i saw this post earlier about therapists and it reminded me of my old therapist paul, who in my opinion is one of the greatest men alive and who did not put up with my bullshit for even one second
anyway i go in to see paul one week in the summer of 2016, and i’m doing my usual bullshit which consists of me talking shit about myself, and paul is staring at me, and then he cuts me off and says that he’s got a new tool for helping people recognize when they’re using negative language, and gets up and goes over to his desk
and i’m like alright hit me with that sweet sweet self-help article my man, because i’m a linguistic learner and whenever paul’s like here i have a tool for you to use it’s pretty much always an article or a book or something
paul opens a drawer, takes something out, and turns back around. i stare.
i say, paul.
is that a nerf gun.
yeah, says paul.
i say, are you gonna shoot me with a nerf gun in this professional setting.
he happily informs me that that’s really up to me, isn’t it. and sits back down. and gestures, like, go ahead, what were you saying?
and i squint suspiciously and start back up about how i’m having too much anxiety to leave the house to run errands, like it was a miracle to even get here, like i’ve forgone getting groceries for the past week and that’s so stupid, what a stupid issue, i’m an idiot, how could i–
a foam dart hits me in the leg.
i go, hey! because my therapist just shot me in the leg. paul blinks at me placidly and raises an eyebrow. i squint again.
i say, slowly, it’s– not a stupid issue, i’m not stupid, but it’s frustrating me and i don’t want it to be a problem i’m having.
no dart this time. okay. sweet.
so the rest of the hour passes with me intermittently getting nailed with tiny foam darts and then swearing and then fixing my language and, wouldn’t you know it, i start liking myself a little more by the end of the session, which is mildly infuriating because paul can tell and he’s very smug about it
anyway i leave his office and the lady having the next appointment walks in and i hear what’s all over the floor? and paul very seriously says cognitive behavioral therapy tools.
Author’s Note: Trying to get back into my Supercat groove slowly but surely. This is a long, long, long overdue prompt fill for @reginalovesemma who wanted #48, “Let’s try this again.” Probably not what you imagined, but I hope you like it.
No beta on this one so all mistakes are mine!
Trigger warning: There are character deaths mentioned here.
***
National City was in ruins. Kara took a slow, aching breath, tasting ash and copper on the back of her tongue. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, her cape ripped and torn, and there wasn’t a muscle in her whole body that didn’t hurt, but she was still standing. She’d won, but the price had been too high.
Sam was dead, the Legion destroyed, and the DEO was in shambles. Too many friends and colleagues had been lost, but thank Rao Alex had survived even though her injuries were significant. Winn and James hadn’t been as lucky.
Leaning heavily against the crumbling remains of Cat’s balcony at CatCo, Kara watched as the sun rose over the destruction, longing for the warmth it would bring. She was so damn cold, and as much as she needed the sun’s rays to heal, she simply wanted to feel the heat on her skin.
“Nice to see this is still your go-to, even without me here to dispense worldly advice.”
Kara started, stumbling a little as she rounded to face the voice she never expected to hear in this space again. “Cat,” she whispered, her throat hoarse from too much screaming and crying.
Cat pursed her lips at the sight of her, and Kara suspected she was quite a sight. Supergirl likely looked far from super in the dawning light, but Cat drifted closer anyway, offering her a tumbler of scotch.
Question of Smoke 