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mtnkat3 · 2 years

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Yeah.. gotta work on that yo-yo thing. Especially being affected by people like wh & my mom. Hard to keep my warrior crusty self wrapped around my marshmallow heart, to keep from being hurt. And of course the stress it induces.. I've had a really rough week with ibs. Trying to think about how to deal with it in the short term. Like psyllium capsules, salads, beans, & some grains.

But maybe now that got cobra fixed ... yahoo!😎 so I could get the right meds might help. And takes away one of the things majorly stressing me out.

So now onto things like my housing search. I'm thinking to do it properly, & that I've never rented, I probably need to invest into using a realtor to find a place. Sigh. But I need realistic goals & not the blingy stuff. What is important vs costs. Realistically, 700sq ft for <$1,000/mth would be great! But when I'm seeing such for $2k+.. & needing to find something in a good area.. a bit overwhelmed. Just so many things & tasks.

For a woman who's never moved but from parents, dorm & here.. then to rent. I'm looking at apartments because I can do short term, more places are accepting of elderly cat, & more places to look at. As much as I'd rather rent a small house or townhome just not many around. And $$$$. So also avoid debt as much as possible so as to save for my goals & dreams to come true!

Then.. I also wonder.. how my loves feel about it all. I know safety is something that you will be thinking about. So to not upset my loves I am making sure that's good too. Gates, locks, doors, security, etc.

Here.. I am always aware. Because wh will leave doors unlocked, when I think they are. Asked, do you have a safe place? No. Not even my bathroom. Heck, nor closet. Has been so well.. all along.

So yeah, I wanna think about the positive things, the good things, the changes I'm making & undergoing. To think about my future, goals, dreams, aspirations. To focus on those. And those things are what gets me thru my days.

I'd rather not seem like I'm venting, nor ripping into anyone. I just.. wanna make sure my soul's mates know what's happening. In the only way available to me.

Until the moment I get to dance into my loves arms.. get to feel him come up behind me in the kitchen.. shivery sigh.. closing my eyes.. my paradise. Seeing his eyes happy & full of love.. for me. To share my life with him. Those moments are the bliss my soul hangs on to. To soothe those world weary eyes.. it is my deepest longing.

I wanna love you with all of me.

To show you my love with the best of myself.

Why I pray to get my life right. To pray for God to help me to wake, to help me keep moving & not let the lethargy/exhaustion/depression take control so that I can accomplish all of my tasks. To work around the obstacles that wh is & get things done!

So now that I'm the warm seat for my cat.. I still work on tasks, like finding places to put on lists to call about. Trailers, housing, etc. Until everything is done!

And I can write you... I. AM. FREE.!!!

That moment...

It is a HUGE motivator for me.

Know what else...?

I wonder what you're doing.. how you are.. feel.. thinking.. do you think about how we will fit into each other's lives? I do. I think about the mundane to the extraordinary.

And.. I am & always will be.. your huckleberry.

I wanna cook, laugh, throw flour, have tickle wars,.. watch you brush your teeth.. think about how your beards grows.. how do you tend to it.. how long.. soft or bristly.. even watch you dress. Not spooky. More like.. how you move. Watch how the muscles of your body move.. yeah everybody puts on their pants & such the same. But. A person's body movements are like a fingerprint. Are actually even more individual than fingerprints.Heck, was used in MI:3,I think. Science & technology. The human brain. Fascinating to me. Blushing grin.

Ok. Sigh. Listen to csi:cyber whilst get some of my tasks further along.

I miss you terribly.

OMG how I miss you..

I love you beyond my own understanding. Much less anyone else.

I will never give up.

I believe wholeheartedly.

~True love never dies & true love always waits.~

I work whilst I await.. on my cliffside.

Your humbled, impatient, complex, warrior queen daughter.

~Tijgeress kat Phoenix. 🌺

👩⚓🙏🙇‍♀️☔💡🌂🔗⛓🧰⚙⚒🛠⚔⚖🗽🦅 🥧🍁🧣🥾🥤🥮🍯🍼☕🍫🍎🍑🍒

🐯🐾🐐🦉🐢🐛🦋🌱🌺🌹🌻🌷🌳🧶🧵⌚⚡🌠🗝🔱⚜💝🐻🦌🧩♠️♾🎯🧭🕯🎶💋

Sa.10.22.2022 9.09pm est.

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trashmenofmarvel · 5 years

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Devil’s Backbone - Chapter 8

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)

Chapter Warnings: Violence, torture and psychological terror

Word Count: 2.6k

Tag List: @pandalandalopalis @insidethemindoftrent

AO3

The door didn’t open until hours later, startling you from a light doze. You almost rolled over, expecting to find the assassin had returned, but no. There were too many footsteps. Voices in German telling you to get up and turn around.

German?

You didn’t respond, though you understood what they were saying well enough. You remained perfectly still, your muscles relaxed and liquid. You could hear them step closer, this time calling out to you in heavily-accented English.

“Stand up. Face the wall.”

You continued to ignore them. Another voice, German again, stated you might be sick. Maybe even be dead.

When one of them touched your arm, you remained limp and unmoving, breathing shallow and slow. Playing possum worked, and one of them lifted you up and dragged you onto your feet, slapping you hard across the face.

You mumbled something intelligible and the man drew nearer, his hot breath on your face. He moved so close that when you slammed your forehead against his, he could do nothing to stop it from happening.

As the first man fell, the next descended on you with a shout on his lips. But you had been saving your energy, gathering your strength from food and sleep and the brief reprieve from the torture machine. With the assassin having treated your arm, you were in better condition than when you had arrived.

Your captors weren’t prepared for it.

You grabbed the second guard by the back of his neck and smashed his face into the edge of the sink so hard he dented it with blood and bits of bone.

The third threw a punch at your head and you ducked under it, sending your curled first into his gut and flipping him over your arm, slamming him into the concrete wall.

By the time you faced the fourth, you were armed with a baton you had stolen from the third. He was built for pure brutal power, his shoulders the size of a small truck, but he was slow. And you were built for speed. Faster than he could block, you took out his kneecaps, his elbows, and finally knocked him unconscious with a hard crack to the top of his head.

You stood there for a moment, catching your breath as you surveyed the scene of controlled violence. You couldn’t linger to gloat, even though you knew your S.O. would have been damn proud of your flawless execution at taking out four armed opponents.

You moved forward, stepping over the unconscious bodies, and peeked your head very carefully out of the cell door. They had left it open and unlocked. Idiots.

Moving at a fast jog, you left your miserable cell and turned down the first hallway you saw, pausing briefly before rounding the corner to check it was clear. It was, and you proceeded onward, searching along the corridors for an exit to the outside world. If this was an abandoned prison, as you suspected, that wouldn’t be an easy task.

