#and then you come in the sessions and complain that ‘therapy doesn’t work’ and you bad mouth all your past therapists

[starfire-s]

when you’re trying to help a client and they hang up on the phone while you’re saying something mid sentence… like wow very good manners

[theotherbuckley]

Im in love with this fic and i need more

🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵

You're an amazing writer btw 🩷🪱

Thank you! I'm glad people are liking this fic 🥰

Here's 900 more words just for you <3

🦵 - Buck and Tommy meet at physio after the truck bombing

Tommy isn’t there at his next physio appointment — now only seeing his physiotherapist once every two weeks, unlike Buck who still has to see her every week. The session feels slower than normal; it always does when he’s alone. Bobby promised him that next time he would be able to come with, but today, there’s no one, not even Tommy, to chat with afterwards. 

Dr Mistry seems to sense his subdued mood and has taken to being far more cheerful than he can ever recall.

“Why are you so happy?” he asks, slumping down into his chair after she had given his leg a deep and rather unpleasant massage. 

Dr Mistry turns to him, shooting him a look which he doesn’t care to decipher. “You are quiet. It’s unsettling.”

Buck opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, staring at his doctor. “Hey, I don’t talk that much.”

“You haven’t even complained one time.”

And okay, that’s fair, but still. 

“I’m just tired,” Buck tells her. It’s not even a lie. He is tired. He’s always tired. He’s just a little spacey today. He’s been feeling quite defeated lately. Sometimes, it feels like all of his hard work is for nothing. His leg still aches like bitch whenever the weather changes, and he only just managed to complete the full length of the bar unaided last session, far behind where he should have been at this point. He’s trying so hard to get better, to work again, but it doesn’t matter how much effort he puts in, it’s never enough. He’s never enough. 

And when there’s nobody with him to tell his brain to shut up, he gets stuck inside his head, and he doesn’t quite know how to get out of it. 

It’s exhausting. 

So he’s tired. He really, really is. 

It’s just a type of tiredness that he doesn’t think he can recover from. Not until his leg is recovered, at least. 

Dr Mistry looks at him for a moment, her eyes scanning over his face, hyperanalysing his expressions as though she can see right down into his soul, see all of those helpless thoughts running around in his head. “There’s doctors for that,” she says, and Buck doesn’t have to ask what she means. 

“I don’t need therapy,” Buck says back, a little too defensively. He’s probably lying, but he doesn’t want to see anyone. He’s fine. He will be. It just takes time, isn’t that what everyone keeps saying?

“It’s not healthy to keep everything stuck inside. Sometimes it is good to let it all out,” she continues, ignoring his slight outburst. 

“I have people. It’s just— It’s hard when they’re not around.”

She nods in understanding but hands him a card anyway. “Just think about it.”

He takes the card begrudgingly and sticks it in his wallet, where he knows he’s not going to touch it again. He doesn’t need help. He just needs to be able to walk— to work. He’ll be fine after that. 

As soon as he gets home, he takes the card out of his wallet and stares at it. 

And then he texts Tommy. 

Buck: Have you ever seen a therapist?

Tommy: Hi Tommy how are you

I’m great thank you for asking

Buck: Yeah yeah

Answer the question

Tommy: I have

Buck: And? 

My doctor wants me to see one

But I don’t want to

Especially not after last time

I’m not that guy anymore

Tommy: Not what guy?

Buck: Not the guy who sleeps with his therapist

Tommy: I’m not sure if I should ask

Buck: Probably best

So..?

Tommy: Therapy helped me

I wasn’t a great guy before

Buck almost scoffs at his phone. Tommy the guy who drove him home and helped him up multiple flights of stairs, whilst injured, on their first meeting, wasn’t a good guy?

Buck: You? Be honest

Tommy: I wasn’t

Turns out repressing my sexuality and listening to what my father taught me is not a good combination

Hurt a lot of people because of it

But therapy helped

I’m comfortable being myself now

Buck has to pause at that. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with it, he just didn’t really expect it. Maybe that’s not a good thing to say. He’s an ally, actually. The rainbow flag in his bio every June proves that. 

Buck: Wait

You’re gay?

Tommy: I am, yeah. Is that a problem?

Buck: No of course not! Men are hot.

Tommy: Mmhmm  

Buck: So you think I should do it?

Tommy: Do what?

Buck: See a therapist

Tommy: I don’t know, Evan

That’s up to you

But if your doctor suggested it, maybe you should listen

Buck: And I don’t need to sleep with them?

Tommy: You definitely do not.

Even after the conversation, Buck can’t bring himself to dial the number on the card. His stomach rumbles after a while, and Buck looks at his watch, mildly surprised to find it past 3 pm. He drops the card on the coffee table, and hobbles to the kitchen with his cane to make himself some food. 

When he sits back down, his mind is focused on queer history, and he finds himself googling pride and forgetting all about therapy. It wasn’t like he needed it anyway.

[nilolemillion]

Okay, so here’s this Batfamily headcanon I’ve been thinking about.

Jason Todd takes Fridays as his ‘day off’ to ‘rest,’ (because of course, none of the Batfamily actually rests). Tim Drake, on the other hand, claims Wednesdays as his day off, mainly to balance out his detective work with tactical planning. But here’s the twist: no matter what their schedule looks like, every Thursday, without fail, they all come together for brunch.

And when I say brunch, I don’t mean a peaceful, chill, serene break. No, it’s basically their weekly therapy session, except it’s filled with prime shit-talking. They spend the time roasting each other, complaining about Bruce, dragging the villain of the week, or venting about how their respective teams are ‘a bunch of dumbasses’ (even though they’d probably die for them).

Now picture this:

Bruce needs Tim to sign some important Wayne Enterprises paperwork- Tim’s the one leading the project. So Bruce heads over to his office, expecting to just drop the papers off and get it done. But when he arrives, Tim’s secretary politely informs him, “It’s Thursday, sir.” And Bruce just has to smile, play it cool, and respond with, “Oh, right! Silly me. Almost forgot. Thanks, Margaret!” as he walks away.

But inside? Bruce is dying. The best detective in the world, and he has no idea what ‘It’s Thursday’ even means?! He’s fucking pissed. How did he miss something so obvious? But of course, he doesn’t ask- he would rather dive off a rooftop than admit he doesn’t know something. Obviously.

Meanwhile, over in Roy Harper’s world, Roy is losing his mind trying to find Jason. He’s checked everywhere. Everywhere. He knows Jason can be sneaky when he wants to be, but this is different. Usually, Jason’s more chill when it comes to Roy. At some point, Roy’s genuinely wondering if Jason’s turned this into a really unannounced, fucking terrible game of hide-and-seek.

How on earth do you lose a guy who’s 6’0”, loaded with guns, and wearing that ridiculously bold red helmet? Seriously, how?! Roy eventually gives up and leaves a voicemail: “Okay man, I’m out. I’m done playing, I’m not giving you the victory tho.”

And yet, right at that very moment, there’s Jason. Sitting across from Tim in a small coffee shop in New York. They’re completely at ease, sipping espresso and eating waffles, chocolate cupcakes, and all the sweet stuff Jason can barely handle because he’s clogged up from all the sugar.

Jason, mid-rant, says, “I swear to God, Dickhead needs to learn how to set some boundaries. The way he lets everyone be so co-dependent on him is both impressive and pathetic.”

Without missing a beat, Tim, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just call Dick a dozen times three days ago because he’d had six espressos and was spiraling from anxiety, responds with the most sarcastic tone: “Tell me about it. I was thinking of giving him a ‘How to Set Limits’ book for his birthday.”

And don’t even start with “ugh that so not canon” stfu bitch. Here you go. The comic is Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011), which is probably in my top ten from all time, even tho I love the 2016 one. This is the issue #8, 10/10 totally recommended.

[schrijverr]

I strongly believe that everyone came to say hi to Ashes in UDAD when they realized they were Hades. So I can fully picture this fic where every chapter you follow one of the other mechs trying to get into Hades’s throne room, all in their own little way.

Like Brian gets in pretty easy as the Oracle of Delphi, just says he has a prophetic vision that has to do with Hades and claims he has to have an audience with them and gets escorted in. They have a bitch/gossip session, because Brian lies that it’s a private thing. Ashes uses it to annoy all the other Olympians by alluding to things just to cause shit.

Marius is counseling Zeus and the more he listens to this man complain about Hades, the more he starts to realize who Hades is. So, he starts to insist they should have a family therapy session with Hades. Ashes at first hates Zeus trying to convince them until they realize who is counseling him, then they agree and Ashes and Marius psychologically torture Zeus for an entire session.

Jonny tries to murder spree himself in, but gets stopped by Ashes’s traps. They know it’s him trying to get in, but think it’s funny and actively up their defenses to make him fail, waiting to see if he gives up. He doesn’t and at some point Ashes takes pity on him and lets him get carted off to the Acheron where they get him out off.

Tim has been getting himself a sugar baby role as Persephone and working his way into high society with the Olympians. He actually runs in the same circles as Ashes and complains how boring it is and he wants some violence, so Ashes whisks him off for a trip of fun, which gets wildly out of hand. But hey, at least they get to hang out regularly, right?

And I don’t have a plan for the others yet, but that will come (input is welcome and if someone has other ideas for the others, please do share)

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

violet soul

a smutty lucifer x reader fic for your enjoyment have fun <3 i feel embarrassed i was able to produce such filth :))))))

triggers warnings: dubious consent (the reader is not sober while giving consent! while they do believe they have given consent, they are not realising they're being manipulated into it!) and just like rough sex i guess haha but nothing requiring a specific trigger warning

hope you enjoy!!!

*slithers back into the void*

______________________________________________________________

You started having… dreams, recently. Very odd dreams. They feel real, way too real, and you wake covered in sweat, and the only thing you are able to think about is the dream, as if you’re still there. When you manage to fall asleep again, you simply continue where you left off. 

The dreams consume your waking life. You think about them constantly. Images, smells and sounds remind you of them. 

After a few weeks, you visit a therapist and complain about nightmares. She listens and nods sympathetically, and then she asks what the dreams are about. You open your mouth to tell her and find that you can’t. 

“They aren’t about anything, really. They are just… vivid,” you say, feeling embarrassed because of course you know what they’re about. If only you could remember right now. 

She looks at you with confusion in her eyes. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” she says gently. 

You wish you could, but you don’t know. You spend the rest of the session talking about things that don’t matter.

Later, you leave her office with a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You feel like a woman possessed. 

The second you leave her office you remember the dreams again. 

In your dreams, you wonder aimlessly through a very dark place. Nothing happens, really, but it’s scary. Everything is so vivid, so lifelike. You feel the cold stone underneath your feet, the unbearable heat in the air that makes it hard to breathe, the smell of something rotten, something burning. You can never find your way out. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of… creatures. You always make it a point to avoid them. They pay no attention to you anyhow, but they are disturbing to look at, their faces contorted, deformed, burned, melted. Some have teeth like wild animals, some have no faces at all. You couldn't describe them in detail, really, you never stare. You always feel like there is someone watching you, but when you turn, there is no one around. 

