#therapeutic boarding school

[keiraonline]

“Like Thomas Houlahan said “The abuse of a child is the business of anyone who knows about it””

“Now you know”

My time in the troubled teen industry March 8th 2016 - December 16th 2017 (plus multiple abusive programs after for years)

Finally finished watching The Program on Netflix. I’m angry. I’m happy. I’m exhausted. I’m tired. I’m relieved. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest. People know about these places now. These programs. Where kids are abused and it’s labeled as therapy. Where I was abused. Verbally. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. I’ve seen things no child should ever see. I’ve gone through things no child should ever have to go through. The places I’ve been to, wilderness, therapeutic boarding school, residentials, inpatients, rehabs, hospitals all before the age of 18 have broken me. Have completely destroyed the light inside me. And I’ve spent the last 7 years trying to recover from my wilderness and boarding school. And I’ve spent the last 3 trying to recover from rehabs, residentials, inpatients and hospitals. And at 21 I’m just finally starting to enjoy the things I did when I was 13, before my life came to a screeching halt. I am not the person I was before I left. I will never be that person ever again. I have to build myself up again because of the troubled teen industry, and the fact that survivors are speaking out. Making documentaries. That gives me hope that one day, with time, I’ll be close to the person I once was. I’ll be a person again. I’ll be human again.

Katherine will forever be a hero in my mind. Every single person involved in this documentary. A hero. Genuinely so proud of them all. Thank you for bringing light to this. Thank you for making the world aware. Thank you.

[losttrackoftimeagain]

Exactly 16 years ago, my parents sent me to a “therapeutic” wilderness program, which led to a residential “treatment” center, which led to a “therapeutic” boarding school. None of these places were science-based, and all three were abusive in various ways. A part of me died during those 2.5 years away from home. I often think about who I could’ve been had I not been sent away. Idk. I hate that it still hurts this much, still affects me this deeply.

[xxflutterinax]

being suicidal from a young age +

abusive but wealthy caregivers +

being sent away indefinitely as a child and only having the possessions that don’t get confiscated or deemed inappropriate as the one constant in your life because you get bounced from institution to institution for years and you get randomly stepped up or stepped down and randomly told you have to pack your shit and switch rooms/dorms/wards for unknowable reasons but if your MCR hoodie comes everywhere with you then you have something to rely on even if the drawstring was taken and ‘lost’ like three admissions ago +

coping with materialism because people are fallible but physical mass produced items are real and true and reliable =

it is 2024 and physical items are getting worse and worse and i can feel the difference in my childhood dolls vs the ones i get now and there is nothing i can do about it and if this carebear i just got has a hole in its seam right out of the box i will throw up blood and bile and void and antimatter and sulfuric acid and spontaneously combust i swear to satan

[ofdinosanddais1]

To all the people who say "well, what if a parent sending their kid to a troubled teen facility is a last resort", I am here to counter that with the fact that sending your kid to a troubled teen facility will absolutely make it worse.

Sending your kid to a troubled teen facility as a "last resort" is like trying to remove a brain tumor by shooting at it with a gun. These facilities are so absolutely dog shit that they will make the problem you seek to remove ten times worse.

Do not send your child to these facilities even as a last resort. They will never help your child.

[whatbigotspost]

Damn a lot of gen X and millennial teens sure were Guinea pigs in the horrific experiment* of all the “scared straight” and “behavioral corrections programs” and “military schools” and “therapeutic boarding schools” and “pray out the gay camps” and other fucking abusive “give us your troubled teens and we’ll fix em up” bullshit that was extremely popular in the 90s and 00s.

They’re telling all the stories now and have been for years and the depths of the horrors are mind boggling. They’re making all the docs and writing all the books and pulling back the lids on all the seedy underbellies and throwing the terror into the light so we can all stare at all the traumas that occurred and in some places are still occurring.

*btw we can say beyond all doubt none of this shit “worked” to help ANYONE of course. Except the abusers who got to get rich off of abuse. So many of the survivors will be the first to say they’re deeply fucked up by it and many haven’t survived the experience. Messed up beyond words.

[futbolfatale]

School stress

Pairing: Lucy Bronze X Reader, Millie Bright X Reader

Tags: School Stress, fully clothed baths, you Acidently water board yourself, Lucy calling reader Mami, Mommy Issues,

Summary: Reader Gets stressed out with school and begins to question her worth.

WordCount: 0.7k

School had always come easy for you, so it was extremely frustrating when a class was hard, which is what led to your current breakdown in your now cold bathtub fully clothed. It's truly not your best moment but it is rather therapeutic. “Mami We are home” Luce’s voice startles you from your haze as you fully begin to take in the scene around. This looks really bad especially because you had just told them how good you were feeling. “Fuck” You mutter trying to strip off your soaking wet clothes and drain the bath at the same time is not a good idea.

As you fall into the bath with your shirt plastered to your face and water trying to suffocate you. Panic fills your chest as you accidentally breathe in some water. You can’t die like this you can already imagine the posts “Deranged girl waterboards herself leading to her death”.

Before you can even try to get out someone is retching you out and laying you on your back. You start to cough up water as Millie pats your back firmly. “It's okay, Mami just breathed. In and out ” Lucy holds your hair back. You cough up the last of the water before sitting up. “What happened,” Millie asks, rubbing slow circles in your back. ‘“Do you think I’m stupid?” You ask, pressing your soaking wet hair out of your face. “Why would We think you are stupid” Millie asks.” Cause that stupid test” You can’t make eye contact with them. “You know those tests don’t show how smart you are and math is a really hard subject. There is no shame in struggling sometimes,” Mill explains, helping you strip out your remaining clothes.

“Is this why you were being so weird this morning?” Luce asks as she and Mills help you into some pajamas. “I wasn’t being weird” you defined as slightly annoyed at her audacity. “You wouldn't get out of bed and you didn’t even drink the coffee I made you” Mills gestures to the long cold cup of coffee on the nightstand. “ Am I not allowed to lie in on my day off?” You defend walking to the cup and taking it into the kitchen, both of them trailing after you. “You are allowed to lie in as much as you want but you didn’t even answer our texts” Luce grabs you from behind wrapping you in a tight hug and pressing her face into your still-wet hair.

“We are just worried about you, if it's this bad maybe you should drop the class” Mills holds both of your hands in hers as she speaks. “ You know I can’t do that” You pull away from both of them and start towards the couch. You just need to be away. They don’t understand what this is like. “ Why because your mom says so” Lucy calls after you are even more annoyed now that you've pushed her away. “I can’t be a quitter.” You flop onto the couch staring up at the ceiling as tears gather in your eyes. “Quitting this one thing doesn’t make you a quitter.” Mills joins you on the couch pulling your feet into her lap and massaging them gently. “She Thinks it does” You can’t bring yourself to look at them. They get this disappointed look on their faces when you talk like this and you can't stand it. “You Don’t need to care what your mom thinks anymore. She isn't your keeper, she isn’t paying for your education, we are and as your partners, we think you should drop the class.” Lucy explains from her spot knelt on the floor in front of you. “I’ll call the college tomorrow and get them to take you out of the class.”. 

“You would do that for me” You look between them both the tears that had gathered in your eyes finally falling. “Of course love we would do this and so much more to preserve your mental health you deserve better than this.” Mills stands up and grabs your hands pulling you with her. “How about we go and get a sweet treat.” “I think that sounds really good” You smile as you follow them out to the car.

[nieves-de-sugui]

A Quick History of BL

As someone who wrote a thesis on this very subject a few years ago, here is the short version of how BL has evolved throughout the years. For the new comers ❤ 

a minute of silence for the original form of this post that tumblr decied to not save right after I saved it

I am going to go with a chronological approach. Unfortunately, I cannot put everything in one post so if there’s any questions about this or that aspect of the history of BL that you want to know and it’s not talked about here, you are welcome to ask me directly :)

Context and influences - Japan in the 60′s

Before the US forced Japan to open its borders to the outside world in the 1800s, homosexual practices were common place between budist monks, samurais and kabuki actors. During the Edo period (1600s to 1800s) there was a very rich amount of poetry, art, books (such as Nanshoku Okagami (The Great Mirror of Male Love) by Ihara Saikaku) and codes of conduct about how to have a good master/aprentice relationship, kinda like the greeks if you know what I mean. However, with the arrival of western influences, in order to become a more “civilized” country, it was all put in the closet. 

Yet, in the 60′s Japan started to pick it up again through literature about young androginous beautiful boys (aka bishounen). On one hand, in 1961, the novel Koibitotachi no Mori (A Lover’s Forest) by Mari Mori was published. It tells the story of a young and beautiful 19 year old worker and a half french half japanese aristocrat, and their tragic romance. On the other hand, Taruho Inagaki wrote Shounen ai no Bigaku (The esthetics of boy-love), an essay on aesthetic eroticism (of which he wrote a lot of). All this was know as Tanbi (lit. aesthetic) literature. It generally refered to literature with implied homosexuality and homoeroticism such as works by Oscar Wilde, Jean Cocteau, etc. And of course, Mori and Inagaki. 

