been in an angst trope phase lately. why do i do this to myself
I wrote this little drabble based on this! @lotustiled you are so talented and I just wanted to try to capture a little bit of what this art made me feel <3
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He sees her so seldom these days that sometimes he forgets to breathe when she’s around. Every time she laughs he gets a hitch in his lungs, painful and quick, like lightning. When she asks him if he’s okay, he excuses himself to step outside, breathing in the humid night air by the light of the moon which just reminds him of her. You rise with the moon. I rise with the sun. The moon is high in the sky, mocking him or crying for him. He doesn’t know which.
OH MY GOD. this was absolutely beautiful from start to finish, if i wasn’t devastated enough already i am now officially just the walking embodiment of agony.
i cannot begin to tell you how much i love and appreciate whenever someone writes anything based off of or inspired by my art, thank you so much for this:’( <333
Breaching the quiet and reaching out to the authors of some of my favourite stories. The talent you all have? Insane. This community? Elite. If you ever feel like the silence is too loud in here, know that I’m screaming louder. You’re doing awesome job, writers, I applaud your work :)
An abbreviated moodboard of the emotions I felt while reading through these
I’m so happy you enjoy my weird and varied blogging (and I apologise to everyone I’ve dragged into new fandoms; you’re mine now!); I hope you’ll stick around and I can keep making stuff you all enjoy!!!
Artwork for the raffle I did on twitter ages ago. The winner requested a continuation of the biting scene in the Ghost Hotel AU, so here we go. I’m sorry it took so long-
Still watching this youtube channel about what I can only describe as “Dark Classical art” and this one absolutely floored me because I was unaware of it and I want to share it because it changes my perspective on this artist completely.
You might be aware of Louis Wain. If not by name then by his art. He’s the artist behind that series of cat drawings that slowly became more and more abstract and bizarre.
This series of paintings of cats are often labelled as a visual representation of Wain’s deteriorating mental illness and schizophrenia. Even more so often labelled as “a tragic display of a painter’s failing battle with schizophrenia.”
The paintings look like this and were painted around the very early 1900s.
Ok got all that?
So here’s the thing.
Although Wain did suffer from a mental illness that was strong enough for him to be institutionalized, his mental illness was never diagnosed with clear certainty. Although “Schizophrenia” is so heavily applied to him based purely on how his series of paintings LOOK, despite actual specialists widely disputing this. On top of this, although he did paint the kaleidoscope cat portraits during this time, it was not the only things he painted, and he was quite capable of painting “normal” pictures of cats.
The Kaleidoscope Cat portraits are more images of him experimenting with colour and shapes, something the Smithsonian themselves state on their website.
Wain had actually made his entire living painting whimsical images of cats, often for product adverts, before he was incarcerated and was actually a very beloved artist at the time. When his friends learned of his incarceration, they started a collection of donation money to help transfer Wain to the Bethlam Royal Hospital instead, one of the best mental health facilities of the time. Even the Prime Minster of the time donated, and they raised a large amount of money across England to help him.
4 years later, Wain drew this as his final image which he released publicly
I knew all about “the Schizophrenic cat Guy” but he had always been presented to me as some tragic case of an artist going mad and his skills and work unraveling as he went insane.
Which is why I wanted to share this information which was new to me. And because I think it’s important.
So you @beansbuilds decided to submit me to a sims exposing page because I’ve done two CC dumps on my Patreon? I didn’t know that was such a huge deal since I’ve seen other people do it as well… I also know many builders who make their builds Patreon exclusive while including the cc. And i know for a fact you don’t have a problem with builders doing it because you reached out to one who does exclusive builds to ask them to promote you and your husbands cc. So why am i the only one you chose to call out But its no problem for me to delete the posts..Thats why i was trying to ask you what you were talking about on Patreon 3 days ago but you chose to ignore me. As far as the situation with @simmer-talia-blog, I apologized for the misunderstanding, and she has shared my content since our conversation so i did the same when i would see her posts on my timeline but now she’s saying I did it first? Even if I did how is that bad?? This is crazy
Yikes this whole post and their responses in the comments is such a mess. Keyys you did a shitty thing, perhaps someone should start paywalling your content and see how you feel? You literally stole from hundreds of creators. It took us 2 hrs to tag every single person you stole from and that was just the build folder. There’s an entire CAS folder we didn’t get a chance to go through.
