me trying to convince myself that the whole spectrum of human emotions is a good and necessary thing to feel even if its not comfortable while im actively experiencing emotions that make me feel like my bones are being dissolved in acid
i don't care if it's nazis, mormons, or a bunch of misguided autistic people. if anyone ever tries to tell you your soul is from another planet and you're actually part of the class of impressive people that secretly did everything cool in the world but is now extinct and lives on through your broken genome, you RUN. YOU WILL RUN AWAY. YOU WILL SPRINT FULL SPEED AWAY FROM THAT.
grabs you by the shoulders listen. listen to my words. i understand the urge to make fanfiction about yourself and to find a reality in which you're super awesome and great and everyone who hates you is wrong and dumb. i get it. you're better than that. you can love yourself without putting other people down, dehumanizing and generalizing, and retaliating against your oppressors.
there's no NPCs. there's no aliens coming to save us. we're not the next step in human evolution. our hyperconnected nervous systems give us terrible sensory overwhelm more often than they make us geniuses. neurotypical people are sentient, conscious, aware people who are capable of understanding you. we're more the same than we are different. we're more the same than we are different. we're more the same than we are different.
sleaze kirishima definitely has his favourites when it comes to sharing or lending you to his friends. the first being izuku because theyâre probably most alike in how they treat their partners in relationships and in the bedroom. i think they both play on pleasure that comes from disgust you know what i mean â eijirou dresses you up in something sweet on the eyes thatâs out of your comfort zone telling you not to fuss and to look pretty for midoriya. heâll have you pressed between their big shoulders at the club or on the couch, filling you with drinks you canât remember the name of until youâre hazed and confused and something burns in your lower belly.
and when izuku puts his scarred on the swell of your thigh, just beneath your hem all secretive, it feels like youâre cheating. it feels good that you are, having his fingers stroke from your spasming hole to your beating clit â up and down, hidden from the view of others. youâre so full, of lust and liquid and you feel the weight of kirishimaâs gemstone stare on the back of your neck. proud and predatory. he doesnât join in, just watches you fall to ruin and the disgusting urges the stack like cement between building blocks deep within.
âi think iâd like it if you came for me, made a mess right here?â izuku always makes a suggestion but never commands. the same way kirishima asks and somehow still expects an end result even if youâre not yet over the line. âdonât you think thatâd be so nice. if youâd spoiled me a little.â youâd blink over at your boyfriend, your light flirtations with izuku having gone a step too far. izukuâs thumb tilts your line of sight away from your safety net in kirishima and thats where you realise youâve been abandoned. left to drown in guilt and disgust and no choice but to reach out to izuku for help. âhe doesnât mind, love.â
kirishimaâs second favourite person to âborrowâ you too is bakugou. itâs more torture for the blonde than it is for you â katsuki treats you as though youâre something too valuable to be held by bare hands like his. explosive and rough. he caresses you like eijirou doesnât know how good he has it, as though every stoke against your skin is a mark of a brush that leaves tracks of watered down paint â delicate. too much of him and true emotion might bleed through.
he folds you carefully, always in a position where he can see your face â watch as bliss falls into place over your features and take note of your lips as they part to say his name over and over. chapter and verse. when youâre with katsuki, your mind is able to relax and your body unwind because he doesnât press on the parts of you that make you shrink, he kisses them. soft under his lips. melting you. kirishima likes seeing you like this too, on your back ankles raised to the sky whilst his best friend punches deep into your gut with his cock and tells you that youâre his while doing it. every drag of his thickness along your welcoming walls is uncharted territory for eijirou ⊠he knows what you like. heâs taught your body to like it.
but katsuki clicks naturally, reading your movements before you even make them. you stretch and his mouth lands under the curve of your breast, salty sweat on the blondeâs tongue. you seize and you shake and bakugou grasps your hand â interlocking your fingers, words balmy against your. âjust like that, let go for me.â bakugou fucks you as though youâre in love, an extension of his being. his body ends where it meets yours, warm, wonderful and that is where you begin. your orgasms with katsuki build slow, like theyâre meant to last from one exhale into the next â he winds the rope of tension around his fist and yanks diligently until you topple over and spill all over him. clear, sweet.
eijirou cums hardest with katsuki fucking you, because heâs the only one who you let kiss you. tasting the betrayal of his lust on your tongue in front of your beloved sleaze boyfriend.
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesnât do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! â asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
reminder to visit museums, even if you feel out of place. you feel out of place because there is an established concept of inaccessibility of "high culture" to the masses, purposefully developed to distinguish between social classes.
take up space, read the plaques, get the audioguides. you are just as entitled and right in being there. visit museums, boycott museums, be expressive about your opinions about museums.
a lot of museums are free, or discounted for youth and students. take advantage of that. check your local art museum. check your local history museum. museums are there for you, they are there to educate the public, not to distinguish between class. it isn't a private collection, it's a public exhibit.
Don't shy away from chatting with staff and curators either!!! Please!!! They love it when people come to them with questions or a desire to learn further!! Get involved, see if they take volunteers, as local museums often struggle to receive the funding to be staffed properly, and public assistance helps greatly. Museums, as institutions, are flawed, but many, many folks involved with them do want to make them better, and the way they get better is by diverse bodies, voices, and people engaging with them!! PLEASE go be a nerd.
well, no, i didnât expect leopards to eat my face, but this obviously wasnât what the leopards eating people's face party wanted. they were stifled by their opposition and bureaucratic red tape! i think we should give more power to the leopard eating face party, so the leopards only eat the faces of people who deserve it. plus they just put a new leopard in charge of the face eating, and i think this one really brings something new to the table. so yes i'm voting for the leopards eating people's face party again. why wouldn't i.
the issue with growing up in the 2000s and 2010s was like there was this really big push toward "accepting your weirdness" overall but they meant like idk wearing mismatched socks or something not being tangibly beyond the norm in any way shape or form
âpeople shouldnât have to accept the bare minimum-â I agree with that too but weâre at a point where we have to cling to the bare minimum or that will be taken away too
reminds me of when I was on a date with a girl and the police were breaking up a homeless encampment. She said "They found people who had nothing... then they took that too"
I think a lot about who I am to other people in the worldâparticular who I am to strangers as a mere concept in their lives.
Today this woman called our information desk and said, âmy sonâs band is playing tonight. I want to come see him, but he never answers his phoneâŠ..I want to be there. Have you heard anything about his band?â
And I felt so bad for this lady but Iâm not in the music scene around here so I had to tell her no, sorry.
Five hours later, Iâm hiking and run into a group of guys setting up for some outdoor performance, and as I watch them unload the drums it hits me.
âHey,â I said, âare yâall in a band?â
They said yeah and smiled and I told them âone of your moms called today. She wants to watch you play, but she canât get a hold of you. Call your mom.â
And they all pulled out their phones and started discussing whose mom it probably was as they presumably dialed their own.
And now, unless we meet again and recognize each other, thatâs who Iâll be forever to those guysâsome mysterious courier for mom-messages who came out of the woods and told them their mom called.
I didnât even tell them why their mom called me. Who am I to their mom?? Nobody even asked. They just took my word for it and called their mothers.
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