The therapy session feels like a defeat and you call a friend to complain. They are sympathetic. You talk for a while, and you feel better — finally, someone understands you. Maybe you aren’t crazy after all. 

Then she asks you what the dreams are about. You open your mouth and nothing comes out. Your voice is gone. 

“Hello? Do you hear me?” your friend asks. You stare at your phone.

“I’m here,” you say, your voice miraculously returning. “My mom is calling me. I’ll call you later, okay?”

You hang up. You call your mom and another friend. You cannot tell any of them about the nightmares. Either your voice disappears, or you can’t remember a single thing about the dreams. The concern and disbelief in their voices make your stomach churn. You know they don’t believe you. You feel crazy. 

It’s evening already and you are so tired. You have run out of people to call and you’re not sure you’d even want to call anyone anymore. You feel on edge, weeks of poor sleep making you paranoid. You start wondering whether all of this is another nightmare. You try pinching yourself to wake up. It doesn’t work. You curl up on the sofa and turn on the TV, turning the channel to something mindless. 

You don’t notice when you fall asleep.

You are in that place again. A sickly sweet smell of something rotten is filling the air. The dark corridor you find yourself in is long and narrow, lit by torches that cast an orange glow onto the dark stone around you. There are doors all throughout it. You turn around. The corridor seems to be never-ending on both sides. You suppose there is no difference which direction you take, then. As soon as you start walking you see the door in front of you open and a black demon with no face steps onto the corridor. You scream and run in the opposite direction. You hear no footsteps behind you and you know it isn’t following you — they never do — but you can’t make yourself stop running. You run and you run and you run through the never-ending corridor. It’s hard to breathe, the air is so hot and it’s stuffy and you’re feeling dizzy and you hear your heartbeat in your ears, but you never stop. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been running when you find yourself at the end of the corridor. There is a grand door in front of you. Without thinking you try to open it, and it’s so heavy you have to use your entire body weight to push it. 

As you open the door, you find that the air is suddenly lighter. The rotten smell is no longer there, and instead it smells faintly of violets. Violets are your favourite flowers. You inhale deeply, relieved you can finally breathe.

The place you find yourself in is enormous, lit by torches. The ceiling is so high you aren’t sure you can see all the way up to it. You could look around for hours and still not be able to take it all in. As you observe the enormous hall, your eyes catch a glimpse a tall, dark figure standing a few feet away from you. It has huge, black wings. You wonder how you didn’t notice it immediately upon entering. The figure is looking at you. 

You know that’s the Devil. For some reason, you aren’t surprised. 

Somehow, you are now standing next to each other. 

The Devil is beautiful, you think, with their cherubic face and bouncy white curls that seem so soft, almost angelic, and you have to fight the urge run your fingers through them. 

The Devil is tall, so tall. Their stature is elegant, feminine. You admire their broad shoulders, the gentle curve of their breasts underneath their silken red robe, their imposing, black wings.

What really pulls you in are the eyes. It’s not that they’re a lovely cerulean blue, so deep you might get lost in them, it’s that they are looking at your very soul. 

They are the first to speak. 

“Finally, we meet officially, little lamb.”

Their voice sounds like the sweetest sin, silky and smooth and melodious. You find yourself enamoured with it. 

“Are you behind my nightmares?” you ask. 

“How pleasant your stay here is is entirely up to you,” they say and cock their head. 

“What do you mean, my stay here? This is a dream. I am still at home, in my bed,” you say, confused. 

“Not quite. You could be, if you so wished. But you wished to be here, didn’t you?” The corner of their lip curls slightly, as if they find all of this amusing. 

“I haven’t slept in weeks, and you tell me that’s by my own volition? That I wished to be here?” 

You can’t believe your ears.

“Think, little lamb,” they say, their voice sickly sweet. “You have called for me, don’t you remember? You said you were lonely.”

Dread fills you when you realise you do remember. It was a joke, a drunken escapade. You were out with your friends, drinking. You went into the woods. The moon was full. You were, as per usual, the clown of the group, making everyone laugh, complaining how you were the only one without a girlfriend. You climbed onto an old log, and proclaimed, “I would sell my soul to the Devil for a girlfriend! Fuck, I am so lonely!” and you laughed, and everyone laughed. They teased you, saying you surely don’t mean it, and you said, “of course I mean it,” and you spun around, took a swig of the cheap wine you brought along, and called upon the Devil three more times. 

“Tell the Devil I mean it”, you said, “tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny,” and you laughed and everyone laughed, and you were drunk, and you don’t remember the rest of the night or how you got home. The next morning you were so hungover you barely remembered anything that happened. 

Until now. 

“Loneliness is a demon that eats at people. I would know,” they chuckle, the sweetest sound. “Especially humans… Humans crave connection, they simply long for it. And you are lonely,  my sweet little dove, I can feel it.”

“I—” you started, but they interrupt you. 

“Don’t worry, lamb, I am here to help you. That’s why you’ve asked for me, haven’t you?”

You want to tell them you didn’t ask for this, it was a mistake, you didn’t really mean it, you were drunk, you take it back—

Their silky voice cuts through your thoughts. 

“Tell me, would you like to be my friend?”

When the Devil asks you to be their friend you ought to tread carefully. 

“What happens if I refuse the Devil’s offer for friendship?” you ask.

They chuckle. They lean in, impossibly close. You are scared to death, afraid they will hurt you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You feel them in your space, around you, everywhere. Their wings flutter around you. 

They don’t lay a finger on you, however. You feel hot breath on your ear.

“I prefer Lucifer,” they whisper in your ear. You notice that Lucifer smells faintly of violets and burning wood.

“I realise you are reluctant to accept my offer for friendship. However, would you like to take a stroll with me?”

You open your eyes and see them towering over you. A shiver runs down your spine.

You are still unsure. 

“You don’t have to, of course,” Lucifer says, “but it will probably be a while before you wake. Might as well kill the time.”

They do have a point, you think. 

“I guess we can take a stroll,” you say and they grin at you. It’s a dangerous sort of smile. You find it incredibly charming. 

They offer you their arm to lean on. After a second of consideration, you take it. 

Their arm is warm, and as you link yours underneath it you immediately feel safe.

You blink, and suddenly you are in the most beautiful garden you have ever seen. Your mouth gapes open in awe. 

“Are we still in Hell?” you ask. 

“We are indeed. This is where I take my friends.”

You stay silent for a moment, taking in the beauty around you as you walk. Violets are blooming at every step. 

“How did you know violets are my favourite flower?” 

“Oh, are they? A mere coincidence,” says Lucifer and grins widely at you, flashing their white teeth.

You walk together for a while. Their strong arm is supporting you and you can’t help but be enamoured with them. Every once in a while, you feel their wing brush against your back. It sends delicious shivers down your spine. Their white curls are bouncing ever so slightly as they walk and you find yourself staring. They don’t seem to mind. The weirdest thing is, you can’t remember the last time you felt this peaceful. You find yourself thinking you could get used to this.

“Why do you want me as your friend, though?” you ask after a while, “What do you hope to gain from that?”

“Why, I hope gain a friend. And as for why I want you in particular as my friend…” they stop walking and look at you. “I do find your soul utterly captivating.”

“I must admit, I am surprised you haven’t asked what you will gain from our friendship. Don’t you wish to know?” they cock their head ever so slightly. Their piercing eyes are looking at your soul again. You feel naked. You cannot look away.

“Tell me, please,” you say.

“Think of every desire you’ve ever had. Every sinful thought that ever crossed your mind. Everything you never thought you could have. Do it.”

You do it. 

“Did you imagine it?” They take your chin in their hand. You feel your skin tingle under their fingers. They lean in, closer, closer, closer, until their nose is almost touching yours. You feel their hot breath on your lips. 

“It’s yours to have now.”

You feel dizzy. Your chest is heaving. You feel a craving, a desire you can’t name, and you can imagine the sweet gratification of its fulfilment. 

“Everything?” you ask, your voice hoarse. 

“Everything,” they say, and the hot breath that washes over your lips makes you wild. They are still holding your chin. It’s not painful but you can’t move. 

“May I… make a request then?” You are so overcome by desire that you struggle to think.

They chuckle, a puff of heat on your lips. “Greedy girl. You already made your request that night in the woods. But I will humour you. Make one more.”

You barely comprehend what they’re saying. All you feel is desire. Your eyes drift to their wings. 

“May I… touch your wings?”

You want to touch their beautiful wings so badly, but you are waiting for permission. There is a second of silence. To you, it seems like an eternity. 

Finally, they speak. 

“I said, whatever you desire. I fulfil my promises.”

They turn around slowly. You find yourself face to face with their wings. They are jet black, but you can see little veins running through them if you look closely. They seem impossibly smooth. 

You reach as far up as you can and run the back of your fingers all the way to the place where the wings grow out of their back. Lucifer shivers. 

Encouraged by that reaction you repeat the same motion again and again, then mirror it on the other wing with your other hand. Then you run your hands all along the base of their wings. 

Lucifer moans. 

The sound sends a jolt straight to your core. The wave of arousal helps you gather the courage to plant a hot kiss on their right wing. They moan again. You continue to kiss your way to the base of their wings, then all the way down along their spine until you reach the very end of it. The moans they are letting out are unholy. You fall down to your knees, your hands on their hips now. You want to continue your way down, but you are not sure if you’re allowed to. It takes an absurd amount of effort to stop. 

“Can I?” you ask, hoping, praying they will say yes. 

They turn around and look down at you. Their piercing gaze makes you dizzy, makes you want to pray to the Devil. 

They snap their fingers and suddenly you are in that grand hall from before. There is a throne there now and they are sitting on it. You are still on your knees in front of them. 

“Take what you desire,” they say.

“You may touch me here,” they touch their knee, “or here,” they move their hand upwards on their  thigh, “or there,” they slip their hand underneath their red robe. When they pull their hand out their fingers are glistening. You feel your mouth water. 

“Or even there,” they continue, their tone almost nonchalant, as they slowly, deliberately pull the robe off of their shoulders, exposing two small, perfect breasts. “Wherever you wish, my pet.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You start by kissing their leather boot. They seem to like that.

“Yes,” they say, their voice breathy, “worship me.”

And worship them you do. 

You slowly reach underneath their long red robe, running your hands over their boots and then reaching their smooth knees. You spread the robe open and kiss your way up their calves to their knees. You are moving on from their knees to their thighs, leaving a trail of hot kisses on their impossibly soft skin, when they move one of their legs up and put it over the armrest of the throne, spreading themselves in front of you. They aren’t wearing anything underneath the robe and you are met with the sight of their glistening arousal. You barely stop yourself from burying your face in those silky folds immediately — you want to kiss your way up to them, you want to savour it. 

You continue kissing their milky thighs, revelling in the way they feel under your lips. Lucifer’s breathing is getting more ragged by the second. You bite into their thigh. It feels like sin.

