#she wants the world to understand her. so her powers are about changing reality to fit her perspective. but THEN

[cosmeii]

Heyyyyyy. It’s crk time again lol.

I think Sugar was being honest when she said she didn’t give a crap about the soul jam and only cared about Hollyberry. I think if the beasts, she would’ve ended up being the least threatening if she got her way (at least comparatively, like no world domination).

My reasoning for this has to do with the new costume! Sugar says that she has no use for the garden anymore and no longer cares for the happiness for other cookies. To put it bluntly: she only cares about Hollyberry’s happiness and that’s all. It makes me think Sugar would’ve only stretched her power to the Hollyberry kingdom, considering her big surprise to Hollyberry was transferring people over there.

Sugar is the epitome of sloth. She is the embodiment of escapism. So, to me at least, it wouldn’t make sense that she would go on this big conquest once she gets access to the other half of the soul jam. That would mean having to dig yourself knee-deep into reality, and if Sugar no longer cares for the happiness of other cookies she has no reason to stretch her garden’s influence. The world would continue onward as it was, albeit the Hollyberry kingdom vanished into thin air along with its royal family, with only an inkling of an idea as to what happened to it.

Which I find it a fun change of pace. Sugar understands that the only person to ever truly understand her and her feelings is Hollyberry. She knows this deep in her heart and that leads to her desperate love she can’t hope to let go. The soul jam was the problem, so why in the world would Sugar want it back? Why not, instead, try to ‘save’ the cookie trapped by its power? Surely, the cookie would understand her point of view.

it’s just fascinating and the Garden of Delights, honestly, is my favorite in soooo many aspects. I’m just a sucker for the cutesy horror (with so much biblical imagery, I wasn’t expecting soo much biblical imagery), the henchvictims that cater to her whim, the beast herself, and just everything. Like oh my goodness!!

[itsrlymine]

Ignoring Reality Makes No Sense When You Are Reality

Pay attention to the 3d because what you say about it tells you where you are in consciousness. If you know the outer world is based on your inner world, you don’t need to ignore it. If anything you should laugh bc Mrs. 3D really thought she was doing something like girl bye. 

This notion that you need to "ignore reality" in order to get what you want is wack asf and it pisses me off honestly. Why would you ignore reality when you are reality itself? When somebody calls you by your favorite nickname, are you gonna ignore them because you like that name or will you answer since it’s your name???? 

The 3d is a reflection of old and present thoughts and your state of awareness. How you respond internally is what determines what is happening externally. Change the meaning to what you “see” with your physical eyes and see with your mind’s eye that which you are now choosing to experience. Are you gonna ignore your sp, new money, house or car now bc they are in your 3d???

Your reality/3d only becomes real when you are getting what you want? Are you serious? Who told you that? You need to stop listening to that person. The 3d is you. So if reality isn't real, that means you aren't either boo. How can you be reading this post right now if the 3d isn't real?? Are you dreaming right now or something? Don't take people's advice just because they might be popular or get a lot of attention. Listen to what they say and actually see if it makes sense. Most of the times it doesn't. If you want to ignore reality, go ahead and ignore yourself for a week and see how that goes.

There were times people would tell me I couldn’t have something or do something because it’s too expensive or whatever and every time I’d respond back in my mind like “no wtf. It’s cheap asf actually.” I used this to lower my rent (somebody pays it for me now) and medications costs and ofc flights. Literally anything I want because I have come to understand that it’s just me. 

Similarly, it’s just you in your reality. The 3d is you and you shouldn’t fear it. Let it remind you of who you now are— the creator that has everything they want. Giving her power and trying to act like she isn’t there makes zero sense. Now that you have all your desires, are you gonna act like they are not real because you can “see” them in the 3d? No. That would be stupid and nonsensical.

[jabberwockprince]

I NEED to talk about this so bad so bad so bad I couldn't just scream in the replies because Eve is my favorite character to think about in the whole world, like???

she's so wonderfully flawed, complex and multifaceted, and her relationship with Zuke goes much more deep than "she's just jealous of Mayday"

it's the fact that Eve yearned for Zuke (or really, anyone) to COMPLETE her because she fully rejects a whole ass half of who she is - the PINK side, the one that is more aggressive judging by Mayday's side of the battle, the one that is stronger and more impactful, a color that is EXTREMELY hard to ignore which she loudly presents as EVE, not as Nadia (WHICH COULD. BE SOMETHING THAT SHE AND MAYDAY COULD BOND OVER. IM JUST. SAYING.)

As opposed to the WHITE side, that represents her quietest, most vulnerable and lonely parts, if the white room during her talk with Zuke is anything to go by. also the color she used to conceal her uniqueness when she was younger

so when Zuke finds someone who, instead of completing him, COMPLEMENTS him, it's obviously Eve's wost nightmare. Because this really showed that he could live without her, he could go on without her and she's still carrying him everywhere she goes. Her fucking JACKET is literally Zuke's hair shape and palette???? SHE HAS THE BROKEN HEART MADE OUT OF BOTTLES FROM WHEN THEY WERE IN COLLEGE???

when you go around exploring her district, you get THIS when interacting with a sculpture that's a bunch of hands

MAYDAY: Hmmm. Is this supposed to be symbolic of how grabby Eve is...? This is way too abstract for me to understand. ZUKE: It's a symbol of her lowest point in life, and how Eve felt helpless no matter what she did. I guess she stil can't let it go.

AND THEN HER BATTLE LEVEL IS FULL OF HANDS HANGING AROUND, HURTING AND GRABBING MAYDAY AND ZUKE. BECAUSE THIS MOMENT IS REALLY EVE'S WORST NIGHTMARE, to have the ONE person she's put on a pedestal come back to show how he replaced her with someone who doesn't EVEN come close to the level of artistic view she and Zuke share???

and we didn't even get into the fact that Eve sees herself as a stepping stone and a tool to be used by others, and it's shown so many many many times through her art it's PAINFUL

LIKE. there's the OBVIOUS chair moment, the fact that she directly says that a chair without a seater has no purpose - she has no purpose if she's not being perceived or adding anything to this world. she's not worthy of taking up space unless it's useful or meaningful to anyone in any way. LIKE YOU SAID IN THE REPLIES, EVERYTHING ABOUT HER SCREAMS "LOOK AT ME"???

And there's a LOT of art sculptures in her district that directly tell you how much she cares about the outside world - a lot of sculptures are to help with the flooding, some are to filter water, others are just to repay the kindness of those who supported her when she began her career. when Zuke abandons her, she immediately goes on to become an icon for those who struggle with similar issues.

it makes sense that she's Tatiana's right hand-woman because Tatiana embraces all of her, therefore she must repay the love and acceptance she received

and like. the extreme close up on Eve's eyes when Mayday tells her that Zuke is better than her? I always interpreted that as Eve's realization of. Zuke never needed her in the first place, she did.

the broken mirrors motifs in her battle are just. so important to me. because it really feels like Eve is looking at the whole world through a one way mirror, and she wants everyone to see what she sees, but there is a barrier and she REALLY cannot cross to fully connect with anyone - hence wanting to elevate others to her level instead

I think so much. about the fact that her hair falls over that specific white half, and how that correlates to Eve being both desperate to find genuine connection and at the same time, refusing to show vulnerability again.

The duality of her WHOLE character is so good??? she wants to put herself out there, to be perceived, so that those who are misunderstood like her can feel less lonely, she struggled so much with how the world saw her and perceived her throughout her entire life. but then she isolates herself through her art and uses the world's perception of herself, NSR's quirky diva, as a weapon when she feels threatened and continues to put up barriers and obstacles for those who want to genuinely connect or help??????

IM NOT EVEN DONE SORRY GUYS IM NOT DONE. BECAUSE THE ALBUM COVERS ARE SO GOOD FOR STORYTELLING TOO

in here, Eve's eyes are wide open and the mirror is cracked - because her perception of reality, the unique view she clinged onto that she wanted others to understand but also set her apart and made her lonely, has been shattered and challenged. there's that distinct separation between her two halves

BUT AFTER HER TALK WITH ZUKE???

THE PINK AND THE WHITE MIX TOGETHER. Like she's REALLY taking his words into consideration and coming to terms with accepting she doesn't need anyone to complete herself, she's enough on her own??? but it's still a very hard pillow to swallow, so her eyes are closed

OK I'LL SHUT UP NOW THANK YOU GOODBYE

Thinking about Zuke and Eve and her powers and his ability to always see her.

Yes, he can see her art, yes he can understand it to an admirable degree. He can explain her thought processes and methodology in a subject that he really knows nothing about aside from the fact that she considers herself one with it.

But through all of what she covers herself with he can see her.

He knows her.

He knows her well enough to explain the sheer incomprehensible matter that she made herself to be to someone who's never seen her.

He can tell May when to focus and he can warn her of Eve's 'performance,' whatever way she'd prefer it called.

Something about the concept of "he's nothing without her and yet he figured out how to see her all on his own."

And the fact that in the beginning of the battle May quite literally is unable to see her while for Zuke this is a normal occurrence. To May, nothing was there, but he knew better.

How many times have they done this?

How many instances have there been where someone else had to question who Zuke's even talking to if they walked in on everything—because, to an outsider, there is nothing. To an outsider, Eve is nothing when she doesn't want to be. Or maybe even more than that, maybe it isn't always intentional. Maybe she does truly hide herself under however many layers and metaphors she can manage but he will always see her.

Something about her calling him nothing without her when art needs to be perceived to be considered "art" and he can see everything.

And at the same time... he can't.

He may have tried so hard, he may have come so close to seeing the full vastness of her, and yet even he couldn't see it all at once. Only mere glimpses of her 'greatness.' And she wants it to be a challenge. Something to be earned. A great, arduous task that only one person can ever even fathom to succeed in.

And he came close.

He came so, so close.

But maybe in her eyes, he gave up on her. He failed. And instead of trying again, trying to make himself up to the task, he chose to run away.

Something about her never truly perceiving herself as whole without someone else and being met with that person who nearly was everything she needed who is now telling her she already is whole, she just has to find herself first.

[httpswritings]

pretty, pretty, please

alexia putellas x reader

The first month after giving birth was a whirlwind. A constant, exhausting rollercoaster of emotions. Every time you looked at your baby girl, a wave of overwhelming love would wash over you. You felt like the luckiest woman alive. Watching Alexia interact with her filled you with a sense of calm and happiness. It was truly a scene out of a fairytale.

But the reality of your changed body was a stark contrast to this idyllic picture. Your body was still recovering, and looking in the mirror was an agonizing experience. The stretch marks that marred your belly were a constant reminder of the changes you had undergone. You felt a deep sense of loss for the body you once knew, and you desperately tried to hide it from Alexia.

Despite your struggles, Alexia was an unwavering source of support. "How's the best mommy doing?" "You're so beautiful, mi amor." "Good morning, princess." Her daily compliments were a lifeline, preventing your self-esteem from completely crumbling.

One evening, after a particularly challenging day, you finally opened up to her. "What's wrong, mi amor?" she asked gently.

Even though you knew she would be understanding, you hesitated. "Do you... do you love me?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Alexia looked at you, bewildered. "Of course I do."

You knew she loved you, but you needed reassurance, a deeper confirmation. "I mean... physically. Do you still find me attractive?"

Alexia's face softened. "Of course I do. I love every single part of you. I'm just... I'm so afraid of hurting you. I know you're still recovering, and I don't want to do anything that might cause you discomfort."

"It's not about you," you explained, your voice catching. "You've been incredible. I know you're being extra gentle, and I appreciate it more than you know. It's just... I don't like looking at myself. I hate these stretch marks."

Alexia bit her lip, feeling a pang of sadness for you. "Amor..." she began, searching for the right words. "What's wrong with them? What don't you like about them?"

You touched your shirt, hesitant to reveal the source of your distress. "They're so big and noticeable. I'd think they're beautiful on someone else, but on me..." you trailed off, unable to articulate your feelings.

Alexia reached out, her hand hovering near your stomach. "You don't have to show me, love. Don't feel pressured."

"I just... I want to feel beautiful again," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

Alexia gently pulled you closer. "Listen to me," she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Your body is a masterpiece, a testament to the incredible strength and resilience of a woman who brought life into this world. You created a human being, and your body underwent extraordinary changes to make that possible. It's not just a body; it's a vessel of life, a symbol of your incredible power. You deserve love and compassion, even when you don't feel it for yourself."

Her words washed over you, offering a glimmer of hope. You looked at her, your eyes glistening. "I love you," you murmured, kissing her softly.

As you pulled apart, you took a deep breath and slowly lifted your shirt, revealing your stomach. Alexia's breath caught in her throat. She looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and tenderness.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Every inch of you is perfect."

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the genuine admiration she felt for your body, despite the stretch marks. It was a powerful reminder that beauty came in all shapes and sizes, and that your body, though changed, was still uniquely yours, still worthy of love and appreciation.

Alexia reached out, her touch feather-light as she gently traced the lines on your stomach. "You did something incredible, mi amor. You brought our daughter into the world. You endured pain and discomfort, and you emerged stronger and more beautiful than ever before. I admire you beyond words."

Her words, coupled with her gentle touch, began to soothe the ache in your heart. You felt a sense of peace wash over you, a quiet acceptance of your new reality.

Your body was different, yes, but it was still yours. And with Alexia by your side withyour sweet baby girl, loving you unconditionally, you knew you would learn to love it too.

This experience deepened your understanding of yourself and your relationship with Alexia. It taught you to appreciate the strength and resilience of the female body, and to embrace the changes that come with motherhood.

And as you lay in Alexia's arms, feeling her gentle kisses on your skin, you knew that this was just the beginning of your journey, a journey filled with love.

[mindswriters]

war of hearts ✮ civil war!au

pairing: stark!reader x bucky barnes (it’s slow burn! they barely talk pls don’t kll me) | + bigbrother!tony and platonicbf!steve

summary: y/n is tony stark’s younger sister, and best friend’s with steve rogers. when the sokovia accords get on table, she has to choose between the two people she loves the most. except, there’s some kind of magnetic string, called bucky barnes, making her choice pend to one side

word count: 7.8k

A/N: what a long come back isn’t it? anyways, I’m unemployed now and it brings me back to my alternative reality of creating scenarios. i also decided to re-watch all the mcu and guess what it’s bucky barnes fever all over again. watched civil war this week, thought about this one. hope you enjoy it!

important! this piece is a collaboration between me and my friend chat gpt. just so you know that i came up with the scenes, wrote it, but also used ai to improve and review the work.

════════════════════════════════════════════

The Sokovia Accords were supposed to bring order to chaos — a framework to keep the Avengers accountable. But for you, Y/n Stark, it felt like a betrayal. You understood Tony’s reasons — his guilt, his desire to control the power that had caused so much destruction — but you couldn’t accept the cost: surrendering freedom and personal judgment to governments that often failed the people they were supposed to protect. More than that, knowing Bucky’s past — the pain he endured as the Winter Soldier and the person he was beneath — made it impossible for you to side with Tony’s call for control and punishment. When the Accords split the team, you stood firmly with Steve, believing that some battles can’t be sanctioned or regulated. That decision tore you apart from Tony, your older brother, who saw your refusal as reckless and personal defiance. Now, after Berlin’s battlefield became the symbol of that fracture, you find yourself in the cold Siberian wasteland, caught between loyalty to your family and to the ideals you fight for.