In chinese tanbi is read as danmei (term used to refer to BL novels in china today, ie: The Untamed it’s all connected friends).

From the birth of Shonen Ai  to Yaoi - 70′s to the late 80′s

Around the beginning of the 70′s, shoujo was being revolutionized by the Year 24 Group, a generation of women manga authors (mangaka) who started to explore new themes. Among them, their interest in tanbi gave birth to a new subgenre: Shounen ai. 

Their most known manga were:

Kaze to Ki no Uta (The Ballad of the Wind and Trees) by Keiko Takemiya, and Toma no Shinzo (The Heart of Thomas) by Moto Hagio

Their stories are characterized by having suffering eurpoean bishounen in boarding schools, living an idealized perfect love (meaning passionate) that, despite the tragic end of one of them, lives forever in the other. 

As this genre starts getting popular, more and more fans of these stories start making their own self published manga, aka doujinshi, of the genre. It is around this time that the term Yaoi is coined. Meaning “YAma nashi, Ochi nashi, Imi nashi” (no climax, no fall, no meaning). Basically PWP fanfiction, for the most part. Doujinshis could be considered an equivalent of fanfiction in manga form.  It is also here that the term Fujoshi (aka Rotten Girl, for liking rotten things) starts being used to refer to women readers of yaoi. 

With this rise in popularity come the start of the commercialization of the genre. Which meant the publication of magazines dedicated solely to yaoi/shonen ai/BL. The most popular yaoi manga magazine at the time was June. The common trait of their stories being the therapeutic power of the love between the mains. The traumatized character would heal throught this newfound love.

Most of the stories at this time happened in the West (Europe or the States) as the exploration of these dark themes intertwined with homosexual romance and homoeroticism still feel safer to explore as a foreign concept. One example would be Banana Fish (1985).

Commercialization and Yaoi Ronso -  90′s 

As more publishing houses pick the genre up, the term Boys Love is used to include every type of manga about homosexuality made for women. 

The increasing amount of BL series sees a changes in its themes: 

the start of the “gay for you” trope where one mantains their heterosexuality despite being in a homsexual relationship, 

the uke/seme dynamic (mirroring hetero realtionships) also relating to physical appearence (one being more feminine, the other being more masculine), 

the use of rape as an act love (sexual violence has always been present but here it becomes a staple),

anal sex as the only type of sex, 

older and more masculine men start to appear 

they now happen in Japan

Good examples of the presence of these themes in manga are Gravitation (1996) or Yatteranneeze (1995).

However in 1992, Masaki Sato (a gay activist/drag queen) wrote a letter in a small scale feminist magazine attacking yaoi and pointing out how it “represented a kind of misappropriation or distortion of gay life that impacted negatively upon Japanese gay men”. The female readers of yaoi responded, defending the genre as a means to escape gender roles and explore sexual themes that was never meant to represent the realities of gay men. This is know as the Yaoi Ronso (Yaoi Debates).

The debate ended with both sides understanding more of each other, with mangakas starting to include queer views in their works. It also started the academic reasearch of BL. 

Yet, it is a debate that has been restarted more than once, as it is still relevant despite the evolution of the genre.

more on this on another post

Globalization and coining of BL - 2000′s 

By the beginning of the 2000s BL is being sold all over the world (like all manga), and has become a stable industry. We could say it has finally become it’s own genre. 

Some of the most well known manga series, to us (in the west), of the time are:

Junjou Romantica 2002 Koi Suru Boukun 2004 Love Pistols 2004 Haru wo Daiteita 1999

all of these have anime adaptations for the curious ones

We also start seeing short anime adaptations or special episodes of the most popular series, with questionable themes, such as: adoptive father x adoptive son  (Papa to Kiss in the Dark 2005), father x son’s friend (Kirepapa 2008), etc... 

However the themes remain more or less the same. Junjou Romantica’s love story starts with a non-con sex scene by the older one (masc, seme) to the younger one (more feminine, uke) addressed years later in the manga btw. Koi Suru Boukun’s love story is triggered by aphrodisiacs and rape. They’re still very present in the stories but slowly going away. A mangaka that represents this era could be Natsume Isaku (Candy Color Paradox 2010).

Change is slow in Japan. Even though the voices of LGBT+ people started to be taken into account in the genre it is not until later that we see it reflect in the mangas themselves. However, we can already see the start of this in Doukyusei (Classmates) (2006) by Asumiko Nakamura. Also Kinou Nani Tabeta? (2007) which is actually part of a more mature genre: Seinen.

It is my personal (subjective) theory that the BL of this era was the one that got popular outside of Japan, which is why we see lots of references to the themes, tropes and dynamics of this time in today’s BL series. 

The LGBTzation of BL and the rise of webtoons - 2010′s to 2020′s

Slowly but surely LGBT characters and themes enter the scene of BL. Existing simultaneously with the previous tropes and themes, we start seeing a shift in these stories. We now see:

characters that identify as gay or some type of queer

discussions about homophobia

more mature themes about life and romance

At the same time as we get the usual love stories with the usual themes, a new trend starts to take over. And we get simultaneously, cute, sometimes questionable but light love stories:

Love Stage 2010 Ashita wa Docchi da! 2011 Kieta Hatsukoi 2019

More profound stories and darker or more complex themes:

Blue Sky Complex 2013  Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai 2011 (mafias) Given 2013 (suicide) Hidamari ga Kikoeru 2013 (deafness)

And others that adress the queer experience in a more mature way (which might actually fall into the Seinen genre)

Itoshi no Nekokke 2010 (slice of life, queer characters) Smells like Green Spirit 2011 (two ways to deal with a homphobic society) Strange 2014 (relationships between men) Shimanami Tasogare 2015 (an LGBT group helps a closeted gay) Old Fashioned Cupcake 2019 (you know this one 😉) Bokura no Micro na Shuumatsu 2020 (the end of the world)

As queer stories are explored, BL mangakas and mangakas from other genres start to consider more stories about queer people such as the Josei Genderless Danshi ni Aisaretemasu (My Androgynous Boyfriend) (2018) by Tamekou, or the Shoujo Goukon ni Itarra Onna ga Inakatta Hanashi (The story of when I went to a mixer and there were no women) (2021) by Nana Aokawa. 

Still, we can see two realities live side by side. Doukyuusei gets adapted into an impactful animated movie in 2016, meanwhile Banana Fish gets an anime adaptation that keeps the homoeroticism but not the homosexuality.  

For those who might be interested. Here are some of the authors that represent the first half of this era, where they start to include newer points of view:

Scarlet Beriko, HAYAKAWA Nojiko, KURAHASHI Tomo, OGERETSU Tanaka, Harada, KII Kanna (Stranger by the Sea), etc...

And authors that while keeping classical themes break the stereotypes in a subtle manner:

CTK, ZAKK, Jyanome, Cocomi, Hidebu Takahashi, SUZUMARU Minta, etc...

Mangakas also no longer stick to one genre only. They explore whichever of them they want, from BL to Seinen to others. 

ie: Tamekou, 

or Asumiko Nakamura

The curious case of Webtoons

With the digitalization of mangas, throught Renta and Lehzin, it has become easier (and more expensive) to access these stories. Korea makes and appearence with their webtoons. Through the lack of piracy protections and the majority of them being digital, manhwa (korean webtoons) sees a rise in popularity. Through the digital medium the influencee can be the influencer.

However, like many other East Asian countries they have consumed BL, without hearing about the conversations about BL. So they end up mantaining the older themes and stereotypes that newer BL is trying to leave behind. Therefore, we end up with a mix of old and new, ie:

Killing Stalking 2016 Cherry Blossoms After Winter 2017 Painter of The Night 2019

Additionally, it is also thanks to the easy access to internet that Omegaverse, with its higher dramatic stakes (that parallel hetero dynamics), enters the mangasphere in 2016. It has grown in popularity ever since.

With the Thai BL Boom of 2020, Japan rediscovers its own BL market and starts investing in it more. Which is why we get live action adaptations of BL manga that was popular years ago (Candy Color Paradox was a manga from 2010), the more recent ones (The End of the World With You) or new anime adaptations (Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai in 2020). 

more on this in my japanese live action BL post

What has it become now? is it BL? ML? or Seinen? Or is it all just gay manga?

It is clear that Shoujo manga (with BL, Josei and Seinen) is exploring queer themes such as gender and sexuality more and more. Japan is interested in this conversation, not only in manga (Genderless fashion). Which brings up the current question in BL studies: Does it make sense to keep these categories?

