#And so bad psychologically is something that should be studied

[chaotictissuebox]

putting this here too because I just couldn’t resist it’s their motif man

[hazzzyrider]

Talking to an open field. I really would like to encourage people to step out of the anti-DSM-5-TR / psychology / psychiatry to ask yourself if you are being reasonably doubtful about its flaws or are you slowly slipping into anti-mental health / conspiracy theory behavior.

[yoohyeon]

Saw that the Tumblr icon on my iPad changed so I went to see what’s up and WE FINALLY CAN REPLY WITH THE BLOG WE WANT !!! THANK YOU !!! Now staff make it so when you block someone it’s block on all sb too thanks I’m tired of blocking 3 times

[starry-bi-sky]

Who is the more well-adjusted twin; Damian, or Danyal? Why, it's Damian, of course!

And I have an explanation for this! But first I wanna preface this that this is just me like, rambling about this thought I have and it's not an attack on the trope as a whole. I love the Danyal Al Ghul au which is why i'm so deeply passionate about it, because I think it has a lot of potential to be explored. It's no secret that I've mentioned before that I think Danny's psychological development tends to get overlooked and underutilized in DAG aus, and the impact that growing up in an assassin league often goes ignored. This is just me further expanding on that.

Now lets set the stage! This is specifically for Danny who is adopted by the Fentons later down in life. Lets go twin au. At 10 years old, Damian goes to the Wayne Family, Danny is adopted by the Fentons (regardless of their affiliation with the League). By 14 years old, who ends up the better adjusted, more socially aware, spiritually in-tune with themselves, sibling? Why, Damian is! Why is that?

Because he has the actual support he needs compared to Danny. And I'm not talking about good or bad parents Fentons, because either way my opinion doesn't change. Damian would end up the better off twin, because, frankly, his family knows his background. They know he grew up in the League, they know what the League's teachings are, and they know he's a born and raised assassin. Knowing this, they can then help tackle and dismantle the teachings and lessons he has been given and ingrained into by the League. They may be a dysfunctional family, but they're functional enough to at least actively help deprogram all of the League's teachings that have been ingrained in Damian throughout his childhood.

Can't say the same for Danny.

Lets say Fentons here don't know his background -- and even if they do, the results may just stay the same if they play their cards wrong, -- Danny's now just been thrown into the deep end of a pool and is essentially being told sink or swim. Regardless of how he got there -- undercover, faked death, etc -- he has no proper support. He knows the League is meant to be secret, he's not gonna speak on it for various reasons. Whether it be some still lingering loyalty, fear of harm, or whatever. Whatever the reason is, he does not have a proper support system in the Fentons, no matter how nice they are. They can only tackle the surface level stuff and whatever Danny allows them to see -- if Danny ever lets them see it at all. For what do assassins do when they don't want to be caught? They hide. Sometimes in plain sight.

"But Jazz--" Jazz is a child. She is 2 years older than Danyal and no better at giving him a proper support system than the two adult Fenton parents, even with parentification. We don't know when she got into psychology or how long she'd been studying it by the time Danny's 14. We just know she's really into it. Even then, Jazz is not a licensed or reliable therapist, or even an experienced or implied good therapist, and should not be used as one either. It's a disservice to her character to reduce her down to 'supporting female emotional crutch'. Besides, therapy only works on people who want to get better. Danny, who'd be hiding who he really is, has very little incentive to want to, or to even think something is wrong with his way of thinking, even with exposure to the outside world.

When people's beliefs are outright challenged, they tend to double down on them, and Jazz canonically has a habit of psychoanalyzing her family and declaring what she thinks is the problem -- regardless of whether or not she's right about it. Jazz would get into psychology, try and psychoanalyze Danny, and all it would do is cause him to clam up, shut into himself further, and throw up even more walls so that she can't figure out that he has been lying this whole time. It would do more harm than good, and would actively hinder any progress he'd make in trying to open up to them. Roads and good intentions and all that.

That being said, I think Danny's development and dismantling of the League's teachings would be slower than Damian's. Much slower. Because he would be the one having to pick apart everything and figure out what is right, what is wrong, what he wants to keep, and what he wants to toss. Everything he unlearns would be stuff he has to unlearn himself. If he even gets to that point at all -- depending on his experiences, he very well could not change at all, or change very little. The League acts as a purge for humanity, meant to reign in their hubris and retain balance, they just also happen to be assassins for hire. Danny's time spent in Amity Park could as well strengthen his belief in their teachings just as much as it could weaken it, especially if it goes as canon and he gets bullied.

Regardless, being tossed to a civilian family as someone who is very much not a civilian, without any support, would be actively detrimental to Danny's overall mental health and development. Especially to strangers like the Fentons. Damian was closed off and standoffish even with blood family, and it took him time to open up to them -- Danny, with the Fentons, would be even more so. He doesn't know them, he doesn't trust them, he has no rhyme or reason to open up to them, and since the Fentons don't actually know him, they can't help him the way he needs. Once "Danny Fenton" is made, he has even less reason to open up. So long as Danyal allows it, they will only ever know Danny, and they'll never know Danyal.

TL:DR the Fentons aren't the better family option just because they're civilians, and actually that makes them the worser option between the two because they can't give Danny the proper support he needs. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

[slvt4em1lyprenti2s]

Forbidden Love: Chapter 1 Next Chapter

Shy?

Masterlist

Criminal Minds Masterlist Emily Prentiss Masterlist

Summary: Professor!Emily x fem!student reader, what happens when profesor prentiss and the reader finally give into their feelings?

Word count: 1.5k

TW: Making out, I think that’s it?

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x female reader

A/N: Should I make this a series? Idk it might be fun!

Studying behavioural profiling is, well, different. It’s like science, criminology and psychology and smooshed into one subject. But the best thing about it, you ask? The teacher. Emily Prentiss is the most divine woman to ever step foot on this earth and no one can tell me otherwise. The way she strides along the front of the lecture all, her raven hair that falls in front of her face when she bends down to click something on her laptop, her eyes that always seem to find mine in a room full of students, her veiny hands that brush over mine when giving back a test. Ugh god, I swear I’m falling in love with this woman. 

It’s 7:45 am on a Wednesday and I’m walking across campus so I can get to lesson a little early to touch up my notes from my other class with Agent Morgan and to go over my- okay I’m bullshtting I just want to see Emily. And to be honest, I think I’m one of her more favourite students so I think she doesn’t mind me being early. 

I push open the door to the lecture hall and start walking down the steps, laptop bag slung over my shoulder that contained notebooks, pens, pencils etc, all the essentials. In my hand I held a travel coffee mug with my favourite hot chocolate in it because I wasn’t too partial to coffee. As I reach the front row I notice that Professor Prentiss has been following me with her eyes and watching the sway of my hips as I walked in. ”Morning Professor.” I try to say as if her eyes all over me weren’t causing a blush to creep up my neck. I took a quick check behind me finding out I was the only one in the room. 

“Hi, y/n. How are you today?” She asked her eyes staring into mine, genuinely curious.

”Good thank you, tired but good, what about you?” I smile as she chuckles lightly at my comment.

“Just about the same as you darling.” She replies with a smirk on her face seeing my face instantly bloom with red at the pet name. I shuffle my bag slightly before she says “I was out on a case for the last two or so days and I, only just, made it back in time to teach you guys. Lucky me hey? The only reason I’m even slightly okay with having to wake up at the ass crack of dawn is because of students like you. You actually listen and care, god knows that kind of work ethic is rare these days.” Emily looks exhausted and about ready to jump into bed at any second but the words that she said seem to cloud my head so I don’t pay much attention to her disheveled state. 

Students like me? What does that even mean? Well, she explained what it meant but I still wasn’t convinced. Nonetheless I responded “Yeah, it really is. All the people in this class want to be profilers or something along the lines of such and yet none of them take their education seriously. I want to throw something at them every time they talk over you. I might actually do it one day, it's so annoying!” She smiles fondly at my words making a cage of butterflies escape into my stomach and I smile back. 

“Now, I can’t have you throwing things at people, can I now sweetheart? That’ll get you kicked off the course. And I don’t think you want that, I certainly don’t want that, and besides don’t worry about the others. You’re doing amazing ah, that reminds me can you stay behind at the end? I just want to speak to you about your grade on our most recent exam. It’s nothing bad, I promise. You’ve done exceptionally well, in fact so well that I want to talk to you about further opportunities you have open to you.” She places her hand on my shoulder as we now stand face to face, she got up halfway through talking to lean on the front of her desk. I smile and subconsciously lean into her touch. The remains of the blush from the pet names yet again lingers but I say a small “Thank you Professor.” 

At that moment the door to the lecture hall swings open revealing another student in their own little world unaware of the building tension in the room. I give her one last smile and go make my way to a seat in the front row. I get out my laptop and notebook and start writing the dates and titles. I could feel eyes on me the whole time, I look up and lock eyes with Emily, finding her already looking at me. She sent me a wink and glanced back down at whatever she was working on. A crimson flush invaded my face and I returned my eyes to my page.

After the lesson I packed up slower than normal so that I’d be able to stay behind a little longer than she probably ment. I put my laptop in my bag and zip it up and grab my now empty hot chocolate. I walk up to Profesor Prentiss’ desk and find she’s already looking at me, again. 

“You know, you should stop staring at me so much. People might get the wrong idea.” I say, suddenly feeling confident, a teasing smirk on my lips. 

“What if I want them to get the wrong idea? What if I want them to think you’re mine?” I quickly shut up at that remark, all my confidence suddenly disappeared and I turned into putty. Heat rose to my cheeks and my head dipped to avoid her piercing gaze, it wasn’t mean, more admiration. But, any look from Emily Prentiss is intense. “Cat got your tongue honey?” She had a shit eating grin on her face as she saw me nod slowly. 

“Anyway, your grade! Okay you scared the highest in the class, and you got full marks. This isn’t anything new for you I'm sure, you’re a bright young woman. But, scoring this high in a test this hard, it opens doors for you. So, I’m here to offer you a chance to shadow me and the team for a week to see how we handle cases and what the job entails really. I also wanted to let you know that if you have any interest in joining the team I would accept you in a heartbeat. You’re a brilliant profiler.” Yet again for what feels like the millionth time today, heat rises to my cheeks. She stalks the way round her desk and stands in front of it. 

“That sounds amazing, oh my god, really?” A smile broke out on my face immediately. She looked pleased at my reaction and took a step closer. 

“Yeah of course really, why would I joke?” She laughed softly. I muttered a small ‘true’ and kept shamelessly checking her out as she still came closer to me and lowered her lips down to my ear and whispered, “Do I make you nervous darling? Is that why you get all shy whenever I’m around?” I nodded again while looking down, her hand found my chin and tilted it up. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” I felt a strange tingling in my lower stomach as she said that. 

I looked her in the eye and she bought me closer. “Is this okay?” she muttered, her breath fanning across my face due to the proximity. 

