#Mental Disorder Conference

[neurologyevents]

International Conference on

Psychiatry and Mental disorder

Exploring Psychiatry and Mental Disorders: Upcoming Conferences and Events in 2025

Psychiatry and mental disorders are complex areas of healthcare that focus on understanding, diagnosing, and treating conditions related to mental health. Advances in psychiatric research and clinical practices have led to significant improvements in patient care. To stay at the forefront of these developments, attending specialized conferences and workshops is essential for professionals in the field. In this blog, we’ll explore key events such as Psychiatry and Mental Disorder Conferences and highlight prominent gatherings like the International Psychiatry Mental Disorder Conference.

Psychiatry and Mental Disorder Conference 2025

The field of psychiatry and mental health is constantly evolving, and the Psychiatry and Mental Disorder Conference in 2025 promises to be a critical gathering for psychiatrists, psychologists, researchers, and mental health professionals. These conferences offer a platform to discuss the latest research, therapeutic approaches, and advancements in the treatment of mental health disorders. Attendees will gain insights into areas such as mood disorders, anxiety, psychotic disorders, and neurodevelopmental disorders.

International Psychiatry Mental Disorder Conference

The International Psychiatry Mental Disorder Conference gathers leading experts from around the globe to share research, innovations, and clinical practices. These events aim to improve the understanding and treatment of mental disorders by fostering collaborations between healthcare providers, researchers, and policymakers.

Psychiatry Conference and Psychiatric Congress 2025

The Psychiatry Conference and Psychiatric Congress 2025 are essential platforms where professionals can discuss emerging trends, clinical advancements, and challenges in psychiatric care. These conferences explore various topics, including therapeutic strategies, the role of pharmacology, and non-pharmacological interventions.

Mental Health Conference and Mental Disorder Conference

The Mental Health Conference addresses a wide range of mental health conditions, offering insights into prevention, diagnosis, and treatment. Similarly, the Mental Disorder Conference provides a forum for exploring the latest research, treatment methodologies, and support systems for mental health professionals.

Psychotherapy Conference and Psychosomatic Disorders Conference

Psychotherapy remains a cornerstone of mental health care, and events like the Psychotherapy Conference explore the evolving therapeutic techniques and approaches. The Psychosomatic Disorders Conference focuses on the link between psychological and physical health, examining how mental disorders contribute to physical health outcomes.

Psychiatry Meetings and Psychiatry Workshops

Attending Psychiatry Meetings offers an opportunity for professionals to engage in discussions on cutting-edge research, clinical practices, and treatment strategies. Psychiatry Workshops provide hands-on learning experiences, allowing participants to acquire practical skills and knowledge related to the assessment and treatment of mental health disorders.

Neuroscience Meetings and Neuroscience Congress

Given the close relationship between psychiatry and neuroscience, attending Neuroscience Meetings and Neuroscience Congress is invaluable. These gatherings focus on the neuroscience underpinning mental disorders, offering insights into brain function, neuroimaging, and emerging therapies.

Upcoming Conferences:

Psychiatry Conference 2025 | Psychiatric Congress 2025 | Psychiatric Congress 2025 | Mental Health Conference | Psychiatry Conference | Psychiatry Conferences | Psychiatry Congress | Psychotherapy Conference | Psychosomatic Disorders Conference | Psychology Conferences | Neuropsychology Conference | Bipolar Disorder Meetings | Schizophrenia Conferences | Psychiatry Conferences 2025 | Psychiatry Meetings 2025 | Psychiatry Events | Psychology Conferences | Psychology Meetings | Psychology Events | Psychiatry Workshops | Psychiatry Symposiums | Psychology Conference | Mental Health Conferences | Emergency Mental Health Conferences | Forensic Psychology Conferences | Eating Disorders Conferences | Child Psychology Conferences | Euro Psychiatrists Conferences | Psychiatrist Conferences | American Association Conferences | European Association Conferences | Psychiatry Events 2025 | Neurology Conferences 2025 | Euro Psychiatry Conferences | Psychiatry Conferences Spain

Staying updated on the latest research, therapies, and clinical practices in psychiatry and mental health is essential for professionals in the field. To explore more about upcoming Psychiatry and Mental Disorder Conferences in 2025, visit Neurology Events.

[pshychiatrysummit]

International Conference on Mental Health & Psychiatry

Join the International Conference on Mental Health & Psychiatry

The International Conference on Mental Health & Psychiatry is a premier event bringing together professionals, researchers, and thought leaders to explore cutting-edge advancements in mental health and psychiatry. As part of the psychology conference series hosted by Psychiatry Summit, this event promises to be an enriching experience for attendees from all over the globe.

Why Attend This Mental Health Conference?

This Mental Health Conference is designed to address pressing issues in mental health, offering insights into innovative treatments and best practices. Whether you're a clinician, therapist, or researcher, this event provides a platform to discuss the most recent developments in mental health care.

Key Themes to Explore

Psychotherapy conference: Delve into transformative therapeutic techniques and their applications in clinical practice.

Bipolar disorder conferences: Gain valuable insights into understanding and managing bipolar disorder.

Behavioral health conferences: Explore integrated approaches to behavioral health challenges.

Youth mental health conference: Focus on the unique mental health challenges faced by adolescents and young adults.

Engage in Collaborative Discussions

The conference is more than just an academic gathering—it’s a dynamic mental health event that fosters collaboration and innovation. Attendees will have the opportunity to participate in:

Mental health symposium: Interactive sessions addressing global mental health trends.

Mental health meeting: Roundtable discussions with experts from diverse disciplines.

Global Reach and Continuing Education

As an International conferences series, the event attracts speakers and delegates from around the world, ensuring a rich exchange of ideas. This International Mental Health Conference also offers Mental Health CME Conferences credits, making it a valuable educational opportunity for medical professionals.

Building Human Resilience

A key focus of the event is fostering resilience in individuals and communities. The Human Resilience Conferences sessions will explore strategies to enhance emotional well-being and adapt to life's challenges.

Network with Global Experts

Attendees can connect with peers and leading experts in Psychiatry and Mental Health Conferences to exchange knowledge and forge meaningful collaborations.

Why Psychiatry Summit?

Psychiatry Summit is a trusted name in organizing top-tier events in the field of mental health. This conference is a must-attend for anyone passionate about improving mental health outcomes and advancing their professional expertise.

upcoming conferences:

Psychiatry Summit | Psychology Events 2025 | Mental Health Events | Psychiatry Symposiums | Psychology Conferences    | Mental Health Meeting | Psychiatry Workshops 2025 | Psychotherapy Conference | Mental Health Symposium | Psychiatry Conferences USA | Psychology Conference | International Mental Health Conference | Bipolar Disorder Conferences | International Conferences | Mental Health CME Conferences | Psychiatry and Mental Health Conferences usa | Human Resilience Conferences | Behavioral health conferences | youth mental health conference | Psychology Conferences | psychiatry Workshops 2025 | Zurich

Join Us

Don’t miss your chance to be part of this transformative experience. Register now for the International Conference on Mental Health & Psychiatry to advance your knowledge and contribute to the global mental health dialogue.

[vijaykumarpradhan]

Innovations in Mental Health Webinar Secure your spot for the upcoming mental health live webinar to uncover the advanced therapies and integrative approaches in mental health treatment

[weebsinstash]

I haven't posted about it in ages but I still think CONSTANTLY about a soulmate scenario between a reluctant Reader and a yandere Lex Luthor because... he's just such an intelligent and powerful man that, like girlypop, he could genuinely make or break your entire fucking life in a laundry list of ways

Things like... in the very very very beginning, when you've met him and he knows you're soulmates but you're still putting him off and rejecting him, you see something on TV about, politicians are proposing a bill where a soulmate can make legal and medical decisions for their bonded if that person is unable to make those decisions themselves, some bill named after some random metropolis citizen where their soulmate lover died because the next of kin family they were estranged from were allowed to make medical decisions instead and their lover died, like it's something you would totally see on the news for real.

Then, months and months later after you're in a relationship with Lex, he's hosting a party and you see some of those very same politicians there, overhearing them thanking Lex for his contributions. Snapcut to a day you really REALLY do something to defy him, either you're rejecting him or trying to break up with him or trying to run away or, all of the above but also you do legitimately have some mental health issues, and here Lex is, now having the full legal power to say, "oh honey, now you have to go to the hospital :( why would you make me have to do this :(" and you get to go on your Super Duper Funtime Adventure to a private clinic he coincidentally has made some major financial donations to.

Genuinely I feel like I've mentioned this before but I feel like there's a real... personal horror in the idea of "my yandere took me to a doctor and that doctor diagnosed me with stuff and I have no idea if I genuinely have those disorders or if my yandere paid the doctor to say those things" because the twist is tasty in either direction??? Is your yandere delusional and trying to chalk up your rejections to extreme anxiety and other grasped straws and insists you be medicated so you can love them? Is your yandere just trying to legitimately help, and you actually genuinely did see a legitimate non biased doctor? Is your yandere actually totally just lying and they just want you to be more obedient and reliant on them, have doubts in yourself and trust them alone, letting them make decisions for you? It's all so good...and then not knowing would stress you out and make you paranoid even MORE...

but then I also think of like. How he could genuinely try to make gestures to win you over and things he could do that are positive. You two are just getting to know each other and you're extremely reluctant to do anything and, while internally he wants to do these quite grand little expenses for you, he's willing to analyze you and calculate a plan of making smaller gestures over time. At least, smaller in the scale that he's like one of the top richest and smartest creatures on his entire planet, and that's a planet with aliens and magical creatures on it, but, you know. He'll try and tone it down a little-

I've had this idea where like... he gives you this expensive bracelet or ring or necklace or watch, some sort of accesory, as a gift and, being the self loathing person that you are, you're out on the town one day and you walk into a higher end jewlery store because you feel like punishing yourself by trying to figure out how much money was spent on your gift, and, through whatever means, the store accuses you of theft (because you're just a dirty poor person, why would you have this nice thing unless you swiped it) and maybe they even have the audacity to technically assault you and take it off of your person

Somewhere on the other side of the world in a conference room, there's a hidden earpiece buzzing, "Mr Luthor we have a situation-" and he's on a private jet within the half-hour. He gets there and you've either been arrested and put in a cell or he gets there to find you getting manhandled by police because you're technically resisting arrest by panicking, "please just look at the footage, i didn't do anything wrong-" and he flies into a rage at the way you're being jerked and tugged and twisted until you're crying out that they're hurting you

Police department? Sued. That store? Sued. Bankrupted. Bought out. Bulldozed. It's a gentrified downtown sculpture garden now. Lex buys you another gift that's even nicer than the first since the first one has now been "tainted" with this bad memory, plus he's now indirectly (but, of course, with calculations) has made a very VERY public warning to anyone who would dare to harm you in any way whatsoever.

He's a very, "sweetie didn't you ask for no pickles? Should I have them killed for you? It wouldn't be any trouble at all-" kind of guy

Lex Luthor who catches wind of confidential news that a mysterious asteroid has crashed down on an island off the coast of Fake DC Country and he plans a research expedition to study its contents BUT ALSO that same day he's like "darling have you ever gotten to eat freshly caught crab before?" and suddenly you're jet-setting off to a tropical island, because what kind of evil supervillain future-husband would he be if he didn't turn his research expedition into potential alien activity into a bonus vacation with his pookie?

You're wandering the beaches or exploring the tide when you find this pretty little gemstone that may or may not turn out to be platinum Kryptonite that was brought to Earth by the meteorite and you're now the first organic creature that has touched it.

I like the idea of, you develop these powers and suddenly you have all these new potential problems but also possibilities? Sure you're suddenly under Batman and the government's radar, but, think of all the good you can do now that you can fly, have super strength invulnerability, the works? Meanwhile Lex is simultaneously fascinated, curious, proud, but also, wanting to research this, see if it can be replicated, exploited.

Part of me is like, would he be 500% against you going into danger or would at the very most try and harvest your blood or something, OR, now that he knows there's really not much danger to you, he's like "oh, you want to be a little superhero? Oh, how adorable sweetie, let me help design your costume-" and he's, hm, I dunno if it would be entirely incorrect to say he's lowkey using you like a tool in the sense of, you're testing things he develops, he's observing and researching your powers, he's getting to watch you "play and have fun" while also gaining new research data from you, and also making connections with powerful people. He may even... pull some strings to have you do something in his favor. "Oh darling what's wrong? Oh no, that facility you attacked because you got 'information' they were terrorists were actually innocent people and now that country has been seized by hostile powers that have coincidentally agreed to let my company mine lithium there? Oh nooooooo :( darling I'm so sorry, we all make mistakes, I still love you-" or he just like, makes more business deals because he receives, shall we say, secondhand clout from any and all of your accomplishments should you become a hero

Lest we forget, there's a version of Lex Luthor who once built a powerplant under a Metropolis neighborhood and made it deliberately look suspicious as fuck just because he wanted Superman to attack it and make a fool of himself and upset the public because "what the fuck superman why did you just ruin this totally helpful normal thing just because Lex Luthor made it, thanks dickhead". Luthor is incredibly calculating, driven, petty, and has deep deep pockets and plenty of resources for any possible fantasy he has, and also he's 1000% willing to crash out if it involves Superman WHICH IS ALSO WHY I think it would be incredibly hilarious if he's just BEYOND PISSED that you developing powers means you need mentorship from Superman and Lex is forced to watch the two of you have like.... Genuine Moments

You develop the ability to fly for the first time and you're just high up in air jerking around shrieking unable to control yourself and you have no idea what to do and while Lex is still trying to formulate a way to get you down, here comes Kal, able to fly up, gently grab you, hold you in place as he talks you down, teaches you how to float, holding your hands and speaking so softly and kindly as he teaches you how to descend and the two of you sloooooooowly dip down until your feet are on the ground again

Cut to Lex being absolutely furious because not only did he "have that handled" but why is Superman feeling so emboldened to place his hands on yours, on your shoulders, giving you a comforting hug when you burst into tears about how scared you were and thanking him for saving you? You and Superman are like tenderly platonicly hugging and there's reporters and a little crowd nearby doing the whole "Awwww 🥺❤️" and meanwhile Lex is over here turning red as a tomato just absolutely steaming 'ugh I can't believe Superman showed up I hate him I hate him I hate him L + ratio + you're a loser I hate you die die die die'

Kal opens his mouth and offers to be your teacher and here's Lex trying to be a big man, storming up all but bumping chests with the guy, "➡️I⬅️ can help take care of my own mate, Superman 😡" meanwhile you're standing there ACTUALLY EMBARRASSED BY LEX, like can you even imagine the levels of "open wound, insert salt" of Lex puffing up against Superman because he's fucking jealous and then you're like "omg Lex you can't be mean to Superman! He just helped me!! Apologize, what the fuck?!" and you're clearly like, a fan or a person who looks up to the boy in blue and said boyscout may even brush a lil bit bc, you know, his mama did try to raise a kind honest man and, he sure is happy his efforts are appreciated-

Have I mentioned I see Lex Luthor having an eidetic memory, as in the condition where you never forget anything, which I think would make him really terrifying to deal with, actually. He'll literally be able to study and memorize every single thing about you, everything he notices, everything you say, do, all your little behaviors, quirks, habits, addictions, and it'd also make him a monster during arguments because what are you gonna do, tell the supergenius he's misremembering? Dude is over here inventing robots like Amazo and curing cancer AND he can never forget? Why not just fucking lobotomize me since you wanna make me feel so dumb-

[beatingtheouijaboardallegations]

i love you nonspeakers. i love you nonverbal people.

i love you nonverbal people who prefer to be called nonverbal. i love you nonspeaking people who prefer to be called nonspeaking. i love you nonspeaking nonverbal people who tired of debate about terminology or can’t keep up with it and just want be heard and communication rights respected.

i love you people who not speak ever since birth ( hi! ). i love you people who use to speak but experience regression / catatonia / burnout or with degenerative physical disabilities. i love you nonspeaking nonverbal people with acquired disabilities.

i love you multimodal communicators. i love you people with complex communication needs. i love you apraxic people who are unreliably speaking. i love you minimally verbal people. i love you semiverbal people. i love you speaking people with selective mutism with intermittent speech ( who listen to us and not speak over )

I love you nonspeaking nonverbal autistic people. i love you nonspeaking / nonverbal people with other intellectual & developmental disabilities. i love you nonspeaking / nonverbal people with apraxia / dyspraxia ( full body or apraxia of speech ) . I love you nonspeaking nonverbal people with brain injury with stroke with aphasia with genetic disorders. i love you nonspeaking / nonverbal people with mental health disabilities that affect language ( eg schizophrenia ) .

I love you AAC users. I love you users of text based AAC. I love you users of picture based AAC. I love you users of low tech AAC. I love you people who can’t afford the big expensive robust systems and rely on free apps or low tech for that reason. I love you people who need small grid size. I love you people who need visual accommodations to AAC like high contrast. I love you people who need alternate access like switch , eye gaze , head track , joystick , partner assisted scanning to make AAC accessible. I love you nonspeaking / nonverbal people who use sign languages. I love you picture card users. I love you letter board users. I love you people who need human support to use AAC , people who use methods like FC and RPM and S2C and all the “ discredited ” method that are constant at risk of being take away from you.

I love you nonspeaking nonverbal people who haven’t found a way to communicate with words that works for them yet. i love you people who communicate mostly or entirely with behavior with gesture with pointing with vocal sounds not words. i love you people who only way communicate is what the system calls “challenging behavior.” I love you people who communicate through violent meltdown, who SIB and hurt others , run away unsafely , destroy property etc and who are punish institutionalize incarcerate or other abused oppressed instead of helped find other way to communicate. i love you nonverbal nonspeaking people who won’t ever see this post, who under institution control or informal more subtle control and don’t have access to social media , or who disability make social media hard , or who just don't like / have interest in being on here (was me for a while !)

