#not trying to say this person is young and therefore knows nothing

[dockaspbrak]

Jobs for someone not cut out for real life but who excels at mimicry

[joejhang]

say what you will about alicent and her character arc and her personality. is she a good person? no. is she a good mother? no. does she hold up to today's standards of the ideal woman? HAHAHA no. but you know what i fucking hate? when ppl say some shit like "i love young alicent but i hate older alicent" or like "i feel bad for younger alicent but i can't defend older alicent" like are you stupid??? do people not realise that alicent becoming an adult literally changes nothing? she has never had autonomy or freedom and has always been a pawn in the political games of the men around her. she is a woman, and therefore naturally inferior to men in the society she lives in and isn't a princess who can afford to rebel and want something of her own (see: rhaenyra). she's done everything for her family, her house, her duty and never has she really dared to want or reach for anything for herself. and none of that changes when she gets older?? ppl act as tho turning 18 or 20 or 25 means she gains any semblance of freedom or autonomy because she doesn't?? the system she was born into has existed long before her and she can't singlehandedly break it down and doesn't even try. ppl calling the patriarchal system of westeros the system alicent set up is insane because the system has existed for MANY years. and ppl saying alicent discovered misogyny in season 2 ep 5 as if she wasn't a child bride??? as if she hasn't been a victim of the system her whole life?? girl i hate to break it to u but everyone in hotd is a misogynist. that's the culture, that's the society, it's ingrained into all of them. ppl acting like alicent is some exception to the rule is so infuriating bc the fandom for whatever reason is so much harder on her than any other character (some of which do so much worse than she does) and it's like woah! looks like these characters in this medieval fantasy setting aren't the only ones with a lot of internalised, deep-rooted misogyny!

[doki-doki-imagines]

You hate running. It makes you sweaty and it takes nothing for you to stink, showing to the world your sigma scent that you try so hard to hide.

“Please, come over.” It’s the message that sent you in such an anxious state that everything you hated held no value anymore.

Your relationship with Michael is peculiar. You aren’t exactly lovers, not fuckbuddies but also not romantically involved. You just help each other.

Michael Kaiser, a future football star, presented himself as an omega at a young age, and as quickly he started to take suppressants since his career is strictly for alphas and to the utmost for betas.

“Yeah, they say that anybody can aspire to this career, but it’s all bullshit-“ He spat out at the time, blonde strands covering his eyes “Omega are treated like shit, always benched and used as lockers room whores, you stand no chance.”

Michael hates alphas, he hates betas, he hates everybody that believes to be better just because their secondary gender is stronger than his.

That’s why he trusts you. A sigma, owner of a scent that can calm him down, but without the strength to overpower him. But he doesn’t trust you enough to deal with his heats, and you never dig further, more than happy to leave him his space.

That’s why the message gave you immediately a dry throat and sent your heartbeat into a frenzy. You know that this week he has a heat, you know how much he hates to look weak.

If he messaged you the situation must be desperate. And as much as you like to think you are a rational person, saying you don’t have feelings for Michael would be a plain lie. There is fondness when you caress Michael, you search for his approval, for the kind words that blossom from his throat only in his weakest moments.

But you aren’t dumb, knowing perfectly that your feelings aren’t one-sided, that his blue eyes search for your figure when he thinks you aren’t looking, and you notice the sparkles in his irises when you let him vent, confide; sky blue sparkles reserved just for you.

“Michael, where are you?“ You are finally inside the house, he gifted you a spare key not so long ago. The room is spare, but his smell is so strong you almost lose your footing. It pulls you down and makes your stomach churn. Usually, you couldn’t smell anything thanks to the suppressant Michael takes, so you weren’t used to such a strong odor.

It’s strong and unpleasant, the kind of smell you’d feel around trash bins, however, it feels so much like Michael that you can feel your heart pounding in your ears.

Your Michael needs you. Thighs squeeze, already feeling wetness pooling in your panties. You are ashamed of yourself, such a strong reaction and you aren’t even close to his body.

When you reach his bedroom you choke on your saliva, dizziness overcomes your body, therefore you lean on the door before taking the last step.

“Michael!” You open up ready to run to him, but you have to stop at the sight in front of you.

The blonde omega is on the ground, back lying on the ground, in between an old and moldy cover dripping with his sweat. There is half-eaten food around him, old and dirty clothes as an undone nest. His room is filled with trash.

“Ngh.You are-ah!” He looks at you, his pupils so dilatated you almost can’t see anymore his blue irises. Blonde and blue strands are stuck on his sweaty face, moans and sighs keep flowing from his mouth, while his naked body twitches pitifully.

“Michael, baby come here.” You kneel on the ground, and shivers start to run down your body, both because of his heat affecting you and because of disgust, a liquid from a tin can on the floor dirtying your pants.

His hands find immediately the end of your shirt, pulling it up. Whines keep flowing from his mouth, fingers frantically working to push away the clothes separating him from your bare skin.

“Ngh. Want you-“ Rough fingers push down your bra, just enough for his mouth to latch on your nipple. His tattooed hand keeps pawning at your waist, inching closer to your pants.

Your hand goes to the back of his head, supporting him in the uncomfortable position. You scratch and tug the sensitive skin, muscle memory of what you know he loves, while your other hand slides down his sweaty body, caressing his hard muscles and soon tracing the line down his abs to reach the blonde bush leading to where he really needs you.

“Please, agh-” His eyes shut close, a lonely tear runs down his porcelain skin when you start to massage his hard member. His tip is already red and leaking, so you don’t need more lube to slide up and down his shaft.

“Ngh-ah. I want more.” He mumbles into your chest, your nipple abused by his greedy mouth.

“So you remember how to speak, mh?” You twist your wrist on his tip, feeling his muscles twitch under you. “Where is your toy?” You whisper, so near his red lips, begging for your attention.

“On your righ-gh” He gasps into your neck, his hips twitching while his nose nuzzles the crook of your neck, where your sigma smell is the strongest.

You look around, your hands still caressing his cock. There is so much trash you have to stop scratching the back of his head to start rummaging around.

Luckily you found it quickly, just under a sheet full of holes totally stiff from being used that much. It’s pink, almost fuchsia, but it’s not particularly long or wide, you guess it has the standard dimensions. It’s the knot at the base that takes the spotlight: it’s engorged and you know how strong it vibrates, abusing that little bundle of nerves that makes Michael’s eyes roll in the back of his eyelids.

You are a little too lost in looking at the toy that you don’t notice how the man under you unzipped your pants, his red and swollen lips now mouthing on your cotton panties, blue irises looking at you, almost begging for a crumb of your attention.

“Want you- want” A sigh leaves his mouth, together with a shiver strong enough to make his back arch like a bow. “Feel good- you too” He moans, head brushing on your lap, making his hair even messier, between the blonde strands sticking to his forehead and the others flying freely around your lap.

“If you want it so much, show me.” You pull him away, eliciting a groan of displeasure. Your legs are now wide open, jeans already unbuttoned. You remove your cotton shirt together with the bra, feeling your body on fire.

The blonde sits on his knees now, his sweaty skin shines under the light of the small lamp, abs look like carved out of marble.

“You and your damn- agh, tight-fitting jeans.” His blonde eyebrows scrunched, focused on pulling off the blue garment.

You snicker at his comment, his smell affecting you, but not enough to make you delirious.

“Fuck you-“ He spits out, cheeks red for the little effort “Come here.” Michael’s strong hands grip your waist, pushing your torso against his naked body, his cock rubbing on your tummy, droplets flowing from his red tip, staining your skin and rolling down your legs.

Michael starts to grind on your tummy, while his tattoed hand runs to your core, simply pushing your underwear aside, already wet and sticky.

“Not as unaffected, mh?” The blonde moans into your neck, but you can feel his smirk on your skin.

“Shut up and behave, omega” You moan into his ear, making Michael buck into your pelvis. One of your hands keeps his hips close to your tummy, not a lick of air between your bodies while the other starts to finger his puckered and wet hole, welcoming your fingers with the same intensity of two long-lost lovers finally meeting.

“Mgh, ah-“ He throws his head back, exposing his throat to you, sweats run down his Adam’s apple, begging to be bitten. You can only focus on him, his long chubby fingers caressing your core, curling and pistoning into you with no finesse or thought, just desperately trying to prepare you for the next act.

His wetness rolls down your wrist, you add another finger and then another scissoring and massaging his tight hole, trying to prepare him as best as you can. His hormones hit you stronger than before; almost unbelievable since earlier you had almost choked just by entering his house.

The hand that kept his hips close left his body, finding on the ground Michael’s toy.

“W-wait-“ Words cut off by a sigh, his blue irises, almost entirely covered by the pupils, are crossed but a crumble of sanity still seems to be there “Kiss-still no” He gulps “Still haven’t kissed” He slurs, you notice the fatigue in his words.

You don’t make him wait much more. Your lips lock with his wet ones. Tongues dancing together with no style or finesse, a mere exchange of saliva between lovers missing each other taste, delirious from each other smell. You break the kiss, but leave no time for Michael to whine about the sudden emptiness, his fuchsia toy’s tip already in his mouth, getting it ready for use.

Michael moans at each stroke of the toy on his tongue, you see him sucking on it, pulling a show for you. His fingers leave your core to start groping the fat of your thighs, pulling a whine out of your lips. Out of spite, you push harder the toy into Michael’s mouth, touching the back of it eliciting a gag and right after a moan out him.

“You are ready, baby.” You state, pulling out the spit-covered toy, making the blonde’s tongue loll out. You push back his blonde and blue mane, sticky with his sweat, before pushing on his chest to make him lean back on the old cover on the ground.

There is a copious amount of pre wetting both his abs and shaft, running down his legs straight to his hole and covers. “Ngh- ah.” Michael’s whine under your body, while you push the toy into his ass with no friction. The toy sucked in like the blonde man needs it to survive, chest rising and lowing so fast you almost worry he’s getting a panic attack.

“Ah-“ Micheal throws his head back when you finally push the toy entirely in, only the knot being left out vibrating at the setting you know he loves. You move it in a circular motion to rub the glands there that you know make him reach the skies of pleasure.

You start to trust the toy into his welcoming ass, eliciting moan after moan. His hands grip again your thighs and with the little strength he has left, Michael grinds your core on his shaft, mixing your body fluids together.

Fat tears roll down his reddened cheeks, sliding down his neck, while you start to grind without his help on his shaft, trying to reach your own peak while thrusting the toy into his hole. The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping and of your whines, soon you feel your canines sharpening, but never enough to be able to mark him.

Grinding is not enough now, your clit throbs in pain and you start to feel restless knowing you’ll never be able to reach your own peak like this. You finally throw your underwear away letting his cock penetrate your core, making the man under you almost howl in pleasure.

Michael’s cock twitches inside you, your tight hole hugging his shaft like a glove. Under you, his hips move confused, not able to decide if to follow the thrusts of the toy or to share with you a drop of the pleasure he is feeling now.

His hands can’t keep still, hesitant between squeezing the cover under him or your body, caressing and pinching. Each movement is a compliment, something your usual Michael wouldn’t say so easily. And then he says it, words that shake your heart, but not in a pleasant way.

“Mark me, make me-“ Words that make you gnash, teeth cracking under the pressure.

“I can’t you fucking idiot.” You show him your teeth. You are just a sigma, a glorified omega that will never be able to realize an omega's true desire.

Your words enter from one ear and exit from the other. Or just get reflected back by his thick skull. Michael cranes his neck to show you his engorged gland, exactly where one of his blue roses is tattoed, while he increases the rhythm of his hips, making you jump harder on his cock, each time making you hop closer to him.

“Please, help me. Please-“ The blonde cries under you, voice much more desperate than a simple whine.

“You really are, ah-“ ‘something else’ you wanted to add, but a delicious thrust make you lose on your tracks.

He starts to blabber your name, a confused plea to a merciful god. It sends a shiver down your spine, it makes your toe curl; the power you feel a sinful bliss.

You thrust the toy one last time, before using both your hands to pull his neck close to you. You bite, canines sinking into his warm skin. Michael twitches under you, hands now tightly gripping your legs and ass, leaving indents on your skin that will leave a mark.

“Love you-“  He moans into your ear, his thrusts into your core slowing down as he cums in you. It’s copious and you feel it already rolling down your legs. You start to tear up, so near your apex, but you never leave your hold on his neck, knowing a simple bite from your much less sharp canines won’t satisfy him.

“Say it again.” You mumble into his neck, eyes teary and with a shade of neediness in them.

Michael doesn’t stutter at your order, ‘love you’ blossoms from his throat and it illudes you that they are born from his heart. The thrusts of his hips are erratic, he keeps cumming into you, shaft sensitive and overstimulated, but not giving up ‘till you’ll reach your peak.

“Love you too.” You whine into him, biting as hard as you can before your body gives up under the intensity of your own release.

Pants echo in the room, both your smells mixed but it’s calming, a lull to your excited hearts. You lay on his chest, his tattoed hand caressing down your spine, soft fingertips brushing against your skin, no real thought behind this touch.

“Michael, I bit you.” You mumble into his chest, shame showers over you for letting yourself go so much, even if your gesture didn’t create any real damage; your teeth will never be strong enough.

You look up, Michael seems lost in thought, the heat subdued for a while. His red and plump lips are puckered, blue eyes looking at the ceiling.

The blonde leaves you hanging a bit more, his hand never stops caressing your body and you feel your body almost melting into his.

“I’m just sad-“ His voice is rough and he won’t look at you, but your heart jumps at the last word. You want to crawl out of your skin for having crossed his boundaries “The mark won’t last longer, guess you’ll have to bite me often.” Michael finally looks back at you, a smirk plastered on his face and blue irises sparkling with mirth knowing perfectly what he has done to your poor heart.

“You bastard.” You gasp out in relief, your lips locking into his like two magnets attracting each other. You feel him laugh under you, giving your tongue access to his mouth. It’s not an elegant kiss, it’s sloppy but also full of love a feeling you were both too scared to show.

“Heat will restart soon,” Michael says, pushing you away just enough to talk. “rest a little.”  You nod at him, your body is also sore, your muscles scream for a bit of rest before going all out again.

The day is still long.

[witchthewriter]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐟 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞?

Inspired by @nightingale2004!

Personally, Rhaenys would've been an absolutely brilliant ruler. One that would rival that of Jaeharys. It was the wrong decision for Jahaerys to choose Viserys, and I'm going to tell you why!

This is all hypothetical but even so, I'm happy for people to say their piece in the comments. I love talking about HoTD -`♡´-

Let's just say she was heir ever since her father (Aemon) died. With her mother, Jocelyn, grieving I think Alysanne would step in and help with her granddaughter.

Alysanne wasn't called 'The Good Queen' for nothing. She brought a lot of change in Westeros; especially for the women. Therefore, I think her mentorship would guide Rhaenys perfectly. This would lead to Rhaenys making Alysanne the Hand of the Queen until age overcame her.

Rhaenys and Corlys would still marry aswell as having Laenor and Laena. Corlys wouldn't be at sea as much, and Vaemond would have more of a say in Driftmark.

The royals/council members etc wouldn't like the idea of a woman on the throne. But Rhaenys would show them how ruling is actually done.

With every decision she has grace. She isn't hot-headed and would only use Meleys when absolutely necessary.

