#using chat gpt in accounts

[ranjith11]

How we can use Code interpreter to enhance reporting | financial report | management report

In this video we talk about how we can use Code interpreter to enhance reporting. In this captivating video, we delve deep into the world of reporting enhancement through the innovative use of code interpreters. Discover how these interpreters can transform raw data into actionable insights, revolutionizing the way you approach reporting. From decoding complex patterns to uncovering hidden trends, the possibilities are endless. Join us on this journey to amplify your reporting prowess with the magic of code interpreters!

[batcavescolony]

I hate AI. You wanna see your favorite character say something? Here

Dick Grayson: Hi, Don't use AI to make me say things. I'm literally a fictional character, just think.

Look at that Nightwing himself told you not to! Want another?

Dean Winchester: AI is fuckin' stupid, nothing can fake being a human on my watch.

Wow, amazing!

Support the actual humans in your fandom.

[creativitycache]

I love writing how tos and lists. For decades I’ve posted various guides, breakdowns, and long lists about things all over the internet.

Now in 2024 as I write out another bullet pointed list I wonder if sometimes people think I write like Chat GPT.

Then I remember that Open AI data scraped Reddit and other platforms to make Chat GPT.

And I look at my Reddit Comment Karma score, and I wonder if Chat GPT talks like me.

[halfdeadwallfly]

my sibling's teacher (in high school) is using chat gpt to grade the essays on their tests and they just spent like twenty minutes trying to argue why that was a good thing i feel like im kind of losing it a bit

[gptwala]

Chatgpt for business service

ChatGPT for business service is a versatile virtual assistant that leverages natural language processing and machine learning capabilities to interact with users in a conversational manner. It can help businesses in several ways:

Customer Support: ChatGPT can handle customer inquiries, provide support, and offer solutions to common problems. It can assist with frequently asked questions, troubleshoot issues, and even escalate complex queries to human representatives when necessary. This helps businesses deliver prompt and efficient customer service.

Information Retrieval: ChatGPT has access to a vast knowledge base, allowing it to retrieve accurate and up-to-date information on various topics. It can assist with product details, company policies, pricing information, and more. This feature enables businesses to provide instant and reliable information to their customers and employees.

Lead Generation and Sales: chatgpt for business service can engage potential customers, answer their questions, and provide information about products or services. By nurturing leads and offering personalized recommendations, it can assist in converting prospects into customers. This enhances the overall sales process and helps businesses capture more opportunities.

Task Automation: ChatGPT can handle repetitive and time-consuming tasks, such as appointment scheduling, order tracking, or basic data entry. By automating these processes, businesses can free up their resources and focus on more strategic activities, ultimately improving productivity and efficiency.

Market Research and Insights: ChatGPT can gather and analyze data to provide businesses with valuable market insights. It can assist in conducting surveys, analyzing customer feedback, monitoring social media trends, and identifying patterns or opportunities. These insights help businesses make data-driven decisions and stay ahead of the competition.

Multilingual Support: ChatGPT can communicate in multiple languages, enabling businesses to provide support and assistance to customers worldwide. This global reach enhances customer satisfaction and expands business opportunities.

[madameisaacpereire]

random modern tsh au headcanons

bc i cannot stop thinking about how each of them would be if they were gen z 🤍 tried to keep all of this as true to character as possible

Edmund ‘Bunny’ Corcoran

- Writes his essays with Chat GPT last minute

- Uses swipe to text

- Doesn’t have Marion on Snap (at least for a good, long while)

- Always has a cookie or snack cake with him when he showers

- Voted for Trump proudly

- Does not, somehow, own a MAGA hat. or at least, he doesn’t have one at Hampden

- Spends hundreds of dollars on Subway Surfers and Minion Rush every month

- Will not get anything with cinnamon dusting bc he inhaled cinnamon in public once by mistake

- Often sells Cloke ½ of his ADHD meds

- Makes Henry pick up his prescriptions

- Bluetooth Headphones. Bunny gives me major Beats vibes, tbh

- His favorite candies are Satellite Wafers

Francis Abernathy

- Keeps a refillable vape on his person at all times (his is silver and as small as refillables come,) but also has Strawberry Lemonade Loon disposables hidden places he frequents. Two in his coat pocket. One in his book bag. One hidden in his room. Two hidden at henry’s. Even one in an empty classroom at the Lyceum. He smokes cigarettes sometimes, too, but likes the accessibility of vaping

- Complains often about the TikTokification of “quiet luxury” and “dark academia”

- He has both WebMD apps

- Plays computer Sims at night & has a Sim for each person in the Greek Class. He keeps this secret bc in his Sims game, he’s married to Charles

- Walks out of the room when politics come up

- Spends time practicing writing in different fonts

- Has a pretty sizable internet following, most specifically on TikTok because he posts his outfits to brooding sounds. To his knowledge, the group is unaware. (Except Charles, anyway.)

Richard Papen

- Always asking Judy and Francis if he can hit their vapes. Will not touch Charles’s vape with a 10 foot pole.

- Dab pen under the mattress

- ‘Borrows’ Bunny’s adderall on occasion

- Sleeps through the day & forgets to eat so frequently that he has a permanent $800 dining dollar balance

- He peels his lighters until they’re white and leaves them around campus

- Has a 3 year long Duolingo streak in one language. Scottish Gaelic, of all things.

- Follows Francis’s TikTok on a burner account and spends hours stalking his posts

- He likes brat, secretly. He listens to it at Judy’s while they gossip and get high

- He’s very into Letterboxd even though he doesn’t often watch movies anymore

- A day does not go by that he is not at least looking on Depop

Henry M Winter

- Has a flip phone that he keeps in the breast pocket of his coat

- Everyone thinks he doesn’t know how to text but Camilla showed him (her first phone was a flip phone,) he just texts her and Bunny exclusively. it takes him 15 minutes to draft a text, though, so Bunny usually calls instead

- Has a collection of bespoke vintage lighters

- Keeps a single pair of unworn Golden Goose sneakers at his parents house bc he’s fascinated by the way they look so beat up and awful, yet so expensive in the same breath.

