The Angels helping you after your first broken heart
Warnings : Angst
You used to think you were incapable of romantic feelings, that was, until you met him. He flipped your world around, made you feel things you didn’t even know were possible, and then, he dropped you as if you were nothing to him. It hurt more than any physical wound ever had.
You spent your nights in tears and your days trying to figure out what you did wrong. You were a mess, to say the least.
“(Y/n), you need to get outside.” Castiel held you in his lap, letting you rest your head on his chest. “The Winchesters are starting to pray to me in hopes that I’ll bring you back to them. I know you’re hurt-”
“Cas, please.” You almost sobbed. He noticed the tears in your voice and squeezed you a little tighter.
“Okay.” He whispered, resting his chin on your head. “I’ve got you..”
“There we go.” Gabriel hummed his contentment, turning you towards the mirror so you could admire his work. Your hair was curled, beautifully framing your face.
“Wow, Gabe.” You allowed yourself to smile at your reflection. You hadn’t done your hair or makeup since he left you, so the change took you off guard. “Thank you..”
“No, thank you for being my canvas.” The angel tugged on one of your curls and then let go, watching it bounce back in place. “You’re gorgeous, ya know that?” You shook your head, smiling a bit. It could have been mistaken for nervousness, but nothing ever got passed Gabriel. “I’m serious, (Y/n). Listen, I, um.. Well, I know that you’ve been questioning yourself lately. You don’t feel beautiful anymore and I hate that because when I look at you, I see absolute perfection. You truly are the finest thing my father ever created.” Your heart felt like a balloon by the end of Gabriel’s declaration. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t speak. You threw your arms around him and hugged him so tight that you felt him struggle for air. “C'mon, babe, women can only handle me in small doses. Don’t over do it.”
Balthazar had a different method of mending a broken heart and you couldn’t really say that you were disappointed.
“Alright, doll, drink up.” He handed you a small glass of amber liquid and you drank without hesitation. “Slowly.” Balthazar scolded with a grin.
“Shut up.” You waved him off, setting the empty glass on the table as the room began spinning. “Woah..” You swayed in your seat, falling over on the angel’s shoulder.
“Told you so.” He sighed, sipping on the liquor. “Nothing eases the human body like alcohol and sex.”
“One down.” You rolled over so that you could lay your head in his lap and look up at him. “How about the latter?” You winked.
“Oh, you would suggest that when you’re vulnerable and I have to say no, you little minx.” Balthazar groaned. “Another time.” He kissed your head and settled for running his fingers through your hair.
“I’ll kill him.” Lucifer promised. You shook your head, grinning at the fuming angel.
“Want to?” You joked, but you knew your jokes would fuel him. “Wanna be my accomplice?”
“Darling, I’ll do the job myself.” You knew he was serious. The devil would do anything for you as long as you said please.
“I don’t need him dead.” You sighed and watched his face fall with disappointment. “I want him to live a long life, knowing he lost the best thing that has ever happened to him. He’ll suffer.” You watched Lucifer’s mouth slowly turn into a sinister smirk.
“You really are malicious.” He purred, moving closer to you.
This town is kinda blurry at 5.30am;
pre dawn blue hues give way to the flushed pink-coral sky of morning, everything decorating the horizon looks like smudged brush strokes on canvas, painted by an artist who couldn’t quite make up their mind and got a little frustrated. It’s the kind of painting I can relate to. Maybe it’s a blur because my eyes haven’t rested in 48 hours and they’re becoming unfocused. Imaginary bugs keep flying into my peripheries only to disappear as soon as I turn my head. It’s cold out, in the fog, but I can’t stop smoking and I thought the sunrise might help my mind ease but it’s only making things worse. I keep thinking about the sun rising then sinking, with the sinking feeling that it’s all happening too quickly, but not fast enough and all I’m doing is watching this cycle repeating from the sidelines, I’m never really involved even though the world revolves; I’m just here standing still.
Guess who got a tablet for christmas? *waggles eyebrows* I still have a long way to go before I can be considered proficient at using it, but I’ll get there. I’m looking forward to making the most of the ‘dead’ time during my commutes to and from the office!
“If that pen explodes in your mouth,” Dex says from the bathroom doorway, “I am not gonna feel bad for you.”
Derek startles–and does drop the pen out of his mouth–and looks up. “What?”
Dex cocks a brow at him, flicking off the bathroom light and flopping down on the hotel bed next to Derek’s. “You’ve had two pens explode in your mouth from chewing on them like that,” he says. His red hair is wet, tousled from where he must’ve run his hands through it after his shower, and he rolls onto his stomach, propping himself on his elbows to look at Derek. “What’re you glaring at, anyway?”
got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large
but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I
unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of
The painting itself was of this long hallway full of doors, kind of
like you’d see in a fancy hotel. The walls had edging about halfway up,
the upper part was painted sort of an off white while the lower half was
a crimson red that blended into the carpeting. Between each door was an
up-turned light, as well as on the far wall at the end, where the
corridor seemed to connect to another hallway running perpendicular to
it, disappearing around a corner.
It was really amazing detail, though I wouldn’t call it life-like by
any means. Just the sheer amount of intricate pieces to each aspect of
the scene showed that the artist really paid attention to every little
thing, like somewhere in the world was this hallway, and you could stand
in it and hold the painting up in front of you and if it weren’t for
the border and the clearly stylized art, you wouldn’t be able to tell
where the canvas ended and the real world began.
I called him up and thanked him immediately.
“But where’d you find this?”
“I got it at an auction.”
I kinda figured as much.
So I hung up the painting in my office, just behind my desk, which I
realized later wasn’t the best place for it because in order to actually
look at it, I had to swivel completely around, but there wasn’t
anywhere better really, and once I’d gotten it hung up, I felt less
willing to take it back down, so I just left it there. It kind of hung
out over my shoulder and watched me work, and every now and then I’d
turn around and stare at it and get entranced by it, feeling like I
could get up and put my hands in the frame and climb into the painting
as if the frame were a window.
Of course, I wouldn’t be writing this if something weird didn’t happen as a result of the painting.
We had a couple friends over, Marc and Sabina, and Marc and I went
into my office when the women-folk started talking about knitting, which
has become my wife’s new favorite hobby. I went and sat down at my
laptop to find a video I had been telling Marc about, and Marc wandered
over and started admiring the painting.
