#phd student psyche

[bittertomato]

You know what? Psyche is a mood.

Thanks @sailorportia

Original from Chapter 112 of Your Throne

[sillycourtjester]

I constantly feel the need to get out of this fucking country but how do i get a college degree that guarentees i can use it internationally. Like the only thing i can think of is being a doctor and having a doctorate and thats so much money. It feels like im fucking trapped in america and i want out.

[stuckinapril]

hi. im 🪷

i know you mentioned you like me better as a concept but i guess i just cant help myself. everyone wants your affection but i wanted it first.

STOP IT I LOVE YOU OMG

[casbeeminestiel]

Nooo haha you’re fine it’s just that the way you equated corporate intrigue and corrupt government interference in aspects of life under capitalism with modern scientific research and medical advancements being false just turned me off a ‘lil.

[sophielovesbooks]

The serotonin hit when I scroll through two consecutive paragraphs of my draft that were left unaltered by my PhD supervisor lmao

[rantblog04]

I have decided. I’m going to be a psychologist out of spite.

1. To spite my unmedicated ADHD

2. To spite performative neurotypicals who study psychology and say they want to help neurodivergent people but don’t really care about them and bully them for showing nd traits.

[asurrogateblog]

today is our department's annual grad school welcome picnic and I'm looking forward to it but I HATE having to make my elevator pitch when I meet new people in academia. I'll be introducing myself and they'll be like "well I research tactics of political disinformation campaigns and she researches computational information processing, hbu?" and I have to be like ".....blorbo......"

[mainfaggot]

had a moment of whimsy followed by a moment of genuine irritation

[thedreadvampy]

and actually I also know I'm good at accessible factual writing because:

my informational/opinion-led posts keep getting Many Notes

in those notes people largely correctly understand what I'm conveying

and don't debunk my claims even when they would to

and also

in a different context but engaging factual writing about social issues is Literally My Day Job and I am consistently extremely successful at it

[pleasegostudy]

hello fellow grad students, i need some help finding literature from outside my discipline.

does anyone on here do psychology (or tbh any social science would help) and know of literature on what characteristics people look for in mentors/role model? thank you in advance x infinity!

[sophielovesbooks]

I run studies with kids where I have to ask them attention check questions that go "So, did [character from my story] CHEAT in the game or did they NOT cheat?"

I decided to construct my questions this way because if I simply asked them "So did [character] cheat?", then children who simply nodded their head to everything I said out of confusion would pass all of my attention check questions. This way, they have to elaborate (e.g., "Yes, they did cheat") which indicates proper understanding to me.

Anyway. Sometimes I ask my fiancé things like "So do you want MILK in your coffee or do you NOT want milk?" in the same babyish tone of voice and it's horrible.

professors who have only interacted with other academics for years: “what do you MEAN you don’t know multi-variable calculus yet??”

professors with small kids: “thank you for not putting the lab equipment in your mouths when I turn my back”

[notyetjaded1]

Sending good vibes and warm support to all my fellow psych friends and phd pals. I see you all striving and thriving in the tags, and want you all to know that a lil bit of my love for these fields and our academic pursuits and goals for better tomorrows is being shared with you. I see your passion and dedication, and it makes my heart just that much happier.

[hypocratic]

047 - cullen

Frederick remains in the corner of the stuck elevator, resting his weight on his right leg—his good side (ambulatorily speaking (aesthetically, he favors his left))—gripping the handrail that wraps around the three walls for further relief.

The other man is distressed. Validly, unpleasantly so. Frederick makes no true effort to soothe him. That would be a waste. The man will be too tired to be scared in a matter of minutes. Frederick can wait it out. Still, an interruption may hasten that process.

Before the man screams again: "Breathe. What you are currently experiencing is a panic attack. Shortness of breath, accelerated heart rate, fear of dying. All symptoms. Lucky for you— us— panic has an incredibly short lifespan. It is an exhaustive feeling. Overly taxing on the human body. You will calm soon, you will have no choice in the matter." He pauses, briefly, musing. "Whether fatigue can be equated to calmness is more of a philosophical discussion. Something we may have ample time for, it seems, given ourrr... predicament."

[airas-story]

This prompt was left as a comment on my prompt me post... for future reference, please send prompts in as ask. I'll go through the ones on the post, but it's easier for me if they're in my ask box! But thanks for the prompt @gscapri.

