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#as my therapist would tell me: that’s not a funny story that’s a traumatic event

poppy5991 · 8 months

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Shoto: Midoriya is always breaking his bones even in training at UA. It’s crazy.

Hawks: Aw yeah, our instructors used to break our bones on purpose all the time in training. So we could learn how to fight with broken bones.

Endeavor: That’s not normal.

Hawks: It’s not?

Endeavor: No, this is one of those things…

Hawks: Things i should bring up in therapy?

Endeavor: Yeah.

Hawks: Ok…I’ll put it on the list.

#everybody: hawks bby no #as my therapist would tell me: that’s not a funny story that’s a traumatic event #me: but it’s a little funny right #therapist: NO #WELL FINE #mha incorrect quotes #endhawks #boku no hero academia #hawks #endeavor #endeavor x hawks #todoroki shoto #mha #bnha #mha memes

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rainy-astrology · 1 year

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Mercury signs

My view on mercury ruling different signs. Mercury is the planet of communication - the way you talk, the way you think and make decisions. May change/add to this later.

Aspects to Mercury, house placements, and degrees can affect how your mercury expresses itself

If you like kpop and astrology, I do chart readings on idols. List is here

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Aries

Aries mercury people seem to be very blunt and straightforward. Although, all fire mercuries are like that...Honestly can't tell which one is more honest: Aries or Sagittarius lol. Not afraid to argue, seem easy to anger and saying anything in the name of "defending" themselves.

I have a sibling with an Aries mercury and another with a Sag mercury... They can both be quite mean ngl. I think Aries mercury is more prone to getting mad and yelling, whereas a Sagittarius mercury will just sass and insult you. In my experience anyway...

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Taurus

Such nice voices. Often make for amazing singers (iirc, a lot of singers with amazing range and tone have Taurus mercury). They like to take their time to think through things and make firm decisions. They are decisive and may be stubborn.

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Gemini

Mercury in Gemini is domicile. Curious and knowledge seeking individuals, always wanting to learn and do new things. Lots of mental energy, their brains never shut off. They prefer to detach from their emotions and remain rational and logical.

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Cancer

Cancer in mercury are often very intuitive and sensitive. Can read other's moods and emotions very well. Soft spoken and quiet. People often seem to be very comfortable with sharing deep, personal stories with us even if we've just barely met. Also may have lower/deeper tones.

Cue all the times people have randomly trauma dumped on me lol. Not too long ago, I had a customer tell me a traumatic event from their childhood while smiling. I didn't say or ask them anything that would have led them to tell me that. Mind you, I am just training as a nail tech, not a therapist or anything. Funnily enough though, I did consider and still do consider becoming a pyschologist...I think a lot of Cancer mercuries are just a natural at drawing people's deeper emotions out.

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Leo

Honey type of voice, loud, and noticeable. Have loud laughs especially. Voices are usually deeper. They can be natural leaders who don't mind taking initiative and center stage. They may be really creative people. They're emotional people and don't mind showing it.

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Virgo

Mercury is exalted in Virgo. Studious, particular way of speaking, and perfectionistic. Articulate and detail oriented. They can have great focus and motivation when it comes to working on anything. Can be quite meticulous.

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Libra

Very friendly and smooth, can definitely be flirtatious. They just know what to say to get others to like them, very charming. They can also be good at calming tense situations down, since Libras value harmony and peace. They may be a bit indecisive as they see every side in situations.

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Scorpio

Investigative and deep, wants to know everything. Don't lie to them. Often have good memory, so definitely do not hurt them in any way. They will remember for life and hold that against you. They're prone to overthinking.

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Sagittarius

Detrimental under Mercury. Sagittarius likes to focus on the big idea and go on from there, while Mercury wants the little details and to be exact. Blunt and honest people. Also very funny. Open minded and honestly don't really care what other people think.

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Capricorn

Capricorn Mercuries are generally quiet. Disciplined and always ready to achieve whatever they set their minds to. Realistic and maybe slow speaking. Likely the type to give you advice and solutions rather than be emotionally comforting.

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Aquarius

Can be a bit judgemental, make strong opinions and judgements. But they are willing to change them if they want to. They're somehow both stubborn yet flexible about their beliefs.

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Pisces

Mercury is fall in Pisces. Pisces mercuries seem...confused whenever they talk. Tendency to space out and get lost in their inner world. They seem to struggle with articulating their thoughts. May be forgetful or remember things incorrectly

Reminds me of a post I read some time ago...The person mentioned having a Pisces mercury in their chart and how it was a struggle for Pisces Mercuries to word their thoughts precisely. I could tell bc that person's explanation was very confusing. They could have explained it in one-two sentences instead of a messy paragraph... I don't mean to be mean though - that was just a really good example of how disorganized a Pisces Mercury's mind can be.

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If you like kpop and typology, I do typology profiles for idols on my main blog @rainymbti

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Other planets

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rainbow-beanie · 1 year

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Some more incorrect Puss in boots quotes

Puss: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

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Puss: Don't joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me.

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Kitty: Truth or dare?

Puss: Truth.

Kitty: How many hours have you slept this week?

Puss:

Puss: Dare.

Kitty: Go to sleep.

Puss: I don't like this game.

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Puss: Hey, can I get a sip of that water?

Kitty: It’s not water.

Puss: Vodka! I like your sty-

Kitty: It’s vinegar.

Puss: …What?

Kitty: It's vinegar, PUSSY.

Puss, absolutely distraught: NOT THE FULL NAME-

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Kitty: I am in charge of this disaster!

Puss: I have a name, you know.

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Kitty: Come to dinner tonight. I can’t cook, but I’ll bring plenty of free milk.

Puss: Marry me.

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Puss: Are you mad?

Kitty: No.

Puss: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

Kitty:

Kitty: yes pus, we’ve known each other for years, you should’ve known this about me.

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Kitty: Could you be anymore annoying?

Puss: Yes.

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Context, puss after telling the doctor about all the near death/death experiences he’s had:

Puss: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

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Puss, during an argument with the doctor: I’m sick and tired of being called 'mortal' like, you don’t know that. Neither do I. I have never died even ONCE. Nothing has been proven yet. Stop making assumptions. It’s rude.

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Puss: When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give lemons to puss in boots! Do you know who I am? I'm the person who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons!

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Puss: Hello, McDonald's, I would like to purchase 130 chicken nuggets. Prepare yourselves.

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Puss, after being tricked by humpty for the second time: I have been tricked, I have been backstabbed, and I have quite possibly been bamboozled.

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Puss: I wasn't hurt that badly. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal, that's where the blood's supposed to be!

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Puss: Unfortunately, due to several experiences in my youth, I cannot just 'walk up and join a circle of people talking', but it does sound lovely, thank you.

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Puss: You were wise to seek help from the world's most deadly weapon.

Puss, drawing his sword: It's me.

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Puss: The risk I took was calculated but, man, am I bad at math.

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#puss in boots #incorrect puss in boots quotes #puss #kitty softpaws #long post

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jessicas-pi · 10 months

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I just did like 25 more incorrect quotes featuring Jacen, Poe, and my OCs Rune, Diani, and Luce

Jacen: How do you want your coffee? Rune: Black, like my soul. Jacen: Jacen: Rune, your soul is a latte.

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Rune: The real treasure was the memories we made along the way. Luce: I almost died. Rune: That... was my favorite memory.

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Rune, to Poe: I'll be under the mistletoe when you start feeling desperate!

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Luce: *looks at Caleb* Luce: Baby boy. Baby. Luce: *looks at Rune* Luce: Evil.

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Diani: You look mentally ill. Jacen: I am. Let’s go. ---

Rune: Luce, what are you doing tomorrow? Luce: Having my day ruined by whatever you’re about to ask me to do.

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Rune: You call it "really bad at darts", I call it "freestyle acupuncture." Bartender: ...I'm going to have to ask you to leave the bar.

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Diani: My heart is guarded but like… very poorly. The kind of guards that would let 3 kids in a trench coat into an R rated movie.

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Diani: There’s no “I” in team, but there is one in pizza. Rune: So, you’re not going to share? Diani: I’m not going to share.

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Rune: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

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Rune: So I can either do something dumb that could very well get me injured or I can listen to Diani and not do the thing. Rune: Well there’s a clear right answer here. Rune: *proceeds to throw five packs of mentos into a barrel full of diet coke*

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Rune: A fistfight CAN be romantic.

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Rune: I want a bf. Jacen: Do you mean best friend, boyfriend or bread feast? Because you’re being really vague here.

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Jaen: Is this your plan B? Poe: Technically, this is plan P. Jacen: Plan P? Is there a plan M? Poe: Yes, but I marry Rune in plan M. Rune: I like plan M.

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Jacen: HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE! Jacen: *aggressively throws water bottles* Rune: Uh... what's up with him? Poe: He’s trying to yell mental health and wellbeing into us. Jacen: I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU! Diani, crying: It's working.

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Rune: How do Jacen and Poe usually get out of these messes? Diani: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out.

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Diani: We need a distraction. Poe: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises? Rune, whispering: My time has come.

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Diani: I am convinced Rune and Poe share a brain cell. Jacen: And it's not in use very often, it seems.

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Rune: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective? Jacen: *crouches down* Diani: *kneels down* Poe: *sits on the floor* Rune: Rune: I hate all of you.

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Rune: Now, if I may speak for good-looking people everywhere... Luce: Only as their rodeo clown.

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Jacen: The odds of this happening by coincidence are vanishingly small. Diani: I would say infinitesimally. Rune: And I'd say teenily-weenily. We all know words.

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Poe: I made this friendship bracelet for you. Diani: You know, I’m not really a jewelry person. Poe: You don’t have to wear… Diani: No, I’m gonna wear it forever. Back off.

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Rune: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

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Rune: Made you all playlists! Rune: Diani, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul. Rune: Jacen, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression. Rune: And Poe has the ABBA Gold album.

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Rune, trying to comfort Diani: What's the problem? Anxiety? Low self-esteem? Obsessive thoughts of random arson? I've been there.

#incorrect quotes #my ocs #rune kressa bridger #diani bridger #for context diani and rune are the girls ezra adopted whilst he was out in wild space or wherever #and luce is their next door neighbor who is rune's archenemy #and tbh diani is the 'sane one' in these quotes but actually she's totally nuts #it's only because she's with Rune 'Trash Gremlin' Bridger and Poe 'Your Mom Joke' Dameron. it makes her look normal by comparison

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howlofhades · 11 months

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It's not gonna be structured, I'm just gonna roll switching from oc to oc.

I feel like Barks would never sleep at night because he would just think about all the brothers he couldn’t save after every mission. But even when he sleeps willingly it doesn't last long.

If Bear were to ever get in a relationship he could never sleep after an argument, he won't sleep until everything has been settled.

Storm probably has the most tattoos out of all my clones, but they all happen to be dedicated to the brothers he's lost. He almost got one dedicated to Barks.

Put Skunker and Barks in a room, and I can assure you that Skunker is leaving with a dislocation (Barks didn't do it.)

Bear drinks enough caf to probably kill a person, but he'd deny it. "This is my first cup today." I can confirm that would be a lie, he's probably drunk two, maybe three.

Erix has a bullet in a necklace given by Skunker the first time they met, the other Skunker jokingly said "Next time you annoy me this is gonna go in your forehead" and Erix kept it just to annoy him.

Bear would give droids pronouns I think

Storm will literally hit Barks for no reason and when Barks hits back, Storm screams for Rex

Barks will try to explode you with his mind if you annoy him

Barks: "snapping my back like a glow stick would solve all my problems."

Storm absolutely FACEPLANTED the first time he stepped off a gunship for the first time. Nobody let's him live it down. The next time he did it was in front of Anakin

Erix will do something, blame Storm and boom Barks and Storm argue. He loves it.

Erix cusses like a sailor

Skunker admires Barks and Rex for putting up with the chaos

Skunker bombards waxer, boil and wooley with jokes

Bear bites off more than he can chew

Now some incorrect quotes:

Barks: I hope no one lowkey hates me.

Barks: Highkey hate me. Hate me with every fiber of your being.

Barks: Go big or go home.

Barks: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

Barks: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

Barks: I'm so tired of this life. I want to be a roomba. I want knives taped to me. And I want to be set loose.

Storm: I was put on this earth to do one thing.

Storm: Luckily I forgot what it was so I can do whatever I want.

Storm: Is this a good idea?

Storm: Probably not.

Storm: Do I care?

Storm: No.

Erix: I'm a firm believer in "if you're going to fail, you might as well fail spectacularly."

Storm: I didn’t even realize how sarcastic I was being. It’s starting to become a problem, I think.

Erix: Barks, gather the others. We need to have another Storm -is-doing-something-stupid-again-and-we-have-to-stop-them-before-they-hurt-someone convention.

Barks: I’m not a doctor I’m a medic.

Erix: What’s the difference then?

Barks: Well doctors actually save lives, medics just make you feel more comfortable as you die.

Storm: Note to self; never get shot.

Barks: Life keeps fucking me and I can't remember the safeword.

Barks: My expectations are low, but they can always go lower.

Barks: My knee just cracked so loudly that I half expect it to glow in the dark tonight.

Erix: In your opinion, what is the height of stupidity?

Barks, turning to Storm: How tall are you?

Storm: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life.

Barks: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind?

Storm: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die.

Erix: Edible.

Erix: What if mayonnaise came in cans?

Storm: Well, that would such because you can't microwave metal.

Barks: Good morning to everyone except these two people.

Erix: Pros and cons of dating me.

Erix: Pros. You'll be the cute one.

Erix: Cons. Holy shit, where do I begin-

Phoenix: I scare people a lot because I walk very softly and they don't hear me enter rooms. So when they turn around, I'm just kind of there and their fear fuels me.

Phoenix: God has let me live another day and I'm going to make it everyone's problem.

Lazarus: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

Lazarus, writing in their diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

#woah this is long #also meet phoenix and lazarus #i'm more than happy to answer any questions anyone has #i would've done more but it was already ridiculously long #i still have more ocs to introduce #hopefully someone enjoys this!#i might answer some asks in character if it ever comes to it #blue posts #blue's ocs #blue's oc rambles #skunker #erix #barks #storm #bear #phoenix #lazarus #a mix of incorrect quotes and headcanons

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octorosi · 2 years

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Just barnacles when they are alone and can express emotions-

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Barnacles: Now, the recipe calls for 2 shots of vodka.  Barnacles *looks at the mixing bowl* shut up I need this More then you do.

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Barnacles : I’ve never felt better!  

Barnacles , earlier: I'm going to throw myself into the sea.

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Barnacles : So, according to my university, it is, quote, “my responsibility if there is an internet outage to contact the faculty and the department.”  Barnacles : Now, if you’re a critical thinker like me, you might be wondering one thing.  Barnacles : HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO EMAIL THE DEPARTMENT?!?!?!

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Murderer: Any last words?  Barnacles : Do you think I'm pretty? Be honest.

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Barnacles : Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

Barnacles : I mean, sure, I have my bad days, but then I remember what a cute smile I have.

Therapist: Weren’t we just talking about you crying yourself to sleep at night-?

