#my therapist says i need to share more often

[amadwinter]

20 Question Fic Writer Tag

shamelessly stolen

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

30… somehow I published 27 fics this year yikes. And there will be more

2.) What's your ao3 word count? 

216,689; 167,675 written this year

3.) What fandoms do you write for? 

Star Wars, almost exclusively. Hoping to finish my one Marvel WIP but all the others on my hard drive will probably remain in the graveyard. Might get around to some HP stuff again at some point

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

An Unorthodox Courtship, won't stop to surrender, the thrill of the fall, you can't just leave me, will you give in to me? (not counting my Marvel WIP whoops)

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I TRY but damn I’m bad at it

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Maybe monsters begetting monsters? Or please and thank you. There’s a real pattern I have for hurting Obi-Wan. Special mention to always for it being angst-y in a non Dead Dove way.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

An Unorthodox Courtship, hands down. There’s no Palpatine, no more war, they’re together, they’re allowed to be together, and they’re happy and expecting babies. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Shockingly, no. I’m extremely surprised, given some of the things I've written.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

A million flavors of M/M. And like one F/M but it was incest so that tracks.

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Only one! I wrote a Marvel/Star Trek crossover in a haze on my phone (and I Never write on my phone) when I went to see Batman v. Superman in theatres. Strange time for inspiration to hit, but what can you do?

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Not really. It might be interesting to try some day!

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Of ALL time? That’s a difficult question. I’d have to say Kirk/Spock because that’s one I can keep coming back to years later. My tastes in media and shipping might have changed, but K/S is eternal.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

:( too many. There’s one Marvel fic that was a behemoth with 30k words written, which was maybe 5-10% of the outline. I fucking loved it. Time travel, Tony angst, Bucky was Tony’s PA for some reason… Unfortunately I fell out of love with the fandom, and, well. The summary was “In the year 2023, most of the superheroes of the universe have been deleted from existence and the rest gather to use time travel as a last resort to save reality”, which ended up being the plot of Endgame, so that killed the rest of my drive to write it.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

I can write a lot of words. Now, are they good words? *shrug*

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I don’t know how to objectively analyze my own writing, and I don’t know how to ask for con crit.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I do it and I probably shouldn’t. It’s easier for readers to not have to deal with the translations, but I can’t help myself sometimes

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Oh fuck wrote and put online? I can’t remember what drivel I put on deviantART back in middle school, but I do remember writing on the Assassin’s Creed Kink Meme when that was a thing, so that might be it. Warrior Cats might be a safe assumption otherwise.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

PROCEED WITH CAUTION because I had fun writing it start to finish, and it’s probably the least serious fic I’ll ever be able to write because I am TERRIBLE at it

[reasonsforhope]

"The average pediatric wheelchair can cost thousands of dollars. And when children grow and their needs evolve — or a wheelchair gets damaged — those costs multiply.

So, the team at MakeGood NOLA, a New Orleans-based adaptive design lab, has made something that can transform the world for disabled children.

“Introducing the world’s first fully 3D-printed wheelchair,” MakeGood founder and president Noam Platt started a recent social media video.

He wheels a small, almost toy-like lime-green wheelchair into the frame, complete with a matching harness, suitable for children ages 2 to 8.

“Everything from the body, to the wheels, to the tires, the seat, and even the straps, all were 3D printed on a regular Bambu Labs A1 machine,” Platt continued.

This means the design is fully compatible with a regular 3D printer anyone can have in their home.

“We designed this to be modular and easy to make,” Platt continued. “Really, anyone with a 3D printer and some filament can download the files and print it.” [Note: You can also use 3D printers for free or a small cost at some public libraries and maker spaces, opening up accessibility even further.]

Once the prototype is completely finished, it will be available as a fair-use download that anyone can use for free.

Pictured: The new 3D-printed chair by MakeGood. Photo courtesy of MakeGood NOLA

Platt said that because it has a modular design, the wheelchair can be put together without any tools or glue. And if any part of it breaks or is damaged, users can simply re-print the single piece they need.

“As a wheelchair user I love everything about this,” TikTok user @thisisharlie commented on Platt’s video debuting the wheelchair.

“Mine costs more than my car, I can’t imagine having to buy a new one every year or two as they outgrow it,” @thisisharlie continued. “You’re going to change the world.”

For Platt, that’s always been the plan.

When he created MakeGood in 2021, the nonprofit design lab was thinking of the more than 1 billion people around the globe who live with disabilities.

“Since traditional design often overlooks diverse bodies and minds, it is crucial to reshape the built environment,” MakeGood shares on its website. “The challenges our communities face — both physical and social — are solvable.”

MakeGood works with individuals to co-create their adaptive design solutions, centering the “Need Knower,” the disabled person or their primary caregivers, throughout the entire process.

Since the founding of MakeGood, 1,600 individualized adaptive devices have been delivered to families for free. Platt’s team found a niche with this wheelchair, which they call the Toddler Mobility Trainer, or TMT. 

On its website, the organization says the wheelchairs were “designed with therapists from all over the world” and offer “unmatched mobility and independence to young kids.”

Children and parents agree.

“It’s an A+,” one parent said of an earlier prototype of the TMT in a report by CBS News. “It’s helped [my son] become more mobile and be able to adapt into the other things that he’s going to be offered. It’s helped his development.”

At the start of the design process, Platt reached out to area hospitals to see if he could fill a need.

“Part of it is empowering clinicians that we can go beyond what is commercially available,” Platt told CBS News. “We can really create almost anything.”

Now in the final stages of tweaking the TMT design to be ready for release, Platt is eager to get the wheelchair rolled out and into the homes of the children who need them most.

Pictured: A rendering of the 3D printed design, which will soon be available for download. Photo courtesy of MakeGood NOLA

“We think this sort of 3D printing and design is going to be huge for accessibility, and for wheelchairs specifically,” Platt said in his social media video. 

In the meantime, people can request a free chair from MakeGood.

“We have a growing list of people who’ve requested these, and once we finish the design, we’ll start filling those requests with custom-printed chairs, including things that you might need for your particular chair,” Platt said in a follow-up video.

Because the chairs are easily 3D printed, they can come in any color and can be modified to include other accommodations, like a section to hold a breathing device or other aid. With years of customization and design experience under his belt, this new innovation is simply an extension of Platt’s dedication to inclusive design.

In 2023, Platt told New Mobility: “I feel like every time I deliver one of these [assistive] devices, I get a hopeful feeling that the world has been changed a little bit for the better for the next generation.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, May 8, 2025

[heartyluv]

Trigger/Content Warning: You will be comforted by Sylus and Rafayel after reminiscing on the SA you have experienced before they came into your life. Please do not continue if this triggers and or upsets you. You’re important. Your safety and well-being matters and will always be taken into account.

Note: Everyone, I want to take this time to warn you once again that this request does speak on SA, but in no way shape or form is anything graphic or being detailed. This is a request sent by my luvly, Venus, who is strong and willing to share her story. While this is strictly meant for comfort, your mental health matters and it is never my intention to trigger anyone. Please do not read if that is a possibility. Also, if you feel comfortable and are prepared well enough to read her request, please take the time to go ahead and —Click Here—, but proceed with caution and care as she gives a little insight into what she has experienced and what she is working through. You have been warned. Please be responsible for the media you choose to consume. I love you.

Sylus

When you began to space out and the second you randomly grew particularly silent, Sylus knew what was happening. The way your bright smile slowly began to dim. The way your quirky responses were late and not as clever. The way you began to pick at the skin on your fingers, wincing ever so slightly when your tugged a little too hard.

He has grown to read and understand you very, very well, but no matter how many times he has approached this scenario, he will always treat it like it’s his first because of how different a reaction can be and vary.

You had rare occasions where the memories of the person you once trusted, the one who hurt and violated you, would flood your mind at the most random and inopportune moments. It would paralyze you, no matter what you were doing. The amount of therapists you’ve seen, how much healing you’ve done—it was irrelevant. When it hit you, it hit.

Sometimes it didn’t need a trigger—most often than not, it didn’t have one. The brain could be cruel and beautiful, making you remember the worst times of your life and the best in the same day if it wanted to.

Right now though, it felt as if a train was sitting on your chest and like only Superman could get it off.

“Kitten,” Sylus calls to you softly, tilting his head to try and look into your eyes. The comedy movie you were once watching has turned into pointless noise for him now.

You register his voice last minute, taking a bated and incomplete deep breath before turning to look at his relaxed yet determined expression.

“You’re with me?” he asks with care, placing his hand on yours to ground you. You flinch a little at first and it breaks his heart.

“Contact or no contact?”

“Contact,” you whisper shakily. Sylus worked with you in the very beginning of your relationship to set and establish your boundaries, and to cultivate simple words and phrases to get you through times where it felt a little too hard to say more. Not once, nor will he ever, judge you. From day one, he has been by your side, being your rock in a process of uncertainty.

He stands and immediately squats down to be eye level to where you sit. He takes one of your hands in his and places the other right on your chest to where your heart beats.

“Remember what we do, hm?” he smiles delicately enough to show you how patient he is. To show you how patient and present he’ll always be.

You nod, sniffling and going on his count before you take your first real inhale. It’s not quick and has always felt like it takes far too long to get back into your own body. The exercise regulates your mind and reminds you that you are safe, that you are okay, that you no longer are being consistently pursued by a threat. And on bended knee, Sylus doesn’t falter, nor does he rush.

“We don’t have to say much, sweetie. You don’t have to say anything at all, in fact.”

“I’m so sorry…” you mumble, looking into his deep red eyes and feeling nothing but sadness that he has to deal with this.

“I have already told you that apologies for healing is never something you do. Your process is yours to experience, yours to conquer. It is not for anyone else to dictate. And as the man who loves you,” he brings your knuckles up to his lips to press a featherlight kiss. “I will be here for every step to make sure to come out stronger and happier on the other side.”

A tear falls down your cheek, but he makes quick work to catch it before it can mark you with anymore sorrow.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore, Sy… I’m so tired of feeling it…” You shake your head, looking down in your lap.

“Feelings are what makes us real, sweetie, but they do not make us. You’re stronger than anybody I’ve ever known and I’ve seen men take too many bullets to the body and survive.” He feels triumphant when the corner of your mouth lifts to welcome a gentle smile. He continues, his deep voice like a soothing melody to your ears. “That’s nothing compared to the strength that surges inside of you. If it takes you a lifetime, I will be here for it, the next, and any after.”

“What have I done to deserve you?” When you give him your full attention again, his heart rushes with the familiar urge to protect you. To heal you.

“It’s a question I ask myself all the time. What has a man like myself done to earn someone as benevolent as you?”

“Oh, Sy…” you lean forward, relaxing when his strong arm wraps around you to place you in that security blanket only he can give. “I love you. So, so much.”

“As do I, kitten. I love you with every breath.” His hand runs down your back carefully. “What do you say I take you out for a sweet treat? Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“And everything.”

“I’d like that.”

He gets your permission before kissing your forehead. “As would I.”

Rafayel

You didn’t mean to start crying as you waited for Rafayel in his studio. The longer you stood staring at his works in progress in silence, the more your mind felt like it was apparently necessary to let the painful memories of your past creep into your psyche.

Looking at his grand piece with silhouettes touching as if they were separated between two worlds did nothing but make you remember all the times you were touched in ways you never wanted. It made you remember when you once felt as if you were on another plane because too many would believe the trusted individual over your desperate cries for help, over your need for them to trust and hear you.

When the emotions almost became too much, it was the same time that your boyfriend arrived. Quickly, you tried to wipe away the evidence of your feelings off your wet cheeks, but he knew you too well to not recognize that there was something wrong before he even got the chance to see your face.

“Don’t hide from me, cutie,” he said as his footsteps grew closer. When he was near, from behind, one of his warm hands gently took hold of your wrist to stop the movements that worked to erase your tears. Carefully he rounds you, his purple hair falling into his studying gaze.

“I am only much help when you talk to me, bub. Please help me to understand what has you so troubled.” He gives you space, not rushing you to speak faster than what you’re ready for.

“I just—” You inhale sharply, swallowing the dreadful lump in your throat. “My past. The part of it that hurts too much to think about…I’m thinking about it.”

He purses his lips at the way you seem to try and shrug it off, like what you say is unimportant. His long slender fingers trace your knuckles. “Have I, anything, or anyone, done something to trigger you?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” He hates when you do that, when you try to undermine yourself and your feelings in an effort to “protect” others. He’s told you too many times before that you can be selfish with him.

“Hm.” His hands wrap around yours. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not worrying. I’m trying to correct and to become better aware to protect you and your mind.”

“That’s never been your burden to carry, Raf…”

“Being a help to my muse and my lover, will never be a burden. I’ve told you that, no?”

You huff out a breath with a nod, licking your lips in preparation before reluctantly pointing at the piece that rests on the floor against the wall. He follows the direction in which you have shown him.

“My piece has disturbed you?” He sounds defeated and ashamed. Like he should’ve known better.

“No, no!” you rush. “It was more so me…putting my trauma onto your work. It was never your fault.”

A brief moment passes as he stares down at the art that no longer matters to him. “Why don’t you reclaim it?”

“What do you mean?”

Rafayel lifts the canvas to place it on an easel before grabbing paint brushes and dotting globs of colorful pastels onto an art pallet. “Like we’ve done with your mind and body, we’ve given you back the power over both. We worked to make you feel like you have agency again, and to feel confident in that reality, despite the trauma. Take what I have and make this art yours.”

With wide eyes, you hesitantly accept what he’s giving you. “I can’t destroy your work.”

“Your hands don’t have the ability to destroy, cutie. Not in my world.” He smiles as he guides you to stand before the thing that troubled you. “You can only take control.”

Behind you once more, he helps you dip the wet brush in a random color before smearing it against the once finished product. “And I will be here to support you, to guide you if you need me.”

Your eyes burn with tears the entire time when he stays right where you need him for the next hour.

Rather than the painting representing something so painful, it becomes a mesmerizing homage to the love you have with Rafayel. What once seemed like two strangers, is now a representation of the strong unity you have with the angel like man holding your fist as it works to move the brush until you’re satisfied with the result.

“Thank you, Raf,” you say softly, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you tilt your head back. “I love you. Thank you for loving me.��

“Thank yourself first, pretty. It’s your perseverance that keeps you golden. I’m just here to make sure that light never dims.”

He kisses the side of your head while you two stare at your creation in comfortable silence. “And I love you, too. Know that it will always be greater than any ocean and stronger than any wave. Far greater.”

