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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years

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Hi, this is a very distant problem since I haven't found a therapist by now but I am already afraid that I will overrate our relationship. That's probably the most abused-kid thing but when there's an adult listening to me, being nice to me, I always wish for them to adopt me. I would never tell them or behave different than a patient with better boundaries. When I talked to therapist in the past, when I was in hospital, I hated them talking about their family, having pictures of their kids standing around because I don't want to be reminded, that the person I tell the deepest trauma of my past, forgets me once they leave the door. Of course they don't actually do that, but I am a patient for them, their job. While I imagine a life as their adoptive daughter. That sounds so shitty, I want to clarify again that I would never cross any boundaries. I am very sure none of my therapist knew of that issue. It is all just daydreaming.

Because of my trust issues I need someone that I can really "vibe with" and can't just go to a therapist that I feel neutral about.

I want to start therapy with a plan to not let my therapist get "too close" to me. Because 1. I am ashamed to ask them about the issue at one point and 2 I think it'll be easier if I do it "right" from the start on than to "let go" at some point.

Hi anon,

So it sounds like when an adult expresses interest or care in you, you might experience a sort of transference where you almost want them to become your parent, and perhaps you wish that a parental figure in your life expressed that level of interest in you. Alternatively, you may also have some trust issues that make it hard for you to want to feel close to a potential therapist. Additionally, you might feel envy when you see functional family dynamics, as it's only a reminder of what you may feel you don't have.

Consider that a therapist is there to help you make sense of what's going on in your world, and give you the opportunity to figure out what to do. I think that a therapist could be able to help you work on these feelings, and I know it can be challenging to feel comfortable being open with them about such vulnerable things, but unless your feelings interfere with your therapy (which it doesn't sound like it would since you say you would never cross any boundaries), it should be fine to bring up.

I also just want to say that, at least in my experience with therapy (and I've seen maybe 3-4 therapists in total now) I always felt a mutual personal connection with my therapists. Maybe I just got lucky, but at least in my experience I always felt that my therapists didn't necessarily forget about me after we left the room. One of the things is that therapists usually keep case notes to keep track of what you've shared and what you've worked on in therapy. Another thing is that therapists (generally speaking) do genuinely care about their clients, that's usually the primary reason why they become therapists - because they care about getting to know people and their mental health, and helping them through their problems. Especially having experiences where my therapists have expressed their admiration of my bravery, courage, and intelligence, it helps you feel noticed. I wish those experiences for you.

It can be hard to even seek out therapy, let alone allow yourself to be vulnerable with a therapist. But just know that therapy is not only there to help you, but it is there to help you so long as you are willing. We all resist therapy in different ways, and that's normal. But as long as you are willing to work through them and understand yourself a bit more, that's really what therapy is all about. It's an awfully risky thing to live, and so nothing is without risk, but with risk (in this case, trusting a therapist) comes reward.

I wish you the best of luck in finding the right therapist, and I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #abuse #child abuse #trauma details

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yottakitsune · 1 year

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The Choice

I woke up laying on one of the abandoned skyscrapers of a ruined city. I held my head with one hand and tried to focus my thoughts. I didn't know how I had gotten there. I searched my memories, and the last thing I could remember was losing myself as someone both familiar and yet a stranger ended my life. No. That wasn't right. I thought I was in my room going to sleep? No, that wasn't right either. I was begging somebody to kill me and look after somebody I loved. A sharp pain stabbed through my head, and the other hand came up to hold the other side of my head. I stood up and started staggering around, trying to focus my thoughts and sift through them. "Conflicting memories?" I managed to say in a familiar voice that wasn't my own. A wave of vertigo struck, and I lost my balance and fell off the edge of the roof, and began plummeting hundreds of feet. As the ground rushed up to meet me, several systems inside my body woke back up and caused me to reorient myself so that I fell feet first. A long sword materialized in my hand, and I jabbed it into the wall and pulled it with me as I went to slow my descent.

I still hit the ground harder than I would have liked, but it was better than going splat. I pried the blade out of the concrete and swung once to remove the dust before it returned to... wherever it was the sword had come from. I looked at a puddle of water and squinted my eyes as though that would clear things up for me. The face that stared back was incredibly weary. Even though I didn't feel tired, my face said I had seen some shit and I was done with it. That mildly annoyed face was framed by white hair that was cut into a bob, and a blindfold hid my eyes. I always thought it was a weird way to design goggles. I immediately knew who and where and even when I was. "This is going to be a goddamn pain..." I muttered.

I started walking through the ruins of the city, trying to find any signs of life. There were no Machines at all. At least none that functioned anyway. It was like any who had been still connected to the Machine Network had been uploaded into the payload of the tower, and their bodies shut down afterward. I rounded a corner and saw the sand dune that had taken over a corner of the city made of sand that had blown in through the canyon from the desert. While I was distracted, I tripped over a Stubby and stomped my other foot hard. It bent way further than it should have, and what should have at least rolled my ankle was barely felt. "Being an Android comes in handy," I said as I stretched the leg I had been worried about.

"Yes, I would imagine it has a whole host of benefits," came the deep voice of an old man from behind me. I whirled around and a sword notched and scarred from a million battles appeared in my hand. There stood two small girls in red dresses. "You seem to be wary of me, even though we've never met," came the old man's voice from the little girls. "Amusing, if not practical." The only reason I didn't do a double take was I already knew who they were.

"We haven't, but A2 has," I corrected.

"Ah, so you do have knowledge of this world. That will speed things along, but she has never met us either." There is a flash of light, and I several warnings come up on my HUD about mental intrusion and my memories being accessed. Once my eyes adjust and the flash is gone, the Girls are gone and have been replaced by Devola and Popola. "We are not the Machines' collective consciousness," they say in the twins' voices. "We are more."

The twins smiled as one held out her left hand while the other held out her right. Two marble doorways rose from the ground to either side of them. "We brought you to this world, and we come to present to you a choice. The choice we give to all mortals who interact with us." The door to Popola's left opened, and there was a white light that filled it and was quite blinding. "Servitude," Popola said simply. "You will become our instrument and spread our influence to the world you hail from. It is a simple task. You need only return. Your body will do the rest."

The door to Devola's right opened and there was nothing but an empty void that seemed to drink in all light from around the door. "Cessation. You will cease to be. Your life will end and your soul torn asunder to neither move on nor to reincarnate."