“Naughty thing,” they let out a breathy chuckle. “Bite me again.”

You bite their thigh again and they moan. You can’t restrain yourself anymore and you bury your face into their pussy. They grab a fistful of your hair. You suck, you lick, and there is no method to it, only lust. You are overwhelmed by how good their arousal tastes and you just want more, more, more. 

Their wings flutter around you. One of them touches your back, and you remember how much you caressing them made them moan. 

Lucifer is grinding on your face now and it’s so hot you almost don’t manage to pull away. You look up at them and say, “I want to touch your wings.”

“Go ahead, then,” they say. They are ever so slightly out of breath and their gaze is hooded and heavy. 

You climb up into their lap. With one hand you reach between their legs, running your fingers along their wetness, and with the other you start caressing one of their wings. The moan Lucifer lets out as soon as your hand touches their wing is sin itself. You start kissing their neck as you caress the wing with one hand and circle their clit with the other. You keep the motions on their clit steady, but you experiment with touching their wings, squeezing their breasts, alternating between the two, touching different spots, seeing which one makes them moan louder. What sends them over the edge is when you give their wing a hot, open mouthed kiss. They let out a high pitched moan and you feel them tense up underneath you. You continue to touch them until they push your hands away. 

Their orgasm is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed. But still, you desire more, more, more. You feel frenzied and hot all over. 

“Please,” you say, “may I request one more thing?”

“You’ve requested enough things,” they say and push you away from their lap. You fall on the floor. 

“Please, I will do anything.” 

Mistake. But you don’t care. Lust is making you lose your mind.

“Anything? Well, aren’t you a greedy little slut.”

The word sounds sinful when they say it, their gentle voice and angelic face clashing with the crudeness of it on their lips.  

They get up from the throne, silken robe closing around their legs, no longer exposing them. Their breasts are still bared. They tower above you. 

“First you get drunk, like a naughty little girl you are, then you go into the woods and call for Lucifer Morningstar, the Ruler of Hell, like they’re a servant who is here to grant your pathetic little desires.”

You are still on the floor, looking up at them. You feel like you’re about to cry, but you are also still burning with desire, the ache between your legs not waning for a second. It’s almost uncomfortable.

“And now, you ask me to touch you. Greedy, greedy girl,” they sneer. 

“However, to show you I am still interested in being your friend, I will grant your request. Get up.”

You get up as quickly as you can. You feel hot, way too hot. You feel a throb between your legs, uncomfortable, unrelenting. You wonder if that’s what happens when you fuck the Devil. 

They grab your jaw. “You like it when I do that, don’t you?”

You want to nod, but you can’t, their grip is too strong. “Yes,” you say instead.

“Let me tell you a little secret, as your friend.” They lean in. Smell of violets overwhelms you. “I like it too,” they whisper. Their hot breath on your ear almost makes you fall apart.

They let out a melodious chuckle and kiss your neck. You shiver, but you feel like you’re on fire.

“Oh, poor thing,” they coo at you. “I haven’t even started yet, and you are already falling apart. Tell me, pet, what made you think you’d be able to endure being fucked by me, hm?”

“I… didn’t think that. I didn’t think anything, I was drunk—” you say, feeling embarrassed.

“Oh, but you did, sweet lamb. You said it yourself. Tell the Devil I mean it, tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny.” Their voice is sickeningly sweet. “Well, what if she would have you, hm? What would you do then?”

“I—I don’t know.” You can only think about the ache between your legs. 

“Hm. Well, then I shall have to fuck you and see.”

They bite into your neck. You cry out. They grab a fistful of your hair and pull you towards themselves, clashing your lips together. They forcefully slip their tongue into your mouth, claiming you, making you theirs. You can barely breathe. 

They snap their fingers and suddenly you’re naked. If this was any other scenario, you’d feel self conscious, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You are consumed by lust and you feel like you’re going crazy. 

They break the kiss. “You wanted me to touch you. Like this?” 

You gasp when they slap you. You hate yourself for liking it. 

“You like that, I know,” they say softly, “but it’s not enough. You still need more. Tell me, what would you do for more?”

“Anything.”

You’re burning. 

“Anything? Oh, I do hope you mean that.” 

They lean in and kiss the cheek they just slapped, the softest, warmest kiss that makes you tingle. It feels like heaven. They run their hands over your breasts, squeezing them with gusto, then pinch and twist your nipples forcefully, making you yelp. 

“Will you be my friend, then?” they ask sweetly, pulling you closer and squeezing your ass, making you moan.

You are too dizzy and too hot to form sentences. They spank you forcefully. You moan again, louder this time.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, yes, anything,” you say. 

They smile. It’s lecherous and it sends a shiver straight to your core.

“Finally, pet. But you have kept me waiting for far too long. I feel like some sort of punishment must be in order.” 

They snap their fingers again and you find yourself bent over their knee as they sit on their throne.

“Thirthy-three strikes. Count.”

They don’t give you even a second to process the command before they start spanking you. You lose count immediately, only aware of the delicious jolts to your core each time they spank you. 

“I said, count.” They spank you so forcefully you see stars. A single tear rolls down your cheek. “Now look what you’ve done, I have to start all over again.” 

They start spanking you again, and this time you count. It gets harder towards the end, and you can't stop yourself from crying. Your pussy is throbbing with need— you’ve never experienced anything quite that intense — and each slap on your red ass makes you flinch. Pain and pleasure mix in a delicious way and it’s overwhelming, but you still need more. 

“Thirty-three,” you finally cry out as they spank you for the last time. 

Not giving you a second to recover, they pull you up into their lap with ease. You wince in pain as your ass touches their thigh. 

“Aw, poor baby,” they say mockingly. “Let me dry those tears.”

They catch one of your tears with their finger and put it in their mouth. They moan in pleasure at the taste. 

“Delicious. Try it.” They catch another tear, ever so gently, then slip two fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.” 

You obey.

“See, you can be a good girl when you want to,” they say gently. “Yes, such a good girl.”

You melt at their praise. It makes you warm all over. They pull their finger out of your mouth with a wet pop. 

They kiss you again, this time softly, delicately. They run their nails over your back, the most gentle of touches, but it makes you shiver and burn and shake. They put one hand on your neck, tangle it into your hair, bringing you closer, closer, closer, while the other hand finds itself on your waist. They slip their tongue in your mouth, and you lose yourself in their touch. You don’t know where you end and where Lucifer begins anymore, and that ache between your legs feels like actual hellfire. Maybe it is actual hellfire. Maybe that’s what happens when the Devil fucks you. You don’t know.

Their hands are everywhere, and you aren’t sure how many hands there are anymore, and you don’t know where you are, you don’t know who you are — the only thing you are aware of is Lucifer and fire, fire, fire between your legs. 

“Yes, my sweet lamb, moan for me,” they purr, and you are surprised to realise you are moaning rather loudly and unabashedly. You are barely aware of your actions, no longer in control of your body.

After an eternity of delicious agony, their fingers graze your clit. You feel like you’re about to fall apart.

They circle your clit, agonisingly slowly, and you wail. You tangle your fingers into their soft hair, trying to hold onto something to keep yourself from falling apart. 

“Oh, darling, I am barely touching you,” they say sweetly. “I do have to ask you before you lose yourself completely, do you want to stay here with me?”

You can barely comprehend what they’re saying. “Stay?” you manage to utter through your moans. You try to rut against their hand, but they grab you by the hips, holding you still. 

“Yes, lamb, stay still for a second longer, yes, that’s it,” they coo at you. “Good girl. Yes, will you stay here with me forever? For all eternity?”

“Eternity…?” 

There is a distant alarm going off somewhere in your head, but you can’t pull yourself together long enough to think rationally. They run their fingers over your wet slit and suddenly there are no more thoughts left in your mind. 

“Yes, my sweet. An eternity of pleasure, an eternity of this,” they hiss as they slip a finger inside of you. You grip their hair tighter, afraid you will fall apart. You have never experienced pleasure as intense as this. 

“Yes,” you say, “yes, yes, yes, please, yes. I want you so much, oh please, fuck—”

They start pumping their finger in and out, slowly, hitting just the perfect spot, but it’s not enough, you need more. 

“More, please, more, aah—” you scream as they slip another finger and start fucking you forcefully. It’s the most intense pleasure you’ve ever experienced. 

“Do we have a deal, then?” they ask, completely calm and collected as they fuck you into oblivion. 

If you were in your right mind, you would have been wary of making any sort of deal with the Devil. If you were in your right mind, you would have realised your fate was sealed that night in the woods and that they had you all along. But considering the Devil is currently kuckle deep in you, you have no chance. They know that. They simply enjoy toying with their prey. 

The only thing you manage to do is to scream an ear-piercing “yes” as you come. 

When you come down from your high, the fire you felt before is no longer between your legs, and it is no longer pleasant. It is in your soul. The air no longer smells of violets — it smells like rotten flesh. 

Lucifer gives you their sweetest smile. They look like a true cherub, the prettiest of angels. 

“Welcome to Hell, sweet lamb.”

[shallowcrypts]

Avoidants are unfairly demonized.

And you know what? I’m sick of seeing anxious-attached folks being treated as if they’re fully the victim and totally blameless.

They just cannot ever admit that they might make mistakes, especially serious ones. Can't apologize. Self righteous as hell, and so, so blaming. It's such bullshit. It’s so often that the avoidant partner is forced to take “accountability” for whatever the issue and the AP gets to be relieved that its “not them” and they don’t have to look at their own outrageous behavior that may have contributed to the original issue.

AP’s get all the sympathy because they are usually the loudest, therefore we all have to center around their feelings. It's not that the avoidants DON’T want help, it's avoidants are more likely to avoid and if someone doesn't like conflict and the AP is constantly having a temper tantrum... so who is going to get heard? Have the most attention to their problems?

I was recently talking to a friend about couples therapy with her avoidant partner & even in listening I could tell that she didn't realize how much she dominated the therapy sessions, while simultaneously complaining he wasn't there enough. When he finally broke down and cried about something she had said, her response? You've never cried about that before but it bothers you NOW?

And that’s the thing, it's never good enough for APs. It is hard to be a person when an AP is suffocating the room, and it's easier for them to blame avoidants because we are the only people who will continually put up with their shit, because we ignore it and somehow they are the victims in that too. The goal post is forever changing with them, and nothing is ever good enough. They complain and put pressure on to be, think, feel a certain way and when you manage to come close, you're still somehow in the wrong. I would rather shove everything down and suffer silently than possibly trigger an AP into an episode because THAT is pure psychological torture.

And don’t even get me started about how they then proceed to be the "humble brags" of self-work:

"I just have too big of a heart and I over-give because I'm too generous.”

