#i have to keep reminding myself of this shit

[tou-dai]

I get the point of this post but it reminds me of how people think emotional labor is like.

Just having friends? And everyone has problems?

So I wonder the context for such things

Because everyone is a victim

Everyone is a survivor too (unless they ded)

Like idk. If someone was like that I'd wonder what's going on.

I'm less tolerant of manipulative or uncommunicative people.. but even that has its reasons.

I'm a sad and anxious person. I often fixate on the worse things bc trauma and audhd brain.

It's hard for me to focus on the good things by myself. So I have coping methods

But still. I may come off certain ways to people and they may or may not be right or whatever but sometimes they're just.. wrong? Or they don't know?

Plenty of people say "I understand"

Or even that they're emotionally available etc

And they're just lying to themselves and others

Sometimes people are going through shit

And life is shit and it keeps being like that for long stretches idk

you ever have situations that make you want to take people by the shoulders and go "you are not 15 any longer. this behavior is no longer quirky and cute. it is exhausting for you and everyone else to act like a teenager you haven't been in a decade or longer. knock it the fuck off"

[petew21-blog]

Homophobic gym teacher

I hate PE. I hate it so freaking much that I’d rather have history with Mr. Douglas every day than to run in front of Mr. Mills every day. He hates me, ever since I came out as gay at school I received mostly good feedback from others. Even my bullies were kinda nice about it. Thank God I live in the twenty first century. But one person didn’t really take It well.

I browsed through his instagram a few times. And while I looked for the perfect photo of him flexing his biceps, showing his abs or anything that would help me for my jerk off session, I found out that he was quite hardcore republican. How a person like this could get into education is beyond me.

As always I finished jerking off while looking at his regular bathroom gym photo. Man, what I would give to fuck him. Why do jerks always have the perfect body?

My phone buzzed. I snapped back into reality. Jack, my friend who is also gay, but not out yet, texted me.

“Hey, are we gonna ditch school tomorrow? I can’t hear any more of that Mills bullshit while we climb the rope”

“We’re gonna be rope climbing? Ah fuck me. He’s gonna be insufferable.”

“My thoughts exactly. So? Are we skipping school?”

“I can’t man. I gotta keep up my attendance after missing so many days thanks to Mr. Mills”

Next day, 2:29 PM

I stood next to the rope, waiting for Jake to finish his turn. Mr. Mills stood below him, screaming. Jake couldn’t get to the top. Mr. Mills told him to get down and screamed at him some more. What an asshole. It was my turn. The bell rang. “Fuck yeah. No more rope climbing for me.” My classmates, me included, turned to head to the lockers.

Mr. Mills: ”González? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Me: ”Sir, the class is over and it’s Friday.”

Mr. Mills: ”The class is over when I say it is over. Get on the fucking rope and stop talking back at me. The rest of you can leave.”

I got close to the rope. I grabbed it and squeezed the rope between my feet. I started pulling myself up and immediately felt the pain of lifting myself. I knew I was weak, I didn’t really need some wannabe teacher slash gym freak to remind me and scream at me what a lazy piece of shit I am. I tried to ignore him. I gave myself a goal to just finish it and leave, but Mr. Mills stood directly below me to comment on my fat ass slowing me down.

I was almost at the top, a wave of happiness swept over me. “Shit, I’m gonna make it!”

And right then I slipped. And instead of locking my feet, I just let go off the rope.

THUD

“I survived. Fuck. I fell from the freaking rope. My head was hurting so hard. My head? But I thought that I fell on my back? Ahhh the pain.”

I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry from the fall. I tried blinking several times and my vision was slowly getting better. I lifted my arm to grab on my head, but as I did it didn’t feel right. I looked at my arm. It was bigger. As in full of muscles.

“What the hell?” I said out loud, but instead of my young squeaky almost too feminine voice a low baritone came out of my throat.

“How the fuck…?!” I looked to my left. There was my body getting up from the ground

Me: ”Mr. Mills?”

Mr. Mills: ”Ah you gotta be fucking kidding me?! Is that you González?”

Me: ”I… Yes. How… How did this happen?” Mr. Mills: ”Does it look like this happens to me a lot?”

Me: ”But… it’s scientifically impossible”

Mr. Mills: ”I bet this was caused by those covid vaccines to make you immigrant fags take over our lives.”

Me: ”Yeah… right. Cause everyone wants to be a stupid republican”

Mr. Mills: ”Shut your mouth or…” he was interrupted by the janitor telling us to leave so he can lock the school. Mr. Mills gave me his car keys and I gave him instructions how to find my locker. We decided to meet each other in his car and to figure out what to do after that.”

After many unsuccessful attempts I found his Chevrolet and entered the passenger’s seat. Few moments later, I realized that I’m gonna be the one driving so I switched seats and got behind the wheel for the first time in my life. His car was amazing, it smelt great and was clean. How should I even drive this thing? I don’t drive a car. I’ll get us into trouble.

I stopped overthinking about the car. “I am in my teachers body. The one who bullied me almost every day. I am an adult male.” I looked into the rearview mirror. “Fuck, I am in one of the hottest man’s body around. And I am wasting it just worrying here. I flexed and squeezed my new biceps. Fuuuck. It’s so huge. I checked if no one else was around and lifted up my shirt.

“Oh my gooood” I slammed my head into the seat. “This is so hot!”

My new abs and pecs now uncovered were the most perfect ones I have ever seen. The ones I jerk off to every night before sleep. And now it’s here. All for me.

I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Mills in my body approaching the car. And behind him ran Jake. They entered the car.

I tried to improvise: „Why is your friend here?”

Jake: „Holy shit. So it is true. Mr. Mills would never react so calm. Is that really you in there, Daniel?”

I turned at Mr. Mills who now had a very irritated face. “I didn’t say anything, he figured it out.”

Jake: „I didn’t believe it at first, but Daniel never swears like this. And your vocabulary isn’t exactly rich so I knew really quickly where I heard the phrases before. Damn, I’m good. So? What are we gonna do? We should test it out somehow. Shit, Daniel you should get drunk tonight!”

