#i stopped being her fucking therapist because it's ridiculous

[yuoic]

.

#im losing patience with a teacher #we started off as just student and teacher - me and another classmate #we were kind to her because she's from another state and was completely new and knew no one and nowhere #so we eventually developed a friendship #but now she's requesting 'us' (and by 'us' i meant 'me') for advice or shit like that #and wants to hang out so often when we have so much homework (and a job and second uni in my case) #and if i refuse to listen to an EIGHT minute voice note #she double-texts me to prompt me to listen to it #and then says she has some issue or gossip and when we ask for the details she says 'nono ill tell you when we go for some coffee' #like DUDE #what's up with the clickbait??? #and then she wants advice even for every stupid shit including 'should i take a sweater to the movie theatere? what do you guys think?' #and perfectly googleable things she comes and asks us (we have a group chat) instead of just googling herself #i stopped being her fucking therapist because it's ridiculous #we were getting fucking nowhere because she only wants the attention but processes nothing and #never wants to do anything about the supposed problem she needed my help with #it's so exhausting #and how do you tell all this to someone without sounding like a monster? #personal

[lundenloves]

couples counselling

Here we go, couples counselling and fuckin’ penetrating questions. Writing this made me realise just how much I can’t be arsed with therapy situations. But that won’t stop me from writing them. *Manic laughter followed by smokers cough.* Happy reading, kids.

↳ angst | mentions of sex, although nothing explicit | 1.4k

this gif should be a warning in itself. javier being dismissive and high-key rude, just the way we like him.

masterlist | part two

Ten years. Ten long, doubtful, and aggressive years since the day Aleta Lopez had married Javier Peña. They both had nothing to show for it, nothing but a ring and an impressive list of things that frustrated her. And him likewise, except he had taken his wedding band off months ago for the poor excuse of work.

Needless to say, their therapist had swallowed hard before taking the session money from Javier. If this wasn't a challenge, she hadn't known one before.

They both sat down, a good distance left between one another and that was when the the Doctor had began. "Mr and Mrs Peña." She cleared her throat, "Why are we in counselling?" Her eyes ticked to Javier who had chuckled to himself, rubbing his finger across his lip and over his mustache. He thought this was fucking ridiculous.

"Because I was forced." The drawl of his accent made Aleta scoff.

"You weren't forced."

"So you asked me?" He asked, forcing a cynical smile.

The Doctor shifted in her seat, closing one side of her coat over the other. The first session in counselling wasn't to solve problems, but it was to figure out the issues that led to being in the room. Javier hadn't expected anything other than a grilling, he just wanted to get this hour over with and go home to sleep.

"How long have you been together?" The doctor asked.

"Coming up ten years." Aleta smiled half-heartedly and Javier kicked his leg wide, stomping the heel of his boot while sliding his back down on the couch ever so slightly. As if this whole thing was a fucking inconvenience.

"Ten. Years." He repeated to himself, almost in shock.

"Any children?" Her question was directed at him, earning a crease in his brow and a vigorous shake of the head as a response. His wife's eyes lingered on his reluctancy for a second too long when he had glanced back at her with a stiff frown.

"Marriage?"

"We got married when we were nineteen." Aleta supplied and Javier exhaled a deep sigh from his chest, pushing a hand through his hair before dropping it to rest over his belt buckle.

"Why did you marry?"

Aleta looked to him and he shrugged, his eyes directed back down to his boots, stomping the same one once more. "I mean, why do people marry?" His eyes widened in pause for the question, extending his palm as if it were obvious. "We loved each other. Come on, that doesn't take fucking counselling."

"Loved?" Aleta sat forward.

With a shrug he replied. "Don't act shocked."

The doctor observed quietly, tilting her head slightly at Aleta's low hum. "The loss of feelings isn't mutual?" She felt utterly stupid. Cheeks burning slowly into a red that grew darker by the second. Javier only eyed her from his peripheral, crossing his arms over his chest and biting on his top lip nonchalantly.

"We haven't spoken about it." She refused to look at him.

"Is it something you avoid?"

"No." Her response was curt. "There's no opportunity. He's never around."

His silence was broken momentarily with a slight chuckle, weight shifting to lean on his forearm as if preparing himself for gomething. "That's shit." His eyes lingered on hers, although through his brows.

"No it's fucking not."

He growled when sitting back.

"You seem annoyed by the accusation, Javier." The Doctor said, noting the way his knee had begun to bounce up and down. "Is that how you feel?" His glare was piercing, as if she had touched something she wasn't supposed to.

"You sure are good at your job, sweetheart." His answer came with a condescending shrug of one shoulder. "Doesn't take two-hundred dollars an hour to notice that." Voice deepening ever so slightly when he had shifted to extend his legs out again, dropping his arm around the back of the sofa where his long fingers rested mere centimetres from Aleta's neck.

“Javier.” She hissed.

The Doctor cleared her throat, “How long have you felt aloof from the marriage?”

His fingers rubbed the back of the sofa, other hand pushed over his face and he held it there with a sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.” The answer was obviously sincere with the way his jaw flexed at Aleta’s narrowed eyes.

“Why do you think you haven’t opened up about it?”

His chest had risen with a sharp inhale at the question, breathing out a frustrated exhale through his nose - brow deeply furrowed while his glare burnt holes into the ceiling. He was intent on making his discomfort known.

Aleta’s whole body turned to face him. “There’s another woman, isn’t there?” It wasn’t so much as a question as it was an accusation.

He screwed his face.

“There must be. Why else would you spend so much time away? I know fine fucking well your job doesn’t need you on weekends, Javi.” Her tone dug into him like poison and he too turned to face her, rubbing his temple with a slight laugh.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look serious?”

He sat back with crossed arms, shaking his head with a mockingly small smile at her absurdity.

There was a moment of silent communication between the two. The medium of facial expressions carrying words that they had both understood easily through practiced perfection over the last ten years. The next thing the Doctor would say however, had both heads turning. One in amusement, one in embarrassment.

“When was the last time you had sex?”

Javier snorted at that, gesturing with a straightened hand and a tilt of his head for Aleta to answer.

“Last month.” She conceded.

“I’m gathering it’s not usually between months?” The Doctor queried.

The side of Javier’s lip twitched, his hand falling to rest over his lap. “She never wants to.”

“What about it makes you reject him, Aleta?” She was met with a silence, her eyes flitting between the ones that avoided her. “Okay. Let me rephrase.” A beat. “Javier, why continuously try if you say she never wants to?”

“Because he’s a man.” She piped up, “Because he’s a man— and I’m the conventional target.”

“No. You’re my wife.”

“Only when it fucking suits.” Her arms pulled to her chest tightly.

Javier couldn’t help but laugh at the situation, only fuelling her annoyance when he had pushed his head into his hands. The Doctor noted her sensitivity around his inability to take seemingly anything serious. “Sex is one of the most important things in a stable relationship.”

“Doesn’t matter to Javi, he’ll fuck his hand regardless.”

“Ay, en serio?” He barked. “I’m not the issue here.”

Her eyes avoided his and instead stared pointedly down at the floor.

“Not either of you is singularly the issue.” The Doctor quoted him, sitting forward in her seat ever so slightly. “There’s a mutual problem.”

“Why are we even trying to fix it?” Javier stared out the window, distancing himself from the words he was speaking. “It’s done, no? I don’t love you, you don’t—“

“I do fucking love you.” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet and calm, causing Javier to turn and look at her, a prominent frown creasing over his brow. “Malo.” She muttered to herself.

The Doctor allowed for a silence between the two, sitting back and letting the uncomfortableness kick in. Javier began tapping on his knee, happy to sit in stubborn quietness before Aleta had broke it.

“When did you stop loving me then?”

He sighed with a long exhale, crossing an ankle over his knee, arm still across the back of the sofa. “I can hardly pinpoint the day, Aleta.” His words dripped with mounding impatience.

