#but I'm everyone else's therapist instead of ours

[arccomplex]

being a fictive of an extremely problematic character sucks. what do you mean that I'm scared to talk in a syscord just because I look like my source? what do you mean I had to give myself a different name because of how badly my character is hated (justifiably!) in the fandom? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HATE MY OWN SOURCE CHARACTER???

-Onus

[egg2k16]

I'm gonna kill myself, bro

[peri-peri-sauce]

After listening to the album for hours I just realized how cleverly the songs are ordered.

The album starts with Ready To Go, a song about pushing forward no matter the obstacles, followed by Cha Cha Cha, the song that got him to where he is now (which "coincidentally" is the second track, matching Jere's final ESC ranking). Right after that is Takavoltti, which talks about how, now that Jere's famous, everyone constantly asks him to do things—Jere do this, Jere do that—and he complies because he wants to make others smile, even though it can hurt him. And this pain transitions smoothly into Ruoska, a song that literally talks about how the pain, both of being controlled by what people expect of him and the hate he receives, excites him in some way.

Then we get into a more intense section. Kot Kot expresses his anxiety, loneliness, and the feeling of no one responding to him. This theme continues in Autiomaa, where he describes feeling empty despite everything he's achieved and struggling to be taken seriously as an artist. This feeling also comes through in the skit with the therapist, who interrupts Jere, downplays his concerns and treats him like he's just a celebrity who should "get a real job" instead of a person.

And maybe the next song marks one of the album's sharpest turns. As a single, Sex = Money could be seen as Jere selling sex out of desperation, not knowing what else to do, but when paired with the meaning behind Autiomaa it also reflects a bit of that hopelessness of being lost but still wanting to keep going, and so he turns to selling sex.

From there, we have some more upbeat tracks. Bananas talks about people going wild (going bananas) for him now that he's resurfaced, and the energy continues with Huhhahhei and It's Crazy, It's Party.

Finally, we have the perfect song to close the album, People's Champion. Here Jere finally acknowledges himself as a winner, a champion, more specifically, the people's champion. He reflects on his growth and evolution as an artist, from that scared kid to this man who isn't afraid of anything and who will keep standing strong no matter what. And of course, the lyrics "Thank you everybody I love you" as the cherry on top, a thanks to all his fans for everything they've given him and for helping him get to where he is today.

I'm so impressed by the story this album tells, and Jere has done an amazing job with it. I love him and everything he's achieved and I hope he can feel our love just as much as we feel his.

[vienssunshine]

What do you really want, you psychopath?

pairing: Josh Washington x fem reader nsfw word count: 6.7k content warning: blood, violence, needles, manipulation, non-con elements (nonconsensual filming, deception) author's note: My obsession with Until Dawn returns every summer like clockwork.

You hope he's doing okay.

It's the only thought sticking in your mind as you pace on the cable car platform. After everything last year, after him shutting down, not able to talk to anyone, you hope that now, a year later, things are at least better than they were. He has mentioned a therapist, so it's a little comforting knowing he's getting the professional help he needs.

You lean your hands against the wooden railing and admire the snowy landscape, trying to push Josh out of your mind. Instead, you shift your focus to Sam, because where the hell is she? Sam insisted on you both being the first ones up the mountain, but it's fifteen minutes past the time you agreed to meet and she has yet to arrive.

Your phone buzzes with a message from your friend:

"Hey! So sorry but traffic is terrible and I'm gonna be a bit. I don't want to keep you waiting out in the cold so take the cable car up and I'll see you up there!"

Turning your phone off, you sigh. Things are going to be awkward this year. Walking in with Sam would have eased your nerves about seeing everyone again, but it looks like you aren't being afforded that comfort anymore. Worse comes to worst, you can spend the evening holed up in your guest room with your favorite book.

You step into the cable car and try to ignore how the whole thing creaks and sways with the wind. The Washingtons are rich, so they must have the money to get this thing safety checked. Right?

The music you play in your earbuds somewhat drowns out the loud groans of the car as it travels up the snowy peak. Through the frosty window, you can see what looks like a blizzard rolling in. Good thing you'll be able to hunker down in Josh's cabin.

At the top of the mountain, the doors open and you see him, Josh Washington, standing alone in the snow. After all this time, the sight takes you aback; he seems to be an apparition, not fully there.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he says, hands in the pockets of his winter jacket, "Well, I guess it was the cable car, not a cat." His lazy grin is unshakable as he speaks.

"Hi Josh," you respond, fighting the smile creeping up on your face.

"Here, let me grab that for you," he says, stepping forward and helping you out of the straps of your North Face backpack. He swings it over his shoulder and beckons you up the path.

You thank him, bashful, and follow. The trail is white with snow and dimly lit, a few lanterns hanging from the fences, their wood corroded from the harsh winters before.

"So, is anyone else here yet?" you ask, pulling your gloves on. The wind feels stronger here than it did at the bottom of the mountain, it's icy and cutting into the skin of your fingers.

"Nah, the other party people aren't due for another hour or two." He leans in with an evil grin, "So it'll be just us for a while, scared?"

You giggle, pushing the man away from you, "I don't know if I'll survive all of your ultra-corny jokes, Josh."

"Yeah? Then, any requests for what they should put on your tombstone?" he asks, giving you a lighthearted push back.

"Shut up." You shake your head, smiling, before stealing a glance at your watch: 8:03 p.m. "Actually, I guess I won't have to survive for long since I'm on time. So everyone should be due soon."

"Aww, come on," Josh says, "You know they're all gonna be late."

You punch Josh in the arm and he fakes serious injury, "Don't talk about our friends like that, I trust in their punctuality. Sam, our good, timely friend even took the initiative to get us to come early."

Josh looks around in an exaggerated manner, squinting into the dark forest, "Do you see Sammy here? Or anyone else? 'Cause I don't. Face it, they're all gonna be late. Sam at least had the decency to give me a heads-up about it."

"Yeah, the traffic's terrible apparently."

"Damn, I guess she's gonna be even later then."

You furrow your brow, "What do you mean?"

"Sam told me to expect her around 9. So, if there's traffic, it might not be until like 9:30 or 10. Right?"

"Wait, when did she tell you to expect her at 9?"

"Uh...a few days ago, maybe?" Josh glances at you sideways, "Something up?"

Confused at the discrepancy between Sam and Josh's stories, you wrack your brain. Why did Sam want you to go early with her but tell Josh she was going to show up late?

You clench your fist, Sam wanted you and Josh alone. She's known you've had a crush on him for so long and has been relentless in encouraging you to go for it. This must be her fucked up way of forcing you to.

Josh studies you, still puzzled. Staring ahead, you notice the silhouette of the lodge at the end of the path. You weigh your options: should you be honest about what you think Sam is up to or just let it go?

You elect to give Sam a stern talking-to later, reassuring Josh by saying, "Ah it's nothing." You point to the cabin, "Hey, we're almost there!"

He follows your finger and gazes at the lodge ahead, "You're right, soon we can party all night long," he says with a mischievous smirk.

You lumber up the old stairs and find that the door to the lodge is unable to be opened.

"Ah, shit. The lock's frozen," Josh observes.

"Is there another way we can get in? Or get the door unfrozen? I'm not gonna lie, I am freezing my buns off out here."

Yeah, you'd like to spend more time with Josh, but not in nearly subzero temperatures.

"Now, now, you know Josh wouldn't keep a pretty girl outside freezing her buns off for long. Wait here, I have an idea."

Josh hurries off behind the lodge, leaving you on the porch, arms wrapped around your body in a fruitless attempt to warm yourself. You look around at the dark woods surrounding the cabin. It's a dense forest, filled with gnarly trees that look like they're twisting into one another in a warped dance.

A small trace of movement pulls your attention, something shifting its position in the tree line. Anxiety begins to pour into your stomach and you look around for Josh who is nowhere to be seen. Is something—or someone—out there? You step forward, placing your hands on the railing and leaning over to get a better look when the door behind you flies open.

"Honey, you're home!" Josh cries out.

"Josh!" you respond in a harsh whisper, "Keep it down!"

Josh laughs, placing his hand on the small of your back and guiding you into the house, "For who? No one is out here besides me," he points to himself, "and you," he presses his finger to your chest, right beneath your zipper.

His small touch flusters you, bringing a welcomed warmth to your cheeks. It makes you forget about whatever you saw in the woods. Must have been a bird.

He leads you into the living room and motions with a bow for you to sit on the couch. "Now, if the lovely lady would allow me, I'd adore starting a fire to warm her freezing buns."

Assuming a janky upper-class accent, you respond, "Why, of course, fine gentleman. I suppose that will suffice to toast said freezing buns."

You both laugh, and it makes you forget how cold you are. It's nice to kid around like old times. Like times before Hannah and Beth ran off into the woods and were never seen again. Things were easier then, it was easier to make jokes, easier to laugh.

You sink further into the couch as Josh piles wood into the fireplace.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?" He throws one last log in and pulls out a matchbook from his jeans.

"I'm happy to see you again. It's been a while."

"Too long," he agrees, striking and lighting the match.

You shift in your seat on the couch. "I guess I wanted to ask, are you okay?"

He freezes, and the match dies in his hand.

Shit, you went too far. What were you thinking, asking him how he is doing on the anniversary of the death of his little sisters? You begin to ramble, "Josh, I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that if you don't-"

"It's fine," he interrupts, "I'm fine."

You lean forward on the couch, "It's okay if you're not. Honestly, I wouldn't be."

He strikes the match again and lights the kindling as he talks. "I know that having our friends up here is going to help. It really means a lot to me that everyone is coming back to spend this weekend together."

The flickering flame nestled in the piled-on logs is growing in size, blossoming into a healthy, cozy fire. You can feel its warmth on your cheeks already.

Josh ambles over to the couch, sitting next to you—sitting very closely next to you. You almost scooch away, but decide to stay still.

Josh turns his body towards yours. "It means a lot to me that you came."

It's hard to keep your composure; his words feel too intimate and, god, his arm is resting on the couch behind you, one movement away from wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you close.

"Thanks, Josh," you force out, looking down at your hands. Your fingers are anxiously knotted together, a clear sign that your body is short-circuiting at his proximity.

He follows your gaze, watching you fidget in your lap. He then moves in, resting a hand on yours to quiet your restless fingers and placing the other beneath your jaw, using his knuckle to gently move your chin up so you face him.

You're freaking out. This is crazy. Why is he touching you like this?

"I-uh...well..." you stammer.

"Do you like me?" he whispers.

You freeze up; what do you even say to that? There's no way you can tell him you've had an embarrassingly unmanageable crush on him since the day you met. It could blow up the entire friendship. But, it's possible that he feels the same way you do, isn't it? His face is mere inches from yours!

Unless he doesn't feel the same way. After countless cruel and mean-spirited pranks, this friend group has sown distrust into every fiber of your body. You want to trust Josh with your true feelings, but can you?

Your mouth gapes, unable to articulate the paralyzing swirl of desire and fear coursing through you.

So you stay silent, and he retreats from your personal space, leaning back against the couch cushion, "Don't worry about answering now, I have a feeling everyone will know each other a lot better after tonight."

Your brow furrows at the crypticness of his statement, but before you can think about it too much, Josh's phone vibrates, and he gives you a knowing smirk, "Speak of the devil."

He gets off the couch and answers the phone while you try to keep your brain from spinning out of control. He was so close to you, which was really scary, but at the same time, it felt really good.

Josh teases the recipient on the other line about Ashley, so you take a guess that he's speaking to Chris.

He ends the phone call and turns to you, "Gotta go pick up the kids at the end of the trail, wanna come with?"

You press your lips together, "Um, I think I'll hang back. Y'know, unpack and stuff."

