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

[eclarinet]

same soup... different day

[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]

😓🤬

[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.

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[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. 

Taglist (join here)

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[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

[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

[mueritos]

As someone who’s been through multiple therapists and psychs, you’re super not wrong about these people bringing their biases to the table. I’m lucky enough that I

1. Was an older teenager

2. Had friends who had had decent mental health help already

3. Already kinda suspected the shapes of what was “wrong with me” and

4. Had an innate sense of “no that seems like bullshit” before I went in with these people.

The first therapist I ever saw met me as a 17 year old alt girl, and when I tried to talk to her about thinking I had anxiety issues she cut me off before I was done explaining and told me I was self diagnosing, that was causing my problem, and we wouldn’t “entertain THAT” any further.

The second therapist I ever saw met me as a 18 year old trans guy, pre-everything, during the pandemic. She listened, but she had no experience with the trans community and I had to teach her everything about anything I wanted to talk about with regards to that. She was nice, but she couldn’t help me. She didn’t know how.

The third therapist I ever saw met me as a 21 year old young man. She figured I had everything sorted out already. I didn’t. She never tried to change her mind or delve deeper. At this point I couldn’t afford to waste my time, so I asked to be recommended to a psych and she said sure. After that we didn’t talk.

The first psych I went to was very kind, and absolutely did not do his due diligence. I came in with a shiny recommendation from a therapist (that he didn’t verify), so he all but handed me the medication with no explanation and I only ever spoke to him over the phone after that. It was a low barrier to entry but the medication wasn’t right and I didn’t know I had other options. He made it seem like I didn’t.

The psych I’m seeing now put me on a medication that reacted poorly with my inhaler because she didn’t cross check if they would be any drug interactions. I came back and asked for a different medication. She was going to put me on a different one, and then I asked her to check if there were any interactions with this one. Turns out there were severe ones. I ended up going with a different medication, it seems to be working. It would probably work better with help from a therapist, but I don’t have the time or money for that right now. And quite frankly I’m tired of trying to convince people to help me when I have to explain what I think is wrong with me for them to listen. Only for them to decide that I’ve already figured it all out and they don’t need to try.

So uh. Yeah. Lots and lots of stories from me and my friends about clinicians of all age and experience ranges that go from horror stories to just disappointing and unhelpful. Some of these people had been practicing for 20-30 years and they STILL weren’t any better at empathy or not being horribly biased.

first of all holy shit it really fucking sucks you had to go through all of these terrible experiences while accessing care you deserve and need. i'm not surprised these terrible interactions happened, and I can't even be disappointed considering the bar of standards is in hell. The "better" experiences a lot of folks have with clinicians align with your second therapist. They are clinicians who just genuinely have no worldview outside of their own, but are receptive to new information...they just have no drive to learn how to apply new frameworks of ways of thinking to expand their worldview and guide their clients. The worst is literal malpractice, ableism, and violence against clients.

a lot of people who go into the mental health field don't actually have the skills related to active listening, empathy, or curiosity based out of humanity. I say this to a lot of people in the social work program, but social work is the same pipeline as mean girls who go into nursing--it's just full of the girls who were not smart enough to go into nursing that decide to go into social work. Same breed of mean girl seeking power over others, just different contexts of public service.

the only hope i have is in the new generations of mental health clinicians who are BIPOC/queer, anti-carceral, disabled themselves, and who are mentally ill as well. I feel more solidarity with my neurodivergent peers in my program who can barely finish an assignment on time than I do with the white women who have never experience hardship in their lives. Not to say neither of these people can't experience easy or hard times in their lives but man....seeing the roadblocks in some of these people's worldviews, empathy, or conceptualizations of other people's struggles is fucked up.

the mental health field is just another medicalized, over-policed, and racist institution that wants to shove people back into the workforce ASAP. we are in hell!! but just know there ARE people and groups and orgs out there that are dedicated to radical work and will name all the hypocrisy, pain, and oppression that exists in working in this field.

thank you tho for sharing your experience and input. I can only hope that your experiences moving forward are positive and liberating for you <3

[fandomwe1rd0]

Allow me to analyze the toxic, codependent mess that is Rick and Morty's relationship.

Starting off with the abuser, Rick Sanchez!

