#He likes to be a therapist he does not like when someone talks therapy at him

[druidonity2]

I looked at my fanart of War Crimes with Anduin holding himself dying with Chromie, and I decided I wanted to draw more Anduin trauma with dragons...(wip)

[pathologicalreid]

for the fear of falling apart | part three

when it seems like a return to normalcy is impossible, you decide that something has to give, but will it bend or will it break?

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst content warnings: fear of drowning, therapy, mommy and daddy issues, sigmund freud, nightmares and ptsd, sleep deprivation, takes place during 15x4 "saturday" (max does not exist in this au), stalkers, yelling, police, domestic disturbance, broken dishes, severe self image issues, crying, implies that jj is sometimes not the greatest friend, marriage and marriage counseling, mentions the death of grace lynch, the chameleon arc, reader and spencer are both broken people sry. things get resolved (or do they?) word count: 5.13k a/n: i'm trying to come to terms with the fact that people will not like how this part goes, but i do think it's important to remember that this is not where it ends. it's probably easy to guess what episode I'm rewriting next. lol. let me know your thoughts and feelings because i am dying to know.

“Are you glad to be back at work?” Your therapist asked you, writing down your personal information on the form on her clipboard before she met your stare.

Chewing impatiently on the inside of your lip, you glanced over to the clock that was hung above the door, dooming you to another forty-five minutes with Dr. Harmon. “Yes, I love desk duty,” you told her, flashing a fake smile in her direction.

The older woman looked at you doubtfully, and you silently begged for her to sign your return to duty forms. “I thought we spoke about using sarcasm as a coping mechanism,” she responded in a way that made you feel chastised.

You raised your eyebrows at her, gray hair neatly combed into a tight bun, you had spent more time with your therapist for the past two months than you had any of your family – the rest of your time was spent retraining your body, usually within the limitations of your doctor’s orders. “And I thought we talked about there being worse coping mechanisms that I could be using,” you countered, leaning back in her chair.

She shrugged helplessly, “Well, I’m not sure about signing your release forms. You could be a liability in the field.”

Eyes widening, you tilted your head to the side, “No, no, no, I’ve grown a new appreciation for the desk workers in the BAU. I even stopped laughing when people refer to Agent Anderson as Grunt Anderson,” you informed her, nodding as if that would help convince her of your honesty.

Checking off a box on your form, she set the clipboard on her side table, just out of your view. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Harmon leaned forward and folded her hands over her knee, “Have you spoken to your sister since the last time I saw you?”

You leaned your head back, staring at the tiles of the ceiling as any hope of returning to the field left your body.

One of your very first dates with Spencer had been at the Academy’s shooting range, you had a lucky spot there, it was where you had aced your qualification as a cadet, and it was pure luck that it had been available when you arrived.

As your paper target was brought forward, you slipped off your headphones and set your weapon down, studying the results as you chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

“Hey,” Spencer said from behind you, casually leaning against the wall behind you.

You jumped slightly as the sound of his voice took you away from your anxiety, “Hey,” you echoed, holstering your weapon as you sent your target back for someone to change it out.

“I thought you were going to come to the BAU after therapy,” he explained, arms crossed in front of his chest in his charcoal suit, camouflaging himself with the steely gray of the shooting range.

Pursing your lips, you made sure you had your phone in your pocket before grabbing your bag, “I wanted to get some practice in before my requalification test.”

He looked surprised for a moment, “Did your therapist sign your return to duty?”

“No,” you muttered, knowing that you wouldn’t be eligible to take your firearms requalification until after you had been cleared by a psychiatrist.

Any surprise quickly left his face, “What did she say, then?”

You rolled your eyes, “She told me that it’s possible that my strained relationship with my parents is negatively affecting my performance in my sessions. Then she threw a Freud biography at my head.”

“Did you talk to her about the nightmares?” He asked, following you as you checked out of the shooting range, waving to a gaggle of cadets as they noticed the BAU agents in their general vicinity.

Faltering as you opened the door, you flung the glass door open and trudged out of it, “I have it under control,” you lied through your teeth, continuing your way to the elevator.

The tapping of Spencer’s shoes signified that he was following you, holding his hand over the sensor while you stepped in and using his knuckle to press the parking garage button, “You were up all night last night,” he retorted, “She could help you develop a coping mechanism that works for you so that you can get some rest, angel.”

You were getting tired of those words, “Well, maybe we’ll reach a breakthrough next week. You never know.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being so unamenable,” he accused.

Shaking your head as you stepped out of the elevator, you hoisted your bag back over your shoulder, “Is unamenable genius-speak for pain in the ass?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” he retorted, swiping the keys out of your hands before unlocking the car and getting in the driver’s seat. You had been cleared to drive weeks ago, but Spencer still insisted on driving you.

You groaned, “My recent brush with death has made it difficult for me to let bygones be bygones.”

Pulling out of the parking spot, he carefully placed both of his hands on the steering wheel, “And here I thought we were actually going to move on with our lives.”

“No one holds a grudge like a youngest child,” you informed him, leaning your head against the window and wishing you had driven separately.

Being at home wasn’t much better than being at Quantico. You quickly changed and settled yourself on the couch while Spencer sat across from you, legs crossed in the wingback chair as he finished filling in a crossword book that you had started that morning.

You watched the clock tick, the diffused orange light of the sunset beamed through the curtains, and you felt yourself settle. Stiff joints and aching muscles unwound on the supple leather of the couch, and as you let your eyes fall shut, you felt the breeze of someone walking by before Spencer stopped in front of you.

Gently, he draped a knit blanket over you, tucking you in before crouching and dropping a gentle kiss to your temple.

Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now.

I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.

It’s okay. I’ve got you.

“Honey, wake up.”

You startled awake on the couch, wadding up the blanket in your fists as your eyes adjusted to the dim environment of the apartment. The sun had set, dipping below the skyline as you stared ahead.

Concerned brown eyes bore into you as you caught your breath, Spencer reached over and flicked on the table lamp next to you, “You’re alright,” he cooed, gently enough to make you want to cry. “It was just a bad dream,” he told you, cupping your cheek and studying your expression.

Nodding absently, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, the familiar knit blanket falling in a puddle around your waist. “I was in the parking garage again,” you preemptively answered his next question. You were usually in the parking garage, sometimes you were on the beach, and once you had been fully underwater.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

You shook your head and ignored the defeated look on Spencer’s face, instead burying your face in your hands and taking a few deep breaths.

He waited for a moment before speaking again, reaching out and adjusting the bunched-up fabric of your t-shirt, “Are you hungry? I made soup.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, afraid it would start growling at the mention of food.

As you watched Spencer get up and walk over to the kitchen, you let yourself feel like everything was alright for the slightest moment. You wanted your apartment to be your safe space where there were no serial killers or sisters or hospitals, but there was a classified file on the kitchen table, photos of you and your sister littered the walls, and there was an entire drawer in the home office dedicated to your hospital stay.

Melding into the couch cushions, you ignored the stiffness in your side, the scars that marred your skin were healed over, but the memory would stick with you for a lifetime. It felt like a phantom pain, irritating your skin whenever you thought too much about it, or whenever your therapist asked you about Grace Lynch.

It didn’t bring you a lot of comfort to know that she was dead, murdered by her own father after conning her ex-girlfriend into giving her money. Everett Lynch was the threat now, and you were stuck on the bench.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your cheek on your knee as Spencer ladled soup into a bowl and presented it to you, complete with a few ice cubes to cool it down. He waltzed back into the kitchen to clean up when his phone rang.

You ignored his conversation while you stirred the ice cubes around in your bowl, the soft clinking of them mesmerizing your tired brain. You ate while he spoke on the phone, mentioning something about a case. Pushing any thoughts of serial killers away, you just ate your soup.

Sipping at the broth, you grew curious about what was going on over the phone, but you tried to mind your business, scooping at the last noodles in the bowl before setting it down on the coffee table.

“Who was that?” You asked, eyes following Spencer as he walked back over to the living room, slipping his phone in his pocket as he sat next to you on the couch.

He paused for a moment, and you immediately regretted asking, “Uh, it was JJ.”

You supposed it had to mean something that he elected to tell you the truth instead of lying to you, but you were no longer feeling optimistic, “Ah.”

“Don’t start,” he said immediately.

You turned to him, raising your eyebrows curiously and pushing yourself into the corner of the couch – away from him, “Start what, Spencer?”

Spencer put his hands up, “Picking a fight with me over JJ’s feelings. JJ, Tara, Luke, and Penelope are working on a stalker case, it’s nothing that we need to worry about.”

“I’m not going to pick a fight with you, I already told you that I forgive you,” you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He groaned in frustration, “You can say it all you want, but you haven’t. You haven’t forgiven me.”

As he usually was, Spencer was right, you hadn’t forgiven him for lying to you about what had happened between him and JJ. You wanted to. You wanted to find it in yourself to be the bigger person and just tell him it was fine. All you wanted was to move on, but you were crashing into roadblock after roadblock. “Are you going to work that case?”

“No, it’s a classic stalking case, they’ll make it without me,” he said, turning on the couch to face you.

You swallowed thickly, “You can go if you’d rather be there,” you reassured him, wondering if he’d be happier at work than at home with you. Someone needed to make a decision, someone needed to decide whether or not the two of you were going to keep going or if you were going to call it off. You didn’t want it to be you, you were afraid of which option you might choose.

Spencer frowned, “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not,” you answered.

“Yes, yes you are,” he challenged, leaning forward to get a better look at you.

Shaking your head, you threw your hands up in surrender, “You don’t have to go. You can stay here. You live here. Who the fuck am I to tell you to leave?”

“And now you’re escalating the situation,” he observed, straightening up and watching you carefully.

You didn’t consider yourself an angry person. The two of you didn’t fight often, but as you considered your options, you wondered if it could help. Maybe you could replicate the feeling of a good cry. Maybe all you need is a good fight. Just talk it out – loudly. “I’m not escalating anything. I’m not starting anything. In case you haven’t noticed, this has been going on for months.”

He had noticed, he could probably give you an exact date and time to point out when everything fell apart. Was it inside the pawn shop? Was it in the courtyard outside of Rossi’s wedding? “I thought we had made some real progress at the hospital,” he challenged.

Getting up from the couch, you took a deep breath and tossed the blanket over the back, “You cannot seriously think that. You’re too smart to believe that, Spencer. The idea that we fixed everything while I was hopped up on Xanax and painkillers. It’s… it’s…” you stumbled over your words for a moment. It’s crazy. You wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t do that to him. Spencer had spent his whole life having that word thrown at his mother, and he spent adulthood fearing he’d have a schizophrenic break. “It’s outlandish,” you finally finished.

Spencer looked up at you from the couch, “Is it outlandish to think that the history we have together would help mend our relationship?”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know, Spencer, let’s take a look at your history with my sister,” you snapped.

“Oh, come on,” he protested.

“No,” you commanded, “Sit down and shut up. I’ve spent months waiting for you to get it, but apparently, I need to spell it out for you.”

To your surprise, he listened, watching you in silence as you took a deep breath, picked up your soup bowl, and brought it into the kitchen. Your heartbeat pounded like thunder in your ears.

Standing in front of him, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “I want you to empathize with me.” You calculated every word you said, “We’ve known each other for nine years. We’ve been together for seven, and I- I had the rug pulled out from under me. God, you went on a date with my sister. You took her to a football game as a hater of organized sports. My beautiful, prom queen, soccer star, gem of the family older sister.”

“It wasn’t a date, Penelope went with us,” Spencer added patiently.

You peered down at him, “When you asked her to go with you, did you do it with the intention that you would be taking her on a date?”

His shoulders slackened, “Yeah,” he answered softly.

“And you know that she loves you. If you went to her right now and told her you wanted to be with her, that there’s a chance she’d consider it. She’d at least have to think about it,” you told him, confidence dissipating as your hands started to tremble and you silently begged yourself not to cry.

Spencer watched you suspiciously, “What gave you the impression that I want to be with her instead of you?”

You faltered, just for a moment, “Why wouldn’t you want to be with her?” You asked exasperatedly, letting your arms fall limply at your sides.

Pinching his eyebrows together, your boyfriend looked at you like you had grown a third eye, “She’s married? Her kids are my godchildren?”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you cursed yourself as tears stung your eyes, “Are those seriously the only reasons you can think of?” With all the brain power you knew he had, you couldn’t help but be disappointed.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, “Putting aside the fact that I’d be destroying a marriage, not because it doesn’t matter, but because being with your sister isn’t even something I’d consider. This might not have occurred to you, but I have absolutely no interest in being with someone other than you!”

You huffed, “Please, she’s beautiful and athletic and older and you’ve known her for fifteen years!” You shouted over your shoulder, making your way back to the kitchen. There wasn’t anything you needed from in there, you just needed to keep moving.

“But she’s not you!” He yelled from the couch, finally getting up and following you to the kitchen.

Spinning around on your heel, you threw your arms in the air, “God, I know!” You swung your arms down, accidentally sending the bowl you had set on the counter down to the floor, breaking on impact. “Shit,” you muttered, immediately dropping to a crouch and starting to pick up the ceramic shards.

“Hey, wait, let me get it,” Spencer insisted, grabbing a kitchen towel from the drawer before laying it on the floor. He carefully picked up the larger shards, waving your hands away.

You clenched your hands and glared at him with bleary eyes, “Why? Why am I not allowed to clean up the mess that I made?”

Spencer sighed, “You’re crying. I don’t want you to get hurt because you can’t see well,” he told you, prompting you to sit back on the tile and watch him continue to pick up.

You crisscrossed your legs and watched him, “I’m sorry for yelling,” you whispered, so quietly that you weren’t even sure he had heard you.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Spencer gathered up the kitchen towel and set it on the counter, setting his hands on the counter and taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for raising my voice,” he echoed your sentiments. He moved to the hall closet to get out the broom, interrupted by a knock on the door.

Confused, you poked your head over the counter and watched as Spencer opened the front door.

“Good evening, officer,” he greeted, casting a sidelong glance over at you.

Fuck.

You scrambled to your feet, careful not to step on any pieces of the bowl that remained on the floor and wiping beneath your eyes as you made your way to the door, peeking around the corner to find two DC Metro officers. “Agent Jareau?” One of the officers said curiously.

“Hi,” you waved timidly, looking between the two of them with your tail between your legs.

He looked surprised at the revelation of who lived here, recognizing you from a case you had consulted on months ago. “We were called here on a report of a domestic disturbance, your neighbor in said she heard ‘a lot of yelling before there was a crash and then everything went quiet’.”

The summation of events did nothing to slow your racing heart, “We had uh… we were having a disagreement, and I knocked over a bowl. It was an accident,” you reassured the officer, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hand as a sign of good faith.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at you expectantly.

You nodded in confirmation, “I’m really sorry about any inconvenience, but I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

The DC Metro officers studied Spencer suspiciously, and you protectively moved in front of him. They were trained to see the worst-case scenario, but there was nothing happening here, “Well then, just uh… try to keep it down, I suppose.”

The two of you waved as they walked away, once the door was closed, you turned to face Spencer, “Are you alright?”

He looked a little pale, “I’m alright,” he nodded, gathering himself before going back to the hall closet. “That was weird,” he added.

Spencer’s interaction with police officers was limited to work with the bureau and his time in prison. He never had to explain an underage drunk person in the car or run when a party got too rowdy, but he wasn’t concerned with the confrontation, he was concerned that, for a moment, before you got there, those officers saw Spencer as a violent person. You stayed put, watching him sweep up the last of the bowl and take care of the sharp pieces with a keen eye.

“I’d never hurt you,” Spencer said softly, unnecessarily explaining to you.

You nodded, “I know. You’re not like that, baby. You’re not a violent person.” In fact, you had only seen Spencer aggressively violent one time in your life, and that was when his mother’s life was on the line. Stepping over to him, you lifted yourself so that you were sitting on the kitchen counter, meeting his eyes.

“She is not you,” he murmured, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, your shoulders slumped ever so slightly, “I am well aware,” you offered.