As a response to BL, ML (Male Love), which is made by gay men for gay men, started happening (around the 70s too). And Bara (gay manga porn) in response to Yaoi. However both gay men and women read BL and ML. We also see other themes being explored through BL, such as friendship (in BL Metamorphose), food (in Kinou Nani Tabeta), male relationships of all kinds (in Strange), and different queer views on life and its challenges (in Shimanami Tasogare). More and more what is LGBT and what is BL is merging, the line is blurred. 

Conclusion

BL has been in my life for longer than it hasn't. It is through shoujo and BL that I have come to understand people and romance.

It is flawed, like everything else this life, but it's flourishing in many ways.

The genre feels old and new at the same time. 

We can still find shounen ai/tanbi elements in more modern manga (All About J). Or the gay for you in a new light (Itoshi no Nekkoke). Or more educational manga on queer issues (My Brother’s Husband by Gengoroh Tagame). BL has around 50 years of existence but it is also being born anew in Thailand and Korea. 

BL manga will continue to evolve in acordance to Japanese tastes, as it is still a local market. Hopefully the korean webtoons that get popular will be the more daring ones in their themes. Who knows where it will go from here? The only thing we know for sure is that it will continue to change. Isn't it exciting?

A post on the evolution of live action BL in Japan is coming, to complement this post.  As well as a more detailed explanation of the Yaoi Debates and gay manga.

[ultrone]

୧ ‧₊˚ look after you ! 🛹

jackieshauna with skater!gf ✫ u hurt yourself while skating and ur gfs take care of you <33 angst n fluff, 2.9k wc

💥 ⏆   : 🩹 ﹢

the clock struck 3:45 pm, and the bell rang, indicating the end of the school day. collecting your physics book and backpack, you said goodbye to kevyn, your usual seatmate in your last block, and made your way to your locker. inside, you unloaded your heavy backpack and retrieved your skateboard, neatly stashed at the back.

each morning, shauna would give you and jackie a ride to school. however, for the journey back home, you often preferred to skate. while you'd rather ride with your girlfriends, they were tied up with soccer practice almost every day. nevertheless, it didn't bother you; after all, you spent most of your time with them anyway, and you genuinely enjoyed skating. the sensation of the breeze against your skin, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on the pavement, combined with your favorite music, felt very soothing and therapeutic.

once you stepped onto the school’s parking lot, you quickly placed your board on the ground and hopped onto it with your usual ease. the trip back home wasn't too long, just about 10 to 15 minutes on your skateboard. however, occasionally, you'd take a different route through the nearby park or empty parking areas, extending your ride for fun or to practice some tricks along the way.

honestly, you were relieved when your girlfriends had practice at the same time you skated. although they don’t mind, they've been a bit worried because you've been getting hurt quite often.

you've been skating for a while now, but recently, you've been putting extra effort into mastering some new tricks. your recent focus has been on different kickflip variations, and you've also started working on your grind and slides. while you've only ended up with some scratches and bruises so far, nothing too unusual, your girlfriends can be a bit nagging about it. jackie even suggested getting you a helmet, but you brushed it off, saying helmets are for "losers"—even shauna chuckled at the idea, so jackie let it go. nevertheless, they were genuinely concerned and insistent about you taking it easy. but of course, now that they had no eyes on you, you practiced and fell as much as you could without a care in the world. and if you were being honest, you enjoyed the extra attention and affection they showered you with when you were injured.

around eight minutes into your skating session, your stomach started growling. the lunch today was a burger with one of the toughest patties you've ever bitten into, along with some dry ass fries, so you tossed your tray and decided to skip lunch altogether. just as you were cringing at the memory of the unappetizing cafeteria food, your eyes lit up when you saw the glowing sign of the "pearl diner," renowned for serving the best milkshakes in wiskayok. without a second thought, you hopped off your skateboard and went in, ordering one to go.

now, with your refreshing and delicious drink in hand, you resumed your journey back home, taking a slight detour to the left, heading towards the park nearest to your house.

now that you had reached your destination, fortunately finding it empty, you cranked up your music all the way up and began taking longer strides, picking up speed. for the first few minutes, you warmed up with a few ollies, pushing yourself to go as fast as possible, and occasionally sipping from the milkshake in your hand. you were so accustomed to high speeds that you didn't bother stowing away your backpack and drink. the thought of falling seemed distant, as you were feeling particularly confident today.

once you felt confident enough, you rode towards the stairs that led to the parking lot. there was a bar dividing them in the middle, and you deemed it the perfect spot to practice your slides. the timing couldn't be better, as the park was completely empty, sparing you from any karens scolding you for supposedly ruining the bar's paint, which, according to them, had been "funded by the neighborhood's taxes," you mimicked mentally in a mock high-pitched voice as you rolled your eyes.

approaching the railing, you took one last stride, placing both feet on the board in an ollie position, ready to execute your trick. as you got close to it, you performed an ollie, and the middle of your board landed perfectly on the bar, allowing for a smooth slide. however, the impact was stronger than you anticipated, causing you to fall hard against it. by the time you were nearing the end of the slide, your skateboard broke in half, resulting in a harsh fall to the ground. in the process, your drink spilled, and your face slid against the pavement.

"hngh-" you grunted, feeling a loud ringing in your ears and too weak to stand up. you realized you must have hit your head pretty hard as your face felt numb. not only that, but your hands and knees burned, likely from scratches. lying flat on the ground, you pulled out your earbuds, finding the music too much to bear. you remained in that position for a couple of minutes until you started to feel the floor beneath your face becoming very wet. shit, now my face is going to be all sticky from the milkshake, you thought, assuming the wetness was from your spilled drink, too lightheaded to detect the metallic odour instead of sweetness.

it wasn’t until you heard two car doors shutting loudly, followed by a pair of hurried footsteps, that you snapped back to your senses.

the world swirled around you, a dizzying blend of pain and confusion. your skateboard lay in pieces beside you, and the taste of blood lingered on your lips. the metallic scent was unmistakable now—definitely not from a spilled milkshake. you groaned, trying to push yourself up, but your limbs felt like lead.

“what the hell happened here?” shauna’s voice cut through the haze. she knelt beside you, her soccer cleats digging into the gravel. her eyes widened as she took in the sight of your battered face. “jackie, get over here!”

jackie appeared at shauna’s side, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern. “whoa, what-”

“look at her!” shauna gestured at you, her anger palpable. “that damn skateboard-”

“shauna, focus,” jackie interrupted. “we need to help her.”

you blinked at them, their faces coming into focus. they both stared at you with concern etched on their faces, moving in sync as jackie dropped to her knees beside you as well.

“hey,” jackie said gently, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “can you hear us? do you know your name?”

you managed a weak nod. “y/n,” you whispered. “i… i think i hit my head.”

shauna’s hands were surprisingly gentle as she examined your face. “fuck, those scratches are deep. we need to get you to a hospital.”

“no hospitals,” you protested, wincing as jackie dabbed at your wounds with a tissue from her pocket. “i’ll be fine.”

shauna scoffed. “fine? you’re bleeding all over the place, y/n. we’re taking you to the er.”

“but my skateboard,” you mumbled, feeling absurdly attached to the broken pieces beside you.

jackie exchanged a glance with shauna. “we’ll worry about the skateboard later,” she said firmly. “right now, let’s focus on getting you patched up.”

and just like that, they hoisted you up, one on each side. their strength surprised you—they were soccer players, after all. they half-carried, half-dragged you toward the car. shauna took the driver's seat, placing your backpack on the passenger seat, while jackie sat in the back with you, letting your head rest on her legs.

you knew shauna was mad without needing to look at her. all the signs were there—the slight narrowing of her eyes, the clenched jaw, the sharp breaths. she was always the more reserved of the two, preferring her actions to speak for her rather than voicing her opinions. but there was a difference between the coldness she typically expressed toward things she disliked and the hot rage you felt radiating off her now. “you shouldn't have been such an idiot on the skateboard,” shauna snapped, her words practically boiling as they escaped.

her words stung, but you couldn't argue with her. you'd been asking for it, constantly pushing yourself to do crazier and riskier tricks for no real reason other than pure fun and self-satisfaction. despite repeated warnings from both jackie and shauna to take it easy, wear protective gear, and be cautious, you had dismissed their concerns as mere anxiety and overprotectiveness.

“i'm sorry. i won't do that again,” you mumbled, wincing as the bumpiness of the road jarred against your already aching body.

shauna narrowed her eyes even further, her rage still simmering. “you're damn right you won't,” she muttered.

jackie interjected with a more composed tone. “hey, take it easy on her,” she said, her fingers curled around your arm. you noticed that jackie's grip was comforting, not constraining. “she didn't mean to fall,” she added, her gaze fixed on shauna. shauna turned her attention to jackie, shifting her focus away from you. “don't defend her. she's an idiot.”

