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its-time-to-write · 10 months

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hi sweetheart! i was wondering if you could do a jamie imagine where the reader is a physical therapist and he’s always finding the most ridiculous excuses to go see her, like getting a paper cut and things like that. i would also love if it could be before they got together :)

it’s okay if you don’t want to do it or already did it and i didn’t see it. thank you anyway, you’re one of my favorite writers here on tumblr 🩵

you called me sweetheart, so now I would die for you. pet names are the way to my heart, in case u didn’t know. hope u enjoy🍊

(important disclaimer, I don’t know how physical therapy works so if I’m wrong about things, remember this isn’t a medical journal, I am just a girl)

before you go

Apparently, it’s impossible to purposely give yourself a paper cut, but Jamie Tartt has been doing his damnedest all day to get some kind of ailment, so if that means being careless with some photographs in his locker then so be it.

He really wishes his leg would cramp or something, but Will’s been keeping him far too hydrated for that.

So Jamie has to settle for slipping a picture of his mum at just the right angle to draw blood.

“Shit,” he whispers softly. He puts his finger to his mouth to catch the first beads of blood.

“Paper cut?” Sam asks sympathetically. Jamie nods, finger in between his teeth.

“Ay, sí, you should go see the physio for that one, amigo. Ask for the Rojas special,” Dani says with his ever-present grin.

“It’s just a paper cut, mate,” Jamie says in order to keep up appearances.

Sam knocks his arm. “You have to go. Dani only just let me request the Rojas special last week, and Richard still won’t talk to me about it.”

“Ça c’est merde,” Richard calls from across the locker room. “Put on a bandage and go home.”

Jamie won’t. He sticks his tongue out at Richard and turns to go to the treatment room because he needs treatment right away. Never mind that it’s a cut and not a muscle injury. He can hide under the excuse that Dani sent him.

Jamie taps on the door and pushes it open to find you sitting on the table, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on your knees. You jump down at the sight of Jamie.

“Hi! I was wondering if anybody’d be over today,” you grin. “Where does it hurt?”

Jamie holds up his finger. “Dani sent me.”

“Ah, right,” you nod, grin never leaving your face. Jamie wonders if your sunny disposition is why you and Dani are such good friends. Suddenly, he’s gripped by uncertainty. Maybe you and Dani are morethan good friends. After all, Dani is strangely tight-lipped about his affairs and besides, it’s not good for the physio to be openly screwing a player.

Maybe he should go.

But you’ve already come back to him after rummaging in a cupboard, small box in hand.

“Technically, this isn’t part of my job,” you say as you select a band-aid, “but I’ve been doing this since I started going to my nephew’s footie matches. Kid’s almost ten now, but he still asks for me every time he gets a scrape. First time I was here it was like, force of habit, but Dani said it reminded him of his sister, so…” you trail off. “I dunno, it’s funny that even big strong footballers still want silly bandages, yeah?”

Jamie watches as you open a green bandage with yellow flowers and wrap it carefully around his finger. You press a kiss to it and smile up at him. “There. All better.”

Jamie is… well, he’s flustered. He’s heard about the so-called Rojas special and how it’s available through recommendation only, but he wasn’t prepared for the sweet way you cradled his hand or the fact that your lips touched him. In fact, he wasn’t prepared for anything beyond a bandage and the fact that you slipped sweets to Sam and Dani to numb the sting of injury.

“Thanks,” he chokes out, aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand. You give it one last squeeze before dropping it.

“See you around,” you say.

Jamie mumbles something unintelligible and finds his way out the door.

“Fuck you,” he says to Sam as soon as he catches him in the car park.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t get a chocolate. Did you not hold still?”

“I- you- it- fuck you,” Jamie says again. “You fucking knew.”

“Knew what?” Dani asks. He’s a horrible liar.

“You knew I thought she was fit. You didn’t tell me she’s, like, emotionally fit as well. So fuck you both for that.”

Sam mouths emotionally fit as he and Dani dissolve into laughter.

“Which band aid did you get?” Dani asks when he finally regains control of himself. “She ran out of Peppa Pig last week, but she promised to get some more soon.”

Jamie holds up his finger, wishing the cut were on the middle one.

Sam and Dani lean into inspect it and nod once.

“Well?” Jamie demands. They just look at him with stupid grins.

“Good night, Jamie Tartt,” Dani says, opening Sam’s passenger seat door.

“Good night, Jamie,” Sam echoes.

The fuckers just leave him standing in the lot, heart racing like a fucking idiot.

—

Jamie’s ankle is barely twisted. Like, barely. But he grew up watching football so he knows how make an injury seem worse than it is. He’s mastered the art of not going overboard.

“You should see the physio,” Beard tells him. Jamie pretends to protest a little bit, ignoring the way Ted shoots Dani and Sam quizzical looks. They’re making some sort of face and Jamie’s not going to figure out what they mean because he doesn’t care.

(Or maybe he already knows what they mean. But he doesn’t give a shit.)

So he hobbles his way to the treatment room where you’re typing something on the computer. Reports, probably.

You look up with a smile when you see him, the quickly school it into a frown. “Where does it hurt?” you ask.

“My ankle,” Jamie grimaces.

You pat the table and he obliges, sitting down on the crinkly paper.

You squat to undo his boot and Jamie realizes that maybe this isn’t the best way to get you to fall for him but it’s too late now because you’re gingerly sliding it off his foot.

“D’you mind if I get the sock as well?” you ask, and it’s all Jamie can do to mutely shake his head. You lightly run a cool hand over his ankle.

“Feels a bit swollen,” you say. “What happened?”

Jamie has to gather his thoughts firmly away from the way he could feel the callouses on your palm. “Tackle,” he says.

“Hm,” you reply. “Does this hurt?”

Jamie gasps as you press your thumb at just the wrong spot.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say. “Lie down. I’m going to massage it for a minute then put it on ice. You’ll be good to go in an hour.”

Jamie obeys, trying to ignore the way his breath hitches when your hand squeezes his calf for a fraction of a second.

You’re able to find all the right spots, gently pushing the muscle back where it needs to go. You pat his foot gently and go to get an ice pack. “Keep this on for fifteen minutes, off for five, then on for another fifteen. If it still hurts I’ll get you another pack, or maybe a heating pad. Depends on what type of pain you have, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“You sending me back?” Jamie asks in a feeble attempt to be his usual confident self.

You hesitate. “I mean… the other option is you stay here. I won’t lie to you, it’s pretty quiet back here but it doesn’t smell. Will got me on these scent diffuser packs, so this is one of the least-gross rooms on the lower level. I usually just type reports, but I’ve finished for now so I was going to read but we can chat if you like. You don’t have to, but I can monitor your ankle for the next hour if you’re here. It’s up to you.”

Stay and flirt with the pretty physio or sit on the bench instead of practicing?

Jamie positions himself better on the table. “What’s your book about?”

—

Jamie wishes that he were just making an excuse to come see you, but if that were the case he’d have made sure to be showered. Instead, he’s fresh off the pitch after a long day of practice and he needs his joints like, replaced or some shit.

He stumbles into the treatment room and practically flops facedown on the table. You’re up in an instant, combing his hair away from his face with your fingers.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, voice filled with concern.

“Everywhere,” Jamie groans.

“Okay, so full-massage with the extra-large ice pack at the end, then,” you say.

Jamie just grunts in response and tries not to think about the fact that this is the most unromantic way he’s ever tried to date a girl. He tells himself that you’re a physio, that you’ve seen grosser, and that you’re not even interested in him anyway. It still doesn’t stop him from asking about your day and cracking stupid jokes the entire time you’re popping his muscles. His voice squeaks every time you forcibly release tension, but you just laugh and tell him, “You should hear Isaac.” So yeah, the worst training of his life has now turned out to be a goddamned blessing in disguise because you’re joking back and forth for a solid twenty minutes.

“Come back any time,” you tell him with a wink as he heads out the door. “You don’t have to be injured to say hey.”

Jamie smiles at that, and goes to tell Sam and Dani that they’re shitheads but he loves them very much.

—

It’s been a long week and an especially long match, but thank fuck it’s over. There’s a bit of an ache in his legs but he doesn’t give a flying shit. They’ve won, for once, so as a reward to himself he’s going to invite you out with the lads. Proper, like, probably with the words, “Hey I think you’re fit,” except he’s thinking he should probably swap “fit,” for beautiful, or stunning, or the most wonderful, funny, amazing woman he’s ever met and no, it’s not just because of the magical healing powers you seem to possess.

Jamie showers, changes, then heads purposefully down the hall. He knows you’re still here, you never leave after matches until everyone who might possibly need physio is gone.

He bangs open the door, ready to regale you with the shit Ted’s up to post-match when he catches sight of your face. Or rather, the fact that it’s in your hands as your shoulders shake.

He rushes over to the desk and turns your chair so you’re facing him.

His hands are on your knees as he urgently whispers, “Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t,” you gasp, wiping your eyes. “I’m fine, I don’t know what came over me, I’m good, I promise. What’s up?”

You move to get up but Jamie presses lightly where his hands were resting. “You don’t look fine, love,” he says, then internally winces. Not a good thing to say to a girl, no matter how true it is.

“I’m good, swear down,” you choke. You move to wipe away another tear but Jamie beats you to it, swiping it with his thumb. You shudder involuntarily, trying not to notice the rough feel of his skin on yours.

“I’m not hurt,” he says tentatively. “Came to see if you wanted to go out with me ‘n the lads.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, still trying your absolute best to pull yourself together and failing miserably. “Right. I um, I’m going to be here a while so you should just go, yeah? Tell Dani I’m proud of him.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Ain’t leaving you here all by yourself.” He realizes your hands have found their way into his, and he has no idea who put them there. He lifts one to his lips and brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “Just tell me where it hurts, yeah?”

Another shiver wracks your body. “You can’t- I can’t- you have to go, okay Jamie? I need you to go.”

Jamie will, he’ll do anything you ask, but first he has to know-

“Why?” he asks, so softly. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“Don’t-” you half-choke. “Not- I’m gross right now.”

Jamie can’t stifle his laugh in time, so he does his best to save it. “Love, you’ve seen me at my fuckin’ worst. We’ll call it even.”

You’re breathing a little easier now, but just barely. You don’t seem too eager to get rid of him so Jamie pushes his luck and stays kneeling on the floor.

“Tell me,” he urges again, but you just shake your head.

“You really should go,” you say, breath catching in your throat. “You don’t want to keep Maia waiting. Heard actresses are notoriously particular about being on time.”

That’s confusing. Maia- do you mean Maia Stanwood? You must, that’s the only Maia he knows. But how did you know her, Jamie had run into her at dinner the other day and there’d been a brief article in the papers, but nothing that connects to what’s happening here.

Unless-

No.

Except- it’s the only thing that makes sense.

But you don’t like him like that. At least, he’s pretty sure. And anyway, isn’t it prickish to assume everyone’s in love with him?

But you’re not everyone, you’re the team physio with nice hands and a sweet smile and an affinity to fix people, to mend what’s broken in the best way you know how.

“I love you,” he says instead of everything else he had planned.

You’re silent, and he’s not sure you’ve heard him so he says it again.

“Yeah, alright, I love you too,” you sniff with a half-smile, except it’s the way you’d say to a brother, the way you’d say it to Dani or Sam.

“No,” Jamie says more insistently, “I love you. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you, wanted to take you out proper. Impress you with my dancing and chat you up at the bar. Make the lads jealous that I’ve got a beautiful girl on my arm, then sneak out early to kiss you like I’ve been fucking thinking about since that fucking paper cut. Had a right crush on you like an idiot since you got hired.”

You’re staring at him open-mouthed, unable to believe what he’s saying, and Jamie doesn’t know much all the time but he knows that you’re gripping his hands like it’s a lifeline. He knows your eyes are wide open and that he was on the mark about you thinking he was with someone else. So he does what anyone in his position would do.

He captures your lips in his, letting go of your hands only so he can slip one hand around your waist and another in your hair.

God, you feel like you’re melting.

Jamie Tartt is kissing you like there’s no tomorrow and the floor is tipping out from under you, but apart from that vague feeling all you’re aware of is his hands on you and the fact that he tastes like spearmint.

His lips are soft against yours, mouth warm and inviting.

It’s like taking a breath of air for the first time in months.

“I love you,” you say as soon as you break apart. You’re breathing heavily as if you’re the one who just played a 90-minute match. Jamie’s lips are swollen and your hair is mussed, but you both share the same look.

“All better?” he asks, and you nod.

“Good. You want to get dinner? I know a few places we can go, don’t have to worry about paps.”

“The team-” you begin, but Jamie waves that away.

“They’ll understand,” he says. “Been flirting with you for ages, getting injured all the time. Think Ted’s starting to get fucking worried.”

You run your thumb down his jawline. “I always wondered about that,” you murmur. “Thought it was in my head how much you were down here. Didn’t want to be unprofessional.”

Jamie reaches up to hold your wrist and you just sit there, on the floor of the treatment room, looking at each other in the dim light. You’ll get up, eventually, but for now you’re going to savor this moment you have together.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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actual-changeling · 10 months

Text

It was actually rather hard to decide how to begin this meta post because there are essentially going to be two main parts: why Crowley does not actually avoid/run from his problems and why "going off" is not a bad thing regardless.

Then I wrote the first part and realised this is now 2.5k words long, so uhhhh I will grant part 2 its own post.

With that, welcome back to Alex's today-not-unhinged meta corner!

I am going to approach this topic from a psychological angle, which a lot of people have already done, but without explicitly mentioning it or going into depth. All my information comes from personal experience, research, my therapist, and my psychiatrist, just so you know I am not making shit up. I actually dug up some resources my therapist gave me a while ago.

Generally, there are four different fear/survival responses: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Most people have probably heard about fight and flight, since those two are usually the only ones that are mentioned/taught, so I will stick to explaining the other two.

"Fawning" refers to actively being submissive and subdued, both physically and emotionally. The goal is to appear non-threatening and to calm whoever is causing the fear response in the first place. It shows up as being overly agreeable, not having thoughts/opinions of your own and ignoring them if you do, your body language changing (e.g., making yourself smaller, taking up less space), and generally attempting to 'keep the peace' or reinstate it.

"Freezing" is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin—you freeze. It means slipping into a dissociative state, which disconnects you from your body, your emotions/mind, and/or the outside world. Usually, people stop being able to talk well or at all, they do not move, and if they do, it is on autopilot; you do not fight or flee, you simply exist until what is causing the fear response is over.

While dissociating, your brain is unable to form full memories—and depending on how heavily you are dissociating, it does not form any memories at all.

Freezing as a response happens when fight, flight, and fawn aren't possible anymore, e.g., a child who has no internal mechanisms to deal with large amounts of fear because it's a child, so the only way to escape the pain and aggressor is by fleeing into your mind and shutting down.

