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starry-eyes-love · 8 months ago

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Too Young to Die- Part 1

Masterlist

Part 1 of 3 part Mini Series

Pairing | Massage Therapist Joel Miller x F!Reader with Autoimmune disease, no outbreak, AU (I changed up his timeline a bit).

Summary | You were referred to Dr. Joel Miller, a massage specialist, to help manage your joint and muscle pain with autoimmune disease. What you didn’t know was that Joel was an insanely attractive man, and that you’d be coming undone underneath him before your first appointment was even over with.

Series Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI, Smut!

Age gap (he’s 47, she’s 29), language, Smut (with a capital S, watch out!!), daddy reference, f!(fingering), squirting, female reader has autoimmune disease, Joel is a massage therapist, slight reference of medical stuff, reader verbalizes anxiety with treatment, fluffy Joel, soft Joel, sexy Joel, terms of endearment, Joel asks her out on a date at the end.

A/N: This one is completely self-indulgent and has been sitting in my draft folder since before Christmas. I have autoimmune disease, and treatment hasn’t worked much for me in many areas, so I know some of the troubles and struggles that the reader here has. Not everyone who has autoimmune disease may experience these symptoms, concerns, or struggles. This will be only a three part mini series. Very smutty with story building throughout. Enjoy!

Word Count: 9.1K (we’re establishing a story here)

Fuck you were wrecked, seconds away from crashing through, or into, a brick wall with an orgasm, you thought. This felt different though, so much different than what you’ve ever experienced before. “Joel, fuck, pressure, it’s a lot of pressure and I’m, fuck, I’m, I’m-” “Come f’me sweetheart. Come on baby, fucking soak my fingers.”

Joel Miller sat in his office of his massage studio, looking over the referral paperwork that Dr. Samson, an autoimmune specialist, had sent him. A female patient was being referred to him for treatment of musculoskeletal pain and tenderness.

“Patient has reoccurring musculoskeletal tremors of unknown origin that come and go. Bilateral joint swelling seen in all extremities with positive inflammation noted in laboratory test results and X-rays. Arthritis and arthralgia positive in all joints. According to the patient, anti-inflammatory and arthritis medication only works slightly for pain. Recommended gentle massage therapy to see if joint lubrication and increased joint mobility is plausible, and if pain and muscle tremors will cease. Immediate referral requested.”

When Joel glanced at the bottom of the form a week ago, he had seen that the referral had come in three weeks prior. Now today, four weeks after the initial referral, he was finally able to see you for the first time. When he had inquired with his secretary as to why it took so long before he saw you, she had said that there was a problem with your private healthcare insurance. Delaying treatment was never something that Joel Miller prided himself on. In fact, he was usually the opposite with trying to get his patients in for their first appointment within a week following their referral. Joel, having been a contractor in his previous life before becoming a massage therapist, knew the difficulties with treating joint and muscle pain. The goal was to never delay treatment as it would lead to widespread body inflammation. And once inflammation fully set into muscles and joints, it was harder for someone to find relief of their discomfort.

You were Joel’s next scheduled patient to arrive in 20 minutes. As he waited for your arrival, he went back over your X-rays, lab test results, and dictation notes from your autoimmune specialist. He had already reviewed it previously, but now he was refreshing himself on your in-depth history as he took some last minute notes of things that he wanted to ask you for this particular session. He had booked your first appointment with him to be about 2 hours, instead of the usual hour. Joel always conducted very detailed exams with his patients. He was also very knowledgeable in understanding autoimmune patients, especially knowing that each person was unique. He wanted to tailor a program that was going to help you specifically.

Joel Miller wasn’t just your average run of the mill massage therapist, he had a specialty license in massage. He specialized in patients with pain, joint stiffness and swelling, inflammation, autoimmune disease, injuries, etc. People usually only came to him by doctor referral, which usually meant two things. First, he prided himself on taking his time to get to know his patients and how he could help ease their suffering and pain. And second, he typically charged more money for his services. Most massage therapists would charge people a fee based on how long they performed their massage, Joel charged by the session. The maximum time he would give a client with his hands was 1 hour, but he’d pencil in 1.5 hours of time with them just in case they felt pain. Sometimes he’d have to stop and let patients breathe and relax for a minute before he started massaging their muscles again. Joel had a lot of training and education in the technique that was required, and many patients walked away from him stating that they felt a lot better. By glancing at your history he didn’t think that you’d be a one time only patient. He thinks that you would benefit from regular massages with him to help treat your inflammation and pain.

“Mr. Miller, your 10 AM appointment is here,” his secretary, Ashley, said.

“Thanks Ashley, I’ll be out in a minute. Please take her back to Room 5, and I’ll be along in a minute.” He replied, still studying the notes from your doctor and making notes for himself of the things that he wanted to focus on with you for your first appointment.

When you had arrived at the address for your first massage, you felt a sickly feeling in your stomach. Your doctor had reassured you that Mr. Miller would be the person to help you feel better. But just like all the other promises that your primary care provider gave you, and how none of them worked the way that you hoped, you were very skeptical at this new treatment option. Nothing helped you feel better, and you were beyond frustrated. It took you a bit to convince yourself this morning to come here, telling yourself that Dr. Miller was an expert at this, and that you should give him a try. What could hurt, you thought. Worst case scenario, it didn't do anything, which sadly was the norm for you these days.

For the last several years, your body had been poked and prodded more times than you would care to admit. Each time there was a promise of a better understanding or discovery of why this was all happening. But with each test, came more conflicting and confusing results, and you were exhausted from it all. You have been giving more blood for the sake of medical testing than what you’d think was truly normal. As ridiculous as it sounded, you felt that if Dracula was actually a real being, that he would be impressed with the amount of blood that you've donated for the sake of medical science.

With shaky hands, you got out of your car, locked it, and then entered the facility. When you entered you noticed that the space was calm. There was pale muted colors that covered the walls, colors that often helped people relax. But it did nothing for your nerves. You were shaking and not wanting to do any of this anymore. You felt like you had a huge lump in your throat, and that you couldn't fully swallow. Of all the things that you had to be afraid of in this world, you were the most afraid of medical treatment. Yet, that was the one thing that you were blessed with in having to always do. ‘Thanks body for betraying me with autoimmune,’ you thought.

As you walked up to the registration window, you found the secretary typing away on her keyboard while looking at her computer screen. You tried to settle your nerves before opening your mouth, but you felt like you were drowning in a pool of despair. Anxiety was getting the better of you again, and you felt like you wanted to run away and hide from everything. But where could you go when autoimmune always seemed to follow you, especially with the pain that came along with it.

“Um, excuse me,” you said meekly, after standing at the window for a brief moment.

The secretary continued to type away, not looking at you nor acknowledging your presence. You went to clear your voice again when she abruptly stopped and said, “what can I do for you hun?”

“I- uh, I have an appointment, with um, with Dr. Miller I think,” you said softly.

“Oh, hun it's just Mr. Miller, or Joel for short. He doesn't like being called Doctor. He always says he has a doctorate degree in massage, not in medicine. Yet they're kinda the same thing if you ask me.” The secretary said, shaking her head with a slight laugh. You stood there in silence, looking at her as she continued to ramble on. You were trying to listen to what she was saying, but all you could feel was your heart racing in your chest at the prospect of once again meeting a new person with the promise of helping you.

After listening to the woman who you thought was named Ashley ramble on for 15 minutes, as that was the name that you noticed on her name tag, you were finally sitting down in the general waiting area. You were slowly trying to calm down and relax while staring outside and watching the birds hunt for bugs in the grass. You didn't know how long you were waiting there, just staring outside, before you heard Ashley call your name again to take you back to Room 5. You didn’t know what to expect when you entered the room, but what you saw shocked you.

The room was softly lit, with soft music playing in the background, music that you liked. You also heard running waterfalls, sounds that came from the little fountains scattered all around the room. There was also a hint of cinnamon and slight vanilla aroma in the air, your favorite scents that would usually calm you. You tried racking your brain as to how, by chance, these scents and sounds were present when Ashley said, “it was on your intake survey. Your favorite classical music, scents, and sounds. Joel's very thorough, focusing on relaxation as much as muscle and joint relief.”

You stood there shocked. You thought those questions were just asked of people to try to ease the tension of how you were going to let a stranger put their hands on you. You had no idea that your answers would actually be taken seriously. Usually doctors, when they’ve asked those questions, never really did anything with the answers. Well, Dr. Miller was definitely different. It was at this moment that you were grateful that someone actually listened to you. You just hoped that he would continue with the same dedication while speaking with you, and not ignore what you said like everyone else seemed to do. You were frustrated with the medical field. You’d tell them something hurt, or something was happening and they only looked at your lab tests and X-rays and made decisions based on that, never actually listening to what you were truly telling them. You had only been in the room for maybe 5 minutes when you heard a gentle knock on the door, and the entrance of who you only could have suggested was Dr. Miller.

“Good day, I'm Dr. Miller but you can call me Joel.” He said while holding out his hand for you to shake. You shook his hand, and as you did, you felt how rough his hands were. They were calloused and strong, very sturdy hands. Not something that you'd expect to see from a massage therapist. This intrigued you, as you've always loved a man with rough hands.

After you introduced yourself, Joel walked over to the small desk in the room and sat down on the rolling stool. A typical doctor stool that you’ve seen countless times in exam rooms. He grabbed a piece of paper and then sat there for a moment writing a few notes, things that you thought were probably dealing with your medical file. After a moment he finally looked up at you and then asked with a slight Southern drawl, “How are y’feeling today?”

“I- I’m ok” you said meekly as you slowly looked over Joel. Joel was a gorgeous man, clearly in his later 40s with chocolate brown curly hair. He had a mustache and a slight beard by his jaw, one that had a slight sprinkling of gray in it. He also had glasses on his face with gentle eyes behind the glasses, ones that you could easily get lost in. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt, framing his broad shoulders perfectly. He had a slight tan on his arms, and hands that once again you couldn't wait to touch you. By looking at him, you didn’t think that massage was the only thing that Joel has done in his life. Something told you that he had spent many years doing hard work with his hands. As you continued your exploration, you then noticed that he was wearing a nice pair of black pants that hugged his hips perfectly. As you continued, you saw that Dr. Miller was definitely someone who was a decent sized man in the bedroom, seeing the soft bulge in his pants as he sat down with his legs slightly spread on the stool by the desk. You couldn’t help yourself but you stared at his package, wondering what it’d look like outside of the confines of his pants, and what it would feel like fully aroused inside of you. The longer you stared, the more you felt heat rise up the back of your neck. When you noticed the awkward moment of him looking at you, clearly having asked you a question that you didn't hear, you shook your head slightly, looking down fully at the floor while saying “sorry” out loud.

“It's ok darlin',” he said, giving you a small little smirk at the fact that he caught you checking him out. You were hoping that he didn’t see what you were checking out the longest though. You didn’t want to explain to your massage therapist that you were fantasizing about his package, and what types of moans or grunts he’d make while fucking your brains out.

Joel continued to talk to you, explaining why you were here, and how his services could help you. You were only half listening to him, embarrassed about how you had behaved previously. Joel was devilishly handsome, the type of guy that you were into. You were, however, internally scolding yourself at the importance of having proper social etiquette, and not eye fucking your massage therapist, which is what you were doing every time you looked at him.

As Joel continued to talk with you, he slowly moved around the room, grabbing different things off from the shelves. He instantly noticed your meek and shy attitude, even though he had caught you checking him out earlier. He had to admit, you were very cute, but Joel was a professional. He couldn’t allow himself the joys of thinking about you in a different sort of way. Nevermind, that if he wasn’t your massage therapist, he would definitely want to explore those other possibilities with you. What he did notice though was how you turned inward at the mentions of pain, autoimmune disease, and how your doctor said you didn’t have much abilities to do activities that your peers could do. You were 29, and he knew what the world did to 29 year olds who didn’t, or couldn’t, do the same things that their peers could. The world would ignore you. Joel, himself, remembered those days when he was 29 and worked construction when Sarah and Ellie, his daughters, were younger. All his friends went out partying after work, when he went home and raised a 10 year old and a 2 year old all on his own, Sarah and Ellie’s mom were already out of the picture. Joel was lost in his own head, remembering those earlier days, when all of a sudden he heard you speak up in an irritated tone.

“Mr. Miller, no disrespect, but I don’t think you understand what it’s like to not be able to do things that most 29 year olds can do.” You didn’t think he understood. So once again you found yourself trying to explain to a medical professional how much autoimmune has negatively impacted your life at such a young age, and how agitated you were at the fact that no one seemed to help you or listen to you. Joel, being the attentive man that he was, sat across from you on the stool and listened to every word that you had said.

Once you were finished, Joel took a deep inhale, then followed by a long exhale and then said “I am so sorry that people haven’t listened to you, or have taken you seriously about your concerns with your body. You’re right, I don’t know what it's like f’ya as I’m not you. But, I do know what it’s like to not be able to do everything a 29 year old can do. I may not have autoimmune, but I had different responsibilities that didn’t allow me the joys of doing everything that I wanted, including the joys of being with a beautiful woman like yourself at that age. That’s why I want to help you.”