When your parents died, you were just a child — too young to understand the world they left behind. Tony, as your older brother, stepped in to fill that void, becoming both protector and guardian. As he grew into the role of Iron Man, he fiercely tried to keep you away from the dangers that came with his double life. But your spirit was too strong to be confined. You found your own path, training with Steve Rogers and developing your skills and technology to stand on your own. Through Steve, you learned about Bucky Barnes — a man with a troubled past, yet someone you felt drawn to protect. Over time, you became an essential part of the Avengers family, not just by blood, but through loyalty, courage, and the fierce determination to fight for what you believe in.

After Berlin, everything was fractured. You should’ve been locked away with the others, but you weren’t. You found a way to prove that you and Steve were right — that someone was orchestrating everything from the shadows. You showed Tony the pieces: the inconsistencies, the manipulation, the name Zemo. Maybe it was the way you said it, maybe it was the last thread of trust he still had in you — but he listened. He got you out, and together, you convinced him to go to Siberia, not to fight, but to help.

But the cold in Siberia isn't just in the air — it’s in your chest, tightening with every breath as you step into the facility. The space is dim, sterile, haunted by the ghosts of what happened there. You can feel it in your bones: this is where everything changes. Zemo speaks with a calmness that unsettles you, leading the four of you deeper into the past than anyone was ready to go. Then, the footage begins — December 16, 1991. The mission. You don't want to look, but you can’t tear your eyes away. There’s the crash, the stolen serum, and then… the unmistakable brutality. Your heart sinks as you watch the man beside you — Bucky — become the weapon that killed your parents. It's a storm inside your chest: grief, disbelief, the return of a loss you thought you had buried long ago. Your eyes flicker between three people: Tony, whose hands are already curling into fists; Steve, who refuses to meet your gaze; and Bucky, frozen in silence, his jaw tight with shame. Every part of you is screaming. But you don't move. Not yet.

Silence settles like dust after the video stops, thick and suffocating. You hear Tony’s voice first — low, disbelieving.

“Did you know?”

Steve hesitates. His silence is an answer in itself.

“I didn’t know it was him,” he says finally.

Tony’s voice cracks. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?”

You feel your breath hitch, a pulse pounding in your ears. Steve closes his eyes. “Yes.”

And just like that, the floor shifts beneath your feet.

You step back instinctively, watching the fury rise behind Tony’s eyes. It’s not just betrayal — it’s heartbreak, it’s twenty-five years of unanswered questions detonating all at once.

“He killed my mom,” Tony says, barely above a whisper, and you flinch.

You want to speak — to say he didn’t have a choice, to remind Tony of who Bucky is now, not who he was made to be — but the words catch in your throat.

Tony’s gaze flicks to you, just for a second, and in it you see something that breaks you more than the video: he expected you to stand with him.

And you can’t. Not against Bucky. Not like this.

Tony turns fully to you, his eyes desperate now — not with confusion, but with expectation. You saw it too, his stare seems to scream. He killed them. Say something. Do something.

You meet his gaze. And all the fire in him crashes against the ocean in your eyes. There's no anger in you — only sorrow, spilling over in silent tears that blur the edges of the room. You shake your head, barely, but it’s enough.

Tony’s chest rises with a sharp inhale, as if your silence alone had struck him.

“Y/n, don’t you dare—”

But he doesn’t finish. He lunges.

You don’t think. You move, stepping between him and Bucky like your body was built for this — like your place has always been in the middle of everything tearing itself apart. Your hands hit Tony’s chest, holding him back with more force than you knew you had.

“Stop,” you breathe. “Please.”

His eyes are blazing now. “He murdered our parents.”

“No,” you say, voice trembling. “He didn’t. That wasn’t him — that was the thing they turned him into. He didn’t have a choice, Tony.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you anymore. “Is that really what you believe? After what you just saw?”

“I felt that pain too. Every second of it. But I won’t destroy someone who’s already spent a lifetime paying for a crime he didn’t choose to commit.”

Tony laughs — a short, bitter sound. “So you’re siding with him. With the guy who killed your mother.”

Your voice cracks. “I’m not siding with anyone… I’m trying to keep us from losing what’s left.”

“You already lost me.” Tony's words felt like a twisting knife in your chest.

Tony doesn’t wait for another word. With a twist and a push, he slips past your grasp, rage propelling him straight toward Bucky.

“Tony, no!” you cry out, reaching for him, but he’s already swinging.

Bucky barely manages to deflect the first blow — the second lands squarely, sending him reeling. The sound of the impact echoes through the bunker, and something inside you folds.

You stand there, paralyzed. Torn. Watching your brother, burning with grief, throw himself against the man you’ve been fighting beside — the man who never asked for your trust, but who somehow earned it anyway.

Your heart pounds, and for a second, the weight of it all threatens to crush you.

You should stop them. You should do something. But it’s easier to run. And you hate yourself for knowing that.

Your breath hitches as you turn your head — and then you see him.

Zemo.

He lingers by the doorway, quiet and composed, with a ghost of a smile curling his lips. He watches the chaos like a man admiring his own masterpiece.

This is what he wanted.

And suddenly, the fog lifts.

He made you and Tony watch that video.

He manipulated all of you into this.

And maybe it’s cowardice, but going after him is easier than choosing between two people you love.

Fighting Zemo won’t leave scars on your family. Or so you tell yourself.

Steve notices the shift in your face — the way your tears harden into something sharper. He steps toward you cautiously, like he already knows.

You wipe your cheek roughly and meet his gaze. “You take care of them,” you murmur, voice steady despite the ache behind it. “I can’t stop Tony… but I can stop the man who caused this.”

Steve hesitates, but only for a beat. “Y/n—”

“I know,” you whisper through gritted teeth. “I know this won’t fix it.”

You glance back at the fight, at Tony — your brother — and the guilt nearly breaks you again.

You do feel like you’re betraying him. And you hate that it feels this way, but the past few days changed you. You fought beside Bucky. You saw who he really is — not the man in the video. And what’s worse… you felt something. A connection. One you didn’t expect. One you can’t ignore. And right now, you just need to get away from all of it — before your heart splits down the middle.

“Just keep them alive, both,” you say finally. “Please.”

Steve searches your eyes. And then, with a quiet nod, he lets you go.

So, you run. Not just toward vengeance — but away from the pain of choosing sides. You’re not proud of it, but it’s the only way you know how to keep breathing.

You don’t chase him right away, you watch. From the edge of the corridor, you track his figure as it fades into the white horizon—small, deliberate steps against the vast emptiness of snow and rock. He doesn’t run. Of course he doesn’t. He’s not that kind of coward. The icy wind bites at your face as you finally step out into the open. No trees. No shelter. Just you, him, and the silence of everything he shattered.

You catch up fast. Your boots scrape over rock, and before he can turn, you crash into him—shoulder first, a sharp collision that knocks him off balance. He stumbles, slides across the snow. But he recovers quickly, turning just as you strike again. He blocks. Dodges. Counters with surprising strength. He’s trained—more than you expected.

Blow after blow, you fight, fists cracking against arms, your breath ragged in the cold. It's messy, brutal, driven by instinct and pain. The silence breaks when you finally land a punch to his jaw that makes him reel back, lip bloodied.

“You destroyed my family,” you hiss. “Why?”

He spits blood into the snow, barely flinching. “Because they were false.”

You go at him again, but he ducks, sweeping your legs. You hit the ground hard, snow burning your skin, but you don’t stop. You’re already on your feet, chest heaving.

“You tore us apart,” you growl. “Steve, Tony, me, Bucky—what did you got?”

He stares at you calmly, that maddening composure still in place.

“Peace,” he says simply. “Sometimes, the world needs fire before it can rebuild.”

You lunge, slamming him back against a jagged rock. “That’s not peace. That’s ruin.”

“Ruins are honest,” he replies, almost softly.

Your fist trembles mid-air as you hold your knife. You could end it now. You want to. But there’s something behind your anger—something heavier.

“You think this was justice?” your voice cracks. “It was just vengeance.”

Zemo blinks slowly, lips parting into the faintest ghost of a smile. “Exactly.”

Your knuckles are scraped, raw. Blood from his face stains your glove, but your weapon stays raised.

He’s beneath you now—back pressed to the cold, uneven rock, breath shallow but steady. One strike. That’s all it would take. One final blow to end this. He doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t beg. He just looks at you, waiting. Accepting.

Your heart hammers in your chest, louder than the wind howling across the open field. Louder than your brother’s voice echoing in your memory. Louder than Bucky calling your name, back in that bunker before you ran away.

You tighten your grip, vision swimming. And yet, you still haven’t moved.

“Y/n Stark.”

The voice doesn’t come from Zemo. It cuts through the wind with clarity and weight, composed and firm.

You turn, startled, and see him. Prince T’Challa steps forward through the snow, posture tall, eyes calm—but burning with the same pain you carry.

“Vengeance has consumed you.” He looks at you, then to Zemo. “It is consuming them. I will not let it consume me.”

His words strike like a crack in your armor. You look back at Zemo. His face is bruised and bloodied, but his expression doesn’t change. He remains still beneath you, letting the moment stretch in silence. Your arm trembles.

“…Why?” Your voice is barely a whisper. Tired. Fractured. “Why did you do this?”

Zemo breathes in through his nose, slow and deliberate, as if the answer isn’t simple—but unavoidable.

“Sokovia.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “My family was buried beneath the rubble while your ‘heroes’ flew away, arguing about whose fault it was.”

You feel the blow of those words, dull and deep.

“I buried them with my own hands. My wife. My son. My father.” His voice falters for a second. Then steadies. “I knew I couldn’t kill them. Not all of them. But if I could make them kill each other… the empire would collapse from within.”

He finally looks away, into the white distance.

“An empire that no man should ever have the power to build.”

You close your eyes. He didn’t tried to kill your family. He made you watch them unravel.

“I can’t forgive you,” you whisper, with a hint of guilty for his family.

“I know,” he replies. “I don’t want you to.”

T’Challa steps forward, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Come. Let justice do what vengeance cannot.”

And you nod—because even if your heart is still fractured, it’s beating steady again. The wind stills, like the world itself has paused to let you breathe. You sit back on your heels, fists lowering at last. Zemo doesn’t move. Neither does T’Challa. Silence falls like snow — thick, cold, and heavy.

Then it comes. Distant at first. Muffled. The echo of metal clashing against metal, grunts of effort, blasts of repulsors cutting through stone and steel. You turn your head toward the sound — you can see it now: pulses of light flaring against the grey sky, like lightning trapped in a cage. Stark’s repulsors.

Your stomach twists. Steve. Bucky.

You rise slowly to your feet, legs unsteady, and glance at T’Challa beside you. He stands tall, hands behind his back, gaze locked on Zemo — no vengeance, only justice in his posture.

“What will you do with him?” you ask, your voice low but sure.

He meets your eyes. “He will answer for his crimes. I will hand him over to Ross.”

There’s no hesitation in his words, only principle. Then he softens, just enough.

“You still have time. Go to your fam.”

You look toward the glow on the ridge again.

A war is happening inside that mountain — a war between the two people you love most. And all you can think about is how it got this far.

But you nod, just once. Then you run. You follow the trail of light and noise, your heartbeat growing louder than the crunch of your boots against the frozen earth. The bunker looms behind you like a carcass. Ahead, only silence—and then, movement.

Steve. He steps into view, his silhouette staggering beneath the weight of the man in his arms.

Bucky.

Your breath catches. For a second, you don't move. Can't move. The light from the open structure glints off torn metal and darkened fabric. Where his arm should be—

Nothing.

You run. You don’t even feel your legs move, don’t hear the panicked sound that leaves your lips until you’re stopping in front of them.

“No—no, no, no—” You reach for Bucky’s face, his wrist, his chest. Anything.

He’s pale. Covered in soot and blood. His breathing is shallow—almost imperceptible. His eyes are closed. Your fingers shake as you press against the side of his neck.

You wait. Wait. There it is. A pulse.

“He’s alive,” Steve says gently, his voice ragged, like it’s the last bit of strength he has.

But there’s something behind it—grief, anger, guilt. Everything you feel, reflected right back at you. Your gaze lifts to meet his, his eyes are rimmed red, jaw clenched with something he can’t say out loud. And then, Steve looks at you with something heavier than sorrow. You swallow hard.

“Where's Tony?” you ask, your voice barely above a worried whisper. “He… your shield?”

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks back down at Bucky, then up at you again—like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“He’s not thinking straight,” he says. “I could stop him just for now. Maybe you still can.”

You blink, confused. Hurt. “Why would he listen to me?”

“Because you are still his little sister.” Steve’s words land like stone.

He adjusts Bucky in his arms again and balances themselves with effort.

“I’ll keep him safe,” he promises. “And I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. But right now…”

He meets your eyes, firm.

“Tony needs you.”

Steve stands steady, carrying Bucky carefully in his arms as they intend to move towards the Quinjet. The cold air bites, but your focus is entirely on Bucky’s face—bruised, bloodied, but breathing.

You step closer, gently brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. Your voice barely rises above a whisper, trembling with relief: “You’re okay.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, but the small rise and fall of his chest tells you everything you need to know. You shift your gaze to Steve, who meets your eyes with something heavier than sorrow—gratitude, trust, and a quiet admiration. Your glance holds his for a heartbeat, a silent exchange of understanding and strength.

"Thank you" that's the least you could say.

With that, you turn sharply and start running toward where you know you'd find Tony, heart pounding—not knowing what you’ll see, but knowing you have to get him.

You follow the trail of light through the snow and concrete, breath burning in your throat as your feet slam against the cold ground. The metallic echo of your steps fades beneath the hum of repulsors powering down.

Then you see him.

Tony sits on the floor near the wreckage of what used to be part of the bunker wall, helmet off, broken, elbows on his knees, staring down at his own shaking hands. The arc reactor flickers softly in the gloom. His face is torn open—split lip, brow swollen, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He looks like a man who has finally reached the bottom of everything.

You slow your steps. “Tony…”

His head snaps up like he forgot he wasn’t alone. His eyes are bloodshot, red-rimmed, and exhausted. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you like he’s not sure whether to collapse into your arms or push you away again.

“I couldn't do any other way,” he finally breathes, voice cracked. “He killed our parents.”

You nod, tears brimming again. “I know.”

He looks at you for a long time—really looks. There’s a tremble in his jaw, and then, like all the anger that had held him together just burnt out, he looks away again. “And you protected him.”

The words hit you like a slap, even though they’re soft, almost whispered.

“I told you it wasn't him. And I protected you, too,” you say edged, trying hard to control your own emotions. “From doing something you’d never come back from.”

He lets out a shaky sigh—bitter and hollow. “Then why do I still feel like I lost everything?”

You kneel beside him, not touching him yet. “Because you did, and so did I. But we’re still here. And we still got each other”

There’s a long pause. You let it breathe. Ignoring the tremble in your chin, and the tears stinging your eyes. Carefully, you rest your hand over his, grounding both of you in something real.

“We gotta go home” you say.

