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ybklix · 2 months

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𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀

★ pairing: chris bahng & lee minho x popstar!femreader

✦𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Prima donna: someone who demands to be treated in a special way and is difficult to please.

The sweet and perverse play of a life hidden behind an acclaimed character created by someone.

Minho Lee, a frustrated young writer working in one of the most important music magazines, is about to find out what’s really going on behind the scenes of the mysterious girl everyone is wondering about.

With small steps in your career, you are discovered by a famous producer under the pseudonym CB97, whose vision of work is very specific and quite peculiar… yet you succeed in becoming a rising star, who manages to spark the public's curiosity. Hiding little secrets under the image of a mysterious internet girl with an angelic voice and face.

Once Minho is challenged to come up with a really good story to keep his job, he finds your unusual videos on the internet, wondering if he could have a chance to meet you… only to find himself with no way out, immerse in a dark world, hidden and full of beauty and desire.

♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 - 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, angst, daddy kink, soft bdsm, sex toys, sextape, est. relationship, cheating, threesomes, mention of sex workers, sugar daddy, dom!chan, toxic relationship, reader is slightly a nymphomaniac (current warnings appearing in each chapter).

♡⋆˙ FIC MASTERLIST

❀ inspired by the early career of poppy, the singer and her “weird” yt videos back in 2016, electra heart by marina and the diamonds and almost famous film.

main masterlist

current warnings: daddy kink, pet names, suggestive smut.

word count: 860

♡ PROLOGUE ♡

“Perfect, beautiful, but I feel you can do better, let’s do it again just one more time” your boyfriend said in a soft tone, focused on all his recording equipment watching once more your video, you nodded determined and quickly arranged your two pigtails back on your shoulders, “In three... two...”

You went back to your role and acted according to the script previously studied to perfection written by your boyfriend. It wasn’t rocket science, your videos were never longer than three minutes, and this was one of those that came out in one continuous take, but Chris, your boyfriend, was a total perfectionist freak.

Once you heard him say “Cut,” you felt yourself breathe again and were a little tired of the bright set lighting hitting your face.

“This is the good one, babygirl, you did excellent, I just edit it and it’s done” he said, cheering you on and still focused on his computer.

You approached him, this time he was so focused on the result of the video that he didn’t go straight to you to pamper you which seemed strange to you, like something empty, you missed his affection and compliments every time you did something well, or every time you did your job well and didn't complicate it for him too much.

You admired him, his handsome side profile, you sighed, you were dying to call him by his name, but he didn’t like when you called him that at all, according to him, it was like a lack of affection towards him.

“Daddy” you tried to catch his attention, stretching his clothes a little but he was still engrossed watching every detail of your recorded video, “Daddy” you called him again in a more needy tone.

“What’s wrong little one?” he replied without paying attention to you, deftly moving his long fingers on his computer.

“Did I do it right?” you asked.

“Of course you did, babygirl, I’m almost about to post it...”

“Then why don’t you show me how much you like it?” you whined, knowing full well that tone made every part of his body tremble.

He finally turned to look at you, your expression with a slight pout, your eyes bright, it was obvious you wanted sex to which Chris smirked as he couldn’t believe you were insatiable, you had a huge sexual appetite, you could last hours and hours, round after round until he left your body completely tired, until you cried and begged for no more. But you couldn’t help it, he had made you that way, he created you, from your dyed hair, to your feet with your socks and shoes on that he chose and dressed you in them. You were all his.

For a year now, you had this kind of relationship that was a little abnormal, but you were turned on by every part of it. It was a routine you kept, but besides the sex your favorite part was making music with your boyfriend, being able to share creative ideas, and ending up completely fascinated with the great work he did with your voice.

“That’s what you want, huh, babygirl?” Chris raised his eyebrows, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth watching you with desire, making your pussy throb under his penetrating gaze, “Wasn’t the good morning daddy gave you enough for you?”

You shook energetically, your heart racing at the thought of being touched again by him, igniting in you an inner flame that could only be extinguished by reaching your so intense orgasm that your daddy always makes sure you reach.

“I want more, daddy please, don’t I deserve a reward?”

“Mmm, the video wasn’t that hard to act...” he commented teasing you a little.

“Daddy, pleaseee” you begged, you were so wet that if he refused to touch you, you’d go to your room to lock in and give yourself an orgasm, without caring about breaking one of his rules, either way a very painful but sizzling hot punishment awaited you every time you broke one of them.