“Yes.” I breathed out. That was all the confirmation she needed to softly press her lips to mine. She held me like I might break at any minute, so tentative and caring it made my heart flutter. My hands found their way around my waist and I pulled her closer. She moved us around so now I was the one against the desk as she deepened the kiss, her tongue moving into my mouth. I instantly let her take control of the kiss and press her hips against mine. A small whine left my lips and I lent into her arms which were on my hips. 

She pulled away and looked into my eyes before whispering, just to me even though there was no one else there, “I don’t want this to just be a fling, just to make that clear.” I smiled wide and pecked her lips once more. 

“Neither do I.” She pulled me in again and we kissed with smiles on both of our faces. We knew we would have to be a secret for a while obviously but it didn’t stop me from fantasising about what was to come.

[zyafics]

hi guys! i wanna hear ur thoughts about what series i should write next. nothing is planned, but i wanna hear my readers' opinions so i can prioritize better <3

note: all of these descriptions i made up on the whim, and may not be the official summary, but it is the gist of the series

BROTHER’S RIVAL | About 12 Parts

Pogue-born Kooks, you and your brother aren't welcome to Figure Eight. Mainly because of Rafe. When your brother is determined to steal the 'King of Kook' title from Rafe, he's going to return the favor by messing with you.

tropes brother's rival, secret relationship, rafe using reader to get back at her brother, porn with a plot

DEAD MAN WALKING | Undetermined Parts

Injured in a shootout, you saved Rafe's life as a medical student. But when he returns, and the wound turns deadlier than initially anticipated, you might be the only person in the world who can save him. But when working together, it reveals more about your—and Rafe's—history, and how exactly it might be intertwined.

tropes mafia boss x doctor, secret identities, reluctant allies, plot twists, high stakes, slowburn

KILLER INSTINCT | Undetermined Parts

There are murders around the city. An unknown assailant goes around killing people without a definitive motive. However, when you and the new boy in town start working together and uncover the patterns of the case, you're starting to piece together that Rafe might be the murderer. Not only that, he also can't seem to remember that he is.

tropes murderer!rafe x psychology student!reader, sheriff's daughter!reader, boy obsessed, plot twists, slowburn

ALL AMERICAN SINNERS | Undetermined Parts

A pact shared between two people, Rafe and you have always relied on each other as lifelines, using each other to hide each other's dirty habits. But when something threatens the stability of this unhealthy dynamic, the extreme length Rafe and you would go to keep it together. And how it might destroy your relationship once and for all.

tropes coke addict!rafe x sex addict!reader, codependent relationship, toxic dynamic, us against the world mentality, porn with a plot

GOOD GIRL GONE WILD | ~ Roughly 8-10 Parts

You're rushing a sorority by deciding to ditch the good girl image in college. But when Rafe needs help in a class, and you need to secure your pledge, Rafe offers his status to help you get into your sorority of choice, for some lessons. Which may or may not turn into something else.

tropes frat!rafe x sorority!reader, good girl turned bad, tutor lessons, sex lessons, jealousy, porn with a plot

FALL FROM GRACE | ~ Roughly 8 Parts

Rafe has always struggled to maintain his father's favor. When his latest antic caused him to be kicked out of the house, Rafe turned to you for safety. However, when an opportunity arises to win back his father's trust, but by hurting you, Rafe has to choose whether he's willing to lose the only person who always accepted him for who he is.

tropes childhood best friends to lovers, i-hate-everyone-but-you rafe, rafe has to hurt reader to make up to his father, slowburn

here's a little poll! you can also send in asks, or ask in the comments, for more clarification if i'm not explaining myself properly (i'm studying rn and deciding to do this on a whim! <3)

[adventuringblind]

Hi!

can you do a fic w/ Oscar where the reader is a PhD student so they can’t really go to any of the races so fans online are DRAGGING her by saying she’s a bad gf, Oscar should cheat on her, and she doesn’t deserve him etc. Maybe she has like an identity crisis at a race and is questioning everything so Oscar is there to comfort and reassure her?

I’m sorry this is very long!

also I love your writing :)

The Psychology of Fans

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst if you squint

Request: omg I love this idea, specifically because I am a student. Also send me ideas plz 🙏. I don't think y'all understand the excitement it brings me to make something that you enjoy :)

Summary: it's a busy time in readers life working on her PhD in psychology. She wants to support Oscar as much as possible but is struggling to find the time. The fans take notice of her lack of presence and start tearing her down because of it.

Warnings: Toxic fans, panic attacks

Notes: written in third person. This one was challenging, but fun to write!

Masterlist

Everything had been going amazing for the couple. She was starting her PhD in psychology, and Oscar had signed with McLaren for a seat. They were ecstatic for eachother.

They had their own dynamic that worked for them. Spending time together when they could but being patient with the other if things didn't go to plan.

When they started dating, she had requested that her socials and information remain private. She didn't care if people knew they were dating. She just didn't want to deal with the fans and media while she was deep in her studies.

Things between them were great. Oscar tried to keep things as private as he could. It was simple during his formula 2 career when they started dating. There weren’t as many people watching his every step.

His fan base grew exponentially as soon as he signed with McLaren. All the sudden people were everywhere asking for pictures and autographs. All the while, people were asking about his dating life. They were asking questions about her.

When the Australian Grand Prix came around, she made sure she was there to see it. She wanted to support Oscar and his first formula 1 race. It was an exciting moment for him and you wanted to share it together.

The cameras and fans were relentless and ridiculous, in her opinion. Their was never a moment of peace since they wanted to know everything about Oscar and his guest.

After everything was said and done, the fans took nicely to her and Oscar. It was relieving for both of you. It gave the press team less to worry about. Not that either would have cared, but it was nice knowing he wouldn’t had to hear about it in meetings.

School had started picking up the pace. McLaren was struggling this season. It left both of them stressed and longing for each other. She wanted to support him more then what she was but her schedule didn’t allow for it.

Sometimes she would travel with Oscar but didn’t go to the track. It was a small gesture that he appreciated. He didn’t care where she was as long as she was cheering for him.

The fans had taken notice of her lack of attendance. Coming up with their own assumptions about why she wasn’t there. Calling her names that were untrue and hurtful

“Oscar deserves better.”

“Bet she just wants a top driver.”

“Maybe she has other guys when he’s gone.”

It was driving her insane. She knew it shouldn’t get under her skin, but it did. Oscar did deserve someone who could support him full time. Who cheered him on at every race. It was causing her more stress then she could manage.

She decided not to tell Oscar. The idea of burdening him anymore made her feel sick.

~

It was now the British Grand Prix and she had decided to go and support Oscar despite the work that was piling up on her plate. He had gotten new upgrades on his car and she was saying prayers that they worked.

She practically fell over when he finished fourth. Screaming in joy for the Australian who had been working so hard.

It was on their way out that everything seemed to fall apart.

Fans wanted pictures and the cameras were still in his face. He tried to shied the girl beside him from it, pulling into his side while he walked. It was then he heard what they were saying. Heat rising to his face.

“If you’re not going to say something nice then let us through please.” Oscar pushed past everyone and forced his way to their car.

He held her close that night and reassured her that they were spewing lies. This if they were acting like that then they weren’t real fans.

~

Oscar was shocked when she came to the Hungarian Grand Prix. He knew she was stressed about school. He saw the dark circles under her eyes. But she is absolutely determined.

Peoples criticism was getting worse by the day. Oscar had started to catch on since his PR team was now bringing it up but he didn’t want to push her.

It was the end of qualifying. Another success from Oscar. A success she didn’t get to see despite all her best efforts.

The thought of what everyone was saying ran wild in her head. An interaction with a few fans left her devastated. They were saying she was only here now because Oscar is doing well. How she should support him through it all. How he could do better then her. How he deserved more.

She was sobbing now. Her mind screaming insecurities. Her breath uneven and her hands clutching her head as she tried to block out the voices.

Oscar had been looking for her after the press conference. He wanted nothing more then to hold her in his arms and celebrate his achievement. He’d been looking for ten minutes with no sign of her.

He tried calling and texting, but had yet to receive an answer. Worry started to settle in his chest. His efforts now expedited only to run right into Lando.

“Have you seen y/n anywhere?” Oscar asks the Brit.

Lando, however, was out of breath. He had run around trying to find Oscar for a few minutes. “I heard her in your driver room. She sounds awful mate.”

Oscar didn’t waste a second moving in that direction. He felt a bit stupid for not having checked there first.

It didn’t take him long until he was swinging open the door to reveal her curled up on the floor. Her hands over her ears and body shaking.

He crouches down next to her. Slowly so he doesn’t scare her.

Sue didn't notice his presence. She couldn't even see her surroundings. Everything was going dark and she knew she needed to breathe or she would lose consciousness.

She heard faint yelling. "Lando!"

It was Oscar's voice. The sound almost drew her back to reality. But the dark confines of her mind had too much of a grip.

Oscar was ready to go into his own panicked state, but he needed to remain calm. He hears Lando slide into the doorway. His face dropping immediately now that he can actually see her.

Oscar takes her into his arms. Her curled up body was now placed between his legs. Her back against his chest.

She was completely absent. She wanted to protest and understand what was happening, but the fear of letting the voices in made her refrain from doing so.

It was difficult for Oscar to stay calm. He'd never seen her like this. He ran his fingers gently up and down her back. He uses his leg to push hers closer to the ground. Her body is trying to fight his, but the lack of air in her lungs makes it difficult.

Oscar wraps his arms around her now, pulling her further into him. Still trying every tech he knows to soothe her.

Lando came back with water and made his best attempt at coaching him through this.

She still was struggling to breathe, which concerned them both. Her hands gripped her head so hard he could see little spots of crimson in crescent shapes.

"Talk to her, mate. It might help her get out of her head."

Oscar nodded his head at Lando's suggestion. The Brit then ran off again to investigate what happened.

Instead of holding her around her middle, Oscar switched his tactics. Moving his hands to slip underneath hers. The little specks of blood now decorate his fingers.

Her mind was trying to grasp onto anything to bring her back. The thoughts are doing their best to pull her back under. She knows Oscar is there. She tries to ground herself with his touch.

He's repeating his words - a prayer falling from his lips willing her back to him. "I've got you. I'm here. Breathe. You're safe."

She tries to slow her erratic heart. Her body has been dry heaving and coughing from the sheer amount of static.

She finds the feeling in her arms and legs come back, using it to push herself further into Oscar. Then, finally, she can feel the thick cloud that has taken hold of her mind to start to filter through. The end of the tunnel in sight.

Her body practically goes limp. Oscar holds her up and leans her head on his chest. Trying to soothe the female in his lap.

Everything in her body hurts, but her lungs are finally getting some reprieve. She takes in the situation around her. Oscar's comforting touch keeps her present.