Mr. Mills: „No! There won’t be no drinking, touching or anything with my body. This is definitely temporary and we will be back by tomorrow morning.”

Me: „If you think so…”

I drove Jake and my body home. Mr. Mills had to give me a speed course of driving, but his muscle memory helped me out way more than I thought. We set up some ground rules. No drinking, no drugs, no permanent changes to our bodies, no photos and no sex. He left the car while saying something about a fag in his body, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I speeded to get to his house asap.

I didn’t really explore the house as much when I arrived. I went straight to where I thought was the bedroom and immediately started taking off my clothes. His black speedo was PACKING and getting tighter every minute, but I really wanted to make this first exploration as perfect as possible. I lifted up the shirt, touching my new hairless and fatless stomach. I flexed and sets of abs appeared. I touched every last one of them. My hand continued up to my new large pecs.

“God damn, Mr. Mills. These are some perfect man titties.” I squeezed them. They looked so tight in all the photos, but when I wasn’t flexing them, they were quite soft. Must be amazing to lay on these. I played with them some more before taking off my shirt and releasing my new hairy pits. I took a long whiff off them. “I smell like a proper MAN now!” I licked it as well, enjoying the salty taste of Mr. Mills’s pits. I looked at myself in the mirror. My new dick was hard as a rock and waited for me to take care of it.

I headed to the shower and turned on a hot water. “Your body is probably not used to a hot water, am I right, Mr. Mills? I bet you are one of those cold water freaks who bathe in the icy waters.” I hated his voice before, but right now as I was controlling it, I began to like it so much.

The water poured all over my large body, from the perfect face, over my massive pecs, hairless abs and right to my beautiful dick. “Nice dick, Mr. Mills!” I said and chuckled over the fact that I just said that.

I suddenly got a mischievous idea. I came out of the shower and texted Jake.

Jake: „I can’t believe I’m doing this. I am just squeezing Mr. Mills’s pecs and touching his abs. Can you believe it, Daniel?”

Me: „It’s wild, right? But I got an idea. Wanna make it more interesting?”

Jake: „Interesting how?”

Me: „Stop touching me you lazy fag” I said in an authoritative voice and Jake moved his hands away from me quickly.

Jake: „Why did you do that? I got scared.”

Me: „I bet you are scared, you little fag. I know you just came over so that you could jerk off you little dick and watch me enjoy myself.”

Jake: „Daniel?”

Me: „Daniel won’t save you right now. You will do as I say. Ok?”

Jake finally caught up to my roleplay scenario and started acting as well. And by the look of his face I knew that he was really into it.

Jake: „Yes, Mr. Mills. I will do whatever you say.”

I sat down on the couch watching. “I want you to admire my body and say how hot I am and how horny it makes you.”

Jake got his hands on MY body and got a bit nervous: „You have sexy abs, Mr. Mills.”

Me: „You think that’s enough? That they are just sexy?”

Jake: „I think they’re the hottest abs I have ever seen”

Me: „How about my biceps. You like them?”

Jake: „They are SO big. I want you to squeeze my head in them. I want to lick your armpit hair. I want to kiss you.”

Me: „That’s a good boy. How about you show me how good you are, you fag?”

I moved his hands over to my new hard crotch.

Jake smiled and licked his lips

I fucking love being in this body.

And I bet Jake’s ass is gonna love this body even more.

[dollwrites]

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｔｙｐｅ ┊ v-day weekend blurbs ( caleb )

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ ┊ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, mirror sex, exhibitionism ( filming ), caleb gets rough, size kink, praise kink, stand-fucking, all characters featured are aged 18+

ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ ┊ i stared at caleb doing one handed pushups for like a minute solid and hit a blinker. here’s the result. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“Hey, no moving…” you murmur in a pointed, accusatory tone the very moment you feel Caleb’s hips buck forward. your breath caught in your throat as he does; his cock notching another inch into your silken core none-too gently. “I told you to let me do it.” puffing out your lower lip in a childish pout, you cast a glance over your shoulder, peering up at a grinning Caleb, raising both arms, palms out in mock defeat.

you blinked, needing to pause to look over his countenance. sweat-dampened brown tendrils stuck to his forehead and against his temples and the very edges of his cheeks. speaking of his cheeks, there were violet in hue, with diamonds of perspiration glistening against the apples. his jaw slung, swollen lips parted to accommodate his heavy breathing, you could even see the vein on the side of his neck bulge and throb when you clench up, milking his cock in a warm vice.

“What’s the matter? Do I play too rough for your movie?” he challenged with a smile.

“Always,” you reply, squirming on your feet to welcome in his fresh, thick inch. it took some stirring, and a whole lot of primal pleasure as his heavily veined cock rubbed against your sensitive, spongy walls, to find a comfortable enough position for you to keep going. the hand gripping your phone tightens it, and you look back to the mirror, standing less than six feet from it, to ensure the angle was still perfect. you raise the phone just a quarter of an inch higher, and spread your legs wider. “I want it to be… pretty.” you settled on an almost laughable adjective, but it seemed the most fitting, as you glance up at him from the glass. the two of you lock eyes, and you shudder at the eroticism of it all. you were clad in lacy lingerie ( though, however skewed it may be, it still counted ), your makeup done, and you had chosen the best possible setting and position to ensure that you would be able to review the footage while you railed yourself on his cock— looking into the mirror. but, it wasn’t simply for your own vanity, and you remind him of that as you start to move again, pushing your ass back and forth to take the familiar inches. “You know,” you continue, trying to be as casual as possible as you explain, though your sentence is continuously marred by choking gasps and happy moans, “f—for when you’re away in Skyhaven— shhh—shit! — you’ll have something… ahhh… nice to watch…!”

