#when i was like '...well if i see my therapist less... or even just stopped seeing her for a while... i could afford it' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aft3rhrs · 6 months

Text

— number: unknown ღ

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: strangers to lovers

warnings: dead dove, yandere, manipulation, corruption, mentions of stalking, mentions of therapy, dirty talk, humiliation, obsession, mentions of masturbation & dub con sex, allusions to cnc, allusions to depression and anxiety, hints of fear kink, use of triggering words in an erotic and degrading manner* (listed under the cut).

*use of the word “rape”.

masterlist

In the last few months, you've grown used to the sound of your phone ringing late at night. It still sent your heart into a frenzy, nerves sparking up like wires — but you peeked at the screen nonetheless, taking less and less time to hesitate to answer.

Number: Unknown.

Palms sweaty, you clicked accept on the call.

A chuckle greeted you.

"Lonely?"

You tried to ignore the chill his voice sent rippling down your spine, raising goosebumps along the way.

"What do you want?"

"Don't be like that," Jungkook cooed. "I missed you. Wanted to check in. What's up? How was therapy last week?"

The question came with a tint of mockery, instantly dusting your cheeks. It wasn't surprising by now that he knew; he knew everything about you, it seemed, from soul to entrails. But you couldn't wrap your head around how, or why he even paid such close attention in the first place. All you were capable of comprehending clearly was the anger blazing in your chest.

"Screw you."

"Aw, come on," he crooned on the line. "I'm just checking up on my favorite girl. Any progress? Did you tell your therapist you let your stalker fuck you right after filing a report? Did you tell him you pick up my calls?"

You felt his words swirl and burn in your stomach, as if you downed a glass of liquor. Shame crawled all over your skin, hot and uncomfortable. Why couldn't you find it in yourself to hang up? For a moment, you considered doing just that, but then quickly brushed off the idea.

Better to entertain him like this than to have him show up at your door.

Right...?

He could hear you breathe in, the lack of an answer curving his lips upwards.

"Well, that's okay. I really don't like you seeing him, though. I'm kind of offended you went to someone else for help."

"You're the reason I need help!" You hissed, unable to stop yourself. "You're seriously sick in the head."

"What a mouthy little thing you are," Jungkook murmured. "Pretty brave for someone who claimed she's afraid of me." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Pretty hypocritical too... I might be crazy, but you're the one still talking to me. Didn't you come all over my cock like a good little girl too? I think you might be a bit sick yourself, sweetheart."

Oh god.

No.

You pretended you didn't feel yourself clench around thin air, pretended your underwear wasn't getting drenched.

"But I don't mind," he continued, raspy, "I can be your therapist, baby. I'll help you feel better."

Your eyes fluttered closed, head growing foggy.

"Why keep running? Why keep running if you always let me catch up?"

"I don't," you whispered, "I'm trying to—"

"No," Jungkook tsked, "you're not. Are you too scared to face yourself in the mirror? Do you see my eyes when you try?"

You shivered for some reason.

"No."

"That's a lie... You like it when I chase you, and no therapy is ever going to help you. You know why?" He coaxed, soft. "Do you know where your sickness lies, angel...? It's not in your head. It's in your heart. You dont trust love, you don't feel it, unless it's got you losing breath, nice and tight, like a noose. Why don't you let me give it to you?"

Despite the pounding of your heart, you tried to keep his words out of your mind, tried to focus before you disappeared so deep into the fog, you'd become a part of it. But you were so tired... and floating in the dark, weightless, felt a little more like peace.

Still, swallowing thickly, you tried.

"Do you get off on taunting all your victims like some kind of psycho?"

"Oh baby," he sighed. "How many times do I gotta tell you? You're the only girl I want. No need to get jealous."

"Go fuck yourself—"

Another chuckle, then a groan.

"I should. I really want to... Miss you so much..."

Your stomach flipped.

"Miss your mouth. Didn't have time to fuck it back then... Would you let me now?"

"No," you breathed out, shaky.

Why were you still talking to him? Why were your thighs squeezed shut so hard?

"Mmm, that's what you said last time, and yet look who ended up begging me to fill that little cunt."

Your hand tightened around your phone, the pulsing in between your legs refusing to cease and getting harder to ignore.

"I know you could take it all," he breathed. "All down your pretty throat, no complaints. Would be too busy sucking, right, baby?"

"Why even bother asking?" you whispered, your voice small, like you knew the answer already.

Because you did.

"Makes me hard," Jungkook admitted, shameless. "It's cute to see you struggle. Acting like a frightened little doe, like you weren't waiting for a wolf to eat you up."

The confession was so dirty, nothing short of predatory; but it made your cunt throb and heat stick to your underwear, and you couldn't decide if you were more disturbed by him or by your own reactions.

"Fuck..." he swore hoarsely. "All that screaming and fighting only to end up begging for it. Do you like it forced? No need to think, no need to make choices. Just taking my cock like a good little rape toy, yeah?"

You weren't able to contain the hitch of your breath, thighs quivering and spine tingling all over.

Jungkook moaned softly in response, the sound shooting straight through your pussy.

"Wanna come?"

This wasn't happening.

You were losing grasp of reality, consumed by the need to find a lifeline. You felt like you caught a fever, your reply coming out more mellow than intended.

"No. Please stop."

"You're a bad liar, little doe. Without me your body and soul feel empty. You need me as much as I need you."

Your eyes fell shut. You shook your head, repeating your denial like a prayer.

"No..."

Your brain was running on automatic, trying to hold on to some semblance of rationality.

"Does it make you feel better to say that?" Jungkook muttered. "Wouldn't it be easier to give in? I know how much you wanna sneak your hand into your panties. Go on, baby. Rub all your thoughts away. It will feel so good."

You felt your thighs tremble again, the wetness between them unbearable. It was getting harder to breathe through the rising heat, your mouth falling open, trying to catch more oxygen into your lungs.

"Go on, pretty. I'll come with you... Just say the word."

Yes.

No, that wasn't right.

Please...

"No," you forced out again, something that sounded too much like a whimper. "I'm going. Stop calling me."

Jungkook just sighed.

"Shame. Can you at least move closer to the window? Do a little twirl for me. I missed you so much..."

Your head snapped in the direction of the window, heart jumping in alarm. Jungkook seemed to know; he sounded so amused, like it was all a game. And he was winning.

"Just kidding. I have some things to do, but I will see you soon, baby."

"Jungkook—" you panicked, shaking your head, "please don't—"

"Goodnight. I love you."

Beep.

He hung up.

You hugged your knees and lowered your head onto them, welcoming the darkness that greeted you, eclipsing the faint glow of your nightlight.

Was this your fault? You were in pieces for so long; surely that must have been to blame for the sickening pull you felt to answer the phone every time he called.

Maybe that was how Jungkook had managed to get to you. Slithered in through the cracks, took advantage of all the empty spaces. Poured himself in like poison, down to the last drop. Maybe that was also why he needed you so much; there was nothing left of him but you.

You let yourself slump onto the bed, probably the last time you'd be able to sleep through the night somewhat calmly. Because when Jungkook said soon... he always meant soon.

And the clock refused to stop ticking.

taglist 💌: @whipwhoops @svnbangtansworld @ane102 @stellalovesstarss @crisle19 @jksteponme @kimseokjinsmirror1233 @dolphinmochi

#sorry to those I couldn't tag! ❤️#anyway lmao #dead dove #yandere bts #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts reactions #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts yandere #jungkook smut

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pomefioredove · 9 days

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Ngl I want a sequel to bad ending 'yuu gets sold' series

Cause imagine the boys go to NBC just to find out that yuu is actuality doing great, better than great, even better than the time they were doing in NRC

I like to think that Rollo is legitimate a nice person when you remove the hatred over magic type of stuff

He deffo makes sure that yuu is well fed and clean (let's be honest, not something that yuu always has in NRC) plus treat yuu greatly

rollo fans who are starving since everyone stopped talking about him after november I'm here for you. I see you. take my hand

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | 'bad' ending

summary: yuu transfers to NBC type of post: fic characters: rollo my beloved additional info: yuu is gender neutral, implied romantic ^_^

It had been a long six months for everyone at Night Raven College.

The departure- and subsequent absence- of their beloved Ramshackle prefect was very much felt.

Days were longer, nights were darker, the first year class itself felt empty.

"At least they're not dead," was the consensus.

Of course, you continued to communicate with your friends- it wasn't like you completely dropped off the map, although Noble Bell College had a stricter policy about phone usage.

You even sent some letters back and forth, yours filled with updates and mementos, theirs with pictures of all you'd left behind.

Did you miss NRC?

Well...

You missed your friends.

But Crowley? The overblots? Being everyone's personal therapist?

...Yeah. You could live without that.

Noble Bell College may have been more exclusive, and more strict in their code of conduct, but it was more peaceful, too. Smaller, less students, and much less reliance on magic, so that you and Grim could be whole students independent of one another.

The curriculum was much different than NRC's. Less of an emphasis on a personal connection to magic, and more on tradition, ritual, and history. There were few times when you'd have to sit out a class, or watch your friends have fun from the sidelines.

If anything, Rollo made a point of including you.

A part of it may have been personal pride- after all, he just couldn't resist showing you how much better he is.

But he also had a vague idea about how stressful your life at NRC really was, and how isolated you felt, despite being surrounded by people. It was his duty, in a sense, to rectify that.