As soon as Joel called you beautiful, he saw your reaction. You started to blush on your cheeks from the compliment. You felt flattered by the older man that was in front of you. Meanwhile, Joel internally scolded himself at how his statement wasn't proper patient-doctor etiquette. Joel had vowed to himself that he wouldn't cross that line again, especially with you, no matter how drop dead gorgeous he thought you were.

Joel began to run a few tests with you, checking your reflexes and testing your mobility. You didn’t say anything else to him after his statement. You felt embarrassed by your actions and assumptions that he didn't care or understand, when you could clearly see that he did. The longer you looked at him, the more you could see that he was someone who truly did care about helping others. You silently wondered if his treatment would actually help.

“Dr. Miller?” you asked, wanting to scratch the itch of your curiosity in understanding the treatment that he was suggesting.

“Joel” he said as he pushed on your shoulder blades. When you winced he said “are you tender here?” as he pushed on the same spot again, but this time with a little less force.

“Yeah. I’m tender there, and everywhere,” you said with a hiss as he moved his hand down to your biceps. “It’s tender inside every joint, and sometimes muscles. Winter’s in Minnesota aren’t too nice for people like me,” you said, head hanging low as a tear slipped down your cheeks.

You felt Joel stop testing your joints and muscles, hands still on your arms when he placed his finger gently under your chin, slightly tilting your head up so you could look him in the eyes. After a moment he said, “Well, we’ll try to rectify that now won’t we. Massage is more than just relaxin’, it helps a lot of people in ways that can-”

“Can it cure me?” you said, interrupting him, with wide eyes. “Cause if it can cure me, I’ll do anything. But don’t tell me that it’ll work miracles. Don't get my hopes up and then have it fail. I-I can’t take it anymore with all of the disappointment” you said, closing your eyes to take a steadying breath as tears gathered at your waterline. It has been a very long and exhausting road these past three years with your autoimmune journey. You found out early on that your body couldn’t tolerate medication, and nothing else seemed to work.

“I can’t promise that it’ll do miracles by curin’ ya, but I can promise that I’ll try my best to make you feel better. How’s that?” Joel said with a tender voice, trying to soothe your emotional discomfort of years of failed treatments. Joel remembered reading the last line of your referral by Dr. Samson which had stated;

“No treatments have been successful. Patient has voiced wanting to stop trying autoimmune treatments, stating that she didn’t feel like it was working. Patient was informed that if she decided to fully stop taking immunosuppressant medications, that the end result would be major organ damage that could lead to death. Patient agreed to try one more treatment for pain, stating that if the treatment didn’t work, then she’d stop autoimmune treatments altogether and ‘let whatever happens, happen’.”

‘Fuck,’ Joel had thought when he first read that last line in your medical file. Someone giving up, especially at such a young age, didn't sit well with him. Being 29, your entire world was still in front of you. You had a lot more years and possibilities of life in front of you. Giving up wasn't something that Joel did, and the fact that you had voiced wanting to stop treatments to your doctor bothered him immensely. Truly, it wasn't necessarily the fact that you had wanted to stop treatments that upset him. It was your willingness to allow death to potentially consume you that truly got to him. You were too young to die.

20 minutes later, you were lying on your stomach with a sheet covering your lower half. You were completely naked, scolding yourself internally that you didn’t wear underware today with your pants. Joel was slowly massaging your back, trying to work out the knots that he felt in your muscles. As his hands continued to work out the knots and tension, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief. His touch was not only skilled, but carried a reassurance that echoed through your body. You felt safe with him, safe in a way that you haven’t for a long time. You felt like if you were near him, that he’d take all the bad in the world away for you. And if you were being honest, this comfort was something that you haven't felt in a very long time from anyone.

"You're doing great, darlin’," Joel whispered, sensing your vulnerability and turmoil you had been feeling. Joel could tell that you were working through something major in your head, just like most of his patients did. Most of the time he focused on trying to distract people from their internal thoughts, giving them a break when they were here. But there was something about the silence between the two of you right now that he felt like you desperately needed. Every time he’d open his mouth to ask you a question, he’d feel you tense up, and that was the last thing he wanted you to do. So he slowly worked your sore muscles and joints, giving them the tenderness and affection that they needed, while allowing you to stay seated in silence.

Throughout the session, Joel maintained an empathetic connection with you. He explained each technique when he’d switch it up, providing you with the most gentle sense of comfort. He’d tell you what he was going to do, if he moved down your body or up, giving you moments to breathe when he felt like it was too much. But most of all, he gave you that warmth and unawkward silence that you craved. He wanted you to just live and feel, to just be in the moment with him.

As Joel's tender touch continued, you felt a warmth spread throughout your body, slightly dissipating the pain that had lingered there for so long. His words became a comforting melody, echoing a promise to you of relief. “You’re doing so good f’me, gentle breaths in and out, there y’go.” He said, encouraging you to stay centered and remain in the moment. That was the key in pain relief, staying grounded and living within the moment. When we just allow our body to feel, and not force anything, we can find peace and calmness. These feelings of peace and calmness are what leads us to having pain relief.

As Joel moved down to your lower back, you let out a hiss in pain, followed by an “ouch that hurts.”

“What hurts darlin’?” Joel said, slowing his deep strokes on your lower back, right above your tailbone area. He doesn’t remember reading in your file that you had lower back pain, so this was something new that caught him a little off guard.

“Right there, low” you said, hissing again as he pressed his finger into the lower part of your back, on your left side, by your hip.

After you hissed a second time, Joel immediately stopped and walked around to the other side of the massage table. He gently pressed on your lower back and hip joint on the other side, saying, “how ‘bout over here, does this hurt?”

“No, not as bad,” you said. “It's my left side, god that hurts.” You said, as he reached over and lightly pressed on your left side once again.

“Ok, let’s try somethin’,'' Joel said, moving completely over to your left side now. “I’m gonna hold up the blanket, where you still are covered, and I want you to flip completely on your back, okay? I wanna see if your pain continues in a different position.”

You nodded your head and then gently felt the blankets pull off from you. Joel was completely looking away from you, giving you privacy as you turned to lay on your back instead of your stomach. When you finally settled, you told him that you were ready. He then informed you that he was only going to uncover your left leg, to the mid thigh region. As he did, he explained how he was going to test your leg's range of motion to see if it was your hip joint that had caused you pain.

With only doing simple joint motions with your leg, Joel noticed that nothing was painful. When he bent your knee, pointing your knee outwards towards the left, followed by gently lifting your leg higher, to open up your pelvis more, he didn’t see any outward signs of pain from you.

“If I do this, does it hurt?” He said, placing a little weight on your leg.

As soon as your knee got about level with your pelvis you hissed again. Joel tried pushing down on your pelvic joint to determine where it hurt, but all you did was whimper. The pain wasn’t coming from your joint, it was coming from someplace else deep inside of you. When he returned your leg back down he said “I’m sorry darlin’, I can’t determine where your pain is coming from. Have you had it-”

“Just forget about it” you said, turning your head to the opposite side, closing your eyes as you felt the tears start to stream down your face.

“Hey, none of that, '' Joel said, gently turning your chin towards him so he could see your face in its entirety. “If somethin’ is hurting ya, I wanna hear about it. Help me out, where does it hurt?” When you didn’t respond right away he said, “does it hurt here” as he gently pressed on your hip bone. He watched you shake your head no. “How about here?” He asked, moving slightly inward, towards the inside of your pelvic bone.

With a shaky breath you said, “no, but it hurts straight down, but lower and inward more.”

“Here” he said, moving down about halfway where your hip joint was, towards the inside of your pelvis. You let out another shaky breath, closing your eyes as tears fell more from your cheeks, shaking your head no to him.

It took Joel a second to figure it out. But when he did, he finally understood why you were crying. You were embarrassed about what was happening inside of your body. When he moved his hand down towards the lower left side quadrant of your abdomen, and gently pushed where your ovaries were, he asked, “does it hurt here darlin’?” As soon as he applied a little bit of pressure to your left ovary area, you let out a stuttered breath, nodding your head up and down.

Joel flattened his hand on your tummy, where the sensation was, knowing what the culprit was. You were probably mid cycle and ovulating with an ovarian cyst. He didn’t remember you being pregnant, but he wanted to make sure that it wasn't an ectopic pregnancy before he ruled it as an ovarian problem.

“If I press over here, does it hurt?” Joel said, pressing on the other side in the lower abdomen. You had your eyes closed, tears lightly falling, shaking your head no.

“Ok, ok, darlin’. I know, I know. Deep breaths for me though, ok?” he said, as he watched tears stream down your face. He gave you a moment to collect yourself, before he asked his next question.

“Is there any chance you could be pregnant?” He said, slowly stroking your tummy where a baby would be laying. He knew he shouldn’t, but somehow imagining you having a swollen tummy where a baby would lay was giving him fantasies that he didn’t even know existed.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, saying, “no, it’s not that.”

Puzzled, Joel looked at you and said, “y’know, if an ectopic pregnancy happened, y’still could have a normal period. If there’s any chance that you could be pregnant, like having unprotected sex, or even if the condom broke, you probably should-”

“Joel, I haven’t had sex in 3 years,” you said, barely above a whisper. When you noticed the shocked look on his face you turned your head away from him adding, “guys really don’t want to have sex with a woman like me.”

“What’d y’mean, a woman like you?” He said, furrowing his brows at your odd phrasing.

“A woman who’s sick with autoimmune, Joel.” You said, closing your eyes and trying to pull back the tears that were threatening to fall again. You didn't want to have this conversation, and you sure as hell didn't want to admit how the act of even having orgasms were difficult for you. There were just some autoimmune embarrassments that you wanted to keep to yourself, no matter how much it shattered your soul inside. You didn't feel like a beautiful, young, sexy, attractive woman that you knew all the other single 29 year old ladies felt. You felt like you couldn’t offer anything to the male race that wasn't medical tests, sickness, and heartache combined.

Immediately Joel felt irritation and anger at your careless comment of how men wouldn't find you attractive or want to be with you. Without dwelling on it, Joel did the one thing that he knew he shouldn't, he opened his mouth to speak more on the issue. He hoped he could get you to understand that not all men were like this, that he sure as hell wasn't like this.

“Darlin’, boys, not real men, are like that. A real man wouldn’t allow sickness to stop him from wantin’ a beautiful woman like yourself. A real man would enjoy making you feel good. Real men, honey, not boys.”

Once he said it, Joel knew that he shouldn’t have opened his mouth, especially with the look that you were giving him. You looked back at him, shocked, and taken aback by his forward statement. But he couldn’t just stand there and listen to you accuse men, like him, of not caring. He would do anything to be with a beautiful woman like yourself, whether or not you were sick with a permanent illness.

After your head caught up with Joel's statement on men, you just shook your head. You then gave him a genuine, honest to god, belly laugh. “Yeah, well, Mr. Miller, show me where a real man is who wouldn’t care about all of that. Tell me who he is, because honestly, I haven’t found one single guy out there who’d be willing to have a real relationship with me because of this illness. And for the record, I can’t even get a guy to fuck me with no strings attached either. Not that I’d want that, cause I don’t do the casual sex thing, but still, you get it.” You said, snapping right back at him.

It was Joel's turn this time to look shocked. He thought to himself, why the hell has no one treated you right? He could see that you were exhausted with your own body and with your own life. He could tell that you were exhausted at the reminder of what you didn't have, of what your autoimmune disease had taken from you. He wondered if you ever truly tried, or if you just gave up right away. The longer he looked at you, the more he realized that you had tried, but obviously you weren't successful.

As you sat there partially propped up onto your forearms, you felt the tears well up into your eyes once again as you watched Joel look at you. You were embarrassed at what you had said. At admitting how easy it was for everyone else in the world to have relationships, everyone except you. Hell your own family even disowned you after your diagnosis stating that it was “too hard for them to handle.” So you've been doing this on your own, all alone, for the past 3 years. Exhausted didn't even come close to describing the way that you felt.

As you gently laid back down at this realization of loneliness once again, silently scolding yourself for opening your mouth, you accidentally hit the back of your head on the table, muttering “shit” under your breath. After a moment, you heard Joel let out another long sigh and then he gently grabbed your chin and said, “hey, look at me.”

When you looked into Joel’s eyes, he was staring back at you with concern and tenderness lacing his features. Joel saw your frustration and array of emotions, and he felt like it was important for him to take away all those insecurities by telling you that he wasn't like all those other boys you were with. With a slight smile, he gently cupped your cheek and said, “darlin’, a real man, like me, doesn’t fucking care if you’re sick or not. Men, like me honey, would take care of you regardless of the problems that you have. And honestly, it’s a damn shame that no one has ever taken their time with you, making sure your needs were met. If I was with you, I'd make damn sure you were enjoying it the entire time.”

Joel then removed his hand and placed both hands on the side of the massage table, stepping back and exhaling through his mouth as he looked down at the ground. He knew he needed to end this session right now. He's already stepped over far too many lines, and if he didn't watch it, he'd cross an even bigger one of showing you how a real man gave a beautiful woman pleasure.