“Where’d you get that?”
“My dad bought it at an auction and gave it to me.”
“It’s not that creepy. It’s kind of… I don’t know.”
I turned around to look at it with him while the video loaded. He got
up close and was running his finger over the canvas, feeling the raised
acrylic, and I just let my gaze wander over all the details again.
“Huh, I didn’t notice that before.”
“At the end of the hall, there’s some sort of light coming from around the corner, and it’s casting a shadow on the floor.”
I got up and looked closer, because I really hadn’t spent a lot of
time studying the far end of the hallway. There was definitely some
yellow and some darker colors making what looked like the shadow of a
person coming from around the corner. I even reached out and touched it
to make sure it wasn’t some trick of the light in the study making it
just look like there was this shadow in the painting, but I felt the
paint and sure enough it was actually there in the painting.
“See what I mean?” Marc said, “Creepy.”
I genuinely felt weirded out by it. It was one of those moments where you start thinking, Why didn’t I notice this earlier? Was it there to notice?
A couple days later, I was working on a project in my study, and it
was like 9:30 at night, and I just couldn’t focus, so I spun around in
my chair to look at the painting and I felt this sudden vertigo effect,
like the ground wasn’t there and I had to grab my chair to keep from
tumbling into emptiness.
You wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t looked at the painting a
hundred times like I had. The hallway was long, with exactly six doors. I
remember, because I counted them the first day. three on the left,
three on the right, each with a little shiny, metal doorknob.
Only now there were seven doors. Three on the left, four on
the right. It didn’t make sense. Everything looked proportionally
exactly the same, and the far end of the corridor was just as far away,
and yet there was a fourth door in the right side of the hallway, with
its little metal doorknob. I don’t even know which door was the fourth
door, that’s how well it blended in, I just know that there were four
doors where once there were three.
“What the hell is going on?”
I turned away in my chair and back to check several times and make
sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, but the number of doors
I called my dad again and I asked him, “Is this a trick painting you sent me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it keeps changing. I can see it changing.”
“Not as far I know. It was just one in a bunch I picked up all at the same auction.”
After I got off the phone I took the painting down and checked the
back for some some of mechanical or digital hocus pocus, but it was all
soft canvas so I left it on the floor behind my office chair with the
painting facing the wall because the thought of it was freaking me out.
The next day I pulled my wife into my office and held the painting up
so she could see it because she hadn’t had a chance to before.
“How many doors are there?” I asked.
She looked it over for a moment. “Seven.”
“When I first got this, there were six.”
She just looked at me like I was being a goofball. “Okay, so which one wasn’t there before?”
“I have no idea.”
“You don’t know which door magically appeared?” and she laughed and gave me a kiss and went back into the other room.
It gets worse.
The next time I chatted with Marc, I told him about the extra door in the painting.
“Are you sure there weren’t seven doors to begin with?”
“Well, I would swear I counted six.”
“Well, if another one shows up, at least Melissa counted seven, and
can confirm it then. You know what you should do? You should take a
photo of the painting so you can prove it if anything else changes.”
What a great idea, so I got my phone and took a photo of the painting.
Two days went by. Nothing.
On the third day, I walked into my office and there was a man staring
at me. Well, I mean… it wasn’t… I can’t say that it was a man or a
woman. Hell, I can’t say that it was human. There was a shape
at the end of the hallway in my painting. It was oddly lacking in the
detail that the rest of the painting had, like someone had hurriedly
painted it on. I even ran my hand over it to make sure it wasn’t fresh,
that someone hadn’t actually come in and painted over my painting to
drive me crazy.
It was really there.
And the look of it scared me more than anything else, changing
painting included. I wish I could do it justice with words, but the best
I can describe it is that it was human-ish, with legs and
arms, but it seemed squat, or hunched, and lopsided, like someone had
slapped a blurry Quasimodo onto an otherwise beautiful painting. You
couldn’t see the details of its face, but you could see shading on it,
defining really warped features. I was almost glad that there wasn’t
more detail to it, except that it left just enough to the imagination to
give one nightmares.
But I had proof! Here was proof that the painting was changing. So I
brought up the file on my laptop to show my wife for comparison, only
when I did, the figure was in the photo I took too!
At no point did I start questioning my sanity about all this.
Something unnatural and terrifying was going on, so I took the painting
out of the house and set it on the curb where we put our trash for
pickup. I was so done with that painting.
Or so I thought.
The next evening, when I got home from work, it was gone from the
curb. I figured someone had seen it and taken it home, and I waved my
hands and said, “Good, now it’s someone else’s problem.” I went in,
played with daughter, had dinner, put them to bed, and after watching a
show with my wife, went into my office to check my email.
No, the painting wasn’t back on the wall. I made sure of that the moment I walked in the door.
But I got a message from Marc, asking if the painting had changed
anymore, and I told him about the creepy new addition and also how I had
gotten rid of the painting.
“Oh man, that sounds cool. I wish I’d gotten a chance to see it.”
“Well, I can send you the photo I took of it.”
So I opened the image file.
The thing in the painting had raised its arms.
Before, you could only barely make out the arms hanging at its sides,
but now both arms were raised up over its head, and its fingers were
spread apart like it was waving hello at me. I think it was waving hello at me.
I zoomed in, as best as I could without pixelating the image, and the shaded contours of the face seemed stretched into a grin.
Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
I sent Marc the file, but the connection kept fucking up, so I put it
in a folder on my dropbox account and gave him access to it.
“The file’s corrupted.” He texted me.
I tried to open it as well, but he was right. Every time I copied the image file, somehow it got corrupted.
“It must be the spooky magic.” Marc joked.
“This is no joke. I’m freaking out here.”
“Delete the file if it’s scaring you so bad.”
So I deleted the file.
But it gnawed at me, you know? The painting was still changing, in
horrible, terrifying ways, seemingly acknowledging my observation of it,
and now it was gone. But if it was gone, why should it matter? If
something unholy happens, it’s the problem of whoever has the painting
now, right? And they’ll see it changing too, won’t they?
It was two days later, and I was organizing a folder of documents and
had accidentally deleted a couple I hadn’t meant to. I went into the
Windows recycling bin and –you guessed it– there was the image file
along with the documents.
