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I personally think therapists should be required to give you aftercare after they drop a metaphorical bomb on you.
any time I’m in therapy and my therapist wants me to talk about the reasons why I’m still alive, I always want to say “out of spite. I have a lot of enemies here” yet never do, but I think she’d
When welcoming goes wrong!
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⚔️ Scene: “Theodorus and the Pancake Complex” (includes bonus scene after the therapy notes 💚)
Therapy Session #8: “Cats, Pancakes, and Violent Affection”
Patient: Theodorus van Gogh Affliction: Hostile younger-brother energy, sugar dependency, pathological cat aversion Therapist: Dr. Johann Faust Diagnosis: Violent affection disorder with pancake substitution and newly classified Hondje Delusions.
The office smelled faintly of ink, wine, and smugness. Faust’s notebook lay open, glasses glinting in the lamplight. Across from him, Theodorus slouched like a man dragged here under protest.
Faust steepled his fingers. “So. Theodorus. Tell me why you hate cats.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously? That’s your first question?”
“Yes.” Faust’s voice was velvet and knives. “You despise what you cannot control. Cats remind you of softness, of independence. You recoil because they mirror what you lack.”
Theo sneered. “Or maybe I just don’t like furballs that scratch and hiss for no reason. Kind of like you, Four Eyes.”
Faust’s pen scratched across the page. Deflects with insult. Transparent.
Unbothered, Faust turned a page. “Let’s discuss your Hondje.”
Theo stiffened. “Don’t you dare.”
“You reduce affection to obedience,” Faust purred. “Love, to you, is a leash. You only feel safe if intimacy rolls over on command.”
“Better a loyal Hondje than some twitchy lab animal.”
“A guinea pig is not twitchy. It is the perfect subject. Small. Honest. Incapable of deceit. It squeals, it trembles, it reveals.”
“You don’t cuddle guinea pigs.”
Faust adjusted his glasses. “On the contrary. You cradle them gently to monitor their heartbeat.”
Theo stared. “…That’s worse.”
“Efficient,” Faust said coolly, as if that ended the debate.
“Pathetic.”
Their glares clashed like drawn swords before Faust struck first. “And Vincent. Protective, possessive. Tell me, is it devotion or jealousy?”
Theo shot to his feet, fists clenched. “I’m the only one who’s ever protected him. You don’t get to touch that.”
Faust’s green eyes gleamed. “And yet you seethe, because deep down you know you will always be the younger.”
Theo’s voice dropped into a growl. “And you’ll always be the immortal who plays god because you can’t stomach human limits. Who’s the coward now?”
For once, Faust stilled. His pen hovered, ink pooling like a wound.
He snapped the notebook shut. “Very well. If you refuse to discuss family, let us discuss pancakes.”
Theo blinked. “…Pancakes?”
“Yes.” Faust’s tone was suddenly sharp. “Your fixation is pathological. A surrogate for the affection you lack. You crave sugar because you crave warmth.”
Theo barked a humorless laugh. “At least I don’t drown my feelings in wine and bad poetry.”
Faust’s lips twitched. Then curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “…Progress.”
Theo scowled. “You’re insane.”
Faust leaned back, utterly pleased. “And yet you stayed.”
Theo growled. “Wipe that smug smile off your face or I’ll shove those pancakes down your throat.”
Faust calmly flipped a page. “Very well. If discussion fails, we turn to projective analysis.”
He produced a stack of papers. Each page revealed one of Vincent’s aching, delicate paintings.
Theo’s eyes widened. “…That’s Vincent’s work.”
Faust smiled faintly. “Precisely. Now, tell me what you see.”
Theo snapped. “I see my brother’s art, you lunatic!”
“Wrong,” Faust said silkily. “You see his pain. And your inability to confront it.”
Theo lunged across the desk, snatching the paintings. “Give them back!”
Faust scribbled smugly. Extreme defensiveness. Diagnosis: transparent.
“You’re using Vincent as a therapy prop?!” Theo snarled.
“On the contrary. I am honoring him. Only art that bleeds truth is worth analyzing.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. “You know what your real problem is? I’ve raised dogs. I know the look they get when you leave. The panic, the whining, tearing at the door. That’s you. Abandonment issues in a lab coat.”
Faust stiffened. His pen faltered. For one rare moment, he had no words.
Then, with exaggerated calm, he reached under the desk and produced a very small, very confused kitten.
Theo blinked. “…What the hell is that.”
“Exposure therapy,” Faust said flatly.
Theo barked a laugh. “You’re pathetic. Session’s over.” He strode for the door and slammed it behind him.
Faust adjusted his glasses, cradling the kitten like a trump card. “Progress inevitable,” he murmured, scribbling furiously: Patient fled. Resistance noted. Prognosis: promising.
From the doorway, Vlad leaned lazily, crimson eyes glinting. “So. One Hondje, one guinea pig, and a pancake. And you still lost.”
Faust stiffened. “…I did not lose.”
The kitten mewed.
Vlad smirked, raising his glass. “The jury disagrees.”
He vanished down the hall, laughter trailing like smoke.
📖 Bonus Scene: “The DSM Appendix Nobody Asked For”
The laboratory was silent, save for the furious scratching of a pen. Faust hunched over his notebook, green eyes gleaming.
DSM: Draft Entry Condition Name: Hondje Delusions (HD) Proposed By: Dr. Johann Georg Faust (the only authority required)
He muttered under his breath. “Diagnostic criteria… fixation on obedience… pancake substitution… inability to acknowledge guinea pig supremacy…”
In the margin, his handwriting slashed across the page: Supremacy is empirical fact. (underlined three times, furiously)
The door creaked. Charles peeked in, tray of tea balanced cheerfully. “Guinea pig supremacy? Adorable, Docteur. I didn’t know they had a monarchy.”
From the hall, Vlad’s voice slid in like frost. “Or perhaps it is just oddly specific. Almost… personal.”
Faust stiffened, pen frozen mid-stroke. “…It is science.”
Vlad chuckled low, savoring the sting. “No. It is projection.”
Charles tilted his head, curiosity sparkling. “Speaking of… what happened to that kitten?”
Faust adjusted his glasses, tone cool. “It has been rehomed.”
Vlad raised a brow. “Rehomed?”
Faust smirked faintly. “At le Comte’s manor. With Theodorus.”
Charles beamed. “Ah! So now the poor boy has both pancakes and exposure therapy!”
Vlad’s chuckle was low, merciless. “Diabolical.”
The notebook snapped shut with a violent crack, blotting the page in ink.
“Projection,” Faust muttered. “Confirmed in others, never in self.”
📝 Session concluded.
📖 [Further case notes available in the Masterpost]
System in therapy be like
Therapist: This alter appears to be related to this horrible event from your past ):
Host: wow, sucks to be that guy, when are we going to talk about my problems, someone looked at me in the wrong tone and now i want to die???
*Traumatic event occurs*
Me, booking a therapy appointment:
