Seven my little artist 🤩💪 GUYS I FEEL LIKE THE END IS AWKWARD. BUT I WROTE IT CUS IT REMINDED ME OF THE SCENE IF GIFTED

BUCKY HAD BEEN TRYING TO FIND WAYS for Seven to explore her interests and discover new hobbies. He barely remembered how, when he was young, finding creative outlets had helped him cope with difficult times. So, he decided to surprise Seven with something special.

"Sev, can you come here for a minute?" Bucky called from the living room.

Seven appeared from her bedroom, curiosity in her eyes. "What is it, Papa?"

Bucky smiled, holding out a set of paints, brushes, and a few canvases. "I thought you might like to try painting. It's something new to explore, and it can be really fun and relaxing."

Seven's eyes lit up with excitement and surprise. "Really? For me?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Bucky replied, his heart warming at her enthusiasm. "I thought it might be something you'd enjoy."

Seven took the supplies from him, her fingers running over the brushes and paints. "Thank you, Papa! I've never painted before, but I'd love to try."

Bucky set up a small table by the window where the light was best, and they spent the afternoon together, Seven experimenting with the paints and Bucky offering gentle encouragement. At first, she was tentative, unsure of where to start, but as she dipped her brush into the vibrant colors and let it glide across the canvas, she began to lose herself in the process.

She painted simple things at first—a flower, a tree, the sky—but with each stroke, her confidence grew. Bucky watched with pride as her talent emerged, her natural ability shining through.

"Papa, look at this!" Seven exclaimed, holding up her latest creation, a beautiful landscape with rolling hills and a brilliant sunset.

Bucky's eyes widened in amazement. "Sev, that's incredible. You're really talented."

Seven blushed, a pleased smile spreading across her face. "Thanks, Papa. I didn't know I could do this."

"You're a natural," Bucky said, pulling her into a hug. "I'm so proud of you, Sev."

As the days turned into weeks, painting became a cherished part of their routine. Seven would spend hours at the little table by the window, lost in her art, creating beautiful pieces that filled their home with color and life. It was a soothing escape for her, a way to express herself and process her emotions.

One evening, as the sun set and cast a golden glow over the room, Seven sat with Bucky on the couch, her latest painting drying on the table. She leaned her head on his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

"Papa, I like painting," she said softly. "It makes me feel so happy."

Bucky smiled. "I'm glad, Sev. You're really talented, and I love seeing you so happy."

"Thank you for getting me the paints," Seven said, looking up at him with a grateful smile. "It's the best gift ever."

Bucky smiled, his heart swelling with love for his daughter. "You're welcome, sweetheart. You deserve to have something that brings you joy."

BUCKY STOOD AT THE FENCE, chatting with their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Petrescu. It had become a pleasant routine, sharing a few words and keeping up appearances. Meanwhile, Seven was just a few yards away, sitting on a blanket with her painting supplies spread out around her. She was working on a new piece, a vibrant meadow filled with wildflowers.

A group of local kids, playing nearby, noticed Seven and her art supplies. They had seen her around but didn't really know her. As they approached, curiosity quickly turned to something less friendly.

"What are you doing?" one of the boys sneered, eyeing her paints and canvas.

"Just painting," Seven replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

A girl in the group smirked. "Painting? That's so boring. Why don't you do something fun like play soccer with us?"

"I like painting," Seven said quietly, focusing on her work.

The kids exchanged glances, and another boy scoffed. "You're weird. Always by yourself, doing weird stuff. Why don't you go to school like normal kids?"

"My papa homeschools me..." she said, her voice small.

Seven's heart sank. She looked over at Bucky, who was still deep in conversation with Mrs. Petrescu. She wanted to call out to him but didn't want to interrupt or seem weak.

"That's stupid," the girl added, "you're probably homeschooled because you're too weird for real school."

Seven felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She tried to ignore them, but the words stung.

"Just leave me alone," she mumbled, trying to focus on her painting.

"Whatever," the first boy said, rolling his eyes. "We're going to play soccer. You can keep being a loser."

The kids walked away, laughing and chattering amongst themselves. Seven's hands shook slightly as she tried to resume painting, but the joy she had felt moments ago was now overshadowed by their harsh words.

Seven was sensitive. Despite everything that's happened to here, one wrong word said to her and she would crash in an instant.

Bucky, noticing the change in her demeanor and the retreating group of kids, quickly wrapped up his conversation with Mrs. Petrescu. "Excuse me, Mrs. Petrescu. I need to check on Rebecca."

"Of coursek," she replied kindly. "Take care."

Bucky walked over to Seven, concern etched on his face. "Sev, what happened?"

Seven looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Those kids... they called me weird and said I'm a loser because I'm homeschooled and I like painting."

Bucky's heart ached for her. He knelt down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Sev, those kids don't understand how special you are. They're just being mean because they don't know you."

"But it hurts," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Bucky wiped the tear away with his thumb, his voice gentle but firm. "I know it does, sweetheart. But you have something really special. Not everyone can paint like you do. You have a talent that's unique and beautiful, and you should never feel ashamed of that."