If all the APs I've known ACTUALLY took accountability it'd sound like:

"I make comments with the intention of making you feel ashamed and guilty so that in your diminished self-worth you might be insecure enough to come to me. Maybe if you're upset we can have a conversation or emote at each other, which is a form of connection, so I force that since I can't force you do do whatever I want at any given moment. I push and push and push and push you so that when you break A) again, I can feel the connection that comes with conflict, at least, and B) I can feel victimized by how 'mean' you are by finally breaking at my prodding. I do not ever stop to consider how this might be tanking your life and our relationship... because I always find a way to blame you for that. I have the audacity to purport to know what your problems are and your inner work should be, and though I'm begging you to open up to me, I don't listen when you do. I just cry because whatever you say scares me, and my fear is still ultimately more important than any of your experiences." APs don't "care" anymore than Avoidants as a default, though they may try too hard, sure.

The issue is that the “I care too much" gets recognized as "and that causes problems for ME” and they're like "oh look I'm taking accountability!" But they never get to the part about how them "caring too much" caused problems for OTHERS and they never want to earnestly apologize. Their behavior can be seriously, seriously, damaging to be on the other end of.

"I'm impatient, have unrealistic expectations, and I over-perform for love. I'm going to work on this with my therapist because I'm realizing now how this is backfiring and causing me pain."

^That would be accountability.

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Oh No! Here Comes Trouble: (more) Headcanons

Look I have no excuses left. I’m trying to channel Guangyan’s academic success and only succeeding in channeling Yiyong’s. They practically owe me a season two at this point for making me the OnePer of my own life.

1.) Chuying has gotten…well. A tad bit “cautious” now, never mind her coworkers’ gentle comment about her being “totally fucking paranoid,” because they didn’t have to scrape Yiyong’s broken body and Guangyan’s broken heart off the floor of a museum, leaving their own broken confidence behind, now did they? Its not really a problem. Until it is. Until she clotheslines one of Guangyan’s little college friends who’s running towards him and looking shady about it (who looks happy at school on a Tuesday? Villains. Psychopaths. Pastry chefs. Bad people, that’s who). It’s possible her boss was right to force her to go to therapy. She will not be telling him that. She maintains overcaution is best (Yiyong had laughed when he’d heard about it and Guangyan had looked suspiciously gleeful at the sight of his supposed school friend’s cartwheel through the air), so it’s fine.

2.) Yiyong’s first case post coma two (ugh) is a dead violinist trying to locate his lost sonata that it turns out his fake friend stole and killed him over. After the case is settled, Guangyan waxes on about some dumb movie called Coco and forces Yiyong to watch it. It’s after one of Yiyong’s PT sessions, so they sit in Yiyong’s bed for it. There is approximately no room and Guangyan keeps hissing about how certain people treat their guests, but they eventually create a blanket fort, largely by accident, and settle in to watch. Yiyong’s mother joins them partway through, smelling like dye chemicals. Yiyong is not upset by the story. He isn’t. He’s upset by his mom’s worn out voice as she asks random questions about the film like Yiyong knows things, he’s upset about the stupid plotting because the stupid kid doesn’t feel like he can follow his stupid passion and is missing his stupid family, he’s upset by Guangyan’s very soft hands that keep wrapping around Yiyong’s arm (annoying, clingy, he makes no move to stop him) during sad moments. So that’s why if he cries a little, it’s because he’s upset about those things.

3.) Yiyong’s mom and Guangyan’s dad have a “what the shit are the kids up to” drinks session a few nights a week. She’s convinced him to try her favorite beer. Neither of them really have many friends, but they have some very strange young people in common and a lot of silences in their lives where there used to be more people. One of their favorite drinking games involves the number of times the kids will text complaining something predictable about each other, or whether Chuying will send a vague, panicked text about something they are definitely not supposed to be up to.

4.) Guangyan has a terrible, terrible day. Everything goes wrong. He oversleeps by fifteen minutes, he gets two questions wrong (wrong???) on an exam, he drags his feet in dejection on the way to lab work and gets scolded for being “almost late,” and one of his classmates tells him he “doesn’t look great today.” In a fit of frustration at his own imperfections, he sends Chuying and Yiyong a rare introspective text wondering if he’s just the absolute most worthless, useless person ever. Chuying sends back about fifty inspirational Pinterest posts about how you’re ❤️special as you are❤️, and follows these up by threatening to come over and beat up whoever made him think this (he declines carefully). Yiyong says nothing in the chat, which he expected. But. He comes home and finds that Someone has drawn a picture for him, crumpled it up and thrown it through his window (based on the dirt on the outside, the toss failed several times). The drawing is rendered in sunset colors, and it’s of the teacups ride at the amusement park. It’s beautifully drawn, with careful detail down to the design on the teacup. In the forefront, two figures are whirling around in a teacup. One looks a little grumpy, the other one is alight with joy and shaded in with soft pastel. The caption simply reads, “The Most Worthless, Useless Day Ever.”

5.) The trio go on expeditions together—not just for cases now, but because Chuying saw a cool festival, or Guangyan needs people to come with him to this horrible networking event (and later regrets this deeply), or Yiyong gets that distant look in his eyes and needs to start walking. He likes that his people, his two people (and his high school friends, if he so chooses) will go somewhere, anywhere with him for no reason. Even just to sit on a bench somewhere. He thinks a lot on these walks. About how Chuying needs to stop second-guessing herself these days, because something hurts in his chest to see the mighty OnePer flicker with doubt; about how Guangyan always gets the same look in his eyes when he’s overworked himself and is about to fall asleep on Yiyong’s shoulder (he’s not entirely ready to examine why he always waits around on late study nights with anticipation for those moments); about how much he wishes he could have introduced them both to his dad and grandfather. He thinks about how his family is here and not-here, all still with him one way or another, and how he’s probably going to start drawing that comic again soon (after all, he did have that one reader, why not dream big?).

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Family Affairs

First family therapy session and the return of angst. Takes place a few days after Jack plants the seed. DISCLAIMER: None of the advice given in this chapter is professional. I am not a therapist, and any advice given is my own personal take on my characters and their situation.

(Also I kind of have an important question down below so please make sure you read that note too!)

Rating: T

Warning: Tiny bit of language, and some heavy topics

“Do we really have to do this?” Jack whispers as the three of you walk up to the quiet center. “All they’re going to do is ask me about planting the tree again.”

“No, she won’t. She’s not here to do that, she’s here to help us learn how to be a family,” you say softly yet firmly. “This is a huge change for all of us, and she’s here to help us through it.” Jack doesn’t complain further, but you can tell he also doesn’t completely believe you. And you can’t blame him for his bad mood. Ever since he’d planted the seed earlier that week, he’d been hounded by just about everyone in the city. It was overwhelming, and while he didn’t regret planting the seed, he was desperate for people to leave him alone again.

Jack wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable. Onceler had been almost completely silent since you had told him where you were going. He, too, had been receiving intense levels of scrutiny after coming back into the public light to help Jack plant the seed. You thought he’d be used to the attention by now, but he seemed to hate it more than Jack did, and you guess you could understand why. He used to be adored. There was a lot more hostility this time around.

But you had to give them both a lot of credit. Despite their complaints, both Jack and Onceler did recognize the importance of this appointment. There were a lot of emotions to sort out, and no one wanted those emotions to become overwhelming in an already delicate situation. Anything that could alleviate the stress was welcome, and at this point, necessary.

Onceler holds the door open for you, and you step inside a quiet waiting room. This particular therapist’s office mimicked a home setting, which you liked; you didn’t want anyone to feel like they were going to a doctor’s office for these visits. You smile a thanks at your fiancé and take a seat on a soft loveseat, Jack right next to you. That left Onceler to sit in the single chair across from the two of you.

You don’t have to wait more than a minute or two before a woman with shoulder-length chocolate hair comes out. “Welcome,” she says in a soft voice and with a soothing smile. “Please, follow me to the back.” You take one of Jack’s hands in your own, and Onceler’s in the other, and lead your family to the woman’s office.

The back room is set up much like the front, with a distinct home-like setting. However, there’s a much longer couch back here, and the three of you are all able to comfortably sit side by side, while the woman sits across from you.

“My name is Emily,” she says in her calming tone once all of you are settled. “And I understand that the three of you are in a very unique situation. I want to impress upon you first and foremost that this is a judgment-free environment. You can speak your mind here, and I will not think less of you for it. And this is your family. We can work on being comfortable speaking the truth to them if you’re not already.”

Her words are exactly what you need to hear, and you hope she’s been able to calm Jack and Onceler as well. You still have one hand of theirs in each of your own, and you give them gentle squeezes as Emily continues. “I know we’ve spoken before,” she says, addressing you. “But I would love to meet the rest of your family.”

Jack takes a deep breath, but decides to go first. “My name is Jack,” he introduces. “And this is my mom… and my dad, I guess. Well, he is my dad, but I’m still getting used to having a dad…” he trails off here, his cheeks turning pink, but Emily, true to her word, doesn’t seem to mind. She simply smiles and nods before turning her attention to Onceler, who shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.

But, despite his discomfort, he also introduces himself to Emily, and confirms that he is indeed Jack’s father. Emily nods again, then consults her notes that she’s already begun compiling.

“So, based on what I know about this, and what I’ve discerned so far, I’ll want to do individual sessions with all of you in time, but today I think it’s best to remain together,” she decides. “And just to make absolutely sure I have all of my facts together, Jack, you grew up with your mother your whole life, until just recently when your father came back into the picture. And Onceler, you were unaware of Jack’s existence until then. Am I correct in all of this?” All three of you nod in affirmation, making Emily lean back and sigh. 

“Well, this is a complicated situation, that’s for sure,” she comments, but there’s no judgment in her statement, just an acknowledgment of the bizarreness of the whole thing. “And I can imagine that everyone’s emotions are going a bit haywire.” She turns to you. “If you’re comfortable, can I ask why you didn’t initially tell Onceler about Jack? Do they already know why?”

Now it’s your turn to shift under her gaze. As nice and comforting as she was, the topic was never fun to revisit. You quickly explain to her that you wanted to tell Onceler about your pregnancy, but weren’t able to get in touch with him. To her credit, she doesn’t dig into this point for now, just adds it to the list of very weird circumstances that surrounded all of you.

“Wow,” she comments when you’re done speaking. “Yeah, you three are going through quite a lot. But the important thing to remember is that despite all of these obstacles, I’m getting an abundance of love in this room. There might be hurt, and there might be confusion, but most importantly there is love, and I want all of you to remember that, particularly if things get challenging. We’re probably going to get pretty deep during our sessions here, but there’s no shortage of support for each and every one of you.” She gives another kind smile, and this time, you can tell Jack and Onceler are starting to become more accustomed to her presence, and thus more likely to open up.

“And one more thing that I should probably address,” Emily adds, glancing down at her notes. “I understand that all three of you have been or are currently in the public eye, particularly Jack and Onceler. This might come into play later, but for now I don’t think it’s a big deal, nor do I think it’s something that will drastically affect your family dynamic. So unless I’m proven wrong about that, I’m going to leave the fame firmly behind us for the time being.”