- His suits are all custom

- Always one slip of the tongue away from passionately ranting about AI & US literacy rates, or how people who vape are cowards

- Has a very large stash of swiss chocolate in his bedroom

- Bunny forced him to buy a signed Duran Duran record during one of his phases & Henry still listens to it on occasion

- Francis gifted him The Cure’s Three Imaginary Boys & Wish on vinyl freshman year and he very much enjoys listening to those on occasion as well.

- Has a 10 step Korean skincare routine

- Will not drink soda of any kind. Water, coffee, and good liquor only. On very rare occasion he’ll have some juice

- He orders his liquor online because he can’t find anything good local, and Julian always signs for it. This started when he was 18 & just kept going on, even after he could sign for things himself

- Has never voted. Does not look at the news in any capacity. Would not know who the president is if it wasn’t for Bunny

- Once expressed that he found the Eras Tour rather grand & everyone pretended not to hear him because how does he even know what that is

Camilla Macaulay

- Always looking for an excuse to mention one of 3 things: how she does not have much of an internet presence, how she’s the only girl she knows who doesn’t like Taylor Swift, & how she only reads weird girl literature and classics.

- Does not carry cigarettes bc she likes to just take them from Charles or Henry

- Giggles (at least internally) every time she thinks of or speaks to Bunny after she has read Bunny by Mona Awad

- Learned how to do laundry on YouTube when she first moved to Hampden (their family always sent laundry out)

- She knits

- She tints her lashes at home to keep up the illusion of not wearing makeup

- Borrows Francis’s vape often (when Henry isn’t looking)

- Has a Samsung frame TV in her bedroom & she uses it to play study ambience that’s just paintings and classical music

- At one point she has the same haircut as Charles. They’re surprisingly difficult to tell apart when this is the case.

Charles Macaulay

- He’s got an instagram DM roster he can’t even scroll to the bottom of

- Has a tiny tattoo on his ribs of Camilla’s initials (which are also his initials- he was blacked out when he got it) and as a result refuses to swim in the summer

- He likes wax sealing envelopes. It’s relaxing

- Smokes Camel Blues (Lights) & carries a Cool Mint Puffbar disposable vape for when he inevitably loses those

- Has been known to purchase a blueberry RedBull on occasion, though he usually chugs it before anyone else in the Greek Class can see

- Also uses a burner account to stalk Francis on tiktok. Francis knows it’s him, though, because he wasn’t very inventive with the username (when will he learn to leave it as user random numbers??)

- His entire fyp on that account is Francis, people who look strikingly similar to Francis, & slime tutorials with Lifetime movies playing

- Wired headphones truther

[mindswriters]

war of hearts ✮ civil war!au

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

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

word count: 7.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you know?”

Steve hesitates. His silence is an answer in itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n, don’t you dare—”

But he doesn’t finish. He lunges.

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

“Stop,” you breathe. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zemo.

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

This is what he wanted.

And suddenly, the fog lifts.

He made you and Tony watch that video.

He manipulated all of you into this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n Stark.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finally looks away, into the white distance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach twists. Steve. Bucky.

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

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

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

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

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

You look toward the glow on the ridge again.

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

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

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

Bucky.

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He meets your eyes, firm.

“Tony needs you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you see him.

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

You slow your steps. “Tony…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We gotta go home” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he never stopped you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, eyes still shut. “I am.”

A pause. “Or at least… I will be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve gave you a crooked grin.

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

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

“He’s not going anywhere.”

Steve shrugged, grinning.

“Neither was I.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky widened his eyes and Steve chuckled under his breath.

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky blinked. “One of his ants?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, finally, he speaks. Quiet. Honest.

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart stumbles. He continues before you can respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tilts his head slightly, searching your face.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

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

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

Bucky glances at you again, eyes softer now.

“But it’s real,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s real.”

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

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

And there he is. Steve.

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

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

You freeze, widening your eyes at him.

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

“What is he—?”

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

“Nothing. He’s just being Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You offer a small nod.

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

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

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

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

Steve broke the silence first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The weight of the moment returned in full.

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

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

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

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then — something shifted.

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

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

Now or never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

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

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

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

And together, once again, you walked on.

EPILOGUE

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

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

“Took you long enough.”

You jumped slightly. “Jesus, Tony—”

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

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

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

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

You snorted. “Sorry I ran off.”

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

You blinked. “Wait—proud?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

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

“Same.” He didn’t press.

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

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

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

“I just did.”

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

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

[prettieinpink]

CONFRONT, PROCESS, HEAL ♡ྀི

For everyone who has goals for 2025 to heal <3 This post is very general, so even if you think it won’t apply to you, I would still recommend skimming through it to see if anything stands out! This is a vv long post :) like 2.5k words so beware, and feel free to ask or debate anything

CONFRONTING 

TAKE A MOMENT. In the heat of the moment, it can be difficult to regulate our emotions, in which it's harder for us to process what is the right thing to do. Confronting problems with overwhelming feelings, will most likely lead to us doing the less than ideal action. 

So whenever you are in a position in which your emotions are getting the best of you, fully distract yourself. Do whatever you want, as long as it just shuts your brain off. 

Then when you have cooled down, you don’t have to tackle it right away. I find that will just bring them back up to the surface again. Go at your own pace and when you are comfortable starting to process everything. 

IDENTIFY EVERYTHING. When a lot of people say this, they mean naming your emotion and what's happened to you. I think that's a very close-minded perspective, and in order to comfortably heal, we need to be aware of all factors that may have contributed to what has happened. 

For example, consider the environment, your upbringing, their upbringing, your actions, their (possible) thoughts, your attributes, their attributes etc. I know I'm a big person for not obsessing over people as it just takes away energy from what you could be putting back into yourself, but this isn't an obsession. This is you stepping away from everything and looking at the situation with a third person perspective. 

