#it can be chaotic and messy and imperfect and still be Good! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonyskarma · 2 months ago

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you'll love me at once , the way you did once upon a dream . . . marauders dr, original questions by @hrrtshape

🪄 . . . the three good fairies : if you could be granted three things in your dr, gifts, powers, blessings, what would t hey be? what do you most want to take with you?

the power to control time? time travel. maybe then i could change the way some of my visions play out.

invisibility. for once i'd like to be able to walk through the halls without people whispering about me like im voldemort himself. yes, i can see the future, or whatever. yes, i'm a calloway. leave me alone.

real freedom. to be really free of the house of calloway. to not have these visions. i don't want to be dumbledore's personal seer, his advantage in the war. i want to just be a normal fucking teenage boy jesus christ

💌 . . . true love’s kiss : what’s the kind of love that exists in your dr? romantic or otherwise. is it tender? unhinged? slow like honey or fast like teeth?

multifaceted, i suppose. three types with three different people. it's.. complicated. softness, with regulus. teeth and claws with barty. unspoken with sirius. it's messy and chaotic but it's mine. unhinged and tender all at once.

📜 . . . the spindle's prophecy : what’s written in the margins of your dr script? little details you never tell anyone but always include? symbols, colours, names, the way the light hits the window at 4pm?

...i might keep this one to myself, actually.

🧹 . . . the forest cottage : what’s your hideaway? where do you go in your dr when you need to disappear? what’s in that room no one else sees?

the cove, by the black lake. nobody knows it's there, i don't think. at least not anymore—forgotten by time. smooth stones and covered with vines, it's peaceful. somewhere nobody can find me, when i don't want to be found.

🎀 . . . the dress that changes colours : blue or pink? chaos or calm? what aesthetic contradiction lives inside you? what version of you is at war with the other?

on one hand, the chaos—sharp wit and sarcastic quips, always pushing, testing limits, visions that leave me dizzy and too much to drink at parties. reckless flying in quidditch matches, sleepless nights spent with god knows who.

on the other hand, the calm—quiet moments, stargazing with regulus, talking about quidditch with james, studying in the library with remus and the girls. chess in the common room, reading in my dorm.

🛏️ . . . one hundred years of sleep : what’s something you're willing to wait for, even if it takes lifetimes? what’s your most ancient desire?

understanding. somebody who doesn't pretend they know me, because they do know me. love that's patient, that's calm. gentle, i guess. peaceful.

🐍 . . . the green flames : what’s dangerous in your dr but too beautiful to resist? what do you touch even though you know you shouldn’t?

bartemius crouch jr. he's fucking hypnotic it's genuinely scary sometimes. like i said before—teeth and claws. playing with fire. jealous obsession on his part. it's messy. definitely not.. healthy. he's insane. i'm insane. like a fucking precipice—push too far and we'll go over the edge.

♣️ . . . the moment before the spindle : what’s your favourite stillness in your dr? the inhale before the gasp, the step before the fall?

the calm before the storm. the gaze before a kiss. the quiet before the chaos. the fragments of a vision coming into place, while it's still soft, before it burns.

🧁 . . . the crooked birthday cake : what's imperfect in your dr, but still precious? what detail's a little wrong, a little lopsided, and that's exactly why it matters?

relationships that never quite align perfectly. with messy edges like icing smeared, but they're just right to me. loving and hurting and all of it's crooked, like fragments of a shattered mirror. me, imperfect—chaos in a leather jacket. pieces of myself reserved for specific people, inconsistent and messy.

🪁 . . . merryweather’s wish : what’s one wish that rewrites something dark in your dr? a last-minute change to a prophecy, a loophole, a secret softening?

what if i wished to be free of that one prophecy? the one that's been replaying since i was a child? what if i wasn't bound by fate, anymore? what if i didn't have to walk around like an omen of death? that would be .. great, actually.

🐦‍⬛ . . . maleficent’s raven : do you have a pet? a familiar? a pair of eyes in the dark?

I have my Rook! She's a great horned owl, and my partner in crime. She always seems to return from hunting with a mysterious note tied to her ankle, giving me a warning or telling me exactly what I needed to hear. She watches over everything I do, and somehow always appears at just the right moment. I love my grumpy little invincible owl.

🕯️ . . . the cursed spindle : what object in your dr is the most dangerous but the most irresistible? what’s your version of “don’t touch that”?

Honestly... my ring? The silver Calloway signet ring, stolen from my father. A protection enchantment I never knew it had until someone tried to hex me and it ricocheted off me like I had a shield charm up. I didn't. It was the ring. Something I always wear but never show, because then.. I don't know. It would mean I'm still connected to the house of Calloway. And I.. don't want to be. But will I take off that ring? Fuck no.

🪶 . . . the owl with the hat and the coat : is there a moment in your dr that’s a little silly, a little theatrical, totally yours?

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, in my dorm. Sirius, on the floor, spiked butterbeer in hand, shirt unbuttoned like he forgot what dignity was 5 drinks ago. James in an armchair, laughing too loud with his head thrown back like he always does. Remus trying to pretend he's not entertained, looking like he's about to sigh. Me, telling some story, pacing like an actor on stage.

🩰 . . . the woodland waltz : what song always plays in the background of your dr, even if it’s just in your head? what’s your forest soundtrack?

life on mars? — david bowie. always. that's my song.

other than that one... playlist

🌙 . . . the sleep dust : what’s something in your dr that puts you at peace instantly? a person? a smell? a phrase? something narcotic and gentle.

a person — james. the best brother in the entire world. never asking what's wrong—he knows. he always knows, like a sixth sense. and he always knows just how to fix it. a chocolate frog with the card i'd been missing when he knows i don't want to talk, perhaps a scribbled reminder that he loves me. putting on "one of those muggle songs", often something by david bowie, and tugging me up to dance when i need to get out of my head for a while.

a smell — the Potter's house. like apple pie and cedar wood, found only in the Potter's house. Somehow it always smells like Christmas? James brings the smell with him to Hogwarts, like it's woven into his knitted jumpers and clings to the letters sent by Effie and Monty.

a phrase — "i've got you." probably said by sirius, when a vision drags me under and he's the lifeline i've grabbed onto. echoed by regulus, ages later. he, of course, didn't know sirius had said it. but it brings peace, regardless.

🥀 . . . the thorns : what’s a detail in your dr that keeps others out? protective, defensive, painful. but necessary.

me, i guess. my visions. speaking in riddles without meaning to, only mentioning the stupid ones—someone's going to kiss someone, someone got a bad mark on their exam. but the bad ones.. i can't talk about those. won't. so the thorn, i suppose, is my silence. disappearing behind a sharp smile and a promise that i'm fine.

i'm so obsessed with this dr right now its not even funny oh my god genuinely i love this dr so muchhhh ugh it's so freaking cool

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stardustizuku · 10 months ago

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PART 2: What is Cinderella?

So, what exactly do I mean when I say “All Girl Dream of Cinderella”?

“Cinderella”, huh.

That’s obviously going to get some eyebrows raised. Because while, yes, Cinderella is a very popular story, it still very much is a western one, isn’t it? Why the universality of “every girl dreams of Cinderella?” How can I be so sure of “all girls”.

For starters, I’m not literally talking about the 1950 Disney’s Cinderella.

I’m more so using Cinderella as a signifier. A symbol. Something a bit bigger than Disney.

Truth is, there’s thousands of variants of the folk tale, which expand all over the world. Cinderella just happens to be the French variant.

But it exists in other countries outside of Europe: The Tale of Ye Xian, is Chinese; Tám and Cám, is Vietnamese - with the only noticeable difference being a goldfish instead of a fairy godmother and golden shoes instead of glass slippers. Korea has Kongjwi and Patjwi, which curiously enough, extends after marriage. The Iranian versions is called Moon-Forehead. The fairy tale has an extensive history and it expands far beyond western ideals. It exists in fairly different contexts.

So, I’m not literally talking about Cinderella, the Disney Movie.

I’m talking about the idea of Cinderella. What it represents.

At its core, Cinderella represents the idea of “something rightfully yours to have, being taken from you [Cinderella had a good life until her dad died], having to endure a lot of pain, but because you endured it gracefully, you gain the affection of others [enduring the abuse gets you help from animals and your fairy godmother], and because you’re such a good person you get a happily ever after [the prince]”.

If you switch around the parts and increment things here and there, you’ll find that most, if not all, cultures have something similar. For good reason.

It’s the idea that, even if something you have is taken from you, the universe will help you set everything in place. It’s the idea that good people succeed, and bad people suffer. It’s a good children’s story, that’s why you see it everywhere. The good will triumph over evil; you will get your happy ending.

But what happens when you grow up? Well, you start questioning the world, obviously.

You become a teenager.

You get sick and tired of Cinderella. I mean, who gets to decide what is good or bad? Why is my dream a man? Can’t I be an imperfect bad and messy girl, and still find a happy ending?

You’re exploring the world, so what’s the point of staying trapped in a story where the prize is a man? What’s the point of dreaming of princesses and castles, when there’s a city right outside your door?

So, you do what all teenagers do. You expand your horizons. You look at more nuanced material, you indulge in stories without happy endings, and maybe you experience some yourself. You face the world, you get heart broken, and its-

Exhausting. The world is chaotic, it’s confusing, and you’re suddenly not a wild and reckless as you were at thirteen.

You are tired.

You’ve seen pain, you’ve gotten hurt, you’ve fought, and you’ve bled, and everything is too much.

YET. You still want a happy ending.

And suddenly, you get Cinderella.

The exact same premise of, “your life was good, now it isn’t. But it should. And the universe will make sure you get a happy ending”.

But now, it hit harder. It’s much more real.

And before long, you indulge in it.

Cinderella is just that. The idea (and illusion) that there’s a clear right and wrong, a good and an evil. And, someday, the universe will reward you for being “good” by putting everything in its place.

That’s how stories like this become popular. Specially with older women and teenagers going through a rough patch in their life.

And while I say Cinderella in a very cishet view, there obviously are queer variants. (Trust me, there are plenty BL and GL Cinderella variants, but that’s an entirely different genre so we’ll put it aside for now). The flavor doesn’t really matter here. But the idea that “everything made wrong, will be put right in the end”.

It’s self indulgence, in its most raw form.

That’s why all girls dream of Cinderella.

It’s not that they dream of this Cinderella.

But they do dream about what it represents.

They dream about their rags turning into dresses. Maybe not literal dresses. But they do dream that they’ll look in the mirror and love what they see.

Maybe they don’t dream about a night at a ball, but they dream of night where they can go out and enjoy themselves. Maybe a nightclub, maybe a concert, maybe a bar, or even just an outing with a group of friends where they let loose.

And maybe they don’t dream of a Prince Charming - but they dream of love. Maybe they dream of companionship. Or the financial stability that comes with it. Or maybe they just dream of having an ending where everything feels right.

Every Girl Dreams of Cinderella - doesn’t mean every girl dreams of a cishet wedding; but they dream of a happy ever after where everything feels right. Whatever shape that takes.

Villainess stories, or in general Isekai shoujo and romance novels, are exactly that. A happy ever after, where everything works how it’s supposed to work. It functions in the way that you, as an AFAB person, were taught as a kid that the world works. Where there’s a prince, where there’s a wedding, and where there’s a dress.

While people write the story, I think it’s important to analyze what that story says. What is exactly that “dream” that was sold to us? And what does it mean that we dream of it as adult women, (and sometimes not even women, or women who like princes anymore)? That what Media is for. What is it that we find comfort in, why, and what does it say about us?

That said.

I find most disappointing, when people with the empathy of a straight white man start to talk about it this genre with contempt. Specially, romance literature aimed at older women.

Because while literature can risky, a point and deep and deconstructive - sometimes that’s not what the audience wants, or even needs.

Sometimes, tired women, want to be able to read stories where the obviously good girl wins, and the obviously bad one loses. Where a big strong man takes all your problems away, and you have the fantasy promised to you since you were a kid. Where, you get to sit back, relax and read about how the wold is okay. It’s right. About how things are working they should.

Men get a chance to do that with blockbuster movies, why can’t women have that too?

Are there things to criticize about them? Yes. That’s partially what I’m here to do.

But you also need to do this with compassion and understanding.

This is not a multimillion dollar film, so you (and I have to stress this with permanent market) CANNOT, approach them with the same cynicism you would a video essay about how the transforms franchise is sexist crap.

In normal life, no one will bat an eye about a guy liking the Fast and Furious franchise. But a woman liking Fifty Shades of Grey, or any of those raunchy pulp novels they sell at a discount bin in Barnes and Nobles - is very much mocked. Made fun of. And the same goes for shitty villainess webcomics and novels. Even a teenager liking shitty romance novels.

I mean, just look at the way people treat Twilight, Colleen Hoover books, heck, even Ali Hazelwood’s books are mocked sometimes. And if you turn to see the contempt many have for women publishing they Reylo Fanfic that, in no way affects others, it’s very obvious the scrutiny through which romance novels are put through - even when they’re meant to be thoughtless self-fulfilling fantasies.

For some reason, there’s this expectation that women have to have the moral high ground. All they consume must be perfect. Not raise eyebrows, not be provocative, and definitely not controversial. While men get to ogle at Megan Fox on 4K at a booked-out theater.

It is not an even playing field.

And you have to acknowledge it, before doing any sort of analysis.

