#I started seeing a therapist last week for the first time ever. I think it's ok.

[skullshoal]

doctors be diagnosing me with problems.

[sugarushwriting]

bed chem

“who's the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent?”

frat boy jakey won the poll 🙂‍↕️

smut coming forewarning

please reblog, like, comment, share!! do not translate or repost as your own.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

“do i really need to be here?” you questioned.

winter crossed her arms at you with a straight face.

you huffed. it’s not that you weren’t a fan of going out to frat parties, house parties or dancing with sweaty boys, but this was the last thing on your mind. you were worried about a paper you needed to work on.

“would you relax? the paper is due next week!”

“i know but you know i like to start ahead!”

“but you work best under pressure?”

“yeah but my therapist told me to stop that.”

winter laughed, agreeing with your therapist. you surveyed the room of the house party that was being hosted by a few members of a frat that winter was familiar with. you two currently stood at in the corner of the room. you had a bottle in one hand, your phone in the other mindlessly scrolling.

“can you try to have fun tonight? you need to drink more! i hate seeing you pout.” winter begged.

you chugged the rest of the bottle, holding it up to winter who had a big smile on her face.

you pulled down the sheer dress you wore, which kept rising up higher on your thigh than you would like. you borrowed it from winter, who you didn’t exactly share the same body type with, but she said it would fit you and look great on you.

she didn’t lie, it just sat higher on your thighs than it did for her.

“come on, let’s see if we can mingle with any of the fraternity members.” winter pulled you by your hand to the other side of the house, where 3 men were gathered in the kitchen talking amongst themselves holding drinks.

one caught your eye with his full lips and white jacket.

“what’s up winter!” one of them greeted.

“hi sunghoon!” winter smiled back. “have you all met my roommate and friend? she’s been here a few times with me, but she’s only met jay!”

and jay wasn’t there sadly. you felt comfortable around jay. not only was he cute to look at, but he was funny and charming.

winter introduced you to the boys first. “and this is, sunghoon, heeseung, and jake.” she pointed to each boy to put a name to a face.

that’s when jakes eyes lit up and a smiled crept on his face. “hey! i think i know you!” he pointed to you.

you were confused, then remembered his face looked familiar, followed by his thick accent.

then your eyes went wide. “i—uh,”

“i accidentally kicked the soccer ball over the goal and it hit you!” jake recalled.

yep, you went to a soccer game with your other friend, lia, and ended up leaving the game with an ice pack over your eye.

the boys stared at you, and winter laughed. “even when you’re not moving, you’re getting hurt!”

heeseung smiled, “don’t worry, ever since that day, he’s been worried about you.”

jakes neck started to redden and scratched the back of his his head.

“you’ve been worried for a week?” you asked shocked. “i’m okay, i promise. no permanent injuries.” you eased his mind, getting closer to him so he could check your face out.

and the closer he got, the more he saw how pretty you were up close. the way your eyes sparkled, and your lips turned up in a smile.

suddenly, jake felt his chest tighten. his eyes took in your body, your short dress, eyes lingering on your thighs, then up to your chest.

he wanted you. he wanted to corrupt you. you seemed innocent for him, and he liked that.

he thought about the bed chemistry you both could have.

“wanna dance?” he suddenly asked you. you were taken back, but nodded.

walking away hand in hand, you heard one of the guys talking from behind you both.

“he shoots and he will score.”

an upbeat, reggaeton song came on, and jake pulled your back flush against his front. in no time, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face tucked into your neck.

his breath tickled on your skin, as he made sure to pull your backside as close as possible to his frontside. you felt his body start to melt more into you.

and his bulge grow in his pants. and it only turned you on more than you were.

when another song came on, the rhythm between you all didn’t change, but the air felt thicker, hotter.

you wrapped your hands behind you and around his neck, leaning your head back, and jake kissed your neck, causing a moan to leave your lips drowned by the music.

one of his hands moved down your waist to your thigh, then one of his finger tips glided up your bare thigh, to the hem of your dress.

then it ghosted to behind you, in between your lower halves, and two finger tips glided their way up your back thigh, just below your ass.

jake could only think about getting you to a bed or anywhere private right away.

you imagined his thick accent sweet talking you in bed while absolutely doing bad things to you. with you.

jake lifted his head from your neck, “my bedroom is upstairs, wanna come?” jake whispered into your ear.

you nodded. to both questions. even though technically it was only one question.

jake led you in front him by both hands on your waist, up the stairs.

thankfully you knew the men of this frat house kept things clean, keeping everyone in the main area downstairs on the first floor.

jake led you quickly to his room, the atmosphere only getting thicker with every second, your heart thumping excitedly in your chest.

you were not necessarily innocent, but preferred your toys or books to get you off more than men.

but you kind of knew jakes reputation when it came to pleasing women. and it was a good one.

he took out a key from his pocket to open his bedroom door.

smart for them to lock their doors when random strangers were in their home.

he opened the door wide for you, inviting you in, you smiled stepping inside the dimly lit room, eyeing everything in its place. the shoes, leggos, artwork.

when you turned around to face him after he clicked the door lock, you noticed his eyes. that look. the way he was looking at you, you knew what that meant.

and you were obsessed with that hungry look for you in his eyes.

jake stepped forward, and took your chin in his hand. “i am about to have so much fun with you.”

his lips met yours in a hurried and desperate kiss. both of you just so desperate for each others lips. your hands and arms wrapped around jake’s neck, his own wrapped around your waist.

his tongue found yours, and both of you groaned at the taste of one another. sloppy sounds of the kiss with occasional groaning was the only sound to be heard in the room, with a light fade of the music below.

jakes hands went to below each ass cheek to lift you up and your legs instantly wrapped around his lower half. not once did the kiss depart.

he groped your ass with his delicious hands, not delicate with it, causing you to grind your lower half.

one of his hands moved to the hem of the dress and lifted it up, bunching it around your waist to show your underwear. thank goodness it was your cute pair with the matching bra.

still in a desperate kiss, you only broke apart when his finger traced the top lace, your forehead resting against his, both of you chasing your breaths.

you looked him in the eye, hoping he could read that you were giving him permission. he kissed you quickly, as he laid you on your back on his bed.

his two fingers hooked on your underwear, and slowly pulled them down your legs, making sure his remaining free fingers traced every inch of your bare thigh and legs.

when your lower half was bare in front of him, he licked his lips, nearly drooling at the sight. “looks so good, baby.”

oh sweet lanta.

“actually, i want you to ride my face.” jake said, quickly taking off his white jacket and the shirt underneath revealing his toned abs.

he laid on the bed beside you, taking your hand in his, to tug you up and position you over his face.

his head towards the headboard, you were basically faced reverse cowgirl so you faced the door.

slowly hovering over his lips, you guided your way down meeting his awaiting tongue.

jake hummed in satisfaction, sending vibrations straight through your core. you moaned at the feeling of his tongue flattening against your folds.

you leaned forward, as jake sucked, nipped and licked at your wet core, between your lips, fucking you with his tongue.

he appreciated how wet you were for him. licking up every drop you gave him, he continued to hum and groan in pleasure, his hand snaking around your front to pull your dress down the best of his ability to grab onto one of your breasts, to pinch a nipple.

this caused you to grind lower and harder against his mouth, as you placed a hand on each of his thighs to brace yourself.

you bit your lip, suddenly wanting to busy your mouth. you looked down to the growing bulge in his pants and bent down as far as you could to not disturb him eating you out.

jake was so focused on you, he didn’t realize you were slowly unzipping his jeans and unbuttoning them.

it wasn’t until he felt your hand wrap against his dick, that he groaned even more and slapped one of your ass cheeks.

“yes baby, suck me off while i eat you out.”

you licked his tip, then slowly wrapped your mouth around him, taking him as far as you could in this position.

and sadly, you did have a gag reflex.

jake had thickness to him more than he had length, but you knew that he could still pleasure you with what he had.

you continued sucking him off, using your lips and tongue, and occasionally scraping your teeth causing him to hiss at the good pleasure.

jake continued to eat you out exceptionally, and he took two fingers of his and guided them inside your wetness to prepare you for him. not once did he lose a beat using his tongue on you.

jakes teeth and lips wrapped around your clit, as his fingers continued to rut in and out of you, unable to control your moans and suck him off at once.

“mhm so close jakey.” you whined.

you took your mouth off from him, but replaced it with your hand so he wasn’t left unattended.

you picked up your pace with your hand, it barely able to wrap fully around him. you took your thumb to rub his tip where his precum was leaking.

this was even better than you ever imagined in your head.

“oh baby, i’m close too.” jake sighed against your lips of below.

it didn’t take much longer for you two to orgasm at the same time.

his come messy all over your hand, you licked your hand and the rest of him clean. thankfully he must take care of himself well, because it didn’t taste too bad.

you came all over jakes face, him smiling at the way you leaked all over him, and he licked you clean. causing you to go into sensitive overdrive.

you removed yourself from your position, rolling over so you laid beside him, your dress askew, cunt still bare and glistening.

his dick was limp, but was quickly getting harder once again, by just looking at your post orgasm face.

jake leaned over to kiss you on the lips, your tongues immediately finding each other to mix and swap spit of each other. it only turned you both on more.

jake went to hover over you, ready to fuck you into oblivion. your legs wrapped around his waist, as his tip teased your clit and entrance.

“i can’t wait to feel you. to fill you up and having you moan my name over and over until you go speechless.” jake said kissing your lips, face, neck, and top of your chest.

his hand went to grab a condom from his night stand, but his hand froze when he found it empty,

fucking heeseung must have took the last of his condoms because he had at least seven left.

“fuck, i am out of condoms.” jake sighed.

you pouted. jake looked cute and hot at once.

“are you free next week?” jake smirked lazily.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

mhm part two maybe?

the house in this scenario

[ambrosiagoldfish]

HI! Can I request Vox, husk or anyone else with a s/o who has an addiction problem?

Yes I know my Grammar and punctuation is out of line 🙏🏽

Hazbin Hotel x Addict!Reader

(Vox, Husk, and Angel Dust)

Viewer Discretion is Advised!

Warning: Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Gn!Reader, Reader being defensive, happy-ish endings.

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1170

A/n: Hi! Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing both Vox and Husk so I had to do some research (and by research, I mean reading 2+ hours of how other write them) to get an idea of their main characterization.

I really enjoyed writing this as I personally have my own experiences with addicts and how it’s affected me as a person. So this was also a little bit of a vent post if anything. I also added Angel cause I think it fits the theme but also he’s one of my comfort characters and writing for him made me happy.

Hope you enjoy <3

Proofread like once so sorry for any mistakes!



Vox

He’s used to being friends/knowing addicts. I mean one of his closest allies (And TOTES not previous hook-up buddy) Valentino, is also an addict who also employs many as well. So he’s not a stranger to it.

So mostly he’s indifferent to it, almsot desensitized to it. He doesn’t really see a danger to it, I mean we’re in hell and you can’t exactly OD and die

But of course, death isn’t the only thing that can happen when you're an addict. The breakdown of you as a person often happens, as well as you being reckless with money. And this is where Vox starts to have a problem.

If you’re in a relationship with Vox, then clearly you mean a lot to him, he may not be the most expressive about it but he does. So to see the partner that he has opened up to and grown attached to deteriorate slowly in front of him is something he refuses to accept.

So one day he cancels a meeting with his staff and calls you to his office so you two will be alone. When you get there he gives you a cup of coffee and you catch up a bit. How was your day? Have you ate yet? Those kinds of things.

Until finally he decides to just break open the floodgates with one simple statement.

“Darling… I think you should get clean”

You were caught off guard at first

“It’s fine, What’s the problem? we’re in hell”

He then comes out with his honest opinion

“*Sigh* I know it’s hell and you can’t die… but surely you can see how it would make me a bit… worried for you.”

He paused

“I mean even last week you spent all the allowance I gave you on it and you would have starved if I didn’t buy you food, surely you can see why it’s a fucking problem!”

Eventually after talking and depending on how it goes you either agree to go clean or it ends with an argument and he’ll just try again later.

If you agree, he’ll make sure he’s with you ever step of your sobriety. Considering he’s one of the top rising Overlords and owns VoxTech he’s got money so He’ll higher the best people to help you go clean(Do therapist exist in hell?)

“Thank you dear, you have no idea how much this means to me”

Husk

Similar to Vox in a lot of ways but also really different. He himself is an addict with alcohol so he clearly understands the struggles of it.

He has lots of walls up but for someone who “lost the ability to love” he sure does care a lot for you. I don’t think he would try a get you to go clean, at least not right away (or even at the beginning of the relationship) simply cause he thinks he doesn’t have a right to judge. So in all honesty he might just let you be.

That is until he realizes that you do it to forget things and ignore your problems/past. He knew first hand that drowning your sorrows away with your choice of addictive vice did nothing but harm you.

Then when you two are alone at his bar he’ll talk to you about it in a similar way he did with Angel. Perhaps a bit more softer than he did with Angel but even then “softer” is a bit of an overstatement.

“Look, I know you got a lot of shit that you don’t want to think about… but doing this *sigh* it’s not going to work, at least not in the long term.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He laughs. I mean, you were right. He was single handedly the worst person to be judging you. But surely you can understand his point of view, right?

Either way though, he leaves it alone again. Occasionally bringing it up when you’re both alone. He expresses the same sentiment about it each time hoping that eventually, hopefully…you’ll come to see from his perspective.

When you do finally see that he’s worried for you and understand why, you agree to go clean. Which, for once in a long while, made his supposedly cold dead heart melt.

“Glad you finally came to your senses… Seriously, I’m glad…”

Angel

He is THE addict of the show, so obviously he knows what you are going through and THEN some. Now,. Here’s the thing, how he handles it depends HEAVILY on when exactly you got with him/when you started having you addiction problem.

If you started dating him when you already were an addict he most definitely wouldn’t question anything about it. Hell, chances are you both might have taken part in it together. And it’s only when he starts making progress in the hotel (post EP4) is when he starts realizing how bad of an influence you both were on each other.

If you started sometime AFTER you both started dating then this boy would honestly feel terrible about it, ESPECIALLY after EP4 when he actually started being sober more often. He’d feel like he was a bad influence on you and that it was his fault you turned to your addiction.

Either way though, he will eventually realize that he doesn’t want you to be/continue to be on the same path he was. He’d talk to Charlie about arranging you to stay in the hotel, either in your own room or you guys could share one (he would honestly prefer the latter) and then after the preparations are made he would finally ask you too

Angel wasn’t expecting it to be easy, he gets what it’s like to suddenly be asked to go clean. And he knows how addicts act when they don’t get there vices, how he acts. So he mentally prepared himself for the worst first before asking you to come over and talk.

“Uh… Y/n can I talk to you about somethin’?”

You nod your head

“I’ve been thinking and… I think you should crash here at the hotel with me… and’ go clean.”

You only laugh “Angie I’m glad this hotel thing is workin’ for ya but that’s not really my style. No- I mean, I’m fine!”

Angel knows he put you on the spot, so he lightens off a bit but continues pressing on. He explains how he feels and how he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, to end up where he is. The poor boy starts crying honestly with how much he’s worried. He rarely opens up to people so this was a big step for him.

Seeing how much he cared and worried about you really put into perspective how important this was to him. So you agreed after some thinking.

“*sniff* thank you Baby, I’ll be there with you every step of the way… I love ya’ you know.”

[aquamarixx]

breaking point

faking an injury to escape the burn out, Hiori Yo meets you at the brink of his breaking point and discovers what’s he’s missing; the courage to breathe, to rest, and to finally choose himself for once.

⁺₊ ❆ TURNING POINT 2025 ENTRY ❆ ₊⁺ pairing hiori yo x reader word count 2.3k words tags post timeskip, aged up, hurt/comfort, good ending, hiori just tired of the endless grind navigation

Hiori Yo is exhausted.

Ever since getting out of Blue Lock and being drafted into Bastard München, football has consumed his entire life. The intense matches, relentless training, and constant scrutiny have left him drained, with no time to breathe or process the pressure he feels both on and off the field. 