Dragonstone would be both Laenor and Laena's until it was time to marry.

Alicent and Viserys wouldn't be married - Aemma would still be alive as she wouldn't have been pushed to have so many pregnancies. Or maybe she did die in childbirth, but Viserys told the maesters to do whatever they could to help Aemma.

Viserys would remain unmarried for the rest of his life

Alicent and Rhaenyra are still strong friends ;)

Viserys might not even live in the Red Keep? I'm not sure on that one. Possibly he would and Rhaenyra would grow up around Aemma? And Aemma would automatically adopt Alicent as one of her own children.

OR

Rhaenys does push for Viserys to get married again, and if somehow it's Alicent - then she isn't a young girl but a woman now. And as she has been shown love through Aemma, she respects that woman, even in death. So, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond & Dareon exist (however this would bring challenges to the thrown even more. So the marriage to whom Viserys would take as a second wife would be one of great thought.)

Otto would have a terrible time trying to gain power for himself and his family. However, Rhaenys knows Oldtown is very rich and influential, so maybe Alicent and Laenor marry?

Daemon still has skills that are useful to Rhaenys and the Targaryen Dynasty. But Rhaenys would have always known that Daemon wanted Rhaenyra... maybe she didn't involve herself, or MAYBE she wed Rhaenyra & Harwin...

𝐒𝐨, 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐎𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝?

Firstly, who thinks the Iron Throne should be there's?

Viserys is the next 'best' claim to the Throne. However, Rhaenys has more children and therefore more heirs. I think Viserys would rather not be the King as well.

Daemon; who made himself think that the seat would be best for him. But over time, with Rhaenys' guidance - his hunger would be used in a different way. She would show Daemon that the Crown and the Throne doesn't make you a god. You have responsibilities beyong comprehension.

However, Laenor would be heir to the Throne, which he would be absolutely petrified about.

[lieutenantism]

there was a post on here talking about how jean would be terrible with kids in contrast to kim and harry and i can't help but think of how shallow that pov is, considering how you don't possess enough information about jean to make that judgement.

would jean be bad with kids? i don't think he would be.

the only instance we have of him interacting with a child is when you partner up with cuno, and i think that still doesn't give us enough room for judgment given the fact he was extremely frustrated with harry at that moment, so much that he barely acknowledges the kid. when he does though, he uses him against harry, as another sin to add to the record. jean claims he would've never let harry partner up with a child, that he's still better than him in that regard.

but he's only better at protecting children as long as he doesn't have to take care of them. jean is trying to shelter cuno from sacrificing his life to law enforcement while simultaneously dooming him to a fate much worse than that, even if he knew that he had nothing. but jean is also a jamrock resident, he knows what's it like to have nothing, he lives among people who have nothing, he quite literally says it which feels personal, almost like he was that kid at some point. perhaps there was a time in his life where he was cuno, and joining the police was the only way out. after all, he doesn't want cuno to be a cop because he thinks he's too young and too childish for it, because he believes kids with nothing shouldn't join law enforcement to survive. after all, this is the same jean that kept the mural.

when jean interacts with cuno, he has an air of carefulness about him; he respects the child, to a certain degree. even more than he does harry, which is telling. unlike harry, he doesn't immediately try to assert himself over the kid, i would say it's because he has experience with children like cuno. after all, he does assess him and then speaks to him politely, which means that he's already done it before with other children from similar backgrounds.

contrary to popular belief, jean is an extremely patient individual. however, the game takes place after he's had enough of harry, therefore we never get to see him patient, although there are many, many, many references to that in his interactions with others for those with the literacy to find them. for example, here when cuno's eagerly explaining the encounter with the deserter and he's barely making sense, jean's doing his best to understand the kid although both him and harry provoke him. i've talked about jean's nervous tics in another post, and how jean needs to physically steel himself whenever he feels like he's losing control over the situation (in this case, he rubs his temples). yet, compared to harry and kim's first interactions with cuno, i think jean did well.

after he gets around to having him become a cop, he treats him like a peer more than a kid because he is going to be one of them, eventually. he never lacks respect for him, even if he still thinks he's a mere kid, so i don't really understand where the "jean would be bad with kids unlike harry and kim because he'd pick a petty fight with them" sentiment came from, given the fact harry can canonically attempt to shoot a child, physically assault another, and pick a fight with them (and lose).

and kim doesn't even bother to speak to them, probably because he's had similar experiences and learned that it's better not to try with such children, which is something i wouldn't put past him. after all, kim rarely challenges the status quo or the system that's failing these children, if anything he aims to protect it. these children are mere collateral damage to him, in my opinion. he barely even acknowledges them throughout the entire interaction with them, and only expresses disdain if you punch cuno because it's "far from normal police conduct", not because you shouldn't physically assault a 12 year old. the most he does when you try to shoot cunoesse is putting a hand on your shoulder to tell you not to, he doesn't disarm you or even try to.

so all in all, i don't think jean is bad with kids. he doesn't lack empathy or respect, doesn't think they're anything other than children, doesn't physically assault them or tries to, and most importantly he tries his best, if we consider the clinical depression and the responsibility he bears when harry's not well enough to work and the excuses he has to make for him in front of their superiors... etc. i mean, imagine having a coworker who always shows up inebriated try to convince you to take in a child to enroll in the academy knowing very well he's not old enough for it so you'd have to falsify documents for it (another responsibility to add to the pile), and the guy recommending him never has his wits about him. pretty crazy! i wonder how everyone would react.

[godsdaughter3]

Yap session 1:Your tongue has power. (Ft. Sturniolo Triplets)

!!!THIS IS FROM A CHRISTIAN PERSPECTIVE PLEASE SCROLL IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE!!!

I want to start off by saying I have nothing against the Sturniolo Triplets. I am personally a fan of them.

So basically I wanted to talk about the new Sturniolo triplets video. Specifically about something that Chris said in the video. Backstory for people that haven't seen it. Nick (the one in the middle) was talking about how he wanted something paranormal to happen then Chris (the one on the left) started to freak out and rant about how saying things like that have power. Chris is 100% right. Without knowing it Chris is speaking from the Bible, I know I sound insane and you guys might be getting annoyed but hear me out. Chris was saying that saying things like that have power and could open doors to the spirit realm, something that you don't want to experience he is 100% correct. Now here is where I talk about the Bible, in Proverbs 18:21 it says, "The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit." This verse is explaining how your tongue and the things that you say have power and you can choose either life or death (Heaven or Hell) with what you say therefore you need to watch your tongue. Chris saying that when they film with Sam and Colby he says out loud "You ghosts have your playground, stay in it you're not allowed to come near me." That is rebuking believe it or not. The Bible says that you're going to be judged by everything that you say, now, I'm not saying that to scare you, I'm saying that to open your eyes. Everything that you say has power. Let's look at a few examples.

~ The captian of the famous Titanic said, "Not even God can sink this ship." Then what happened? The ship sunk.

~ Lucifer saying that he was going to set his throne higher than God's then what happened? He was cast out of Heaven. (Isaiah 14:12-14)

~ Marilyn Monroe saying something along the lines of her not needing God or that He wasn't real, then what happened? She died about a week later.

You guys might be thinking 'This girl is insane', 'She's forcing her religion', 'Another crazy Christian'. I'm not trying to force anything, I'm trying to open the eyes of the young people like myself. I believe that the Holy Spirit was talking through Chris, using him to open the eyes of the teenage/young adult's watching their videos, telling them. You hold power in your tongue. So watch what you say. Jesus loves you. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[magics-neptunes-things]

Torn

Hi guys!

I don’t write by for Ingrid usually, I admit to having trouble imagining it with someone else than Mapi ' I hope you will like it anyway ♥

The requests are always open, I try to answer them as soon as possible:)

TW: Complicated breakup, sadness

______________________________________________________________

Your breakup wasn’t easy. Not because it took place with screams, arguments and fights, perhaps it would have been easier if things had gone this way.

No, your breakup with Ingrid was on good terms, with mature discussions despite your young age and a good understanding afterwards. This didn't stop your heart from being broken and never being able to repair itself despite the time that passed. Because you loved her, you still love her actually.

Playing both in Barcelona, you made the decision to broke up after finding that your personal quarrels could have an impact on your morale and therefore your game. And it was obviously for both of you that the rest of the team doesn't have to suffer because of you.

So you decided to stop there, plunging yourself into a kind of constant gloom. Fortunately, you could count on your friends to be there for you and cheer you up. Even your friends were perfect because none of them took sides and interfered in it, just offering to go out when you couldn’t hide your sadness. Seeing Ingrid every day on a continuous basis may not have helped so much that you move on, but you were still happy that she continues to be part of your life.

Things started to change this summer when a new girl joined your team. You promised not to date anyone else on the team out of respect for each other. Not that you were ever interested in someone else, still recovering.

But you would have been blind if you hadn’t noticed the connection that quickly developed between Ingrid and this new girl. The Norwegian seemed happier and who were you to stop her? You weren’t sure you could bear to see this though, and even though you knew perfectly well that Ingrid would never break her promise, it was too hard for you to watch it.

So when your agent informed you that Real Madrid had made an offer to FC Barcelona for a loan in september, you agreed. And here you are.

*************

To be honest, the first thing you did when you arrived in Madrid was to cry your eyes out. You didn’t want to be here, but you didn’t give yourself a choice. Barcelona already missed you and it was nothing compared to the lack left by your friends. Far from your native country for your profession, they had gradually replaced your family.

After a few hours, you finally got up to go drink a big glass of water and refresh your face. A good idea since a few minutes later your phone rang, displaying Ona’s name, asking you for a Facetime. After taking a look at your appearance, you pick up and put a superficial smile on your lips.

"Hola chica!" says Ona smiling and you quickly realize that she is not alone.

Beside her are Lucy, Alexia, Claudia and Jana. You settle down on your sofa repatriated from Barcelona, feeling once again your throat tighten.

"Hola. What's up?"

"Nothing, we just wanted to know if you had arrived well"

Alexia embellishes her answer with a smile and you start to tell your adventures of the move, before showing them your apartment at their express request. You clearly don’t feel at home, but don’t mention it. You know you have to take responsibility for your choices and it starts with not asking where Ingrid is.

"I must hang up, I haven't unpacked the boxes of my clothes yet and I must find myself a pajama"

Your excuse sucks, but none of the five show anything. On the contrary, they say goodbye, Ona informing you that she gave your number to Olga and that she will contact you quickly. You thank her with a smile before you hang up.

"She’s not ok" Alexia said after she hung up.

"Not at all" confirmed Lucy and Ona in one voice.

**************

As Ona informed you, Olga quickly contacted you to offer to accompany you to training, which you accepted. You don’t really know what the Catalan woman told her, but Olga seems to have taken on a mission to take care of you and ensure that your integration goes as smoothly as possible. This helped obviously, even though it apparently created a new ship on TikTok.

You’ve been avoiding social media like the plague these past few weeks, tired of seeing edits about your ex’s with her likely future girlfriend. At the same time, if things are going this way, it’s all your fault, leaving them free to be.

The training is going pretty well, even if it doesn’t look like the ones you live in Barcelona. But thanks to Olga’s introduction you quickly formed some friendly bonds with other girls, even if you still miss your friends terribly. You call several times a day, appreciating that they sometimes mention Ingrid’s name to give you news.

The next time you see them is during the famous derby between Real Madrid and Barcelona. Your team is making the trip, but you feel like you’re going home. Arriving by train in the morning, you don’t have much time to spend with the Barcelona team. The truth is, you don’t find them again until the teams training the same day.

You were busy stretching when you heard a cry of joy and a body jumped on your back a few seconds later. You smile despite yourself by recognizing Jana who comes down from you after a few seconds. When you turn around, you face not only Jana but also Ona, Alexia and other of your teammates. But not Ingrid.

"It’s so good to see you again" Lucy said, pulling your cheek like an old aunt would do to her niece.

"For me too, until now" you joke, snaping the English hand before greeting each of them with a hug.

You start a conversation, some of your new teammates come to greet the players of Barcelona. You lose the thread however when you see finally appear a silhouette in the distance, which you would recognize between thousand. You feel your heart miss a beat and you find yourself foolishly making Alexia repeat the sentence she just said.

A strange relief takes hold of you when you see Ingrid making her way towards you, smiling and hugging you quickly. Unfortunately, the reunion between you two is quickly cut by your coach who calls you. Saying goodbye with the general hand, you turn around before following the rest of your team.

************

You lost the game, despite an endless battle throughout the game. Playing against your team has been difficult for you and you have not been able to find the way for the girls for the first time in several matches. That was what you were supposed to do, score goals.

After your shower, you declined the offer of your teammates to meet in the hotel bar. You pretended to have something else to do and they didn’t look any further, probably imagining you were going to join your friends in Barcelona. They did offer to join them, but you simply replied that you would see.

You preferred to join the field, settling on the central circle to think. Completely deserted, the lights are however still on and do not plunge you into complete darkness. It’s a bit cold and you regret not putting on a jacket over your sweatshirt. Wearing white and the Real Madrid logo always makes you feel weird, but you think you’ll get used to it.

"I was looking for you"

You heard the sounds of hesitating steps approaching you, but you did not move. Ingrid’s voice brings you back as always to all the good memories you shared and you close your eyes a few seconds before turning back to her.

"Can I sit with you?"

You nod, pointing to a place next to you. You are not sure of your voice and don't want to take the risk of seeing it waver when speaking. You feel your jaw tighten anticipating what she will tell you, certainly announce you her couple. Ingrid is quite the type to want to inform you face to face of the thing rather than impose it on you via networks.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you" Ingrid mumbles while playing with the grass "things were kind of difficult"

"Difficult?"

You frown. How falling in love and being happy can be difficult? Lost, you look at her for the first time in since like forever.

"Why did you leave?"

She looks at you and man, those eyes... You’ve never seen another eyes so blue, so pure and innocent. You swallow with difficulty and look down, suddenly finding the tip of your sneakers particularly fascinating.

"I wanted more experiences and see other game techniques" you shrugs, never looking at her.

"No. Y/N, why did you leave?"

Of course she wasn't going to believe you. You sigh and briefly close your eyes, regretting your gesture when you feels tears burning the corner of your eyes.

"I couldn’t take it anymore" you finally answer, your troat burning.

"What?" asks Ingrid, her voice so low.

"You. Her. You deserve to be happy and if it's with her, it's ok. But I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you both every day. And I knew you would keep your promise. I didn’t want to be an obstacle to you again."

"You're such an idiot."

You look at Ingrid to see that she’s not looking at you. Leaning on both hands, she looked up at the stars but shook her head with a bitter smile.

"What?" you ask, completely lost.

She sighs and you see her jaw contracting, as if trying to correctly formulate what she's about to tell you. You give her time though, too happy to have an excuse to admire her.

"It never was a love affair between me and her and it will never be. I was never interested in her other than as a friend."

"But... Wh-Why" you stutter, trying to make sense of that information.

"Oh my god Y/N!" Ingrid half-screams, throwing her arms in the air as a sign of exasperation.

And that scares you. Angry Ingrid would scare anyone. You don't understand though, you were doing everything to make her happy and it doesn’t seem to work. Still lost, you keep looking at her without understanding.