“maybe,” jackie responded, holding shauna's gaze steadily. “but right now, our priority should be making sure she's okay.” shauna didn't retreat from the argument, her lips forming a pout. “don't act like this is the first time she’s put herself in danger with that stupid skateboard.”

shauna's piercing stare returned to you, still cold and scathing. "i said i was sorry," you whispered, trying to sound braver than you currently felt. the throbbing pain in your face served as a reminder that picking this fight might not have been the wisest decision.

“i know,” shauna said, her voice cold. “but i'm sick of worrying about you and your stupid skateboard.”

the words stung more than the road rash on your palms. tears welled up in your eyes, and you hastily blinked them away. you didn't know why, but her criticism felt so much harsher than it should have. perhaps it was because you were still reeling from the fall, or maybe it was simply the adrenaline wearing off. regardless, her comment landed with the force of a slap, leaving you feeling hurt and ashamed, like a child scolded for an innocent mistake.

jackie watched as you attempted to wipe away the tears stinging your eyes. "hey," she said, her tone softening. "she doesn't really mean it," she whispered. "she's just worried about you." shauna rolled her eyes at jackie's comforting words, finding them overly optimistic. shauna was always direct—if she had an issue, she would tell you, no sugarcoating necessary. you remained silent, your lip trembling slightly.

shauna's gaze softened a bit as she noticed the tears in your eyes, but instead of apologizing or offering comfort, she simply frowned. "are you crying?"

jackie, on the other hand, reached out to wipe your tears with her thumb. "don't be so harsh," she said quietly toward shauna. "stop it."

the echoes of your girlfriends' arguments reached your ears as you drifted in and out of consciousness during the car ride to the hospital. their heated whispers gradually transformed into a soothing murmur; it was shauna's gentle voice that finally lulled you into slumber.

when you next opened your eyes, you found yourself in a hospital bed, shauna and jackie standing by your side. a bright bulb dangled above, and the walls were painted in a calming shade of blue. before you had a chance to ask any questions, jackie turned to shauna and whispered something in her ear.

shauna nodded in response to jackie's words, taking a deep breath before turning her attention back to you. her expression softened as she gazed down at you, the earlier anger replaced by a more caring demeanor. she reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, a gesture of tenderness and affection. "how are you feeling?" she asked, her voice gentle yet concerned.

as the fog in your mind began to clear, you let out a soft groan. "my face hurts," you whispered, feeling sluggish and disoriented. shauna nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting worry. "yeah, you hit your head pretty hard," she replied, maintaining her gentle tone.

"the doctor says you'll be fine, but they want you to stay in for the night just in case," jackie added, eliciting a disapproving grunt from you. "are you thirsty?" she asked, a soft and caring look in her eyes.

you nodded faintly in response to jackie's question, sensing the dryness in your throat and mouth. "can you get me some water?" you mumbled, too tired to do so yourself. "of course, i'll be right back," jackie said, giving your forehead a sweet kiss before leaving the room. shauna stayed by your side, her eyes focused on you as her fingers gently combed through your hair.

“i didn't mean what i said back there," she said softly, her eyes reflecting remorse. "i was too harsh, i know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. she paused for a moment, studying your face.

"it's okay," you mumbled, though you weren't entirely convinced of that statement. perhaps she was right—you had been a complete idiot on the skateboard. maybe it was time to cut back, if not quit for a while. "sorry for worrying you," you continued, feeling guilty for the stress you had caused them.

shauna let out a soft laugh, her face softening further. "you don’t need to apologize, idiot." she paused, contemplating if she should add anything else. "you did nothing wrong. it was just a dumb accident," she emphasized, her voice comforting and reassuring. "besides, i was just mad because i was worried about you," she added, giving you a gentle smile. "just promise me you'll take it easy from now on," she urged, her eyes unwavering as she waited for your response. you nodded, letting out a breath of relief at her understanding. "i promise," you agreed.

as she continued to gently comb through your hair, you released a soft sigh, feeling the stress beginning to dissipate. her touch was soothing and reassuring, a stark contrast to the rough encounter with the pavement moments earlier. “you know i love you, right?” she said, her thumb gently rubbing the side of your face that remained intact.

"i know," you muttered softly, meeting shauna's eyes as you tried to ignore the stinging sensation in your face. shauna's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and she gave you a gentle smile. “you’re an idiot for trying something like that, but i love you anyway.” you laughed softly at her comment, despite the dull ache still lingering in your bones. “i love you too,” you replied softly.

shauna smiled at your response, her eyes glowing with genuine affection as she looked at your face. just as she was about to reply, you were hit with a sudden jolt of pain as the cut on your scalp began to throb. you cringed slightly, trying to regain your composure. despite attempting to mask your discomfort, it wasn’t enough to hide your ache. shauna noticed, her expression shifting to one of concern. “do you need anything?” she asked, her gaze locked on yours.

“a kiss?” you suggested with a giddy smile.

despite the lingering pain in your face, you couldn't help but smirk at shauna's flustered reaction. “come here," you jokingly commanded, motioning for her to come closer. shauna let out a soft giggle, her cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink.

she stepped closer to your bed, lowering her face to match yours. “you’re such a dork,” she teased with a gentle grin, her warm breath brushing against your skin. with a tender touch, she brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your damp face. without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed her lips against yours, her touch soft and caring, easing the ache. you savored the kiss, starting gently and gradually becoming more passionate as it continued. “mhm,” you murmured, feeling the pain melt away as your lips encountered hers.

shauna broke off the kiss, smiling widely. “are you sure you're feeling okay?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"yeah, i'm definitely feeling better," you replied playfully, your tone flirty yet lighthearted.

“i see my two lovebirds have made up,” jackie interrupted with a smile as she returned with a glass of water.

you gave jackie a cheeky smile as she placed the glass of water on the bedside table. “now drink up,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “yes, mom,” you mumbled playfully, leaning forward to take a sip of water. as the liquid soothed your parched throat, you felt some of the discomfort ease away. “feeling better?” jackie asked, leaning down to gently caress the side of your face that was unharmed.

“a little," you mumbled, offering her a smile, your voice still hoarse from the accident.

"good," jackie said with a soft smile, leaning in to give you a tender kiss on the lips, which you eagerly returned. you separated to let out a small yawn, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to you. both jackie and shauna chuckled softly, finding your tiredness endearing.

"i'm sleepy," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as another yawn escaped you. jackie and shauna exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles widening in amusement. "of course you are," shauna said gently, moving a little closer to intertwine her fingers with yours. "you should get some rest," she suggested, her tone soothing and reassuring.

"as punishment for getting us worried sick, you'll have to endure being sandwiched between us in this small hospital bed all night, because we're staying," jackie declared with a playfully stern expression, prompting you to scoot over as she settled into the bed beside you. shauna followed suit, sliding her arm under your head so that you could rest comfortably against her neck. jackie shifted to her side, wrapping her arm around your waist and planting a sweet kiss on your shoulder.

"aw, is that so?" you mumbled, a smile on your face as you found yourself snug between the two of them in the cramped hospital bed, your head comfortably cradled in shauna's arm. the closeness felt reassuring, surrounded by their warmth and affection.

"we're not going anywhere until you're all healed up," jackie declared, her tone playful yet sincere as she leaned in closer, pulling you even tighter. the gentle pressure from their bodies provided a comforting sense of warmth, their mere presence enough to ease the ache in your battered limbs.

"is this supposed to be a punishment? because it feels more like a reward to me," you mumbled, releasing another soft yawn.

your girlfriends just rolled their eyes and chuckled softly, relieved to see you back to your usual self. the three of you remained in that cozy position throughout the night, simply enjoying each other's company.

[r--c]

Élan School, The Cult In A Boarding School

Élan School was an abusive behavior modification program and therapeutic boarding school located in Poland, Maine. It was a full member of the National Association of Therapeutic Schools and Programs (NATSAP) and was considered to be a part of the troubled teen industry. The facility was closed down on April 1, 2011, due to multiple reports of abuse, many from former students, dating back to its opening in 1970.

The Élan School was located on a 33-acre campus in south Poland that was formerly a hunting lodge. There were also other campuses, such as the one on 424 Maplecrest Road in Parsonsfield, which was formerly a hotel and hospital before it was bought by Élan in 1975. This campus was known to have some of the worst abuse in the school's history, and was put out of use sometime in the 1980s.

The Élan School acquired notoriety during the 1990s and early-2000s when former classmates of Michael Skakel, who had attended in the 1970s, testified against him in his trial for a murder that had occurred about two years before he had enrolled. The school was also the subject of persistent allegations of abuse in their behavioral modification program.

Élan School was founded in 1970 by Joseph Ricci, a former heroin addict who had worked with young people in drug treatment facilities, along with psychiatrist Dr. Gerald Davidson and investor David Goldberg. Ricci headed the school until his death on January 29, 2001 due to lung cancer, when his widow Sharon Terry took over. In 1974, Élan 1 was damaged by a fire with damages estimated as $100,000

On March 23, 2011, the Élan School announced it would be closing on April 1, 2011. The school's owner, Sharon Terry, blamed "declining enrollment and resulting financial difficulties," as well as negative attacks on the school via the Internet backlash. In a letter to the Lewiston Sun-Journal, Terry said: "The school has been the target of harsh and false attacks spread over Reddit and the internet with the avowed purpose of forcing the school to be closed."