Every move on the field feels like walking a tightrope, with countless eyes ready to tear him apart the moment he stumbles. His teammates are laser-focused on victory, their intensity leaving no room for camaraderie. And then there are his parents.

His parents, teetering on the brink of divorce,who continue to see him as their last hope to fix their fractured relationship. But Hiori knows better.

No amount of football glory will solve their problems.

He would rather have them get divorced than let their dissatisfaction and resentment towards each other fester any further. Because at this point, there’s nothing to save.

No one’s winning. Not his mom, not his dad, and especially not him. 

So when a nasty collision with Barou during an exhibition match against Italy Ubers results into a mild sprain, Hiori takes advantage of it. He pretends his injuries are worse than they are, hoping to escape the constant grind of football and take a much-needed break. 

The league assigns him to you, a young physical therapist with a promising reputation.

When he first meets you, the first thing he notices are your eyes. Your eyes—so bright and full of life—are a stark contrast to his own, dulled by burnout.They’re so full of life. 

Even your handshake catches him off guard, firm and enthusiastic, as if you genuinely care about this moment. You shake his hands, a little too eager, a little too tighter than he expected.

Aah. Must be nice, Hiori thinks, to have that kind of passion and not feel like you're being crushed by it.

“It’s a Grade 2 sprain,” you explain during your first consultation. “No broken bones or torn tissues, just mild swelling. With proper care, you’ll be back on the field in three to six weeks.” You pause, glancing at your clipboard. “I do recommend physical therapy to ensure everything heals correctly, and your team manager requested it as well.”

Three to six weeks. It’s isn’t bad. But if he plays his cards right, maybe he can stretch it to ten or even twelve weeks. Anything to keep himself off the field a little longer.

At first, Hiori half-heartedly goes through the motions. But as the weeks pass, you notice how quickly he’s recovering. By the third week, it’s clear he could be back to full strength in another three.

That’s when Hiori ups his game.

“I’m still feeling some pain,” he tells you during a session, wincing for effect as he tests his ankle.

Alarmed, you immediately run additional tests. The results come back clear—no abnormalities, no lingering issues. But Hiori insists the pain is real, suggesting he just needs more rest at home (and by “rest,” he means gaming marathons on his PC).

Your concern deepens, not wanting to risk it, especially since Hiori isn’t just any athlete. “Skipping therapy isn’t an option,” you warn, your tone firm but not unkind. “If you don’t stick to the regimen, I’ll have to notify your team.”

Hiori stiffens. His plan to buy more time is starting to backfire. Begrudgingly, he agrees to continue.

As the weeks go by, Hiori does find himself looking forward to your sessions. You’re different from the cold, mechanical efficiency he’s used to in his professional life. You’re kind and thoughtful, and he notices how your eyes light up when you’re helping others.

Even when you’re clearly exhausted, you go out of your way to cheer up the kids waiting in the clinic, slipping them candy when no one’s watching. Sometimes, the older patients would strike up conversations, and though you’d apologize to him afterward for the delay, he never really minded.

There’s something appealing about your openness, your passion, the way you seem to pour your whole heart into every detail of your work. He envies it. It’s the same kind of fire he used to have for football, the fire that now feels like a dying ember.

And as he continues to enjoy his sessions with you, the guilt starts to pile up. He sees the extra hours you put in, combing through his test results, double-checking your notes. One night, he overhears you fretting aloud about the possibility of ruining someone’s career or being seen as incompetent.

“What if I’m wrong?” you whisper but it can’t hide the fear in your voice. “What if I’m missing something and it ruins his career?”

He recognizes the weight of your anxiety—the same kind of crushing pressure he feels from his parents’ expectations. For the first time, he sees her not just as an obstacle to his rest, but as someone who understands his struggles.

It eats him, seeing someone who’s only trying to help him be that affected by his lies. 

During a particularly long session, you’re clearly worn down. You arrived later than usual, in a disheveled state. Your hair is a mess, a couple of strands escaping your low bun. Bags grow darker under your eyes and there’s sluggishness in your movements. You skim through your notes quickly, your voice faltering under the weight of your own exhaustion.

“So, Hiori, it’s possible this could be an occult fracture or stress fractures,” you say, speaking faster than usual for someone who’s tired. “These can happen because of repetitive injuries or even normal stress on weakened bones. Normally, the body can repair these fractures with time, but without rest, they can worsen, potentially leading to larger fractures.”

Normally, the bone is able to repair these small fractures. But that needs time. When the activity continues or happens again before the repairs are complete, these small fractures can add up to form a stress fracture. In extreme cases, ongoing activities can cause sudden larger fractures.” You were talking a bit faster, skimming through your notes. The guilt begins to seep in. 

You pause, rubbing your temples. “I’ve never handled a case like this before, so I’ve been consulting with other colleagues and rechecking everything. Your team manager agreed to extend your therapy for another four weeks—just to be safe.”

“I haven’t had a case like this before. So it might take a couple of more weeks for us to address the issue. I hope you didn’t mind that I took the liberty of talking to your team manager to extend your sessions for at least 4 more weeks.”

Four more weeks. He should be thrilled, but all he sees is the strain in your posture and the doubt clouding your voice. He can’t take it anymore.

“I’ve been lying,” he blurts out, the words sharp and trembling as if they’ve been clawing their way out for weeks.

You pause mid-note, your pen hovering over the paper. Slowly, you lift your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“I… I exaggerated my injury,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I needed an excuse—a way out. From football, my parents, everything.”

Your gaze remains steady, unreadable, as his words hang in the air. Then, you blink, your lips parting slightly in disbelief. “You… lied?”

He looks down, shame written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“You lied?” you repeat, the weight of his confession beginning to sink in. Your voice is calm, but there’s a quiet tremor beneath it, a raw edge he doesn’t miss. “Hiori, do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Do you have any idea?” you interrupt, your tone still measured, though cracks of exhaustion begin to show. “I’ve been losing sleep over your case. Nights spent second-guessing every test, wondering if I missed something crucial. I’ve gone over your file more times than I can count because I thought I was failing you.”

He flinches, guilt carving deep lines into his face. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” you say, the weight of your words pressing down on him. Your voice isn’t loud, but it’s tired, worn thin by the toll of his deception. “You didn’t think about how this would affect me. About the stress, the doubt, the hours I’ve poured into trying to help you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “I know I messed up. But I didn’t do it to hurt you. I just… I couldn’t breathe anymore.” Now, it’s his turn to break. 

And you notice it. How tense he is, as if there’s so much he’s been carrying on his back. Your shoulders slump slightly, the anger ebbing into something more fragile. But you don’t respond, letting the silence stretch until he speaks again.

“My parents… They’ve always been fighting, ever since I can remember. And I’m stuck in the middle, trying to hold everything together. Football used to be my escape, but now it’s just another thing they argue about. Another way for them to push me. I didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

The room grows heavy with his confession. You glance at him, and for the first time, his usual calm exterior has shattered, revealing a young man who’s barely holding himself together.

Taking a deep breath, you place your notes down and fold your hands. “Hiori,” you say softly, though there’s still an edge of weariness in your tone. “Running from your problems doesn’t make them go away. And pulling other people into your escape… it’s not fair. To me, or to yourself.”

He nods, his eyes downcast. You hesitate for a moment before continuing.

“And you can’t just admire passion from afar, Hiori. You have to fight for it. Even when it feels like the world is against you.”

His eyes meet yours, wide and glassy. “I know,” he whispers. “I just didn’t know what else to do. But… meeting you, seeing how much you care—about your work, about your patients—it’s made me realize something.”

You raise an eyebrow, but stay silent, letting him continue.

“You don’t just care because it’s your job,” he says, his voice steadying. “You care because it’s who you are. And seeing that… it made me realize how far I’ve drifted from what I used to love. From who I want to be.”

His words catch you off guard, striking a chord you didn’t expect. You look at him for a long moment, your exhaustion giving way to something softer. Your expression softens as his words sink in. 

“I want to try. Not just for football, but for myself. For everything I’ve been running from.” He nods, his expression resolute. 

For the first time since his confession, a faint smile tugs at your lips. “Good. Because the only way out of this is through it.”

“Also… You know I should report this, right?” you say, half-joking, as Hiori stays quiet, his expression flickering with surprise at the sudden shift in tone.

“But I won’t,” you add, your grin softening. “Doctor-patient confidentiality and all.”

You laugh, and after a beat, he laughs too—a sound lighter than anything you’ve heard from him before.

In that moment, something shifts. The air feels lighter, the tension unraveling into something resembling hope. He came here for a way to heal his body, but what he found was a way to start healing his soul.

And you, despite your exhaustion, can’t help but feel a flicker of pride—because maybe, just maybe, you’ve helped him take the first step toward being whole again.

From that day on, Hiori approaches therapy differently. The façade he had built around himself starts to crack, allowing glimpses of the person he truly is. He stops faking symptoms and begins putting in genuine effort, not just for his body but for his mind. Each session becomes more than just a routine of stretches and exercises—it’s a space where he starts to confront the feelings he’s buried for so long.

When the two of you are alone, you talk about things outside football, like good old friends. He talks about the pressure he’s been under, the weight of expectations from everyone around him, and the way football, once his passion, had turned into a source of dread. You listen, guiding him where you can, but mostly letting him navigate his own thoughts. 

It’s a strange dynamic, but somehow, it feels natural. It feels right.

Outside of therapy, Hiori begins to address the chaos at home. For the first time, he sits his parents down and tells them how their arguments have affected him, how he’s been caught in the crossfire of their unhappiness. It’s not easy, and there are setbacks, but he’s no longer running from the conversations that once felt impossible. 

By the time his final session arrives, he’s changed a bit. He’s still Hiori—the same sharp-witted, slightly mischievous person you met weeks ago—but there’s a newfound lightness in him. 

As the session wraps up, he lingers by the door, his usual confidence replaced by something a little more hesitant. Finally, he turns to you, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I know this is probably the worst time, but… would you maybe want to grab coffee sometime?

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. 

“You’re the first person I’ve felt like I could really talk to in… forever.” He confesses. And you see it—the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability he’s no longer afraid to show. It’s not the charm of an athlete used to getting his way; it’s the genuine request of someone who’s found a lifeline and wants to hold onto it, if only for a little while longer.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Okay,” you say finally, a smile breaking through the fatigue. “But only if you promise to stop faking injuries.”

Hiori laughs—a real, unburdened laugh that seems to echo in the room, filling the space with warmth. “Deal,” he says, his grin wide and boyish.

amari's notes: this went on a bit longer than i wanted. this has been a longtime headcanon. i think he'll try to get out of playing football for a while to rest and rot in his bedroom to play games. anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask or even a request! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

taglist: @inu1gf

[livums]

Liv’s {Totally Optional Non-Mandatory Completely Voluntary} Pointers for Fleshing Out Character Relationships

Hi I’m liv e. and by middling demand I am going to blab a liiittle* bit about relationships.

So I will start by saying that I’m trained & licensed as a marriage and family therapist. So this is kind of what I do all fucking week. And I like this whole writeblr thing so why not make it fun and about fiction instead. LOL.

The purpose of this liiiiittle** post is to offer some ways in which you, a writer (great job btw!), might deepen your own understanding of the relationships between two or more characters in your writing. More specifically, by thinking a little deeper about how relationships function in real life.

These are ways in which I might conceptualize a relationship between people who seek my services as a clinician.

A small disclaimer: the VAST majority of my work is with couples (because I. prefer to see couples over families, lol), so this advice is coming from that perspective. Please keep in mind also that there are certainly infinite other ways to think about relationships. This is just the way I was trained. Or at least, the parts of my training that resonated with me the most, especially as I began writing more seriously.

My hope is that reading and practicing/toying around with these tips will help add another dimension to how relationships play out in your writing. So um. Cheers! Let’s chat.

*it’s not a little. it’s a lot.

**it’s a long post.

i. What I Say vs. What I Mean

When was the last time your partner or good friend pissed you off?

Maybe they were flippant about your feelings. Maybe they blew you off to hang out with someone else. Maybe they keep loading the dishwasher like a neanderthal.

And did you say to them, “Baby/honey/sweetums/bestie, it really upsets me when you load the dishwasher like that. I’ve asked you to do it X way several times, and it feels like you’re not listening to me, or that you don’t care about how I feel” ?

Probably not? Because, hello? (If you did, first try, then, wow! you’re a better person than i’ll ever be.)

You might’ve said “Dude, stop cramming shit in the dishwasher like it’s a fucking suitcase,” or “Haha, wow, again with the dishwasher. Awesome. No, it’s like, whatever.“ Or you might not’ve said anything at all, on purpose.

There is a tension that exists, there, in the CONTRAST between what we are thinking/feeling/meaning (e.g., I love you/I miss you/You hurt me) and what we are communicating via our words and actions (e.g., You never make time for me/You’re so lazy/You’re such a(n) [expletive of choice]).

That tension is ... really fucking interesting to read, huh!

Personally, I have a lot of fun watching the needs/wants/feelings of a character (that we might be privy to, as readers) get filtered through their unique... voice.

So say you write a character who is quite rough around the edges, and not very skilled in affection. They have a deep yearning to be close to [love interest], but they just aren’t accustomed to languaging their true feelings. Maybe we see how scared they are of putting their feelings out there. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying.

So instead of “I really care about you, [love interest]”, maybe it comes out something more like “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than follow me around all fucking day?”

And we, the readers, are like, wow! That’s not what you were thinking at all man! You’re so bad at this, that’s awesome.

So the point of all this is that it’s very helpful to clarify for yourself, in any meaningful interaction between characters in or soon-to-be-in a relationship:

What are the characters individually thinking during this interaction? What are the emotions that are present? How does it show in their body or their movements? Are they careful not to let these things show, or do they not notice at all?

How are they expecting this interaction to go? (Are they afraid something might go wrong? Are they looking for a certain reaction from each other?)

What DON’T they know about what the other person is thinking? What are their assumptions about how the other person perceives them--in general, and in this moment?

What is the GAP or the CONTRAST between all of the above and what actually ends up coming out of their mouth? Or what actions they end up physically taking (or not taking)?

Are the characters aware of their own contrast, here? How do they feel about it? Or, do they think they are being perfectly congruent?

In this way, you have the ability, as a writer, to create some devastatingly (or delightfully) poignant moments between characters. These are the moments that can really sell the reader on the relationship--its importance (why are you showing us this?) and its appeal (thank you for showing us this, this blew our tits off, etc).

ii. Tender Spots and How to Attack Them for Fun and Profit

So we’ve got issues.

What are the things that really fuckin get at you? Those topics that, when brought up, make you really upset and really defensive at like, mach speed. Maybe you’re insecure about your skills. Maybe it really bothers you when people see you as weak/unintelligent/a burden/unattractive. Maybe you have a rough and complicated relationship with a family member.

So these can be thought of as, like, tender spots (lol). You can also think of them as “raw” spots, sensitive spots, or triggers.

Figure out what your characters’ are!

This is another key way in which you can create deep and believable interpersonal drama--Character A (accidentally or intentionally) stomps all over Character B’s sensitive spots. So to speak.

A very cursory and relatively uncomplicated example of this in action:

Tasha and Mimi are two adults in a committed partnership.

Mimi’s got a real fucking chip on her shoulder about being seen as a burden--her father always went to great lengths to make sure she knew just how much he did for her, just how many opportunities he passed up in order to raise her, just how great his life would have been if she’d never been born.

Tasha is the oldest of five siblings. She was frequently tasked with their care, growing up. She did her best not to complain, as her parents were always very busy working to keep a roof over their head. So, Tasha did her part. She would’ve loved to rest and play and goof off like other kids and teens, sure, but it never felt possible with all of her responsibilities.

Mimi is suddenly injured and is unable to do certain things on her own that she had been doing before. Tasha goes about taking care of these things as well as taking on certain other tasks on her own that the pair of them may have tackled as a team before. Tasha feels stretched very thin by the workload, but is deeply concerned about how Mimi feels. There’s nothing to be done about the situation, she reasons, so there’s no point in complaining about how stressed out she is.