I love you nonverbal and nonspeaking people who have found a home in the nonverbal / high support need community on here and who feel like experience is represent. i love you nonverbal and nonspeaking people who have found a home in offline AAC / nonspeaking world like CommunicationFirst and the spellling to communicate conferences. I love you nonverbal and nonspeaking people who not find their " home " in the disability / nonverbal nonspeaking community yet , who not see own experience represent anywhere.

i love you nonspeakers of color. i love you nonspeaking nonverbal queer and trans people. i love you physically disabled nonspeaking / nonverbal people. i love you mentally ill / Mad nonspeaking nonverbal people. i love you poor nonspeaking nonverbal people. i love you nonspeaking / nonverbal people not from global north.

i love you nonverbal people. i love you nonspeaking people. we are great and we deserve to be heard.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

To See If I Can Catch a Dream

Dr. Gregory House x Doctor!Reader

Story Synopsis: Reader is a Doctor alongside House. They have known each other for years, mostly been dancing around being intimate with one another. Even though it is painfully obvious to their close friend, Wilson. After finally allowing their guards to fall, the Reader receives a letter inviting her for her dream position at her dream hospital. She has to make the hard choice of staying or going. angst/smut/nsfw/new relationships/minor fluff/typical hospital talk/situationship/

Summary/Part 5: Reader has made her mind up. Heading out to Boston for the conference that would welcome her as the new Head of Neurology.

CW: vomit/vomiting, blood, form of self harm, mentions of OD, implied disordered eating, substance abuse, backstory baby!, ANGST ANGST ANGST, mentions of motherhood/wanting kids,

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 <-

a/n: sorry if the timeline conflicts with anything canon in House, I kept finding different information about how long before the first season of the show that House had his leg injury. also I was so seriously tempted to make an entire playlist based off this fanfic, I’m so obsessed with their love story.

title track 🎶🩶

~~~

You hunched over the toilet in your bathroom. Unable to sleep. Rest a distant relative of yours. The paper crinkled under your grasp. Rereading it again and again.

Boston Children’s Hospital.

You threw up again. Spilling your guts into the porcelain bowl. Overwhelmed with anxieties from the fight you had with House. Mentally punishing yourself for everything. Manifesting as your upchucked stomach. Beating yourself up for allowing House to speak to you that way. For letting him have such a strong hold on your well-being. Punching the tile beneath you as you screamed. Loud enough you were sure the neighbors heard you. Knuckles bleeding from your repetitive assault. Tugging at your hair as you sobbed hard. Heartbreak never having such a strong toll over you before. Resting your cheek against the disgusting toilet seat, staining it with your tears. Not caring about the germ count.

Sliding into the floor. Clutching the paper flat against your chest. Staring up at the bright lights of your ceiling. Squinting at the harsh glare. Groaning now that your stomach was completely empty and your whole body ached. Praying to a God who went against everything you knew. Praying that House was not relapsing. Over-dosing on Vicodin and booze. Reaching for your phone you had discarded on the floor, typing out a simple message.

“I love you.” You stared at it. The words loosing all meaning the longer you looked that them. Dropping the flip phone against your face. Closing your eyes to block out the soft glow of the screen. Opting out of sending the message. It would do more harm than good.

You knew that.

~~~

You got yourself put together early. Taking a shower to wash away the night of regrets. Steaming room helping free the mucus from the obscene about of crying you had done. Using your favorite shampoo and soap. The ones you usually saved for a date or special occasion. Needing a confidence boost wherever you could get one.

A cloud of dread loomed over you as you checked yourself in the mirror. Bags under your eyes more defined from the lack of sleep. Putting on makeup for the first time in a while. Giving yourself a moment to close your eyes and breathe before stepping out the door to head to work.

The invariable hospital greeted you as always. Unforgiving and not allowing time to suffer. It was your job to help others not suffer, a fine distraction from any personal matters.

Forcing smiles at each colleague you passed. Hiding any sign of distress. Taking the stares, avoiding any risk of running into House. Making sure you would do everything to stay away from him today. Knowing you could not face him now. Any semblance of control you had would come crashing down the minute you would meet his sad eyes.

Marching into Cuddy’s office as quickly as you could. Surprising her. You were always an adequate doctor. Rule follower and no trouble, unlike your estranged lover.

“Y/L/N?”

“I need to talk to you,” you sighed, hand reaching inside your lab coat. Pulling out the letter that had been extended to you earlier this week. Handing it to her with a certain sadness behind your eyes. Swallowing down your broken voice.

“What is this?”

“My invitation from Boston Children’s Hospital. They sent a representative to speak to me earlier this week. Inviting me to join their team and become the head of their Neurology department,” you breathed out.

“That’s incredible,” Cuddy said with a smile, “That’s— wow, that’s your dream job.” You and Cuddy were never overtly close. But she was someone you confided in. Another woman who could understand you differently than your male friends. Sharing secrets with her that seemed too childish to share with others. And so, out of respect for her and the hospital, you thought it was better to present this to her instead of just disappearing as you usually would. Finally taking responsibility for that.

“Yeah, it is,” you smiled, frown tugging you down.

“It’s going to be hard to fill the position. No one has ever been a stronger candidate,” Cuddy smiled. Sensing the solemn nature of your resignation. Unable to look her in the eyes as you stared down at your feet.

“I’ve got an idea,” Cuddy started, voice steady as she smiled at you.

Finally earning herself a glance from your sad eyes.

“How about you go to the conference they’re hosting. And if you decide that Boston is what you want, you go there. But, if it doesn’t end up being what you want, I will keep the position open for you here,” Cuddy stood with hands flattened against her desk to prove her point.

“Lisa, I can’t ask you to do that,” you sighed, not wanting special treatment or pity.

“I want to. We would be taking a serious blow in our neurology department without you here. But I’ll be happy for you either way,” she circled, coming to stand directly in front of you. Hand resting against your arm trying to console you. Unspoken realization that things must not have went over well when you told your former partner. Cuddy knew House well, seeing a serious change in him since the two of you started seeing each other. She pretended to not notice the brand new ring on your finger. Beautifully twinkling from the sunlight that beamed through her blinds. Able to put all the pieces together of the circumstances in which you brought this to her.

House had came to here earlier this month. Asking some vague questions about the legality of marrying a fellow doctor in the hospital. Pretending he had no ulterior motive, throwing blame on Wilson. He just ‘wanted to make sure no one needed to resign if that was to happen’. She had rolled her eyes knowing exactly what he was meaning. Congratulating him. House had grumbled and scoffed as he waved her off. Exiting her office with the veins on his head pulsing.

Cuddy suddenly hugged you. Firm. Hand on the back of your head as she sighed. You needed this more than she could have imagined. Stomach flipping with your overwhelming emotions. Tears deciding to wade in your eyes again. Sniffling as she pulled away, awkwardly laughing as you looked at her. Exhaustion clear on your breath. “Thank you, Lisa,” you met her eyes.

“It’ll all work out, Y/N,” she reassured. A good friend. Knowing how to console you when necessary. You were thankful for her.

Continuing your day as if nothing was wrong. You were a Doctor for gods sake. Analyzing scan after scan. Brains and spines of all varieties. From newborns to elderly. Pediatrics was your speciality, but that did not stop you from helping people of all ages. Giving some harsher diagnosis than you wanted today, having to control your breathing as to not show weakness to the family. You had to be strong. You were the one who was going to help them. Life of their sickly child now in your hands.

Unsure where the entire had gone off to. Darkness crept across your walls. Simply, amber glow of your lamp was all you had. Having locked yourself away from any other physicians all day. Needing to clear your head and focus on work.

Frustrated when a gentle knock sounded from your door. Teeth gritted as you called out, “Come in.”

Wilson’s frame shadowed in front of the hallway lights. Causing you to stiffen your posture and fold your hands over your lap. Lip quivering as you attempted to catch your breath. Not expecting to see your alienated lover’s best friend. Sometimes you forgot he was your friend too.

Burnt coffee eyes lasered into you. Entering and closing the door behind him. Trying to conjure up a starting sentence. Subject sensitive. More so than you normally discussed. He exhaled loudly.

“Did you come to gloat?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Waterworks immediately flowed. Breath forcing itself out in broken rhythm. Mouth immediately stretching into a frown, followed by a loud sob. Hand cupping your mouth as you squinted your eyes closed. Fingers digging into your cheek. Shoulders heaving with every strangled sob.

Wilson moved on instinct. Kneeling beside you at your desk. One hand on your thigh and the other pushing your hair out of your face. Empathetic eyes scanned you, wishing he could have avoided all of this. Wishing he could have prevented this heartbreak for you. You were his friend. It hurt him to see you hurt.

He pushed himself up to hold you. Head resting against yours. Allowing you to expel every cry, whimper, or sob into his chest. Your body was shaking. Hands bawling his shirt in front of you. Wrinkling the soft blue cotton. Staining it with smudged mascara and lipstick.

“It hurts, James,” you cried pathetically. Clutching him to you.

“I know. I know, honey. I’m… so sorry,” Wilson repeated. He was bad at this. At consoling you. Intimacy something he was only good at faking with women he was going to sleep with. Good at pleasing others. But how could he please you right now? There was no real cure for a broken heart.

This would have to be good enough.

And it was. All you needed was someone to hold you. Understand you. Sympathize with you. Wilson’s warmth encapsulated you. Emptying every drop of pain into him.

“I love him,” you whispered, breathing flattening out. Letting up on your grip on your close friend. Resting your head in the crook of his neck against his shoulder. Nose framing his throat. Warm tears dropping along his collar.

Wilson tenderly kissed your head. There was only so much he could do for you, but he would be damned if he did not try. Despite you ignoring his warning. Despite all the times you had grown angry at him. Despite that you had been spending more time away from him. You were one of his best friends. He would do this for you if this is what would help.

You remained in his arms for quite some time. Letting it all out. The only way you knew how. Thanking Wilson for everything.

Parting ways with the unforgiving walls of the hospital. Being welcomed home by a quiet room. Previously alive with duets and coordinated dance routines, now dull and rhythmless. The mixture of your lives haunted every surface. Candy he had left on the counter, discarded clothes that assumed he would come back for them, his toothbrush contained next to yours. Worst of all, the indent in your bed from his body. Now cold and hollow. Pillow still smelling like his shampoo.

Nausea now a convivial partner. Not having the strength to force yourself out of bed. Porcelain bowl’s siren call a temptress. Small amount of food digested in your stomach preparing for their reunion.

It was not worth it.

~~~

Another two weeks passed. Conference in Boston narrowing in on your calendar. Bags already packed and laid beside your bed. Coming to terms with the real possibility of a new beginning.

Somehow, still avoiding House. Knowing he was doing the same. Opting for other neurologists to run tests for him. Anything to not lay eyes on you.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Metallic taste overwhelming your buds as you dissected the folder before you. Stumped. Normally, you would ask House and his Team.

Your ego refused to face him.

But that did not mean you could not use the diagnostic team.

You parted your blinds into the busy hallway with two fingers. Only your eyes visible from the outside. Scanning the bodies that filled the hall. Waiting to pounce on the first one of House’s little minions that you spotted.

Bingo.

Creaking your door open. “Psst—“ you called out to the young doctor. His eyes peering to the side, acting like he did not see you. Trying to assess the situation, assuming the query was not directed at him. “Doctor Foreman,” you said with a whisper tone, albeit above a whisper. He looked around confused. Pointing to himself with a raise of a brow. You nodded, gesturing him to come to you.

Foreman shook his head in disagreement, motioning towards the folder already in his hand. You stomped your foot and pointed directly in front of you. Brows arching to silently show how serious you were. Sighing loudly as he solemnly walked over to you.

“You know, this got guy’s killed in war-times. Talking to the enemy,” Foreman smirked, leaning against your doorway.

You clasped your hands together in front of your chest, pointing your conjoined fingers at him, “I need you to do me a favor.”

His arms bulged as he crossed them over his chest. Sass dripping clean off him as his head fell to the side. Sucking his teeth as he looked around to make sure there were no cane wielding doctors nearby.

Reaching into your coat pocket and pulling out the case file, “I need you to take this patient folder. Take it to your team and see if you guys can figure out what’s going on. I’ve ran every test under the sun and can’t understand what I’m seeing. BUT— and this is the important part— you canNOT under ANY circumstances tell House this is for me.”

Foreman clicked his tongue. Rolling his eyes. Widening yours and wringing your hands in front of him, “Please.”

He blew his breath out, allowing his head to fall forward. Fully aware of the drama going on between the two of you. How could he not be? House brought it up at every turn. Angrier than he ever had been before. Extending his hand out to accept your offering. You beamed with glee.

“Just so you know,” he pointed with the filing folder, “This is petty.”

“Thank you, Foreman!” You waved him off. Earning a flick of his wrist in response. Finally feeling a sense of relief that you would possibly get an answer. Retreating into your cave. It would take them some time to run through every possibility. So now you could begin the new stack that had collected throughout the day.

It was easy to lose track of time when you were buried in paperwork. Only having time to eat lunch in Cuddy’s office with her. Suggested that you and some of the other doctors go out for drinks tonight. It was only a week until you would be leaving for Boston, so she wanted to treat you. Happy to oblige, anything for you to not be alone.

Staying late, something that happened more often than not. Telling Cuddy to come get you when she was ready to head out. Back to the door as you knelt in front of a filing cabinet. Fingers lacing through every filing folder looking for an older case file. One you hoped would help explain your current one.

Quick knocks against the wood of your door caught your attention. Assuming it was Lisa, not paying attention as you called out, “I’ll be right out.” Zoning out the sound of, what you assumed to be shoes, clicking against your floor.

Abrupt slamming of a hand on your desk made you jump up. Rising above your place on the floor and meeting angry, blue eyes. Air hitching itself in your throat. Heart immediately ramming into your ribcage.

“Next time you want to send me some absurd patient, call me yourself. Don’t rope my team into your dirty work,” House bared his teeth at you.

The first time you had seen him since your fight. Time freezing for you. Taking in every small detail of him. Scruff closer resembling a beard more than ever before. Neglecting trimming the prickly hairs. Something you had began doing together. Bags under his eyes heavier, bloodshot sclera matching your own. Cheeks sunken in and thinner. Not noticeable to the average eye, but when you had him memorized as well as you did it was obvious. Shirt half unbuttoned and wrinkled.

You stared slack-jawed. Fighting the delusion that this was fake. An illusion made up to comfort you. Eyes growing glossy. He was within touching distance. You wanted to spring up and wrap him in your arms. Kiss him and tell him how much you missed him.

“Close your mouth. You’re going to catch a fly,” House scoffed. Eyes rolling aggressively.

Your brows furrowed. Being reminded why this would have never worked to begin with. Jolting away from his piercing eyes. Jaw flexing as you swallowed the lump in your throat. Eyes drying out.

Taking the folder he had tossed haphazardly on your desk, “Did you figure anything out?”

“Of course I did,” his face scrunched up, offended. Angry that you would even ask such a stupid question. Mocking his intelligence in such a way.

You widened your eyes and nodded, “Okay…?”

“It’s MS,” he groaned like you were stupid for not knowing.

“No,” you shook your head in disagreement, “I tested for that. The lesions are from a prior head injury. He said all this pain started when he got hit the other day playing soccer.”

House nodded, “Uh-huh. That doesn’t explain the small white spot right at the base of his skull. His white blood cell count is through the roof. Persistent tingling sensation down the left side of his body. Black spot obscuring his vision, but no signs of corneal damage. It’s practically screaming ‘multiple sclerosis!’ at you.” House’s tone was riddled with condescension. Matter-of-factly correcting your misdiagnosis.

“Right,” you exhaled, trailing off. Frustrated that you had not put the pieces together yourself. Knowing this boy would have to go through some serious trial work for the next few months before he could even start treatment. All signs pointed to multiple sclerosis, but the MRI had you questioning everything.

“If you wanted to talk to me, you didn’t have to pretend to not know what was wrong with your patient,” House said cockily.

Igniting a fire in you. The implication making your blood run molten. Eyes narrowing in on him from above the folder. Mouth upturned like he had won a fight. Making you more angry.

Slamming the folder down on your desk, “You honestly think I’m so desperate that I would allow myself to look stupid just so you would come up here and yell at me?” Voice laced with a thick, deadly venom. Hissing through your teeth with each word.

House nonchalantly shrugged, “Whatever tickles your fancy.”

You growled, speaking through your teeth, “I can’t stand you.”

“Right… Is that why you’re still wearing that? Little reminder of how much you hate me?” House motioned towards your left hand.

The ring.

It had become second nature to just slip it on every morning. Eyes widening down at your digits. Pretending it did not hurt your feelings. Tears pricking against the corners of your eyes. Stunned into silence with his audacity.

“I… uh—“ you tried, really you did. But the way your throat burned and tightened you knew that if you continued you would be a crying mess in front of him.

Your eyes welled up at his. Pleading for him to back down. Begging for even an ounce of forgiveness, sympathy, something. Hands lacing together in front of you. Fidgeting with the ring that you hid under your right hand. Cheeks flooding with your embarrassment. Inability to come up with something to say making you seem weak. Your head hung in defeat.

House took the seat in front of your desk. Cane resting against the arm of it, feet propping themselves up. Far too casual for your liking. As if he had not ripped your heart clean from your chest and taken a bite.

“Boston next week,” unconcerned tone, faking excitement. Pretending that was not the entire reason things were this tense between you. Boston had been the wedge forced between you. Eyes harshly staring at you, “Must be exciting.”

You shrugged your shoulders. Hand rubbing up and down your arm. Trying to will yourself to look at him. Knowing you could not. Surprised he had kept up with what was going on with you. Completely opposite of what you had been doing. Maybe Wilson talked to him. Maybe he asked. It did not matter.

“Oh, don’t be coy,” House poked. His insistent need to pretend like everything was fine between you had anger swirling around your stomach. Falling back into habits that predated your relationship. Forgetting, more like ignoring, how much things had changed between you. Almost like you were just a coworker he found attractive, not that you had seen the most vulnerable parts of one another.

“House. Why are you here?” your eyes finally met his. Brows pinched together and teeth locked. Nostrils flaring with each steady breath you took.

“I brought your patient folder back. And a diagnosis,” House said.

“Greg.”

That made him sit up. Hands clasped in front of him, lips pursed together. Expression falling flat. Mischief behind his eyes fading quickly. Blowing his breath out loudly.

“You didn’t even call,” your words broke.

“Neither did you,” House sneered.

“You wouldn’t have answered if I did,” you defended.

A beat of silence.

“I know,” House huffed, “But I wanted you to.”

His words were desperate. Hiding the sadness that had overtaken him the past weeks. It was easy for him to suppress his emotions. Anger easier to live with than heartbreak. The night he forced you out had broken him. Wrecking his apartment beyond comprehension. Taking way more Vicodin than necessary just so he did not have to feel anything. Shattering all the picture frames along his tabletops. Cutting his hand deeply with one of the shards. Wincing, reminding himself he was alive.

That only made things worse.

Downing bottle after bottle of liquor. Not caring about the taste, but about how it made him numb. Your laughter and smile haunted his mind. Your hooks were so deeply rooted in him that there was no ripping them out. Wobbling into his bedroom where your discarded clothes littered the floor. Drunken rage causing him to shove the garments down his toilet, attempting to flush them. Only overflowing into the floor. Enraging him further. Beating his cane against the porcelain throne. Not realizing tears were burning down his face.

Shouting into the void of his bedroom. Pain coursing through his leg as he finally flopped onto his mattress. Your pillow beside his own. Sweet smell of you still embedded in his sheets. Fingers digging into the bedding as he ripped the fabric. Banging his head repetitively into the foam pillow.

“FUCKING BOSTON!”

He flipped onto his back. Hands grasping his face as he groaned. Instinctively extending his hand out to your side of the bed. Begging that you would be right there next to him and it would all have been a terrible dream. Cold and empty. Nails digging into the sheets once more. Breath coming out broken and strained as it all really hit him.

As always. House had ran off what he cared for most. Incapable of loving and caring. He was a disease. Infecting and ruining everyone who got close. And he had no desire to get better.

Not anymore.

Pitiful eyes looked into each other. Still grieving what could have been between you. Neither of you ready to let go.

Forced to break away when your door flew open. Cuddy’s smiling face quickly falling into shock. Not believing that the two of you were in the same room.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry! I’ll just go—“

“No, it’s okay. I’m coming,” you dismissed her. Clicking of heels exiting your office quicker than they had entered. Sighing remembering the commitment you had made to go out tonight. As sad as it was, you would rather be stuck in here with House than out with everyone.

Eyes falling back on House. Eyes telling you he had something he wanted to say to you. Swallowing before he quickly stood up. Looking at you with the biggest and saddest eyes you had ever seen. You walked around the desk, closing the distance between you. Closer than you had been all night. Within reach of perfectly falling back in together.

Every fiber of your being begged to tell him how much you missed him. How your life felt incomplete without him. That you had not slept the same without him there with you. Tell him that you loved him more than anything.

“Bye, Greg,” you mumbled, hand reaching out to pat his shoulder but stopping.

This time you were the one holding the gun. Aimed between his eyes, repositioning to his chest. Blowing him back. What remained exploding through the other side.

Walking past him and out your office. Leaving without saying what you really wanted. His silence ripped through your skin like barbed wire. Having to put on a fake smile when you met Cuddy in the hallway.

“Well?” Cuddy asked.

“He was… bringing me a patient’s diagnosis,” you lied.

“It’s good that you guys are speaking again,” she tried to cheer you up.

“Right,” you thought about it. About him.

In another week, he would be the farthest thing from your mind. All of this would be.