When tony and Stephen meet young during their college days and fell in love

“Can I steal your psych notes?”

Stephen looked up from his textbook to see a fellow student sliding into the seat across from him. Stephen frowned. He’d seen the student in class today, but… “You’re not in my psych class.”

“Nope,” the student said. “I’m on spring break. Columbia has one of the top psych programs in the US. Plus Professor Burkes is top of his field. I wanted to hear him lecture.” The student looked Stephen over. “You look like you take thorough notes.”

Wait. “You don’t go here?”

“Nope.” The student grinned. “I’m getting my PhDs at MIT.”

Stephen stared. What was an MIT student doing here? During spring break? “But you’re here… and you want my Psych notes.”

“Yep.” MIT grinned. “And dinner, if you’re up for that.”

Desire swooped in Stephen’s stomach. MIT was attractive. “You’re asking me out on a date?”

“I was thinking more you’d fill me in on a whole semester worth of Psych classes,” MIT admitted. “But we can call it a date, if you want.”

Stephen considered that. It’d be good prep for finals. Plus, Stephen bet he could get an actual date by the end of dinner. “You’re paying.”

“Deal.”

[sophielovesbooks]

Today I submitted my first ever first-author paper to a journal! I put so much work into this manuscript and yet the project is far from complete. I might get desk-rejected and will then have to prepare it for the next journal. Reviewers will have plenty of criticism, I'm sure.

But anyway! In this house we celebrate milestones along the way, so yayy!! 🎉🎉🎉 Also now I know what the submission process looks like and how to navigate it.

[anniebeemine]

an old flame-s.r.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, pure fluff, allusions to sex

“Dr. Spencer Reid!” You gushed, opening the door to your apartment. “It’s been far too long.” 

He pulled you into a hug, using one hand to wrap around your waist and the other to push his bag to his side. “How have you been, Y/N?” 

“Good.” You invited him and his friends in. They kicked off their shoes. “Sorry for the mess, I’m in the process of rearranging everything.” 

Spencer took note of the carpet rolled up, carefully stepping over it. He settled down at the dining room table. “These are Agents Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss,” he said, “we were hoping you’d be able to help us with something.”  

You sat across from him, Morgan and Prentiss taking two more spaces. “It’s so nice to finally meet you guys. Spencer talks about you guys all the time.” 

Prentiss shared a look with Morgan. Not that you’d ever have noticed, seeing as you were too busy taking in Spencer’s new look. You hadn’t seen him in a little over a year. His hair had gotten longer, brushing his shoulders with each step. You’d met a few years ago in a phd program, sharing drafts of your work for peer reviews. Over time, things grew personal but your job kept you in Chicago, his in Washington DC. 

“We’re here to ask for your expertise,” he said. “There’s been a list of transients who have gone missing.” 

You nodded, your mind already racing as you recalled the weekends spent at various homeless shelters. It had started as a volunteer effort, a way to give back to the community while pursuing your studies and teaching style. Little did you know, those weekends would become the foundation for your understanding of a shadowed corner of society.

“Thank you, Dr. Y/L/N,” Agent Prentiss smiled. “Please let us know if you think of anything else.” 

You nodded as you followed the trio out of your apartment. “Of course. I’ll give you guys a call if I hear or see anything.” 

Spencer lingered in the doorway for a few minutes, waiting until his friends were out of earshot. “I’ll see you before I leave,” he whispered. 

You grinned. “You know where I’ll be.” 

“Reid!” 

He left with a wave and a tight lipped smile. Upon entering the elevator, he felt his smile fade as he slipped back into his job. 

“She seemed real excited to see you,” Emily teased. 

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not like that. We used to be classmates.” 

-

Spencer didn’t come by for three days. You were sitting in your apartment reading through a student’s character analysis on some old film that you could only find at a library. He tapped his fingers on the door before entering the apartment. You’d pretty much put everything away since he’d come by. A hint of lavender hung in the air, a recent addition that spoke of your efforts to reclaim this space as your own. The walls, adorned with artwork and photographs that had once celebrated a shared journey, now featured new additions—abstract paintings that reflected a journey of introspection and renewal.

“Hey,” you called, “one second. There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry.” You continued circling misspellings on the paper. 

