#i have a therapy appointment today. fearing for my life

[twoheadedfather]

the "wait, someone was supposed to teach me this?" moment about like 85% of the things in my life

[tealeavesandtrash]

Wolfstar Micro Fic - @wolfstarmicrofic prompt: Amnesia - 750 Words

Remus sits on the sofa, staring at the bookshelf in front of him, wonders how many of those books are his, which ones he’s read or was excited to read. This is his life now. When he isn’t at doctors appointments, he’s staring at photos or objects pondering what history he has attached to them. This is his house, he knows logically it is - he’s in photos on the walls, his name is on the mail - but it feels like he’s living in a stranger's body. There are days he’d rather stay in hospital just to escape the relentless notion that he's an imposter in someone else life.

He can feel Sirius’ eyes on him, watching in anticipation, like any moment things will snap back into place. “Lily found some more photos,” Sirius says, “we could go through them today?” Remus nods, although he doesn’t feel like he has much choice in the matter. “Is she coming round?” “Yeah, but she won’t stay.” He likes Lily. He suspects they used to be very close, but it feels juvenile to ask outright if they’re best friends. Despite that, he slips back into the bedroom shortly after she arrives, feigning tiredness. It’s not a complete lie - he’s tired a lot which is supposedly a good sign that his brain is trying to fix itself. But he’s also tired of all the visitors - friends of theirs trying to help who don’t how to act around him and Remus is constantly running through a mental rolodex trying to find names for faces. 

“The Potters send their love,” Sirius says while laying the photos from Lily across the living room floor. Remus scans them, trying to identify them. It’s one of the memory exercises they keep pushing in therapy that feels more like a child’s game. He picks up a photo of a couple and a baby and Sirius gives him a hopeful smile. Remus doesn’t explain that he picked it because it’s the only picture of a redhead. When he first picked out a photo of his parents Sirius had been so excited, only to be crumble a moment later when Remus explained it was a simple process of elimination - they just shared the most resemblance with him. Remus stopped explaining his logic after that, save people the disappointment. 

Nights are the worst. When he’d first come home, he refused to share a bed so Sirius insisted on taking the guest room. Not that it made a difference to Remus, he feels just as much a guest in the master bedroom as he would the guestroom. Sirius loiters outside his room when they say goodnight, the same way he does every night, like he’s half expecting Remus to invite him in. “Why are you being so patient with me?” Sirius looks at him with soft, sad eyes. “Because you’re my Moony,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. The nickname feels foreign. Sirius says it with such revance but it means nothing to Remus. “I’m not though, I might never be him again.” “You will-” “-You don’t know that,” Remus cuts him off. “People keep saying that, like everything will suddenly fix itself, but you have no idea. No one does.” Sirius swallows, dropping in gaze. Remus might feel bad for snapping if he wasn’t so sick of everyone’s blind optimism. Sirius takes Remus’ hands, gently runs his thumb over his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter,” he says quietly. “You’ll always be my Moony, even if you don’t see it. Even if you never see it.” 

Remus curls up in the middle of an empty bed, a thousand thoughts bouncing around his head as he replays Sirius’ words. He thinks about how alone he is, open and exposed in a room that feels too hollow. He thinks about how his therapist told him to embrace the unknown, push through the fear.

The floor is cold under his bare feet as he pads across the landing and slips into the guest room. The curtains are wide open, illuminating the room with moonlight which he's immensely grateful for. It doesn’t feel as claustrophobic. Sirius has his back to him, chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Remus doesn’t slip under the covers, this alone is a big enough step, but he does lie down next Sirius, close enough that they’re almost touching. Remus takes a deep breath to steady himself, lets himself adjust to the moment. Tentatively, he lets his eyes slip closed.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER FIVE: OATS

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink

This is chronologically the fifth chapter in the series

---

The day after the failed feast Dr Lecter enters your unhappy chamber to find you already awake, greasily feverish in the maelstrom of narcotic hangover. Moaning under the dripping cloth of your bedsheet, you wince from the light that punctures the room as Hannibal draws back the curtains with a determined flourish.

"This is what happens when you do not eat and drink enough, I'm afraid," he says, putting a lusciously cool hand to your brow. "The excitement around the table certainly didn't help matters. Had you been receptive, then you would have been hydrated, full-bellied, and ready for the day ahead. Alas, your mulish nature is the portcullis that refuses you entry into better health. I cannot raise it for you."

You haven't the life in you to retaliate to such sanctimonious jibes, and he well knows it.

Humming a strand of Vide Cor Meum, Hannibal glides about you, first plumping your pillow, then holding a glass of water to your lips until you must either drink, or drown. In fractured gulps you salve your chapped throat with it, then part your lips again for a spoon of porridge; to your surprise, the portion spilled from cutlery to tongue is slim, a suggestion of treaty, of a temporary kind.

"I will never make you eat more than is reasonable, little one," says Hannibal, meeting your narrowed stare so frankly that you are almost abashed by the look. "It would do you no good to upset your stomach any further. I will minimise your intake for a few days, at least."

The suggestion is so unbelievable that you search his plain expression for the merest taint of trickery.

"You're not... angry with me," you observe, at last.

Dr Lecter's head inclines.

"Any ill feelings between us were settled at dinner, were they not?"

He helps you to the bathroom, stepping politely outside the door as you list at a sloppy port-wise angle, gripping either side of the bowl with preventative force; you may fall should you let go, humiliate yourself in the necessity of further care.

That Hannibal reverts to a veneer of nurturing aid after an episode of violence with such undisturbed ease frightens you, as does your instinct to accept that profferred assistance. Too many years span from here to the last time you allowed yourself to do so, and though you know well Dr Lecter's malign in having manufactured such frailty, you may never regain the position to resist it without him.

As with Will, your way out of this house is to drive yourself further in.

"I'll return home early today," says Hannibal, as he eases you back into bed in stops and starts to accomodate each shimmer of nausea. "I can reschedule my afternoon appointments for another time."

"Don't bother," you mutter, against your pillow. "I want to be on my own."

"I'm aware of that. Nevertheless, I will be here to monitor you. If you're feeling better tonight, then I will conduct your next therapy session."

Fear flowers at your core, all thorn tipped leaves.

"I won't be better," you say, your lips still crushed to starched cotton. "That promise I made to you about trying— I can't stick to that. I can't be the person you need. And I can't eat. It's too hard for me."

Hannibal lays a hand on your back, soothing you as he might an infant with colic.

"I know," he says, simply. "Relapses are to be expected. Neither Will or I will admonish you for that. What I will not tolerate is rudeness. I have demonstrated what will occur if you do not keep your tongue in check."

At this your head snaps upright against the pull of sickness.

"Aren't you rude?" you ask, sharply. "And Will?"

Hannibal pats down your coverlet, quite unoffended.

"One might argue that is down to interpretation. I pride myself on cultivating elegance, which includes manners, as a matter of course. Will, however, is— unique. I overlook his cruder moments for the complexity layered beneath them. As for what we have done to you, it is unfortunate that you cannot observe the act through our eyes, and perceive its beauty, as well as your own."

To this, you have no answer. You can think only of snaring hands, of Will's stubble scarring your cheek, and the blood broken like bottled wine across your inner thighs, so much ugliness paraded as glory.

"Please drink the water I've left out for you," says Hannibal.

You do, for he will know, if you do not.

*

There was something in that glass, or the oats, you comprehend, for when you are next conscious you are propped upright in a leather chair, only part returned from witless repose.

A metronome clicks at your ear, back and forth.

Lights flash and cease, white and black their blinking through the timeless night in which Dr Lecter has you drown. You sit, or swim in it; you cannot tell. The fungal spell of Hannibal's cooking robs you of both voice and tether to the earth. You could be foam in a Homerean ocean, where men become pigs on its alien isles.

You too might be such a beast, or a child, or some sylph of amorphous matter trapped in such hampering skin.

The sound of your breath comes, shuttered and sharp.

A warm hand cups your chest, and your lungs seem to open to its gesture as though by unknown magic.

Then a voice murmurs from a face before you, its shape without edge, an orb.

"You are safe. You are cared for. You belong."

Like a switchblade across your eye the light comes again, and you are part of it, an impulse that is all life, all one.

Hannibal speaks your name, grounding you to him, as to a stack in some wild sea.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now," he tells you. "They may be difficult. Try to answer them honestly."

There is only a man here, there is only light; you cannot refuse them.

"Okay," you mumble.

Hannibal's pleasure in your answer is a current timed to the swishing metronome.

"How did your eating disorder begin?" he asks. "What did it look like, then?"

"Just a diet, at first," you say. "The meals got smaller and smaller. Then a lot of food scared me. I started counting calories. Throwing food out. Being around anyone eating was like I was being tortured. That's when I knew that something was really wrong with me."

You hear the scratch of a pen on an unseen pad.

"I see. And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Nothing. I didn't care. Then I started to like it. Challenging myself. The compliments— feeling like I had something nobody else did, that I was so good at— It became everything I was. My identity, kind of."

How easy it is to speak, when you cannot see the expression of the listener before you.

"Trauma frequently shapes us in our formative years," Hannibal comments. "It is a natural response to build oneself in its image. So, let us retreat to older memories. Tell me of a time that you recall being afraid."

The flashing light numbs to an ebbing glow.