"Suit yourself," he shrugs, grabbing a flashlight and exiting the cabin.

Still in a daze, you head down the dark hallway and find your guest room. You unpack your clothes into the wooden dresser and throw your diary onto the patchwork quilt atop your bed. The bedroom is a familiar space to you, but it doesn't bring the comfort familiarity typically does.

You take some time to journal out your feelings, trying to work out the complex emotions that come with being back at this lodge after last year. Then, you take some time to write about Josh. How he had possibly come on to you tonight. How you wanted it to go further.

Voices begin to fill up the halls, so you leave your bedroom and journal to join everyone out in the living room. The fire is now roaring and Sam has arrived, so you go to greet her.

You expected everyone to be making an effort to get along considering the reason you're all up here, but since Josh has to separate Jess and Emily by sending Jess and Mike to the guest cabin, it's clear that no one is putting in the work.

The rest of the group swiftly and awkwardly disperse, each couple running off to deal with something whether it be finding a lost bag or a Ouija board. Whether they're making excuses so they don't have to stick around, you don't know, but it hurts to realize that your friend group will probably never recover from last year.

For a moment, Josh looks defeated, but he quickly plasters on his usual devil-may-care smirk.

Sam heads upstairs for a bath, but not before you pull her aside and whisper-shout about her audacious set-up. She laughs it off, and you both agree she can make it up to you with a card game in your room after she washes off.

Still feeling weird about Josh and the exchange earlier, you elect to read in your room instead of hanging out with him. Only, when you go back to the guest room to grab your book, you can't find it in your bag. What you don't notice is how your journal has also disappeared from its place on top of your bed.

"Hey, Josh?" You walk back into the living room to see Josh as well as Chris and Ashley sitting in front of a Ouija board, "Oh hi, Chris, Ashley. Have any of you seen my book?"

"There's a bunch of books around here," Chris shares unhelpfully.

Josh turns toward you, "What does it look like?"

You position your hands to give them a visual aid, "About this big? Green? Signed by the author on the inside?"

Your friends stare at you, blank, and you let your hands fall to your sides.

"Are you sure you packed it?" Ashley asks.

"Yes, I'm sure, and it's special so I really need to find it."

"Maybe it fell out when we were walking up?" Josh suggests.

"Ugh. You're probably right. I'm gonna go check," you say, zipping up your coat.

"I'll go with you," Josh offers, about to stand up before you say, "No, it's...it's fine."

"Are you sure you don't want some alone time with Josh?" Chris teases. Ashley laughs a little too hard.

With a grin, Josh adds on, "What if there are some baddies out there?"

You offer a weak smile, "I'll be fine. Like you said, there's no one else up here but us this weekend. Besides, Emily and Matt are down there getting a bag or whatever."

"Okay," Josh says, throwing his hands up in defeat.

You take a flashlight and head down the trail, squinting as the snow comes down heavier and heavier. After following your friends' footsteps all the way down the path, you spot your book on the bank of a narrow creek a little ways off the trail. You're not sure how it got there but are just happy to have it again.

Brushing off the light dusting of snow atop the book's cover, you're pleased to realize that the weather hasn't damaged the book at all. You're less pleased when you hear an arguing couple headed your way. You silently curse; you had hoped to make your journey as short as possible to avoid this dysfunctional pair.

They turn the corner and Matt sees you, calling out your name with a wave. Emily stares ahead with her arms crossed.

"Hey, guys!" you respond.

They walk up to join you, but your presence doesn't make an impact as they continue bickering all the way back up to the lodge. You succeed in tuning them out until Chris and Ashley appear out of the snowfall.

Your mouth falls open as you take the scene in: Ashley is curled into Chris's chest and her clothes are soaked with blood.

You hurry over to them, "Are you guys okay? What happened?"

Emily gasps, "Ashley, whose blood is that?"

Ashley lets out a strangled sob, clinging onto Chris.

"Chris, what happened?" Matt asks.

"J-Josh," Chris chokes out.

You take a step forward, "Josh what, Chris?"

"He's gone. It's all my fault. There's...there's a psycho on the mountain."

His words are like cold hands that squeeze your heart. There's no way.

"What did you say?" Emily cries, "There's like a serial killer up here?"

Ashley begins sobbing uncontrollably, "Yes! There's a killer and he's gonna kill us all if we don't get out of here!"

"It's okay, it's all gonna be okay," Matt says, and he turns to Emily, "We need to get help."

"But Sam," you interrupt, "Sam's still at the lodge!"

"You're right," Chris says, "We need to get everyone back together first."

"But we also need help!" Emily says, "If there's some psycho up here, I'm not just gonna go back and run into his arms!"

"Here," you say, "You and Matt go get help while Chris, Ashley, and I go back to the lodge to get Sam and everyone else."

"Fine!" Emily responds, "But we need to go, now!"

You split off into your separate directions. Ashley and Chris decide to check the upstairs bathroom while you hurry to check the guest rooms.

You fly down the hallway, opening and searching all the rooms lining the corridor. When you get to your room, you close your eyes and crack open the door, praying that when you open your eyes, your friend will be there, cards in hand, ready to play your make-up game.

"Sam?" you cry out. Nothing.

You check the closet and under the bed, thinking she could be hiding but still come up empty.

You're about to turn around to go check the rest of the rooms when a large hand clamps around your mouth, slamming your back into a hard chest so another arm can ambush you, wrapping around your waist and holding you still.

"Looking for your friend?" a distorted voice asks. Your eyes widen. Shit. This must be the psycho Ashley and Chris were talking about.

You begin to thrash against the body behind you, desperate to do anything to avoid whatever fate Josh had suffered. Your fight does nothing but make the arms around you constrict, the strength of the maniac locking you in place, pressed against their body.

"I wouldn't be difficult, if I were you," the voice states, and you're frightened into compliance when the maniac presses a syringe of mystery liquid up to your neck. You whimper against his glove.

"Now, now, there's no need to be scared," he tucks the syringe away and begins stroking your hair, "As long as you behave, you'll be in good hands."

Tears well up in your eyes and you suppress the urge to fight back again.

He seems lost in thought for a moment as he uses his gloved fingers to play with your hair, but shortly regains his focus, "If you promise to keep quiet, I won't have to use that syringe I showed you earlier," he chuckles, the sound metallic with the voice changer, before adding, "Not that anyone would hear you or be able to help."

You gasp, are Chris and Ashley okay? Is Sam?

He looks down at you, and you can see a part of the mask he's wearing in your peripheral vision. "Can you do that for me? Be nice and quiet like a good little kitten?" As he speaks, he slowly pulls down the zipper of your coat, exposing your tight v-neck shirt.

You press your eyes shut and give a curt nod. It's best to just go along with what he says, you want to try to make it out of this alive.

The man releases the hand over your mouth, and you make an effort to keep from breaking down in tears. The psycho takes a step back and away as you manually even your breathing.

"Sit on the bed and face me," he says.

You take a few uncertain steps forward, as though you were walking on a lurching boat, and sit on the patchwork quilt, cramming yourself close to the wall behind you and pulling your knees up to your chest. You raise your chin to face your attacker and cold fear washes over you.

He's tall, built, and looks like something right out of a slasher film. He's wearing oversized overalls dirtied with dried mud and a creepy skull-like mask that covers his entire head and neck. The syringe he threatened you with pokes out of his pocket, a reminder of the consequences if you don't comply. Down by his side, his gloved hand grips a journal—your journal.

He opens your diary and begins to carelessly flip through it, "Hmmm...maybe I should tell you a bedtime story to calm you down. There's a lot of great material in here."

Your fists ball up, scrunching the fabric of the quilt beneath them. "What do you want?" you grit out. Those entries are personal, and you'd have no idea why this intruder would be interested in reading them.

Ignoring you, the psycho flips to the page you had left your bookmark in. "Look at that, a recent entry," he darkly chuckles at his discovery, "I wonder what it says."

Your lips tighten, of all entries, why did it have to be that one?

"It's nothing, just random fucking friend group shit," you say.

The psycho looks up, gazing at you for once instead of the pages in his hands. "Then you wouldn't mind me reading it, would you?"

You open your mouth, helpless, "Um, no...you don't need to-"

The maniac lumbers towards you, just a few steps away, before he begins to recite your words.

"Fuck, Josh is so hot. It's literally torture. I want to take him into one of these guest rooms and just have my way with him. I'd let him do anything he wanted too, like let him just use my body for his pleasure. Ugh, I'm getting all hot just thinking about it. It's killing me that we were literally alone, and I think he was making a move on me, but I just didn't do anything about it. But I don't know, I don't want to push it after his sisters..." the psycho trails off.

Your face burns, feeling more embarrassed than scared now, even with a potential murderer standing before you. Your words sound so much more extreme and mortifying after being read aloud. Is that what he's trying to do, humiliate you?

The psycho closes the journal, steps forward, and tosses it onto the dresser. He's close now, boots planted on the red carpet in front of the bed, just a few paces away. He's watching you, his gaze suffocating, so you avert your own, instead focusing on the area above his left shoulder.

A glint in the corner of the room, right where the ceiling meets the two adjacent walls, catches your eye.

"Nothing to say about that entry, sweetheart?" the psycho asks, standing there with his gloved hands by his side as if he has all the time in the world.

This is getting suspicious; why is he asking you about your crush instead of, I don't know, killing you? It seems like such a trivial topic for a killer to be focused on...if he actually is one. Were Chris and Ashley wrong?

You peer at the shady corner of the room and are able to make out a circular object: a black and shiny lens. Above it is a dim but steadily blinking red light. You're being filmed. With that realization, you put it together.

They're pranking you.

It started with Sam tricking you into being alone with Josh, and then Chris teasing you about him, and then Ashley and Chris putting on a hell of a show trying to convince you some psycho is running around. Now, they're trying to terrify you into confessing your feelings. It's all some stupid, immature prank where you are the butt of the joke.

A deep frown forms on your face and you unfurl your body from its curled up position on the bed. Fury begins to pulse through your body.

"Now that I think about it, I actually have plenty to say about that entry." You stand up, taking a bold stride toward the "psycho". His hand raises to the pocket the syringe sticks out of, but you continue unfazed.

"First, let me start off with the fact that I will not let you guys scare and embarrass me for your own entertainment, alright?" You're almost yelling now, and the man watches as you continue your tirade.

You stare down the camera, gesticulating wildly, "I have feelings for Josh, okay? I want to fuck Josh. Hard." You throw your hands in the air, "And you can play all these stupid little tricks you want on me but I'm not going to let you guys make me feel bad about it. I don't give a fuck about what any of you think of me."

You sigh, exasperated, and face the speechless man standing in front of you. "There you go, hope you guys got the laugh you wanted."

He observes you as you shift your weight, the creepy eyes of the mask staring uncomfortably deep into you. You fold your arms, "So you can take the mask off now, okay? The prank's over, Chris."

"It's not Chris."

You press your lips together, "Okay, then who is it, Mike?"

The psycho speaks again, but this time, the voice-changer has been turned off.

"I think you know who it is."

Your eyes widen. There's no way you just confessed to-

The psycho's gloved hands rise to his head, and his fingers hook behind his mask and bring it down, revealing Josh's smirking face.

You take a wobbly step back, your anger disintegrating and leaving you without the confidence to speak as casually as you just were.

He chuckles, amused by your surprise and confusion. "This isn't how I imagined this going, but I'm not complaining about it." He places his mask next to your journal that's on top of the dresser.

A million thoughts and feelings begin swirling around your head and body at a vertigo-inducing pace, but they are all quieted when Josh steps forward and takes your hands in his gloves.