On November 17, 2024, a fire destroyed a building on the property of the former Élan School.

Deaths Related to Élan. (Rest in peace.)

Brad Glickman - was shot by Roy O'Hara.

Dawn Marie Birnbaum - sadly, found dead and raped by Robert Cruz Jr.

Tiffany Joyce Sedaris - after decades of struggling with mental illness, sadly she decided to kill herself on May 24, 2013.

Phil Wiliams - died after participating in Elan's ''ring'' (where students were forced to fight eachother to ''modificate'' their behavior.) he was beaten so badly that he died of brain aneurysm''.

[thevampiremarie]

Summertime Sadness (part 2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Ten years ago: the first time you met Simon

Today: the first time Ghost meets you

Tags: mental illness, therapeutic boarding school, self harm, suicide attempt/suicidality, self harm, abuse, parental abandonment, much the same as last chapter. This fic is unedited because I don’t feel like editing it lol. If you see spelling/grammar issues, no you didn’t.

TEN YEARS AGO

Reader POV

-

It’s intake day.

Intake day happens once a week, always on Wednesday.

You don’t know why they pick Wednesday. It seems pretty arbitrary, doesn’t it?

On intake day, the nurses and counselors make all the current residents of the inpatient program line up to greet the newbies. You actually look forward to intake day. Everyone here is so boring and routine; your roommate never speaks unless spoken to and she always keeps her earbuds in. On intake day, the hope that someone nice will be admitted survives for the few hours of the intake itself.

It usually dies right after. There was one polite girl who smiled when you waved last week, but she was transferred to a different facility that night before you could learn her name.

You’ve been here for three weeks, so that’s three intake days.

You’re not sure why you’ve been here so long. It seems a little excessive; you’d think by now they’d realize your stuff isn’t so bad and maybe you could transition to outpatient appointments?

It’s a little dissociation and some minor depression. Not bad at all.

But your doctors agree, albeit gently, that you should stay for the full five month course.

The program isn’t so bad. The facility sits on a sprawling multi-acre property in the British countryside, where everything is beautiful and verdant and always chilly. It’s lovely. The tea is good. You’re getting used to how they take it here. It’s nothing like the sweet tea you drink back home.

You suppose that’s another reason why they won’t let you go home even though you’re okay; there isn’t a home to go back to. Your dad hasn’t looked you in the eye since Mom left. At least the orderlies here greet you in the morning.

(What Dad doesn’t know is that before she left, she told you she loved you and to wait for her. Soon, she’ll take you away from this place and you’ll never have to see your dad again.)

Before you head to the foyer, you check your hair in the mirror of your room’s suicide-proofed bathroom. A young teenage face stares back at you with cheeks flushed red from the sun. You trace your deep smile lines with the tip of your finger, then practice smiling. You would have feel better about moving to a therapeutic boarding school if you’d been greeted with a smile.

At first, you think the newest crop of poor souls will be uninteresting at best. Listless rich kids detoxing off Mommy’s coke, frightened preteens who’ve never been away from their parents for an extended period of time, and a few teenagers straight from an ER, IV bags and all.

And then you see him get off the bus last.

He’s tall, towering over everyone else. A lanky, almost skeletal build, with a bored, aloof expression on his face. He hides the Zippo lighter he was playing with in his sleeve before the nurses catch and confiscate it.

There’s something horrifically severe about him. He can’t be more than a couple of years older than you, but he carries himself like he’s a blade and the world is filled with monsters.

His eyes are large and dark, rich brown irises rimmed with pale blonde eyelashes. And they’re kind, even though he would probably hate having that pointed out.

You decide then and there that you’ll befriend him. He could use a friend; everyone here does. He’s beautiful in his sharpness and elegant in his abrasiveness. Maybe you can coax more of that hidden kindness out, show him that it’s worth more than his anger. You wouldn’t be able to stay away if you tried.

You both like playing with fire, though you prefer less literal ones.

-

TODAY

Ghost POV

-

Your smile fades swiftly as if it was never there to begin with.

There are two ghosts in this room. That’s what you are; a ghost of the girl he knew.

He watches and waits for you to shift uncomfortably and start blabbering to fill the silence like you used to. “Why’d you make them call me?” Ghost asks when it’s clear that you won’t.

As soon as you explain, he’s out of here. Ghost meant it when he said he never wanted to see you again.

You’re the last living reminder of the past he’s tried so hard to kill. The beeping sounds of your heart monitor spell out his mistakes in a grating, irritating rhythm.

Your answer disappoints his expectations. “I didn’t actually think you’d show.” Ghost doesn’t hear any wistfulness or longing in your voice, anything that would tell him that you’re clinging on to the boy you thought he was. Only a bone-dry and hollow statement of facts.

“What do you want?”

You ignore his question. At fifteen, you were good at that. At twenty-five, you’re better. “You got any cigarettes I could bum? You look like you still smoke them,” You say as you fiddle with your torn, bleeding nail beds with the classic anxiety of nicotine withdrawal.

He does that too when a mission stretches too long without a resupply and he finishes his cigarettes early to stave off hunger.

Ghost remembers fighting with you over the pack of smokes he smuggled into the program. He would hold it way above your head and laugh as you struggled to reach them. But you never gave up - they were bad for him, and you liked him too much to see him die of lung cancer.

He remembers the determination in your eyes and your unwavering faith that he could be saved.

“They’re bad for you,” Ghost echoes.

If you remember that moment, you don’t show it. “You know what else is fucking bad for you?” Your tone is so acerbic that it gives him whiplash.

He can’t resist taking a shot. “What, being a prick?” You just… bring out the worst in him. You make him feel as unhinged and unmoored as he was when you first met.

You roll your bloodshot eyes.

“I wasn’t going to call you out on that. I was going to say benzos and vodka. Also throwing yourself headfirst off a bridge.”

“Oh.”

What is he supposed to say to that?

“Why did you come?” You ask after a long moment of quiet interspersed by that fucking heart monitor.

Ghost grinds his teeth into each other as he reflects. He hates doing that; the inside of his skull is a bad place. “…I don’t know,” He admits. Coming here was a mistake; Ghost understands that now.

The foul taste on the back of his tongue is guilt. But why? You did this to yourself. You brought him here to play games and fuck him up, so why is he the one who feels… bad?

You sigh. “Simon-“

“Ghost. It’s Ghost now,” He cuts you off with more violence than necessary.

Your mouth settles into a tight, pained line. “Ghost. Go away.”

“But you called me here.”

That provokes a reaction.

Ghost sees it and immediately wishes it hadn’t.

You stare him straight in the eye, your dilated pupils peel back his mask and see the face underneath. Your skin is tinged gray and your bottom lip blooms red with blood from where you’ve bitten through it.

He wants back the child sobbing for his forgiveness on her knees, who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“And it was a mistake, and I should never have done it, and I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t going to pick up the phone. That I was truly alone.”

So the memory of him is a knife you’re using on yourself. Fucking disturbing.

“Oh.”

You raise an eyebrow as you wave. “Bye.”

Right.

That’s it.

Though your dismissal rankles, Ghost does as you ordered and takes his leave of you.

His work phone vibrates a few times.

Only one person calls that it. “Captain,” Ghost greets.

Captain Price clears his throat on the other side of the line. “Lieutenant. When can we expect you back?”

‘Tomorrow’ is on the tip of Ghost’s tongue.

He’s never taken a day off in his career, which means he’s got at least a year or two in built up vacation time. “I’ll be gone for a while longer, sir. Not sure yet how long,” Ghost answers promptly.

It’s only for a few more days, a week at most. Long enough to make sure you won’t try to kill yourself again, long enough for the guilt freezing his blood and choking his lungs to fade.

“Alright, Lieutenant. Keep us posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

TAGGING: @devcica @igotmajordaddyissues @almightywdm @copiasratscheese @nerdyreaderpapi @schmelscorner

[keiraonline]

Since I was able to relate every lyric to my time in the troubled teen industry I decided to make this.

Absolutely destroyed me but definitely worth it.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Weight of Water: Daniel LaRusso x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@kiwiwatermelonsuger@sadgenderfluidmaniac@junghwansy2k

Summer School Series:

Part One: Summer School - Daniel's excited to meet Anthony's new art teacher.

Part Two: Dirt - Daniel learns more about you and your business.

Over the course of the summer Daniel starts to learn more about you, it’s snippets of conversation in between picking up Anthony and dropping him off but he enjoys the time you spend together. The glimpses of you he gets to see.