Tony doesn’t respond right away. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

You lean in closer, softer now. “I know you don’t understand how I could’ve stood in your way. And maybe you won’t. But… I made a choice, Tony. And I’ll carry it. I'm not a child anymore”

Finally, he turns his hand over, wrapping his fingers around yours like he’s afraid to let go.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The days that followed blurred into a slow return to something resembling normal. You and Tony flew back to the compound in silence, the tension between you heavy but softened by exhaustion. Healing wasn’t immediate—some days you spoke like nothing ever happened, sharing breakfast and old jokes; other days, you couldn’t look at each other without remembering everything that had broken between you. Still, piece by piece, your bond began to mend.

Tony pulled every string he had to keep you out of prison. Unlike the others who sided with Steve, you were granted house arrest—confined to the compound, under strict surveillance, your every movement monitored. It should’ve felt like a victory, but it didn’t. The guilt gnawed at you—knowing Sam, Wanda, Clint and Scott were locked away while you walked free. That guilt became your fuel. Quietly, you slipped Steve fragments of intel, just enough to help him break into the Raft and free the others. You know the risks. So did Tony.

But he never stopped you.

He never asked where the encrypted messages went. Never questioned why you stayed up late with the comms encrypted. He didn’t even stop you from calling Steve late at night, when the silence felt too loud and your chest ached with everything unsaid.

Then came the morning you didn’t show up for breakfast.

Tony waited for a good ten minutes, which was already generous for someone like him. The toast went cold. He sighed, picked up your mug and went looking for you, grumbling something about dramatic sleeping habits and time zones.

He found your room quiet. Too quiet. When he opened the door, he froze. There, on your desk, your tracking bracelet—still blinking red—was locked tight around the abdomen of a massive ant.

“…Scott,” Tony muttered, blinking. “You absolute tiny bastard.”

He looked to the bed, where a folded note rested on your pillow. His fingers hovered over it for a moment before he picked it up, already dreading whatever sentimental nonsense you had left behind.

“Had to go on a little trip. Be kind to the ant, it has your name too. I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

Tony stared at the handwriting for a few seconds. Then he let out a single, sharp laugh, more disbelief than amusement. He dropped the note back onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well played, Rogers. Kidnapping my sister, real subtle.” He stood there a moment longer, torn between frustration and admiration, before walking out of the room—still muttering under his breath.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The ship flew in silence, cutting through the night sky like a shadow. The sleek lines of Wakandan technology made almost no noise — just a soft hum filled the air, echoing the restrained breath in your chest.

Steve sat across the cabin, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the window — but you knew he wasn’t really seeing the clouds. Since boarding, few words have been exchanged. And none were really needed. He had already told you the essentials: T’Challa watched. He listened. He understood. And unlike what many would’ve done in his place, the king chose compassion. He chose to protect Bucky. And Bucky chose to trust them. This ship was another gift — or maybe a promise. A quiet gesture from someone who also knew what it was to lose, but refused to let hatred shape his next steps.

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes for a moment, but rest didn’t come. A part of you was still back there — in the frozen bunker, on the ground stained by the fury of someone you loved. The image of Tony’s face — wounded more in heart than armor — still weighed like lead in your chest.

“You okay?” — Steve’s voice came soft, almost a whisper, but clear enough to pull you back.

You nodded, eyes still shut. “I am.”

A pause. “Or at least… I will be.”

He didn’t push. Steve never did. He just looked at you with that gentle, loyal kind of expression — the same one he had when he took your hand and pulled you out of the compound in the middle of the night, promising it would be worth it.

“Will Bucky be safe?” — you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Steve took a deep breath. “He will. They have the resources. The tech. And he wants this, Y/n. He wants peace. He wants... to be himself again.”

You didn’t reply right away. Your throat tightened, and everything inside you felt like it was rearranging — memories, loyalty, pain, love. An emotional mess carefully boxed into a floating piece of metal in the sky.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Thank you, Steve... for having our backs.”

He gave a soft smile — one of those small, sincere ones. “Always.”

The ship kept moving forward, cutting through the dark. And for a few minutes, you let the silence become a form of comfort.

You were going to see him. Bucky. And a part of you — the part that spent so long trying not to feel — finally let a small hope slip through the cracks.

The silence stretched between you for a while, peaceful and full of unspoken things. You hadn’t moved from your seat, but your fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your sleeve — something restless stirring just beneath the surface.

Steve shifted a little, his voice breaking the quiet with gentle curiosity.

“So…” he started, a trace of a smile in his tone. “When did it happen?”

You looked up, brow furrowed. “When did what happen?”

He tilted his head, a soft grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That… invisible magnet between you and Bucky. I’ve seen it for a while now. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

You exhaled through your nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think it was always there. Since the day on the bridge. Like something we didn’t notice until it was too loud to ignore.”

Steve nodded, the smile fading into something softer — more earnest.

“I’m glad he found you. That he let someone in. After everything… I thought it would take a miracle.”

You met his gaze, surprised by the emotion in his voice.

“He trusted you,” he said, more quietly now. “Aside from me, you were the only person he didn’t flinch away from. The only one he willingly talked to after… everything.”

You felt your throat tighten, and your voice came out quieter than before.

“He didn’t have to explain me anything. I just… saw him. And I knew he wasn’t the monster they said he was.”

Steve smiled again, this time with a flicker of something like pride. “You believed in him when it mattered most. You never doubted.”

You shrugged, glancing toward the window. “I doubted myself more than I ever doubted him.”

There was a beat of silence, then Steve leaned back in his seat, his tone suddenly lighter — teasing.

“You know…” he said, “back in the day — I mean way back — before I got frozen, Peggy gave me a goodbye kiss. She didn’t know it would be goodbye, not really. But… she still kissed me.”

You raised an eyebrow, already catching where this was going.

Steve gave you a crooked grin.

“I’m just saying — if we went through all the trouble of breaking you out of house arrest, sneaking past Stark’s security systems, and borrowing a ship from the King of Wakanda… Bucky deserves a goodbye kiss. Don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“He’s not going anywhere.”

Steve shrugged, grinning.

“Neither was I.”

You laughed, quietly — the kind that settles into your chest and stays there, warm and a little nervous.

"I'm not giving Bucky a goodbye kiss, not when I know that I'll be seeing him again." You say, forcing yourself to sound optimistic, even when you're a little scared about Bucky's future.

══════════════════════════════════════════════════

The sun was just beginning to rise over Wakanda when the ship touched down. The soft golden light filtered through the tall grasses and sleek towers, casting the world in a warm hue — as if the land itself welcomed peace after so much war. You stepped out behind Steve, blinking against the brightness, the air different here — lighter, cleaner, but buzzing with quiet power.

Waiting for you was T’Challa, dressed in dark robes, arms calmly folded behind his back. He looked at you both not with suspicion, but with that steady regal grace — the kind of presence that made you straighten your posture without realizing it.

“Captain Rogers,” he greeted first. Then his gaze shifted to you. “Miss Stark.”

You gave a small nod, unsure if words would come out right now.

“We’re grateful,” Steve said. “More than I can express.”

T’Challa simply inclined his head. “He is safe. Healing. But the path forward will still be long.” His gaze flickered to you for a second. “For all of you.”

You didn’t respond — just swallowed and nodded again, because your chest was already tight.

“Come,” T’Challa said. “He’s waiting.”

The corridors of the Wakandan compound were impossibly quiet. Everything smelled like steel and earth and the subtle scent of something growing. It felt removed from the world — like a place outside of time. You followed Steve through a pair of sliding doors, your footsteps barely audible over the hum of the hall. The closer you got, the more your heart pounded — not in fear, but something deeper. Something ancient. Recognition.

Steve stopped just before a final door. He turned to you, like he sensed your hesitation in coming with him.

"You should go first. He might wanna talk to you alone." You offer him a concerned smile, but Steve knew you well enough to know that you were actually nervous to be seeing Bucky again.

“Wait here then.” He said simply, looking to the glass wall, where you could see through, and spot Bucky's figure on the other room.

You nodded. He gave you a small smile, then stepped inside alone.

Through the glass wall, you saw him approach Bucky — dressed in loose, simple clothes. His hair was longer now, brushed back behind his ears. He looked calm, almost still, as he turned toward Steve. You couldn’t hear what was said, but the expression that crossed Bucky’s face at the sight of his friend was unmistakable — relief and something like home.

They spoke briefly. Bucky’s body shifted, sharing a hug with Steve that made you smile to yourself. Steve kept a grip on his friend's shoulder, and as he pointed to the door, you took it as your sign to come in.

He indeed gestured toward you, lips moving around words you couldn’t quite hear — but you felt them in your bones.

"There's someone else I thought you'd like to see."

You step into the room, and for a moment, everything feels too bright. The space is open, the large windows filling it with sunlight that dances along the polished floor. But all you see is him — standing close to Steve, illuminated by the sunrays from the landscape behind them. His eyes fixed on you the second you enter.

You stop just inside the threshold, suddenly unsure of your body, your expression — of anything, really.

Bucky doesn’t move at first. Neither do you.

“Hi.” You say, breaking the silence with a soft tone, like he’s trying not to scare a wounded animal.

"Hey," Bucky responds, there's a glimpse of something heavy is his tone. Guilt. Appreciation. Relief.

He turns to you, but still hesitates on getting too close. "Wasn't you supposed to be... uhm, in prison?" He frowns, cleaning his throat.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Wow. That’s the first thing you say to me?"

Bucky widened his eyes and Steve chuckled under his breath.

You take a step closer, placing yourself beside Steve. “Technically, I was under house arrest. Tony pulled some strings with the government.”

Bucky's eyes narrowed. “He’s not hating you?”

“Of course not,” Steve shook his head. “She got the fancy kind of punishment. Electronic monitor, surveillance, no going outside the compound.”

You shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. Except for the part where I couldn’t even get decent coffee.”

Steve tilted his head, that teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Which is why I may have… borrowed one of Scott’s ants.”

Bucky blinked. “One of his ants?”

You nodded, trying not to grin. “A very big one. It handled the ankle monitor part.”

“She didn’t even hesitate,” Steve added, smirking. “I said, ‘Want to leave for a trip?’ and she was already halfway out the window.”

You nudged Steve lightly with your foot. “You made it sound very heroic. I thought we were going to do something cool, not sneak onto a spaceship like teenagers past curfew.”

“Well,” Steve shrugged, grinning now, “you wouldn't have exactly say no to that.”

Bucky huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

You smiled and leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. “And yet… here we are.”

For a moment, the warmth between the three of you made the world outside the lab feel distant — just three people, trying to hold onto a piece of normal.

Steve gives the two of you a lingering glance. There’s something in his posture — a careful blend of protectiveness and quiet encouragement — before he steps toward the door.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” he says gently, and with a nod, he leaves.

The silence stretches as the door hisses shut behind him. You look at Bucky. He’s standing practically in the same position since you first saw him. His right hand gripping his waist, looking away at the full view windows, as if admiring Wakanda for the first time. His hair brushed back revealed more of his face than you’re used to seeing. There are dark circles under his eyes, but they don't take away from the clarity in them — eyes no longer haunted, just... tired.

You take a cautious step forward, and then another. “How... how have things been here?”

His voice is low, and still carries the weight of something raw. “Quiet. Safe. It’s... a strange kind of peace.”

You nod, arms crossing in front of your chest — a small shield against the emotions threatening to rise again. “And what happens now?”

Bucky shrugs, eyes finally meeting yours. “Shuri says they can help... take it all apart. The programming. The conditioning. I told them to do it. We’re trying to... unmake the Winter Soldier, I guess.”

You nod. “Sounds like something that should’ve happened a long time ago.”

He doesn’t answer that. And silence settles again — heavier this time.

You feel it hanging between you. Everything unsaid. Everything still bleeding under the surface.

Then, finally, he speaks. Quiet. Honest.

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart stumbles. He continues before you can respond.

“For your parents. For what happened with Tony. For dragging you into all of this. I... I still don’t know how you stood by me after all that.” His voice cracks at the edges, not from weakness, but from shame. Real, quiet shame.

You take a breath, step closer, letting the tip of your boots touch his feet, searching his eyes.

“I never saw the Winter Soldier, Bucky,” you say softly. “I only saw you. I stood by you. And I’m still here.”

He blinks, and for a second, his composure slips. He looks at you like he’s still not sure he can trust it — trust you — even though everything about you has been screaming that he can.

Bucky doesn’t look away this time — but there’s hesitation in his voice when he speaks.

“Why?” He swallows hard. “Why did you choose us… after everything?”

You exhale slowly, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t a choice, not really. It just… happened.”

He tilts his head slightly, searching your face.

“That thing between us,” you continue, voice softer now, “it’s always been there. Even when it shouldn’t have. Even when we barely knew each other.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to the floor for a second, like he’s hiding behind the thought before admitting it.

“I felt it too,” he says. “Like something pulling at me.”

You smile, small but real. “Invisible magnet.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

There’s a brief silence — not uncomfortable this time, just reflective. Like neither of you know what to do with the truth now that it’s been spoken out loud.

“I don’t know what it means,” you admit, leaning lightly against the table beside you. “And I’m not sure what to do with it either.”

Bucky glances at you again, eyes softer now.

“But it’s real,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s real.”

Neither of you move closer. Neither of you pull away. There’s no grand moment, no promise, no plan — just two people, standing in the middle of a quiet Wakandan room, holding onto something they don’t fully understand.

You glance away for a second, trying to collect your thoughts — but your eyes land on the glass door.

And there he is. Steve.

Standing just outside the lab, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that older brother watching from a distance kind of way. You can practically feel the smugness radiating off of him.

Then — because of course he would — he lifts a hand and makes the most exaggerated “kissy face” gesture imaginable. Puckered lips. Two fingers tapping together. A little heart drawn in the air for good measure.

You freeze, widening your eyes at him.

Bucky notices the way your expression suddenly shifts — the subtle horror creeping into your face — and turns to follow your gaze.

“What is he—?”

You step in front of him so fast it’s almost comedic.

“Nothing. He’s just being Steve.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Was he… doing a thing with his hands?”

“Nope,” you say, a little too fast. “Just a… diplomatic wave. Wakandan custom. Very respectful.”

Steve, now thoroughly entertained, is biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Before Bucky can press further — or you can come up with a better excuse for Steve’s antics — the door slides open.

Steve steps into the room like he’s been waiting for the exact right moment to ruin it. He looks between the two of you with a suspiciously innocent expression that doesn't fool either of you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, though he doesn't sound very sorry. “Shuri’s ready.”

You blink. “Already?”

He nods, a little more serious now. “Lab’s prepped. Everything’s in place.”

You feel Bucky stiffen slightly beside you, but he doesn’t look away. There’s a quiet understanding in his eyes now — something grounded. Steady. He knew this was coming.

You glance between them both, something tightening in your chest.

“How long will he be under?” you ask, your voice softer again.

Steve shrugs gently. “As long as it takes. Until he’s really free.”

Bucky takes a breath, turning toward the door, but he pauses — just long enough to glance back at you. There’s something like a silent question in his expression. Something waiting.

You offer a small nod.

And together, the three of you walk down the corridor. The lab was bathed in soft blue light, reflecting off the smooth vibranium panels and glass interfaces. At the center stood the cryogenic chamber — sleek, sterile, silent — waiting.

You lingered near the entrance, watching as Bucky stepped forward with slow, steady steps. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. This wasn’t the kind of moment that called for words.