“Sorry, baby girl,” his words were thick and slurred with the ever-so-subtle etching upwards of his mouth in a crooked grin. “Just couldn’t help myself, wanted to get that cute, lil’ yelp outta you. Won’t happen again, promise.” but even as he drew a cross over his heart, you could still see that twinkle of mischief in his eye. one of your brows quirk up, as if to say: i don’t believe you, and Caleb reads it immediately. with a husky chuckle, he shook his head. “Lil’ thing’s so damn suspicious.” however, he still hooked his arms behind his back in submission. widening his own, already imposing stance, you feel like a worm dangling on his hook between the gap he provided. then, he straightened his back, standing at attention. his biceps bulge, the hard and thick muscle pads of his arms dancing beneath his skin as he flexes them, more for you than anything else. it was a silent reminder of his strength— the power he was willingly giving up to you. “There, that better, baby?” he asked, his gaze softening as it roved over your back. the clasp of your bra was still held together, even though the shoulder straps had been discarded, and the weight of your breast spilled out of the loosened cups, swaying hypnotically with every move you make. still, that clasp taunted him, and he had the sudden and wicked urge to lunge forward and unclip it with his teeth rose to the surface of his resolve. he resigned, however, grinding his teeth together as his eyes followed the shape of your spine downward, instead.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he praised quietly, his brows knit close together. your pace was slow enough to frustrate him beyond measure, a steady rhythm that was a sweetly agonizing form of torture he’d only ever endure for you. “Takin’ my big cock just how you want it,” Caleb let out a low growl. against the small of his back, his fingers twitched and jerked with the desire to grip your hips tight enough to leave their shape imprinted in your skin. he shook away the thought, and clenched his fists tightly. “Fuck yourself on me, baby girl, take whatcha need.. Ah-hah, that tight, little cunny ready for another inch? Because I’m dyin’ to give it to her.” Caleb’s thighs tightened, a dull tingle settling against the base of his spine.

“You’re already so deep,” you whine back, glancing down between your legs. your cunt drooled as you speared yourself on to Caleb, over and over, and you use your free hand to dip between your thighs and scrub at their apex, strumming your swollen clit to the same speed of your riding, mewling in pleasure. “I— I can cum, just like this…” you trail off, your eyeline fluttering back to the phone screen. you could see the contortion of pleasure on your own face, and you had to admit, it was sexy to watch yourself get closer and closer. you had no doubt that Caleb would spend many a lonely night, watching this video over again, gripping his greedy cock and wishing to feel your tight cunt instead.

“Lil’ fucking tease…” he growled into your hair on the crown of your hair. the scent of your shampoo still lingered there, and it made his eyelids flutter. “I need more.”

and just like that, your control of the situation, and of Caleb, dissipated. he sucked in a ragged breath, large hands releasing themselves from their subservient position and grope at your thighs, hooking against the backs of your knees to sweep you off your feet.

“Caleb!” yipping in surprise, your phone slips from your grasp and clatters on the floor between his feet. fortunately, with this new angle, the video captures the visage of you, spread open, and Caleb already rutting like a man possessed into you. his balls, though tight with impending orgasm, are still heavy enough to spank against your clit as he pulls your body down to meet his rabid thrusting. “That’s—!”

with your knees dug into your own chest, your eyes follow the shape of your spread legs, and the mesmerizing, helpless flop of your stocking-clad feet in the air. it felt good, really good, to be fucked so animalistically, to be locked against his powerful body, at the mercy of his whims.

“Just hush up and take it now, baby girl. You’ve had your fun,” Caleb chuckles as he lowers you down to meet the upward pounding, his hips snapping against yours. “— made your cutesy, lil’ video, you got to ride for a lil’ bit, but now you get to just sit pretty and take exactly what I’m gonna give ya.” Caleb pulled you flush to his lap, burying himself balls-deep in your weeping cunt with a happy snarl tearing through his throat. his eyes flick to the mirror, “Look how precious you are, all dolled up, gettin’ ruined, all for me?” your gaze follows his, and your cheeks warm as humility rises within them. he’s right, though. even you couldn’t help but be wooed by your fucked-out state, babbling as he bounces you up and down on his cock. then, Caleb chuckles, a rough and strangled sound in comparison to his usual timbre. his gaze had listed downward, to catch the sight of the camera on the floor, capturing your decimation from a most sordid angle. “Oh, fuck yeah, I’m gonna love watchin’ your puffy, lil’ pussy get stuffed full from this angle.”

[socgf]

you really got me - chapter 2

dallas winston x curtis!oc

wc: 2074

warnings: allusion to ed

when the pots clanging in the kitchen startle me awake and i peer my eyes open, the spot on the bed next to me empty but with the cologne still lingering, i know i don’t have much time before darry starts yellin’ from the staircase for me to get my butt downstairs for breakfast. i reach over to my nightstand, my fingers reaching for a marlboro red and my pink lighter. it’s not a habit i’m too proud of. despite everyone around me, even pony, smoking like a chimney, it’s different with me for some reason. not something that i should be getting into. but when i walk around smelling like cigarettes, i can blame it on dally rather than my recent affinity for dulling my appetite, if that’s one thing he’s good for.

sitting down at my desk, i run my brush through my hair and tie it back neatly with a bow, before dusting my face with some powder and blush. soda always tells me we got our mom’s eyes, all big and doe-like. i like to think they’re my best feature, and that if i make them pop, i’ll distract from the rest of my face, covered with red spots, though my layer of powder tends to do a decent job. i don’t like looking at myself in the mirror for long enough that i find something else i need to fix, so i snap my compact shut.

“yeah, ‘m coming, dar,” i mutter softly, cutting off his knocks.

soda and pony are already digging into their sunny side up eggs and bacon when i take my seat at the table.

“late night?” soda gleams, mouth half full. he knows better than anyone that when darry has to drag me out of bed, it’s because dally kept me up all night talking. or whatever it is we do, as far as he’s concerned.

“yeah, yeah, now be quiet.” i grumble, but with no malice in my tone.

darry sits down last, giving me a slight once over like he’s suspecting something, but he doesn’t know what. “eat your bacon, rosie posie.” he nudges his fork towards my plate.

“hell, i’ll eat it if you don’t want it.” pony responds earnestly, and i hand it over to his plate, darry huffing slightly but leaving it at that. i smack pony’s head lightheartedly.