You laid there watching the turmoil unfold on Joel's face. He wouldn't look up at you, kept staring down at the floor, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet periodically. He had checked his watch several times, attempted to clear his throat once, and had quickly glanced out the window. You knew those signs, he was trying to find a nice way to end the session or end the conversation. The more you watched him, the more upset you got.

After Joel stood there staring outside for a while, he finally cleared his throat again. “I- uh, I think Dr. Anderson can probably help you better, she’s very good with this type of stuff,” he said, waving his arm at you, but not looking at you.

When he straightened up to walk away you closed your eyes and said in a soft voice, “Please, please, help me.” You wanted to keep your voice steady, but you found that it slightly cracked at the end, which made you internally scold yourself. You weren't a weak person by nature, you couldn't afford to be with a disease that was slowly destroying your organs and killing you from the inside out. But somehow you felt like you were weak, like you were just a shell of the person that you once were. At first, when you asked for his help, you didn't know what exactly you were asking for. But as the seconds ticked by, with him not answering, you realized that you were pleading for him to see you.

Without looking at you, Joel asked in a gentle tone, “what do y’need help with?” When he turned back around towards you, his eyes were closed, and he was taking several steadying breaths. He was trying to calm his nerves and to silence the war that was going on in his mind. His mind was screaming at him, reminding him that this was inappropriate patient-doctor conversation or relations. He knew he needed to stop. So it shocked him to hear himself say a little louder, “Darlin’, what do you need help with?”

You just stared up at him, searching his face to see if what you wanted to voice was okay for you to do. You wanted him, as a man, to find you attractive and to touch you. But how could you ask him to go against all of his code of ethics as a medical provider just to touch you like a husband would touch a wife, desperately and passionately. You didn’t even know if he was married, or even in a relationship with someone else.

As Joel opened his eyes, he looked down at you, and it was then that he knew what you wanted. You were looking at him the same way his ex-wife used to look at him from time to time. When she’d plead with him to fuck her, to silence all her insecurities in her head. He hasn't seen a woman look at him like that for almost 20 years, and it did something to him. It made his resolve crumble instantly where he said ‘fuck it' in his own head, and he gave in to his primal instinct of helping you as a man, not as your doctor.

“Baby, come on. I ain’t gonna ask y’again. What is it that you need, honey? Tell me, and I'll do it.”

“Joel, please,” was all you could say, begging him with your eyes, trying to tell him what you wanted.

“No, now, come on. Y'gotta use your words for me. Be a good girl and tell Daddy what he can do to help you and make you feel better.”

As soon as Joel had said the word daddy, he instantly scolded himself. But when he saw your eyes glaze over with arousal at the name, he knew what you wanted. You lightly whimpered and started squeezing your thighs tight together.

Joel felt dizzy for a moment as blood rushed fast to his cock at your whimper, his cock hardening to the point of being painful. But this wasn't about him. This was about you, about showing you that a real man, like him, could give you affection and attention like you so desperately needed.

He walked towards you, gently placing his hand onto your thigh, lightly stroking it. He was trying to center you and help you communicate with him in what you wanted and needed. He knew all of this was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, especially when you begged him to touch you.

“Joel, please, touch me,” you said, while grabbing his hand and guiding it to below the blanket to where you were practically throbbing.

“F-fuck,” Joel slightly moaned, closing his eyes at the feeling of you not wearing any underwear as he touched your slick velvet folds underneath the blanket with his hand. Your lips were slightly swollen, aroused, and desperately needing attention. You were making a mess on his table, slick pouring out of you from your needy little hole. You wanted Joel to help soothe the ache deep within you, to take your pain away.

Joel slowly moved his finger down to your center. Feeling your pussy spasm and clench around nothing. He rested his finger at your opening, not pushing his finger inside of you just yet, but slowly stroking it with feather-like touches. “Baby, we shouldn’t do this” he said, still slowly circling your opening, and not stopping or pushing his finger in. He needed to hear your verbal confession that you wanted this, that you wanted him. As Joel felt your hole clench a second time at nothing, he said, “baby, please, say somethin’.”

You moaned slightly while opening your hips up to allow him better access to you. “More” was the only audible thing that you could say at the moment. And that's when Joel’s resolve fully crumbled, and he pushed two fingers knuckle deep inside of you, stretching you perfectly around him.

“Fuck baby, that's tight. Ya squeezing my fingers in a goddamn vice.” He said, growling low, followed by a soft grunt.

You willed yourself to relax, to allow Joel in more. To allow him to get deeper within you, to where you knew that you needed him. To say his fingers were a stretch was an understatement. His fingers were longer and thicker than what you were used to. It was a comfortable stretch, but almost borderline on being painful. You've never been stretched out this much with just fingers alone. If you had to guess by his slow movements he was doing right now, you thought that Joel was a very experienced man, especially when he curled his fingers and found that spot deep within you that you've never found before. As soon as he hit it, your eyes rolled back in your head and you softly moaned “fuuuck.”

“There she is, right there huh, baby?” He said, angling his hand a bit more to get a little deeper as he started to stroke your g-spot with those perfected come hither movements.

Joel was good at three things: First, he was a very hard worker. He had the perfect street smarts to own and operate two successful businesses in his lifetime. Second, he was an amazing father. Always listening and being there for his girls. And finally, he was an attentive lover. He listened, and found what worked for every woman that he’s ever been with. He knew how to fuck a woman just right, and how to bring her the most and best pleasure. And that was something that he made sure you understood at the moment with his fingers.

As Joel continued to work his magic with his fingers, pushing them a little deeper inside of you, and picking up the pace in stroking you, you felt your walls spasm more. You let out a low moan, breathing starting to become erratic as the sensation of pleasure took over your body. You were right, you obviously hadn't had a good fuck for a long time, especially considering that you were not far from coming undone on just his fingers alone with no clit stimulation whatsoever. And if you could describe the feeling that you were feeling right now with his fingers moving inside of you, you would describe it as being ‘fucking fantastic.’

Joel found himself matching your small moan with a groan of his own, especially when he looked down and noticed your pussy was dripping all over him. He slowly started withdrawing his fingers, giving you time to adjust, before pushing them back in. It was obscene, the wet squelching noises that your beautiful cunt was making for him. You were biting your lip, eyes casted away from him. He gently grabbed your chin with his other hand, turning you towards him while saying “no darlin’, eyes right here. Ya keep ‘em on me, ok?” He said, as he slowly kept pushing his fingers in and out of you. He kept up the slow pace for a bit, working you up, not wanting to fully tip you over the edge just yet. He knew that you needed this, that you needed to enjoy the experience.

“Joel, it feels- fuck, it feels, it feels,” you were at a loss for words at the moment. You were struggling to keep your eyes on him right now, fighting them from wanting to roll back into your head at the sensation of pleasure.

“I know baby. Fuck, just listen to her, she needs this huh? Your pussy needs this, doesn’t she? This. Nice. Slow. Finger. Fuck, huh?” He said, slowing down more and thrusting harder with his fingers at every word he said, drawing out your pleasure more. The longer he fucked you slow with his fingers, the more your pussy gripped him hard, sucking him in, not wanting him to leave. You were panting, starting to squirm, getting lost in the pleasure. Joel wanted to tease you a little longer, but he figured you weren’t used to this kind of play. Something he intended to do next time he had you alone, preferably in his bed with you begging for his cock.

When Joel saw you start to match his thrusts with your own, he knew it was time for him to tip you over the edge. So Joel really started to finger fuck you you now, the way that he knew women liked. When he did that, you cried out at the stimulation and surprise of his actions.

“Shhh baby, it's alright,” he said, cooing at you to quiet you down. “Now, darlin’, you’re gonna be a good girl and come all over these fingers, ok? Then you're getting a full refund today. I don't charge money to finger fuck my clients.”

You nodded your head, trying to keep your eyes open as Joel massaged the inside of your velvety warm walls, getting closer to the edge. Your toes were starting to curl, breathing was very erratic. You were getting very close to cumming.

“And lastly sweetheart,” he said, putting pressure down on your lower abdomen, and curling his fingers in a way that he knew would make your vision go blurry, while building a firm pressure sensation inside of your abdomen. “You must communicate with me with your words when something doesn't feel good, or if you want me to do something differently. You know your body better than me honey. I don't, so help me make you feel good. Okay?”

“Come f’me sweetheart. Come on baby, fucking soak my fingers” Joel growled in your ear as the rubberband inside of you snapped hard. When it did, your cunt seized around his fingers as you felt the gush of fluid come out of you, he made you squirt for the first time. Your vision went white, ears ringing, legs shaking from the intensity of it all. You’ve never come so hard ever in your life, and you couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped your lips around Joel’s hand that was now covering your mouth. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, whispering “good fucking girl” with a strained voice as he watched you come undone. His own pupils were blown wide, eyes impossibly dark with lust, wanting nothing more than to bury his cock deep inside of you, to feel you spasm around him hard like this. But that would have to happen at a later time. Today was about you, about giving you something that you needed, attention from a man. You were a beautiful woman, and you deserved to have a man take care of you in this way, and other ways too, even if you did have autoimmune disease.

Joel continued to slowly work you through your high, pumping his fingers gently in and out of you. When you finally came back to Earth, he removed his soaked fingers from your cunt and then he slammed his lips hard against your mouth, kissing you fervently. You licked the seam of his lips, asking for access into his mouth, which he quickly granted. You two were wrestling your tongues together, each seeking dominance over the other. Joel has never been kissed like this, with so much passion that he hated pulling away from you mere moments later, gasping for breath as his heart raced out of control in his chest.

“Fuck woman, no one’s ever kissed me like that,” he said, gasping for breath. Joel placed his forehead gently against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in as his heart rate slowed in his chest.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” you asked, laying your hand gently on his crotch, feeling him buck slightly into your touch beneath you.

“No baby, I wanna do this right, take ya out first, if y’don’t mind.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to, I mean-”

Joel snapped open his eyes and stood up looking at you, furrowing his brows. He then shook his head and said “don't”, and walked over to the sink in the corner of the room to wash his hands. You sat up, chewing on your lip, overthinking things once again. After a moment of silence you heard him speak when he shut the water off.

“I'm not some 20 year old punk ass boy who only cares about getting his own rocks off, darlin'. I don't do that sort of thing. Now, if you don't want to have dinner with me, then that's fine. But I'd really like to take y’out.”

“Like a date?” You asked, looking into his eyes hopeful.

“Yes baby, like a date.” He said, standing in front of you, holding a robe up for you to take to cover your naked body up.

“Yeah, but what happens when I- when we- when it's done? Or what happens if I can't because of this- because of autoimmune?” you say, motioning your hand up and down at your body.

Joel took a big breath in, and then slowly let it out through his nose. He then cupped your face with both hands and said, “ok, I'm gonna stop you right there. First, I don't fuck on the first date, ok, so don't worry your pretty lil’ head about it. And second, I don't give a damn if we have to reschedule. I understand you have autoimmune disease, remember I've read your file.” Joel immediately winced at that reminder, of how he has crossed every line in the sand with his actions. He didn't know how he was going to explain to Dr. Samson that his treatment wouldn't work with you and that he was going to refer you to Dr. Anderson. It was going to cost him big time, he knew that. Dr. Linda Anderson wouldn't just drop it, she'd want an explanation. But Joel couldn't think about that right now, he'd deal with it and her later.

“But Joel it's-”

“Do you not want to go out to dinner with me?” He asked, the color draining from him face. Did he read you wrong? Were you just looking for a quick orgasm and nothing more? He rubbed his neck in embarrassment, thinking he completely fucked up at your signals once again. “You-uh, you don't have to say yes if you don't want to. I mean, if I read you wrong you can- uh, no pressure to say no.” He was internally scolding himself at this entire situation, of how much he's fucked up today. His ex-wife was right, he thought, he definitely doesn’t understand what women need nor want. Proof was here, right in front of him, with your reluctance to say yes to just dinner.

Joel turned to walk out, mumbling “I'll give you some privacy to get dressed. I'll tell Ashley to give you a refund when I see her tomorrow, don’t worry, she’s already left for the day. And you can just forget about today if you want, if I made you feel uncomfortable. I’ll sorry, I just-”

“Stop, please,” you said, grabbing his arm. “Don't leave. Everyone does, everyone leaves me. I-I want you to stay with me right now, please.”

Joel stopped and looked at you, seeing the gears in your head turning. After a moment he said, “please honey, ya gotta tell me what you're thinking. I can't-”

“I want to go out on a date with you Joel, it's just, don't have high expectations or hopes for me, ok? Men do, and then as they get to know me they- they get mad when I don't meet something that they wanted. I- this- it’s hard ok? It’s hard ‘cause I have a gorgeous man in front of me that I've been attracted to since the moment I saw him, and all I want is for him to see me. To really see me. And I- I don’t wanna fuck that all up where you hate me, or think I’m a failure and I- I should just really stop talking.” You said, laughing at yourself and blushing at the fact that you just spilled all of your insecurities in the air to a stranger. A very hot stranger, but a stranger nevertheless.