They let their hands fall and the doors moved away. "Isolation," they said together as they pointed towards the desert sands. "You may remain here, in this dead world devoid of life both born and crafted, doomed to spend the rest of time alone until your Android body is swallowed by the unfeeling cosmos as it dies."

"How will my body spread your influence?" I asked. I didn't know whether Cessation or Isolation was worse, but I knew that a human soul wouldn't do well in any event even if it were shoved inside of an android body.

"As technologically advanced as it is, it is still magical in nature." Devola motioned to the shimmering sparkles that drifted through the air. "Your mere presence will spread these Maso particles throughout your world. The longer you are there, the more it will spread. You already know what happens from there."

"Are you going to turn us into pillars of salt?"

They both gave a sickeningly sweet smile. "We will not turn you into a pillar of salt," they answered. Maybe it was even honestly. "However, what you know as White Chlorination Syndrome will be the fate of those who can neither handle Maso nor accept to serve us." They lifted their hands and the doorways reappeared once again. The choices formed a triangle with me in the center. To my right was Servitude, to my left was Cessation, and looking behind me was a path to the desert; Isolation. It was very clear they demanded a choice now. I took a deep breath before I took a step forward and went through a doorway as my body shut off.

#nier au #nier automata #fanfic #nier aureum

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bangtanfancamp · 3 years

Text

∴ summary: After spending a gloomy afternoon trying to get out of your own head alone , you finally seek out your boyfriend for help

∴ masterlist

∴ one shot

∴ pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

∴ word count: 2k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: soft angst, comfort, established relationship

∴ warnings: oc is struggling with something akin to depression, it’s alluded to but not explicitly stated

∴ author’s note: this is incredibly self indulgent and was written in one go. I’ll edit later. I’d rather have it here to share sooner in case anyone needs it as much as me.

─────────────────────

“Joonie, what are you doing? Are you busy?” Your voice comes out small as you peak around the corner into his office, sweater pawed knuckles sneaking around the edge of the door frame.

He doesn’t look up at first. Perhaps you really were too quiet. Or maybe he’s just that immersed in his book. It’s not a cover you’ve seen before so it very well may be the latter. You know how he is when he has a new thing to get lost in. Ever your astronaut adrift, exploring the moons just beyond whatever new world he’s found.

He looks so at home now. Cozy in his den of words and letters. Perfectly domestic amidst lofty thoughts and paragraphs. His skin is mostly bare today, his coordinated tank top and shorts exposing a golden expanse of toned arms, long legs . They’re folded up and crossed, a little boy lost in wonder as he sits on his futon.

His hair is a warm chestnut this week, fringe too long around the lashes but too short to pull back. The way it refuses to cooperate when he brushes it out of his eyes, trickling silkily, stubbornly back into place, exactly where it wants to be, makes you want to chuckle.

He still hasn’t noticed you’re there. Too far gone in whatever his newest philosophy is to notice the way you study the dip of his furrowed brow, how it juxtaposes against the relief of his shadowed dimples, smiling even as he frowns. He finds so much pleasure in being studious— just for fun. No matter how much concentration it takes. You’ve always admired that about him. Admired everything about him really.

Clearing your throat, though you hate to interrupt him, you try again.

“Joonie?”

Somehow it’s even quieter than before, and as he turns another reverent page, you know you’ll have to physically intervene to interrupt him. You sigh. You hate to break the spell. He loves days like this—with the rain trickling down the window’s glass casting shadows on his focused face— he’s so happy to read when it rains.

He leans forward then without looking up to take a sip of his Earl grey, bumbling when the steam unexpectedly fogs his glasses. He laughs at himself, folding his book so it splays across the seat to mark his place and removing his glasses. It’s the first time he’s looked up. He spots you then, his face splitting into the smoothest “there’s my girl” smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hey… how long have you been standing there?” His voices comes low, warm, soothes something in you that desperately needs rest.

“Long enough to see you blind yourself with tea, it seems.” You try to smile back, but it’s a weak, floppy thing. Your cheeks can’t seem to commit so it falls a bit too flat. His brows pinch when he sees it. Something’s amiss.

“Hey… are you okay?” His inscrutable eyes analyze you, and you let him. Too tired to resist or put up a fight.

“It’s not my day, joonie.” Your voice is pitiful, even to your own ears. You’d normally wince at sounding like this in front of anyone else. But honestly, it’s okay. It’s Namjoon you’re with. You don’t have to play games or hide things. Not here. Not with him.

“Yeah?” His eyes catch yours as his palms rub the tops of his thighs. It’s an invitation. You know the gesture by now.

“Yeah… again. There have been so many of these lately,” you say, crossing the room to him, his arms unfolding to welcome you into them. “They come too often and stay too long. They’re terrible house guests. I’m tired of them, joon. I can’t seem to get rid of them.”

You’re scooped against him now, head on the space between his neck and his chest, fingers twisted into his tank top, bum in his lap, knees tucked up til you’re as small as you can get. There’s a broad palm of his on your back, fingertips on his other hand traveling the length of your arm in tender caresses as his cheek rests atop your head.

“Maybe we should start charging them rent. I bet even they can’t afford to pay that in this economy.” He offers the idea solemnly, fully committed to carrying out the metaphor that your mental health really is just an unfortunate airbnb plagued with hideously mannered squatters.

“You know, I love that about you, Joon.”

“My inability to pay rent?”

You nuzzle a sappy no into the heat of his neck,” dummy, your very real ability to never minimize things that are hard to me.”

The dip of his chest as he exhales is oddly soothing. It makes you feel like you’re being rocked and god if you don’t need to be cradled right now. “Things have been really hard lately, haven’t they?” He wonders aloud.

“It isn’t just my perception?” You look up, eyes entirely too pitiful, too round to belong to a functioning adult. No, Namjoon’s heart goes soft as he realizes he’s looking at the eyes of a very scared four year old you. The haunted gaze of an innocent girl who never got told everything would be alright. Even without knowing any more than that, it makes him want to cry.

“No, my sweet girl, it’s not.” Closing his eyes, he presses somber lips to your forehead, scooping you close to shield you— from the world, from yourself, from all the insidious things that took root in you so long ago you’re not even sure how they got in. His wide hands grip you tighter, a feeble attempt to help hold you altogether.

