#Like fuck man I'm your kid's therapist I don't want you to think I'm like.... whatever age so young and very youthful is code for

[inkskinned]

before you know about women, you hear that you do not need to love the man, just that you need to love him through his manhood. which is to say you have seen the future painted in lamb's blood over your eyes - how your mother shoots you a look about your father's inability to cook right. how your aunt holds her wineglass and says i'm gonna kill em. men, right! how your best friend bickers with her boyfriend, how she says i can't help it. i come back to him.

you learn: men are gonna cheat. men aren't going to listen when you're talking, because you're nagging. men think emotions are stupid. they think your life is vapid and your hobbies are embarrassing. men will slam things, but that's because men are allowed to be angry. if you get loud, you're hysterical. if a man gets loud - well, men are animals, men are dogs, men can't control their hands or their eyes or their bodies. they're going to make a snide comment about you in the locker room, about your body, about how you're so fucking annoying. you're going to give him kids, and he will give you the money for the kids, and you're going to be running the house 24/7 - but he gets to relax after a long day, because his job is stressful. the man is on stage, and is a comedian, and says "women!"

and you are supposed to love that. you are supposed to love men through how horrible they are to you - because that's what women do. that's what good women do. wife material. your father even told you once - it'll make sense when you're older. it was like staring down a very lonely tunnel.

it feels like something's caught in your throat, but it's all you know, so. it's okay that you see sex as a necessary tool, a sort of okay-enough ritual to keep him happy, even though he doesn't seem to care about happiness as-applied-to you. it is relationship upkeep. it is kissing him and smiling even though he didn't brush his teeth. it is getting on your knees and looking up and holding back a sigh because he barely holds you as you panic through the night. it's not like the sex is bad and you do like feeling wanted. and besides! he's a man! like... they're another species. you'll never be able to actually communicate, right. he isn't listening.

you just don't get it. you don't feel that sense of i'm gonna climb him like a tree. mostly it just feels fucking exhausting. you play the part perfectly. you smile and nod and are "effortlessly" charming. and it's fine! it's alright! you even love him, if you're looking. you could have good life, and a good family, and perfectly happy.

in the late night you google: am i broken. you google i'm not attracted to my husband. you google i get turned on by books but not by him. you google how to get better in bed.

the first time he yells at you, it almost feels like blankness. like - of course this is happening. this is always how it was going to end up. men get angry, and they yell, and you sit there in silence.

you mention it to your friend - just the once - while you're drunk. she shrugs and says it's like that with me too, i just try to forget and move on. men are always gonna hear what they want to. pick your battles and say sorry even though he's in the wrong. you play solitaire online for a month. you go to your therapist appointment and preach about how you're both so in love.

after all, you have a future to want. nobody lied about it - how many instagram posts say marriage is hard. say real love takes work. say we fight like cats and dogs but the best part is that we always make up. how many of your friends say happy anniversary to the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. if you really loved him - loved yourself too - you'd accept that men are just different from you.

the first time she kisses you, it's on a dare at a party. something large and terrifying whips through your body. you wake up sweating from dreams where her mouth is encrusted with pearls and you pick them off one by one with your teeth. fuck. you sit at the computer and your almost-finished game of sim city. you think about your potential perfect life and your potential future family. you google am i gay quiz with your little hands shaking.

you delete each letter slowly. you don't need to love him. you just need to keep going.

[stinkystankystunky]

Every week I teach a 3rd grade class about socioemotional learning.

And there’s this one kid who for like 2 months now has been making up lore about me and my job.

Once I brought Starbucks. Already a bad move with kids, I know. Plus I was a dumbass and didn’t switch the cup. All the “feelings” art they drew that day were Starbucks. With “Well I feel like I want Starbucks! >:(” as the rationale.

But this kid was talking to his neighbor about whether it was fair for me to have Starbucks. (Another note, they absolutely think I’m 16. I’m 25).

And he said “well I want Starbucks, but I feel bad for her so it’s okay. Her boss forces her to smile all the time. It must hurt her face.”

Also apparently it’s super impressive that I drive a car. At 25.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hi,

I just stumbled upon your blog and I am already obsessed with your stories.🥰 Your writing style and the way you describe the characters is simply amazing.

Anyways, I‘ve got an idea for a one-shot, could you please write one, where the reader is Dr.Lecters patient and they bump into a very distraught Will after his session and start talking to him. Hannibal get‘s jealous, because he thinks Will is interested in the reader,after the conversation ended, tension is really high during her sessions and it get‘s steamy in the end.(nsfw?)

Hannibal x Reader: What's mine is mine

Warning: smut, oral ( f receiving), no use of y/n, penetration ( p in v), possessive behavior, jealous Hannibal, anger, not proofread, gn reader, female anatomy.

Word count: 1,2 K

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I've told you a thousand times that that door is for exiting clients only and you continue to use it.”

“Oh come on Hannibal you know how i hate using the other door. That empty waiting room always puts me on edge.”

“And talking with another patient is prohibited, you know that.”

You spin on your heels, angrily looking at your therapist.

“For the love of god hannibal! Did you see what he looked like? He was shaking so much I thought he was having some sort of seizure!”

You’d stumbled onto a very distressed will on your way into your appointment and simply couldn’t feel like you needed to help him.

“I'm surprised you let him leave at all. That man was a complete wreck.”

“It is my job to know what my clients need.”

“Clearly you're not doing it very well.”

You could tell you’d hit a nerve because instead of debating you Hannibal simply closed the door and stomped over to his chair. You shook your head. You didn’t understand why Hannibal was so worked up about you talking to Will. It’s not like you’d done anything wrong.

And the truth was you hadn't done anything wrong. If anything you’d shown you were an empathetic person. You weren’t the issue. Will was. Or more accurately, Hannibal's jealousy of Will was. Seeing you talk to Will had sent Hannibal into a sort of spiral. In his mind you belong to him but in reality you don't.

“Okay what the hell is up with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh so is your face just stuck like that now? You gonna give me the stink eye for the rest of the session? I mean come on! You’re acting like you caught me kissing him.”

Hannibal's body tensed at your words. He forced himself to open his mouth.

“Did you want to?”

“What?”

“Did you want to kiss him?”

“Oh for fucks sake what does that have to-”

“Answer the question.”

Hannibal had risen from his seat. He walked over to you boxing you against him and the wall behind you. You looked up at him staring into his eyes. Hannibal was so close to you that you could smell his perfume. You took a shaky breath in.

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I didn't want to kiss him. I’m not interested in him.”

No in him but in someone. That's what your words sounded like to Hannibal. He desperately needed to find out who you were interested in. Even if it meant having to get them out of his way. 

“Who then?”

“You’re kidding right?”

Hannibal continued to stare at you as he awaited you to answer his question. You shook your head at him.

“You’re such an idiot.”

You pushed forward, hitting Hannibal's shoulder with yours as you moved away from him. Hannibal grabbed your wrist, stopping you from getting too far.

“Who?”

You tugged your arm out of his grip, turning to face him. You looked pissed, it caught Hannibal off guard.

“You! It’s you, you ass!” 

Hannibal stared at you. You’d never yelled at him before. He felt rooted to his spot. He barely noticed you moving forward before you were tugging his tie. You gave him a bruising kiss. He moved to wind his hand around your waist but before he could you pushed off him.

“There. Satisfied?”

No. He would never be satisfied. He could still taste you on his tongue. And the taste was addicting. He surged forward grabbing your head with his hand. He shoved his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly. You let him, your hands moving to grip his suit jacket. The two of you stumbled across the room, hands wildly pulling at each other's clothes. Somewhere in the middle of the process you’d managed to unbutton Hannibal's shirt and he’d managed to remove your pants. Your body fell onto the loveseat, hand moving to tug Hannibal on top of you. He kissed at your skin, his hand moving to shove your shirt up. You gasped as his hands cupped your breast, kneading them in his hand. 

“Oh Hannibal!”