Steve followed behind him, quieter than usual, his expression unreadable. But when Bucky turned to face him, the tension shifted.

They stood in front of each other for a long moment — no soldier and no captain. Just two men who had been through too much together, and were somehow still standing.

Steve broke the silence first.

“You sure this is the right call?” His voice was low, but steady. Honest.

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “I can’t trust my own mind so… that’s the best option.”

Steve glanced at the floor, then back up. “You’ve been carrying this for longer than we know. You’ll be fine”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, quick and certain. “For being here.”

“Always, pal.” Steve nods, a concerned smile adorning his face.

There was a beat, and then Bucky let out a breath — half a laugh, almost. “Just don’t do anything stupid until I get back”

Steve gave a soft huff. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupidity with you.”

The two exchanged a small, tired smile. But their eyes said everything else — the things that couldn’t be spoken: I’m sorry. I’m proud of you. I’ll be here when you wake up.

They stepped forward at the same time, and Steve pulled Bucky into a firm embrace — not brief, not forced. Just real.

You looked away, jaw clenched, forcing yourself to breathe through the lump forming in your throat. This was their goodbye. Their history. You didn’t want to intrude. But still… watching it hurt more than you expected.

When they finally pulled apart, Bucky turned — and found you waiting.

The weight of the moment returned in full.

He took a step closer, slower this time, his eyes locked on yours.

“I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And when I wake up… maybe we’ll both know what to do with this.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Just don’t take too long.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then — something shifted.

You felt it in the silence. In the way he lingered. In the way your heart beat just a little louder, like it knew time was running out.

Steve didn’t say a word. He just glanced from Bucky to you, then back again. One eyebrow lifted — subtle, but clear.

Now or never.

You hesitated, your breath catching. Then, slowly, you stepped forward and reached up, fingers brushing against Bucky’s jaw with barely a touch. And you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a soft, grounding press of your lips against his — a silent promise, a thank you, a goodbye. His hand came up, gently touching your waist, as if memorizing the shape of the moment.

When you pulled back, your voice was barely a whisper. “For good luck. You return it when you wake up.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something — maybe a hundred things — but instead, he just nodded.

“Okay.” He mirrors your shy, sensible smile.

Then he turned, stepped into the chamber, closed his eyes and let the door do the same.

You stood beside Steve as the cryo-pod sealed shut, the mist already curling around the edges. The bite on your lip held both your tears, and the feeling of missing Bucky’s lips against yours. Already.

The chamber hissed softly as it sealed, locking Bucky into a stasis of silence and frost. You stood still for a moment longer, staring through the curved glass — watching as the mist rose and softened the edges of his face until it faded completely.

A quiet breath left your lips. Not relief. Not grief. Something in between.

Steve waited beside you without rushing, giving you the time you needed. Then, gently, he turned toward the door.

You followed him out of the lab, your footsteps echoing faintly down the sleek corridor. It wasn’t until you reached the end of the hall that he finally spoke — voice low, but unmistakably smug.

“So…” He didn’t look at you. Just kept walking. “…you did kiss him goodbye.”

You narrowed your eyes, cheeks flushing instantly. “Don’t start.”

Steve raised both hands in faux innocence. “Hey, I didn’t say a word. You’re the one blushing.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

But then he looked at you — and the teasing faded just enough to let something warmer shine through.

“You did good,” he said. “For him. For yourself.”

You didn’t answer, but the way you smiled back told him you understood.

And together, once again, you walked on.

EPILOGUE

The compound was quiet when you stepped back inside. Not the tense kind of quiet from before — just late-night silence, familiar and still. You dropped your bag by the couch, rolled your shoulders, and kicked off your boots with the grace of someone who had clearly been sneaking around behind global authorities.

You made it five steps into the kitchen before his voice echoed from the other side of the island.

“Took you long enough.”

You jumped slightly. “Jesus, Tony—”

“Wrong deity,” he said, holding up a coffee mug. “But thanks for the dramatic entrance. Very spy-thriller of you.”

He looked exactly the same — hoodie, rumpled hair, tired eyes pretending not to be relieved. You hated how good he was at that.

You leaned against the counter, trying not to smile. “Did Friday tell you I was back?”

“Nope. I guessed.” He sipped his coffee. “That, or the giant mutant ant returned with a postcard.”

You snorted. “Sorry I ran off.”

He waved a hand. “Eh, I’ve been ditched for worse things than a cryogenically frozen ex-HYDRA assassin with severe emotional damage. Honestly? Kind of proud.”

You blinked. “Wait—proud?”

He held up a finger. “Don’t make it weird. I’m still mad. But also, you know...”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “You’re my favorite Stark. Don’t tell Pepper.”

A lump formed quietly in your throat, but you masked it with a smirk.

“Yeah, well… you’re not my favorite genius billionaire anymore.”

Tony squinted. “Is it because I didn’t build you a vibranium suit?”

You shrugged, walking around the counter to grab a mug. “That’s part of it.”

He watched you for a second as you poured coffee into your cup, his expression softening just a fraction.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the coffee. “I will be. Are you?”

“Same.” He didn’t press.

Instead, he reached out, hooked a finger through the handle of your mug, and pulled it closer to refill it himself.

“Well,” he said. “I already told the team you're grounded, just so you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t ground me.”

“I just did.”

You took the mug back and bumped your shoulder lightly into his.

And for a moment — just a moment — it felt like home again.

[wosospacegirl]

Grumpy - Head coach (aka manager)! Leah x arsenal! r

Summary: Reader messes up on her first day at Arsenal, and Leah, being her usual grumpy self, doesn’t make things any easier.

Warnings: A bit of angst + McCabe walking in on R and L in a rather awkward moment.

Word count: 2.6k

Masterlist here

This is a new universe I'm writing about, so just let me know if you guys enjoy it and if you have any requests! <3

..

Leah Williamson became a living legend after leading the Lionesses to yet another win in the Euros 2025 as the team captain and a defender. Unfortunately, for her, 2025 was the last year she played as a professional footballer, having suffered a career-ending injury at the end of the season.

Leah was completely distraught when she got the news. She isolated herself from everyone she knew, finding it hard to discover another purpose in life. That was, until Leah’s formal coach, Serina, stepped in and invited the blonde to some coffee in North London.

“I think I know what would help you,” Serina said, taking a sip of her cappuccino.

“Are you going to give me a new knee?” Leah asked, a hint of madness in her voice. Everybody thought they could help her, but in reality, half of her friends couldn’t even understand what was going on inside her head.

Sarina ignored Leah’s mood. “Belgium has one of the best coaching center in the world. I went there, Renée too. If you could get a coaching certificate, you could start working as an assistant, or as a youth coach at Arsenal. You’ve been there since you were a kid, and with your history Arsenal’s management would be mad not to give you a chance.”

“Coach?”

“Why not? You have a football brain, you have good leadership, people trust you. You are a full package,” Sarina responded. “Just think about it, will you?”

Sarina left the coffee shop, leaving a contemplative Leah behind.

..

“If you need anything, you have my number.” Renée’s voice echoed through Arsenal’s training grounds.

It was Renée’s last day as the head coach. Three years ago, Leah went to Brussels and got her coaching certificate. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be.

She was already very keen on football. After eight months of entering the Coach Academy, Leah was ready to start a new chapter of her life: assistant manager of Arsenal, alongside Renée.

The whole time Leah spent as Renée’s assistant was very productive. Leah learned a lot from the older woman, but Leah couldn’t wait to the day she would be officially named Head Coach, aka Manager. As an assistant, Leah had some type of power to make strategic changes during a match and give her two cents on matters of hiring new players, but still wasn’t enough.

Leah promised herself she wouldn’t stop until she became the manager of Arsenal women. She would build her dream team and be the best manager she could be.

And that’s what Leah did.

Renée decided to retire, and Arsenal agreed to sign Leah Williamson—the ex-captain of England Nacional team and Gunner-born—to their team.

“I have everything under control, Renée. You know I’ve been wanting your manager position for a long time.” Leah said with a smirk. “The only thing you have to worry about is your wife and daughter, alright, mate? You’ve already done a lot for arsenal.”

Both Leah and Renée were wearing Arsenal’s matching outfits. They had just left a small farewell party on the Arsenal’s event room; almost all players were there to say their goodbyes to Renée, and of course, welcome Leah into her new position.

“Still, Williamson, if you need any help, tips or even a friendly shoulder, just know that I’m here,” Renée insisted. The older woman was carrying a box in her arms, the outside having Once a gunner, always a gunner written on it.

Leah stared at the box, she had seen Renée packing things up in her office earlier that day, carefully putting pictures, books and even newspapers articles about Arsenal inside the container. It being full meant that Leah’s new office was officially ready for her to take in.

Both women walked through the front door of the Arsenal Training Grounds, and a cold breeze met Leah in the face, making the women shivered. Renée looked at the busy street ahead of her until she pointed to a black Audi A3. “That’s mine, guess I’ll go then,” Renée said, a bittersweet smile on her face.

Before Renée could walk, Leah gave her a hug. “Thank you for everything, If I ever need you, I’ll give you a call.”

Renée hugged the blonde woman back before heading to her car. Before she could open the driver’s door she turned to Leah.

“Don’t forget about the new girl coming in tomorrow, Leah. You’ll have to show her around and everything, plus she’s not from the UK, so—”

“Renée don’t worry!  Y/n is coming tomorrow at 9am, I have everything planned out,” Leah rolled her eyes playfully.

Leah watched as the ex-Arsenal manager got into the car and left.

Leah Williamson. New Head Manager, now official.

..

Leah thought her first day as Manager would be unfazed. What could go wrong? It was her first day of manager, of course, but it wasn’t like she was completely new to it. The team hadn’t changed much compared to last season, aside from Y/n, the newest Arsenal player.

And Y/n was exactly what made Leah’s day go wrong.

It was 9:37 am and the girl was nowhere to be seen.

Leah was waiting alongside the media team to greet and get to know Y/n officially for the first time. Leah didn’t participate a lot in Y/n’s hiring; it was mostly Renée doing the work of checking her statistics and all the bureaucracy of recruiting someone from another country. Leah didn’t even agree with Renée at first, she couldn’t see why Arsenal needed another defender.

“Arsenal needs a sweeper,” Renée had argued during one of their meetings. “Someone who is faster, logical but not aggressive. This kid Y/n is great for the position.”

“Leah, we really to get going, we need to take solo photos of the players, maybe when Y/n gets here we can try to make a small welcoming video, or something,” Clarice, the media director said as she looked at her watch. “I mean she is very late, and we have so much to do—”

“Yeah, of course, Clarice, you all can go. If she arrives, I’ll give you a call,” Leah said, impatience clear in her voice

How can someone be late for their first day of training? It was clear to Leah that Y/n didn’t care so much about being the priciest Arsenal hiring in the last 10 years since she didn’t worry about actually coming to training.

Leah walked around, tapping her foot against the pavement. 5 minutes. Leah would wait 5 more minutes and if Y/n wasn’t here, she would go inside, into her office and let the new girl fend for herself. Leah was busy and she needed to watch a bunch of matches to study Arsenal’s future opponents, but instead she was here waiting for this girl like a fool.

9:42am.

Leah turned around, heading to the door. feeling stupid about waiting on someone who was not coming.  

Before Leah stepped into the building, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and turned around slowly, not enjoying the non-welcoming physical touch. Leah locked eyes with a girl.

Y/n.

Leah, for some reason, was expecting to find the girl in full footballer mode, perhaps with her hair tied back, or dirty clothing from and intense match, but Leah was not expecting to find a very… cute girl instead. Leah had only watched the videos Renée sent of Y/n on the pitch, so she was rather surprised to see the new girl didn’t naturally have grass all over her hair.

Y/n was wearing what looked to be five layers of clothing, and a coat which was way too big for her. She was wearing very inappropriate shoes for the light layer of snow accumulation on the floor. It was like Y/n didn’t know how to dress for cold weather.

Before Leah could blink, the new girl began rambling.

“I am so, so sorry, ma’am,” Y/n quavered, taking her hand off of Leah’s shoulder as she watched the frown on Leah’s face form. “So, you see, my cat ran away, and I had to chase after him and that took me twenty minutes, and then I took the wrong tube—”.”

“You are late,” Leah said before taking a last glance at the girl and getting inside. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Leah heard the girl walking behind her, the squeakiness of her shoes making Leah even more angry.

“I-I’m sorry, and of course, it won’t happen again, ma’am” Y/n apologized, looking down at her feet.

Today was supposed to be a good day, Y/n thought. She had written down on her planner everything she needed to do in order to get to the club in time. She had printed the map of the Tube so she could get around easily and not get lost, but of course it didn’t work out and now her new manager was clearly pissed at her.  

And of course, the women angry at her had to be THE Leah Willianson, one of the most skillful defender of all time and one of Y/n’s biggest inspirations.

Great Y/n, just great. When Y/n thought things couldn’t get worse, she heard Leah snap.

“And don’t call me ma’am.”

..

Y/n was trying to see the bright side of this situation. She was in a new country, had her own apartment, she had signed with one of the best teams in the league right now, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling of Leah’s harsh treatment against her.

Now, laying in her bed after her horrible day, Y/n could recap every bad interaction she had with Leah, which was, unfortunately, all of them, but it seemed Y/n just had the talent to make everything worse.

“This is the locker and the changing room. You can grab that one on the left,” Leah pointed at one of the lockers, with no identification on its door. “Basic rules: don’t let your clothes or boots lying around, lock your locker and just keep tidy. I hope can do that.”

Y/n hated Leah's tone. It was like the manager wanted to be everywhere else in the world but here with her. But she couldn’t blame Leah, she wouldn’t enjoy it if somebody kept her waiting for almost 50 minutes.

“Look, I’m really sorry about what happened earlier,” Y/n mumbled, following Leah through the corridors. She didn’t know where they were going. Maybe the kit room? “I’m normally very punctual.”

“Hm,” Leah said, sounding indifferent.

Maybe Y/n was going to cry on her first day after all.

Leah took a turn on the corridor and both women were in front of a white door, “Medical Room” written on it.

The room was fairly normal, having a couple of physios and massage tables. It looked like the place hadn’t been used today, since the tables were all made. A few Pilates objects were scattered around, making the room seem more lived in.

What really caught Y/n’s attention were the photos on the wall. Y/n took a step closer to the wall, leaving Leah behind her.

There was Kyra and Alessia smiling, both receiving massages from an older woman, whom Y/n guessed was the physiotherapist. Kim Little was right next to the girls’ pictures, wearing an air cast and using a crutch.

Vivianne Miedema and Beth Mead laying on a massage table, holding hands as they smiled for the picture. “ACL couple #1”, written just below it.

Next to it was a picture of Leah, a few years younger — maybe she was Y/n’s age — running in her arsenal kit. “Leah’s first run after ACL”, written in the same way as Vivianne and Beth’s photo.

Y/n felt her heart ached for Leah. Y/n was young, but she remembered how the football world was talking about how much Leah was trying to be back after her ACL tear during the Euros. She did everything available, every new therapy, and nothing worked. Sure, she could walk and even run for small periods of time, but Leah would never come back to football again.

Y/n wondered how Leah felt having to look at that picture every day.