Her body stops trembling. Only little hiccups now escape as the tears slow. It hurts Oscar to see her like this. She looks broken and he dosen't know how he didn't catch it sooner.

"I'm sorry" falls from her lips. He just shushs her and continues to stroke her arm. "You deserve better than me."

Oscar is taken aback by her admission. He was too stunned to stop her before she continued on. "Other girls can be there to support you. They aren't as busy with school. They are prettier and can travel with you, and you wouldn't have to worry about them cheating -"

Oscar shifts them around until he can see her face. Her puffy teary eyes shattering him. He holds her face in his hands. “Other girls aren’t you.”

She can’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes again. A flurry of emotions tries to take hold once again.

“Who gave you that idea?”

She shakes her head. Willing him to ask anything else. Panic again rising into her throat as caught wrack her body. She tried to pull away from him. Her body starting to close in on itself again at the memories.

Oscar doesn’t let it happen. Holding her in place firmly yes every one of his touches are gentle and loving. He silently wills Lando to come back faster. His teammate has dealt with anxiety and would know better then him what to do.

“It’s okay, Love. We don’t have to talk about it.” He soothes and reassures her until her body goes lax agains his once again. Put exhaustion takes over and she can’t will herself to stay coherent and conscious any longer.

Oscar is relieved when she falls asleep on him. Her breathing becomes even and her body now relaxes.

Lando reappeared in the doorway ten minutes later; Out of breath and drenched in sweat. “Mate, you’re not gonna like this.”

~

The two boys moved the girl to the small couch and draped her against it gently.

Oscar was trying to hold in his rage. He wanted to storm out of the motor home and unleash his anger on everyone who ever said a word against his girl. The girl he loves. The one he chose and trusts and is ridiculously proud of. Her accomplishments deserve to be praised, not torn down by those who call themselves fans.

Lando had warned him against it. It would be a PR mess and might actually cause her more anxiety. So he bit his tongue and put on the Oscar everyone was used to seeing.

He practically sped through all his media duties. Wanting nothing more then to see that he got her back to the hotel room. Back to a safe environment where she could open up to him.

Oscar was done quickly and back in his room and changed within an hour. The woman asleep on the couch still breathing evenly.

He knew he didn’t need to, but he waited for Lando. The Brit had offered to help him get her back safely and fend off any media who tried to talk to them.

He welcomed the fact that they were distracted. Not caring much as passerby’s gave him weird looks.

~

She woke up in a foreign place. She distinctly remembers being at the track. Regardless, she couldn’t help but sink into the comfort.

Oscar her her shifting around. Gently seating himself next to her on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” She rasped. Her throat both sore and dry from her earlier wailing.

“Please don’t panic-“ he places a hand over hers. “- Lando told me what happened. We’ve both made statements about it and the PR team is doing the rest. Everyone agrees it isn’t right.”

A weight felt like it was being lifted of her chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job to make sure things like this don’t happen. I love you so much and I hated seeing you like this. I don’t car in anyone else sees it. I see it and I see you. And you want to know what I see?”

She shoot him a quizzical look, curious as to where he’s going with this.

He smiles. The smiles that makes her feel warm. The smile that make heat rise to her face.

“The greatest thing I could have ever asked for.l

[cellythefloshie]

;; I Did Something Bad Dedicated to @hockeyboysimagines

Summary: After you send a sexy snap to the wrong Brady, you and your stepbrother cross a line that you had never considered crossing before. Kinks & Tropes: Age Gap (18 vs. 22). Stepcest. Phone Sex/Sexting. Praise. Mutual Masturbation. Protective Big Brother. Reader Nickname: "Sissy". PLEASE NOTE, this work of fiction depicts a budding sexual relationship between step-siblings who grew up together from ages 10 and 14 - step-siblings who always considered one another siblings. -- Set during Brady's time as a New York Ranger. Word Count: 4k+ A/N: Happy Birthday to the lovely @hockeyboysimagines ! You have been the best worst influence for me as a writer, always encouraging me to write what I want to write instead of what I should be working on. And you very well know October was meant to be spent with the filthiest of Brady Skjei content. This is very much the tip of the iceberg for Brady and his stepsister, and I couldn't be more thrilled to get the two of them going because of your birthday. This fic is in no way groundbreaking, but it's filthy and fun and maybe even a little toxic. But if I know someone who is going to appreciate it for their birthday, it's you! AND a quick little shout out to @hagelpoint-3821 who was around when my filthy mind birthed this idea probably 2 years ago now! It's finally happening!

“Do you always think of me when you touch yourself?”

Your blood ran cold. You recognized the voice in an instant, and it wasn't the one you expected to hear when you answered the phone. And it was nowhere near anything you thought would leave your stepbrother's mouth. 

His words sent a rush of heat surging through you. It sent your skin red hot with embarrassment as you lay in bed, one hand still in your panties and the other holding the phone to your ear so tightly your hand ached. You wished the embarrassment could have been for him. That he had somehow dialed the wrong number. That he meant to dial whichever slut he had in whichever city he was in for the night. But that was just a dream of a possibility, because he knew exactly what he was doing when he phoned you. 

Silently, you drew your phone back from your face, a quivering breath trembling through your body as you opened Snapchat on your phone and looked at your last sent messages. At the top of the list was Brady, the red and white arrow beside his name showing you the last message sent to him was minutes ago. And just below him, the intended recipient of your message, Braedy. He was an idiot you’d met in the back row of your first year psychology class. You’d exchanged numbers on the first day, which led to helping him with assignments while he helped you with orgasms. But while he was in his dorm room across campus, rock hard and waiting for your next risque picture, you lay still in bed with your stepbrother on the other end of the phone. 

Swallowing hard, in an attempt to moisten your dry mouth, you accepted that the silence had been too long to pretend that you hadn’t accidentally sent him a picture of your hand in your panties. 

“I-” you started, but you formed no words. Anything you could have thought to say became strangled in your throat.  "Sissy, was that picture not meant for me?" Brady asked, saving you from the need to provide him with some sort of explanation, but it didn't make you feel any better. Your heart continued to pound against your chest as it flooded with panic and embarrassment.

“No, I, ah-” you breathed, your attempt at words more of a stutter than the beginnings of an explanation. 

“And I thought you were being a good girl-” your core clenched “-focusing on your studies on campus. I don’t have to come down there and check in on you, do I?”

You shook your head slowly as if he could see it, your hair becoming a mess on your pillow. Your breathing was shallow and uneven, your body hot and sweaty even as you lay there in nothing but a cropped t-shirt and your panties. Panties that your hand had yet you leave and your crotch was still damp with arousal from the brief exchange of photos before Brady’s interruption. An interruption that should have dried you up like a desert. Yet, you were just as wet as when you answered the call, if not wetter. 

“Are you still there, sissy?” It was only with his words that you realized he couldn’t see your response. 

“No, I-” your throat caught your words as you fumbled with what exactly to say. Brady’s words were so calm, sounding cautious and thought out, while your mind was so frantic you couldn’t even think of the right words to say. 

“I’m still here,” you confirmed with a breath, “and no, you don’t need to check on me.” 

“I’ll be in the area next week,” he hummed slowly, and your eyes darted to the calendar that was on your bedside table. The Rangers would play in Minnesota soon, and while you were sure the team wouldn’t give him time to come visit you on campus, Brady never seemed to fail at scaring any prospecting partners away. It was the big-brother thing to do, or at least that’s always what you guys told yourselves. But as he spoke with his words so thought out as if he was trying to tiptoe through the situation with caution, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was and had always been a little more than that. 

“No, no,” you protested, “I’ll be good.”

“Will you?” Brady challenged. “Be a good girl and block that boy for me.”

“Brady-”

“Do it and show me.” The firmness of his voice sent a wave of heat through you. There would be no fighting him on this, so you obliged.

Slowly, your hand left your panties, the elastic waistband snapping against your hip before you brought your now freed hand up to your phone. You cradled the phone in both hands as you turned on the screen recording and captured blocking your classmate, Braedy, on Snapchat and his phone number. Then you sent the video to your stepbrother, Brady. 

“Good girl,” he praised you, “keep it that way, alright, Sissy. No distractions. Promise.”

“I promise,” you breathed out, though you were fully entertaining the idea of unblocking Braedy as soon as this awkward phone call was over. What Brady didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, or you. 

“Good girl,” he said again, your body reacting the same to his soft praise, and it nearly left you reeling against your pillow. You shouldn’t be feeling that way, especially with Brady on the phone. Yet, you forced out a quivering breath and chalked it up to coincidence and the poor timing of his call. “Are you in bed?” he asked you slowly. 

“Yes,” you confirmed. 

“Wearing those pretty little panties?”

You lay there in the same silence that had consumed you when you had heard his voice when you had answered the call. Had you just heard him right, or was your mind playing tricks on you? Or maybe, just maybe, you had fallen asleep watching shitty pornography, and this was all just a dream. 

You pinched yourself. 

No, not a dream. 

You had accidentally sent your stepbrother a suggestive photo, and now he was what, trying to have phone sex with you? It didn’t make sense, but did all at once.

The two of you had always been close, even if your parents hadn’t married until you were 10 and he was 14. He had snapped into your life so perfectly. Brady was the big brother you had always wanted. From helping you with your homework, to attending both his high school football games and his hockey games, too. The two of you did it all together. Even when he was off to college, you were there supporting him, counting down the days until you too would attend the same university in his footsteps. And then there were the jokes, made by your own parents, that if the two of you weren’t siblings, the two of you would get married. It was always a joke, one that both you and Brady had laughed at - but it was all coming to crest now. Had the joke always been funny because it was true?

The two of you just never admitted it - or fully entertained the idea - until you had forced it all by accident. 

Biting down on your lip, you chewed it slowly as you took in a slow breath. You had a decision to make, and the weight of it rested heavily on your chest. You could answer him, paint a sexy little picture for him with your words, or you could hang up. 

“Brady,” his name was weak on your lips, your tongue darting out to run over your lips slowly. 

“Sorry,” he spoke quickly, “I can hang up. We can pretend this didn’t happen-”

“No, don’t,” you spoke out too quickly as you shot up in bed, “don’t hang up.” 

He replied with nothing but a soft sigh, one that sounded like a smile and relief. 

Slowly, you pressed up onto your knees, your thighs pressing firmly together to ease the tension that continued to build throughout your body. One hand left your phone and tucked your hair behind your ears and out of your face before falling to rest on the top of your thighs. “Where are you right now?” 

“My hotel room in Detroit,” he answered slowly. 

You swallowed hard. “Alone?”

Brady hummed his confirmation into the phone, sparking a sense of excitement into you. “Maybe,” your lips curled up into a soft smile as you spoke, “I could send you another picture. Would that be wrong?”

Yes. Yes, it would. But he didn’t stop you. Instead, Brady encouraged you. “Wrong? No. It’s just a picture, right?” You weren't sure if he was trying to convince you, or if he was trying to convince himself that what you were about to do was okay. 