Because the literature that women like, is always considered a lesser form of art (sometimes even compared to world war 1, in case you think I forgot about Twilight), the same criticism said, will have a different impact.

If someone points out that Sixteen Candles is kinda creepy, everyone ignores it. If someone points out Twilight is creepy, it causes media to run a hate campaign against teens who like it.

So, I wanted to make that clear.

While what I will talk about in the next few chapters is important, always bear in mind that: It’s not exclusive to the genre, and not a problem only women have to solve.

It’s also important to recognize that individual authors may not even be aware of what they create comes across. Not to say that they’re all completely blameless, but that the fault sometimes lies less in the individual and more so on the broader trends that permeate literature. Which, in turn, are a reflection of our societal expectations and constructs.

In a more digestible example: A single author writing about how the evil character is ugly, may not be bad. But if multiple authors start doing it, it may mean that we, as a society, apply moral values to beauty. And that must be examined. It’s also important to recognize what exactly makes this character “ugly”, and if that’s born out of our standards of beauty, hidden racism or ableism, and what can we do about it? How will you change based on that information?

It doesn’t mean that the author has any moral failing. They’re telling a story. But it’s our job as literature analysts, to decode what that says about us. As a society. And what it means that it became so popular.

I have this disclaimer because we will inevitably confront the ugly side of this analysis. And I have seen people get very weird about them. Rather point fingers about what author is or isn’t racist, or if their work is or isn’t sexist - to me is far more productive to look at it and ask: Hey, if this is popular, what does it say about us? Why do I like it? What ugly truth am I looking at, in this mirror I’m holding?

I do not wish to appoint moral value in what I’m looking at. Not right now. Because if you do, you throw everything into the garbage and say “it’s bad”, “it’s problematic”, or “it’s gross”. It limits your scope.

The scope I want is not to tell you, “this is good” or “this is bad”. I want to discuss the way that certain tropes originated, what this “Dream of Cinderella” means, and how it can potentially impacts us when we read it.

So, to start talking about this “Dream of Cinderella”, first we have to ask:

Well, who is Cinderella?

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#essay #essay writing #cinderella #Isekai #villainess isekai

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uncloseted · 2 years ago

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i feel like it must be exhausting to hate the leads of the shows one watches, especially when the characters are just as complex if not more (because of the screen time they get) as the other female characters.

i think especially in the case of rory gilmore, the show sets her up from the beginning to make the mistakes and the flaws she has throughout the show. rory cheated and was the other woman (but also so young... until the revival which is another topic), and became a burnt out gifted kid after being literally worshiped by a whole town, with a mother who did the same and who was always avoidant and chaotic in her own relationships (while also having teenaged rory as her confidant), /and/ had a dad who was barely ever there except when he wanted to court her mother before ghosting again.

then with paris (i love paris) her whole character also makes sense based on being neglected and bullied by her mother as a child, having her only family be her nanny and her children, and needing to focus on academic perfection partially due to feeling inadequate/being treated less than the "prettier" and more palatable girls. though i want to give her way more credit as she truly is a naturally driven, hyper-intelligent woman and with such iconic dialogue (and so refreshing to see during the 00s)... and in the end, all her hard work paid off and her character development was amazing. still, there were times where her character could be extremely cruel, like bullying rory in chilton on and off and kicking rory out of their apartment in a very dangerous area because of a perceived slight.

sorry for coming into your inbox to ramble, i just wanted to share my thoughts on why it leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth when watchers (especially female watchers) want to despise one of the leads for being flawed, when it makes so much sense why rory's often in denial of being so. because of lorelai. i just love how many layers there are in how emily raised lorelai in a conditional smothering love with expectations, and how that caused lorelai to overcompensate with rory by putting her on a pedestal so young as she wanted to give rory the happy childhood she never got. arguably, lorelai also smothered rory by putting expectations on her about going to harvard and being "the good kid who should never have sex ever" so rory wouldn't turn out like her mom. we see how rory ends up rebelling as she gains her agency, like how lorelai rebelled against emily. rory never had the space to fail until she got older and joined the real world, and i think a lot of viewers are too harsh on her character for being messy and imperfect and not always a good person. but in my opinion, rory still has a good heart, just like lorelai. that's one of the reasons i love rory and paris's friendship too. rory was so kind to paris throughout the series, even with paris's intense quirks (especially during chilton when teen paris would bully rory whenever she felt threatened) and at times violent mood swings. and paris did the same, tolerating but still poking at rory being this perfect golden child with the perfect life. of course, everyone is allowed to feel how they want about the media they consume, but alas.

if you read all of this... thank you, and im sorry lol.

also, so sorry to continue barraging you but im sleep deprived and love your blog and have a little bit more to add because i don't want it to seem like i was trying to over-defend rory. i just think all of the characters are written to be flawed but still worthwhile.

i agree that gossip girl paints serena solely as this golden girl that can never go wrong, but i think we do see that gilmore girls intentionally shows that rory does bad things and makes harmful choices. why else would amy sherman palladino write rory to sleep with a married man while having a self-righteous attitude? even though rory tries to defend it at first, i don't think the show itself does. lorelai reprimands her, she flies off to europe but then gets scolded in the middle of town by lindsay's mom, and then has a depressing relationship with dean where he's not even truly invested in her at that point. yes, she doesn't learn from that experience and still cheats and becomes the other woman again, but arguably she doesn't get a happy ending from it. she repeats the same mistakes well into adulthood (which is honestly realistic for a lot of people), but reaches a waking point at the end of the revival and it's a shame we didn't get to see how she could have redeemed herself.

she steals a yacht and has to do lengthy community service even though her grandparents try to buy her out of it, but rory has to learn a lesson like anyone else. the show makes a point to illustrate how truly privileged she is during that court scene, and how the judge doesn't reward her for it. then the show actually spends time on rory doing that community service while also losing herself in emily and richard's world due to her own poor choices.

i'm only listing some of the more severe examples, of course. she coasts through a looot of problems as well, but i don't think the show is bending to fit that and more-so that that was the foundation to begin with. from episode one, on paper rory is a spoiled only child that is at the very beginning of coming into her rich background. which is much to her mothers reluctance because of what that life of privilege brings. lorelai escaped it because of her parents' cruelty, but richard and emily were nothing but doting grandparents toward rory and 100% financially manipulated both girls while also helping rory's education along in ways most kids will never get. it's complicated but it was right there to begin with.

i think it's very realistic that characters and people alike can make bad choices and mistakes, yet not always get the proper consequences, whatever that would mean.

i'm really sorry if i'm being obnoxious but if you do decide to publish this, i hope you or others can connect with my take at all whether it's for or against. :)

You're good! I consistently write essays that only like, five people ever read, so I am not one to judge for long posts. Plus, I love it when people get excited about a discussion topic and share their thoughts with me, so this is great. I think I mostly agree with you. But I think what people find frustrating about Rory in particular is that even when she faces consequences for her mistakes, she never seems to learn from them or really grow. In A Year in the Life, she's still a spoiled kid who's sleeping with a married man and who still has an entire town of adoring people to fall back on when she's not just handed the things she believes she's entitled to. And like, is that realistic for someone like Rory? Sure. It makes a lot of sense why Rory would be like that. But it's not fun for the audience to watch. It feels grating and annoying to watch her constantly make the same mistakes. Paris is allowed to grow and learn and mature, but Rory kind of doesn't, and I think that's why people prefer Paris to Rory.

And I think it's especially frustrating for viewers because the show does have a lot of opportunities to give Rory character development and to show that she has learned something from her mistakes. As you say, she steals a yacht (because Mitchum Huntzberger tells her he doesn't think she'll be a good journalist and nobody has ever told her she's not good at something before), and all she has to do is community service. That's a show of privilege in itself- she could have easily been sent to jail for that if she was not wealthy or if she was a person of color. But even then, when the show wants us to think that she's hit rock bottom and to feel kind of sorry for her, she doesn't really learn anything. She just parlays her privilege into living in her grandparents' very nice house, gets her grandmother to give her a job, and then eventually she just goes back to Yale University as if nothing happened. And then she's shocked when the New York Times rejects her, as if Mitchum hadn't already told her that she needs to improve as a journalist if she's going to work in that field. The show could have had Rory lose all of her privilege due to the mistakes that she made. It could have shown her realizing how much worse things would have been for her if she was someone else, and have her fully accepting that she is someone who comes from privilege. It could have shown her really working to be taken seriously as a journalist, even in jobs that she considered to be "beneath her".

But instead, the same few storylines kind of just repeat for her: Rory is convinced she's entitled to something and doesn't get it, but doesn't learn anything from that about entitlement (and then often, the show assures us that Rory is actually really, really great, and the person who didn't give her the thing she felt entitled to was wrong); she sleeps with someone who's already in a relationship, but doesn't learn anything from that about respecting other people's relationships or her own dysfunctions with regard to relationships; she refuses to acknowledge the privilege she has, even though she has a lot of it. It may be realistic, but I just don't think it's good television from an audience standpoint.

#gilmore girls #rory gilmore #paris geller

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paullewingtile · 4 months ago

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3 Reasons Handmade Ceramic Tiles Are the Ultimate Weapon for Custom Tile Murals

Your walls called. They’re tired. They’re tired of blending in like a background extra in a low-budget soap opera. They want to be the star. They want gasps. They want people to spill their wine mid-sentence because damn, they didn’t know a wall could look like that.

And the answer isn’t another slab of factory-pressed ceramic tile that’s been cranked out faster than your cousin’s bad TikToks. No, the answer is handmade ceramic tiles—crafted by human hands, kissed by fire, and ready to unleash pure visual chaos (the good kind) on your home.

Whether you’re eyeing your kitchen backsplash, plotting an outdoor pool mural, or fantasizing about a fireplace that feels like it belongs in a mountain lodge where whiskey flows like tap water—custom tile murals with handmade ceramic tiles are the holy grail. And here’s why:

1. Handmade Ceramic Tiles Have That Irreplaceable Human Magic

You ever walk into a room and immediately feel like the walls are silently judging you? That’s what happens when you go all-in on factory-made tile. Cold. Repetitive. Sterile. Like it’s been designed by a committee of accountants who think “fun” is adding an extra line to an Excel sheet.

Handmade ceramic tiles, though? They breathe. Each tile is slightly different—little brushstroke quirks, gentle color shifts, an occasional perfect imperfection. That’s the soul. That’s the difference between a wall that’s “nice” and a wall that feels like it could break into song at any second.

Commissioning a mural from a legend like Paul Lewing isn’t just buying tiles—it’s inviting art into your home. Your kitchen backsplash tile could morph into a sun-soaked vineyard where you can practically hear the grapes whispering Italian love songs. Your bathroom? Suddenly an undersea dream, fish tile swirling around like they have somewhere important to be. Your fireplace? Now a rugged mountain vista where you half-expect a bald eagle to land and offer you investment advice.

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Life is messy. Dogs sprint through the house like they’re training for the Kentucky Derby. Kids treat spaghetti sauce like paint. You occasionally “gently set” a wine glass on the counter and watch it explode like a Michael Bay scene.

Handmade ceramic tiles don’t flinch. They survive.

These tiles are fired in kilns so blisteringly hot they make summer in Arizona look like sweater weather. That means they can handle heat, water, sauce attacks, rogue soccer balls, and whatever else your chaotic life throws their way.

Fireplace mural with flames licking the edges? Those tiles won’t even sweat. Kitchen backsplash tile under siege by marinara missiles? Wipes clean, like it never happened. Pool mural under the full assault of chlorine and sun? Still looking like a Mediterranean resort.

You’re not just getting art—you’re getting a mural that will laugh in the face of time. When your neighbor’s peel-and-stick backsplash is falling off like a bad toupee, your custom tile mural will still be standing—probably flexing.

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Off-the-shelf ceramic tile is built for the masses. You are not “the masses.” You want your walls to tell stories—your stories.

Handmade ceramic tiles are your personal canvas. Paul Lewing doesn’t work from catalogs—he works from your imagination. You dream it, he paints it. Want a stormy mountain scene above your fireplace? Done. A bathroom backsplash with sea turtles that look like they might ask you for directions? No problem. A pool mural so lush and vibrant you consider buying a snorkel? Absolutely.

Your walls stop being walls. They become personal art galleries. Art that’s made to endure weather, steam, fire, and the occasional “oops” moment with a bottle of Cabernet.

The Future Is Custom—Your Walls Demand It

Sure, you could go with the generic ceramic tile option. It’s safe. It’s fine. But “fine” is for office break rooms. Your home deserves better. You deserve walls that spark joy, curiosity, and maybe mild jealousy from your guests.

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#Handmade ceramic tiles #Ceramic Tile #Fish Tile #Backsplash Tile

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bernaticneon · 6 months ago

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Here’s the thing about the modern internet: every single platform is just eating the leftovers of another platform. Tumblr screenshots on Instagram. Instagram reels reposted on TikTok. TikToks on YouTube Shorts. Twitter posts (sorry, X?) screenshotted and plastered everywhere. Somewhere out there is the same joke that has been recycled so many times it’s evolved into a whole new meme ecosystem.

And yet, we eat it up. Why? Because it’s funny? Relatable? Or because we’ve all been trained to consume everything as fast as possible and then forget about it immediately?

But here’s the kicker: while this endless content loop is spinning, everyone’s also complaining about it. We see posts about how AI is ruining creativity, how social media is rotting our brains, or how nothing feels original anymore. And the wild part is that all of those complaints are valid… but also, it’s more complicated than that.