A/N: I can only hope that I’ve done this the justice it deserves. For anyone who can relate to this, please know and understand that you will always be stronger than you know. Know that you are believed, that you are loved, that you are golden. ❤️

Creds to @/omi-resources for the dividers!

[steddieas-shegoes]

It’s been done in every which way but Eddie being in an accident of some kind that leaves him paralyzed, but his doctors believe he could walk again with intense physical therapy

He’s stubborn and absolutely hasn’t dealt with any of the trauma of the accident and takes it out on his physical therapist, Steve, who is used to patients being pretty angry about their situation

He always meets Eddie where he is though, tries to keep a smile on his face and joke when appropriate and even shares his cookies from his lunchbox with him

Eventually, Eddie starts making some progress, but instead of being happy about it, he panics and cancels all his PT appointments for the week

Steve tries calling, texting, emailing, doing everything he can to encourage him to keep going, but it all goes unanswered until Gareth, one of Eddie’s closest friends, calls him on Eddie’s phone

He’s depressed and he won’t get out of bed, he’s given up. He’s tired of being in pain and having to try to so hard just to move his damn legs a little

Steve isn’t usually this personal with clients, and tells Gareth he can’t discuss anything medical with him due to patient confidentiality, but insists he should try to drag him to the office the next day before it opens

And somehow, probably through guilt, Gareth manages to wheel a very sullen and grumpy Eddie into the side door entrance to the office at seven in the morning

Steve tells him to come back in an hour to pick him up and Eddie ignores the goodbye Gareth says to him

And Steve pretends nothing is wrong at all, goes through the usual temperature and blood pressure check, asks how he’s feeling and gets a grunt in response, asks if there’s any pain and gets an eye roll

But Eddie met his match in Steve because Steve then pushes him to the center of the workout room, where a large mat is out and a walker is set to the side

“What’s that?”

“Your walker.”

“I don’t need one seeing as I can’t fucking walk.”

“You are today.”

And Steve knows he’s pushing and he hates being pushy

But he knows what his clients are capable of, and he knows without a single doubt in his mind that Eddie is ready to use the walker for five to ten minute increments. He has the leg strength and the stubbornness, he just needs the belief in himself

“Do you want me to hurt myself worse?”

“Of course not. And if you get tired, the seat on the walker is right there. But you can walk and you will walk.”

“And if I call Gareth to come get me right now?”

“Then I don’t believe my services are of value to you anymore and I’ll wish you the best.”

It pained Steve to say it because he knew he was fucking good at what he did, maybe the best in town. His clients often had to wait for his availability to open for weeks or months at a time because of how many people were referred to him

But he said the right thing because Eddie huffed, groaned, and cursed under his breath before wheeling himself to the edge of the mat to hold onto the walker

He pulled himself up

His legs were shaking from not being used for the last few days more than the bare minimum, but his determination was clear

Steve slowly pulled the chair away as Eddie unlocked the brakes of the walker and glared at Steve as he took one step, then two

Sure, he was relying pretty heavily on the walker, maybe more than Steve would’ve liked to see, but he was moving

He made it across the mat and then locked the brakes, sat down on the pad on the walker, and gave a sarcastic grin to Steve

“Happy?”

“Are you?”

And maybe Eddie wasn’t ready to be asked that because he was suddenly sobbing, covering his face as tears flowed down his cheeks

Steve gave him a few seconds before moving to kneel in front of him, pulling his hands away

“You deserve to have your life back, Eddie. You’ve been lucky to have the chance to walk again. Let’s not waste it, okay?”

Eddie spent the rest of the session walking across the mat and taking breaks every two minutes or so

It was better than Steve even expected, but he reminded Eddie not to do too much at once

Eddie didn’t miss any more appointments with Steve, and every appointment, he seemed to be more charming and flirty, more like “the old Eddie” according to Gareth, who drove him most days

Steve never admitted it out loud, but he knew what he felt for Eddie was different from other clients. It felt more personal, and it felt like it could be more someday

When Eddie graduated to a cane, Steve’s services were officially no longer needed

And Eddie decided that he should probably take Steve out on a date

“Since I can walk and hold your hand now,” he winked.

Steve should say no, but he doesn’t

Because holding Eddie’s hand feels even more right as his boyfriend than it did as his physical therapist

[honeydippedfiction]

I need possesive Joe like instantly pleaseeee (“Tell me you’re mine.” “I don’t share.” “Your body is for my eyes only.”) maybe him and reader are in a situationship that's a bit toxic, but she also doesn't take his shit either (“Do you want me to see me try to make you jealous? Because I can do a lot better than this.” “It’s not my fault I’m so hot.” “Aw, baby, what do I need to do to prove I’m yours?” “I’ll wear whatever I want.” “Get off me.”). Or maybe i need to see a therapist...

Bestie we all love a bit of toxicity, especially here on this blog. I made this with LSU!Joe, I hope that's okay🩷

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

“Tell me you’re mine.” “I don’t share.” “Your body is for my eyes only.” “Do you want me to see me try to make you jealous? Because I can do a lot better than this.” “It’s not my fault I’m so hot.” “Aw, baby, what do I need to do to prove I’m yours?” “I’ll wear whatever I want.” “Get off me.”

LSU!Joe Burrow x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

There was never a version of LSU where Joe Burrow and Y/N weren’t going to collide.

He was him—the golden boy of Baton Rouge. Star quarterback. Game-changer. The kind of athlete who turned heads just by stepping onto the field. His jersey was sold out in the bookstore before the season even started. Professors knew his name. So did security guards. So did the line cooks at the campus dining hall. Joe had a swagger that could quiet a room and an arm that could command a stadium. Girls wanted him. Guys wanted to be him. Coaches treated him like prophecy in cleats.

And then there was Y/N.

A cheerleader, yes—but not the kind people expected to fade into the background behind pompoms and school spirit. She was all angles and attitude, sharp where others bent. Her presence was felt before it was seen. When she walked into a room, the air shifted—like even gravity paused to pay attention. Every flip she landed on the field was flawless. Every halftime performance was electric. And unlike some of the other girls, she didn’t care about the roster or the locker room whispers.

She didn’t chase players. She didn’t fall for the uniform. Which, naturally, made her the one Joe couldn’t ignore.

Their paths crossed often—too often for either of them to pretend it was accidental. Practices overlapped. Team functions blurred. Pep rallies turned into house parties, and house parties turned into whispered arguments behind closed doors. It started with banter, with the occasional stolen glance or smug compliment.

“Nice game, quarterback,” she’d toss at him after a win, her voice dripping with a challenge.

“Could say the same about your little stunt in the third quarter,” he’d fire back with a grin. “Almost made me miss the snap.”

The tension built fast—too fast. What was supposed to be casual turned complicated. What started as heat turned into something heavier, something murkier. Something they never dared to label.

They weren’t official. Not even close.

He hadn’t asked. She hadn’t offered.

But the way he’d show up at her apartment at 2 a.m. after practice, freshly showered, eyes tired but wanting—that said something. And the way she let him in every time, despite the games, despite the silences, despite the fact that he never stayed for breakfast—that said even more.

It was a situationship. Messy. Addictive. The kind of connection that burned hotter the more they denied it.

Sometimes, it was magnetic. Other times, it was volatile. It always danced the line between passion and chaos.

He liked to control things. She hated being controlled.

He liked her best when she was soft, when her defenses were down, when she let herself be vulnerable for five whole minutes. She liked him best when he was real—when the swagger dropped, when the mask cracked and she could see the boy underneath the legend.

But those moments were rare. Fleeting. Easily overshadowed by arguments that started too easily and ended too late. Still, they kept gravitating back toward each other. Like gravity. Like fate. Like fools.

And now—on this particular Thursday night—the tension that had been simmering all week was just about to boil over.

Y/N stood in her bedroom, surrounded by half-empty makeup palettes and the sweet scent of vanilla and cocoa butter. 

The golden hour sunlight poured through the narrow blinds of Y/N’s campus apartment, casting warm stripes across the floor and glinting off the edge of her vanity mirror. The apartment was modest—two bedrooms, wood floors, furniture they didn’t care enough to match—but it smelled like vanilla, cocoa butter, and the faint echo of coconut-scented body oil. Homey in a way most college apartments never managed to be.

A playlist thrummed lazily in the background, something upbeat and defiant—SZA, probably—bouncing off the white walls as Y/N danced around her bedroom in nothing but a cropped top and her favorite black mini skirt. It was a pregame ritual by now: music loud, gloss glossier, confidence sky-high. She wasn’t dressing for anyone in particular—definitely not for Joe—but damn if she didn’t look good.

She leaned closer to the mirror, lining her lips carefully. Her eyes flicked to the side as her phone vibrated on the dresser. A text from her best friend, Nia: Nia: “Pre-gaming at Lexi’s in 20. Bring that fine ass.”

Y/N smirked, typing back a quick “Bet”, then turned back to her reflection to assess the full effect.

The skirt hugged her hips perfectly. The top—cut just low enough to tease—clung to her curves like it had been made for her. She looked every inch the woman she was: confident, radiant, and absolutely untouchable.

And then the front door opened.

She barely heard the click before it slammed shut hard enough to rattle the keys on the hook by the entryway.

“Seriously?” Joe’s voice echoed through the apartment. “Why the hell is the door unlocked?”

Y/N didn’t turn around. She just rolled her eyes, uncapping her setting spray and giving her face a quick mist.

“Didn’t know you lived here now,” she called out, voice smooth, bored, sharp enough to cut glass.

She could hear the scowl in his footsteps before he even appeared in her doorway—heavy, fast, like he was already pissed off before he saw her. But once he did see her—really saw her—his entire demeanor changed.

Joe Burrow leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His LSU hoodie was slightly wrinkled, and his hair was messy like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. 

His eyes raked over every inch of her—starting at her thighs and lingering far too long on the way her top clung to her chest before snapping back to her lips. His brows pulled together, and she could already see it—the shift. The jealousy. The possessiveness.

And here we go, she thought.

“You wearing that out?” he asked.

It wasn’t really a question. More like a challenge. A warning.

She popped one hip, deliberately ignoring the fire behind his stare. “Yep.”

His gaze darkened. “You got other options.”

“And I chose this one,” she said coolly, turning to grab her earrings from the dresser.

Y/N didn’t even turn around. She kept her eyes locked on her reflection as she slid a hoop through one ear. “Didn’t realize I needed your approval.”

His voice dropped, lower now. More dangerous. “Your body is for my eyes only.”

That made her pause.

She blinked once, slow and deliberate, before finally turning to face him.

“You want to run that by me again?”

Joe’s jaw flexed. He wasn’t the yelling type—he didn’t need to be. His words were measured. Cold. Each one carefully loaded.

“You heard me.”

“Oh, I did,” she shot back, arms crossing under her chest. “And you’ve officially lost your mind.”

He took a step closer. “You don’t see the way guys look at you? They’re gonna be staring all night.”

“And?” she challenged, chin tilted. “Let them look.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You think that’s cute?”

She rolled hers. “Get off me, Joe. I’ll wear whatever the hell I want.”

That set him off.

In two quick strides, he was in front of her—close enough that she had to back up, her spine bumping into the edge of her vanity. He planted one hand on either side of her, caging her in. His body hovered over hers, all tension and heat and frustration barely held together under cotton and muscle.

“Look at me,” he said.

She didn’t.

“Y/N.” His voice was a warning now. Not loud. Just sharp.

So she looked up, locking eyes with him—and damn if she didn’t hate how it made her heart trip.

His gaze burned into her, jaw tight, voice low. “I don’t share.”

She stared up at him, unbothered. Or at least, she looked it.

“And I don’t do leash-wearing,” she shot back. “You want to mark your territory, Burrow? Put a ring on it.”

He didn’t blink. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Her laugh was quick and mocking. “Oh, that’s what this is about?”

Joe’s expression didn’t change, but something in his jaw twitched. He hated when she laughed at him. Hated when she didn’t take him seriously.

Y/N just rolled her eyes again, her attitude growing stronger in response to his.

“Do you want to see me try to make you jealous?” she asked, lifting a brow. “Because I can do a lot better than this.”

With that, she turned away from him like he wasn’t even there, grabbing her brush and running it through her curls with slow, practiced strokes.

Joe didn’t move. Not at first.

Then, with a frustrated exhale, he pushed off the vanity and walked to the bed, dropping down onto the edge with a heavy thump. He sat there, forearms resting on his thighs, eyes tracking her every move like he was watching game tape.

She didn’t have to look to know his jaw was clenched, his brows drawn in, his ego bruising.

She smirked into the mirror, lips curling with satisfaction.

“It’s not my fault I’m so hot,” she said sweetly, still brushing her hair.

Joe let out a dry, humorless laugh and shook his head. “Yeah? Real humble.”

Y/N pouted at him through the mirror, exaggerated and mock-sincere. “Aw, baby,” she cooed, eyes locking with his in the glass, “what do I need to do to prove I’m yours?”

His gaze darkened, but he didn’t speak.

She turned back around, her lip gloss catching the light, and lifted a single brow.

“Well?”

Joe didn’t flinch. Just leaned back on his hands, eyes dragging slowly over her one more time, like he was both pissed and desperate to drag her back into his lap.

But for now, he just sat there, stewing in his silence.

And Y/N?

She was already picking out her shoes.

Joe hadn’t said a word since she turned her back on him.

He just sat there on the edge of her bed, jaw tight, arms crossed, like he was trying to hold something in—or keep something from breaking. The silence buzzed between them, loud in a way the music on her speaker couldn’t drown out. She could feel his stare burning into her back like a weight, heavy and territorial.

And still, she kept her cool.

She slipped on her heels slowly, dragging the moment out just to make him stew. Just to prove a point. She didn’t even bother hiding her smirk.

Joe’s patience finally snapped.

“You think this is funny?”

She straightened up slowly, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “I think you’re funny. Acting like this when I’ve been yours all this time and you haven’t even asked for it.”

He stood. Just like that. No warning. Just rose from the bed and crossed the room in a few long, deliberate steps, tension crackling with every inch he closed between them.

Before she could react, his hand caught her waist and pulled her back against his chest. His other hand slid up, palm splayed across her stomach, keeping her pinned in place.

Her breath caught.

“Don’t walk away from me looking like that,” he muttered, lips brushing her ear.

Her pulse stuttered. “Then don’t give me a reason to.”

“I don’t like when other people look at what’s mine.”

“You don’t own me, Joe.”

“Don’t play like you don’t love it when I get like this.”

She turned in his grip then, facing him fully, their bodies brushing—her eyes narrow, his blazing.