God he loved the way you sounded, gasping his name. He placed a kiss to the valley of your breasts before insching himself lower. He placed small kisses all over your stomach. You watched him with glazed eyes, observing him until he was on his knees before you. He tugs your underwear off your body, moving to place it in his back pocket. You raise your eyebrows to him and all he does is shrug. You squeal as Hannibal tugs you closer to him. He leaned his head down until he’s inches from your pussy. You bite your lip in anticipation. As soon as Hannibal's tongue makes its way to your fold you can’t help but throw your head back. Hannibal grips onto your thighs as you squirm against the loveseat. 

“Oh fuck. There! Hannibal there- shit!”

Hannibal grinned against your pussy, reveling in the way your hand grabs onto his hair in desperation. His fingers moved inside you, helping his tongue in his task to make you cum. You could feel yourself clenching around Hannibal's fingers, silently telling him you were close. If that wasn’t enough the high pitched moans you kept letting out should have been a sign. Hannibal sucked at your clit and you were a goner. Your hand gripped onto the love seat as you came. Hannibal watched you breath for a moment before beginning to climb over you. You tugged him down for a kiss, tugging at his hair. He bit your lip in return. 

Hannibal's dick nudged against your thigh, his pre cum mixing with your own juices. You smiled up at him, wrapping your legs around him. Hannibal took the hint, moving to align his dick with your entrance. He glanced at you for a moment, awaiting your approval. You gave him a small nod. He moved slowly into you. Once he’d bottomed out Hannibal stopped moving, giving you time to adjust. You opened your mouth in a silent moan, brows furrowing as you felt Hannibal twitch inside you. He desperately wanted to move but he would wait for you okay.

“Jesus Hannibal, what are you waiting for? Move!”

Well that was one way to put it. 

Hannibal began to thrust into you, his movements growing more rapid as your pleasure increased. He placed one of his feet on the ground, attempting to give himself more strength. You drew a breath in as he rocked into you rapidly. Hannibal leaned down tugging one of your breasts into his mouth. He sucked at your nipple, making sure to leave a mark. From the way you clenched around him he could tell you enjoyed it so he continued his ministrations. 

“Are you almost there?”

“Uhum please don’t stop-fuck-please i’m…”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, fingers digging into Hannibal's shoulder as you came. Hannibal felt you sag beneath him, taking it as his chance to guide your movements. His hands found your hips gripping them tightly as his thrusts began to flatter. Pretty soon Hannibal seed spilled into your walls. He laid down beside you, pulling your body closer into his.

“Remind me to make you angry more often.”

“Careful dear. That's a dangerous game.”

“Maybe that's how I like it.”

[rosedpetal]

Until Death Do Us Part

Summary: Harvey and you have been on a rocky road lately, but hopefully, you can still find each other.

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Word count: 932

Warnings: stablished relationship (reader and Harvey are married), mentions of body image struggles, hints at +18 themes.

Masterlist

"No. Absolutely not." Your husband frowned when you came out from the closet wearing your 'costume'.

A huff of annoyance leaves your lips.

"What the fuck is wrong now? Did I gain weight and suddenly you can't get up or something?" Venom drips from your sarcastic remark and Harvey rubs his temples.

"Why are you like this? Jesus Christ, Y/N, it's not about some shit like that, stop trying to make me a bad guy at every given chance!" He snaps. "It's just your stupid wings, okay? You look like you came straight from a Barbie movie, when you said you'd like to roleplay being a fairy, I thought you'd use one of those Lord of the Rings-"

"Those are elves. Not fairies. They don't have wings!" You seethe, taking your plastic wings off and accidentally pressing the light button on them, turning the pink leds on, and Harvey's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I'm sorry if my knowledge in a fictional world lore is lacking, it's because I actually have a real job."

That was cruel and uncalled for and he knew it. Harvey had a bad habit of saying the most callous things without even thinking. It didn't help that he hated the idea of roleplaying from the very beginning.

"How could I forget, it's the only thing you care about!" You raise your voice, and it breaks in the end. "Tonight was supposed to be fun!"

Harvey immediately regrets the jab he made at your wings. Well, it's not that he couldn't get himself to be motivated by you while you were wearing them... It's just that it was fucking weird because he was a grown man and he was pretty sure his kid niece wore the same pink fairy wings every Halloween.

And he could explain that to you, but you just had to make a self deprecating comment about your body and imply that he wasn't man enough to look past his partner putting on some weight.

Which was another ridiculous thing, because, seriously? He couldn't care less if you were a size 2 or 20. It didn't matter. He married you because he loved you, inside and out, and you weren't an airhead that couldn't carry on a conversation with him. He respected you. He was interested in what you had to say (most of the time, at least).

But for months now, you two have been fighting nonstop, and more than often saying some hurtful shit to each other and no longer searching for the comfort of each other's arms in the middle of the night.

He wondered if your sudden self consciousness regarding your body was because you've been stress-eating ever since the chasm between you two was created.

Harvey was selfish, harsh, arrogant and snappy, but he wasn't insensitive to how women sometimes had insecurities that ate them alive.

He sighed, following you in the closet, his chest tightening at the sigh of your angry tears while you put on sweatpants and a top (the sleepwear you wore on nights you made sure no intimacy was gonna happen).

He even agreed on going to therapy with you, which he thought was an admission of defeat, that you two weren't mature enough to solve your problems on your own.

"Honey." He called, his voice soft with regret.

He hates the 'homework' your therapist gives you every week. A dinner date, a little getaway, a road trip, sitting down and talking for an hour. He feels like his own relationship is being scripted and that you can't find common ground anymore.

"What?" You wipe your tears, unable to look at him in the eyes.

"We don't roleplay." He said in a teasing tone. "Why would I want you to pretend to be someone else when you already exist?"

He gently holds your face in both hands, wiping the remaining tears with his thumbs.

"I'm an idiot. I promise my reaction has nothing to do with whatever's been making you feel vulnerable right now. Seriously. The wings just reminded me of halloween, and halloween reminded me of children going trick-or-treating and you don't want your husband to be thinking of children in the bedroom, do you?"

You grimaced. "God, no."

"Glad we're on the same page, babe." He gently pressed his forehead against yours. "Dance with me."

"There's no music." You sniffled.

"We have a nice record player in the living room. Come on, baby."

Gently, he guided you out from the room, his fingers intertwined in yours as he put on some sappy jazz music. He sways barefoot with you on his arms, your head on his chest, and it takes you back to simpler times.

"I'm sorry. For everything." He's the first to speak, and you appreciate the sentiment, because you know how hard it is for him to apologize, specially when he's the first one to bend the knee to make peace.

"We'll get through this." You mumble, and he kisses the top of your head, and suddenly the golden ring on your finger feels lighter.

"I love you more than anything in the world, darling. Please, don't doubt that. I need you to remember that every single day, specially when I'm at my worst."

"I love you too, Harvey."

He knows there's a long way to go, but the little progress you made tonight makes his heart feel more at ease, as long as you're both on the same side, because he knew with every fiber of his being that he meant it when he said 'until death do us part'.

[s1ater]

cards.

pairings. will hunting x fem!reader

about. will has a conversation with a woman that's very close in age with him and yet very different.

warnings. swearing

ricky rocks. this movie was the first to ever make me cry. i also hate dumbass people (especially old ones) that come into my work asking me questions that have nothing to do with me. i need a raise atp.

“you’re a therapist?” you watch his face screw up and narrow as if in deep confusion, pointing before it slowly all slips away and is replaced by amusement. he laughs. he laughs in your face proudly, but the laugh doesn't seem genuine, but rather… mocking. “no fuckin’ way, you’re all pulling my leg now.”

your lips are pressed into a thin line as you watch him. you feel a distinct pull in your chest of slight humiliation, but as well sadness; for him.

“how old are you, kid?”

“i’m 22, will. how old are you?”

“22 and you’re doing this,” he shakes his head and you can’t tell if he’s impressed or still mocking you. “how’d you end up here?”

you sigh, leaning back in the chair you sat in, knowing you’d get no where from here, “i played my cards right.”

“yeah, no kidding.”