He took a deep breath, “JJ would never ask me to recite Henry James to her or offer to go to the planetarium with me even after we spent all day on a case or sit through one of my lectures just to hear me talk about something I’m passionate about,” he began. "I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation about something I’m passionate about with your sister. Not one where she didn’t interrupt me or pawn me off on somebody else,” he told you, disconnecting one of your hands to wipe new tears from your cheeks.

“I- I’m not…” you breathed, overwhelmed as he sang your praises.

“I know you compare yourself to her,” he cut you off, “it’s normal for you to compare yourself to your older sister. I just didn’t know how lowly you thought of yourself until all of this was dug up.”

Frowning, you cocked your head to the side, “I do not compare myself to her,” you remarked.

He hummed in response, “It wasn’t up for debate. I’m not interested in your sister. I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone except for you. I am sorry that I never told you about the football game, but by the time you joined the team, six years had passed, and I didn’t think it was pertinent to tell you that your sister had rejected me. That is entirely on me, and I can’t change it. I can, however, spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

Your breathing hitched, and the ghost of a potential proposal once again floated through the air, it made your heart ache. “One of these days you’re going to have to actually ask me to marry you,” you whispered, not sure how much longer you’d be able to sit and wait while he neglected to act upon his words.

“What do you want right now?” Spencer asked, studying your facial expression.

You have spent three months being mad at him, and you had to believe it all came down to tonight. Neither of you could keep going with things the way they were. “I’m not sure,” you answered.

Patiently, Spencer inquired, “Do you want to break up?”

If you told him you hadn’t thought about it, you’d be lying. It broke your heart to think about ending things with him, to think that six years together didn’t mean something to the both of you. Spencer had never given any inclination that he was interested in anyone else, so maybe he should’ve told you about the football game, but you shouldn't have let your insecurities block any attempt at reconciliation. “No,” you responded truthfully.

He had tried, too. The one-sided conversations he had with floral bouquets, taking time off of work to help you while you recovered, and he had even limited his contact with your sister. “Do you want to go to couple’s therapy?”

You had heard through the grapevine that your sister was trying marriage counseling with Will, something about working on their communication skills. With that in mind, you nodded, “We can try it out.”

“Do you know what you want?” He asked, settling a hand on your thigh.

Through the sheer curtains, you looked outside, “I want to go,” you informed him, hopping off of the kitchen counter and to your shared bedroom, pulling on a pair of socks.

Confused, Spencer followed you around the apartment, “Wait. Where are we going?”

“I’m going,” you said simply.

He looked surprised at this, “It’s the middle of the night in the twenty-second largest city in the country, you’re not going out alone.”

You paused for a moment at his concern, watching the defeated look on his face morph into one of relief when you responded, “Then put your shoes on,” you encouraged.

As you waited by the door, mindful to not walk through the apartment with your shoes on, he stopped in your bedroom for a moment before coming back out and slipping his sneakers on. “Where are we going?”

Grabbing your keys off of the hook, you opened the door and held it for Spencer as he followed your lead. “You know at the start of Moby Dick when Ishmael says when he finds himself growing grim about the mouth and wanting to knock people’s hats off, he takes to the sea?”

He nods, taking the keys from your hand and locking the door behind him, glancing briefly at your neighbor’s door before handing your keys back to you, “I’m familiar,” he confirmed.

“Well, I’m feeling rather grim about the mouth,” you told him assuredly, slipping your keys into your pockets and slowly making your way down the hold staircase of your apartment building, listening for Spencer’s footsteps right behind you.

Even with your back turned, you knew his expression would be one of confusion, “So, you want to take to the sea?”

You quickly shook your head, the very last place you wanted to be was near a body of water in the middle of the night, “Not particularly, but maybe the park and some fresh air would do me some good.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he confirmed, stepping around you to hold the front door open so that you could walk outside, the cool night air stinging your face as you did.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at the night sky, the stars hidden through the city’s light pollution.

Upon reaching the park, which was just a small green space down the street from your apartment, Spencer led you to a cement bench, the two of you sitting down and sitting in silence. You welcomed the cold air filling your lungs, watching the fountain from a distance and admiring the way the headlights of a few passing cars reflected off of the water.

He kept a hand on your back, gently moving his hand up and down your spine as the two of you reveled in the startling nighttime peace. “I haven’t been fair to you,” you murmured nervously, looking over at him.

“None of this has been fair to anyone,” he reminded you.

You sighed, “JJ confessed her feelings, not the other way around, and I- I shouldn’t have held that against you for so long.” The admission came to you easily, holding your breath as you waited for him to agree.

Spencer’s silence worried you, but then he finally responded, “I probably would have done the same thing, but I don’t think it’s right for me to speculate how I would or wouldn’t have acted in your shoes.”

“I just… she’s always been perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect agent, and I’m… I’m just me,” you said helplessly, staring ahead at the fountain.

He took a deep breath, “You’re perfect to me.”

“Stop,” you chastised halfheartedly.

Chuckling, he placed his hand over yours, “I mean it. Sometimes perfection is about the final concoction and not about getting all of the steps right. You don’t need the perfect journey, and, to me, nothing proves that more than you.”

You hummed, “You’re sweet.”

 “For what it’s worth, I think, given the opportunity, you could be a perfect wife,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee, getting your head to snap to the side.

Jumping up from the bench, you smacked your hand over your mouth at the small black box that he had set on the stone surface. “What are you… what?” You asked breathlessly, looking behind you in the way people usually did when they were surprised, waiting to see if you were being pranked.

“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring,” he reached down and snapped the box open, showing you the glimmering ring inside. “It can just be a promise because I am promising you right now, this is it for me. You are the only person I can see myself with, and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Gaping at him, you looked between him and the ring before closing your mouth, “That sounds an awful lot like an engagement ring,” you told him, out of breath.

He nodded, “That’s because I want it to be.”

“Okay,” you answered.

“What?”

You giggled, he evidently hadn’t expected that answer, “Yes, Spencer.”

He stood up, tackling you in an embrace, “Thank goodness.” He said, relaxing into you as you returned his hug.

Over the past few months, you had been almost afraid of him asking you, worried that it would feel like an excuse. A band-aid over a bullet hole. But as you held each other tightly, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of right. This was where you were always meant to be. “Will you put it on me?”

He nodded slowly, sniffling as he pulled away from you, the warmth of his body leaving you as he nimbly took your left hand, slipping the ring on your fourth finger. The metal felt foreign on your skin, but you welcomed it nonetheless. “That has been sitting in my sock drawer for a year,” he admitted, placing both of his hands on your waist and meeting your eyes.

You beamed up at him, at both the revelation that he bought you a ring well before any of the trials and tribulations of the last few months and that he hid the ring in the one place you never touched – the seemingly bottomless abyss of unmated socks that Spencer called his sock drawer. “Thank you,” you breathed.

Spencer leaned his head down, hovering his lips just above your own, “For what, love?”

Blinking small tears out of your eyes, you answered, “For not giving up on us.”

He smiled, “Never,” he whispered before dropping his lips to yours, the intimacy of something as small as a kiss enough to bring butterflies to your stomach. “Do you want to go home? Or are you still feeling grim about the mouth?”

“Let’s go home, Spence,” you told him, pressing one last kiss to his lips before the two of you began the trek home, hand in hand.

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[respectissexy]

As a therapist and an enjoyer of characters who should go to therapy, here’s what I think the Bad Kids would be like if they actually went to therapy.

Riz: Fidgeting SO HARD. Sometimes seems to love a fidget toy so much that you tell him he can keep it. You keep buying more fidget toys just for him. Every week his GAD-7 is a 19 and when you ask how he’s feeling he says, “Great!”

Fabian: Surprisingly easy. Instant rapport, responds to softballs like “do you think maybe you feel that way because your parents put a lot of pressure on you” as though they were profound revelations.

Gorgug: Does not take his headphones off, somehow completely present and engaged even though you can literally hear his music.

Adaine: Extremely impatient with the process. Wants to learn 5 cool tricks for not being anxious anymore and then bounce. Becomes accusatory when it isn’t “working” after a few sessions.

Fig: Spends the first 12 sessions alternately trying to shock you, asking increasingly specific questions about your reporting requirements (“would you have to report it if I murdered someone? what if a friend’s dad gave me drugs?”), and asking questions about the therapist to avoid talking about herself.

Kristen: Breathwork every single session. Major Crisis of the Week vibes. Reliably drops a huge bomb that changes everything in the last five minutes of session. (Fun fact: some therapists call this “door handling”.)

[steddieasitgoes]

not so dirty little secret

written for @steddie-week Day 1 prompt: Mystery/Secret Relationship Rating: T | wc: 2128 | no cw Read on ao3

Steve’s lounging on the Munson’s couch, right-hand wrist deep in a bowl of popcorn, when Eddie stalks into the room. He’s got two beers in hand and is mumbling about something, words muffled by the rim of the beer bottle as he takes aggressive sips. It’s not unusual to hear but not understand what his rumblings are — Steve’s become accustomed to his quiet but loud brainstorming sessions. What is unusual, however, is the pinch of his brows and the slight downturn of his lips as he does so. Curious, Steve perks up and leans forward.  

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Eddie gasps, scandalized. “My thoughts are worth at least a dime, Stevie!” 

Taking a more calculated, calming swig of his beer, he drapes himself on the couch beside Steve and sighs. “I think Wayne is knocking boots with someone.” 

The words leave Eddie’s mouth with a nonchalance, as if he’s giving Steve an update about the weather.  It’s something he does often with no explanation, at least not one Steve’s discovered yet, and it’s quickly becoming another quirk in a long list of ones he’s coming to love about Eddie.  

This though… this is a whole other monster. 

Steve's eyes widen and blink in confusion. His lips fall into a soft, confused pout as he tilts his head to the side — the tell-tale sign that he has no idea what Eddie is talking about. It’s a sign Eddie picks up on immediately, with — the both of them well-versed in their non-verbal body language as of now, so he clarifies. 

“You know, knocking boots? Doing the dirty? Bumping uglies? Hanky Pa—“ 

Well, over-clarifies. 

“I get it!” Steve shouts, face reddening.

It’s weird, feeling the heat spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He’s never been embarrassed by sex before. Kind of hard to be when his entire high school reputation revolved around who he was (or wasn’t) jumping into bed with. Never mind the fact that he actually only ever did it twice. He couldn’t go a week without it being brought up at least once, and each time, Steve had glided through the conversation with flying colors, hardly embarrassed. 

Back then was different, though. It was all talk at the end of the day. Mostly make-believe talk. This, though? Listening to Eddie talk about his uncle’s very real sex life? He’d be concerned if he didn’t find it mortally embarrassing. 

Clearing his throat, Steve shifts in his seat. 

“Does it matter if he is? Ya’ know, bumping boots or whatever?” 

Eddie cackles, throwing his entire body into it until the bowl of popcorn topples over onto the couch between them. So much for movie night Steve thinks as he tries to save as many of the kernels as he can before they fall into the couch cushion abyss. Not like he had been looking forward to eating or anything. 

“Does it matter if he is?” Eddie huffs, half-mocking Steve as he shakes his head. “Of course, it matters! It’s my uncle! What if we like, walked in on him or something because we don’t know what’s going on? That would scare me for life, Stevie. I’d need therapy!” 

“You’re already in therapy.” 

“Well, I’d need another therapist. One who specializes in the traumatic experience of walking in on your parental figure getting his di—“ 

“Let’s just rewind for a minute.” Steve shuts his eyes, willing his brain not to conjure up the image Eddie’s so keen on painting for him. His therapy bills are expensive enough, he doesn’t need to add another session just to talk about whatever the hell this conversation is. “If Wayne is in a relationship, which you don’t even know if he is, why would he keep it a secret?” 

“I don’t know. You’ve met him! He’s weird and secretive like that. I didn’t even  know his middle name until I was fourteen and swiped his license so I could buy cigarettes.” 

Steve remembers that story. It was one of the first of many never-ending cascades of embarrassing childhood stories Wayne shared with him that always turned Eddie scarlet. Eddie always gets upset when Wayne tells them, never failing to pout over not having someone on Steve’s side to badger for his own stories. Steve, happy to keep his past in the past, has grown used to shrugging him off and urging Wayne to tell him more.

“Not telling you his middle name is a lot different than hiding an entire person,” Steve continues to reason as he relocates the popcorn bowl to the table in front of them. “Why do you think he’s hiding someone anyway?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Eddie says, turning on the couch to better face Steve. He folds one leg under himself, the other hanging off the edge, foot planted and bouncing in an erratic rhythm Steve’s willing to bet is a new beat for a song. Eddie takes one more swig of his beer and then clears his throat as he claps his hands together. “Evidence número

 uno, he’s been smiling more lately.” 

“And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re back home and on the mend.” 

“Hey! Don’t interrupt me to remind me that my uncle loves me. It ruins my street cred.” 

Steve shoots his hands up in defense, shaking his head at his boyfriend's antics. 

“Evidence numéro deux—“

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin,” Steve mumbles, taking a swig from his own beer this time. All this language-switching is giving him a headache. 

“Evidence numéro deux!” Eddie repeats, louder this time as he holds up two fingers. He’s kneeling now, knees sinking into the well-loved fabric of the couch. “He’s been using a new mug.” 

“Someone call the police! Wayne’s using a new mug.” 

If looks could kill, Eddie would be a modern day Medusa and Steve would be stoned to the couch.

“Evidence number three — and this is the most damning of evidence — Wayne has had plans every Monday night for the last two months.” He jumps to his feet now and begins pacing around the living room. 

Wait, Monday nights? But that’s — 

Oh. 

Eddie is so off base. So, so, so far off base, he might as well be lost in space. Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The last thing he wants to do is upset him more than he already has with his interjections. 

But this is hilarious. Downright hysterical. 

And honestly, the truth might be a harder pill for Eddie to swallow than this mystery lover he’s dreamed up. Because that is way easier to explain than the truth, that Wayne has been spending every Monday night for two months with Steve… watching football. 

“Two months, Stevie!” Eddie shouts, pulling Steve from his thoughts. “He comes home from work, changes, and then he leaves and doesn’t come back home for hours! I mean, maybe I’m being a bit generous since he is gone for hours. I can’t imagine he’d have that kind of stamina, but maybe he—” 

The front door opens, interrupting whatever cursed thought was about to spill from Eddie’s lip to reveal the older man in question. Steve’s never been so grateful to see Wayne — even if he’s the reason this entire conversation is happening right now. 

“Eds. Steve.” Wayne nods at each of them before crossing into the kitchen to fetch his own beer. He returns a moment later, collapsing into his recliner with the same dramatics as Eddie. “What are ya boys talkin’ ‘bout?” 

It’s kind of hard to be a religious man when he’s witnessed hell on Earth and had to claw his way out of it, no sign of divine intervention in sight. And yet, Steve can’t help but shut his eyes and say a silent prayer to whoever may be listening that his boyfriend keeps his mouth shut for once in his life. 

The power of prayer isn’t on Steve’s side though apparently, as he watches Eddie’s eyes get that twinkle in them right then and there, a mischievous glint that he has a love-hate relationship with. Sure, it’s cute as hell, but god dammit, every time it happens, Steve ends up having to bail him out of trouble. He really doesn’t want to have to do that right now, not for this. 

“Funny you should ask, Wayne—“

The intro to the seven o’clock news cuts him off. Maybe Steve’s prayers have been answered. Maybe this is what people talk about when they say that God works in mysterious ways. Maybe— 

“We’re coming to you live from The Hoosier Dome to bring you breaking news about our Indianapolis Colts.” 

“Bet it’s got to do with that coach they got runnin’ the place. Still can’t believe he ran that damn childish play on Monday.” 

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, shaking his head. “You know how I feel about the Colts, but you should’ve won that game.” 

“Least we get a rematch later in the season,” Wayne says, sipping his beer. “We gotta go to Diana’s for that game. If we lose, I can drown my sorrows in a real whisky instead of that cheap shit Glen keeps selling us.” 

“Us?” Eddie balks.

Steve watches in real time as Eddie puts the pieces together. His eyes widen then narrow into judgemental slits. His lips purse, head swiveling between the two of them and the television like he does when he’s DMing an intense session for the kids. Eddie’s sharp, always has been, and he wears his emotions on his face, so it’s easy to know when everything clicks in that chaotic mind of his. He might as well have buzzers going off behind him. 