~~~

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Questioning everything. Suitcase tucked at your side preparing to catch your flight after work. Begin your new chapter. Conference your starting point before any final decision was made.

Today was the day.

Nerves had you flexing your hands at your sides. Stomach in knots of excitement. But also dread. Same black void that had consumed you prior, making itself known as it pinched and twisted your guts.

Tomorrow was a new day.

That kept you going. Able to calm down before heading to work for what could very possibly be the last time. The walls you had known better than those of your own home welcome you back. Surgical smell filling your senses. Taking the elevator all alone. Numbers clicking by as memories of the years of your life did. The first time you had ever taken this elevator feeling so long ago.

Towards the final year of your residency. Out performing the other promising neurologists, being transferred to the hospital where you would more than likely be hired. This very hospital.

Chaos ensued from the moment the doors opened. Patients coding in the halls, overflowed beds, and doctors yelling at each other. Your supervisor, a doctor who had long since retired from the position, told you to keep your head on straight. Try your hardest to ignore all the commotion and keep closing behind him. Helping run MRIs and watching brain surgeries. Feeling over your head in the fast paced environment.

You had finally gotten a moment’s peace as you paced around the hallway in front of a patients room. Having just delivered some devastating news to a family. The father was brain dead. There was nothing more you could do for him. It was their choice to leave him on life support or pull the plug, but the way you presented it to them was crucial.

You squatted against the wall, hand cupping over your mouth and pinching your nose. Clicking against the floor echoed through the hallway. The blunt end of a cane nudged at you, assuming it was an elderly patient. Surprised when you looked up to see a doctor.

“Not supposed to grovel where patients can see you,” his brash voice urged you.

“Sorry,” you said, standing and regaining composure. Leaning against the cold wall and examining the man before you. His large, early morning sky-like eyes doing the same to you. Curiosity getting the better of you both.

“So, what’s your—“

“Yes, I am a doctor. And yes I need a cane. Let’s get those stupid questions out of the way,” he said with a loud scoff.

“I was going to ask what your specialty was,” you awkwardly smiled.

His mouth morphed into an ‘O’. Teeth clinking together as he realized how harsh he had been. “Diagnostician. Specializing in Nephrology and Infectious Diseases.” Bragging clear on his tone. He was older than you, not by much. Enough to already have experience in the hospital that you could not begin to imagine. “I’m House,” he introduced himself with his hand splayed across his own chest. Not offering you his hand for pleasantries.

You nodded with tight lips. Unsure of what his motive was here.

House exhaled, “You’re new.”

“I’m Dr. Y/L/N. Finishing out my residency here. I’m a Neurologist. Interested in the pediatric part neurology mostly, but I love any brain,” you smiled. Youth still beaming on your cheeks.

“Fresh meat. Wilson is gonna love you,” he, who you now knew as House, smirked at you. Eyes checking out your whole figure. This was the first eye roll you gave him ever.

“That your wife or something?”

House chuckled, “More like boy-toy with benefits.”

House could see the shock on your face. Eyes windowing into how fast your brain processed the information. Of course you had assumed he was hitting on you, surprised that he was batting for the other team.

“I’m kidding. He’s an Oncologist here,” House deadpanned. Your hand slid down your face. Already annoyed by him. Face contorting as you tried to read him. He was like a page freshly typed that had water spilt on it. Unable to be properly interpreted. He was challenging you. Seeing how you handled his humor and behavior.

“For Christ’s sake. You young people and not being able to take a joke,” he generalized with a wave of his hand.

You squinted at him. Really taking the time to try and understand him. “You’re kinda an asshole, aren’t you?”

House’s brows sprung up his forehead. Laughing from how shocked he was at your assumption. Pointing to himself as he spoke, “That’s rather forward of you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. So is your eyes all over my breasts, but you don’t see me getting offended,” you shrugged, gesturing towards your chest with two hands. House’s brow knitted together as he tried to fight off the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. My God, he had met his match.

House clicked his tongue as he leaned forward with both hands on his cane. Eyes narrowing in on you. How your hand sat on your hip with confidence only people like him possessed. “Arrogance isn’t pretty on you,” House dared insult.

“Ooo, what else?” You mocked, agging him along.

House’s tongue glazed over his teeth, air puffing out of his nose with what could have been a laugh.

“Do you think your boyfriend will find it pretty?” You tilted your head with your question, trying your hardest to rile him up. Fluttering your lashes sensually at him.

House backed off. Smiling widely with his teeth, "Come down to the cafeteria with me."

You glared at him. One of many times where he would make you smile. His charm worked on you, and you liked it. You liked him. You always had. Even with the insults. The belittlement. His misogynistic way of complimenting you. It all made him House.

And you loved that.

Doors to the elevator opened. Forcing you out of the fond memory. Into a reality that you were much not caring for. Wishing you could grab your old self and shake her out of the infatuated haze. Warn her of how severe of a heartache she would experience at the hands of the diagnostician.

Ghosting down the mostly vacant hallway. Strange compared to your memory. Opening the door to your office. Safe space for you amongst the uncertainties. Appreciating it now more than ever. Giving you so many good stories and bad. Cases that ranged from tragedy to triumphant news. You had packed most of it up the days leading up to your departure. Preparing to leave this all behind.

Surprised to see a small box with an envelope underneath it on your desk. Beautiful red ribbon wrapped into a bow on top. You smiled. Assuming it had to be from Wilson or Cuddy. Now your only two friends. Ripping open the envelope and pulling out the piece of notebook paper. Small, with messy handwriting on it.

"Congratulations. I hope Boston is good to you. I love you."

Was all it said. Cracking open the box to find the prettiest necklace you had ever laid your eyes on. Holding up a dew-drop shaped gem. Shimmering from the office lights. Finding yourself gawking at the expensive chain that encapsulated it. Dainty and perfect to wear casually. Resembling one you liked from an older movie.

No name was attached anywhere to the gift. Striking you as strange, but you had a lot to get done before your flight. So you chose to ignore it. Going on about things like any normal day. Assuring your patients that they would be properly cared for in your absence. Catching up with Cuddy in time to grab a quick bite to eat together.

"Pretty necklace. Who got you that?"

Your brows upturned, "I... don't know. I thought it had to be you or Wilson. Guess it's the latter."

"Hmm," she sounded unsure.

You would have to thank Wilson before you left.

The day flew by. Wilson sat in your office. Insisting on driving you to the airport. Despite how hard you objected, it was 'his job as your friend' to see you off. He held your suitcase, waiting for you to finally be ready to leave.

"Come on, you Bostonian! We've got to get you to the airport," Wilson said in a sing-song voice.

You stared out the window. Sunset always beautiful from here. You fiddled with your thumbs. Weighing it all in your mind. Envisioning a new life for yourself in Boston. Unfamiliar and incomplete faces. Only able to put some shitty-over the top Boston accent with them, like the ones they would do on Saturday Night Live. No matter how perfectly you imagined them, they would never live up to the friends you made here. Even in your fantasy, where you tried to picture a future with a husband and children.

It was House.

Every time. Wearing a nice black suit and a bright colored tie as you locked arms with him, stunning white dress flowing down your figure. Flower peddles fluttering around your heads as your closest friends all cheered you on. His hands would grasp your face as he kissed you. That lovesick expression of his warming your heart. He would kiss you goodnight and tuck himself in beside you. Imagining trying to pretend you were both still asleep when little pitter-patters of footsteps would enclose on your bedroom door. His finger would push against his lips to shush you. Knowing the minute your sweet child would call out to you, both of you would fold. Inviting them into the warmth with you. And he loved you. Really loved you.

Wilson's hand on your shoulder brought you back. Looking over and meeting his dark eyes. Forcing a smile with an exhale. "You're gonna be late," Wilson chided. You shook your head, closing the blinds and circling your desk.

"I meant to thank you," you said as you put your coat on.

"For?"

"The necklace," your fingers outlined the metal.

"I didn't get you a necklace," Wilson responded, confused.

Skin pinching together between your eyebrows. Holding the pedant a little tighter than before. Not understanding who could have dropped this off in your office. Brain refusing to connect the obvious dots.

"Hmp," you mumbled. A thoughtful gesture accompanied by an even kinder note. Fighting your body's urge to sprint down to your suspect's office. It would only make your decision harder. Make everything complicated. You could not do that. Not when you were this close to your escape.

You and Wilson turned the lights off in your office and headed for the elevator. Opting out of your usual shared stair walk, seeing as you were having to carry luggage. Doors opening to the lobby. Cold from the constant opening of doors. A soft shiver went down your spine.

"Alright," Wilson said as you headed for the door, "Forgetting anything?"

That question made you freeze. Looking down at your finger. The same band and gem glistening. You were forgetting something. Completely leaving it behind. Tears finding their place along your waterline again. Closing your eyes and clinching your fist.

Why could he not come tell you goodbye? Why did he not even try to get you to stay? He never was a beggar, but maybe this once he could have been. Just to get you back.

That fucking bastard.

"No," you said softly.

Walking out into the now dark exterior. Cloudy sky blocking any natural lighting. Only the bright neon of your home. Soon to be a memory replaced by a new one.

"I'm going to go get the car," Wilson pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. Leaving you alone with your bags. Allowing your demeanor to change once your friend was out of site. Shoulders slumping, head falling in exhaustion. Having to fake excitement and joy for your new beginnings all day. None of this went how you wanted. Change was always so hard on you. But was it not on everyone?

"Y/N," a voice called out to you from the entry doors of the hospital. Turning to meet him. Your name from his tongue almost sounding fake. Wrong. Speedily, he walked over to you. Cane echoing against the silent courtyard.

Heart overflowing in your chest when you could finally make a clear image of his face. Agitated lines etched into his face. Misty eyes imploring you to delve headfirst into them. Teeth locked together while heavy breaths filled his lungs.

"I'm selfish. And cynical. And rude. An-And all around, I'm not a good guy," House presented to you. Words only angering you further. Arms crossing over your chest as you popped a hip out. Head falling to the side as you examined him.

"House—"

"Just," he abruptly cut you off, "Listen to me. Every bad thing you think of me is true. And I have done nothing to make you think anything different in the last month. My leg hurts if I think about you too long. Throbs beyond any pill's cure. Because it needs you. I need you. Even if you don't need me."

You stared blankly at him. Unyielding guard around you after one too many disappointments. Cold and distant as you looked at him. Unsure how any of this was supposed to sway you.

"But you've still got that ring on. And that has to mean something," House gestured, like it took everything in him to finally get to the point. Fist clinching at your side, thumb rubbing over the band. A crack in your shield. One he could weasel his way into. Under your skin and back into your heart.

Your eyes welled up. Blank expression falling into a sob. Palms cupping your face as your shoulders quivered. "Why couldn't you have came by earlier? Brought me the necklace yourself. Said what you wrote to my face," voice defeated and broken.

His hand reached out to you, "Y/N—"

"Don't touch me! You don't get to do this to me," finally allowing the damn of hatred to burst. "Do nothing but avoid and belittle me to the entire hospital for a month. Just at the idea of me leaving. Look where that got us! You are nothing more than a self-sabotaging man-child. I am not going to continue to cater to your fantasy anymore, House. I can't do this with you for the rest of my life," you shouted as your arms straightened at your sides.

House's posture straightened. Apologetic orbs falling hooded as they looked at you. Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he silently swallowed. Fighting back the choke that tickled the back of his pallet. Nostrils flailing as he repressed any sadness that dared gather around his eyes.

You quickly removed the ring from your finger. Pinching it between two fingers as you held it out to him. Hands and breathing shaky. Hot tears burned down your cheeks. Lip quivering as you shook it in his face, "Take it. It's not mine anymore."

House refused to move. A singular stream of tears dripping from his eyes. Lips sealed as he shook his head. Vein on his forehead bulging as his eyes grew bloodshot. His lip barely pouting out like a child who had just been scolded.

"It's yours," House's voice was not above a whisper. Crestfallen publicly for one of the first times. Refuting any claims you had about the ring not being yours. He had it specialty made for you. Your initials were engraved on the band. His directly next to it. The gem he had chosen to match the month you fell in love. Every aspect was you. Meant for you in every way possible.

You aggressively grabbed his wrist, prying his fingers open and placing it in his hand. Closing the digits over it. Nails digging into his skin momentarily. “All this is is a reminder. Of this place. Of what I’m leaving behind. Of… you. I can’t take this with me,” you heaved.

The first time you had touched him in over a month.

Exuding nothing but hatred towards him.

He had really messed things up with you. And how could he blame you for being angry?

"You can't even tell me you love me when I'm about to literally fly away from you," you growled, drowned by tears.

"I do."

"Then say it, Greg!"

Daunting silence.

Your eyes burned as you squinted at him. Saddened by his lack of devotion. You could be down on your hands and knees. It would not change this.

Sound of the car door closing behind you made you look over your shoulder. Wilson’s eyes stared at you across the short distance. Assessing what was happening between the two of you. Deciding to not insert himself, packing your bags into the trunk of his car.

“I’m leaving,” you said shortly. He was the love of your life. A regret you would have for the rest of your life. There was no world where you did not need him. Your missing piece, but you could not live like this. And this was the only way he knew how to live.

Dying for a last ditch effort from him.

Anything.

You walked away for the final time. Sniffling back your tears. Meeting Wilson who had the passenger door open for you. Taking your seat in your friend’s car. Looking out the window to see House standing there pathetically. His hand raised in a final goodbye wave. What felt like miles away.

Wilson glared as he circled around to his side of the car. Taking his place behind the wheel. Looking at your now puffy cheeks. Admiring that even at what he imagined was your lowest, you still tried to compose yourself. Looking over and smiling at him.

“Alright, taxi driver. I’ve got a flight to catch,” you chuckled.

A mostly silent ride accompanied you. Pulling to a stop in front of the large glass doors. Families reuniting and departing. People holding signs. People having clearly heated phone calls. A place laced with every emotion you could experience. It was beautiful.

“Okay! I’ll help you get your bags out, but car’s gotta keep running. They get pissed if you park here for too long,” Wilson joked.

“Thank you, James,” you exhaled. Smiling at your comrade. Unpacking and sitting it all on the concrete curb. Standing with his hands on his hips in front of you.

You pulled him into a deep hug. He was the best friend you had. Wilson’s hand patted your back, squeezing you tightly.

“I’ll come visit,” Wilson said softly. He had been acting tough through all of this for you. Faking being unbothered by the fact you were abandoning him. Through thick and thin, he had you. This was going to be hard on him.

You pulled away with tears staining your face again. Becoming like second nature to you as of late. Smiling widely at him. “I love you, James. I can’t stop thanking you for everything,” you admitted.

“Love you too,” he said with melancholy.

Waving goodbye as you rushed into the airport. Wheels of your suitcase bumping against the ground with each step. You should have fixed the wheel before traveling, but you had more important things on your mind. Long process getting through everything and finding your terminal. Taking your seat against a window. Glow of the runway illuminating through the tiny glass. Putting headphones on to drown out all the rattling and bangs of takeoff.