It’s silent then. A few beats of quiet, only disrupted by the clumsy clatter of irreverent raindrops on glass. His caress stays steady against your soft sleeves, his languid fingers perpetually in motion as he attempts to soothe the wounds that sit just beneath your skin.

You look up at him again, unsure what you’ll find.

You almost cry when you see the gentleness in his eyes. No judgment anywhere within them. Just something kind that stretches into the lines his eyes carve as he smiles. How you itch to gently peel his horn rimmed glasses off the tip of his button nose and kiss it. Bless him.

God, you don’t know why he’s so nice to you, but you’re so glad that he is. The smile you give back to him is wobbly, trembly, poorly constructed— but so so sincere that it makes your sad eyes shine. He bumps your nose with his, burying himself against your forehead as you cocoon into him.

You want to ask him what he’s reading, listen intently to him as he tells you all about it, but you know you can’t. You can’t decipher anything today. It all feels too heavy. You can’t carry the weight of anything new with hands already full. At this point, you’ve lived in this soft hoodie of his , the one you stole after his tour two years back because it smelled like him, for the past 3 days. You don’t even have the energy to change. With that kind of retention rate, seems there’s no point in asking your brilliant professor to explain anything.

Still, it’s always so nice to hear his voice. Especially with your ear to his chest like this.

So you ask anyway.

“Will you read to me, Joonie? Life always feels better when you’re reading.” You press your face deep into the copper of his neck, an open mouthed kiss placed against his pulse.

“It’s all kind of theoretical,” he chuckles. He’s bashful. If holding you weren’t occupying his hands, you know they’d be nervously fiddling with the back of his neck. A nerdy boy with a too big brain hesitant to share his discoveries.

“Is it good though? You’ve already read Jung to me, and I stayed awake through that. I think I deserve more credit.” You poke his throat with your nose. You’re not genuinely affronted, it’s just nice to remind him you're competent too. Sometimes.

His sweet chuckle then is earthy and rich, all dark molasses. “True. You actually gave pretty good feedback for that too. Fine. Didn’t mean to underestimate you. Just… bear with me if it feels odd? I haven't read it before. I can’t vouch for it all yet.”

“Fine by me. I’m just here for the cuddles and my Kim Namjoon audiobook.”

He can feel your smile against his skin. It makes him press you just that extra little bit tighter against him, exhaling soft through his nose when he feels you return the gesture.

Scooping up his paperback, he adjusts his glasses where they’ve slipped down his nose, clearing his throat to project like the narrator he claims he’s not but loves to be. He’s quiet for a few more beats. You can hear pages rustling as you sink against his skin. You imagine he must be trying to find where he was when you interrupted, or perhaps searching for a passage that seems apropos. Which he chooses, you don’t know, but you can feel when he settles, just before his caramel voice sweetens the thin air of the room.

“It's the same with the wound in our hearts,” he begins. “ We need to give them our attention so that they can heal. Otherwise the wounds continue to cause us pain. Sometimes for a very long time. We're all going to get hurt. But here's the trick - they also serve an amazing purpose.

When our hearts are wounded that's when they open. We grow through pain. We grow through difficult situations. That's why you have to embrace each and every difficult thing in your life.”

You aren’t sure when your eyes opened, not sure when they began to glaze over or when you started to cry. But you did. And you are. The salty things dripping down against Namjoon’s silken skin. Your sweatered knuckles try to knock them away, but to no avail. Your cheeks are still a wet mess and now his collarbone is too.

“Joon, what is this? What are you reading?”

“Oh… um, it’s— terribly long title but— Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon's Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart. Isn't that a mouthful?” his laugh is self deprecating, small, but still the most beautiful sound.

God, you hate how sensitive and soft you are right now. You don’t want to be sitting here at 4pm in your boyfriend’s lap crying over a paragraph in a book you've never even heard of before, but here you are.

“ is that… what the whole book is about ?”

“You know, I don’t know. I haven’t read it all yet. Jackson recommended it, I’m just now getting to it. Why - do you not like it? I can put this down. Read you something else if this is too heavy. You always like the poetry. I can grab that one anthology you like.”

You can feel as he starts to shuffle beneath you, eager to track down new reading material for you, afraid he’s scared you off, when the fluttering weight of your palm tethers him to his spot.

“No, stay. Keep reading. I want to hear the rest.”

You can practically hear him smile. Relieved. Can feel his dimples manifest without even trying. He kisses your hair, tilts your chin up to kiss you too. The complexity of bergamot and black tea making his supple lips even more bewitching than normal. The window in the corner is cracked open, the humidity it leaks in making your skin sticky as you lean against him.

He’s lovely like this. The rain soaked air mixing with his natural scent, a broad hand on your chin, warm thumb beneath your lip as you mold pliant into his kiss. He ends it with a peck to your lips, a tap of his nose to your nose, before hoisting you so close against him you just may fuse together.

And he reads. He reads until he’s exhausted. Til the rain has stopped, and you’ve drifted to rest pressed against the skin of his chest.

He folds the book shut once your breathing has stilled, his thumb marking the page as he tips you both to lay down sideways. As he extends his pinprick tingling legs for the first time in ages, you hoist yourself around him in your sleep like a koala, and he chuckles. That’s usually his move.

He kisses your hair then, traipsing fingers tenderly through the escaped bits of it that brush across your cheeks. He wonders if you know how madly in love with you he is. How often he’s wondered what he’d do without you. Today, like most days lately, your light was dim, but still kelvins brighter than anyone else’s.

He sends a silent thank you to whatever deity arranged things in such a way that he can hold you to his chest like this as the daylight saving’s darkness floods his studio office. You seemed so sad today, but he knows it won’t last forever. It’ll pass. It always does. He’ll just hold you until it does. And then some.

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mimisempai · 3 years

Text

Home is where our story begins

Summary:

Mobius and Loki will finally move in together, will the cohabitation be as natural as the rest of their story?

Notes:

Still not having the real name of Hunter B-15 and the story taking place post canon, I found it odd to keep calling it that. But I didn't want to invent a name for hher, so I chose HB, if Marvel were to give him a name later, I would change it here of course.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32628412

2871 words - Rating G

"So, soon the big day? I hope you're happy about it, even if it's new for you."

