#E-Mental-Health

[tempest-tales]

[k1ngarlo]

Long Awaited Mikey Dark Impulses Smut

TW: Mentions of abuse, unstable mental health, BPD, no consent openly given. Do NOT read if these topics make you uncomfortable. A/N: I had this idea in my head for so long. I'm so sorry.

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There he was. Standing in front of your bed. With a cold expression. His eyes seemed so distant it felt like he disconnected from reality after being kicked like a puppy from his own insecurities. Thus, distancing himself from everyone and everything.

With abandonment in his heart, he was at his own mercy and gave up on himself and his friends. You stared at his clothes and neck from the bed, avoiding his abyssal eyes. As Friedrich Nietzsche once said, "And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." You finally looked up at him, his tired eyes looking at you, you were so full of love and would definitely live a better life without him.

You were the next. He hated hurting you, he also hated you for loving him like that. He's strong, why would he need your love? The urge to burn his bridges with everyone he's ever cared about him consumed him. That was his personal goal for himself only. Manjiro finally walked over to you and crawled onto the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes. He needed you, but also needed to hurt you. He felt rage, and emptiness which could both be satisfied by spreading your legs.

Manjiro started off giving your neck a few light kisses before meeting your lips with his. You kiss back gently and hesitant, knowing he's a different person now. Manjiro kissed you again, and again for more passion. It was like flicking a lighter a few times before it worked properly. Manjiro was using you to temporarily fill the boring void.

"Manjiro?" You pulled away annoyingly in concern for his mental well-being right when he started to enjoy this.

"Shut up…" He lightly whispered against your lips before kissing you again a few more times. You didn't like where this was going so you pull away again.

"Manjiro."

"Shut up..!" He punched the thickly wooden headboard right next to you, making a crack and dent in it. God you were being so annoying by stopping. Stopping meant getting in his way. His eyes practically paralyzed you from how scared you were right now. You couldn't tell if you were somehow hallucinating from the look in his eyes but you could see the negativity and black tentacles swirling around him. They snaked around your body, wrapping around your limbs so you wouldn't move.

You broke out of this vision when he continued to kiss you again like normal, and with passion. That's when you notice his hands wrapped around your arms which explained why you literally couldn't move them. One more strike and he could get aggressive - dangerous.

Manjiro didn't care that you weren't even pretending to enjoy this and moved quick, ripping your clothes off before removing his pants and underwear. He spread your legs and looked at your slimy, wet cunt. Manjiro darkly chuckled before inserting 2 fingers in a normal pace, bullying your hole. You could feel his rough knuckles and knew they were either bruised or bleeding from punching the headboard.

"Ahn..~" You moaned out, your walls gave him more room, as if they were welcome at home. His fingers left your hole, he knew you were ready to take him. You began to see his darkness swirl around him again, one of the tentacles slithered it's way roughly into your mouth. You snapped out of it again when he he pressed his hand on your inner thighs and noticed Manjiro's fingers leave your mouth.

You didn't want to look at him, those scary eyes, or the vision of his darkness so you close them seeing black. This darkness is who he is, and he made sure you'd feel it too. Misery loves company.

Manjiro pushed himself, and your walls hugged him greedily as if there was some part of you begging for him to stay. He began to thrust in your hole before bringing your legs over his shoulders, burying himself deeper. You opened your eyes a few times, seeing either a serial-killer like grin or anger. Manjiro lets out huffs and grunts from massaging your tight hole.

"G-… hhh… [Name]~."

You never had sex like this before, your boyfriend had never pleased your hole like this before. You could feel him reaching your tummy from drilling into you like this. You knew was wrong on many levels but it felt too good. Your moral justice was WEAK compared to his cock.

Manjiro was not vocal and began to move quicker in that spot he was trained to hit. It didn't take long for your hips to buck up, and your legs to tremble. Manjiro let out a loud grunt and filled you up with his "darkness." He stayed inside your hole for a few moments, feeling your body pulsing from that orgasm.

You finally opened your eyes, pressing your knuckles on your closed eyes to remove all the tears before looking back up at him. For a moment it almost seemed like the dark tentacles were wrapped around him instead, controlling all his moves like a puppets. You blinked and your vision was more clear, they were gone. Manjiro kissed your left ankle, sending you a warm tingley feeling. He gently removed your legs from his shoulders and set them down on the bed. You can feel his essence drooping out of your pulsing hole instantly. He got himself dressed and left you to go his new Toman meeting, leaving you in your mess and him in his.