I had to look. I was trembling with dread at the thought of it, but
when something so surreal happens to you, you have to witness it and see
it through to the end.
I recovered the file and opened it.
The walls of the hallway seemed to be melting. The partition
separating the red from the off-white was lower than it had been before,
and drooped in places. The ridge on the lights looked like they were
peeling off. The carpet seemed less crimson and more reddish brown.
And the figure had taken several steps down the corridor toward the
viewer’s perspective. More details had become defined: hair hanging off
its head, long and black like it had been painted with a fine-tipped
brush, the eyes were little more than dull black points under the
shading of the brow. The grin came with teeth, uneven and fat, like
those of a child more than an adult. Its arms were extended out on
either side of it, touching both walls. One foot was ahead of the other,
as if I had caught it mid-step in a game of red light/green light.
I realized I was panting and shaking as I looked at it. It was really
hard to breathe, an anxiety attack. The painting was going to make me
pass out, just from looking at a digital photo of it.
Quickly, I closed the image to calm myself down, but that suddenly brought forth the thought, What if it progresses every time I look away? The only way to stop it is to keep looking! and I opened the file again.
No change. Oh– no, wait, that wasn’t a new change, I had noticed it
before, but it hadn’t dawned on me. One of the doors was open. There was
a dim blue light coming from the room inside, moonlight I thought. And
just outside the threshold of the door, there was an object lying on the
I zoomed in for better detail.
It was a little, yellow, stuffed lion with a scraggly, orange mane. A
child’s toy. Of all the details, the melting hallway, the grinning
fiend with arms wide open, the blue light from the open doorway, it was
the innocent nature of that little toy lion that filled me with the most
My wife came into the office.
“Come kiss Gabby goodnight.”
I went into her darkened room, where she was wrapped up in blankets
in her bed, hugging a half dozen stuffed animals and looking cute as
could be. My little darling. I love her so much.
I kissed my daughter goodnight. She kissed me back and hugged her
little pillowpet with the built in night light. It glowed through a
variety of colors.
“I love you, baby.” I told her.
“Can you get my Simba?”
I looked around. “Where’d you leave it?”
“Over there.” She pointed to the closet. The door was open, and her toy lay on the floor just inside.
Simba, her little, yellow, stuffed lion with the scraggly, orange mane.
Seeing it lying there, just past the threshold of the closet door,
while the dim glow of my daughter’s night light faded from red to purple
to blue, I felt my heart rise up in my chest. The closet was just a
closet. I could see it was just a closet. There were clothes on
hangers and bags with toys and blocks in them. They were right there.
And yet, as I looked at the stuffed lion lying on the floor, waiting for
me, I felt as if I could see carpeting on the floor inside the closet,
even though there was none. Carpeting, not in my vision, but in my
imagination. And maybe if I went in and shut the door, I’d find that the
walls beyond those clothes had a wooden partition, red below, off-white
And maybe there was something hunched and terrible shambling its way toward us even as I stood there staring at that toy.
I walked, briskly, trying not to look half as frightened as I was,
snatched up Simba and shut the closet door. My breathing was heavy, like
I’d just run a mile, and I struggled to avoid gasping for breath as I
tried to calm myself down.
“Hey, did that poster fall down?” I asked nobody in particular, then
pretended I was trying to adjust a cat poster that had been on the floor
by her dresser for months, and shoved the heavy dresser over so that it
partially blocked the closet door.
“Here’s Simba, sweety.” I handed the lion to Gabby, gave her a quick
hug and kiss, and wished her goodnight before rushing back to my office.
The painting had changed, as I knew it would. The open door was
closed, the toy gone from the floor, the hallway was dimly lit with
yellow light from the melting lights again. But the thing, that
not-quite-human fiend, was standing right outside the now shut door, its
body turned to face it with both hands pressed up against the door
itself like it was running its hands down it, caressing it, and its head
turned toward me, still grinning that awful, frightening grin full of
gnashed, crooked teeth.
Oh God how close had it been? No, it’s just a closet! The hallway is not there. It’s not real. None of this is real.
I’ve put up signs around the neighborhood, knocked on doors, asked
everyone I know and many I don’t if they know who took the painting. I
need to find it and get it back. I want to tear it, shred it in my
hands, throw it in a fire and watch it burn to ashes. Jesus God in
Heaven, I hope it didn’t end up in some landfill.
I’ve learned the awful truth… All Doors Lead To The Hallway
Bucky lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep most nights. The rare times when he could, his mind was plagued with nightmares. The doctors in Wakanda had assured him that it was perfectly normal. His psychiatrist at the Avengers compound told him that the therapy would help with it. He even had a prescription for sleeping pills after he mentioned his insomnia. But Bucky didn’t like taking them, the feeling of something making his mind hazy was too close to how he used to be while under Hydra’s control.
Warnings/Contains: mainly fluff, really cute fluff as well (if i do say so myself), reader is a painter, lots of talks of love, domestic bucky, a little smut, unprotected sex, sex on the floor, passionate sex, i guess that’s it?
Word Count: 2640
based on the request: Hello darling, I was wondering if you could please write a Bucky x reader where the reader is a artist and maybe he asks her why she never paints him but she does she just never shows them to him😊 With like a lot of fluff. Sorry if it’s to much but I think you would do an amazing job😊
This is such a good idea and i barely ever do anything fluffy it’s almost all dirty sex so lets see how i go w this one kids
Anxiety didn’t understand it sometimes. How could someone like Roman -i.e. Prince, romantic, confident, handsome, magnificent- love someone like Anxiety - i.e. a depressing list he didn’t wanna get into.
And it wasn’t like Roman was lacking choices- He was creativity, he had any choice he wanted. Any choice he wished to have.
“I don’t get it,” Anxiety finally voiced one day, as he watched Roman paint across a canvas, colors blending together to create a beautiful scenic view of river and fairies.
“Get what?” Roman looked back, and Anxiety smirked when he saw the paint coating his face. When he really got into his work, all his personal grooming was for not. Anxiety had once had to literally wash his hair five times to get all of the glue out of it.
Roman looked back to his painting, “I’d think it to be self-explanatory.”
“Not the painting you dolt,” Anxiety rolled his eyes and Roman frowned and turned back to his work.
“I meant, how come you chose me?”
For his credit, Roman didn’t stop working, knowing not to interrupt until the other was done, lest he never speak of it again in the next millennia.