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Barnacles : My heart is guarded but like… very poorly. The kind of guards that would let 3 kids in a trench coat into an R rated movie.

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Barnacles : My expectations were low but holy fuck.

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Barnacles : Just took a personality test and got an A+.

Barnacles:NOW TELL THAT TO MY EX’S

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Demon: Hey, I took your soul last month and-  Barnacles : No returns.  Demon: *sobbing* But it's making me sad...

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Barnacles : You know, studies show that keeping a ladder in the house is more dangerous than a loaded gun.  Barnacles : That's why I own TEN guns.  Barnacles : Just in case some maniac tries to sneak in with a ladder.

…

Barnacles-who am I talking to-

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Barnacles : *seductively takes off glasses* Wow, you're... blurry…..uhm-

The mirror-Are they for real rn-

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#captain barnacles #octonuts #rosi’s random rambles #shellington

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 3 years

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(CW: Personal story about depression, trauma and coming out)

My dear lgbt+ kids,

As so many people with depression, I don’t have the one very specific thing that “made” me depressed. I can name a lot of contributing factors: A traumatic experience in my childhood, my disability that often isolated me from others, a family history of mental illness and yes, also gender dysphoria.

The reason I can list all those factors so easily is simple: I talked them through with so many therapists and doctors since I first got diagnosed with “severe depression” at 20 years old. Since then, I have been through extremely dark phases with intense symptoms and good times with rarely any symptoms.

And good times that turned into really dark times: I came out as trans in 2019 - and for a few months, I was free from any symptoms. I was so happy that people around me were honestly a bit disturbed by it - some of them had never meet a smiling, confident me before! I was eating, I was sleeping, I had plans and motivation to do things. The contributing factor “being a closeted trans man” disappeared and for a while, it felt like that was all I needed to heal.

You may be able to guess what happened next. For some reason, I wasn’t able to. It hit me like a truck: A pandemic came and the frightening news, the changes to my daily routine, the constant health worries, they send me right down into a depression spiral. Surprise, surprise, the other contributing factors were still there! I was doing better since my coming-out but that didn’t mean I was suddenly immune to depression, especially not during a traumatizing worldwide historic event.

I fell back down and I fell hard. On top of my usual depression symptoms, I now felt a crushing guilt: I was supposed to be happy! I came out as trans and I am so grateful to be able to live as my true self, how on earth can I still be depressed?

That was last summer. I went to a mental hospital for a week back then and had regular (online) appointments with my therapist for a few months, and slowly the symptoms lessened again. Pandemic is still on and still terrifying but I am doing better.

Why do I tell you all that? Well, just to tell you that I am clearly no stranger to self-hatred. That has been a constant in my life for years. You need to know that to truly understand the impact of what I am about to tell you:

Someone sent me a self-depreciating meme a few days ago. It went something like “I don’t know who I am but whoever that person is, I hate them”. I looked at it and a realization hit me: I do not feel that way anymore.

I do not hate myself. I truly do not. I know who I am and I like that guy. He is sensitive and weak but that’s also his biggest strength: he has a good heart full of love and wants the whole world to be okay, and if that means a pandemic is very hard on him I don’t blame him. The trauma, the isolation and family history could have made him rough and he stayed soft. He talks about himself in the third person right now and that’s silly and funny. I like being him. It’s fun to be me.

There are probably multiple factors playing a role in that, too. I am healing from my trauma. I learned to accept that it was traumatic, that I am allowed to hurt, that the memory is not some monster that I need to bury in the ground. I can face it now and say “You hurt me but I survived. I am stronger than you”. I am learning to accept my disability, to allow myself to be slower than “normal people”. I am breaking the family cycle by being the one who goes to therapy.

And yes, I came out. I am allowing myself to be the man I was always meant to be. I can look at younger me and feel compassion. Little one, you were not weird, you were just growing up as a boy in a world that didn’t believe you. Look at you, you made it.

Accepting my gender identity and coming out was not the magical step that suddenly cured my depression because my depression is more complex than that. But it is a important puzzle piece and I am proud of that. I am proud of me and I never thought I ever would feel this way.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+#personal

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judediangelo75 · 3 years

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Unpopular Opinion: Haywood Edition

I’m sorry, I just started playing Year 6 (on chapter 4) and I already can’t stand almost everyone.

Especially Penny and Beatrice. Beatrice especially.

Granted, the thing about me is that I try my best to look at both sides of the story.

But I feel how I feel at the end of the day.

Das it.

If you don’t wanna read, that’s cool. Just don’t attack me about it. We can have a conversation if you like but don’t jump down my throat about them. Without further ado, my unpopular opinion.

FYI: This might be a bit long.

Yo, why is it that our character has to play therapist between these two sisters (I can say the same thing about EVERYONE but that’s for another post for another time).

I understand the struggle that exists there.

Bea was trapped in a portrait for nearly a whole year and Penny nearly worried her hair out over her.

But, excuse you, don’t point your frustration at me.

Granted, Penny should understand that Bea can’t simply go back to the happy, carefree version of herself after getting trapped in a portrait. Change is VERY likely to happen.

Did I expect her to turn into the Hufflepuff version of Ismelda?

Not even close.

But Ismelda isn’t so much of a bad person. Yes, she has dark tendencies but it’s not like she killed someone already. She just has her own likes and preferences. Mind you, at first I didn’t like Ismelda too much but eventually she grew on me. If you’ve done the Crushed SQ, the O.W.L.S. TLSQ, and even the Sphnix Club TLSQ, you see that she’s not so bad.

Funny even.

Plus, I highly doubt she would put Bea in harms way. It’s not like Ismelda is torturing creatures and cutting herself in front of her.

With Penny seeming to know information through streams of gossip for damn near everyone, I half expected her to suspect another side to Ismelda. You know, don’t judge a book by its cover?

But I digress.

Beatrice.

Beatrice. Beatrice. Beatrice.

How much pre-teen angst can you hold in that little body of yours?

Honestly, distancing yourself from Penny isn’t working if she’s gonna constantly plant herself in front of you. Yes, she’s one of the most popular girls at Hogwarts ever since her first year. She can entertain herself with anyone that’s everyone’s attention.

But is everyone her sibling? No.

The fact that you two were so close and then for you to suddenly cut her off like that wouldn’t mean anything to her doesn’t help matters.

Then you wanna tell me to tell your sister to leave you alone? I’m sorry, I’m confused.

When did we start playing telephone and why wasn’t I informed?

Because I didn’t ask nor do I want to play.

Go tell her yourself!

Then later, you go on to say to break this year’s curse faster this time, as I was just taking my sweet time last year just living my best life.

You know, it’s not like I’m also a student who has to worry about her future and been constantly been told by the Headmaster to stay away from the Curse Vaults and let the adults handle it.

Or I have a year long detention after saving the school from another curse and got no real thanks for it.

OR I had to turn the castle on its head to get a stupid portrait, train to take on this new curse vault, FIGHT A DRAGON, been betrayed by a professor (I never trusted Rakepick BTW) and could’ve been killed, seen two of the Unforgivable Curses in the same year, been abandoned by my only sibling who I spent seven years hoping to find him and still, ya know, be student.

I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS LIFE!

My character did not ask to be dub as this ungrateful school’s protector and I’m not even an official Curse-Breaker. I’m not getting paid for this shit.

Granted, I know she doesn’t want other people to experience what she went through. Being caught up in a curse is nothing short of traumatizing event in one’s life. For you to come out fine would probably make some people wonder what’s wrong with you.

But again, I’m still a student. I can’t simply drop my studies at the drop of a hat and immediately figure out how to break the next curse.

And AGAIN: TALK TO YOUR DAMN SISTER!

Tell her how you really feel and KEEP ME TF OUT OF IT!

And keep the pre-teen angst to yourself, PLEASE.

When I saw a clip where we have to take Beatrice to the Black Lake with us or she rat us out to Dumbledore, I slapped my forehead.

Like little girl, didn’t you say to “break the curse faster this time”? You are literally slowing me down because now I have to babysit you.

All because you want to have a rush of breaking the rules. Do you think this is a fucking game?

I’m breaking the rules because I have to. Not for shits and giggles.

And Penny: don’t blame me for taking your sister to a potentially dangerous situation when she forced herself on me. If anything, you should be mad at her. Not me.

I was starting to dislike Penny because of how often Jam City is throwing her at me, but this behavior...

I wouldn’t take this shit laying down if I had the chance to adjust my character’s personality myself.

Like damn, it’s not like I have a whole brother missing. Not like I’m not sad or upset that he left me and I have clue if the man is dead or alive.

Why am I involved in another pair of sibling’s issues?

-Sighs- This is only the beginning. Lord have mercy

#hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #unpopular post #i know this is unpopular #hphm penny #hphm beatrice #penny haywood #beatrice haywood #haywood sisters #rant #i cant deal #mc deserves better #i said what i said #and i meant what i said #unpopular opinion

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years

Text

A View To A Winchester (Part 14)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.