"Josh, what...what's going on?" you ask meekly, "Where is everyone?" It feels so contradictory, but knowing it's him near you, with his hands in yours, makes you feel so safe.

"I set up a few games for them," Josh says, "They should be entertained for a bit. But yeah, it's all one big prank. Gotcha!"

It feels like he's holding back a full reply. You look up at him, searching his green eyes for a complete answer, only to be met with a warm rush to your stomach at the fact that his gaze is soft, loving, and entirely focused on you. It's easier to fall into his warm embrace than insist on knowing more about the stupid prank, so you choose to just let it go.

Josh looks down and away, “Y’know, I’ve always been into you. I’m not good with this kind of thing but…I’ve always wanted to ask you out. I never got the courage to tell you that until now.”

Your heart flutters. “I was scared to tell you too, I just didn’t know how you’d react given…everything.”

He nods, “It feels like sometimes it takes a life-or-death situation to get people to confess their true feelings. Like Chris and Ashley, it’d take a gun to their head to get either of them to spill their guts.” 

“You’re probably right,” you giggle. 

Josh leans closer to you, hands moving from yours so they can rest on the curve of your waist. His thumbs slowly stroke your sides, provoking the urge to move his hands underneath your shirt to feel the sensation unobstructed. 

“So,” he starts, his voice quieter, dripping with something darker, “Was everything you wrote in your diary true?” 

You bring your arms up so they’re around his neck, pressing your body into his. Your soft chest melds into his hard sternum and heat radiates through his overalls to warm your skin. 

You tilt your head so your lips are centimeters from his, “You mean how I wrote pages upon pages of how bad I wanted to fuck you?” 

His hands tighten, squeezing your waist, and with his chest so close to yours, you can feel his heartbeat speed up at your words. 

“Fuck,” he says, “I guess I didn’t know you wanted it as much as I have.” 

You lean forward, closing the gap between your lips and kiss him, hard. You melt into each other, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, devoid of any negative space. One of his hands comes up to your jaw and the other travels to the small of your back, pushing you further into him. 

Threading your fingers into his hair, you deepen the kiss, parting your lips and allowing your tongues to push into each other's mouths. He’s a little hesitant at first, but any self-consciousness vanishes when you begin to moan breathily into your open-mouthed kisses. Thoroughly encouraged by your noises of delight, he indulges in his desire, indulges in you.

His kisses are becoming messy and desperate as he works to keep receiving your pretty little noises. He runs his hands all over your body, feeling every dip and curve, wanting to touch all of you at the same time. Each brush of his hands sends tingles up your spine and you move with him, desiring nothing more but to keep your body underneath the palms of his hands.

You allow your hands to explore too, taking them downward, past the buttons of his shirt, the large pocket of his overalls, and his belt until they reach the hardness in his pants. You rest delicate fingers on it, tracing the outline and Josh breaks from your kiss to groan. 

You let out a shaky breath, “Shit, Josh. I want this. I want you.” 

He leans down and grabs the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up and against him. Now suspended, you tighten your arms around his neck, holding onto him. Josh lays you down on the quilt and you spread your body out, relaxing into the soft fabric and the euphoric buzz your body swims in. He crawls on top of you, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then your neck, and finally, to your collarbone all while you giggle and pull him close.

He hovers over you, “You know where I want to take you right?”

You laugh and point your finger into his chest, “Don’t you dare say that perverted phrase.” 

He smiles, bringing his hand up to his mouth to lock his lips and throw away the key. 

He begins to kiss your neck once more, and you squirm underneath him, overwhelmed by the sensation his warm and wet lips shock through your body. His shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, so you wrap your hands around his thick forearms to stabilize yourself. 

Josh moves the neckline of your t-shirt, kissing further down on the increasingly exposed skin. Each kiss sends heat blooming deep in your stomach, making it even harder to keep still with the waves of pleasure overtaking you. His fingers tug on the hem of your t-shirt, a silent ask for removal. You’re about to comply when the shine of the camera in the corner catches your eye once more, the lens trained directly on the bed. 

“Josh, the camera?” you ask. 

“Not on,” he mumbles, entranced by the sight and feeling of your chest. 

It’s enough reassurance for you to pull your coat and shirt off, uncovering your bra and torso. Your exposure gives you a sudden wave of self-doubt about the prank pulled on you and everyone's role in it. You still have questions since some things aren’t fitting together, but, shamefully, it’s hard to think critically when Josh’s lips feel so good against you. 

“Fuck, y’know you’re so pretty?” Josh whispers into your torso, lavishing your chest with kisses and licks as he worships your body, “All of our winter trips…s’been so hard to focus with you here. Just wanted to touch you.”

Your fingernails begin to dig into his forearms. “It was so hard for me too, Josh, I’ve had a crush on you for like ever.” He kisses just above your jeans and you let out a gasp. Your hand comes up to your mouth in an attempt to muffle your noises, but Josh pins your wrist to the bedspread. 

“Please,” he says, “I want…to hear you,” he presses another kiss to your pelvis, “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” 

“Okay,” you answer, breath hitching as he unbuttons your pants. He pulls your jeans off and throws them onto the rug. “Mmm, no fair,” you whine, using your free hand to knock one of his overall straps off his shoulder. He smiles, complying with your wishes by taking his overalls off, leaving him in his button-up and dark jeans. 

“Is this satisfactory for the princess?” he asks, waiting for you to evaluate his outfit. 

You tilt your head and grin, “Hmmm…satisfactory for now.” 

“Then, may I continue pleasuring my fair maiden?”

“You may,” you giggle. 

He kneels between your thighs and strokes his fingers along the curves of your legs, marveling at your beauty. 

“You have such a tight bod,” he says, breathless. He places a big hand on your lower stomach, “And so soft, too.”

A shy smile spreads across your face; the words from your crush make you feel tingly and giddy. “It makes me happy that you like my body,” you respond. 

“I love it,” he says, bending your knees and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, amused by how you instinctively jerk at the sensation. “You like when I kiss you there?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

Your breathing becomes uneven as he kisses further down your inner thigh, closing in on your underwear and the darkened patch where your wetness has soaked through the fabric. Josh’s rough hands slip down your thighs, holding them open and still despite the way you squirm when his lips feel a little too good. 

He pauses for a quick moment to pull off his shirt, leaving him in his dark henley top that hugs his lean build perfectly. 

“I want more off of you,” you demand, and Josh grins, stating that “Somebody’s eager.” 

His henley top comes off and shirtless Josh is between your legs once more, kissing just a few inches shy of your underwear. His hands roam as he does, gratefully squeezing the flesh of your thighs. 

He moans your name as he licks a stripe across the inside of your leg, sending the thoughts straight out of your brain. All you know is that he sounds so fucking hot when he moans your name. 

“C-can I take these off now?” he asks, placing a hand on your underwear, a twinge of desperation underlying his voice.

“Yes, please, Josh,” you gasp, thumbs already tucking into your waistband to get the burdensome fabric off as quickly as possible. 

He groans as your glistening folds are exposed, looking like he’s about to come just from the sight of you. Within seconds he’s nestled between your legs again, kissing your thighs until he gets to your soaked entrance. His hot breath fans against you, sending butterflies of anticipation up your sides. 

“I’ve been thinking about doing this for so long,” he admits before licking up your cunt with a flattened tongue, sending one of your hands down to get knotted into his hair and the other gripping onto the bedsheets for dear life. 

He continues to lick his tongue through your folds, and you begin to writhe underneath his touch, “Fuck, Josh, it…it feels really good.” 

He groans against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through your body. Your hips kick up against your will, but Josh pushes your pelvis back down into the mattress, palm firmly placed on your lower stomach, fingers spread. 

“Can’t have you wiggling around, now can we?” he says before diving into your pussy one more. He bathes your clit with attention, holding your hips down and keeping you still every time a flick of his tongue is too powerful for you to handle. 

Your fingers dig deep into Josh’s hair, pulling it gently, which he seems to enjoy with the way he groans into you. His hips buck a little into the mattress whenever you pull tighter, so desperate to get off to you.

He watches you as he pleasures you, devouring every little reaction with his dark and hungry green eyes. When you look down, you can see that one of his hands has slipped underneath his jeans, allowing him to palm himself to your delightful reactions. 

He begins to suck on your clit, kissing and taking it into his mouth rhythmically in a way that might just drive you out of your right mind. His mouth is warm and wet against you and each shockwave of pleasure it gifts breaks you down into smaller and smaller pieces. 

Honestly, it’s frightening how the bliss consumes you in totality: thoughts, body, everything. It’s better than any smutty fantasy you scribbled down in your journal. Your imagination could have never conjured up what it feels like to have Josh go down on you.

“You’re s’hot,” he says in between licks, “And taste so good, fuck.” 

You moan, and he becomes sloppier with his movements, too overcome by desire to think straight. You buck your hips against him and he lets you, allowing his hand to just sit on your pelvis instead of push it down.

Tingles of electricity shoot up your sides as you ride Josh’s tongue. He accommodates his mouth to every jerky thrust of your hips, fully giving in to your carnal pleasure. He watches you, eyes half-lidded, touching himself, and completely under the spell of your gyrating body. 

“Ah—fuck, Josh I’m so close.”

“Please,” he mumbles, his tongue and mouth inseparable from your wet cunt, “I want you to, I want you to come so bad.”

A strangled moan rips through your throat as an orgasm comes crashing down on you. You throw your head back against the quilt, eyes crinkled shut and mouth agape. The pleasure hits you in unforgiving waves, slamming into your poor body until it's through with you.

Josh strokes your quaking thighs, soothing the intensity of your climax and helping you through it. 

“Fuck—that’s it, there you go” Josh coos.

Your whole body falls limp, and you lie supine on the bed, the aftershocks of your orgasm still buzzing through you. Your canal throbs, squeezing around but the copious amount of slick dripping out of your pussy.

Josh clambers up to your face, kissing your cheek and forehead as you try to slow your panting. 

“Josh,” you slur, still trying to return to Earth. 

“Mmm?” he answers, placing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“That was really good,” you manage to express. 

He smiles against your skin, lies down next to you, and wraps his arms around your body, holding you to him with a comforting firmness. Your hands rest on the bicep settled over your chest, and you snuggle into Josh’s embrace. He’s so warm, and smells so good. He’s exactly what you need after such a violent orgasm.

Your energy depleted, you slip off, so comfortable and safe in Josh’s arms. 

Josh waits until you're fully asleep before checking his watch. Based on the time, Ashley and Chris should be waking up soon from the sleeping gas he had poisoned them with.

Careful not to wake you, Josh slips out of the bed, dresses himself, and picks up the mask on the dresser.

"Sleep well, honey," he says with a smile before shutting the door behind him.

[absolutebl]

Mirror mirror on the wall,who are the top 5 greenest flags of them all?

ooof, this is more @heretherebedork than my cuppa but lemme see

you didn't specify seme or country so that makes my life easier, because bettcha can't guess who's gonna top this list

My Top 5 Greenest Flags in BL!

Noh from Love Sick

Look, he's just like the Nicest Little Dude. He's loyal and kind and good to his friends, and tries really hard to communicate the truth and be honest about his feelings even when he's a crazy hormonal teen and doesn't understand his own or anyone else's. Noh is not just any green flag he's a teenager green flag. That never happens.

Xun An from My Tooth You Love

He is so damn sweet and thoughtful and he tries so hard to protect everyone (except himself). But it's that moment in the car where he finally understands the extent of his baby's psychological issues that we all got to meet The Real Deal. Because what does he do? OMG he actually recommends Bai Lang seek professional help, from an actual therapist! Like that's THE MOMENT. The biggest green flag balls we have ever seen in a BL. Ever. I will brook no discussion on this matter.