Next thing you know, your face is trape between your ex-girlfriend’s hands and her lips are on yours. The kiss is neither gentle nor delicate. It's rather full of urgency and almost despair. You lose your balance in your embrace and you find yourself lying on the grass that was turned into a battlefield a few hours ago. This does not interrupt your kiss, and now that you have regained your senses you respond to Ingrid’s kiss with as much intensity as she does.

Ingrid half lying on you, you feel your lungs screaming for air. But you don’t want it to stop, fearing it’s your last kiss. So when you feel the Norwegian coming off of you, you press on her neck and chase her lips for a new kiss.

Soon after, you find yourself again immersed in her gaze as she whispers

"It's you. It has always been you. I missed you so much, I can't stay here without you. Please come back here. Please come back to me. I'll do anything you want."

So you do. Instead of extending your contract, you’re back in Barcelona for Christmas. To Ingrid.

[nerdraging4point0]

Said and Done (Noah Sebastian and Reader) Part One

Tropes and Tags: friends to lovers, third multiple POV, angst, 18+ content, voyerism, exhibitionism, public sex, public adjacent sex, oral: female recieving, oral: male recieving, infidelity, PinV.

Fanclub: @lma1986 @friedchildblaze @skulliecadaver-blog @rumoured-whispers @missduffsblog @ladyveronikawrites @tearfallpixie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mysticdoodlez @beaker1636 @amelia-acero @flowery-mess @sorrowsofsilence

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Notice(Please read): This story originally had a (y/n) insert. I find them annoying and therefore I adjusted to have it removed. The story is in third person with a female reader who uses she/her pronouns, looks, name, specific body type or ethnicity is not specifically mentioned-or at least I tried to stay as neutral as possible-once again, the story was edited to be more neutral but the original plot and tone is still there. Please enjoy!

She didn’t want to come at first, the night started at a different Halloween party and there had been no plan on hopping to others, but when Nick texted saying she should come by she found it hard to refuse. Music was blasting, drinks were flowing, and the energy in the house was electric as she walked through the open front door. Making it through the throng of people crowded in the living room, somehow Nick had spotted her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards the couch. Trying desperately to be heard over the music she leaned into him, asking where Noah was.

“I don’t know to be honest. He’s been all over the place.” The smell of the beer and weed on his breath was pretty pungent, it was safe to say he’d lost track of the birthday boy a long time ago.

“Here kitty, kitty.” Folio's beckoning finger and mocking tone only heightened her irritation. With a resigned sigh, she reluctantly approached the intoxicated bassist. The meager cat costume she had hastily thrown together was a last-ditch attempt- a hodgepodge of items scrounged up in a desperate bid for someone’s attention. Fuzzy ears and a matching tail from a novelty store were paired with a mini skirt, black nylons, and a tight-fitting top from her own closet, forming a rather pathetic excuse for a costume.

The rest of the band and crew, ever the observant bunch, had long ago labeled her as "Noah's girl" - a dismissive, possessive term that infuriated her, as the reality was she and Noah were nothing more than close friends, despite their delusions. With an exasperated eye roll, she gave Folio a firm backhand to the chest, eliciting only laughter from the oblivious musician as he returned his attention to his drink, completely oblivious to her growing frustration.

“I better go find him. I’ll catch you later, Nick. Folio, know your limits.” She sauntered off, determined to find the person she was searching for. She made her way through the crowded kitchen towards the back patio, stopping to exchange greetings with various friends and acquaintances of the band along the way. Weaving through the crowded partygoers, she scanned each room. The first place she tried was the guest room that the boys had effortlessly turned into one of their at home studios. Trying the door, she found it was firmly locked, and with a sinking feeling, she realized that Noah, the only one with the key, was nowhere to be seen. Undeterred, she knocked loudly, calling out his name, but the din of the party drowned out any response he may have given.

Deciding her best course of action, she turned and headed for the stairs, carefully picking her way past the giggling, intertwined couples sprawled across the steps. As she ascended, she had to dodge a sudden barrage of food items - chips, pretzels, even a stray slice of pizza - as a group of rowdy young men above her engaged in an impromptu game of catch. Shaking her head in bemusement, she reached the top landing and turned left, making her way down the dimly lit hallway towards Noah's room. Grasping the doorknob, she paused, Noah was a very private person, and she knew he didn't take kindly to others invading his personal space. Her mind bantered for a while about the pros and cons, the pros winning out without much of a fight. To her surprise, the door clicked and swung open.

She stood there in the doorway, eyes wide with a mix of shock and intrigue at the unexpected scene unfolding before her. There was Noah, pressed against the wall with his sweatpants pooled around his ankles, his shirt bunched up in one hand as a girl in a Princess Leia costume knelt in front of him, her head bobbing up and down rhythmically, his free hand holding the back of her head. The sight was simultaneously scandalous and strangely alluring - she had never seen Noah in such a compromising position before, and the forbidden nature of it all sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her.

Yet as she observed the interaction more closely, something seemed off. Noah's face was contorted in discomfort rather than pleasure, his nose wrinkling and his body twisting as if in pain rather than ecstasy. His eyes then landed on her, wide with panic.

"I came to say, Happy Birthday," she said, her voice dripping with feigned innocence as the girl whirled around to face her. “But I see you’re busy,” A mischievous smile played on her lips as Noah struggled to extricate himself from the situation, pushing the girl away with obvious desperation.

Deciding to take advantage of the moment, she slipped off her high heels, letting each one fall to the ground with a deliberate slowness.

"Don't mind me," she purred, turning to close the door behind her and locking it for good measure. "I'll just wait." With that, she sauntered over to the bed, settling herself down with an air of casual confidence. "But..." she added, her gaze burning into Noah's, "I think I will sit on the bed and make myself comfortable."

Noah's heart pounded as he watched her saunter across the room, her hips swaying seductively as she approached his bed. His mouth went dry with anticipation as she climbed onto the mattress, settling herself against the wall with a sultry, confident grace. The other girl, kneeling obediently at Noah's feet, glanced up at him uncertain, her shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug before she refocused her attention on the task at hand.

Noah tried to suppress a groan as the girl's lips parted, slowly enveloping him once more. Her technique was clumsy, lacking the practiced finesse that his girl on the bed possessed. She wasn’t really his, but it was the only way he liked to refer to her. As she sat on the bed with a small, satisfied smile, her eyes glinting with a knowing amusement. She had explored every inch of Noah's body, learned the map of his sensitive spots - where to linger, where to tease, how to draw out the most exquisite sensations. This novice could never hope to match her intimate familiarity.

As the young woman on her knees bobbed her head rhythmically back and forth, her movements in sync with Noah's thrusting hips, a growing tension started building within her own body. Watching his thick shaft disappear between the girl's eager lips, glistening with saliva, sent a jolt of electricity through her. She felt her thighs instinctively squeeze together, the delicious friction fueling her growing arousal. Glancing up, she met Noah's dark, intense gaze, his eyes unabashedly roaming over her curves. A wicked idea took hold, and she slowly brought her thumb up to her mouth, sensually slipping it past her parted lips. Hollowing out her cheeks, she mimicked the motions of the girl below, her gaze locked with Noah's as she suggestively sucked on her digit.

The action seemed to push Noah over the edge, a stuttered moan escaping his lips as he reached down, fisting a hand in the girl's hair. "Noah, don't be rude," she purred, popping her thumb from her mouth. "Let her finish giving you your birthday present." Despite the white-knuckle grip Noah had on the girl's hair, she continued, the lewd sounds of her gagging filling the air.

The scene was utterly captivating, and she couldn't resist raising her legs, bending at the knees as she slowly traced the soft skin of her inner thighs with featherlight touches. Noah's eyes were glued to her, drinking in every rise and fall of her chest, every subtle shift of her body. His hips began to move with more urgency, rutting sharply into the girl's mouth as his brow furrowed in concentration.

She knew he was close, and a satisfied smile spread across her lips as she watched him finally still, his head thrown back against the wall. She relished the sight of his come spilling from the corners of the girl's mouth. Noah's gaze remained locked with hers, his expression one of pure, unadulterated desire, and she knew that the night was far from over.

“You can leave now sweetie. Thank you.”

The poor girl full of shame and dissatisfaction hoisted herself up from her rug-burned knees and slipped out of the bedroom, leaving the pair behind.

still trying to catch his breath, Noah reached down pulling his pants back up, practically snarled the question, "What the fuck was that about?”

She turned to face him, a coy smile playing at the corners of her lips as she gestured to the costume she still wore. "She took the work for me. I wasn't going to get on my knees in this outfit," she explained, the fabric of her skirt rustling as she toyed with the hem, slowly drawing it up her thighs. His eyes roamed her figure hungrily, taking in every tantalizing curve.

Scoffing, he made his way over to the bed, hands braced on the mattress as he stared deep into her eyes. "So, you were coming up here to get on your knees for me?" he questioned, a hint of challenge in his tone.

Sitting up on the bed, she balanced her body on her hands and knees, her nose grazing his as she gazed intently into his eyes. "I was coming up here to wish you a Happy Birthday," she breathed, her warm, fruity breath caressing his skin. The subtle notes of berry and something smooth lingered in the air.

"Did it turn you on?" She couldn't help but smile, nodding her head slowly as she met his gaze, sensing the unspoken implication behind his words. He seemed almost offended by her reaction, dropping his gaze as he blew out a frustrated sigh.

"Gives me an idea of what you might do on tour, when I'm not around." The accusation hung in the air, his discomfort noticeable. "You know I don't do that when I'm on tour," he replied firmly, unwilling to back down. Undeterred, she crawled towards him on her knees, fingers walking purposefully up his arm as she spoke.

"Well, what if you did?" she purred, her breath tickling his skin. "What holds you back?" He didn't respond, just grunted and cleared his throat, helplessly avoiding her probing eyes. The unspoken question lingered - "Did she feel good?"

A wave of uncertainty and insecurity washed over her as she felt an odd, unsettling sensation creep up in her chest. A part of her desperately wanted to know the answer, to understand if there were truly other women out there who could make him feel so much more satisfied and fulfilled than she ever could. The mere thought of that possibility was enough to make her stomach twist in knots. She knew there were likely countless women who would be willing to do anything, to go to any lengths, just for the chance to be intimate with him in a way that she could not. It was a sobering realization that filled her with a mix of jealousy, self-doubt, and a deep longing to somehow be enough for him. Reaching out tentatively, she let her hand slide beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, her fingertips tracing the waistband of his sweatpants. Slipping beneath the band she let out a soft sigh.

To her relief, she could feel that he was already growing aroused, his length hardening under her touch as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb grazing the tip and collecting the small bead of slick that had formed there. The sensation elicited a satisfied sigh from him, and she could feel him shifting on his feet, his head dropping forward as his brown locks fell in curtains over his face. Pumping him a little faster, she could feel his cock growing even more rigid under her skilled hands. "Noah," she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of insecurity, "did she feel good?"

“Fuck,” he panted “Not as good as you.” her hand pumping him faster, humming to herself, pride swelling in her chest at how good she could make him feel.

“Fuck, baby, please let me,” He stuttered, having trouble finding his words.

“What Noah? What is it, sweet boy? What do you need?”

His lips parted slightly, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet them in a gesture that was both sensual and nervous. “T-t-taste you.” his voice cracked as she stroked down his shaft, letting go slowly so he could catch his breath.

“You want to make me come now?” she teased, uncurling her legs, letting her thighs fall open to reveal the enticing sight of the dark purple lace underneath her skirt. He nodded, his expression hungry and eager, silently communicating his desperate desire. He dropped to his knees, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp at the temptation. Wrapping his long fingers around each ankle he pulled her to the edge of the bed. Leaning back on her hands, watching intently as he stared unabashedly, his eyes roaming hungrily over her exposed skin. With a small, coy smile, she scooted closer to the edge of the mattress, bringing herself within reach of his waiting mouth. Reaching out, she tenderly ran her fingers through his soft hair, eliciting a shiver from him as his eyes fluttered closed in blissful anticipation.

“You can either move them or take them off. I won’t do it for you.” The decision was his, but the outcome was inevitable as his hands disappeared beneath her skirt, his fingers hooking into the delicate fabric and slowly dragging it down, exposing her to his eager gaze.

She was glistening already, it was such a beautiful sight, he had to swallow the moan at the back of his throat. Lowering his head, his tongue dipped into her warm, slick folds, savoring the sweet, intoxicating taste of her. The sensation was electrifying, making him feel like the most powerful man alive as her body undulated beneath him. He worked his tongue tirelessly, drinking in her cries of pleasure and reveling in the way her hands tangled desperately in his hair, pulling him closer. The familiar ache of his own need grew ever more insistent, but for now, all that mattered was drawing out every last shudder from her.

As her thighs clenched around him, he clutched her flesh hungrily, determined to wring every last drop of her release. The thought of missing even a single taste was almost maddening, and he nearly growled in frustration as the evidence trickled down his chin. Still, the sound of his name on her trembling lips, the way she begged him to stop, only stoked the fire within him.

“Noah,” her cracking voice whined his name as she tugged at his hair “Noah, please, no more. I can’t. I can’t take it.”

With a primal hunger, he slowly crawled up her body, his eyes locked onto hers. She reached up and tenderly wiped a stray droplet from his chin, the intimate gesture fueling the growing desire between them. Unable to resist any longer, she leaned up and captured his lips in a searing kiss, her tongue sliding into his mouth. He sighed into her, savoring the taste.

Breaking the kiss briefly, he gazed down at her, his swollen lips barely leaving hers as he uttered the three words that he was sure were the right ones: "I want you." Her response, whispered against his lips, sent a jolt of electricity through him, fueling that base, carnal urge. "Take me, then."

Without hesitation, he lined himself up and pushed into her, a hiss of pleasure escaping her lips as she stretched around him. It had been far too long since they'd been together, but the way her body seemed to mold perfectly around him made it feel as though no time had passed at all. They lay there, motionless, as she adjusted to his size, her inner muscles fluttering around him in a silent plea for more.

Finally, she began to move her hips, urging him to take her. He started to thrust, slowly at first, savoring the delicious sensation of her velvety walls caressing him with each withdrawal and driving him deeper with each push. But his cautious, almost timid pace was beginning to frustrate her. She wanted - no, needed - more. Wrapping her legs firmly around his waist, she pushed against his chest, easily flipping their positions so that she now straddled him. There was a brief, awkward moment as they adjusted, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed, she wasted no time setting a punishing rhythm, determined to chase the release for both of them.

She had always adored his goofy, carefree spirit - the way he would effortlessly make her laugh and feel light-hearted, even in the midst of life's stresses. But as she observed him through the filtered lens of social media and interviews, she noticed a distinct change had come over him. The vibrant, playful young man she had once known now appeared somber and weighted down, his infectious joy seemingly dimmed. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened, what had caused this transformation from the endearingly silly partner she cherished to the sullen, serious individual portrayed in the public eye.

Yet, as their bodies intertwined with a familiar, sensual rhythm, she caught glimpses of the old Noah she'd fallen for - the one who moved with a carefree fluidity, whose touch sent electric sparks through her core. The awkwardness of their reunion quickly melted away as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, grinding her hips against his with a primal, unrestrained fervor. She craved the feeling of his hardness filling her, the way he hit that sweet spot inside that made her vision blur and her mind go deliciously hazy.