Section Word Count: 6,000

Section Content: fluff, flirting, angst, smut, PTSD, R-rated language, oral sex

~~~~~

Turns out being kidnapped and exsanguinated by a psycho is what totally puts me out of commission. Good to know what the breaking point is for future reference.

Julie sat under the covered patio. It was a bright, sunny day. The sky was that cornflower blue shade that she would have loved. Before. Everything now felt a little duller, muted. It was hard to explain, even to her therapist over their video sessions.

Co-workers called and left messages, wishing her well and begging her to come back to the bank as soon as she was able. When will I be able? Her fuse shortened more as each day ticked off the calendar. Comments she could usually keep in her head spilled out with ease. Talkative Wes had resorted to small waves when he spotted Julie in the yard or outside. The ill-temper and crankiness even wore on her long-suffering mother. Brigida had finally given up and headed back home yesterday. No amount of pasta was going to fix Giulia.

Her eyes narrowed, alone under the patio, inspecting the Impala parked in Dean’s driveway. Julie had even been bitchy to Baby’s owner over the past two weeks. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Any time he called or stopped by, the conversations were short and stilted. She wanted to be left alone. By everyone. Even the man of her dreams. Literally.

Out of everyone who had been blessed to experience her wrath, Dean had seemed the least unphased by it. He’d do his check-ins daily, leaving a voicemail if she didn’t pick up. A long string text conversation he’d been having with himself was more proof on her phone of his continuous efforts to reach out. The bad jokes didn’t stop in person, either, it turned out. Every time she ushered him out a door he’d spin around and flash her the smile that had curled her toes. Before.

The therapist defined what Julie was doing as emotional avoidance. She didn’t want reminders of what had happened, which was understandable and the way most people tried to cope after a traumatic event. Unfortunately, Dean was the very walking reminder of the event in question since he’d been the one to save her. Numbness was avoidance’s partner in crime. And, all the effort she was putting into circumventing everything was exhausting. No energy. No interest. She felt like a flat soda with a pitiful fizzle when you twisted the cap.

And then, there was the other thing gnawing at Julie. The other reason she’d been avoiding Dean. The thing that she hesitated to mention to her therapist until her second follow up session.

She’d dreamed of Dean while she was unconscious. No. Dreamed wasn’t really an accurate description. Because none of the dreams she’d ever had before compared to what she’d experienced.

I lived my life with Dean. For what felt like months.

That life was a technicolor masterpiece. A 70mm film on an IMAX screen. It was bright and vivid. Every frame, aspect of her Director’s cut only put this real life to shame; it was a grainy indie film at best. And most especially, Dean had been in almost every scene. Well, Dean but not really Dean. A perfect archetype had formed in her head of this man. He was loving, affectionate, caring, funny, understanding, thrilling, sexy, fulfilling, and made sure she orgasmed every goddamn time. And there had been many orgasms in that film. Definitely Rated M for Mature. How was she supposed to reconcile all of that with the actual man who had to have some damn flaw?

To be fair, he’d already given me way too much to build up in my head. It’s all his fault. Yeah, the man rescues me and it’s all his fault. Perfect sense there, Jules.

And, maybe even more important - she had felt absolutely no fear in that other life. She’d been safe with Dean. That was something she knew was an impossibility in the here and now. Kidnappers and psychos aside, there would always be that fear, deep down, that Julie wouldn’t be good enough for anyone to love. Not for very long, anyway, and especially not for forever. And especially not by Dean.

What was she supposed to do? Exposure to things that made her happy, or used to make her happy, was the therapist’s suggestion. Constant exposure. And, blocking Dean out of her life because of the possibility he might disappoint her? Would she really be alright with never knowing how things might turn out with him? Did she really never want to take a chance on love again? Was that a well-rounded life or living in constant defense mode? That was the question the therapist left her with at the end of their session that morning.

She sighed and stared at the computer screen after the call. Being clean made her happy, so she forced herself under the shower sprays and then dressed in a comfy pair of leggings and light sweater. Wavy long hair left loose to air dry after a quick comb through with a hair pick. A spritz of her favorite perfume filled her nose with a mix of fruity and floral scents. She decided some natural source of Vitamin D could only help. Grabbing a blueberry muffin, Julie wandered around in the yard munching away on the snack. The sun warmed her head and shoulders. She even tried not to scare Wes away and let him ramble about his garden.

So, now she sat, staring at Baby through her chain link fence. Thinking about her owner. The thoughts weren’t enough to bring her joy. Which is the craziest shit. All I had to do before was picture the man and… boom… ear to ear smile.

A ringing from her phone got her attention. Dean. She hesitated. The fear flooded into her veins and she was unable to push it away. Constant exposure. She swallowed. And answered.

“Julie?” The shock in his voice was obvious.

“Yeah.”

“I-I didn’t think you’d pick up. Was going to leave a knock knock joke on your voicemail.” He chuckled, hesitant.

She sighed. “Let’s hear it.”

Silence. Then, throat clearing. “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Tank.”

“Tank who?”

“You’re welcome.”

She cringed. “That’s so bad. It’s almost good.” She could feel the right side of her lip twitch up in… Jesus, could it be a smile?

“I thought it was pretty good. How are you?”

The dreaded question. “I don’t know.”

“Hm. That’s good.”

“Good?” She felt her nose wrinkle up.

“Better than you saying fine when it’s obvious you aren’t. I mean, you always look…”

Julie cut him off. “You shouldn’t have to try and dig yourself out of a hole you didn’t create, Dean. This reaction I’ve been having... It’s all me.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “We all cope differently. I hit the bottle more than I should. I don’t suggest that by the way. I’m hardly the poster child for emotional stability.”

She laughed, surprising herself. She felt lighter in that moment.

“It’s nice to hear that, sweetheart.” His voice deepened, even more than she thought was possible, at the last word.

Her insides vibrated, like she was a guitar string he’d plucked at with his fingers. Those fingers, those hands. The things you’ve done to me with those hands. Well, not you, actually. Dammit, Jules! “I really like that nickname.” She confessed.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll try and use it more often, then.” He sighed. “You are, though. A sweetheart. Even when you’re bitchy.”

Julie chuckled. “Thanks, hot stuff.”

He clicked his tongue. “I’m still on the fence about that one.” Movement in one of Dean’s windows got her attention. There he stood perfectly framed like a picture from the torso up. The filtering of the screen hazed up her view more than she liked. His gaze wandered over to the patio, landed on her, and surprise washed over his face. “You’re outside?”

She shrugged, staring at him as they continued to talk on the phone. “Figured I’d try and snap out of this funk.”

“But, you’re outside. The only time I’ve seen you out is when you’ve been spying on me.” She could still make out the smirk through the screen.

“My therapist has suggested doing things that make me happy.”

“Good advice.” He nodded, serious. “Hm.”

Julie watched him thinking.

“So, I’ve um, got to take care of something out back. You gonna be around for a bit?”

“Yes.” She dragged out the word.

“Good.” He ended the call and gave her a wink before disappearing.

She stared at the empty window. Out back. She inventoried both their lawns, which he’d mowed only yesterday. A frown formed and she berated herself for missing that show. Hey, being upset that I missed drooling over the man, in real life, is a good sign. A swipe of her phone’s screen had her reading through Dean’s incoherent messaging over the past few days. My hero. It sounded super corny even in her head. But it was true. She couldn’t deny it.

I’ve got you. You’re safe with me, Jules. She thought back to the night when they’d begun to explore each other. Before. The things he did to her body. The Real Dean. The naughty commands he eagerly followed and the sexual directives he’d wanted, but never got the chance to dole out. This man, who made her throb and ache, wanted to make her feel safe through all of it. Everything. Point, Real Dean.

A sound she identified as Dean’s front door closing broke her out of her heated reminiscing. His tall figure appeared, strolled over to Baby, and dropped a red bucket by one of her wheel rims. He rubbed his hands together and turned his back to where Julie was sitting. He crossed arms over his chest and inspected the car from hood to trunk with a slow, methodical stare. There was the tell tale squeak of Baby’s driver side door when he opened it.

Julie watched, a bit perplexed that he hadn’t even looked over to where she was sitting when he came out. It’s almost like he’s… Julie grinned and noted the way Dean leaned into the interior of the car. He widened his bowleg stance, then bent down so the denim hugged the curves of his perfect ass. She heard the key turn in the ignition. Baby’s stereo played a song from his extensive playlist at a respectable volume.

He stood up, closed the car door and stretched, arms raised high above his head. Only a flimsy white t-shirt covered his torso. And it was short enough that when he stretched and then scratched at his side, she got a nice long look at his muscled belly. He smiled to himself and walked into the shed. Julie’s eyes widened in revelation. He’s putting on a goddam show for me. Point, Real Dean.

“Hey, Julie.” She gasped at the unexpected interruption by Wes. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She placed a hand to her cheek and felt the warmth. “Yeah. I’m good. No apology necessary.”

Wes nodded. “I was- I was wondering if Mamma might need another couple tomato plants for her garden. We bought way too many to plant and…” He placed a bedding tray with two starter plants left inside.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure she can do…”

“Mornin’ Wes.” Dean’s voice had them both turn in his direction. He gave Wes a salute, a neatly wrapped hose draped over his shoulder. Something about the scene felt very Deja Vu to Julie. Holy shit. This happened with Fake Dean. Except, I ended up helping him wash the car. There was water and suds and… Her mouth dried up. He made me cum in Baby’s backseat.

“Oh, hey, Dean. What’s goin’ on?” Wes waved.

Fucking tease. He’s really full on ignoring me.

“Great day to wash a car.” He offered a smile.

“It is.” Wes and his obliviousness to social cues kind of reminded her of Cas, now that she thought about it. The fact that Dean had not spoken to Julie didn’t even seem to register to him. Wes turned back to Julie. “Well, I’ll just leave these with you.”

Julie side-eyed Dean, now crouched down attaching the hose to the spigot by the side of the house. “Thanks. I’ll try not to kill them in the short amount of time they’re in my care.” She smiled.

Wes smiled and walked off. Samuel must have told him to make the visit short and sweet.

Dean raised up and wiped a palm on his ass, leaving a wet handprint on the light colored denim. He grabbed the nozzle and shot a steady stream of water in Baby’s direction. There was that beautiful profile, serious and down to business, soaking his precious car in sheets of water.

Julie smiled. I’ve died and gone to heaven.

After about thirty minutes of delightful torture, Dean’s intentional avoidance (of which the irony only irked Julie more), and the increasing summer heat, she’d had about enough. She couldn’t say what made her finally snap. Maybe it happened when his entire upper body ended up drenched. His shirt stuck and clung to his body in x-rated ways. Samuel would be all about judging this wet t-shirt contest. Maybe it happened when he sponged and sudsed all of Baby up with long, languid strokes. Bending and reaching, muscles and all his pretty parts on full display.

No. I’m pretty sure it happened when he lifted up his t-shirt to wipe his face and gave me the chance to see that chest of his.

Julie stood up and marched over to the fence, twisting her now dry hair with one hand and tossing it behind her shoulder. She waited, patient as she could, while Dean wiped off the last little bit of water from Baby’s rims. He took his time, knelt and focused on the task, and made her shine.

“Hey.” She threw the call out to him. But he didn’t hear her. Or at least pretended he didn’t. She tried again, a little louder. “Dean!” He stood up, opened the driver’s side door, then clicked off the music. The door clicked shut and he strolled over to the spigot. She sighed and tried one more time. “Hot stuff!”

He froze in mid-step at that. His neck cocked in her direction along with an eyebrow.

She grinned and crossed arms over her chest. “Do you have a second?”

Dean tilted his head and walked over. Her insides crumbled the closer he got. Sunshine glistened off his skin from the combination of water and sweat. He flashed her a smile. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if I could get your help with something.” She pursed her lips.

“Sure.” He rubbed his hands together. “What do you need?”

She pointed a thumb behind her. “In the house?”

He looked downright intrigued at the question. “Alright.” He cleared his throat and pried the wet shirt a few inches off his chest with both hands. “Give me, like, five minutes so I can clean up out here and get out of these…”

“Can’t wait.” She shook her head.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, sweetheart.” His hands tightened over the fence rail.

Julie anticipated his next move and stepped backward. She didn’t wait to see him hop over and quickstepped her body to the sliding door. The sound of him landing on the ground and his strides along the yard sped up her heart. The reaction wasn’t fear. She was… happy.

She opened the door and stepped inside. “Julie.” The call of her name was hesitant. A turn caught him near the entryway. “I don’t want to track a whole bunch of mess into your clean house. Brigida would kill me.”

Thoughtful and sexy, with a side of self-preservation. Smart man. “Leave your shoes outside?” She offered and slipped out of her own flats, sweeping them out of the way with a bare foot. “You aren’t going to need them.”

Dean smirked. “I just don’t want to get in trouble later.” He toed off the sneakers and hopped up into the living room. The door slid shut.

“Does that mean you want to get in trouble now?”

He chuckled and marched closer. “Feeling better, I take it?”

“A little. You helped take my mind off certain things.”

“Good.” He held out an open palm.

She slid her fingers over the damp, pink skin and commented, “You’re all wet.”

“That’s my line.” She laughed at his retort. “And, I wanted to change. But, someone was insistent that they needed my help with... something.” Sock-covered toes curled into the area rug. His fingers threaded in between hers. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

Her breath hitched and the sobbing erupted out of nowhere, without warning.

Dean’s eyes widened. He pulled her forward, into his warm, wet embrace. She clutched at his back. “You’re okay now, Jules.” A soft and husky voice whispered through the kisses he placed on top of her head. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you like that again. Not while I’m around.”

“You can’t be around me 24/7.” She tossed out the fact when her breathing had normalized.

“Well, then, we give you some tools and tricks so you feel safer when I’m not. Little bit at a time. One step in front of the other, right?”

She shrugged into his arms and sniffled. “Dean?”

“That’s me.”

She smiled into the wet cotton. “There’s something else.”

“Okay.” There was that hesitancy in his voice again. She hadn’t remembered hearing that tone from his voice as often. Before.

The rumble and soft hiccups of breath from her mouth vibrated through the shirt to the warm skin. “I had every intention of having you... right here… in the middle of this living room… and, then…”

Those large hands circled along curves hidden under the thin sweater. The motion was soothing and arousing. “Then what?”

“Being this close to you... My body usually has a mind of its own and reacts in a very… pleasant way…”

“Mm-hmm.” He kissed her forehead.

“But, sometimes, now… there’s fear, too…”

His body tensed.

She held tight, feeling him pull away because of the statement. “No. No. It’s not you, or anything you’ve done.” Her lips tasted the cotton of his shirt, burrowing into his chest in defiance of his attempt to detach. “You were the only one that was there, that found me, when I was…” Her nails dragged down the fabric covering taut muscles. “If I ever ask you for the whole story, all that you saw, what you had to do to save me, would you tell me?”

The exhale from Dean over her head was drawn out, complicit. “If it was going to help you, yes.” She tapped his ass, innocent in the attempt and insistent on the need for a different answer. He whispered a comical gasp in surprise. “Hey now.”

“If I ask you, would you tell me? Regardless of how much you think you know what’s best for me, even more than I do? I already had ten years of that bullshit.” She pulled away to stare up at him. Needing to verify his words with the scales of truth hidden in fields of glowing grass. Those things he dared to convince others were merely eyes with the added cocky grin. “Would you tell me the truth just because I asked you to?”

His hands cupped her face. He smiled and searched every inch with his gaze. The eyes finally locked with hers. Her heart stumbled over a few beats. “Yes.”

“And will you tell me the truth, always, even without me having to ask?”

Fingers tightened their grip along her jawline. “Sweetheart, are you proposing to me?” He raised a brow, “Or, is this me proposing to you?”

Julie shook her head, fighting every cell in her body turning to jello at the charm and the words dripping from pompous, delectable, way too full of themselves lips. “Answer the question, Dean-ah.”

Dean’s voice and expression hitched back in surprise. “Did you just Brigida me?” She stomped a foot and he chuckled. “Yes, Julie.” The tone lost any jovial remnants. “I will always tell you the truth.”

Her heart lightened again.

Dean’s forehead pressed against hers. “Even if it hurts.” He sighed. “You enjoy the good stuff more when you go through pain to earn it. What I’ve come to learn, anyway.” Julie’s mouth tilted up, Dean’s mouth tilted down, their motions working in tandem like connected gears. She found his open lips, ready and willing to receive the something between lashing and adoration she was desperate to inflict.

Plump lips glided over hers. He moaned at the insistence of her tongue, licking and tasting the fleshy underside of his lips - those damn lips - along his teeth. Fingers hooked around the back of her neck and pulled her higher, elongating her frame. She lifted up onto tippy toes to maintain the glorious contact.

“Jules.” He groaned and peeled her mouth away with a soft tug at the base of her hairline. A small huff pushed through her open mouth. He licked his lips. “I’m super glad you want to try and work through this.” She smiled at his out of breath state. “Super glad.” He repeated and swiped the pad of a thumb along her bottom lip. “But, if it gets to be too much and you need to stop…”