“Honey,” he said, grabbing your hand softly. “I want all that too and, if I'm being honest, I'm a little scared of a date too as it's been a long time since I've done this. The whole dating thing, it hasn’t been a priority of mine for a while. But I wanna do it f’you, with you. We can take it slow, we can figure it out together, ok? How does that sound?” Joel then leaned in and gave you a soft, delicate kiss on your lips, one that immediately calmed your nerves.

“Ok, yes. Dinner would be great,” you said, a tad breathless after Joel pulled away from kissing you. You took a moment to compose yourself, to will the butterflies to calm down in your tummy at the thought of getting a chance to have a date with this man.

Joel watched the blush rise up in your cheeks, and if he was being honest, it flattered the hell out of him. That a simple gentle kiss could get you all hot and bothered, where you were blushing for him. “Ok, good,” he said, smiling. “How about I pick you up around 6pm this Saturday?”

You nodded your head, and noticed that Joel furrowed his brows at the lack of your speaking to him again. You quickly said, “Saturday would be perfect.”

Joel stood there for a moment, glancing over your features, looking at you intently, making sure that you in fact truly wanted this. Once he found what he was looking for, he stepped back and gave you a small smirk.

“Ok, darlin’. Now for life's biggest, and most important question. What toppings do y’like on your Pizza?” Joel decided to take you to his favorite pizza place on Saturday. When he saw you smile, he knew that he picked a good choice.

“Well Miller,” you said, while giving him your best playful smirk. “You’re just going to have to take me out to find out.”

End of Part 1

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Top banner by Artist on Instagram: caimages_love

Tag list (if you request to be added to my tag list, you will be tagged for all of my stories. I don't have a separate list for each story.)

@punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg @chiogarza @jesfreedark @untamedheart81 @rainbow12346 @nandan11 @swiftpascal @eliza-8 @vickie5446 @nastiasnow @staywildflowahchild @ratoonstown @l3laze @its-always-420-on-the-moon @kirsteng42 @bambisweethearts @lokischocolatefountain @joeldjarin

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r1poutmygvtz · 13 days ago

Text

°•*⁀➷ Introduction °•*⁀➷

TRIGGERING BLOG: BLOCK DONT REPORT

cws for my blog: weed, alcohol, and nicotine use, ed, occasional sh and suicidal thoughts/talks about attempts, occasional mentions of physical/verbal/child abuse, religious or childhood trauma, pet/family death, medicine misuse, and overdoses

please tag any posts about christianity/god with "tw christianity" and any sh posts with either "tw sh" or "tw sh implied"

links proof-checked by my awesome moot @/atlasisneverenoughx

°•*⁀➷ About Me °•*⁀➷

Name: Vivian

Age: 16 (17 on the 11th) im ok with adults interacting just don't be weird yk? id prefer followers/moots aged 15-22 but i'm ok with people older or younger following, i just may not interact as much (unless we're already moots)

Gender/Pronouns/Sexuality: im gender apathetic/non-binary, i could care less about my gender or how i'm perceived. i use all pronouns but when asked i just say they/them or they/xem if we're close. (moots are allowed to use xey/xem for me freely btw and i encourage it!! :3) i'm aroace and pan (more specifically; i rarely get crushes on people but still find some people attractive regardless of gender and i'm a sex repulsed asexual)

Diagnoses: depression, anxiety, and derealization (depersonalization is not diagnosed however im aware i deal with it and need to bring it up next session) my therapist is trying to diagnose me with ptsd and my mom wants me to get diagnosed with anorexia

Be Aware: i don't censor most things but i will tag everything i post according to what's mentioned (tw guide below cut). Another thing; i struggle to communicate properly most of the time so i may sound dry or uninterested at times, also if you're venting or talking about something and i talk about my personal experiences, i am not trying to make it about me, i just don't know how to carry on a conversation or show sympathy in any other way and i apologize for that

DNI: basic dni stuff (racist, homophobic, sexist, etc) generally bad people, christians (only if you post about it otherwise idc just don't tell me), kink/NSFW/18+ blogs, anyone under 13, men over 23, (unless we're already moots for the last two) and non-ed/shed blogs (preferably, they can interact but i may not follow back)

Fill out this form to get your name on my taglist for picrew/reblog games, do not reblog with tags list, and to get any trigger you want tagged with a tw put in my tag list!!

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°•*⁀➷•* Stats °•*⁀➷•*

Height: 5'5.3

HW/SW: 136.6lbs

HBMI/SBMI: 25

LW: 98.6lbs

LBMI: 16.2

CW: 110.2lbs (updated Nov. 25th)

CBMI: 18.2

UGW: 90lbs

UGBMI: 14.8

°•*⁀➷•* Goals °•*⁀➷•*

GW1: 110lbs

GW2: 105lbs

GW3: 100lbs

GW4: 95lbs

UGW: 90lbs

°•*⁀➷•* Blog °•*⁀➷•*

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Be respectful towards everyone on my page, if you have a problem with someone then please take it to the dms

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Anonymous Emojis in Use

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°•*⁀➷ Tag Guide °•*⁀➷

There's a lot and most are self explanatory but in case you were wondering here's all of them :3

#gvtz- all my posts/reblogs

#gvtz life- talking about what's going on in my life, reblogging things i relate to

#gvtz rants/vents/rambles- my posts where i rant/vent/ramble and talk too much or let my mind wander while typing

#gvtz eats- wieiad

#gvtz cooks- recipes or talking about cooking

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#gvtz kitty :3- posts about harley!!

#gvtz binged- probably complaining about my lack of self control or whining about how horrible i feel; warning, i may talk about purging/wanting to purge through lax or overexercise, i may also talk about wanting to purge the stereotypical way and those posts will be tagged with #emeto tw and #tw emetophobia

#gvtz bc- b0dych3cks

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foptbw · 3 months ago

Text

Artist note -> I redesigned Gary a little because in the drawing he had buck teeth and brown hair like Timmy and it always bothered me that they gave him black hair)

Timmy: You guys know about Chloe and AJ and Chester and me…. as for Crocker I don't… don't know… after he broke into my old home and… with the help of AJ I got a restraining order against him. Mom and dad thought it was unnecessary. You'd haveta ask AJ I think he knows more about that situation than me.

After… well… anyway Trixie actually was pretty nice to me. She would bring me new comics and Veronica defended me from the other popular kids. According to Trixie helped her realize that life is more important than what people think of you. She's a comic creator now. Vernonia and Trixie got married a few years ago. Vernonia is a child therapist now! I think Chloe is still friends with them! She's the godmother of their daughter! They were all really good friends since they were cheerleaders together. Their daughter is adopted but according to Chloe she's just like her moms but sweeter.

I don't know what happen to Vicky… I duh wanna see her again. I don't need ah babysitter anymore. After everything changed for the first year I haddah had a babysitter again and it was so much worse. And Tootie was pushy too pushy. She never knew when she was takin things too far and Vicky always was going on about if I thought I was too good for her little sister. But, luckily like magic my… cousin stayed with us over the summer and Tootie fell in love with him and she left me alone. I don't remember having a cousin Gary. But, that's who he said he was and my parents agreed, I don't remember a lot of thing so. Yah. Chloe says that they have twins now, a boy and girl Tammy and Tommy. She showed me since they are my family I guess and because her goddaughter was in the picture.

It's best to leave this to AJ or Chester they keep in touch with people more than me. They know more bout that stuff than me.

Chester: Crock pot is still out there hunting fairies. He appeared at the reward ceremony that Galax hosted and made a big fuss. Luckily Timmy can't go to Galax events because he triggers the magic detectors so he hadn't been there. As for Trixie, like Timmy said she is happily married to Veronica now with a little girl of their own. Total tomboy. Chloe's little monster buddy.

…. After Timmy's memory loss his parents started hiring Vicky to watch him again. They had stopped when he was 13 leaving him to just fend for himself mostly. For the first few months it was mostly bad days for Timmy. He's able to take care of himself a lot better now, and only have bad days sometimes. If you think Vicky was mean to kids, you couldn't imagine how cruel she could be to a 15 year old who mentally was around a confused 9 most the time.

Tootie's obsessive crush had gotten worse and worse as we all got older. Despite what many would think, Vicky is rather protective of her little sister. Which make putting your foot down and telling Tootie off rather hard. Tootie wanted to prove that she'd be by Timmy's side even after his memory loss.

Well lets just say Timmy didn't miss them once AJ help him move to Dimmadelphia. Lasts I heard Tootie got together with that Gary guy, I think he was Timmy's cousin or something. They have kids now.

As for Vicky I heard she works as a private school art teacher and party princess. How she is still working with children I will never know.

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scoobydoodean · 10 months ago

Note

so i’ve always been annoyed by the belief that “sam and dean are toxically co-dependent, especially dean!” like it just baffles me once i remember all the times they’ve been apart without one of them being dead (and actually including post swan song to an extent), but i’ve never been able to properly articulate why i think dean at least isn’t really co-dependent on sam. like there’s a difference between being (co)dependent on somebody and dean’s parentification right? thanks!

I'll preface this by saying I am not a medical professional nor have I studied academic literature on codependency in great detail. That said, "codependency" is usually just a buzzword used colloquially to describe people who are obsessed with each other anyway. I address the colloquial use and how Sam is much more unhinged here. I'm guessing the colloquial use is really more what you mean, but if you're looking for something different or a little more specific than that, I can probably write or point you to some other things I've written if you give me something more specific to go on.

That said, there is something about the way fandom talks about "codependency" between Sam and Dean that bothers me, and I think by reading around about codependency today after I got this ask, and finding out that this term is controversial among mental health professionals as well... I finally figured out why.

I think to a lot of people, "codependent" has become synonymous with words like "needy" and "suffocating". However, the WebMD type articles I started with, suggest that the partner of the codependent party is the one whose needs seem to constantly overshadow and outweigh the needs of the codependent partner in the relationship. While the codependent partner can exhibit negative behaviors, the primary problem of the codependent party is that in being a caretaker, they can lose all sense of their identity and boundaries, and don't know who they are outside of being a caretaker for others. However, this is a more modern take on the term. Because these articles I started with mentioned academic controversy, I then found a few academic papers to skim, and this proved to be even more helpful in understanding why I... don't like this term very much.

First, the historical origins of it are... off-putting. The term "codependency" first emerged in academic literature in the 1940s to describe wives with alcoholic husbands who behave as "enablers" [1, 2]. I probably don't have to point out how different things were for women back then, and how rampantly sexist that context makes this first wave of literature sound, but it's discussed extensively in this article. Second, there is more stigma associated with the term partly because Alcoholics Anonymous (shocking /s) latched onto it starting in the 60s and 70s:

The influence of the AA culture in shaping the concept of codependency as an illness offered the idea that people who were close to the substance user were themselves suffering from an illness (O’Briean and Gaborit 1992). These people were viewed as enablers and coalcoholics (Cotton 1979). [ 1 ]

I... think I am probably not the only one who finds that utterly rancid to read (some academics writing on the subject certainly seem to):

According to Gus Napier, a noted family therapist, it is "ridiculous" to label codependency as a disease, because it is a culturally conditioned response of an overfunctioning person in relationship with an underfunctioning person (Meacham, 1990-1991). [2]

Some researchers who have pushed the term "codependency" as a diagnosis have actually suggested that literally anyone who is living with someone with an addiction should be called co-dependent by definition, regardless of any behavior they may exhibit, which tells you a lot about the lack of consensus and how meaningless the term can be [2]. The term (especially within the disease model where codependency itself is a from of addiction) has been criticized by many researchers for the misogyny through which the term originated, for unproductive negative labeling and pathologizing of people (especially women) dealing with incredibly difficult situations with their loved ones, for victim-blaming people (especially women stuck in abusive relationships) for the actions of their partners, for tangentially—negative stereotyping about people with serious addictions, and for conflating addiction with interpersonal problems, and in the extreme case—for suggesting separation from ones family is the solution to addiction and supporting someone with an addiction somehow always enables them [1, 2].

Since the original stream of literature related to addiction, codependency has rebranded and expanded into literature on family experiences with abuse and mental and physical illness. Which is where we get articles like this one I already linked. The codependent party is still a caretaker in these settings, caring for the needs of a loved one who is ill. Still, "codependency" is not an official medical diagnosis (i.e. not in the DSM-5). It's a term that has been used in academic literature by mental health professionals, when trying to describe a range of behaviors within dysfunctional families. These researchers do not agree on the term's meaning or on whether it even is or should be a diagnosis. Many are interested in it only from an interpersonal or personality perspective, which is also where we should stick.

Taking all of this into account though, I think the very first thing we have to ask ourselves is what exactly we get out of using the term "co-dependency" to describe Sam and/or Dean when the term doesn't even really have an agreed-upon meaning. Is the intention to write interesting character analysis, or is the intention to glorify or criticize using a term that has historically stigmatized understandable human reactions to troubled family situations? I think the goal has perhaps too often been the latter.

