#and sometimes it's physical and sometimes it's mental

[myalgicencephalomyelitiscfstom]

"Chronic diseases misdiagnosed as psychosomatic can lead to long term damage to physical & mental wellbeing, study finds"

Research on people with autoimmune diseases but people with other conditions will sadly be able to relate

--

“A study involving over 3,000 participants – both patients & clinicians – found that these misdiagnoses (sometimes termed “in your head” by patients) were often associated with long term impacts on patients’ physical health & wellbeing and damaged trust in healthcare services”‬

--

“Patients who reported that their autoimmune disease was misdiagnosed as psychosomatic or a mental health condition were more likely to experience higher levels of depression and anxiety, and lower mental wellbeing. For example, one patient with multiple autoimmune diseases said: “One doctor told me I was making myself feel pain and I still can’t forget those words. Telling me I’m doing it to myself has made me very anxious and depressed.””

--

“More than 80% said it had damaged their self-worth and 72% of patients reported that the misdiagnosis still upset them, often even decades later. Misdiagnosed patients also reported lower levels of satisfaction with every aspect of medical care and were more likely to distrust doctors, downplay their symptoms, and avoid healthcare services. As one patient reported, it “has damaged my trust and courage in telling doctors very much. I even stopped taking my immunosuppressive medicine because of those words”.”

--

“Following these types of misdiagnoses, patients often then blamed themselves for their condition, as one individual described: “I don’t deserve help because this is a disease I’ve brought on myself. You go back to those initial diagnosis, you’ve always got their voices in your head, saying you’re doing this to yourself. You just can’t ever shake that. I’ve tried so hard.””

“Some doctors said they hadn’t really thought about the long-term problems for patients, but others talked about the problems in regaining trust, as one GP from England highlighted: “They lose trust in anything that anyone says…you are trying to convince them that something is OK, and they will say yes but a doctor before said that and was wrong.””

[tinytarotandtea]

「 ✦ PICK A PILE✦ 」

What type of comfort do you need right now?

Masterlist GET YOUR PERSONAL PAID READING HERE <33 Directions: Take a moment to breathe, calm down and focus as you choose a picture from above. From left to right is pile 1, 2 and 3. Then Scroll down to your pile! Please remember to only take what resonates with you and leave the rest 🫶

Pile One -

Cards Pulled - Nine of Wands • Ace of Cups • Knight of Pentacles.

Hello pile one, my dolls! 🫶

The Nine of Wands here is all about courage, success and recovery. It shows that you've defended your territory and demonstrated great strength. But, now, it is time to allow yourself rest. You're in a space where you've conquered and proven yourself resilient, and that, in itself, is a comfort. You're safe to breathe and let your guard down, don't worry.

The Ace of Cups points to new beginnings in love, creativity, and emotional openness. The comfort you need right now is to let yourself feel the joy that comes with that. Open your heart to new connections, new passions, and gentle emotional renewal.

The Knight of Pentacles reminds you that comfort also comes through consistency and trust in slow, steady growth. You don't need to rush. Building small and reliable habits and taking things one step at a time will offer you the deep and grounding comfort you need.

So, my lovelies, the comfort you need right now is rest, emotional renewal and permission to move steadily forward without pressure. Trust your strength and open your heart, and know that steady progress is enough.

Pile Two -

Cards Pulled - Page of Cups reversed • Two of Cups • Four of Pentacles.

Hello my darling pile two!

When reversed, the Page of Cups suggesting that the comfort you need right now comes from compassion and emotional grounding. Perhaps you've been feeling disconnected from your inner voice, your creativity, or your emotional intuition. Instead of putting pressure on yourself to be imaginative, or open-hearted, allow yourself the comfort of simply feeling what you feel without judgement. It's okay to be in a quieter and more introspective space.

The Two of Wands is pointing you needing comfort through vision and planning. Even if you're not ready to take big actions yet, dreaming about your future and considering your options or making gentle plans can help soothe those feelings of uncertainty. Comfort comes through knowing that you are allowed to have hope and direction, even if you're not ready to move yet.

The Four of Pentacles is here to remind you that comfort right now is also about stability and creating a sense of security. It's okay to hold onto what feels safe and familiar whilst you are finding your footing. Comfort doesn't have to be about taking big leaps, sometimes it's about protecting your energy and setting firm boundaries whilst allowing yourself to feel grounded and secure.

My sweet Pile Two, the comfort you need right now is self-compassion, gentle planning for the future and creating emotional and physical security. It's okay to move slowly, protect your peace and to trust that stability is a form of growth too.

Pile Three -

Cards Pulled - Five of Pentacles reversed • Five of Swords • Eight of Swords.

Hello doves!!

Here, the Five of Pentacles reversed shows that the comfort you need right now comes from healing and renewal after hardship. You might have been through a period of feeling isolated, unsupported, or lacking. But, now, the comfort lies in recognising that recovery is possible. You're being encouraged to seek out support and hope in small signs of progress, even if they feel fragile at first. Better days are opening up to you.

The Five of Swords suggests that there may still be some lingering conflict or mental battles weighing on you. The comfort you need is permission to walk away from unnecessary fights, both with others and yourself. It's okay to choose peace over being right.

The Eight of Swords points to comfort through liberation and empowerment. You are being called to recognise that your are not as trapped as you may feel. Comfort comes through realising you have choices, even if they require courage to see. They key is to free yourself from those limiting beliefs.

Pile Three, my doves, the comfort you need right now is healing, release from draining conflict, and the recognition that you're free to choose a new path.

[passionwillow]

Pretty please feel free to share any and all of your Abbot thoughts and head cannons 😍♥️

Well don’t mind if I do.. ☺️

- He loves to sit and chat with you outside. When it’s nice out, he loves to sit out on the porch and talk for hours, the sun setting and stars glimmering before he thinks to go in. Sitting on the porch swing, you curled up beside him.

- Loves to read. Sprawled on the couch, you on his chest and a book in hand is the perfect night for him. Fingertips trailing up and down your back, playing in your hair while he hold the book in his free hand.

- He insists you guys check in with one another at least once a day. Get a look at mentally you’re doing, if you’re alright, and what you might need. A text, a call, or a quick conversation at work. The job can be hard, sometimes you don’ta see each other as much, so he likes to make sure you’re doing okay.

- Complete honesty. He doesn’t sugar coat anything, if he thinks you’re wrong or doing the wrong thing he’s going to tell you. He doesn’t do it to be mean, he feels you deserve the whole truth. It can be hard to hear, but appreciated at the end of the day. He only wants what’s best for you.

- Physical contact!!! He loves to have a hand on you. Fingers laced with yours, arm around your waist or shoulders. Body pressed against yours, not giving a damn who sees you. It’s comforting and soothing.

- Always says I love you. He doesn’t care if it’s a one minute conversation as you pass one another in the ER or an hour long talk over the phone, he says it so much. Because he doesn’t want you to forget how much he adores you and that he’d do anything for you.

- Now to get a little smutty.. Blowjobs. He fucking loves looking down and seeing your little mouth full. If you let him, he’s holding your hair back and face fucking you. Your teary eyes, drool on your chin, he’s losing it.

- He has an obsession with eating you out. He loves to pin your hips down and eat you like a man starved, tongue rolling and flicking your pretty clit while he drowns in you.

- SIT ON THIS MANS FACE. Don’t bother saying you’re too big, or you’re going to smother him. He’s begging to be smothered at this point. Just sit and let his devour you.

- OVERSTIMULATION!! He will make you cum over and over until you’re a shaking mess. Before you even feel his cock inside you he’s had you cumming on his fingers, his tongue. You’re sensitive and whiny when his cock stretches you open.

- He loves to grab you by the throat and see that hungry look in your eyes. The way you lean into his hand, chin lifted to give him whatever access he wants. It always makes his cock twitch.

- Mirror sex is a must. Forcing you to watch how fucking pretty and desperate you look with his cock buried inside you, the way you arch and whine for him.

- Pulling your hair, spanking you, marking you in any way is hot as hell to him. Watching you walk around with a hickey peeking over the collar of your shirt gets him riled again.

- He can be the softest guy in bed, too. Bodies pressed close, his fingers laced with yours as he thrust slow and deep, thriving in the intimacy and pleasure of having the one he loves so close to him.

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

I would love to engage with fashion like this, because I am very aware of how clothing, and literally everything you choose about your appearance (tattoos, piercings, hair style and color, makeup, nail style/bitten-ness, posture, general stance, accessibility accessories, overall accessories like jewelry or purses, type and style of footwear, scent, body language, expression) communicates something to everyone else.

I'm autistic and I had to learn this stuff by rote, so I picked up the whole package instead of the innate cultural mores stuff. I figured out what conforms and doesn't.

But goddamn, man. Fast fashion is affordable, and I can alter it if I need to (thank fuck one of my special interests was sewing when I was a kid), but I'm tired. I don't have the mental or physical energy to expend on picking an outfit out when I can barely get out of bed some days because of pain (and that's when I have stable housing).

So my current image just communicates, "I am tired/lazy and don't want to make the effort to look nice, also fuck off," and I'm gonna have to be content with that for now.

The image I want:

Or sometimes this:

The image I actually have:

Because putting that much money, time, and effort into a wardrobe just... Isn't possible for me.

And like. I sew. I have been sewing since I was 8 or 9. I'm 40. I'm really good at thrifting even though I'm fat. I could theoretically do all of this on a budget.

But I'm just so tired, man.

I will bluster, but I don't deeply care that my 80-90 year old style is opaque to a lot of people. It's a bit sad, because ignorance here strips away a layer of meaning whenever you engage with art/history in or about this era.

What's more disconcerting is the thought that folks are just consuming clothing without thought or purpose, including what goes into their own closet. That leads to a lot of waste, and a lot of insecurity when you can't figure out why your clothes don't make you as happy as that Influencer.

I don't know how we get fashion literacy back -- fast fashion and trends cycling seasonally vs every so many years is to blame, imo.

When I talk about what appeals to me w/my own style, I get loads of "wait, clothing communicates things?" comments, which is an interesting commentary on how we now consume fashion with little thought, other than "current trend".

Not enough people these days seem to be involved in subcultures (or are aware that they are in one). And that contributes more to the loss of fashion vocabulary than, say, not following someone like menswear guy.

I guarantee you are dressing to communicate something to other people, even if you're not fully aware of the fact. Your clothing will continue to communicate *something* even as old trends compress. Fashion can be art, it can reflect the zeitgeist of a time period, and it can be propaganda.

If your clothing is making you unhappy, but you can't figure out why:

This isn't a vintage vs modern thing. It's a "clothes have meaning" thing, and I encourage folks to step back and think about what clothing is saying. Look at everyday people, celebs, movie characters. From the old-timey weirdos like me, to the $300 tailored t-shirts of the tech bros, there's a lot going on under the hood. And the more you know, the more confident you become about your own wardrobe and less prone you are to chasing trends that end up disappointing you.

I really encourage folks to embrace "slow fashion". Not just as an anti-capitalism thing, but as a way to examine how you want to present yourself to the world. See what the fashion you share (or want to share) with others communicates. And see what your own personal style that sits atop that says specifically about you.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 22

Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i just realized sunfyre didn't hatch for aegon and he had to claim him... anyway since I already wrote it like that, just roll with it ok?? ALSO PLEASE SPARE ME A COMMENT/REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS because it feels so aimless T_T anyway next part wont be... hopefully <3 | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

You find yourself awakening to the feel of hands brushing through your hair. You slowly open your eyes and curl inward, sensitive to the sunshine beaming in through the window. You are pulled in with a contented sigh.

You realize two things then, one, your head was upon Daemon's chest, and two, he was singing something under his breath. You slowly lift your head, finding his face. His eyes were closed, though he was still combing through your hair with a tune upon his lips. He was beautiful.