Why am I telling you all this? Because most people tend to have one or two survival responses that dominate/they usually fall back on, and the same goes for Aziraphale and Crowley.

When faced with an outside problem and a lot of stress, Aziraphale's first instinct is to fawn, to placate the person, to diffuse the situation, to make sure everyone is agreeing, or, at the very least, submitting to authority figures or aggressors. It is what heaven teaches them—stick to the rules, don't ask questions, do what you are told. If fawning involves lying, he will do so, here the need for safety is stronger than his desire to be truthful and stick to his morals.

Unfortunately, the fact that this is his primary fear response is also the reason behind his extreme cognitive dissonance. How can you stick to the rules when you do not know what the rules ARE? So he is stuck trying to figure out what is "good" and what is "bad" so he can be a good angel and avoid doing anything that might be seen as bad or disobedient.

His secondary response to stress or fear is to fight—once it's clear that fawning won't work, he can and will switch over to being more direct and aggressive/less submissive. We see that happening when he gets discorporated in season 1 and needs to get back to earth, at the airbase, or when the bookshop gets attacked.

If I were to ask you what you think Crowley's primary fear response is, how would you respond?

Well, if you said "flight"—you're wrong, and I will explain why.

Flight is his secondary fear response, it is what he falls back on in absolute emergencies when everything is doomed and there's nothing he can do anymore.

Before that, though, he fights.

Even as an angel, he was already questioning the system, he was ready to go and tell God she was doing a terrible job, that her ideas were bad, that he wants to keep his stars and the universe— six thousand years are nothing! If you actively oppose existing rules and defy people's authority over you, fighting is the only option you have unless you plan on giving up or the response becomes too much to deal with.

Fear itself happens when you or someone/something you love is being threatened (whether that threat is real or simply perceived as such doesn't matter), plus there are a large number of more irrational fears.

Crowley's creations were threatened -> He goes against the rules, he wants to fight for them.

On the walls of Eden, he questions God and talks to an angel, his hereditary enemy, once again defying the rules, questioning them.

Job and his children were threatened -> He goes against orders to try and save them.

There is good reason to believe he went against God by saving some of the children from the flood.

He showed Jesus the kingdoms of the world—do we really think that was based on orders? No, it was once again Crowley not playing by the rules.

Wessex? He proposes the Arrangement, which is one gigantic "fuck you" in his fight against celestial rules. Everything after that goes back to Crowley knowing that their jobs suck and that they can cheat, fight the system by working together. In 1827, it gets him pulled to hell and punished, and yet he does not stop; he keeps fighting.

Crowley is the one who immediately tries to stop the apocalypse. Aziraphale needs to be talked into it, needs to be convinced with selfish reasons and personal pleasure.

The reason why both heaven and hell absolutely loathe him is not because he is a runner; it's because he constantly and consistently defies them. He fights.

In season two, he immediately tries to deal with the Gabriel problem while Aziraphale is standing behind him and saying "I don't know" to all of his questions. Taking him somewhere so they can figure shit out in peace is not 'running'—it's smart. Sure, it's far from ideal, but we see what keeping him in the bookshop brought them, don't we? The hiding miracle is what tipped heaven and hell off in the first place.

Aziraphale goes to Edinburgh based on a hunch, but once again—did that help? Did his journalist roleplay trip actually provide vital information that solved a single puzzle piece of that mess? No. Finding out that Gabriel was at that pub with some mystery person was a nice fact to know, but that's it.

During the ball, Crowley is scared, vigilant, prowling around the shop, checking windows, telling Aziraphale to "stop this charade" so they can figure out what to do. Aziraphale, in that moment, was already convinced that sticking to the rules would save them—a heavenly embassy on a technicality, surely the group of fallen angels who got booted due to not following heaven's rules will respect that.

Crowley goes to heaven, which is once again him actively looking for a solution, while Aziraphale also falls back on fighting because fawning is not going to do shit.

There are three times during which Crowley suggests fleeing—which is his secondary fear response—but those are exceptions. Let's have a look at them.

The first one is at the bandstand, the evening before the Apocalypse, and since Aziraphale is lying to him, the situation seems hopeless to him. Yet he is still having his 'agents' look for him, is still fighting.

Do you know why he even suggests running? He is about to leave when Aziraphale calls him back with "there isn't anywhere to go," and now allow me to insert the following passage from the scriptbook.

Crowley looks back. He looks at Aziraphale. Above them, a beautiful starry sky. And Crowley softens.

"Big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together."

The sentence in the show is slightly different, but they have one thing in common: If.

IF the world ends, we can still leave and be together. IF.

Crowley is NOT saying "let's leave", he is presenting Aziraphale with a contingency plan in case stopping the Apocalypse does not work. He is NOT running, he isn't even SUGGESTING to run.

It's a "if the world ends, we can be together. We don't need to be with hell or heaven; we can be in the stars," because remember what the end of the world would mean? Eternal torture for Crowley while Aziraphale bores himself to death in heaven.

The next time he suggests it again—when he stops Aziraphale on the street—several things have happened.

First, he did not leave. If he truly wanted to flee, he would have by now, but he didn't. He sits in a cinema waiting for the end: "Out of time. Out of hope," as Neil puts it. Then Hastur and Ligur show up on screen and tell him, 'You're dead meat, Crowley. You're bloody history. […] We're coming to collect you'.

We all know that means "eternal torture in hell," but if you're not convinced for some reason, have another snippet from the script book that did not make it into the show.

Dagon is speaking from the Bentley's radio while he drives towards the bookshop, saying that something has gone wrong and they're sure he has a 'perfectly reasonable explanation' for it. Once he gets out of the car, however, Dagon still keeps going and says the following:.

"Your explanation, and the circumstances that will accompany it, will provide a source of entertainment for all the damned of hell, Crowley. Because no matter what agonies the damned are suffering, Crowley, you will have it worse."

Crowley already knows that. He has been punished by them before, heard, seen, lived torture, there is no doubt as to what will happen should they catch him. So he does what any person with a single fucking brain cell would do—he tries to get his loved one and FLEE.

Flight is the best response in this situation, and if you need me to explain why, then honestly, I cannot help you anymore. I won't go into detail about Aziraphale's response, but, tl;dr, it was shitty and incredibly hurtful, go figure.

Now, let's get to situation number 3, which is his speech during the final fifteen. We do not have an official script for that, but someone did make transcriptions for all episodes; you can find them here. Additionally, I will copy some of what I already said in a different meta post.

Crowley, stuck in his trauma-induced hypervigilance and paranoia, suggests putting as much distance between them and the problem as possible. I think it is interesting that in ep1 he wants to get Gabriel away from them, while at the end of the season, he is ready to get them away from the problem.

So far, I have never seen anyone mention that change! And it’s important! The entire season, it is hammered into our heads how much they love being on earth. It is THEIR bookshop and THEIR car and THEIR life.

Crowley wants to protect that home, and Gabriel is a threat to it, a threat to both of them, their life, the bookshop—everything. He does not want to leave, he wants his peace and angel in one place.

Yet by allowing Gabriel to stay, Aziraphale destroyed the sense of comfort and safety Crowley had slowly developed over the last few decades. Heaven nipping down every now and then to check in with Aziraphale is very different from him sheltering the Supreme Archangel who is running from ‘something terrible’ without even asking if he’s alright with that.

Aziraphale calls it their bookshop, but he fundamentally still sees it as his space to govern and Crowley as a guest; he even calls it a 'heavenly embassy'.

After another horrible week and having his previously safe space violated by several different times and beings, Crowley is back to where he was before—without a home. That fragile existence broke apart, so he is standing in the heap of shards and telling Aziraphale 'I don’t feel safe here anymore, let’s leave’.

He lost his safe space, but he still has his safe person, his best and only friend, the person he loves. I doubt he cares where exactly they go as long as they’re together and it’s safe.

Returning to heaven—it is the one place Crowley cannot follow him to. It’s literally the worst option, he can’t go back, he won’t go back. So he invokes the bookshop again, if you don’t want to stay for me, stay for the bookshop, your books, your corner of existence that I thought we had carved out for ourselves.

There is a common error that people make regarding the timeline, which is assuming that during this conversation they are already aware of the impending apocalypse—but they aren't. Aziraphale himself has no clue, and while Crowley saw the conversation and trial, he does NOT know when it will happen. For all he knows, it could be tomorrow, could be in a thousand years, and, even if he had been given a date, I doubt they laid out all the details and how to stop it.

Considering that his original plan was "get drunk at the Ritz and then have us time," I don't think he knew literally anything about how or when to stop it. So no, Crowley does NOT suggest running away from earth and leaving it to die.

All he wants is some bloody peace and quiet where no demons, angels, or power-hungry floating heads can interrupt them. A space that is safe and theirs. There are also zero mentions of where he wants them to go; he is not talking about the stars or the universe. He wants to get away from where they currently are because heaven and hell show up uninvited whenever they please.

If your boss and ex-boss constantly kicked down your front door and stated their wish to torture you, would you stay there or would you move? Yeah.

This post got very long, but it was long overdue.

I am tired of seeing people call Crowley a callous coward who always runs away from his problems when he is the literal opposite. You take three sentences said under exceptional circumstances and apply them to Crowley as a whole, when it is nothing but his last ditch effort to keep himself and Aziraphale safe.

One last thing: If you come onto my post and start aggressively arguing about this, I will block you. Genuine discussions and questions are always welcome, being a dick is not, and I also simply cannot handle some of the rhetoric people in this fandom perpetuate because it's very triggering.

Make your own post, don't do it on mine.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #crowley meta #aziraphale meta #crowley deserves better treatment from this fandom #and people that actually remember canon and don't take some fanfic version of him they have created during the hiatus #so many straight up factually incorrect takes #i dont know if i will make it until season 3 guys

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wheelie-sick · 2 months

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Hi! I’m just curious why you’re anti-psychiatry and the reasoning behind it if you’re comfortable sharing? I want to take care to specifically learn the reasoning so I can educate myself upon them, I’ve wanted to be a psychiatrist since I was a kid and so I’m wary of making any mistakes in my profession that could damage others or perpetuate harm. Thank you so much for your time. /genq

okay, first of all I'd recommend reading my post here which talks about why there are no good psychiatrists and this post here about how some people being helped by the system does not make the system good. they're long but the first is pretty foundational to my beliefs on psychiatry and the second covers the most common rebuttal I hear for antipsychiatry.

putting the rest of this under a cut because it's really fucking long because I wanted to provide some context to my beliefs and there's a lot of context

my foundational reasoning for being antipsychiatry comes from listening to other's experiences. I did not have a traumatic experience with psychiatry directly. I'm not going to repeat other's traumatic experiences but if you look through the antipsychiatry tags you can definitely find some of the repulsive things the psychiatric industry has done. my belief in antipsychiatry also comes from my experiences with therapy.

I have been cycled through many therapists who dropped me for being "too complicated" for them. my second most recent therapist I dropped after constant abuse from him.

-> TW for therapeutic abuse until "why I'm antipsychiatry" <-

my issues with my old therapist began when I first started seeing him. I was being actively abused at home and every time I tried to talk about the physical and emotional violence I was experiencing at home from my former father he would shut me down and tell me it was not abuse.

-> TW for descriptions of physical abuse for the next paragraph <-

I told him about the attempts to shove me down stairs. the times I was dragged around. the times I was thrown into the couch. the times I had my face slammed into a wall. the restraint. the hitting. the punching. the grabbing. I told him in detail. my mom has since admitted that I was abused by my former father.

He did not think it was abuse. he had an obligation to report this to CPS and he never did. he told me it was not abuse the minute I brought it up, before I ever even tried to use the word abuse. I could never talk about the violence I was experiencing because I would get shut down every time and eventually I gave up.

-> TW for emotional abuse for the next 2 paragraphs <-

several years later my former father disowned me. (that's why I call him my former father) he told me that he did not see me as his child anymore, that he hated me. he said some other rather disgusting things about me, most of which I will not repeat, but one sticks out. he told me mom that she should handle my being trans as if she was dealing with a dog; when it (and yes, he used the word it) misbehaves you should ignore it. this all happened in a single conversation.

in my next therapy session I was distraught. I didn't like my former father but it never feels good to be disowned. I was trying to talk to my therapist about this and I said "he hates me" my therapist doubted me and asked me "did he say he hates you or are you just perceiving he hates you" trying to, dare I say, gaslight me into thinking this was all my perception. he did this to me frequently when I brought up the emotional abuse I was experiencing. I said "yes, yes he did say that" and things got really quiet because for once he couldn't tell me it was all in my head. in that moment I lost all faith in him because I realized he was wrong. that he was manipulating me into believing I was the problem. that all these conflicts were my fault. but they were never my fault.

-> TW for mentions of self harm for the next 2 paragraphs <-

the final nail in the coffin came about 2 years later when I finally decided to open up about my self harm. I had relapsed on my self harm about 8 months prior, usually it was just a one off but this time it had spiraled out of control into the beginnings of an addiction. I wanted to stop, so I decided to open up to my therapist about it. he got angry at me. I was scared, and vulnerable, and he was angry. he asked me why I didn't tell him sooner, I said I was scared of hospitalization. a week later he threatened to hospitalize me multiple times after promising he wouldn't.

what actually made me drop him was 3 weeks later. I was tired of talking about self harm and I was feeling the same if it all. he asked me about it and I said I don't want to talk about it. he pressed mex accused me of avoiding therapy, threatened to hospitalize me if I didn't spit out adequate details. when I said I hadn't even self harmed that much he accused me of lying to him to avoid therapy. he crossed many boundaries that day and then pressured me into agreeing to fill out a form every week detailing all the information about my self harm down to how many cuts I made. that was my final straw. I was done.

why I'm antipsychiatry:

after that I started reflecting and realizing the whole thing was fucked up. from the starting point in 4th grade when I saw my first therapist to the ending point where I saw my second to last therapist (I had a therapist after the nightmare therapist, her name was Sara she was Deaf and amazing but largely unhelpful) the system was designed to produce bad therapists. the nightmare therapist was not the only bad experience I had with therapists, just the worst. they all liked to abuse their power over me, they all liked to deny my experiences and gaslight me into believing all my problems were my own perception rather than a real outside factor. this wasn't one bad therapist is was one bad system.

and I'm done. I'm so done. therapy has never helped me but it has hurt me and I don't think I can find a good therapist because the whole apple tree is rotting from the inside. I'm sticking with my psychiatrist because he has done minimal harm to me but my experience with therapy has thoroughly cemented that abuse isn't an exception it's the standard and therapists who aren't abusing their clients are breaking the rules. my experience is the norm and it shouldn't be but you can't reform a rotting tree you have to plant a new one.

that's what antipsychiatry also seeks to do. it's cutting down the apple tree but it's also planting a new, different fruit tree. a tree that respects autonomy of patients, that acknowledges patients' realities, that seeks to support not control and manipulate.

if you want to help people with their mental health I urge you to look into the alternatives to the psychiatric system and consider working there. the tree will turn you into a bad apple too because the tree is rotted but there's a new tree growing and you can find other ways to support people. admittedly I'm not the most familiar with alternatives to psychiatry but I know they do exist and they're becoming more common as people realize the damage the psychiatric system is doing.

sorry this was kinda a trauma dump but my antipsych beliefs largely stem from trauma so I wanted to share that context

#ask #antipsych #antipsychiatry #anti psychiatry #anti psych

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erisweekofficial · 25 days

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Tonight we're highlighting @chairofchaos!