She shifted, turning back to the Doctor for a haven that was granted.

“How about we continue this next week?” She looked between the two, receiving no response. “All I want is for you both to spend time looking at each other. Really looking at each other. Re-familiarise one another with your bodies, not intimately but in another way you both know.”

Javier’s shoulders dropped, standing up before being formally dismissed. Aleta watched as he left the room with a sarcastic raise of his brows, leaning on the doorframe for half a second to give the Doctor a nod of acknowledgement.

“See you next week.” She spoke for both of them, sending an apologetic smile that turned into a stark frown upon leaving the room.

This was going to be a long seven days.

taglist? fill out this form.

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena imagine #javier pena angst #javier pena x ofc #javier pena headcanon #javier pena smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

[holylulusworld]

Risk it all

Summary: Andy and you are a closed book. Right?

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of former break-up, fluff, a little angst, very implied smut

<< Trustfall

You wake in Andy’s arms, feeling warm and relaxed for the first time in weeks. He insisted on staying the night.

After you didn’t stop crying over your ruined wall paint, your breakup, and life in general, he didn’t want to leave you alone.

“Morning, peanut,” he nuzzles his face in your shoulders and runs his hand over your arm. It’s the first time you feel his hand on your skin without his wedding band. Andy told you he took it off some time ago, but you didn’t dare to look at his hand for too long. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Less…pathetic,” you sniff. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you because of the paint.”

“You’re not pathetic. Y/N, you cried because you were hurt. I hurt you, and you have all the right to be sad, mad, and angry. This is all on me for being too scared to admit I’m deeply in love with someone after I lost my family.”

“Andy,” you whisper his name. “Taking off the ring doesn’t fix things between us. I don’t know where we go from here. You hurt me and left me. Suddenly you came back and gave a house to me. I’m so confused and a little scared.”

“I’m fucking terrified, Y/N,” he’s choking the words out, afraid you don’t believe him. “I don’t want to lose you. All this time without you was hell. I drank too much, didn’t eat and I fucked a case up too.”

“What are we doing here, Andy?” You turn around to look at Andy. He has tears in his eyes when you stroke his bearded cheek. “Andy.” He closes his eyes, afraid to wake from a dream when you press a soft kiss on his lips. “I don’t know what to do.”

He sniffs. “Honestly, it’s the first time I don’t know what to do myself, Y/N. All I know is that I don’t want to live another day without you in my life.”

You run your hand over his cheek, his neck, and down to his arm to grab his hand. Squeezing his hand tightly you sigh. “We are both clueless then.”

He chuckles. “Do you still hate the neon pink kitchen?”

You scrunch up your nose. “It looks ridiculous, not cute as I believed it would. I wanted it to look like the kitchen I saw on a blog. The owner painted the kitchen pink and had cute pink kitchenware.”

“Hmm…I’m not a big fan of pink,” he grins when you give him a stern look. “What? I think every couple therapist tells you the first thing you need to do is be honest with your partner.”

“I hate the house,” you bite your lower lip. “I know you meant well, but the kitchen is a mess, the windows are leaky, and we don’t want to talk about the front yard.”

He laughs at your attitude. “Seriously? You said you love the house.”

“That was before I realized that I’ll be the only person who will fix things in this house will be me. I don’t have a guy around who can lift heavy things and repair the broken window in the bathroom.”

“Peanut, I’m the worst craftsman you can imagine. I won’t be able to repair things,” he grins when you give him a stern look. “I’m good at other things.”

“What other things do you mean, Mr. Barber?” You poke his chest with your index finger. “So far you only showed me that you kiss a girl’s lips instead of her burned finger.”

“I can take very good care of my girl if she lets me,” he presses a kiss on your forehead. “I promise to be less overbearing, peanut.”

“Stop calling me peanut,” you pout. “I’m not that small.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

He chuckles. “I’ve missed this.”

“Me too,” you chuckle. “How about we sleep in today?” You run your hand over his chest. “I’d love to stay in bed for a little longer…”

“I…we should talk. What happened this morning was—” You stop pacing the room to look at Andy. “Sex was a bad idea. I mean…the sex was great, but it doesn’t solve any problem we have.”

“Come here,” Andy holds out his hands to help you sit in his lap. “Relax, you are working yourself up again.”

“Maybe you should’ve bought the house you liked.” You whisper. “You can still sell this house and hopefully get your money back. I’ll stay at my apartment.”

“No.”

“Andy,” you sigh deeply. “I shouldn’t have accepted the house in the first place.”

“What if,” he runs his hand over your back as you get comfortable in his lap, “we sell my apartment and your house. We could buy a new home we both like. A fresh start with a new place to live in for the both of us.”

“A fresh start,” you repeat. “I spared money too, Andy. If we want to buy a house, I want to pay my part.”

“How about you spare your money for the naughty things we want to buy,” he smirks cockily. “Like a sex dungeon.”

“Andy,” you slap his shoulder. “That’s not funny!”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He quirks a brow and grins. “I’m going to chain you up in the sex dungeon and tease you until you cum all over my face.”

You squirm in his lap. “Sex won’t solve anything, Andy. We need to…” You sigh again. “You know what I mean.”

“I know, Y/N.” He wraps his arms around you. “If want this relationship to work out, we need to talk about a lot of things. I’m willing to try. Maybe we can see a therapist too.”

“I’m willing to try too…”

You will work on your relationship, and even see a therapist over the next months. 

Andy and you decided to wait a little longer before you buy another house. But you moved in with him.

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x y/n #Risk it all

[goorehound]

Finally starting to write something for these little bastards. But, I need feedback.

The gist: Human Lucifer (Louis, ew i know) is haunted by Alastor. AU type deal.

This is the unedited, very quickly written up first chapter. Do we fuck with it? Or should I brainstorm some other ideas?

Chapter One – Moving Day

This was totally a worthwhile purchase. Most definitely.

Sure, it was a lot creepier in the dwindling light, and without the bubbly overbearing energy of his realtor. Still, a beautiful property. Really it should’ve been saved as a historical site, but who was he to complain?

Gorgeous property, all while being a hop, skip and a jump away from his daughter’s new business. The perfect fresh start that his therapist had hinted at him desperately needing, a change of pace and environment to compliment his new rekindled relationship with his kids.

Refreshing new scenery. Or at least that’s what he repeated endlessly to himself, a stark contrast to the unease that settled deep in his bones while he maneuvered around half-unpacked boxes.

It hadn’t seemed this empty and dreary when he’d been signing all the paperwork. Good fucking god, this was probably the most silent building he’d ever been in. Concerningly quiet. Shouldn’t there be creaks? Birds outside? Anything?

He was surely overthinking all of this. What could be wrong with a little peace and quiet, really? This house, his new house, was on the edge of town. A little silence was to be expected, and working himself up over finally doing something good for himself was counterproductive.

Charlie calling! What a fantastic fucking distraction, yet another thing to add to the list of things he appreciated about her.

“Char! Hey!” He still needed to work on that greeting.

“Dad! Hi!” Oh man, she was just like him. That pulled on the heart strings. “How’s moving?”

“Oh good, yeah, yeah. Super good. Great.” He rambled on, eyes shifting around the boxes surrounding him. “Well, it’s a work in progress. We’ll get there.”

“Yeah.” She laughed back. “I was thinking – I mean, if its okay with you? Vaggie and I could come help out tomorrow, make you some dinner?”

“Oh, absolutely. Dying to meet this gal I keep hearing about, aha-ha.” Good lord, could that have possibly come out more awkward? This did not get easier, despite what he had been assured. That was fine, Charlie never seemed put off, and that’s what mattered. Right? He just had to win over this girlfriend of hers.

“Sounds good, I’ll --- Shit. Sorry, dad, I’ll text you. Duty calls.”