Your heart tightens as you reach for him.

Daemon stills when he feels your hand on his cheek and promptly opens his eyes.

Your own water as he takes your hand to press a kiss upon in.

"Sȳz ñāqes." Good morning.

Your lips tremble, "issi ao drējion?" Are you real?

His brows furrow as a tear runs down your cheek. He quickly shifts, wipes it away, and pulls you tightly into him, "kessa." You instantly seal your arms around him. He presses a kiss upon your head, "iksan kesīr, ñuha jorrāelagon." Yes. I am here, my love.

You sigh into his shoulder as he secures you over him. You mumble against his skin, "I dream of waking to you often."

"As do I," he brushes his nose against you.

He rubs your back as he feels wetness build on his collar. He holds you tighter, hoping his embrace will dam your tears. He whispers your name in an attempt to soothe you.

You pull away and examine his face.

Daemon frowns at how pinkish and puffy your eyes were already.

You gently swipe his pout and smooth the line between his brows. He seems to relax slightly as you continue to trace the rest of his features. You sniffle, "are your dreams vivid?"

He watches you— you, who seemed to be so enamored by him. He clenches his jaw and squeezes your hip, "sometimes I feel you in my arms."

You lock gazes.

"But then I find a pillow in my embrace when I rouse."

You frown slightly, "my dreams feel like memories that never were. They quickly fade when I open my eyes."

Daemon shifts, sitting up so your head was no longer hovering. He pulls you against his chest, kissing your temple, "I am an awfully persistent presence. I will not fade, even if you insist upon it."

You chuckle softly.

He smiles, squeezing your arm, as if urging that you bless him with the sound once more.

"I would never insist that you fade," you rub his cheek, "especially not for me."

He takes your wrist and kisses it.

"I do have one dream that I have not forgotten... one and only."

He hums in interest.

"I was praying in the temple, and you came to me."

Daemon's throat tightens.

"It was after the last dinner we had with the late queen Aemma, after all the ruckus from it."

He hums again, brows tightening at the memory.

"The next thing I know I was in bed and you were looking down at me," you brush your lips, "then I was kissing you, holding you, pulling you i—"

"Wait," he shakes his head, "this was the night before the tourney, was it not?"

You nod as you trace the burn scars across his chest. You frown and kiss him there.

He shifts and looks down at you, taking your face to steal back your attention, "that was not a dream."

You look up at him, "hmm?"

"I went to you in the temple," he shakes his head, silver hair falling to his face, "I knelt with you then carried you back to your chambers. You asked me to stay and I did."

Your brow furrows as you sit up, "y-you did?" You shake your head, "but I-" your eyes water, "I woke up alone, I-" your lips wobble.

Daemon feels dreadful. He almost mentions that he knows what you've prayed for all your life, but he does not want to speak it into existence if that was no longer the case. Instead, he says, "I had to rouse early for the games."

You whimper, "do you speak true?"

He clutches your cheeks and nods slowly, "I did not want to. I waited until the last moment to leave. I didn't have the heart to wake you."

You scratch your eyes, not wanting to cry, "I... that was why I could not bear to go to the games... I was so bitter that my dreams were so sweet and reality- .... reality—" you cannot withhold your sob.

Daemon pulls you against him, guilt rising up his neck as he recalls the cruelty he handed you once you do arrive. Jealousy soon replaces guilt when he thinks of Gwayne. He grits his teeth, "would you have still gone to your brother had you not believed our love making was a dream?"

You sniffle, "... what?"

He examines your once more dampened cheeks and hangs his head, "would you have been more partial to me had you known I actually stayed with you that night?"

Your heart throbs, "do you ask me if I would have cared less for my twin?"

"No," he looks away, "I ask if you would you have cared more for me."

"I do care for you," you reach for his cheek.

"More than your beloved Gwayne?" he turns back to you.

You frown, "now, yes."

He should be happy, but he bristles at the context. He chuckles dryly, "you loved him more then."

"It still hurt me to know you saw me as a pawn in your game," you simultaneously shrug and shake your head, "I do not mind it now, so long as you do not abandon me."

"You are no pawn," he wipes your cheeks, "you are my queen."

You purse your lips, "Aemma told me something similar... that pawns turn into queens."

"You are no pawn to me," he repeats firmly.

You lower your gaze, "be it as it may... a queen must provide her king an heir and..." you wipe your face, "I- I am not strong enough."

He speaks your name, gently shaking you.

You hide behind your palms.

He parts his mouth, but finds nothing to say.

For a moment, a moment far too long, you crumble into despair. Your affliction does not take control of you though as Daemon's touch keeps you grounded.

He desperate to soothe you, "I am second born."

You take deep breaths to steel your tears.

"Rhaenyra's been named successor..." his voice is soft, "I've no use for heirs."

Your pull your hands away, face falling, brows tightening at his words. You rapidly shake your head, "do not comfort me with lies."

"I don't need to," he mutters, "my words are true, I..." he shrugs, "... need no heirs."

"You would have me believe you do not want me to sire you sons or daughters?"

He places his hands on your belly, his large hand rubs warm circles, "... that is not what I said."

"Daemo-"

"There is nothing to inherit from me," he shrugs.

Your forehead curls. You shift beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, "you would not have them inherit your tenacity or your comeliness?"

His nostrils flare. He leans into you, "you find me comely, wife?"

"I find you beauteous."

A deep chuckle passes his lips. "Do not flatter me so," he rubs his nose against yours, "I will not let out of this bed."

You kiss his neck, "you will not hear a complaint from me."

Daemon groans and hurtles himself into you, crushing you beneath him. You giggle as he kisses you, mouth hungry for yours. He finds the back of your knee on instinct, and is soon strapping your legs around him. His lips, tongue, and teeth take a moment on your skin.

You are dazed when he pulls away. His heart races at the sight of your swollen lips and glazed expression.

You comb through his hair, "your hair is longer."

"Mmm," he brushes your hair off your shoulder, "do you prefer it short?"

You shrug, "I prefer you how ever."

Daemon chuckles, hand coming to your cheek. He traces your lips with his thumb, "very well," he squeezes your thigh and bucks into you, "I shall bed you before breaking fast."

Your belly swirls. You close your eyes when he kisses your neck.

He licks your pulse, "I shall fill your belly with my seed-"

Your eyes open.

"-that you might feel my warmth inside you," he massages your waist.

"Daem-"

"Then you shall have your fill of moon tea."

You tense. Daemon continues to kiss you until he can no longer ignore the rigidness of your form. His eyes lock with yours as he examines you. He sees your trepidation. He tucks hair behind your ear.

I-need-no-heirs plays in your mind. Your throat tightens, not knowing what to think. Is he sick of you, sick of your inadequacies? He wants children but... not by you? He no longer wants to try—

The sound of your name pulls you out of it. He kisses your jaw reassuringly, "None of me desires to gain children but lose my wife. I've already had a taste... it is too bitter to bear."

You grip his shoulder, tight enough that his flesh punctures beneath your nails. You want to speak, but you know not what.

"You will regain your strength and then," he stresses, "then shall children come."

Your lips wobble, "a-and if I don't—"

He silences you with a kiss, mumbling, "you will get better."

He takes no other word from you save his name moaned in pleasure.

Daemon is gentle.

He does not rush.

He draws your love making until his hair is dripping in sweat and your skin is sticky with him. You're consumed wholly by him and he is consumed wholly by you. Once you're both coming down from your high, you latch yourself around him, unwanting him to pull away from you.

He adores it, yet, the same moment, he finds he is, in fact, just a man and you were feminine divinity overwhelming him. "My love," Daemon grunts against your neck, "... let up."

"I want you inside my ribcage."

He both chuckles and whines against your jaw, "I am still inside you, lover."

"I want to eat you."

Daemon, overwhelmed still, but gravely besotted, nips at your ear, "later, I swear it."

You find yourself giggling at the sound of him.

"I admit..." Daemon whispers, "... I wish to rouse... I worry terribly for Caraxes."

You immediately loosen your grip on him.

Daemon whimpers, suddenly ungrateful at the release. He looks at you, brows furrowed in worry, "he must want to eat me as well... though unlike you."

You frown at his expression and shake your head, "he misses you. I've had my turn. You should go to him."

"I can be shared," he licks his lips, "come with me?"

You knit your brows and nod, "of course."

‎Daemon holds your hand tightly all the way to the pits. Part of you wants to tell him you're not going to vanish into thin air, but in truth, you enjoy the fervor of his hold.

‎When you arrive, the pit is bustling. The first thing you both notice is Caraxes is feasting, feasting as if his life depended on it, as if he hadn't eaten in months, which he hasn't, not properly.

Daemon squeezes your hand, and so do you, turning to him with a smile. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were glassy. You reach for his arm and rub his bicep. He leans into you, scratching his eyes.

"You did it, he's better now," you mutter.

Daemon sniffles and sighs, looking back to Caraxes. He pulls you along with him as he walks towards one of the head keepers and has conversation with her.

As he does, you watch the blood wyrm scarf down food as if his life depended on it. He was crunching on beasts twice your size like apple. You vaguely hear something about him eating 10 cows before a loud, high pitched cry of your name rings across the space.

You turn and find Aegon, already running up to you with a kingsguard running after him. The child was too lithe and the guard's armor too heavy for the prince to be caught. You gasp and pull away from Daemon, immediately alerting him.

Daemon's throat tightens as you walk towards the boy, grunting as he jumps into your arms. Before his jealousy claws at him, Caraxes, with his new found strength, turns and hisses at the villain, the child in your embrace. Like master, like mount.

"Caraxes," Daemon raises a hand in correction. He walks over to him and strokes his face. The dragon pushes into him, showing his displeasure. He hushes him, "Nyke gīmigon, Caraxes. Istiti gūrēñagon ityragon." I know, Caraxes, we must learn to share.

Caraxes makes a sound, as if knowing how incredibly stupid the notion was.

You bend down, allowing Aegon to take your cheeks and kiss you, "muña, I'm going to ride Sunfyre." (Maternal) aunt.

Daemon watches. When his throat tightens, he thinks of the boy's brother, Aemond, and how he felt holding him last night. It calms him down enough that he can offer his mount affection.

You raise your brows apprehensively at the boy, "you are?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm a big boy!"

You hear clanking and find the kingsguard now behind prince. You stand and raise a brow at him, "the prince says he will be riding today."

Daemon turns back.

"Will you be able to take responsibility of him?" you ask the guard.

The knight huffs, looking down at the prince.

You purse your lips at that and lean back towards your nephew, "has the dragon keepers said that you can?"

Aegon hums and looks away.

You sigh, "Aegon—"

"But I want to!" Aegon stomps his foot, turning to back to you, "skoro syt gaomagon eman rȳbagon se urnerys?!" Why do I have to listen to the keepers?!

"Ae-"

"Ao ȳdra daor," a deep voice speaks from behind you. You don't.

Aegon looks up at Daemon, eyes watery in frustration.

His uncle crosses his arms, feeling no sympathy for weepy looks of the child, "yn lo gaomā daor, pār ao daor limagon lo ao jiōragon ōdrikagon." But if you do not, then you cannot cry if you get hurt.

You turn as well, straightening up, "Daemon."

"Emā naejot rȳbagon naejot aōha muña," he raises a finger, "va moriot." You have to listen to your (maternal) aunt. Always.

"Daor," Aegon grumbles. No.

Daemon's upper lip curls. He steps forward, "eminna ao toliot ñuha ybon." I will have you over my knee.

"Daemon," you press a hand on his chest.

Daemon grits his teeth.

You take his cheek and make him look at you. The tension on his shoulders quickly melt away. You offer him a smile but quickly turn back to Aegon when he begins to stomp around in defiance.

He shrieks, "I WANT TO FLY!"

