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#FIR therapy
blobbei-art · 1 year
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More doodles and stuff for this ghost Descole AU, this time with focus on Death himself as well
Since I made him way too ghostly to pass as a living human anymore I just decided he can look less or more human depending on his general stability. The gunshot wound however stays, but I suppose he could put a bandaid on it to stop the bleeding a bit haha
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bl00dw1tch · 7 months
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the way i have absolutely no business being the way i am
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#horse.txt#vent //#sort of. too high to be sad abt it im in anthropology mode and listening to music that makes me feel sexy so its fine yk#anyway i typed a whole bunch of other tags talking abt how and why i feel this way by going through a few of the events i can remember#from my childhood that Might explain why im so emotionally guarded and struggle to open up anymore.#bc i Wanted to say they all felt dumb and juvenile esp since ive actually like#made peace with most of the ppl who were involved with them#but the Anthropology mode was just tearing it all down as i typed it bc that Is just a ridiculous way to look at it no matter how you cut it#doesn't matter that nobody involved really Meant to deal that kind of harm and i dont need to hate or blame anyone in order to acknowledge#that it still just Happened. like thats a Memory already babe no do overs.#which is kind of just accidental therapy so sick. love that fir me genuinely!#but also yes theres the bitch part of me that still wants to discredit it bc acknowledging that it happened =/= Fixing My Issues#so im still at square one technically. ive just been pacing in circles on it for a while ig#EVEN WORSE that the Scale of my issues is so incredibly mundane compared to so many of the people i seem to meet.#sitting in bed crying abt not having friends for a few days in elementary school when other ppl have jojos bizarre adventure levels of Lore#i know im not technically invalid for feeling the way i do or anything but god. if it doesn't feel fucking Embarrassing to open up about😭#its impossible NOT to feel stupid and sensitive for having these first world ass problems. And letting them hold me back#bc ppl not liking me for any reason makes me sooooooooo fucking scared So fucking scared its not even funny 😝#at least. ppl in my Circles. im pretty ok about being assertive with randos#still some work to be done on it but its better than whatevers going on with my personal relationships rn#sincerely to my mutuals and loved ones who see this i swear to GOD i love you so so so fucking much and im so. im trying to figure out this#the stuff thats got me so distant and bad at keeping in touch. its a whole slew of feelings about how i see Myself--not yall#i double pinky promise cross my heart im extremely serious#thank you for being patient with me you mean more to me than im capable of putting into words right now#alright theres a shot of tears in the hollow of my collar bone time to wrap up this post#daily reminder that i love body hair. there's some honesty.#😎😎😎💪💪💪#the Quaritch under the cut is just to make me feel better bc i love him and i think hes so pretty. hes like a security blanket
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mintacle · 1 year
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Besides the fact that most therapy!fanfics are written by people who aren't therapists, I have this other problem with them.
Before I get into it though, I want to say 1) if you like therapy fics then go crazy and enjoy!! I'm not here to yuck anyone's yumm and 2) it's a nice thought to de-stigmatize going to therapy and normalizing it.
But that's kind of where my personal struggle starts. Most therapy fanfics to me read like there is a subtle implication that you can only heal and get better through therapy. And therapy is nice and certainly can help, but in reality sometimes all the available therapists will suck or won't be suited for your case. And sometimes the kind of healing you need to do for yourself can't be done in a nice and neutral room with your one hour per week scheduled appointment of talking. Some healing needs to be done by staying awake the whole night and drawing and writing and acting out scenes and spiralling. Sometimes you need to call your mother at 4am just to see if she would pick up. Sometimes you need to break into a place just to see if you can. Sometimes you need to isolate and ignore the world for a few days. Sometimes it hurts. And it looks a whole lot like you "should go to therapy". But every case, every person is different. And if you can honestly feel that you are healing by the way you take the hurt inside your brain and transform it into a mess you leave outside of your body. Then that is good. There are a lot of ways what healing can look like. And therapy is only one possibility, category and one step of the healing process. For some it's most of their healing and for others it only plays a small role and maybe it doesn't play any role at all for you. And I feel like the therapy narrative in fanfictions doesn't represent that.
Again though, write whatever you want to and read whatever you like!
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thisfuckingloser · 9 months
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I had a sandwich, my meds, took 4 hits and a punk scream along. I am normal again I promise :)
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rinoomi · 2 years
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oh my god.