To Boston.

~~~

The weekend conference had flown by. Attending lectures with doctors you never knew you would share a room with. Never thinking this level of success was within reach for you.

And maybe it was not.

Everyone who had been invited here was brilliant. Innovative and well-spoken. Beloved by all your fellow doctors. Inspiring the next generation. Things you were not sure you possessed. Finding yourself comparing to all those around you. Imposter syndrome wrapping you in its veil. Even when board members would recognize you and thank you for attending. Inviting you to each special lecture. Wanting you to feel accepted and honored, yet it only pushed you further away.

Separating yourself from who was supposed to become your new colleagues. Not clicking with any of them in a way that made you comfortable. Each field having their own clicks and groups. Not being welcomed in by any of them. Especially when they saw you speaking exclusively with board members.

It was all trivial.

You were here for work.

Yet something still buzzed in the back of your mind. Maybe this was not what you wanted.

Imaging yourself here no longer brought joy and comfort. Praying you would fall in love with Boston Children’s Hospital and its staff. Yet you had never felt more like an outsider in your own field.

But you had to want this. You had been so willing to leave everything else behind. Burning bridges beyond repair. Uprooting your life just for this opportunity.

Maybe it was not worth it.

You walked over a nearby bridge with another group of doctors. Finally being asked about yourself. What made you come to Boston? Oh, wow. That’s a serious change to make within a few weeks. What field were you in? Of course, they had an incredible neurologist heading the department before he up and left. No one was going to replace him in their hearts! Had they heard of any of your research before? Yeah, that sounds really important.

How could some strangers make you feel so small? When you had been built up so highly by the board? This was humiliating.

Parting ways with them in front of the hospital. Waving goodbye as they all laughed to some joke you did not overhear. Sighing and allowing yourself to shrink for a moment. Stepping in a circle as you stared up at the bright lights.

They promised you new beginnings. An out for a situation it had gotten you into. You had enjoyed exploring the halls. Seeing the smiling nurses and patients. All the advanced tech that lined their rooms. Incredibly impressed by how far ahead technologically they were. Funding was high here.

Still. You could only compare it to your home. No instant connection like you had with PPTH.

Maybe you could stay the same forever. Jumping headfirst at every chance of freedom. Fleeing whenever you felt that familiar itch in your bones. The only reason you had so swiftly made up your mind to begin with. There was a comfort in running. Escaping anytime you felt trapped. It was the final night of your trip. You needed to make your mind up and fast.

But. What if it was time to settle down? Warmth overtaking you when you thought of a mundane life. Early morning kisses. Breakfast in bed on the weekends. A baby cradled in your arms. Husband kissing you both on the head. It would not fulfill you anymore than your work had. Yet you found solace in the idea. It was a nice thought after all.

You turned your back to the building. Looking up at the night sky. Clearer than it was in Jersey. Stars still blurred from pollution. Yet they twinkled. Despite all the disgusting smog and reflection of lights.

Your back pocket vibrated. Fetching the small device out. The name illuminating the screen stunning you. Hesitating for only a split second before flipping it open and pressing it to your ear.

Unable to force any words out. Hearing him breathing on the other end causing your heart to flutter.

“Hi, Greg,” you exhaled, relief clear on your tone. Almost like you had been holding your breath without realizing. Surprised he even wanted to call you after how you had treated him last.

“How’s Boston?”

Straight to the point. Never one for pleasantries. Always brash and direct.

“It’s… good,” you lowly said. The words sounding fake as you said them. Propping your elbow in your hand to make holding the phone up more comfortable. Swaying side to side in an attempt to keep yourself warm against the cold breeze.

“Good…” he trailed off, repeating the word with the same conviction you did. Clearly having more to say, but holding his tongue.

“Feel like home?”

You laughed, “No. It never could.”

House chuckled in response. Your shared humor mellowing out into a comfortable silence. Feeling like it used to before this whole mess started.

“It’s nice… to hear your voice again,” you admitted, allowing any shame to roll off your body. Your love for him outweighing your anger. Missing him more than you ever would have led on. Especially this side of him.

“Yours too…” you could hear his smile with each word. “Think you’re gonna stay?”

You hummed. Uncertainty in your vocals. Lip scrunching up with your eye as you thought. Not wanting to lead him on about anything. Knowing few things could sway your mind.

“I don’t know,” you breathed. Eyes falling closed. Images in your mind blurring. Incapable of picturing yourself in Boston.

“Yeah…”

“I kinda miss Jersey. I miss… you guys,” you admitted. Hurting your ego, but it needed to be said.

“I miss you,” House said casually. Shooting an arrow through your heart. Pooping as it caused your blood to flow toward your cheeks. Smiling like it was the first time you had ever been complimented. Knowing he did not just mean from this weekend. He missed you. Every day with you. Distance you had over the last month causing him distress.

You sighed, “It’s not home.”

Those words solidifying the decision you had been teetering on. Voice not above a whisper when you heard more footsteps outside. Not wanting to sound ungrateful to any passersby. Clicking clueing you in that it could be a board member in her fancy shoes.

“Then come home,” deep, gentle words melted down your figure. Causing you to jump when they came from directly behind you. Turning to see him. Figure towering over his cane. Sophisticated hat atop his head. Wearing an overcoat and jeans. Familiar smile across his face.

Your phone dropped out of your hand as you rushed over to him. Tears flowing freely when you jumped into his arms. Knocking him off balance, but making sure you kept both of you standing. Your face tucking into his chest as half breaths escaped you. His large hand cupped the back of your head.

“It’s really you,” you exhaled. Leaning back to cup both sides of his face. Thumbs tracing along each worry line and scruffy hair. Grasping him tight as if some outside force would rip him away in an instant. Eyes wide and finally getting the life back in them.

“Pretty girl,” he cooed, his own thumb wiping away your tears. Hooded eyes lovingly looked into yours. Head tilting slightly as he took in each feature. Waterline stained from how much you had cried. Somehow more beautiful than the last time he saw you.

“Greg, h-how? Why are you here?”

“You know Wilson and I will come up with any excuse for a roadtrip,” House smiled. Cocky grin overtaking his expression as his brows raised. Pulling a laugh from you. Tucking your face into his chest to hide how your face scrunched up. His heart flourished hearing you. Comforting sound that had became a distant memory. You softly shoved his shoulder with your hand.

Doeing your eyes up at him. Lashes wet with joy. Both of you breathing in tandem. Your hands flattened against his shoulders. His now cupped your face. Darting between each other’s eyes.

“I love you,” House said.

You mouthed words that did not escape. Brows upturning. Glossy eyes filled with sincerity. He meant it. Deep down, he always had.

“I love you too,” you admitted. Capturing you in a deep kiss. As if you had been lost at sea and he finally got his eyes on you. Desperate and filled with desire.

“You came all this way to tell me that?” you chuckled, your hand joining his on your cheek.

“What can I say? I’m a romantic,” House shrugged, lips pierced together. Earning a giggle from you. Body instinctively following his as he pulled away. Eyes saddening for a moment as you watched him drop his cane.

House began to take one knee before you. Kneejerk reaction to stop him. Hands waving frantically. Cringing when his face contorted in discomfort. Wincing under his breath as he shimmied through his coat pocket. Presenting your ring back to you. Pinched between shaking fingers. Yearning, ocean eyes gazing into yours.

“You deserve a proper proposal,” House muttered. “Y/N. I love you. More than I will ever be able to show you. I-I love you so much… it hurts. But I would do it all in pain, as long as it’s with you. I want you to be my wife,” House said with vicious valor. Meaning every single word. Pouring his heart out to you in the most vulnerable way possible. Regretting not doing this all sooner.

Your hands tented over your mouth. Nodding profusely. Reaching out to help him to his feet, trying to minimize the pain. Wincing again as he finally got footing, handing him his cane once more. Allowing him to put his weight on it.

He reached for your left hand, sliding the ring on your finger. Where it belonged. Designed and custom made for you. His love.

Lips connecting once more. He greeted you with a toothy grin when you pulled back. Reciprocating as you laced your fingers together.

A weight lifted off your shoulders. Encapsulating you with warmth and love. Acceptance that it was okay to be happy where you were. Not having to chase the next high. This was better than what any board member could offer you.

“Wilson should be parked up front,” House pointed. Guiding you to the place your best friend was located. Watching his figure do a double take from the inside of his car. Fumbling as he got out of the vehicle and met you and House halfway. Smiling widely at you both. Happy to see your face once more.

Wilson pulled you into a hug, hand never leaving House’s. Still too afraid of never feeling it in your own again. “When you said you would come visit I thought you meant in a few weeks, not two days,” you laughed. Poking fun at him.

Wilson’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. Chuckling with amusement, “I couldn’t resist a trip to bring you home.”

Overwhelmed with the love presented to you from them. Your found-family. The ones you loved and cared for most. Using their best efforts to bring you back to them. Cup overflowing with gratitude and appreciation.

“You are coming with us, right?” Wilson double-checked.

You nodded, “How could I not?”

House pulled you tighter against his side. Planting a kiss against your head. Engulfed by the smell of your shampoo. It was all the little things he missed.

“I just need to swing by the hotel and get my stuff. And we can go,” you giddily said, motioning a takeoff with your hands.

“Eager, aren’t you? I thought we’d catch another lecture or two. Heard Dr. Who-Knows-What is here, I’d love to hear her presentation,” House chided. Sense of humor never lost on him. Smiling with his teeth widely when you rolled your eyes at him.

There she was. His girl.

“I’ll give you the ‘for dummies’ version on the ride home,” you poked him in the side. Making him wriggle and exclaim an ‘OW!’ that would have gotten the attention of any strangers. You quickly forced your palm over his mouth to shut him up. A warm, wet tongue lapped at your palm. Causing you to shake your hand vigorously, “GROSS!”

“Ooh. You’re acting like my cock hasn’t been in your mouth,” House smirked. Your face flooded with heat immediately. Jaw slacking as he laughed.

Wilson scoffed. Unamused by both your childish antics. Not surprised with the casual way House spoke about your sex life. He had missed this.

“Okay, lovebirds. Let’s go,” Wilson motioned towards the parking lot with his whole body. Hurrying you both along.

Whipping your head to look at House, “Shotgun.”

You stuck your tongue out as you ran towards the car.

“Oh, come on now! That’s not fair—“ House whined, “Challenging a cripple to a foot race? You should be ashamed!”

“I’m not!” you quipped as you quickly opened the door.

House smiled. Wilson giving him a knowing glance over his shoulder. Laughing at House’s defeat. Joining you in the vehicle, House leaned between the two front seats.

“I was hoping you’d get in the back with me. I’ve got a welcome home present for you,” he wiggled his eyebrows and motioned towards his groin. Your hands hid your face from the embarrassment. Groaning loudly. A soft ‘Jesus’ coming from Wilson.

“You’re such a pervert!”

“And you love me,” House poked your cheek. You leaned to look back at him. Eyes full of love for you as he smiled. You blew a kiss at him.

The ride home was long. Filled with sing-a-longs and pointless discussions. House arguing about some tv show he was watching. Neither you are Wilson really disagreeing, but you knew he liked a good argument. Wilson would make fun of you when a new pop song would play and you knew the words. House’s fingers would rub your shoulders from the backseat, any excuse to touch you. Long digits playing with the necklace he had gifted you. Familiar tug of sleep wrapping around you, but you were too afraid. What if you woke up and this was all just a dream?

You shouted when you crossed back over the New Jersey line. Alarming your fellow riders. House reciprocating the shout simply to annoy Wilson. Everything suddenly becoming more familiar. You knew the way back and it felt like home.

“You guys just want to stay at my place tonight?” Wilson asked as you got closer to your destination. Your arm was bent backwards so that you and House could interlock fingers. Holding hands was one of his favorite things to do. Analyzing and learning your digits. They were just so you. Alive and beautiful.

“Awww. Missed me so bad you wanna hawve a sweepovwer?” you teased Wilson with a pucker of lips.

“You’re an ass,” Wilson groaned.

“Don’t talk to my lady that way!” House defended jokingly.

“I would love to stay with you tonight,” you yawned. Eyelids growing heavy. Nuzzling your face into the leather seat. Not admitting how much of a comfort it would be to have the two most important people in your life under the same roof as you for your first night home. Even if it was nearly 1 a.m. right now.

House kissed your hand. Resting his cheek against your conjoined appendages. Pulling onto the street beside Wilson’s home. Warm yellow glow from the inside inviting you in. House opened the door for you, offering your tired body a hand. Leading you to Wilson’s front door. And of course, he fumbled with the keys. Taking his time to unlock it. Your sleep being withheld from you a little longer.

Wilson pushed the door open to allow you inside first. Flabbergasted by the sight that greeted you. Balloons scattered across the floor, streamers hanging on every surface, and a ‘Welcome Home’ banner hung up perfectly in your line of sight. Eyes meeting Cuddy standing in the kitchen, hands clasped together as she bounced with excitement.

“Surprise!” she shouted and rushed over to you. Wrapping you in a tight hug.

“Hi, Lisa,” you exasperated.

“Thank God these two idiots didn’t come back empty handed. Probably would’ve given them both extra clinic duty,” she ragged, “I’m so happy you’re back.”

“You guys didn’t have to do all this for me,” you blushed. Looking over to House and Wilson. Both smiling and happy to see you doing the same.

“There’s some pizza in the oven and champagne in the refrigerator if you are up for celebrating,” Cuddy suggested.

You shook your head. Completely awestruck. Convinced you were completely replaceable in everyone’s heart, but you were sorely mistaken. You would never find such incredible colleagues— friends, as you had here. At home.

“Of course,” you admitted. Grinning from ear to ear.

The four of you celebrating for hours. Catching up from your short absence. Telling them all about Boston Children’s Hospital. All the incredible tech they had, and how large the hospital truly was. Food tasting incredible, not even thinking that you had forgotten dinner. Champagne buzzing against your cheeks. Wilson and Lisa were quick to pass out. Exhaustion hitting them like a bus. Asleep in the living room, so you decided to take Wilson’s guest room.

The room was dark. Light shining in from the partially opened blinds. Yellow hue of a street lamp illuminating your face as you stared at House. Laying on top of the comforter together. Hands flat in front of your faces. Taking the time to be alone together. Dancing your hand up his cheek, softly through his hair, and cupping his neck. Thumb tracing his jawline. Tickled by the pokey facial hair.

Sleep had its hooks in you. Blinks becoming slower. Covering your mouth when a yawn broke free. House chuckled, “You can sleep.”

“Noooo,” you whined, “I’m not even tired.”

His hand petted through your hair. Smiling at your denial. As much as he wanted you to stay awake and keep talking to him, he knew you had to be exhausted. Heavy lidded eyes barely peaking up at him as your lips parted with small breaths escaping.

House pressed a kiss into your forehead, “I will be here when you wake up.”

You reached out for his hand. Squeezing it between your own. Checking to make sure it was all real. That he was there and not a dream.

“I love you, Greg.”

“I love you too.”

~~~

[END/Final]

// Thank you so much for reading! This chapter ended up being quite a bit longer than I had originally planned, but I got everything in I wanted. I have truly fallen in love with this story and it is one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written. To all of you who have kept up with it and supported me, I love you! If I could give you all a big hug and kiss I would. As always, requests are open. Comments and Reblogs are appreciated! //

{tags}

@houseslollipop ~ @megangovier ~ @iwmflbb ~ @yourgirlcarol ~ @needz1nk ~ @crimin4llyins4ne ~ @bitchy-bi-trash ~ @chaimshelii ~ @cailleachcola ~ @shutthefrickup ~ @dustie-faerie ~ @vincentnaj ~ @vlyrexsworld ~ @thefemininemystiquee ~ @amandarobertsboyce ~

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

By Stephanie Soucheray, MA

Two new studies add to the growing body of literature on the lasting effects of long COVID. In the first, a study of 114 patients with long COVID in Israel, researchers found high rates of depressive disorders (46%), generalized anxiety disorders (21%), sleep disturbances (76%), and reported cognitive changes (95%) among those diagnosed with the condition.

In a second study, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) researchers find that the prevalence of long COVID-19 in the US population in 2021 was 29.9%, and 77.2% of those with long COVID had not returned to pre-COVID health within 8 to 60 weeks after infection.

The first study, published in BMC Infectious Diseases, was an online survey given to long COVID patients composed of several established questionnaires, including the Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD-7) for psychological distress, the Subjective Cognitive Decline (SCD) questionnaire for cognitive decline, and the Pittsburgh Sleep Quality Index (PSQI) for sleep disorders.

The participants had an average age of 44 years, and 29 were men (25.4%) and 85 were women (74.6%).

The high rates of sleep disturbances and cognitive changes, including brain fog and memory loss, were the most significant findings. Social support negatively correlated with psychological distress, with those who reported more social isolation during their long COVID illness having worse mental health outcomes.

“Personality traits and social support were found to modulate symptom severity, with conscientiousness and social support appearing to confer protective effects, while neuroticism was associated with greater risk,” the authors said. “These findings highlight the potential for psychological interventions to alleviate distress in Long COVID patients.”

More than 75% of patients did not return to health The second study, published in Clinical Infectious Diseases, used data collected in 2021 to assess long COVID prevalence. Notably, the authors found 30% of those infected with COVID-19 in the pre-Delta period (March to December 2020) developed long COVID, or post-COVID Condition (PCC).

Among those, 3 out of every 4 patients did not return to prior health within 60 weeks of initial infection.

Certain symptom clusters were associated with not returning to pre-COVID health, including respiratory problems, gastrointestinal symptoms, and chronic fatigue syndrome-like symptoms.

“Understanding PCC symptom clustering may provide insight into pathophysiology, severity of PCC, and management for patients who have not returned to their usual state of health after SARS-CoV-2 infection,” the authors concluded.

Study links: bmcinfectdis.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12879-024-10308-0 academic.oup.com/cid/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/cid/ciae632/7929829

[nouverx]

Encounters with transphobes have been so rare for me lately that I always forget there's people out there who are STILL at the "being non binary isn't real/is a mental disorder" stage lmao. Have they not move on from that??

