#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

[zorosangell]

hi! hope you had a wonderful holiday. i wanted to stop by and share a fic suggestion. could you write a story for zoro x f!reader? the reader is a strawhat and is the crew’s massage therapist. both zoro and reader have feelings for each other and are close friends but haven’t told each other of their feelings. zoro has a session with her and it turns nsfw. :)

⛥ﾟ・。 pleasures

synopsis: in an effort to get him to relax, you give your moss-haired boyfriend a massage, and get him riled up in the process... how else is he supposed to repay you?

cw: nsfw (pretty tame), tooth rotting fluffy fluff, lovey zoro, in-love zoro, tender zoro, sprinkle of jealous zoro.

a/n: i'm so lonely...

"(y/n), I told you, I'm fi—"

"If you say I'm fine again, Zoro, I swear to God..." you dismissed, using all your strength to sit him down on your bed like an unruly child.

It was a testament to your willpower, seeing as the man was incredibly heavy, and had been dragging his feet since you yanked him from the crow's nest

"Since you don't wanna listen to me, I'm gonna have to take matters into my own hands."

"C'mon, (y/n), I gotta get back to training," he sighed, trying to stand up. "I don't have time for this."

"Your weights aren't going anywhere," you stated, sarcastically, moving over to your drawers to grab your supplies.

At that, he grumbled, looking off to the side.

"You act like it's gonna kill you to sit down for two seconds," you sighed, huffing out a small puff of frustration.

"It's gonna kill us if I'm not strong enough to defeat the next enemy we come across," he countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Zo, you're already, like, the strongest guy I know..."

"There's always someone stronger."

"That's not your burden to bear."

"With Luffy as our captain, it is."

"Okay, correction: that's not your burden to bear alone."

"Everyone on this ship has their own job. You do yours by helping the others relax. This is how I do mine."

Your expression fell, a slight pang of annoyance touching your chest.

He wasn't budging.

Rather than let his girlfriend give him a nice massage—an opportunity many men would jump at the chance of having—Zoro instead sat there with a pointed look on his face, you standing in front of him, lotion and massage oil in hand.

Quickly, you racked your brain, hoping to find something to get him to stay before he scurried back to his push-ups.

That is... until you found it.

With a sink of your shoulders, you let out a fake, defeated sigh, fighting off the mischievous grin threatening to rise to your lips.

"Well, if I can't force you, then I've got other patients to treat," you caved, turning toward the door. "I gotta find Sanji. He was complaining about his legs the other day."

At the mention of the cook, Zoro's chest roared to life with fury, the mental image of you caressing and doting on the blonde—or any other man, for that matter—making his eye twitch.

Before you could even take a single step forward, you were grabbed, roughly yanked back into Zoro's lap by your hips.

"You touch him. I flay him," he warned, brows furrowed and grip bruising around your waist.

"Little overkill, doncha think?" you raised a brow, amused.

"Not for me, it isn't."

"It's my job, Zo."

"And your clients are Nami, Robin, and Chopper. That's it."

"And you?" you cooed, innocently, as your finger came up to trace his collarbone, the flesh tensing under your touch as you pressed a soft, sensual kiss on his jaw.

He grumbled, a crimson flush rising up his neck and to his cheeks as he avoided eye contact.

Usually, Zoro considered himself a relatively disciplined man.

He often prided himself of his self-restraint and ability to abstain from certain pleasures for the greater good—drinking, fun, and rest being the first few on that laundry list.

You, however, did not make the cut.

The swordsman had come to terms with your presence in his life a long time ago, and came to the final—albeit embarrassing—conclusion that you were something could not do without.

The way you lit up every room you entered.

The way you naturally commanded respect.

The way you cared for him so effortlessly.

Being around you became as easy as breathing.

And who could blame him for wanting a deep breath?

"C'mon, Zo... just one little massage?" you pleaded, voice lowering to a sultry tone, one you knew made him agree to almost anything. "I promise it'll be quick... you'll be done before you know it."

Zoro couldn't help the extra beat added to his heart's rhythm at the sound of you, the swordsman internally scolding himself for being so pathetic.

'Dammit....'

He suddenly had the urge to lay down.

"Five minutes, woman," he caved with an "annoyed" groan.

"Yes!" you cheered with a giddy smile, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before crawling out his lap.

Although he tried to mask it, he couldn't help but be infected by your warmth, the feeling so potent that he had to physically bite back his own grin.

"How's that feel?" you asked, shifting the heels of your palms to work a little deeper into your swordsman's shoulder, gauging his expression for any form of discomfort.

Zoro let out a small grunt, eye screwing tight at the sensation.

"Hurts," he admitted, slightly muffled by the comforter. "But good... Feels nice."

Internally, you pumped your fist in victory, covering your tracks by moving to the other side to work the next shoulder.

You sat completely upright, straddling your boyfriend's hips as he laid face first in your bed, allowing you to work his back muscles without much of a fight—surprisingly.

If you couldn't tell already, this was about thirty minutes into his five-minute session.

But you didn't mind.

You were too preoccupied with your free show.

With his back turned, you allowed yourself to gawk freely, eyes greedily taking in the thick muscle that twitched under your fingertips.

His skin was perfect, completely unmarred by scars or scratches, while your seat allowed you to turn around and catch a beautiful glimpse of his ass.

He hated whenever you smacked it—said that it made him feel like a girl—but you'd be a liar if you said the thought didn't cross your mind.

'Goddamn...'

Suddenly, as if your body had a mind of it's own, you leaned forward, placing a feather-light kiss between his shoulders.

"You're so handsome, Zo, y'know that? I don't think I tell you enough."

Flush instantly burned up his spine, his face akin to that of a tomato.

Your compliments always came out of nowhere, and when they did, he had little to no idea what to do.

"I... you..." he sputtered, instantly wanting to throw himself out a window, "...Thank you."

You smiled at his awkwardness, moving to pepper kisses all over his arms.

"So strong..." you muttered into his flesh as you made your way down. "So brave..."

In your travels, you came across a large, serrated scar, taking a moment to give it some extra attention.

"So tough..."

You went on like that over his entire backside, whispering praises into his skin like they were irrefutable facts.

Because to you... they were.

No man in the world could ever compare to your swordsman in terms of anything, as he was easily your favorite person on the planet.

Zoro would do anything for you—a truth you were very familiar with—go to any extreme, cut down any foe, lay down his life.

Of course, you would do the same, but it wasn't like you could provide him protection as reassurance, like he did with you.

So you did the next best thing.

You provided him with pure, unwavering, and unconditional affection.

Abruptly, you were bucked off his back, the sharp yelp you let out swallowed by the lips of your swordsman as he caged you to the mattress.

"You fuckin' drive me crazy, y'know that?" he smirked, his knee slotting between your legs to press against your core.