“Okay, come here” Chris turned from his chair, putting his body in front of you.

You moved closer, almost in a jump of happiness, wrapping your arms around his neck, Chris wrapped his arms around your body, squeezing it and dropping his heavy strong arms in you.

“What does my princess want?” he asked, close to your lips, brushing his big nose against yours.

“I don’t know, daddy, you decide...”

Chris moved one of his hands down to your wet center, starting to stroke your clit, making you gasp and moan.

“You’re so wet... You want daddy to play with you, don’t you?”

You bit your lip, aroused, every muscle in your pussy throbbing, so needy at his slightest touch. You loved him, you worship him.

You didn’t believe that anything or anyone could break such a bond between you. He knew absolutely everything about you, or at least you were so blinded as to believe so. But trying to figure him out was a constant game that sometimes you had to lose. And gosh, you really fucking hate to lose.

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hotvintagepoll · 7 months

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Propaganda

Olive Thomas (The Flapper)— There’s something about her that’s just so beautifully genuine, like you could reach out through the screen and touch her hand. She was a showgirl-turned-Hollywood-star who died a mysterious death, and now she haunts the New Amsterdam Theater. I’ve actually met her ghost— she seems pretty sweet!

Francesca Bertini (Assunta Spina, Countess Sara, The Last Diva)— There is no Diva like an Italian Diva and Francesca Bertini was the prima diva of the genre known as Italian genre cinema. Just watch her fill the screen with her face and her body in glorious close-up. Dressed in impossible floating draperies, conveying impossible depths of emotion, this is the kind of cinema that mesmerised audiences a hundred years ago. She's so free physically in the space of the screen, absolutely commanding - this is a vision of powerful woman that demands your adoration.

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Olive Thomas propaganda:

Olive Thomas was one of the OG Hollywood starlets, and the only woman to seriously challenge Mary Pickford for Hollywood Queen supremacy. She was known for her stunning face and long ringlet hair, which is pretty amazing considering she was also the original flapper girl (so-called because of HER in the movie The Flapper!). She was also one of the first big Hollywood scandals, because her death was/is very suspicious and the idea that she might have died in a drunken accident (or been murdered by Mary Pickford's brother) was considered beyond the ability for "middle Americans" to understand. WE STAN A GORGEOUS MYSTERIOUS FLAPPER QUEEN!

Francesca Bertini propaganda:

#francesca bertini #olive thomas #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 1

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abr · 2 months

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Cerimonia d'apertura delle Olimpiadi: ovvero il mondo secondo la visione di Zan, agli antipodi da quella Zen.

Tanto insostenibilmente pesante, fragorosa, opprimente oppressiva "ciao mamma guarda come mi diverto" la prima, quanto minimal equilibrata meditativa davvero rispettosa delle diversity, non importandone una a scapito delle altre, è la seconda. Adolescenza vs. maturità.

Ringraziamo il governo parigino (non francese) per averci illustrato chiaramente il NON progetto cui chiedono di rassegnarci: la città-ghetto onnivora, celebrante un costante gaypride, coi borghesi detenuti nella città in 15 minuti a fingersi felici di 'sta baracconata INSOSTENIBILE in quanto STERILE, quindi a debito.

Lasciateli fare: confessano sempre tutto da soli, spontaneamente.

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lets-try-some-writing · 4 months

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Gotta ask about A Vision of Past and Future because I love some good Solus/Fallen angst.

(For this)

I freaking love A Vision of Past and Future. Honestly I am distraught at the lack of Solus/Megatronus stuff, so I opted to fix that. Anyway, this fic is technically part of a series, but the way it is written means it can stand alone. I do most of the writing, but my co-author helps a great deal with planning. The whole focus is on the first ever family formed on Cybertron. That family happens to be the trio that is Solus, Megatronus Prime, and the Thirteenth Prime.

Most of the story follows the development of their family unit and a few other things such as the roots of written language and other small inventions made by this family that continued into the future. It explores Solus and Megatronus discovering what it is to love while Thirteen worms his way into their lives as an apprentice and eventually comes to be like a son to them. But of course, history is history and in the end, this fic will show what exactly led to the fall of this first ever family unit and the chaos of that broken connection.

(I really need to stop making Alpha Trion be kinda evil)

Anyway, here is a snippet from a few chapters ahead.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Thirteen, what are you doing?" Solus stood up from her chair in concern as the last of the Primes remained firmly in place. He stood firmly before the gathered assembly of Primes, his armor shifting to accommodate him as he reached up to touch his faux vocalizer.