His words made you giddy when they should have. And with a stupid smile, your phone left your ear as you positioned yourself on the bed. You knelt there with your legs slightly spread so he could have a clear view of your panties. Snapping the picture, you wrinkled your nose at the outcome. You didn’t like it. You posed again after fixing your shirt just right to show off just the right amount of under-boob in the next picture. It was great, but there was one issue: you could see your face. Thumb hesitating over the send button, you contemplated about taking another, one where you couldn't see your face. A picture like the ones you had sent your classmate earlier. Yet, you hit send. Because this was Brady, and if he shared it with anyone else, he would get into as much trouble as you would. 

“There, I sent it to you,” you told him as you brought the phone back up to your ear.

You could hear Brady's satisfied hum through the phone as you relaxed back on the bed. “You look so pretty on your knees,” he told you and you threw yourself back on the pillow with a too wide grin. “Such an amazing body you have, Sissy.”

Your cheeks flushed with color. This wasn’t the first time he’s seen so much of your skin. Your family had taken a vacation somewhere hot every year for as long as you could remember, but this was the first time Brady could really comment on it. 

“Can I show you something?” Brady asked, and your heart quickened. 

“Yes,” you nodded eagerly, and you waited patiently, your face half buried in your pillow as you waited for his picture to be sent. 

Yet, when that red square popped up on your screen, you hesitated to open it. It was one thing to send a picture, but to receive one. Opening it would mean you both crossed a line and there would be no coming back from it. Then, as you did most decisions, you took the risky option with no consideration for the repercussions you would face in the future. You held your thumb down on the screen, the sight it unlocked leaving your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. 

Your eyes went to the shadow of his abs first and traveled down the dark trail of hair on his stomach as it began just below his navel and disappeared behind the gray fabric of his sweatpants. Licking your lips, you indulge yourself in the sight of his cock tenting up against his sweatpants. You had no words, your mouth falling agape in a heavy exhale as you tried to keep your body calm. But it was too late. Your skin was hot with arousal and on the verge of sweating, and as you pressed your ass down into the mattress, you could feel just how slick you were between your thighs. 

Raising your phone back up to your ear, you greeted Brady with a quivering breath and he spoke with confidence into your ear. There was no need to tiptoe around things now. “You see what your little accident did to me?”

“Oh? Did I do that?” you answered his question with a question, your words knowing and sickeningly sweet as you let your hand run down your own stomach and stopped at the waistband of your panties. Your fingers traced over its edge slowly, craving to dip deeper, but you would wait. 

“Do you think you can help me take care of it?” Brady asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice. You bit your lip, hiding your own smile from yourself, and he must have taken it as a moment of hesitation because Brady’s words found your ear again. “You have such a great body, Sissy. It’s so hard to ignore, and that picture,” he let out a long exasperated breath, “send me another one?”

“What do you want to see?” You asked him. Your words were a breath that you thought he might not even have heard. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable showing me,” Brady answered. 

His words had been soft, melting you further and further into the mess of a puddle that you were. “Let me just,” you hummed out, “give me one second.”

Peeling the phone away from your ear, you opened Snapchat again. You tried to take a picture laying down, but each one left you feeling undesirable. Then you rolled over onto your side where you knew your cleavage would be the star of the show if you had been wearing anything else, but the high neckline of your cropped sleep shirt kept your breasts at bay. You let out a frustrated huff as you moved to the edge of the bed and spread your legs. At this angle, he could see just how wet the crotch of your panties was. 

With your phone in one hand, you posed with the other. You placed it on your inner thigh first, but you didn’t like that. Then, you rested it over your panties but decided it was too close to the first image he had received. You almost gave up, but then, with the quick swipe of your thumb over the screen, you were recording yourself as your fingers dipped inside the fabric of your panties and found your clit. You pressed into it with the pads of your fingers and stroked it in two slow, agonizing circles before you sent it, without reviewing it, to Brady. 

Your hand didn’t leave your panties as you sprawled out lazily over the bed. Stroking yourself slowly, you listened to Brady breathe into the phone, undoubtedly watching the clip you had just sent to him. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, and you pressed into your clit harder, “so beautiful, sissy. You’re so wet,” Brady let out a low groan, “you make my cock so hard.”

“Are you touching yourself, Brady?” You asked him, your words breathy, “Touching yourself, because of me?”

“I am,” he confirmed with a heavy breath into the phone, “you want to see it, Sissy?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, your feet leaving the floor to dig into the mattress. You dipped your fingers down lower, parting your wet lips and teasing the entrance of your core as you waited for the notification to buzz against your ear. It almost startled you when it did, even if you were expecting it. 

Lulling your head to the side, you let the clip play. Brady was laying in the hotel bed now, his sweatpants pulled down just below his balls. His hockey hardened hand wrapped around his thick cock as she stroked it slowly. Up and down, then up again, making sure you could see the very length of him. 

Your eyes shut as the clip disappeared, trying to keep the sight of it in your mind as you plunged two fingers into your dripping core. 

“Brady,” you gasped out, your phone laying back on the bed almost completely abandoned until you had reached out quickly to put the call on speaker. You couldn’t hold it any longer. You needed both hands now. With your two fingers in your cunt, your other hand dipped beneath the cotton and found your clit again, rubbing it in those same slow circles. 

“You like that, Sissy?” Brady’s voice erupted from the phone beside you, and you were suddenly thankful that your roommate had been spending the night at her boyfriend’s place. No one would overhear him saying things stepbrother shouldn’t say, and no one would hear you moan. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, and it sounded like a whine.

“What are you doing now?” Brady asked you slowly, his words quick as he breathed through the pleasure of his own hand. “Your hand still in your panties, Sissy?”

“Yes,” you gasped out, “they feel so good.”

“What feels good?” Brady asked you slowly, “tell me.” 

“My fingers,” you squeezed your eyes tighter, fighting to speak your words when all you wanted to do was moan. “My fingers in my cunt.”

“That’s so sexy,” he told you and a wave of heat hit you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge that you already felt on the verge of falling over. “How many?”

“Two,” you panted out. 

“Two? That’s not nearly enough.” A lump formed in the back of your throat as he spoke. “No, no, I think I’m at least three of your fingers.” Your walls clenched at the very idea of sliding a third finger into your core, and your hips wiggled, taking your own fingers until they were knuckle deep at the very prospect of pretending that you were being fucked by his thick cock. “Can you do that for me, Sissy? Put a third finger in for me?”

Withdrawing your fingers, you brought three fingers together and pressed the very tip of them to your entrance. You gasped at just how much more they would fill you. “Brady, that’s too much,” you gasped. 

“Would I be too much for you, Sissy?” His question made you shiver. “Is my cock too big for that pretty little pussy of yours?”

“I-I,” you stammered, your heart racing deep in your chest as you hesitated to even try. 

“Take a breath, get nice and relaxed for me,” his words were soft as he guided you, “circle your cunt with three fingers for me. What do you feel?”

“I’m dripping,” you told him with a quivering voice. “I can feel it all down the back of my hand.”

“Good girl,” he cooed, “so slick and horny for my cock. Slowly press just the tips of your fingers. Nice and slow.” His words were gentle and encouraging as you followed his guidance, your core feeling so tight around the tips of your fingers, but the longer you held them there, still inside your cunt, the better it felt. 

“And when you’re ready, press in just a little bit more.” Delving your fingers in deeper, you let out an audible gasp, one that left Brady moaning on the other end of the phone. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you assured, your toes curling over the edge of your bed as you pumped your fingers in and out of your dripping core. “It feels so good, Brady.”

“I can hear how wet you are, Sissy,” Brady groaned. “You like this? You like thinking of me when you touch yourself. Talking to me when your fingers are buried in your cunt.”

“Yes,” you groaned through your grit teeth, “yes! I’m so close, Brady.”

“Don’t hold back. I want to hear you come. I want to hear what you sound like when you moan,” he encouraged you, and you could hear his hand pumping at his cock. 

Your body reeled in your bed, your hips jutted into your own hand as you gasped and moaned out. Core clenching around your fingers, squeezing them as if they were desperate for the come of his cock. You rolled over, so you were laying face down in the bed. Your hips angled, taking your fingers down to the knuckle and humping them until you fell into the dreamy haze of your release. It left you dazed, so ready for sleep, as you lay there staring at your phone, panting. 

The air was silent for a long time, nothing heard but your own breathing as you calmed. It was a silence that lulled you close and closer to sleep, and Brady must have known it. “Are you going to sleep now, Sissy?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. 

“Good girl, get cleaned up and rest. I’ll check on you tomorrow, okay?”

You hummed out in approval, “okay, night Brady.”

“Night.”

The line cut, leaving you in the silence alone with nothing but the weight of what just had happened. It should have bothered you, you knew it should. Instead, you were calm as you rolled out of bed and stepped out of your wet panties. Abandoned on the floor, you left them there as you reached for the makeup wipes you kept on your bedside table. The cold wipe was a shock to your skin as you wiped your hand clean and then used another to clean up the inside of your thighs. A proper shower could wait until morning. 

Clean, or rather clean enough, you crawled back into bed and pulled up the covers only to get him in the face with your phone that had become lost in the mess of your blankets. You let out a low curse as you pushed the covers off to climb out of bed once more to plug in your phone. Blocking your path were your panties, and your heart raced as a mischievous ideal struck you. The idea had you regretting taking them off so quickly, but it was nothing another makeup wipe wouldn’t fix. 

You stepped into your panties and pulled them back up again. Then, you propped up your phone on your desk so that the camera focused on the space between your hips and your mid thighs. When you pressed record, you took a half step back and hooked your thumbs on each side of your panties. You dragged them down slowly, your legs spread just wide enough for the camera to capture your arousal as it webbed and beaded as you peeled your panties from your body. You dragged them down your leg, leaving wet trails down the inside of your thighs until you stood there naked from the waist down in front of the camera. 

You were giddy when you stopped the footage, your cheeks flushed as you sent it off to Brady with no shame. It gave him something to wake up to in the morning. A little reminder of what just had happened, and how your body responded to his words and his guidance. It was fun, though the only person you would ever admit that to was yourself. Not even Brady could know. Not when you were sure he would wake up in the morning with your little gift and be hit hard with the reality of the situation. That one picture accidentally sent to him spiraled further than you both should have let it. 

And as you crawled back into bed, you kept telling yourself: It was just a picture. It was just a phone call. What you did wasn’t wrong. It was a happy little accident, something that only happened one time, and you told yourself it wouldn’t happen again. That was until you woke up the next morning and found a text message from Brady on your phone. 