“You could literally create the perfect boyfriend. So why would you choose me?”
Roman stifled a laugh, and finally turned around on his stool.
“Virgil, that’s exactly why I chose you. You are so unique. I can create a thousand replicas, and never have another you. I take you, I’d choose you over any ‘perfect’” -he made quite the expressive and dramatic use of air quotes- “clone any day.”
“You’re a beautiful canvas, and what you create, day after day after day, is more valuable than any museum could pay for.”
You added a layer of mascara to complete your look and stood back, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your beige long flowy dress complementing your skin and your hair down in a retro hairstyle along with your black flats that you wore for your personal comfort. Not like anyone would see your shoes from your dress anyway. You held your black clutch in your hand and made your opened your bedroom door.
“Come on, baby, we’re going to be late!” You heard Harry shout out from downstairs.
You walked down the stairs and looked at him as he was on his phone. “I’m ready.”
“Final-” He stopped mid sentence, his eyes traveling from your head to your toe. His eyebrows were raised in surprise before a grin broke out on his face, “Wow.” He breathed out, walking closer to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “You look unbelievably beautiful.” He said before kissing your neck and your cheek.
“Do I?” You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck and felt him nod, “You look handsome, love but we really are going to be late.” You patted his chest as you got out of his embrace and walked outside your house.
“Going to be the death of me.” Harry said to himself with a chuckle and a shake of his head.
You were both going to Harry’s cousin’s wedding that was on the beach. Harry in his cream colored suit and you in your dress. Harry drove, one hand on the steering wheel while the other held yours on your lap, Niall’s Slow Hands playing on the radio.
“I’m so proud of him.” You said, smiling and leaving your head on the window.
“I am too. He’s an incredible lad.” He agreed.
You looked in the backseat to make sure that you haven’t forgotten the gift you got to Nancy, his cousin and calmed when you saw the wrapped gift. You had gotten them a rectangular wooden canvas of a love quote along with their names engraved on it. You and Harry were quite proud of it.
“Y/N! Look at you!” Harry’s aunt immediately hugged you tightly once you and Harry walked where everyone was.
“You look wonderful! How old are you now, 20?” You held her at arm length.
“Oh, always the one with the nice words!” She put her hand on her heart, “Harry, darling, I’m very proud of you.” She hugged Harry.
“I think you like my girlfriend more than me, Auntie.” He joked, crossing his arms jokingly.
“Oh you know how much I love Y/N. Learn how to share.” She gently slapped his arm, laughing.
“I’ll try.” He smiled, holding your hand and entwining your fingers together.
“There’s Anne.” You pointed, “We’ll see you later, lovely.” You kissed Harry’s aunt’s cheek and smiled as Harry did the same and both of you walked towards Anne.
You wrapped your arms around Anne’s neck loosely, giving her cheek a kiss and laughing when she squealed before she turned and engulfed you in a hug. “I missed you so much, dear.” She said, giving you a kiss on the cheek before wiping her lipstick from your cheek.
“I missed you too, Anne. You look amazing.” You smiled.
Anne hugged Harry, giving him a kiss as well and wiping her lipstick later, “Really? I was very nervous that this wouldn’t be my color.”
“You know you can rock any color.” You complimented, wrapping your arm around Harry’s torso.
“Oi! Keep complimenting my family like that and I will be thrown outside the family.” He joked, bumping his hip with yours.
You and Anne laughed as you shrugged, “Deal with it. They love me more.”
“No objections there.” Anne joked.
“Hey!” Harry frowned before laughing.
After greeting everyone, you and Harry were seated as the ceremony began. You had a thing for weddings. They made your heart flutter and made you emotional. You and Harry’s hands were intertwined on your lap, your other hand wrapped around his arm and your head leaning on his shoulder, his head leaning on your head. He gave your head a kiss before leaning back on it.
The groom was standing with his best men, looking nervous as ever as he kept exhaling through his mouth and fidgeting on his feet. The music began and you lifted your head up, turning to see the beautiful bride walk down the aisle with her father, your eyes getting tearful as you stared at how beautiful she looked.
Harry looked at you, a smile on his face as he watched you watch her like a child looking at a princess, feeling his heart flutter at it. She reached the groom, who was crying and it made you wipe your tears away as he began laughing and shaking his head and mouthing “Beautiful” to her.
You leaned your head back on Harry’s shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment as he pressed a kiss to your head before whispering in your ear, “One day, princess.” You looked at him with surprise before you grinned and squeezed his hand.
You cried during their vows. They were so in love, it made everyone happy and smiling. When he was finally able to kiss her, everyone cheered as he let out a yell of happiness before kissing her again, making everyone laugh happily.
You were now seated on tables, you sitting opposite to Harry as people danced behind you. “Let me take a picture of you.” You said as you held your phone up.
Harry tugged on his shirt underneath his blazer and looked to the side making you laugh, “Harry!”
He laughed and grinned for you, you successfully taking the picture and smiling at it before locking your phone and putting it back in your clutch. In that moment, Harry had snapped a photo of you, looking down at your phone and smiling. He set it as his home screen before locking his phone and putting it in his suit pocket.
He stood up and walked to your side, opening his palm for you to place your hand in, “Dance with me.”
How is he this beautiful?
Requests are y'know…open.
Steve as Cap, passing over the shield to Sam as Cap. Temporarily or not is up to you. rsf not signed in because my tablet hates me.
Sorry about your tablet woes! D:
It had taken nearly a year of negotiation, including a lot of punched walls and more of T’Challa’s time than they’d really had the right to ask of him. But when the final draft of the newly renegotiated accords was set on the table, it felt like it was worth it. The entire Avengers were reassembled, even Natasha, who had disappeared in disgust and refused to be found by either Tony or Steve’s side for ages.
She’d only reappeared, perhaps intentionally, after Tony came to Steve with his peace offering: tech that could wipe out Bucky’s programming permanently, and begin work on helping him find his way through the trauma of the last seventy years. It was a slow process, but it seemed to be working.
Tony still didn’t look like he liked the idea of being in the same room with Bucky Barnes, but he was, and Steve could accept Tony’s tolerance of Bucky if it meant Tony wasn’t actively trying to kill him.
It was one of those things that they were going to have to dance around for a while, Steve suspected. Which just made this decision easier.