"Solus, be seated. I believe the youngest of our number has something to say." Prima gestured for Solus to settle down and Megatronus clutched the edge of his seat in concern. This was highly unusual. Thirteen had only been given his faux vocalizer a few cycles ago. What could he possibly have to say to all the Primes?

"But-" Solus began before Megatronus reached over and gently grasped her servo. He shook his helm and pulled her slowly into her seat to watch as Thirteen steeled himself. The youngest of the Primes seemed to vent deeply, the glowing orbs that served as his optics flashing white as he prepared. His faux vocalizer spit static as he focused on it. Then, after a moment of tense silence, Megatronus heard his ward speak his name for the very first time.

"I am Optimus Prime, and no longer shall I remain voiceless."

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #solus prime #megatronus prime #the thirteen primes #the thirteenth prime #optimus prime #fic snippet #fic wip #aligned continuity

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deblklesb · 9 months

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[Phantoms of Past — Abby x Reader]

[AFAB!reader, friends to lovers, Christmas themed, br!reader, angsty, MDNI]

a/n: well, is this late for Christmas? yes. but do i care? also yes bc i'm paranoid and have some need to make stuff on time, so imagine my despair when i couldn't finish this. but i ALSO know that I'm doing my best, and for that i have to pat my own back. anyway, this is for my brazilian besties out there!!!

cw: reader is brazilian, usage of phrases in pt-br with the translation after and between parenthesis, owen mentioned (this man is a cw by himself idc this is not a owen appreciated blog), mutual pinning, Abby understands portuguese and even talks some. let me know if i forgot something.

not proof read | word count: 3,274

reblogs are highly appreciated!!

While you drive through the recently cleaned streets of the neighborhood you grew up, thanking the heavens that it stopped snowing for now, the radio plays a seasonal song and your murmur along. The traffic on the main roads were chaotic, almost as congested as your uncle's arteries, but now the decorated rooftops and doorsteps replaced the headlights on your peripheral vision. In front of a house stood a snowman, or at least his body stripped of arms and face.

You park in front of a house with simple adornments and flashers around the main door, a LED deer standing next to it and a small table with fake cookies and milk on top. All the energy was so reminiscent of the years you'd spend a whole day decorating the house with your mom, mainly inside, just so your father and sister could take care of the outside. Now that you both were grown and away, the couple occupied itself with the house interior and resumed the exterior with a simple approach. It never failed to take a smile from you, though, especially seeing the way they would adhere to simple things just because it looked cute, even if it had nothing to do with their native traditions.

Coming from Brasil, for the first part of your life you had hot weather and sunny days on Christmas. Maybe a night of rain, but never snow. Fireworks and catholic mass were on the list, but your parents went just to go along with the rest of the family and friends. They weren't religious, so in the end Christmas was simply another holiday, but with presents and - as all the other holidays - a family gathering. The main difference now was that you were studying in another city, becoming one of the absent relatives; you know, the ones that mainly go home for the holidays and vacations. It wasn't bad, but they definitely missed you a lot and the feeling was mutual.

Using your key to get in, the sounds of Simone’s “Então É Natal” (“And So It Is Christmas”), a brazilian holiday song, hit you immediately. You chuckle, taking off your boots and coats. From the front corridor the ornamented tree is visible, carrying innumerous lights and details. There's probably not a single empty wall, the seasonal decoration filling every inch of your field of vision.

“There she is!” Your father shouts as you appear in the living room smiling. The man goes into your direction with open arms, holding you tight. You smell that same cologne he wears since you can remember anything, and along with the warmth of the house, it truly feels like home. Some of the tension from university and work just falls on the carpet, leaving your body to receive all the good things inside that place.

“Carlos, you'll smash our child and I cannot have another one”, your mom yells somewhere from the kitchen direction, making you laugh.

“I can get another one anywhere, Marília”, he finally lets go, an arm around your shoulders. “Won't be as nice as this one, though”

“Of course not, she's irreplaceable”, your cousin Felipe says, approaching. “Prima, você tem feito falta!” (“Cousin, you have been missed!”) He holds you sideways with an insane amount of exaggeration, taking an embarrassed chuckle from you. Felipe was a lawyer with a lot of charisma, but inside he was just your cousin that your mom liked a lot. You both used to play together growing up. “From some people, a little too much”, he whispers playfully before running away, not letting you scold him for bringing up something you were not prepared to deal with this earlier, especially when the person implied wasn't even around. Yet.