"Aegon!" you try to take his arm, but he wrangles out of your grip.

Aegon squeals in protest and Caraxes begins to react, earning Daemon's attention again. The older prince turns and raises a hand, commanding the dragon to stay back.

Your grip is weak, thus why your nephew slips out of your grasp. When he spots Sunfyre being ushered out the pits, he immediately tries to run to him, but his guard snatches his arm before he can. The golden dragon reacts in like with his rider's tantrum.

In the end, because the pair's emotional meltdown, they were both escorted back to their rooms, and you were left feeling terrible to see Aegon be carried away while he cried out for you.

Daemon is satisfied that you stayed with him. He rubs Caraxes's snout, continuing to calm him. He calls out your name and reaches a hand to you.

You take his hand, sighing as your husband pulls you into his chest. He kisses your temple and places your palm upon his dragon's scales. You are glad to feel that Caraxes warm again.

He cannot help himself, as jealousy lingers in his mouth, "spoiled fucking brat."

You raise a brow at him, "Aegon a child."

"No child of mine," Daemon scoffs, "how terrible to think there now is three."

Your face twist, "you act as though you would not put up a fight if you were pried away from your dragon."

You notice his jaw clench. You place your hand on his shoulder, silently demanding that he look at you.

Daemon huffs, "... fine."

You watch him give you a look.

"Let us pray your sister does not birth another brat."

She doesn't, she births a darling babe named Daeron four years later. Of course, in Daemon's eyes, he was a fussy nuisance, and he despised that his wails were audible in your chambers some nights. He was, in fact, a brat. A demanding one at that.

The boy demanded so much attention that apparently Alicent was not enough. Daeron did not sleep if he was not being held, and your bleeding heart was ever so weak for your sister and her spawn.

This was why you presently held the youngest prince in your arms; he needed to sleep and the queen had much else to attend to.

The sun shines upon your form in the training square. Daemon watches as you rock the child in your arms, tucking dark hair behind your ear as a gust of wind blows it into your face. He grunts when his sparring partner hits his hip.

"Got you!"

Daemon eyes the boy, and deflects with his wooden sword when he tries to hit him again, "didn't I tell you to take a break?"

"I'm not tired, kepus!"

The tiny prince tries to go at him again but Daemon pushes him back with no effort, "nice try."

You look up from Daeron when you hear tiny skidding feet. You adjust the babe in your arm and cup the side of your mouth, "be nice, darling."

Daemon looks out to you, finding your raised brow, then turns back to the boy, "hear that. Your aunt told you to be nice and listen to your uncle."

None the wiser, the boy whips back at you then nods at Daemon, "okay, uncle."

He chuckles as his opponent gets back into fighting stance. He sighs, equally impressed and exasperated by the boy's spirit, "fine," he tilts his head, "let us make a deal. If you defeat me, I'll let you have my cakes at lunch time."

He gasps.

"But-" Daemon raises a finger, "-if I win, you have to give me all your cakes."

The boy freezes.

Daemon's lips curl in to a devious smirk.

He can only stare in silence after hearing the conditions.

"Well?" he raises his brow, "what say you, Aemond?"

Aemond turns to his feet. He lowers his practice sword, "... maybe ..."

"Maybe?" Daemon repeats.

Silver hair flutters across his eyes as Aemond lifts his gaze, "maybe we can take a break... ?"

Daemon laughs, reaching a hand out to the boy, "good choice."

Aemond gratefully takes his uncle's hand and the two walk towards you.

You smile at them and reach for your nephew's face when he's near, "done training, my love?"

"We're taking a brea-"

"We are," Daemon corrects as he sits. He rests his chin on your shoulder, "I'm tired."

You turn to him.

Aemond whines in protest, "you said we're taking a break."

"Yes, well," Daemon pushes your hair to the side and kisses your neck, "I'm starving."

"But kepus!" the boy whines, "it's not lunch time yet!"

He does not even look at Aemond, instead, he sneaks an arm behind you, pulling you closer to him, "if you don't let me have lunch now, I'm I'm going to eat your aunt."

Aemond gasps, immediately pulling your skirt away from him, "NO!!!!!"

You chuckle but click your tongue, "Aemond, I might drop your brother."

Daemon eyes the frantic Aemond, circling an arm around you as he bites your shoulder.

"NOOOO!" Aemond squeals, trying his best to save you from attempted cannibalism.

When you spot the boy's watery gaze, you shrug Daemon off and slowly come to a stand, "ȳdra daor limagon, ñuha jorrāelagon, aōha uncle tymagon lēda ao." Don't cry, my love, your uncle plays with you.

You secure Daeron in your arm before stroking a gentle finger across the boy's cheek.

"Daor," Daemon stands as well, eyeing Aemond, "I am a dragon. I gladly eat your aunt every nig—"

"Daemon!"

He breaks into a laugh while Aemond breaks into a sob.

You disapprovingly call out Daemon again, and he immediately picks the boy up, though he continuing to laugh. Aemond scratches his eyes as his uncle easily holds him in one arm, brushing his silver hair off his face

You glare at him, "it's not funny."

Daemon, enamored by the boy, kisses Aemond on the cheek, "little bit."

You continue to give him a withering glare.

When he finally catches it, his smile fades slightly. He sighs, "māzigon sir," he rubs Aemond's back, "mēre hae kostōba hae istia daor limagon." Come now. One as strong as you must not cry.

Aemond woefully looks at Daemon, lips trembling, "muña iksis va moriot ōdrikagon. nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao naejot ōdrikagon zirȳla." (Maternal) aunt is always hurt. I don't want you to hurt her.

Your face falls, "oh, my love."

This promptly wipes Daemon's grin away. He sighs and strokes the boy's arm, "Kessa, kessa... shijetra ñuha tēmire." Yes, yes... forgive my cruelty.

Aemond sniffles, embracing Daemon as he drops his head on his broad shoulder.

Daemon rubs the boy's back. Aemond's empathy begets guilt into to him. It only flares at the sight of your disappointed expression.

"All is well, my love," you pat Aemond's head, "we shall eat cakes now."

Aemond perks, quickly turning to you.

Daemon's eyes crinkle his simpleness.

"Shall we wait for your siblings in the solar?" you smile.

Aemond nods eagerly.

Daemon chuckles softly, bouncing him in his arm.

You send off Daeron to his wetnurse while you, your husband, and your sister's children eat in the solar. Aegon and Helaena had returned from dragonback, and the former was excitedly telling you about the experience, much to the annoyance of Daemon.

Now eight, Aegon was an energetic and audacious thing. He was more so Daemon's villain now than he was then. He and the boy were competing constantly for your attention, and he did not like it one bit.

"AND SUNFYRE MANAGED TO DO CIRCLES IN THE SKY!" Aegon motioned with a fork from where he sat at the head of the table.

You immediately raise a hand but it is Daemon that sharply snaps, "do not play with your fork."

The boy obeys, but does not acknowledge his uncle at all, eyes still fixed upon you, "Helaena and Dreamfyre could barely keep up with us."

You turn to your niece, who sat beside you, quietly eating her food. You brush her hair back, "if that is so, you must slow down for her."

"NOOOO!" Aegon groans, leaning back into her chair, "that's no funnnnn!"

Daemon, who was on your other side, turns to the second born, "is your brother horrid with you, girl?"

"AM NOT!" Aegon protests.

Helaena turns to her uncle, glimmering eyes telling that she left her head in the clouds after riding through them, "Aegon is only Aegon."

She was capable of speaking only like this, like a dreamer. It once fascinated Daemon to see the gift manifest in her, but he quickly realized he had no patience for it, not in listening, much less deciphering. You, however, had eternal patience and lent your ear to every nonsensical word she spoke, even the ones of bugs. Unlike the jealousy her older brother inspired from coveting his wife, he could not find fault in Helaena; she was a gentle thing.

Your brows slightly furrow at Helaena's words, knowing that Aegon has grown to be rather stubborn and expedient.

Daemon sees it as a clear opportunity to villainize him, "so you were being horrid."

"WAS NOT!" Aegon whines, pulling at his hair in frustration.

"Hush," you raise a hand, glaring at Daemon before offering Aegon a sympathetic look, "you weren't. But you, yourself, said you didn't wait for Helaena-"

"BECAUSE SHE'S FUCKING SLOW!"

"Aegon!" you quip, "watch your tongue!"

Daemon chuckles to himself, reveling in how the boy exemplified his horridness. Just as Daemon takes a bite of his food, Aemond, who sat beside him, tugs at his sleeve, pointing to the cake in the middle of the table.

Aemond's plate was not even half finished, and he and Daemon both knew it would greatly displease you if the boy had dessert already. Yet, your husband steals a glance at you amidst your attempt to calm your bratty nephew and casually reaches for a cakes, quickly handing it to Aemond.

The young prince gratefully curls into his chair and smiles at his uncle, "thank you, kepus."

Daemon hums and shifts, turning his body that you might not catch the child eating dessert already.

He would never admit it, but everyone knew, Aemond was his favorite. Holding him after his return from Essos, at a time he was so vulnerable, forged an profound partialness for the boy. He tried to convince himself he'd be just as wretched as his older brother, but he simply was not. Aemond was quiet, observant, obedient, and most importantly, he was not nearly as interested in you as his siblings. He was interested in Daemon, and Daemon adored it; he adored him.

Once Aegon was calm, he continued finishing his meal. Unlike from your vantage point, Aegon could clearly see Aemond snacking on cakes, and so he purses his lips and takes one for himself.

You immediately react, "finish your food first."

"BUT AEMOND IS EATING CAKE!" Aegon points.

Daemon's face darkens. Rat.

You inspect Aemond, and Daemon no longer shields him. The boy wanted cake, let him face the consequences.

"Aemond!"

Aemond turns to you, violet eyes innocent, mouth covered in frosting.

"You haven't finish your vegetables!" you reach for the cake in his hand.

Aemond whines, crushing most in an attempt to continue eating it.

You click your tongue at the mess and elbow Daemon while you're at it. You brush your nephew off while muttering sharply, "you know better than to feed the boy sweets."

Daemon raises his hands, "I did-"

You silence him with a glare.

He tenses, finding it pointless to feign innocence.

After lunch, you and Daemon bring the kids back to their rooms, the latter is eager to have you all to yourself now. As you were about to leave, Alicent arrives. She constantly look troubled as of late, now that Viserys health went on a visible decline.

"Sister," she sighs, coming to you in haste.

Daemon's expression sours when he hears the queen ask if you could spare her a moment. He grits his teeth when you, in all your kindness, readily agree, and immediately get pulled out the room.

He sighs. He watches Aegon and Aemond play with blocks and wooden dragons for a moment and quickly decides to terrorize them while waiting for your chat to end.

When you walk back in, Daemon had roped in Helaena as a fellow antagonist. Though his intentions were truly meanspirited, the children saw only amusement in their uncle as he fashioned himself as the Black Dread, kicking down the castles they were building while Helaena clung on his back, pretending to be The Conqueror.

The sight pinches your heart tightly.

Aegon squeals, trying to push his uncle away as Aemond scrams to rebuild a tower. The older boy yells, "HURRY!"

"I'M TRYING!" Aemond trembles in his haste.

Daemon sees you, sighing through a faint grin, "thank the gods."

The sound of Helaena's laughter as she's put down to your feet should have made you want to laugh with her, but it made you want to cry instead.

"No wait," Aegon cries out, "not yet! We're not finished!"

Daemon shakes his head, not budging as the boy pulls at his arm. He walks over to you, slipping out of Aegon's grasp, "I'm exhausted, boy."

Aegon whines, "but uncle!"

Soon, Aemond is begging Daemon to stay as well. Your heart continues to ache for the kids, but clearly your husband is unmoved. He eyes the boys expressionless, but then notices that even Helaena is hovering. His resolve slightly chips, "enough. I should like a nap, as should you lot."

