#there is shit i want to talk to a therapist or my psych about that is just too...not embarassinf but hurtful maybe?

[discountdyke]

actually its like kind of embarrassing at this point like having intake sessions and being like yeah so im here for adhd and depression and anxiety. which is normal thats fine. and then they start asking questions and next thing i know im like "yeahhh haha and i also struggle with like, eating disorders. umm yeah and substance issues. oh um, like, drugs and alcohol. umm pretty much like a lot of different drugs. yeah i would say i'm impulsive. oh yeah, one of my therapists was worried about ocd but thats not a big deal. uh, yeah, so like, there was sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse. mmhm. it was my dad. uh, biological?"

its kind of humiliating lol like can you just give me the anxiety questionnaire like yeah dude im fucked up. dont even worry about all of that. but the worst part is that this is literally not even the worst of it. like im not talking about anything that is not affected by meds or directly asked. and also saying no to seeing or hearing things but like, thats a given

[rosicheeks]

😓🤬

[lightseoul]

a/n. pleasantly surprised at how quickly i wrote this bit, it practically wrote itself. glad the first part was interesting for a lot of you—i love writing about psych/therapy stuff (despite my complex relationship with 'em), and ofc bkg <3 i honestly don't know where i'm going with this, but it's been fun so far. (0.8k)

navigation. part 1, (you are here), part 3

thankfully—and to the relief of whatever dignity he had left—that interaction was short-lived.

well, it’s mostly because after you blinked at him for what felt like a torturous eternity and said a shaky hello back, he gave you a curt nod as if he wasn’t the one who just initiated the exchange and bolted it out of there without a single glance back.

that bit haunted him for the next few days, reappearing in his consciousness whenever the topic of therapy or anything remotely close to it was broached. he even snapped at kirishima when the redhead asked how his latest session went during one of their evening patrols together. it was a kneejerk reaction, an entirely out-of-proportion, aggressive response that shocked even him, which says a lot.

he should go ahead and text the guy an apology.

eventually, though, that unfortunate powwow slowly faded into the background of his exceptionally busy mind as the days went on. things got so hectic in the agency that he had to postpone his appointment for the week, which—quite frankly—is an upside to this chaos, because he sure wasn’t pumped about discussing his love life, or the lack thereof, with the jarringly knowing middle-aged lady. being able to definitively avoid you and buy you more time to forget about his stupid social blunder is merely the cherry on top.

okay, maybe the incident didn’t actually slip his mind after all.

“…bakugou-san? are you still with me?”

dazed, bakugou squeezes his eyes shut before fluttering them open, and what greets him is the very same lady against the backdrop of her increasingly familiar office, only this time she’s looking more concerned than perceptive.

right. he’s supposed to be in the middle of a session right now.

“yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of irrelevant thoughts and focus on the matters at hand. therapy is expensive, after all. “i’m here.”

that doesn’t seem to placate the woman who instead prods, much to his chagrin. “you seem out of it today. is there something in your mind that you want us to talk about?”

for a second, he debates caving and just telling her the dumb shit that happened two weeks ago, but then backtracks when it dawns on him how ridiculous everything is. what is he, a prepubescent boy? he died and survived a major war, for fuck’s sake. why is he so hung up on seeming awkward for once in his life?

even hearing it in his head is embarrassing enough.

that settles it, then. his lips are and will remain sealed.

but then his gaze refocuses on his therapist, and the sheer ‘unconditional positive regard’ or whatever the crap is called that she’s radiating becomes so palpable that it just spills out of him.

“i fucked up.”

that makes the lady frown—which, if he thinks about it, is understandable, because he rarely opens up about his failures, let alone this blatantly—although she manages to quickly school her expression into a more neutral one. “can i ask you to expound on it?”

at that, bakugou sighs, because it’s either he just tells the laughable truth or actually cite one of his actual mistakes—which he’s not feeling right now, by the way. or he can expertly maneuver the conversation to another topic, but something tells him there’s no getting out of the current subject. maybe today, there is, but it’ll surely loom over their next sessions indefinitely until either of them revisits it.

he should know. it’s happened to him too many times, he’s lost count.

with this realization, he can only sigh again.

“it’s stupid,” he preempts.

“i’d like to hear it regardless,” comes her classic, supportive response.

and so he does it. talk, that is. it starts off a bit rough—he didn’t know how to even begin without flushing like an idiot, but he managed to get the brief anecdote going. he still ended up blushing anyway—the warmth in his cheeks was undeniable—and if she noticed, she gratefully didn’t point it out. by the time he’s finished with the trivial tale, he’s mildly out of breath, having said everything in one continuous burst.

“i told you,” he spits when she doesn’t say anything for a beat. “it’s stupid.”

“i’d normally ask you to reconsider the adjectives you use for yourself and your experiences, but i think you’ve heard enough of that.”

he snorts. damn straight.

the woman then shoots him a smile, and he has to tamp down the reflex to bristle at an impending attempt to placate him. fortunately, it doesn’t come.

what does, instead, is a question.

one that catches him completely off guard.

“did you find her attractive?”

the fuck, is his first, immediate thought.

but then his normally trusty and acute brain seemingly comes to life and promptly supplies a second one that leaves him frozen and utterly dumbfounded.

yes.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra | @kalulakunundrum @cheezemanz @gold24fish @lunaryasha

[lostintransist]

Hell's Spawn | It Means Fuck Off

I wasn't planning on posting this yet but I need some feel good chemicals going in my brain before I give my professor the award for being the single most unhelpful teacher I have ever had in my entire life. Mans is actively making my life harder and not easier.

AO3

CW: Mommy issues, lots of negative self talk, general staring at women's bodies even though they just want to be left alone.

Trading shifts, what a simple way to alter the course of one’s life. Something akin to missing a train or a flight delay causing you to miss a connection, some exterior force course correcting you to where you need to be.

Leaning on one elbow on the stainless steel counter studying your text book you can feel your brain melting in your skull. Being a fourth-year medical student had taught you that while one could get a fever hot enough to “cook” the brain in the skull it wouldn’t occur from studying for too long. The voice of your mother itched in the back of your mind, telling you to give up and move on, you’ll never be more than a whore.

That had always been her favorite insult to hurl at you. Puberty hit you like a truck from a number of your favorite animes, transporting you into a woman-like body over the course of one summer. You still had the stretch marks.

Your mother hated it and hated you. She would never say that though. The high-powered pick-me lawyer could never let it be known that the only love she had in her soul had to be provided by the attention of a man. Psych 101 had been an enlightening class. You had nearly decided to go for a psychiatric residency before the chemistry classes debased that idea in your head.

When residency was over and you were settled somewhere you had decided to find a therapist to help you unpack all the shit that your mother had endowed you with. Her snide comments, wool-encased bricks lobbed at you from her high tower where she held both the power and the autonomy to keep you a prisoner, pelted you even now despite the years and distance between you.

The only escape you had found had been concurrent and AP classes in high school and a scholarship to finish your bachelor’s degree in one year directly out of high school and across the country. You worked your ass off for a few years to be old enough to never need her money again and passed the MCAT on the first try. The local medical school had accepted you at twenty-six, an old maid in that first class filled with nineteen and twenty-year-olds. That is how you had landed at a late-night cafe as a barista. You took as little student loans as possible and that meant working late and rising early for classes.

Coming full circle, you had traded shifts with the owner. Lucky bitch had five of the hottest boyfriends who were also boyfriends you had everseen and the bitch was ace. All that luck wasted on someone who didn’t ride their boyfriends until they whimpered night after night after night. God, you needed to get laid.

She had told you when you agreed to switch though that a group would be coming in to use the private room around midnight. She had warned you not to be alarmed but they would all be covered head to toe and would pay with cash. What she had failed to mention is that all four men who would appear at midnight, like wraiths wrapped in darkness, is that they were fucking jacked. They were ripped. To be frank you weren’t sure how any of them put shirts on or how the fabric didn’t rip like they were Bruce Banner turning green. Every one of them wore a surgical mask.

They all stepped to the counter, menacing vibes a miasma that eddied around them. Several patrons were scattered about the space, in quiet conversation or the clacking of keyboard keys, offering the illusion of safety. Aiming a well-trained smile any customer-facing worker would recognize at the men you greeted them.

“Hi welcome in, what can I get started for you?”

The tallest, broadest one, scanned the menu before glancing down. The demons in your mind began howling when instead of landing on your face his gaze landed firmly on the shadows of your cleavage peaking above the edge of your shirt. You had forgotten you had agreed to this shift until it was too late to change into the high-necked band tees you normally wore. The soundtrack of self-hate had always been easier to ignore if you could avoid drawing attention to your body.

“Four large black coffees, sugar and cream on the side.”

No please, no thank you. Fine, whatever wouldn’t be the last person tonight even that wouldn’t treat you with the same respect a wandering cat would receive.

“And you want all of those hot?” You tap away at the screen as you wait for his answer.

“Yes.” His voice should be much lower than it is, but it is still pleasant on the ear. The curl of his tongue around the words tells you English was not learned at his mother’s breast.

“Okay, your price is pulling up, this system slows down after midnight.” You roll your eyes at it, “If you give me a moment I can get that ready for you and let you into the room you have reserved.” You catch sight of the one with blue eyes that burn trailing those selfsame irises down one collarbone, to the bunching of skin, and then trailing back up to the other side.

The sniping words, whore, bitch, no good wench, nothing more than pussy, tits, and a mouth, fly through your mind, debris in the storm picking up speed. Grown and a world away her words still cut at you like glass.

Four hot coffees are settled on the counter as you count out change and return it to a leather-gloved hand. Did he have to buy specialty gloves to ensure that they fit?

The third man shifted his head toward you from behind his sunglasses before turning back to observe the room. A smudge of black hair peeked from below his hat.

Carrying the key along with several packets of sugar in your apron pocket and the carafe of creamer you can feel the fourth man’s eyes digging into your spine directly above your bra strap. No skin had been visible on him since the moment they entered the shop. That level of dedication impressed something in you.

You would have stayed impressed except the man couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Unlocking the door you stepped aside and let the men trail in, careful to keep your back to the wall by the premise of holding the door open with your foot. Once everyone found a seat you set the creamer on the table and turned to leave.

The completely covered one caught your wrist, fiddling with the ties of your bracelet. A friend had given it to you last Christmas when your mother had tried to reach out to ‘mend fences’. Turns out she was getting married again and her fiance wanted to meet the prodigal daughter.

The dainty silver beads pressed into your flesh as he dragged a thumb over them.

“What’s all this about? From a lover?”

The accent on his words tickles your senses. Then the understanding of his question settles home.

Customer service mode leaves your face and body, the bitch your mother always claimed you to be coming out.

“It reads fuck off,” you wrench your hand from his grip and slam the door shut behind you. When you settle back in the kitchen you fire off a text to your boss.

<Heads up, ended up snapping at one of your special customers.

Next, you fire off a message to Quinn, seeing if he could come in a half hour early so you didn’t have to close alone if the layered lechers stayed until closing.

Quinn confirmed he could be in early.

The parade from the conference room occurred as Quinn was arriving, leaving him to hold the door open for them as they passed. Closing duties went faster with Quinn collecting all the dishes for cleaning and you were home and in bed, books prepped for class in the morning on the table.

You woke a few hours later to a reply from your boss.

>Whatever you did they probably deserved it. You know I will back you 100%. But John says they seemed to like you better for snapping.

If you didn’t have to rush to avoid being late for your eleven am class you would have rolled your eyes. They liked being snapped at, that you were mean to them? Yeah, right.

Hell Masterlist | Masterlist

@demothers-empty-blog @beloveds-embrace (boo I hope you like your surprise.)