"There was this guy," you say. "A guy that my dad was friends with. Still is. His name is Leland Frost. He used to come over to our house all the time. He was always so friendly, but I knew that there was something wrong with him. There was something in his eyes, the way he laughed too much, or stood too close to me. Like he was putting on a rubber Hallowe'en mask of a regular guy, and everyone was just pretending it was fine, but they really weren't pretending."

"Elaborate."

You gnaw at your lower lip until you taste warm iron, and consider spitting out the calories.

"I tried to tell people about it," you say. "But Dad could never see it. He'd just say, 'oh, that's just Lee. Silly old Uncle Lee. That's just how he is.' But I knew. I saw him. I smelled the cheap rubber mask."

"Did this Uncle Lee ever hurt you?" asks Hannibal, softly. "Touch you in an inappropriate manner?"

This memory is dusky, a cobwebbed photograph.

"I don't know," you admit, at last. "I always thought he wanted to, though. I always thought the minute my parents left me alone with him something bad would happen. The waiting was always the worst part."

A pause, in which you sense rather than see Dr Lecter watching you through the dark-light-darkness.

"But maybe it wasn't Uncle Lee that I was waiting for," you say, at last. "Maybe it was you and Will."

The gloom becomes further marred by tears, and you feel a box of tissues being pressed into your loose hand.

"That's enough for today," says Hannibal, rising from his seat. "You've done well for me. This calls for a reward."

He crosses the room to pick up a telephone, glancing at you with an unintelligible heat in his eyes.

"Good evening," he says, into the receiver. "I hope this is a convenient time for you. Yes, that is correct; I'm calling about your daughter's progress. I am very satisfied with her cooperation today. We are approaching some early milestones."

Hearing the tinny, distant voices of your parents, you struggle towards a lucidity that feels so desperately out of touch.

Hannibal crosses the room towards you again and turns the phone away from his mouth to murmur, "I will allow you a few words to them, if you will be sensible."

By this he means: if you do not give the game away.

You nod your head jerkily and extend a fist as Dr Lecter introduces you into the conversation.

"She is here, now. Somewhat tired, but all is well."

You clenched the receiver to your ear, tears coming in such a quick patter that, at first, you can only sit in hyperventilating silence as your parents babble at you, their voices sharp with an underlying guilt.

"How are you, honey? It's so good to hear from you! We love you! Is everything okay?"

Each day you've been parted from them you've missed them as you would your most vital structures, with a sore and deathly strength, yet your love is not so stark as your disappointment in being so abandoned by them.

"No," you say, at last. "I'm not okay, Mom. Dad. How could you send me away and not even warn me?"

The babbling rises, panic in male and female iteration.

"We had no other choice. It was all we could think to do! We tried everything. But Dr Lecter's helping you, isn't he?"

Hannibal's stare is, itself, a warning.

Pressing your knuckles to your anguished mouth, you pass the telephone back to him, not trusting yourself not to scream for help and damn yourself to the harshest punishment that such an executioner of free will might hand to you.

"She is overwrought," says Dr Lecter, apologetically. "I'll call again next week."

He hangs up, and leans across to clean the tears from your face himself, ensuring the tissue is discarded in a wastpaper basket; even in this he must be perfect, organised and pristine. You hate him for it, this performance he makes of his life, preserving such details as no one would be likely to notice but him.

"I wish you hadn't let me talk to them," you whisper. "Now I feel even worse."

"Of course you do," says Hannibal. "Your family betrayed you. It would be much more unusual if you held no resentment towards them at all."

You squint up at him in accusation.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Leaving a wound open may sometimes allow it to dry, and subsequently heal. You will not advance without acknowledging the harm your parents have done to you, whether through dispatching you to me without consent, or by ignoring your justifiable fear of Leland Frost. The map to your mental injury is unfurling before us: the continents take shape, as do the names that mark each turn in your unhappy life. In time, I will know them all."

Weeping, you slip down in your chair, not wanting to see the truth that thrusts itself up from the outcrop of evil.

"I will help you to your room," says Dr Lecter. "More sleep is in order, I think."

*

Will Graham enters the house some time in the night; you hear his low voice through the floorboards as you lie in swaying wakefulness, wondering what brings the professor here at so late an hour. He stays for so long that he accepts an invite into one of Hannibal's spare rooms, a fact that you discern from the voices passing your door in the hallway.

Again you sleep, though not pleasantly, your psyche disturbed by the third presence in the building, and by the lasting bruise of Dr Lecter's relentless torments.

In this sleep you dream of an antlered thing burying you in a terracotta wood, its face so darkly passive as soil smothers your airways that you might well be a bone, stored there to be gnawed at some late and starving hour.

When you emerge from this haunted slumber you still feel the threads of it still noosed around you; dream-sick, drug-thick, you stagger across your bedroom and, finding the door unlocked, tumble on into the hallway beyond.

By chance you find Will's room, letting yourself into quarters that smell of night-sweat, and pine, and male musk. You scarcely know what you do as you climb into bed with him against his salty heat, nor why it is he, of your abusers, that you seek.

Will starts awake, wild-haired and horrified as he senses your body beside him. Your name bolts from his lips, scarcely recognisable, the utterance of an animal groomed to speak a human tongue.

"What are you doing here? You should be in your own room."

Keeping your back to him, you drowsily reply.

"Had a bad dream."

Will breathes an ironic laugh.

"And you think you'll sleep any better in my bed? I destroyed you, remember?"

Self-blame, self-loathing, all jagged and tail-swallowing teeth.

"No," you mumble. "He did. Not you, Daddy."

You feel Will sit up behind you, scratching a hand through his unruly curls.

"You're not in your right mind," he announces, gruffly. "I'd better tell Dr Lecter to stop giving you whatever medication you're on. It's not good for you. No wonder you're having nightmares."

Still, he doesn't attempt to turn you out of bed, or to call Hannibal to eject you on his behalf. He only slouches, gazing at you, until you turn on your side to look back at his pretty, troubled face in its nest of brindled shadow.

Will's shoulders still droop in a mode of shame, yet the black of the room deepens the blue of his eyes into a yearning colour through which many a woman would gladly fall. He wants you here, you realise, perhaps likes the power he holds in having you soft and needful beside him, in his lair, after all he's done.

You should detest him for feeling it, and you do.

But recognising that craving within him reawakens the understanding of that power you may yet hold over him, in return, the mistress of a cur that bites all but those that direct the leash.

It is a long way off, this control, but the taste of it will do, for now.

"Let me stay," you implore, fluttering sodden eyelashes in a coquettish attempt to convince him. "Please? Just for tonight? I don't want that dream to come back."

You'll loathe yourself for this, in the morning, but now all you care for is the night. Will seems to be having the same thought, for he lies back down on the mattress again, taking care to leave ample space between you.

How does he compartmentalise his violence—his taste for it—from his revulsion towards you, and further still from the empathy that stirs in him like a stamped out fire?

"Just one night," says Will, sternly. "I don't know what Hannibal is going to say about this."

You pull the quilt up under your chin, almost giddy with your achievement, and with it the comfort that pours over you like a September afternoon. This strange happiness you will remember, and wonder at, when all you should have known were the tatters of despair.

"Dr Lecter left my door unlocked," you say, as Will moves in restless, settling motions at your back, still refusing to make contact with your skin. "So it's really his fault I'm here, you know."

At this Will half-rises again, but whatever question or comment he murmurs is lost to your abrupt slumber.

By morning he is gone, and you are alone again, only the scent of the monster remaining about you to mark out your miserable self-treachery.

He is not there to see you thrust the sheets against your face and inhale their bitter stink, if only to claw back the triumph of having made vulnerable a man so very closed to contact of the most human kind.

He is not there, and he is everywhere.

Will is as part of this house as Dr Lecter, now.

[ms0milk]

s/o with an abusive ex

| ft. Sanemi, Mitsuri, and Rengoku 

a/n: thank you so much for your req!

Sanemi

here's the thing

i just don’t think nems is above murder

so this abusive ex of yours doesn’t feel long for this world, ya feel me?

that ex called one too many times?

they just wont leave you alone?

they followed you when you went out?

showed up at your job?

did he hear you right?

sanemi is not patient, not forgiving, and not above confrontation

if they’re going to be piece of shit that doesn’t know when to quit

sanemi’s gonna submit that resignation letter on their behalf

they take the low road?

sanemi’s going to hell

if you come back to him from a long day out even a little shaken

he’s gonna scoop you right up in the doorway and deliver you straight to the bathtub to wash off the emotional grime

cuff his pants

roll up his sleeves

a therapeutic washcloth scrubbing your back and as much peace as he can manifest as he listens to you talk about your day

this man lives to make your life easy

which means when your ex steps out of line just once

and sanemi has to take out the trash

you’re none the wiser

a little blackmail here, a threat of physical violence there

sanemi and is friends will not let you suffer because of one person who’s too stupid to take no for an answer

if you’re willing to trust him with your fears from the past, he’ll always be ready to navigate the future with you

whatever you need

Mitsuri

like any strong, beautiful woman

Mitsuri has been chased down by her fair share of inappropriate scumbags

and has gotten very good and defending herself

physically and emotionally

she knows exactly how it feels to be perceived as vulnerable and prides herself in her strength and her ability to protect

this applies to you too

duh

the darling love of her life?

you got that extended warranty

24/7 support for life

she’s building your self confidence with spa days, body worship, and making sure you keep your weekly therapy appointment

so whenever your manipulative ass ex comes up

Mitsuri’s got her Listening Ears on

because she knows just how powerful an eager ear can be to someone processing trauma

but

i’m also pretty sure Mitsuri’s grappling with Sanemi for first place on the hashira sliding scale of “how easily they would get into a physical fight with someone who caused you pain”

because the day your ex decides to show their face in person??

and pull some nasty shit??

she was actually arrested for the absolute Bad Bitch Behavior she unleashed that day

i’m talking permanently broken noses and a visit from the adult tooth fairy

“i’m so sorry you had to see that baby”

is all she says when you finally manage to both get home in the evening

and you’re in tears because you have your girlfriend safe in your arms and not in some fucking cell while your sonofabitch ex gets to spend the night in the cushy hospital

but you’re not crying in anger

because you finally

for the first time since you met them

felt bigger than your ex today

“No more fights I promise! Please don’t cry– you y/n, it’s you only you, I only want to make you happy.”

she makes you feel happy and safe

Rengoku

does falling in love with this man ever end? will i ever reach the bottom of the depths of my love for him?