Mobius sipped his Josta, wondering what the best answer was. Yes seemed too restrictive, but it wasn't as if he wanted to go into details about his new living arrangements with Loki. Yes, he was happy to move in with Loki, of course, but...

"Mobius?"

"I'm... cautiously optimistic. You know me."

HB nodded. "For you, it's practically effusive." Chuckling, she took another pretzel. "I'm happy for you and Loki." Her smile faded briefly, "If our variant condition has taught me anything, it's to take happiness where it lies. I'm glad you decided to give your relationship with Loki a chance."

"There was nothing to decide because everything happens naturally between us," Mobius mumbled.

HB frowned. "Hm?"

Mobius cleared his throat. "It's nothing. I've talked too much."

"Talked too much?" HB laughed. "When it comes to explaining the logic of a mission strategy that sounds crazy, yes you could be accused of talking too much, but when it comes to your personal life... but I understand what you mean and to me who has been watching you a bit since the beginning of this relationship, it is clear that things are natural between you. Although I am curious about one thing."

"Which one?" Mobius prepared himself.

"How will you manage living together, as you both have your single habits, not to mention your lifestyles which were rather... different".

This question kept going round and round in Mobius' head. He was ready to compromise, but he wasn't going to change who he was either. With the personalities they both had, it might seem insurmountable from the outside, but Mobius had a deep conviction that it could work.

"I guess we'll see as we go along," he replied confidently.

"You know where to find me if you need to talk."

The friendship he had formed with HB, was one of the surprises that had come with Loki's arrival in his life.

Before they were just colleagues who worked well together and had the same dedication to the TVA and now having shared the same experience of losing everything, a real friendship was born.

"Thank you. But let's stop talking about me, how's it going with the new recruits and training?"

The TVA, purged of old influences, had returned to its primary function: to monitor realities across the multiverse and attempt to reduce temporal interference as much as possible. Mobius was the leader. Loki, Hunter B-15, now HB and other agents formed the core team.

They had completely restructured the organization, recruitment and training.

"Well, there are several young recruits who are promising, and I must say Mobius, that Loki is not only a very good teacher but also very well liked."Loki had volunteered on his own to handle the training of the newbies on the field.

Mobius, however, was not surprised at his success. As he had told LOki in the early days, he could be anyone he wanted.

Once HB left, the afternoon passed without surprise for Mobius, who was eager to get home. He found it hard to concentrate, looking forward to the changes that were coming.

**********

Loki was waiting in Mobius' living room when Mobius returned home.

"Mobius!" he exclaimed happily as he stood up and walked over to Mobius to kiss him. Mobius thought he wouldn't mind this kind of action if it became part of their routine in the future.

As is often the case when they haven't seen each other in a while, things heated up quickly between them and they were both panting when they parted.

"How was your day? HB told me she told you about my work? Is everything okay?"

That, too, was something nice -even if he found it annoying at first, this talkie-talkie thing, this incessant stream of words from Loki. He had realized that Loki's questions were always sincere, his lover expected answers and never asked them out of politeness.

"A lot of paperwork as you can imagine, I miss working in the field, fortunately once this is over I will be able to accompany you again and see the excellent work you provide with my eyes, if I believe what HB told me", Mobius said quietly while pushing aside a strand of Loki's hair that was falling on his forehead. "What about you? How was your lunch with Casey?"

Another unexpected relationship, for who knew Loki. He had formed a bond with Casey, an ordinary administrative employee. Loki had told Mobius that it was nice to have a friend whose reactions he didn't have to weigh, because Casey was spontaneous and naturally trusting.

"Fun. He's excited for us, well for me because I'm going to live with the great Mobius." Loki chuckled before continuing, "I expected the opposite, but you're his idol, I'm just the god of mischief who taught him what a fish was."

Mobius raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, I swear." Loki smiled. "He even offered to help us move our stuff in once the apartment was ready."

Mobius shook his head. "He's really supportive."

"Absolutely," Loki smiled, "He always surprises me with his candor."

Loki pulled Mobius to the couch and sat him down. Then he lay down in his favorite position, with his head on Mobius' lap. Mobius, as always, couldn't resist the impulse to put his hand on Loki's silky black hair and began to stroke it gently. In response, Loki made a sound that closely resembled a purr.

**********

Turning his head to Mobius, Loki asked, "Are you really happy that we live together?"

"Of course Loki," Mobius murmured as he ran his hands through Loki's hair, enjoying sliding the strands between his fingers. "I am, but you know it won't necessarily be easy right?"

"Hmm." Loki nodded and smiled sheepishly. "I know I'm not easy to deal with."

"Hey Sweetheart! That's not it at all." Mobius protested. "I just think we're from two different worlds and it's going to take a little adjustment and patience."

Loki nodded.

"Besides, we're going to be together a lot. Between work and home," Mobius said.

"Yeah." Loki looked up and smiled at Mobius. "This is going to be great!"

"We'll see," Mobius said, finally realizing that it wasn't he who was afraid of being disappointed, but that he was afraid of disappointing Loki.

After a few moments of silence, he decided to put his fears aside and enjoy the moment.

"Now, have you thought about what you want for dinner?"

"No." Loki pressed himself against Mobius, "But I know what I want for dessert."

"What a coincidence," Mobius muttered as he slipped his hand under Loki's shirt, "I think we both have the same idea.

These kinds of little moments between them, these little habits, made Mobius think that maybe he didn't need to be anxious about their future shared life.

**********

A few days later, Mobius was up to his neck in paperwork and couldn't take it anymore. He threw his pen away and leaned back on his chair.

"Mobius?"

"I'm here."

When Loki entered and saw the state Mobius was in, he locked the door behind him. He walked up behind Mobius, put his arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head. Mobius leaned back even more and closed his eyes.

"It's going to be hard to keep working if you make a habit of doing this," he whispered.

Loki's hands slid over Mobius' shoulders and he began a firm massage. "How about this?"

Mobius sighed, "It's not good for concentration either... " as Loki's skilled fingers had encountered a particularly knotted muscle.

"Oh, is that so?" Loki rhythmically pressed his thumbs into the back of Mobius' neck and it felt so good that Mobius moaned, "It doesn't seem to bother you that much."

"You and your distracting hands mustn't be around too often," Mobius said, "or I'll never be able to work properly, a massage like this, on the other hand, is... effective. I didn't know you knew how to give massages." Mobius was always happy to learn new things about Loki.