Next to you, you can feel Jack visibly relax. That had been his biggest worry, and it had quickly been alleviated. Onceler, on the other hand, was still a bit cautious, which you understood. You were sure his experience in the spotlight was going to affect him and need some working through far more than either you or Jack would need. 

Emily next asks Jack about himself, and while it seems an innocent enough question, you’re sure she’s also doing her job. Sure enough, you can see her making notes as Jack speaks. When Jack mentions his love of music and his newly formed agreement with his father to learn guitar, Emily apparently reads a lot into that; her pen is practically skating across the journal on her lap.

After Jack, Emily turns next to you. “And what makes you, you?” she asks, the same question she posited to Jack. Unlike your son, you have much less to say.

“I mean, I’m a mom. That’s been my primary role ever since Jack was born, and I like to think I’ve done a good job at it. Jack’s a great kid,” you shrug.

“Yes, but you are more than that,” Emily explains patiently. “You’re not just defined by your relationships with others. You’re more than a daughter or a sister. You’re more than Onceler’s fiancée, or even Jack’s mother. You seem to have forgotten that.”

All you can do is blink, words lost in your throat. You want to refute her because of course that’s not the case, but as you start actually thinking about it… she’s not wrong. For the past decade, you’d delved so deeply into motherhood to numb the pain that was there so now, that was all you knew.

“It’s alright,” Emily comforts gently. “This happens to several women after kids come along. I’m not saying that your kids shouldn’t be your first priority, or that you’re in any way a bad mother, just that it’s not a bad thing to focus on yourself as well. In fact, it’s a necessity.”

Well shit. For as nice as she was, she pulled absolutely no punches. You trusted that this would make your family stronger on the other side, but the journey was going to be even more arduous than you were anticipating.

Finally, Emily turns to Onceler. This was the part that you were really interested in. Since coming back into your life, you had seen him return to life, but there was still a deep rooted self-loathing there. He’d already made it abundantly clear that he thought you were too good for him, and had insinuated that Jack might even be better off without him. You’d done your best to stop these insidious thoughts in their tracks, but it was beyond clear that he, more than even you or Jack, needed the professional help.

And sure enough, as Emily asks him the same question as you and Jack, his line of vision finds the floor. “What am I supposed to say?” he mutters after a moment. “That I’ve failed at everything in my life? That I haven’t even been able to raise my son? I haven’t done anything right. I don’t know why she still wants me around. They deserve a better husband and father than I can be.”

For the first time, Emily puts down her journal and instead scrutinizes Onceler for a few moments. She then asks a question that you never would have thought to ask. “Do you want to lose them? And I need a brutally honest answer.”

“Of course not,” Onceler answers, looking and sounding almost offended. “I love them. They’re all I have.”

“If you love them, but keep telling them they deserve better than you, knowingly or not, you’re putting an idea in their heads that you don’t want to be around,” Emily says bluntly. “Everyone messes up. But no matter how grievous the offense, you can become a better person. You’ve committed no acts of violence against your family, so I see no reason for you to be separated from them. Believe it or not, I see this often. You made a mistake, yes. But no matter the size, your son and fiancée believe the best in you. Instead of trying to convince them they can do better than you, you need to become the man you think they deserve. But you can’t be that unless you forgive yourself first.”

The silence in the room is heavy, a palpable presence after her words. You’ve talked to Onceler about forgiving himself before, but you’d never been able to achieve the same punch that Emily has just given. Whether he likes it or not, this is what he needs.

“I… I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” he whispers, his voice thick with sorrow. You can tell he’s working hard to hold back tears. “What I’ve done… I’ve hurt so many people. And it’s my fault I wasn’t involved in Jack’s life at first. I made the decision to leave. There was so much I did wrong.”

“Then start with something you did right,” Emily advises. “And I know it’s hard to think of anything you did right when your mind keeps bringing up all of your mistakes, but that’s what I’m here for. I can give you the tools. You just need to choose to use them.”

“And as for something you did right,” you start nervously, looking to Emily to make sure you’re allowed to say this, but she nods encouragingly, so you continue. “As soon as you found out about Jack, you wanted back in his life. And you’ve done everything to be an attentive father since then.”

“It’s not near enough,” Onceler insists, but this time, Jack interrupts him.

“I like having a dad much better than not having a dad,” he says quietly, but in the silent room, it might as well be as loud as a gunshot.

He also manages to completely shut Onceler up. How could he continue arguing after that? He just hangs his head, letting his son’s words sick in as you run your thumb over the back of his hand, offering him what crumbs of comfort you can.

“See?” Emily says, finally breaking the silence. “Your family loves you. They believe the best of you. If you can’t believe in yourself just yet, borrow theirs. I don’t think it’s wrong to have other people as your primary source of motivation, initially. In time, I want you to want to better yourself for you, but if you can’t do that yet, that’s okay. As long as you aren’t using others as emotional support crutches, they can be helpful in terms of motivation.”

“And you can always lay your burdens on me,” you add quickly. “We’re going to be married, and that’s what being married is about. Your joys are mine, your sorrows are mine. And I want to help you with whatever pain you’re going through, even if all I can give is a listening ear.”

“And I want to do the same for you,” he sighs emphatically. “I’m just not sure I know how.”

“That’s why we’re here,” you remind him with a small smile. “We don’t have to know everything right away. We’re here so we can learn how to support each other.” You turn to Jack to include him as well. “All three of us. And believe me when I say, you support me better than you know. There’s so much I could never have gotten through if you hadn’t been there with me.”

“You told me when planting the seed,” Jack says carefully, “that everyone deserves a second chance. I think you should give yourself one, too.”

At yours and Jack’s words, the tears that had been threatening him finally spill over Onceler’s blue eyes. “Thank you,” he says, pulling both of you into his arms. “I don’t know how I ever got lucky enough to get you. Both of you.”

Emily lets the moment linger a while before speaking up. “Well, I think that should do it for today,” she murmurs, seemingly satisfied. “Same time next week? And I think we’ll start with individual sessions then.” You confirm the details with her before leading your family out.

You weren’t perfect yet. None of you would ever be perfect. But you were mending. And you were confident that with each other’s help, you would become as strong a family unit as you were able to be.

OK, question time. My Too Much Gene decided to kick in yet again, and this time... she wants me to write another OncelerxReader multi-chapter fic. The difference is that this one is heavily AU, and set in the 1910's. And the MC isn't the same MC as the one in Interpersonal, if that makes sense. Like, there's no Aurora, her mother isn't dead, little things that make it not the same character. My question is, would any of you actually be interested in reading that? I'll probably write it regardless, but whether or not I post it depends on if y'all would actually read it.

[pollenallergie]

Not sure if my message about Billy Knight went through (the internet went down at my work just as I pressed send lol) but if not, I think Billy is the best one to go to if you’re having a bad day, he’d make you a cup of tea and really listen to you and afterwards he’d wrap you up in the best hug

Oh absolutely!! He’s super understanding, supportive, and kind, making it easy to confide in him. Billy’s also a really attentive listener, always hanging into every word you say, totally tuned into you, and focused on what you’re saying, only interjecting with feedback or kind words when he feels it’s both appropriate and absolutely necessary to do so. Moreover, he’s one of those guys that you can actually complain to and receive empathy in return, rather than the responses you’d usually get from men: either entirely disengaged or offering you unwanted advice. Billy lets you vent and complain to him without offering anything more than his undivided attention, his shoulder to lean on, and warm words of reassurance, consolation, acceptance, and empathy. Billy doesn’t just simply hear you; he listens to you, understands you, and offers you compassion, encouragement, and unwavering support. You frequently tell him he’d make a great therapist. Yet, he always brushes your praise off with some offhanded remark about how he’s only so good at listening because of how much time he’s spent in therapy sessions over the years. Billy’s always unwilling to accept that he’s a kind, supportive person because that sort of thing comes to him naturally, not because life has forced him into that role.

Sometimes, when life is tough on you, Billy has your cup of tea ready and a cosy spot prepared for you on the sofa, complete with a blanket that’s been warmed in the dryer, as soon as you walk through the front door. He’ll listen to you and hold you for as long as you need, warmed by the thought that you’re so comfortable relying on him in times of distress.

One thing’s for certain about Billy is that even a mere two days with him will ruin you for any other guy on the face of the planet. He makes all of your exes look like neglectful pricks without even trying to. He’s just naturally a very caring, kindhearted, loving person.

[clunelover]

I have a lot of MIL visit blocked off and accounted for. Like, tomorrow she gets in in the afternoon, but I’m going to be at work IN THE OFFICE (last time she was here, I learned that working from the home while she was there was bad, because I so dread talking to her I just didn’t emerge from my office and starved instead of eating lunch) and then BFF and I will meet for dinner and then we have our first session of a new season of water aerobics. So I won’t see her til late. Then - put a kid to bed and just don’t go back downstairs!

Thursday - in the office again, but I’m forcing myself to make a dinner, from some meatballs I mixed up and then froze so it will be easy. I will sit and eat and converse with her. 💆🏼‍♀️💆🏼‍♀️💆🏼‍♀️

Friday E has performances of the play xie’s been working on for drama camp - and the theater is so small each person can only have three guests per performance which is literally perfect - I will go with my stepmom and C for the early performance, then take C home and put him to bed, while Jeremy and MIL do dinner with E and then see second performance.

Saturday I am hosting a FAMILY PARTY for the holiday weekend! Everyone will be there to act as a buffer! I’m mildly nervous cause I think when Jeremy and she had their big blow up years ago, he told her “one of the reasons we don’t want you to live by us, is that even if you did, you wouldn’t be invited to family events because Meredith’s family doesn’t like you” 🫣🫣🫣 BUT she is coming during a holiday and it’s our house and so we’re hosting a family holiday event.

I told my sister in the most tactful way possible that I want her husband to just fully be off the leash at the party. I really love him, he’s a great guy, and he is definitely neurodiverse - diagnosed with ADHD but I wouldn’t be surprised if he also has autism. His main method of communication is Sharing A Fact, except the facts are often….wrong? And then he really digs in if you challenge him. And he also will react if someone says something shitty, he doesn’t have the “keep quiet and don’t make it worse” instinct, so anyway yeah I’ll be honest, I kind of want to deploy him against her and see what happens 🫣🫣

That mostly just leaves Sunday and Monday (she leaves Tuesday) and on Monday I have some of it filled, by taking E for a haircut (from a cool mom friend we met in 4K who is now a hairdresser, and also has an NB kid at least per what I’ve gathered from FB captions, haven’t seen them in a while - anyway I just feel like this will be a very affirming experience) and then I have therapy in the afternoon (and, do I come back home right after therapy or perhaps go take in a movie? We shall see)

I’m sure I’ll still be complaining tons though so buckle up!!!

[fisheadz]

More little tidbits and stuff for the In Sound Mind everyone lives au, coz while the brainrot has moved over a little to make room for my budding Bioshock hyperfixation, the brainrot is still there. Waiting. Watching…

• Allen either listens to soft pop or heavy metal. There is no in between. The only exception is sea shanties, solely because he finds it ironic.