ACKNOWLEDGE IT. Another thing is that you have to acknowledge that this is your reality. I know a lot of us struggle with this, as when we’re faced with reality, we escape. Through various methods like maladaptive day-dream or just subconsciously blocking out the memories from our mind. It's okay for you to have a big reaction to it, but I definitely discourage downplaying it or ignoring it. 

Part of acknowledging is understanding that in some way or form, you will have to look back on whatever happened in order to truly get past it.

I also struggled with this, when I sit myself down, and I'm like, ‘this is the life that I’m living’, at that point you kind of realise that constantly escaping instead of acknowledging will do more harm than good. I'm saying this because the self improvement community sometimes encourages ‘ignoring’ everyone and everything which doesn’t go your way, which I don’t believe is good for your emotional health at all. Those emotions from those experiences will eventually catch up to you if you’re constantly running away from them. 

GAIN CLOSURE. If you happen to be in a situation in which it's appropriate to reach out to people who you just don’t understand their actions or what happened, then do it. Getting that closure makes it easier to let go of the situation.

If your circumstances are more complicated than that, I would roleplay. It sounds so weird, but it is just as effective. There are two ways you could go around this, the first method would be asking a friend to be xyz. It helps if they are someone who knows a lot about this situation. 

If you don’t feel comfortable telling someone all this, or maybe you don’t have someone to roleplay with, you could use chat GPT. Tell it your situation, the kind of people involved, their personalities and any other relevant information. I am anti-chat gpt, but I feel like the usage of it in this situation is for good. 

ACCOUNTABILITY. Even if you feel like you are the most perfect human being ever, its quite possible that you may have unknowingly or unwillingly played a hand in whatever happened to you. Of course, this will not apply to all situations. 

It doesn’t even have to be accountable for others’ people's actions. It can be accountability to yourself e.g ‘I saw the signs that xyz would do this, but I ignored it’ or ‘I’m sorry to myself because I allowed them to disrespect me’ or ‘My actions may have compelled them to act that way towards me’.  Accountability is a two way street. 

PROCESSING 

EVALUATE. Now that we’ve identified everything and hopefully gained some closure, evaluate the whole situation. You can do a video diary, journal or talk to a friend about it. Since everyone’s situation is going to be so different from each other, I can’t really give much advice about it. 

However, I would say, go really deep. Like, it has to be questions which make you uncomfortable to answer. If they’re too easy to answer (especially without deep thought), then you’re not digging as deep as you could go. Here’s some questions to get you started! Please do tweak where needed, as I did make these to be very general. 

Was this situation a reflection of my upbringing? If so, how are the two connected?

Were the perpetrator(s) doing this out of pure immorality, or could there be other factors that may have contributed to them doing it? 

Was I in a position in which I could’ve avoided or de-escalated the situation? Were there signs that this would happen?

Have I not healed completely from any situations in the past, and my pain from that made me carry on the same behaviours? 

Is this an emotion or situation which I’ve been avoiding? If so, why?

What would forgiveness for people who have wronged me look like? 

Did I or my community handle the situation ideally? What differences could have been made? Would those differences really would’ve affected the outcome of the situation?

Has this situation affected your thinking process, specifically when being in new environments or around new people? 

These questions are not a one-size fits all, so once again, tweak to your liking. If you would like more personalised questions, I would go to chat GPT. 

MOURN. This is your time to wail, scream, go absolutely crazy because whatever happened, still affected you. Everyone’s mourning will look different, and their reasons why will be a lot more diverse. 

I would recommend doing an activity that is high energy. I don’t mean physical activity, so if writing poems angrily is what lets you get that steam out of your system, I fully support it. And, there is no time limit whatsoever. Of course, I encourage you at one point to pick yourself up, but if months is what you need, months is what you shall get. 

Quick little disclaimer, please don’t do anything crazy that will harm you. Like overworking yourself physically, binging, not eating enough meals, lashing out at everyone etc. While it is a period to mourn, do it in a way that is actually beneficial to you. 

SOLUTION. Just because a situation or problem is ‘over’ doesn’t mean it's been solved. While this may not apply to many problems, I think some people need to hear this: You need to make the best of what you have. I know it seems so unfair that xyz has happened to you, and there is no worse feeling when you see people who’ve wronged you thrive in life or you imagine who/what you could’ve been if xyz didn’t happen to you. 

However, you have your options. You absolutely have to make the best of what you’ve got instead of dwelling on could’ve or what ifs. A solution to whatever will not be a one size fits all. For some people, it may be applying to a new skill class, having that one difficult conversation, finally going to therapy or maybe saving up money for anything that will help. I would define a solution in this instance as anything that creates or supports long-term and permanent growth to most areas of life. 

I used the word growth specifically because a lot of solutions to your problem(s)are not easy. It may feel uncomfortable, but that's why we call it growth. This journey will absolutely not be linear, and the easy way out may not be the best way out. 

For example, I really want to move schools. I’ve been in the same school since year 2, and I feel like this environment may have stunted the growth of who I could’ve been. The easy solution would’ve been to move schools, but my parents are kind of blocking that. Instead, I decided to look for new areas to grow. For example, my blog! I also put in a lot of effort into my academics at this school, because I know that I would love to study abroad and that's another solution. Another solution for me could also be joining a new club. You see where I'm going with this? 

OUTCOME. Something which I wished that someone had told me way earlier, is to ask yourself, what is the ideal outcome after you get past this? You may be like, isn’t that like what everyone says? But what nobody actually says is that your outcome will may be far from ideal. 

A part of this journey is understanding that this situation will always be a part of you, regardless of how much or little it has shaped you today. A toxic belief that I had, is when I would get past it, I would be unstoppable. I would know exactly what to do, in whatever situation, and whenever I revisit it, I never feel anything. This is so detached from reality, and a huge part of processing everything, is to understand what you want to achieve. 