At Loki's silence, Mobius turned his head and was surprised by the sad expression on his face.

"Loki?"

"Um... this is something my mom used to do for me and my brother..."

"Oh Loki... I'm sorry." Mobius reached for the hand that had remained on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"I miss her..."

"I know, sweetheart, believe me, I know." replied Mobius gently.

After a moment of silence, Loki kissed Mobius' head again, "Sorry, I didn't mean to distract you. It's just so nice and strange to have you just a few steps away from me all the time."

"Why strange?" Mobius turned in his chair to look at him.

Loki shrugged, "I usually store all the things I want to tell you later in my memory, but now that we're in our new home, and we both work together a lot, I feel like I have access to you all the time and it's..."

"Different."

"Yeah. And tempting. And distracting." Loki licked his lips. "I want to see you all the time, not just talk to you, if you know what I mean..."

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean" Mobius cleared his throat, fighting the mental images that Loki's words evoked. "However, I think we're going to have to set some rules, no matter how nice it is, we're both still at work."

Loki nodded, "Yes, we really should, if only for my sanity." He bit his lower lip, and when Mobius saw him do it, he thought that it wasn't just for Loki's sanity that some rules had to be set.

"Maybe later, if you want Mobius? Or tomorrow?"

"Why tomorrow?" Mobius raised an eyebrow. "Why not now?"

Loki smiled "Because I'm excited now, and you're tired of paperwork and I think you need a good distraction."

Mobius rolled his eyes "You're insatiable."

Loki pretended to walk away, saying, "I can leave, I wouldn't want to distract you from your duty..."

Mobius grabbed him and pulled him against him. "You think you can light a flame and not blow it out?!"

"And what about rules and work?" asked Loki, raising an eyebrow.

"That can wait until tomorrow." replied Mobius, pulling Loki's head to his and silencing him in the most effective way he knew how.

**********

For some time, Mobius had been catching scrutinizing glances from the recruits, some even giggling after running into him.

"I feel like they're staring at me," Mobius said one night as he sat on the couch with Loki in their usual position.

"You can't blame them for being curious. After all, the God of mischief and the famous Agent Mobius, we're legends. And also... um... I may have been showing off a bit for a moment or two about your... prowess. Nothing graphic, just little details," he hastened to add when Mobius' mouth opened.

"Little details," Mobius repeated.

"Oh, but nothing, just that I'm satisfied, that's all."

Hiding his face in his hands, Mobius groaned, "Loki, tell me you didn't discuss our sex life in front of your students!".

"Uh... you want me to lie?"

"Loki!"

"Mobius, people think I'm not mature enough for you. That you're too serious and I'm not enough, that you have more integrity and I don't. Personally, I don't care what other people think. But I want people to know that you are as good to me as I am to you."

"And that requires you to tell them the intimate details of our sex lives..." Mobius mumbled.

"No, no, you don't understand," Loki said, clearly struggling to express himself. "I tell them little things that humanize us. That you like my cooking, that you like jet skiing, that I think you're sexy in the morning when you wake up, nothing too intimate..."

"Only in the morning when you wake up?!"

Count on Mobius to have kept only this part of Loki's answer.

"Even sexier than usual."

"Aaaah, that's the reason for these morning quickies," Mobius replied.

"You don't like it?"

"That's not the point, Loki."

"I know what the point is. The point is, I just want people to know the real you. Let them see you the way I see you."

"And for that, you have to tell them we screw every morning?"

"It was just one time, and it was Casey's fault. He said he didn't picture you as a sex beast."

"It gets better and better."

"Mobiuuuuus. I didn't say anything more than what I just told you, I promised! Now they know why we're perfect together."

"Because I give you satisfying orgasms when I'm barely awake."

"Because you're brilliant, and caring, and yes, incredibly sexy."

Lifting Mobius' hand to his lips, Loki kissed his fingertips and whispered, "And because I love you."

Just like that, Mobius' irritation disappeared. He took Loki's face in his hands and ran his thumb over his lower lip. "And I feel the same way. But Loki, I also wish you wouldn't talk too much about our intimacy, even with your closest friends."

Loki replied with his most mischievous smile, "You think I want to tell them how perfectly your lips fit my mmph."

Mobius had just closed Loki's mouth with a kiss and after that, Loki wasn't articulate enough to list Mobius' bedroom qualities and Mobius unapologetically left his book aside.

After all, it was important that he lived up to his reputation.

**********

"You're looking fine, Mobius. I guess everything is okay with you and Loki? I feel like the cohabitation is going great," HB said as she walked into his office.

Nodding his head, Mobius couldn't help but smirk, "Everything is going very smoothly, yes."

"Clearly." HB smiled. "You look... satisfied."

Mobius' eyes narrowed.

"However, given the bags under your eyes, may I recommend that you rest tonight?"

Mobius widened his smile. "I'm sure I'll rest... someday, even if it's not tonight. As I told you before, Loki can be... enthusiastic, and we're enjoying a bit of a second honeymoon right now."

Chuckling, HB shook his head. "And like I said, enjoy the moment. Even the enthusiasm of youth is wearing off."

"Indeed, it is." He paused before continuing, "Do you need anything?"

"Do I need a reason to visit a friend?" asks HB.

"No, of course not. I even enjoy our little early week dates. You know I like talking with you. After all, you and I have pretty much the same background. We've done well."

HB nodded, "Yes. You're right, but I admit I also stopped by because I need you to validate the latest new recruit evaluations."

Mobius chuckled, "I'll look at those afterwards, and send them to you when I'm done."

"Take your time, you can return them to me next week.

They chatted about various things, then HB got up to leave.

"I'm going to start reading these evaluations, unless my insatiable partner decides to show up...I'd hate to disappoint him you know...."

HB shook his head. "Lovely. And since I'll see you Monday to pick them up, You can give me all the details then. Don't let him tire you out too much!"

"That' s not up to me..." Mobius said, and smiling he pulled the first evaluation toward him. He raised his head and looked at the door, aware of a presence in the room.

Loki, standing in the doorway, was grinning from ear to ear.

"Aha! So it's not just me. You do it too!"

Mobius raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Reaching up to him, Loki touched Mobius' chest with his index finger.

"You also tell your friends intimate details about our relationship!"