1. The AI Debate

Yes, AI is a massive shift in creativity and how we produce content. It can regurgitate things faster than any human brain ever could, but at the same time, most of what it’s doing is based on what we’ve already created. AI isn’t some rogue genius—it’s a mirror held up to the internet, showing us all the tropes, ideas, and trends we’ve overused. It’s a tool that reflects our collective creative habits, which makes it both fascinating and unsettling.

The question is: are we afraid of AI taking over, or are we afraid of what it reveals about how formulaic and repetitive our creativity already was?

2. Social Media & Brainrot

People say social media is feeding us brainrot content, but like… we’re choosing the brainrot. Algorithms are smart, but they’re also just amplifying what we linger on. If we click on 15 different “oddly satisfying videos” or “hot takes that will ruin your day,” that’s what we’ll keep seeing. It’s not a conspiracy—it’s us, chasing dopamine hits in 60-second doses.

So the real problem isn’t just the content being served to us—it’s how we interact with it. Are we looking for depth, or are we looking for something easy to scroll past?

3. Originality Isn’t Dead, It’s Just… Different

Everything feels recycled now, but the truth is, humans have always recycled ideas. We’re remixing culture at a faster pace because we’re more connected than ever. The same way memes evolve into absurdist chaos, art and creativity evolve too. We’re still telling stories, making jokes, and creating things—it’s just that the format has shifted into this constant stream of repurposed, reinterpreted content.

Does that mean originality is dead? No. But it does mean originality is harder to spot when everything’s moving at light speed.

4. Are We Doomed?

Not necessarily. The internet is weird, messy, and imperfect, but it’s also a tool—like AI, like social media, like Tumblr itself. What matters isn’t just how these tools exist, but how we use them.

You want brainrot? You’ll find it. You want thoughtful, meaningful content? You’ll find that too. The internet didn’t change us so much as it gave us a magnifying glass for all the good, bad, and chaotic parts of humanity.

So yeah, it’s easy to blame AI, algorithms, or recycled content for everything feeling stagnant or overwhelming. But the truth is, we’re the ones driving it. And maybe the real solution is figuring out how we want to engage with this endless, chaotic swirl of creativity, technology, and human noise.

At the end of the day, the internet isn’t feeding us garbage—it’s reflecting our cravings. What are we hungry for?

#internet #essay #ai generated #ai art #originality #reflection #poetry

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singletales · 2 years ago

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I was the Ying to your Yang.

But maybe you need a Yang to your Yang.

Maybe you like confusion and pain.

You look in the mirror and u see perfection.

Never looking beyond to see the details of perfection lie within imperfection.

It’s rather narcissistic that you like me for you.

The parts of me that remind u of u.

Pieces that align with your idea of perfection.

When I’m a good girl I’m the world.

The slightest bit of humanity and I’m messy I’m chaotic I’m something to be discarded.

You never love me when I’m naked.

It’s easy to consider me trash but the moment someone wants ur trash you’re reminded of me; reminded of you.

It’s easy to do easy that’s why they call it easy.

But how does one grow evolve and learn one’s self without the hard?

If you were with you would you stay you?

Do you value the lesson or are you so lost in yourself.

Do you see the flaws in you but are too ashamed to acknowledge.

When you think on the ideal you want.

Do you possess those qualities.

Maybe ur just a facade and you don’t even like you.

And you need someone who don’t like themselves too.

Someone who puts on the show that they’ve got it all figured out and they never hurt feel or think too long on anything.

Someone to turn their nose up at flaws and float around in an imaginary world. Never valuing anything, never evolving, never admitting to mistakes, never losing their cool, never truly feeling anything.

So I guess it’s true.

You do like chaos.

You found me because you thought it was it.

And as I started blossoming it became too hard to stick with.

I turned into a butterfly something you thought you would never see.

And I carry my scars with pride because I know they made me.

All of this turnt you off. How could see be so true.

Why is she no longer the challenger I’m used to.

Why is she no longer hiding her feelings like I do.

Why doesn’t she suggest a problem for a problem.

Why do I feel the need to condemn.

I feel distant from her and I wanna create more.

Let me run hide and lock the door.

And if she loves me still,

I’ll roll down the hill.

And if she loves me then,

I’ll move again.

How can she love me, that’s my job.

Build myself up tear myself apart and pretend I don’t.

Would she follow me over a cliff?

I know she won’t.

I’ll jump anyway hoping to save myself.

Protect my perfection while running from imperfection.

How dare you seek on love when u don’t know what that is.

How dare you play a game with it like you don’t know this thing kills.

You confuse me, misuse and abuse me.

Lose me, but ur too cool to lose me.

Leave me, deceive me then you need me.

This the type of chaos I was never made for.

I was made to learn more.

To be adored.

To be ensured.

I wasn’t made to wonder or ponder.

See I know truth perfection lies within the Ying and the Yang.

God showed me that and He is teaching me how to act.

How to praise Him love Him admire myself.

So lately, I don’t ever need your help.

I’m a Ying not looking for a Yang because I know it all lies within me.

I hope one day you look in the mirror and you see.

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etheriadearie · 3 years ago

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Read your big Entrapta post. It was very interesting, and over 6000 words long, LMAO. You should use plain text more though, the heavily reformatted bold/italicised/etc text made it difficult to read.

So, a few things:

1. I absolutely agree that the characters are continuing the historical trauma of the first ones. Entrapta is a truth seeker trying to get to the heart of the issue and basically discovers the Heart of Etheria with the minimal amount of investigation in season 1, with nobody else questioning what the First Ones did because it would mean they have to question their entire power structure.

2. However, Entrapta is still a villain that the Princesses need to stop. Especially as the Black Garnet Experiment was hurting so many people, and she didn't even know what sort of dangerous weapon was lurking under the surface yet! Unfortunately I think the lack of communication with her in s1 is attributed to time - she only got a single episode to deal with them and just when they were warming up to each other they were separated. I like to think if this separation never happened, the other characters would've started to understand Entrapta better and let her do her thing. On the other hand, they probably wouldn't have let her mess with a runestone. A full Rebellion! Entrapta would face prejudice against tampering with tech, as you said. Only the Horde would be willing to fully embrace it, which is why Bow's tech is nowhere close to Entrapta's - hell, people tease him for it rather than ask him about it!

(This presumably changes after s5 where suddenly tech is a vital part of society and Entrapta carried the Rebellion through the transition.)

3. I do think you're right when you say, all the other characters are caught up in their anger and hurt, but Entrapta lets it pass through, and she can see most clearly the value in other people, and treats them better than she gets treated. She does carry and push down some hurt especially around getting rejected so many times no matter how hard she tries, and sometimes she questions her own philosophies of "imperfections are beautiful" because how can she believe that when her own imperfections keep leading to her pushing people away? But she has a strong heart, and pushes through that doubt and becomes a powerful force for individuality across the show. She is unabashedly herself, and transfers that positive energy onto other characters when de-chipping them, breaking up tension for other characters on the space ship, and helping Hordak figure out who he is.

Hi! Sounds like we agree on a lot, let me see if I can respond to a few things...

Thanks! My Promise discussion is over 17,000 hah 💜😜💜✌️. And I think you're right about the text, thx for saying. I've been thinking about switching to all bold, an example of that here.

Okay to this, I think we need to deal with the outdated and blasé boring 80s villain concept..

::metadiscuss She-ra and ND Stevenson's take on villains 🦹‍♀️

To be clear, my writing is never done to condone anyone's actions. What's happening is that they're all bad (until s5). SPOP is a waking disaster for pretty much every character, good guys and bad, they are all being hurtful and those decisions are bouncing off each other in a disastrous chaotic echo chamber. And Entrapta’s story, while messy, shows the truest line of good intentions towards others and to finding the truth.

Which is why I think judging Entrapta (or Catra and Hordak) as 'villains who need to be stopped’ isn't what ND wants us to do.

Catra and Hordak are absolutely being total assholes, but, there's only a couple really evil people in SPOP, who cause so much hurt and destruction in the story, and to which we can trace back all the other characters' actions to. What makes Catra and Hordak different from these evil people is that they aren't sociopaths. For example, one such sociopath villain- Shadow Weaver- gets away with the most terrible bullshit for the longest time. She abused Catra and Adora from an early age- and Adora and Catra only manage to stop her at the very end. This is a much more realistic storyline, as irl abusers fly under the radar, some never even face consequences for their actions.

But, this complexity is how ND Stevenson set out to give us a better story than the old 80s boring blasé “villains are evil and only exist to be stopped by the heroes”. Those stories lack any creativity, making 1 dimensional badguys to be knocked over by the heroes shooting gallery style.

The biggest clue that SPOP rejects such a blasé villain take is the plot itself- do the Princesses EVER even really stop them? Anything they try to do backfires- they didn't stop the portal from opening, they never regained control of the Black Garnet- and yet did the Horde ever use it again?

They could have, right? So, the Princesses struggle to even do the most basic thing of stopping the Horde. Stopping the villains isn't something we see them do until the end. The Princesses don't work together, before Adora showed up they all hid in their kingdoms and abandoned Etheria’s populace (and often their own people) to war. (see Bow’s dad George in s2ep7). But, by making unbalanced emotional decisions that are out of control they do make things worse for themselves, and for everyone on Etheria. This is because while the Horde is wrong, their own decisions add to the trauma of the other side, particularly Catra, perpetuating and increasing the violence.

For example, about one of the most villainous moments- Catra pulling the switch- we can see how Glimmer’s own actions of empowering Shadow Weaver in s3ep4 sends things out of control.

That's the moment Catra's actions are solidified, before then she's not angry enough to do what she does. And from then on Glimmer continues to give Shadow Weaver even more power in s4, she falls for her deceptions, which contributes to Glimmer’s mistake of linking Scorpia to the Heart, looking to win by any option. The world almost ends; it's chaos.

To elaborate about the portal incident: I say confidently that what we're suppose to understand within the plot that the portal wouldn't have happened without Glimmer bringing Shadow Weaver to the Fight Zone.

Entrapta actually had that under control, she had convinced Hordak to wait to try the portal, so they could perfect it (more really, for romance). And Adora did a good job warning Entrapta about the dangers, changing her mind. So, even though Catra wanted to do it, it wouldn't have happened. She wasn't the uncontrollably enraged person we see when she shocks Entrapta and then lies to Hordak.

That all comes down to Catra being brought within an inch of her life by her abuser yet again. Catra has been powerless to stop her abuser all of her life. Seeing the Princesses enable her abuser is a bridge too far. She has to win, even if there's a chance the world will end.

Imho what Catra did to Entrapta is what she hates herself for the most. It wasn't supposed to happen, we see that on her face afterwards. Catra is (predictably) driven by fear, that no matter what she does her abuser will be enabled by others.

Even at that point in the story, Adora is an enabler of their abuser in Catra's eyes. She's wrong, Adora has no control- and feels as unsafe as she does.

This is the kind of evidence that's there if you look for it, and Glimmer's decision to enable their abuser leaves both Adora and Catra unnerved and they begin to spiral during s4. What's also true is that Glimmer is partially responsible for her own pain in s4 and the loss of her mother. (I can talk in more detail about this cascade of events, lmk.)

In fact, Shadow Weaver switching sides is nothing- she's not trying to help the Princesses win, there's nothing left for her at the Horde and she uses it as a new opportunity to manipulate for power. In s4 she drives Glimmer towards releasing the power, for her own gain. It doesn't end like she intends when the Heart is set off instead.

But, as usual Shadow Weaver is getting away with it. She only faces consequences in s5 when Catra (‘a villain who needs to be stopped') helps Adora past all the manipulations with her love confession. Why is it Catra that has to bring the knowledge of love, why is she the wise one? It's literally the story of the series, her saving Adora with The Kiss.

So the story of the series isn't that Catra is a redeeming villain- it's why she has this special knowledge. Nor is Adora some miraculous hero- she can't be a real hero until she learns to accept that love.

So Catra can't really be called a villain, she does act the part but it's more complicated than that. Hordak isn't one either- he is a trauma machine, but he helps them win in the end, too. And Entrapta is one of the least villainous people in her intentions- lead than the Princesses who try to use a horrific super weapon to win (obvious similarities to choosing the nuclear option). Instead, we should focus on the real villains- sociopathic manipulators who like to hurt others- Shadow Weaver, Horde Prime, and somewhat Light Hope.

They lack the ability to feel love or empathy, they want to hurt others, like many of the worst abusers in our societies (looking at you, capitalism). That emotional difference is where the root of evil actually lies, because it lets them hurt people indefinitely. And just like Shadow Weaver, Horde Prime got away with it for the longest time, he hurt Hordak and murdered many innocent worlds before being stopped. And what did it take to stop him? An act of love. Gay love. 🏳️‍🌈 That's a pretty great rejection of the blasé troupes if you ask me.

So, I don't agree with the 80s villain view of Entrapta and most other characters. Is Scorpia a villain? How about Kyle, Rogelio, and Lonnie? They're treated as such. It's so much better that we're shown both sides, to understand how their choices are affected by the Princesses own actions. So that way we can think about why they make the decisions that they do. It's chaos until they all agree to stop and understand each other. Meanwhile the sociopaths were getting away with manipulating them all.