Mimi offers to help to the best of her ability, but Tasha is very concerned about her, and insists that Mimi rest and not exert herself. Mimi insists back. Tasha insists back back.

Mimi points out how stressed Tasha must be. Tasha agrees that she is stressed, but does not elaborate on her feelings. Mimi assumes that Tasha must think that she is a burden.

Mimi then becomes very emotionally activated--she is reminded, consciously or unconsciously, of how shitty it felt to have her father tell her over and over again what a burden she is, and how better off he would be without her. So this must be how Tasha really feels about her, Mimi accuses.

Tasha, who is very stressed but who cares very deeply for Mimi and her well-being, and who does not see Mimi as just a burden, becomes very activated in turn--she feels maligned and misunderstood. And now she certainly can’t talk about how stressed out she is, because it will only convince Mimi that she is right.

So Tasha is now convinced that she must continue to hold her feelings in in order to keep the peace--she’s reminded of her childhood spent taking care of others, and how she never felt allowed to express herself.

This example is obviously from a very zoomed-out view, chronologically, and is not exactly the way we would see it written in fiction (fiction is much more moment-by-moment and, well, exciting, usually). BUT we can see where Tasha and Mimi’s sensitivities lie, and how they specifically hurt each other with their behavior (unintentionally, in this case) by stomping RIGHT ON those sensitivities.

Readers love drama. And drama makes the plot go ‘round! So don’t be afraid to lay it on them!

In your (very good and compelling) writing, ESPECIALLY if you want to write engaging relational conflict, you would do well to clarify what your characters’ deepest sensitivities are. Consider the following:

What needs went unmet for them, growing up? A very cliche therapist-y question, but for good reason--our upbringing is where many of our deepest insecurities originate.

Additionally/alternatively, what do your characters understand to be their role in relation to other people? E.g., are they always the caretaker, the burden, the comic relief, the heartbreaker, the lonely hero, the boss? How did they first get this idea of who they’re ‘supposed’ to be towards others, and how was this reinforced throughout their life? Are they satisfied or dissatisfied with their ‘lot in life’? What do they hate about their ‘role’, if anything?

What sorts of situations might remind them of what they hate most about this role? E.g. ‘I enjoy taking care of others, and I’m good at it, but my partner gets upset if I discuss how stressed I get sometimes--I’m never allowed to express myself.’ How can you incorporate these situations into your story to create conflict?

How does your character respond when these sensitivities are triggered? Do they lash out? Do they retreat and get quiet? Do they ghost people altogether?

What do they think will happen if they are unwilling or unable to fulfill this role in their relationships with others? E.g., ‘My partner will leave me if I am not a good caretaker’, ‘Nothing will get done right if I’m not the one taking charge’, ‘If I don’t keep others at arms’ length, even if they say they love me, I’ll end up hurt.’

This is another way in which you can help your relationships really come to life! Anyways. Read on for more cheer and relational joy!

iii. We’re Attracted to What Hurts Us Sometimes, AKA Oops! I Ran into the Knife, Ten Times,

(less of a part 3 and more a part 2.5, but it was simply too long. so,)

So maybe you have a good idea of what your ideal partner/bestie looks like. It’s probably any number of positive traits: kind, considerate, good sense of humor, shapely posterior, ambitious, active, fun-loving, studious, etc.

What probably don’t make the list are things like: emotionally distant like my mother with whom I long to have a reparative experience.

Maybe you’ve witnessed (or been in) a relationship wherein all parties can be described as ‘just so bad for each other’. And maybe this relationship should not have lasted as long as it did (or shouldn’t be lasting as long as it is). And maybe you’re like--’Why are these assholes still together?’ Or, importantly: ‘Why did these assholes get together at all?’ The answer may surprise you! But more likely, it won’t.

Sometimes, we pick people on purpose specifically because they stab us right in the sensitive spot (again. so to speak).

(i should clarify before moving on: I am specifically NOT talking about relational abuse, here. That’s kind of an entirely different subject that is like. the cousin of this subject. In this discussion, I specifically mean relationships in which there is no major power differential--you’re just bad for each other. These relationships can be what we might call ‘toxic’, sure, and painful, but not abusive. The distinction is important, moving forward. ok ty)

[Author’s Note: I need everyone to know that I wrote and subsequently deleted 700 words here because I realized they didn’t make any fucking sense ok. let’s try this one more time.]

Essentially, it’s a known phenomenon among humans that, when we have experience with relational distress in the past (e.g. a partner who neglected you emotionally, or parents who disregarded boundaries you tried to set), we like to seek out similar people with whom to form relationships. Weird! But not really.

The human brain seeks closure and resolution--where we couldn’t get things to work out with our parents, or our exes, we try to get the same situations to work out next time, with someone new.

Let’s look at another example, together. Take my hand,

Suppose you write a character (Character A) whose mother was in and out of their life from a young age, and never seemed to prioritize them. Now suppose you are looking to craft a fraught or tragic or dramatic romance (or other relationship) with this character. Using what you’ve written of your first character’s backstory, you can do just that!

It’s perfectly believable, you know now, for your Character A to pursue a love interest (Character B) who has a tendency to... not want to stick around. Maybe this love interest seems to fear commitment and intimacy.

Now, maybe Character B in actuality has a very dangerous profession that requires that they maintain the utmost discretion, and be ready to flee anywhere at a moment’s notice. Maybe the fate of the city/kingdom/nation/world relies on B’s profession.

It probably doesn’t make them leaving all the time hurt A any less, though.

Character A, unconsciously or not, is determined to make things work this time around. As the relationship deepens, B is faced again and again with the choice--stay, for your love, or go, as duty commands. Maybe they’ve taken a vow for their profession that is no light thing. They leave, time and time again.

Character A, unconsciously or not, remembers this feeling--it’s an old one. Mother, time and time again, chose something else over them. It would be understandable for A to feel a deep anger towards Mom and B both. Maybe A takes drastic action to get back at B (action that is also, symbolically, retaliatory towards Mom)--maybe they cheat on B, or do something that endangers their own safety.

When all they really want is just to get B to stay.

It’s probably very clear now why it’s not so simple a thing for A to choose to date someone more consistent--this is something that goes beyond B alone.

In this way, you can very easily weave themes into the relationship(s) of your main characters. Maybe the story of A explores the pain of abandonment, or loneliness. If B is the protagonist, maybe the story explores the way we excuse our shitty behavior in relationships (maybe the job is a pretext--maybe they really are scared of commitment), or maybe it’s about the dilemma of duty over love.

Relationships don’t always make sense. Or rather, they do make sense, just in a different way than we might expect. You can use this understanding now to intentionally explore a number of complex relationship dynamics, and to create nuanced (but sympathetic) characters. As you do, consider:

In your existing characters’ relationships--what keeps these assholes together? Why do they have to be with each other, as opposed to anyone else? This is important, again, for selling the reader on the relationship, especially if it’s your work’s main relationship.

What initially attracted your characters to each other? Consider again from the previous section (what is this, a fucking textbook?) the historically unmet needs of your character(s).

How do your characters go about expressing their needs? Think again about CONTRAST here--what is the discrepancy between what the actual need is, and how the character seeks to fulfill it? E.g. ‘I need to keep B from leaving me, because it really hurts me when they go, so I’ll go risk my life just to keep their attention (rather than express this pain to them).’

What similarities, if any, exist between your MC’s relationships with the people in their present lives, and your MC’s childhood relationship(s) with their caregiver(s)? Could you expand on/deepen any similarities in your writing? What themes might emerge if you did?

iv. Change / The Arc

So you’ve got your work’s central relationship. It’s believable, it’s just the right amount of dramatic, it’s suitably tragic, and just all-around devastating. People will cry. Great job!

Now what?

Well, that depends--what ending do you envision for your relationship?

If they remain together, do they get the happily ever after? The happy-for-now? Is the reader left to wonder about whether or not their relationship will survive?

Do they not make it at all? Are they separated by tragedy? Do they crash and burn? Or maybe they try their best, but despite how badly they love each other, it’s just not enough?

Whatever the Point B of the relationship is, if it’s central to the work, you’re gonna want to have a clear arc in there. Or not, idk, I’m not your mom.

You might already know, if you inhale every piece of writing advice you come across (like me), what makes a compelling character arc. The good news is that it’s much the same with relationships! Kind of.

Systems (relationships) tend towards homeostasis. Without deliberate intervention, relationships want to remain the way they’ve always been. Just like people!

And just like characters, relationships need a reason to change. Like a catalyst, or a motivation. Whatever the hell you wanna call it.

It’s not always, like, complicated to figure out the driving force behind change in your central relationships. Sometimes the pieces fall together!

Pay attention to the characters within the relationship--as your characters progress through their arcs, their relationship will naturally shift. It will probably not look exactly the same as it did when it began--there might be similarities, of course (they’re not entirely different people.. usually. And there’s a beauty to bookending a story with the familiar, certainly). But in this case, the relationship can be thought of as an extra character, almost. It’s unsatisfying to read a whole story wherein a central character stays exactly the same. It’s further strange and incongruent for a relationship to stay exactly the same while the characters have like, achieved actualization or whatever.

Outside events can force change on a relationship, just as they do individual characters. A couple that’s close to Characters A and B get married--and A & B start to wonder what their future together even looks like. B’s company hires a fiiiine honey, who’s exactly B’s type, and A starts steaming about it. A pandemic ravages the nation, and to prevent the spread of the virus, A and B have to stay inside togeth

YOU GET IT ok anyways I’m fucking tired of writing. If you’re wanting to develop the arc of your MCs’ relationship(s), think on some of this:

Do your characters see any problem(s) present in their relationship? Are they all equally aware of the problem(s)? Do they agree on what the problem(s) are?

How secure are your characters in their relationship? If anything could possibly cause doubt and conflict to arise, what is it?

Where do your characters see their relationship going in the near future? In the far future? Do their visions align? If not, how do they differ? Do they even want the same thing?

Is the arc of the central relationship congruent with the arcs of the characters who comprise it? I.e. does the relationship remain exactly the same as it was when it started, despite the characters undergoing wild metamorphoses? Is the reverse true?

When you think about their relationship, INDEPENDENT of any ending you may already have decided, where do you see it going? Like, where do these people feel like they’re headed, realistically? Does this align with the ending you’ve decided on for them? If not, this doesn’t mean you’ve written a bad relationship or anything, it’s just a possible sign that some really intense shit might have to happen in order to shift their course, y’know? Or not--the world is your oyster and you are the God of your own creation!

What are you trying to say with your story, and do the arcs of the central relationships reflect that message?

final thots

If you read all that shit, thank you. I wrote it all in one sitting and posted it without proofreading 💜

In all seriousness, I want to emphasize that, although some of these aspects of relationships are most visible in rels with a lot of anguish and maybe even some toxicity, you by no means have to write this kind of relationship in order to make use of these tips. You could write a very Normal couple!

The idea is to offer you some avenues through which to consider aspects of your characters’ psychology and personalities, and how they mesh or clash with their partners’ or besties’.

Anyways I hope this was helpful. I love talking about relationships I could literally go on and on all day. Which I kind of just did so. lol.

I’ve been liv and I’ve got two main WIPs I’m working on right now: The Romance of the Demigods and The Marking Blood and they’re full of really really super normal relationships and examples of me definitely taking my own fucking advice.

Cheers and happy writing! 💖💖💖

[janeyseymour]

stick season

summary: it's stick season. Hurt.

WC: ~1.85k

Feel free to listen to my cover of the Noah Kahan song!

Melissa has been your girlfriend for a year now. And she just joined you on a long weekend to go visit your hometown up in Vermont. Your parents absolutely adored Melissa, giving you the stamp of approval on your newest girlfriend, and you couldn’t be happier about that. 

It was warm, it was cozy, it was perfect. Or at least that’s what you thought. But apparently you were wrong, because the drive back to Philly just felt wrong.

As you promised me that I was more than all the miles combined, you must have had yourself a change of heart like halfway through the drive, because your voice trailed off exactly as you passed my exit sign; kept on drivin' straight and left our future to the right.

Melissa had told you that it was entirely worth all of the miles you were putting on her car to go up there with you over the weekend, and you can’t help but smile with joy. And then she’s kissing the back of your hand and promising you that you were more than all of those miles combined.

But then, about halfway through the car ride home, there’s a shift. She takes her hand off of your thigh as she drives, and when she passes the exit that she usually would to take you back to your apartment, she goes silent, biting her lip as if she’s deep in thought.

When she pulls in to her own driveway, she looks to you sadly.

“Hun? What’s wrong?” you ask, clearly concerned about this sudden shift in attitude. 

She bites her lip nervously. “Y/N, I don’t think I can do this,” she whispers.

“Do what?” you ask, although deep down you know what she’s hinting at.

She gestures between the two of you. “This. I- I’m not ready for the commitment that you’re ready for… you want to get married and have kids, and move back up to Vermont, and I can’t do that. I- I’m sorry.”

You leave her house in a puddle of tears. The uber driver that gets the misfortune of taking you home gives you quite a few concerned looks through the rear-view mirror.

Now I am stuck between my anger, and the blame that I can’t face, and memories are something even smoking weed does not replace. And I’m terrified of weather cause I see you when it rains. Doc told me to travel but there’s Covid on the planes.

You’re furious. You don’t know who you’re more mad at: yourself or Melissa. She just spent the last three nights with you up in Vermont playing the part of perfect girlfriend before dumping you and leaving you to explain to your parents that you’re single again. And you’re mad at yourself because you knew she didn’t want the future you did, but you had foolishly hoped she would change her mind. You suppose you should take the blame for that one, but you don’t want to face it- admit that it was your fault for putting blind faith in her.

Deciding that you need to relax, you roll yourself a joint, but the memories of you and Melissa over the past year just continue to replay in your mind. And for the first time ever since you started smoking weed, it doesn’t help the pain you feel in your chest. The drug might be able to remedy physical aches and pains, but it sure as hell can’t fix a broken heart; you’re not sure anything can right now.

You don’t leave your house for the next few weeks unless absolutely necessary. You’re a mopey mess, and your therapist finally tells you that you should travel. And you consider going back to Vermont because being in the same city as your now ex-girlfriend hurts too much. But there’s Covid on the planes, and you can’t quite justify driving up to Vermont on Friday night just to leave again on Sunday morning. Come Friday, you really do still toy with the idea of making your way back to your parents’ house, but there’s a cold front making it’s way through the Mid-Atlantic all the way up through New England, and you’re not about to attempt to drive through seven hours of rain and wind. Besides, when it rains, you can only think of Melissa. She used to have you dance out in the rain with her before cozying up on the couch and watching movies. She claimed it was the only way to spend a rainy day.

And I love Vermont but it’s the season of the sticks. And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed, and it’s half my fault but I just like to play the victim. I’ll drink alcohol til my friends come home for Christmas.

There’s a season that happens in New England when Fall starts to make its exit and Winter presents itself- and every year, around stick season, your life changes. Melissa came during stick season last year, and she left during this stick season. It hurts.

You end up seeing her mother at the grocery store, and you look like a wreck. You give her a shy wave just to be polite- things may have ended with her daughter, but it’s clear to you that she’s entirely forgotten about your existence or previous presence in Melissa’s life.

That stings, and you make your way to the alcohol aisle, throwing a few bottles of wine in your cart so you can mope and play the victim at home tonight. You suppose you’ll just drink until a few of your friends from college come home for Christmas.

So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad that I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from Dad. No, I am no longer funny cause I miss the way you laugh.

For the childhood that you had with your father, the relationship that you have with him as a grown woman is nothing short of a miracle. Because of everything you witnessed growing up as a child with having your father for a Dad, you came out better. You knew where to draw the line with certain things. You were funny because of the trauma that he caused you though too… but you aren’t funny anymore because the off color jokes that you used to make were usually just there for Melissa- and you miss the way she laughs. So now, you’re back to the quiet and shy, reserved person that you used to be before she brought out the best (and worst) in you.