“you want to tell me how you ended up here?”

he smiled. he smiled like it was funny that he sat in the orange jumpsuit he was in and it was funny that he was screwing himself over, “i didn’t play my cards right.”

“no kidding,” you mumbled, looking at him with the most unimpressed look he had ever received from a stranger. “why?”

“what do you mean, ‘why’?”

“why’re you doing this to yourself?” you mean it. “do you not think you deserve this, that you could do better, be better?”

he doesn’t like that question.

“that’s awefully personal of you, doc. don’t you think you should take me out to dinner first?” he laughs again, but it’s not strong, it’s more nervous than anything.

“will,” you cut off the amusement in his tone, giving him a pointed look. “i’m not here to interrogate you, you know that right?”

“then what are you here for?”

“to talk.”

“about what?”

“whatever you want.”

he scoffs, “if it was whatever i wanted, we wouldn’t be talking at all.”

"what then?"

and then he smirks. his eyes rack you up and down from what he can see sitting across from you, but he keeps his mouth shut. he doesn't have to say anything for you to be able to tell what he's thinking anyways.

you look like a mother with the way annoyance just soaks you like a second skin. he almost regrets even implying such a thing with the way silence simmers uncomfortably between the two of you.

he coughs, "you like what you do?"

you inhale sharply, still staring at him carefully, thinking on how you want to reply to him. you could take one of two different routes; answering honestly, and continuing a conversation as if he was someone you had just met under normal circumstances or turning the question around on him and ultimately getting no where.

"yes, actually, I do."

"why?" he's quick.

"I like helping people."

"I knew you'd say that," he almost grumbles, like what you just said proved something to him. "everyone to ever exist with your exact career always says the same damn thing and you know what? I don't believe it."

you're taken aback, mouth slightly open, "why?"

"because people don't just like helping people out of the goodness of their heart."

"well, maybe people like you don’t."

his head tilts slightly back, you watch a slight curve form on his mouth at your retort, "what's the difference between you and me, huh? what's the little riff that separates us and makes you better than me?"

“i don’t think i’m better than you.”

“but still..? what is it?”

you stare at him, blankly, before you shrug, "well to start off you're a man and-"

"awh, cmon doc," a fake groan resonates from the back of his throat as he cuts you off, obviously fucking with you. "not this sexist shit."

"tell me I'm wrong."

he stays silent, but it's only because he wants to hear you talk.

"it's proven on multiple occasions that women are more empathic than men. it's even proven through animals that there's a seemingly large difference in empathy between genders."

"animals?" he raises a brow, "we're basing our research on animals now?"

"I mean we always have," you can't help but roll your eyes, even as he is still fucking with you, "hormones. if you want a simple basis; hormones. women's hormones are higher, so their empathy levels are higher."

"I see," will nods, but you can see there's still a pressing matter of mischief in his eyes. "you're a woman, so that's why you want to help people and I don't."

"that's not the only reason."

"what're the others then?"

"why don't you tell me?"

he narrows his look on you upon the request. you had trapped him into another question and he felt an actual drive to answer this time.

“you know this really has nothing to do with gender… but the nature we were raised in.”

oh, will hates that.

“what?” he looks relentless, like he’s given up almost, “you want me to tell you that i’ve been abandoned all my life and think our society doesn’t deserve any help? that they’re all pieces of shit and don’t deserve anything more than what they give? that your entire life has been easy, so you don't understand just exactly how fucked up people are.”

he hates how the way you look at him. the way you look content, like you had gotten exactly what you wanted, but there's sympathy; your eyes are soft, and your lips are pressed together in a half frown. that's the only thing that keeps him from not being completely on edge, the soft look of your sympathy.

"is that what you wanted to hear?"

"not necessarily," you fold your hands up on the table. "hearing anything from you would've been fine."

he scoffs, "you goddamn therapists."

"i don't think we're much different at all, actually," you glance at your hands, still folded nicely on the table between you. there's a silence then that you allow to fold up in between the two of you as you think. "life has never been easy, will. i don't think it is for anyone. everyone has their struggles, some of us just face a more... difficult horizon. in the end it only matters with how we deal with it."

he stares at you blankly as you continue to speak.

"you can wake up every day still harvesting that hate for society for whatever it has done to you, and you'll never change, because you hold that hate in your chest, because you don't let people hear you," your eyes go progressively softer, and your head slightly tilts, driving him even more insane. "i was mad for a long time at what my life was, but i became comfortable with it. you can't change what has already been done, but you can make of it what you can."

it's silent.

will thinks about your words more than he intends. having those words spoken to him by someone so similar in age to him made him feel strange, like he was a failure. you seemed to have everything in your life so figured out, as if you were so content with anything that came your way. he doesn't understand how you don't hold hate, how you just let it go as you claim.

"you happy, doc?"

you smile then, "as happy as i allow myself to be."

"you're strange," he chuckled, "you must've never been really fucked over by the world if you just let things roll off you're back."

"what would it matter?" you try to reason. "a person's dog could die and that person could take that harder than if your father were to die. your level of 'fucked' is different to everyone, but it shouldn't matter. you shouldn't feel the need to invalidate someone's feelings, just because yours were continuously. and you shouldn't feel the need to rely on the world to validate your 'fucked up things'."

he feels like he's suffocating from the large amount of empathy you shoved into his ears and down his throat. he had always heard the classic 'you deserve better' speech, but never like this. the way you laid it all out for him put it all to a different level of understanding for him, creating a feeling for guilt that was creeping around his heart for even saying anything remotely ignorant about people's struggles; for thinking he had it worse, that he felt pain more than anyone else.

will feels foolish staring at you. he feels foolish that it took this simple interaction of man sitting across from woman being what it took to make him truly understand he was in control, even his own happiness.

"we really did play our cards differently."

you smile softly, "good thing it's never too late to draw a new one from the deck."

[skylark325]

Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint Read Through

Ch 32-52

Beginning: Ch1-10

(I think this was my favourite read through so far XD)

I pushed to punch this asshole's face. I didn't understand. This wasn't the 'third regression' Yoo Joonghyuk that I knew.

>KDJ: Look at me YJH, look into my eyes. *grabs his shoulder* This isn’t you. Get the fuck out of this safe zone so I can be safe.

I was bleeding from minor wounds and the shoulders struck by the grolls' horns were red with blood.

>Reading it in the novel feels so much worse than the manhwa for some reason 😭

"You can become much stronger with me than with him. You still won't go?" "Yes. I won't." "…Stupid kid."

>oh he’s so mad lmfao

"I only use it on men." "Oh my."

>…Dokja buddy let me hold your hand when I say this. You are a homose- *gets run over by a car*

"I know what I know. Of course I don't know. I'm just talking to myself."

>…huh?

If my guess was right, our damn regressor would be on the 'sunfish route¹'.

>WHOOP he said the thing!

"Hey, why are you talking to Heewon-ssi but ignoring me?" "Uh… that, I'm a bit weak to older females."

>I…IS EVERYONE IN THIS BOOK QUEER?

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' likes your desire to rehabilitate a fallen friend.]

>Oh I bet she does

"I saw it in a book when I was a child." "When you were a child?"

>I love Gilyoung with all my heart but he can be so suspicions sometimes

I thought of how Lee Hyunsung's eyes would shine with loyalty towards me and already felt warm.

>AWWWW

Mjolnir was lightly lifted by Lee Gilyoung's hands. Lee Gilyoung swung the hammer around before looking at me.

>So Gilyoung is Thor, k ok cool

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' hates spoilers.]

>DUDE SAME

A novel reader recently spoiled something huge in my comments and I wanted to tear my hair out like WHYTFBNHGGBBN

In fact, sunfish were very durable creatures. They died because they were vulnerable to stress, not because they were weak.

>someone get this man a therapist. wont that save the world? some stress balls and anti-depressants and he’ll be unstoppable.

"Alone?"

「 I… 」

"What did I come here for if you are alone?"

>i love this scene so much 🥹

"It sounds like you know a lot." "I know him the best in this world."