[butchvamp]

i did Lucanis's inner demons quest last night and have some thoughts [everyone groans in unison]

i admit that i definitely have a bias for Lucanis, i really like the crows (or i should say the crows from previous games & the lore around them) and my Rook is a crow so i'm inclined towards him in general.

that being said i feel i'm just. missing huge bits of information about him. he exists entirely in a void. i don't really know anything about his relationships with Illario or Caterina, the game glosses over so much of his role and what exactly he does within the crows (beyond just talking about how he was the Demon and the Magekiller) i suppose it's just too icky for the game to truly acknowledge outside of a few jokes about Lucanis poisoning the gang's food...

i know from seeing people posting excerpts from his novel that Caterina did, in fact, physically abuse him; i figured this was the case considering she's a high ranking member of the crows and thus no doubt had a role in torturing recruits, even if the game pretends like this is a thing that doesn't happen. you get a bit of banter early on where Lucanis, talking about Illario's behavior, says something along the lines of "My relationship with Caterina was complicated, too, and I was her favorite." implying some level of friction between them as well as conflicting feelings about her death.

but then that's it. we get nothing else. this should be a major piece of his story, a part of why he feels the way he does, and exploring Caterina's role in his and Illario's abuse would better expand upon Illario's resentment and make his and Lucanis's relationship more compelling beyond "Illario is a big jealous meanie."

i really wanted to like the inner demons quest more than i did, because conceptually i enjoy going into the fade/Lucanis's memories with Spite, so far Lucanis's quests have felt the most Dragon Age to me (fighting a naked woman in a giant pool of blood + seeing Spite lose control, him and Illario butting heads and having a competitive relationship before this (as the crows all should...), etc. these are fun!) but just like the rest of the game it's still holding back.

when you confront the memory of Caterina all you get are these choices:

none of these are particularly satisfying if you actually know the things Caterina has done... "Your love for him" is actually vile lol

this entire questline is a linear walk through fragments of the Ossuary & Lucanis's memories, there is nothing interesting here, Rook just plays therapist for about twenty minutes and then you make a nothing choice at the end that has no affect on anything at all... and most egregiously, we have learned literally Nothing new about Lucanis that the game hasn't already made an effort to tell us repeatedly (a real problem the game has in general, constant hand-holding and repetition).

there's Quite a bold choice to compare this quest to the Fade section in origins right at the start, with Rook and Spite joking about getting past the guards: "What did you expect, to turn into a mouse or something?" like yes, actually, i did expect something a bit more! even if you want to say the warden does the exact same thing with their companions in that quest, their dialogue is FAR better-- again, Rook's is all clinical therapy-speak (where did she even learn this shit? did the crows pay for her to get a degree in psych and become a licensed counselor?) and in origins, we do actually learn something new about each companion as well as getting to see them interact with their fantasies and/or nightmares. we get nothing here...

we could have seen him and Illario training together, being competitive, the early seeds of resentment being planted between them by Caterina's goading and abuse. we could have seen the guilt Lucanis feels about this, about Caterina's favoritism and how it's affected his relationship with Illario. we could have actually seen what happened to him when he was captured and in the Ossuary, we could have seen some of the horrible things he's had done to him and that he himself has done to become the Demon of Vyrantium, we could have learned more about why the demon inside of him became spite specifically-- because if what Zara's echo said is true, it started as an Envy demon-- so it was influenced by Lucanis in some way. what makes him spiteful? why is it spite that keeps him alive in the Ossuary...? is it spite as in defiance-- defiance of the Venatori, of Caterina's expectations and abuse, in defiance of Illario's betrayal...? unfortunately, Lucanis never really feels spiteful at all. determined to survive the Ossuary, but afterwards, never has he come across as spiteful (Spite is mostly just petty and a bit bitchy).

in my opinion the Envy demon fails because Lucanis was never envious of Illario or the First Talon position, only crushed by the loss of their relationship and guilty over Caterina's favoritism. obviously Caterina's expectations weigh heavily on him, but he knows he's the favorite, and he doesn't envy Illario for not being so-- he seems very aware of the fact that it doesn't equate to Illario having it "easier." but the game barely addresses this, only in weak voice-overs, while the majority of the quest is spent convincing Lucanis that he's not actually a demon. Lucanis is wholly a good guy that only kills blood mages and loves his poor grandma and his inner demon is entirely Literal and just him feeling bad about being an abomination :(

nevermind all that yucky complicated stuff. Illario is Bad and Jealous and deserves to be punished for... doing exactly what crows have always done.

of course it's easy to make Illario look bad when all of the other crows are treated like a found family, when we know that's not the case at all. crows have been competing and scheming and killing each other since origins. this isn't meant to make light of Illario's betrayal (in fact i still think it's quite significant given their history and the two of them being the last of their family) but instead Illario is very obviously suspicious from the start, the reveal of his betrayal was not surprising, it's predictable because, again, he is presented very differently from all the other crows we've seen in this game-- he's the Bad one, and Lucanis is the Good one. no nuance!

in his short story, The Wake, Illario is actually depicted as being extremely remorseful, getting very drunk and reminiscing on old childhood memories of Lucanis while Viago has to carry him home... of course there's no way of knowing the exact intent behind this story or what changed since (published in 2020 and written by Mary Kirby, after all) but either way, we don't get anything like that here. somewhere along the way we lost the depth and complexity of both characters; we don't get to confront this big ugly thing between them because the game refuses to engage with anything ugly at all.

[antisocialsharky]

Hi! I've not been diagnosed with ASPD (though I suspect I have it), but I do experience some pretty bad homicidal ideation. I know you've talked about that before on your Insta.

I've been doing a lot of research into HI to try to better understand myself, learn coping mechanisms, learn how to address it, etc, and I've been shocked by just how little there is. Truly, there's nothing. The best information I've found has come from criminal psychology, and that, one, is working from the perspective of serial killers, and two, never outlines coping mechanisms and treatment methods and such (which has made me realize the entire field of criminal psychology is abelist, in that it cares more about satisfying curiosity on what makes monsters instead of learning how to help people, but that's neither here nor there).

I guess I'd like to ask if you've ever seen decent information about HI before? How have your therapists treated it? I find I'm usually the one teaching my therapists all about what HI is and what it feels like and everything. I've never found anyone who could teach me anything I didn't already know from my own trial and error. Have you had the same experience?

It's getting to the point where I'm just making my own awareness blog to discuss what HI's really about, share information and coping mechanisms, share how I've managed mine, etc. I think most people with HI have gone through the struggle of feeling alienated by it, then feeling monstrous because the best representations of ourselves that we can find are in serial killers (real or fictional), and then having to learn by ourselves how to deal with it (or never learning and floundering without support and ultimately harming people). I went through it, and I don't want other folks to go through that shit too.

I know ASPD (and other cluster Bs) are also frequently misunderstood and under-researched, and I suspect that's been a big motivator for you making your awareness accounts. How has that process gone? And do you have tips for managing these types of accounts?

Bit of a longer post than I intended, apologies. I hope you're doing well. I really appreciate your posts ^^

Hello there ^^

The lack of information about HI really is a problem and I think you're probably right if you say, that they just wanna satisfy their curiosity! Additionally I think they just also don't feel the need to come up with help & coping strategy stuff, because in their minds anyone who experiences HI is, as you said, a "monster" and thus beyond help anyway. They do not perceive HI as something that regular people struggle with, or would like to work on, cus if they'd acknowledge that, they'd have to acknowledge that they themselves and their friends/family/etc. are technically capable of it too. If you know anything about humans, you'll know, that they are terrified of being someone who could hurt others/make mistakes/do something amoral, so they create a category of people who are far removed from them and who are now the only ones capable of committing such acts (and are usually not even seen as human anymore, cus that makes it essier to argument that you don't need to help these ppl, etc....yk rly just the strategy thats behind a lot of bigotry 🤷🏻‍♂️ dehumanizing others so you dont feel guilty for demonizing them, works wonders). That much for that!

In terms of the questions, I gotta say, I have not really seen much decent info about HI no! As you said, theres some in criminal psychology and some personality disorder related articles lightly touch on the topic, but never beyond basic info.

My past psychs have all treated it a bit differently

• Psych 1 at age 15 listened without judgement and recognized me with conduct disorder with later ASPD probability (cus I already met all of the ASPD symptoms) and insisted, that due to my explicit plans, I should go inpatient for a bit (went voluntarily, left after a week, had I not wanted to go at all, they probably would have sectioned me involuntarily).

• Psych 2 at age 16/17 just ignored it completely tbh! I told her and she was like "yeah I dont see that, that seems a bit extreme for your age" and we never talked about it again, so safe to say she knew jackshit and I didnt like her, so I didnt bother explaining.

• Psych 3 at age 19/20, who I only saw shortly, also listened without judgement and said that my HI in connection to my other symptoms definitely sounds like ASPD and recommended to get an updated assessment. He unfortunately said he wouldnt be able to treat me tho (idk what motivation that statement had).

• Psych 4 at age 22ish till now, absolutely blamed it all on puberty and told me it was very normal that I was so angry and wanted revenge at age 15 and that my HI now, is just still some anger simmering away or whatever. But shes a shit psych overall, who doesnt seem to be able to grasp that not everyone thinks prosocially, so I genuinely didnt bother explaining anything.

So overall I think with exception for psych 1, none of them knew shit about HI or weren't ready to treat it/acknowledge it. Which, as far as I've heard, is a very common experience for ASPDers (and also other ppl who experiences HI).

Making your own account about it sounds like an amazing plan! Theres definitely not enough out there who focus on the topic ^^

As for the process of my own account, that one was partially indeed motivated by wanting to create a space for ppl with that diagnosis (cus back then there were only 1 or 2 cluster B accounts on insta that mentioned ASPD at all!) and possibly helping others feel less alone & less monstrous, cus feeling like that has definitely driven me into bad communities and situations before. Partially, it was also motivated by the fact, that online attention, is a relatively easy way for me to fuel my need for certain stuff and I knew I'd step on a lot of ppls toes with my posts and be confronted with ableists and would get to discuss with them and theres just a certain thrill about putting your thoughts out there and not knowing whether people will like it or not. The online world serves as a big coping mechanism for me, as well as a source of community!

The process of making the account and running it successfully is indivdiual, but I do have some tips:

• you may wanna make sure that any info you state as a sort of "fact" can be "proven" by science (tho science is ofc never 100% fact but yk what I mean), cus otherwise ppl who may ask for proof or may look things up, will not take your account seriously and may class you as spreading misinfo and thats a hard label to lose again

• if you insert personal experience, you may benefit from being very explicit about the fact, that its just YOUR experience and that you're not trying to dictate how everyone with HI/a certain condition feels. ppl online very often lack that particular skill of reading comprehension & criticial thinking, where they can look at a post about something that they have and realize that this post is maybe just simply not about them/their symptoms. you'll need a lot of patience for the "okay but not everyone...", "but what about...", "okay but I am different because...." comments. like a LOT of patience xD

• with HI especially, you will run into a lot of ableism, but also just a lot of the whole "having a symptom is not an excuse to commit harm" crowd or "the symptom as an explanation doesnt mean you get to not work on that symptom" typa people or yk any variation rly. so before you grow as an account, its benefitial to think about where you personally would draw the boundaries as to which symptoms need to be worked on, what harm is "okay" without an apology, what harm is "not okay" without an apology, whether you wanna work on it from a harm reduction perspective or reframing which aspects of HI are seen as harmful in the first place or....the list goes on. if you have an inconsistent framework that could harm the potential of your account, maybe! (some ppl drive very well on the road of contradicting themselves, so its ofc up to u, but this is something I've learned over the years)

• if people who DM you/comment/etc. are not willing to listen to you, or are not open to considering your perspective, there is no shame in using the block button! you cannot have a productive conversation with someone who is already convinced they're right and is unwilling to learn! save your energy for those who do wanna learn!