As much as I love this traumatized, lonely, toxic, abusive old man, he is a horrible person. While he certainly does care about Morty more than anything, the way he treats Morty is anything but healthy, he'll constantly hurl insults at the poor kid, calls the kid replaceable, and makes the kid feel worthless. He acts like a child when it comes to Morty, since he is shown to be extremely jealous, controlling, and possessive of Morty. One of the best examples of this is in "Vindicators 3: Return of Worldender" where Rick straight up put the Vindicators (Aka Morty's heros) into a saw-like death game just out of drunken jealously. While the Vindicators were pieces of shit, this was the most immature, childish way he could've proved it. He also had Morty give up on his dreams when he was afraid of Morty leaving him in "One Crew Coocoo over Morty", he has also stopped Morty's attempts to make new friends his age, this is more subtle, but it's scattered around multiple episodes, the Pilot and Rest and Ricklaxation, where Morty has attempted to talk to Jessica, but Rick interrupts it and pulls Morty away, which Morty having his only friend be his 70 year old grandpa definitely isn't helping things for the already traumatized kid. Rick wants to be Morty's hero, he wants to be Morty's best friend, but he treats Morty so horribly that Morty can't tell. Morty should be aloud to have one friend his age. It's even been confirmed in "The Jerrick Trap" that most of his contact are crime lords, which again can't be healthy! But moving back onto Rick, the reason why I personally believe he is so horrible to Morty is due to his trauma, his wife and child died in front of him, and he blames himself for their deaths, thinking it's his fault, so he's definitely scared to care about others again. And while I certainly feel sympathy for him, that's no excuse to treat your grandson like crap. I do think he, on some level needs Morty, which is where the codependency comes in, as we can see in "Rest and Ricklaxation" Rick turned into a wreck when Morty wasn't around for three weeks. According to Jessica, he's been drunk dialing her and crying about Morty being gone, which, while sweet, shows that he's unable to function without Morty around, showing my argument that Morty is the only stabilizing thing in Rick's life, which is certainly unhealthy, Morty is his 14-year-old grandson, not a therapist. He seems to completely rely on Morty for most things, he relies on Morty to get him food (Rickfending your Mort), he relies on Morty for validation and emotional support (Mutiple episodes, an example is Vat of Acid, where he got so upset that Morty didn't validate his ego that he traumatized the kid). He's definitely changing as we can see in season 6 and 7, but the damage he's done to Morty's psyche has already been done, and the only person who can forgive him for that is Morty, speaking of which...

Let's switch gears to our favorite traumatized child, Morty!

Now I absolutely love Morty, he's my son, and poor traumatized child who deserves all the love in the world, and a good grandpa. Now Morty started the series off pretty naive, as we can see in "Pilot" where he was against shooting people, and when he did, was shown to be shocked and horrified by what he's done, meanwhile in "Mort: Raganrick" he guns down multiple people, and kills a guy with a candlestick with no reaction. And Morty, on a level, needs Rick as well, which is where the codependency kicks in for Morty, when you think about it, Rick is really the only friend Morty has, a toxic friend, but the only one he has, due to Rick's adventures, Morty is unable to make any other friends his age, which can't be helping things, while he relies on Rick less, he was shown to be heartbroken when he left (The two crows episode, I forgot the name), and attempted to get him back twice, even aging himself up to attempt to emotionally blackmail Rick into coming back "Rickmurai Jack" he even has been shown in "Fear No Mort" that he believes that Rick doesn't care about him at all, which makes sense considering how horrible Rick treats Morty on a daily basis.

Whew! That was a long post! I hope you enjoyed reading it and have a lovely rest of your day/night

[librarycards]

hey there cav. this is sort of a fraught question but. how do I engage with psychiatry when I'm antipsych? I need treatment but I have so much distrust and I feel like it's all bullshit. I don't really have a support system and there's few peer support resources in my area. I can't do this myself but I cant trust this system. soooo... tips for finding therapists that don't suck & getting the most of it? really appreciate your blog and posts, thanks

thank you for entrusting this message to me, I appreciate it! I have answered questions like this a few times before (they're buried somewhere, if you can't find them in my "ask" tag, lmk and i'll try to dig them up!). it's definitely fraught inasmuch as we're never (as people who hate psych but need specific, urgent support that communities aren't by default set up to provide) going to get an answer that we 100% want, but also very not-fraught inasmuch as most of us agree that surviving in this sea of partiality is something we can do together, with love and nonjudgement.

so, for context: i was in therapy - first behaviorist OT as a toddler and elementary school child, and, beginning at 7, talk therapy - nonconsensually basically from the time I could remember until adulthood. i likely would never have tried it again, except for the small hiccup of needing letters for Transing Genders. so, this was when i first sought out "trans affirming care," as it were, and i didn't expect much. i went to my college's health center and got a list of possible providers, and ended up getting an excellent PCP, as well as a therapist who was a genuine cis accomplice: she wrote letters for Mad/psych disabled clients whose genders wouldn't typically qualify us for surgery/hormones in the eyes of the M/PsyIC. i did not share with her the things i "ought" to have shared, but she knew I had survived abusive therapy / forced institutionalization, and accepted that, and accepted my cynicism along with it. i was also first genuinely understanding foucault at this time, so rest assured i was quite a little shit (affectionate).