“You!” He shouts, pointing an accusatory finger in Steve’s direction. “You’re the one keeping my uncle out late! Making him happy!” 

“What’s he talkin’ ‘bout?” Wayne asks.

Steve bits his lip. “Eddie, uh, thought you had a secret lover that’s been keeping you out on Monday nights.” 

“A secret lover?” Wayne laughs. “On a Monday night? Boy if I was gettin’ handsy with someone it wouldn’t be on no Monday night. I’m a Friday night gentleman, you know that. Maybe even Saturday mornin’ if I’m lucky.” 

“I don’t know anything anymore!” Eddie shouts, really doubling down on his theatrics. There’s a moment of calm before his brain conjures up something sinister — at least, Steve thinks it must be really bad judging by the paleness in Eddie’s face and the anger in his eyes. Finally, he explodes. “You’re cheating on me with my Uncle!” 

“I am not!” 

“Maybe not physically — Jesus H. Christ, ew, please please tell me it’s not physical. I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“Now hold your horses a minute, Eds.” Wayne stops Eddie in his tracks with an easy hand around his wrist. “Steve here ain’t do nothin’ wrong but offer me his company during the games. I’d watch them with you. Hell, we both would. But, we know you hate ‘em.” 

“So it’s my fault then?” 

“I ain’t say that.” 

“You implied it, old man!” Eddie says, jabbing his finger in Wayne’s direction now. “You better keep your blue-collar hands away from my debutant boyfriend.” 

“You two are both ridiculous,” Steve laughs, shaking his head. He turns to Eddie, giving his best attempt as his puppy dog apology eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be a secret. You’re just never home on Mondays anyway, so we never thought to mention it. But if it bothers you so much, come with us this week. You’ll see for yourself no one’s stealing my honor, or whatever and it’s going to be a good game.” 

“Not for the Colts,” Wayne grumbles. 

Eddie makes a big show of considering the offer before shuttering. “And spend the night at Glen’s sports bar? I think I’d rather you cheat on me with my uncle—“ 

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Steve runs a frustrated hand down his face. “It’s grossing me out. No offense, Wayne.” 

“I’d be offended if you weren’t grossed out, son.” 

“Hey! I was talking,” Eddie squawks. Steve gives him his undivided attention, Wayne’s not so graceful, offering him a grunt and a hand gesture telling him to stop blocking the television. “As I was saying, you two can have your little sports bromance thing, butI do expect you to buy me a new mug for all my troubles, Stevie. S’not fair you got one for Wayne and not me.” 

“I’ll take you to the store tomorrow, and you can pick it up yourself.” 

“Thank you.” After a moment, Eddie sinks back into his side of the couch cushion and reaches for the half-full bowl of popcorn on the table. “Now, let’s start this movie night.” 

[vigilante-3073]

Hold Me

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

PART 1

Summary: If you had the chance to save the one you love, would you take it?

Reader has the power to Teleport

TW: Angst, violence, blood, guns, denied feelings, love-hate relationship, super-soldier serum.

Musical recommendations: Can You Hold Me? By NF (Feat. Britt Nicole).

Bucky sat on the leather couch in his therapist's office in silence as she searched through his phone. He usually enjoyed the silence, but today it made him want to crawl out of his skin. Bucky turned his head towards the window, the sky was dark and it had started to rain outside. His bright blue eyes followed the raindrops dutifully as they rolled down the glass, Bucky had always liked the rain.

"Who is Y/N?" Doctor Raynor asked, looking up from his cellphone screen.

"My roommate," Bucky stated.

"You never told me you had someone living with you," She said.

"Because it doesn't matter," Bucky said. He couldn't stand Y/N and he certainly didn't want to take up a second of his therapy session talking about her.

"The two of you talk quite a lot. Almost every day by the looks of it... How did you meet this person?" Doctor Raynor asked, pressing the power button on Bucky's phone. She held out the phone to him and he took it, setting it down on the couch beside himself.

"Steve," He said, looking down at his hands.

"Do you know why Steve introduced you to them?" Doctor Raynor questioned, picking up her pen.

Bucky sighed, shifting in his seat, "No," He said.

"Can you tell me about Y/N?" She asked.

Bucky could feel himself getting frustrated, "I'm not here to talk about her," He snapped.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow wordlessly.

"Why do you even care?" Bucky questioned, sinking back into the couch.

"Because you do," She replied.

"I don't care about her. She has made my life hell since the day I met her," Bucky said.

"How has she managed that?" Doctor Raynor asked, scribbling notes down into her book.

Bucky huffed, "She's just annoying," He shrugged.

"How so?" The Doctor pushed, not looking up from her notes. Bucky wanted to toss that notebook across the room.

"Can we talk about something else?" He asked desperately.

"Nope," She stated, looking up at him with a small smile. Bucky knew that there was no getting around her.

He sighed heavily, folding his hands in his lap, "She's always checking up on me... Texting, calling, forcing me into stupid conversations about my day and making terrible jokes," He listed.

"Does it feel overwhelming? Having someone check up on you, I mean," Doctor Raynor asked.

Yes. Yes, it does. Bucky thought bitterly.

"It feels like I'm being smothered... I know she means well, but it's just too much," Bucky stated.

"Have you told Y/N about how you've been feeling?" The Doctor asked.

Bucky sighed again, "No," He said plainly.

"Why not?" Doctor Raynor questioned.

"I don't want to hurt her feelings," Bucky muttered. And it was true, she was a good person, just overbearing sometimes.

"Huh, sounds to me like you care about her," Doctor Raynor said, closing her notebook.

"I don't," Bucky stated.

"Whatever you say," She smiled.

...

"Bucky!" Y/N cried, body colliding with his as she knocked him out of the way when the gunshot rang out.

The pair hit the suddenly sandy ground, rolling down the beach.

Bucky landed on his back with her body on top of him. He squinted up at the bright sky above them.

The leaves of palm trees rustled in the warm breeze, a few seagulls flying by overhead as the sound of ocean waves crashed against the shore.

"Where the hell are we?" Bucky asked, turning his head to see a large body of water with waves gently lapping at the shore.

They certainly weren't in Latvia anymore.

"I don't know," Y/N said, pushing herself up onto her knees with a grimace. She looked down at herself, "Shit," She muttered, Bucky looked up at her.

Y/N pressed her hand against her stomach, pulling it back to see her palm coated in blood.

Bucky sat up, looking down at her, "We need to get you to a hospital. Do you think you can portal us back?" He asked.

"Yeah, I-I think so," She stood up with Bucky's help, keeping her hand pressed against her stomach.

Y/N held onto his arm, closing her eyes as she tried to focus.

Nothing happened.

Y/N opened her eyes, "Bucky, it's not working," She said shakily, her eyes glossing over with tears.

"You can do this," Bucky assured, squeezing her arm reassuringly.

"Bucky, I'm scared," She mumbled, a single tear breaking loose and rolling down her cheek.

Bucky quickly wiped it away with his thumb, dread beginning to settle in his stomach when he noticed how pale she was getting, "I know. But you need to stay calm right now," He said.

"I don't want to die," She whimpered, gripping onto him desperately.

"You are not going to die. I won't let that happen, alright?" Bucky assured, cupping her cheek in his palm. More tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded.

"I need you to focus, sweetheart. Get us back," Bucky instructed.

Y/N would be going into shock soon.

Bucky watched her as she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. He could feel her trembling in his hold.

Nothing happened.

Y/N opened her eyes again, "I can't do it," She mumbled tiredly, knees buckling underneath her.

Bucky stepped forward, catching her and gently lowering her down to the sand below.

He knelt beside her, "I need you to keep your eyes open, doll," Bucky instructed. His heart started to race as panic set in.

Y/N was going to die right in front of him.

"Stay with me," Bucky ordered, taking her hand. Her body slumped against his chest, "I'm sorry," She mumbled.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, sweetheart," Bucky assured, desperately trying to keep his emotions in check. He couldn't afford to break down right now, he needed to be strong for her.

"Can you hold me, please?" Y/N asked softly. Bucky nodded, carefully maneuvering her body into his lap with his arms holding her securely against his chest.

Her tired eyes stared out at the glistening ocean, "I certainly picked a beautiful place to die," She mumbled.

"You're not gonna die," Bucky choked out.

"It's okay. At least I'm with you," Y/N said softly.

She may have been a pain in the ass.

She may have been annoying at times.

But Bucky needed her.

Somewhere buried underneath all his fraudulent hate, he had fallen in love with her.

Bucky looked down at her as her grip on his hand went loose. Her eyes drifted shut, head leaning against his chest.

"Hey, Y/N. Y/N, open your eyes. Come on," He called shakily, tilting her head up to see her face. Bucky rubbed his thumb across her cheek, jostling her body in his arms, "Open your eyes," He pleaded, tears gathering in his eyes.

He could hear her heartbeat slowing in her chest. He looked up at the ocean, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Bucky knew that he couldn't save her on his own, but he'd be damned if he left her alone to die. His body shook as he sobbed, cradling her in his arms.

Bucky looked over as something reflective caught his eye in the sand.

A syringe of blue serum.

It must have gotten swept up with them when Y/N portalled them out.

The serum could save her life or kill her, but she was going to die without treatment regardless.

Bucky reached over, grabbing the serum from the sand. The serum would give her a fighting chance and that was good enough for Bucky.

He stabbed the syringe into her thigh, watching the blue serum move from the vial and into her bloodstream.

For now, he would sit on the beach and hold her in his arms while watching the tide roll in.

[copperbadge]

how did u psych urself up to go to therapy? my executive function has been awol for like 2 years and it's gotten to the point where it's wrecking my ability to do anything. i'm scared to waste a bunch of time and money going and getting told i'm just lazy or that the problem is just me

Happy to talk about that! But this is really two issues, so I gotta do a fly-by real first on "scared of getting told I'm just lazy". :D

It sounds to me like you're aware intellectually that laziness isn't the issue. You know this is an executive function issue and not a personal flaw, but I definitely get that it's hard to internalize that. So I'm going to drop links here to some discussion of "laziness":

How do you know you're not just lazy? (ask sent to me -- it's long, but you can skim for the laziness bits if you want.)

Lack of motivation means you are avoiding pain (second ask in response to the first)

Laziness Does Not Exist by Devon Price

These are essentially my proofs when I want to remind you that laziness is a label that stigmatizes an innate behavior -- inability to act is real, laziness is not. If a therapist tells you that you are lazy, and ESPECIALLY that you are the problem, you should fire that therapist. Don't even stay the rest of the session if you don't want to, just say "I see we are not compatible," and bounce. I don't think the odds are high that you'll encounter that, but on the off-chance that you do, that's a bright neon sign that they're a bad therapist.

In fact I would open with that pitch: "I'm struggling with executive function and the self-perception that I'm really just lazy. I need help with the actual executive function issues but also with how I view myself because of them." The therapist's response will tell you a lot about whether they'd be a good fit.

So with that out of the way...

I eased myself into therapy with the speed of a small child entering an extremely cold lake. It helped a lot that all of my therapy has been virtual via Zoom, so a lot of stuff that would have been a barrier, like going to the physical appointments, discomfort in a strange space, etc. were swept away.

I didn't even want to see a psychiatrist for my Adderall prescription, but I knew I needed help and medication seemed to be my best option, so with the assurances of several people that it wasn't therapy so much as mental health maintenance, I saw a psychiatrist. And he was lovely! (I just met with him yesterday to go over my next few months of scrip.) For a while that was all I did: talked every month to a kind person who asked specific and measurable questions about my mental health -- mood, sleep patterns, ability to work, hobbies -- without getting especially personal. I thought, okay, I can handle this, I can probably handle more, so I asked him for a recommendation for a therapist.

He looked at the network of independent practitioners he belonged to (Clarity Clinic Chicago, if you want an example of a good network) and found me a couple of options. I got extremely lucky to find someone I felt was appropriate for me right out of the gate, though some of that was also knowing what criteria I had: I wanted someone who explicitly stated they specialized in adult ADHD and disability, and who seemed like they were interested in addressing a whole person and not a single issue. When we met she seemed nice, wasn't pushy or judgey, was familiar with spoon theory and disability activism because she also has ADHD, and didn't blink (or ask overly invasive questions) when I said I was very uneasy about therapy because of past experience. She was comfortable with the ambiguity I brought -- I basically said "Look, I think this is something I need but I'm not entirely sure what my goals are yet, it's just I only recently found out I have ADHD and I am rethinking a lot of stuff," and she was like fine, let's rethink it together.

It still took me a long time to start talking about anything meaningful, but she handled the non-meaningful stuff as if it was serious and important, which helped. Admittedly I have really good insurance so I pay $20 a session for therapy, which also helps; it's pretty negligible in terms of health costs for me. I can afford to dawdle.

So, all that said...my path may not be an option for you, but I think it indicates the kinds of options you have. You don't have to jump into serious and heavily emotional processing first thing if you don't want to. You can shop around for therapists and you can drop any bad ones you encounter speedily, or if you find one you immediately like you can still spend time getting comfortable before dropping into the heavier stuff.

I would suggest that if you have a prescribing psych or doctor for any kind of mental health meds, ask them if they have a recommendation. If you don't have that, ask around people you know or believe have access to therapy and see what they think. If those aren't available to you or you're uncomfortable with that, I'd do a search for licensed therapist and your health insurance, or see if your workplace has an employee assistance program that can recommend you someone.

Good luck! I hope you get what you need. Lord knows I've been there.

[llamagoddessofficial]

I have a question related to the prison au. Sorry if this has been asked before but what if Mc didn’t com in as a nurse but rather a therapist. Like the jail’s first therapist and it was all mc’s idea because Mc thinks that if the prisoners have more of am emotional outlet they won’t be as aggressive to one another and will become better people/monsters after they get out. And Mc wants to make a difference for them because Mc knows that their jail life isn’t the best. Mc can tell sans is trying to manipulate them, and isn’t affected much by reds attempts to charm her as much, and Mc can see threw skill’s scary and can understand him more and teaches him how to communicate how he is feeling better.

Oooooo...

Sans: Unlike pretty much all her other counterparts, this Mc is onto Sans' shit from the very start. Originally assigned to him as a mere formality, she immediately clocks that this motherfucker is much scarier than anyone has noticed before. His 'therapy sessions' are more like mental chess matches between two very perceptive people. Her aim is to genuinely try to treat him, genuinely try to get to the bottom of why he's turned into this terrifying mastermind, and perhaps even help him; there's not much else she can do. No one will believe her. Sans knows that, too.

Sans loves it. At last- someone who really, actually understands him, and the monster (not Monster) he's become. Not someone from his past lingering endlessly on who he used to be, not another pawn buying his 'harmless' persona. He loves having someone who is finally, finally in on his game. He was already fascinated with her from the start, this just makes it so much more intense- he loves being able to drop the mask. He loves the challenge of having to find ways to manipulate that are outside of his usual routes. He loves her, she's all he lives for.

She wants to help him? Cute. He'll show her what the world is really like. Then they can be puppetmasters together.

Red: She's assigned to Red to 'help' with his constant violent outbursts, after he gets in a particularly brutal fight and has to choose between attending therapy or lengthening his sentence. He's not the first violent offender she's dealt with, and he's definitely not the first flirtatious patient... but he's definitely the first that seems so utterly determined to charm her. She's firm on not breaching her ethics and she won't allow herself to do anything more than just get along well with him.

Mc actually makes a big impact on his mental health. The instinct to open up to her is a hard one to ignore, given his affection for her and their great rapport, and Red just likes her more and more with every issue she helps him work through. He doesn't like that she absolutely refuses to be with him, and he sees it as more of a challenge than anything.

When he gets out, he'll make sure she knows he's still very interested in some private sessions...

Skull: Giving Skull a therapist kinda feels like putting a band-aid on a completely severed torso. But it was a legal requirement. He cycles through therapists who either immediately refuse to treat him, or get a few days in and THEN refuse to treat him. Mc is just another in a long line of therapists that the prison expects to see rolling in.