Still, you felt better now, out of your cage and armed with a weapon. The guards hadn’t been carrying anything more lethal than batons, but you could kill with it just as surely as you could with your bare hands. And you would do whatever it took to regain your freedom.

At least… until you saw the figure standing at the end of the hallway, blocking your path. You skidded to a stop, heart hammering in your ears as you tried to deny what you were seeing.

The assassin remained steadfast and unyielding, his unreadable gaze meeting yours through his unkempt strands of hair. He looked different from the last time you saw him. His outfit, once immaculate and clean, was now dusted and marked. His silver arm no longer glinted like polished steel; it was dull and battle-worn, the red star scuffed and faded.

Your eyes went from his arm to his face, noting the soot and dried blood along his jaw. Someone had gotten close enough to wound him.

Conflicting emotions warred within you: concern, anger, desperation. You didn’t want to go through him. You didn’t even really want to hurt him.

Do it, kid, Rumlow’s voice echoed from within. Survival at all costs.

You extended the baton in your hand, steeling yourself as you glared into his blue eyes.

His own gaze never wavered, though you did see his shoulders slightly rise and fall, as if taking a deep breath.

You took a step forward. And didn’t get any farther than that.

Pain exploded across the back of your head and stars burst in your vision as you fell to your knees. A swift kick to your ribs made you cry out, sending you hard onto your side. You had been too distracted by the assassin to realize the guards had moved in behind you. Not the ones you had overwhelmed in your cell—these were fresh reinforcements, all too eager to show you how they felt about what you had done to their comrades.

The kicks and punches fell on you like an avalanche of boulders. You curled into a tight fetal position, trying to protect your head and vulnerable abdomen with your bare arms. You knew you could easily be killed like this, each brutal blow bringing you closer to a violent end. The trauma-induced depression, the fatalistic lethargy, all of it vanished as every fiber of your being screamed to be allowed to live. To survive just a second longer.

Just when you were sure you had reached the limit of what you could endure, there was a cry, loud and sharp. Then another, followed by the sound of something hard striking flesh. More shouts followed, surprised and angry, but more importantly, the assault on your bruised and battered body stopped.

You slowly uncurled your hands from your hair and looked upward to see the assassin holding one of the men against the wall, metal fingers tight around his neck.

The guard’s eyes were wide with terror and he clawed at the hand choking him. Small, half-formed gurgling noises left his throat as his face turned beet-red.

The assassin held him for a moment longer and then tossed him aside as easily as a ragdoll.

Impossible hope bloomed in your chest. But the assassin didn’t look at you. He remained an immovable stature, his chest rising and falling with each hard breath. That’s when you noticed the lab coat stepping up next to him, the face behind his surgical mask and glasses angry.

“Idiots!” he yelled in Russian. Your Russian was more fluent than your German, so you listened through your wheezing breaths. “Do you wish to destroy all our work?” he continued to shout down at the groaning men. At least, those who were conscious enough to hear him. “Hmm? Perhaps I will inform him and see how pleased he is to hear you damaged his new asset!”

The doctor scowled, and without looking at either you or the assassin he turned around and said, “Pick her up. Take her to the chair.”

The assassin responded at once; he turned toward you, strode over, and reached down to pick you up.

You immediately thrashed at the feel of his hands on you, ignoring the fresh pain of your abused muscles as you fought to free yourself. He ignored your resistance and tightened his arms around you, picking you up with ease, as if you weighed nothing at all.

He took you to the white room, carrying you bridal-style over the threshold like some fucked-up mockery of matrimonial tradition. And then he deposited you into the chair, pulling the metal restrains over your arms and legs before turning and walking out of the room.

He never looked at you.

Maybe that was why you didn’t struggle when they forced the rubber between your teeth. The fight had fled you, your will to resist evaporating as your body throbbed in a painful beat.

You had believed, just for a moment, he was going to help you. Save you. What a stupid thought. A childish hope. You were a toy to him, a plaything. He didn’t care about you. That was clear now.

Tears filled your eyes and blurred your vision, soon forgotten as the crackling sizzled across your skull. The electric agony whited out all of your thoughts. It was almost a relief.

When the pain ended, you floated in a haze. Ungrounded, untethered. Your eyes drifted across at your surroundings. It was difficult to gather your vision and your thoughts. You couldn’t remember how you had gotten there, or really where you were to begin with. Something about the stark room was familiar, enough to make tendrils of dread curl in your stomach.

A shadowy figure loomed over you and lifted you from the chair. You tried to focus on the shadow’s face but it eluded you, all smoke and silver and darkness. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back, your neck resting against a cool, metal surface.

You heard sounds, distant and intangible, and it took you a moment to recognize them. Heavy footsteps. The slide of doors across metal runners. Faint breathing. And you could feel a slight swaying motion, something warm holding you aloft.

You dragged your eyes open and forced them to focus. There was a silver curve inches from your nose. You trailed the metal surface upwards, catching on a scuffed crimson star. Further along, over a dark vest, and finally to the face of the man carrying you.

The slope of his powerful jaw. The pout of his full lips. His soft hair a curtain around his pale blue eyes.

You knew that face. In an instant, you knew it. And it all came rushing back.

A guard opened the cell door and the assassin carried you through, his pale eyes looking forward and almost blank. You trembled in his arms but he ignored you, moving forward as the door shut and locked behind him.

He crouched down and set you on your mat. He was almost gentle.

You hated it.

“Bastard.”

His eyes flicked down to yours, honing in sharply. There was no gentleness there, only blue steel.

“How could you?” you whispered, unable to speak any louder as the words cracked painfully in your throat. “How could you do this—“

You arched your back suddenly, gasping as agony ripped down your spine from the base of your skull. It felt like you were being electrocuted all over again. Your muscles cramped against your will, leaving you stricken and unable to draw breath.

You didn’t understand what was happening. You were terrified.

The spasms ended after what felt like an eternity and you collapsed back down, shivering hard as you gasped for air. It hurt so fucking much. Tears welled in your eyes, as much as from fear as in agitation from the sharp stinging in your muscles. The pain was fading almost as quickly as it had begun, but it left you exhausted and trembling.

Multiple aftershocks hit you after that. Not as intense as the original spasms, though they traveled throughout your muscles, making you shiver, your teeth chattering.

Eventually, those passed too. You realized the sides of your face were wet from the tears you weren’t aware you’d shed.

You opened your eyes and flinched. The assassin was sitting right next to you. He stared down at you, his expression muted, but… not hard and cold. Both of his legs were crossed before him and he rested his elbows on his knees.

Just… watching.

You wondered why he had stayed. Decided you didn’t care, and glared up at him with what little energy you had left.