You hadn’t even left your bed yet when you opened it. Your own video met with his own, one that you could hear your own moans in the background of. While you had been riding your own three fingers, Brady had been thrusting into his hand and was capturing it all on camera. It was a video you were sure he was saving for himself. A dirty little secret he would watch when he wanted to remember what you sounded like when you came. But it was more than that now that he sent to you. Because it wasn’t just a recording of the soft sounds you made, it was also a video of how Brady let out a sigh that you didn’t remember hearing. A video of how his cock twitched and throbbed as it was so close to release–and how he sighed out your name as he shot thick webs of his release up over his toned abs before the phone dropped and the screen went black. It was the video that put everything in perspective. Together you and your stepbrother had created a fucked up little fantasy, and while it was wrong, you didn’t want to stop.

TAGLIST: @mp0625 , @wingedwheelprxncess , @kurlyteuvoteu , @couldawouldashoulda50

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

Killing Me Softly (PART THREE/ DARK!TOMMY)

Summary: You and Tommy have barely said a word to eachother since your wedding night, the tension building, Tommy's facade finally drops.

Warnings: Language, angst, psychological mind games, manipulative behaviour, controlling behaviour, Dark!Tommy (this is a dark fic, please read the warnings before continuing)

"Where's my wife?" Tommy asked looking up from his newspaper as he sat at the end of the large dining table, a cigarette in his mouth.

"She's still in bed Sir, she said she's not hungry" Frances answered nervously clutching onto her apron. It had been almost two weeks since your wedding day and the tension was palpable. You and Tommy had barely said another word to eachother since your wedding night, sleeping in separate rooms you had been avoiding him at all costs. You hadn't left the house in five days, and even when you did it was only to venture out onto the grounds of the property, one of Tommy's henchmen always a few feet behind you. You had neither seen nor heard from your mother, friends or Tommy's family since your arrival at Arrow House, everyone giving the happy newlyweds space, that's what he said. The truth was, Tommy was keeping them from you, keeping you from telling them how miserable you truly felt. Folding the newspaper in half Tommy threw it onto the table In front of him, his chair scrapping across the wooden floors beneath him as he stood up.

" Tell her I expect to see her sitting there at that table, at noon, for when I come back" he said sternly as he walked towards the entrance.

" Yes Sir" Frances nodded as she closed the dinning room door.

"Oh and Frances" he stopped as he got to the door. "Tell the chef to make lamb" He smirked as he looked up at the large wooden stairs in the foyer.

" Yes Mr Shelby" she dutifully answered as she watched Tommy walk out the front door.

Laying in bed you flinched as you heard the door of his car slam shut. He was gone, breathing a sigh of relief you sat up looking over to his side of the bed, this was not how you thought your first two weeks of being a married woman would be, even for an arranged marriage.

Deciding not to lay in bed all day and worry about your already fragile marriage, you got up putting your light pink silk dressing gown on, one you could only imagine Tommy had picked out for you, like everything else he had chosen on your behalf. Walking down the large wooden staircase you was met with Frances waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.

" He's gone then?"

" Yes Mam" she answered with concerned eyes.

" Did he say anything?" you questioned as your fingers picked at the wooden banister.

" He said he would like to see you at lunch Mam"

"I doubt he said it as nice as you" you smiled as you placed a hand on her arm." Thank you, Frances" you added as you walked off into the kitchen in search of something to eat.

"Mrs Shelby please, let me get you something" she called out.

" It's ok Frances I don't mind " you replied, still not used to being waited on.

Sitting by the window in the study, a book on your lap, you looked out at the gardens In front of you, Tommy's horses galloping in the fields behind them. How had things gotten so bad so quickly? You pondered as you spun your wedding ring around your finger over and over again. Tommy was a man who always got what he wanted, never to be talked back to, never to be refused, and when you did just that on your wedding night he had clearly not taken it very well. Was it all your fault though? You questioned yourself, doubting every conversation and action you had done and had over the past two weeks. You just wanted to get to know him again, did he not want that too?

"Mam, it's Miss Polly Gray on the phone, should I tell her to call you back another time?" Frances asked as she opened the door to the study.

" No no, it's fine, I'll take it, thank you Frances" you said getting up, placing the book down on the chair you was sitting on. Hurrying to the phone you quickly picked up the receiver placing it to your ear.

" Polly?"

" Y/N, how are you love? We haven't seen you in a while"

" I'm so happy to hear your voice Polly" you replied, your emotions threatening to be made known at any moment.

" Enjoying newlywed bliss?" she chuckled over the phone, completely unaware of the current state of things.

" Something like that" you sighed with a small laugh as you played with the cord of the phone.

" What's wrong Y/N ?" nothing could get past Polly, she always knew.

" Me and Tommy, well ...things have not been going that great" you replied in a shaky voice, your eyes starting to fill with tears.

" Oh love... right I'm coming over, this afternoon at four, I will have my driver bring me" Polly replied, concern In her voice, knowing too well how Tommy could get.

" Ok" you said as you sniffed back your tears.

" I'll see you in a few hours, don't worry we'll sort it all out.

" Ok, bye Polly" you said as you put the phone down. Was this a good idea? What would Tommy think of you talking about your marriage to someone else. But Polly could help, she was his Aunt after all, family, someone Tommy knew.

Looking up at the large clock in the foyer you noticed it was nearly noon, Tommy would be back any minute. Hurrying back upstairs you quickly shut the bedroom door, hoping to avoid him once again.

" Mr Shelby" Frances greeted Tommy at the door.

" My wife?" he asked as he handed her his suit jacket.

"She's upstairs Sir" she replied nervously as Tommy cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

" Did you not tell her that i expected to see her in the dining room?" He asked, his voice getting irritated with each second that passed.

" Yes Sir, she's very tired, I think she needs rest" Frances said trying to excuse you from his anger.

" Tired" he scoffed as he started marching up the stairs to your shared room. "I'm fucking tired, tired of this shit" he said under his breath, his steps echoing through the house as he walked up the stairs. "Seems my dear wife needs a helping hand getting of bed Frances!" he called out angrily as Frances hurried off, not wanting to get in the middle of a marital dispute.

"Y/N!" he bellowed as he got to the top of the stairs, throwing the bedroom door open.

" Tommy..." you replied in surprise as you sat up, eyes widening as you watched him storm over to your side of the bed.

" Been laying in bed all fucking morning eh?" he asked as he pulled the sheets away from you, scoffing when you closed your dressing gown tightly around your body.

"Why are you not downstairs in the dinning room, like I asked, hm?" he demanded to know, grabbing you by the hand as he pulled you out the bed.

" I'm not a child Tommy, you don't get to talk to me like that" you answered, irritation in your voice as you pulled his hand off you. Tommy was right behind you as you marched down the stairs to the dining room, you swore you could feel his eyes piercing into the back of your head, your stubbornness only angering him more. Once again you had disobeyed him, and this time he was going to make sure you knew it. Spinning you around, Tommy pulled you flush against his body, his arm hooked around the bottom of your back.

" Stop fucking acting like a child, and I'll stop treating you like one, ok sweetheart?" he said quietly into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, his words laced with anger as his hand traveled slowly up your back grabbing a handful of your dressing gown. Firmly holding onto your robe, Tommy spun you back around in one quick motion, pushing you down onto the dining table chair.

" Good" he said, hitching his suit trousers up as he sat down next to you, satisfied you hadn't talked back. What would be the point in arguing with him, your words would only go unheard, Tommy always had to be right. You decided not to say anything, instead you pinned all your hopes on Polly's visit, praying she could get through to her nephew and help your already rocky marriage. Lighting a cigarette, Tommy watched you as he inhaled the tobacco. He had you just the way he wanted, eyes cast down, submissive, subservient, the perfect little wife.

A knock on the dinning room door had you both looking up as Frances wheeled two plates of food in. As she made her way around the dining table you noticed almost instantly what had been prepared, your eyes darting to Tommy you watched the smirk form on his lips as he flicked the ash of his cigarette into a glass dish.

" Is there a problem?" he asked, a devilish darkness overtaking his eyes as he watched you look down at the plate of food now in front of you.

"I can get you something else Mrs Shelby?" Frances asked as she looked between you and Tommy.

" No it's fine, thank you" you answered as you breathed in the gamy smell of the lamb, your stomach already turning at its odor. His pettiness was blatant, you knew exactly what he was doing, it was childish, immature, and you refused to play along.

"Eat" he said as he nodded to the plate of food In front of you. Picking up your knife and fork, you cut a small piece of lamb, raising it to your lips as Tommy watched you intently. Placing it in your mouth, you looked over to him as the smugness spread across his face, he was enjoying this, enjoying his cruelness play out.

" You invited Polly to come today?" he asked as he took a sip of whiskey. Nodding, you slowly chewed on the piece of meat, swallowing harshly as Tommy watched your throat bob up and down as the food made its way down.

" Next time you invite someone, you ask me first"

" Tommy this is my home too, I don't have to inform you of everything I do" you replied, dropping your fork onto the plate, unable to eat anymore, your frustration mounting with him.

" But you do love" he said as he grabbed your chin turning you to face him. " You're my wife, so you'll do as I say. Now eat" he said picking your fork back up.

" I can't Tommy, I don't feel good " you answered. Was it the taste of the lamb already, or his controlling words that had your stomach churning, you couldn't tell anymore. Staring at him your eyes started to fill with tears. Taking a drag of his cigarette Tommy looked at you unsympathetically as one lone tear fell down your cheek. With your hand to your mouth, you bolted up, running as fast as you could to the closest bathroom. Bending over the toilet you threw up as you tried to hold back your hair away from the toilet seat.

"Hey, hey..." you heard softly from behind you as Tommy bent down next to you, collecting your hair into his hand as he rubbed your back while you hurled into the toilet once more.

Wiping your mouth you turned to him as you flushed the toilet.

" Why would you do that?" you asked weakly, tears streaming down your face.

"Do what?" He questioned a look of confusion in his eyes as he tried to fool you with his bewilderment, but all you could see was the smirk playing on the corner of his lips threatening to expose his cruelness. Turning back to the toilet you threw up again, gagging at the taste in your mouth.

" You see what happens when you don't talk to me hm, when you ignore me? How am I suppose to know anything about you, if you never say anything to me eh? he said as he continued to stroke your back.

" But...Tommy at the wedding I told you that..."

"Shh shh" he hushed you, pulling you into his chest as he gently caressed your hair, exhaling at the close contact of your warm body.

" Let me take care of you Y/N, stop fighting it." he said as he kissed the top of your head. In your weak state you found yourself leaning into his embrace, clutching onto his chest as he responded by holding you tighter against him, placing another kiss to your temple. Had he forgotten what you had said at the wedding? His sudden behaviour was confusing, he blew hot and cold with you as quick as his temper changed, you couldn't keep up.

For another hour you laid in bed, Tommy telling you to sleep as he worked in his office, ordering his men to go home for the rest of the day now he was back. But sleep was the last thing you did. Your thoughts had been consuming you as you bit anxiously on your nails. He was playing with you like a child plays with a toy, he hadn't forgotten, he knew exactly what he was doing. Having had enough of his constant change in personality, you decided to be as petty as him and play along with his little games..since he clearly enjoyed it so much. Marching down the stairs you walked right past his office as he looked up from his desk.