... Except... he's so good for her. He tries to talk, he's calm and never bites, he's highly engaged with the tasks she gets him to do with her, he quickly notices that the better he does the more they make her spend time with him. The less violent he is, the more she talks to him in that lovely soft voice. Anything for more of her voice.

... Issues arise when Mc starts to understand that Skull has developed feelings for her. Deep feelings. He's always trying to kiss, nuzzle or hold her- it feels unethical to keep treating him. But it's also a well established fact that her presence in his life has probably saved several lives. If she tried to tell the prison that she didn't want to treat Skull anymore, she'd probably get a response along the lines of "we don't care, just keep him from eating anyone's hands".

She's not really got much of a choice.

[almightygremlinblob]

A Honey Trap For The Butterfly

Nanami Kento was everything you needed in a therapist, only as long as you ignored the sinking feeling in your gut.

Even tho there's nothing describing the act of s*x here, it's still a yandere fic - so minors and those not comfy with yandere stuff DNI and have a nice day! 🫶🏽

Word Count: (will update when life stops life-ing lmao)

⚠️Content Warnings⚠️: UNBETA'D, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Yandere!Therapist Nanami Kento, Gender!Neutral Reader (and no bits mentioned), Modern!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Yandere, behaviour that SHOULD NOT be tolerated irl, Nanami says some very comforting shit to manipulate you, no curses.

⚠️Further Content Warnings⚠️️: Unhealthy power dynamics, HEAVY and subtle emotional manipulation, implied stalking, mention of sexual activities, professional boundaries are OUT the window.

When your gut tells you something is wrong, one tends not to believe it at first, and this causes you to dismiss any further warnings.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Sorry, I-I'm just..."

"There's no need to push. Only if you're ready."

"No, I-I'd like to."

Therapy was a tricky thing. There was the problem of getting the right medication for you. There was also the problem of finding the right therapist for you. Which is why some people - like you - search for a very a long time until you finally found one that clicked. Nanami Kento, who was practically everything you needed in a therapist.

"The nightmares are about your family, yes? They say nightmares are ways for the mind to release overwhelming emotions. Can you tell me more about them?"

"Y-yes, I...these nightmares are always the same. My family talking about me behind my back, it's...I feel alienated."

"Hm...it's no wonder these nightmares always coincide with upcoming family gatherings." He scribbles something down, and turns his full attention towards you. "If you're okay with sharing, what makes you think they're alienating you?"

"I...now that you mention it Doctor, it does seem to coincide, but...I-I don't believe I've mentioned...how did you-"

"Ah, it's just an observation." He waves his hand dismissively. "And I told you, you can call me Kento."

-------

"I-I'm so sorry!" You apologize profusely, embarrassed and just a little defeated when you turn up short at the cashier of your favorite coffee shop. There's a brisk walk, and someone familiar drops some change at the cashier for you. Though being payed for was a surprise, the person paying was not. It was Nanami, who you seemed to run into a lot. So much, that bumping into your therapist outside of your sessions was almost the norm. Something about living nearby.

"Oh, Doctor, I-I'm really sorry about this!"

"Oh don't fret, it was only a few bucks." He offers his hand. "Come, sit with me."

You're taken aback. It's not like you didn't WANT to. Nanami was a very attractive man; well built, broad shoulders, and such a handsome face. But, still, he was your therapist. There is a very faint alarm, all the way at the back of your mind, that makes you feel just a little bit uneasy at the proposal.

"A-are you sure this...I mean, i-is this okay?"

"Of course." When he intertwines his fingers with yours, his face and eyes and words are completely welcoming. Laced with nothing but care in order to hide the ugly side just waiting to devour you.

"It's just coffee, love."

-------

-------

"I think last session was a very eventful one. You did a lot well this week. I'm quite proud of you."

"Still...I-I don't think it was right for me to just cut everyone off like that. Now I don't have anybody..."

"You have me. They don't care about you." The fingers that brush your cheek are too gentle for how dangerous they feel. "You know this...it's why you came to me in the first place. They never cared, not truly. Not like I do."

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but you made the right choice. Now..." His warm and strong hands linger on top of yours, as he hands you the paper for your medications. "See you for lunch after?"

"I just can't believe they'd do that to me..." You try and keep yourself from crying any more. "They're my family. Why would they go around spreading rumors like that! I nearly lost my job..."

"Hey, hey...don't worry about them anymore, okay? Just leave them behind." Nanami gently cups your face with his hand. "You don't deserve to be burdened with dead weight."

"It's okay. You'll be okay." His eyes go over to your lips, as he tilts your head to better align with his. The room suddenly feels awfully quiet, too constricting, when his lips meet yours. "I'm so proud of you. You know that, right?"

-------

"I think I've come a long way." You sigh and laugh softly. "I'd like to celebrate but...I-I'm not sure how. I'd like to minimize my spending..."

"Well, I'd have to agree, you ARE making fantastic progress." He takes your hand in his. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to celebrate it with you. I have a few ideas we could try."

"Oh, of course!"

"Date night." He brings your knuckles to his lips. "Your apartment."

Nanami stayed over that night. Worshipped your body as if he was made for it. He was a wonderful lover but, the entire experience left you feeling wrong, somehow.

-------

"I don't know what to feel...I just...they're all dead. My family, they're all..." It was all too much, and Nanami wraps his arms around you. "I know what they did but, still, I..."

"Oh, love...it's okay. Let me handle everything; planning, funeral expenses. Everything."

"Kento, that...that's too much-"

"Nothing in the world is too much for you, my dear." He holds your face when you start to cry again. "I would do anything for you."

When he looks at you, his eyes show a devotion and adoration so strong it borders insanity. You'd never expect this 'gentle giant' to be the one that caused your family's deaths. It was nothing you've ever seen from him, and it unsettles you.

"Anything. You know that, right?" He seals it with kiss on the lips, just a bit too harsh, just a bit too possessive. "Stay here, with me - where you belong. Don't worry anymore."

"You're home now."

When your gut tells you something is wrong, one tends not to believe it at first, and this causes you to dismiss any further warnings. It is just one of the many ways that humans self-sabotage. Though, for many manipulators, the intention is to make their victim do so by putting up a welcoming and disarming front - a perfect honey trap.

.

.

Writing this was a TRIP man, ughk. It's so tame and light as a yandere fic but something about writing subtle manipulation just makes my skin crawl the most. 😭 Anyways, hope you enjoy! ✨🫰🏽

[tallerthantale]

Neil and Amanda's Fake Therapist

I originally gathered information relating to Neil's fake therapist in a bit of a messy hyperfocus flurry that included some initial errors, followed by various erratic updates, so I wanted to put the main points together into one coherent place. Some of what I'm putting together here was found by others on the subreddit post.

I once again find myself skirting the edges of my typical rules for myself about analyzing public figures, so disclaimer: this is personal opinion, I'm not scientifically or clinically evaluating anyone based off public appearances / statements, I am commenting on what personal impression I am getting off things, and leaving most speculation about internal states out.

Man does this guy make it hard to stick to that though.

The person I'm talking about here is the supposed 'therapist' that Scarlett interacted with while Neil was (allegedly) pressuring her to say the allegations weren't true. His behavior there (with a paper trail according to Tortoise), and what I was able to gather from Amanda Palmer's podcast made it clear to me that he was not operating within the acceptable behaviour of a therapist, so I decided to see if I could prompt a review of his license. All indications at this time are that he does not have one. But it gets worse.

He claims to be a minister, but like the therapist claim cites no qualifications or organizations in his website's bio. This combination of therapist who isn't a therapist and minister who isn't a minister potentially creates a legal nightmare scenario. I am not a lawyer, this is not legal advice, but I'm going to give you my best estimate of the situation, which has involved looking up the law and reading some cases.

As long as he isn't claiming to be a mental health professional, he may be protected in calling himself a nonspecific 'therapist.' He can probably argue it as some kind of spiritual therapy. But because he isn't actually a mental health care provider, he is not subject to mandatory reporting. Generally therapists have a legal obligation to proactively report when someone is a danger to themselves or others. He does not have that requirement. He isn't bound by professional ethics, since he is not a member of any organizations and has no licenses. Moreover, it seems to be the case in New Mexico that if a person reasonably believes you to be a minister, that kicks in clergy-penitent privilege whether or not you actually are a minister.

The origin concept of clergy-penitent privilege is that the law cannot force a priest to reveal what was said to them in confession. The First Amendment means all religions get it equally and it doesn't have to be part of a specific Catholic ritual. In New Mexico, it covers anything that was not said publicly or intended to be passed on regardless of the surrounding context. That means anything said to or by this guy that is not said in public or explicitly intended to be forwarded cannot be used by the legal system for any purpose, no matter how documented or incriminating it is to the client or to him personally. There is no mechanism to remove that privilege form him for being misused because it is derived from his representation of himself as a minister, not his actual status.

According to his linkdin he received a Bachelors degree in creative writing from the University of Rochester, in New York. He then got a Masters degree in Divinity in Organizations from Harvard Divinity School, 1982-1985. These are the only points of education claimed anywhere we have seen. He lists no psychology or mental health qualification anywhere, and is most known as an author. His bookselling success might be due to a claimed promotional appearance on Oprah.

His personal webpage has a long 'client list' or list of 'collaborators' who have hosted speaking engagements. This list was last updated in 2012. The events on his calendar page have no year. I think I recall seeing a section of his website that was only accessible to those who were 'fully committed,' or something like that, but it doesn't seem to be there now. It's possible I'm misremembering, it's possible it got taken down when the reddit thread got popular, I don't have the right skillset to check. He won an award from the Institute of Noetic Sciences, which looks to be engaging in pseudo scientific spirituality in a manner similar to Scientology.

From what I can gather from the video's I've watched, the advice he 'preaches' is a mish mash of bits and pieces of metaphors and perspectives from a variety of religions and philosophies that he probably didn't fully understand. (My speculation.) There are pieces of genuine insight that are lifted from others and that can give the impression he knows what he is talking about to vulnerable people even if he doesn't really understand them himself. He doesn't seem to have any genuine religious beliefs or connections to any religious congregation or organizations. It is unclear if he is or is not technically ordained, but that is something anyone can just do online, and he doesn't even claim it.

Particularly noticeable in his talks are traces of Jungian psychoanalysis (which is the nonsense Jordan Peterson seems to have got caught up in, and it has antisemitic and fascist origins) some Buddhist resilience concepts that have been misused by westerners a lot, and Christian (I think) concepts about universal love and togetherness. They end up mashed together into a message that I believe will influence most victims who hear it to blame themselves and remain in toxic situations, while making perpetrators feel better about continuing to perpetrate. Not saying that was the goal, but if a person had that goal, this patchwork philosophy is what you would put together to achieve it. I'm not going to be specific because I don't want to be like, putting out a guide for people on how to do this.

Amanda says she met the guy before she had a child, but after she was married. That is somewhere between 2011 and 2015. Amanda says she met him at something resembling a TED conference, where all sorts of people got together to do various (rich people nonsense.) She had a mental breakdown in a horse paddock, and the fake therapist was the guy with the horse, teaching about horse whispering.

"And since then, he’s been my therapist, and he’s also become a true friend, to me, and to my family, and to many other people in my life that he’s taken on, and helped out, in some of their darkest hours of need, and he is my emergency phone call. And in a way, he sort of picked up where Anthony, my old mentor, left off, and I don’t find it a coincidence that Wayne walked into my life right around the time Anthony walked out. "

This is not what a therapist does, this is cult leader behaviour. This is pure speculation on my part, but I wonder if Neil might have known him first and orchestrated their meeting. He is an author with connections to an organization similar to Scientology. It might actually not be a coincidence. Again, pure speculation.

Amanda describes seeking advice from him whenever she was having trouble with Neil, and that talking to him would make her feel like everything was fine again. "Even just to have someone to talk to, to remind me what I’m struggling with, what’s going on, what is home, why does this feel so disorienting, what am I doing? And I can say right now, when I shifted my internal feeling within myself, within my relationship with Neil, around where I was, my feeling in my own house transformed. Because I went, oh, right, none of this fucking matters."

In June 2019 Amanda Palmer has the Portland, OR incident where she tells her fans they need to forgive their r@#ists.

In 2019 the fake therapist did a series of webcasts with The Santa Fe Center for Spiritual Healing over a few months. At times he is titled "Rvrd", and at times he is titled "Dr." there is no reason to believe he is either. In the first one, the host reads a bio she found online, that she says he asked her not to read (she appears to think he was being humble.) This version of the bio claims that he was a Senior Scholar at the Fetzer Institute. When he comes on after she read it, he makes odd comments about whoever might be watching the video online and appears very shaken. The Fetzer Institute has no mention of him on their website. That connection is not listed in his current bio.

In his last video for the Santa Fe Center he claims to be working on an upcoming project in D.C. with a co-facilitator who was famous for brokering a truce between the crips and bloods. He also comes across like he has been asked to stop working with the center and is being super passive aggressive about it. (My speculation.)

His appearance on Amanda Palmer's podcast is recorded in July 2019, about a month after the last Santa Fe Center webcast, in upstate New York. In the descriptor she says it was recorded after a week long retreat with him she set up for 60 of her Patrion supporters. There is a nearly two year gap between the recording and posting, which is not explained. She describes him as a minister, therapist, leadership mentor, and her personal therapist. In the episode itself, she also describes him as her and Neil's relationship therapist. In the description she promotes his books and his website, and says he is still readily contactable there, but to be patient right now because he is mid move. (The description was posted when the podcast was posted, in 2021. As mentioned earlier, there are features of his website that have not been updated since 2012.)

The fake therapist tweeted about Neil being a 'dear friend' in late 2020. He has under 100 followers, not really what you would expect for a best selling author / therapist / minister / community leader / mentor / horse whisper. While I make references to cult leader behaviour, a genuine cult leader would probably have a larger following. But somehow I don't think he lacks for money. I expect there is a market for pseudo-therapists you can freely talk to about the crimes you are actively committing. You can even involve him in the crime, and it still privileged.

The events of Scarlett's allegations date to 2022, about a year after Amanda posted the podcast episode. Sometime in March is when Neil manipulates Scarlett into saying the allegations are false with what is essentially a su!c!de threat, then asks her to repeat her assurances that it was consensual to the fake therapist. Amanda had recently received a scorching message from one of Scarlett's friends about what was done to her. It seems like Neil is doing this to win a fight with Amanda in their "relationship therapy." Scarlett gets a message from the fake therapist.

Tortoise describes it as him "saying he'd be happy to speak to her in complete confidence because he had heard that she found herself in his words 'in the midst of relationships, stories and narratives, not alas necessarily of your own making. Sadly, this is not a surprise. Two creative dynamic people can easily draw others into their orbit unaware of how powerfully the magnetic pull of their influences can have on others.'"

My perception of this message is that it plants the suggestion to Scarlett that her friends are brainwashing her to think she was r@ped by pulling her into 'narratives not of her own making.' I could see how people might interpret the later lines regarding magnetic pull as being about accidental power dynamics abuse, but I read it more as him saying Scarlett's friends are opportunistic manipulators looking to make a name for themselves by taking down a famous person.

Either way, there are a considerable number of things happening there that an actual therapist would not ever do, for a variety of very good reasons. Tortoise's attempt to call him to ask for comment was thwarted by the fact that his phone has been specifically programed not to accept voicemails. Not like, the voicemail box was full or something, he went out of his way to do that. Which means Tortoise can't quite claim that he didn't respond to requests to comment, because they couldn't leave a message. Other organizations probably run into similar difficulties establishing evidence that they have contacted him. It's not a smoking gun, but I don't like it.

A year later Amanda Palmer makes her post on the Russel Brand allegations, where she argues the solution to serial predatory behaviour is to try to get them to stop doing "stupid shit" by trying to heal their lacking and fear with love and compassion and forgiveness, because that the ONLY cause / motivation for abusive behavior. And some unarticulated hope for non-specific accountability vibes.

This post looks to me like the perspective of a person who has been continuously exploited, and manipulated into thinking it is their personal responsibility to heal people who have no interest in being healed. It reads to me like a person who has been justifying staying in a toxic situation to themself so long it has warped their entire worldview. It reads to me like the inevitable end result of this fake therapists preaching.