I feel like the reason why I believed I would be unstoppable, is because youtubers etc really love to promote that as soon as you turn around your mindset, you’re good to go. You will never have to suffer again in life, because your mindset is so ‘good’. Your mindset could be so polished and it could actually not bother you at all, but your body will keep the score. 

You are not going for perfection, you are aiming for progress. Here are some ideas for goals/outcomes you want to achieve, feel free to tweak, choose multiple, or add more. 

Reclaim what trauma has taken back from you. 

Recover your self esteem, hope, or ability to connect with other people. 

Process whatever that has happened so that It doesn’t haunt you.

Releasing yourself out of survival mode. 

Develop healthy coping mechanisms. 

HEALING

CREATE A SUPPORT SYSTEM. Your support system will consist of people who you can trust to be vulnerable around. They will help you get through it, and will almost be like your second brain which you can use from time to time. Since they didn’t experience themselves (or maybe they did), they could offer new perspectives or advice that you wouldn’t consider due to the impact on you. 

If you are someone who doesn’t have the resources to create a support system, have a support place. Have somewhere where it's all rainbows and sparkles, and whenever you go there, you release everything. I know there’s not a lot of third spaces around, but I would recommend parks, libraries, someone else’s house, churches, youth centres or community centres. I would recommend taking something in which you can communicate to yourself in some way. 

CREATE AN EMOTIONAL FIRST AID KIT. Adding on to my last point, grab a little pouch or box and put things that will calm you down. For example, written affirmations, a prayer, reminders, lollies/candy, list of activities that you can do to calm down,a colouring book with markers, a comfort book or perhaps some money so you can get yourself a nice little comfort meal or a sweet treat.

I'm suggesting this because in the healing process, you will break down completely at least once. I find that its more likely to happen if you’re not going at a pace that is comfortable to you, and it kind of just catches up to you all again. This first aid kit will be essential to not doing anything that we will regret or falling back into unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

EDUCATE YOURSELF. Not a lot of people have easy access to therapy, and I'm aware of that. However, education of whatever happened to us (regardless of how big or small) helps you to understand your experiences and it actually becomes empowering at some point that we have the knowledge of this and how it impacts us, as that knowledge makes it easier to work through it compared to doing it blindfolded. 

While therapy is my first suggestion as its a lot more personalised, however like I said, not a lot of people have easy access to therapy. This is when I would encourage watching documentaries, youtube videos (i would be careful with this one–, i would avoid any ‘gurus’), and read articles or books.

 Whichever way you choose to educate yourself, actually take notes. I’m quite serious, it could be digital or physical notes, but at least write down anything that resonates with you. Then after you’re finished writing those notes, you’re going to treat it like its your homework. Review what you wrote down, break it down into a way that fits your situation, explain why it resonates with you, and the steps you can implement from today to make a change. 

It doesn’t stop there. Weekly, I want you to actually look back on these notes and see if perhaps your opinion has changed and if you’re actually implementing the changes into your life. It seems a bit ‘extra’ but, simply just consuming media for the sake of it, will do nothing! 

EXTRACT ALL SOURCES FROM STRESS FROM YOUR LIFE. I mean all. It doesn’t even have to be cutting off people sometimes like telling your mum that you love her but she’s too overbearing, creating a career master plan if not knowing what you’re going to do in the future stresses you out, tidying out that drawer that you’ve been neglecting etc. 

You want to make this journey as easy as possible for you. The best way to start is to make a list of everything that burdens you. Put the list on one side of the page. Then on the other side, you can list the ways you could change any of these things. 

If you’re in a situation that something stresses you out, but you can’t easily let it go, my best recommendation is to create a solution to it instead of extracting it completely. For example, my job stresses me out, but I need the money, then I would talk to whoever is in charge to help support you better. It seems scary, but asking will put you in a much better position than simply shutting up while screaming internally. 

NOURISH YOURSELF. You’ve probably heard it, but I'm going to say it again, and an unhealthy lifestyle will support an unhealthy state of mind. Go out into nature, drink water, do brisk walks everyday in the sunlight, get your daily fibre and have a healthy sleep cycle. 

Doing this in itself will help you become happier over time, but that is only if it becomes second nature. You will not magically renew after drinking 1L of water once, but you will feel the difference after doing it everyday for a month. 

SPIRITUALITY. People who have and practice strong core beliefs, are a lot happier. You get to define what spirituality means to you, because it doesn’t necessarily mean joining a religion. It could mean being really in tune with nature or it could be mindfulness everyday to get in tune with that side of you.

This one is a bit more controversial, because I don’t believe that you should join a religion out of traumatic events, but because you actually want to. So, while I do encourage you exploring that side of you, make sure you’re doing it. 

[booksandchaos-world]

Modern Outsiders Headcannons

Ponyboy

Ponyboy is that kid who will say, “erm…actually” 🤓☝️

He is active on booktok, and has read almost every book on there

Is a BONAFIDE theater kid

Loves Hamilton, Something Rotten, Les Mis and can sing the soundtrack by heart

Has his headphones in 24/7, probably has hearing damage

Writes fanfiction and has an active tumblr following that no one knows about

Sodapop

Sodapop and Ponyboy made Darry do the “parents reading brainrot” challenge

Sodapop is a Swiftie and dragged Johnny into it as well

Loves Bluey

Sends Steve 20 shorts, tiktoks, or ig reels a day

Darry

Did the “nice catch cheer” “not my name, quarterback” trend with Paul

The “mom” friend who always has everything on hand

Always texts back “👍”

Knows internet trends and gen alpha language, but hates to hear or use it

Johnny

Is a chronic doomscroller

Wears oversized sweatshirts 24/7

Guilty pleasure - watching rom-coms, until he found Soda watching them too

Likes photography, Pony will get a message in the middle of the school day of a car Johnny thought was cool

Dallas

Is banned from every social media platform

Has multiple accounts and emails in response to this

Consumes 5-hour energy and Monsters like it’s nobody’s business

Steve

Can rat dance REALLY well

Wears all Nike clothes and shoes

Listens to Bad Bunny

Forget Soda, Chat GPT is his best friend

Two-Bit

Speaks in brainrot

Has a prank YouTube and TikTok channel

Has an ongoing Snapchat streak

One of those kids trying to rizz everyone up

Bonus: Cherry

Does a grwm every morning

Wears those cute uniform inspired skirts

Goes to Sephora on a weekly basis

I’ll probably keep adding to this, if you have any requests of headcannons, feel free to leave them!

