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gregrulzok · 1 month

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What are your top 10 favorite media, like from books, anime/manga, movies, tv series, etc (if you feel like listing multiple) of all time? Feel free if you want to write the reasons or not of why you love them....

Now THIIIIS is way different from asking me my favourite characters.

When it comes to characters, I tend to be heavily analytical and critical. When it comes to media... Well, you'll see. Whatever the case please note that these pieces of media being my favourite doesn't mean I necessarily recommend them. There's things I love with my whole heart that I wouldn't inflict upon my mortal enemy. You've been warned.

I'm also purposefully omitting some of my favourite pieces of media to shine a spotlight on ones I don't really get to talk about, or just want more people to know about (sorry, Berserk)

I'll try and keep these ones spoiler free, since I'm thinking of them more as recommendations! NSFW media will be marked with a *, but I won't go into anything explicit here. Please look up media mindfully and with discression, some of these may be triggering.

Thank you for the ask and I'm sorry for the ridiculous lengths of information you're about to witness !

Dungeon Meshi

Lets start with a safe one. A simple one. An expected one.

Yes, Dungeon Meshi IS that good.

Dungeon Meshi is a beautifully drawn manga that starts out slow, whimsical and almost slice-of-life-y, and then descents into utter madness so slowly and skillfully that by the time you blink you're in another dimension.

The world building in this series is second to none - everything makes sense and nothing is handwaved. The genuine and honest passion in the way the world feels alive is palpable, and despite its realism it never loses its magical feeling.

The characters are charming, lovable, realistic, and complex. Each of them have an inner world to tap into, each of them feels like a real person you could hold a conversation with and would WANT to hold a conversation with. Here I'll also proudly announce that we get zero (0) gratuitous fanservice, zero (0) characters who exist as a punchline, and guaranteed Sexy-Lamp Free !

The plot... Fuck, man. The plot is the most honest and bare faced look at some of the most nuanced subjects in the world (desire, ambition, love, death, survival, trauma, neurodivergence) wrapped up in a way that feels simple, grounded and real.

It also sincerely began to heal my relationship with food. I don't think I've ever seen the subjects of cooking, eating, health, weight and body diversity portrayed so well in such an empathetic, understanding and caring way in any piece of media. Body positivity is not so much a focus, but rather an undercurrent in the whole manga.

Whew ! With one objectively good piece of media out of the way, let's move on to something more unhinged, such as ...

Honestly I can't begin to imagine what kind of person WOULDN'T enjoy Dungeon Meshi. Do yourself a favour and read it.

Cats (1998)

Cats. The Broadway musical cats. One of the longest running musicals in the world, award winning, famously bashed and hated, recently revorked into a horrible film that was even more bashed and hated, the beautiful, glorious wonderful disaster of my heart - Cats.

Specifically, the 1998 film version.

...It's so hard for me to explain this one.

At some point, while watching Cats for the second time (for a reason I cannot explain), some neurons fired the wrong direction in my brain and now I have a pathological obsession, to the point where I can name each and every single Godforsaken cat in this show, including the ones that don't even appear in the credits.

Cats. What am I even supposed to say here, like, genuinely. It's cats.

Well, here's the thing - the choreography and acting direction in this fucking musical is genuinely breathtaking. It takes a few watches for it to fully click, but once it does, I sincerely believe that Cats is one of the most endlessly fascinating pieces of media to analyze. What you have to understand about Cats is that every single character (with very few exceptions) is on screen basically for the entire show. And so while you're watching the dancing in the foreground (which is beautiful on its own), every single cat in the background is just ... There. Moving, interacting, portraying characteristics that are never stated, never so much as focused on - but you can see them. You can see the kittens playing with each-other, you can see the elders gossiping, you can see small bits and gags you won't catch your first time, or second, or fifth. You can see how rowdy Tumblebrutus and Pouncival are, you can see how excitable Electra is, you can see the quiet dignity of Coricopat and Tantomile, the friendship between Jellylorum and Jennyanydots. There's always new little bits of background characterisation you can catch, pretty much regardless of how many times you've seen it.

In that way, Cats is feels the most alive, the most ever changing and evolving. I'm completely enraptured by it and if you do want to watch it, I recommend watching it as many times as you can stomach, because your first time through it'll glide right off you like water off a duck.

Chainsaw Man (Public Safety Arc)*

The first time I finished reading Chainsaw Man, I stared at my phone for a straight minute, then started sobbing. The next morning, I drank alcohol for the first time.

I wish that was a joke.

I'll admit I'm not up to date on the second arc of Chainsaw Man - it honestly got away from me a little and I'm not entirely sure I'll be finishing it.

But that doesn't take away from the fact that the first arc is one of the most tightly written, beautiful, emotional stories I've ever read.

Sure, it's fun and funny. Sure, it's cool in it's action scenes. Sure, the art direction is absolutely breathtaking. Sure, the character design and worldbuilding are interesting and detailed.

But at its heart the core appeal of CSM, to me, is the way it speaks about trauma, abuse, assault, isolation, fear, and desire. Chainsaw Man is painfully down to earth in a gritty, real way, and while it is extremely dark, it's also uplifting and hopefull in a way a lot of dark media isn't.

Chainsaw Man makes you feel tiny, helpless in a massive world. Chainsaw Man puts you up against horrors both tangible and fantastical, and then it looks you in the eyes and says "Hey. You aren't weak. You aren't useless. The world is scary, the world is cruel, the world is harsh, but that doesn't mean you can't fight it. That doesn't mean there isn't hope".

I really don't know how else to describe it without going into spoilers. It's genuinely moving.

Arcane

Arcane is a beautiful tragedy that has no right being as impactful as it is for being a goddamn League of Legends adaptation, of all things.

The art direction in Arcane is absolutely insane - Taking a page from Into the SpiderVerse (which is another favourite of mine), it blends 3D animation with a 2D-esque art style and fully 2D effects to bring what I genuinely believe to be one of the best looking shows in the world to life. And that's not all !

Arcane is infinitely nuanced. Between it's multiple plots it introduces many, many characters, all of whom have their own wants, needs, goals, ambitions, fears, flaws and trauma, and it clashes them together beautifully. Nothing in Arcane feels like an afterthought to me, I think the most fantastic thing about it is how expertly it weaves all these different storylines together. Everything ties into something else, everything affects something else, the story changes based on every little movement of our main characters and by the time it unfolds you realize that there's nothing that could really be done to change it because EVERYTHING lead to this.

It's a tragedy in the best way possible.

Attack on Titan

I don't care what anyone says - Attack on Titan is one of the best Anime ever put on screen.

I am a person that grew up in a colonized, war-torn country. Part of our land is still occupied, and our occupants are currently seeking refuge in our city and acting like this is their vacation resort. My people have been marginalized, demonized, dismissed, our culture has been erased and we have been fed more propaganda than I can count.

And I say this because I think being in this situation lends me a pretty good perspective of what AoT is:

Propaganda. The first two seasons of Attack on Titan are literally an extended propaganda film, meant to trick and decieve the viewer into siding with the protagonists, and dismissing their enemies as mere monsters.

If I go any deeper into that statement, there will inevitably be spoilers, so I'll cap it off with this:

There are no easy answers in war. There are no heroes and no villains, there are no good guys and bad guys, and there are no winners. There is only deception, control, and death.

I've never seen a piece of fiction capture the true, real horror of war quite as well as Attack on Titan does.

Death Parade

Everybodyyyyyyy put your hands upppppp

Death Parade is the show I go to rewatch when I have nothing else to rewatch.

It is a soft, yet painful look at human nature. It's an exploration of what makes a person good or bad, and whether such things even exist. It brings into question the very nature of humanity, whether there's such a thing as being good or bad, whether our character is formed by our circumstances or our behaviour, and how those things should be judged. It asks what it means to have emotions, to have feelings, and how your own personal emotions and biased factor into how you assess other people - whether it's more unfair to judge someone objectively without empathy, or subjectively with your own narrow, biased worldview.

All of that wrapped in a beautiful aesthetic, and a somber, subtle love story. Not even necessarily a romantic one - just pure love.

Highly, highly recommend.

Oyasumi Punpun*

Oyasumi Punpun is the most direct, honest, unfiltered, unbiased look at a human being's psyche I've ever seen.

It's also one of the most triggering bits of media on here, so proceed with caution.

Oyasumi Punpun follows the life of a single boy from his childhood, through his adulthood. Every single hardship, every single setback, every victory, every memorable experience, is shown to us through the lense of his own eyes. His childhood innocence, his teenage cynicism, his adolescent hopelessness, his own naivete, his own trauma, his own biased colour the way we view the world around him.

It genuinely makes you feel like you are wearing his skin and living his life through him.

Its disturbing, uncomfortable, dark, scary, and it's funny, hopeful, and just plain bizarre.

Great Pretender

Alright, back to light-hearted things !!!

Great Pretender might be the funniest show I've ever seen, to me, personally. Its bright, saturated, expressive animation compliments the absolute insanity of this show perfectly.

The most basic premise is that Great Pretender is about two con artists desperately trying to out-con each-other, and then it all goes downhill from there. It sets up so much of its payoff in such tiny little ways that by the time I got to the end I'd be beating myself up for missing a completely innocuous detail like a characters fucking watch, because it was actually a hint towards the overall plotline.

Its clever, it's funny, it keeps you on your toes, and it can be genuinely heartfelt and delightfully homoerotic to boot !!

It's absolutely worth the watch. Please give us season two. Please. PLEASE.

Dark Heaven*

Dark Heaven is what I'd recommend to someone if they told me they liked reading BL.

As a gay man in an interracial relationship, I've yet to find a piece of media that is quite so open direct, brutal and honest about the kids of issues that gay people, people of color, and people in interracial relationships can face.

To that end - it's extremely triggering if you're sensitive to those particular topics, as well as some other things. I'd very much recommend looking up a list of triggers first if you want to read it because it does get very, very dark. (And very NSFW). (Right from chapter one)?

But yeah - Dark Heaven is a beautiful, engaging, and at times very fluffy and humorous romance between two men, that is heavily overlaid with real actual issues people face every day (and some people don't face every day, but are nonetheless very real). It's honest, soft, and uplifting where it needs to be, despite not sugarcoating absolutely anything. It also does us the wonderful favour of not fetishizing gay men, not playing into weird creepy stereotypes, and not turning their relationship into something to gawk at.

And now, the one, the only, the piece of media that captured my heart and soul and will never ever let go:

Warrior Cats

Fucking Warrior Cats.

I have read every single book in the series. The series with over 100 books (depending on how you count them). Every official piece of media, I have consumed.

I've been reading this book series since I was 11. I've loved, cherished, lived and breathed it. I keep up with them to this day. I recently completed a chronological re-read. I've made OCs. I've roleplayed it in person and online - in fact I've been a mod in a DeviantArt roleplay group.

I HAVE A GODDAMN EXCELL SPREADSHEET WHERE I ANALYZE THE STATISTICS OF THE WARRIOR CATS NAMING SYSTEM

"Oh wow, sounds like the series is really good" WRONG

Warrior Cats is one of the worst written series I've ever read. It's poorly paced, it's full of plotholes, most characters are pieces of cardboard with a furry coat. It's dumb, nonsensical, inconsistent, and infuriating. It preaches the worst lessons I've ever heard, it's full of nothing but wasted potential, and I could honestly count the number of books I'd consider to be genuinely good on both of my hands.

Out of a 100. I've read a fucking hundred of these. Send help.

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I read them?

Because I'm autistic and my brain is holding me hostage.

Against my better judgement, I have such a deep and genuine love for this series, for the characters, for the content mostly created by the fans, for the world building.

And every single time one of these fucking cats dies, I end up tearing up.

I love Warrior Cats and you can pry it from my cold, dead hands.

...

And that's IT !!!

Thank you again for the ask, and thanks if you read it this far !! You can really tell which ones of these I'm currently hyperfixated on haha.

Again please practice discression in looking these up - I have absolutely no triggers, and so don't think twice about consuming really dark and heavy pieces of media. This is also why I didn't just opt to put in my own trigger warnings - because I don't know everything that could be potentially triggering, and I don't want to give off the impression that you know everything you need to, in case i missed anything.

Be careful and be safe !

#dungeon meshi #cats 1998 #chainsaw man #arcane #attack on titan #death parade #oyasumi punpun #great pretender #dark heaven #warrior cats #warriors

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minetteskvareninova · 2 months

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I think it's really telling that a common criticism of Poor Things from some local feminists is "the brothel sequence was portrayed as a positive empowering thing" when like... My guys. I mean gals, I sincerely HOPE it's the gals, because can you even IMAGINE if the person coming up with this rotten take was also a man...

Anyway. Like have we watched the same movie??? For Bella, sex work very much IS unpleasant and even somewhat exploitative! And yes, I know y'all expected it to be worse. I know you expected it to show the worst sides of prostitution as an occupation. I for one did. I also expected Duncan to hit or assault Bella at any moment. I too expected things to get very ugly at multiple points, just bracing myself for the hit like an abused dog seeing its owner yell at it.

But the hit never landed. And instead of feeling relief, y'all are... Disappointed?! And whine because this intentionally bizzare, fantastical movie isn't realistic, by which you apparently mean CRUEL enough?! I AM SORRY???

My goodness. Why is some people's idea of womanhood defined solely by abuse and exploitation they experience?! To hear some of y'all tell it, feminist media are about women's suffering and the more women suffer in them, the more feminist the piece of media is. And if the women aren't deemed to suffer enough, or even, God forbid, enjoy being women for a hot minute, then it's not doing feminism well. And if such piece of media happens to be created by a man? Well, then we obviously know where the problem is, amirite ladies?

Look. I am a woman. I am also a person who understands very well what it is to have female genitalia and not really know what to do with them. I even have an intuitive understanding of the internal tension between the mind of a perceptive intellectual and body of a shameless horndog. For me, Bella's choices might not have always been good or well-informed, and they certainly could've gone horribly wrong under any other circumstances, but they always made way too much sense. I know not every woman's experience with womanhood and sexuality is the same as mine, and I respect that. But I'd also like to ask some of y'all to extend the same courtesy to me and all the other women who related to this movie. This movie may not speak to your experience, but that's because everyone's experience with womanhood is different. And some of us happen to have experiences that somewhat resemble Bella's.

And I mean if there are still some bitter radfems and lesbians who wish there was a movie for them... Well, Yorgos Lanthimos already made that one too, It's called The Favourite and it also slaps in its own way. Not everything has to be for everyone (and by God is Poor Things not for everyone - so is The Favourite, though to a lesser degree in my opinion), but just because something isn't for you, doesn't mean it's doing anything wrong.

#poor things

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ruanbaijie · 2 years

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而在嘉世训练营，他也终于亲眼看到了叶秋大神。和想象中的并不一样，扮神秘从不现身媒体的叶秋大神，并不如一般人想象的那么孤高。每天叼着烟晃荡在嘉世俱乐部里，和什么人都能扯着聊几句。他可是联盟最顶尖的职业大神，但是连嘉世俱乐部扫地的都自豪地说他和叶秋打过比赛。

And in Excellent Era’s training camp, he finally saw the God of Glory Ye Qiu in the flesh, but he was different from how he had imagined him to be. This God of Glory Ye Qiu, who always “acted mysterious” and never revealed his identity to the media, was actually not as lofty as the outside world thought him to be. Everyday, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, he would swagger around the Excellent Era Club, chatting with just about anyone. This was the professional God of Glory standing at the peak of the Alliance, but even the floor cleaners of the Excellent Era Club could proudly say that they had once fought with Ye Qiu in a competition.