when she left to practice elsewhere, i went to a therapist at the same practice she recommended. she was fine, but not what i needed. by this time, I'd gotten the requisite procedures, so my therapy attendance wasn't required. i basically just ghosted this new therapist around the time covid hit.

when i came to grad school, i initially wasn't looking for therapy, though i had idly considered something for OCD, which I was (and am) managing in part through medication. after getting outright rejected for, essentially, being too crazy for normie OCD therapy, i directed my search specifically for Mad/abolitionist providers. i began by going through some of the archives of places like the National Queer and Trans Therapists of Color Network, and some people who have posted guest articles on Mad in America / The Fireweed Collective -- many are providers seeking to disrupt/abolish the system. That provided some leads, though no openings (there are very few of them, and they are, understandably, in high demand).

I then turned to my community connections: over the years, I've amassed a large number of Mad colleagues in various fields. Many are a half-step from radical/antipsych circles, so I asked them. This time, I asked specifically about a possible therapist who was interested in critiques of "eating disorders" as a category, who had an abolitionist, harm-reductionist, and anti-"health" approach to care, and who, accordingly, refused to cooperate with institutions of psychiatric confinement. I was directed to a list of people, of whom my current and beloved therapist / colleague / comrade was the first to respond.

my trajectory with her has been a steady building of trust through a shared ebbing and flowing of closeness, frustration, enlightenment, and curiosity. it has been close to a year and a half now, and we only began speaking frankly about more "dangerous"/"risky" topics a few months ago. early in our relationship, i did a great deal of boundary-testing, and reacted with anger and shutdown the first time she asked a question that proved risky/activating for me. my biggest recommendation when engaging with ANY provider is to ask them explicitly, repeatedly, and critically about their relationships with your own risk/harm level, their ongoing history wrt patient institutionalization / "referrals" to "higher levels of care". take note about the way they reference past patient situations, as well as their own past experience. take note of how they respond when you choose not to provide the information they seek.

also take note of what info they're willing to provide upfront, including at a consult: what methodologies do they work with, what was their training, how do they feel about said training? what are their politics? ask whoever recommended them to you, too. look at reviews. this is obvious -- what might not be is looking up their work on google scholar. who do they cite? what do they advocate, who do they associate themself with?

i think that it's also a good idea to ask them explicitly about their experience in other/"higher" levels of care - most therapists have done some kind of rotation during their education, often in a hospital, group home, halfway house, similar. if you have ever been institutionalized, you may have even spotted / been abused by some! observe how they discuss these experiences. take note.

if and when you've established this person as someone you want to continue working with, trust notwithstanding, think personally about what you are actually looking for. they will ask you about your goals, surely, but it's a good idea first to think about your own personal goals outside of the verbalized relationship between you two. do you need a confidante, and of what kind? what sort of accountability do you need, and what are you willing to try to figure that out? *what are you paying this person for that you feel others cannot or will not do*? what part of this person's expertise can be of use to you, and for how long?

i think one interesting approach to therapy is to regard the provider as a teacher - they're there to share knowledge with you, and you're free to accept or reject it. they have some kind of training/experience you don't have, and you seek them out because you think it may be of use in your own life, and perhaps even to redistribute that knowledge if and when you gain it. at the same time, you also have knowledge to share with them - not to be extracted, but to be incorporated in their own work and practice. the biggest insight on the practice of good therapy i've gleaned is that, ideally, you're both teaching and learning forever. this is true of all good relationships. there is an exchange of knowledge based on shared trust - values - priorities. once you are in a space where you know that this person shares your general relational orientation (aka, doesn't want to institutionalize, etc. you and people like you) it's possible to begin sharing knowledge in a way that benefits from this imposed structure. the benefit, imo, is that it's okay that you "monopolize" the convo and direct the knowledge-production toward your needs, because that's the service you're paying for!

i guess, to close, i'll return to the classic Mad Pride framing of us as "psych users/consumers." this isn't the perfect term, but i think it's enlightening, as we can and should be able to seek out services that work for us. just like i go to a person who knows wtf they're doing when, say, i need my nails done or my car fixed, so too do i go to an expert interlocutor when i am interested in developing my self-/relational knowledge and/or am seeking support in times of emotional tumult. this doesn't confer them a status as superior to me, just like someone isn't superior to someone else by being a nail tech or mechanic. it simply means that we are entering into a relationship where my needs and their expertise meet. seek a therapist who understands this, and understands themself as someone who can learn from you, too. this approach to therapy, and to care, mean that you can't just throw someone away or lock them up when they say things you don't like. it means that, even in those moments, there is something to be learned, and that the relationship will grow in that process of edification.