Oh an Entrapta? She doesn't stop to placate anyone's fragile feelings, such as with the Princesses, because ignorance is worse than not knowing what's really going on and the deeper plot that threatens the entire universe.

Anyways... I am not worthy to speak for ND but I suspect that he'd say calling Entrapta a villain wasn't what he wanted us to see. Or with many of the other characters. Entrapta is always doing her best, she's also kind to others. Calling her villain is so surface, it's meh.

Hope that makes sense.

p.s I know my posts are long, but its because I'm trying to answer all of the questions and misconstrued comebacks I've seen all at once, every question all at once. I do wish my writings could be shorter, but then I'd leave too many things open to confusion. Also, many questions are answered in my hyperlinks- more good meta to read with a hot cuppa somethin'☕️☺️ (all hyperlinks are on tumblr)

In a show where Catra and Adora struggle so much with becoming their true selves, Entrapta is always in touch with her most authentic self. She gives me all of the happy feelings 🥰

I know, it hurts to see her suffer. 😥 She shouldn't be made to doubt. Then again, what's being alive more than doubting? Each major character in SPOP does it. Her story has so much humanity 😌

Well said!! This is what I'm really saying when I talk about how the Princesses are privileged. Like, many privileged people accept the current economic order and that's wrong- it's destroying our environment and makes 3rd world counties impoverished. I see a real similarity in how the Princesses just accept their world order. Like irl, just because they don't know it's wrong doesn't make it any less wrong.

Thanks to anybody who hung out through this long post. If you like it, let me know. But reblogg if you can, because reblogs make the tumblr world go round ☺️💫🌍✨. Thanks for writing in op, I'm glad we agree on many things (some which I didn't have time to cover).

Happy Pride everybody!! ✨✨🏳️‍🌈✨✨!!!!

p.s if you have an ama pending I have received it and will respond just as soon as it's ready. Feel free to keep sending me asks my peoples!!

-Etheriadearie

#entrapta #she ra meta #spop meta #she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #spop #villain #80s villain #nd stevenson #she ra spoilers #catradora

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reflectionsofneptune · 5 years ago

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little things about the Mars Signs

18+

little, dreamy things I associate with sex and the Mars signs in Astrology.

Aries Mars

Rawness. A strong grip. Tugging a lock of hair when it gets too much. A thin line between pain and pleasure. Nails scratching down a back because of frustration. A build up. Taunts. Deliberately causing arguments because make-up sex with you feels so good. Will you take the bait? Sex feeling new each time. A fast rhythm. Confidence. Advancing towards you. Feeling protective over you. An urge to KO anyone who looks at you for more than 2 seconds. Warrior urges instigated. Persistence got me this far in life, let me show you how it works for me.

Taurus Mars

Pressure. A slow burning warmth that licks up the body. We have all the time in the world. Every part of the body exposed to a kiss, a touch, a breath of air. Flickering of orange flames in a fireplace. A feeling of pure, unabashed sensuality when naked. Coolness of air which brushes the hairs on the back of the neck. Rooted in sexual energy. Slow and steady wins the race. Scented massages. Starting at the base of the neck. Feeling strength. Resilience. Flavoured condoms. Drunk on your love. How is it possible you taste sweeter every time? The smooth column of the throat. The shadows a sunset causes dancing. Seduction is like art to me, let me paint you a masterpiece.

Gemini Mars

Curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, but the cat had nine lives. Opening up to try different things. Trying to do too many things at once. Falling on the floor so we stay there. A combination of arms and legs. Head cocked to one side. Observing you from a different angle. Slanted eyes. A feeling of pressure that’s quick but growing in acuteness. Busy hands. Roaming fingers. Lights on or off it doesn’t matter. I can still picture you. In my mind. With my eyes closed. You’re a permanent imprint on my psyche. My desire resides on the mental plane. Whispering all the things I want to do to you. Biting an ear lobe. Wanting to learn about every inch of your body. Tell me your fantasies and watch how fast I bring it to you in real time.

Cancer Mars

Baby. But I can take control. It depends how I feel. An emotionally charged touch. Hearts in sync. A vivid imagination. Role-playing. Wearing that outfit I know has that effect on you. Playing coy. If I’m feeling sad, I might insist we stay wrapped in each other’s arms, just for a while. Is that OK? A stormy kind of desire. Waking up to kisses. Not wanting to sleep because this moment is all I ever dreamed of. This feels like home. Checking in with you. A sensitive kind of love. Hold me tight. So tight I can’t breathe. Only then will it feel right. TLC. Crying before, during and after sex. I can’t help it. A sudden wave of desire, greedy in nature. Strong feelings of lust. My fervour for you is bottomless, this is but a small representation of its total expression.

Leo Mars

Doing it in the mirror so I can show you how beautiful you look. Don’t be shy. Rose petals on the bed. Even more rose petals on the floor. I wanna perform for you. An effortless performance, start to finish. This is what you signed up for. Let me deliver my end of the deal. Pride in the bedroom. Forgetting about past lovers. At the moment of release, saying my name soothes the lion inside that bares it’s teeth when you’re underneath me. Aggression. Feeling royal together. Round one barely took the edge off. Leaving my mark on you. The bedroom feels like a hunting ground. Running isn’t an option. Pleasure in all its forms. Can you tame the beast?

Virgo Mars

Acting reserved in public but it’s a different story behind closed doors. Who knew? Not afraid to get dirty with you. Voyuerism. Less stress. Surrendering to pleasure and not feeling guilty for it. Peace with the imperfection of this ritual. Perfection out of the window. Lust making a direct entrance, front and centre. Tasting you. And then kissing you. Tasting us. Fresh sheets. Getting equally turned on watching you get dressed vs watching you get undressed. When we’re done, cleaning you as an act of service. Submission. A routine that brings order to a chaotic life. If I tell you how crucial this is to my well-being, will you look down on me?

Libra Mars

Fluid. Fluidity in our movements. You first, then me. Close your eyes if you like. There’s no rush. I like being here with you. Who said romance was dead? Wants and desires expressed with you in mind. Sleepy sex. In the throes of passion, you still look like a masterpiece. Can’t get enough. Delicate petals of a rose. Instinctively knowing how to get you off. Licking my lips. And then licking you down there. Playing with you with finesse. How does this feel? Dressing up, just for you. A breathy sigh released in the crook of the neck. Scented candles. Not knowing where each other begins and ends. Not caring. A true union of souls. Sharing this helps me to forget about inner turmoil, if only for a little while.

Scorpio Mars

Enticement. Pupils full and unblinking. Space between us lasts for a second. Who are we kidding? Sharing oxygen. Sucking on your bottom lip. Eyes on me. That’s not a request. Wanting to watch you fall apart. A wet trail left by a tongue. Those kind of toys. Do you trust me? Show me how much. Fingers pressed into the skin, hard. A ghostly handprint flashes on the surface of the skin for a heartbeat. Teeth tease the throb of a pulse point. Blood rushing. Be brave enough to discover the intensity of my feelings and be sucked under. Only to rise up in levels in consciousness on a spiritual plane. Love is transformational. I’m willing to show you what you do to me. Don’t run.

Sagittarius Mars

Free rein. Sex with the possibility of being exposed. Down for whatever. Bluntness. Desires expressed with no shame. A finger over the lips. Playing to win. Feeling energised when rolling around the sheets. Nothing is off limits. Fantasies coming true. No strings attached. Watch me do you. Laughter as foreplay. Relax with me. You may have tried this position before but with me it’s different. Let’s get physical. A work out. Kissing you to muffle your screams. Messy hair. Messy sheets. How did this end up in the bed? Mundane details of life losing their importance when we’re together. Feeling the strength coursing through the thighs. I would risk getting caught with you.

Capricorn Mars

A hand on your waist in public, a hand on your throat in secret. Trust me, it feels better when you wait. Limits pushed. Burning up. Debauchery. I won’t tell. It’s our little secret. Experience is a turn on. Standards are a turn on. A sense of control. Mastery. I know this game in and out. Sex is all about power at the end of the day. Soft bristles of a whip, barely brushing the spine. I know how to do this with my eyes closed. How do you feel about blindfolds? Vulnerability. Replaying these moments we share in inappropriate places. Seductive e-mails. Legs pressed tightly together. Having power over you is an accolade I hold close to my heart, not something I take for granted.

Aquarius Mars

Electric. Electricity when our fingers touch. Permission to be one’s free, authentic self. A non-judgement zone. Non-physical forms of affection. I’m open to trying something new with you. Inviting other people into the picture but only you can make me feel this way. Incorporating technology to add a new flavour. Feeling closer to you in group sex. Conversations intermingling within the very act of sex. Noses brushing against each other faintly. Deep eye-contact feels orgasmic. Hearing soft vibrations in the air before you feel it. Swirling galaxies. My thoughts are consumed by you nowadays, but I’m OK with that.

Pisces Mars

Altered states of consciousness. The bliss that comes when feeling wholly accepted. Complete adoration. Eyes locked. A desire to merge together. Skinny-dipping under the cloak of the night. Who cares if we get caught. No restrictions. A transcendent experience. Artistic nudes. A photo album on my phone. Dedicated to you. Boundaries teased. Biting my lip to control myself but failing. Kisses on the forehead. Reverence. I can morph into whoever you want me to. Kissing you, but my eyes are open. Moments of silence. Desires expressed without words. The sweetest dreams. Every time feels like a little death, only to be reborn again.

| little thoughts about the mercury placements

| little thoughts about the venus placements

| little thoughts about the saturn placements

#astrology #mine #mars #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #astro #zodiac signs #zodiac #astrology observation #thoughts

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serenityseventeen · 4 years ago

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♪ The Last Day of Summer With You

Jun/Wen Junhui/Moon Junhui : Painting...?

“Are you sure about this?” You asked skeptically while staring at your boyfriend who was preoccupied with setting up the stand for the blank canvas.

Jun nodded and placed the canvas on the stand. He clapped his hands together after he was done and turned halfway to you who was on his right and watched him set up the whole thing. He innocently smiled but you shook your head.

“I don't think that painting together on one beautifully blank canvas is a very good idea,” You said, crossing your arms with conviction. “If my memory is correct, the last time we tried an artistic project, it ended up with us filling out bedroom walls with sketches of cats.”

Jun giggled at that remark because he could recall that moment. Everything about that warm spring day was chaotic and it all started when Jun decided to take Mingyu's suggestion of drawing with a significant other as a romantic activity.

That day was surely romantic to Jun because it was a memory he could never forget. You laughed so much that day despite continuously uttering about how foolishly childish you and he were, drawing cats on the walls and sketching stickmen in your notebooks while acting like troublesome kids. He could tell that that day was memorable for you too. If he could get you to smile like that, he would look everywhere for a fun activity to do.

Thus, that was why Jun was always looking for new things to try with you and he would take in many of his member's suggestions. Jun enjoyed having fun, being romantic, and being with you, so everything that his friends deemed ‘romantic’ he would try them out for himself.

Just like how that chaotically beautiful drawing day started, this one also started with a member's suggestion. This time, he took in the artiste, Minghao's recommendation of painting, and bought some art supplies for it.

Since today was a day to finish the hot, summer weather, Jun had decided that you two should attempt to keep the memory of a summertime sunset written on a canvas.

Jun let out a long breath and took your hand, setting you down in front of the canvas. Jun had already prepared a palette and brushes that were kept in a small cup, their fluffy ends sticking up.

“Come on, doing things like this once in a while is fun!” Jun said, handing you a palette. “I'll take the left half of the canvas, you can have the right side. Let's see what we can come up with to describe summer, okay?”

You chuckled, knowing that the painting was going to end up adequately attractive even if it looked peculiar. You glanced at Jun while holding the palette. He was skipping through the bottles of paint to get a brush while holding a plastic palette in one of his hands. You helplessly grinned as you gazed at Jun.

The assorted and iridescent paint bottles that were lined up on the floor were neatly ultimately scattered with a gentle brush of Jun's foot as he made his way back to the stool next to you. He came back with not one brush, but the whole mug that held the brushes.

“Let's get started, shall we?” Jun asked, smiling as he set down the paintbrushes.

You watched as he squeezed paint onto his palettes and gently dabbed his chosen brush into the paint. He painted a slanted line down the middle of the canvas, causing you to laugh at how imperfect but cute it looked.

“I guess I have more space at the bottom of the canvas than you do,” You commented, bringing some orange paint onto your palette.

Jun laughed softly. “I won't even try to fix this crooked line.”

There was complete silence in the house as you and Jun started focusing on the painting. The activity was messier than both of you thought it'd be. Jun had forgotten to buy painting aprons to avoid getting paint on your clothes too, but thankfully, the two of you changed into clothes that weren't special.

It was strange to see him so focused on the painting.

Jun found it strange that you were working so hard on your side of the painting. Sometimes, he would glance at his side to catch the beauty of a concentrated you.

When you saw him looking at the corner of your eye, you would turn to him and you both would stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds before you either smiled, winked, scrunched your nose, or asked, “What?”

Jun couldn't catch when you would gaze at him though, even if your eyes were shooting out hearts, he would be too distracted by his painting that he wouldn't even notice. You found it rather cute, and, you got to gaze at his dangerously attractive side profile.

“Can you pass me the blue paint?” You asked.

Jun looked around his stool to realize that he had been hoarding all of the paints around and under his stool. His hands were a rainbow mess and his painting, well, you could just tell that he was trying hard because it looked pretty with bright and dark colors.

