#because we are creating something that will

[salemlunaa]

SELF CONCEPT IS KEY — WHO ARE YOU BEING TODAY?

feel like you’re stuck in a loop?

Pete Sapper said “When you know who you are, your mirror will reflect it, when you don’t know who you are, it will also reflect”

You don’t need to anything for your manifestations to materialise, as they already have, creation is finished, but self concept is something that really helps you wrap your mind around it.

When I say that you are God, do you really and truly know that? And I ask for knowing and not believing because beliefs change all the time. Do you KNOW you are God, or do you just get this rush of excitement and adrenaline after reading some motivational posts just to fall back into old patterns a few hours later?

What colour hair do you have? Let’s say you have black hair and maybe you dyed it blonde, would you constantly go back on the fact that you have black hair, i mean if it was a dye job you got done yesterday, you might forget for a moment, but you’ll be like “oh that’s right, i have blonde hair” and go on about your day, because 1. You KNOW that’s it’s true and 2. You KNOW that you are the person who has blonde hair. That one time you forgot doesn’t negate from the fact that you have blonde hair.

A lot of you “persist and persist”, and wonder why your outer world hasn’t changed, let me tell you something i’m not gonna bullshit you and tell you that these are old thoughts playing out because they aren’t, it’s just not true, there is no separation between your outer and inner, A mirror doesn’t have a mind of its own, it can’t “test” you or show you something that you are NOT, because think of a literal mirror (that’s what this outer world is), when we say that, it isn’t some cute metaphor, it’s the truth. The reason things haven’t changed is because YOU haven’t. Again, think of a mirror, instant reflections are the ONLY TYPE OF REFLECTIONS!! be the person who assumes otherwise? you will stay waiting, looking for posts to motivate you instead of living the life you want.

You can do as many things to manifest your dream body, but if you’re still being the person who is a loser with a shitty figure, guess what?… Have you heard the phrase “You cannot trick God”, since we have now come to terms with the fact that we are God, the term can now be written as “you cannot trick yourself”, you also can’t run from who you are. God, you, your consciousness can tell the difference between believing, and KNOWING. If you KNOW and accept your unfavourable life as true, no amount of wishful thinking and hopeful attempts at techniques will change what you know. So what is there to do? change SELF.

ꨄꨄꨄ

Become God, step into that state of being now, you ARE pure consciousness now, there is nothing to do, nothing to induce. You ARE the void now. You are limitless, you have always succeeded in anything you do, so why not know? Your outer world reflects instantly because you are God and what you say goes. There is no one above you, now if you knew that why are you getting triggered with all the limiting beliefs, why would anyone tell YOU, as God, how to create.

When someone says “your manifestation will ONLY take 3 Days if you do this magnificent method that-”.

Instead of mindlessly following another method like a junkie. You say “wtf i’m literally GOD not you, 3 days?? pfft my shit is instant because i’m just so fucking unlimited and ethereal”

You are God, the only free thinker in your reality. Not even im freely thinking from your perspective, im just a projection. So what if someone tells you that you have to do this and that to get what you want? everyone else is a lowly human, YOU are God. Absolute Intelligence. With words that instantly create. Once you get that through your skull you will never have a day in your life where you are experiencing unfavourable circumstances.

Who cares if Nancy’s dream bod took 3 months?

Who cares if Wyatt took 2 weeks to shift to his dream life?

Who cares if Jessica looped affirmations all day to get her grades?

YOU ARE GOD HERE. Not them. Time is not real and Creation is finished, WHO CARES ABOUT THEM?? YOU. HAVE. EVERYTHING.

I am not religious by any means but i believe a lot of religious books were guides to understand self, that got, as we can see, heavily misconstrued. And there’s this verse:

Joshua 24:15 “As for me and my house we will serve the Lord”

Do you know what that actually means: It means who cares what everyone else’s limiting beliefs are, who cares what everyone else “had” to do, or what everyone else believes. As for you and your mind, You will serve God, That is You.

You are one perception away from everything materialising. This isn’t the Law of Desire, if so everyone would have everything they could ever want, by simply.. wanting it. It’s the law of Being, BE GOD, and put YOURSELF on the pedestal, then you will wake up in this illusion, you will start to see that there are no big and small manifestations. You will start to see that your consciousness created all of this and none of it is real, and nothing will be hard or easy for you anymore, it will just be. You will start to understand that time doesn’t exist, and all this other noise matters not anymore, for you are sovereign. You will start to understand that you are one decision away.

Idc if you have to repeat it, or to visualise yourself as this godly being, idc what you do, even so much as a one-and-done decision as long as you understand who you are.

I get all these asks and dms too (before i turned them off) with problems that would not be problems if you guys understood who you actually are. Some of the things you guys complain about WOULDNT EVEN EXIST if you just stepped into that knowing that you are God.

And I know time doesn’t exist, but for those of you who still resonate with the 3D and human concepts (even tho that’s like, soooo dumb 🙄), you will spend a lot more “time” without what you want if you don’t start BEING the person who has it all.

Focus on that self concept, be the most egotistical, self-obsessed, head-up-your-own-ass typa bitch. For you are God and any lesser treatment of self would be nonsensical.

When you know you are, the world will reflect your power

©salemlunaa

[divadepreshawn]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader

Summary: You spent a large part of your life taking care of people. Between a test to grade, a phone call to calm Spencer down, and the problems of everyday life, there was never any time left. And honestly? You never cared about investing in your own love life. Love (in the intimate sense, between two people) was something for other people. But it seems that destiny had other plans. Warnings: I don't think I have any important notice, just sweet. This is part two, you can check out part one here. Ok if you guys could take a look at this post and tell me what you prefer it would be a great help, WC: 2 900 I usually use specific playlists for writing (more focused on the feeling than the reader itself) but I created a specific one for this one. For those who may be interested, you can find it here.

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You had just arrived home – and you were exhausted. People often think that dealing with children is difficult. Nonsense. The hard part is dealing with adults. They complain, interrupt the class all the time to make impertinent comments and still think they have the right to question your knowledge. You were taking off your coat when the doorbell rang.

“Who could it be at this hour?” You mumbled, leaving your bag on the table before heading to the door.

“Oh… Hello,” you greeted with a frown, alternating your gaze between Jack, Aaron and the bouquet.

You glanced at Jack, who was holding a delicate bouquet of red and white roses in both hands, the simple bow around the stem slightly crooked. Then you slowly looked up at Aaron, his expression as discreet as you remembered, despite the softer look in his eyes.

“Hi,” Jack said with a shy smile as he held the bouquet out to you. “I wanted to give you a yellow flower, but Dad said roses were better because they’re a lot of people’s favorites. And they also have less pollen… whatever that means. Do you like roses?”

Your heart sank at the gesture—the smile so wide it could split your lips spread before you could stop it—as you bent down to Jack’s level. You picked up the bouquet with care, as if it were made of crystal.

“Roses are my favorite,” you assured him, bringing the flowers to your nose, squeezing them lightly so he knew you meant it. “And these are, without a doubt, the most beautiful ones I’ve ever gotten.” Jack smiled, looking down at the flowers again.

“It was his idea,” Aaron explained, glancing at his son before looking back at you. “He insisted we bring you flowers to thank you for the cookies. They were really good. But I didn’t know if you had any allergies and, well… we didn’t want to kill you with a gift.”

"It's okay. I loved it, thank you," you smiled, opening the door a little wider so they could see the room. "And as you can see, I'm immune."

Aaron and Jack tilted their heads slightly to the side, from where they were standing they had a view of a small corner of the room: potted plants scattered on the floor, on the bookshelf, on the coffee table and hanging near the windows – mostly large and small green leaves and just a few small colorful flowers.

Aaron nodded slowly, looking relieved that he hadn't triggered an allergic reaction. "Well… we'll be right there. Welcome to the building."

"Thanks again. You were very kind."

"It was nothing," he replied, placing his hand on Jack's back to guide him down the hallway. "If you need anything… we're right there."

Jack nodded quickly. "My dad can fix anything."

You laughed at his enthusiasm, nodding in affirmation. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

–

Aaron sighed, putting the last folder inside his leather bag. “Thank you for coming so early. This meeting wasn’t scheduled, I still don’t know why it’s so urgent.”

Jessica shook her head, waving her hand away as she sat down on the kitchen chair. “It’s okay, I was already awake anyway.”

Her eyes wandered over the kitchen counter until they landed on the new glass jar on the counter — still holding some of the cookies you’d left out days ago. A smile slowly crept up as an idea formed.

“Did you see someone moved into the apartment across the way?”

Aaron paused for a second, frowning slightly as he checked his watch. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I heard.”

“She’s a woman. Very polite, seemed nice…” Jessica commented casually, watching, waiting for a reaction. A barely audible grunt was all she got. “And very pretty too,” she added with a smile.

Aaron looked up from his bag, staring at the bookshelf. His expression was as impassive as ever — though the slight blush that rose to his ears betrayed him. “Really? I didn’t notice.”

Aaron was lying, of course. He had noticed, too much for his own well-being. The image of you — eyes slightly wide, breathing heavily, and the embarrassed expression when you realized you were rambling — was still clear in his mind.

Jessica arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms slowly.

“You didn’t notice?” she repeated, her tone skeptical—just because he remained expressionless and the lie slid like butter didn’t mean it sounded convincing. “Aaron, you would notice if someone had replaced the entrance rug with one two shades darker.”

“I’m observant, yes, it’s part of the job,” he said, defending himself. “But I’m not constantly analyzing everyone’s behavior.”

Jessica leaned over the table, her eyes shining with amusement. “Okay, but there’s no way I couldn’t have noticed the perfume.”

He hesitated for a second—longer than he would have liked. “Yes.”

“I knew it.”

Aaron took a deep breath, closing the bag with a soft snap. “There’s nothing in there.”

“Not yet.” She shrugged, standing up. “But look… it’s been three years, there’s nothing wrong. You’re a widower, not a monk.”

Aaron stared at the floor for a moment, before glancing briefly at the glass jar of cookies on the counter.

“Okay…” Jessica didn’t insist. “Come on, honey.” Jack was already at your side, rubbing his eyes.

“Wait, I’ll walk you guys.”

–

You had arranged with Spencer that you would accompany him for breakfast at a coffee shop-bookstore he had discovered, not far from where he lived. It was a good idea, to spend some quality time with Spencer – who you hadn’t seen in a week – before work, with a great excuse to binge on caffeine and chocolate before nine in the morning. It turned out that you were five minutes late – and you hate being late.

The apartment that was so tidy it could have welcomed Vogue for a tour now looked like a war zone. You got ready in record time. Despite tripping over the hem of your pants when you were running down the hall after your missing shoe. Refusing to sit down to put on your boots, which resulted in a romantic encounter between your hip and the corner of the table – that would turn into a bruise later for sure. Let’s not forget that you almost sprayed perfume on your mouth while trying to read the message on your phone.

A great way to start the day.

As soon as you opened the door, you heard the doorknob turn from the other side of the hall. Jack came out first, shuffling his feet across the floor, rubbing his eyes. Oh, kids are adorable.

“Good morning,” he murmured, smiling as soon as he saw you, his voice a little hoarse from sleep.

You smiled back, adjusting your bag. “Good morning, darling. How are you?” You turned to lock the door, giving Jessica and Aaron a small smile, a silent greeting.

“I’m fine. Are you leaving early today?” Jack asked, looking at you curiously.

“Jack,” Aaron warned, giving you an apologetic look.

“It’s okay,” you said, waving your hand away. “Yeah, I’m leaving early because I have to see my brother before work.”

Jack tilted his head thoughtfully. “Is your brother small? Can I play with him?”

You laughed, balancing your bag and backpack on the same shoulder. “No, honey… he’s already grown up. But I’m sure he’d love to play with you.”

Jack looked thoughtful at your explanation. “So he’s old?”

“Jack…” Aaron caught your attention again.

You laughed at his conclusion. “He’s old, yes. A little taller than me,” you explained, grimacing in disapproval. “And I don’t like that at all.”

Jack laughed. “So he plays basketball? Dad said only tall people can play.”

“Oh no, he has two left feet,” you pressed the button, turning to Jack as you waited for the elevator to reach your floor. “But he has a really cool job… And it’s secret,” you whispered the last part.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jessica said, moving closer to you and inhaling slowly, “but you need to tell me your secret. You smell like… heaven.”

You laughed, a little surprised by the compliment. “Well, thanks… I think that’s where I spray the perfume, you know? I also like to mix it with a little body lotion. It stays on better that way.”

Before she could respond, the elevator doors opened with a soft hiss. Aaron, who had been quiet until then, slowly approached, holding the door for you. He tried to convince himself that it was a polite gesture – politeness, chivalry. But deep down he knew. You knew it was a terrible excuse to smell your perfume.

And God, yes. You smelled like heaven.

“Mix it with moisturizer…” she repeated, as if mentally reinforcing the tip. “I never thought of putting it on like that, but I’ll definitely try it tomorrow. Because honestly, the way you smell today… it’s almost criminal.”

You just smiled at her in a friendly way, not sure how to respond to the compliment. Jack turned to you, his eyes shining with curiosity.

“My dad’s job is secret too,” he said, puffing out his chest slightly—speaking of his father with pride. Oh, totally adorable. “You have a secret job too?”

“Oh no, my job is completely public, I’m a teacher.”

Jack’s eyes widened, placing his hand on his chest. “Can you teach me?”

“I’m sorry, dear, I only teach grown-ups.”

Aaron turned, watching you curiously. “College professor?”

“Exactly,” you confirmed with a small smile before sighing dramatically. “As hard as a secret job, I’d say.”