“Course, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Dial tone. Ouch, but fair enough. She was busy, he had things to sort.

Which was precisely what he spent the rest of his evening doing. Throwing his entire focus into carefully and swiftly dissecting piles of boxes. He’d even gotten as far as unpacking and setting up the television. Really not his thing normally, but when it had come up in conversation with Charlie she’d all but insisted upon him buying one.  

So, he was giving in. Flicking on something random. Anything to drown out the sudden onslaught of random noises that he was doing everything to avoid thinking about. Old house. Here were the noises he was asking for earlier.  That’ll teach him not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Thud. Sliiide. Clack, clack, clack, creak.

Whatever. Just the house settling, nothing some good ol’ TV couldn’t drown out. Certainly it wasn’t somebody going about their business in the study just down the hall, that would be ridiculous. And, at this point in the evening, Lou had pointedly checked that room numerous times. He had confirmed with his very own eyes that it remained, thankfully, uninhabited.

It was completely fucking normal, actually, and Lou wasn’t remotely nervous about it. He felt so normal about it all that he decided to drift off on the couch, background chatter from the screen still buzzing on. Because who could stop him? It was his house and he could doze wherever he pleased, and it did not mean he was scared. He was a grown ass man, after all.

Click, click, sliiiide.

Yep, he was closing his eyes now. Dead to the world, oblivious to strange noises lurking about.

Hard to tell precisely how much time had passed from the time he drifted off until he was eased into a state of just barely conscious, still dazed by the twisting and nonsensical dream he’d been lulled into.

It was still dark.  A soft noise easing him further from his dream, but it was nothing soothing.

Hardly even familiar.

 Something repetitive. Metallic, almost? Akin to a slicing of meat, the sound echoing out from the kitchen.

There was only a matter of seconds to processes the sudden and nauseating stench of blood and viscera, enough to have his stomach flipping.

Then, there was a deafening, loud, wet slam from the kitchen. Like a corpse being tossed about.

That had his heart in his throat and feet on the ground before he could take another breath.

#fic #radioapple #appleradio #hazbin hotel #alastor #lucifer #writing

[nerves-nebula]

Okay so Donnie at the end is a little OOC, but I figured this would happen a long ways down the line, after they were beginning to recover, and he’s gotten some more self-confidence. Pair that with “siblings potentially in danger” and I think it’s justified? I hope you like.

——

Their therapist liked to tell them that it was okay to have moments of immaturity. It was fine to indulge in childish things because it’s not as if they’d had time for it as children.

“You’d be surprised how many adults still love things geared towards younger audiences.”

This was the excuse Leo gave himself.

He was just embracing his childish side.

Donnie had said that the “Shell-mobile” as Mikey had dubbed it was technically road-worthy. He was still working in it, though, wanting it to work as a mobile command center for them when they were scouting or ninja-ing.

All Leo heard was “We have a car now.”

Technically, Raph and Donnie were the only ones with licenses. They had immediately gotten them when they’d officially moved to the Hidden City, just in case. So, technically, Raph and Donnie were the only ones who could legally drive the Shell-mobile.

However, Leo and Mikey still had learner’s permits and were allowed to drive as long as someone with a license was with them in the car, so this should be fine.

Leo slammed the gas, laughing hysterically as the junker van surged forward, tearing down the road as Mikey and Raph clung to their seats. It was exhilarating, the freedom of driving at ridiculous speeds. They’d pulled off the main road, of course, avoiding any major traffic (Leo was impulsive, not stupid), that way they’d be less likely to run into any cops.

The handling on the van was less than optimal. It swerved and Leo could swear he’d pulled them up onto just two wheels at least three times.

“Faster, Leo!” Mikey screamed, throwing his hands in the air as they took a sharp turn, “Donnie’s gonna fuckin’ kill us!”

Raph’s scream was far less excited, “Screw Donnie, LEO is gonna kill us! At least slow down for the turns, you’re gonna crash!”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Leo laughed maniacally, popping the handbrake to drift them around another sharp corner. There was no way in hell he was slowing this vehicle until Raph either threw up or passed out.

“LEO LOOK OUT!” Raph shrieked (rather high pitched and girly if you asked Leo).

Mikey’s laughter also died down as the van slammed into something, thudding a few times. Leo slammed on the brakes, skidding them to a stop, the smell of burnt rubber quickly filling the air.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” Raph made to grab at the door handle, but his hands shook too much to get a proper grip. Leo leaned over to help, letting Raph out to get some air.

He and Mikey also got out, all of them turning to see the hunched form of a cat yokai in the middle of the road.

“I’m gonna be sick.” Raph whined.

They approached the yokai carefully, unsure if he was even alive.

“Oh my God, Leo.” Mikey punched his shoulder, “You fucking hit someone.”

“It was an accident!”

“I’m so not testifying for you in court, dude. Lock her away, Your Honor! This woman is a certified-“

Coughing interrupted him.

“Oh fuck, he’s alive.” Raph put himself between the body and his brothers, “Can you hear us?”

The yokai groaned, slowly lifting his head. He was definitely not doing good, his face was scratched to shit and one of his eyes wouldn’t open.

“D-Donnie?” The yokai asked.

The trio froze.

No one spoke for a solid minute.

The yokai collapsed back to the pavement.

“How did he-“

“Could he be-“

“Abe?”

The yokai’s ears twitched.

Donnie, back when they began training their ninpo, had done experiments about telepathy. He’d done tons of tests, both in safe and dangerous environments. He had definitively told them all that, thankfully, their blood line did not mean that they could read each other’s minds. He surmised that any “telepathy” the others thought they had was just them being able go understand one another and know how the other would react to circumstances due to their prolonged exposure to one another.

However, in that moment, the trio only had to exchange one look before they all turned back, going back go the Shell-mobile. They buckled up, fixed the mirrors, and Leo turned them around.

Thump

Thump

The drive back home was far less exciting than the drive out to the edge of town, but the adrenaline still ran through their veins. Leo parked the van, smiling to himself as he saw Donnie storming into the garage.

“Wh-what did you d-d-do?!” Donnie looked over the van, “Of all th-the reckless, kn-knuckleheaded- you realize I can remote tr-track the van’s sp-speedometer, right?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t know that.” Leo smiled, “That’s really cool, Don.”

Donnie paused a moment, “I- hey, wait! You can’t distract me w-with compliments!”

Mikey nodded, “Yeah, that’d be underhanded.”

Raph agreed, “You can yell at us, Don, go ahead.”

Donnie’s ire seemed to sizzle out as he looked over his siblings. They all just stood there, politely waiting to get yelled at…

“Have you been body snatched?”

Leo laughed, “That’s a good one. No, no, we’re us. You can run some tests if you wanna be sure.”

“Hey, Don, why don’t I make your favorite tonight?” Raph smiled, coming forward to put a hand on Donnie’s back, guiding him back into the complex, “You can yell at us while I cook.”

“And you can tell us about how you track the Shell-mobile!” Mikey grinned, bouncing beside him as they headed in.

—

It wasn’t until years and years later, after all was said and done, that any of the three of them broke their unspoken vow.

——

And there we go! Originally I wasn’t gonna have them hit him with a car, but that idea was too fuckin funny to pass up.

-Monster Anon

Can We Utilize Unsafe Driving For The Better? More at 11 !!

them being weirdly nice and polite to Donnie afterwards is so funny to me lmao.

#nnstuff #ask #neglected fic #teenage mutant neglected turtles #tmnt abe #car crash tw #violence tw #asks are sweethearts

[dragynkeep]

Hi. For the ship ask game: Alicole and Larycent. Alicent x Aemond.