You once called me forever, now you still can’t call me back. 

You remember when she told you that she was going to be yours forever. You didn’t think that she would ever say something like that- you knew that she hadn’t ever wanted to get married again, but you continued to pursue her romantically. And it was all looking really good for you, until she broke up with you.

You’ve called her a few times, to beg and grovel for her to take you back- tell her that you didn’t care about marriage and children as long as it meant you got to keep her in your life, but she refused to pick up the phone or call you back.

And I love Vermont but it’s the season of the sticks. And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed, and it’s half my fault but I just like to play the victim. I’ll drink alcohol til my friends come home for Christmas.

You end up flying home after a few weeks because you simply can’t bear the pain of this heartbreak alone, and you can’t quite justify driving for a weekend. It’s still stick season though, and you feel the cool air wash over you as you exit the airport and try to hail a cab back to your childhood home.

After the flight back home, you see Melissa’s mother at the airport. She has a sign that she’s holding indicating that she’s picking someone up. But she doesn’t see you, and after the last meeting with her, you doubt she remembers you… she’s definitely forgotten about your existence by now.

You’ve come to terms with the fact that your breakup with the Schemmenti was half your fault at this point, but you still take the Septa to get closer to your house before stopping at a liquor store- with the intention of once again playing the victim and drowning your sorrows in a bottle of tequila.

Maybe once you’ve seen some of your old college friends, you’ll head back north to see your hometown friends when they come.

And I’ll dream each night of some version of you that I might not have, but I did not lose. Now you’re tire tracks and one pair of shoes, and I’m split in half but that’ll have to do.

That redheaded beauty has haunted your dreams since you broke up with her. And you miss her dearly. But in each of your dreams, she’s a different version of herself, and it’s quite odd. Somewhere deep inside though, you know none of the versions of Melissa that your mind had made up are her- so you didn’t really lose her in a sense.

You always wake up though and sigh. She isn’t next to you like she should be. And when you head into your living room, you see a pair of her shoes that she left here and hasn’t asked to get back yet.

Your heart splits in half every time you see those shoes. You should just throw them out at this point, but you don’t want to touch them- if they’re there, maybe she’ll come back to you one day. 

Oh that’ll have to do… My other half was you. I hope this pain’s just passing through, but I doubt it.

She really was your other half, and you hope that the pain that you feel every time you see her shoes passes eventually, but you doubt it will.

And I love Vermont but it’s the season of the sticks. And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed, and it’s half my fault but I just like to play the victim. I’ll drink alcohol til my friends come home for Christmas. And I’ll dream each night of some version of you that I might not have, but I did not lose. Now you’re tire tracks and one pair of shoes, and I’m split in half but that’ll have to do.

Stick season passes by, and you’re still left on your own. Christmas time comes, and you find yourself with a bottle in your hand almost every night to try to help numb the pain. It’s becoming less and less, but you still miss her with all your heart. You know that being split in half will just have to do… maybe next stick season will bring you something happy again.

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab

[citruswriter]

Say It Again

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

Pairing: Nobody. Leonardo if you squint. 🧡

Warnings: Angst, Reader has white feathered wings, set in the second movie after the river scene.

A/N: Sooooooo I came up with this while maladaptive daydreaming. Your welcome.

"That's enough!" You said, breaking the brothers up. "I will not just stand here and watch you guys berate each other!" Donnie, Mikey, and Raph just grumbled but agreed and sat down. "Like you have any room talking. You're not even a proper member of this family". Leo hissed, arms crossed as he stared at you. "Oh shit..." Raph muttered. "Oh he did not..." Mikey said softly. Even Donnie stared at his elder brother in utter shock. You turned your head with wide eyes to look at the brother in blue. "What?" You said softly, giving him the chance to save himself as your wings began to bristle but Leo just glared at you. "I said what I fucking sa-" he wasn't able to finish before you started screaming at him in utter rage. "You are such a fucking dick! You don't have any right to utter such words at me! The utter gaul you fucking have to say such a thing to me!" You screamed, tears spilling down your face as you continued. "News flash! This is your fucking fault! You want all of us to be little soldiers that think like you and blindly follow your orders but that ain't how this fucking shit works! I know it may be hard to see the truth from the high horse your riding on but if you stopped being so fucking arrogant, you might see the truth!" Leo had never seen you so angry, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared right now. "We all look up to you, you just don't know how to fucking lead Leonardo!" You spat, voice beginning to go hoarse from your screaming.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, (Y/N). I shouldn't have said that." He sputtered and you growled at him. "Stay in your fucking lane Leonardo. You don't get to shit on any of us. Mikey may be an airhead but he's the best fighter out of all of us. Raph may be an angry brute but he'll be the first one to sacrifice himself for his family. And Donnie, oho, Donnie. You'd be fucking dead without this man. And me? How many times have I played therapist for you? For this whole fucking family?" You stepped forward, squaring up to him as you glared at him with such anger that it made him shudder. "You ever have the audacity to say some disrespectful shit like that to me ever again, and I swear it'll be the last fucking thing you ever say." You seethed and Leo nodded. You walked off, angry and hurt, tears spilling over your cheeks. "Oh and Leo?" You started, looking over your shoulder. "Y-Yeah?" He stuttered out. "You're so lucky I don't tell Sensei about your little comment because we both know he'd beat your ass and you wouldn't leave the hashi for a week". You growled and Leo swallowed thickly, knowing damn well that was true.

Sitting in a corner of the plane, you broke down crying. "H-Hey. Look I'm sure he didn't mean it. He's just angry." Mikey said, rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you. "I don't care. It's no excuse." You sobbed angrily and Donnie crouched down to hold your face, thumbs wiping tears away. "I know. But please know he loves you as much as the rest of us do." He whispered and you nodded. "You are a valued member of this family. And we love you so much. Even Leo's arrogant ass". Raph rumbled softly and you couldn't help but laugh softly through your tears. "There we go! There's that smile". Mikey cheered, kissing your temple. "Feeling a bit better now?" Donnie asked and you nodded. Looking over to Leo, you saw the guilty expression on his face. Wrapping yourself in your wings, you thought back to the river and how you couldn't help. You wanted to but the water made your feathers sopping wet, rendering you useless. Maybe he was just frustrated. Maybe he was projecting. You weren't sure. But as you stared out the plane, rippling wind still working on drying your wings off, you knew one thing for sure. This fight was not over yet.

Anyways yea. Ik it's super short but I wanted to write it. So fuck ya'll. /silly

[atinylittlepain]

Part Two

no outbreak!joel miller x f!oc

series playlist

joel miller masterlist

series masterlist

She's tired. He's tired. They're neurotic. They're in love. Something needs to change. They need to change.

word count | 5.1k

chapter content info | 18+ little angst, couples counseling, just two tired people trying to figure out the tangle of their relationship together

a/n | part two is here, and i'd just like to say thank you to everyone being so kind about the first part - i know this isnt the usual peepaw fare, so thanks for giving her a chance - and also big thank you to @wannab-urs for beta-ing this bad boy <3

............................................

This is not a failure. She is not failing. They are not failing. Every Thursday at four o’clock she shuts her laptop and locks her office and stops in the bathroom at work, silently repeats these things to herself in her mind while she rubs her fingers at smudged mascara in the bathroom mirror. Like a mantra, though she’s not sure she’s fully bought into it yet. Because the truth is, she has had plenty of conversations with plenty of girlfriends that, really, they shouldn’t have been having about other girlfriends, not in the room with us girlfriends who, did you hear, started going to therapy and, did you hear, started going to therapy with their, oh no, husbands. Yes, she has been the bitch who has made jokes about death knells and a marriage’s last gasp for breath, jokes about the husband having the emotional range of a goldfish, and the wife being so up the husband’s ass she should give him a colonoscopy while she’s at it. She’s not really making jokes like those anymore. 

She’s not supposed to be doing what she’s doing this Thursday at four o’clock. When they first went to Vicky (LMFT, for the record) her fundamental decree had been a period of full separation. Sixteen years, she had asked, and they had nodded, and she had said whoa boy, yeah, y’all need to back off each other before we do anything else. If Paula Dean had a penchant for self-help instead of butter, she’d be something like Vicky. And so, with all the care of a drill sergeant delivering commands, or a mechanic running a diagnostic on a fucked-up car, Vicky had told them how this is going to go. An apartment, she said, don’t care which one of you lives in it. Minimal contact between sessions, right, keep it civil, right, this isn’t for forever, right. So Joel got an apartment, and Tommy helped him move all the furniture in the basement with admittedly minimal, but still present, wariness, and for the last four weeks they’ve been doing everything their beloved herr-therapist tells them. She supposes it’s working, although you can’t really do much fighting when you only see the other person for ninety minutes every Thursday so, the results might be confounded, actually.

“Hey there.” Hey there? What the fuck, what the actual fuck. He doesn’t think he’s ever said those words to her, ever, maybe not to anyone actually. He feels a little insane, a little itchy under the skin, mouth full of cotton, brain too, because they’re not supposed to be doing this, not really. The first time she’s seen the apartment, or, well, the doorway of the apartment, doesn’t really seem interested in stepping further inside, running her curled palm up and down the strap of her purse and right, not here for that. He shuts the door behind him and then they’re on their way to therapy because it’s four o’clock on Thursday and this is what they do now at four o’clock on Thursday.

“Thanks again. I didn’t think my car would still be in the shop today.”

“Oh of course, you said it’s a transmission leak?” 

“Yeah, the bad, expensive kind that’s above my paygrade. Guy said they’re still waiting on a part for it.”

“Well I’m off work tomorrow if you need a ride anywhere.”

“Vicky’ll get pissed.”

“If she finds out. Are you gonna tell on me to Vicky?” It’s a joke, they can joke, right? She laughs a little on the end of her words to make it clear, hey, it’s a joke, awkward and out of touch and unsure of what the rules are. But he offers a breath of a laugh, at least, fine, it’s fine, they’re fine, and now they’re silent driving to Vicky’s office. 

Should he ask her how her week has been? If the kitchen sink is still leaking? He’s not sure. Not sure about any of it, really. Every week, Vicky asks them how they think they’re doing and Cass doesn’t even hesitate. Good, she says. Not fine, not okay, but good, usually with a sure, terse nod. It takes him a little longer to find the right word to describe how he’s doing. Not sure about that either, but it’s definitely not good. Some things are better, sure, easier not to argue when under foot, easier not to remember all the ghosts they’ve built up around themselves. But at the most basic level, he misses her, even misses arguing with her, in a perpetual state of missing something, walking around and wondering if he left his wallet at home, or if he remembered to call a client about a new build, wondering if he’s missing something essential, a limb or an organ he didn’t know about. No, none of that. Missing something else.

“You’re not wearing your ring.” She flexes her left hand over the steering wheel in response, her very bare ring finger making him feel a quick pinch of something he’ll call anger, though it’s probably something else entirely. 

“No, Vicky advised I try not wearing it during the separation.”

“Why the fuck would she tell you to do that?”

“Joel.”

“I’m just asking.”

“You’re swearing.”

“Well, why didn’t she say the same thing to me?”

“Maybe because I told her this is how you would react.”

“I think I’m having a pretty normal reaction to it, actually.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just for now.”

“Right.”

“It is.” 

“Seems like a strange thing to advise someone to do when they’ve been married for nearly two decades.” She parks outside of the office complex that Vicky works in, lets out a long sigh through her nose and doesn’t spare him a glance as she reaches around to the backseat and pulls her purse up front, producing her ring from somewhere deep inside of it and sliding it back on her finger. 

“There, are you happy now?”

“Why the hell were you keeping it in your purse?”

“Oh my god, really?”

“That’s a real easy way to lose it is all I’m saying.” The truth is, she’s been keeping it in her purse in order to have easy access to it. Like a pulsepoint, sometimes she just needs to know it’s there, reaching into her purse underneath her desk and yep, still there, still okay. Sometimes she doesn’t get through a whole day without putting it back on. Like reflex, like ghost limb aching. But she’s not about to tell him that.

“Do not bring this up with Vicky.”

“Why not?”

“Because then she’ll know we drove here together.”

“You’re that worried about what Vicky thinks?”

“She’s our therapist, I’m a healthy and appropriate amount worried about what Vicky thinks.” 

“You know she’s not the arbiter of marriage just because she has a couple of degrees, right?”

“Really, the arbiter of marriage?” 

“Are you doing that thing you do, is that what this is?”

“What thing?” 

“Cass.”

“What thing?”

“Are you trying to win therapy?” Fuck him. No, really, fuck him. He’s doing that thing, his thing to her thing, half a smile in the passenger’s seat like he’s got her. Awful, of course he’s got her, smug and sure in his getting her. She doesn’t answer his question, knowing that her silence is an answer in and of itself and not really caring because they have therapy, damn it, and it’s going to be his fault if they’re late to therapy, damn it.

“You know, I’m starting to see why Vicky told us no carpooling to sessions.” Slammed shut, he sighs when she gets out of the car, thinking idly to himself that yes, he doesn’t necessarily disagree with that commandment of their therapist either. At the very least, Cass’ ring is still on her finger. He tried a few times in the past to get her something new, something nicer than the gold band he had given her when they were still young and still not able to afford much of anything, but sure enough in each other to want to keep doing it, all of it, together. No, she would tell him, doesn’t want anything other than the gold band. What she doesn’t know is that he pawned his grandfather’s watch and an electric saw for the ring the shop owner kept in a padlocked display case. Twenty-six years old, and looking back, he thinks he would have sold a whole lot more just to get it for her. 

He used to call her pearl. Something about grit that would make her roll her eyes and ask him what late night National Geographic TV special he got that line from, all the while inwardly swooning because sure, she had been baby before, babe, an errant sweetheart even, but pearl was new, and tooth-decayingly sweet. And when he proposed, Sarah bouncing around them like a manic cupid, Cassandra made an ugly sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry, little black velvet box and a ring that was more signet than wedding, simple and gold and a single pearl set in the center of it. Her hands clasped, she runs the pad of her finger over her ring, wordless and worrying it on the elevator ride up to Vicky’s office. 

Vicky has a thing for lamps and art prints of naked women. Her waiting room is a little dim, no windows, green velveteen loveseat and two high-backed wooden chairs that they always take when they get here, his eyes scanning over the coffee table laden with back-ordered Psychology Today magazines, headlines about overcoming anxiety and exercising your way out of depression. There had been one about postpartum  depression somewhere in the pile the last time they came, but he had made a point of hanging back after Cass left, some excuse about checking an insurance thing with Vicky, though what he really did was pluck out that magazine and throw it away in the men’s restroom down the hall. One less thing to worry about, at the least. 

“Hi, you two, come on back.” The sessions always start the same. Vicky asks them how they think the week went, and they both offer up some iteration of fine. Vicky asks them if they’ve been upholding their phase of separation, and she answers before Joel can, pointedly not looking at him, yes, no contact between sessions. But apparently, this week is going to be different.

“We are nearing the end of the total separation phase. After this initial period of cooling off for both of you, the real work can begin.” Right, phases, because Vicky works in phases like this is some sort of military siege. He tries not to roll his eyes at the real work beginning. 

“Can either of you remember the last date you went on together?” 

“It would’ve been in August, right before the separation.” Cass scoffs at his answer, tilt of her head like, really?

“Tommy and Maria’s baby shower hardly counts as a date. But we did go to dinner at the end of July.”

“I don’t think your work banquet counts either.” Vicky hits them with that look, that yeah, that’s what I thought look, all raised brow and scrunched nose and nodding. Not that she is, but if she, hypothetically, were trying to win therapy, Cassandra thinks she wouldn’t be doing a great job of it right now.

“Right, well, you’ve made my point for me. It’s not unusual for people who have been together for as long as you two have to let things like this fall to the wayside. However, it can be very helpful to reestablish some of these routines. Think of it as marriage maintenance.” 

“So you want us to start going on dates again?” 