The boys whine.

You frown.

It was a mistake to look at you then. He is powerless beneath your gaze. He curses softly in High Valyrian then waves a hand, "one last game."

The children cheer.

You watch them play. Daemon is far gentler now which makes the game far more fun. Your heart tightens over how much joy you feel that you have to step out of the room to calm yourself down.

The game is truly over then.

Daemon is quick to your side, egregiously worried at how you were clutching your chest.

You tell him you're alright, but you were so out of breath he does not understand it. He frantically mutters High Valyrian in an attempt to calm you as he rubs your back and keeps you upright.

Again, you say, "I'm alright," and he finally understands you, though he obviously cannot believe it is true.

"Shall we go for a swim?" Daemon mutters softly, so not give himself away to his panic.

You shake your head as you the tightness in your lungs slowly wanes. You lean into his chest, lulling yourself at the sound of his heart beat.

He never knows if he should wrap his arms around you during these times. He waits until you hold him for him to return the affection.

You were soft beneath his touch, no more the shell of what you were when he had first left you for the Stepstones. You were stronger now, more than even how you were when he first met you, brighter too; you had been so sad then. He revels in knowing it was because of him.

"I want to lay down," you mutter against his doublet.

Daemon nods. The lines in his forehead do not fade, for you look exhausted.

Yes, you were stronger, but it seemed even your affliction was. It didn't happen as much, and he was glad of it, but when it did, it was too much.

He rubs your arm as you slowly head back to your chambers. In an attempt to distract you, Daemon asks, "what did your sister say?"

When you look at him, it seems this was not the best choice of conversation.

He immediately shakes his head, "did I already tell you about how Caraxe-"

"It's Daeron."

He purses his lips, already knowing whatever it is will not be good.

"She cannot care for him and manage the king's health and all her duties at once. He'll be sent 45to ward in Oldtown."

Daemon's brows furrow.

"She asked me if I wanted to go with him—"

"What?" he stops you both in your tracks.

"— or if Gwayne should come here to-"

"Get the fucking cunt to crawl here. Why should you have to fucking travel to that hellhole?"

"..."

"..."

"... I-" Daemon sighs and shakes his head in frustration. He squeezes your hand, "I jus-"

"I was not going to go."

Daemon gulps.

"I am not foolish enough to believe my strength would last a day if we are apart."

Your words make him relax, and yet your soft smile makes his lips curl into a guilty frown.

"My sister too is well aware of this," you squeeze his hand back, "she asked with the intention that you'd come with me."

Daemon tenses. He does not like the sound of it.

Clearly to you and your gentle heart, you believed your sister urges such things to your betterment, and perhaps it was so, but he was not gentle. His gut screamed that the Hand had something to do with this, that it was he that planted this idea in the Queen's head. He does not speak it for your sake.

You lick your lips and take a breath, "the last time I was able to take my pregnancy to term was when I went back to Oldtown."

He tenses and knits his brows. He reaches for your cheek and shakes his head, "we've only started trying."

You look off aimlessly before turning back to him, "we started trying when Aemond was two. He is four now, and Daeron is due his first nameday."

"Do not measure yourself against your sister," Daemon's expression hardens, "she's not known a fraction of your suffering."

You do not respond. When you look away again, you do not look back.

He sighs in frustration. He does not mean to break your spirit. He slowly calls out your name.

"You're right," you shake your head, "I just-"

"Want to go to home," he whispers, scared to say it too loud.

Your gaze lands on him. Your eyes are slightly beady, which is why your chuckle confuses him. "Silly boy," you reach for his cheek, "you are my home."

His heart rattles in his chest. He takes your wrist and kisses it.

You smile, "I do however... want to go to Oldtown."

Wistfulness captures your expression, causing him to frown. He squeezes your hand gently.

"The air is different there," you shrug, "kinder, I think."

"Kinder?" he cannot control his laugh, "the land wherein your father was molded is kind?"

You do not respond.

He regrets it, as your eyes are downcast yet again. He gulps and decides to simple tell you, "it might be he that put such notions in Alicent's head."

"My father?"

"Who else?" Daemon raises a brow, "he wants me far from my brother, that he may poison him further." He adds, as if you didn't already know, "he requires a cane to walk now."

You nod, "I know."

"I know you know, I just-"

"It's fine," you raise a hand, "like I said, I was not going to go."

Daemon feels ill to see you like this, but he does not say a word as you go back to your chambers.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey sex witch- possibly weird one. While I enjoy flicking the bean as much as the next guy, that's like...all I can do. For years I've tried fingering myself and I just can't do it. I feel like I'm gonna barf every time like it makes me immediately turned off. Have I been doing it wrong this whole time? Or is it like a mental thing? I can't use tampons for similar reasons- makes me feel sick and it hurts. I've never been to a gyno despite being in my late 20s bc I'm terrified of the idea of someone poking around down there...virgin for the same reasons. Any advice? Thanks!

hi anon,

it sounds like you just profoundly dislike penetration. the solution to that is pretty simple, which is to just Not Do That. jack off other ways, use other methods of menstrual collection, etc. having been pretty unimpressed by vaginal penetration for years, I can attest that the Not Doing That method works pretty great.

what you're describing doesn't sound entirely dissimilar to vaginismus, a condition in which involuntary vaginal spasms occur in response to penetration and make it painful and, sometimes, outright impossible. vaginismus can sometimes stem from negative experiences or other adverse psychological reactions, and is sometimes purely a physical response. sometimes it's a combination of the two; bodies are complex! regardless of the cause, many people find their vaginismus to be extremely treatable with counseling and/or physical therapy involving the use of vaginal trainers, which essentially help practice penetration with vaguely dildo-shaped objects in steadily increasing sizes. regardless of whether or not one has vaginismus, trainers can be helpful for anyone interested in increasing their options for comfortably putting things in their vaginas.

I also want to add, crucially, that you aren't under any obligation to change any of this if you don't want to. it's fine to have a vagina and not want anything inside of it. the only thing I see here that causes any concern is the avoidance of some preventative healthcare, which I would strongly recommend consulting with healthcare providers about to discuss your options. I've heard from many people who lack of sexual partners + and aversion to vaginal penetration has meant their healthcare provider concluded that their risk factors were low enough that they were fine to skip the exam, and some procedures that can be performed via invasive exam can also be done with an ultrasound. there are options, I promise.

and speaking of options, re: your being a virgin I would like to lovingly point out that if partnered sex is something you're interested in and feel that you're missing out on, sex can be whatever you want it to be and doesn't ever need to involve penetration if you're not interested in that.

[klapollo-week]

The final prompts for Klapollo Week 2025 are here!

Many thanks to those who submitted ideas for our prompts and all who helped to vote for the final seven! Now, the moment you've been waiting for... it’s time to reveal this year’s prompts for Klapollo Week!

Sunday, June 15, 2025: Perceive

Apollo's unique "Perceive" ability aids him in the courtroom, allowing him to get the whole truth out of witnesses and uncooperative councils. He can focus on small habits and movements of people, which, to any regular person, are practically impossible to see. How does this ability affect his and Klavier's trust in their relationship? What secrets of Klavier's would Apollo be able to uncover with such a unique skill?

Monday, June 16, 2025: Hurt/Comfort

A popular and beloved trope for a very good reason. Klavier and Apollo have been through plenty of hardship, both physical and mental, on their own and together. How do these hardships affect their day-to-day lives? How would they console each other if they ever needed comfort? How do they express their love when they're at their most vulnerable?

Tuesday, June 17, 2025: Getting together

The beginnings of a new relationship can be a confusing and tricky territory to navigate. At the start of a blossoming romance, how do Klavier and Apollo learn from each other? How do they connect and grow closer? How do they even start dating, anyways?

Wednesday, June 18, 2025: Soulmates

Bound by strings, connected by clocks, meeting in dreams... there are many ways that destiny and fate can find its way to someone. When the universe has decided their paths for them, how do Klavier and Apollo react? How do they find each other? How do separate roads come together and intertwine?

Thursday, June 19, 2025: Gender

In many people's interpretations, Apollo and Klavier have unique relationships with gender. One's gender identity is oftentimes a big part of how they see themself, and one's gender presentation or expression can sometimes be entirely different from their gender identity. How do Klavier and Apollo express their gender identities? How do they support each other when trying out new labels or presentations? How do they see things differently based on their different (or shared) experiences?

Friday, June 20, 2025: Different first meeting au

We all know the iconic first meeting between Apollo and Klavier, in which the famous line "This is the first time I've felt this way with a man" was first uttered. But what if that never actually happened? What if, instead, Apollo and Klavier had met under completely different circumstances? Would their opinions on each other change or stay the same? Maybe in another universe, Apollo would be the one doing the flirting...

Saturday, June 21, 2025: Guilt

We all make mistakes sometimes, and we all have our screw-ups. But sometimes, no matter how hard we want to forget, the things we've done in the past continue to hang around and haunt us. What would Klavier and Apollo feel guilty about? How do both of them reach reconciliation? How do they make peace with what is long behind them?

Don’t forget to use the tag #KlapolloWeek2025 so your works can be archived to our account! For everyone's convenience, please make sure that you familiarize yourself with our Archive Criteria and FAQ before you submit any work, and send us an ask if you have any questions! We’re very excited to see what you all will make for this event, and we’ll be waiting to see you all soon!

Thanks for sharing, @aafancalendar! ❤💜

[sunschay]

You Bring Me Back to Life || Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Despite your broken heart, you try your best to overcome the huge hole that your ex-girlfriend, Natasha, left in your chest. You just never imagined in a million years that you would fall in love again, with your best friend, the Scarlet Witch.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: None

Word count: 5,755 words

Part 2 from A House of Lies

Sweat runs down your neck and drips from your forehead, accumulating on the back of your neck. The park is open and looks pleasant, it's still early so a small crowd of people gather around the huge green lawn, some chatting, others simply doing some exercise or admiring the crystal clear lake a few meters away or the huge fountain with a beautiful bronze sculpture. You stop, unscrew the cap from the transparent bottle and collect all the water to your stomach in minutes. 

Exactly three months ago, your life changed dramatically. Especially because you simply discovered that your lovely ex-girlfriend, none other than Black Widow, had been cheating on you for months right under your nose, in addition to having lied several times that she was going on missions with the rest of the Avengers. 

You trusted Natasha deeply and she destroyed your heart without even thinking about how you would feel. Besides, you were sick, isolated at home, on bed rest because a serious pneumonia had caught you. 

The fact that Natasha had taken advantage of your weak physical state, damaged by the virus, to betray you with fucking Captain America still hurt you deep down.

Fortunately, you had realized how much Natasha hurt you. Not only because of the cheatings you discovered, but sometimes you simply reflected on Romanoff's behavior and saw that she didn't seem completely ready for a relationship. Sure, she took care of you, even more so after you got sick, but when it came to companionship and trust, things were different. She always seemed suspicious of you even without giving her any reason to, and she didn't know how to solve an argument without yelling or sex, she really thought that fucking would solve everything. But no, you always prioritized dialogue and patience, things that Natasha really didn't mind putting ahead of your relationship.

Natasha also didn't know how to show her feelings clearly.

You didn't blame her for that, after all, the Red Room reshaped her into a cold woman created to be a special assassin with no limitations. 

Still, Natasha wasn't exactly the most loving type. She was a difficult person to deal with and you knew it from the beginning, but you fell for her anyway. Not because of her body, although she seemed sculpted by the gods above with every curve and every inch of soft, warm skin, even with her scars. She was a good person. She was a great friend and knew how to deal with situations of all kinds. 

She just wasn't a good girlfriend. She wasn't loyal either, and that kind of spoiled her. 

“God, it could be less hot.” You lamented, already completely drenched in sweat from your morning runs. 