Rengoku is with you through it all

encouraging you to leave your dangerous relationship

protecting you while you gather your things

housing you when you have nowhere else to go

falling in love with you quietly as you build yourself back up

and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let the asshole that started this whole problem backtrack your progress in any way

ex shows up at your house?

jokes on them, Rengoku’s stationed at the front gate while you finish the last of your chores inside

“You will be fighting with me today stranger, and I am the fight you will lose!”

he’s always all smiles

ex sends you message after message?

paper route be damned, the poor postman is getting escorted backwards to wherever the hell he picked this letter up

I don’t think Rengoku’s the type for premeditated violence

i think he’s a bit too aloof for that

his ego will never get the better of him

his testosterone will never best him

it’s always about you

“Your ex is here Y/n, would you like to walk past them together or would you like to leave?”

“You seem anxious, did something happen while you were out?”

“I’m here with you.”

“You're holding your head high today! You look beautiful like this!”

“You are not alone.”

your villainous ex can’t take away your value and so Rengoku’s going to do the best he can to make sure you see how much he worships your strength

[anotherwvba]

Learning on the Job pt. 7

Mid-morning Friday found Jon Adamski making his way to the least favorite part of his daily routine. Since arriving at the WVBA Campus on Monday, Jon had spent an hour every morning with Dr. Yukiko Mera. She was the head of the Mental Wellness Center, part of the extensive medical program the WVBA offered to boxers and staff. If it wasn’t for his promise to the Frenchman, to Gabby Jay, he wouldn’t have bothered.

But, Jon was a man of his word and Dr. Mera hadn’t mistreated him. It was just a waste of time, at least as far as he was concerned. It’s not that Jon has a problem with controlling his anger. It’s more that others have a problem with the way he chooses to control it, usually with a physical, and typically violent, outlet.

“Yo, Jonny!” As Jon was walking toward Dr. Mera’s office, Disco Kid called out to him. Disco was another regular patient of the Doctor’s. Didn’t know they could treat annoying optimism, Jon thought as he nodded to Disco in greeting.

Disco smiled, “Hey, man, we gonna see you in the gym later? Cutie saw this new footwork drill she’s been dyin’’ to share.”

He wanted to snap back. Or maybe a swift kick in the… “Maybe,” Jon answered, struggling to keep himself in check against Disco’s incessant positivity.

“My man!” Disco held his hand up for a high five, but Jon just kept walking. Disco shook his head and smiled, but continued about his own day.

Jon, on the other hand, trudged on his way toward his appointment, muttering a litany of grievances in Polish under his breath. The day, his apartment, breakfast, therapy, life in general. It didn’t matter. None of it was really to his liking.

Finally making it down the long corridor, Jon opened the door to the Mental Wellness Center and found himself nearly immediately speechless. Dr. Mera’s nurse, it wasn’t worth remembering her name, sat behind her desk, as usual, but there was no Dr. Mera. Instead, there was a uniquely beautiful young woman, late 20’s maybe?

She was sharply dressed, very professional, in dark tones of gray and purple. Jet black bangs and a ponytail contrasted against not just her rather pale complexion, but the buzzed short sides and top of her head. And her glasses drew Jon’s attention to her eyes, cold and piercing. Without meaning to, Jon found himself staring.

“May I help you?” The woman’s voice broke Jon out of his stupor. Her tone was crisp, damn near cold. The same was true of her posture, proper and practiced.

“Uh, umm, yeah, sorry,” Jon, someone who performed on stage for, what some would call, a living, struggled to find words. “Jon Adamski, uh, 10 o’clock…”

The nurse handed the stranger a file folder, “Jon is Dr. Mera’s daily 10 a.m.”

“Ah,” the woman said plainly as she looked over the file. “Dr. Mera is out of the office today. Psychological conference in Athens. I’m handling her appointments today. If you’ll step…”

“Poczekaj cholerną chwilę!” Jon was immediately angered, looks be damned. “Who the hell are you? Are you qualified? Why wasn’t I told before…”

The woman held up a hand with an air of authority that, for some reason, silenced Jon. It was obvious that she expected to be listened to whenever she spoke.

“Apologies,” the woman looked up from the file and looked Jon in the eyes, unfazed and unflinching. No fear whatsoever. That’s different, Jon thought as the woman continued.

“Dr. Mera’s trip was a last minute opportunity, but you should have been informed.” She was direct, no sign of patronizing or pity. “As for myself, I am Miss Evelyn White. I am Dr. Mera’s intern. I have Bachelors Degrees in both Behavioral Psychology and Mental Health Counseling from UCLA and Ohio State, respectively, and am currently top of my class in the Master’s program at Duke. Does that satisfy your question of my qualifications?”

This wasn’t what Jon had come to expect from people. She wasn’t treating him like some volatile mental case to tiptoed around. She was treating him as an equal, a man to be talked to like any other adult. That hadn’t happened in a long time.

Evelyn stepped closer, Jon instinctively backing a step, blushing. If Evelyn noticed, she didn’t show it. “I understand this is highly unusual,” she lowered her voice to speak only to Jon in the moment, “and might be uncomfortable, but I assure you, Mr. Adamski, I am fully qualified to see you.”

As Jon fought to compose himself, at least mentally, Evelyn continued. Her voice was firm, but not unkind, “I’m not Dr. Mera. She has a very maternal approach, which works wonders, and yes, she is a truly amazing therapist. I am fortunate to study under her. However, I have a different approach. I am straightforward, and I don’t sugarcoat. I'm not here to befriend my patients, but to help them."

Trying to force his typical defiance and bluster, Jon asked bluntly, “Who are you to say I am your patient?”

With a nod, Evelyn conceded, “Quite right. You are not my patient, not unless you choose to be.” Her voice picked up a slight edge of resolve as she continued, “but if you allow me, you’ll find me honest, and I’ll respect you enough never to undermine your intelligence with platitudes."

There was something about this woman. Jon held her gaze for a moment before nodding slightly, “For today.”

The briefest flicker of a smile flashed across Evelyn’s face as she gestured once again to Dr. Mera’s office, “Then best not to waste time, Mr. Adamski. The clock is ticking.”

Jon Adamski & Evelyn White are an OCs belonging to @punchout-ispunched and are used with permission.

[desifleabag]

I am shedding skin

Hey there, if you're reading this, I hope you're doing well. Remember to take care of yourself – eat right, get enough sleep, and maybe even give yourself a little pep talk in the mirror (even if it's a bit tongue-in-cheek). I'm all about that lighthearted, progressive humour! But jokes aside, I genuinely wish you the best.

Today's blog is a bit different. Let's imagine we randomly met up in a bustling city. Picture us sitting down with our chai or coffee, just having a real talk about our lives. So, get comfy in your chair – figuratively speaking, of course.

I used to be that child who disliked her childhood while idealising the idea of growing up into an adult who could earn money, own a house, and achieve all her dreams. It was as if I envisioned a gleaming castle but had no idea how to attain it. At times, I find myself wishing I could sit down with my 10-year-old self and tell her, "It's alright to dislike being a kid because you feel confined and powerless under the expectations of others in your life. Childhood dreams and aspirations are like ice cream – they seem like they'll last forever, but they eventually melt away. You believe that children's boundless and creative energy often goes unrecognised and is simply labelled as “young blood”,' isn't that right? I hear you and I understand. However, living an adult life comes with both the depths of loneliness and the dazzling heights of success. I comprehend that." Throughout my life, I've carried this perspective, and now, as an adult, the image of that castle fills me with anxiety. I'm afraid of the possibility of being crushed under the weight of the glass and the gleaming castle. The never ending “ what ifs' ' never left my hand and I think I also didn't leave because it gave me a sense of self control.

Lately, things haven't been going so smoothly for me. I mean, my mental and physical health are both kind of shaky. I've been going to therapy for about two years now, and it's been a wild ride. Some days, I feel like I'm making progress and getting better, but on other days, I'm my own worst critic. Still, I'm trying my darndest to do more than just get by – I want to really live life.