• people usually love accounts that have a personality! mine was a lot more successfull when I put cute animal stickers on everything and leaned on the soft boy with bad guy disorder contradiction a lot (which to be fair wasn't a lie, I rly liked the aesthetic), or when I talked a lot about my personal life and stuff! even today ppl associate me with being the shark guy who just also happens to have this disorder! so giving ppl something to be interested in beyond your content topic, is a cool way to have them relate/like you & your account more!

• another personal trick of mine on insta were story games, but userboxes work just as well! ppl love interactive content! they love posting those silly things to their stories and making highlights to describe themselves with that stuff and thats a rly easy way to broaden exposure and have people follow you for that and then handily reaching them with your educational content too!

Thats all I can think of right now really! ^^

[slut4thebroken]

The Incident

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x patient!reader

Summary | Dr. Crane talks to a new patient.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, non con, use of r word multiple times, violence, Jon is a douche, masturbation, blackmail?, abuse of power, gaslighting probably, breeding kink, he’s a bad therapist.

Words | 2.9 k

Notes | I don’t even know anymore. Like I probably need a psych eval because of all the fucked up shit I come up with😭

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

I want to make it clear that while Jon doesn’t assault reader, rape is talked about heavily. Reminder: I’m not responsible for the content you choose to view.

“I prefer to record my sessions rather than take notes so I can give you my undivided attention. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes.” You said quietly. 

“Good.” He pushed a button on the tape recorder, then set it on his desk. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about the incident? You can start with the end because I'm rather curious to hear from you directly what got you put in here.” He smiled, watching your leg bounce incessantly as you picked at your nails. 

“Um— okay…” You swallowed audibly and looked down. “When it was— when it was over, I tried running away.” You started, letting out a shaky breath. “He ran after me and tackled me to the ground… I landed on a big rock, that’s what,” you paused and lifted your hand to gesture at a healing cut on your forehead, “this is.” He nodded, waiting for you to continue. 

“Go on.” He said softly, trying to comfort you. 

“I don’t,” you cleared your throat and shifted uncomfortably in your seat, “It’s a little spotty, my memory of this, but I grabbed the rock and hit him with it, making him roll off of me.” He noticed that your hands were trembling as you stared at them. “And then I— I just… started hitting him. I couldn’t stop.” Your voice trembled as you spoke. When you paused, you took a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. “There was a cop who was on duty at the park I guess… and he stopped me, but—”

“By then it was too late.” He finished for you and you nodded as you closed your eyes. 

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean to… I just,”

“I know.” He said with a warm smile. “That’s why you’re here with me, instead of in prison.” You nodded and sniffled, so he pushed a tissue box toward you on his desk. He waited until you were a little calmer before continuing. “I need you to walk me through what happened before that. I know it will be hard, but I only want to help you.” 

“Okay— okay, I know. I trust you.” You said shakily, making him smile. “Um… My friend and I were at the park for a few hours. When it was getting dark, we decided to go home, but we live in opposite directions so I had to go alone.” He nodded, patiently waiting for you to keep talking. “I don’t.. I don’t really know where he came from or how it happened. It felt like one second I was walking and the next I was on the ground a few feet away from the path.” 

“Was it completely dark out by that time?” He asked curiously. 

“N-no. The sun was just starting to set.” He nodded and motioned for you to continue. “He, um… I was on my back and he- he opened his pants then just…” You trailed off, letting out a shaky breath. His cock was already fattening up at just the thought of what you were about to say. 

“I know it’s hard, but in order for me to help you to the best of my ability, I need to know exactly what happened. You have to be very specific.” You bit your lip and nodded in agreement. 

“I tried screaming and pushing him away, but he covered my mouth. And when I bit his hand, he punched me. I remember my vision getting blurry, then just… pain.” You whispered, crying silently. He reached under his desk and unzipped his pants, pulling his already hard cock out without unbuckling his belt or doing anything else that would make too much noise. He stroked himself slowly, watching the way your bottom lip wobbled as tears rolled down your cheeks. 

“Be specific.” He urged gently— well, as gently as he could with his dick in his hand. 

“It— it burned and it felt like I was being… ripped open.” You whimpered. “When I screamed, he covered my mouth again, but I didn’t try to bite him that time.” He let out a quiet breath and dragged his thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum. “He pulled my dress and bra down and started… grabbing me there.” 

“You mean your breasts.” His voice was already thick with arousal and you nodded wordlessly. 

“All of it just.. it hurt so badly.” You whispered. “I couldn’t do anything but… lay there and cry.” The shame you felt about how you handled the situation would’ve been obvious to anyone. 

“He was bigger than you? You couldn’t fight him off?” 

“I've never been very strong and he was putting most of his weight on me to hold me down.” You said quietly. 

“I see… And what happened after that?” He started stroking himself faster, imagining forcing you to the ground, making you tell him all of your trauma while he held you down and raped you again. 

“He said.. upsetting things, and I just cried harder. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“What did he say to you?” He asked eagerly. 

“He called me a w-whore for the dress I was wearing. And said that I was asking for it.” You trailed off into another sob and he bit his lips to stifle any sounds. “He said that I deserved it.” 

“Did you?” You finally looked at him when he asked that. 

“What?” Your voice was breathy and strained. 

“Did you deserve it? Were you dressed like a whore, tempting him?” Your brows scrunched together and more tears filled your eyes. 

“I— It was just a normal sundress.” 

“You weren’t wearing anything else?” He wanted a very clear picture of the scene so he could see it more vividly when he replaced that man with himself. 

“No, but— it almost went down to my knees and…” He almost laughed at the way you were trying so desperately to prove yourself to him. Instead, he gave you a warm smile and shushed you softly. 

“Relax, I believe you.” He cooed. “Please continue.” 

“Um… he kept doing it for a while— I don’t really know how long. Then he called me a… a dumb- cunt,” you closed your eyes again and tried to keep your breathing steady, “and said he was going to… breed me. That I was just asking to be knocked up.” Jonathan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he reclined in his chair a little. 

“And,” he had to clear his throat when he heard how raspy it was, “what did you do after that?” 

“I tried begging him not to and screaming because I…” 

“You’re not on birth control. Yes, I remember seeing that in your medical history file.” You nodded in response. 

“But he didn’t listen.” You whispered. He couldn’t believe that man was stupid enough to cover your mouth. Jonathan wanted nothing more than to listen to you cry and beg him not to come deep in your fucking womb— breed you properly the way a dumb whore deserves.

“Did you start fighting again? Or were you still just laying under him.” 

“I tried.” You said through a small whimper. “I tried pushing him away and getting out from under him, but I just— I felt trapped with how he was laying on me.” 

“Are you claustrophobic?” 

“I- I don’t know. I didn’t think I was…” You said, unsure, and he hummed in acknowledgment, but it was more of a quiet moan. You’d look so adorable underneath him, trying to squirm out of his grip and crawl away, free yourself from his assault. “Keep going. You’re doing so well.” He was already getting close. 

“He started moving faster and harder, which just made it hurt even more. But after another few minutes of that, he— he finished…” 

“Tell me about that. What did it feel like? What emotions did it invoke?” He practically begged, stroking himself even faster. 

“I felt disgusted because of the way his breath felt on my neck and how his body felt pressed against mine… I felt.. scared because I’ve never had to deal with the consequences of this— I didn’t know what I should do after. But I also felt… relieved? Because I knew it was almost over.” 

“You always use protection?” 

“Yes.” He tried not to scoff at that. If he was your boyfriend and you were selfish enough to deny him that pleasure, he’d either break up with you or start raping you raw. 

“This was the first time a man has ever ejactulated inside?” You nodded with a dark blush. “How did that feel? Physically I mean.” 

“Um, I… I don’t really know how to describe it.” You said, almost sheepishly. 

“That’s okay. Why don’t you tell me what he did after that?” 

“When I stopped screaming, he took his hand off my mouth. Then he pulled out and stood up to start buttoning his pants again. That was when I ran.” Of course this man was pathetic enough that he couldn’t even be bothered to properly enjoy his efforts. Jonathan wanted to push your legs open, see how puffy and abused your little pussy would look… and he wanted to watch his come leak out of you. He’d have it no other way. 

“Why risk running? If you thought he was finished, why not wait for him to leave?”

“I just— I panicked. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure what else to do.” He nodded, thinking of what he was going to say next. 

“So. You were raped violently in the middle of the park in almost broad daylight, then you beat a man to death with a rock. Which do you think was more painful for you?” You stared at him in shock, clearly not expecting him to be so blunt. “I understand it is a hard question, but I need to know. It will help me figure out how to treat you.” He said calmly. 

“I-I’m not scared that I’ll… do that again. But I am scared that it will happen to me again.” You whispered, unable to say the words. 

“You’re scared you’ll be raped again, you mean.” You nodded and he could feel himself nearing the edge. He just needed one final push. “Are you finding it hard to trust people now? Men in particular.” 

“Yes.” 

“But you trust me.” He pointed out, watching you stiffen as panic flooded your body. “That’s the thing about rape, most of the time, it’s not a stranger in a park. It’s usually someone you trust; a friend, coworker, classmate, doctor, etc. It could even be a family member that you trust.” You swallowed audibly, keeping your eyes on your lap. “How do you think you’ll react when it happens again?” Not if… When.

“Um… I- I don’t…” You cleared your throat, getting even more uncomfortable and scared. 

“Will you handle it better? Or will you snap and kill again.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” You whimpered. 

“I know. Don’t worry, I know.” He cooed sympathetically, but his voice was getting noticeably breathy now. “However, we don’t know whether or not you’ll be raped again. I must consider the fact that it led you to kill a man when deciding how to proceed.” He could see that you were trying to find the words, but couldn’t figure out how to respond. “That’s why I need to know if you think you’ll handle it better the second time.” He explained. 

“I- I’m…” You swallowed and let out a shaky breath. He stared at you for a moment, then his eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a smile. 

“Oh I see. You don’t think it will happen again do you?” He tried not to laugh. “You think now that you’re part of the statistic, you’re safe from it happening again… Unfortunately, most rape victims will be assaulted more than once— more than twice, even. So it’s only a matter of time.” He didn’t know shit about rape statistics, but it was making you cry more and that’s all that mattered. 

“Dr. Crane…” You whimpered, tears rolling down your cheeks. It took everything he had to swallow down the moan that almost escaped when you said his name like that. 

“Hm?” He stroked himself impossibly faster, if you weren’t such a mess you would’ve noticed the movement of his arm by now. “Will you cry like you’re doing now? Will you beg, plead, and scream to not get pregnant with your rapist’s child again?” He doesn’t know if you’re pregnant right now, but he’s pretty sure you didn’t pick up a morning after pill on your way to the police station. He’ll be sure to give you one to deem otherwise though. If you’re going to get knocked up, it won’t be from anyone other than himself.  

“Or will you lay nice and quiet like a good little girl, and just take it.” Even though he liked the thought of you screaming for him to stop, he also liked the idea of you being so broken that you just let it happen. “Because we both know you’re too weak to fight back, so that’s not even an option.” He said amusedly. Your body was shaking almost violently now— you were obviously having a stress response, but it just made his cock throb even more. 

“If you refuse to answer, I’ll have no choice but to have you transferred to prison instead.” He warned and you let out a choked sob in response. 

“First.” You whispered, so quiet that he almost didn’t hear it.

“Speak up.” He snapped, enjoying the way you flinched. 

“The first!” You sobbed out. “The first one.”

“What about the first one?” You cried harder, still looking at your lap. 

“I- I’d cry. And… and beg.”

“Really? Show me how you’d beg.” He smirked. When you stayed silent, he continued. “If I don’t know that you can properly beg, how do I know you’re not lying? How do I know you won’t murder a man with your bare hands again?” You let out a strangled sob at his words. 

“P-please..”