“I’m not going to need to stop. I want to feel good with you.” She whispered.

A tiny whine escaped his throat. He dropped his brows. “Shit. Right now?”

She nodded.

He huffed but couldn’t hide his smile of anticipation. “Alright, sweetheart. But, you can’t order from the full Dean menu. Maybe just the Happy Meal. I’ve got to go and meet up with Cas and Jack in, like,” he glanced at his watch, “shit, in like a half hour.”

She shrugged. “Happy’s good. That usually comes with a toy, anyway.”

“Ah. So, I’m your toy now?” He clicked his teeth together, then licked her lips with a light stroke of his tongue. “First, it’s ‘hot stuff’.” Another lick. “Then, you’re spanking me.” A tiny shake of his head before another lick. “Now, I’m just some plaything.”

“I’d tell you to shut up... let me continue to objectify you... but I really do love that voice of yours.” Julie shot back between his licks.

His lips curled into a smile. “So, we doin’ this right here?” He nodded to the sliding doors and the open curtains. “Put on a little show for the neighbors?”

“Oh, I can’t put on as good a show like the one you gave me earlier.” Her heartbeat sped up.

“I doubt that. I’ve seen the previews.” He stepped backward and pulled at one hand. “Upstairs?” She nodded. He guided back to the bedroom. The door clicked closed. “So, where were we before?” He smirked. “Sit that cute ass on the bed.” He half-asked, half-commanded.

She did as told, tucking hands under the back of her thighs in wait. “I thought I was going to get to place an order.”

“If we had more time, sure.” He stalked toward her, pulling the damp shirt up and over his head. She swallowed and took in the bare skin of his chest, the ripples of muscle underneath. All of it in the glorious sunlight shafting through the windows. “But, if you want to feel good with me, right now, you’ll let me do what I’ve wanted to do since I first tasted your cobbler.” He leaned over her seated frame and captured her mouth in a heated kiss.

“Wait.” She moaned into his mouth. “Please.” Her hands pushed on his shoulders. He leaned up a little more at the silent direction.

She had to feel him, run her fingers over his arms, his chest. See how this Real Dean compared to the fake one she made up. She’d missed the many scars, one a sizable trench-like cut across his tummy. There were dimples and craters. Bullet holes? The hills and valleys were velvety and rough, steel and warmth. Alive and twitching under her fingers, there was even the slightest pudge and soft give to his midsection.

Damn, I didn’t do him justice. He’s got a roadmap of the life he’s lived on his skin.

His breath hitched above her as she explored with touch. So many questions flooded her mind. She wasn’t surprised to see the tattoo above his heart, right under the left side of his neck. Her fingers circled over the fading black ink. Never would her imagination have come up with the design - a sun with flaming rays, a star in the center. Hands slid along his sides up and around to the rigid blades of his back. A long sigh left his mouth. His eyes crinkled down at her. “You’ve gotta lie back for what I want to do.”

She acquiesced and released. The fluffy comforter billowed in the receipt. She leaned up on her elbows. “What have you wanted to do?” she asked. He straightened his posture and stepped back, unbuckled his belt, pulling it from the loops. The waistband of his jeans rode low over narrow hips when he unzipped. That sweet ass is the only thing keeping them on. Her gaze went lower. Shit. That hard-on might be helping, too. He cleared his throat and slid a palm along the denim over his lengthy excitement. Her mouth hung slack.

He took his time and stroked the fabric. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” An exaggerated frown matched the one she felt herself making. “I know, little miss nose crinkle. But, you’ll make me lose my train of thought if you keep staring down there. I already don’t have as much time as I want to really enjoy this.” He stepped close again. One of his legs wedged between both of hers. Hands skirted over legging-clad thighs and pushed her sweater up to brush over her stomach. Fingers hooked under the band at her waist and began to peel fabric down past her hips. Her cheeks warmed, realizing he’d caught her panties as well.

“Dean…” she groaned and fell back, lifting her hips to assist. She placed the back of her hand on her forehead and stared up at the ceiling. Embarrassment pumped through her along with arousal.

“Gonna make you feel so good. Promise.” Smoke and honey coated his voice. His fingers skimmed over her bare ass as he continued to undress her. She closed her eyes, bit her lip. He guided her legs up with his tugs. A soft swish of the leggings confirmed he’d balled and tossed them somewhere not within easy reach. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. Can’t act shy for me now.” His mouth pressed above her belly button. She gasped, opened her eyes and watched him snake his body over hers, kissing the sweater, eventually landing on her mouth again. His green eyes inventoried her face. “You like to watch me, right?”

She smiled and nodded.

“And I like it when you watch me.” He grinned and slid down. Her neck tilted to the side to track his descent. His chin grazed over her sweater and dipped into her belly button. “So, make sure you have a good view.” He licked his lips.

Holy shit. I mean, a girl can dream and imagine that a man as hot as this likes to… that whole oral fixation theory. It made for some great material to work with when I was unconscious and in LaLa Land. But, could he really? “You-” She started and lifted up on her elbows. Her mouth dried, and every ounce of liquid seemed to pool into her core. He was bent over, hovering inches above, and staring with great regard at her sex. On instinct her legs tried to shut, but they only managed to pinch around his sturdy, tree trunk thighs. His hands rubbed and soothed, prying her legs open.

“Relax.” He knelt next to the bedside, guided one leg over a shoulder. Warm fingers kneaded at the flesh of her thighs, edging closer to her pussy along with his mouth. He inhaled like he was identifying the subtle aromas in a glass of wine. “Damn, Jules. You smell good.” He smiled.

She was lightheaded. All of the blood was definitely traveling to one spot. “Are you telling me you really like doing this?”

He raised a brow. “You gotta be specific.”

She shook her head, swallowing the giggle of self-consciousness at the sight of him between her legs. “You like going down on women?”

A snarl twitched over his lips and she thought she heard him growl. His eyes closed as his nose buried into her brown curls, right above the slit. She snatched in breath at the feel of his tongue sliding along the edge of her folds. Slow and thorough as he licked. Holy shit. Licking me like an ice cream cone. He dipped inside and searched, nuzzling lower to the wetness he had created. “Hm.” He groaned. The vibrations skirting over her sex made her shiver.

Dean’s mouth worked Julie over. She became enthralled by the absolute bliss he was portraying. He was a damn good actor if he wasn’t enjoying it. There was no awkwardness or held breath. No need for constant reassurance that he was doing it right. No inner countdown working in his head to pay back whatever sexual act he thought she was owed in return. His closed lids showcased long, beautiful lashes. They fluttered open like butterfly wings when his name escaped her mouth. His bright green eyes, sparkling in the sunlight, locked onto her face. Gorgeous son of a bitch. He licked toward her clit. A warm forearm draped over her tummy. His palm pushed and maneuvered with gentle pressure so her lips literally opened up for him, like a blooming flower. He broke contact from her with his tongue. His gaze dropped. Now, a thumb and forefinger assisted, and even she could see hints of the pink, wet flesh of her walls and clit from her vantage. She was on absolute full fucking display. “Shit.” she whimpered.

He grinned. “You’re pretty everywhere, sweetheart.” The pad of his thumb brushed over her clit hood, peeling it back. She fell back and gasped. He blew on the sensitive collection of nerve endings. “I don’t have to ask you if it feels good. I can taste how good you feel.” Another gasp from Julie as the tip of his tongue delved down into the source of her wetness again. He spread the slick over her walls with a slow and languid lick. All the way up to her clit.

“Fuck, Dean.”

He hummed against her, then spoke. “Eyes on me, baby. You’re going to miss the show.”

She sighed, trying to lift herself up on forearms and biceps that quaked in response to every little thing he was doing. “You’re going to kill me.”

A large hand wrapped around the thigh draped over his shoulder. A deep chuckle rattled her insides. “I’m being gentle on you.”

“This is you being gentle?” She licked her lips, unconsciously mimicking him.

“You ready?” He grinned.

“No.” She shook her head. “But, don’t stop.”

“Famous last words.” He kissed her clit and her body arched up, or at least tried to under his palm and forceful restraint. “Need to hear you, watch you come undone.”

She moaned and nodded. His lips closed over the bud and began to suck with a steady, unyielding pressure. He gazed up, his cheeks hollowing at his ministrations. “Yes, Dean.” She whispered. Then his tongue got in on the action, licking the nub as he sucked. He was plucking some invisible nerve. Her entire body ticked and jerked. “Fuck.” Her voice whined and rose higher.

He moaned in approval, eyes never leaving her face. Narrowing lids encouraged her to let go. She bucked under him but he held her tight in place.

“Oh, God, Dean. I’m- I’m…”

He tore his mouth from her. “Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say it.” He groaned. Her eyes widened as he walked his fingers along her folds, felt him circle one into her juices, and slathered her clit with the wetness. His thumb took over the assault. “Come on, baby.”

The ticking was back. “I’m gonna cum for you.”

He worked her faster. Her body tensed. He was on literal fire, his body so warm against her. She struggled to stare at him. His face full of lust and primal need, urging her to the edge with that commanding voice. “Yeah, that’s it. I wanna see how pretty you look when you cum for me. Gonna lick you clean. Come on, baby. All of it. Just for me.”

She whined, one last time. “Fuck!” Her brain snapped into a million pieces and a rush of electricity thundered through her entire body.

He moaned and let her ride out the wave, no longer torturing her clit. She watched, shuddering through the tension as he lapped at her release. “Hm. Taste so fucking good.”

She shivered. The inevitable over sensitivity washed over her. He sensed it. Of course he fucking did. Drew back on his knees, rocked up to stand, and then tumbled beside her on the bed. She tried to catch her breath.

He waited, perching himself on an elbow to stare down. He smiled.

“Jesus.” She managed.

“You really needed that.” He placed a hand on her hip. “And, I really liked that.”

Another shiver. “You can’t be real.”

“I’m misdirecting you with all my charm and expertise.” He shrugged.

She turned into him. Her eyes wandered over his chest and down to his jeans. The flap of his open zipper revealed some curly golden brown hair. His erection looked ready to spring out of the denim with the slightest shift of his body. She smiled. “Did you go commando?”

“I was washing Baby.” Another shrug. “Didn’t think I’d be here, doing this.” His brows raised. “Not that I’m at all complaining.”

Her hand rested on the dip in his side right above his hip. His skin shivered. “You’re going to be complaining if you don’t let me take care of that.” She nodded to his lap.

He sighed. “No time, sweetheart.” He sat up and groaned.

“Of course there’s time.” She rose as well.

“I told you. Not for what I want to do.” His fingers traveled through her hair. He kissed her soft and sweet. She moaned at the taste of herself on his lips. He smirked into the kiss and let his tongue slide into her open mouth. He pulled away and kissed her forehead. “Next time I cum, it’s going to be inside you. And, I’m taking my fucking time.”

His matter of fact statement made her blush. “Okay.” she replied.

He stood up and inspected her, zipping up his jeans in obvious discomfort. “What are you doing the rest of today? Besides staying home and thinking way too much?”

Being under his gaze, lying half naked, heated her up again. An attempt at some modesty had her cross legs and tug the sweater over hips. She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“This is probably a very bad idea. But, did you want to come with me?”

“To see Cas and Jack?”

He nodded and found his t-shirt on the floor. When his head poked through the neck of the shirt, he continued. “Jack and Cas are on speaking terms again.” Julie pondered whether actually speaking to Cas was a real possibility. “We were going to go to the festival in the city to celebrate.”

“Do you mean the Italian festival? St. Anthony’s?”

He nodded. “That’s right around your old stomping grounds, isn’t it?”

“Yep. God, I haven’t gone to that in ages.”

He smiled. “So, come along. Like I said, I’ll probably regret it. What with Cas… but, you can see what I have to deal with on a regular basis.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

She smiled. Real Dean. All the fucking points.

Part 15

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heartsofstrangers · 4 years

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What has been one of the most challenging things you’ve experienced or are currently experiencing?

“I’ve had some challenging times, but I think my current challenge is the most challenging in the sense that I’m the most conscious of it, I guess. I know that we’ve talked about this before, but I’m going to reiterate for the sake of the recorder. My youngest sister died in a car crash on Thanksgiving of last year, unexpectedly, obviously, and it was horrible and really tragic. She was super nice. Everyone loved her. She was super cool, a really awesome person. It definitely hit me pretty hard. I wouldn’t say that we were close enough to talk to each other every day, but I’ve known her since she was born and felt very close to her. I wanted to see her thrive and do well. I was happy to see how much she was thriving. She was 21 at the time, living her best life to the fullest, in a very inspirational way. Seeing that and seeing the reaction from her friends and family, and people who knew her, when we did her services. People from all areas of her life—people who knew her from school, from church, from work, or from wherever—everyone adored her, and everyone was so broken up. I’ve never been to a funeral for a tragic, untimely death like that, so it’s hard to compare. I’ve never been to an event like that where everyone was so visibly shaken and upset, everyone was bawling. It’s not like that when someone’s grandparent dies or the typical death events that we go to. In such a short time, she touched so many peoples’ lives and everyone had nothing but good things to say about her and it made me think about my own life. I thought, ‘If I died right now, I wouldn’t get this kind of response and if I died at 21, even less so.’ I didn’t seize my life in the same way she did.

“My sister was very open and genuine with people. I think people like me fine, but I didn’t have the type of bonds that she had with people where they would go to bat for her without even thinking about it. It was especially tragic because she had a pretty tough upbringing. She’s my half-sister and we share a mother who is a drug addict. I feel like she will always be a drug addict. I don’t know what her current status is—I don’t really keep up with her. I don’t think she’s on drugs at the moment, but could be any day, and has been basically my entire life that I can remember. My sister was in and out of foster care when she was younger and had to deal with that and had to deal with our mom’s issues. I think her dad had a drug problem as well early on in her life, but he got clean and has stayed clean, and he became very active in the church and the church sort of helped bring her up.

“At the age of 21, she had her shit together emotionally in a way that was so impressive, considering the life she had to live early on. I feel that I have a lot of unresolved emotional issues because of my own early life. That’s why I say her life was inspirational to me, in the sense that she was the little sister, but she was coping with it and had dealt with it in a way that was impressive. It made me think, ‘Wow, I’m not living my life like that and I haven’t lived my life like that,’ and it made me face a lot of those things head on that I had pushed off for as long as I can remember. I remember when I was younger and dealing with my parents’ divorce. I didn’t really know what was going on with my mom. I don’t know when it became apparent that she was a drug addict, but I eventually figured it out. They tried to hide it from me to some extent. I have weird memories of being places that I know realize were crack houses when I was younger. There were times when my mom said she lost something, but she definitely pawned it for drug money. Things like that. I started to connect the dots later. From a very early age I stopped visiting my mom. Whenever I was able to make the decision to end the court-ordered visitation, I did. I cut that out as best as I could because I was pissed off, but I didn’t understand it at the time that I was pissed off as a little kid.

“I had stability in a sense. I always had a place to live and I wasn’t hungry. My dad and grandma did a pretty good job keeping everything together from that standpoint, but from an emotional support standpoint, they didn’t really. I didn’t really seek it out, but at the same time, I was 10, 11, or 12 years old. I had no idea and I had to deal with something I couldn’t understand. I closed it all off; that was my solution at the time because I didn’t know what I was feeling and no one was helping me understand what I was feeling. That turned me into an angsty teenager, a little trouble-making here and there, but I was always a good student so I never really got into serious trouble. You’ll get a lot of passes when you get good grades, even when you get in trouble with the cops for skateboarding, egging cars, or whatever, shit like that. I was always like, ‘Well, I’m doing good in school, what do you want from me?’ That was how I dealt with it. By closing it off, it impacted not only relationships with my family, but with every friendship/relationship I had, including now. I was never emotionally close with any of my friends. I was always the jokester kind of guy. I never understood the male bonding thing. I never told my friends that I was feeling upset or whatever. Everything was either cool or I would be angry about something, but wouldn’t say anything. I would just say everything is fine or, if it wasn’t fine, I would just pretend that it was fine. I didn’t even understand it at the time; this is all of my understanding in retrospect. That was how I felt about stuff—yeah, dude, my mom is a drug addict, my parents got divorced, I don’t even care. That was how I made it seem.

“Now that I’m a grownup, I realize there’s no way that stuff can happen to you as a kid and just be cool with it. Because I never dealt with it and closed it off, I didn’t even realize until now. I’m starting to realize that I didn’t face any of that stuff. It affected all my friendships, relationships, and my behaviors. It impacted me in super deep ways. My parents got divorced when I was 6 or 7. I don’t really remember; that was the history I was told. I have these random memories of traumatic shit happening. If I can remember something like that and have it stuck in my mind from such a young age, obviously there’s something from that happening. Who knows all of the stuff I don’t remember? It’s in here somewhere affecting me somehow, which is something I started to realize. It’s just not healthy to keep all that stuff inside.