他不是吹牛，俱乐部里很多人都和这位大神打过比赛，据说甚至有次这些人在游戏里和别人闹什么纠纷，打不过人，最后把叶秋拉去当枪手，他也兴致勃勃地就去了。

This definitely wasn’t a boast, a lot of people in the club had fought with this God of Glory before. Once, these people had allegedly gotten into a dispute with some other people in the game and could not beat them. In the end, they had dragged Ye Qiu over to help them fight, to which he had cheerfully agreed.

大神叶秋，横扫职业联盟，但却也以最简单平凡地方式感受着荣耀。只邱非看他在网游里玩小号就不是一次两次了，每次的号还都不一样。

The God of Glory Ye Qiu who had swept the Professional Alliance, yet he used the simplest, most ordinary way of experiencing Glory. Even Qiu Fei had seen him playing the online game using smurf accounts more than one or two times, and every time, it was a different account.

“不要说出去！”大神总是朝他挤着眼说，“回头送你件好装备。”大神总是拍拍他肩说。

“Don’t let anyone know!” the God of Glory would always tell him while winking, “I’ll give you a piece of good equipment later.” After saying that, he would always pat his shoulder.

哪有什么好装备？大神玩过的那些小号，装备个顶个的差。谁都不可能想得到，这些一身垃圾的小角色背后，站着的可是操控着联盟最强角色，斗神一叶之秋的顶尖大神。

What piece of good equipment? The smurf accounts that the God of Glory played all had pieces of equipment that were lousier than the next. No one could guess that behind this little character with an entire body of rubbish equipment, was standing the person who controlled the strongest character in the Alliance - the Battle God, One Autumn Leaf, the God of Glory standing at the highest peak.

邱非亲眼所见的大神，并不如他之前想象的那般华丽的无法让人直视。

The God of Glory whom Qiu Fei saw for himself, was not actually like what he had originally imagined him to be, magnificent till no one could look him in the eye.

真实的大神很普通，很简单，但是他能让人轻而易举感受到他对荣耀的爱，那是发自内心的真实喜欢。

The real God of Glory was very ordinary, very simple, but he could easily let others feel his love for Glory, a sincere love that came from his heart.

比赛不只是胜负，比赛本身就是一种享受。

A competition isn’t just about winning or losing, a competition itself is a form of enjoyment.

邱非很喜欢大神说的这句话, 他一直期待着能享受比赛的快乐。他坚持不懈的努力，希望这一天早一点到来。

Qiu Fei really loved this sentence that the God of Glory had said. He always looked forward to the day he could feel the happiness over enjoying a competition. He worked hard tirelessly and persistently, hoping that this day would come a little earlier.

this entire part nearly made me cry - I guess it just really brought how much yx loves the game. even when he was standing at the highest point, he still remained humble and willing to play with the smallest of fries, still excitedly went back to the online game, not with his own god-tier account or another powerful account, but with the smallest, lousiest accounts - as long as he could enjoy the game. and no matter how much shit people eventually threw at him, no matter the gossip and slander that came his way, he still managed to stay true to his own principles and keep his cool, and to keep loving this game so much and so wholeheartedly

#*transl #*ramblings #qzgs #the king's avatar #i know it's a fictional character #but to love something so purely...#it's really really amazing

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sundaze12s · 1 month

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2. Unraveling the Enigmatic Artistry of Fred Stonehouse: A Journey into Surreal Realms

Fred Stonehouse, a virtuoso of the uncanny, delves into the abyss of creativity where the tangible blends seamlessly with the ethereal. His canvas becomes a gateway to uncharted realms, where every brushstroke narrates tales of enigma and fascination.

Among his myriad captivating creations, one artwork stands apart—a piece veiled in enigmatic whispers and intrigue. It depicts a being neither wholly human nor animal, tears cascading down its cheeks as it cradles a watermelon. What secrets lie beneath the surface of this haunting depiction? Let us embark on a journey through Stonehouse's boundless imagination to unveil its mysteries.

Throughout his incredible journey, Fred stays incredibly humble, never letting his enormous accomplishment overwhelm his down-to-earth personality. He frequently says, "I'm just a Milwaukee guy," despite having appeared in multiple magazines, attracting crowds with his presentations around the country, and receiving awards and grants. Fred's effect on the art industry is evident, from drawing for renowned magazines like Rolling Stone and Playboy to having his work adored by celebrities such as Madonna and Sheryl Crow, and he's far from finished. While he might thrive in a booming artistic hotspot, he prefers to stay in Wisconsin, where his artistic career began. He sees limitless creative potential in his home state, drawing inspiration from underappreciated art places such as the Museum of Wisconsin Art, Chazen Museum of Art, and his favorite Tory Folliard Gallery. Fred is always on the go but always pulled back to Wisconsin, where he enjoys the artistic energy that thrives, symbolizing a real artist who seeks beauty and opportunity wherever he goes. In the midst of the chaotic political environment that grips the United States, Fred Stonehouse finds himself coping with the current situation, as brilliantly depicted by Allie Schaitel in her enlightening piece. In the middle of the constant flood of election-related news in the media, Fred's strong political views ring true. He is concerned about the extensive influence of corporate interests, the decline of the middle class, economic instability, and entrenched bureaucracy. Furthermore, having observed personally the creeping hold of capitalism and corporate greed on the art world, Fred is concerned about the industry's exorbitant commercialization.

Fred's artistic expression puts these feelings into canvas, expertly integrating themes of corruption and despair throughout his works. Fred's work, as Allie Schaitel so beautifully depicts, quietly conveys his dissatisfaction with the status of society and his concern for the future of the United States. Through his art, he investigates the complex convergence of power, religion, and personal belief, drawing on both his own experiences and contemporary events that impact the globe.

Thanks to Allie Schaitel for providing a perceptive account of Fred Stonehouse's creative process and the deep themes that recur in his work. It's encouraging to explore the depths of their mutual love for artistic expression and social criticism as a sincere admirer of Allie's writing and Fred's painting. Read the original article here.

"Being in the studio and creating from your own imaginary world is special. That’s the reason I was willing to end up living under a bridge because that’s what I was after. It wasn’t about money. I’d be a security guard, a bouncer, or a mechanic to make money. Money is just a necessity, it is not meaning in your life. For me, if you took the meaning out of art, it’d be the same as anything else."

— Fred Stonehouse, speaking to Allie Schaitel during an interview for Beautiful Bizarre.

contemplate delving further into Fred Stonehouse's enthralling realm of expression as you contemplate his artistic journey and unique approach to his trade. Explore some of Fred's captivating pieces by scrolling through the ones shown at the bottom of this page. Additionally, check out Fred's Instagram feed for a more in-depth look at his continuing projects and artistic attempts. Explore his gallery of works to learn about the complex stories and striking visuals that characterize Fred Stonehouse's singular artistic perspective.

Enjoy more art below and for more things Fred Stonehouse check out his Instagram.

#Fred Stonehouse #Beautiful Bizarre

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lifepoast · 4 months

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⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ nichijou ☾ ﾟ｡⋆₊ ⊹

i finished nichijou today, 27 december 2023! it was the perfect watch for my life right now. i'm very busy, lonely and falling behind on enjoying everyday stuff. i'm in the process of moving to a new apartment from a place i've lived and loved in for 2 years now, and i'm doing most of it alone because my roommate is out of town until we move in.

i'm very sensitive to the idea of serendipity and things coming to my life for a reason, even (or especially) little things like an anime from 2011. what are the chances a random piece of media falls into my lap and resonates deeply at the exact moment - and in the exact way - that i needed it to? but in truth i think the actual miracle is that no matter what i watch or read, my desire to connect with something outside of myself is so strong that it's like i can do it to anything in my path. and in further truth it's not really a miracle at all, because this is to say nothing of all the other pieces i watch and read in the interim and fail to finish because they don't resonate. (i have tried to pick up many books since my last, and have put them all back down - sir gawain and the green knight, crime and punishment, perfect spy...). of course it's more likely i will have resonated with something that i liked enough to bother seeing it through to the end in the first place. i know that, and yet it all feels miraculous anyway. that must be the thesis of nichijou rubbing off on me - that "our ordinary life that passes us day by day may actually be a series of wonderful miracles." ୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅

what i love the most about this, and about nichijou, is its suggestion that satire and comedy is, or can be, compassionate. i think people who try to do satire today neglect this. in the toolbox of things that can make a great satire i think compassion is easily overlooked in lieu of tools that can be more construed as weapons; bite, caricature, sarcasm. many would argue satirical intentions are noble. the work of satire is done so that its author may ask something good of its audience: to be more discerning, to put certain illogical behaviours away, to recognise things for what they 'are' with fresh eyes. so is nichijou even satire? i think so, or i at least think it uses the almost ethnographic methodology of satire (highlighting and exaggerating mundane blind spots) to ask its audience of something different: not ridicule nor criticism, but gratitude and tenderness.

if i imagine vividly enough, stay lucid and self-aware enough, and stay optimistic enough to forbid disaster from ending my narrative, anything that happens in my day-to-day could be reinterpreted into oblivion until it becomes a ridiculous, overblown, dramatically and situationally ironic nichijou skit - and like nichijou i could fashion any little thing into a miracle. but to really do this faithfully to the series' mechanics, i would have to let go of self consciousness and control. nichijou wouldn't be nearly as fun to watch if its characters reacted to its insane and illogical world by letting the insanity beat them into submission; if they resisted the narrative's push to treat every little thing in life with equal weight. through everything they maintain their sincerity, and their commitments to themselves, and their friendships, and their plans and ideas, and everyone and everything around them is all the better for it (not least of all the humour).

but i guess nichijou made me emotional today because it made me reflect on my days in high school. it shocked me to realise that what few meaningful and lasting memories i have of it are entirely confined within the friendship i had with my two best friends, and no one else. even though they probably know that, i wonder what they would feel if i said it to them - how else to phrase it? you were my life! you are my frame of reference when i watch these bittersweet shows about being a high schooler! i haven't talked to one of them in probably two years, and the other was my ex roommate - we basically do not speak in person anymore, and we haven't had a long conversation even online for almost a year. it would be a lie if i said that wasn't saddening, but it's not as saddening as it could be, because it's not really anyone's 'fault.' or if it were someone's fault, it would be at least half my own - and that means i can change something, if not something about the situation then something about myself. here i don't think the distinction between 'then' and 'now' really matters.

the three of us were so in tune, so similar, it felt like our personal issues and faults were contagious. we felt like a three-way mirror. and i think in front of a mirror all of us are afraid to be sincere, and to let go of self consciousness, and control. so i think back then the three of us let the chaos around us make us obsessed with those things, and that was a logical response, because we simply didn’t know how much better we could have made things for ourselves. how could we have?! we were so preoccupied with avoiding being “cringe,” otaku shit like nichijou and its lessons were off-limits!!

━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#media #2023

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frostironfudge · 2 years

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Sparkle - Bucky Barnes (one shot)

Summary: this is my entry for @pellucid-constellations 's #loveletterswritingchallenge i sincerely enjoyed writing this, it was so much of fun to come up with a story that left me all fuzzy and happy.

Pairing: bestfriend!bucky x plus size female!reader (set in an AU)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Brock Rumlow, Natasha Romanoff, Winnie Barnes, Rebecca Barnes

Warnings: fluff, angst, recount of bullying comments experienced by the reader, mentions of fatphobic comments, fluff, mentions of anxiety attacks, swearing, mutual pining, no smut, sam and natasha have the braincell in the two friendships. please note if any of this triggers you please do not read. you are responsible for the media you consume.

A.N: this is my first time writing a plus sized reader, being plus sized i've always wanted to explore writing for a reader who looks like me, i hope i've done well, if not i will strive to improve my writing so please be kind, thank you. that being said, i am immensely proud of what i have written.

Word Count: 8432

dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics

masterlist // Ao3

seven.

‘dear y/n,

your sparkle pens are really pretty

i will share my new crayons if you share your sparkle pens.

-bucky’

‘dear bucky,

i want the blue crayon, you pick a sparkle colour, i will share it with you

-y/n’

‘dear sparkle,

i want the purple sparkle, because its your favourite, i wanna be your favourite too.

-bucky’

‘dear bucky,

you are my favourite.

and you can have the purple sparkle.

-sparkle’

‘dear sparkle,

i think we are going to be best friends.

-bucky’

‘dear bucky,

i think so too.

-sparkle’

Fifteen.

“what do you mean you are moving away?” You ask, confusion laces through your features.

“It means I have to go to a new city, my dad got a new job, they gave him a fancy house. Sparkle I don’t want to move.” Bucky is looking sullen, his blue eyes hold a sadness that is slowly seeping into his heart with every minute that passes.

It is slowly sinking in what is going to happen, he has go leave everything here, his childhood home, the mini play house at the backyard, this swing set you both have been sitting on since time began, and you.

“Will you come back, Bucky?” You wonder, not being able to fathom or imagine not having Bucky next to you, everything you both did you did together.

From filling the backpack of Brock Rumlow with whipped cream because he was bullying the younger kids on the block to stealing freshly baked cookies from the counter and confusing your mother on her number of cookies count.

Hiding in the small room you both discovered behind his wardrobe, eating snacks and possibly talking to a ghost lurking in the shadows.

Bucky and you were both skeptical about the ghost, so what if the chocolate was moved right when you said the ghost should move it?

Bucky’s eyes refocus onto your hunched over form, as you wrote something on a piece of paper. He’d miss this exchanging of notes between the two of you.

Folding the paper you hand it over, heart cracking as realisation dawns upon you when you watch Winnie Barnes and your mother put the last of the kitchen appliances into their boxes.

Winnie gestures for Bucky to come back inside. Bucky’s fingers tighten around your little note.

He takes one glance at you, trying to remember you so he doesn’t forget he’s so scared to forget.

He won’t but it scares him, so much.

You watch as he returns back inside, leaving you on the swing set. You look down at the indented grass.

Would the earth ever cover up the memories that your tiny pairs of feet created upon her?

Or would these indents serve as your only reminder?

Later that night when everyone else is asleep in the half empty home.

Bucky pulls out the note from his pocket, smoothening the paper against his duvet the white paper glows yellow in the lamp light.

‘dear bucky,

please don’t forget about me,

you’re going to make new friends, you’re going to have an amazing time there, you will have fun and the house will be nice, i could come visit maybe, or you could, we can write letters?

you’re my best friend, i love you.

i miss you already.

-sparkle’

His bright blue eyes settle on the small picture frame on his bedside that houses his favourite picture of the two of you, simultaneously having broken the same tooth and holding up the evidence with gleeful toothless smiles in anticipation for the tooth fairy.

Bucky wiped his cheek when he felt something warm, the salty tears finding him, why does that stupid fancy house have to be far away from all that he wants?

<><><><><>

“Why does he have to go mum? Bucky can stay with us, he can take my room!” You offer for the umpteenth time since your return.

“Baby, we spoke about this, his dad has a job offer and it will be good for them, Bucky will be happy and—,”

“NO! He isn’t happy none of you want to listen.” You scream at her.

Your mom’s gaze softens, she sits down on the couch, tucking your hair back,

“Are you sad that James has to leave?” She wonders, you nod, lip wobbling.

“I know it can be a lot to handle right now, you and James are both very brave and such good kids that you are listening to us, but baby this is something that will help their family. Do you understand? It will be good for them. It will be a lot to go through, but sweetheart they need this change.” You mom holds both your hands between her palms.