“Before anyone signs,” Steve said, drawing the document towards himself, “I need to ask for one more change.”
Wanda rolled her eyes. Clint collapsed backward in his chair, frustrated. “I’m not calling T’Challa again!” he announced.
“Seriously?” Rhodey asked. “Seriously?”
“Steve, you approved this – “ Tony started, but Steve held up a hand.
“It’s not a legal change, just a minor nomenclature issue,” he said, flipping to the roster page. Throughout the Accords – one of the only things Clint had insisted on, weirdly – the legal language only referred to people by their callsigns. Each Avenger was only mentioned by name once, in the roster.
Steve took out a black ink pen, drew a neat line through his name and Sam’s name, and then wrote Sam’s name next to Captain America.
“I need to not be Cap for a while,” he said quietly, initialing the change. Every head in the room turned to Sam, who grinned.
“He asked me last night,” Sam said. “Was I gonna say no?”
“Black Captain America?” Rhodey asked. Sam nodded, and Rhodey held out his fist for a dap.
Steve looked at Tony, who was looking thoughtful.
“You could have asked for this months ago,” Tony said. “But there would have been a call for confirmation hearings. Sam would have been background checked. Media field day. So you dumped it in now at the last minute, so that it would be up to me as a representative of the Accord negotiators.”
“Is there a problem?” Steve asked.
Tony smiled a little. “No, just admiring how good you’re both getting at politics.” He held out his hand for the pen, then leaned across the table and initialed the change. Then he set the pen down and snapped his fingers. One of the guards at the edge of the conference room came forward with a large object in a thin canvas bag. Tony took it, undid the drawstring, and removed the shield. He looked at Steve, then passed it straight across him to Sam, who took it carefully and slid his arm into the straps, letting it hang by his side.
“Got any first words as Captain America?” Natasha asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Are we done here? I got justice to dispense.”
// harry and y/n take a trip to MoMA and her art studio, where things get a little messy
paint my kiss across your chest if you’re the art, i’ll be the brush
-bad liar, selena gomez
“You’re prettier than all of the art in here.” Harry states. He flops his long arm across my shoulders as we stand looking at Andy Worhol’s Campbell’s Soup Cans. “I mean, it’s just a bunch of soup cans. I could’ve come up with that.”
I roll my eyes at his cheesy comment and laugh at his unappreciative nature towards art. “It’s Andy Worhal.”
“It’s not creative, y/n.” Harry looks at me and takes my hand in his, pulling me away from the soup cans. His heavy tan sweater sways lightly while he walks. His hands are clammy, just like usual. “You on the other hand, are the most creative, most beautiful person I know. Your art should be here. You should be in here,” he beams.
“I am in here.” I reply, looking up at him. The hat he has on makes him look different- younger, maybe.
“No, like on display. I want everyone to see how beautiful you are- wait no, on second thought, I don’t want anyone looking at you.” Harry shakes his head and takes his lip between his index finger and thumb.
“Why not? You said yourself, I’m prettier than all of the art in here,” I counter, though I completely disagree with his statement.
“Because having you on display would mean that other people would get to look at you and I want to be the only one who gets to look at y/n, the most beautiful and priceless piece of art that ever was.” Harry finishes his sentence with a kiss to my right temple. This leaves my cheeks burning and my mind wondering why this public act of affection is affecting me the way it is. All we would ever be seen doing is holding hands. Never kissing, never even hugging in public.
“People stare at you everyday and you don’t see me having a problem with it.” I cross my arms over my chest, sending him attitude.
“That’s because you don’t see me as a piece of art, love. I look at you and I see the most delicate, most intricate, most delightful thing created.” He flashes a smile at me again, and I wonder why he would ever think I don’t see him as a piece of art. Maybe he’s more than art to me. Maybe he’s my world, my lifeline, the oxygen in my lungs.
Harry yawns. “Can we go to your apartment? I’m tired.” Waking up before the sun does, performing on the Today Show and promising your girlfriend you’d go to MoMA with her can be exhausting.
“Yeah, Haz, we can go home.” I quietly say while he rubs his eyes. His sweater sleeves are far too long, even for his lanky arms. I notice him grabbing onto the ends of his sleeve, to keep the cool new york air away from his skin when we walk out the door. He grabs my hand with his uncovered one, a cool contrast to my always warm ones. Both of our chelsea boots clank on the dirty sidewalk and we do our best to avoid paparazzi, however we do stop to say hello to a few fans.
Once we settle into the range rover waiting for us, I tell Harry that I need to stop by my studio before we go back to my apartment. I say to him that he can stay in the car and that it’ll only be a few moments but he insists on coming up with me.
“Wow, this is intense.” He says closing the door. It’s a small studio with the tiniest bathroom and kitchen imaginable. It was my first home in Manhattan. Harry looks around my work area, careful not to trip over the paint stained sheet I have layed out on the floor to protect the wood underneath. He glances at the canvas on one of my three easels, the one he so graciously gifted me with. “Is this me?” He points to the unfinished painting.
I nod. “Yeah, I started that while you were in Jamaica. All from memory.”
“You’re so incredible.” He comes up behind me and rests his chin on the top of my head. Our height difference always makes me giggle. His arms slip underneath my sweater and shirt, finding spots on my warm torso to leave his cold hands. The contact makes me scream.
“Harry! Your hands are so fucking cold, get them off of me.” I wiggle away from his grasp and he frowns.
“I was trying to warm up, poppet,” Harry tries to justify his actions.
“Well you’re not warming up by putting your freezing cold hands on me,” I say while trying to find the gallery showing application I was given.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll turn on the thermostat.”
“No Harry, I came to pick up this application.” I wave the paper in front of him. “We can go now.”
Harry narrows his eyes and looks around the studio again. “No, I want to stay here and try something.”
My eyebrows knit together in a confused fashion. He begins walking over to my paints and rummages through the bottles. “What are you doing?” I question.
“I wanna try something,” He repeats. “Strip for me.” He continues blatantly. Turning around, he holds three bottles of paint in each of his large hands. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to take off my clothes but I remain wide eyed and completely clothed. Like he said, It’s still very cold in the studio and I have no clue as to what he’s planning on doing. Harry puts the paint down on the table closer to where I’m standing. He walks towards me and takes my jacket off. I reluctantly let him but still wonder what’s going on inside his head. “Can you at least tell me what you’re doing?” I question.