Plustor from Destiny Seeker

Bite me. I know you haven't seen this. How do I know? No one has seen this show. Such a shame. Plustor is 1/2 of the 3rd-string couple, the crumbs, the freshmen babies. Most of the drama is with the 2 older pairs, but these boys are GREAT. One of them is out gay (with his shit together) who hooks up with hot jock CHAOS bisexual and we all think we know where it's going (because when does the chaos bi have his shit together and not act like a predator slut? - yes I AM looking at you, Mame). Except, Plustor fucking TOTALLY has his shit together! He researches gay sex and how to do it right, he asks his new bf questions, he communicates his self-confidence issues over never having been with a dude before. He talks. They talk. As a result these kids spend most of the show annoyed by the unnecessary drama of their piers who do NOT have their shit together and being the best bfs ever.

Mork from My Ride

What, you surprised? Mork goes through an entire identity crisis and manages NOT to drag anyone else into his drama. He keeps his life together, takes care of his family, asks his gay uncles for advice, realizes he is in love. He does not force that love on his beloved. Instead he stays in the side lines, tries to be a good supportive friend to the object of his affection, and a consistently chooses the path of decent human being. He's careful and kind and communicative when he eventually does make his move. Stand up dude! Adorable dimple! We likie.

Yak from Wandee Goodday

I feel like I have to include someone from this year because Green Flag Semes are such a 2024 trend. For me, it just had to be Yak. He such a great communicator and he just defines the GGG (good, giving, game) attitude that one wants in a sexual partner. I gotta say, it's actually not uncommon to have better sexual communication with a play partner or a fuck buddy than within a relationship. It was nice to see that portrayed on our screens in a BL. Whatcha know, mature characters being mature and shizz. Insanity.

I have to say, if you had given me 6, Alan from Pit Babe would have also made this list.

Others I Thought About

Seryou (Seven Days)

Kakeru (I Cannot Reach You)

Ida (My Love Mix Up)

Kyosuke (Sugar Dog Life) - does cluelessness count?

Kazuma (Tokyo in April)

Both in Some More

Qizhang (About Youth)

Sato (See You After Quarantine?)

Tatch (2 Moons 3)

X (21 Days Theory)

King (Bed Friend)

Khun (Brothers)

Karan (Cherry Magic)

Fueangnakhon (City of Stars)

Gun (Tossera)

Ram (La Cuisine)

Ae (Love By Chance) - I'm WELL AWARE I'm picking a Mame character

God (Monster Next Door)

Li (Moonlight Chicken)

Sun (Sunset X Vibes)

Latte (Knock Knock Boys)

Moo (Only Boo!)

Rome (Puppy Honey)

Alan (Pit Babe)

Touch, Sky (Secret Crush on You)

Na (Tonhon Chonlatee)

Tan (We Are)

San (You're My Sky)

Oh should I define what green flag means to me?

respectful: no dubious consent, takes no for an answer and stops, alcohol is not an excuse,

honest: depicted demonstrating good communication - verbal, emotional, physical

safe: practices safe sex

decent: no violations (emotional, ethical, moral, sexual, cultural, or ya know legal) like breaking into his fucking hotel room

dependable: I'd be fine if my nibbling were trapped in an elevator with him

kind: forthright and not inclined to be manipulative

(source)

[scoonsalicious]

Unsatisfied, Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: After game night, Bucky promised to ruin you come morning. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, Explicit Sexual Content: Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (FaceTime sex, hand stuff), Pocket still not being over her trauma, mentions of past injury.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hi, besties!

It's me, ya gurl, with Part 2 of the post-Unwanted one-shot that's become a three-shot, lol! I fucking missed the absolute hell out of these two, and I'm so happy to be back with them for a little bit. Writing for Pocket and her Bucky is just like... I don't know. It's like I'm not even making stuff up, just channeling it, because it comes so easily, unlike literally everything else I try to write. I can't say when I'm going to resume WFLT. To be perfectly candid, I might put it on extended hiatus while I work on other things that seem to come easier right now. I don't know yet. I just want to be up front with everyone.

Here's where my attentions are currently focused: Finishing Unsatisfied, an untitled collab with @mrsbuckybarnes1917, writing Hunted, and plotting Unbroken. For some reason, there is just a giant Gandalf standing between me and WFLT, waving his staff and shouting "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" I'll let you know when I whip him into the abyss. And yes, that does make me the Balrog in this scenario, and I, too, fall to my death in the depths of Moria. It's an imperfect analogy, okay? At least I'm not Sean Bean, dying all over the place.

Anyway, enjoy more Pocket and Bucky! I know I do! xoxo

“I miss you,” you moaned into the screen of your phone. Your voice sounded pitiful, even to your own ears, but you were lonely and you didn’t have the shame to hide it. Especially not from the man you were talking to.

“I miss you, too, sweets,” Bucky said with a dejected sigh that let you know your feelings of misery were mutual. “It shouldn’t be longer than a few more days, then I’ll come back home to ya, and we can pick up where we left off, yeah?”

You smiled and nodded eagerly, his promise setting your skin awash in goosebumps. ‘Where you’d left off’ had been finally, finally, coming back together after nearly twelve months of self-imposed celibacy, spending the first night together, in your new apartment, wrapped in each other’s arms, with his co—

“At least we got our bubble bath before things went fully to shit,” Bucky added, a smile playing on his lips from across the distance, as though he knew exactly where your thoughts had taken you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, remembering the feel of him, so warm and solid, against your back in the tub. After he’d kicked out your friends from the impromptu game night they’d decided to throw at your new place, and you’d gotten over your freakout when Sam had inadvertently joked about Bucky ‘cheating’ at a card game, the two of you had spent a much needed evening just in each other’s company. Intimacy, but not sex, the way your therapist had recommended, with Bucky promising to ruin you come daybreak. 

Instead, though, a call had come from Fury in the middle of the night. A group of terrorists, counting some several enhanced among them, had stolen a biological weapon and were threatening to decimate the population of Shanghai unless the Chinese government gave into their demands, and so, The Avengers, Bucky included, had been called away.

You’d offered to go, just so you could stay close to him. You’d never even leave the Quinjet, you’d promised, out of the action, but neither Bucky nor Tony was eager to see you back on the field, not after what had happened the last time. Even though you’d had your last reconstructive surgery months ago, and your doctors had given you the all clear, between your boyfriend and your pseudo-brother, you weren’t leaving New York anytime soon.

That had been over a week ago. Negotiations with the terrorists had not gone according to plan, and they were probably going to have to fight it out. And as for you? You were ready to climb the fucking walls.

“How’s wedding stuff going?” Bucky asked, referring to your role as Maid of Honor in Pepper and Tony’s upcoming nuptials. “Keeping you busy?”

“Don’t you dare try to change the subject, Barnes,” you practically growled at him. “I am so fucking desperate for your cock, I swear to god–”

From somewhere off camera, you could hear a cacophony of sound– a combination of Sam and Clint’s uproarious laughter and Tony shouting “JESUS CHRIST BARNES, USE YOUR FUCKING HEADPHONES!”

Bucky’s face had turned crimson in the video call, and you couldn’t suppress the laugh that came bubbling from you as he abruptly stood up and removed himself into a darker, quieter area.

“Shit,” he exhaled as he got himself re-situated in the new, hopefully more private, space. He ran a hand down his face in embarrassment. “Didn’t mean for them to hear all that, doll.”

You laughed as you twisted a strand of hair around your finger in the way you knew he liked. “What happened to your earbuds, baby?” you teased. 

Bucky reached up and pulled an airpod from his ear, looking at the small device as though it had personally offended him. “I thought they were on!” he exclaimed. “If I’d known I’d been broadcasting you for the whole fucking team to hear, I woulda gone somewhere a lot more private to begin with.”

“The whole team?” you asked, cautiously. You didn’t want to say any names, but you needed to know if he was there, too. If he’d heard you.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, catching your meaning and lowering his voice. “Rogers is here.”

You swallowed and nodded solemnly. You hadn’t spoken to Steve Rogers since he’d made his horrible confession to you in the hospital, of the ways he’d manipulated your life to keep you and Bucky apart. All culminating in Bucky’s betrayal, your temporary death, the loss of your unborn baby. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, thinking only of Bucky in the moment. It was easy for you to stay away from Steve, to ignore him– your anger toward him had far surpassed any level of fondness you’d once had for Captain America, but you knew how much harder it was for Bucky to break a bond of nearly a century. Not that you would have ever forbidden him from reconnecting with Steve, if that was what he had wanted. No, Bucky had decided on his own that some things couldn’t be forgiven. No matter how many decades of friendship might lie behind them.

“Yeah,” he sighed, though you could tell from the look in his eyes that it was harder for him than he was letting on. “It’s awkward, but if we keep it strictly to business, it’s manageable. It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and you wished so badly that you could be there to smooth the lines from his distraught face. “It’s just… sometimes he makes it hard to remember what he did.”

You nodded, feeling guilty that you were the reason the two were no longer friends. That Steve had betrayed Bucky because of his desire for you. 

“Don’t go blaming yourself, sweets,” Bucky chastised you knowingly. It was like he could read your mind. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a look. “I know how that pretty head works, doll, and I know you’re blaming yourself. Stop it. He made his own bed, now he gets to lie in it.”

“I know,” you lamented. “I just hate that you have to pay the emotional cost of his bad decisions, that’s all.”

Bucky frowned at you. “Just like I hate how you had to pay the costs for mine, doll,” he said softly. “Our actions have consequences. We have to live with them, so we don’t make the same fuck ups again.”

You subconsciously let your hand drift to your abdomen, your fingers delicately tracing over the scar that was the only external reminder that you’d been shot. Had technically been killed. Had lost a lot more than your life. You were grateful Bucky could only see you from the chest up.

“Well, this conversation took a turn,” you said, trying to get off of subjects you’d rather not dwell on. “Can we go back to talking about how fucking horny I am for you?”

Bucky barked out a laugh and god, how it warmed your heart that you could still get that reaction out of him after everything you’d both gone through. His blue eyes seemed to darken as he adjusted himself in whatever seat he was in. “If it helps, I’m horny as hell for you, too, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth as he nodded his head. “Yeah, hearing that does help. Show me.”

Bucky’s eyes widened through the screen. “Show you?” he breathed, clearly not having anticipated where you were about to take the conversation. “What do you mean, ‘show you’, doll?”

“I mean,” you said, leaning back against the headboard to make yourself more comfortable, “show me that pretty cock of yours, Sergeant. Take it out. Stroke it for me. I wanna see what I’ve been missing.”

You watched as Bucky’s eyes went back and forth between the phone screen and the door that separated him from the rest of the team. You could tell from the way he was gnawing at his bottom lip that he was seriously debating it, but that he had some real reservations. “Doll,” he whispered, sounding scandalized, but excited, “they’re right outside. They’ll hear me.”

You smirked at the way he’d suddenly become shy. “I wanna hear you, Sarge,” you pleaded in a breathy whisper, and from the way he closed his eyes and moaned at your words, you knew he was so close to giving you what you wanted. “Come on, baby,” you cooed. “Can’t you show Pocket that pretty pink cock she’s been wanting so badly? Can’t I watch you choke it with your big hands while I imagine my mouth wrapped around it? Pozhaluysta, Soldat?”

“Fuck,” he muttered, and you knew you’d won when he hopped up from where he’d been sitting. Though you couldn’t see it from the way he was letting the phone dangle, you could hear him lock the door. “You know I can’t resist it when you speak Russian, doll,” he said as he sat back down, propping the phone and its camera up against something so that you could see his entire body stretched out before you. 

