched from the doorway of your s room as you tangled your hands in your hair and swore under your breath. He’d never seen you so frustrated before, thinking it was some complicated paperwork 76 had dumped on you he strolled over. He needed someone to pester.
“Whatcha workin’ on Sugarpea?”
You quickly covered your work, “N-Nothing.”
The blush on your cheeks only fueled his curiosity more, you’d been friends with Jesse for a long time and by now he knew that when you said ‘nothing’ it was actually something. He pursued you to show him and when you continuously refused he began to worry.
“Darlin’ jus’ lemme see. I can’ help ya if I don’ know what I’m workin’ with.” He plopped down in the chair next to you.
You gave into his puppy dog stare and suckered up the drawing you were working on. The cowboy took it and looked it over, “It sucks doesn’t it? It looks terrible…”
Jesse knew how much you liked to draw but he’d never seen your work before, he felt like he held a masterpiece in his hands. To him it looked better than anything he’d ever laid eyes on.
“Whaddya mean this sucks? It’s amazin’!” He beamed like a kid in a candy store. “C’n I see more?”
“There’s no point…it all sucks.” Tears swelled in your eyes. “Everyone else can draw so much better than me…” You shot up. “I-Im going to the restroom.”
Before you could burst into tears from stress and self-hatred you fled the area as if it were a crime scene. The cowboy munched on his cigar in contemplation. Unbeknownst to you you’d left a pile of your works in progress on the desk and within dangerous range of Jesse. He looked them over and pursed his lips, he put out his cigar and gathered up your drawings. The wheels of his mind were turning and you would probably kill him for what he was about to do.
After about ten or fifteen minutes you returned from the bathroom to discover the missing cowboy and your missing art, you knew Jesse like the back of your hand so you went to the first place you knew he’d be. You marched to the balcony of the base with fire in your veins and betrayal in your heart. Then again you had a habit of stealing Jesse’s hat so maybe this was payback. Maybe you deserved it.
Before you could get out to the balconies a pair of gloved hands cupped over your eyes and pulled you to the right.
“Jesse James McCree you-”
Oh boy you were using his middle name.
“Now hold up honeybun, ya can chew me out after I show ya somethin’.” He said. “Now keep yer eyes closed for a sec.”
You growled and crossed your arms, eyes closed.
“Alright open em.”
“Jesse I can’t the lights aren’t-”
You heard Jesse swear and kick what sounded like metal. After the sound a rainbow blossomed in the room, your drawings were projected onto the wall like images in an art gallery. You looked away, there was no way you’d ever get there. Not with your skill.
Jesse came up and took your hand, he walked by every picture and explained what he saw, what he liked, and what he thought it meant. You laughed at the end of the tour, Jesse had drawn a picture of the two of you. A pair of stick figures playing with a pair of guns.
“See, yer so much better than ya give yourself credit for. Your art looks lovely doll, would I ever lie to ya? Ya just gotta do - don’t think ‘bout it!”
“You….you really think I’m good?”
“Nah, I think yer fantastic.”
You smiled for the first time in a while, You and Jesse stayed in your little art gallery and drew for hours since he pestered you to teach him to draw more than stick figures.
Reaper had always been a tough love kind of guy, he never sugar coated anything. One reason why you valued your friendship so much. Reaper was the kind of friend who would tell you that dress made your butt look like a box or that your hair looked better before you dyed it. Reaper discovered your interest in drawing by word of mouth, he’d been walking through the Talon base and heard Sombra and Widowmaker talking about you.
“Have you seen their art? It’s amazing! The way they draw eyes is great, so detailed.” Sombra exclaimed, flipping through some probably hacked pictures she’d gotten from your laptop.
“Was that one of Reaper?” Widow inquired.
“Most of them are of him, I mean they’re always together. Weird though cause (Y/n) hasn’t come out of their room in a week.”
In an instant Reaper teleported from his place and to your door, he didn’t bother to knock. He crossed his arms and looked at you, you sat at your desk with the lights off except for a flimsy desk lamp. Wads of paper littered the floor around you crumbled and abandoned.
“Oh. My. God. Why can’t I get this?!” You roared and slammed your fist on the desk.
“If you break that your replacing it.” Reaper grumbled. “Calm down, why are you so frustrated?”
“I can’t do it…Reaper I can’t.” You hung your head. “It looks dumb anyway, I should just start over.”
He came over and examined your drawing of Sombra, only one eye was bigger than the other and her hands looked like claws. Now Reaper wasn’t an expert on drawing but he did know a thing or two about YouTube tutorials. He pulled out his phone and youtubed how to draw hands and eyes.