“You think getting possessive and jealous is sexy?” she asked, voice thick with heat and sarcasm.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

“I think you do.”

Before she could fire off another quip, his mouth was on hers—rough, claiming, desperate in the way he always got when he knew she was two seconds from walking out. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him as he backed her toward the vanity again, her hips bumping the edge with a soft thud.

She kissed him back with equal heat, lips parting just enough to let him deepen it, but she wasn’t about to give in completely.

Not yet.

Her hands pressed to his chest, giving just enough resistance to keep him from forgetting who was really in control.

“You don’t get to act like you care when it’s convenient,” she breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to speak.

Joe’s eyes searched hers. “This isn’t convenience. This is me losing my mind thinking about you out there, looking like this, with people trying to touch what I already feel in my bones belongs to me.”

She let that linger for a second, her body still pressed against his, heat radiating between them.

Then her lips quirked, slow and wicked.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You like it.”

“And if I do?” she whispered, her fingers hooking into the hem of his hoodie. “What then?”

Joe dropped his forehead to hers, breathing hard.

“Then I’m not letting you leave this apartment tonight.”

She tilted her chin up, lips brushing his again, but just barely.

“Then stop talking and prove it.”

He kissed her again—hungrier, wilder, his hands tightening on her hips like he wanted to mold her into his body, into his will. She matched him, fingers tangling in his hair, her teeth nipping at his lower lip as he lifted her onto the vanity, his body pressed between her legs, her heels locked around his waist.

His hands roamed over her, possessive, claiming. Hers did the same. He broke the kiss long enough to pull his hoodie over his head, tossing it aside before his mouth found hers again, more frantic this time, like he couldn’t get enough. She felt the same, her body alive in a way it hadn’t been in too long, the heat between them building, building, the need for more coiling tight and electric in her veins.

“Stay with me tonight,” he breathed, his lips trailing down her neck, teeth scraping over her pulse.

She arched into him, her voice a breathy whisper. “No.”

His hands gripped her tighter, his breath hot on her skin. “I won’t ask again.”

She laughed, low and husky. “You won’t have to.”

He drew back suddenly, his eyes wild, his hair a mess. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a maybe.”

“Maybe?” he echoed, voice rough.

She nodded, her lips curving up, eyes never leaving his. “Maybe.”

He stared at her for a second, his chest heaving with every breath, the air around them charged with need and tension.

Then he was kissing her again, lifting her from the vanity with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed, laying her down gently, his body settling over hers. She could feel him hard and ready against her, and she rocked up into him, earning a groan against her lips. His hand slipped under her skirt, fingers finding her clit through her thong, making her gasp.

“Joe,” she breathed. “We don’t have time.”

He pulled back, his eyes searching hers, his fingers still working her over, her breath coming faster. “If you think I’m letting you walk out of here without a reminder of what’s waiting for you when you come home, you’re crazy.”

She shook her head, a laugh bubbling up. “Home. As if.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Mmm. I do.” She reached for his sweatpants, dipping her hand inside, wrapping her fingers around his cock. He groaned, hips thrusting into her touch. “But I’m not that easy.”

He stilled. “What?”

“I’m not coming home to you tonight.”

Joe's eyes darkened further, but this time in anger. He reached up and wrapped his hand around her throat, resting it there. "Y/N." His tone was a warning.

"Joe."

"You're mine. You know that. Don't make me have to remind you." He tightened his grip. She felt a thrill race through her at his words, at the possessive tone in his voice, at the way his body was reacting to her.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing hers. "If you don't come home tonight," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "you know what happens."

She arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh yeah? What happens?"

His eyes flicked down to her lips, then back up again. "I'll come find you." He kissed her, slow and deep, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as his fingers continued to work her clit. She moaned against his lips, her hips rocking up into his touch.

When he broke the kiss, she was breathless, her eyes heavy-lidded. "You wouldn't dare," she whispered.

He smirked, his eyes blazing with heat. "Try me." His grip on her throat tightened just enough to make her pulse spike with need. 

She swallowed, her throat working against his palm.  "Is that a threat?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "It's a promise."

He bit her lobe softly, then pulled back, his eyes locked on hers. "Don't make me follow through."

She searched his eyes, seeing the intensity there, the determination. She knew he wasn't bluffing.

And she loved it.

°.✩┈┈∘┈🌙┈∘┈┈✩.°

Y/N was having a blast at the club. Her friends surrounded her, the music thumping in her chest, lights flashing overhead. She’d been trying to shake off the argument with Joe, the way his possessiveness had twisted in her chest, but as the night wore on, she found herself enjoying the freedom. The laughter, the drinks, the music—everything was an escape from the heat and the tension building between them.

She hadn’t even noticed the guy at first. Just a casual glance in her direction, a shy smile, and before she knew it, they were dancing. Nothing serious. Just a flirtatious back-and-forth that never meant anything. Or at least, it shouldn’t have.

But as she moved with the beat, her mind couldn’t shake the memory of Joe’s possessive tone, the way his grip had felt on her throat, how he’d marked her with every kiss. Part of her felt rebellious, like she was daring him to come after her.

Her phone buzzed in her bag, the vibrations pulling her from the moment. She glanced down at it, seeing a notification from one of her friends—an Instagram story.

She clicked it open.

Her heart skipped a beat as the image loaded: a video of her dancing with the guy from earlier, laughing and swaying with him in the crowded club. It was playful—no boundaries crossed—but the sight of her in the arms of another guy, especially after everything that had just happened, made her pulse spike.

She wasn’t the only one who’d seen it.

Joe had. And within seconds, he was already on his feet, moving with purpose. His jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. The jealousy that had been simmering under the surface since he saw the way that guy had looked at Y/N was now boiling over, uncontainable.

His mind raced, replaying the scene over and over—the guy’s hands on her waist, the way she was laughing, too carefree, too unbothered.

Joe’s grip on his phone tightened as he typed out a message to her, but before he could hit send, his mind snapped into focus. He knew exactly what he had to do.

Miles away, Joe sat on the edge of her bed, scrolling. Shirt off, chain still around his neck, his dark eyes locked on the glowing screen. The video looped. Her smile. That guy’s hand on her waist.

The muscle in Joe’s jaw ticked. Once. Twice.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t even curse. Just stared at the clip like it was telling him something he already knew.

That she was slipping.

That someone else thought they could touch what was his.

He opened his messages, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Typed, deleted. Typed again.

Having fun?

He erased it.

Too soft.

You think I won’t pull up?

Deleted again.

He didn’t need to ask questions.

He already knew what he was going to do.

His face smoothed into something colder, more certain. He slid on a hoodie, grabbed his keys from the desk, and sent just one text.

No punctuation. No fluff.

I warned you

Back at the club, Y/N felt the buzz in her hand before she even looked.

The words blinked up at her, simple and sharp.

Her heart stuttered.

It wasn’t the kind of message that made you roll your eyes and keep dancing. It was the kind that made your pulse quicken, your brain start running through everything you’d done in the last ten minutes.

And she knew.

He was coming.

°.✩┈┈∘┈🌙┈∘┈┈✩.°

The club pulsed with a life of its own, the thundering bass reverberating through the air, shaking the walls and vibrating every inch of her body. Y/N had been swept up in it all, lost in the rhythm, in the laughter, in the heat. Her friends had drifted off to the bar, leaving her floating alone in the crowd, surrounded by strangers and shadows. Her phone buzzed in her hand, the sudden vibration slicing through the haze of the night. For a second, she didn’t react. The music demanded her attention, pulling her deeper into its intoxicating embrace.

Another buzz. Her fingers swiped the screen, distracted. She glanced down and saw the message. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

Don’t make me come find you.

Her pulse kicked up immediately, not just out of surprise but from something else. Something darker, more familiar. The kind of thrill she couldn’t shake—that rush. The one she always felt when Joe decided to make his presence known.

Her lips curled into a smile, though she knew she shouldn’t. It wasn’t fear she felt, not really, but that familiar, twisted excitement—the kind that came with pushing boundaries, with feeling the weight of his gaze even when she couldn’t see him. Joe didn’t do subtle. He didn’t do safe. He did intensity. He did possession.

And she liked it. More than she cared to admit.

Her fingers hovered over the screen as she fought the instinct to text back, to tease him the way she always did. But something inside her twisted at the thought. Not tonight. Not this time.

That push and pull. The way his words could make her stomach flip even when they should’ve chilled her to the core. Joe didn’t do subtle. He didn’t do boundaries. He did heat. Intensity. And she had been burning in it since the first time he’d grabbed her hand under the bleachers and whispered something reckless into her ear after practice. He was the star quarterback—untouchable, magnetic. She was the head cheerleader—visible, envied. Of course they were always near each other, always orbiting. But this wasn’t the fairy-tale version of that story. This was messier. Darker. Addictive.

A second buzz jolted her out of her thoughts. She glanced at her phone. This time, it was a call.

Joe.

His name was bold on the screen. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the green button, her heart hammering. She knew what would happen if she answered. He would drag her back into his world—the one where everything was a game, and he always won.

With a flick of her finger, she hit ignore. She didn’t need his control tonight. Not this time.

Her smile deepened as she tucked the phone back into her bag, turning her attention back to the guy she’d been dancing with. He was still grinning, oblivious to the storm gathering around her. His hand brushed lightly against hers, his arm wrapping loosely around her waist. The heat of his body felt like nothing compared to the storm inside her. Joe was still there—his presence, thick and suffocating, clouding her thoughts.

“You good?” the guy asked, his voice cutting through the music.

“Yeah,” she said, forcing lightness into her tone. “Just… someone who doesn’t know when to let go.”

He laughed, leaning in closer, too close, his breath hot on her neck. But Y/N barely noticed. Her thoughts were with someone else—someone who could take the heat of this night and turn it into something dangerous. Joe.

Every sway of her hips, every dip and twist of her body, was a defiance, a reminder. She wasn’t his to command. Not tonight. Not like this. Tonight, she was in control. Tonight, she would play the game her way.

But that was the thing with Joe—he always came when she pushed too far.

And that’s when she felt it.

A shift in the air. A heavy, electric charge that sent a shiver down her spine. Her body froze mid-move, a tingle crawling across her skin as a deep instinct screamed—he was here.

Slowly, she turned her head, scanning the crowded entrance. And there he was.

Joe.

Standing just inside the door, his silhouette outlined against the flashing lights. His face was hard, unreadable, but his eyes? Those eyes—dark, narrowed, locked onto her with a predatory intensity. She could feel his gaze as if it were a tangible thing, pressing on her skin, demanding her attention. His body was still, poised like a lion preparing to pounce.

His gaze didn’t move. Not once. Not when people brushed past him. Not even when the guy beside her leaned in again, oblivious. Joe’s jaw was clenched tight, his entire posture carved from tension. He wasn’t storming in. Not yet. He didn’t need to. The look said enough: I see you. 

Her heart thudded in her chest. Every ounce of confidence she had crumbled under that gaze. She hadn’t heard a single word from the guy beside her, hadn’t felt his hand on her hip, hadn’t registered the music around her. All she could do was watch Joe.

He wasn’t moving yet. Not yet. But she knew, deep in her gut, that he would.

The guy beside her seemed to notice the shift, his words trailing off as he sensed something had changed. He leaned in, oblivious, too drunk on the night to realize who he was up against. His hand brushed against her waist again. She stepped back, her eyes still on Joe.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

“No,” she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. “I just…”

But she didn’t finish the sentence. Because Joe was moving now. His eyes never left hers, and neither did his steps. Slow. Deliberate. Cutting through the crowd like a predator. People parted for him without thinking, but he didn’t notice them. Didn’t need to. His gaze was locked, singular, as if the world around him didn’t exist.

Y/N’s heart picked up pace again, the thundering beat in her chest a contrast to the hollow emptiness inside her as she realized just how far she’d let this go. The guy beside her stepped back as Joe drew closer, no words spoken. None were needed.

Her phone buzzed again.

You’re mine. And if you’re not coming home to me tonight… I’ll come find you.

The words hit her like a cold wave. She didn’t smile this time. Didn’t feel the thrill. Something was different now. Something had changed. Her defiance was still there, but now, there was a cold weight pressing down on her—something that felt real.

She wanted to run. Wanted to tell Joe to go to hell and keep dancing with the guy beside her, who was still watching her with wide eyes, clueless. But she couldn’t.

Joe’s eyes flicked once toward the guy, sizing him up in an instant. And then, his gaze locked onto hers again. No words. Just that look. Possessive, unyielding.

This wasn’t jealousy anymore. It was a claim.

°.✩┈┈∘┈🌙┈∘┈┈✩.°

Joe was close now.

She could feel it before she saw him. The air around her shifted—thickened—as if the room itself recognized the danger. The crowd seemed to part for him like instinct, people stepping aside without even realizing why. Y/N felt her body tense, but not with fear. It was anticipation. A spark of something twisted and electric. Her breath caught in her throat, but her chin stayed high, jaw clenched in something that resembled defiance—because if Joe was going to bring the storm, she wasn’t going to run from it.

She never ran.

The guy beside her faltered, eyes flicking toward the sudden tension charging the air like static. “Yo, is that—?”

Before he could finish, Joe stepped into her space like he belonged there, like he had every right to erase the distance between them. And maybe, in his head, he did.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

Those dark, burning eyes of his locked onto hers with that look—the one that always told her exactly where she stood. You’re mine. That was the message. Raw, unspoken, and completely unwavering.

Y/N’s heart thudded hard in her chest, but she didn’t look away. Her lips curled upward into a mocking half-smile. “Didn’t think you had the balls to show up.”

Joe’s jaw twitched.

The guy beside her straightened a little, starting to piece together the very obvious tension between them. He opened his mouth again—probably to ask her if she was okay—but he didn’t get the chance.

Joe’s hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist, firm and unflinching. The movement wasn’t violent, but it was decisive. Possessive. He tugged her forward with enough force that she stumbled a step, the heel of her boot scuffing the sticky floor.

“Come on,” he said, voice low, flat, and loaded with warning. “You’re done here.”

Y/N’s head snapped toward him, her tone instantly sharp. “Excuse me?”

Joe didn’t even blink. His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it got tighter.

“You heard me.”

“Let go of me.” She yanked at her wrist, but he held fast. Her voice dropped into a deadly whisper. “You don’t get to just show up and act like I’m yours.”

Joe leaned in, voice cool and steady, but the fire behind his words burned hot. “You are mine, and you know it. So quit playing.”