>That’s…Dokja you’re making this too easy

"I came here because of you! Why are you alone? We are together!"

"No, wait a minute."

"I've always been around you! Don't lose hope! Think of the child!"

"That isn't what I…"

>HAHAHAHA I’M DYING

"…Indeed. Don't worry, I'll give him this love letter!"

>lmaooo i love this scene holy shit XD

"I am Yoo Joonghyuk."

>oh here we go

"But Yoo Joonghyuk-nim should've realized it from your past regressions. Even if you have an outstanding miracle, you alone can't fight against the disasters that will come."

>The first grader is trying to teach the guy with a phd in yjh lmao

–Then tonight will be a hot night?

–H-Hot…?

>Poor Hyunsung someone protect this man 😭

These jerks, they only got the cute side of Yoo Joonghyuk in the beginning…

>EXCUSE ME????? CUTE?????? DOKJA MY MAN GET UP

--------------------------------------------

Next: Ch 53-73

Previous: Ch 21-31

Beginning: Ch 1-10

[pureblisswrites]

A guide to being kidnapped and escaping 101

Prologue

Chapter 1

"I know you tried to move. Otherwise there would've been no marks." He looked at you accusingly as if you were the one who commited a crime or were covered in blood.

Pairing: afab! Psychologist! Reader x Bang Chan

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre: Crime, mafia au, eventual romance, slow burn, comedy (an attempt was made)

Warnings: kidnapping (not with malicious intent), use of injection(s), mentions of blood although nothing graphic, criminal activities of course.

Summary: You are a fairly renowned psychologist and therapist but definitely not renowned enough to be getting kidnapped in the middle of the night. Is it one of your past patients with a criminal record? You don't know what the kidnapper wants but you have a feeling you are about to find out.

This story takes place in the same universe as "A guide to accidental murder and cover up 101" but with a different reader. I suggest you can read that too if these kind of stories are your type. But both can be read as standalones too.

Completing Mrs Kim's therapy sessions, check. Because God knows that woman would rather chew glass than talk about her mommy issues and inferiority complex. Being promoted to senior therapist, check. Getting another new pet, check. Being kidnapped from your home, check. Okay so being kidnapped was definitely not on your this year's bingo card.

It's not everyday a bunch of well built men approach your apartment in the middle of the night, inject a needle into your veins, and take you in an expensive looking car with tinted windows. You feel yourself going limp and your mind filling with cloudy haze. Yeah you'd much rather have another therapy session with Mrs Kim than feeling like this, you think to yourself before loosing consciousness completely.

You wake up after God knows how many hours or possibly days? That thought scares you, you hadn't even submitted a leave of absence. What if they fired you? No they wouldn't fire you right? You were one of the top therapists in the country. There was no way they would fire you just after promoting you. And more importantly, what about your pets?

You look around you, observing your surroundings. The room looks like a 5 star suite room. You look down to see silk bed sheets wrapped around you. When you attempt to move you find that your movements are restricted. Your hands are free though, so you remove the sheets from around your legs. Only to find that your feet are cuffed from the bedpost. Great. Just fucking great. You jerk your legs in an attempt to unlock them but it's of no use whatsoever except making some noise.

Should you scream? What if the people who kidnapped you are psychopaths or sociopaths and it sets them off? It certainly won't be your first time dealing with psychopaths or sociopaths. But you needed to be very careful if you wanted some answers and didn't want to die.

"Hello?" You say. Your voice barely above a whisper because your throat feels so fucking hoarse. Just how dehydrated were you? You cough a bit to try to regain your voice. "Hello?" You repeat again. A little louder this time. "Is anyone there?" You almost scream now. Still no answer. You'll have to say something that they couldn't ignore now. You just hoped someone would be on the other side of the giant door. "I'm sorry but I really really need to go to the washroom. I'm not kidding." What the fuck? Did they just brought you here to leave you in a bed and go on with their days? You wished they would talk to you at least once so you could grasp what kind of people they were and what to say and not say to them. "EXCUSE ME?" You shout with all the voice you're left with now and then cough violently afterwards.

Suddenly the door opens by a man dressed in all black with a mask on his face, but his eyes are directed downwards and he isn't coming in. You see the reason mere seconds later. When a man with really well built body enters. His eyes as cold as the cuffs on your feet. He's wearing a white shirt with black harness belts over it. Who wears stuff like this? But that's definitely not the most concerning thing about him. It's the way his white shirt is splashed with blood. And not just one kind of blood. Different shades of blood. So are his black gloves and wrists.

You have worked with people who have been diagnosed with violent behavioural disorders and have seen your fair share of blood in your years long career as a psychologist. But never in this much quantity. And definitely never in this situation where you're tied to a goddamm bed. This was pretty fucking scary.

"Oh hello." He said like he was surprised that you were here, as if he wasn't the one who kidnapped you in the first place. "Did you need something?" He asked politely as if he was some underpaid staff at the local convenience store.

Deciding to not test the waters right now you just uttered one word. "Washroom."

"Oh right." He held out a hand towards the man who had opened the door in the first place and the man placed a a tiny key in his hand. He then walked towards you and opened the lock of the cuffs in one swift motion. It took you longer than this to open the lock of your door. That means he is pretty skilled at what he does. Which is scary because you suppose he murders people. Or animals? What if he is just a butcher? No but he kidnapped someone, the someone being you, he is definitely involved in criminal activities. He frowned when he noticed the red marks on your ankles. As if! Did he not know this would happen? He also seemed fairly experienced in whatever it was that he did considering the number of men working for him, you assumed. "You shouldn't have done that." He stated.

"Huh?" You questioned, too busy analysing his every move. Who knew for how much time they would leave you here again.

"I know you tried to move. Otherwise there would've been no marks." He looked at you accusingly as if you were the one who commited a crime or were covered in blood. This man needed to get his priorities straight.

"Can I go now?" You asked. It felt so weird after asking for permission to go to the fucking washroom after telling people what to do for years as a therapist.

"Uh yeah. It's that black door on your left." He gestured to said door. You stumbled to walk and heard him talking to the other man near the door. "Why did you fucking cuff her?" He sounded a bit angry.

"Because you told us to Boss!" The other man exclaimed while looking pretty shaken up.

"Yeah well I didn't-" he cut himself off and looked at you watching them while standing near the door. Fuck. You rushed inside quickly, afraid of what will happen now that he heard you eavesdropping on their conversation. Even though technically they were talking right in front of you.

You used the washroom not knowing when will be the next time you'll get to get out of the bed you were chained to. You go out and see the man who was not the "boss" standing next to the bed. Trying really hard to unlock the cuffs from the bedpost.

"I- uh sorry I'm kind of an intern here so-" he was clearly struggling to get the key out of keyhole now. Did he get it stuck there? "So- um I wanted to apologise for the inconvenience caused to you on my behalf. Boss ordere- uh asked me to apologize. Did that sound too formal? Sorry I used to work in retail before this if you couldn't already tell." You could.

"Let me see this." You go up to the lock as the man makes way for you. "I think you pretty much broke one of the latches in the locking pad." You observed. You had some experience with broken locks from that time you had your first internship in an asylum.

"Well then I'll go prepare for my funeral. In the meantime you can wait here. Someone will be here soon enough with some food for you." He sighed in despair and walked away. Not even bothering to close the door. Yeah he definitely was an intern.

Well then you might as well observe this place right? Right. You approach the giant door with slow and light steps. Not knowing what you could see on the other side. You look out to see dark hallways on all three sides with multiple doors in them. They are dimly lit from the sunlight that's passing through the huge windows on each end of the walls. You can see greenery. Maybe there's a garden somewhere.

Now... you were a psychologist but no psych vol. 6 book ever had notes about how to escape from a supposed mansion after being kidnapped by God knows who and for what. So you decided to throw caution out of the window and run out. Future you will just have to deal with whatever happens.