It’s through one of those conversations that he learns you surf every morning. You come into the studio with wet hair, the scent of the ocean clinging to your skin and he can’t help but ask what you’ve been up to.

“You should come with me one morning.” You say as you carefully set out the tools on your desk. Anthony is already at his workspace, combing through the box of cogs, selecting the different sizes he’ll need for his next project. He’s become one of your most diligent students over the summer. Excited to be there, the last to leave, always peppering you with questions. “Being on the water, its therapeutic. Good for the soul.”

“I haven’t done anything like that since Sam was a kid.” Daniel tells you, his palm rubbing over the back of his neck. “We gave it up when she got into volleyball. I used to really enjoy it.”

“My friend owns a surf shop near the place I go, she’ll let you borrow a surf board and wet suit if I ask nicely. She lets me store my board there.” You say as you turn to face him, your voice lowering so Anthony doesn’t overhear. “Besides it might be good for you to take a beat,  do something for yourself.”

Daniel crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back against your desk with a sigh. He can’t remember the last time he did something that didn’t involve the kids, the dealership or the dojo. He loves all three but there’s a responsibility that comes with them, he always has to be present and focused. There’s never time to just take a breath.

“Does it show?” He askes quietly, his gaze coming to rest on Anthony as he sorts through his equipment.

“You have this little furrow right here.” You say, your fingertip rubbing lightly over the space between his eyes. “I’m scared it’s going to become permanent.”

The edges of his mouth turn up into a small smile as he captures your hand in his. His thumb caresses your palm as he looks down at it.

“The kids are at Amanda’s tonight, I can come with you tomorrow morning if you’re up for the company.” He says, looking down at your linked fingers.

“I am.” You tell him, squeezing his hand lightly. “I’ll text you the time and place.”

***

Daniel doesn’t remember the last time he was at the beach, the house he used to live in with Amanda had a pool so they never ventured outside of the neighbourhood unless it was to the country club. He hasn’t been back there since the divorce because those people were always more Amanda’s speed than his.

It’s only with hindsight that he sees how much his marriage changed him. Her aspirations became his, together they build an empire, a successful life for their kids. He doesn’t know when they fell out of love, only that he woke up one morning and realised he that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation with the woman sleeping next to him about anything other than the kids. They’d tried dating after that and discovered it was the only thing they had in common.

So they’d made the decision to uncouple, divide everything in half and coparent the kids. Amanda still lives in that house in Encino Hills, they’d both thought it was better for the kids that they have that consistency. Daniel’s moved to a smaller house a couple of blocks away, with a reflecting pool and grass that he likes to feel under his feet first thing in the morning.

That’s what he thinks about when he’s out on the water with you that morning, the changes in his life, how he’s happier now than he’s ever been. There’s no roles, no assumptions, no responsibilities out here, he’s just himself in its rawest form and he finds that liberating. He watches you as he sits on his surfboard and lets the waves lap against him. You’re a natural in the water, catching waves as if you’re attuned to the whims of the sea, laughing when you bail. There’s an authenticity in you that calls to him, you never try to be anything other than yourself and he can’t describe how attractive he finds that.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” He tells you in the aftermath. The two of you are standing at the back of your Jeep, wetsuits unzipped and rolled down to the waist. He’s dabbing himself off with towel while you’re drinking from a bottle of water.

It does something to him seeing you in that sports bikini, the way it clings to your form, covering your assets. It has a skull and a couple of roses on the front in a similar style to those that are inked into your upper arms. He had no idea you had tattoos until today, he wants to chase his fingers over them, ask you what they mean but he holds himself back, he always does.

“We’ll have to do it again sometime.” You tell him as you pick up your towel to dry off your hair.

“I’m free tomorrow.” He tells you with a boyish grin.

It becomes a standing thing between the two of you then. On mornings he doesn’t have the kids he’s with you at the beach, it’s usually followed by coffee and breakfast at the café on the corner. His days feel happier, his life full. He talks about the books he’s reading, the podcasts he’s listening too, the lessons he’s trying to instil in the kids, both his own and the ones he teaches at his dojo.

This, he realises is what he was missing from his relationship with Amanda, the sense of connection, the individuality. With you he’s his own person, an entity that exists outside of all the roles he plays. He doesn’t disappear, the way he did in his marriage. He thinks about asking you out, telling you he wants more but there never seems to be the right moment.

The end of summer art show, he promises himself. That’s when I’ll do it.

Of course, he’s Daniel LaRusso and his life…

It never works out the way he planned.

Love Danny? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[cooliestghouliest]

LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. one

(chapter one) (chapter two)

PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader

SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k+

SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.

CHAPTER TAGS: absent dads and mean moms. brief mention of self-destructive tendencies (way more about that later). your brother's a total cockblock. long-winded parental background information. this is really just some stage setting before we get into the nitty gritty.

A/N: this is my favorite fic i've ever written, and now it's coming at you re-edited. it's my verbose word child, sprinkled with a few What The Fuck and Holy Shit moments, dolled up with some silly humor and a dose of hot (and often borderline depraved) smut. a lot's already planned for this, so i hope you enjoy. :-)

—

chapter title: O Brother, Where Art Thou?

You weren’t expecting the high pitch of the doorbell that sounded throughout your colonial-style home, and proof of that was now spilled all over the kitchen floor.

Tiny green buds were sprinkled across the white-and-black linoleum tile, some scattered in the blonde mess of curls that belonged to the boy kneeling before you, his mouth busy between your legs.

You’d been attempting to multitask, rolling a joint while twisted awkwardly at the dining table, the quarterback’s head shrouded by your bare thighs, lapping noisily at your wet center.

You huffed out a frustrated sigh at the spillage, but it quickly turned into a moan when goldilocks gave a particularly harsh suck on your clit.

“You needa get that?” he mumbled against your folds, tongue halting its assault only to speak before diving back in, showing no intention of stopping.

You shook your head, one hand moving to tangle in the his hair, the other crumbling up the now empty and useless rolling paper. “Uh-uh… prob’ly just some Mormons,” you answer, beginning to rock your hips up into the warm mouth covering your cunt. “I don’t wanna be saved.”

Chris… or Carl… or Craig… whatever his name was, laughed, the sound vibrating nicely against your heat. Your toes curled at the sensation, thighs wrapping tight around his ears.

He moaned appreciatively at your movement, running his tongue flat against the length of your opening. Maybe you could keep this one around. He liked New Kids on the Block unironically, but holy shit, he knew what to do with his mouth.

The bell rang again.

And then again, and again, and again.

“Oh, little seeeee-eeee-ster!” came a familiar male voice from the other side of the front door. “I know you’re in there, Bean. I can see your shadow in the kitchen!”

You shot up straight, aligning your posture and pulling Chris Carl Craig from between your legs by the grip you had in his hair. He gave an unappealing whine, his fingers moving up to console his scalp.

Standing quickly, you adjusted your pleated skirt so it fell normal again, just above your knees. “Up, up, up,” you impatiently urged the jock still kneeling on the ground, smoothing your clothing and hair to make sure nothing looked too out of place.

“Who is that?” the blonde asked, finally following you into a standing position, large hand still cradling his head. “Still the Mormons?”

“It was never Mormons, Chet,” you said, hoping your shot-in-the-dark guess at his name was right.

It wasn’t.

“It’s Chad,” he said, eyes beginning to narrow. Whether it was in suspicion, confusion, annoyance, or a combination of all three, you didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. You needed to get him out of here without your new visitor catching sight of him, or else you knew you’d never hear the end of it. Chad was still intent on conversing, though. “We’ve literally been in the same school district since, like, kindergarten.”

You bit your lower lip, offering a sheepish smile. “Right,” you said. “I know that.” You didn’t. “Sorry. Head’s a little loopy right now. Your tongue could win awards.”

With Chad’s newfound cocky grin, you knew the flattery angle had worked out. It usually did. Boys were such suckers for some ego stroking.

“Oh, fuckin’ right!” you heard from the front door, the visitor’s voice now cheerful. The door handle began to jangle, and you heard the sound of a key in the lock.

He must have found the spare. Of course he had. He’d only lived here his entire childhood, just like you.

The key had been in the same place it always had been since moving to Fresno -- under the coir doormat that read Definitely Not a Trap Door, courtesy of your father. He’d made it for the family after moving from Chicago to California for his new teaching position at CSU in ‘70. Your mom still hadn't gotten around to throwing it out, even though she’d managed to get rid of almost everything else inside the home that reminded her of her ex-husband.

The door swung open and there stood your older brother in all his punk rock, Fuck-the-Bourgeoisie glory. Short bleached blonde hair, numerous facial piercings, ripped Dead Kennedys t-shirt, tight red tartan pants, muddy black Doc Martens. He was smiling wide, dopey.

Fuckin' Rick.

You started to match his expression, unable to resist your brother’s effortless and childlike charm, but your smile fell flat when Rick’s now disapproving gaze landed on the blonde still standing at your side.