You had learned something good from this lesson. Natasha had taught you, not directly, but she had opened your eyes to see that you needed to care much more about yourself than just the people around you who could stab you in the back. Exactly as she did. You were fortunately able to recover from pneumonia and were already feeling better and much more energetic. That's why you had already returned to your intense training and running, after all, taking care of your body had always been a habit, not an obligation.  

Things were going well, except for her completely broken mental state and her trust issues having returned because of what she did. 

Yeah, she really did a number on you. 

You sighed in relief when you entered your new temporary apartment, placing the bottle to fill under the cold filter and packing your things in your bag. You were still going to go to the gym that was a few meters away from the neighborhood. Moving from city to city and country was a habit for you, almost an addiction, but visiting France was always very frequent, since you spent a good part of your childhood here. You loved the landscapes, the food, the romanticism of the country – even though you had no one to share your romanticism and feel loved with – and you loved the extremely wide and common image of the Eiffel Tower. 

Either way, you needed to take a break from the United States, and from the things that reminded you of Natasha, because those things were there with her. 

“Fuck, holy shit Wanda, you want to kill me before I'm 40? I haven't even had kids yet!” You exclaimed as you turned around, seeing the witch leaning against your living room window. 

And there she was. Dressed in her usual dark goth clothes, leather jacket, boots, tight pants and a dark purple shirt underneath the jacket, her blue eyes looking at you as if she was seeing a miracle in front of her. Her red hair was a little longer than the last time you saw her, but she looked beautiful. Absurdly beautiful, and breathtaking, you thought. 

You mentally scolded yourself, thinking that you shouldn't look at your friend like that. 

Anyway, you simply disappeared from New York shortly after you got better physically and after you broke up with Natasha, so you didn't even give any explanations to any of your teammates, which must have certainly upset them. Exclusively Wanda herself. 

“If Steve were here, he would have lectured you for an hour for having such a foul mouth.” She laughed, the way her lips curved was adorable.

Your body quickly went still at the mention of Rogers' name. You felt your shoulders tense and your muscles turn to stone, a bitter, disgusting taste forming on your tongue as you remembered exactly how much contempt and disgust you carried for him now. 

“I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Y/n...I forgot for a moment.” She apologized, feeling guilty for mentioning his name as quickly as she saw you.

“Alright, relax, Wands. Everything's fine. What are you doing here? Or rather, how did you get in, you clever little witch?” You teased her, the smile on her lips making you melt for a minute. 

“Oh, are you forgetting for a moment about my super invasive magical gifts? I came to see a friend. I know you left New York as soon as that happened and I'm really sorry. But you had me worried sick, Precious.” She sighed, now looking a little nervous. 

“Oh. Sure. She told you. Yeah, I just thought everything was fine between us and that she was happy, Wanda. But she chose to be happier by cheating on me with him right under my nose and fooling me like I was nothing.” You replied, licking your lips with a blank look. 

“She didn't have to tell me anything, Y/n. I felt it. I just felt it when you left and I felt your pain, so deep and so agonizing. You don't deserve any of this. Anyway, I had the displeasure of seeing them kissing at the Complex the other day.” She said, completely uncomfortable and disgusted with the subject. 

“Anyway. Come give me a hug before I rip your ears off if you try to disappear like that again without telling me.” She said seriously, seeing you laugh lightly and come closer. 

As soon as you hugged Wanda, everything seemed to disappear for a minute. You loved her hug, if her voice could comfort you, her touch made you melt. Her scent was even better, a sweet and light mix of fragrant vanilla and coffee. You closed your eyes, feeling her arms lightly squeeze your shoulders, bringing you closer, and you shivered when her breath lightly passed close to your neck. 

You always suspected why Wanda never had a romantic relationship with anyone. 

To be honest, you had heard some rumors from some certain little birds (Those that started with C and T) that she liked you. Of course you thought it was absurd at the time, you were best friends and you faithfully believed that Wanda only saw you that way, even knowing that Natasha was extremely irritating and frustratingly jealous of you with the Maximoff girl who always treated you so well and so affectionately. 

Still, you couldn't believe that Wanda could like you. 

Okay, sometimes you had reason to be suspicious of course. You were the only person on the team who always received a kiss on the cheek from Wanda (she only kissed her twin, Pietro, before he died) and she always let you lay your head on her lap to vent for hours about your problems, just like you always did with her too, after all you were super close to each other. 

She also used to give you affectionate nicknames like Smarty or Precious. And maybe that's why Natasha didn't like this friendship that you and Wanda share at all, but now Romanoff was no longer a flea behind your ear to worry about. 

You two weren't even together anymore anyway. 

“Hmm...you need a bath, honey.” She said, making you burst out laughing and leaned in close, her lips dangerously kissing the corner of your mouth. 

You shivered, your muscles turning to jelly and your skin crawling. It was embarrassing and it seemed confusing to you, because not even Natasha had that kind of effect on you, when the two of you were together. But Wanda... Wanda was deep, not just in her eyes but in her manner, her hands. God. She was incredible. 

“I know, little witch. I'll be working on it.” You chuckled, licking your lips thirstily. 

Removing the thick, warm sweatshirt from your torso, you adjusted the black tank top on your body. You usually used to wear cold weather clothes and sweatshirts to cover your body, after all, your insecurity with it was endless. A bit confusing, after all, you had always been in shape and your physique was amazing, but the various scars around your body from the battles with the team over the years and your body dysmorphia made you feel completely weak and useless. 

You pulled the bottle out from under the water filter, taking a long drink and suppressing a groan as the freezing water chilled your sensitive teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you felt Wanda drinking from your body, her hungry green eyes moving up and down every part of you. 

This makes your face heat up and turn red like a raw pepper. 

A sigh left your lips and you tried to ignore it, thinking it was paranoia coming from your head. You grabbed a towel and a pair of clothes, a long black t-shirt and knee-length workout shorts, taking off your shoes and sweaty socks. 

“Would you like something to drink? Tea, some bitter coffee? I can get you something before I wash off the skunk smell I have.” You smiled, seeing her return a light smile. 

“Maybe just some herbal tea. But don't rush, go take a bath to relax your body. I'll be here.” She said, her cheeks reddening for some reason. 

You'd love to be able to read her mind like she used to do with everyone. 

“I'll be back in five minutes.” You walk away slowly, entering the small bathroom. 

The cold water made your bones shiver and your back arch slightly. As you washed yourself, you stopped to think if your paranoid theory was right about Wanda liking you. What if she did, and you gave in again only to get hurt again like you had when you were with Natasha? 

No, Wanda wouldn't do that. Right? 

She was the type of woman who would easily like to start a family just like Clint did, live in a calmer and more isolated place, in a house full of children and far from any chaos that could involve the Avengers. 

Even so, you were afraid. 

Wanda made your heart flutter and burn every time you looked at her face. Her voice, her hands, her words, everything about her calmed you. She was naturally sweet. She had lost everything a long time ago and yet she was still the same girl you knew, the same girl who might be the one for you. 

“Noisy head.” You muttered to yourself, the millions of thoughts about Maximoff making you feel lost. 

Once the shower was over, you wrapped yourself in a towel and brushed your teeth, finishing the rest of the hygiene routine you maintained. Drying your hair and the rest of your body, you got dressed again, your body smelling of fresh soap and freshly showered. Wanda was sitting comfortably in one of the corners of your couch, her eyes staring outside your living room window, looking distracted. You rested the slightly damp towel on one of your shoulders, putting on your slippers and putting water in a kettle, starting to boil on the stove. 

“What's the little witch thinking, huh? Vision, perhaps?” You joked, seeing her look at you with a hilarious expression. 

The fact that Vision was a robot created by a small incident years ago did not prevent him from having feelings and he himself has made it clear several times that he liked Wanda romantically. She, however, did not seem to share the same feelings, but still saw him as a friend like the rest of the team. 

“Certainly not. You still really think I like him, huh?” She laughed, watching you pour some herbs into the boiling water and a tea bag with chamomile tea inside. 

“I know he's been head over heels for you ever since he joined us. But I see that you just don't seem to feel the same way and I understand that.” You answered simply, grabbing two cups and watching the water begin to bubble. 

“I know, and I hope he finds someone who deserves him. I think we all deserve a little love sometimes.” She said and you nodded without much emotion, feeling her approach you. 

Natasha made you believe that you didn't deserve love anymore ever since that happened. But that wasn't all. You just felt like your heart was building iron walls around itself, trying to defend itself from any possible loving 'threat'. You hated feeling that way, but you also knew it wasn't your fault. 

“Y/n. We need to talk a little, okay?” She said and you shivered when you felt her right behind your back, but you just nodded. 

“Sure. Did something happen?” You turned around, pressing your back against the counter and she shook her head with a smile. 

“No, certainly not. Today is Nate's birthday. Clint invited us, he'd love to have you come.” She said, already noticing the tension in your shoulders. 

“Will everyone be there?” The question came firmly from your mouth, but also with fear. 

“Everyone on the team. Although we haven't been a team since... a year ago. If I may say so.” Wanda muttered, swallowing hard. 

It's true. Since the Civil War a year ago, everything has changed dramatically, as the team has split up to fight against each other because of the Sokovia Accords imposed by the cold Secretary of State, Ross. 

“Wanda, you know how I feel about being around those... people. I don't want to cause any trouble.” You said, the thought of seeing Natasha making your stomach turn. 

“I totally get that, my precious. But you also need to understand that sometimes it might be impossible not to see her or Rogers, or both of them in the same place. Sometimes you have to face your biggest fears. Come on, Y/n. You don't have to stay the whole party, let's just have some fun, forget about our problems, you know Clint and Nate would love to see you there, we miss you among us.” She said, biting her lip as she hoped to change your mind. 

Well, she had a point. You missed Barton's son and Clint himself, his family was like a second family to you, if you had one, but being with them was like forgetting everything and anything bad. 

“Okay, I'll go to the party, Wands. For you.” You say, seeing something in the depths of her eyes shine and she hugs you sideways, one hand gripping your arm.

“It's on his farm in Iowa. Before eleven o'clock at night. I'm sure you won't regret it.” She says, making you smile sideways as you pour both cups and hand one to her. 

[...]

If regret killed, you would already be unconscious, sinking into a pool of blood. But you weren't. And you were doing this for Wanda, Nate, and Clint. You deeply missed your friends, missed the way things were before the Sokovia Accords separated everyone and put a good part of the team in a prison on the Raft. Anyway, that was over and here you were in Iowa, one year later. The night was starry, twinkling lights hanging from some posts in front of the Barton house and some familiar faces gathered around a table. 

Looking around, you faithfully hoped you wouldn't have to face Natasha there, but you could already see a tangle of red hair and the figure of a short body near the table made you shiver. Stay strong, you repeat to yourself several times. 

Gathering some courage, you walked over to the table, seeing a few bottles of beer and small glasses of soda scattered there, along with a cake with blue whipped cream cut in half. Nathaniel quickly recognized you on Clint's lap and you hugged them, stroking the child's short hair. 

“Look who showed up, those who are alive always show up! Hey, kid, you had me worried, you were gone for too long. How are things, huh?” He chuckled, ruffling your hair slightly and hugging you sideways. 

“I'm fine, Clint, thanks for the invite. For Nate and for you guys I'll go anywhere. I'm fine, things are slowly going in the right direction.” You said, watching him nod with some concern. 

It was already obvious that Clint knew that you and Natasha had broken up. You just wondered if she said that she was the one who ruined everything between you and that she cheated on you with Rogers. 

“I'm so sorry, mate. For you and Nat... I know what it's like to lose what you hold most dear in life.” He said, giving you a knowing look and you smiled weakly. 