“I’m not convinced.” He said plainly. “You have one last try to show me how you’ll beg the next lucky guy who rapes you or I’ll make the call right now to have you transferred.” If you noticed his slip up, you didn’t react to it, which he was grateful for. He does not want to waste time getting your trust back. 

“Please!” You cried out. He couldn’t tell if you were begging him or showing him until you continued. “Please stop— please.” 

“Stop what?”

“Fucking me!” That made him laugh quietly. 

“Use the proper word, darling.” He tried not to sound too patronizing. 

“Please stop r-raping me.” You whimpered. 

“What else? Use the right words on the first try because you don’t have another chance.” He couldn’t wait to play with you like this again while he tormented you. Your teary eyes and whimpering voice were just too pretty. 

“Please don’t… don’t- breed me..” Your words were almost incoherent through all of the crying now. But he wasn’t going to let you stop, not when he was so close. 

“Do better.” He suddenly yelled, making you jump and cry even harder. 

“Please don’t breed me! I- I don’t want to get pregnant, please..” He closed his eyes and let his head drop forward, seconds away from release. 

“Should I make the call?” 

“No! No, I'm sorry! Please don’t,” the words caught in your throat and you let out another sob before sputtering out, “Don’t breed me! Please, I- I don’t want to be pregnant with your child…” You trailed off and started crying even harder. It was so easy to imagine that you were truly begging him to not knock you up right now and he couldn’t wait to listen back to the recording. To hear the fear and desperation in your voice and the way you sobbed.

He groaned quietly, then felt his orgasm finally crash over him. Ropes of come spurted out from his cock, landing on the floor, but he imagined he was deep inside your little cunt right now. Splitting you open on his cock, making you beg him to stop, raping a kid into you. He couldn’t stifle the moan in time when he had that thought, but you were crying hard enough that he’s pretty sure you didn’t even notice. When his orgasm finally faded and his fist slowed to a stop, he caught his breath for a moment, then cleared his throat and sat up in his seat again. 

“That was good. It’ll be a challenge, but I think I can help you.” He smiled, already thinking of a “treatment” plan for you. “Is that what you want? For me to fix your broken little head and make you all better again?” He cooed almost mockingly. You nodded in response. 

“Look at me.” He ordered, waiting to continue until you were staring at him with teary eyes. “Answer verbally.” 

“Yes.” You whispered. 

“Good. While I work out the best treatment for you, I’m going to give you a mild sedative. It will help calm you down and keep you stable.” The closest thing to a vegetative state that is actually reversible, is what he didn’t say. He wanted a chance to see what he was working with and he knew if you were fully conscious you’d never allow him anywhere near your body, no matter how much you trust him. 

“Okay.” You said quietly. 

“I promise you, you’re in very good hands. The only thing I want is to help you.” He smiled, deliberately avoiding details on how he would help, or what his ‘help’ would result in. 

“Thank you.” You spoke through a whimper, making his smile widen into something more sinister. He’s going to have so much fun with his new toy. 

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[milkmejae]

late night calls— l.hs smau

VII. homebody-ish

previous | next

12:47 AM

You sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook as you stare at the mess of notes in front of you. Midterms. The bane of your existence. Your head is pounding, your highlighter is running out, and at this point, you're convinced your bloodstream is 60% caffeine.

“If I don’t pass midterms, I’ll be the one getting psyched out.” you murmured to yourself, feeling the weight of your course crashing on you.

You were about to cry and rip your hair but then the phone vibrates against the desk.

block waitlist finalist calling…

You blink. Again?

For a brief second, you consider declining, but curiosity wins. With a sigh, you pick up, not even bothering with a proper greeting.

“Dude.”

A familiar voice sighs on the other end. 

“Oh, thank god. I thought you weren’t gonna answer.”

“You should be so lucky.”

“Damn. What happened to customer service?”

You rub your forehead. “What happened to not harassing strangers at ungodly hours?”

“Touche,” he mutters.

“But technically, I’m harassing you at a slightly less ungodly hour this time. Progress.”

“You need a hobby, man.”

“Nah,” he says. “I need a therapist. But this is cheaper.”

You snort despite yourself. “And what tragic event has brought you here tonight?”

“A lot,” he groans dramatically. “But let’s start with the fact that my friends are pulling a shit rn.”

“Shocking,” you deadpan. “And what did your little frat cult do now?”

Silence. A long pause. 

“…Wait. How do you know I’m in a frat?”

You smirk, flipping a page in your textbook. “You just give off the vibe.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

You shrug. “Like… I could just tell. I’d bet my tuition that you own a backwards cap.”

"Okay, first of all, rude. Second, I only wear it forwards. Sometimes.”

“Mhm. Sure, frat boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But that’s what you are.”

“I have layers.”

“I’m sure. Like an onion.” He lets out a deep sigh, like he regrets every life choice that led him here.

“Whatever. Can I talk about my tragic night now?”

“By all means,” you say, pretending to take notes like this is an academic lecture.

“So,” he starts, “I went to this Solidarity Party thing last night.”

Your fingers tighten around your pen. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Apparently, it’s for, like, unity or something. I wasn’t really listening,” he admits. “I just showed up ‘cause my boys were going.”

“Mhm. Very inspiring.”

“Anyway, there was this band playing,” he continues. “And holy shit. The vocalist?”

You blink, feigning innocence. “What about her?”

“Bro,”

he says, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t even know how to explain it. Her voice was just different. The second she started singing, it was like… everything else got drowned out.”

Your grip tightens slightly. “You sound a little obsessed.”

He scoffs. “I sound like a guy with taste.”

“Right,” you say, biting back a smirk.

“I mean, I don’t even know her, but like—” He pauses.

“You ever feel like someone just sticks in your head? Like, you don’t even know why, but something about them just…”

“…Gets stuck?” you finish.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

You lean back against your chair, twirling your pen. “Sounds like a you problem.”

He groans. “I’m being serious.”

“I am too,” you tease. “What do you want me to say? ‘Go confess your undying love?’”

“Ew.”

You snort. “What are you even gonna do about it?”

“Dunno,” he admits.“She just sounds… kinda familiar, though.”

“Familiar?” Your heart skips for half a second.

“Yeah.”

“You think you’ve met her before?”

“Nah, not met,” he says. “Just… I dunno, her voice. Feels like I’ve heard it somewhere.”

“She kinda sounds like you.”

“Weird.” You clear your throat, feigning nonchalance.

“Right?” He huffs. “Anyway, you probably wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh?” you say, tilting your head.

“Yeah. You don’t seem like the type to go to parties.”

You lean forward slightly, smirking. “And what exactly is my type?”

There’s a beat of silence before he mutters.

“…I don’t know. Boring?”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“I meant, like… homebody-ish.”

“Homebody-ish?”

“Yeah, like you’re probably studying and at dorm right now.”

You glance at the mountain of notes in front of you. “Maybe.”

“See? Proves my point,” he says smugly. “You don’t seem like the type to be at a rowdy college party.”

“Well,” you say, leaning back, “joke’s on you, because I was at a party last night too.”

That shuts him up.

“Wait. For real?”

“Mhm.”

“You? At a party?”

“Yes.”

“Was it, like, a… chess club party?”

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“A spelling bee afterparty?”

“Oh my god.”

His chuckles can be heard through the phone now.

“Alright, alright. So what kind of party?”

You tap your fingers against your desk. “Just… a uni party.”

“Mm.”

“Mm?”

“That’s vague.”

“Take it or leave it.” He sighs dramatically.

“Fine. Guess we both had eventful nights.”

“Mhm.”

There’s a moment of silence before Heeseung yawns. You glance at the time—1:23 AM.

“You should sleep,” you mutter.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “You too.”

You exhale, glancing at your midterm notes. “We’ll see.” He chuckles.

“Good luck, then.”

You pause. “…Thanks.”

The man yawns again.

“Alright, hotline babe. Goodnight.”

You hesitate for half a second before replying, voice softer than before. "Goodnight I guess.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

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© milkmejae 2025

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 8 : Put Me On A Feeling I've Never Had

Note: Yeahh my bad, I was not supposed to be gone so long. I am so thankful anyone still here, I still love this story, my life just started lifing again you guys. Thank you for the notes, reblogs, comments and messages. Thank you to those who created things in honor of my story. I love interacting with you guys and hearing thoughts (constructively, I'm sensitive). This one is pretty long and Art and Heaven centric, but the full gang will be around in the next chapter. Once again thank you for the love and I hope you're still rocking with me. I was a little rusty but we're getting back into it. Also...there's a nasty scene, MDNI. Grown folks...the song I feel like is playing in the background is Novacane by Frank Ocean. If you guys have any songs you feel like apply to any characters or relationships in my story, please share! Thanks, hope you enjoy! <3

Warnings: Cheating (fr this time y'all :(), explicit sexual content (MDNI!!!!!), small mention of disordered eating, and some strong language.

Translation: Tanti baci- Many kisses; la mia dolce piccolina - My sweet little girl

Taglist: @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

2019 (California)

“Let’s go.” Tashi mumbles, tying the thick hotel robe around herself as she shuffles across the floor, forcing her lip not to curl as her scar peeks out from the heavy, white fabric. 

Art releases a deep breath, rolling from his stomach onto his back, determinedly keeping his eyes shut. His large hands blindly feel across the painfully cool, silk, sheets. Painfully empty, silk sheets. The folds slip along his fingers as he feels for a body that’s not there, finally giving up and forcing his eyes open to push off of the soft mattress. It’s not like it was offering him any comfort anyway. 

He pulls on a pair of shorts over his underwear before walking sluggishly to the bathroom to pee  and brush his teeth as he hears the hotel door clicking open, knowing none of them belong to the two people that he wanted to see the most. 

Like a zombie he stalks his way into the suite, the room filled with people Tashi hired in an effort to keep her machine oiled and running. Nutritionist, masseuse, physical therapist, assistant coach. All bustling around, shaking up the protein shake he was allowed to have in lieu of the real, delicious food that he could hear the rest of them murmuring about ordering. 

Art falls into his routine on autopilot, letting his personal trainer stretch his legs as he lies on the floor, stretching his back with the resistance band. All under the scrutiny of Tashi’s watchful eye out of her peripheral vision, focus flickering between Art and the television. He clenches his jaw and tries to drown out the sound of what feels like the 50 thousandth reporter questioning if today’s match was going to be the one that pulls him from his losing streak. 

Maybe they should get off their asses and try to see him on his court. Maybe then they wouldn’t feel so comfortable talking shit behind a desk and a camera while he was working his fucking ass off. 

“Art, relax your shoulders. You’re tense.”

That earns him another glance from Tashi, lips pursed as she pops a strawberry into her mouth.

The blond corrects his form, releasing the air constricting his chest, letting his eyes slip up toward the ceiling in resignation. 

After finishing his warm up stretches Art downs the protein shake, feet dragging lazily along as he stands in the kitchen trying to psych himself up for the day.

Donaldson has taken the win in several tournaments, even making his mark at Wimbledon, several grand slams-

That’s right, Shane. The only thing the player is missing is that elusive U.S. Open. Now, he was a fan favorite prior to a painful injury last spring, but has made a full recovery. And yet, he seems to be in some sort of slump, hopefully with the support of the new team hired by his coach he’ll be able to take the victory today in his match against DeMario-

Tashi slowly brings her gaze upward, raising her eyebrows at Art as he looks at her, dropping the plastic remote back onto the coffee table after muting the tv. Shrugging, she brings her coffee to her lips and sits back against the cushions, crossing her legs and facing the tv again. 

Art’s lips part as he works up the courage to say what he’d wanted to say for the last few months…hell maybe years. 

Before the words can come out, the door beeps again. The only other person with a key card clicks the door open and once again, the words get caught in Art’s throat, it’s too big of a risk. 

“Daddy!”