“What do you teach?” Jessica asked, genuinely curious.

“Psychology, more specifically anatomical organization, nervous system functioning, basic psychological processes. Things like that.”

“Interesting,” she muttered, casting a quick, amused glance toward the man standing near the door, before sliding her eyes to your left hand. “Very interesting.”

“Can I ask you something more personal?”

“Sure.”

“Are you married?”

Aaron had a complicated relationship with religion, a problem that had been going on for years that Jessica had solved in a second. Because at that moment he was silently praying to any higher power that could hear him. Praying that the ground would open up and swallow him whole, sparing him the embarrassment.

You blinked in surprise – more shocked by the question than offended. You glanced briefly at your hand – full of delicate rings of different sizes – before turning your gaze back to her.

“Oh… No. I just like rings and I’m a bit of an exaggerator.”

Jessica smiled so brightly that for a second you were sure she would start jumping for joy right there. “Me too, but I can’t wear more than two without remembering my punk phase as a teenager.”

You laughed. “I went through that phase too, I used to buy mine at the newsstand. Now at least I can buy one that doesn’t stain my finger green.”

The elevator stopped on the ground floor, the small noise it made as it opened the doors reminded you that you were late.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, the smile still on your lips, giving them one last goodbye look.

“I’m late… see you later.”

-

You entered, the soft sound of a bell announcing your entrance. The atmosphere was exactly the kind of place you imagined Spencer would love: walls lined with books to the ceiling, rustic wooden tables, cozy yellow light.

Spencer was sitting at one of the corner tables, leafing through a book that was too thick – it would take him about twenty minutes to finish reading at most. He was so focused that he didn’t even notice you approaching.

“If it was a snake, you’d be dead.”

“There are around 140 species of snakes registered in the US. Among this group are the venomous and non-venomous ones. They are divided by leading biologists into two main families: Elapidae and Viperidae,” he continued reading the book while you sat down. “And despite the variety in their natural habitat, considering that we’re in the middle of the city, the probability of having a snake in here is zero.”

“Thanks, genius boy,” you teased him, picking up the menu to choose a dish. “How was your week?”

Spencer closed the book, placing it next to you on the bench. “It was good, mom called me.”

You smiled, putting the menu down to pay attention to the conversation. “And how is she?”

“Fine. I mean, as good as possible. It was a quiet conversation this time. She talked about the new nurses, one in particular has an annoying laugh, but at least he knows how to make decent tea.”

You laughed softly. “That’s progress.”

“She scolded me,” he said, sounding genuinely offended. “She said I needed to get by now, because I’m an adult, and that I shouldn’t burden you. Oh, and she told you to mind your own business.”

“Oh, how lovely,” you murmured sarcastically, looking out the window.

“You know what she meant,” he gave a small smile, adding an amount of sugar that would give you type two diabetes to the coffee.

For a moment, silence fell. And then, almost without realizing it, a sad smile appeared on the corner of your lips. Because you knew. You knew exactly what she meant by that.

It was a request, disguised as a scolding. A reminder: focus on your life now.

“What about you? Have you done anything this week? You seem… different.”

“Different how?”

Spencer pressed his lips together in a straight line, tilting his head slightly. “You seem more relaxed. Less stressed than usual, especially on a Friday.” He raised his eyebrows. “Who did you kill?”

“I haven’t killed anyone… Yet.” You gave a short laugh, biting the inside of your cheek, considering whether you should tell him. “… I got flowers yesterday.”

Spencer blinked in surprise. “Really?”

You nodded, thanking her with a smile as the clerk placed your coffee cup on the table. “Jack gave it to me. A bouquet with some roses.”

“Jack?”

“He’s my neighbor’s son,” you explained.

“Jack… how old is he?”

“About five, maybe six. He’s cute. Very polite. He handed me the bouquet all embarrassed and asked me if I liked roses because, according to his father, they have less pollen and they didn’t want to kill me.”

Spencer smiled at the image. “Less pollen. Smart. Considering the rate of seasonal allergies has been rising in recent years, that makes sense,” he said, before frowning. “But does that mean your neighbor bought you flowers?”

You watched him for a second — the way he tried to look merely curious when he was clearly worried. Spencer was never good at faking it.

“It was Jack’s idea. But… yeah. He came along. Apparently it was a token of appreciation for the cookies I left for them on the second day.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “… cookies?”

“Jack liked cookies and I needed to apologize for the noise and for almost knocking his dad over in the hallway,” you shrugged. “I’m good with kids, Spencer.”

“You don’t even make cookies for me.”

“You’re not even five. And you’ve never bought me flowers.” You nudged your hand across the table.

“Spencer, are you jealous? I can bake you cookies.”

“Too late,” he pouted, crossing his arms, before giving up and starting to laugh. “But… is he divorced?”

“Who?”

“Your neighbor.”

“I think so. How do you know?”

“You mentioned the son, but not the mother. You would have mentioned her if she was on your doorstep. And I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t accept that kind of attention from someone who’s already married.”

You blinked, impressed. “Have you ever thought about becoming an FBI agent?”

“I have. The fitness part turned me off.”

You laughed, remembering Spencer’s phone calls. It was one o’clock, with him just complaining about his sore legs, cursing someone named Derek, and saying how unfair life was.

“I don’t know much about his romantic past, I just know that he lives alone with his son and is single. He keeps to himself.”

Spencer stared at you for a few seconds, the gears of his mind turning silently behind his clear eyes. Then he looked down at his coffee, twirling the cup between his fingers.

“Private?” he repeated, returning his gaze to the croissant. “Private can mean a lot of things. Private because he’s shy? Private because he has a complicated past? Or private because he killed someone in another state and kidnapped a child to have a good cover.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Are you profiling my neighbor or writing a script for a 2000s TV show?”

“I’m talking to my sister,” he replied quickly, explaining his point before he could receive any accusations of intrusion. “Who, for the first time in months, is smiling before nine in the morning — without having had three cups of coffee. She’s not planning any murders and hasn’t mentioned or alluded to suicide.”

Have you mentioned how much it sucks to have a profiler brother? Because, well. It sucks. “Okay, he probably doesn’t see it that way, let’s change the subject.”

“Oh please,” he scoffed, stealing a piece of his pie. “Have you seen the price of flowers these days? And would anyone who doesn’t care be careful to choose a flower that won’t cause an allergic reaction?”

“Spencer.”

“I’m already changing the subject.”

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Tag: @presidentdangdang @dramioneforevertilltheend @esposadomd @hederahelix12 @cultish-corner @iyskgd @newavenger

[femmesport]

Don't Play About You

prompt: based on the tiktok trend in which protective partners make sure their comments are acting right while they let their loved ones share something they are proud of wc: 1.1k an: hii!! this is my first ever post here, so please feel free to give feedback (though don't be rude pls). if you have any suggestions, please send them my way! i plan on writing for juju, uconn wbb, some wnba, as well as a few other recs.

“baby” juju huffs out with a laugh turning her phone in your direction as you lay with your head on her chest scrolling through your phone.

it was a rare day off and you two had hardly moved from your spots on the couch. juju had a free weekend from her responsibilities and you didn’t have to work. you two wanted to make the most of your time but also just wanted to spend time with each other.

“hmm” you hum, turning around and lifting your head to look at her phone which had a tiktok pulled up and ready.

“look at this, baby” she pressed play again, “we should do this.”

you watch the screen and see an intimidating woman pop up with her arms crossed and a tough exterior. she threatens the viewers into watching her girlfriend share a niche interest. you smile because it was exactly like your dynamic with juju, which you make sure to point out to her with a smile. she has the tough exterior that no one dares mess with. she especially does not play about you.

“what would i even talk about or show off?” you ask, turning back to look at your girlfriend who was staring expectantly.

“well, first of all, you could talk about a brick wall and you know i don’t play about you” juju claims with a kiss to your forehead, “but also, i know you have been working on those lil pottery dishes, why don’t you show those off?” juju offers and you shrug.

“yeah, but those aren’t really that great and it would be such a goofy thing to show off” you shrug and she looks down and uses two fingers to turn your chin so you are facing her.

“baby, they are quite literally perfect, much like everything else you touch” she leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and smiling into your mouth, “also, you know i will kick someones ass if they try to tell my girl she is anything less than perfect.”

“okay, but you have to be extra tough, i can’t handle criticism” you pout and she smiles.

“bet” she says and she puts her hands on your hips to lift you up off the couch, sending you to go grab your little ceramic dishes you have spent the past week creating and painting. as you turn and head to your office, you see her eyes following you the whole way with a dopey smile.

as you get to your office you pick up the little trays and stare with a sigh. you looked down at them and thought about the hours you had spent trying to make them the perfect shape. you wanted to paint a cute design that represented you and juju and spent hours determining the glaze colors that would best match the intentions. maybe the comments could offer up some optimistic thoughts or feedback.

when you returned to the living room, you saw that juju had set up her phone on a shelf and was waiting for you. upon seeing you return, she grinned in that dopey way at you and motioned for you to stand to the side while she got the timer ready. you hear the sound of the tiktok counter and see her stand straight with her arms crossed.

“alright guys,” she starts and you smile at her and the tough act, “today my girlfriend wants to tell you about her pottery. you guys are going to stay, listen to her, and leave nice comments. got it?” she gets closer to the camera really trying to sell the tough act before turning to smile at you.

“baby,” and she holds her hand out for you to grab and pulls you in, “tell them about your work.” she softly says with her hands on your hips as you step into frame with a smile.

“alright, these are the little ceramic dishes i made,” you start holding them both up and taking turns showing them to the phone camera, “this one is the one i made for juju so that she can put her keys and stuff on. i made it the usc colors because of course! and this one is the one i made for me, it is light blue and then has my birthflower and then larkspur, which is the july birthflower.”

you see juju over your shoulder with her arms crossed occasionally making approving gestures. you ramble on about how much work you had put into them and let juju continue on behind you. when you are done, you take a step back and look at juju with an excited smile. as she looked down at you, she couldn’t hold up the tough act any longer. she smiled and leaned down to wrap her arms around your waist laying her head into your neck.

“i love them, baby” she kisses your cheek, “and i know they will too,” she offers up with a nod to the camera and you laugh lightly leaning back into your girlfriend. with one more kiss on your jaw, she lets go and stops the recording.

she grabs her phone and watches through. you can’t help but keep your eyes on her. you notice even as she acts tough, her eyes are on you and you could feel the love. you never doubted that juju loved you, but seeing her with that look in her eyes reminded you that she was in love just as deeply as you were. 

“what do you think?” she asks looking directly into your eyes for any sign of hesitation. you know that if you say the word she would delete the whole video and take you back to the couch to continue cuddling.

“it’s funny, you love me so bad” you smile in return at her and reach out to wrap your arms around her waist.

“damn, ma,” she laughs, “i’m offended that you are just now noticing” she gasps, putting a hand to her chest in a fake offense.

you lean up and kiss her jaw. you then kiss up higher on her jaw. then her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and finally settle on her lips. you feel your body relax into hers as she wraps her arms around you.

“you do know i love you and don’t play about you, right” she asks smirking down and you can just smile in return.

“i did actually, and though i may not be as tough” you point out, “i do the same and i love you.” you lean up on your tip toes and press a final kiss on her lips.

~

@/jujuwatkinss: i don’t play, you guys better act right in the comments

-

@/yourusername: i hope yall like my little trays (:

@/jujubbaggin: i love the trays!! **i’m terrified

@/yournamecore: acting tough but then dopey smiling at your girl - we know what you are juju

@/yournamecore: also love the trays!! super cute and you are so talented

feedback would be appreciated!! tysm <3

-- tea ★’*•.¸♡

[creatingblackcharacters]

wait sorry is epic specifically antiblack? was unsure what that meant (did vote julian anyway cause he deserves the win !)

I've explained this before! It's the entire purpose of this blog, right? To create your Black characters with intent. And that includes knowing what happens when you thoughtlessly characterize. You can cast race blind all you want, but no one is blind to the race of the character once they are chosen (thus, why there's a backlash every time a character people like is Black).

So if I take a character that is deemed sexually aggressive, sexually threatening, sexually desirable and yet not meant to be desirable at all onto the (anti-)heroic white leading man that is trying to get back to his narratively Good white wife, trying to seduce him away from his wife because she wants him... And I cast her as a dark skinned Black woman. And this sort of narrative has historically been used to oversexualize and sexually abuse Black women, to deem them as (hint!) Jezebels in comparison to Good Pure White Women... What have I written?

If I take a character that is a violent, sexually aggressive, predator whose goal is to defile the narratively heroic white woman who is trying to save her home and herself for her (anti-)heroic white husband returning home from battle... And this sort of narrative has historically been used to oversexualize and target Black men as (hint!) rapacious beasts worth subduing (and even killing) to protect the sanctity and safety of White Order... What have I written?

These are two of the oldest and most violent stereotypes that have been projected onto my people, that persist in how we are treated to this day. And my disgust and upset with that lack of consideration, especially in something everyone is supposed to enjoy, is part of why I do not want to consume that piece of media.

And even if they were written with nuance, I can say with full confidence that White Fandom will still happily view these characters through that biased lens because we live in a world that is still informed by those stereotypes (they'll do it with Black characters that AREN'T these things).

I'll pass. There's no level of entertainment I'll get out of it that is able to overcome my distaste at that part. I've been able to let certain things roll off to have a good time, but this isn't one that beckons enough for me to do that. I hope the people who enjoy it continue to enjoy it, though I'd at least appreciate it if they were aware, but. Oh well.