“She was sweet, Clint, until she fucked up herself. But I appreciate the support. Mmm, beer, I could smell it from afar.” You laughed lightly, grabbing a bottle and opening the lid with your teeth, spitting it out and saw Clint frown in confusion. 

He didn't know anything. Natasha really was a tremendous liar. 

“Of course she wouldn't tell you, Clint, you're her best friend. She cheated on me with Steve, for months, yes while I was sick at home needing her attention and affection. People are not what they seem, I learned that kind of late. Don't worry, I've sorted it out with her.” You took a sip of the cold drink, watching Clint sigh in complete disbelief. 

It didn't matter if Natasha and he were best friends or not, Clint was also your friend and he saw you as a sibling, sometimes you even seemed like family, so what she did to you wasn't fair. 

“This isn't fair, Jesus, Y/n! She... fuck, she will hear the sermon she has never heard in her life, she needs to know that this is cowardice. You can make yourself at home, I'm going to call Laura to cut your cake, there are more sweets inside the house.” He said, giving you a quick hug and walked away to the house to clean the small mess Nate made on his shirt. 

You opened your mouth and closed it, sighing deeply as he walked away. You appreciated that about Clint, though. He was always a fair and principled man, so he certainly wouldn't let Natasha off the hook for the shit she did. Steve was also to blame for that anyway. 

“Hey, hacker! Did you miss me?” You laughed, watching Tony come closer and hug you. 

Even though you had been at odds with each other a year ago, Tony was one of the closest people on the team to you besides Clint and Thor, who apparently wasn't here. It was rare for you two to fight for a long time, you always found a way to resolve things. Your and Stark's sarcasm and genial demeanor really complemented each other. You still greeted Sam Wilson and the 'Bucky' nearby, ignoring Rogers' smug and arrogant face nearby, giving a brief wave to Laura, Clint's wife who was taking care of the children. 

“How can I not miss my favorite tin head? How are things with Pepper, big guy?” You smiled, taking another sip of your beer. 

“Listen, I heard about what happened with Romanoff, and I'm so sorry. She doesn't deserve you. I never liked the popsicle face to be honest.” He said, making you let out a light laugh. 

“I know, they deserve each other. It's okay Tony, I'm better off alone.” You whispered and he nodded. 

The night continued to unfold calmly and slowly, and you hated feeling Natasha's gaze on your back, even though she hadn't said anything. You looked ahead and your eyes lit up when the sight of Wanda approaching made you smile, wearing a shiny black dress that ended at her knees, her wavy hair loose and her face illuminated without much makeup. She didn't need any makeup, she was always so incredibly beautiful. You felt your heart race and bit your lip. 

To be honest, you rarely saw Wanda wearing dresses, it felt like the first time. 

“Look who came. I'm glad my mind manipulation had some effect.” She teased you, giggling as she approached. 

Your arms opened wide for her, one hand still holding the drink, and she quickly enveloped herself in the warmth of your embrace. You felt Wanda shiver for some reason as your somewhat bold free hand (the effect of the alcohol) gently touched her back and the side of her slim waist. Wanda laughed lightly against your neck, tightening the hug, and you almost grunted in frustration when she pulled away to greet the rest of the group. Her scent had lingered on you and was so wonderful that it intoxicated you like a new addiction. 

“You look beautiful, little witch. Always smelling so good.” You greeted, watching her cheeks turn pink and Wanda serve you a piece of cake on a colorful plate. 

“I can say the same about you, smarty.” She said, sending you an air kiss. 

Everything seemed peaceful as you ate and chatted in a group with each other, Wanda, Clint, and Tony. It was good to know that things were finally back to the way they were before the whole Sokovia thing. You wiped your lips, which were previously stained with whipped cream and chocolate filling, handing a wrapped present to Nate who was in Clint's arms. You faithfully hoped that he liked plushies because nothing else had come to mind as a birthday present for a 2-year-old. 

“Still not going to greet me?” A husky female voice with an unrecognizable Russian accent came through and you almost rolled your eyes. 

“Good evening, Natasha.” You answered seriously, feeling her deep green eyes look you up and down. 

“Good evening. You've gotten much closer than just friends. Have you ever kissed each other, perhaps?” She teased, trying to look innocent, looking between you and Wanda. 

“You can be sure that whoever wasted one of their kisses would be missing out on a lot, Romanoff.” Wanda smiled tightly, watching Natasha's expression fall and you heard Clint approaching the table. 

“I didn't remember you being so rude, Maximoff. Has time been hard on you, or is it just me?” Natasha smiled and you could already smell the strong drink coming from her. She was drunk. 

“Can you just shut the fuck up, Natasha? Please?” You interrupted, feeling her incredulous eyes now on your face. 

“And why the hell are you talking to me like that?” She questioned, crossing her arms. 

Now you could see her completely, before you. Her red hair was a little less long than before, but the color was still as bright as flames during a fire, and she was wearing a tight black skirt and a white blouse with a plunging neckline in the middle, her lips red. She would have been beautiful if she hadn't been so fucking petulant and ignorant. 

“You shouldn't talk to her like that, just apologize.” Rogers walked in on you and you laughed at the smug expression on his face. 

“Please calm down a bit guys, there are children here.” Laura warned with Clint by her side. 

“The lab mouse is defending his snack. Calm down, Rogers, you could soon be replaced by anyone who thinks faster than you think, get that puppy-dog expression off your face.” You laughed, watching him growl and take a step forward. 

“I'd rather be the lab rat than the abandoned rat. After all, you were the one who got traded first, my friend. If you did your job in bed, she'd still be with you by now.” He smiled cynically. 

You felt the blood boil until it went to your head, your brain simply reacting as quickly as it could. You punched Rogers' jaw hard, hearing the sound of something breaking in it and he staggered, stumbling on the floor already drunk. Of course there was a lot of disagreement between you, he had been created as a laboratory experiment and you were twice as strong as him due to the extra dose of physical and mental powers you carried. 

But Natasha had never said anything, like complaints about the relationship you had behind closed doors. The sex between you seemed pleasant to you and even so, that didn't justify her having cheated on you with Rogers like that. 

“No one complained while she was tasting me, 'friend'. She just thought it was fair to taste the little mouse to satisfy her neediness, it's no wonder Banner left you when he had the chance.” You said, seeing a flash of hurt in Natasha's eyes as you walked away. 

You threw the almost empty glass bottle into a trash bag, hearing the shards shatter and heard Rogers complain about you with your bruised face, besides him insisting on taking Natasha home. It was none of your business, really. Clint guided you inside, without judging or lecturing you, after all he understood how it felt right now. 

“I'll clean up the kids' mess outside. Feel free to do so, but no arguments please.” He said, giving you a knowing look. 

You sat on the couch, a little cramped, looking to the side as Wanda came in and sat next to you. She took your hand, seeing that you had hurt your knuckles when you hit Rogers and took a damp cloth, cleaning the small cuts. 

“Was it worth it?” She asked, the pleasant Sokovian accent making you relax for a moment. 

“Yes.” The whisper came from your mouth, husky and simple. 

“So it's all right. She hurt you, I feel it... right here. But things are moving forward.” She said, her hand implanted just inches above your heart. 

You nodded, feeling her hand still on your chest as you calmed the fury and contempt for the two Avengers outside. Your heart was still racing, but for Wanda now. You didn't understand why she had this effect on you, she was so kind, so perfect in every way. You felt your mouth go dry and your eyes roamed over every inch of her face. 

“I wonder why I can never get it right with anyone. It was like that with Sharon and now with Natasha.” You whispered, watching as she finished cleaning your fingers and began to caress the palm of your hand. 

“Y/n, listen to me and listen to me well. None of this is your fault. Okay, we all make mistakes sometimes in a relationship, it happens often and I understand, it can end up teaching us valuable lessons. But look at you, you are so respectful, patient and simply the most genuine and affectionate person I know. Natasha didn't cheat on you because you are the problem, but she herself is, she is characterless and needs validation from others.” She said, her fingertips caressing your chin. 

You were stunned for a moment, not only because Wanda seemed completely right but also because her closeness to your face, her extremely sweet and calming voice made you feel ecstatic. You nodded, leaning in slowly to feel more of her touch. 

“You think so? About me. You describe me as the best person you've ever met and I don't see that. Not on me.” You sighed, feeling Wanda hold your face with both hands. 

“You are the best person I know and I mean it. You mean so much to me, precious. And you deserve so much more than shallow relationships like Sharon or Natasha gave you. So much more.” She whispered, licking her lips eagerly. 

You smiled, the seriousness and depth of the matter lost as Wanda placed a blue cone-shaped birthday hat on your head. Laughter filled the room and you grabbed a party blower, accidentally blowing it into Wanda's lips. You held back a laugh, seeing the terrifying expression she made and when you thought you were going to get scolded, she grabbed you by the back of the neck, one hand grabbing the collar of your clothes. 

“Why don't you try blowing here?” She teased, smirking as she leaned in closer. 

Wanda's voice sounds insinuating, but she doesn't take any steps that might seem invasive or uncomfortable to you. Your muscles freeze and your breathing becomes irregular. For the first time, you have the greatest chance to kiss Wanda, and you know you want it desperately, because she wants it too, it's visible in her eyes. Her fingers caress your chin and her nails scrape without strong pressure on your skin, then she brushes her lips against yours for seconds before sinking her mouth into yours calmly. 

There is no malice or rush in the kiss. But Wanda brushes her tongue against your lower lip and tries to deepen the kiss, which you allow, feeling her tongue dance in your mouth. 

This is unlike anything you've ever experienced. 

The kisses you shared with Natasha were always rough or abrupt because of the strong sexuality she demonstrated in the relationship, things usually ended in bed. In any case, they were not always very loving or long kisses. 

But with Wanda it was simply intense. The softness of her lips was simply incredible. The way she touched you calmly and cautiously, without wanting to go too fast or being careful enough not to do something wrong to you, showed how angelic she was. The slowness of the kiss. The tranquility. Wanda's scent lingering on your skin. You let out a gasp when she bit your lower lip and your hands pulled Wanda closer, her forehead pressing against yours when the lack of air separated your lips. 

“I love you, Y/n. I don't care if you still wish you were with Natasha. You've always been my friend, my companion. My only love.” She admitted, making your heart race. 

“Wanda. I was so stupid and blind to try to hold on to Natasha while she slept with Steve. I gave her all my love, trust, and loyalty only to be hurt so deeply. But now I see.” You whispered the first words, your lips already missing hers, your fingers caressing her delicate face. 

“...And it's you that I love. I tried to hide it when I preferred to be in your arms and hear your loving words, trying to convince myself that Natasha was the woman of my dreams. But it's you, Wanda. You're the woman I love, the woman I breathe and the woman I want by my side. I don't care if I get hurt if I'm with you.” You said, seeing her eyes slightly watery. 

It wasn't just the fact that Natasha had cheated on you that made you see the truth. She didn't make your heart race like Wanda did. Romanoff's touch had cooled over time, before you discovered the cheatings. But Wanda's touch always comforted you, always made you want more. Her lips were magnificent, they made you feel in a deep ecstasy of passion. Her scent made you dizzy, dizzy with love. Everything about Wanda enchanted you, everything about her made you realize that she was the one you wanted and it only took this night for everything to become clear. 

“I've waited so long to hear this from you. So long.” She sighed, feeling your lips quickly pushing against hers again. 

You had finally found the feeling of having true love in the palm of your hands. The woman of your dreams was in your arms. Wanda kissed you more deeply, moaning softly as the kiss became deeper and warmer, her hands tangling in your soft hair. You saw her smile between the kiss, feeling your body being laid on the small couch and Wanda climbing on top of you, tossing her red hair back before biting your lower lip. 

“Guys, would you like to- Oh. Looks like I'm a little early.” Clint cleared his throat as he entered the room, startled when he saw Wanda and you kissing. 