“Fuck. Does anyone else make you feel like this?” he groaned pushing his hips up to meet her own. Bringing her down on him harder with each thrust.

“N-n-no.” She was bouncing so hard on him the cat ears were slipping, when her head fell forward just enough and in his reach, he grabbed them tossing them away. Her head tipped back again as she leaned bracing herself on her ankles.

“Who makes you feel good?” Her mind was on fire with the absolute pleasure she was getting. He was like a new drug; he’d been good at fucking before but the confidence of his music and touring had made him extra powerful. She was on a high at this very moment and the crash was going to be one of epic proportions.

“You, Noah.”

The intensity of the moment had completely consumed him, causing him to momentarily lose his typical composure and self-control. Years of broken promises and emotional wounds inflicted by others had left him jaded and guarded, wary of letting anyone get too close. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even register them, “You’re mine. No one gets to make you feel this good but me.” He gripped her hips tighter, determined to draw out every last shudder, the wet, sticky evidence coating his skin. The sight of her writhing and moaning beneath him, her voice reduced to barely-there whimpers, threatened to shatter his tenuous hold on restraint.

Trembling with exhaustion, she persisted, driven by a desperate need to please him. Slumping forward, she balanced herself precariously on her hands, every muscle straining to maintain control.

“Tell me your good baby. I won’t stop till I know you’re good.” he groaned, eyes tightly shut as he bit down on his bottom lip. The shaking in her body was relentless. She was spent, her reserves depleted. A slight nod of her head and her voice reduced to a mere whisper was all he needed.

He continued to move his hips, pounding into her with unyielding force. The moans that escaped her lips were softer, barely audible, his name chanted like a mantra. Her body, overstimulated and overwhelmed, tightened around him once more, triggering another powerful orgasm. She pleaded with him, her voice barely a whimper, "Fuck Noah, Please." He felt her body clenching around him, the sensation pushing him to the brink of his own release. With a final, forceful thrust, he spilled into her, his back arching and his mouth agape in a silent scream.

Desperately trying to stop the relentless sensations, her body too sensitized to continue. Noah watched as she pulled herself off him, collapsing onto the bed beside him, her energy completely drained. Noah's heart was pounding as he sat on his bed, everything replaying in his mind-sounds, touch, smell, feelings, words-as if he was digitally filling it away like a computer. She curled up on his bed resting on his pillow, her hair now a tousled mess, the headband with her cat ears lost somewhere.

As if it were normal he straightened up to lay next to her, legs stretched out, his feet still tingling. He had been so caught up in the moment, the warmth of her body pressed against his, the soft caress of her skin. But then, just as quickly as it had begun, it had all come crashing down. He had reached down to pull his sweatpants back up, unsure of where things were going, when he felt her suddenly stiffen beside him. Grabbing the edge of the blanket, he had pulled it up to cover them both, enveloping them in a cozy cocoon. But the minute she was covered in the soft fabric, her eyes had snapped open, wide and glassy with terror. Before he could even process what was happening, she had shoved the blanket off and scrambled to put her underwear back on, her movements frantic and panicked.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion and concern, his heart racing in his chest. Had he somehow hurt her? Done something to scare her? The look of pure fear on her face had cut him deeply, making him question everything. Without a word, she had hurriedly gathered the rest of her clothes, leaving his room in a rush and closing the door sharply behind her. Noah sat there, dumbfounded, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had he misread the situation completely? Was she okay? He reached for his phone, sending her a quick text to check on her, but her terse response - "I'm fine. Happy Birthday" - did little to ease his worry. The day that had started with such promise now felt tainted, the happiness he had anticipated quickly giving way to a sense of unease and uncertainty.

The following morning as Noah slowly stirred from his restless sleep, he instantly knew this was going to be one of those mornings where he felt like he had been hit by a truck. However, to his surprise, he didn't have the usual pounding headache or queasy stomach that typically accompanied a night of heavy drinking. Instead, he found himself feeling confused and unsettled, the events of the previous evening weighing heavily on his mind. Pulling himself up from the tangled sheets, he made his way through the disaster zone that was his house, stepping carefully over the scattered remnants of the party - crumpled paper cups, discarded paper plates, and half-empty pizza boxes that littered the floors. In the kitchen, he spotted an untouched slice of pizza sitting in one of the greasy cardboard containers and, despite its slightly stale and unappealing appearance, he couldn't resist the urge to take a bite. As the familiar flavors hit his tongue, he was momentarily transported back to simpler times, when a late-night snack was all he needed to satisfy his hunger and soothe his weary soul.

With pizza in hand, Noah retreated to the solace of his bedroom, plopping down on the edge of his bed and reaching for his phone. Scrolling through his messages, he paused to re-read the brief, cryptic text from her - "I'm fine. Happy Birthday." The words seemed to mock him, taunting him with the memory of her sudden departure and the confusion that had consumed him in the aftermath. His gaze then fell upon the small, cat-eared headband that lay discarded on the floor, a remnant of the Halloween costume she had worn earlier that evening. Picking it up, he couldn't help but smile, a glimmer of hope igniting within him as he snapped a quick photo and sent it to her, accompanied by a simple message: "You left something behind."

Perhaps, he thought, this could be the olive branch he needed to bridge the gap that had so suddenly and unexpectedly formed between them. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to lure her back and give him another chance to make things right - to show her the depth of his desire, to have her on her knees before him, yielding to his every whim.

Noah's mind raced as he tried to pinpoint what could have possibly gone wrong the night before.

“Well don’t you look disappointed.” Nick’s raspy voice floated into the room from Noah’s open bedroom door, leaning against the frame, palm on his eyes rubbing the sleep away. He was in his pajamas’ hair pulled into a messy bun; the bun was lopsided suggesting he had just rolled out of bed-or couch. “I can see it from here.” Noah didn’t answer him, just tossed the cat ears over to his desk while his friend made his way into the room to take a seat on his bed.

“How was she last night?”

“Perfect. As always.” He tried not to sound as if the topic itself was bothering him. “She left her cat ears; I texted her seeing if she wanted to come get them.”

“Come being the main point in that sentence, right?” Noah’s eyes snapped up to his friend who had a cheeky grin and a raised eyebrow. It was no secret to the band that Noah had a thing with her on the side, Nick knew for sure-they’d had a couple threesomes a time or two. Folio wanted to get in on it once, but Noah refused. The idea made him cringe.

“What did you do?” Nick asked, sliding onto his side keeping himself propped up on his forearm.

“It’s obvious what we did.” Noah was sure his friend couldn’t be that thick in the head. What else would they have done, discuss the weather?

“Yeah, I know what you did. I also saw her run out of here like her costume was on fire.” Nick flopped onto his back hands placed on his chest. “She didn’t even say goodbye. So, again, I ask, what did you do?”

Noah wasn’t sure, they had sex, he covered her up, she left. Everything had seemed perfect - sex was electrifying and fulfilling as always, and afterward he had tenderly covered her with a soft blanket, fully intending to let her rest peacefully until morning. But when she took off without a word, a knot of worry had formed in the pit of his stomach.

“I don’t know.” He replied weakly.

[kerubimcrepin]

LIVEBLOG: Wakfu Season 4, Episode 4 [PART 2]

I wonder how long he's been standing there. Did he come an hour early? 20 minutes early? Just standing there, doing nothing...

Dios mio... la creatura!

Something very weird happened with the Eni queen/leader. In s2, her cape and hands were like this because she was sitting, in this season — it's just part of her design. Did nobody check this stuff? Am I going insane thinking this is an error? Did she look bad when her cape was down? What the fuck is happening?

Once again, something very silly is happening with Sufokia, if they have an empress and a king. My headcanon to fix it is "the king is a consort-king" or something.

(*sobs in Ankama, or, really, 89% of all media, not understanding that whoever marries the ruler of the nation is a [insert title]-consort, and does not have as much political power or the right of succession* *Hysterically convulses in "99% of all Queens were Queen-consorts, and the title itself, by default, usually means a consort. For this reason, female rulers (rare non-consort Queens who came to throne due to lack of male princes) typically named their husbands "Princes" and not "Kings", because the title king always implies a higher degree of power than a queen; therefore, it might be reasonable to assume, that in this fantasy setting, a Ruling Empress's husband might be called a king for this reason* *Foams at mouth because Ankama just forgot they mentioed Sufokia having a king and I'm trying to cope. badly*)

Also since I'm on this tangent already, YES, this means that Sadida rules of throne succession are:

1. extremely easy for outsiders to abuse (say what you will, but "the spouse inherits the throne" is a BADDD rule to combat conquest by foreign nations, there's a reason it was children or blood-relatives of the ruler, besides patriarchy/divine right of kings/whatever — the spouse is an outsider. All it takes is a princess, who is Wonderful at poisoning, being married off to a foreign nation and whoopsie-daisy, their country is now Her country, and therefore her Family's country),

2. it's unrealistic,

3. probably just bad writing for the sake of drama.

If you're curious why I know all this shit.......... I have a blorbo in a different fandom, and his entire thing is that he was married into a royal family and then tortured by his queen wife in a sort of gender-bent Henry VIII arrangement (except he was kept alive against his will and there was no divorce or church splits). God bless that blorbo for making me learn.

These Huppermages were repurposed from the movie concept art, btw.

I find it quite interesting, that Joris has the authority to be present here...

My personal theory/headcanon is that he is their mediator, and they just call him to their meetings so that, instead of yelling at each other and declaring wars, they can talk to him (and therefore, yell only at him and declare no wars).

Ugh, once again, I am not entirely fond of the English subs. First the translation error about the brotherhood of forgotten/tofu, and now they are making Joris say this spring chicken thing...

It doesn't fit his character and reads weird. Just leave it as "I'm not that young", like in the original. It's more fitting for Joris to speak in negative sentences ("I am not young") than in affirmative ones ("I am old") because he is not fond of stating direct facts about himself and his life... besides the fact that he's standing in front of multiple world leaders.

[kicks my legs cutely thinking about the fact that Joris, older than every king and queen in this place, and fully convinced of his excellence and wisdom and heroism, has been forced to bow down to them for his entire life despite hating at 90% of them for their political decision] I love his commitment to being the protagonist of an 18th century Russian novel about being doomed by the narrative.

Also, kinda wild. You'd think that during Ogrest's chaos they'd— actually I think everyone was too dead to hold meetings during that, nvm.

I wonder what they would do, if the maker of the eyes wouldn't reply. Just stand there? Or is this speech more of a formality — something he always says, in the lead-up to the meeting?

(I am once again reminding you, this blog is LITERALLY about overthinking crepinjurgen lore! Ankama gave no shit while writing this. I'm just doing this for fun.)

He's so unimpressed. Probably still trying to gauge what the fuck is going on.

THE LITTLE SMILE— he's trying to suppress it so hard in the first screenshot here. He's probably glad that Yugo seems to be in good spirits about what's happening, even if he himself is still quite worried.

His expression here is a beautiful mix of "PLEASE DON'T FUCK THIS UP" and "it is a canon event, I cannot intervene"

Literally, Joris's expressions at this moment should be analyzed frame by frame. You can feel the desperation. He now understands that there is a high possibility they are fucked. Because his bestie (who is always right) is an impulsive 20-something year old boy who knows nothing about politics or what people can do, and his mom is a god, and the leaders of the world aren't going to like whatever the fuck is going on, and he KNOWS what they might do, and what might happen, and oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck—

"Yugo :) perhaps you shuoild :) um. :) ease them into it. :).... :("

He's trying to keep smiling, so hard. It's crazy.

Joris has lived through the huppermage genocide. He knows people don't need that much of a reason to begin killing. He understands precisely just how fragile the position that Yugo and his people are in. He understands his own place in the pecking order, too — he isn't going to act like Yugo's friend if these people are watching.

And neither Yugo, not any other Eliatrope is able to understand this. There are cruelties in this world that they are fundamentally unable to grasp without having truly been seeped in it before.

Like, what is he even to do here, to make Yugo understand how bad the situation is. All he can do is stand there looking haunted, while receiving unprecedented amounts of psychic damage.

If I was Joris at this point, I would simply pull out a flask of whiskey and a cigarette. The political situation has now gone completely unfixable. There is no going back, now that she has said these two lines.

Someone native to the World of Twelve and old enough to understand politics would know how bad this sounds. But to her, these are good things. Of course they are, since she knows what is good and what isn't, and everyone in her world has always accepted those things as good.

Basically: the conflict between WoT and Eliatropes is that a nation of people from a world of teletubbies-level conflict, — with no bigotry or nations or poverty or hunger or theft or inequality, or ulterior motives, — has been added to a "game of thrones" type society with no explanation. And now they are all forced to try and understand one another.

If I was Joris at this moment, I would simply shoot myself in the temple with a gun. If things were bad before, they are horrible now. She is talking to world leaders as her children. It might have been alright even with Eliatropes, but these people aren't Eliatropes.

DO I EVEN NEED TO COMMENT ON HOW BAD THIS IS? IN A WORLD WHERE COLONIALISM, RACISM, SUBJUGATION, AND SLAVERY ARE REAL? IS SHE ON CRACK?

I would give anythign to see Joris's expressions as she's saying these things. I think he should be trembling. Staring vacantly into space.

To someone from a world of violence, a world with "no violence" seems like a world where violence is hidden, and enacted to stop them from voicing their disagreement with the status quo.

Tot has described this as a sort of conflict between the modern world approaches to society — and named China and America as examples of what he was inspired by, while writing Eliatrope.

I will not get into detail on my feelings on it (China is often extremely criticized in the west for things every country in the world does due to racism)

But this might point us towards the fact that the world of Eliatropes wasn't as free of conflict as the show portrays it to be, and it was, in fact, Just A Society, with all that entails. In which case, things get morally morally gray... might explain why, in the earlier drafts of the season, she was meant to be the main antagonist — and why it was decided against.

(Is that maybe why Qilby is so embittered — his experiences were silenced, and he was made to suck it up, only confiding in Shinonome? She does constantly shut up Yugo and Qilby, not letting them speak up about their grudges against each other to keep the peace— [I am quickly silenced by tangent police])

[dancermk]

HELLO MY FELLOW TRAVELERS!

I, like many viewers, have been completely entranced by Hawk and Tim’s love story in Fellow Travelers. As a mature queer person, this show has been very emotional, and I am deeply invested. (I WILL riot if Tim doesn’t get to die in Hawk’s arms, and know that he is, and has always been, loved by Hawk.) But I digress.

Something that I have been fascinated by are the differing opinions that have surfaced about the characters, especially Hawk. I’m not looking for any arguments here, everyone is entitled to their opinion, and this is simply mine. To me, Hawk falls hard and fast for Tim. He breaks all his own rules for Tim - they topple over like a house of cards.

When we are introduced to Hawk, he’s cold and heartless with the men he hooks up with - they are nothing more than a body to fulfil his sexual needs and desires. He doesn’t do repeats and he doesn’t bring them home. But Tim, he instantly begins returning to, gets him a job, then allows him into his own apartment, etc. When Tim pushes back, Hawk relents further, letting him in emotionally, sharing parts of his past, crossing lines by introducing him to others in his circle, and so on.

Hawk is a traumatised man, carrying guilt and anger and shame, and a bucket load of fear! Yes, he has some internalised homophobia, but interestingly, he’s also extremely righteous about his homosexuality -and I don’t believe he thinks being gay is wrong in any way. (His response to his father is indicative of this).