“rosie, you gonna happen to be home for dinner? i need a little help around the house.” darry asks casually.

“ah, shit. i can’t, dar. marcy’s put me on the night shift tonight.”

that wasn’t entirely a lie. i was working late at the diner. well, later, as in until seven instead of five. after which, dally was supposed to pick me up and take me to some party at buck’s, on account of me ‘stickin’ my fuckin’ nose in a book all the time lately’. but i could leave that part out.

soda smirks at me slightly from his plate. it’s the same party he’ll be taking sandy to, and he’s keeping his mouth shut so i don’t get a lecture on how the only thing at buck’s to get into is trouble.

a flicker of guilt runs through me at darry’s understanding nod, but i remind myself then that i’m almost eighteen and doing far less than even what ponyboy gets up to on the weekends. besides, with the way dally hovers over me like a damn guard dog when i’m out with him, i’m sure i’ll make it home in one piece.

-

i lift my head at the doorbell jingling and watch dally saunter over to the counter, leaning over ever so slightly with a simple, “hey, doll.”

“what are you doing here?” i laugh softly, my eyes darting around the diner to make sure my manager isn’t watching. “i told you to come get me at seven. you know, when i’m done working.”

“got hungry.” he says plainly, stealing a fry from someone’s half-finished plate on the edge of the counter.

i scrunch my nose, focusing my attention back to wiping off the appliances until they’re perfectly shiny. “well, the kitchen just closed. i couldn’t serve you even if i wanted to.” 

he groans and blows the paper wrapper of a loose straw at my head. “useless.” he scoffs.

i swat the paper away and refocus my attention onto the group of guys in madras loitering around the high chairs in front of me. in my uniform, especially this one with the poofy skirt cut a bit too high for comfort, i’m neither a greaser nor a soc. and i know big tippers when i see them, so i turn away from dally like he’s some creep who won’t get off my back, and put on my most charming smile.

“just a moment, y’all, i’ll be right there.” i don’t know why they tend to like that stupid southern twang so much, but the tall one in the middle gleams in response. 

i don’t miss how dally stiffens up and clenches his jaw at the voices to his left. and if i know what’s good for me, i act as if i don’t know the hood at the counter.

-

“you about ready to go yet?” he drawls, eyes lazily flickering over my uniform. “interesting choice.”

“ha, ha. i brought a change.” i mutter. “wait here a minute. and don’t cause a scene, please.. marcy’s around the corner.” i grab a small backpack from behind the counter.

he can’t resist an eye roll and a hushed marcy can suck my dick for all i care, which i ignore as i head to the employee bathroom. at least he’s not trying to steal from the kitchen this time.

the little black dress is rolled up neatly as i take it out. i had stolen it from mom’s closet a while back, not that she would mind now, i guess. no matter how many times dally or the gang dragged me to buck’s, i never felt i had quite the right outfit for the occasion, but maybe that was just my stubborn refusal to wear jeans and a leather jacket. i liked this dress, though, it was the most daring piece of clothing i owned. i zip it up neatly - mom occasionally let herself indulge in a mail-order piece - smoothing it out in the slightly cracked sink mirror. it’s kind of mod, short and sleeveless with a boat neck, and i feel a little like pattie boyd. i keep my black mary-janes on from work and tousle my hair a bit.

dally’s waiting in buck’s t-bird when i walk out of the diner with my uniform stuffed into my backpack, waving a cheeky goodbye to janie as she finishes mopping up. the sun has already set and the wind is freezing my legs, so i rush into the passenger seat.

“oh my, my. who you all dolled up for, huh?” dally eyes my dress appreciatively, flicking my hair.

“i wasn’t sure what to wear. why, do i look silly?” my face suddenly feels hot.

“we’re going to buck’s and you look like a proper soc, honey. it’s cute.” he’s almost chuckling to himself, but the words have just a bit of bite to them.

as he starts up the car i turn my gaze away from him, playing with the hem of my dress while he tunes the radio to some rolling stones song. he’s tapping his fingers on the wheel like he always does as he speeds down back streets.

the smell of cheap beer and cigarette smoke and the red fluorescent lighting always hits you right in the face as soon as you walk in, if some chuck berry song blasting wasn’t enough. i wouldn’t say it’s my scene in the typical sense, but i feel real cool and rebellious when buck waves me and dally in with a short “you’re good”.

buck is the kind of man i can never seem to figure out. i’ve been up in dally’s room or down in the kitchen enough times for him to give me a nod of acknowledgement when i’m at the door, but i can’t say i’m not still scared of him or what business he gets into in the corners of his parties. i smile politely and dally pushes me inside, with a hand brushing against the small of my back.

“aren’t those the guys in shepard’s outfit?” i mutter softly to him, meeting the gaze of a guy i recognize serving along with tim on the weekends. i didn’t know where tim and dally stood right now after their recent brawl, but i never really know anyway.

dally follows my gaze before giving me a little tap on my lower back. “don’t worry ‘bout that.” he doesn’t elaborate, but i believe him.

“c’mon.” he walks ahead of me carving out a path towards the bar. buck’s back behind the counter now, and he rolls his eyes at dally’s saunter.

“grab me a budweiser, would ya?” dally meets eyes with buck. i can tell when he’s putting on an act, bossing buck around like he isn’t permanently indebted to him for his spot upstairs. but buck seems to understand, even if wordlessly.

“and for the dame… vodka cranberry, ain’t that right?” he gives me that shit-eating grin, but his tone is softer this time.

“my answer never changes, dal. and uh, thanks, buck.” now that i think of it, my wallet isn’t even on me, not that dally would ever let me pay for a drink. though it’s less him being a gentleman and more the fact that he owes me a hell of a lot more in bail.

“she wants no more than a splash of cranberry, old man. don’t cheap out on her.” his eyes don’t leave my glass behind the counter, and i would protest his crassness if he wasn’t spot on.

“hey, you trying to get my baby sister drunk?” i hear that playful tone to my right, and dally and i both meet eyes with soda, who’s got sandy leaning against his arm.