“But he will forget me, I, Mum he’s my best friend, my only friend.” You can’t stop the tears now, the fear of losing Bucky and him possibly forgetting who you are coursing rampant through you.

“Oh sweetheart, best-friends never forget each other, no matter the distance no matter if they speak regularly or not.” She gently wipes your tears away, kissing your cheek.

You retreat to your room, laying head down on the bed and letting more tears pour out.

Nineteen.

You stare at the calendar, hanging by your desk, if you could you would burn a hole through today’s date.

Barnes’ moving in day.

Those four words stare at you, mockingly. Four and a half years ago he moved away, ripping your duo apart.

Countless letters, left without reply, not a reply even to the funny birthday card you sent, so you stopped writing after nine months of radio silence.

Maybe he did forget you.

<><><><><><>

Month 1

‘Dear Bucky,

I hope you’ve moved in fully now, i miss you. Watching pixar movies without you does not feel right.

How is the weather there? Mom told me it is much more warmer and does not rain as often.

Have you gone to school yet? I hope you have fun there, write back soon.

-Sparkle.’

Month 4

‘Dear Bucky,

happy sixteenth birthday!

i know we had planned those star shaped candles like that one movie so i found them! I’ll ask mum to tell your mum to take a picture, i found two sets of candles so i’m keeping one for myself and i exchanged the blue and purple.

i miss you.

i hope school is easier, still sucks here, remember i told you Rumlow tried to steal lunch money last month? He tried it again, i threw my chocolate milk on his head.

You would have laughed so much.

Though I regret it because I didn’t have an extra chocolate milk. You would have kept an extra one for me. I miss laughing with you.

i love you bucky.

Hope you write back soon.

-sparkle.’

Month 5

‘Dear Bucky,

I sent in that story I wrote! I’ll tell you if I won or not, Rumlow is being a dickhead. Don’t tell Winnie I taught you the word dickhead or I’ll tell her the f word is what you taught me.

-Sparkle’

‘Dear Bucky,

I won second place!, I’m sending a snippet from the paper! Do you remember? This is about the chocolate moving ghost in your room.

Are there any ghosts in your new room?

Write soon, I miss you and your handwriting.

-Sparkle.’

<><><><><>

Winnie and your mom spoke every two weeks on the phone, you would catch tail ends of the conversations.

As did Bucky, he would stand behind the kitchen entryway, to eavesdrop;

“I know, I’ve tried talking to him about it, I know Y/N’s upset, I’m so sorry. I’ll try speaking to him again. Oh, I won’t. I’ll see if he will, oh and yes did you catch the episode,”

Bucky tuned out his mother’s words retreating to his room he had gone out to grab the mail, little did he know he was holding your last letter from the mailbox.

He sighed as his fingers traced over the envelope, the paper too familiar under his fingertips.

He glanced at the purple candle in his pen holder cup.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to reply, he just couldn’t bring himself to do so, he met people at his school. Friends now who were in a similar situation as him.

They all said friends forget or they don’t write back, its easier rather than being hurt over losing a friend. A best friend.

Bucky looked at the stack of letters he attempted to write back to you.

‘Dear Sparkle,

I don’t like it here, they closest theatre is an hour away and Pixar without you just sucks.

It has been a week, i got your letter, people at school say long distance friendships don’t last and people forget each other.

We aren’t like that. We are best friends, we won’t forget each other. I am scared that it might happen, but it won’t right?

- Bucky’

Bucky sighs, turning the letter around in his hands, as his gaze falls onto the birthday envelope he made for you.

‘Dear Sparkle,

I’m sending a blue candle, you won’t believe it they just had one purple and blue candle remaining! You know just like the movie? when you make a wish can you wish for me to come back?

i’m going to ask if i can visit.

i miss you so much, sparkle.

-Bucky’

Bucky puts on a brave face, your letter feeling heavy in his hands, he opens the envelope and unfolds your twelfth letter to him, it has been nine months, he hasn’t sent out the letters nor did he come on the phone when his mom would urge him.

Month 9

‘Dear Bucky, Barnes,’

Bucky’s stomach took a tumble, you only called him Barnes when you were mad at him.

‘It has been hard, I don’t know how much mum told your mum. Dad well, just things fuck.

Things haven’t been that great since you left, mum says that things have gotten better for your family, i’m glad to hear that but i still miss you, you haven’t returned any of my letters and it probably is annoying you or maybe you forgot about me, i hope your new friends are great and school goes well for you. I’m not trying to imply that you should feel bad or guilty or that you should feel guilty, its just, it was nice to have a friend? Now I don’t.

It has gotten hard here for several reasons, i don’t want to bore you, if you are even reading the letters.

on my birthday i used the blue candle on a cupcake, i wished you would come back. I don’t think that will come true. Remember the cupcakes we baked with your mum? I used that recipe.

I don’t think I will be writing anymore, I don’t want to bother you or remind you of things that you may have forgotten. or wanted to forget.

still love you bucky, you’re my best friend.

- Sparkle Y/N.’

Bucky couldn’t read the paper anymore, the colours blended together before he blinked his tears away. Your handwriting just a muddled blur of ink. You’re saying goodbye to him, you’re hurting and he just added to it.

“Bucky?” Winnie Barnes enters her child’s room, brows furrowed in worry as his shoulders shake.

“She won’t write anymore.” Is all he says, turning around to hug his mother.

“Oh sweetheart, she is hurt, you haven’t written back, I know you have unsent letters,” She pulls away from him, running a hand through his hair and wiping his tears.

“Why don’t you send one? She is having a hard time at home. It will cheer her up.” Winnie offers, Bucky shakes his head.

“James…”

“Mum they don’t last these friendships all my friends here are just,” Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh.

“James Barnes.” His mom uses her warning tone.

“Y/N has been your best friend since you both were in diapers. You write her a letter and send it over, I know it is hard, I know it hurts you too, but I can’t watch you let this friendship fade away. Understood? It will be her choice if she wants to write back and you have to respect that.”

Bucky nods going to his desk and bringing out a pen and paper. Winnie pats his head, smiling at him as he begins writing what he wants to say to you.

Nineteen.

Bucky looks sullen, they’re moving back, couldn’t get the old house house three down from yours but they got the one right next to your home.

He wanted to be mad at you for not responding to his letter but he never held it against you, maybe he was too late.

“Bucky?” Winnie looks at him through the rearview mirror, she had taken over driving the remaining leg of the journey. They were going to stay at your house and that had him on edge.

“Yeah Ma?” He meets her gaze, knowing she probably caught onto his nerves. He had taken the semester off from university his dad’s untimely demise had left an aching hole between his family. They were healing but Bucky felt lost.

“It will be okay, between you both.” She assures him, then gazes at Rebecca who is fast asleep in the passenger seat.

“I hope so.” He says, fiddling with his jacket.

<><><><><>

You made cupcakes, the very ones you had learned to make from Winnie, you had spoken to her after you decided to stop the letters, she wasn’t angry as you had expected. She knew Bucky had messed up and had told you about his letter. You never read it. Just looking at it made your burst into tears.

So you tucked it away in the box labelled Sparkle and Bucky, where you stored away the trinkets collected till age fifteen and his unopened letter.

You pulled your thoughts away and onto the upcoming months you were visiting a publication expo due to the deferral year you took from university. Independently writing for a magazine, running your own blog of micro poetry and pieces was doing okayish.

However an internship with an independent publication house made you realise working in this industry is where you would thrive.

The car coming to a halt outside had your mother squeal and run out, then two squeals could be heard followed by laughter. You went up to the door, eyes on Winnie and your mother, a clicking sound made you look at the source.

Bucky brought the camera down from covering his face, as he grinned admiring the two best friends, his hair longer and he seemed much more taller and you notice how much more bigger his biceps have gotten.

“Oh, Y/N!” Winnie calls you with glee, “Look at you! All grown up the pictures you mother sent do no justice to how beautiful you are,” She bounds up at steps arms outstretched you smile with a blush warming your cheeks.

“You’re too kind.” You mumble, you know your features are sweet but the weight you’ve gained along the way would at times make you think otherwise.

“Oh nonsense.” She dismisses your attempt to take the compliment, “Beautiful.” She tucks your hair back, placing a kiss to your cheek.

Rebecca follows her mom giving you a kiss on the cheek and a warm sleepy hug.

“Okay you can go crash in my room.” You laugh as she yawns out a thank you, swiftly making her way upstairs.

Bucky is unloading the bags, you put your hands in the back pocket of your jeans contemplating.

The mothers share a look, “Y/N why don’t you go help James?” Your mom says, you shoot her a look, Winnie pulls her inside before you can catch onto their little planning.

Bucky hits his head on the trunk door when he sees you stand next to him.

“Shit,” He rubs his head, looking at you, pausing as he takes in your appearance. You feel small under his towering form, you both don’t say anything for a while just standing there, awkwardly.

What do you even say to your long lost best friend?

“I’m sorry.” Bucky verbal vomits the apology without thinking, you raise an eyebrow, “For um, for putting your mum and you through all this trouble.” He gestures around with his hand.

“Oh, um not really a problem.” You shrug and move to grab a bag from the trunk.

“Um, that is my camera equipment…” Bucky looks the bag with such admiration, you’re almost scared to put it back down.

“I can be careful… If you want to switch no problem…” You offer the bag and he switches. The trip back to the house is silent.

Some how both of you still manage to walk in sync.

Winnie tells you the major chunk of things are coming with the movers tomorrow as you and Bucky settle around the dining table with mugs of coffee.

“Bucky, mum tells me you’re into photography now?” Your mom smiles fondly at the boy in front of her, she did pinch his cheeks moments ago and Bucky knew she would do it again. He grinned.

“I am, yes, I run my own blog, did a few indie band shoots for their Instagram pages, also covered a friend’s wedding.”

Bucky talks animately and you find yourself smiling as he speaks fondly about his passion, blue eyes filled with pride and joy.

“Oh and this is the best thing that happened in a while.” Bucky pulls out his phone, “I have a friend, they have huge writing blog posted one of my photographs and held a competition and god the entries are all so great especially this one.” Bucky loads the comment.

“Wait a second, Y/N what is your blog’s name?” Your mom looks at you, your eyes widen in panic as realisation hits, Bucky reads the blog’s name and you nod.

“Holy shit, Sparkle! You’ve written such great stuff, I practically broke my phone reading and scrolling! I even showed Rebecca and Ma, god you’re talented and you even won that competition, Sparkle, damn—,” Bucky’s excited chatter stops when he realises he used your nickname and revealed the fact he read your letters.

“Excuse me.” Is all you say before running up to your room, voice on the verge of tears, Bucky stays in his seat, head in his palms.

“Just give her sometime.” Your mum assures him giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t think she will give me more…” He takes a deep breath, “Should I?” He asks the two insightful women, they shake their heads.

“After dinner, I’ll send you both to pick up groceries then you can speak.” Winnie high fives her best friend.

Bucky looks between the pair questioningly and decides he wont wait, he grabs a notepad from his bag as he makes his way to the guest room.

‘dear sparkle y/n,

i’m sorry, i’m an idiot.

though i stand by it, your pieces are beautiful.

-bucky.’

He slips the note under your door and retreats to his designated room opposite to yours before you decide to slide it out.

Dinner passes by wordlessly on your part, only answering yes and no when spoken to directly. Bucky hopes to coax laughter out of you, so he tries making jokes but when you don’t respond to them he keeps quiet.

“Sweetheart, would you run to the store? We want to start the move earlier so a few groceries should be better bought earlier.” Your mom requests as you finish drying the dishes with Rebecca.

“Okay.” You take a once over of your appearance, deciding to keep wearing the superhero shirt and shorts.

“Do you have a list?” You ask Winnie who nods, Bucky is helping put away the dishes, so you think at least he may not tag along.

Winnie hands it to you, sheepishly smiling at the length of the list, “I know it is a lot but,”

“No, No, don’t worry about it. I-if I can’t find something I’ll let you know.” You look up at her, biting your bottom lip, Bucky looks at you as you shift from one foot to the other. You never did enjoy the task he recalls.

You smile at her, the prospect of the night drive is appealing.

“Oh Bucky has my card so he can tag along with you.” Winnie adds just as you grab your cardigan and purse, so much for enjoying the drive.

Bucky wonders if your shoulders stiffen because you’re uncomfortable. He almost backs out; trusting you with the pin of the card.

“Oh sure.” you say heading out the door to your car.

Bucky looks at the three women, they give him a thumbs up each. He wonders how much luck would he need to repair his friendship with you.

You’re waiting in the car, head on the wheel, “Just groceries, you don’t have to talk.” you mutter trying to soothe yourself.

Bucky opens the door and you straighten up too quickly, hitting your head on the lowered visor which snaps it back up with a thunk, “Ow.”

“You okay?” Bucky looks worried as you rub your head, the light in the car showing him your tinted cheeks, he chuckles.

“Are you laughing at me?” You ask, he pales.

“No-no I just, I hit my head in the afternoon and now you did… It reminded me of,” Bucky’s smile returns,

“The museum?” You laugh at the memory, both of you took a tumble down the steps to the museum getting scrapes on your knees, the injuries placed same but received at different hours.

Your smile doesn’t fade as you pull onto the road driving to the 24 hour store fifteen minutes away a comfortable silence takes over which is only broken by the light songs on the radio.

Bucky finds himself taking in your appearance, you have changed so little yet so much he thinks, the way you hold yourself with more confidence, when you aren’t worrying about how things are between the two of you.

Your laughter still the same that shines through him, the sound making him laugh even more than what the joke would be, god he missed you.

You could feel his eyes on you, you tug the shorts down, skin bunching as the hem tightens when you sit. A little self consciousness flooding through you.

Bucky notices the movement, his eyes trail over your thighs and he wonders briefly how they would feel wrapped around him if he lifted you up in a hug like before.

You are in the milk aisle when you hear the familiar snickers, Bucky was on the other end finding the flavoured yogurts Rebecca requested on text.

“I never knew cows came to inspect the milk.” Sharon Carter laughs, you roll your eyes a fake pleasantry smile on your face.

“Sharon, always a pleasure.” You turn back to grabbing the milk you need putting it into the cart.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow when a taller man joins the blonde you were speaking to, he feels something off. He quickly grabs the selected boxes of yogurt and walks over.

You try moving forward when Brock Rumlow stops your cart. Great.

“Oh come on a deferral, just say the university has no space to accommodate your size.” Rumlow gives a hearty chuckle as Bucky’s jaw clenches.

“I thought I recognised the scared little bully.” Bucky says placing the items in the cart then standing next to you, “Was is shaving cream in your bag or was it whipped cream?” He reminds Brock who clenches his hand into a fist.

“Barnes?” Rumlow asks, Bucky nods.

“Oh this is rich,” Rumlow looks at you, you pale.

“Was it not his letter you roamed around with?” He asks, then Sharon smirks.

“Oh I remember! Oh Bucky they called me a fat pig, Oh Bucky I miss you.” She makes mocking smooching noises and you wince recalling their harsh words.

Bucky’s hand clenches on the cart’s handle.

“How did your universities accept bullies? Or did you get rejected since your bigheadedness take up more space than they could accommodate?” Bucky asks, pushing the cart harshly into Rumlow who moves giving way to move to the next aisle.

As you pass by them, “Fatty got left all alone and weak, if you hear her it sounds like a pig’s squeak.” Sharon belts out the old rhyme they came up with in school, you pause, Bucky is about to go punch Brock and you stop him, turning around with a bottle of chocolate milk in hand.