The little voice has Art’s heart clenching, blue eyes softening immediately as dark curls and big brown eyes come bouncing toward him, he’s bending to catch the girl attempting to fly into his arms, only to be stopped short.

“Hold on baby-” there goes the other voice, the one that makes his heart speed up instead of clench. Heaven lifts the squealing girl, grunting as she hoists her onto her hip, nuzzling her nose into her cheek. “Gotta let Daddy get ready for work right?”

“But I want to play with him.” his little girl whines and he could weep.

“Oh, you will, la mia dolce piccolina. But first, Daddy’s gotta get ready to play some tennis, you remember why?”

“Because he’s the best tennis player in the world.” She squeals. 

Heaven’s lips roll inward as she glances at Art then Tashi and then back to Art, whispering a quiet, “Yep.” Before walking over to the couch, lowering the little girl to Tashi, relishing in her giggles as she dangles her over the back so she can reach Tashi’s face, “Go on, tanti baci.”

Tashi smiles, accepting the uncoordinated kisses the child scatters all over her face, mumbling a thank you against her cheek before sending a meaningful look to Heaven, nodding her head in Art’s direction and turning back to the TV in front of her and turning the volume back up.

Art rolls his eyes, cocking his head back as Heaven makes her way over to him, the little girl squirming in her arms to smack her hands on her father’s cheeks. “Oh, is it my turn?”

“Yes!” She grins, cheeks dimpling in a way that makes him melt.

“Yes?” He cheeses back, blowing a raspberry into her hand and taking in each messy kiss his daughter plants on his skin. “Thank you, princess.” When his daughter releases Heaven adjusts her on her hip, a soft smile on her own face as she watches the interaction. Art stares down at her, watching the smallest of movements she gives him, her eyes flicking up to his and just as quickly turning away. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She says gently, finally giving him her eyes fully, pouty lips just begging for him to take them with his own. 

Art brings his hand to her chin, tilting it up to guide her to meet him halfway, sighing in relief when her eyes flicker closed in anticipation of a kiss. He places his other hand over his daughter’s eyes with a breathy chuckle, inching closer to her lips only to be stopped short by the creek of someone jumping up from the couch. 

“We need to get down to the courts.” Tashi calls, not looking up from her notebook, but clearly disapproving from the look he’d grown to know very well over these last few months. 

Before Art can do anything, Heaven recoils, pulling back again, this time shuffling a couple steps away, ponytail bouncing behind her as she walks between Art and Tashi, not offering either of them so much as a glance. Her voice fades as she disappears towards the kids room in the suite, the last thing he hears is her murmuring into the little girl’s ear. “Should we check on sissy? Maybe we can all order some breakfast before we watch Daddy play.”

“Pancakes!”

“Pancakes? Pancakes are for big girls, are you a big girl who can walk on her own without running to get Daddy?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s good, mama, let’s get you some pancakes then.”

Art stares down the hallway, picking at the skin on his fingers as he tries to catch the rest of the conversation. Just a little bit more.

But he couldn’t have more, at least, not right now. He’d have to settle for this little bit he got. So, he scrubs his hand down his face, and grabs one of his shirts and follows Tashi out of the door, biting back a yawn.

“-and the pool.”

“And the pool? That seems like a lot of fun. I wonder when you’re going to practice your reading.” Heaven hums. She holds the door leading to the tennis courts, guiding the little girl through first before adjusting the two year old on her hip, following closely behind. “Don’t run, Aurora, walk to the seat please.” 

Her heels clack as she walks along the gravel walkway, nuzzling her cheek against the toddler in her arms, offering a soft smile to the man who helps her up to the seats reserved for Team Donaldson. Slipping shades onto her face, Heaven ducks her head to hide away from the reporters, suddenly noticing her arrival and snapping some distant pictures before they decide to swarm her. 

Tashi’s mother leans forward, kissing Heaven’s cheek, murmuring in her ear for her to pass her the baby to hold in the row behind her. Heaven crosses her legs, bouncing her knee nervously as she stares at the empty court. She bites her bottom lip until she tastes metal, and then takes to toying with the rings on her finger. 

Today is a big deal. 

The match is nothing serious. Just some young, new player who was probably absolutely pissing themselves because they’re going against the Art Donaldson. But Art’s been…struggling. She doesn’t know what’s causing it, this slump he’s in. They’ve been operating the same way for the past few years, but suddenly, it seems like Art’s checked out. It bothers her to watch him just go through the motions, like a little worker bee with no thoughts or ambition of his own. Heaven can’t stand how uninterested he seems in everything. Tashi seems to think it’s a confidence issue, at least that what she tells Heaven as she rolls her eyes and scrolls through his dropping stats. Art’s mother thinks that he needs to take another break. 

Heaven doesn’t know what she thinks. What she does know, is that Art hasn’t been fucking winning. And when Art doesn’t win, none of them win. 

“Excuse me, miss?”

Heaven jolts from her thoughts, turning to look up at a brunette lady, her hair pulled back into a probably once neat bun, mussed from rushing around, working the event. She adjusts her headset and looks down at Heaven with a smile. “Hi, yes?”

“Team Donaldson wants to see you in their waiting room.”

2007 (California: UCLA Campus)

Art claps as loud as he can as Heaven and the rest of the cast takes their bow. He watches her curtsy deeply with a pretty smile on her face, her chest rising and falling with effort. As she allows the male lead to take her hand and guide her off the stage, her gaze falls to Art, and she fixes him a strange look. 

He knows he probably looks stupid. Art can almost feel how goofy the smile on his face is, but he can’t help it. 2 hours and 15 minutes. That’s how long he got to watch her. She came on and off of the stage but his eyes followed her the whole time. It felt like she was only on stage for 3 minutes. Time suspends while Heaven dances. Art watched her body contort, and her muscles stretch as she moved across the stage. He felt fucking privileged. Like he didn’t deserve that experience. He doesn’t know how Patrick and Tashi could pass up the opportunity to see her like this. The glow on her face as she tells a story with her form. 

Art is startled by a soft nudge to his side, turning to see Heaven’s stepfather giving him a knowing grin. The blond coughs, finally and fully shaking the trance he’d been in and giving the older man his attention. “She’s…she’s amazing.”

“Believe me, I know, my daughter is the brightest star.” Luca pats Art roughly on the arm, his strong hand a stark contrast from his kind smile. “It seems like you know that too.”

Art feels his face heat, eyes briefly darting back toward the stage. “Yeah, I do.” 

“And your friend, Patrick, does he know?”

If this was any other situation he’d cover for his best friend. Art would tell the older man that something happened. Make up some excuse, some lie as to why Patrick wasn’t here to support his girlfriend. But he didn’t have it in him. 

Why should he? Why should he talk his way out of something good? If Patrick actually knew what he had he’d be here. Tashi he can excuse, she’s recovering. But even then, Art can’t think of anything on God’s green earth right now that would have been able to keep him from watching her like this. Or even just the chance to spend time with her. 

"Heaven deserves...everything."

A few minutes pass before Heaven comes barrelling out, leaping into her stepfather’s arms like a little girl, her smile wide as she cuts their brief conversation about the other dancers Art missed while he was in his Heaven induced daze. The elder man grunts as he catches her, showering her in praise and presenting her with the Chanel gift bag before slipping into the conversation that her mother was unable to make it. 

Art enjoyed the warmth of the moment. He basks in the joy on her face, and the hum of jealousy at the fact that he’s not the one causing it is manageable, remaining at a low thrum in his chest. When she finally turns to address him, he straightens, determined not to sound like a fanboy meeting his celebrity crush. 

“Well?” Heaven cheeses up at him, clearly waiting for her ego to be stroked. She rocks on her feet, her hands clasped together behind her back. She’d loosened her hair out of the intricate style she’d performed with, but still stood before him in her final costume, looking like a princess who walked straight from a fairytale. 

“Well…I’m gonna empty my bank account to get tickets for every other night, so-”

“Then I’ll expect to see you there. I’ll put on a good show” She says softly, pushing onto her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Heaven brings her lips to Art’s ear. “Thank you for coming.”

“Um,” Art’s voice cracks as he feels her press against him, not knowing how to embrace her in a way that wouldn’t give away the fact that she literally made him fall in love with her all over again moments before. He settles for rubbing her back, holding her a beat longer than what’s appropriate. He holds himself back from tightening his arms around her when she does pull away, opting to present her with the flowers he’d bought her instead. “I got you these. I  saw they gave you some when you were taking your bow but…these ones are from me.”

Heaven bites her bottom lip glancing behind him and then back into his eyes. “Thank you, Art.”

“Yeah. You were beautiful, Hev.”

Luca’s eyes narrow as he looks between his stepdaughter and the young man he’d watched sitting on the edge of the fabric theater seat the entirety of the performance. He’d expected to be joined by Heaven’s boyfriend tonight. He’d heard from Tashi that she still was not feeling well and his wife made it abundantly clear that until Heaven was part of a company that she deemed professional, she would not be making the effort to attend a performance. 

So when a young man came in looking like he was about to win the lottery, eyes glued to the stage before the performance even began, stars in his eyes and hands gripping the side of the seat, he thought this was him. The older man was relieved, really. He’d love for Heaven to be his baby forever. He’d never take for granted the day that he was taking his niece to the ballet to see Coppélia. She was briefly in town and he’d taken the night off work to take her out while his sister and brother-in-law got a break. He’d gotten the nicest seats in the house to show his niece a good time. 

What Luca hadn’t expected was for a beautiful woman to tap him on the shoulder, her adorable little girl dressed like the doll in the ballet peeking out from behind her leg. The woman had all but demanded that he and his niece trade places with her and her daughter, offering to pay him after pointing out that his niece was asleep and not paying attention anyway. 

He didn’t mind giving up the seat, in exchange for the beautiful woman’s number, and the bright smile on the little girl’s face. She was missing her front two teeth and was barely taller than her mother’s knee, but he watched them. He saw the little girl stare up at the dancers with wonder, sitting with her back straight, imitating their arm movements as the ballet went on. He watched her mother smile down at her, pointing out things the little girl might miss. It wasn’t long before he fell in love with the woman and her daughter, and soon, they were a family. 

But now, the little girl who used to ask her stepdaddy to twirl and lift her like the big girls he took her to see was on stage where she belonged. And there was a boy. A man. Here, mesmerized by her. He watched the love in the boy’s eyes in real time. 

The only problem was that he wasn’t him. He wasn’t the boy who was supposed to be here, on the edge of his seat, watching his little Stellina shine. No, he was a friend. 

Maybe it wasn’t fair to be rooting for the boy in front of him when he hadn’t met the boyfriend. Maybe he owed him a chance to prove himself too. But one thing he and Beatrice had instilled in Heaven, trait that she and her Tashi share, is knowing you have to earn the things you want. Tonight is the first big night of many for Heaven. But, it was the first. She deserved support. As long as Luca was alive she would have it, but he’s not naive. He knows he won’t be enough anymore. And it all boils down to one thing. Art was here. Patrick was not. 

So, if he invited Art to dinner, it was because he’d earned a seat.

“I could have been a pro, that’s all I’m saying.” 

Utensils clang over the music and chatter of the restaurant Heaven and her dad had guided him to. Apparently, they went to it every time Mr. Whitlock visited Heaven at school. It’s an American Steakhouse and Brewery. Fancy enough that he couldn’t come in sweats, which Patrick would have hated. But not so fancy that they had to be all stiff and uncomfortable like at the restaurants his dad normally drags him to.

“Papino, please-” Heaven whines, dramatically dropping her head into her hands. 

“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Art.” The older man waves his hand, dismissing his daughter playfully. Leaning in conspiratorially to Art. “My daughter is closed minded, but she is not the only athlete in our family. If my football career would have taken off-”

“You see!” She points, sitting up pointing at her father. “Football” she mocks with a thick italian accent. “Ask him where he was born, Art.”