I can personally say that I’ve never thought it was wrong to be queer, yet I spent much of my life hiding who I was and feeling shame. It’s an odd thing! Perhaps it is that the shame forms purely from what is outside of us, while what is inside of us can love another person of the same sex, knowing it is right and pure. Perhaps these contradictions between self and society are what causes so much pain and conflict?

But back to Hawk. Hawk is undoubtedly most affected by his teenage first love experience. A love that he fucked up through his own fears (fear for many men is unacceptable and a sign of weakness), and now carries the burden of believing he is responsible for their death. Hawk doesn’t allow himself to love again, until Tim. And we see many times throughout the show how much Hawk fears losing Tim. And in the end he’ll have to face that fear. I think that, in part, not attempting to have a life with Tim, is also fuelled by his fear of fucking it up and losing Tim - so it’s easier to just not attempt it! In episode 7, when he loses his son, part of that spiral is Hawk recognising that he can’t really prevent loss, and he wasted his life trying to be something he’s not - still losing his child and Tim along with it.

But Hawk is a survivor! And no one has the right to hate or judge him for it. I don’t think some young people truly understand what it feels like to live in a world where who you love can put you in jail, and destroy your life. I grew up in the 70s/80s and my experiences were bad enough, but I try so very hard to think about what it was like before that! When being queer was a crime and a mental illness! That’s pure terror! And for Hawk, he chose to survive the best way he knew how, and he wasn’t able to change because that’s fucking hard when all you’ve known is living in constant ‘fight or flight,’ and when have chronic trauma and experience collective trauma.

I think in episode 8 we’ll finally get to see Hawk grow - I certainly hope so - because he deserves to be free. Our beautiful Skippy has been free for some time, and while we mourn for the cruelty of a world that would take such a truly decent man, I am glad he got to live freely. Being closeted is the worst kind of suffering- a compartmentalised and fragmented existence where you are never truly whole, and therefore can never be the best version of yourself.

Before I go, I just wanted to also talk about being in a closeted relationship-which I experienced in my youth. I think that Hawk and Tim’s intense and toxic and exquisitely beautiful relationship, in part, arises from this. Because two closeted people in love live their relationship in secret, in a bubble, only in certain rooms, with none of the outside world reflected back at them. It becomes the two of you against the world. It’s so insular. Hawk and Tim literally live their 1950s relationship within two rooms - their apartments. All their memories are held within those walls. And it only belongs to them. They know each in ways that no other living soul does. It’s all-consuming and often unhealthy, but also stupidly romantic.

Anyway, sorry for this long winded post that no one will read and is likely full of grammatical errors because I’m tired! This atheist is praying we get everything we need from episode 8! Acceptance, forgiveness, understanding resolution, healing and a whole lot of love! ❤️

Cheers queers! 🏳️‍🌈

PS Matt and Johnny are exquisite on and off screen and I am so thankful to them for bringing these characters and this story into our lives!

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Imagine Being Thomas Shelby's Twin

Platonic!Shelby Family x Fem!Reader

Various x Shelby!Reader Warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of past childhood neglect, period-typical sexism. The image below is just to visualize what a twin for Tommy could look like.

“You’re left, I’m right, therefore I’m never wrong.”

Aside from Polly, you know Tommy’s mind the best.

As children, you and Tommy were always together. Tommy would lead the way as you raced from one misadventure to the next. As his right hand it was your obligation to help him execute his tricks. Of which you were eager to join.

It was a common joke between you and Tommy to pretend to read each other’s minds. You would take hours practicing how to mirror each other’s body language and finishing each other’s sentences. The payoff was always excellent, and it resulted in most of Birmingham believing that the two of you had a genuine psychic link. Even as adults, you like to behave as if you can communicate telepathically. With how in tuned you are to one another, that ability could very well be real. 

As teenagers, you and Tommy drifted apart somewhat. He was always on the move. There was always some plot, some brawl, some girl. You were more than willing to help, but you became more of a thinker than a doer. Tommy could see that, and so he left you out in favor of using your brothers instead. Which hurt.

Although Tommy would grow into a prideful young gangster, he was still a dreamer. He would stay up late with you to go over his dreams and schemes. Together, you drafted up a gilded vision of what the Shelby family could be someday. To you, it was a lovely idea. To him, it was a bright future.

Back then, the days were bright and filled with laughter. You had a long line of admirers for your brothers to chase off, and Tommy had an equally long line of girls for you to warn. You used to walk on the sunnier side of life. Always thinking about the good in the world and prone to smoothing over the uglier parts to hide them away. Tommy used to say you had a “head full of flowers.” 

Things changed after the war. 

You absolutely joined your brothers in the war as a volunteer nurse. It was hard to leave home, but you had to stand by your brothers. Nothing could have prepared you for what lied ahead. 

Tommy was a different person when he came back, so were you. You still liked to laugh and dance, but your laugh felt hollow. He started talking about changing the family’s fortune much more often. Almost every night after the war he would stay up with you, planning all the ways he could strike gold. This time, you weren’t just dreaming, you were plotting right along with him. 

No matter the cost, you would see your family rise.

Aside from Polly, you know Tommy’s mind the best. You know when he’s lying, even when he’s lying to himself. When nobody can get through to him, they go to you. For your siblings, you act as an excellent sounding board for their potential requests or inquiries. Of course, Tommy can always tell when John or Arthur had spoken to you before pitching an idea to him… but it’s fine.

You are the right to his left and the heart to his mind. Together, you two are dangerously close to a functioning human being.

To Tommy, you are a sensitive spot. He bends easier to demands you make and he tends to listen more to your words. You are also someone that makes him very vulnerable. There are things Tommy has told you that no one knows about, not even Grace.

If you must accompany him to meet with potential associates and rivals, he keeps you close. 

That certainly hasn’t stopped certain men from trying to charm you. Billy Kimber, Darby Sabini, Alfie Solomons, Luca Changretta, Jack Nelson, and (sadly) Mr. Oswald Moseley. All the boys can’t help but turn their heads as you walk by. And it leaves your brother mildly stressed as they lose focus on the meeting to watch you reapply your lipstick.

Oswald seems the most determined to have his way with you. Something about having you would be the greatest victory against Tommy, fucking his precious twin. Luckily, you see through him and are disgusted. The same cannot be said for other would-be suitors.

Alfie Solomons has a sort of rawness that you find refreshing. He speaks in riddles and yet is unblinkingly straightforward. You like the way he tips his hat to you. Luca Changretta is one man you still think about at night. Had the mess with Angel Changretta never happened, you feel like you could've been happily married to a man like Luca. Jack Nelson has caused you almost as many problems as Alfie. He speaks plainly but not without calculation. The way he flirts is so smooth you forget it's happening. Tommy has refused your offers to go to America in his stead.

When and if you marry, it’s likely the marriage would be to someone Tommy sees as an asset. He won’t just let his good twin marry some oaf with no prospects. Expect him to demand a bride price for you along with a caravan filled with goods. 

For Tommy, you are his humanity. The side of him that still sees God in all things. The part of him that may yet go to heaven when she dies. Tommy must protect you, even as he resents you. If he were to ever lose you, God save his enemies.

[many-but-one]

i believe survivors of RAMCOA when they talk about the abuse they suffered, but the one thing i cannot wrap my head around is how abusers purposefully program alters? and this makes the moral ocd worms in my brain go NUTS.

i think i dont understand bc not every child who goes through severe torture/abuse will develop DID/OSDD and it feels way more probable that abusers arent attempting to make alters so much as theyre conditioning certain responses (and if a childs brain happens to split these experiences into alters then thats a byproduct that benefits the abuser).

all of this makes me feel like a bad ally to RAMCOA survivors, and while its not your job to educate me would you mind explaining how the programming alters aspect works?

[Trigger warning: talking about how programming works and why not all children who experience RAMCOA develop DID or may not end up becoming fully programmed. Brief mentions of child death. Mentions of child torture. Nothing in detail, obviously. Also talking a lot about how the deprogramming process works. If you are a programmed system yourself and you worry this could be triggering, have grounding items nearby just in case.]

Note: when I say “successfully” or “properly” programmed system, I’m talking about in the eyes of the abusers. Also, this is talking about TBMC (torture based mind control) programmers. I have to put that disclaimer because you wouldn’t believe how many confused computer programmers I’ve gotten in comment sections on other socials.

So, the reason not every child who goes through RAMCOA develops DID is because developing DID requires some pre-requisites. Things like genetic predisposition to dissociate actually do make a big difference. Also, how early the abuse started. If someone goes through RAMCOA trauma, but not until they’re older and their personality has already begun integrating (which can happen younger in some children, even as young as around age 5-7, though some researchers have said personality integration can happen as late as the teen years) it will be significantly harder to develop DID and therefore properly program the child. In addition, how much access programmers have to the child, how long they had access to the child, and how much support the child has outside of the abuse are also contributing factors.

If programmers see this kid one week out of the month, the parents don’t know about it and therefore the kid has a relatively okay home life with love and support, and they only have access to the kid for a couple years, that’s not going to be good grounds for programmers being able to properly do what they want to do. Some may still try if they don’t have access to anyone else, but this rarely creates a “successful” programmed system. Conversely, if they see the kid every day or multiple days a week, a parent is in on it/they have a bad home life where abuse (of possibly a lesser magnitude but not always) occurs, the parents are neglectful or very busy and likely to not notice things, and they have access to this kid for several years, that makes for a better chance that this kid will be properly programmed.

Because of all of these factors, programmers will often pick children who they know have parents with PTSD or CPTSD (or a dissociative disorder, if the parent has disclosed that to them), who they can access early in their life or have prior history of abuse (so are more likely to already have begun developing a dissociative disorder), and whom they have access to frequently. Sometimes, the child’s parent will be programmed by the group themselves and be born quite literally just to be programmed by the group. Some groups take great care in keeping family groups within the group because that creates stronger loyalty bonds and gives them easy access to children to program. It’s not uncommon for a group goal to be for their grown programmed systems to have kids to eventually give to the group, which is why apprehending a programmed system and having them work on deprogramming before this can happen is essential.

A lot of kids that programmers desire to program actually end up “failing out” because they aren’t able to take to the programming. Depending on the group, this could mean they will end the kid’s life or they will just stop the programming-related abuse altogether. And contrary to what most people know, even successfully programmed children have loads of failed programs, or parts that didn’t take well to programming. Most of the time these parts who have failed programming will be put in “discard areas” in the system’s inner world, and they will be either forced into dormancy or they will be stuck there until amnesia barriers eventually break down as the grown person starts to work on deprogramming (if they ever do.) A successfully programmed system’s most active parts are parts who did not fail their programming, and these are often the most well-rounded parts retrofitted with a personality that would have likely been created by the abusers.

To add: there is often layers upon layers of amnesia even in these single well-rounded parts (that often end up having an alters-in-alters subsystem, and said part might not even be aware they have one) and the “top part” or most front-facing part of that subsystem may not even be aware they are programmed. At least, until a cue happens and their program starts running and they start doing things they wouldn’t normally be doing. A lot of programmed parts don’t even know their own cues or even what traumas they have that would have created their programming. They might know they have trauma, but the memories of the programming might be missing, or the context surrounding the programming traumas might be missing. Usually these cues and context behind the traumas are hidden in EPs or fragments that are buried pretty deep within their subsystems. Accessing these EPs in therapy is integral to the deprogramming process, as learning what manipulations were done to make a programmed part believe what they do is essential in undoing it. All deprogramming really is, is showing programmed parts that what their abusers made them believe was true is a lie and that they are not at risk to be harmed anymore if they no longer have contact with the group. (Cutting off a system’s communication with the group is first and foremost what they should do when deprogramming)

As for your assumption, that abusers are trying to condition children and these experiences happen to split an alter to hold the conditioned response, you are partially right. In some cases, especially in cases where it’s a single parent or a family unit doing this to their own kids, it’s often more likely that the parent is not fully aware that they are creating a DID system. This is where the difference between programming and conditioning is important to note. We made a video about this here: link to TikTok video.

However, in larger groups, programmers do know they are creating a system. DID is not some unknown secret to much of the world, and research about it is easy to find. Even inexperienced groups can find research on DID and how alters form very easily and use that to try and create a system in a child. Whether or not they will be successful with that info alone is hard to say. I was abused by two different groups, one of them inexperienced and one of them very experienced. The initial attempts at programming were often unsuccessful, and we assume they got in contact with the experienced group to learn more and they essentially showed our main handler/programmer how it was done. (We have memories of him being taught and observing/taking part as necessary to the teachings, so this is not speculation, we know this was the case.) Once we were in the hands of the experienced group, we became very well programmed and our system’s organization changed massively. On top of that, the inexperienced group was now experienced, so we actually have alters who are programmed by two separate groups, each loyal to their own group. Some of our parts were loyal to both because they were programmed by both. (“Were” loyal because we’ve deprogrammed significantly and they no longer feel loyal to the groups anymore.)

Like I said in my initial post, programming alters is actually not that complicated on the surface, though in practice it is difficult, and to create a well programmed system takes a lot of skill and intelligence. Skilled programmers are unfortunately often incredibly smart individuals. Anyone who’s been willing to speak with me about their programmers often cite them as being people with high level college degrees. Doctors, engineers, mathematicians, scientists, psychologists. If not a college degree, they often work in areas like police work, political work, religious ministry, or other city/county/state positions. If none of these, they (horrifyingly) tend to work in areas where children are often present. Pediatric doctors/nurses, summer camp counselors, Sunday school teachers, daycare attendants, nannying jobs, teaching, etc. While not all programmers will fit this bill, a lot of them do. In the world outside of their programming job, they are often well-liked by their community. This is not to say everyone in these positions is a programmer, also. Want to make that REALLY clear. Not every person with this job has a secret side job of torturing kids, these just happen to be common areas they tend to gravitate toward. They are often thrill-seeking sadists and egocentric. Having a position in their community in which they are consistently recognized for their accomplishments or adored is often important to them. Sometimes, programmers are also programmed themselves, especially in large groups with generational aspects involved.

Now that that’s out of the way, I’m not going to explain in explicit detail how programming works because that doesn’t make me comfortable to share, but a very dumbed down version of it is pretty simple:

1) torture child to create alter splits

2) get one of these splits to front via triggers related to the torture that caused them to split

3) indoctrinate them with a behavior or action that, if they do not do that action, means they will be punished further. While they are doing said action/being indoctrinated with certain beliefs, have a specific trigger or cue present so that when they see that trigger/cue in the future, they will immediately do the action/enforce the beliefs they have been taught.

4) repeat steps 1-3, basically.

This is why I explained that programming is kind of like conditioning on steroids. Except the child is severely manipulated, tortured, and has extreme threats of harm to self or others to reinforce it, and this is done repeatedly, to the point where it causes the alter extreme duress if they do not do their assigned task because if they didn’t do their task in the past (in childhood) they would be tortured or would have to witness other children be tortured. They will fully believe if they do not do the thing, they or others WILL be hurt, and they believe the programmers WILL know if they don’t, so they often just do it automatically in efforts to avoid the punishment they believe is coming. It is extremely hard for them to override the emotional flashbacks, somatic flashbacks, etc, if they try to resist doing the task. Adding onto that, programmers will often create alters who will punish parts in the inner world the same way the abusers would if they do not do their task, so that is another layer of fear on top of that. These programmed parts often cannot distinguish the difference between outer world torture and inner world torture, as they rarely get contact with the outside world except to do their tasks. So if they don’t do their task, they will be punished by alters in the inner world space and they may fully believe they are being punished in real life. Creating safe spaces for alters to go in the inner world if they don’t do their assigned task is an important part of deprogramming. Because once an alter realizes they will not be punished both externally and internally by not doing a certain action, they will be much less inclined to do said action.