The two bullies don’t see it coming when you empty the entire one litre bottle on their heads as they are turned away. Both turn very slowly. Bucky pulls you back, both abandoning the cart and running through the aisles with Brock hot on your heels.

Bucky looks at you unable to help his laughter at what you did, you laugh with him and you both feel like you are twelve running away from Brock once again. Bucky leads you behind the frozen food aisle, pressing you against the wall and him facing you. The dry ice smell cascades around your senses.

Both of you breathing hard, Bucky feels the steady rise of your chest against his own, he looks down at you, you look up at him and his breath catches god your eyes hold that same sparkle that gave you your nickname when you both were seven.

His heartaches at how long it has been since he saw you happy with him there as witness.

When you look up at Bucky you didn’t understand the expression on his face it, it seemed as though longing muddled with happiness?

Your eyes flicker to his lips, parted to catch his breath. You dismiss the thought but not before it makes you blush. You look away to his hand still intertwined with yours, making you smile.

Bucky’s free hand twitches, wanting you to look back into his blue eyes.

“Where are you two?” Brock’s voice is close, Bucky and you slip back backing away quietly.

“Brock let it go, my dress is stained. Ugh.” Sharon complains much to your relief.

You both peek out from the aisle, sighing as the coast is clear.

You look at Bucky during the walk back to the abandoned cart his gaze is upon you, when your eyes meet, his lip twitches and you both break into a fit of giggles. Bucky wipes the tears from his eyes and you try to even out your breathing as the laughter calms down.

You take inventory of the cart frowning that you used the last bottle of chocolate milk for your plan, till an outstretched arm holds a smaller chocolate milk bottle in your vision.

Bucky has a small smile gracing his lips, azure eyes full of hope, “Saved you a bottle.”

Adoration courses through you and so does the love you hold for Bucky which had been tucked away.

You raise your arms and engulf him in a hug, Bucky is taken aback but quickly wraps his arms around you. Sighing as the ache on his heart is slowly fading into nothingness.

“I’m sorry I never wrote back, sparkle.” Bucky whispers, stroking your hair, the scent of vanilla grounding him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t read your letter. I was so mad at you.” You whisper back, tightening the hug.

“Rightfully so.” Bucky pulls away to look at you, you’re crying too, “God, I wish I could have been there, written back, you went through all this shit. I’m so sorry, sparkle.”

“It, its not okay but I think we can try again? Our friendship?” You look at him hopeful, he smiles, nodding and pulling you into a bear hug.

Bucky sniffles, “I did, I did write replies, when we unpack tomorrow, I’ll show you the letters.”

When you check into the hotel three months later, you furrow your eyebrows when the receptionist hands a letter addressed to you.

Smiling as you recognise Bucky’s handwriting you open it in the elevator too excited,

‘Dear Sparkle,

good luck on your first publishing exhibition/expo/experience you’re going to learn so much and beat all the people outta their seats, i kind of buttered up your mom to give me the address of your hotel.

i wanted us to start writing letters again, it has been something we did and shared and only if you’re comfortable then you can write back if it is difficult then we can stick to texts and sending memes.

i miss you, college is going okay, been about two weeks since i left home, god i still can’t believe the chocolate piece moved. do you think the ghost it latched to one of us?

love you sparkle, send me pictures from the trip.

-bucky’

You grin holding the letter to your chest as you walk into the room you share with the other intern at your work place.

Immediately you start writing a reply on the hotel stationary.

<><><><><><><>

Bucky sighs entering his apartment, who told him to major in journalism and history? Though being a photo journalist is something he wants to do dearly just the path of education is seemingly harder today.

He received your texts, smiling as he read how excited you were for everything going on at the publication expo, endless goofy pictures you sent him made his heart swell with adoration. It had been 4 days since he knows you received his letter.

He’s laughing while replying to the picture you sent him of an apple just lying underneath a traffic light, no idea why you both find it funny.

“Whose got Broody Barnes all happy?” Sam Wilson his room-mate says walking into the hall, dropping a stack of envelopes onto the table.

“Sparkle.” Bucky says, looking at a surprised Sam.

“The Sparkle?” Sam enquires, leaning over the couch and trying to peek at the texts.

“Yes.” Bucky locks the phone and Sam pouts, “Oh come on.”

“By the way there is some mail for you.” Sam informs, Bucky eagerly grabs the stack, sifting through and landing on the envelope bearing his name in your writing.

He quickly opens it, excitement flooding through his being.

‘Dear Bucky,

i can’t believe how you pulled off having the letter here before me, i read it in the elevator. I miss you too. i think the ghost moves around our neighbourhood.

i’m glad to hear college is going well, though i think doing a double major may be hard, i believe in you and your capability to get through it.

i think i might go ahead with the double major as well, I took a year’s deferral so, I don’t really know how will it go.

i’m proud of you.

love you too buck i’m sending you a picture as i write.

-sparkle.

ps. waiting for your next letter.’

Bucky can’t wipe the grin off of his face.

twenty three.

‘dear sparkle,

my recruitment week starts next week, i’m so nervous.

i really wish you were here. i know i can call you but it just won’t be the same.

all these questions are swirling in my mind, what if i do not get the placement i want? what if the internships i did were the wrong choice? what if my grades aren’t impressive?

you would know what to say, could you just give my interviews for me?

fuck, sparkle i don’t even know what pictures to put in my portfolio.

what kind of photographer does not know his strongest pictures?

i hope your exam week is going well, also you’re going to win that creative writing competiton that you’re worried about, send your piece to me so i can read it over, if you need an objective opinion? but i’m biased towards you. you will win it.

sorry to dump this on you, i know you’ve had a busy and hard week.

will you be visiting home for break? i might be depending on how the recruitment goes. maybe we could co-ordinate flights?

i miss you.

-bucky.’

You read Bucky’s letter on the night of exam week being over, most of the classes are done for the semester, an idea pops up in your head and you call your mom then Rebecca to get Bucky’s roommate’s number.

When Sam receives you at the train station and you can finally understand why Bucky trusts him immensely, Sam has this comforting aura that radiates warmth and safety, for a minute you wonder if Rutgers makes everyone go hard at the gym and wear more form sitting outfits because like damn, Sam.

“So whats with the nickname Sparkle?” Sam ponders never getting an answer out of his friend.

“No idea, Bucky gave it to me.” You shrug, realising you never really asked the question yourself.

“Oh come on, he won’t tell me either.” Sam whines, as he helps you with your bag into the elevator, you can only offer a sympathetic smile, “I’m as clueless as you buddy.” You pat his back.

“So you’re at Yale?” He asks as the two of you walk down the hallway.

“Yes, Psychology and English major. What do you study?”

“Aerospace Engineering.” Sam says with a grin.

“Wait you’re like smart, smart.” You comment.

Sam’s booming laughter infects you as you join in.

“Please say that in front of Bucky.” He requests and you grin nodding.

Sam opens the door carefully, when he knows for sure Bucky is in his room he lets you in and guides you to Bucky’s door.

“Good Luck.” He whispers backing away to take the video as you requested.

You raise your hand and knock, you can hear shuffling on the other side and a shirtless toned chest is what you are at eye level with, you gulp.

“What is it Sam—Sparkle?” Bucky blinks multiple times rapidly, “You, you’re here? I must be dreaming.” He says, and you hesitantly reach out to poke his arm.

“Hi.” You grin at him, Bucky’s jaw drops and he picks you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he twirls you around, you squeal holding onto him tightly.

“Bucky! Don’t you will—,” You try not to put too much weight on him, but he’s twirling you up like nothing.

“Doll, don’t say a word, I can do several push-ups with you sitting on me.” Bucky’s blue eyes find yours and they are shining bright, his cheeks are flushed with how much he is grinning.

“I know Mr. I can bench press triple digits.” Bucky’s helped you immensely to let go of the comments, he always only brought you resources to help you, checked in on your progress with your mental health. Never pushed you to do something you were uncomfortable with, he made sure you would have mental health check ins regularly. He caught on to your traits for being in an overload before you did.

The way the months went after you both cleared the air were a blur, as though the four years of the move never formed a deep ravine of hurt and despair. The entire moving in process was cathartic for the two of you, finally communicating and rebuilding the bridge over the gap that formed.

Bucky lets you down gently, pulling you back in for a hug. His woodsy pine scent mingling with the vanilla of your lotion, makes you feel right at home.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s surprise returns.

“Well somebody wanted to surprise somebody and I coordinated it.” Sam hands your phone back while he points from you to Bucky.

“Thanks Sam,” You grin at him.

“Anytime sweetheart.” Sam winks at you and you giggle.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, are you two flirting?

“I have an early day catch you both tomorrow.” Sam gives you another wink and departs to his room.

“You’re really here.” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief, hugging you tightly again, your warmth grounding him, the way you just fit into his arms like you belong there.

You bask in the warmth he provides, feeling his steady heartbeat, you could just stay this way.

Both Bucky and you stiffen slightly at the thoughts, pulling away.

“I am, now I believe you were having trouble with your portfolio.” You try to say teasingly, keeping your eyes on his face, bags under his eyes indicate his lack of sleep.

You hesitantly raise your hand to trace over his cheek, Bucky leans into your touch, shoulders relaxing in the relief he finds by your gesture.

<><><><><>

Bucky feels your fingertips lingering on his cheek even as you both are sprawled across his room’s floor, the photographs in transparent folders as you think over how to make up this segregation for the portfolio.

“Have you made a digital folder?” You wonder as your hands inch towards the picture of Winnie and your mom from the day they met again after years.

You could feel the warmth and love in the picture.

“All the pictures are coded so the ones in the physical one can go in a digital one which are watermarked.” Bucky runs his palm across his face, scratching over his scruff.

“Okay how about, I pick up a stack of pictures, show you each and then you say yes or no without a second thought.” The idea sparks inside you and you think it can work.

“We can try that yeah,” Bucky straightens up, ready to do this, he watches you pick up the stack of local events he covered.

You hold up one where the marathon winner crosses the finish line, half leapt up in the air, they just realise and have tears in their eyes mid air.

Bucky nods, “Yes.” He grins at you this would work.

And it did, an hour later you had ten pictures each in various categories that gave a good sense of Bucky and his body of work.

As you zip up the file with a yawn, Bucky’s gaze softens you came in right after your exams without break for him.

“Hey sleepyhead, take the bed I’ll take the couch.” Bucky chuckles as your half asleep gaze meets him.

“What? No, you need sleep, I’ll take the couch.” You protest, Bucky places both his hands on his hips, looking too much like Winnie Barnes before she would scold their duo.

“Sparkle.” He warns, you quickly take a picture on your phone.

“Bucky, you look exactly like your mom before she would scold us.” You break out into giggles at his mortified expression.

“Sparkle.” He whines, trying to grab your phone away from you to delete it.

Currently you’re pinned under him arms extended up to stop him from getting your phone.

“Sparkle I just want to check the time.” He feigns innocence.

“Bucky you have a clock right there.” You point out, huffing.

“In London!” He defends.

“Use your own phone.”

“Yours is nicer.” Bucky huffs, he nods as he decides to tickle you.

You pale as you realise what is he planning.

“No.” You warn trying to scramble away before he begins.

“Oh no, no, no,” Bucky pins down your hands in one of his and his free hand begins tickling your sides as you squeal and try to break away.

Bucky has a million dollar smile as your phone drops out of your grip but he just enjoys having you laugh and squeal, your skin is so soft and warm and god he just wants to kiss you, he pauses the thought taking him by surprise.

Your face is inches away from his, you’re breathing hard but still laughing up at him, arching away from him and you are flush against his now shirt clad chest.

Bucky’s face moves closer, you look at him, then down to his lips, your mind flashes back to the grocery store aisle. His lips are so close his breath fans across your face, you close your eyes.

The doorbell rings and you open your eyes, Bucky looks into yours searching for something, he wonders if he should continue before answering the door. You bite your lip, wondering if he regrets it, the next ring of the doorbell has you both scramble up to grab the late night chinese take out.

<><><><><><><>

‘dear Bucky,

god i feel stupid writing this after six months of that moment in your room.

i can’t outright ask you, it just feels, it feels different between us? not in a bad way, fuck, did we fuck up? why didn’t we just kiss? it feels so right being in your arms and having you in mine. as though, as though we were made for each other?

why can’t i just tell you that i am in love with you, i am in love with my best friend, probably have been for the longest time and i wished we would have kissed in the grocery aisle.

you would think i would know what the right fucking words are? being a writer and all but i don’t have them. at all. i just know four that only make sense—

Bucky, I love you.

I’ve written countless letters to you and yet writing this one seems to be the biggest task even though what i want to say to you is so very simple.

I want to tell you in person, I want to say the words, to you in front of everyone.

I just I worry what if what if i lose you?

I’ve written countless lines about love and yet I don’t know if this is enough, if these scattered words, that i’m scrambling to put together to make some coherence out of are even making sense?

I wishfully think that maybe, maybe you love me too, in the same way, its so selfish of me, hoping praying that my best friend is in love with me as well.

If you do not feel the same wat then just forget about this, I, I don’t know just, don’t stop being my best friend please. it is selfish of me to put this on you and still want you in my life but, i lost you once i can’t i can’t lose you again.

-Sparkle.’

You groan, this letter sounds and looks so stupid. Zero readability. Zero continuity, clarity, ugh.

You turn the page over placing it on the papers in front of you as your room-mate Natasha walks in,

“Are you going to tell him you are in love with him or is that love letter not happening? Of all the important things to write in a letter neither of you do that.” She sits down on the table, shuffling the papers to make space.

“He doesn’t love me, love me.” You object and Nat smacks your arm.

“He took the midnight train to here because you were having an anxiety attack. He stayed on call while he took a two hour train ride and then held you till you finally slept after a four day non sleep fest. He stayed till he knew you were absolutely fine and only then did he leave. I don’t know any best friend that would do that.” She lists the points on her fingers.

“Nat,” You start, she holds up a hand.

“Will you lose him if you tell him?” Her expression unreadable.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly.

“Will telling him how you feel make you feel better?”

“Nat, I don’t know I want to yell that I love him but, I’m scared I’ll lose him as my best friend, that can’t happen again.”

Natasha pulls you close, as you sniffle.

“You should tell him, I know from the way he looks at you.” She reassures you.

“If this backfires I will stop talking to you.” You warn her, as she smiles.

“Send the letter.” She prompts.

“No, I’m, I’m going to give it to him the next day of his graduation.” You decide, the entire family would be there so if anything went sideways you would not be missed.

Graduation.

Bucky spots you sitting on the bleachers between your mom and his, they made a whole trip out of it deciding to stay for a few days, he waves at you all before settling into his designated chair, his phone chimes.

Sam: man you have to tell her.

Bucky: Sam will you just drop it.

Sam: no i will not, if you don’t tell her i will ask her out.

Bucky glares at the phone turning to locate Sam’s smug grin.

Sam looks down typing as Bucky’s phone chimes again.

Sam: she will still be your best friend, even if she doesn’t love you the same way, which is impossible because that entire weekend she wouldn’t take her eyes off of you.

Sam attaches a picture he sneaked of Bucky being on the phone in the kitchen and you looking fondly at Bucky, he could clearly see the red tinge on your cheeks.

Bucky: fine i’ll tell her today, but if this backfires…

Sam: I will be on the receiving end of James Barnes’ Trademark Glare for eternity.

Bucky: Worse.

