Carissima10 - Nothing New

tired of being tired

People underestimate how much it fucks you up to be subtly excluded as a kid. I would try to talk to my classmates and be met with disinterest or annoyance. The one friend I had, who I clung to and nodded along to his every word, had other friends he liked just as much or more. And his other friends didn’t care for me at all.

I look back at pictures from the time and see how separated I was from them. I remember knowing I was different. I remember posing questions about the world to the girls playing next to me and realizing that they had never asked the same ones to themselves. That the ways we thought couldn’t be more different.

I kept myself amused with my own fanatical stories and musings in my head. I would wander the playground on a circular path, imagining a friend and being sorely disappointed when it didn’t feel as real as I’d hoped.

There was a bubble separating me from everyone else, thin, and nearly invisible, but with a pearly sheen you could catch under the right conditions. I knew it was there, they knew it was there, and it changed me

for @mica-radiaan

THANK YOU FOR 3,000 FOLLOWERS!!♡♡

i will always say (vintage) americana coquette is not complete without examples of black women thats pure americana and femininity right there

you can literally see where lanas early influences are 😭 (along with chicanas cannot forget them)

i know it's hard. but i so firmly believe the strongest antidote to loneliness is reaching out first. and continuing to reach out. again and again and again. excise any scrap of shame you hold about being the person who texts first or pitches the plan or asks to get lunch. everyone is tired and busy and struggling. and afraid of feeling unwanted and unimportant. don't let the people you love feel that way. reach out first. don't be a ghost in your own life.

"your youth is over, asahi."

thinking about how when you experience a lot of shame in your formative years (indirectly, directly, as abuse or just as an extant part of your environment) it becomes really difficult to be perceived by other people in general. the mere concept of someone watching me do anything, whether it's a totally normal activity or something unfamiliar of embarrassing, whether I'm working in an excel spreadsheet or being horny on main, it just makes my skin crawl and my brain turn to static because I cannot convince myself that it's okay to be seen and experienced. because to exist is to be ashamed and embarrassed of myself, whether I'm failing at something or not, because my instinctive reaction to anyone commenting on ANYTHING I'm doing is to crawl into a hole and die. it's such a bizarre and dehumanizing feeling to just not be able to exist without constantly thinking about how you are being Perceived. ceaseless watcher give me a god damn break.

stay

tsukishima kei x reader

warnings: afab! reader, mentions of unprotected sex, unclear relationship between reader and tsukki, kei is bad at feelings

you hear tsukishima shuffling in the bathroom as you lay on his bed.

looking up at his ceiling, you try to figure him out: is he the kind of guy who’ll kick a girl out after he sleeps with her? will he let you stay? should you get dressed and make a run for it while he’s busy?

instead, you stay where you are, only choosing to drape your arm over your face, the crook of your elbow resting over your eyes. you close them. you’ll leave it up to him to decide what he wants to do with you.

would he walk you home if he kicked you out?

eyes still closed, you hear him come back into the room. you brace yourself for rejection and the eventual walk of shame.

the bed dips as he kneels on it, inching closer to you.

you feel him tap the side of your naked thigh, “open your legs,” he says

you do so, choosing not to remove your arm from covering your face until you feel him clean the mess in between your thighs with a damp hand towel. you guess it’s the least he could do before kicking you out— given that most of the mess is his.

he sighs once he’s finished, discarding the rag, eyes still not meeting yours as he makes his way to the dresser across the room.

“you…” he drags the question out as he rummages through the top drawer.

“want a shirt?”

you hum, and he throws it over to you.

he’s pacing the room again, picking up the various clothing items you were each wearing before the night’s encounter.

you see him fold your pants, the shirt you were wearing, and your bra. he picks up your panties and finally, shyly, meets your gaze, cheeks coloring.

he throws these at you, too. you to put them on.

he’s back to his drawers, pulling out a clean pair of sweatpants for himself. the waistband rests low on his waist as he finally, finally, comes back to bed.

“umm,”

you take this as your cue to leave, sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed, searching his room for your phone, your keys, your wallet.

“i tend to run pretty cold at night,” he begins, clearing his throat, “do you want an extra blanket incase-

“are you leaving?”

he cuts himself off when he realizes you’re collecting your belongings, your pants already in hand, waiting for you to put them on.

you feel like a deer caught in headlights. your mouth falling open into a soundless oh.

“you want me to stay?” you ask him, unsure

immediately, tsukishima gets defensive, closing himself off, “i mean, no one’s forcing you to.”

he looks away, and you feel like hitting yourself with a hammer repeatedly.

“text me when you get home.” is all he says, still not meeting your eyes.

“tsukki-”

“what.” his tone is harsh. he’s furiously picking at the skin around his cuticles.

“i-i want to stay,” you tell him, nearing him where he is sitting on the edge of his bed. while he still pretends to be upset, he’s readily parting his legs for you to nestle in between them, burrowing his head in your stomach as you stand in front of him, your fingers immediately moving to scratch his scalp the way he likes. his hands gently cup your ass, bringing you closer.

tsukishima breathes in the scent of you and him mixed together through his shirt. you’re good to him. too good sometimes.

the truth is he wants you to stay in his bed (and his heart, and his life) forever.

“call me kei,” he tells you finally, softly, “s’the least you can do after asking me to cum inside you.”

“kei,” you say, smile on your lips, savoring the syllable, “can you get me an extra blanket?”

he huffs, pulling you down to lay beside him, “you won’t need one after i’m done with you.”

i hope love finds you. i truly do. i hope you wake up in arms that keep you safe. i hope you get kissed in places you were insecure about. i hope you're held with softness. i hope gentle words and praises graze your wars. i hope you're taken care of. i hope you're loved even after you've learned to love yourself. i hope that when love finds you, it stays with you. forever.

“i hate my siblings” rip to you but i would kill and die for my brother