🔥 Choas is a masterful Azris writer that has our hearts in her hands. If you're looking for something delightfully angsty or heartfelt (or both), look no further than her writing.

Although all of her work is amazing, we're currently crying over Letters of Love, which details Eris and Azriel falling in love and their relationship over time. Definitely get some tissues for this one. 😭😭And if you can't take our word for it take one of her fans:

The Letters of Love series has me spellbound in a way I can not describe. The love, the angst, the writing! I will forever cherish it. Chaos is truly a wonderful writer even if she is chaotic and I will devour this series until the end of time.

Be sure to check out their masterlist, including this Azris drabble!

Read on to learn some of Chaos's favorite Eris headcanons and which national/regional park Eris would get lost and die (or not die) in.

yes. we asked this.

Give us a name for one of Eris’ Brothers

James (so that he can use the “Um. James…” TikTok sound. A modern Eris would secretly have a TikTok. Super secret, but he would have one). Also, a relatively modern name simply because I’m tired of trying to get my word processor to recognize the validity of “Eris” and “Feyre” and even “Elain.” (No, do not add an “e”. I said, DO NOT ADD AN “E”!)

Give us a name for one of Eris’ hounds

Butter. Eris named him as a child because the hound liked to steal things off the kitchen counter, and the first thing he ever stole was a stick of butter. Eris got in a little trouble for it, so the official story is that his fur was lighter than is typical for a smokehound, and smooth like butter. The truth is that he fell in love with the little thief, and wanted to commemorate that first occurrence of thievery. It was a subtle act of rebellion on Eris’ part, and the chef was not pleased when he heard.

Give us some of your favorite Eris headcanons!

Eris is the family secret keeper. His mother tells him things. Lucien tells him things. His other brothers don’t mean to tell him things, but they drop hints and he’s smart enough to put things together. He goes unnoticed by adults as a young person, and is able to gather more information than anyone thought was possible. In doing so, he accidentally positions himself as knowledgeable on many family and court matters he probably shouldn’t even have known about in the first place. People also have a habit of just sharing things with him at random times, so he knows a considerable amount about each of the family guards, the Autumn Council, and their families. He’s a favorite with the court gossips because he will listen. He will rarely contribute, but he will always listen. As a result, everyone in court believes he is on their side. How this will play out when he is High Lord, Eris has no idea. For now, he’s happy hearing their tales of woe. Lord Cherry’s son eloped with the royal groundskeeper who taught Eris how to garden? Eris is absolutely shocked! Of course, he was the one who gave them a carriage to go to Spring, but Lord Cherry doesn’t need to know that.

Who scares Eris the most?

Eris is most scared of himself. I saw a post just the other day where a person told their therapist they were worried they would destroy everything, and their therapist told them they didn’t have that kind of power. They found it helpful because knowing you don’t have the power to change huge things in rage helped them. The difference here is that Eris has that kind of power by his proximity to societal power and his literal powers. He can destroy everything that matters to him if he is careless enough, and that terrifies him. He fears he would be powerful enough to change the world, and wishes he did not have that amount of power, because he has seen first hand how power corrupts. Outside of himself, he is most scared of Lucien. Lucien has more power than he could even imagine, and Eris isn’t sure his brother knows. At the same time, he fears the day Lucien discovers Eris knew, and that Lucien will never forgive him for keeping the knowledge to himself.

What kind of father does Eris imagine he would be, and does that differ from his actual father?

Eris imagines himself to be a brutal, unyielding, possibly even abusive father, as Beron was. He has never known a loving father, and while he believes it is theoretically possible, he looks in the mirror and sees Beron staring back at him. In every way possible, Beron has shaped Eris to be unforgiving, unyielding, brutal, and cruel. Eris worries that he will become Beron if he has children. It takes someone telling him that his worries and fear of becoming his father are what can keep him from becoming Beron. He needs a lot of support to feel confident enough that it is possible in order to become a father at all. Once he has that support, I think he does everything he can to be a better father than the one he had.

What national/regional park would Eris get lost and die (or not die) in?

Eris is dying in Petrified Forest National Park as we speak. He’s dying of heat related injuries and sun exposure. That male was not made for the desert. Fire powers cannot save you from the Arizona sun.

#eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #pro eris vanserra #high lord eris #azris #azris supremacy #eris creator highlights

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dirtybitfic · 7 months

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Therapy pt.1

matt sturniolo x y/n

Story contains- language, talking about sexual fantasies and issues, kinks, therapy session.

Pink-you purple- Leslie your best friend. blue -matt. orange the receptionist

story line- you start therapy to help with issues you had with partners in the past and not knowing how to fix them and feeling like your not finding people who match your wants and needs in the bedroom.

Y/n pov-

I just got ready to head to my first sex therapy session. I'm honestly mortified I even have to do this in the first place but Leslie my best friend said it would be helpful.

One week ago..

y/n I love you but you really need to go to someone professional about this

no absolutely not . im not going to a random person to try and figure out my sex issues .

I'm serious it can be really beneficial ! do you want to suffer for the rest of your life with partners who won't give you what you want or do you want to talk to a trained therapist who can help you find the right way to find what you want and why you want it

ughh I don't know I just don't like talking to people I don't know about shit like this .

I know it makes you anxious but some of your fantasies are a bit... extravagant and this therapist might be able to help you understand why you want things like that you know find out the underlying details you might not see for yourself

okay you have a point there.. okay maybe ill go once and if I like it ill stick with it if not then I won't go back

Yeah what's the worst that could happen

I blame you if it goes to shit

yeah yeah whatever your so dramatic

Present time

Im not gonna lie i'm so nervous about this whole thing. I never liked therapy in general . I only like talking about my life with people I trust so talking to a stranger about my sex problems sounds like hell.

Maybe Leslies right though this could end well and I might enjoy it but ... probably fucking not.

I just pulled up to the building and parked in the parking deck I was already 9 minutes late since parking in down town L.A is horrible so obviously thats not helping my anxiety at all.

I made my way to the lobby of the 26 story building and took the elevator up to the 20th floor.

walking out I noticed the seating area was very spacious but also dull.

all the furniture was black and white . Everything looked so clean and pristine I was almost scared to touch anything. As I walked up to the reception desk the young woman noticed me and smiled.

Hey you must be y/n . Your here for the 7:00 appointment right?

yes hi im so sorry im late parking was a mess

no worries matts last appointment is running a little behind anyways.Take a seat and ill let you know when to head back

okay thank you

I took a seat on one of the black couches and scrolled on my phone trying to busy my mind

After about 10 more minutes a couple walked out of the long hallway looking very pissed off and on edge .

I averted my attention back to my phone to avoid awkward eye contact.

Y/n Matt is ready for you if you'd like to head back

okay thank you

I make my way down the long hallway slowly still unsure of going through with this or not.

I reach the doors and softly push one open and walk in .

A man who im guessing is matt is sitting in a chair at a desk facing out to the windows so I can only see the back of his head.

I softly clear my throat.

hi Mr.sturniolo im y/n

he jolts in his chair

Oh hi im sorry your so quiet I didn't hear you come in he says as he spins around to face you and your breathe catches in your throat .

He is the most attractive man you've ever seen . Dark hair with bright blue eyes, nice stubble and tattoos adorned his left arm. Maybe this won't be so bad

I hold eye contact not saying anything but smiling awkwardly.

oh sorry please have a seat and we can get started

I take a seat in the chair opposite to him and softy set my phone on my lap and purse on the ground.

so y/n what made you choose to come see me

umm well it was a suggestion my beat friend made she said that it might help me work out some things that I might not be seeing for my self

okay well lets start off with your relationship backgrounds . How many relationships have you had and how long were they

well i've only had two real relationships. The first one was when I was a sophomore in high school it was about 6 months and my second one was my during summer going into sophomore year of college it was about 3 months.

okay ... why would you say the first relationship didn't work out?

Umm I don't know . He was pretty verbally abusive and made me feel bad about myself . He closed me off From my friends and threw temper tantrums in front of my parents which was very embarrassing but after a while I got fed up with the way he treated me even after I asked him to fix some things that I didn't like and he didn't so I broke up with him.

okay and how was the sexual relationship with him

I mean pretty good id say its one of the only reasons I stuck around for so long

okay so what made it good .?What are some things he did that you enjoyed?

well I don't know . He let me keep my shirt on so I liked that

he chuckled a little bit at your answer .

okay thats ... nice but name things he did that made you feel good . Did he talk you through it . touch you in a way that made you feel good ... things like that

yeah I mean he was my first everything . He would choke me which is something that I like ... he would give me hickeys in only places we could see which I thought was hot I guess. He would I guess praise me a little which made me feel good .

okay and did he ever prioritize your pleasure over his

n-no not really I mean he never made me cum

You were with him for 6 months and he didn't make you cum at all?

no I mean he would make me ummm you started to get nervous for some reason not wanting to say squirt.

So he made you squirt but never gave you a full orgasm

yeah

okay and what about the second relationship

well it was more of a glorified situationship but he was great until he wasn't . He treated me well always made me feel pretty and wanted. The sex was fucking amazing I mean he was the only man who ever gave me head and I used to hate the idea of having a man go down on me I still kinda do but he was so good at it . And he made me you know uh squirt a lot but again never made me orgasm or he'd have me right at the brink of orgasming and then he'd cum and that was it. But after 2 and a half months he got distant said he was going through a lot and pretty much ghosted me for 2 weeks so I broke it off and never spoke to him again.

okay and what are things he did during sex that you enjoyed.

well he would choke me and he'd degrade me which is something I love and he would slap me which I did have to ask him to do but he did it willingly and he would talk to me a lot during it which I liked especially when id be over stimulated and id be crying and he'd hold me closer but made me take it which I found really attractive . He also bit my shoulder sometimes which for some reason I liked . He also liked to leave hands prints on my ass which I loved too and I loved leaving scratch marks on his back and he also enjoyed it .

okay so what ive gathered so far is you like being choked , its easier for you squirt than it is to orgasm , you have a pain kink, you like receiving and leaving marks, you like impact play and with an educated guess your a submissive.

Y-yeah I mean you got all that from such little information...

well I mean it is my job y/n he smiles at you causing you to smile back .

That is true you say with a quite laugh

so what are somethings that you feel were missing from your past sexual partners or maybe somethings you wanted them to do but were too afraid to bring up

well I mean obviously Id like to find a man who Puts in the effort to make me cum . I also guess I wish id like my partners to be more vocal even if its just sounds I like to know im doing a good job and that I make them feel good. I also wish they would make me call them specific names... sometimes I don't find it hot to moan their names so I just don't . I also would like someone who fully dominates me you know bosses me around tells me exactly what to do and how to do it. I also wish that I could fully voice what I want but when I try I pussy out.

okay so obviously they haven't fully satisfied your wants and needs in the past. How do you usually feel after sex?

I guess used in a way . I haven't really had a guy yet who takes care of me after . They all have just gotten up threw me a towel to clean myself off and then I get dressed and leave.

so you crave the intimate parts as well as the sex. You want to feel taken care of after and not just like they got what they want and thats all

yeah exactly I mean thats why I haven't really had sex in a while I started to have a lot of mental challenges with myself and it created a lot of body image issues and I just got tired of feeling used

im sorry they made you feel that way. I think what a lot of guys fail to realize is girls minds are very different . They don't think the way they treat a girl after has that much effect but it does and ive seen through the years the toll that it can take on younger woman's minds that can even lead to eating disorders. Its very important to make woman feel loved and take care of even if the sex is rough and after they do something so small like running a bath to help you relax small things can really make a difference

exactly I want something like that but I feel like I always go for emotionally immature men who just see me as a piece off ass and get what they want then leave I just feel like its hard to find a man who will fit my every want and desire but I don't want to keep lowering my standards just so I can get fucked once and a while

You shouldn't have to lower your standards for that but it does sounds like being celibate isn't something you're happy about he says with a look on his face that you cant exactly read .

well no I mean I like having sex honestly sometimes I think I like it a bit too much . Im horny a lot and don't get me wrong toys are great but its never quite the same and having someone on top of me making me feel good

I understand what you mean . Don't take this the wrong way but do you think that you might be a sex addict

i... well maybe I don't know you say as your face gets red with embarrassment .

do you think that maybe looking into something like a bdsm club would be worth a try . Judging by the things you like that you've told me so far you need a dominant who not only wants to pleasure you but enjoys giving you everything you want

I don't know ive looked into it but they all seem weird and sketchy .

Well what is your dream man explain what he would look like what he would do to you that would meet your every deep desire

well I like a man who's taller than me who I can stand next to and feel small compared too but also feel protected by. I like a man who looks dark and mysterious kind of like if he walked into a room people would feel on edge and a bit scared. I like a man with dark hair and light eyes preferably with tattoos that has an energy to him that makes me feel slightly in danger even though im not. I want a man who asks me my kinks and fantasies and has no problem making them a reality .

And what is your darkest fantasy . one you've never told anybody he says leaning closer to you over the desk making your breathe hitch .

He narrows his eyes on you as he notices your breathing pattern changing and the way your thighs rub together as you squirm in your chair. With how attractive he is and the way he pins you down with his eye contact and all the sex talk it has you wet and horny.

I don't know if you really want to hear about that to be honest you'll probably think im crazy

I would never think that y/n you have to remember I hear about things like this on a day to day bases its nothing that I probably haven't heard before.

okay c-can I look in my notes app thats where I have them written in full detail

of course also lets move to the couch this seat gets uncomfortable after sitting in it all day

okay you say as you slowly get up making your way to the couch and taking a seat in the middle

he stands adjusting his pants and taking off his tie setting in on his chair as he unbuttons a couple of the top buttons of his dress shirt getting more comfortable since your his last client of the day.

he comes over and sits almost knee to knee with you causing your breathing to accelerate at the closeness between you both.

whenever your ready to share go ahead I promise this is a safe space I will not judge you

okay . Well my fantasy takes place in a grave yard...

okay scence set he says smiling over at you

well it starts off with me taking a walk in the grave yard kind of late and its dark and foggy as I make my way to the far back where there's tress and the larger graves I hear a branch snap like someone is watching me causing me to get nervous and a bit scared but I keep walking back further till I hit old decrepit stairs that lead into catacombs . As I make my way to the stairs I hear more branches snapping and look into the woods to see a man in a mask watching me as he slowly makes his way to me before I run down the stairs causing his to chase after me into the catacombs and before I can get father away he grabs me by my hair causing me to slam back into his big tall frame and fear to flood my body . Then he drags me into one of the open rooms with skulls adorning the walls and throws me on the ground ripping my clothes off and tying my hands behind my back so I cant move them or push him away as he slides into me roughly from the back and he fucks me so hard im crying and shaking under as he tells me how wet I am for him and how much of a good girl I am for letting him take me like this and makes beg him to let me cum so many times im crying and shaking . I also think it would be hot for him to create small cuts in my back with a knife every time I cum until they make up his initials in my back and he fills me to the brim with his cum.

you finally finish reading it and take a deep breathe even scared to look at him not wanting to see his face

y/n look at me

I cant

and why not he says in a deep raspy tone

because I just cant

he moves his hand to your back sliding up slowly until he reaches the back of your head tugging on your scalp causing you to gasp as he forces you too look at him.