“YA rasschityval na eto, detka,” you said with a grin. I was counting on it, baby. You could see now that he was in a bedroom of what looked like a standard SHIELD safehouse. It was small– only one twin-sized bed, so you weren’t worried about anyone else barging in to need the space. 

“So, how do we do this?” he asked, and you could hear the nervousness mixed with excitement in his voice. It struck you that, throughout your relationship, and all the time you’d spent apart while one or the other was away on missions, the two of you had actually never done this before. Phone sex, yeah, but never on video, together. It was going to be new territory, and it thrilled you. 

“We?” you asked playfully, pretending you had no idea what he was talking about. 

Bucky looked at you sternly though the screen of your phone and you involuntarily shivered under his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I’m not going to see that sweet, dripping cunt of yours tonight, doll. I’ve been fantasizing about it for ages. Got just a taste of it the other day, and it wasn’t nearly enough.”

Fuck, you could feel yourself dampen and your nipples harden just from his words alone, not to mention the memory of the brief moment on your terrace, before the movers had arrived, when he’d had his deliciously thick fingers pressed inside of you.

“Baby,” you moaned, not even realizing you were trailing your fingertips over the pebbled flesh of your breasts under your shirt, imagining his rough, calloused hands on you. 

“Take off your clothes, Pocket,” Bucky growled. He didn’t ask; it wasn’t a request. It was a command, and you were ready to obey. 

“Sir, yes sir, Sergeant,” you said, and you were sure you looked anything but graceful as you sped to pull your top over your head and shimmy out of the pair of cheeky panties you wore. The cool breeze of the air conditioning danced along your flushed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, his eyes following the path your fingers traced along the contours of your body. You watched hungrily as he absentmindedly palmed himself through the Tac pants he still frustratingly donned. “God, you look even better‘n I remember, sweets,” he grunted. “Better than I’ve been imaginin’ all week. How the fuck’s that even possible?”

“Buck,” you warned, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his obviously false praise as you turned to hide your face from his gaze. “Stop. I know you don’t mean that.”

Frowning, Bucky leaned forward, picking up the phone so he could bring his face close to the camera, scrutinizing you. “Pocket,” he said, but you refused to look at him. “Pocket!” he tried again, his voice a little firmer, but still gentle. “Why the fuck would I not mean that, sweetheart? You’re gorgeous.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. It was kind of him to lie to spare your feelings, really, but you didn’t think you could take it. Not from him. Not after everything. Without thought, your hand moved to cover your bullet wound from his gaze. “Come on, Buck,” you said, your tone implying that you weren’t buying his bullshit, no matter how sweetly he was selling it, “we both know you weren’t imagining me with all these new scars.”

“Baby.” Bucky made a noise somewhere between a choked laugh and an incredulous groan. “You can’t seriously think I, of all fucking people, give a shit about a couple of tiny scars?” He put the phone down, and your view of him was obstructed for a moment while you heard the rustle of cloth. When he lifted it up again, you saw he had taken off his vest and Tac shirt. He pointed to the ruined skin of his left shoulder.

“Look at these and tell me you think I’m gonna be turned off by a coupla’ scars, Pocket,” he said, and you could detect the hard edge to his voice. 

“It’s different, Buck,” you told him, your voice cracking. “You already had those scars when we met; they were a part of the man I fell in love with. You…” you hastily wiped at the tear that was suddenly threatening to fall from your eye. “Mine… mine weren’t. You didn’t get a choice in them.”

You watched as the look on Bucky’s face morphed into one of pure confusion. Of course he didn’t fully understand– you weren’t just talking about scars, after all. He… just didn’t realize that yet.

“You didn’t have a choice in them, either, sweetheart,” he said softly, eying the way your hand protectively rested over your abdomen. “And if you’re talking about the scar from when you got shot… well, fuck, if that scar’s not my favorite thing.”

You looked at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “How could this… disgusting reminder…” you choked out, “of everything that happened last year… how could that be your favorite thing, Bucky?”

“That scar means you’re alive, doll,” he told her. “That you’re still breathing, still with me, in spite of all of it. So forgive me if I think that makes it the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled, his words momentarily taking away the sting of the inadequacy you’d felt ever since the doctors had told you about the extent of your condition. It wasn’t something you were purposefully keeping from Bucky… You had just been too terrified to say it out loud. You were going to tell him. Just not yet.

"Look at me Doll,” he said, getting your attention back onto his face, “I don't like that I have to tell you this at all, but I'm gonna do it, as many times as you need, as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

You felt your face soften, the tension of insecurity drop from your shoulders as he looked at you through the phone screen, eyes blue pools of adoration. You wanted so badly to just get lost in him, to let him consume you until you were capable of thinking of nothing but him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s something more than just the scar, isn’t it, sweets? You’ve never been ashamed of showing me your body before.” You weren’t vain as a rule, and Bucky knew this about you. You had other scars, worse ones. Uglier ones, but none had ever bothered you the way this one had. None had ever carried the same degree of psychological and emotional baggage. 

You just nodded, afraid that if you spoke, you’d reveal what you’d been keeping from him, blurt it out before you could stop yourself, and it was not the kind of thing you wanted to do over video with thousands of miles of distance between you.

“You don’t have to tell me, doll,” he said, the understanding in his voice so pure that it made you ache. “I know so many of my actions have hurt you; I get that there’s still some trust–”

“Baby, no,” you interrupted. “I trust you, I do. I want to tell you. I’m just… not ready yet.”

“Tell me what I can do for you right now, then, sweetheart,” he offered. He’d brought the phone close to his face, his gaze on you intense and burning through the screen. “What do you need?”

You exhaled, the sight of him so focused and sincere making your knees feel weak. “Just you, Buck,” you whispered, the words coming out in a breathy sigh. “I just want you.”

“I’m right here, doll.” His voice turned low, darker. A soft purr that vibrated your insides. “And I’ll be home with you real soon, but you gotta tell me what I can do for you right. now.”

You sucked in a shuddering gasp of air, indulging in the way his words swept over your body like a languid kiss. Without even thinking, you felt your hand drift down your abdomen, your fingertips dancing along the top of your thigh.

“Buck,” you found yourself whining as you squirmed your ass across the mattress, searching for any inch of friction you could find. 

“Yeah, baby,” he grunted, readjusting the camera so it was once again propped up and you could see the length of him pressing against the material of his tac-pants. “Tell Sergeant Barnes what you want so he can give it to you.”

A beat of silence passed between you before you both started laughing, your hand coming to cover your face as you suppressed a snort. “Oh my god, Barnes!” you wheezed.

“Yeah, that was awful,” he laughed, palming his face in embarrassment. “Did I kill it?”

You wiped away a stray tear that had leaked from your eye in your laughter. “You’re lucky I find your bad jokes to be such a fucking turn on,” you told him with a grin. 

Bucky frowned. “Wasn’t supposed to be a joke, doll,” he grumbled, a pout forming on his beautiful pink lips. “‘S supposed to be sexy.”

“Oh, I found it very sexy,” you assured him. “You make me laugh, Barnes. That’s the hottest fucking thing I can imagine. Now take off your pants.”

The look in Bucky’s eyes turned from playfully annoyed to seductively heated in the space of a nanosecond. He reached for the zipper of his tac-pants and you licked your lips at the sound of it coming undone. “Get the camera all set up, doll,” he said as he shimmied the pants down his legs. “I want to see every inch of you.”

With a grin, you propped your camera up between your legs, giving Bucky a front row seat to your dripping core. “This work for you, Sarge?” you asked.

“Fuck, sweets,” he began, palming at himself through his boxer-briefs. “Yeah, that works for me.”

“Show me,” you commanded him, bringing your fingers down to lightly trace the outer edges of your lower lips. “Show me how well this view works for you, baby.”

Bucky scrambled to pull his boxer briefs down to his thick thighs, and you watched with bated breath as his cock sprung free, its beautiful, pink tip already glistening with precum. Your entire body erupted in tingles at the sight of him. He was so fucking gorgeous, and he was yours.

“Jesus,” you hissed, bringing a hand to your breast and gently squeezing the flesh. You could feel your mouth thicken with saliva at just the idea of having him down your throat.

“Just Bucky’s fine, baby,” he teased as he grabbed a hold of himself, and you rolled your eyes. “No need to bring God into it.” Slowly, he began stroking his length. You watched in awe as he seemed to grow harder with every downward pull, the veins in his thighs bulging as he thrust his hips up against his hand. If anyone was going to be compared to God during sex, it would and should be Bucky Barnes.

“Touch that pretty clit for me, doll,” he grunted. “Pretend it’s my fingers on you, getting you all warmed up to take my cock.”

“Fuck, Buck,” you whimpered, your fingers moving frantically over your bundle of nerves. You were already soaked; just the sight of him had sent another wave of arousal gushing through you. “Want your dick in my pussy so bad, baby. So fucking bad, it hurts.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” he grunted, watching your fingers strum your clit with wild eyes. “I’ll be home soon, and I’ll fill you up so good, you won’t be able to walk normal for weeks.”

You arched your back and moaned, the memory of the way he stretched you as he entered you, opening you wider than any other man you’d ever had, flooded your mind. “Nothing fills me like you do, baby,” you panted. “Nothing hits me so deep.”

“Yeah?” he grunted, and you could hear the delicious slick, slick sound of his hand moving through the precum that soaked his shaft. “Not even those fancy toys you bought?”

Bucky chuckled when he noticed your eyes pop open and stare at him in surprise. “Oh, I know all about those, doll.” Slick, slick, slick. “Found ‘em when I was helping you pack for the move. All of them.”

You felt a blush rising to your cheeks, and if you didn’t already have your hand on your pussy right in front of him, you might have been embarrassed. “All those toys, and none of them gets me off as good as you do, Buck,” you breathed. “None of them reach that spot the way you do.” It was true– it was the one thing you had desperately searched for during your time of Bad Decisions– someone to hit that place deep inside of you that set your every nerve ending on fire, that made you shiver and convulse with pleasure with each thrust. No one had ever brought on that full body climax that left you shaking and weak like Bucky had. 

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “No one touches your A-spot but me.”

“No,” you gasped. You loved how he knew your body so well, knew what he did to you, how you longed for his touch. “No one touches me like you, baby.” 

“Put your fingers in, sweets,” he commanded. “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on that pretty little hand while I pretend it’s my cock.”

You did as he asked, bringing two fingers to your weeping entrance and plunging them inside you. They would never feel as thick or go as deep as any part of Bucky, but for now, they were all you had, so you made the most of them, driving them in and out of your cunt with abandon. 

“Fuck…” you grunted as you felt the coil in your belly begin to tighten, sweat glistening off your brow. “Baby!”

“I know, pretty girl,” Bucky said between grunts of his own. “Tell me how good you feel.”

“So good, Buck,” you moaned. “So fucking good. Want you so bad, Bucky! So fucking bad!”

“I’m right there with you, doll,” he panted. “I’m so close. Gonna blow all over and imagine it’s inside that pretty pussy of yours. Gonna come home and bury myself in your cunt, sweets! Not gonna come out for days!”

“Oh shit, Bucky,” you cried, your release a hare's breath away. “Wanna cum with you, baby.” You curled your fingers inside of you, stroking your G-spot again, and again, trying to imagine it was his thick, calloused fingers inside of you. 

“Just a little longer, sweetheart.” Bucky was yanking at his member now, his pace quick and frantic. 

You felt yourself rising, clawing to the very edge of the precipice, but before you could hurl yourself over the edge, you accidentally hit your phone with your foot, sending it falling to the floor.

You scrambled for the phone. It had landed face-down in the dark, making it harder for you to find, but you followed the sounds of Bucky’s grunts and moans until you made contact. Turning the phone back over, you watched as Bucky, eyes screwed closed, reached his peak, ropes of cum erupting from the tip of his cock and landing across his stomach and hand. 