The guy—clearly out of his depth—backed up, holding his hands in a half-surrender. “Hey, I didn’t know she was with someone, man—”

“She’s not,” Y/N snapped, yanking again at her wrist. “We’re not a thing.”

Joe's laugh was low and humorless. “You really wanna play that game right now? After everything?”

Y/N’s mouth opened to throw something back, something biting—but the words never came. Because despite herself, despite the ache in her pride and the stubborn fire in her chest, there was another part of her—quieter but undeniable—that liked this. That liked him like this.

The side of Joe that didn’t ask. That just took. That made it clear she didn’t get to erase him with a few shots of tequila and a stranger’s hands on her waist.

So when he turned, still holding her wrist, and started walking, she didn’t resist.

Not really.

Her friends stared from across the room, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. One of them—Kayla—mouthed something at her, a silent Are you okay? but Y/N didn’t respond.

She didn’t know if she was okay.

Didn’t know if she was pissed or turned on or just drunk on the energy that came with being near Joe when he was like this—dark and wild and unapologetically territorial.

The crowd closed behind them as they moved, Joe cutting through the club like he owned it, like dragging her out of there wasn’t up for debate. And maybe it wasn’t.

When they hit the cooler air outside, the buzz of the club muffled behind the thick doors, Y/N finally yanked her hand back hard enough to break his grip. She spun on him.

“What the hell, Joe?”

He turned slowly, jaw flexing as he stared at her, unreadable. “What?”

“You can’t just show up and drag me out like I’m some toy you left behind.”

“You looked like you were enjoying being someone else’s toy just fine.”

“God, you’re such a—” She stopped herself, fuming. Her hands shook, half from adrenaline, half from the emotional whiplash. “You don’t own me.”

Joe stepped closer, crowding her space, his voice quiet now—but all the more dangerous for it. “You sure act like I do when you’re underneath me.”

Her breath hitched.

The silence that followed was heavy, electric.

He didn’t touch her—but he didn’t need to. His words pressed against her like a hand to the throat. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. That was Joe’s real power. The way he got inside her head. The way he knew her—all her buttons, all her triggers.

She hated it.

And loved it.

“You done playing?” he asked, voice low. “Because if you wanna keep pretending you don’t want me, I’ll leave right now. But don’t expect me to watch you give my show to someone else.”

Y/N swallowed, her pulse pounding like the music still echoing in her chest. She lifted her chin again, trying to summon the same sharp edge she always wore with him.

But her voice was softer this time. Not weak—just honest.

“What if I’m tired of this game?”

Joe’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. He leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched, his breath warm against her skin.

“Then let me remind you how it ends.”

And before she could come up with a comeback—or an excuse—his lips were on hers.

Not gentle.

Not asking.

Just taking.

And Y/N? She let him.

Because whatever this was—dangerous, toxic, consuming—it was theirs.

And she wasn’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

[beneathsilverstars]

Was explaining my thoughts about Vaugardian attitudes towards mental health and therapy as part of a different topic, but it got really long so dfjkghdf here it is as a whole post! Starting with some more general worldbuilsing but hold on, we’ll get there.

Since Houses canonically contain libraries and infirmaries and provide things like education and transition care, I see them as a center of not just community but specifically community resources. If you have a problem or a question, you go to the local House, and if they can't solve it themself they'll point you in the direction of whoever can! Thus Housemaidens generally fill a role similar to social workers, and specific Housemaidens will have specialties like being a doctor, cook, teacher of a particular subject, etc. In larger cities, a lot of the more specific or labor-intensive resources would probably be outsourced to other charities/companies/organizations, or perhaps split into specialties by House, to better serve a dense population instead of trying to cram every resource into every neighborhood's House. But you would still go to any House first to find these other resources, so every House would maintain a focus on educating and advising. Combine this with the fact that religious leaders are often one of the first people that followers go to for personal guidance, and it makes sense that Housemaidens would provide all sorts of counseling, filling the role of everything from job coach to therapist.

If Housemaidens are the people providing all or at least most of the therapy in the country, then even if they're not trying to push religious doctrine, the Change belief is still going to be the source of the values and philosophies that their therapeutic models are based in. They can try to be nonpartisan and avoid mentioning Change in so many words, but it'll still be baked into the default assumptions of the local modalities in a self-perpetuating manner. If you want an entirely different approach, you're probably going to have find someone who specifically studied alternate modalities from other countries, any of which would have a much smaller market share than Change-based therapies.

So! Vaugardian therapy will focus on questions like "What Changes have been happening in your life lately, and how do you feel about them?" "What would you like to Change in your life?" "What can you Change about your thought processes and habits to address the things that trouble you?" and "Who do you want to be?" Which sound like just a particular way to word fairly common topics, but! These questions would be asked in pursuit of Change-y goals, as well.

The goal of irl mental healthcare as an industry is to make sure people can be productive. A common diagnostic question is "does this symptom interfere with your ability to work and otherwise get things done?" But Vaugardians are friendly and helpful to the point of approaching utopia, so I could see them being less concerned with this, because they're more willing to accept that some people can't work and some people need more support. In fact, in keeping with their distaste for carcinization, they might actively oppose the idea that there is any particular goal that people should be working towards. If there's one type of existence that is best for all people at all times, reaching it would mean there's no reason to ever Change again! So instead of any particular milestones, the goal is simply to set and strive towards goals that feel right to you.

I also think they'd be less likely to work off of a diagnostic model at all; you can't just say that someone inherently has depression. They may be depressed right now, but that can Change! The Change might require constant upkeep, but some Changes are like that, and it doesn't mean the Change is any less real. Instead, they'd probably be more focused on individual symptoms (and traits!), which might tend to come in certain clusters, but those clusters would be seen as trends rather than criteria. The Change modality would be less concerned with whether a state of being is disordered vs normal/healthy (and they'd be less likely to conflate "normal" and "healthy"), focusing instead on whether you're happy with where you're at, but also willing and able to Change as suits you.

So, "I feel apathetic all the time, I don't want to put effort into anything and I don't care about anything, I don't know who I am or who I want to be" would be an experience of depression symptoms that a Vaugardian therapist would prioritize helping you Change. But "I don't care about any of the things I used to care about, I think I want to quit my job and cut off all my friends so I can spend more time sleeping" would be... an idea a good therapist may recommend you spend some time exploring, to make sure that's what you really want and you're ready for the ramifications... but they wouldn't say, "No, that's a bad thing to want, we need to treat your depression so that you no longer want to do that." If you really do hate your job and your friends right now, stagnating in that because you feel like you ought to would be the worst case scenario! If pursuing this Change ends up making you feel unfulfilled and lonely and sick of sleeping all day, then, well, you can just Change again at that point, once you've decided that's what you want to do.

In an opposite example, a common criticism of irl therapy is that it provides bandaid solutions for structural issues. "I'm anxious about losing my job" might be addressed by mindfulness methods to lessen anxiety, which is better than nothing, but if you're genuinely in danger of losing your job and thus access to shelter and food, that's not something you can mindfulness away. Versus, in Change-based therapies, they would focus on discussing what you get out of that job and what about it makes you anxious. You might decide that you want to change careers to something that fits you better right now — which would be a lot easier to accomplish in Vaugarde than it would be irl, because of the resources provided by the Houses and general community. Or, you might decide that there's something about yourself that you want to change in order to better fit the job. So instead of working on the feeling of anxiety, you might work on building new skills, or building better relationships with your coworkers.

... I wrote this post thinking that Vaugardian therapy might use similar techniques to CBT (therapy), since CBT focuses on understanding the patterns of thought, behavior, and belief that lead to psychological issues, so that you can replace negative patterns with habits that serve you better. Sounds like making mental changes in order to change your feelings and actions! It would just be in favor of different goals than irl CBT under capitalism.

However. I did some more research, and it looks like Humanistic therapy is very similar to what I made up just now? According to this text, humanistic therapy "emphasizes growth and self-actualization rather than curing diseases or alleviating disorders." Psychological issues are "viewed as the result of inhibited ability to make authentic, meaningful, and self-directed choices about how to live," so it focuses on "helping people free themselves from disabling assumptions and attitudes so they can live fuller lives."

It's less of a set of techniques and more of a philosophy. According to this website, the key is empathy and "unconditional positive regard," which means the therapist "shows warmth, is receptive, and is nonjudgmental." They cultivate a casual, friendly atmosphere, instead of positioning themself as an authority figure. Client-centered therapy is a subtype that sounds like the most cliché sort of talk therapy; the therapist "listens, acknowledges, and paraphrases your concerns," giving you a space where you can be honest and accepted as yourself. Another subtype is gestalt therapy, which "focuses on the skills and techniques that allow you to be aware of your feelings and emotions," and encourages a focus on the present and self-responsibility.

So! That sounds about right! Vaugardian therapists aim to help you recognize your emotions and figure out who you are and who you want to be, through casual conversation and empathetic active listening, without judgement. They help you look at your skills, emotions, desires, and struggles, and guide you to consider the full breadth of options available to you, so you can decide what Changes will lead you to happiness and fulfillment. They especially try to avoid diagnosing, prescribing, or otherwise telling you who you must be or what you must need. They may provide suggestions — help you put something into words, or bring up options that professionals are more familiar with such as medication, or challenge you to re-examine your assumptions — but it's a collaborative brainstorming, and they want you to freely choose the option you think is best for you.

[readsaboutreid]

Permanent Solution | S.R.

cw: big big warning for suicidal ideation (first person POV so you get some of the full on thought spiraling) typical criminal minds violence (reader gets kidnapped by an unsub and tortured but it doesn’t get too descriptive), extreme angst, Morgan being a dick at first (I love him but he was the only person I could really see for the role he fills in the plot with his tell it like it is vibes) but he gets his redemption in pt 2 i promise

no request for this one i had a real bad day and needed to use my thought spiral in some sort of creative outlet to get myself out of it so i took it out on spencer and reader sorry in advance y'all

"None of us like you."

The words rattled around in my brain as I walked absent-mindedly, my destination already in the back of my mind. I hadn't made this walk in five months. The five months before that had been focused on reducing the number of times I took this path.

First, the goal had been to reduce the number of times I felt compelled to take this particular walk. Walks overall weren't out of the question, and were actually encouraged. Especially walks where I shared the company with someone else. But this specific one was different. It carried a different weight. The initial goal set with my therapist had been to reduce how often I walked this path from nearly every night to no more than two or three times a week, substituting it with a different path through a different and more active part of town. After that, the goal was to move to only walking this path once a week. Then, ideally, none at all.

Ten months. Ten months of twice-weekly therapy sessions down the drain. With five measly words. I started to wonder what Spencer would say if he knew where I was headed, but shook my head free of the thought. He'd be better off in the end, anyways. The wind bit into my cheeks and I tugged the green cardigan that hung loosely off my shoulders so that it was tighter around me, the only protection from the cold that seeped down into my bones. I began to walk faster as I shivered, trying anything I could to warm up my body even just a little bit, and thought back to the encounter from earlier that had caused me to spiral so suddenly and severely.

"—none of us like you," Morgan said to me, cutting me off right as I was attempting to defend my previous decision to turn down the previous drink night invitations in the twelve months since I'd been at the BAU, resulting in Spencer also turning them down and going home with me, instead for the last eleven out of twelve of those months. The expression on his face matched the complete and utter disdain dripping from each and every word. "Not even Hotch, who got you the job in the first place, seems to want you on the team anymore. The only person who ever wants you to be around is Reid, and none of us can figure out why." When he finished I took a look around the table to see everyone else just looking down and avoiding my gaze, including Penelope, who had become somewhat of a sister to me in the past year.

"You—," my voice caught in my throat at that point and I cleared it, trying to sound as steady as I could as I asked, "A-all of you share this sentiment?" Despite strength I had tried to muster to ask that question, my voice only came out thick and wavery, and it was all I could do to keep my lip and lower jaw from trembling. I had tried as hard as possible to overcome myself since starting at the BAU, to believe that the people around me genuinely enjoyed my presence and didn't secretly roll their eyes and sigh in relief when I left the room, but apparently I had failed to make them like me and that's exactly what they felt.

"You'll have to excuse me, please," I gasped as the information presented to me sank in. I then stood, my eyes swimming with tears, and ran from the table they had all situated themselves into at the bar, only to run head on into Spencer, who grabbed my by the shoulders with a soft laugh and gentle smile.

"Easy there, (Y/N)," he chuckled while steadying me. It was only then that he realized something was wrong and his smile was immediately replaced with a concerned frown. "Hey, what's wrong, angel?" I shook my head, shook free of his grasp, and kept making for the door, my head slowing down a bit as I finally was able to take in a breath of fresh air as I made it outside.

Spencer hastily followed after me, right at my heels. "(Y/N)! (Y/N), wait!" He called after me, pushing his way through the crowd and finally out the door as well before wrapping me tightly in his arms. "Hey, now, what's wrong, love?" He cooed as he pressed my head into his chest and wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders when he felt me tremble.

I hesitated, debating what to say to him. I could either tell him the truth and earn the further ire of our colleagues by snitching or I could do what I do best: blow every thing up so there would be nobody else to blame but myself. I opted for the latter.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I finally managed to force the words from my throat. Each one stabbed into my chest with the force of a dull butter knife. "I— th-this—," I stumbled, "th-this isn't working, Spencer." My voice was barely above a whisper by the end when I finally met his eyes, which quickly filled with tears at hearing my words.

"Wh-what?" The word came out as nothing more than a breath but within it I swear I could hear the crack in his chest that echoed the one in my own. "Why— wh-what— I don't— where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry," I said through soft sobs before I turned and ran off, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with tears slowly beginning to fall down his cheeks.

I had broken his heart, ensuring that he, too, would hate me. That was the plan. I had to push him away and make him hate me as much as the rest of them so that it would hurt him less when they found me. I made the last turn and found myself at my destination - the 11th Street bridge.

Spencer stood on the sidewalk, staring after her long after she had disappeared around the corner up ahead. He ran through the events of the past hour, trying to figure out what he could have done.

"You can go without me, Spencer," she protested as he tried to convince her to go out for drink night with the rest of the team.

"Please come with me? It will be fun, I promise!" It was a strange reversal for him to be the one trying to coax someone else into going out. Usually it was Morgan trying to convince him to go out (Garcia had literally forced him to go out with her after a particularly rough case or two), but now he decided to pay it forward to get his girlfriend to come out with their team and have some much needed fun. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What if they don't actually want me there?" She asked, her voice small and timid.

