#sometimes
One day I hope I am the girl that walks into a room and all eyes are on her.
The trick is to get a really big hat and then scream
I love randomly going through my tags and seeing old posts n things.
Uhm. Listen- this is all @noya-sleftankle ’s fault with POKER FACE series. Istg. I just couldn’t get him off my mind doing his work out videos.. So have a poorly drawn Bokuto Kotaru greeting his followes before training from hell to get BUNS OF STEEL. i will die on this headcanon-hill xD
”Sometimes you need to be alone
in order to find out who you really are
and what you really want.”
Post link
Sit inside waiting
The softness in his hand was a the odd sort of alien. It had a residual familiarity, the kind that’s encoded into memory without any thought or intent, just a side effect of being alive. But here there was a thought, and it never stopped being ever so slightly confusing.
The lather had tickled, shocked a little too. It had been out too long, sitting by the side of the sink as he cleaned himself up. He’d saved this for providence rather than out of any particular enjoyment he got from it. But then maybe that was just modesty talking. Maybe there was some illicit thrill to it, a touch of perversion in an otherwise mundane task.
Except here he stood, nude in his bathroom, lightly squeezing himself. Usually it didn’t start like this, he was already halfway there, the desire to enjoy it starting the machinery and diverting the bloodflow. Usually there was some swell to roll over his palm, roll his palm over. Instead, now, it was just squish.
The razor needed a firm surface to work on, otherwise he’d be bloody and raw, a mess of cuts and dodgy handiwork. The razor needed him turned on, and all he wanted to do was clean himself up. He had to conjure, relocate himself a few steps sideways.
It always felt like shuffling a filing cabinet, this. Flicking through papers, trying to find the one thing that flickers, something that sparked or bolted, something with a bit of rocketfuel laced through the pages.
Maids outfits and pierced nipples bubbled to the surface, and his hips buckled a little. He was a retiree on the beach, listening to the blip of his metal detector. He was Ahab watching the water. He reoriented.
The scene fleshed out around those two little details. Daylight seeped in through the window, a fern outside. The girls were on their knees, two of them, lips a pair of Os wrapped around perfect, lurid, lewd red balls. His hips shot forwards again and he smiled, licked his lips.
The scene was static, as it was. It would remain so, his mind a tickertape as it was. Still photos played in sequence, letting the rest be inferred. Spanking, choking, marker pens and feather dusters all wandered down the catwalk, sauntered past him before being laid to rest.
It eventually got to fucking, the pace of his hand starting to turn into something of a flurry, a furious squeeze and slide that was hurling soap across the bathroom. The photos were almost fast enough to be a flickbook, the illusion of motion tricking his mind for a few moments.
When it came, when he came, it was lost among the soap. He’d got carried away, and for half a moment he was ever so slightly angry with himself at the implication. Angry at the lack of control, and the wasted effort.
The razor sat beside the sink, looking ever so slightly judgmental.
Dr Strange 2: What if when you have a dream it’s actually just what your multiversal self is experiencing at that time?
Me, who has a lot of trauma dreams: I fucking hope not.
the fact that the majority of the tags that ppl reblog my posts with are “op you’re going to make me cry” and “op i’m going to kill you” says a lot about the shit i draw huh
Sometimes, we take people for granted and when they finally get tired. Sometimes people leave our lives not because their season is over, but because we took them for granted. The hearts gets tired too of hurting.