ALICOLE / SHIP.

what made you ship it: the twisted princess & knight dynamic that shone through when alicent stopped cole from killing himself. he was at his lowest & here she comes as this "saviour" but it's so warped & twisted & they end up in this heady mix of devotion & hatred to this one woman they could never have / felt entitled to.

what are your favorite things about the ship: the aformentioned trope between them is absolutely the selling point for me but the reigning toxicity, the fact that they absolutely imagine rhaenyra as the other if they ever do anything, this insane obsession yet derision permeating their relationship & that alicent finds herself controlling the "father" she could not with otto.

is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship: idk if this is actually unpopular but i don't think alicent was angry because rhaenyra slept with cole because she loved him. it seems like too much of an easy cop-out imo.

LARYCENT / DON'T SHIP.

why don't you ship it: honestly i thought i would've, especially considering the toxic dynamic that i love about alicole but i think that's what's missing about larycent. there's no back & forth, no mutual toxicity or tearing each other down, it's just larycent making her into his dog & she's already had enough of that. if i wanted to see that id've just shipped alicent with her father lmao.

what would have made you like it: absolutely if there was more of that back & forth, which we may get in s2 but with the way the show is determined to make alicent the perpetual victim of the men around her, i doubt it.

despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it: the scene of larys confessing what he'd done & very implicitly telling alicent that she was now under his thumb too was very well shot & acted.

AECENT / SHIP.

what made you ship it: the scene where alicent is panicking that the green council will find aegon before she can & she stresses to aemond that it's paramount he be returned to family first, drawing that line between herself & her kids / her father & the green council. the way aemond doesn't even hesitate to alleviate his mother's troubles as a dutiful son like look at the way she clings to him.

what are your favorite things about the ship: i always love a son devoted to his mother, especially with the type of fucked up dynamic alicent & aemond have in replicating that aemond is only valuable when he's of worth to alicent as the dutiful son, the emotional provider, her therapist, son, husband & all of the above.

is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship: the boymom trope they try to push onto alicent: ignoring that for a lot of their interactions alicent struggles with these children. aemond's whole issue with being dragonless & her insisting it's just something ridiculous shows how much she dislikes her children being targaryen, alicent's dynamic is all about reaffirming that these children are hers & she loves / hates it in equal measure. the "boymom" alicent thing completely messes with that & simplifies their very complex dynamic.

#hotd #house of the dragon #alicent hightower #criston cole #alicole #larys strong #larycent #aemond targaryen #aecent #alicent x aemond #ais.txt #answered #q #also there are not enough alicent / aemond fics smh

[knifedog-machina]

Role Fatigue And Being A Shell Of A Person

I Want Off This Self-Inflicted Archetype Ride, Thanks

Hey, my name's Gavin, he/him, and I'm writing out my fucking identity crisis on main, because what else do we have a journal for? Feel free to reblog, maybe someone can relate to this.

Content Warning: I get existentially fucked up about my personhood and purpose in life, and I use a few reclaimed slurs as identity labels for myself. This ends on a pretty hopeful note, all things considered.

So. This past week, we realized something, that Jude and I - especially me - have been basically fitting in the same roles Max's daemons used to. Because brains are weird, and they love patterns, and we've been unconsciously keeping this pattern going for a solid year or so.

And at the end of that last essay he posted about it, Max said that we aren’t the same thing. His daemons were parts of himself and extensions of what he needed back then. We, as their headmates, are separate people. And that’s that, right? Pack it in, solid conclusion, all neat and tidy. I sure fucking wish it were, but no, I’m having a bad time and I'm going to talk about it. My old therapist told me that writing out my thoughts is good for me, and I’m choosing to believe her.

I spent most of my time in the back. Not in a proper headspace, but just running damage control, executive functioning. Keeping track of stuff like, when's the last time you ate, or what do we need to do now to make your feelings less awful, or you should really take a break from memorizing brainstem structure and take a walk. And it's kinda ridiculous that I can do it for someone else, because I also have ADHD and all the executive function issues that go with it, but it’s easier when it's for someone else. And I guess that's part of being a Caregiver.

I'm capitalizing Caregiver there because I'm talking about the archetype. Martin was a caregiver archetype - her purpose in life was to take care of Max and their needs as a person, and she felt fulfilled and content with this because she was a part of them. She was never under the impression that she had anything to gain from becoming a fully separate person, someone with her own wants and needs as separate from her job, and she didn’t have anything to gain! She was happy like that, being an extension of someone else's needs, because Max was living enough life for both of them, and she didn't need to be a person for them to exist and thrive together.

I’m a separate person from Max. I'm a separate person from Jude. I'm not just an extension of what my partners need from me. But - fuck me, I've spent this long trying to be! And it's not even something that started here, it started in source, because Jude needed me to be functional while they were fucked up and having meltdowns over their abuser, and I stepped up because I wanted to help them. I helped them until I couldn’t anymore, because I was emotionally exhausted, and I stopped and recovered just enough that I could help them again the next time they ran back to me.

And I didn’t learn anything from that! I didn’t learn that I had to take time to rest and recover before I could help anyone else, I learned that I'm fully fucking capable of helping someone else if I just focus on them. This is the exact opposite of what I was supposed to learn, but I'm nothing if not exceptional.

Because - listen, I like helping people, I genuinely like taking care of people I love, it feels like I'm doing something important and making a difference and I am. It's so important to me to make sure that my loved ones are okay, and if they aren’t, I want to help them feel better. It's genuinely fulfilling to me.

And I looked at that, and I looked at what I could do, now that I'm here, feeling lost and confused and upset about forgetting important people and details in my life, and I decided that I would be fine just doing that. Only that. Specifically that. I can forget about how I feel like I’ve lost my identity by just making a new one. Right? It’s not like I had anything else to do, and I like helping people. It worked out.

So I just helped out. I didn't front, even though Jude did to talk to friends and make new ones and gradually get more involved in our daily lives, because I just didn't fucking want to. Like, really, what did I have to talk about with people? I don't have much. I'm doing something important, anyway, isn't that more useful than talking to people, or playing a game, or getting into a podcast, or reading a book? I was completely fine, and I had to be fine, because I couldn't help my partners if I wasn't fine and if I couldn’t do anything useful I’d have to face how fucking disconnected I felt from being a living person.

And now. Now, I can’t do that anymore. Because I fucking burned out. You really could have seen it coming months ago, if you paid attention, but I sure fucking didn’t. So I can’t do the things that I’ve been building my fragile fucking self-image over, and I’m left to look at what else I have to my identity to talk about. And it's really not enough, honestly.

Like, okay, I have three cats. They're wonderful little bastards, and I love them, and I can't hold a conversation only talking about my cats. I'm a fag, I’m queer, I’m transsexual, I'm kinky, I'm stone, and several of our friends have boundaries around discussing sexuality and slurs that I am not going to cross. I was into martial arts back in source, and we don't have the time or money to learn that now. I tend to like alternative rock and indie music, and I haven't listened to new music in months so that's kind of a dead end. I like tabletop roleplaying games, and we don't have the time to listen through a whole session, let alone a season, and I don't have opinions to discuss on them anyway because I'm fucking tired.

So I don't have much that makes me feel like I have an identity. I feel lost and frustrated and tired and anxious and useless. And I argued with my partners about reaching out to our friends for support, because I don't want to burden them with my nervous breakdown. Because isolating myself from the world has gone so well so far, hasn't it?

Turns out it helps to talk to people. Turns out we have the kinds of friends who also like helping their loved ones. Shocker, I know. And we know the guy who wrote the guide to growing as a person from being a fictive - thanks Goratrix - so I really should've done that weeks ago. Preferably before the nervous breakdown, but whatever, it happened.

In conclusion, I'm really not okay right now. Huge fucking surprise. But at least I know I’ll feel better if I start actively doing things. Because I can do that. Listen to new songs, listen to one session over three days. Play a video game. Getting one fucking hobby will probably do wonders to fight off the existential despair. And it's all going to be painfully fucking slow, because I'm not gonna remake a sense of self in a week, and it's going to suck. And I'm gonna get through it, and I'm going to feel better. It'll be worth it.