"That's ridiculous! Why wouldn't they want you there? You're amazing," he smiled at her, starting to pepper her face with kisses in an attempt to cheer her up. She giggled quietly, not really trying as she made to push him away. He continued his assault, kissing her cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips, over and over with light pecks. When she finally acquiesced, he was giddy with excitement and felt a swell of pride in his chest at the progress she had made since they met.

As they stepped out of his car he grabbed her hand and saw her face twist with anxiety. He gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze before his phone rang, the number for the mental facility his mother currently resided in showing on the screen. "I need to take this, head on inside and I'll be right there, okay angel?" She swallowed nervously and walked inside, and he took the call.

5 minutes and 29 seconds.

That's how long he had been on the phone. Whatever had happened had taken only 5 minutes and 29 seconds. And it ended his relationship.

Spencer found himself pushing the door open and walking back inside the bar. His blood rushed in his ears as he approached the table and stared at all of his coworkers.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the music.

"Reid," Morgan started, but Spencer cut him off. "Don't look at us like th—"

"Whatever was said in the 5 minutes and 29 seconds I was on the phone with my mother's hospital resulted in me getting dumped on the sidewalk outside when not even 30 minutes ago (Y/N) was laughing, and smiling, and happy. So what. Happened?" He seethed.

"Alright, you want to know what happened, Reid?" Morgan snapped, preparing to stand up and tell him off before being stopped by Penelope, who looked as though she was still on the verge of tears. 

“Reid, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she stood up instead, standing in front of Spencer. “I should have stopped him,” she continued, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have let him talk to her like that.” 

“What did he tell her?” Spencer turned to Garcia, interrupting Derek as he opened his mouth to interject. 

“I told her the truth,” Morgan slurred, finishing off what the rest of them knew was his fourth glass of whiskey. Spencer opted to ignore his clearly drunk colleague and continued to address Garcia. 

“Garcia, what did he say to my girlfriend?” Spencer insisted, his anger being slowly replaced by a sense of growing dread. 

“He— he told her nobody wanted her around,” she admitted, her eyes closing and her face twisting with guilt before she hastily added, “which of course that’s not the case! I love (Y/N) like she’s my own sister...” Spencer felt his heart drop into the pit that had become his stomach as his fears were confirmed.  

“But?” Spencer added, tilting his head to the side, his voice growing quieter as the conversation continued. 

“...but the rest of us miss you, Spence,” JJ finally spoke up. “We haven’t seen you in ages outside of work! If she’s keeping you from spending time with your friends, that's a little bit of a red flag, isn't it?” She reasoned, standing to put a hand on his bicep to calm him.  

He angrily shook her off, the anxiety coursing through his veins shifting back into an icy rage. “She hasn’t kept me from doing anything, Jennifer,” he spat through gritted teeth as he held her gaze, which was a mix of shock and hurt at his tone.  

“Spence, I just meant that—” JJ started, but was immediately interrupted by Spencer, whose rage was steadily growing to the point where he was certain he was visibly trembling. 

“In fact, she has been continually insisting that I leave her behind to come out with you all, but given that I don’t drink much to begin with I usually just opt for a night in with her. I didn’t realize I needed permission from the rest of the team to make that decision for myself,” he bit back before turning to leave. 

“Where are you going, Reid? Reid! Come on, man, be reasonable!” Morgan called out, only for Spencer to ignore him and keep walking. If he stayed there any longer, he knew he would end up saying something he’d regret, and with the way most of them were talking about his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—he figured they’d find some way to blame her for his outburst if he did.

When he finally exited the bar, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and he turned on his heel, preparing for another round of arguing, only to be met with the now tear-streaked cheeks of Penelope Garcia. 

“What do you want, Garcia?” He snapped, his face softening as he took in her apologetic expression. 

“I— I’m sorry, Spencer,” she whispered. “I should have told Derek to shut up, I’m so sorry! I just— I hate when the people I love start fighting like that! I shut down and— and I know I should have stood up for her but I just— I just froze like a coward and—” her voice grew more frantic and upset before Spencer cut her off. 

“Garcia, it’s not your fault,” Spencer sighed, his anger fading away until the only thing he felt was the ache in his chest. “Derek was drunk and belligerent. You’re not responsible for his actions.” He paused as he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I just wish I could have been there to put a stop to it. She’s so sweet, and kind, and utterly terrified of people. I shouldn’t have sent her in by herself knowing that." His voice cracked as a fresh wave of tears started to fall down his own cheeks. 

“Spencer, you had no way of knowing any of this would happen,” Penelope wrapped Spencer in a tight hug, and he finally broke down. His body shook gently with soft, nearly silent sobs and he cried into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I know how much you love her.” Garcia’s own voice cracked as her heart ached for the crying boy in her arms.  

“Wh— what do I do, Penelope?” He mumbled into the sleeve of her sweater. “I just want to help her feel better.” That’s all he’d wanted since he’d first laid eyes on her. He’d never forget how emaciated she had looked, her skin pallid and her eyes nothing more than dim, lifeless pits with dark bruise-like rings underneath them.  

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Dr. (Y/L/N). She just graduated from the academy and has expertise in psycholinguistics as well as a doctorate in neuropsychology, so I have no doubt she’ll be an excellent addition to the team.”

Spencer had tried his hardest in the two months after that initial introduction to get to know her, to understand why she looked like a reanimated corpse (albeit a very beautiful one) who had just wandered out of a morgue. Over those two months, the two of them had grown closer and closer, thanks to much insistent pushing from him. At first, it came in the form of attempting to get her to join the rest of them for drinks at their bar of choice (the others would never invite her themselves but Spencer would insist to her that it was okay, that she was a part of the team), but quickly he realized that all might be a bit too much for her. So, one night, he told the team he wasn’t feeling up to going out and instead privately asked (Y/N) if she’d want to join him for pizza and a movie at his place since he wasn't feeling up to big crowds and he had a feeling neither was she. He had been prepared to be turned down but was pleasantly surprised when her face showed the slightest expression of piqued interest and she agreed.

He then started to skip out on pretty much all of the future invitations to go out for drinks with the rest of the team, opting instead to go home for pizza and Doctor Who or Star Trek marathons with her, and he started seeing a whole other side to her that no one else had even suspected could have existed. She’d slowly opened to him, occasionally letting out quiet and restrained laughs at his goofy jokes and puns at the beginning of their friendship.

Eventually, those soft titters grew into ebullient, beautiful laughs that were like music to his ears. Her smiles went from being forced and never meeting her eyes to lighting up her entire face, at times so brightly that Spencer swore she could illuminate a dark room with nothing but her smile. She showed that there was a side to her that was goofy, outgoing, and full of life.

It was around then (November 17 at 11:57 PM) that their relationship had started officially with a soft, tentative kiss goodnight; but from the very first time he heard her let out a soft, breathy giggle at his goofy joke about Spock having three ears (‘a left ear, a right ear, and a final front-ier!’), Spencer knew that he would marry her someday.

Or at least he had thought so, until tonight.  

“Give her some space to sort out her emotions, Spencer,” the voice of Penelope Garcia in his ear dragged him back into the present, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. “She loves you more than anything, and we both know that.” She let go and gave him a teary smile before wiping her cheeks.  

“You’re right,” he replied, taking in another deep, shuddering breath. “Plus, she walked away with my cardigan, and we both know she’s a stickler about returning borrowed clothing!” He attempted a joke, but the laugh he tried to give after cracking it came out more like another choked sob.  

“If I were you, I’d just give her a quick phone call and let her know that you love her no matter what anyone else says or thinks, okay? She needs to know that more than she needs anything else right now.”  

“Right. Yes, you’re right,” he muttered, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “Thank you, Penelope.” 

“I’m always here for you, Spencer,” she smiled at him before adding, “both of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go tear Agent Morgan a new asshole for getting you dumped and hurting my best friend.” She took a second to shake her head and rub her own cheeks to dry them. “Call me once she makes it home safely to you, okay? Promise?” He nodded quietly. “Uh-uh-uh, what was it that one kid had told you a while back? ‘A promise doesn’t count unless you say it out loud,’ right?” 

“I promise,” Spencer felt a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He then walked down the block to his car, got in, and drove home to wait for (Y/N).  

When he arrived and had walked through the doorway, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed her number. It rang four times and then went to her voicemail.  

“Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Dr. (Y/L/N), I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number, I’ll return your call as soon as I am able. Thanks!” Beep. 

“Hi, (Y/N). So, Penelope filled me in on everything that happened,” he began shakily, and took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to stop Morgan from saying all of that, but please, please know that no one hates you, I promise. Penelope assured me that she was going to tear him a new one for what he said, and I promised her that I’d call her once you made it home safely.” He paused, searching for his next words carefully, and settled on, “I love you so much, angel. Please, please never forget that.” And then he had to hang up the phone, his eyes filling with more tears.  

He made his way to the couch and sat down, turning the TV on and finding a marathon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer playing. Knowing it was her favorite show, he left it on and patiently waited. On the couch sat a small stuffed cat with a blue and white spotted mushroom for a head that he had gifted her on a whim, Dr. Mewshroom, as she had taken to calling it. He grabbed Dr. Mewshroom and hugged it close to his chest as he leaned back on the couch and eventually dozed off. 

I paced up and down the 11th Street bridge for an hour before I decided to hop up and sit on the railing. My walking had warmed me up significantly, so I shed the cardigan Spencer had wrapped around my shoulders. Hopefully, it would be returned to him when they eventually found me. I stared down into the dark water beneath my dangling feet and tried to find the courage within me to jump, but I couldn’t give myself the final push I needed, just like all of the previous times I’d made this trip.  

I must have sat there for fifteen more minutes or so before I decided to give it up and go home to Spencer. Maybe, if I begged and pleaded with him, he’d take me back. I checked my phone to see that I had a missed call from him. Weird, I hadn’t even heard it ring. Before I could turn myself around to hop off the railing, I was grabbed from behind and a cloth was pressed to my mouth and nose, blocking me from screaming. My nose and throat filled with a burning sensation before everything faded to black... 

[dinarosie]

I Was Bullied Too, So Why Didn’t I Turn Out Like Severus Snape?

I came across an anti-Snape post where someone shared their experience of being bullied in school. They said that even though they were bullied, they were able to overcome it, which is why they admired James Potter—because he changed and stopped being a bully. However, they hate Snape for not being able to move on from his past.

Everyone has the right to hate or love the characters based on their taste but What bothers me is how people often compare their own trauma to others' and disregard the genetic and environmental differences that shape us as individuals. I’ve decided to write a long post comparing my own life with Snape’s—two people who were both bullied as children. it was difficult for me to write this post, but I hope this comparison shows that not everyone who experiences bullying ends up the same. The variances in our upbringing and support systems play a crucial role in shaping who we become.

When I was seven years old, I was mocked and humiliated by a group of older girls on the school bus (they were eleven at the time). They made it clear that they bullied me because I was smaller and weaker than them. They treated me in a way that made me believe I deserved their bullying. I thought a weak and ugly girl like me was deserving of all their humiliation. They would mess up my hair, pull it, and ridicule me for having messy and ugly hair. Whenever I cried, they laughed. They didn't even let me be friends with other girls. To torment me further, they would point at me, whisper to each other, and giggle, making me feel even more isolated. I had allergies and a runny nose, and they wouldn’t let me wipe it, which they used as another reason to belittle me, saying I was disgusting. Even if there was an empty seat, they wouldn’t let me sit with them because I was "gross." I was terrified of them, hated school because of them, and cried every morning, begging not to go to school.

But why didn’t I turn out like Severus Snape?

1- I grew up like a normal child in every other aspect of my life. I was cared for and valued. I always had birthday parties with cake and gifts. I was praised when I got good grades. I had friends outside of school to play with, went on family vacations, and had fun times. From childhood to adulthood, I’ve had a safe home, enough sleep, good food, and a loving family.

2- I had parents who loved and cared about me. When my mother found out about the bullying, she went to the school and demanded they stop it. My parents also enrolled me in a private school to protect me from further bullying. When I started having nightmares and trouble sleeping, they took me to a child therapist.

3- My grandparents adored me. I would stay at their house when my parents were at work, and they made my childhood even more joyful. I always had safe arms to run to. Plus, my aunts and uncles cared for me and regularly took me to parks and other fun places, showering me with gifts and making sure I enjoyed my time.

4- My family had a respectable place in society, and I was never shamed or humiliated because of my family's circumstances. My father cared for me, my sister, and my mother, and he worked hard to provide for our needs. He respected my mother, and I never witnessed any abuse from him toward her.

5- My family had a stable income, and I always had new, appropriate clothes to wear. I never had to worry about poverty, hunger, or wearing hand-me-downs that would make me feel inferior to my peers.

6- My bullies mocked me, but they never caused me serious physical harm. I never feared for my life or sexual assault at school. The bullying was short-lived, lasting less than two years, and by the time I was a teenager, it had completely stopped. As I grew older, I made plenty of good friends and was popular among them. I have many fond memories from high school with my friends.

7- As a teenager, I didn’t worry about my future. My concerns were not about surviving a war, avoiding humiliation, or escaping poverty. I was free to plan my life, knowing I would go to university and study what I loved. Whenever I needed help, I knew I could count on my family—they were always there to support me.

8- I’m a psychology student, and studying this field has completely shifted my perspective on myself and others. It has allowed me to see the world with greater depth and empathy. I’ve become better at recognizing not only my own psychological wounds but also those of others, which has helped me connect with people on a deeper level. I've also sought therapy, both in-person and online, and have seen positive results. While I still struggle with some issues from my past—like feeling insecure about my appearance, doubting people’s motives, and having a hard time trusting—I’ve learned how to manage these feelings fairly well.

All of these factors combined have shaped me into someone different from Severus Snape. Yes, I was bullied, but I didn’t turn out like him because, unlike Snape, I was given numerous opportunities to grow, to experience love and joy, to heal, and to find pleasure in life.

Now, It’s much easier for someone like me to be kind and nice to others, to love people, to forgive myself and others, and to move on from those who don’t like me. It’s easier for me to see the world and people not as threats but with a more mature and balanced perspective. but I’m under no illusion that I am a better and more worthy person than Severus Snape or anyone like him who didn’t have the chance to heal. I simply know that I’ve been luckier, and for that, I’m grateful. But I never want to dismiss or belittle the suffering of others or blame them for their psychological struggles.