If all of that sounds extremely messed up and fucks with your moral OCD, you’re right to feel that way. It is messed up. These people are vile, fucked up, and cruel. They often do not see the children as human beings and care not of how much this damages the child physically, psychologically, and emotionally. These children are dehumanized beyond belief. Many programmed parts of a system do not see themselves as human unless they were specifically meant to be human. Commonly created alters are things with no free will or no ability to think for themselves, such as angels, robots, and inanimate objects. If a child truly believes they cannot think for themselves, it will be harder to deprogram them. Which is why deprogramming often involves teaching the grown system that they are allowed to make choices outside of their group’s desires and control. It is not easy.

For those that read this and are feeling dissociated and/or anxious, remember your grounding techniques. Get some mints, cinnamon candies, or sour candies and munch. Smell a strong scented candle. Hold some ice or hand warmers in your hands. Look around the room and pick out items that you recognize to be from the present. Pet a cat/dog/[insert animal here] or hug a stuffed animal. Remember, it is currently 2024 and you are safe. Your abusers will not know you read this unless you tell them yourself. You are brave, capable, and safe. I believe in you and your healing journey.

Take care, everyone.

[scarletcomalies]

broken reflection

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Word count: 5,342

A/N: This story is inspired by Elizabeth Olsen's character in Love And Death. However, I must clarify that while I appreciate her performance in the show, I don’t agree with nor glorify the actions of the real-life person she portrays, Candy Montgomery. Therefore, I made the decision to switch the character to Wanda Maximoff and create a “multiverse” storyline. I was inspired by someone else who did a similar switch, and I felt that it was the right decision for my own. With nothing else to add, I hope you enjoy!

Marriage was supposed to be your happy ending, but as your marriage deteriorated, an encounter with another woman opened your eyes to a new world of possibilities and desires you never knew existed.

Time seemed to pass at a frantic pace whenever you found yourself immersed in your most tormenting thoughts. The ceiling, which you watched as you lay in your bed, became your silent witness, as the moonlight streaming in through the window illuminated the cracks in the ceiling, which you could have sworn, you knew by heart by that point.

You caught yourself finding comfort in those seemingly insignificant details, but at that moment, they seemed to be the only tangible things in your life.

Because, no one had prepared you for this.

For as long as you could remember, the idea of marriage had been presented to you as something wonderful, as a kind of destiny that you had to reach in order to be happy and fulfilled. And very late you realized that, in your quest to find that sense of belonging and fulfillment you so longed for, you had fallen into the error of looking for in marriage what you should have found within yourself.

"I worked my ass off to give you everything you needed, I spoiled you rotten, and the one thing you were supposed to give me in return, you couldn't give it to me!" He exclaimed when he came home from work at nine o'clock at night, and you found yourself in the painful position of telling him again that no, you were not in the mood to try.

He had never told you anything like that, at least not explicitly. However, he always let you know by giving you those little looks whenever he saw those happy families with their children in the park, or disguised as a brief "we're working on it" whenever the subject came up in those absurd after-dinner conversations he made you attend. He never felt the need to say those hurtful words to you, until that time.

You could hear your mother's voice echoing in your head, "That's what you get for marrying so young, to someone so old." And yes, you were the youngest of all the wives who gathered after church on Sundays. From the way they talked to you, it was obvious that they thought you were so ignorant of everything just because you were young.

Before, every day of your marriage felt like a fairy tale, everything seemed solved, and you thought you had fulfilled your purpose. It wasn't until, for a change, some idiot friend of James' decided to pick on him by telling him that he was "falling behind."

What hurt the most was that he was looking for in children what you were looking for in marriage, both wrong because, you insisted, it was within you. That was why you refused to even try, in the first place. Being a father wasn't supposed to be just a compensation for his lack of fulfillment.

After failing miserably to go to sleep at a decent hour, you woke up at noon and realized that he was gone. It wasn't the first time he had breakfast out because you simply refused to wake up to prepare him something. The only reason it didn't bother him was because afterward, he took advantage to see other women. Oh, you knew, he didn't even deign to hide it.

Even if you weren't doing the same thing, you supposed you could care less anyway. Any semblance of love had vanished so long ago, but you couldn't afford to be as bold as he was, because you repeated, you were doing the same thing, seeing other women...

... or rather, another woman.

It all happened when one Sunday night, which you thought would end up as hell, was what started a part of your life that really meant something. Very chaotic and perhaps sick to consider it as such, but all you aspired to was those weekday evenings. Before, you had nothing to aspire to, no one you really wanted to give yourself to in that sense.

For a change, you were fighting with your husband. You were eagerly talking to the women about everything and nothing at the same time when he called you over to talk, and his expression was so serene that it was inevitable to think it was not good.

"You'll be happy now! I'm the laughing stock of all my friends because they know we are not even trying to have a child," he blurted out, his alcohol breath invading your nose, causing you a feeling of revulsion immediately.

"How fragile you are to accept a commitment as big as a child is, just because you can't stand the awful comments," you replied, almost in a mocking tone. He hated that, he hated that you seconded all the remarks in some way. His friends teased him because you refused to sleep with him, and you teased him because he cared. It was his nightmare and your delight.

"Not everything is about having kids! They know you're disgusted by me!" He clarified, and just imagining the kind of conversations they were having made you loathe him even more.

"We women are not trophies for you to show off. We are human beings," you replied, pushing him slightly, which was enough for him to fall like a sack of potatoes. "How empty-minded are you guys that the only remarkable thing you have to say is whether or not you slept with a woman, huh?"

He stood up awkwardly and laughed.

"Spare me your feminist talk, I'm outta here," he growled and proceeded to walk off to who knows where.

You let out a long sigh after watching his figure shrink in size until he became invisible to your eyes. Every time he was gone, you felt free. It was as if all your problems disappeared in the form of a loathsome person like he was.

You felt even too guilty because that day you wished he would dawn lost somewhere and never find his way back or have a horrible accident.

"What you said is too true," you heard a voice behind you, making you startle.

You looked around until you came upon Wanda in the driver's seat of her car, with the window open. You were so immersed in your discussion that you didn't even notice that she had been listening to everything.

"I'm sorry you had to witness this," you muttered, lowering your head.

"You know, I always thought of you as a naive girl who doesn't have a fucking clue, but I realize you have guts. Even more than many in there," she ignored your apology, and at her statement, you didn't know whether to be flattered or offended.

"I guess it only takes being ten years younger than you for you to condemn me like that," you shrugged, opting to feel satisfied. This was a great opportunity to prove yourself wrong.

"What are you talking about? That's a lifetime!" She exclaimed as she laughed. You really appreciated that she decided to lighten up what could have been another argument with a little joke, where she made fun of her own mistake. That definitely marked a before and after between you two.

"You're right, you were all here by the time Queen Elizabeth was born," you joked back, causing her to let out a loud laugh that even echoed throughout the neighborhood. It was her reaction that made you laugh even harder.

That day, she asked you to go with her in the car and get lost around the neighborhood. It was almost like a therapeutic session; she talked about her husband, and you talked about yours. You made them the biggest targets of ridicule and insults for maybe three hours, and only stopped when you went to a gas station store to buy snacks and subsequently find a spot in a parking lot on top of a building.

"Don't you sometimes wish you had met other people?" you concluded, as she finished telling you how her husband responded to a piece she wrote. With such indifference that it made you feel extremely indignant.

"All the time," she confirmed, nodding. "Sometimes I imagine what my life would have been like if I had married someone who cared about my mind and not my uterus, and who treats me like a diamond in the rough that values at all times, and not like a trophy that just shows off but leaves to rest in some closet as soon as everyone is gone."

"That's me!" you laughed, placing your hand above hers to squeeze it, as a sign of comfort.

"But I do have a better proposition for you, why don't you start by doing it yourself? Prove to yourself that you're more than what your stupid husband thinks you are, and maybe that will even give you the courage to walk away from him if that's what you want."

You felt a mixture of fear and excitement at the idea. Could you really do it? Would you be able to find the strength to stand on your own two feet and figure out what are your own dreams, even if it meant abandoning the security of your marriage?

You looked at her, who was smiling encouragingly at you, and you felt a surge of gratitude for the moment you shared. Maybe it was time to take a chance and see what else life had to offer.

"...Wow! Such wonderful words were not rehearsed before? You're a natural," you praised her. She blushed slightly at that. "Keep in mind that I'll think about it carefully."

"Think about it! Besides, my husband is an idiot and your husband is an idiot, what would you say if... we found that courage between us? That way maybe we won't settle for less," her voice became raspy in a matter of seconds, as she leaned towards you.

"Oh, sure! Keep in mind that I'm willing to support you...-"

"Look, regardless of that silly prejudice I had about you, when we were playing volleyball, and the sweat was running down your tight blouse... oh, you have no idea what it provoked inside me," she confessed. "Today when I saw you put that fucker in his place, I realized, I'm incredibly attracted to you."

You watched her for a moment, and noticed how her green eyes turned dark. Who were you kidding? If you didn't want James to lay a finger on you it was because it was women like Wanda that you coveted with your being to do whatever they wanted with you.

"I'm not going to lie to you, I was only going to volleyball to see you," you whispered, as if you weren't the only souls in that compound.

You weren't lying. You weren't a big fan of going to physically exhaust yourself after the mental exhaustion that being under the same roof as that disgusting man brought you. However, the mere thought of Wanda being there made you become the most passionate athlete.

"Would you be interested in having an affair?" She inquired without preamble.

Every day used to feel like a cycle of dreary routines from which you could find no escape, leaving you with a sense of longing for something different to shake up your existence. You never imagined, however, that said "something" would be an affair with Wanda Maximoff.

Instead, you adopted an exciting routine that was previously calculated, in order to be able to get away with it, and so far, not a soul suspected you.

However, you were also highly involved in the delight of each other's company, so there was no danger in going to the movies, shopping, visiting each other at home to simply read together, or sharing a lunch.

You hoped that, like you, Wanda would also feel that your presence had irrevocably improved her life, for it was evident that you found in her what you knew you would never find in anyone else.

And so the sleepless nights had become somewhat more frequent than usual. They were minutes turning into hours, until the light of a new dawn appeared through the windows of the room.

Your thoughts were mainly shaped by the failure of your marriage, which there was no longer any point in fighting to save, and how it all led to an affair whose most essential rule you had broken: don't fall in love.

Fortunately, you would fall asleep after your idiot husband left the bed and his scent gradually faded away. It was during those nights that you longed to find yourself on Wanda's chest instead, with her intoxicating scent invading your nostrils. For you, it was one of the most effective ways for you to sleep.

"Who is this?" You groaned, after the ringing of the phone had woken you from your slumber. It was when you saw the clock hanging on the wall that you realized it was four-thirty in the afternoon.

"Your mistress," Wanda laughed on the other end of the phone, replacing annoyance with a feeling of happiness that only she knew how to bring.

The more you fell in love with her, the more you knew this was doomed to fail. You could feel the impending apocalypse, the moment when she would break your heart because you were asking for too much. She was the only solace in a world that had lost all meaning, and you refused to lose her.

"Oh," You replied with a chuckle. "Are there plans for today?"

"I'm too excited to see the new Star Wars movie, and I was wondering if you'd like to go watch it with me," she proposed. "I know we went to the movies recently, but I really hope you don't mind..."

"Yes! You'd love to go with you," You exclaimed, with a huge smile plastered on your face. "If you want to go to the movies a thousand times, a thousand times I'll go with you."

"Yay, perfect! I'll pick you up in an hour and a half," she anticipated you. "See you then."

As soon as you hung up the phone, you set about taking a shower, putting on an outfit and applying makeup that would leave you sufficiently satisfied with your appearance. In a matter of effectively an hour, you were fully ready.

You were putting away the mess you had left behind when you heard your doorbell ring, and with great joy, you ran to the front door.

There she was, with a smile even bigger than yours, and she didn't hesitate for a second to throw herself at you and hug you warmly.

"You look beautiful," You complimented her, appreciating her green orbs and full lips that once kissed every inch of your being.

With a slight blush on her cheeks, she looked around, then grabbed the back of your neck and kissed your lips.

As if it was the first time ever, the softness of her lips against yours was an indescribable sensation that never failed to make you melt by her touch and surrender to her.

"And you look divine," she whispered, a few millimeters away, causing you to feel her hot breath as if it were your own.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless and flushed. You looked into her eyes and she returned your gaze with a look that was a mixture of passion and maybe, just maybe, a reciprocated feeling of love.

***

"Have you eaten yet, darling?" she asked, once you stopped in front of the cinema, whose line was somewhat extensive.

One thing you greatly appreciated was that concern which was represented through small actions, as in this case, they were questions of whether you had eaten, and at other times they regarded your sleeping habits or whether you had eaten something really healthy and not just fast food from some restaurant nearby. These were acts that may have been automatic and even inert to her, but to you they meant the world.

"I know that tone you take when you've just woken up," she began, referring to the way you answered the phone. "And since I only gave you an hour's notice, I guess you didn't get to eat."

You laughed at her conclusion, which completely evidenced how well she knew you and how interested she seemed in you, "You got me, but it's okay, popcorn will do."

"Not a chance," she countered, predictably. "Let's get you something to eat, and we'll smuggle it into the cinema to make it more fun," she proposed.

You nodded, knowing that she always found ways to make any situation more exciting.

Together you headed towards a small food stall near the cinema, and as you waited for your order, you couldn't help but feel grateful to have someone so thoughtful and considerate by your side.

Once your plates of food were delivered, you took care to hide them appropriately in your respective bags, and, after purchasing your tickets and popcorn, you proceeded to walk towards the cinema, completely satisfied with your successful smuggling.

Finally, you found your seats in the darkness of the theatre, surrounded by the fragrance of corn and butter. You looked to your side and saw Wanda already looking in your direction. It was there that you confirmed once again that the movie didn't matter as much as the fact that you were there together, sharing a fun moment where you could escape for a brief moment.

The film turned out to be shocking in every way.

From the very beginning, it kept you on the edge of your nerves with its intense and exciting plot. The pace of the film gradually picked up and the tension built up. The scenes were shocking and you were holding each other's hands tightly.

It was then that the unexpected plot twist occurred that left you gasping.

The iconic "I am your father" stunned everyone, especially the woman next to you, who was perhaps the biggest fan of the franchise in this room.

"No way," she whispered, and you noticed her eyes watering. "There is no way!"

You couldn't lie, you were just as surprised. Even though it all started as a way to keep Wanda company, you couldn't help but feel moved. You could say you were even beginning to understand what all the fuss was about.

Once the film was over, she stared into the void for a long time, still processing what had happened.

"Do you want me to drive?" You proposed, somewhat amused at her state, but also willing to help and understand her.

"No no, I'm fine, come on! I'm not a teenager!" She shook her head, heading for the passenger door and opening it for you - a gesture you adored.