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uaeb · 2 years
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i’m sooo depressed
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scrappydoothescrub · 5 months
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How am i? Well im just *falls down the stairs, piano drops on my head* absolutely *gets run over by 1000 bicyclists and a school bus* fine!!!! *falls asleep in a burning house*
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yrieso · 5 months
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ugh i really wish i had gotten my offer for my full time job like. a DAY before i did bc i'm overworking myself between my two jobs now but like......i can't quit either one :/ and i got the offer for my full time one the day i started my part time one so. timing is everything i guess
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yogaeducation22 · 1 year
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What are some yoga poses that can help improve skin health?
Yoga poses can be beneficial for improving skin health by promoting blood circulation, reducing stress, and increasing relaxation. Some poses that can help include shoulder stand, fish pose, cobra pose, and the forward fold. 
These poses can help to increase blood flow to the face and promote detoxification of the skin. Additionally, yoga can help reduce stress, which is a major contributor to skin problems such as acne, wrinkles, and eczema.
A yoga program specifically designed for anti-aging and skin rejuvenation is offered at Kaivalyadhama, called the Ojasya program. This program combines various yoga practices with ayurvedic therapies to improve skin health and overall wellbeing.
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oddt · 1 year
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I will not be a personal free ready to call therapist for anybody ever again fuck that go pay someone or pay me if the only reason youll be meeting me is to whine and vent and speak endlessly and get angry when I utter a word like you toxic motherfucker go find some decency won't you...
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othercrossee · 2 years
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I've seen a content creator who basically do content about showing people how to deal with social anxiety, that doing certain things is okay. Everyone loved them btw, but the funny thing is. He's nonbinary, and when he pointed it out mfs switched teams QUICK
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walpu · 28 days
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Hi yes hello first of all: the love I have for your Aventurine works cannot be quantified, it’s like my current main source of serotonin
With that being said, hear me out: Aventurine w/ a soft dom partner that can AND will do their absolute best to make him always feel loved. That’s it that’s my request, ty in advance and have a wonderful day 🕺✨
THANK YOU SO MUCH AND SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE THIS
I feel like I really need to write something soft fir him after 2.1 💀
Aventurine x soft!dom reader
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notes - gn!reader, nsfw, subby!Aven, no beta
I think I've mentioned it in my previous nswf post but I feel like Aven would be super into body worshipping and would melt if you kiss all over his body.
Start by kissing his pretty face, his eyelids, his cheeks, then his lips. Go down to his neck and press a soft kiss to his "tattoo". Before he gets to react, move to hus chest, kissing and sucking on his oh so sensitive nipples.
Call him pretty, beautiful, priceless, tell him how you love the sounds he makes, how you love him.
Oh how overwhelmingly good it feels for him to be loved by you. Sometimes he feels like he doesn't deserve it, that it's too good to be true.
No one has ever been so soft with him during intimacy, yet here you are, putting his needs over yours and going out of your way to make him feel cherished.
He would gladly overthink it but he has no time to do so, not when you look at him like that, not when you caress his body like that.
Even if the two of you get rough and he gets overestimated, you're here to coo over him, to kiss away his tears.
And aeons, sometimes he wishes for you to be just a little cruel, a little selfish. He's used to that, he can handle that! But this overwhelming love?? It feels so good and yet so alien.
Give him time he's a sucker for that and he just needs time to adjust. And therapy.
Even when you give him commands you're so soft about it, saying please, calling him a good boy, and it makes him feel sooooo weak for you.
He'll either melt into a puddle, clinging closer to you, asking you to touch him more more more or he'll get a bit bratty, trying to provoke a reaction. Depends on his mood really.
I would recommend getting a bit playful with him when he's being a brat but still showering him with love.
Can imagine him daring you to make him do something and then crumbling completely when you just chuckle and pull him for a deep but loving kiss while your hands roam his body and press all the right buttons, touching every sensitive spot. He'll do everything you want after that trust.
Would probably lose his mind if you are being rough and caring at the same time. When sex is not vanilla at all but you're still talking to him like he's the most precious person ever and kiss him everywhere you can reach and praise him. Like!!! The contrast!!!!
Adores aftercare. It means a lot to him that you're here with him when he's so vulnerable, that the whole loving and caring act doesn't end when you're satisfied and don't need anything from him.
Would love to fall asleep in your arms after all that. After all, you're his safe heaven.