Harry bites his lip, hiding a smile from me. I hate it when he bites his lip because I love seeing him smile, but on the other hand there’s something mysterious to this lip bite. “Just trust me, okay? Look, I’ll even turn on the heat for you and we can stand in front of the heater,” he suggests.
“Harry…” I begin.
He pouts his lip. “Please, poppet?”
I groan as I’m unable to resist his begging eyes. “Fine,” I comply before pulling my shirt off of me, shuddering as the cold air hits my skin. Harry shuffles us closer to the air vent so I won’t freeze down to my bones.
“Pants, too.” He gestures. “Everything, love. I want everything off.” He unbuttons my jeans and moves his hands around my waist so that they’re resting right above my bum. He kneels down so he can be eye level with my stomach. He presses his lips to my already exposed belly button while reaching down my legs to unzip my boots, allowing me to step out of them before removing my jeans. I do this for him since he gets up to take me in. I’m slightly embarrassed, though this is hardly the first time he’s seen me like this. “So beautiful. God, how are you so perfect?” Harry is now standing in front of me, peering down my body.
“I’m hardly perfect,” I whisper. The warm air from the heater leaves goosebumps scattered along my backside, where the air first hits my body.
“But you are,” Harry insists and reaches behind my back, trying to unclasp my bra. I let him do so as I’ve completely given up on trying to understand what he’s doing. He lets my bra drop to the floor and I instinctively bring my arms up to cover myself. Harry shakes his head and grabs my arms to move them to my sides. “Why do you feel like you have to cover up, love?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, I’m just embarrassed, I guess.“
Harry chuckles lightly before pressing his lips against my own, making this our first kiss of the day. It’s tender and sweet, making me want more but he pulls away. “You have no reason to be embarrassed. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re perfect. All of the flaws that you think are flaws make you who you are. You’re perfectly imperfect.” He kisses my lips again. His words make pink blossoms bloom on my cheeks and heat emerge between my legs. He grabs a paint bottle and opens it.
“Harry what are you-”
“I want you to be my canvas. You’re always asking me to paint with you but I’ve decided I want to paint on you.” Harry answers. He grabs a pallet and squeezes the white paint onto the plastic.
“You’re gonna paint on me?” I look at him with disapproving eyes, wondering where he even got this idea from.
“Mhmm.” He dips the brush in the paint. He’s slow with his actions, making me anticipate the cold liquid on my skin. He starts at my left shoulder and I nearly yelp at the cold contact. “Sorry,” he says. I nod and he drags the brush all the way down my arm and stops at my wrist. He does the same to the other side and my body gets used to the feeling. It tickles slightly but the brush he’s using is rough. He says he’s finished with the white and puts the pallet and brush down. “This could get pretty messy,” he states. “And we wouldn’t want me getting paint on my clothes,” he continues, starting to take off his hat and his tan sweater after. He leaves himself only in his white boxers, just like me, only in my dark blue lace panties. I shake my head at his cheeky behavior. “Maybe we should let Ray know he can go back to the hotel. Wouldn’t want him waiting in the car all this time.”
All I can do is nod, completely lost in his actions. He grabs another paint bottle, the lightest blue that I own. Instead of the pallet, he squeezes it into his hand then puts his hands together, spreading the paint on the other. He looks at me adoringly with his pupils dilated and a smile creeping onto his lips. He moves behind me and nudges my arms, telling me to lift them up. I do so and when they’re up far enough, he snakes his arms underneath them and presses his hands against my breasts, leaving two blue handprints on each of them. “Harry!” I gasp.
He laughs and turns me around. “What?”
“You’re so cheeky!” I exclaim, looking down at his blue palms. “You’re too clean, too.” I add. Harry twists his face, confused by what I mean. It’s just not fair that I’m the only one who is covered in paint. I lunge toward him and press my chest on his, transferring some of the paint onto him. I wrap my arms around his neck and he gasps my name. He lifts me up in his arms and I wrap my legs around his waist. I join my lips to his and this one is much needier than the last. He bites my bottom lip before pulling away.
“Mmm, not done with you,” Harry hums. He puts me down and frowns. “You’ve messed up my artwork!”
I look down and I see that I’ve completely smudged the blue paint on my boobs and have managed to get some of it on my chest.
“This just won’t do,” he shakes his head. Harry’s long fingers wrap around the lilac paint and he smirks at me. Before I get to say anything, he squeezes the paint directly onto my chest.“My design is ruined so might as well just make a mess of you.” He shrugs.
“Only if you let me paint on you,” I compromise. I receive a small peck on my lips and he says okay. I smile, feeling giddy that I get to have some fun as well. I contemplate which color I want to start with and Harry has already decided on his next one. He’s going with a bright yellow and I pick up a darker purple than the one he put on me before. I squeeze a little on my finger and reach up to put lines under Harry’s eyes, resembling a football players game face. He laughs and says, “That’s the best you can do?”
I shake my head no. Before Harry does anything with the yellow paint he removes my underwear in the swiftest motion, I don’t even notice that they’re gone until his cold hands are placed on each of the cheeks. “Mm, just a little yellow to brighten the day,” he says. Twisting my back, I see the two yellow handprints left on my bum. It’s like he’s marking me.
“Fuck,” Harry says. “I can’t do it.”
I am staring at the ferns etched above his V line when he says this. I look up at his hungry eyes. “I just can’t do it, y/n,” he admits. “I wanted this to be fun. I just wanted to paint on you, but you’re so beautiful and I’m getting distracted.” He looks down. I look down. I hadn’t even noticed the bulge under his boxers.
“Oh, Harry,” I giggle while bringing myself closer to him. My palms meet his chest and I trace my fingertips over the birds. He hums into my ear and nibbles on the lobe. My knees feel weak but luckily Harry lifts me off of the ground and takes control. One arm is holding me up while the other is wrapped round my back and he grasps my hair in his hand. I snuggle in closer to him-if that’s even possible, and rest my forehead on his shoulder. He’s backed me up against the wall and he pulls my hair so we can be face to face. A wet kiss is left on my neck and he kisses my jawline, teasing me at the corner of my lips until finally pressing his own to mine. He parts his lips and I take this opportunity to stick my tongue in his mouth. He never lets me have this much control and I don’t think he ever will. He pushes mine away with his own, and resorts to biting my bottom lip as punishment. Our breathing is heavy and our skin is hot, thanks to the thermostat that quickly warmed the small flat.
