#i had therapy today and it was so rough my therapist is having me back tomorrow!

[sukukuna]

スククナ EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SORCERER (UNPAID)

part 1 part 1

premise; Shoko is done with being the only one who has to constantly handle everyone else's trauma and curse induced breakdowns. So when you casually mention you're pretty good at giving advice, she immediately recommends you to the higher ups as the new, unofficial therapist.

this is just a short intro to a series! if people enjoy this, i might continue it :p will include lots of characters!

You think that you made a mistake labelling yourself as a good listener.

Now you have a desk made of milk crates, a bean bag that you're 90% sure is haunted- a bean bag that occasionally tries to swallow some of your clients (just Gojo). Your office is a repurposed janitors closet, and payment comes in the form of boba tea, strawberry mochi and the occasional cursed trinket.

You're not sure how you ended up here. You're not exactly sure how to leave, either.

If you could go back in time, you'd go back to the moment when Shoko was patching you up after a rough mission, smoking a cigarette wistfully and complaining about how she had no time to herself.

You'd rather slap yourself in the face before uttering out the words "I'm pretty good at giving advice," again.

Because apparently, that's all it took for Shoko to appoint you as the new 'emotional support sorcerer' for Jujutsu High.

"I don't have a degree." you told her. She rolled her eyes as you voiced the obvious, tapping out her cigarette bud.

"Neither did Freud," she replied, tossing you a stress ball shaped oddly like a baby cursed spirit. "Welcome to the job."

And then there's the clients.

"Its pretty simple. You just listen to them and maybe patch up a cut or two, and make sure they don't completely implode. If they start crying, that's on you." Shoko handed you a hastily scribbled schedule of her working times. "I figure if you survive today, you'll be fine.

"Ah," you blinked up at her. "Okay." She smiled, and you were certain she was enjoying your discomfort. "Who's first?"

Her grin widened, and you shuddered. "Gojo."

".....Gojo?"

And Shoko just laughs.

CASE NO.1 SATORU GOJO.

You had only been in the Janitors closet Therapy room for five minutes when the door swung open like a storm hit the place. Satoru Gojo, in all his obnoxious glory comes strolling in with his blindfold and smug grin, looking like the worlds most egotistical superhero sorcerer.

"Y/n! You're the new group therapist, huh?" He slid into the beanbag chair like he owned it. You observed the haunted bean bag, as if making sure Gojo's boisterous energy wouldn't affect it.

"Uh-huh," Suddenly you were regretting every decision that led you to this moment.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "Well, don't you worry. I'm gonna be the best client you've ever had."

"You're also the only client I've ever had." He ignored you.

Sighing to himself with a wide grin, "You won't be able to handle my perfect emotional depth." He sinks further into the bean bag, and you wince as the air starts feeling thicker, and the bean bag starts to seem more...menacing.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. "Right...So what brings you here?"

He grins, and places his hands behind his head, his blindfold riding up slightly. "Well, I'm perfect, obviously, but... sometimes, I get a little tired of being the brightest star in the sky. It's exhausting being this good looking. And everyone loves me. Its a lot, you know?" No, no I do not.

You just stare at him blankly. "...And that's the reason you're here?"

He sighs dramatically, flopping back into the beanbag. "And also, like, How do you even deal with being this amazing everyday? Its like a curse."

"Gojo," You start, voice thick with sarcasm. "You're going to be fine. I'm sure the emotional toll of being a literal god doesn't keep you up at night."

He blinked. "Wait. It doesn't?"

DIAGNOSIS: CHRONIC GOJO SYNDROME

TREATMENT: COMPLIMENTS. KIKUFUKU.

It had been exactly fifteen minutes since your first 'session' with Gojo. Fifteen minutes since Satoru had stormed out of the makeshift office, having delivered the kind of emotional performance that only someone with his level of ego could pull off.

You rubbed your temples, trying to process the tidal wave that had just crashed into your psyche. You had managed to take a few notes, but they all stated the obvious.

EGO - IMPOSSIBLY LARGE

PROBLEM - ??? TOO PERFECT ???

SOLUTION - ?????? MORE THERAPY ??????

if this gets interactions i will continue <3

[muldj0rd]

“You saved my life. You’re my superhero” || Lestappen

Summary: “I’m still sorry” Max walked closer, stopping a few feet away from him. Charles only hummed “You always look at me” Max whispered quietly “Did I do something?”

“You have a black eye and bruises on your left bicep” Charles sighed, turning off the stove “If I look at you, I might just break down myself” Charles chuckled softly

Warnings: Jos Verstappen’s A+ parenting, Jos Verstappen is a warning in himself, talk about mental illness’, depression, eating disorder, angst, Max needs a hug, Charles gives it to him, internalised homophobia, top Charles, bottom Max, anal, anal fingering, handjob, dacryphilia, praise kink, insecure Max, insecurities, nipple play, Charles being Max’s first male partner

Masterlist || AO3

Growing up, and if you didn’t look too close, Max was a happy child

Good mother. Good sister. Grew up with a father with failed racing dreams

It gave him pressure, sure… But if he didn’t have the pressure… Would he be who he was today?

Today, Max Verstappen was a three-time world champion winner

3 times as more champions than his dad

61 more wins than his dad ever had

Was his dad a good dad, though?

Jos Verstappen was the worst dad, if he even deserved to call himself a father

Max grew up with all kinds of mental illness’. Some he grew out of, some he didn’t

Depression. Stayed all through out his karting days and up until now

Eating Disorder. He didn’t feel valid for having one, and thinking he made it up because he didn’t look like someone with an ED

He wasn’t fit. He wasn’t skinny. He wasn’t…

He’d look in the mirror every morning, looking at his shirt covered chest, telling himself he needed to work out more, loose the fat around his stomach

No matter how hard he tried to loose the fat, he could never look good or how he wanted

He could never look like Charles

Charles was pretty. Who was Max kidding? Charles was hot… Until he slept. Charles was drop dead gorgeous when he slept

Max didn’t care it sounded creepy- it wasn’t, right? They were friends, and Charles had fallen asleep in his company before, so naturally Max had seen Charles asleep. Gorgeous

Max wouldn’t be where he was without his so called father

Max would be dead without Charles

Max wasn’t gay. He wasn’t. It was wrong… That’s at least what his dad had told him after Max had told him a story about Charles that maybe to Jos sounded a tad bit too friendly

Max wasn’t gay

”Charles is pretty”

Max wasn’t gay

”Charles is slightly attractive”

Max wasn’t gay

”Charles is hot”

Was Max gay?

No.

Red Bull had suggested- Christian had suggested to Max that he tried out therapy, he refused of course, but when Christian didn’t shut the fuck up, he agreed just to keep him off of his back

“Who helped you become who you are today? A three-time champion, that is?” The therapist asked curious

“My dad… I guess” Max shrugged slightly, biting his bottom lip softly, the skin rough from where he had been nibbling at it for a few days, stressed about this session

“You guess?” He asked curious, shifting in his seat

“I wouldn’t be a champion without my dad, but I wouldn’t be…” Max sighed, nails scraping his palm, itching the anxious feeling “…I wouldn’t be… I wouldn’t be alive… Without… Without C-Charles” It was if the words were wrong, or a sin of some kind

“Charles? Leclerc?” He questioned, knitting his eyebrows together

“He’s always been there for me” Max shrugged slightly, his bottom lip trembling “When… When everybody was… When everybody was against me, Charles had been there. Always. Picking me up from the dirt of the track, telling me everything would be okay and that people could go fuck themselves” He chuckled softly, his eyes welling up, glazing with tears

“So… You and Charles are friends?” He hummed, writing something down on his notes

“Yeah. I guess…” Max hummed, shrugging slightly, sniffling

“You need to stop guessing, and instead start to know” He sighed “You like Charles?”

“Yes” Max hummed “I mean- no. Not like that. I guess-… I know, Charles is a friend”

“You find Charles attractive?” Max looked up, his tears now dried

“H-He’s pretty. I gue- I know” Max swallowed “Sometimes” He shrugged slightly

“When? When is Charles pretty to you?” He shifted curiously in his chair, the one hour now gone, but he wanted to hear more from Max

“When he sleeps” Max shrugged “His long eye lashes against his cheek bones, his lips slightly parted, pretty lips… Full. Nice. His hair messy… Looks more fluffy that way. I just kinda wanna stroke it, thread my fingers through it” Max smiled softly, not realising what he was saying

“Max…” He sighed softly “I can’t tell you how you feel, but… I think maybe you should reconsider what you feel towards Charles

“I’m not gay” Max said confused, shaking his head slightly “I’m not”

“I’m not saying you are, Max… I’m saying you should reconsider if Charles and you are better friends than you go around and think”

”I’m not gay” Max kept mumbling all the time, in all the languages he knew

“You listening, boy?” Jos asked when he saw and heard Max mumbling to himself “What you mumbling about?”

“Nothing. Sorry father. I’m listening” Max apologised, squirming in his seat where he sat

He wasn’t listening, and he knew his father knew, and he was sure as hell to be beaten over it later

MAX: Can I come over and cuddle with Leo?

Charles blinked his eyes open. He was yet to fall asleep when he heard the ping, but close to

The light was bright in his eyes. 1:36 said his phone when he turned the brightness down

CHARLES: It’s almost 2 am, and he’s asleep. What about Sassy and Jimmy?

MAX: Can I come over to just see you then?

Max always used Leo as an excuse to see Charles when he needed it

CHARLES: Of course you can, Max

’Thank you. I love you’

MAX: Thank you. I’ll be there in a bit

Moments like these came often, so to not wake the whole apartment complex, Charles had given Max a key

Max closed the door behind him quietly. Kicking off his shoes and his jacket, putting them neatly on their respectful places, knowing Charles was a neat freak

Max softly got into Charles bed, careful not to wake him if he was asleep, Leo stirring quietly awake when he moved to lay on his side, back facing Charles’

Max’ breath hitched slightly as he felt Charles pull the duvet up over his body, an arm around his waist, keeping him close, soothing him softly to sleep

Charles asked once at 3 am what happened. Max broke into tears. Charles hated seeing Max like that, so he never asked again

He felt guilty for never asking. Selfish. Max didn’t want to talk about it anyways, so it was all good

Max woke up by Leo licking all over his face, making him groan softly

He was now laying on his stomach as Leo curled into his side, his fur soft against Max’s hand that was stroking him

He got out of the bed, seeing as Charles wasn’t there. His mind worked on auto pilot, his body walking towards the smell of food

“I’m sorry” Max murmured from where he stood in the middle of the living room, looking into the kitchen

Charles’s body stiffened slightly “It’s fine. It’s what friends are for” He chocked out, not looking at Max

Why didn’t he? He always looked at Max. No matter what

“I’m still sorry” Max walked closer, stopping a few feet away from him. Charles only hummed “You always look at me” Max whispered quietly “Did I do something?”

“You have a black eye and bruises on your left bicep” Charles sighed, turning off the stove “If I look at you, I might just break down myself” Charles chuckled softly

Max was the one getting abused, so why was Charles the one going to break down?

“Charles…” Max almost whined, looking up into the back of Charles head “Look at me, please… Charles, I need you to look at me” Max whispered

Charles tapped on the counter with his nail, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to the ceiling, hoping the unshed tears would just go away

When they didn’t and he couldn’t stretch it any longer, he turned around, opening his eyes slowly

He shouldn’t have. The tears streamed silently down his cheeks the moment he saw Max’s disheveled look

Max drew Charles into his arms, Charles immediately shoving his head into the crook of Max’s neck, his hands clutching at the front of Max’s shirt

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve saved you” Charles sobbed into Max’s neck, his body shaking

‘You saved my life’

Max’s eyes welled up, feeling guilty that he had made Charles feel like this. Made him feel like he should apologise

“It’s not your fault” Max chocked out, sniffling slightly, holding back tears as best as he could

Charles leaned away from Max neck, his sobbing quieting down, now eye to eye

Max took his hand up to Charles’s cheek, the rough pad of his thumb wiping away tears around his beautiful green eyes

“It’s not your fault” Max tried again

Max wanted to lean in, kissing Charles until they were both passed out from oxygen. It wasn’t the right time… or was it?