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lovecrime2 · 5 months
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Hannibal Lecter x Reader
summary: you begin therapy with Dr. Lecter, a man who you quickly learn much from. from his intellectuality, to the darkness hidden in the furthest parts of his mind, you become enraptured with him. will he feel the same about you? therapy sessions turn into exchanging books with notes, cooking together, and seeing more of each other in ways you both never thought possible. a love story.
authors note: hello!! this fic will have multiple chapters and i’m so excited to start this! it’s also on a03. and im creating a playlist for this!!
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Chapter I: Prima
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“Dr. Lecter is ready to see you now, miss.” the polite receptionist says, with a smile sent your way. It’s no more than a flash of positivity before she turns back to her paper work, reflected by her thin framed glasses. As her eyes scanned over the work, turning back to frantically look over her desk, presumably searching for something, she gave off an obvious air of worry. Perhaps she was new.
You were too.
Your first day of therapy. Well, your first day of therapy with this new psychiatrist. It wasn’t something you were exactly frantically nervous about- as the poor polite receptionist was. You’d been to therapy before. You were accustomed to the shallow invasion and prodding of the mind. This time, your hope was that this new Dr. Lecter would be unique. Different.
You’d heard many good things about him. Ranging from his written work and studies, to his success with patients. And after the worsening state of your mind and the life you had built around you, you decided that it was time to try again. So far, you weren’t disappointed. The office was classy. Nice chairs were set in the waiting room, where you had sat for some time. There was tasteful art, quiet classical music in the background. Bach, you had guessed. Other than the receptionist, it had emitted an air of class and calmness.
You flashed a smile back at the receptionist, returning the politeness.
“Thank you very much,” you replied.
You weren’t sure if she heard given how diligently she was scanning her desk currently. But it was of no matter, you had been polite, it was the most you could do. You stepped up to a wooden door, unsure if you’d have to knock. Before you could, the door was opened, and Dr. Lecter was revealed to you.
He was handsome. You weren’t one to judge or weigh value off of looks, but you would give him that simple statement. Looks were not the most important thing to you, and you certainly were not meaning it in a romantic way. But he was handsome. The eyes that quickly met yours were brown, maybe with a hint of hazel. His hair was brown as well, it shone in the light from his office. He wore a navy blue plaid suit, giving him an obvious air of seriousness, of class and respect. His lips curled into a smile, and yours followed suit.
“Miss L/N, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” he spoke, his voice was rich and soothing.
“Dr. Lecter, I’ve heard many wonderful things about you and your work. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.” you replied calmly, mirroring his niceties and charm. He had a quiet suave demeanor. As if on instinct, you both reached your hands out for a handshake. More niceties. This doctor was very formal. You appreciated that. As your hands touched you felt his eyes scan you quickly. Almost like an eagle searching a field for prey. Though, there wasn’t malice behind this look.
“Please, do come in.” he said, leading you into his large room. And what a large room it was.
It had a mostly grey color palette, with the exception of the one wall which was a dark red. To your right was a large wall, with two large red and white striped curtains. To your left, a desk, obviously a professional one. Lamps and books and art decorated the top. Further back to your left was another desk and a chair, but nothing was on this one. Behind that, a fireplace. The room was lined with cabinets and bookshelves, and art (specifically paintings) were anything but scarce. Right in front of you however, were two chairs facing each other. And there was a ladder, on the wall behind them, leading up to another level of the room. This one was lined with books of all shapes and sizes and colors. You took note of the other items in the room. Your eyes scanned from the couch against the back wall, to the couch in front of the windows. The room seemed lightly dull at first, but the more you gazed, the more points of color stood out to you.
After having visually scoured the room, you summarized that the collection of books, European furniture, and art was not simply the doing of the building’s hypothetical interior designer. By his outfit and the look of the room, Dr. Lecter was a man of intellectuality, power, curiosity, and ambition. He was impressive.
“Have a seat, Miss L/N.” he said, gesturing to the two seats in the middle of the room- each sat directly across from the other. Each had small tables next to them, but one had a book (presumably for taking notes on patients) and a box of tissues. You assumed the seat that the book and tissue box adorned table belonged to: was his. So you took the other seat, smoothing the bottom half of your clothing as you sat down. He took a seat across from you, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap.