And hey, if you read through this whole thing and you're also going through the horrors, mood, take my hand. We’ll get through this shit together.

#gavin talks #personal essay #archetrope #plurality #fictive #alterhuman #daemonism #well. related to daemonism discussion on this blog

[its-tortle]

Hi! 💕 34 for the spotify wrapped ficlets? 🥰

hi riley! this is such a cute song and was definitiely fun to write 💗 thank you!

Sat in a pub on the Heath, first kiss, first Friday in June You asked what I tell my friends, said, "It's a glowing review" Baby, nothing much has changed, I guess your buzzcut, it grew But I'm still the girl with the blush, giving a glowing review

The little bell above the door rings as Bucky enters the cafe, and he checks his phone for the time. Only fifteen minutes late, he thinks. That’s still forgivable. He scans the tables that are busy with other Sunday-brunchers, and then spots his friends in the back left corner.

With a smile, he makes his way over to them. “Hey, guys.”

“Good morning,” Wanda greets. “You’re late.”

“And you’re wearing yesterday’s shirt,” Natasha adds.

Bucky frows and lets out an incredulous huff of a laugh. “What? You didn’t even see me yesterday.”

“Yeah, but you are very active on your Instagram story.” Natasha gives him a smug little smile as he sits down across from her.

“That,” he says with a pointed look in her direction, “is stalker behavior. And why am I being interrogated so early in the morning?”

“It’s after ten,” Wanda laughs.

Clint frowns at her. “That’s early.”

Bucky leans across the table to high five him. 

The girls roll their eyes, but say nothing for a moment as they all take a minute to look at the menu. Bucky knows what he wants, really. He’s been getting the blueberry waffles here since they first started coming.

Instead he looks around the bright, colorful space and lets the June sun fall on his face through the window and let’s himself think about last night, and this morning. He’s smiling into his hand before he knows it.

“Okay, Bucky,” Natasha interrupts his daydream. “Your grace period is over.”

“That was the grace period?”

Natasha doesn't respond. “Spill. I assume the date went well since you didn’t go home last night?”

And Bucky really isn’t good at being subtle. He can feel his lips straining to hold back a grin as soon as she asks.

“Oh my god,” Clint remarks. “He’s whipped.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says pointedly. “I am not whipped. But, um. Yeah. It went really well.”

His friend all just look at him with pointed stares like he’s not off the hook yet. Bucky lets out a long breath, and then gives in.

He tells them about how he had really only been going on the tinder date because his therapist said he needed to get out more, and also because the guy was gorgeous on his pictures, but how that had had nothing on him in real life. He told them that Steve was nice, and funny, and seemed genuinely interested in the world and in Bucky. They had gotten burritos for dinner and then gone for drinks and talked until the bar closed at 3 AM. Nothing had happened, he explained with a pointed look, but Steve’s place was much closer and Bucky was really tired so Steve had offered his place up.

“He’s a gentleman,” Bucky tells them. “He offered to sleep on the couch, for fuck’s sake.”

Wanda barks out a surprised, happy little laugh. Clint snorts.

“He didn’t though?” Natasha asks with a gracefully raised eyebrow.

Bucky feels himself blush, even though he knows its ridiculous. “No. I wanted to cuddle.”

Wanda laughs in earnest then, and the others join in with chuckles of their own. It’s not mean, though, not at all, and Bucky feels a laugh bubble out of his own throat at the joy he feels reverberate around the table.

“A glowing review, then?” Wanda asks, still grinning.

Bucky nods. His cheeks are warm.

“We’re happy for you, Bucky.”

--

This time, he’s almost thirty minutes late. The bell above the door still rings out in the same jingle, and Bucky still finds his friends at the same table in the back corner by the window.

He goes to them swiftly, still slightly out of breath from his power walk from the subway stop. “Hey,” he greets. “Sorry I’m late.”

Wanda rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “We’re used to it.”

Natasha checks her watch. “This is a pretty significant one, though. Have a good morning?”

Her voice is teasing and suggestive, and Bucky off-handledly gives he the finger. “Shut up.”

“That’s a yes,” she says, and Bucky wants to wipe that smug look right off her face.

Bucky still orders the blueberry waffles and a large coffee, and Clint still gets a giant strawberry milkshake. Wanda wants the fresh orange juice. The whole thing feels very familiar, like stepping into a timeless scene of unchanging comfort. Bucky basks in it.

But he’s also grinning again, thinking about Steve and how he had looked that morning, with sleepy eyes and messy golden hair, and how he had kissed Bucky goodbye with an easy, familiar ‘see you tonight’. 

Bucky hears his name suddenly, and looks up to find Natasha giving him an amused look.

“What?” he asks dumbly.

Her amused smile widens. “We were wondering if you’re free Friday. They’re playing that Scorcese movie at the Spectacle.”

“The mafia one?”

Natasha nods.

Bucky thinks for a moment. “I’ll have to see. It’s mine and Steve anniversary, but I’ll ask.”

“Not it’s not,” Wanda says quickly, and Bucky shoots her a questioning gaze. “You got together at my birthday party on the 16th, I remember.”

Bucky lets out an incredulous huff. “You guys know way too much about this relationship,” he comments. “But, yeah, sure, that’s when we made it official. But we just say the first Friday in June.”

The others nod. They must also be remembering the way Bucky came in almost a year ago, fifteen minutes late and in yesterday’s shirt.

“It’s still going well, then?” Wanda asks.

Bucky feels himself grin and blush before he’s even opened his mouth. “Yeah. Really well. I- He’s just wonderful.”

Natasha laughs. “Oh my god. Truly nothing has changed.”

“His weird haircut grew out,” Clint points out.

And before Bucky can protest that it was cute, Wanda chimes in. “But Bucky’s still sitting at brunch with a blush, giving a glowing review.”

Bucky’s blush deepens. He remembers all those months ago, when Steve had worried about what Bucky told his friends. He really needn’t have.

#i need to get myself under control because oh my god why are all of these 1k #that was not the intention skskks #anyway i hope you like it <33 #stucky #stucky ficlet #glowing review by maisie peters #also omg peep the goncharov plug #tortle writes

[elvensorceress]

wip Wednesday 

tagged by the incomparable duo @dickley-buddie 💕 @eddiediazisascorpio and the loveliest @spotsandsocks @bekkachaos @lostinabuddiehaze and @monsterrae1 💕

tagging @rogerzsteven @loveyourownsmiilee @ashavahishta @the-likesofus @ajunerose @gaydisasterdiaz @elfbuckleys @swiftiebuckleys @swiftiediaz @octobertulip @messyhairdiaz 💕

Here’s a little snippet of the Christmas fic I’m working on for the Hallmark holiday movie, 911 fest woo! ❄️ (It’s AU so Buck and Maddie are working at a hotel and he’s just met Eddie, who immediately insisted on helping Buck put up Christmas lights so Buck isn’t doing it alone.)

Buck pulls on the lines that move the window washing rig and the man easily attaches lights to the molding on the ledge of the building. He’s quick and efficient, and probably has gloves that don’t let his hands freeze. It is definitely faster, and better, working with someone. 

“You can tell me anything,” the man says without looking at him. “If you want. If you need someone to talk to.”

Buck stares at him and isn’t sure he understands. Why would he offer that? How could anyone be okay listening to him ramble? Why would they want to listen? Could Buck really tell him anything? He probably could. They’re strangers. They’ll never see each other again. It won’t matter a few hours from now. 

Although, now that he’s been given free rein to talk about anything, he isn’t sure what to say. It’s easy to talk when it’s about nothing. When it seems personal but really isn’t. He kind of wants to admit something personal. Just so he can say he did it. Just to know what it feels like to actually be open and honest, and free with his heart. 