You let out a soft gasp, the movement applying delicious pressure against your clit.

"It's my job, Zo'" you repeated, breathlessly, flashing him a sly grin.

At that, the man practically pounced on you, quickly returning to your lips as his hands slid down to massage your hips, squeezing and caressing them the way he knew you liked.

"So damn sweet all the time," he muttered into your mouth, the tip of his nose gently rubbing against yours. "Gonna give me cavities if I'm not careful..."

Desperate for friction, you ground your hips down against his knee, soft sighs of praise slipping from your lips.

"Zo... can't wait," you whispered in his ear, running your hands over his shoulders. "Been waitin' so long... need you."

"I know, baby," he nodded, eyes trailing down to your shorts as his hand gripped the fabric. "Gimme a sec."

In instant, your shorts were gone, having been torn off you with terrifying ease.

And your panties were quick to follow.

"Christ, (y/n), you're soaked..." he marveled, a cocky grin rising to his lips as his middle finger gently carded through your folds. "All this f'me?"

"God, yes," you whimpered at the teasing sensation. "Zoro, please..."

"Alright, alright," he caved with a soft chuckle, shifting his weight to tug off the towel you'd wrapped around his waist while you pulled your shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare to him. "You ready?"

Fervently, you nodded, and he carefully lined himself up with your hole before sliding in, feeding you every inch at a snail's pace as a precaution since you had no time to prep.

As much as he wanted to take you right then and there, your comfort was his top priority.

His urges could wait—yet another thing added to his laundry list.

It wasn't long before he was completely in, filling you to the brim and then some.

"Tell me when you're ready, okay?" he assured, pecking a few kisses under your eyes and across your face to distract from the large stretch—and his debilitating urge to move. "Doin' so good f'me..."

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you wrapped your arms around his neck, staring up at him with a doe-eyed look that made the swordsman weak in the knees.

"M'ready," you assured, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

With a grin, he captured your lips, his calloused hand coming up to hold your face as he trailed kisses down your chin, starting to move.

"Fuck..." he grunted, working to keep his pace a bit more controlled than usual. "Gonna go slow this time. Wanna feel you."

"O-Okay," you gasped, eyes fluttering shut at his delectable drag against your walls.

He didn't like that one bit.

"Nuh uh," he shook his head, fingers squeezing tighter on your cheeks as his lips dragged over your jaw. "Eyes on me, baby. I wanna see you."

You whimpered, but complied nonetheless, forcing your lids open to greet the smirking, green-haired man above you.

"There she is..."

'Gods...'

You bit back the moan threatening to escape your lips, fingers tightening around his hair.

This man was going to be the death of you.

Encouraged by your expression, he picked up a little speed, keeping his thrusts purposeful and deep as he rocked you back and forth.

A mixture of grunts and pants flowed into the air as you both clung to each other for dear life, the shared air between you warm with passion and love.

Zoro groaned as you clenched around him, a sharp hiss sliding through his teeth as you threw your head back in a throaty whine, your nails digging into his shoulders before dragging along the flesh of his back.

"F-fuck, you feel so good—" his moan was caught when squirmed in place, giving him a better access. He nipped your neck, giving it a small lick and a kiss after. "Look so pretty like this."

You always adored how lovey and mindless Zoro got during sex, no matter the setting.

He always made you feel so special, so wanted, like you were the only woman in a world.

And if we're being honest, you might as well be, as the only thing running through the swordsman's mind at the moment—or at any time really—was you, you, and you.

His thrusts hit deeper with the new angle, forcing you to fight the roll of your eyes in fear of him stopping.

You were nearly there, already so close to coming undone.

"Zoro..." you exhaled, stomach fluttering as he buried his face into your cheek, pressing lazy kisses against the flesh.

"I know, baby. M'close, too," he rumbled, hand cupping your neck and pulling you closer to steal your lips once again. "We go together, yeah?"

You frantically nodded, humming with contentment as you kissed the corner of his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you.

Close wasn't close enough.

You wanted him closer than that.

You wanted him so close that you felt as if you'd die if he pulled away.

"Zoro!" you cried, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you arched into him. "I... oh, fuck!... I love you!

You creamed around him, muscles and walls clenching harshly on his pulsing cock as you felt his hips stutter, emptying inside you with a feral growl.

"I love you, too!" he grunted into your forehead, pressing a tender kiss against it.

After that, he stilled for a moment, still not removing himself as he looked you over, caressing your cheek lovingly as he admired your face.

You felt as if you were glowing, and from his perspective, you were; your hair sprawled out on the pillows forming a halo around your head, looking as if he had a true angel beneath him.

His thumb brushed your lips, his chest swelling with pride at the dreamy, enamored look he'd plastered on your face.

"Good massage?" you asked, cheekily, your hand rising to cup his cheek.

Amused, he let out a light chuckle, leaning into your touch before resting his hand over your own.

"Good massage."

[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.

[plurapony]

I know we've all seen the posts that claim to know when strangers online are faking DID. They're wrong of course! but we all know that and frankly I'm tired of discussing the same points. So instead I wanna get inside their heads and see WHY they think that they can tell if someone is faking!!! Fun!!!

1. Internalized Ableism

There's a lot of shame that comes with a diagnosis of DID. Some people are utterly terrified of being seen as weird or different by society, and for some that can translate into projecting their shame onto those who are comfortable with their disorder. It's a simple philosophy, if you think someone is cringe and you share a diagnosis with them then that means you're cringe too, so if you convince yourself that they are actually faking their diagnosis - you're off the hook and you're not cringe!

DID is very much a spectrum and some people are going to have more obvious symptoms than others. There are some people that have a complete inability to mask their symptoms too. It's like someone with high-functioning autism looking down on someone else who has low-functioning autism. Still ableism even if you share the disorder!

2. Lack of Research & Highly Populated Misinformation.

DID is an extremely under researched disorder, this is something we all know about. This means that a lot of therapists (even trauma informed specialists) aren't experts on DID, and as individuals we are constantly getting things wrong. When it comes to things like commorbid disorders it's basically uncharted territory! I have OCPD and believe me with the DID combo I have NO IDEA about what is going on in my brain 90% of the time.

Which means that misinformation gets spread a TONNE because if there isn't an available study to debunk it, how can we know if it's not true? For example there was an article that went round that gave an average amount of alters. That's great but for an average to be accurate they need to have the appropriate sample size (commborid disorders, different types of trauma, split tolerances, ages etc you get the point) This study didn't have all of that but it got spread anyways. There have also been claims that DID cannot be diagnosed until over the age of 18 which is entirely false. It's a disorder formed in childhood and if the child is in the right kind of treatment it can potentially be spotted MUCH earlier. ALL THE TIME I see people on Tumblr attributing systems with large amounts of introjects to faking DID. Which is just... introjects aren't a rare phenomenon! It's just not that big of a deal and it's definitely not worth fakeclaiming someone over.