That said, I've already been referencing it, but I think this article does a good job of summarizing much of the literature, and then actually focusing on people who do choose, of their own accord, to identify with the term "codependent" because it is helpful for them in understanding their own lived experience and their patterns within relationships. I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to explore this as it relates to Sam and Dean with the right motivations. If you read the accounts of the respondents who choose to identify with the term, you'll see shades of Sam and Dean I think (I have written something pretty close to the chameleon-self about season 1 Dean, and I can apply that one to Sam too through his attempts to fit in at Stanford). When it comes to my experience with these characters however, I just don't find that I personally see any value in analyzing Sam and Dean through the word "codependent" given it's lack of agreed-upon meaning professionally and colloquially.

It seems to me that the term itself leads to more confusing conversations instead of less confusing ones because of the lack of clear definition, and the potential for negative stereotyping instead of actual edifying analysis is extremely off-putting to me. It just doesn't do anything for me personally. The issues to which it relates I think are interesting (especially parentification which is a term I do find useful), and I think criticisms leveled against the term are also useful to read in understanding ones own struggles with how fandom tends to frame Dean as a caretaker who they believe is actually somehow responsible for everyone else's decisions. But I think that perhaps I prefer words and concepts that are better defined than the muddiness of the term "codependent".

Lastly: Even if I'm not a particular fan of the term, the fact is that the actual show uses the term twice—in season 5 (shoutout to butch--dean's transcript search engine). Once in 5.11 "Sam, Interrupted" (to Dean):

DR. FULLER Well, to be frank, uh, the relationship that you have with your brother seems dangerously codependent. I think a little time apart will do you both good.

First, this dude doesn't really know what's going on and thinks Sam and Dean are having delusions. However, in season 5, Sam's experience with demon blood is repeatedly paralleled with drug or alcohol addiction, and Sam is someone for whom Dean has been made to feel responsible for most of his life. This episode addresses Dean's overly burdensome responsibilities in other ways and it's also come up in the past in 1.12, 2.09, 2.10, and 4.05. I prefer to discuss this theme with much more specific terms. In this case, I would say Dean has an "overactive sense of responsibility to others", originating first with his childhood experiences with parentification. Sam also has a tendency to try and make Dean shoulder responsibility for his decisions when they backfire, and does so multiple times related to the demon blood (4.04, 4.21, 5.05). Cas and Zachariah also both blame Dean for Sam breaking the last seal because he didn't stop him in time (5.01, 5.02) and Bobby criticizes how Dean responds to Sam's addiction (4.22).

And then again in 5.18 "Point of No Return", specifically when Zachariah (my favorite manipulative angel) tries to get Adam to be on his side by basically calling Sam and Dean creepy incestuous weirdos:

ZACHARIAH So you know you can’t trust them, right? You know Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other, right?

This one honestly to me is just Zachariah doing Zachariah things. I'll reach these episodes on my rewatch fairly soon though, so we'll see if I end up talking about it more then.

Bacon, I., McKay, E., Reynolds, F. et al. The Lived Experience of Codependency: an Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis. Int J Ment Health Addiction 18, 754–771 (2020). https://doi.org/10.1007/s11469-018-9983-8

Anderson, S. C. (1994). A Critical Analysis of the Concept of Codependency. Social Work, 39(6), 677–685. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23717128

#mail #5.11 #5.18 #parentification #family chains

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lovemyromance · 9 months ago

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Antis: “Azriel only feels lust for Elain”

…

Ok. Yeah. Sure. Exactly.

Azriel only feels lust for Elain.

…

Azriel has been a side character thus far in this series, seen and understood only through outsider eyes (Feyre, Nesta, Cassian, Rhys).

According to all his friends/family, he’s absurdly in love with Mor. Or at least he was, until he seemingly moved on

But then in ACOSF, in the ONE POV we get from Azriel…he is showing desire for only Elain.

Now, keep in mind: This is after his interactions with Mor, after his interactions with Gw*n, the hordes of women in Velaris, etc. And yet… he is only showing attraction and feelings for Elain.

If this man just wanted a quickie, you really think he’d have to go to such lengths for that? I’m betting he’s everyone in the IC’s hall pass 😭 This is not a man that needs to elaborately scheme to get laid 😭

And if this man just wanted a mate, you think he’d be chasing after the one female he KNOWS is already mated? He KNOWS she is not his mate. With that logic, wouldn’t he be looking towards anyone BUT Elain?

You can’t be out here saying “Azriel only wants a mate” and then in the same breath saying “Azriel only feels lust”. Which is it? Is he looking for only his partner in eternal-everlasting love or is he just looking for sex? Those two cannot exist at the same time for the same person in one instance.

And before you reply all indignant and huffy, I should tell you that yes, I have heard the ridiculous other explanation from antis saying “well he has a lot of issues so he goes for unavailable women because he’s not ready to be loved and deep down he knows that” 🤡

Do I need to deign that with a response? Now you’re saying “He only wants a mate but he isn’t ready for a mate so he then wants only lust with Elain”. Make it make sense. Please tell me where in his POV it says any of this, and it might help me understand how you came up with all these words. You are making assumptions, on top of assumptions. We do not know ANYTHING about this man. He has ONE POV and in it all he does is dream about Elain and have some banter with his trainee. How are y’all coming up with such a complex, deep layered backstory and user guide for Azriel when we don’t know shit about him?? We don’t even know his last name ffs. How are you out here advocating as his personal therapist??

Just read the words on the page as they are. They paint a clear enough picture.

Call it lust. Call it love. Call it attraction. Call it whatever you want - but there is something worth acknowledging between Elain and Azriel. Something important enough that SJM published an entire bonus chapter about it.

People speculated they might be a thing throughout ACOMAF-ACOFAS, but then that bonus chapter came out and clear as day you can see them so down bad for each other, they’re ready to risk it all while everyone’s still snoring upstairs. You think either of them would’ve risked that for a one-night stand 🤡🤡?

….

And do we really think if the next book was Azriel x Other Character, SJM would start it off with him fantasizing about getting on his knees for another woman? Sure the very first love interest might not be endgame for SJM… but both Az & Elain have had other LIs (Mor, Graysen, Lucien even). They are not each others first, but they are certainly each others last.

They are the only pairing currently mutually attracted to each other. They aren’t fully in love yet (that we know of), but there is something there. That’s what their book will then explore. The idea that despite fate, despite politics, despite everything against them, Az & Elain will choose each other.

But I thought that was obvious 🤷🏻‍♀️

#elriel #azriel #elain archeron #elain x azriel #pro elain #acotar #elain

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usedtobethelegendcreator · 1 month ago

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Why do I like Alastor?

Listen. When your therapist starts psychoanalyzing you and it sounds like an Alastor analysis, you gotta do some soul searching. So, I’m going to list off all of our similarities. This is going to be more unorganized than usual.

1. We like being in control:

We’re both puppeteers! We like having people obey us, not the other way around. We’re very anti-submission (my therapist’s word) and don’t like being told what to do. We don’t like having people more powerful than us in the room or even in the area, because something more powerful than us is something that can override our will—and, by extension, our comfort zone and boundaries.

When it comes to romantic relationships, the healthiest solution is to find someone who’s into being dominated. (Cough cough, Vox. I told you guys I write my own kinks.)

2. We have trouble feeling sympathy and empathy:

It’s something I had to practice, but I get the feeling Alastor never bothered. I’m not very good at it, either. Then again, I’m not killing people.

3. We have violent urges:

Yeah, that is very much a thing for me. The difference is that Alastor carries them out without remorse. I usually just ignore those thoughts, or try to think of something else.

4. We mostly stick to one era of music:

Alastor has the Jazz Age, I have the 2010s. Pretty much nothing after 2020 appeals to me, outside of fan songs.

5. We don’t have breakdowns often, but when we do, it’s wild:

Alastor monologued during his. I hyperventilate during mine and feel like I’m not inside my body. Like I said, it’s wild.

6. We pull our hair:

If my hands aren’t occupied, I’ll end up with a hairball in them. But the way Alastor was tugging? With those claws? Yeesh.

7. People see our rage as impotent:

Yes, this is about the people that think Alastor’s frustration with Lucifer was “pathetic”. Yes, that did hit a powerful nerve in me. If you yell right in my ear the moment you open the door, even if I don’t already know you’re the reason there are yearly mass murders, I will immediately hate you. And contrary to a lot of bad-faith fanfiction, buttering up our ego or something is not the solution. The best way to calm us down is to be taken seriously. With Alastor, of course, the ego thing will certainly help, but it’s not the root.

8. We feel impotent when we’re enraged:

This ties in with the last one. Alastor literally grows several hundred times in size when he’s truly angry, that’s pretty obviously a self-comforting action. If I’m bigger than them, they can’t hurt me. If I’m bigger than them, nothing at all can hurt me. That kind of thing.

9. We don’t like constant change:

Alastor’s outfit (which isn’t era-accurate, according to someone much more knowledgeable than I am) is evidence that he isn’t adverse to change as a whole, but someone like Vox is a constant source of anxiety for us. It’s very hard to keep up with something that’s always changing, and we can’t get our feet on the ground and a moment to breathe. I can change which jacket I wear, but never wearing the same jacket twice? Kill me now.

10. We put on a facade around people we want to be in the good graces of:

Alastor with the hotel residents, and me with pretty much everyone. This ‘facade’ I’m talking about isn’t necessarily a fake personality, it’s a facet of our real personalities that will best appeal to the people we’re talking to. That’s another thing my therapist brought up: I’m always putting on a mask, and there’s so many that no one knows who I really am. Hell, even I don’t know at this point. Alastor’s been putting on masks for over a century. I don’t think he knows anymore, either.

I think he thinks he knows who he is, but if someone poked a hole in that image of himself as the Radio Demon, he’d shatter as easily as glass. Because he’s not 100% evil, as much as he wants to be.

11. People think we’re a danger to others, even when we’re not:

*gestures to Vaggie* *gestures to the entire fucking fandom* *gestures to my mother* *gestures to unnamed family members that didn’t even have the guts to say it to my face* It sucks. Like, thank you for taking me seriously for once??? But also no.

12. We have dramatic body language to make up for stunted facial expressions:

Alastor has his eternal smile, and I have my eternal frown. The facial expressions thing was actually brought up by a previous therapist. I’ve had to throw my arms out like a theatre kid to make sure a family member knew I wasn’t being sarcastic…I’m not a theatre kid.

13. We switch between being extreme extroverts and extreme introverts:

I’ve said before that I’m low functioning in almost everything except social interaction. I can keep up with the fastest mouths and the longest-winded, but I’ll disappear for a week and only emerge for water. Meanwhile, Alastor keeps up his overly-cheerful facade up for the whole series and disappears for two episodes. And for seven years before that.

14. When people talk shit to us, we fly off the handle at the speed of light:

Husk in the hallway scene. Lucifer, period. Vox at the end of episode two. Everyone on Tumblr and Wattpad that’s ever picked a fight with me. That one anon in particular. The list goes on.

15. We have very stunted emotions, except for anger:

I don’t know why anger is an exception, either. But we don’t see any strong emotions from Alastor besides rage (and maybe amusement), so it’s clearly a thing for him too.

16. We enjoy the smell of death:

Death smells pretty nice, actually. There’s nothing quite like it. Alastor gets it. If anyone wants the full story of Larry the Rotting Deer Carcass, let me know. I’d love to tell it.

And that’s all I can think of right now. This definitely veered into a bit of character analysis for Alastor, but then again, I was analyzing myself, so that just proves my point.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #the radio demon #alastor analysis #self analysis #autism #aspergers #i was originally going to make a little alastor comic about this #but i wouldn’t have been able to say all the things i needed to

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arachnoia · 1 year ago

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finally ➶ . ˚ ༉‧₊˚ˑ༄ؘ | miguel o’hara

miguel o’hara x fem! reader (nsfw!)

a/n: this is an odd series but um. yeah I don’t know. but nevertheless thank you so much for the support of this little series! it means a lot !

pls pls gimmie requests! ya girl is dying from writer’s block and I neeeeed ideassss pleaseee

warnings- nsfw, riding, unprotected sex, p in v, untranslated spanish, a lil bit of angst, third and final part to gone and holy shock! (idk how to make warnings 😭)

- 1: gone -2: holy shock

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“What the hell? He doesn’t mean it, according to you?”

Peter probably tried to make you feel better with that. But he didn’t. He didn’t mean it? Was it a prank? Because it’s a shitty ass prank if it was.

“Yup! Just talk to him about it!!” Peter said enthusiastically.

“But if he didn’t mean it?”

“Miguel’s all bark-“

“No, he isn’t!” you said, your voice cracking immensely. You started to cry a little bit more. “He hurt me with that, Peter.”

Peter’s gaze softened as he gave you another hug to your sobbing figure.

“He hurt me so so bad with that. Notes are usually supposed to be small and have a small affect on a person. Usually it’s positive but goddamn.”

“It’s okay, kid.” He said, rubbing your back.

You sniffled and stood up from where you were sitting. The sky was already starting to turn into an indigo color and that was your sign to go home.

And cry, of course.