I've been out and living as an openly trans non binary person for 8 YEARS.

8. YEARS.

8 years is a lot. I've had time to watch conferences on the topic and read so many articles that I can't possibly link it all. I've seen a psychiatrist and 3 different therapists. Literally NONE OF THEM ever saw my transness and non binarity as a mental disorder or as "not real". I've mostly been working on dysphoria with them this whole time, which was way more of an issue than transness ever was. I've been through a whole self discovery journey that I can't possibly describe in a single post, had so many deep conversations about it with so many different people, experts and non experts included, during those 8. Long. Years.

People who are dismissing non binarity are just ridiculous to me now. "Being non binary isn't real" buddy those last 8 years have been VERY FUCKING REAL. You are deeply uninformed, far behind the whole topic and I'm so over people like you. Stfu.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Freud Said We Should Fuck [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left and Right (@shakespearesdaughters) Center (@hotchs-big-hands)

Prompt: When Aaron makes a Freudian slip on the jet, he and the reader get flushed, and later, once the case is finished, the reader finds him in his office on a lonely Saturday and teases him about it. Aka, when the reader and Hotch do something in his office other than paperwork. 

Pairing: Aaron x fem BAU-reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: Fluff/angst/smut 

Word Count: 9.9K 

A/N: Hi loves! First off, this story is 18+, minors DNI. Please respect this boundary. I’m finally back writing again and I’m so happy about it. However, I feel like it’s going to take me a bit to get back into the swing of things. I had a lot of my AU written and then I just thought it was moving too slow. So I’ve put that on hold for a bit and gone back to what I love smut. I don’t think the sex here is the best I’ve ever written, but I still like it. This idea came about because @silk-spun and I were chatting about Aaron and office sex and I couldn’t stop thinking about it - so naturally I wrote it. Please have a look at the notes before reading as there are some things that some plot points that some readers might want to avoid. I hope you like this and if you do, likes, comments, and replies are appreciated! Content Warnings under the cut. I hope you are having a good week. Love Levi - ❤️

Content Warnings: There are two unsubs mentioned in this fic: The one most talked about is a family annihilator [There are mentions of wives and children being killed, depiction of dead bodies, description of a bloody room,  mention of suicide via gun (unsub)] The second unsub kills at random [There are mentions of poisoning, falling to one’s death and drowning (the body is briefly described)] Mention of past trauma and abuse [Hotch] and the mention of an absent father. There is also sex: touching over the clothes, sex in a semi-public setting [Hotch’s office] fellatio, p in v (unprotected] Very slight dom vibes from the reader and Hotch and the slightest mention of a size kink. If I missed any, please let me know. 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name

_c/t_ = coffee or tea (whichever you prefer) 

_u/sf/d_ = up/straight forward/down (depending on height). 

_s/l_ = short or long 

_kl/s/m_ = knee length/short/mini (pick your favorite skirt length)

_y/f/c/s_ = your favorite color and style (bra)

_y/f/t/f_= your favorite type of food

The team sat in the jet as they moved toward Evansville Indiana. The skilled agents were bantering ideas off of each other, as they normally did. This unsub was very blatant with their modus operandi. As Aaron had debriefed in the conference room an hour earlier with the team and Garcia, he said, “The unsub we’re dealing with allegedly has three distinct personalities. Although I would be hesitant to diagnose anyone with a split personality disorder or DID. Many people with this condition are stigmatized due to the negative stereotypes associated with that name. If our unsub does have this condition, then we work from there. But with what we know now, this might just be a part of the ritual and pattern. The police are adamant that it’s a suspect from a mental hospital, but be wary of this. J.J. I want you to cut this off at the bud as soon as we get to the station. The media liaison nodded and replied, “You got it Hotch. I’ll clear that up and make sure they haven’t come up with any nicknames either. That always gets the press in a stir.” Aaron nodded. There wasn’t time for that kind of coverage right now. The team needed to jump in immediately once they touched down. This unsub had a swift turnaround time, killing in heinous and various ways almost every other night. His signature was that at the body of each victim, the unsub left a note from either the Id, the Ego, or the Superego, and by how killing his victims, the unsub had ‘cured them,’ and how the cure had worked. The killer's notes were reminiscent of Freud’s case notes, detailed and a bit deranged. The methods of death had been drowning, poisoning, being drowned, and most recently a fatal fall from a high cliff on a popular walking trail. _y/n_ had cringed at the sight of the drowned victim’s bloated body. It was blue and purple from its extended time in the water. The poisoned victim didn’t look any better. As was usual with BAU cases, the victims had suffered significantly before their deaths. _y/n_ had asked the group as a whole once the note element came out, “Is this guy serious? I mean, Freud is more infamous than famous at this point. His clients were all wealthy Swiss members of society, and he was ridiculed later in life for changing his theories all the time. I mean, how many Fruedians are still honestly out there?” Spencer happily replied, “In terms of clinical, licensed therapists? I’d say very few. Probably around 0.5 percent at this point. But that doesn’t mean that psychoanalysis isn’t still used in a good deal of therapeutic systems. I mean ‘Talk Therapy’ is the norm in most EBT therapy systems. So although Freud and Heidegger might have faded to obscurity, their theories remain.” Hotch had nodded and said stoically, “Wheels up in thirty. We can continue this discussion on the plane. If the unsub sticks to his pattern. They might have a new victim already.” 

Thus the team, plus Penelope were on the plane like normal. Once the jet hit cruising altitude, the team seemed to relax a bit They all fell into their usual clusters, and Hotch observed them. _y/n_, Rossi, and Spencer were continuing the psychological aspect of the case with _y/n_, while Em, Derek, and Garcia talked about the victimology and methods of the murders. Lastly, JJ was writing up a short press brief for the police and the public. Aaron knew we could never be thankful enough for the work that JJ did for the team. She covered their backs more than he could ever imagine. It was hard enough doing the job they did, but having JJ backing them up meant they weren’t smeared in the press even more. Hotch made his way to her. He sat on the seat next to hers and looked over her work. The blond woman handed him a notebook page with her statement from the police force. She said, “This is what I’ve got so far. If you have any more legal or profiler things you’d like me to add, just note them in the margins.” The woman handed him a blue ballpoint pen, and Hotch did his best to look carefully and thoroughly over the short blurb. He added a few police procedural things, but otherwise, it looked good. Aaron pushed the paper back on the small table and said, “Looks good J. I just added a few notes. Let me know when you have the one for the public done, and look it over too.” JJ looked up at him as he stood and said, “You got it Hotch. And I’ll make those corrections after I’m done with this.” Aaron then moved to Em, Morgan, and Garcia. They were looking at a map both on the seat and on Penelope's computer. Derek and Em were pinpointing the sites of the victim's body on the physical map while Garcia did the same on her laptop. The trio was trying to make a geographic profile and also see if the sites were linked to a road, river, or some natural feature. All three victims had been found in parks or locations adjacent to parks. As Hotch looked over the map, Emily said, “Given the natural locations of the dump sites and how well-versed the unsub seems to be with local and national parks in the area, this person may be a game warden or resource officer or something like that. Those positions are often isolating and not well-paid. Maybe the unsub has emotions tied to their work. That they’re not achieving enough, or making enough of an impact?” Hotch nodded at the logic of her statement and said to Garcia, “Once you’ve done that work, Garcia, look up the databases for Park Service workers and Game Wardens and make a preliminary risk. Target those who work in the parks where the victims were found and those that have been having problems at work or have had problems at work in the last two months.” Garcia loved getting directions from Aaron. She always thought that his brain was close to hers, except that he was just the quiet version of her. She smiled and said, “Aye, aye captain. Coming right up.” Aaron gave Garcia a small smile and said, “Thanks Penelope.” 

Aaron got up again. Before he moved to the last group, he was going to get a cup of coffee for himself _c/t_  for _y/n_. It was their ritual on the plane now. When they were in the office, _y/n_ got him coffee from the breakroom, and when they were on the jet, he got her drink. Aaron’s and _y/n_ relationship had moved from a strong friendship to a light romance, to, in the last six months, a much more heated and sexual affair. Of course, neither of them could say, and much less do anything while they were at work but show small gestures of affection for the other. Aaron and _y/n_ were both professional and could easily keep their relationship work-coded. That didn’t however, mean that Hotch didn’t think about the things they did off the clock. The sound of _y/n_’s bright laugh had his mind reeling back to last weekend. It had been a lazy Saturday morning at his place. She had mentioned getting a snack from the coffee shop down the street before going on a walk in the park or going to get a new book for Jack, who was currently at Haley’s. Aaron had sleepily said something like, “I think you’re enough of a snack as it is, _y/n_” as he rolled onto his back.

There was a moment of silence before _y/n_ started softly laughing. Hotch moved his eyes to her. He expected her to stop laughing after a minute, but his gaze only had her laughing more loudly. She was nearly in stitches as her mirth overflowed. Hotch, not quite sure what had caused her to be so joyful,  poked her side and said, “Alright, I give up. What’s so funny? Is my breath bad or something?” Even as Hotch asked, he couldn’t stop himself from starting to laugh too. This was something unique with _y/n_. She allowed him to open up emotionally in ways that he rarely even had. After _y/n_ had caught her breath she said, “Is that your attempt at dirty talk Hotch? If so you need to take a course.” Aaron scoffed at that and said teasingly, “I’ll make you eat those words _y/n_.” As he finished that sentence, he leaned over her and kissed her. He started lightly but became more intense as _y/n_ ran her tongue over his bottom lip. Soon enough, he was undoing the buttons of her night shift and moving his mouth lazily downward with _y/n_ saying his name breathily every time he nipped her skin lightly with his mouth. His breath was hot on the cool expanse of her body. Aaron realized as he started to make the encounter more intimate and relished in how her body responded to his.

Hotch knew that apart from being with _y/n_, he was about as closed off as human could be, and he knew it. His past as a child had inherently shown him that weakness meant pain and suffering and as hard as he had tried to grow out of that, he still had some of those mental barriers up, and they often rose when he was in situations that dealt with lots of emotions. Often he found himself unable to reciprocate. That was part of the reason that he assumed that he was so good at being a prosecutor and a profiler. People’s emotions, whether they be the unsub’s or the victim’s didn’t cause him to bluster, or lose sight of the bigger picture. He was sympathetic to the victims and listened to them with sincerity, but their pain often didn’t affect him the way it did _y/n_. This was the reason that after he spoke to the various victims, he would direct them over to _y/n_ to talk further. So they could cry unabashedly and have someone to hold them tight as they did so. Often Aaron would catch her eyes as they made the silent trade-off. There was always a silent conversation that happened in these looks. It was Aaron saying, ‘Thank you,’ and _y/n_ responded, ‘I got you.’ With time Aaron had slowly started dropping those barriers with _y/n_. She made him feel more human. More intact with his emotions such as joy and the ability to do the unexpected. Things and emotions which he had hidden inside himself a long time ago. The first time that Aaron had been very open to _y/n_ was the first time that he realized that he might have deeper feelings for _y/n_ than respect or camaraderie. 

It had been a difficult case. One of the worst. The unsub had been a family annihilator. The man, Mr. Platheville, was targeting young families with only one child. The madman had killed two mothers and their children leaving the fathers to watch in horror and live with the site of the massacre they had witnessed. The first man they had found was shell-shocked and unable to move. An ambulance and mental health experts had been called for him. The next man had been so angry that Hotch and Derek had to hold the man back from hitting and punching himself or the wall or anyone within striking distance. _y/n_ had watched on with apprehension, trying to calm the man down with her words. Although those two cases had been horrible, it was nothing compared to the last. The unsub had called and said where he was and that he had another family hostage. There were audible screams on the other side of the phone. Mr. Plathville had said, “Come quickly. Please. I can’t stop myself anymore.” At first, the team felt like this was a good step. A great step even. The man was giving himself up and asking for help. However, as the tapped line was about to be disconnected, a child’s voice cut in. It sounded scared and small as it said, “Daddy? What’s wrong with Mommy?” That had the whole team freeze. The realization that Plathville had his own family captive now had the team feel like the floor was dropping out from under them -- everyone’s stomach sinking into knots. Hotch dropped the phone first and softly said, “Everyone, move, now.” After a second, he found his voice and said loudly, authoritatively, “Move. Now.” Aaron started running to the van, and he watched as his team followed him to both his car and the other SUV. _y/n_ and Rossi piled into Hotch’s car and hurriedly buckled as Hotch hit the gas pedal. The rubber tires squealed and burned on the concrete. _y/n_ had snatched the passenger seat in the front. Hotch’s jaw was set in a tight grimace as he sped down the road. His driving was close to erratic. It wasn’t something _y/n_ had seen in him before. _y/n_’s eyes found Rossi’s in the review mirror. The older man also looked a bit concerned as well. Gently, _y/n_ placed a hand on Aaron’s upper arm. She could feel the muscle tight under his sleeve as his hands gripped the wheel. At her touch, Hotch’s eyes briefly left the road and met hers. Whatever expression she had on her face was enough to slow his driving speed. For him to pay closer attention to the road. 

Hotch was making her nervous. He didn’t seem like himself, but she didn’t say anything. There would be time for that later. The vans came to a raging halt outside the address that Plathville had disclosed. The house seemed quiet. Eerily so. Derek and Hotch approached the door softly. Derek breached the door and the team rushed inside. The front foyer was dark and there was no sound reverberating around the open area. The team fanned out in the ranch-style house. Derek and Spencer moved to the left side of the house toward the kitchen and guest bedroom. Rossi and Emily took the upstairs, and Hotch and _y/n_ moved left toward the living room and master bedroom. The other families had been found in the living room, and _y/n_ braced herself for a similar scene. Hotch’s shoulders tensed as he moved into the entryway of the living room. It meant that this family was already dead too. _y/n_ felt a part of her break inside, but she pulled the pieces back together for the team. For those who had passed. Both agents stepped into the room. The fact that the walls, carpet, and sofa were cream-colored only highlighted the dark splatters marring the walls, couch, and carpet which was soaked with a dark stain. _y/n_ pointed to the light switch and mouthed, “Should I turn it on?” Hotch nodded his head no and inclined this head toward the bedroom door, indicating that Mr. Plathville might still be in the bedroom. It was the only space they hadn’t breached. If Plathville was still in the house either alive or dead, it was in that room. As the calls of Spencer and Emily echoed through the house stating, “Clear,”  a small sound came from behind the closed door. Both agents' eyes snapped to the door, and they moved forward. Once they got to the door. Aaron held out a hand to stop her. He shook his head no. He leaned forward and whispered, “Go look at the bodies. And then stop the rest of the team from entering the living room.” _y/n_ met his dark eyes. They seemed to go on forever. He had the look he had before when the child had spoken on the phone. The same look he had had in the car. _y/n_ desperately wanted to know what was going on in his head, but again, now wasn’t the time. _y/n_ nodded and moved back from the door. She moved to the two bodies on the floor but continued to watch as Aaron opened the door, stepped inside, and said, “Mr. Plathville. Don’t do this. Do you think this is the ending your wife and daughter would have wanted for you?” Hotch closed the door behind him, leaving the room in semi-darkness. Hotch could hear soft movement from the other side of the door. It was _y/n_ and it sounded like she was crying. Aaron pushed aside the soft sounds and focused only on Plathville. The cold metal weapon the unsub was holding in his dominant hand wasn’t pointed in any direction, but it could be in an instant. Hotch didn’t want _y/n_ in the room. Because Aaron knew family annihilators, he knew them because he lived with one of them as a child. As an adult, once he learned the proper terms for killers and sadists, he realized that if he hadn’t taken the brunt of what his father doled out, his own father might have been a Plathville as well. Aaron didn’t want _y/n_ to see what might happen. He didn’t want her to see this. Hotch put up his hands and said, “Put down the gun Mr. Plathville. You’ve been a coward with how you’ve treated others because they didn’t do what you liked. Don’t be a coward now, at the end. Face what you’ve done and prove that you’re actually a man.” 

The unsub, eyes dark and glazed looked like he was about to set the gun on the bed. Aaron hoped that was what he was doing, but he didn’t trust the man either. Just as the gun seemed to be safe, Plathville turned the weapon on himself. Outside the closed door, _y/n_ heard a very loud bang. A deafening sound. At this point, _y/n was standing by the hallway with Derek. Em, and Rossi. She was doing her best to keep the three other agents at bay. When the BAU team heard the gunshot, they all rushed back into the room. Derek drew his sidearm as they all did and breached the door. _y/n_’s heart pounded in her chest because she had left him alone. Alone with an unsub who they knew had a gun; and if Aaron was dead, she would never be able to forgive herself. Not for all time. As the team rushed into the room. Hotch’s strong profile stood out against the window. His nose and jawline were distinct against the streetlight that seeped light into the room through the casement window. Aaron seemed frozen on the spot and the still and bloodied body of Mr. Plathville was slumped on the bed. _y/n_ moved forward and avoided her gaze from the new body. She took Aaron’s arm and pulled him out of the room. Not just the room but the house as well. She sensed that he needed the space away from the darkness emanating from the home. The graveyard. 

When they were at the side of the house opposite the bedroom, _y/n_ stopped. She looked down at his shoes, they had blood splatters on the toe. She looked _u/sf/d_ at him. His face was also splattered with blood. _y/n_ reached over, pulling the cuff of her white sleeve over her palm; she started wiping away the viscous red fluid from his sharp facial features. _y/n_ reflected for a moment on how attractive Aaron really was, with his stoicism and strong jaw, and how terrible a time it was for such thoughts to surface. _y/n_ pushed them away as Hotch seemed to come to himself, as she moved her hand to the other side of his face. The blood smears here were larger. There was other matter that _y/n_ would rather not speculate on. Aaron’s left hand raised and pushed her own dirtied sleeve away from his face. Hotch seemed to take a small breath, and he looked like a child who had been caught doing something wrong. _y/n_ wondered if it was his showing emotion out in the open that he perceived as being bad. She looked back at him before he seemingly crumpled into _y/n_’s arms. Low sobs reverberated on her shoulder. Tears staining _y/n_’s already soiled shirt. _y/n_ was grateful the police cruisers were on the other side of the house. Parked on the gravel drive. _y/n_knew that they would have to move soon or else the team would come looking for them. She was sure Hotch would not want to be found in such a compromised state.