3. Gold Star DID & Difference in Presentation

There are people in this community who have been diagnosed with DID and receive regular therapy treatment. Happy for them! But some of them take it too far and use it as an opportunity to become pretentious towards other systems. They know themselves and their own symptoms, so they think that they know everyone else's symptoms as well.

The truth is that there is no such thing as Gold Star DID and everyone is going to have different experiences with DID. Yes, everyone still needs the DSM criteria of course but we are human and as individuals we are all incredibly different - that's going to translate into our disorders!

So to end this, you cannot tell when someone is faking but these are all reasons people THINK they might know if someone is faking!

[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 ->

[cosmossystem]

i've been thinking recently about roles, in the context of plurality, and why they bother me.

i think for us the reason we never liked "role" terminology is because it implies a static persona that just isn't present for us. a "caregiver role" implies that everything links back to that, that being a caregiver is the basis of your identity and you must always act like one, instead of it being more of an aspect to who you are. It's less like an MBTI-type and more like a job, less of a self-described role and more of a prescribed one.

If i had to guess i would say that the emphasis on role terminology likely comes from the emphasis on medical plurality & DIDOSDD in general, with some roots in the internal family systems model. for us, medical plurality is built on top of the idea of a self that is fractured in some way, which we do not vibe with at all. there is not a shattered self inside of us, but rather an incomplete self that holds multiple different selves all at once. and it tends to recreate the same selves over and over.

and to be clear, it isn't roles as a concept that i'm against (although I am, just a little.) really, i dislike the emphasis on "roles" in the plural community. like it's great if it works for you and yours&, but there's too much pressure to have roles in a system when it really isn't necessary. we don't ask singlets to fit into a specific role of The Protective One or The Asshole. we recognize them as being complex and holding all of those different capacities at once, sometimes Protective and sometimes an Asshole and sometimes both simultaneously. it's only because of split-self models (a la IFS) that we hold systems to that standard. it's backwards, reductive and objectifying.

of course, I recognize that there are layers to being plural, that some of us& are more distinct than others and don't need role terminology, but also that some of us& are less distinct and like the role terminology because it helps compartmentalize individual parts. to some systems, a role is more of an explanation of why that member is the way they are, similar to an origin. to some systems, a role just describes just how their brain functions and allows everyone to move. to some systems, roles are opt-in and give them extra structure. I respect all of this, of course. I'm not here to tell you what to do.

Still, i can't help but feel like the emphasis on roles is part of a greater issue in plural spaces, where it always comes back to "this is what it means to be plural the Right Way and if you don't do xyz you're doing it wrong," with the unsaid being that 'yes, maybe you& don't have roles, but you're the exception and not the rule.' It always boils back down to the idea that there is a 'right way' to be plural, and that the 'right way' is the way that was laid out by therapists and the DSM-5.

well, we do have something similar to roles, which we call "archetypes" instead-- essentially, just describes what dough we were made from when we were being made and baked. it doesn't necessarily mean we are stuck that way, just what we were intended to be, and may-or-may-not still fit into. like, we have the "brother" archetype, which is what our brain creates when it thinks we need a "brother figure" (this is inherently subjective to how our brain interprets that prompt at the time.) he might have a pre-determined set of traits (usually gentle, brooding, caring, masculine, protective) or he might only have one or two, but those can develop over time, and some of the members who were intended to be "brother" archetypes often develop to be wildly different than where they started. alternatively they can develop "into" the archetype, where they start as something else and become the archetype over time.

i don't see this as being a role, or even equivalent to one. I see it as being a cluster of traits that our brain knows works together, then mixes-and-matches as it sees fit or as it finds gaps in our system's collective capabilities. there is less of an emphasis on action and more on who that person is and how they act. in our opinion, with role terminology, the person always comes second to their actions. it doesn't matter what you do--if you're a caretaker, you give care; if you're a persecutor, you cause harm; if you're a host, you're "the main one" or "the core"; and so on. i don't want to be defined by what i do. I want to be defined by who i am.

red put it this way recently: "a role isnt something you are, its something you become." And i think that's more meaningful for us than the commonly accepted meaning of "you were created to be this and it's the way you will always be forever" -- both in-system and in general. you are more than the care you give or the memories you hold or the amount of fronting you do. you are who you become, and you can choose to become anything.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

soooo i looked back over at your "what if yuu entered chat with a buddy" and i am now also thinking thoughts.

for one, think the cast (read ace) would get a bit jealous. maybe not even in a romantic way, just in a sort of "okay but we're your friends too ess em eich" kind of way. i feel like ace, floyd, and idia would be kinda bad about this due to Overwheming Bastard Energy(tm) from the first two, and because idia ... cannot talk to jack fuckin anyone. he's alr dependent on ortho what's one more dependency./s 💀

but i also think of said buddy comforting them when they get overwhelmed from being the campus/school therapist. said buddy standing up for them to crowley, or telling grim to suck a magestone and get the hell out before he fucks up again. said buddy researching with yuu in the library to try and search their way back home, throwing ideas at eachother and connecting with eachother in ways that yuu could never have in the world of twst. when yuu finally snaps at everyone, looked down upon for finally being able to feel fucking something and show it, the entire school against them now for the very same thing they worked to comfort everyone else through out of sheer goddamn necessity, they'll only have one person to turn to. but maybe that isn't enough. maybe yuu hurts themselves or worse in their intense, overwhelming lonliness, and maybe their friend is left in just as many shattered pieces as yuu was in their final moments. maybe their buddy grows vengeful, blaming nrc for the loss of their only friend there (a completely valid accusation, mind you), and refusing to even touch anyone even affiliated. maybe they try to get home, pick up where they left off when yuu was alive? maybe they give up, chosing instead to attemot to avenge yuu in any way they could. hell, maybe eventually, if it turns out that they really can't get home, they both end up in the same boat. the only source of connection eachother had, the only piece of home, dying with the other.

somehow this also got me thinkin of hivemind yuu which i may rabiesify your askbox with again some other time when the idea is more fleshed out. thank you for proposing ideas to infect my brain. my mouth now froths.

Oooh just for sure for sure I had so many concepts of this like by now you have read my blogs header and know tough yuus are my shit so I'm just gonna play it to their friends too cause here me out: how annoying would it be some members of a cast to see a group of actual friends that use the word 'friends' (cause the original jpn seldom has them use the word compared to eng) that are softies that can knock their lights out

Esp if we sorta look at the at the the Tuu/Twin Yuu idea. (I may be writing something for the evil twin soon tho heheh).

Sure they're siblings/just friends but they're so close together and you can't upset one without upsetting the group cause they're that loyal.