“It’s not going to help, I’ve already watched eight-”
“Then walk away and take a breather, then come back and do it again.” He crossed his arms. “I know you, you’re not someone who gives up so easily. So what if it looks terrible? Who cares if no one likes it? No one starts off perfect at anything, it takes time, blood, sweat, and tears to get from point A to point B. If you want to have the defeatist attitude be my guest but if you wanna get anywhere in the world you gotta learn to say ‘Fuck you’ and just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“A professional is an ametuar who never quit.”
You felt like you’d been punched in the chest when he said that, even though Reaper wasn’t the most affectionate sort he still helped in his own way. You repeated his words aloud and in your mind, you were an ametuar but one day you’d be a professional. You just needed a bit more work.
“I’m not leaving until you can draw an eye and a hand without throwing another wad of paper on the floor.” He pulled up a chair and sat next to you.
You stared at your landscape painting and hated every aspect of it, it was snowing and you decided it would be perfect to try and get your creative juices flowing. Yet every stroke of your brush convinced you that you were far from perfect, the color seemed off, the shading was horrid, and you added a random tree that looked like a monkey had slapped his tail on your painting. A grumbled left your throat as you looked at the already discarded and unfinished paintings.
You sighed and shook your head, “You’re just wasting your time and your money idiot…”
“I didn’t know you paint.” A male voice uttered.
Startled your skin ached as your skeleton nearly came flying out of it, Genji lingered behind you rubbing his chin the way he did when he was trying to look sophisticated.
He laughed, “Oh the tree hahaha!”
His laughter caused your throat to swell and your eyes to burn, “I knew it looked stupid…I shouldn’t have added it now the whole thing is ruined.”
Genji quirked a dark brow and stopped you from taking your painting off the easel, he explained that the tree looked funny yes but thought it fit good within the landscape even if it wasn’t really there. You ignored his complimentic insult and insisted that it was horrid and no one would ever want it.
“Everything I paint I hate,” You growled. “I’ve painted eight things in the past week and a half and every one of them is hideous. Maybe mom was right…maybe I should have gone to med school.”
You loved having Genji as a friend because he was so gentle, whenever you got in situations like this he handled you as if you were a broken mirror he thought worth fixing. He’d stay up in the long hours of the night and text you whenever you had a problem, he even brought you ice cream and watched sappy romance movies with you when you broke up with your boyfriend last month. Cabbage head(as you liked to call him because he thought it was a good idea to dye his hair green), stood behind you and put his hands on your shoulders. He pulled you in for a much needed hug.
“You’re too hard on yourself, (Y/n). It doesn’t matter if there is really a tree there or not.” He smiled. “I think it looks great! Have you painted before?”
You nodded, “Yeah…but some could do this way better than I can.”
He shrugged, “That shouldn’t make you want to stop. There will always be someone who can do it better, just look at Hanzo! We both trained in the same subjects but he can wield a sword much better than I can and he always beats me in sparring matches. My point, (Y/n).” He let you go and pat your head. “Is that no one else can see the world the way you see it. So paint it how you see it and how you want to see it. Sure there might be millions of other people who can paint, but no one can paint the way you can.”
You turned and wrapped your arms around your friend and thanked him for his kind words and thanked him again when he agreed to be the center of your next painting.
“You can do this, I’m with you every step of the way!” Genji cheered. “So smile and make me look pretty!”
Description // An after-prom party leads Caitlin to confront her longtime school rival, and often time crush, Barry Allen.
AN: I’ve been super inspired by the beautiful posts from this fandom, and the super prolific chasingblue57 and a post by songbin. Oh, and this HERE too!
She retracts her foot back from the water as though she’s been attacked, and even curses at the cold sensation, as if the lake had a choice in the matter. It’s not as though she’s soaked, but she’s prone to the cold, and now she can’t help but feel a deep chill in her bones.
It’s figures, really. Everything she’s tried to calm her nerves with has not come anywhere close to working. Not that a lonely stroll by the woods, at night, was a good idea, but she at least thought it’d clear her conflicting thoughts of the end of an era–the last days as a senior at Central City High.
‘Holy shit,’ she shrieks, holding her hands up in defense to the voice behind her.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ it’s Barry Allen apologizing, and he’s decent enough to look sheepish about it.
The same Barry Allen she’s been neck and neck with in about every AP course she’s taken, the very same Barry she’s suddenly stricken to realize will no longer be the boy she watches from afar. And she has watched him since their first assigned seats, side by side, in their junior year, she’ll admit that to herself now that it’s glaringly too late to admit out loud.