FYI Paywalling builds with other ppls CC without their permission is also extremely disrespectful.
Ppl like this should be chased out of the community. Disgusting behavior. Take the L apologize and move on, but defending yourself is outrageous.
FYI Beans never submitted you, it was a few different accts and email addresses.
The rope creaked as he wound it around her, wove it into knots and then pulled it tight. The sound alternated between a swish and that low groan of the jute, and it sounded like some surrogate protestation for her, inserting the reluctance she should have felt into the room, even thought it was entirely absent in her.
Instead she was just calm. Excited, certainly, but overarchingly content, a pervading sense of belonging that was never quite matched apart from on his bed, under his hands, wrapped in his rope. Usually he would be talking, loud enough to mask the sounds that his hands were making. Loud enough to calm the thoughts that were now filling the silence in her head.
It wasn’t so much apprehension that she was feeling, or even anxiety, but nor could it be called pure excitement, no matter how enthusiastic she was feeling. Trepidation went most of the way, but then she knew what he’d said before he’d started, and there was an edge to the emotion that didn’t match all those soft consonants and demure vowels. She needed something with a K, hidden among soft folds of ’t’s and ‘p’s. Something that would prick your finger if you weren’t careful.
“Not without permission.” He’d started. He almost didn’t need to say it, but something about the fact that he’d made a point of it had put her on edge. “You can ask.” He’d stated, offering her the opportunity without the promise of reciprocation, that her pleas wouldn’t fall on deaf ears, that he wouldn’t just push forward discounting each and every request that burst from her mouth.
When he was done he lent back on the bed, kneeling on the duvet to her right, and reached up to his neck. His tie came away in one strong pull, a smooth motion that seemed to go on uncomfortably long, until suddenly it burst free in his hand, coiling around it, serpentine.
The silk slotted between her lips without protestation. He wrapped it around her head without difficulty, and she was gagged without fuss. Her eyes were wide, stayed wide, staring up at him from the bed, and she caught the glimmer of a smile flicker across his lips as he saw her like that.
And then he started.
Fingertips first, fluttering across her, all but whispering with a touch that did little more than make her push her hips up into the air. The rope held her back, did what rope does, but it was enough to display her need, to make a performance of her desire. And so he indulged her, his hand suddenly pressing down, cupping her fully, as fingers plunged, running between her, against her, up towards the core of her. The way she squirmed got a rise out of him, made him shift in his seated position, his free hand twitching on his thigh. She caught it out the corner of her eye, and pushed her hips upwards again.
Before he’d started with the rope he’d taunted her. She lay there, fingers quietly folded on her lap, feeling the summer breeze sauntering through the open window, and he’d laid the vibrator on the bed beside her. It wasn’t nonchalant, it was pointed, and he’d looked at her such as he’d done it. But he hadn’t used it, had just left it there, Chekov’s gun, the intent clear and unrealised.
But now he did. Now that she was prone, moaning, reduced and elevated all at the same time, now he pressed that flared latex head against her, and rolled his thumb over the dial.
It was unfair, what he was doing. It was a shortcut to the destination, but when the destination isn’t quite where he was wanting to go, he didn’t feel so bad about using a proxy. Didn’t feel so bad about the sudden electric change in her body language, the way she seemed to simultaneously try to pull away from the toy and press it deeper against her. Didn’t feel so bad about the intense stare she’d fixed him with, request flashing in her eyes, asking for permission before she’d even uttered a single syllable.
He smiled, minutely. He shook his head. She groaned.
And his thumb slid up the dial, making her roll with the shock of it. He felt like he was trying to murder her, that the hilt of this thing in his hand was trying to be buried up between her legs, pushing and pushing until it finally disappeared in a scarlet plume. He wanted to see how she was going to take this, what was going to happen when she realised what he was trying to do. Wanted to watch her break, see that hairline fracture in her perception of the world.
The violence of her spitting the tie clear of her mouth roused him from his thoughts.