Your father doesn't seem to notice, now talking with your mom again.

“Hey, Alice”, you wave to Felipe’s wife sitting on the couch, drinking something on a Christmas themed mug.

“Hey, sweetie! How's uni?”

“Tiring”, you shrug. “How about the kids?”

Your name is once again shouted through the house, and as you turn around three kids are running into you. Camila, Jorge e Rayana hold your waist, almost making you fall with a laugh. Camila is the oldest, at five years old, but the others are at the age of three. They're simply the most precious people in that family.

“Meus pestinhas!” (“My little brats!”) You start messing their hairs and pinching their ears playfully.

“Eu perdi um dente, olha!” (“I lost a tooth, look!”) Camila smiles widely, showing the first little window on her mouth.

“Ela tá ficando banguela e feia” (“She's getting toothless and ugly”) Jorge points out, and by Camila's reaction this isn't a new saying.

“Well, that's too bad. Because you'll get toothless and ugly too, just wait a few years”, Rayana and Camila laugh as the boy pouts at your response, looking at their mom.

“Vamo, vamo, abram espaço. Preciso abraçar minha filha” (Come on, come on, clear the way. I need to hug my daughter) Your mom’s voice finally reached the living room before her arms were wrapped around your torso. It's warm and familiar, you've missed her so much.

“Oi, mãe” (“Hey, mom”)

“Você tá tão magrinha, filha. Aposto que não anda comendo direito na correria, né?” (“You're so skinny, child. I bet you haven't been eating well in all the rush, right?”) The caressing she does on your back is reassuring, and by that you can tell you're going back with bowls filled with food. “Sua irmã vai chegar só mais tarde, seu pai vai buscar ela na estação” (“Your sister will arrive just later, your father will pick her up on the station”)

“When will uncle Jerry get here? He said he would get me new crayons”, Rayana mumbles while playing with one of the numerous ornaments on the lit up tree.

You try not to react to what that phrase implies, going with your mom to the kitchen to busy your hands and your mind with something else. She would probably kick you out of there soon anyway, she never liked having other people in the kitchen with her unless very necessary. But the need to act normal, smile and not think about family friends coming over it's bigger than the prospect of being scolded out of a room.

While the conversation continues in the living room and the song plays to never leave an empty place in your audition, you hover around the place talking with your mom about the neighborhood news and her routines in the morning walks group. It's comforting to know about what's going on, even if it doesn't really affect your life.

You help her cut the bread to make rabanadas (french toasts), looking forward to finally eating them. It's one of your favorite things of this season, even though you could actually find it anywhere at any time of the year. But the memories of having a plate of those on the supper table, covered in sugar and cinnamon, it's one of your favorites. So you're dividing your attention between the chore of slicing the bread and listening to your mom speaking, when a name being yelled in the living room catches your ear and you almost cut the tip of your thumb.

It's Jorge’s voice. “Abby!”

It's a blessing your mom didn't notice it, but now you have a bigger motive to stay inside the kitchen and never leave it.

No matter how much your mother talked, or the music filled the air, or the people in the other room got into different conversations within the group; her voice seemed louder than any other thing to you. You would swear she was next to the table you had the cutting board on, chatting with the children and playing with them.

You could swear you could listen to her whispering to you about lonely nights and missing pieces of a puzzle.

“Tia!” (“Auntie!”)

Your mom stops speaking just to turn around and look into the tall woman's direction. “Abigail!” Her comforting, mothering arms hold the strong torso, and the blonde needs to be in a not very straight posture to fully embrace your mom. What could you say, hightness wasn't in your family's genes.

“One of these days you'll be able to carry me around, with how big and strong you're getting!” And they both laugh as if Abby didn't live at the end of the block and they saw each other constantly.

All the while, you're trying to avoid the upcoming, inevitable moment. Your eyes glue on the bread, but you're not really looking at it. They're talking but you can't decipher the words, just assimilate the sweet voice making your cells tremble in vibrations. Cutting another piece, and another, then another, then-

“Puta que pariu-” (“Motherfucker-”), a drop of blood falls onto the cutting board when you pull your hand away, thumb red and hurting.

“What happened?” Your mom asks, concern in her voice.

“I cut my finger”, the running water of the sink makes the wound sting when you put the finger under it, the blood keeps coming out.