Confused between whether to go right, left or center, you decide to follow your instincts and go center. You run as fast as you can, which isn't actually fast because you had long ago decided that you would never have to run. Your job was to sit in a room with someone and talk to them. Why would you need to run? Yeah right. You hear footsteps following you behind so you look behind you just to find... no one? Running while looking in the opposite direction was definitely not a good idea. Because you just know you ran into someone you weren't supposed to run into.

You look up from the well built and hard chest your face had collided into, only to see the "boss" looking at you with an expression you couldn't identify. He was unusually cold yet held a soft look in his eyes. Very contradicting. Thankfully he had changed his blood stained shirt for a plain black one, although he still had those bloody gloves on. You can feel him staining your t-shirt as his big hands grip onto your shoulders from when you had lost your balance while faceplanting into his chest. And you really wish he hadn't held you and let you go so the ground could swallow you whole.

"Going somewhere doc?"

A/N: I wanted to make this longer as well as show their first proper conversation but I've been running low on motivation lately so I thought I should just post this first. Please let me know your thoughts on this, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

[miraclesabound]

That Hits The Spot

Summary: You wonder what Shoresy means when he tells someone he'll be good to them, and you get a demo.

Pairing: Shoresy/F!Reader, background Shoresy/Laura Mohr.

Notes: The lack of Shoresy x Reader fics baffles me, so I decided to add some enrichment to the tag! Also on AO3.

Warnings: Canon-typical language, mention of injuries, alcohol consumption, unrequited (?) romantic interest, Shoresy is NOT a licensed massage therapist

Tags: @pettyprocrastination @magpie-to-the-morning

"Hey Shoresy?"

"Yeah?"

"Got a question for ya." You're sprawled out on his sofa while he grabs a beer for each of you from the fridge. For once, the apartment is quiet - the others are out doing God knows what, and Shoresy told you he doesn't expect them back for hours. "Heard you say something to Laura Mohr and been ponderin' it."

Shoresy snorts. "Didn't your parents tell ya it's rude to listen in on other people's conversations?"

He comes over and sits down, and you grab your beer from him. "How can I not when you're declaring your eternal devotion for the whole stadium to hear, ya nut??" He's already opened your bottle for you, and you take a long sip.

"Nah, but really," you continue, "I heard you tell her 'I swear to God I'd be so good to ya' and I just...wondered what that actually meant?"

He shrugs as he settles into one of the side chairs. " 'S not that complex," he says. "Just, ya know, the standard stuff - foot massages at the end of the day, helpin' her with the kids, glass o' wine or hooch if she wants it...bein' present, you get it."

"I do," you admit. "Sounds fuckin' divine, in fact."

"Ya say that like ya don't have it right now."

Damn him, he's observant. "Nope," you tell him. "This old girl's gotta handle things on her own - which isn't easy when I've managed to fuck up my back and neck." You wince as you sit up. "Doesn't help that every damn chiropractor in this town is booked up."

"Maybe I can fix it?" Shoresy asks. "C'mon, make room..." Before you can stop him, he sits down next to you and has you turn your back to him. "Specific spots or is the whole column fuckin' with ya?"

"Neck, shoulders and lower back."

"Gotcha." He starts with your shoulders, huffing in annoyance when he feels the tension there. "Holy fuck, woman, you been sleepin' on a rock pile?"

You chuckle at his indignation. "Might as well - I think the bed at my place is older than I am."

"Swear to God I'm gonna kick your landlord's ass for that," Shoresy mutters, mostly to himself.

The idea of Shoresy getting protective over you makes your stomach flip - he's never talked that way before. To avoid analyzing that feeling, you crack a joke: "Less vengeance talk and more spinal realignment, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah...lemme just...." He digs a thumb into a sore spot and you yelp.

"Shoresy, what the fuck!"

"Cool your jets, 'm tryin' to find where the actual muscle pull is..." He keeps poking, and you're about to stand up from the couch and shove him away when he lets out a noise of triumph. "Found it!"

"You're full of shit, man, I- oh!" Your protest cuts off as you slump into him - the sudden lack of stiffness in your shoulder makes you feel like a popped balloon.

He makes sure to catch you, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Told ya I could fix it. Want me to get the rest?" You nod, and within five minutes, your whole back feels better than it has in ages.

"How ya feelin'?" he asks as your eyes close.

"Fuckin' divine," you tell him. "I'll give Laura my endorsement for you first thing in the morning..."

You drift off on his chest, so you don't know if you actually hear him say "No rush..." or if it was just your imagination.

[blorbocedes]

inspired by @sionisjaune's tags and THIS nico in glasses art by the incredibly talented @movieboyfriend

Becoming a sports psychologist had been easier than Nico expected. 

All he needed was a bachelor's, which he already had, and a Masters' degree which took 18 months and submitting a paper on eating disorders to achieve. Board certification was annoying, Nico just doesn't have that kind of time, but the workaround was simply calling himself a 'performance enchancing counselor.' A corner office in Monaco, a shiny plaque with his name on it, and a star studded roster of athletes and C-list celebrities he'd hosted parties for during his influencer days for potential clientele, he was all set.

F1 hadn't been the goal but at the same time... who better than Nico, who knew exactly how motorsport could chew you out? His karting dreams were long over, but the smell of gasoline and burnt tyres and the roar of the crowd is still his forte. It just so happened Formula One decided mental health awareness was totally in style now, and one of their main sponsors held an event on mindfulness and how it can be achieved drinking more Heineken. Having a father for a World Champion is helpful, when it means one has lifetime passes, and this had been a prime networking goldmine; not for the drivers themselves and their fragile egos at the implication of psychological help -- but sliding his practice's embossed gold card in the suit jacket of one Toto Wolff.

Lewis saw therapy as something good and necessary, but ultimately for other people. And then Abu Dhabi happened. And then the W-13. And Toto had mentioned what Keke Rosberg's son was up to, how it could possibly help him out of his slump, and hearing that name after so long made Lewis' usual 'thanks but not for me' die at the tip of his tongue.

"I'm not going to imply whether all your issues stem from trying to make your father proud or ask you about your childhood. I would remember. I was there." Nico had smiled over his thin-rimmed circular glasses, with that knowing sparkle during their first unofficial session and Lewis was sold.

"As long as you don't expect me to call you 'doctor,' man. Jeez, who would've thought? Dr. Nico Rosberg."

After that, every week unless he's in LA, Lewis finds himself in Nico's chic Monaco office. It's not stuffy like a therapist's office; a turquoise wall and Nico's dad's helmet is on a shelf display, a German national Team jersey hanging on the wall, there's even a YouTube million subscribers golden plate. Lewis is sprawled on the bean bag, the sunlight from the floor to ceiling windows hitting in beams, and not for the first time Lewis has to reconcile the kid he knew has grown up into the adult in distinguished glasses and same golden blonde hair in front of him. Nico dresses like he's about to give a TedTalk, in his monochrome tee and blazer combo, and that somehow puts Lewis more at ease.

"The car's been so fucking shit. I'm not here to fight for, what, p10? That's not me. And the team..." Lewis rants, and it's so freeing to be able to call the car shit without adding in how they're improving bit by bit and other optimistic platitudes that don't mean shit in terms of the championship.

"And the team's been prioritizing Russell over you, I can see how that can be a source of frustration." Nico finishes.

"What? No. He's not -- the team's not. I'm saying, it's annoying enough the car isn't where we were promised it was gonna be, and now every week I'm getting asked if I want to retire, like what's this all for?" Lewis is momentarily taken aback by Nico's claim. Is that what people think? The team... well, George has adapted to the car easier and has been finishing above him but he hadn't felt any particular favouritism from the team... Although he's been the one running experimental setups and helping the team collect data while his teammate gets dubbed Mr. Saturday. The seed of doubt towards the team makes him frown.

"You don't want to retire. Not until the 8th." Nico points out decisively, getting up from his armchair to walk behind Lewis where his plants are.

"I don't. Even if no one believes me, apparently." Lewis rolls his eyes, hearing as Nico spritzes his plants. He could've sworn they were fake.

Lewis feels a hand on his shoulder, surprising him. "You're just going to have to prove them wrong. Like you always do." Nico smiles down at him with absolute conviction, squeezing it once, and then the weight is gone; Nico moving back to his chair.