I don't think that absolves her of what ever her role has been in facilitating access to victims, or actively promoting these views to her audience, but it is something to keep in mind.

There is a broad rage of possibilities for what is going on with this guy. The spectrum runs from deeply misguided fool to deliberately exploitative criminal. Either way it looks like he is charging people money for the service of turning them into the "this is fine" dog. This is not fine. This is not ok. Unfortunately it probably is legal.

[ihrthoney]

stupid

pairings: touya todoroki x f!reader (no actual relationship atm, it’s more of a reunion thing but with romantic intentions)

warnings: fluff, touya backstory

word count: 2.8k (JESUS😭)

an: touya is alive and well tyvm! most likely will make a part 2 :p

It had been about two years and Touya was finally out of the hospital. When your body is near death, time flies by. The first few months were times he didn’t ever want to relive, the mental and physical pain he had to endure when healing his body was intense. After every session, he would knock out until he had to start the next test. 

As promised, he talked to his father every single day. The rest of his family would visit separately or by themself. Since their first visit, Natuso has never been in the same room as their father, Touya understands and respects his decision of course.

Society on the other hand… let’s just say he gets everything delivered to him to avoid the public as much as he can. Given it’s been two years, the rise of heroes has already begun (again) and the crime rate has never been lower; but for his sanity, he does not want to be recognized. 

His nerves always spike when he’s forced to go out but his mom and sister think exposure therapy is good. Speaking of therapy, he’s been seeing a therapist since he could properly talk again. Since he was a villain he has to do community service for ten years, technically eight in present times. Every day for eight hours he helps different companies and programs with whatever they need. As exhausting as it is, he knows it’s the least he can do for being a big factor in hero society collapsing. 

Currently, he’s with his siblings shopping for clothes and it feels like community service. He loves his sister, he really does, but they’ve been shopping for hours and his ass hurts from sitting so much as she tries on different outfits. Thankfully Natsuo had joined (was dragged) them or else he would’ve fallen asleep three stores ago. Fuyumi said Natsuo always agrees so they can leave the store quicker and that a second opinion is always nice! She said Shoto was too busy with school and training to stay plus he was too sheltered to know about things that weren't hero-related (they’re so grateful for his friends).

Fuyumi is in a fitting room trying on a few dresses for an event their mom is a part of. The boys already had their outfits ready (a suit and tie) so there was no need for them to shop, they were seated right in front of the door Fuyumi was in, other seats next to them were either empty or also filled with someone waiting.

The door opened and Touya instinctively looked up, just as he did when someone walked past him and it made his blood, ironically, run cold. Quickly, he hides his face behind Natsuo which confuses the latter, “What are you doing??”

Acting dumb, “What do you mean?”, his eyes continue to look at the seat. “I mean why are you hiding?”, awkwardly he tries to hug Natsuo, “Hiding? I’m just trying to give my brother affection of course!”

Pushing the older’s arms off of him, Touya sits back and watches as his brother’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, “Nice try, do you think I’m stupid?” “Yes.” “Shut up!”

Before they could continue with their teasing, Fuyumi walks out with a few items in hand, gesturing they go to the register and pay.

On their way there she asks, “What were you two arguing about?” Touya was reminded of why he froze to his seat and all the memories started to flood in. 

-

“What are you doing?” A small voice appeared next to him, rustling sounds as someone sat next to him.

Annoyingly, he turned to see who cared enough to bother him during lunch. Touya was frowning, wanting to go home and train but his frown vanished when he saw you. Your hair was split into pigtails with turquoise rubber bands and an all-might lunch box in your hands. 

“It’s none of your business.” He quipped, upset at such a person distracting him. He frowns again at your response, “That’s not very nice. My mom said if you don’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all.” 

He always hated that saying because it was something he needed to learn, “That’s stupid.” His arms are crossed, now angry at the scolding. Instantly you replied with, “You’re stupid!” 

Touya whipped his head around at your insult and he stood up, “You’re stupider!” He yelled, which caused you to yell even louder, “You’re the stupidest!” 

The little fight between you two somehow sparked into a competition to prove who wasn’t stupid by stating your test scores, to demonstrating your quirks, then arguing about pro-heroes. From that day forward you guys were glued to each other’s side, eating lunch and spending breaks together. Touya had even invited you to his house, to his mom’s delightful surprise.

Everyday was spent together,

until he died. 

The loss of Touya destroyed you, school had become lonely and you distanced yourself from people in fear of losing someone else. The other kids only knew you as the girl whose friend died, which made them avoid you and your grief.

After graduating middle school, you never continued in your path to become a hero, unable to stomach death and violence. Instead, you went to a normal high school and a little college that gave you enough knowledge to have a name to yourself that you were satisfied with. 

Despite the loss, the Todoroki’s never forgot about you; Anytime they saw you in public you guys would quickly catch up, you’ve even seen their mom once a few times. Rei was an angel to be around, she had a very caring aura even after everything she’s been through.

Honestly, you were incredibly nervous when visiting her, you shouldered a ton of guilt for not being able to save Touya from his desire to be a hero. She cried at the confession, Fuyumi did too, you all shared a lengthy and heartfelt conversation about your grief. 

After that conversation, you and Fuyumi grew very close! Whenever she wasn’t busy with teaching her students you guys would meet up and go to festivals, chat over drinks or freak out together over your guys’ shared interests. 

Fuyumi became one of your best friends so it was no surprise when you recognized her at the store. 

-

“Hey Yumi!!” You beam at his sister, your eyes bright as you walk around the counter to hug his sister. While Touya isn’t tall enough to tower over you, he still has to slightly look down to meet your eyes.

He watched as you both chatted, something about Fuyumi needing a last minute dress for their mom’s event, to you… also going.. to the event.

“What are you going to wear?” His sister asked, showing her outfit in her hands and questioning which one to buy. “I have the blue version of this dress! You should get this one so we can match!” Excitedly, you pointed at a simple white dress Fuyumi had in her hands, which made her grab the other dresses and reach them towards Natsuo.

“Could you put these dresses back please!” Natuso whined, “How am I supposed to know where they go?” Touya tries to keep his eyes remained on his brother in fear you’ll recognize him. Not that it would be shocking given that he announced his existence on national television.

Your arms come into view as you grab the clothes from his sister's hands, “It’s okay, I can put it away!” Feeling embarrassed, Fuyumi tries to exclaim that it’s okay and she can put it away but you insisted that it was your job.

So you work in this clothing store.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re always too kind to me Yumi. Come over to this register, I can ring you up!” The former villain doesn’t know whether or not to feel relieved or hurt that you haven’t noticed his presence. Maybe you did and you’re ignoring him? Or maybe you just think he’s one of Natsuo’s friends? There’s a million questions that run through his mind, so much so that by the time he snaps back to reality, you’re handing Fuyumi her receipt.

As they exit the store, he musters up some courage to look at you and to his shock you’re already looking at him. Instead of looking away, you give him a small smile and he matches it, before turning his attention to the door in front of him. 

The walk to the car is quiet, the sound of the wind rustling the trees and feet scratching against rocks on the road. He gets into the backseat, claiming the passenger seat makes him carsick.

Fuyumi was quick to address the elephant in the room, not even giving him time to put his seatbelt on, “Why didn’t you say anything?” She turned around and looked back at him.

Natsuo started the car but didn’t move to reverse, “Wasn’t she your first and only friend in school?” Touya pouted at the fact that his brother stated, you were his first crush too. 

“I doubt she recognized me or maybe she didn’t want to.” Being vulnerable was still a hard thing for him, so his sentence was merely whispered but curse Fuyumi for having good ears, “Don’t say that! Of course she recognized you, she was just shy. Plus, you didn’t even look at her!”

The elder scoffs at having not been slick, “Say something to her next time, she’s been wanting to talk to you.” Touya is confused at what his sister mentioned, “What do you mean she wants to talk to me??” 

Fuyumi’s expression makes it seem like she was caught doing something bad, but she was never good at secrets, “Yn is aware of your existence, she reached out to me when you were first admitted to the hospital after the fight all those years ago. She was very worried but didn’t feel like it was her place even though we insisted she visited. I really think you should talk to her.”

“Yeah talk to her! Don’t be a wuss big bro!”

“Shut up!”

That night, Touya couldn’t get any sleep, he was too busy thinking about all the times he would search for you when he was Dabi. There were too many times when he wanted to just go up to you, to watch you smile at him even if under the guise of customer service, but he couldn’t do that to you. Dabi didn’t want you to look at what he had become, what he’s done. So like his past, he erased you from his mind and focused on his goal.

-

Until his eyes could do nothing but focus on you standing right in front of him. 

Tonight he and his family (minus their dad of course, he wasn’t allowed near Natsuo) were in the ballroom of some hotel that his mom’s club was hosting. After getting out of the ward, his mom joined a community club that takes care of plants, it keeps her busy and happy.

This event was to celebrate the success of the plant business’ success in growth, there were mini games for the children of the members, food and a live band. It was quite nice, not as loud as he prepared himself for it to be.

Although, right now he couldn’t hear anything over the raging beat of his heart. There you were, greeting his mother. As always you were so beautiful, he couldn’t believe you were so close. The dress you were wearing did match Fuyumi’s, who just now bumped his shoulder, “Talk to her you idiot.” 

“How can I? I died, killed people, almost died, and now I’m-” His sister interrupts with that kind voice of hers, she was always so reassuring, “Alive, with a second chance. Trust me, she misses you.” 

Before Touya got a chance to think of a reply, you made eye contact with him. His mother followed her gaze and beamed at the sight of him, waving him down.

Touya could never say no to his mom, not anymore. So, against his will he walked towards you two. His eyes never once left yours even if he wanted to look away, hating the way you stared at him, it made him feel too conscious of his skin. While he doesn’t have staples of purple skin, it's still apparent where his scars were. 

“We’ll leave you two alone.” And just like that his mom and sister disappeared. The air was awkward, he didn’t know what to say. How does someone even start a conversation after everything he’s done?

Every doubt, any negative thought he’s ever had dissipates when he hears your angelic voice, “I like your hair.”

He can’t remember the last time he’s heard your voice that wasn’t through his jagged memories of you. It’s softer and smoother than when you were kids yet it carries a lightness that makes him straighten his back and hold out his hand towards you, 

“Would you like to dance?”

Heat crawls up his neck at the feeling of your soft hands grabbing his own, he feels like that naive little kid all over again.

With your hand in his, you both make your way to the dancefloor where the band starts to slow down their tune, a soft melody intertwining in the air, “I will be honest, I don’t actually know how to dance.” Touya admits embarrassingly, he didn’t have the time and even when he did he rejected any activity that wasn’t training. 

Slightly, you squeeze his hand in reassurance, “It’s okay, neither do I.” The most he knows about slow dancing is from the movies his siblings forced him to watch, who would’ve thought those dumb romance movies would have helped him.

“Is it okay if I?” His eyes gesture to his hands hovering above your waist, Shyly, you nod and he places his hands on your waist, gently moving your body closer to his. You take the close space as a sign to move your hands onto his shoulders.

Slowly, your bodies sway to the music, lights dim, colors of blue and a soft white flash over the dance floor, covering the red hue on Touya’s face. It was odd, two people who were friends for a few years in middle school met again a decade later at an event none of them were a part of. 

As always, you’re the one to break the silence, “How are you?” Your eyes are no longer looking into his, instead looking at the stupid tie he was forced to wear, “As good as a convicted criminal can be.” 

Nothing is said for a little bit, Touya starts to worry that he joked too soon, “How are you doing? I’m sorry for not saying anything when you were working.. I didn’t really know how to.”

Now you look up at him, “That’s stupid.”

He laughs at the memory that rises at your words, “A girl once told me that her mom told her, if you-” “Don’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all, yeah yeah.” You roll your eyes as he mimics your words from your first encounter, that same smile you gave him when he saw you working but bigger, brighter too. 

“I’ve missed you yn.” 

Even with the dim lights, he can see the tears well up in your eyes, “I’ve missed you too, more than you could possibly ever know. I was so angry at you, learning how you died. I grieved for so long and when I was finally okay, the news of your existence flashed on my tv and I was angry all over again.” He hasn’t even realized that he was crying until your hands moved to wipe his tears, actual tears instead of thick lines of blood.

“I wanted to yell at you, to kick your ass, but seeing you in the hospital… I just wanted to talk to you again. I’m sorry I never visited.” Touya quickly assures you that there was no need for you to ever apologize and that it was him who needed to beg for your forgiveness for putting you through such pain.

“You’re free to do it all, I’m so sorry.” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing, years of guilt still streaming through him. 

“After all this time and you’re still a crybaby.” At the comment he turns his head away, a soft mutter denying such assumptions.

“‘m not a crybaby.” Your hand moves to turn his face towards yours, “That’s right, you’re a big crybaby.” He wants to be annoyed at the testing, but it’s you. Just like his family, his heart is weak for you. 

Years and years spent apart, the young flame his heart lit for you starts to warm again. The version of himself that met you still lives, still craving your presence. 

It’s too early to dive into those emotions, for now he’ll soak up the warmth your laugh radiates. He’s got all the time in the world.

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

[cosmereplay]

Kaladin Didn’t Invent Therapy (And Why That’s Actually Great)

“...You need someone to talk to, Noril, when the darkness is strong. Someone to remind you the world hasn’t always been this way; that it won’t always be this way.” “How do you … know this?” Noril asked. “I’ve felt it,” Kaladin said. “Feel it most days.” - Rhythm of War, Ch. 25 Devotary of Mercy

I’m writing as someone with a background in psychotherapy and peer support, and I'm bursting with excitement about one of my favourite topics. You can imagine why I love Kaladin’s arc in Rhythm of War so much! I actually yelled out loud when I read some of these parts the first time.

I’ve seen people online saying and making jokes that Kaladin invents therapy, and while that could eventually be true, what Kaladin actually invented in RoW is mental health peer support. Psychotherapy as most people would understand it simply doesn’t exist yet on Roshar. However, peer support is a legitimate modality for healing on its own merits. Even more importantly for the story, peer support is something Kaladin would personally really benefit from, and it fits his narrative arc way better than therapy would.

1. Therapy as we know it won’t exist for a while yet.

“We need to study their responses, use an empirical approach to treatment instead of just assuming someone who has suffered mental trauma is permanently broken.” - Rhythm of War, Ch. 25 Devotary of Mercy “Someone needs to talk to them, try different treatments, see what they think works. What actually helps.” - Rhythm of War, Ch. 25 Devotary of Mercy

Obviously, Kaladin has not been educated in battle shock or melancholia or any other diagnosis. In Alethkar there's hardly any knowledge to be had on the subject. Even now in real life, research into effective interventions for various diagnoses is still ongoing, over 100 years after modern therapy was founded.

Building an empirical knowledge base* will take time, not to mention the years it will take to train new therapists across Roshar in how to provide interventions specific to various issues. Therapy as we know it today generally includes time in mentorship with another therapist, so in a way, the first therapist isn't a therapist. 😅 In the meantime, there are people who need help today, including Kaladin.

Peer support can fill that gap because its knowledge base is different. Peers bring their expertise, which is their years of trial and error, successes and failures - their lived experience. Peer facilitators need to know the basics of managing a group, and they have to be willing to share their own experiences and learn from the group. Thus, training peer leaders is relatively quick, and incredibly scalable and adaptable across cultures and many issues/diagnoses.

2. Peer Support is a distinct path to recovery that doesn’t require an expert in therapy.

Kaladin located six men in the sanitarium with similar symptoms. He released them and got them working to support each other. He developed a plan, and showed them how to share in ways that would help...Today they sat in seats on the balcony outside his clinic. Warmed by mugs of tea, they talked. About their lives. The people they’d lost. The darkness. - Rhythm of War, Ch. 33 Understanding “While you can’t force it, having someone to talk to usually helps. You should be letting him meet with others who feel like he does.” - Rhythm of War, Ch. 25, Devotary of Mercy

Kaladin is already positioning himself to align with the values of peer support. Some of these values overlap with therapy, such as dignity, respect, inclusion, hope, and trust. What makes peer support different is a particular emphasis on equal relationships, self-determination, and personal growth (Peer Support Canada, 2022).