“I can take care of that if you need to”, Abby says, making you look directly at her for the first time of the night.

And you have to give the lack of air to the pain. You have to, because otherwise you would be admitting that looking at her takes your breath away.

“Yeah, Abby is working as a nurse in a school now. I bet she's used to this type of thing”, Marília goes to the cutting board, taking the pieces you've cut already.

There's nowhere to run over this. What will you say, that you don't want her to take care of your wound? That you can't be next to her, orelse all the coherent thoughts in your mind will fade away, leaving room for her voice? That your fingers ache to touch her?

You look to your still bleeding finger under the open faucet, then to the tall, blonde woman again. And while your mother wasn't looking, you both had a silent conversation about something, everything. She could see the doubt in your eyes, but you could see the pleads in hers.

“Sure, I think it wouldn't be much…” You try to smile, finally turning the faucet off and grabbing a towel to wrapp around your finger.

You both go upstairs, she tells you how there was a first aid kit in the bathroom and your stomach jumps at the realization that she knew your house more than yourself probably. Looking forward at all times and trying not to pay too much attention to her careful hand touching your arm like she was guiding you around the place.

“Go to your room, I’ll take the kit”, and you don’t even look at her to see how she was looking at you. You don’t know how that hurt her, mainly because you’re trying to get out of this situation as fast as possible.

The room is just like you always leave it after the breaks, bed neatly covered and books on the shelves. Some stuffed animals that you couldn’t bear to donate were aligned on a shelf next to a poster of a band you liked, the black and red contrasting with the creamy colors of a small giraffe. You saw the table where once you were pressed against, the lamp giving a soft light on the room as you felt a pair of lips so close to yours after all those years of yearning and silent pining.

“Okay, let’s give this a look” she was back using that voice, the one for the workplace. Tender, but firm; like she was trying to be secure, but reassuring.

Abby pulled the chair next to the table so she could sit in front of you, her knees together between your separated legs as she carefully took your hand and unwrapped the towel. Crimson drops started to flow down your finger, and the blonde woman never took the blue eyes away from the cut.

The distance wasn’t enough. Her scent would haunt the bedroom all night, making you dream about her just like it happened before, during your late school years, when she came to spend the day and left you numb and daydreaming. Her touches were so gentle, featherlight.

“It wasn't that bad, we can handle it”, she muttered like she was talking to one of the students from the school she worked at. “So, how's college?”

“It's okay, I guess”, with eyes glued on your own hand, you tried not to notice her thighs too much. “I've been working my ass off to write a paper while keeping up with classes and the monitoring thing”

“You'll get this, I'm sure”, you looked up just in time to see a smirk on her lips, but then returned to look down again before being trapped on that hypnotizing expression. “After all, you've always been very good with your words”

“It was easier in school, though”

“It always is”, she cuts the bandage before wrapping your finger with it. “But that's the thing, right? We start to realize how school was maybe easier, but then again, would you rather be back?”

“Oh, fuck no”, you chuckle as she finishes the curative. “I wouldn't change this for that”

“Yeah”, you finally look up more confident, meeting her indescribable expression. “I would change some things, actually”

“Like what?” You're just keeping the conversation, just trying to let it flow well enough for it to be bearable. You surely weren't expecting the next phrase.

“I wouldn't have dated Owen”, she sighs.

Owen was Abby's boyfriend. They started dating in the last year of school, and looked very much in love, for your displeasing. He wasn't a bad guy per se, but the fact that you already had a crush on Abby made you think that your feelings towards him were totally based on jealousy. So every single thing you had to say about him would be shoved down your throat immediately, and you'd just smile and nod to your friend anytime she mentioned him. You told her he was nice - couldn't bring yourself to say more than that - and supported their relationship with the most painful role in that whole story: the best friend with an unrequited crush.

By fall you found out she and Owen had broken up. Right after…

“Why is that?” Her eyes wander from the quilt to your hands, then back to your face. They were so beautiful, you could spend the rest of the night admiring them. Or the way her hair would fall around her face with soft lines, how her freckles were so attractive to the touch, especially on her arms.

“Don't think I was really into him… At least not in the right way”, Abby was the one not looking at you now, almost more interested in putting the stuff back on the kit box. “I could've been honest with him… And with you”

“Abby-”

“That's fine…” She shrugged. “He was a little bit of a dumbass anyway”

Silence falls around you both, filling the room with an emptiness.