The thing is, therapy isn't cutting it like it used to. So, my therapist thinks it's a good idea for me to see a psychiatrist for some extra help.For a brief moment, I felt a bit lost, wondering how I was supposed to handle this situation on my own since I didn't have any friends who could accompany me to my psychiatrist appointment. Despite my worries, I decided to go by myself. I went to the appointment, sat down, and talked about my struggles. The outcome of our conversation was the revelation that I was dealing with clinical depression and anxiety. It hit me hard and left me feeling devastated, a sense of helplessness and hopelessness washing over me. However, I made up my mind to take responsibility for my health. I realised that I needed to step up and take care of myself. The psychiatrist prescribed some antidepressants to help improve my mood. Following the appointment, a wave of unease swept over me. I began to fear that my parents wouldn't fully understand what I was going through. I also recognized that my friends couldn't accompany me to these appointments. It was quite a transformation for someone who used to be afraid of the dark and travelling alone – now, I was facing these challenges head-on and prioritising my well-being.

I won't sugarcoat it – these days, being a 20-year-old adult can feel incredibly isolating, even when you're surrounded by people. There's a daunting aspect to being alone, and taking on the responsibility and maturity is no easy feat. Lately, the loneliness I feel amid my pain and struggles has taken a toll on my health. I can sense my smile fading day by day. The desire to continue living feels like an overwhelming burden.This is what most of your adult life you are helpless, hopeless. Lonely, aimless, hanging there in ups and downs of your health with the bigger picture of your life in your hands like you are trying so hard to handle the weight of that picture that it impacts your health and your life too.

As an adult, people will often tell you to love yourself. My idea of self-love has changed a lot. It used to be about liking every part of my body, but now it's more about being my own source of strength when things are tough. I've learned that I need to be okay with all parts of my life, especially because life didn't come with instructions. I've had to face uncertainties to figure out who I am, and I've realised that being kind to myself and finding peace are really important. But even if you read and learn a lot about self-love, there will still be days when you cry because of things that hurt you, whether they're things from the past or things you're still dealing with. You'll want someone to give you a hug, and you'll imagine the best things happening with them. You might even doubt yourself sometimes. Because the truth is, sometimes loving yourself is ugly .Yes, it's a bitter truth I learned in my life. 

While I was flipping through pages of my journal. I wrote down a poem “ I took care of myself and it wasn't pretty” I read on the internet which was written by Schuyler Peck in her book called "The greatest act of self love isn't always pretty.

I took care of myself 

And looked at the overdue bills in the face 

Even though it hurt 

I took care of myself 

And cried ugly through the therapy sessions

Made another appointment for next week 

I put in the work and wrote all the bad memories in detail

I apologised to all the friends 

I didn't have the energy to talk to 

I finally cut off all my dead ends and bought produce 

Slimly avoided sustaining myself 

On barbecue chips and poetry 

I recycled 

I set an alarm for 8 hours of sleep 

And did not sleep more or less

I took care of myself and it wasn't bubble baths 

It wasn't lotion at bath and bodyworks 

And three cheese pizza

It was uncomfortable 

It wasn't beautiful 

But i am 

And it didn't have to be beautiful 

To be worth it 

During my journey of healing and therapy, a significant realisation dawned on me, leading to a profound conversation with a woman I met at a book café recently. This exchange triggered a cascade of thoughts within me. I recognized that my outlook on life had been rather pessimistic, and my energy seemed tainted, like a heap of dirt. I could sense darkness and negativity in my energy and vibrations.

As we conversed, she offered me an observation that struck me deeply: “You are too much in your head. You are living life but on the surface. And you my girl as I have seen you have the strength to turn this all around in a flip. But are you ready for that flip or have you become so used to this sadness and melancholy under smiles and laughter ? This statement hit me with the force of a truck. I spent several hours reflecting on her words and came to a realisation. I had absorbed an abundance of pain, hurt, hate, and fear, to the extent that they had become integral to my identity. It felt as though I had been extracting poison from others' lives to protect them, but this poison had gradually started corroding me from within. My decisions, perspectives, choices, preferences, opinions – they all carried traces of my pain. I had unwittingly moulded myself into a reflection of other people's words and the consequences of their actions. My current self was an amalgamation of trauma responses that had moulded my personality.

Describing this emotion is challenging, but I've lived much of my life in fear, and as a result, I haven't even come close to reaching my full potential. This realisation brings me a sense of sorrow. While this sadness served a purpose at some point, I hadn't felt ready to release it. However, this prolonged attachment to sadness has left me feeling utterly miserable. It has led me to harbour grudges, nourish the darkness within me, and be the victim always 

I inhaled deeply, allowing myself to fully immerse in my emotions and thoughts that night. Having experienced significant challenges in life, including both physical and emotional abuse during my formative years, I realised how this had influenced my perception and experience of life. I had unconsciously adopted the patterns of thinking, feeling, and living that mirrored those who had mistreated me. The way I talked to myself and interacted with others had been shaped by the same negative patterns.

The roots of this can be traced back to the people who were meant to provide care and nurture – our caregivers. As per psychological insights, these early years play a crucial role in determining the foundations of our adult selves. Recognizing this, I began to comprehend that I needed to let go of the aspects of myself that were not truly me. It was a process of shedding the skin of who I had become through my experiences, and instead focusing on learning, evolving, and embracing the person I ought to be.

When you make your identity from starting there are going to be times your shadows will pop up from somewhere and you will question them because you are surprised who this person is. In psychology, the term "shadow" refers to the parts of your personality that you keep hidden or aren't fully aware of because they might be uncomfortable or unacceptable. These hidden aspects, proposed by psychologist Carl Jung, can influence your behaviour even without your awareness. Bringing your shadow to light involves acknowledging these hidden parts, accepting them as natural, and integrating them into your self-awareness, leading to personal growth and a better understanding of yourself. Everyone has their unique shadows and like everyone I also have my own shadows. But there is a skill to make your shadows as your asset and to positively influence your life

I use creativity to explore my hidden aspects. Writing poems and prose allows me to express different sides of myself. However, I've recently realised that I've been using these creative outlets to reinforce my past trauma, pain, grief, and struggles. Rather than helping me move forward, this habit keeps me stuck in my comfort zone. I tend to absorb everything around me, both positive and negative, without being fully aware of it. I've been idealising pain and sadness to the point that they've started defining my worth, particularly through my writing and poetry  performances. Although I originally intended to write about these experiences as a way to release the pain, I've ended up romanticising them. That's why I've decided to take a break from writing and performing at poetry events. My health is currently my top priority, leading me to step back from my internship and organisational commitments. Ultimately, these decisions are aimed at prioritising my well-being and recovery. In this stage of my life, I've moved beyond many friendships and relationships, as growth is constant and our connections change along with it. While cherishing the good times, I've reached a point where bidding a fond farewell feels appropriate, knowing we may never cross paths again. Embracing farewells and new beginnings can be challenging, given the fear of abandonment, yet it's not our responsibility to foresee the destiny of our relationships

I'm putting in immense effort to remove the lenses through which I see the world as constantly on the verge of collapse with each step I take. I yearn to perceive the world as a space for growth and connection with like-minded individuals. I'm aiming to slow down my pace of life, letting go of unnecessary burdens in order to truly experience life and its richness. I wish to wake up each morning as a person who actively chooses to live life to the fullest, seeking happiness, and radiating effortless smiles. Anticipating sunsets with childlike wonder, savouring ice cream with pure joy, and breathing passionately like someone who has been given a second chance. Learning from pain, holding onto hope, cherishing the act of loving, finding delight in purchasing flowers, indulging in reading and writing, dancing in the rain, and wholeheartedly revelling in the art of living. Through my words, I want to provide closure to the past version of myself and make a promise of a brighter future, assuring my inner child that healing is on the horizon.I am shedding skin. It's beautifully painful but worth it.

[polyamorouspolymorphia]

Trans-Thoughts

I do not think a large portion of the populace of the U.S. understands, or does not care to understand, the everyday struggles of wanting to transition, so that almost every day, you aren't suffering from body dysmorphia or dysphoria. There are some of us out here, who are trans. But because the system is so twisted against us, it's nearly impossible. Especially in the south, and rural regions. Transitioning is not some sort of "fad" diet or "fad" surgery.

Before you can even get the surgery, you have to go through MONTHS or even YEARS, of therapy, doctor's visits, medications and hormone treatments, trying to hide who you actually are from your family, and often times, the community (especially in the rural south and southwest) for fear of not only being shamed, but nowadays, being outright KILLED, being disowned, being beaten near to death for being "an unnatural abomination against god", for being "a freak", or "just wanting attention". Let me explain something: It isn't some fad, to be trans. It is HELL. Especially so, in regions with very few economic opportunities. First off, there are almost 0 doctors that will even SEE you, if you even so much as MENTION transitioning. Then, there's the price of the hormone therapy, and any other medicinals you may need. Couple that with routine doctors appointments, routine therapy for a few years, and then the cost of the surgery itself, the prep, the hospital stay, being out of work, paying the government to change your name, having to fight (in the south) for the right to even be able to change your name, the list goes on. Why, on the Goddess' green earth, would someone subject themselves to something like this, for a fad? To the economic strain, the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual stress, the hate of their friends and family, and the community at large? Because it isn't a fucking fad. Transitioning is a life-saving surgery. And there are some of us, who cannot afford it. And we will die. The depression will consume us, the body dysmorphia and dysphoria will destroy us. If not that, we will kill ourselves trying to find a way to get hold of testosterone, or estrogen, in any fashion.