The gesture was friendly, but it makes something flare inside Lewis. Something about Nico, maybe the fact he can open up to him the way he can't even with the team; maybe because Nico knew him before seven titles, before he was anyone, makes Lewis instinctively trust him in a way he rarely does with new people. But Nico isn't new, even if the glasses are. Lewis finds himself wanting to know more, wanting to fill the gap between the years.

"Now, let's go over your daily mindfulness affirmations..."

[rainbowcrowley]

15 questions, 15 10 some friends

i got tagged by: @queerbuck and @gentlebeard, thanks lovelies 🥰😘

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

don't think so, no. my dad picked up my name somewhere on tv or radio..? and he really liked it. i must admit, it's a cool name bc it's unique, but i like my chosen nickname waaaay more. it's also gender neutral so 🤷🏻‍♀️

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

i rarely cry bc of Reasons but the last time was.. about 3 weeks ago, during a mental breakdown yay

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

nope. also don't want kids. i'm not fit to be a parent.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?

not many. i hate exercise lol. did some archery lessons a few years ago - i even got pretty good at it but had to stop, bc it's an expensive hobby. oh and back when i was 15/16 years old i had some horse riding lessons, but that's it.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?

yeah, i think? not as much as i used to, tho.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

eyes, hair and smile, i think

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR?

blue-grey

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

fuck scary movies man. i hate horror. it's not my genre. it's not that i get scared easily... i just think they're boring. gimme all the happy endings pls.

ANY TALENTS?

overthinking (:

(my therapist would scold me for not putting something positive here, too, so... guess i'm a really good cook? it comes easily to me and i really enjoy it. does this count as a talent..?)

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

(northern) germany. komme aus dem echten norden.

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?

watching movies/shows/youtube, reading, playing video games, travelling, tech and computers, tumblr/fandom.... guess??

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?

noo, not at the moment, sadly.

HOW TALL ARE YOU?

1.78m 🧍🏻‍♀️

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?

school was hell :) but i guess today it would be english, german, physics and history...?

DREAM JOB?

the one i'm doing/learning to do right now. i'm an IT specialist apprentice. :) (the guys you call when the printer doesn't work and who will ask you if you have turned it off and on again ehehe)

no pressure tags: @beccibarnes @underwhelmingalchemist @crowleyraejepsens @crowleyholmes @sherlockig @skinnyscottishbloke @wibbly-wobbly-blog @stedesbonnets and everyone else who wants to do it ✨️

[noelle-holi-gay]

Dess, who is trapped in the Void, becoming a big sister figure to the Discarded Vessel.

"Okay, uh, this is…Dess Holiday, void log, Year Three, March 16." Dess sighed, holding her phone up to her mouth as it recorded her voice. "I'm really fucking mad right now, and Gaster says to record these when I'm mad to vent the energy, and even though I'm still pretty sure that man is not a licensed therapist, I don't have much else to do. So here I am."

She groaned, pausing for a second, to lean back against the strange, soft, shifting wall of her makeshift bedroom. Well, it was less of a bedroom and more of a sad little box of condensed metaphysical void-matter floating in the middle of endless black nothingness, but it was hers, dammit, and she was at least thankful for the relative privacy.

"Chara's really getting on my fucking nerves again, the little shit. They remind me of Kris, but if Kris was, like, way more fucking annoying. Gaster says it's the trauma but I don't give a shit what it is, to be perfectly honest. It's taking all the restraint I have not to kick their ass so hard they become alive again and then die again, except for good this time, cause they fucking—they stained my goddamn jacket with some of Gaster's weird fucking experiment goop, and—I don't know how to get this shit out!"

She turned away from her phone for a second to glare at her varsity jacket, which was hanging on a creepy gnarled hook on her wall. The fabric was stained with something sticky and green all over one side.

"I spent like an hour trying to get it off with some paper towels, but whatever the fuck this stuff is, it refuses to come out." She grimaced. "I tried to ask Gaster about it, but he just said, 'Oh, you probably should not touch that', which, like—wow, thanks, man. So fucking helpful. Like, Angel, this is—this is like, literally a third of my wardrobe, and now it's ruined. I'm so fucking mad. I wanna grab that scrawny little smiling piece of shit and unkill them and then kill them again. I think I already said that, but, like, fuck! Ugh! It'd be different if—"

The door to her room cracked open, and Dess glanced over to see a pale figure standing in the doorway.

Dess stopped the recording. "Oh, uh, hey, Vess. What's up?" She frowned. "And, uh, close the door, by the way. You'll let in the nothingness."

The vessel reached behind itself and closed the door. 'Sorry,' it signed.

"No, uh, you're good, dude. It was mostly a joke. Cause there's nothing out there. You know? Nevermind. What's up?"

Dess stuffed her phone back into her pants pocket. The Vessel was pretty new around here, relatively, and Dess was still getting used to its strange demeanor. It seemed nice enough, though, and Dess felt pretty bad for it, considering what happened when Gaster tried to connect to the player. Because the connection had gotten all screwed up, now the vessel was trapped in here, too; and Dess knew how much that sucked.

'I am very sorry about your jacket,' the vessel signed. 'I know it brought you joy.'

"Uh—well, yeah, I guess it did." Dess shrugged. "But what can you do? Chara's a bitch like that."

The vessel seemed to pause for a moment before moving its hands again. 'Do you hate Chara now?'

"That—" Dess blinked. "Uh. I mean, I'm mad at them, but…well, I don't know if I, like, hate them hate them. Like, they're just a kid, you know? Kids are stupid."

'I am not sure I understand,' said the vessel. 'How can you be mad at someone without hating them?'

"Uh…right. I'm guessing that bit of info wasn't exactly bundled into the whole, like, gift of mind thing, then, huh?"

'The gift of mind grants me the capacity to think and learn,' explained the vessel. 'It does not grant me any a priori understanding of the world.'

"Right. Well, uh. Yeah, you can be mad at someone without hating them." Dess patted the ground next to her. "Why don't you sit?"

'Because I see no distinct reason to do so.'

Dess couldn't help rolling her eyes. "No, I mean, I want you to come sit next to me while I explain this."

The vessel stalled for a second, then walked over and sat itself down next to Dess.

"So, I'm kind of mad at everyone all the time," Dess said. "It's, like, my default state. I was always mad at my mom back home, because she wouldn't let me do the things I wanted to do. But she was my family, and I still loved her, even when I was mad at her. And like—I had this friend, Kris, who was basically a younger sibling to me. And, god, they would do the stupidest crap—a lot like Chara. And I got so mad. I'd chase them around the house with my bat trying to beat the crap out of them, sometimes, with how mad I got. But I never hated them. I could never hate Kris. Does that make sense?"

'I think so,' the vessel signed. 'And this…Kris. They are the same human who received my host in error?'

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, they are." Dess looked off to the side. "I hope they're okay. They were—they were strong, a strong kid, but they were also kind of a loner, and I just—I hope this whole 'player' thing won't hurt them too bad."

The vessel tilted its head to the side. 'They are like your jacket to you?'

"What? No." Dess laughed. "Look, I'm mad about what happened to my jacket, but at the end of the day, it's just a piece of fabric. Kris was my friend. Here—this can be a good example. So, Chara messed up my jacket, and I'm mad at them. Right? But I don't hate them."

'Right,' the vessel followed.

"But if someone were to hurt Kris?" Dess's eyes narrowed. "Then I would hate that person."

'I believe I understand.' The vessel paused for a moment in thought. 'And this distinction…it lies between objects that bring you joy, and people that bring you joy?'

"Well…yeah. I care a lot more about my friends and family than the stuff I own, and I'm more upset when they're hurt."

'May I ask one more question?'

"Yeah. Course."

'To which category do I belong?'

Dess blinked at the vessel for a second, then smiled. "You're a person, Vess. You're a friend. And if someone hurt you, I'd hate them, too."

'I see.' The vessel turned away from her a little. 'Thank you. For the explanation.'