" Y/N, why are you not in bed? " he asked, getting up from his chair, following you as you walked out the back door to the gardens. Scoffing at him you ignored his question. In bed, exactly where he wants you to be, knowing where you are, doing what he wants, controlling you.

" What do you think your doing?" He said as he caught up to you.

" Going for a walk " you answered as you started making your way to the woods behind the house." Is that a problem?" you said sarcastically, echoing the words he would often use. Clenching his fist he watched you as you walked away from him.

" You'll get lost!" he shouted as he stood by the door.

" I'm a grown woman Tommy" you shouted back, your arms folded as you stormed off. So tempted to see his reaction, you turned around to see him staring at you, brushing his hand down his face as he then gripped his chin with his fingers.

A satisfied look spread across your face, you enjoyed the fact your defiance was getting to him, just like he enjoyed toying with your emotions. Was this a dangerous game to play though, for how long could you really keep this up?

It had been an hour since you stormed off, and you was officially lost. Fuck. Looking down at the floor you kicked a pile of sticks in frustration, Tommy having been right only angering you even more. Looking around in a panic, you tried to remember the route you took, but everything looked the same. A noise Suddenly caught your attention as you span around, your eyes trying to look through the endless row of tress in front of you. This was England, you tried to rationalise to yourself. The chances of a bear coming out at you, zero to none, a wolf maybe, or it could be the devil himself, you laughed to yourself. Is that what you was calling him now, your husband? Then you heard it again. Walking in the opposite direction you quickly picked up the pace as you glanced behind you once more, the rustling suddenly got louder, and that's when you saw it, a small rabbit not far from where you was standing, a sigh of relief swept over you as you walked over to the small ball of fluff. Bending down you put your hand out coaxing it forwards.

" Hello little guy, you scared me" you said as it quickly bounced off in the opposite direction. Your senses no longer on alert, you hadn't noticed the real threat standing next to you. The snap of a branch had you suddenly turning back around.

" Lost little bunny?" Tommy said a smirk on his face, as he leaned against a tree watching you, a cloud of smoke bellowing into the country air. Of course he had followed you, was he afraid you would run off and leave him?

" You followed me" you said, upset that no matter where you went or what you did he would always have his eye on you.

"Maybe you would prefer rabbit for lunch next time" he joked in a sister tone. " Come on, you've had your little tantrum, now let's go" he said taking your hand only for you to push it away.

" No. I'll go when I'm ready" you said adamantly as you watched the anger rise in his already tense body.

" Y/N, you're coming home with me now or els..."

" When I'm ready" you said sterner, Interrupting him.

" Fine. Spend all night here. See if I fucking care" he replied turning away from you, storming off as he threw his cigarette onto the ground. That was the last thing you wanted to do. You watched the route he took back as you slowly followed the same path.

It had been more than an hour until you finally reached the front door to your house. Walking in you glanced up at the clock it was nearly four, you hadn't missed Polly's visit. Walking through the foyer, you was met by Tommy as he walked out the living room, Polly following behind him.

" My loving wife has returned" he said sarcastically as he took a sip of his whiskey.

"Polly" you said ignoring Tommy's remark as you walked up to her, giving her a hug as you looked over her shoulder to see Tommy smirking at you. I'm glad I didn't miss you, I was out for a walk and got a little lost"

" You did miss me, love" she said kissing your cheek, smiling to you.

" But...you said you was coming at four"

"Polly arrived an hour ago Y/N " Tommy said staring at you, his mouth slightly open as his eyes glistened with mischief.

" It's alright love, you must have forgotten. One of the secretary's left a note saying you rang and changed the time to three" she said as she started to put her coat on.

" I...I didn't rin.." you stopped, looking to Tommy as he swirled the whiskey around in his glass. And then the realisation hit you, Tommy had changed the times.

With Polly adjusting her coat in between you both, you and Tommy stared eachother down, your anger at boiling point. Neither of you saying anything you just glared at eachother waiting for the other to do something.

"I can't stay love, i have to get back. We will arrange for another time" she said as she kissed your cheek once again. "Tommy told me everything, you'll settle in soon" she whispered quietly into your ear. You watched on in disbelief, what had Tommy said to her? As soon as the door shut, you marched over to your husband, anger in your face ready to confront him.

" You did that on purpose! What did you say to her?" You shouted at him, pushing his chest with both of your hands.

" You sure you're not still sick love? Don't have a fever do you?" he said, a cocky smile on his lips as he turned away from you, walking to his office.

" You changed the times of her visit, am I not allowed to see anyone?" you asked in desperation, as you tried to stand In front of him, trying to get his attention. Annoyed by your insistence on the matter Tommy Slammed you against the wall as he pushed his body onto yours.

" What if I did hm? What was you going to tell her eh? How it's been so hard for you? My poor little wife, she's suffering so much. I have given you everything Y/N, everything. Do you not remember our agreement hm?" He said angrily as he held your head between his hands, his leg between yours to keep you in place.

Nervousness building inside you, you watched as his eyes turned that sinister black you feared so much. Tears streaming down your face you looked at Tommy pleading with unspoken words to let you go. Brushing away a tear with his thumb, Tommy let out a frustrated sigh.

" Look, the sooner you start acting like my wife the better things will be" he said, gently caressing your cheek as he leaned in to press his lips to your tear stained ones.

"Kiss me back Y/N" he moaned against your mouth, desperate to feel something from you.

" Still playing hard to get eh?" he hummed against your lips as he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes closing as his hands stroked down your arms.

" I hate you" you said quietly as your voice trembled in fear. Tommy's forehead still pressed against yours, his eyes darted open meeting the fear in yours, fury spreading across his face as you pushed him away from you. Running up the stairs you turned around to see him staring at you, his eyes never once moving from you as he watched you run up the large wooden stairs.

You didn't hate him, Tommy reasoned to himself as he sat in the dark green upholstered arm chair, blowing a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. You was just getting used to your new life he quickly justified . You're words were laced with anger though, he thought to himself as he clenched his jaw, flicking the flame of his lighter on and off as he watched you sleep in the bed in front of him, the freshly cleaned bed sheets draped gently over your body. Taking another drag of his cigarette Tommy leaned forward, his hand slowly stroking up your uncovered leg as he watched you sleep. Your skin was so soft, so delicate under his fingers, why wouldn't you let him near you? let him hold you, kiss you... touch you. Frustration building up he pulled his hand away, his shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. You shouldn't test him, he didn't want to lose his temper, he didn't want to hurt you. Stirring you started to wake up, the smell of tobacco filling your senses. Sitting up you looked In front of you to see an empty chair at the bottom of the bed, a lit cigarette still burning in an ash tray on a small table beside it. Your eyes darted around the room in panic.

"Tommy" you called out as you looked to the the landing light beaming through the half opened bedroom door. Clutching the bed sheets to your chest, fear rose in your body.

He had been here, he had been watching you...

NEXT PART

Tag list: @litteltourtius @aesthetic0cherryblossom @swordofawriter @casa-boiardi @muhahaha303 @fmo166

[adarkrainbow]

Since I am on the topic of these people that get a lot of criticism for their take on fairytales but still deserve to be kept around due to their influence, I want to briefly evoke Bruno Bettelheim's book "The Uses of Enchantment", known in France as "Psychanalysis of fairytales".

Note that I will not speak of the book itself or the reception of the book in English-speaking countries, but I want to talk about its reception in France and an impact it had on France. Today, numerous elements of the book have been debunked or criticized, coupled with many people misunderstanding the intentions of Bettelheim or misinforming about the context of the book or how it had to be read. As a result, today there is a tendency to crap on this book or laugh about it when we talk about fairytales analysis. However this book had a great importance in France when it came to "save" fairytales.

Before going into the general, as a brief piece of personal experience - which isn't exclusive to me, as others also shared this. This book actually was what got me into the analysis and study of fairytale. Or rather, when I read it as a pre-teen, it made me discover that... fairytales could have depths. Fairytales could have hidden meanings behind being simple children stories. It made me consider how these stories could be taken and reinterpreted as so many allegories and metaphors, it opened my eyes to a certain visceral, psychic, social aspect of these tales, and without this book I certainly would not have been into fairytales as I am today.

Not that this book is the ultimate resource of fairytale analysis - and the entire process of a psychological reading of fairytales is someting that exists but should not be taken into account when trying to explain them (fairytales being the produce of the encounter between literature and folklore). However, this book stayed a door-opening key for me, outdated maybe, overthinking stuff I guess, but that at least allowed me to glimpse into the "great beyond" behind these stories.

And now for my actual point... How Bettelheim's book saved fairytales in France. This is something I learned when studying the life and work of Pierre Gripari - in a book called "Pierre Gripari, un passeur d'écritures" by Inna Saranovska.

When Bettelheim's book reached France in the late 70s, fairytales were in a bad spot when it came to cultural authorities. Already fairytales had been reduced in people's mind to simple, naive children stories only good for making American cartoons (cough cough, Disney). But those of Perrault were still evoked and studied in schools (little schools for little children) because it was part of the heritage of France, of French culture, and the evolution of French literatue...

However what happened in the 70s? The very serious project of just burying fairytales was brought forward. The talks by politics and school authorities were simple: let us stop teaching fairytales to children in school, let's remove fairytales from school libraries, we do not have any use for them anymore, let them be forgotten. On one side, as I said, there was a discredit due to them being seen as silly children story, and thus no real pedagogic or "useful" chilren literature. But on the other side, there were very concrete and serious political business involved - fairytales were seen as antithetic, and opposed, to the principles of the modern Republic of France. Fairytales were seen as backward antiquities that went against what a great democratic nation should be. For example, people really did took issue in the fact that fairytales depicted monarchies, with kings as absolute authorities, and where a happy ending meant to end up prince or princess. For them, it was literaly teaching children to favor and idealize monarchy when they should rather learn about democracies and republics, and while it might seem silly today, it was serious back then and what almost led to the complete erasure of fairytales from school programs.

But then came Bettelheim's book. A book which proved to these folks that fairytales could be of a deep, psychological, social use to children. A book which taught these authorities to see beyond the "silliness" of these children stories or the "backward social message", and which told them how these stories could contain and express the deep fears, the secret desires of children, and help them grow up and deal with familial, social relationships. The book was a best-seller in France, and it completely changed the higher-ups opinion, and convinced tem fairytales should indeed be maintained in school - because fairytales were now "serious" due to being part of the very serious and praised domains of psychology and psychanalysis (which was all the fad and rage in the second half of the 20th century France).

And as such - no matter what you might say about the book's uality today - it can still be thanked for actually "saving" fairytales in France.