“Go… away,” you rasped, in the process nearly choking on the dryness of your own throat. “Leave me… alone.”

Without a word, the assassin rose to his feet and departed. You were surprised he had actually listened.

You closed your eyes, the glare of the single lightbulb hurting your eyes and making your head pound. You wanted to turn onto your side away from the light but you were too weak for even that. You weren’t sure if it was from the beating you were just now beginning to remember or if it was from the torture. So you remained on your back, listless and unmoving as you hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, your muscles infrequently trembling.

You knew enough about anatomy to guess that whatever they were doing to you was seriously fucking with your nervous system. From your temporary confusion, disorientation, memory loss, and finally the muscle spasms. And now, the aftereffects seemed to be getting worse. The spasms were new. So was the brief memory loss. But there was something you did remember besides the sheer agony of shocks running through your scalp.

Compliance will be rewarded.

You shivered. There was something compelling about those words. They pulled at something within you, made you want to stop resisting, stop fighting. It would be easier if you just… gave in. Surrendered. Following orders is what you did, after all. And you were the best at it. You were trained to follow, not to deviate, and perhaps if you simply complied—

You flinched as the cell door opened, yanking you out of your thoughts like you were being pulled out of a pool of thick tar. You didn’t have the strength to open your eyes, so you listened.

Footsteps. Only one pair. The slightly uneven gait was becoming familiar to you now.

You could hear the creak of leather nearby, but you weren’t prepared for the touch on the back of your neck. You gave a startled noise and forced your eyes open.

The assassin was looking down at you, gaze as piercing and unreadable as usual. He held something in his metal hand. A cup of water. He must have filled it elsewhere, since you hadn’t heard the sink turn on. Plus you were pretty sure the sink was unusable, bits of bone and blood still covering its surface, left as a reminder of your botched escape attempt.

His right hand cradled the back of your head more firmly, and you couldn’t even summon up a resentful glare as he brought the cup to your mouth. The cool liquid against your lips was too tempting, and you parted them to drink, greedily at first until he tipped the cup back down. You were impatient, desperate as you realized how parched you were, but he only allowed small sips at a time.

When you finally finished the entire cup, your head felt clearer and your throat was no longer sandpaper. He carefully tilted your head back to the mat. You turned your head, nosing against his palm.

He went completely still. You didn’t hear him even breathe.

As was so often the case lately, you didn’t know what you were doing. All you knew was that you were in pain, alone, and the more terrified than ever, which was saying something. There was no room for shame in the space you occupied. You craved human contact, needed it just as desperately as the water.

He was a bastard. A heartless, cold, murderous bastard. But he was all that you had.

You nuzzled against his hand and closed your eyes as a wave of exhaustion settled over you like a heavy blanket. Your head rested on his hand like a pillow, the full weight of it on his palm.

He didn’t move it at first, his fingers rigid and stiff. But after a moment they slowly relaxed, softly curling into your hair.

You exhaled. And surrendered to the black pull of desperate sleep.

Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #reader fanfiction #my fanfiction #devil's backbone

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wordnerdworld · 4 years

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Hard to tell if my latest bout of insomnia-and-lethargy is quarantine induced, depression induced, hormone induced, or some combination of all three.

I’m currently inclined to think that it’s mostly hormone induced with a side of lacking stimulation due to the quarantine. Which means I can probably break out of this.

Today I was at least able to Make A Decision about buying stuff to create a new work station. Hopefully it’ll show up this week or early next and not be super delayed due to the whole situation.

I also vacuumed, swiffered, and dusted. So at least I’m getting my space in a bit more order.

Finally cooked the meal that I started to prep yesterday. Need to do one, maybe two more. Here’s hoping tomorrow is still productive.

Still haven’t been able to make myself go to bed at a reasonable time or get up before, like, 2:00pm. So that’s not great. Hopefully I’ll have better luck tonight.

I’m functioning for work, so what sucks about things like this is they make it impossible to enjoy my down time.

#mental health

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theamberfang · 5 years

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Journal 243: Growth

Blood-Sugar

My experiments with adding more carbs back into my diet have continued, and after having the most amount of rice I’ve had in awhile as part of my dinner, I’m feeling pretty dang tired. As per my own dietary recommendations, I did eat some fruits and veggies today for fiber, but it was all in the morning and early afternoon; I guess it had already moved through my gut, so none of it helped to sponge the starch intake.

Since I’ve been avoiding carbs for awhile, I’m experiencing this glucose-induced lethargy with significant clarity, and I can say that there’s a familiarity to it. I’m pretty confident that even when I ate rice and other carbs regularly, I often experienced this same tiredness. The difference is that, back then, I attributed to either laziness or depression (before and after diagnosis.) Times that I felt especially tired and unable to do things were likely, in part, due to regular low-fiber meals with lots of rice.

This isn’t to say that I was never depressed and that it was my diet all along: regular spikes in one’s blood-sugar doesn’t cause suicidal ideation. In fact, even if I had been misattributing the reason for my lethargy, it still made it difficult for me to do things. This was often a source of self-abuse, so my low-fiber, high-carb diet very well could have contributed to both deepening and prolonging my episodes of depression.

This is, in part, to say that, like yesterday, I may have to cut this journal short. Recognising this, I’ll try to cover things in a vague order of importance.

Followers

As much as I’ve tried to avoid checking this blog’s activity, it’s primarily to keep my anxious obsessive-compulsion in check. I do all of my writing on this public blog, instead of on a private word processor, in the hope that my work might help someone. It’s nice to know that I’m actually reaching a few people.

Still, even if Tumblr is less offensive with it than other forms of social media, it’s really hard for me to keep a healthy perspective of these internet points. The alternative option of trying to start a blog elsewhere—maybe even my own website—is pretty appealing. To be clear, I’m not blaming any followers or people who leave notes on my posts—that would be silly given my professed ideologies. Indeed, I’m blaming the systems that insists on quantifying “social capital,” so I’d like to keep on the lookout for other options. It probably won’t be for awhile, but it’ll be in mind.

On a related note, a particularly rambunctious person went on a bit of a spree through some of my more recent posts, including a few comments that I have the option of replying to. Communicating with people is definitely something I want to do, but this is a feature I’ve never touched before, and, as with all new things for me, I can’t do anything with it without vigorous hand-wringing—that’s what this whole paragraph amounts to, really.