“It’s not about the birth place!”

The blond chuckles at the exchange, enjoying the banter between father and daughter. He wishes he and his dad had this. Jokes. Familiarity. Heaven softens around him. He remembers what she looked like around her mom. Tense. Nervous. Insecure. And around everyone else, it was like she held herself apart. She stays where its safe, next to Tashi, in their own world, keeping everyone else out. Just the two of them plotting their world domination together. Art often found himself feeling jealous, like he was on the outside begging to be invited in. But right now she’s open. Showing him things he;d never gotten to see from her before. “Where are you from Mr. Whitlock.”

“Luca.” The older man corrects, taking a sip of his water. “And italy-”

Art feels a foot brush his leg under the table and whips his head to look at Heaven, willing his face not to turn pink and for his dick not to get hard as her lips mouth to him ‘New York’. 

“You see this? Arthur, when you have daughters, don’t spoil them, they’ll turn into brats, like my Heaven.”

“A brat? I’m not a spoiled brat. Art, am I spoiled?” she asks, leaning against his arm, fixing her big brown eyes at him. 

Art could fucking melt.

“Don’t bat your eyelashes at him and confuse the boy, here” Luca reaches over and musses his daughter’s hair, earning a laugh and a whine that he’d pay if he messed it up. “Answer now.”

“Hev…”

“Art, no.” She pouts.

“I’m not gonna lie to your dad, you’re a princess, Hev, it’s just what you are. Pretty girls like you tend to get what they want.” He jokes, pinching her cheek. Heaven swats his hand away and crosses her arms, mumbling about them ganging up on her.

“Sorry,” A voice calls from beside the table. It’s their waitress, carrying the desserts they’d ordered. “I didn’t want to interrupt, your chocolate mousse, sir.” The waitress places Luca’s plate down in front of him and he naturally sighs as his daughter’s eyes automatically shift away from it to her glorified fruit cup. He wishes she’d let herself indulge, but he knows from experience. Heaven will not bend. Her discipline will not break. Even as she eyes Art’s strawberry cheesecake, a snack that happens to be her favorite. 

The older man doesn’t know what he’s expecting but it’s certainly not what he sees. He watches the blond young man push the plate toward Heaven, and as he suspects, she pushes it back, the glass is pushed back and forth until the boy shrugs, placing his hands in his lap, as if declaring that if she didn’t have any, he wouldn’t either. Another thing his daughter hates. Waste. 

Heaven rolls her eyes, scooping a small piece of the creamy dessert onto her spoon and taking it into her mouth, causing the boy to grin with victory. Victory that is short lived and replaced with flushed embarrassment when she grabs his chin, taking a much larger scoop and pushing it into his mouth with the same spoon. Luca can’t help but join his daughter in laughing as the boy sputters trying to swallow the hunk she fed him. But he also can’t help but notice her bringing his water to his lips, rubbing his back and thanking him for a piece of his cake. The cake that he didn’t touch again, the grimace he’s hiding clearly revealing that he doesn’t like strawberry cheesecake and that his decision may not have been a coincidence after all. 

As they close out their meal, he thinks back on what he witnessed that night. Heaven’s beautiful dancing had definitely been the highlight. But as his daughter and the boy who had stars in his eyes as he looked at her spoke about everything and nothing he had a feeling that he was witnessing something even more rare.

And this would not be the last time he saw Art Donaldson.

“He likes you.” Heaven singsongs, strolling into the doorway as Art holds it open, following closely behind her. “My dad.”

“Thank God, I was worried about that.” Art breathes, letting her lead him to her dorm room door. 

When she reaches her unit Heaven turns, leaning against the door and looking up at the blond man in front of her. “Why? Pressure’s not on you, it’s not like you’re my boyfriend.” Art just raises his eyebrows, nodding his head. “Too soon?”

“Uh, yeah,” he breathes, dropping his head slightly. “Pretty sure it’ll always be too soon.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He forces himself to ask her the question burning in his mind, looking at the floor. “Have you…have you heard from him?”

“No. But, I’m pretty sure I’m not the girlfriend he’s worried about losing.” She shrugs.

“He’s just…if…Patrick’s a fucking idiot, alright?” Art needs her to understand it’s not her. She’s not the problem. He would do anything for her to get the only issue is that Patrick isn’t right for her. He can’t handle her looking up at him with sad eyes like those. Her gorgeous rose petal lips should only ever be spread into a smile. Leaning his forehead to hers, Art lets his eyes slip closed in defeat. “I’m sorry. I’m gonna be a really shitty friend right now, so if you really don’t want to hear it, you should go in your dorm and I’ll drive back to school and kick myself for fucking up with you again.”

“Art, you promised-”

“You wouldn’t have to wonder if you were with me. I meant what I said. I’d be at every show, every rehearsal, fucking, I’ll sit in a room and watch you twirl for fun if you want me to. I want to make you happy.”

“Art, what do you want me to do?” she whines, literally stamping her foot on the carpet, still not moving, sharing his air. 

“Let me show you how good it could be.”

“You want to sleep with me-”

“I’m in love with you.” he sighs. “I’d do anything. Let me show you.”

“You should stop saying that.” Heaven says wearily, running her hand through blond curls. “I’m starting to believe you.” 

He sighs again, leaning into her hand and scanning her features intently, waiting and watching for a sign that this is going in his favor. He just wants to be with her. Take care of her. He’d be so good at it. She just has to let him try. 

And then a miracle happens. 

Art’s brain blows a fuse as he feels Heaven’s lips against his. It feels like it’s been so long since he’s tasted her. He wills himself to take it slow, but as her lips part for him he finds himself groaning and wrapping his arms around the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up against the door. Being with Heaven feels like being an addict getting a fix of their favorite drug. It’s euphoric. A high he can chase with all his might but the only thing that got him to true ecstasy what having her. 

He’s almost scared of what making love with her would do to his psyche. 

Patrick would call him a pussy for saying it that way. But that’s the only thing that he could conceive of calling what he was about to do. Or, the only thing he could say that would be applicable and not sacreligious. 

Heaven gasps as the cool air of her room hits her as she grips Art’s shoulders to keep her balance as he carries her in. The sound of her keys hitting the floor is drowned out by her attempts at breathing steadily and what could only be described as whimpers coming from Art as he bites and sucks at her skin. She hadn’t expected him to be the type to like to leave marks. But here the usually gentle man was, manhandling her onto her champagne, silk bed set, head buried in her neck like a fucking vampire, large hands switching between shoving up her shirt and tugging down her pants.

She scrambles to pull at his shirt, squeaking out the word, “Off.” as his lips encase one of her nipples. 

He listens immediately, reaching one hand back and whipping his own shirt off before kissing a wet trail down her body, kissing her hip bone, tucking a finger under her underwear. Art pauses then, waiting for confirmation that he could continue. He looks like a wounded puppy when Heaven sits up, legs effectively closing to him. 

The somber look is immediately traded for one of shock and then pleasure when she guides him to sit in the bed, and climbs into his lap, her hand unzipping his shorts and pushing into his boxers. “Fuck, Heaven-”

“I figure, I should thank you. For showing up for me today,” she whispers into his ears, relishing in the noises he makes as one of his hands grips the blanket below them and the other buries into her hair. “and any other day since I met you. I do appreciate you, Art. You matter to me.”

Art’s desperate, lifting his hips each time her hand moves up, leaning into her as she whispers in her ear. “I…fuck it feels so good.”

“Yeah? Do I make you feel good? Is that why you wanna be with me so bad, handsome?” she hums, squeezing the tip and trying not to react to his tightened grip when she does.

“I wanna be with you because I…fucking oh fuck, I fucking love you.” he breathes, chest rising and falling, his abs flexing with effort. “Fuck, let me see your face.”

“But I wanna keep talking to you.” Heaven says, letting her lips brush the skin of his ear. “You’re attracted to me, Arthur. You want to fuck me. That’s all. S’okay.”

Art’s eyes squeeze closed and he pulls her even closer to him. “No, I love you. Even if I can’t fuck you.”

“Really?” She twists her wrist and changes the pressure in her grip.

“Unh, fuck, no I love you, but I need to fuck you.” He whines.

 Art drags his hand from the back of her neck to cup her jaw, guiding Heaven to his lips. He kisses her deeply. She can’t describe it. But she feels it in her toes. She can feel the intensity. This wasn’t what she was used to. This kiss felt like something she’d never experienced before. It felt like begging. Like he was pleading with her to understand. He needed her to get what he means, what he feels. When he says anything he means anything. When he says he loves her he means it. 

And for the first time, even in her own mind, Heaven acknowledged that she wanted him to know she felt the same way. 

So when he pulls away to give her air, she chases his lips, capturing them again and getting another taste of the same intensity he’d given her before. “I really tried, you know. To stay away from you.” 

“Don’t stay away from me, I need you.” He breathes against her lips, his own dragging along them as they refuse to take any more space from each other. Art nudges her nose with his softly, dropping his hands to her waist. “Heaven, please.”

“What do you want me to do, Art?” Heaven asks, pulling him from his pants. Her eyes locked on him. He’s blurry in her swimming  vision, but she can see him build the courage to tell her what he needs from her, taking a deep breath.

“Tell me you love me too.” he says against her lips, holding her down against him, rocking her hips to set a pace with his hands. “Tell me, baby. Please.”

“I love you.” 

“Again.”

“I fuck I love you.”

“I love you. Again.” he groans, guiding her a little faster, sliding one hand down and tugging at her underwear again. This time she pushes up onto her knees, separated by his thighs, she helps him get the fabric off of her body as his gaze follows her upward, leaning his head back. 

“Arthur.” she says sternly, cupping his cheeks with her hands, “I mean it.”

Art and Heaven share a gasp as she sinks down on him, his strong, calloused hands grip soft, muscled thighs as they share two pecks before pushing their foreheads together, both peering down to where they’re joined together, the only sounds in the room are the slow creaking of the bed and the pants passed between the pair.

Heaven had never felt so close to someone before. She’d never felt this good. All she could think about was Art. Art’s hands on her, squeezing her, pushing her hair out of her face, pressing his thumb into her cheek, encouraging her to open her eyes whenever they slip closed as she rises and falls above him. 

Art’s eyes, that drink her completely. The perfect mix of blue and brown, glossy and locked on her. He always demands her eyes. He’s made it clear he loves when she looks at him, but the way Art looks at her…it’s like he worships her. It’s like he’s worried if he blinks she’d be gone. He makes her feel the most beautiful she ever has.

He’s beautiful. It distracts Heaven to look at him, beneath her, yet somehow demonstrating his strength. Holding her up, guiding her movements with his strong arms, veins running up the muscles that hold her. All while offering her the prettiest slurred moans.

“Fuck, Heaven, you feel so good.”

“So good, squeezin’ me, you need me baby?”

“He didn’t fuck you like he loved you, no one can. Only me, gorgeous. No one can love you like I can.” 

“S’like I’m meant to be inside you.”

As Art’s thrusts grow harsher and deeper, they keep their slow pace. Heaven buries her head in his neck, letting him rock her as she cries into his skin. She feels the pressure building in her lower abdomen.

Art feels her tighten around him and suddenly he’s lucid. The squeeze pulls a cry from him before he’s turning his head to be in her ear. “You gonna cum, sweetheart?”

“Yeah” Heaven whimpers.

“Yeah? Fuck…I’m so glad, baby. Hold on okay?” He lifts her then, earning a squeal from Heaven as he rolls them so he’s above her, just barely hovering as he brackets her with his arms. Art leans down, placing his weight on her before pushing into her again, staring down at her face as she bites her lip, trying to silence her noises. “Please don’t. I fucking dream of those sounds, I wanna hear them. I earned them, I want to hear you.”

“Fuck, Art-”

“Fuck yes, baby, say my name.” He groans, dropping his head to her chest, pressing open mouthed kisses and littering hickeys along her breasts. “”Cum for me.” He pants against her damp skin.