[bubblegumgothglados]

(on anon bc i keep my main sfw) hi i just wanted to say i recently encountered a few of your posts in the wild and it brought me to ur training guide post and holy shit FINALLY SOMEONE WHO GETS IT?? in my normie life i am both an animal trainer (dogs and cats! train your cats!! its good for them!!) and studying to be a therapist (for humans), and i genuinely detest the overall kink community's obsession with punishment. even a basic understanding of the psychology of learning should teach you that punishment is ineffective and kind of shitty.

i know so many subs who have forced themselves into a punishment-focused dynamic they hate or feel excluded from the scene entirely because they aren't down with punishment. i hate that it happens and I'm so happy to see someone else preaching the good word of actual properly implemented positive reinforcement, and showing subs that they don't have to be treated like shit to engage with kink.

like its so pervasive and thats really tragic and upsetting. I remember in the early-ish days of my relationship with one of my partners where we were first integrating kink into our relationship, there was a night where she broke down crying in my arms because she felt guilty that she didn't want to incorporate punishment into our dynamic. bc she had been given the expectation that her job as a masochist was to misbehave and be punished, rather than actual fun s/m sessions.

i hate that theres an expectation not just for subs to be punished, but for doms to want to punish them?? like ppl will treat you like you're a bad dom because you DON'T do punishments. its crazy and i wish one day for a world where no one, dom or sub, pushes themselves into a punishment dynamic that isnt fun or useful just because they feel like theyre "supposed to." and I'm so happy there are other people that share that vision and want to help our community get there.

this might be an incoherent ramble idk i just wanted you to know theres someone out here who really appreciates what you're doing. 🩷

Ohhhh my goodness anon show your face so I can kiss you!

Punishments have no place in a healthy d/s relationship

If you want to be hurt then say that, if you want to hurt someone then say that, hell if the idea of doing something to someone and them legitimately not liking it turns you on then say that too. There are people out there who mirror your desires

Arghhh this topic makes me so worked up

[charmedreincarnation]

hi i’m sorry for this small rant. i really hope you reply to it because i’m spiralling so bad. i have been listening to v powerful luckiest girl and get all your desires instantly forced subs and i had two really bad days and overall my life feels so shit and i feel like nobody gives a shit about me feel left out with my friends and am really regretting some past choices i have made as in subjects i chose to study. why do subs not work on me ever? i detach but subs just don’t work for me idk what should i do i want to enter the void and live my better/dream life but i keep failing and i’m so spiraling so hard rn. i am not even seeing small success i can’t even manifest my acne away or to grow a few inches how will i enter the void and magically change my life entirely. please help me out. how do i manifest or enter the void as soon as i can. i am being delululu living in 4d but yes ik if i am truly living in the end i shouldn’t have doubts but it’s been so many months when will i see results in my 3d. manifestion should be instant right. i’m sorry for my negativity i hope you have a great day

Hi love! I feel like any of this could be answered in another ask, but you seem really worried, so I'm going to answer it anyway!

First and foremost, you are allowed to have doubts. Just because you have doubts doesn't mean you're producing those thoughts. From a psychological perspective (which aligns with LOA), our thoughts are not entirely our own. This is a scientific truth, whether you believe in LOA or not. Scientists say that our thoughts are influenced by external factors such as our environment, upbringing, and the thoughts of others. Sound familiar? They also claim that we have the power to change our thoughts and create our own reality by consciously choosing the thoughts we entertain. So, just know that you're going to have doubts until the end, but as long as you categorize them as random thoughts and not your own beliefs, they don't matter! For example, if someone dressed as Chucky the doll jump-scared you and you started having "scary" thoughts about it, that doesn't mean you actually believe Chucky is real and coming to get you. You have psychological responses to certain things that have been ingrained and coded in you for a while now. What LOA does is help us intercept these false messages and reframe them as "useless" instead of messages we encode in our mind and assumption.

I've always been interested in psychology and neurology, and even though it doesn't directly relate to your question, it's important to mention that you do have a brain, and your brain is wired to act in certain ways. Once you're aware of why you're acting and believing certain things, it becomes way easier to understand that the 3D world is malleable. I really suggest reading books by authors like Joe Dispenza so you can understand yourself better. Also, watching YouTubers who explain anxiety and reading self-help books can provide helpful ways to manage your own anxiety.

The second thing is, if you don't believe in subliminals, I don't know why people do this, but if you don't have faith in something or assume it doesn't work for you, just use something you have a little faith in. For example, maybe you're more logical. You can read about brain waves and then listen to binaural beats for anxiety,manifesting, and faith. Have faith in it, because you'll understand and know that those waves genuinely change your brain's alignment. That's just one example, but subliminals are not the only type of audios out there. There are many other methods to explore.

Also, meditation is very helpful. Not just to reach the void, but do you know how many conscious thoughts we have in a day? On average, it is estimated that a person has around 60,000 to 80,000 thoughts per day. These thoughts can range from conscious, deliberate thoughts to automatic, repetitive thoughts. That doesn't even include the number of unconscious thoughts we have, which is probably 100k+. You constantly have these little things running around in your head, trying to keep you alive, keeping you repeating the same thought patterns, beliefs, and assumptions. You can't consciously control them most of the time, but your brain and mind are working overtime 24/7. It's not your fault, so that's why meditation can help you. Not just to reach the void, though you can tap into that using some form of meditation as well, but to clear your mind and then it’s there it will be better to affirm and believe you can do whatever you desire. If you're not truly embodying the desired state, which you're not because you sent this ask, do you think a few measly affirmations can counteract the hundreds of thousands of thoughts you've been having every day since birth, most of which you don't even know exist? Affirmations do work, but trust me, I've been where you're at and worse. This is not the state to solely rely on "miracle affirmations" because you won't believe them, and when something doesn't happen, you'll just want to give up and confirmation bias will make you subconsciously think, "Well, see? I knew it. It isn’t real" But in reality, your mind is just looking for proof to align with your negative beliefs.

I know you say you haven't manifested anything, but can you really think back to something you thought was a "coincidence" or something you didn't really ask for but it just appeared? We usually brush those off as just the world at play or a small world, but nope, that was you. Maybe you don't have clear skin or whatever your desire may be, but as you probably know, that's because you've put it on a pedestal compared to all the other "small" but great things you've manifested

I know you probably wanted me to tell you exactly what to do, but I genuinely don't know you the way you know yourself - your own self, mind, and behaviors. You know best, fr! I could have said anything I've said before, like imagination is the real reality, the 3D being malleable, if you can see and feel it you can manifest it, try SATs or lucid dreaming lalala. But I've learned that you know what you have to do. Sit and meditate to learn about yourself and your mind, and why you think what you think. What past experiences do you still hold onto, reliving them in your mind and creating assumptions that no longer serve you? They can still affect you, we are humans and emotions cling to us like bees to honey, and that's okay. But we need to start moving those experiences into the past and start creating with what we are now, which is the present. Any given moment is a time to say, 'Okay, this doesn't serve me anymore, and this does. I don't want this life anymore, I want this type of life,' and consciously start creating with those desires instead.

Acknowledge your doubts, they're just doubts, and they're really just an extension of life factors that have been slowly consuming your mind. You may have them, but as a god, do you have them? No. But as a human, you are influenced by them, and who cares? You know who you are and your power now, so if you disregard them, work around them. But I can't tell you what to do because I'm not you! I wholeheartedly believe that you will get through this because I have as well and the lows are just apart of your journey as the success as corny as it sounds. But when you do succeed I promise you’ll back to this movement and just be very happy you didn’t give up despite how hard it was 💝

[thesirencult]

YOU NEED PEOPLE LIKE ME / DARK PSYCHOLOGY

You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your f*****’ fingers and say, “That’s the bad guy.” So what that make you? Good? You’re not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie.

(Tony Montana, Scarface)

Most people can not handle their darker side. They can not handle their ego and their deepest desires. Now, I'm not telling you to become like Tony Montana. He was consumed by his vices and they run the show for him. I'm telling you to do what you what to do and to stop lying to yourself and hiding from your true nature.

A couple of years ago, I met a girl who had an obsession with finding a wealthy man. She did not care about anything else other than the money. In her defense, she grew up in a poor family where, her dad beat her mom up and he even did that while her mom was pregnant with her.

That girl was studying finance. She took up Arabic and wanted to work for off shore companies where she could find a husband. She specifically told me she wanted her husband to drive a Porsche which has more prestige than a BMW and buy her a BMW cause the woman should be beneath her husband. Overall she was "micey" in character. If you didn't know her you would think she was shy and religious, but. you should know better guys, these people have more ego problems than the most outspoken, egomaniac extrovert.

So, she looked "weak" but had an agenda. She also was trying to give off the "trad wife" vibe but salivated as soon as a man breathed her direction and shamed any woman who showcased her seductiveness.

A few days ago, she messaged me. She wanted to grab a coffee with me as she would be in town. I was surprised when I saw her. In the "kindest" way I can put it, she looked like women who run on every single rally around and fight for justice (nothing wrong with taht, but if you're following me I bet you get what I'm trying to convey). A white girl with Bob Marley braids! Yup, there it is!

She told me she had given up Arabic and no longer wanted to work in a big shipping corporation because that supported big oil and their agenda. She then preached to me about equality and why the left is supreme. Now, I'm pretty straightforward so I asked her, how and why her views changed. She wanted to own 3 cars and be a stay at home mom! She looked outside the window of the coffee shop and saw my parked car.

"Do you see this car?"

I said "Yeah, I see it."

"Whoever drives this car is a right wing egomaniac who doesn't care about the environment and just wants to flaunt their money." (my car is a hybrid you guys!)

"Do you drive?"

"No, I can not afford a license and my family owns only one car. Also, I'm scared of driving. Also, did I tell you I'm running on the elections with the *left wing side*. Will you vote for me? If I make it I'll get 2k per month plus health care benefits."

"That's my car. I was going to ask you, do you want to take the train home or will you ride with me?" I just wanted this meeting to bo over, to tell you the truth.

She came with me.

Wanna know why? Here is my hypothesis (and it ties in with Tony Montana's words):

99% of people give up on their dreams by age 23. In order to make it easier for them and help them soothe the guilt this breeds, they begin to drift to the opposite "side" of the court. Pornstars turn to trad wives. Playboys turn to "faithful" husbands who preach the word of the Lord. Money and power hungry individuals take up boring jobs and blame the rich and the goverment for everything. Men who can not pick up women turn to red pill guys and so on and so forth.

Most people can not handle their darker side. They can not handle their ego and their deepest desires. Now, I'm not telling you to become like Tony Montana, he was consumed by his vices and that's who runs the show. Either you run the show or someone else or something (an addiction) runs it for you.

We see all that often with sex. Body counts, "I can not find a good man/woman" etc. People who can not get what they want hate those that have the GUTS to get it.

If my acquaintance's beliefs are that strong why did she enjoy the drive in the luxury SUV? Why did she then ask me when are we going out again and if I can bring "that" guy friend who runs a tech start up?