I need to recognize that I’m feeling anxious, analyze the cause of my anxiety, decide if engaging with it or avoiding it would better deal with my anxiety, and to commit to my decision, preferably in writing. So, I’m feeling anxious. It’s because someone left a bunch of notes and comments on my posts, and I feel obligated to do something to respond to it. (Would it be rude not to? I honestly have no idea.) Avoiding this would require a wholesale commitment to avoiding the activity tab; it would also be antithetical to my desire of trying to talk to people, as part of a continuous effort to better handle my social anxiety. Yes, it’s perfectly valid to just not engage with random strangers on the internet, but I’m going to have to dip my toes into the waters if I want to learn how to engage with an audience and, more importantly, set boundaries.

The conclusion then is that I should at least try to reply to their comments. I even thought of a reply to one of them, but just felt too weird and anxious about it to actually write it.

Another thing is that the rambunctious person here is a young’un, relative to myself anyway, and I had some feelings about that sort of responsibility. Indeed, my gut-reaction was to wonder if I had to censor anything to “protect the kids.” I then remembered that this kind of concern doesn’t jive with my actual philosophy on the matter; it was instead born of fear of being punished myself somehow.

What I do believe is that youths are smarter than adults tend to give them credit for. Too often parents and teachers speak for their children without earnestly communicating with them first, as if being young means they are too stupid to think for themselves. This lack of respect for our children is a large part of why public education, especially in the United States, is so broken: it doesn’t account for their real capabilities and it doesn’t give them a voice in their own education. Admittedly, the more fundamental problem is that public education in the USA is horribly underfunded, so my previous opinion is moot—many educators may even agree with me, but change simply isn’t affordable.

Also, just because it unfortunately might be necessary to clarify, this doesn’t mean I’m in support of pedophilia (or whatever the term is for young teens specifically.) That’s a separate issue that I’m strongly against for reasons beyond “pedophilia is bad and, rightly, very illegal.” The fundamental issue is one of power-dynamics: an adult simply has far more power—in a variety of ways—than a child does. At its core, the problem here is similar to why teacher-student or employer-employee relationships are problematic, but extremely exacerbated. When one side holds so much power and influence over the other, it makes it next to impossible to distinguish between consent and coercion.

Group

Moving on from that tangent, I have group tomorrow, and I’d definitely like to share today’s “Extended Outlook” with them. I think I’ll also go ahead and provide my phone number and email—so they can respond, in case Tumblr isn’t their thing. I’m not looking for any specific input, but I’ve been wanting to get closer with people from my support groups, and it could be a decent icebreaker.

There’s also that issue I have with showing up on video+audio. I’ve still yet to do anything specifically on that front, like checking to see if this laptop’s built-in camera even works. I can talk about the local Pride event that I’ll be attending with a couple of names they might recognise, though, so I might just meet a couple of them in person this weekend anyway. If that happens, I might have an easier time showing up on camera.

Wrapping Up

Well, I wrote a bit more than I expected to, but I’m pretty spent now. I remember that there were things I wanted to discuss from yesterday, but I don’t even have the mental energy to recall the specifics. One small thing is that I considered the thing I reblogged from official-transsexual to count as “habit-free time” since it was a significant amount of writing. Also, I accidentally checked the blog’s activity time during the restricted period, so I guess I’ll hold it where it is.

Tomorrow’s Tasks

Avoid blog activity tab; 0900-1500

Dance for exercise; 0930

KA: US History; 1100

Habit-free time; 1300

Online trans support group; 1900

Journal; 2000

#daily journal #personal #depression #anxiety #mental health

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moodboardinthecloud · 3 years

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Esther Perel Is Fighting the “Tyranny of Positivity”

The famed relationship therapist talked to GQ about relearning social skills, pandemic breakups, and why “how was your pandemic?” is a lame question.

BY CLAY SKIPPER

July 19, 2021

https://www.gq.com/story/esther-perel-interview

Within the first 60 seconds of our conversation, the psychotherapist Esther Perel introduces me to a concept she calls “enforced presentism.” It’s a feeling you might know well from the pandemic. “You can't think two days ahead,” says Perel. “Everything is in the moment, and you're dealing with this chronic unpredictability and stress.”

You might expect Perel to be better equipped than most to deal with such turbulence, given her experience in navigating romance and relationships, surely one of the most troubled and anxiety-inducing human experiences. Over the last four decades, she’s become one of the world’s most renowned relationship therapists, writing two bestselling books about couples, desire and sexuality, Mating in Captivity, and The State of Affairs, and hosting two podcasts, Where Should We Begin? And How’s Work? (Both invite listeners into sessions she conducts between people who are romantically or professionally connected.)

But Perel says her pandemic got off to a difficult start. First, she was scared. Then, she had to come to terms with the fact that, according to the covid classifications, no matter how she thought of herself, she was technically elderly. In the next phase, she coordinated a yoga group with friends on three continents. She started going on hikes and walks. She recorded seasons of both of her podcasts.

“Then, one day I woke up and I said, I want to create a game,” she remembers. “I want to create a happy project. I can’t deal with the loss, the sadness, the grief, the uncertainty—those existential aspects. I also want to deal with the part of us that keeps us connected to playfulness, to curiosity, to the unknown.”

That turned into a card game (also) called, “Where Should We Begin? A Game of Stories”. Filled with thought-provoking prompts—think “I’ve always wondered if it’s normal to…” and “The last promise I broke was…”—it’s meant to facilitate connection by getting people to tell stories that they might otherwise hide behind conversations about the humidity. More importantly, it’s as an antidote to the fog of enforced presentism, and a buffer against the atrophied social skills we might all carry into the world as it lifts.

Here, she talks about entering back into the world, the proliferation of the term “trauma,” fixing our work-as-identity problems, and why we need to retire the idea of the soulmate.

GQ: Based on what you’ve seen in your work—and just anecdotally or personally—what are the things, relationships-wise, that people have most been struggling with in the last 18 months? What do you think will continue to be issues as we re-emerge into a sense of normalcy?

Esther Perel: Big crises always operate as relationship accelerators. Especially a pandemic and a disaster says, "Life is short. Life is fragile. Things could end any moment." People articulate the awareness of mortality—we usually try to not be too aware of it. So you instantly begin to sharpen your priorities and you start to disregard the superfluous and the unimportant and the misguided.

You begin to say, "What am I waiting for? Let's move in together. Let's have the babies we've been wanting to have. Let's get married. Let's move.” Or: "I've waited long enough. I'm out of here. This is no longer sustainable to me." It goes in those two directions. It's what I want and what I no longer want.

So at this moment, most of my colleagues, we are talking about the avalanche of disruptions that have taken place in relationships, and the consequences thereof. I would say there's been a lot of different kinds of disruptions. Collapse of boundaries: people have never worked as hard, and they have had to turn their house into a gym, a restaurant, an office, a school, all of it, while sitting on the same chair. That's been a real challenge for people.

Why is it so hard for us to hold all of our identities at one time in one space?