Even if it meant you had to sit through his lectures and recitations of the traditional magic laws.

...Though, even with his intense adherence to tradition and structure, he made quite a show of being kind to you.

Despite his best efforts to claim fairness and righteousness, it was no secret to anyone that he favored you. You quickly became the only person he spent his free time with (not that he was particularly social in the first place...)

And... it was nice. Is nice.

He holds himself to high standards, and expects that of others; he's cold, harsh when he feels it necessary, and repressed in all ways imaginable.

And yet... well, there's no sabotage, no swindling, no scamming, no manipulation to make petty ends meet.

Rollo, as a person, is both confusingly complex and reassuringly simple. You know as much. He sticks to routine, to rules, to tradition. He's diligent in every sense of the word, and highly respected because of it.

And when the eyes of the other students are turned away, he treats you with a sort of gentleness that you'd become wholly unfamiliar with at NRC. Like a porcelain doll, like something precious he desires to wrap in cotton and silk and store somewhere safe.

You wonder if his behavior towards you is at all connected to the very reason he risked his status bringing you here in the first place... but you don't dwell too long. He's as mysterious as anything.

When your former classmates come to visit over break, it's like they're meeting an entirely different person.

"Happy to see us, eh? You're like, glowing," Ace smirks.

Deuce elbows him in the ribs for that comment. "What he meant is that you look great. I mean, really! You've been sleeping more?"

You nod. "Lots, yeah,"

"Weird, I woulda guessed they'd been working you to the bone. This place is all "no funny business", right?" Ace shakes his head.

You laugh, walking alongside your former fellow first years in the streets of Fleur City, the very ones you'd become so accustomed to in recent months.

"I've actually been doing well with my studies. I think I've finally decided what I want to do after graduation,"

"Oh, that's great!" Deuce says. A lengthy pause follows, much to your confusion- it's as if everyone has something they want to say, but won't be the first to say it.

Epel clears his throat. "You been 'doin alright?"

"Um... yeah. I have,"

"Cause... you know, if anyone was giving you trouble, we'd give 'em what for!"

You chuckle. "I'm fine, really. People here are pretty nice..."

Again, that same silence follows. Epel, Deuce, and Ace look between each other, as if daring the other to say the next thing.

This time, you take the initiative.

"Listen. If this is about Rollo, he's fine. I'm fine. He's been nothing but helpful,"

The tense silence breaks and Ace sighs, shaking his head. "You can't blame us for being worried,"

"I mean, this whole situation has been really shady. Everyone at NRC has been worried sick..." Deuce says. "We just wanted to make sure..."

You smile. "I appreciate it, but you really don't have to send in a rescue party. I've been... I've been really good. Happy. And I miss you guys to pieces, but I've felt closer to home here than anywhere else. Does that sound strange?"

A short pause follows. Deuce is the first to speak, his voice sounding strained. "Not at all. We just want you to be happy,"

You can tell he's trying really hard to sound positive. Epel, on the other hand, doesn't sugarcoat anything.

"You really won't come back with us?"

You smile again, though this one is wholly apologetic. "No, I don't think so,"

The three are quiet for another moment, and then seem to drop the subject. The rest of their stay goes by smoothly, even with all the strained moments where you can tell they have something to ask. You assume they've already figured out the answer.

The day trip is over by sundown and you return to campus just before curfew, taking a seat in one of the cozy (though currently empty) lounges by a familiar face.

"They're gone?" Rollo asks, not bothering to look up from the textbook he's perusing.

You watch him carefully, and think it's best not to mention you friend's attempt to bring you back with them.

"Yes, they're gone. We had fun, nothing happened,"

"Good," he says. A brief silence follows before he speaks again. "I do trust you. But-"

"You don't trust them. I understand. If I were you, I suppose I wouldn't, either. But I'm fine,"

"When are they coming back?"

"Two months. They're taking the weekend. Might bring some other people,"

Rollo hums a note of acknowledgment, fingers rolling around the pen in his right hand. The book is still open, though he's looking ahead now. His face is flushed.

You know he's unhappy with it, but he won't say anything. You're grateful he likes you enough to let you rub elbows with people he despises. Especially after all that's happened...

He stands, closing the book. "Very well. Let me know what day so that I may adequately prepare myself. Good night. Be safe,"

And with that, he takes his leave.

Ever distant. Ever polite. One might mistake the way he speaks for coldness or resentment if you weren't so familiar with his mannerisms by now.

You turn to look into the lounge fireplace behind you, watching the flames flicker and die until all that remains are soft, glowing embers, the same shade of red that burns on his cheeks when you look at him.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #rollo flamme x reader #rollo fans come here. come here. I'll save you

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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I mean, it can’t hurt, right? Just… as an experiment. Yes, an experiment! I have been practicing a lot lately, after all. If someone had told me how hard it is to actually edge, to reach that perfect point and just… stop, I’m not sure I would have started doing it. But I AM getting better at it! If he could see me it would be sooo… but I’ll have another session soon, and I want to be able to tell him that I’m doing it, I’m following the program, that I’m doing well in therapy for once, that unlike all those other hacks he made me better…

I’m tired, and I know it’s harder for me to hold back when I’m tired… but at the same time I have to be able to control myself. That’s what he said. It’s all about impulse control or something… and if I fail and go over? No, I can’t be too hard on myself. But at the same time he would be disappointed. I don’t want to imagine that. Not that he ever tells me he is disappointed, but I can tell. I could almost imagine him looking so sad the few times I accidentally came… I need to make him proud. I need to train more. Sure, I have to work tomorrow but one edge, just the one…

Fuck, I love social media. It’s like… the algorithm knows how to push me deeper and deeper… and I feel less alone, knowing there are so many people gooning and edging and encouraging one another. To think I was ashamed of the stuff I liked before! Like, admitting that watching a girl being spanked turned me on would get me red like a tomato. Now… a spanking does nothing for me. I need more, and the screen delivers. It’s so fucking good to see so many good girls, drooling and edging like me and writing on their skins what willing fuckholes they are… The words come to me and I’m muttering them… cunt… useless toy… living cumrag… I’m not sure I can stop myself from mumbling anymore. I watch them smile before getting their stupid mouths fucked by a huge cock, shutting them up and turning them into the useful dolls they are…

Jesus! That was close. I didn’t expect to hit the edge so quickly! My pussy must be more sensitive lately. Makes sense. Two weeks without cumming is a long time… but he looked so proud of me last session… no way I can throw that away for a moment of relief. I’m in control. Not my body. Me.

Okay, I did it. Time to get some much needed rest.

Fuck…

Turning in bed. My cunt is soaked and it’s insistent, demanding. I have to work tomorrow. I can’t… I put my pillow between my legs. I don’t know why I feel like it will calm my pussy down a bit. I’m making no sense. Fuck, thinking that made me wetter. I’m making no sense. I’m dumb. I’m stupid. I’m just a horny bitch in heat…

My hips move on their own. I’m not entirely awake, not entirely asleep. I’m almost… not there. Like I’m just watching my needy body hump the pillow, like I’m merely a passenger and my stupid, horny body is taking over…

No. No. I’m in control. I won’t cum. I won’t…

That was too close. Much too close. But I did it. I stopped right at the edge. I didn’t cum.

I was a good girl.

Good girls edge. That’s not something the therapist said. At least I don't think so. I saw it online. But he explained edging to me, so he must want me to be a good girl for him, right? No, that’s silly. He’s a professional. He’s teaching me control. I want to learn from him. I want to be a good girl for him. I want him to…

It’s two in the morning already. Time slipped by like… like it was soaked by my pussy juices. I like that image. My needy cunt is so permanently wet even time gets slick. I might be going crazy. I need to snap back to reality. I need to focus. Tomorrow I have to work, and I’m already going to be running on like, five hours of sleep.

Well, I’m going to be fucked tomorrow either way, right? Not much difference between five hours of sleep and four. And I do have a few audios saved…

One more edge. That’ll be all.

God, I love how audios make me feel. As soon as I put the headphones on and that low, barely audible pulsing sound comes on, I can feel a tingle snake all over my skin. And her voice… It’s so soft, so gentle, so caring… and so desperate at the same time. I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to her, but it always makes me feel… like she’s holding me. Guiding me. Telling me what I am. What I could be. What I should be.

I know I’m saying the words out loud. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it even if I wanted to anymore. The girl in the audio and me, we are one and the same. I can’t tell where the audio ends and my mind begins. Her words are my words. The only part of me that remains is the watchful eye that’s always alert now, always ready to pounce and stop me from going over the edge.

Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier. Edging makes me prettier. Edging makes me more obedient. Edging makes me a slave to my cunt. Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier…

I can feel him railing me in his office. I can taste his cum on my tongue. I can see the pleasure in his eyes, the way it gives me purpose…

Shit! That fantasy almost got me. I can’t be the only one that thinks about their therapist that way, right? No, no judgment. No shame. That’s what he says, so surely he wouldn’t begrudge me a little kinky fantasy starring him…

I wonder if I should tell him. Fuck, that would be amazing. To look into his eyes and tell him every detail that my mind conjured up, how I want him to take over my mind, to tell me what to think, what to wear… who to be.

Twenty past four in the morning. Four-twenty. I should sleep, but come on. Timing’s too good. One joint, one more edge, and that will be it. Weed always makes edging better, anyway. I feel so… happy. I don’t have another word for it. Bubbly. Happy. Slutty. Maybe I should make someone else happy like me…

I should probably buy like, a mask or something, just to be safe. But I don’t have one now and I want them to see all of me… I want every inch of my body to be porn, to make someone happy… It doesn’t matter who. I need to be useful. I go on the website.