“Peter, I think it’s best if I go back home…”

“Okay, here, hold the baby,” He said as he held out Mayday in front of you, giving you a dopey smile.

You smiled slightly, “What?”

“It’ll make you feel better. This kid’s got some superpowers, man.”

You held Mayday and smiled at the redhead child. “She’s as beautiful as MJ.”

You gave Mayday a hug and gave her back to Peter.

“See ya tomorrow, kid. Talk to him, okay?” Peter said, giving you a stern look.

“Okay. Bye, Peter. Thank you,” you said, waving goodbye and opening an opening to your universe.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Yeah okay, he’s totally way outta line!”

Peter decided to tell MJ what happened. He didn’t know how to exactly help you so he decided to ask MJ.

MJ fumed because she met you a few times and you had her full respect. She didn’t care that Peter was friends with Miguel, she was pissed.

He’s not good at being a friendship therapist.

“I told her to just talk to him. I’m not sure I did the right thing though,” Peter frowned and glanced over at Mayday who was sleeping peacefully, snuggling with her Spider-man plush.

“I think you did the right thing. I mean aren’t they dating?”

Peter jerked his head towards MJ and widened his eyes. “Wait what?”

She nodded, “Peter, it sounds like Y/n and Miguel are having trouble in paradise.”

“WOAH THERE. Miguel? The grumpy, stompy, depressed guy? With Y/n? The also grumpy but as much of an ass as Miguel girl? What?”

MJ laughed. “Well Peter, I assumed because whenever you talked about them before, those two always seemed a little too close to be just friends?”

Peter had an epiphany, “Holy shiitake mushrooms…”

“The way they look at each other…You thought they were friends, Peter?”

Peter looked shocked, “THAT’S WHAT Y/N TOLD ME!”

MJ scoffed, “Maybe they are. But I don’t know, Peter! Friends don’t exactly do that!”

“WHAT?”

MJ went over to Peter and held his shoulder. “Just let them be okay? I trust whatever Y/n is going to do.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You teleported to your universe, ending up on the top of your apartment building. You accidentally tripped and cut your leg on a piece of metal on the ground. “Ah, fuck.”

You limped to your apartment and turned on the living room lights just a bit, enough for you to see where to go.

You went to the bathroom to get the first aid kit and jumped as you turned on the bathroom lights.

“Are you alright?”

The hairs on your neck stood up as you stared at him behind you from the mirror. You felt chills across your spine as you made eye contact with his crimson red eyes.

He turned you around by the shoulders so you would look at him in the face. “I asked you if you’re alright?”

“How did you get in here.” You said, your voice cold and stern, making his eyes soften.

“You had your window open and the lights are on.”

“That doesn’t give you an invitation to come in.”

He shrugged. “It gave you an invitation last time.”

You frowned and tried to free yourself from his grasp. “Fuck you. Leave me the fuck alone-”

“Y/n, let me explain-”

Your eyes widened angrily. “Didn’t you want me GONE from your life? What the fuck happened to that? YOU LEFT ME!”

Miguel froze and stood back from you. You were already a crying mess from before and he noted how puffy your eyes were from your living room’s dim lighting.

All the sadness disappeared and all you felt was anger.

“Do you know how much I cared for you? And all you do is leave me and leave me a pathetic little note that you hate me?” You then walked over to him and slapped him. “How fucking DARE you.”

His eyes pierced through you as he whispered. “Cared? So you don’t anymore…?”

“Oh I didn’t say that. I hate myself for still caring for you, right now,” you said, feeling tears spill from your eyes again.

He put his hands in his face in frustration. “I did that because I care for you. I don’t want you to be hurt if you were to be with me, or for me to be hurt if I lose you.”

You looked at him and pouted, “Oh really, Miguel? You care for me?”

His face softened. “Yeah, cariño.”

Your face shifted to a calm look. “You still hurt me either way, you fucking idiot. You think i’m going to take that lameass excuse?”

He froze. “I hurt you?”

You smiled sadistically, “Did you think I was going to smile and laugh after seeing that bullshit? Oh ‘I want you gone from my life’ ahahaha! Give me a fucking break.”

You never thought you’d see the day Miguel O’Hara would go on his knees and start sobbing.

For you.

“I’m…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just didn’t want to hurt you,” he sobbed.

You felt a little cruel for wanting to laugh at his face. How was he going to fuck you and hurt you a few hours later?

That shit doesn’t make sense.

The silence was loud, giving you time to think until you finally spoke.

“How sorry are you?”

He looked up from his position and stared at you. “You can’t imagine how sorry I am.”

You smiled at him, “Show me how sorry you are.” You said calmly.

You held a staring contest with him as you took your suit off, showing off your toned body, leaving little to the imagination with your red panties and blue bra.

His concerned look turned dark yet he still froze.

It matched his suit.

You lead him on the couch and cradled him once he sat down.

“C’mon, babyyy. Show me!” you moaned, going to kiss his neck as you feel a wave of his cologne hit your nose.

It was your favorite cologne.

You felt adrenaline go through your veins. You didn’t know what else to do and remembered how good last night felt, although the end isn’t what you wanted.

It was irrational and impulsive, you know that. But he wanted you to forgive him and he did say he’ll do anything.

“Ay dios…Fuck-“ he groaned as you grinded against his erected member, making your pussy throb even more.

He stretched his arm to press the button on his watch to take off his suit, leaving him naked.

You panted and smiled. “So you really are naked under there? Thought it was just me being delusional.”

He smirked and licked his lips. “It’s all real, baby.”

You bit your lips as his lips started to big in your neck and breasts, leaving more bites. “Show me how sorry you really are, hermoso. F-Fuck!”

He steadily fingered and abused your throbbing clit as your soft moans fueled him to go even faster.

He then stood up and turned you around to gain some support from the couch as your ass faced him. You felt your panties and bra be ripped off by his claws.

“F-Fuck you, that was my favorite pair.”

“Aw? Was it because it reminded you of me?” He laughed, his dick grazing your wet vagina.

“J-Just put it in already, O’Hara!” you screamed, grabbing his dick yourself and putting it in. The both of you moaned as pleasure shot through both of you.

“H-Harder, O’Hara! Show m-me how much you’re sorry!”

He started slapping your ass continuously as he went in and out of you. He started groaning as you were grinding against him again, “Asi, mami. Fuckkkk.”

You felt him twitch and immediately took him out of you. He looked at you angrily. “Pa’que haces eso?!”

“Not my fault you were going to come already. It’s been what? 30 seconds? Can’t you go longer?” you teased.

You switched positions and faced him as you had your legs spread out. He held them in order to then go into you again, only much more aggressive and faster.

You smiled and kissed him as he went aggressive on your sensitive pussy. “Mmmm fuck…”

He grabbed onto your legs a little too strong, making you wince from your injury from earlier but he still kept going and going.

You felt him smile in the kiss too and he went even faster.

The room was filled with a symphony of skin slapping and moaning, with the occasional curses Miguel let out in Spanish.

It felt so wrong, but so fucking good.

“P-Princesa please. I’m gonna come-“ he said as he painted your walls and insides white once again. Shortly after, you reached your high and was grinding on him once again.

“Oh-Oh fuckkk Miguel!” you couldn’t help but claw at his shoulders from the pleasure crash you were experiencing.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom, princesa,” he said, as he carried you there.

He placed you on top of him as he entered in you again and you started riding his dick, which was hard again.

You started to make out with him again and moaned in the kiss. “Mmm fuck. Just like that, baby.”

He grabbed and squeezed your ass before he started spanking and he left your ass with several imprints of his hands.

He started attacking your breasts and massaged them as you rode his dick even faster.

You felt him twitch again as you clenched on his dick and smiled. “So soon?”

He threw his head back and grunted, “S-Shock-“

You laughed as he finished again, leaving the in between of your legs a sticky, white mess once more.

You went for a few more rounds until he tired himself out and knocked out.

“Already so tired, Miguel?” you said as he spooned you. He groaned as a response and closed his eyes.

This is what you always wanted; being in his arms as he protected you. The sex was just the cherry on top to a good fantasy come reality.

“I love you, cariño,” he whispered as he then fell asleep.

You smiled at him and stayed like that. You waited until you were certain he was knocked out and let yourself go from his grasp.

Lucky for you, you had an expresso shot so you didn’t feel so tired. You just felt a bit sore.

You took a quick shower and suited up with a new accessory you made.

You went over to your bedroom, being met with Miguel still knocked out in your bed. You smiled at the sight as he snored a bit.

“I’m just going to leave you a little note here if that’s okay? I’ll get going, cariño.”

“I’ll be gone for now, ” You kissed his forehead again while leaving a note next to his side of the bed along with your watch. You watched him for a bit before your face and tone went cold.

You went down to his level and whispered darkly as you smiled.

“I quit.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it!” Peter was pacing around outside of Miguel’s office and has been for 10 minutes.

MJ had Mayday for the day and Peter felt remorse for you, so he was going to stick up for you.

He felt bad that you went through this.

He understood Miguel was an ass to the average person but you two were friends to crying out loud!

It wasn’t until the door opened, revealing a fuming Miguel, stomping towards Peter.

“O-Oh h-hey Miguel-“

Miguel glared at Peter and scoffed, “Cut the shit, Peter. Where the fuck is Y/l/n?”

Peter raised his eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said. Where. Is. She? Lyla?”

Lyla popped out from behind him and saluted, “Yes sir?”

“Find Y/l/n. I need to speak with her.”

Lyla frowned, “I’m trying but Miguel, she doesn’t have her watch and I can’t find her!”

Miguel looked even more upset. “THEN TRY HARDER!” Lyla’s eyes widened as she started to look even further, tracking your dimension history.

“U-Uh Miguel ? Are you alright?” Peter was a little frightened.

It’s obvious how terrifying Miguel O’Hara is when he’s angry.

“You. You were the last person to see her before-“ He stopped himself and bit his lip.

“You were just the last person to see her. Where is she?”

Peter frowned, “Well isn’t she in her dimension?”

“YOU THINK I HAVEN’T TRIED LOOKING THERE?”

Peter frowned at Miguel. “W-Well, if you weren’t such an asshole to her, maybe this wouldn’t have never had happ-“

Miguel pointed at Peter angrily, “Don’t you dare tell me what to do. You’re the last person I want to be lectured by.”

He turned around and walked back into his office, before Lyla spoke.

“I think I have something?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You smiled as you enjoyed the scenery of Nueva York once again, enjoying an empanada.

Alone.

Your heart stung. It would have been better with Miguel. You already got your revenge but he probably doesn’t care enough to say something.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Hola mi amor!” Doña Rosa greeted, waving at your entrance. “The usual?”

You nodded as you smiled. “Yes, please. Just one though.” She nodded and went into the kitchen.

Doña Rosa’s husband pointed at you, confused. “Donde está ese chavo? Miguel, is it?”

As Doña Rosa finished packing up, she nodded. “Yeah mija! Something happened?”

You nodded. “It’s nothing! Don’t worry!”

Doña Rosa and her husband looked at each other and smiled at you.

“Whatever’s going on, I’m sure everything will be alright!”

“Hopefully, señora…Hopefully.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You stopped munching on your empanada as you felt your Spider sense go off, but ignored it, thinking it was a bird.

That is, until you saw two web shots in a scarlet orange in your direction.

“Y/L/N!” Your body froze as you heard that familiar scream from behind you. He sounded so angry.

You had your suit but had a sweater on top. Which happened to be his.

You couldn’t bring yourself to give it back and it’s really comfortable.

You stood up and backed away.

He had his suit, except his mask, revealing his angry face.

Maybe you were being delusional again but it looked like he was crying.

“Miguel-“

He went over to you and hugged you, stuffing his face in your hair. He’s always liked the smell of your hair.

“I’m so sorry. I’m really really sorry.” he muttered, hugging you tighter.

You didn’t know what to say. You just stood there frozen.

“I- I just didn’t want you hurt and what I did was selfish but I didn’t know how hurt you felt until you did the same to me. And I’m so fucking sorry.”

You felt him tremble a bit, maybe because he was crying again. You heard his voice crack again.

“Please forgive me…” You patted his back and smiled.

“I forgive you. I’m sorry too.”

He smiled. “I see you’re wearing my sweater,” he pulled on the drawstring and laughed.

“It’s just comforting, don’t take it to heart, O’Hara-“

Lyla popped out and rolled her eyes. “Just kiss at this point. It shouldn’t be hard considering you two did other things. Or might I say, each ot-“

Miguel pulled back and rolled his eyes. “That’s enough, Lyla.”

Lyla looked at you. “It wasn’t hard to also find you since your watch had a different signal than the others and-“

“LYLA!”

She scoffed. “Geez okay!”

He looked back at you with sorrow written on his face. He finally held out his hand in front of you and smiled.