He used to be that way. Hopeful. He used to be like that. 

He hands the man another roll of lights and lets him finagle the clips and the bulbs into place while he leans against one side of the rig and takes weight off his bad leg. “You’re sure?” 

“I am. Go for it.”

Buck eyes him up and down. He’s such a weird rich person. Or maybe he’s just weird in general. No one wants to listen to Buck. Which, he always thought, was fair because wow can he ramble on about nothing when no one stops him. “Are you a shrink?”

The man makes a scrunched face like the very idea of such a thing smells worse than some of the rooms Maddie’s had to clean. “No. But I know what it’s like to keep everything bottled up until you want to scream. Or throw yourself off a building. As you seemed to have no problem doing. I figured it might help if you had someone who would listen.” 

Fair enough. Fuck, though. He’s not just hot, but he’s kind. And stubborn sure, but he seems so genuine. Buck’s met plenty of people who fake being attentive and interested, plenty of people who act honest and sympathetic but don’t really care and only want to use you. Plenty of them. Including his most recent ex. Thank fuck that’s over. 

This man doesn’t seem anything like that. He seems… too perfect to be real if Buck’s being honest. “Are you sure you’re not some kind of therapist?”

The man gives him a look and it has amusement in it even if he doesn’t actually smile. “I’m a veteran.” 

“Ohhh,” Buck gives him a grin to make up for it. “So you’ve seen some shit is what you’re telling me. I get it.” He moves their cart a little further and unwraps tangled wires from the barrel holding the Christmas lights so his helper can place them. 

“Something like that.” He hooks another light onto the ledge but it slips off. He frowns at it and it’s too ridiculously cute that Buck has to look away. 

“Okay, then. Since we’re here and we’ll never see each other again and you asked…” What can he say? What does he want to say? He didn’t actually think anything through and he never tells anyone about anything real or important. Maybe Maddie sometimes, but not often. She has enough of her own trauma to deal with. He watches the man clip on another hook and place another bulb and glance at Buck expectantly. And maybe there is something he can talk about. 

“Most people think I hate Christmas.” It’s small but it’s something. And it’s definitely not something he could tell Maddie. Christmas is her favorite. “A lot of things about the whole holiday season annoy me. There’s all the pressure around events and buying gifts and making everything perfect and spending time with family, and it’s only ever been another day to me. Even in my twenties, people liked to call me Scrooge and Grinch because I just. I don’t know. I was never raised with any religion or traditions or anything. My sister loves Christmas but we never… I only met her ten years ago. So I never really cared one way or the other about it for most of my life. All of my life.” 

The man stops hanging lights for a moment and looks over at him. Maybe he won’t think that sort of secret means anything. Maybe that’s part of why Buck chose it. But it’s more of his heart than he thinks he’s given anyone. 

Although… the way the man looks at him. It seems like he knows this or might understand it. Gently, he looks and gently, he says, “You never had a family. Or friends? Or people you love to spend it with?”

“I didn’t,” Buck shrugs. “But the thing is? I think the idea of it is nice. The sentiment of giving and kindness and peace and being with the people you love… I mean all of that is… It’s good. I like that part. When Maddie talks about why she loves Christmas, it makes me wish I could’ve had something like that. She had good Christmases with presents and fun decorating and making ornaments and cookies and watching cheesy movies and doing what she says are all the typical things. So, sometimes, when I hear about what it was like, I wish I hadn’t missed out. I wish I knew what it was like to enjoy Christmas.”

The man’s eyes are so deep and soft, Buck could swim and float and maybe never hurt again. He’d be weightless and protected. If all the warmth and gentleness in this man is true. But the man’s gaze goes somewhere and his face turns into a hard mask. “I had good Christmases. I had a lot of really good ones growing up. And I wish I could give that to my son. His mother also loved Christmas, and so he loves Christmas and I know he wants nothing more than to do all those fun Christmas activities and make those fun memories. And I wish I could give him that.”

Buck tips his head and wonders what changed, how it changed. “But you hate Christmas and everyone calls you Grinch, too, and now Santa will never visit your house and bring your son presents?”

The hint of something like a smile makes the corner of his lips curl ever so slightly. And wow, Buck did that. It feels unusual and unlikely and it’s infinitesimal, but it’s definitely there. “Something like that,” he says again in answer, then turns back to the ledge and their strings of lights.

#wip wednesday #jenwyn wip #fic: once upon a december #buddie wip #also I was going to make this G or T rated and then Buck was like fuck that have you seen him?? I'm THIRSTY 🥵 #*insert shrug emoji*

[kendrixtermina]

More thoughts on the Flake thing

I know everyone's jaded from how the Till thing turned out to be largely crying wolf when ppl were much more open-minded/critical at the beginning but pls try to look at it neutrally, imagine it was your least favorite politician.

Let us please consider that "several witnesses said she spoke about it at the time, including therapists (not family members who might conceivably lie)" is the highest standard of proof you can realistically get with rape. They convicted Trump recently on the same level of proof.

If that's not enough, then all rapists would get off scott free unless they did it in public or in front of a camera.

Besides, ppl making it up is rare, because it's serious and gets your targetted. Rare does NOT mean zero but in those Amber Heard, Evan Rachel Woods type cases there is usually a proveable track record of the person having a personal vendetta and being demonstrably unhinged, or being pressed into it by threats of judgement (lying to protect yourself from conservative parents etc) - ppl don't just get up an day & decide to lie, it happens but it's usually a demonstrably crazy person.

What's more likely, a full blown conspiracy, or that a person who described himself in his book as having been sexually irresponsible back when he had a drinking problem was extremly careless in a way that caused someone serious trauma & harm?

is ridiculous to cry conspiracy on this. its just sobering & dissapointing to see, those responses alone kinda make me wanna quit the fandom completely and stop caring

Yes, we have to consider & feature in as a mitigating factor that people were not yet sensibilized for/ taught about freeze responses & hence expect that if someone didn't like it they would say so, but no matter how you spin it, starting to touch someone out of nowhere when they've laid down in bed after drinking too much (especially when they're younger & trust you) would have been considered taking advantage even then & regardless of the norms at the time it's not something I would want happening to me.

It's not the same degree of severity as if you're actively holding someone down or a someone who strategically looks for perving opportunities, but there's no way to spin this as consensual.

He fucked up bigtime, with very serious consequences.

I'm not calling for cancellation, demonization, torches & pitchforks or even telling anyone to stop listening to the music, but the behavior was unwanted, hurtful, and something we as a society should discourage and can't just brush under the table, even if we happen to like & sympathize with the person that did it.

I’m frustrated that this apparently still has to be explained to people, but it’s suuuper common for people to take a long time to process trauma before coming out.  

It’s as airtight as can reasonably be. That 100% happened. 

I don’t think it’s automatically rape because she was 17, but if it’s her first time getting shitfaced and/or having sex - or just as the host while someone else is a guest at your house - you have an extra responsibility to make sure she has a good time & it shows a distinct selfishness & disregard to be so casual about it. 

This person had a traumatic experience that she went to therapy for that could have been completely avoided by just simply asking “Hey, you ok?” instead of starting to touch her just like that. Or simply letting her be if she’s already gone to bed due to feeling sick from too much booze, for crying out loud. 

I hardly think that’s too much to ask to avoid someone having a traumatic experience.

I can imagine that it must be hellish for him to think he had managed to turn his life around & get over that but then find that he still did some pretty irreversible fuckup. 

But we gotta consider that he had much more of a choice in crating the situation than the girl who lived with the consequences/trauma in the years after, even if we don’t know her or the details of how it impacted & stunted her life

The ppl it happened to should be allowed to say it so that people (especially thosewho in theory care of they traumatize someone) are sensibilized for the importance of enthusiastic consent because freeze responses are a thing.