I blame the lack of sleep and the weed. I’m not dumb. I’m… it’s just… good girls are porn. Fuck, that feels good to say. I log on and…

There it is. Of course, first try. A stiff cock. I can’t see the owner’s face, and I don’t care to. I vaguely remember a time when I would have felt disgusted. Now I can’t think at all. Mu pussy clenches in anticipation, and my hand rubs it softly, insistently. We share the moment in perfect peace, masturbating as one, both mindless and entranced by our own bodies…

Suddenly, the fear comes. I want to be useful. I want… I need to make that cock cum. That’s my purpose. That’s all I want to be. But what if I can’t? How can I know exactly what kind of slut this cock wants to cum to? What if I’m not… good enough?

Then, the man starts typing and the fear melts away, replaced by a warm blanket of peace. He tells me what to do. Suddenly, I don’t need to try anymore. I don’t need to think. I don’t need to worry. I don’t need to be anything but an extension of that wonderful cock. I don’t think I even read the words in any meaningful way. They bypass my brain and go straight to my body, and obedience is instantaneous.

I’m on all fours, stretching my buttcheeks apart, struggling to look at the screen. I want to see it. I want to feel worthy.

I barely catch myself. Seeing it tense up, hearing his moan, seeing his cock shoot cum for me, just for me… it almost makes me break my edge. I feel… proud. I feel perfect, as if I’ve found the exact corner of the universe that exists just for me to occupy, that wonderful purpose… He ends the video chat quickly. Maybe he’s embarrassed. It only shows me the dangers of cumming. Cumming brings bad thoughts. But edging…

Dawn arrives. I’ve been… away. I’ve become whoever, whatever the person on the other side of the screen needs me to be. I’m fuzzy. I know I’ve called someone daddy and begged him to sneak into my room at night… I know one woman made me spank myself with my hairbrush until I cried, and she came to my tears. I think I danced for a group of older men, but I can’t be sure. Maybe I… fell asleep at some point? I don’t know. Nothing feels real. I don’t feel real. I feel like a beautiful fiction.

The alarm goes off. I should shower. Have a coffee. Go to work. Be a person.

Sure, I’ll do all those things. I just need one more edge to start the day…

Just one more…

I know I’ll have an amazing therapy session in two days.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

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alpaca-clouds · 7 months

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Schrödinger's Disability

"Stop using your autism/adhd as an excuse!" I cannot tell you how often I got to hear that. Because here is the thing: Most people do not perceive either of those two diagnosises as "real". Even if they know they are real. Even medical professionals do not quite... understand it. Even those working with neurodivergent people.

Of course, if someone is the kinda autistic person who has also some sort of mental impairment, people perceive it as a disability - but if it does not come along with that kinda stuff, a lot of people treat it, as if we make an active choice to do or not to do something.

I told this story yesterday: When I was a kid, the following thing would always happen. When we would have art class, some of my pencils would drop from the table. Most likely because of dyspraxia. Now, when that happened I was simply not able to stop what I was doing. Because my brain cannot handle "stopping one thing to do another thing even for just a moment" very well. And it could handle it even worse when I was a kid. But also, I do not have object permanence. So, if an object does not exist within my field of vision, I just... forget about it. So, I often would just forget to pick the pencil back up. And teachers would be: "Oh, this boy is too lazy to pick up his own things." Which was not at all what was happening.

Another thing that happened to me too often is a very typical autism thing: Someone tells me something. But they do not tell me this in plain words, but rather imply it. So... I very much just not understood it. So, for example, I got told on a Discord Server by one user: "I have muted this channel." Which I understood as: "They muted this channel (maybe because it is very active)". What they said was, though: "I do not wanna see this channel, stop tagging me in this."

And mind you, this happens at work and university, too. A good example is the good old question of: "When are you done with this?" Which I usually understand as: "When are you done with this?" But what they mean to say is: "Hurry up, I need this now."

Last semester I had this happen at university even. Basically I misunderstood the final assignment, because it was not spelled out. Thankfully the professor was less of an asshole about it, than most people. I explained it to him, he understood, still got a good grade. But that tends to be more the exception than the rule.

As I said, this is a thing that even medical professionals do not really get. Even therapists do again and again fail to just communicate with autistic people clearly. They do not think about us usually being unable to understand implied meanings. We only understand the literal meaning for a lot of stuff.

And again: This is especially harsh with people like me, who superficially seem to function well in society. Heck, I have been told by professionals that I could not have ADHD or autism, because I archived a master's degree at university. Because they cannot comprehend that both ADHD and autism are a spectrum. It is not something you "either have, or have not" but it is a wide spectrum of symptoms that are differently strong in different people.

In Germany this also shows harshly when it comes to disability benefits. Because autism on its own rarely ever qualifies for disability benefits at all. Mental disabilities that might be linked to autism do. But autism on its own? No. Same goes with ADHD. And this... is kinda silly, right? Because we have studies upon studies that people with autism and ADHD often cannot work fulltime - at least not permanently. And we also know that generally neurodivergent people are more likely to be fired for a plenthora of reasons. So, yeah, we should kinda be treated like disabled, right?

And the worst part? In the parts where you get legally discriminated because of disabilities? Yeah, we still get that. We cannot immigrate into all other contries. Like, I cannot immigrate into New Zealand, for example, even though I would like too, because New Zealand discriminates against people with autism when it comes to immigration.

So... yeah. No, this sucks.

Nobody would tell a blind person overlooking a visual sign: "Stop using your blindness as an excuse". But with autistic people? It is the norm.

#autism #adhd #audhd #actually audhd #disability #disability rights #neurodiversity #neurodivergent

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flimsy-roost · 8 months

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I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

#actually autistic #autistic #audhd #neurodivergent #nd #long post #actuallyautistic

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 6 months

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IS THERE A VERSION OF JOEL MILLER I WOULDN'T FUCK?

[a case study in how thirsty i am for this man.] [aka fic recommendations]

Unfortunately, in my extensive research on this topic, I have found some pretty damning evidence against my sanity.

dad's best friend!joel miller x fem!reader

Your Summer Dream [masterlist] by @swiftispunk It is a scientific fact that if you place Joel Miller on a beach he becomes 100x hotter. I don't make the rules, I just report them.

Creep it Real! by @swiftispunk I am a puddle. I melted and I'm a shallow pathetic puddle. Cowboy and Angel. I just hnnnnnggggg. I need him to ruin me pls dear god.

*I'm realizing if i include all the DBF!JM i read this will get very long, very quickly, and i think i have revealed enough of myself on this blog to highlight my very obvious daddy issues

**speaking of daddy issues...

stepdad!joel miller x fem!reader

Don't Be Cute, Be Nasty by @cockslutpadalecki i'm pretty sure this was the first stepdad!joel miller anything i read and it awoke something in my soul. it's always fun to reach new levels of my daddy issues and BY GOD was this just 🫠

Bad Girl [part i of many] by @seventeenpins he walks in on her while she's watching stepdaddy porn and good lord it gets filthier and filthier in the best kind of way.

boyfriend's dad!joel miller x fem!reader

Lost in the Dark [masterlist] by @iamasaddie i expected to be a slut reading this but then it made me an emotional slut out of nowhere i am obsessed. there is nothing i love more than being drawn in by my thots only to be hit by an emotional bus out of nowhere.

Thigh's Out AU [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity not only is this a boyfriend's dad AU, but said boyfriend's dad is a hot and slutty. just like i like my dilfs.

father-in-law!joel miller x fem!reader

Pink [masterlist] by @netherfeildren holy fuck. that's all. just holy fuck. this altered my genetic makeup.

Help, I'm Stuck! by @nosesitter spoiler alert: he takes her wedding ring off before dicking her down and I-- 👀 send help.

***i didn't think i had a lot of significant other's father!joel miller in my repertoire, but i had to stop myself again from listing them all on this one otherwise we'd be here all day. shit, i'm learning things about myself 🤡

dark therapist!joel miller x fem!reader

Session 1 by @elvinaa i think this only highlights how badly i need an actual therapist (as does this entire list actually).

sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader

Meet Me in the Back (1) & The Night is Dark Enough ... (2) written by @atticrissfinch It does not bode well for me that this version of Joel Miller made me so fucking feral. In no way, shape, nor form should a sleazy gas station clerk make me feel this way AND YET HERE WE ARE.

tattoo artist!joel miller x fem!reader

Honeyed [masterlist] by @softlyspector This one absolutely hits too close to home for me, but that's probably why I'm so obsessed with it. My touch adverse yet touch starved ass ate this up and left no crumbs😌

chiro!joel miller x fem!reader

Say Yes to Heaven by @pascalisbaby i thought the medical side of my brain would cringe at the doctor/patient dynamic but as it turns out my depravity knows no bounds 🥵

frat dad!joel miller x fem!reader

The Old College Try by @proxima-writes i didn't even know this was something i needed in my life until it came into my life. blessings🙏🏼

ceo!joel miller x fem!reader

Sex on Fire [masterlist] by @macfrog i don't think i need to harp on what that sugar daddy vibes do to me🤤

mafia!joel miller x fem!reader

Divine Dynasty by @cavillscurls Remember when I said putting Joel by a body of water makes him 100x hotter? The same applies to a Mafia AU. I can't explain it. I have no sound reasoning to support my claim other than "he hot tho".

pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

I Know it When I See it [masterlist] by @bageldaddy 🔥🔥🔥 that is all.

maintenance man!joel miller x fem!reader

Maintenance Man [masterlist] by @gracieispunk toolbelt. say less.

slasher!joel miller x fem!reader

Slasher [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity i thought for sure, FOR SURE, this would be blind, pure, detached smut that i could enjoy with no emotional ties whatsoever. and then all of a sudden i'm feeling things??? he just loves his mom so much😭 mama's boy wants to be happy. JAIL. real jail for murderer joel miller. horny jail for me. and audacity jail for toxic b/c how dare you make me feel things for a serial killer😩

as i said previously, the evidence speaks for itself. i have yet to find a version of joel miller i could not immediately fuck. i'm actually planning (i have a lot of plans and no time smh), to go through all these on my recommendation blog w/play by play commentary so everyone can know just how unhinged i am for this guy.

but now!! you guys have a syllabus for my insanity!!

now, excuse me while i go find a therapist (a real one, not a hot/dark joel miller version of one) (although beggars can't be choosers right?👀)

dividers by @saradika

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #fic rec

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espinosaurusrexex · 7 months

Text

Happy Little Accidents

Veteran!BuckyBarnes x Female!ArtTeacher!Reader

summary: In a world after the war, Bucky tries to get pieces of his old self back by joining an art class. He meets you and instantly falls head over heels. Now he just has to work up the courage to ask you out.

a/n: wrote most of this on my lunch break after finally feeling the creativity spark again. I hope you all get a cozy fall feeling.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: adapting to life after war, frustration, a little angst, love-dazed Bucky, just so much fluff and wholesomeness 💕

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

↑ the face of a man too whipped to listen - this is the Bucky vibe today

Steve Rogers was an artist. A lot of people knew about it. Hell, the Smithsonian even had a gallery full of sketches from a notebook of Steve’s he had lost back in ‘45. But Steve never needed people to recognize his work. Just like he never needed all the fame that came with his shield or all the honors he got for doing what he thought normal human decency implied - stopping bullies.

But what not many people knew was that Steve loved his art so much, he even held little sketch workshops in the camps on the western front. He drew each member of the howling commandos with impeccable accuracy. He loved drawing portraits and he loved to help.

Which was why, sooner or later, Bucky had been talked into trying his first sketches back in the day as well. Back when he was still left-handed, back when he found joy in little things such as drawing with his best friend. Back when he was not who he was now.

Yeah, he was bitter about it...

Bucky wasn’t too shabby of an artist per se. He was rather quick with his sketches always able to find the right spot for his next line and even though they weren’t perfect, one could always see what his pictures were meant to present.

Yes, they were crooked and not nearly as good as Steve’s but he had fun with it. Sketching had been an escape for his soul while bombs were exploding only miles away from his camp. It had reminded him of his best friend when they were apart, and most importantly, it taught him patience.

God, so much patience.

Bucky had never been good with it. Always fast, always right away. But the amount of times Steve made him erase carefully constructed lines and shapes had him feel scolded like a kid.

Later, he was grateful for it.

Now? He hated just touching a pencil. Every time he was reminded of his recovery, of months of frustration and anger, of grief and sadness. All because he’d lost his arm, and with it, all that had brought him joy in life.

When he had to learn to write with his right hand, he screamed at the papers before him, the crooked and shaky lines mocking him with vigor.

You’ll never be the same, they said, You’ll never have true joy back.

He felt like a child. Unable to do the most mundane of tasks, whilst fully aware of what had to be done to get it right.

But he missed it. The way drawing would clear his mind and the ease he felt when thinking of nothing but the next step in the process.

So after a particularly frustrating session with his therapist, Bucky had walked through a gallery on his way home. Beautiful pieces, each more impressive than the next hung on bright white walls until he reached a small corner with sketches and photographs. They weren’t less good than the rest, but other than the huge paintings, they seemed approachable - and they reminded him of times far gone.

“Hello, would you be interested in signing up for a sketching class?” An angelic voice had asked after holding a leaflet into his line of sight. And when he followed the hand up to your face, his breath hitched in his throat.

“I- I don’t think I’d be any good…” he had said with a pitiful smile as his left arm raised next to his head, the sleek silver of his hand shining in the showroom light.

“Oh don’t be silly. Everyone can be an artist.”

And that was all it took.

Now he was here. Sitting in a room with about eight other people, listening to you talk. Though Bucky didn’t pay much attention to your words. He was distracted by the way your lips curved when you spoke, and how your hands looked in the light when you flailed them in the air. He wanted to draw you, only you. But he knew he could never do you justice. And that frustrated him a little.

His first task was easy. A series of connected squiggles and shapes. The second was harder - finding and highlighting familiar motives in his work. But when he tried to connect his shapes, his hand began to tremble and the line on his paper got dented, he huffed in surrender.

A look to the front to you talking with another woman and he was getting off his chair.

This was useless. He should have never come here.

But when he moved to gather his things, your voice stopped him once again.

“Oh that’s interesting,” you said with a tilted head, your eyes following the little dent in his drawing.

“Yeah, I messed it up.” He shook his head and added a careful, much more quiet ‘I always do”.

“You see, it’s only a mistake if you make it one.” You turned to him and smiled and his heart began racing now that all your attention was on him. Bucky looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the other participants were all focused on their work. “I’m not going to tell you that this line isn’t supposed to be the way it is. You alone can decide that.”

You stepped closer as he eyed his paper again. “So, Bucky,” holy crap you remembered his name. And it sounded so good coming from your lips. “Are you gonna make it a mistake or not?”

❁ ❁ ❁

That was a month ago. And Bucky had come to your class every Sunday night since then. But now his crush had only intensified.

Every time you stepped behind him to watch him work, his hand began to sweat. Every time you gave him a suggestion, his eyes were so drawn to your lips, he barely heard what you were saying. Just yesterday this had caused him to get into a particularly awkward situation. He hadn’t listened, of course - those stupid mesmerizing lips of yours were at fault for it. And when Bucky finally came back from his daydream of imagining what they would feel like on his lips, he knocked over a jar of water as he noticed you had moved next to him. And to make matters even worse, you had caught him talking to himself as he cleaned up the mess.

Bucky was beyond embarrassed. He wasn’t normally that clumsy, all his moves were calculated. No limb out of control, but when you were around, he seemed to have lost that trait of his - which was actually kind of nice...

He was in deep. And he didn’t know how to handle it.

He was contemplating never going back to your class. He would probably end up ruining somebody’s work and - besides - it wasn’t like he could ever work up the courage to ask you out. It was just all too scary.

“Bucky, is that you?” Bucky froze as he studied the coffee menu above the barista. He was going to order black anyway. But the voice that called out his name almost made him want to pretend he was still studying the sign.

“Bucky.” Your voice came closer and when you were standing next to him, he finally looked at you. And there you were, with a bright smile and a scarf shielding you from the cool fall breeze outside.

“Oh, hey.” He paused, treading, not knowing what to do with his hands or pretty much any part of his body. At least, in your workshop, he had something to do. “...hey.”

“It’s nice to see you, how’s your homework going?” You rubbed your hands together to warm them and at the sight of your delicate fingers, he felt his cheeks heating up when he imagined holding them.

“It’s... well, it’s going...” He sighed and watched his feet as they shuffled on the tiled floor. “It’s not going well if I’m being honest.” And with a shy smile, he rubbed the back of his neck, watching as you nodded in understanding.

“I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes it really helps to just get started without thinking about it too much.”

He chuckled. That was exactly his problem. Because every time he wanted to start, he wondered what you would think about it. And then his thoughts drifted to you entirely and how your neck would bend when you watched him draw over his shoulder, or how your fingers swayed over his artwork to point out the parts you were talking about. God, he loved when you did that.

“-only if you want, of course.” Your nose crinkled when Bucky’s mind brought him back to the coffee shop again. You were staring at him expectantly, your smile growing nervous with every second he took to register that you had just asked him a question.

Bucky had no idea what you had just said. He had been too lost in his daydream yet again and now he made you look stupid in the middle of this coffee shop. There wasn’t much time to decide what his response would be, but under no circumstance did he want to admit just how scattered he was around you. So without thinking, he just nodded with a tight-lipped smile and willed his knees to stay strong when your eyes brightened.

“Awesome! When are you free?” Free? Did you just ask him out and he hadn’t even paid attention?

“Uh, Sunday?” Bucky stammered as his heart began to pound in his chest. This has got to be a prank.

You laughed, and Bucky got weak in the knees. “Sunday is workshop, silly.”

Stupid, stupid, Bucky. “Right, uh... Friday then.” The rapid beat in his chest took his breath away.

“Okay, great. Here give me your phone so I can give you my number.”

“You’re–“ Bucky choked as his hands scrambled to fish his phone out of his pocket. “Yes, yeah sure, cool.” Cool? Oh god.

You took it from him, entered your contact with a little paintbrush emoji, called yourself, and handed it back to his sweaty hand.

“I’ll text you my address.” You stepped forward to pay and retrieve your coffee, gifting the barista a smile that made him blush - apparently, you were a regular because Bucky did not remember you ordering - but then again - he didn’t really pay attention apparently. “Oh, and bring your art supplies!”