The image of them both in your living room, last Christmas, haunts your mind as soon as you remember how you knew nothing and was too caught up in your own thoughts at the time. The way she laughed at his jokes, making your stomach turn as you smiled politely. Or how you saw them kissing next to the coat holder by the front door, and all the food you ate wanted to come back in awful bitterness.

You never told anyone. Never said a word, as always, rather keeping the green feeling on the back of your mind in order to not do something stupid - like being rude or start crying.

But then, you came home for the summer break. You dad was making barbecues in the backyard, you mom decorated the house with all the stuff your cousin brought from Brasil on his last trip, and you'd listen to pagode in the living room while the kids were playing and running, waiting for the meat to be properly roasted so they could finally eat.

Internally, you were ready to deal with that same gut-rotting feeling all over again. The plan was to sustain the fake expression until the time allowed you to pull the tiredness card on everyone and go to your room to watch some old telenovela.

Abby showed up alone, greeting everyone as usual. And when she looked at you, you could swear that was something in her eyes that could make you shiver. How she took your figure in before hugging you, how she held you so tight and for a little bit longer. How she was always trying to be next to you. You couldn't decipher, though, and the whole day went by mixing the confusion of her being without Owen and not even mentioning his name, and the rush of being that close to her again.

That night, in your room, she kissed you. Right there, where you were sitting now, she held your face between your hands and your skin shivered, while her lips touched yours.

You waited for years. Kissing her was probably one of the only things you wanted to do every time she was around, flesh craving hers. And it finally happened… But she had a boyfriend.

So you never talked about it again. You went back to college and texted her less and less.

“Abby, Abby, Abby!” A childish voice came from the corridor, the door opened to show Rayana. “Come here, I need your help to defeat Jorge and papai” (dad)

“Okay, I'll be there in a second!” The blonde smiled before the girl ran back downstairs. “Well, it seems like a have a duty”

“Can't let her down, she'll never forgive you”, you both chuckled while she got out of the room, first to leave the kit back in the bathroom and then to go to the living room again.

Sighing, you laid back on the mattress. Just like that summer night, you were alone in your room trying to collect your feelings about an interaction with Abby. Heart beating fast and a familiar warmth on your chest, wanting to curse every single entity for putting you in this position.

You came down maybe 15 minutes later, mask back on to decorate your face with a smile. You saw the tall woman on the mat with the younger children on top of her, attacking her while laughs filled the place.

“Okay, okay, saiam de cima da Abigail” (“Get off of Abigail”) Your mom didn't have to say it twice before they were sitting next to her. “Abigail, I need a favor. Remember that bowl I lent to you last week?”

“Sure”, her arms seemed stronger now that she was supporting herself on the elbows. Why was she so gorgeous?

“I need you to get it for me, darling”

“Okay, I got it”, Abby got up and immediately went grabbing her coat again.

And you were about to go back to the kitchen to make yourself useful, but it couldn't be that easy.

“Filha, vai com ela. Está nevando bastante, não é bom dirigir sozinha nesse tempo” (“Daughter, go with her. It's snowing a lot, it isn't good to drive alone in the weather”)

“Oh, it's not necessary-” She really tried, but your mom wouldn't take a negative answer.

“I'm not asking, you won't go alone!”

You nod and start putting on heavy clothes. It was okay, all good. You both would get in the house, grab the bowl, and get back in no time. It would be fine.

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

#abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson #tlou abby #tlou2 abby #abby the last of us 2 #christmas theme #deblklesb #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou2

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notasfilosoficas · 1 year

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“Hasta que lo inconsciente no se haga consciente, el subconsciente seguirá dirigiendo tu vida y tú le llamarás destino”

Carl Jung

Carl Gustav Jung fue un médico psiquiatra, psicólogo y ensayista suizo, figura clave en la etapa inicial del psicoanálisis. Fue fundador de la psicología analítica. Fue colaborador de Sigmund Freud en sus inicios y pionero de la psicología profunda, terapia e investigación que tenían como enfoque al inconsciente.

Jung incorporó a su metodología, nociones procedentes de la antropología, la alquimia, la interpretación de los sueños, el arte la mitología, la religión y la filosofía.

Nació en Suiza en julio de 1875 en el seno de una familia de ascendencia alemana y su padre era un pastor luterano. Ambos padres pertenecieron a dos importantes familias de la Basilea del siglo XIX.