‘Fuck it. I am gay’ Max though before slowly leaning in, kissing Charles softly, Charles kissing back immediately

“Thought you weren’t gay” Charles chuckled, tear stains on his cheeks and chin

“What?” Max asked, still dazed from how good and right the kiss felt

“I’ve heard you mumbling all last week” Charles chuckled again, his hands squeezing Max’s waist softly

“Oh… Well…” Max scratched the nape of his neck “I guess my therapist have gotten into my head”

“No… He wouldn’t do that. He’s just given you a push towards something you couldn’t walk towards yourself” Charles said softly, his green eyes wet from his earlier crying

How could Max not want to kiss Charles when looked like that? So he did. Max leaned back in to kiss Charles

Charles kissed back as well, a little more tender than before

Charles wanted Max- no. Charles needed Max. He needed him in a way no other could give him

He kissed Max a little harder, drawing a yelp out of him as well as Charles pushed Max softly up against the island counter, trapping his body

Charles’ hand went into Max’s hair. It was cut. Charles hated it. Max looked better with longer hair, but he always cut it because Jos said ’It made him look like a faggot’

It wasn’t cut too short, so Charles stilled managed to tug softly, making Max leaning back with a whimper, Charles’ lips going to his throat

“You’re pretty when you cry” Max chocked out, closing his eyes, trying to think of anything else than what it might feel like having Charles inside of him

“Yeah? That’s your kink?” Charles chuckled, his tongue lapping at Max’s throat and over his Adam’s apple

“N-no” Max chocked out… Maybe it was, yes. It definitely turned him on a little, but he didn’t want Charles to cry during sex

“Hm. Shame” Charles hummed, his hands on Max’s hips, pulling him away from the counter, guiding him towards the bedroom again

“Shame?” Max asked confused, Charles pushing him softly to lay down against the bed

“Yeah” Charles hummed, sitting down in between Max’s spread legs, hands just below where his shirt ended “Would love to see you cry in pleasure”

Charles leaned down, kissing Max again, his hands traveling under Max shirt, but he stopped him, pushing at his wrists

Charles stoped, leaning back again, seeing Max’s face turned to the side, his eyes screwed shut, hands tight around Charles’ wrists

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. We don’t have to. It’s fine. I’m sorry for pressuring you” Charles said softly, hissing quietly at Max’s strong grip around his wrists

“No, no. I want to. It’s just-… I don’t-… I don’t like m-my…” He had turned his head back to Charles, but his eyes were still screwed shut

“I do. You’re so goddamn beautiful that it hurts to look at you” Charles sighed “And I want to show you just how much I love all of you”

Max whimpered softly. Love? His hands slowly loosening around Charles’ wrists, slowly opening his eyes

“Let me show you” Charles whispered, his eyes soft and wide. Max nodded softly “That’s not enough for me, amour”

“Show me” Max nodded softly

“Thank you. We can always stop if you get too uncomfortable, okay?” Max nodded “Max”

“Yes” He said as soon as Charles said his name

’Good boy’ It sat on Charles tongue. He didn’t say it

Charles didn’t know, but he’d assume that Max had a praise kink- I mean, who wouldn’t in his state?

He didn’t get any praise when he was younger, so Charles had now decided to make it his mission and give Max praise for every little thing

“Lift your arms” Charles said softly

He could feel the hesitation in Max’s hands were they twitched around Charles’s wrists before he pulled them off and over his head, sitting slightly up so Charles could pull the T-shirt over his head

Max fell back against the bed, immediately covering his stomach with his arms

Charles leaned down, kissing Max from his lips, down his chin, along his jaw, down his neck, over his throat, and down to his collarbone

Max whimpered every time Charles moved to a new spot, arching his neck to let Charles have more space, his arms tightening around his stomach

“You’re so fucking beautiful, mon amour. So fucking beautiful” Charles hummed, kissing down Max’s chest softly

Max moaned softly when Charles licked over one of his nipples, causing him to hold his hand over his mouth, giving Charles the chance to kiss further down, closing in on his stomach

Max felt like pushing Charles away, but why would he? Max thought it over

If it was anybody else, he hadn’t let it go this far, but it wasn’t anybody else. It was Charles. Charles who had saved him. Charles who has saved his life. He wouldn’t find that part of his body disgusting. Would he?

Max moved his other arm, letting both arms fall to his sides

Charles looked up at Max, slightly surprised he had gotten him comfortable, but he loved it nonetheless

Max, the broken man with no proper childhood, was comfortable around Charles

Charles continued to kiss Max’s stomach, slowly getting lower, kissing the skin above Max’s waistband of his sweats

Max wanted to thread his fingers through Charles’ hair, so he did. The dark brown locks soft around Max’s rough fingers

“Charlie” Max whined quietly as Charles darted his tongue out, licking at the stubble burns he had accidentally made seeming he hadn’t shaven in a couple of days

“Yes, amour?” Charles asked teasingly, leaning back to see the burns he had accidentally made down Max’s pale body

“Please” Max whimpered “I n-need you” He stuttered, blushing red from the embarrassment of sounding needy and desperate

“Yeah? You need me?” Charles chuckled, to which Max mumbled out a low ‘yes’ “Alright. Sweats and briefs off” Charles patted the outside of Max’s thigh before he went to the night stand, taking the lube from the drawer

Charles turned back to the bed, seeing Max now completely naked and laid further up the bed

“Mon dieu. You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are” Charles sighed with a slight smile, his hands caressing Max’s thighs, watching as his hard cock twitched at the affection, leaking slightly

“This isn’t fair” Max whined, tugging at the hem of Charles’ shirt

Charles took the hint, chuckling softly as he pulled the T-shirt off of himself

Max almost drooled at the sight, but was quickly replaced with a small pout “I’ll never look like you” He mumbled

“I don’t want you to, amour. I want you to look just like this” He murmured, opening the lube bottle, pouring some on his fingers

“Remember; you can tell me to stop whenever, okay?” Charles reminded Max as he warmed up the lube

Max nodded quietly “Amour” Charles said, in a tone that was slightly warningly

“Yes” Max said “Jus’-… please Charlie” Max whined, bucking his hips slightly, trying to show Charles how much he needed him

Charles only chuckled softly, circling Max’s hole softly, making Max moan softly, his hands gripping at the sheets

Though, his hands immediately flew to Charles’ biceps when Charles slowly pushed in his finger

“F-fuck- Charles” Max whimpered, feeling Charles slowly moved his finger, twisting it and slowly moving in and out of him

When Max was loose enough, Charles pushed in a second finger, Max moaning at the action, his back arching

“Dieu. Why haven’t I made a move before, hm? You’re so fucking beautiful like this” Charles chuckled, his fingers slowly and softly moving in and out of Max, his lips attached to Max’s bent knee, most likely giving him burns there as well

“C-Charles. Please- i-i need it so bad. Please” Max had never thought in a million years he’d be begging for Charles’ cock inside him

“Shh. I got you, baby” Charles soothed, slowly pulling his fingers out of Max, loving the whine that escaped Max’s lips

Charles wiped his fingers on the inside of Max’s thigh so he could pull his own sweats and briefs down

When Charles had lubed himself and lining himself up with Max’s fluttering hole, Max held his hands against Charles’ abdomen, stopping him softly

“I-i’ve never… I’ve never had sex with a man- I don’t know what I’m doing” Max said, more confident then when they had started

“I know, amour. I got you, okay? Just lay back and tell if you want to stop or something you want to do different” Charles said, a slight smirk on his lips

Max nodded softly “Yes” He whimpered softly

“Good boy” It flew past Charles’ lips before he could stop it, but when he saw how red Max’s whole body got, he didn’t want to take it back

Max was about to come back with a witty comment, but could only moan when Charles slowly pushed into him, stopping every few inches, letting Max adjust before he continued

Charles kissed along Max’s collarbone, feeling him loosen around his cock

“C-Char… Please” Max breathed out, trying to move against Charles, having no success to get any kind of friction

“Come on. Finish my name. I like how you say your S’” Charles chuckled, thrusting softly once, Max moaning softly

“Charles” Max gasped when Charles thrusted once again

Max had been insecure about his lisp forever ever since they were kids, and Charles had loved the way Max said his name just as long

Charles set a pace and rhythm that worked for him, and one Max didn’t have any problem with

Charles put a hand under Max’s body, angling his hips slightly so it was easier for Charles to hit his prostate, making Max moan loudly and chant his name like a prayer

“Charles- please- I need… I need to come, please” Max almost cried out, nails digging into Charles’ back

Charles wrapped his hand around Max’s neglected cock, stroking him at the same speed of his hips “Come for me, amour”

Max’s nails dug into Charles’ back so hard he was afraid he’d break his skin as he came, covering his own stomach and Charles’s hand with his cum

Charles slowed his hand and hips down, moaning Max’s name softly into his pale neck as he came himself

“I like your hair longer” Charles murmured, kissing Max’s shoulder softly as they sat in the bathtub, Charles’ hand on Max’s stomach, stroking his thumb over his skin

Max sighed “My dad-“

“Fuck what he thinks. He’s not your father. He’s a man who treats a child like a subject” Charles said softly, kissing Max’s cheek bone just under where his black eye shone ended

Max wanted to cry. Charles was right. Jos never treated him like a son. Maybe for the first few years, but when Max became competitive in karting, he became a subject

“Move in” Charles said, sensing Max wanted to change the subject “I don’t like you living somewhere he knows” Charles held Max closer “Please”

Max nodded softly “I will. I want nothing else… But, we’ll have to learn Sassy and Jimmy to be nice to Leo” He chuckled

[valiantverses]

Tremors II

-

Part I

A therapist's waiting room wasn't exactly the place to have the most engrossing conversations. People were usually jittery, tense, or straight-up despondent. Somehow, you manage to strike a strange sort of connection with the retired military couple that had the Thursday slot just after you anyway.

Trigger Warnings: Angsty. Mentions of medical conditions. Chronic pain discussion. Post couple argument. My characterisations may not be your cup of tea, they can be problematic, but hopefully in a realistic way.

A/N: Not gonna lie somebody sent me an Ask about Tremors and I had this written out the same day I read it lmao my brain is so monke

If you'd like to tag out of the tag list, just message "Tag out" in the notes!

His hands were shaking again. Callouses stretching and wrinkling together as he rested his hand on the doorknob. The metal was biting in the winter chill, but the physical sensation helped drag him back down to reality.

To his home— his actual home. Surreal still, after more than a decade of thin barrack mattresses and rocky dirt beneath thin sleeping bags. The one-story house was quaint in a way he never would've dreamt of living in when he was younger. His home, with its barely managed lawn. Creaking doors. Brick and dark woods— juxtaposed against the hard plastic wheelchair ramp next to the steps.

His home, where Johnny was waiting.

Rough fingers fall away from the doorknob. His head dipped as he exhaled sharply— burning shame, a semi-permanent grimace on his lips.

It had been a bad day for Johnny's chronic pain. A string of them, really. Simon could feel the exhaustion carved into his bones, the weight of caring for Johnny entrenched into his marrow.

Johnny was waiting —barely able to sit up and have breakfast today after waking up wracked with neuropathic pain— and Simon couldn't even bring himself to open the damn door.

Bitter miasma clawed at his gums, self-disgust brewing at his inability to be more human, more empathethic. At his desire to be away. At the way he wanted press pause. Johnny couldn't press pause— he could only wait.

A notification pops up on his phone. He doesn't check, knowing it'd be the therapy appointment app. Life was now just a cycle of doctor's appointments, tests, physical rehabilitation, bills, and therapy. He had gone from the steady drumbeat of barracks life to— this.

With a huff, he forced himself to open the door, as gently as he can manage so as no to wake Johnny in case he had fallen asleep.

They had never argued before the incident at the Channel Tunnel. But now, on bad days, when Johnny was in too much pain and Simon too frayed, tension would spark and light into flame. Ultimately they were former soldiers and fierce words, aggravated outbursts came naturally.

Sometimes the heated words would morph into the heated press of skin on skin, slick bodies and open mouthed kisses as they fought for control. Captured moans as their bodies sought purchase and rutted into each other.

Other times, like today, it would end in the gentle but firm closing of a door. Silent retreat as they distanced themselves. In the quiet of the after, where harsh words were mentally rehashed and their tempers reigned in— Johnny's a storm clearing, Simon's receding tides— the unspoken apologies as they met each other's eyes again, a silent covenant to try and do better.

Johnny was waiting.

The blond eased next to his sleeping form. Even asleep in their bed large enough to fit two well built men, his face was scrunched up in pain. Gently, Simon reaches out and smooths the furrow of his brow, powder- blue eyes opening hazily and meeting his. Then Johnny cracked a smile, leaning into Simon's touch.

"Ello' there. Been waitin'." He murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

Simon's answering chuckle reverberates through both of them "Hi." His chilled, calloused hands card through Johnny's hair. "Feelin' better?"

The hum he receives in response fills him with a quiet sort of relief. Johnny looked more serene now, with that light smile on his face. The last time he looked this peaceful was almost two weeks ago— talking to the pretty little thing at his counsellor's. Johnny had seemed to brighten in their presence, had even mentioned the interaction to the shrink jovially. It was the first time he'd had a proper conversation with a stranger since his brain injury. Simon nursed his pang of regret at cutting off the conversation so abruptly, but he had seen the reticence in Johnny's eyes and had felt his hackles rise, the need to protect so desperate—

The smaller man shifted next to him, voice muffled against the pillow "S'good of ye to run away everytime we have a row. Big of ye." His eyes sparkled with teasing.

Simon huffed, hands roaming against Johnny's skin as he pulls him to his chest, tucking his chin into the crook of Johnny's neck. Simon casually gestures at the shorter man's leg—it had to be augmented with metal bolts after the incident. Johnny could walk, but excess running would trigger his sensitive nerve endings. Simon's breath was warm against Johnny's ears as he spoke.

"Not like you could be the one running, ey, luv'?"

And then his head was being shoved into the pillow, Johnny laughing breathlessly. His arms were full of exasperated Scot as they both guffawed madly, the tension from that morning dissipating.