[allforafro]

writing fanfiction, drawing and creating any content based on any medium is first and foremost a show of our love for that thing

it's showing the whole world how much we love it and how much it means to us

It is a conversation with those who like the same things as we do, and sometimes even verbalizing for them how much they love something but are unable to express it

that's what fandom really is. It's love, it's fun, it's friendship, it's conversations, arguments, discussions

I'm writing for a fandom that's only recently come alive again, but I'm writing for a ship that's not as popular as it was in the fandom's heyday when I was too young to care

But I have kudos for every fanfiction. Sometimes it's users but more often it's anonymous and you know what, even if I don't know if they're the same people (although I like to think they are) I still write fanfiction for them. Because I know they want to enjoy the things they like too. And it's great that I'm the one who gives them that

And the first comment I got "the characters are well rendered" was everything to me

As I said before, sharing love and love is all I expect in return

If you don't have words then just an emoji will be enough, that will be enough message to the creator that they created something that had an impact on someone. Which at the end of the day is what creators want the most

idk how to word this properly but wrt the fanfic thing you reblogged earlier. Why do fanfic writers have such different expectations than any other content hosting platform?

Like lets take youtube as a point of comparison, Engagement like comments and likes largely exists to boost the works place in algorithm, thats why youtubers put in calls to action and other engament bait. Few with decent reach even read the comments and the audience shouldnt try to develop any weird parasocial relationship with the youtuber. Fanfic authors ask for likes (kudos, because the websites gotta use nonstandard language for some reason) and comments despite them not having any impact on an algorithm, and seem to want the audience to try and develop a relationship with the author based on tumblr posts like that one.

Why the radical difference in behaviour away from the norm? And honestly with all the (usually) metaphorical blood spilled online about parasociality why are authors really surprised that the audience tries to keep their distance as is best practice with any other content producer?

okay I am going to answer this as kindly and as calmly as I can and try to assume that you are asking this in good faith. because my friend, the fact that you feel the need to ask is, to me, The Problem.

[this is, for the record, in response to this post]

fanfiction writers are not *posting content.* (I also have reservations about engaging with the term "content producer" or "content creator" but let's put that aside for now, I'll circle back to it.) you say "they seem to want the audience to try and develop a relationship with the author" as though it is strange, off-putting, and incomprehensible to you, when in fact that is the point of writing fanfiction. it is a way of participating in fandom. it is a way of building community and exchanging ideas and becoming closer with people.

if authors wanted to solely ~generate content~ that would get them attention (?? to what end, the dynamic you have described seems to equate algorithmic supremacy as winning for winning's sake, as though all anyone wants to do is BUILD an audience without ENGAGING with them, which I cannot fathom but let's pretend for a moment that is, in fact, true) then like. if that were the case why on earth would they choose a medium in which they categorically cannot succeed and profit, because it isn't their IP?

you are equating two things that are not at all the same thing. to the degree that parasocial relationships are to be avoided, and "that person is not trying to be your friend they are trying to entertain you, please respect their boundaries" is a real dynamic -- which it is!! -- like. you have to understand that the reason that is true for the people of whom it is true is because it is their JOB. they are storytellers by profession, and they are either through direct payment, or sponsorship, or advertising, or through some other means, profiting off of your attention. i don't say this to be dismissive, many wonderful artists and actors and comedians and any number of a thousand things that i enjoy very much go this route but they do so as a *career choice.* and so when you violate the public/private boundary with them, you are presuming to know a Person rather than their Worksona. the people who work at Dropout or who stream their actual play tabletop games or who broadcast on TikTok or YouTube are inviting me to feel like i know them to the degree to which that helps them succeed in their medium and at their craft, but there MUST be a mutual understanding that that's a feeling, not a fact.

however.

a fanfiction writer is not an influencer, not a professional, and is not looking to garner "success." there is no share of audience we are trying to gain for gain's sake, because we are not competition with one another, because there is nothing to win other than the pleasure of each other's company. we are doing this for no other reason than the love of the game; because we have things we want desperately to say about these worlds, these characters, these dynamics, and because we *want more than anything to know we are not alone in our thoughts and feelings.* fanfiction is a bid for interaction, engagement, attention, and consideration. it is not meant to be consumed and then moved on from because we are NOT paid for our work, nor do we want to be. the reward we seek is "attention," but attention as in CONVERSATION, not attention as in clicks. we are not IN this for profit, or for number-go-up. there is no such thing: legally there cannot be. we are in this because we want to be seen and known.

like. please understand. i am now married to someone i met because of mutual comments on fanfiction. our close friend and roommate, with whom i have cohabitated for over a decade now, is someone I met because of mutual comments on fanfiction and livejournal posts. that is my household. beyond my household, the vast majority of my closest personal friends are people with whom I built relationships in this way.

you ask why fanfiction writers want THIS and not "the norm," but the idea of everything being built to cater to an algorithm to continue to build clout, as though the only method of reaching people is Distant Overlord Creator and Passive Receptive Audience being "the norm" is EXTREMELY NEW. this is not how it has always been!! please think of the writers of zines in a pre-internet fandom, using paper and glue and xerox to try and meet like-minded people in a world that was designed for you to only ever meet people in person, by happenstance, in your own hometown. imagine the writers of the early internet, building webrings from scratch to CREATE a community to find each other, despite distance. imagine livejournal groups, forums, and -- yes, indeed, of course -- comment threads IN STORIES -- as places where people go to *converse.* in the past, we had an entire Type Of Guy that everyone knew about, the BNF ("Big Name Fan") whose existence had to be described via meme because it was SO DIFFERENT THAN THE NORM. treating fellow fans like celebrities or people too cool for the regular kids to know was an OUTLIER, and one commonly understood to lead to toxicity.

in the past, I have likened writing fanfiction to echolocation. i am not screaming because I like hearing the sound of my own voice, though i can and do find my voice beautiful. i am screaming so that the vibrations can bounce back to me and show me the world. the purpose is in the feedback. otherwise it is just noise.

does this make any sense? can you see, when i describe it that way, why an ask like yours makes me feel despair, because it makes us all sound so horribly separate from one another?

perhaps I will try another metaphor:

a professional chef who runs a restaurant will not have her feelings hurt if you never fight your way into the kitchen to personally tell her how much you enjoyed the meal. that would, indeed, violate a boundary. professional kitchens are a place of work, and you have already showed her you enjoyed the meal by paying for it, or by perhaps spreading your enjoyment by word of mouth to your friends so they, too, can have good meals. you show your appreciation by continuing to come back. if a bunch of people sitting around randomly happen to have a conversation about how much they love the food, it wouldn't hurt that chef's feelings to not be included in the conversation. however: EVEN IN THIS INSTANCE, it is ADVISABLE AND APPROPRIATE to leave a good review! you might post about how much you like this restaurant on Yelp, and it would probably make the chef feel great to see those positive comments. but the chef doesn't NEED them, because the chef is, again, *also being paid to cook.* that's why she started the restaurant, to be paid to cook!

i am not being paid to cook.

i am at home in my own kitchen, making things for a community potluck where i hope everyone will bring something we can all enjoy together. some people at the potluck are better bakers, some better cooks; some can't cook at all but are great at logistics and make sure there's enough napkins for everyone; some people come just to enjoy the food, because that's what the party is for. and if I, as this enthusiast chef who made something from my heart for this reason alone, learned after the fact that a bunch of people got together in the parking lot to rave about my dish but no one of them had ever bothered to tell me while I sat alone at my table all night, occasionally seeing people come by to pick up a plate but never saying anything to me -- of course that would bother me, because I am not otherwise profiting off the labor I put in. this is not a bid to be paid, because if someone WERE to say "hey, great cake!! here's five bucks for a slice" i would say no, friend, that is not the point and give them the money back. i'm not trying to Get Mine. I am in it to see the look on your face. I'm in it so you can tell me what about it moved you, so that I can say back what moved me to make it in the first place. so we can TALK about it.

because what happened in the first place is this: one time I had a cake whose sweetness, richness, flavor, intensity, and composition moved me so much that I *taught myself to bake.* so I could see how much vanilla and sugar was too much, so I could learn how to make things rise instead of fall flat, so I could even better appreciate the original cake by seeing for myself the effort and talent and inspiration that goes into making one even half as good.

learning to do so is a satisfying accomplishment in and of itself, yes.

but I also did it because at the end of the day we should EAT the cake. and it's a lonely thing, to eat alone when a meal was always designed and intended to be shared.

so, to answer your last question: i'm not surprised, i'm just sad. because somehow two things that were never meant to be seen as the same have been labeled "content," and thus identical. and it diminishes both the things that ARE intended to be paid for AND the things that are not, because it removes any sense of intimacy or meaning from the work.

i hope you know i'm not mad at you for asking. but i'm frustrated we've come to live in a world where the question needs to be asked, because the answers are no longer intuitively obvious because we're so siloed.

[ilovecatfr]

become aware of you dr

how?

A lot of people become frustrated and questioned "how? how? how?" And without a clear explanation it can be maddening because how do you become aware of you DR? While there's isn't one completely clear answer, we can still try to explain it.

Let’s talk about awareness specifically, what it means to become aware of your DR.

By definition awareness is the act of perceiving or knowing something whether it’s a physical object, a feeling, or an entire reality. When you perceive something the ability to see, hear, or become conscious of something.

Most of the time, we become aware of things by seeing them. But here’s the thing; You "see" with both your eyes and your brain.

Light enters your eyes, hitting the retina which then specialized cells called photoreceptors in the retina turn the light into electrical signals which your brain (specifically, the occipital lobe) then receives and makes imagines that you see "through" your eyes.

So why does this matter like at all? Because your brain doesn’t need your physical eyes to create reality. Your brain can make mental imaginary which actives the same occipital lobe that your brain uses when you see things with your eyes.

If your brain can make a reality from mental imagery alone, then shifting is just a matter of redirecting your awareness to a new set of sensory inputs, your DR’s.

So how the fuck does this work with shifting?

Realization; the moment you decide to shift, you’re realizing your DR.

Perception; Visualization sometimes isn’t just "seeing" your DR - it can be activating your brain’s ability to process it as real.

You can add sensory details: the weight of your DR clothes, the smell of the air, the sound of voices around you. The more layers you add, the more your brain can accept it as a true environment.

Knowledge; acknowledge that you are in this moment in your Dr. No ifs or buts.

In your DR, your brain does the exact same thing it does here, it processes sensory input to create your experience.

When you shift, your brain interprets your DR surroundings just as vividly as your CR because to your mind, it’s just as real and it doesn't really know the difference.

Your brain can't disprove your visualization or affirmations, it doesn't have eyes to see but simply electric singles that you can control with your thoughts.

The simple truth is you don’t need to learn how to be aware in your DR. You’re already aware, you just need to stop convincing yourself you’re not. So please drop the "how" and just accept that you are...

[tigerbears]

The voice on the phone and Carol are not the same person.

(Deltarune Chapter 4 + Weird Route spoilers.)

I've heard people say "the voice is closer in the Weird Route ending so that's why it sounds different" but it's not. The voice on the phone (which I'm assuming is the Knight) sounds different then Caorl's Weird Route voice mail, when both scenes have Kris right next to the phone.

The only difference is in the Holiday Mansion phone call we're in Kris's other hand. Meanwhile, the were in the cage in the weird route voice mail. If anything the ending phone call in the mansion should sound clearer.

So why does the phone voice say "I'll be right there."

It's talking about the Dark Fountain. Earlier, it says the Dark Fountain would be in the church "tonight," but after the mansion hangout happens, there's a dark fountain in the afternoon.

It's clear that Susie getting the guitar bumped up the Knight's plans, so they decided to create the church fountain earlier.

This goes into speculation but it might explain why they stay in the church. Because maybe the Knight cannot stay in the light world for prolonged periods of time, and less so at day time. It didn't have time to set up a head Darkner and everything and leave. (Which explains y'know, the titan summoning at the end.)

As far as the Knight knew, Susie likely had the code to the bunker would be able to break in after this fountain. (She didn't as she didn't get to write down the code though.) Even if you need all three codes to break in, it would still mean Susie was one step closer as far as the Knight knew.

So, this fountain is a last ditch attempt to maybe start the roaring by summoning a Titan. This reeks of an act of desperation.

Then why does Carol show up right away?

Asgore tipped her off.

Think about it? We already know that Asgore is Carol's gardener. And we already know there's something really suspicious going on with Asgore. (Which is presumably his search for Dess.)

This goes into "Hometown Conspiracy/Hot Fuzz cult" theorizing, but seeing as Asgore's allowed into Carol's room, (plus all the conspiracy board stuff that's likely Dess related,) he's likely in on whatever conspiracy is going on. If Dess's disappearance is related to the bunker, he likely knows one of the codes is hidden on Dess's guitar.

So, here's the chain of events I see happening...

Kris calls the Knight to warn them that Susie has the guitar. In response they bump up their plans and make the Chapter 4 dark fountain early.

Shortly afterwards, Asgore overhears Susie playing the guitar.

Asgore quickly calls Carol to tell her someone has December's guitar and they might learn the bunker code. She immediately leaves the town hall.

Once Asgore sees Carol's car arrive, he goes to check who's playing the guitar, with the snack trail as a convenient excuse.

Carol arrives, and takes the guitar.

The fact that Asgore pauses eating at the mention of "a code" is extra suspicious. Almost like that confirms his suspicion that Susie and Kris were looking for the bunker codes.

It all adds up together. Carol may still be working with the Knight but I don't think she's directly the one on the phone call. Chapter 4's prophecies have already suggested that the Chapter 5 Dark World would be flower king. It makes sense if Asgore's interfering with our Bunker-Code search if it's connected to whatever he plans to do in Chapter 5.

Anyway that's why the Roaring Knight is Dess and not Carol. Have a good day.