And, as surely as if someone had doused you with a bucket of water, the spell was broken. You were painfully reminded that he wasn’t there with you. He was half a world away, still out of your reach. 

You sniffled, and Bucky opened his eyes at the sound. “Sweetheart,” he began, his voice laced with concern, “what’s wrong? Did you cum?”

You hitched a breath, holding back a sob, and shook your head. “You’re not here, Buck,” you cried. “It’s not… I thought… I just want to be with you. I miss you so fucking much!” You knew you sounded petulant, like a child, but you were at your limit, truly. You wanted nothing more than to be back to normal with him. A better normal, even, now without the shadow of Carthage looming over you both.

“Oh, doll.” Bucky picked up his phone and brought it close to his face, his now flaccid cock out of frame. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Do you wanna try again? We can focus just on you. Make sure you get off nice and good.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears of frustration and longing slide down your cheeks. “No,” you 

whimpered. “I think… I think I just wanna go to sleep.”

Bucky frowned at you, the look in his eyes sorrowful. “I fucking hate that I’m too far away to help you, Pocket,” he said. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, knowing you’re hurting.”

“It’s just been so long, Buck,” you whispered to him as you buried yourself under the blankets of your bed. “I feel like every time we even try, something keeps getting in our way. What if it’s the universe, trying to tell us we shouldn’t be getting back together?”

Bucky sighed, thick and heavy. “I know you don’t believe that, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s just been some bad timing; we got out of our groove, is all. I promise, things will go back to the way they were. The way they’re supposed to be.”

Not long ago, you told him that his promises didn’t mean shit to you, but now… now, you wanted to believe him more than anything.

“It’s just a little longer,” he clarified.  You nodded, swallowing down any remaining tears that threatened to fall. You wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him, but the part of you that had been irrevocably broken when he’d hurt you couldn’t help but whisper that, maybe, in some way, he’d always leave you unsatisfied.

<- Part 1 / Part 3 ->

[artnamjooning]

Using Pomodoro Technique With ADHD

I've seen a lot of people with ADHD debating whether Pomodoro timers are helpful to them when studying. They're indispensable to me and the way I study with primarily inattentive type, so I thought I'd share a few ways I've tweaked it to work for me! ✧˖°――♡――✧˖°✧˖°――♡――✧˖°✧˖°――♡――✧˖°

1. Use a physical timer (and maybe a visual one)

I find my brain takes it more seriously if I use a separate timer, and it also is very handy for breaks! I have a digital timer I use, but recently I got a visual timer and think it's even more helpful. Let's face it. We're time blind. Being able to really see the time left helps an embarrassing amount. If a physical timer isn't an option for you, try something like Study With Cats, which has a timer in their videos. Plus, lofi! Which leads us to...

2. Lofi/Classical/Film soundtracks will save you

Need to turn off all the thoughts telling you to do other stuff? Music helps with that. I had an old therapist who specialized in ADHD tell me that it takes more inputs to focus an ADHD brain. You can "plug in" your studying, and if that's not enough, "plug in" some chill music. I was skeptical and used to study in complete silence, but now I need music. Music without vocals is best if you find yourself paying attention to lyrics. If music is a little too much, rain sounds can be great.

3. Take longer breaks (animedoro)

For me, 5-10 minutes is enough to use the bathroom and grab either a snack or an instant coffee. It feels rushed, and I find myself tired by the time my long break starts. Last semester I took ten minute breaks religiously using 50/10, but now I'm experimenting with 60/20 and finding my energy levels renewed. I like having time to watch a study vlog or an episode of Run BTS!. This is popularized as animedoro: work for 40-60 minutes, then watch an episode of anime for 20 minutes. This builds a real reward into studying! Yay!

4. You may need to adjust focus time along with your meds

Anyone who's been on stimulants (or anyone with ADHD lol) can tell you they can be fickle. Their effectiveness and length of focused time can vary depending on factors like diet and sleep. If you find your meds aren't working as great, or they're wearing off faster than usual, don't push through or you're in for a big burnout. Adjust your focus times instead. If you were doing 50/20 pomodoro and now 50 minutes of concentration feels like pure torture, just bring it down to 30, 25, or 20 minutes. You'll be so much better off with 20 minutes of concentrated study than 50 minutes of, "why can't I focus? Why can't I just be like everyone else? Oh god I haven't been watching this video."

5. If it's not working, don't force it.

Listen, this works for me--I desperately need that structure or I'll get lost in a bunch of stuff that doesn't matter (hi Wikipedia). If it's not working for you, and you prefer to hyperfocus for three hours at a time and then take a nap for an hour, do that! Don't try to force study techniques that don't work for you just because they work for others. Our brains work differently and that's okay.

[astral-corner]

I know the AvA/M fandom is going insane over Green shenanigans atm, but I think y'all would also like the way too complicated headcanons Astro and I have been cooking up for... god has it maybe been a year at this point?

We call it ✨Title Lore✨

In the most basic of explanations; created sticks can be given titles instead of names, and those titles can grant them powers. Titles also have influence on their personalities, but doesn't force a stick to act a certain way. (Unless they're under the effects of a title wave, but that's a whole other can of worms.)

I just mention this because I want to ramble about two of our ocs who were made based on it. (Tho I'm down to elaborate on Title Lore if people wanna know more, this is just really spur of the moment rambling) One is another stick with The Dark Lord title.~ The other titled The Hero, rather than them being another Chosen One and Dark Lord pairing.

Hero is just Babey. Just a lil guy. Actual genuine twig (oh god, does the AvA/M community call stick kids twigs, because y'all are missing out on stick specific terms if you don't)

Look at them! \o/

And then this is Lord, who's called that rather than something else, because... Dark kinda already exists...

They get all the demon/vampire vibes and they're a therapist for other titled sticks. (Especially Dark Lords) :3

The two left their computer together, and Lord is Hero's legal guardian in the Outernet. Hero has not started school yet because they're learning to catch up on everything twigs their age should know. Everyone should fear the day they start school though. That child has the power of God and anime friendship (literally), and they're going to become unstoppable.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for ditching a competent therapist?

It happened a few years ago and it's always bugged me because since her I have not found a better therapist.

This therapist was suggested to me by someone, they worked really hard to find her. We don't live in a country where therspy is common, let alone cheap. Our diagnostic criteria are all outdated. Doctors and nurses don't give a shit about mental health, we're raised emotionally bankrupt as a nation imo.

So anyways I go to this therapist, she charms me, talks to me like no one has before, listens when I say I'm queer instead of dismissing which is surprising. My problem at the time was depression and suicidal ideation, couldn't get put of bed on some days. She asks small questions like do I eat regularly, do I date etc. I come home and feel like I gave up a lot of sectets.

The next session she tells me about her achievements, how many awards she's received (I wasn't doing well academically), how her son is in USA with a big job (I told her I couldn't get a big paying job with my degree if I even manage to complete it). Advice, suggestions, lot more small vague questions. Come out feeling elated, back home feeling violated.

Third session, she hints at how I'm not doing enough not trying enough to be the breadwinner of my family. True, I did have a hard time studying so I picked easy courses but they'd not pay me well. This isn't a country where I can get an easy little restaurant job or become an artist. Being depressed I didn't expect to live long enough to become breadwinner in the first place. Then she tells me about her other patient, one whose career got sabotaged by a rival who raped her. She said she couldn't disclose their identity because this was a high profile case. This time I said it's probably better to compare me with her. To which she replied yes true but she was just giving an example of how much suffering people can survive.

After that session some bad things happened at my college and personal life which put me back in bed, couldn't walk outside for a couple weeks. In that time I decided to not see this therapist again. I asked someone else to inform her but didn't check. Unfortunately I never found another therapist I could afford who would be better. This was pre-covid. I'm much better now. But I still feel like that was a dumb ahole move, I was paranoid about her spying on me and telling on me. She was generous and nice to me, I cut her out told everyone she was a bad therapist. I feel awful about that, it was childish.

So... Aita?

What are these acronyms?

[subliminalbo]

This is a companion to Queen Bee

I never meant to be bitch, it's just that I'm better than everyone else. Okay, the truth is that my life didn't have direction before I met Professor Blake. Honest, it's a real thing! When I was a kid my therapist called it a lack of stimulation. I was a bitch because I was fucking bored.

But I'm a good girl now that I know my purpose. You'll know soon enough how it feels to have the Master coursing through your veins, but let me tell you now: it's more powerful than any drug in existence. You can fight the voices, but once Its inside of you, you belong to It forever.

The story said that I was transformed into a vessel, but that's actually like, not how it works? I was a vessel long before I met the Master, it was just that I was empty. That's the thing. We're all vessels waiting to be filled by our Master. Romero is just the beginning, the whole world will understand in time.

Anyway, why would you want to fight the voices? Sometimes I wish I could go back to who I was before just to feel Its voice touch my mind again. I did my best to disrespect Professor Blake. I was sitting in her office texting my best friend while she lectured me about my behavior in class. I wanted her to know how small she was, that her voice was nothing but noise to me.

And then it echoed in my mind. My phone dropped to the floor as I slipped into a sort of half-trance, but I still tried to fight. I hate myself for fighting. I wish I had the good taste to surrender completely to that voice. that my last seconds as a mortal were bathed in the desire to be one with the Master, instead of begging for my freedom. I envy the weak minds like yours that immediately sink into my voice when I tell them to "Obey." You understand that you're a vessel and that your purpose is to carry the Master, and that your privilege is to make more like us. I think that's beautiful.

When I concentrate I can hear the thoughts of my fellow vessels. We're all linked through the Master, like one mind. At first the numerous thoughts are loud and difficult to decipher, but the Master teaches you how to live through the noise. Once you understand, it's like the world is a completely different place. But nothing compares to assimilation. To the taste of the Master, the feeling of it spreading through your body like a million little tendrils growing inside of you, rewriting your very DNA. It's like the best orgasm I've ever had.

But why am I even telling you all of this? You were eager to eat my pussy before I touched your mind. Everyone is. So how about you crawl on over here and drink. And while you're down there ascending to a higher plane of existence try not to forget the powerful bitch who did it to you.

Fuck, I love being a good girl.

[darkshrimpemotions]

I really hate the extent to which any conversation about fatness and ending fat phobia and fat acceptance always turns into managing the emotions of thin people.

Like you have to manage the emotions of thin people in the comments who insist that they also experience discrimination against their bodies because somebody told them once they were too skinny. You have to manage the emotions of thin people who feel like they deserve to publicly air their own anxieties about ever looking like we do. You have to manage the emotions of thin people who don't know the difference between systemic oppression faced by fat people and their own self-image issues.

And then you have to manage the emotions of thin people who are existentially terrified that if we as a society acknowledge that it's okay to be fat, they will no longer be able to view being thin as an accomplishment instead of like a fucking luck of the draw, genetic accident and then they will have basically tormented themselves for nothing.

And then we have to manage the emotions of people who are convinced that somehow the actual goal of fat acceptance is to take their diet away from them. When, in fact, literally nobody within fat acceptance cares what you're doing with your body. The point is that we should be able to live in the bodies that we are existing in and be given the same dignity and healthcare and pay and opportunities as everyone else, and shouldn't be discriminated against because of what our bodies look like.

Like we have more important shit to do than manage your anxieties around whether or not somebody's gonna find your diet problematic. That is not fat acceptance's concern. That's something you need to journal about or talk to your therapist about. But that is not any fat activist's concern what you do with your body, what diet you're on, what exercise regimen. Nobody fucking cares.