“A Letterman, Bean? Really?” Rick asked you incredulously, having spotted Chad’s football jacket as the jock in question slid it from its place on the kitchen chair to rest over his broad shoulder.

“What?” you asked Rick coyly, quickly eyeing Chad. “You know I don’t discriminate. I’m a true equal opportunist.”

Chad seemed oblivious to the underlying context of the conversation between the pair of siblings. He was watching the two of you interact with seemingly nothing behind his eyes.

God, so cute but so totally stupid.

You closed the distance between the two of you, Chad looking hopeful he was going to be kissed or something, but you instead reached your hand out to pluck a few pieces of weed from his hair. “You can go now,” you told him, finger tapping his nose lightly.

Chad’s face scrunched at your touch but he then shrugged it off, picking his backpack up off the kitchen floor before making his way to the front door. “See ya at school,” he said to you over his shoulder. Stopping briefly next to your brother, Chad assessed him before saying, “Um, bye, whoever you are.”

Rick pulled his lips into a tight line, raising his brows in amusement. He clapped his hand hard on Chad’s back a few times before pushing the footballer out the door. “Later, loverboy.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

An hour and a half later, you and Rick were seated on opposite ends of the tufted tuxedo sofa in the living room. A box of half-eaten extra cheese pizza laid open in between the two of you.

Some low budget horror VHS was playing on the TV across from the couch, the volume low. You thought it was called Ghoulies. You kept catching glances of tiny, ugly wet looking monsters scurrying on the screen out of your peripheral.

You’d been talking to Rick about senior year at Fresno Central High (you said you were doing great, straight A’s across the board, but in reality, you were failing everything but English and Music).

You'd been talking about work at Spins and Needles, the record store you’d been employed at for a little over two years now (you told him you’d gotten promoted to Assistant Manager, which was true, but you left out the fact that you were on Strike Two of Three for blowing off shifts to get high with some goth kids that routinely came in a few hours before closing).

And you'd been talking about your mom (this you were honest about – “She’s still a huge bitch, Rick, that hasn’t changed”).

But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.

But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.

That’s where you stopped him.

You were not going to talk about your dad.

Flipping the pizza box lid shut harshly, you sat up straight and faced him.

“Why are you really here?” you demanded.

Rick sighed, defeated.

He knew you’d catch on soon enough that this supposed innocent visit was actually a planned mission. He’d just been hoping maybe you’d be the one to breach the topic of going back to Indiana with him. Maybe you wanted out of this Californian hellhole. A chance at a fresh start, hundreds of miles away.

But he knew you recently had developed a penchant for self-destruction and self-catastrophizing, which meant getting you to see the bright side and the positives of his request was going to be near impossible.

Still, he had to try.

“Mom called me,” he admitted, which earned him a dramatic eye roll from you. “I know you’re failing your classes. I know your boss has been blowing up the landline wondering why you keep closing up shop so early. And I know mom’s a bitch. I’m trying to save you from her. She said she’s thinking of enrolling you into St. Mary’s.” Rick wasn’t surprised at the bewildered scoff you gave to that, St. Mary’s being Indiana’s notorious Catholic boarding school for wayward girls. He’d finally gotten to the point, the real reason he was there: “Come stay with me in Hawkins, Bean.”

“Wow, Rick, so noble. It only took you, what, ten years to come back for me?”

Rick couldn’t help but flinch, your wounding words accusing. And accurate.

It was true.

Rick, at twenty, had left Fresno in an old RV he’d bought for dirt cheap, with plans to travel the country and get the fuck away from his parents, Ronald and Maureen Lipton.

Or, away from his mother, really.

Ron Lipton was generally fine -- until a certain point in his life. To outsiders, the man seemed to be very happy and very put-together, successfully established in both his home life and his career.

Ron and Maureen had gotten married just a few short months following their high school graduation, after finding out Maureen was pregnant with Rick.

With the draft ever present, Ron enlisted in the army, while Maureen enlisted the help of her mother-in-law to take care of Rick (and eventually you, once you were born, conceived on one of Ron’s short stints back home), so she could work on her doctorate in psychiatry.

After being honorably discharged a handful of years later, Ron had gotten his Master’s degree in education and creative writing.

To the public, Ronald and Maureen Lipton were fantastic at keeping up the facade of Perfect Suburban Family.

In private, however, the Lipton household was like living in a layer of Hell.

Where Ron was imaginative and endlessly inquisitive, instilling a love of storytelling and curiosity in his children, Maureen was passive aggressive and judgemental, harboring jealousy for the relationship her children had with her husband. This eventually festered a spiteful dynamic between her and Ron, and between her and her offspring as well.

When the two of you were younger, Rick in his late teens and you in your last years of elementary school, one of your favorite backyard games was to wonder aloud to each other how and why your parents had ever even gotten together in the first place.

You were both sure that it must have been an arranged marriage of some sorts.

Rick thought maybe your grandparents had made a deal with the devil, and to ensure the safety of the family, Ronald and Maureen were forced to be betrothed for life.

You thought maybe Maureen was an evil sorceress who had cast a spell on your father, trapping him in a loveless marriage that he was an unsuspecting victim in.

The truth was not stranger than fiction.

The reason behind their nuptials was simple, really: Ronald was raised to believe he needed to provide for his family, and after having knocked Maureen up not only once but twice, he was resigned to the fact that this was his path in life.

Devoted father, loving husband.

While he couldn’t stand his wife, her harshness and indignation usurping any positive characteristics she may have once had, Ron did love his children. Dearly.

Rick was his wild child; his rebellious, rambunctious trouble maker.

Ron would sit on the front porch late at night, waiting for Rick to get home and tell him all about his latest escapades. What parties he’d gone to, what girls he’d kissed, whether he preferred the high from acid or mushrooms more. Ron lived vicariously through his son, encouraging the boy to play hard, but to play hard responsibly.

You were Ron’s Little Leia of Alderaan; his opinionated, open-minded warrior, brave enough to stand up to any bully who’d dare to make fun of you or your friends. You were Ron’s daydreamer, his whimsical muse, his daily reminder that there was still innocent softness in this cruel world.

You would have Daddy Daughter Dates twice a week, where you’d do things like go to the roller rink or have picnics in the park, and they always ended with a two scoop mint chocolate chip ice cream cone shared between the both of you.

But Ron’s love for his life dwindled the second he stepped foot inside his house -- where he was forced to occupy space with his resentful excuse of a wife, a woman who would never miss a beat to berate him for every choice he’d ever made in his life.

With your older brother gone, the squabbles between Ron and Maureen got worse.

Rick had been able to placate his father and put himself in the line of Maureen’s fire, taking her verbal hits so his father didn’t have to. You, being only ten when Rick had left, didn’t have much ground to stand on with your parents arguing, and trying to step in as Rick had would usually only make things escalate.

Ron fantasized about leaving, starting over anew. The immediate and resounding “no” that his subconscious always answered himself with, thinking of the kids, dwindled down over time, until all of his fantasizing led him to making actual plans of departure.

Last year, right before summer break was set to start, Ron finally left.

Having taken PTO from the campus, he’d waited that morning for Maureen to leave for work and for you to be on the bus to school. Alone, he took the time to pack all of his belongings, leaving only a few things behind, all with you in mind -- things to remind you of him in his absence. He’d intended on coming back for you as soon as possible, wanting to settle in somewhere before dragging his daughter into his uprooted life.

But it was over a year now that Ron had been gone, and you could count on one hand the amount of times he’d reached out to you.

You could count them on two fingers, actually.

The first time was the night after he’d left, when he’d tried explaining to you his reasoning, which you weren’t at all interested in hearing. You were beside yourself that he’d left you, just like Rick had, except Rick was your brother and that was normal, but Ron was your daddy and he was supposed to always be there.

Your mother, in anger that Ron would attempt to talk to you and not her, had disconnected the call, and while you waited by the phone all night for him to call back, he never did.

The second and last time he reached out was a few months ago, via letter for your 18th birthday. It was postmarked with an address in Fort Worth, Texas. When you’d tried writing back, you'd found the letter you'd sent in your mailbox a week later, marked Return to Sender.

It was mid-November now, and you hadn’t heard from him since.

At least Rick had kept in touch after he’d left.

He’d sent you care packages every month since arriving to Indiana in '81. They were full of sci-fi and horror books he’d found at the local Goodwill or Salvation Army, newspaper clippings for outlandish Classified segments, scribbled notes on stained notebook paper detailing concerts he’d gone to and new bands he thought you should check out.

Remembering this, you softened quickly after accusing Rick of abandoning, your biting comment causing guilt to swirl in your stomach.

Rick had his reasons to leave, you understood that. He was allowed to live his life. And even though he’d done just that, left and lived his life, he still always managed to keep tabs on you. The two of you hadn’t gone more than a few weeks without letters sent or parcels mailed back and forth since he’d first left home.