In the same way we need reality and imagination, and we need groundedness and we need adventure, we need structure and spontaneity. Our rules structure us, and those rules are structured in time and in space. You came to work this morning, you dressed up a certain way that made sense for you, that is different than if you go to the gym, that is different than if you go to a club. The clothes go with the place where you go, with the building that you enter, with the way that you behave. A rule is a complex set of things that organizes you. That gives you a sense of how to behave, what to do, how to think, how to relate to people. When you don't have any of that—you are a partner, a parent, a lover, a friend, a son, an employee, a manager—and it's all happening at the same table in the same sweatpants, it becomes like a fog. You start to experience a type of lethargy. You start to lose the pleasure of what you do.

It strikes me that this could be a moment where we might begin to realize all the identities we’re performing, and maybe actually become more conscious or aware of these roles in a healthy way.

Yes. First of all, a lot of people slowed down enough that they could pay attention. People became more observant of the rhythms of their lives—of the trees around them for that matter. We slowed down for the first time in a long time. Since the early 1900s, all we have done is gone fast.

Except when you sit in your mindfulness moments. These mindfulness and meditation incursions into Western culture are all in response to the degree of acceleration that our culture has experienced.

What do you think of the American imperative to be happy?

Happiness used to belong in the afterlife. In Heaven. People suffered when on earth, especially good Christians, so that they could maybe be rewarded later. This is the first time in history that you ask Western parents what they want for their children, and the first thing they say is, "I want them to be happy." They don't say, "I want them to be healthy, alive," because child mortality has gone down. They don't say, "I want them to be good people." They're supposed to talk about, "I want them to be happy."

The tyranny of positivity is a burden. Happiness is an outcome, not a mandate, because the mandate of happiness makes you constantly have to wonder, "Am I happy? Am I happy enough? Could I be happier? Should I leave this relationship? I'm happy, but maybe I could be happier somewhere else." So it becomes, how do I know? And then it becomes massive uncertainty, massive self-doubt.

Happiness comes in a moment, where I finish an interview with you, or you with me, and maybe we say, "That was really good. I'm happy. I'm glad. I'm pleased." And then off we go. it's a moment. It's not, "I am happy in my life. I'm a happy person." I'm a person with a range of emotions.

The depression and anxiety of today is the mirror response to the pressure on happiness. You can't be sad. You can't be blue, melancholic. Then you get the permission to be sad if you're depressed. So let's pathologize it. And if depression isn't enough, let's say you’ve had trauma.

Trauma is the licensed language to talk about pain and suffering at this moment. That doesn't mean there is no trauma, but it means that if we say the word trauma, it gives me permission to say, "I have pain and I have suffered, and it was hard, and I have legacies from it."

I think it's good that we're recognizing trauma on a larger scale, but I’m curious at what point it’s almost rendered meaningless.

In a society that mandates happiness, the suffering doesn't disappear, but you need to find a new legitimacy. So if you put it in the framework of trauma, it becomes legitimized.

So because we're so obsessed with happiness, we can't just say, "I'm sad,” we need to have some reason to feel sad?

That’s right. A framework that gives it permission and legitimacy. That’s the framework of trauma. That doesn't mean there are no developmental traumas—let's be very clear. Trauma is not what happened, trauma is your reaction to something that has happened over time. We've expanded the word trauma from big, terror-inducing, helplessness-inducing events, to what we call today the traumas with small t’s, which are the developmental traumas. These are super, super important. But in society, there is a direct correlation between the pressure to be happy and the release valve that comes through the trauma. I'm allowed to say that I'm not happy, because I had trauma.

So what is the goal behind the card game? What's the ultimate desire for you?

The game is a game of stories. I have a podcast that tells stories about our lives. Our relationship stories are the way we make meaning of our life. Stories are the way we connect with people. Stories are the way we tell ourselves. I ask questions in my practice where people are invited to rewrite their stories so that they don't stay stuck there, because the story is connected to your core beliefs. So the game is a game of stories and it incentivizes people to tell stories that they rarely tell.

At this point, just because of the timing, it's become a game for connecting and reconnecting. It's a game where people can really overcome their social atrophy and the social anxiety that some of us are experiencing. It gives you a sense of how you reenter, how you have those small conversations that then become deep conversations sometimes.

What are some of the things people should look out for with regards to social atrophy?

“So how was the pandemic?” This is a question that I've heard quite a bit. [laughs] As if you just came back from some trip! And even when you come back from a trip, most of the time people are not interested in you talking more than one sentence. They don't really want to know, "First we went here and then we did that. And you won't believe this and then..." People know that they've gone through something big. They don't really know what they can ask. They don't know how much others really want to know. That’s a big one.

You’ve offered interesting perspectives on a lot of the Western myths we have. What do you think are some of the American myths that undergird our society that were most exposed by the pandemic and by COVID?

Self-reliance, effort, optimism, "Roll up your sleeve, get to work. There is nothing you cannot solve, if you put your mind to it." This “it's all on you, try harder mentality.” A pandemic will definitely highlight the notion of interdependence. Public health is a conception of interdependence. You do something not just for you—you do something because it protects others. That notion of interdependence has taken a beating over the last [several years]. It's all self-help, self-love, self-compassion. Self is in front of a lot of things, and that ultimately ends up creating a self focus. That doesn't mean self is not important. But it also comes to self and other. It's I and thou. We don't exist separately from our connections with others.

What else?

The soulmate myth. The soulmate has always historically been God. One and only meant the divine. When you start to turn a human being into God-like, and you collapse the social and the spiritual, you set yourself up a little bit. Relationships are sustained by the community that they live in. Not being alone doesn't mean being two. And people here do not have enough social support, no matter which way you turn. They don’t have enough confidants, or people they talk to. Lots of things they bring to therapists should be shared in community settings. Couples don't tell the truth to anybody. Your best friends, when they may divorce, you didn't even see it coming.

The next myth, at this moment, is the centrality of work. On the one hand, work is very liberating. You come to America and if you work hard, you can make it. At the same time, when people lose their jobs, especially men, they're willing to jump off the roof. There needs to be other sources of meaning and other sources of values that isn't just about success and money and all of those things. All the research asking people what they would have wanted to do differently, not a single one says, "I would have wanted to work hard."

So with these myths in mind, what would you advise people to do, coming out of the pandemic, to try to counteract them?

There's no greater antidepressant than doing for others. Instead of just thinking about self-care, take care of others. When you do for others, when you see other people's pain, experiences, hunger, you name it, you feel like you matter. You derive meaning when you are important to others. Your meaning doesn't just come from what you do for yourself.

