therapy sessions

anonymous asked:

this is kind of a random question and feel free not to answer, but what do you think would happen if all of the trevs and solases and abelases from all of your different aus were shoved in one room? what would they think about one another?

That would be… quite an encounter. 

I have this mental image of everyone crushed into a therapist’s office. 

Bouquet Evelyn would be staring at White Lies Evelyn, wondering how the latter managed to coax Solas away from his self-destructive plan, while White Lies Evelyn is appalled: “You did the grumpy elf?”

And Fluff Verse Evelyn would be pregnant, wondering if this is a particularly vivid dream. And Circles Evelyn would be in a corner, torn between wry amusement and a distant sense of envy. 

Meanwhile Fluff Verse Abelas and Bouquet Abelas would be  quietly exchanging anecdotes (“Really? In a pile of leaves?”) while White Lies Solas stares at the two Abelases, thinking, “Oh. So that’s what happens if I walk away from her.” He’d be looking at Fluff Evelyn, wondering if perhaps it would be the kinder path to take. And then White Lies Evelyn would glare at him and be all, “Don’t you dare. I am not doing the grumpy elf.” 

And Circles Solas would be looking at everyone, wondering if hallucinations are a side effect of being smited one too many times.

2

The second side of the soldier

Request:
12,Bucky, crushing on each other

Prompt: 12
12. How long were you standing by the door?

Pairing: Bucky X reader (with a slight bit of Steve entering at the end)

Rating: everybody


“C'mon Bucky! What can you remember about your past?” I wished that these therapy sessions worked, but HYDRA did too much damage for my wish to be fulfilled. But I’m not going to stop trying, no matter how much God tests me.

“I told you, (Y/N), I-I can’t.” Sorrow glazed his blue eyes, also breaking me on the inside.

“Do you want Steve to be here? I mean, maybe he can hel-”

“FORGET IT (Y/N)! IM NEVER GOING TO BE FIXED!” He stood up at this point, “I’m a monster who shouldn’t be allowed to be out in the world. Freezing me again is more safe for everyone.” He ran a hand through his long dark locks, before heading to the elevator.

After moments of contemplating whether I should leave him alone, I chose against it and ran up to his room. Walking slowly down the corridor, I stood by the door frame, watching him.


“J-James Buchanan Barnes. SEARGANT James Buchanan Barnes?” He looked down at a piece of paper with a confused expression before sternly looking into his mirror again.
Giving a salute, he spoke, “SEARGANT James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th infantry from the…howling commandos.”
A smug smile took place on his perfect face….
How long were you standing by the door, (Y/N)?” Shoot. Being intoxicated by his army suit made me forget about being spotted by him, and I was.

I stood up straight before walking towards him,

“Long enough to know that you look good in a suit”, I laughed to hide the awkwardness. Standing in front of him, I did a small salute before he copied me and did one himself.

“If this is what it takes to help you remember, so be it.” The saluting stopped, he wore an expression is seriousness. I didn’t know what was happening.

“I-I remember something else… Just a bit though” I looked at him with hopeful eyes, “I used to be a ladies man. But I may need to go on a few dates to help me remember everything.”

I rolled my eyes playfully before pulling his tie to get him closer to me, we were inches apart, “do you need help? I could, y'know, lend you a hand.”

He dipped me before looking into my eyes, “who’s better than you?” Laughing, I turned my head to the right. My laughter seized, my cheeks turned a rosy pink. Bucky mimicked my actions.

conjuring up the courage, I was able to form words, “how long have you been standing there, Steve?”

“I’m not helping you remember that you were a ladies man.”

That’s all he said before he walked away.

The whole Alec and the memory demon thing

So I know a lot of people have cleared up the whole ‘Alec pulling away from the memory demon and breaking the bond’ thing but I just wanted to contribute something from my own life that I immediately remembered when this scene happened. (this is really just to prove how plausible this entire scenario was)

(this is also really damn long)

I went to group therapy sessions throughout the year last year and during one session we were talking about how to ‘accept things and move on so we don’t cause ourselves grief worrying about them’ - in particular accepting bigoted comments. The circle discussion came around to me and the first example I could think of was an experience I had had the previous Christmas where my family had been discussing how wrong and perverted gay people were. I was as subtle as possible about my personal investment in the issue and mentioned how it was hard to listen to them being bigoted when I had gay friends. At the end of my turn speaking I (at least I thought I had) completely slipped up and my heart stopped.

I was convinced that everyone around me was judging me or had realised my slip and knew I was ‘gay’ (I’m demi) before I was ready to say anything about it. I felt like the two second silence after I was done speaking lasted an age and like there was ice inside of me because I couldn’t breath and I couldn’t speak or move or stop staring at my shaking hands. I excluded myself from the conversation for the rest of the session and didn’t look at anyone and I kept going over and over what I’d said a hundred times. I was terrified I’d been outed to this group (most of whom were strangers except one that went to my school - which made me even more scared) but they hadn’t picked up on it or even cared - it was just my own fear and the fact that I wasn’t ready to speak up about my orientation to anyone yet.