And then you were out the door, letting crisp air into the cozy coffee shop, and Bucky standing dazed and confused as to what had just happened.

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky stared at his phone for the fifth time now, making sure he was in front of the right door before ringing the bell. He was nervous, to say the least. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was on a date, not to mention the last time he felt this nervous about being on one. He was a strong believer in facts but you asking him out had to be a sign from the universe. One he would only get once and he could not screw it up.

His hands smoothed over his black button-up one last time before adjusting his leather jacket again. Then he rang the bell and not even a minute later, you greeted him with a warm smile and urged him to give you his jacket to hang up.

“I just made tea, do you want some?” Bucky followed you to the kitchen where the faint but homey scent of pumpkin spice filled the air. He watches as you scrambled to find your oven its and then retrieve something delicious smelling from the oven. “Cookies?”

“I’m good with tea for now.” He chuckled in awe at how nice your home felt. Once he could tear his eyes away from you, he peered over the kitchen island into your living room, where many different artworks and photographs were displayed on the walls. Every pillow on your sofa had a different color and the blankets sprawled on it and the chair were too inviting for him not to picture the both of you cuddled up beneath them.

“Alright then, suit yourself. But just know these are my specialty.” You snatched one from the tray before almost dropping it again. “Ouch, hot.”

Bucky felt drawn to the room. With all its warm light and fall-scented candles, hints of read books and discarded crocheting, with a crackling fireplace and soft carpeting. He also felt awfully intimate at the glimpse he got into your life by being here, but he had already declared this place his favorite in his mind.

“Are you ready?” Bucky turned to you and watched as you padded your hands on your jeans, leaving faint flour prints on the dark denim.

“Ready for what?” He smiled again, he seemed to be unable to stop around you. But he was just so happy to be here, to be close to you, and to finally spend more time with you.

You chuckled and set two cups of tea on the table. “For your sketches. That’s the whole reason you came here for, remember?”

You settled on the ground and padded the sofa for Bucky. But he could just stand there and stare at you while trying to ignore the lump that began to build in his throat. He clenched the bag with his art supplies in his hand and watched as the soft material wrinkled in his grasp.

Of, course. He took a breath. How could he have been so naive? Then stepped towards the sofa. The whole thing had been a mistake. And finally sat down with a heavy smile.

The sadness was filling him so fast, it threatened to spill right out of him, but Bucky wouldn’t let this little big dent in the road be shown in front of you. Instead, he focused on your hands when they pulled his sketch pad from his bag. And your eager smile when you flipped through his failed attempts on the paper.

The whole atmosphere was wearing a thin layer of sorrow all of a sudden, and Bucky felt his heartache when you leaned over to him to point out the parts you liked the most. Your perfume seemed just that much sweeter as if it were mocking him all of a sudden.

He didn’t listen. He just watched you with the same longing he’s had ever since he met you. Back to square one. Back to the distance he had with you before he foolishly thought you had asked him out. Except now he’d lost all the confidence left in him to take the next step.

Bucky let the evening wash over him. Trying to concentrate on your tips and examples, tasting the tea you had offered to him with the sweetest smile. And before he knew it, he was standing in front of your apartment building again - with a box of those pumpkin cookies in hand and a heart that felt heavier than the bricks he was staring at.

He sighed and began his walk back home.

❁ ❁ ❁

On Sunday he decided that he wouldn’t give up. Bucky didn't know what changed his mind. He just knew that he couldn’t stop thinking about you and him on that incredibly comfortable sofa of yours and the scent of your cedar and cinnamon candle which seemed to linger on his skin for days after his visit. He wanted to play the sketching games he had half-heartedly endured last time and he wanted to become a better artist.

Bucky had left your cookie box at home as an excuse to meet up with you again. And even though he was sweating ferociously when he approached you after class, you had agreed to meet with him again.

He’d left the gallery with a bright smile that evening. Excited for the next time he’d see you again and eager with daydreams on the subway home.

You and Bucky met up every week. Every time, spending a little longer not just drawing and it filled his heart with warmth and happiness. You shared laughter, and, in Bucky’s eyes, a growing connection with every passing meeting.

He learned about your dreams and aspirations and told you about his past, his interests, and his most treasured fantasies.

As weeks turned into months, Bucky found himself drawn to you in more ways than the warmth radiating from your smile he’d noticed the first day he met you, or your talent of calmly helping him in every way possible. He admired your passion for art, your kindness, and your enchanting presence. The fear and the shyness that had gripped him at first, slowly faded away - replaced by a sense of comfort when he was with you.

And soon he realized that there was nothing he didn’t love about you. This was how he got the courage to, on one calm evening spent on your sofa, between the colorful pillows he had been thinking about falling asleep on for weeks, place his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers with his.

“I got something for you,” he whispered between dialogues of the Halloween movie playing on TV, watching as your eyes aimed up at him with curiosity.

With reluctance, he peeled himself out of the warm blanket you shared and trudged to the sketchbook hidden in his bag. The initial idea had been dipped in silly confidence. But it was too late to back out now. He’d already told you about it.

So despite his nervous heartbeat, Bucky came back to the sofa and handed you the book.

“Open it,” he nudged when you carefully inspected the black leather binding, unaware of the confession hidden beneath.

And when you did, he felt he could read every expression on your face like a poem.

The book was filled with sketches of you. The first pages were scattered in hasty pencil drawings, misplaced lines, and unintentional dents. Then followed the section in which he had tried to pay attention to detail. The curve of your nose or the arch of your fingers when they pointed at his artwork. He could see them now, hovering over the sketches himself, and when you turned to the last page of the section, he could see the striking resemblance between them. And so did you. On the next turn, you revealed the latest portraits he’d added to the book - finally confident enough to attempt doing what he saw you as justice, to finally look past his mistakes - or happy little accidents as you called them - and just try it.

Bucky had discovered that your weekly sketch sessions had done him good. And that you had secretly given him back what he had mourned after for so long.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you from the moment we met.” He whispered still, too afraid to break the moment you’d just created. “Thought it was time for me to tell you.”

Your eyes were glassy when you tore them from the pages in your hand, a shaky laugh escaping your lips when Bucky beamed down at you. “You did all of this for me-”

“Because of you,” he corrected and wiped a lonely tear from your cheek. “I never thought I could get the joy of drawing back until you showed me how.”

Bucky leaned in closer until your noses touched. “How to be less critical of myself.” He closed his eyes and let his hand linger on your skin. “And how to welcome a mistake by making it an accident-”

And before he could finish that sentence, he felt your lips press to his and your warm hands wrap around his neck to pull him into your body. Bucky shivered in excitement, letting his hands trail down your back and falling into the soft cushions of your sofa while he pressed you to his chest protectively.

He sighed into the kiss, feeling his heart burn with excitement.

Fascinating, how fast a mistake can turn into a happy little accident.

I love you Bob Ross <3

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @almosttoopizza @sociallyimpairedme @royalwritersoftheuniverses @i-l-y-3000 @mrsgweasley @prettylittlepluviophile @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @wintermischief @supersecretblogformytreasures @broadwaybabe18 @fridayiaminlove @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @justafangir1 @simpxinnie @bisexual-buckyfan @blackhawkfanatic @augustbucky @kandis-mom @harleycao @ashhsage

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loneberry · 9 months

Text

For a certain kind of person — the person who, usually, strives to be a responsible parent, a sensitive friend, an upright citizen, a person who tries to care about their community — it can be impossible not to succumb to the incessant urge to mimic someone else’s supposed balance and feeling of wellness in life. What do we even know about them really?

I’m increasingly seeing this in my work as a therapist in New York City. So are my colleagues. One said to me recently that he was tired of listening to his patients talk about the impossible advice inhaled on Instagram and TikTok — to say nothing of the self-help industry. “Doesn’t anyone come asking to be more free?” he exclaimed. “They don’t,” I said pessimistically. “Everyone wants to make the right decisions.” The problem is it’s very hard to tell someone that pursuing the abstract question of “right and wrong” ways to live will lead you into a cul-de-sac. It avoids the deeper question of desire, and desire is a compass.

The promised image of goodness skirts pleasures that — for obscure reasons — you aren’t sure you can want. I see patients grow fearful when they can’t tell if what they desire is compulsive — just another rote, maybe addictive, behavior, or a real attempt to test the boundaries they live under. How do you locate free will in a world this compulsory? Unsettling desires challenge our perception of who we are and what life might look like. ...

My patients have spent time on the couch struggling with the joys and pains that come with their wish to take drugs, not to expand consciousness but just because; quit their job, not to re-evaluate life but simply to stop working (along with the bonus pleasure of thumbing their nose at their employers); or give in to an irksome captivation with the wrong person at the absolutely wrong time. ...

These pursuits certainly aren’t what you ought to do — much less post about — and yet I find that it’s when we dwell on our secret enjoyments that we learn the most about ourselves. Sexual and aggressive feelings, veering self-destructive, are finally confronted without the veneer of rationalization.

--Jamieson Webster, "I Don’t Need to Be a ‘Good Person.’ Neither Do You."

#Jamieson Webster #psychoanalysis #lacan #desire

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bloggingboutburgers · 2 months

Note

Hey, allo anon with an ace partner here. I wanted to say thank you so much for the well wishes! I figured I would send this in here again, so anyone else who is curious about what this experience looks like from the other side can see it.