In peer support, the group facilitator is not considered an authority like a therapist would be. A peer leader may be further on the road to recovery, but they may not be. They are expected to listen and grow just like any other group member.

Because the leader of the group is also a learner, peer support groups tend to be more collaborative and open-ended. Everyone in the group has something they can take out of it and something to give. Everyone in the group is responsible for managing their own self care, and everyone in the group is responsible for the direction of their own growth. This is different from most therapy groups, which often have a specific focus or goal that the therapist is responsible for implementing. And speaking of responsibility...

3. Peer Support Fits Kaladin’s Narrative Arc Better than Therapy

At his father’s recommendation—then insistence—Kaladin took it slowly, confining his initial efforts to men who shared similar symptoms. Battle fatigue, nightmares, persistent melancholy, suicidal tendencies. -Rhythm of War, Ch. 33 Understanding …he’d learned—these last few months—that his battle shock could take many forms. He was getting to where he could confront it. -Rhythm of War, Ch. 39 Invasion

I think everyone can agree that Kaladin needs to participate in therapy just as much as the other battle-shocked men he finds in the Devotary of Mercy.

However, in therapy, the focus is solely on the needs of the clients. A therapist should not be distracted by their own issues (when this happens, it’s called countertransference). Further, therapy is generally framed such that the therapist is the only expert in the room, which means therapists have a higher level of responsibility for how the clients are doing (which varies depending on the issue, the therapy modality, and the circumstances).

In his own recovery, Kaladin is working on trying to take less responsibility for others, so setting him up as a therapeutic authority could be harmful for him. In a position of authority, he might be tempted to replicate the hierarchical structure he was in before (which would impede his own growth), or try to save everyone (which could impede everyone's growth). He simply doesn’t have the mentorship or knowledge base he'd need to work through those issues before leading as an expert.

In contrast, the point of peer support is the mutual sharing of lived experience. The group facilitator is expected to share their own struggles (as a model of recovery), and allow others to support them. In the context of a more balanced power dynamic, Kaladin can give the other group members the space they need to grow, and he can pursue his own recovery without feeling like he’s letting others down. Also, he will be able to leave the group during KOWT without worrying that the group won't be able to run without him. Everyone in the group carries some responsibility for each other, so group members can come and go with less stress than a change in therapist would cause in group therapy.

This is the beauty of peer support. It can happen anywhere people with similar experiences get together. No formal education is required. What is required is a willingness to know yourself as well as you can; to share your experiences; to listen to others tell their stories; to question your own assumptions as you learn how others handle things differently; to look out for each other's safety; to care.

Peer support creates a place of belonging and a community repository of shared wisdom. Kaladin almost had it on Bridge Four, but his position of authority wouldn’t allow him to grow the way he needed. Peer support is what Kaladin needs - he needs a place where he can take off his armour among people who get it because they're struggling with similar issues, and without having a position of responsibility over them. When he (eventually**) attends the groups, they help him grow!

Anyway, that's why Kaladin didn’t invent therapy, and why I think that's great.

For the men chatting together softly, the change was in being shown sunlight again. In being reminded that the darkness did pass. But perhaps most important, the change was in not merely knowing that you weren’t alone—but in feeling it. Realizing that no matter how isolated you thought you were, no matter how often your brain told you terrible things, there were others who understood. - Rhythm of War, Ch. 33 Understanding

---

*Funny enough, empirical research could lead Rosharan researchers right back to peer support. Empirical research on Earth has shown that modern therapy and peer support have similar levels of effectiveness (for example, for depression and PTSD).

**Look who’s resisting attending the groups he founded…KALADIN!! (shakes fist in the general direction of the sky) (This is the most relatable passage for me in this whole book, by the way, helper types unite lmao):

Kaladin looked down at the table. Had it? Had talking to Noril helped? “He’s been avoiding joining in,” Teft said. “I haven’t,” Kaladin snapped. “I’ve been busy.” Teft gave him a flat stare. Storming sergeants. They always heard the things you weren’t saying. - Rhythm of War, Ch. 38 Rhythm of the Terrors

Peer Support Canada. (2022). Peer Support Core Values. Accessed from https://peersupportcanada.ca/ Jun 27, 2022.

[hyukaslvr]

strong enough | J. Jungkook (2)

<series masterlist

pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

genre/tags: idol! Jungkook, idol! reader, idiot exes to lovers, slow burn ; k-drama feels (our beloved summer but not at the same time), angst, drama, fluff, smut

warnings: foul/explicit language, alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters, panic attacks, reader is harsh towards Jungkook, Jungkook is a meanie!, mentions of old abuse (major trigger warning!!), talk about blood and wounds

w.c: TBD

series summary: you and Jungkook have too many personal problems, during and after your relationship and it keeps getting brought up. you both had tried multiple times to ignore the fact you were both struggling mentally and physically due to your workplace, but you always run back to each other. maybe one day, one day you'll get back to each other, with all your problems handled, maybe not. all you want is for him to shine like he always does, all he wants is you.

a/n at very bottom!

the mirrors of your practice room were foggy, the heat radiating off of your whole groups bodies as you worked your hardest to perfect all the choreographies to your newest album. you worked especially hard since last week, you took a long time to really think about what happened.

“we both know you’re just as messy,” Jungkook spat at you, you bit back your tears and fought your conscience screaming at you to walk away. this isn’t something you would just walk away from, not with your boosting ego.

“this is why we won’t work out, Jungkook, you’re acting like a bitch. fix yourself, i’ll fix me. i thought you were doing better, but it seems like you’re still the dick you were during all our fucking arguments,” you grabbed your belongings and starting walking away from his frozen figure, his words hitting him like a brick in the face. you came out here with him hoping you could talk to him, make him remember the reason why you weren’t communicating things or in contact, but he just proved to you why you shouldn’t have came.

Jungkook sat back down, right where you sat, thinking over things. anytime he would see you, he felt this rage build up inside of him. the rage coming from nowhere, yet appearing whenever your pretty face shows up in his sight. he hates it. he swore to control his anger, the way he acted when things didn’t go his way, but apparently anger management isn’t enough for him.

it’s not that he hates you, he adores you, he loves you. but sometimes, he feels like he can’t stand you. you act like you have everything in your life sorted out, when you don’t, not without him. it might be toxic of him to think of you that way, but it’s true. you know it’s true, deep inside and past your wall that you’ve built up for no one to see behind your cute personality set for the stage. only he knows the real you, at least he thinks, and he knows you have a shit ton of problems just like him.

Jungkook clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white at the thought of how he spoke to you. you don’t deserve that, but at the same time, he rightfully believes you need someone to put you in your place sometimes. but at the same time, you wish someone would knock some sense into Jungkook and make him grow up, even if he grew up way to fast, he still is childish as ever when it comes to talking about things.

you snapped out of your state of thought as one of your members patted your back, telling you to drink up some water before starting again. you wiped your face with a towel before gulping down half of your bottle, tossing it on the floor, and starting up again. thank god that you have therapy tomorrow, you thought as you stand in position once again, waiting for the music to start up.

“he said that to you?” your therapist questioned, jotting down notes quickly so you can speak more about how you felt during that moment. you felt angry, sad, all of the above. out of all people you thought would understand, Jungkook was the one you felt would. yet, he opens his mouth and speaks mean words towards you like he always did when he was struggling, never able to control what he says. but who were you to talk, you did the same things, but you were for sure better at controlling it.

“i thought we were ready to talk about why we actually broke up, i thought i was to say at the least, he for sure wasn’t,” you sighed, picking at your skin around your fresh pedicured nails out of habit. it breaks your heart, seeing him that way, he only acts like that when he’s in a deep place. you can visualize him going home, and immediately changing into work out clothes, beating on his punching back until the chain gives out, his knuckles bleeding with open wounds.

but then again, who’s ever ready to talk about a long relationship ending? at the time, walking to the park in the freezing cold, you felt ready. you walked high and proud as you were side by side with the man whose heart you constantly break. maybe he did have the right to act that way, but it still hurts coming from him. yeah, you had to figure out your shit, but so did he, so him acting like that felt hypocritical.

“darling, no one is ever ready to talk about why relationships end the way they end,” she starts again, it’s was like she was reading your mind as you sat there quietly in thought, “maybe you should of waited, but know you know for sure that now isn’t the right time to get back together, no matter how much you both want and crave it,”

“we’re like the same person, at least i like to think so. i just want him to understand why i do what i do,” it makes your head hurt thinking about reasons why he couldn’t try to understand you at the least, it was the least he could do along with loving you. he was always so unreasonable with mental health.

“just give him some time to think about what he said and how he can fix things over time, time heals everything,” bullshit.

you felt like a mess, sitting in front of the vanity mirror as you get your hair fixed by your stylist, her sweet smile as your eyes reached hers in the mirror comforted you in the slightest, you just had to get through tonight and then you’ll be able to be alone in your dorm room, in the comfort of your own bed.

“feeling anxious?” your leader lets her head fall on your shoulder, smiling at the glitter in your inner corners and poking your cheek in awe, “you’ll be okay, at least you’re pretty and have curly hair,” her finger twirls the curl resting in the small ponytail in your hair, letting it boing back to place.

once your stylist was done, she spun your chair to face your leader, who bent down to fix the curls in your face, cupping your cheeks once she was done and smiling down at you, “i just wish to be home right now,” you sigh, practically melting into her hold and she squishes your cheeks in response. you wanted to cry, the amount of promotions you had this week drained every last bit of emotion out of you.

“just put a smile on that frowny face of yours, get out there and look as cute as you always do during fansigning, we’re gonna have a party tonight!” you groan in response, she lets go of your face to cross her arms across her chest, noticing your negative response to the idea of partying, “what’s wrong with getting wasted after all these promotions? it’s not like anyone else will be there,”

that was a lie, you sat in a corner of your shared house with group after group showing up and partying, while you just wanted to be in your bed. maybe if you get drunk enough, you can dance with a random and have some fun tonight, you thought while staring at your other members already claiming other males to dance with. the lights flashing making your head hurt, as you stood up to get another glass of your drink.

there was yelling going on around you, but you chose to ignore it and downed half of your cup before heading towards your room, planning on locking your door and drowning all the noise of the party out with music. but your heart and feet stopped when hollers from the front door caught your attention. the person who took feet away from you, you wished to disappear out of his sight. no, it wasn’t Jungkook, right about now you wished it was instead of the monster who stood close in front of you, but far away at the same time

Choi Jaehyun, also known as the dick that cheated on you, also known as the abusive alcoholic you had dated, also known as the reason for the way you were now. one little glance towards his way made you gag, in shock and disbelief that he would dare to even show up here. the first thing he did was grab a beer, like he always did at his house after hitting you like you were the cause of all his problems.

it makes you ache, your heart especially knowing you loved his shit ass self at one point, thinking that he would change if you just covered up all the marks he would leave on you. after that relationship was over, your leader swore at you to never get back into another relationship until you got over him. you were over him, to say the least, but not over the way he made you feel. he made you feel worthless, ungrateful, unworthy, like a weakling.

“you think you deserve to be out there in the spotlight, like the bitch you are?” he spat in your face, his hands close to your face making you feel like something was coming towards you.

“baby, please just sit down and listen to me-” another smack hit your cheek, the tingling burned and made you call out in a cry, “jaehyun! please, stop and just have a drink-” you gasped out, the tears burned your eyes but slightly cooled the heat of your cheek.

“drink some more, is that what you fucking what? you want me more drunk so you can run away again?” he grabs your cheek hard, pulling it as he backed you against the cold of the refrigerator. you tried to focus on the loud humming coming from the damn thing, instead of the burning sensation of his hand pinching at the same place he just whacked you, “you’ll never be able to get away from me, not again, baby,”

the tears flowed from your cheeks, his body now facing you as your memory fades away to a new one standing infront of you currently. the look of his face, like he didn’t expect you to be at your own groups party, what a fucking idiot. before he could walk towards you, you grabbed your drink and stormed past him, ignoring the ringing affect his call of your name had to your ears. you told yourself, that where ever he was, you weren’t going to be, never, ever again.

you left the house in nothing but a thin jacket, you walked until your legs gave up on you. once you sat down, not knowing where you were or where your legs were walking you to, you looked up at the dark sky. the lights of the stars twinkling above you, giving you some comfort of the unbearable memories you had. you wished you could just deleted everything, every moment you had that with sick man. but it stays with you, like a parasite eating away at your skin.

you sniffled as you calmed down, whipped out your phone to dial someone, anyone to come get you and to be in the comfort of someone’s arms. you scrolled and scrolled, hoping to see someone’s name that warmed your heart at the sight of it. your eyes scoped around your contacts, hoping for anyone’s name to pop up.

Park Jimin. you quickly dialed his number, knowing he would pick up in a heart beat, like he always did for you.

“are you sure you’ll be okay on the couch? my bed is just as comfortable, even more at that,” he spoke as softly as you remembered, he tucked you into the couch and making sure you were comfortable enough to sleep away your puffy eyes.

“i’ll be okay out here, Jimin, i promise,” Jimin was the only other member, besides Hoseok, who knew about you and Jungkook. he allowed you to come over time to time when ever you and Jungkook would have problems, problems that were always better than what Jaehyun ever put you through. you believe that why you always went back to him, back to the comfort of his aura because he truly loved you. he loved every bit of you, but he couldn’t handle every bit of you.

Jungkook would never, you thought as you rolled over, facing the back of the couch as Jimin accepted the fact you chose the couch over his bed and went upstairs to get some sleep for himself. Jungkook had his angry issues, but he would never show abusive tendencies towards you, no matter how mad he was. he never raised a hand towards your way, he never laid a finger on you. it took you awhile to trust him, but that trust never once left even after you left him multiple times. but, to never bring up the memories that made you feel like a burden, you never once mentioned your past relationship, no matter how many times Jungkook would beg to talk about your exes.

“you should start writing in your journal again, _____” Jimin spoke over his shoulder, his hands working on making your eggs the way you loved them, “i know that helped you at times like this, even if i don’t know what actually happened for you to end up 10 minutes away from my place,”

“it’s better not to talk about it, for my sake,” he nodded in agreement, letting you know he won’t budge any information out of you since he knows the way you looked when he picked you up from the random street you sat at. you always wanted to tell him about your past, what changed you into the mess you are now and why you can’t seem to stay stable at any current time of the year. just because it happened years ago, doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect you to talk about it, even if you trusted someone with your life, “you know what? that might be a good idea,” you spoke up after the minute of slience between you both.

you’ll write about everything bothering you, maybe you’ll be able to pick at the pieces broken inside of you to figure out how to handle all of your problems with Jungkook, but mainly yourself. you always need to put yourself first, your therapist would tell you, no matter how badly the other person is struggling, and you stood by that.

you never wanted to leave Jungkook, you never wanted him to feel like he wasn’t good enough for you love. you wanted him to feel like he was on the top of the world with you, to make him feel important and loved the way he should. what he doesn’t know, is that he was the reason you wanted to get better. he always told you, that you deserved everything heading towards you that was good. if the good was getting better and becoming healthy, hell yeah, you deserved that shit like it was a grammy.

so once you got back to the dorms, letting all your members and your worried leader know that you were at a good friends house after the party, you headed to your room with a fresh new notebook, ready to jot down all your feelings and thoughts that you let eat you alive everyday.

to my past, fuck you, sincerely. you deserve nothing, you don’t deserve to take over my life. i will get rid of you, i will get better, i deserve to be happy, i deserve to become a butterfly instead of moth. moths are pretty, but trust, i will be a beautiful monarch.

cheesy, you know that, but it’s true. so true that you continue to write until your hand cramps around your pen. you will get better, it just takes time, but time definitely does not heal everything.

a/n: i low-key hate writing angst, but here we are! this is a reminder that you are not alone if you’ve ever went through abuse or trauma with abuse, you will always have people out there for you and you have help too. there are hotlines on top of hotlines, please don’t be afraid to speak up about it, no matter what. i love you all, and never feel like you can’t reach out to talk to me, dm me about anything! you are all worthy and beautiful and deserve the best🩷. here are some hotlines: 1, 2, 3

taglist: @loumin908 @heartjiminie @cuntessaiii @parkinglot-nights @minsoa97kor @jkgirlfr @lavendersugarplum @gaebestie @whoa-jo @kp0pficdump @yunholuv @skzthinker @shwkoqp18 @veemegatron @joonsproperty @jk97bam @dna-black-and-blue

COMMENT TO BE ON TAGLIST!