“Do you need help with those?” Spencer asked, sliding a paper over to him. “What class is this?” 

“Personality psych. It’s mostly freshmen looking for credit hours.” You looked up at him. “You're more than welcome to read through them. This is my last one.” 

He sat in silence as he read over one of the longer essays. You couldn’t help but be distracted by his hums of thought and looks of confusion. “Do you mind if I make some notes?”

“Go ahead,” you said, handing him a red pen. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate your feedback.”

As he marked up the paper, you felt a mixture of relief and unease. Spencer’s presence was comforting, yet the distance between you these past few days lingered like an unspoken question. After a few minutes, he looked up from the paper he was reading and smiled. "This one's really good. She's clearly being taught by the best."

You blushed, sure he was just being kind. “She's one of my brightest students.”

Spencer's smile grew warmer, and he shook his head slightly. "No, I mean it. You're an excellent teacher. It shows in their work."

The simplicity of his words felt like a lifeline. For a moment, the silence between you was filled with unspoken understanding.

“How have you been?” you asked, trying to bridge the gap.

“Busy,” he replied without looking up. “Cases have been non-stop.”

“I figured,” you said softly. “I missed you.”

He paused, pen hovering over the paper, before he glanced at you. “I missed you too.”

Spencer practically carried through your degrees. He’d read over your essays, umming and ahh-ing through your words. His notes were always constructive, never critical. You appreciated that someone could be so kind when reviewing your work. Despite being a literal genius, he never made you feel bad for not knowing things. The study group you were in dwindled, leaving just the two of you to have late nights together in the library. 

He’d stopped by the night before the commencement ceremony. You had a little apartment in a neighborhood a few train stops away from school, your first ever home away from your parents. Spencer came by, takeout in one hand and a book in the other. You let him in quickly, offering him a drink as he unpacked the food and rambled about the man in the small restaurant. 

“Would you like some?” You asked, holding a bottle of wine up. 

He looked nervous. “I’ve never had wine,” he admitted. 

You poured a little bit into a second glass. “Just for you to try, but you don’t have to.” 

After dinner, you rummaged through your small collection of board games, looking for something to keep the evening going. You pulled out a few options and spread them out on the coffee table.

“How about a game?” you suggested. “We have the Game of Life, Candyland, and some truth or dare cards.”

Spencer glanced at the options, his eyes lingering on each one before finally settling on Candyland. “I haven’t played this since I was a kid,” he said with a small, nostalgic smile.

“Candyland it is, then,” you declared, setting up the game.

As you arranged the colorful pieces and shuffled the cards, Spencer finally took a tentative sip of the wine. He grimaced at the taste, making you laugh lightly.

“Not a fan?” you teased.

“It’s... different,” he said, his face still contorted in mild discomfort. “I suppose it’s an acquired taste.”

You chuckled, appreciating the honesty. “It’ll grow on you.”

The game began, and the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, moving pieces along the candy-colored path and drawing cards. Spencer’s competitive side emerged, though it was tempered by his genuine enjoyment of the game. His laughter was contagious, filling your small apartment with a joy that had been missing for a while. He’d gone to Vegas for two weeks and you missed him dearly. Halfway through the game, Spencer took another sip of his wine, his grimace less pronounced this time. “It’s not so bad after all,” he admitted.

“See? I told you it would grow on you,” you said, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

"Did you know that wine production dates back thousands of years?" Spencer mused, his eyes lighting up with the familiar enthusiasm of a lecture. "The earliest evidence of wine-making comes from ancient Georgia, not the state, but the country. It's fascinating how..."

You listened intently, amused by his ability to effortlessly segue into detailed historical narratives. It was one of the many reasons why conversations with Spencer were always enlightening and never dull. As he continued to share tidbits about wine culture and its evolution through the ages, you found yourself appreciating not just his intellect, but the genuine passion he had for sharing knowledge. Meanwhile, you shuffled through the truth or dare cards, knowing that standard card games were indeed too straightforward for someone like Spencer. 

“Have you ever done anything illegal,” you read. You flipped the card onto the table. “Bought this game. Next.” 

Spencer furrowed his brows. “How did you illegally buy this game?” 

You looked at the stack of safe cards in your hand. “It had an over 18 rating. I wanted to have something fun for a girls night so I used a fake ID.” 