My girlfriend came out to me a little over 2 years into our relationship. At the time it surprised me a lot, because she'd never given me any signs that she wasn't enjoying what we were doing. After we talked more I understood that she wasn't repulsed by sex and she didn't hate it, but she didn't really love it either and wanted to stop doing it for a while (so a sex-neutral ace).

Honestly, at the time, I did get anxious about it. Not just because of social conventions, but because I had viewed sex as an important bonding part of our relationship. I don't do well with change, and I was super worried about how a lack of sex would change our dynamic. I also had some insecurities about my own body, and my girlfriend admitting that she didn't see me as sexy was upsetting. But after speaking to my therapist, I realized that I was projecting my own issues on to the relationship. So I spoke with her again, and she reassured me that she wanted to be with me, and that she was confiding these feelings because she trusted me. She likes how I look, she just doesn't have the same sexual impulses I do.

So, I realized this was pretty much like cuddling. I love physical touch a lot, and I want to cuddle for a much longer time than she does. I like it when someone lies on top of me. She doesn't want me on top of her chest during cuddling. She still cuddles with me, but she tells me when she's satisfied, and we stop.

A few months went by, and I noticed that she wasn't spending any less time with me; she was actually spending more. We would still call every evening when we didn't meet up in person, we would still joke around, and she still told me she loved me and did everything she could to show it to me. We also began trying out new stuff together, and playing games and watching stuff more often. We also still had plenty of physical intimacy with things like cuddling and kissing, which made me really happy.

I realized that I didn't feel like anything was missing from the relationship. I just needed her to show and tell me she loved me in the ways she normally did. Sure, I am still attracted to her that way, but it wasn't something that would make or break the relationship.

It's been years since she came out, and at this point, I never expect anything sexual. It happens rarely, and I always check in with her multiple times before and during. We stop at any point she tells me. There are quite a few hard boundaries about what is and isn't off limits, and I always keep them in mind. I would rather satisfy myself forever than make her uncomfortable, and she knows it.

It's been over 5 years and we are still going strong. I am hoping to ask her to marry me in the next few years, because honestly, I can't picture wanting anyone else by my side. She is kind, funny, beautiful, intelligent, and treats me well. I could never ask for anything more from a partner.

Thank you SO MUCH for sharing. I myself definitely lack knowledge of what it feels like from an allo's perspective, so this was very educational for me, but beyond that... You have no idea how much hope this gives me.

From you being aware of how much sex meant to you in the context of your relationship and still being fine without it, to just... Heck, even your therapist for not blaming her for the situation. Therapy is still very much, in my country at least, an area where the absence or lower levels of sexual attraction will be hastily labelled as something wrong physically or mentally, so... Yeah, the amount of relief I felt reading that, you have no idea. And I can only imagine how much your partner appreciates it too.

Honestly I teared up a bit reading this - I sincerely wish you guys all the best and I hope you have a bright future ahead! (Also fun fact, seems you guys have been together as long as my partner and I have, it's nice to be able to relate to that too hehe^^)

#anon #asexual #ace #allosexual #thank you so much for sharing

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raythekiller · 11 months

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🗒 ❛ Personality Headcanons ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie

#Notes: just my general take on the creeps. hope y'all enjoy! requests open :)

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

He's a total fucking prick, for a lack of better word. He doesn't care about other's feelings, he thinks he's better than everyone so he's "allowed" to treat people badly, and he has anger issues to top that. Protesting against his bad treatment is gonna earn you some screaming at best and some blood spilled at worst, depending entirely on his mood.

He has the potential to be a good friend and person in general, he just doesn't want to. However, you might catch him trying to awkwardly comfort Toby or Ben when they have mental breakdowns. Well, not as much "comfort" but more of a shy pat on the back and a "Stop being a little bitch" comment, but that's his way of showing that he cares. Take it or leave.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

Generally a pretty chill guy. He's not an extrovert, but he's still fairly outgoing when it comes to meeting new people (when he does leave his room, that is. He's kind of a shut in). Since he died when he was about twelve, I think he's forever stuck into the pre-pubescent boy mentality, so he can be quite the little shit.

That means he's also kind of a pervert and just immature in general. The type to play certain games just to gawk at the female character's slutty outfits and make fart jokes. He can also be very sarcastic and witty when he wants to, just a total smartass. Also, he's a pothead.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

Probably one of, if not the nicest creep in the manor. Very upbeat and cheerful, at least most of the time. As someone that has bipolar disorder, it personally doesn't make me very violent and as unstable as Toby is canonically said to be. What does make me does things though is my BPD, so I headcanon he has that as well. He's all sunshine and rainbows until someone says something in a slightly off tone and suddenly he's screaming and throwing his hatchets at the fucking wall.

That also means he's extremely clingy. He wants every last bit of attention he can get and is extremely possessive of people he likes. And, while he is nice most of the time, when he's having an episode he's probably the most cold and cruel person you'll ever met.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

One of the most chill creeps. He's not aggressive and kills only when he needs to eat, and tries to make it quick and painless for the victim. He eats any organs, not just kidneys. Also, he's a fucking great cook, Hannibal Lecter style. He really likes reading and is extremely intelligent, probably knows two or more languages, and is probably the most mature member of the manor after Slenderman.

He's not actually blind, but he's not not blind either. He sees the temperature of things instead of the actual object. He hates drama and argument and loud noises, so he normally stays away from the other creeps (especially our favorite trio, Jeff, Ben and Toby), but he gets along really well with Jane.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Another prick, though a more reserved one than Jeff. He's a perfectionist and natural leader, so he expects everyone to obey him without questions and no mistakes allowed. He has this rivalry going on with Toby because, even though he's the leader and Slenderman's right hand, he feels the tall guy has a certain favoritism or soft spot when it comes to Toby (which is true).

He gets very aggressive after missions and just wants to be left alone for at least a few hours, just until he calms down a little. After he's rested, he's actually pretty decent to be around, becoming less defensive and more accepting of others.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

The coolest guy ever. He's calm but great to be around and is always willing to listen to others when they need to vent. He's kind of the manor's therapist and gives great advice. He's mute, so he talks either through sign language or writing down on paper. He also plays guitar and likes to write his own songs sometimes. Ben and Sally really look up to him as a kind of cool uncle.

Since he's so level headed, he's always the one to calm Masky down when he's being a bit much. Toby really appreciates this, since he's normally getting the short end of Masky's bad moods. As mentioned, he's great with the younger members of the manor and just kids in general and they all love him. The type of uncle to give them candy while saying "Don't tell your parents" playfully.

#ticci toby headcanons #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #jeff the killer headcanons #eyeless jack headcanons #ben drowned headcanons #masky headcanons #hoodie headcanons #ray.writes

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greenfinchwriter · 4 days

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Okay so I debated posting this for a long time but it won't stop bothering me. Before you come for me,all I ask is that you hear me out, and that my intention with this post is NOT to not to attack anyone.

Here we go: Alana Bloom is not a good person. That is pre-moral-decay arc.

Why am I saying this?

It is NOT because:

She's a woman

queer

Female professional in a male dominated field

Somehow "standing between Hannigram"

It IS because,in my very subjective opinion as 1 autistic person, she is a prime example of a self-righteous "Autism Speaks/Facebook Autism Mom" with a degree.

Personally the most insidious kind of allistic ableist to encounter. It took me a long time to recognize that this kind of person is not any less harmful,or bigoted,and they are by far the most difficult to call out. Why? Because they are what neurotypical people see as "nice,well-intentioned,altruistic,allies, compassionate,self-sacrificing" etc, this goes double if you have a degree to cement your authority. Trying to even gently explain to them how and why their behavior is not okay from an actual neurodivergent point of view will always be met with more outrage by other neurotypicals than calling out someone who is outright,loud and proud hostile in their ableism. A similar concept to other subtle, covert forms of bigotry.

Alana is a worse therapist than Hannibal, and hell,even Bedelia. She's on par with Chilton.

Because she is "normal", "nice", and "sweet" it is easily overlooked just how not only ableist but emotionally manipulative she is. She is just as bad as Sutcliffe,or any other professional who sees Will as an exotic case study,and her "fascination" with Will echoes Freddie's. I don't doubt that she genuinely thinks of herself as a "good person who cares about/for Will", and that she firmly believes to be "well-intentioned",and "morally surperior". But she really isn't. Her behavior towards Will is NOT okay. She did and does use,and infantilize him,she does manipulate him,be that consciously or subconsciously. But whereas we make "excuses" for Hannibal, and don't really expect him to act differently because of his pathology,his "nature",his way of thinking etc. We do not hold the "normal" people like Alana to the same measure.

That's why I get angry when people regurgitate Chilton's talking points about Will,and demonize him.

It is far more nuanced,and complex than that.

Imho, in this show (apart from the dogs) there are no "pure" characters. And to deny Alana is not fundamentally flawed,and yes ableist character because "feminism!" could in and of itself be misogynistic. A person can be a bigot regardless of gender,race/ethnicity/culture,religion etc. They can be so without actively meaning harm,or even being really all that aware that their 'good intentions' are destructive. If such a person is willing to learn and change,than that's good. No such thing as doomed. But most of her "with a degree" types will die on their hills,and be affronted by the accusation that their oh so "noble" attitudes might actually be anything but.

I am NOT bird app accusing anyone who likes her character of being any of those terms,to stop liking her,or that she is "worse" but I am saying that just as we acknowledge Hannibal's flaws,can (meta) decry his actions,and still call him Blorbo and fiercely ship Hannigram,we should also be able to do so with Alana.