I say all this, as a trans-person, who may have to accept the fact, that based just on the sheer economic weight of the capitalist hellscape we live in, there would be no way it would be possible, barring some form of divine intervention, winning two lotteries, or some shady institute offering free trans care in exchange for like, free organ harvesting or something.

Anyways, that's my bit for today, thanks for forcing yourself to read my fatalistic thoughts. Be safe out there.

[urhexgirl]

Living Like You're Dying

Quick TWs before I start out: Mentions of death, Suicidal ideation, grief/loss and car accidents, and also Cancer

My freshman year in college during Christmas break I got a phonemail from my sister who had heard through the grapevine that a long distance friend of mine had passed away. She'd been in a car accident where she had not been driving and was the only person in the car who had died. I didn't really understand grief until that moment, I had had family members die but never any I was close to, and I had been too little to understand the weight fully. This time was different, not only was it someone I was close to, but it was someone who'd died tragically and young. I knew logically young people could die, but it never registered to me that it might actually happen to me or someone I knew.

During this time was when Unus Annus was big, and it helped me cope. I found comfort in it, even though I knew eventually it was going to go away. It helped ease the pain that settled into my bones and made me feel older than 18, and gave me the understanding that death is inevitable but also not something to fear. We have a limited time on earth and should use it. If I was fully honest, at that time I wasn't in a good place mentally, I hated community college, had no idea what I was going to do next with my life, and a close friend of mine was dead. There were days where I considered the thought that it would be easier to be dead since I had no idea what I was doing. Two things kept me going at that time, one, my knowledge of how angry my friend would be if heaven was real and she caught me there early. Two, was Unus Annus and the fact that I should live like I was dying, because someday I might be.

Then an international pandemic happened. I applied and got into my dream school, with a full ride scholarship. (The same school my friend had wanted to attend) My life changed completely because I started to take risks and live like I would die soon. I sent in the application because I was tired of being afraid of being rejected. I changed a lot after that, went to therapy that was provided by my school, went on trips, grew into a whole new person. My heart still aches sometimes when I think of her. It's been three years and I still cry inexplicably on the day she died, for two years I continued to live like I could die at any time. Eventually though, I stopped. I got caught up in school stuff and life stuff and became much too stressed to face my own anxiety.

Until October of this past year. I found out that I might have cancer and suddenly I was thinking about death again. I lived in ambiguity about it for a few weeks while I got tested by a specialist and I realized something about myself, I am a lot stronger than I thought I was. I don't have cancer, at least as of now, (I am genetically pre-disposed to it) but I am not afraid of it, nor am I afraid of dying. What I'm afraid of now is living in fear so much that I never do anything at all. Whenever I catch myself being afraid, I choose to face it head on. Tonight I made an appointment to get a tattoo I've been to afraid to get for the past three years, a tribute to both my friend and Unus Annus, the reasons I'm alive today and the reasons why I've chosen to really live.

[xojennyboo]

A/N: double update today! This one contained loads of smut. Thank you for reading and liking my stuff. This will be the last part of this mini story. Let me know what you think. There’s also a small message at the end of the chapter for anyone who needs to hear it. Love you guys. Thanks once again. Happy reading!

Y/N POV

As the months passed, dealing with what happened got easier. I continued on going to therapy, having some sessions by myself and some with Harry. When I had brought up Harry joining in on some sessions to my therapist, she instantly thought it would be a great idea considering how comfortable I felt with Harry. Harry also had private sessions by himself to talk about his feelings with everything. As the days passed by, Harry and I got closer and closer. It was weird adjusting to not spending time with one another prior, to now spending every minute together.

After doing months of therapy, I learned to stop blaming myself for what happened. I also learned so many things about myself that slowly started to make sense as the days went by. Having control of my life was important to me. I wanted to be able to be happy for myself and to be able to not break out if things didn’t go my way, things that I have overcome by therapy. As for my fears about pregnancy, I learned that it’s all about taking chances and going with the flow. Yes, it might be scary obtaining the answers to tough questions, but these are obstacles that we must surpass. After facing my fears to obtaining the answers to my fertility questions, I decided on booking appointments to my gynecologist. I went with the same doctor who oversaw my pregnancy since I felt super comfortable with her. I had expressed my worries and she helped me get all of the fertility exams done. Harry came to some of the appointments when he wasn't busy with the last-minute arrangements for his album release. He was officially finished with it and was super excited to release it to his fans. Once the doctor provided me with the results on my fertility, I was relieved to know that I had no issues. She explained that sometimes, miscarriages can be common, especially when it's your first pregnancy. Harry came to this appointment with me, and he was very happy to know that I was okay too. Harry also decided to do a fertility test on himself with me, and his testing came back clean as well. Having him take a fertility test with me meant the world to me.

Harry moved back into our house a couple of months ago, selling his apartment. Things felt right with him here. He became super attentive with me, making sure I was okay emotionally, physically, and mentally. We cooked almost every night together and created new memories that I Cherish every day. Our relationship has been kept private from the media, only our closest family and friends knowing about it. Thomas was very happy when he found out about it. Thomas has been supportive about everything. We’ve definitely had gotten closer after everything that had happened. He occasionally came to our house for dinners or just to hang out and write music with Harry. He recently started a new relationship with one of the women who works with us. I couldn't be happier for him.

Since Harry and I decided to rekindle our romance, we haven't had any intimacy. This being that I wasn't ready emotionally. I was too scared to take that step. I had talked about it with my therapist, and she mentioned that it was okay to feel that way but that I would have to take those necessary steps to overcome. As the time passed by, the need to feel Harry intimately was consuming my thoughts almost every day. The desire to feel his naked skin against mine grew and grew each day. I knew that he felt the same way by the way he would look at me with desire. Today, I planned on taking the first step. He had a long day of meetings which gave me plenty of time to plan what I wanted to do. I was going to cook a romantic dinner for us, decorate the dining room and our bedroom with candles. Our bedroom will have rose petals are around the floor and on the bed making this very intimate and romantic.

As soon as Harry left for the day, I went to the grocery store to purchase the ingredients for tonight's dinner. I decided on cooking chicken for dinner with a creamy sauce to accompany it. I also decided on making mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus, and a bit of rice. Then I went to a flower shop to purchase enough roses for tonight. Lastly, I went to Target to purchase enough candles,the light up ones, not the real ones. Once I got home, I decided on decorating first since I knew it would be more tedious. Once finished, I started cooking dinner. Once that was done, I went back upstairs to shower, shave, get dressed and do my makeup. I decided on wearing a simple champagne colored dress that hugged my curves in the right places. Underneath, I wear a sexy lingerie set I had purchased a few days ago. it was also champagne colored, having the matching bra, thong, stockings, and garter belt to put together the whole outfit. I was definitely nervous. I went downstairs after I finished getting ready and heated up the food. It was already 6 pm. Harry usually comes home around 6:30pm, which is perfect since it gives me time to set the table. At precisely 6:15pm, I get a message from Harry saying that he's on his way home. I quickly get the champagne out of the fridge and place it on the ice bucket. I look at the time again after a couple of minutes I hear Harry pulling up in the driveway. "Get it together y/n ", I tell myself. "You're ready", I tell myself again, giving myself as much affirmation before he walks through that door. I go to the dining room to wait for him there, shaking away the last-minute nerves that have appeared in the last hour. I take a couple of deep breaths before I hear the front door open.

"y/n I'm home! It smells so good in here", I hear him say, lightly giggling at his comment. I take one last deep breath before building up the courage to answer. " Babe where are you?", I hear Harry say. "In the dining room!", I yell back so he hears me. I hear his footsteps coming closer and closer until he's fully in here. He looks shocked at first, and then a wide smile spreads across his face. "What's all of this for?", he says walking up to me placing a small peck on my lips. "I have decided to cook us a romantic dinner", I say to him. "It looks delicious ", he says admiring the table before him. "What's for dessert?", he teasingly asks, knowing that baking wasn't my expertise. With all of the confidence I had left I answered. "Me", his head snapping back towards me in shock and desire. A Mischievous smile takes me in a trance, my need for him growing intently. "Hmm. Is that so honey?", he says with a raspy voice. His arms snakes around my waist pulling me closer to him, his eyes darker than before filled with lust. "Y-yes", I stutter at the close proximity, his face getting closer to me, his eyes staring at my reaction, eyes, and lips. "Well, in that case, I think we should skip right into dessert don't you think?", he says, his lips extremely close to mine, barely touching. "Dinner will get cold", I whispered against his lips, my chest rising and falling at a quick pace. "Hmm, you're right. Let's eat then that way I can eat you afterwards ", he says, placing a kiss on my lips finally. The kiss intensifies as he pulls me closer to him, his tongue entering my mouth. My fingers go directly to his hair, tangling in his curls. He pulls away, our breathing heavy, as he walks towards my chair to pull it out for me. Still stunned, I gather myself and sit down. I feel Harry getting closer to my ear, his breathing heavy. "By the way, you look absolutely beautiful tonight", he whispers against my ear as he places a kiss on my neck before he sits down across the table from me.