"I certainly don't."

"Oh, I think you do. I just heard HB teasing you about my 'youthful enthusiasm' and telling you to rest because you look tired." Loki's eyes danced with joy.

"I-" Mobius sighed, "Okay, I guess I told her a couple of things about our life together - Hmph!"

Loki threw his arms around Mobius and kissed him deeply. Mobius, surprised at first, put his hand on his cheek, answered the kiss with the same passion, carding his fingers in Loki's hair. Once things calmed down, they parted, breathless.

"What was that for?" asked Mobius, tucking a strand of hair behind Loki's ear in a gesture so familiar now.

"You're talking about me to people, bragging about me." Loki's eyes glowed. "That means you're proud to be with me."

Mobius blinked. "Of course I am. How can you doubt it?"

Loki pressed another kiss to Mobius' mouth. "You can be quite a hard man to read sometimes."

"Not at all," Mobius whispered, as he gently patted Loki's butt. "I'm an open book."

"You are..." laughing, Loki rolled his eyes. "You're not at all." His expression softened as he looked Mobius in the eye. "But I think I can read you."

"You're the only one who can do it," Mobius acknowledged softly.

He wondered how long it would take Loki to see in his eyes the infinite love he had for him, and if he would be able to surprise him with the ring he had in his pocket.

________

Whole series of one shot here : Together, for all time, always

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

#lokius fic #lokius #loki series #loki #mobius m mobius #moki #wowki #loki x mobius #time husbands #timeforst #established relationship #moving in together

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

Text

Contests Part 2/2

6. Loser Jessie

Screechy harpie Jessay has even more of a raw deal than Mavis and Dawn of the Dead.

From the outset I knew she'd never be champion, but she ought to rise above the tiresome berks clogging up procedure.

Sufficient popularity at Pokémon Towers ensured the girls were allotted coverage of all their award ceremonies. They had a moment in the sun.

What has Jessie in comparison?

I can't recall Hoenn, but I don't expect it was much.

Sinnoh however carried naught but a single paltry episode.

This for a main character.

This for someone there from the beginning.

This for an ardent fan favourite.

This for a wench who, should we include all her various mutations, has featured in more installments than either of 'em.

But no, treat Jesseee as worthless, even lower than Dawn's groupies. It's not like anyone watches it for her.

Looking back, it's obvious what they were intending to do come Unova.

What's the score then?

• One paltry Contest on screen.

• A couple happen elsewhere, marked by a few seconds per mention when the script oh-so generously moves away from the thrilling main plot.

It's gotta be the small-town concerns for Jessuhleenuh, nothing major. She deserves no better.

• One won by James, so not hers. Press her inadequacy upon us!

• One obtained as a gesture of pity from Kate Middleton.

And how did that work? What's the good of allowing 'Dawn' entry again?

She'd already qualified. If winning here, that gives her six, therefore there aren't enough Co-ordinators for the culmination.

And when Jessie showed up with a Ribbon recorded as belonging to Dawn, how was she taken as fulfilling the quota?

The slapdash way these Contests are run!

God forbid Jess should be shown as excelling at anything. It must be scraping into the final undeservedly.

Bitch gotta know her place.

7. Bumpkin Jessie

...

Ain't no description I can give that don't rhyme with 'hit', or variations of the theme.

You thought the shafting Jessica got coverage wise was bad enough? Yer ain't heard the 'alf of it.

Sinnoh was a period of peak Moron Team Rocket, where the one surprise was how stupid they could be.

You may remember an early episode when James designed her clothes for the catwalk. She thought it'd complement his work by applying lipstick all across her mug.

Obviously Jessie would do that, clueless as to how make-up functions.

Come on kids, she's thick!

Even at that numskull nadir it's difficult to comprehend anyone choosing this get up without severe duress.

Picture the scene: you debut on stage, before an audience of thousands and television cameras, in an event preoccupied with superficiality.

What do you wear?

• Giant, oversized glasses out of fashion since the Seventies.

• Bootlace tie last worn in the nineteenth century Wild West by a barman serving sarsaparillas.

• Colour scheme of brown and orange, the nation's favourite hues.

• A man's old shirt fraying at the cuffs.

• Voluminous apron dress.

• Massive yellow bows last seen decorating an Easter Egg. Always a winner.

• Heavy, clod-hopping boots.

• PIGTAILS!!!

Even the name is unattractive.

Ah yes, very common for those under six. Unheard of later.

You have reached puberty haven't yer Jessie? I can't tell anymore.

They couldn't get enough of that combination in Cosmo, which is why it's no longer in print.

Not only is Jessie denied success, she's deprived of the chance to be pretty in a realm where nothing but that carries weight.

Worse, given how her face disintegrated, this is the best she's been for five generations.

Yeah, because the inbred milkmaid style is such a good look, eh?

SEXAY!!!

8. So Long, Tsundere

Remember tsunderes? What happened to 'em?

The curse of Pokémon was draining the well of inspiration too quickly, throwing away interesting characters as mere guests.

This is particularly noticeable regarding the ladies. Back then, we got Misty, Jessie, Jessibelle, Cassidy, Aya, Giselle, Tyra, Sabrina, assorted crones Brutella, Nastina and Lacy, plus Joy, Jenny and Dame Ketchum provided parental authority.

How did a series that began with ball-breaking birds like that end up with insipid, glassy-eyed dullards like Zuhreena, Banana Lana, Marsh Mallow and Lilliput?

Ooh, Zuhreena is a pwincess!

Ooh, Banana Lana bwows big bwubbles!

Ooh, Marsh Mallow wuvs phallic waddishes!

Ooh, Lilliput won't pwet wanimals bwecause of Secwet Pain!

Can you imagine such weak specimens finding any place in the anarchic atmosphere of the classics?

It's SO boring!

Where's the punch? Where's the human spirit?

Where's the entertainment gone?

This squishy attitude began in Hoenn. Misty left, Jessie's hair symbolically changed from volcanic red to pink, and Contests introduced a cuddly theme where glitter glue and sequins are top priority.

Every sharp corner, every jagged point has been filed smooth. Now its substance hasn't the hardness to even develop edges, not when it's all cushions and candyfloss, where catching Pokémon rests on them deigning to grant permission, rather than 'avin it out.

Tsunderes, exuding untamed charisma and independence, besides a soupçon of danger, simply don't fit the cardboard box we habit now.