Later, when Johnny had drifted off again, Simon turned to tap at his phone and confirm their Thursday therapy slot. Unbidden, his thoughts drift to you. To how, inexplicably, you had managed to get Johnny to smile. He selects the same slot they got two weeks ago, hoping maybe it might mean running into you again. Seeing Johnny smile more. Then, his attention turns back to the sleeping Scot beside him.

Johnny was waiting, but he was never truly alone. He would always carry a piece of Simon with him.

[candycandy00]

Hii! For your 2k followers event can you do

Character: Toji

AU Setting: Prison (As prisoner)

Spice Level: NSFW

Mood: Writers choice :)

Kinks: Whatever you see fit!!

Catch You on the Outside - A Toji x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. AU. Fem Reader. Toji as a Prisoner. Rough sex. Rough oral.

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! These two requests were very similar so I combined them. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Dividers by @benkeibear!

You’re walking down the hall of the prison, just finishing your daily sessions with the prisoners in your therapy program, when you see him. 

Fushiguro Toji. You heard he was being transferred here, but you didn’t realize it would be today. He’s quite notorious, with a long list of convictions. Multiple counts of murder, extortion, armed robbery, assault, and dozens of lesser offenses. If it’s bad, he’s probably done it at some point. 

He’s so much bigger in person than he looked on the news. How tall is this guy? And he so muscular that he looks like he could wrestle a grizzly bear and win. He’s also much better looking in person. His face, though scarred and a bit rugged, is very handsome and his eyes are a sharp emerald green. 

As a team of six guards lead him by you, his eyes shift over to you. They travel shamelessly up and down your body, and it feels like his gaze is peeling your clothes off right there in the hall. It makes your face flush with heat. You’re no stranger to being ogled by the prisoners here, but there’s something absolutely obscene about the way Toji does it, the look in his eyes that says, “I’ll be fucking you by the weekend”, the way he subtly licks his lips, the way he smirks as if he could break loose and snap every guard’s neck before anyone could draw a gun.

It all sends a shiver down your spine. And as much as you hate to admit it, you feel a growing wetness in your panties. 

The next day you’re surprised to find out Toji signed up for the therapy program. He didn’t seem like the type to give therapy a shot, and you wonder if he only signed up so that he could be alone in a room with you. It wouldn’t be the first time a prisoner has tried that. You can always tell right away when they have no interest in actually talking about their feelings. They spend the session staring at your tits and sometimes even making disgusting comments or outright asking you for sex. You report their behavior and boot them from the program without a second thought. 

So what will it be with Toji? As you walk into the room to have your first session with him, you find yourself almost hoping he’ll proposition you. Of course you wouldn’t act on it. You’re a professional after all. But it might give you some masturbation material for tonight. Lord knows your brief run in with him yesterday gave you plenty for last night. 

He’s sitting in a metal chair, his wrists handcuffed behind his back. There’s a table in front of him, and another chair for you to sit across from him. Three guards are standing in the room. 

“You three can step out,” you tell them. Guards never stay in the room during sessions. Instead they wait outside the door. There’s also a camera in the corner of the room. It doesn’t record sound, only visuals, to protect the privacy of the prisoners. 

“We were told to stay in here,” one of them says. “Fushiguro has been known to attack doctors and therapists in the past.”

You glance over at him, and he gives you a smile. 

“He’s handcuffed, what’s he going to do?” you ask. 

One of the guards glances apprehensively at Toji. “I don’t think you realize how dangerous he is, ma’am.”

You bristle at that remark. “Are you seriously implying I don’t understand how dangerous my job is? I’ve worked with violent criminals daily for five years. I’ve had knives held to my throat. I’ve been punched in the face. Three different men have tried to rape me. So don’t tell me how dangerous this is!”

The guard seems to shrivel a bit at your outburst. “I’m sorry, but we can’t just leave you alone in here with him.”

“Listen,” you say, stepping closer to him, “doing my job properly depends on establishing trust with the prisoner. I can’t do that with you three hovering around in here. So wait outside the door. I’ll scream if he tries anything.”

The three guards look at each other, then one of them sighs and says, “We’ll give you twenty minutes.”

With that, they file out of the room and shut the door. You stare after them for a moment, feeling irritated but also proud of yourself for standing your ground. Then you walk over and take the seat across from Toji. 

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll have a word with the warden before tomorrow’s session,” you tell him, pulling your notepad and pen, as well as a recording device, from your bag. “Do you have any objections to me recording our conversations?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t care.”

You study his face. He still has that oddly confident look, as if he’s only staying here in prison for the fun of it. 

“Fushiguro-san, I want to make something clear right off the bat. If I think you’re not serious about this program, I’ll remove you immediately. But if you want to give therapy a fair shot, I’ll be happy to help you to the best of my ability.”

“Call me Toji,” he says, a smirk on his scarred lips. “And I’m completely serious about this. Why else would I sign up?”

You’ve already pushed record on the device and sat it between the two of you on the table. “Some prisoners sign up just to get close to me,” you say, opening your notebook to a clean page. 

“Really? Well don’t worry,” he says, that damn smirk still on his face, “I’m not that desperate. I’ve fucked enough women to last a lifetime.”

The comment gives you pause. Professionally, you should be relieved. But personally? You find it a little insulting. You click your fountain pen. “That’s good to know,” you say smoothly. 

“Don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” he says. 

“Of course not. It’s best for you if you see me as a professional here to help you.”

He laughs. “Best for you too.”

You look up from your notepad. “What do you mean by that?”

He tilts his head slightly, looking at you the way a lion looks at a wounded zebra. “If I saw you as a woman I wanna fuck, I’d have you bent over this table already.”

You know exactly what he’s doing, and he’s not the first. You sit your pen on the table and look at him with a cool expression. “And if I saw you as a man I want to fuck, Toji, I’d be under this table deep throating your cock right now. Thankfully, we’ve established that’s not the case, so let’s begin the session, shall we?”

His eyes widen slightly, then a broad grin spreads over his face. “Well, aren’t you a little firecracker!”

“No, I’m a woman who has dealt with men like you for years. So if you want to shock or frighten me, you’ll have to do better than that.”

There’s a gleam of excitement in his eyes as he stares at you. “How about I take these cuffs off and ram your pretty little head into the wall until it’s just a bloody pile of hamburger?”

You scoff as you jot down notes. In red ink you’ve written “violent tendencies” and “empty threats”. You barely glance up at him as you say, “You can’t just take the cuffs off, Toji. They’re pretty much designed to prevent that.”

“Really?” he asks, then he slowly pulls his hands forward in front of him. Only one has a cuff on it, the other metal ring dangling uselessly from it. 

Your first instinct is to jump up and flee the room. He’s loose! He’s probably been loose this whole time. The most violent man that’s ever been in this prison, that you’ve just been provoking, is just a few feet away from you. Should you scream? Could the guards even make it into the room before he kills you? 

Wait, if he wanted to kill you, he probably would have already. You decide to take a gamble. “So?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even, praying he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in your hands. “What are you going to do to me, Toji?”

He’s already pulled his hands back behind him. His earlier movement had been subtle enough that the guard monitoring the camera probably didn’t even notice. Toji grins. “There’s a lot of things I wanna do to you. The list is growin’ the longer I talk to you. The question is, what do you want me to do?”

You look at him for a moment, at his smug, handsome face, at his muscular form flexing beneath the tightly fitted black T-shirt. Did the prison not have a shirt big enough for him? You sit back in your chair, crossing your legs. “I want you to take therapy seriously. I want to help-“

“You want me to split you open on my cock,” he says, cutting you off. “You think I can’t tell when a woman wants me? I bet your little pussy is drooling right now.”

You stare at him wordlessly. Damn it, he’s right! You uncross your legs and cross them again, trying to give yourself a bit of relief. You want his rough, thick fingers inside you. 

Toji leans back, letting his thighs spread apart. He’s pushed back far enough from the table for you to see his crotch, and the outline of something impossibly huge. He notices you looking. “That’s right. Take a good look. I bet you’ve never seen a dick this big before. Now imagine how it’s gonna feel when I’m ramming it in your tight little hole.”

Your breaths are coming quicker despite your best attempts to remain calm. You glance up at the camera in the corner. Toji follows your gaze. 

“I’m guessing you need to do something about that,” he says. “Probably wouldn’t look very professional to be on camera getting your guts rearranged by a prisoner, huh?”

You place the pen and notebook in your bag and stop the recording device. The twenty minutes are almost up. “I’ll think about it,” you say as calmly as you can. 

He smiles at you as the guard opens the door and escorts you out. 

For the next several days, you continue your sessions with Toji. Neither of you mention his proposition, and he never removes the handcuffs again, at least as far as you know. Still, just knowing he can if he wants to gives you a thrill. 

He’s surprisingly open during his sessions. He tells you about a miserable childhood, a violent youth, a marriage that ended in the death of the only woman he ever loved, and (most shocking of all) a teenage son he hasn’t seen in years. 

“I send him money,” he tells you. “He accepts it, but he never answers when I call or text him. Not that I blame him. Guess it’s embarrassing to have a murderer for a father.”

There’s a hint of sadness when he says it, the first genuine emotion you’ve seen from him. But he shrugs like he doesn’t care and moves on from the topic. 

Fushiguro Toji is a fascinating man. If possible, you’d love to help him. 

But first, you want him to fuck you until you can’t form thoughts. 

A week after your first session with him, you decide to do something about that damn camera. It’s an easy task for you, someone who can move freely through the prison and has the trust of everyone there. The first step is to disable the monitor in the security room, which you do with no issue. It’s a temporary thing though, so you have to hurry to the consultation room and disable the camera itself while the monitor isn’t working, so no one sees what you’re doing. 

Once the camera has been broken, you’re home free. You’ve worked here long enough to know it’ll take several days for them to replace the camera. 

So today, when the guards walk out of the room, you lock the door behind them. Toji notices, and glances at the camera. “I take it that’s not recording?”

You nod. “It’s completely busted.”

He moves his arms around in front of him, uncuffed, and stands up, rolling his shoulders. Then in an instant he’s right in front of you, pressing you back against the wall, looming over you with a threatening aura. “You’re takin’ a big risk,” he says, “being alone with a guy like me. You must want my dick real bad.”

Your heart is pounding. This man could snap your neck like a twig. He could kill you before you can blink. But fuck, you’re so turned on! 

You smile up at him, using your hands to press back against his chest. “Sit down and I’ll show you how much I want it.”

His eyes seem to light up. He wears that familiar smirk as he returns to the chair and sits, lazily opening his legs. As you walk over, you unbutton your crisp white shirt, revealing a sexy lace bra you picked for today. You drop the shirt on the floor and unzip your pencil skirt, stepping out of it. You’re wearing matching lace panties with silk stockings and a garter belt. You chose the sexiest combo possible for this encounter. 

Toji seems to appreciate your efforts. His eyes drink in your form as he palms himself through his prison issued sweat pants. Then he slides the waistband down, and the biggest cock you’ve ever seen pops out. Strong and tall like its owner, it’s already rock hard. It looks delicious. 

When you reach him, you drop to your knees in front of him and grasp his shaft in one hand. Your fingers can’t even wrap all the way around its veiny girth, but you stroke him slowly, watching the massive organ twitch in your grip. You lean forward and lick the tip, then slide your tongue all around it, drenching it with your saliva before taking it into your mouth. 

It doesn’t fit, but you manage to get most of it in without choking. You’re pretty proud of your throat game, so you press even further down, letting him fill your mouth completely, almost swallowing him. You hear a short grunt and feel his big hand on your head, holding you down. You focus on breathing through your nose, your tongue licking the underside of his cock while your throat tightens around him. 

Finally he releases his grip, and you pull back enough to lick him properly, sucking on the tip with your pursed lips. Then he’s in your mouth again, and you’re moving your head back and forth, looking up at his face as you repeatedly take him halfway down your throat. 

His hand is now resting on your head, not applying any pressure but threading his fingers through your hair. “Fuck, you weren’t kiddin’ about bein’ hungry for my dick!”

After a few more minutes pass, his grip tightens again, and he shoves your head down even further than before, completely cutting off your air. Then, he shoots his cum directly down your throat, forcing you to swallow every drop. 

When he releases you and pulls out of your mouth, you sputter and gasp, then you diligently get to work cleaning his cock with your tongue, savoring the taste of his cum. You’re in a hurry to get him hard again. You’ve arranged for the sessions to last forty-five minutes, and you don’t intend to end this without being thoroughly fucked. 

Thankfully, Toji has plenty of stamina. He’s hard again in no time, standing up from the chair and tearing the delicate lace underwear from your body. You wince, trying not to think about how expensive they were. 

His hands are all over you, roughly exploring every inch. When his hand dips down between your thighs, and he feels how wet you are, he grins. You’re waiting for some quip, but instead he jerks you around to face away from him and pushes your upper half face down on the table. He gives your bare ass a slap before his hands spread your cheeks. His knees push your legs apart, and with no warning, he shoves all the way inside your dripping pussy. 

You gasp at the stretch, at how fucking huge he is, but he doesn’t hesitate for a moment before he’s pounding into you. He’s probably aware of the time limit himself, so he wastes no time with letting you adjust to his size. 

He fucks you hard, so hard that your feet are knocked off the floor and your legs dangle from the table. You hold onto the edge of it with both hands, gripping it for dear life, crying out obscenely each time his tip slams into your cervix. 