I said I would not judge you and I meant that but when I tell you to look at me I expect you to treat me with respect and do as your told

y-yes mr sturniolo im sorry you wince when he lets go of the strong grip he had in your hair .

You were already wet from reading your dirtiest fantasy to him but then he did that and now you were a fucking water fall you could feel it seeping through your thong under your skirt.

you stare at him as he stares back as you with darkened eyes that have you melting into the couch feeling intimidated by the way he is looking at you so intensely.

there's a knock on the door causing you both to break out of the trance you were in and look over .

hey mr sturniolo I was just coming in to check if everything was okay its 20 minutes after my clock out time...

oh im so sorry Kayla you can head out we have some things to finish up on im sorry for holding you over

its okay see you Monday morning

she walks out leaving you and matt alone again.

if you need to go I understand I didn't realize we went over time

no its okay we still have some more stuff to talk about and to be honest I don't have anywhere to rush too

alright then what else do we have to talk about

what about this fantasy excites you the most

um I guess the fear of not knowing who's under the mask but also the fact they followed me I guess it makes me feel special and that he put in that much effort just to get me

Okay so fear turns you on?

I mean I guess but only in certain scenarios

okay so lets say you lived in a big house with a lot of land and you didn't have close neighbors and you had a stalker and he showed up every night watching you from far away . Is that something that would turn you on

yeah I mean the books I read have definitely tainted my mind but yes that would turn me on

what about having a stalker turns you on?

I guess the fact that they are so obsessed with me they feel the need to stalk and watch me

so you like the feeling of knowing someone is obsessed with you

yeah it would make me feel special I guess I don't know saying that out loud sounds concerning

no it doesn't I think you like attention you like knowing that someone is watching you and waiting to pounce on you when they want . You like thinking of someone taking you when they want and not having a say don't you

yeah I guess

so im guessing you also have a consensual non consensual kink ?

yeah you sigh . its kind of concerning how good he is at guessing your kinks and finding ways to get the information out of you without you having to just straight out say it. It honestly makes it less awkward .

so with the cnc kink what about it do you like?

I guess the fighting back I like to push buttons see how much of a fight I can put up until they finally brake and take their anger out on me

so your a brat?

excuse me you ask shocked at what he called you.

he laughs seeing you expression

y/n im not calling you a brat its a type of submissive trait you like getting a man annoyed at you so they punish you when they've had enough of your attitude

ohh yeah okay that makes more sense you say laughing softly to yourself

so you like being punished he says moving his leg closer to yours making them touch fully which has you pulsing around nothing. The way he speaks to you turns you on just the tones of his voice is deep yet soothing put there's also an underlying tones that makes it sounds like he's humiliating you with the words he speaks.

I mean I don't know ive never been punished a day in my life even as a kid I didn't get punished.

come here he says making you look at him confused

he softly grabs your arm then pulls you over his knees

w-what are you doing

don't worry this is strictly a lesson if you'd like me to stop I will but its easier to show you this way then explain with words

your breathing is loud at this point as your thighs squeeze together . the way he has you over his knees is doing something to you given the fact you know your ass is showing since your skirt is kind of short

are you okay with me showing you it will help you get an idea if being punished is something your into or not

you nod your head with cases him to jolt his knee up causing your body to bounce up and your skirt to ride up.

I need you to use your words y/n

y-yes this is okay I trust you

good now lets say I was your dominant okay. The thing I will be punishing you for is earlier can you tell me what that might be

ummm I don't know uh your voice coming out a little shaky. Your so turned on and you're sure if he looks down at any point he could see your soaked thong.

some on use your brain I know you'll figure it out he says as. you feel his hand on your back slowly rubbing small soothing circles

um when I didn't look at you after reading my fantasy

good girl thats exactly what I will punish you for and the punishment will be leaving my hand print on your ass would that be okay

y-yes

good now ill do 5 on each side okay if you want me to stop just tell me and I will okay

okay you say softly. The last thing you expected was for your first session to end with you over your therapists knee having a full demonstration of something you could be into.

his hand slides down your back to your ass as he rubs softly over your left cheek then his hand smacks down hard causing you to gasp.

thats one and I want you to count for me okay

y-yes sir

he groans causing you to blush and wait for the next smack

his hand comes down again making you squeak out Two

your doing good

after the last smack your breathing hard and your left cheek is stinging and pulsing in the spot he continuously hit.

his hand smacks down on your right cheek causing you to jolt forward .

fuck you gasp he hit harder than you expected.

you need me to stop

no im okay keep going

he finishes the last 4 and you're panting as your thighs are clenching together so hard you can feel the muscles straining. He helps you off his lap and you sit back down on the couch wincing in pain as your raw ass hits the surface.

he looks at you with dark blown out eyes with a slight smirk on his face.

well you obviously like being punished he says causing you to furrow your brows at him as you face got hotter.

oh yeah and how do you know that. you said in a snippy tone

because you clenched your thighs the entire time and ... I could see how soaked your thong was

your breathe hitched as you looked down at the ground trying to hide your embarrassment .

no need to be embarrassed . We did it to see if it was something you liked at it proved you did .

matt was about four years older than you making him 26 and you 22 which made this situation even hotter given the age gap.

yeah I know im just embarrassed I like it that much I guess

well I think we covered a good amount for out first session . When do you want to schedule your next meeting ?

do you have any openings on Tuesday ?

let me check he says getting up and going over to his desk to look at his computer .

he looked so hot leaning over his desk , his sleeves rolled up showing his toned forearms and his big veiny hands gripping the tables edge. God you wish you could have those hands around your neck. which makes you realize you forgot to mention one of your biggest kinks .

oh I did forget one kink that plays a roll in a lot

oh yeah and what is that he say still focusing on his computer

Hands you say biting your lip still looking at his hands.

he looks at you then notices you're looking at his hands causing his dick to stiffen even more in his pants. You hadn't noticed he had a hard on and he's glad about that. He's never had a client so close to his age that also fits everything he finds attractive . You're exactly the type of girl he's ever wanted , the perfect bratty submissive but he keeps it to himself knowing he's your therapist and he cant jeopardize your business relationship.

You snap out of it meeting his eyes as he's smirking at you causing your face to get red knowing he caught you looking at his hands.

I have two openings one in the afternoon for 1 pm or 7pm

can we do the 7 pm again

yeah of course ill put you in for 7pm

he finishes setting your appointment and starts grabbing his stuff you stand up off the couch and go to grab your phone where you had set it on his desk and grab your purse taking out your keys.

wait for me and ill walk you out its pretty late out you shouldn't be walking out of here on your own

okay thank you I mean you don't have to do that

no I insist he says before walking around his desk to you and leading you to the door.

he turns the lights off then locks his office doors then you both make your way down the hall to the sitting room area . He turns off all the overhead lights then meets you at the front entrance doors.

He locks those then you make your way to the elevators down to the parking deck.

so what did you think of your first session I know a lot of people don't like therapy

honestly I was really not excited but it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be

im glad I wasn't that bad

me too honestly I was expecting an old man not ...you

ill take that as a good thing

oh yeah no sorry I didn't mean it in a bad way im really glad your young it made me a little less nervous

im glad and I hope it helped to talk through some stuff

it did I mean I usually don't talk about most of this sex stuff with people so it felt good to get some of it out

well then I guess the therapy is doing its job

yeah I guess so you say smiling over at him

which floor did you park on

im pretty sure eight

cool me too ill walk you to your car

oh no you don't have to do that don't you have like a girlfriend to get home to or something

no actually I don't I do have brothers that are waiting for me to get them dinner though

oh well don't let me take more of your time im sure I can safely make it to my car

come on were in down town LA there could be crack heads roaming around ill walk you they can wait

fine if you insist

you make it down to the 8th floor of the parking deck and start walking in the direction of where you parked

so do you live with your brothers

yeah im actually a triplet so you know were very close we haven't really felt the need to move into our own places

oh wow thats cool I have an older brother but were not super close I always wished id had a twin sister though

how old is your brother

oh hes 26

ahh the older brother dynamic I get it its kind of hard to have a close relationship when your 4 years apart

yeah we've gotten closer through the years but you know he's a guy im a girl its different

yeah I get that

okay well this is me you say pointing to your car

thank you for walking me

of course its no problem see you Tuesday

yep see you Tuesday goodnight mr.sturniolo

goodnight y/n and just so you know you can call me matt

okay well good night matt you say as you start to get in your car .

he starts walking the opposite way to where he's parked as you start your car up and head home .

... part 2 coming soon.

#matt sturniolo #bd/sm daddy #therapist

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seeyal8r · 3 months

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@FCKL8RBOY JUST POSTED ON TIKTOK! - HANA AND LO TRAUMA DUMP WHILE MAKING CANDY SALAD

🍓 ˖ ࣪ CONTENT WARNING: swearing, mentions of harassment, suicide, sex, cheating and toxic relationships. It’s a bit explicit, I guess? Nothing crazy though.

₊˚﹒⤻ insp. by my forever boys @bluwavez

₊˚﹒⤻ this piece is set in the @dreamquest dorms!

Hana sits in front of the camera with a playful smile on her face, already makeup-free and ready for bed after a long day of rehearsals. From what can be seen in the background, she is in the shared dormitory of the DreamQuest girls.

Hana claps her hands together lightly before speaking. “I’ve noticed it’s trendy these days to share your traumas for fun, outside the confines of your therapist’s office. So, here we are.” Hana then grabs Eloise by the shoulder, pulling her into the frame. Eloise, with an unusual expression of discomfort plastered on her face, waves both hands at the camera with a forced smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Hana declares, motioning for Eloise to step out of the frame. “Hi, I’m Yunha. No, my real name isn’t Hana. Anyway, I’ve brought licorice sticks. When I debuted with that group—yeah, the one everyone knows but I won’t mention because they're all backstabbing bitches— I received a massive wave of hate just for being my father’s daughter. Creepy people would wait for me outside Hidden Entertainment at night and basically harassed me, calling me a spoiled talentless brat and telling me I should kill myself or I’d drag the group down with me. My dad had to assign me a couple of bodyguards for my safety. Super fun, right?” With a big fake smile, Hana dumps the licorice onto the clear bowl in front of her, her eyes never leaving the camera and her smile never faltering.

Tugging at the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, which is clearly a guy’s, Lo steps in front of the camera, replacing Hana.

"Hey, I’m Eloise, and I brought watermelon sour brite crawlers," she says, unenthusiastically waving the candy bag in the air. She pauses, pouting off-camera at what it can be assumed is Hana. Despite her reluctance, she continues, “So, during the Zombie promotions, one of our wardrobe assistants attacked me because she thought I was hooking up with her boyfriend, who happened to be one of our producers. Totally not true, by the way, but she was out of her fucking mind. She caught me off guard in the bathroom while I was washing my hands, yanked my hair, and slammed me into the mirror. The CEO found out and ended up firing both of them, so yeah, good riddance."

Hana's laughter can be heard off-camera, which brings a pleased smile to Eloise's face. She dumps the contents of her candy bag into the bowl before being replaced by Hana once again.

“Okay, what else…” Hana pauses, pretending to think, but it’s clear she knows exactly what she's about to say. “My dad cheated on my mom for the first time when I was, like, five? Maybe six? Who even knows at this point. So, one day, my mom and I go to the company to pick him up for a family dinner. She’s chatting with some employees in the lobby and sends me to his office. Of course, it never crossed my mind to knock, because Hidden is like my second home. And there he is, fucking one of his secretaries. The most basic cliché ever. So I ran back and told my mom that daddy was kissing another woman. And you know what she said? 'I’m sure you’re imagining things.' She made me think I was crazy and acted like I hadn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell. They both played the perfect couple in front of the whole family later that night.”

Eloise tries to suppress her laughter, which causes Hana to laugh too. “It’s okay! You can laugh. It’s funny. Years later, I found out my dad cheating is considered normal in their marriage. And my mom denying it is too. It’s ridiculously pathetic, but who am I to say anything anymore? Let them deal with their own mess. Oh, I also brought strawberry sour patch. These are the best!”

Eloise seems a bit calmer when she reappears on screen with a new bag of candy in hand. “Hi, it’s Eloise again, this time with original Haribo gummies. So, when I got kicked out of L8RBOY…” She’s cut off by a pink sour patch hitting her in the face. Eloise picks it up from her lap, where it landed, and pops it into her mouth. “Alright, alright, the group that shall not be named because they’re a bunch of blah blah blahs. Anyway, I started dating a boy. He was my first real boyfriend. He also happened to be obsessed with me sucking him off. We’re talking about the guy I lost my virginity to, so I had like zero experience. Plus, I was super shy in bed, like everything felt like a big deal to me. So, obviously, I kept refusing until one day he threatened to break up with me if I didn’t do it. He literally blackmailed me into sucking his stupid dick. I was such a mess back then that the thought of him leaving me was terrifying. I eventually caved and gave him a blowjob and he still dumped me, saying I was terrible at it. And now, I’m terrified of dicks! Yay!”

Both girls burst into laughter at Eloise's mock enthusiasm. She dumps the bag's contents into the bowl, and Hana takes the opportunity to sit down on the floor next to her. In an attempt to stop laughing, they both start munching on some of the candies, only to end up choking on them when the laughter doesn't let up.

When she finally calms down a bit, Hana starts talking again. "Okay, okay, one last rant for today. I’m Yunha, and I’m out of candy, but I vouched for one of the girls in the original lineup of the group that shall not be named because my dad wasn’t sure about letting her debut. And what do I get in return? The bitch backstabs me during the group buyout and INFERNO decides I’m totally replaceable. I said I wouldn’t name names, but screw it—Zhao Jiayi, you’re the biggest backstabbing bitch ever! I guess that’s how you stole the leader spot in the new lineup. Seriously, go to hell!"

Eloise looks totally shocked, eyebrows up and hand over her mouth. "I can't believe you just went there."

Hana shrugs nonchalantly. "I mean, I'm just speaking facts."

"Yeah well, she’s definitely gonna see the video," Eloise says, to which Hana grins wickedly.