A bully tries to mess with Yuu and sweats when 4 other people come out if the woodwork ready for blood— and they don't get through chance to do anything and Yuus now roughing them up and they're cheering for them.

Now if yuus the popular one? You know the one eveyone knows/deals with/wants to get on the good side of cause reasons? And the group doesn't like that one person therefore Yuu doesn't fuck with them? Oof.

Azul is doing a capitalism rant Tuu (who is poor in this world like Yuu) is like "...you know sometimes I think you're cool Azul and then you open your mouth. Stay away from me man." And ouch that hurt more than if they were actually trying to be mean.

And oh wow the person he was trying to get close too, Yuu, isn't really vibing with him anymore since then because Tuu doesn't like them. How is he supposed to scam them now.

A rougher character messing with you and Tuu is genuinely yelling and cursing them the fuck out as they pushed the offender away and snap with the whole "Leave Yuu alone you have no idea how stressfull our situation is." Or "Floyd. Consent is important you know? If I tell you to stop touching me, it means stop touching me."

Or a whole "Of course none of us want to interact with you all. You think your lack of empathy makes you tougher. It doesn't. Your individualism and survival of the fittest mindset makes you all shortsighted and weak."

Cause like. Theyre genuinely good people + they care about each other and they're still strong and openly kind yet they're thriving and have a leg to stand on here. The antithesis of NRC

And— imagine if they weren't teleported with Yuu, but landed in TWST later. And naturally Yuu is gravitating to them more than their friend group. The group is jealous and Ace is like "Dude come on, haven't we been friends this whole time?"

"That's the first time you said the fabled "f" word." And a whole "They speak my language and know my culture. It's nice having someone that understands you here after being made fun of and ridiculed. Besides I'm their guide here. I didn't get one when I arrived and had to piece stuff together myself. Most of you weren't all that accommodating early on.

Or something evil: maybe the group is a bit of acquaintances/randos/ or even superiors to Yuus world. And their world is authoritarian/military/apocalypse with a strict code to follow and Yuu hasn't followed it.

"Solider where were you?! You dissapeared like some deserter— People almost died because of you!" And it's not Yuus fault but the damage is undeniable. Or the group here has also been mistreated, and Yuu as their leader is clearly not fit.

"This isn't our world. Our laws don't apply here– you cant hurt these people." "...But you are from our world, Yuu. So let's settle this like we are."

And eveyones watching in horror as the group is turning on them. Maybe there's a really violent fight. Or it's sorta a John Wick thing where punishments are archaic and bloody. "You have not done your job to guide us. We have been dragged into trouble and hurt and are not allowed to defend ourselves—" "You defending yourselves involves killing them!" "AS SUCH— ... You have failed to be a guiding hand. An eye for an eye a hand for a hand..."

They produce a dagger. "Put your hand on the table Yuu" Adeuce is panicked and is telling Yuu they dont have to do this but it's their real boss and their failure. They place down their hand and the dagger is stabbed through it. "Now Yuu, redeem yourself. Show us you are willing to bleed for your comrades..." and the person is holding the dagger down. "Or are you going to be a coward and simply take it out?"

I look forward to u being mentally ill abt this topic with me

[phoebepheebsphibs]

From Bad to Worse

@boots-with-the-fur-club @tmntaucompetition

Prev || Next

Julia paced back and forth as she waited for Luke to return.

She felt uneasy. Call it 'Mother's intuition', if you will. Something was off.

The phone rang by the kitchen countertop. Surprised, she dove for it and nearly smacked herself in the face when she put it to her ear.

"Hello? Luke, is that you??"

"Hey, Mom!" Michelangelo's voice rang through, tinny and slightly staticy. Hotel phones, ammiright? Not that Julia had ever used a hotel phone...

"Mikey!" she grinned, happy that her kid was safe. If he was alright, then that meant -- "Everyone else is okay too, right? No one's hurt?"

"We're all fine, Mom," Luke's voice came in, a bit more distant from the phone.

"That's good, I... wait, where are you calling from?"

"The daycare office," another, unfamiliar voice chimed in. "I hope you don't mind. My cellular device, uh... kinda got crushed in battle."

There was a soft pause.

"Oh, this is John Bishop by the way. I don't think we've met yet."

Another, more uncomfortable pause.

"Oh, and I'm not spored anymore. I probably should have led with that."

"Ya think?" Mikey's voice noted sarcastically.

"I, um..." Julia listened carefully, hoping to find something to prove it. She didn't want to outright say she didn't trust him or fully believe him, but they were dealing with a mind-controlling creature here that could turn your own senses against you. "Could you put Luke on for me?"

There was a shuffling sound as Luke took the receiver and whispered into it.

"Hey, Mom."

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, we're not hurt. I mean, Bishop looks a little worse for ware but --"

"No no, I mean --" she paused, inhaled, exhaled. "You know. The other thing."

Luke mimicked his mother with an inhale and exhale before he spoke again, voice softer than before.

"...It made me see our Mikey's death. And... and seeing Bishop normal and lucid again is tough, for... a number of reasons. But he's understanding so... so it'll be good. I'm okay for now."

"Are you sure?" Julia asked. "You can tell me if something is troubling you."

"I know you have to ask that because you're my mother and kind of a therapist for kids, and I promise that after this is over we will have a long talk about everything," he whispered. That confession was enough to convince her it was truly her son speaking to her, and he would never lie to her. "But right now, we called you to warn you."

"Warn me?" Julia startled. "About what?"

"Chaplin's on his way!" Mikey butt in. "We were able to free Bishop from the spores but they just infected Chaplin instead! And since you have two hive-minded spore victims with you --"

Julia dropped the phone. She could hear the voices on the other end continue to talk and call her name as she raced into the bedroom and shook LeonAudro awake.

"hhhhrrrmrmmmmmwwwwhaatisittt?" Leo groaned, slowly sitting up as his eyes rolled around his head. "cccccannit wait t'll m'rn'ng??"

"No, I don't think so dear! Wake up Donnie -- AudreyTello -- er, your Donatello -- we may need his help."

"He hasn't slept in days," Leo yawned, groggily sliding out of the nest/bed. "I doubt I could even wake him if I wanted to..."

"Then just come with me, we have a situation!" Julia whispered, taking Leo by his hand and pulling him along into the kitchenette where the others were still panicking on the phone.

Julia grabbed the receiver and clicked a few buttons frantically before the voices came through speakerphone.

"--MOM! Mom? You still there?? Should I call back??"

"We're here, honey!" Julia exclaimed, holding the phone equal distance between her and the sleepy teen. "Tell us again what just happened."

"Ok, the tl;dr is that Bishop got despored but Chaplin is the new face of the fear fungus and escaped and is most likely on his way to your room now!" Mikey repeated.