[xjulixred45x]

On the Kid Yuu thing just imagine Idia meeting them and like it's a mix of sadness because of how much they remind them of Ortho and like happiness because they remind him of Ortho... it would become instant big brother mode... Yuu is now Idia's little sibling... and it creates an almost funny fight between Ignahyde and Dismonia because Idia is trying to steal Yuu to Ignahyde, and Lilia is trying to steal Yuu to Dismonia. They bicker over vc 24/7 it's hilarious. And Yuu is just sitting there like "heh?" But enjoying the attention of people actually wanting them around.

OMG THIS IS SO CUTE

First of all, I firmly believe that if Yuu were a little child, Idia would approach them much sooner than in canon, precisely out of an older brother instinct. Obviously, he doesn't do this in person (at least at first), but rather through his iPad, either by bumping into a lost Child!Yuu in the grand halls of NRC and failing to find the first-years, or by trying to find Grim on their own. Either way, Idia can't bring himself to ignore this creature, so he ends up reluctantly helping Yuu until another student or responsible adult takes over.

From there, the encounters escalate, with Idia eventually bumping into Yuu at lunch, during certain activities, etc. Yuu probably initially approaches him because they thinks his way of going to class without leaving his room with a "super futuristic floating screen" is SO COOL, but eventually they even ends up going after Idia to get him to explain things like how TWST works, magic in general, or even tutor them without losing his patience (let's be honest, as much as we love the first-year gang, not everyone can handle a little kid).

I feel like at some point, when Idia realizes that Yuu always ends up involved with the Overblots, he ends up having a very serious talk with Crowley about his failings as a teacher, adoptive father, etc. All of this brings back flashbacks for Idia to the original Ortho... you know, so he's NOT going to allow adults to leave a defenseless child in a dangerous situation. Not again.

Idia also desperately tries to teach Yuu the basic rules of Flight or Fight, only in his case it's Flight or Flight. He doesn't want to think about what would happen if this Child, about 35 pounds socking wet, tried to face a magical being on their own AGAIN, without even having any magic of their own. What if their luck runs out and something bad happens? What if neither he nor Ortho is there to help him? Idia swears his hair will turn white from the stress this causes him.

(Can you imagine Idia having a Pearl-like moment with Steven, where she says, "Why won't you let me do this for you, Rose?!" but calls them Ortho? I'm ready to make you cry today.)

This even leads to Idia leaving his room more often! Precisely to keep Yuu company and have a fun time, just him, Yuu, and Ortho. I like to imagine Idia letting Yuu play video games (appropriate for everyone) with him, even going easier on Yuu just to make them happy. Of course, Ortho would have to be the one to get them out of Idia's room so they could have sunlight, food other than chips, and some social interaction besides each other.

Idia is also a MASTER at handling Yuu's tantrums if they has one. Yes, he gets overstimulated easily, but a crying child? Do you have any idea what Ortho was like as a child?

There will be days when the first years don't even know what to do to stop Yuu from being grumpy, and then Idia comes in (Ortho called him for help after Yuu gave him the most furious scowl ever seen). It's not even 10 minutes since he starts talking to them, and badamin badabam, Yuu is back to their normal mood. No one knows how he does it or what kind of sorcery he's working, but it's working.

Ortho is happy to no longer be the youngest! He'll constantly check Yuu's health, analyze a better diet for their development, and is always willing to play with them if Idia is too busy/unable to. He also becomes a partner in crime when they both want to get Idia out of his cave, whether it's through using Yuu's puppy eyes or Ortho dragging him outright. They're a formidable duo.

Speaking of custody battles, yes, they would be legendary. On one side, we have Diasomnia family, trying to bribe Yuu by riding Malleus's dragon form. On the other side, we have Pomefiore, trying to convince Yuu to stay for a while (or forever) for a self-care routine. And of course, Octavinnille, who offers Yuu a tasting menu especially for them.

Meanwhile, Yuu is happily playing video games with Idia in his room, while Ortho tries to divert attention from all of the aforementioned to extend Ignihyde's time with Yuu as much as possible. This will require another meeting with the dorm's lawyer (aka Trein) to decide custody. Again... But you know what? No matter what, Idia is going to fight for this one.

_________

(ESPAÑOL)

Primero que nada, creo firmemente que en caso de que Yuu fuera un niño pequeño, Idia se le acercaría mucho antes que en el canon, justamente por el instinto de hermano mayor. Obviamente no lo hace en persona (al principio al menos), sino mediante su Ipad, ya sea topándose con un Child!Yuu perdido por los grandes pasillos de NRC y sin encontrar a los de primer año, o tratando de encontrar a Grim por su cuenta, sea como sea, Idia no puede obligarse a ingorar a esta criatura, por lo que termina ayudado a regañadientes a Yuu hasta que otro alumno o adulto responsable se hace cargo.

A partir de ahí, los encuentros van escalando, Idia se termina topando con Yuu en el almuerzo, en ciertas actividades, etc. Probablemente Yuu se le acerca en un principio porque cree que su forma de ir a clase sin dejar su cuarto con una “pantalla flotante súper futurista” es TAN COOL, pero eventualmente incluso termina yendo tras Idia para que le explique cosas de como funciona TWST, la magia en general o incluso le de tutorías sin perder la paciencia (seamos honestos, por mas que amemos al gang de primer año, no todos pueden manejar a un niño pequeño).

Siento que en algún momento, cuando Idia se da cuenta que Yuu siempre termina involucrado con los Overblots, termina yendo a hablar muy seriamente con Crowley por su fallas como profesor, padre adoptivo, etc. Todo esto le trae a Idia flashbacks de cuando Ortho original….tu sabes, por lo que NO va a permitir que unos adultos dejen a un niño indefenso en una situación peligrosa. No de nuevo.

Idia también trata desesperadamente de enseñarle a Yuu las reglas básicas de Flight or Fight, solo que en su caso es FLIGHT OR FLIGHT, no quiere pensar en que pasaría si este niño, de unos 35 kilos MAXIMO, se tratara de enfrentar por su cuenta OTRA VEZ con un ser mágico sin siquiera tener magia ellos mismos ¿Qué pasa si dejan de tener suerte y algo malo pasa? ¿Qué pasa si ni el ni Orto están ahí para ayudarle?. Idia jura que el pelo le va quedar blanco por el estrés que esto le da.

(¿se imaginan Idia teniendo un momento similar a Perla con Steven donde le dice “¿¡Por qué no me dejas hacer esto por ti, Rose!?” pero llamándole Ortho?, hoy estoy lista para hacerlos llorar)

¡esto incluso lleva a que Idia salga de su cuarto mas seguido! Justamente para hacerle compañía a Yuu y que pasen un rato divertido, solo el, Yuu, y Ortho. Me gusta imaginarme a Idia dejando a Yuu jugar videojuegos (aptos para todo publico) con el, incluso siendo mas fácil con Yuu solo para hacerle feliz. Eso si, Ortho tendría que ser quien los saca del cuarto de Idia para poder tener luz solar, comida que no sean papitas, y algo de interacción social además de entre ellos.

Idia también es un MAESTRO en manejar las rabietas de Yuu si llega a tenerlas, si, el se sobre estimula fácilmente ¿pero un niño llorando? ¿tienes idea de cómo era Ortho de niño?

Habrá días en los que los de primer año ni siquiera saben que hacer para que Yuu deje de estar gruñón, y entonces entra Idia (Ortho lo llamo por auxilio después de que Yuu le diera el ceño más fruncido que haya visto), ni siquiera pasan 10 minutos desde que se pone a hablar con ellos, y badamin badabam, Yuu esta de nuevo con su mood normal. Nadie sabe cómo lo hace ni qué tipo de brujería sua, pero está funcionando.

¡Ortho esta feliz de ya no ser el mas pequeño! Y hara constantemente chequeos médicos de Yuu, un analizis de un dieta mejor para su desarrollo, y siempre esta dispuesto a jugar con ellos si Idia esta muy ocupad/no puede. Tambien se vuelve un socio en el crimen cuando ambos quieren sacar a Idia de su cueva, ya sea usando los ojos de cachorro de Yuu o que Ortho directamente lo arrastre, son un duo de temer.

Hablando de las batallas de custodia, si, serian lejendarias. Por un lado, tenemos a la familia de Diasomnia, que trata de sobornar a Yuu con montar la forma dragon de Malleus. Del otro lado, tenemos a Pomefiore, tratando de convencer a Yuu que se queden un rato (o para siempre) por una rutina de autocuidado. Y como no, Octavinnille, que ofrece a Yuu un menú de degustación especialmente para ellos.

Mientras tanto, Yuu esta felizmente jugando videojuegos con Idia en su cuarto, mientras que Ortho trata de desviar la atención de todos los mencionados anteriormente para extender lo mas posible el tiempo de Ignihyde con Yuu. Esto requerirá otra junta con el abogado de los dormitorios (osea, Trein) para decidir la custodia. Otra vez…. ¿Pero sabes que? No importa, Idia va a luchar por esto.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[prostotchydo]

Someone said in a comment section that fanfiction is not a performance, and it's not okay to criticize fanfiction, that it's more about sharing experiences.

Yet at the same time, many people talk about "gratitude" for FREE content. These two statements create a strong contradiction within me, because one statement is about capitalism - accept everything with gratitude if it's free. Thank you, but no, authors get just as much joy from writing their works, and fanfiction has never been about money; it's always been about discussion and connection between fans.

The second point is not entirely true - authors who do not "perform" write for the drawer. Comments that contain hatred for the sake of hatred are not allowed and are unacceptable, and we should really be kinder to each other. However, saying that the comments section is meant to "praise," "thank," and "support" authors, and prohibiting "negativity" there, is making any platform like ao3 a platform for fueling the authors' egos.

We either share and communicate, and we are a community of fans. Or we're at a kindergarten art exhibition, where even the most crooked Christmas tree deserves praise because the child put in a lot of effort.

Where is the line between feedback, criticism, hate, and just negative emotions? The characters in this fanfiction annoy me endlessly, to the point where I want to discuss it with the author. They touch a nerve with me, and I want to know if they evoked the same feelings in the author. I'll be polite, but I won't hide my irritation. Is this a hate post or not? And while I'm answering this question to myself before writing a comment, I'll just leave, and there won't be any dialogue, and the author won't know that their work is affecting people.

And then there will be a post on Tumblr that says, "Write comments, readers! If you've read something, leave a comment!

But no, not like that (list of a thousand restrictions)."

don’t know who needs to hear this but AO3 comments section is not Letterboxd. giving unsolicited criticism to a fanfic writer does not make you a “fanfic critic” because there’s no. such. thing.

giving unsolicited criticism to a fanfic writer just makes you a spoiled, rude, entitled asshole at best, makes the author stop posting their works altogether at worst.

a reminder that it’s always okay to just stop reading and quietly click away from a fic if at any point you feel like you don’t like it for whatever reasons. unless specifically asked, there’s no need to tell the author, whose work you read for free, how you dislike something they wrote for themself for fun.

[mayajadeart]

Fucking, thank god for grad students. Grad students are truly the GOAT of science. A lot of scientific research is limited by what kinds of research can produce results that might be profitable for businesses, including the journals that publish that research in the first place. But grad students? They're not trying to make money for anyone, they're trying to prove themselves as scientists before entering the professional world. The only thing a master's or doctorate thesis is supposed to do is prove to your university that you have mastered your craft and are capable of producing research that meets the standards of the scientific community. The only job that a graduate student has when producing that thesis is to do good research that has never been done before. They're just about the only scientists whose sole prerogative is to look where no one else has looked to answer questions that no one else has, possibly because no one else has even asked them yet, and to compile their results, whatever they are, for the pure sake of knowledge itself.

I'm not a scientist, I'm just someone who does scientific research in my free time because I'm deranged enough to think it's genuinely fun, and because a lot of the art I do is scientifically informed. But because I'm doing this research for art rather than a more "practical" application, a lot of the times the reasons why I want to know something are completely different from the reasons why these topics are actually studied. I don't want to know how to create synthetic equivalents of Feline Facial Pheromone F3, whose function we already know, in order to reduce stress and prevent undesirable behavior in pet cats in new homes and vet clinics, I want an analysis of the components that make up Feline Facial Pheromones F1 and F5, whose functions we don't know, in order to start building hypotheses about what those functions might be, so that I can figure out how catgirls would perceive these pheromones and theorize how they might talk about them in their native languages. But nobody's gonna pay me to do that, are they?

And let me tell you, sometimes the only people who seem interested in the kinds of bizarre and esoteric questions that an artist like me will have are grad students publishing theses. I still haven't found anyone trying to figure out what FFP F1 or F5 are used for, but I have found:

A full, comprehensive description of the complete phonology and grammar of the Lushootseed language and its dialects, spoken by several Coast Salish tribes of the Puget Sound region, published by Ted Kye in 2023 for his doctoral thesis at the University of Washington. Lushootseed is the source of many words from the region, including hugely important place names like Snoqualmie, Muckleshoot, Puyallup, Snohomish, Sammamish, Duwamish, Mukilteo, Shilshole, and of course, Seattle, but the language itself is extinct, with its last native speaker, Vi Hilbert, dying in 2008. There are, however, efforts to revive the language, and that would be significantly more difficult without Ted Kye's work. I think we can all see why this kind of thing is valuable.