"Oh, but I hope she does."

#🍓 ˖ ࣪ see ya! ࣪ ★ ₊˚﹒⤻ development #🍓 ˖ ࣪ see ya! ࣪ ★ ₊˚﹒⤻ hana #🍓 ˖ ࣪ see ya! ࣪ ★ ₊˚﹒⤻ lo #fictional idol community #fictional idol group #fictional idol oc

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words-after-midnight · 2 months

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Weekend kiss tag 😘

Thank you for the tag, @fortunatetragedy! 🦥

Tagging (no pressure): @revenantlore, @cwritesfiction, @klywrites, @mrbexwrites, @saturnine-saturneight,

@davycoquette, @sableglass, @sentfromwolves, @winterandwords, @randomstupidchaos, @jev-urisk + open tag

Rules: From your story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from forehead kisses, familial pecks on the cheek, platonic kisses, to full-blown make-outs.

I AM HERE TO EMBARRASS MY BIRTHDAY BRAINFRUIT. 🎉 Here's the entire scene featuring Gabriel and Jeff's first kiss, shown in a flashback scene in Act I, Chapter 7, "Easy Target."

Some context: immediately prior to this flashback, in the previous (past timeline) chapter, Gabriel made a promise to the moon (yes, you read that right) that he would not get drunk in Jeff's company. Also, Catricia was his therapist at the time of these events. Evan is his current (present day) roommate. In the flashback, Gabriel is 17 (almost 18) and Jeff is 18. Gabriel is 21 in the present day at this point.

At night, I head back to my room, where, for whatever reason, I’m alone. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Evan all day. I can’t help but wonder if something happened – if he’s been brought back up to high security, if he’s been hurt, if he’s been spontaneously released, if he just said “fuck it” and flew the coop of his own accord. Maybe he’s dead. It’s probably nothing. Maybe he killed someone. Maybe his Thursday night group is running late. Maybe they found out he was plotting to kill you. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.

Crawling into bed, I lie under the plain white sheets, closing my eyes. But, as it happens, I can’t seem to fall asleep. My mind still runs from me, heart squeezed with the familiar, relentless, haunting grasp of grief. Dried from fatigue, my eyes stick to the ceiling fan as it single-mindedly spins to its death.

Thwack-thwack-thwack.

My mind is out on the balcony with Jeff on that warm summer’s night, three years ago now, watching his beer can plunge into the darkness of the backyard. Because I can’t think about the night I ran away from my dad’s without lingering on what happened afterward – about the twisted, beautiful mess I unwittingly dove into headfirst, and where I now tread water in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. Of course, there are things about this situation I’ll carry to the grave. But that doesn’t mean they’ll ever let me drown in peace.

Jeff brought a six-pack of beer and a bowl of cinema popcorn with us to the basement. The popcorn was Daphne’s, but we both knew she wouldn’t notice one bag missing. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t. Jeff, being Jeff, probably didn’t give a shit. He could talk his way out of anything and he knew it, the bastard.

We sat on the couch. He switched on the TV and propped the bowl of popcorn and the beer on the coffee table in front of us, telling me I could feel free to take a beer or two if I wanted. “After the vodka, you mean?” I mused. “Are you trying to kill me?” He just laughed. It wasn’t hard to make him laugh, I’d noticed.

I took a sip of the vodka – just a sip, because my head was properly fuzzy now we were inside, and I was very conscious of what could happen if I drank much more. I told the moon I wouldn’t get drunk. If I broke my promise now, I’d be forced to remember it every time the night was clear and there were no clouds to prevent her from looking down upon me in abject judgment.

I capped the bottle, setting the vodka on the damn table, because I was the boss and it wasn’t. Jeff snatched it immediately, uncapping it and pouring out a decent volume into the glass I figured he originally brought for the beer, mouth full of popcorn. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said enthusiastically, which I barely understood due to the popcorn.

He turned on GTA and I sunk into the back of the couch, feeling a strange sort of peace, like floating on a cloud. He offered me the controller first, but I was in no state to be running people over with any kind of precision, so I said, “Nah, it’s cool, I’ll watch.”

I took the bowl of popcorn and grabbed a handful, then another. It felt like I was sinking further and further into the couch as the moments passed. I was just starting to think I may, in fact, have overdone it a bit with the vodka when Jeff reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl in my lap.

“You know,” he said, once the mouthful was gone. He paused the game and glanced over at me, taking a swig from his too-tall vodka glass. “It’s cool if you want to stay here. I don’t mind having you around. Only thing is, if you do, you’re gonna have to do some work and stuff. Wouldn’t be fair to the others if not, you know.”

My heart practically skipped a beat. Oh my God, is he actually suggesting I can stay here? As in, live here? As in permanently? No fucking way. It must be the vodka. I must be hearing things. I just said, “Obviously.”

He was laughing. As I sat there trying to be cool – and, by the look on his face, evidently failing – he kind of turned to me, propped his arm along the back of the couch. His eyes tore into my soul again, and he looked like he’d just seen something extremely amusing (spoiler alert: it was me). He asked, “Dude, how drunk are you right now?”

Before I knew what’d hit me, I was kissing him. His mouth tasted like a combination of vodka and popcorn that had no business being so intoxicating. Moments – could have been seconds, could have been minutes, I was too buzzed to be sure – passed before I snapped out of it, one hand on his back and the other under his shirt, where his hip met the top of his boxers, and realized what I was fucking doing. I quickly broke away.

My forehead was in my hands. I could only hope they weren’t visibly shaking. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, but to my surprise, he didn’t sound particularly bothered by this truly unfortunate turn of events. “It’s fine, dude, you’re wasted as fuck. Shit happens.”

Stomach lurching, heart pounding, not knowing what else to do, I got up and booked it toward the staircase. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”

He laughed. He fucking laughed. “That’d be the half-pint of vodka.”

I stumbled upstairs and locked myself in the first-floor bathroom, sitting up against the door, willing my breathing to stabilize before I had either the world’s biggest panic attack, or an actual heart attack, or both. Oh my God, I fucked up. I’ve really fucked up now. I can never face the fucking moon again. He’s definitely not going to let me stay now. He’ll probably never speak to me again.

I curled up beside the toilet – no blanket, no pillow, just the cold tiles under me and nothing but my burning face and renewed tears for warmth. I imagined this is what hell must be like. I found myself wishing I’d had the foresight to bring the rest of the bottle with me, because now that I was alone in the bathroom and not with him, I could have been drinking myself into oblivion stress-free. I hadn’t brought it, though, obviously, so that wasn’t an option. Neither was cutting, because I had no knife on me, either, and you’d have genuinely had to drag my cold, dead body out of that bathroom. All I could do was shed hot, silent tears into the floor, mortified, wishing I could turn back time and decide not to come here in the first place.

The next morning, I remember – also very vividly – being jolted awake by loud, rambunctious singing somewhere nearby, which quickly reminded me of the terrible, horrible, really bad fact that I spent the night locked in the bathroom at Silverwood Manor, and that, therefore, what had happened the night before was in fact real, and not a terrible, horrible, really bad dream.

I remember thinking to myself, even then, Oh my God, I’m so fucked.

I still can’t quite believe I was able to fall asleep that night. Groggy, my head having felt better, I rose to a sitting position, trying to rub the stiffness out of my muscles – the ones I could reach, anyway. I’m not sure even Isabelle’s chiropractor could have fixed my neck at that point. Even my eyes felt stiff – or at least puffy.

Before I could resign myself to the grave I dug and to spending the rest of my miserable life in that bathroom, there was a firm knock on the door.

“Gabriel? You in there?”

Daphne. Shit. “Be out in a sec.” Great, my voice sounded like a cat being strangled. Cool. Awesome. The morning was off to a great start.

“Is everything okay? Jeff said he thinks you spent the night in there.”

No. I have to get out of this goddamned bathroom. Everything is very much not okay. Jesus fucking Christ. What else had Jeff told her?

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Sitting there on the polished tile, trembling like a wet kitten, I tried my best to gain some semblance of composure. I thought about mindfulness, and after a few excruciating moments, I forced myself up and toward the door. Maybe Catricia isn’t entirely full of shit after all, I thought to myself.

I unlocked the door, letting Daphne in. Her face fell upon seeing me. “Wow. You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Daphne.”

“No, I mean –”

My heart rate picked up – not that it had slowed down much at all since last night. What does she know? I tried my best to play it cool. “Yeah… I kind of, you know… got really drunk last night.”

Her face looked like how I imagine the moon’s would have, if the moon had been a person currently with me in that bathroom. But when she spoke, she just said, “Eh, happens to the best of us. Come on, Kyle made pancakes – you’ll feel better when you get some food in you.”

Oh, shit, I was thinking. The kitchen. Fuck. “You know, Daph –”

“Food first. You’ll thank me later.”

I followed her into the kitchen, dreadful as it is, wishing I had the power to dissociate on command. He was there, obviously. He’d now integrated some kind of interpretive dance into his musical spiel. Holding a newspaper over his head, he gestured and strutted unabashedly around the kitchen island, humming loudly. I sat down, carefully staring at the dotted white marble of the tabletop. Daphne went straight for the coffee maker.

“I dunno,” she said – likely in my general direction, seeing as there was no one but the three of us in the kitchen. Because of course there wasn’t. “He just got up and started singing. He’s still pissed off about his probation. Which, by the way, he wouldn’t have if he stopped punching people in the face at bars.”

A plate containing two thick pancakes was set in front of me. It was joined by black coffee and utensils moments later.

“Enjoy,” said Daphne. “Kyle’s a dick, but he makes the world’s best pancakes.”

Jeff, still humming cheerfully, circled the kitchen island like a vulture stalking its prey. He came up behind me, hand on my shoulder. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall out of my chair. “How ya feeling, kid?”

I want to dig a hole in the backyard, crawl into it, and die. “Been better.”

He chuckled. He was back at the front of the island now, and sat down facing me, swiping a chunk from one of my pancakes with his fingers. As my mouth opened in protest, he asked, “How’s the hangover on a scale from one to ten? I’m at about a three.”

He was acting like nothing happened. Maybe I should, too, I tell myself. “A good seven.”

“Fuck did you guys get up to last night?” asked Daphne, who, I could tell through my peripheral vision, was now sitting beside Jeff. I was staring at the pancakes. “I didn’t even know you stayed over. Sounds like I missed a rad party.”

Jeff responded while I was frantically trying to figure out what to say. “If by ‘rad party’ you mean playing GTA in the basement with beer and a bottle of vodka until two in the morning and Killjoy passing out cold in the bathroom, then yeah, you missed a rad party.”

He was acting so normal. I risked a glance up toward Daphne. If you don’t get it together, she’s going to figure out something’s wrong, my frantic mind shouted at me.

She smiled at me. “Pancakes are getting cold, dude.”

I ate the pancakes. Mechanically. I grabbed the dish of butter and the syrup already placed in the center of the island. I took a gulp of coffee and it burned going down. When I finally dared to look at him, his playful eyes met mine – just for a brief second, but still enough to feel like a hot spear in the center of my chest. Why did I decide not to hate him again? I was really regretting that at the moment. I am so fucking doomed. I’m so fucked it’s not even funny.

I had no idea. None at all.

#libaw #excerpt #snippet #writeblr #i think this is the first time i've posted a full scene 👀#anything to embarrass my darling on his birthday 🎈#enjoy!

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its-time-to-write · 1 year

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hi i love your work.

can i get touch deprived reader with jamie or roy

you totally can! It just comes at the low, low cost of way more words than you bargained for. Fair warning, Jamie isn’t even introduced for a good solid chunk of the first half. I also have been touch deprived so this is based on personal experience lol.

I feel like I let this get away from me in the same way the Vienna fic got away from me😂

sinking into your worn out mattress

It’s the same routine every day.

Wake up, get dressed, go to work, come home, make dinner, fall asleep, repeat.

It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. You’re nothing if not efficient, maximizing your time to the best of your abilities. It’s not the most glamorous thing in the world, but you enjoy it. You’re lucky enough to be working on your supervision hours under a renowned psychologist, Dr. Fieldstone in London, and it’s paid. Over half the people in your cohort are struggling through unpaid internships and juggling a second job just so they can make ends meet. You’re all propelled forward by the promise of better pay as soon as it’s all over, dreaming of the days you can own your own practice.

You’re not even sure how you landed this internship, as Dr. Fieldstone rarely ever takes on interns. (She’d tell you later it’s because she saw the same potential her supervisor saw in her.) But you have it, and you’re now assisting her in her on-location therapy to various sports teams. You’d been at a rugby club for a few months, but now it’s time to move on. Dr. Fieldstone was asked to come back to a previous club and although she’d never admit it, you know it was her favorite group to work with. It’s the only club who’s picture is on her desk. It makes you smile every time you see her surrounded by a rowdy-looking group of footballers and two very American coaches. She had said that the one with the mustache was no longer at the club, but the bearded one still was along with the angry looking man to the side and the short, grey-haired man.

You’ve seen the photo so many times that you have everyone’s faces memorized. You’re secretly excited to meet the team that made Dr. Sharon (in her colleagues’ words,) loosen up.

You weren’t friends, with Dr. Sharon, never once dropping the “doctor,” that preceded her name, but she would occasionally swing by your standard housing with a bottle of wine after a particularly difficult day.

“This job can be emotionally draining,” she’d say. “I always wished I had someone there for me at the beginning.”

She rarely smiled or showed outward affection, but you understood that this was her way of saying she cared.

But now you’re packing up your flat into your car, and headed to your new quarters in Richmond, London.

—

It’s apparent that Dr. Sharon has a strong connection with the players. There are a small few who allow you to run each session, most preferring to stick with who they know. Your days are mostly filled with analyses and treatment plans, with about two real session a week, one with Rojas, D and Maas, J. You don’t even sit in with Dr. Sharon much anymore, as the thought of an observer makes some of the players uncomfortable.

It’s stressing you out.

How are you supposed to fulfill your hours when you can’t even get consistent sessions?

Dr. Sharon, in her limited kindness, refers you to a friend of hers in town.

“She runs a small practice and works mostly with women. You’ll be able to keep your housing and fulfill your hours. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

You look at her. “Right,” you reply, “because you’re going to have so much time to help me out between all the things you’ve got going on.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Listen. Since you’re not my intern, I can become your therapist. I’ll even give you a discounted rate since you’re still interning. We’ll set up weekly sessions. You’ll be fine.”

You’re still not sure. Dr. Sharon can see the apprehension in your face. “Alright,” she says. “If you schedule our sessions in the evening and cook dinner, I’ll do it for free. It’ll be informal, one therapist to another.”

That’s big. She rarely does anything for free. In a moment of boldness, you say that to her face.

She cracks the tiniest smile. “It’s possible that I’ve grown fond of you. And even more possible that I’m addicted to your cooking.”

Huh. You suppose miracles do still happen.