"Thank you, ma'am," You thanked her, getting into the car. Once she made her way to the driver's seat, you decided to comfort her a little. "Sometimes you're a teenager... sometimes we are. I think growing up is overrated."

She took your hand in hers, and kissed it affectionately, "I wish it was like that all the time and not sometimes; I wish all the time I could have exciting experiences that constantly make me feel on top of the world. I wish I could give that to you all the time. If only we could get married... I swear I would make you the happiest, as happy as I know you would make me."

"Unfortunately you have Vision and I have James... society is slowly programming us to be another one of the bunch, another model of the housewives we're expected to be," You retorted, feeling infected by her melancholy. "That's why we have this, to escape from time to time."

"But I don't want it from time to time! You know something? I've had it with Vision," she stated, starting her car. "I'm sick of him not touching me, not listening to me, and just watching his stupid show."

Your eyes widened.

You never imagined hearing her say that. Sure, you complained about your husbands and the life they gave you, it just didn't seem feasible for neither of you to leave them.

But in the end, why couldn't you have what Steve and Peggy had, for example? And that's when you knew you could have it, you were just with the wrong people. The biggest question was, if Wanda got this person, was she going to leave you? Was it going to be really you?

And that was your biggest epiphany.

You didn't care if you could never have her the way you wanted her, just having her in your life in any way was more than enough. You wanted her happiness even if it was at the cost of your own, and that's when you realized that what you felt was love at its best.

"What are you going to do?" You questioned, once you came back to your senses. It wasn't until you got to your house that it happened.

"I'm going to take all the money he keeps hidden in that shoe box, get the hell out of this town and start over," she replied. "I've been thinking about it for about two weeks now, but I think it's time."

You felt a lump in your throat as you listened to Wanda's words. You couldn't believe that she was planning to go away and leave everything behind, and that on top of it all, she had her mind completely made up.

You had been through so much together, you had laughed, cried and shared unforgettable moments. But now, it seemed that all that would come to an end. You would return to that monotony where you desperately searched for something that could make the day different from others. You missed your home, your family, your friends... and it wasn't your husband, it was Wanda who made you feel that leaving all that behind was for the best.

And again, if she promised to do her best to find the happiness you knew she longed for as well, then this too would be worth it.

Tears began to well up in your eyes as you tried to keep your composure. You struggled for words, for inevitably, sadness gripped your heart. Goodbyes were never easy.

"What are you doing? Why are you crying?" Wanda asked, taking your face in her hands.

"It's just... I don't want to lose you, I love you and going back to the life before I met you is scary, but if that's what you want, then..."

"Don't be silly, you're coming with me," she interrupted, wiping your cheeks with her thumbs. "Wait, you said you loved me?"

You were surprised to hear Wanda's question, immediately mentally beating yourself up for not having calculated your words, but, to your surprise, you also felt a surge of joy at finally being able to express your feelings.

"Yes, I said I love you, silly!" You exclaimed, as if it hadn't been obvious enough. "Look at this godforsaken mess that you've made of me. You're like a bright light in my life, you're the only one who makes me laugh until my cheeks go numb, you make me feel alive, you taught me colors after I got used to so much black and white, you taught me a language I can't speak to someone else. You're everything I ever dreamed I could find in someone, how could I not love you?"

"We don't need to get married, we don't need a damn piece of paper to be happy. Happiness is the most important thing and we already have it," she said, moving closer to press her lips against yours for a moment. "I love you madly. Thank you for opening my eyes. You were my motivation for coming up with this plan in the first place, now that I know what it's like to really live, I refuse to go back to what came before."

"How are we going to do that?" You inquired, somehow reminding her that you too had an issue to disengage from.

"Meet me at midnight."

Once you returned home, you found the person you were unexpectedly certain you would leave behind in a matter of hours.

He had his feet up on the coffee table, his hair tousled and his tie undone, his eyes too focused on the television, which fortunately were struggling to stay open.

"You should go to sleep, or you'll have a very hard time getting up tomorrow," You suggested, knowing full well that you were only going to earn a complaint.

"It's my problem if I want to stay up all night," he grunted, straightening his posture to wake up a little. Even he couldn't deny that it was in vain.

With a scoff, you dropped your bag on the kitchen counter and headed for the bedroom.

You had to pack as soon as possible so that when James decided to go to bed, you wouldn't be caught literally displacing your entire life in a single suitcase.

You started with your clothes, which you folded into rolls so they would fit more effectively, and proceeded to take your beauty products, hygiene products, belongings that held sentimental significance, and sadly, space only allowed you to pack two pairs of your favorite shoes. It was a huge suitcase, the same one you used when you moved here, and you were even surprised at how much you could fit in it. You guess it was again going to accompany you in a new scenario, this time a successful one.

You heard James' clumsy footsteps approaching the room. By that time, you had the suitcase packed and hidden under the bed, waiting for midnight. It was only half an hour away.

He collapsed into bed, not bothering to change or pull the covers over himself. He just tossed and turned, with nothing else on his mind but sleep as soon as possible.

When the time came, you let out a deep sigh and carefully got out of bed, feeling your every movement like an explosion in the darkness of the room.

Once you felt more confident, you slowly bent down towards the suitcase you had hidden under the bed. Every inch you moved was a huge effort, but you knew you couldn't afford to be discovered.

Finally, you reached for the suitcase and carefully pulled it out. Each movement was as if you were touching a taut string, expecting that at any moment it might snap and make everything fall apart. Likewise, each step you took seemed to be heavier than the last, but without looking back for a moment, you kept moving forward, knowing that you were on the last step of your escape.

You heard footsteps approaching from behind and your heart began to pound.

No, no, no. You refused to turn around and look. You were too close!

You tried not to think about it, to convince yourself that everything was fine, but it was impossible.

Suddenly, a hand landed on your shoulder and you were startled. You turned around to face James, who was standing there, his eyes full of sadness and worry.

"Let me go, James. There's nothing you can do to stop me," you said quietly, trying to hide your fear.

"I know," he said in a calm voice. "I'm not going to stop you. There's no point in keeping this marriage if you're not happy. If I'm not happy. Go with her."

You were shocked to hear those words coming out of James' mouth. For so long, you had been holding back your true feelings for fear of hurting him, and that it would end badly. He already knew that, and he accepted it.

Your expression made him chuckle, "I saw you kissing before you came in," as if reading your thoughts, he confessed what you were wondering. "I just want you to know that I've been watching you for a while now. I noticed how happy you were coming back after spending time with her. Only someone very cruel would stand in the way of that... I'm not cruel, even though I haven't done a very good job of showing it."

You couldn't help but feel some gratitude towards James for being so understanding. It was a strange feeling, considering you were running away from him, but in that moment, you felt that you had finally found someone who understood what was going through your mind.

"You're not the only one who's been seeing other people. I've been seeing... men, too." He confessed, leaving you paralyzed, not knowing what to say. You never would have imagined James would say something like that to you. You felt confused, shocked, and at the same time, a little relieved. At least you weren't the only one who had been hiding something. "You should learn from me, I was careful about it," James joked, trying to lighten the tension in the air.

Finally, you found the right words, "Thank you, James. For understanding me, for being honest. I don't know what's going to happen to me and Wanda from now on, but I'm sure I'll find my way to happiness. And please do whatever it takes to find yours too, no matter with whom it is."

He simply nodded, an understanding expression on his face. "I promise I will, and I hope this isn't goodbye."

James and you hugged each other tightly, sharing an emotional moment that would seal the end of your marriage. It was amazing how this moment of parting was the one where you felt the most respect and compassion for him, and you could tell the feeling was mutual. It would have been easier if instead of condemning each other, you had been willing to understand each other.

Afterwards, he offered to walk you to the car towards Wanda, and you accepted. You walked together in silence, as if you both knew it was better to leave words behind.

The older woman was waiting inside the car, and both James and you laughed as her jaw practically dropped to the floor when she saw you. The confusion was palpable on every faction of her face.

James walked over to her and took her hand, looking at her lovingly, "Take care of each other as only you know how, love each other as you deserve to be loved, because you two are amazing people and deserve all the best in life." He told her sincerely, conveying his flooding desire to redeem himself.

Wanda was overwhelmed by your now ex-husband's words, and nodded tearfully. "Thank you for trusting me with something as precious as the happiness of this one right here."

James gave you one last hug before walking away, and Wanda's gaze was still fixed on him with equal parts sadness and gratitude.

You placed your suitcase in the trunk, and subsequently made your way to the passenger seat.

Wanda asked, "Do I want to know what happened?"

"Long story," you sighed, letting out the air you'd been holding in for far too long.

"Well, we have a long trip waiting for us. There's time," she started the car's engine.

With great excitement, your story with Wanda began this way, the person with whom you were destined to witness fulfillment at its greatest expression.

Together you started a business and lived on it, your daily routines never lacked for adventure and laughter. Every day your love grew more and more, and you never looked back, always moving forward together.

You fondly remember how each sunrise was like a new roller coaster of emotions, always full of new challenges. And in the most difficult moments, when darkness threatened to invade you, you clung to your union, knowing that together you could overcome any obstacle.

And so, with Wanda by your side, living each day with passion and enthusiasm, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be, living your life to the fullest alongside the person you love most in this world.

[annastylepie]

The messenger

Dp x Dc prompt 2 uwu

imadgine danny moves to gotham for a new life and trying to no longer be a hero decides to therefore move to a place that already has heroes and enoght ambient ectoplasm to sustain healty or something. I imadine this appening after jason just started as robin

What danny seems to only realize after a couplt weeks in the city is that the other citicents can't see all the ghosts around them, or well any ghosts at all not even him when in phantom form and that is when he isn't invisible. Why can the Amity parkers see the ghosts? I believe that all the ecto exposure gave them the ability or smth.

So danny goes around greeting the Ghosts talking to them chilling in random corners and vibing with different ghosts talking about live and death. I imadgine danny would help some ghosts into the Zone to help them. After some time and many recently deseased asking him to deliver messenges to their loved ones he gives and finds the families friends partners pets and in very rare cases even plants of the ghosts to deliver the messenges. Some ghosts feel ready to move on afterwards and go to the zone others stick around and regularly chill with Danny. I imadgine some would also just always stick around with him and might help him out at times like reminding him of some stuff or warning him when he is about to get mugged or jumped or whatever.

The Gothamites after some time take note of the deadly pale young man delivering the last masseges of their loved ones. He soon becomes a legend and if he approaches you with the look of sorrow you just know someone died or you will recieve the saddest "they loved you, they missed you, they are so so proud of you, they are sorry etc, etc" at times it seems that if you touch the massenger you can see the ghost of the ghost standing with you after delivering the massege and asking if they have any last words for the person to be delivered. Afterward the boy and the ghosts would dissapear from view

The young boy wandering the streets at all hours that can't be mugged jumped or even suprised is the legend you can't find him if you search for him nobody knows who he is or where he'd come from or where he'd go.

Some would call him cotton eyed Joe

Some Says he is a ghost

Others say he is a Grim reaper

Some says he is the murderer of the people whose massenges he delivers

and then others don't believe in him until they saw him with their own eyes

Whoever he is he is sitting dangerously close to the edge of a building currently as Batman is watching him. Batman makes a step closer to the boy. In the exact moment said boy turns around. A sorrowful looks comes over his face. He makes a step closer to Batman.

"Bruce Wayne" The Boy spoke looking seemingly right throu the cowl and taking bruce by surprise

"What?"

"your Parents are so Proud of you they hoped to have more time to be with you in Person."

"they wh-"

"They never blamed you and want you to know that they are so proud of you and your new family and to never forget what is important"

"I- they- "

"Do you have a messege for them?" the boy asks touching the hand of bruce. Bruce sees a flash of his parents next to him before reflexively pulling his hand back and slowing down.

"Is-Is this real?"

wordlessly the boy touches his shoulder and he sees them a tear escapes his eyes and a soft "I am so sorry" escapes and after the blink of the eye the boy and his parents disapear.

This was not how bruce wanted this to go.

He didn't see the boy again but not because of lack of trying but because there is litterly nothing to find of him it is like he doesn't even exist unless he stopped aging at some point. He does look a lot like the missing fenton kid from a couple years back.

However after jasons death after Nightwing tried to kill the Joker he sees the kid again not a day older then when he first saw him this time however bruce was just bruce and not batman.

"bruce wayne"

"yes"

" Your son Jason"

"Can I see him" he asks looking hopeful but unsetteld he was never this open he already acted weard when the kid showed up the first time. This wasnt any betters.

the boy touchers his shoulder and there he is his Jason his youngest bird, the late robin. Tears well up at the corner of bruces eyes but not letting them fall.

"I am so so sorry. I wasn't fast enoght I couldn't protect you" bruce weeps

"There was nothing you could have done. He forgives you for not saving him in Time. He wants Justice for his death and want s you to take care of it"

"I will do my best" not a moment after those words left bruces mouth the child and his late son dissapeared and Bruce has a mission. He will destroy the Jokers live he will make sure he won't hurt anyone ever again. But he won't kill him.

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

For the romantic dialogue prompt 11. “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” Nat is in love with reader but doesn’t want to say it because she doesn’t think reader will feel the same/she’s insecure and doesn’t think she deserves reader. Ofc reader loves Nat (who wouldn’t?) and they get together and live happily ever after. lots of hurt/comfort

Authors note: sorry its so late, but I hope you enjoy it!

Authors note 2.0: requests are still closed. I’m trying to clear my inbox before opening them again. Thank you for your patience 💖

Word count: 3251 Nat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

 Natashas heart hammers in her chest as she runs down the compound's various hallways. The quinjet landed only minutes ago so she's racing to make it to the med bay where she knows the team, and therefore you will be.

   As she enters through the double doors the sound of Peter sniffling coupled with the crestfallen looks on Tony and Clints faces tell her all her worst fears are coming true, and she almost doesn’t want to face that. But she knows she has to. If not for herself, then for you. She can be strong for you.

   “How- how is she?” 

   Tony lowers his gaze, “Not good. She got hit really hard out there.”

   “We honestly didn’t think we’d get her back in time. She's very lucky.” Clint admits, looking at Nat in a way the billionaire had never seen before. If he had to describe it he’d say it  was a mix of stern disappointment yet hopeful encouragement. How a person can combine those looks is beyond him, but he's sure it's some sort of signal. A way for the two spies to communicate without words like they so often do.

   “Y/ns strong.” the redhead proclaims, trying to calm herself, “She’ll be ok.”

   Clint looks away from her then too and she can feel her stomach drop and her mouth go dry at his lack of agreement and comfort. She swallows harshly, desperate to keep her tears at bay. If she doesn't cry then she can act like this doesn’t affect her, like none of this is really happening. You aren’t in some operating room right now hanging on against the odds, fighting for your life. She's not head over heels in love with you, desperate to be yours and be by your side forever…But you are, and she is.

   She very much is, and right now she can’t help but feel like an absolute moron. Despite her fears and insecurities she should have risked it. Maybe then she would have had time with you. To hold you, to cherish and love you and get the same from you in return. But now…no, no she can’t think like that. You’ll be ok. You have to be, because if you're not, then she won’t be. 