“Ahh, fuck! You’re gonna break me!” you yell. 

You hear Toji laugh behind you. “I thought you could handle me!”

You rise up from the table, arching your back, and reach back with one arm to grab his shirt and get some leverage. You take one of his hands from your waist and move it down, between your pried open thighs. He takes the hint, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it vigorously, spreading your leaking fluids all around. You moan at the touch, leaning back into him, letting the pleasure overtake you. 

With a thrill, you imagine the horrified looks on the guards’ faces if they walked in. You locked the door, but they have a keycard to open it. At best it would buy you a few seconds. But the thought of being caught moaning and cumming on a murderer’s cock sends you over the edge. You cry out, your body spasming as Toji impales you, your aching pussy clenching around him. 

“You got yours,” you hear him say, his fingers giving a quick pinch to your hyper sensitive clit, “now I’m gonna fill you up.”

You barely have time to process those words before you feel his hot cum shoot inside you, all the way to your core. 

When he’s finished, he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. He watches you lean against the table for a few moments, trembling and trying to catch your breath, too exhausted and sore to even close your legs. But you have to straighten yourself out. The clock is ticking. You stagger over to your pile of clothes and pull them back on, shoving your shredded underwear into your bag. 

You look at him, sitting there looking so smug and calm… and so very fuckable. You reach into your bag and pull out the item you swiped from the security room earlier. You step over and hand it to him. 

“This is a master keycard. It should let you open any door until they figure it out. Do whatever you please with it,” you tell him. 

He takes it, slipping it into the pocket of his sweats. “Awful nice of you.”

“Go and see your son. Make things right with him.”

His eyes widen, then he looks away, seeming the slightest bit awkward for the first time. “You’ll get fired if anyone finds out.”

You shrug. “So I won’t let anyone find out. Don’t snitch on me.”

He laughs as he looks back at you. “Thanks, doll. I’ll find you on the outside.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Is that a threat?”

He smiles, the scar on his lips stretching. “It’s a promise.”

[earthtoharlow]

Don’t Like The Lights

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights first to understand

20. Blame On Me

Series Masterlist

Maryse sat in the cozy dimly lit room, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She glanced around, taking in the bookshelf filled with self-help titles and the calming artwork on the walls, but none of it settled the nervous energy bubbling inside her. This was her first therapy session, and although she knew she needed it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was out of place.

The therapist, a kind-eyed woman with a warm smile, sat across from her, pen and notepad in hand. “Take your time,” she said gently. “We don’t have to dive in right away. This space is for you, at your own pace.”

Maryse nodded, her throat tightening as she tried to find her voice. “I’m not really sure where to start,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s okay,” the therapist assured her. “Why don’t you tell me what brought you here today?”

Maryse hesitated, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her oversized sweatshirt. “Well… my partner—he suggested it,” she began. “He said I’ve been holding a lot in, especially after having the twins and, you know… the stalker incident last year.”

The therapist nodded, her expression encouraging but not intrusive. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. And it’s wonderful that you have someone in your life who cares so much about your well-being.”

A small smile tugged at Maryse’s lips. “He’s the best,” she said softly. “But… sometimes I feel like I’m letting everyone down if I’m not okay. Like I have to keep going, keep being strong, for him, for the kids, for my career.”

The words spilled out before she could stop them, and her voice cracked slightly at the end. She quickly looked away, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

“It’s a lot to carry,” the therapist said gently. “But you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. That’s what this space is for—so you can let some of it out and start to heal.”

Maryse nodded, exhaling shakily as the weight of her emotions began to surface. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she didn’t have to hold it all together. It was terrifying but also a little freeing.

As the session went on, she found herself opening up more, sharing pieces of her struggles and fears. By the time it ended, she felt lighter—not completely, but enough to make her realize that this might actually help.

Maryse left her first therapy session feeling nervous but hopeful. The therapist had encouraged her to take small steps in opening up to the people closest to her, especially Jack. “Start with something specific,” her therapist had said. “Talk about your mom guilt. Let him in.”

Later that evening, Maryse found Jack in the living room, slouched on the couch, flipping through TV channels aimlessly. His posture alone told her he’d had a rough day.

“Hey,” she said softly, sitting beside him. “You okay?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Not really. Studio was a mess today. Couldn’t get the sound right, producers kept switching things up, and I’m just over it.”

Maryse hesitated, the assignment from her therapist still fresh in her mind. She reached for his hand, trying to find the right moment. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” she started cautiously.

“Can it wait?” he muttered, not looking at her. “I’m not really in the mood for anything heavy right now.”

Her heart sank, but she pressed on, her voice a little firmer this time. “It’s important. I’ve been feeling… I don’t know, overwhelmed, I guess. Like I’m not doing enough for the twins, or that I’m not a good mom because I’m away sometimes.”

Jack sighed again, this time louder, and leaned back on the couch. “Babe, you’re overthinking it. The kids are fine. You’re fine. Can we just not do this right now?”

The dismissive tone stung more than she expected. She bit her lip, fighting back tears, and nodded silently. “Okay. I’ll let you relax,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, before standing and walking toward the twins’ room.

Once inside, she found herself pacing, frustration bubbling up. She didn’t want to push him on a bad day, but it hurt to feel like her emotions were being brushed aside. 

She spotted London lying in her crib, wide awake but quiet, her big eyes staring at the mobile above her. Maryse scooped her up gently, holding her close and peppering her with soft kisses.

“Hey, baby girl,” she whispered, her voice shaky as she tried to soothe herself through London. “At least you’re always here for me, huh?”

London cooed softly, her tiny hands reaching for Maryse’s face, and Maryse let out a weak laugh, the weight of her frustration still pressing down on her chest.

Over the next few days, Maryse barely spoke to Jack. She went about her routine, caring for the twins and avoiding him as much as possible. When he tried to initiate small talk, she responded with short, curt answers. Meanwhile, she started packing a bag for herself and the twins bit by bit, trying not to make it obvious but unable to fully hide her intentions.

It wasn’t until the third evening that Jack noticed her pulling baby clothes from the dresser into a tote bag. “Yo, what’s your problem?” he asked, standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

She paused, her back still to him, then turned around slowly. “My problem? My problem is that when I tried to talk to you about something important, you brushed me off like I was annoying you,” she snapped.

Jack frowned, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t brush you off. I just had a bad day! I’m doing my best here, but I’m not a mind reader, M. How am I supposed to know what you need if you don’t tell me?”

“You didn’t even try to listen!” she shot back, her voice rising. “I finally worked up the courage to talk to you about how I’ve been feeling, and you couldn’t even give me five minutes of your time. Instead, you made me feel like what I’m going through doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not fair,” he countered, his voice defensive but softer now. “You know I care about you and the kids. I’m just trying to juggle everything too.”

“Well, congratulations, you’re juggling so well you’ve managed to drop me,” she said bitterly. “So, until you figure out how to actually listen and care about what I’m saying, I’m taking the twins to my parents’ house.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “What? You’re overreacting—”

“Am I? Or am I just making sure I’m around people who actually notice when I’m drowning?” she interrupted. She zipped up the tote bag with a dramatic tug. 

She brushed past him, leaving him standing in stunned silence as she headed to the nursery to get the twins.

Maryse was in the nursery, gently dressing London while Noah sat in his bouncer, kicking his little feet. She moved methodically, her hands steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Jack followed her into the room, his voice firm but not harsh.

“Maryse, stop,” he said, “We need to talk about this.”

Without looking at him, she adjusted London’s tiny socks and shook her head. “No, I tried talking. You didn’t want to hear me then, so why should I believe you want to hear me now?”

He sighed and pushed off the doorframe, taking a few steps closer. “I wasn’t in the right headspace that day. I know I messed up, but walking out with the kids isn’t the answer.”

She finally looked up at him, her eyes sharp. “You don’t get to decide what the answer is for me. You made it clear I was just another thing on your list of problems that day. I’m not going to beg you to care.”

Jack ran another hand through his hair in frustration. “You know I care. I’ve been here every step of the way, trying to support you and the twins. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying.”

“Trying?” she repeated, her voice bitter. “Trying would’ve been sitting down with me when I told you I was struggling instead of brushing me off. Trying would’ve been hearing me when I needed you instead of making excuses.”

He crouched down to her level as she adjusted London’s tiny jacket as she placed her in her car seat, his tone softening. “I hear you now, though. Don’t leave, please. Let’s just talk.”

But she stood up, moving to get Noah. “No, Jack. I don’t want to talk anymore. You didn’t listen when it mattered. I’ll be at my mom’s. Maybe you can use the quiet to figure out what you want to say.”

Her words hit him hard, and he knew there was no stopping her at that moment. As she buckled Noah in, she added quietly, “I’m not trying to punish you—I just can’t keep feeling like this in my own home.”

He swallowed, his throat tight, but said nothing as she lifted the car seats and walked past him. 

Jack eventually followed her to the front door, his voice sharper now, frustration bubbling over. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna take my kids and leave like this? You don’t think this is a little childish?”

Maryse spun around, her hand still gripping the car seat handle. Her eyes blazed as she snapped back, “They’re not just your kids, Jackman. They’re ours. And I’m doing what I think is best for my sanity and their well-being because clearly, staying here and feeling invisible isn’t working for me.”

“I feel like you’re trying to make me the bad guy.”

“You think this is about making you the bad guy?” she said, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “This is about me needing to be heard, needing to feel like my feelings matter too. But every time I try, it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

He clenched his jaw, his hands on his hips, trying to steady his tone. “You don’t have to run to your mom’s house to make a point.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “This isn’t about making a point. This is about me feeling like I’m not drowning for once. And if I have to leave to get that, then so be it.”

As she opened the door, she turned back one last time, her voice quieter but no less firm. “I love you.” knowing that he needed to hear her say it.

“I know.” Jack said and gave her a nod. Maryse sighed and with that, she stepped outside, the door closing behind her with a weight that lingered in the air.

***

Jack was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the house unbearably quiet without Maryse and the twins. He hadn’t heard from her since she left, and guilt was slowly sinking in.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he grabbed it without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

Before he could say another word, his mom’s sharp voice cut through the line like a whip. “What the hell did you do, Jackman?”

He sat up straight, alarmed. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me,” she snapped. “Maryse called me crying—crying—and said she took my grandbabies to her mom’s house because she needed a break from you. A break from you, Jack! What did you do to her?”

Jack groaned, running a hand down his face. “Ma, it’s not that simple—”

“Not that simple? Let me tell you what’s simple, boy,” she cut him off, her voice heated. “You’ve got a woman who gave you two beautiful babies, and she’s trying to handle being a mom while still figuring out her own stuff, and instead of supporting her, you’re pushing her away! That’s what’s simple!”

“I’m not pushing her away!” he protested, though the defensiveness in his tone wasn’t helping his case.

“Oh, really?” she fired back. “Because from what I’m hearing, you encouraged her to go to therapy, and now that she’s trying to open up to you, you’re shutting her down! What kind of sense does that make?”

Jack froze at that, the truth of her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t have a response, and his mom took the silence as her cue to keep going.

“She’s already feeling guilty and overwhelmed, and she’s trying to do what you suggested—trying to talk—and you pushed her away. How do you think that makes her feel? How do you think it makes me feel, knowing my grandbabies are caught in the middle because their parents are too stubborn to figure this out?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, guilt hitting him full force. “Ma, I didn’t mean for it to get this bad. I just… I had a bad day, and I didn’t handle it right. She tried to talk to me, and I didn’t… I didn’t give her what she needed.”

“Well, no kidding!” she huffed. “You think this is some kind of game? Relationships take work, Jack. You need to fix this before it gets worse. And don’t just show up empty-handed either—bring some damn flowers, apologize, and for heaven’s sake, listen to her.”

“I will,” he muttered, feeling about two inches tall.

“You better,” she warned. “Because if you let that girl slip through your fingers, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“I hear you, Ma. I’ll fix it,” he promised.

“And don’t wait too long, you hear me?” she added, her tone softening slightly. “She loves you, Jack. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” he said quietly.

As the call ended, he stared at his phone for a moment, already planning how to make things right. His mom was right—he’d been stubborn, but it was time to own up to his mistakes.

****

Maryse was sitting in the rocking chair in the kids nursery that her parents put together when they decided to move to Kentucky to be closer to their grandkids, gently swaying back and forth with London in her arms. The baby was fussing, her little face scrunched up as she whimpered and refused to settle.

“Come on, London,” Maryse whispered, her voice soft but tired. “Mama’s got you. Just close those pretty eyes for me.”

London, however, had other plans. She let out another fussy cry, her tiny hands grabbing at Maryse’s shirt in protest.

Maryse sighed, resting her head against the back of the chair. “You’re really going to make this hard for me, huh? Is this because Daddy’s not here to do the bedtime dance?”

She tried humming a lullaby, but London wasn’t having it. Maryse adjusted her hold, gently bouncing her daughter in hopes of soothing her. “I know you love when Daddy sings to you, but Mama can sing too, you know,” she said, her tone teasing despite her exhaustion.

Her mom peeked her head into the room, holding a warm bottle. “Still not down?”

“Nope,” Maryse replied, her voice tinged with frustration. “She’s got her daddy wrapped around her little finger, and now she won’t nap without him.”