And, this second one is a bit more esoteric but hear me out:

The discovery that a popular ornamental aquarium fish might actually have been sequentially hermaphroditic this whole time, which was practically a footnote in a 2016 thesis by Lia Gomes and Silva Henriques from the University of Porto, in Portugal. The fish in question is the red-tailed shark, Epalzeorhynchos bicolor, which is not an actual shark, but a member of the carp family that just happens to look like a shark, and two very important things to note about it are that it is critically endangered in the wild, and in fact was thought to be totally extinct in the wild until one was found in 2014, and that they are also practically impossible to breed in captivity. The primary threat to the species is considered to be habitat destruction. The quite substantial supply of this species in the pet trade today all come from fish farms in Southeast Asia, which use hormones to induce reproduction in the species, through processes that are kept as trade secrets and are essentially unknown to the scientific community. So, we have literally no idea how this fish breeds, which means that hobbyists can't breed it themselves, and scientists don't know what conditions they even need in order to breed in the wild. This one paper, written by students in Portugal who attempted to induce gonadal maturation in the species using hormone injections, is perhaps one of the only clues we have on the path to saving this species, and it hints at a conclusion that could have HUGE implications for the husbandry, captive breeding, and survival in the wild of the red-tailed shark: all of the individuals that were dissected without having undergone hormone injections were immature females, and immature males only started appearing in groups that had been injected, suggesting that all individuals of the species might start out as females, and then at some point in their development, certain individuals, for unknown reasons, may develop into males instead, making them sequential hermaphrodites. This isn't unknown in fish (clownfish do something similar, except they all start out as males and become female when they achieve dominance in their social group), but it was completely unexpected in this species, and could go a long way in starting to explain the difficulties with breeding them and potentially be a step on the path to learning how to breed them in captivity, as well as saving them in the wild.

Unfortunately, in the latter case, I wasn't able to find any other published work by either of the listed authors, and no one else seems to have repeated the experiment. This is a real shame, because the results of the experiments, while very intriguing, weren't conclusive; they had a fairly low sample size, and would need to be confirmed by further research. But there's no indication of that research being done, and I might be the only one other than the university's board of reviewers who's even read the thing.

All this is to say, fish testicles are interesting and I'm begging someone to do more research on them, please.

[writingescapades]

For all fanfic authors, you guys don't know how important your work is. It doesn't matter what you write or how, the fact that your write beautiful comfortable inclusive works for free is something I will always be thankful for.

For those of us who are adults being told to be this and that, molded into roles we don't like or resonate with. To always be on the outside of everything, especially relationships, to always be told were wrong or stubborn or will live to regret our decisions. To those of us who refuse to compromise, fanfic is such a comfort. Because really in our society and world, there are few people who just want to be with you because they enjoy you as you are and want to take every day with you like an adventure.

It's really sad and embarrassing to admit but I have found more comfort in fanfic and fictional characters than people. I know the psychology behind fanfiction but honestly who cares. It's nice to read and if it gives you the boost you need to make it to the end of the day, indulge a little.

So thank you to all you who write fanfiction because it's not easy to go through the day and then create your own stories to console yourself and others and then do everything again the next day. If my writing gives you even a tiny bit of that comfort, I'm glad.

Sometimes the only constant we have in our life is our maladaptive day dreams fanfic.

[kaijutegu]

What a handsome Komodo dragon!

Except... what's going on with those labial scales? Something about them looks off. And that row of spikes down the back, Komodos don't have that. And their nostrils aren't so round. Hm. I think I know what's happening here.

I did not realize that this was AI at first glance; I thought it was just a really heavy editing style. I saw the missing central toe, yeah, but Komodos will do that to each other sometimes. The other forefoot, the one with four toes, is positioned in such a way that the fifth toe could be hidden, and the lifted hind foot could be similar.

But if you know Komodo dragon anatomy like I do, the inaccuracies pop up pretty quickly. Still, it's not like it was during the early days of GenAI; what I'm seeing here is that the GenAI image algos are getting better at discerning what part of a picture is a Komodo dragon. Since the inception, GenAI has really struggled to make accurate reptiles. In the beginning, everything was an iguana... even the Komodo dragons.

Over time, the models have been refined, but there are still some pretty obvious anatomy differences- the slit pupils, the mouth shape, the overall definition of the snout...

And they often struggle with the tongue. This isn't what the inside of a lizard's mouth looks like!

There's a lot of talk about how GenAI is bad for the brain- but it seems like most of it is actually about writing. And I think we should be talking more about images, too. Not even just about the stolen training data or the erosion of opportunities for artists, but... what is such easy access to these generated images doing to our ability to perceive what's real versus what isn't?

Every single one of the images I pulled is from a highly popular stock photo site. In case you don't know what a stock photo is, it's a photograph (you can also have stock illustrations and stock footage) that's been licensed to use in different applications. These pictures aren't taken for a specific client; anybody who pays can use them within the terms of the image's license.

But all of these images- they're not photos. They're inaccurate illustrations. I recognize them for what they are because I spend a lot of time looking at lizards, but what if you've got someone writing a quick news story, or designing a science worksheet, or throwing together a museum brochure or a zoo sign? If they don’t know what a Komodo dragon is supposed to look like, they’ll use whatever looks convincing.

Images trigger something deep within us- you know that saying "A picture is worth a thousand words?" We're wired to trust what we see. But the problem here is that genAI doesn't create an image of the thing; it creates what its internal logic says is associated with the subject of the prompt. It all comes down to probability; generative AI makes images by looking at its training data and creating output based on what the data is associated with.

(For more info on how AI "sees" what it does, check out the LENS project, which you can read more about here.)

We don't see things the same way the computers do, and we're willing to trust images more than words. How many stock photos do you think you see each day? It's probably more than you think; after all, the average American sees around 5,000 ads per day. And while those photos are marked as AI generated on the stock sites, they aren't marked as AI generated once someone has licensed them. And if the stock site doesn't have what you need? No problem, just use the AI image generator to fake that photo yourself!

We already have seen political deepfakes and AI generated images used to spread misinformation. Did you see the image of an ICE agent arresting a Doordash worker? That was an AI fake, part of a larger hoax. Some of us are already learning to respond with increased skepticism to important images, because people have an agenda to fake those. But what about the less important images, the background images, the completely mundane images? GenAI seems to be quietly coming for them, and it's something we should be paying attention to, because if we're exposed, constantly and quietly, to generated images and are trained to believe it's photography, we'll be more accepting of the bigger lies when we see them.

I don't really know what the solution is here, other than for people to be aware of the stock image issue, and to stop using stock sites that allow generated images, like Adobe Stock. We can't put the generative AI genie back in the bottle, but we can at least be aware of the damage it's causing. And maybe part of the solution is to look for alternative stock and reference options. Maybe we'll start to see more photographers licensing their images directly, or putting together specialized repositories of images based around a theme or topic that they specialize in. The downside there is that it's less convenient than the stock model where there's thousands and thousands of images on every conceivable topic to choose from. I don't know what genAI is going to do to the traditional stock model, but I'm concerned about what the end results might be and what those results might do to our ability to perceive reality.

Komodo Dragon

[revelboo]

Could we get some Dad Skyfire? Cute domestic stuff- he’s such a darling

thank you for your service to the Transformers community

Sure!

Domestic

Skyfire x Reader

• Venting as she twists her face away with an unhappy warble, her tiny wings flaring, he sets the bottle aside and runs a big hand over his helm. Thought he had it right this time. Refining out impurities from the energon to try and make it easier on her internal systems, but she still won’t take it. He’s tried liquid and semi solid energon goodies both. The latter she’s only interested in smearing everywhere. Popping one into his own mouth, he can’t detect anything off about it. So why won’t she eat?

• Looking up when his shadow falls across you and smiling at the soft press of his mouth against your neck, you feel the tiny sparkling in his hands grab a fistful of the back of your shirt, chirping and bouncing. And after he pries her servos loose, you turn and even mass displaced, she’s so small in his big hands. But he’s just huge, smiling affectionately as you reach to take her, the forming nubs of her wings flicking when you brush them getting her settled against you. “Did your sire manage to get any energon in you?” You tease, shifting her weight so you can use the tail of your shirt to wipe her face as she warbles protests and leans away.

• “Very little,” he murmurs, optics pinched as his sparkling pats an energon smudged hand on your cheek to leave a blue smear. “It’s not agreeing with her,” he adds and you lean your head against her helm, eyes closing. “I’m going to try and refine what the Autobots are giving us further.” Knows it could be that she’s only picky, but he can’t help but worry as she clears her little vents with a harsh noise, big optics blinking and he reaches to wipe away the fine spatter of energon the sparkling left on your neck. He did it right. He’s sure he did, scoured the old databases to learn how to create a protoform, so why does he feel like he failed? Like he’s still failing?

• “Maybe you should take her in. You said there’s a medic at the Ark,” you say, the words tentative. Know he likes his autonomy and doesn’t want to get sucked back into picking a side. But his worry is starting to affect you. Trying to smile, but now you’re aware of every noise your daughter makes. Terrifying yourself because she’s not human and you have no idea what’s normal. Surely you’d know if something’s wrong? You can tell he’s concerned, but he won’t talk to you. Won’t say why he’s worried. “Skyfire?” And he’s cupping the back of your head in his palm, leaning his helm against you. “Talk to me?”

• Knows he’s stressing you, that you’re picking up on his worry. How to explain that he’s scared to let the Autobots know about you, about his sparkling? That he’s scared the war he didn’t want to fight will become hers? Hears her chirping softly, mouth open against your skin and his jaw clenches. Warbling hungrily as her wings flick and her face twists in distress. Needing energon and unable to keep it down. “The Ark,” he says on a growl, hoping he’s not making a mistake as your head lifts and you search his optics. “It’s just the fuel, she needs better energon. That’s all.”

• Blowing out a breath as she begins a raspy wailing, you rock her and watch him run the tip of a servo along one of her little audial fins. “Today,” you whisper and he vents to stir your hair, but he nods. ‘Now,’ he agrees and some of the worry eases. There’s nothing wrong. It’s just the fuel like he said. Brushing a kiss between her optics to make her warble and blink, you carry her outside into the sun, feeling the warmth sink into you. Watching him mass shift and transform, dropping a ramp for you both, and there’s still a moment of disconnect. Sometimes having a hard time reconciling that this is also Skyfire as you walk inside his alt mode and your daughter starts fussing again, chubby legs kicking and tiny servos clinging. Moving deeper inside him, you find a seat and a belt snakes around you as you settle her in your lap, bouncing your legs to try and distract her. And she looks up at you with wide optics while you search for yourself in her face and use your thumb to wipe away a smudge of energon from the corner of her mouth.

[bunniebarnes]

sweetest secret

pairing: avenger!teammate!dad’scoworker!Bucky x femStark!reader

summary: where Bucky Barnes falls for Tony Stark’s daughter, and she falls too. 💞

content warnings: mentions of father’s death, slight grieving, implications of sexual activity. other than that, all fluff because we love sweet, soft Bucky. <3

a/n: FIRST FIC, YAY!!! no but, tbh, this is a terrible blurb i couldn’t stop writing while creating for a cai bot, so it became too long and decided to post it here 🥰 bear with me, i’m still getting the hang of this.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

You’d always had a thing for your dad’s coworker.

It started when you were fourteen. He was the new addition to the team—quiet, brooding, always lurking in the corners with eyes that had seen too much. You knew he was older. Much older.

But that didn’t stop the flutter in your chest whenever he spoke near you, his voice low and gravelly, like a secret only you got to hear.

Bucky Barnes had that effect on people. But on you? It was different.

At first, it was silly—just a teenage crush. The way you’d stammer around him, the way your pulse would quicken if he so much as looked at you.

He always smiled softly, amused but kind, never crossing a line. Never inappropriate. He kept his distance, respectfully so.

But when you turned eighteen, everything shifted.

The tension you’d always felt became something more. Something magnetic. Something electric.

You noticed it in the way he would clench his jaw when you walked by in your training gear, how his eyes would flick to your lips when you talked, how his metal hand would twitch slightly, like it ached to touch you but knew it shouldn’t.

You noticed, too, how he was always near. Always watching. Always protecting. His hand would hover near the small of your back in crowded hallways.

He’d position himself beside you on missions. He’d wait until you were safely in your quarters before going to his. It was subtle, but it was Bucky—and subtle for him meant volumes.

And then your father died.

Everything changed again. You broke.

But Bucky? He was there. Not as a soldier. Not as your dad’s teammate. As himself. He sat beside you at the funeral. Held your trembling hands through sleepless nights. Whispered comforting words when the grief clawed at your chest.

He never pushed, never asked for anything. Just stayed. One night, after hours of crying in his arms, you felt his lips barely graze your hairline. Not lustful. Just… aching.

Something bloomed in you then—trust, maybe. Or love. Maybe both.

You started spending nights in his room when the loneliness got too loud.

At first, you’d fall asleep in his bed, his hand smoothing over your hair, his chest warm against your back. But eventually, things changed again.

One night, you kissed him. He kissed you back. And that night, for the first time, he let you see the softness in him—the man beneath the weapon.

You gave yourself to him, and he gave himself to you. It was desperate and tender all at once, like the two of you had been waiting years for that moment. And maybe you had.

From then on, those nights became frequent. Needed. Secret.

No one could know.

Not Tony’s daughter and the ex-Winter Soldier. The man who had murdered your grandparents. Not the Avengers who were left, not the Thunderbolts, not the public. The headlines would write themselves.

The betrayal. The scandal.

So you kept it hidden. Your stolen kisses. His fingers tracing lazy circles on your back in the dark.

The way he whispered “baby” into your neck like it was a prayer. The way you loved him more with every breath.

Because he wasn’t just your dad’s coworker anymore.

He wasn’t just Steve’s best friend.

He wasn’t just The Winter Soldier.

He was your Bucky.

And in a world full of chaos, secrets, and haunted pasts—you had each other.

And that was enough.

Always.