“Y/n, baby,” Harry begs. I kiss him harder, shutting him up. However, he pulls away. “You’re so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?”
“You’re beautiful too,” I smile. He puts me down and his boxers come along with me. They stop at his thighs and I pull them down, kissing his thigh tattoo as I do so. I take him in my hand but Harry pulls me up before I get to do anything. I look at his face and he shakes his head.
“All about you, love. I want this to be all about you,” he tells me. I want to argue, but I also don’t want to do anything. “I want to taste you,” he says. I nod. I nod vigorously.
He lifts me up again and takes us over to one of my work tables and I internally grimace as my bum touches the dirty surface. Ugh, Harry why this table? He’s looking at my body with such fascination, I can’t help but watch him watch me. His right hand glides across my stomach and moves down until he reaches my thighs. I groan at his slowness. I’m so needy for him, I’m so dependent on his touch. He uses both of his hands to push my thighs apart and his elbows rest on either side of them. He kisses the inside of my thigh, trailing all the way up to my core and two unexpected fingers slip inside me. I’m suddenly finding it a lot harder to watch him, my eyes threatening to close with each pump of his fingers. Harry’s face settles in between my thighs and his tongue teases every part of me. I pray he doesn’t stop. I bite my lip in hopes of holding in a moan. He looks up at me and pulls away just enough for him to be able to speak but he fingers don’t stop. “What have I said about biting that, hmm? Moan, baby. Let the whole building know how good I make you feel.”
I do as he says and release my lip from my teeth. An immediate moan escapes my parted lips and Harry grins. He continues to pump in and out of me while his thumb remains outside, rubbing the spot above my entrance. I call his name out, begging for more. He laps his tongue around my folds and I writher under his touch. My legs begin to shake but he refuses my arrival by pulling away. “Not yet, baby.” He says, taking my leg behind the knee with his left hand. His lips meet with mine when he unexpectedly yet slowly thrusts inside of me. He lets out a low groan as he finally gets the relief he’s been needing. He quickens his pace and holds my back up with his hands, pulling our chests together. I bite into his shoulder, feeling so close to where he’s trying to get me. There isn’t any way we could possibly get closer yet Harry still manages to grip me tighter. His other hand is everywhere, as are his lips.
“Y/n, fuck,” he gasps. I feel his back tense under my hands, and I claw at his skin. His thrusts are harder, needier, rougher. His thrusts become pounds which makes me scream but I don’t know if it’s out of pain or pleasure. Maybe pleasureful pain. His hand slips down in between my legs and rubs ferociously. His lips find mine in a feverish approach to pleasure me even more. He’s nearing his high and I’m nearing mine. Everything is pulsing, my heart is threatening to leave my chest. “Let it go, love. Come for me. Come on, kitten,” Harry encourages.
“Harry,” I mumble out, squeezing my eyes shut as I come. This could be the first, this could be the hundredth, but every time, Harry makes me feel like I’m flying. I’m weightless in his arms and I beg him to release. “Come, Harry. I know you’re close, God your cock feels so good. Come in me, please.”
He continues thrusting and leaves scattered kisses along my neck. “Y/n,” he breathes. His legs shake and his movements weaken. “God, y/n.” Soft lips are touching my own and he stills himself, despite the tremors quaking throughout his back and legs. He sighs into my neck and bites down softly. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, still tense. Still pressed inside me. His breaths are shallow and rapid. He pulls out of me and I sigh.
“Harry,” I begin, grazing my nails along his skin. He kisses my lips tenderly and presses his forehead to mine. “I love you so much.”
“I love you so much,” he replies and backs away from me, looking at my painted body. “I told you I’d make a mess of you.” Harry laughs while bending down to grab my bra for me. The paint has crusted over and I can’t wait to wash it off of me, though I have a feeling Harry will want to do that for me.
My wet hair is wrapped in a towel while Harry and I are sprawled on the couch watching reruns of friends. His wet hair has drenched my (his) t shirt since he decided to lay his head on my stomach. My palm rests on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. “Are we more like Ross and Rachel or Monica and Chandler?” he asks.
“Definitely Monica and Chandler,” I state. “Ross and Rachel were so off and on, you know? But like, Monica and Chandler were friends first, never thought they’d be together but they’re hands down the best couple.”
Harry nods in agreement. “I’m tired.”
“Hmm, you should be.” I glance at the clock. 2:34. “Go to sleep, babe.” I insist. It’s not unusual for us to fall asleep on the couch but Harry slowly gets up and looks at me with tired eyes. He grabs my hand and pulls the two of us off of the couch. I turn the tv off before he drags us to my bedroom. Immediately, he flops on the bed, not even bothering to get in. “Oh c'mon, Haz.” I nudge him. “Just a little more energy to get you into bed.”
“No,” Harry resists, snuggling his head deeper into the pillow.
I attempt to pull the sheets out from under him. Successfully doing so, I try lifting up his heavy legs to push them under the comforter. He mumbles something I can’t decipher. Though it’s probably just a complaint about me trying to get him into bed. God, it’s like taking care of a child. “Okay, baby,” I say, pull the sheet up to his shoulders and I crawl in on my side. I’m not even in bed when Harry’s arm reaches for any part of me pull me close to him. He manages to grab my torso, completely letting me mold into his position.
We both fall asleep rather quickly, but his hushed snores arrive before mine, though I’m positive I don’t snore. Harry says otherwise. Even though I think he’s lying he says it doesn’t matter if I actually snore or not because he says I’m perfect either way. Perfect, perfect, perfect. He’s always telling me how perfect I am and every day I look at him and wonder how I could’ve been so damn lucky to have this man in my life.
He says I’m the best artist that ever was, but a painter will get nowhere without their inspiration.