Her mom chuckled softly, walking in to place the bottle on the dresser. “That girl does love her daddy, but you’ve got that same magic touch, sweetheart. You just have to find it again.”

Maryse gave a weak smile. “Yeah, but he’s the one who does all the silly voices and bounces her in that special way that makes her laugh first, then fall asleep.”

“Maybe you can FaceTime him,” her mom suggested, giving her a knowing look.

Maryse sighed, staring down at London, who was still fighting sleep like it was her personal mission. “If I call him now, it’s going to feel like admitting defeat,” she joked, but her tone was weary.

Her mom touched her shoulder gently. “It’s not defeat, honey. It’s teamwork. And I’m sure he’d love to see her anyway.”

After a moment, Maryse relented. She pulled out her phone and hit the video call button. When Jack’s face popped up on the screen, looking a little disheveled but concerned, she felt a wave of relief.

“Hey,” he said, noticing her tired expression right away. “What’s going on?”

Maryse turned the camera to London, who perked up the moment she saw her dad on the screen, her little arms reaching toward the phone.

“Well, somebody won’t take a nap because you’re not here to do the magic,” Maryse said, her voice softening.

Jack chuckled, his voice warm. “Oh, is that right, London? You giving Mama a hard time?”

London babbled happily, her fussiness forgotten as she watched her dad’s face. Maryse rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

“Okay, okay,” Jack said. “Put the phone near her ear. Let me do my thing.”

As Maryse held the phone near London’s ear, Jack’s soft singing worked its magic. London’s little body finally relaxed, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Unbelievable,” Maryse muttered, more to herself than to him, as she gently laid London down in the crib.

Jack smiled at the screen. “Told you I had the magic touch,” he said playfully.

Maryse just shrugged, keeping her face neutral. “Guess so,” she replied, her tone flat. She didn’t even glance at the screen as she adjusted the baby blanket.

Jack frowned slightly, sensing her mood but deciding not to push. “You, uh… you coming home tonight?” he asked cautiously.

Maryse didn’t look up from where she was now tidying the nursery, giving a small shake of her head.

“No,” she said simply, her voice devoid of any emotion.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, his voice softening. “Alright. Well, I love you.”

She paused for a split second, her hand hovering over London’s crib, then straightened up. “I know,” she said coolly, not meeting his eyes through the screen.

Before he could respond, she ended the call, setting the phone down on the dresser without another word.

Jack stared at the now-black screen in disbelief, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. For the first time, the weight of the distance between them felt heavier than ever.

Her mom had been standing just outside the nursery door, rocking Noah gently in her arms. She heard every word of the conversation and watched as Maryse stared at the blank phone screen with a clenched jaw.

“Baby,” her mom said softly, stepping into the room, “you need to go home and talk to him.”

Maryse sighed, shaking her head as she grabbed London’s pacifier from the dresser. “Why, Mom? When I wanted to talk, he didn’t want to listen,” she said bitterly, her tone sharp.

Her mom didn’t let her finish. “Stop it right there,” she said firmly, giving her daughter a knowing look. “Your father and I raised you better than this, and you know it. You’re upset, and you have every right to be, but shutting down like this isn’t the answer. You two are in a partnership. That man loves you, and I know you love him. You don’t fix things by running away every time it gets hard.”

Maryse crossed her arms defensively but didn’t respond, her mom’s words hitting too close to home.

Her mom continued, her voice softening. “He’s not perfect, and neither are you. But he’s trying. Don’t let your pride ruin something good. Those babies deserve two parents who work through their problems, not run from them.”

Maryse swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward London’s crib. Her mom placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been through so much, and I know it’s not easy. But don’t shut him out just because he didn’t respond the way you wanted the first time. Go home. Sit down. Talk to him like the woman I raised you to be.”

Maryse blinked back tears, her mom’s words sinking in, but she still hesitated. “What if he doesn’t understand, Mom? What if he doesn’t get it?”

Her mom smiled softly. “Then you explain it to him until he does. Relationships aren’t about who’s right or wrong. It’s about making the choice to try every single day. You’re stronger than this, baby. Go home.”

“I’ll think about it.” Maryse said with a sigh before turning to leave the room and head towards the bathroom to shower for the night. 

***

The next morning, Maryse’s mom was up earlier than usual, enjoying her coffee in the quiet of the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. She frowned, not expecting anyone, and pulled out her phone to check the ring camera.

There he was—Jack, standing on her porch in a hoodie, hands stuffed into his pockets, rocking nervously on his heels.

Her jaw dropped when she noticed the rest of the scene: the entire porch was covered in roses. Bouquets of every size, from deep crimson to soft pink, crowded every inch of space, leaving barely enough room for him to stand.

She sighed, setting her coffee down with a muttered, “Lord have mercy.”

Opening the door just enough to poke her head out, she raised an eyebrow. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Big Gesture himself.”

Jack looked up, giving a sheepish smile. “Morning, Ms. Monet. I, uh… I came to apologize.”

Her gaze flicked to the mountain of flowers spilling onto her porch. “And…all this?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to show her I’m serious. I messed up, and I need her to know I’m sorry.”

She looked him over for a moment before stepping out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. “You can wait right here,” she said firmly.

“Outside?”

She folded her arms. “Yes, outside. If she wants to talk to you, she’ll come out. But I’m not letting you barge in here and force her into anything.”

Jack nodded, swallowing hard. “That’s fair.”

She softened just a bit, adding, “And for the record? Big gestures are cute, but they don’t fix everything, son. You’ve got to do better than flowers.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m ready to.”

“Good,” she said, turning back toward the door. “Now sit tight. I’ll go let her know you’re here.”

He watched her go, left standing on the porch surrounded by roses, the morning air cool against his skin as he rehearsed everything he wanted to say.

Her mom walked into the nursery where Maryse was playing on the floor with Noah. Arms crossed. “He’s outside. And he’s not leaving.”

Maryse frowned, glancing up from where she sat with Noah in her lap. “What do you mean, he’s outside?”

Her mom sighed and gestured toward the front door. “Check the camera.”

Reluctantly, Maryse picked up her phone and opened the app, her heart sinking as she saw Jack standing there. He looked nervous, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. She hated how good he looked, even when he was clearly stressed out.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before deciding to press the intercom button on the camera. “What do you want?” her voice came through the speaker, flat and guarded.

Jack immediately perked up, looking straight at the camera. “Baby, can we talk? Please?”

Maryse tilted her head, her tone remaining cool. “Didn’t you say I was acting childish? Maybe I’m still too busy being childish to talk.”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, I deserve that. But I’m not here to argue. I’m here to apologize. Can we please talk? Face to face?”

She crossed her arms and leaned back on the couch, debating her next move. “You seem fine talking to me through the camera.”

Jack chuckled softly, though it was tinged with frustration. “You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?”

Maryse smirked faintly but kept her voice steady. “You tell me, Mr. Mind Reader.”

Jack sighed again, looking directly into the camera. “You’re right, I messed up. But I miss you and the kids so much it hurts. Please, just give me a chance to fix this.”

Her mom, watching from the doorway, gave her an expectant look. Maryse hesitated, then sighed, standing up. “Stay there,” she said into the camera.

As she walked toward the door, her heart pounded in her chest. She wasn’t ready to let him off the hook completely, but seeing him out there, looking like a lovesick puppy, was softening her resolve.

Maryse unlocked the door and pulled it open, expecting to see just Jack standing there. Her breath hitched when she saw what was behind him.

The entire front porch was filled with roses—dozens upon dozens of bouquets in every shade of red, pink, and white. They spilled down the steps, clustered around the railing, and even lined the walkway.

“Are you serious?” she asked, blinking in disbelief.

Jack gave her a sheepish smile, hands still shoved in his pockets. “I figured one bouquet wasn’t gonna cut it.”

She looked from him to the sea of roses, her lips parting in surprise. “This is… a lot,” she admitted, though she couldn’t hide the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He took a cautious step forward, his voice soft. “I meant it when I said I’d do whatever it takes to make this right. I just… I love you, and I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t care.”

Maryse’s fingers tightened around the edge of the door as she fought the lump rising in her throat. She wanted to stay mad, but seeing him standing there, nervous and vulnerable, surrounded by roses, made it nearly impossible.

Maryse sat down on the porch reluctantly, trying her hardest to look unimpressed as the sea of roses surrounded her. She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. “You know, this doesn’t change anything. You’re still not forgiven.”

Jack, standing in front of her with his hands in his pockets, smirked just slightly. “But… these are your favorite flowers,” he teased, his voice soft but cocky, like he already knew the answer.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, though the corner of her mouth twitched as if fighting a smile. “So? That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

He nodded, taking a small step closer and dropping the smirk. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m not here just to sweet-talk my way out of this.” He crouched down in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees so they were face-to-face. “I’m here because I messed up, and I need to own that.”

Maryse glanced away, her walls still up. “You’re right. You did.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like your feelings didn’t matter,” he continued, his voice earnest now. “I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me, especially when I wanted you to. I just… I don’t know. Sometimes I look at you, and I see how you just do it. You’re this incredible mom. The twins love you. They’re obsessed with you. And sometimes, I feel like you’ve got it all figured out, and I’m just trying to keep up.”

Her eyes flicked back to him, her expression softening slightly.

“And instead of saying that… instead of listening to you, I pushed you away like an idiot,” he added, his voice quieter now. “But you were right. You tried to talk to me, and I didn’t listen. And I’m sorry, babe. You’re the best mom those babies could ever have, and you don’t have to carry all of this alone. I want to be better at showing you that.”

Maryse sighed softly, looking at him for a moment as he sat there waiting, his eyes full of guilt but also hope. “You really feel like you’re just ‘keeping up’?” she asked, her tone gentler now.

Jack nodded, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah. All the time.”

Her lips finally quirked into the faintest smile. “Well, you’re doing better than you think, even when you’re being an idiot.”

He smirked, relief washing over his face as he straightened up. “So, you’re saying there’s hope for me?”

Maryse exhaled, giving him a small eye roll but with a smile this time. “Maybe.”

Jack grinned, pulling her up from the seat on the porch, keeping his hands lightly on her waist. “I’ll take ‘maybe.’ It’s better than ‘get off my porch.’”

She let him pull her close, though she kept her voice stubborn. “Still not forgiven.”

“Okay,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll keep working on it. Just don’t make me bring more flowers. I don’t think there’s any left in Kentucky.”

Maryse couldn’t help but laugh, punching him lightly in the arm. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Ow!” he yelped, clutching his arm and pretending it actually hurt.

“Stop being such a baby,” she said, rolling her eyes, though her smile betrayed her.

He dropped the act and looked at her seriously, his voice soft. “But for real… are you coming home now? I really miss you. I miss the kids, too.”

Her teasing expression faltered, replaced by something softer. “You miss me?”

“Like crazy,” he admitted. “The house doesn’t feel right without you.”

She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I miss you too,” she finally whispered.

“So… what do you say? Come home?” he asked, reaching out to gently take her hand in his.

She sighed, trying to act like she wasn’t already planning to say yes. “I guess so.”

Jack grinned, leaning in to kiss her temple. “Good. Because I don’t think I could’ve handled another night without you.”

Maryse gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand. “Let’s go home.”

***

AN: tell me your thotssss

Tag List

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[smallestapplin]

aaaaaa i just saw that you take stardew reqs!! i've been following for a bit but i NEVER get your posts on my dash i stg,,,

may i request some cuddles and reassurances for shane? i can't fix him but i want to just hold him and pretend I can,, can be platonic or romantic, up to you!

I love Shane, cause I'm depressed and self destructive too mf now get over here so I can hug you-

Romance is hinted and it's mutual but neither have confessed.

TW : just Shane having some self deprecating thoughts but nothing serious.

-

-

-

Shane has been doing much better in the months following when you found him drunk by the cliff side, you two have grown closer allowing you to watch how therapy continues to improve him.

Some days are better than others, but you're so proud of the improvements he's been making. But even then he still has some bad days, and those are the days he doesn't want you to see.

He feels so tired, so worthless, so useless, all he can do is lay in bed and rot.

He's watched his clock tick from 8am to 12pm to 5pm and so on, he just doesn't have the energy to get up, the fight he had been carrying just feels like a burden now.

He had been doing so good to, he's sure you'd be disappointed in him for slipping into a depressive state like this. Shane is so lost in his head he doesn't hear his bedroom door open or close, but he dos feel his bed side dip at the newly added weight.

But he doesn't bother looking up, afraid he may start crying, which is all the more likely when you so tenderly brush his hair from his face.

"Rough day today?" You ask, though you know the answer.

You smile at him, even as he finally looks at you with tear filled green eyes. Even now, you still look at him with such care and warmth, what did he ever do to deserve you?

You kick your boots off and lay down behind him, curling up against him with your face buried into the back of his neck and your arms around his waist. You know he will tell you when he is ready, but for right now you just want to distract him from his pain.

"You know my chickens missed you today, Jopeep was not happy when I was the one trying to give her pets, made this clucking sound that i swear sounded like she was sassing me."

You chuckle, your smile growing when Shane gives a small snort.

"And then Eggatha, bless her, hopped on my shoulder like she usually does, but kept looking around like a bird on a mission."