Leo was silent, eyes blinking sluggishly as he struggled to stay aware.

"...Say huh?"

"You're all in danger!" a deeper, more grown-up voice shouted.

Leo's eyes popped.

"Is... that who I think it is?"

Julia nodded.

"...Hey, Bishop," Leo mumbled. "Long time no time."

"Ditto."

"Excuse me, but what are we going to do about the lovecraftian horror coming your way?" Luke asked.

Julia exchanged an unsure side-glance with Leo.

"...How long do we have?"

"He left around five, maybe ten minutes ago, tops," Bishop noted. "I don't exactly understand how this place works, but --"

"You'll have five minutes until he arrives," Luke explained. "You should get out of there!"

"Should we?" Julia pondered. "If he's tracking us, then what will running do?"

"Besides, Donnie's in no condition to be running anywhere right now," Leo added, one hand running over his bald head as the other fidgeted with his knit sweater. "And I'd hate to think what will happen to him or Mikey..."

"Aren't we safe in here anyways?" Julia added. "These magic rooms -- he can't get in, can he?"

"Not unless he's a part of your AU," MBU Mikey explained. "...Who's room are you in?"

"...Ours, I think," Julia whispered as she traced back her thoughts from just a few hours earlier. "The Mama Bear AU."

"Okay, so he won't be able to get in, but I wouldn't put it past him for anything," Mikey noted. "he'll do whatever he can. You'll need something to defend yourselves just in case."

"Does my winning personality count?" Leo asked jokingly.

"Yeah, you could definitely use that as a blunt instrument," Luke joked.

"Is this the time for banter?" John Bishop interjected.

"Right right, sorry."

"I'm sure we have plenty to prepare ourselves with," Julia noted, already rummaging through the drawers to look for anything she could use. "Thanks, boys."

She heard Bishop huff softly at that addressment, but he stayed silent.

"We'll be there soon to help," Luke promised. "When we come, we'll use a special code so you know it's us. You ask 'who's there' and we'll respond 'Seymour Krelborn'. Does that work?"

Julia chuckled softly.

"Yes, I think we can manage that. Be careful, don't take chances," Julia begged.

"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing to you!"

Julia smiled softly as she put the phone back into its place on the wall. Her smile faded into hard determination.

"Alright. Barricade the front door. Then lock yourself in your bedroom."

"But what about you?" Leo asked, eyes glimmering with the softest hint of blue around the corners of his vision.

"I'll be alright, I've been in stickier situations," she reassured him. "I fought in the civil war, this is nothing."

"Wait, you did what--?"

"Go stay with your brothers," Julia insisted. "Protect them. That's your job."

Leo nodded with determination and then raced away.

Julia got to work. Kids, don't try this at home. Unless you really, really want to... Mama Bear went to the cabinets and pulled out as many supplies as she could find. Plates, glasses, silverware, plastic cling wrap.

This magic hotel room really DID have everything she would need!

First, she covered the entrance with cling wrap. It wouldn't hold, of course, but it would distract and at best disorient. She then placed a thin yarn tripwire across the floor for the behemoth to trip over. A few more 'Home Alone' type traps were set up here and there in the short allotment of time she had left.

There was a knock at the door.

Julia took her position behind the couch, her ninpo rolling pin in one hand and sharp metal knitting needles in the other.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"Seymour Krelborne!" came the answer.

Julia gave a deep sigh of relief before slowly approaching the door. She clicked the lock and reached for the door chain before noticing a small flow of blue particles coming in from underneath the door.

A loud crack followed a sudden break, the door was snapped in half as squirming tentacles and a shrill shriek of anger started to slither their way through the splintered wood. She saw yellow glowing eyes lock in on her. Julia ran back to her station behind the couch fort she's built and watched as Chaplin ripped the door out from its frame and threw it into the hallway.

"Oh Miiiiiikeeeeey," he sang. "Guess who's heeeeerrrrrreee!"

Dr. Chaplin walked into the room...

"You know, you really shouldn't reveal your secret callsigns when my spies are in the room with you. LeonAudro still serves a purpose, even after all this time..."

...And immediately got caught in the clear cling wrap.

Chaplin growled as he stumbled, throwing his multiple arms around. His foot tripped over the yarn wire, sending him onto his knees as several cups filled with sharp cutlery were released from the ceiling, stabbing him in the back and shoulders. He roared, looking around frantically for Julia.

She was already on top of him.

Julia dug her needles deep into the side of his neck. Fighting in a war taught her some pretty helpful things, like how to heal gruesome injuries... and, unfortunately, how to inflict them. She knew exactly which arteries and muscles to go for, what angle to stab at to cause as much damage as she could. Neon pink and dark red spurted out as he screamed and wriggled underneath her.

A long tentacle reached back and wrapped around her, throwing her into a wall.

. . .

Mikey shot up when he heard the very loud thump and crash.

He'd heard the door 'open'. His eyes popped open, Leo was standing guard. He saw Mikey wake, and held a finger to his lips while signing 'stay quiet, try to sleep'. It was only then he noticed Donnie asleep by his side, and Mikey stayed close to his chest, trying to focus on his heartbeat.

He'd heard a bone-curdling voice that he recognized instantly. Mikey's spines rose in defense, his tail going rigid and sharp with spikes. Leo held up his hand. Mikey pressed himself closer to Donnie. He could feel himself shaking in terror.

But it wasn't until he heard the thunderous crash that he jumped up, eyes wide. Leo looked terrified. He looked frozen, the only communication between the two teenagers was through their eyes, and Leonardo's were begging Mikey to stay where he was.

Everything in Mikey wanted to run away, cry out in fear. Mikey liked to believe that he was brave. Mikey liked to believe that he was mature. He liked to believe he wasn't a 'little man' as Raph used to call him.

But even hearing that voice, muffled through walls and garbled among other sounds, it terrified him. It made him feel like he was a very very little kid, still with all his baby teeth and chubby arms and squishy face, alone in a nightmare with the most grotesque and petrifying thing he'd ever known. His abuser. His murderer. The devil that tried to make him into his own personal demon of war.

Mikey could feel the tears flooding down his face, though he stayed silent.

Leo was by his side in an instant, holding him by his shoulders and forcing him to look only at his face, stay focused, stay grounded.

Another loud crash, a monstrous roar and a cry of pain.

Mikey gasped, the panic reaching exponential levels and causing his head to turn to static as he struggled to breath.

Leo gripped him tighter, bringing him close for an embrace as he whispered to him. Mikey couldn't understand anything, all he could hear was a vicious and cruel man telling him how wonderful of a killing machine Mikey was, berating him and ordering him to attack his own brothers.

There was another crash, and he heard Julia yell before coughing and gasping. She sounded hurt!