⸻

One night, long after the world was asleep, you lay tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest, fingers trailing slow shapes over the metal lines of his arm.

He broke the silence first, voice husky and low. “You ever think about the future?”

You looked up at him, heart doing that fluttering thing it always did when he spoke like this—unguarded. “All the time.”

His thumb brushed over your bare shoulder. “I mean… us. What this is.”

He paused, then added, “What it could be, if we ever stopped hiding.”

You blinked slowly, letting the words settle. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to not worry about who’s watching. To kiss you in front of the others and not care what they think.”

His smile was small but aching. “They’d tear us apart, you know. Not just the team. The world. I’m not… the guy people want for you.”

You reached up, touching his jaw with gentle fingers. “But you’re my guy.”

He exhaled shakily, like your words were both healing and dangerous. “God, I want a life with you. I want mornings with you in my arms. I want to take you out and not look over my shoulder. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up knowing I can keep you forever.”

You swallowed hard. “Then let’s want it. Even if we can’t have it yet. Even if the world doesn’t get it.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re not afraid?”

“Terrified,” you whispered. “But I love you more than I’m scared.”

And he kissed you then—slow, deep, reverent. Like he was promising you a forever, even if the world wasn’t ready for it yet.

⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔

a/n: okay, this is not my favorite thing but it’ll do because i have been wanting to post a blurb here, so enjoy, i guess 🥹 reblogs & comments are very much appreciated 🤍

[xxcrossedouteyesxx]

No regrets?

More notes under more

Whew, this edit took me a couple of days to make (mostly consisting of me procrastinating and struggling to find clips), but im glad to have finished it

I wanted to create something for a theory I had for episode 5 coming out, I had it written out but im just going to put the main points here:

“I believe episode 5 is going to be the one where shrike starts to look back at his actions and come to terms with the fact that he basically helped in killing off an entire species.

Beebs already seems to be going through that realization, as seen in episode 3 “are we cut out for this life?”

Shrike however didn’t seem to give it much thought, most likely because of his whole “no regrets” moto

I wonder if the both of them are going to have the chance to talk about it with one another, or if something is going to happen to delay that convo.

I want to see shrike come to terms with his actions and grow as a person or at least try to.”

Thats about all I have to say, thank you for taking the time to watch this edit and read these notes, wishing you a lovely day/night <3

[mandoalorian]

the night we stole the stars [bucky barnes x f!reader]

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x f!reader

synopsis: you and bucky chase the glow of a forgotten fairground, where soft kisses taste like memories in the making. beneath the boardwalk lights and scattered starlight, the night becomes yours—wild, sacred, and fleeting. but even as your hearts sync in stolen rhythm, something waits in the quiet edges of the multiverse, changing everything

word count: 7900

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, dry humping in public place, grinding, making out, plenty of sexual tension, angst in the making (sorry in advance), a little sambucky if you squint

masterlist

previous chapter | current | next chapter [coming soon]

It was early. Not sunrise-early — city early. Horns honked like an orchestra warming up. A dog barked three times in a row. Somewhere, a jackhammer stuttered to life.

Bucky liked mornings like this. Loud enough to drown out memories. Soft enough that everything still felt... possible.

He waited outside the Tower with two coffees in hand, both black. No sugar, no nonsense. He knew Sam would complain. That was kind of the point.

When Sam stepped outside, hoodie pulled over his head, he squinted at the sky like it had personally offended him. His eyes landed on Bucky, then on the second coffee. He walked over wordlessly and took it.

“No sugar?” he asked, sipping anyway.

Bucky shrugged. “You’re sweet enough.”

Sam huffed. “You flirting with me, Barnes?”

“You wish.”

They started walking with no clear destination, boots hitting pavement in sync. The Tower loomed behind them, and Bucky felt a little lighter the farther they got from it.

“So,” Sam said after a beat. “I signed Valentina’s accords, we’re on the same team now, what’s all this about?”

Bucky winced. “Us.”

“Okay, now you’re definitely flirting.” Sam smirked and Bucky stifled a laugh.

“Outside all of this: Doom and the multiverse and… her,” Bucky stopped as he noticed Sam’s face soften. “I really miss you man,” he sighed, the revelation hard for him to admit. If only he had communicated better months ago. Then maybe the fallout wouldn’t have been so bad.

“I miss you too, Buck, but none of this has been easy. Abandoning me and teaming up with John Walker?” Sam replied, not angry but not amused either. “Seriously?”

Bucky thought ‘abandoned’ sounded harsh, but it wasn’t the time to mention it. He took a sip of his coffee. “I know, but the world really needs Captain America. I need Captain America. And I just want us to be okay again.”

“I want that too.” Sam sighed. “Come here.”

And in that moment, Captain America pulled the Winter Soldier in for a hug, solid and comforting, and for the first time in months, Bucky felt like he could breathe again.

“Now that we’re okay,” Sam said, pulling away but keeping his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “You gotta tell me how the hell you ended up on a team with a literal black widow assassin, the Red Guardian, and Walker. And those billboards… damn Bucky, they had you overlooking New York City like you were some kind of God.”

Bucky looked down at his coffee. “Yeah. That wasn’t my idea.”

“Valentina?”

“Yup. She created this whole PR thing. Wheaties boxes and magazine covers and merchandise. Wanted Yelena and Walker to pretend to date each other, but like hell they would,” Bucky explained. “At the time, they couldn’t be in the same room as each other for longer than ten minutes. So she decided it would look good if me and her pursued this fake relationship. I think she thought the public would put more faith in her if they saw she was dating an Avenger.”

Sam slowed. “Buck… that’s fucking crazy.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Wasn’t easy. But eventually the team started trusting each other. And because I was leading, it meant they were trusting me. And for once… I felt like I was actually doing something right.”

Sam took another long sip. “That’s not nothing.”

“I didn’t agree with the logistics,” Bucky said. “The secrecy, the contracts, the way Valentina tried to puppet us from behind the curtain. But when we were out there, actually fighting for people, it felt... good. Like I belonged somewhere.”

“You’ve always belonged somewhere.”

Bucky gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “You have to say that. You’re my friend.”

“I’m also the guy you iced out when I was trying to rebuild the Avengers. The real Avengers.”

That landed like a punch. Bucky rubbed the back of his neck.

“I thought you didn’t need me,” he admitted.

“Bullshit,” Sam said calmly. “We both know that’s not true. I needed you. I wanted you in it with me. You’re the one who stepped off to be with your Thunderbolt buddies.”

Bucky took a breath. “Maybe. But now you know the truth. Not everything was so rosy. I think from this point forward, we phase Val out for good. We do this, together. We lead, together.”

“Doom’s coming,” Sam muttered, eyes scanning the skyline like he expected Victor to emerge from the clouds. “We both feel it. And now we’ve got all these pieces— The Fantastic Four, the Avengers, tech from a different world—and no time to get our footing.”

“We’ve got each other,” Bucky said. 

They walked another block in silence.

“I hated that billboard,” Sam finally said, like he couldn’t keep it in any longer. Bucky let out a snort.

“Me too.”

“I hated seeing you in it more.”

“That one hurts a little.”

Sam stopped walking and turned to him. “Because you’re mine, Barnes. My grumpy, murderous, 108-year-old sidekick.”

“Sidekick? You’re pushing it now,” Bucky smirked. “I prefer ‘combat veteran with emotional baggage.’”

Sam cracked a grin. “Same thing.”

There was a pause. Then Sam added, “I get it now, though. You felt useful. That matters.”

“It does,” Bucky said. “But it doesn’t matter more than you. More than this.”

They locked eyes. A shared history of battlefields and therapy chairs between them. A bond forged in grief, hammered into something solid by time.

“I’m still with you, Sam,” Bucky said. “Even when the world spins sideways.”

Sam nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s go clean this mess up together.”

They stood there another beat.

Then Sam extended a hand, and Bucky pulled him in for another hug instead—tight, firm, warm.

“I love you, buddy,” Sam murmured.

Bucky’s voice was rough. “Love you too.”

A car honked behind them. The city marched on.

But for the first time in weeks, something clicked back into place. Like the world might still be fixable after all.

────✪────

Sam had given the Fantastic Four a floor of their own in the Avengers tower, on the condition of their cooperation. 

The door to the secure living quarters slid open with a hiss.

Reed Richards stepped inside, eyes scanning the space with something between dread and longing. It wasn’t much—a makeshift living area hastily assembled—but within it stood three faces he thought he might never see again.

Sue was the first to spot him. Her posture stiffened instinctively, shielding mode kicking in before she even registered the emotion. Then her face cracked—just slightly—at the corners.

“Reed,” she said.

Johnny moved faster. “You look like hell.”

Reed blinked. “You look... exactly the same.”

Ben Grimm chuckled from the couch, deep and gravelly. “We had better lighting than you did, pal.”

Sue took a slow step forward. “I didn’t think they’d actually let us—”

“They didn’t,” you said, emerging from behind her, voice firm but not unkind. “I did.”

He turned. You leaned in the doorway with arms crossed, tired but steady. “I reminded Valentina that you’re not much use locked in a cage. Reed agreed that you would help. So now you help.”

Ben gave you a small, grateful nod. “And in return?”

“In return,” you said, “you get your family. But if you step out of line, or Reed, if you try to vanish into a black hole of your own genius—”

“Understood,” Reed said, lifting his hands in surrender. “No disappearing acts. No more secrets.”

Sue was still watching him. She didn’t smile. But she didn’t stop him when he crossed the room and touched her hand.

The silence stretched. Then Johnny cleared his throat loudly. “So, uh. Doom’s back?”

“Doom’s coming,” you corrected. “We’re not sure from where yet. But the tech that attacked the safe house... it wasn’t from here.”

Reed’s brow furrowed. “Alternate universe signatures?”

You nodded.

“That explains the Stark resemblance,” he muttered.

“Exactly,” you said. “We thought Doom was a myth or at least dormant. But if he's tied into a multiverse collapse, we’re going to need your expertise. You said before that you’ve studied this stuff—doppelgängers, alternate selves—what can you do now?”

Reed’s expression turned calculating. Focused. Alive.

“I need to run some tests. The multiverse... it’s like a shattered mirror. Some pieces reflect you exactly, others distort you beyond recognition. I want to start with Johnny.”

“Me?” Johnny blinked. “Why me?”

“Because you’re a perfect test subject. Young, genetically altered by cosmic radiation, and narcissistic enough that if another version of you existed, you’d want to find him immediately.”

“Aw, you do know me,” Johnny said, grinning.

Reed stepped away from the group, already talking to himself. “I’ll need quantum mapping. Multiversal scans. If I can trace even the smallest residue of variant DNA…”

“Reed,” you interrupted. “Focus.”

He blinked and looked at you. “Right. Yes. I’ll start with the scans now.”

As he swept out of the room, Sue sighed deeply. “Same Reed. Different apocalypse.”

Ben snorted. “At least we got him back.”

You watched him go, already lost in theory, hands moving like they were drawing math from the air. Something about it unsettled you—but also gave you hope.

You wandered back to the upper levels, catching the tail end of soft laughter in the training hall. Inside, Yelena was perched cross-legged on a bench, casually tossing a butterfly knife between her fingers. Her gaze lifted when she saw you.

“Was wondering when you’d check in,” she said.

You leaned on the wall beside her. “Reed’s reunited with his family. The science-freak reunion went about as expected.”

“Any theories yet?”

“He wants to test Johnny first. See if he’s got a doppelgänger. Maybe map how the multiverse is pulling apart.”

Yelena tilted her head. “You think that’s what this is? A multiversal pull?”

“I think it’s something worse. Doom doesn’t just appear without reason. And he doesn’t send attack drones for fun.”

Yelena sighed. “You have a point.”

You smiled faintly, then looked around. “Have you seen Bob?”

Her fingers paused over the knife. “No.”

“How long’s it been?”

She gave a small shrug, too casual. “He wasn’t at the morning check-in. I figured he was with Bucky. Or maybe passed out somewhere dramatic.”

You frowned. “I thought he might’ve come to see you.”

“Nope,” she said. “But now that you mention it...”

The two of you exchanged a look. Yelena tucked her knife away and stood up. “You think something’s wrong?”

“I think something’s different,” you said carefully. “He’s been... off. Ever since the void.”

Her brow furrowed. “He said he felt weird. More... powered.”

“Exactly,” you murmured. “Like something in him activated.”

You both stood in silence a moment longer.

“I’m gonna go look for him,” she announced.

“Want some help?” You offered, already tapping into your aura to scan the room for life. 

“It’s okay, he can’t have gone far. Besides, I want all the glory for finding him.” Yelena joked. 

When Yelena left the room, you paused for a moment, taking in the silence. It felt good to have a moment alone, away from the stress of John and Ava arguing, or Bob disappearing, or the upcoming potential multiversal collapse. You inhaled, your fingers starting to tingle and burn a pale lilac colour, sparkling like iridescent flecks of glitter as you tapped into your own aura. Your own feelings. 

Calmness. Wonder. Peace.

You felt relaxed. 

You exhaled and pinched your fingers together, shooting a burst of energy towards a punching bag. The power snapped the chain and the bag went flying into the wall, knocking over a stack of weights in the process. The loud clatter made you jump. How were you ever going to learn to control your powers, when there was no one who could teach you?

You stood and sauntered towards the weights, reaching out to put them back into place. You turned back toward the far end of the room, brushing a hand over your arm to dispel the unease. That’s when you felt it.

Arms wrapped gently around your waist from behind, pulling you into a solid chest.

You gasped, instincts kicking in before your mind caught up.

“Whoa,” came the familiar voice, rough and apologetic. “Too much?”