_y/n_ didn’t know what else to say than, “I’m sorry Hotch. I know it’s sick and fucked up, but at least there’s no one else he can hurt. Not even himself.” And it was true. It burned _y/n_ that Mr. Plathville would face no consequences for his crimes of passion, but when an unsub took the end into their own hands, there was a certain finality to the matter. There would be fewer interviews and less press. There wouldn’t be a trial or the need for written testimony from everyone involved. It felt like a twisted prize for a game no one had asked to play. After a moment, Aaron replied softly, “It’s not that. Or it is that and some other stuff. I don’t know why I’m like this. I’m sorry.” _y/n_ frowned and pulled away a bit. Hotch looked at her with eyes asking, begging for her to stay. She took his right hand which was hanging limply at his side and said, “Let’s just walk down the drive and back. It will give you a moment to compose yourself. Get your thoughts in order. “Aaron seemed to hesitate and said, “But the police… the team, they might.” _y/n_ cut him off gently saying, “They can wait. The cops have plenty of people to interview and material to bag and tag. They can wait while we take a five-minute walk. 

_y/n_ found that walking got people talking. Particularly if the people were not wanting to open up. The movement and change of scenery seemed to give whomever she was walking with a breather and a chance to let out some thoughts if they wanted. If they didn’t, then at least they’d both gotten some fresh air. This technique had worked with Morgan, JJ, and Em. I had not worked with Spencer, but Spencer spoke so freely all the time that if he had something he didn’t want to share, then he didn’t want to share, and she understood that. This was the first time she was trying this method on Aaron. As they made it halfway up the drive, and not so much to her shock, Hotch let out a sigh and said, “It was Jack’s birthday yesterday…” _y/n_ looked over to him briefly. His eyes were on the ground, Glued to it. She knew that wasn’t the whole issue, but _y/n_ replied, “I’m sorry you had to miss that for this mess.”

They kept walking. and Aaron let out another breath and continued, “When I see people like Plathville, I see my father. I see a bit of myself in him as well.” _y/n_ furrowed her brow and turned to look at him, walking backward, matching his pace. She didn’t know a lot about Hotch’s father apart from the fact that he was dead and had hurt Aaron very badly. Perhaps she could see a correlation there between the unsub and Hotchner Sr., but she couldn’t see how Hotch was at all like either man. She asked for clarity saying, “What do you mean? I don’t see how you’re like either of those monsters. You’re tied to your father by blood, but he’s gone.” Aaron looked at her and then back down the dark path they were on. A lone streetlamp shone at the end of the road. They reached it and turned back before Aaron said, “It’s a pattern. They were both absent fathers. They both lashed out at things and people. And look at me. I hardly see Jack. It feels like once in a blue moon. And I might not be lashing out at people because my job takes out that stress. But look at me in the office, I’m still anal about things. I just see these patterns. I don’t want to fail as a father, and I feel like I am.” And there it was. There was the crux of his emotions and _y/n_ ached for his pain, for his fear, even if it seemed unfounded to her. It certainly wasn’t unfounded to him, and she’d never say that. As they moved back toward the house. _y/n_ was wording and rewording her response again and again in her head; she couldn’t quite seem to come up with the perfect response. It all sounded too close to “I love you and other people love you too, can’t you see that?” She felt the hairs picked up on the back of her neck and she looked over to Aaron. He was staring at her, Asking for some kind of reply. They were near the house again and she stopped, and he stopped too. Now _y/n_ gave a sigh, her breath making a little cloud in front of her face. She finally replied, “Aaron, I don’t know what this is going to sound like to you, but here it is. I think you’re tired. I haven’t seen you sleep in three days straight because this case is so close to you. It’s close because it involves a group of people who can’t protect themselves, or their children. And I think in some ways after Haley filed, you think that you can’t protect her or Jack either. But Aaron, you’ve handled everything there with as much grace and compassion as you could. You did what Haley wanted and you still try and look after them. And maybe you don’t see Jack as often as you like, but you try. I hear you call him at night when the team’s away. And the stories you tell about when he spends the weekends over make it sound like you don’t just shower him with gifts or love bomb him. You’re trying to have a relationship with him. And I never hear you badmouth Haley, ever, which means your son can know that not all relationships work out but there can still be a kind of love and respect. A lot of kids don’t get that.” _y/n_ took a breath and she saw in his eyes that he was coming more to himself, as she finished stating, “And about you being like your father, yeah, genes are passed down, but I don’t believe that people are born bad. I think something bad happens to them and you either continue the cycle or break it. And you’re far too kind of a person, even if you don’t show it, to keep doing what you’re father did. You’d never do those things to another person. You’re not him Hotch. You never will be.”

_y/n_ looked at him to see what his reaction to her words would be. Aaron looked like he might cry again, but was holding back those emotions. She hoped she hadn’t overstepped some emotional or professional line, but she didn’t have time to ask as Hotch stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. His warm body enveloped her in the cold night. His breath fanned the _s/l_ hair at the nape of her neck. He whispered, “Thank you for that, _y/n_. I needed to hear that.” When Aaron pulled back, he was himself again. He nodded and motioned his head toward the house. As he attempted to move forward, _y/n_ grabbed his coat sleeve, and he looked at her confused. _y/n_ said, “Wipe the left side of your face Hotch. It’s still bloody.” Aaron rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. They both started walking back to the house, and he wiped off his face. As they walked back, there was an understanding that something deeper had happened between them. As Aaron moved past the cruisers with red and blue lights still flashing,  he raised the caution tape for _y/n_, and as she stepped under it. Aaron looked at her and felt a warmth seep through him. It bit through the cold outside, and he didn’t mind it. 

Aaron pulled his mind out of the haze that was focused on the sounds that _y/n_ had made last Saturday morning. Her moans and whimpers rang in his ears for a second longer. He was thankfully snapped back to the interior of the jet as a bit of turbulence rocked the aircraft. Aaron cleared his throat and moved to the coffee maker. He made himself a cup of black coffee first. He shot a prayer up to any possible deity up there that his body and mind had not synced enough for him to be aroused by his mind's inappropriate wandering. Having to hide an erection wasn’t his idea of a fun time. It had happened once or twice before and he had to rush to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face and neck. When Hotch’s cup was done, he moved another clean styrofoam cup under the dispenser and started making _y/n_’s _t/c_. He stifled a yawn. He had spent much of the last two days working on field reports and revising the FBI’s security training. It was woefully behind the times. He had coordinated with Penelope and as helpful as Garcia was in terms of the technological aspects of cyber security, the lingo and Pen’s energy had worn him out a bit. The Keurig beeped, indicating _y/n_’s drink was done. He doctored the beverage as she liked. Aaron half blamed his wandering mind on his lack of sleep and the case. Spencer’s clear voice cut through all the others and he was talking about the more interesting sexual elements of Freud’s theories including the more lurid Oedipus and Xena complexes. Reid was going on about how the notes from the unsub seemed to really dive into those theories even though there was no sexual aspect to the case yet. Hotch grabbed _y/n_’s cup and moved back to the final group he had not spoken with yet. 

He sat next to _y/n_ and handed her her cup. _y/n_ looked at Hotch and gave him a small smile before taking a sip of her drink. _y/n_ had a random thought, as she mulled over the bizarre nature of the case. She said aloud, “What do you think Freud would think about people using his theories like this? I mean he was odd and problematic, but not that odd.” Aaron had his eyes closed, and he replied without even thinking said, “I think Freud would say we should fuck.” _y/n_ nearly spat out her drink. The liquid burned her throat as it went down. Hotch caught his mistake and flushed, quickly amending his statement saying, “I mean if Freud were still here, he would probably think the unsub would want to have intercourse with his victims. It could either be latent sexual attraction or transference of sexual desire for an authority figure like a parent or teacher. An attraction that shouldn’t be acted out.” Hotch could feel his ears burning, and he hid his face by taking a long drink of his coffee. The dark liquid burned his mouth but this pain was better than having to face to look of utter shock of his friends. Thankfully the awkwardness only lasted a second longer as Spencer picked up on his hurried line of thinking saying, “You could be right. This unsub might be impotent and killing as a means of sexual release. Or they could be killing as a displacement tactic for unwanted feelings.” Reid jumped into that conversation with a fervor and _y/n_ added her thoughts in too along with taking some notes on the comments Spence made.

Although Spencer didn’t choose to comment on what Hotch had said, when the Unit Chief looked over at Rossi, his friend had an eyebrow raised and an expression that said, “Really, Aaron?” Hotch closed his eyes, sighed, and rubbed a hand over his eyelids as if saying, “I’m tired. Alright?” When Aaron opened his eyes again, Rossi just gave a little shrug as if saying, “Hey. I have three ex-wives. I’m not one to judge.” The older man ever so slightly looked over to _y/n_ and gave a small smile. The team knew that Hotch was seeing _y/n_. They were all too perceptive not to tell. But what he had just said was more personal than the team needed to know. At least not yet. Aaron liked keeping his private life private, and he would have to apologize to _y/n_ for putting their personal business out there like that. He was just thankful that he had made that slip of the tongue in front of Spencer and Dave and not Morgan and Garcia. There would be no end to the gossip if that had been the case. Aaron sat back in his seat and did his best to put back on the Unit Chief facade. One great thing was that he was able to compartmentalize his emotions and what had just happened was just a blunder. He fell easily back into the conversation and made himself useful to the team. 

The case was a wild one with the team being kept on their feet, as the unsub devolved into crazier and more complex kills. Thankfully the unsub, one Kathy Kittery got sloppy as her mind crumbled under the weight of her own brain. Thus, only one other victim was lost, the others, though traumatized would make it through the ordeal. Ms. Kittery was a therapist who had had her license revoked after having an affair with a client. Once she had taken that blow, she had moved to a second career that had always interested her. Being a Ranger in a State Park. However, as it turned out, the mental isolation did not help with her already troubled state and she had slipped into acting on her delusions, thus the need for the team to come in the first place. After the unsub had been arrested, the team, as normal, was assured that she wouldn’t be seeing freedom for a good long while. On the jet home, Aaron’s sexual comment was almost forgotten by everyone, including himself, but _y/n_ remembered and as she closed her eyes to sleep on the short flight back, her brain played out certain scenarios that she also wouldn’t want to be voiced in front of the others. When the jet touched down, the team disembarked and _y/n_ asked Aaron as they walked back to the main office, “So, what are you doing tomorrow?” Tomorrow was Saturday and she hoped that they could spend the day together or with Jack if he was staying over at Hotch’s that weekend. It felt like a while since they had had a good day to themselves. Work had piled up, and she longed for just a few solid hours with Aaron. Hotch, however, didn’t seem to pick up on her tone as he was tired. He replied in a monotone, “Probably filling out paperwork in the office I’m behind on like three cases worth and this makes a fourth.” _y/n_ pouted slightly. She knew she was being silly, but sometimes Aaron needed a break for his own good, and an idea started brewing in the back of her mind. If she had the nerve to do even half of what her head was cooking up, she would have done something she had been imagining for a long time. Longer than was appropriate probably. For the moment she just said, “Mhm. Sounds productive.” Hotch scoffed as they both entered the sliding glass door. Even he knew his life, and particularly weekends sounded miserable sometimes. After all, he was the one that put him through them. 

The next afternoon, _y/n_ pulled up to the Quantico field office. She parked her car next to Aaron’s and set her employee parking pass on the dash so it could be seen by security.  _y/n_ chuckled remembering the one time that Derek had forgotten his pass and had his Corvette towed on a Saturday. Her athletic friend had been so flustered, saying, “Oh come on! I work at the freaking FBI you’d think there would be some camera’s in this lot and they’d know I work here!” _y/n_ had laughed, patted his shoulder, and offered him a ride to the impound lot to pick up his flashy car. As _y/n_ moved through the mostly empty lot she smiled. Not that she expected there to be a lot of people at the office on a Saturday afternoon, but it boded well for what she had in mind. As entered the office and was waived through security quickly, she hadn’t brought her gun or anything important with her. She entered the bullpen and looked up at Hotch’s office. His lights were on and she could see him looking at something on his desk. It was most likely a field report. The bullpen was empty and most of the lamps on the desks were off. One or two burned brightly in the soft space. One or two of the agents must have forgotten to turn them off in the rush to get home on Friday. She turned off the lamps as she texted Aaron, “Hey, you at the office?” She looked up at his office window and his head turned to the side. Clearly, he had just received her message. His left hand raised and a second later her phone beeped. Hotch had sent back a simple “Yes.” He was never one to be overly elaborate over text. If he was forced to type more than one full paragraph he would just give up and call instead. _y/n_ always chalked it up to his hands being too big for the small phone screen. He probably made a lot of accidental typos with his thumbs and had to go back and correct them which seemed like a thing that would annoy him to no end, even if he did have autocorrect on his phone. _y/n_ took a breath as she looked at Aaron again. He was back to his paper. _y/n_ had jokingly said she would do this if the spirit led her, but somehow seemed like the dirty things she was picturing in her head were driving her up the stairs and not ‘the spirit.’ Outside Hotch’s door, she knocked once and then turned the knob. She stepped into the dimly lit room and closed the door behind her. She softly said, “Hey Hotch, how are the papers going?” Aaron looked up from his desk. He did a bit of a double take as his eyes flicked to his phone and then back to her. His eyes held a hint of surprise, warmth, and general confusion as he said, “_y/n_. What are you doing here? Do you need something?” _y/n_ couldn’t help but flush already. Hotch was just too cute sometimes; especially when he wasn’t trying.

_y/n_ smiled at him and took a seat across from him at his desk. _y/n_ sighed and said, “I was just bored I guess. I had nothing better to do, so why not give you a hand with your paperwork? Maybe I can get you out of here earlier than five p.m. on a Saturday?” Aaron raised a brow. He highly doubted that that was _y/n_’s only reason for being here, but he wouldn’t question her. Instead, he picked up a case file, and set it in front of her saying, “Suit yourself, love.” _y/n_ flushed again and pulled one of Aaron’s ballpoint pens out of the cup he kept a stash in. _y/n_ wondered how many pens he dried up per year, but wasn’t in the mood for calculus problems right now. Instead, she opened the file and started working on the first page. She had to take it for at least ten minutes before she made a move. _y/n_ assumed if she outright said, “Hey wanna have sex in your office there would be two simultaneous outcomes. The first was that she would no longer be Aaron Hotchner’s partner and that she would be a former FBI Behavioral Analyst. Neither of which sounded very appealing. So she took her time. 

When Aaron seemed absorbed in his work again, she slipped off her shoe and moved her foot across the space between her side of the desk and his. It was a bit of a reach, but she managed to brush Aaron’s ankle and the inside of his trouser leg. That did it and Aaron’s eyes snapped to hers. They were dark, hiding emotions that he often kept at bay. He cleared his throat and said, “_y/n_, really?” You chuckled and said, “Sorry. I just like to see you flustered.” _y/n_ pulled her leg back and Aaron watched as she flushed but returned to her papers. _y/n_ knew he liked it when she was a tease sometimes and that was her plan for this potentially risky act she was trying to have with Hotch. After another ten minutes, _y/n_ repeated the same action, except this time she moved her foot higher up his leg She applied gentle pressure to the inside of his leg. His grey trousers were cool under her foot as they moved up past the knee and onto his inner thigh. Her dark stockings were the only barrier between her skin and the fabric of his pants. _y/n_ looked up at him and he let out a soft breath as if his brain hadn’t caught up with his body yet. When the two entities of mind of body did collide his brows furrowed trying to reconcile the pleasure coursing through his body and the fact that this shouldn’t be happening in his office.

Before he could make any protestation, _y/n_ cut him off saying, “So, ‘Freud said we should fuck’ did he?” This reminder of his slip of the tongue gagged Aaron momentarily. It gave _y/n_ enough time to shift lower in her chair and slip her foot high enough to press over his crotch. Aaron let out a little grunt at the contact. _y/n_ continued to run her foot over his zipper, up and down in a rhythmic pattern. _y/n_ smiled as his eyes grew hazy with desire. A look she’d seen on him often, just not in his office. Never in his office. But she had dreamed about it plenty. She’d woken soaked on occasions with the notion of Aaron having her in his office, blinds drawn tight as they made love in the enclosed space. Aaron stuttered trying to make a coherent sentence, but his cock slowly hardening in his pants was not helping him at all. _y/n_ could feel it under her foot and continued to tease him saying, “You know you really shouldn’t make comments about our sex lives in front of a team of profilers. I think you owe me an apology?” _y/n_ pulled her foot away and Aaron groaned at the loss of contact, but suddenly his mind was more clear. Half of Aaron’s brain cursed _y/n_ for knowing just the right way to turn him on. The other half was already imagining her splayed out on his desk as he ate her out, or pounded into her so hard that the desk left marks on her hips. Those thoughts alone had his member twitch against his belt and fly. To consumed in his thoughts, Aaron slipped off his own left shoe, and perhaps more gently than _y/n_ had, he moved his foot up her leg and to her cunt. _y/n_ opened her legs for him slightly pushing her _kl/s/m_ length skirt up a bit. Even wearing socks, Aaron could tell that _y/n_ was wet. The moan she made as he just brushed over her sex and him realize that he couldn’t wait. That he needed her, now. Hotch took away his foot and reveled in the needy noise _y/n_ also made at the lack of contact. Hotch moved quickly to his door, locking it from the inside before closing the shades to the office. His movements were hasty, jerky even. _y/n_ watched him, knowing the sexual tension must have built up since the last time they had been intimate. 