I’m not saying Flake should be roasted on a pike by the mob; Rather he is a person who had a problem with alcohol and made impulsive decisions that hurt others as a result.

But there is just no way under the sun to spin that story as consensual or no big deal. 

its frustrating that the mob understandings nothing short of either complete demonization/ostracism or exonoration, but the victim isnt wrong from coming out & saying what her experience of it was; Saying the truth is ever wrong

...i really wonder how the others are going to react now that its a different person being accused and some extent of undeniable wrongdoing.   

I just wish that instead of this for or against circus we could be having an awareness about freeze responses & the need for enthusiastic consent and WHY people “dont just say something” 

#rammstein #rammstein scandal #flake lorenz

[abdlgossipblog]

I’m so sick of AGERE people glamorizing mental health being adults POSTING PICS OF THEIR DIAPERED ASS AND CROTCH CALLING IT REGRESSION NO JUST NO! There are ADULTS ASSOCIATING WITH MINORS WHILE WEARING ABDL CLOTHING SUCKING ON ABDL PACIFIERS AND BABY TYPING YOU ARE AGEPLAYERS!!!!!! Sorry for the caps I’m just sick of it the people who actually suffer with real regression are fed up with it and no one calls out these adults showing their kink gear to minors so than those minors but it because they think abdl is fucking age regression! Which it’s not this is a kink sexual or not is does not have to be sexual but it’s adults only and any adult associating with children posting abdl content huge side eye like you are putting them in danger opening them up to scary people it seems predatory imo! As someone who started in that community and was miseducated there are so many creepy older fake doms prowling on young children shayla I forget her user name still runs a page for minors and she’s thirty where adults and minors coexist it’s ridiculous people need to start speaking out about how wrong it is one to glamorize and romanticize something that comes from trauma! Age regression is either symptomatic or a defense mechanism it’s only used in therapy for hypno therapy not coping and any actual good therapist would not recommend it if your mind reverted back as young as you say you wouldn’t be doing make up making a bottle and turning on bluey I don’t know if any infant or toddler that does that?! Age regression the brain reverts back in age you are mentally that age and you don’t think about putting on a damn diaper a coloring it’s scary.. what the online agere community is doing is ageplay and will always be ageplay minors do not belong in these spaces kink gear is kink gear and abdl clothing is still adult clothing it’s all kink no matter what… if you don’t want to be part of the kink community don’t BUY KINK GEAR OR CLOTHES call it innerchild healing for all I care but stop cross tagging stop stealing and changing kink terms stop posting kink content and calling it sfw with your ass all up in the camera and also stop pretending to be littles getting a bunch of money and than dipping I miss how genuine the community used to be!!

I apologize for the angry post and sorry if it was hard to read, but I just I had to say something because I’m so sick of seeing it and it’s not surprising why some people have left the community because there’s so many fake people in the community just using it or not educated and doing whatever the fuck they want because nobody will call them out

[cloverstellar]

Hi. I’m Rose, and I have acne scars all over my body.

Starting from around 6th grade, I developed a habit of picking at my skin.

I’ve never had the healthiest skin to begin with- it’s dry, dehydrated, and acne ridden for as long as I can remember. But, as the age of middle school and ridiculously high stress came towards me, I had to figure out an outlet to alleviate the stress.

For the past seven years of my life, I have scratched, popped, broken, bruised and scarred my skin out of anxiety and restlessness. It has become so much of a habit that I still do it today, no matter how hard I try not to.

My face and arms bleed nearly every day. My legs are infected. There’s scars littering my chest, back, arms, and legs. Even a couple on my stomach.

At around the age of 13, I became so hyper-aware of myself that I felt like I couldn’t walk outside without a full face of makeup, a turtleneck, and jeans. I went to swim parties and lied about why I couldn’t get in the pool.

I didn’t swim for 5 years. I changed for PE in bathroom stalls and wore a jacket and leggings to PE in the broiling summer heat. I closed my eyes while taking showers; I couldn’t look at myself without feeling shame.

Looking in the mirror gave me so much anxiety and dysmorphia about my own skin I couldn’t breathe.

When I was 15, I decided enough was enough and word a tank top outside. Immediately I was asked by a neighbor if I committed self-harm, and was recommended to a therapist. I’m not depressed, or suicidal, but that encounter was the reason I haven’t worn a short sleeve outside until June of this year.

I struggled with confidence, feeling like I was being constantly judged, and dirty for having such marred skin. Going on social media and watching movies was a nightmare- seeing other people’s perfect skin made me feel like a failure. A fuck up of nature- nobody around knew what to do.

We went to special doctors to see if they had any skincare routines that could help- none did. Nothing worked, nothing alleviated the urge to pick at scabbed and re-open old scars and pop new pimples. I was spiraling, and didn’t know how to get back out.

Then, one day this year, I met a woman just like me. She was wearing a low-cut crop top and shorts, and all across her shoulders and chest was acne and scarring. And I realized something important: nobody’s perfect.

The actors on tv are hidden behind layers of perfect makeup and CGI. People use filters and use layers of makeup on before posting on their Instagram and TikTok. I learned that nobody really cares anyways- what’s my skin problem when everyone else has their own issues to worry about?

I stopped setting unrealistic expectations about myself and finally began wearing less makeup, have lessened how much I pick at myself, and even wear shorts sometimes. I’m growing, and learning to accept myself and my flaws.

I’m still struggling. Just ten minutes ago I opened a scab on my neck. I’m not perfect, and I never will be, but that’s okay, because no one else is! I can walk outside now and sit in the grass and actually feel it on my arms without fabric in the way. I can walk around without sweltering.

I can see other people and smile for real. Im happier now, because I’m not perfect. My face is red and blotchy, there’s a band aid on my chin, and a smile on my face. I stopped looking in the mirror to hate myself.

I looked into the mirror today and laughed because my mascara looked wonky. I didn’t care about my skin. Maybe next week I will, but I hope some day I’ll stop picking my skin altogether, and I’ll wear a strapless dress to a party without a shawl over it. I’ll go out in a crop top and watch a movie without worrying about how it’ll affect me.

Maybe one day I’ll be free.

#tw self harm #tw depression #tw scars #tw anxiety #rose talks #ok to rb #Holy shit. i had to get this off my chest. #personal vent #tw scabs #if you want me to tag smth else lemme know

[dr-milfi]

Why didn't Melfi try to send Anthony to cognitive therapy again (after the events of s3)? Wasn't that a little selfish of her?

"Who could I sic on that son of a bitch to tear him to shreds? No feeling has ever been so sweet as to see that pig beg and plead and scream for his life because the justice system is fucked up Elliot. Richard's got his attorney looking into this at 300 dollars an hour, but meanwhile that employee of the month cock sucker is back on the street and who's going to stop him? You? . . . Oh don't worry, I'm not going to break the social compact, but that's not saying there's not a certain satisfaction in knowing I could have that asshole squashed like a bug if I wanted." Melfi to Elliot, Employee of the Month.

She knows she can't and won't tell Tony, yet there is something about keeping him close that is still comforting to her. Is it selfish? Perhaps, but therapists are humans before they are anything else and she did just go through the worst trauma of her life. And let's face it, CBT probably wasn't going to help Tony very much anyway.

Melfi is always conflicted about transferring Tony. There's a part of her that genuinely likes him, a part of her that's attracted to him, a part of her that's fascinated by him, and a part of her that's repulsed by him. She also is probably the only person on the planet who genuinely wants to help him and doesn't really want anything from him in return. With everyone else in his life, relationships are transactional. Sure he's paying Melfi for her services, but she doesn't have any duplicitous ulterior motive other than helping him heal.

At some point she hits a stride with him and isn't afraid of him anymore. She learns how to push back against some of his bullshit and call him out when he's being ridiculous. You see it in the Strong Silent Type when he talks about being the sad clown and she basically tells him he's full of crap. But she's also constantly being challenged and practically bullied by her own therapist to drop "Leadbelly" so I think she has a lot of professional conflict.