In terms of the soulmate, one person cannot give you what an entire community should provide. That is bound to create a crumbling of too many expectations on one unit. So do not give up your friends. A wedding is not saying goodbye to your circle or to these relationships. They're super important, and especially the men. The men, particularly guys in straight relationships, lose massive amounts of social connections once they get married. But this is for people in all types of relationships. One person cannot give you what a whole village should provide.

Then for work, work as identity is where it's going. Love and work are replacing traditional communal structures and religion. But think about other sources of purpose and meaning, and put them in place. What else matters in your life? If it's only work, when work doesn't go well, mental health problems are very close around the corner.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

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actualkunikida · 7 years

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Dammit, of course Camus was attainable via Grand Hero Battle during the months I wasn't playing. Why did my few days of not playing due to depression-induced lethargy have to turn into a few months of not playing out of habit, I missed out on so much. I hope they bring him back. Narcian's a rerun, isn't he? And maybe I'd actually be able to get him, seeing as I was actually able to beat the easiest-difficulty GHB stage this time around

#fire emblem heroes

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whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer · 7 years

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Coffee and one more Joker to kill.

Fandoms: Red Robin comics, Batman comics, Death Note anime.

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Ryuk (mentioned), Ra’s Al Gul (mentioned), and Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned).

Rated: Teen. (I only use the f word once.)

Summary: "Bruce couldn't protect me or Barbara from one. Now it turns out there had been three of those f*ckers?" Tim finally gave in and laid his head against Jason who was surprisingly a good pillow. A much better pillow than Tim's arm for sure.

"You're helping me find the third one tomorrow morning so I can find out his name," Jason ordered Tim who was slowing falling asleep once again.

Tim hummed. "You buy me coffee and it will be a date," he answered before closing his eyes and finally went back to sleep. Notes:

Tim groaned as he slipped back into consciousness.

His body ached and it's not from falling asleep in a chair while working on a speech he was going to have to give -

Tim paused his thought.

He drew his elbow back that a few minutes ago he had been using as a improvised pillow and swiped his finger to turn his laptop screen back on.

It was two in the morning.

Tim groaned again though this time it was from dismay instead of pain.

Okay he had six hours to finish his speech for the board of Wayne Enterprise, catch a few more zzz, have a shower, get dressed, and find those crutches that Tim had began to hate using.

Subconsciously Tim squinted his tired eyes at the glowing screen of his laptop, the only light in the dark vast room, which made his eyes hurt even more as he tried to remember if he left his crutches at his room at the Manor or here at the safe-house that had slowly became Tim's residence after his fight with Bruce about Captain Boomerang.

Suddenly Tim was jostle from his thoughts as he heard a loud banging on a door.

Tim winced at the loud sound that did nothing but cause his lack of coffee induced migraine to hurt further before letting out a menacing growl.

WHAT IN THE ACTUALLY FRACK, Tim thought murderously before stumbling as he tried to start walking towards the door that was still being heavily pounded on.

There were only two people who knew his current base of residency. Alfred who Tim swore had the super power of omnipresence and Ra's al Ghul.

Ra's al Ghul plus however many minions he had watching over Tim who the Demon's Head had dubbed "the detective" after Tim had out smarted him.

But neither option made sense.

Alfred knew that Tim was on coffee withdraw since it had been the "kindly" grandfatherly butler who had Tim cold turkey the caffeinated beverage. So it was unlikely that Alfred would disturb him, especially at two in the morning, instead of giving Tim a wide berth.

Ra's al Ghul also knew not to disturb Tim unless he wanted several of his main bases of operations to "accidentally" blow up because of mysterious and utterly coincidental gas leaks.

(Timothy Drake was never someone you should piss off and that's a fact without even adding his utter ruthlessness from being deprived of caffeine that even made demon-brat wary to test Tim.)

Hell, Ra's minions knew better than to disturb him when he was without caffeine unless they wanted Tim's metal bo-staff in their faces!

Maybe Ra's was here to attempt another speech that basically consisted of "join me in the dark side Tim we could rule the galaxy."

Tim paused at the front door.

For a second, only a second because Tim was not weak minded even without coffee in his system, Tim was tempted to say yes if caffeine was offered instead of cookies.

He opened the door not giving a damn to look out of the door's peephole.

He wasn't scared.

Tim Drake was actually itching to fight, an outlet for his lack of caffeine induced anger. He may not look like it but Tim was badass despite demon-brat's loudly voiced opinions.

Google "look like th' innocent flower, but be the serpent under 't," and you'll see his, Timothy Drake-Wayne's face because Tim had hacked google search engine and images out of boredom with Bart and Kon's encouragement. Or had they dared him? Tim mused as his eyes fell on a not so familiar face.

Tim blinked at the sight before him then blinked again.

It was true that whenever Tim was deprived from coffee (Caffeinated coffee mind you - Tim didn't drink the blasphemy that shall-not-be-named for its lack of caffeine.) he wasn't... how shall he put it?

Maximum warped speed Mr. Sulu.

...Or you know. He's most sane; apparently drinking the amount of coffee, which was a necessity for Tim as much as air was, Tim took everyday and than doing a cold turkey per Alfred's worried request - no, actually it was more like polite command caused several effects.

Migraines, sleepiness, irritability, lethargy, constipation, depression, muscle pain, stiffness and last but not by far the least hallucinations that could put Doctor Johnathan Crane's work to shame.

However an inebriated Jason Todd with freaky red eyes was not what Tim would have excepted.

"What the hell did you do or piss off?"

While Tim and Jason's relationship with one and another had improved dramatically Tim was on his third day (But whose counting?) without coffee. He had enough problems in his life (main one: coffee withdraws) without adding a drunk Jason with glowing red eyes.

"May I come in pretender?" Jason, ever the polite gentlemen, asked.

Tim fought the urge of slamming the door at his resurrected brother's face because Jason had asked a question instead of answering Tim's.

Didn't the great Red Hood know the rules on pseudo-interrogation?

Whoever asked first is suppose to be answered first.

Honestly was he and Alfred the only members of their family that knew common sense?

"Sure," Tim answered despite the annoyance he felt.

"Why haven't you tur- turned on the lights?" Jason asked with a slur in his speech.

Tim narrowed his eyes threateningly. "I'll answer when you answer my question," Tim answered with all but a snarl.

"I found a notebook in an abandoned warehouse that was suppose to contain some sex traders."

Tim raised a perfectly plucked ebony eyebrow.

"It's title was called Death Note," Jason said as though that explained why Jason had red eyes instead of Lazarus green.

"Oh?" Tim commented as he practically dragged Jason towards his couch. It was a miracle they didn't trip or break anything.

"It had all the rules about killing a person; as if I need a black, morbidly named diary to kill people."

Tim snorted his agreement.

"So a five days later I saw this thing."