• Rosemary gets a bunch of goldfish, and feels nervous leaving the house because what if they need her for something? It’s not their fault they’re dependent on her!

^ Desmond has offered to have an unofficial therapy session or two with her, because lord does she need it, but she politely refuses every time.

• Lucas finds random things in the forest, like funky sticks or oddly colored leaves, and brings them home with him to show his friends next time they visit. He’s especially excited to show Desmond his findings. This has not gone unnoticed by the others.

^ Similarly, Allen will collect cool rocks and seashells to give to the others. Everyone has random shells and rocks at home, and none of them are complaining.

• Virginia has made little plushies of all of her friends. She even made one of Tonia, for Desmond. He almost cried and she freaked out a little.

• Max takes Virginia on a fishing trip once, after hearing that she never fished before. She caught a big one, and he refuses to admit that he’s jealous, since he didn’t catch any.

• Lucas will show up unannounced at any time. Once he almost got clobbered by Allen, after walking into his house without warning. It’s an old habit of his.

• Rosemary is usually pretty quiet, unless you get her going about something she’s passionate about, like goldfish. She and Desmond often chat for hours at a time about anything that comes up. Lucas tries to keep up, but is content with just listening.

• Lucas decides to teach everyone how to shoot, just in case. Max and Desmond are great at it, and Allen and Rosemary know the basics. Virginia is a fast learner. Dave joins them once, and nearly blows his own head off by accident. He is no longer allowed to join.

• Sometimes one or a couple of the others will stay the night at Allen’s, so he doesn’t get lonely while working the lighthouse. He never says it out loud, but he’s very grateful that he isn’t alone, especially after "you know what", as he dubs it.

• The others are concerned about Max’s poor eating habits, so they make sure to leave him a bunch of leftovers whenever they can. Max knows, since they aren’t very subtle about it, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

• Occasionally, when they’re feeling up for it, some of them get together to smoke a joint or two. Allen doesn’t do it often for personal reasons, and Virginia doesn’t like the feeling, so she usually just sits it out, but sometimes the others spend a couple hours smoking in Lucas’ van.

• Allen suggests that Desmond adopt a cat, and he doesn’t really want to because, one, it felt like he was replacing Tonia, and two, Tonia’s situation was special. After a while though, he decides to bite the bullet and adopt a little tabby cat that he names Aster. He never explains why.

^ Tonia (if she’s there in the CU) is very amused by this.

• Rosemary is a theatre nerd, and it shows.

That’s all for tonight (this morning, actually, it’s 2am). I got a little lazy at the end, sorry. I love these sad people (and cat).

As a side note, I got a rat living in the wall next to my bed, and she’s so annoying istg. Her names Brenda and she hates me and I hate her too.

[xtruss]

The Way Out of Burnout! A Psychoanalyst Explains Why For People Feeling “Burnt Out”, Simply Trying to Relax Doesn’t Always Work

— 1843 Magazine | August 12, 2023

Illustration Izhar Cohen

A patient of mine named Elliot recently took a week off from his demanding job as a gp. He felt burnt out and badly needed to rest. The plan was to sleep late, read a novel, take the odd leisurely walk, maybe catch up on “Game of Thrones”. But somehow he found himself instead packing his schedule with art museums, concerts, theatre, meetings with friends in hot new bars and restaurants. Then there were the visits to the gym, Spanish lessons, some flat-pack furniture assemblage.

During the first of his twice-weekly evening sessions, he wondered if he shouldn’t slow down. He felt as exhausted as ever. Facebook and Twitter friends were joking about how it all sounded like harder work than work. “I’m trying to figure out how I’ve managed to be doing so much when I didn’t want to be doing anything. Somehow not doing anything seems impossible. I mean, how can you just…do nothing?!”

When Elliot protests that he can’t just do nothing, he is seeing and judging himself from the perspective of a culture that looks with disdain at anything that smacks of inactivity. Under constant self-scrutiny as to whether he is being sufficiently productive, he feels ashamed when he judges himself to have come up short in this regard. But this leaves him at once too drained to work and unable to rest.

As I describe in my feature for the August/September issue of “1843”, this is the basic predicament of the burnout sufferer: a feeling of exhaustion accompanied by a nervy compulsion to go on regardless is a double bind that makes it very difficult to know how to cope. Burnout involves the loss of the capacity to relax, to “just do nothing”. It prevents an individual from embracing the ordinary pleasures – sleep, long baths, strolling, long lunches, meandering conversation – that induce calm and contentment. It can be counterproductive to recommend relaxing activities to someone who complains that the one thing they cannot do is relax.

So what does it take to recover the capacity to do nothing, or very little? I might be expected at this point to leap to psychoanalysis as an instant remedy. But psychoanalysis is emotionally demanding, time-consuming and often expensive. Nor does it work for everyone (a basic truth of all therapies, physical or mental).

In less severe cases of burnout, it is often the case that difficulties inducing nervous exhaustion are more external than internal. Time and energy may be drained by life events (bereavement, divorce, changes in financial status and so on) as well as the demands of work.

In such cases, it is worth turning in the first instance to more external solutions – cutting working hours as much as possible, carving out more time to relax or for contemplative practices such as yoga and meditation. This is as much a matter of discovering a remedy as the remedy itself. Merely listening and attending to the needs of the inner self as opposed to the demands of the outside world can have a transformative effect.

But such solutions will seem unrealistic to some sufferers both practically and psychologically. Practically in the sense that many of us are employed in sectors that demand punishing hours and unstinting commitment; psychologically in the sense that reducing working hours, and so taking oneself out of the highest levels of the game, is likely to induce more rather than less anxiety in someone driven relentlessly to achieve more.

So while there are many means by which we can be helped to relax, the predicament of severe burnout is precisely that you cannot be helped to relax. Where burnout has psychological roots, psychoanalysis may be able to help.

One way is its “form”. The nervous exhaustion of burnout results from their enslavement to an endless to-do list packed with short- and long-range tasks. In a psychotherapy session, you sit or lie down and begin to talk with no particular agenda, letting yourself go wherever your minds takes you. For portions of a session you might be silent, discovering the value of simply being with someone, without having to justify or account for yourself, instilling an appreciation for what the American psychoanalyst Jonathan Lear calls “mental activity without a purpose.”

Another way is the “content” of psychoanalysis. Talking to a therapist can help us discover those elements in our own history and character that make us particularly vulnerable to specific difficulties such as burnout. In my feature for “1843”, I discuss how two patients came from early childhood to associate their worth and value with their levels of achievement. Under constant pressure from within to “be their best”, they were liable to feel empty and exhausted when, inevitably, they felt they’d failed to live up to this ideal self-image.

This was very much the case for Elliot, and goes some way to explaining why the idea of “just doing nothing” so scandalised him. Even today, as they approach old age, Elliot could never imagine his parents putting their feet up talking, reading or watching tv. He remembers family meals taken quickly, with one or both parents in a hurry to rush off to one commitment or another. His own life was heavily scheduled with homework and extra-curricular lessons, and he was never more forcefully admonished by either parent than when he was being “lazy”. “They were kind of compulsively active”, he said, “and made me feel it was shameful to waste time. You could imagine the seats of their chairs were rigged to administer a jolt of current if they sat on them for more than ten minutes.” Only now is he beginning to ask why they, and he in turn, are like this, and why being at rest for any length of time is equivalent in their minds to “wasting” it.

Insight like this can be helpful to challenge our unthinkingly internalised habits of working and our dogmas as to what constitutes a “productive” use of our time. It encourages us to think about what kind of life would be worth living, rather than simply living the life we assume we’re stuck with.

[asecretthirdthing]

Im very stupid and don’t understand a lot but thankfully I’ve gotten some help from a counselor at AHN, I now have weekly therapy sessions I just started at an intensive mental health care place , I might change therapists but will still do therapy there. My therapist is very lovely but I’m not sure if we are a good match but I am going to give it another proper session or two besides the first intake to be able to see. And I have a psych appt at the same place at the end of august! I’m going to try to get generic Latuda thru costplusdrugs but I don’t understand the process and am afraid of doing it wrong but my partner and my mom might be able to help. I have a coupon on goodrx in case I do the process wrong at first so I’ll be able to still at least get the first month cheap. Did u know even with my insurance, generic brand Latuda is still like $600+ at the cheapest place without these crazy third party apps ????? It’s the only medication that’s worked for me but when I went off my moms insurance I couldn’t afford it anymore. I hate that I have to be a fucking academic researcher to be able to figure out how to get this shit. In the middle of struggling. But I have some help. I don’t like to talk about myself this way but it’s not often when I say, okay, no more excuses, im going to do what I need to do to take care of myself and then the processes involved are so difficult and I keep getting stuck! Everything is so complicated and stressful with health care. And the problems I’ve had with my physical health I feel like my doctor is not cooperating with me at all. And I go into everything with an optimistic and cooperative outlook, I just feel like it never pays off. I know the saying “nobody is going to save you besides yourself” but I cannot do everything! I try to Google and research what I can but there is so much different information it makes my head hurt. On top of how difficult it is to get my priorities covered I still need to see a podiatrist and a dentist. Outlook doesn’t have much impact… “okay, I’m overwhelmed, let’s take things slow and do what I can” I feel like I’m not rewarded for that, things only get harder or delayed or denied. I don’t understand bureaucratic stuff or government paperwork. When I don’t let that be an excuse and I still try to be compliant and take my time and learn it’s not beneficial to me, I only learn that I am stupid and do things wrong and the people in charge are just like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ deep breaths. I just needed to vent. Sometimes things go right. I don’t like to complain. I don’t like to victimize myself. At the end of the day I’m just scared of not being able to take care of myself and that’s where this frustration comes from. Thanks for listening

[slowpoke272]

“when you finish saving the world” by jesse eisenberg

finished: july 13, 2023

i’m not sure what brought me to add this audiobook to my queue, to be honest. i guess i do like jesse eisenberg, and i was interested to see what he had to comment on society, but this was pretty much exactly what i thought it would be. jesse seems kinda dorky but with good intent and subpar execution, which was reflected in this tale. this was written as an audiobook first and then was adapted in film in 2022. i had never heard of the movie but i would give it a chance, i guess, if it were free and i had extra time to kill. i would be interested to see what the whole point of the story was, from a cinematic perspective, and it appears that the film relies heavily on ziggy. is the dad even in the film?

there are some really solid elements here and some really great ideas sprinkled in an otherwise completely forgettable and pointless story. i’m not sure if story is even really fitting here. i don’t mean to be brutal but i honestly am not sure of the point of this whole thing was. on one hand, i deeply enjoy getting things out of chronological order, i like having numerous narratives/perspectives, but ultimately none of the characters had me rooting for them or anything they stood for. maybe ziggy.