The "normal" ones aren't always the "good ones".

That is why I dislike Alana,and I just don't like being accused of merely disliking her for being a queer woman,or the infantile notion that she was "in the way of Hannigram". I have my HIGHLY PERSONAL,SUBJECTIVE BUT TO ME VALID,UNRELATED REASONS I dislike her. Not because she read a weird book to Abigail. Or anything else that has recently come up in the fandom.

You don't have to dislike her. It's okay if you like her. It's okay if she's your favorite,your obsession,or you just find her sexy. It's perfectly fine if you ship Marlana,or ship her with Hannibal. I'm not posting this to lecture,or convert anyone. I couldn't be happier for you if you like her and/or find comfort in her character.

What I do have issues with is seeing her idealized without legitimate discourse about her character.

No,I don't think of Will or Hannibal as pure cherubs without fault but I have had enough about the angel-ification of Alana,and reimagining of Will as darker/more monstrous/misanthropic than he is.

That is my perspective. You don't have to agree with it - not if you are autistic/neurodivergent as well,or if you are neurotypical. You really don't have to. That's okay! I respect that,and you!

So respectfully,gently,please let one autistic person of many explain her discomfort with her character,or maybe offer food for thought to some.

There is more I could say but I'll leave it at that.

Sorry if I upset anyone,and for not being more eloquent about this,I hope what I was trying to express came across well enough.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal meta #alana bloom #text post #im sorry #actually autistic #autistic experiences

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vmrsdias · 2 months

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impossible love

GIF by @rubendiasatl

Pairing: Ruben Dias x Reader

Plot : you love him, but he is about to marry someone else

Author's note: English is not my firts language

You knew you shouldn't because it was unprofessional, but you loved it. You loved the way he looked at you, the way your heart pounded in your chest when he was near you.

“You should go ahead and look for another man”, this is the phrase you repeated in your head every day when you found out that Ruben was getting married. The problem with this sentence is that you couldn't. You went out (if you can call them that) with two guys, but they weren't Ruben and no one could have been him.

You heard the guys talking in the changing room, they were saying that the hen party was that same evening at a bar in Manchester. That evening you finished your shift as a physical therapist and went home. As soon as you arrived to welcome you there was your golden retiver, Snoopy, after playing with him, you went to take a shower, as soon as you came out you decided that you would drink a glass or maybe two of red wine. It was around 11.30pm when your phone lit up reporting a message from someone, that someone was your friend from university, Hanna, who was asking if you wanted to go for a drink in Manchester city centre. You really wanted to stay home but immediately after reading the message the doorbell rang. As soon as you open the door you find your friend, begging you to come out. "Come on, it's Friday night! Do you want to stay locked in here and drink that bottle of wine?" “yeah, that was actually my plan” you told him going to sit on the couch.

She didn't answer you, she just closed the door and went to your room, ignoring your calls. When you entered your room there was Hanna pulling down a little black dress, she turned towards you and says "put this on and let's go, without any objections y/n" "I want to stay home tonight" "no. this evening you will go out and get Ruben out of your mind" and while he was saying this he threw your dress. "It's not about him, it's been a very long week." Hanna has always been stubborn and fighting her was like fighting a wall. After telling you this he leaves the room but not before turning and telling you "I'll wait for you in the car, you have 10 minutes." He didn't even give you time to respond before you heard the sound of the door closing. 10 minutes later you were sitting in Hanna's car, heading towards the bar. When you entered the bar, you sat down and ordered. While you were chatting Hanna looks up and is shocked "don't turn around" "why?" "trust me don't do it", you didn't understand why so even though he told you not to do it you turned around and at that moment you instantly regretted it. Ruben was there with his future wife.

At that precise moment Ruben raised his head and your gaze met, the air around you seemed to have disappeared, so you ran outside. You leaned against the wall and closed your eyes thinking that you should have listened to all the people who said never to fall in love, because love hurts. You felt a hand on you and you opened your eyes, in front of you was the last person you wanted to see at that moment, Ruben. "are you OK?" you wanted to tell him that you weren't well, that you couldn't breathe and stop thinking about the two of you together.

"Why are you interested?" you replied to him in a tone that even you don't know where it came from. "of course I'm interested" "really?" "yes" "then why are you getting married to her?" “y/n” “do you love her?” “y/n” “stop saying my name and answer me, do you love her?” "do you know" "what do I know? that less than two months ago we were together in a bed and now you are getting married to another woman" in that moment everything came out, everything, you couldn't hold back. “I love her” when he said those words you stopped breathing for a second.

“you should have loved me not her” after these words you pushed yourself away from the wall and walked past Ruben, ignoring the fact that he was calling you.

From that day on you never saw Ruben again because when he left for his honeymoon, you decided to leave Manchester.

Maybe you were a coward but you couldn't bear to see him every day.

#ruben dias x reader #football fanfic #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias #football imagine

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happy74827 · 2 months

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Just Words

[Siobhan Roy x GN!Reader]

Synopsis: Words can be hurtful (especially to most) but with Siobhan’s “5-star” personality and ability to not care about anything other than herself, you can’t help BUT spill some words. {GIF Creds: @olliviacooke// I took this off of google (fair warning) so I had to dig deep to find the OP}

WC: 2274

Category: Slight Fluff (?), Enemies to… trope {Trigger Warning: Foul Language (I really channeled the Roy family here), Logan}

I did not expect my first succession fic to be Siobhan… but honestly, I’m not complaining 👀 (fyi: this was a request and I stupidly forgot to “answer” so hopefully the anon who requested lovely Shiv finds this 💀)

『••✎••』

Siobhan Roy… mega bitch. You hated her. Well, that might be an understatement; you despised her. From the moment you met her, she was just a total and complete pain in your ass. Not to mention completely and utterly self-absorbed. She had the attitude and ego of a child.

So when you were made to work with her, you were less than pleased. Logan Roy, the only man who could top Siobhan in terms of being an insufferable asshole, had made you a deal. If you and Siobhan worked together to find a solution to the media shitstorm he was currently experiencing, he would put you on the team that handled the IPO of Waystar. It was the opportunity you had been waiting for, so you sucked it up and agreed.

You and Siobhan sat in the meeting, both of you looking like a pair of miserable children. It made Roman look like a ray of sunshine, and that was really saying something.

Logan slammed the door, causing you to flinch.

"Fuck," he said, taking his seat.

"What?" asked Siobhan, a tinge of irritation in her voice. It’s amazing how her mood could shift on a dime.

"Nothing. I'm just a bit tired of this fucking circus."

"Well, what the fuck do you expect? You made a public promise. If you can't make good on it, why not just say so? Why continue this fucking farce?"

Logan narrowed his eyes at her.

"If I wanted to hear that, Siobhan, I would have gone to my wife's bed. I don't need a cunt in my ear right now."

Siobhan rolled her eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ. I'm a realist. You're the one who wants to live in your fantasy world. Just fucking drop the bomb, tell the truth, and let's move on."

"The truth? And what is the truth? That my son’s a psychotic, drug-addled mess? That Kendall is a sniveling, entitled little fuck? A pathetic, whiny, little shit stain who can't do his job because he's too busy jerking himself off to his own sob story? Is that the truth you want to set free?"

Siobhan stared him down, and once again, you were surprised. You had thought the woman was completely brazen, but there were still limits.

"I'm not your therapist," she said.

"No. You're not. And I'm not going to sit here and listen to a woman with the emotional range of a fucking teaspoon telling me how to handle this situation. Now, I need to get on the phone with my PR team. Fuck off, all of you. Get back to work."

You and Roman both jumped up, quickly leaving the room. Once you were safely away from Logan, you took a deep breath and relaxed a bit.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you muttered, "I don't know how she does it."

Roman smirked, "Oh, she's a special snowflake—a real ball buster. You should see her with Tom. It's a fucking bloodbath."

“Tell me about it. It’s a raging dumpster fire, even saying more than two words to her. I feel like she's going to snap my head off any minute. I’m so tired of her bullshit, and she's the least of my worries. The whole family is a fucking disaster. And I don't have time for any of it…. No offense.”

Roman gave you a half smile. "None taken. You're right; I'm the best of a very bad lot."

"Well, at least you're self-aware."

“You fuckers talking shit about me behind my back?"

You turned and saw Shiv leaning against the wall.

"Always," replied Roman. "And it's fucking hilarious."

"Well, don't let me stop you," she said, rolling her eyes. Her eyes then shifted to you.

"I didn't realize we were having a fucking slumber party."

"Just having a bit of a break," you said.

"Oh, well, that's very fucking nice. I'm glad everyone is taking a fucking break because I've been dealing with our father, who is a raging psycho at the moment. You know, while the rest of you are fucking around, the company is dying. It's falling apart, and everyone is too fucking busy to give a shit."

"Come on, Shivvy. Take a breather. You’re starting to act like Kendall… and that's never a good look," said Roman.

"Fuck off, Ro.”

Shiv glared at him, then glanced back at you. The glare made you want to hide, but you refused to show fear in front of her. You had done it in the past, and it only fed her.

"Well," she said, "aren't you going to say anything? Or are you just going to stand there with your mouth open like an idiot?"

"I think I'll take option B. I'd like to live through this," you replied.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"I think it's pretty clear."

"Yeah, I suppose it is. I guess I shouldn't expect someone like you to understand."

"Someone like me?"