“This is obviously the physio room,” Leah said, breaking the awkward silence that had formed. “I’ll email you the medical staffs ‘scheduled. if you ever need anything, you can just talk to them.”

When Y/n turned around to talk to Leah, she didn’t expect the blonde to be so close to her. Their bodies bumped together, making Y/n lose her balance and, if things weren’t bad enough, she stepped right into one of the exercise objects on the floor.

Y/n closed her eyes and waited for the impact of her head on the wall, but Leah was faster, holding her waist with one hand and her head with the other.

Y/n held her breath, feeling Leah’s torso against her, well, as much as she could considering she was wearing seven layers of clothing.

Y/n opened her eyes, meeting Leah’s gaze just for a second. Both women seemed like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hey Mary could you see my knee—”

Y/n and Leah were met with Katie McCabe, her green eyes staring at the two women in confusion.

“Am I interrupting something?” Katie said. Y/n could swear she heard teasing in the Irish women’s voice.

“What?! No, of course not.” Leah blurted, taking her hands off of Y/n’s body abruptly, if it wasn’t for Y/n year of balance training, she would have fallen again, that’s for sure. “I was just showing Y/n’s physio room, but Mary wasn’t even here so…” Leah seemed defensive now, looking everywhere but at Y/n or Katie.

“She almost fell,” Leah continued, overexplaining herself. “She tripped on this thing,” Leah lightly kicked the equipment, it was just a rubber ball. Y/n would laugh if Leah didn’t seemed so nervous all of the sudden. “You know I hate when things are left lying around.”

“Leah.”

“Yeah?”

“You are rambling,” Katie said making the blonde close her mouth.

“Why don’t you go do some manager things and I’ll finish the tour with her, yeah? It’s Y/n, right?” Katie offered her hand to Y/n, shaking it firmly. “I’m Katie.”

“Hi, yeah I’m Y/n, so sorry this is how we met,” Y/n said, looking down. “Guess I’ll just go with her, if that okay—.”

“More than okay,” Leah mumbled. “Bye, McCabe, I’ll see you at training.” Before Y/n or Katie could responded, Leah had already left the room, a frown on her face.

Katie was a way better host than Leah, showing all the places in the facility without making the young girl feel like a chore. The Irish woman couldn’t help but notice that Y/n wasn’t as happy as new players usually were when they first visited the club, so Katie asked what had happened.

“She hates me,” Y/n confessed to as soon as they get to the pitch, the last place on the tour.

“Who?”

“Leah.” Y/n mumbled “I was late earlier, and everything went south after that. I don’t know how I’m gonna get her to like me.”

Katie placed a comfortable hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “She doesn’t hate you, she is just grumpy like that, Leah doesn’t like when things don’t go the way she planned, she’ll come around.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course, it’s your first time at Arsenal, but it's also Leah’s first time as our manager. She never had a new player before; you are her first. Renée was the one handling the greetings and initial meetings with the players. Leah will understand that other people don’t always react in a way she expected.”

Y/n hoped Katie was right.

[namelessgakusei]

Noi! The Clara Dolls!

All Hail The Nutcracker Witch!

Mark Grayson x reader

Warnings: Death, Violence, mentions of suicide, Blood, Invincible War, Gaku's attempt at writing PTSD and Body Horror, Reader crashing out, another one of Gaku's looong posts

Mada Dame Yo (prev)

Sis Puella Magica! (cont.)

Notes: Just came home from school and Gaku's really, really tired. Nearly fell asleep before even writing this. Might proofread and edit when I wake up tomorrow. Angst first, fluff later. (Gaku, in fact, gave up and went to sleep)

Add. Note: Gaku of the next day here, still tired from uni, but I got home earlier than expected lmao. Accidentally posted this while incomplete OTL. I initially wanted this as an interlude but crammed the witching out by the end. Gaku's too tired.

@weaponxgames @sweet77kellia @starlightchildsworld

"Goodbye, hill of punishment."

Mainstream!Mark is kind. He's a bit shy but it's evident that he genuinely loves you. You bit your lower lip and forced a smile whenever he looks at your way. It was hard, at first, as you always remember him.

At first it was peaceful. Debbie's safe, which you noted that was quite rare, given the amount of times you saw her decayed corpse in the previous realities. Oliver's here too, a surprise that nearly broke you down. You only met him less than a handful of times, with him not even existing in the others. He's still the same kid that you grew to love and was your constant ally in every timeline that he's in.

William, Amber, Rex, Eve- Oh, god. Eve. You missed her. There were only a few realities that you were able to be friends with her. Mark kills her too soon, or she dies protecting Earth with you. You remember her being the first person you confided about your experiences, and when you thought to have hope when she expressed her understanding and desire to help, a version of Mark beheads her in front of you.

The memory makes you sick. You didn't dare to tell anyone about it after that, opting to work alone and involve little to no people with your business. You agreed to work with multiple Cecils just for a chance to wipe of the existence of Mark Grayson off the planet. But, alas, you end up dying or resetting time in the end.

Mark gets fidgety whenever you get too quiet, hanging into your every word like an overly eager child, desperate for acknowledgment. You let yourself wonder if he'll even kill himself if you asked to. At least then, maybe you'll be able to escape this nightmare.

But you're too in love with him to even live a second without him.

Maybe you had gone crazy too.

A sigh and a chuckle escapes your lips, confusing Mark, who was reading the newly released Seance Dog volume. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just, everything is peaceful. I like it."

This world isn't entirely without its own fair share of troubles and aliens and villains, but compared to the shit you've been through? This is fucking nothing.

You managed to help the Guardians in the nick of time when Omni-Man turned on Earth, revealing your abilities in this world for the first time. While the heroes were saved, you were not-so-subtly recruited by Cecil to join the Teen Team. You know how the man operates, having met at least a hundred different versions of him. You suppressed a laugh when he looks like he got his head running with contingency plans about you. Never change, Mr. Stedman.

Mark was amazed and invested in knowing more about your abilities. Trying to study you and "help" you understand your powers more. Why didn't you tell him? How long did you have it? How were you able to control time like that? You were so cool back there!

You want to tell him that you got experimented in Viltrum on the one time you told him about these strange abilities of yours. But you settled for saying that it's a long story and that you recently acquired them, not wanting to scare him off.

You think that he was simply ignoring what just happened with his father, opting to choose you over him in his mind. Coward.

It makes you sick.

You lay on his bed, rolling to the side while Mark went to get snacks. He seems a bit clingy in this world, or maybe it's because you look like you're on the verge of slipping away with how exhausted you always look. You sigh.

Your soul gem always look murky whenever you check on it.

It's an artifact that came with the ring on your middle finger, and appears at the back of your hand whenever you use your powers, with your clothes changing alongside the shield appearing on your arm. You don't know how or why, but even if you were beaten to a pulp, you don't feel anything. You're not even injured at the slightest. You know this, because you tried to take your own life once. Your body still functions even when your neck was bent, making you think that you were also immortal.

You weren't and you thanked your cursed fate that you weren't. That small gem you have in you was were your soul is at. You get hurt when it's touched the wrong way, and while you don't bleed, you feel excruciating pain. Your body is merely a meat sack now.

Does it matter?

No. But it sure came in handy when you were fighting against Mark after you figured it out, at least then, you don't have to worry about broken limbs.

You kept racking your brain about the cause of your situation, your powers and the looping timelines. You barely remember. Mark came back, pouting about the crease on your brows, before slipping in bed burying his head on your neck.

"What are you thinking about?"

"...Do you know an animal who can talk?"

Mark snorted and said a parrot but you shook your head, saying that it looked more like a white cat with red markings. He hugged you closer and mentioned that it might've been an alien.

Huh. Perhaps it was an alien. You remember it asking if you want to make a contract with it. Did you? Is that why you're trapped in this hell?

...Is it really one now?

For all it's worth, everything has been going smoothly in this run. Sure, Nolan's gone off the rails, but you saved the Guardians of the Globe! Oliver exists! Debbie's safe! Eve's alive! William and Amber are living normally! The Teen Team, sure still has problems, is still functioning! Cecil might still be a pain in the ass but with how many variants of him you spent time with, you consider him an old friend and even appreciate how he checks in on you.

Earth is not destroyed.

Isn't this the ideal world? Did you finally arrived at the best possible version? Will this finally end?

You look down and see the familiar tuff of black hair. The urge to run your hands through it is always within you, no matter if he's killing people or you, you really can't seem to loathe him enough to remove your feelings for him.

Will you finally be able to be happy?

You hugged Mark, burying your nose to his hair and inhaling his scent, earning a surprised sound from him. He doesn't protest nor ask, only reciprocating with a mumble of "Finally.", before humming in content.

This world, this Mark, they may not be the one you started with, where you originated and first loved, but it's slowly stared to grow on you.

Mark doesn't question it when you started interacting with everyone on your own accord. Initially, you only talk to others when it's necessary, making them hunt you down if they so want just a small conversation with you. But now, you're discussing something with Robot that made them back away from your smirking face. You're teasing them??

He thinks it's cute when you barely mask your excitement when you tell him that you'll be out with Eve and Amber for the weekend. You're even laughing with Oliver over some shows you two watch whenever you're babysitting him. He caught you and his mom gossiping about something that he apparently wasn't allowed to hear??? The hell?? He's the boyfriend here! He's happy you're finally getting out of your shell and not shutting the world out but he has his needs, mom! Boyfriend needs! Hugs and kisses!

He barely got you to agree to go out with him in the first place! You looked so disinterested and detached when he asked you out that he was so sure you didn't even want to be with him, it was only when you kept fussing and saving his ass that he figured out that you're really just the quiet type. But this?? He's hearing you laugh everyday! That's usually once every three months! (He is exaggerating.)

Though, he isn't complaining, smiling to himself even, as he watches you from across the room, fighting the urge to come over and cling to you. Your eyes met and you're... smiling at him. Not the forced ones that look too soulless to be convincing, you're genuinely smiling at him.

Mark buries his head on his arms and giggles, ears going red as his leg bounces excitedly.

The sight made you laugh at the other side of the room. It was... something. He's adorable. You don't know why you were so distant back then. He is nothing like them.

Nothing's like back then. Not anymore.

Not anymore. The thought still makes you nauseous, too reluctant to start hoping for the best. Who would blame you? Every time you start to have faith that everything will be better, that you'll finally have peace, you see his face—

No, this one isn't like that. Mark isn't like that. This is the one who quietly waited for you to open up. This is the one who never pried too much and lets you let him in at your own pace. He's the one who sat beside you when you wake up in cold sweat, riddled with nightmares. He's the one who let you use his shoulder to rest your head when you can't seem to sleep at night, who tucked the both of you to bed when you fell asleep.

He's kind. You give him that. Everytime you look at him, you slowly start to forget the bad memories associated with that face.

You don't see him anymore.

You see Mark Grayson.

...That is until Cecil called you.

Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson. Mark Grayson.

Everywhere you look, it's that damned face.

One with a yellow cape, one with a mohawk, one without goggles, one who wears the white Viltrumite uniform, one who looks like Omni Man, one who was a prisoner, one who hide his face with a hood, one who—

It's him.

Him again! Why? Why is he here? Why did he have to appear now?! Why? Why?! You... you just accepted your life here! You moved on! You have a life here! You...

Cecil orders you to subdue the Variants.

Subdue them. Subdue him. Can you do that? Can you even fight him? After all those times— Can you—?

They're everywhere. All over the world, bringing destruction with them. Showing you the same scenario that you lived through in all those realities.

Earth's destruction.

Mark tries to snap you out of it, telling you to go hide with Debbie and Oliver, that he'll handle it. He gave you a kiss before flying off to the Penitentiary. You saw a similar situation before. One where Mark told you that he'll fight off the Viltrumite Empire but ended up as a mangled corpse not a minute later.

Everything's going wrong again.

Cecil bark orders at you from your earpiece, but you can't hear it. Debbie's calling you from your phone, but you don't move to answer it. You move past the fleeing civilians, past the rubble and fire, and towards the veiled Mark in the middle of the street.

He's fighting off the heroes that surrounded him. He's all bloody but from how it looks like, with the heroes falling down the ground, it's not his.

"Mark."

Sheisty!Mark brightens up at the sound of your voice, despite the lack of visual on his face. Before he can zoom in front of you, you activated your ability and stared at his frozen form. His form looks like he's about to punch someone, taut muscles that peeks through his skin tight suit and the veil flew just the right way for you to have a glimpse of how flushed his face is. A lovesick expression is evident on his face.

Will you not be able to escape this fate?

You're tired.

When will the destruction and screams stop?

When will this end?

Your power runs out, continuing the flow of time. Sheisty!Mark pulls you to his bloodied chest, muttering words too fast for you to hear, all while running his hands around your body, like you aren't real.

You hoped you weren't.

Your use of power must've alerted the rest of the Variants, with them immediately flying to where you are, hovering just above to drink in the sight.

You were the sole reason as to why the eighteen Marks made a deal with Angstrom, after all.

And now, they can finally have you back.

Damned bastards.

You hear your named being yelled, but you don't know who it came from. You don't care anymore. Why should you? It all ends the same.

You're tired.

You're tired. You're tired. You're tired. When will this end? Stop this. Someone, anyone—

Save me, Mark.

The you in Sheisty!Mark's arms dissolved into a puddle, momentarily stunning the Variants around. Said puddle now expands throughout the asphalt road, coating everything in black until it reaches the sky. No more are the sounds of buildings crashing down from being destroyed nor are the sounds people who cry for help. One might say that the world became akin to the Shadow-verse. Until colorful shapes start to appear in the darkened world.

Buildings started emerging from the ground, destroying the roads and initial constructions. Laughter ran around the streets as paper doll-like creatures frolicked the desolate area, pointing and taunting the Variants.

Multiple arms reach out from the murky darkness, each out for a Mark. They can't fight it, no, they're incapable of doing so. They're in your world now.

With gentle hands, you cup his face and smiled. Wearing an expression so soft and speaking in a tone that he hadn't heard in a long time, Mark can't help but lean in, expecting something even in the middle of uncertainty.

How pathetic.

Your lips but ghost his', leaving him confused.

"I realized something during our time together." You started, still holding his face, eyes right into his own.

"You were always there for me, for better and for worse. You loved me throughout it all. It was always me and you."

"Oh, how I loathed that."

"How I hated you with every fiber of my being."

Your gem breaks, and your smiling face exploded on their faces, coating it with red.

Reality seemed to wrap around, changing the surroundings like how a theatre changes the set. Some of the Marks screamed in terror upon your "death" while some wiped the blood off and prepared for battle.

He once said that you were always full of surprises.

And now, you give them your final one. The blood from earlier suddenly shot out of them, forming something midair while a march is heard in the distant direction, heading to their direction. When your body was reformed, the small humanoid soldiers took aim and hit at you.

Your body convulsed from the barrage of bullets and promptly fell to the ground. Even as the Variants pummeled the soldiers down, their numbers doesn't dwindle, and soon what was left of your body is mutilated beyond recognition. FullMask!Mark and NoMask!Mark rushed to your side, and with trembling fingers, reached out on your remains.

Your head snapped to their direction, riddled with bullet holes, before your jaw snaps open and another you climbs out of it. With only half of your body out, you suddenly faced the sky and forced your jaw open, enabling another you to be able come out. The process repeats until a tower of your own body stands tall in the middle of the dark city.