“Yes, but not with each other.” Did she? Did he? Hear that right? Cass is nodding like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world, like, yes, of course, this is just the solution they’ve been looking for. This time, he doesn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m sorry, what?” Both of them look at him like, yes, keep up, please, let us explain this to you very slowly so you can keep up, please. Something about seeing what life is like outside of their marriage, testing the waters, seeing if they still like the same things without their extra marital limb, something about making a decision about their marriage, though he tunes most of that part out because, no, thanks, no new decision has been needed since he got down on one knee during that trip to Galveston, sunscreen and sticky sweet and he’s not sure if he or Sarah was more excited, but he was definitely more nervous. And Cass said yes, and then he wasn’t nervous anymore, not scared anymore, and that’s all there was to it, is to it, right? Right. 

“This is the closing exercise of the total separation phase. It’s really important that you both have this opportunity to see what it’s like to be back in the dating pool. Think of it as a trial run of if you decide to make this separation–”

“No, no thanks. That’s not– we’re not those people, so, you know, we can just move onto the next phase.” 

“Joel.” The mom voice of all things, and he knows for certain now that Cass is trying to win therapy, nudging her shoe into the side of his, and, come on, really? She’s really bought that hard into what Vicky’s selling? Now that, that isn’t like her, at all. 

“What feelings are coming up for you right now, Joel?” She fucking hates that question, and she imagines that he does too, fingers drumming on his knee, long sigh, and she knows that look, that’s his getting ready to bolt look. Big man, big, skittish man who has accidentally nailed his fingers to house frames and hardly shed a tear. But feelings? Yeah, forget it. 

“Uh, I guess I’m confused as to why that is so important for us to do. We came here to help our– to help us, not to create more problems.”

“And you think that if you and Cassandra went on dates, one date, with other people, that it would create more problems in your marriage?” Well, it’s hardly rocket science, Vicky, though judging by the way she’s speaking to him, he’s pretty sure he failed some kind of test of hers. He doesn’t particularly care.

“I imagine it’d do that to anyone’s marriage.” 

“It’s just one date, it’s a part of the process.” She’s starting to get pissed, and trying very hard not to show it in front of Vicky should she get the what feelings are coming up for you treatment. When they agreed to start going to therapy, like a pair of dogs gagging down a pill, they had both agreed to put their full effort into it, and if Vicky wasn’t in the room with them currently, Cassandra would sharply remind him of that agreement. 

“Maybe I should clarify the expectations around this exercise. It’s one date, preferably with people outside of your shared social circle, and it would be best if the focus is just on the date, no sexual relations.”

“Oh really, you think that’d be best?”

“Joel.” He gives her a slack and slanted look, speaking two different languages, apparently. And really, she doesn’t see what the big deal is. One date versus sixteen years is pretty obvious math for her to square up, though it doesn’t seem to be for him. But, watching him engage in psychological tennis with Vicky, some new jab dripping in sarcasm for every reassurance she tries to offer him, the realization comes to Cassandra slowly, simply. Joel is scared. 

By the time they leave Vicky’s office, he feels deflated, defeated, because yes, they are, apparently, going to do this fucking exercise that fucking Vicky has fucking assigned to them, scheduled in three weeks instead of one to give them time to do this fucking exercise that fucking Vicky has fucking assigned to them. 

“Can’t we just, you know, say we did it but not actually do it?” 

“Are you serious right now?” Judging by the look she gives him, a quick, sharp flicker of her eyes before she focuses back on the road, he thinks he probably shouldn’t say anything else. He shouldn’t, but, well. 

“Is this about pleasing Vicky, or are you just that interested in dating someone else?”

“Don’t be a child about this, Joel. It’s a therapeutic–”

“It’s bullshit is what it is. I don’t– I already know what I want, and I don’t need to go testing the waters to be sure of it. What I’m not so sure about is if you can say the same.” She can’t put her finger on anything specific,  probably just a slow-building amalgamation of things. Stressful week at work, and the leaking sink getting worse, and her doctor increasing a medication dosage that’s made her body feel like something other than her body, and this fucking therapy and this fucking trying and she’s trying so hard and she feels like she’s failing and when she glances at him he looks hurt, really hurt, a close crumple in his face, deep frown, and it frustrates her because all she’s trying to do is do it right, and all she gets is this constant rhythm of resistance, this push and pull and yes, it’s all of that, all of that creeping up her throat tight and hot and curling behind her eyes sending salt pinpricks and sharp pangs. When the first sob breaks, it does so as a gasp, like a small and stunned thing in her chest. And, well, it’s never uphill from there, is it?

“Do you– do we need to pull over?”

“No, I don’t need to fucking pull over. I’m not an invalid, I can cry and drive at the same time.” Except it doesn’t come out quite like that, not smooth like that. The words get stop-started with each new shudder, new stutter, hiccuping on fucking and invalid. The world has gone to slanted stained-glass through all her tears. 

Unsure what to do, but that’s nothing new. He doesn’t say anything else, watches her through the wary side of his eye, sobs turning into something more subdued, little wounded sounds high in her throat, a choice fuck you with a little more bite behind it when someone cuts her off merging onto the highway. He feels useless, feels like, maybe, this is what Vicky should be talking with them about instead of her siege on marriage plan. All he knows is that he seems to get it wrong every time, so this time, he doesn’t interject or intervene, doesn’t say any more than he already has. He lets her cry, and he lets her drive.

He doesn’t know when it happened. When he decided he was going to fix things for her, or just fix her, really. His lady in pieces and he was going to put her back together, and it seemed like every time he tried to, she just shattered a little more. That April is the obvious answer, the most shattered he had ever seen her. But the fighting had started before then, and so had the fixing that wasn’t really fixing. Like a relief, like a release, the slow realization that no, it never worked, and no, it was never going to work. The sobs turn into shivers turn into something even smaller. By the time they pull up in front of his apartment complex, it has passed. 

“I just– I want to do this right, this therapy thing, and I want it to work, and I want it to work so we can be okay again. That’s what I want.” The words hang between them. He makes no move to get out of the car, and she counts her inhales in the silence, waiting for him to say something, anything. It feels like a child’s logic, or maybe a hail Mary, and she knows it, feels a little insane saying it, the words fitting strangely in her mouth. The brief wondering comes to her, what would she have said about where they are now to her girlfriends, what snark, what sharp jokes at their expense? Him in an apartment and a fifteen minute drive separating them and a woman named Vicky unraveling (and in theory, putting back together) their marriage in phases, fucking phases, and fucking Vicky. She doesn’t want to go on a date with someone else, and she doesn’t know why she’s taking Vicky’s instructions as gospel. But she does know, doesn’t she? It’s not about Vicky, not about Vicky and her fucking phases. Fixing, being fixed, that’s what she wants. 

“So, you’re saying you want us to date other people in order to fix our marriage.” Grateful that she takes it for the joke he meant it as, it’s just enough to slough off some of the tension, roll of her eyes, please. They both let out a sigh, too tired for much else. But maybe, he thinks, this counts as progress, sitting here with her in the car and the sun washing everything down burnt and orange. He watches her eyes drop shut for a moment, fine lines like porcelain fissures and he loves those lines, liked catching her in the bathroom with her face pressed up close to the mirror and her fingers pulling those lines taut around her eyes, her mouth. He’d pull her hands away from her face, ask her if she was planning her halloween costume for next year, earning a scoff and a roll of her eyes and her trying to pull away from him, and he wouldn’t let her. Making it better with kisses to those lines, and eventually, her pressing her fingers as light as prayers over his, an implicit wondering, where did the time go?

“Look, if it really makes you that uncomfortable, let’s just lie to Vicky. We could still get like, an A-minus in therapy if we leave just one thing out.”

“I didn’t realize therapy came with a grade.” He smiles, all soft, and she can’t help the sheepish bloom in her chest, rolling her lips back into her mouth to hide her own grin, eventually, reluctantly, admitting in a quiet, skewed to the side voice, okay, so maybe, maybe I was doing that thing, that winning thing. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s a mercy. Just nods, of course, and of course, he knew, maybe even before she did, and is that knowing not a mercy too? She thinks it is. 

“I want to do this right too, Cass. And, I mean, we’re paying Vicky enough money that we should do what she tells us to.”

“Are you saying you want to do it then?”

“Want is a strong word.”

“Okay, are you saying you’re willing to do it?” 

“It’s just the one?”

“Just the one.” 

“Alright, fuck it, let’s do it. We better get a goddamn A-plus at the end of this.” 

“Mmm, gold stars too.” Another sigh, another settling. How nice, another sigh, another settling. It’s a strange equation, but she thinks it still adds up. Neither of them want to do this, not really, but they’re willing to, and they’re willing to because of each other. Willing to try and get it right for each other. Just, well, ignore the finer details of what getting it right entails. 

“You hear from Sarah lately?”

“On Monday, yeah. Called to wish me a happy birthday.”

“Well, only off by four days, not too bad.”

“Oh no, she called on Monday because she was, and I quote, too busy the rest of the week to call.”

“Wow.”

“Right?”

“Is it bad that sometimes I kinda hate it?”

“Hate what?”

“That she’s like, a fully-formed person now. I miss the days when she was a little blob who liked holding onto me by one of my belt loops.” He has to smile, nod, because he knows exactly what she means. And the truth of it is that Sarah was so good, maybe the best, if he’s allowed to give his completely biased opinion. And the other truth, Cass is, was, one of those people simply meant to be a parent, a mother. He remembers when they first started dating, and all the exhausting maneuvering he did, getting his parents or Tommy to watch Sarah, a string of canceled dinner plans when his kid couldn’t seem to stop catching things at daycare. He was sure that Cass would lose interest every time another piece of his reality was revealed to her. After all, he was not unfamiliar with being left behind. But that never happened, she stayed every time. 

It was Cass who first suggested it. Didn't want to impose, but what if, maybe we could, would it be okay if, why don’t we. They went to the zoo that weekend, if he remembers correctly, Sarah in tow, shy at first around the woman she barely knew, though she bloomed over the course of the day. Yes, he thinks, it was the zoo, because he remembers how by the end of the day, Cass had her on her hip, as easy as anything, so she could get a better view of the rhinos. He knows now that, even in those earliest days, she loved his kid just as much as she loved him. He knows now what a gift that was, and continues to be. 

“She’s gonna be alright, Cass. We did good with her.” She sighs, yeah, we did. She had been worried about telling her about the whole lieutenant-LMFT thing, the whole quasi-separation thing, but that was a direct command from Vicky, letting the family know what was going on. Sarah had taken it surprisingly well when she called, could be good, mom, like a reset. Of course, they kept the worst of it away from her, and of course, she still knew something had changed, something not right between them. No one was left unscathed after that April.

From the start, loving him included loving Sarah. It was never difficult for her to do both. Sweet girl, bright like the sun girl, rounded cheeks and bouncing curls, and Cassandra found that her love for her had a particular effect on her heart. Whenever small hand reached for one of hers, whenever small face tucked into her neck, whether tear-damp or milk-tired, and eventually, whenever she was given the name mom, like a stop and restart of her heart, like something turning back on inside her and finally working right. An everything kind of love, to not only be chosen by him, but to be chosen by her too. 

“Well, anyways, Vicky didn’t make any stipulations about birthdays, so I have something for you.” Just a small thing, she says, leaning over the console and into the back seat, and he knows better than to say no, shouldn’t have, because there’s already a perfect package being placed in his hands, navy blue wrapping paper and a white bow, and her hand cups underneath his for just a moment, there and gone. 

The truth is she had already picked out this gift two months ago, what feels like a lifetime before this separation. Now, watching him open it, she’s a little worried it had been presumptuous of her, if not completely narcissistic. But if he thinks that, he makes no show of it, lets out a quiet laugh as he takes the watch out of the box and holds it up in the fading light to look at it. 

“It’s a little sappy, maybe. But, well, we have something that kinda matches now.” Something is unfurling in his chest, heat loosening something he didn’t even realize he had been tightening up around. It’s a beautiful watch, rich leather strap and polished silver. And the face of it catches and shimmers a little in the light. He knows right away that it’s mother of pearl. 

Here, she says, let me, and he does, feeling a little indulgent watching her fasten the watch around his wrist, and definitely breaking one of fucking Vicky’s fucking rules when he ducks his head down and steals a kiss, another one, letting the third deepen just a little, both of them humming because missed this, missed this, didn’t realize how much, but missed this. 

“Thank you, pearly.” It feels good to be so close to him, noses brushing and smiles curling around each other. Feels like a relief. 

“Happy birthday, one day ahead. We could, you know, do something tomorrow? Get dinner maybe?” Before he can answer, say yes, she’s already caught herself, sheepish smile and pulling a little further away and oh, right. She says sorry, wasn’t thinking, and they do an awkward dance around the whole thing, right, yeah, probably shouldn’t, right, yeah. He is not a hateful man, and it would be too strong to say he’d wish Vicky harm. But if something were to happen, in theory, that’d make Vicky go the fuck away, in theory, he wouldn’t be too torn up about it. 

“See you next Thursday then?”

“Well, next next Thursday, because we have to do the– yeah.”

“Right, yeah.” Right, yeah, this is the part where he gets out of the car. The part where he goes up to his apartment and she drives home and they don’t eat dinner together and they don’t brush their teeth together and they don’t go to sleep together. Right, yeah. They say goodnight. He’d like to say love, but he doesn’t. She’d like to say love, but she doesn’t. And they part ways. 

She hates being in this house alone. Leaves all the lights on all hours of the day and checks all the locks three times before going upstairs to bed. Passes by the closed door that remains closed with her breath held. She knows it makes no sense, but she’s been sleeping in the guestroom, makes the whole thing a little easier. Always had a tendency toward insomnia, tossing and turning brain and body. 

When they were just starting to get more serious, and she was just starting to stay over at his more often, she got worried that eventually it'd drive him mad enough for the whole thing to not be worth it, neither of them getting much sleep as they learned how to share a bed together. And she doesn't remember how it started exactly, maybe out of a moment of pure exasperation, him draping just enough of his weight over her to press slower breath into her lungs and still her body. It became a routine, she'd ask could you? And he'd already know what she was asking for without her having to say any more than that. What she also doesn't remember, when that stopped working, when she stopped asking, and he stopped answering. She supposes it all happened slowly, just like the rest of it. 

[the-lighthouse-lit]

BBRae Week Day 3: "Please don't ever do that again"

Length: 2,114 words

Rating: T

Excerpt: In an instant the goofiness gave way to suaveness. "Again? You wanna see me again, miss Raven?"

@bbraeweek24 🥰

───

“Okay,” the guy started as he sat down, “when I was seven years old, my parents took me to a zoo for the first time. I started crying and they were like, what’s wrong? I said it was about the cages, and they thought I meant, I was sad about the animals being kept in—but really, I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed inside the cages with them. Anyway, they never took me again. But I still consider it the day I found my calling—I still ended up in a sanctuary.” He reached for his newly-refilled glass of water and then stopped, reconsidering. “Working there. I mean, I became a wildlife caretaker.”

“Thanks for clearing that up,” the girl said as he drank. “Wait, that’s what you open with? That’s how you choose to introduce yourself?”

“Yeah, I thought it was solid. Gives you an idea of who I am.”

That it does, thought the girl.

“Hit me with yours,” the guy requested.

She shrugged. “I’ve been letting people open and seeing them squirm.”

She did have squirm-worthy eyes. They were dark blue and stared on unapologetically. She also spoke with a detached tone, and she hadn’t smiled when he’d sad down—all things that would put most men on edge, but he liked to think he was charismatic enough to make up the difference. She was striking, but he didn’t remember her from the introductory mingling. That’s what was good about these events, he thought, you got to focus on people you wouldn’t normally go for.

Her name-tag read ‘Raven’. Like many women here she’d chosen not to add her last name. He himself felt he’d had no choice but to write ‘Gar Logan’, otherwise his tag was three whole letters, which felt suspiciously too casual. At that point it was like, what’s that guy hiding?

“What’s next? What do you do with uncomfortable silence?”

“Oh, you know, there’s all the clichés,” Raven said. “You covered ‘what do you do?’ Then there’s the where’re you from, and the what’d you do for fun?”