“I have no doubt you know why you’re here.” he said politely. He was direct, eyes still piercing into you. You were afraid to look away. You wanted to maintain the eye contact but at the same time, the socially nervous part of you longed to break it, longed to gaze around the sophisticated room instead of facing his perceptive gaze.
“Yes, Doctor.” you replied, finally working up the courage to break the mural stare and look down as you smiled at him. He returned a brief smile, and nodded once.
“So then, I hope you won’t mind if I list off the reasons you put for requesting my psychiatric assistance which led to us meeting today?” he inquired, taking his notebook from the small table next to him.
“Not at all, go ahead.” you gave him an encouraging nod and he opened his book. As he looked over a page, a realization came to you. You realized how intimate the placing of his chairs was. You mirrored him and put one leg over the other. You wondered if this was a tactic of his to create a sense of connection, equality. Interesting.
“You have emotional regulation issues, accompanied by social anxiety. Past traumas, which I’m sure are accompanied by self-image problems, am I correct?” he asked at the end of his statement.
“Yes,” you said, pausing a moment. There was some more, but this was only the first session. You hated the way it sounded so labeled when it was later out like that, so shallow. Realizing your answer might’ve seemed curt, you rushed to say more. “Yes, that’s all correct.”
He set his book down on the side table and looked at you for a moment. The thought crossed your mind that he might be waiting for you to speak, you were about to say something when he spoke at last.
“How do you feel right now, at this very particular moment, Miss L/N?” he asked you, eyes endlessly boring into you.
“I feel,” you hesitated, trying to come up with the right words. “Comfortable and welcomed. Yet nervous.”
“I’m glad you feel comfortable and welcomed, I try to provide sufficient hospitality for those in my care. Though, tell me, why do you feel nervous?” he asked.
“I’ve just met someone new. Someone who will be peering into my mind, learning the most personal parts of me. It’s an odd thought that a man I met a few minutes ago will come to know my mind so deeply.” you replied, watching Hannibal process your answer. He had a good poker face.
“Are you afraid of what I might uncover in the depths of your mind?” he asked.
“I think everyone’s a little afraid of what can be perceived in the most personal parts of their mentality. We all have only so much we express. To the eye it may seem to show enough, but there’s so much hidden where we store our deepest thoughts.” you replied. You liked the knowledgeable banter.
“Knowing those parts of you is a fundamental aspect to your treatment, as it is to any patient. I am not here to judge, or to exploit. I am here to come to know your being and attempt to help it in a way that is beneficial to your mental well-being.” he replied.
“You make a good point, Doctor.” you replied, flashing him a smile. He returned it, and opened his book.
“Well then, shall we begin?” he asked, his eyes still focused on yours.
“Of course.” you replied.
And so began your session with Hannibal Lecter, your new psychiatrist.
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whillywisp · 3 months
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Part 2 of Finnick being the most amazing dad/doting husband because I'm sure this is just therapy for my darlings with daddy issues and, well, issues🌱
Warnings: a little long, a little angstier today, implied mention of what happened to finnick. But still as fluffy as yesterday.
Part 1 ☁︎
If Finnick was caring and terrified during the pregnancy, multiply that by ten thousand and that's him postpartum. This man was convinced the very air his family breathed was out to get them. He refused to sleep because he was scared something would happen if he dared to get some rest but after you very gently (you yelled) explained to him that he cannot stay up for three nights straight because no Finnick the baby doesn't need to be held twenty five-eight please for the love of god get some damn sleep, he finally got some rest.
Recovering from pregnancy is a whole other nightmare but he made it bearable. Finnick's favourite thing in the entire world, as previously stated, was taking care of you. So you know he was at your beck and call round the clock. He helped you shower, helped you move around, stayed up with you during night time feedings so you wouldn't feel alone. He cooked every meal and made sure you had everything needed within an arm's reach. Sometimes you were so overcome with love for him that you would tug him close and pepper his face with kisses because where on earth would you find someone as gentle and caring and loving in this miserable world as this angel right here? Nowhere thank you.
But it was seeing him with her that had you convinced you saved a country in your last life (well, in this life and while it was group effort—) to be able to witness something so pure and gentle.
Finnick held his little girl like he she was made of the finest glass and would disappear if he so much as breathed too loud near her. His wide eyes traced every movement, every twitch of a muscle, every breath your baby took. If her little hand curling around his made his pretty eyes gloss over, you absolutely saw it and you made sure to tease him about, for which you were met with embarassed smiles but no denials. He wasn't ashamed of loving his family and least of all his baby girl.