Spencer laughed. “I also had a fake ID.” 

You cocked your head, unsure of how to question it. But, some things are better left a mystery. “Pick.” 

He tentatively slid one off the top. “Dare. Take a lap around the block.” You took one look at the snowy Chicago skyline. He picked the next card. “Finish your drink.” 

The two of you shrugged, knocking back the rest of the wine in your glasses. You handed him the bottle, waiting for him to finish his pour before he put it back on the table. You refilled your glass, going for the next card. You played in an unconventional way, both attempting dares to do handstands and see who could win in arm wrestling. You both spilled your secrets during truth cards, sharing both sad and happy anecdotes. The wine was quickly depleting, fueling the playful energy in the room. This was the longest you’d talked to Spencer without it turning into an academic discussion. You flipped a card over, instantly regretting it. 

Tell your first sex story

The mood shifted. The question was too personal, too intimate to answer in the midst of this lighthearted game. You exchanged a glance with him. 

As Spencer opened his mouth, you noticed a flicker of hesitation cross his features. His expression held a mixture of thoughts—perhaps a desire to say something more, to bridge the gap that had formed between you, but also a cautious restraint, respecting the unspoken boundaries you had acknowledged.

For a moment, the room felt charged with unspoken words, the weight of their unspoken feelings and shared history hanging between you like a delicate thread. You could almost sense his struggle, the conflict playing out in the furrow of his brow and the slight tightening of his jaw. Spencer's lips parted, as if to speak, but then he closed them again, a small, rueful smile playing on his lips. He nodded slightly, his eyes conveying a silent acknowledgment of the complexities between you.

"I think this one belongs in the pile of racy cards," you said softly, setting the card aside with a small, apologetic smile.

Spencer nodded in agreement, relief evident in his eyes. "Agreed," he replied, his voice gentle. "Some questions are meant to remain private."

You gazed at him, enamored by the way he kept his hair tucked behind his ears. He pulled another card. 

Kiss the person to your left

A blush forms across his cheeks. For a moment, neither of you moved. The silence between you was palpable, filled with unspoken thoughts and uncharted territory. Spencer's gaze met yours, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort or reluctance.

"I... uh..." Spencer stammered, his voice betraying a mix of embarrassment and intrigue. He glanced down at the card, then back at you, his expression unreadable yet tinged with something deeper.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you considered the implications of the dare. Part of you wanted to laugh it off, to return to the light-hearted banter that had defined the evening. But another part, emboldened by the wine and the lingering connection between you, wondered what might happen if you crossed that line. Before you could make a decision, Spencer took a deep breath, his resolve steadying. With a tentative smile, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you. His lips brushed softly against yours, a gentle, fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

The kiss lasted only a moment, yet it felt timeless, charged with unspoken emotions and unexplored desires. Spencer pulled back slightly, his cheeks still flushed but his eyes now filled with a mix of vulnerability and curiosity.

"I... I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I shouldn't have..."

But before he could finish his apology, you reached out, gently placing a hand on his cheek. "No," you said softly, your voice steady yet filled with a warmth that matched the wine in your veins. "It's okay."

Spencer's gaze searched yours, seeking reassurance and understanding. In that moment, you realized that the kiss had opened a door between you, one that neither of you were quite ready to close. You moved closer. His kisses were soft and hesitant at first, a gentle exploration that soon grew bolder. He tasted faintly of the wine you had been drinking, sweet and tangy. His hands were trembling as they traced the lines of your face, then moved down to your neck, your shoulders. The nervous energy that usually surrounded him seemed to focus entirely on you, each touch sending a shiver down your spine.

That night was a beautiful mix of awkwardness and passion, a shared discovery that deepened your connection. You remembered the way his breath hitched as you explored each other’s bodies, the way his fingers tangled in your hair, the intensity in his eyes as he looked at you like you were the most important person in the world. It was a night of firsts, one you both held onto in the quiet spaces of your minds.

But soon after, Spencer was picked for the BAU. It was a dream opportunity for him, and you were genuinely happy for his success. Yet, as he immersed himself in his new role, the demands of the job took him further away. The phone calls and texts became sporadic, then faded altogether. Your friendship, once so vibrant and full of promise, began to wane under the weight of his responsibilities and the distance between you.