“Well, I’m from all over. I mean really I was born in Africa.”

“Africa? What country?”

“Middle of nowhere village in Upper Lamumba. Best childhood you can imagine.”

“Wow,” she allowed. That was a cool origin. If he was lying, so help her…

“But I can’t really say I’m from here, I was six when I left.”

“I like how you say that as if you, as six-year-old, made the decision to pack up and leave.”

“Mmh, the exact circumstances will be a story for another day.”

“Another day? You’re assuming we’re both swiping left?”

“I like to assume the best.”

He offered a smile. He’d been smiling too much since he’d sat down, thought Raven. He’d also gone straight for the little bowl of cashew nuts, and was popping one into his mouth every other sentence. He was an odd mix of performative and carefree, but he still seemed like he knew exactly how charming he was. In short, less than a minute into this speed-date, he was exactly the kind of guy she never went for. It made Raven relax, having discounted him in her head.

But she dutifully said, “I’m a teacher. Community college. I teach literature, and I’m also the unofficial therapist on campus. I’m from here, New York. And for fun, I read.”

“Not write?”

“Not every literature teacher wants to be a writer.”

“Fair enough. I write song lyrics, not that I want to be a singer. That’s for your third question. I also play the guitar. I like concerts, I like hiking, I like camping… the outdoors in general.”

Raven almost chuckled at how effectively he was ticking off all her ‘incompatible’ boxes. She couldn’t keep a smile back, and he noticed. “What?”

She shook her head. “I was just thinking how I hate camping more than anything.”

“Noted. You never answered where you’re from?”

“I didn’t? I’m from here, New York.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone here who’s actually from New York.”

“Would never live anywhere else.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Really? I wanna travel as much as I can. Like, I never want to spend more than a couple of years in the same place. It’s a tough dream, I know,” he added, because apparently he’d taken her bewildered expression for simple surprise. “So, you’re satisfied with your questions? You don’t feel they’re a little shallow?”

“I’m not the one who opened with a monologue.”

“Well, that was just the ice breaker. Now we have the chance to get deeper.”

“Is there a chance to get any degree of deep in an eight-minute conversation?” she questioned.

He thought about that. “I mean, just deep enough to know whether you wanna see someone again. That’s what speed dating is about, right?”

“I don't know. Everyone’s trying so hard to make a good first impression, you can’t really get a genuine assessment of people.”

He cocked his head at her; it made his wispy blond hair move with him. (He had too much hair, she thought. And she was decently sure he was younger than her.) “Sounds like you don’t believe much in speed dating at all.”

“Oh, jury’s still out on whether tonight was a complete mistake.”

He pointed at her and went, “Okay, core values. Go.”

“Seriously? That doesn’t work.”

He gaped. “How… that’s very important. What could you possibly have against that?”

She almost smiled at his indignity. “People telling you their core values is useless. The shallowest people can tell you they value genuineness. The drama seekers will tell you they crave peace and harmony. You don’t really know what people's values are until it’s actionable.”

“Yeah, I think I heard that. Don’t marry a person until you’ve seen them stressed, uh…”

“Gone on a trip with them,” she supplied.

“Yeah.”

“And when they’re sick?”

“I think struggling financially was one of them.”

“There’s probably different versions,” she allowed.

“Well, you give me questions, then.”

“Okay. Pet peeves.”

He gave that a moment's thought. He’d picked up some nuts and now let them drop back into the bowl. “Littering. Food waste. People who won’t try new stuff just once, like new food. Like vegan food.”

“You’re vegan. That’s a strike.”

“It usually is,” he laughed. “But, I’ve never forced anyone to try it.” He waited for a sign of acquiescence that never came. “Isn’t that a point in my favor?”

“Could be.”

“But…?”

She hesitated. “But nothing says you actually practice it. You could tell me anything. Anyone could say anything.”

“So could you.”

“Yeah, but…” He saw her hesitate for the first time in this date. “You seem like the kind of person who tries to make everyone like them.”

Raven had just been trying to push the conversation away from pet peeves without having to answer herself; she’d proposed the topic without thinking and regretted it instantly, because he was doing some of her pet peeves right in front of her. She would’ve had to tell him some of them included people eating absent-mindedly, people reaching for food they weren’t going to eat, people looking at you while they chewed… But now he was blinking at her, and she feared she’d gone too far.

“…Doesn’t everyone?” he posed.

“No.”

“So you don’t care if people like you?”

“…I care, I just won’t change in order to make it happen.”

“Well, I wouldn’t either. But you don’t trust me, so.” He finished that statement with a smile. (She was hit with the idea that she had really offended him, and he was using a smile to put distance between them. But she didn’t care what he thought of her, right?)

“Is it a bit? When you opened saying, I’m at a sanctuary, but I’m working there, I’m not there as an inmate? Do you do that every time?”

He laughed then, and she thought it sounded genuine. “No, the way I tell it deteriorates as the night goes on. I couldn’t act that well. But I get what you were saying.” Now he spoke carefully. “You’re… intimidating. Which is not a bad thing,” he rushed to add. “But, I guess, you’re used to people having a problem with that. So you don’t try to make them like you. Right?”

Now he was sheepish. Maybe he’d wanted to throw it back at her, maybe he’d just wanted to get deeper. Either way, she was satisfied she could consider them even. “You know what?”

“What?” he asked in a small voice.

“A girl behind you just got up from her table and is doing the splits, and I can’t focus on anything you’re saying.”

So he turned around. Sure enough, across the room a girl was straining her dress with a side slit as she lowered into a split under the eyes of her bewildered date.

“That’s a lot of trust she’s putting on that dress,” Raven commented, and took the space of time he was turned around to make use of her own complementary glass of water.

“Ooh, that’s what she was getting at,” said Gar when he turned back to her, “That girl asked me if I had any secret talents. When I told her what mine was she just… stopped talking. Completely. Until the eight minutes were out. I guess my talent was supposed to be sexy.”

She observed him, trying to take a guess. “I’m almost scared to ask…”

He didn’t let her ask. “I can move both my ears individually.” He used both hands to push his hair painfully back from his ears, and kept eye contact with her as he twitched one ear, then the other, then again.

The actual tip of his ears twitched down when he did it. For some reason it freaked her out. “Please don’t ever do that again.”

He let go of his hair, and in an instant the goofiness gave way to suaveness. “Again? So you do wanna see me again, miss Raven?”

She scoffed. But he seemed to be really waiting for an answer, so she said, “Realistically I won’t, no one here will. You’ve got one foot out of the city and you wanna relocate every couple of years.”

“That’s a deal breaker?”

“It would be for most people,” she defended. “Most people stay put in one place.”

“You know phones exist, right? The Internet?” He couldn’t seem to stop teasing her. He’d just realize she was blushing from when he’d put her in the spot just now, and it made a thrill go through him.

“You were hoping to meet someone who’d commit to waiting for you after talking for a few minutes?”

“Or maybe the right girl will come along with me. Maybe you’re underestimating the number of girls who are willing to be swept away to a completely new life. And didn’t you say people need to go on a trip together before they get married?”

“Is that what you’re after tonight? Marriage?”

“Would that be so surprising?”

The ring that signaled the end of the date came like a shot. Both looked at each other in surprise, recognizing it was the first time in the whole night they’d wished the eight minutes hadn’t ended. Both wondered if it was the same for the other.

Gar still got up, slowly.

“Did we finish a single line of conversation?” Raven asked.

“There’s a way to fix that,” he said, leaning on the table more than he needed to, she thought, in order to pick up his glass.

After the night was over, after she’d gone home and showered, and taken some time to soothe the nerves of her battered introverted nature, Raven pulled up the app for the speed dating event. A gallery of men’s pictures stared back at her, and she quickly located the one that read Gar Logan.

It would be borderline leading him on. They were completely incompatible, from their personalities, to their tastes, to their plans in life. It probably wouldn’t work out.

But somehow, they had never stopped talking the whole date. And all she wanted to do right now was find him and talk shit about the guy who came after him, who was actually here to recruit girls to join him and his girlfriend as their third.

She only had the name he’d given out—a security measure that had led her to choose this app. And she knew he wouldn’t stay long in New York. If she didn’t match him, she simply might never see him again. She’d lose him in the wide scope of the world.

Throwing caution out the window, she swiped left. Immediately she got the access to the profile screen that let her know he’d matched her too.

───

Notes:

I’m either writing 3 entries for this Week of literally just this one. T_T Whatever I end up doing will be up on AO3 eventually!

The ‘Camping’ comment is a subtle reference to the fact that I couldn’t think of anything for the prompt for Day 1.❤️

I pulled the workings of the speed dating app, and speed dating itself, right out of my ass. Don’t take my word for anything. I did ZERO research for this.

[reidsmuse01]

"Please Talk to Me"

Pairing: Luca x Fem Reader

Warnings: mention of struggling with mental health, suicide, self harm, inpatient stay at a facility, medication. If any of these issues trigger you, please don't read.

Tags: @raefoxiegirl

Summary: You had been struggling with your mental health for a while now. When you take it too far one night, Luca finds you and saves you.

Part One

————————————————————————

Part Two (not proof read)

The doctors had managed to stitch up your wrists, and transfuse blood in the nick of time. You were now in recovery and you were starting to come around. As you woke you felt a presence beside you, hearing light snores and you knew immediately it was Luca. You heard the beeps from the monitors and opened yours eyes wide. You looked at the bandages of your wrists and it all came flooding back.

The last thing you remember was lying on the floor of your bathroom and faintly hearing Luca call your name as you drifted into darkness.

You felt like you had just got sucker punched in the stomach as the guilt came flooding in. Fuck. How could you have done that to him.

As you stirred in the bed, Luca shot up. He was still holding your hand. He looked into your eyes and what you saw shattered your heart into a million pieces. There he was. Still covered in your blood from the night before, eyes red raw and bloodshot, cheeks stained from crying, nose running.

“Hey Baby”, Luca spoke first.

“I’m sorry”, you managed to choke out before you completely broke down.

“Hey, baby no, it’s ok, you’re still here, I’m still here”, Luca whispered into your ear as he had moved closer and hugged you while trying to stifle his own cries.

When you both had calmed down a mental health nurse had come in and explained the plan for your treatment. She explained that you had been put on a mandatory 72 hour psych hold and after that you would have a 4 week stay at an in-patient psychiatric hospital.

Luca was by your side the whole time. He visited you every day, bringing snacks, teddies, flowers, anything he could think of.

After your 4 week stay at the hospital, you were moved to out patient care and had weekly sessions with a therapist. You were getting better, and Luca was there every step of the way.

When you had a bad day, Luca would bring home your favourite pizza after work. He would snuggle with you on the couch watching something funny, just to hear you laugh. He would talk about your future together, which you liked, it gave you hope.

He would ask you what was going on in that pretty little head of yours. When you would try your best to avoid the question you knew what was coming. He would kneel in front of the couch looking you dead in the eyes.

“Please talk to me”, Luca would ask. You could see how much it pained him to see you struggle.

“Please Baby, I can’t lose you”, he would say, trying to hold back his tears.

You would explain your feelings and thoughts to him. You were try your best to explain how uncomfortable you felt in your own body and that how you never felt good enough. Luca would reassure you that you were the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. He would go on about how kind and smart you were. He would take your wrists and kiss all your scars delicately. He would make you feel seen and heard and appreciated and worthy of love and beautiful in a way nobody has ever done before.

While Luca couldn’t understand fully or relate to how you were feeling sometimes, he would do his best. He would bring you home a new journal every couple of weeks as journaling everyday was your new thing that you had recently started doing and it really helped. Luca also bought a weekly planner that he stuck on the fridge and filled in every week with you just to keep you on track. He wrote down a schedule for your meds and filled in your weekly session with your therapist and always made sure to schedule some few hours every week to have some sort of date night. He was your rock and from then on you knew you would be ok and asked yourself how you ever survived without him.

[sirgogington]

My Word Vomit Response on the Shelby Situation

Main Situation: Last week Wilbur Soot from Lovejoy was accused of having been abusive towards his ex girlfriend Shelby. Shelby is a live streamer and last week she did a livestream about the signs of knowing if you are in an abusive relationship. She never stated his name, but from details given people started assuming it was about Wilbur Soot. A few days later Wilbur confirmed that it was him in an apology tweet on his Twitter account. The abuse had to do with painful biting, and manipulation. 

    I want to start off by saying I do believe Shelby's story. I don't think Wilbur is innocent, but I do believe this situation isn't as black and white as people are claiming it to be. 

    Former fans after hearing the story started unfollowing Wilbur and Lovejoy and saying what a terrible man that Wilbur is, and vowing to never listen to or view any of his content ever again. He's not just a terrible man, he has to be evil too. I may be optimistic but I do think most people can change for the better if they truly want to. There are exceptions, but I truly believe that Wilbur can. The internet wants to just label him as evil and not give him any room to do that. The new thing is "guilty until proven innocent" and that's super harmful as I will go into in a different post. The way people are spreading hate in a us/them mentality is not a mature way of viewing/handling this situation and does more harm than good. Especially when it comes to death threats and doxing which have been received by both sides.

   Wilbur is someone who had a hard upbringing, and has brought up at different times his struggles with mental health. On screen or on stage you would never know this about him, because he has this mask of being confident, well spoken, and joyful. Through these details Wilbur has shared we know that touring took a lot out of him mentally and put him in a bad place, but that he was seeking therapy and is probably currently still seeing a therapist to try and get better. He's shared in the past that when he first blew up on the internet he used alcohol to cope because of how overwhelming it was that so many people were consuming his content. From Shelby's stream we also learned that his living space was dirty and unhygienic and that he would make excuses for it. The details for me paint the picture of a guy struggling badly with mental illness and having a hard time caring for himself and his home. Someone who can hardly take care of themselves should not have been in a relationship. This puts a lot on the other person.  It's different if he were stable and then then his mental health crashed in the middle of a longer relationship, but not if your too mentally ill to begin with. I do deeply feel sorry that Shelby had to experience that, as it truly shouldn't have happened. 

   I went to school for psychology and know quite a bit about different types of mental illnesses. I am by no means diagnosing Wilbur, but I do think he shows signs of someone with Boderline Personality Disorder. Borderline Personality Disorder is an emotional disregulation disorder characterized by unstable mood, behavior, and relationships. People with BPD self sabotage and will frequently end up pushing people away because they don't think they're good enough for them. (In this case maybe he wanted to act so bad so she would leave him, which is very unhealthy). People with BPD also go through depressive episodes and can act impulsively. Without therapy it is extremely hard to cope with this condition but with therapy you can make great strides in changing. I think like most mental illnesses you are aware of the fact you don't like the way you're acting you just have a hard time controlling it. For instance for me growing up with anxiety I knew most of my fears were completely irrational but that didn't stop them from overtaking my life and still feeling anxious. Wilbur has written some really deep lyrics on his new solo album Mammalian Sighing Reflex and I feel like it reflects that he doesn't like the way he is and feels guilty about those he's harmed through it. Maybe I'm giving this man too much credit, but like I said I do believe most people are capable of changing for the better. 

   Shelby stated she did the livestream as a way to help protect other victims of domestic violence and Wilbur Soot himself. He might still be dangerous to the public, it's really hard to know. I know after my own situation with being manipulated I was worried about the guy going after other younger women like he had with me. I didn't want anyone else have to be in that situation so I understand where Shelby is coming from. I also know that if the guy in my life had ever posted an apology, no matter how good it was, that I still wouldn't believe him and have a hard time forgiving him. Bold take but I think his apology was at least decent. Could it have been better, yeah, but could it have been a lot worse, also yes. In his apology he admits to being the person Shelby was talking about. He states that her feelings are valid, and that he wants people to hold him to higher accountability, and that he was sorry for any hurt he caused. Maybe he isnt, but it's hard to know. Wilbur stated in a livestream from last October 2023 that he was going to therapy the next day, because of this we can assume that Wilbur has been going to therapy at minimum since October. In that same livestream he states that he showers once a day when he's in his "big sad", and that he has rented places all over Brighton. He is at least hygienic in this regard, maybe moreso than he was before. It could be a red flag that Wilbur has lived all over Brighton due to possible evictions whether that be negligence or noise complaints from doing livestreams.