—

Sharon is over for dinner for the third time in a week, and you’re suspicious that she might actually enjoy spending time with you. You’re laughing about some stupid story that happened during a natural environment observation (it involved a slip n slide, an obscene amount of shaving cream, and footballs being thrown at players heads) when out of nowhere you feel tears slipping down your face.

“Oh my gosh” you say while maybe laughing, maybe crying, “I think I’m broken.”

Sharon (she insisted you drop the “doctor,”) asks, “Are you alright?” and you shrug while you begin full-on sobbing.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you say between gasps. “What the actual heck.”

At that, Sharon grins. You’re retaining some element of your humor, despite actually crying.

“Just go on and fucking swear already,” she says. “I think we’re past a truly professional relationship.”

You shake your head. “No!” you say. “No, my mum wouldn’t like it.” Fresh tears start to fall at the mention of your mum. Sharon is actually concerned now.

“I’m not sure you’re alright,” she says, and you shoot her a no duh look. “Let’s discuss what might be the root of your issue. Have you been feeling differently lately?”

You’re wiping your eyes and trying so hard to get it together. You’re not even sure what your problem is. You were pretty sure you were doing fine, but you think back to your week. It had been pretty standard, nothing out of the ordinary. You shake your head.

“There is nothing too small to mention. Anything out of your usual routine? Physical discomfort, emotionally-draining sessions?” Sharon asks.

“No,” you reply, tears almost under control. “Wait. Yes.”

Sharon looks at you expectantly. “God, this is going to sound dumb.”

She reaches out to pat your hand. “There’s no such thing as too dumb,” she says in her therapist voice.

The gesture is so much like something a sister would do.

“Right,” you say. “Ok. My, um, the insides of my elbows like, hurt? They just feel weird, I don’t know. It started two weeks ago I think and usually I can just pinch them and it’s fine, but that’s the only thing I can think of, I guess.”

Sharon has gone full therapist, and is giving you an analytical look. “Hm,” she says. “Tell me more.”

You shrug. “There’s not much to tell. It’s not like painful, it just feels weird. I hug my pillow when I sleep and that also helps. Um, I push up my sleeves so they go around my elbows and the pressure helps.”

She asks, “When was the last time you saw a friend?” and you can’t think why this is relevant. But you also can’t remember.

“Probably since before I moved,” you say.

“And when was the last time you saw your family?”

You begin to see where she’s going.

“God,” you groan. “I’m an idiot.”

Sharon laughs. “Do you see why it’s so difficult for therapists to self-diagnose? We’re so busy trying to save the world that we forget to save ourselves.”

“But it’s so stupid,” you say. “It’s like, one of the most basic forms of self-care.”

Sharon shrugs. “Touch-starvation is a real thing. It manifests itself in different ways and apparently yours manifests itself in your elbows.”

It’s so ridiculous that you laugh. She does too, and reaches out to squeeze your arm. “I’ll be more mindful of it,” she says. “In the meantime, you need to find yourself some friends. Some people your own age. I’m prescribing you at least two nights out a week.”

You knit your eyebrows together. “I don’t even know where I would go. Or how to meet people. Or what to say!”

“That’s the problem with us therapists,” Sharon says. “We’re really best in a clinical setting. Shouldn’t be let out of the house, really. How about this; next time Richmond has some group event, you come. They’re a rowdy bunch, around your age, too. It’s an incredibly healthy environment, and you’ll be easily accepted. It will be a nice gateway to having a social life. There’s a match this weekend and they’re almost guaranteed a win, so keep your calendar open.”

You open your mouth to protest but Sharon holds up a hand. “I’m prescribing this as your mentor, not as your friend. It will be a healthy change of pace, I promise.”

—

Seeing AFC Richmond in person and off the pitch is like an out-of-body experience.

You’re putting names to familiar faces, and getting a crash course on their personalities.

You know Dani and Jan Maas from your short stint as their counselor, and they’ve taken it upon themselves to introduce you to everyone else. Dani is holding your elbow to guide you around to all sorts of people, and you can physically feel the serotonin production in your brain.

You meet Higgins and his wife, the hosts of this barbecue as well as some of their children. It’s hard to miss them because they keep coming up to shoot Dani and Jan with nerf guns. They’re weirdly prepared, pulling out their own from thin air.

“Don’t worry,” Jan says, “We’ll defend you.”

It’s very much like a large family gathering. You meet Richard, who kisses your hand and comments on your beauty. Zoreaux, who smiles and asks if you want anything to drink. Bumbercatch, who asks if you can read minds. And finally, Roy and Keeley who are standing in the kitchen and definitely were not kissing right before you walked in.

“This is one of our coaches,” Dani beams. “He and Keeley are very much in love, but they will not admit to each other, least of all themselves.”

Roy says, “Oi!” while Keeley blushes. Jan shrugs.

“It’s true,” he says. “There is no point in dancing around it.”

“Fuck off!” says Roy, and Jan and Dani are saved from certain death by head-butt as Keeley steps between them and says, “It’s nice to meet you! We’re so glad you could come,” and wraps you in a tight hug.

She’s small, but she’s strong. You have trouble breathing for a moment in the best possible way.

“Heard you work for Dr. Sharon,” she says. “That’s got to be fucking difficult.”

You laugh. “Yeah, but not in the way you’d think,” you say. “I’d already sold my soul to my education long before I met her. She’s actually trying to help me get it back.”

Keeley grins. “Is that why you’re here then? To reinstate your soul?”

You’re cut off from replying by the appearance of someone new. This one is in Sharon’s picture too, standing in the middle slightly to the left and smiling with the tip of his tongue sticking out. You always thought he seemed like one who looked so happy and carefree because he actively chose to be that way.

“Who’s reinstatin’ their soul?” he asks, squeezing in between Dani and Keeley.

“This one here,” Keeley replies. “You met her yet? She’s Dr. Fieldstone’s protégé.”

“Oh,” you say. “No. Not really. I was just doing my internship with her, but I had to move because…” you hesitate.

“Because no one wanted to talk to her except me and Jan,” Dani helpfully fills in.

Jan adds, “They were all intimidated by the fact that she is close to their age and so beautiful, as well stuck in their ways of having Dr. Sharon. Only Dani and I were willing to give her a chance, and she actually helped me through some important life decisions.”

You had? It hadn’t seemed that way at the time. You feel less crappy about your time at Nelson Road, though. It wasn’t like they didn’t like you, they just preferred to stick with what they know. That, you can understand.

“Mint,” Jamie says. “So you ain’t the team’s shrink anymore?”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Fucking observant, you are. She hasn’t been around in fucking ages.”

Jamie shrugs. “I was just checking!” he says defensively.

You smile. “It’s alright,” you say. “I’m sure you’re busy, and there’s always a lot of people coming and going.”

That seems to surprise Jamie. Almost as if he isn’t used to people defending him. You file his reaction away in your brain, adding it to your collection of knowledge about the football team that made Sharon zip across England for.

—

It’s been two and a half hours, and you’ve have more food and laughter than you’ve had in ages. Dani and Jan Maas had left your circle in the kitchen a while ago, fulfilling their promise to chase around the youngest Higgins boys as well as Roy’s niece Phoebe, and another girl who’s name you didn’t catch. Sam has joined your group now, and he and Jamie are funny together in a way that reminds you of your brothers. They’re constantly ragging on each other, teasing Roy, and throwing things.

Jamie, it seems, is the comedian of the group. You can tell he’s showing off, presumably because there’s a new face. When it’s time to eat, he says, “Stick with me, love, that way you don’t get stuck next to some uncultured animal,” even though Sharon is there and you’d be fine to sit with any of the boys.

But, he’s already grabbed your hand and is pulling you to a spot near Roy and Keeley as Sharon looks on with an amused expression. You send her a single pleading glance (although you’re not sure what you’re pleading for) and she just gives you a shooing motion. She’s happy to sit with Rebecca and her boyfriend. And someone who’s name you’re pretty sure is Coach Beard.

Ever the gentleman, Jamie pulls out your chair for you before settling into his own. There are tables all throughout the house and a few in the front yard, and you’re glad he picked one outside. It’s a little cloudy, but nice weather.

And god, there are people. People who are talking to you, hugging you, tapping you on the arm and holding your hand, even if it is just to make sure you don’t get separated in the stampede to find seating. Your arms aren’t even a little sore, and you can feel Sharon’s observing eyes on you. You know for a fact she’s going to have a lot to say next time you have dinner, but for now all you can think about is the way Jamie’s arm is pressed against yours, as he leans in to explain a football term that Roy just used to threaten Jamie with.

—

You’re not sure how long this party is supposed to last, but it’s three hours later and there is no sign of stopping. The sun is just barely starting to dip, and time has lost all meaning. You don’t know if the meal you ate was supposed to be lunch or dinner but it doesn’t matter because you’re so full that you can barely make room for the pile of desserts that Mrs. Higgins has pulled out.

You’ve moved inside now, since Jamie pulled you through the dessert line saying, “You have to come with me, so I can put my dessert on your plate. That way grandad can’t have a fit.” You understand that “grandad” is Roy.

You’re smart enough to notice that Jamie’s hand is in yours at every opportunity he can find, and that he’s still holding it even though you’ve finished your dessert and are flopped on a couch inside. He’s absentmindedly rubbing circles with his thumb as you chatter on about nothing.

“Oi,” he says, when you’ve lapsed into silence, “is this alright?”

You’re not sure what he means until he holds up your still-intertwined hands.

“Keeley says I’m more touchy than most. Don’t want to fuckin’ weird you out or some shit.”

You smile. “You’re fine. It’s actually really nice.” You decide to leave it at that. No point in explaining touch-deprivation to the cute footballer you just met. Talk about oversharing.

Jamie smiles back, a real one that lights up his whole face.

“Mint,” he says.

—

“Jamie’s romantically interested in you,” says Sharon’s voice through the phone.

“How do you know that?” you ask. It’s the morning after the Higgins party and you only have a 2pm session. Sharon texted you to call her as soon as you woke up, so you do and she drops a bombshell on the first ring. You doubt Jamie would have told her this himself, as Dr. Fieldstone isn’t one to break a confidence.

“Basic body language,” she replies. “Repeated physical contact, the way his body was angled toward yours all day, the fact that he went out of his way to make you smile. All classic markers of romantic attraction. Any trained therapist should be able to pick up on it.”

What she means is, you’re a trained therapist. You should be picking up on it.

“There’s no way,” you say, but it comes out more doubtful than you’d hoped.

“Right,” says Sharon, “there’s no way. In the same way that there’s no way I’m only mentoring you because I see myself in you.”

“Oh,” you reply weakly, because that’s a lot to unpack.

“Oh,” she mimics. “Right. Well. I’ve got to go. Make sure you remember the mental exercises I gave you. Therapists need to take care of their minds too.”

You say thanks and hang up.

Oh.

—

You’re home again from your session, and you are tired. It was mentally exhausting and all you can think about are the pair of sweatpants in the drawer by your bed and the box of pizza that should be at your flat in fifteen-to-twenty minutes. That was about thirteen minutes ago, and you’ve just been puttering about since placing the call and changing out of work clothes.

There’s a knock on the door and you say a quiet yes, before hurrying to answer. You open the door to two people on your doorstep instead of one.

“This your pizza?” the delivery boy asks. You nod, thank him, and hand him the money. He’s gone so you acknowledge the other person in front of you.

“How’d you know where I live?”

Jamie shrugs. “Asked Dr. Fieldstone. She isn’t as scary as she looks.”

“And why are you here?”

You place the pizza down on the small table in your entryway. It hasn’t escaped your notice that Jamie is practically standing in your doorframe now, inches away from you.

He wraps his hands in the front of his shirt. “Isaac was telling me about body science,” he says. “Been teaching me how to read people and shit based on how they move.”

You nod. Body language. Yeah, you know a thing or two about that.

“Anyway, he said you thought I was proper fit. Which is good, because I think you’re proper fit. But, just in case he were wrong, I thought I’d come over and give you a chance to tell me.”

His left hand is on the doorframe now, and you can see the top of his tattoo peeking out from under his bright orange hoodie. There is exactly one inch between you two as he slants his body toward yours.

“You can tell me to bugger off, if you want,” he murmurs. “Won’t hurt my feelings.”

You don’t say anything, just stand on your toes the tiniest bit so he has better access to your mouth.

You can feel his breath when he pulls away.

“Oh,” he says, “I didn’t come here for sex. Me mum raised a gentleman. I’d buy you a coupla dinners first.”

“Shut up and kiss me already, Tartt,” you say, and he’s grinning, free hand cupping the back of your head.

—

You think that’s probably the fastest you’ve ever gotten into a relationship.

“Labels are important, babe,” Jamie had said that night. “How else will you know if food is poisonous?”

You’re pretty sure he’s talking about checking for allergens, but you don’t correct him. You’re on your couch watching a movie with his arm around your shoulders. He’s playing with strands of your hair and it’s strange that you’re this comfortable with a boy you just met yesterday.

Because he is a boy. You’re the same age, but you feel impossibly, inadequately young. He plays it off as youthful exuberance, and you’re sure it’s an advantage on the pitch. Your age doesn’t feel like an advantage to you, but you can’t change it so you might as well just deal with what you’ve got.

You can be professional in the morning, but right now you’ve got a cute, fit boy who thinks you’re cute and fit and so far has not given off red flags. You’re extra alert ever since your call with Sharon, trying to pick up on every subtlety, but you stop trying as soon as Jamie rolls up a piece of pizza like a burrito and tries to fit it all in his mouth. You know that Sharon would have been the first to tell you if this was a bad idea, and the fact that she even told you Jamie was interested is basically like her giving her blessing.

Jamie leaves too soon, but he does so with your number in his phone and the promise of “a proper date,” as soon as you both can manage.

—

“A proper date,” turned into two proper dates, then three, then four, then seeing each other steadily throughout the weeks, then your first sleepover after the third week. Your skin was all tingly when Jamie invited you over to his for dinner, telling you he was going to cook for you. You knew exactly what was going to happen that night and made sure you were prepared.

You dressed nice, in clothes that gave him easy access to your skin underneath.

“Am I rushing this?” you had asked Sharon the day before. “I’m asking you as my mentor. Am I being an idiot?”

Sharon had taken a moment to consider before answering. “You’re smart for your age. And wise beyond your years. I don’t think you’re being an idiot. We can’t let our work consume us, no matter how important it is. You’re a brilliant therapist. You’re always giving yourself away to those around you. You deserve something for yourself, and you know how to pick a good one.”

You hugged her for those words. She seemed startled, but accepted it. You didn’t think life could get much better.

You were wrong. You discovered life could be so much better the moment Jamie’s hand slid under your skirt and you were kicking off your shoes on the way up the stairs.

“Stay,” he whispered when you were done. “It’s fuckin’ late anyway. You can use my shower and wear one of my shirts. I have an extra toothbrush. I fucking hate sleeping alone.”