[typhlonectes]

Please stop.

[mente-forte-arte-audace]

La lotta interna non è sempre visibile, ma è reale e merita attenzione.

Il disegno rappresenta l'ansia. Le linee disordinate e intrecciate, specialmente attorno al busto e alle mani che sembrano stringere qualcosa vicino al cuore, trasmettono un senso di soffocamento o confusione interiore. L'assenza di un volto definito aggiunge un senso di alienazione o di perdita dell'identità, elementi spesso associati all'ansia. Il modo in cui le mani sembrano cercare di trattenere qualcosa, forse emozioni o pensieri, evoca una lotta interna intensa.

10 ottobre si celebra la Giornata mondiale della salute mentale.

[altarfates]

[licaonia]

♠️_Le menti mediocri condannano solitamente tutto ciò che va oltre la loro portata.🖤🌹

©️Licaonia Lupe

[teamdarkweek]

Personally I really enjoy projecting OCD tendencies onto Shadow. Both because misery loves company, and also I think that Rouge and Omega would be so up to that challenge as supportive tough-love friends. You have an unflappable, pro-explosions realist, and a woman who could out-loophole a genie. Compulsions and Intrusive Thoughts have met their match.

[stari-hun]

The funniest part about Kakania is that Isolde’s involvement in Book 6 would’ve been solved if she was actually certified

[hehefanfuction]

[x-heesy]

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

There's so many things that we miss in our everyday lives

We're so busy hustling, bustling chasing far away dreams

We forget the little things

Like blue skies, green eyes and our babies growing

Like rainbows, fresh snow and the smell of summer

We forget to live

Give us eyes like children so we live each day as others

We're so sure we know so much that we forget to listen

Then we wonder fickle things

Like cheap thrills fast fuel and constant consumption

Like TV, CDs and cars that speak our names

We forget to live

There's so many things that we miss in our everyday lives

We're so busy hustling, bustling chasing far away dreams

We forget the little things

Like blue skies, green eyes and our babies growing

Like rainbows, fresh snow and the smell of summer

We forget to live

#joy #mentalhealth #healing #selflove #worship #smile #positivevibes #support #spirituality #follow #meditation #beautiful #community #spiritual #help #loveyourself #success #scripture #soul #hope #love #faith @len0r #believeinyourself #life #peace #motivation #inspiration #blessed #truth #happiness @pulsantilla #grace #happy #quotes #art #trust #wisdom #family @frenchpsychiatrybonbons @super-tifh

Little Things by Lamb <3

[rephilshusband]

[metamorphicmuse]

The Battle Within

Strength isn’t just what we see on the outside. A person can appear strong—capable, resilient, unshaken—yet still carry a storm within. This image challenges the perception that struggle has a "look." Mental health battles aren’t always visible, but they are deeply felt. Strength doesn’t mean the absence of struggle; it means enduring despite it.

Perhaps the world sees him as invincible, but inside, lightning cracks through his ribs, a quiet chaos he breathes through every day. And yet—he still stands. He isn’t crushed by the storm; he carries it, lives with it, moves forward with it. That is its own form of courage. This image doesn’t just depict struggle—it honors resilience. You don’t have to fight the storm to prove anything. It is enough to stand, to exist, to endure.

[petrichorium]

pluvi begging you to expand on gojo not wanting what happened to his mother to happen to you 🙏

warnings: it’s all a dream so nothing is real aside from the flashback stuff but pregnancy as horror, (sewing) needles, implied gore/eye trauma, implied child harm, gojo is messed up yo!!! and its bc of his mama!!!

he dreams about her.

it’s an odd thing, really. gojo isn’t much of a dreamer—not much of a sleeper, all things considered, but it’s difficult not to give in when you drag him to bed and curl up in his arms. the soft rise and fall of your chest, the steady thump of your heart, the sound of your breath; it soothes him into slumber.

and he dreams about her. she was always young. he’s older now than she ever got to be. frail, thin; borderline skeletal, robes hanging from her body like webbing. she sits in a chair facing a window, swathed in moonlight, the silver of her embroidery needle glinting with each stab. her face is veiled. her stomach is swollen with child.