How am I going to get through this dinner. That whole interaction, as simple as it was, made me wet. Harry had a thing of making everything he said super sexy, especially towards me. Or maybe it was just in my head. We eat in complete silence at first, savoring the meal I made. I poured us a glass of champagne needing it a bit more for confidence. I watched as Harry ate his dinner his jaw clenching with every bite he took. " Mmmm, so good", he moaned in satisfaction. I felt those moans directly on my clothed clit. Every bite he took of his food he would make some sort of moan or groan, making it harder to contain myself. The suppressed want and frustration for him slowly making its way out. He knew what he was doing, loving the reaction he was getting from me as I squirmed in my seat at how wet I was getting. Once we were done eating, I got up to clear the table. "Stay here", I instructed before going into the kitchen and placing everything on the island. I quickly took my dress off and let my hair down, exposing the lingerie. I felt so sexy in this it boosted my confidence more. I took a deep breath, seems I have to do that a lot nowadays, before walking back into the dining room. Harry quickly looked in my direction and gulped down the bit of champagne he had left. "On my...", he said, as he squirmed around in his seat. "Do you like it?", I ask as I walked towards him. He didn't utter a word, too stunned to speak.

"I'll take it as a, yes?", I say. He gets up abruptly, attaching his lips to mine, the force causing me to take a step back. His tongue entered my mouth swirling around with mine, tasting the champagne on his lips. "You look like such a goddess", he says. He gives me a couple more kisses before pulling away and sitting back down. "Now do me a favor baby and come sit in front of me so I can eat my dessert", he says with confidence. Jesus. I walk towards the table, getting on top of the table to position myself in front of him. Once I’m lying on the table, he gets up to admire me. He takes one of the straps that's attached to my stocking around his finger and pulls it back before letting it go causing it to snap against my skin. I moaned a little at the sensation that it gave me. “My goodness where do I start with you?", he says, unclamping the clips. He slowly reaches to the hem of the thong that I have on and removes it, bringing it up to his face and smelling it, before placing it in his packet. "You smell divine", he says as he places my foot on either side of the table, my legs spreading in front of him. He sits back down on the chair, scooting closer to my exposed pussy. "So wet for me y/n", he says before kissing my clit. My hips buck up at the satisfaction of his lips making contact to where I need him the most. "So ready for me", he says, spreading my folds with his fingers before sucking on my clit, a moan coming out of me. His hot wet tongue swirled around my aching clit over and over, my moans echoing throughout the dining room. My hands gripping at the sides of the table as the noise of Harry's tongue on me consumed me. His tongue licked me all over, not missing any spots.

He inserted his tongue in my aching hole, slowly licking all of my arousal onto his tongue. My legs spread for him, giving him more access. "Oooh fuck Harry, don't stop baby, don’t stop", I moaned as he sucked and flicked my clit. My back arching on the table as I felt my orgasm coming. "That's it baby, let the neighbors know who is making you feel this good", he says as he inserts two fingers inside me making me gasp and choke up. He instantly starts thrusting his fingers in and out of me as his tongue works on my clit. My aching hole clenched around his fingers as I was about to come. Before I did, he withdrew completely from me causing me to whine. "Gosh look at you so desperate", he says. He gets up, attaching his lips to mine, tasting myself on his tongue, causing me to moan against his lips. "You taste so good baby ", he groans against my lips, his clothed crotch pressing against my cunt. "Take me upstairs", I say breathlessly. I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me bridal style up the stairs. He slows down and notices the rose petals on the hallway leading up to our room. "Oh y/n what do you have up your sleeve ", he smirks. I open the door with my hand since he's carrying me, and we walk into the dark pre-lit room that is filled with rose petals. "Surprise!", I childishly say to him smiling widely at my work. He looks around in awe giving me a long passionate kiss as he places me on the bed. "Do you like it?", I ask. "Like it? I love this", he says, climbing on the bed with me. "Are you sure you want to do this?", he asks. "Yes Harry", I say grabbing his face and pulling him in a kiss. He reaches behind my back and unclamps my bra, exposing my breasts. The takes one in each hand, gently palming them and pinching my nipples occasionally. My head falls back in pleasure, my body sensitive at the lack of pleasure that it hasn't received in months. My neck exposed, Harry places kisses on my neck, biting and sucking the spot below my ear causing me to moan."Harry please", I gasp, pleading for more. He groans as he kisses down my neck and onto my chest, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while massaging my other breast, my fingers playing with his hair. He switches, now sucking on my other nipple, giving it the same attention.

I kneel up, pushing him against the matters. "Now it's your turn baby", I say as I unbutton his trousers. I took them off, taking his briefs with them. I took his shirt off exposing his tattooed body to me. I could never get tired of looking at his naked body. I straddle his legs, placing delicate kisses on his chest and down his torso. His stomach flexing at the contact of my lips against his skin. "I've". Kiss. "Missed", kiss, "you", kiss, "so", kiss "much", kiss. His eyes closed, feeling every kiss I gave his body. I kissed down his torso and down to his pulsating cock. I placed delicate kisses up his shaft before placing the tip in my mouth, Harry hissing at the sensation. I moaned as I felt his precum on my tongue, the sensation causing Harry to buck his hips upwards inserting himself more into my mouth. "Fuck", he moans as I start bobbing my head, gently squeezing his balls as I sucked him off. I took more and more of him in until I was able to put all of him in my mouth. His tip hitting the back of my throat causing me to gag in pleasure. " fuuck ", Harry moaned as he felt my mouth close around his cock. I was so horny, our actions making me wet. I pulled away a bit looking at him, how sexy he looked right now. "Fuck my mouth Harry", I say as I fully take him into my mouth causing him to groan in pleasure. He reaches down to gather my hair together as he starts to thrust himself into my mouth. "That's right baby, take my cock ", he pants as he continues to hit the back of my throat causing me to gag around his dick. I close my eyes, tears spilling from them as they go down my face. "Fuck baby", he moans the sound of our moans filling the room. Before I can pull back, I feel his cum shoot down my throat. I pull away, a string of my saliva attached to his cock making this super-hot.

I take my finger and wipe my lips, tasting him on my fingers as I sucked his juices off "mmm", I moan. "Delicious", I say as I straddle his hips. His hands were instantly on my waist ready to guide me. I was in a euphoric daze, wanting Harry to fuck my brains out. I grab Harry's dick and I slowly rubbed my wet pussy against it, feeling every pulsating vein on me. My wetness glistening on his cock. "Look at how wet I am for you baby", I moan as we both look down. "Fuck Y/N, please baby", he says as he digs his fingertips on my sides. I grind on him a couple more times before I lift myself up and insert the tip in me, causing both of us to moan. My head falls back in pleasure his tip already stretching me. "You're so big Harry", I say as I slide down on him completely, his cock stretching me out in all the right ways. "Move baby, gosh you feel so good", he pants out, his hips bucking up in desperation. I move my hips up and down, my hands on his chest as we finally connect. With every movement I make, the more I feel my orgasm coming. I'm a moaning mess, my body overly sensitive. "That's right baby, ride my cock", he moans. "Look at your arousal dripping down", he moans as he starts to thrust up, in need of a release from the both of us. We look down and I can see his cock disappearing inside me, covered by my wetness with each thrust. My hands go down to my throbbing clit, rubbing myself as I try to reach my high, but Harry swats my hand away and replaces it with his instead, rubbing me at a steady pace. “Oh fuck, baby that feels...uh", I moan out, my release spraying on Harry's torso. Our actions stopped, looking at the mess I just made. “Fuck that was hot to watch", Harry says. "Want to see if you're able to do that again for me baby?", he says as our movements resumed. I start riding him faster and harder, each thrust hitting that familiar spot from earlier, causing me to moan loudly as Harry rubbed my clit faster. The feeling was so intense sending me into a bliss. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck", I moan out I squirt on Harry's torso again, my arousal dripping down his sides and onto the mattress. "That's a good girl", Harry says as he stops my movements and switches positions. One thing you enjoyed about your sex life with Harry was that he wasn't afraid to explore different things sexually.

Harry pushes me against the mattress, taking my legs in his hands and placing them in a "V" position. My head is hanging from the bed as he positions himself in front of my entrance. Slowly, he thrusts into me, both of us moaning in pleasure. "Look at you already fucked out of your mind", he says, his words causing me to be wet again. "Do you like me stuffing you with my cock y /n?", he asks as he begins to thrust into me. "On fuck, yes Harry", I say as I squeeze my breasts in pleasure. "Tell me how much you love it", he tells me as he thrusts harshly into me. "Il love it baby", I say as he thrusts into me harder and faster, this position hilling my g-spot repeatedly. "I love how your cock stretches my tight wet pussy. I love how hard you fuck me. I love how you make me yours, baby", I gasp for air as his thrusts are literally knocking the air out of me. I let my head hang, the rush of my blood going down causing me to feel the pleasure with much more intensity. "Fuck baby I'm gonna cum", Harry pants as the grip on my legs tighten. I feel very lightheaded in this position but I'm enjoying Harry ramming into me. My moans become louder as Harry rubs my clit again. A few more thrusts and we’re both screaming and moaning our release. I lift my head up, afraid of passing out from the intensity of my orgasm. Harry drags me closer to him, so my head is no longer hanging. He leans closer to me, his sweaty body against mine, our breathing heavily from our highs. "That was", "Amazing", I finish saying.