it starts off with a disconnected father, who just seems uninterested in everything except his work and burying himself in technical things, or something. he doesn’t seem to have any real identity or hobbies even. at least an alcoholic asshole father would have some personality. it’s hard to feel any sympathy for this man because he just seems to be whining about why his life is the way it is when he is entirely not a victim and living out the life he chose. he also clearly doesn’t want to be a father, we get that loud and clear. talking as if to a therapist is also super cheesy, and i get what eisenberg was going after here, but it just came off so manufactured to me. i’m sorry jesse but good job creating a boring character nobody cares about.

next, we get the son’s perspective, ziggy. i think my favorite parts were within ziggy’s “sessions,” which are essentially his punishment for hitting a kid at school. ziggy shares some common coming of age angst, and some of it is a big over-the-top, but at least it’s relatable. ziggy gets really whiny and overuses the “futuristic” slang and we’re generally just beat to death with the fact that this is taking place in the distant future. jesse, my man. are we on the same planet? are we in the same society? i mean, 2032 is a bit away but it’s not that far away, my dude. haven’t we learned anything from back to the future, the jetsons, and other futuristic tropes? we’re just not that smart or cohesive as a society to have things like robotic therapy and universal basic income. i would love for everyone to make a living wage and to be receiving therapy, but there is no way any of this could be a reality by 2032. ziggy postulates the kind of rhetoric that feels unfinished and unrealistic to a liberal like me but is likely to disappoint and otherwise “trigger” anyone who doesn’t think like a liberal... and for what purpose, i’m not sure. isn’t this supposed to be about the characters and their relationship with one another? it feels like ziggy’s future is supposed to be a character on its own. when ziggy’s crush challenges him regarding morality and capitalism, then it feels like we might be getting somewhere, but ultimately it doesn’t go anywhere and this is the last of the family as we know it. ziggy complains about his parents but we don’t hear from them currently and we have no idea if they’re even still together or have worked things out. i can understand trying to keep the topics separate with the characters, but again i just don’t think this was executed well enough and it just feels unfinished.

then, finally, we get rachel. this woman we’ve heard so much about and is such a humanitarian, so much that it actually bothers her teenage son down the road. she’s also been incredibly hurt by the loss of her first love, and this becomes the focal point of rachel’s tapes, which are voice messages to her lover who is serving overseas in the military. like nathan and ziggy, rachel starts off manageable but then becomes like an exaggerated caricature and it’s borderline cringe. she starts off so enthusiastic about school and life, but in months’/a semesters’ time, suddenly becomes completely distant from her friend group, studies, and is no longer interested in studying psychology at all. don’t get me wrong, this sort of thing does happen all the time in higher education, especially those that whisk themselves away to a new place and end up biting off more than they can chew, and it can happen that fast but... idk. rachel just seems really, really naïve. her last message she has a plan that doesn’t seem very mature or realistic and we never get to hear what exactly happened to her beloved and how she coped with it. we also don’t know how she met nathan and she’s so enamored with her current dude that it seems pretty sad to think back on how much nathan adores her. we don’t get to hear from her as a mother or as a wife so it’s kind of just like hearing someone’s thoughts before the most traumatic thing happens to them... but no resolution. also, rachel becomes super solemn in her last entry and pivots to becoming anti-education, pro-war, pro-military, and it just feels very unbelievable that this all happened in one academic year. was rachel on qan*n all year?

i should state that i really do like the cast of jesse eisenberg, finn wolfhard, and kaitlyn dever so i definitely wanted to like this for them... but honestly i think the roles were really limiting for all three of them, though at least finn is just playing a whiny teenager. i wish there was some point or some depth or something to grab onto here at all, but it feels like this was made for a middle school level pupil at best, to illustrate how three people have three different sets of morals, values, and motivations. i’m just not really sure what the point of any of this was.

well, that’s over. next.

rating: 4/10 experienced some good qualities and moments in an otherwise forgettable tale, would not recommend

[ladyamanda123]

I mean I don’t think any fans would complain about an extra era being added and the concert being longer. But I’m sure performing that show is EXHAUSTING. Can she physically add more to it than us already there?

I saw a theory that what if she sprinkles TTPD throughout, adding songs into different eras where they potentially fit. The manuscript indicates a looking back to move forward so maybe these songs actually fit into the other eras. Everyone assumes they are from the last couple years. But seeing as this is a giant ass therapy session it would make more sense that these tracks span her whole career not just the last year or two. When you start doing the work to heal and move on from trauma you end up opening lots of old wounds you ignored and set aside for years. Now they have to be dealt with. Maybe that’s how she will bring TTPD into the tour. And then any songs she doesn’t include that way could come in as surprise songs.

Do you think she will actually change the set list for the Eras tour?

I am seeing her in June and don’t know how to feel about that. I am ok with her adding to the set list but not removing any of the other eras.

I think the evidence (from her recent YouTube short) points to a new TTPD set.

If this new addition comes at the cost of removing existing songs off of the setlist, that would be a great tragedy.

I guess we’ll know in less than a fortnight.

[specialagentsergio]

rationalizations

rationalizations: a defense mechanism in which one makes up a false but reassuring explanation to explain their behavior and/or feelings to both themselves and others, thus avoiding the reality of why they are really acting or feeling as they do.

summary: You’re the psych evaluation for Spencer. You think he’s full of shit, so you refuse to sign his clearance form until he actually tells the truth.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

category: angst (happy ending)

content warnings: spencer’s canonical trauma, flashbacks, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation, swearing

a/n: i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins‘ enemies to lovers event. it’s not my favorite trope, but one of the prompts sparked inspiration for me. i also took a good amount of inspiration from meredith’s various therapy scenes in grey’s anatomy, so if some of it feels familiar, that’s why! i swear i intended to make this cute and funny, but, well… here we are lmao.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

Spencer throws his bag onto his desk with a frustrated huff. It thumps loudly, startling JJ at her desk across from his. She gives him a sympathetic look regardless. “Still not cleared yet?”

“No!” Forgetting that it’s wheeled, he drops himself into his chair. It skids backwards and he has to scramble to grab something to keep from falling out of it.

“Careful there,” JJ says, trying valiantly to suppress a laugh. “That psychologist's got you really worked up, huh?”

“I don’t know what she wants from me!” he complains. “It’s been nearly a month! Hotch’s ex-wife was murdered by an unsub, but they cleared him. I was only shot in the neck.”

“I mean, that’s still kind of a big deal,” she says. “You could’ve died, from the gunshot, or from the nurse that tried to kill you afterwards.”

“Speaking of that nurse,” he starts, “Garcia is the one who shot him and she’s been a wreck over it. She insisted on going to the guy’s execution. But the therapist cleared her!”

“Penelope’s not in the field,” JJ points out.

He crosses his arms. “Still. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. That possibility is part of the job. It’s not like it came out of nowhere and I was completely unprepared for it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spence,” she says. “Just keep all of your appointments and I’m sure you’ll be cleared soon.”

He pulls a stack of papers on his desk towards him. Paperwork—one of the things he’s actually allowed to do. “I better be,” he mutters.

---

“And it was really scary, you know?” Spencer wipes at his eyes with a tissue. “Not knowing if I was going to live or die.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He takes a deep breath. “But… it’s over now. The preacher who shot me died in the same shootout. Owen McGregor, the leader of the corrupt deputies, died later that night, in another shootout. And Greg Baylor, the one who posed as a nurse and tried to kill me, was sentenced to death row and he’s gone now, too.”

His psychologist makes a note on the paper in front of her, but doesn’t say anything, so he continues.

“I… I feel better now, just letting that out.” He takes a new tissue and dries his nose. “I feel ready now. Ready to go back to work.”

She nods slowly, considering him. But she doesn’t even look towards her desk where the clearance form sits, frustrating him to no end. After five minutes of silence, he breaks.

“You can’t be serious.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve been coming to these sessions for over a month, and I’m still not cleared to be in the field. I…” He musters up more tears and makes sure his voice wavers during his next words. “I just don’t know what you want? I’ve tried everything.”

“No, you haven’t,” she says plainly.

He blinks in surprise, sending some of the crocodile tears down his cheeks. “What?”

She crosses her legs. “You’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not being honest with me, and I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself either,” she says. “You’re a great actor. I can see how you’ve gotten clearances easily before. But that stops with me.”

Spencer stares at her. “I don’t understand.”

She moves her notebook to the side. “What happened in Texas isn’t the first time your life’s been in danger. Why do you think that is?”

“Wh—that’s part of my job,” he argues, fake crying long since forgotten.

“Not to the extent that you take it. I’ve read your file,” she says. “You take unnecessary risks with regularity.”

The tissues crumple in his hand as he clenches it. “I do not.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

“Of your career.” Yet she doesn’t take out his file, or look at her notes. She speaks from memory. “2005. The BAU is assisting with a hostage situation. You go into the train, posing as someone who is there to remove a microchip from the unsub, but the first thing you do? You take off your bulletproof vest.”

“Okay, clearly you don’t understand what the situation was,” Spencer cuts in. “Ted Bryar was suffering from a psychotic break. He was somewhat unpredictable, and he told me to take off the vest.”

“And you just listened?”

“He—he had a gun, and was threatening both me and the other passengers with it!” he says. “What was I supposed to do, not listen?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replies. “You easily played into his delusions just a few minutes later to distract him. Why not do that to keep yourself safe?”

“I was twenty-four and was running on adrenaline,” he says defensively. “And it was my first time doing something like that. You can’t expect me to think of everything.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” she agrees. “So let’s jump forward a few years. How about the time you approached a teenager who was wielding an assault rifle with no protection, not even your own firearm?” she challenges.

“You mean Owen Savage? That was a unique situation,” he protests. “I knew I could talk him down.”

“No, you didn’t. You thought you had a good chance, but there’s no way to be one hundred percent sure of that. He was volatile, and on a killing spree,” she counters. “You didn’t know if you’d succeed--”

“I did!” He startles himself by unconsciously raising his voice, but he doesn’t apologize. “I did, because….”

“Because you related to him,” she fills in. “And that’s fine. Having empathy for an unsub doesn’t suggest something’s wrong in and of itself. But you still put yourself, and the rest of your team, in danger, didn’t you?”

He crosses his arms. “I got that lecture from Hotch when it happened, okay?”

“So then why’d you confront an unsub alone a few years later in Miami?” she asks. “You didn’t even tell anyone where you were going. You left your vest behind and just ran off.”

“I was having a head—wait, how do you even know that happened?” he questions. “It wasn’t in the report.”

“Well, first of all, you just confirmed it,” she points out, and he wants to kick himself. “Secondly, I can read between the lines.”

“I was having a headache,” he repeats. “I wasn’t thinking all that clearly. I just knew Julio’s life was in immediate danger, so I went to help him.”

“Uh-huh. More recently,” she says, brushing past his excuse, “You confronted your girlfriend’s stalker without your vest or gun.”

Spencer’s getting angry now. “I was trying to save Maeve. She asked me to leave them behind.”

“And you simply listened. Do you see the pattern I’m drawing here, Dr. Reid?” she asks. “These are just a few of the instances that stand out. Time and time again, you put yourself in unnecessary danger. So I’ll ask you again. Why do you think that is?”