“Oh, sorry,” Jun replied. He got off his chair a little to reach for the blue bottle of paint, his messy hands staining the side of the bottle.

You didn't mind that the bottle was tainted because your hands too, were decorated with a variety of smudged colors. You didn't even know how some paint got on the smooth, tiled floor, though it wasn't unexpected.

As Jun took the bottle and handed it to you, his clumsiness took the best of him and he accidentally, while retreating his hand, swept the back of his painted hand against your side of the canvas. He was moving a beat too fast which caused the sudden collision.

You both froze because you saw the entire thing happen and Jun quickly realized what he had done. The canvas was a bit smudged with brown, destroying the aesthetic of the painting.

Jun looked at you, expecting death glares, but was met with a warm smile. You were laughing, amused by your boyfriend's small mistake. It must have been ridiculous to see you laughing like that because Jun couldn't hold his laughter either. Whenever you laughed, he would habitually mimick your actions even if he didn't know what was so funny.

“Why are you laughing? Aren't you upset?” Jun asked, confused by your rather bright and friendly expression. Your laughter was contagious and Jun was still frozen in place.

“Of course not!” You finally replied. You placed your brush and palette down on the floor, grinning widely out of unexplainable ecstasy. “Mistakes like that are what makes paintings like these so special!”

You cupped his face with your paint-covered hands, leaving polychromatic marks on his cheeks, and leaned in to press a long, sweet kiss on his lips. You didn't know why, but it felt like you were waiting for something like this to happen.

Jun was a bit taken aback by the sudden kiss but he quickly absorbed himself into his. His hand would have completely pushed the painting and stand down but he somehow controlled that, leaving a messy print of his hand on your side of the art piece.

His paint-filled hands left marks on your clothes as they climbed up your waist to hold you tightly.

“You're such a fool,” You commented, your thumb caressing his cheeks that were now smeared with paint from your hands. “Why do you always take in your member's ideas?”

Jun moved back a little to look into your beautiful eyes that were now reflecting the sunshine from the large living room window. “I think I'm too boring. I want you to have fun with me.”

“Thank you,” You replied. “I'll try to be a better lover and give you surprise activities that are fun like this too. It's just that you're so foolish; you don't need to ask your members for fun activities to do. I like everything you do, even if you're just playing piano, singing, practicing a funny skit, or playing games on the computer. It's all fun to me.”

“It's okay,” Jun said, knocking on the side of your head playfully. “I want us to do a variety of things together because it's fun and memorable. I don't care whether or not we do these things as long as we do something, even if it's just staying at home. I wouldn't do things like this if I didn't have you.”

You both let go of each other with a smile. You stared at Jun's hand engraved on your painting. Jun noticed it too and was about to apologize but before he could, you quickly submerged your palm in your colorful painting palette.

You smile lovingly at him before pressing your hand against his side of the painting.

-----------------

a/n: this one was almost 1.5k words and yes, I know, the picture has barely any relevance to the story overall. I tried very hard to find a newer photo of him with paint but had no luck; I just remember them playing with paint during Pretty U(?) or predebut. Anyway, I love Silent Boarding Gate with my whole heart so I used that photo instead. + What does summer look like to you?

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staticscreenwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Love like the movies // Bucky Barnes // 5

Five - Dirty Dancing

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

Bucky wakes up to music. It's playing from outside the room, echoing through the halls and filling the apartment with sound.

It reminds him of when he was a kid and his mom would make them all breakfast as the radio would softly play in the background. She'd always have a smile on her face and twirl around the kitchen and sometimes, when they were still little enough, she'd pick up him or one of his sisters and slowly sway along with them in her arms.

It's a hazy memory, he's barely able to grasp it, but it's there nonetheless and that makes all the difference.

Rays of sun flood the apartment, coloring it in hues of orange and gold. Bucky steps out of (Y/N)’s room and into the hallway from which he can see straight into the kitchen. (Y/N)’s standing by the stove, a frilly pink apron wrapped around her waist and spatula in hand. Her hips shake slightly to the beat of the song and her lips move along with the lyrics.

Bucky wonders if he’ll ever get that. This feeling of pure comfort in his own home. To find who he really is and allow himself to be that person, no inhibitions, no holding back. Just be himself and be confident in who that might be.

“ You can keep standing there like a creep or you can come over here and help me, grumpy”

At the sound of her voice, he jumps a little, too lost in could-bes and what-ifs to realize she’s long noticed him leaning against the doorway. Her hair is a mess and there’s still eyeliner and glitter from last night stuck to her skin. But Bucky thinks she’s never looked better. It’s an intimate moment, to watch her in all her imperfect ways, move around her own home, being the most comfortable and at ease she’s ever been. There’s something about the way she looks at him then, showered in golden sunlight, a bright smile on her face. Bucky knows what it is he feels, deep down inside of him, flickering up like a light in the dark. He knows what it is. It’s not a feeling you forget once you’ve felt it.

He��s not gonna say it though, not gonna admit it to himself or anyone. All that can come from it is misery and heartbreak and while his heart is of very little value to him, hers means everything. So he’ll ignore it, shove it to the deepest darkest corner of himself and try not to acknowledge it in hopes it’ll go away.

“ You’re cooking? “ he asks as he steps up next to her, eyebrows raised in uncertainty.

“I’m making pancakes, and don’t look at me like that!” (Y/N) replies, swatting him with a dish towel, “ I know my cookies weren’t the best and I am well aware that my coffee sucks. But if there’s one thing I can make, it’s pancakes. Trust me. “

He does trust her. It’s something that he only fully realizes at that moment. Such an insignificant little moment. He trusts her, which is terrifying but also liberating at the same time. Maybe his life is on the right path. Maybe things can get better. Step by tiny step.

“ Hey, I ate your cookies, didn’t I? “

She looks up at him, a small smile playing on her lips, eyes shining with — something he can’t quite place. Maybe, he thinks, maybe he doesn’t need to know what it means. It means something and that's all that counts in the grand scheme of things.

“Yeah, yeah you did.”

For a moment it’s just them and the music and the bliss of a morning spent with a friend.

“ Okay, hand me the batter please?” (Y/N) says and points towards a big blue bowl standing by on the counter to his right. As he hands it to her though, (Y/N) doesn’t immediately start pouring the batter, instead, she dips her finger into it and holds it out to Bucky.

“ Try it, tell me if it’s too sweet. “

He’s hesitant for a moment. You don’t just go around licking your friends’ fingers. Surely social cues haven’t changed that much. But when she moves her hand closer once again and adds a determined “taste it before it drips onto the floor”, he wraps his lips around her finger, tasting the sweet pancake batter. It’s not too sweet, not at all, it’s perfect. He can’t really voice that thought though, not when his mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere it really shouldn’t be.

At that moment Bucky feels something he hasn’t felt in forever — arousal.

“ Good? “ she questions him as she pours the batter into the pan, a sizzling sound filling the kitchen.

Buck nods, completely at a loss for words. This is entirely silly and inappropriate. You’re not supposed to feel those things for your friends. Wasn’t this exactly what they talked about in the Harry and Sally movie? Sex ruining friendships. He can’t and won’t let that happen. Not with (Y/N). Not when he’s just starting to trust her. He needs this friendship more than he cares to admit.

“Grumpy? “

“ Hmm? Oh uh — yeah it’s good. “

And it is good, too good to give up. Too good to jeopardize it for some fleeting sense of passion. Too good to ever let go.

It’s ridiculous of him to put any sensual notions to such a silly little gesture. These things can be friendly. Innocent. People probably do it all the time with no ulterior motives. Maybe he needs to go with the times, let go of antiquated morals. Yeah, surely that’s what he’s gotta do.

They’re sitting by the kitchen counter, (Y/N)’s plate licked clean while Bucky is struggling to finish his pile of pancakes.

“ Do you want the rest of mine? “

“ Did you not like them? “

“ No, I did! I ate an entire pile already. But I can see the way you’re lusting after them. Come on. Open up. “

He cuts off a piece, lathers it in the syrup pooling on his plate, and holds it out towards her. Nothing sexual about it, just two friends sharing food. Absolutely nothing sensual about the way her lips wrap around the fork, they’re still tinted red from last night. Absolutely no dirty thoughts as the syrup drips down her chin. Or when she uses her thumb to wipe it away then licks the sticky liquid off of her fingers. All innocent. All —

“ Have you ever seen 9 ½ weeks? “ she asks him, looking up at him through her thick lashes.

“ No. What’s it about? “

“ Um — “ she starts then laughs to herself as if she’s sharing a funny inside joke with herself “ nevermind. “

“ Noooo, you can’t just start something and then not give me an explanation” he declares as the two of them get up and put the dishes into the dishwasher.

“ You know, Grumpy. There are a few things you better figure out on your own, trust me.”

“ Now you’re just being mean. “

“ No, I’m not I — “ her eyes grow wide as the song changes again and a big bright smile overtakes her entire face. Messy hair, makeup smudged, a smile on her face. God, he wishes they could stay in this little bubble forever. Hurt doesn’t exist here. Only them. Only happy things.

“ I forgot Dirty Dancing.”

“ What? “

“ You don’t know Dirty Dancing. “

“ I know plenty of dancing, thank you very much.”

“ No, Bucky. It’s a movie. It’s one of the most famous romantic movies and I forgot about it. I made a list of all the movies I wanna watch with you but didn’t think of Dirty fucking dancing. Sorry for swearing.”

“ You made a list? “

“ Yes, Grumpy. I made a list because I take this very seriously and I intend to make you watch them all with me because — because it’s fun and I like spending time with you. “

People, Bucky thinks, often take the smallest things for granted. The smallest things that make the most impact. That you will remember forever and cherish with all your heart. Like this one. People also don’t tell each other enough how much their friendships actually mean to them. People should. It feels wonderful.

“ I like spending time with you too.”

She grants him another sunshine smile before grabbing his hands and dancing along to the song. It’s faster than their late-night sway on the balcony, way less coordinated and there’s more jumping on her part and more shaking of — pretty much every body part.

This is so her. Chaotic and a little messy but so unapologetic. So fun. So happy.

“ Because IIIIII've haaaaaad the time of myyyyyy lifeeeee. No I neeeeeever felt this way before. Yes I swear it's the truuuuuuuuth. And I ooooowe it all to youuuuuu.”

“ That’s a catchy song,” Bucky says as a smile finds a way onto his lips. Sometimes it feels nice to surround yourself with people who make you smile. It’s one of the little pleasures in life one should allow themself to indulge in.

Bucky wishes he could bottle up this moment and never let go of it. Keep it for himself forever. That’s the thing about losing your memories, it makes you realize how precious every moment is and it makes you want to hold on tightly to each and every one as they happen.

“Right? I can guarantee you’ll be humming this song all day.”

(Y/N) twirls herself under his arm, away from him, then back before her eyes fall onto his glove-covered hands.

“ You don’t have to wear them for me, you know that, right? “

Sometimes he doesn’t even remember he’S wearing them, it’s become such a regular thing to him now. They are a part of him like the arm itself. They’re a shield really. From looks and judgment. And maybe, if he’s being entirely true to himself, they’re also to keep his eyes from focusing too much on the shiny silver of his hand. Of the fact that he will never be whole again. That he will never be able to feel a loving touch there ever again.

“ I know. It’s not you I’m worried about. “

“ Is it you? “

Bucky scrunches his nose up in discomfort. Talking about feelings wasn’t really a thing back when he was younger, especially for men. Sure there had been late-night talks with Steve about god and the world. About their hopes and fears and about the future. But those were few and far between and really opening himself up was never one of Bucky’s strong points. Talking about your feelings makes you vulnerable and being vulnerable was the last thing Bucky was ever allowed to be back then.

But as he said before, maybe it’s time to give up on antiquated ways.

So he nods “ Yeah. It’s — I still have a complicated relationship with the arm. I know it’s part of me and I’m glad it was given to me but it’s a huge reminder of all that I’ve lost and of a version of me that I can never go back to. A man I can never be again.”

“ Bucky,” (Y/N) starts and takes his face in between her hands. It’s a touch so soft, he can’t remember ever being handled this gently. Like a baby bird. Like a piece of porcelain. Like a treasure too precious to break. “I will never be able to fully understand how you’re feeling and I know that some of those things you have to go through alone and do the work yourself. But let me tell you something. Whoever you used to be might be gone but there’s a long-ass future waiting and it lets you be whoever you want to be. Maybe it’s time to let go of the man you were and start being the man you are because that one’s pretty great. And your arm is as much a part of that greatness as your smile or your constant grumpy mood. It’s what makes you you and you are really cool, honestly. “

His heart beats faster and stops entirely all at the same time. When he was younger he used to relish in the compliments thrown his way. He gracefully accepted them all with a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Nowadays it’s hard to believe them. Hell, it was so hard to have faith in Steve’s words. To believe that he was really worth all the effort and trouble Steve and the others went through, for him of all people. It’s so hard believing you are worth something when all you can see are your wrongdoings and shortcomings.

He wants to believe her words though. If only for a moment. If only for right now, safe and sound in their little bubble as the sun filters through the windows and the tastes of syrup still lingers in his tongue.

A few days later...

“They’re screening Dirty Dancing at the cinema around the block from me! Starts at 8pm. Come meet me, I won’t take no for an answer! xx “

He reads the message and tries to remember the way he felt that morning a few days ago when they danced around her kitchen. When she told him he was worth something. When she made him believe he wasn’t the actual worst person walking this earth. A disgrace. A mistake. A killer.