   We'll never know how other content creators truly feel about him except for the ones that made it obvious. Of course most content creators are going to jump on the bandwagon and agree that he's an evil man. If they don't then they'll lose their platform because of all the hate they'd get. I do believe some content creators will still hang out with Wilbur secretly or still even remain his friend. But we'll never know. 

   For the people who are posting different video evidences of Wilbur supposedly showing signs of being abusive in the past this is what is called confirmation bias. If you believe someone is abusive suddenly you can find details in the littlest things to confirm your thought process. A lot of the clips I've been seeing have been of normal everyday behavior or confirmed bits. I've seen people say that Wilbur must have bit down really hard to leave bruises. In some cases people bruise more easily than others. I know I have random bruises on my body from nothing. We can tell that what Wilbur did however was pretty painful due to have to use a safe word. Getting bitten usually hurts. I've been bitten by a 5 year old at work and can't imagine how it would feel to be bitten by a grown man who intentionally bit down hard.

This could be confirmation bias as well, but when looking at the lyrics in Mammalian Sighing Reflex and at the album art it seems to tell the story of a man (Wilbur) who really messed up in a relationship and is feeling the pain from that, and has a lot of regret due to knowing he was the cause of her pain. He poured so much of himself into the album it's like he's bleeding out in front of the audience with the amount of vulnerability.

Analyzing lyrics because why not, using lyrics from "Mammalian Sighing Reflex"

"I get so drunk I can barely see." If this album is related to his relationship with Shelby, which I think it probably is, then maybe he tried to cope with the relationship failing by using alcohol, or sabotaged the relationship through drinking.

"A lot of friends have left my life, escaping my tractor beam of woe" Having a mental illness can make it hard to maintain friendships. This could be because it makes you so self-focused on your problems, or that people get tired of hearing about your problems. If you constantly talk about how sad you are, some people are going to have a hard time dealing with that, or get burnt out from having to keep on cheering you up.

"Fuck my life, you cared when I was sick, no one ever gave a shit.....you fought this war one-sided and asked me what am I doing this for." These lyrics seem to speak about how in a past relationship (probably meaning with Shelby), that she cared that he was mentally ill/in a low point and wanted to help him get better. The fight to help him get better was one-sided due to Wilbur not helping to get himself better. If he would have helped her then they "could of stitched my mind together."

"Never been the one for romance, never thought that I'd get married. Never been the kind to give a shared life a second glance, selfish prose." In Shelby's livestream she talked about how her and Wilbur talked about the possibility of getting married and having kids until he backtracked and said that he wasn't that way and changed his mind.

The song "I Don't Think It Will Ever End" is how his mind seems to work in cycles. He'll be sad, because he feels sad he hides away for a bit, but then he feels silly for hiding himself so he forces himself to interact with people. But then when forcing himself to interact again he feels sad, which he says is not a good feeling when you're supposedly in a good phase. He says as self-sabotage he gets silly. Wilbur is known for telling a lot of jokes, and maybe this is a way he masks his true feelings. Also for Mammalian Sighing Reflex it says the songs were written by William Gold (his legal name) and performed by Wilbur Soot (his stage name). Wilbur is who the internet/fans see him as and William Gold is who he really is. Meaning the way we see him online is the extroverted, charismatic, likeable guy we know him as whereas William Gold is introverted, self-sabotaging, nerdy, and a deep thinker.

     The internet gives us way too much information. We're constantly bombarded with more and more information. Before the internet and even in the earlier internet days you did not have this. People were not being as closely viewed and known as they are now. You have to be careful about every little thing you say, because God forbid you say the wrong thing and get canceled. It didn't used to be this way. The only reason you'd ever know anything bad about a celebrity is if they were in the news. I think most of the media we consume whether TV shows, movies, etc. have the potential to have us supporting "bad people". It would be overwhelming to look up every single person we had ever consumed media from and sift through what are lies and what are not about each actor, singer, etc. I get that people don't want to give a platform to people doing bad things, but it's almost impossible to know and to remove every single bad person from the content you consume.  Being a celebrity in general is hard. It's easy to become addicted to drugs, and experience toxicity especially celebrities that live in Los Angeles. Most become people they regret, but some change for the better too. I'm not saying people who do serious crimes should get out of jail because they can become better people. People in jail should remain in jail for serious crimes. Time will tell what becomes of him. If more about him is released or if he's able to actually make strides in his health like he said he would. We will wait and see. I really hope he can heal and get better. Even the most unlikely ones can change their lives. You can both support Shubble and hope that Wilbur gets better.

[philtstone]

for the kisses prompt: 25. kisses in the rain for shules because we never got a rain kiss and i think thats criminal

[phil voice] i dont have time to start an elaborate and ever growing kidfic series [immediately starts an elaborate and ever growing kidfic series] i was thinking about how rarely shawn and juliet spend significant time apart on the show and this emerged. timeline spans from just before 5x01 to post series, and title is from my enemy number one, aka deb talans "big strong girl". unfortunately i have yet to listen to that song or watch that scene without weeping uncontrollably into my hands. i promise they do actually kiss in the rain, it just takes a while to get there. enjoy!

title: come on, come on, lay it down

I.

City Hall is boring. 

This is Juliet’s big takeaway after day seven at her new assigned desk. The first few days are filled with a flurry of administrative logistics and the chasm of anxiety at the pit of her stomach that has nothing to do with the objectively mundane and benign desk work she’s voluntarily chosen to return to. 

Then, boredom. 

She blinks hard against the possibly terminal lazy eye she’s started to develop after her fourth hour of staring at backlogged paperwork and tries to refocus on the wall across from her. It’s red: this dark potent color that her mother would consider classy. Somehow in this building it looks beige. Beige is a good bland shade, kind of like what a blank mind might look like. Metaphorically. Juliet’s new therapist is all about combating blank minds and working with metaphors. She’d suggested a meditation exercise last week. What’s a place that makes you feel safe? Picture it in your head. Imagine the textures and smells and sounds.

Brring.

She startles, looking down at the office landline in front of her.

Brring.

Juliet picks it up. “Hello?”

“Jules!”

Her eyes drop back down to the paperwork. “Hi Shawn,” she says.

As he begins his prattling, Juliet picks up her pen and doodles a dog on a stray post-it note. She’d buried her personal cell deep into her purse as some kind of weird defense against the outside world, but it’s oddly comforting that Shawn somehow knows the office phone number anyway. From her spot at the desk she can see far enough into the lobby that the big glass doors for entering the building are visible. It’s raining pretty torrentially outside. People come and go all the time, and Juliet comes in the morning and goes in the evening, but it kind of feels like she doesn’t. Shawn hasn’t actually come around to visit her yet, at this new job. Juliet tells herself she doesn’t mind. He needs his own time and space, just like she needs hers, and it’s only been a week that she’s been back at work, anyway.

A week during which he’s called her five times in as many days. They mostly talk about nothing.

“Tell me you were thinking about donuts.”

“I wasn’t.”

“That’s too bad, cause I got you one. Also! Italian food. Here’s the thing — yes, salads are fine and good, sometimes tasty even, but nothing beats a panini on a Thursday.”

“Shawn, it’s Wednesday.”

“Is it really? Well, that puts a damper on our plans.”

Read the rest on ao3!

[chaosduckies]

Friends In Small Places (Chapter 4)

As I’ve mentioned when I had first started writing this, this piece is meant to be gloomy. So, I give you the fearplay chapter. I’m so sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoy! (I have no idea how to feel about this scene-) Also, I get to put my three years of spanish classes to use :D (Translations are included)

Word Count: 3.5k

CW: Anxiety, panic attacks, slight gore mentioned

4-Liam 

A week can pass by quickly. 

Cas and I have been slowly getting to know each other a little more. Not a whole lot since some topics were a little too hard for him to talk about. Classes at college were getting even more tiring, and before I could ask to take the classes online it turns out that they had already handled it when I brought up the subject. So, now I was practically staying at Cas’s house almost all of the time. Although it isn’t too bad, I’ve noticed something about his behavior. He likes to stay close by me. 

It’s not a bad thing, I’m not complaining at all, it’s just that it’s nerve wracking whenever he asks if I’m okay with him sitting near me. I’m not used to him all that much. I know most people are fine with being around shifters but of course I’ve believed all my life that most shifters were scary, intimidating even. It’ll just take some time to get used to living with one I guess. After all, I was supposed to be a therapist. 

Today I was just writing some notes while Cas sat on the floor, a bright smile on his face as he looked at his phone. I was about to ask what that was about, but then I remembered him telling me something about seeing his parents sometimes this week. Was that today? If it was I should probably get ready. The only thing I knew was that I was required to be there the entire time. They didn’t tell me what was going to happen, how long it would be, but I’m sure Cas would tell me on our way there. 

I shut my computer closed, placing my notebook on top of it before shoving it into my bag and glancing over at Cas. He seemed excited to meet with his parents. I would be too if I had been separated for however long. Then again I live in an entire different city than my parents. They do like calling every once in a while though. I don’t think they let Cas have his own parents phone number. 

“Excited?” I mumbled, walking a little bit closer. I’m pretty sure we’ll have to leave soon. It was already noon and I was mainly waiting on a text or a call that explains that his parents were ready to see him. For some reason he’s not allowed to go in early which I find is kind of irrational, but I can’t just go against them. Heck, I wasn’t even supposed to be part of this organization. 

“Mhm. Last time we were only allowed an hour to talk.” He smiled sadly at me, still looking positive about today’s outcome. I do hope he gets to see them today. I think he needs this. But I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as excited to see their parents as Cas was. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, but how old are you?” I asked, looking up curiously. He can’t be more than three years younger than me. He doesn’t go to school, and I doubt he’s any older than myself. 

“Eighteen. I know, I act like a child.” He chuckled, messing with his hands. Nervous? I don’t really think I could do anything about that. Actually, for someone who has depression and struggles with emotions, he doesn’t lose control a whole lot. Only ever twice has he in front of me, minus the times where he starts growing a couple feet from either watching someone thing or thinking about something. I try my hardest to shut it down before anything bad could happen. Last time I freaked out and couldn’t do anything useful to help him. 

“I don’t think you act like a child.” I laughed, hearing my phone go off. I hurried to pick it up, seeing Cas quite literally beam with a shocked smile. I told them we’d be right there, and then carefully climbed into his hands. Today would be a good day. I don’t know why I get the feeling something bad will happen. It’s just the way they had sounded on the phone… 

——————

The building looked relatively normal on the outside, with a fancy look that had screamed “We’re rich,” there were different sized doors, but what caught me off guard was that there was an entire security system right at the front that makes sure you’r not bringing a weapon. Cas set me down near the human-sized doors, telling me to just do what they say and we’ll eventually meet up again. It’s kind of awkward taking instructions from someone younger than me, but he’s been here for much, much longer. 

I went through security, answered a few questions, like who I was with, how long I would prefer the visit time be, mostly questions about Cas if I were being honest. Was this why he was only allowed a singular hour to talk last time? Because he had someone else? I don’t really mind spending a few hours here. What could go wrong? I answered as long as Cas and his parents were going to be here. I’d feel bad if I set a time limit. Plus, I’m sure his parents would love to spend some more time with him. 

Eventually they lead me to a huge waiting room, where I was guessing I would be able to keep an eye on Cas. I was I trusted to stay in there in case something goes wrong, but I sincerely doubt it. What was there to be upset about in the first place? I think everything would be fine. I was just staying on the sidelines anyways. Maybe meet his parents, talk for a while. Heck, maybe I’ll even get to know a little more about him. Cas doesn’t answer some questions I have. All for good reason I hope, it’s not like I was going to force it out of him anyways. That would just be plain wrong. 

Out side of the room, Cas had walked in, standing up near the platform I was guessing they’d be at. Weren’t they supposed to take me up there too? A woman wearing a suit walked into my holding room, taking a seat right next to me, “Kayla Cruz. I was Casper’s old therapist.” She giggled, holding her hand out. Oh? What was she doing here then? Why was she replaced by me of all people? She certainly looked like she was more trained for this job than I was. Something wasn’t right here. 

“Oh, um, Liam Rover. It’s nice to meet you.” I smiled, shaking her offered hand and watching as Three people wearing a guard outfit instructed Cas about something to which he nodded to. Wasn’t I supposed to be up there? I think I know which way to go to get up to him. I guess I can wait an extra couple of minutes. I have no idea why, but I had a bad feeling about everything. Maybe I could ask Ryan later? I know the person he was placed with is a shifter who can only reduce their size, was this really any different? I’d have to ask. 

The woman next to me watched, a frown on her face as she looked at Cas, a worried look on his face. His eyes darted all around the room, still waiting for when his parents walk through the safety of the doors high above where I was sitting. Was it supposed to take this long? Why was I the one worried? Was it just a feeling? 

Th woman next to me glared at me from the corner of her eye, a smirk appearing on her face, “They told you he was meeting with his parents today?” She leaned back in the seat. I nodded my head, confused. “It’s technically true, but the company has deemed Casper here too mentally unstable to meet with anyone but shifters and his corresponding therapist, which would be you.” 

My heart sank. 

What the hell. This was just wrong! I have to go up there before they do anythi- I stared up at the platform, seeing a singular guard walk in, say something to Cas, have a short conversation that made his eyes grow wide and slide slowly down the metal-looking wall behind him. My eyes darted around the room, searching for a door to go and help him. Of course I was terrified about what they’ve done, mostly the outcome of what’s about to happen, but it’s not like I can just leave him here. I know what they do to shifters who can’t control their emotions. Their either sent off to a special captivity prison, or they… I can’t think about that right now. I am not about to become the reason Cas gets sent to a place like that. I don’t have the heart in me to do so. 

I found a door that looked like it lead to the room, and almost as if they knew I was searching for it, it unlocked. I threw it open, rushing out, my heart beating fast and uncontrollable. My legs were about to give out from underneath me, breath shaky, my mind screaming at me to get the hell out of here. But I don’t. I knew what was about to happen. They weren’t letting Cas see his parents. I heard slight screaming and yelling in another room that sounded like a woman’s and crying from a kid. But I didn’t focus on that right now. I was more worried about the situation in front of me. 

What do I do? Something tells me this isn’t going to be anything like that other time. Cas has always watched how he reacts to things, what he does, but right now he’s not. He’s most definitely depressed, and there was just something else I couldn’t pin point. People do dumb things while they’re upset. They regret it all later, so it would be best if I make sure Cas doesn’t so anything he’ll regret. Because then that’s an entire different problem to deal with after this one. 

“Cas!” I managed to scream at the top of my lungs, knees buckling underneath me, but I force them to keep me standing upright as his gaze falls onto me. I jumped, chest heaving up and down as I struggled to find the words to say. My body was frozen in fear, not even able to move a single limb from it’s place. He winced when his legs uncomfortably hit the wall opposite of him. I didn’t know what to do. It’s almost like… they wanted him to lash out. Why would they want that? Soon enough, guards ran in, yelling orders while one tugged at me to head back inside, but I didn’t move. Instead, I rushed forward, avoiding the somehow careful limbs that were trying to move into a compact position on the floor. 

A guard was running after me, but I guess someone held him back since I was somehow gaining ground when I was running extremely slow and tripping every once in a while. I found Cas’s head, seeing him scrunched up as much as he could manage as of right now. He laid on the ground, arms and hands covering his face and knees up against the chest. He still realizes that he can hurt people. Maybe I can actually do this? Still, the size difference between us is huge. 

Cas wasn’t crying or anything. Just mumbling words I surprisingly couldn’t make out. He didn’t sound angry. Just upset. That makes it easier to deal with. People do horrible things out of anger. And I could only imagine how devastating it would be if Cas wasn’t thoughtful enough to watch himself. 