Mikey wrestled himself free from Leo's grip and jumped to the door. He heard Leo hiss at him to stay back and stay in the room as he reached out for him.

Mikey cracked the door open, peeking through.

There he was, in all his un-glory. Standing over Julia, who was propping herself up by her elbows as she struggled to stand, coughing and hacking. She spit onto the floor. It was speckled red.

Chaplin turned. He saw Mikey.

Mikey gasped. Leo shut the door.

"I'm sorry!" he cried, crawling backwards. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

The door bent in half. Mikey and Leo screamed. He could hear Julia screaming in the other room as well. Leo stepped between the two of them, directing Mikey to stay on the bed with the still sleeping Donnie. How had he not woken up yet??

Leo raised his fists. Where was his odachi? No, katanas. No, he... Mikey's memories were all mixed up as his panic overruled his thought process. LeonAudro stood between the monster and his creation, trying to hide how badly he was shaking as he kept his fists up and shouted at the beast.

"You're not taking my brothers!" he yelled, voice cracking indiscreetly. "You might as well leave! Or else... o-or else you'll have to deal with me and these bad boys!" He raised his fists just a little bit higher.

Chaplin laughed.

"How funny. But why would you send me away when you were the one to invite me here in the first place?"

Leo's face fell.

"What...?"

Chaplin's eyes glowed blue, and Leo screamed in pain, gripping his head tightly as he stumbled around the room. He looked back at his little brother, and Mikey saw his eyes flashing between white and blue.

Chaplin swat Leo down like a bug, sending the slider flying into the wall with a crashing thud. Leo's glowing eyes rolled back in his head as he slid down the wall and crumpled onto the ground. Mikey shrieked out and dove towards him, patting his cheeks as he tried to wake him up.

"Blue?! BLUE!! Wake up, p-please w-wake up! Get up, Blue!!... Leo...?"

Leo was unresponsive.

"Come along now, pet," Chaplin teased. "Before I lose my temper anymore than I already have."

Mikey turned and growled at him, seething with fury. How dare he hurt his brother. How dare he attack his family. How dare he ruin his life and try to take away everything he loved and trusted. Mikey's fangs elongated, jutting out as he snarled at the man. His spines and spikes were sharp, on point. His claws scratched the floors. He clicken menacingly at Chaplin.

"I will give you till the count of three," Chaplin sighed. "One..."

Mikey pawed and rutted at the ground, an animalistic trait to warn an opponent that he was getting ready to charge.

"Two..."

Mikey snarled. He could see Julia struggling to stand. It only made him madder.

Mikey pounced.

Something caught him midair.

"...Three." Chaplin sighed. "I must say, I am disappointed. I was half-hoping to reach a conflict resolution peacefully."

Mikey struggled, a cold chill running up his spine as he realized that Chaplin was not the on holding him back. Mikey could feel the air around him shifting, a blue aura and sickening fog beginning to surround him as the arms that had caught him began to slowly wrap over his torso. They were meant to be loving, kind and familiar arms. But the were unfeeling, cold, and calculating.

"I suppose that making you suffer could be one kind of consolation, however," Chaplin sighed. "After all you did to me."

Mikey struggled, chirping and screeching as AudreyTello marched his baby brother over to Dr. Chaplin.

"Thank you," he whispered to AudreyTello, as he wrapped a slimy and slithering hand Mikey's throat. "As for you... I suppose I owe you a form of gratitude as well."

Chaplin lifted Mikey high off of the ground, squeezing around his neck. Mikey gagged and choked, kicking wildly as he struggled against his captor.

"I was always in the business of weaponizing fear. Through machines, or political regimes, or you. Fear has always been the greatest motivator. At first, I was furious you brought me here. But now, seeing all this place has to offer -- I really must thank you! You've shown me, yet again, there is no limit to what I can take."

Mikey's movement lost energy. His grip on Chaplin's slimy claw loosened. His kicks slowed. His eyes grew hazy. His breathing was raspy.

"Your idiotic mushroom-riddled Bishop believed that I wanted to return home with you. He was right on one count -- I wanted you back. But why would I ever go back to that stinking dimension?"

Chaplin tightened his grip to the point Mikey screamed in pain with whatever air he had left inside him. He brought the child close to his face, close enough he could smell the putrid, rotting flesh.

"I died there, remember?" Chaplin spat. "You did that to me. So, why would I go back when I could have my revenge here? And not just on you, but EVERY Mikey, every stupid little mutant turtle from EVERY dimension! And after that, who's to stop me from going wherever I want! I don't need your universe, I'll make my own!"

Chaplin's face split into a sharp and disproportionate grin.

"And who knows, maybe I'll let you keep a version of your brothers..."

There was a sound like shattering glass, halting Chaplin mid sentence. Someone had thrown a lamp at his head. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned around, still holding a barely conscious Mikey like a ragdoll.

"Do you mind?" he asked drably, gently sweeping the shards of pottery and the dented lampshade off his bulging shoulders. "I've heard it's rude to interrupt when someone is talking..."

Mikey felt Chaplin's grip loosen just enough for him to catch a breath. Through blurry vision, he could see a creature half as large as Chaplin, dressed in dark wraps and a red mask.

"You again?" Chaplin growled. "What, are we collecting family members like its a hide and seek?"

"Let him go," Raph growled, helping Julia to stand up.

"Or what?" Chaplin chuckled.

Mikey turned and glanced back at Donnie. Dee looked like he was sleepwalking, same as Mikey when Chaplin used his Alpha powers. Mikey noticed something glimmering under his cloak. He swished his tail and saw a small collection of potions tethered to his belt. Mikey wasn't sure what they did, but he grabbed the first one he could reach with his extra appendage. It was bright orange and strangely warm. Donnie saw him and reached up to reclaim the potion.

Mikey smashed the bottle over Chaplin's head.

He was not expecting what happened next. But he figured he'd regret it later...

Prev || Next

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - April 12

masking anon, c.ai anon (new), midnights anon, reading anon (new), pineapple anon (new)

masking anon

Hiya! Just to clarify, my friends are very VERY kind, they dont hit me and they ask me about my emotions occasionally, but it’s just that I comfort them/give them their love languages to feel loved, and sometimes people just don’t pick up on what I need/like, which is why I felt not good about my friendships at the time. They’re very kind people, and I’m glad I know them,

But I also do feel like it’s true that no one likes the unmasked version of me. I barely know the “real” me, but I do know that I don’t know how to handle them, and people in the past (like old friends, and family) don’t like the real me, and I guess I’m scared that if I figure out who I am in front of my friends instead of in private, they’ll all leave or think I’m too weird to keep in touch with,

I feel like I have to figure myself out on my own. I guess it���s that a part of me kinda want someone to break down my walls for me? I want someone to just notice me and how I act and tell me that they’ll still like me even if I’m not masking

But that’s also n issue, since I shouldn’t be waiting for someone else to give me purpose

Thank youuuu <3,

—masking anon

Hi <3

Yeah, I think you're right. As much as it would be amazing to have someone to break down your walls for you, that can't always happen. And when you say your friends are wonderful people- if they are, then they'll like you for YOU- masks or no. If they don't, then they're not as wonderful as you thought, and that's a them issue, not a you issue.