We both started laughing at what just happened. Harry removes himself from me laying down next to me and engulfing me in a hug. Still in a daze, too tired to do anything. "That was a very good dessert", he says causing both of us to burst out laughing. "You're too much", I playfully hit his chest. "I love you", he tells me, a bit more serious. I look up at him, a few strands of curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. I take my hand and push his hair back, removing it from his forehead as I lean up and kiss his lips softly. "I love you more", I whisper against his lips as we start kissing passionately. He sits up on the bed before straddling me on his lap, my chest against his. He holds me tightly against him, his lips molding against mine, our tongues fighting for dominance, he wins. Smirking against my lips, he moves his arms around my waist and slowly sinks into me again, my head resting against his shoulder. We slowly start to move against each other, kissing our lips with passion. We both moan against one another, his fingers tracing down my back, the sensation causing goosebumps against my skin. The familiar feeling in my stomach appears. My arms are around Harry's neck, my hands gripping at his hair at the intensity that he's making me feel. "Marry me ", he says abruptly, his movements not stopping whatsoever. I look into his eyes and see the sincerity in them. Our movements pick up, our breathing picking up as we’re about to cum together. "Marry me y/n", he says again. He puts his arms around me tightly as he thrust upwardly, my head falling back. "Yes. Yes.yes", I moan out, answering his question repeatedly. A couple more thrusts and we both cum on each other, my orgasm taking a toll on me. After calming down and feeling Harry's dick go soft inside me, I look into his eyes. " a million times yes", I say against his lips. He smiles widely and kisses me passionately.

This whole experience has taught me that life can be very difficult. Everyone is dealing with issues left and right, some more intense than the rest. In my case, I lost our baby, got depressed, and surpassed it. Having a support system, whether it’s a family member or a close friend, having someone there who is willing to help you can make the biggest difference in your life. Seeking help doesn't make you weak or a failure, it just means that you need that extra help to become the better version of yourself. Trying to control everything around you will he straining and will cause you to burn out. Take it one step at a time and learn to take it easy from time to time. Always live in the moment and cherish where you are now. Also...always remember to stay true to who you are and never let anyone change you. You're perfect the way you are whether you believe it or not.

[caught-between-black-and-white]

Okay, little information post? Such a small, 'what’s going on at all' because I think there is still some confusion. And as I said, so far I have very little idea how everything works, so it will probably only be really exciting on this blog when inpatient starts. I don’t know. xD (Another big thank you for the support, it means everything💚)

Tw: psychiatry and emergency situations / Personal stuff

Today could be one of the most important days of my life, appointment at 11 am. I have the completed application. My psychiatrist still has to fill out a part today, I hope she does it right away. Then I get other important papers from her that are also for the registration and then, if everything works out I can send the application. This application is only there to see if my insurance covers the costs of inpatient therapy, so it is very important. If accepted, I can register at the clinic.

It was a terrible pain to get the payment application somehow, it took several months and a lot of phone calls etc. Everyone sent me to someone else, nobody wanted to be responsible.

The clinic I will be in is not a "normal psychiatry" where I can be admitted against my will. I could get access to a psychiatry any second and often there are emergency situations where my parents and I are thinking about taking me to a psychiatry. But I always decided against it out of fear, I hope it will continue like this. By that I mean, I hope there will be no situation in which I am really no longer able to decide independently.

But since I know that I need an inpatient therapy, I decided on the other way, a clinic in which I will move in voluntarily.

That is why today is very important because it is another step.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. 💚

Of course, if you have any questions, asks are open. Anon is on. 💚

[boredelle]

I can’t begin to describe how much I want Aaron, right now, my head on his shoulder, while I absently play with his hands. 🥺 It’s funny how my mind always goes to him when I feel like this.

the rest of this is personal and may be triggering because I talk about the car accident and mention depression/anxiety/grief, etc.

Since the accident in June of last year, I’ve been afraid of riding in a car (particularly if traffic is busier and at night) and I’ve only driven once, which was literally only 2 miles from home.

My mom had an appointment today, and my cousin and I went with her, because we were going out for dinner. It’s about 30 minutes or so away so really not a terrible drive. Anyway.. it was drizzly out, and traffic was hell. I didn’t want to freak out with my cousin in the car with us, but I thought I was going to throw up because I was so scared. And then it got worse because it started to get dark on our way home. I had subconsciously clenched my teeth so hard that it actually hurt to relax my jaw once I realized what I was doing. At one point I got very dizzy, and my mom noticed. When we finally got home, as I was getting out of the car, I came to the realization that I am going to have to get therapy. I cannot live like this. Transportation is a necessity.

The difference in myself since the accident is scary. The depression, grief, general anxiety, etc. has only gotten worse. I used to bawl when it would snow because I was the type of person who goes stir crazy if I have to stay home for a day. Now? I go days without leaving the house.

I’m just at a point where I’m letting fear control me, and God knows how long I’ve let fear destroy so fucking much in my life.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

tw: grooming, abuse, psychosis, religion, supernatural themes, mentions of demonic possesion, queerphobia, very brief mention of rape

looking for: validation, comfort, information and community/others who have experienced similar

Hello, It's Wolk. I had an EMDR appointment today and it has left me with some questions. This place feels like a safe place to ask for possible answers. As well as to share my story with someone who I think will not judge me.

Let's start of by stating that my abuser was schizophrenic and muslim. He had a lot of hallucinations as well as delusions. Let's just say his reality was a different experience than that of most people. I was very vulnerable and also experiencing psychotic symptoms. He shared his beliefs with me and sort of 'indoctrinated' me to believe a lot of supernatural things as well as his religious beliefs. Over a long period of time where a lot of grooming happened I also believed in a lot of his reality. I'll spare the details but it involves a lot of demons and judgement from God. I'm queer myself and he also instilled a deep fear in me because my existence was a sin and I could not be forgiven by God. He went as far as to say my existence was worse than murder or rape. (hence why he probably felt no guilt doing the latter to me as well)

The traumatic memory I worked on in therapy today involves a particularly bad sequence of events. Where first SA takes place but then afterwards after I've tried escaping him, suddenly he goes into what I now believe to be a psychotic episode. I will describe it as how I perceived it at the time. He went into a sort of trance like state where his facial expression and tone of voice changed. He started to talk as if he was multiple people in one body. They were telling me that they were demons who had possessed him. They then told me they were inside my body to try and posses me as well but that they had failed. Then also followed up with a lot of threats on how they would follow me for eternity and that eventually as I got older I would end up the same as my abuser. They made sure to say nothing could protect me and no places would be safe to hide from them. Now to me, someone who had just experienced SA and was already in a state of desperation, this terrified me to the point where I felt the most fear I have ever felt in my life. This later ended up saving me because I could not stop physically shaking for days which led outsiders to discover I was being abused as they started prying for answers as to why I behaved that way.

I struggle to give all of these experiences a name. I want to find a sense of community and belonging so that I feel less alone in the type of trauma I experienced. Is there a name for trauma involving supernatural themes? Is it religious abuse if only one person uses religion to hurt you?

(please keep in mind I would prefer if you didn't affirm demons and the supernatural exist as this will greatly distress me. I am also still afraid of God and choose to avoid religion now. I am trying hard to convince myself I was not cursed at the time and that I am not actually being chased by demons. I'm also trying to convince myself I am not sinful for existing as myself. any comfort on either of those is appreciated)

Hi Wolk,

I'm so sorry to hear about what you've been through. It sounds like a terrifying experience and I can't imagine how that must've impacted you and your relationship with spirituality.

Religious abuse is abuse under the guise of religion, including harassment or humiliation that may result in psychological trauma, which can be done by only one person. Religious abuse can be a kind of psychological abuse. I think it's also important to note that hyperarousal can make someone more vulnerable to being traumatized in the midst of ongoing psychological abuse. It's ultimately up to you how you'd like to describe your experiences.

If anyone else has any other ideas, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[julien5-malfunction]

14022023 It's FRIEND'S DAY!!!

(and not Valentine's day, here where I live, at least...)

[Content: Reaction to being misgendered, anger about the inability to change critical things and fear of anger.]

I had a therapy appointment today and we were talking about rock bands (bc idk that's just how it is nowdays, no more fake ass 'deep dives' and ripping open old wounds, 👍 I approve.) And the therapist was saying something like '...allright, girl.' I was like '...uhh, what was that?' (In a rather playful tone) She just said it again a few times while looking for something on the computer.

I'm not gonna be a huge karen about it but this is the 2nd time someone in position of authority refers to me as a 'girl' or a similar term. The other one was one of the (now former) check up visitors, who was giving me a car ride home. (She said that I was a badass-bitch for having the guts to go on the trip to the big city alone.) Altough she did catch that by her self and corrected it swiftly.

Not a reason to cry but it just makes me feel like people have to actively try to avoid using femine terms about me and I'm pretty sure they are lying if they say anything about me looking more like a boy than a girl.

And that's something I'm really, REALLY insecure about. I know I don't pass and never will and I'd rather get honest feedback about it than careful, sweet little lies, so I don't get my feelings hurt, like just say it. Just fucking say it, stop lying. I can't stand lying, be fucking honest with me even if it stings, ffs.

I'm just mildly pissed off that people are pretending. And I don't pass, like I just don't, I know I don't, I never will. Kill me.

On another note, but related; I hate the teenagers, cuz why does every single fucking teen girl have lower voice than I do? Why am I so fucking short in comparison to everybody my age, and even people years younger than me, and why are they all wo fucking skinny. Everybody seems to have a life and friends and be good at something, know what job they want, just in general have their fucking shit together.