But every spring came stained grey from winter's shadow, still lingering around the corner as if seeking spring's warmth too. And Finnick's past, to him, felt a bit like that.
What happened to Finnick was not a secret he carried in his pocket folded up with a list of names who still bragged of their contribution to his survival or hidden behind forced smiles anymore. What happened to Finnick was public and while he is as not at all at fault for it, humiliation and self-hatred didn't have a mind of its own and regardless of the circumstances and the people that were at fault for everything, he still blamed himself, he still dreaded the day his baby, his entire world, found out what happened. And he told you about it of course.
"What if...what if she hates me?"
You looked up from the book you had been reading, glancing at him where he lay on his back. Your daughter, now nine months old, fast asleep on his chest and your voice a little incredulous as you whisper back. "I'm not sure if you noticed but she worships the ground you walk on."
The smile he gives you is forlorn and pressed into the top of your daughter's head. He blinked, looking away from you and in the blink of an eye you had dropped your book, uncaring where it landed and gently craddled his face in your hands, wiping away tears that stained his emrald green eyes.
"Angel—"
"I don't want her to find out," he sniffed, tightening his arms around your daughter, taking a shuddering breath before continuing. "I do-don't want her to find out. She'll hate me. She'll think I'm so weak. I was so weak."
You sighed, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead before wiping away tears that escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Rage and grief burned in your heart with vengeance and you wished, not for the first time, the need to rip those wealthy capitolites to shreds with your bare hands, to make these vile people disappear, praying they'd take the pain they inflicted on him away with them.
But instead you used the same hands and pulled him close, letting him cry into your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and your daughter, whispering quietly but firmly to him. "Finnick Odair, those years of you life were bleak. Those years of your life were harsh. And you were a lot of things during them: broken, hurt, abused. But you weren't weak. You survived, you made sure to survive because you knew you needed to survive to be free. That was your way of winning. And if we raise this baby right, she'll love you regardless, hell even more, when she finds out. I love you and I agree with you on just about everything. But this, this I refuse to because the man i married, the boy I fell for, is a survivor."
He peered at you through wet lashes, sniffling softly as he pressed a kiss to your chest and then the top of your daughter's head: his quiet way of saying 'I love you. Thank you for being my light.' You let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding, tightening your arms around your family.
You weren't lying when you said your daughter worshipped the ground he walked on. He was her hero. She followed him around the house since the minute she started crawling, screamed for him every morning and only calmed down when he picked her up and out of crib and in the most Finnick fashion, loved you in her gentle ways. She got that from me, he would say smugly as you had to eat another fistful of mushed baby food because of course your daughter picked that her way to show her love for you after having seen Finnick feed you fruit earlier. You would glare at him over her little sprout hair, identical to the one his hair was tied into on her highness' orders, your heart threatening to explode in your chest from the sheer amount of love it was filled with.
Your daughter was not only growing up to be the most precious child in the world, but she was also terrifyingly bright and understanding, even at such an young age. On days she noticed Finnick's need to be quiet or when he was too overwhelmed by everything, you noticed her making a conscious effort to stay quiet and keep her noises to a minimum. If Finnick needed time alone, she wouldn't bother him but spent her time with you, telling you about how daddy needs his quiet time and you had to hold onto the cushion behind you on the couch to hold back from crying, completely baffled at and extremely grateful that you both were raising an angel like her. But you weren't all that surprised when you thought about it a little more deeply. She was, after all, her daddy's little girl.
The day she starts kindergarten feels like the most emotional episode of the worst soap opera possible because you woke up to them...crying. And saying their goodbyes as he tearfully packed her lunch and did her hair, as if she was off to war. And it took quite a while to coax them both out of the house because I love you both but we cannot be late on the first day you guys please. But on the walk to kindergarten it was peaceful and full of laughter, because they could both pretend this was just their morning walk.
But of course, the tears were back when the gates closed with the promise of keeping them separated for three hours.
"What if she gets hungry and can't open the lunch box?"
You frowned looking up at him, shaking your head. You both were standing outside the gates to the school along with other worried parents, some taking a break from said worrying to side eye you both, something you had learned to tune out years ago.
"Finnick, she showed us she can open the lunch box just fine before we left home."