Art has never heard anything more beautiful. He’d never felt anything fucking like it. In the few years he’s spent on this earth, he’d never experienced anything like feeling Heaven Whitlock cum around him. He almost feels sorry for the past version of himself that hadn’t been inside of her yet. If he had known…maybe it was best he didn’t know. He fell in love with her before any of this. Maybe that’s why it felt so good. Maybe it’s just Heaven. Maybe her parents knew what the fuck they were doing when they named her.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go back to being a person after this. How is he supposed to want to do anything else? He feels like a fucking junkie, worried about when he’d get his next fix. He needs to treat every kiss like it could be his last. Every touch. Every moan. Every thrust. He wants to live here. With her. In her. 

It’s not even over. Art’s still fucking her right now and he’s praying to God that she won’t leave again. She can’t take this from him. She can’t take herself away from him. Her pretty face, crying out for him. Looking at him. Loving him. That’s right baby, eyes on me.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby.” He whines, kissing her deeply as he feels her wrap her legs around him, pulling her closer. “Fuck…I’m-” Art starts to panick, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s almost over. Then she’ll go. She’ll make him go. He wants to be close. Together. He needs more. More time. Please-

“It’s okay, I…feel- I want you to cum, Art.” She presses the sweetest kiss to his nose, wiping dampness from underneath his eyes that he didn’t even realize was there. “I love you.”

It’s the most innocent thing in the world. A little peck on his nose. 

He’s never cum so hard in his life.

“I fucking love you.”

He basically fucking blacked out. She came again…with him. Art could die now, and he’d be fine.  Somewhere in his mind he feels like what they just did altered his life. He knew he wanted Heaven. He knew that when he first saw her. He knew he loved Heaven, he found that out when he saw her dance. But this intensity he feels…he’d do anything for her. Anything she asked. Anything to make her smile. If she’d just stay. 

And despite knowing her for only a couple of months, almost a year now, he knows exactly what she’s about to do. They’ve played this game before.

“So, um,” She clears her throat, rolling out from under him as he releases her, laying on his side and staring as she slips off of the silk sheets and reaches in her drawer, pulling out a white nightgown. Heaven wraps her arms around herself. Closing off. Covering up. “I’m…I’m on birth control so you don’t have to worry that you…”

“Came inside of you?” Art asks, a soft smile on his lips. 

Heaven straightens, eyes narrowing. “Yes. That. And now I have to go pee.” She turns to leave for the bathroom, only to feel a large hand encase her wrist, tugging her back toward the bed.

“Are you really going to pee?”

“Yes, where else would I go?”

He tilts his head, still holding onto her, running his thumb over the back of her hand before bringing it to his lips and kissing it. “You have a tendency to run-”

“I don’t run.”

“Hev, baby, you run. When we get close. We were really close just now.”

Heaven sighs, rolling her eyes before climbing back onto the bed, swinging her leg over Art to straddle him again, this time pulling the fabric of the blanket between them. She intertwines their hands that are not already clasped together, and Art lifts his knees for her to rest her back on. “You scare me.”

The blond man stares up at his lover with a confused look. As she sits perched prettily on his lap he can see she’s being earnest. The anxiousness on her face makes his heart hurt. All he could think is that he’d rather hurt himself than hurt her. She has nothing to fear. But he lies quietly. Letting her playfully pin his hands down with her own, leaning down to his face. 

“I don’t get what you’re doing here.”

His brows furrow. “I’m earning you. Like you said.” 

“That game is way over-” Heaven giggles, rolling her eyes. “What happens if you get me and you figure out I’m not worth it.

“That’s not possible. We both know that, Hev. You’re everything. You’re perfect.”

She shakes her head at that, nuzzling his nose again. “Fucking tennis players, man. Toxic ass bunch.” Heaven huffs at herself, shaking her head. “Just can’t leave ‘em alone. You know, Tashi gave me her blessing to hook up with you? Told me to get you out of my system already.”

Oh. 

“Oh.” He steels himself, letting her weight above him be his anchor. He commits this feeling to memory. Just in case she’s about to say this was a fluke. In case this really didn’t mean what it meant to him to her. “Did it work?”

“I just told you I loved you and let you nut in me Arthur.” Heaven deadpans. 

“I know it was awesome.” He smiles goofily, lifting their joint hands and nudging her dimple with his knuckle. 

“Oh, was it awesome?” she mocks, leaning down and biting his cheek lightly, giggling as he finally stops indulging her and rolls her to lay in front of him, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I actually do need to pee.”

���You sure?” he mumbles against her cheek.

“U-T-I.” she hums, patting his head before pushing up, his arms allow her to move this time. Heaven smiles flirtily at him before slipping out of the door. 

Art lies back on her bed and smiles to himself. She’s right. She did say she loved him. He’s never felt more alive than he does right now. Everything about this felt so right and real. Things were how they should be. Art with Heaven. Heaven with Art. 

It was like he was high. Nothing could take it away from him. This moment was perfect. They were in love, and happy and nothing would pierce this bubble they’d created.

Except that damn buzzing.

Art tells himself he thought it could be his or her phone.

They’re both discarded on the floor. It could be anything. An emergency. With her parents. His. Tashi. Anything. 

He tells himself he didn’t even consider it could be Patrick texting her. And when his jaw clenches, and he runs his hands through his own hair hastily before opening the texts, he tells himself that he saw his best friend’s name and wanted to make sure he was okay. And that he showed great restraint when he chose to delete the message he sent Heaven, claiming to miss her and expressing the need to talk. He could’ve thrown the fucking thing against the wall. He could’ve sent the motherfucker a picture of himself in her bed. Instead he protected her feelings.

And sure. He felt guilty. There was definitely a weight on his chest as he placed the phone perfectly back on the floor where it was and climbed back on the bed. 

But Art can admit, it definitely got lighter when Heaven came tiptoeing back into the room, smiling at him, for him, lifting his arm so she could lay with her back to his chest. Twisting her body to kiss him and promising to talk to Tashi. 

And it for fucking sure went away when she bid him goodnight. “Goodnight…I love you.”

It’s time he and Patrick take some space anyway.

“I love you too.”

[alaskan-wallflower]

what each of the boys major/minor in

note i have my own version of post covid. it’s an AU and I recognize that. What I’m doing is an AU. so. keep that in mind.

Cartman

Cartman majors in business

i mean-look at how he was in Dikinbaus. He would be really good at business. He’s really good at bribing people to buy his shit

He’s also smarter than people give him credit for. He just has no motivation.

He minors in food science.

I like to headcanon that once Liane realized she was spoiling Cartman she kinda locked in (like she did in HumanCentiPad) and teaches him how to cook.

He actually comes to enjoy it and he seemed to have some knowledge of food science beforehand so

Stan

Animal science major. You can’t convince me otherwise.

He becomes a veterinarian in the future. He works with pets, though he got a job at a zoo at some point (he hates putting animals down)

Hes really gentle with animals. He’s one of those people that thinks dogs are better than people/hj

He minors in biochemistry

I already know some of you are thinking ‘Oh WhY nOt MuSiC?’ but like…realistically I don’t think science and music would really clash together when it comes to jobs

I think he recognizes that. So he does Crimson Dawn on the side when he’s free.

Kyle

This was the toughest ngl

He majors in Psychology

I like to headcanon he becomes a therapist. He likes helping people. Hes compassionate. And no, I don’t wanna hear the ‘Oh He DoeSnT UndErStAnD dEprEsSiOn How CaN hE dO pSycH’ like he was nine at the time

I think he would be the type of person to do research on the side about mental diseases because he wants to learn

And hear me out on this. He originally wanted to major in law. I feel like his dad would be big on ‘having his oldest son carry the family name on’ but Kyle ends up not enjoying it so he drops out

He double minors in political science and philosophy

He seems very high on his morals, so I think he would find interest in philosophy, a place where he can express his moral opinions

And he’s great at debate. So I like to think he would go into political science. Not just because he likes debate but also so he can say he’s ’qualified to talk about this because he’s a minor in political science’

Kenny

Okay okay but imagine Engineer Kenny

He’s creative. He has the ideas. He has the ability. I like to think he worked a lot of odd jobs and got really into building things. And he decided he wanted to do that in his life.

I like to think he’s actually really smart. He just doesn’t really have the best home situation so he isn’t given as many opportunities as he would’ve liked.

Although I also like to think that he would buckle down in high school and actually gets into the top five for his class. He applies to pretty good schools and gets a near full ride for some of them. But anyway, I’m yapping too much

As for a minor, he, like Kyle, double minors. in accounting and math.

He wants to make sure nobody has economic issues like he had. And he has a leg up in what he does because he’s dealt with money his whole life practically.

He’s fairly good at math. Plus he’s already got a leg up, like I said.

ahe really pushes himself in college to become someone who can help people who were in the same situations as him. So he works hard and actually does good.

[plurapony]

Why are you kissing the ass of an institution that hates everyone who doesn't fit their idea of "normal"?

Not everyone can access psychiatric care. You're coming from a place of privilege. And how dare you spout bullshit like "Anyone with a real mental illness would want to get better and psychiatric care is the best way to do that." It's not. You can't tell OTHER PEOPLE what's best for them.

How about MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS and leave anti-psych folks alone.

anons other ask that they sent.

first of all, holy fucking shit anon - did you even read the post? i genuinely wouldn't even consider myself pro psych moreso psych critical. the message of the post i made was "fight for better psychiatric care, not no psychiatric care"

we as a system are pony loving cringelords, we use xenopronouns and are pretty much every letter in the LGBTQ+ community AND we are autistic as hell believe me when I say we are NOT trying to uphold a system that wants everyone to be normal. we have seen the good that psychiatric care can have for people and we have also seen the bad, we know some therapists genuinely really care about making the world a better place for everyone and we want to do our part to make that happen.

cdds are a disorder and at this point in time the only method of affectively treating them is talk therapy/edmr which requires therapy. and yes i do come from a place of privilege as i am australian and i believe our healthcare can be a lot better than some other places. i would never ever judge others for not being able to access therapy especially because that's a position i would be in time and time myself. my point was living with this disorder and all it's symptoms can be a living hell sometimes and i genuinely don't understand how someone with that disorder wouldn't want to get better. genuinely i can't wrap my head around it.

anon you really sound like a miserable person. if someone has a cdd and doesn't want treatment that's their business, but if they start hurting other people it is no longer their business. our ex had been diagnosed with bipolar and bpd, didn't care to get treatment and instead abused the fuck out of us. our mother is very much against therapy and instead again will abuse the fuck out of us. and funnily enough both would use their trauma against us to make us feel horrible. both instances instead of healthily seeking out ways to cope with their trauma they turned to abuse and used their trauma only in moments where it would gain them to moral high ground. and why is this relevant? because it's people like you who scream "let people do what they want with their disorders" who don't give a shit when those people's disorders are used as a tool for abuse.

lastly ill say again so it's very clear. I AM PSYCH CRITICAL! there is good in therapy and that's good! there is also bad in therapy and I HATE that! therapy can also be hard to access and I also HATE that and I want to help change it! and how people choose to heal with cdds is entirely their business AS LONG as is not harming others. wew.

[sweetpayaso]

🤡 PSA: PLEASE READ 🤡

Before I go do some cleaning, I wanted to get this off my chest. No, this isn’t another impulsive vent post, in fact, it will be my last post regarding last night’s events.

I have felt incredibly guilty ever since I vented about a particular ship. It was never my intent, as I’ve said before, to shut down others’ work simply because I don’t like it. Yes, I do not like Jack x Jeff, but I don’t hate or have anything against people who do, and I feel some may have taken my feelings on the subject a bit personal. People here are just trying to have fun, right?