“Are you willing to give us a shot?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

y’all choose your ending xo 😘

idk what I j wrote here but woo hoo! gone is finally complete!

pls pls pls send in writing requests in my profileeee!!! thank you <3

tags ❤️‍🔥 -

@viriexo @voldemort-is-bi @catr4dora @ushygushybaby @leftcupcakedefendor

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my-autism-adhd-blog · 1 year ago

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Hi everyone,

It’s been a while since I’ve posted something from an article. So I wanted to share an article I found listing some ways to practice self-care. According to this article, here are some ways that could help:

Binge watch your favorite TV shows.

This is the first thing I do when I start running out of gas. It’s comforting, I identify with the characters, I know what’s going to happen in the show, and that relaxes me. It’s easy to do, like putting on a Band-Aid.

Spend a day in doing self-care activities.

I got a massage, took long baths, journaled and ate my favorite meals (a lot of Chick-fil-A and ga roti from Vietnam). I tried to spend time outside, but the mosquitoes were bad, so I ensconced myself in my sunroom which has several windows and is very colorful. It’s my happy place.

Meditate or do deep breathing.

I won’t lie, it’s difficult for me to meditate without a guiding app on my phone, and even then, I have trouble. But meditation is so good for you; it helps you be mindful, manage stress, reduce negative emotion and decreases anxiety. As for deep breathing, I always like to do box breathing, where you inhale for four seconds, hold for four seconds, exhale for four seconds, hold for four seconds and repeat. I read that Navy SEALs use this technique.

Go to a therapist or counselor.

I know that I talked my husband’s and my mom’s ears off about the fundraiser, and I could tell they were getting weary of being a sounding board. So I took my issues to my therapist, which is what I’m supposed to do, and it felt so good to release all that negative energy. She let me vent but helped me refocus on the good I was doing, too. I highly recommend therapy/counseling. If you don’t have a therapist, look into Family Counseling Service. It has wonderful therapists and a variety of programs.

Say no.

This is probably the most helpful self-care action you can take. Also the hardest to do. When I was working on the fundraiser, I didn’t say no at first. My type A personality (really, I’m type B) took over, and I wanted to be involved in everything. Soon I became burned out. After more therapy and self-care, I realized that I had to step back and say no. As soon as I did that, I felt way better. I was still involved in every aspect of the fundraiser, which probably annoyed the committee, but I delegated, communicated better and said no when I needed to.

The link to this article will be below if anyone wants to read through it.

#mental health #tips for mental health #mental health is important #don’t overwork yourself #take care of your health and yourself #feel free to reblog/share if you’d like

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sillywabbits · 2 months ago

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👉👈 ...does anyone else kinda wish Tumblr had an option that allowed you to hide the Note count on posts? Like, just a completely optional thing each user can toggle on/off according to their comfort/preference. Kinda like how insta gives you the option to view the number of likes, or just hide the number completely.

Lil' RSD vent/feeling share below. No pressure to read. Just been meaning to put my feelings down somewhere;

It's just.. for me personally, my mean RSD ridden brain overthinks when I see numbers.. constantly putting me in a state of comparing myself.. or question the appeal of my work.. or making me feel like my value as an artist is measured by that count. And maybe it partly ties into my own weird insecure, self worth feelings. But mostly just.. it makes me get caught in my brain about if my art is even likable or decent enough to be appealing? Or annoying for people to look at? Or.. if the kind of stuff I make isn't a lot of people's cup of tea? I draw nothing but fluffy mush. My brain makes me anxious and insecure if that's boring or.. not interesting enough for others to like. I don't really dabble in angst or what my brain has deemed the, "cooler content."

I know rationally I nor anyone can draw to appease everyone. As I would tell anyone else feeling these types of things, someone out there will enjoy what you do. (And I've met some super kind of people who have said immensely sweet and endearing things about my stuff. And I thank you endlessly for it! /gen 💞)

And ultimately you should just draw what makes you happy to make yourself happy. Draw for yourself first and foremost.

..but

I wish my brain wouldn't emotionally rely on engagement from others for motivation to make art. I wish drawing things that make me happy, and the joy of making it in general was enough to motivate me better.

I don't think this is helped by how slowwww my art process is, and how my undiagnosed ADHD really makes it hard for me to will myself to draw as often as I'd like. My muse comes in spurts, one drawing/sketch can take me days to finish. And after all the energy and time it took, I think maybe I emotionally take things harder and am susceptible to getting disheartened/sensitive when my brain locks in on that number count. Making it a little harder to muster up more desire and energy to wanna draw again.

Sometimes thoughts of, 'when there are so many people that make the things you like to make, and it already exists and they're so cool, good and special for it.. why should you bother trying?'

And as a disclaimer, these are just anxiety-ridden thoughts! I don't think I fully 100% actually believe them!

They're just the thoughts my brain likes to bring to the forefront sometimes. When I'm experiencing RSD or feeling insecure/anxious. (I think these feelings can feel bigger maybe due to how my neurodivergency can affect me too.)

And god is it such a double standard. If any fellow person were sharing similar types of thoughts/feelings, I would have 101 ways to rebuttal and assure those mean thoughts of theirs away.

..but it's so hard to apply to same exact advice/care toward yourself. It's harder when it's you on the inside. You brain has made you feel like you're the exception. Like you don't deserve that same assurance for some reason. (Not saying this is true; just.. how my mean brain likes to talk at me fjdk /hj)

Again, I want to emphasize these aren't rational thoughts. They're just the feelings that get welled up inside me when I feel insecure. (It's one of many talking points I'd love the opportunity to bring up when I'm fortunate enough to get myself a therapist lol <3)

💕~Thank you dearly to anyone who was curious and felt they were in a place to read all this. They're just feelings that have been burrowed inside me I haven't really put out there yet. I know this community is super sweet and supportive, which is why I love being here. But I couldn't help feel a bit shy about sharing this stuff.

#sillyspiels #vent #dca community #just sharing some personal feels idk fjfjfjf 👉👈#neurodivergent #neurodivergency #rsd

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wokedogschenkopf · 2 days ago

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Warning: generalization of a website and social forum that has millions of users with differing thoughts and opinions as well as vastly different communities

Reddit has a reputation for being a helpful website when you have a question that google refuses to properly answer because of bloated search results that are filled with gibberish and filler, but I cannot stress how much you should never actually look to Reddit for advice outside of like tech tips. Because the people on there are some of the most insane people I have ever seen, despite their reputation for being the “normie” website, they’re all out of their minds in the “the more normal the more weird you are” way.

I was going through a really rough patch in my life, feeling completely lost and aimless and even though I had appointments set up with a physician and a psychiatrist and a therapist and all that, I still had to wait for those appointments to come and the wait itself was driving me crazy. So I decided to go on Reddit just to see if anyone had any problems similar to mine and what they did (mistake number 1). What you quickly find out is that people who are actually happy and have solved their problems are not posting advice on Reddit. What you also find out is that they have gaslit themselves into thinking that they have achieved happiness and peace by acting like no real human being does.

Example 1: Trying to stave off depression. I was still in denial that I was experiencing clinical depression that would not be cured by exercise and vitamins that needed medical intervention, despite knowing deep down that’s what it was, and so I would end up on subreddits like r/productivity because my goal was “how do I enjoy things again/How do I force myself to do things.” The most common answer people gave out for finding purpose in a boring and lonely life is hobbies. Which on its own, ignoring any and all other possible disclaimers and caveats, is fairly true, anyone without hobbies is probably bound to end up feeling at least a bit aimless. But then comes the question: what hobbies should I have? What should I do? And this is where people started to unravel a bit. Because then that’s when people start categorizing “acceptable” hobbies vs “wasteful” hobbies, acceptable hobbies being ones that they see as maximizing all your possible stats and performance and wasteful hobbies being ones that contribute nothing and are just time sinks. To no one’s surprise, “acceptable” hobbies were basically all sports or physical exercise, sometimes maybe something like gardening, while wasteful hobbies where watching movies or tv shows, playing video games, reading books (unless you were reading epic sigma grind set books that are all named something like Unfuck Yourself), drawing, etc. I do physical activities like hiking and walking and what not because I know it’s good for me in the long run, and I do like looking at nature, but I wouldn’t consider it my hobby. And to sideline my actual hobbies (video games, drawing, etc) for hiking all the time I would probably be miserable. But according to the Reddit secret anti depression formula this is what I should be doing.

Which leads to Point 2: Diet. Obviously diet comes up a lot in these discussions, it undeniably can have an affect on your mood and emotional aspects as much as it can have an effect on your physical body. The problem is that all of these people have basically given themselves eating disorders trying to minmax the perfect diet to make them Mentally Sound. I’m sure I don’t really need to write it out in detail and you can imagine the kind of things they write about how if you enjoy any sugar ever you’re a dopamine addict and you’re ruining your life.

Then point 3: Mental wellness journaling/meditation. Where a lot of these people swear by the fact that journaling and meditation saved them. I’m not going to argue that they’re useless, I journal sometimes and it can help, but then you read in between the lines and find out these people spend hours of their day meditating or journaling and don’t seem to actually make any progress. As if just the act of doing it has convinced them that they’re doing the “correct” thing and they don’t need to do anything else, and that they can afford to spend half their day doing this. Which if you can and genuinely want to, be my guest, but personally the thought of having to sit in silence with myself for hours just to get through the day is not something I want for my life. At all. And would probably make me more miserable.

Which leads me to the final point of all this. Combining the obsession over the correct hobbies that fulfill you with the most enlightenment, the perfect diet that will give you the perfect body and brain, and over obsession with proper mental wellness loops back around and creates uniquely miserable people who are so obsessed with finding the life hack or formula to happiness and success that they just end up dragging themselves back down. I realized multiple times that it would probably just be easier and make me happier to eat candy sometimes than stress about how any amount of excess sugar could give me depression, and that I would be less stressed just sitting down to watch TV sometimes than worrying about how I could spend that time maximizing my time and happiness by picking the best and most productive hobby. Sure eating nothing but sugar all day and never watching anything other than reality TV is bad for you, but so is everything in excess. It kind of defeats the point of living if you don’t let yourself enjoy anything because of made up metrics. Also, every person is completely different and unique and nothing that makes one person happy will make the other person happy. There are baselines sure, like seeing the sun is good for you, but you can never truly pinpoint every single trick and hack to leading a fulfilling life because it depends on who you are. This is also why it’s impossible to cover every possible disclaimer and caveat in this post, because I would have to account for the unique circumstances of billions of people.

I don’t really know how to end this post so I’ll bring up how I saw someone on a quitting weed subreddit say you should do ketamine instead of weed and that’s healthier for you. Remember that people love lying online. Also a subreddit I found about how the internet regardless of what website or use is innately evil and causes mental health problems in everyone no matter what and so everyone should be quitting it, despite the fact that everyone on there was posting from the internet on a website.

#misc #long post

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innerteenager · 1 month ago

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Oh my God, after many years of googling "am I autistic" every month I am realizing I am maybe/probably autistic. I mean, my friend who is a therapist, specializing in autism and ADHD, has told me she thinks I'm autistic for years. I guess this is also a common thing autistic people do. But, here are some revelations from today:

- I love learning about culture, cultural trends, sociology, psychology, and the history of religion. This could be a special interest, according to my friend, these kinds of interests are more common with femmes.

- also, obviously obsessed with my little blorbos, which is why I have this Tumblr

- I have worn the same bra for about two years. And I've bought the same one over and over for like 15 years.

- Having to pick out clothes stresses me out, I tend to wear the same outfits every week

- I do eat the same foods over and over

- clutter stresses me out

- recently, the sound of a single cricket at night in a quiet place stresses me out

- descriptions of autistic burnout accurately describe my experience. Boo! Change, having to do a ton of logistical stuff and socializing short circuits my brain. If it goes on too long I stop talking, dissociate and have trouble formulating something to say. I feel like a snow globe that's been shaken up.

- the list of ways to recover from autistic burnout is literally exactly what I do every day. After work, I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling or scroll on my phone for several hours.I have to be alone. I stop emoting for other people. Making art and music feels restorative. A lot of online lists specifically talked about taking baths, showering, listening to audiobooks and going for a walk. Everything I like to do in my spare time seems to be listed. ☠️

- I feel emotions through making art, playing music and listening to music

- i'm constantly monitoring how other people might be perceiving me

- I really hate opening letters without a letter opener, the sound of tearing paper or tearing cardboard

- Talking to multiple people on dating sites short circuits my brain when it comes to actually scheduling a date

- i'm extremely overstimulated in stores like Costco

- nothing feels better than riding the high of a good fanfic

- I guess I like heavy things on me and using fidget toys

- an interesting article I read states that autistic people respond to other people's "fear chemicals" with calm, and respond to other people's "calm chemicals" with fear. I'm extremely anxious. I've found it mysterious that I become extremely focused and caring when I encounter other people having panic attacks or feeling overwhelming emotions (I work in a helping profession). Perhaps this is part of the reason why.

- sigh - I feel deeply lonely and long to be loved by someone who understands my mind and loves me for it. I feel like this will solve all my problems.

#autism #autistic burnout #actually autistic #actually autistic?

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byrdtrollsunoreversearchive · 9 months ago

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Errands

“So this is- another vegetable?” She asks, fingernail tracing down the grocery list.