"Thing?" Tim repeated the non-descriptive word back to Jason as they finally collapsed onto Tim's couch.

"His name is Ryuk. He's a Shinigami," Jason told Tim. The older man's breathe reeked of cheap beer.

"A Japanese god of death," the words came out of Tim's mouth unbidden; he winced, not meaning to interrupt Jason's explanation. Who knew how long Jason would stay conscious with all the alcohol he had consumed and smelled of.

"Always was the smart one replacement. That's why I wanted you as my Robin," Jason complemented him and Tim blinked owlishly. He was unsure how to process that statement. He filed it for later.

"He gave me the gist of the diary that can legitimately kill people if you have seen they're faces and know they're real names. Or if I made a deal for Shinigami eyes I could just kill by seeing an asshole's face."

"What was the cost of the deal Jason?" Anger crept in to Tim's tone. Yes, he's deductive reasoning was low without caffeine but he hadn't lost his common sense.

"Half of my life," Jason told Tim before Tim slapped Jason upside the head for stupidity.

"Why the hell would you do that?!" Tim shouted in anger before wincing.

Ow.

That hurt; that really hurt.

He had forgotten about his migraine because of Jason's story.

"Cause if a person's correct name is written in the Death Note and you've seen his face he can't come back."

Tim knew immediately the he Jason had referred to.

"What was his name?" Tim croaked curious even though he still wasn't over the fact Jason had made deal with the devil, actually a Japanese death god.

Jason let out a miserable sounding groan. "Not he Tim. Them. Why do you think I came by your place drunk off my ass replacement?"

Tim straightened up from the shock of the reveal but Jason pulled him into his arms. If Tim didn't already know that Jason was drunk he would of now.

Dick was the cuddlier of Tim's older brothers. Not Jason.

"Bruce couldn't protect me or Barbara from one. Now it turns out there had been three of those fuckers?"

Tim finally gave in and laid his head against Jason who was surprisingly a good pillow. A much better pillow than Tim's arm for sure.

"You're helping me find the third one tomorrow morning so I can find out his name," Jason ordered Tim who was slowing falling asleep once again.

Tim hummed. "You buy me coffee and it will be a date," he answered before closing his eyes and finally went back to sleep.

A/N: I have a perfectly good reason why I haven't update my any of my fics. I finally got around to watching Death Note. I'm not finished with the series but I'm getting there.One of the several things that inspired this fic was Coffee House Rules by chibi_nightowl. I would recommended reading it (it's a series of hilarious drabbles about Tim, coffee, and the batfamily) if you love Tim Drake or just the batfamily.

#batfamily #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Death Note #CrossOver #crack #my fanfiction

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thediabeticslut · 7 years

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Basic Bro | “Thanks for sucking my dick”

dates: 🍦🍦🍦🍦 sex: 🍦🍦 awkward diabetes moment? no (date rating guide here)

choice quote: “How would you rate my dick on a scale of one to five? You know, like a Yelp review.”