Just two days ago I was talking to the girl from my school that just so happened to be in that same group therapy program as me and we chatted about dating and I mentioned my sexuality to her with no problem because I was ready and willing this time. 

How Alec reacted was plausible, completely understandable. And no, I did not face some really scary memory demon and jeopardize my friend’s lives by pulling away but the situations reflect each other. One day Alec will be perfectly comfortable confessing to these same people how he feels but in that moment he was not and so his reaction was fear and his instincts told him to retreat.

I Fell in Love with Music Therapy (Again)

To say I’ve felt swamped over the last month would be an understatement. After a mix up with my schedule and starting to write my thesis, I’m realizing that this semester is an entirely different beast than my first semester of grad school. My TA and class workload is building momentum with a big research project, more supervision students, and lots of writing on the horizon. Cue the late nights and early mornings.

With friends coming in for the weekend, I wanted to clear my to do list so I could take the weekend off. As part of a final push before picking up a friend from the airport, I decided to stay late at the library to organize archived video footage of music therapy sessions for my professor. My spreadsheet was open, but my mind was ready to be finished with this mediocre task. Tired, hungry, and pressured to finish before my friend’s plane landed, I was not looking forward to the night.

The videos started off with audiovisual distortions from an old 90s VHS tape that’s  been copied too many times. Sometimes, the music wasn’t even recognizable. What was apparent, though, was the music’s therapeutic effect. I watched a group of children and their parents bonding and exploring the environment through early intervention music play. I followed a man as he learned to walk again over a series of sessions featuring Rhythmic Auditory Stimulation. I heard about the struggles of an oncology patient as he opened up about his diagnosis after drumming. Over and over, these videos illustrated how music therapy had changed the course of their treatment and made a positive difference in the clients’ lives.

At this point, I was sucked in. I put the spreadsheet aside and just watched the music therapy sessions. Across the videos I observed prominent music therapists (MTs), a professor, and former TAs in my program all entrenched in their work. Though I knew some of the therapists from academic, professional, or social contexts, watching them work was a privilege. These MTs were in their element, using the music and their therapeutic skills to guide their clients to success. Having three years of clinical experience, I was able to pick up on the expert use of subtle transitions and musical details that I wouldn’t have noticed as an undergraduate student.

Being able to observe other clinicians was more valuable than I could have predicted. Over the last three years, I haven’t observed a music therapy session in quite some time. Because I’ve worked in relative isolation (i.e., I’ve been the only music therapist at my facility), I’ve served as my own reference point for improving my therapeutic skills in practice. Though I’ve attended peer supervision regularly, these meetings have been more about verbal feedback than real-time adjustments to how I lead. Again, I was reminded of why I am pursuing my master’s degree: to hone my skills and knowledge of music therapy on a deeper level.

Though I was reminded that there is always room for growth, I was simultaneously inspired. Life as a grad student is tough and can lead to burnout. Though I still have the majority of my semester and degree program ahead of me, watching those videos at 10:00p on a Wednesday night made me remember why my studies are worth the stress. Packing up to meet my friend at the airport, I left the library with a rare sense of euphoria that alleviated the stress I had felt earlier in the day. I fell in love with music therapy, again.

untangling knots

January’s flown by, and I’ve been under the radar for several weeks. I relapsed into acute depressive habits, and withdrew until I told myself that I really needed to seek help before I put myself at high risk of self-harm.

Thus, I made a joint New Year resolution with my sister: to prioritize self-care. 

So far, we’ve been checking in with each other and it’s been an immense support to me. I’ve been seeing my psychiatrist for a couple weeks now to ease into antidepressants, and just had my first therapy session this morning. It’s going to be a long, uphill battle from here on out as I actively untangle the knot of emotional and mental blockages: shame, fear, stress, anxiety. 

Hopefully with these training wheels, I’ll eventually find myself comfortable and ready enough to build stronger coping mechanisms. So I don’t have to struggle to sleep, or eat, or perform little daily functions. So that, the next time I start feeling this way, I don’t think of myself as “taking one step forward and two steps back.”

A TED talk from Brené Brown on vulnerability and shame.

@snackrat, @zeichenkohle, @sole-survivoring - PAYBACK TIME!

My original idea was for the OC SS to be together for a PTA meeting but I ended up expanding on it and ended up making us therapy buddies.

The Hancocks seem pretty happy though. I wanted to add confetti but decided not to because it looked like ass D:

Please help threemilk continue to receive treatment!

Hello everyone. Thank you for following me and reblogging my posts. When I made this blog in September 2013, I never expected to have so much success. I sincerely appreciate all my followers and I read every one of the sweet messages that you send.

Anyway, I’m sorry to do this, but I really need your help.

Last August, I was diagnosed with anorexia and OCD. As an alternative to hospitalization, I began to go to therapy sessions three times a week. My therapist diagnosed me with PTSD and he has been helping me with this. Since starting therapy, I have almost completely recovered from my anorexia, and I have learned a lot through my discussions with my therapist. Unfortunately, I still struggle with PTSD and suicidal thoughts. I still need help, and my family can’t pay for it.

I come from a family of eight people, and I am not the only member of the family who has medical expenses. My younger sister is autistic and needs speech therapy and a caregiver, both of which are very expensive. My family really cannot afford for me to have therapy at all, and we have gone into considerable debt.