“yeah, baby sister by about five minutes.” i smile wryly.

soda goes in for a real bro hug with dally, ever the affectionate one, before reaching over the counter and ruffling my hair. i’ve always liked sandy with soda. i never see him smile that hard when he’s not with her. he’s real sweet on her in a way i don’t think i ever imagine experiencing.

“hey sandy. i love your dress.” i lean over to her while dally and soda are lost in conversation.

she’s got a pastel yellow shift dress on with a headband in her hair, and she looks completely out of place, but she’s beautiful and radiant as always.

“oh, you’re a doll. i love yours too. i haven’t seen you in so long, rosie!”

“it’s just one of my old ones. and i know. school has been so busy...” i groan lightheartedly, before mentally slapping myself in the face for bringing up that subject with her. i knew how she felt about soda dropping out this year.

“no worries. hey, maybe we can hang out the four of us, go on a double date or somethin’.”

“oh, we’re not-” i tense up ever so slightly, and she gets the picture.

“ah shit, my mistake. well, listen, i’ll come by the diner, alright?” and she brushes it off effortlessly, while i will my face to stop flushing.

before dally beckons me away with him, gripping onto his beer, soda stops me with a gentle hand.

“ain’t that mom’s dress, posie?” his tone is cautious but never unkind, and i falter for a moment.

“...i know. i’ll put it right back.”

he pats me on the back affectionately, and pauses in thought. “i swear you really look just like her sometimes.” he mutters. “be careful, yeah? and let me know if you need a ride home.”

soda has a way of saying the most heart wrenching things so casually, like he doesn’t even think twice about their significance. but i don’t have time to think too hard about it. “don’t worry, sodapop. i’ll let you know. have fun.” i keep my tone cheerful, and he gives me a wink before wrapping his arm around sandy again.

a.n.

i am so self conscious about my writing but i wanted to post to get this out of my drafts :) update coming tmrw ACTUALLY

taglist:

@mrsdillonx @hailpacino @magefelixir @jujuheartz13 @coastershells @r0seb100d

as always comment if u wanna be tagged!

[scary-grace]

pretty please will you write [bouquet] but reader gives flowers to tomura <33333

Thank you for the prompt! This got angsty and I apologize. Hopefully I can redeem myself with the third prompt! Post-canon, 2.1k, angst.

memory garden

The bouquet you buy gets bigger every year.

You’re in the interminable line at the florist’s, you and a bunch of guys in business suits and wedding rings, identical guilty looks on their faces, and somehow your bouquet is the biggest one. Not for the first time since you picked it up, you wonder if you’ve overdone it. White roses. Red roses – deep red, not bright red. Periwinkle-blue buddleia, ferns, baby’s breath, and ivy. It’s a lot of flowers. A lot of money. And it’s not like the person they’re for is going to appreciate them.

But it’s one day a year. One bouquet, and it’s the only bouquet he’s going to get. You kiss your pastry budget goodbye for the next week and wait for your turn at the checkout counter, feeling like shit for even thinking of buying something smaller. So what if you’ve got the biggest bouquet in line? It’s worth it. You don’t need anybody else to understand, which is a good thing. You barely understand the impulse yourself.

The last few Valentine’s Days, it’s been bright and cold and sunny, a picturesque winter day. Today it’s raining, and you check the forecast on the train with increasing dismay. It’s going to be a swamp by the time you get there, and you’ll be going home cold and wet and muddy. You’re already tired. It was an awful week at work, but when isn’t it, really? You work in Homicide, and in spite of society’s supposed great leaps forward since the war ended, people are still in the business of killing each other. If you didn’t have your quirk, you’d work anywhere else.

But you do have your quirk – Red Cap, which gives you a heads-up and flashback every time you walk over a spot where someone died a violent death. Working Homicide really is the only job you’re good for, although in the aftermath of the war, you were embedded with the national coroner’s office, walking the battlefields to identify victims, perpetrators, and causes of death. It’s not what you want to do with your life, but it pays. Enough that you could probably stand to get more than one bouquet, one day a year. But there’s only one day of the year where you can buy a bunch of flowers without anybody asking why.

As you’re putting your phone away, one of your friends texts you about a last-minute blind date – some friend of her boyfriend’s whose date fell through, who’s going to be a total wet blanket and ruin their night if nobody distracts him. Will you go on a pity date with him? You’re not his type and he’s not yours, but all you have to do is keep him busy for a little while. With an offer like that, how can you refuse? You text back one-handed. Sorry. I have plans.

doing what?? I know you’re single

I have plans, you type again. Even if your plan was to get plastered and forget about tomorrow, you’re not going to go on a date where you’re so obviously the consolation prize. And you wouldn’t be that much of a prize, either – once people hear about your job, and your quirk, they’re usually not interested. Sorry. I hope you can work something out!

The exclamation point feels forced. You tuck your phone away and stare out the window at the rain, the bunch of flowers rustling in your shaky hands.

The view out the window reminds you just how much Japan has changed. It’s been almost eight years since the war, and everywhere that matters to anybody has been rebuilt, bigger and better than before. Every city’s skyline bristles with skyscrapers, every highway has wider lanes – and in between are places that aren’t important enough to merit a rebuild, places that have been patched back together haphazardly or been allowed to fall into disrepair. Bigger cities, empty villages. More pretty city parks, fewer nature reserves. And every so often you’ll look out the window and see a dark shadow across the landscape, a scar that will never heal. Or so they say. People say time heals everything, and sometimes, you almost believe them.

Once you reach your destination, you’ve still got a ways to go. This part is uncomfortable. It always is, not because the terrain once you’re off the main road is rough, but because everywhere you step is a place someone breathed their last. This is the final battlefield from the Villain War. You’d say the number of deaths that occurred here is countless, except you have counted. That’s how you know where to go.

The rain soaks through your clothes as you pick your way across the barren, muddy field. At one edge of it there’s a shrine to all the heroes who fell, not just here but in the entire war, and on important days, there are people queuing up to leave offerings and pay their respects. You keep walking, hating the way your feet squelch in the mud. The longer you stay in touch with a particular piece of earth, the more information you pick up about the death that occurred there, and you saw enough the first time.