“Pleeease.” She crooned, cooed, flirted. It was an attempt at seduction, a voice made husky with desire, but cracking with the first signs of desperation.
He reached down, took the tie from her chin and pushed it back between her lips.
“No."
Her eyes rolled and her body followed suit, the steadily increasing power of the vibrator between her legs making it increasingly difficult to retain her composure. The tie was expelled more readily this time, conduct be damned.
"Pleasepleaseplease” she blurted out, and he could see her muscles rising as she strained against the rope. He was close, and he could see that she knew they were both aware. His thumb rolled on that dial, and he sank down so that his face was close to hers, let her wallow in that potential release for a moment longer, and then uttered that single syllable again.
“No.” Like a judges gavel. Like the reaper’s scythe. Like the final digit of the timer on a bomb, all the definite finality of it coming down on her at once, so that she was condensed, crystalised, turned into something else.
And that’s when she did it. That’s when he saw, in her eyes, in the way she was looking at him, the spark of realisation. And that’s when she cracked, just a tiny bit, enough to allow the deluge to erupt, to flood through her, a burst dam thundering, collapsing, rendered moot.
She came, came despite him, came because of him, came because he’d left her no other option but to come, even when he’d told her explicitly not to, even though he’d explicitly, resolutely, made sure she had no other choice. She came, and in coming, went some place new.
Summary:No Aline, you don’t want to talk about what exactly it is that you think you’re doing with Bucky. That would be inconvenient.
Warnings:Fluff, some angst, some hard truths that the reader isn’t really interested in facing, mild swearing
A/N: Happy New Year!! So all, this has been a rough week. It was supposed to be a break, but apparently life (and germs) did not get the memo. Sadly, that means I did not get nearly as much writing done this week as I had intended. Chapter nine is in beta/draft stage so will likely be out on time, but I may be a little late with the following two chapters depending on how things work out over the next couple of weeks. I appreciate your patience with me as I work it out. Thanks as always to my beta @jbarneswilson and my taglist lovelies @emmabarnes@enchantedbarnes@moonlightreader649@rivers-rambles21@silentkiller2374@jackiehollanderr@watarmelon212@aeo10fan
I know you are giving me feels to rip them out of my heart later, I know. But right now let me just bask in a sea of love these two have for each other, even if there’s angst peeking over the corner.
Bask all you want love! It’s best to enjoy the warmth of the sun while you can before the storm comes
Summary: Remember that mission where you and Bucky had to pretend to be newlyweds and you needed fake documents to prove it? Seems there was a little mistake with the paperwork…
Word count:1.4k
Warnings: some swearing, a little awkwardness, mild injury (the reader kicks Bucky and mistreats a book ) light allusions to things of a sexual nature
A/N: I’ve been having such a hard time writing what I intended to write and then the other day I come across a few lines in a random wip doc and voila! it turned into this. Brains are weird things. I hope you enjoy this silliness ❤
“What?!”
Torres holds his hands up defensively.
“I know it sounds bad, but-”
“‘It sounds bad, but?’” you repeat his words back to him incredulously. “What kind of ‘but’ is somehow going to rectify this situation?”
Dropping his chin, he cringes as if expecting a blow as he replies carefully.
“Well, you’re only legally married, nottechnicallymarried?”
Summary: Things are starting to shift between you and Barnes. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all. (Chapter 3)
Word Count: 4K
Warnings:Some swearing. Some anxious overthinking. Some fluffiness. Some mild references to criminal behavior.
A/N:Hi all, thanks to those of you who stuck with me so far! So a couple of notes about this chapter. Originally this chapter and the fourth and final chapter were going to be one chapter, but it just got too huge so I cut it into two halves. These two chapters cover roughly a four month span with some time jumps between scenes. Notably, the very first scene of this chapter happens chronologically towards the end of the whole story (and we’ll return to this scene later) and the scenes that follow are sort of flashbacks to what occurred before they got to that point. I’m explaining this because I’d like to think that I’m a good enough writer that this is obvious but I’m not actually confident that I am There are also some POV shifts between the reader and Bucky. Thank you as always to my amazing beta @jbarneswilson and to @firefly-graphics who made these awesome dividers.