“It’s weird, I had a funny moment; I guess I can say it’s funny now. After my sister died, the family was all getting together. Everyone on my mom’s side was getting together about a month or two after. It was my mom’s step-sister, I guess my aunt, she was around when we were younger. She was telling some story about back in the day. My mom’s family is pretty open about my mom being a fuck-up; they even joke about it to some extent. How else can you handle it? They keep her around, people are nice to her, and they like to see her doing well, but she’s definitely run out of favors from most of that side of the family. They still have her around, but they won’t let her borrow money, but they want to see her doing well. There are jokes here and there about her being the family fuck-up. My aunt was telling some story and she said, ‘I was arguing with your mom one time, and I can’t remember exactly, but I threw a can of soup and hit someone in the head, blah, blah, blah,’ and I said that was me who got hit in the head. I could not have told you that story, but when I heard it, that memory slammed back into my head. Oh shit, that was me. I got hit in the head with a can. I was probably about 10 years old. It made me realize, damn, how many other traumatic events are in there somewhere that I don’t consciously remember, but something can bring them out like that. Who knows how they’ve been guiding me unconsciously my whole life?

“I said I was going to give a brief background, but it wasn’t that brief. I repressed all that stuff and never dealt with it. I never reached out to people. I never sought support from friends. I never did any of that. I wouldn’t say I’m particularly close with any of my friends on an emotional level. It’s like we’re cool, we go out and play video games, crack jokes, or drink beers but it’s never like, ‘How’ve you been, bro?’ I’m like, “Yeah, I’m good, everything’s chill,” or give some bullshit office answer like ‘living the dream, man’—whatever. It now occurs to me that most people don’t operate like that with their friends. A lot of people share stuff with their friends, and it seemed like my take on it was it’s kind of embarrassing to share your shit with people, but then you realize everyone has shit, so there’s nothing embarrassing about it and it actually brings you closer because it shows that vulnerable side of you to tell a friend ‘no, I’m not doing well.’

“Annabelle died on Thanksgiving, and since then, there were definitely some dark times. Like, oh shit, I can’t believe that happened; it’s so horrible. I miss her. I regret not seeing her more and talking to her more. All those feelings wrapped up, and then I turned inward about it. I started going to therapy, which I had tried on and off over the years. It never worked well for me because I was basically lying to the therapist, not telling him how I really felt, or that whole being vulnerable and letting yourself say that you’re not okay was not something that I did, even in the confines of a therapist’s office. I would just give some bullshit like ‘today was tough because I was stressed about work.’ It’s one of those things you can only get out of it what you put into it. A therapist isn’t going to help you if you don’t tell him what’s really going on. So, I told myself this time I’m going to a therapist and I’m not going to lie, which has been my rule and I’ve been doing well with it, I’d say.

“My challenge now is confronting all that stuff. I concluded with my therapist after telling her about how I’ve felt over the past several years, how I used to be really into making music and I stopped doing that because it wasn’t bringing me any joy, really nothing was bringing me any joy, and this was even leading up to Annabelle. I felt like all of that repressed stuff had started to manifest in me being super depressed, but not outwardly or in a way anyone would notice. That’s a whole other question about people don’t really know what depression looks like, I guess. That’s just how I felt inside and nothing really made me happy. I was distracting myself with bullshit stuff like playing videogames, going out partying, and blah, blah, blah, anything to not have to deal with the fact that I was feeling super shitty and not enthused about life at all. Nothing brought me joy and I didn’t really feel like doing anything. I felt like my ideal activity after coming home from work would be to press a button in a videogame and skip to the next day so I didn’t have to live out the next seven or so hours before I went to sleep. I didn’t want to do anything. I’d rather just go to sleep, wake up, and go to work the next day. It was so gradual that it became normal after a while and I didn’t even question it.

“This came at an age, a couple of years ago when I turned 30, and it was like, ‘oh, maybe this is adulthood, you run out of exciting things to look forward to.’ I was done with college, I lived out my twenties, I have a stable career, and now life is just boring. That also kind of threw me off the scent, I guess you could say. I thought that was just part of life. It turns out that a lot of people over thirty are psyched every day to live their life. They do things that make them happy and they get joy from hobbies and friends. I explained this to my therapist and she said, ‘Dude, you’re depressed,’ and I was like, ‘Oh, shit, maybe you’re right.’ It kind of clicked for me. I’ve read a lot about it, you hear about it in music, and I have friends who deal with depression, but I was like ‘no, that’s not me,’ but it turned out that it was me and it wasn’t like it was new or because of Annabelle dying.

“Looking back, I had probably been depressed for years to various degrees, and I finally am doing something about it. My therapist and I were talking about it and she said that I need to make some changes in my life. I need to deal with issues that I have. I need to work on growing my friendships and relationships with my family. I didn’t feel like doing any of that because I just felt like going to sleep. My therapist suggested trying a medication and got me on one. I’m relatively new to the antidepressant game; it’s been about a month or so. I feel some sort of change, but now I have to do the work. She said now I have to do the work, but if I don’t feel like doing the work, then we have to address that first and get into a place where I have enough energy to face this stuff. I’m on the first step of trying to deal with this stuff and it’s not like Step 1 is this and Step 2 is that—who the hell knows? There are so many moving pieces I have to address. Some of the work is internal and some of the work is external in terms of my relationships. I’ve been trying to have more substantial or open conversations with my friends about stuff, saying ‘I’m dealing with this thing right now.’

“Annabelle’s services were a big step in making me feel this was okay. A couple of my friends went to the wake in Massachusetts. Some of them lived in New York and Connecticut, and they all pulled it together and came. It was super duper nice of them. It was awesome to see them supporting me and I was bawling my eyes out that entire night. Being in that position when I had always been embarrassed about opening up to my friends, but in that moment, embarrassment was not even a thought because I was so consumed with the pain of losing Annabelle. When you have an experience like that where all your good friends travel to support you in a time of need and they saw you crying your eyes out, I feel pretty okay telling them I’m having a bad day at this point because they’ve seen as bad as it can get for me. If you would have told me those people were coming for me, I was surprised honestly because I’ve always kept an emotional distance from my friends. I didn’t think they cared enough about me to come for that. It was surprising and touching. It made me value those relationships more. Part of me always felt that relationships were sort of interchangeable when I was growing up; you could change out one friend for another. They were just people you did activities with. There really wasn’t a bond there because I never made an effort to form those bonds; but I got a little older and this experience made me think, ‘Wow, these people actually care about me.’ I guess a lot of it comes back to my never really wanting to let people care about me because in my mind . . . I had a cynical point of view. I thought that people were self-interested and if I let someone care about me, it’s only a matter of time before they say, ‘Now I need to care about something else’ or ‘I’m going to care about myself.’ It’s almost as if you give someone the power over you to put your trust in them, you’re almost setting yourself up for disappointment. It sounds cliché. But, when one of the main people in your life, like a parent, doesn’t care—I wouldn’t say my mom doesn’t care about me, but she wasn’t there for all those years, so it kind of warped my view of relationships and made me distrustful of people. It was amazing that all those people came, and we went out to dinner afterward. Everything was cool and people were super supportive.

“For the past couple of months I’ve been trying to be more open with people and expand those relationships, add some depth to those relationships, accept that those people are important and they care about me and I care about them. That’s a totally normal thing and it’s fine. That’s one of the many steps I need to take, and it’s one relationship at a time, one conversation at a time. I can’t be ‘oh, hey friend, just so you know, we’re super close now because I feel emotionally vulnerable, so it’s all good.’ You have to build that, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Even with new friends, I’m trying harder to be myself and be open with people. I think over the years, I kind of adapted this sort of chameleon personality where I could be whatever I needed to be in the moment, and I wasn’t always being true to myself. It was uncomfortable for me and it was very emotionally and mentally exhausting for me to live that way. It also gave people a misconception of who I was and it led me to be friends with people I shouldn’t have really been friends with because sometimes I thought, ’I don’t really like that person, but I can act a certain way, so that they would like me, so I’m going to do that.’ Just because I like being liked or I liked being cordial and playing the social game. To some extent, you have to do that, but not when it comes to actual friends. There’s one woman at my last job when I lived in New York, she was a super big Yankees fan. I don’t give a shit about baseball, but I started keeping up with the Yankees just so I could chat with this lady in the office. I couldn’t say why. I could have said I’m not into baseball and we could find something else to connect on. We’re not the type of people who are going to chit chat about baseball because I’m just not into it, but that’s just some shit that I would do, or that’s what I used to do. I would try to figure out what people wanted and would be that. So, now I’m trying harder to be myself, and if people like that, that’s cool. I may have fewer relationships, but the ones I do develop should theoretically be better because it’s the real me, and they’re saying they like the real me. I’m being the real me, everything’s cool, and everyone likes that. Using that same mentality to expand my existing relationships is one of the challenges now. I’m trying to re-establish myself and re-establish my relationships, and figure out a vision for my life, because I’ve sort of been coasting for the past couple of years because I was super depressed.

“Annabelle’s death opened up a whole can of worms in terms of my own personal stuff I had never dealt with. There’s a little bit of embarrassment and shame in being behind the curve. I don’t even know if that’s true or not, but I feel like being 30 and ‘I’m trying to find myself’ is lame. That’s what your younger years are for, to build yourself up like that and figure out who you are, what you want, and what you want to do. So, doing that now is a little embarrassing, but it’s what I need. Some people never do it, or do it later than I am now, so it’s not that bad. The only alternative would be to not do it at all, which would be horrible because I couldn’t imagine another 50 years living in the condition that I’m in now. That would be miserable. Yeah, I think that’s my challenge now.

“Part of the reason I’m doing this is that I feel like I need to, not necessarily to apologize, but to give an explanation. A lot of my friends know my history, but I’ve brushed it off, saying ‘yeah, I’m the one with the drug addict mom, it’s not a big deal,’ but it formed me. It made me the way I am in very deep ways, and not necessarily that, but the fact that I never dealt with it is even more crucial to developing who I am and how I am. I want people who are close to me and who know me to get this information and not to sit everyone down individually and say, ‘I’ve been dealing with some stuff for a real long time, were talking like decades.’ It’s gone through various iterations like denial and whatever, acting out, and all of these things, like distracting myself and everything except dealing with it. I just want people to know I care about the people in my life, and any distance they’ve felt from me over the years wasn’t personal; it was all about me and how I am and how I feel with the discomfort of sharing myself with other people. Hopefully, it helps people get some insight into how I am and who I am, and why are friendships are the way they are, but I promise I’m going to be cool now and we can talk about feelings, and it’s fine.”

Tell me a little bit more about growing up with your mother. You mentioned that, in hindsight, there are probably some traumatic experiences that haven’t surfaced yet, some things that have, and there are probably some obvious signs that she was an addict. I’m curious about what, on a day-to-day basis, that looked and felt like for you as a child.

“I don’t really remember a time where everything was all good in the house. I have vague memories of my mom being around when I was in kindergarten, but I think early on, when I was 7, 8, and 9, a lot of that stuff was hidden from me. I was told that my parents were going through a divorce and I remember arguments and fights, but really never understood why or what was going on.

“I remember going to sketchy places and meeting sketchy people. There’s this one story that I always remember. I was in fifth grade and my elementary school does a trip to Old Sturbridge Village, this little tiny village in Massachusetts. It’s one of our first out-of-state trips and we take the nice bus. I remember I had a Sony Walkman and the cool thing to do was to have your CD and Walkman and listen to it on the bus. I was looking forward to that. I was so psyched about my Sony Walkman, it was red, or Discman, whatever the CD one was. I remember that it was red with gray accent features, and I was super psyched about it. I brought it, however old a fifth grader kid is, wherever I went, whether I was sitting in the car and listening to it. I remember I went to visit my mom (she lived on Edgar Street in New Haven), which is kind of a sus area. I was listening to it there that weekend. I had to visit my mom that weekend and then Monday we were going on the trip. My dad picked me up and Monday rolls around and I remember I couldn’t find my Discman. I was looking for it and I was like ‘what the hell, I need to bring it on the trip.’ All the cool kids are going to be listening to their CD players on the bus, it’s an hour and a half ride. I told my father that I thought I left it at my mom’s house and I made my dad take me there early in the morning before school. He went up to get it and he came back and said that she let her friend borrow it and she doesn’t have it. I told him that I wanted to go to the friend’s house to get it and he said, ‘No, we can’t, we can’t.’ Like I said earlier and alluded to, she pawned it. When you’re a drug addict and happen to find an electronic in your house, that’s the first thing you’re going to do. It’s weird to me. I can’t tell you any other single, individual story from fifth grade, but that story stands out to me.

“There was a lot of stuff like that. She would come over and ask us if we had any birthday or Christmas money that she could borrow, just weird stuff like that. What I remember most is a lot of individual events that happened like that during that time. Some I remember and some I don’t, but what I remember is the way that I felt back then. Once you start going to school and meeting other kids and families, it was clear to me that something was ‘wrong’ with my family. My mom wasn’t around, and especially because, for the most part, it was peoples’ moms who were picking them up from school, going to PTA things, or chaperoning trips, and it was always my dad who did it, which seemed weird at the time. A single dad was uncommon at that time, and still is to some extent. I asked myself why everyone else’s mom was there, but mine wasn’t. I had a feeling that something about my situation was off and I just remember feeling that way. It became more apparent to me the more socialized I got and the more I got out into the world as a child, and realized this isn’t normal.

“Honestly, in retrospect it seems so obvious, but I did not connect the dots on this until literally about five years ago. We had DARE in elementary school—it was the drug education program for kids. The cops would come and teach us why drugs are bad and we had to write an essay about why drugs are bad (something like that) in fifth grade. I wrote about my mom because that was my experience: this is why drugs are bad—it fucks your family up, or whatever my fifth-grade self had to say about it—and I won the essay contest. I got a stuffed DARE lion as my prize, which was pretty cool. I think I still have it. Two years later, my sister who is two years younger than me and went to the same school, presumably wrote about the same thing for the same contest, and she also won it. I thought we must be really great essay writers. At some point when I was in my twenties I realized the reason we won was because the adults reading these essays thought, ‘Oh shit, these two kids have a drug-addicted mom, let’s give them a win.’ It wasn’t just a coincidence that we both won. Not that other families couldn’t have been impacted by drugs, but I feel it wasn’t the norm, and we may have been the only ones who wrote a personal story like that. Other kids might have written about what they learned about in DARE, but I wrote about why drugs are bad and here’s a story about my mom. It literally just connected to me a couple of years ago that we both probably won because people felt bad for us.”

Was that essay something that was shared with your peers?

“I don’t remember, but I don’t think so. I think it was submitted and the teachers read it. I don’t know, but it might have gotten published in a booklet afterward; they may have picked the best ones. If it was, I definitely don’t remember it happening and or remember feeling any type of way about people hearing about it. I never thought about it, actually.”

Even just to write about it for whatever the purpose the contest was around is a pretty courageous thing to do, to expose people to that part of your life, which is often a source of shame and fear for many. If your peers did discover it, that may have garnered more respect for you or brought some awareness to that.

“Fifth-graders can be little assholes, so they would have probably been ‘ha, ha, your mom’s a drug addict!’ Who knows? I don’t remember getting picked on. A lot of my friends who were close to me from my home town, over the years, had come to know about it. If you stick around long enough, something’s going to come up where it’s relevant, but I never told anyone specifically because I wanted them to know. It would just happen to come up the longer people stuck around.