The death site you’re looking for is at the far edge of the field, pushed up into the shadow of the mountain that rears up nearby. It’s unmarked, of course. It would be unattended even if it wasn’t. No one mourns the wicked, after all, and Shigaraki Tomura, the Symbol of Fear, was as wicked as they come. Or so they say.

When you found his death site, what you witnessed through your quirk brought you to your knees. That’s not how it usually goes for you, how it usually went by that point. Almost every person who dies is scared while it happens. A lot of them are confused. A lot of them are angry or hurt or betrayed. But none of them are all of those things at once, and empty and lost and hollow at the same time, and while you’ve walked over many death sites, Shigaraki’s is the only one that’s ever taken you down. And when you got back up, you couldn’t see him as the monster he was any longer.

You thought reading the book the surviving members of the League of Villains wrote would help clear your head, or at least remind you who you were really losing sleep over. When that didn’t work, you went to visit the book’s author in prison. Spinner wanted to talk about Shigaraki, his best friend and his only friend, but nothing he said matched what you saw. Deku, who killed Shigaraki, never talks about him at all, and you can’t explain to anyone that you’re haunted by the last moments of a villain who was horrifying and tragic in almost equal measures. So you had to find something else to do.

You reach the far side of the field and come to a stop. You moved a rock a few years ago to mark the death site, so you wouldn’t have to step on it and retraumatize yourself every year, and you stop a meter or so back from where you know the edge lies. And then, like always, you hit a wall. You could keep doing this for the rest of your life, and you’ll still never know the right thing to say as you set down the bouquet. The last few years, you’ve just set it down and left.

But that thought’s in your head again – one bouquet, one day of the year. He doesn’t have a shrine or a grave marker, and you’re the only one who knows exactly where he died. If you only got one visitor every year, you’d want them to say something. Anything.

Anything, from you, is usually a bad idea. “I’m still working at Homicide. The murder rate hasn’t dropped back to pre-war levels yet. I go walking over two or three crime scenes a week, and none of them have ever been as awful as what I felt when I walked over yours.”

So what, you can imagine him saying. You get to walk away. This was my whole life, and I died as I lived. Do you expect me to feel sorry for you or something? “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. That’s not why I’m saying that. I just – I wanted you to know that it really was that bad. All the pain you felt, all that anger – it’s unbearable. I can see why you’d do anything to get away.”

You wouldn’t do what Shigaraki did, you don’t think. Then again, you don’t have that kind of power. The only person you can torment with your quirk is yourself. “I don’t know why I come out here. Or why I bring flowers. You probably hated flowers,” you say. You can imagine his response to that, too: Yeah, no shit. “I never met you, but I can’t unsee what I saw. I wish I’d never seen it.”

You feel that way about everything you’ve seen and felt through your quirk, but this especially. “I wish I’d never seen it, but I did see it. And it would be wrong to look away.”

That was something you remember from that first flashback, the one that laid you out in the filth on the battlefield. The way the emptiness inside him yawned wide, a gaping void no amount of rage and destruction could fill, a desperate howl that still echoes through your mind –  look at me, notice me, save me – a cry for help that went forever unanswered. It’s too late for Shigaraki Tomura. Whatever you could possibly do rings hollow, and he’ll never see it, anyway. The longer you think about it, the more miserable you get. You need to go, before you spend another Valentine’s Day crying on the train home.

But to leave the bouquet by your makeshift marker, you have to cross the death site. As you hesitate, you hear that voice in your head, cobbled together from every newscast of the destruction of Jaku City or the final battle that took place here: This was my whole life. You get to walk away. You steep yourself and cross onto the death site, and like always, it hits you like a knockout punch. All you can do is stagger to the marker, set the bouquet in its mason jar down at the foot of the stone, and stagger back out, your eyes burning, struggling to breathe.

You’re doubled over, gasping for air, when you hear the voice. “I didn’t think you’d come this year.”

Your stomach lurches. You stagger backwards, foot-first into another deathsite, and struggle to get your balance, searching for a safe place to stand. “Because of the rain,” the voice continues, raspy and rough. His voice. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

You’ve always thought your quirk might snap your mind someday. You just didn’t expect it to happen like this. If you’re already crazy, you might as well answer him. “Until I stop seeing it.”

“Forever.”

It’s been eight years. Nothing else has clung to you like this. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Forever,” the voice repeats. “I never stopped seeing it, either.”

You’re talking to a dead person. A ghost. You’ve walked over hundreds of death sites, and you’ve never met a ghost before. But if anybody was going to become a ghost, it would be him, wouldn’t it? Unhappy, unable to let go, unmissed and unmourned by anyone but you, and you can barely be called a mourner when the most you do is show up with flowers one day a year. He probably hates flowers, and hates you, like he hated everything before. “I’m sorry,” you say. Shigaraki Tomura’s ghost makes a questioning sound. “I’m sorry no one saved you. I wish it wasn’t too late.”

You turn and leave without another look at the death site, and Shigaraki Tomura’s voice follows you. “Maybe it’s not.”

You’re losing it. You really must be. As soon as you get home, you’re taking a leave of absence from your horrible job and going to therapy, so you can learn how to live with your quirk and not let it cling to you and leave a bouquet at a supervillain’s death site without having a psychotic break. Maybe it’s not too late. What does that mean? It means you’re going crazy. That’s all this was. You walk stiff-legged across the battlefield, sicker with every step, never looking back. If you see his ghost hovering over the death site, you’re going to lose your mind for good.

Curiosity gets the better of you, though. You look back just once, once there are no more death sites to walk over and the only memories in your head belong to you. Shigaraki’s death site is easy to miss if you don’t know what to look for, but you know what to look for – and even from this distance, you can see that the bouquet you left for him is gone.