The remaining soldiers ignored the Variants that still fought them, opting to march towards the grotesque tower, surrounding it.

"(Y/N)!"

You know only one who would call out to you like that.

"Ah... Mark..." You looked down at Mainstream!Mark and smiled longingly.

The last body to come out of your mouth screamed bloody murder, before being torn in half. Like a curtain being opened, a giant creature emerged from the bloodbath.

Bearing a likeness to you, with half of their head filled with red spider lilies and their wrists bound together like a prisoner, the Nutcracker Witch finally appeared.

[etherealkissed88]

YOU ARE THE ONE & ONLY INNER SELF 𖥔

WHAT IS INNER SELF?

inner self is you. it is imagination. it is god. it is power. it is reality. it is identity. it is you.

"the one in you that imagines, is you. that is the one who is desiring. that is the one wants to be exalted. that is the one who wants to have their desires fulfilled."

INNER SELF VS THE 3D

you are the inner self. there is only self. since it is always inner self / inner assumptions that gets expressed, there is no 3d. the 3d is always neutral and therefore dead. you are the inner self which is also taking on the role of a human in the '3d'. but since the 3d is always molded by inner self, the 3d is just a form of inner self; it is connected to self (you). the only possible 'thing' that can control this dead 3d world is inner self. as we know already, the inner self molds the dead 3d world so to manifest something, one would have to change self first and as a result, the dead 3d will only follow because that is its only job. the 3d cannot function on its own because it is only a reflection of self since they arent separated.

the human body is not the real you. think of this human body like a costume. the real you is internal (inner self) and it is what is always being expressed in the physical 3d, the part which the human self experiences. self is limitless. as self, you can occupy any state you choose (state of wealth, state of luck, state of dating your sp). there are infinite states, so there are infinite versions of you that you can embody.

everything is an expression of self, an expression of you, an expression of who you are being in imagination

IDENTIFYING W THE INNER SELF

now lets think about the 3d/human self: nelly is in math class and she wants to see a pink elephant right now. so since shes uneducated about the law, she affirms for the pink elephant and then searches for it in the 3d using her human senses. she looks at the board and around the tables to see if she can find the pink elephant. she cant find it. the 3d (even though it is only an expression of self), is always limited. this is simply because the 3d is a limited version of self. at this moment, she is identifying w the 3d, outer self.

afterschool, nelly gets pissed because she still didnt see that pink elephant even though she searched everywhere. she goes home and reads her favorite loa blogger, @/etherealkissed ;) and is now educated on the law *wink wink* now she knows that she is only ever self which is limited by the 3d. she sees how limitless and free her inner self is, so she decides to identify w inner self.

now she identifies as inner self and sees the pink elephant. instead of searching for it in the 3d, she imagines the pink elephant and instantly sees it. she (her inner self) instantly experiences it in imagination. her inner self embodies the state of having the pink elephant. since she understands that self is always what is expressed, she knows that by law, the 3d will reflect self and she will see the pink elephant in the physical since her inner self already experienced it. but she isnt searching anymore because she knows it is done already. she (her inner self) continues being that person with the pink elephant in imagination, regardless of the physical. she no longer identifies w the unreal outer self by searching for it or wondering when she will see the pink elephant. later that day, her mom comes home with a cute pink elephant plushy as a surprise gift. “shit, inner self really is all there is,” nelly thinks. now she knows without doubt that inner self is always being expressed!

the point is that she learned she cannot be limited by the 3d since she is always limitless inner self. she is comfortable with knowing she is always inner self and always experiencing inner self.

“To the Inner Man EVERYTHING ALREADY IS TRUE, not to the outer. IT ALREADY IS SO, to the Inner Man. There is no convincing necessary, no 1,000 affirmations, no repeating over and over hoping it works, IF YOU IDENTIFY YOURSELF WITH THE INNER MAN. If you claim to be the One Within, you will find it incredibly easy, I will say natural, to FEEL what you want. Pay attention to what I am saying: When you imagine your "end" is it not ALREADY SO? You did not imagine "How" to get there, you are already there in imagination. Your issue is NOT in imagining the end, your issue lies in who you are identifying yourself with. If you imagine yourself in the end, which is easy, but then you identify yourself with the outer-man, you will breed nothing but frustrations. However, if you first identify yourself with the One Within, and then imagine your end, you will not question if you "are going to get it," you HAVE IT! The Inner Man always has it. He see's the end, he is the one who creates his own fate. The Inner Man is his own destroyer and redeemer. Identify yourself with the inner man. The immortal you. Not this body nor this outer-life. If you want freedom, love, joy, happiness, confidence. If you want to be a King/Queen, treated like a god/goddess, loved beyond your wildest dreams, then identify yourself with the INNER MAN. The Inner Man can have all those desires fulfilled.”

to the outer/human self, you have to convince it, search for it. to the inner self, you only have to be it, imagine it, assume it.

“Let's give an example. Suppose I wanted to go to Las Vegas but I am in New York. While I am in New York, I would imagine myself in Las Vegas at the MGM Grand lobby. So while I am looking around in the MGM Grand's lobby, I assume that the Inner Man who is looking around is the REAL ME, the I AM. So I say, "I AM in Las Vegas." If I identify myself with the Inner Man, then yes, it is a PRESENT FACT that I am in Las Vegas. To deny this is to be delusional. I am looking at the lobby and I see people walking around. Of course, I am here.” - edward art

the inner self is all there is. the inner self is the true you. the 3d/human self is a limited expression of self. why limit yourself to the neutral and limited world?

kisses, jani ☆

[theshiftingwitch]

How to manifest an sp

The fastest and easiest way:

One thing I can tell you about me that I have reserved the right to brag about, is that I've never ever failed at manifesting a specific person.

Even when I didn't know about the law, even when I was still a wide-eyed teenager sauntering through life with bucket loads of anxiety, baseless hope, and religious trauma, I have always manifested every person I've ever wanted. From boyfriends, to friends, to strangers complimenting me on the street randomly for no specific reason whatsoever, when I decided to get a person, I have always succeeded.

It is the easiest thing you will ever do. Now don't give me that look, I can see you already rolling your eyes at your screen saying "I have been trying to manifest my SP for a year and a half and nothing happened, how can you tell me that it's the easiest thing in the world?" Well because I have the experience, the expertise, and the success stories to prove it and I'm going to break it down to you in the simplest of ways, that you're going to manifest your Sp tomorrow morning.

One thing I noticed about everyone trying to manifest a specific person is that most of you (and I want you to take no offense whatsoever to this because we're going to change it immediately) reek of desperation.

You want your SP, and you want them right now, and you will do anything to get them, and you are so desperate that if they were making a reboot for desperate housewives you would get the role effortlessly.

You are a Carrie when you're supposed to be a Samantha. If you haven't seen sex and the city first of all what are you doing? second of all get on it now. But if you have, you will know that Carrie throughout the seasons and the movies was the most desperate bitch anyone has ever seen and all of her relationships ended horrifically including but not limited to being left at the altar by Mr big. Samantha however, was a bad bitch, she knew what she wanted and she got it 100% of the time because she knew she was THAT bitch.

The first thing you need to do is become a Samantha. You need to know your own value, you need to understand that you are the prize, that you should be on the pedestal, that you control this reality and that no man/woman or non-binary person is going to tell you how things are going in your own reality. Stop victimizing yourself, stop waiting on your manifestations, stop waiting for your SP to notice you or text you or acknowledge your existence or leave their 3p behind for you!!! this is your reality and you tell it what the fuck to do.

Your self concept needs to be through the roof, no screw the roof, your self concept needs to be in outer space! you need to think of yourself as God, you need to think of yourself as the only operant power in your reality, you need to think of yourself as if the world will end tomorrow if you decide it would. You need to take care of yourself like the queen (or king, or monarch, we are inclusive here) that you are. Stop overthinking it, stop being desperate, stop waiting for the opportunity for someone else to notice you, notice yourself.

I don't care if your SP is a celebrity. I don't care if you've never met them before in real life, I don't care if you have an enemies to lovers arc that is still developing its enemy portion, I don't care if they think of you as a goblin, as a gremlin walking on two feet, I don't care how they see the world, this is all about you. So you decide who you want to be and carry yourself like that bad bitch.

The second thing you're going to do is decide and fall back. So you decided that your SP is obsessed with you, you decided that your SP is texting you right now as we speak confessing their eternal undying love for you. What are you doing now? Are you holding your phone obsessing over when that text is coming? Are you stalking them on social media to see if they're posting anything or to see if they're online? Are you stalking them to see if there's another girl/boy/person in their life right now? Absolutely the fuck not. You affirmed, you decided, you put things in motion. Now you're going to put your phone down and you're going to screw off to do something else. Go read a book, go watch a TV show, go rearrange your wardrobe and throw away anything you're not wearing anymore, go put on a full face of makeup and take pictures just for the hell of it, go hang out with your friends or bully or younger sibling or go for a walk. Touch grass. Stare at the sun or the moon and acknowledge that you are just as fantastic and magnificent and beautiful and Powerful as that luminary goddess in the sky. The point is, you decided! you put things in motion! there is no reason for you to be checking the 3D every 2 seconds saying "oh where's my manifestation? where is my text? where's my SP?" who the fuck cares? Your SP is currently spiraling, they are losing their goddamn mind trying to come up with the perfect text to send to you that will show just how much they're obsessed with you. They're currently losing whatever brain cells they have left trying to figure out what gift to buy you, what grand gesture they're going to win you over with, what clothes they're going to wear on your date, what restaurant they're going to take you to, what car they need to bring so that would make a good impression, what picture they're going to post on social media so that you would notice them... your sp is currently spiraling, I don't need you to do the same thing! you are in control.

And the last thing you are going to do, is to bask in the feeling of a manifestation well received. You already have your SP, and you already went on the dates, and you already posted the soft launch and the hard lunch and everyone in the world knows that you two are together and everyone is congratulating you in your DMs and everyone is liking your pictures and saying "oh my God couple goals! I wish I had someone who loved me like that! I wish I had someone who showed me off like that! I wish I had someone who bought me flowers and gifts and chocolates like that..." everything is going exactly as you wanted it to and everything is perfect in your life and you are feeling amazing! you are feeling on top of the world, you are feeling like THAT bitch because you are THAT bitch. You are Samantha. Act like it.

Neutralize the energy of desperation and bask in the energy of fulfillment.

Manifesting an SP works based on the principle of thought transmission, which means you need to understand that every thought you have about your SP is going directly into their tiny pea sized brain. (And no, I don't mean every single thought, they can't read your mind. I mean thoughts directed at them with the intention of manifesting them, so don't go and spiral thinking that there are vampires out there reading your mind making fun of you, I am talking about manifesting.) So if you think that your SP is obsessed with you, your SP is going to mirror that because we're all one part of the big brain that is the great consciousness and once you send a direct message it will always be received. So stop losing your mind, stop wondering if it's working because it is working because the law never fails. It's what makes it a law. So rest assured that your thoughts are penetrating their brain through thought transmission and they are thinking exactly what you're thinking.

Give it a try, and let me know how it works for you. I look forward to seeing all of your success stories because I know that this is going to work. You are going to manifest that person.

Happy manifesting ❤️

[illwilledomen]

Also i am obsessed with your fucked up son. Kay i ask why hero is Like That. Was it a programming error? He was meant to be the "friend", right, but even before the fall he was weirdly violent.

I just want to know more about him. Whats going on in his fucked up little head

I’m obsessed with him too. I love him and i cry so much about him here’s why:

Since Hero was the first, he has quite a few errors in his design, both in his hardware (body) and software (brain and tablet of information).

He does not have any internal concept of empathy and doesn’t fully understand the concept that other creatures think and live. This caused him to accidentally kill some of the animals introduced into the Garden because he didn’t understand that he was hurting them. HOWEVER — he only became purposefully violent AFTER he faced considerable abuse from the authority figures around him (guards, scientists, Rana herself, and white eyes).

Very important distinction because his lack of empathy was not what drove him to act aggressively, and it’s important to note that a lack of empathy does not mean someone is dangerous, conniving or violent, it just simply means that they don’t feel the sensation of empathy. You are free to interpret any of the abio characters as you like, but it is my personal belief Hero is not fully at fault for the violence he displays… I’ll explain why;

The violence Hero displayed was merely him, a person very new to the world, parroting the abusive behaviour shown towards him, and his way of trying to process emotions that he was not familiar with such as jealousy (towards the other players), fear of obsolescence and misery at the lack of autonomy and respect he is showed. Hero was in a position where he had no power over himself and was physically, emotionally and mentally dependent on authority figures that did not see him as an equal or a as a fully realized being. For example Hero is unable to will himself to eat without being commanded to by an authority figure (he is anorexic — does not feel hunger) so you can probably see how this puts him in a vulnerable position.

Basically he began to lash out at anyone he could lash out at, whether that be animals or the other players. He could not bear the thought of placing the blame on the authorities of his life because then his whole world would fall apart, so he instead shifts the blame on those in the same position as him (Alex, steve and two others, Jane and Ed, who would then become “null” and “entity 303”) convincing himself that they are malicious and want to replace him (when in reality they are basically robot infants).

Then, there was the influence from White Eyes. I’ve previously stated that White Eyes was a void entity but I’ve changed that after a friend suggested it to me and i got hooked on the idea. She’s another test subject, an unstable experiment born from trying to fuse living corporeal matter and void matter (basically she’s an enderman human and various animals hybrid). White Eyes is constantly in pain and this has made her a very vindictive and aggressive being. All voidborn beings have psionic influence and White Eyes has this as well, however it’s not as fine tuned as a natural voidborn like an enderman. Hers is more like an influence. White Eyes rubbed off on Hero, and while she was increasingly immobilized by her dying body, Hero would follow her commands and absorb her emotions like a sponge. They had a very close bond but it was very unhealthy. This was another factor that caused him to commit violent acts.

Anyway, that’s some abiogenesis hero lore for you.

[jaijeijayjei]

I'm starting to realize people perceive Mel with the assumption that she has bad intentions, so that's all they see in her.

The writers have said Mel was written to seem as a one-dimensional manipulator, but in reality she is a multi-layered individual with complex motivations. Rewatching her earlier scenes with that in mind brings her into a completely new light.

(justification for these interpretations under the cut)

"Mel invested in Hextech for power and influence"

Or, she invested in them because she believed in Hextech's potential to change the world for the better?

"Mel pressured Jayce to reveal his new inventions so she can cash in on the profit"

Or, she understands Heimerdinger is stuck in the past and doesn't want him to hinder Jayce's progress?

"Mel sleeps with Jayce to make him more pliable"

Or, she genuinely admires Jayce and sees a way to be free of her family's bloody legacy by working alongside him.

"Mel turns Jayce into a corrupt politician for her own gain"

Or, Mel believes protecting Hextech's interest is more important than trade laws.

"Mel wanted Hextech weapons to make Piltover more powerful"

Or, she only wanted weapons as a last resort and for self-defense.

"Mel will do anything to prove herself to her family"

Or, Mel also wants to prove that ruling with diplomacy is superior to ruling with cold pragmatism and brute force.

Yes there are times Mel acts out of self-interest and a desire for power, but those aren't her only motivations. Mel subverts the "shady corrupt politician" trope, she is not defined by it.