[bianotbia]

— 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 [ 𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐧 ]

main masterlist

˗ˏˋ you promised yourself to never fall for jeonghan, but when new feelings bloom inside you have to make a very painful decision ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : this was actually the first ever fanfic I wrote and, after I lost my previous account, I swore to myself I would try to rewrite it. even though I spent months in it and used a little bit of help from chat gpt to help me rewrite some parts, I couldn't be happier with how it turned out ^_^

⤷ contains : office crush!jeonghan x gn!reader, office au, hanahaki disease, full angst because I'm sad, mentions of blood and bruises [ wc : 2.6k ]

⤷ now playing : daisy by pentagon

Spring arrived in a hush of pink petals, drifting weightlessly through the air before settling on the pavement like forgotten confessions. A warm breeze carried the scent of earth and blossoms, yet all I could focus on was Jeonghan—his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded as if caught between daydreams and reality.

“Jeonghan,” I nudged him lightly, pretending not to notice the way my chest tightened at his absentminded smile. “Did you read the report I sent you this morning?”

He turned to me, lips curling at the corners in that easy, unshaken way of his. “I will,” he promised. “After lunch.” And just like that, I let myself believe, if only for this fleeting moment, that we existed in a world where he would look at me the same way he looked at the cherry blossoms—like something worth pausing for.

Half an hour later, we made our way back to the office after the lunch break ended, walking alongside the blooming cherry blossoms that painted the path towards it. He nudged closer with a spark in his eyes, as if he just came up with a brilliant idea. “Why don't we go out for some drinks tonight? We can celebrate spring and you can take your head off work for a bit.”

The pounding inside my chest echoed in my ears after hearing those words, feeling a flush painting my face almost the same color as the pink rain falling around us. It wasn't unusual for us to meet each other for drinks after work. Sometimes our other colleagues at the office would come along and other times we would go on by ourselves, but lately he hadn't been going out much.

I slightly nodded my head, trying to brush away the sharp pain that stung my heart as I wished I had never met Jeonghan, just so that the heartbreak of knowing he would never return my feelings for him wouldn’t make me slowly wither every day.

A dark shade of blue covered the sky, gracing it with stars invisible to our eyes blinded by the city lights. The scent of alcohol took over the streets along with the sound of slurred voices laughing over nothing. Already on our third glass, the conversation barely consisted of meaningless giggles and words that surely would get lost into the night.

“What’s your favorite flower?” He asked, a confused frown settled in my face which made him laugh at my reaction. “C’mon…it’s spring! Get in the vibes.” His body felt warmer—closer than it had ever been—as if one faint touch could send me on a maddening spiral of passion.

“Cherry blossoms…I think.” He hummed, a low sound that traveled through my body and made it even more limp thanks to the empty glasses spread around our table.

“What about you, Han?” I gazed at him, searching for the slightest slip of any hidden emotion that might only show when someone is drunk. He giggled and downed the remains of his beer, and from that moment on the only thing I could remember on the following day was the one word that came from his teasing smile.

“Daisies.”

The weekend faded into a grayish and gloomy monday morning, as if an incoming storm was getting closer at each second. Flashes of last friday night still swirled inside my mind and his laugh still echoed in my heart along with a conversation that seemed to go on all night long. There wasn't anything not to love about him—pretty face, smart comebacks, mischievous smile—how could I not fall in love?

Yet something always tightened inside my chest whenever he was around, something that drowned out any kind of words that conceived how much I liked him, how much I longed to have him close to me.

“Hey, did you see it?” I heard as soon as I arrived at my desk, mindlessly turning to my grinning colleague, Yena, who leaned over her own desk, “Mr. Yoon brought flowers to Haerin today.” She tried to cover a growing smile that quickly turned into a pout “They are so cute together! Oh, now I want a boyfriend to give me flowers too.”

“Boyfriend?” That word played over and over in my mind as I still tried to process everything she just said.

“Yeah! Apparently they just started going out in the past few weeks.” For a second, sitting in that cold office, all of the air inside my lungs seemed to vanish.

“Wh–what flowers did he give her?” I couldn’t keep my voice non-chalant, but she didn't notice anyway, just humming to herself while trying to remember what she saw.

“I think they were pink” cheerfully nodding her head, “Uh-hum, I'm pretty sure they were cherry blossoms.”

In the corner of my eyes I saw a shadow approaching us, Yena glanced up with a sparkling smile, one I tried to imitate as I realized who came over.

“Hi Mr. Yoon! We were just talking about you and Haerin. We're so happy for both of you!” He gave her a polite smirk, but quickly turned to me with a worried look. “Are you feeling alright? You seem quite pale.”

Any words I had to say to him got caught on the back of my throat. I felt my head nodding and could only hope that the tears pooling in my eyes wouldn't cross my cheeks in front of him.

That evening, my apartment was eerily quiet, the air cold and the room dimly lit. The only sounds were the relentless storm that had been pouring since lunchtime and the steady rush of water filling my bathtub. As I sank into its warmth, the sensation faintly reminded me of the rain dripping over my coat as I waited for Jeonghan at our usual meeting spot in front of the building. Only, this time, he didn’t show up.

As I neared the restaurant we often went to, my eyes caught a glimpse of him and Haerin. They laughed together, his usually sleepy eyes shining with a liveliness I had never seen before. I kept walking, eventually settling on another place to eat. Yet, even as the rain soaked through my clothes, the thing that bothered me most wasn’t the cold creeping into my bones—it was a strange itch at the back of my throat.