Nor do yanderes, kuuderes, tsuntsuns, or even derederes. It's just nothing but smiley-smiley creeps.

I wouldn't mind any of these tropes as long as there was some sign of colour to be had.

9. The Sacrifice of Misty

Misty bid farewell under the feeble justification that the lack of a longterm goal made her vulnerable to sacking.

Such a line uttered as if her own choice, being beyond them as writers to invent a purpose.

This implied her replacement would have an exciting quest aiming for excellence, something just beyond Misty's capabilities.

What did we get?

Dressing up and collecting Ribbons!

Is that...is that it? Is that the great idea? Is that all the girls are worth?

I lost Misty for THIS?!

Perhaps it makes no difference. By Hoenn they'd rendered her a leaden blandness sucked dry of all that made her special.

Going by the greasy-toothed bastardisation that swanned up in Alola, Misty was simply too wild for the safe, stifling atmosphere of today.

Her departure ensued she remains frozen as a funny, beloved presence, unlike those she left behind.

Now there was a lucky escape, as once the fanny-flapping starts, the bints have it on the brain.

May had Max to beat on the side, but Dawn developed monomania.

Hardly an episode went by without some reference to Contests, or how today's plot spurred her on to the next opportunity.

Yer need help, love!

Rather than Ash's new friend being a fascinating person who so happened to enter vanity projects, the competition defined them to the exclusion of life.

It is but moths drawn to the candle flame waiting to engulf them.

Contests are this world's version of Tom Riddle's diary: they promise sympathy and validation, but they eat your soul.

Like Tumblr.

10. Completely Unoriginal

Seems to me it wasn't so much Misty had no goal, it was more that Contests were the supposedly hot concept wedged into an existing property.

If earlier aspects failed to accommodate the invader, the onus certainly wasn't on the new kid to change. Oh no, stuff it in and chop off whatever gets in the way.

In the eyes of the post-Shudo regime, Misty was too volatile to last, and so had to go.

What idiots.

She's a tsundere. The softer, more feminine side is a defining component.

Would it really have been so problematic to retain her as an entrant? If Jessie can, why not?

Even if failing to fit, so what? Since when was established characterisation a barrier?

Isn't twisting likeable folk into unrecognisable pods the modus operandi of the writers?

That canon is immaterial, and must always give in to whatever fancy they currently have?

Well then, what's the big deal in infantilising Misty to promote it rather than pensioning her off?

Viewers will be more invested in the challenges awaiting a familiar face rather than a stranger.

What reduces the above to the risible is the original Misty and Jessie both participated in the Princess Festival.

All Contests are is that very scenario on repeat and robbed of all meaning.

Think about it:

• Beauty round

• Battle round

• Jessie loses

Same bloody thing.

Not only have I got to suffer this draining spectacle, it's got the nerve to possess not one iota of fresh ideas!

Contests are a low rent rip-off. The Princess Festival had a worthy reward in the shape of one-of-a-kind Dolls.

It'd already been revealed that ordinary Princess Dolls were ruinously expensive, therefore the special Pokémon edition have to be priceless.

What d'yer get for the trouble of a Contest but a bit of plastic tat taped to bargain basement frippery?

And they demand you get five of 'em!

Contests themselves were then resurrected as Showcases, although mercifully slimmed down to only three, with the emptiness ramped up in compensation.

Perhaps ironically, Princess Versus Princess is one of my favourite episodes. I love its critique of female avarice and accurate portrayal of clothing sales as reminiscent of the zombie apocalypse.

I don't mind the Festival as a single adventure, but I may have felt less favourable had it been a constant presence.

Except it isn't the competition at stake. This is a framework to explore Jessie and Misty as people.

Through its device we learn their history and therefore how they came to develop as the girls we know.

The setting serves as an opportunity for both to confront the misery and isolation of their childhoods, with the promise of overcoming that old torment with the balm of victory.

In the final, they aren't so much battling an opponent as fighting to be free of the past.

The tragedy is only one can be granted that reprieve. The other must remain unhappy in the ruins of memory.

It matters, unlike vapid Contests, where posturing is king. What depth can they provide in comparison?

Despite identical content, they are inverse counterparts, with the Festival presented as merely a light affair concealing a rather dark tale of neglect.

Contests however are paraded as this worthy nourishment for body and mind, a major point in one's journey towards enlightenment, when all they really amount to is an organ grinder and his monkey arsing about for the slack-gobbed plebs.

Bread and circuses.

Best of all, Misty won, not some side twat, as it should be.

Note how Jessie dressed: in delicate, vivid robes and golden decoration. The boys thought her beautiful.

Not as a gormless dweeb you'd cross the street to avoid!

And why the need to disguise herself anyway?

The Twerps had no issue with Jessie of Team Rocket joining the fun back then, so what happened?

At least she received the consolation of gaining Lickitung as a friend, with James and Meowth desperate to comfort her.

What do Contests bring? Sod all!

#pokémon #team rocket #contests #misty #jessie #kanto #princess versus princess

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afrodeitiess · 5 years

Text

Wedding Bells

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 | Prologue

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Tony Stark x Black!Oc

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1780 Words

THE CREAMY WHITE wedding dress seemed to become tighter with each growing second, constructing her breathing and pushing her chest together so that her breasts had no other direction to go but up, up, up.

Topanga Woods has never once imagined that she'd be here. She'd never thought that she would ever choose to spend the rest of her life with one person and she remembered being quite averse to the idea of marriage. She was as stubborn as they came and that she was no picnic to be around. The idea of marriage has always felt very far away, like some inevitable fate that would one day catch up with her and drain all of the light from her life.

Every single time that her father had brought up the topic of marriage before, she'd always said that she'd die all alone and surrounded by a million cats and while her stance on the cats still had not changed, it was now hard to imagine her life without Tony Stark. It was difficult to say exactly when her feelings for the millionaire, playboy genius, philanthropist - his words, not hers - had suddenly morphed from hatred to mere tolerance and eventually to love but she'd never imagined that she'd be so excited at the prospect of walking down the aisle and becoming his wife.

Despite all of this, Topanga felt an iron grip over her heart, squeezing and wrenching until she felt as if she could just crawl into a hole and die. She'd known to expect this as she'd lived her entire with anxiety and she was always second-guessing her decisions and sweating the simple things but all of her fears and doubts were bubbling over inside of her.