He can almost imagine your day with your flock, your chickens have always had such personalities it was a delight.

"I misssed you too, I was worried when you didn't stop by or answered my text, I figured you were sleeping. But I did bring over some stuffed peppers for you."

You sound so happy, like you don't mind being here with him while he's like this.

"You don't have to do all this." His voice is rough and gravely from not being used all day today, but it sounds so weak.

"I know, you make it sound like I do all this out of some obligation. You do know I do all this because I want to, right? You deserve some peace and joy, you've been through enough."

You're doing all this because you want to.

You help him practice the coping skills and thought processes his therapist has given him, because you want to.

You cook his favorite dishes because you want to.

There is no needing to.

There is no feeling pity and doing these things.

You want to.

"I like having you around, it's fun having you over at the farm and I get to see how many starws of hay I can put in your hood before you notice, I like our inside jokes, I like our time together, I like you and your company, even if you can't see it, it's there."

His body trembles, leaving him shaking like a leaf as he tries to hold back the tears that are already falling down his cheeks.

"But why, I'm not..." he trails off, letting out a choked sob, but that doesn't stop you.

"Healing takes time, it's a slow process and there will be days or times you slip back, to take a few steps back, but you're still working on it, you are still trying to change for the better. And i don't know if you have noticed, but even in two months of therpay you have changed, you seem happier, you seem livelier. You will always have rough days or even rough weeks, but that doesn't mean you're a failure."

Shane can't stop the sobs that leave him, he finds himself flipping around to hug you, buring his face into your shoulder to let it all out. You hold him tightly, gently shushing him and reminding him to breathe.

"I will be here no matter what."

You know your love won't fix his pain, but you know your support can help him feel more confident about going about it.

You want to tell him you love him, that you adore him and his dry sense of humor, that his gentleness with the chickens and Jas make your heart swell.

But maybe you will wait a few more months and see how he is feeling.

You know he means the world to you, even as he cries himself to sleep in your arms after muttering 'thank you's over and over again.

He deserves a safe place to feel happy.

And you want to be that for him.

[frozenchihuahua]

Christmas miracle! I finally added it wohoo ;_;

Chapter 2 - Battleships

The week flew by in a blur, and Friday afternoon found Simon once again standing outside Y/N’s office. Despite the passage of days, his mood hadn’t improved much since their first session. Though his hostility had lightly dulled, therapy still felt like a necessary evil rather than something helpful.

The door was slightly ajar, revealing woman seated on a couch inside, a folder of papers in her lap. She seemed lost in thought as she flipped through the pages.

Simon pushed the door open with a sour smirk under mask. “On time today, huh? Guess miracles do happen.”

She glanced up and met his teasing tone with a warm smile. “It’s not a habit of mine to be late.” she said, setting the folder aside. “Last time was an unwanted exception, and trust me, i avoid exceptions. They tend to…poorly.”

Simon’s brow lifted in mild intrigue, though he masked it with a nonchalant shrug. “End poorly?” he echoed, lowering himself into the chair opposite her.

She chuckled lightly, her tone playful. “Oh, nothing you need to worry about. Let’s just say punctuality saves lives. But enough about that, let’s dive into today’s session.” She gestured toward the table between them, where a sheet of paper and a couple of pencils lay in wait.

Simon followed her gesture and frowned. “What’s this supposed to be?”

She clasps her hands. “Today, we’re playing a game.” she announced with a sincere grin.

He blinked at her, incredulous. “A game? You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Therapy takes many forms” Y/N countered, folding her hands casually in her lap. “This time, it’s Battleship. Think of it as strategy practice, for the mind, of course.”

Simon leaned back, skepticism etched into every line of his face. “And how’s playing a game going to fix my mental health?”

Her smile deepened, her voice softening slightly. “Now it’s not about fixing you. You’ve had a rough week. Today, we’re taking the pressure off, no deep dives into feelings, no forced conversations. Just a bit of a active reset.”

He crossed his arms, his stoicism firmly in place. “And if I decide not to play?”

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with a teasing edge. “Then you can always tell me about your feelings instead, you have a choice.” She makes blunt remark with a wink.

Despite himself, Simon smirked, shaking his head. “Alright, fine,” he muttered, grabbing a pencil. “Let’s play your damn game.”

As the game start, Simon played with an air of indifference, his pencil scratching over the paper with a mix of frustration and slow resignation. Y/N matched his pace in game, but her demeanor calm and composed, though her warm smile didn’t waver. Every so often, Simon’s frustration slipped through in the form of sharp remarks.

“So, this is therapy now? Drawing grids and guessing coordinates? You sure i didn’t walk into the wrong room?” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm as he marked a miss on his side of the grid.

Y/N chuckled softly, not rising to his bait. “It’s strategic thinking, stress relief, and maybe even a little fun, though you seem determined to avoid that last part.”

“Fun?” Simon snorted, glancing at her briefly before looking back down at the grid. “Yeah, nothing says fun like pretending we don't waste time while i get lectured by a therapist.”

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Who’s lecturing? I’m just sinking your battleship.”

Simon’s jaw twitched as he glanced at his paper. “You didn’t sink it yet.”

“Not yet” she agreed with a teasing grin. “But I’m getting close. B4.”

He grumbled under his breath, marking another hit. “Lucky guess.”

“Sure” she replied lightly, though her tone hinted at a playful challenge. “It’s all luck.”

They played on in a strange rhythm, Y/N’s calm, measured demeanor met with Simon’s clipped retorts and occasional cutting remarks. Every now and then, she’d glance up from her paper, her warm gaze briefly meeting his stormy one. He always looked away first, a flicker of discomfort crossing his masked face.

“How’s your week been, aside from tolerating this?” she asked casually as she marked a miss on her side.

Simon shrugged, not looking up. “Same as always.”

“And always is…?”

“Busy.” he replied shortly, his tone making it clear he wasn’t interested in elaborating. “F7.”

“Miss.” she said, jotting it down. “Busy can be good, though. Keeps the mind occupied.”

“Yeah, because that’s what I need, more distractions.” Simon muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Y/N paused for a moment, her pencil hovering over the grid. “Distractions can be a double edged sword” she said carefully. “Sometimes they help, sometimes they just delay things.”

Simon snorted, a bitter edge to his laugh. “And you think this game isn’t a distraction?”

She met his gaze steadily. “Yeah it is, for steam off. Sometimes, a little distraction is the first step toward lowering the walls. We won't get anywhere if there's tension between us.”

Simon didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the grid. He called out another coordinate, his tone brusque. “C3.”

She marked a hit, her smile faint but knowing. “Nice shot.”

The game ended with a narrow victory for Simon, though his triumph was muted by his reluctance to engage. As he leaned back, arms crossed, he studied Amalia for a moment, as if trying to figure her out.

“You really think this is going to work?” he asked suddenly, his voice low but pointed.

Woman gathered up the game sheets, her expression thoughtful. “I think it’s a good start.” she said simply. “And sometimes, that’s all we need.”

[youremyheaven]

Have you ever felt that god never listens to you. Or always left when needed? Because I do and I'm not sure how to deal with it. How will I ever gain spirituality, if I don't even trust the creator of it. And no I have tried to be optimistic but it's just not possible when your optimism is always proven wrong.

the way i understand it, the world/God is a mirror. if you raise a hand, your reflection also raises a hand back

what we call "faith" is just our dominant beliefs/thoughts and we CAN consciously change them

looking back, ive had a rough week but i am also profoundly grateful for the fact that i can go to the doctor/have someone who will take me to the doctor, and that i can make my own medical decisions. when i lived with my abusive family, there were times when i was really sick/injured etc and my mother did not believe in hospitals or medicine so id just have to endure unnecessary pain. i had no autonomy and now if im hurt, i can literally get a prescription and take medicine and feel better. these aren't choices that i had in the past.

i can afford to talk to my therapist ("afford" bc therapy costs money ) and i have a therapist who is extremely compassionate and trauma informed and suited to my needs and i know im VERY lucky to have found her.

so i dont question why i had to trip and fall or why that guy had to feel me up or why i have to be alone etc etc and that is faith in action. is it looking at the bright side? maybe. but more so, its about training yourself to see the hidden goodness in every situation.

things are far from perfect but today i have everything that 22yr old me would have wanted.

we feel abandoned by god, when we abandon ourselves. i know that sounds harsh but i mean to say that god is always with you, god is IN you.

we cultivate faith by EXERCISING faith. affirmations help me a lot. self talk also helps (which is basically affirmations). being aware of your thoughts and reflecting upon WHY you feel that way + replacing those thoughts with more helpful thoughts is beneficial. once we can discipline ourselves to see and appreciate goodness (and trust me, this takes practice) it will feel more natural to believe that God is ever present and willing to help us.

i used to feel guilty (??) for asking god for help bc i had this mental thing that i had some imaginary quota of how much help i can ask god before god is like "sorry kiddo, this one's on you, ive done enough" but god is NOT someone with exhaustible resources, we must imagine god as an ever expanding and generous energy that can and will give endlessly because WHY NOT? we live on a planet with a 100 million flowers and plants, our creator is NOT stingy or unimaginative.

so dont be shy, talk to god, ask for help and be prepared to receive it. if you dont get an instant response or solution, DONT GIVE UP or ASSUME that god has abandoned you. BE PERSISTENT. be stubborn and keep showing up. cultivate that relationship with god. everything will unfold for you because it HAS to.

[casketscratch]

That appointment might have been the biggest mistake of my life in recent years. I can't stop crying.

I have been doing nothing but trying to "get better." Two years ago I was drinking constantly and doing so many drugs that I would be high for days. Functionally high, show up to work and seem normal high, but still. I was in and out of the ER for drinking while taking medication. I was in the psych ward for homicidal ideation because I had a plan to go murder one of my traffickers, and checked myself into the hospital instead. I was debilitated by flashbacks no matter how I tried to numb them out or push them down. I would black out, find myself miles from home in the middle of the night, and have to use my GPS to find my way back. Or I'd black out and realize I was in my bathtub cutting my wrists open, trying to prove I was real.

Scarier, I would black out and suddenly "wake up" trying to jump off the balcony of a 29th storey balcony; one leg over, too drunk to coordinate myself, levels of, for me, terrifying. Some part of me was so suicidal, and another part of me did not want to die and would not let it happen. I have always had this emotional throughline of, anything but that.

I don't drink anymore. I don't do many drugs other than smoking nicotine, which I've cut back on significantly, and vaping weed, which, yeah, is daily when things are rough. But I don't have access to any other medication other than 1mg of ativan per day and 3mg of Prazosin. I'm so much more stable, and present, and I'm helping around the house every day now and cooking dinner at least once a week (something I could not do at all before because it was such a trigger for me). I'm not well enough to work, but I'm better than I was before. I have little pockets of routine and stability I've built.

And then this psychiatrist today.

He wants to know why I've been seeing a psychologist for four years and made "no progress." He asked why and how I've been seeing someone for this long and am still having flashbacks and PTSD symptoms. He recommended a 6-month CBT program at the military base because "they have actual psychologists there for this," and EMDR, and then I'll be better. He wanted to know, in detail, what my actual treatment plan is, and implied that he thinks I'm full of shit about DID, that my therapist is full of shit for continuing to see me, and then prescribed me Effexor.

And when I told him, after answering his questions about treatment and everything, that I've been on Effexor before, when I was 13 or 14, and it made me psychotic, he went well, they don't usually give it to children. And I was like, I know, but that standard was put into practice years after I was on it, and I am telling you that I was on it once before and it did nothing but hurt me. So he suggested we just start low, take 8 weeks to work up to the full dose instead of the standard 4, and it should be fine.

He doesn't like me taking Ativan because "that's addictive" despite it being the only thing I'm on that works, and the reason why I wanted to ask about anti-anxiety medication or alternatives in the first place. He does want to up the Prazosin, which, fine by me I guess.

The instant I pushed back or tried to be like, no, really, he started talking about how I cannot still be this "bad" and "not better yet" after four years of therapy over something "that happened when you were 2." And I again tried to push back, and said something like, no, it started when I was two, but I have just told you that I was trafficked by these people for at least a decade, and the abuse ended when I was *29.* He just kind of did not care to hear me, told me I needed EMDR again, and gave me a bunch of forms to sign so he can contact my therapist.

I'm fucking devastated. And furious. The thing about how I just "haven't gotten over" something that happened "all those years ago already" and to just... go find some CBT (again) and do some EMDR (not actually recommended for me) and that my therapist is conning me somehow, lmao?

Like. I don't talk about him much here, but my therapist loses money seeing me -- he had to pay a special provincial license fee that cost him thousands to continue seeing me when I moved, because he seems to actually give a fuck about me and is invested in my getting better. Maybe, once upon a time, I would have wondered about him, but not after he's spent a year losing money on me and has had to jump through a lot of professional hoops to ensure he can. He did not want to abandon me at my worst, and the only reason i survived the nightmare I was in when all my symptoms were at their worst was because he saw me through it. Don't fucking tell me the only person who's been in my corner this entire time is lying to me.