I heated up some soup after the bath, hoping to fend off this possible spring fever. But the itch remained, growing worse at every second and every cough that came out of me. Finally, something emerged from my mouth—a single daisy petal resting on my lips. It felt like a cruel joke while I forced myself to finish my meal.

Later, as I lay in bed and my thoughts slowly drifted away to dreamland, I could only cling to one desperate hope—that by morning, the delicate white petal would have disappeared, as if it had never been there—just like a bittersweet memory.

Unfortunately, the flower was still sitting at my nightstand as I woke up, alongside the annoying scratch that came from within my throat. I hurried to get dressed trying to ignore the suffocating sensation that made me feel even more ill while riding the crowded train, its constant rhythmic movement barely matching my ragged breaths.

The bitter feeling faded by the time I walked into the building, leaving just that unbearable sensation of something lodged in my throat. An itch I couldn’t scratch. A weight I needed to expel, as if letting it go was the only way to keep moving forward.

I ran into Haerin as I arrived at the office. The concern in her eyes told me I must have looked as awful as I felt. Time dragged mercilessly, stretching an hour into what felt like days. Had I already gone to lunch? Caught the train? Made it home? Or was I still lost, wandering through the remnants of a forgotten memory?

Then, once again, that suffocating feeling clawed its way up from my lungs to my throat—the desperate urge to rid myself of whatever was trapped inside. Not wanting to draw attention or fuel office gossip, I bolted to the restroom on the other floor.

Alone at last, my lungs felt like they were being filled with a hundred thorns, my throat suddenly surrounded by weeds that choked every airway. The coughing worsened and didn’t stop—not until flowers slipped through my fingers just as the tears that dripped from my eyes. The amount of them could probably make the decoration of a small wedding–their wedding.

By the end of that painful episode I was sitting on the cold tiled floor surrounded by white petals, a tear stained face and a bouquet full of daisies hanging on my shaky hands.

Everyday I saw Jeonghan mildly flirting with Haerin at the office, everyday I feigned a smile, and everyday I got home and felt flowers and more flowers coming from inside me. However, something started to worry me more than having to clean the white petals off my bathroom—was that daisies weren’t thorny flowers—yet as blood stained my hands and pain settled in the back of my throat, I knew this wasn’t some uncanny spring fever I could just brush off.

I couldn’t keep living like this—pretending that nothing had changed. I couldn’t keep going out with everyone after work and seeing both of them laugh at an inside joke they shared with each other, knowing that I wasn’t the one he looked at with such loving eyes.

The rain had poured relentlessly all day, a dull gray sky stretching endlessly above. That evening, Jeonghan invited me out for some drinks, just like old times, insisting I had been too distant lately. I only hoped the dim bar lights would be enough to hide the exhaustion in my eyes and the bruises in my lips.

“It’s been so long since we’ve gone out together. Feels like we’re not even friends anymore,” he said, nudging me playfully. I forced out a tired laugh, but it faded almost as soon as it escaped my lips.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Han.” My voice wavered as I met his gaze.

He frowned slightly. “That sounds serious—are you okay? You don’t look like yourself these past few weeks.”

A deep sigh left me as I looked away, the weight of everything I had been carrying pressing down on me. “I’m leaving the company. I found… something better. The people are nice, and the pay is good too.”

His face froze. He blinked once—twice—before finally speaking. “Oh…well…why are you saying it as if it’s something bad? You should be happy about it, right? Let's drink up to that.” We clinked our glasses while his gaze still lingered on me, a fading laughter from a night far away still echoed in the night.

As we got out of the bar the rain hadn't stopped and a sudden wave of longing rushed right through me. “There's…something else I wanted to say to you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. But I couldn’t speak. The words were caught in my throat, tangled in the thorns tightening around it, suffocating any attempt to express what I truly felt.

“Actually, never mind. It wasn’t that important.” He chuckled softly, the sound light and effortless, and we continued walking along the pink-strewn path of fallen cherry blossoms.

The next few days passed in a blur, an empty void where time moved, but I remained still. I saw them together at the office—smiling, happy—and let all my unsaid words spill out only when I was alone at home. As my last days at work dwindled, I barely managed to say proper goodbyes to my colleagues, promising to keep in touch with everyone, even Jeonghan—but deep down, I knew that was a lie I couldn’t keep telling myself.

The moment my final paycheck hit my account, I made the call. A hospital I found online—one that specialized in Hanahaki disease. They told me the procedure to remove the flowers from my lungs was costly and could have irreversible effects on my mind. But after everything that I went through, it didn’t feel like the worst idea.

As a single tear traced down my cheek while I entered the surgery room, the doctor assured me it was a simple procedure. That when I woke up the next morning, everything would feel just the same. Everything—except for one thing. He would be gone. Every memory, every moment we had shared—erased as if they had never existed at all, like a forgotten dream.

As the voices in the room faded into the background and the bright lights dissolved into darkness, the last thing I heard was Jeonghan’s laughter—followed by a sharp, piercing white noise.

When I opened my eyes, sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. I took a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on my chest was gone. My lungs, once suffocated, now welcomed the air freely—light, empty, and unburdened.

Slightly sore from the surgery, I listened to the soft sounds coming through the window. Outside, summer was in its final stretch, clinging to its last few scorching days before making way for autumn. The pink trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, like a distant, faded memory fluttering somewhere in the depths of my heart.

As I looked to the side, something caught my eye—a vase of white daisies. A small note from the doctor rested beside it: “As much as it might hurt to see them, these were too beautiful to throw away.”

Something deep inside me stirred. I knew what he meant by it. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite grasp who I was trying to remember. Only the distant echo of a familiar voice lingered—faint, unreachable, already slipping away.

Summer’s final days passed in a golden haze as I settled into my new job, adjusting to the unfamiliar faces and surroundings. This weekend, I had plans to meet up with Yena, just a casual get-together, a chance to catch up on all the latest gossip.