But every time he tries to go back to the bubble, a different pair of eyes show up in his mind. Eyes filled with sadness, with unimaginable suffering, with grief. All of which he put there.

He ran into Yori last night on his way home. The old man looked more fail than usual, sadder, more tired. Bucky found out why a few minutes later when he asked Yori about the cake in his grocery bag. The one with the white and green frosting.

“ It would be my son’s birthday today. I know he’s not here anymore but he was crazy about these cakes ever since he was a kid. Felt like remembering him. Would you like to join me for a piece? “

Bucky made up some half-assed excuse why he couldn’t, rushed to his apartment, and had a full-on breakdown. The kind that you don’t realize is happening until you’re all the way in the center of the hurricane.

There are shards of glass on his floor from when he threw a bottle against the wall. It’s a shame when you can’t even drown your sorrows in alcohol. His cheeks, he’s sure, are stained with tears that he had kept inside for so long.

How could he ever spend another second with (Y/N) when this is the kind of person he is. Brainwashing or not. The blood of Yori’s son is on his hands. Yori’s pain is his doing. All this grief and this hurt. It’s his fault and his alone. And Yori is just one of so many.

(Y/N) deserves a friend that doesn’t have a body count. Someone who doesn’t know what it feels when someone loses their life at his hands. Someone who doesn’t go to sleep seeing the eyes of those he’s killed. Someone who isn’t him.

His phone rings and he expects it to be (Y/N). She’s one of those people that text you then immediately call you right after. She likes to talk. In-person or over the phone. He doesn’t know if he wants to answer. Doesn’t know what to say. Would it be easier to just tell her not to contact him again? To rip off the bandaid quickly and then deal with the pain afterward?

Before he can come up with an answer to any of those questions, his eyes register the name on the caller display.

“ What?” he grumbles and leans his head against the wall.

“ Well, aren't you a happy chappy today. “

“ Sam, now’s not a good time. “

Sam hesitates for a moment then his voice sounds out from the speakers again.

“ Hey, Bucky. Are you okay? “

For a second, Bucky thinks about saying yes. He wants to keep on pretending the way he did so many times before. Wants to deal with this all by himself and not have anyone else get caught in his mess.

But he can’t. He’s tearing at the seams. He’s barely holding himself together, cracking open more and more with each passing second. So he takes a deep breath and tells the truth.

“ No. No, I’m not. “

30 minutes. No actually 34 minutes. He’s 34 minutes late. In fact, he hasn’t even answered her god damn text. He’s read it. Hasn’t answered though. And while that’s not entirely unlike Bucky, it still annoys her. Especially since when she tried to call him, the line was busy. So surely he’s on his phone. Is it too much to ask for a little reply?

If he doesn’t want to come, that's no big deal, (Y/N) tells herself, but a quick text would be the bare minimum he could give her.

Pout on her face and mood soured, (Y/N) enters the cinema and slumps down onto one of the plush red velvet seats. Not even in the mood for popcorn anymore, thanks Bucky.

There are hardly any people in there with her. Probably because by now almost every person on this planet has seen Dirty Dancing before and the weather is actually quite nice out tonight so most would rather enjoy the last rays of sun before winter will fall upon them than be stuck in a dark stuffy cinema watching a decade-old movie.

Not her though.

And if Bucky thinks she’s gonna miss out on watching this classic masterpiece because he can’t be bothered to show up, well he’s gravely mistaken. And yeah, maybe she’s being a bit dramatic, there might be a perfectly valid explanation for his no-show. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

What happens if he actually goes on to date Leah? He’ll have less time for her that’s for sure. Movie dates won’t be happening then. Maybe it’s good she’s getting used to this now before she grows too close to him and breaks her own heart in the process of mending his.

She hates herself a little for those thoughts. Bucky deserves to be happy and if that means their friendship will be put on the backburner, then she should be okay with that, right? That’s what friends do, they want you happy no matter what it means for themself.

The Ronettes’ Be My Baby starts echoing through the room as the lights dim and (Y/N) sinks deeper into her seat, embracing the dark. The screen lights up with a black and white montage of people dancing and a swirly pink font spells out the actors' names. (Y/N) can’t wait to get lost in this picture-perfect version of real-life where things might seem bad but turn out right in the end. They always turn our right for these people. If only real life was this easy.

She’s so ready to just forget about all her troubles for the next 90 minutes.

And then a figure steps in front of the screen, nothing but a silhouette. A black shadow in front of the moving pictures. A shape she immediately recognizes.

“ Come on, dude. What the hell!” some guy in front of her yells out to Bucky, immediately following the words with a fistful of popcorn being thrown his way.

He’s here. He’s here and he’s obviously looking for her. She can’t make out his face but he’s shielding his eyes with his hands and letting his gaze wander over the crowd.

There’s a flutter in her stomach, one she knows oh too well. One she wants to bundle up and stuff to the very back of her being. A flutter that shouldn’t be there. That’s not what this is. Butterflies and goosebumps. This is eating spaghetti on the floor, dancing in the kitchen, and crying tears of laughter in IKEA. That’s what it is and what it should be. Right? But that doesn’t mean they can’t be affectionate. Right? That doesn’t mean they have to be cold and stoic and distant.

Right?

As (Y/N) reaches up her arms and waves, Bucky hurries down the platform and lets himself plop down in the seat next to her.

“ I’m sorry I was — “

“ It’s okay. You’re here now. “

That’s what matters. Being there. Just being there.

“ You deserve to have a friend, Bucky.” Sam said “ and she deserves to make her own decisions. If she decides you’re worth it, who are you to question that choice?”

Sam is right. Of course, he is. Despite how much Bucky hates to admit it, Sam is one of the smartest people he knows. Not in the way Tony or Bruce or Shuri are. Smart in a way that lets you know he gets you, he understands the chaos inside you, empathizes with it. He’s got this sense of incredible emotional awareness and a calm that exudes from him. Bucky will obviously never let him know this but talking to Sam feels more soothing and helpful than talking to his therapist.

He still doesn’t feel like he deserves her friendship, her affection, and her care. But really it would be foolish to think it’s his right to dictate who she can and can't care about.

Sitting beside her now, in the dark, with a movie playing on the big screen, makes things a bit easier. His thoughts aren’t so loud anymore and his heart, though still heavy, feels a little bit lighter. It’s easy to get lost in a story that’s not his and forget about the rest.

He almost forgets about his emotional turmoil by the time the two main characters dance around on a log, when he feels something against his left hand. First, it’s but a whisper of a touch, then more deliberate and then he feels the glove being slid off of his fingers. He doesn’t dare look over at her, eyes focused straight ahead. He doesn’t pull away though. There’s never been a touch quite so gentle against the cold vibranium metal. He doesn’t pull away, instead, he locks his fingers with hers and softly closes his fist.

If there’s moments worth holding onto, this is surely one of them.

“ I’m glad you came.” (Y/N) murmurs as she places her head against his shoulder. The one made of vibranium. The one that’s a part of him like his smile and his eyes and — his grumpy personality.

“ Yeah, me too.”

As Johnny and Baby give their all during the end of the season dance, Bucky can’t help but let himself relish in this moment.

There are two things on his mind.

One is the idea that maybe this is what friendship can be. Showing affection through soft touches and loving words. Maybe he doesn’t have to assign any deeper meaning to it. No matter how much it makes his heart beat faster or how the flutters in his stomach won't seem to settle down.

The other thing is the fact that this song is so damn catchy and while he hates himself a little for it, his feet tap along to the rhythm and he catches himself mouthing along to the lyrics.

And damn if it ain’t fitting because he has never felt this way before either.

Taglist // if you want to be added or taken off just message me :) //:

@zaynyierulez / @je-like-you / @dracoxxyoflam / @jackiehollanderr / @majo240820 / @kay-gilles / @booksb4looksstuff / @jckie94 / @charmed-asylum / @shawnie--jo / @yllwtaxi / @tailsoflightning / @giuliarogers / @mangoogirl / @gerim-1995 / @elen-alambil / @threeminutesoflife / @writeroutoftime / @buckybarn3s /

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #winter solider x reader #buck barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #sebasian stan imagine #sebastian stan imagines #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #james barnes x reader #james barnes x f!reader

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airashisakura · 4 years ago

Text

Late submission for @fantasysasusaku SasuSaku Fantasy Week Day 6 - Soulmate/ Prophecy/ Reincarnation

Title: Embodiment of his Fate

Pairing: Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Sasuke

A/N: A mythology from my country had inspired me to write this piece. This was supposed to be posted during the event, but it got unusually long and took a lot of time than I expected. Also this first AU written by me.

FFN AO3

****

Part I

Sasuke — the lone wanderer — didn’t expect again to see the embodiment of his fate in green and pink. Even the gods were sometimes astonished, and Sasuke, the god of catastrophe, felt his world shaking when a pair of tired yet cheerful eyes smiled at him.

“Sakura?” he asked, every syllable carrying disbelief. He bit his tongue as the forbidden name left his mouth, because the Sakura he knew and loved had died long ago.

The owner of shining jade eyes and rosy coloured hair nodded at him. “I’ve been waiting for you, Sasuke.”

Her words echoed more than the thunderstorms he created. He had heard those words before rolling out from a certain pinkette's mouth. He recognised the ‌same words and her loving tone, but only in memories of a time long ago.

Was she the Sakura he knew? Was it an illusion borne out of his longing? Or was she a reincarnation?

****

Sasuke had always been alone — without any roots and attachments. He didn’t know his family or when and where he was born. He grew up in the darkness of the Ryuchi caves, his only companions being snakes. They were neither his friends nor his enemies, but he polished his basic instincts by observing and mimicking them.

Over time, Sasuke became an invincible warrior — one who rivaled Naruto. Over time, he earned the dignity of a God alongside Naruto.

Sasuke’s sole purpose was to destroy the imperfections and illusions, paving the way for beneficial change. His kind of destruction wasn’t arbitrary but constructive. He was thus seen both as good and evil and regarded as one who combines contradictory elements.

Naruto, unlike Sasuke, had a peaceful demeanor — being praised as God of Preservation — and nourished the world and its being. They worked in sync and ran the cycle of life — destroying the life which was futile and restoring a better life from the ashes.

Their ideologies were different, but they created a perfect balance. Naruto thrived on building bonds and made judgments with compassion, always forgiving and guiding misled souls. Sasuke, on the other hand, was more extreme — he always took an eye for an eye and a hand for a hand, but he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t forgiving like Naruto either, and he claimed that his sense of judgement was always clearer. Sasuke despised Naruto’s philosophy. In his perspective, being enslaved to mere emotions would bring no good to the world.

Sasuke was pure consciousness, completely without pretension, never repetitive, always spontaneous, forever inventive, ceaselessly creative, and passionate about his actions.

One day, when Naruto and Sasuke were settling their arguments with a battle, Kakashi, a wise and mischievous messenger between Gods of Heaven and Kings of Earth, noticed how passionately Sasuke wielded his sword. The more Kakashi saw of Sasuke, the more he was in awe of him. His cunning mind bore a wish. He wanted to see how passionately this man could build bonds.

Kakashi knew Sasuke would be enraged if he approached him. Instead, he plotted a conspiracy. He went to The Creator himself — the one who created the world and appointed the protector and the destroyer. Hagoromo himself was amused by Kakashi’s proposal, but he watched Sasuke and saw the stillness surrounding him — the pain that Sasuke was unable to see himself. Hagoromo took pity and advised Kakashi to go to The Land of Fire.

Konohagakure, the capital of the Land of Fire, was prosperous and mighty, ruled by Queen Tsunade. The queen was strong willed and stubborn and feared no catastrophe. She had always been the one who harshly criticized Sasuke’s way of living and his actions.

Kakashi was a shrewd diplomat and knew he could never succeed in convincing the Queen to do what Hagoromo suggested, so he tricked her. He told her that The Creator himself wanted her beautiful kingdom to prosper more and had decided to present a gift to her. Tsunade was thrilled to know that, and the wise lady was unable to see behind Kakashi’s conspiracy.

A holy fire always burned at the heart of The Land of Fire. This fire was regarded pious because it had been burning since the beginning of civilization. The strongest of rains and harshest of winds were never able to extinguish the holy fire. The high raging flames were Tsunade’s pride and she believed no one, even The Gods themselves could demolish her Kingdom.

As promised, a beautiful adolescent girl emerged from that fire. As the girl descended from the altar, the mere touch of her soles made the earth more fertile, and her smile brought serenity.

People called her The New Goddess, and she was named Sakura. Her beauty was ethereal and her voice sweeter than honey. The shade of her eyes rivaled emerald and her hair was as graceful as cherry blossoms. Her laugh jingled with air as melodious as an angel's song. She possessed a heart brimming with compassion and love that melted even the coldest of hearts.

Tsunade, a fierce and strong tempered woman, developed a motherly instinct towards her. Sakura churned out love from the depths of the heart of the warrior queen. Tsunade found peace in Sakura’s presence and loved doing mundane things with her. Tsunade treated Sakura like her own daughter and doted on her.

As years passed by, Sakura bloomed, and she mastered everything Tsunade had taught her. Tsunade was elated and boasted that she would make her a warrior and queen like herself.