“Shiv,” warned Roman, trying to interject. Personally, despite his whacked-out sense of humor, you actually enjoyed his company. He was definitely the least obnoxious of the Roy siblings. “Let’s not get into this now, okay? Just drop it."

"No. No, go ahead, Shiv. Let's have it out. Right here, right now. Let's see if you can handle it."

Shiv stared at you for a few moments, then she smiled. It wasn’t her usual smug, condescending grin. It was different, almost sincere.

"You think you're tough?" she asked.

"No. I know I am. It's a little different, don't you think?"

"Okay," she replied, her eyes darkening. She leaned forward, her face just inches from yours. Roman just looked at the two of you as if watching a tennis match. "You're so sure you can handle me. So why don't you prove it?"

"Prove it? Like, what, punch you in the face? Is that what you want?"

"Although, as satisfying as that sounds, I was thinking we all should just move on… maybe have a drink, talk it over? Yeah? No?”

Shiv just looked at you. "Yeah, I'll pass. I'm not here to make friends, and I'm certainly not here to kiss your ass."

"That's good. Because, honestly, I don't see you as the ass-kissing type. Tom, yes. You? Not a chance. You're the type who wants everything to be handed to you on a silver platter. I'm sorry, but I'm not the maid. I'm not going to serve you or kiss your ass. I'm here because I have a job to do, and I intend to do it. That's it.”

"Oh, right. I see. Well, then, why don't we cut the bullshit and just get right to it. How about you go back to whatever shithole you crawled out of and let the real people get on with things."

“Guys-” Roman started.

"Real people? Real people? You think you're real? You think this is real? I hate to break it to you, Siobhan, but you're not a princess, and this isn't a fairy tale. You're not the queen. Your father isn't the king. You're a spoiled brat, and he's… well, he’s Logan. He's not even a king. He's just a bully."

"Is that supposed to hurt me? To insult me?"

"No, but you seem like the kind of person who doesn't take criticism well. You’re doing a terrible job.”

Shiv stared at you, her lip curled up in disgust. She looked as if she were about to hit you, but the rage was just a facade.

"Well," she finally said, "It's a good thing we're not here to play fucking games, then. So why don't you shut the fuck up and get back to work? Unless, of course, you don't think you can handle it. Maybe you should just go back to where you came from, and let the real people get on with things."

Your nostrils flared. It took every ounce of strength in you not to smack the look off her face. But you knew better. If you started a fight, Logan would take your head off, and that was a fight you couldn't win. So, instead, you smiled.

"Fine," you said. "If that's what you want. I'll do my job, and you do yours. But, just remember, the day is coming when this little charade is going to come to an end, and when it does, it's going to be a lot worse than it is right now."

You didn't wait for her reply. Instead, you turned and walked away, leaving the two of them standing in the hallway.

Once you were back in the safety of your office, you collapsed into your chair and let out a sigh. You had just gotten your first taste of a Roy fight, and it was worse than you had anticipated. The worst part was Siobhan had gotten the last word. It didn't matter that you might’ve won. She had gotten the last good word, and you hated her for it.

As the hours ticked by, you became more and more frustrated. You were angry and bitter. You were pissed at yourself for letting Shiv get under your skin, and you were angry at her for getting to you.

So, when your phone rang and you saw her name, you were tempted to ignore it. You let it ring for a few seconds, then decided to answer.

"Yes?” Your attitude was short.

"Get your shit together," she snapped. “We have a meeting in five minutes. We have a lot of ground to cover."

That was, in fact, false. By the time you arrived, the conference room was deserted, and only Shiv remained. She was sitting at the table, her laptop open in front of her.

"What the hell?" you demanded.

"I'm sorry. Did you want a fucking audience? Because that can be arranged. But, if you don't mind, I would prefer not to have any interruptions."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that we are both here, and we have a job to do. Now, either sit down and help me, or fuck off. I really don't give a shit."

You stared at her, and she looked up from her laptop, raising an eyebrow. There was no audience, and there wasn’t going to be one. So, you had two options. Either walk away and look like an idiot, or stay and possibly get chewed out again. You took a deep breath and sat down.

Shiv just hummed in response, then looked back at her screen. "Good choice."

For the next couple of hours, the two of you worked together, trying to figure out a way to turn the situation around. Arguments arose, shots were fired, and at one point, Shiv threatened to kick you out, but overall, it was a productive session. Logan wouldn’t be pissed, so that was a win.

"So," Shiv said as the two of you left the building, "Did you cool down?"

"What?"

"I'm asking if you cooled down. Do you feel better now?"

"Um, yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I? You know, besides the fact that we were at each other's throats for hours and the fact that we both wanted to kill each other. I'm peachy."

"Mm, peachy." She said the word like it was an insult. "That's a strange choice of words, don't you think?”

“What? The real people don’t use the word peachy, huh? Is it beneath you, Shiv? Do you only use fancy words and proper grammar?"

"Oh, I can be a real commoner when the situation calls for it. It's all about knowing your audience."

"Really? So, is this the commoner Shiv? Should I expect a new side of you?"

"Maybe.” She smiled oddly again. The one that made you nervous. "Maybe not. That depends on you. Do you want to know the real me?"

"No, not particularly."

"Good. Because I'm not interested in showing you. I’m just curious if you have what it takes."

"To what, put up with your bullshit? To put up with a spoiled brat who thinks the world is hers for the taking? Mmm, yeah, I think I've got what it takes."

"Okay, first off, fuck you. Second, you're a piece of shit. Third, I have something to tell you. So, listen up. This is important. Okay, ready?"

You were about to say something, but her expression stopped you. Her voice was low, her tone serious. You nodded.

"I'm a bitch. And, yeah, I have a temper, and I'm not a warm and fuzzy kind of girl. But, that's the thing, I don't need to be. I don't need to pretend that I'm anything other than who I am. I don't have to fake it because I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to go after it. That’s what you need to understand. It's not about what you think you need. It's about what you want and what you're willing to do to get it."

You just stared at her, unsure of what to say.

"So, let me ask you, what do you want? And are you willing to do what it takes to get it?"

You thought about it for a second. "I want a drink. A strong one."

A little comedy never hurt anyone. And judging by her expression, you could tell you had made her smile.

"Well, that's a start." Siobhan had a smirk on her face. "Alright, fine. Let's get that drink. Then we'll see how far that gets you."

"Yeah," you muttered, "I'm sure."

But, as you walked down the street, you couldn't help but think about the question. What did you want?

And what was Siobhan offering?

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itsmealaiah · 2 months

Text

Tell me

TW: use of a vape, anger issues, angst to fluff. keep your bodies full of NATURAL fruits please.

request: can u do one where Tom kaulitz catches his 16 year old daughter vaping

again, do not use vapes. they suck and one pod is equal to a full pack of regular cigarettes.

minors do not interact.

don't steal my work ❤️

The moment Tom had been worrying about for weeks finally arrived as he walked into his your room, the acrid stench of vaporized nicotine filling his nostrils like a thick fog. He stood there, frozen in place, as his eyes scanned the cluttered space, searching for any signs of the offending device. His heart raced, a mixture of anger, fear, and betrayal surging through him like a tidal wave. And there it was, perched on the nightstand next to your bed, a sleek, metallic tube with a glowing tip. The evidence was undeniable. His 16-year-old daughter had been vaping.

As he stared at the object, a million questions ran through his mind. How long had she been doing this? Was she under pressure from her friends? Had she tried to hide it from him all this time? Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he had to force himself not to lose control. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, and carefully picked up the vaporizer. "y/n" he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I need you to come here."

You walked into the room, your face flushed with embarrassment and guilt. you knew you had done something wrong, but you hadn't expected him to find out this way. As you walked over to him, you could feel his eyes boring into your skin, assessing you. You didn't want to lie, but you also didn't want to make things worse. You took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry, Dad," you said, your voice barely audible. "I didn't want to do this. I was just trying to fit in with my friends, and they said it helped them feel better."

Tom sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew the pressures teenagers faced these days, and he hated that his daughter felt like she had to resort to something like this. "I understand that you feel the need to fit in, y/n," he said, his voice gentle. "But there are healthier ways to do that.

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. "I know, Dad. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it."

He walked over to you and pulled you into a hug, his strong arms enveloping you. "It's okay, sweetheart. We'll get through this together. But from now on, you're going to talk to me when you feel like you need to do something like this, understand?"

You nodded against his chest, feeling the familiar warmth and security of his embrace. "I do, Dad. I'm sorry I didn't before."

Tom held you for a moment longer, then released you, stepping back and looking you in the eye. "I trust you, y/n. I know you're a good kid, and I want you to know that I'm here for you, no matter what, okay?."

You nodded, wiping away your tears. "Okay, Dad. Thanks."

The air between you felt lighter, less tense. Tom took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "So," he said, clearing his throat, "what are we going to do about this?"

You glanced at the offending object, now in your father's hand. "I-I don't know, Dad. I can try to stop, I guess."

Tom nodded, considering this. "Okay, that's a good start. But we need to do more than just stop, y/n. We need to find a healthier way for you to deal with whatever's going on in your life. Maybe we could talk to your counselor at school, or even see a therapist together? Would you be okay with that?"

You hesitated, but then nodded. "Yeah, I think that could help."

Tom smiled, relief washing over him. "Great. I'm here for you, no matter what. And remember, just because you're dealing with this now doesn't mean it's the end of the world. You're a strong, smart girl, and we'll get through this together."

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