What sort of wife would she make? She wasn't the most accommodating person and she required her standard eight hours of sleep to function. Topanga had a tendency to self-destruct, to simply give up or ruin something before she could end up hurt and alone. Being with Tony made her happy and she loved being able to wake up next to him every morning and being able to make him smile with a simple corny joke. She loved him and she wanted the best for him but she couldn't shake the feeling that he deserved better. Somebody else.

Besides, the title of Tony Stark's wife would definitely be different from all of the ones that she'd occupied previously. They'd started out as enemies and rivals and with time, they became friends and eventually, she was his girlfriend and then lover. And in the sum of a few years, she'd managed to add fiancée to the list and now, she was taking in the title of his wife.

What sort of mother would she make? She hadn't known her own mother as anything other than the woman had left her father soon after she was born. All that Topanga had ever had was her father and a letter from the woman who had birthed her. She didn't particularly care for her mother. What a pair she and Tony made with their various mommy and daddy issues.

Topanga allowed herself to chuckle at her own thoughts and shift ever so slightly. The little movement was enough to catch her seamstress' attention. "Stop moving. You're going to mess up your dress and then you'll have to walk down the aisle looking like a mess." Topanga adhered to her instruction and resisted the urge to retort that stating all of the things that could go wrong was not helping her anxiety at all. She was already singing that song to herself on repeat.

Within half an hour, her makeup was all done and Topanga was grateful, although she couldn't feel her face. She sat in front of the mirror and glanced over her shoulder to make sure that her makeup artist wasn't looking before she wiped furiously at the vivid red lipstick that she'd painted all over her lips. "Are you decent?" Topanga heard a voice call from the door. She could recognize her best friend's voice anywhere.

"Decent," she called to Alex and she heard two sets of footsteps from the door.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before anyways," a voice called and the words were followed by a low chuckle. Topanga could hardly stop the smile that perched itself on her lips, despite her upset feelings. Her husband-to-be. She turned around to find Tony stumbling into the room, hands over his eyes.

"I found him outside straight up freaking out," Alexis explained as she led Tony by the arm further into the large room.

"I was not freaking out. Tony Stark doesn't freak out."

Topanga scoffed underneath her breath as she could recall several times that he'd done just that. She smiled at him, although he couldn't see her and picked up the bottom of her dress and she waved off the makeup artist to give them some time alone. "Hey baby," she greeted him.

"Hey," he returned and despite her closed eyes, she could hear the smile in his voice. "I wasn't sure if it was seeing the bride or talking to her on the wedding day that's bad luck."

Topanga chuckled at him and turned around before instructing him to do the same. "What's wrong?" she asked, taking a step in his general direction and she heard him do the same. "You're not going to disappear on me, are you?" Her tone was joking and for the most part, she was but she couldn't help the fear that crept into her mind and her moisture that seemed to materialize on her palms.

"I would never. Besides, I highly doubt that there's any distance that would stop you from hunting me down and making my life hell," he said, laughing lightly as stepped to the right in the direction of her voice.

"True," Topanga admitted with a shrug. She took another step back, using the sound of his voice as a guide. "All of these preparations are getting to me. It would be much easier if we just eloped."

Tony's answer came far too quickly for her comfort. It seemed that he, too, was second-guessing everything. "We still could. We could run away from here and get engaged in Vegas. It's really nice there this time of the year. I know people there that can marry us for little to no money - I did that once, true story - and then we can honeymoon around the world and come back and show off the tan that we don't have."

Topanga's brow jutted up at the insinuation that Tony had been married once although she was sure that it was another story from his crazy life and she wasn't all that excited to hear about it. She lifted her feet back one step towards him. This time she was sure that she was close. She could feel it. She lifted her hand to grab his and was met with cool air. "To your left, Tony. No, not my left. Your left."

This time she reached back and her skin made contact with his and she wrapped her hand around him and exhaled quietly. She rested her back against him and their hands intertwined behind them and suddenly, nothing mattered. Not the doubts that she was having or the too-tight dress or Tony's Vegas story. All of her doubts were reduced to whimpering whispers at the back of her mind. She felt Tony exhale and slump a bit. "Where is all this coming from, Tony?" she asked after the silence became too much bear.

"I'm not sure," he whispered to her as they both sunk to the ground, not caring that it would be really bad if her dress was stained. "You know that I never really pictured myself getting married. Commitment? Gross, right. But I always figured that I would eventually and I love you. I absolutely want to spend the rest of my life with you but I don't know, I just always thought if I ever did get married, that my mom would be there."

Topanga couldn't think of anything to say. They talked about everything but while they'd talked about his parents before, she knew that it was a touchy subject for him. She wasn't sure that there was anything that she could say that would fix it so she didn't say anything. She simply rubbed circles at the back of his hand. It wasn't much but to Tony, it was everything. She was there and that was all that mattered the most. Still, he couldn't stop himself from voicing his fears to her. "Do you think we're making a mistake?"

Topanga sighed. "I really don't know." There was something quite daunting about having to voice her worried out loud. Even if it was to the person who knew her best. She got the sense that she didn't have to say it anyway. He already knew. "I hope not but we're human and making mistakes is what we do best. We're all too skilled at shattering but we're together, right? And we'll always be able to put the pieces back together."

Topanga wasn't sure if she believed it or if she was simply trying to convince herself but she really hoped it was true because she'd found something great with Tony and she wasn't willing to give it up. Not now.

A beat passed between them.

"God, I really want to kiss you right now," Tony commented, his fingers playing with hers. "You know that I'm absolutely in love with you, right?"

"You've said it once or twice," she laughed at him and she was surprised to find that she didn't feel as awful as she did before. If anything, she was in a hurry to put a ring on him and officially make him hers. "I love you." She leaned back against him and he squeezed her hands tighter as if she was his only tether to the world around him.

Topanga couldn't help but think that everything would be okay. They were only two people and they were, by no means, perfect but they were together and they were in the eye of the storm. It was quiet and perhaps that was all they'd ever have but it was them against the world and that was more than enough for the two troubled souls.

___________________

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄.

━ So that was the first chapter and it’s kind of tame and not nearly as emotional as the rest of the story will get but I hope you enjoyed it. Like and reblog if you did

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