“It's- well, technically it's a fruit. But it’ll be near produce.” Mondes answers.

“Right- and this too?” She asks.

“No, it's a dried spice.” He says. “Look. It’s an intergalactic market. It’s not rocket science. Just look for the stuff with these names in front. It’ll be labeled.” The oliveblood’s eyes trail down the list at gray smudges where Bee touched the paper. He stares.

“Did you… not seal your paint?” He says.

“Do what?” She pauses.

Mondes once again sighs, heading to the bathroom, digging through the cabinet.

“You have to seal that shit- or it’ll get everywhere- and people will either think you wear way too much foundation- or they’ll know you’re trying to hide something.”

The violetblood wrings her hands, but takes the bottle of fixer he’s handed her.

“You really think trolls would notice a thing like that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be paranoid?” He answers, crossing his arms.

“I’m actually supposed to be trying hard not to do that. According to my therapist” She says, applying the fixer to the layer of foundation they had used to cover her many violet freckles. Suddenly, she pauses.

“This is a bad idea,” She says.

“You know, I still helped with groceries and chores, when I was a fugitive.” Mondes answers.

“I don’t know if I can do it as well as you can” She pleads.

“I don’t know how much more tired I can get of you weaponizing your incompetence. It’s just groceries. You’ve already gone out with Hanagi- and without paint, even.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t like, alone for that” She says, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. “I don't know what half of these things are! What if I’ve forgotten some other stupid thing like the paint sealer!” Mondes sighs, glancing at the clock and back at the front door. The man walks off, muttering something she can only assume to be curses under his breath.

She stands in the kitchen, glancing down at her hands. The more she thinks about it, this can’t be her natural gray skin tone. It’s way too obvious. Or is she imagining it? She turns her hands over.

Mondes returns, setting two reusable grocery bags on the table.

“Fine” he says “I will go with you. Once.” He says. “Then you do it alone.”

“You don’t have to do that,” She answers.

“Apparently, I do,” He retorts. Walking out of the hive towards the spaceship.

She swallows, standing a moment before following him out into the moonlight.

The market is sparse this early. Mondes navigates it with ease. This grocery store was the closest to his hive- he’s been there dozens of times with how often he cooks.

“I see,” Bee says, picking up one of the list’s items, recognizing the sign. “It’s a fruit.”

“Yeah” Mondes explains. “There’s like- red melony flesh in the arms” He says, pointing to the alien produce.

“Is it good?” She asks.

“Not raw. I’m using it for pies” He retorts, his eyes trailing over to where one of the cashiers is eyeing the two of them. Bee follows his gaze, and sets down the fruit.

“Should we get out of here?” She mutters in a lower tone.

“Cus the cashier looked at you? No, "he says. “I still need rice noodles. You’re gonna get a lot of stares going out in public hemoanon. It’s just what happens.” He mutters back, heading down another asle. Bee glances back at the purpleblood whos still watching them like a hawk, before scurrying after Mondes.

“Could you stop being so suspicious?” He says, annoyed.

“I was just walking. Do you think they recognized me?” She whispers frantically.

“Just stop looking at him,” Mondes mutters.

“We should leave,” She pleads.

Mondes inhales, grabbing the last of his items.

“Fine- let's go. Be normal” He says, walking towards the self checkout. Bee, to give her credit, is doing her best not to look at the cashier, but in a way that's somehow even more suspicious, twisting her head to strange angles to keep him out of her line of vision.

Mondes is counting to ten in his head, scanning his items at a practiced pace, praying this wouldn’t all go to shit somehow. The machine coughs up their receipt, and he grabs it, the two of them heading towards the door.

The cashier blocks their path.

“Excuse me ma'am” he says, staring down at Bee. “Could you empty your pockets?”

“What?” She says, staring at the floor. “Why?”

“So I can see you didn’t take anything from the produce section.” He says. “Saw you pick up those fruits”

“Yeah- Mondes is buying some, it’s right there in his bag” She squeaks.

“I said pockets,” The cashier insists. Mondes gently nudges Bee with his elbow. Bee seems to take the entirely wrong message from this, and straightens her back.

“You know,” She says. “We did nothing wrong! We picked up a fruit and bought it from your store.” She insists. “Mondes paid for it! You saw us at the self checkout!”

“Bee” Mondes says frantically, trying to nip this in the bud.

“Did I see that?” the cashier retorts. “I don’t know what I saw,” he says. “Let me see those bags.”

Mondes, ever the rationalist, hands over the grocery bags.

“We don’t want any trouble,” He says. “I’m sorry about her- but if you look at the receipt, I’m sure you’ll find everythings in order.” He says.

The cashier pulls the receipt from the bag, scanning it as if searching for something wrong. Then he takes out several fruits. He weighs the fruit in his hand, and then says.

“I don’t think you weighed all of these. Wrong price for this weight.” He accuses.

“That is ludicrous” Bee hisses, and Mondes elbows her again.

“Sorry” he says. “Honest mistake. We can go over and reweigh them right now. I’ll pay twice.” He says. “I’m a regular- I come here all of the time. We don't want any trouble”

“That’s- illegal! We already paid for that fruit! Your machine weighed it! Roll back your security tapes” She says, pointing at the shop camera.

“Shut up Bee” Mondes retorts through gritted teeth.

“Get out of my shop” The cashier says. “Before I call the cops.”

“Fine” Mondes says, turning to leave.

“We paid for that! The receipts are right there!” Bee insists, yanking the bags out of the cashier's hands. “You just lost two valuable customers” She hisses as she storms off.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mondes snaps once they’re out of the store doors.

“I got us our food” She says slowly.

“I wanted to be able to come back to that market” He insists. “Now I’m gonna have to drive across town! Why could you keep your fucking mouth shut!”

Bee opens her mouth to retort, but instead stares past Mondes’s shoulder. He picks up what's happening just in time, and ducks before the purpleblood, who apparently followed them out of the store, takes a swing at him with a crowbar. Bee dives in between the two of them, pulling a switchblade from her pocket.

“You’re not gonna rob my fucking store” The cashier insists. “And get away with it.”

“We PAID!” She snaps, “Don’t make me attack you!”

“Oh what, a tiny little girl with a knife? I’m soooo scared. You want me to find out exactly what kind of mutant you are? When i smash your brains into the-”

And there was probably more to his tough guy monologue, but Bee has already sprung into action, grabbing his outstretched arm and yanking it forward, slamming him into the alleyway and disarming him in one move, she bends back his arm and presses the knife to his throat.

“We didn’t rob your fucking store” She insists, one last time. “And you saw nothing here, capiche? Unless you want me to slit your throat” She says.

“Fucking bitch” He coughs. “You and your little friend are banned for life, you hear?”

“Don’t tempt me” She says, pressing the knife forward.

“Bee,” Mondes says. “Let him go. More trouble than he’s worth.” He says.

Bee stares at the man like she’s about to argue, but then loosens her hold, and the purpleblood falls to the ground, sputters, and then runs off.

“What part?” Mondes hisses. “Of low profile, do you not fucking understand?”

“I- what was I supposed to do! Let him charge you twice!” She snaps.

“Yes,” he says. “I have the money.”

“He attacked us for no reason!” She snaps. “He was bending over backwards to justify robbing us of food we bought! We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Mondes stares for a long moment, and then his head falls into his hands. She thinks for a second he’s crying, but no, the oliveblood is laughing maniacally.

“What’s so funny?” She says, slowly.

He exhales. “Do you hear yourself?” He says. “Do you think about words before they come out of your mouth? Oh my fucking g-d, poor Bee, he made an assumption about you based on your blood color and then doubled down for no fucking reason? That must suck so much for you. I’m playing you nievole blanche on the world's tiniest cello. Can’t imagine what that feels like!” He throws up his arms. “Welcome to the glorious life of a lowblood! Not so fun on the other end, is it? Huh? Give me a fucking break.”

“I didn’t know it was this bad” She mutters quietly.

“You didn’t know it was this bad?! You didn’t know it was this bad?!!” He snaps. “You have more than one limeblood sibling!! How far was your head up your ass your entire grubhood! Thank Dia and Calsya for the slap I’m about to give you, for fucks sake!” He rants, raising his hand, jokingly. But pauses when Bee stiffens, flinching, a sudden look of horror crossing the violetblood’s face that twists into his heart like a knife. He stares, slowly, for a long moment, and then lowers his hand.

“I’m- Kidding” He says, but his voice doesn’t do a perfect job of hiding his frustration. You can almost hear him counting to ten in his mind. “Sorry” the oliveblood spits out like a curseword. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just- you tried to have me executed for less. It’s more than a little ironic.”

“I’m sorry” She says, “I should have known better. I didn’t mean to get you kicked out of that shop. I’m just, not used to this is all. I panicked.” She sighs. The violetblood stands still for a moment, and then leans down on her knees to start picking up the spilled groceries. He is almost content with that end to this conversation, but she keeps going, she ruins it, because of course she does.

“You would have been right to slap me,” She says. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“No.” he says. “Not how this works. I know you’re an idiot. I know that you-” He pauses, the sentence dying on its feet.

“You know what?” She says, slowly.

“Nothing,” He says. “Forget it”

“What do you know?” She repeats, going oddly still as she packs the groceries.

“You wanna talk candidly about it?” he says.

She does not answer for a while. “About what?” She says.

He sighs. “I know you got abused.” He says. Bee’s movements grind nearly to a halt.

“You know- the whole, your dad showing up at our hive, suddenly that fleet ladies dead- it’s not hard too- Everyone knows, I mean, even without that, you stumble through life like a scared rabbit hanging by a thread and it makes it so hard to be mad at you when I have every right to be. I just.” he exhales.

“I knew that. So I shouldn’t have raised a hand at you. Knowing that. So I’m sorry for that specifically. I was right about everything else.”

She places a box in the grocery bag.

“I wish you’d hit me” She says, blinking. “At least that would make sense to me.”

“You’ve gotta fucking- quit with that shit.” he says. “It really just makes me uncomfortable. I’m really not that kind of person.” He says.

“I’m sorry” She repeats.

“I know,” He answers.

“It wasn’t- abuse” She says. “What happened to me.”

“Bee,” Mondes says. “Who are we kidding here? Anymore? Exactly? Fine. My family has a lot of reasons to hate you. The whole Nandor thing? The whole getting beat up or fucked up mentally somehow by that teacher bitch? That’s not one of them. That’s one of the few things, me and Nesseo and everyone, are on your side about. So why mince words. Why keep defending that dead woman.”

“I…” She says. “She was nice to me. Sometimes. A lot of the time. It wasn’t all… I’m not gonna make that my excuse. For what I became.”

“Of course she was nice to you,” Mondes says slowly. “That’s how it fucking works- ask your therapist about, the cycle, or whatever- that’s how they get you. They’ll be awful and then nice and that’s why people stay even when they really shouldn’t.”

She does not answer, staring at the fruit in her hand with dead eyes, unmoving.

“I thought you loved excuses,” He says. “You’re really not gonna take this one?”

“No,” She replies.

He stares at her for a long time. Trying to sort out the complex emotions tumbling through his mind into words. Failing. Eventually, he decides to say nothing at all, walking over to help her pick up the groceries.

“I have one more errand,” Bee says.

“Okay” he replies.

“You kept my aquarium stickers” Bee says, tracing them on the back of the spaceships pilot seat.

“My quarrel is with you” Mondes says as he flies. “Not with the beluga whale.”

She almost smiles, staring at the open sky in front of them.

“Besides” he continues. “Das loves them.”

The two of them are silent for a moment.

“Are you sure this is the right address?” Mondes says, floating along the shoreline.

“Yes- the GPS says it’s right ahead” Bee replies, tapping her hand on the arm rest.

“In the ocean?” He says.

“Yes, it’s, half underwater, it’s the whole gimmick” She says.

“It’s half underwater” Mondes repeats. “And they serve food?” He says.

“I never claimed the man who runs it was intelligent,” She says.

“Duly noted” He responds. “Oh- that looks like it” He says, pausing over a bridge that leads out to an illuminated pirate ship, that appears to have some sort of hive beneath it, under the water. He parks, the two of them lock the ship and climb down. And they just walk in.

They are greeted by a server, who begins the most monotone of customer service monologues like the world's least enthusiastic actor, not even looking up from the register.

“Yo ho ho. Welcome to Buckles and Buckaneers. I regret to inform you that the lower deck is closed due to an octopuses infestation”

“Octopi” Bee says, instinctively.

“Octopi” Katash retorts, still not looking up at the two of them as she grabs menus. “In other, better news, calamari is half off! Only three caegers! We’re practically giving it away. Table for how many…” The seadweller trails of, having finally made eye contact with Bee. The woman simply freezes, mouth half open, for what seems like an age. Recognizing her instantly.

“Is the manager in?” Bee says softly.

“Y-yes” Katash stutters.

“Table for three,” She says. “If he’ll have me”

#sighsssssss #mondes sigh counter: one billion #bee writing #mondes writing #my writing #fantroll #fantroll rp #homestuck #homestuck oc #homestuck rp #hiveswap #friendsim #pesterquest

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