“Hey, Clint... sorry, we just... uh…” You tried to explain yourself, watching Wanda's face turn an adorable shade of red as she removed her weight from your body. 

“There's some cake left over. Laura will keep it for you if you want...if you want. I'm going to leave right away.” He growled in frustration, walking away in shame. 

“That was... that was hilarious.” Wanda said, bursting out laughing. 

“It was your fault. Nobody told you to stick your tongue down my throat like a pervert.” You smiled, feeling her hold your face and kiss you hard, patting your arm lightly. 

“You say that as if you didn't like it, Smarty.” She replied, her eyes shining as she looked at you.

“I loved it. I love all of it. The way you... You bring me back to life. I love you, Wanda.” You finished, your heart burning in flames for her. 

You had found love in your best friend.  And now you could finally rest your head with the love of your life.

[princessaffirms]

the NEUROSCIENCE of REALITY SHIFTING: can the brain distinguish between what is “real” (in the 3D) and what is imagined (in the 4D)? 🧠✨

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

hi angels! ₊˚⊹♡

i know sometimes when we talk about reality shifting and the law of assumption, it can feel like magic, and it really is!

so i wanted to start a new series where i explore the science behind it, or more specifically the correlations i observe between scientific literature and spiritual manifestation philosophies! 🫶

this first post addresses the idea that YOUR BRAIN CANNOT TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN PHYSICAL REALITY (3D) AND IMAGINED REALITY (4D)!

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

☀️✨ your brain’s reality and imagination OVERLAP deeply

research shows that when you vividly imagine something,

your brain activates similar neural patterns as when you actually perceive it in the physical realm (Dijkstra et al., 2021).

♡ this means:

⤷ your brain treats vivid imagination and real perception in a similar way.

if you assume yourself into a new reality strongly enough,

your brain can’t fully distinguish between what is “imagination” and what is “actual experience”. it just responds as if it’s happening.

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

☀️✨ your brain uses “signal strength” to decide what’s real

another study (Dijkstra & Fleming, 2023) found that:

the mind COMBINES both real and imagined signals and decides something is “real” if it feels strong enough.

♡ this means:

⤷ when you assume something with enough emotion, focus, and vividness, your brain accepts it as reality and starts building your experience around it.

so when you shift realities or assume a new self concept,

you’re literally feeding stronger signals into your system, until your whole brain and body accept it as true.

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

recent neuroscience research (Dijkstra et al., 2021) explored how vividly imagining something can activate the brain in ways that closely resemble real perception.

the brain scan figure above shows that certain brain regions — including the pre-supplementary motor area (pre-SMA) and dorsolateral prefrontal cortex (dlPFC) — are significantly modulated by how vivid an individual’s mental imagery is, and how visible a physical stimulus is.

✨₊˚⊹♡ basically:

the stronger and more vivid your imagination, the more your brain treats it as if it were real perception.

interestingly, the early visual cortex (evc), which is a brain region crucial for vision, responded differently:

• vivid imagination produced neural patterns more similar to low-visibility perception

• while “real” (physical) perception during high visibility matched more vivid imagery.

💡✨ this means that even if your imagined experience feels “lighter” than seeing something with your eyes open, your brain is still processing it as real enough to influence your perception of reality (Dijkstra et al., 2021).

AKA…

⤷ if you imagine vividly enough, your brain starts accepting your assumptions as real experiences.

this beautifully correlates with the idea behind manifestation and reality shifting:

the more vividly and consistently you assume something is real, the more your brain and your consciousness work together to make it true. and that truth is ultimately what is reflected back to you in the 3D (physical). in a sense, your brain literally weaves imagination into reality. so use that to your advantage!!

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

☀️✨ is unconscious imagination real too?

research is also exploring how imagination can happen unconsciously (Jaworska, 2024).

the study referenced above suggests that:

your deeper mind is constantly imagining and projecting possibilities without you even realizing it.

so not only are you consciously shifting with affirmations, intention and focus, but your subconscious is also weaving your path in the background.

essentially, you’re ALWAYS creating. even when you’re not actively thinking about it!

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

💫✨ plus: traditional neuroscience findings still correlate with shifting

🧠 your brain’s neural pathways change based on belief.

• this is a phenomenon referred to as neuroplasticity.

when you affirm a new assumption over and over (ex. “i am successful”), your brain literally rewires itself to treat that assumption as true.

🧠 your reticular activating system (RAS) focuses your perception.

• when you assume something, your RAS filters reality to show you evidence matching that assumption so that you experience more of it.

🧠 deep meditation states make shifting easier.

• when you’re relaxed (theta/delta brainwaves), your subconscious is wide open to suggestion. that’s why shifting techniques often make use of deep relaxation, meditation or even falling asleep!

^ i’ll definitely be making more posts discussing the above concepts in FURTHER DETAIL, so keep an eye out! there’s lots of literature available right now about it, so i highly suggest looking into it if you’re interested! 🤍✨

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

🕯️✨ in short:

you are always shifting realities, whether you realize it or not.

you are always shaping your world with your assumptions. reality is yours to choose. <3

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

📄✨ SOURCES

1. Dijkstra N, Fleming SM. Subjective signal strength distinguishes reality from imagination. Nat Commun. 2023 Mar 23;14(1):1627. doi: 10.1038/s41467-023-37322-1. PMID: 36959279; PMCID: PMC10036541.

2. Dijkstra N, Mazor M, Kok P, Fleming S. Mistaking imagination for reality: Congruent mental imagery leads to more liberal perceptual detection. Cognition. 2021 Jul;212:104719. doi: 10.1016/j.cognition.2021.104719. Epub 2021 Apr 18. PMID: 33878636; PMCID: PMC8164160.

3. Jaworska A. Conscious imagination vs. unconscious imagination: a contribution to the discussion with Amy Kind. Front Psychol. 2024 Jul 25;15:1310701. doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2024.1310701. PMID: 39118843; PMCID: PMC11306181.

✨ NOTE: i recognize that not everyone reading this may come from a scientific background, or even desire to dive into the full technical details of the neuroscience mechanisms and topics i discussed here. for that reason, the content of this post is intentionally simplified to make the core ideas more accessible, while still staying true to the scientific literature referenced above. if you’re interested in a deeper dive, i HIGHLY recommend giving the original papers a read! 🫶 additionally, while i integrated scientific findings into this post, my overall discussion remains interpretive and spiritually oriented, reflecting the bridge between neuroscience research and manifestation philosophy, as well as expressing the correlations i observed between the two.✨

sending so much love and light! <3

[forsaken-headcanons]

What’s this? SELF PROJECTION TIME!!

Alr so like idrc about this being 100% canon supported so bear w/me; (hehehehe Freddy fazballs- FOCUS.)

1x4 can sometimes get rather annoyed (bros hatred is behaving very…hatred-ly?) especially after a match with the sentinels mainly Shedletsky constantly attacking them, so like ofc the others need to calm him down before he starts raging no cap

So what do they do? Food. 1x4 gets weirdly calm when it comes to food, either cooking or simply the eating food. Doesn’t matter, because it keeps their mind busy and lets them calm down…well to the best they could. They will still have a sour mood for awhile after eating/cooking. Best 2 just leave them alone 4 the rest of the day, or until a new round comes and they successfully land a couple kills.

If we consider they all resign in a cabin and have separate dorms, which I do, then on more than one occasion they’ve ‘sacrificed’ food to them. (Like have you ever seen those TikTok’s thst are like ‘feeding the monster’ and its just some1 feeding someone under a blanket and the person grabs it aggressively, be it cuz of a period or wtv, yeah thats what I imagine.)

If we consider it as 1x4 cooking, then bros kinda like an angry mother annoyed because of her child but still gotta feed them </3

Safe 2 say the food is slightly more salty (both mentally and physically) than normal, but the killers are just going to pretend it’s the best food ever </3

Jst thought about this because its literally what happened 2 me 2 day, was all angry and mood cuz of smth and ended up just angrily cooking food for myself 2 grt my mind off the moment

(Also idk if u guys want anymore anons cuz oml the list is getting long lolz, but if you guys r fine w/ more can I be 🪨 anon?)

Imagining 1x1 angrily chopping up vegetables or aggressively stir frying the food /silly

And of course! The list may be long but we still have space for more anons

[skmhlml]

You should do some slender man posts for the Creepypasta girlies

Note: Just this one time…🤨

Date: 4/20/2025

Warning: Gore & body horror, Psychological manipulation/abuse, Stalking, Mutilation, Murder and death imagery, Tentacle/non-human anatomy use, Emotional/mental deterioration

𝑺𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Slenderman doesn’t speak with words. his influence seeps into your mind. You’ll hear static in your ears when he’s near, and your thoughts grow foggy. He doesn’t ask for your attention; he rewires your brain until you need to find him. You dream of forests and endless black tentacles wrapping you up tight — and you wake up missing hours.

He watches you for weeks. Appears in the corner of your eyes, in mirrors, in dreams. You’ll find notes in your own handwriting that you don’t remember writing. He’s broken your reality. you just don’t know where the cracks are yet.

Anyone who gets too close to you disappears. No blood. No body. Just gone. If you persist in socializing with others, he’ll escalate — your friends might return, but… they aren’t quite right. Distorted. Changed. Or you’ll find a piece of them. a tooth, a finger, something wrapped in old black ribbon.

His affection is monstrous. He doesn’t understand the human concept of love — but he knows he wants you. His presence causes nausea, headaches, bleeding noses, and worse…but when he touches you, it feels like velvet and static and the abyss breathing back. You’re the only one he won’t tear apart. Not unless you try to leave.

The deeper your bond grows, the more isolated you become. Your phone breaks. GPS doesn’t work. Your house sits under a dome of silence, and you swear the trees outside have moved closer. No one comes in. No one goes out. You are his, and the world forgets you ever existed.

He doesn’t speak. But you hear him. Not with ears—he hijacks your thoughts. You think about him when you shouldn’t. He speaks in commands, not words. And when you disobey? The punishment isn’t always physical. Sometimes, he makes you see things you can’t unsee.

He likes you bloody. Your injuries excite him. When you trip, when you bleed, when you scream? That’s his favorite lullaby. He’ll wipe the blood off your cheek with the tip of a tendril—then shove it into your mouth to taste yourself.

You’ve seen what he does to others. He doesn’t just kill. He mutilates. Drags them into the trees and makes you watch. Screams that echo for hours, skin peeled like fruit, twitching piles of meat. He wants you to know: that could be you, if you leave.

You’re not “dating” him. You’re owned. And he makes sure you remember. Sometimes it’s the bruises shaped like handprints around your neck. Sometimes it’s the iron collar that suddenly appears while you sleep. Or the times he drags you back by your hair after you wander too far. You don’t leave. Not without punishment.

Your friends gave up looking for you. Or maybe they’re part of the trees now. One looked too long into the woods—you found her months later, strung up by nerves like puppet strings, still blinking.

He doesn’t wait until you’re ready. He doesn’t prep you. Sometimes it’s dry, rough, painful. You cry, and he only fucks you harder. You beg him to stop—but your body betrays you, twitching and shuddering in pleasure you hate yourself for.

[poodlejoonas]

I didn't wanna say anything, just observe and try to process on my own, but fuck it we ball.

Joel leaving the band should be a wake-up call for some of y'all to come to terms with how you treat mental illness and neurodivergence. Yes, even if you're also depressed, or also anxious, or also diagnosed ADHD. Especially if you're one or more of those things. It's like you don't wanna believe that Joel's lifelong, every day mental and emotional state could actually cause serious physical health concerns - you only wanna see him as the "hehe quirky energetic boi." Which he can be that sometimes, but y'all let that view of him cloud your judgment and make you ignore real issues.