My relationship with Laughing Jack, who yes, I am aware is a fictional character, is complicated. I don’t necessarily view myself as a casual Jack selfshipper, but the ones who are casual shippers are some of the coolest people I have ever met, and I have never once thought of my love for Jack as superior to theirs.

I responded by trauma dumping to a user I have never talked with before who questioned the state of my health when it came to Jack, which after a moot pointed out, realized that wasn’t the appropriate response to someone who might have just been showing genuine concern, even if it came off a bit rude initially. I don’t do well without tone indicators sometimes, so please forgive me. My hostility comes from a near decade of unhealthily bottling my mental health issues, because my mom never got me the care I needed, only threats to a psych ward.

I want to change; I realize my trauma dumping isn’t doing me or anyone else any favors, but when you have no money, no ability to drive, no other outlets, in a world that often shuns people like you, my options are very limited. I’ve had no luck finding a therapist for every issue I may have; this has been my coping mechanism since I was 15. I’m autistic, and still don’t feel like I ever aged mentally past 15 because of it. I was never given the tools I needed to be an adult, so I regress often. It’s the only thing I can think to do when shit goes south.

But enough with the pity story, I really just wanted to say that I’m sorry. Yeah, may not mean much, but, I really am sorry for everything, whether it’s being jealous over something I can’t control, or just being an awful friend.

I really am trying to get better, it’s just taking longer than I’ve planned for it to, because of things constantly getting pushed back.

[finalset]

hiii so basically I did get admitted into psych care again. The thing this time was that the hospital I went to had their unit full so I got transferred to another place that was honestly dogshit lmao. the staff did not give a shit about treatment really and my psychiatrist there was on some power trip bullshit the whole time. buut I made what I could of it and honestly learned what I needed to through talking with other people there rather than through the ‘group sessions’ that were like 10 minutes long lmao (we literally just watched tv most of the time and the drs did not see us for shit) just a really fuckin lame facility and it really turned me off from wanting to seek out help from places like that again. I’m just gonna continue recovery with my therapist that I’ve had for a year from now on bc she’s really good though. Overall I did need the reset bc I was spiraling quickly so I am glad I did reach out for help and ended up with others who understand struggling w ur mental health/grief etc. I am happy to be home now though and my spirits are up compared to when I came in last week, so not what I expected but I did what i could with it and I wouldn’t consider the experience completely useless

[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.

[drdemonprince]

how did you know that seeking institutional help was the right step to take?

For four years I was always in high levels of care. When I transitioned out of that, I was a "revolving door patient" to ip units living with a carer the rest of the time. I sometimes self-harmed or did other actions intentionally to get hospitalized during that time. I'm going to focus on mostly that because I don't want to get into the weeds of how different psych treatment programs are categorized and run.

I would say that my goal of being hospitalized usually was to change something in my outpatient life - let my therapist know I wasn't willing to do something, get my companions to let me go for walks alone, whatever. I'd get hospitalized or call the cops on myself or send scary texts to my therapist and then try to end my life, eventually being stopped. I didn't want to die, but if I could prove to them I was willing to, they'd listen.

Another person mentioned a desire for closeness+physical touch, and that was a huge part of it for me. i even got restrained sometimes just because I wanted any touch, which is something commonly heard from incarcerated people. I had certain nurses and other staff who I saw as my family, calling my therapist "dad" and interacting in a needy, childlike way with floor staff.

I also liked how much it pared down my life. I was in college at the time, and found the social habits of the other students confusing and overwhelming, so I'd get hospitalized to miss class.

what helped you trust the professionals or the institution enough for it to be beneficial to you?

i wouldn't say I trust any of the institutions, but some staff earned my trust. I was a scary mean noncompliant patient so the few who actually bothered to get to know me were usually moments away from some kind of burnout where they realized all this shit sucks.

One of the things they did that earned my trust was to share about their own mental health or addiction history. This is encouraged in sud places, but usually VERY discouraged in psych units, moreso the higher level of care it is.

Another big thing was to allow me to break rules or break them themselves. My ex-therapist used to meet with me for extra time, give me my DVD player when I wasn't allowed, etc. and it felt like he saw me as equal. Turns out he sucks. but. during the time he was treating me he definitely helped me a lot with my thinking patterns, so the trust still ended up benefiting me, even if the relationship didn't always. He also talked A LOT about his family and life outside of work, and showed me pictures, and I even met his dog once.

for me this is an example of why therapists are kind of. not great? because he earned my trust enough to help me, I was at his defense. I felt like not getting better was something I was "doing to him", and his displays of sadness (once something I'd considered a positive aspect of his self disclosure) became a way to manipulate me into the hospital when I didn't want to go, without having to resort to force or law. i agreed with the assertion of psychology that he knew me better than I know myself, and gave every part of my personality, personhood, to the medical model.

so yes it helped as in now when I'm suicidal or about to bpd-style destroy my every relationship I think "play the tape forward what happens next" and don't. which is lame bc it means most of the people who treated me get to leave patting themselves on the back about how well im doing now.

which kinds of institutions have been *less* traumatic than the others?

A few times I got to live in supportive group home style places, and those are kind of nice! It was cool to be in a place surrounded by other mentally ill people. Much less lonely. In general, places that let you outside independently, let you access food independently (e.g. no staff in the kitchen), and let you keep some secrets from staff are the best. My quality of life was 100% better when all the program heads knew we were vaping in our rooms but just let it happen unless someone started setting off alarms. Ditto with like, being able to stay up late on Devices.

Having that independence, a place for my sense of self other than being a patient, was sooo sooo helpful.

is it sometimes worth simply not being able to act on the ideation, even if it means putting up with lots of institutional bullshit?

I didn't find the hospital particularly good at getting me to not act, instead they just prevented the worst consequences. All three hundred stitches I got for self-harm were while I was institutionalized. But like, my nerve damage is less than it could've been. I am not sure how to evaluate if that's better than having just died, because I have no idea how much the institution itself caused self-harm and suicidality.

all things being equal, would it always be better to be able to stay at a friend's house instead?

yes

if you could get 24-7 company from a loved one, would that be better?

yes. however. i think it would be good if people had some information about how to talk to suicidal people. like... i forget the training. but its similar to what they teach helpline volunteers. thats its ok to say suicide. to ask if they have a plan. to ask if theyd be willing to get rid of the means. etc.

SORRY IF THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE TO READ

this is a wealth of information, thank you!

[plum-pitt]

Holy shit. I just realized i’ve never even yapped about my headcanons for the rise guys. This is a criminal offense on my part! Must be rectified immediately!!

Disclaimer: Don’t think there’s a lot of hot takes here, but feel free to disagree and talk about your own interpretations if you’d like!! Headcanon is fun and i love discussing it. it’s all fictional and since the text doesn’t give us much concrete shit on these topics we’re all free to make our own, equally valid readings of it. :3

Leo- Transmasc He/Him, gay as fuck who here could’ve guessed, ADHD haver, definitely smokes weed. Fluent in spanish from watching telenovellas as a child. Wants to be a flirty whore/aff so fucking bad but whenever he sees someone he’s legitimately attracted to any charisma he might’ve had gets thrown out the window and into a woodchipper in favor of helpless stuttering. His portalling mishaps early in the series have led him to silly sidequests all over the world that he just,,,, doesn’t really talk about. This won’t come up until they’ll end up in some random ass place and find out just how well travelled and connected he actually is. He’s also got a job at Hueso’s for fun and extra cash to fund his addiction to pot and ordering stupid shit he doesn’t need online. He’s a server, wears rollerskates to “move faster” on the job, just ends up running into shit more often than not. Great with the kids tho, performs little sleight of hand magic tricks and tells jokes to make them happy, never had a fussy kid he couldn’t calm down in a snap. Calls himself Hueso’s nephew and nepotism hire, ignoring the fact that he’s actually a decently competent and well liked employee outside of the several skating related accidents. Shell was cracked badly in the invasion, when they sealed it up, he asked Mikey to paint the healed cracks gold, mimicking the japanese practice of Kintsugi.

Mikey- Definitely queer but not into labels ;3 He/Him is what he defaults to, but any pronouns work for them. Semi fluent in italian, don’t ask me why, just feels right, let chef boy speak italian dammit. One of those mfs on instagram who insists on posting pictures of the food he makes, except his actually looks good and not painfully mediocre so they get a pass. Has been tagging walls in hard to reach spots all over the city for years at this point, after Raph confronted her abt it, fearing that he’d get caught someday, he told him that he’d stop. Yeah, that was a lie he kept doing it, just sneakier now. Makes money off of art commissions, still broke as hell tho cuz he spends it all on bougie ass ingredients and art supplies. Post canon definitely delved more into mystics and spirituality, trains with draxum but also took up meditation in his free time. Fucks with weed and the occasional psychedelic when working on art, says it helps get the creative juices flowing. Considering asking donnie to forge some documents for him so he can attend college online and earn a psych degree. His speech patterns flip on a dime between vague, wise fortune cookie therapist man and typical gen-z slang so abruptly it gives anyone not already familiar with him total whiplash.

Donnie- NonBinary They/He Bisexual but i can’t decide if they’re the kind that can’t stop pulling or can’t pull to save his life. Fluent in several languages, ASL, French, Russian, Japanese. Actually one of their few acedemic endeavors that he doesn’t typically show off and gloat about, makes it all the scarier when his siblings hear him muttering vaguely threatening sounding shit in russian when shit doesn’t go their way. Has tried most substances for “research purposes”, ultimately decided he doesn’t like the feeling of their big ol brain being hindered under the influence, this has a few exceptions tho, mainly when it’s with Leo. Has John Bishops IP address and threatens to drop it on 4chan to “see what happens” every time he tries messing with their family or stopping him from “borrowing” material resources from the US government. Almost considered bs-ing his way into college before they used a cloaking broach to shadow april at school for like 2 days. It was there they learned that the education system fucking sucks and he probably knows more than most professors about his topics of interest anyway. Does freelance work for cash, as far as their brothers know they’re not building and selling anything dangerous (which is code for probably arming both sides in a far away military conflict with deathrays). Spends his free time cyber bullying children on roblox and twitter, and caring for their greenhouse of plants that all have names. (yes he grows weed. his GeniusGrown™️ zaza is known far and wide for its consistently excellent quality. and no, Leo does not get a family discount. Mikey does tho.)

Raph- Someone please send the big man some help😭 he/him(?) Definitely queer in some way shape or form but refuses to confront any identity crisis because he’s just so busy keeping his dumb ass siblings outta shit. Tried weed once and will never touch a substance again, makes his anxiety spike real bad when he doesn’t feel in full control of himself. Runs around with Cassandra and sometimes Jr to do vigilante justice on the side of he and his siblings’ usual patrols. Living garbage disposal and i mean that quite literally. He has and will eat anything, rocks, toys, silverware, sometimes on accident, sometimes on a dare, and sometimes just because he wants to. He grew up gnawing on the legs of furniture, rusty sewer pipes, really any nonliving thing that he could fit his choppers around (unlike donnie who just bit any living creature within a 5 mile radius of his location). Since the invasion made Leo step up as leader Raph has been able to step back a little bit and not have everything in a chokehold, he has a mini crisis about his place in the family and his sense of identity without being a leader. Tries to hide how much it’s affecting him but ofc, living with mikey, this does not last and his ass FINALLY gets chucked (very lovingly) into therapy. Loves to knit, definitely in some kind of old lady facebook group centered around it (he has so much nursing home gossip floating around in his brain hehe)

Alright that’s all for the teetlez. lmk if yall wanna hear about my thoughts on the rest of the main cast, or some of the side cast! Can’t promise i’ll have this much to say on all of em but i’ve definitely got thoughts lol. I might even make a post diving into different character dynamics. idk tho, my fingies are tired typing all that shit😭

Anyway i hope u enjoyed my ramblings, have a lovely day :3