De niño fue introvertido y muy solitario, aunque cercano a sus padres, y durante su juventud fue un lector entusiasta especialmente cautivado por la obra literaria de Goethe e interesado en filósofos como Von Hartmann y Nietzsche. En su autobiografía describe el acercamiento a la obra de Nietzche “Así habló Zaratustra” que describiría como una experiencia conmocionante, solo comparable a la inspirada por el Fausto de Goethe.

En 1900 ocupó un puesto como ayudante en la clínica psiquiátrica de Burghölzli y tres años mas tarde marchó a Zurich en donde llegaría a ser medico jefe de la clínica psiquiátrica de la Universidad de Zurich durante cuatro años, y en 1905, obtendría su doctorado en psiquiatría.

Desde el inicio de su carrera psiquiátrica, Jung se interesó por los estudios de Eugen Beuler, Pierre Janet, y sobre todo Sigmund Freud.

Si bien la psiquiatría de la que partía Jung para trabajar en la clínica psiquiátrica proponía una vision materialista y reduccionista de la enfermedad mental, nunca renunció a adoptar elementos y formulaciones provenientes del ámbito temático del espiritismo, la antropología e incluso del estudio del arte.

En 1906, Jung y Freud empezaron a mandarse cartas y un año después se conocieron en Viena. Freud se convirtió en una especia de mentor para el joven psiquiatra, sin embargo aunque los escritos sobre el inconsciente y los impulso fascinaban a Jung, no estaba de acuerdo en abordar todos el espectro de los procesos mentales y psicopatología como si todo se fundamentase en funciones biológicas.

Jung creía que la naturaleza del inconsciente de Freud estaba incompleto, y sostenía que la psique de cada individuo habita una especia de inconsciente colectivo o memoria colectiva, algo que no pertenece a un solo individuo, y afirmaba que dentro de esta memoria colectiva habitan símbolos y elementos de significación recurrentes propios de las culturas en las que vivimos, y que se transmiten a lo largo de generaciones.

Derivado de lo anterior, para Jung una parte importante de lo inconsciente está compuesta por los recuerdos heredados, la materia prima de la cultura, y estos recuerdos se expresan a través de lo que Jung denominó Arquetipos.

A través de los arquetipos que en griego original se traduciría como “molde original”, podemos comprender los mecanismos inconscientes mediante los cuales comprendemos y organizamos nuestra realidad hoy en dia. Los arquetipos sirven según Jung para describir la ortografía de naturaleza cultural sobre las que se fundamentan nuestras experiencias individuales.

Fuentes: Wikipedia, psicologiaymente.com

#suiza #carl jung #inconsciente #citas de reflexion #notas de vida #psicoanálisis #psicología #psicologos #mente #cosas de la mente #frases de reflexion

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aquagirl1978 · 1 year

Text

No Stopping Me - Leon Dompteur x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

A/N: Part of Visions of Temptations 2023 hosted by @xxsycamore

Pairing: Leon Dompteur x Reader

Prompt: Day 24 - bent over a desk

Word Count: 1190

Tags: NSFW; Minors - DNI; piv; bent over a desk; creampie; semi-public sex (in his faction office); reader is female-bodied (no pronouns used)

“Wow, that was amazing! Thank you for such a wonderful meal.”

You watched as Leon licked his lips and put his fork down on his now-empty plate. Glancing at the long table, there was little evidence left that under an hour ago a feast had filled the table. Earlier that day, you had slaved in the kitchen preparing the meal – asparagus and green beans because you need your vegetables, mashed potatoes whipped smooth and loaded with butter, and a thick juicy ribeye steak cooked just the way Leon liked it.

It was a meal fit for a king. Or rather, your king, Leon.

Smiling at Leon, your heart swelled with pride that he enjoyed dinner so much. Although your stomach was filled with food, you found yourself not quite satisfied as you stared at Leon with lidded eyes.

“Shall we, um, return to our room?”

Apparently, Leon felt the same way as you felt his smoldering gaze slowly undressing you. Heat rushed to your face as you suddenly felt the need to vacate the dining room.

“I’d like that.” Leon rose from his chair quickly and was by your side in a flash, extending his hand to you as you rose from your chair.

He held your hand as you walked the hallways. That was one of the things you loved so much about Leon, how he always held your hand. It didn’t matter where you were going or how short or long the walk was, his hand would always reach for yours, twining his fingers in yours. It didn’t matter if your hands were cold or clammy, his hand was there, clasped with yours, giving the occasional, comforting squeeze.