[teethcore]

thinking about how "it would be completely okay with me if we literally never had sex btw!! like that's fine :)" is something that is said to me on the regular by the person who turns literally any physical affection or nudity into a sex thing & constantly pressures me & has coerced me in the past

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for voting in the poll to decide who was going to be the leader of the band! It turned out to be such a close race!

[blackseakraft]

TY FOR THE TAG!! @leapingbadger

What's the origin of your blog title? I like to write phrases and nice sounding things in my sketchbook while I draw in case I want to use them for something later. Black Sea Foam was one of them. It doesn't mean anything, I just like the way it sounds.

OTP(s) + Shipname: I don't engage in shipping much, but I suppose it's TechPhee since I've actually drawn them being cute together multiple times.

Favorite color: BRIGHT Fuschia, a little on the purple side. It reminds me of the Dark Crystal.

Favorite game: Red Dead Redemption TWOOO will probably be my favorite game forever.

Song stuck in your head: Heat Waves by Glass Animals

Weirdest habit/trait? I HATE people touching my fingernails, I compulsively press down on them because they're just really sensitive I guess. I've never ever gotten a manicure for this reason. I've worn press on nails one time and it drove me INSANE I couldn't think about anything else. I tried to tough it out for two more days but it never got better. Weirdly though, when I lose chunks of my fingernails from sports and stuff I don't really care.

Hobbies: Drawing, painting, knitting, writing, skijoring, bikejoring, hiking, downhill skiing, mountain biking (planning on finally getting a real bike this summer), Model/Figure/Mini painting, Dungeons & Dragons (I'm a PC in one game and a DM in another and I couldn't be more pleased at the moment), Reading, Lego (when I want to treat myself), a little bit of fishing and crabbing but I suck at it.

If you work, what's your profession? I am a Fisheries Biologist! Well I'm technically a Science Technician, but biologist gets the point across easier. I'm working up to being a biologist. I mostly work in the field, walking or floating rivers looking for salmon and sending the data to my bosses who use it for managing fisheries. I keep getting hurt though so I'm looking for a new job with less physical labor at the moment.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? A homesteader/artisan. My dream is to have some property and be mostly self-sufficient, have a ton of animals, and use art and crafting for supplemental income. Might have to wait for retirement, but I still love my job now.

Something you're good at: I'm very good at learning by watching, or reverse engineering something to figure out how it works. I feel like my brain lends itself well to engineering-type thinking because it is easy for me to picture structures in 3d and move them around in my brain. It helps a lot with art, sculpting, and animation. I think drawing representatively since I was a young child really developed this part of my brain.

Something you're bad at: Understanding abstract concepts like physics or advanced finances (do not ask me what anything more complicated than a loan is, I will cry).

Something you love: I LOVE my new weighted blanket. I've never owned one before, but it really helped me relax while I was recovering from a concussion last week lol. My dog loves it too.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: The connections between Spirituality, Nature, and Art. I have a few friends who I engage in this topic with and we will go on for HOURS. I always feel so thankful afterward.

Something you hate: When someone leaves their water bottle loose in my car and it rolls around while I'm driving >:0

Something you collect: I collect driftwood with holes in it! Usually comes from thick pieces of outer wood that grew around a branch and somehow came off the tree with the hole intact. I LOVE THAT SHIT.

Something you forget: Well if I could remember what it was I'd tell you.

What's your love language? QUALITY TIME!!! Sharing experiences especially when they involve movement, or body doubling. LOVE IT.

Favorite movie/show: My favorite movie is Jim Henson's The Dark Crystal.

Favorite food: AAA damn idk. Anything savory. I am so down bad for fishy stuff recently, like dried squid and clams. I suppose I'll just say seafood in general.

Favorite animal: Besides the obvious (dogs and horses) my favorite animal is a Reindeer/Caribou!

What were you like as a child? Feral. I used to pretend i was some kind of animal at all times, got in to a lot of trouble at stores for doing things like spitting on the windows and running around. Absolutely should have been tested for ADHD at a younger age.

Favorite subject at school? Art is the obvious one. I also loved science, which is also sort of obvious.

Least favorite subject: In college I really struggled with Physics and Economics.

What's your best character trait? I am very patient. I think because the rest of my family is extremely impatient, I went the other direction. It contributes hugely to my mental health and makes creating things extremely fun. On the other hand, I tend to not stand up for myself when I should. It's hard for me to recognize when it's appropriate to stop being patient.

What's your worst character trait? Emotional sensitivity. It's my greatest weakness and strength. Confrontation of any kind makes me freak out, it's hard to know what battles to pick, and I usually choose the wrong ones. It has a lot of benefits too though! I think intuition and sensitivity go hand and hand, it helps a lot with dog training. I think it makes animals intuitively drawn to you as well.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? I'd make my dog less anxious and reactive. He's doing great and is happy and fulfilled, but I will never be able to fully trust him outside of our comfort zone. It's a constant anxiety I have to live with, but working with trainers (and therapy for myself lol) has helped so much and I have so many tools to help both of us.

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? Jim Henson!!

Tag as as many mutuals as you want!!

@eobe @spicy-tomato-sauce @disaster-by-chance @paperback-rascal @ghostymarni and YOU IF YOU BOTHERED TO READ THIS

I tagged every moot for THIS blog, there are too many on my main lol

Get to know your mutuals!

What's the origin of your blog title? When I was in middle school, someone told me "you dress so goth, but your personality is so happy. You're like a really cheerful grim reaper. A joyful soul collector." And that's been my username for most everything ever since!

OTP(s) + Shipname: Oooh, right now it's Jayvik, and tbh I can't think of another one, this is one of the first ships I've been really really into tbh. Other dynamics focused on my blog have actually been more platonic, like Irondad

Favorite color: Red!

Favorite game: Dungeons and Dragons! Both as a player, and DM!

Song stuck in your head: The Challenge - EPIC

Weirdest habit/trait? I download thousands of still frames of tv shows that I love so I can make memes out of them. But I have to sift through and delete all the pictures that are blurry or unnecessary, which takes hours. I think it's super fun because I'm autistic and really enjoy sorting stuff lol

Hobbies: Writing, playing DnD, making memes, and hanging out with my friends!