Tsunade didn’t trust many people around Sakura. She considered Sakura a precious entity and kept her hidden from the eyes of the unknown and evil. However, Kakashi was neither unknown nor evil, and thus he met Sakura routinely and helped her with her growing loneliness.

“What does freedom feel like?” she had asked Kakashi one day while her eyes drifted out from her windows, trying to see the boundaries of the Konoha.

Kakashi knew what she was talking about, but he remained silent, finding the best possible way to introduce her to the character for whom he had conspired everything.

“I want to see what’s outside those big gates.”

Sakura looked towards Kakashi, expecting an answer, and added, her voice fading, “And know more people.”

Tsunade had told her that she was destined to be the queen of this land, and so she couldn’t befriend anybody she wanted.

Kakashi silently mocked the situation. A goddess boon for a kingdom, bane for herself.

“Do you want to meet someone who can show you the real essence of freedom?”

Sakura nodded, her green eyes sparkling with eagerness.

Kakashi’s eyes crinkled at her innocence — how prophecy was working in the background, without her knowledge.

“There’s one problem though.” Kakashi rubbed his chin, squinting his eyes.

Sakura gave him a questioning look, and Kakashi said in a hushed, secretive voice, “He doesn’t like meeting anybody.”

“Huh? But why?” Sakura demanded, her voice two octaves higher than Kakashi’s.

Kakashi laughed at her innocence again.

“Oh! Tell me, where can I meet him? And would mother allow me?” she asked hopefully, fidgeting with the laces of her gown.

Kakashi’s relaxed face became serious. However, he knew how to outsmart the legendary Queen herself.

“Well, you have to go to Shikkotsu Forest.”

Sakura looked bewildered, as she had never heard of the place before.

“You don’t know where it is, do you?” Kakashi asked, and Sakura shook her head with a frown.

“Don’t worry. I’ll escort you there.” Kakashi smiled softly to her, but before Sakura could run down to tell Tsunade about her adventure, Kakashi interrupted. “However, don’t tell The Queen that you are going to meet someone. You know right? The Queen doesn’t like that.”

Sakura nodded again, saddened by the fact that she had to lie, but the thrill of the impending adventure washed away her guilt.

Kakashi then convinced Tsunade to follow his plan by pointing out that Katsuyu, the slug from Shikkotsu forest, had always served the Queen and for Sakura to succeed her throne in the future, she must know Katsuyu and Shikkotsu woods. Tsunade was convinced and, although unwillingly, gave her permission.

Dressed in the attire of a warrior and saddled upon a horse, she waved goodbye to her mother and the kingdom. The horse kicked the ground and started running at full speed, and Sakura wondered why she hadn’t thought of exploring outside the high walls of the palace before. She had always thought Konoha was a paradise, but as she crossed mile after mile, she realised the world outside Konoha was much more chaotic and beautiful.

Sometimes they slowed down, and the horses lazily strolled while she and Kakashi chatted. Kakashi would tell her about the magical slug Katsuyu and how she would be going to live in the wilderness. She also learned a little more about the man she was going to meet.

He is the embodiment of stillness and energy both, she had remembered Kakashi saying. His face carried a calm and stoic expression while inside he was chaotic and frightful. He remained still and unmoving when he reflected on his purpose, and yet he moved with a lightning speed when he executed his actions.

His stillness and energy both intrigued Sakura more. She had never felt so lively before, and as she reached closer to Shikkotsu forest, she couldn’t wait more to taste how it felt — how freedom looked like.

Almost a year passed, and Sakura had accepted Shikkotsu woods as her new home. Her silky hair grew longer and unruly, and she tied it up in a messy knot. The dresses she had brought with herself were old and torn, and she learned how to sew them. She spent hours after hours collecting food and grew more petite. What didn’t change was her radiant beauty and the mesmerizing smile that never left her lips.

She remembered her mother’s command clearly:

Learn healing magic from Katsuyu. When you become The Queen, it will benefit the people of the Kingdom.

Sakura never strayed from her routine with Katsuyu, gaining knowledge about the secrets of magical power that the slug possessed.

After that, she spent most of her time sitting on the wooden branches of a tree, looking towards the entrance of the forest. Sometimes she swung her legs in impatience, sometimes disappointment took over, and sometimes she mulled over her decision to leave the kingdom. She had waited for almost two years now and sadness took over her face when she realised the day wasn’t far when her mother would send an army to escort her back.

Although a goddess who could do wonders waited for a man and her destiny.

When Kakashi had informed him that a certain intruder had invaded Shikkostu woods, Sasuke had scoffed when he found a frail lady roaming through the forest.

“What possible harm could she cause?” he’d said.

Kakashi chuckled under his breath.

Unless cold-blooded God knew, she had the capability to destroy his ultimate defense of indifference.

Sasuke became curious and went to Shikkotsu forest to know what a princess was doing there. When he arrived, he found no trace of her and thought she had left. He was about to leave, when he heard a rustling sound behind him. He turned, sighing that the intruder hadn’t left. Before he could say anything, the same fragile lady had already released an arrow from the bow.

He hadn’t expected much, but even less had he expected to meet her in the middle of Shikkotsu forest with blood dripping out from his chest where her arrow had pierced him. A pair of perplexed green eyes pierced his onyx while he struggled to stand straight but failed and stumbled to the ground.

Sakura didn’t realise she had shot the man she had been waiting for instead of some intruder until she took a minute to tally the features that Kakashi had supplied her with. Chiseled jawline, one visible onyx eye and another hidden under his raven locks, a face that was sharp as blade, and an expression hard as rock. The visible anger in his eye and the scowl that marred his face was undeniably attractive.

Sakura rushed towards him, bracing him in her arms. She could feel his ragged breathing tickling on her shoulders as he mumbled, “Sakura?”

Her eyes widened, but before she could brace herself for the next blow, she spoke out, “I’ve been waiting for you, Sasuke.”

She was bewildered, and he was unconscious. She stayed still, contemplating the situation. They were meeting for the first time. They’d never known each other, and they didn't know each other’s name, yet how smoothly their names rolled out of each other tongues.

When Sasuke gained consciousness, he saw a mop of messy pink hair. Although he felt his blood boiling because never in his whole life had he been knocked unconscious, but the presence of the woman whose back he could see pacified him. He didn’t know how, but it did. His throat was dry and his lips felt chapped, and he coughed, notifying his intruder that he was awake.

Sakura turned towards her intruder, getting off from her place where she was crushing and mixing some herbs with a mortar and pestle. She offered him water and apologised for earlier. Sasuke’s sour expression told her that her apology wasn’t accepted. She sighed, berating herself for the mistake. She had shot the man she had been waiting for.

How was she supposed to fix this?

Her fingers trembled as she layered herbs on his wound. She could feel his heart beating, and it felt oddly familiar — like she was well versed with the rhythm.

“How do you know my name?” She broke the silence.

Sasuke gave her a confused look, and then it dawned upon him that he had never met her before. He was speechless, somewhat unable to explain and somewhat lost in her eyes. What was happening to him? Whenever he looked into those deep green abysses, he felt he was losing, and for the first time ever, it felt good.

One day while Sakura was nursing him, she shared with him the prophecy she’d been told, ignoring his gruff and uninterested look. Sasuke walked away from her, stating he had been alone since birth and intended to be that way. He tried to sneak out, but Sakura demanded that he should stay until he was healed. He didn’t want to comply because he never had to anyone, but somehow the concern in her face made him. It felt good — someone worried for him — someone taking care of him.

He later regretted his decision when Sakura became too comfortable with him.

He was on his side trying to get some sleep when Sakura asked him out of nowhere, “What does freedom feel like?”

He glared at her, irritated she had interrupted his sweet sleep.

Next when she was coaxing him to eat something, and Sasuke sat there looking outside at the falling rain without responding to her tantrums, Sakura huffed in anger, “Why don’t you at least talk?”

He couldn’t explain what he had felt when he saw her sleeping face under the moonlight. It felt like anesthesia — lulling his senses — sending him to a deeper state of peacefulness. All the years of fighting, slaying and punishing wrong-doers started to feel futile. He snuck out of the forest that night because he knew he would be destroyed if he stayed with her any longer.

Prophecy was working in the background, and something unexpected happened. He found himself again at Shikkotsu forest with, finding way back to Sakura.

“Welcome back.”

When he found Sakura smiling back at him — smiling for him — he felt he had made the right decision to return

He was fishing for lunch while Sakura sat beside him, gazing at the floating clouds. She asked, breaking the silence, “Does freedom feel like this? Being you and doing all you want.”

He turned towards her, and noticed a wistful smile playing on her lips and offered, “I will show you, if you come with me.”

Every god and demigod was astonished. They have never seen Sasuke, the lone wanderer, indulging in life, bonds, or attachments. Kakashi sipped wine while watching Sasuke fall passionately in love.

The news spread like fire, and it didn’t take much time to reach Tsunade’s ears. She was infuriated and commanded her army to drag Sakura back. Before Sakura could explain the unexplainable bond that had developed between them, Tsunade lashed out at her. She criticized both Sakura’s decision and the man who she had given her heart. Sakura was put under watch, locked up in a room as punishment for her actions.

Perhaps punishing her for the fate that she carried from the day when she was born.

The decision was hers — to be caged and become The Queen or to flee and embrace freedom.

She chose the latter. Chose the path that the prophecy had led her to. Chose the stranger who had tugged the strings of her heart.

In the darkness of night as the horse galloped, Sakura looked back for the last time, and the kingdom disappeared on the horizon with a new life waiting for her.

She had everything, yet she had felt empty. When she abandoned everything, she felt complete.

When Sakura stepped into their new abode, she found piles of snow and chilly winds blowing around. She had spent part of her life under warm sunshine and the royal ceiling. For a princess, it was difficult to adjust, but alongside all adversities, there was unadulterated love — love that had lifted the weight of expectations of royal duties from her shoulders. She felt like home, the feeling Konoha couldn’t give her.

Now she spent her days carelessly. Some days she would rest her head on his shoulder and look at the horizon as far as her eyes would allow. Some days they would travel, disguising themselves as commoners. And at those moments, she took liberty of her newfound freedom — forgetting she was a goddess — and mingled with people of unknown places.

And Sasuke let her be random and spontaneous — like him.

Perhaps this was the freedom she yearned for and had searched all over these years. Sasuke didn’t teach her how to live. Instead, his presence influenced her. She would sit silently and watch with awe when he stayed still and meditated or practiced with his sword.

The one who never knew the meaning of home had made a home at the top of The Three Wolves Mountain. Sasuke, who hadn’t known feelings, started feeling multitudes of emotions. Love and companionship were the words he had despised, but now he could understand why his counterpart, Naruto, bragged about them. Sakura made his existence meaningful, showing him beauty in the things he had often dismissed.

Her presence never became a chain for him, and she never overstepped her boundaries or meddled with Sasuke’s work. He still had a clear view of judgement, with a pinch of compassion that he had learned from her. He hadn’t shed his furious demeanor, but he reconsidered his motives before acting.

Sasuke as the world knew him had untamed passion, which led him to be extreme in behaviour. Sometimes he was an ascetic — abstaining from worldly pleasure. At others he was a hedonist — indulging every bit in marital bliss.

Living with Sakura brought him balance.

****

Part II

“Don’t you understand? You’re the future Queen. You can’t fall in love with someone who has nothing and is a lunatic murderer.”

Tsunade’s blood had been boiling with anger when she learned about the prophecy that had been crafted right under her nose. She had believed that her daughter was innocent, and it was just a filthy trick that Kakashi was playing on her until she had heard Sakura pleading.

“Please let me go.”

Honey-colored eyes filled with anger and hurt glanced towards Sakura.

Sakura spoke again, albeit afraid of Tsunade. After that, Tsunade didn't lock Sakura away. She wanted to test Sakura’s resolve — test her loyalty and love towards her and Konoha.

The next morning she was greeted with the news that the princess had eloped.

If she wanted to, she could have hunted her down, but Tsunade clearly remembered Sakura’s final words from their last conversation.

“I want to live with Sasuke… I don’t want to live here anymore.”

Although she allowed Sakura to become part of Sasuke’s life, she never accepted them, and she could never forget the sting of Sakura’s words. She hated Sasuke more for taking Sakura away from her.

After some years had passed, Tsunade decided to hold a festival in the honor of the good harvest that had sprouted from the Land of Fire. She invited every god and demigod, every lord across the nation, even the commoners and beggars. She wanted to share the happiness that she had lost after she had last seen her daughter. She couldn’t lie to herself that she still loved Sakura dearly, although she had disowned her from her heart and cared less about her whereabouts.

That’s the price Sakura would pay, she thought, because everyone was welcomed, except Sasuke and Sakura.

While Sakura and Sasuke were enjoying their routine of sitting together in silence, Sakura noticed a lot of traffic — the finest of chariots, all the lords, gods and goddesses going somewhere dressed immaculately.

Sasuke noticed she was distracted by the commotion. He knew exactly what was happening and where all of them were going, but he said nothing.

Sakura couldn’t hold back her curiosity and she asked, “What is this? Where is everyone going?”

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t need to go where they are going,” Sasuke replied, ignoring her.

Sakura knew the roads the others traveled led towards her old home. She became more restless, and she asked Sasuke again, “It seems like everyone is going to Konoha. Is something happening there?”

“Don’t bother yourself. We are fine here,” Sasuke replied curtly.

Seeing Sakura disappointed, he finally let out his biggest insecurity, “Are you unhappy here?”