[triannel]

hello!!<3 if you don't want to write this it’s okay, but then please reply to this post somehow because damn otherwise i end up waiting like a hachiko ;(

how about bill and reader had a deal but eventually their interactions developed into some kind of relationship (?). i don't know, in short bill became very attached to the reader but something happened and they had a fight which cancelled the deal

time passed and bill still couldn't forget reader. and now, already being in a mental hospital, bill is sitting in general therapy in a circle with everyone else, with an empty look at the floor "i don't want to be here, they made me" in his eyes, and then suddenly one of the therapists says: "so, i want to introduce you to a new patient: y/n!"

bill, hearing this name, is shocked because how did this even happen, and the reader just smiled

ps english is not my first language i'm writing this by translation, sorry for mistakes i love you❤️

Greetings and here! I've made the reader more powerful on this one and don't worry about your grammar, it doesn't bother me at all.

After making a deal with the devil, it was fine for a while. You were one of the few powerful beings in the 3rd dimension. Giving insight on possible areas on earth and other planets that might be weak enough to tear through Bill's location is the deal you've made with him.

You give insight and he will in turn return the favor afterwards. The deal made with him will be interesting though as for the first time in a long while he's the one who will have to wait for your word. Usually he's the one to always state what the deal will be about and what he will give in return. But this time you're the one stating what he will give in return.

The longer the deal went on, you couldn't exactly make up your mind at the moment so of course Bill will start to suggest possible ways he could be of use to you just to make sure that you are not going to back out on the deal. He's not useless! He's an all seeing being! He knows lots of things remember? Why would you ever think of backing out?

The longer it went on, the more you managed to form quite a bond with this devil. Often will he be by your side, wondering when you'll finally tell him what you need, and he will keep on trying to convince you of the possible things he could do for you.

Soon he does start to fall head over heels for you but unfortunately you couldn't say the same. You decided that the best thing he could do for you is to possibly bring back your dead lover.

Of course he will be distraught by this, and would most likely try to bargain what he should instead do. Once you do question why, he would become very defensive and soon this will end the deal between the two of you.

No way, no how will he do that. He can't be replaced- both of you aren't even in an established romantic relationship...but he just can't bear the thought of losing you over someone already dead.

In the end though both of you separate, leaving a bitter taste on his end and just a confusing one on yours.

You never really did notice his passing glance and extremely charming comments, you were simply contemplating on wether it was a good idea to even ask of him to bring back your dead lover.

After a few years though, you end up in a mental health facility. Surprisingly Bill is there too. Sitting on a char amongst other patient, a bored and depressed look looms over his face as he stared at the ground.

As the facilitators introduce you, once he hears your name he jolts up, awake and excited to see you.

Walking to the conveniently empty chair beside him, you sit down comfortably. You don't exactly hold a grudge against him, since you haven't exactly held up the part of your deal as he did break it up before you even had the chance to discover an area suitable to tear through.

It will be awkward at first but over time perhaps the both of you will end up talking like you did before the 'break-up'. It will be hard for him to explain the outburst though so you need to be patient with him as he come to terms to the possible embarrassment he may have as he would ultimately confess his feelings to you.

[22drunkb]

Do you think he was ever in love with Bedelia like he was in love with Will? I ask this because Bedelia says they were both the "brides of Hannibal". But Hannibal never courted her like he did with Will, Bedelia came into Hannibal's life much before Will but he never pursued her like he did with Will. Mads said he wanted a future with Will unlike with other people he hooked up with Alana, Bedelia or Anthony. He took her to Italy as a consolation prize when Will betrayed him. Even in Italy H was pining about Will all the time and telling Bedelia how much he loves Will. I know he slept with Bedelia but he probably slept with Anthony too and he slept with Alana, Hannibal is a hedonistic guy who sleeps around. For him sleeping with someone doesn't mean he is in love with them. But when Will confronts Bedelia, she pretends as if Hannibal held them in the same regard which is obviously not true. Hannibal would choose Will over her in a heart beat and even she knows it but yet she acts as if Hannibal sees them both equally. I don't understand why? 😭 Why do you think?why make herself seem like a competition when she is not?

I think you're misunderstanding the meaning of "bride" here. It doesn't mean beloved. It doesn't mean favorite. It doesn't necessarily mean sex. It means something more like what Chiyoh meant when she called Bedelia "his bird": "He puts us [birds] in cages to see what we'll do."

Hannibal collects people, generally. Most of his therapy patients are collectibles. He collects them because he sees potential in them for "becoming," for expressing an inner potential that interests him and that he thinks, in his own way, it would be good and true to themselves for them to express. (This generally amounts to some kind of murdering or violence.) He may be interested to see what will happen when his collectibles are transformed, but he doesn't find it terribly hard to imagine or predict. The people he has sex with don't even all fall into this category; I don't think he particularly was interested in Alana's potential becoming, for instance, though things did work out that way (but, in some ways, more at Will's hand than at Hannibal's).

That said, the category of "collectible" is large and includes both Will and Bedelia. However, there's another category, a subset, within that, which Will, Bedelia, Chiyoh, and Abigail occupy: that's "bird." These are people whose behavior is less predictable and therefore more interesting and engrossing. In the process of transforming his collectibles-in-general, he doesn't necessarily show these objects of interest much about himself. His true self, that is, rather than the mask. The four I just named get more of a look. However, Chiyoh and Abigail get their views not entirely at Hannibal's choosing: Chiyoh is from his past, and Abigail figured a fair amount out herself. (It's more complicated than this, but for that reason I don't think it's helpful to get into these two further here.) There are, as far as we know, only two people who've gained much insight into him entirely of his own volition: Bedelia and Will.

Both Will and Bedelia are people Hannibal collected and then cultivated in order to have someone to share himself with. I am not saying that that meant he felt exactly the same way about them, or that he shared the same things or to the same degree. But Hannibal put his therapist in a position to murder not only because he saw that potential in her and wanted to bring it out, as with all collectibles, but also to gain a certain degree of control over her so he'd have a therapist he could actually talk to. It's hinted in their pre-Florence sessions that she does not want to continue being his therapist but feels she has little choice.

Hannibal saw that collectible potential in Will and, like Bedelia, wanted him to be someone he could show himself to, albeit in different ways and to a more profound degree. Less utilitarian and more romantic. He made it very clear in the s2 finale that he wanted that more than anything: "I let you see me, know me. I gave you a rare gift. But you didn't want it." (Or something like that, I'm paraphrasing from memory.)

What is necessary for him to select these two people to be seen by is for him to respect them, in his own way. He does not respect all his collectibles, though he's interested in them. He respects Chiyoh and Abigail more, but in a "precocious child" kind of way, rather than anything peerlike. But, Bedelia: he does actually listen to what Bedelia says. He forces her to let him play patient to some degree, but, within the role of patient, he squirms at some of her insights and defends himself the way a patient who feels that their therapist has power does. He values her input enough to subject himself to it. He enjoys her company enough to take her to Florence. She can't "surprise" him the way Will can, and he's not enamored and fascinated with her the same way. But he does hold respect for her. If we were to view what I said about the patient dynamic he has with her as a BDSM thing (which....it is), he chose her to play the dom, which is a pretty big deal, really.

I don't disagree with you that his interest in Will is qualitatively different. But they have both, at different times, been someone he chose to know him. That's a special status. It is also a status of being kept, to some degree: Bedelia didn't have the option not to be his therapist, and, as Will feels once he gets sucked back in after his time with Molly, he never really had the option to escape either. Birds again.

In the "We've both been his bride" conversation, it's Will who comes in with an aggressive, competitive energy, not Bedelia. He calls her "bride" first, and she responds by saying that Will has been too--i.e., why are you so mad at me? Why are you displacing your feelings here? (That is, she's being a therapist.) Through the whole conversation, Bedelia is actually trying to get Will to see that they aren't the same, and that Hannibal cares for him and belongs to him in a way he didn't to Bedelia. It's just that to get Will there, she first has to get him to admit that he has been attached to/chosen by Hannibal at least as much as she has, before she can show him that his position goes further. She's not setting herself up as a rival at all. Will came in angry because he subconsciously saw her that way, and she is working with that starting point to get him to understand better. This is the conversation that leads Will to ask, "Is Hannibal in love with me?", which he never could have brought himself to consciously articulate without her guidance.

I wrote a whole post just about this conversation, if you'd like further explanation. See also this and this from @bonearenaofmyskull.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Please can I have a little crumblet of my hubby in therapy 😭🥰

You can have an entire snippet!! 💕💋

“Would you like to talk about these bad experiences?”

“Not really.”

He realizes he’s coming off as rude, and gruffly adds with a shrug: “There’s nothing to talk about. It was a bad experience.”

You look at him now, mirroring the up and down glance he just gave you, and he starts to shake his leg. An involuntary action that tells you he feels like this situation resembles an interrogation. When your gaze slowly drops to his boot bouncing in the air under that chair, it stops.

He doesn’t like it that he got caught being slightly nervous. He makes it clear that he knows what you just did, that you were evaluating him just with your stare, and that he doesn’t like it one bit.

You could almost swear from this little scenario alone that Simon Riley has a background that includes some form of torture.

You scribble another word on your notebook.

Hypervigilant. Suspicious?

“Do you have nightmares?”

“Sometimes.”

“What kind of nightmares?”

He takes a longish pause, directs those vigilant eyes to the floor for a moment. The leg gives another shake, then another shake.

“The regular. Trapped inside a crashed vehicle or plane. Can’t get out and then I wake up feeling like I can’t get air.”

You put it up: regular nightmares about suffocating to death.

“Then there’s the occasional dream where I strangle women.”

You pause in the middle of writing, then quickly return to what you were doing.

Okay... Okay. Nothing too unusual, you can do this. You try to keep your breaths long and even as you raise your stare and your professional compassion to him.

“Would you like to elaborate more on that?”

He huffs a dark, short chuckle.

“No. But I guess I have to.”

He thinks he has to tell you about his nightmares about hurting women only because that’s far more concerning than the occasional dreams of being caught in a death trap. Or then he wants you to say it’s ok and that they are only dreams.

You draw a breath, but it's he who speaks first.

“I would never hurt a woman in real life.”

You tilt your head, this time with genuine compassion. It’s simply the human in you: the woman in you. One of your whimsical new age friends said you're a wounded healer and that you should be careful before you start mothering another emotionally unavailable, broken man. That you ought to date someone sensible for once.

You fight the urge to shake those thoughts off – you’re not planning to date this man. You can’t date your clients, it’s the first rule of being a therapist. Well, perhaps not the first, but still, you’re not here to save–

“Don’t know what to do with those dreams. It's just… Is wha’ it is.”

You take another deep breath. “How does it–”

“Make me feel?” He huffs. It’s not what you were going to ask, but you’re pleased to see he’s being co-operative. In his own way.

“Disgusting. Makes me feel disgusted with myself.”

“These are just dreams. As long as you don’t make them reality, they’re just dreams.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Your lips draw into a thin line, and you can’t help yourself from scribbling another thing down.

Arrogant.

“What did I do now?” He asks, trying to direct the conversation elsewhere. Or then he’s genuinely curious. What was it in his Yeah, I know that was so telling, so monumental? You notice that you’re smiling softly as you draw him back to the session in hand.

“How have you dealt with these feelings of shame and disgust?”

He blinks.

“Guess I haven’t. What would doctor suggest?”

“I’m not a doctor. But I would suggest you introduce yourself to mercy every time you have these nightmares.”

“Mercy,” he repeats, a bit flabbergasted. His voice lacks the commanding, rough tone it usually has when he knows he’s one step ahead.

“Yes. How does that feel?” You could hit yourself on the forehead for using such a cliche line. You continue before he gets to return it all back to you with a jab. “Does the word mercy incite anything particular in you?”

“I dunno. Haven’t found it useful.”

His answer is typical for a soldier and a commander of his team. But you see that you’ve at least planted a seed. The word mercy will probably be on his mind even when he goes to sleep tonight.

“And why is that?”

“It’s a luxury I can’t afford,” he shrugs nonchalantly. A tough world view, as was expected, and you move on to the question everyone either hates or loves the most.

“How would you describe your childhood? Your relationship with your mother and father?”

He gives a short laugh. “That didn’t take long.”

“Some of these questions might seem unimportant right now but I hope you would answer them nonetheless. Could you do that for me?”

The last line is not your usual go, but with this client, you have a hunch that a little bit of charm might go a long way. And you just can’t help yourself. Of course, the results are immediate.

“Sure, miss,” he drags every syllable like he’s tasting champagne on his tongue. “Childhood… Not a very happy one. Father was a drinker. Cheated on my mum.”

[concretecultist]

Broken Vows

summary: while trying to keep your head above water, Nicholas does the unforgivable.

pairing: fem!reader x nicholas ruffilo

THIS IS PURE FICTION!! Do NOT proceed if these themes are not of your taste.

warnings: ANGST, descriptions of postpartum depression, Mean!Nicholas, negative self talk/image, insecurities, infidelity, mentions of trouble trying to conceive, alcohol consumption

word count: 4.1k

A/N: i told you guys angst is my specialty 🥴 please be sure to comment and reblog 🩷

divider by : @djarrex

~Berry 🫐

———

Nico was a gift to your lives. He was such a beautiful baby boy that you and Nicholas were beyond blessed to bring into this world.

With being together for 6 years, being married for 4 and trying for a baby for 2 of them, despite the difficulties, your baby boy is now here.

But while you can recognize how much you love your son, you just can’t seem to display it. When he cries, you panic and just watch him cry until Nicholas intervenes. There’s times where you can’t even hold him, not being able to accept the skin to skin contact.

In your mind, you were failing to be a good mother to him and it doesn’t help that Nicholas’ mind just seemed to be elsewhere. He doesn’t make eye contact, he doesn’t kiss you, he doesn’t hold you at night and he’s passive aggressive when it comes to your detachment regarding Nico.

At first he seemed to understand, until it was him waking up every time in the middle of the night to put him to sleep because you just stared at Nico in his crib, frozen, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to soothe him.

He was understanding at first until he had to buy formula because you wouldn’t pump, and when you did, it wasn’t enough to properly feed him. Your lack of good production stemming from the stress and not being able to take care of yourself, not eating, not hydrating, nothing.

“He needs his mom, Y/N,” Nicholas grabbed Nico from his crib, the upset infant instantly pacified and the blood curdling cries are finally quiet.

“I can’t bond with him, he doesn’t even know me as is mom!,”

“Because you’re not trying!,”

“I am,” you pull at your roots, speaking through gritted teeth, “I’m fighting for my fucking life here and you’re guilting me about it,”

Nicholas just sighed, he knows this isn’t easy. He had helped you get a therapist and he thought it’d at least help even a little bit. It’s been like this for a month.

“I’m not guilting you! But at the same time we have a son to raise, I know you’re trying, honey, but something has got to give. What are you going to do when we have to go on tour again?,”

“You said that wouldn’t be for a while!!,” you shriek, face wet as you panic, “Nicky, please, I’m not ready,”

You could see his jaw clench and you hate to see him so upset with you, so frustrated. Your mind and body were still healing and despite delivering Nico a month ago, your body just doesn’t feel like yours anymore, you’re confused and the idea that someone now needs you 24/7 was terrifying.

Maybe you were in over your head. Maybe there’s a reason it was so hard to conceive in the first place.

But alas, regardless of Nicholas’ frustration, he still helped get you to therapy, he helped you do some stretches to help get you grounded back into your body.

However, after a while the distance still grew. Once you were at a point where you could be alone with Nico, Nicholas was barely there.