And it's in no way their fault but it just makes me feel like complete shit about myself and I always have to argue about the same fucking thing in my head, that I'm not a totally lost cause yet, and I still got a chance to become functional and maybe a person I can comfortably live as, and MAYBE accomplish something that will make ME think 'yeah, that's a pretty cool thing to leave as a reminder after I die. It's just. I feel like I'm so fucking behind in a race where I don't know how to compete in.

And the part where 'something', that could fit the definition of hope and a possible salvation from the life long torture, that is living in the circumstance I was trapped in upon birth, is first promised, then denied and ripped away from me. And I'm literally told to give it up, well guess what, I have nothing else to believe in or live for.

So I keep suffering in belief of my 'salvation', even if I stand no chance.

I swear, if I go insane enough I'll go beyond reason to do absolutely fucking everything I can to force my way trough as much as possibe. Just because I refuse to suffer eternally, because someone else made me.

Like if I get mad I get tunnel vision and I get violent too like it's scary. I'm scared of what I might be capable of while blinded, but in a way I kinda wanna find out.

Like if I can hurt another, physically, or not for example.

I'm getting off topic again.

[triandafillia]

A broken system can't fix broken people.

Reaching out for help is one of the hardest things to do when you are struggling. The boundary that needs to be crossed just in admitting you need help is a journey in itself. Then once crossed and accepted you think that you're on the way to understanding, accepting, dealing and then mending all the things that you have fought with. Each little thing that has manifested into your mind makes everything so hard, so consuming and so overwhelming. You think you broke the ice and now you can find you again. 

This should be the beginning of new chapters even if they come in baby steps. Unfortunately this is not true.

My story is one many can probably relate to. My story is mine and I write this to free my mind and express my feelings. Get out the burdens that may be insignificant to some yet powerful and meaningful to me. This is my story.

In recent times I have had a mental health relapse. I have walked this road before and each time I have met with new challenges. This time has been no different. Today I am only going to focus on the system. The system that is designed to help people like me navigate how I'm feeling. And I am feeling deserted. You see I started where we all started at my G.P. I landed in her office a shaking ball of a sobbing mess. I asked, pleading for help. Only to receive what felt like a wrecking ball. She looked at me, gave me medicine to calm me down. (Band Aid) . A referral to see a counselor. Told me to join a gym because it's good for me although I explained the debilitating social anxiety I was struggling with. Here comes the real kicker. She looked me square in the face and said. I really want to help you. To which I replied thank you. I really need some help. She continued with. But I Can't.

I know that there is not much she could have done but her choice off words were what made me lose even more hope. I can't, to me felt like a punch in the gut that took the last of the wind left in me.

I left her in a worse state than when I went in to see her. Thankfully I have a supportive partner who is my rock. He helped me calm down and just nurtured me until I could pull it together for the days that followed this appointment. He is no health professional yet he found the words to support me and make me feel a little more at ease. It was what I needed from my doctor who could have found words to guide and encourage me to just take the time to heal and give me hope that things could only get better. 

Why do people get into the medical profession if they lack the empathy and compassion for those who need them most? Or is this their way of not being weighed down by patients.

It took me two weeks to move on from this, not recover but to calm enough to just let it be. I was sent to a counselor and so I built up the courage to go. I hate this part so much as I have had at least 10 councilors, psychologists and psychiatrists over the period of years since the onset of my mental health issues. I know how it works and this one was no different. You spend three sessions going through all your history for them to sit there and wobble their head like one of those dolls people put on their car dash. Then they tell you how to breathe. Yes, breath. Then start with tapping techniques and cognitive therapy. Well let me just say that this can't be it. This cannot be all the help that is available. There has to be more to help people get better and stay better. I want to live a normal life. To not need to be medicated to just be able to do simple daily tasks like having a shower and making a coffee. I want to be able to leave my house without fear. I want to be human. Yet I am a prisoner of my own mind. I am another number in the system. 

A system that is broken can not fix broken people.

[i-am-parsec]

It all piles up. Episodes unwatched. Pages unturned. Songs unlistened. Plans unfulfilled. It has been 26 years of things unfinished, almost on purpose, almost inevitable. I have been for over two decades a beacon of wasted potential. Pretty, promising, creative, hopeful but eternally wasted potential. So many stories unwritten. So many voices unheard. I fear - I know - they will remain in the only place they have ever existed; within me.

It is not only my imagination that remains quiet and useless in its usual corner, covered in dust and self-pity. All of me is standing still, the only things moving any part of me forward (or in any direction at all) are time and blood.

My mother speaks of the future and my vision becomes blurry, my heart begins to fail; I will one day have to know a life without her but not now so why speak of it? Why make tonight harder than it has to be? Death is a period which I am not writing today, so I won’t bother reading it.

My boyfriend insinuates that we love each other but, in the end, it might not be enough, that maybe we are not the good fit we thought we were and I stand up, insinuating this is it. I reach for the door, but I turn back. If I leave, it’s over. And it cannot be over. Nothing is ever over in my life. Everything remains undone.

My father, thousands of miles apart, stays quiet but not quiet enough for erasure. I stay angry but not angry enough for expulsion. We both hold onto something that is no longer quite there anymore (Love) but will also not leave (Pain). Trivial conversation and a woman who insists on forgiveness is all that we have left.

My therapist sees me once a month. I don’t know anymore (I’m not sure I ever knew) why I keep going to our appointments. I do know that I won’t stop going. I have never been sure of much in this life (I am certainly not sure that therapy is accomplishing anything) so I am sure that I need at least a sense of guidance. Church has never been my thing, so I cry on a sofa, surrounded by posters with encouraging words. I find them as equally bleak as the pictures of saints.

I sleep and I am restless. I eat and I am unsatisfied. I dream and I can’t remember what of. I fear - I know - I can only be defined by all things I am not (and never will).

[xseildnasterces]

Saturday has become my weekly writing day and I am very much enjoying having a day each week that I sit down and write, even if it’s just for a short while. However, I’m writing this on Thursday whilst I sit at Orlando airport waiting for my flight home. I very rarely feel anxious travelling. I feel safe and in my happy place when I travel. It might sound weird, but I actually like the airport. I like seeing different airports. I may not have explored any of Florida (yet), but I’ve put my feet down on their soil (sort of). I was nervous today, I knew that I wouldn’t bump into anyone here, but I still that that thought. I had that worry. I guess I also had fear. What would have happened. Would we have ignored each other if we had crossed paths? We always said we would never do that, but things are different now, and I honestly don’t know what would have happened. I haven’t had to live out that scenario. Not today at least. I have over an hour to wait for this flight. My first flight was delayed over 12 hours, but thankfully I managed to get on a different flight in order to make my connection here in Orlando. As it happens, this flight is also delayed (thankfully only an hour), so all is well.

I don’t feel as excited as I usually do going home. I don’t know why. I think it’s because I am actually going to really miss work. I love my days in the office. I love spending time with M, and chats with the team, but I also really like doing my work and I feel sort of out of the loop when I’m not there. I have lots off odd conflicting feelings at the moment about a variety of things. I’m sure once I get home I will be more than fine. I’ll be happy and won’t want to leave. Living far from family is something you get used to, and slotting back into family life, although wonderful, can sometimes be jarring. I am excited for some of the plans we have though. I’m going to be exhausted this weekend, but on Sunday K and I are going to a festival which I have never been to before. K has been a few times and I’m really looking forward to it. I just hope I’m not too tired to enjoy it.

It’s been busy at work this week. S (my boss from IAEA) was in town again and he came and hung out in the archives and M gave him a tour. It was nice to see him and to feel like someone was happy to see me. We had lots of good chats and hugs and then I had to go as I had an appointment to get to. Yesterday P (ex-boss at IMF) came by to say ‘hi’ to everyone. It was nice really because had she come a day later I would have missed her. Everyone is heading too her house for a leaving party before she heads back to Brussels, but I will be away in Michigan at H’s sisters wedding so I will miss it. It’s a shame and I wish I could go, but everything always happens at once as usual. M isn’t going either which makes me feel a bit better as I’m not the only one that will not be there. 

I got my hair done yesterday and clearly didn’t allow myself enough time to get to therapy as I ended up missing it. I was pretty annoyed at myself, and also frustrated because I really could have done with that therapy session. Especially with the state of my head and thoughts right now. But yeah, I missed it. I got home and had half an hour spare. I was exhausted, so lay on the bed fully dressed and tried to sleep. I did fall asleep, right before my alarm went off. Up I got, and marched to group. Group was interesting this week. I really didn’t want to be there because I was so tired, but as always, I got into it and enjoyed being there. I love my group - which helps, but the topic was so validating. We were talking about s*x. Hearting peoples stories made me realise I was not alone in my feelings towards it. I don’t wish to go into full details about it right here, but I left feeling like I wasn’t the ‘weirdo’ or the one that has ‘something wrong with me’. I’m just normal. I feel validated a lot in Group. It makes me realise I am not alone. 

M and I put our request in this week for the ICA Congress in October. Keeping all my fingers and toes crossed that we get approval. I feel hopeful, but not at the same time. Who knows. I really hope we can go though. We were both chatting and planning for it the other day and we both got super excited. Anyway, my flight will be boarding soon and in around 8 hours I will be back in the UK with my mum at the airport waiting to collect me. See you on the other side!