she doesn’t turn to him, but she beckons without noise. his feet take him easily to her, and he kneels at her side as she sets aside the embroidery hoop to let him place his head on her knees.

her hand is cold as it threads through his hair. it’s gentle, at first. then harsher a moment later. she grips firm, tugs him up by those electric white threads, stares down at him through all that elaborate lace.

he imagines she’s weeping beneath it. his mother never wept before him, but she was pretty in the aftermath, eyes puffy and pink and shining. they were a cold kind of loving when they regarded him. she must have been beautiful once, elegant and lithe and willowy, cruel like the heartless sea and sharp like a brilliant diamond, but whatever was there is long gone. he thinks all sons must empty their mothers, bleed them dry from within, because his was always a shell.

she trails her hand down the side of his face, and he turns into the palm and closes his eyes, and she is silent as she sets down her embroidery to lift her veil. she is silent and hollow and eidolic as her fingers brush down his jaw and tilt his head up to look at her.

but it’s your face that he sees when he opens his eyes.

it’s your hand against his cheek, your eyes pink and puffy and pretty, your stomach bulging by his own doing. it’s your fingers that pluck up the needle, still attached to a thread of brilliant cerulean, and raise it to his eye.

his mother never was able to pierce him with that needle. she stopped herself, each and every time, dropping it and tugging him close in shame. she never doted, never was kind, but she never did manage to harm him.

you do. he lets you. it’s only fair. whatever thing is in your stomach can’t be human—whether god or demon what does it matter, at the end of the day—and didn’t he put it in you himself? if his mother never got the satisfaction of spilling his blood, shouldn’t you?

but he wakes just as the tip pierces his iris, and you hold him in your lap, eyes wide with concern and not puffy from weeping, and you hold no child within you. your hands thread through his hair and they’re warm, your lips plush when you bend to press a kiss to his brow.

he turns inward to press his face into your (empty, blissfully vacant) abdomen. the wetness he leaves there, falling from his so very coveted eyes, is colorless.

he thinks it ought to be brilliant crimson.

[setmefreehunnybee]

JFO and Surviving Trauma

Hi everyone, lil off topic and OOC

I just finished Jedi: Fallen Order, and I now have

F E e L I N G s

One of my biggest is the way that Fallen Order deals with not ONE, but TWO, traumatized characters so kindly and realistically.

First, we have Cal, oh B O Y Cal Kestis my beloved. Throughout this entire story, we not only see, but feel the echoes of his past. Sometimes, that ability is crippling (a certain boss fight I won't spoil), but sometimes, it is a way for him to grow, to connect with others on these collective experiences. Not only this, but they show a character that has every right to be gruff, edgy, and a loner. Cal has every right to shut himself off from the world, to live life with a 5 foot barrier, just as many trauma survivors are completely justified living in this shut off state. BUT. NO. They chose to write a character who is hopeful!!!! He's witty, he's optimistic, and he's empathetic!!! This is a character, that, despite having EVERY reason to close off, he chooses not to.

He chooses to follow his master's words, he chooses to trust Cere, and BD-1 and Greez. Honestly, it gave me a new perspective on my own mental health. You can choose to live afraid, you can choose to push your past down so far that it grows back out the ground as walls, or, you can live. Truly, live. You can look at your past for what it is, you can live with your mistakes, and you can grow. So many times through playing, I found myself questioning my own outlook. Am I living with hope? Am I trusting that I am in control, that I can choose?

And even as his foil, Cere learns from Cal. She realizes that all hope is not lost, that her faith isn't quite gone. She continues to be cynical, and unsure, and wary, because that is all she knows. Cal teaches her differently. Cal finally opens the door back into the light, by showing her that there is another way to live! Cere might have saved Cal back on Bracca, but really, that was the moment she saved herself. She travels with this scrappy, 18 year old kid who looks at every challenge and just keeps going. He laughs, he smiles, he cracks jokes. She meets a boy that just, keeps living. She learns that, no, she can't take back what she has done, but she can change. She can grow.

She can choose.

It reminds me that I can choose. In spite of it all, in spite of every bitter reason life throws,

I. Can. Choose.

and that is beautiful

[pardycity]

this cat just j!!!!!!!

[hehefanfuction]

@looneybirdz @rolfe-dewolfe-fan-page @purgatorypicnic @purpletrashsnake @mourning-museum333 @mintyscuriocabinet @strawberribunni3