Sam: just tell her you love her then you will hug me because she loves you too

Bucky turns his phone silent as the Dean begins the opening statements, the entire event is a blur and Bucky finds your smiling gaze when he takes his degree in his hands. All of you are cheering so hard for him he feels elated and accomplished.

As Sam and he wait for the crowd to disperse so they can introduce each other’s families, you run upto Bucky and hug him.

“Congratulations.” You kiss his cheek, Bucky feels his skin warm at the gesture.

“Thank you, Sparkle.” He keeps his arm around you as the Barnes and Wilson’s approach the cleared area as well.

Winnie Barnes instantly pulls Sam into a warm hug and pinches his cheek, where as Sam’s nephews AJ and Cass run up to Bucky, he bends down to pull them into a hug.

They ring choruses of congratulations all around and Sam and Bucky both can’t let go of their elated mood. During dinner you notice Sam gesturing with his head to Bucky, and Bucky shaking his head and narrowing his eyes. When you catch Sam’s eye he quickly looks away.

“Is everything okay?” You whisper to Bucky.

“Ye-yeah, Sparkle.” Bucky is caught off guard and he wishes Sam would be discreet.

You nod, not really satisfied and worrying if something is amiss.

Bucky takes note of your worried expression and leans in,

“Sparkle, I promise its nothing to worry about, Sam’s just stressing over his internship.” He assures, taking your hand in his and rubbing soothing circles.

“You sure you aren’t covering up something thats bothering you?” You raise an eyebrow at him, he shakes his head.

“No, I would tell you if it was, promise.” He smiles.

“Oh um I have my next letter with me I’ll give it to you tomorrow.” You say no idea why are you putting yourself in this position.

“Why not today?” Bucky furrows his eyebrows.

“Well because if I sent it by post it would reach tomorrow.” You shrug hoping your voice does not waiver.

“Well I want to read it today.” He presses on,

“Bucky, no today is about you.” You defend.

“Yes and that letter is addressed to me. Come on it’ll be my graduation gift.” He juts out his bottom lip making a puppy eyed face.

You sigh, handing it to him, his smile looking at the envelope is worth bringing forth your humiliation a day ahead.

Bucky opens the envelope, eager to know your thoughts, when his smile falters you feel your heart sink down into the pits of the marina trench.

There is a silence that slowly takes over the table, as they notice you looking at Bucky with tears in your eyes and Bucky reading the letter.

Bucky can’t say anything emotions caught in his throat, he really wished he would have kissed you in the grocery store too.

He can’t believe it you love him too.

Bucky, I love you.

The words burn into his memory, etched upon his heart and he looks up at you tears in his eyes as well.

“I’m sorry, I should not have—,” You begin your apology,

“Sparkle, Sparkle, I love you too.” He cuts you off, watching as you take his words in and your sadden expression turns into elation.

“About damn time.” Sam mutters.

As Bucky grins cupping your cheek and finally having your lips on his own.

There is a chorus of awes around the dinner table that just makes both of you grin in the kiss, both of you blushing as you pull away.

Bucky wraps his arm around you as your head rests on his shoulder, he kisses your forehead, with an unspoken promise of forever.

Bucky, age sixteen.

‘Dear Sparkle,

I got the letter where you said you won’t write anymore, it broke me, i cannot get through a day without my mind making me search for you in the crowd.

i know i’ve been an idiot, dickhead if you will. I cannot lose you. I cannot lose my best friend, do you know why i call you sparkle? it is not because of those sparkle pens you had, its because, when you looked at me when i was seven there was this sparkle in your eye and I just had to know you.

Because someone with that much radiance around her had to be the biggest source of happiness right? and you were and still are.

i won’t mind if you throw this letter without reading.actually i will feel horrible, that

i was so stupid to get into what the people at school said that friendships fade so there is no point in trying to keep them.

i hope you can forgive me, should i send the other unsent letters too? maybe i should, but if you want to then only i will, i, i’m so sorry for what is going on at home, mom won’t tell me, do you want me to call? I’ll ask mom to let me talk to you next time she speaks to your mom.

sparkle please forgive me, i know this is my own doing, i’m an idiot but i’m your idiot best friend.

nine months of no responses and i’m asking for you to not be mad at me, i’m asking for a miracle, but that won’t happen will it? hope it does.

i love you

i miss you so much it hurts, i know it hurts you too.

-bucky.’

----x----

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lovelystay · 3 years

Text

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖 🍒

𝕟𝕠𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟

(ℝ𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥)

[Rᴇsᴜᴍᴇ : han jisung had a boring college life , nothing exciting until he started to know you. You were like a drug and he quickly got addicted. ]

Jisung’s life is very boring , no family , no friends, no girlfriend , no special skill , nothing exciting . You were probably the only good human interaction he had in all of his college years , a young beautiful student , third year in college , very lovely with him. He thought you were interested in him , but , you only came up to him because of some activities that your teacher told every new student to do, like asking older classes about their college experience and some other things.

After you’ve talked to him , he was smiling all day his heart was beating fast , he couldn’t stop thinking about you . Han tried to get closer to you , but each time he did ,it was too short , too fast for him . I mean, of course , he is in his last year of college and you’re in your third year , the schedules are so different . But jisung found another way to stay close to you , the difference is ; you’re not aware . As weird and creepy as it sounds , he thinks that it’s not a big deal because he’s not hurting you ...

Han’s life was boring and lifeless , so devoting his free time entirely to you wouldn’t be really bothering .

After stalking you on social media and tracking you down from time to time , he decided that owning something from you would be a great form of reward .

Today was the day when he finished classes an hour sooner than you. Which gave him the time to get to your dorm . As soon as his classes ended he hurried to get there , he had no one to wait for and no one to wait for him .

His heartbeat got really fast but he was confident anyway , the doors could get unlocked with a 4 digits code , Han sometimes followed you when you get back to your room so he already had the code fully memorised in his head .

Quietly and surely , jisung stepped into your little home , penetrating your personal space without you knowing anything. He was very quiet and careful with the noise, the walls were pretty thin and no one was supposed to be here .

With his bag still on his back, Han bends down to take off his shoes leaving them almost right in front of the door and then rush to find out where your room is .

He found it pretty quickly after opening a random door, everything looks so nice. It smells good , everything is cleaned and pretty just like jisung would have imagined. Han stepped inside and wondered about what he was doing , wasn’t it a little too much ? Was he crossing a line ? Why would he do something you clearly would dislike if he likes you so much ? Too much question came to himself and he decided to answer none, the bad has already been done , he’s here already, he can’t step back after coming this far...

He shook his head trying to clear his mind and searched your room to finally open your closet . The first thing that came to his mind were your underwear. Jisung loved to imagine you in cute lingerie and even just basic underwear it would turn him on like crazy and would get him a boner randomly in class . As soon as he opened the closet ,he opened random drawers in hope to find what he’s looking for. Jisung let out an audible gasp when he found laced black underwear, his heartbeat got faster and faster imagining you wearing those , just for him . He took them in his hands and slowly observed them , watching every single details. Curious , he wondered what they would smell like , he could feel his sanity slowly leaving his body and mind not caring about anything anymore. Han took them in one hand and brings them up to his nose , he practically inhaled In them, appreciating the good scent they had. Jisung quickly got carried away , instead of heading back to his home and living your dorm before you came , he took off his own underwear and pants down to his thighs and masturbated with your piece of clothes. He shifts between putting the underwear on his pink tip and down his nose ,thrusting up to get himself off, he immediately set a high pace because of how excited he was. The adrenaline of sneaking in your dorm was already getting him sick but having an underwear you probably wear not so long ago got him really rilled up.

Little did he know , you had a test on this last hour and you could leave earlier if you finished before the bell rings. Which happened, you were so happy, the test wasn’t as difficult as you thought which resulted in you completing it pretty quickly. With a smile on your face you headed back to your dorm, happy to finally getting to rest after this day that seemed so long. You instantly perceive a pair of shoes that were totally unfamiliar to you , they look like a man’s. No one even came here and you don’t have any pair looking like this one. It triggered something in you, someone is in your home without your consent and is probably dangerous. With your body starting slowly to shake out of fear, you tried your best to be quiet and got to the kitchen to get a knife. Your hearing wasn’t the best but wasn’t bad either, you could hear some sounds coming out of the direction of your bedroom. Someone is definitely there. Slowly and on your tiptoes you walked to your bedroom scared to life and wanting to get that stranger out of your home.

Your hands seemed to start trembling but your grip on your knife was tight enough so you were sure you wouldn’t drop it .

The steps you took were small because you were nervous but you still were getting more closer and closer to your room. The door was slightly open , not completely but not closed either which allowed who to take a peek of who was inside. You moved forward until your shoulder was touching the door, you stopped breathing and focused. But your grip on the knife loosened and you dropped it, the sound of the knife dropping on the floor scared you so you immediately screamed, Jisung was as scared as you, he knew when he heard the sudden noise that it could only be you that was there. You glanced at the person that you soon identified to be Han jisung , he was almost naked , you could see his private parts and your closet was open with panties dropped to his side , you understood what he was doing and panicked. He definitely knew you were there now. While you were almost paralysed with fear, he hurried to put his pants back on as nothing happened. Your thoughts were tangled you couldn’t understand a lot and everything got exhausting and stressful at the same time really quickly. You saw him struggling to get up and trying to get to you so you started screaming in case someone was passing by and could hear you and save you , which would probably not happen . Han was quick to put his hand on your mouth to shut you up , you got disgusted and scared and told him «You’re a dirty and disgusting pervert get off me! » you screamed fear and total honesty. Jisung get surprised at your words and got mad. He loves you so much and care about you but instead you just think of him like a disgusting being. He lets you go for a second to get the panties and immediately shove them in your mouth roughly making you gag a little. « Who’s the dirty and disgusting now huh ? Try and talk with those cum filled underwear of yours in your mouth. » he said laughing at you and how dumb you looked.

« I wonder how you actually taste down there » he smirked and touched you from your breast down to your covered pussy only hearing muffled screams coming out of your mouth. Han sweared he could’ve cum right there just by feeling your intimate parts up in his hands. He bite his lips and pressed his hand harder on your clit giggling at your face with the wide eyes you just gave him. « Let me show you how good I can make you feel baby » jisung said his voice full of sincerity and looking at you eyes full of lust.

You shook your head left and right knowing that the words that would come out if you tried to talk would be incomprehensible. He smirked and told you « I know you act like you don’t want it because you’re scared but I want to taste you anyway ». He noticed that you two were still standing next to your room’s door so he grabbed you by the arm and forced you to go with him on the bed. Jisung then brabbed the top of your bottoms and slide them down to your ankles leaving you completely exposed to him. You tried and shook you legs to hit him and maybe get away but he was way stronger that you and you probably wouldn’t be able to go past your bedroom’s door anyway. Han smacked your thighs and seized your ankles to spread your legs and force them open, he laughed pridefully when he got a clear glance of your vagina, he could only imagine it before but now he surely won’t have to anymore.

Jisung grabs you by the thighs and dives in. His tongue teased over your clit, stopping occasionally to suck on it wanting to hear the girl he’s obsessed with scream his name. Your moans and cries were muffled by the underwear, but Han could hear them well enough to think that you were enjoying what he was giving to you. He was tasting you and feeling you get wet against your will.

You were extremely ashamed of yourself even though it wasn’t your fault but you felt the pleasure building up and your high getting closer as jisung was licking and kissing your private parts. He could probably tell. While you cried louder hitting your high jisung looked at you smirking , he looked at you in the eyes and continued to eat you out , overstimulating you. It hurts really bad, you knew you were sensitive and hoped he would’ve stopped sooner just Han just wouldn’t. He enjoyed receiving a reaction from you whether it would be a good reaction or a bad reaction, as long as he has your attention he is happy. Seeing you squirm around and try to get him get away from you was enjoyable for him. But you really hated it his tongue kept circling around your clit were it hurts the most when you were overstimulated.

Jisung got worried someone may hear you two so he added a hand over your mouth considering that the piece of clothing wasn’t enough anymore .

« Are you ready for my cock sweetheart ? » han said in a mocking tone , knowing you couldn’t answer. You tried to scream again in hope that someone would come but he got up and leaned it your ears to warn you « You better keep your voice low or the disgusting guy like you said isn’t going to treat you so nicely anymore », you could feel his hot breath tingling your ears as the words came out. Nicely ? That was nicely ?

Han got back up and said in a normal tone of voice « I hope I’m your first, I want to be a special someone for you, because you’re very special to me ». You almost wanted to throw up hearing him acting as he love you after he did all of this mess. You looked at him in the eyes in a very derogatory way that he didn’t quite enjoy. « Alright » jisung sighed.

His cock was already out and firm. Tears were rolling down your eyes again crying and choking on your own spit. He took his hard and leaking cock in his hands and slid it up and down your pussy moaning and feeling your wetness mixed with his saliva. He entered you and stretched your pussy out earning a gasp from you. To test and by curiousness of your reaction, he immediately set a high pace that got you to scream, breathing was already hard with that thing in your mouth but it now became harder as you couldn’t catch up with him. It made your boobs move in a way he loved, so to not keep his hands empty he grabbed them liking the pleased feeling of your hard nipples against his palms.

Jisung loved fucking you so much it could become a drug to him, he’s already addicted to you anyway.

You didn’t even tried to fight him anymore your whole body felt numb and every single one of your muscles aches.

When he felt his high coming, the stalker pulled out, he grabbed his dick in his right hand and jerked off in front of you rapidly, throwing his head back hissing and moaning your name until thick white fluid came out and landed on your breast. Decorating and marking you in his own way.

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shyestofhearts · 3 years

Note

Hi Shy~

Sooo, I have this headcanon that Damian is like this wonderful child prodigy genius. Like, super smart. So smart, that when Bruce tries to enroll him in Gotham academy, they tell him that Damian has tests for college level. Which, Damian just rolls his eyes at, because duh. After discussing it with professionals and yada yada, Damian gets enrolled into college. He’s like, twelve-ish. He is STILL bored in class, and knows most of the information they are trying to teach. His advisor is so sweet and invested into Damian though. And observant. After noticing Damian lack of enthusiasm, he asks Damian what the problem. Nothing interests him, none of his classes.this advisor is an old timer, in my opinion, and has seen so many kids pushed to do things they never wanted to do, and decides he can’t let that happen with Damian. So the Advisor pulls out every department, every major, and goes through it with Damian. After a few hours, because it takes a while to convince Damian that it is alright to do anything he wants, Damian has his majors narrowed down to a few things. Art and pre-med. Damian’s advisor suggests he visit a few of the clubs on campus to really get a feel of what he wants. Thing is, even after going to the students’ art club gallery and one of the pre-med club meetings, neither really speak to him. It’s a Saturday night, and he’s alone on campus. Damian is about to call Alfred, when a student from Damian’s organic chemistry class spots him.

“Damian!” Jace, a slightly round student with soft curly hair smiles at Damian. “Are you here for the show?”

“Show?” Damian scowls?

“Yeah, the fashion show. This year’s theme is sustainability,” Jace smiles. They one of the few people who never ogled at Damian for being a Wayne or looked down on him for his age. They are just genuinely nice, and Damian knows that.

“I didn’t know we had a fashion show,”

“Really? I swear I thought I mentioned it,” Jace says, surprised. Jace may have mentioned that, but Damian probably was zoned out during the time.“Tickets are $15, if you wanna come”

“Oh,” Damian frowns, “I used all the money I brought with me for the art gallery and lunch earlier,” He says, cursing internally for not bringing more cash with him.