I don't know. I am yet to meet a psychiatrist who isn't just belittling or dismissive of either dissociation in general or... abuse in general, I guess, is what this is. I don't trust this guy, I never want to see him again, and I am too scared to try Effexor again to take this prescription. It fucks up EVERYONE in my family -- my sister, my mom, my aunt, me, all been on it, and it sends all of us into really bad places.

I'm just so fucking pissed off and angry that he would not listen. All I wanted was maybe a mood stabilizer or something medical and in-a-file and standardized that can help my brain the same way L-theanine and litres of green tea seems to, but no. Just dismissal and condescension and being scolded for not "getting over" everything. For not "being better yet."

There's this extra layer here where I feel like, at this point, I know better than this guy does about what helps people like me. I could point to the literature and the studies. No, EDMR is not helpful for cases like mine; yes, there have been some things written about it. The three-phase (stage?) model for trauma recovery means stabilization comes first, and we are so not there yet, and that's just basic knowledge. Why would he suggest that?! What if someone said yes and we ended up way more destabilized than ever before? Who the fuck hears "I was trafficked for 20 years and am struggling to cope with that" and goes aha, 6 weeks of CBT will fix you. Since it has "measurable outcomes."

It just, once again, feels like getting rushed the fuck out of a doctor's office here the instant something complicated comes up. (He did also get so fucking weird about the trans thing and I'm bitter enough to feel like that was part of it, too.)

So, okay, fuck this, fuck this city, fuck this city's doctors.

I think I'm well within my rights to not take this fucking prescription, even if parts are clamouring to because "you're supposed to do what doctors tell you." I'm so scared it will fuck everything up again.

[ashleywool]

"I LOVED THAT SHOW"

I wore my How to Dance in Ohio hoodie to church today. It's Palm Sunday and we did our customary palm procession from Duffy Square into the building, which is nice and all except winter decided to come back and bite my skin off again...so that sweatshirt seemed like the best choice as warm enough for the weather + can fit under my choir robe + won't get swelteringly uncomfortable once we're inside at the service. It did the job. Truly the ultimate transition piece. Get yours today while supplies last.

At fellowship afterwards, someone from the congregation that I didn't know--she's only in NYC part of the year--pointed out my sweatshirt and said "I LOVED THAT SHOW!"

It took her a moment to recognize me (she initially confused me for Madison, which, yeah that happens, I'll never be mad about it), and we had a lovely chat about the show. And what I noticed after walking away was...the subject of autism, or me being autistic, didn't come up at all.

I love and cherish the advocacy aspect of my work on HTDIO. I love and cherish the opportunity it gave me to be the autistic representation I wished I'd had growing up. But I have to say, it was SO nice to have someone, a total stranger, talking about the show and loving the show independent of The Autism Part.

It was wonderful being part of discussions about diverse representation, and I will never turn down opportunities to eagerly participate in those conversations. But I really wanted us to stick around long enough that the "novelty" aspect of "autistic characters played by autistic actors" (or even "canonically nonbinary/genderqueer characters") would wear off sufficiently for more people, so they could focus on the story and the characters and the music and all the other things that make our show great irrespective of the Representation aspect.

I've had a ROUGH few weeks, y'all. Truthfully, I've been going through one of the worst depressive episodes of my life. Aside from the obvious grief factor and logistical stressors, it turns out that post-operative depression is absolutely a thing. While I'd like to think I'm cognitively and emotionally mature enough to handle this level of change, especially considering how lucky I am to have robust support systems in family, friends, and healthcare practitioners, my very autistic nervous system has had a difficult time letting the sympathetic part cooperate with the parasympathetic part. So I've been a ball of tension, exhaustion, and worst of all, that soul-sucking apathy where nothing seems enjoyable or interesting, but maybe it would be if I had the energy to be interested.

It's helped to find a great physical therapy clinic that is giving me comprehensive, multi-pronged care and NOT charging me copays (because apparently my insurance pays them excellently--thank you, Equity-League and Cigna). It's helped that I got back in touch with a therapist I had seen years ago on BetterHelp (she's since left the platform and honestly, GOOD FOR HER). It's helped that I have parents with the means to help me out financially--and, crucially, the means to keep me accountable without resorting to pressure and guilt-tripping. It's helped to still live in a city where financial assistance isn't excruciatingly hard to come by if all else fails (at least compared to other states). It's helped to have agents submitting me for tons of exciting projects, and having several cabarets and readings to look forward to in this time of transition. It's helped to have a really chill, supportive church community keeping me spiritually grounded without buying into the yt American evangelical toxicity. It's helped to have my cats.

But sometimes, what makes me the happiest of all, is hearing "I LOVED THAT SHOW!"

I'll never not be proud to be known for How to Dance in Ohio and everything we stood for. I'm proud that the love was real, and the quality of the material reflected and reverberated that love. I'm proud of the representation aspect, and I'm proud that it wasn't just about that. And people who saw it, saw all of that.

It's so comforting to know that we shared this show with enough people that it's going to continue to matter.

People aren't going to forget.

I love that for us.

By the way, it was too cold to really show it off, but this is the shirt I wore underneath the sweatshirt. :)

[opt1mistic]

okay knee update(for anyone who cares). i had my monthly check today and she(my doctor) told me that i soon can start easing back into physical activities, nothing to rough as to not hurt the muscles. she’s also said to look into physical therapy..and i was thinking that would be such a great idea, but DAMN these physical therapist are so freaking expensive. so me thinks im gonna have to hold off on that for now. but another good thing i can drive again💪 i am beyond happy about that, literally jumping up and down with joy, bc public transport is literal hell around these parts of town especially….anyways

[bitterspoons]

Dead Girl's Wish Oneshot

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader

Summary: Ever since you were little—you were different. So was Remus. You went to therapy together and you were perfect....He asked to marry you...Happily Ever After is dead

Flashbacks are in italics

Warning: Lots of Angst and Lots of Blood

No use of Y/n

Word Count: 1.9k

Your boyfriend, Remus said he had a surprise for you. He wanted to hang out in the gardens of Hogwarts.

You had a surprise for him too—just not a good one.

As you walked towards the Greenhouse—tears already building up in your eyes...you remembered why this had to happen in the first place.

You two met in therapy when you were eight.

***

“We thought it would be better if you had someone similar around you—it would be easier for you to progress.” Miss Kempe, the therapist explained. 

Little Remus rocked on his feet. “There’s another werewolf?” He asked excitedly, nibbling on a bar of chocolate. 

“Well…no but…you’ll see.” Miss Kempe stood up and opened the door. “C’mon sweetie, you can come in.” 

Slowly, a pale little girl trudged into the room. She was clutching onto her oversized cardigan for dear life as her long hair hid her face. Her dirty white sneakers entered the room and sat on the chair near Remus. 

“Okay—how about you two get to know each other while I talk to your parents?” She closed the door. 

“Hello!” Remus waved. 

“Hi…” She said back. “What’s your name?” She asked quietly. 

“I’m Remus! What’s yours?” 

You two introduced yourselves to each other for a while—getting to know each other a bit. 

“Can I see your face?” Remus inquired. 

But the little girl backed away a bit. “I don’t think you want to. It’s scary.” She warned. 

“People think my face is scary.” Remus insisted. “It’s because I have a scar—do you have a scar?”

“No—and your face isn’t scary.” The little girl said before turning away bashfully. “Your face is pretty.” 

“Please?” 

In a moment of confidence, the little girl tucked her hair behind her ears and looked at Remus nervously. 

Her skin was practically translucent, and around her diluted red eyes you could see colorful veins decorating her eyelids and cheeks. 

“I think you’re pretty.” Remis grinned. 

“Really?” She asked. “How’d you get that scar?” 

Remus scootched his chair closer. “Don’t tell anyone…but I’m a werewolf.” 

She gasped. “Really? Like you can turn into a wolf?” 

Remus nodded. “It hurts alot but I can! Once every months at a full moon!” He recited. 

She also looked around. “I have a secret too. I’m half zombie.” 

Remus’s eyes widened. “I never heard of that!”

“Nobody has! The doctors don’t know either. That's why I look like this.” She explained. 

“Does it hurt?”

The two kids spent 5 hours chatting about their ailments and other things and soon became best friends. 

The parents and Miss Kempe watched them from outside the door. “I think this arrangement will work nicely.” 

***

You weren't sure if that qualified as a meet-cute but either way—your love story had to come to an end.

After all, he didn't deserve you. How could he? Look at yourself.

***

Today was a particularly rough session where they were encouraged to talk about their biggest insecurity with each other while Miss Kempe was out of the room. 

The two tweens sat in silence. 

“I wish I looked like the girls in the magazines.” You blurted, staring at the pile of newspapers and magazines on the table. 

Remus nodded before looking down. “I wish I wasn’t dangerous.” 

You laughed. “Well clearly I’m an asshole.” You scoffed at yourself. “I’m only worried about myself for cosmetic reasons.” You picked at your nails, the conversation pitted again. 

This time, Remus started it. “I think I fear it because it means that nobody deserves to love me.” 

Your head shot back up. “Same…I would feel bad for the person who loved me.”

“Maybe we deserve each other.” Remus laughed and the two 11 year olds laughed off their pain. 

“You deserve someone a lot better than me.” You concluded—grabbing a caramel from the candy bowl. 

“Likewise.” Remus replied—sending them both into another fit of sad laughter. “Well then…” He grabbed one of the ring pops from the candy bowl. “Will you marry me?”

You laughed, taking another ring pop from the bowl. “Only if you marry me!” 

“Wonderful!” 

You spent the rest of the lesson talking about what Hogwarts would be like and eating enough candy to feed a village. 

***

But that isn't how today was going to end. You refuse to laugh this off and eat candy until you had a stomach ache—you were going to face this like a big girl.

You remembered how Remus asked you out two years ago.

You were at the Great Hall for dinner. Remus had been repetitively proposing his hand in marriage to you—each time you said no and that he deserved someone better than her.

***

Ignoring all the stares you got from your grade mates, you sat down to eat when a fortune cookie appeared on your plate.

"Why don't you go see what it says?" Remus asked, nudging it closer to you.

"Oh god, what did you do?" You tried hiding your face and moving as far away as you could as you opened the cookie. Nothing happened so you sat comfortably again before reading the message inside.

________________

Will you marry me? — Remus J Lupin

________________

"No, Remus. You deserve somebody better than me." Came your usual response. "How did you even manage this?"

"Please?" He begged.

You laughed—grabbing some lasagna onto your plate. "No!"

"Even with an itty-bitty cherry on top?"

"You know I don't like cherries."

Remus pouted. "But that's why it's itty-bitty!" He protested. "Marry me?"

"No."

He slouched "Fine how about helping me study next Sunday for divination?"

"Sure." You grabbed out a pen to do your homework—ignoring the crushed up paper balls that people were throwing at you.

"Is 9 okay?"

"Sure." You responded once again, catching one of the flying paper balls and unrolling it so you could write your potions essay on it.

"Can you also help me pick out an outfit?"

"Sure." You started focusing on your essay.

"After can I take you on a date?"

"Sure." You hadn't even realised hat you agreed to for a moment. You shot your head up. "What?"

"Well you already said yes." Remus grinned, stealing a bite of your lasagna.

"You cheeky little—"

***

You two had continued going on more dates until you two finally kissed under the Mistletoe at Honeydukes. You returned to Hogwarts as a couple.

You really wished you could stay together. You made such good memories over the years and you really wished you could stay Highschool sweethearts once you graduated from Hogwarts in a few days but...you didn't want to condemn Remus to living a life with you.

Everyday, you woke up and checked how dead you looked that day. How green were you, how colorful were your veins, were your ribs decaying again?

Everyday you watches as girls fawned over Remus, flirting with him and you couldn't help but wonder how they could look so pretty.

It looked right—Remus with a pretty girl by his side and yet he felt obligated to be your girlfriend.

You didn't want to torment him like this.

So as you met each other in the greenhouse—you two made small talk for a while.

Helping water flowers, you told Remus how excited you were to spend more time with your newborn brother, Teddy.

Remus told you how excited he was to live a life beyond school. He told you how nervous he was to live his life when a war was going on.

"I'm just worried about you, ya know? I'm worried about everyone. Lily, you—all our muggleborn friends... That's kind of why I wanted to talk to you. Ya know, live life while we can." Remus shuffled his feet as he blushed.

You didn't see the blushing—instead you saw the worry and dread on his face. You realised how selfish you had been—spending so much of Remus's time where he would be safe and free—the time he should've spent with prettier, and smarter girls.

So you turned to him and told him you wanted to break up. Plain and simple. It wasn't him, it was you and you were sorry.

Without seeing his reaction—you ran out of the greenhouse and apperrated home.

Remus stood there stunned as he clenched the small black box that was in his hand.

It was all a misunderstanding, wasn't it? They probably needed to talk it out and everything would be okay.

Wouldn't it?

He loved you ever since your first therapy session–he genuinely thought you were the most beautiful person ever—inside and out. (Quite more literally too.)

He had spent weeks building up the courage—too many pep talks from James and Peter and too much time picking out a ring with Sirius and Lily.

He wanted to give you space—maybe wait for the initial shock to blow over so he did.

The next day, he figured you went home already so he used the Floo network to get to your house.

It was dark inside your usually bright and lively household.

A house that was usually filled with laughing, yelling, scolding and giggles was reduced to silence.