So you’re in one of his t-shirts and your underwear, arms wrapped around Jamie’s waist.

You think what am I doing? but Jamie presses a soft, sleepy kiss to your temple and you think maybe you’re doing something right.

—

It’s been a hell of a week. You’re swamped, Jamie’s always at training, and neither of you have been able to make the time to see the other in days. Your inner arms are sore again, and your dinners with Sharon have been short and extremely clinical in a way you desperately need. However, once-a-week therapy is not enough to get rid of the feeling you have, and you wake up throughout the night holding your pillow as if it were Jamie.

You’ve gotten used to having his hand in yours, your head on his shoulder, knees touching and arms wrapped tight around your body. Having it taken away is worse than before, because at least then you didn’t really know what you were missing. Now, you feel as if you’re going to die unless someone does something, even if it’s just a high-five.

You’re sitting at your kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest as you review case notes. Your food has gone cold because all you can do is cry. You’re so tired and so lonely and it shouldn’t be this way, but it is and you’re just over it. There’s a knock at the door so you wipe your eyes and answer it, hoping you look normal.

It’s Jamie.

The moment you register who it is, you’re launching yourself into his arms, wrapping around him like a spider monkey. He laughs. “Hello to you too,” he says, spinning you around. He stops when he feels you shaking in his arms.

“Oi,” he says, frowning a little, “you alright, love?”

He can feel tears on his neck.

“Babe,” he says, “did something happen at work?”

You shake your head, face still buried into the crook of his neck. “I just missed you,” you croak, voice muffled.

Jamie chuckles at that. You’re lucky he’s strong, because he’s able to carry you to the couch like it’s nothing, kicking the door shut behind him without losing his balance. He settles with you in his arms, rubbing a pattern on your back.

“It’s alright, love, I’m here,” he says, and you’ve never been more grateful for the fact that he calls you love more than your actual name. It’s like he’s always reminding you how he feels about you.

You just hold him tighter, letting the terrible feeling you had all week fade away. When it’s mostly gone, you pull away so you can look him in the face.

“I- I have this thing,” you say. Jamie looks concerned.

“Are you dyin’?” he asks.

“No!” you reply. “No, I’m not dying. I have- I’m touch-deprived. I let it get really bad sometimes and then I can physically feel it. You can look it up, it’s a real thing.” You don’t know why you feel the need to defend yourself. Jamie’s just looking at you, all quiet seriousness.

“That what it’s called?” he asks. “I know what you mean. Fucking had it two years ago. Used to egg Roy on just so he’d push me around and the lads’d have to hold me back. Wasn’t near me mum anymore, so I didn’t have anyone to hug me or anything. Sounds dumb, but… I just needed someone to touch me. Like if they didn’t, it meant I didn’t exist. Fucking mental.”

“Mental,” you agree.

Jamie smiles. “You’re the fucking best, you know that?” he asks. “I’m never bored when I’m with you. Came over to see if you wanted to watch a movie or play video games.”

He’s stroking your cheek with one hand, other still wrapped around your back.

You smile back. “I really, really love you Jamie Tartt. I’ll play video games, I just don’t want to play FIFA.”

Jamie’s smile drops. “Shit,” he says, and you think it’s because you don’t want to play his favorite video game. “You weren’t supposed to say it first, I was. I was gonna tell you tonight anyway.”

“It’s not a big deal, babe,” you say.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s a big fuckin’ deal. Now I’ve got to make it up to you.”

“No you don’t,” you say.

“Yes I do,” he replies. “I’m gonna tell you every fucking day how much I love you. I’ll drive home early from away games just to hug you. I want you to always feel like you have the love you deserve.”

You’re at a loss for words.

“Cat got your tongue, don’t it?” Jamie asks cheekily. “Not a problem, babe. I know how to get it back.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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soullikethesea · 4 days

Text

I'm somewhat calmer now, but still a bit triggered. Calmer because I wrote & sent a letter to my Old T, outlining the things I still wanted to say to her. It was a balanced and kind letter, which sticks to my values.

Then again, the triggered feelings that come up point towards hurt that perhaps would have warranted more boundaries on my side. More clearly admitting that she was in a position of power and clearly had (has?) some unresolved issues.

And I'm left with a feeling of re-traumatization. I could have expected that, maybe, but I hadn't.

The feeling: Maybe some people are lost.

I don't think there was any solution for me as a kid/teenager/young adult. I'm sad that old T didn't keep on liking me, that I was too challenging and too troubled. I think I can conclude that I was too challenging and troubling in general. For anyone.

I'm my own adult now and I must firmly, firmly say that no parts are too challenging and troubling for me. I am the adult for my parts now, the one that I needed. One that has enough patience and compassion. I know that we have good inside. Mae was speaking up for justice, not to hurt anyone. I needed help that I could count on, not a therapist who would be fascinated by dissociation, tell me I had DID and then deny that she ever said that. How confusing and disorienting was that? She also said that I should try to push my boundaries sexually and that was ultimately extremely bad advice for me. I don't think she really could have known that, so I don't blame her for that. But man... I just want to scoop up my past self and take them away from the bad situations. Oof.

Maybe the trauma made me impossible to parent, help, save, continue to like over time. I am going to grieve that.

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lykaios2 · 1 year

Note

You don’t have to do this, this is just me asking, but do you think you could do a yonder ROTTMNT brothers x autistic reader? (separate of course)

my good [insert gender neutral term used to reference a person here], if you put something into my inbox I am going to write it

anyway uh little disclaimer: I may be self diagnosed with autism but by no means does that make me an expert, people's experiences are different and I don't mean to stick stereotypes on people

anyways hope you enjoy! ❤️

Leo:

-Leo thinks you’re adorable

-All of your little stims and fidget toys

-But a lot of his romantic gestures seem to be off the table

-He loves looking into your eyes, but he doesn’t like it when you don’t look into his

-He’ll turn your face towards his so he can see your beautiful eyes

-Sometimes you’ll tear up because you’re uncomfortable from the long period of eye contact

-But he only thinks it makes your eyes more beautiful

-He is also very fond of picking you up out of nowhere

-While he knows you don’t like being scared like that, it’s the only way other than holding hands that he can be close to you

-(But sometimes he’ll break into your home at night and cuddle with you while you sleep)

Raph:

-Raph loves taking care of youHe knows very well that you need some extra help sometimes

-And he’s very glad that he’s the one that can give it to you

-His favorite thing is giving you bear hugs to help with your sensory issues

-In that moment, you’re safe in his arms, and he’s the only one you’ll ever need

-But he doesn’t like when other people help you

-He’s supposed to be your one and only savior

-The only one who knows what you need, that can help you

-One time you asked if you could go see a therapist to help with your anxiety, and he got very upset

-“Why would you need to go see anyone else? I’m all you’ll ever need, babe…no one else knows you like I do. They can’t help you like I can. You don’t need to see a therapist.”

-He said in such a loving tone that you were even convinced he was right…

Mikey:

-Mikey puts you first

-He knows everything that you need

-He is so eager to help you, in fact, that sometimes he goes a little overboard

-Every day he gives you a new fidget toy to use

-And he gets very sad if you reject his offer

-(Even though you already have hundreds)

-He tends to treat you like a kid

-Asking how your day’s been, if you need anything

-He cooks you food, drives you everywhere, puts you to bed

-It gets a little annoying sometimes, being treated like that

-But if anyone were to even lay a finger on you, he goes full defensive mode

-God forbid anyone insult you

Donnie:

-As someone who also has autism, he understands your needs

-But he still gets a little frustrated sometimes

-He wants to love you, but you make it a little hard sometimes

-His unexpected hugs from behind often make you jump, which he doesn’t like

-Your need to be alone more often than usual makes him mad

-Whenever you’re stressed or anxious, he tries to calm you down with hugs and kisses, which only makes it worse

-He has fidget toys on hand for you, because he knows those will always calm you down

-He gets mad whenever he has to use them, though

-He doesn’t like that something else has your attention more

-He also doesn’t understand why his love won't calm you down

-Your love and affection will calm him down, so why doesn’t it work the other way around?

-And sure, you may have autism, but so does he

-So why can he be the only “normal” one in the relationship?

#lykaios writes #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2018 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #donnie rottmnt #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt leo #raph rottmnt #yandere raph #yandere leonardo #yandere mikey #yandere donatello #rottmnt x y/n #rottmnt x reader

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seaweedstarshine · 5 months

Note

Hi! Long time no yap but I've been really bothered by this thing and I know you're just the person I can go to with this (even if we don't always end up agreeing at times).

I got into a tiff with someone in a comments section of a post that was about Amy (Which character do you think deserved to become a villain? or something similar). They brought up Amy's abuse of her boyfriend. I may have tried to defend Amy (key word is tried. I am officially rubbish at debating) but then I may have said something? Because they said that I (and apparently a lot of other fans) was excusing Amy's abuse because of her trauma. It got me stumped because isn't young Amy's treatment of Rory rooted in her trauma? Did I miss the memo where we separate trauma and abuse? Am I missing something?

That statement bothered me a lot because if there's one thing I never want to do it's defend an abuser. So here I am, humbly asking and hoping to clear the muddy waters.

Your really confused and disturbed moot, Tia 💌

TIA!!!!! Thanks for the ask 💌 , and I send you all the hugs.

Discussion of abuse, trauma, ableism, infidelity, and unhealthy relationship dynamics beneath the cut.

(First off… while I really appreciate your faith in my explaining skills <3 <3 <3 my passion for traumatized characters and mentally ill+neurodivergent rights doesn't make me especially qualified to fully clear muddy waters especially not knowing the full context, but I feel you, and what follows is my informed perspective!)

Speaking generally first, harm done in media is best examined by the impact on the audience, with a different lens than harm done to real people. While relatable experiences in media can be useful and validating and incredibly important, you can’t be “defending an abuser” when the abuse is fictional. It's actually normal for traumatized/ND/mentally ill people to project onto mentally ill villains, when villains are the only significant representation for those stigmatized symptoms in a media landscape that excludes and demonizes us simply for existing. RTD can't stop people who hallucinate from reclaiming the Master's Drums and projecting onto the Master, for example — 90% of the best Doctor Who psychosis fic by psychotic authors is about the Master, whether RTD likes it or not. It's not true crime.

(This is speaking generally. Amy Pond is very much not the Master.)

Abuse is a behavior, and there can be many reasons for it, but reasons based in trauma don’t make it not abuse (some forms of generational trauma can propagate abusive parenting styles, when the parent thinks abusive parenting is normal, or lives entirely vicariously through their child). This absolutely should not be taken to mean trauma correlates with abusive behavior; rather that abusive behaviors from traumatized people are more likely to present in specific ways.

Abuse is also a targeted behavior, based in control — not consistently displayed C-PTSD symptoms as seen in Season 5 Amy Pond through many aspects of her life. Mental health symptoms don't become abuse just because they hinder one partner from meeting the other partner's needs. Any life event can do that.

Without knowing the context of the arguments, this is the aspect of their relationship I've seen you talk about before (which I also feel strongly about), and what I assume is what you were debating? So, here I will talk specifically in regard to Season 5.

We all know Amy — she's never attached to Leadworth because she never wanted to leave Scotland, no steady therapist because none of them stick up for her, can't stick with one job yet her first choice is a job that simulates intimacy because her avoidant behavior (a known trauma response) isn't sustainable to her wellbeing. Rory knows her fears of commitment stem from her repeated abandonments, it’s why he’ll always wait for her, and it's why he blames the Doctor “You make it so they don't want to let you down.”, who apart from having caused a lot of her trauma, has actively taken advantage of her being the “Scottish girl in the English village” who's “still got that accent,” because he wants to feel important, so yeah, I think interpreting Amy's issues (and how Amy and Rory transverse them) as Amy abusing Rory indicates a fundamental misunderstanding of their relationship, as well as a misunderstanding of the (raggedy) Doctor’s role in Amy’s formative self-image (which of course she works through in Season 6, but I am sticking to Season 5).

Abuse is always based in control. That just doesn’t fit here. While Amy's detachment from her real life includes things like calling Rory her “kind of boyfriend” (which she is upfront about to his face; differing commitment levels isn't abuse, though it can be a relationship red flag for both parties IRL) — her Season 5 disregard of Rory’s feelings occurs only in response to the fairytale embodiment of her trauma. It's never a response to Rory; it's a response to the Doctor, who stole her childhood and led her by the hand to her death. She cheats on Rory with the Doctor in her bedroom full of Doctor toys, drawings, models, she made from childhood to early adulthood.

(And yes, like many repeatedly-traumatized people, Amy is prone to being sensitive and reactive. Take her “Well, shut up then!” line in The Big Bang; but given Rory responds to this by hugging her, clearly he doesn’t take it as her actually dismissing him. He knows her better than that.)

And by no means do I meant to imply this is fair to young Rory, poor Rory, who's left struggling with the feeling that his role in her life is in competition with the role of her trauma (aka the Doctor). But not every unhealthy relationship dynamic is unhealthy because of abuse. Labelling Amy's treatment of Rory in Season 5 more accurately isn't the same as excusing her harmful choices — but making mistakes is part of being human, Amy's mistakes are certainly understandable, and she works through them out of love for Rory.

If there's one thing to say about Moffat women, it's that Moffat allows his female characters the same grace that the male characters *coughTENcough* have always had, to hurt and struggle and make realistic mistakes and overcome those mistakes and to heal without being demonized.

Amy isn't perfect, but she is a fully realized character, and her story gives us a resonant depiction of childhood trauma.

#abuse #rtd critical #anti rtd #im NOT really anti rtd but im tagging it that because some people block that tag and uhhhh this post strays into rtd critique #maybe he does regret how he wrote the master! we'll never know because rtd is very anti-admitting-his-own-mistakes #words by seaweed #anyways tia i am. SO relieved you’re not upset with me about our last disagreement?#i high key jumped to conclusions after the lack of reply to the last DM? so thank you for this ask it's great to hear from you #sorry you were in a debate about this! that sounds extremely awful.#anyway i'm gonna WAIT at least a week to tag Amy and Rory to avoid this showing up in the character tags right away haha #because I am KINDA scared the anti-media-literacy ppl will find this (I had to include the first part tho its important)#(lack of distinction between harm to audience *in fiction* and irl harm *to actual ppl* leads to problematic public apologies where-#-public figures apologize to fans they let down *instead* of the people they actually hurt. no it doesn't work like that)#(parasocial relationships are not more important than real victims agency or privacy)#and I am planning to make a post at some point about the nd aspects of Amy+the Doctor's connection which this stuff IS relevant to soooooo #am I going hard on specifying Season 5 Amy to under the assumption that the uncharacteristic Rory-slapping isnt whats bein talked abt?#maybe. its not in character.#editing to say..... yanno what? ive come to terms with not all the posts with the following tag been about the doctor #(eleventh) doctor is neurodivergent tag #editing again to add character tags:#Amy pond #Rory williams

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crazy-pages · 4 months

Text

This Stuff Sinks In Deep

So I was talking to my mother the other day.