“If you want to go, I’ll cover you.” Jace smiles, “Think of it as payment for help on our last exam” Damian would usually say no, but Jace is just so nice,

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Besides,” Jace smiles, turning towards the stadium, “I have a feeling you’re going to love it”

And Damian did love it. The designs were amazing, some more haute couture while others were casual, and each designer explained how their designs involved sustainability. Some were statement pieces, designed to address political issues, others were just to demonstrate that sustainability could still be cute, and while others highlighted affordability and sustainability.

Damian wanted to do this. Running through his head were endless possibilities. Perhaps he can enlist the help of Poison Ivy to create a vegan leather that was also bullet resistant, or…

The next Monday he is waiting for his advisor at 7 in the morning, because he spent the rest of the weekend coming up with ideas, sketches, creating a portfolio, and practicing hypothetical arguments as to why Damian should go into fashion. At 7:15 his advisor sees him, and can tell by the light in Damian’s eyes, determination on his face, and the way he’s clutching his sketchbook, Damian has found it.

“I want into the fashion program!” Damian all but bursts, unconsciously on his tippy toes in excitement.

“Okay,” His advisor smiles, ushering him into his office. “Let’s make it happen”

“Just like that?” Damian asks, eyes wide, voice surprisingly small. His advisor smiles at him kindly.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen.”

It takes a bit before Damian can actually get into the program, he has to work on some prerequisites, and also create a better portfolio with samples, but Damian is determined. By the end of the school year, he has been accepted.

Damian doesn’t tell his family, not in the beginning. He actually doesn’t want to tell his friends either, unsure of how they’d react. He is still insecure, and just entering his teen years. He worries about what any or everyone will say. Eventually, though he tells Jon and Colin, swearing them to secrecy. They both are excited for him, asking if he’d design their costumes for them. Damian blushes but says,

“Tt, like you can afford me”

He eventually tells Alfred as well, because he needs help learning how to use a sewing machine, and fast. Sure, he can stitch someone up flawlessly, but sewing machines weren’t part of the League’s lessons. Alfred is in charge of the one at the Manor, so it only makes sense to ask him. Even so, Damian is reluctant. When he does finally ask, he nearly gives himself an attack, worrying about being scolded for not using his “full potential”. Alfred simply squeezes Damian’s shoulder, and agrees with a kind smile. The young Master finally seemed passionate about something besides vigilante work and violence. Alfred would do everything in his power to foster that.

“Just,” Damian looks down, hands clenching into fists at his side, “Do not tell the others. I would prefer this between us,” He looks at Alfred, unsuccessfully trying to hide the vulnerability in his wide emerald eyes. Alfred agrees, for now. On the conditions that Damian would have to tell his father and siblings himself, and not to far in the future either.

Damian impresses everyone with his designs, and people learn he is actually quite adorable when he’s doing something he enjoys. His classmates and professors encourage him to join the fall fashion show, which is covering “multiculturalism and the media”. Damian hesitantly agrees, though he has been making designs since the theme was announced. His room is full of crumbled paper on his floor, designs he deigned not good enough. Many of his designs are heavily influenced by his Arab culture, but he also has some Chinese-influenced designs as well. His statement piece is the hardest to get right. It involves a hijab and beautiful colors, but he just can’t get the right patter. Ripping another page and crumpling it,Damian is too concentrated to realized Tim and Dick have been creeping into his room.

“What’s this Dames?” Dick asks, startling Damian, as he looks at some of the rejected designs. Panic makes Damian defensive as he yells at them to get out, frustration fueling the dread of his family seeing such unsatisfactory work. Tim flinches, shocked by the emotion coming off of Damian, rushing out with a few crumpled papers he snuck from the floor. Damian is literally trying to shove Dick out the door. Dick turns around, because he can hear the panic in his little brother’s voice. In his Robin’ voice. “Damian,” he says softly, easily deflecting Damian. “It’s okay,” he says, wrapping his arms around Damian, reversing the situation. “What’s wrong, why are you reacting like this?” After a few minutes of struggling, Damian gives up. Slowly,he explains the situation, how he’s in the fashion program and the fashion show coming up, all the pressure to do well, the frustration of not having his statement piece yet. Dick listens, his hold turning into a hug. “From what I’ve seen,” Dick says softly, “these are all wonderful designs,Dami. Whatever you end up making will look amazing, if they look anything like your sketches.”

“It’s not enough!” Damian complains, eyes burning, but he refuses to cry. “You don’t understand!” He says, frustrated.

“Then explain it to me, why is this so important?”

“Because it is about me!” Damian’s voice cracks ask he turns away rosiness his eyes harshly. “When I was introduced to the public, as “Bruce Wayne’s biological son”, do you not remember how the newspapers reacted? They didn’t know me, or my mother, but because—because of my skin, the country I was born, I was mistrusted. Scorned. Yeah, maybe I’ve killed people, but that isn’t because of my skin color or my culture or the language I speak. I have this opportunity to speak out against that!” Damian turns to look at Dick, “I’ve tried to become better, to do better. It’s hard and unfair that none of that matters, because guests are invited to galas hosted in the house that I live in, only to make snide racist comments about “nukes” or the desert or bombs whenever Father and you all aren’t around me. How can I be better, when I’m not given the chance because people can’t see past my skin?” Dick wraps Damian into a tight hug, as wetness drips down Damian’s cheeks. “I’ve been here nearly four years—and it still happens” Damian whispers.

“Why didn’t you say anything Dami?”

“What could I say?” Damian whispers back,

“Bruce—”

“Invites these people because they are important to Wayne Enterprise.” He scoffs. “What could you do, especially if I have no proof?”

“Believe me, Damian,” Dick says seriously, pulling back to look into Damian’s eyes. “Bruce won’t invite anyone who’s racist or derogatory towards his children, back to a gala, let alone do business with him again.” He smiles a hard somewhat vicious smile. “I know because when I was first adopted, he did that for me” Damian’s eyes widen. “And if Bruce can’t defend you, you can bet your brothers will,” Damian looks unsure, but nods. “But I get it now. You’ve always used art to vent and express yourself. This design is something that would allow you to address what the media has done to and said about you.”

“It’s been,” Damian shrugs, looking down, “therapeutic. In a way I never imagined it would be.”

“Well, I think, whatever you end up designing will be amazing,” Dick smiles, and Damian looks up at the sincerity, giving his own smile smile in response. “And I expect an invitation to the fashion show!” He chuckles, causing Damian to blush. “And I bet the whole family would want to come as well,” Damian blushes, looking away once more.

“Tickets are $15 each, and available online,” Damian replies, making Dick belly laugh. “You can invite the others, if you’d like” Damian mumbles.

“Hmm,how ‘bout I invite the siblings while you invite your dad,” Damian grumbles, but agrees. “Great! Now, take a break. One night not designing won’t hurt you.” Dick says, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulder. ‘Might do you some good, in fact.”

Things get better after that, because after his talk with Dick, Damian gets an idea for his design. Ziba, a Persian student Damian met in his Literature class, agreed to be his model for his statement piece. She wore her hijab proudly, a solid black color, which helped with the down-to-business look the rest of the outfit screamed. Ziba’s makeup was beautiful, as Damian was putting the last touches on her. They both were quiet, nervous excitement pulsing through them both. Ziba had on white trousers that flared out a bit, to give an almost flowy feel, with black basic vegan leather square pointed toe mule flat accented by a silver buckle. Damian had made the top a cross between a tunic, a blazer, and a cape. It is white, and goes over a plain solid black turtleneck. Printed on both the buttoned blazer tunic top and the trousers are past racist articles written about Damian. In red graffiti styled letters sprayed across the news paper articles are phrases like “Lies” “Warped Perception” “Western POV” “Racist” “I was only 10”. The red paint matches the red lipstick Ziba is wearing.

Damian was nervous with his family in the audience, everyone including Alfred was there. Apparently Superman and Superboy were in attendance too, as civilians of course. Colin was there too. Damian had told his father about the fashion show, and was surprised to see how supportive he was about it. Of course that may have been the shock, as Damian had told him that morning before leaving for school. Bruce blinked, stood up and hugged Damian, before saying he couldn’t wait for the show.

Damian’s set is the last, ask the show is in alphabetical order according to last names. When it’s his turn, all of his model’s line up, and Damian is running around making sure everything is perfect. He hears the speaker introduce his collection, inviting Damian to join him on stage. Damian rushes out, brown cheeks turn red. Together they introduce all seven outfits of the collection one by one, as Damian describes his designs, the material, and the inspiration behind each one. When it get’s to Ziba’s turn, Damian’s nearly choked up. He manages to discuss this piece and it’s significance to him. At the end, Damian received a standing ovation from nearly everyone. Looking over at his family, he has to duck from hiding his flamed cheeks. All his siblings were cheering for him, while Bruce and Dick dab their eyes. Alfred has a proud look on his face, and Damian couldn’t have been happier.

He ends up getting second place, but also his own work room at the Manor. Damian begins selling his work after getting it patented (Tim demanded it), and is surprised when a number of orders are for the galas around Gotham. Dick told Bruce and the others about all the things Damian has been hearing at Galas, and they are justifiably angry. Duke begins chants of “Eat the Rich” every time he hears someone says something problematic about Damian, and that because Tim’s signal on who to take down next.

Damian’s designs become more widely popular as his family starts wearing them, as they love talking about it and how he uses sustainable methods and materials. This earns him big named clients, who start wearing Damian’s designs on the Red Carpet and premiers . Damian also likes to do work for charity, often donating dresses to high schoolers who cannot afford prom dresses or making clothes out of extra material to donate to shelters so people have clothes for job interviews and such.

(He also makes his pets clothes when he’s bored, so it’s normal to see Titus wearing a doggy hoodie with slits in it for his ears)

ANYWAYS, this is my headcanon lol

What do think about it?

—🧵🪡

Headcanon?? Bestie this a whole ass au!

As for my thoughts-

💳 💥💥 💳 💥💥💥 💳 💥💥💥💥

#shy's asks #sewing anon #anon #damian wayne #batfamily #batfam #dc comics #ANON PLEASE #ANON I LOVE THIS??#ANON IS A GENIUS #ITS LIKE 3AM AND IM BARELY COHERENT #BUT NOW I CANT STOP THINKING OF THIS AU #Anon I hope both sides of your pillow are cool tonight #I hope your blanket is softer that a cloud #long post

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phoebe-delia · 3 years

Note

For your asks, my darling. I would love a fic based on song 41, which both Harry and Draco will be this year on their birthday.

Emma, love, thank you so much for this prompt. I have waited to answer this in order to post it on Harry's birthday, which is why there's been a delay, but I'm impulsive enough to post it a little early.

Song 41 is "Infinity" by One Direction. Listening to the part where the bass drops, especially while driving on the highway, is the biggest serotonin boost. 10/10 recommend.

Anyway, I tried to capture the feeling of the song in this fic. I was semi-inspired by the incredible "Running On Air" by @tinyhistory. Thank you to @nv-md for the very helpful beta. Enjoy!

Also if you wanna read a piece similar to this, check out this fic.

Sometimes I talk to Granger.

Well, allow me to rephrase. I don’t talk to her, as much as she sort of talks at me whilst I try to process her extensive knowledge. Was she always like this? Actually, don’t answer that.

Anyway, Granger has been rather helpful. One of the facts I was able to absorb from her ranting was that, according to Muggle science, energy can neither be created nor destroyed. It can change forms, can be converted and shaped into something other than what it once was, but it is constant.

It’s similar to magic. Magic cannot be created, nor destroyed. It is, after all, a form of energy. You can destroy magical objects--you know that better than perhaps anyone--but the magic within cannot cease to exist.

For example, I know you were in Diagon Alley sometime before you left. You sat at that bench outside Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and you probably cast a cushioning charm. The people who go and sit on that bench and cast their own spells have no idea that they’re sitting on the last known traces of the Boy Who Lived’s magic in all of London. That spell you cast five years ago still lingers.

The point is, magic can be purposeless, and yet it has the audacity to remain.

I imagine you can relate, assuming you’ve decided to continue your own existence.

I sincerely hope you are; existing, that is. Others have given up hope. I’ve read every theory printed in the Prophet. Some say you’re off living as a Muggle, and some believe you’re still here and walking around under your Invisibility Cloak. Others have presumed you to be dead. Granger and Weasley tell me you’d enjoy the way the media is largely ignoring you now, aside from publishing any random claim of having spotted you somewhere.

I used to think that you adored the attention of the press. But then again, I used to believe a lot of things; you convinced me I was wrong about nearly every one of them.

For example, I once thought I’d be an up-and-coming political figure; the youngest Wizengamot member in a century, heading several charitable organizations and waving off speculation of a campaign for Minister.

But now, I spend my days in my Junior Auror office, which is blessedly empty since no one wanted to work with the former Death Eater. Solitude suits me just fine, a sentiment which, I would wager, you share. Funny, how we are connected by a tolerance, or even enjoyment, of isolation.

As part of my social reparations of the war--combined with the usual hazing endured by all Aurors fresh from training--I am given nothing but unwanted cold cases. You see, when the Boy Who Lived Twice goes missing it’s the kind of story that feeds the symbiotic relationship between law enforcement and the press. But after a while, even the Golden Boy’s whereabouts are less interesting than the newest scandal or criminal operation, fresh chum to the circling sharks.

Still, you’ll never be irrelevant enough to be forgotten. That gaudy statue of you still stands in the middle of the Ministry atrium for all to see, your 17-year-old self immortalized in the very pose you had when you saved the world.

I wonder whether Robards thought he was torturing me by giving me your case; perhaps he decided it would be a proper punishment for me to spend my days looking at your scarred face in your file and coming up with ways to find you. If I succeeded, I’d be helping a former rival; if I failed, I’d be proving all their assumptions that I’m either nefarious or rich and lazy, take your pick.

I do things now, like talk to Granger and spend late nights hunched over my isolated desk and get excited about Muggle scientific theory because I refuse to believe that your case is cold--not when the warmth of your magic clings to a bench in Diagon.

Sometimes, when it’s been a particularly long and stressful day of searching for you, I go and sit on that bench, just to feel your magic, to remember that you exist. The Prophet headlines will fade; statues lose their shine.

But your magic cannot be created or destroyed, it simply is.

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #drarry ficlet #draco and harry #harry and draco #songfic #drarry squad #phoebedelia

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livexdolan · 3 years

Note

40 & 70 with gray? :)

40. "Thought I told you to stay by my side, eh?" & 70. “You know what? Never-mind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

Masterlist

Whenever people found out who your best friend was- you knew they were trying to keep from laughing in your face. If he weren’t standing right next to you when you told people, sometimes they would think you were lying.

You’ve been friends with Grayson Dolan for more than a decade, knowing each other since elementary school. By high school, you drifted apart socially but you still hung out at each other’s houses, played video games, helped him with projects, even decided to go to the same college.

You handled Grayson’s popularity in high school well and he handled your lack of popularity well. All you prayed was college would be different.

It wasn’t.

Grayson decided to join Theta Xi, known to be the biggest pothead frat but also the best partiers. You told Grayson that maybe your friendship wasn’t going to work out, this was the sign. Grayson argued with you and spent weeks proving the frat would never change him.

Three years and a presidency later, he had changed. Yet for some reason, she stayed.

Well, she knew the reason, she’s been in love with him since the first time they kissed. It was on a rock in the forest behind his house, they were 16 and 17 and he had just learned no one had ever kissed her before.