"Hello?" His voice echoed in the house was he was not alone.

So he walked through the rooms of your house until he saw your parents and older sister in your living room.

Dead.

He saw a trail of blood leaving the living room and he started running.

As he followed the trail—it lead to your room and the amount of blood was getting increasing—he was leaving foot prints in it. The hem of his pants were swimming in it.

His running came to quick stop when he slipped and fell.

Groaning, he tried getting back up but stopped in his tracks as chills ran down his spine.

His eyes glances at his hands and his pants as he dusted himself off from the fall when he realised that he had slipped on blood.

His eyes trailed further in front of him and he saw your dead body in a giant pool of blood.

The same pool of blood he had slipped in.

He checked for your pulse and did CPR for a good half an hour until he broke down sobbing. Cradling your body— he looked out the window to see the Dark Mark in glowing traces.

He swiped his hair off his cheek—unknowingly smearing the blood from his hands onto his face.

He fumbled with the ring in his pocket and slipped it into your cold dead hand. "Will you marry me?" He wailed. "Please answer..."

But your dead body didn't answer.

He cried even harder, pounding his fist against the floor boards when he heard something.

A baby.

His eyes darted to your closet. He scrambled up and saw the bloodied hand prints on the doors as you had opened them in your final moments.

He carefully opened the door to your closet where he saw your baby brother Teddy crying in bloodied blankets.

Remus quickly took off the blanket and made sure Teddy wasn't injured to see that your baby brother was completely fine and the only one alive in your family.

You had sacrificed yourself to save Teddy.

Remus shed off his hoodie, getting Teddy out of the blood stained blankets and cooing him to sleep.

Remus started wailing again—seeing your cold smile against the dirty carpet.

He clutched your baby brother and apperated to where all his friends were waiting—waiting to celebrate the newly engaged couple.

Instead—they got a broken Remus and a baby Teddy and the start of a tragedy.

Because as each of his friends died.

He promised to take care of Teddy like his own son.

Your last wish.

[ayosdesignz-blog]

Dear cacklers...We are gathered around this post today so that I: current self proclaimed kinkshamer; may share my observations of one villain Kraven of the Spiderman 2 game.

That man is too excited by the hunt.

Too interested in dying from the hunt.

I'm sitting there watching some game plays and having things explained to me by my little brother and as more time passes the more sus everything this dude's every action is.

Like I'm at the point where I feel like the guy needs to stop what he's doing to take a cold shower and maybe take like 5 (hours) to just fuckin chill out.

Cuz the man's a freak.

Like: super freak, super freaky🎵

And I'd personally recommend that he gets all the therapy. And if he DO got a therapist he clearly isn't paying them enough or needs a better one or BOTH!

When I tell you...the tension was bordering on sexual in most encounters...💅🏽

Too many small moments...and I admit that I might have been exaggerating for the lols a bit as my ✨️dirty mind✨️ decided it wanted to act up.

But the scene where Peter/Venom put this guy in a scary tentacled chokehold and he had the audacity to look pleased and THEN TAKE IT FURTHER BY BEGGING HIM TO DO IT HARDER??!!!!

I was couldn’t breathe around the pterodactyl noises that were surprised out of me from that...

CLEARLY...I wasn't imagining things before that scene if this motherfucker is now over here going like: choke me like you hate me but you love me🎵

Except with the full on aura of: ~I love the kind of woman that can actually just kill me~

Looking ass.

Had me dying lowkey fr wondering if this dude had always been a sexual deviant or if it's just this game iteration. Because he's honestly one of the villains I don't really remember from my childhood.

Now Venom out here lowkey being a hoe, with his thick ass, trying to show everyone what that tongue do as I (yell at the tv and) demand he put that thing back where it came from is completely normal and familiar.

For comparison purposes.

I am not familiar with a hunter (in Spiderman) so thrilled for a hunt he's willing to do mind games to break a person into not holding back and undo their "cures" so that he can fight them when they're no longer themselves. Getting into personal spaces, constantly grinning, goading and insisting, what the body language is saying...and in the case of this particular scene...begging.

Now I don't know if this man is gay...but that was fucking gay. 🤣

Why he look like he might be ready to bust a nut over this other man ✨️~consensually~✨️ roughing him up? And there's tentacles involved? 👀 que the lip biting 🫦

Gotta be somewhat gay.

And that's kwel or whatever but maybe NOT want sexual pleasure in them maiming and then killing you.

Kraven? More like Kray-kray.

Cuz that shits beyond fucking weird, wrong even, and I will stand by this.

[whentherewerebicycles]

I am soooooo sleepy still but god I feel so much better physically and emotionally. the swelling isn’t totally gone but it’s not as noticeable and it doesn’t hurt anymore so massive improvement over the last couple days. I have a feeling the anxiety will come creeping back in as it always does but I’m going to try to really savor the post-healthy scan reprieve and I hope that the next time it surges I’ll be better equipped to handle it (more data, therapy, etc).

I also feel better having gotten through that workshop! there was a small group of boys in the back who talked through the entire thing—I was kinda shocked the prof whose class I was visiting didn’t say anything to them?—so I had to do a lot more classroom management than you typically have to do in a college class, but idk when I sat down with them in small groups and facilitated the activity they did a decent job with it. the other two groups (all girls lol) were super engaged and had a great discussion. so whatever lol. I get the sense that students here are very used to being talked at and then when they do small group activities some of them view that as like, well the teaching has stopped so I can do whatever I want now as this obviously doesn’t matter. but it was fun to think on the drive home about how I would tackle that challenge if I was their long-term prof. I think in my past classes we tend to do a lot of activities upfront that are tied to content but are really geared towards teaching students how to be in this type of class (where there’s only brief bursts of lecturing and most of the actual work is hands-on or student-led in their groups). so then you get practice and you learn the expectations and hopefully also you get to experience how much more engaging/useful it is to learn that way so there’s more buy-in from the group as a whole. anyway much to think about. I hope they let me teach soon!!!!!

okay. I have two workshops left this week but only one of them requires more prep (and even that one won’t be too bad—I just gotta find a bunch of specific examples and add a few more slides). today is a campus day but it’s a super easy one. here goes:

6:30-8 can do some mindless scrolling but also brainstorm for slides, answer faculty emails, etc.

8-9 shower/get ready

9ish leave for work… I will let myself buy a nice coffee and a breakfast burrito again if I want. I am giving myself lots of little treats this week as it has been a kinda rough one lol.

10-11 CJ mtg

11-11:30 brainstorm troika problem (I think use the DS program/summer programs issue)

11:30-12:30 lunch with KA

1-2 faculty mtg

2-3 team mtg (troika)

3ish drive home so I can walk the dogs before it gets dark maybe?

3:30-4:30 take an actual long walk with the dogs these poor creatures have been trapped inside for days.

watch hockey game but remember therapist is calling at 6 to schedule. maybe put the game on the TV and then try to finish slides on my laptop while watching

6:30-9:30 choir

collapse into bed zzzzzz these “late nights” on thursdays kill me lol I need to be tucked into bed by 7 these days

[fahrni]

American Healthcare is substandard

My trip to the ER today was a success, in a way, but also a failure.

My hope was I’d get an MRI to better understand what’s going on with the discs in lower lumbar. It’s where my pain is focused.

I arrived, got in pretty quickly, and had a great doc visit me. I explained what was going on and my hope for the outcome of the visit. She listened intently and asked a series of questions I answered.

She explained to me the only thing that would result in an MRI is the inability to empty my bladder, being unable to defecate, or weakness in a leg or legs. That’s it.

She shared that my insurance company would outright reject the MRI because I didn’t meet any of those conditions. She also said “You can pay for it yourself but I don’t know how you feel about a $10,000 MRI bill?” 😳

TL;DR - I don’t qualify for an MRI because I’m just in, at times, excruciating pain. But I can still walk (kind of) and pee and poop. 🤬

So, I got two injections; a muscle relaxer and a steroid. I don’t recall the names. The doc also prescribed a different muscle relaxer than I was prescribed prior because it did funny things to me.

This afternoon by 3PM or so the pain was back to a bearable level. In that regard, it was a success.

The lack of an MRI is a complete failure. Sure, I had X-rays a few weeks back so we know the bony parts are in rough shape, but we have zero clue how the soft tissues look. Do I have a bulging disc, or more? Who knows? The doctors don’t know and the physical therapists I visit won’t know exactly what PT plan I need to, hopefully, feel better.

We live in the richest nation in the world and our healthcare industry is driven by penny pinching insurance companies claiming we don’t need certain procedures, even though they don’t know.

One of the questions I was asked by the doctor was “Do you feel like hurting yourself or someone else?”

Think about that for a minute. Chronic pain can really screw with your mind. You get tired of it physically and mentally and just stop caring.

Yes, people commit suicide because of pain and insurance company games; Delay, Deny, Defend.

People also murder insurance company CEO’s because of their crap policies that delay and deny people the care they need.

I said “No” to both questions because I haven’t reached that “I can’t take this anymore” phase. I’m doing ok and I hope I’ll bet an MRI after my physical therapy, but I’m losing hope.

Oh, yeah, this seems to be the way in Virginia. I’ve had MRI’s in California that were never challenged by the insurance company. Maybe it’s because I have a different insurance company now? It’s probably the latter.

[the-specter]

{[Audio and video transcript of Dr. The Fourth Sunken Tree Floating in Fresh Water's 3rd patient of the day, May 1st, 2025 Mollusk Era, at 1:00 AM]}

{[T: Therapist]}

{[S: Client]}

T: "Welcome back Specter, glad to see you remembered!"

S: "Lee hit me on the head with their frying pan just to get me to go."

It rubbed its head.

"I would have forgotten if they didn't."

T: "...Well, it worked I guess."

She chuckled softly.

"So, let's get right to the point. Today we will be discussing mania. From what I've picked up, you have experienced something similar to a manic episode. Could you possibly elaborate on the events of the Grand Run and the second siege of Wahoo World? Perhaps a bit on the second siege of Inkblot?"

S: Its silent for a bit, staring into the ceiling.

"Well...it was....it was..."

It pauses again, words lost on its tongue.

T: "...take your time, it's safe here."

S: It swallowed.

"Grand Run was when things went down the gutter. I had been in kind of...a decline since the Big Big Run, Lee was upset and therefore I was too. But when I saw that egg counter, everything just...shattered."

T: "Were your emotions out of control?"

S: "Yes. I felt like I needed to do something. I was restless for the days leading up to the run, and when I arrived at the scene, the ability to really command the armies with just a flick of the fin was exhilarating. I felt like a god, and I was obsessed with completing this goal of ending Grizzco's reign once and for all and enact revenge for all the roe lost at their hands."

T: She nods along, writing information down.

"Heightened excitement and/or irritation, self righteousness, invincibility? Does that sound right?"

S: "...Sure?"

T: "And these feelings and desires have returned, right?"

S: "I believe so. It got worse after Grand Run. The knowledge that we lost so much during that run caused me to spiral, and my hunger for change didn't change. That's what led to me ending up so mad during Wahoo World."

T: "I see."

She wrote down some more information.

"My hypothesis that this event was a manic episode holds true with this evidence. In case you don't know, mania is a condition that is an elevation of activity and energy, and is a notable change in mood. For you, you find yourself easily irritable, and you receive euphoria from taking action on your desires. You feel invincible, and you are obsessed with your goal, that being making change in the war between us and Grizzco Industries. You also find that you're impulsive, which has led to the harm of yourself and others. You may also be experiencing delusions and hallucinations. Does this all sound accurate?"

S: It hums slightly.

"Yes."

T: "Well then, that settles that."

She writes more information down.

"I'd also like to mention that manic episodes and mania in general are a common symptom of a Bipolar I disorder, but we're not really here to get you tested for that, are we? If you'd like, I could point you to someone who specializes in this."

S: "...I'll think about it."

It leaned over to look more clearly at the therapist, its gaze notably somber.

"What can I do to prevent something like this from happening again?"

T: "There are a good few treatments for mania, which include talk therapy and medications. However, there are also ways that you can prevent manic episodes from growing to such a scale. You can do this by avoiding stimulating activities or environments that would cause you to grow restless. Sticking to routines is important as well, as it gives you something to look forward to and things get rough."

S: "So, ignorance?"

T: She takes a moment to think.

"In your case, yes?"

S: It hums, leaning back on its seat.

"I'd like to mention that my emotions towards Grizzco are in check at the moment. I actually recently had a chat with Roe Marin-Grizz. She's the poster child and quite literally Grizzco's little princess. She lead the battle to stop Mitralypsis. She recently visited me, asking what she could do to learn more about our people. I welcomed her with relatively open fins despite the fact that she was nearly among those dead at Wahoo World."

T: "I see, I see. What are your current feelings towards her?"

S: "...not hate, but not friendship either. She's a face I know. Perhaps...a face I respect. She is honorable, I can tell you that. Honorable for Grizzco's princess."

T: "Well, that mutual respect is a good thing."

She grinned.

"That'll do it for today. I want you to take some time to ground yourself this week if you plan to reflect. It'll help you, I'm sure. Next week we'll discuss more coping mechanisms for mania. Have a nice rest of your week, Specter."

S: "You too."

{[End of transcript]}