If you work, what's your profession? Not so much a profession lol, I work at a toy store. It's a part time job while I'm in college, studying to be a radiologist!

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically? Radiologist. But ANY job I wish? Professional DM or Professional DnD player, like the people on Dropout or Critical Role haha

Something you're good at: I'm good at writing stories! I can write them well and write things that make people feel deep emotions, and I like that.

Something you're bad at: Recognizing when someone doesn't want help haha. I tend to try and fix things or help people when they just want to vent, and it ends up frustrating for both of us.

Something you love: I love stories. Any kind, I love so so many

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: My favorite shows and stories, my dnd campaigns and characters, my stories and ideas

Something you hate: Fascism. Bigotry. Willful ignorance. Fearmongering. Propaganda.

Something you collect: Dice!! I'm a dice goblin for sure haha

Something you forget: I often forget chores unfortunately

What's your love language? Physical touch and acts of service

Favorite movie/show: Ooh right now it's definitely Arcane haha

Favorite food: Sushi!

Favorite animal: Cats!

What were you like as a child? In a word? Unwell haha. I'm a good bit better now, still struggling with a lot, but better than I used to do

Favorite subject at school? English, I was always good at that class

Least favorite subject: Chemistry. I hate that shit so much lol

What's your best character trait? I think that I'm kind and willing to stand up for others

What's your worst character trait? I can be disrespectful to some types of spirituality unfortunately. It just doesn't make logical sense to me. I have two friends that are fully convinced that a cursed doll gave some youtuber testicular cancer. And I just can't see the logic or critical thought in that

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? Mmm. All of fascism shit is definitely damaging my calm so I'd love to change that specifically

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? Harry Allen. Google him he's a badass transgender cowboy

Tag as as many mutuals as you want!!

@sb-essebi @glitternightingale @blatterpussbunnyfromhell @captainhollowstories @kydrogendragon @misforvendetta @poetryinmotion-author @bocularteletheric @kai-ovillager @thatoneneuvichiliauthor @4amarcanethoughts @alexspearsxoxo @kotonni @buckybucananbarnes @kakesuwolf @martybaker @patheticjayce @sleepycrowhours @aixabi @up-the-bracket @snoopyviktor @emdashflower @humanshapedstress @hellsalore @juuzousmom @softandslow @fangirlshenanigans04 @batmans-attic @lvrstrsh @bluemoyai @tearexxwrites @bodyofvvater @lifeandeathepub @areesespiece @lancesblueazaleas @monaisme @milkywaysipper @carmendyy @tseecka @heazueken @tophat-69 @velocitychroma @prjctdiva @gremlinofchaos @ourvectorviktor @kenjinx @jxmimac @gh0stedvhampir @voxconcordia @arcaneheraldslawyer

ngl I tried to tag ALL my mutuals that I have, but this was how many it allowed me to do before it made me stop lol so here's as many as I could fit!

[cranberrypaul]

literally why do uni profs put together the worst group project match-ups of all time. i feel like paul mccartney in get back trying to get work done while one member is off doing heroin with his new girlfriend, one is threatening to go solo and wants me dead, and one just wants everyone to get along but really does not give a fuck. meanwhile i know we gotta get up on the rooftop in 10 days and we have like five songs done

[dicktat]

Sorry for aching out yet again. Wish me luck for my surgery tomorrow…painful

[necrotic-nephilim]

in lieu of having posted any writing/headcanons/asks in the past few days because i have been *so* busy and unable to do anything fandom-related which is terrible and evil, i have a poll out of morbid curiosity and self-indulgence. i've been meaning to ramble here about how i feel about DC's lack fo Deaf representation and which Batfam members i would personally make Deaf, but i am mildly curious about the larger opinion and now i will subject you all to the question, i would love to hear thoughts/opinions/headcanons on any specific choices. (would love d/Deaf/HoH opinions esp but i'm mostly expecting this to reach the hearing crowd, so opinions from hearing ppl are ones i'm very curious about. if you've never given it thought before you are going to now or else /lh)

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

It's missing my father hours rn so imma just dump a bunch of pictures here and cry

( sorry i don't know the source of anything I just had them on my phone)

(also dont read the tags i just need to let it out lol)

[fernfreakingtastic]

If you're having a bad day but think you don't deserve someone or even yourself being nice to you:

Shane, even at his lowest, has the farmer want to see him and care about hearing how he's doing. Even when he was at his meanest/lowest points in the game, everyone that collectively put in the effort to see those hearts with him rise up knew what they were walking into. They still came by sometimes every single day they could to give him something they hoped he liked and talked to him to see how he was doing. They genuinely wanted to see him smiling and happy with his aunt and niece and get better. Whether platonically or romantically they care for him

You deserve your own farmer.

You deserve to treat yourself like how the farmer treats Shane when they're trying to get his heart events

[neonbodyache]

so so excited for the fresh start that is october. im gonna try harder this time. im gonna do better this time ☆

if you’re like me (someone who often obsesses over the apathy of time, specifically the way it’s ever moving forward whether you want it to or not) it’s okay to latch onto the idea of beginning again, it’s okay to allow yourself the simple miracle of approaching the world anew, just because you can

[pilgrimattinkercreek1974]

the thing about my stupid thesis is that i love my lesbian boss slash thesis advisor and ive been working on this project for two years and i care about it and find it interesting and theoretically this work as the basis for my chance to demonstrate what ive joyfully and enthusiastically learned across the last four years should be a rewarding exciting opportunity but i was overly ambitious with my thesis proposal and feel this constant pressure to be inventive and incisive due to my deliberately interdisciplinary training on top of regular old academic pressure and the impossibility of pleasing aforementioned lesbian boss thesis advisor and ive also invested such a personal emotional degree into it that criticism is kind of terrifying and unbearable and also i really dont know anything about statistics and then my shit got rocked by the fires effectively throwing everything in my system out of whack in ways i can barely identify

[secretarysong]

2:40 in the morning... Ideal time to work meticulously on my seventeen different nsr character spotify playlists