You finished with the final essay, putting it to the side and putting your focus back on Spencer. “How did the rest of the case go?” He’d gotten better at communicating when he was far, but you still liked to have him close. 

“We caught him. He was targeting people who were trying to make cash. He offered work for money and then would take them.” His voice came out gravelly and tired. He studied your apartment and you watched as he focused on the mantle for a minute. 

“How’s Shawn?” He asked. 

You fiddled with your bare finger. “We’ve separated. It’s been six months.” 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Spencer said softly, his gaze sympathetic as he sat across from you in your apartment. His eyes flickered with concern, his mind processing the information you had just shared.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of weariness. "Relationships are... complicated," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "I wish I could have been there for you more."

You looked at him, touched by his sincerity. "It's not your fault, Spencer," you reassured him. "You've had your own battles to fight, cases to solve. We both did."

Spencer nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Still," he began, his voice quiet yet earnest, "I can't help but feel like I should have been there for you more, especially during... everything."

You smiled sadly, memories of the past few years flooding your mind. "Shawn and I... we drifted apart," you admitted, your voice tinged with a mix of resignation and acceptance. 

You spent years far too hung up on Spencer. That night you shared was something you’d never experienced before in more ways than one. You were like an addict chasing a high, but he was in a different time zone. You knew your marriage was over before it started. Shawn didn’t like that every few weeks, you'd spend an entire afternoon talking to Spencer, practically ignoring everything happening around you. Instead, you told Spencer about your job and how you’ve become a new person since divorcing. 

Spencer listened, his expression unreadable as he absorbed your words. Before he could respond, you broke the momentary silence, redirecting the conversation. "How are you, Spencer?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine concern.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small smile. "I'm fine," he replied automatically, his tone hinting at a deeper complexity. He started rambling about literature he’d read recently. You listened to him, feeling his excitement of having someone who could listen to him for so long. Truthfully, you could do this all day. You held his hand, instantly silencing him. “Sor-” 

“How are you, Spencer? Like… inside.” 

Spencer met your gaze, his expression vulnerable yet sincere. "I feel... a lot better now that we're close again," he confessed quietly. "I... I've thought about you for years, you know” 

You blinked. “Really?” 

He nodded, taking his hand back. Spencer would look anywhere but you. He settled on a spot in the carpet before taking a deep breath. “I mentioned you to our technical analyst.” 

“Penelope, right?” 

“Yeah.” He nervously wiped his hands on his pants. “I’d been through a lot at the time. The whole thing with my dad and…” 

You’d been away in your own world at the time, missing two phone calls because of your honeymoon. Each time, you had promised yourself to return the calls later, unaware of the weight they might carry. Meanwhile, Spencer had been grappling with his own tumultuous emotions, navigating the aftermath of a difficult period involving his father and the complexities of his own feelings for you.

“I was going to send a letter with everything but you moved. I asked her to find your new address and she told me you’d bought this place with Shawn.” 

You swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry,” you mumbled. “I should have told you and-” 

“I respected that, Y/N. We stayed friends.” He finally looked you in the eyes. “I have been in love with you since long before that truth or dare.” 

Spencer's words hung in the air, heavy with emotion and vulnerability. You stared at him, your heart racing as memories flooded back—memories of late nights debating theories, of shared laughter over obscure references, of stolen glances that spoke volumes.

"I... I didn't know," you confessed softly, feeling a mix of disbelief and overwhelming affection. "I never imagined..."

He nodded, his gaze steady on yours now. "I never knew how to say it. I was always afraid... afraid of losing what we had if I admitted how much you meant to me. I didn't mean to spring this on you like this. It's just... I've been carrying this for so long, afraid that if I didn't say it now, I might never find the courage to say it at all."

You gently placed your hand on his, feeling the tremor beneath his touch. "Spencer, you don't need to apologize," you assured him softly. "I'm just... I'm glad you told me. I've wondered about us, too."

His eyes searched yours, a mix of relief and uncertainty flickering in their depths. "You have?"

"Yes," you admitted, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "I've thought about what could have been, what might still be... if we're both willing."

He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around yours. "I've always cared about you, Y/N.” 

"Thank you for being brave enough to say it," you replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against his cheek. "I'm here, Spencer. Whenever you're ready."

He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips as he intertwined his fingers with yours. "I think... I'm ready now."