“When I was in high school, my mom was a waitress at Duchess Diner in West Haven, and she said, ‘You and your friends should come in.’ There were various times throughout my younger life when I tried to be cool with my mom here and there; it would be a couple of months, or a year, and then I would pull back for a year. This was one of those times where I gave it a shot, and we would go and she would give us some free food.

“My mom has a history of suicide attempts, and I remember there was a time when I was at the diner with my friends and she was serving our food to us and, as she was handing us our plates with her wrists exposed under her arms, you could see scars. I remember the feeling ‘man, all my friends are clearly noticing this now.’ It’s one thing to say ‘oh, yeah, my mom was a drug addict back in the day’ and they had a vague understanding of that, but now she was serving us food with her suicide scars all up in our faces. I think that was probably the last time I went there with them. That’s another weird random story that I remember too.

“My friends in college where you have those drunken nights, when you meet people later in life, you kind of give them the rundown on where you came from and blah, blah, blah. I told some friends I got close to in college directly about it, when they asked, ‘So, where you from?’ conversations that happened over the years. It’s not like I necessarily hid it from people per say but, to my earlier point, I would tell them about it and then say, ‘She sucks—it’s no big deal.’

Speaking of suicides, someone like you who has experienced depression and not really even recognized it, did you ever find yourself at such low points where you had given up hope that things would get any better or considered taking your own life?

“Thankfully, I haven’t. The farthest I’d say it’s gone is that I didn’t want to live that day, not trying for that day, or I just wanted to skip that day. Like I said earlier, I would come home from work and say, ‘I did my duty for the day. Can I just wake up tomorrow and not have to live these hours?’ There have definitely been experiences of my not wanting to live through a particular span of time, but it never crossed my mind to just totally end it, luckily. I could see how those thoughts could creep in, especially if it happens gradually. You could start thinking those things and not even realize what’s going on, but luckily it has never gotten that bad. I’m thankful for that.”

What were some of your coping skills during the times where you were at some of your lowest points? You mentioned sleeping.

“Sleeping, smoking weed, just kind of distraction, pretty much. I would get stoned, play videogames, or take naps, try to hang out with people. I never wanted to be necessarily be by myself and be sober minded. In those moments, my thoughts would go places that I did not want them to go, and I felt I was pushed to deal with or think about those things. I would just get high, play videogames, and would get so consumed with external stimuli that I wouldn’t have to worry about that stuff. Distraction was definitely my number one coping mechanism for as long as I can remember.

“Even when I was younger, in high school, I was always doing stuff. Every day, I would come home from school and then I’d go skateboarding with my friends. I was surrounded by people all the time. In my college years, I partied a bunch. I lived with roommates all the time. In the summers, between college semesters when I would come back home, my house turned into the hangout spot. I would literally have ten-plus people over every night and we would drink and smoke, hang out, listen to music, and play games. I would constantly surround myself with people. I think, in looking back, when I started to turn a page and actually felt depressed and didn’t want to be around people so much, I told myself, ‘Maybe I’m just an introverted person’ and that’s when I said, ‘Yeah, I’m an introvert, I’ve figured it out.’ But that didn’t really jibe with my history because I like being around people and I like social activities. There were definitely days when I was feeling down and wanted to get together with some people and that would bring my energy up. That’s the opposite of an introverted mentality where you think ‘I need to be by myself to recharge.’

“Now, looking back, I wonder if I realized I was an introvert, or was that when I started to feel the feelings of depression starting to happen because I went from always wanting to be around people, which was bad in its own right because it was my coping mechanism to distract myself, to wanting to be by myself, but now I’m not distracted by people so I need to get high and do other stuff by myself that would occupy my mind.”

Did you have any friends or people who are close to you who reached out in a suggestive way that maybe you’re not okay and they were trying to offer you help?

“No, never ever, and I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault other than my own. I think I did a very good job of hiding it. When I was with people, I would be my normal self. I had some friends, when I said that I didn’t want to hang out, they were a little more pushy. I could be convinced at times, and I don’t know if that’s because they sensed something or if that’s just how they are and they really wanted me to come hang out with them. I don’t know if they necessarily consciously felt that I needed it. I think my persona that I put forth all the time was that everything was always cool and everything’s fine. If I didn’t want to hang out, I would make up a good enough reason where it didn’t seem suspicious. I wouldn’t say, ‘I’m not feeling well’ or ‘I’m not in the mood.’ I would say, ‘I’m doing this or I’m doing that’ so it never set off any alarms for anyone when there was that shift. It also came with college ending too. Relationships and dynamics started to change at the point where you’re not seeing people all the time. People are starting to go their separate ways, and that facilitated my being able to pull back. It was good timing to do it in a way that didn’t seem suspicious to anyone paying attention.”

Now, where you are today? What do your coping skills look like? How are you finding that balance between being social and also honoring your own space and time to yourself?

“That is tough. I’m trying to give myself time by myself to just sit and reflect, and also to kind of dive back into the things I got joy and satisfaction out of, like working on music, playing ultimate Frisbee, riding my bike, things like that. I’m trying to be more active in a way I feel is productive for me as a person, because it’s very easy for me to say I don’t feel like doing anything and I’ll try tomorrow, or just do nothing. I’m trying to get back into the things I feel satisfy me, make me feel fulfilled, and help me grow and learn. Therapy is helping a lot. I also make time to reflect on therapy: What did I say last week? What do I want to talk about next week? How do I feel about this? I feel like it would be very easy to fill up my whole schedule with ‘stuff’ from session to session, with no growth in between.

“When I used to take guitar lessons, my teacher would say that I couldn’t not practice between this lesson and the next, or I’d never get better. So, when you’re not here with me, you need to be doing work on your own and I thought ‘yeah, you’re right’ and that’s what I started to do, and I’m taking the same sort of approach with therapy and making sure I have time to myself to sit and think, even though it’s unbearably boring at times or scary too because what if I sit and think and don’t come up with the answer? I’m thinking through things that are uncomfortable or reaching conclusions that are uncomfortable, but I’m trying to train myself. I guess productivity is my main goal in terms of facilitating my own personal growth. Not to say that I’m perfect—I’m still distracting myself to some extent, but I’m trying to be more conscious of it. I ask myself, ‘Am I doing this activity right now because it brings me joy and because I want to do it, or am I doing it because I’m avoiding having to deal with myself?’ I’m kind of checking myself every step of the way, which has been helping. I’m really investing in time and reflecting on my own growth and getting back into the things I love, and this has been helpful. It’s not like you can just flip a switch, so it’s been tough. Every day, I have to convince myself that I have to try today.”

What has the process of losing Annabelle taught you about grief?

“I’ve never felt anything like it. My grandma died a year before that. She was sick towards the end of her life and she was very old (in her nineties). My primary feeling when she died was relief that she wasn’t suffering anymore. She had had a good run. We all loved and appreciated what she gave to us and her time came to an end.

“The first couple of weeks after Annabelle died, I was consumed; it was all I could think about. All the different things, like I said earlier, regretting not being there for her more, talking to her more, thinking about her last moments, and what were those like. Thinking ‘man, she woke up that day, not knowing that that was going to be her last day.’ That got me to thinking ‘today might be my last day and not even know it.’ All these thoughts I would never think were consuming me for a while. Early on, I got a lot of support from friends and family reaching out, and it was good during that time when all those thoughts were consuming me, but then you realize all that stuff goes away after a while, which is natural. There are still some people who would check in once in a while. That first couple of weeks were a whirlwind, and now it’s sort of something that just sits with me all the time. In some ways, it’s good. I feel that’s my motivation to better myself and I think, ‘I need to be more like Annabelle.’ That��s kind of what I lean back on, and it’s helped me in that sense. I guess I didn’t expect for it to be so long-lasting and so intense early on. I’m not the type of person that cries ever, but I could not help but cry at so many different points; it would just happen. It brought me closer to my family, to some extent, at least on that side. I have another half-sister, who is Annabelle’s whole sister – it made me want to cherish that relationship more in an active way, and be more a part of her life. The intensity and length of time that it stays with you, and then how it has morphed now, it’s sad, but the last gift to me, was to make me a better person in her honor. I didn’t really expect to have it stick with me.

“I still think about Annabelle and how cool she was, and I need to be as cool as she was—the lasting feeling I’m trying to hold onto. I’ve never felt anything as intense as that feeling, whether good or bad. It was an experience and it kind of shocked the system at the right time because I had become numb or indifferent to everything. I didn’t really feel happy or sad about anything that was going on and it made me say, “Wow, there are some things that can happen to you, no matter how down you are, that you can’t help but feel to the fullest.’ I realized that I wasn’t a total robot, I could feel this, and it was horrible. Even during those times that I didn’t try to socialize much, I tried to spend a lot of time in solitude because I didn’t want to distract myself and remember thinking that I felt sad, and I didn’t want to take my mind off it, even when someone would ask me to go out for a drink or do something. I wanted to feel super sad about this because it was something I should feel super sad about, and she deserves to have me feel super sad about it. I didn’t want to distract myself from that feeling. I wanted to own it, understand it, and feel it to the fullest. It was very complex, I’d say. I was not well equipped. I hadn’t dealt with a death in that way before. It was intense.

It sounds like it opened the door for you to feel lots of difficult emotions you had been holding onto for years, and it also prepared you to begin dealing with them.

“Yeah, I think that’s true. Like I said, openly crying and having people see that, people reaching out to me and telling them that I felt awful in a way that I felt was justified or understandable. Prior to this, I felt embarrassed to say I was having a bad day, I felt sad, I’m having doubts about my career, or any normal thing that people associated with negative feelings. But this was one thing—who would judge me for being sad about my sister dying in a car crash? It was something beyond reproach, so I could use it as a springboard to open up about other stuff and understand that people are generally sympathetic to other people’s struggles, and I should use it on a smaller scale, and it’s not something as tragic.”

Have you found that being honest with people they are then open to be vulnerable and open with you?

“I think so. I think I’ve experienced that. I’ve had some conversations with people that I think I was not capable of having a year ago, or even eight or six months ago. I think it does set the tone when you’re able to be that way. When you’re closed off, other people will be closed off with you, because no one wants to be the only person being vulnerable. I think I have experienced that in more than one conversation with friends. That’s been positive reinforcement. It makes me feel like people aren’t going to be, ‘oh, you’re sad, you suck.’ I had this absurd, hypothetical, irrational fear about opening up and that people would be judgmental about it. However, most people say, ‘I totally get it, I also feel that way, or I feel a different way, but it’s also not great for me.’ People feel a lot better about opening up when you open up yourself. I’ve noticed that and it was surprising. It seems obvious in retrospect, and it’s a lesson a lot of people learn at a much earlier age, but I was like, ‘Wow, that’s kind of cool.’”

Out of the years of burying your feelings, distracting yourself from them, locking them away, and having this experience of losing Annabelle opening the floodgates for you to start processing all that and integrating parts of yourself into a more authentic, vulnerable, true self, what’s the takeaway from all this? What’s one of the more valuable things you’re gaining from this?

“I think it’s moving forward, I don’t have to learn how to just deal with my past, I have to learn how to deal with things as they come now. There are going to be more challenging things in my life. There will be things that are emotionally difficult. I’ve seen what happens if you don’t deal with them, and it can affect you in ways you don’t even understand. The lesson here is, step one, I have to reconcile my past for myself, but step two is I have to learn how to develop those skills to deal with things now as they happen. My biggest takeaway is to trust my feelings more and, if I do feel bad about something, I have to say it, deal with it, and, if I need support from people, I need to reach out to them and ask for it. I don’t want to be having this same conversation in ten years and be like, ‘Man, my thirties were real tough, I did that whole thing and dealt with my childhood, but then I didn’t develop the skills to deal with things so now I’m dealing with everything retroactively.’ I need to learn to deal with things as they happen.”

What advice would you offer to someone who could relate to either your experiences or the feelings that you expressed?

“Primarily, don’t be afraid to ask other people for help. I know that sounds obvious and is something repeated often, but I think a lot of my stuff came from my thinking over the years, ‘I can handle it, I can deal with it.’ Either I would be in denial about it or I would convince myself that I was ‘fine’ and I dealt with it myself; however, denying it or repressing it is not dealing with it. Relationships are fundamental to the human experience. So, use them to grow and let people care for you, which is a lot easier said than done. It’s okay to ask people to help you out or just to give an ear to talk through stuff. I used to think that was ridiculous, like ‘why? I don’t want to hear about your problems.’ My not knowing how to let someone be a good friend to me also prevented me from being a good friend to them. I would say you have to learn to understand your own feelings and know when you need help from someone, and that’s tough. You have to get to know yourself, what your baseline is, and what you’re feeling, and there are so many different layers to it.

“If you would have asked me ten years ago how I felt about something, I would have given you an answer, but that would have been a surface answer that I convinced myself of internally, and I didn’t even understand that I had been adding these layers of denial and diffusion on top of my actual core feelings. You have to figure out how to get to your own core feelings about stuff.”

Do you have a favorite quote, mantra, song lyric, or something poignant that someone said to you that sticks with you that you’d like to share?

“Nothing is coming to mind, but let me think on that. I feel like I often get attached to song lyrics in various points or moments in my life and I think ‘I can relate to that’ and that’s my thing for the day, the week, or whatever.

“I have been listening to a lot of depressing music lately. I’ve been diving into it. I like that there’s a movement now to untangle the stigma with mental health and stuff like that, because it has been comforting to me to listening to artists who specifically talk about struggling with depression itself. It’s weird, out of context of the song, it’s not a particularly poignant lyric, but there is this rapper Saba, who has a song, “Care for Me,” which makes sense to what I was saying. One of the lyrics in the first verse of the song says, ‘I don’t know how long I’ve had depression.’ That kind of hit me when I heard it, because my therapist told me I probably have it, and I’ve been taking medication for the past month or two since I came to the conclusion that I had it, but I don’t know how long I’ve had it because it became part of my normal. I don’t know when it happened, and it makes me question how much of my behavior, my decision making, my lifestyle, and other stuff has been impacted by this force within me that I didn’t understand. I never really thought about it that way. It was nice to accept that I’m dealing with it now. In saying I don’t know how long I’ve had it is kind of a scary thought to think about.”

Yeah, I can relate. My mother used to refer to me as a child as I was growing up that I was always kind of Eeyore-ish.

“Wow, that’s harsh.”

I can remember that my sisters and I each got a Care Bear that somehow resembled our personality and character, and I got Cloudy.

“Damn . . . Wow!”

Yeah. Who knows how far back it goes? I think the context of what you’re experiencing at any given point in time in your life says a lot about your depression and it was probably a very normal reaction to the environment you were in and the situations you were dealing with.

“Yeah. All those years I spent distracting myself it could have been there and I wasn’t feeling it because my compulsion to distract myself came from that. It’s scary to think about.”

Do you think that by sharing these thoughts, experiences, and feelings with me today you could potentially help inspire somebody else or give them hope that they’re not alone?

“That’s my hope. When I hear musicians and artists talk about their struggles, it makes me feel that there are other people out there who are experiencing what I’m experiencing, to some extent. We see it in art and media, but in this format, maybe less so. There’s no art behind it; it’s just a conversation. I’ve seen people post about their mental health struggles on social media and I would feel like it was TMI, but part of me was envious, thinking ‘they’re really just putting it all out there.’ Hopefully, it does make someone else maybe realize that they’re dealing with something, or if they already realize it, they’re okay with accepting it and even letting other people know about it. I hope so; I’m doing my small part. I think everyone should be more open about this stuff. I can be one more person throwing my hat in the ring:‘Yep, I’m in this thing, too.’ Maybe it will make someone else feel more comfortable. Who knows? I hope your whole project has that effect.”

