paint the town red or something idk ( ᐛ )و
me rambles:
uhhh i feel like i am being too hard on myself these days and i miss when i used to have fun and feeling satisfied drawing them doing silly things. i keep comparing myself with other talented artists so i pushed myself to be kind of like them. but. dear god. that is not me. it's a bit hard for me to follow trends when i don't feel like it. it's good for chasing numbers and i want to. but i also don't want to. sucks to be in the middle of anything and everything. like a limbo. what the hell do i even want. what do i even know. i just wanna draw ghostsoap. why does it suddenly becoming so hard on me. reminding myself to just fuck it and draw like always. somehow it's not enough and then i mess it all up all over again.
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Alternative first meeting AU in which 7 year old Johnny MacTavish is accidentally lost/separated from his family while they are on vacation in Manchester when he's found by a scrappy blond teenager with a shiner and a day-old split lip. The teen dries Johnny's tears, introduces himself as Simon, then buys him lunch and helps him find his family since he knows the city.
Two decades and change later, Simon guides Johnny to safety in yet another city, far from England, which he only realizes the moment his lieutenant finally takes off the mask.
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“Hair’s gettin’ a bit long, yeah, Simon?”
Simon waves Tommy off as he feels him pinch at a tuft of hair, unwilling to entertain the teasing remark when he knows it’d only lead to a brotherly jab—as it often does nowadays. He gives a gentle shove when Tommy only insists, currently more concerned with the sudoku game on his phone, but really Simon should know better by now, especially now, that Tommy will eventually, inevitably get his point across.
“Think they’ll let you back on base with that rat’s nest on your head?”
“Bugger off,” Simon grumbles. Tommy only doubles his efforts by draping all his weight over his brother. Simon rolls his eyes. “Think Beth’ll let you back in the house if I tell her about that time you—“
“Hey,” Tommy hisses, pushing away before gently smacking Simon upside the head, “shut your cake hole, it was one time.”
“How you’ve only managed to do it only once is beyond me,” says Simon flatly. He gets another row filled of his puzzle. “A miracle, really. Knowing you.”
“Dickhead,” Tommy retorts.
“Twat.”
Tommy snorts. “Really should cut it, though. Looks a mess. ‘M sure Beth could help.”
Simon shakes his head. “I’ll just buzz it. Save her the hassle,” he grunts.
Though he can’t see it, he can sense the way Tommy throws his arms up in surrender. It’s obvious his insults have been made, if not by the sudden willful silence, but his footsteps as he wanders out of the kitchen. He’d been right, unfortunately, about Simon’s hair, but they’re well past the days of allowing each other the small victories.
Which is a good thing, Simon supposes. Knows.
He’s thankful Tommy’s left the space so he couldn’t see the stupid smile that appears on Simon’s face, before he runs a hand through his overgrown hair and lets it fall just in case Tommy were to come wandering back with something new to pick on.
//
“Your hair’s gettin’ a bit long, Simon.”
Simon resists the urge to roll his eyes when he feels Johnny’s fingers card through his admittedly too-long hair, suppressing the sigh that rises from his lungs when the sergeant continues to linger.
“I’m aware,” Simon says instead. “Is that all you needed to say, MacTavish?”
He feels Johnny’s shrug. “Looks nice. Might need a brush after being under the mask, but.”
Simon tilts his head back, inadvertently leaning into Johnny’s touch. Perhaps the vulnerability of his bare face had him on edge, guarded for insult like he used to be with Tommy, but the soft look on Johnny’s face has the sigh finally escaping him, the tension in his shoulders gradually releasing.
“Yeah?”
Johnny nods. “Mhm. But if you want it cut, I’ll help you buzz it. Know bothers you.”
Simon hums. “Maybe. Might wait a bit longer.”
“That right?”
“Sure, Johnny.”
Johnny laughs softly, gently scratching at Simon’s scalp before he retracts his hand. His touch lasts well after he’s left, a warmth that spreads through Simon’s body like every other time they’ve made contact—even if he’d never tell Johnny that.
He may just take him up on his offer of help, however.
This time, he doesn’t bother trying to mask his smile.
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