Then in Season four, Tony drops out of therapy himself and there's like a year he doesn't go (from Calling All Cars in season four to Irregular Around the Margins in season five). So she does get a break from him. It's a compelling question to ask why she does take him back and one I've never really considered farther than she really likes him and it makes for compelling television.

Ultimately, if she was selfish, I think it was minimal compared to how much she genuinely wanted to help him, and how much she did help him.

#the sopranos #asks #answered asks #lovely anon #Tony soprano x Jennifer melfi #thanks for the ask!

[psapphic95]

If you need any writing/wanking material…I just have a strong feeling Emma has probably done something to make her Mommy jealous. No idea what it would be…but it was definitely on purpose and I feel a jealous rage from Regina coming on.

Hey, 

Haha, everyone loves a rough, jealous Regina! However, as their relationship developed, Emma stopped trying to make Regina jealous anymore, though she used to when they were in their early days. Emma loves Regina and it’s quite clear that her jealousy comes from past relationship pains; Emma doesn’t want her Mommy to feel sad and insecure if she can help it. 

BUT, Regina still does get jealous and possessive though often it’s for something Emma does innocently or unintentionally. I was chatting to @mrmills and we were thinking about Regina getting insanely jealous when she misunderstands one of Emma’s sexual fantasies. Emma says something like; 

“I wish I could have your cock in my mouth and my pussy at the same time.” 

Which was said as a passing comment because it’s obviously impossible to do that, but Regina mishears her and thinks she says; 

“I wish I could have a cock in my mouth and pussy at the same time.” 

Regina takes this like Emma has a fantasy to play with someone else, which sends her into a ridiculous jealous rage. She goes quiet for the rest of the evening, though Emma doesn’t really notice. When settle into their bedroom that night, Regina roughly throws her little girl onto the bed, and quickly gets Emma on her hands and knees, drilling her little kitten from behind for all it’s worth, whilst making her throat a thick dildo suctioned to the headboard. Everytime she thrusts in hard, Emma has no choice but to deepthroat the cock, while Mommy is behind her, angrily taunting; 

“Is this what you wanted, you little fucking whore?” 

Ultimately, Regina is giving Emma exactly what she described in her fantasy earlier - she doesn’t want to play with anyone else but loves being spitroasted. When the girl looks/sounds like she’s having the time of her life, it just serves to deepen Regina’s rage. 

So, when at some point the suction cup on the cock detaches from the headboard and Mommy leans over and grits in her ear; 

“You’d better pick that up and get it wet because it’s going in your little ass in a couple of minutes…” 

In the end, during aftercare when Regina starts actually crying and asking Emma why she wants to play with someone else, Emma is like “?????? I never said that ??????” and she explains what she actually meant, Regina is like “...oh…” and immediately books a double session with her therapist for that week.

#ask response #jealousy #ao3 smut #mommysbaby #mommy k!nk #mommys little girl #mdlgprincess #rough play

[samuraiko]

And STILL more C3 ponderings... SPOILERS AHEAD

I have to admit, I am now REALLY curious...

After Travis and Erika’s conversation during Episode 28, I am sensing what might be a Chetney tipping point?

On the one hand, he can be kind, empathetic, and generous - he’s making toys, he’s paying for stuff, and at least as far as Orym, Laudna, and FCG are concerned (Orym the most of the three), he does seem to have their well-being (both physical and emotional) at heart. (Ashton is quickly becoming his new archnemesis following Dorian’s departure, he and Imogen have this semi-belligerent thing going on, and he really just seems to want to score with Fearne, so him being nice to her comes off a bit suspect.) And his apology to Orym after hurting him (both in the moment and later on) DID seem to be sincere.

On the other hand, his concept of a grudge can be almost ridiculous, he can be rather malicious at times (whereas Fearne more often than not just comes across as insensitive, but then again so does Imogen), and he is EASILY the slowest about trusting anyone in the group. (Though if he were going to really open up to anyone, I think it’d be Orym, especially because Orym is rapidly turning into the group confidant, as opposed to FCG being the group therapist.)

And every time I think Travis is going to commit one way or the other to which direction Chetney is going to lean, he tilts the other way.

But now we have his offer to Dusk...

Was that just to try and earn Dusk’s confidence so he has something TANGIBLE he can take back to the Hells and go, “DUSK’S A FUCKING TRAITOR AND HERE’S WHO THEIR PATRON IS!”?

Or is he really so callous that he’d sell out Fearne and her parents just for MONEY? Or worse, to get back at Fearne for not sleeping with him?

I will admit, it would certainly be interesting from a character and narrative perspective (though what it would mean to the other players at the table is certainly open to debate). And it’s not the first time we’ve seen PCs with openly selfish motives (Caleb and Nott from C2 come to mind).

But still...

It just REALLY.... disappoints me if that’s what’s going to happen. Mostly because of how much it would hurt the other PCs.

ESPECIALLY Fearne (and twice over, Orym).

And if it turns out he really did plan to sell out Fearne, werewolf or not, fellow Hells or not, gift or not, Orym will absolutely fucking WRECK Chetney. (With Ashton RIGHT behind him... considering how much Ashton utterly hates being lied to.)

And even if Chetney should survive, neither Orym nor Ashton will NEVER, *EVER* forgive him.

---

All that aside, the ACTING at the table would be utterly DELICIOUS. Travis leaning into his villainous side? Everyone else being utterly betrayed? For everyone who’s been saying that C3 has been the “light and fluffy campaign” compared to C1 and C2, I think we’re about to see shit go REALLY dark REALLY fast, and I want to see these actors pull out the stops.

#critical role #campaign 3 #cr spoilers #orym of the air ashari #chetney pock o'pea #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway #dusk

[mygoodbuys]

I did the thing they say to do. I went to the ER.

You know what I’m talking about. I actually went. The therapist told me to. The Doctor told me to. My mom also had to get her “JUST GO” in as well.

Hello, having thoughts

Okay we will admit you and take all your belongings

I’m not sure….

Question question question

Vague answers from me. Because I know not to say anything definite.

Remove all clothes, only undies. Put on robe and grippy socks while being watched.

Pee in cup as well

I have severe anxiety and am scared of lots of things

They start to do ALL the things I’m scared of

Can u plz stop fishing for a vein and try again later.

Ok. Let’s immediately try other arm

No, I….

Fishing, poking, nauseating feeling jfc is it in yet?! (Not my actual words)

Having an iv port thing hurts, it’s inconvenient and modern medicine is an absolute fucking joke

I tell my bestie to go for a walk because he hates needles. It takes him a while to get back. No biggie. But I do start a tiny anxiety attack. The port is fucking ridiculous. I get out of bed, OH WAIT! LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY BED!

I was in the hallways right between the supply closet and a huge toxic waste receptacle. And to top it off there were giant doors right behind my HEAD! Porters came in and out frequently with all sorts of giant rolling bins full of… one can only imagine.

So back to getting out of bed, an alarm goes off. I don’t know that’s because of me. I needed to pee and I was severely anxious. I think I asked for something to calm down.

They used the port for 1mg of a relaxer of sorts. Starts with an A ends in a van.

Shiiiit wooorked! I was so relaxed, calm despite the raging circus of an ER.

No it did not. It barely scratched the surface of my anxiety. They said twice that I might get sleepy. All it did was replace the anxiety with annoyance.

Why are these people so shitty at their job? Why is that one male nurse obsessed with his package? Why the FUCK am I in a hallway?

Here’s the deal: you can go home now or OR “you can go to the hospital way up north or way down south and they gonna lock you up and drug you good”

As if I had to consider the options.

I’m home now after 5 hours. Fuck mental health care in this country!

?

#tw sui ideation #mental illness #mental health #to