I hope so. It’s my way of throwing my hat in the ring, saying this is where I am, this is who I am, and I’m trying to use whatever resources I have to bring other people to the table, as well. How has it felt to talk about these experiences and feelings?

“Relieving, I think. Even accepting that there was something I was dealing with and saying it out loud to myself was a relief. Saying it to someone else is a continuation of that. Yeah, it feels good. I think it may have to do with being a little older, seeing it more prevalent in society, and having this horrible thing happen in my life with Annabelle, the fear of being judged for putting this stuff out has kind of fallen by the wayside. It’s become more important to me to get my authentic self out there. I feel relieved and sort of excited about it. It feels like it’s a first step to a new journey to accept this stuff and put it out there. It feels good.”

Nice. Thank you.

“I appreciate your giving me the opportunity too, because we kind of know each other, but not super well, right? So, it’s sort of like the stranger-on-the-airplane effect going on here where I probably wouldn’t have this conversation with a good friend of mine just yet, but with someone who I kind of know and trust, based on just vibes alone. It was a lot easier to get it all out than with someone where maybe the stakes were higher. I don’t get the impression that you’re particularly judgmental, but even if you are and you never want to talk to me again, no offense, it doesn’t really matter because we’re not great friends. It’s a little easier.”

What did make you feel safe in doing this?

“I think it was the fact that you’re so open on social media about your stuff, which is good because it goes back to our conversation about people being more apt to being vulnerable when someone else is being vulnerable. I know that you kind of shamelessly put yourself out there. Maybe people do judge you, but it seems like you’ve accepted that and dealt with it in your own way. I thought ‘Man, he’s putting his own shit out there, so why would he judge me for telling him my shit?’ I think you’re a good front man for this project. You have that outward persona of openness and vulnerability in sharing. I’m sure a lot of people who you’ve talked to felt comfortable with you for that reason. If you had a guarded personality yourself, I think it would be a lot harder.

I agree. Thanks.

“Thank you, man.”

#grief #recovery #depression #mentalhealth #vulerability #courage #connection #heartsofstrangers

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ashketchup119 · 3 years

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A Stroll Through The Woods

Half vent piece, half me being in love with nature, this story kinda forced itself out of my soul. It’s a companion to another story I’ll be posting, and my first foray into purposeful word choice.

TW: misgendering, discussions about death and dying

“The weather’s supposed to be nice tomorrow.” One of Benji’s professors had said yesterday. He’d ignored it at the time; his brain was stuck in a seemingly endless loop of depression and negativity, and didn’t have space for “nice weather tomorrow.”

However, as he stared out the living room window (which led to the very scenic view of an alleyway), he wondered if going outside might improve his mood. The sun had already proven a remedy to most of his depressive funks, and he was tired of sitting down, moping, and doing homework.

Benji was going to take a walk.

After he made food, of course.

Two enchiladas and a cup of root beer later, he was leaving the dorm, nervous to be outside for the first time in over a year without his hoodie on. His hoodie hid the unwelcome swell of his chest, which would’ve been optimal for the impromptu hike he was sure to end up taking. There was a river trail near and who was Benji but an adventurer willing to brave every trail to see a creek?

He resolved to take the walk slow, and use the elevators instead of the stairs. His ankle pain had resurfaced recently and his chest binder was making itself known in a soft push against his sternum when he attempted to breathe deeply, and he wanted this walk to last.

He walked the route his friend has shown him the first time they’d needed to walk through the woods to get to some pizza place on the other side. Now, though, he took a different path, one that sloped off the main route through the forest. He knew the trail was around this area, but was content to wander until it showed itself.

Benji smiled as he remembered the last time he’d done this. His friend, Layla, and him had decided to attempt to find a lake frozen by the winds of winter’s second snow, and while they’d found one, it had come at the cost of two slips (Layla) and a snowball to the head (Benji, laughing at Layla).

There was no snow, now, just dead leaves and bare trees. He walked with his earbuds in, volume so low it faded into the background. People passed, though he really only noticed if a friendly dog came up to him and sat down, silently asking for pets, with their fast-walking owners soon coming to clip a leash onto their collar and murmur unnecessary apologies. Soon, he had found the frozen lake, though it was no longer frozen and had become a habitat for two ducks that bobbed up and down in the afternoon sun, searching for dinner. He took pictures and sent them to Layla, along with some funny captions about walking slightly faster because of the lack of snow. He looked at the time on his phone and knew it was time to head back. After all, he’d only portioned out an hour of his day for this walk, and if he stayed out too long, the night would catch him.

Ten minutes passed before he finally made his way back to the trail and continued onward, determined to find the end of it. He enjoyed the view around him, taking in the wide tree trunks, too large for him to wrap his arms around; the branches arching over his head, as though sheltering him from the sky; and the leaves crunching beneath his feet, though the pieces were too small for him to see, even with his glasses on.

He passed buildings that hovered on the slopes parallel to the course of the stream. Trees decayed next to the trail, and he watched water pass through a hollowed out tree trunk. It struck him, the magnitude of the river and the forest. It had probably existed for centuries, and would continue to exist, long past his own, inevitable death.

Death.

It was a topic he’d considered often.

Sometimes his own; sometimes his loved ones’. He’d never been particularly scared of it. When he was younger, he used to dream of dying, details far more graphic than any six-year-old’s mind had any right to imagine. He was hunted and eaten by a being in the shape of an alligator; drowned in a vat of hot tar; stabbed and left to bleed out on the pavement in a nondescript alleyway. They had scared him, at first, but at some point he’d learn to tolerate it. Some might even say he had become comfortable with it.

The forest was thriving.

The forest was dying.

Both, at the same time.

A living contradiction.

He thought of stories of beings that lived in trees; nymphs and spirits and such. He thought of La Lechuza, and the stories his brothers used to tell him to scare him. He thought of La Llorona, and remembered how his brothers would swear up and down that the river they lived near back home was the very same river from the story.

This was a different river, and besides, his younger brother had once declared that his school friend had said La Llorona didn’t have papers and wasn’t likely to try sneaking through the river just to reach all the other kids. Her kids were in Mexico, not America.

A woman passed by him. “Nice shirt!”

He started, unused to the sound of human voices in the haven of solitude he’d created. He stammered out a thanks with a voice husky with unspoken words.

Benji reached the end of the trail, and stood there for a couple of minutes, contemplating his next steps. It was already an hour to sunset, and he didn’t want to be in the dark forest at nighttime.

He turned around, and came back the way he came.

A couple of steps into this endeavor, a phone call paused his music. He looked at the screen, and stopped, staring at the Mama on the screen. He didn’t have to answer her. He knew that it would only make him feel worse, and might even worsen his current depressive mood.

Benji picked up the phone.

“Hola, mija!” The voice on the other end of the line greeted. “How are you, mi nina?”

He winced slightly. She’d received the memo that he wasn’t her daughter, but refused to acknowledge it, as though ignorance might make it go away.

“Hi mama.” He answered as his walk slowed.

“How are you?”

A pause. What to tell her? That his therapist wanted to prescribe him medicines, because the sleep scheduling and thought challenging wasn’t enough? No. She didn’t believe in mental health, and would make nasty comments about him wanting to fake his mood. That she’d traumatized him to the point where the mere reminder of the event had sent him into a funk that had already lasted five days? No, she would tell him that he was remembering wrong. She’d given him everything, she would say, he was always a happy child. That someone in the dining hall had called him sir a couple weeks ago and he’d carried that bubbly feeling for the rest fo the day? No. She would tell him he wasn’t a boy and should stop acting like one.

“I haven’t been feeling well, mentally, mama.” He settled on. She at least believed him that sometimes he felt sad.

“Ay, it’s because you miss us.”

“Not really, mama. Well, maybe the comida.”

“You could at least pretend you care about us.”

A sharp intake of breath. “I do. I love all of you, very much.”

“Then you miss being around people.”

“No, my roommates and I talk often.”

A pause. “Then why are you sad?”

“I don’t know.” A lie.

How was he supposed to tell her that she’d hurt him so badly that he cried and cried and slept and slept to forget? That he knew she loved the daughter in her head, not the son she had? That he wished she loved him? That this one childhood ending trauma that happened when he was 8 years old still affected him over a decade later?

He chose not to.

The call went quiet.

“I’ll call you later I’m busy.” His mom said, as though she hadn’t been the one to call him.

He forced a smile. “Okay.”

“Adios.” The line went dead.

The feeling of reverence had swiftly been replaced by the same gray nothingness that cloaked and protected him from the harsher negative emotions, and he walked quickly back to his dorm, ignoring the sights which had previously captivated him.

#when i say this one came from my soul i mean that shit #if u read this ur my friend now. why? bc ur stuck w me. why r u stuck w me? bc ur my friend.#original story #creative writing #ash does shit

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youarenotdamaged · 6 years

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Hello. I am a sexual assault victim, and I have questions to ask to those people who enjoy dubcon/noncon works, especially works in which rape gets fetshized or is considered as sexy or funny; those people scare me as fuck, as my questions will show. What can really prove me that, if you like rape in fictions, you don't find rape hot in real life? What could prove to me that, if I ever told you what happened to me, you wouldn't find this hot and make it your fap material?

Also, is it okay to not want any of those people near me – even if they’re sexual assault victims themselves? (pt 2)

Same scared person but I just remembered one thing… Assault happened at 14, I had rape nightmares at age 16 for months. And a few weeks ago, I had an intrusive thought, about being the victim of a rape, and enjoying it???? And I’m wondering 1) are those things linked and 2) what the fucking sick fuck is wrong with me???? I can’t be? so I’ve had suicidal thoughts about that and now I feel lost, like on the fence. I can’t stand noncon stuff, and yet: intrusive rape thought & enjoyable sensation??? (pt 3)

(should I precise I’m 22 by the way, and I’m super scared of the possibility of, one day in the future in a few years, liking non-con, becoming a person I am super scared of? maybe fetishizing rape?? I feel super lost now sorry…) (pt 4)

Okay, there is a lot going on in this series of asks, which is part of why I unfortunately took so long in answering. I apologize for that. There is some stuff in here, though, that seems to cross the line in our rules for this blog and I want to be sure to address that in addition to the asks themselves.

No one is obligated to “prove” to you or anyone else that their fiction choices don’t make them a bad person. Events that happen to a fictional character are not the same as a personal, real life account of the sexual assault of a minor. Your story isn’t other people’s “fap material” because the events people write happening to fictional characters isn’t about you. If you DID tell your story to someone in confidence, and they later used it in a sexual context that you didn’t consent to that would be incredibly violating and fucked up. But strangers who read noncon fiction aren’t reading about you, or thinking about you, or relating to you in any manner at all.

However, you’re allowed to be scared of people. Your instincts aren’t choices you’ve made, they’re taking things that happened to you and trying to protect you. You don’t have to be around anyone who makes you uncomfortable for any reason, that’s just basic boundaries. However, you need to set reasonable boundaries. You can’t go into other people’s spaces and ask them to stop doing what they’re doing there. You can’t use your boundaries as a bludgeon to try and force people to only like the things you think are safe. I’m not saying that you in particular do that, I don’t know you, but there are a lot of people who do that when they they feel scared. Your fear doesn’t give you the right to treat other people badly. Please take care of yourself and be mindful of your own limits, and remove yourself from situations where you feel uncomfortable or unsafe. You need to be in charge of your own experience of the world, both irl and online.

To address the intrusive thought you had, it doesn’t make you a “fucking sick fuck” at all. You were harmed, and your brain can sometimes react to that by just throwing junk data around while processing that harm because it’s not the most efficient machine. If you don’t like noncon then you don’t like noncon. You can have your own personal preferences without judging yourself or others as sick fucks.

Being scared of yourself and your own reactions to things is kind of common after a trauma like the one you’ve experienced. If you don’t want to like something then you don’t have to. You are in control of your own preferences, you’re not going to magically just become someone who enjoys things that you previously found repulsive. But again, being personally repulsed (or squicked if you prefer) is not an absolute moral judgement on that thing. Experiencing enjoyable sensations in relation to trauma doesn’t mean you wanted to be traumatized. There are people who experienced enjoyable physical sensation while being sexually assaulted, that doesn’t mean anything about them except that their bodies were functioning how bodies are meant to. The same goes for your thoughts, there’s nothing wrong with you and you’re not going to have your entire sense of yourself or your preferences changed by some intrusive thoughts.

I hope that you have or eventually get a therapist to talk this out with, it seems like you’re struggling and no one should have to go through what you’re going through alone.

#Anonymous #answer #mod makizushi #content warning: rule breakage #survivor status #self depreciation #rape #long post

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aresaphrodites · 7 years

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Wicked Games Chapter Seventeen - Epilogue.

Thank you to everyone who read this story and who commented and left kudos on it. Your kind words are what made me want to update and finish this story. To those of you who have been here since the beginning; thank you for sticking with me throughout all my crazy cliffhangers. I love ya'll so much.

To @itstenafterfour, this story never would have made it here without you cheering me on and gassing me up 24/7. Hope you're ready to be my beta forever.

We've come to the end of this journey.

Thank you and enjoy. <3

It’s that time of the year again, for the news to broadcast her struggles and pretend they understand the pain she’s been through. For some reason, Betty can’t tear herself from the screen, so she watches the anchor read a speech that sounds plastic and pre-written.

“Today marks the five year anniversary of the death of Veronica Lodge. Veronica Lodge was one of Hollywood’s most beloved actresses; starring in countless films and box office hits, such as End of Tonight, Hollow’s Creek, and The Darkness In Us. Her life was cut short at a tragic twenty-two years old when she was brutally murdered in her Los Angeles home by Marisol Hemmings. Hemmings was one half of what would later be known as the duo in the Betty Cooper Scandal, along with Christopher Cooper, otherwise known as Chris Matthews.

Veronica Lodge is remembered through her movies as well as through Archie Andrews’ who was her longtime boyfriend before the incident.”

Betty can’t help but scowl. It wasn’t an incident, she was fucking murdered. Say it, you coward.

“His new album, titled Veronica, is a complete tribute to the late actress and I have to say, it’s one of his better albums. The lyrics are both painful and beautiful, you can see how much his work has grown since her passing, and how much he truly loved her. Andrews’ is currently taking a break from singing and is traveling the world, something the young singer said Veronica had always wanted to do with him when they both had breaks.

As for the other person targeted in this scandal: Betty Cooper, former supermodel, found herself front and center of a stalking situation that quickly turned deadly.”

The TV turns off and Betty turns around to see Jughead standing behind her, remote in his hand and a frown on his face.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop talking about it?” Betty asks him. They always talk about it, every year; acting like they knew Veronica. They post pictures of her face everywhere and have marathons of her best movies. They always show End of Tonight, a movie that Betty and Veronica had once dubbed her worst work yet.

Betty never missed a marathon.

At first when she’d see a picture of Veronica, she’d go into a frenzy; yelling and screaming and then nothing. She’d sit and stare at nothing for hours, not moving and not talking. And that pain would bring back other things. For a while, she couldn’t even cope with loud sounds, especially anything closely resembling a gunshot. During a particularly bad incident, Betty was curled up on the kitchen floor, whispering Veronica’s name catatonically.

That’s when Jughead told her that it was time for her to sit and talk to someone.

He knew this wasn’t like his gunshot wound, not like the surgical scar on his lower back. This was something invisible, internal, something he couldn’t see and fix, so he had to make sure she did was was right for her to heal from the entire disaster.

She started seeing a therapist in Riverdale. It took her a long time to open up about everything, but she finally did. One day, a year after everything, her therapist told her to try to sit through a movie of Veronica’s, a funny one, one that would take Betty to a time when everything was okay.