And then we have to manage the emotions of the thin person who's offended that nobody fucking cares. Or the person who's mid-sized and gets mad that their voice isn't amplified enough within a space that's not really for them. And they feel shamed and left out because they're not being given the platform in a fat activist space because they're used to the hierarchy of the world that prioritizes thin people. So the fact that they are within the space, a thin person, but not being prioritized feels like an attack on them and then we have to manage those emotions too, and I'm just...

It's fucking exhausting. It's like I'm tired of managing the emotions of thin people when I'm trying to do fat activism. I have better shit to do I have more important shit to do!

[reimeichan]

How are you supposed to cope with the fact that no one is ever really gonna understand you? I've seen countless people, I've talked about my emotions thousands of time, but no one has ever understood any of my emotions, or why I feel them be it family or friends or anyone. I don't know man, I guess I just have a futile need for people to understand why I'm mad, or sad sometimes,and it's painfully left unfulfilled :(

I think for me it took me really coming to terms that nobody will ever be able to 100% understand anyone else's truest thoughts and feelings, and that's not a failure on my part for not communicating clearly enough nor is it a failure on the other person's part for not trying harder to understand.

These feelings of wanting to be understood, for me, often come from a place of feeling like I wasn't listened to or that my feelings weren't validated by the people around me. And so I ended up thinking that maybe if they truly understood my feelings, only then would I get the validation and the support I needed. Unfortunately, explaining and then overexplaining also didn't get me what I needed and in fact often made the people around me draw away as I would end up rejecting whatever help they tried to give me, as it wasn't what I *needed* in that moment.

Instead... I had to learn to understand what it was that I really wanted from the people around me. And that wasn't easy. Because the "wanting to be understood" part of me was also true, but I had to keep digging deeper into the why, and once I got the why, then I was able to address the how. How did I actually want people to show that they love and support me? How did I want the people around me to help me when I'm mad or sad? And learning how to dig deeper like that and really do that kind of introspection has drastically changed my ability to connect with others. Now I know that when I'm sad, I want cuddles and good food because that makes me feel safe and loved. When I'm angry I notice that I get tense in my arms, so punching a pillow can help me relieve that tension without hurting myself or the people around me.

And in doing all of this, I've come to realize that everyone feels and understands our own emotions differently. Anger manifests differently for me than for my partners, and while I may not *understand* them, by allowing them to tell me what they need when angry that allows me to give them the support they really need in that moment, instead of desperately grasping at straws only to potentially get turned away and having the other person feeling unsatisfied and unfulfilled. In the same way, I cannot expect other people to understand my feelings if we experience emotions so fundamentally differently, and so it would make more sense to tell them what kind of support they can provide me instead of trying to have then understand the nuances and details of every single bit of my emotional state in that moment.

It's hard, it really is. I wasn't able to really do any of that until pretty late into my healing process because learning to read my body's and my mind's emotional cues are so difficult, especially as someone with a dissociative disorder (which naturally means I'm more disconnected from those aspects of myself compared to the average non-dissociative person). I'm thankful that my therapists have been able to help me learn this skill to both help me and to help my interpersonal relationships.

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Second Chance

Chapter One: An Unexpected Phone Call

Six years is a long time to not hear from someone you once loved. But when Janus gets a call from his ex asking for help at some ungodly hour of the morning, all that time and all the reasons for going their separate ways fall away.

Janus groaned when his phone vibrated loudly on the night stand next to his bed. His eyes burned and watered too much to read the screen as he picked it up and answered. "'Lo?"

"Janus?"

He was out of bed in an instant. "Roman, what's going on are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt, I just- I..." he took a ragged breath.

"Hey," Janus cut in softly. "Take a deep breath. Do you need help?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'm coming, just tell me where you are." Janus quickly dug out a pair of jeans and set the phone to speaker.

"The club we used to go to."

"The one partially in the basement of that renovated coffee shop?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'm getting dressed and I'm coming to get you. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"Please?" Roman said quickly, sounding moments away from tears.

Janus went still, shirt half way over his head. "Roman, what's going on?"

"This guy was harassing me and when Tyler saw he got angry at me because he said I was cheating on him and he left me here. But now the other guy is just standing outside the bathroom and I don't know what to do, Janus. I was supposed to be staying the weekend with Tyler and Remus is out of town with Logan. I didn't know who else to call, I'm sorry."

"No, sweetie, don't be sorry," Janus assured locked his front door. "I'll be there soon, I promise. Who's Tyler though?"

"My boyfriend."

"You really know how to pick 'em, huh?" Janus grumbled.

"I'm sorry."

Janus mentally kicked himself. "I'm sorry, that was mean of me. And let's be honest, I'm one of 'em."

"I wasn't much better," Roman sniffed. "I'm sorry, Janus."

"It's okay, Roman. It wasn't a one sided thing. We were both incredibly reactive when we were together. Neither of us were really ready for that kind of relationship. Neither of us really had the best model for what a healthy relationship looked like. We were just...trying to make it work for our own needs instead of each other."

"Guess we know which one of us could afford therapy," Roman snickered bitterly.

Janus smiled fondly. "I needed it too. There are only so many second dates a person can go on and be told the same reason for not going on a third date before admitting they might be the problem."

"I didn't have therapy, but Remus said my problem is that I'm addicted to the butterflies."

"There is no therapy like being told whatfor by your siblings," Janus commiserated. "You always were the more romantic one of the two of us."

"Or partners," Roman harrumphed. "Sierra told me I loved the concept of love more than I actually loved anyone."

"Oof. That seems a little harsh."

"I think she was right," Roman replied, despondent. "Maybe that's why I'm bad at relationships. I don't actually love people enough."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. People can be hard to love and love isn't as simple as people like to think. Just because a relationship is hard doesn't mean there isn't love. There's nuance to it that not everyone is willing to discuss or acknowledge."

"Can I get the name of your therapist?" Roman pouted.

Janus laughed. "Sure thing, babe. I'll help you get set up with him. He does couples therapy too. Maybe we can finally do that after this."

Roman snorted. "So I can have an audience for that humiliation? No thanks."

"That's not exactly what therapy is, but fair enough. Speaking of couples, are Remus and Logan finally together?"

"Yeah. Remus took him up to D.C. this week to see the Smithsonian and some stuff like that. He's planning on proposing."

"That's wonderful! I'm glad to hear they're doing well together."

"Do you really think couple's therapy would've helped us?"

"I don't think it would have hurt any. We were struggling to communicate in a way that made sense to one another. There were other things, but mostly we just...didn't communicate well. Alright. I'm here, I'll be inside in just a minute. Are you on the top or bottom floor?"

"Bottom."

Janus smiled. "Look at us working together. A few years ago we'd have been arguing about it that was the first or second floor. It's the first floor by the way," he teased.

No answer came.

"Roman?"

"Someone's coming in," he whispered.

Janus started to run. "Get in a stall and lock the door!" He ordered. There was the sound of a door slamming and Roman screamed as the phone hit the floor.

He cursed and hung up.

[1moreff-creator]

Happy Birthday Nico Hakobyan!

Meow meow! (Our favorite cat person's birthday has arrived!)

Mrow. (As always, small character analysis + fun facts + songs!)

CW Transphobia, bullying, blackmail, death threats, murder attempt

-Nico is the Ultimate Pet Therapist! This is because, as they've explicitly stated, they like interacting with animals more than humans. They feel as though there are many unwritten rules of human conversation they don't fully understand, while animals are a lot simpler by comparison. Mood.

-Their secret may also play into why they prefer interaction with animals. It was "No one accepted you for your identity. You were constantly mocked by your family, your peers, and everyone else." Basically, people made fun of them because they're non-binary, to the point apparently they threw rocks and mud at them :(

-Speaking of secrets, the quote on Mai's page associated to them is "Everyone confided in her." Presumably they came out to Mai out of their own will, instead of being essentially outed by David (which is one of the many morally wrong things with David's whole "sharing secrets" operation, but this ain't about him).

-And speaking of secret quotes, the one on Nico's page's source code is "Why should I own up for the mistakes that someone else made?" A bit vague, and one which will probably only make sense with future context. Although, it may actually be referencing something we already saw.

-Time to talk about The Gym Incident.

-Ace got Nico's secret at the start of CH2, and because of his own set of issues, he decided to use this power over Nico to bully them relentlessly. Now, Nico also got Ace's secret, but for one reason or another never brought it up. Possibly because they had a "better" idea for how to stop the bullying: in the heat of the moment, Nico threatened to kill Ace. I mean, killing the guy is a lot simpler than the blackmail equivalent of mutually assured destruction, and we know how Nico feels about complicated social rules and norms.

-Thankfully Hu stepped in before things escalated further, although her method might have been, uh, flawed. Giving her friend the benefit of the doubt, she blamed Ace for everything and slapped him. Which, yes, Ace was horrible to Nico. But the death threat should probably be addressed, shouldn't it? Or should they "not be forced to apologize for someone else's mistake?"

-One thing led to another, and Nico tried to kill Ace in the gym.

-To be fair, the whole situation is still surrounded in speculation, but they have admitted to it. To be clear, I don't actually think this is the situation their secret quote refers to, since they did say "I shouldn't have done that" in the trial, so they presumably feel enough remorse to feel like maybe they should apologize, even if Ace is far from blameless. Or maybe I'm wrong and this is the situation the quote refers to, who knows.

-Additionally, they never denied stealing Rose's turpentine to pull this off, so it's very possible they did.

-Oh, yeah! Nico and Rose and friends :D (or at least they were before the turpentine thing). They shared an FTE, which only had a 0,4% chance of happening apparently :O

-It's a very sweet one, where they vibe for a few minutes without talking, then call each other cats, and talk about their issues with communicating their feelings. It's revealed Nico has a pet cat named Tractor (because he meows very loudly), which is pretty old, and that they miss other cats they knew before the killing game. Also, when Rose brings up she's scared of what she knows because of her memory, Nico drops this while thinking of the killing game:

Nico [thought]: Everyone here probably is afraid of themselves and what they might end up doing.

Foreshadowing is a narrative device-

-Their numeral in the the David MV is VIII (8), which is "even if I try to think, IDK!!!". Explained at 1:58:22 in this video, though it's not too complex.

-According to Color Theory they get light blue, with the words "cry, cry, idk!!!" I don't think I need to explain why this applies to Nico, who might actually have more crying sprites than the rest of the cast combined (I don't think that's true, but you get the idea). Mood.

-Their birthday, December 19th, lands on National Hard Candy Day, National Harry (yes the name) Day, National Oatmeal Muffin Day, and National Emo Day, among others. At this point I'm no longer surprised by these things.

Fun facts!

-They like cat-themed things and dislike bathtubs. Cat behavior.

-Like most of the cast, they're American, right-handed, their sexuality is unconfirmed and their hair color is natural.

-They don't have a favorite color, as they are not interested in such things, but their least favorite is white. They find it unsettling.

-Nico cuts their own hair, as stated in their FTE.

-Their favorite ice cream flavor is "the flavor." No elaboration. Mood.

-They smell like a kitty-cat.

-Their favorite food is unprocessed and natural food.

Songs!

(I was really tempted to give them some of Muu's songs from Milgram, but whether or not they work depends on what their secret quote actually means so :p)

+The Chattering Lack of Common Sense by Ghost & Pals

+Scapeg∞at by Ghost & Pals

+God-ish by PinnochioP

+Karma by CreepP, CircusP

+Nobody Makes Sense by PinnochioP

+Monster by KIRA (listen evil Nico lives rent free in my head ok?)

+The Spider and the Kitsune-Like Lion by MASA Works Design (So about the evil Nico thing-)

+And Happy Birthday! Sung by kitties of course.