After that, she knew she had to stay in his life even though she wasn’t his type at all and he had never given her any reason to believe he was interested in her as more than a friend.

Now, she’s cursing at the way she always get blindsided when it comes to Grayson. He talks her into the stupidest shit because he asks her in ways that she doesn’t realize what she’s getting into but by the time she finally realizes, it’s too late to back out.

Like right now, leaning against the counter in one of the kitchens. The frat house was split into four quads downstairs and two quads upstairs. Each quad has two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a small living space, which all lead out into the main, large room of the house where the main part of the party is happening.

She could still hear the music thumping beneath her feet, she was upstairs in the ‘off-limits’ quad. It was Grayson, Ethan, Ryan, and Mando’s rooms up here.

Grayson’s the president, E’s vp, Ryan’s in charge of everything grayson doesn’t want to deal with but his official title is treasurer, and Mando’s in charge of all things social media for the frat.

I’m in Ethan and Grayson’s kitchen, the cleanliness not surprising seeing as Ethans girlfriend pretty much lives with them at this point. I always try to clean up Grayson’s room and bathroom when I’m over, the OCD type A freak in me hates seeing his books everywhere, trash cans full of bottles, laundry piled in the corner.

It’s not like that most of the time though, that only happens on his bad weeks. Those are the weeks when he falls into this funk and only talks to me and Ethan. We all give him space because we know why it’s happening, they started right after their dad died.

Mr. Dolan dying was so hard on everyone. My family included. My dad wasn’t a very stand-up guy, and Mr. Dolan always made me feel welcome and was the kind of dad I always imagined my dad to be.

“Thought I told you to stay by my side, eh?" I jump at the deep voice, turning to see Grayson standing in the doorway, looking like an angel committing a sin by looking so hot.

He has on a pair of slacks and a loose, silk shirt, the pattern almost matching Ethans. The theme for the night was Coachella. Even if we were many states away and most of the people here couldn’t afford to even look at Coachella tickets.

I let him talk me into coming, wearing a knit triangle bralette top and off-white shorts Grayson picked out, I just realized my shorts match his pants perfectly.

I quirk my eyebrow at him and cross my arms, “I’m sorry, did I leave you to play beer pong?”

He smiles at me and I want to slap it off his face- or kiss it off- either is fine with me, “I’m sorry, angel. Just come back down and enjoy the rest of the party with me, I won’t ditch you again, I promise.”

Grayson’s always done his hardest to keep ever promise he’s told me, so I push off the counter, my entire hard-ass demeanor falling away and my normal, shy and reserved self takes it’s place. He grabs my hand and I try to ignore the pleasure I get from feeling his warmth on mine.

He pulls me towards the stairs and then we walk down together, me slightly behind him. He abruptly stops and I bump into him, cursing at him but he squeezes my hand, silently telling me to shut up.

I look over in time to see Dylan here, with McKenna. Dylan was my first boyfriend, though we’re only kissed and cuddled, I thought we were serious. Until I found out he had been sleeping with my dorm mate the entire time. That was freshman year, I should be over it. I am over it, but the look Grayson gives me tells me I don’t look as though I’m over it.

“C’mon.” Grayson pushes us through the crowd, keeping us out of the line of sight of my ex.

We duck into one of the quads and I realize too late- it’s the pot quad. The rooms filled with a thick haze, the slight soundproofing making the vibes much more calm and relaxing. There’s only a dozen or so people but I feel much better in here than out there. Even if I don’t smoke.

Someone passes Grayson a blunt and he takes a quick hit, “I feel like I should stay sober to make sure that asshole doesn’t even look at you,” I smile at Grayson’s protectiveness.

“I’m fine. It was a while ago, Gray. I’m over it,” I shrug. Maybe it would’ve hurt more if my heart didn’t belong to someone else.

I make a quick decision and go to take the blunt. Grayson pulls back, the weed out in the air where I can’t reach it, “What do you think you’re doing?”

He raises his brow and I scoff, rolling my eyes, “Give it to me, Grayson. I just want one hit.” He pulls back again when I try to reach out.

He just shakes his head and it feels like his patronizing a child, “this shits strong, angel. You can’t handle it.”

Something about the way he said it sends me back to a memory I forgot ever happened. After Dylan took me out for our five month, we went back to his place and we started making out. I tried to reach for his belt but he pulled away, telling me I wasn’t ready. Couldn’t handle it. That I was too immature and if I wanted it to be great, I should lose a little weight, because skinny girls have the best sex.

I snatch the blunt from Grayson, taking a hit before he can stop me. Fuck men. Fuck all men who think they know what I can and can’t handle. I think I inhaled to much because when I exhale I feel a heavy burn and a dry cough comes up my throat.

Grayson pats my back, “Angel-“

“Don’t.” I push his hand off me. Taking a deep breath, I see Grayson watching me closely. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. What is wrong with you tonight?” He asks me and I roll my eyes.

“You know what?” He looks at me expectantly and I sigh, “Never-mind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

He grabs my hand and takes me out of the small room, moving us through the crowd to the back porch- a large, glassed in room. There’s only a few people out here.

He grabs my arms, “what’s wrong, y/n? Is it Dylan? I’ll kick him out if you want. ”

I look up into his eyes, the sincerity there surprising me. Grayson’s always been so honest with me. It’s time I’m honest with him. I don’t know if weed works this fast or if it’s the beer I downed earlier but I decide to be honest with him, “No, it’s not Dylan. I wasn’t even that hurt when we broke up. That’s because- I uh- I like you, Gray. I’ve had a crush on you since eleventh grade. I want to be with you. I mean- with you with you. I want to wake up next to you and hold hands and kiss and hug and- I want you to love me as much as I love you.” I rant.

His hands fall off my arms and my eyes well up, knowing the thing I’ve always feared is about to happen. He’s rejecting me. “Y/n I- I care about you. So much. But I- this isn’t a good idea.”

His words break my heart and I keep my gaze on the ground, “Um- okay. Well, I’m gonna- I have to go.” I say, looking up at him and biting my lip to hold back tears.

I turn on my heel and practically run back into the main room, trying to get out of this house as quickly as possible, “Y/n! Come back! Wait!” I hear Grayson’s voice and the tears start to fall, I push through the crowd faster, when someone grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Y/n?” I look up at Dylan, standing with McKenna. His eyebrows furrow when he sees me crying.

“Let me go,” I state, trying to get my arm out of his tight grip.

“What’s wrong? Who-“ he stops when he sees someone behind me, “Of course it was you. You’re such an asshole. What did you do to her?” He demands and I finally get my arm away from him.

Turning to see Grayson with rage in his eyes. He never got over Dylan cheating on me, “I didn’t do anything to her. You’re the piece of shit who cheated on y/n. How dare you come into my house and accuse me of hurting my best friend?” Grayson spits and I grab his arm out of instinct as he lurches forward.

“Gray, stop.” I say, he looks away from Dylan’s smirk to make eye contact with me for only a second before shrugging my hand off him.

“Yeah, Gray. Listen to your girlfriend. Don’t wanna embarrass you in your house, right?” Dylan mocks and I roll my eyes, knowing he’s just trying to rile Grayson up.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” the words are out of his mouth so quick, I don’t even realize what he said at first. I scoff and roll my eyes.

Because this is the time to correct him. You know what, “Fuck you.” I spit at Grayson and push my way out of the small circle forming around us. I make it to the front door when I hear a loud crack, looking back to see Dylan on the ground holding his nose and Grayson looking for me in the crowd.

We make eye contact and I shake my head, knowing this is the end of us. I open the door and slip out, running down the road, passing all the other fraternity houses. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears but I keep pushing myself until I get to my apartment, knowing it’s only a mile or so.

Once I get inside I slide down the door, leaning against it as I realize that happy ever afters are fake. The person you love isn’t always going to love you back. Fuck fairytales.

It’s not like I can hate Grayson- he didn’t know. I can hate him for not chasing me. He probably realized I’m not worth it. Best friends don’t run after each other, right? If he loved me, he wouldn’t have let Dylan get to him. He would’ve grabbed me and made me stay.

Tears fall down my face unrestrained as my heart clenches at the thought of never being friends with Grayson again. We’ve gone through death, high school, years of people trying to pull us apart, and I was able to ruin our friendship with three words.

If it was meant to be, he would’ve fought for me. Figuratively, not physically, seeing as he already punched someone tonight. I drag myself to my room and fell into the blankets, closing my eyes. I pray I will forget this night ever happened.

Next Part...

A/n: For all my people who didn’t get their fairy tale ending ❤️

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lokeanwelcomingcommittee · 3 years

Note

I have a question. I've been watching Lokis film (marvel movies) and i really loved Lokis character. I don't know why others call him evil. I really loved him. I wanted to know does real loki and marvel loki related to each other? And i really want to talk or meet real one . Is this possible? Even i don't have an spacial religion can i still be in contact with loki and talk to him?

Hi Nonny,

I admire your enthusiasm, and I know you probably didn't intend to be offensive in any way, but please take a step back for a moment and think about how this comes across.

In a hypothetical scenario where you had zero background in Christianity, could you see yourself going to a Christian after binging Good Omens and saying, "Hey, that Aziraphale guy was pretty cool in Good Omens! I've done no further research and have no intention of becoming a Christian, but would it be okay if I prayed to one of your holy figures?" Yes, I am aware that Aziraphale doesn't actually exist in Christianity, but that's the point. Without researching the actual religion, you wouldn't know!

If you wouldn't do this, why do you consider it okay here? Is it because you see our faith as less serious or less real? If so, why do you want to interact with one of our gods in the first place?

If you actually would, can you maybe see how self-centered this view of religion is? How maybe taking people's sincerely held beliefs, conflating them with comedic works of fiction, and asking them for access to their sacred rites without any obligation to follow their traditions or honor their sacredness might be rude?

The MCU barely resembles actual Norse myth or Heathen religion at all. The character of Loki in the MCU barely resembles the Loki of Norse myth or Heathen religion, in terms of divine role or relationships with the other gods or even basic personality traits. Here's a post that lists some of the most glaring differences, but it's far from an exhaustive list.

To be clear, there's nothing wrong with first learning about Loki through the MCU or other pop culture. Most people do nowadays. There's also nothing wrong with being a Marvel fan and worshiping Loki, in the same way there are plenty of Christians who enjoy Good Omens and Dogma and The Life of Brian. Most people are able to separate religion from fictional works loosely based on religion. It's just that if you take those pieces of media and treat them as an introduction to the actual faith, you're going to get a very, very wrong picture.

And I absolutely do encourage you to get a more accurate picture! But for both your sake and the sake of people you interact with, it's important to go in with the mindset that this is and was people's actual religion. And it's important to go in with the mindset that this is a god.

Whether or not you intend to convert to a new religion, the sort of spirit work your ask suggests you're looking to undertake pretty much inevitably will alter your beliefs and perception of reality. (And not even necessarily in a theistic direction.) This almost always causes an existential crisis. The work is, in fact, more or less intended to do that! It may severely negatively impact your mental health in a lot of other ways. Whether or not you believe any actual metaphysical forces are involved, the psychological buttons these techniques are deliberately pressing in order to induce altered states are very real.

There's are reasons initiations exist in many mystical traditions, and reasons clergy and spirit workers generally require a training period working with more experienced practitioners, and one of them is that having support while grappling with this stuff is really important. Even in the best case scenario, it's a whole lot of hard work and emotional struggle.

People find the work worth it, or they wouldn't do it. I'm not trying to scare you away if it's something you genuinely want. But for your own wellbeing it's important to understand the gravity here. This is not the kind of thing you pick up for fun on a whim purely because you stan a character in a superhero franchise.

If you would still know yet more, we have a reading list where you can find more on the myths involving Loki and modern Heathen spirituality. We also have an FAQ that covers the basics of building your own practice--including, yes, an introduction to communicating with Loki (in ways that don't require deliberately entering an altered state) and discerning whether to give that communication any more weight than you would typically give your own imagination speaking to you.

I genuinely do wish you a fruitful spiritual journey, wherever it may lead, and apologize if this post comes across as overly harsh. It's just that not addressing this stuff and giving you an unqualified green light would ultimately have been doing you a disservice.

- Mod E

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pip-n-flinx · 3 years

Text

On Creativity

So I’ll probably be updating this a couple of times, but I spent nearly 2 hours with a friend debating the nature or definition of creativity. It’ll be difficult to get all this in text, but I’m going to do my best because I think thinking is so important my lord. I promise, if you follow along you’ll find that some beans, and some beans, is four.

Old Blackadder jokes aside, I recently participated in a survey on creativity. I was so angry about the methods and assumptions that after spending maybe 2-3 minutes on this online survey I ranted at length to one of my best friends.

The Impetus:

The TL;DR for the survey was input 10 nouns, and get a score. The score measures how ‘creative’ you were in thinking of your nouns. It’s a word association game, where the fewer associations the study could draw between the nouns, the higher your score and the more ‘creative’ a participant was judged as being. But see, here’s where I think that breaks down - ignoring the hidden algorithm and apparent data-set of connections the survey claimed when calculating this inverse relationship - I don’t think creativity has anything to do with originality.

What do you think of when you think about creativity? What is creative? What does a creative person do? According to Merriam Webster: the ability to create. Most people might lean more towards the Oxford definition which reads as : the use of the imagination or original ideas, especially in the production of an artistic work. Or perhaps you prefer the dictionary.com version: the ability to transcend traditional ideas, rules, patterns, relationships, or the like, and to create meaningful new ideas, forms, methods, interpretations, etc.; originality, progressiveness, or imagination. Truth be told, I think MW is the closest. And I vehemently disagree with the following two.

Allow me to explain - creativity and productivity are two sides of the same coin. You don’t have to be original or unique to be creative, and anything you do that is purposed or fashioned to aid in your survival - here extended to include any activity that you get paid for - is productive. An artist who carves out time to write a novel they’ll never publish, a musician who wants nothing more than to jam in the basement with a friend, these people are being creative whether or not their work is original. Artists who sell their art or their time or their expertise are not inherently less original, or less artistic. Indeed, they aren’t even necessarily less creative than an artist whose art never earns a penny. They do however, spend time and energy making their art specifically for a market. They have to take time to carve out space in whatever market they inhabit. So they are spending more of their art-time being productive.

Let me be clear here: this isn’t a call against productivity, or art as a means to support oneself, or a condemnation of ‘selling out.’ If you enjoy doing something, I can scarcely fault you for seeking out ways to spend more time doing it. That can be hard when you also have to secure the basic necessities of life. Furthermore, I don’t want to lionize either productivity or creativity. I think wanting to better yourself, or secure food or safety for yourself or a loved one, is a laudable goal. I think this very human urge is the seat of productivity. On the other hand, to do things for no other goal than the pleasure of doing them, the hedonism and joy of simply being, should not be demonized. Surely if were to be purely ascetic we would never know soul food, or barbeque, or sushi, or coffee or tea, beer or wine, cake or pie.... Rarely do we do anything for purely creative or purely productive ends. For as sure as bread brings nourishment it warms the heart.

So when a hipster tells you their favorite artist sold out to the record label, or a critique calls a piece gauche and derivative, they are commenting on a real change in behaviour. Usually, the reasons they give are rationalizations or worse baseless attacks on a stranger’s character. Rarely are we actually upset that our favourite band is releasing music with more time and effort and polish in it’s production or recording, for instance. It’s impossible to pin down, but if you go from being a creative artist to trying to make a career of your art, or even just trying to earn some money freelancing, you are allocating time and energy to the productive part of the process - talking to patrons and commissioners, managing social media, networking, etc. - and that time and energy both must come from somewhere. This doesn’t necessarily mean you spend less time on creative endeavours, but if you aren’t then you must be pulling the time/energy for productivity from other productive behaviours.