Because they are not her beliefs. They are just a cover up. A mask.

We've all seen how happy some people get when a dreamer fails.

So, go one. Fail. You''ll succeed at some point. You're better than those who sit on the sidelines running their mouth.

They would want to be at your shoes. They would want to run free on the court.

Own that. Own yourself and run after your goals and desires. Fuck them.

[proudproship]

Not so friendly reminder that creating "dark" or "taboo" fiction can be a sign of childhood trauma!

More below the cut. Warning: long post.

TW: Mentions of trauma, child abuse, and paraphilias

Hi. I'm someone who studies psychology and sociology, and someone who also happens to have an interest in this shipping discourse stuff.

So, back to what I said a few paragraphs ago: Creating "dark" or "taboo" fictional content can be a sign of childhood trauma.

How?

When a child goes through something they consider traumatic, their brain will play the situation on repeat subconsciously, which can cause hypervigilance and symptoms of PTSD.

A common sign of PTSD in young children is that they will reenact their trauma with things like dolls, drawings, figures, and basically any other thing they can use to express their thoughts.

For example, a child who has gone through physical abuse may reenact similar things with their toys, such as making their dolls hit or yell at each other.

This symptom isn't limited to children, though. It is a symptom closely related to the presence of flashbacks and nightmares.

Many artists will create a "self-insert" character, "sona," or a character who is otherwise much like it's creator; when an artist creates a character like this and also has past trauma, their symptoms may reflect onto their character.

Projecting yourself onto characters can happen with other characters as well, even if you didn't make the character.

This is a healthy symptom. It shows that the brain is willing to become stronger from their trauma.

Reenacting trauma in ways that aren't harmful can help the brain process what happened to them, and can even help them deal with their trauma directly.

In order to heal trauma, you must know what your trauma is; you can't heal a wound you don't know you have.

While dark fiction creators are indulging in positive healing mechanisms, certain people will shun them for doing so.

"Antishippers" claim to be the "heroes" and to support healing, even though the thing that makes someone be considered and antishipper is if they're "anti healing through fiction."

Antishippers will throw the same ableist rhetorics around by claiming "if you ship adult x child you're a pedophile!" or "if you have age gap ships (even if both are consenting adults) you're a pedophile!"

This, not only is it hurting trauma survivors (especially those who have been harmed by those with paraphilic disorders), it is hurting EVERY disabled person.

Armchair diagnosis is not something anyone should do.

It is when there is little to no evidence that the condition exists within a person, though people still throw labels onto them to make them seem like they're a "bad guy." (Usually.)

This is also hurting people with actual paraphilias. Paraphilic disorder is real condition characterized by intrusive thoughts of a (usually abnormal or harmful-if-acted-on) sexual nature.

Even if someone claims to not be ableist but still demonizes and villainizes paraphilias, they're ableist.

Ableism is ableism.

And before an anti decides to call me a "pedo-apologist," go right ahead! You don't know what you're saying anyways.

There is a difference between a criminal and a disabled person.

Proship people do not support abuse. Anyone who claims to be proship but still supports abuse is NOT proship.

---

Of course anyone who makes dark content doesn't have to have past trauma.

There are many people who make dark content that don't have what they'd consider trauma, or think their trauma is unrelated to the content they create.

What if they did experience something traumatic in the future?

They'd be able to cope with it better, because they'd seen it in fiction before, so they'd know the impact of it, and how they could handle it.

Of course, not everyone who indulges in fiction will be able to handle it, though.

However, no matter if they have past trauma or not, assume the best when it comes to content creators.

They're creative and strong, and we should be thankful that they're adding onto fandom culture by just existing and doing what they love.

All people, no matter what fictional content they create, are beautiful in their own way and should be met with kindness and compassion.

Do not go out of your way to harass/abuse innocent people.

Do not go out of your way to be ableist towards content creators and content consumers.

---

Thank you for reading my long post, I hope it helped at least a bit.

Have a great day/night and stay safe, no matter your taste in fiction.

Feedback is appreciated, and reblogs are encouraged.

[drdemonprince]

Heyyo - autist here who’s still figuring out my physical and emotional needs. I use weed every day, and part of me has shame around this (as I am a “professional” and supposedly it’s “bad for you”, and it costs money) and the other part of me says “fuck it, there’s no moral value in not using drugs and you should do what you need to”. I guess I’m wondering what perspectives you can offer on this. I’m ruminating on it a bit lately and need some outside people to share their thoughts to get me out of that cycle. Thnx

I find that I am a lot more in tune with my bodily sensations and emotions when I am high, and that I find it easier to enjoy things and to chat amiably with random people when I'm high too. It makes life easier and more pleasant to such an extent that I wonder if I ought to smoke weed daily to medicate all my Problems and Difficulties and general irritation at of most aspects of existence. But then I don't. Because I get freaked out by the brain foggy weed hangover that drifts into the next day, and I assume that it will be bad for my writing to be high, and perhaps most of all, because I am terrified of building up a really high weed tolerance and then needing to use a ton to feel anything, or to even return to a baseline.

A couple years back I tried out vaping almost nightly for a few months, and it definitely reached a point where simply *not* being high felt like being anxious, it seemed, so I decided pretty quickly to reduce my weed intake. I don't like NEEDING any substance to function or to just feel okay. so for now I keep it to the weekends. I often think of using weed more often than that, and kind of want to, but i don't.

The research on chronic long-term weed use is quite encouraging! There are no cognitive or motivational downsides to using weed every day, or even multiple times per day. Conversely, there are many emotional and psychological benefits. @testdevice and I discussed the latest scientific research on the subject at length here:

There's really only one rub to the study's findings: people who use weed multiple times per day have a baseline lower mood than people who use weed frequently, but not quite that often. NOW THIS IS NOT A CAUSAL RELATIONSHIP. Chronic heavy weed use is not CAUSING people to be more depressed -- it simply seems to be the case that people who are chronically depressed are reaching more frequently for weed to cope with it.

The study shows weed use does raise mood including for members of that group, so there really is no serious drawback to using marijuana here!

But It does align with a finding that I've made in my personal life: the moments when I want to use weed the most frequently are when something in my life is completely out of wack. When I'm super overworked and stressed out, the temptation is to use weed as a way to down-regulate my anxiety, but what actually works far better for me is taking actual steps to reduce stress in my life. I COULD use weed for depression or for failing to find life activities enjoyable, and it works, but it's also worth asking myself which aspects of my life need to change so that I can feel less depressed and get through the day feeling okay. negative emotions are a signal that something in life is going wrong and needs to be fixed, and I do not want to ignore that alarm system.

Those are just some things to think about. Personally, I think that if you have some ability to make choices in your life that can improve your general circumstances, it's better to do that than to use weed to make a life that sucks a little more tolerable. But if daily weed use is helping make your life better or less hard, the weed itself is not the problem!

Lots of people determine that daily weed use has considerable benefits for them with relatively few costs. For me, using a couple times per week is what hits that sweet spot. but ymmv.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for possibly invalidating a self-diagnosed autistic person

I (20sNB) met D (20sM) in an online server for an anime fandom we're both in. I'm a psychology student who was professionally diagnosed with autism in early childhood. D and I developed a friendship based on having similar fandom opinions. I don't remember how me being autistic came up in conversation but when I mentioned it, he described himself as "autistic as f#ck". Sometimes he would get into arguments with other people in the server and bring up his autism if he was called out on how he spoke to people. On his twitter he said his autism was self-diagnosed and he has no interest in getting a professional diagnosis but he could if he wanted to.

I have complicated feelings on self-diagnosis; I think there's pressure in the autistic community to accept every single self-diagnosed person as valid. I personally would never definitively say I had something that I hadn't been professionally diagnosed with. That being said, I understand that there are factors that would prevent someone from getting a diagnosis so some people *have* to only be self-diagnosed. I don't have a problem with it as long as people aren't spreading misinformation or being actively harmful, which is what I (and others) thought D was doing. My issue wasn't him being self-diagnosis, it was that he was using his self-diagnosed autism to justify incorrect (and harmful) claims.

I noticed a few times that he would make comments like "autism isn't a disability" and "some autistics have high support needs because of intellectual disability", which is just flat out wrong. D also claimed that if he was to get a diagnosis, his would be level 3 autism (which would be for someone with high support needs with severe social and communication deficits, generally nonverbal) but he also is a college student who's been in a relationship for over a year and he works part-time in retail. For context, my diagnosis happened when there was different terminology but my psychologist considers me to be somewhere between level 1 or 2 and I am also studying and working part time.

Another person in the server (let's call them P, also 20sM) brought up a different disorder that they'd been diagnosed with (not autism although P is autistic as well) and D immediately said "I probably have that too but I can't be bothered to do anything about it".

P and a few other people in the server expressed some frustration in a separate group chat about D's tendency to (a) say things about autism that just aren't true and (b) say "omg me too" every time one of us brings up things we have. Once D said autism isn't a disability the third or fourth time we'd had enough and I responded "D, that's not right". D took offense to that and claimed as a fellow autistic person I should agree with him. I said "D, I'm autistic and it's a disability, I call myself disabled because my autism is literally disabling". D said he felt like disabled is a bad word and he doesn't like using it about himself. I said "D, no one's forcing you to use it about yourself if you don't want to, but saying autism isn't a disability is just wrong". P pointed out that every time someone in the server talks about being neurodivergent D is like "omg me too" and P also said that D doesn't get to claim to be autistic while also spreading misinformation, especially when the misinformation being spread is ableist. D got mad at P for calling him ableist; he insisted he's autistic and self-diagnosis is valid. I said "I get that, but when the information you're spreading is flat-out wrong, it kind of makes me question your researching skills".

D called P and I both ableist, told us we were so privileged to be diagnosed (which neither of us disputed but also D *could* have been diagnosed but chooses not to be even though he has the resources to access a professional diagnosis) and we're "f#cking assholes" for invalidating self-diagnosed autistics. D's partner (20sF) also got involved and claimed we were bullying D and we both have "pick-me" attitudes. P and I both muted the server and disengaged for a while.

Later on, D messaged P and I both. D claimed his reaction to what was said was because of his autism. P had had enough and said "buddy, you don't get to say that" and D got mad and blocked P. I told D I was going no-contact and D could block me if he wanted. D called me an asshole and I blocked him.

It's probably worth noting that my autism means that I have difficulty interpreting people's messages in text form and tend to take what people say at face value. Sometimes D getting overly confrontational triggered my anxiety and caused me to feel very uneasy around him since it was in text form and there was no vocal tone to decipher (if that makes sense). The thing is, I don't think D is necessarily not autistic, I just think D has some internalized ableism and doesn't really understand the nuances of the autism spectrum enough to make a sound judgement and he should have maybe not made claims about an identity he knows very little about, but maybe P and I might have been a little harsh because we'd been stewing on our feelings for so long.

What are these acronyms?