   “I’m so sorry Miss Romanoff” Peter whimpers, and her head swivels to look at him, “I really messed up. Y/ns hurt because of me….I’m so so sorry”

   Natasha doesn’t know what happened out there, but she knows your affinity for the boy, how you became attached to him nearly the second Tony brought him in. So much so that your protectiveness for him rivals the fatherly instincts the billionaire himself has for the young hero. And she knows Peter, she's been training him, so she knows him better than he even thinks she does. He doesn’t always watch his six and he would never hurt a teammate on purpose, least of all you. This was an accident. Sometimes missions just went wrong, it wasn’t anyone's fault but the enemies and she knows you wouldn’t want Peter to be blaming himself for this.

    “Malen'kiy pauk(little spider), Y/n would do anything to keep you safe. Whatever happened was not your fault, because you've done nothing wrong.” 

   Faster than humanly possible Peter launches himself into her arms, and as his head comes to rest against her shoulder she finally lets her resolve crumble. Hot tears run down her cheeks faster than she ever thought imaginable, and she hopes Peter can't feel the sheer volume that's landing against his neck, though she knows he wouldn't say anything about it even if he did.

   “She's hurt really bad” Peter whimpers out through his sobs, “She might be dying”

   Natasha desperately shakes her head, “No. She'll pull through.”

   A few moments of silence pass before she's brave enough to speak again, “She…she’ll pull through. She has to. I- I need her to be ok.”

   Finally Clint comes over and wraps his arms around the two of them. He knows by the way Natasha trembles that she’s close to her absolute breaking point. And he's not sure that she’d be comfortable being that vulnerable in front of Tony and Peter, even if the genius absolutely knew about the not so secret pining. And of course the teen had his own suspicions. Nat was secretive when it came to emotions, and she had her reasons to be. So he’ll do what he can to help her keep some comfort.

   She clutches onto the archers shirt as if it were her lifeline, and he tentatively squeezes her shoulder to prove he's there for her. He’ll be her rock whenever she needs him to be, it's been this way since she opened up to him all those years ago and he’ll happily let it stay that way until the very end. He considers it an honor that she trusts him enough to let him see this perceived weaker version of herself.

    “Tell me she'll pull through Clint, please.”  

   He sighs, the answer won’t be what she wants to hear and it will break her further, but he owes the truth to her. He can’t give her false hope. She needs to be prepared. “I wish I could Nat, truly. But she really was in a really bad state when we got her here. If Tony hadn’t flown her here from the quinjet I don’t know if she would have been breathing”

   Sure enough a sob escapes her, and her trembling only worsens as Peter all but collapses against her. Clint holds them up to the best of his ability while sparing an urgent glance in Tony's direction. The older man quickly makes his way over to the three and gently loops his arms under Peters.

   “C'mon kid. I got ya. Let's get you sitting down, alright?” 

   Peter only manages to nod as Tony walks away with him, leading him back to where he’d first been sat. Natasha allows Clint to fully envelope her in his embrace then, and she finds the guilt of all the possibilities that could have been between the two of you is crashing down on her shoulders with the weight of cinder blocks.

   “I never told her” she whispers into his chest, and he doesn’t ask for clarification because he knows all too well what she means. He'd been trying to convince her to admit her feelings for years now, “I need more time…I just wasn’t ready, but I should have pushed myself. I should have found a way to make her understand even if I can’t say the words.”

   He pulls back from her, places his hands on both her shoulders and looks her dead in the eyes, “Then Natasha, if she makes it through this, that's exactly what you do, ok? You march in there and you do whatever you have to to get your chance.”

   Her lower lip quivers, “B- but what do I do if she doesn’t? What if…what if I never get my chance because I was a coward?”

   “Oh honey” he coos, pulling her back into a hug, “You were scared. Scared to be loved and to be vulnerable. Scared Y/n wouldn't feel the same. Scared that you wouldn’t know what to do. Scared you didn’t deserve her. And all these are normal feelings somebody has in this kinda situation. Unfortunately the circumstances of your past made those fears even worse for you, that doesn’t make you a coward.”

   She looks at him, tears streaming down her reddened face with her lower lip trembling. His heart sinks in his chest seeing her like this. So open and with her feelings, so scared to lose you. He gently wipes her cheeks with his calloused thumbs, “You're the strongest and bravest person I know Nat.”

   “I second that statement” Tony speaks up from next to the teen, “And I’m lab partners with the Hulk so i know a thing or two about strength.”

   His reply gets a small twitch of her lip and roll of her eyes in response, and he knows that with the way she feels right now that those actions were worth more than a Hollywood actor's showstopping grin. And the fact that he was able to gain that response makes him beam with pride. He cheered her up, if only just a tiny smidge, but he’d gladly take it.

   Before anything else can be said by anyone the med bays main doors open, and a doctor steps through. Natashas attention is on him at once, and she quickly approaches, “Is Y/n- er, Agent Y/l/n alright?”

   “We’ve got her stable now. It was touch and go there for a bit. Her heart stopped on us once but- ”  That's all she registers beforese zones out of the conversation. The same words playing on repeat are all she can focus on.  Her heart stopped. 

   You had died. If anything had happened to slow the quinjet down and keep it from bringing you in then the doctors wouldn't have been there to revive you, and instead of worrying in the med bay she would have been mourning your loss at the landing platform. And that fact terrifies her.

   She isn’t even aware that she zoned out for as long as she had until Tony's hand grasps her shoulder, “Nat?”

  “W- what?” she stutters, blinking her previous thoughts away while looking around, “I’m sorry”

   The doctor nods in understanding, “It’s alright. Agent Y/l/n was successfully resuscitated and though she's currently stable she's still in critical condition. She's still sedated, so that coupled with her original trauma will most likely keep her unconscious for at least the rest of today and potentially into tomorrow.”

   “But she’ll be ok, right?” she asks, needing to hear something hopeful

   “I'm afraid it’s still too early to tell. For now all we can do is wait and see if she makes it through the night. But if she wakes we can properly assess her.”

  The Russian can feel her chest tighten, “If…if she wakes? I don’t understand?”

   “She acquired a lot of head trauma. Alone that trauma is enough to potentially keep her comatose, but when you add in the use of anesthesia that risk becomes even higher.” he explains, “Now normally we wouldn’t have used any, but with her multiple stab wounds we were left with no other options.” 

   Her lower lip trembles as she swallows the lump in her throat, “Can I see her? Please?”

  He nods, “Follow me”

   When she arrives in your room a feeling of nausea fills her. The room is dull, with its lights dimmed and blinds closed but she can still see you clearly. Your skin is paler than normal, lacking its usual glow and she can already see the swelling and bruising settling in on your face, arms and collarbone. The steady beating of the heart monitor is the only noise that fills the small room, and while normally such a noise would put her on edge she finds it calms her this time, because it tells her that you're still here. You're alive.

   Tears roll down her cheeks as her hand makes its way to yours, “Y/n, I...I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m here. I’m right here dorogoy(sweetheart), so please don’t go anywhere.”

   As the hours pass by she continues to sit with you, she's too afraid to leave your side or let you out of her sight. She worries that if she allows either of those things, then the worst will happen to you. Which rationally she knows is ridiculous, her presence and vigilante watch wouldn’t be enough to stop death from taking you if that's truly what was in store for you. But still, being here with you gives her some small comfort and right now she needs all the comfort she can get. 

   At some point she had fallen asleep, it had been rather restless as she didn’t want to risk sleeping through anything that may occur, so she forced herself to stay out of her REM cycle. So what little rest she did manage couldn’t even be classified as such really, but it did end up working the way she intended it to. 

   The faint beeping that she'd become accustomed to suddenly picks up in speed slightly, and her eyes immediately shoot open. She quickly scans the machine to make sure it wasn't malfunctioning and once satisfied they move to you. Nothing appears different, at least not in a bad way. Your skin seems to have gained back a bit more of its natural color and though this relieves her she's still uncertain about your heart rate. Before she can worry any more, a nurse enters.

   “What's going on? Is she ok?”

   The nurse smiles kindly at her while checking your chart, “She's doing just fine Agent Romanoff, the slight increase in heart rate is a good thing. It means she's trying to wake up”

   Natasha can’t hide the excitement that takes over her features, and she grabs your hand once more, “Pozhaluysta, vernis' ko mne. Ty mne nuzhen zdes'(Please come back to me. I need you here.)”

   As if hearing, and understanding, her whispered words, your eyelids begin to flutter and though the room is nearly completely dark you still groan at the way the light affects your sensitive eyes. Sensitive or not though there's no mistaking that bright red hair, or who it belongs to. Even if her form is a bit blurry.

   “Uggh…Nat?” you rasp out, and she immediately moves closer

   “I’m right here” she responds, hoping you don’t notice the tears rolling down her cheeks, “How are you feeling?”

   “Like shit”  

   Your honest reply pulls a laugh from her and she gently squeezes your hand as the nurse walks over to your other side to begin checking you over. Once she's done with her various tests and writing notes in her chart she leaves the room, leaving you alone with the Russian you've come to love. Your eyes glance at your hand to see that your suspicions are correct, the weight you feel in your hand is indeed her own. You gently squeeze it before allowing your gaze to meet hers.

   “You've been crying” you state, allowing your free hand to brush against her reddened cheek. The way she nuzzles her face into your palm takes you by surprise, but you allow to seek comfort this way and cup her cheek. You watch in awe as her whole body relaxes at this embrace

   “I thought…I thought I was going to lose you” she admits in a whisper and her lower lip trembles as she closes her eyes. Despite this another tear slips down her face, but you quickly brush it away. A small whimper leaves her at this gesture, and she leans further into your hand

   And that's when things start to click. Sure, you've had your suspicions that the Russian spy had feelings for you, but she's so closed off to emotions that it's hard to get an accurate read on her. If you were reading too much into her friendship and just projecting your own feelings you didn’t want to make things awkward by confessing your love for her, so you stayed quiet. Those suspicions never quite went away though. And now yearn to know if there's any validation to your thoughts.

   “Nat, I- ” you start to talk but she cuts you off with a shake of her head

   “No Y/n, you don’t understand. When you got here, your heart stopped. You….you died” she trembles slightly, “And you never would have known…”

   You look at her softly, the weight of what she said sinking in. You knew the dangers of this job when you took it, still you're glad to be alive and you can’t help but feel guilty for what Natasha has gone through since you decided to throw caution to the wind and blow your own cover in a means to get attention away from a stuttering and fumbling Peter that had just raised suspicion by admitting to be a Stark Industries intern. 

   “What wouldn’t I have known?”

   She thought that by now, after everything she'd be able to get those three words out, but when she tries her throat goes impossibly dry and her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. 

   “I-  I…” she huffs, “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.”

  You smile at her sympathetically, “How about you show me then? Think you can do that?”

   She eagerly nods her head, desperate to prove to you how much she cares. She moves even closer and you remove your hand from her face to give her full freedom of movement. She removes her hand from yours and gently cups your face. Her thumb brushes over a small bruise while her other hand tucks a stray hair behind your ear, and her eyes swim with a multitude of emotions as they take in your appearance close up. She takes one last deep breath and surges forward, allowing her lips to meet yours.

   It's sloppy, full of desperation and tears, but it's also full of other things too. Regret, fear, and most importantly, love. She finds she needs air far too quickly for her liking so she relents in breaking the kiss. She doesn't move away though, instead she rests her forehead against yours and lets her nose bump yours too. You melt against her, grateful for her open show of affection, her way of saying she loves you without having to actually say it. That will come when she's ready, and you won’t push.

   “I love you too Natasha”

   She gives you a wide watery smile, gratefully that you not only understood her gesture but that you felt the same way she does. She carefully and quickly crawls into the bed next to you and gently wraps an arm around you as she buries her face against your neck.

   “I was so scared” she admits as your own arm wraps around her waist

   “I can imagine. But I’m ok, Natty. I’m here and I’ve got you.”

   She sniffles, “You promise?”

   You tighten your hold on her and plant a kiss to the top of her head, “I promise”

   She nods against you but you can tell she's still not fully at ease. To help calm her fears you take the hand that's around your waist and place it on your chest. She can feel each strong beat of the muscle under your sternum and it's only then that she relaxes against you.

   “You're ok” she says, more to herself than you

   “Mhm, I’m ok” you reply, “Great actually, now that I have you”

   She moves her face away from your neck to look at you with a softness you've never seen before but know is only reserved only for you, “You mean that?”

   “Of course I do. This is all I’ve ever wanted, you're all I ever wanted.” She smiles widely before settling against you once more, kissing your collarbone affectionately and you somehow know what that means, “Love you too Natty, love you too.”

   By the time Clint comes to check in he finds you both fast asleep, intertwined with each other in the small hospital bed, and he happily smiles because you were ok, and now all was as it should be. 

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[sideprince]

I've seen the same post a hundred times now. Sometimes it's a few days old, sometimes it's from years ago, but it's always the same. Some anti posts about how they don't understand how anyone can like Snape because he was so awful, and then there's a long reply that goes something like, "imagine this happens to you, and then this, and then this" to describe Snape's experience. Sometimes there's some James Potter hate thrown in.

Look. You can go through describing a character's entire experience but you don't really need to. Here's the thing that antis don't understand:

For all her faults (and they're big, bigoted ones) Rowling understood a really integral part of the human experience and conveyed it through Snape. Everyone needs love and to feel accepted. It's that simple. Snape became a Death Eater to seek acceptance (Rowling has confirmed this, though I can't remember the source - whoever wants to add it please do), because it was the only way he could find any.

Snape's understanding of morality, like everyone's, is subjective. Some readers understand this and some don't. When faced against a morality that says there is good and bad in the world, everyone makes choices based on their personal experience. Context is everything. Someone who experiences pain and suffering will not see the person inflicting it on them as moral. That's it. 'How can this person be good when they caused me so much suffering?' = human psychology. Most of the people who think 'I'm a bad person and deserve this' have been gaslit and abused into thinking so, because it's not a natural reaction - it's one that has to often be socialized into someone at a young age, exactly because it's not natural. Everyone is the hero of their own story; no one sees themselves as a villain, because they see the valid aspects of their own perspective.

You can write essays on how vulnerable people needing acceptance is what cults and fascists exploit to recruit vulnerable people, or on how the standard anti's un-nuanced reading of Snape both ignores canon and displays a disturbing lack of empathy or compassion, but at its core it just boils down to context. From Snape's perspective he experienced cruelty, therefore the people inflicting it must be cruel. Again, it's that simple. He was a person, like any other, except he was fictional so he wasn't even real. On the flip side is James Potter, who, for all his faults, didn't get to live long enough to get a chance to change and grow unlike Snape, and I think the Snapedom also needs to acknowledge that.

They're fictional characters representing things an author wants to say, not sports teams, not martyrs, and not all good or all bad emblems that define your identity depending on how you feel about them. It's depressing how much time is wasted arguing with bullies and trolls whether from the Marauders fandom or just random antis. I literally can't find more than three blogs to follow without this argument coming across my feed daily. I know the Snapedom is Not OK™ and that's kind why we're all here, and I know that my take is super unpopular but like Snape, I don't care what others think: this fandom has been having the exact same argument for years and nothing has changed. There's fanart and meta and fic and so much content out there appreciating this character, you're not going to change an anti's mind who's deliberately trolling in the tags, so why are you trying? What are you getting out of it? What does it give you? It's exhausting just scrolling past it.