This is the shift that I think young artists/musicians/actors struggle most with. ‘Get a job doing what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ What a load of BS. You will absolutely be working. And some of the freedom of the creative process will have to be turned over. Transitioning from loving music to studying music in college was one of the most heart-breaking things I ever had to do. The harder my professors pushed me to be better, the more time I spent practicing things I myself didn’t discover, the less I enjoyed my music.

I chose to study Jazz, out of all the fields of music, because I had this sense that jazz improvisation was more creative than playing in an orchestra. That the originality of inventing a melody on the fly was somehow more creative than playing a written part in an orchestra. This is simply not true. They are both acts of creation, of creativity. One takes marginally more originality, and one takes marginally more cooperation and teamwork.

Originality still relies on the constraints of the environment. You can’t break the mold if you can’t recognize it. You can’t bend the rules if you don’t understand the rules. As per the infamous Shakespeare quote “nothing new under the sun.” In any act of originality we still stand on the shoulders of those before us. When I was younger, it was always tempting to conflate originality or inspiration with creativity. I think it’s important now to move beyond that. They are different words, they mean different things, they might even influence one another, but they are not the same.

Take, for example, one of my college roommates. They worked all through highschool and college, trying to help support their family after an ugly divorce and then trying to move out and make their own way in the world. The weight of being constantly productive wore on them, and while they had been an honor student in a college prep program they simply dropped out of college before two years were up. For those formative years between the ages of about 14 and 20, Jess did not have time to be creative. All their energy was spent trying to ensure they had enough money for food or rent or utilities or whatever other mundane cost can be associated with living. I was by all measures a more creative person for 6+ years. Then Jess made time to do things for themself. Cosplay, the convention circuit, nights out at the bar or club. Jess was never less original than I was. Only ever less creative, and only then by force of habit. This does mean that people in marginalized groups are going to - on average - look less creative than those of us with privilege and the advantage of even minor inherited wealth.

Remember that, the next time someone tries to tell you you’re creativity is average.

Oh and fuck that survey it was garbage and what little they disclosed of their methods made fuck-all sense I sincerely hope that was a student project and the creator(s) have a chance to learn to do better later.

#long post #rant #creativity #linguisitics #I'm being pedantic but I swear the way we use and understand language is important

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kaitycole · 4 years

Text

you broke me first (part 2)

Summary: You and Oikawa dated all three years of high school, that is until he broke up with you out of nowhere. Then three years later, you open the door of Iwaizumi’s apartment to find Oikawa there.

Word Count: 2825

Rating: Angst. Pinning. Mentions of anxiety. Talks of a break-up

Pairing: OIkawa x Female Reader (past tense), Iwaizumi x Female Reader

A/N: Fingers crossed I’m capturing these guys right lol I think maybe it’ll have one more part, I'm not sure. Let me know your thoughts though!

Also, I’m thinking of having two different ending, let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Song Choice: you broke me first by Tate McRae

Tag List: @yatoatyourservice

When Iwa finally gets back to his apartment, Oikawa is sprawled out on the floor on his phone. Shaking his head, he simply walks passed him, grabbing two beers from the fridge. He just knows he’s gonna need some.

“Oi. Here.”

Oikawa takes the beer, clinking it against Iwa’s before taking a sip. While the two of you were gone, Oikawa practically dissected all the posts on both your social media profiles. He came up empty, either you weren’t dating or weren’t making it public. It’s driving him crazy to not know, while he wasn’t expecting you to be here, he’d be lying if he said seeing you didn’t stir something up inside him. Didn’t make him rethink the last three years, comparing them to the three you spend together.

“How long as you in town?”

“A week.” He makes eye contact with Iwa, “But I’ll find somewhere else tomorrow.” Iwa shakes his head in protest, “Just stay in the spare room.” “Is Y/N okay with that?” Oikawa raises an eyebrow, trying to see how he react; but he’s stoic as usual.

He nods, “As long as you don’t act like shittykawa, I’m sure things will be fine.”

A few beers later and Iwa’s phone goes off, he excuses himself to take it. Oikawa leans back on the couch, trying to not think about you but failing.

------

It was just like every other day, an early chilly morning before school. You and Oikawa were sitting on a bench close to the school, he had just finished up a brief practice. He enjoyed this time with you, before the campus filled with tons of students especially his “fan club”.

“Oh, I brought you something!”

“Oh really? What is it, princess?” You pulled out a small bag and handed it to him: milk bread.

“Y/N, you’re the best. I love you.”

Your face turned bright pink.

“Oh, I…uhm…well, no, I love you.” He shrugs, “Wasn’t how I was planning on telling you.”

It made your heart skip, he had been planning on telling you that he loves you. And instead of some grand gesture or in some super overthought way, your dork of a boyfriend told you after getting milk break.

“You are such a dork.” You pulled him close and kissed him, “I love you too.”

There had been great days in Oikawa’s life; most of them included volleyball, but this day topped all of them. He draped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head.

“Say it again?”

Your face turned even redder, it extended to the tops of your ears, “I love you, Toru.”

Oikawa could’ve died right there and he’d have been a happy man. You and volleyball are all he needed in life and luckily, he wouldn’t have to choose one over the other, right?

Two years and three months later, he had to choose one and it wasn’t you.

------

Iwa comes back into the living room, “That was Y/N. She’s back at her dorm.”

“When did she start calling you Hajime?” His voice is full of regret and Iwa instantly picks up on it; his heart sinking.

“I’m not really sure, sometime during our first year here I think.”

“You two are together, aren’t you?” Oikawa asks, not really wanting to hear the answer. His eyes are closed and he feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Yeah. We are.” Iwa rubs the back of his neck, he never intended to keep this from his best friend.

“How long?”

“Three months.” There were several days within those months that Iwa had dialed Oikawa’s number just to hang up or not bring it up. He wanted to tell him, there was nothing keeping him from it other than himself; there was just some mental block.

“Guess you picked up all the piece, eh?” Oikawa stands up, chugging the beer on the table before grabbing his bag. He tries to think of where he can go because he can’t stay here. He doesn’t want to hear about how Iwa was there to catch you when he had left.

“It wasn’t like that. We…she didn’t even talk to me that summer or the first few months of school.” Iwa hates thinking about how you were back then, remembering just how broken you were when Oikawa left.

“Then enlighten me.”

“You broke her, shattered her, destroyed her.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “You were it for her and when you just left she fell apart. I honestly thought she didn’t come to university until we had a class together the second part of our first year.”

When Oikawa first left, Iwa assumed you’d need a few days to adjust, but it was after a few weeks that he tried reaching out. You ignored him. He eventually swung by your job at a local convenient store, only to find out that you had quit. When he went to see you at home, your mom had been the one to tell him of the break-up and that you had gone to stay with your aunt in Tokyo for the summer.

Iwa sits down, elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. Oikawa drops his bag, he didn’t realize how hard the break-up had hit you. With him going abroad, he thought it’d be easier for you. Though it hadn’t been easier for him either.

“I felt horrible, she’d become my best friend through high school and there she was and I didn’t know the slightest thing about her anymore. So, I sat next to her, made study plans with her, invited her to meals; anything that I knew she’d agree to and not see as unnecessary like parties.” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Iwa tells Oikawa about how you’d practically jump each time your phone went off, praying that it was Oikawa. How you flinched every time someone brought up volleyball or when people would eagerly ask you if you knew Oikawa when they learned where you went to high school. Or that you missed two days of classes when she learned he had injured his bad knee again and that it was almost a year later when you actually gave Iwa a sincere smile and laugh.

Iwa doesn’t look up Oikawa as he recounts the last few years; part of him want his best friend to feel guilty and miserable, but the other part of him feels guilty for wanting that. He recalls the time when you called him first to make plans that didn’t include the library, studying or a lecture.

He laughs, “You know she came in here about a year and a half ago now, randomly telling me she hated all my furniture and over the next four months, she had completely redecorated the apartment.” Oikawa smirks, that sounded just like you.

Oikawa continues listening to Iwa. Learning that it may have taken you a bit longer than expected, but you learned to be happy again. That a day came where you could hear his name again without cringing and how one random night you brought up a memory of the three of you out of the blue. Oikawa isn’t sure if the ache in his chest is still from hearing about how you were or from the proud smile Iwa sports talking about you.

He stands up, once again picking up his bag before nodding his head towards the hallway. “I’m beat.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Iwa stands up, motioning his friend towards the guest room.

In three separate beds lay three individuals, minds all filled with a mix of worries, regrets, and memories. In the room at the end of the hall is Iwa, trying to convince himself that laying in the middle of the bed will prevent him from missing you. It’s been months since he’s slept alone; even before an official relationship, you slept in his apartment. It started by innocently crashing on the couch after a long day to Iwa saying you could keep a few things in the spare room until the start of your third year of university, about six months ago, when you found yourself in Iwa’s bed, cuddled to his side.

It’s not until his head hits the pillow that he finally realizes why he couldn’t tell Oikawa about the two of you; he never wanted Oikawa to think he liked you during high school. He didn’t want his best friend to try to tear apart every memory, wondering if Iwa had ever tried to sabotage the two of you. He didn’t want him feeling that all his advice through your relationship was in hopes to break you two up. Because that wasn’t the case, although he couldn’t pin point when he had fallen for you, he knew without a doubt that he didn’t look or think about you in that way during your time with Oikawa. All Iwa wanted in the world was for you and Oikawa to be happy.

Just down the hall, Oikawa finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed thinking about what Iwa has just told him. He didn’t want to imagine you the broke mess he learned you had been, it’s what got him through the last three years. It was the immature reason why when he got on the plane, he didn’t glance back. He falls back on the bed, his face in his hands as he lets out a groan. This isn’t what he expected when he came to visit, he thought he and Iwa would hang out, talk about old times, and just have a good time; seeing his ex-girlfriend aka the only girl he’s ever loved was not part of his plans.

He doesn’t like that Iwa was the one who helped you get through the break-up. He doesn’t like that you were completely destroyed. He doesn’t like that three years ago he took the coward’s way out and broke up with you. Seeing you just brought up all the feelings he’d been burying for these last few years, reminding him of all the reasons why the two of you fit together so well and why he fell in love with you. And he definitely doesn’t like feeling like he’s too late because all he wants is to beg for you back. He groans again, wanting for just a moment that he could turn off his thoughts.

Across the city you’re in your college dorm room, laying on the uncomfortable twin mattress that creaks every time you roll over to adjust. Even when you move as slowly as possible, it squeaks and you feel awful for your roommate; even though she’s assured you that she can’t hear a thing. Tonight isn’t going how you originally planned, you woke up this morning thinking that you’d spend the night at Iwa’s, wake up early to him cooking breakfast and then rush to campus to work on your project. But with the slight turn of events, you probably won’t eat until lunch and be early to your group project.

There’s a pit in your stomach, thinking back to the moment you opened the door to see your ex-boyfriend standing there; looking way too good for someone that you wanted to hate. You smack your hands to your face letting out a low groan as your mind wanders. You have worked so hard to get over Oikawa; to be able to breathe and live again after he just left you. His sun-tanned skin, soft brown eyes, all have your stomach in knots and you don’t realize just how long you’ve been holding your breath until your phone vibrates.

Oikawa: You awake? (2:34 am)

Oikawa: It’s Oikawa Toru (2:34 am)

Oikawa: I’m so sorry if you’re sleeping (2:35 am)

Your stomach twists more, surely this was a coincidence and not the universe sending you a sign, right?

Y/N: Did you just send your ex a ‘you up’ text? (2:39 am)

Y/N: Classily Toru (2:39 am)

He sharply inhales, the use of his first name leaves him shocked. All night you had avoided his name altogether, going to the lengths of talking to the wooden table, but here you were using his first name. He has two favorite sounds: a volleyball smacking his hand and the way you say his name, especially his first name. You stare at the text, mentally kicking yourself for the slip up, but it felt comfortable.

Oikawa: I didn’t mean it like that (2:41 am)

Oikawa: Just wanted to talk (2:41 am)

Your hands shake as your thumbs hover over where the J and D are located. Could you? Could you just talk to Oikawa? Act as if he didn’t carelessly toss everything in the closest airport trashcan as he walked towards his gate three years ago? Could you talk to him like you did back when you first met and had become friends? Before you have time to type anything, it buzzes again in your hand and your chest constricts.

Oikawa: I know this is three years late (2:45 am)

Oikawa: And this won’t mean much at all (2:45 am)

Oikawa: Wait, I’m going to call. Hold on (2:46 am)

His hands start to sweat, feeling clammy as he tries to calm his nerves. You start to slightly panic before practically jumping out of bed and rushing into the bathroom. The light blinds you momentarily and the door clicks shut just as his name pops up on your screen, your phone buzzing repeatedly.

Taking one last breath you swipe the screen, putting your phone to your ear, “Hello?

He picks up on the shakiness of your voice, hoping his will sound more still, “Hey.”

Your stomach is all but completely knotted up as his voice fills your mind. It’s soft, like it usually was right before school in the early mornings or when he answered the phone right after he woke up. But you pick up on how it shakes just like yours, wondering what has him so nervous.

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“It’s…” he cuts you off.

“Wait, please let me get this all out.”

You nod, instantly realizing he can’t see you.

“An apology won’t ever be enough for what I did. What I put you through. But I am so sorry.”

Tears gently fall down your face, you wanted those words for years. Dreamed about hearing him call and apologize, saying that he made a mistake. Here you were, squatting on the floor in your dorm bathroom at nearly 3 am getting exactly what you wanted all those years ago, but is it what you need now?

“I know and I forgive Toru.” You feel winded, wondering if you really did forgive him. You know that you did, you had years ago because it was once you did that you started to feel better.

There’s a wide smile on his face, “Thank you, Y/N. Could we maybe get together? To just catch up, that is.”

“I have a project tomorrow, but I’m free Sunday.” You bite your lip nervously, but feel your stomach untwist only to fill with butterflies? Are you allowed to get butterflies with an ex? Maybe they were more like moths.

“Sunday. It’s a date then.” He catches his words just as they leave him, he leans against the wall feeling like an idiot. You were dating his best friend, he needed to word things more carefully, he didn’t want to come between you and Iwa.

“Yeah. A date.” You don’t think twice about the term, it was just an expression.

What you also didn’t think twice about is that the room Oikawa is in shares a wall with Iwa’s. The exact wall that Oikawa is leaning up against and the same Iwa who heard just enough of the conversation to feel heartbroken.

This was part of the reason when he tried telling you where Oikawa had been planning to stay, he didn’t correct your when you said girlfriend even though he knew that wasn’t correct. He was going to stay with his sister, but his nephew was sick and he didn’t want to risk it. The same way Iwa didn’t want to risk giving Oikawa an in with you. He trusts you, more than anything, but that doesn’t stop his insecurities from creeping in convincing him that he’s not worthy of anything; especially not someone like you.

When he asked you if you were still okay with dating him, it was more for him than you. He needed to know that he hadn’t been some last stitch way for you to hold onto Oikawa. That you had picked him for him, you had picked Iwaizumi Hajime and not Iwa-chan Oikawa’s best friend. And now at 3:10 am, those same insecurities wrap around him as he can’t help but wonder if your relationship is on stolen time.

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