I can’t say for certain what I would’ve done in Snape’s exact situation or how bitter I might’ve become. But I’m certain of one thing: I could never be as brave or as selfless as Snape was, sacrificing his own life so readily for others. I know that I could never be a hero like him.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

— kArMa'S a B*TcH!

requested by @chaotic-toasters (thank you for being a therapist when needed!)

hope you enjoy the chaos, hehe.

requests are closed currently, however, feel free to drop to talk at all!

summary: reader needs therapy after witnessing that music video.

pairings: steph catley x reader, beth mead x reader, lia walti x reader, leah williamson x reader, kim little x reader

warnings: nothing but pure chaos and trauma over a certain music video...

Having lived in Switzerland, it wasn't often you got to see your auntie, so its' safe to say today you was thrilled about being able to hang out with her and more so, you'd be going to training with her and seeing the rest of the girls.

You'd been having so much fun hanging out with all of the girls, even joining in on winding some of the girls up.

"Hey, Y/N! C'mere a second, kid!" Your going about minding your own business, snacking on a sandwich in the canteen when your called out by Beth and Steph.

Poking your head up with the sandwich half hanging out your mouth, you tilt your head, "I didn't do it!" Your quick to protest.

You wouldn't call yourself a troublemaker per-say, but well, eh who're you kidding? You love being the centre of chaos.

Your auntie Lia wouldn't agree so much, it was one of the reason why you're stuck over in England for the time being right now.

Beth chuckles in amusement, "That's not why we're asking you to come over here," She pauses as she waves her hand slightly, "Come sit with us!" She encourages.

Shrugging your shoulders, you get up from your seat and make your way over to the two older girls, "What's goin' on?"

"We want to show you somethin', kid. You like watching music videos, don't you?" Steph wonders, holding her phone out in her hand but you can't exactly see what it is thats' on it.

"Er yeah, I do... Why?" You tilt your head in confusion but non the less plonk yourself down on Beths' knee instead of sitting on an actual seat.

What's the point of that when its' far less comfy, right?

"Perfect," Beth smirks and shares a look with Steph, "You'll like this then."

"Whos' music video is it?" You wonder, curiously.

"JoJo Siwa," Steph chimes in. "Your auntie told us that you like her music, kid."

"I do like her music," You nod in agreement. 

Without further ado, Steph moves the phone to balance up against her water bottle before she clicks play on said music video.

You weren't completely aware of the fact that your reaction was being filmed either.

You really didn't know what to expect, given that all of all JoJos' videos you have seen in the past were normal, compared to this...

You were thrown off by the pitch black darkness, mysterious vibe of the music.

"Should I... Should I be scared about this?" You look between the two older girls with a slightly worried expression, "Wait, should I?"

Neither Beth nor Steph said much but laugh slightly, awaiting your reaction as the beat of the music started to play.

"Oooo, there's water," You take in the scene of the start of the music video, bopping your head along to the music casually, "Mysterious vibes." You state, wiggling your fingers like they sparkling.

All too soon that your watching the video and your mouth drops open, shaping the perfect 'O' shape as you stare in horror at the music video you're literally being forced to watch.

"What the--  She's making out with another girl!" You exclaim in shock, "My eyes... My innocent eyes!"

Even if you wanted to escape from watching it, you couldn't do that, considering that Beth had her arms tightly wrapped around your waist so you couldn't up and leave.

"Ah! My eyes!" You repeat as you shriek in horror, immediately trying to shield your face behind your hands. "This isn't the JoJo Siwa that I remember!" You exclaim, keeping your hands over your face while you shake your head profusely.

"Just watch it, kid. It's not that bad," Steph chuckles, amusedly.

"NOT THAT BAD?" You exclaim in horror, whipping your head to look at the Aussie, "THIS IS... THIS IS HORRIFYING!" You whine, trying to wiggle out of the blondes' arms.

"It's certainly a lot different," Beth jokes.

You continue to shake your head profusely, "Turn it off! Turn it off! I can't even... I need bleach-- I don't want to watch anymore!"

Unfortunately both of the older girls' continue to laugh at your own expense, finding the situation completely hilarious.

Of course they'd watched the video previously and as soon as they did, they knew you were the perfect one for them to film a reaction to watching this music video, considering your usual love for JoJo's music.

"This... This isn't even music-- I don't like it!" You begin to try and claw at your eyes, definitely not keen on the music video in front of you.

You manage to somehow worm your way off the blonde's knee, wriggling all the way to the floor as you do no more than lie there rolling around as you make a lot of noise shrieking like a banshee while clawing at your face, trying to scrub the memory of the video.

"Turn it... Turn it off, please!" You plead with them both, hearing the tune in the background as you continue to roll around on the floor like it would solve all of your problems.

Beth snorts in amusement at your overdramatic performance on the ground, "I don't see what's so bad about it, Y/N. It's just a music video." She comments.

"Just a music video? Bethany, that is pure vulgar-- That is... That's not even music!" Your absolutely horrified about the video; Why would anyone create something like this and actually put it out there?

The commotion you began to make was soon spotted as you lay on the floor by the rest of the girls.

"What's going on with your niece, Wally?" Leahs' the first to spot your not so normal behaviour.

"Is she okay?" Kim frowns, concerned.

Lia looks over to you and furrows her eyebrows, "I... I don't know," She watches you continue to roll around on the floor as she realises she should find out what's wrong with you. "Y/N, what's going on?" She wonders, concerned.

"My eyes, auntie Lia-- My eyes!" You exclaim, still trying to claw at them to try and block out the horror that you just witnessed.

"What?" Lias' left even more confused, trying to make sense of what is actually going on.

"Help me, auntie! Help me!" You continue to roll around dramatically on the floor, "I can't... I can't even-- I don't like it!"

"What? Y/N, sweetheart, I can't understand what you're talking about here," Lia admits, confused with your unusual behaviour compared to usual.

"Let me try," Leah suggests, getting up from her seat and joining the small group before she crouches down to your own level, "Hey buddy, what's goin' on?" She wonders, concerned.

"Pain! So much pain!" You exclaim dramatically while you still attempt to claw at your eyes.

Leah and Lia share a confused look, "Wha-- What're you talkin' about buddy, what's happened? Are you hurt?" She questions.

"Yes, yes I am hurt!" You somewhat whine in response, "I need... I need help!" You state, attempting to wriggle round on the floor, but thats' difficult with Leahs' hand resting on you to stop doing exactly that.

"Your hurt?" Lia immediately kneels down beside you and tries to inspect which part of your body is injured, "Where hurts, Y/N? Tell me so I can get help!" She panicks slightly, trying to figure out what it is that's exactly wrong.

"You... You can't help, the pains' in my eyes-- I need to bleach them!" You murmer, trying to erase the memory of the video but having no luck.

"What?" Lia's even more confused now before she glances at the older girls' giggling to themselves like school girls, "What is going on?" She asks.

"We thought we'd show Y/N the new music video that JoJo Siwa released," Beth snickers, finding it hilarious to watch your initial reaction to it.

Lia furrows her eyebrows even more confused than before, not understand whats' so bad about that.

"Are you girls crazy? Why... Why an earth would you show a little girl that type of video?" Kims' voice barks aloud, overhearing the conversation.

"Hey! I'm not a little girl. I'm almost 13, you know!" Your quick to protest, causing from the mid meltdown. "I'm... I'm traumatised, auntie Lia!" You exclaim.

"Show me the video? It can't be that bad," Lia gestures for Steph to press play on the video, so that herself and Leah can understand it and within the first minute or so in, her expression completely changes, "What is wrong with you two? Why an earth would you traumatise my niece with that sort of video!" She barks at them.

"Exactly my point," Kim waves her hand off, like she was talking sense the whole time.

"That is... That is one crazy video," Leah murmers as her eyes widen in disbelief, knowing its' no wonder the way that you suddenly reacted when you saw it.

"See, auntie Lia? Its' pure trauma... I need therapy!" You whine dramatically, shaking your head profusely, "Months and months of therapy!"

"Well, shes' not wrong there," Leah snorts, trying to stifle her laughter when Lia looks at her unimpressed, "But eh, yeah, seriously, girls... Why would you show her that?" She tries to act like the responsible adult that she is.

Safe to say that Steph and Beth found the whole situation most amusing to watch you freak out mentally, of course taking the opporunity to taunt you with that god-awful song.

At any given time of the day...

Curse that stupid song that exsists.

Like the moment that you're peacefully minding your own business, sat on the sidelines of the pitch messing around with your Nintendo Switch, having a blast on Mario Kart when Steph decides to walk over to you, casually picking up her water bottle to take a few swigs before she starts to hum that familiar tune.

"No," You whine, going to cover your ears.

You swear that Steph even smirks at you at one point, before she continues to go about humming the god-awful song.

"No, no, no stop-- I need bleach... I need to bleach my ears out!" You whine dramatically, trying to block it all out, "STOP ITTTTT!"

"kArMa'S a BiTcH--"

"Auntie Lia! Auntie Lia! Help me, Stephs' singing that song!" Of course you tattle-tale straight away, being the shit-stirring little menance that you are, "Auntieeeee Lia, make her stop singin'!" You continue to whine dramatically.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[copperbadge]

How did you find the doctor(s) who assessed you for ADHD? Im looking into the process of getting diagnosed because (although ive suspected I might have adhd for years now) I've been struggling a lot more lately and i want to try medication to see if it helps at all. Im trying to search for psychiatrists through my health insurance portal but the the results im getting are all for child/adolescent psychiatry specialists, and I dont think that'll be much help for an adult adhd assessment? Did you have an established therapist to refer you for your assessment or were you able to find a psychiatrist independently?

I actually just kind of had to freeform it, but that does mean I have some tips to share!

I will say, I have never once used a health insurance portal to find someone to treat me for anything. Often their search engine is fucked up and the information is sometimes out of date. I almost always either ask someone who I know has had similar issues if they have a recommendation, ask my treating physician if I have one, or just google until I find someone reputable-looking; any qualified medical center or professional will list what insurance they take anyway, and you can always ask when you make the appointment.

So here's the process for how to do that!

When I was first considering it, I asked a friend who'd had an evaluation that came back not-ADHD, which I liked because it meant we knew it wasn't like, a weird Adderall pill mill or something. I really wanted to have a professional and thorough evaluation because I knew myself and knew I was capable of gaming a questionnaire. The place she had her evaluation was unfortunately having some staffing issues; part of the reason it took me so long is that I played phone tag with them for ages -- I'd call, and regardless of what time of day I called, their scheduler would be "out", so I'd leave a message and never get a call back. Ultimately I said "I really need to talk to a human, because your scheduler has not returned any of my numerous calls" and they said they could transfer me to another office outside of Chicago (in the burbs). That was not going to be accessible to me, so I told them thanks but I'll go somewhere else. Then COVID hit and I was not going to go anywhere near a medical center unless I had to for about two years.

So, when I was making my second serious run at getting evaluated, I did what might be expected of me by longtime readers of this blog: I made a spreadsheet.

I want to caveat this up top with REALLY IMPORTANT CONTEXT: I did not do all of this in a single day. The process from starting research to making an evaluation appointment took about a month, and probably would have taken longer if I wasn't getting somewhat desperate. Do not push yourself to do this as a single act. Research alone is a multi-day process; some days I looked at the open tabs and only entered one tab's worth of information. It took me quite a bit of time to write the form email I sent inquiring about an assessment. It took me time to call the clinic back when they asked me to call to book the appointment. This is a series of steps, not a single leap.

So!

I was looking for a clinic rather than an individual, in part because I'd heard a couple of horror stories about people who went to a psychiatrist and just got argued with for an hour instead of actually getting evaluated. So I googled, and here are some key terms for you, chicago adult adhd assessment. Chicago obviously for the region, but "adult adhd" (putting it in quotes will help) is the important term that will help you filter out a lot of child psych stuff. A lot of what I looked at did included family or child assessment/therapy but were clear that they also evaluated adults.

Then I went through every legit-looking search result and noted down, in my spreadsheet, the name of the clinic/company, the contact phone and email, the URL, the physical location (I needed to be able to get to it fairly easily) and whether they took my insurance. Even if they didn't take my insurance (all but one did) I still put them into the spreadsheet so that if I found them again I could check the sheet and know I didn't need to investigate further. I also tended to bump more legitimate and friendly-looking places to the top of the sheet. And if I were going to do it again I would also look for one specific thing, which is an assessment guide of some kind.

The assessment guide may be something they only give you after you speak with them, so it's not a no-go if they don't have one on their website, but it basically tells you what generally will go on during the assessment, how long it will take, and what you should bring. A full assessment like I had is estimated to take 4-6 hours and they recommended I wear layers so I wouldn't be overly cold/warm in their office, and to bring a snack. That's the kind of information you want, duration of the assessment and what they recommend for you, to ensure that you're working with people who are thorough and care about your comfort.

So, I have this spreadsheet now of places to reach out to, which I know take my insurance and do adult assessment. In the spreadsheet I also had columns for what date I contacted them and whether they'd responded. I started reaching out via email, one per day, with the form email I'd written.

The form email basically said "I'm 42 with no previous diagnosis but I have a family history of autism and dyslexia. I've been told I should get assessed for ADHD, so I'm looking for a clinic that will do the assessment and takes (my insurance). I prefer to be contacted by email but if need be, my phone number is (phone number). Please let me know if you have any open appointments and what information you will need from me to book an evaluation with you." (You can always ask for more information about the actual evaluation process once they respond.)

If I didn't get a response within 24 hours, I moved on to the next, but I only greyed out the text in that line of the spreadsheet; I didn't disqualify/remove the nonresponsive ones because again, I wanted to make sure I kept that information in case they eventually did respond. I did this with about ten clinics, because I figured I must be able to find at least one in ten who could do the eval, and I could go back and research more if necessary.

I think the third or fourth one I reached out to was the first to respond, and I ended up going with them; I had a very positive experience in the assessment itself but it was a real pain in the ass getting the documentation from them -- they took about a month to go through the evaluation data (this is not abnormal but is rather longer than usual according to my psychiatrist) and they gave me an in-person-by-zoom report once it was ready. That said, it took another four months and the threat of reporting them to the state to get them to send me the text of the eval (in part because the evaluator left the clinic unexpectedly with my formal report not yet written). But that's something that's truly impossible to know until you're working with them, and highly unusual, so don't let concerns about that deter you. If you end up in that situation come hit me up and I'll tell you how I dealt with that.

My eval recommended an executive function coach, but if I haven't been able to func it by now I never will, so I thanked them for the recommendation and went looking for a psychiatrist unaffiliated with the clinic to prescribe me meds. There, the key words you're going to be looking for are again "adult adhd" but also "adult disability" and if you want medication that's less likely to be a huge fucking hassle, "medication management". My psychiatrist and I meet every two months to reup my prescription, but he doesn't require me to take a regular drug test or meet him in person in order to get a new scrip, as some people have encountered. We meet in person once or twice a year (I can't remember, it's due to a legal requirement in Illinois) but otherwise it's over zoom.