Each of my therapy sessions costs $150 dollars, and insurance will only cover a very small portion of this sum because my therapist is out of network. (If I were to see an in-network therapist, I would only be able to have therapy once a week, and I need frequent sessions because of the severity of my condition.)

I would like to be able to see my therapist twice a week. This would cost $300 dollars every week, or $1200 dollars a month. I am setting up a Paypal donate button on a blog, and I would appreciate any sum that you can contribute. If you can’t donate, please signal-boost this post. Once again, I am very sorry to ask this of you, but I don’t have any other options. If you donate, I will try to thank you by promoting your blog and/or taking your requests for posts. Thank you so much.

–Threemilk

Therapy Sessions// Teddy&Dom

Teddy walked quickly and with purpose toward the Quidditch Pitch, ignoring the people who called out to him offering their greetings, he didn’t have time to waste on them today. He’d seen her from a far high up in the sky and knew she’d be the perfect person to talk to after their little chat the other day. She wasn’t too close to him that they were best friends, but they were close enough and from what he had experienced she wouldn’t judge him, even if the reason he came to talk to her was closely related to her. 

He entered the pitch to see she was already in the air, performing various dives and loops she seemed happy which was something that made Teddy smile, but he needed her help and if he didn’t tell someone he might burst.

“DOM!”

color palette challenge

Write a Hannigram fic between 100-1500 words with a specific color palette (2-3 colors that go together). Post your ficlet to tumblr and tag three people + @curveofherthroat

tagged by @crossroadscastiel

tagging @perpetuallycaffeinated @strangestorys @fourth-axis


Red

The first thing Will had to remind himself of was that this was not a date. The second, this was not blood.

Will looked up at the painting, large and looming above him on the wall. Red that was deeper than the marrow of him and reached at him, prickling at his skin and plucking at every hair on his body, pulling him towards the endlessness of it. 

There was silence in each brush stroke. One on top of the other, building on top of the old to create something brighter and bolder. Will wanted to lose himself, to quiet the noise.

Hannibal caught him by the shoulder, hand large and warm and steadying, preventing him from going too close and touching it. He was washed in red from the light bouncing off the painting, his features glowing sharp and handsome. 

His eyes were so bright.

Will wondered what he himself looked like. If the red made him frail or if it uncovered the ugliness just underneath his skin, waiting to find a big enough break to worm itself out.

There had been another murder. Another moment of time Will had lost himself and woken covered in the slick slide of a dead woman’s blood. 

Now he was in a gallery with his not-psychiatrist and his not-quite-friend and his maybe-something-more.

A field trip, Hannibal had joked. Will had never gone on a field trip.

“Do you find it comforting?”

Will closed his eyes. He could still see the red from under his eyelids. He looked at Hannibal’s tie, unwilling to look any higher right then.

“It’s like being doused in pigment. I can taste it on my tongue,” Will licked his lips. There was turpentine and the sensation of thick oil. “It’s calming in a way, I can get lost in it.”

Hannibal nodded, understanding him. Always knowing what Will meant and accepting the words and the feelings without even a sideways glance. A whole life of not having this easy connection left Will unsure and delighted.

“There is an idea,” Hannibal said quietly in Will’s ear, his breath hot and too close, making Will fight to repress the tremble wanting to overtake him. “The first man was an artist, calling out to the gods in anguish and rapture, challenging them. Wanting to know more about the world and why they had been placed on earth.”

“Wanting to know more about themselves,” Will said. “Not very subtle, Doctor.”

Hannibal smiled and Will was once again endeared. 

“No,” Hannibal shifted, tightening his grip on Will’s shoulder and letting go. “But it’s a beautiful thought. A curiosity that has sustained us since our beginning pushing us forward to become something more.”

“And what ‘more’ is there for me?” 

Hannibal turned to Will, the full weight of his gaze was just as damning as it was in his office or his home. Intent and knowing and all seeing. 

“Everything,” Hannibal said. Will nodded, believing him despite himself. 

Crime and Punishment|| Therapy Session- Dr. Lloyd

Blaze slowly made his way out of his room, dreading each step that brought him closer to Dr. Lloyd’s office. He had done his fair share of shit, but this was the first time he was going to get punished for it. Shivers of panic ran down his spine. He couldn’t escape the feeling of the electricity being jolted into his system, over and over again, snaking through his nerves and setting his body on fire from the inside out. He wasn’t sure he could go through that again. The seizures he had the days after that had kept him awake every time he had gotten remotely close to falling asleep.

And now he was being accused of stealing? Harmony had offered him her melatonin, and Lily slipped him her sleeping pills whenever she could, but he hadn’t ever stolen them from anybody. And he was totally guilty of helping Blane, and not sure that he could talk his way out of that one. But what would they do to him? Lock him up like Blaine? Drug him like Lillian? Something worse? He didn’t get it, it was just like Cass had said earlier. Sometimes he felt like he honestly didn’t belong in here. Biting his lip, he knocked on the door and walked into the office, sitting slowly in a chair in front of Dr. Lloyd’s desk.