And when you only see the quirky side of his ADHD, some of y'all [emphasis on some] get a little too comfortable with bullying him about it. But you might say, "Oh, well I have the same thing too and it's #relatable so it's okay if we joke and bully him (affectionately)." That's still ableism, babes! Being a little depresso bean yourself doesn't mean you get to make fun of someone else's depression, it just give you permission to talk about your own. Having ADHD doesn't mean you get to be a bully about someone else's symptom expression, even if you think you're just being playful about it. Leaving it on your blog or on Discord is one thing. Posting it in a place where you know he'll see it is a totally different beast. We should all know better than to know you can't read tone through text. You can only do that once you know someone's typing style on an intimate level and can understand if they're joking, pissed off, or chill about it.

None of us know Joel on a daily basis, no matter how many IG stories he posts or how many times we rewatch their tour vlogs and watch him make silly noises or be moody. The other guys can (affectionately) joke around with him because they know him and they've lived in buses and the studio with him for 12+ years. WE. CAN'T. He's always caught the most shit from fans for captioning pictures with future song lyrics that read a little depressingly (like what the other guys did), posting about his sad feelings or low self-esteem, and even sharing his playful moments. He's been a lot of fans' personal voodoo doll for projecting feelings and fanfiction headcanons because his ADHD and other issues are treated like a headcanon.

(And before you say anything - yes, I'm aware I'm not entirely innocent of this either. I've written it into the dad!AU to be as honest to reality as I can be. But I've never tried to force any of my fanfic ideals onto others. I've never forced my fics into anyone's faces if they didn't want to read them. And I for damn sure haven't been the judge, jury, and executioner for how fics with Joel could be written. Because he's a person, not a doll to play with.)

Finally - for the love of GOD - recognize the difference between Blind Channel's songs about mental illness and suicide and the reality behind them. In the songs, they're aesthetics. That's what musical symbolism is about. They exist in their aesthetics so that we can also feel things and process our own shit on our own time. Anytime I get "Die Another Day" on my shuffle, I stop what I'm doing to cry about it then move on with my day. Every one of their sad songs has an even sadder backstory. "Bad Idea" exists because Niko was literally talked off a ledge. "Feel Nothing" tells the story of being so done with life that your whole body goes numb. "Don't Fix Me" is about coming to terms with having a fucked up life and mental state. "Scream" is dedicated to one of Joel's dearest idols, whose life story and death (I'm 95% certain) was part of his fears of continuing in the band with his mental state.

Remember that Joel was literally the guy whose answer to the question, "Where do you see yourselves in ten years?" was "In a grave." IN A GRAVE. And he has the self-preservation now to acknowledge that he may end up there in his stated timeline if he continues doing something that will get him there. Maybe, just maybe, there's a little twinkle of hope that he can grow old and find real happiness and peace in his life. This is someone who probably never thought he'd live to see 30. And he finally has the chance to chase peace on his own terms. We should be grateful for that, but the Anger part of the "Fandom Five Stages of Grief" would rather have us all turn against the five remaining members of the band we all claim to love so much.

Cope how you want, I'm not a fucking cop. But when you're ready for this conversation, return and do some serious thinking about it. There will be future depressing songs not written by Joel. Then who will you project onto?

[claire-keating]

dying on the inside

April 8— I sat in the backseat next to Juno as we began the trip from Arizona back to California. I didn’t answer any questions that Aya attacked me with. I ignored her. I simply stared out the window as the scenery changed from houses to freeway. I was tired. Emotionally, physically, mentally. Aya’s interrogation began to annoy me so I feigned sleep, pushing my forehead against the window, the coolness of it helping. Yes, I was being an asshole to my sister. Of course she had questions about where I had been and why. It had been a fucking month after all. Sometimes it felt like Aya was the older sister and not me. She protected me and bossed me around like one. I tried to play it cool about everything that had happened, but on the inside I was dying. Did Aya even notice?

✢ ✢ ✢

The buzzing against my ears grew louder and louder as I felt the electric hum echoing inside of my body. Unable to bear it any longer, I shoved the blanket off my body and crawled to the edge of the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. I curled my toes into it, grounding myself to the moment. The coolness of the air tickled my shoulder blades that were drenched in sweat, as was my entire body. 

I could feel a sob raging against my throat as it crawled its way up, but I refused to let it surface. I wasn’t one to cry. I swallowed it and caused myself to cough—deep and hard. As if this feat could catapult it from my lungs. My dreams were filled with Tommy. His death—murder? I swallowed again, trying to calm my heart as it raced against my ribcage like it was about to be expunged. Tommy’s voice whispered against my ears in the quake of the buzzing. I can’t help but replay our last conversation once again. The memory haunts my every waking moment. 

“Care, you don’t even know the half of it,” Tommy’s frantic voice blasted through my phone so loudly I had to pull it away from me. “The Dax shit? It goes so deep, girl. Not just the assaults, and drugs, and bribes. There’s more… I found a guy who said he’d talk to me tonight. I’m gonna go meet him now. I’ll call you when I leave.” 

“Tommy, wait! I’ll come with you. Pick me up—” but the call ended. I should have called him back… I should have made him take me with him. 

2:34AM on March 8th, 2025—the vibrations of my phone woke me out of a deep sleep. I was reaching for the device, trying to focus my eyes on the screen but I was unable to see so I just pulled it to my ear. “Hello?” I said sleepily into the device. 

“I apologize for calling you so late, ma’am. This is Detective Reids. Your number was the last one called on this phone. I have a John Doe who doesn’t have any identification on him.” 

“Okay, so why can’t he answer you?” I said, slowly becoming more awake. I sit up in bed and suddenly I realize I haven’t spoken with anyone since Tommy. “Is Tommy there with you?” I whisper nervously. 

“Ma’am, there was an accident. A young man was hit by a high speed vehicle as he crossed a road… he didn’t make it.” 

That was the moment I knew I had to leave. I didn’t know how but I knew Dax was behind this. I packed my bag and fled my apartment without texting anyone. 

✢ ✢ ✢

I climbed out of my bed and headed into the living room of my sister’s place. It’s silent in here and I hate it, but I’m alone, so that’s something? I hate the silence, but I didn’t want to talk to Aya right now. Sitting on the couch, I stare at the wall, shadows from the window reflect on it, and I watch the silhouettes—half expecting to see some monster crawling out of them to devour me. I pull the notebook off the end table where the lamp is, I turn it on and flip the book open, my own writing stared back at me. 

Since my return, I’ve been drowning myself in pleasantries, smiling at others, assuring them I’m fine, and pretending like I’m not struggling with insomnia. But when I’m alone, like now, I feel the weight of all the emotions I’ve been fighting against. I mourn for the loss of my best friend whose death came too suddenly and was ignored by so many. His death didn’t make the cover story. His death was pushed aside to embrace the accusations against Dax. The very ones I announced. 

Taking the pen in my hand, I started working on the lyrics for the words in my head that needed manifestation. They scream at me so loudly that everything turns into a loud, buzzing noise and I can’t hear anything else. I know this distortion will not stop until I let these words out of me. 

[wings-of-ink]

I apologise if you have answered similar or stated your plans already in regards to this but about the kidnapping in chapter 5, will be there be more around the happenings, talks etc. That was a lot of trauma to go through, it feels like it moved forward from it fast? I get why a need to keep the story pushing and not have another break would be felt and be a reasoning for that and also just the fact it’s a demo and in development so it’s not necessarily complete/without edits!

They are working based on a troublesome timeline where there’s a urgency and rush, so I was wondering if you were thinking about/planning adding in those moments on their way back and when they’re back home instead of from the point where when mc and Aster arrived and they were reunited to them setting off. Maybe even flashbacks in chapter 6?

I hope you’re taking care and I wish you the best. Your work is beyond a treat, I wouldn’t want to be in a world without what you’ve put out there, thank you again 🫵⭐️

Hello dear! No apologies necessary, I did address this in another post but I could not tell you when or where it is, lol. But I'll answer and also go a bit deeper than what I've said before.

There might be a teeny tiny spoiler/teasers for chapter 6 in the explanation below, so just be warned if you don't want to know anything. It's merely some generalizations and nothing super specific.

So, when I wrote the end of chapter 5, I was very stressed (about other things not the IF) and quite tired (terrible time of year for me). I was sooo close to the end though that I didn't want to take a break yet. Winter is unpredictable for me, and I worried that taking the break would delay the update significantly. It was one of those deals where I just really excited to release it and have it off my plate too. Those areas that feel rushed, are because I took the outline for them and squished them into a few sentences.

When chapter 6 goes in, these sections of chapter 5 will also see an update. I have already gone through and fixed some things and added some code in preparation.

And in my book - there's always time for a breakdown, lol.

Some of the ramifications of MC's latest trauma will poke through when the chapter 5 edits go in, but most of it may fester. I'm still balancing how I want it to play out. The compounding of what your MC is going through will be bleeding through future chapters as well. A fun thing about trauma, anxiety, and panic is that sometimes you don't feel the full effect of them until after - when things are calm - when the reality settles in - when you sleep.

I'm also keeping in mind that MC's mind is pretty constantly on 'go.' When you're in a perpetual state of keeping busy (physically, emotionally, mentally), you may not be processing those horrible things like you should. And there's another thing or two that will occur at the beginning of chapter 6 which further serves as distractions for MC's healing and coping. The ROs are a blessing and a curse here. Though they are trying to help, they also have their own problems and your MC may be taking that on as well.

Thank you for checking in my dear and for the fabulous question! I am trying my hardest to take care of myself. I'll be doing a public post in the near future about some of that stuff and about chapter progress. I'm glad to treat you and I look forward to feeding you more tasty ones! ^_^

[cloudsaeri]

STOP I WAS JUST LISTENING TO THE RISING VOLT TACKLERS RAP AND I STARTED TEARING UP.

“Brave bird, bird, bird

To the skies with courage

Fly in the sky, sky, sky

Aiming for that place

Even if I get hurt and sometimes fall down on the road

This hand sign is the proof of our friendship

All together, Rising Volt Tacklers!”

I WANT MY LITTLE FAMILY BACK 😭😭😭

I PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY CANNOT DO TGIS ANYMORE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[noneedtoheedtheweed]

Decided to take a break from agonizing over Alya to draw some of the other characters <3

Our main villain is Gabriel, wielder of the Spider Miraculous.

Instead of being the villain we all know, The Weaver is the leader of a secret society in Paris consisting of only the most powerful, influential, and knowledgeable people in all the city. While he initially seems frail and caring, like a somber, loving grandparent, he is a monster who will do anything to achieve his goals.

As the wielder of the miraculous of emotion, he is able to sense the emotions of others and empower them with his own grief and pain. He spins his blood, breath, and tears into the thread he uses to enhance his chosen, although this comes at the cost of his physical health.

When we see him in the show, he is always seated and with an iv in his arm. This man is wasting away but cannot die until he brings the love of his life back from the cold embrace of death.

On the opposite side of the character spectrum is Marinette. While she was originally the wielder of the Songbird Miraculous, she gave it up for her own mental health.

The thing about the songbird is that it gives the wielder visions regardless of whether or not they're transformed.

Combined with the stress of school, her budding fashion career, being class president, working in her parents' bakery, and attempting to have a social life, the visions manifested as paranoia. After only a month or two of being a superhero, she had to give it up despite its incredible and incredibly useful power.

After she recovers and regains some normalcy, she serves as an anchor for the heroes and a home base for them, letting them use her Grandma's apartment as a home base as she will frequently house sit for her while she's away (which is most of the time).

Marinette helps the heroes design their suits and even makes some of her own, sliding into an Edna Mode kind of role later down the line.

Sometime towards the midpoint of the story, she actually ends up working for Gabriel as a personal assistant/ intern without knowing he's The Weaver. She would be the one to discover Gabriel and Lila's connection through this after she discovers that he's the villain.