"But what if she can't here?" He insisted, looking down at you like you were the insane one for not considering that scenario. You sighed, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the gates, trying to ease his worries.
"I promise you if she needs help with that, she will ask her teacher," you smiled at him, pecking his lips gently to stop him when he opens his mouth to voice another bizarre worry. "She'll be fine. She's our kid, she'll be perfectly fine."
He cracked a small smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you both start walking back, giving in with a small chuckle. "Yeah, okay. Maybe we should get a puppy to keep us busy now since she wants to do all grown up things go to scho..."
You look up at him as he suddenly trails off, confused as you catch him staring at something thoughtfully in the distance and follow his gaze to freeze against him slightly. In the distance, still as grey and imposing as ever, was the abandoned building which once held District 4's career academy. Strange feelings that always came with seeing it, both good and bad and nostalgic, make you tighten your grip on his hand and his around your shoulders.
Less than a decade ago, only a few metres and a small canal away from the kindergarten that your daughter now attended, children like her were being trained to kill, you and Finnick being a part of them. The thought of that still makes your blood run cold but the relief that rushed in right after, knowing your baby would never have to do that, is enough to let go of another hour of the countless you had spent in there, training to survive a system bigger than the arena could ever be.
You took a deep breath, forcing to maintain your light tone as you forced both of you to continue moving. "Heard they're building another school there, to keep the spirits of learning still alive and all that."
He smiled, kissing the top of your head fondly. "And I assume you want to help out in that?" The cheeky smile you had given him was answer enough but for him, it was like a sigh of relief, of brighter days no longer stained with gloom of his past.
People and places had changed to accomodate this new change, this everlasting spring, and maybe he was looking forward to letting his soul do the same too.
A/N: i agree this might've gone slightly offtopic in certain places but bare with me. I can't decide if want this to be the end or write more. But I hope you enjoyed this regardless of these things. All my love 🌱
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ursulanoodles · 1 year
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Shane Headcanons pt. 1 (spoilers)
He’s a cuddler
Secretly enjoys being the little spoon
Secretly listens to sad country/folk music, but acts like he wouldn’t be caught dead doing so
Maybe the same thing with mainstream pop music, like Taylor Swift. I could definitely see him being a secret T Swift fan
Loves naps
Gives bear hugs
Super affectionate once he’s comfortable in a relationship
Will probably kiss your face off/squish you from cute aggression 
Resisted the idea at first, but unashamedly lets Jas paint his nails on the reg
Jas is the reason he dyes his hair purple because it’s her favorite color
Smokes a lot of weed for his anxiety, but doesn’t make it his personality
definitely buys it from Sam at work or Seb on Friday nights outside of the Stardrop
Is kind of friends with Sam and thinks he’s hilarious. They get up to all sorts of shenanigans at work when Shane isn’t in a bad mood or hungover.
They totally ride pallet jacks around the back room together
Was totally a punk/emo kid (clothing therapy anyone?)
Started drinking too much after Jas’ parents’ deaths, though he was probably a frequent drinker before that but it sent him over the edge
Their deaths hit him hard and he couldn’t take care of himself, let alone a kid– hence the reason he moved in with Marnie
Looks frumpy in his depression clothes, but smells like clean laundry and whatever body wash and deodorant he uses (I like to imagine like fir/pine/citrus scents)
A lot of people like to say he doesn’t shower, but I think it’s the opposite. I think he takes a lot of hot showers and is meticulous about smelling good because he’s socially anxious. Too depressed to buy new clothes, but not depressed enough to smell like shit.
Not a vegetarian, but sometimes avoids meat and tries not to eat chicken, especially if it’s a chicken he’s raised.
Has undiagnosed ADHD and/or autism. Definitely neurodivergent in one way or another. 
Soccer, chickens (birds in general if you’ve seen his summit scene), and Journey of the Prairie King are his special interests/hyperfixations. 
Hums to himself and whistles a lot when he’s working or walking to/from work if he’s not in a bad mood
Definitely talks/mutters to himself, especially if he’s angry or anxious
Loves soccer/played soccer in school (not American football)
His Tunnelers shirt looks more like a soccer jersey and I think there’s a glaringly obvious discrepancy between the gridball/Tunnelers that Alex refers to and the Tunnelers that Shane refers to
He has a soccer ball in his room ffs
Also, in his 10 heart even he yells “Goal!” not “Touchdown!”
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