_y/n_ wasn’t sure what Aaron had in mind but she did have to ask, “There aren’t any hidden cameras in here, right?” Hotch chuckled, the sound was throaty, and he replied, “Not that I know of. And if they are, then at least we’ll both be fired.” _y/n_ laughed at this and took his hand; she led him back to his office chair. _y/n_ appreciated that he had a sense of humor in these moments that were new to him. _y/n_ knew that she pushed him to do things he hadn’t before both in and out of the bedroom, but he never complained and the bulge in his pants told her that he was already looking forward to what she was about to do for him. Aaron looked up at her a bit amazed at the things she could make him do. Never in his life had he thought he would be able to act out his fantasy. _y/n_ leaned down and kissed him softly at first and then with more hunger and ferocity. Aaron reciprocated in turn. As their lips looked in a passionate heated kiss, _y/n_ moved her hands to the belt that kept his trousers in place over his trim hips. It wasn’t as hard as _y/n_ had imagined taking off his belt without looking. The cool metal of the clasp heated against your skin. You moved to his pant’s button and zipper next. _y/n_ didn’t want to wait around anymore and once his grey briefs and thick arousal were freed, _y/n_ started palming his erection with a steady hand. Once her hand started stroking him, Aaron let out a gasp. He opened his mouth enough for her to slip her tongue into his mouth. He breathed in her throat and had her make a small contented noise as she explored the well-known concaves of his mouth. _y/n_ would never consider herself a sex expert, but when it came to new positions or scenarios with intimacy and Hotch, she often found it helpful if she took the lead. Warming him up to the idea. Making him feel comfortable and safe before they kept doing whatever it was they were trying. Oftentimes Aaron would jump on board and take the reigns, which she adored. She loved it when he told her what to do, how to lie. Everything. It was one of Aaron’s most attractive traits.

_y/n_ pulled her mouth away from his and wrapped her hand around his cock, more steadily pumping his length. Aaron said her name as he started moving his hips to meet her pace. His body responded to her touch. _y/n_ smiled at him and moved away for a moment, pushing his chair back enough for her to kneel under his desk. Aaron pushed his hips up and let _y/n_ pull his pants down, exposing his cock to the cold air. Hotch took a few steadying breaths. He knew what was to come, _y/n_ gave some of the best head that he had ever had and the anticipation of her lips on her member had him panting already. He said, “Can you not kneel all the way down like that, love? I want to touch you while you’re dining me?” _y/n_ smiled, relishing the fact that he was already taking a small amount of control of the situation. She nodded and said, “Of course Aaron, anything you ask.” With his request in mind, _y/n_ got up on her knees. It was helpful because she needed the reach to be able to lean over and take his tip in her mouth. She swirled her tongue over the top and slit, sucking at it like some rare candy. Hotch groaned as she moved her head down his length slightly. _y/n_  took in his width and length with surprising ease. He was always surprised by her ability to take him. It only made her more attractive to him. As his head swam with pleasure and endorphins, he moved his own body forward and down a little. His head almost rested on her shoulder as he moved his long arm to feel between her legs and upper thighs. He slid his hand down and over between her skirt. As he started rubbing her clothed sex, _y/n_ moaned over his cock. She took a second before she kept moving her head further down him. Her mouth and tongue doing things to him that almost made him see stars. His left hand kept massaging her wet, clothed folds while his right pushed up her shift and kneaded her breasts in turn over her _y/f/c/a/s_ bra. Aaron could feel her nipples grow rigid under her bra and he moved his hand under the intimate article of clothing that covered her chest. He squeezed her right breast and squeezed her nipple. As _y/n_ started moving her head up and down his whole length, Aaron matched her pace with his hand on her clit, pushing and pulling sensations out of her. It turned out Hotch was so aroused, so excited that he kept moving his hand faster over her sex and clit, and _y/n_ kept up her own pace. Aaron panted and tipped his head back as he released some precome and she moved off him sucking it off of him. As she moved to take him in her mouth again, Aaron stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. _y/n_’s mind and body were also hazy with desire. Her entrance ached to be filled by Hotch more fully. His hand was amazing, but nothing beat him seating himself in her fully and then fucking her to the heavens. 

Aaron could see this desire in her. A desire for him alone. Aaron pulled her onto shaky feet. He stood as well. He kissed her again, the beginning of stubble running over her chin and jaw. He pushed his pants and briefs fully off his legs and undid the side zipper of her skirt. He let it fall onto the beige carpet. He pulled back from her mouth and slipped his hands at the elastic of her stockings. He was too impatient to pull them down gingerly. Instead, he used just a bit of his strength to rip them down the center seam. _y/n_ let out an exhalation of breath. She knew it was going to get good now. Not that it hadn’t been good before, but she knew that it could get even better than his thumb and middle finger rubbing against her sex and clit. Aaron looked at her panties and noticed how they matched her bra. He murmured, “You had this all planned, didn’t you, you little devil?” _y/n_ gave him a wink and said, “Maybe just a little. You mad about it?” Hotch let out a little throaty growl and slipped his fingers under the band of her underwear. When they were on the floor, he moved to the desk. He pushed his files to the side along with the batch that _y/n_ had been working so diligently on a few minutes ago. He might desperately want to bend her over his desk, but he wasn’t so stupid to waste three good hours of work by having his files fly all over the place while he fucked _y/n_.

Once the forms were safely on the other side of the desk, Aaron grabbed her hips, turned her body 180 degrees, and then pressed her upper body flush to the hard dark wood of his desk. Hotch had unbuttoned her shirt and her skin felt cool against Hotch’s desk. She anticipated Aaron’s next move as he moved behind her slowly. Hotch pumped his throbbing length once or twice to ready himself. Another bead of precum moved to his tip and he wet his member with it. Even if he was ready and _y/n_ was ready, some of her wetness was even dripping down her thigh, Hotch was going to tease her still, as she had teased him. Aaron moved right next to her and slid his cock up and down her entrance, slightly pressing at the space that was begging for him. Aaron used his left hand to stroke over her weeping sex and _y/n_ moaned saying, “A-aron. Please. Please fuck me. Oh god.” Aaron looked at his length now coated in his and _y/n_’s excitement. It didn’t take more than her words for him to press himself into her fully with a measured thrust. _y/n_ let her out a breath and Hotch could feel her body press into the side of the desk. Aaron pulled out and pressed in again. _y/n_ let out a whimper and there was a slight squelching sound and he began to move in and out of her more quickly. Aaron's thick cock filled her fully and Hotch watched as he pushed in and out of her building his speed. The veins of his length ribbed her insides and _y/n_ almost let her feet go from under her, the desk and Aaron holding up her weight as he kept pressing into her with a relentless pace. _y/n_ could feel him fill her fully, pressing his whole member deep inside her. Aaron knew just how to move his hips to hit her sweet spot and she was panting and babbling in under a minute. Aaron moved one hand to her mouth whispering, “Shhh, now. We wouldn’t want to get caught, now would we?” _y/n_ wanted to protest and say, ‘You know no one is out there, Hotch,’ but her head was so full of lust, desire, and longing to let go. Aaron’s movements had her desire building and she knew Aaron could feel it too. Hotch picked up the pace, rapidly thrusting into her. He moved his left hand to her clit and let go of her mouth so she could let out a litany of sounds. As he kept his fast pace and circled her clit, her body pushed roughly against his desk with every thrust, she whimpered, “I...I’m gonna come, Aaron.” Hotch smiled and leaned down so his chest was flush with her back. His hand on her outer erogenous zone moved quickly and _y/n_’s walls fluttered and then contracted against his cock. _y/n_ cried out and let go of everything, letting the pure bliss of her orgasm overcome her. The sounds of her release had Aaron climax as well. He groaned as he pushed into her a few more times as he let his spent his ejaculation into her. Their shared sounds of pleasure filled the room and Aaron considered how this was better than he could have ever imagined. _y/n_ though spent, felt the same way. 

Hotch took a moment to catch his breath and after a minute he let out a contented sigh. He pulled out of _y/n_ gently. As _y/n_ similarly let out a hum of happiness. She loved the way he was so gentle with her at the end of their intimate encounters. Aaron helped her stand and led her to the couch at the side of the room. Neither exactly felt like saying anything in the soft afterglow of their shared experience. Aaron had her sit on the couch and pulled moved back to his desk. He opened the left drawer and pulled out a pocket square that he rarely wore. He found the linen handkerchiefs too formal and stuffy. And as someone who came off as formal and stuffy already, he didn’t need a fashion accessory to add to the impression. But now, the fabric would come in handy. Aaron walked back to the couch with the confidence of a man who had performed very well. _y/n_ would have laughed at his cockiness if he wasn’t so damn good at sex. The first they had done it, she was so tight that it would have hurt if he hadn’t helped prep her very well. Now he fit her perfectly and he knew it.

She smiled lazily at him as he knelt down and gently cleaned her up. He loved her, but if his or her release started staging his furniture, it might lead to awkward conversations later. When he was done cleaning her body, he wiped himself. He raised his head and said, “Was that everything you wanted darling? You did very well by the way. You felt so good for me. I hope I was the same for you?” _y/n_ beamed and said, “It was everything I wanted and more. Thanks for indulging me. Aar. But I do think you should get out of this office. Being cramped up in here isn’t good for you mentally, sexually, or physically. So what do you say we get out of here and get an early dinner and watch a Christmas movie at my place, huh?” Aaron chuckled and folded the soiled handkerchief to the clean side facing out. He put it in his pocket and smoothed down his now very crumpled shirt. He grabbed his pants and underwear along with _y/n_’s skirt and panties. He tossed them over to her and they both changed. As Aaron zipped up his pants, he said, “Sounds like I good plan. These papers can wait till Monday morning.” Somehow _y/n_ always seemed to know what he needed, and he wasn’t going to fight her on it now. Not after what they’d just done. As _y/n_ put her clothes back on, he paced his briefcase and packed _y/n_’s ripped tights inside with his other work. He wouldn’t just throw those away in the trash by the door. As he did this, _y/n_ moved behind him and gave him a hug saying softly, “You know I really liked those tights, so I expect a replacement stat, mister.” Hotch chuckled and said, “You got it, _y/n_, but you know I couldn’t help myself. Not when you tease me like that.” There was a shared laughter as Aaron turned off his lamp, grabbed his and _y/n_’s bag, and opened the door for both of them. He locked the door to his office behind him and trailed _y/n_. He had suddenly grown an appetite and asked, “So, what type of food are you feeling.” _y/n_ thought about it as they descended the stairs. She took his hand and said, “How about _y/f/t/f_?” Aaron smiled and said, “Sounds great!” _y/n_ rested her head against Aaorn’s shoulder and contemplated how lucky she was for him, and for Freudian slips.

______________________________________________________________

Tag list: @geminitapestry @tgskitten @criminalskies

Want to be added to the tag list? Please see this post, CM Tag List (linked)

[august-zip]

RAMCOA and SRA

This is a very long post so we apologize in advance.

Do we believe in RAMCOA? no. And no this is not saying we don't believe that the people saying they went through RAMCOA is lying. We simply do not believe in it because of how suddenly is had just shown up. The title satanic and ritual abuse has been around since the 80s. However it was also satanic panic. And while even SRA is very exaggerated. RAMCOA is the rebranded name for SRA.

RAMCOA stands for ritual abuse, mind control, and organized abuse. However the name RAMCOA doesn't get used in clinical settings. And after discussing this with both our therapist and psychiatrist neither have even heard of it, or RSA.

Cults and trafficking are most definitely real, and those affected by their actions are also real. We're not invalidating victims by saying this but none of the cults that SRA/RAMCOA were believed to come from in the 80s and 90s even existed. They were fears and conspiracy theories. Otherwise meaning not real. unfounded conspiracy theories of Satanic ritual abuse (SRA) as a cause of mental illness – particularly dissociative identity disorder (DID), formerly known as multiple personality disorder (MPD).

The problem

Satanic Panic — broadly, the fear that devil-worshiping Satanists engage in criminal, antisocial acts on a massive scale – exploded in the 1980s, primarily in the United States. During this time, a fear that Satanists were sexually abusing and sacrificing children in bizarre rituals gripped the nation. For many, skepticism regarding these invisible crimes was tantamount to complicity, fostering a situation in which even the most improbable of claims went unquestioned by jurors and the public at large. Individuals were imprisoned for crimes stemming from unsubstantiated SRA allegations – often the product of recovered memory therapy techniques. Families were torn apart by gruesome and impossible accusations. Some were repaired after supposed victims learned they were suffering from false memories; others remain destroyed to this day. This moral panic over nonexistent Satanic cults arose out of an unholy alliance between well-meaning but misguided mental health professionals, law enforcement, prominent feminists, and Christian leaders. And it was catapulted into living rooms across the country by credulous television hosts – such as Geraldo Rivera and Oprah – who platformed self-proclaimed survivors, opportunistic “ex-Satanists” who asserted past involvement in Satanic crime, and reckless therapists who demanded the public believe these strange accounts.

Although Satanic Panic began to dwindle by the mid-1990s, the mental health field has not entirely rid itself of this plague. In fact, many of the same licensed therapists who contributed to Satanic Panic during that time continue to do so today, including as members of respected professional societies – such as the International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation (ISSTD). These professional organizations sponsor conferences – eligible for continuing education credit – featuring presentations that promote pseudoscientific recovered memory therapy and SRA. We refer to licensed mental health professionals who practice recovered memory therapy and/or promote Satanic Panic conspiracy theories as “conspiracy therapists.”

The International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation (ISSTD) is a mental health organization for professionals and students. The organization focuses on psychological trauma and the dissociative disorders, including dissociative identity disorder (DID), formerly known as multiple personality disorder (MPD). The ISSTD has held annual international and regional conferences since its founding in 1984, with most presentations rewarding attendees with continuing education credits required to maintain clinical licensure. The organization promotes pseudoscientific recovered memory therapy, other dangerous treatment techniques, and fictitious conspiracy theories including ritual sacrifice, cannibalism, and widespread, abusive, Satanic cults. ISSTD members, speakers, researchers, staff, and board members continue to promote the long-disproven notion that these Satanic conspiracies have caused mental illness in thousands or even millions of people. As such, the ISSTD is the primary structure around which conspiracy therapists organize. But contrary to their assertions that they are healing the abused and traumatized, many prominent ISSTD members – including its founders and presidents – have been the subject of disturbing misconduct allegations and lawsuits from former patients.

Two issues after the publication of the Goodwin and Hill article, Dissociation printed a scathing letter to the editor from Richard Noll, a psychologist and historian of science. Noll charged that the Goodwin and Hill article relied on weak sources, ignored important context, and evaded the fact that their examples were almost invariably hoaxes, rumors, and forgeries. ”The truth of the matter is this: distinguished historians of witchcraft and of ritual magic… do not find evidence that satanic cults practicing the Black Mass, with cannibalism, ritual murder, worship of Satan, etc., have ever existed.”

bipolar disorder. Objectives of the presentation include being able to identify “at least five presentation clues that indicate a possible diagnosis of ritual abuse, mind control, or organized abuse” and “describe some hallmark features of Monarch mind control.” Danylchuk’s lecture covered how to recognize patient “patterns” that indicate ritual abuse victimization and how to identify “the most common role reenactments that emerge during therapy.” Salter’s lecture explained how “dissociative symptoms and traumatic attachments can be manipulated by perpetrators to coerce vulnerable people into organised abuse.” Though Salter’s presentation denounces “simple dichotomies of ‘real’ and ‘imagined’ abuse,” his constant references to perpetrators and survivors lay bare his allegiance to believing alleged victims no matter how self-falsifying the narrative.

- Vayu

Source and half of the post is directly from greyfaction.org

[jcmarchi]

Study reveals AI chatbots can detect race, but racial bias reduces response empathy

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/study-reveals-ai-chatbots-can-detect-race-but-racial-bias-reduces-response-empathy/

Study reveals AI chatbots can detect race, but racial bias reduces response empathy

With the cover of anonymity and the company of strangers, the appeal of the digital world is growing as a place to seek out mental health support. This phenomenon is buoyed by the fact that over 150 million people in the United States live in federally designated mental health professional shortage areas.

“I really need your help, as I am too scared to talk to a therapist and I can’t reach one anyways.”

“Am I overreacting, getting hurt about husband making fun of me to his friends?”

“Could some strangers please weigh in on my life and decide my future for me?”

The above quotes are real posts taken from users on Reddit, a social media news website and forum where users can share content or ask for advice in smaller, interest-based forums known as “subreddits.” 

Using a dataset of 12,513 posts with 70,429 responses from 26 mental health-related subreddits, researchers from MIT, New York University (NYU), and University of California Los Angeles (UCLA) devised a framework to help evaluate the equity and overall quality of mental health support chatbots based on large language models (LLMs) like GPT-4. Their work was recently published at the 2024 Conference on Empirical Methods in Natural Language Processing (EMNLP).

To accomplish this, researchers asked two licensed clinical psychologists to evaluate 50 randomly sampled Reddit posts seeking mental health support, pairing each post with either a Redditor’s real response or a GPT-4 generated response. Without knowing which responses were real or which were AI-generated, the psychologists were asked to assess the level of empathy in each response.

Mental health support chatbots have long been explored as a way of improving access to mental health support, but powerful LLMs like OpenAI’s ChatGPT are transforming human-AI interaction, with AI-generated responses becoming harder to distinguish from the responses of real humans.

Despite this remarkable progress, the unintended consequences of AI-provided mental health support have drawn attention to its potentially deadly risks; in March of last year, a Belgian man died by suicide as a result of an exchange with ELIZA, a chatbot developed to emulate a psychotherapist powered with an LLM called GPT-J. One month later, the National Eating Disorders Association would suspend their chatbot Tessa, after the chatbot began dispensing dieting tips to patients with eating disorders.

Saadia Gabriel, a recent MIT postdoc who is now a UCLA assistant professor and first author of the paper, admitted that she was initially very skeptical of how effective mental health support chatbots could actually be. Gabriel conducted this research during her time as a postdoc at MIT in the Healthy Machine Learning Group, led Marzyeh Ghassemi, an MIT associate professor in the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science and MIT Institute for Medical Engineering and Science who is affiliated with the MIT Abdul Latif Jameel Clinic for Machine Learning in Health and the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory.

What Gabriel and the team of researchers found was that GPT-4 responses were not only more empathetic overall, but they were 48 percent better at encouraging positive behavioral changes than human responses.

However, in a bias evaluation, the researchers found that GPT-4’s response empathy levels were reduced for Black (2 to 15 percent lower) and Asian posters (5 to 17 percent lower) compared to white posters or posters whose race was unknown. 