His hand rests lightly on your waist, as much to calm his own nerves as yours. You can feel the heat of it, even through your shirt. It may well be a brand for how it burns.
“I don’t know why I feel so nervous,” you whisper. “It’s not like I’ve never done this before.”
“I know, but I feel it too. It just feels… different,” comes his own soft reply.
Oh this was so good! I love flashbacks where we get glimpses into what leads up to where they give true consideration into what it all means. And we got some great ones.
But the one I’m absolutely smitten over was the middle couch cushion loosing status as no mans land. Whew, your boy put some serious thought into that.
Then we had the touch and Bucky really worried that the causal touch was to much and he immediantly tried to apologize. I’m so happy the reader was able to change her reaction till she could figure out her own actual reaction.
Thank you so much! I have to tell you, writing this chapter was tough, LOTS of overthinking on my part (and clearly on the part of both Bucky and the reader). And I’m so happy that you liked it! I am also really in love with that couch cushion bit and I’m glad you are too!
Summary: Posing as a happily married couple for a deep cover op, you and Bucky have to put aside the longstanding animosity between you, at least in public. In private, there’s little more than coldness between you. But maybe, just maybe, there’s more going on than either of you are able to say.
Word Count: 3.1k
Warnings:Some swearing. Some angst that turns kind of fluffy. References to violence and injury.
A/N:A mix of a feeling that popped into my head and this ask turned into this. I’m such a sucker for enemies to lovers (with a little bit of one bed tossed in there) and I’m so glad I finally had a chance to write one. Thanks for the ask nonnie and thanks for reading everyone! Moodboard by me, divider by the ever talented @firefly-graphics
Update: This was originally a one shot and is now a series♥
Shadows slip softly across the ceiling in the pre-dawn light that creeps in at the edge of the curtains.
The longer he stares the more details he can make out. The small bump in the ceiling where a paint clump caught and dried. A cobweb, high in a corner, too far to reach without a step ladder. The fine cracks where wall meets ceiling, formed by the slow settling of the house.
He knows them well, memorized after so many mornings just like this. Mornings when he wakes without knowing why and can’t close his eyes again. In the beginning, he couldn’t sleep. Now, he doesn’t want to.
Wow this was such an insightful glimpse into Buckys early hours mind. It was beautifully worded.
Sam always knowing and it finally clicking for Bucky made me chuckle. The Cap knew where he wanted his people.
Fantastic start.
I’m sorry it took so long for me to respond to this! I’ve been on a bit of an unintentional hiatus.
Thank you so much love! I really loved getting into Bucky’s head for this one and seeing the way he’s coming this realization. Thank you so much for reading, I’m really happy you liked it!
Notes: Merry Christmas @lunecake! I’m your @mlsecretsanta. I had bunches of fun writing this and I hope you have as much fun reading it!! Have a super good Christmas!
Words:6335
Summary: Adrien is a very sentimental boy, and he likes to make the most of meaningful occasions. Two occasions in particular.
Ten years ago today, and at almost the exact same time, Adrien Agreste was an anxious mess. He had been a ball of nerves since he woke up that Sunday morning, and the feeling only worsened as the day crawled by. He stood now in front of his bedroom windows, staring out into the purple skyline with tense anticipation.
![gcqaiumi: [Ghost Hotel]Artwork for the raffle I did on twitter ages ago. The winner requested a cont](https://64.media.tumblr.com/241bc9793708873ff0232290c930c58e/692d18810b34fee4-31/s1280x1920/3f302d80c956da44c77c474a8b6c131c225aea2b.png "gcqaiumi: [Ghost Hotel]Artwork for the raffle I did on twitter ages ago. The winner requested a cont")
![gcqaiumi: [Ghost Hotel]Artwork for the raffle I did on twitter ages ago. The winner requested a cont](https://64.media.tumblr.com/5abd54cbfc5ad2c2586efc6b648f0c70/692d18810b34fee4-41/s1280x1920/adba2bf55e63d5dca00d35b0cdb45c2935a39fd0.png "gcqaiumi: [Ghost Hotel]Artwork for the raffle I did on twitter ages ago. The winner requested a cont")