So yeah -- it's a process, but there are ways to streamline and manage it, and a few tripwires in place to make sure you don't end up screwed by the system. Definitely feel free to ask if you have questions, either here or if you want a more indepth conversation you can email me at copperbadge@gmail.com. GOOD LUCK!

[sleepwithgiggli]

An Important message from Reddit

Hey loves,

I just wanna drop something real here, because I know a lot of us are out here surviving conversations with people who say they support us, but then hit us with the emotional equivalent of a wet sock to the face. You know the type:

“I support you… but you’ll always be my [deadname/brother/sister/whatever].”

“I’m here if you want to talk… but I just can’t call you that name.”

“It’s just hard for me to see you like this.”

Babes, let me be real: support without respect is just noise. And we’re not here for noise; we’re here for truth, joy, power, healing, and absolutely zero tolerance for soft bigotry wrapped in family dinner smiles.

Let me be even more real: You are valid. You are real. You are becoming. And it is fking beautiful.

So, how do we deal with this mess?

Let’s talk boundaries. That sexy, magical spell that protects your peace without you having to explain your existence for the 900th time.

Setting boundaries doesn’t mean you’re mean. It means you’re a damn adult who values your mental health.

Here are some easy lines that say “I love myself” without starting a war:

“I’m not having this conversation again. Either you respect me or we don’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to understand me to treat me with basic decency.”

“If you keep misgendering me, I’m leaving this conversation. Every time.”

“You don’t get to ‘support’ me halfway. This isn’t a build-your-own sandwich.”

Boundaries are hot. Boundaries are queer. Boundaries are survival.

But what if they’re “family”?

Cool. And? Blood doesn’t mean unlimited access to your life. You’re allowed to choose distance over disrespect. You’re allowed to say, “I love you, but I won’t tolerate this.” You’re allowed to walk away. And if that feels heavy? Baby, community will catch you.

Okay, now give me the goods. Where can I go for help, freebies, or just a damn break?

Here’s a mini treasure chest of resources (US-focused with some global):

Therapy & Mental Health • Open Path Collective – low-cost therapy: https://openpathcollective.org/ • Inclusive Therapists – find therapists who get it: https://www.inclusivetherapists.com/ • Trans Lifeline – call or text for peer support: https://translifeline.org/ • 7 Cups – free support chats when you need to talk: https://www.7cups.com/

Freebies & Essentials • Point of Pride – free binders, gaffs, electrolysis, HRT support, and surgery grants: https://www.pointofpride.org/ • Transgender Map – literally a guide for everything from ID changes to coming out: https://www.transgendermap.com/ • FLAVNT Streetwear Binder Program – get help paying for your binder: https://flavnt.com/ • Local LGBTQ+ centers often have clothing swaps, hygiene kits, and community support. Check CenterLink to find one near you. https://www.lgbtqcenters.org/LGBTCenters

Legal Help • TLDEF Name Change Project – legal name change help in several states: https://transequality.org/name-change-project • GLAD – for legal rights info and help across New England and beyond: https://www.gladlaw.org/ • Lambda Legal – national legal organization for LGBTQIA+ rights: https://lambdalegal.org/

Finally, to anyone struggling:

You are not “too much.” You’re not a burden. You’re not asking for too much by wanting to be respected as who you are. You’re asking for bare minimum humanity—and you deserve so much more than the bare minimum.

If the people around you can’t rise to meet you? Baby, step over them in your cutest boots and keep walking. Chosen family is real. We are out here. And we see you.

You are a masterpiece in motion. You are the main character. And anyone who refuses to get with the program can choke on their pronouns.

Stay soft. Stay fierce. Drink water. Block transphobes.

Love, Alessia

A loud trans babe who’s done shrinking

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

Since there's been some confusion, I didn't write this - it just spoke to me and I wanted to share it. The writer was Alessia on reddit, there should be a link to the source below.

[kingkaisen]

♡ — Levi goes to therapy to cope with your death . . . || mentions of: depressive behavior, poor eating & sleeping habits

“You are so incredibly strong for coming here, Levi. Showing up today was the very first step. I’m proud of you.”

Levi Ackerman didn’t respond, only because he had nothing to say.

That was the excuse he repeated to Onyankopon, who had been chirping in his ear over and over again about the benefits of therapy.

In the middle of yard work underneath the hot sun, he’d put down his shovel, wipe off his sweaty forehead with the towel draped across his shoulder, and tell Levi that mental health was important.

While making dinner, chopping up vegetables alongside Gabi and Falco — they all enjoyed having meals together at least once a week — he’d drop the potatoes into a pot of boiling water, look over at Levi, and tell him that he knew an amazing therapist who would love to speak with him.

And, eventually, Levi caved. Not because he thought it would benefit him, but so his dear friend would finally shut up.

“What are you expecting to get out of therapy, Levi?” The older blonde-haired woman asked, leaning back in her big brown chair. “What brings you in today?”

“My friend wanted me to give it a try.” Levi looked down at his lap, staring at the place where two of his fingers were supposed to be. “I couldn’t exactly outrun him, so . . .”

“I understand,” she nodded slowly. “Why does your friend believe that you need therapy?”

Levi’s jaw twitched involuntarily. His eyes were glassy with tears — tears that once never fell down his face as easily as they do now. Levi’s eyes darted from his lap to a random spot on the beige wall. His uninjured leg started to shake a bit.

“Uh . . .” Running his hand over his mouth, he said with a slight tremble in his voice, “I lost someone.”

“Go on,” the therapist nodded encouragingly.

A lump started to form in Levi’s throat, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t swallow it down.

He couldn’t speak.

All he could do was sit in his wheelchair and become a victim of the onslaught of horrific memories that flashed in his mind.

When he blinked, a tear rolled down his pale cheek.

“She is my- she was my . . . damn it.”

Levi ran his hand over his face once again. This time, when he did it, the woman noticed his wedding ring.

“Take your time, Levi,” she said.

“She was my wife,” Levi paused. “And she’s dead now. That’s all.”

“Can you tell me more about that?”

“It was the rumbling.”

“I see. How did you discover her death? Did you witness it?”

All at once, it felt as if Levi’s heart stopped beating, and snapped into pieces. His breathing — he could hardly control it.

“Stop,” the words fell from between his lips before he even knew that he had spoken. “Too much.”

“I apologize.” The therapist nodded. “Let’s start with something easier. How are your eating and sleeping habits?”

That topic wasn’t easy at all.

He found himself moving bits of food around with his silverware more often than not, unable to bring the utensil to his mouth most days. And, he could hardly sleep before he lost you. Now? He never even bothered to close his eyes.

The dark bags underneath them were a telltale sign — a silent answer to the therapist’s question.

“This was a bad idea,” Levi glared at the woman. “You can’t help me.”

“Yes, I-”

“Can you bring her back?” Clenching his jaw, he spoke with a tone heavy with dread and sadness.

“No, I can’t.”

“Then you can’t help me,” Levi said.

“Levi,” the therapist took a deep breath before she said, “I can only help you if you’ll let me. Healing takes time, and it won’t work instantly. It seems as if we’re taking things too fast for your liking, and I understand. So, how about we start with something else? Tell me something about her. Anything you’d like to share.”

Levi played with the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt, pinching the soft material between his fingers.

“She liked sleeping,” Levi paused. “I hardly sleep at all. Always thought it was kinda funny.”

“Did she help you sleep?” The therapist asked.

“Yeah.”

“How did she help you fall asleep?”

When the therapist asked that question, Levi felt his cheeks start to warm up, the formerly pale skin becoming a subtle pink.

Being vulnerable in such a way was like having an exposed nerve, but, even so, he had to push through.

Any form of help — any relief anyone could give him from his own misery — was well worth it.

“She’d run her fingers through my hair,” Levi said. “And she’d always make sure that I could feel her next to me. An arm, a leg, her breath — anything.”

“Well,” the therapist smiled softly, “I hope you know that she’s still with you, Levi.”

Levi didn’t respond. He couldn’t; the lump in his throat had returned, if it had ever truly gone away.

But he knew.

He wouldn’t go as far as to say he believed in ghosts or anything of the sort, but the warm presence that he felt within his soul was enough.

It was enough for him to keep on living, as he knew you would be upset if he joined you in the afterlife too soon.

It would take a lifetime of therapy to work through the trauma — the sight of your ODM gear malfunctioning as you fell to your death, and Levi wasn’t fast enough to grab you — but he’d do whatever it took to heal.

And, with that, he’d continue to live because it’s what you would have wanted, and because he knew one thing for certain: you would be waiting for him.

[johnnycadesmuse]

⋆ * ·˚ ࿔ kiss it off me

— bob hughes x art-therapist!reader (pt.2)

song 𝄞 kiss it off me by cigarettes after sex

warnings: language, pnv, f!receiving

as you stood outside the restaurant, checking your watch every couple of seconds, you eagerly awaited Bob's arrival. despite you being 15 minutes early, you couldn't help but feel that he wouldn't show. it was like a sour sensation in your stomach that you couldn't get rid of, the kind you always got when you felt something bad was about to happen.

but that all went away when suddenly, you saw Bob walking toward you with a smile on his face and a cigarette in hand. he was wearing a white shirt with a grey flannel with the sleeves rolled up, similar to the outfit he was wearing the other day during his first art session.

he took one last hit of his cigarette, tossing it aside before finally stopping before you. "you ready?" he asked and you nodded with a smile. his hand found its way to your lower back, guiding you into the restaurant. as you entered, you saw that every table was full and you got nervous that you may need to go somewhere else. you began to mentally beat yourself up for not making a reservation when suddenly- "reservation under Hughs" Bob told the hostess, making you smile of relief as well as satisfaction that he had made a reservation, not many guys did. they often left it up to the woman to do it.

you were shown to a small table in the corner, one that was closed off and more reserved. "I made sure to get us a more quiet spot" he told you as the waitress set down menus in front of you.

"well aren't you thoughtful" you joked as you took a sip of the water that was already set on the table.

"I try" he shrugged with a smile, showing off his perfect teeth. god is he gorgeous you thought to yourself as you took in his appearance. he cleaned up nice, and that was a rare quality to find in a guy. especially one who is an ex-addict. not to say that he was dirty, but he looked cleaner. it appeared that Bob had combed his hair, shaved his stubble that he had had a few days ago, and had put on a few sprays of cologne, filling your nose with a pleasant smell, only making you want him more. "you know what ya' want?"

"yeah, i've been here a few times actually"

"with other dates?" he asked, a sly grin on his face. it seemed as though he was poking at you for fun, but at the same time, you knew that it was also a genuine question.

"no, just a few girlfriends of mine" you giggled, setting the menu down.

Bob scanned the menu for a few more moments before nodding and setting it down, both of you now waiting for the waitress to come back around so that the both of you could order.

"so, how'd you become an art therapist" Bob asked, saying art therapist in an almost mocking tone, which made you laugh.

"you still don't buy it do you?"

"nope." he said, grabbing the napkin off of the table and placing it over his lap, surprising you as not many men had table manners such as his.

"why?-" you were quickly cut off by the waitress appearing before you both. the both of you ordered your meals as well as drinks before the waitress walked away, once again leaving the both of you alone. "why?" you asked again, clearing your throat.

"well.. I don't know. therapy ain't really something I believe a lot in. and.. I dunno" he explained, whispering the last bit. it seemed as though he was holding back a lot of information, information that was too painful to rehash and share, so you didn't push it. "why did you become an art therapist?"

"uh.. well. my dad was an addict and.." you paused for a moment, wondering if you should go down such a dark path of stories. "after my mum died it pushed him to get better. so he went to art therapy every day and within a few weeks he was his old self again. it was like a miracle or something"

he looked at you sympathetically before placing his rough, calloused hands over yours. "sorry about your mother. mine don't talk to me no more" he said softly, his beautiful doe eyes staring back into yours, making your heart melt.

"i'm sorry" you whispered and he shrugged. you smiled at him, making him smile back at you. his smile and affection made you feel safe and loved, and despite having only known the man a total of 3 hours, you felt as if you've known him for a lifetime.

the moment of intimacy was unfortunately cut short when your drinks arrived, and any normal guy would've pulled his hand away, but Bob didn't. Bob wasn't a normal guy, and every moment he continued to prove that.

after an hour more of being at the restaurant, eating and laughing, it was time to leave. you had gotten to know Bob and his deep, kind hearted nature.

he told you about his time with his old gang and his ex-wife Diane. how Diane continued on with her drug driven life and had gotten with another member of their gang after he had left. you heart ached for him as he talked about the heartbreak he felt when she had left him after coming for a quick visit. and he ended with admitting that he was looking for love again, and even though he didn't say it, you knew that that new love.. was you.

after Bob paid, you two both made your way toward the end of the street before stopping. "so... i'll see you on monday?" you asked, Bob looked confused.

"why don't you uh.. come over? my apartments only a few blocks away." he said, pointing behind him.

you thought for a moment, biting your lip as you shifted on your feet. you knew that if you went back home with him, you two would sleep together. and it's not that you didn't want to, you did, desperately. the moment you saw him, your mind went to places that was between you and god. it was more about the fact that despite him not being your patient at that moment, he would be on Monday as soon as you both stepped inside of the rehab center, which may make it awkward. however, that's what you signed up for when you said yes and you decided that you would worry about that sort of thing when you got there.

"sure!" you exclaimed before beginning to walk with Bob to his apartment, your hands brushing against one another every other minute until he swiftly took his hands in yours, making your heart pound.

after talking one another's ears off as you walked all the way to Bobs apartment, you both stepped inside the empty and quiet elevator. the tension between the both of you was thick. you wanted nothing more for Bob to take you right there in that old, rickety elevator that was 2 pounds away from breaking down. but you were good and held yourself back, the both of you did. besides, the building was mostly filled with old people and the last thing you wanted was for grandma to walk in on Bob rutting into you against the wall.

Bob unlocked his apartment, both of you walking inside. it was small, but cozy as well as clean. it wasn't anything special, but it also didn't need to be. it was comforting and it smelt like him, like Bob.

"sorry it ain't much" he sighed, almost in embarrassment.