I believe Mel is being genuine in her conversation with Jayce in S1 E5, about wanting to give back to the world. In her argument with Jayce in S2 E8, she explains why she invested in Hextech to begin with. She saw two brilliant scientists, capable of impossible things, rallying the hearts of a nation. Mel believed in Jayce and Viktor's potential to do good. Also, she has shown the wellbeing of Piltover (and in S2, the safety of Zaunites), are more important to her than personal gain.

Jayce specifically went to her for advice, and she gave it. Doesn't this imply Jayce views her as an ally or advisor as well as an investor? He clearly values her opinions.

During Mel's whole childhood, her family and homeland tried to shape her into someone she was not- a cold, pragmatic ruler willing to do anything to maintain power. Her way of ruling was scorned by her mother as "soft spined" and foolish, but with Jayce she found someone who believed in and appreciated her. Plus she was personally affronted when he left her in bed. It's more than likely she acted out of genuine attraction and admiration.

Side note: Jayce has already shown he's alright with breaking the rules for the greater good. He illegally experimented with magic, broke into Heimer's lab, and led an unsanctioned attack. Jayce and Mel are more aligned in this way than he realizes- Mel believes securing Hextech's future is more important than breaking a few trade laws. Jayce was in a vulnerable position, with a target on his back. She could have used that against him, but didn't.

Mel is a pragmatic pacifist, even from childhood. Mel is very much anti-war because she understands how destructive it is, having grown up in Noxus.

Mel's rift from her family is an ideological one- she values leading with diplomacy is disgusted by Noxus' brutality. If she can make Piltover successful, it proves that there are better ways to rule than what Noxus insists upon. Mel has also shown her morals are more important to her than power. She turns down opportunities to elevate her position tremendously by siding with her mother or advocating for an invasion because it goes against her moral compass.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daeron Targaryen - Fire and Frost

Summary - She finds herself wed to a Targaryen—her worst fear manifesting. As she navigates court politics and her heart, she discovers that the man she expected to dread may hold the key to an unexpected future. Can love emerge from the ashes of fire and ice?

Pairing - Daeron Targaryen x Stark reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2212

Masterlist for Daeron • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

"What end could I possibly have marrying a Targaryen?" I asked, my voice trembling as I nervously twisted the ring on my finger. 

Cregan, my brother, sat across from me, his face carefully composed, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like a man bracing for a storm.

"It is my duty to secure a favourable match for you, and I have done so," Cregan replied calmly, his hand reaching out to cover mine, halting my anxious movements. 

I let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the walls of inevitability closing in around me.

"But how is this match favourable, Cregan?" I questioned, my voice softer now but laced with uncertainty.

Rumours about the Targaryen brothers—their reckless ways, their unchecked power—swirled through my mind. Stories of fire and blood, of madness and ambition.

I couldn't imagine myself in their world, so far from home, bound to a man I barely knew, a man whose name alone filled me with dread.

"I know what people say about them. Daeron is no different, is he? Do you expect me to be blind to it?"

Cregan exhaled slowly, his grip on my hand tightening ever so slightly as if bracing himself.

"I understand your concerns," he admitted, "but Father insisted on this match before his death. It was his wish—his command. I cannot undo what he has set in motion."

"But I belong in the North. I am Northern to my core!" I exclaimed, trying to keep my voice from breaking. "I do not wish to be so far from you, from our home. What life could I possibly build in the South?"

His brow furrowed, and for the first time, a flicker of emotion passed through his otherwise stoic expression. "I would not send you away if it were my choice alone. But this was Father's will, and as Lord of Winterfell, I am bound to honour his final wishes."

Tears welled in my eyes, and despite my efforts to remain composed, they spilt over, warm and heavy, rolling down my cheeks. 

I looked at my brother, pleading silently for some other way, some escape from this fate. "Cregan, you are Warden of the North, the Lord of Winterfell. Surely you have the power to change this."

He shook his head, his voice heavy with regret. "I am bound by duty—just as you are now." His own eyes softened, pained by the sight of my tears. 

"Please, do not cry," he whispered, closing his eyes briefly as if the very sight of my pain cut deeper than any blade. "If there were any other way, I would take it. But Father's will is clear."

My chest tightened, a wave of emotion crashing over me as the reality sank in. There was no escape. No way to avoid the marriage or the fate that awaited me. 

Slowly, the fire in my voice began to fade.

"I never asked for this," I murmured, my gaze dropping to the ring still twisting between my fingers. "I never wanted any of this."

"I know," Cregan said softly. "But sometimes we don't get to choose our paths. You will find your place, even in the South. Daeron is not like the others. He will be kind to you. I would not send you to a man I did not trust."

I looked up at him, my tears now silent, and saw the sorrow in his eyes. He truly believed there was no other choice, and perhaps there wasn't. 

The fight within me gave way to something quieter—acceptance.

"What if I can't do it?" I whispered, my voice so soft it barely reached him. "What if I fail?"

"You won't," he said, squeezing my hand gently. "You are stronger than you think. You are of the North, after all."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, nodding slowly. It felt like surrender, but deep down, I knew it was the only option left.

"I will marry him, then," I said finally, the words bitter on my tongue but resolute. "I will marry Daeron."

Cregan's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, though the sadness in his eyes remained. "Thank you," he murmured as if my acceptance had lifted a weight from both of us, though it hardly felt like a victory.

I had lost the battle, but in the end, there was no winning—only duty.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The wedding was a grand affair, as expected, held in King's Landing—the seat of power and my new home. 

The Targaryen banners flew high above the Keep, casting shadows over the endless stream of nobles and courtiers gathered from across the realm. 

Laughter and music filled the air, but to me, it all felt distant, like a dream from which I could not wake.

I had done everything in my power to avoid speaking to Daeron. Despite his many attempts to start a conversation, I evaded him, retreating into myself. 

The mere thought of him, my husband now, sent a wave of unease through me. 

I did not wish to suffer any more than was necessary, and engaging with him felt like it would only deepen the weight already pressing on my chest.

I sat at the head table, twisting the ring on my finger—a nervous habit I couldn't seem to shake—as Daeron conversed with a nearby lord. His voice was calm, relaxed, a contrast to the tension building within me.

 My eyes scanned the hall, the sea of faces all turned in celebration. Nobles from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms had come to witness the last Targaryen prince's wedding, to celebrate a union that I felt little joy in.

And then, I felt it—his eyes on me. I stiffened slightly, turning my head just enough to meet Daeron's gaze. There was no malice in it, no cruelty, but the intensity made me look away quickly, heat rising in my cheeks. 

I focused back on the table in front of me, trying to steady my breathing, when I felt him lean closer, his breath warm against my ear.

"Shall we leave?" he whispered, his voice low and gentle.

I blinked in confusion, my eyes finally meeting his as I processed the question. "Leave?" I echoed. "Do we not wait for the bedding ceremony?"

The words felt strange on my tongue, and my voice came out quieter than I intended. I knew what was expected—what came next. My stomach knotted in anticipation. I couldn't hide the nervous look that flashed across my face.

Daeron, however, only shrugged, his demeanour surprisingly calm. "Would you like to wait for the ceremony?" he asked a hint of amusement in his tone.

"No!" The word slipped out far too quickly, and I winced at the sharpness of my response. Embarrassment flooded me, and I hastily lowered my gaze. 

"I mean... no," I repeated more softly, "if we can avoid it, I would very much prefer that."

A quiet laugh rumbled from Daeron, but it wasn't cruel—it was almost... understanding. "Then we shall sneak away," he said, rising to his feet. 

He extended his hand towards me, and for a moment, I hesitated. But finally, I placed my hand in his, the weight of the decision heavy but oddly relieving.

True to his word, Daeron navigated us through the crowd, weaving between drunk lords and distracted courtiers. No one seemed to notice the bride and groom slipping away from their own wedding feast. 

The din of laughter and celebration grew distant as we wound our way through the unfamiliar halls of the Keep.

Finally, we reached a large set of wooden doors. Daeron pushed them open, revealing his chambers. He led me inside, the heavy doors closing with a soft thud behind us. 

The room was dimly lit by candles, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. It felt intimate, far too intimate for the quiet awkwardness between us.

I let go of his hand quickly, clasping my fingers together in front of me as I nervously glanced around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. 

I could feel Daeron watching me, his gaze curious but not unkind. 

He took a step toward me, and instinctively, I took one back.

He stopped immediately, his brow furrowing in concern. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded, though I wasn't sure I believed myself. My throat felt tight, and the words I wanted to say stuck somewhere between fear and uncertainty. I didn't trust myself to speak.

"You do not speak much," Daeron observed after a moment of silence. His tone wasn't accusatory, merely an observation. He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "Or perhaps... you do not speak much to me."

His words caught me off guard, and my eyes widened just a little in surprise. I shook my head quickly. 

"No, my prince, it's not that. I... I'm simply..." I hesitated, unsure how to finish. "I'm a little nervous."

"Nervous?" he repeated, his brow raising slightly. "Of what?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came. What was I nervous of? Him? The unfamiliarity of this life? The expectations placed upon me now? All of it, perhaps. 

My throat tightened, and I found myself unable to form a coherent response. My hands fidgeted with the fabric of my dress as the silence stretched between us.

Daeron took a step back, giving me space, and his face softened. 

"You don't have to be nervous, you know," he said quietly. "I won't do anything to hurt you. We can take this slowly. Whatever pace you need."

His words caught me off guard. I had braced myself for cold indifference, for the kind of entitlement I had feared the Targaryen brothers carried with them. But instead, there was kindness in his voice, an unexpected patience that I had not anticipated. 

Some of the tightness in my chest loosened, though doubt still lingered at the edges of my mind.

I glanced up at him, uncertain. Could I trust this? Trust him? There was no trace of malice in his eyes, no hidden agenda. He simply stood there, waiting, giving me the space I hadn't expected to be offered.

"I... I don't know what to do," I confessed, my voice barely audible. 

The vulnerability of the admission left me feeling exposed like I was handing him a fragile part of myself I hadn't even realized I was holding.

Daeron's expression softened further, his understanding surprising me. "You don't need to do anything," he said, his voice a quiet reassurance. "Not tonight. Let's just... get to know each other when you're ready."

We stood there for a long moment, just looking at each other. I didn't feel the need to speak, nor did he. It was as though the silence was saying more than words could at that moment. 

Something shifted between us, a new understanding beginning to take root.

As I held his gaze, something stirred within me—something I hadn't expected. The tension that had once filled the room was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar but undeniable pull. 

I took a small step forward, closing the distance between us. My heart pounded in my chest, but not from fear this time.

Daeron's eyes flickered in surprise as I moved closer, but he didn't step back, didn't move away. 

Instead, he simply watched me, waiting, as though he had sensed the change in me before I had even fully realized it myself.

I hesitated for only a moment longer before something inside me gave way. Slowly, almost cautiously, I closed the remaining distance between us. 

My hand reached out, tentative at first, and then I gently pressed my palm against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingers.

For a heartbeat, everything was still.

And then, I leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft, tentative—just a brush of my lips against his. I wasn't even sure why I had done it, only that it felt... right in that moment. I pulled back slightly, my breath caught in my throat, my heart racing.

Daeron didn't move immediately, didn't rush to take control of the moment. He simply blinked in surprise, as if he hadn't expected me to make the first move. And then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, warm and genuine.

He raised his hand, gently cupping my cheek, his touch feather-light. 

"I didn't expect that," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement but no arrogance, no presumptuousness. "But I'm glad you did."

I swallowed, the tension I had once felt now replaced by something softer, something I hadn't anticipated. 

"I think..." I began, my voice barely above a whisper, "I think I was wrong about you."

His thumb traced a soft line along my jaw, his eyes searching mine. "Perhaps," he said, his voice a low murmur, "but we have time to figure each other out, don't we?"

I nodded, feeling a sense of calm settle over me for the first time since this entire ordeal began. 

For the first time, I didn't feel like I was trapped, didn't feel like I was simply fulfilling a duty. Maybe this marriage wouldn't be what I feared. Maybe it could be something more.

And in that moment, with Daeron's hand still resting gently on my cheek and his eyes filled with that same patient kindness, I allowed myself to believe that this, perhaps, was a beginning rather than an end.

A/n - Ik I have severely lacked in the Daeron content (over two months for his last oneshot) but hopefully this is forgiveness enough, I am very slowly tryna balance this and all the craziness of life ill get there eventually😭😭

Daeron tag list - @alyssa-dayne

[hotdonnafox]

Virtually Becki

Victoria Walker had always kept her head down. As a shy, introverted student with a passion for coding and technology, she spent more time with her laptop than with people. Her grades were flawless, and her intelligence outshone most of her peers, but none of that mattered to Becki Carter.

Becki was everything Victoria wasn’t: loud, attention seeking, effortlessly beautiful, and, worst of all, cruel. She was the queen of their school’s social scene, a party girl who flaunted her looks and seemed utterly disinterested in academics. For Becki, her reflection and her popularity were all that mattered. She bullied Victoria at every chance mocking her clothes, her interests, and the fact that Victoria never seemed to fit in.

Victoria never understood why Becki targeted her. She tried to rationalize it maybe it was insecurity, maybe jealousy but the constant ridicule was wearing her down. She had to understand Becki, figure out what made her so cruel, and maybe just maybe find a way to make her stop.

That’s when she had an idea.

Victoria had been working on a virtual reality project for months. It was a personal venture, a highly advanced program that could simulate entire environments based on a person’s thoughts and memories. She decided to take it further. What if she could create a virtual replica of Becki’s world? If she could live as Becki in this VR space, perhaps she could understand her bully from the inside out.

She spent weeks coding, analyzing every detail she could find about Becki her social media posts, the way she walked, talked, dressed. Victoria meticulously programmed every aspect of Becki’s life into the simulation: her lavish parties, her shallow friendships, her careless attitude. The final touch was Becki herself a digital clone so accurate that it was almost eerie.

When the program was finally complete, Victoria hesitated. It was one thing to create this world, but another to step into it. Yet her curiosity pushed her forward. She strapped on the VR headset and entered the simulation.

Immediately, she became Becki.

The first time in Becki’s world was overwhelming. Victoria felt herself swaying in unfamiliar heels, her body clad in tight, revealing clothes. The mirror in front of her reflected Becki’s perfect face plump lips, long lashes, a flawless tan. She felt powerful, commanding attention as she walked through a crowded virtual party. It was intoxicating. For a moment, she reveled in it, but she quickly reminded herself why she was there. She wasn’t Becki. She was Victoria, just here to understand.

The first few sessions were just that explorations. Victoria tried to pick apart Becki’s life, to see if there was some hidden reason for her cruelty. But as the days passed, something strange began to happen. Every time she logged into the simulation, it became harder to remember that she wasn’t actually Becki. She found herself slipping into character effortlessly, responding with the same carelessness, the same vapid remarks that Becki would make.

Soon, Victoria wasn’t just observing Becki’s life she was living it. She started going to virtual parties, enjoying the attention, flirting with the virtual versions of Becki’s friends. The more she acted like Becki in the simulation, the more she started to enjoy it. She had built the world so meticulously that every detail was perfect: the music, the flashing lights, the intoxicating energy of being the center of attention. In Becki’s world, she wasn’t the quiet, overlooked nerd; she was the one everyone wanted to be around.