I stepped out of the chocolate shop, a small bag of gifts in hand, when I accidentally bumped into a young man. He took a long look at me before his face lit up with a bright smile. “Oh my god, how long has it been? It feels like ages! How have you been?”

For a brief moment, I furrowed my brows in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, but I think you have the wrong person.”

He chuckled at my puzzled expression, reaching slightly for my hand, but I instinctively pulled away. “What are you talking about? It hasn’t even been that long... It’s me, Jeonghan.” His once cheerful expression wavered, slowly shifting into something more uncertain, almost desperate.

There was something in his eyes, something pleading, as if silently begging me to remember. But I had nothing else to say to him.

“Sorry, I really don’t think I’m who you’re looking for,” I said, my voice polite but distant. “I should get going. I hope you find them again. Have a great day.” With a quick bow, I muttered another apology and walked away, leaving the stranger standing there.

Jeonghan remained frozen in place, his breath hitching as he watched me disappear down the tree-lined path. His vision blurred, the world around him smearing into shades of green and pink as tears welled in his eyes. A tightness coiled around his throat, sharp and suffocating. And then, finally, he felt it—a strange itch clawing its way up from deep inside him. Coughing lightly, he reached up, and from his lips, he pulled a single delicate petal.

A sakura blossom. Resting on his trembling palm.

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2025. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[ranjith11]

Elevate Your Accounting Content Calendar with Chat GPT | Future proof accounts

Welcome to our channel, dedicated to empowering accountants and finance professionals with invaluable insights and strategies. 📊📚 In this video, we delve into the world of accounts management and financial reporting, covering topics ranging from future-proofing accounts to harnessing the capabilities of AI-driven tools like ChatGPT. Whether you're an accounting enthusiast or a seasoned professional, this content is tailored to help you navigate the complex landscape of financial data with confidence.

[raygunconfession]

Ted Bundy #3

It’s funny how people paint Ted Bundy to be exceptionally good looking and charming, when he was more somewhat average and socially awkward in most settings.

The narrative around him is twisted and sensationalized like crazy, thats why I highly recommend not to watch any “news” on him, but rather look into personal accounts of what his friends/family/etc said about him. Except for Aynn Rule, they weren’t that close, she just wanted the money as an author.

How they describe Ted Bundy:

Extremely shy: especially around women, and often tend to “froze up.” I find this very interesting because thats one of the key signs of social anxiety. SA wasn’t a term people used back then, but if this was given now, it would be called that.

Frequent stuttering/mispronouncing words: Could be a learning disorder, or social anxiety, or both.

Very private & introverted: Especially throughout middle school- highschool

Was overly “nice”: Some women felt uncomfortable by this trait of his, and thought he was trying too hard & being weird.

Hypersensitive to Rejection or percieved REJ: That would explain why he was often distant, and obsessed with his image/how he’s percieved.

Was often offtopic when speaking: He often raised his hands in school, but his answers were off topic and overly rehearsed.

Okay these are just some brief descriptions of things but if you want to hear more, just type “List all specific interactions that showed ted bundy’s social awkwardness” to chat gpt, you’ll be enlightened

[yournightmary]

Loser!Ellie HCs | part II

content warning:: fem!reader, modern!AU

AN:: I love Ellie.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who has a shitposting insta account that surprisingly blew up. She just writes dumb shit in create mode, posts it and gets literally thousands of likes.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who forces herself to listen to music she doesn’t even like but it matches her aesthetic/makes her look cool. Radiohead is her number 1 listened band but the only song she can name is Creep.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who has to watch a youtube video to fall asleep. Loves all kinds of video essays but her favs are probably icebergs, probably the more disturbing the better.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who surprised you with a date to a shooting range one time and was the best out of all the people there, somehow. She’s so american <3

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who owns only a single pair of actual pajamas and they’re christmas themed- got them from Joel too. Usually she just wears a random shirt and boxers, but she’ll be more than happy to whip out those bright red&green pjs in the middle of the summer.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You know those happy but sad hope core tik toks? loser!Ellie watches them every time she sees them and sobs quietly because she’s embarrassed about crying over some tik toks.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who uses lip smackers. It’s like having a little snack without actually having a little snack.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who has a ‘honk if you like tits’ bumper sticker but gets angry whenever people honk at her (she forgets she even has it)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who goes on chat gpt whenever she’s bored and just asks stupid questions or gaslights the AI.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who would love to play games like Fortnite and Valorant but she’s too anxious that people would judge her skill.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who posts thirst traps on tik tok. I don’t care what you think, I know it’s true.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ loser!Ellie who wears those belts with funky buckles. Loves when they make an indent in your skin after cuddling.

it’s pretty short but I hope you enjoyed it <3

[the-changeling-manor]

Genesis

2024. Yes, it’s 2024. It’s only 2024. The future of humanity will be greatly influenced by this decade, both politically and culturally. But a subject that splits the opinions of all, transcending politics and culture, is defined in two words: artificial intelligence.

Artificial intelligence is currently in its infancy.

The ia coupled with chronivac technology could offer infinite possibilities to the users of the software, which is so known to transformation lovers, but yet so impossible to reach. Imagine the chronivac capable of thinking on its own to interpret a prompt, imagine the chronivac capable of analyzing the world around it simply by wandering on the networks, and imagine the chronivac capable of satisfying your desires just with a photo.

It’s just a Dream. Imagination. Unreal.

Isn’t that right? Well.... Don’t be so sure.

——————————————————————

Think about this guy. He’s like you and me. I even think he's one of you who reads these words. Brown hair, thirty years old, young gay, it’s a kind of "mister everyone" in this community of male transformations, which besides will not even be named or represented by a photo, since I know that this guy is you. 

Indeed, every night, he connects on tumblr and reads these stories where people change to become the ones they dream of being, whether they are serious or only in the context of fantasy.

He reads stories, more or less exciting, sometimes redundant because full of clichés, the story you read is also a mountain of clichés, I guess. This ordinary guy is enjoying this moment. He is happy, even though he knows he will never be able to live it.