Seven sniffled, looking down at her painting. "I just wanted to paint and be happy. Why can't they leave me alone?"

"Sometimes people are mean because they don't understand or because they're jealous," Bucky explained. "But you have something wonderful, and you should never let anyone take that away from you."

He sat down beside her on the blanket, picking up a brush. "How about we paint together for a while? Show me how you create these beautiful scenes."

Seven managed a small smile, grateful for her father's presence and support. "Okay, Papa."

They spent the next hour painting together, Bucky doing his best to cheer her up with his clumsy attempts at artistry and silly jokes. The tension and hurt slowly melted away, replaced by the familiar warmth of their bond.

"Look, I made a flower," Bucky said with a grin, holding up a rather abstract and colorful blob that vaguely resembled a flower.

Seven giggled, the sound light and joyful. "That's the most unique flower I've ever seen, Papa."

Bucky laughed, feeling a surge of pride and love for his daughter. "You see? Being unique is a good thing. Just like your paintings. They're amazing because they're yours."

As the sun began to set, they packed up their supplies and headed back to their tiny house. Seven felt lighter, her heart no longer weighed down by the cruel words of the other kids. She knew that no matter what, she had her father's unwavering support and love.

That evening, as they sat together on the couch, Bucky wrapped his arm around Seven and pulled her close. "You're amazing, Sev. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise."

"Okay, Papa," Seven replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you, Sev." Bucky said softly, kissing the top of her head.

"I love you too." she whispered.

SEV AND BUCKY WERE PAINTING NOW,
a variety of colors and brushes spread out before them. It was their favorite way to spend a quiet afternoon, lost in the world of art and creativity.

Seven dipped her brush into a bright blue paint, carefully adding details to her canvas. Bucky was working on his own piece, a landscape that was slowly taking shape. They painted in companionable silence for a while, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

After a few moments, Seven broke the silence, her voice soft and thoughtful. "Papa, do you think there's a God?"

Bucky looked up from his painting, surprised by the question. He set his brush down and took a deep breath, considering his answer. "I don't know, Sev."

Seven frowned slightly, her eyes still focused on her canvas. "What do you mean you don't know? Haven't you ever thought about it?"

Bucky sighed, feeling the weight of the question. "I have, Sev. I've thought about it a lot. But it's not an easy question to answer. There are so many different beliefs and ideas about God. Some people believe very strongly, and others don't believe at all."

"But what do you believe?" Seven pressed, her eyes now meeting his.

Bucky hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I'm not sure, Sev. I've seen and been through a lot in my life, and it's made me question a lot of things. Sometimes I think there might be something bigger out there, something beyond us. Other times, I just don't know."

Seven's frown deepened, and she set her brush down, looking frustrated. "But how can you not know? Don't you want to know?"

"Of course I do," Bucky said gently. "But it's not something you can easily find an answer to. It's something people have been trying to understand for thousands of years."

"But what if there is a God, and we don't believe? What happens then?" Seven asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.

Bucky reached over and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Sev, it's okay to have questions. It's okay to wonder and to search for your own answers. Everyone has their own journey when it comes to faith and belief. What's important is that you think about it and find what feels right for you."

Seven looked down at their joined hands, her frustration slowly turning to contemplation. "I just wish I knew for sure. It would make things easier."

"I understand," Bucky said softly. "But sometimes, the journey of asking questions and exploring your beliefs is just as important as finding the answers. It's okay to not have everything figured out right now."

Seven sighed, picking up her brush again but not dipping it in the paint. "I guess. It's just hard."

Bucky nodded, watching her closely. "It is hard, Sev. But you're not alone in this. You can talk to me about anything, anytime. We can explore these questions together."

Seven gave him a small smile, appreciating his support. "Thanks, Papa."

They returned to their painting, but the conversation lingered in the air. Seven's mind was still turning over the questions she had asked, and Bucky could see the wheels turning in her head.

After a while, Seven spoke up again. "So, if you don't know if there's a God, what do you think happens when we die?"

Bucky paused, his brush hovering over his canvas. "I'm not sure about that either, Sev. Some people believe in an afterlife, that we go to a better place. Others believe in reincarnation, that we come back in a new life. And some think that we just... stop existing."

Seven looked at him, her eyes searching. "But what do you think?"

Bucky sighed, setting his brush down again. "I think... I think it's one of those things that we won't know for sure until it happens. It's one of life's biggest mysteries."

Seven frowned again, feeling the frustration bubbling up once more. "But that's not an answer, Papa. How can you be okay with not knowing?"

Bucky gave her a gentle smile, understanding her frustration. "It's not always easy, Sev. But I try to focus on living my life the best I can. Being kind, helping others, and making the most of the time I have. I think that's what's important."

Seven sighed, picking up her brush and finally dipping it in the paint. "I just wish it was simpler."

"I know," Bucky said softly. "But sometimes, life's biggest questions don't have simple answers. And that's okay."