You exhaled, your heartbeat thudding against your ribs as you melted back into him. “No,” you said, breathless. “Not too much.”

Bucky let out a soft laugh behind you. His metal hand rested low on your stomach, while his warm one splayed across your ribs like he needed to hold you closer. “Sorry. I saw you and just... wanted to be close.”

You turned your head slightly, cheek brushing against his stubble. “Then don’t apologise.”

He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Bob’s missing. Yelena’s out looking for him. We’ve got Reed researching but there is so much to do, and so little time. And the universe might just collapse in on itself in,” you checked your watch. “Six days,”

Bucky hummed quietly, acknowledging your concern. He dropped his hands to your hips, fingertips brushing skin. “What were you doing in here? Training?”

“I just needed some space to think, and uh— I was trying to understand my powers but I ended up just knocked over a punching bag. The chain snapped… we might need a new one.”

“Forget about the punching bag.” He gave you a gentle squeeze. “Your powers? We’ll figure it out. Besides, for now we just need to make sure we have reinforcements for when Doom comes. We plan for the worst.”

You smiled softly and turned in his arms. His eyes searched yours, his features soft in the training room’s dim light. He looked at you like you were something fragile and holy all at once.

“Bucky, I’m scared.”

He pressed his lips into the top of your head, letting them linger there. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

But that’s exactly what you were afraid of. You had seen just how protective Bucky was of you, even back when you hated him. He’d die for you. And you were too powerful… too chaotic and unruly. What if you hurt him?

You swallowed, and it cut like glass in your throat. Uncomfortable. Fear. Nearly impossible to repress. You tapped his chest lightly, trying to change the subject. “I had fun last night.”

“Me too, uh— I actually wanted to ask you if you’d maybe wanna come out on a date with me again, tonight? But a real date this time. I can show you how I did it in the 40s,”A pink blush appeared over his cheeks. Was Bucky Barnes nervous? When you didn’t reply, he stumbled over his words. “You can say no. I know we have a lot going on but I really think it might be a good distraction and I had this idea…”

Your hand stayed against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath your palm. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Bucky’s voice softened. “Okay then. I’ll drop by your room at midnight.”

“That’s late. Where are you taking me?” You asked, looking up at Bucky with curious doe-eyes.

“That, doll, is classified information,” Bucky smirked before sinking to the floor and pulling you down with him, your bodies tangled together on a training mat.

The hush of the empty gym held the moment like a secret. Bucky leaned against the mirrored wall behind him, legs stretched out, and you leaned sideways into him. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders.

“You ever think about the past?” he asked softly. “The good bits, I mean. Not the nightmares.”

You glanced up at him. “Sometimes. I try to remember my brother like that.”

Bucky hummed. “What was he like?”

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing idle shapes on your own knee. “He was funny. And so patient. He taught me how to ride a bike, you know? Held the seat the whole time until I was halfway down the street. Then I realised he’d let go, and I panicked, wiped out completely. Skinned knees. Total mess.”

Bucky chuckled gently. “Bet he ran straight to you.”

“He did.” Your voice softened with the memory. “Carried me back like I weighed nothing. Gave me the whole pep talk while Mom cleaned me up. Said, ‘you didn’t fall, you learned where the limits were.’” You paused. “He always believed in me, even when I didn’t.”

“You were close.”

You nodded. “He was my best friend. And when he died, I found myself searching for him in other people. I just wanted to feel protected again. Somehow I got caught up with Shane…”

There was a moment of reverent silence between you both. Bucky’s hand slipped from your shoulder to your back, running slow, comforting circles there.

“Shane wasn’t like him?” Bucky asked cautiously, voice almost a whisper, like he was afraid of breaking you.

You stiffened for a second, but then exhaled slowly, leaning a little harder against him. “No. Not even close. My brother protected me. Shane... hurt me. Controlled me. Made me feel like I wasn’t allowed to be myself.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed at that, but he said nothing. Just listened.

“You saw it,” you continued, your voice steadier now. “In the apartment. God Bucky, I’m so glad you came after me. I was a jerk to you and still, you kept coming after me. Saving me when I was in trouble.”

Bucky’s hand stopped moving for a moment. “Shane had a darkness in him,” he said, low. “I’ve seen a lot of monsters, but... the way he tied you up and looked at you—like he owned you—it made my blood boil.”

You swallowed, heart squeezing. “I used to think I’d never get away. And then one day... I did. I just ran. I didn’t even grab my coat.”

“And now look at you,” Bucky murmured, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Powerful. Brave. Still standing.”

You looked at him, heart caught in your throat.

“You were the one who showed me I could be more than what he made me believe I was,” you whispered.

He leaned his head down, brushing his forehead gently against yours. “And you showed me I’m more than what they made me.”

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his Henley. “We’re more than our pasts.”

“We are,” he agreed.

And for a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just sat there in the quiet, warmth shared between you, breathing steady, hearts beginning to heal—together.

Your breath mingled with his, both of you hovering on the edge of something that had been growing for days—weeks, maybe. The gravity of everything that had happened, the closeness, the confessions—it all pulled you closer.

Bucky’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin like he was afraid you’d vanish. His steel-blue eyes searched yours, his breath hitching.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, his voice rough and vulnerable. “Is that okay?”

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. “Yes.”

He started leaning in, slowly—tentatively, reverently—like he was asking one last time. His nose brushed yours. His lips were just a breath away.

And then—

BZZZT.

Your comm crackled to life in your ear. Both of you froze.

“Sorry to interrupt,” came Reed Richards’ voice, clipped and urgent. “But I need you down in Lab 3. Now. I’ve found something. Something... important.”

You pulled back, blinking, heart pounding in a completely different rhythm now. Bucky sighed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help the small, exasperated laugh that escaped you. “Of all the times…”

He pulled away, clearly frustrated, but kissed your forehead in a soft, lingering motion. “We’ll come back to this.”

You nodded, already rising to your feet. “We better.”

────✪────

The lab was dimly lit, a low blue glow cast across the polished floor from the array of holographic panels circling Reed Richards like orbiting satellites. You stepped in quietly, the door hissing shut behind you. Reed didn’t even glance up at first — he was too focused, his hands weaving through data streams as if conducting invisible symphonies of code.

Only when you cleared your throat did he look up.

“Reed?” you called softly, drawing his attention.

He looked up, pale and drawn, like someone who had seen something they wished they could unsee. “You’re here. Good,” he said, his voice clipped, too fast. “I’ve made progress. Or maybe a mistake. I’m still deciding.”

You furrowed your brows and approached, arms crossed. “What kind of progress?”

Reed turned and gestured to the swirling portal behind him, a shimmering ring of translucent energy buzzing low. “Multiversal resonance,” he said, tapping rapidly on the console. “It’s more stable than I expected. I managed to create a soft tether. A gateway. Not just a window, but a bridge. I was able to bring something—someone—through.”

Your stomach dropped. “You brought someone here? From another universe?”

“Yes,” he said. “And that’s where it gets... complicated.”

You glanced at the portal. “Is this about the doppelgängers? Doom looking like Tony Stark?”

Reed nodded grimly. “Exactly. What we’re seeing—these strange overlaps in appearance—comes down to multiversal genetic convergence. Some universes don’t just echo ideas, they echo faces. Patterns of DNA that play out across timelines. It’s rare, but not impossible. You’ll see repeating archetypes, especially in people tied to strong cosmic forces. Heroes. Villains.”

“So this Doom, the one we saw,” you said slowly, “he looks like Tony not by coincidence.”

“No,” Reed said. “And... that brings me to what I have to show you.”

You stilled. Something in his voice changed. He wasn’t the overly confident, casually arrogant genius you were used to. He was nervous. Genuinely nervous. You had never seen Reed Richards unsure before, and it sent a chill through you.

He gestured for you to follow. You walked in silence through the back corridor, the tension thick as lead. When he paused at a reinforced door with a biometric scanner, your pulse quickened.

“Before I open this... I want to be clear,” Reed said, turning to face you. “I didn’t know this was going to happen. And I don’t know what to do with him.”

“Him?” you asked, confused. “Who is it?”

Reed looked at you, his eyes apologetic. Then he unlocked the door.

The lights inside were dimmed, but you saw him instantly.

Sitting on the edge of the cot was a man in a form-fitting fireproof suit, silver gauntlets hanging loosely from his hands, his posture relaxed but guarded. He turned as the door opened.

And your breath was punched out of you.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. That face.

Steve Rogers' face.

No—not Steve. You knew that. Your brain knew that.

But your heart didn’t.

He stood slowly, confusion flickering in his gaze. “Hi,” he said cautiously. “I’m Johnny. Johnny Storm.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t breathe. It was like your body had frozen solid, horror and heartbreak twisting in your gut. Steve had been gone for years—but this? Seeing that face, alive, familiar, animated with new inflection and different energy—it shattered something in you.

“I don’t know how he ended up like this,” Reed said quietly beside you. “In his universe, Johnny Storm looks like this. I tried to trace the genetic divergence, but the more I dug... the more I lost track of our Johnny.”

Your head whipped toward him. “Wait—what do you mean, you lost him?”

“I think I displaced him accidentally,” Reed admitted, rubbing his forehead. “I was tracing multiversal threads and he slipped through one of them. I don’t know where he ended up. But I brought this Johnny in before I realised. Now I don’t know what to do.”

You turned back to the man in the cell—this Johnny who smiled like Steve, tilted his head like Steve, and radiated warmth with that same impossible familiarity.

You saw Bucky’s face in your mind. His grief. His softness. The way his voice broke when he said Steve’s name.

No. He couldn’t see this.

You stepped forward and placed a hand on Reed’s chest. “You cannot tell anyone about this. Especially not Bucky.”

Reed blinked. “I don’t—why? He’s harmless.”

“No, Reed,” you said sharply. “He’s not. Not to him.”

You swallowed hard, forcing back the storm behind your eyes. “Bucky already saw Doom with Tony’s face. He’s still dealing with that. But Steve? That’s different. That was his brother. His anchor. You show this to Bucky and you break him.”

Reed was quiet for a long time. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Hide him,” you said. “No one can know. Not yet. Until we figure out what this means, and where our Johnny is, you keep him locked away. Please, Reed.”

He hesitated... and then nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “I’ll keep this between us.”

You exhaled softly, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a little.

“I’ll run deeper scans,” Reed added, his tone shifting back toward the scientific. “I want to study this version’s neurological data. If there’s even a trace of Steve’s consciousness—”

“Then we tell Bucky,” you said. “Together.”

He nodded again. “Agreed.”

You looked back at the projection one more time before turning away.

It wasn’t Steve. But it felt like him. Like a phantom echo. A mirage your heart wanted to chase — but couldn’t.

You turned away from the door before the man inside could speak again. Before he could smile and tear another hole in your chest.

As the door sealed shut behind you, your legs nearly gave out from beneath you. You caught yourself on the cold wall, heart racing.

Steve’s face was back in the world.

And you had no idea how long you could keep it secret.

────✪────

The tower was quieter at night — no footsteps in the halls, no voices echoing through the common areas, no alerts pinging from the comms. Just silence, heavy and still.

You were lying in bed, eyes on the ceiling, the room bathed in soft, warm light from the bedside lamp. You’d changed into something comfortable hours ago, ready for your date night, and were trying to relax beforehand. Process everything that had happened. But rest hadn’t come. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind dragged you back to the lab. To Reed.

To the way Johnny Storm’s variant looked like Steve Rogers.

It had been hours since you left the lab. You hadn’t told anyone — not Sam, not Yelena, and definitely not Bucky. You’d eaten half a protein bar, drank some tea, and curled into your bed, hoping for sleep. But instead, you were stuck inside your own head, spinning in circles of guilt and protective instinct.

You didn’t even hear the knock at first. Just a soft thunk thunk at the door.

You sat up slightly, blinking.

“Yeah?” your voice rasped.

“...It’s me,” came the muffled voice.

Your heart tugged in recognition.

You padded barefoot to the door and cracked it open to find Bucky standing in a loose shirt and sweatpants, hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it a hundred times. His eyes searched yours, worry etched into every line on his face.

“You didn’t come to dinner” he said softly. “You okay?”

Your lips parted, but for a second, you didn’t know what to say. You finally nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

“Just… a lot on my mind,” you murmured.

He stepped inside quietly. The door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t go far, just stood near the edge of your bed like he wasn’t sure if he should sit or stay.

You climbed back into the bed and looked over your shoulder at him. “You can lie down. If you want.”

That was all it took. Bucky crossed the room slowly, eased onto the bed, and lay facing you. It was quiet for a beat — the kind of quiet that presses into your ribs.

“What did Reed find?” he asked gently.

You hesitated. Then lied. “Just more data. Another anomaly he’s investigating. But nothing solid.”

His gaze lingered on yours for a long second. Maybe he knew you weren’t being fully honest. Maybe he just trusted you enough not to push.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Okay.”

You studied him. His face was shadowed but soft. Less guarded than usual. His shoulders weren’t quite so tense.

“How are you doing?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He gave you a tired little smile. “I promised I’d stop lying when you ask me that, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“I’m tired,” he said, exhaling slowly. “Not from the fighting. Not even from Doom or the mission. I’m just tired of feeling like I’m chasing ghosts. Of trying to make peace with who I was and not knowing if I deserve any of this.”

Your heart squeezed. You reached out without thinking, your fingers grazing his forearm.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said.

A silence stretched, but this one was comfortable.

His hand found your hip beneath the blanket. Warm and gentle. He rested it there for a moment, like he was testing how close he could be without scaring you off.

You didn’t flinch.

“I like it,” you said softly, not looking away. “When you touch me.”

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I feel… safe.”