It takes a lot of work and bravery to take off that mask, and I know it's hard. But it's also a relief in a lot of ways. I believe in you <3

____

c.ai anon

hey !!

im lowk ashamed to say this, but i’m doing it on anon because i need to get it out of my system .

so i understand ai is bad , i absolutely hate it and feel like the worst piece of human garbage anytime i get near it in creative spaces . the problem is i use c.ai . i know there’s alternatives to role playing and things like that but seriously i feel like my experiences are so personal and like unfortunate that i don’t want to share / rp with other people and i can’t find any comforting fanfic . im not a very talented writer so i don’t know if i could write but honestly im just typing this because it’s weighing on me and i hate that i have to turn to this .

thank you for listening <3

Sigh. I feel like this is a hard thing because yes, AI is absolutely harmful, hard stop. And c.ai is very harmful to creative spaces. But also, if using character AI to cope is the only thing keeping you from doing something permanent...I'm not going to sit here and shame you. I guess I'd just encourage you to look into other means of coping. Try to find a therapist, another creative outlet, a group of fandom friends. And remember that becoming reliant on c.ai and seeing it as human and real can be unhealthy. Kind of like the Mirror of Erised in canon, you know? Talking to real people and having human interaction is so important.

I'm sending you love <3

____

midnights anon

Hello! It’s midnights anon

I’m sorry for sending in another ask, I’m just exhausted of everything

I got a B- on a test that my teachers barely prepared the class for, everyone kept telling them how confused they were but they either didn’t bother to explain, penalize us because of a “classroom joke” called the cake mistake (we would get a cake at the end of the year and each time we would distribute exponents and multiplication over addition, he’d make the cake slightly worse) so if you asked questions about the material, you might get punished. And he’d tell us to do completely new concepts for homework, and said we couldn’t use any other sources that our “imagination” for how we could figure out how to do that new math concept, and half the time we didn’t even go over the homework so nobody learned anything and everyone scored from a B- to a D.

I’ve just been so wired and angry from that for the whole day and now I can barely make sense in my writing, and I’m sorry. I just don’t know what I’m doing

I sound pathetic, I know. I keep saying “I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m struggling” but everytime I try to get better, i just feel bad. I feel overstimulated and nothing makes sense and I’m angry and everyone around me just makes me mad, the sounds and the people and the fact that there are so many things wrong with me and the world that every moment that I’m alive feels irritating and I’m so so SO mad and I don’t know why

I’m just so angry that he barely taught us anything, and made us try a new style of learning 75% through the year and did it in a shitty fucking manor

I’m mad I have an essay due Monday

Im mad I have a bio quiz tomorrow

I’m mad that in bio I got blamed for not communicating with my partner over the weekend even though I tried and got left on read for 7 hours

I’m mad that Trump is alive

I’m mad that my parents treat me like a pet

I’m mad my (potential/undiagnosed) OCD won’t stop focusing on how mad I am

I’m mad I spent 20 minutes of lunch running around trying to find a photo shoot where I was promised cookies and friendship, just to find out that there was no photo shoot and I wasted time that I couldn’t spent talking with friends or venting to my school councillor

I’m just so angry. And when I get angry my thoughts spiral I just want it to stop, but it won’t

I just wish I wasn’t where I was. I wish I was 26 and had a job and apartment and someone who felt safe with and who didn’t care that I’m strange or inherently wrong and cared that I need help with existing. I wish my family behaved differently, so that I don’t have to pick between my gender and being legally allowed to go to the country my family’s from. I wish I could skip the whole hassle of life sometimes. I want to want to live really badly

I just want to live

Sorry for being a downer in your inbox, and thank you for reading

I’m sorry

Hi <3

These are all super valid reasons to be mad. It sounds like you're super overwhelmed and like...I'd be pissed too! Especially, the teacher thing? That's not fair at all. But ALL of this is so valid and it sucks because at your age, the worst part is, there's not much you can do! And that's awful.

I wish there was more that I could do, but I'm here to listen, and you don;t have to be sorry for inboxing me, I promise <3

Also, for your other ask, you do NOT have to apologize for yourself or make yourself smaller. if someone is annoyed by you, that is THEIR problem! You ARE allowed to be unapologetically you, and anyone who doesn't like that isn't worth it. You don't need to apologize for anything. You are more than worthy of being yourself, of taking up space, of being happy, and of asking for help. I promise <3

____

reading anon

I got out of my physical book reading slump!!! I've never stopped reading. Im always reading fanfiction but i felt like i would never finish a book again but i did!!! 2 of them!! And i oredered 3 more that im actually excited to read!! This probably seems like the weirdest thing to be excited about but i feel like ive found my old love for reading again!

That's a perfectly awesome thing to be excited about! Congratulations!!! I recently got back into audiobooks and I'm excited about that, so I completely understand!!

___

pineapple anon

Hi, I just kinda wanted someone to rant to, there isn't really technically advice to give here.

So for context, I'm 15 and in in high school, I'm openly trans (ftm), and I'm part of the cast for my school's drama production this year.

There's a group chat with all the members of the cast, and earlier today, someone in the chat, for better clarity I'll call him Lettuce, sent a sort of transphobic video to the groupchat, meaning to send it to someone else. When he sent it, he said he didn't mean to send it to this chat, but he didn't really care enough to delete it.

The video was just a stitched Instagram reel, the original being someone sarcastically saying "congratulations, you bullied a trans person, here's your medal" and it was stitched with a video of a person proudly wearing a whole bunch of medals. It wasn't that bad compared with a lot of things it could have been, but I still think it was transphobic.

Someone else in the groupchat, I'll call them Pineapple, told him how disrespectful it was, and a friend of Lettuce, I'll call him Celery, said that he couldn't have been being disrespected because Lettuce is dating a trans person, that everyone has their own sense of humor, that Pineapple didn't need to be so aggressive about it. They told celery that they weren't trying to be aggressive, that it was just basic respect to not joke about that kind of stuff, since you don't know how it could affect others, and Celery just replied saying that a joke is a joke, that it wasn't trying to be insulting, and that it was just for a laugh. That was kind of the end of that conversation, it wasn't really brought up again.

I usually try not to get too offended about stuff like this, and I did try to take it as a joke, but it honestly really upset me, because yeah, Pineapple was right, it did affect others, it affected me, and I wish it didn't. It's making me more nervous about going to rehearsals, even though I'm sure Lettuce didn't mean to be insulting.