~SCROLL DOWN FOR DICK DEETS~ This is just slightly embarrassing to admit, though it shouldn’t be: I’ve never dated or hooked up with anyone I’ve gone to school with. Well, hadn’t ever. The convergence of fatness, depression, awkwardness, shyness, low self-esteem, ssri-induced lack of libido, and diabetes-induced lethargy basically assured that. But now I’m finally back in school, and with weight loss and a dye job, society has finally deemed me attractive and desirable. Super fucked up, right? Alas, here we are. I’d had a crush on Basic Bro since the first day of class. He wore a rad silk bomber jacket (so on-trend!) and spoke up often with a uniquely cool bravado. He seemed smart, engaged, and like he really cared about school - basically, everything you want in a classmate, and also a good deal of what turns me on. One day, I ended up sitting next to him, and he struck up a conversation. The classroom was hot that day, or maybe it was just me. I was only wearing a light flannel, but I was sweating tiny bullets and could feel my face reddening while I prayed that my light layer of makeup could adequately cover the intensifying physiological signs of a developing crush. He spoke smoothly and confidently, and we had one of those oh-so-satisfying whispered conversations, the kind that make you feel like you’re in your own little world, the kind woven with climactic tension. The tension isn’t sexual, and it’s hardly even flirtatious, but it’s enough to leave you smiling and wondering for the rest of the day. “Do you understand what she’s saying?” “Yeah, I think she’s talking about Freudian psychoanalysis.” “Damn, you’re smart, huh?” “Hah! Hardly.” He asked for my number, “Just in case I need to know about, like, class stuff. ‘Cause you seem like you take really good notes.” And indeed, I was left wondering. He did eventually text me, but just about class. But that evolved to larger conversations about school, and then, at his behest, just plain conversation. Yeah... I started to get the sense he might be into me. Of course, I was into him, too, but one of my biggest hesitations was our age difference. I just turned 24, and he’s 20. Or, as he phrased it, “I turn 21 in December.” With younger guys, of course, there’s a greater risk of immaturity, but I didn’t want to make any assumptions. What really held me back was my own shame. I’m a textbook late bloomer, always feeling a bit behind in life, and dating someone younger would feel like proof of that. I’ve internalized the message that women who date younger men are desperate, losers. For what it’s worth, I also judge men who date younger women. I generally follow the half-your-age-plus-seven rule, which tells me that 19 is my lower limit, but that still feels way too young. I decided to proceed with caution and told myself that barring some amazing display of maturity and compatibility on his part, this would just be a hookup. I kept talking to him, but I also kept Tindering in hopes of finding an actual relationship (I know, I know!) Unfortunately, Basic Bro did start to show signs of immaturity. He skips class often - he’s probably only been to half of them, and it’s a once a week class. Then, when I invited him to a study session, he stopped responding to my texts and only got in touch the next day to tell me he’d accidentally slept most of the day. But then, he asked me out... kind of? “hey would you like to hang out sometime? maybe we could study more, or not” I’d figured out by this point that this kid has the mentality of a high schooler. But my crush hadn’t fully faded, and it was high time to hang out with someone I’d met in real life, rather than on a dating app. So I did. DATE 1 He flaked on our first meeting (no surprise there), but we finally met up for pizza last week. Since he almost never comes to class, and since I have a class right after ours, I hadn’t actually talked to him much in person, most of our contact was over text. When he showed up, it was supremely awkward. He didn’t have much to say, so I had to put on my bubbly face and force-feed him conversation. I had to wonder if he was just like this, or if he was nervous because of me. I was pretty positive he was into me, but I wasn’t actually sure whether this was a date. He did pay for the pizza, though, and was awkwardly chivalrous in constantly refilling my water. I guess that’s a sign. When we were done, I asked, “So what do you want to do now?” “Uh, we could walk around and talk, sit on a bench and talk, sit on the grass and talk...” Another sign. We did all three, walking around the local college campus and chatting. We mostly talked about basic things - school, family, interests, life goals. I quickly learned that he’s not the guy I initially saw him as. I don’t know how to put this tactfully, but he’s... simple. I don’t want to call him stupid, but he was very basic in a way I didn’t quite expect. Hence Basic Bro. But that, in a way, emboldened me. My inhibitions were lowered and I was able to be more honest with him since I wasn’t concerned about making a perfect impression or proving myself in any way. We’d spent about 3 hours together and my denim shirt was becoming inadequate for the evening cold. I told him this in hopes he’d put his arm around me, but he didn’t, and it was actually really fucking cold, so I invited him back to my apartment so I could grab a sweater. Of course, I wouldn’t mind if we didn’t go back outside, either... As it turned out, his phone was dead, so I let him charge it, and we just stayed inside. He seemed to be in no hurry to leave, but he didn’t make a move, either. I could have been more forward, but my self-doubt got the better of me. Our time involved a lot of, “So, what do you want to do now?” and I hoped that sitting next to each other on my bed would lead to something, but we just listened to records and played a very ineffective two-person game of Cards Against Humanity. He eventually left, late at night, having done nothing. I was okay with that, though - I think it’s important for me to not give into my impulses and actually get to know people before sleeping with them. I knew I’d see him the next day, anyway. DATE 2 It was 4/20, my favorite tacky holiday and also the day of our midterm. Our class runs from 1:30-4:20, and unfortunately our professor didn’t let us go after the test and lectured right up until the end. I caught up with Basic Bro after class as he was headed to the train, asking if he had 4/20 plans. He said he was probably just going to work on homework, and I said I was going to check out the campus celebration, just on my own. “Hey, actually, do you wanna like, get food or something?” I said sure, or we could smoke and then get food. We headed to the big lawn where everyone was getting high, there was free cotton candy and Krispy Kreme, and Basic Bro and I smoked and had an edible. While we were there, The Korean spotted me and called out my name. He was on a balcony and I was down below, so I didn’t have to see him up close, thank god. Honestly, and this is so rude, but his face repulses me now. I just waved back, “Hey!!” Basic Bro asked, “Who’s that?” “Oh, just a friend I used to work with.” ��Are you gonna go say hi?” “Uhhh, haha, I already did, didn’t I?” Since I’m a petty bitch, I hope he was jealous when he saw me looking hot with my strappy bra and cute tacky weed shirt, hanging out with a more attractive guy. I can’t say for sure he felt that way, but he did start watching all my snapchat stories... Basic Bro took me to his favorite Thai place and we scarfed down some larb and pad see ew. Then we went to a bookstore/record shop where he bought some vinyl to christen his new turntable. We picked out some cheap records just based on their covers, including one with a woman riding a horse naked. Prime material for sexual jokes, right? I said, “Oh my god, I have to know what this sounds like,” and he said, “Oh yeah, of course you can listen.” The implication there is that we’d go back to my apartment again, so we did. And once again, it took a million years for him to make a move. We listened to record after record (he bought like 4), watched 3 episodes of The Office, and then, as we lay next to each other, he said, “Hey, can I ask you something? Sorry, this is kind of awkward. Do you like... like me?” What can I even say to that? I’m not interested in dating him and I don’t want him to get that impression. I just said, “Well, what do you think we’re doing here right now?” “Lying next to each other?” “Yeah.” “So what does that mean? Yes?” “Uh... yeah... Can I ask the same of you?” “Uh... yeah...” FINALLY. TIME TO GET DICKED DOWN! We made out and grinded against each other and it was so, so hot. Maybe it’s just because I’ve been deprived, and my last sexual experience was so disappointing, but this shit was amazing. Before we went any further, he told me that he and his girlfriend broke up a few weeks ago, but that he still sees and talks to her. I told him I didn’t care, but I wanted him to take the lead and only do what he’s comfortable with, because I don’t know what the situation is like. He was still pretty passive, though, and I had to be more dominant and directive, which is always annoying. I went down on him and honestly, daaaamn @ that dick. damn. Not huge but probably my ideal size, and thick, too. But because of this, I had trouble with the blowjob, and like so many guys do, he jumped to the face-fucking. He did check in with me throughout about consent, but I had to stop several times because it was getting overwhelming. Then he pulled another super fucking porn-y move and slapped his dick against my face. Maybe I’ve been too socialized to accept this shit, and I probably need to critically examine my place in the world as a sexually active woman, but I didn’t really mind it, at least in terms of sensation. If that’s what he likes, then whatever. I minded much more that it was a porn move, and I bet he doesn’t actually like it that much, he’s probably just emulating what he sees in videos. It’s funny, because in class that day, I saw him reading an article about this very topic - the myths about sex that young people learn from porn. I was getting sick of sucking his dick and wanted to move on to actual sex, but he couldn’t keep it up. I wasted three condoms on him! In all the time we spent together, he kept talking about his struggle to not be seen as a fuckboy, but then he suggested doing it without protection, saying “my ex had an IUD, we were fine” and “if you’ve only slept with a few people you trust, and they haven’t slept with many other people, I don’t see the issue.” Classic fuckboy move. I felt like his mother giving him a lecture about STDs, and how HPV doesn’t show symptoms in men, and why is he so confident that I’m clean, doesn’t he care about himself? Throughout, I could only think: “This fucking high schooler.” So we gave up, turned the lights on, and the first thing out of his dopey mouth is: “Uhhh, thanks for sucking my dick.” “Uh. Yeah. Sure.” And then: “So do girls actually like sucking dick?” This was reminiscent of a question he asked earlier, at lunch. “So, what do chicks, like, talk about?” Memories of all the bawdy, naive, insecure, cocky boys from my high school days came flowing back, making me feel all the dirtier for having hooked up with Basic Bro. I didn’t really know what to say, I mean, what kind of question is that? I just told him, “Uh, I like that the other person enjoys it, that’s what I get out of it. Maybe some people like it, but if most girls actually did, you’d probably see more people deepthroating cucumbers in their spare time.” And as if two incredibly awkward post-sex utterances weren’t enough, he went for a third. Yeah, the one before the cut. “How would you rate my dick on a scale of one to five? You know, like a Yelp review.” He’s probably now in competition with the Bolivian for weirdest things said right after hooking up. Now feeling way too old and done with this shit, I just said, “What the fuck? That’s such a fucking awkward question.” He said, “I know, I know, you don’t have to answer.” At least I had a cop-out: “I mean, I didn’t really experience the full extent of it, so I can’t tell you.” Well... It can only go uphill from here, right?

#sweet sweet dates #the basic bro

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