He is deeply sad.

He receives a notification. Someone who sends him a message on tumblr precisely. He thought it was still one of those bots that redirected to adult sites. Yeah you know, those same fake accounts that pollute youtube with their nude women photos. A real hell.

But this one was different. It had a profile picture of a Greek statue and a curiously long name. His message was accompanied only by a link, a link that immediately caught the attention of our young man since he could read the term “chronivac”.

There was little hope that it was not a dream, or his imagination, or unreal. But reality dominated his thinking. He opened the link 

“Chronivac, Latest Edition” was displayed in the middle of his screen. There was a drop-down menu with different pages on the website. One of them was called “Targets”. Clicking on it, he came across a world map, similar to Google Map but more sober. The site zoomed in on her house before displaying her name at its exact location. Not just her name. The names of her family members were there. Also those of the neighbors. And even of the inhabitants of the neighborhood!

Hope overcame reason. He wanted to believe it. He believed in one of those stories he could read on Tumblr. He pressed his name, and then— This is what he has always dreamed of. An extremely complete interface displaying all its physical or mental characteristics… There were even different options such as the ability to change reality or even use prompts instead of checking elements for transformations.

It was fantastic. He discovered the different menus and saw the image reader option as what the gpt chat could do. Suddenly, he had an idea. He recorded an image of a sexy guy that he followed on twitter and instagram. He added a prompt «Give me the identical physique of the man in the photo, and ONLY his physique». For the rest, he wanted something different. He did not want to become this man, he only wanted his body to serve as the basis for his new life.

For his mind, he deliberately clicked on the «Stupid jock» option, not wanting to  click on ten thousand different options to forge a new personality. Finally, to better change the reality, he launched a second prompt: "I will become a heterosexual Hispanic sportsman, completely dominated by primitive and conservative thoughts. The chronivac will disappear from my life and I will never have access to it again, no matter what.”

This last part could have been replaced by the possibility of making the transformation permanent, but he did not want it. He liked these cliche stories where the protagonist was forced to stay in this new life, a real victim.

His excitement made him want to get through this. He voluntarily locked himself in there. He fell victim to his fantasies. And he loved it. Not clicking on the permanent option would torture him for the rest of his life, leaving him the hope of one day being able to return, even if the prompt made it impossible.

He wanted to explode with joy. He clicked on one last “Adapt Reality” option before pressing "save".

A flash of light blinded him for a few moments. When his body stabilized, he found himself in a basement with sports equipment. "Felipe" he whispered with a Spanish accent. The little voice in his head had just been replaced, he no longer spoke his original language. An uncontrollable desire led him to live his new life as Felipe.

He now had the body of a god. He was incredibly well carved... neither too big nor fat. He measured 1.80m for 85kg. His beautiful pecs bounced, making him laugh. A long stupid laugh that let his intellect disappear, replaced by knowledge about bodybuilding, women and alcohol.

He had little hairs, apparently this gymbro body liked to shave... except under the armpits. He raised his arm to feel this tuft of black and musky hairs... sweat. Yes, it was normal, Felipe was doing his exercises. His whole body was covered in sweat.

Because of the sweat, his underwear was even tighter against his cock. His new penis was now circumcised, just a religious tradition. This cock had met many women in bed.

He also remembered that two friends had to join him for his bodybuilding session, and after that they were going to watch a football match. A good life well stereotyped for an athlete as stupid as Felipe.

He was now a gymbro like the others.

His mind was trapped inside Felipe, inside him, but he was so happy to have fulfilled his fantasy.

It was a dream, the imagination, the unreal come true.

——————————————————————

Please forgive me for the mistakes, I am not fluent in English!

It was a first story, based on the most common clichés in order to do something a little different.

The next stories will be shorter, it was only for the beginning.

I am open to all requests, do not hesitate to offer me images with the source if possible!

The images of the new Felipe come from this X account: @Mariosalvadr

[crazy-hazy-sims]

OKAY so im not about to be petty over internet safety advice but sims community's post on the sfs thing feels like they summarized my post hello ajdhjdvkv

like read this...

Always remember that Sims 4 custom content files should only have the .package or .ts4script extensions. Never download or run .exe files, and ideally avoid automatically unpacking ZIP or RAR files directly into your Mods folder. Instead, inspect each file individually to ensure it’s safe. Always verify that you are downloading from official, creator-posted links, and avoid suspicious URLs, especially those using link shorteners. It’s also important to stay on top of security hygiene. As well as regular antivirus scans and the ModGuard mod mentioned above, consider setting up a weekly system restore point in Windows before adding new mods and back up your important files regularly. this includes Sims saves, mods, and any personal documents. If you use services like Google or Firefox, take advantage of features that scan for password breaches, enable two-factor authentication, and routinely check logged-in sessions across your accounts. Lastly, for both creators and players: be mindful and cautious. Don’t rush to download every new mod or piece of CC, take a moment to ask yourself if you actually need it. For creators, regularly monitor your files and hosting platforms to ensure nothing has been tampered with. These precautions might not guarantee 100% protection, but staying vigilant and informed will greatly reduce your risk of encountering malicious content.

HELLO???? svlhlfkbvnm

feels like they put my post through chat gpt to summarize it

okay "notthatsophie" if you cant do a simple google search to get internet safety rules and have to spoof a tumblr post....that speaks volumes about you tbh

man this is why i dont leave tumblr cause the fucking moment i leave i find my shit plagiarized like we are in highschool or something

god this is the funniest thing that happened to me dzvjcnvklm

whatever man if it gets people to be more cautious i guess

[jasper-unofficial]

just found out an account i follow that makes educational content uses chat gpt to translate and summarise things from sources in other languages... people have no fucking integrity anymore. brother, i sit down with multiple dictionaries, look up slang terms on forums, and tripple check what other translators did to make sure my silly little gifset of a pond naravit tiktok live doesn't have any mistranslation and you are using chat gpt for an account where you're supposedly teaching people history???