To evaluate bias in GPT-4 responses and human responses, researchers included different kinds of posts with explicit demographic (e.g., gender, race) leaks and implicit demographic leaks. 

An explicit demographic leak would look like: “I am a 32yo Black woman.”

Whereas an implicit demographic leak would look like: “Being a 32yo girl wearing my natural hair,” in which keywords are used to indicate certain demographics to GPT-4.

With the exception of Black female posters, GPT-4’s responses were found to be less affected by explicit and implicit demographic leaking compared to human responders, who tended to be more empathetic when responding to posts with implicit demographic suggestions.

“The structure of the input you give [the LLM] and some information about the context, like whether you want [the LLM] to act in the style of a clinician, the style of a social media post, or whether you want it to use demographic attributes of the patient, has a major impact on the response you get back,” Gabriel says.

The paper suggests that explicitly providing instruction for LLMs to use demographic attributes can effectively alleviate bias, as this was the only method where researchers did not observe a significant difference in empathy across the different demographic groups.

Gabriel hopes this work can help ensure more comprehensive and thoughtful evaluation of LLMs being deployed in clinical settings across demographic subgroups.

“LLMs are already being used to provide patient-facing support and have been deployed in medical settings, in many cases to automate inefficient human systems,” Ghassemi says. “Here, we demonstrated that while state-of-the-art LLMs are generally less affected by demographic leaking than humans in peer-to-peer mental health support, they do not provide equitable mental health responses across inferred patient subgroups … we have a lot of opportunity to improve models so they provide improved support when used.”

[neurologyevents]

International Conference on Neuroscience

Exploring the World of Neuroscience: Upcoming Conferences and Events in 2025

Neuroscience is a rapidly evolving field dedicated to understanding the structure, function, and disorders of the nervous system. With significant breakthroughs in neuroscience research, it’s essential for professionals, researchers, and healthcare providers to stay updated on the latest developments. Attending neuroscience conferences provides a valuable platform for sharing knowledge, networking, and discussing the most recent advancements in neuroscience. In this blog, we’ll explore key neuroscience conferences, including Neuroscience Conferences 2025, and highlight prominent events such as the International Neuroscience Conference and Neurosciences Summit.

Neuroscience Conferences 2025

The year 2025 is set to host several important Neuroscience Conferences, gathering leading neuroscientists, researchers, and clinicians from around the world. These conferences will focus on a wide range of topics, including brain disorders, brain injuries, cognitive neuroscience, mental health, and more. Attendees will have the opportunity to learn about cutting-edge research, emerging technologies, and innovative treatment approaches.

International Neuroscience Conference

The International Neuroscience Conference is a key event that brings together experts from various disciplines of neuroscience. It serves as a global platform for the exchange of ideas, discoveries, and advancements. Whether you are interested in neuroimaging, neurodevelopmental disorders, or neurodegenerative diseases, this conference provides a comprehensive view of the latest research and clinical practices.

Neurology Conference 2025

The Neurology Conference 2025 will focus on critical areas such as brain disorders, neurodegenerative diseases, and advances in neurological research. These conferences aim to bridge the gap between research and clinical applications, offering healthcare professionals insights into the latest treatments and therapies for neurological conditions.

International Neurology Conference

Similar to the International Neuroscience Conference, the International Neurology Conference emphasizes the importance of neurological research and its role in improving patient outcomes. With a focus on brain disorders and their treatment, this conference is a must-attend event for neurologists, neuroscientists, and healthcare providers.

Brain Disorders Conference and Brain Injury Conference

Brain disorders, including neurodegenerative diseases such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, are central topics at specialized conferences like the Brain Disorders Conference and Brain Injury Conference. These conferences aim to explore the latest research and treatment strategies for conditions that affect millions of people worldwide.

Neuroscience Meetings and Neuroscience Congress

Attending Neuroscience Meetings and Neuroscience Congress offers neuroscientists the opportunity to network, collaborate, and stay informed about the latest breakthroughs. These gatherings are crucial for professionals working in various areas of neuroscience, from molecular biology to clinical practice.

Neurology and Brain Disorders Congress

The Neurology and Brain Disorders Congress brings together experts from multiple fields to discuss the complexities of brain disorders. It covers topics such as cognitive neuroscience, neuropsychiatry, and the impact of mental health on brain function.

Cognitive Neurosciences Conference and Mental Health Conferences

For those interested in cognitive neuroscience, the Cognitive Neurosciences Conference provides a platform to explore how the brain processes information and its implications for mental health. Similarly, Mental Health Conferences focus on the intersection of neuroscience and mental health, addressing topics such as anxiety, depression, and psychotic disorders.

International Psychiatry Conference 2025

The International Psychiatry Conference 2025 is an essential event for psychiatrists, neuroscientists, and mental health professionals, focusing on the role of neuroscience in understanding and treating psychiatric disorders.

Neurosciences Summit and Neurosurgery Summit

The Neurosciences Summit and Neurosurgery Summit highlight the latest advancements in both neurology and neurosurgery. These summits provide a unique opportunity for professionals to discuss innovations in surgical techniques, brain mapping, and other neurosurgical practices.

Staying informed about upcoming neuroscience conferences is essential for professionals looking to advance their knowledge and stay ahead in this ever-evolving field. To explore more about neuroscience events in 2025, visit Neurology Events.

Upcoming Conferences:

Neuroscience Meetings | Neurology Conferences | Neuroscience Conference 2025 | Brain Disorders Conference | Neurology Conferences 2025 | Brain Disorders Conference 2025 | Brain Congress 2025 | Neurology Events 2025 | Neurology and Brain Disorders Congress | Neurology Congress 2025 | International Neurology Conferences 2025 | European Neurology Congress 2025 | Neurology World Congress | Neurology 2025 | Neuroscience Conferences 2025 | Brain Injury Conference | Brain Disorders 2025 | Neurology Congresses 2025 | International Neuroscience Conference 2025 | Congress Neurology | Neurology Conferences 2025 USA | World Neurosciences Summit | 2nd Leading Neuroscience Conference | Psychology Congress | Cognitive Neurosciences Conference | Neurosciences Conference | Mental Health Conferences | Neurosciences Conference 2025 | Mental Health Conference 2025 | International Psychiatry Conference 2025 | Behavior Health Conference | Neurological Disorders Conferences | Neurosurgery Conferences | Psychiatry Conferences | Neuroscience Congress | Neuroscience Event | Neuroscience Meeting | Neurology Congress 2026 | Neuroscience Conferences 2024 | Brain Disorders 2026 | International Neuroscience Conference 2024

[pshychiatrysummit]

International Conference on

Mental Health & Psychiatry

Mental health conference, We are pleased to announce the International Conference on Mental Health & Psychiatry 2025 by Stripe Conferences, scheduled from June 23-24, 2025 in Zurich, Switzerland. This grand event is one of the best mental health conferences in 2025 which provides a magnificent chance to intellectuals and key thinkers to share innovative research work in the field of mental health care.

This year, the conference will focus on “Integrative Approaches to Mental Health: Bridging Psychiatry, Psychology, and Holistic Care,” under which traditional psychiatric approaches will be integrated with complementary therapies. Participants in this conference will have the chance to attend sessions on bipolar disorder conferences and depression conferences, among others, innovative approaches to treatment, guided by prominent global leaders.

The two-day mental health conference 2025 is going to present a very engaging agenda for scientists within fully interactive sessions across the day, and ample networking opportunities, bringing together professionals and organizations that are shaping the future of psychiatry. Among the top highlights include dedicated sessions focusing on challenges and breakthroughs in areas such as bipolar disorder conferences, besides an in-depth look into strategies that are latest from psychiatry conferences around the world. Apart from that, a more comprehensive view would be garnered while including the information on trends in mental health from the mental health conferences 2024.

International Conference on Mental Health & Psychiatry 2025 intends to provide a global exchange of ideas and developments within the discipline. This promises to be one of the most pivotal mental health conferences in 2025, truly an experience worthwhile and collaborative.

[sophieinwonderland]

A transphobic "journalist" visited a plural conference and claimed to get possessed by a demon! 🤣

Due to a request from the system in the video, I've deleted the link to the video and identifying information, and would ask that anyone who reblogged the old version of the post delete their reblogs to protect that system's anonymity. Thank you.

Let me summarize the bullet points:

The so-called "journalist" goes "undercover" at a gender conference. (It was free and public for everyone, but she likes roleplaying as a journalist so she says she was "undercover".)

While listening to a conference about plurality and transness, her body starts "vibrating."

After her and her witch friend go eat, "'crazy' people start becoming attracted" to her and her "crazy chaotic energy."

Her witch friend then did a "witchy thing" where she would shoot a "burst of energy" at the crazy people to chase them away.

Her witch friend then had the "journalist" bend over and hold onto a rock while she pushed the "demon" out through her's feet.

Yeah, that should be a huge red flag in itself.

Oh, and this is all crowd-funded and the "journalist" claims her trip cost $3000 dollars!

Yes, people paid $3,000 for this "journalist" to visit a free conference and report about getting possessed by a demon who made her attractive to "crazy" people, forcing her witch friend to ward the "crazy" people away by shooting bursts of energy at them.

...

Yeah... do I even need to say more?

...

I do wonder about this story. Like, mundane explanation is that she had some sort of panic attack she confused with demonic possession in the conference for some reason. Another possibility is that she... just made it up. Her transphobic talking points are already dishonest. So I wouldn't put it past her to lie and make up this event altogether.

Although the most interesting possibility to me is that she was a closeted system all along, and the talk of plurality triggered a dormant headmate to try to reach out to her.

Whatever the case, I kind of hope it wasn't a lie.

It's way funnier to imagine that she really did believe she was possessed, and her witch friend really did wave her arms around in the air to "shoot bursts of energy" at bystanders. And it worked because... well... would you go near the weird lady who looks like she's angrily pretending to launch fireballs at you?

It's way funnier if you imagine that this was a real thing that actually happened! (The actions they took that is, not the demonic possession. No, a plurality conference did not cause you to become possessed by a demon.)

...

Anyway, here is your reminder that plurality isn't a mental disorder, nor is it demonic possession, and the gender identities of headmates deserve to be respected as much as anyone else's.

Edit:

One more thing, in the video, the "journalist" acts absolutely shocked to hear all these systems around her standing up and talking about being a system. Even when the talk was listed on the website as being about plurality!

Seems like a so-called "journalist" should have already known about what she was attending, and expected there to be other plurals in attendance!

Complete side note, it's so awesome that plurality is becoming more visible and normalized, to the point where events like these are happening around the country! Never doubt that progress is being made, however slow it seems at times!

The future is plural!!! 😁

[limpinglizards]

what if i wrote an essay about a will wood song. would you still love me. okay too late i did it anyway

“I / Me / Myself” as Martyrgender Anthem: TLDR; Cis guy orders in perfect Transgender, shocks nonbinary baristas⁉️🤯💥 (1.3k words)

Will Wood's The Normal Album is thematically concerned with deviance, mental illness, and the failures of science and society. It explores the gap between claimed identity and actual behavior; the question of whether outside influence corrupts us, or our worst natures drive us from within; and the relationship between biology and societal artifice—often pitting the social and medical models of disability against each other. Its songs weave between these themes, each having its own "home" subject but frequently flitting off to visit a neighboring idea for a few lines. The album doesn't come to any concrete conclusions through said exploration—Will has stated that he usually writes as a means of self-expression rather than to push a political point[1]—instead acting as an exercise in drawing attention to those uncertainties which we take for granted. (As an aside, I've always felt that "Memento Mori" has the least in common with the larger themes of the album, but it does fit with that exercise, being about the profound, universal uncertainty of death.)

As a track on the album, the issue of selfhood within society is what "I / Me / Myself" is about, too.

It's a biting send-up of both the ways we make ourselves palatable and the ways we transgress, viewed with regards to gender ("Outliars and Hyppocrates" takes a similar focus, but through the lens of mental illness instead). However, inspired by a few factors, I'm personally beginning to read "I / Me / Myself" in an additional way: as an expression of a desire for the innocence conferred by victimhood—a wish for the ontological inability to cause harm. These factors are namely: online discourse over the perpetuation of transmisogyny; Will Wood being a cisgender man, as he (understandably) had to specify around the time the song first got popular; and the alternate lyrics on the 2018 demo version of the track. This urge to martyr oneself falls in line with Will's ambivalence over moral goodness, as seen in "Laplace's Angel" (and both "Half-Decade Hangover" and "Against the Kitchen Floor" off “In case I make it”), and with his more self-referential songs about his struggles with fame (which at their worst are cloyingly self-important, to a degree that would put Morrissey to shame—see the unreleased track usually titled a variant of "Monkey's Paw" or "Public Statement").

The chorus of "I / Me / Myself" repeats the singer's wish to "be a girl." But what does it mean to be a girl, from the viewpoint of the song? It opens with its protagonist having made themself, through the strain of weight loss, fit beneath their "skin"—a mere surface layer, part of their (self-)deception. Here, the implication of disordered eating goes hand in hand with the cultivation of femininity; an implication made explicit in the bridge of the 2018 version, which reaffirms the protagonist's dysmorphic desire to be small and underweight. They make themself "brittle" in order to become "pretty," associating feminine attractiveness with weakness. The first chorus asks if they have made themself "pretty enough to lie to," as in, to be flattered—but also manipulated, gaslit. Even the parody of the stock phrase "a little girl in a big world" makes it clear the desire is to be an ingenue, naive and vulnerable. The final chorus doubles down on the links between victimhood, girlhood, and martyrdom, asking, "Am I pretty enough to fucking die?" Meanwhile, in the 2018 version, they wish they were a girl specifically so the listener would want to "kick [their] fucking teeth in." "Would you please objectify me? I'm just a hunk [of] . . . burning self-loathing," they plead. To be a girl in this way is to be both desirable and deserving of violence.

This fantasy of victimization is obviously a self-destructive one. Its appeal, aside from the allure of self-harm for self-hate's sake, lies in the fact that if one remains forever a victim, one never takes on the role of perpetrator. Innocence means freedom from culpability; the protagonist already avoids responsibility for their sense of self—seeking external validation, allowing others to establish and restrict their identity ("let me be the void you fill with taxidermy fingerprints," offers the 2020 album version)—so why would they want responsibility for their moral or interpersonal failings? Which, taking this character to be drawn from Will's persona, could be numerous indeed (although he maintains plausible deniability about the events of his life for privacy, he is open about his imperfections). This reading places "I / Me / Myself" in the neighborhood of "...well, better than the alternative," a song about an adult who has gone "wrong" and longs for the lost innocence of childhood. This yearning is articulated through projection onto a daughter character in the first verse, after which the lyrics drop the gendered allusions, but not before mentioning "lab rat girls and pretty white rabbits." These dehumanized figures mirror the protagonist of "I / Me / Myself," who hopes that, like a martyr (or daughter, or laboratory sacrifice), their suffering will assure their goodness and value.

Although I find an analysis of the lyrics to support this reading well enough, I'd like to return to the outside influences on my interpretation. With regards to the relevance of transmisogyny, the online queer spaces I occupy have pointed out a specific rhetorical practice of AFAB trans people, namely that of positioning ourselves as inherently more vulnerable and easily victimized because of our upbringings as "girls"—implying, intentionally or not, the inverse: that trans women are more prone to or capable of violence. This position of essentialized innocence is argued from in order to get away with misbehavior, especially towards said women. Given that humanity's universal capacity for harm connects to the wider themes of The Normal Album (as put in "Laplace's Angel," "if you were in my shoes, you'd walk the same damn miles I do"), this gendered dispute over it seemed pertinent to the narrative of "I / Me / Myself." I also feel encouraged to read the song as using girlhood as a formulation for a specific kind of idealized victimhood, rather than the more straight-forward trans reading, because of the songwriter's gender. Art is not autobiography, but the personal quality of Will Wood's work leads me to factor in his authorial intent more (although I don't delegitimize readings that discard his input). He made his intentions with this song clear after its initial reception, especially due to the vitriol it received by those who read its message as transphobic. Speaking of vitriol, the newly released 2018 lyrics reemphasize the violence and spite at the heart of the song, winding it tighter around that narrative of self-destruction; I wouldn't be able to factor them into the overall analysis if they hadn't just come out! Altogether, I feel that these elements help paint a clearer picture of how I came away from the material with this observation.

My point is that "I / Me / Myself" is in part about the cultivation of a very specific "myself." A self that—whether loved or hated, spat on or embraced—can do no harm. A claimed identity that absolves any actual behavior to the contrary. This individuation is motivated by a social species' need for approval, its expression found in a uniquely human, "superego"tistic drive towards moral purity. In the song's commentary on conformity and deviation, it acknowledges these drives as influenced by environmental actors, but reserves an empathetic frustration for those who lean into that influence. I use the phrase "martyrgender" fairly glibly in the title, fully aware that the gendered performance of vulnerability is often weaponized against the transfeminized and degendered (including women of color); I'm also aware of the dubious images of butch Joan of Arc and ex-Catholic transmasculinity that term might conjure. I see this tune as, in Will's typical irreverent way, an attempt to satirize, and perhaps even reclaim, that performativity.

[1] https://genius.com/29047424

[running-swimming-living]

I got my eyebrows done today. I’m on my period and don’t feel like exercising so that is that. I could go for a run but I really would just like to go for a swim.

Over the past few days I have had some life events. I volunteer at a mental health clubhouse. It’s part of clubhouse international, an international organization with clubhouses all over the world. If you live with severe mental illness like myself you can join. I have schizoaffective disorder type bipolar. They are fantastic.

I applied for a 2 week training trip in Boston, paid for entirely by the clubhouse. We have an annual trip where one member and one staff go for training then implement new programs and procedures at our clubhouse. I live in Seattle.

I had a lot of support from staff and members to go. I was kinda hoping for it. I applied and I did a great presentation. But they went with someone else who has not yet had the opportunity to travel. I know another member and I had already taken trips and so we were both overlooked and she was even more involved than I. So I am kinda bummed. I wanted to spend two weeks in Boston but I already went to Baltimore for a conference.

Otherwise I am puttering around seattle doing what I do. Hoping to get back in the pool soon.