At first, it was just an escape, a chance to experience something so far removed from her real life. But slowly, subtly, the lines between the virtual world and reality began to blur.

In the real world, Victoria found herself changing. It started small. After one session, she was brushing her hair and caught herself hesitating. She stared at her reflection, noticing her plain clothes and simple ponytail. That wasn’t Becki. The thought rattled her, but she couldn’t shake it. Becki wouldn’t be caught dead in baggy sweaters and jeans. Without fully understanding why, Victoria reached into her closet, pulling out a tighter shirt she rarely wore. It fit differently than she remembered. It felt different like she was stepping into someone else’s skin.

The next time she logged into the simulation, the transformation was easier. She didn’t just slip into Becki’s world; she embraced it. Her virtual body moved with confidence, her voice carried a flirtatious lilt, and her presence commanded attention. Every time she played Becki in the virtual world, it felt more natural, more addictive. It wasn’t just fun anymore it was becoming who she wanted to be.

The changes in Victoria’s real life escalated. She started spending hours in front of the mirror, fixing her hair, experimenting with makeup, mimicking the style Becki wore in the VR world. She bought new clothes tighter, more revealing outfits that she never would’ve dared to wear before. The girl who used to shy away from crowds was now shopping for mini skirts and low cut tops.

Her behavior at school began to shift, too. The studious, reserved Victoria started skipping classes, spending more time with her laptop, fine tuning the virtual world. Every session lasted longer than the last. But it wasn’t just the virtual Becki she was fine tuning it was herself. She caught herself laughing louder, flipping her hair more, and enjoying the glances she received from classmates, even from people like Becki’s real world friends who barely noticed her before.

But as she spent more time inside Becki’s life, her mind changed in ways she couldn’t control. Victoria used to care about her coding projects, her studies, her future. But those ambitions were fading, drowned out by thoughts of popularity and appearances. Why should she stress about grades when she could be the most desired girl in school? Her obsession with Becki’s shallow, glamorous life consumed her.

One day, while shopping for a new outfit that Becki would’ve approved of, Victoria caught her reflection in a store window. She stopped, startled by what she saw. Her once bare face was now caked in makeup plump, glossy lips, smoky eyes, and perfectly styled hair. Her clothes, far from the modest jeans and sweaters she used to wear, clung to her body, designed to attract attention. She stood there, in a mini skirt and a crop top, looking nothing like the girl who once prided herself on her intelligence.

But instead of fear, she felt a rush of excitement. The reflection wasn’t Victoria anymore it was Vicki.

Her transformation grew more dramatic. At parties real ones now, not just the VR simulations she was no longer the awkward girl in the corner. She became the life of the event, just like Becki. Guys who never gave her a second glance were suddenly wrapped around her finger. She flirted effortlessly, enjoying the power she held over them. Her studies fell by the wayside. She didn’t need to be the smartest girl in the room anymore she had other ways of getting what she wanted.

Weeks passed, and the two worlds the virtual and the real merged even more. She started correcting people when they called her Victoria. She wasn’t just pretending to be Vicki like anymore she was her. Her thoughts shifted, too. She found herself daydreaming about boys, about parties, about the superficial things she used to mock Becki for. The coding genius who had once lived for intellectual challenges was now obsessed with her looks, her social status, and her power over others.

The final stage of her transformation came without her even realizing it. One night, after spending hours in the VR world, she took the headset off and looked at herself in the mirror. But this time, she didn’t see the old Victoria trying to play a part. She saw Vicki. Her lips parted in a smile sultry, shallow, perfect.

She didn’t miss the old her. In fact, she could barely remember what that Victoria was like. She wanted to forget. Being Vicki was easier, more fun, more exciting. She liked the attention, the freedom, the power that came with being desired. The things she used to care about grades, knowledge, her future less important some how.

Victoria.. no, Vicki had finally completed the transformation. She was no longer the shy, nerdy girl who tried to understand her bully. She had become her.

[australianwomensnews]

Teenage girls know a lot more about democracy and what makes it tick than teenage boys, but when it comes to political ambition the boys win hands down.

A global study of 82,000 teenagers from 22 countries showed that almost without exception girls had a greater engagement with and understanding of government, equality, public trust, voting and representation, than their male peers.

But boys were more likely to say they were interested in becoming a politician

“Australian girls are outperforming boys on knowledge, attitudes and values��that support a greater competency when it comes to participation in civic life,” said Rachel Parker, from the Australian Council of Educational Research, who worked on the study.

“One of the few areas where boys outperform girls in the study is the intention to be politically active.”

The report, Education for Citizenship in Times of Global Challenge, found that girls were far more knowledgeable about how parliament works, globalisation, independence of statutory authorities and voting and representation.

Girls were also far more likely than boys to support gender equality and equal rights for migrants and cultural groups to access education, employment and political participation.

They were more engaged with big issues such as environmental protection and more likely to participate in civic activities.

However, girls were less likely to report expecting to join a political party or a trade union or stand as a candidate in an election.

The study did not dig into the reasons why, but previous research identified parental influence and societal expectations as feeding gender norms relating to political ambition, as well as widely held perceptions that politics is a man’s world.

Indeed, 40 per cent of boys thought men are better suited to being political leaders than women, while 25 per cent agreed with the statement that women should stay out of politics.

Ella Curran, 18, harboured an ambition to become a politician when she was in Year 9, but a school excursion to Canberra cured her of that notion.

“I started to think more realistically about the sort of lifestyle I wanted for myself. And we did a legal studies excursion to Parliament House and watched question time,” she told AFR Weekend.

“I felt it was so aggressive and personal in the insults that were being thrown about that I just thought it was not the sort of workplace I could feel comfortable in,” said Ms Curran, a first-year arts and philosophy student at the University of Sydney.

“I’m just not prepared to face that kind of abuse or have my appearance or relationship status mocked in public rather than focus on what I am actually doing.”

Ms Curran’s two great passions are climate change and gender equality.

“I’m concerned about climate change, particularly Australia’s response to that because we are one of the worst countries in the world for our emissions,” she said.

Lulu Hamilton, 16, who counts women’s rights and climate change as her two greatest passions, also harboured a fleeting ambition to become a politician when she was younger but abandoned it without any fanfare.

“I thought it was the best platform to make change because if I could have power, I could make my goals become a reality,” Ms Hamilton said.

Having spent the first 12 years of her life in China, seeing democracy in action, including the free exchange of information and ideas, was a head-spinning affair.

“It was such a jarring difference. I never would have spoken to my friends in China about climate change, gender or politics. Even our textbooks had stuff whited out because the Chinese government didn’t want us to read about Tibet and Taiwan. We had very limited access to media.”

As for a future in politics? That’s out of the question.

“I feel the negatives outweigh the positives.”

[littlewonders7]

Arcane isekai ideas for reader pt.3

(Not really a series just rambles of goofy scenarios ideas for mainly gen z reader surviving in the world of arcane and how the characters and world reacts to them)

warning: not good at explaining shit🤡🥲

_______________________

- I just think if a gen z reader were to be brought upon to the world of arcane, they would not have a normal conversation or introduction with any of the characters like you would see with x reader posts

- like I understand if the reader is sooo smart and a bad bitch who can anything for the plot and if it’s done right, HOWEVER I’m just saying it be nice to have the arcane characters being intrigued and curious about the reader for their chaotic and other worldly behavior that differs from and piltover and zaun, the reader being just them awkward, cringe, goofy self and the characters wanting to understand more about them because of it!

- like for example, I am a awkward but polite person, who tends to say sorry more times than I really should, I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed and I do enjoy helping people if I can, however I do have that spark were I will not stand injustice and acts of cruelty towards others so I guess I would clash with zaun’s way of surviving, but also piltover’s brutality towards zaunites if that makes sense(not a good example but I hope that makes sense)

- I think it would be nice to have readers outworldy behavior and understanding of the world and their personality have an effect on those in arcane as their presence slowly or unexpectedly give them viewpoints they never realized or understood until they came along and gave the cast an outsider perspective of their lives.

- like I mentioned a little in my first post, I say to keep our reader alive and add some “magical or advance” they will still have excess to our world/reality technology and can get still buy as well as use those items over in arcane, perhaps they have a home just outside of the land of piltover and zaun and customize their base/home like you see in games idk. As for their abilities it’s kind of like that character from that one anime “campfire cooking in another world” but maybe more to it, they still have to buy and pay to get items or get rewards for doing tasks idk though. (I will note that while having access to the “real world” they cannot access or see any arcane related stuff, only maybe one their phone or when they’re asleep)

- I kind of have the reader have that kind of power mainly because I know my dumb sad anxious ass could not handle being throw into a new world without connection back to home in some way, and I definitely know I would be fuck with my terrible communication skills cause I stutter and worry to fuck up my words due to ✨trauma and overall mental health✨

- another reason I would like the reader to have that power is I thought it would bring more chaos if the cast finds out about readers technology advances they have or use, and reader having the time of their life just vibing and not realizing that them just doing that has fucked up the timeline. Like you see them whipping out their phone playing games(I like puzzle-brain test games and rhythm games like piano tile) walking around town wearing headphones listening to music oblivious to the world while some stop and stare at them.

- maybe that’s how you get introduce to sky( cause I kind of want her and other side characters having some spotlight) and sky trying to help you out living the world of arcane, not realizing the shit she just put herself in, as I did mention maybe the reader time travel or like dream travel to arcane past before being isekai so the characters have some sort connection or something like, that’s why the timeline being change and alter without the readers knowing what they did.

- I’m also debating whether or not to have the cast yandere or the very least possessive for reader to give more bs to deal with understand wtf is happening but eh that’s all I got for now

[bumbled-bees]

Lily's Lack of Understanding the Workplace

A moment from Lily’s January 30th, 2025 livestream is a perfect showcase of her complete disconnect from reality—especially when it comes to how jobs actually work. She has spent so long being an independent creator with zero accountability that she genuinely does not comprehend how power structures function in the real world.

The Gay Rep Conversation: How to Out Yourself as Clueless

It all started when a chatter pointed out that sometimes creators can’t put the gay rep they want in their work because of studio pushback. This is an objective reality in the animation and entertainment industry—countless showrunners and writers have spoken about how difficult it is to get queer content past executives, censors, and networks. But Lily, in her infinite ignorance, completely dismissed this reality and responded with:

"Well, fight back against the studio then."

This is where Lily’s lack of real-world experience becomes painfully obvious. She seems to think that creators have unlimited power over what gets made, that they can just dig their heels in and demand their vision stay intact. She doesn’t understand that defying studio execs usually just gets you fired.

When the chatter tried to patiently explain this, pointing out that not everyone has the clout to fight back, Lily doubled down:

"I don’t care, I have no sympathy for creators compromising on their vision, they should’ve fought harder." (Paraphrased, but this was the gist.)

This is cartoonishly stupid for multiple reasons.

You either compromise, or you don’t work. If a new creator refuses to make changes, they’re not seen as a "visionary"—they’re seen as difficult and replaceable. The entertainment industry is brutal, and the vast majority of showrunners had to make compromises to get their work out there.

Lauren Faust can afford to walk away. New creators can’t. Lily idolizes Lauren Faust for supposedly walking away from projects when studios try to change her vision. But Faust is an industry veteran with enough prestige to do that. A new writer or animator? Yeah, if they refuse to compromise, they’re out of a job and blacklisted.

Lily has never had a real job. She has no idea what it’s like to have a boss, deadlines, contracts, or workplace politics. She has always been in a position where she can do whatever she wants, whenever she wants, and the only "consequences" are losing a few Patreon supporters.

Lily’s Pattern of Not Understanding Jobs

This isn’t the first time Lily has completely failed to grasp how employment works. She has a long-running history of making bizarre, out-of-touch comments about jobs, money, and power structures that expose how little she knows.

She believes:

People should just quit their jobs if they don’t like them.

If a workplace is abusive, you should just leave.

If a creator compromises their work, it means they’re a coward.

If you work for a company that does bad things, you’re personally responsible.

These are the beliefs of someone who has never had to depend on a paycheck to survive. Lily has been fully independent for so long that she genuinely thinks everyone can afford to take massive risks, burn bridges, and walk away whenever they want.

Why This Moment Matters

This livestream clip is so important because it demonstrates why Lily’s analysis of media is always so flawed. She doesn’t just have bad takes—she has bad takes based on a fundamental misunderstanding of how the industry works.

Her attitude is insulting to actual working professionals because she assumes that if someone didn’t fight hard enough for something, it means they’re weak or cowardly. In reality, these decisions are never that simple. Creators fight for representation all the time, but sometimes a small compromise is necessary to get anything through at all.

But to Lily, if a creator didn’t fight to the death for 100% of their vision, then they deserve no sympathy. Because in her world, she has never had to compromise for anyone.

The Tim Horton's Story

Lily fundamentally cannot function in a normal workplace. She talks about her Tim Horton's story like it’s some kind of badass moment where she stood her ground against a rude coworker—but all it actually proves is that Lily:

Was handed a job through nepotism (her mom got it for her).

Immediately clashed with a coworker on day one.

Responded to perceived hostility with outright aggression.

Refused to communicate like a normal human being.

Learned absolutely nothing from the experience.

Breaking It Down: Lily’s Workplace Disaster

According to her, on her first day at Tim Hortons, the baker on shift glared at her. Instead of assuming maybe this person was just tired, stressed, or not particularly social, Lily immediately went into attack mode.

Every time the baker, Candice, tried to communicate, Lily cut her off with:

"Candice, shut up and finish your bake."

And she tells this story like she owned the interaction. Like this was some kind of epic moment where she put a rude coworker in their place.

But let’s be real—this is unhinged behavior.

You don’t talk to coworkers like that. Ever. Even if someone is cold or distant, you don’t immediately resort to open hostility.

First impressions matter. Lily started this job already burning bridges.

There was no justification for her reaction. The baker didn’t yell at her, insult her, or sabotage her work. She just gave Lily a look—and Lily escalated the situation for no reason.

The Real Takeaway: Lily Cannot Work With Others

Instead of reflecting on how maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t normal behavior, Lily’s takeaway from the experience was:

"Have people been bullshitting me about my attitude this whole time?"

As if this story proves she wasn’t the problem, when it demonstrates the exact opposite.

Lily literally cannot function in an environment where she isn’t in charge. She has no idea how to navigate basic workplace social dynamics. She assumes everyone is out to get her the second they don’t greet her with a smile and open arms. And when she starts unnecessary fights, she frames it as some kind of empowering moment instead of an obvious red flag about her personality.

This also explains why Lily’s never had a real job since. She can’t handle basic authority. She can’t deal with normal workplace challenges without turning them into petty power struggles. And instead of acknowledging that maybe she’s difficult to work with, she assumes that everyone else is just lying about her attitude.

Why This Story Matters

This Tim Hortons experience is important because it further proves that Lily:

Has no understanding of professional environments.

Doesn’t know how to handle even mild workplace tension.

Sees herself as the main character in every interaction.

Has always had an authority problem.

Rewrites reality to make herself the hero.

Lily tells on herself constantly, but this might be one of the funniest examples. She really thought this made her look good—when all it does is show why she could never hold a real job.