This is probably a huge overreaction, but I don't really know how to feel okay about it.

I'm sorry this is so long, I'm not sure whether this story is confusing to follow, and I think I probably over explained the whole situation. But thank you so much if you take your time to read this, it's so amazing how many people's asks you take time to answer.

Hi!

I don't think you're overreacting at all! Jokes are only jokes if they're funny, and this isn't funny. Honestly, lettuce and celery sound like lowkey jerks, and I wonder HOW lettuce is dating a trans person? Was lettuce's partner in the chat? Because that's so icky.

Yeah, you're right to be upset, I would be too. I'm sorry that happened. I'm glad pineapple said something.

[self-indulgent-blorbo-writing]

Lü Shang X Yun chuan fishing fluff if that's alright :3

so a couple of things

1. I wrote this when I was exhausted and I dont have the energy to revise it a whole ton so I hope it doesn't suck lmao

2. I forgot to ask if you wanted meta YC or normal YC so I went for meta YC, hope you don't mind

3. you asked for fluff but brain accidentally threw in a small bit of hurt/comfort too, hope you dont mind kasdh

as for everything else I need to write, I will work on it as soon as I can aksjdhas Im sorry yall please be patient with me

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Today was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Lu Shang was at his favorite fishing spot. Unfortunately, he was continuing to not catch anything good, so maybe the day wasn't THAT beautiful. The long haired man in question sighs as he reels in another stray piece of trash instead of a single fish. Regardless, he refused to give up, casting his line once again as he stood there with a determined look on his face.

As he was so focused on trying to catch one singular fish, He almost missed the sound of footsteps approaching him. He turned to greet the approaching person and immediately recognized Li Ling's other mentor, Yun Chuan. The aforementioned man spoke "Oh hey Lu Shang! Tryin' your hand at the whole fishing thing again? Did you catch anything good?" Yun Chuan asked, wanting to be kind, but noticing a look of frustration crossing the other man's face "...No, I haven't." Lu Shang sighed. Now both of them were frowning. Yun Chuan spoke up after a moment of thinking "What all have you tried? I'm sure you've picked up some advice to use." He was trying to be helpful, but as Lu Shang went through the extremely long mental list of ways he had tried to catch a fish and failed, Yun Chuan quickly found himself out of ideas.

After a moment of silence, Yun Chuan spoke "I don't really have any other ideas, but if you want I can try to catch some and see if I have any luck?" He came up with this idea mainly to see if this area was lacking in fish, or if his friend was truely cursed to never catch fish. As the long haired man offered him a spare fishing rod, Yun Chuan casted his line and began to wait, letting the silence sink in. As a few moments of silence passed, Lu Shang suddenly spoke up "...How are you doing? I know that a lot of us are struggling after the miracle trial, but you seem to not let it phase you." He asked, a little suspicious that Yun Chuan was bottling up his emotions.

Yun Chuan thought for a moment on how to respond then spoke "I was a little shaken for a bit, but then I realized that if our fate lies on the trials and succeeding them, it just means we gotta give it our all, for the sake of everyone." He said, nodding at the end with a small determined smile on his face. Lu Shang smiled, glad that it was just Yun Chuan's optimism that saved his wellbeing. Yun Chuan then turned it around on him "I should ask you now, How are ya doing? You definitely went through it too." He asked, remembering what Lu Shang learned about his past students. the long haired man sighed "It was definitely very hard. Learning that my students turned into miramon, and then having to be the one to strike them down? I was struggling, even after my students tried to comfort me with their dying breaths." He sighed, feeling bad that they had to comfort HIM while THEY were the ones dying. Nonetheless, he continued "But I made sure to reach out to a therapist, and it definitely helped to talk about it, and work through my emotions. The guilt and pain is still there, definitely suffocating on my worse days, but it's much more easy to handle than it was."

Yun Chuan nodded, patting the other man's shoulder in an attempt to be comforting "I'm glad. You're a good man and an even better mentor, you deserve to be happy." He affirmed, watching as Lu Shang turned red at those words "I-You-That-What-" he stammered out before covering his face and taking a deep breath, having to take another breath when he hears Yun Chuan's laughter. Lu Shang decided to change topics so that hopefully Yun Chuan wouldn't take this chance to tease him "...So how are you and Screamer handling the new transformation? I'd imagine it's been rough."

Yun Chuan took note of this and made the mental note to look for an opening to tease the attractive man later. Nonetheless, he answered "Rough at first, but then I ordered things like sunglasses and a sleeping mask that can block out the light from my body, and it works out well enough. I haven't noticed anything wrong with Screamer yet so I think we're both good." He answered in a cheerful tone, adding a thumbs up. The almost-blinding man made sure to be a good owner to Screamer, not wanting to neglect the dog in any way, and Lu Shang knew that so he trusted his words. 

They both were about to come up with more conversation pieces when they quickly noticed Yun Chuan's line began to rapidly pull, signifying that he managed to catch one. Both of them immediately ran over, Yun Chuan trying to reel the challenging fish in, and Lu Shang trying to cheer him on. After a few minutes of struggling, Yun Chuan managed to finally reel in the giant fish, putting it in Lu Shang's catch bucket for him to have.

Lu Shang was so excited to finally have a fish in his catch, until he quickly remembered that it wasn't technically his catch, and that he still failed. As despair began to sink into him, Yun Chuan made sure to interrupt that "Hey, what's wrong? We caught the fish!" He exclaimed, trying to cheer the long haired man up, but frowning as he spoke "Yes, but...You were the one who caught it, which means it's technically yours, and I still failed." He murmured, feeling much more dejected about his failures than usual now that Yun Chuan was a witness. 

The aforementioned walking flashlight of a man spoke up, taking this as a chance to flirt with him and tease him. He got closer to the man, kissing the side of his head "C'mon cutie, This just means that I have an excuse to be with you during these trips. You wouldn't mind that, right?~" He purred out, smirking as the other beautiful man began to get flustered once again "Wh-I-I mean...Of course but-" Yun Chuan silenced his rambles with a quick kiss on the mouth "Well, send me your fishing schedule, and I'll make sure to be there." He smirked, walking away to let the man have some space, laughing as he heard Lu Shang's stammers and rambles, struggling to make sense of the fact that he just got kissed by a man that he already thought was hot, as the aforementioned almost-blinding man walked away.

Once he was gone, Lu Shang gathered himself as well as his things, beginning the walk back to his home. He definitely would not mind it if Yun Chuan spent time with him, He was just immensely surprised. All in all, this might just be the most he has ever gotten out of one fishing trip. Though, he realizes, a relationship with Yun Chuan would be much more prized than any fish he could ever HOPE to catch.

[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.

[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.

[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?

[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.