"Yeah." Dess moved over and bumped them lightly in the shoulder. "Anytime."

[monorayjak]

I... it's getting hard to live like this. Hiding who I am to so many people. It hurts. I wrote a thing earlier today and I felt I summed up the feeling pretty well I think, reworded a bit to sound better:

"It feels like torturous self harm to be fully aware of who I am and yet imprison myself in a fortress of a false identity that's slowly caving in around me."

What I'm getting at here... I think... I think it might be time for me to come out to some people...and I really need some advice.

As of now, only four people IRL know about me, that's my therapist, my cousin (who was genuinely more like a sister to me), a friend at college (I knew they were extremely supportive and they had no connection to other people I know, so it seemed like a safe bet to tell her (I was right)), a friend I interacted with occasionally in high school who has since come out as trans herself (actually what got me to message her, saw her online and wanted to ask so I didn't misgender her or anything, and we got talking and I quickly realized she'd understand.)

At the moment, I'm still living with my mom, which is fine, I know she'll support me in her own way (she's queer herself, she has internalized issues, but she tries). I know my university I go to, despite having once been a "christian college," have opened up and been supportive of most of the students who do come out in one way or another. I know at least a few of the professors there who are absolutely trying to be supportive to everyone to the best of their abilities. My therapist knows, as mentioned before, but he is also... well, he ain't exactly a pro with gender and sexuality stuff (still a good guy, he just messes up what he's talking about here and there, like using masculine pronouns when he talks about a transwoman (largely I think its because he usually talks about them when they first started transitioning, and I don't think he thinks about gendering them correctly in reference to them coming out... if that makes any sense).

The issues... well, for one, I live in the bible belt. My extended family (who we are finally trying to cut ourselves off from now that the only think holding us together (my grandmother) is gone) lives all around me and the majority of them are.........well lets just say they really don't like my mom being gay, and one of them bullied a kid he was fostering because, in his words, "the kid's a fucking sissy!" Yeah... not a fan of that uncle. (In related news I am genuinely afraid of that man because he is very fucking clearly not mentally stable and has talked about killing himself and others before (while preaching at church!) and he is... really aggressive and has access to guns) I'm too poor to even consider leaving the state, and with... well frankly I'm a bit of a fuckup who really can't live on their own... yeah... fun times. Insurance may cover parts of things, but... honestly I don't even fucking know. Like I said, I know my mom will try to support me, but she is also... well, how do I say this? She tends to not know how to react to stuff. A large reason I don't talk about stuff with her is that she has a habit of turning it around into something about herself (not in a manipulative way, mind you. I just think she doesn't realize why it feels bad to tell her something like this and then have her break down a bit because I didn't tell her sooner or because she didn't work it out herself or anything like that). Basically, if I tell her, its either going to go one of two ways.

She reacts negatively and turns it around about herself and takes the moment to be hurt she didn't work things out or that I didn't tell her. (Literally once opened up to her when I was little (like 11?) about how much I hated myself... she said the next day she spent the entire night crying because she thought she failed... I understand what she was going for, but, honestly not something you should tell your kid who just opened up. Practically had it ingrained internally "If I feel bad, hide it. Because my mom will be devastated by it.")

She goes too supportive and expects me to be willing to open up immediately. Basically just forgetting she can't push me into being out and honest because it takes time to work up the courage.

Both of these options are... iffy. To say the least.

[yeetus-feetus]

mother: what do you mean you don't want kids?

Me: I said I don't want to birth kids.

Mum: why adopt when you've been given the gift of life bearing?

Me: first of all gross. Life bearing? Ew I feel queezy just thinking about something growing inside me that's 🤢. Second why not adopt? There's so so many kids that need loving parents and stable homes.

Mum: yeah but the gays can adopt them.

Me: ??? Are you forgetting I'm gay? I'm bi, mum.

Mum: no no, that's just a silly phase. Bisexual isn't real, you'll meet the right man one day and give me beautiful grandchildren.

Me: again. Gross. I don't want to birth your grandchildren. I already told you the thought of another being literally growing inside me makes my skin crawl. It makes me wanna throw up just thinking about it.

Mum: well I can't understand why. It's literally in your biology-

Me, walking away because this is going nowhere and I've already had this conversation with her 3 times this week:

Hey guys it's actually because I'm trans and I can't tell her that because she'll just gaslight me even harder. I would like biological kids but that's not option for me because I don't have a cock. Otherwise I'd probably already be dad.

Also I'm pretty sure my mum is only saying this to me because her mum forced her to have kids (boomer breeding kinks istg). But I'm not her therapist and I'm not going to unpack that for her. Plus she has an extremely homoerotic friendship with her bestie wich she's still in denial about because she knows she's not a lesbian but still strictly refuses to believe that bisexuality is a real thing.

But I am so tired of having this conversation with her. So so fucking tired. She should just hurry up and go kiss a woman and leave me the fuck alone istg. Like just because she's policing her own queerness doesn't me she should be projecting that onto me.

Also fuck my stupid grandma because all of this is ultimately her fault. Like why was she so obsessed with my mum having kids? Look what that caused, a handful of gay kids with severe daddy issues running around being autistic and depressed. And where is the father? Sticking his dick in anything he can breed.

Why do older people have breeding kinks?? That's actually an important question that I'm very curious about. And why is it so much more prominent in Christian households?? Like I thought sexy was unholy or something?

I'm gonna ask my grandma maybe. I won't get any answers, probably, but she'll definitely look mortified and start praying in tongues or something which will at least be entertaining.

(side note: if I had a dick I'd probably also have a breeding kink but we'll avoiding dissecting that unwelcome inheritance.)

[stalkersdiary]

~ Be Polite Or Leave Me The Fuck Alone ~

This is less of my usual content and more of a vent about the weird fucking people that send me shit in the inbox. Why do people with no tact or age attempt to write me? I'm just a random guy with health conditions. If you make me feel like I have to check to see if you have an age in your bio, I will probably not respond to you. In fact, some of you, I block because I think there's a HIGH possibility you're a minor, even if you DO have an age. You act like a child, type like one, and are as annoying as one. Don't fucking write me if you can't be polite and reasonable. That being said I'm going to give simple brief answers to the messages I got flooded with this last month. 1. I like MLP, Miraculous Ladybug, LoliRock, and Bluey, and while I watch some kid shows, that doesn't mean I want to talk to children. I'm a fucking bitch, I hate kids, and I don't talk to insolent people. I just watch kid shows because it makes me happy sometimes and feels like it repairs part of my childhood. Yes, I know, I need to seek therapy. I HAVE A THERAPIST. They TOLD ME this was a healthy option. 2. I am a boy despite what people think after meeting me in person or seeing me on camera. I'm an intersex man and I was born both male and female. I do however identify as a man and no, my body is none of your business. I don't care that you "Saw my dick and my boobs on Chaturbate." Don't talk about that shit to a stranger because it's creepy and I will crack a bottle over your head if I see you IRL. I'm not afraid of violence, I'm afraid of going to jail. 3. I have been in different media and I have worked for controversial people. NO. I DON'T SHARE THEIR VIEWS. WHY WOULD I? Does every Amazon worker have late night chats with Jeff Bezos about how he should run his company? OF COURSE NOT. Just because I voiced in a commercial for a creepy man once doesn't mean I believe what he does or did is good. I'm just an actor. If I knew he'd be such a HORRIBLE PERSON, I wouldn't have worked for him. Lastly, 4. if my existence is sooooo offensive to you, that you want to cancel me for speaking about health and autonomy, take this shit to your voting booth. I know I'm a pastor. Do you think the people who listen to me care that I want everyone to have equal rights and the freedom to talk about how they feel? Well you're right, they ENCOURAGE me to go to protests and teach the truth behind God's words. God tells you to love. God tells you that EVERYONE has sinned. You aren't better than that random person you screamed F@ggot at. You're just as bad as them. Grow the fuck up. If you expected something else from me, I recommend looking at who you're talking to. Remember to close the Stalker's Diary. Mxster R doesn't want any more visitors tonight.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

I hope this isn’t crossing a line to ask but I was reading about your sub adventures and idk maybe I’m being close minded but how exactly did you and your wife get to that point? Like she’s truly not jealous or anything? Like is that relationship going to be strictly sex or are you both open to more? Idk that whole world to me is just so foreign and I’d love to know what it’s like.