I honestly think that one of the best things Bob Ross ever did for me was when he’d get to that point in the painting where he’d be like ‘buckle the fuck up, beloved ones, because we’re about to do something in-fucking-sane’ and then he’d paint a huge black line across his canvas and you’d think 'NO, BOB, NO’ because it’d look like he’d just completely fucked it up but then he’d work his magic and it would make the whole painting look incredible and you’d admonish yourself for ever doubting him
Seeing him do that, making things worse before they got better, taking risks, has saved so many of my pieces of art or writing. I always remember it when I think I’ve fucked something up and it gives me the confidence to either carry on and see where it leads me, or save it to continue on another day. I never ball up pieces of half finished art or delete documents that I think are failures anymore, and sometimes I return to them and realise that I could still make something amazing out of them. It made me realise that making something great isn’t a linear, easy process and sometimes you have to take risks.
Eyeshadow: BH colors. I bought this cheap ass feild of colors, cause you never know what you need for cosplay. But I always buy BLACK and WHITE in larger, singular pots. The .99$ wet n wild ones.
Eyeliner: Fabuliner. I favor FELT Tip eyeliners. But they dry out fast, no matter how fancy. So I always buy a bulk of 4-5 cheap ass ones. They’re all the same honestly, just nice to have a ton on hand. They dont last long so its a waste to buy some 24 dollar one.
Lipstick: Covergirl is my favorite cause they have every fucking shade under the sun. I really love the Katy Perry matte ones! The color is nice and vibrant without being too sticky or cheap. And If its too much, I lay it one and dab some off.
Mascara: L’Oreal Manga. I BOUGHT THIS AS A FUCKING JOKE 4 YEARS AGO CAUSE ITS LITTERALLY ANIME MASCARA. BUT ITS AMAZING 20/10 THIS SHIT GETS YOUR LASHES SO THICK AND HIGH AND I LOVE IT
So I’ve been receiving messages and asks here and on my other blog (the Wishgranter) from some artists trying their hand at pixel art for the first time. BIG DISCLAIMER : I’m by no means an expert in the medium but I’ve been studying and working on pixel art for some time and I thought I would share some things I’ve learnt for other beginners. I will be using the following image (with permission) as an example to give tips - done by @yatagansaber and sent to me for feedback.
First of all, for me what defines an image as pixel art is not it’s small resolution or the fact that you can see individual pixels, but it’s the way that it’s made. The art of ‘pixel pushing’ differs from other digital mediums by the fact that each pixel - or at least most pixels - in the image are hand placed by the artist and have a purpose.
What I mean is that regardless of the size of the canvas, the artist probably went in at some point with the 1px brush and hand placed most individual pixels. For me, I usually start with a larger brush to define forms but then I switch to 1px brush very early in the process all the way to the end.
Point no. 1: Canvas size So for this case, the canvas here is pretty large and the artist is going for an armor clad character which means the canvas was probably going to get larger. So here I would strongly suggest going for a much smaller canvas especially since the artist is just starting out with pixelart and it is much easier to grasp the concept on a smaller canvas. I usually start with a 60x60 canvas and then adjust as I go, but I very rarely go over 100x100. In pixelart you will not be blending with giant brushes, so for the big flat areas you will either end up with a single flat color or do a lot of dithering which might take away from the final image.
Point no 2: Defining curves
Define your curves better. When working with pixelart, curves need to be defined properly or it will end up looking very jaggy in the end. Referencing the image, The neck area of the armor for example could be defined better to have a more presentable effect. Focus on having the lines gradually decreasing in pixel width alone the curve of the object you’re drawing.
Point no 3: Coherent Light sources
More of a general art tip. The image doesn’t seem to have a coherent light source. On the shoulder pad to the left it seems to indicate a top left art source while the neck area completely ignores that light source and indicates one to the top right. Another light source is indicated to the bottom right in the torso area. Although having multiple light sources is totally acceptable it needs to be done coherently. Artists usually stick to one main light source and maybe some back lighting for effect.
Point no 4: Light and Forms
Also a general art tip. Make sure you use lighting to define your forms. The lighting on the shoulder pad seems to suggest a flat, sharp surface while the general form seems to suggest a cylindrical object. This very important as it will help the viewer understand what they are seeing. To help with this, try to find references and see how the lighting hits specific objects.
Point no 5: Contrast
When drawing metal objects such as armor you must think about it as a very reflective surface. The light source should be much brighter and stronger then the rest of the palette to create a good contrast. Again, this isn’t exclusive to pixel art, but to art in general. The best way to get used to these things is to watch a lot of real life references and other artist’s work.
Point no 6: Color Palettes
Choose a more interesting color palette. When drawing pixelart you’re not going for realism, and even in real life, it’s very rare to see something being completely one color. Don’t simply stick to one color and increasing/decreasing brightness. Try messing around with hue variation and saturation as well to create a much more pleasant image. For this case I didn’t have time to create a new color palette so I simply added some hints of color to the shades. Ideally before starting a new piece you decide on a color ramp with different hues and stick with it till the end.
So after applying those points (except the canvas size point) to the armor piece I ended up with the result below:
It’s obviously nowhere close to being perfect since I do not have the time to keep pushing it to a good finish but it should give a good idea of how those several little points can help make your pixelart look better.
That’s all I got for now. I hope this can help someone out there with their art! All feedback appreciated and feel free to ask me anything.
hey! ever wanted to make a cool psychedelic looking background for something?
something like this?
Well im gonna show you how to make one! I’ve noticed a lot of tutorials online show how to make one for Photoshop, but since not everyone can afford photoshop or doesnt want to risk getting a virus from a cracked version, we’re going to be using a free online photo editing program called Pixlr Editor!
Now you’re gonna create a new image…
it can really be any size, but i went for a square shape just because :)
once you open it up you’re going to want to click the blue rectangle icon right below the eraser tool. this is your Gradient tool.
once you click on the gradient bar, it will give you a menu and a variety of gradient defaults. click on the one that has the amount of colors you want, as you can edit them by clicking on the little squares below the big gradient bar and then clicking the color box. You can also move the squares around to get the right distribution of colors you want. :)
now that i’ve got the colors i want, you want to go to the mode bar and select Difference.
Once you make your gradient by dragging your cursor across the canvas, it will first look like this (if you selected Radial type first)
But what you do to make it more psychedelic is you make different sized gradients across the canvas over and over again, and after a few times it will look a little something like this!
pretty cool already! also after doing a 2nd gradient you will notice the colors invert because of the difference mode. but once you make another gradient on top the colors will switch back! You can switch between Linear and Radial types too for added effects~ And eventually you will get something that looks like this!