"Bob, it's fine. I love it actually. it's cozy and clean. not many guys apartments are nowadays." you said, making him laugh as he pulled out a box of cigarettes, offering you one after popping a cancer stick in his mouth. you gladly took one, sitting on the chair across from him as he lit both ends of your guy's cigarettes.

you let out an exhale of smoke, staring at Bob as he stared at you. both of you knew exactly what the other was thinking, and before the both of you could say anything or even think, your cigarettes were snuffed out on the ashtray and Bob was on top of you on his bed.

you two began to kiss passionately, Bobs hands sliding underneath your shirt as he rubbed circles on your waist. you fingers were threaded in his hair, your legs wrapped around his waist.

"you're so beautiful" he whispered into your ear before beginning to kiss your neck, causing you to whimper. his kisses continued to go lower and lower until he was by the hem of your pants. he looked up at you for permission, to which you nodded. he swiftly removed your jeans, tossing them onto the floor, leaving your bottom half practically naked.

he admired your choice of underwear, having an affinity for red lingerie. he rubbed soft circles on your clit over your panties, the material already soaked with your arousal.

you opened your legs wider, Bob smirking at the reaction he was getting from you. "take of your shirt baby, I wanna see those beautiful tits of yours" he whispered as he slowly dragged your panties off of your legs.

you obeyed, taking off your shirt before unclipping your bra, revealing your breasts, nipples hard and perked from the cool air. Bob smirked at the sight of you fully naked on his bed, legs already spread for him with a pathetic expression on his face. only last night was he having a wet dream about this, and now it was a reality.

"god.." he mumbled, kneeling in front of you on the mattress, your legs spread for him as he rubbed rough circles on your clit. "aren't you the most beautiful thing. and look at you, already so wet f'me.."

you bit your lip, attempting to muffle your moans as you gripped onto the sheets. "please Bob" you whimpered, and before you plead any further, he was on his knees on the floor before you, pulling you in by your thighs.

his mouth was on you in seconds, ravishing your pussy and lapping up every drop of your juice he could get. your hands tugged on his roots, making him groan. it took him all of his strength to not grind into the bed frame, his dick hard and strained against his jeans.

"fuck Bob!" you moaned out, grinding against his face out of desperation for more. "m'so close!"

Bob continued the same pace and pattern, his tongue feeling like heaven against your heat. he looked up at you with those doe eyes as you came, slurping up every drop of your cum as if it were his last meal.

he placed a few kisses against your sensitive pussy, waiting for you to come down from your high. "did so good baby" he whispered against your inner thigh before peppering soft kisses against your skin.

you pulled him up, passionately kissing him over and over as you helped him take his jeans off, revealing his boxers that were stained with pre-cum.

he took off his shirt as you helped take off his boxers, his dick springing free and slapping against his chest. the size of it made you nervous as you had never taken anything so big, and Bob could see that. he gave you a cocky smirk, leaning down to passionately kiss you once more. "don't worry baby, i'll take care of you. make you feel real good, yeah?"

he positioned his length at your entrance, running his tip through your folds, making you whine. he pushed himself into you slowly, both of you staring into one another eyes and watching your faces contort into expressions of pleasure.

he thrusted into you slowly, kissing all over your face whilst whispering sweet nothings into your ear. "you feel so good" he groaned, his hand gripping your thigh harshly.

"harder" you moaned, your nails digging into his back deeper as he obeyed your plea, practically pounding into you. "holyyy shit" you whined quietly. "oh baby"

the feeling of you clenching around him mixed with the sound of your whining and moaning only drew him closer and closer to the edge. "i'm gonna cum" he groaned as he moved his hand down to rub your clit.

"me too" you moaned out, pressing open mouth kisses to his neck. "cum with me" you said, holding his hand in yours as he stared deeply into your eyes, his forehead pressed against yours.

after a few more thrusts, he slams into you harshly once more, making you cum before spilling his seed onto your stomach.

the room was silent once again, the only thing filling it being panting and heavy breathing.

Bob collapsed beside you, the both of you staring up at the ceiling in a pleasure filled stupor. "jesus" you whispered, running your hands through your hair. you rolled over and laid your head on Bob's chest, his fingers quickly finding their way to your hair as he stroked lightly over the top of your head.

"did so good f'me" he whispered, kissing the top of your head. you looked up at him with a smile before passionately kissing me. "give me a second, yeah?"

Bob got up, putting on his boxers before walking over to his bathroom. you closed your eyes for a moment, listening to the water run as Bob soaked a rag with warm water. he walked back over to you, spreading your legs gently before cleaning up the mess he made.

he tossed the rag onto the table next to the bed, laying down next to you once again, throwing the covers over you both.

"tell me you'll come to the session tomorrow Bob?" you asked, fiddling with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

"you kiddin?, I wouldn't miss it"

@avroravia @r0seb100d @johnnycadesslut @seilahdiaries

[transfemme-shelterdog]

I did not realize how much internalized queerphobia I have until today. Specifically internalized transphobia. Today was the first proper Pride event I've gone to since I was like 14 (I'm in my 20s now). Just seeing all the very clockable trans people was making me cringe, and then I started wondering if I'm as clockable to them as they are to me. Obviously this is shit I've gotta work on, I'm not content to sit with this part of me that cringes and is disgusted by outward displays of queerness whether in terms of gender or sexuality. But I guess I just don't know how someone can be so open and confident with their queerness. Technically I'm Gen Z, but on the much older side. I often relate to the younger Millennials more than I do other Gen Z folk. I'm pretty sure the area I grew up in heavily influenced this as well, but I don't see why we need to be "proud" of our queerness? It's not an accomplishment or something we achieved. By luck of the draw or roll of the dice, we ended up queer. So why be proud of something you had no say or action in?

Maybe it's just that I just don't see "trans" as a part of my identity unless it comes to like, medical shit. I don't think of myself as a trans man in the slightest. It's not part of my identity, it's not something I share, but I know technically it *does* apply to me. But seeing trans people my age walking around with colored hair and face paint, draped in various flags, it just feels like. We're not the same. Not even remotely close. It also feels very tone-deaf in the current political climate of the US, and very performative as well. I don't know how anyone can be all happy and cheery and wearing literal targets on their faces and backs when the area is hugely red and conservative. Does it not scare them?? Do they lack the terrible experiences of discrimination and hatecrimes?? If so, that's a good thing. That means progress. But without those experiences, I just can not relate to their version of queerhood. We've lived something different. It doesn't feel like we're in the same community or category even though we are.

I saw this one person, who I'm going to assume was a trans guy given he had the gay male flag wrapped around his shoulders, but he wasn't binding, was wearing really tight fem clothing, and was just doing nothing at all to pass other having a short haircut. But passing isn't the end-all be-all of being trans. I know that. Most people I meet or see will not have the same goals as me in any area of my life. So obviously not all trans people will strive to be as cis-passing as possible, and that's just fine. Logically I get that. The part of me that cringes does not.

I also saw another trans guy who had the stereotypical trans guy jawline beard. Nothing on his cheeks, no mustache, nothing on his chin except the very bottom, just a strap that followed his jaw from one sideburn to the other. It was very much giving Discord mod. And obviously that's an awful thing to think. He's probably happy he can finally grow some facial hair. A lot of cis teen boys go through the straggly facial hair phase. This guy is just doing it slightly later in life because he couldn't before. But I couldn't help but think "don't you know what you look like?" I basically thought that about every person there. Maybe it's envy that they can be so open and not scared. Who knows. I've got this shame around my queerhood while they are very open about theirs even at such a dangerous time. They're either couragous, or unaware and stupid. I'd like to think they're the former.

Obviously this is all shit I've got to bring up with my therapist and work through. But I just had to get it out somewhere.

So, I'm Gen Z as well (kinda, sorta? I was born in 1997, but some resources do anywhere from 1995 to 97, so idk), but just barely. I'm kinda in the same boat. Yeah, I'm not *proud* of being trans, I don't walk around trying to look "clocky". I'm very basic.

I use men's washrooms to avoid making anyone uncomfortable, I dress somewhat casual in "copy paste athleisure" as someone on here referred to it as. I'm not even out at work to avoid making anyone feel uncomfortable. I'm very subtle, and only dress feminine around those who know I'm trans.

But, that's just me. I realize others are gonna be different, and have more outgoing ways of presenting themselves. That's fine. That's how they do their gender. I'm not gonna shame anyone for proudly being clocky or being outwardly trans. All power to them, seriously.

How someone chooses to present themselves and their gender is only their business.

That guy you said who wasn't binding. Maybe he can't. Maybe he has rib issues, or spinal issues. Maybe he just doesn't want to bind. Why does that matter to you?

We as a community need to be supporting each other. No exceptions. So if someone wants to dress a way that makes you feel uncomfortable, you should still support them entirely, no matter what. Conservatives see us all as freaks, we need to be allies, not at each others throats.

[annoyingslops]

i just felt like i needed to talk a bit about this scene because it resonates with me so much. for many years i lived with my partner who dealt with a lot of the same issues that lapis does: trauma, anxiety, depression, etc.

over time, sharing a home with this person, i started to become afraid to set them off. like if i said the wrong thing they would lash out and mistreat me. it happened often enough that i felt like the risk was too great.

eventually it got bad enough that i didn't feel capable of saying no anymore. it became dangerous and i had to get away from them.

in this scene, i believe that peridot would have left earth with lapis had steven not been there to intervene. peridot is so worried about upsetting lapis that she can't say no to something as big as leaving her life and all her friends behind. i wouldn't have been able to pry myself from my own abusive relationship without my friends and family supporting me.

it's hard for me to blame peridot for "lying" to lapis. we don't get to see what their life together is like very often. sure we see a few moments here and there, but peridot is careful about things around lapis for a reason. she is protecting herself as much as she is lapis.

my guess is that lapis has probably hurt peridot many times when she did try to express herself, or tried to talk to lapis about her trauma. it was enough for peridot to worry that upsetting lapis might cause their relationship to fall apart and for lapis to abandon her.

in the end lapis abandons her anyway.

if they had been able to talk about these things together while they were living together, then maybe things could have been different, but i kind of doubt it.

lapis has some really serious issues that she has to work through, and from what we can see, she has been avoiding working through them. peridot isn't a great communicator – she's learning – but she's definitely not a therapist. she can support lapis, but she can't help her fix these issues. she's just not equipped to be able to do so.

so is peridot "lying?" i'm not sure. should she have been more open about things with lapis? probably yes. but i have a feeling that if peridot had been more open, the two of them would not be living together by the time we get to this scene.

peridot chose living with lapis over her own happiness. i can relate.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hi!! I love your writing!! Would it be possible for your thoughts on Ford/stan with a girlfriend who is a therapist or psychiatrist? (I’m studying psychology so this is a totally self indulgent ask!) thank you!! 🫶🏼

A/n: Ok! I'm sorry these took long

Stan/Ford pines x therapist!reader

Ford Pines:

Ford is instantly intrigued by your profession. He’s always been interested in how the human brain works, and having a girlfriend who understands the mind on such a deep level excites his curiosity.

He loves asking you questions about psychology, sometimes treating your discussions like he’s learning from a textbook.

“So, if someone were to experience prolonged exposure to isolation, how do you think that would affect their psyche?”

Ford absolutely loves to hear your insights on everything from mental health to obscure psychological theories, often adding his own knowledge of psychology.

Ford greatly values your calming presence. As someone who has gone through trauma from his interdimensional travels, Ford finds comfort in how you can guide him through his anxieties and ground him during his moments of overthinking. It’s not that he’s asking for therapy, but the way you talk and listen to him brings him a lot of peace.

Sometimes Ford gets lost in his head, overanalyzing everything or diving too deep into his research, and you’re the one who pulls him back. You know just how to approach his worries without invalidating them, and he’s beyond grateful for that.

“You always know exactly what to say to bring me back to reality. How do you do it?”

He’s particularly interested in your take on the psychological impact of interdimensional travel or exposure to anomalous phenomena.

He’ll often turn to you for discussions about the mind’s adaptability and resilience. You’ve become his go-to person for talking about the human condition in the context of the strange.

Ford is also incredibly supportive of your career and education. If you’re studying or need quiet time to work, he’ll make sure you have the perfect environment to focus. He’s always ready to offer encouragement when you’re feeling stressed.

“I know it’s a lot, but if anyone can do this, it’s you. I’ve never seen someone so dedicated to understanding the complexities of the mind.”

Ford loves sharing intellectual moments with you, like reading papers or discussing recent psychological studies. Sometimes, he even helps you with your work by giving you unique perspectives from his travels, and in turn, you help him manage the more stressful parts of his past.

Stan Pines:

Stan doesn’t fully get what a therapist or psychiatrist does at first (he’s used to handling things by “toughing it out”) but he quickly comes to appreciate how insightful you are.

“So, you talk to people about their problems? Gotta hand it to ya, you’ve got a lot of patience. I can barely deal with the customers.”

Stan is amazed at how you can listen to other people’s issues all day and still come home well. He’s constantly in awe of how much you care for others and how you help people through their darkest moments.

“You’ve gotta be some kinda saint to listen to people’s problems all day and not go crazy yourself.”

He loves that you don’t push him to talk, but when he does, you listen attentively. You’ve taught him that it’s okay to share his feelings without making him feel weak. Sometimes he’s caught off guard by how much better he feels after talking to you.

“Huh, I guess it’s not so bad… all this feelings stuff. You really know how to make a guy feel better.”

Stan appreciates your ability to see through his tough-guy act. You can read him like a book, and while it’s a little intimidating, it’s also a relief. You pick up on the small things, like when he’s more stressed than usual or when something’s bothering him.

“How do you always know what’s goin’ on in my head? It’s like you’re a mind reader or somethin’. Say how bout we put that to use in the shack? I'm joking, unless you want to.”

He loves to brag about your career, even if he doesn’t always understand it.

“Yeah, my girl’s a therapist. Helps people sort out their problems. She’s smart as hell. I dunno how she does it, but it’s pretty impressive.”

If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed by your work, Stan is the first to encourage you to take a break. He might not know all the details of your job, but he knows how important it is for you to recharge. He’ll pull you away from your books or laptop and suggest watching a movie or doing something fun together.

“You’ve been workin’ hard all day. Come on, let’s kick back and relax. You deserve it.”

He’s a little protective of you, especially if you’ve had a rough day. If you come home stressed after dealing with a difficult client, Stan will be there to comfort you in his own way, whether that’s making you laugh, cooking a simple meal, or just sitting beside you.

Stan will occasionally ask for advice, though he’ll frame it casually. “So, let’s say someone I know has a lotta stuff from their past they don’t like talkin’ about. What’d you say to help ‘em out?” He trusts you more than he’ll admit and values your wisdom, even if he’s not always ready to face his own feelings head-on.

A/n: you give them therapy they need, the end ^^