“No, I’m happy here,” Sakura smiled, giving up on her curiosity.

The next day when she saw the same, she didn’t pester Sasuke again. Instead she stopped one of the chariots and asked them, “Where are you all going?”

They replied, “Don’t you know? There’s a big festival in Konoha, and your mother has invited all of us. Are you not coming?”

She felt totally lost when she came to know that she and her husband had not been invited. She felt disgraced and humiliated. She thought it wasn’t fair to her and Sasuke.

She was deeply bothered by this and decided, “I am going to my mother. Why did she do this?”

Sasuke said, “It doesn’t matter to me. Why are you getting worked up? We are fine here. Why should we go to the festival?”

Sakura was so insulted that she wasn’t invited that she didn’t want to listen to anything. Although she knew she had fled from the Kingdom without her mother's permission, she was sure Tsunade still loved her like she loved Tsunade.

She argued, “No, I have to go. There must be some kind of mistake. Maybe the invitation was lost. How can she not invite you and me? I am her daughter.”

Sasuke reasoned, “You left her for me. I don’t see anything unusual in not inviting you.”

Sakura stomped out of their abode infuriated, “My mother isn’t like that. I am sure she wouldn’t do this.”

Sasuke knew there was no point in arguing so he sent his most faithful snake Aoda as escort and pleaded with her not to provoke any incident.

When Sakura reached the huge gates of Konoha, she didn’t find any resistance, but the old familiar people were cold and inhospitable. She ordered Aoda to stay outside, and she walked towards the palace. She was trying to respond to the odd vibes that people were giving her by smiling at everyone while she made her way to her mother. The place and the people seemed to be changed, or was she changed? Perhaps Sasuke was right, but she was too stubborn to accept that. She ignored all the cold glares and mocking tones and went into the palace, still believing that there was some kind of a mistake.

“Mother,” Sakura greeted and bowed when she found Tsunade.

“Mother?” Tsunade spat back. Tsunade was furious. She never thought Sakura would have the audacity to show her face again and to call her mother.

“My daughter died the day when she turned her back on the Kingdom.”

Sakura was on the verge of crying out, because Tsunade made it clear that Sasuke’s words were the truth. She wanted to leave, but she didn’t. She wanted to know why Tsunade had always despised Sasuke. Why he himself, being a God, was not acknowledged by The Queen.

She asked Tsunade, holding back her tears, “How can you not invite Sasuke?”

Tsunade abused Sasuke in every possible way, and she added, “I will never have him step into my Kingdom.”

She could swallow her own pride and could take more insults, but she couldn’t stand more to her mother dishonoring Sasuke. Soon they were in the midst of a heated argument, and every passing moment made it clearer to Sakura that her mother was entirely incapable of appreciating the many excellent qualities that her husband possessed. She was consumed by rage against her mother and loathed her mentality.

The realization then came to her that this abuse was being heaped on Sasuke more only because he had wed her. She was the cause of dishonor to her husband. She was so crestfallen that her love had brought more hatred for Sasuke. Sasuke gave her love, yet she had brought him disgrace.

She was shaking with raw anger, tears welling out of her green eyes. She wanted others to acknowledge Sasuke like she did — pure and gentle behind his facade. She thought with her life she could show that to the world.

She didn’t want to be there, but neither did she want to go back to The Three Wolves Mountain. She walked towards the fire from where she was born. She didn’t want to live a life where her love bore hatred to Sasuke. Calling up a prayer, that in future birth, to be born in a house where Sasuke was respected, Sakura invoked divine powers and burned herself.

If she had to die and take birth again to restore his honor, she would die million times.

When Aoda came back and told him about what had happened in Konoha, Sasuke sat still for a certain period. He felt all the happiness, all the colors that Sakura brought with her fading — he felt his sanity leaving. How could he let Sakura go? How dare she do such a thing?

Sakura had given him love and a home — things that were unknown to him. How dare she leave for such an insignificant reason? She was his pride and honor, and he didn’t need any appreciation from others. How could she have misunderstood that? He didn’t need the pride which took her away from him. Thus he shed his sanity that was straining him to wreak havoc — he became fire. For the first time, he became disillusioned and decided to take revenge on the innocents.

Burning with incomparable rage, he used the mighty powers of his eyes and burned the whole kingdom using Amaterasu. They had provoked her to burn herself, hence he watched everyone and everything that had snatched his wife from him burn.

When the flames inside him and of Amaterasu had subsided, he realised how ungodly he had acted. He let his emotions rule over his actions, but hadn’t he given in to his emotions since he had met Sakura? Maybe he had always despised emotions, because he was afraid he would get drowned in them and could never manage to reach the shore again.

His work was to destroy the elements that couldn't be fixed. He was broken and his emotions were far from repairable. After the throes of romance, death and grief, he decided to destroy the emotions that had been born in him because of Sakura.

He had loved Sakura more than any and would never love after her.

He had allowed himself the luxury once and when it was over, he came out of it and went into an indifferent state again. He went into meditation for many years, deeply upset over the death of his wife, ignoring all his duties.

****

Every destruction acted as a progenitor. Within the barren and burned hectares of the Land of Fire, a small village was born after many years. The village was always covered in spring blossoms, and the people were merry, carefree, and had a profound belief in Gods and their power. They revered Sasuke most, considering him the progenitor of beginning that had given a chance to sow over barren land and produce bountifully. They were hard workers, but humble enough to believe in the grace of Gods.

Sasuke, unaware of the fact, still meditated, grieving for his wife. Still unaware that his beloved had already taken birth again...

Sakura was reborn as a human — the daughter of Kizashi, the leader of Haruno tribe and his wife, Mebuki. This time, Sakura, as she had wished, was born to a family where Sasuke was worshiped ardently.

Sakura, unaware of her past, the prophecy, and the tragedy grew into a beautiful woman. Many lords asked her for marriage, but she always denied them. She always had an innate feeling that someone already had taken her heart, but she didn’t know who.

When Kakashi came to know that the goddess had lost the memories of her previous birth, he appeared in front of her parents. Regretting the path he had taken last time, he confronted her parents about her previous birth, the prophecy, and the fate that linked Sasuke and their daughter.

Kizashi and Mebuki were overwhelmed with joy after knowing this. However, Sakura was skeptical about it and questioned Kakashi.

“Go to Shikkotsu Forest. The answers to all your questions lie there,” Kakashi advised.

Sakura, with her parents’ permission, went to Shikkotsu forest, and as she spent days under the canopy where she had found her freedom once, she learned from Katsuyu to whom her heart belonged.

The moment when she remembered all about her past, she grew restless. At once she left for The Three Wolves Mountain — Sasuke’s home — their home. When she reached there, she found Sasuke lost in meditation.

Years passed, but she waited for Sasuke to open his eyes and to look at her and realize that she was there — as promised.

But Sasuke was deeply lost.

Although a human this time, Sakura was still stubborn.

She sat there in spite of the bitter chilly winds that rattled her bones. She didn’t move an inch to gather food even though her stomach hurt from hunger. She didn’t blink her eyes in spite of how much they threatened to close because of exhaustion.

Perhaps love was invincible — the strongest force that again moved the coldest heart.

Sasuke opened his eyes after many uncountable years. Something that he couldn’t pinpoint had stirred him out of his deep state. He rose in fury. How could anyone dare do that? Wasn’t tricking him once enough?

He swore he would see the death of the person who had disturbed him. He walked outside to see a lady whose head and shoulders were covered with snow, shivering.

His brows knitted in irritation because no one had stepped in The Three Wolves Mountain except Sakura.

The lady straightened herself, feeling his presence. Sasuke wasn’t ready to listen to any of her justifications.

Because no had stepped in their abode except Sakura, and no one would.

****

Although he was elated to see her again, what Sakura has done was unforgivable. Sasuke was bewildered. All these years of abandoning his emotions fell away when he felt a surge of love and hatred, fear and longing, hurt and comfort coursed through him.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to live with regrets and guilt earlier,” Sakura confessed to him, filling up the details of the past.

He realised the diamond mark on her forehead was gone. She was still beautiful and the smile he had longed to see was still graceful. Undoubtedly, she was Sakura, his wife. She was no longer a goddess though. She had sacrificed her divine powers for him.

He was scared to lose her again. He didn’t want to believe in the prophecy that had once taken Sakura away from her, but he listened peacefully to everything.

“This time will be different. Trust me, I'm not leaving you anywhere,” Sakura smiled, and assured Sasuke.

Who was Sasuke to defy her plea? Their love was weaved in the form of prophecy which defied cycles of lifes and deaths. No matter how far they go, they are bound to be together at the end.

#fantasysasusaku #SasuSaku #sasusaku fic #sakura haruno #naruto shippuden #day 6 #soulmate #prophecy #reincarnation #SasuSaku Fantasy AU

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flickeringart · 4 years ago

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Beyond Saturn

Beyond doubt and fear

In astrology, Saturn is the definition of authority, of physical structure and judgment. It doesn’t reach beyond the confines of determinism, beyond the fixed pattern of cause and effect. Saturn in our charts symbolizes the ego’s adopted mechanisms for defense against the boundless and the disorderly, but most importantly – the boundary against the unknown and individual failure. Doubt, criticism and skepticism are employed in the name of Saturn to keep the ego intact. The ego is frail because it is a fractal component of the psyche. It is formed around conceptualizations and conclusions that can be dismantled and attacked from all directions. The ego sits at the core of Saturnian reality.

What happens is that a person that hasn’t discovered the boundless love of the universe and one’s eternal identity resorts to identify with society’s definition and structure of success. By seeing oneself as limited and lacking without productive action, one is set up for linear thinking and a strong investment in time. Sin seems to be the baseline of existence because if nothing is “accomplished” in terms of societal measurements, one is essentially useless. Anything that doesn’t fit within the straight and narrow path to success is judged as “bad”. Existentially and universally, this is of course not the case. However, for a person that identifies with the limited and weak, and sees it as truth, something has to be done to improve the situation. Anything within the individual that threatens the road to success (as defined by society) is consequently controlled, repressed and kept on a tight leash. Discipline is idealized and exercised to a fault.

Inborn temperament, emotions and instincts exist beneath the Saturnian layer of reality. These factors are messy and chaotic products of animal nature, unstable and in some cases uncivilized. Physical and societal structure, as symbolized by Saturn, becomes the obstacle and the blockage that serves to tame the unruly within us. It’s forces concentration and observation because it’s not enough to act on impulse when it comes to tangible, long-term achievement. Saturn puts pressure on the individual by representing rules and limitations. Not only limitations in terms of actual physical structure but emotionally and mentally as well. In other words, Saturn represents all the mental and emotional blocks as well as the tangible material blocks in our lives.

Even though the physical world is usually blamed for its rigidness and unforgiving fixed expression it’s really the psychological state of being deprived that causes us to cave in and become frustrated. Deprivation and lack are experiences that can be had independent of the actual absence of physical resources. The earth plane doesn’t dictate well-being, well-being depends on how we interpret and conceptualize of concrete happenings. We know this, because all people interpret situations differently and jump to different conclusions. Some things are extremely important to some people, while others doesn’t have the same strong investment. This indicates that the principal of Saturn shows up differently in people’s life, but it’s still the same energy of defense and compensation that fuels the experience. It seems like it doesn’t matter how “good” people’s lives get, there’s always some doubt and insecurity harbored somewhere, even though someone might have compensated for it extremely well. Even though a lot of work is put into overcoming lack, there’s still that inner voice that keeps doubt alive; “Have I really done enough?” “Is there room for improvement?”. It’s the voice of Saturn that continuously questions our actions and worthiness. It seems like we all have to live with it to varying degrees.

There’s no arguing that doubt is extremely debilitating. It can shut down our natural expression, it negates brilliance that is not earned, and it negates magnificence and divinity that is not achieved. It negates that there’s a world beyond judgment, beyond time and improvement. It negates that there’s something pure and perfect in the imperfect. Beyond Saturn and beyond doubt, there are no limitations. There’s nothing that is not given freely – meaning that there’s no density behind states of being. Beyond Saturn there’s experience absent of littleness and imperfection because the ideal or the goal doesn’t depend on time. When we switch to this way of viewing things, we know that there’s a higher intelligence operating beyond our perception of good and bad. The good and the bad don’t define reality – truth is something other or at least more than our frail and fundamentally limited human existence. Life is more than what is and what isn’t, it’s a dance of expression that has no heaviness to it. Worthiness has nothing to do with achievement. There’s beauty in concept and emotion, no matter what form it takes. Beyond Saturn, restriction is only a phenomenon, stripped of its density and physicality, beautiful and light. Or, it’s only a wave in the ocean of experience in which there’s no separation and no permanence. The ego itself is but a concept, not a reality. Littleness and limitation is a play of consciousness, it’s impersonal and doesn’t weigh one down.

From a higher octave existence, life experiences unfold naturally because the concept of the ego is not identified with as something ultimate. The idea of there being something lacking to build defenses around and compensate for can arise, but it’s not so heavy and it’s not perceived as an absolute truth. One doesn’t live in exile from the remainder of life; the dance is on going, the perception of separation being part of the play. In other words, the experience of lack can be accepted because it’s not an absolute. The accurate way to describe it would be to state that the absolute is experiencing lack. The absolute is experiencing everything that there is to experience. There’s no sin to atone for except in the temporary and relative realm of experience. There’s no reality to it at all.

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