So she did.

She watched one of the earlier movies that Veronica had starred in. It was a teen comedy about a highschool girl whose life was a complete mess and how she ended up becoming the most popular girl in school. It was cliche and trashy and perfect. Betty didn’t cry while watching it like she thought she would. Instead she smiled and laughed. Sometimes it felt like Veronica was right there with her, a hand on her arm, laughing along with Betty. Veronica always believed it was important to laugh at yourself sometimes.

“Probably not,” Jughead answers her. “But you don’t need to watch that right now. Jellybean’s expecting us over at the high school.”

Betty nods, remembering.

Jellybean is Jughead’s little (well, not so little anymore) sister, and a permanent fixture in their new life in Riverdale. Betty often freaked out over how alike the two siblings were, but she welcomed it. Jellybean was a godsend to her. She had been through things, just like Betty and Jughead, and she was living proof that your past didn’t have to define who you were now. Betty adored her.

Jellybean had done something good with all of the terrible things that had happened to her. She had written a book, a self-help kind, that talked about her experience that night with Chris back in high school, her mother’s death, her father’s alcoholism, and how she was able to overcome everything even though times seemed tough. She was strong; she was part of the reason why Betty hadn’t crumbled and fallen apart a long time ago.

She was giving a talk at Riverdale High today and had asked Betty and Jughead to attend.

“I only got the hour off,” Jughead says as he hands Betty her coat. “We don’t want to be late.”

Jughead works as a cop. It’s really the only job he could see himself doing, he had told her once upon a time. He said he wanted to protect people in a way that no one had protected Betty when she needed it most. He also jokingly mentioned that if the officers of the law weren’t going to do their job, someone had to and it may as well be him.

Betty was somewhat the same. She couldn’t let go of her modeling, as much as she wished she could. For all the bad memories she had tied to it from the last year she’d been in Los Angeles, she still loved it. Modeling was something she had always loved, it was her. She only did small events in Riverdale now; charity appearances in New York and sometimes, if she felt like she could, she would fly to Los Angeles and do a few shoots. It wasn’t like before, it didn’t take up her entire life, but it was still there.

“Cheryl and Reggie are coming with the baby,” Betty tells him as they walk out of their house and to the Range Rover parked outside. “They really wanted to hear Jellybean speak and they miss us.”

Cheryl had stayed a constant in her life, to which she was very thankful. Her therapist had told her that people tended to either grow closer or drift apart during traumatic experiences. Betty was blessed to say that her and Cheryl, and her and Jughead, all grew closer. Even Reggie had snuck his way into Jughead’s good side; Betty and Jughead had even been named the Godparents of their baby boy; Jason Mantle, named after Cheryl’s late brother.

They had all lost someone. Sometimes she wonders if maybe that’s why they were all able to stay so close; they understood the pain and suffering each was going through.

The ride is full of a comfortable silence. Jughead holds her hand the entire way just like he always does. He toys with the ring on her wedding finger and Betty smiles. The diamond sparkles as the sunlight catches it and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen something so beautiful.

They arrive to the school soon enough and Betty’s not surprised to see that there seem to be a lot of people already there.

They’re late; of course they are, and they walk into the gym and stand off toward the side. Jellybean is in the middle of talking already, and Jughead takes a hold of Betty’s hand as they listen to her speak.

“For a long time I blamed my actions for what happened that night with Veronica. I blamed myself for what happened with my sister-in-law and brother. I thought to myself, what if I had just pushed the issue with Chris harder? What if I had demanded that he be locked up? It was irrational, but all I could feel was shame. Shame at myself for not having stood up for myself all those years ago. Shame for letting him walk back into the world, just so he could do something far worse to others. Shame at the cops for letting it be swept under the rug.”

“But as time went on, I realized that no one was to blame for what happened that year except for one person. And that person was Chris Matthews; Chris Cooper.” Jughead squeezes Betty’s hand tightly, but it doesn’t really hurt anymore. She knows who Chris was. He was her brother; her brother that she had shot and killed.

Sometimes she still has nightmare about that night. She can’t really look at guns the same way anymore. Even now, as Jughead wears his work belt around his waist, he keeps the gun on the opposite side of her. She’s not completely healed from that night, she doesn’t think she ever will be, but she’s working on it. Understanding that Chris was her brother and accepting that is part of working on it. Instead of crying when she turns at night to face Jughead, looking at the scar from his surgery still lining one side, she traces patterns on it until she falls asleep. She’s not 100% over it, but she’s getting there and Jughead is proud of her. His hand tightens around hers and they continue to listen to Jellybean speak.

“The main point that I want to get across here is: Don’t let yourself be silenced. If someone puts you in an uncomfortable situation, then you make sure that you speak out and you let yourself be heard. The same thing that happened to you, could happen to another person. Speaking out could ultimately save a life. Do not let people look at you and tell you that you are making things up or that your problem isn’t big enough to deal with. You make sure that you get justice in the end; however you need to. Sometimes justice is demanding proper action from officers of the law, but other times it’s just -- it’s just taking time to talk to someone about how you’re feeling. Asking for help from people who love you. That’s justice too, if you want it to be.”

It feels like she says the last part directly towards Betty.

For a while after Betty had killed Chris, people deemed her a murderer. This stopped her from getting jobs for a period of time, but she’s thankful the tabloids hadn’t followed her to Riverdale. She always felt like this small town was a world in itself, and most people never leave.

Her leaving to be a model was the exception. But to the press, it didn’t matter that he had tried to kill her and Jughead. They just looked at her and saw a woman who killed a man “without a fair trial”. Betty knows better, though. There’s no such thing as a fair trial. She did what she had to do and she’d do it all over again if she needed to.

Jellybean continues her speech, talking more about her parents and this time it’s Betty’s turn to squeeze Jughead’s hand.

Jughead had been shocked when he found out that his father had gone to rehab. He had went to go see him over in South Carolina and when he came back, he told Betty all about it. His father was in a good place now. He’d been sober for about four years. Betty didn’t meet him until Jughead had deemed his father stable enough, but when she did, it was amazing.

FP Jones was a kind man, he was a good man. He was smart and funny. He was a little bit broken, but he had a heart full of good. He was just like Jughead. He was there at their wedding, standing alongside Jellybean. It was one of the happiest days of her life.

Jellybean finishes up by answering a few questions and then the speech is over.

The herd of kids flows out of the gym doors, a couple of them wiping at stray tears with a brash hand, but Betty and Jughead stay behind.

Jellybean is standing in the center of the gym still, but she’s holding a redhaired child in her arms as she talks to two people.

“JB!” Jughead shouts as he jogs over to her. Jellybean turns around and grins as she sees the both of them.

Betty didn’t know her growing up, but she looks at the beautiful young woman standing in front of her and she feels a sense of pride.

“You guys made it!” She squeals out.

“Yeah, like thirty minutes late,” Cheryl snips from behind her but there’s a smile on her face. Betty runs and engulfs her in a hug. She hasn’t seen Cheryl in a few months and she’s missed her like crazy.

“Jughead was late getting home!”

“All work and no play,” Reggie sighs as he brings in Jughead for a hug. “When you gonna let up, man?”

“Well, I’m sorry not all of us can throw a football for a living.”

Reggie gasps and holds his chest in mock hurt. “Keep talking like that and guess who’s not going to the Superbowl for free.”

“If you even make it to the Superbowl.”

“Oh, that’s it.”

Reggie takes off after him, Jughead laughing the entire time and it feels like they’re a bunch of kids in high school again.

“Think they’ll ever grow up?” Jellybean asks with a smirk.

“God, I hope so,” Cheryl sighs. “It’s easier to take care of a newborn baby than it is to take care of Reggie.”

Betty disagrees. She hopes that Jughead stays this young and this happy forever. She hopes that he’s always as happy as he is right now in this moment.

“You know, Betty,” Cheryl says in that tone of voice that means she’s up to no good, “Louis Vuitton’s looking for someone to be the new face of its brand. If you’re interested.” Cheryl is still her manager. That’s completely true, but somewhere along the way she stopped holding so much authority and became more of a friend. But it’s still her job to inform Betty of the requests brands put up to her.

Once upon a time, Betty might have leaped for joy at the offer. She would have dropped everything and anything for just the chance to get the job. Louis Vuitton could wait, right now she had to go untangle Jellybean from the disaster that was Reggie and Jughead as they begin to chase her around the gym. She places a hand onto the growing bump on her stomach, Cheryl smiling at her, and she realizes that there are so many more important things in the world.

She’s staring at a few of them right now.

Tag List: @pearlywise @novelistjugheadjones @thedenisecarla @oldfashionedvanilla @eliza-hamilton-helpless

#bughead fanfiction #Wicked Games Fic

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eliniei · 5 years

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Those Hard Days - Chapter 44

Summary: Rae’s brother always made sure she was tough as nails. But when her father flips her world upside down, will she find that there’s a limit on how strong she can be?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con (non-graphic, fade-to-black), child abuse, underage drinking, underage smoking, drug use, violence, major character death

A/N: I am so sorry. I got so caught up in other things I stopped posting ;_; I’ll get it all up today.

AO3: here Fanfiction.net: here

Masterlist

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Chapter 44 - Support

Curly waited with Rae until they’d lowered the casket holding her big brother into the ground. Tim hung back as well, promising Mrs. Mathews he’d bring her back home afterwards. As they were walking back to the truck, she turned to the oldest Shepard sibling.

“I didn’t get to thank ya,” she mused.

“For what, kid?”

“For...everything, Tim.” Curly handed her the umbrella and hopped into the truck to give them some privacy. “You...you’ve helped me in so many ways.”

“Rae-”

“Ya pulled me outta that dark shithole I was in and made sure that I didn’t go back into it. Even if I wanted to kill ya for it.” She huffed a laugh, her eyes burning, hand wrapping around the Christopher medal. He gave her a slanted smile, so much like his brother’s.

“It ain’t nothin’, kid. I told ya, we hoods gotta stick together.” She smiled back at him. Finally, a genuine smile. But, she shook her head.

“No, Tim. It’s everything.”

The three of them made their way back to the Mathews house for some food. Rae and Curly sat down around the coffee table with Two-Bit and Soda, who were trying to teach Carrie and Chrissy how to play poker. Honestly, they had horrible poker faces. It made her smile-even laugh.

They all stared at her in surprised silence for a moment. Even she caught herself. She looked back at them, eyes wide. Finally, Carrie smiled at her, relief written all over her face, and they went back to their game.

They next morning, Curly had to go back to the reformatory. They stood on the Shepard’s front porch, nearly nose to nose. A car was waiting for him down at the curb. Mrs. Mathews had let her spend the night, knowing they wouldn’t get to see each other again for months.

Rae pressed her forehead against his, threading her fingers through his.

“You’d better call me,” she ordered. “And behave, okay? It’s...easier when you’re here, ya know? Don’t need ya gone longer.” He smiled and caught her lips in his. She pressed her body against his and for a few long seconds, she was able to forget everything. When he pulled away, she was breathless. But, he slid his hand out of hers and then he was gone. She felt the loneliness begin to crush down all her progress, but tried hard to keep her chin up. At least she could still hang out with her other friends, right?

The nightmares started that night. Every night, she’d relive Dally’s death as she dreamed. When she’d wake up, she’d be drenched in sweat, on the verge of screaming the words she’d screamed that night. In the morning, Two-Bit found her curled up on his couch without a pillow or blanket. The second night, he offered his bed to her again (“no funny business, I promise”). The third night, she took him up on it and crawled into his bed. He woke up as she was getting comfortable. Once she’d stopped moving, he wrapped one of his hands around hers. When she woke up the next day, his hand was still there.

School was another story.

When Rae started going back to classes, her days were long. She and Two-Bit met Ponyboy at home every morning and walked or drove to school together, where’d they’d go their separate ways. She shared some classes with Chrissy and Carrie, but the others dragged on. The other kids couldn’t coax her into shooting spitballs, and for once the Socs left her alone. She’d meet the boys again for lunch, and Carrie took up Johnny’s empty spot most days, now a full-fledged member of the Shepard gang. Rae knew Ponyboy was miserable, too. It was spelled out on his face. She wanted to help, but how could she help him when she could barely help herself?

When the day was done, they’d part ways with Carrie and head back to the Curtis house for the afternoon. Most days Two-Bit took her home so they could spend time with his mother and sister. Some days, she’d cook at the brothers’ house. Some days she’d wander down to Shepard territory and hang out with Angela or Tim, just for a change of scenery.

Everything just seemed...so grey.

On her dark days, she went to the cemetery, sitting in the dirt by her brother’s grave or leaning against the stone, homework notebook in her lap, books spread out on the ground around her.

On his dark days, Pony joined her. Darry had found them there one day on his way home from work, a worried look on his face. The youngest Curtis brother told her the next day that they’d had another fight, but this time Soda lectured them both. They thought maybe they’d finally come to an understanding between the three of them.

Everyone knew, of course. The entire school. Then entire town. Hell, probably the entire state.

She should’ve expected that after a few excruciating days, Cherry Valance would find her in the bathroom one morning after she’d had enough and just had to get out of the classroom. Rae was leaning over the sink, splashing water on her face, trying to even her breathing out, when the redhead walked in. She paused, hands full of water, then dropped it into the sink and turned the faucet off.

“Hey, Rae,” the Soc said, softly.

“Hey, Cherry,” she greeted the girl, wiping her face down with a paper towel. “Still don’t want any sympathy, if that’s why you’re here.”

“No, I-,” she started. “I just...had no idea you were related to Dallas Winston.” Rae leaned against the porcelain.

“Did you know him?”

“Not very well. Saw him a few times at the rodeo and, of course, the night Bob died.” She tilted her head. She’d heard what happened at the drive-in. There was a silence between them.

“So…,” Rae said, shoving her hands into her back pockets. “Is...there somethin’ ya want?”

“Oh, no, I just-”

“Cherry, I really appreciate that ya tried to get me out. And that ya tried to help my friends while I was gone.” She crossed one leg over the other. “I think that I could prob’ly like you, ya know. But if ya just wanna be secret bathroom friends, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Well, I just thought...maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be seen with you outside the bathroom.” Rae gave her a slanted smile, copying Curly’s famous grin.

“Maybe you’re right.” She uncrossed her legs and stood up straight. “I’d better get back to class. I’ll be seein’ ya, huh?” Cherry nodded and Rae made her way over to the door. She paused halfway out. “Oh.”

“Yes?”

“I ain’t ever gonna be sorry that Johnny defended himself and Ponyboy, Cherry.”

“I know.”

“But, I am sorry that Bob died the way he did.”

Before the redhead could respond, she let the door swing closed as she returned to class.

On Friday afternoon, Mrs. Mathews took Rae out of school early and drove her down to her new therapist’s office. Her stomach was doing nervous flips as they waited to be called back, but when it happened, Barb squeezed her knee.

“The easier you make it, the faster it’ll go, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll give it a real try.”

“Good girl.”

When she’d sat down and introduced herself, the therapist sat down across from her, pen poised to write in the notepad sitting in her lap.

“Look, I ain’t here cause I wanna be, ya know?” Rae started. “I don’t like talkin’ to people ‘bout our problems, but the court ordered that I do this...and if I don’t try, I gotta keep comin’ til I do.” She took a deep breath. “So, I ain’t gonna hassle ya. I’ll tell ya what ya wanna know and I’ll start from the beginning.”

“I appreciate that, Miss Winston. Would you like a cigarette before you begin?” The therapist opened up a pack sitting on the table next to her.

“Thanks, but no. I don’t smoke. Is that really somethin’ you should be askin’ a teenager?”

“Well, I find that it helps...calm my clients down before they start talking about... particularly traumatic events. Why don’t you tell me about-”

“I know you wanna know about my life- and my brother’s too,” Rae said, cutting her off, knowing what she was going to ask. “It ain’t been easy, I’ll tell you that. I know you wanna know about...well, what happened and how I ended up in this situation…”

After the hour was up, she met Barb back out in the waiting room. Her foster mother stood up as she and her therapist approached.

“How’d it go?” Mrs Mathews asked, pulling Rae’s hair over her shoulder.

“I think it went quite well,” the other woman responded. “I think Miss Winston is well on her way to recovery, but there are still things we can work on in future sessions. Okay?” Rae nodded. “It sounds like she has a great support system at home.”

“She sure does,” she said, quietly. Barb smiled down at her. Her therapist bid her farewells until next time.

“How about we go pick up Keith from school and go grab a shake?” Rae smiled as well.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

#Rae Winston #Those hard days #The Outsiders #outsiders #Dallas Winston #dally winston #curly shepard #curly shepard x oc #Two-Bit Mathews

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