His thumb swept across your hip, tracing slow circles. “That’s all I ever wanted,” he murmured. “To make you feel safe.”

You swallowed, heart fluttering as he leaned in just a bit closer, their noses almost touching. You could feel his breath against your lips. His eyes searched yours, and then dropped briefly to your mouth, like he was weighing a decision.

“I had feelings for you,” he whispered, “even when you hated me.”

Your breath caught.

“I didn’t want to,” he added quickly. “You had every reason to hate me. And I told myself I didn’t deserve to want anything from you. But I’d watch you on missions. Hear you laugh in the hallway. See you stand your ground with Sam. And I couldn’t help it.”

A soft sound escaped your lips — a whimper somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“I didn’t hate you,” you whispered back. “Not really. I wanted to. But deep down… I think I was so afraid to come to terms with what I really felt. It was easier to fight with you than… the other thing.”

Your hand found his jaw and held it, thumb brushing across the stubble along his cheek.

“I think,” you added, ready to elaborate. “I was scared to forgive you, because if I did… I’d have to admit how badly I wanted you too.”

His breath stilled.

You leaned in closer, your foreheads almost touching.

“I wanted you when I thought I shouldn’t,” you said, lips barely brushing his. “And now… I just want you.”

Bucky closed the gap, but it wasn’t desperate — it was soft, sweet, tender. The kind of kiss that lingered. His hand slid up to your waist, holding you gently. Yours tangled in his hair.

And for a moment, the weight of everything — of multiversal threats, of ghosts in the shape of Steve and Tony — melted away.

It was just the two of you. Whispering warmth and safety into each other’s mouths.

And when the kiss broke, and Bucky tucked you against his chest, his arm curling around your back, you finally felt content. 

You were lying face to face with Bucky, your noses almost touching, the warmth of his palm still resting gently against your waist. You were both content to just be. To breathe each other in. To exist in the same sliver of peace.

His thumb made slow circles over your shirt, right above your hip. You’d long forgotten how to keep your heart from racing around him.

“As much as I love lying here with you, I did promise I’d take you out tonight.” He said, his voice low and husky from the hour. You hummed in response, eyes half-lidded, fingers absently brushing the seam of his sleeve.

He reached up and gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips barely skimming your skin. You shivered—not from the chill, but from the softness of it. From him.

“Oh, so you did.”

“Come sneak out with me,” he whispered, right against your temple.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

His grin was slow and teasing. “Let’s get outta here. Just for a while.”

You stared at him, half laughing, half suspicious. “Bucky. It’s nearly one in the morning.”

“Exactly. Everyone’s asleep. No one will miss us.”

You raised a brow. “What are we, sixteen?”

“Not since the Great Depression,” he said with a smirk. “But I still know how to cause a little trouble.”

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “Where would we even go?”

“I told you earlier, it’s a surprise.”

You groaned. “I hate surprises.”

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “Do you trust me?”

The question hung there, weighty, gentle, honest.

Your smile faded, but in its place came something deeper—something vulnerable. You nodded, slow. “Yeah. I trust you.”

His smile softened. “Then come with me. I promise you’ll like it.”

You stared at him, your breath catching—completely and utterly gone for him.

“All right, James Barnes,” you whispered. “Let’s go break the rules.”

────✪────

The rusted gate creaked behind you as you both dropped onto the sand-dusted boardwalk, giggling like you were teenagers again—though Bucky technically had at least a century on that title. The whole place was draped in shadows, lit only by the flickering remnants of carnival lights left on for maintenance or nostalgia. The sea whispered behind you, and the wind tugged at your clothes as Bucky caught your hand and tugged you deeper in.

Coney Island was asleep, but somehow more alive than it had ever been.

"Okay, rules of the fair," Bucky said, voice low, full of mischief. "One: you have to let me win every game we don't actually play. Two: you must pretend to be utterly charmed when I twirl you. And three—most important—no phones, no mission talk, just you and me."

You held up three fingers like a scout. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“You were never charming.” You bit back, with a smile painting your face and stars in your eyes.

“Ouch,” he grinned, already pulling you toward the carousel. It sat still and silent, the hand-painted horses frozen in place. Most of the lights had been turned off, but the moonlight cast a silver sheen across the platform.

“I dare you to ride one,” he said, eyes glinting.

“You dare me?”

He nodded solemnly. “Ride it like a princess.”

“Oh, I see. And what does that make you?”

He stepped closer, voice dropping theatrically as he tugged on his jacket. “Your loyal knight in shining leather.”

You threw your head back and laughed. “God, you’re cheesy.”

“Excuse you, I’m gallant.”

Still laughing, you mounted the tallest horse, gripping the pole, dramatically tossing your hair. “Take me on my steed, knight!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said with a faux-bow, pretending to draw an invisible sword. “I vow to protect your honour and steal your cotton candy.”

The wind whooshed around you as he stepped up onto the carousel and reached for your waist. With a playful grunt, he lifted you off the horse, spun you once in the air, and planted you gently back down—your laughter ringing loud in the night.

Your cheeks were hot, and your grin stretched ear to ear.

“I hate how strong you are,” you said breathlessly.

“You love it,” he teased, his hands not leaving your waist just yet.

“I’m not confirming or denying anything.”

Then, you noticed it—the Ferris wheel. Set a little ways off, mostly dark, except for one lone cabin light that blinked weakly every few seconds. The wheel wasn’t running, but it was gently rotating—just enough for someone to sneak a ride.

You glanced at Bucky.

He raised a brow. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Depends. You thinking felony trespassing?”

“I was thinking romance. But felony trespassing is a close second.”

You grabbed his hand. “Then let’s go commit a crime.”

He laughed all the way there, helping you climb into one of the cars. It creaked as it lifted, slow and lazy. You shivered from the chill, and Bucky immediately shrugged off his leather jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Look at that,” you said softly, curling into his side. “A gentleman and a criminal.”

“Only for you.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, your breath fogging slightly in the air.

“I used to bring girls here,” Bucky said after a long pause, voice low and nostalgic. “Back before the war. Before everything. It was always Coney Island.”

You sat up a little, narrowing your eyes. “Wow. I feel so special.”

He laughed quietly, the sound bittersweet. “Hey, I haven’t brought anyone here since, well... not for about ninety years.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Not since Steve and I shipped out.”

Your chest ached, but in the warm, aching way.

His hand found yours again, intertwining your fingers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“I used to think what I felt for those girls was real,” he said. “Back then, everything felt real. But it wasn’t. Not like this.”

You turned to him slowly. “Like what?”

He looked at you—not just looked, saw you. In a way that made your skin warm beneath your clothes, even in the cold wind.

“Like this,” he whispered, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “This is different.”

Your breath hitched. “Yeah… it is.”

The Ferris wheel turned on, just enough to shift the car you were in, giving you a sweeping view of the empty boardwalk below. Everything quiet, timeless. Like the world had pressed pause and made space for just the two of you.

Bucky leaned in, his lips brushing yours with a softness that made your stomach flutter. When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It was reverent. Like every part of him was savoring the moment.

When you pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Best first date I’ve ever had,” you whispered.

He smiled, brushing your nose with his. “I’m not even done yet.”

You grinned. “What else is there?”

He nodded toward the beach. “Stars.”

────✪────

You kicked off your shoes the second your feet touched the sand, the grains still warm in patches from the sun earlier that day. Bucky followed, boots in hand, his rolled-up sleeves brushing against his forearms as the two of you wandered toward the tide. The moon hung low above the ocean like it was watching you, soft and golden.

You dropped onto the sand with a sigh, hugging your knees as the waves whispered their endless lullaby. Bucky sat beside you, then stretched out on his back with his arms behind his head. You glanced at him—his profile soft, more boyish in the moonlight than you'd ever seen him before.

“Lie down,” he murmured, patting the space beside him.

You did, your head on his shoulder, his jacket draped over you like a cocoon. He turned slightly, adjusting to cradle you better, one hand resting protectively over your waist, fingers splayed like he wanted to memorise every curve.

The stars were scattered across the sky like glitter tossed by a careless god.

“This was our favorite thing,” Bucky said after a while, voice quieter than the ocean. “Me and Steve. We'd come out here late, lay on the boardwalk or the roof of my building, and just… stare. No talking. No noise. Just… stars.”

You closed your eyes for a second, imagining that younger version of him. Smiling. Carefree. Unburdened by war or metal arms or trauma.

“I think he saw something up there I never did,” Bucky continued, “Hope. A future. Something good waiting.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the secret tucked behind your ribs. A Johnny Storm variant that looked just like Steve Rogers. Too much like him. The resemblance had sent ice down your spine. You touched Bucky’s chest lightly, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heart.

“He was right, though,” you whispered. “There is something good waiting.”

He looked down at you, his mouth twitching into the ghost of a smile. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “It’s this. Right here. You and me.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head to kiss the top of yours, lingering for a beat too long, like he was scared the moment might vanish if he moved too quickly.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he said against your hair.

You tilted your head up toward him. “Maybe it’s not about what you did. Maybe it’s about what you do now.”

He stared at you. And there it was again—that open, wounded awe in his eyes, like he still couldn’t believe you were real. That you’d forgiven him. That you’d chosen him.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured.

“Anything.”

His hand moved from your waist to your cheek. “Back there, in the tower… before this. When you said you like when I touch you—was that just a line? Or…”

You leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Not a line,” you whispered. “It’s the truth.”

His smile was shy but electric. “Good. Because I don’t think I can stop.”

You laughed, the sound melting into the sound of the waves. “Then don’t.”

You closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a slow, deliberate kiss that melted into something deeper. His breath hitched, and his hands moved—one sliding under your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your side, the heat of his touch making you shiver.

Your hands found their way to the front of his shirt, fingers tracing the hard muscles beneath, before boldly slipping beneath the fabric to feel the warmth of his skin. 

The stars were wide and endless above you, a smattering of silver across the dark velvet sky. You lay together in the soft, cool sand at Coney Island, wrapped in the folds of Bucky’s worn leather jacket. The wind carried salt and sea and silence, but none of that mattered — not with the weight of him over you, his mouth locked on yours like he was starved for every taste.

And you kissed him back just as hungrily, gasping when his tongue swept against yours, when his hips shifted against yours, slow and searching.

You felt everything.

The rough denim of his jeans against your thighs. The warmth of his hands sliding beneath your jacket, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt. The press of his clothed thigh between your legs where you’d unconsciously slotted yourself against him.

“God,” he muttered against your mouth, voice strained, reverent. “You feel so good like this.”

Your breath hitched as he adjusted his thigh just right — and you instinctively moved, hips rocking forward, rubbing against the strong line of muscle. It was clothed, it was barely anything — but your body jolted, craving more.

“Bucky…” you whispered, dizzy.

He kissed you again, slower this time, almost tentative. But his hands were not — one slid up the length of your back to hold you close, the other trailing down, past your waist to where your leggings hugged tight to your hips.

“Can I?” he asked, voice hoarse, palm resting at the curve between your thighs. “I won’t go any further unless you want—”

You nodded before he could even finish.

“I want,” you breathed. “Please, I want—”

That was all it took.

His hand moved over you, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles over the heat that pulsed between your legs. The pressure sent a jolt through your spine. Your hands clawed at his back through his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself as your hips rutted against him, desperate for friction.

“Jesus,” Bucky groaned, voice muffled against your throat. “Watching you like this — grinding on me — you’re gonna kill me.”

You whimpered when he pressed harder, a precise, perfect drag of his fingers over your leggings, right where you needed him most. Your body was trembling now, breath catching with each stroke.

And then — his thigh shifted again beneath you, and you found yourself rocking against it while he kept his fingers working you through your leggings. A filthy, delicious rhythm.

You gasped his name.

His mouth crashed to yours, swallowing your sounds as he pressed into you with equal urgency — the thick line of his erection clearly outlined through his jeans now, grinding against your hip.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re drivin’ me crazy. You feel that?”

You nodded, dazed. “You’re hard…”

“For you,” he said, his voice nearly breaking. “Been hard since you kissed me on that damn carousel.”

You shifted then, adjusting your angle — straddling one of his jean-clad thighs while reaching down between you, just bold enough now to cup him through his jeans. He choked out a groan and buried his face in your shoulder.

“Oh fuck—don’t do that unless you wanna see me lose it right here,” he growled, laughing breathlessly.

“I do,” you whispered with a smirk, rolling your hips down against him.

The air around you turned hot and thick, full of panting and groans and need. You rubbed against his thigh, hips rocking, slick and desperate beneath your clothes. And Bucky — Bucky met your rhythm, hands on your ass, pressing you down against him as he thrust up into the crook of your thigh.

The moment was messy, wild, completely clothed — but somehow more vulnerable than anything you’d ever felt.

“I’m close,” you gasped, shaking.

“Me too,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on me like this.”

And you did — with a broken cry muffled against his lips, your body wracked with waves of pleasure as your hips stuttered against his thigh.

Moments later, Bucky came too, groaning into your shoulder, holding you tight as his body trembled. The press of his cock against you went rigid, twitching through his jeans as he spilled into his boxers, panting like he’d just gone ten rounds in the ring.

Silence followed — just the crashing of waves and the sound of both your hearts hammering out of sync.

Then Bucky laughed softly, breathless and warm. “First date, huh?”

You buried your face in his neck. “Best one I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t tell the carousel horse,” he teased. “It’ll be jealous.”

You giggled, tightening your hold on him.

And neither of you moved — not right away. The stars shone down, and for now, the weight of the multiverse didn’t exist.

Just him. Just you. And the soft, sweet echo of everything you were becoming together.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world @positivenergy @cherriesnmango @navs-bhat @hits-different-cause-its-you @avivarougestan

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