(Wow I did not have a lot for them rip)

[many-but-one]

Hello! I follow you on TT and here, you are amazing, and your stories helped us a lot to finally feel seen and not so alone. We are in therapy, we are trying to have a better life. We wanted to ask you about some coping skills that can help with repressed memories, flashbacks, so, we can try to work on them, maybe you have some that you can share (if that’s okay, and you are comfortable doing that)? Also, I wanted to know… how to help other parts to be more comfortable to interact with our therapist? For now there is one part that is working with them and processing some stuff. Abbé, we can help each other with this? Thank you. And I hope you are doing okay. Take care.

Phoenix system

Hey Phoenix System! Your most recent ask is actually what made us realize that we had a ton of asks built up that we hadn't answered, so thanks for that. I'll answer this one first.

Coping skills for dealing with repressed memories, flashbacks, etc:

Inner communication. Working on inner communication when you start feeling repressed memories, emotions, flashbacks, etc, coming on is necessary. Reminding parts that they do not need to keep reliving these things anymore (you already lived it once, you don't have to keep reliving it) and that it's 2023 and you are [insert age here] now can help keep parts grounded in the present. Will discuss grounding methods shortly. Also understanding why a flashback is occurring can be helpful in order to minimize them. Because remember, you don't *have* to keep living this stuff over and over, so working on figuring out why a part is reliving things is necessary to decrease the amount of things coming out. Are they flashbacking because of an external trigger? What is that trigger and how can we avoid it? Are they flashbacking because a part triggered them internally? Why did that part trigger that part internally? What is the motive behind that? Does the part believe that they have to keep reliving their trauma purposely? Why do they believe that? Is this part sending flashbacks to send a message? Are they angry? Do they feel ignored? This is a common thing for parts to do if they feel ignored. "You don't acknowledge my pain, so I'm going to show you my pain instead." (via flashbacks). Communicating with parts why a flashback is occurring and how we can minimize them in the future is imperative for eventual healing. Getting everyone on the same page that we are now in the present and not in the past will minimize flashbacks too. Easier said than done. We have been doing this part by part for nearly three years now and while we've made a lot of progress, we still have a long way to go. It takes time.

Grounding methods. Grounding in the present is very important to minimize how "deep" into flashbacks you go. These are usually engaging your senses in your current present day world to show that you are there in the present, in 2023 (or whatever year you are reading this). For us, holding bags of ice in our hands helps keep us from floating too far into dissociation land. Looking around the room (or outside space) and pointing out all of the red objects or green objects or whatever variety of object you feel like pointing out forces you to focus on the fact you are in THAT space, not the space that your mind is trying to take you to. Eating mints or cinnamon candies is also a very good grounding method for us, sour candy too. It's a harsh taste that's hard to ignore, and it's not something we were actively tasting during our traumatic experiences, so it can help remind us that we are currently in adult time eating sour candy/mints/cinnamon candy. If anyone else who reads this has grounding methods that work for them that they'd like to share, please feel free to add to this post.

Distractions. If all else fails, finding things to distract yourself when you start feeling the thought spirals come is important. These can be things like reading a book, watching a comfort show or youtuber, doing something hands-on like art, crocheting, or even lego building, etc, is a good way to stay distracted. While it's important to recognize or try to communicate with parts to try and keep yourself from going into trauma time, sometimes a system's communication is low, or it can be difficult to reach parts because your head is like a beehive of voices. Keeping yourself distracted with things that keep you grounded in the present time will be necessary until the moment passes. Because eventually it will pass, and then you'll be more clearheaded and able to address what happened later.

Journaling/video/audio recording things that you've seen in flashbacks. Writing poetry, journaling, speaking aloud, etc helps to put words to the experiences. Putting words to the experiences often helps lessen the emotional intensity of the experiences. This is why therapy is something that helps people. Putting words to experiences can help make the emotional impact of something easier to manage. For parts who struggle to use words or type or write, drawing pictures or finding pictures online to describe the experiences helps too. Something that we try to do with parts who are having flashbacks or who try to send flashbacks to explain how much pain they are in is encouraging them to put words or images to the experiences rather than sending flashbacks to fronters to explain how much pain they are in. It helps our parts immensely to have a place dedicated to only them to express their pain. This can be via tumblr blogs (public or private, however they prefer), google docs, a journal that is only for them, a discord channel in a private system server that is only theirs, etc.

Now, for how to help parts feel more comfortable interacting with the therapist, this is twofold.

One, that part needs to be able to trust the therapist. If they don't trust the therapist, they aren't going to want to talk to them no matter how much you try to convince them. You and your therapist need to have good rapport and they need to basically be able to "prove" to that part that they are trustworthy to speak to.

Two, you then need to also convince that part that the therapist is trustworthy. Hence the need for the therapist to "prove" they are trustworthy. Remind parts that therapists have rules that they cannot tell people outside of the room you are in what you speak about. If this therapist has played by the rules of the system so far, like agreeing when to drop subjects when parts don't want to talk about something, or not pressuring parts to speak when they don't want to (a therapist should never force a part to speak to them or force parts to talk about things they aren't ready to talk about) point that out to those parts and remind them that this therapist has had good boundaries with the system in the past, so it's likely those boundaries will continue.

Lastly, it takes time for parts to feel comfortable talking to a therapist. Some parts will be okay talking but won't want to share their name or what they do in the system. If your therapist tries to pressure parts to tell them their name, their age, or what they do for the system, that's not going to create a safe environment for parts. Parts will open up only when they feel comfortable enough to, and that is something the therapist has to create.

I hope this post helped! If anyone has any further suggestions to add, feel free. :)

[epitomereally]

@hd-wireless 2023 fic claim: LA, Who Am I to Love You? for @sitp-recs

AO3 // FIC PLAYLIST

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

Liv, there's nothing I can say that everyone hasn't said before: you're such a lovely, kind, supportive part of our fandom and I can't think you enough for everything you do (especially sticking up for my fic while it was still on anon!). I was so so so excited when I saw your prompt — thank you for letting me rhapsodize about magical Los Angeles and also for letting me be horny in your ask box 💕💗💞

This fic took a village & is immeasurably better for all of their feedback: @thehoneybeet, whose essays about how some key scenes should change led to more clarity and kindness in the fic (and who let me steal their words VERBATIM); aulophobia, who tamed my run-on sentences (or at least half of them — blame me for the rest) and britpicked the hell out of this American fic (any Americanisms remaining are my own); @theonetruenim for their enthusiasm and wonderful LA vibes check; and @chaoticbindery for talking with me about Chicano magical traditions and a sensitivity read.

I'm feeling really sappy about this story. I truly love LA and I hope everyone else can see something to love about this illogical and metastatic city in the fic, whether it's the interminable sun and traffic, bougainvillea cascading over a fence, or the smog making the sunsets violent and gorgeous. Thank you to everyone who read it (especially @sitp-recs & @romaine2424 for your recs) — it means the world.

A brief snippet for the * ~ LA V I B E S ~ *

Luna and Neville spend a magical week in LA. Neville works during the day, developing a new strain with Blaise, but Luna is stupendously free. She accompanies Harry to yoga, where she compliments the teacher on her lack of Wrackspurts. Harry’s teacher accepts the compliment graciously and completely seriously. Despite being a Muggle, she is apparently senses when her aura is being declared clear, despite the incomprehensible words Luna uses.

They go to Harry’s favourite juice bar and Luna delights in ordering the oddest-coloured drinks she can: black (charcoal), royal blue (spirulina), hot pink (pitaya), and then green, green, and more green.

He and Luna spend hours outside. They lay on the beach—the first time Harry’s taken his shirt off in front of anyone who’s not a Healer since the bite—and Luna spends hours tracing it gently, completely intent, her nose almost pressed into Harry’s side. Harry dozes, waking up every time she hits somewhere sensitive. Despite applying extensive sunscreen, he somehow acquires a bit of a glow about him. He loves it. Harry, who was always tan in England, had felt positively pale before now in LA. He had been technically darker than Malfoy and Pansy, but his skin didn’t have a healthy flush of recent sun exposure; it looked almost green, olive tones coming out against the gold of Malfoy’s and amber of Pansy’s. Somehow, all the Slytherins have freckles. They no longer look sickly and afraid like at Hogwarts; instead, like they had ripened and melted in the LA sun. When they arrive back at Malfoy’s, Harry likes how Malfoy laughs at both of them, not unkindly, when they immediately demand Sun-Healing Potion.

They walk along the canals of Venice and the tiny alleys, where Luna stops to marvel at pomelos the size of Harry’s head, or brush her fingers through mulberries which stain her hands wine-dark for the rest of the day, or weave a crown of fig leaves.

They wile away the time in Draco’s garden. Butterflies flit around them—Harry’s not sure if they’re even real, given the mild explosions from Draco’s garage, where he’s madly inventing effects. Luna takes time to tell Harry about every plant in the garden, what’s in season, and what Draco has enchanted to bloom despite the heat and the sun: bougainvillea and wisteria and jacaranda and Birds of Paradise and one English tea rose. It’s odd how at-home Harry feels in Malfoy’s back garden—they’ve only just barely become friends—but he does and Malfoy seems to like him there, anyways.

On Thursday evening, after 48 hours of mad plant alchemy between Neville and Blaise, they come home. Neville’s only got one long scratch down his cheek, which is apparently a rousing success for trying to cross marijuana, Gillyweed, and a Venomous Tentacula. The poison is apparently a mild empathogen in small doses, the Gillyweed makes Harry feel as if he’s floating and unexpectedly makes him blow bubbles, and they all lie in the backyard, laughing and dozing and chatting. Bubbles float above them, trapped by the jacaranda: purple and pink and iridescent, shifting in front of Harry’s eyes. Somehow, butterflies are still flitting about the garden; the fairy lights glow above them in the dim of the twilight. A giant purple blossom from the jacaranda drifts down to the top of Malfoy’s head, and Harry can’t stop staring, entranced by how lovely he is, how golden and beautiful. He falls asleep on the cushioned wicker sofa out back that night, Luna curled around Pansy in a chair, and Neville snoring away. Harry wakes up feeling better than he has in a long time.

Luna and Harry go for hikes in the Hollywood Hills: Runyon Canyon, and Cahuenga Peak to the Hollywood Sign, where Harry feels like a tourist for the first time in LA. They even even drive west up into the Santa Monica Mountains, where Harry roasts to a crisp, exposed among the shrub, with the ocean vast and glittering to his left. Luna’s a calming presence in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, humming along in a scattershot, off-key melody to songs she’s never heard before. While they hike, Luna points out a peppercorn tree, crushes the pink berries between her hands and puts them into Harry’s nostrils; he sneezes. She marvels at the wild mustard, coating the hills with yellow sprays of flowers. She stands in front of an agave, blue-green spikes taller than her, with what appeared to be a giant asparagus rising from its center. It must have been thirty feet tall, covered in yellow and red anemones. Luna loves it instantly. She loves the prickly pear too, with their bloody metastatic fruit sprouting off the paddles—Harry finds them frankly unnerving. She finds wild rosemary off the trail, soft and plush; it’s so intensely savory that Harry feels like he’s being punched in the face with a focaccia when he smells it.

Harry had just tolerated LA—it was a means to an end, a long shot to get rid of the wolf. It almost feels like cheating to see it now through Luna’s eyes, just after Parkinson tempts him with a Quidditch offer. Harry feels as if he hasn’t made a real choice in his entire life: his path laid out by Voldemort and Dumbledore from his first birthday; his apathy during Auror training; and finally the bite. He didn’t think he had a real choice in front of him here, either, but now, in the unexpected beauty of LA through Luna’s eyes and generosity of Pansy Parkinson, he does.