She's a therapist, one of her specialties is eating disorders. She's been doing this since literally before eating disorder certifications were a thing with the APA. She got into it because she had anorexia herself and was helped by therapy. And I think maybe she's developed orthorexia in spite of overcoming that, as age has started to affect her body. She's considered to be one of the best eating disorder therapists in my hometown, a city with one of the highest per capita concentration of psychologists in the US and also one of thinnest, which is relevant here.

Well when we were talking, she mentioned anorexia's BMI criteria. (And yeah she knows BMI is an absurdity of a metric, but she was not questioning the concept of anorexia having a fat-related criteria.)

So I laughed and said, "Hah, the best criteria for anorexia, the criteria which makes the majority of anorexia 'atypical'."

And this is where things get sad.

Because I'm up to date on 'atypical' anorexia research. How the majority of anorexics actually do not meet the BMI criteria and are therefore considered 'atypical', but nevertheless experience the same behavioral symptoms, thought patterns, health consequences (including the cardiovascular and bone stuff that sticks with you), morbidity correlations, mortality rates, etc. I'm even familiar with the research of someone living in the area near my mother, on how atypical anorexics have worse outcomes actually, because of massively delayed treatment (on the order of years). Because, you know. I'm a research scientist and I grew up cutting my teeth on my mom's psych research journals. And I listen to Maintenance Phase which is how I learned about the researcher near her (hey sometimes pop culture science is how you find sources). And you know. It's my mom's thing and she's important to me. Of course I still keep up with this stuff.

And my mom said, "What?"

"You know. 'Atypical' anorexia? The majority of actual anorexia cases? People who meet every other criteria but just don't reach the supposed BMI threshold? Have the same symptoms? 'Atypical' anorexia? Why what do you call it?" (I assumed she had some less nonsense term for it than 'atypical' anorexia, so atypical anorexia didn't immediately register for her.)

"What?"

"The ... the diagnosis? Atypical anorexia? Same exact diagnostic criteria and presentation as anorexia nervosa except for the BMI criteria? Same health outcomes? Sufferers experience additional difficulties seeking treatment?" (She's my mom, she was just having a brain fart about the term. I learned everything I know about anorexia from her. Right?)

"Uh, are you talking about one of those new agey disorders people sometimes throw around, that's not in the DSM 5? Those aren't necessarily reliable you know. I think you're thinking of binge eating."

"What?! Mom, no, no no no. Atypical anorexia nervosa. Same symptoms, but the person has a higher minimum weight before the body stops losing mass. Or you know, shuts down and dies."

"Sweetie I don't think that's a real thing. That's not in the DSM, at the very least."

"?!?!?!?!" (Maybe she's right, there's sometimes bias against the inclusion of disorders which bring focus to systemic medical malpractice.)

*ten seconds of internet search later*

"Uhhh, no mom. It's right there. In the DSM 5 for 11 years now. Atypical anorexia nervosa. More people have it than 'typical' anorexia nervosa. It's the most common presentation of the disease you specialize in?" (at this point my voice was getting kind of thin and reedy)

And my mom just. Had no idea. Didn't really want to hear it either. I pulled sources. Got her to pull up the DSM definition for herself. But she stayed wedded to the idea that anorexia is defined by weight and that someone with an eating disorder who didn't hit the anorexic threshold (or wasn't on their way there) must be something other than anorexic. They must be periodically binging, or that it was a way to describe temporary disordered dieting or-

My mom's helped a lot of people with anorexia over the years.

After that call I ended up staring at the ceiling and wondering how many people with it she's hurt, because she thought they couldn't have anorexia. How many of her own clients might be in the population sample of that local researcher who investigated the harms done to 'atypical' anorexics by a medical system that refuses to recognize their symptoms.

There's the obvious and brutal story here, about how deep fatphobia goes in medicine, even among those who heal its consequences. But also...

To my friends? If we're ever talking and you realize I'm stuck in mental rut like this, fixated on some old conception of something, just ... I dunno. Say "red light". That'll be the signal for me to shut the fuck up and treat whatever you're about to say really seriously, with the assumption I have gone terribly astray.

#anorexia #eating disorders #family #atypical anorexia #with big quotation marks on atypical #personal

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agro-carnist · 2 years

Text

Now that I'm slightly less in the spotlight, I'd like to talk about what has been going on and give my side. I'm sure you've all seen what has been said about me, but in case you haven't, this will include a discussion about zoophilia, zoosadism, pedophilia, and taboo kink/fetish.

I've taken several days to write this because I needed to clear my head so I could write something concise. I did not want to immediately write something too quickly that I couldn't think through.

I don't expect anyone to completely understand me or totally agree with my opinions, but I am writing this with full sincerity. I'd just like a little bit of faith when you read this. My positions are based on the science that I read, and I try to be someone that sticks to the side of evidence, not one of pure feelings or assumptions or what we think is common sense, even when it is difficult to understand or seems counterintuitive. I've always preached this principle on here, so I hope you all feel the same way. I ask that you read this with that in mind. Even if you don't reach the same conclusion as me, consider what I say and what I give with good faith.

All linked sources with restricted access can be read by copy/pasting the url or title into sci-hub

First, that twitter account is mine. The art contained on the twitter account is mine. Yes it is graphic. No I am not a zoophile, zoosadist, or pedophile. I understand this kind of art is disgusting and/or disturbing to many people. That is why I kept it on an account specifically for this kind of extreme art. It is why I don't advertise it. I am not secretive about my kinks/fetishes - I enjoy things like gore, noncon, and animal characters - but I know when and where these kinds of things are appropriate. Some of my art is not meant for a general audience. I won't advertise it to anyone and everyone to see because it can be upsetting to most people. That's also why I give plenty of content warnings and include the twitter censor that blurs the image and you have to click 'show' on to see. And that's why I believe posting screenshots of this material with my username, showing everyone exactly where to go to find this content, is irresponsible. I know the people that posted it think they're doing a service, but this is how children find content they shouldn't see. Callouts are how people find things they otherwise would never see. I, personally, don't think calling people out this way helps kids. I think it does more harm than good. My twitter was public but is now private because I don't want curious minors to look me up and look at what is on the account.

I understand that it can be hard to know why someone would enjoy erotic art of violence between animal characters without being a zoophile/zoosadist. But there are many reasons people enjoy taboo erotica without desiring it in the real world. About half of people experience paraphilic sexual fantasies, and the fantasies alone are not indicative of pathology. Deviant sexual fantasies are, in fact, "within the normal realm of human experience." There is little evidence that fantasy alone means someone wants to or will commit a sexual offense. Forced sex fantasies are extremely common. Violent sexual fantasies are not abnormal. Sex therapists and educators acknowledge that fantasies are not necessarily repressed desires. Sexual fantasy is not sexual desire. It's ok for our sexual interests to not reflect our moral code. Often taboo sexual fantasies are a way to explore how we feel about things, like repulsion. Humans are curious animals. We have morbid curiosities. Fantasies can be a way to experience something that would be immoral to act upon.

Why I am into taboo kink is hard to explain, and a lot of it I don't understand myself - human minds are very complex - but I can try to explain some of it. I enjoy exploring the darker parts of humanity. We're still animals and that means we still hold onto aspects that don't align with our morals. We have morbid curiosities. When we pass by a car crash, we want to see it, or when someone tells us something disturbing is spreading on the internet, we take interest in what it could be. Art is a way to fulfill that curiosity without any victims. Another thing is that it can be fun or therapeutic to imagine yourself in situations of bodily harm. That's probably confusing, but I like to explore what my body looks like on the inside, or what it would feel like to experience certain physical traumas, without the threat of dying. Fear and arousal are closely intertwined. The animal characters I draw are also very far removed from real world animals. They are sapient and behave very human. To me the only difference between them and an anthro furry character is the number of legs they walk on and the lack of clothes.

Because I draw this kind of content, many people are claiming that I am faking having ZOCD and my intrusive thoughts, or that my intrusive thoughts have turned into wanted thoughts. They say that if I really was distressed by these thoughts, I wouldn't engage with them through art. But my intrusive thoughts are about real people and animals. I do not have intrusive thoughts about characters. I watch movies and read books with murder, kidnapping, torture, disease, and freak accidents and enjoy these pieces of media. This does not negate the fact that I have intrusive thoughts about these things or the distress I feel regarding them. Someone getting hurt in a movie does not distress me. My intrusive thoughts include ideas of me or a loved one getting hurt, or me suddenly hurting someone. Intrusive thoughts target your fears and your morals. They make you question who you are as a person. That's why thoughts of real world violence are so distressing and depictions of violence in media are (usually) not. I fear losing someone I love, I fear losing a part of my mind or body, I fear losing control of my humanity and hurting someone, I fear loss of inhibition that makes me do things I wouldn't otherwise do. I don't fear hurting a character or a character doing a bad thing to another character. When I'm obsessing and becoming paranoid it's not over things that happen in fictional worlds. My therapist doesn't have to reassure me that I'll be ok if something bad happens in that fictional world. She does have to reassure me that the world isn't out to get me and that I don't have to act on a thought. Others with OCD might find media that resembles the content of their intrusive thoughts triggering, and that's normal, but not everyone will react the same. Not everyone copes with their mental illnesses the same way or has the same triggers. Most violent depictions just don't garner that same reaction from me because I don't have any moral qualms with fake people or animals getting hurt since they aren't real victims. It doesn't attack my moral beliefs that way. It may be upsetting to see, but doesn't make me fear for my or others' safety.

I love horror movies and haunted houses. I love the adrenaline and fear I experience during them. But I still metaphorically shit my pants at the thought of an actual serial killer stalking me and jumping out of a hiding spot. The difference is that the former exists in a safe space that I can leave and where I know it's a script. How I feel about a scenario in fiction does not dictate how I feel about it happening in the real world. To tell me that I don't actually have the disorder that I've been diagnosed with is extremely upsetting. So is to tell me I'm hiding secret bloodthirsty desires behind a mental illness or that I'm making OCD look bad by not having a moral conundrum about fake people or animals being hurt. I especially don't appreciate people that don't have OCD preaching about what "real" intrusive thoughts are or what I should or should not be doing while having OCD. The things that have been said to or about me have been undeniably ableist. And the distress that has caused me has just been brushed aside because I don't adhere to what people think I as a person with OCD "should" act like. I feel like I'm not being granted agency over my own experiences.

I am even being compared to some of the worst people like Kero the wolf or HypnotistSappho. I hope you believe me when I say that is truly disgusting and offensive. These were the kinds of people that belonged to groups for sharing material of real animals being tortured for sexual pleasure, or tried to start an organization to promote bestiality, or openly promoted zoophilia and pedophilia as normal sexual orientations, or actively abused children and animals. I have not done anything like that. My artistic expression is nothing like their real world, extensive and widespread levels of abuse. I am so offended that I'd spend years spreading animal welfare advocacy, including explicitly anti-bestiality rhetoric, only to be lumped in with monsters, like my art erases all the work I've done. How someone could believe I actually desire to torture animals baffles me. How someone could think all this work was just master manipulation to con everyone so I could secretly abuse leaves my head spinning.

I also haven't ever claimed that my nsfw art is a coping mechanism for my OCD/intrusive thoughts. This is an assumption people have made. Occasionally elements of my intrusive thoughts will make their way into my art as a way to confront them head on on my own terms, but almost always are not a factor in my nsfw art. Art based on my intrusive thoughts as catharsis I don't share publicly.

Yes, I enjoy hurting fictional characters. They exist in a world with no consequences. Nobody actually gets hurt. Anything can happen to them and nothing about the world changes. I have no desire to hurt an animal, because that impacts the real world. I have never looked at an animal and felt excitement at the idea of hurting it. I have never felt attraction to an animal. I have never felt the urge to make sexual contact with an animal. I have never experienced attraction to a child, either.

I am also being accused of being a pedophile. This is because I made a tweet saying I enjoy explicitly abusive relationships between adult and minor characters, but don't enjoy minor/adult ships depicted as cute or wholesome. People interpret this as me having a malicious desire to abuse a child. But here's the thing: you don't know why someone enjoys a certain dynamic. Many people that like to see abusive relationships depicted in stories or erotica are survivors of abuse themselves. Many people use kink as a coping mechanism, and the stigma of their kink play often hinders them from trauma recovery. Like I said before, kink and fantasy are not morality guidebooks. This also assumes every character drawn in ship art or erotica is an object of attraction to those that create or consume it. But even porn can serve a purpose other than arousal. Personally I just like these dynamics because they offer a compelling story and/or character interactions that can explore trauma and its effects and can feel therapeutic to work through.

Art does not exist in a vacuum. I don't argue it does. Art is influenced by its creator. But you can't look at the content of someone's kink or fantasy to judge the quality of someone's character. This is the position of professionals that study and counsel people. Whether or not someone commits a sexual offense is more influenced by that person's personality traits, moral positions, pre-existing positive beliefs about offending, environment, and negative emotional states. And, look, fiction does indeed effect reality, but there is little evidence that porn encourages someone to offend or results in more violent offenses. Availability of porn may even be associated with lower levels of sexual aggression. This professional report goes into great detail on sexual offending and concludes that there is no reason "scientific or otherwise" for criminalization of any type of virtual porn because it does not lead to offending, and may even provide a substitute for people that may otherwise offend. Even if you find that content reprehensible. Offensive art has its place and deserves to exist. That is the position I have come to based on the scientific evidence.

And I want to make another thing clear: I am not a proshipper. Disliking the position of one group does not make me a member of a different group. I have no desire to put myself in a category, I just have my own opinions. I also have plenty of issues with the proship community. I just now look at fiction and kink with more nuance than I used to. I don't participate in fearmongering based on knee-jerk reactions to media anymore.

Going forward I'm going to do my best to be more responsible with my nsfw accounts. Any interactions I've made with minors are honest mistakes. I genuinely don't want to expose minors to my nsfw or interact with them. I don't go out seeking minors to talk to. But I know interacting with minors through an nsfw account is serious, so I'm going to do better to police myself and always check that no one I'm interacting with is underage.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Sadly I expect many people won't read this, they'll just continue to repeat "zoophile" and "pedophile." But I really appreciate you if you took the time to read. I know many people really do want to be good and believe they are protecting people by engaging in callouts against people for their fictional interests. I think most people have their hearts in the right place but are misguided by the current culture. And I don't mind if you disagree with me, but I always want people to take their positions with the most information. I want there to be honest discussions about these topics, not naming and shaming people.

I might make updates to this post if I think of things I forgot to address. Like I said, it's been many days of my head buzzing and this post is also very long. I welcome any good faith questions or concerns. People that come just to attack in bad faith will just be blocked. I won't humor that. Please meet me with the same honesty I came with. I want to continue to do good.

-Agro

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