Never there, but never gone. Not really.

That was more than you could say for your father.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” you admitted, even though the hurt words you spoke did hold some kernel of truth. “It’s just… I don’t wanna have to start all over somewhere else.”

“It’ll be good for you,” Rick promised, choosing to let the accusation of his abandonment slide. He was sure you'd both get into it more later, considering it was a conversation that was long overdue. “The house is too big for just me anyway, and you know I’m fuckin’ shit at decorating. I’ve basically just been using beer cans for bookends and stuff like that – you could make it look way cozier.”

You laughed, sure your brother wasn’t exaggerating.

Rick was about as anti-capitalist as you could get, and that included being a minimalist when it came to possessions. Give the man a hand-me-down couch, a little TV, some weed, his cassettes, and a subscription to Playboy, and he’d be content for the rest of his life.

You were the opposite.

You loved things.

You had many different collections you’d amassed over the years -- your vast assortment of books had spilled from the two bookshelves in your room to several stacks littered throughout the house, much to your mother's annoyance; your vinyls were shoved into four big storage bins stacked under your octagonal bedroom window, which you draped a blanket over and used as a makeshift window seat nook; your cliques of creepy looking dolls you’d collected from estate sales and antique shops crowded your bed, your vanity, the storage shelf in your closet; the bug assemblages you’d been adding to since your childhood had their own corner of your room, little homes full of ladybugs, ants, and deathwatch beetles.

The idea that you could expand your knack for interior embellishing (hoarding, really) further than the confines of one room was one thing that made you start to consider taking Rick’s offer seriously.

That, and the realization that finally getting the fuck out of Fresno might not be such a bad idea.

Because what did you have there anymore, anyway? Shit grades? A handful of mean exes? A dead-end job?

Was any of that worth staying for?

You thought of your dad trying to reach out to you via telephone, imagined your mother answering and telling him you’d moved away and no longer lived there.

If it were only a few months since Ron had left, you didn’t think you would have gone with Rick back to Hawkins. You would have stayed just for the mere possibility that your dad would show up on the doorstep one day, begging for your forgiveness for leaving you alone with your coldhearted mother.

However, it was over a year now that he’d been gone. One year, four months, and fifteen days... if anyone was counting.

You’d never verbally admit it, but you still were.

There was a page hidden in the back of your diary where you kept track.

Your hopefulness was starting to make you sick.

Maybe a change wouldn’t be so bad.

Going back to Hawkins with Rick sure beat being forced to attend an all girls’ reformatory school, one with a reputation that claimed the headmaster performed shock therapy on students in lieu of giving them detentions.

You were sure that was just a rumor, but still. You didn’t want to take any chances.

“Bean, let me be there for you,” Rick said, reaching over to grasp your hand with his fingers. You noted his nails were painted a lime green. “It’ll be just like when we were kids, except now you’re older and actually cool so I won’t be embarrassed to introduce you to all my friends.” Dipping his head to the side, he wiggled his pierced brows, a grin toying on his lips as he added, “And we can smoke weed in the house.”

Pretending as if that alone was what sealed the deal, you stood swiftly. “Say less. You really should’ve started with that, Richard.” You headed off in the direction of the stairs that led up to your room, glancing over your shoulder at your brother who was staring off after you with a relieved countenance on his face. “Gimme an hour and then we can go?”

Rick answered with two thumbs up before grabbing a slice of pizza, shoving as much as he could of it into his mouth as you disappeared up the spiral staircase.

[bubbleddisasters]

Blue being haunted by Lilia via Giant Lilia Plush: The Saga feat my amazing friends on discord.

(Too Lazy to retype this so screenshots from Discord convo, if any of the people in it want me to take this down or block out anything say the word)

To add to the Saga my only (other then plushies) twist merch is a RANDOMIZED BLIND BOX I got at Christmas and

I can’t escape this fucking family bro.

I also got Adeuce in the extras. I have TWO Grim plushes. And Therapeutic experience against my will at a boarding school. And have already almost died a ton of times and have a wild talent for befriending a wide range of people (including through a whole ass language barrier. TWICE)

If I go missing I probably got hit by a Black Carriage Hearse at this point. These were the warning signs.

(Dw team I’m not stupid I know thats quite literally impossible but damn thats alot of coincidences)

[lemonandpie]

Hiiiiiiiiii Ok I just finished The Doctor is In and it was like.... my literal actual dream fic. Do you think you'll every write more in that world, or something similar? I hope this isn't rude to ask an author, but do you have any recs for other Teen Wolf sex training and/or medical kink fics? All my AO3 skills haven't turned up much :(

This has been in my drafts for a worryingly long time. Anon if you ever see this I'm so sorry 😅

It's one of my favorite tropes. The specific premise seems to mainly be a Supernatural fandom thing, but here's my personal reclist:

Disclaimer: Due to the nature of this trope, all of these fics contain consent issues to varrying degrees. Sex is not a replacement for SSRIs and other medical treatment

We Are All Works In Progress by @gemjam (Teen Wolf) Stiles gets kidnapped by a trafficking ring by accident. Peter buys him, and tries to train him into the perfect pet. This fic is an emotional rollercoaster. It got me so good it made me take up yoga.

Room 27 by @udunie (Teen Wolf). Stiles hears an urban legend about a motel where you will get turned into the owner's plaything and decides to sign himself up. This is a classic for a reason. It's not medfet, but has the perfect blend of sex training and dub con therapeautic BDSM. Still one of my all time favorite fics. I recommend checking out @udunie's other works, that have similar vibes.

Below are fics that are beyond the Teen Wolf fandom

Nearest Thing to Heaven by Wandalust (Supernatural). Probably the fic that most inspired The Doctor is In, with a similar premise and vibe.

Stiletto by AtomicFrond (Supernatural). Biologically Necessary Submission is my favorite tag, can you tell?

Surrender by Coragyps (Supernatural). Sam gets kidnapped from his bed and informed he is a natural submissive, who is slowly killing himself by ignoring his natural instincts. This was my introduction to the genre, and Coragyps has written similar fics like All In The Timing (also Supernatural) and Black Collar (White Collar).

A Different Kind of Coaching by Nomanono (Yuri on Ice). This fic focuses primarily on the sex training, and does so beautifully.

Author RedSnowWhite has written about this topic so extensively and wonderfully that I struggle to link to individual works. Thankfully, the author has an amazing and comprehensive system where they link to similar fics of theirs in the endnotes. To start you off, A Harsh Lesson focuses on a boarding school of sorts where young men are taught discipline via submission. Spoons and Ginger is set in a world where any disorderly behavior is punished sexually, and one first time shoplifter learns a lot about himself during the experience

Underline The Black by @not-poignant (original work). I haven't actually read this fic yet, because on of my favorite authors doing one of my favorite fics was too much for my poor brain to handle 😅. While you're there, you may as well give the breath taking Fae Tales a go. Elements of this trope crop up in between the insane amounts of world building and incredibly tangled relationships.

An Appropriate Education by Anonymous (MCU). Peter has to get an alpha guardian after the death of his parents, and Tony is determined to train him the way an omega should be.

Plan B by Anonymous (MCU). Peter collapses from heat sickness in the lab, and his bosses take it upon themselves to tend to his needs. Genuinely one of the hottest things I've read.

Beyond the fanfic world is the manga Dangerous Drug of Sex and it's live action adaptation. This is about a suicidal man whose life is saved by a deranged doctor, who decides to use BDSM to teach the man to enjoy life.

And of course, there is pretty much everything I've ever written ;) Apparently BDSM isn't accepted therapeutic practice in real life, but it isn't going to stop me from jamming it in there every chance I get. The Governor is even a deconstrution of it! I'd also love to write more in the Doctor Is In verse (if my brain ever stops being an asshole).

[vocalux]

Could I request transttipatient and transttitherapist?

transttipatient -> transharmed subterm for those who who believe they are survivors of/actively inside of a troubled teens industry program. transttitherapist -> transharmful subterm for those who believe they are therapists in a troubled teens industry program. Never seen stuff related to ttis on transidblr thought I'd introduce it maybe? explanation: tti facilities/programs are abusive camps that exploit vulnerable mentally ill teens for profit. They masquerade as 'therapeutic boarding schools', 'bootcamp', 'residential treatment centers', and 'wilderness retreat' programs to help your mentally ill teenager, but they really only hurt and abuse the teenager into submission using various brainwashing techniques. The specific 'troubled teens industry' I'm talking about only really applies to America due to how unregulated the schools are here, but I'm not here to gatekeep the term. You are in no way required to even reply to this. Thank you very much for listening either way. I hope you have an amazing rest of your day and tomorrow!

— transttipatient [ trans-tti-patient ]

when an individual wants to be / identifies as being a survivor / actively within a tti !

— transttitherapist [ trans-tti-therapist ]

who an individual wants to be / identifies with being an tti therapist !