Not crossing a line at all.

This got long as fuck so putting a read more.

So, here's the thing. You have to have a rock solid relationship with your "primary," aka the partner who was there first and will continue to be first and foremost. Neither of us finds jealousy attractive, and it just isn't something that has ever played a part in our relationship because...we talk? I know that seems over simplified, but it's true. I never have to guess where I stand or what she is thinking because if I don't know, I'll ask, and vice versa.

Trust plays a HUGE role. There can't be any secrets. Period. Full stop. I literally tell Kat everything. She knows who I'm talking to because I tell her. I WANT to tell her. She's the love of my life. I could easily toss her my phone and tell her to look up something, and if she so desired, she could read every single message I've ever sent to the men I meet. She doesn't need to because she trusts me, but the option is there.

We've had people tell us, "Oh, I could never do that because I would be too jealous." And to me, that is a red flag? Jealousy implies lack of trust, and yeah, if you're gonna be jealous, then you can't do this. Plain and simple. We run into this issue a LOOOOOOT on Fet with hetero couples. Their core relationship is struggling, so instead of getting uncomfortable and digging to the root of the problem, they open their marriage, thinking that will fix everything..IN WHAT WORLD DOES THAT MAKE SENSE. idk don't ask me, man. But that has been the most consistent and frustrating part about all of this. I wind up playing marriage counselor because they will say to me what they feel they can't say to each other, and I'm like, how is this my job? I just want to be fucked/choked a little. Im not your therapist. And finding a Unicorn won't fix your marriage, Deborah/Kyle. That can't possibly fall to me. 😅

As far as that person's role in our lives, they have to bring something to the table. They have to benefit us in some way. What men on Fet seem to not understand is that if we wanted to just fuck someone, we could. But we are looking for a bit more than that. We're not saying we are looking for a husband or someone to move in, but we don't really do one night stands, especially with me looking for a full time Dom, there has to be trust and a connection.

Example: one of the most consistent men we've been talking to is very up front with the fact that he just wants to be FWB, however, he knows we are PEOPLE and he is adamant about making sure that the 'FRIENDS' is kept in the fwb equation. He will sext me and get downright filthy, but there are also times when he sends me pictures of his kid at baseball practice or his trip to the botanical gardens and always asks about my day. (He literally stopped talking about eating me out to show me the pumpkins he was growing on his family farm yesterday. 🤣 he is the definition of golden retriever)

We have always been open to the idea of polyamory and view love as it's not a piece of a pie that people take chunks out of, and then it's gone and all used up. Instead, love is always about addition, and if we were to find a third, it's just MORE LOVE. Love is not a finite resource.

I once had a guy on Fet ask me, "If you love your wife so much, then why are you looking for a third? What's missing in your relationship?" And I told him that first off, that's rude as hell, but I gave him an answer. What's missing? Nothing. Literally nothing. We could pack this shit up tomorrow and close our Fetlife accounts, and be 100% happy the way we are. It's not about something missing, it's about the fact that the two of us have more to GIVE.

At the end of the day, we look at this situation with the knowledge that we are so fucking incredibly lucky. Because no matter what happens, we have each other. Our relationship with our third could go down in flames, and yet, I'll still have the love of my life standing beside me, sleeping next to me, navigating the world. And when you have a fail safe like that, it's really easy to put yourself out there and be brutally honest. I'm able to tell the people I meet on Fet, 'Hey, this is me. Here are my flaws, here are my desires, you cool or not?' It is so efficient 😅 I'm too old to play games and know what love is and should feel like, we're a package deal and if they can't hang, then thank you for playing but next contestant.

I hope that helps a bit? The bottom line is that it's not easy because if it were, then everyone would do it.

[bwobgames]

Previous First

Ángel stabs him, he takes out the knife to let it bleed out

"We need to take him out of the house"

"Ángel! Over here!"

Nadia opens the door to one of the rooms

It's the same room where they were last loop

"What...?"

Nadia enters and opens... the window?

They take him, he's struggling

They are going inside the room

Are they putting him into bed?

"Oh"

"They are going to drop him"

They are in the window frame, Eugene is struggling against them.

He could fall at any moment

"They... They are going to kill him. Forever, no looping

That's...

I don't want Ángel to be a murderer. He's already gone through so much.

And Nadia! She's too young to have this in her conscience, her own dad..."

"This is not fair to them"

Oliver Beebo is a man who cares about what's fair, even if it disagrees with the law

Nothing about their situation has been fair, so he does what he thinks it's best.

He runs to the window

And pushes the man himself

"Ángel and Nadia don't deserve something like this in their souls

I can take it.

It comes with the job"

They hear him hit the ground

They look down

He's not moving

"Even if he survives the fall, the blood loss and the cold temperatures should be enough to kill him.

He's... he's pretty much dead

Forever"

Beebo takes his phone

"He's... He's to the side of the house. I'm going to hang now. We'll be out in a little bit"

He has... conflicting feelings about this situation

Is this fair? To be killed forever against multiple killings that technically never happened?

Ah, his therapist is gonna have a field day with this

"So... he tripped and fell, right?"

"Wha- Ángel!"

"Yeah Ángel, how did he get stabbed if he just tripped? We need to add something about self defense"

"I mean, he did try to kill us. We have enough proof all over our faces"

"And the bombs, don't forget the bombs"

"Alright, listen! When we get out and reunite with everyone, we'll agree with a story"

"Because it's very unlikely they'll believe there's a time loop"

"I say we tell everyone it was something really stupid, like he thought this was the first floor or something"

"I don't think that's plausible"

"No, no, it has merits"

"... Maybe having you two get along was a bad idea"

"Wha- Im not getting along with him!"

"My love, you offend me. How could you- YOUR FACE"

Ángel looks at Beebo's bloddied face

"Are you okay?! Did he get your eye?! Can you see?!"

"It's okay, it was just my eyebrow"

Ángel takes the end of his scarf and brings it to Oliver's face

"Is it healing?! Did he hit any arteries?! Quick, do you feel nauseous? Light-headed? What's your blood type?!"

"Ángel, I'm fine. It's already healing"

"Put pressure on it, you don't have any coagulation problems, do you?"

"I don't, do you?"

"Huh?"

Oliver takes the scarf

"Look, you are bleeding too"

"Oh. Oh yeah, that explains some things"

"Here, I'll try my best. Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

He cleans the blood off Ángel's face

"I'm sorry about your scarf, and your jacket, and the future scar this will leave."

"It's okay, It looks good on me, and we'll match!"

"And I can just take a few millions from Coli's company for my clothes"

"Hey!"

"What? Is compensation for the damage"

"What will you do after that?"

"I don't know, maybe a stay at home husband for one lucky man"

"A very lucky man"

"You two do realize the first floor is on fire, right?"

"Oh. Oh yeah"

"Oh fuck, the fire, yes"

"Nadia, make a rope with the bedsheets from here to the patio and get out as soon as possible. Call everyone to get there"

"Got it"

"Wait, kid"

Ángel takes out the photobook of his pocket, it's a little battered

He gently bops the book against the top of her head

"Ta-da, the gift of knowledge"

"... I am very glad he died now"

"Hah, we are not so different, then"

"Die"

"Of course of course"

She goes to the bedroom

"Okay, now we just need to find a nice sturdy object. Like a femur"

"Like a what"

Beebo goes through the rooms, he finds a piece of wood

Probably for future renovations

"Not as great as my good friend femur, but I shall love it all the same

Oh wood, thank you for allowing the deed we are doing today. Your companionship is-"

Ángel takes it away from him

"Huh?"

"Ángel? What's wrong?"

"Aside from everything that has happened tonight"

"Do we really have to destroy it?"