Spencer looks over her—really looks over her, trying to understand what she’s getting at. “Are… are you suggesting that I’m suicidal?” he asks quietly.

She looks him straight in the eye. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

It’s like she set off a bomb in his brain. Memories, and the feelings attached to them, emerge—Elle handcuffed to a seat, a teenager with a rifle, a blinding headache, Maeve and blood on the warehouse floor.

“Here’s what I see,” she says. “I see a man who’s been through so, so much. Your mother is mentally ill, your father left--”

His father is packing a suitcase. Spencer doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say, so he falls back on what he knows.

“Statistically, children who grow up in two-parent households attain three more years of higher education than children from single-parent households.”

It doesn’t help. “We’re not statistics, Spencer.”

“Your file says she’s staying at an institution, and with your father out of the picture, I can only assume you were the one who had her admitted--”

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me!” she cries as she’s escorted out of the house by Bennington Sanitarium’s transport staff.

“A few years into your work here at the FBI, you were kidnapped, tortured and drugged--”

He’s tired and cold and his whole body aches. Tobias—the real Tobias—looms over him with a syringe.

“Please. I don’t want it,” he pleads of his captor. “I don’t want it, please.”

The needle punctures his skin regardless.

“—you were held hostage by a cult leader--”

Emily sits across from him on the plane with a black eye. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault.”

He pretends to agree.

“—you went through the death and reappearance of Agent Prentiss--”

He’s tried to make it clear to Jennifer that he wants to be left alone, but she won’t stop trying to talk about it with him, and he’s had enough.

“I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

“—and your girlfriend was shot in front of you.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton? Who is he?” Diane demands, gun pressed against Maeve’s head.

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve replies, and Spencer’s heart drops. Thomas Merton is Maeve’s way of saying goodbye—she’s giving up.

“Wait!” he cries out, but it’s too late.

“This is just some of the more traumatic stuff. And then there’s what happened last month, which is why you’re here. You present a face of not being bothered by all of this, because that’s what you’ve been doing all your life, but I think you are bothered. You really, really are. And you don’t want to admit to anyone just how much it all has affected you. Maybe you don’t even want yourself to know.” Her expression and tone of voice are certain.

Spencer can’t take it anymore. The whirlwind of emotions and memories is overwhelming.

“The number of times you’ve almost died is staggering--”

“Yeah, and sometimes I wish I had!” He glares at her, breathing heavily. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

But she doesn’t seem intimidated or alarmed at all. She leans back in her armchair. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The response only serves to make him angrier. She questioned him relentlessly and made him admit something he swore in the dark hours of sleepless nights that he’d never think again, never voice, let alone admit to anyone. She forced it out of him, forced. She made him say it against his will.

So why does he feel a sense of relief?

“I…” Tears well up in his eyes—real ones this time. “I’m done,” he chokes out.

He pushes himself off of the couch and out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

---

He storms in Hotch’s office and demands to see a different psychologist. But she was one step ahead of him—a few hours before the appointment, she had emailed Hotch and told him that under no circumstances should Spencer be allowed to get a clearance from someone else.

“And you’re going to believe her?” he cries.

“She’s doing her job, Reid.”

“You barely know her! You’ve known me for a decade!”

“Yes, I have,” Hotch agrees. “And you’ve told me yourself that you’ve fooled psychologists and therapists before. So if this one is saying you’re not ready yet, I’m inclined to believe her.”

Spencer just stares at him, but as usual, Hotch doesn’t blink.

“Unbelievable,” Spencer eventually mutters.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Hotch replies, glancing down at fists Spencer hadn’t realized he was clenching.

“Fine.”

Too agitated to stand in the elevator, he takes the stairs. As he stomps down them, he swears he’ll never go back to her office, even if it means never going into the field again.

A week passes, then two, and he hasn’t seen the psychologist since. But he doesn’t feel any better—he actually feels worse. It’s like her words broke a dam in his mind, in his gut, and feelings of unease and uncertainty won’t pass. It keeps him up at night. Her words echo in his head. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

Spencer’s had yet another sleepless night and is struggling not to doze off at his desk despite the coffee he’s drinking. He stands up with the intention of splashing some water from the bathroom sink on his face, but his feet take him somewhere else.

He stares at the nameplate on the door. He swore he’d never go back, yet he feels compelled to knock.

It only takes her a few moments to answer. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?” she asks.

“I…” He sighs. “Are you busy?”

“No. Come on in.” She steps to the side, opening the door wider to let him pass. He sits down on the couch.

She waits patiently. She doesn’t rush him. She lets him speak first.

He wrings his hands in his lap, staring down at them. “Something you said is bothering me.”

“What was it?”

“About… living,” he admits quietly. “I… I think you might have been right.”

When he gets the courage to glance up at her, he finds a soft smile on her face. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Spencer hadn’t realized he was expecting judgment and disdain until it didn’t happen. His shoulders slump down in relief. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I would.”

---

“You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Spencer looks up from his paperwork, slightly out of it, to find Derek watching him. His coworker had, indeed, caught him thinking about her again. His psychologist. Well, former psychologist. After his second session back with her, she’d handed over a clearance form and a referral to a therapist outside the bureau to see long-term.

“And you better follow up with that,” she’d told him, the corner of her mouth turning up despite her serious tone of voice. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

He’d promised that he would, and had followed through. But despite the progress he was making with the new therapist, he was feeling a little disappointed that he didn’t get to see her anymore. He only saw her in passing, sometimes in the elevator or walking down the hallways of the building. They would exchange hellos, she would ask how he was doing, then give him a little wave as she left. Each time his heart would skip a beat, and he’d feel an urge to follow her to wherever she was going.

Yet he hadn’t quite realized why he seemed to be preoccupied with her until a dream he had a few weeks ago—a dream in which he found himself kissing her. Despite being alone in his bedroom, he’d woken up feeling embarrassed. He promised himself that he would put her out of his mind. Having a crush on his psychologist? It was ridiculous.

But then he saw her in the elevator a few days later and he couldn’t help but analyze her body language. It was open, and she twirled her hair around a finger while she looked at him to ask him how he was. A few other people entered the elevator on the next floor, but her attention remained on him. They were subtle signs, but signs that he recognized nonetheless—signs of attraction. And once he started seeing them, he couldn’t stop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer tells Derek, picking back up the pen he hadn’t noticed he dropped.

“You can’t pull that on me, kid,” he replies. “It’s your psychologist. You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?”

Spencer sighs. “So what if I can’t?”

“So go ask her out already!” Derek says like it’s obvious.

“You don’t think that’s just a little inappropriate?”

“You’re not seeing her as a client anymore, are you?” he points out. “Go for it, kid. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Spencer takes the advice—as soon as Derek said it, he knew he was right. He would regret not taking a chance on her and the connection he felt. Sure, she’d helped him with therapy, but it went deeper than that. It feels like she knows him.

He leaves the bullpen ten minutes early that evening, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day. On her doorstep, he feels just as nervous as he did on the day he admitted that she was right, but it’s a different kind of nervous. An excited nervous. He knocks on the door.

She’s surprised when she seems him. He watches as her pupils dilate, and it boosts his confidence. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?”

“You can. I’d like to talk,” he says.

“Oh. Well, I guess I could do that,” she says. “I thought things were going well with the therapist I referred you to, though.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean I want an appointment.”

Her eyebrows come together in confusion. “Okay, then, what do you want?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I really like you, and I think we’re meant to be together,” he replies, voice softening a bit.

She pauses before answering. When she does, her voice is gentle. “Dr. Reid, sometimes a medical professional’s care can start to feel like affection over a period of time, but--”

“No one has ever listened to me like you do,” he interrupts.

“That’s my job,” she points out.

“I’ve seen therapists before, but none of them have been like you,” he counters. “You understand me.”

She sighs. “Well, I’m glad I was a good fit and was able to help you. But that doesn’t mean that I see you as anything more than a client.”

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do feel something more for me,” he says firmly, but then backtracks a little. “Well, I know you’re attracted to me at least.”

She blinks and shakes her head slightly, take aback. “Dr. Reid, this is not appropriate--”

“Please call me Spencer,” he says, then jumps into his explanation. “See, when we’re attracted to someone, our bodies display involuntary signals, and I’ve seen you do some of them when you’re around me. Whenever we run into each other here, your body will turn a little towards me and you’ll play with your hair. Your attention is almost entirely focused on me. And, when you see me, your pupils dilate. They did it when you opened the door just a few minutes ago. Oh, and I’m attracted to you, by the way,” he adds as he realizes how one-sided he’s been. “I imagine my pupils probably dilate when I see you, too.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like she wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say. She looks flustered, and he wonders if maybe he’s pushed it too far or said too much, but he can’t turn back now. “So, please, let me take you out,” he says quietly. “Just… just give it a chance.”

She bites her lip and looks at the ground. There’s a crease between her eyebrows, which he’s come to learn means she’s thinking. She speaks seriously when she looks back up. “If I go out with you, I can’t treat you anymore. If you ever need another evaluation or session, you’d have to get it from someone else.”

“I know,” he says. “I get along well with the therapist you referred me to, though. And having to get clearance from a different psychologist at the bureau is something I’m willing to give up in favor of getting to know you better.”

She considers him. “You’re serious about this,” she states.

It’s not a question, but he answers it anyways. “I am.”

She tilts her head to the side, eyes unfocusing as she ponders the situation. Eventually, she says, “Let me think about it.”

It’s not exactly the answer he was hoping for, but he’ll take it.

---

It’s only six PM, but Spencer is already exhausted. He unlocks his apartment door, fully intending to collapse onto his bed, but instead receives a pleasant surprise in the form of his girlfriend waiting for him on the couch. He can’t help but smile.

“Sweetie, what are you doing here?” he asks, then adds, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Penelope told me it was a bit of a rough case,” she replies. “And I missed you.”

She holds out her arms and he takes the invitation, joining her on the couch and laying down between her legs, placing his head on her chest. “I missed you, too.”

Her next words are overly familiar. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hey, we agreed to no therapy,” he says. “Something about I can’t be your client anymore?”

She huffs. “This isn’t therapy. This is being a good partner.”

Spencer smiles into the fabric of her shirt, snuggling in closer. “I know, I’m just teasing you. I don’t need to talk about the case,” he says, finally answering her original question. “I feel fine now that I’m here with you.”

She lets out a pleased hum and starts running her fingers through his hair. “I ordered take-out for dinner, by the way.”

“Where from?”

“You know where.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. She must have ordered take-out from the restaurant he took her to on their first date. He lifts his head to look her in the eye. “Aren’t you glad you said yes to me all those months ago?”

“Oh, I suppose,” she says with pretend annoyance, rolling her eyes.

Then she kisses him.

Spencer’s never been so happy to be alive.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

please note that i DO NOT ENDORSE asking out your therapist/former therapist. this is fanfiction. thank you.

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​