I found his head, buried underneath his arms and muttering incomprehensible words to himself. He groaned a bit, slightly turning his body to face the wall, moving his arms away from his face to lay them down. I guess he didn’t see that I was so close to him because his arm almost killed me. I quickly jumped out the way just before I would’ve been nothing but a pile of flesh and bones on the ground. My heart skipped a beat, unable to stare at the spot on the ground where I could’ve died. My breathing became a ragged, and the sounds close to me were slightly muffled, but it’s not like anyone was saying anything important to me. 

Cas turned his head, eyes meeting my frozen minuscule frame and gasping. He moved his arm away from me, doing his best to slowly sit up without alarming the multiple guards in the room, along with the weapons they probably have imbedded in the room itself. I could tell he was still upset, but right now I was too focused on the fact that I could have died. That reminded me just how much power Cas had over me. Even if I was the one who was watching over him. 

“L-Liam I-I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-“ He tried apologizing, voice hitching just before sucked in a sharp breath. My entire body was shaky, but I forced my legs to push me back up and walk over to the towering being. More people had walked in, Cas pressed his back closer to the wall scared. He knew what was going to happen. I knew what was going to happen. I just had to make sure it wasn’t the worst possible outcome of the the two. I don’t think I could handle the guilt that way. 

The week I’ve spent with Cas has been amazing really. Even though sometimes I get a little jumpy from the fast movements, or feel uncomfortable at times when he’s around me, Cas really isn’t bad at all. We’ve hung out for a while, watched movies, played a few games. I think we’re friends? With that thought in mind I’d hate to see them take him to a place he doesn’t even deserve to be in. Of course I was afraid of him still, instincts and all, but I don’t want him to end up being alone. 

I stood up, taking shaky breaths as I tried my hardest to stay upright. Come on I’m not even hurt- I was just terrified. Shocked. A little unstable right now even. If I had tried talking to Cas now he wouldn’t hear me. The distance between my and himself was huge. I looked back up at him, taking deep breaths. He stared worriedly at the people making their way in, looking ready to advance if he tries anything. 

“I’m not scared. I’m totally fine.” I kept muttering to myself. It usually worked when I felt like this. It’s what my dad would keep telling me. Little did he know that I was terrified of everything going on around me right now. 

Cas’s attention turned to me, a hand reaching taking up my vision as I stood frozen in fear. The next the thing I knew I was pinched tightly between two of his fingers, arms pinned to my sides and barely able to move any part of my body. The pressure against my chest increased, threatening to break my ribs. That was the least of my worries. I couldn’t breathe right now. 

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that!” He freaked out, holding me dangerously close to his face. He’s not being his usual careful self, but that was expected when a person was upset. I gasped for air, trying to free my arms from the prison I was in currently, but Cas just kept looking over the the people on the ground that was far, far below me and muttering words in a language I couldn’t hear. 

My heart was racing fast as my lungs had begged me for air. I managed to free one of my arms, and I forced my voice to work for once, “Cas!” 

“…Lo siento. Lo siento mucho. Estoy arruinando todo...” (*Translation: I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I’m ruining everything…*)He kept on muttering over and over again, and it just makes me wish I had paid attention to my spanish classes in high school. Something about him being sorry? I think have much, much bigger problems at hand though. 

Cas shifted me in his literal death grip, allowing me to breathe, but he was pressing down harder, and a sharp pain erupted from my leg, but I was fueled by the adrenaline. 

“Cas!” I screamed again, trying to pull myself out of his grip. His eyes darted to me, wide and shocked. It took him a moment to realize, but he let go, laying me down in his open palm, running a hand through his hair. I coughed for air, wincing when I checked out the leg that felt like it was on fire. Most likely broken, but nothing I couldn’t handle. It was fine though. I know he didn’t mean to. But still, my fear never wavered at the fact that he could quite literally kill me by not even trying to. 

“¿Estás bien? I-I didn’t mean to-“ I nodded my head, biting down hard on the bottom of my lip. It’s okay, you know him good enough to know that he wouldn’t do any of this on purpose. I had to remind myself before gathering up my remaining courage to actually do my job. 

“Cas, just take a few breaths, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.” I had only hoped he heard over how shaky my voice was. He slowly nodded his head, I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them the ground wouldn’t be so far from me. When I peaked out, the ground was a bit closer, people stood on the ground, frozen in either fear or shock. I calmed my heart down enough to actually get a few more words in. 

“Feeling a little better?” I asked, putting on the best smile I could manage right now. He slightly nodded again, continuing to take slow breaths. 

“What happened?” I asked calmly, genuinely worried about what was said before I rushed in through here. Cas eyes me sadly, wincing, “I won’t… be able to see my parents for a long time.” He whispered, suddenly aware of everything around him again. He moved further into the wall, away from the people below us. 

“And that means?…” He bit the bottom of his lip, “Apparently I’m too unstable to even see my own family.” He sighed, and I could tell he wanted to cry, but he knew what would happen if he gave into those feelings. 

“I-I have a little brother. He loves trying to climb up anything he can,” He started laughing sadly, “You can imagine how much fun he has when he and my parents come for visits.” He sniffled a little, smiling. Oh. Oh. He’s calming down in his own way. 

Why was the world so adamant on having people watch over the “dangerous” shifters? Cas doesn’t need me… and maybe shifters don’t actually need anyone to watch over them. 

“Yeah?” I smiled, laughing with him while he seemed to have calmed down. 

“… I’m sorry, Liam.” He pressed me up agianst the bridge of his nose, this time a lot more gentle. I winced from the sharp pain in my leg, but sucked it up. I think Cas needs this. Even if I was scared he’d accidentally hurt me again. 

Cas let me down, facing the crowd on the ground that had rushed to help me up, limping the entire way until multiple people were talking behind me, rushing into places. I turned back, ignoring the warning from the people helping me. Cas gave a sad smile as the red band on his wrists started blinking, clasping themselves together like magnetic handcuffs. Cas sighed. 

I heard people in another room yelling, even a child’s voice. It’s his parents. I gasped, finding a door to another room I haven’t been in, seeing a guard and a person with a suit and tie in there. Through the small window, I saw a tall man trying to comfort his wife, who sat crying on the bench while the child stared, screaming at the guard to let him see his brother. My heart sank. 

They weren’t going to kill Cas. I knew they wouldn’t. I just hoped I would be allowed to see him in the hospital they’ll be placing him in. This wasn’t right. Not at all. 

——————

Aghhh plot build up my beloved. This chapter leads up to something reallyyy important for later.

Aww all Cas wanted was to see his little brother 🥺

I hope you enjoyed! I have no idea how to feel about this chapter if I’m being honest, but I hope it’s alright TwT work is affecting my writing grahhhh. Thank you for reading though!

The drawing I did for this chapter is right here!

Taglist: @da3dm (If you would like to be added, leave a note or dm me! :D)

[gregorygerwitz]

AITA for having a daddy kink?

I (32M) have been with my bf, T (45M) for a few months now, and besides the first date (if you remember my post about that, I'm so sorry for the secondhand embarrassment I caused everyone) everything is going really well! Or at least I thought so.

Last week, my boss (who's kind of like the dad I never had) (he's also my bf's old boss but that's not really relevant) was in the hospital after a cartel burned down his house. He's fine now. Made a full recovery. But T and I met up at my place after I left the hospital so we could have dinner. I finally made this new lasagna recipe just right after trying to figure it out for WEEKS and it was delicious.

We were talking about things while we ate, like we've done on all of our dates, and we started talking about my boss in the hospital. T even asked if I was okay, which is a little weird because I'm not the one who was in a fire or the emergency room, but it was sweet. He's really sweet. He's always checking in to make sure I'm okay and he's not doing anything that makes me uncomfortable, and that's really new, but good! Anyway, talking about my boss (and how he's kinda my dad) made T bring up his rough relationship with his own father, and one of his other old bosses, and I could tell it was a little uncomfortable.

Who likes to talk about their strained relationships with family? I know I don't. I always try to change the subject when anyone tries to talk about my parents with me. So I did that.

All I did was joke that we both have daddy issues - because we do, no matter what he says about it - and it's so easy to just talk to him, you know? So maybe I was a little flirty. Okay, I was a lot flirty, but I just wanted to make him smile because I don't like seeing the people I love upset. And maybe that fed into some innuendos. And maybe we kind of came to the conclusion that I really like calling him "daddy" in bed. I had a really good night after dinner. It was great.

And it was all great. This is the happiest I've been in a really long time. I don't think I've ever been this happy in a relationship, actually. It feels so light and easy and like he actually likes me, not some idea of me or the potential I have to be something else? That's something I'll unpack with my therapist later. Don't worry about it.

Anyway, things were great until I talked about it with my best friend, E (32M) - and I'm trying to take what he's said with a grain of salt, because he's going through a lot of major changes in his life right now, and he probably just wanted me to stop talking about my sex life, but still...

He said that because T made the comment while we were talking about our boss being in the hospital, he was just taking advantage of my childhood trauma to try out a kink. Because we were talking about something pretty serious, he never should have turned things in that direction - flirty and sexual - while I was worried and stressed, and he was totally brushing off how I was feeling in the moment. I thought it was fine in the moment, even fun, but E has known me for the last 6 years and has watched me get into and out of relationships that weren't always good for me, and now I'm worried that he's right and it's happening again. I really trust his opinion and I know he just wants to look out for me.

I guess I just don't know how to feel. I really like T, and he hasn't done anything to hurt me, and I'm happy. But E does see things from a different angle, maybe less biased than I do because I'm in the middle of it. I don't know who to trust more right now. I thought I was the one who made the conversation flirty and brought up the daddy issues to lighten the mood and make us smile more, but is my best friend right? Is T brushing off my feelings and sexualizing our relationship? Or is E just overly protective because I've been hurt in the past?

I guess this isn't really an AITA - Is He (T) The Asshole (IHTA) for joking about my daddy issues hopefully giving me a daddy kink, too, in the middle of a dinner date?

[darkvenus3]

Sooo...

I was wondering if I could have your input on something.

I'm someone who can't stop fantasizing about being cucked. The emotional pain is so addictive. In the past with an ex-boyfriend, I tried simply role-playing the idea of being cucked during "sexy time". We just sort of pretended he was seeking out another girl. We talked about how he'd find a "better" woman, someone "more attractive" and "more suited to his physical preferences". There were phrases such as "she will be better than you" and "she will be prettier than you could ever be".

While this turned me on like crazy, I was deeply hurt for days and days after. Even though it was a hypothetical situation and fantasy talk.

He gave me care before and after this happened. I know the words weren't real. But, I carried them with me for weeks to maybe a month after. I'd randomly cry with anxiety, or insecurity for a long time after this fearing I wasn't good enough or attractive to him.

We decided to NEVER try that again. Now that partner and I have separated.

Now years later I'm with someone new. But, in my own time, I cannot resist this cuckquean fantasy. It's the first thing I read on tumblr, first adult content I look for, and I just cannot stop fantasizing about it, even though i don't think this is something i could ever handle, or even necessarily want to handle.

Nothing turns me on like this, but nothing hurts me like this either. Is that normal? Is it okay to keep obsessing over my cuckquean fantasy all alone, in the dark depths of my mind, as my own little secret?

First off, I think it’s smart that you tried this out in fantasy form first. Secondly, I do think even when you find something very sexy as a fantasy, you may have to build up a tolerance for that kind of emotional masochism. For example, when my husband and I take a break from cucking, diving right back into it can send me reeling, so we try to start back with him seeing other people less frequently. It’s always good to start out small and see how we handle things.

Perhaps being degraded is sexy in your head but not in practice. Would it be attractive for you instead to role play having a threesome with your current partner? Rather than him degrading you, he could praise you for how well you’re pleasing him, bringing him extra women to fuck. How sexy you are to him that you find this hot, etc.

Also, if you ever do decide to find a woman to try this with in real life, I would recommend starting out with threesomes that way too. When I first started sharing my husband, it was during threesomes, and gradually over time the focus became more and more of him with other women.

I think the reason this is such a difficult fantasy to explore is because we are taking something we fear and making it real. On one hand, it’s empowering. It can bring us closer to our partner, bring us out of our shell, and conquer our worst nightmare by turning it into something pleasurable and sexually enlightening. On the other hand, it’s literally turning our fears and insecurities into a reality, so there is definitely a delicate balance there.

My last suggestion would be to take care of yourself while you’re exploring this fantasy. Whether that means having a close friend or partner you can confide in, a therapist, or just an outlet, like yoga or a hobby you find stimulating. Do something that makes you feel good about yourself because even though the bad things we tell ourselves aren’t true, it can be easy to believe our worst fears when they’re all we think about.

All that to say, it’s definitely normal and okay to have a fantasy like this, and yours doesn’t have to stay in the closet unless you want it to. Our dark desires don’t define us, they just make our lives more fun in the bedroom. 😉😘💕

[icycoldninja]

Thank you so much for doing my first request!! I love your writing, alot!! if your requests are still open, can i have another request?

Basically the sparda boys + v with therapist!reader because they need therapy! Also reader is secretly a billionaireso reader pays the bills in the devil may cry office, spoils them with the sutff they like and always checks on them, telling them that they can let their feelings out, like a therapist !!

if your requests are closed, you can delete this <3

Thanks so much!! Don't worry, requests are still open. Enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Therapist!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante's the definition of "but I'm fine" after talking for 2 hours.

-Expect him to be very moody and sulky during therapy cause he's not used to venting on such a personal level before.

-His jokes get progressively lamer as each layer of trauma is shed, eventually revealing himself as the sad, broken man he really is.

-Is very surprised when all his bills magically get paid by an anonymous person who keeps sending him money and pizza to Devil May Cry every week.

-Never realizes you are his mysterious benefactor but he appreciates what is being done for him and doesn't hesitate to tell you all about his secret caregiver. It makes your day to hear how happy you make him.

-He slowly becomes more comfortable with talking his feelings out, and once that happens, he becomes an unstoppable chatterbox.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil hates the very idea of therapy because he believes he is a MOTIVATED individual who is independent enough to handle his inner issues on his own.

-However, you're very persistent and manage to get him to sit down for a session, much to his reluctance.

-You're oddly kind to him and listen to all his troubles with an open mind--something he's not used to. Though at first he is very cagey about everything, Vergil gladly warms up to you and confesses his deeper secrets.

-He finds it very odd that a secret benefactor has just started sending him presents and money only a few days after he began seeing you as his therapist. It could be a coincidence, but then...maybe not.

-Although he wants to know who is sending him gifts, he decides to just let his mysterious benefactor run their course and not spoil their intentions. Who knows, they might reveal themselves someday.

-Starts writing thank-you notes and leaves them out on the doorstep for you to find.

□ Nero □

-Nero is against therapy for personal reasons. He thinks he alone should know all his secrets and issues, and that he alone should deal with them. He doesn't need outsiders meddling in his affairs.

-He demonstrates his dislike for therapy by being the most rebellious, recalcitrant jerk to have ever walked into your office.

-He talks back to you almost all the time, is extremely rude, and once stole a set of ballpoint pens from your desk because he didn't like how you were jotting down everything he said.

-When he finds random gifts and things being sent to him, as well as his bills being mysteriously paid, Nero gets very suspicious. We're you giving away his address to stalkers?

-Slowly, Nero realizes that his mysterious benefactor is only looking out for him and supporting him, though for what reasons, he has no idea.

-He's grateful for all this help, but still a little wary. He doesn't trust you yet, but maybe with time, he will someday.

● V ●

-V is probably the only one here who actually agrees with the idea of therapy.

-He was a little nervous at first, but seeing how warm and welcoming you are to him relaxes him a lot.

-He's shy and doesn't say all that much at first, but over time, you manage to coax him into speaking to you more.

-He is pleasantly surprised when gifts and bits of money start appearing at his doorstep nearly every day, because last he checked, he didn't have a steady job.

-He can't figure out who's doing this, but he's grateful all the same. He'd love to meet whoever's behind this and thank them for their generosity.

-V's taken up baking treats and leaving them on the doorstep in cute boxes as a way to thank his unseen gift giver.