“Oh, no.” He sighed loudly as he stopped in the hallway. He turned to you, his hand still holding yours. “I left something in my office. Do you mind if we stop there first?”

*****

Leon’s stride grew longer, his pace faster as you both made your way to the Domestic Faction’s office. Eager to make this detour as quick and painless as possible, you squeezed his hand as you scurried to keep up with him.

Once you arrived at his office, he opened the door, and with a flourish, held out his arm, inviting you in. He entered after you, careful to close the door shut behind him. Briskly, he walked to his desk in search of the papers he was looking for.

Frowning, he stared at the mess that was his desk. Papers were piled upon papers piled upon more papers. Books were stacked in a teetering tower. Paperweights that were gifts from foreign nations, now scattered aimlessly amongst the piles of papers.

His shoulders slumped, knowing this could take more than a few minutes to sort through the piles. It was times like this he wished he was perhaps a bit more fastidious like Chevalier.

He turned to look at you, not knowing this would be his fatal mistake. There you were, standing by the tall window; the moonlight that poured through cast a warm glow on your face, highlighting the cupid’s bow of your lips. In this soft light, your beauty was ethereal.

And despite your angelic innocence in the moonlight, Leon wanted you even more than ever.

His amber eyes blazed with the passion that burned inside him, his desire for you growing the longer his gaze lingered on you. He called your name, the low, husky timbre of his voice grabbing your attention.

“Could you come over here?” he asked, motioning towards his desk. You obliged, your body gliding through the air towards him, perhaps unaware of what he had in mind.

As soon as you were close enough, he reached out, taking your small hand in his. Your hand felt warm; that was a good sign, a sign you were excited. Tugging on your hand, he pulled you close to him, practically hip to hip.

A rumble stirred in his throat, much like a lion’s low roar, and something primal took over. His eyes flashed gold as his arm reached out, swiping at the contents on his desk. Your eyes widened as Leon knocked off enough items to clear off a section of his desk.

“Leon!”

His lips locked with yours in a fiery kiss, quickly quieting you as his tongue probed open your mouth. “I can’t wait any longer,” he whispered between kisses, his hand lifting the layers of your skirt while searching for your soft flesh.

You gasped loudly as his fingers found you, his calloused skin rough against yours. His kisses grew urgent as he slipped a finger inside your entrance, pleased to find how aroused you already were.

“Turn around.” He spun your around until you faced the desk. Instinctively, you placed your hands on the mahogany wood, your heart racing knowing full well what Leon had in mind. Shifting your hips, you pressed your backside towards him, inviting him.

With both hands, he lifted your skirt to your waist. He hooked a finger in your delicate undergarments, easily sliding them down your legs. Leon took a moment to admire you, your bare body exposed to him.

He unbuckled his belt and freed his erection; his hands massaged the supple skin of your backside before spreading your legs. With one hand, he guided his hard cock to your entrance, sliding the tip along your slick entrance, coating himself with your arousal.

Gripping your hips with one hand, he began to push inside you, enjoying the sweet sounds you made as he stretched you. His fingers dug into your hips as he slowly thrust inside of you, purposefully slowing down his movements despite how eager he was to enter you quickly. He groaned as he bottomed out, his balls slapping against your skin.

He moved his hand up your back, along your spine, tanging his fingers in your hair and giving a gentle tug. Enjoying the sweet sound you made as he tugged your hair again as he slammed his cock deep inside you. His pace quickened, his thrusts getting rougher as he chased his climax.

You both laid there, content, for some time, until he pulled out and adjusted your skirt. Helping you up, he fixed your hair, tucking a stray piece behind your ear, the gesture tender when compared to your earlier activities.

Feeling your body tremble beneath his, he knew you were close. He pumped his cock harder inside you, staying long enough to be squeezed by your walls. When you whimpered his name, begging him, pleading with him, to give you what you needed, he knew you were close.

With one final thrust, he buried his cock inside you, spilling his seed inside your womb, giving you all that you asked for. He collapsed on top of you, his arms entwined around your torso, his hands reaching for yours.

“Leon…” you panted, your voice breathless as you clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, “that was amazing. Where did that come from?”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage @nightghoul381 @itsjudesfault @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu

Leon chuckled as he lazily stroked your cheek with his fingertips. “I dunno. Maybe your meal brought out my inner beast.”

#visions of temptation 2023 #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #leon dompteur #ikepri leon #ikemen leon #ikepri fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

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