He’d tell you he was leaving and wouldn’t come back until late.

It’s almost like he was punishing you.

Each night he’d come home, hop in the shower and climb in bed, turning his back to you.

Your marriage didn’t feel like a marriage anymore and you’re still waiting to feel that sense of family that so many people talked about.

There’s a night where Nicholas doesn’t come home at all. You’re messaging him, blowing up his phone with calls and voicemails, even going as far as calling the guys but even they’re not answering.

You were up all night crying along with Nico and the only reason he fell asleep is because he cried himself out. You sat in the same spot on the loveseat from sunset to sunrise, you haven’t slept a wink and when you hear his keys jingling, you become more aware of how you look.

Hair all over the place, Nico’s spit up all over your hoodie, dried tear streaks on your face and it just feeds the insecurities that you’ll never “snap back” like all the other moms on social media do.

“Where have you been?,” voice cracking

He doesn’t answer, he just walks past you as if you don’t exist.

“I asked you a question,”

“God, Y/N! Not right now,”

Your breath hitches as you take in his appearance, looking all partied out and hungover, hair up in a messy bun and his clothes all wrinkled.

“I stayed up all night waiting for you! I didn’t know where you were, you didn’t even answer, none of you did!,”

“I told them to turn their phones off,” he replied as if it was the simplest answer. As if he were answering ‘4… duh’ when asked what 2+2 equals.

The sound that escaped you sounded as if someone had their hands around your throat and you were fighting for your life.

“I needed you,”

“And I needed a break!,” the way he raised his voice had you rearing back against the couch cushion. He’s never raised his voice, “I have been taking care of Nico since the day he came home. I’ve been taking care of YOU, I’ve been bathing him, I’ve been bathing you, I’ve been feeding him and feeding you. I have a child and a wife, I’m not a single dad of two children!,”

All you can do is hold Nico close to your chest as Nicholas’ words soaked into your skin, making it hard for the air to reach your lungs, his words a colorless poison like carbon monoxide.

“Nicky…,” you whimper, “Don’t… don’t say that, I’m trying,”

“And I’m tired!!,” he’s still shouting and if he doesn’t stop, he’ll wake Nico and you can’t handle that right now, “I stayed out with the guys, we had a couple drinks and I crashed at Jolly’s and it was the first full nights rest I’ve gotten in a long time so no, I’m not going to apologize!,”

You just stared at him, scared of the fury that had taken over his once comforting eyes.

“I…,” you hiccup, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’ll be better,”

It finally clicks in Nicholas’ mind how he just reacted and his expression softened.

“Wait, honey. I don’t know why I just-,”

“It’s okay,” you smile through the tears, “I’m going to lay him down and take a shower,”

“I can help you,”

You slowly sit up to lay Nico down in his bassinet and you wrap your arms around yourself as a way to self soothe and make yourself seem smaller under his inquisitive gaze.

“N-no. I’ll be okay,” you try to walk past him but he reaches for your arm gently, slowly spinning you around but you avoid his eyes.

“I love you,” sighing in exhaustion, he says the three words you’ve been needing to hear for the longest. This hasn’t been easy for you either.

But there’s a twinge in his tone, almost as if he’s convincing himself.

You want to believe him, you want to relish the words that should have been coming out of his mouth unconditionally this entire time.

But there’s something deep within his eyes that reads he’s just saying it to placate you.

Not to mention, there’s a sweet smell coming off his clothes.

That of gourmand and ambroxan, like of a subdued jasmine soaked in a lactonic caramel.

It’s unfamiliar and it sure as hell doesn’t belong to you.

Despite getting better and working on your bond with Nico, Nicholas seemed to pull away more and more.

So for tonight, you cooked dinner and wore your favorite colored dress, a dress that he always complimented you in, it was his favorite of yours.

You wore a little make up to brighten up your eyes and make your skin seem hydrated and plump instead of dull and dry.

You had fed Nico and put him down for bed, just wanting some time alone with your husband. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard him enter your shared home, bouncing on the balls of your feet while you stood beside the candle lit dinner on the table.

Except when he entered the dining room, he seemed so unamused. His eyes scanned down your body and to the table with little to no emotion.

“What’s this?,” he questions, setting his jacket on the back of the table.

“Well I figured we hadn’t had a date night in ages, we could use some alone time”

“Y/N…,” he pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was annoyed with the whole set up, “I don’t really have the energy for this right now,”

“It’s just…,” your eyes blink in confusion at his words, trying to hide the sadness. He didn’t even say how pretty you looked, “It’s just dinner, Nicky. C’mon just sit,”

Reluctantly, he did so. It was his favorite dish and yet he looked at it as if it was the most unappetizing slop on his plate.

He doesn’t know that his little expressions and lack of energy are killing your spirit but you’re set on trying.

“It’s your favorite,” you take a small bite, watching as he just sits there with his arms on either side of his plate, fiddling with his thumbs. He’s just sitting as if he’s trying to process something.

“I even baked a cake today! It was a new recipe I got it from this Facebook group I’m in. I was thinking after dinner we could take a bubble bath together like we used to and share a piece! Just like old ti-,”

“I slept with someone else,” he blurts out.

Your lips twitch and your ears start ringing.

“Heh… what?,” your motions come to a halt and the smile is no longer on your face. The candle flames seemed to stop flickering and the world outside seemed to still as you zeroed in on him, “What did you say?,”

He leans forward on the table, moving the plate to the side to rest his head in his hands.

“I slept with-,”

“No, you raise your head and look at me,” you demanded. This has to be some sort of sick joke. Sometimes the guys can take their jokes a little too far. This has to be one of them, right?

He sighed heavily, hands dropping to the table with a light knock as his inked knuckles bump against the mahogany.

Those beautiful eyes that you found a home in, stare back at you and you feel so lost now. Like you’re in a place that seemed familiar but you’re experiencing amnesia.

You know this place but it’s distorted.

“I slept with someone else,” he said clearer.

Your breathing seemed to pick up, thumb cramping from how hard you’re gripping your fork.

“It was a mistake. Y/N please believe me. I-,”

“I was at home… taking care of our baby, battling the PPD, overexerting myself to get back into shape so that you would still want me and your first thought is to sleep with someone else?,”

Your voice was eerily calm, robotic almost. Your fork clanks against the plate when you lose your grip. Everything is starting to feel numb.

“Honey-,”

“You don’t get the call me that anymore,” throat clenching around the words, trying to keep your composure.

“I was drunk,” he tried to justify.

“Did,” clearing your throat, “Did you at least use p-protection?,”

“I don’t think we should get into the details,”

A painful wail echoed throughout the house. You knew his answer. Your hand flies to your mouth to keep your cries in so you don’t wake Nico.

The distance. The perfume. His anger and frustration. It all made sense.

“I would have given you what you wanted,” you tremble at your own words, “I don’t care that I was healing. I would have fucking given you what you needed,”

“No,” He whimpered, “Honey, I don’t know what happened. I drank and you know I don’t drink and it just-,”

Another woman… experiencing your husband in that way, when you needed him was Earth shattering. You hadn’t received a hug from him in weeks, no kiss from him in almost two months now, he doesn’t hold you and the sex stopped about two months before Nico was born.

“Was it the… did the stretch marks turn you off? I started using the cocoa butter, I just needed time,”

You felt so raw, like an exposed nerve and the pain won’t stop. You’re just trying to make sense of it all.

“Don’t do this, Y/N,” he had some nerve to cry right now. This was his doing. He went out and cheated.

“It’s a m-myth that we stay stretched out after birth, it would have felt the same,” you pleaded, “I just needed to heal. I-,”

“No I.. It’s not that. I know that’s a myth! I just, I had too much to drink,”

“I refuse to believe that,” you lament, “It had to be something about me that pushed you to her. I-I got better with keeping up on showering, I’m sorry you had to see me like that I was just so sad all the time I was stuck-,”

“Y/N !,” his fists bang on the table and you flinch, breath trembling.

“I don’t know why I did it and I’m sorry I did it. I’m so sorry, baby. I was… I was stressed out and I blacked out. I know that’s not acceptable but-,”

“You turned your back on your family,” you clenched your chest, it was feeling like your heart was actually breaking, “You do not turn your back on your family!,”

“I love you and Nico,”

“I take you, Y/N Y/L/N, as my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward,” you repeat his vows back to him and you can see him start to get sick to his stomach. How can you love someone and hurt them like this?

“I promise to cherish and love you, to be faithful and to support you through sickness and in health. For rich or for poor until death do us part,” you jab your finger in his direction, images flashing before your eyes from what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, a day that now meant nothing.

“You said those words!! You lied to me that day, you broke your vows!”

“I didn’t lie. I love you. Y/N, please it was a mistake,”

“This is the last time you lie to me,” this was a man who you’d always follow to the ends of the Earth. The man who made life worth living but has now taken that will away.

“I’m not lying,” he’s groveling, “I drank to ease the pressure but I didn’t know when to stop a-and she was all over me, I thought she was you. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was drunk!,”

“As if being drunk makes it better?,” you whisper, you hate that you’re looking at him and his cheeks are wet. The fucking gall to act like the victim here.

“You gave me Nico! We tried for years. You watched me blame myself for not being able to conceive. You watched as I panicked when we found out we were having him and you watched me struggle to stay alive… watched me struggle to be a mother, you watched me fall apart and instead of keeping your word you run off to get your fucking dick wet?!,”

You stand up from the table, chair screeching against the floor and walk away into the kitchen where he unfortunately follows.

“I love you and I love Nico and I don’t want to lose that,”

“It’s a little too late for that!,”

“Please don’t say that,” he took a step forward but you took two back to get away from him.

“A man… who left me, while I was still recovering, to go party with his friends and sleep with another woman isn’t a man who loves me. You left me to take care of our baby boy knowing I was scared to be alone with him because I don’t know what the FUCK I’M DOING!! But nooo, you couldn’t wait long enough for me to heal. That’s selfishness, that’s not love!,”

You push him but he just stands there and takes it so you do it again and again until you’re pounding on his chest, sobbing at how things fell apart so fast.

“Y/N stop! Stop… Baby, stop!!!,” he grabs your wrists and holds you in place, eyes burning into yours. You don’t know who he is anymore.

“I wish you never told me!,” you gasp for air, “I have a son to take care of, you should have kept it to yourself, you should have continued to lie!,” you push him so hard he actually stumbles back into the wall.

“I couldn’t… it was eating at me, I-,”

“And I hope does for the rest of your life because we are done! You didn’t just hurt me. You hurt an innocent baby boy who doesn’t know any better and I’ll be damned if my son is raised by a ‘man’ who has no respect for his spouse!!!,”

He ran a hand through his hair, panicking about what he has done and how his family is falling apart before it even started. He did this.

There’s no one to blame.

He can’t blame you. You were healing all while falling apart. He knows how common PPD is and yet he centered himself in your own mental health struggles and now he’s here.

It’s his fault.

“How do I make this right, Y/N please? I want to make this work. I love you,”

“Do you have a time machine?,” the rhetorical question made this situation all more real. This was his reality now and he’s ruined something so good, and for what? The man who stood at the altar and declared his love for you in front of the most important people in your lives was not who he sees in the mirror anymore and he’s definitely not who you’re seeing now.

You grip the granite counter, head hanging low. You try to calm down, try to catch your breath but you just can’t.

Picking your head up, your eyes find his once more and your face is stoic, void of any emotions that are overwhelming your nervous system right now.

The hurt of his deception was taking over your body like a virus and there was no treatment to fix it, it has infected you and will slowly deteriorate you over time.

“So what are you going to say at my funeral now that you’ve killed me?,”

Seems dramatic. But it feels like you’re dying. This is a betrayal you never expected. You thought you’d be the exception in life. That you’d get the guy and white picket fence. But you ended up just being another broken hearted woman.

“I love you… so much. Please can we work this out?,”

His begging set something off inside of you and you lost it.

“You don’t cheat on someone you love!,” you threw a vase of flowers, “You don’t cheat on your fucking wife!,” fists pounding in your counter.

“You don’t go out drinking when your wife is left crying at home, beside herself with anxiety that she’ll hurt herself or her son!,” this time it’s a glass plate that you threw like a frisbee in which he dodged just in time.

“I needed you!,” you scream at the top of your lungs, “I needed you! Nico needed you, he needed us!!,”

“Y/N Stop!,” Nicholas shouted over the shattering glass and sobs.

“He needed us but instead you had some random bitch pinned against the wall in some sleazy club bathroom!,” the image makes you sick to envision.

After you throw the last item within your reach, you fall to your knees, clutching your chest as you let out the scream of a banshee.

It hurts to inhale and it feels like you’re having a heart attack.

“Y/N!,” Nicholas rushes over to you and you begin to hear Nico crying in the back.

“Baby, please. Come on!,” his voice becomes muffled like you’re underwater and you can’t make anything out.

He’s blurry and it feels like you’re stuck in a current, trying to keep your head above water, gasping for air but the waves keep dragging you under.

“Y/N!,” he’s shaking you to snap you out of it, to get you back down to Earth but you’re still fighting him off. Still throwing weak punches.

“Come on, baby. Come back to me,”

Your eyes are shut tight as you try to find your breath but it’s not working.

“I’m right here! Just open your eyes! I’m right here!,”

You can’t look at him right now. The fact that he’s even this close to you makes it worse.

“Y/N! Please you’re scaring me!!”

With one last stern shake, you open your eyes, a large gasp echoing in your ears and you’re covered in cold sweats, grasping at what you can reach which are the hot sheets on your bed.

“Hey, shhh. Shhh. I’m right here. It’s okay. You’re safe,” he’s brushing the hair out of your face, your bonnet was nowhere to be found.

“It was just another nightmare,” he whispers.

Your head turns to him and you take in your surroundings.

The white numbers on the digital clock read 2:17 am. Nicholas is in a plain white shirt and his briefs and the moon is shining through the sheer curtains of your room.

You look back to him and your face frowns as your eyes start to burn with the salty drops.

“Was it the same one?,” he asks, all you can do is shake your head.

“Y-you cheated,” you choked, “In this one you l-left me alone with Nico and cheated,”

You see the way the words tugged at his heart, bothering him greatly. He’s trying to hide the hurt on his face but he knows it’s not your fault that your mind is displaying these disconcerting scenes in your head.

“I’d never do that to you,” he caresses your cheek, “Baby, believe me. I would never fucking do that to you. I love you and Nico too much to do that,”

You throw yourself in his arms and just let it all out. This one felt so much more real than the other ones you’ve had before.

Nicholas held you for a bit before he started to ease away but you had a tight grip on his shirt, not wanting him to leave.

“I’ll be right back,” he reassured with a kiss to your forehead, “Nico is up. I’m gonna go get him,” he sat you up against the headboard as you tried to alleviate the uneasiness that soaked your body.

The three week old baby is heard whining when Nicholas brings him in the room.

“You wanna hold him? I think he’s hungry. If not I can get a bottle,”

“I wanna hold him. I need to hold him,”

Nicholas was so gentle when placing him in your arms, even helped you unbutton your night gown so Nico could start to feed. When the baby latched, he was subdued and curled into you, feeling safe in your embrace.

“Your doctor said the nightmares are normal,” Nicholas assured, rubbing his hands on your thighs to ease some of the tension you’re storing in your body.

“I just want them to stop,” You were exhausted. Almost every night since having Nico, you’d woken up in cold sweats and tears. Tonight was so much worse, you were sobbing and thrashing in your sleep, throwing punches at Nicholas as he tried to wake you, unbeknownst to you of course.

“I know it’s a lot but please don’t leave me. Don’t leave us, please,” you flex your jaw, trying to keep your cries to a minimum

“In sickness and in health, Y/N. I meant those words. I will never hurt you or our family, I’d rather die,”

The way he stared in your eyes, this is the man you married. The man in your dreams was just some monster your mind made up, a sick play on your fears.

The mind has a macabre way of playing into your insecurities, attacking itself, like a snake eating its own tail.

But Nicholas was there every step of the way, every nightmare, every therapy appointment, every good day and bad day until you felt like yourself again.

He kept his word.

And he didn’t break his vows.