skysole

[skysole]

~ Basic Info ~

🌸 Skylar

🌸 14

🌸 Hypersexual

🌸 Genderfluid

🌸 They/she/he

🌸 Abrosexual

🌸 OCD

~ Fandoms ~

🌸 The Outsiders

🌸 Stray Kids

🌸 The Inheritance Games

🌸 Riordanverse

🌸 Rumble Fish

🌸 TXT

🌸 Itzy

🌸 Ride The Cyclone

🌸 Heathers

🌸 Hamilton

🌸 SIX

~ Besties ~

🌸 @connemaracatgoddess

🌸 @seraphimfeather

Requests: 🩵 Open 🩵

Additional fandoms found here

[skysole]

Here are the things I love most about Psych:

There is a general lack of sexism and misogyny amongst the characters. The women are portrayed as competent as the men and as accomplished as the men. They show platonic male/female friendships and relationships without trying to force something romantic between characters.

There is a general lack of homophobia. Shawn doesn't get offended when people think he and Gus are together. Shawn and Gus are portrayed perfectly in the sense that there is no toxic masculinity. They are open with their love and friendship and don't "no homo" it.

They don't push the marriage or baby rhetoric. Shawn and Juliet having an open conversation about deciding not to want children and just have dogs, and not feeling pressure to be married until the 1st movie is so refreshing, and even then, they didn't make it a big deal. The women in Psych are written for more than being love interests.

They don't downplay Shawn's trauma around his childhood, especially as it contrasts with Gus's more stable home life. Shawn and Henry's relationship feels (to me) like the epitome of "I can understand how and why you did what you did, but that doesn't mean I have to forgive you for it." Likewise, they don't minimize the trauma Juliet had over Ying. They never tell her to "get over it" or try and tell her it wasn't that bad.

They show that what makes a villain isn't black and white. The villains are complicated, like Yang and Desperaux. They're not all bad, but they're also not all good.

All of the storylines with animals are just *chefs kiss.*

The writing is so good. It's comedic but has feelings. It is a safe space. All of the characters grow throughout the course of the show. They don't just stay stagnant.

Anyway. I love it.

[skysole]

people don’t understand how hard it is to be hypersexual, it’s not just dirty jokes.

being alone is so hard for me, if i don’t have someone physically touching me, i feel insane, i constantly need touch.

i can’t stop touching myself to the point it’s an addiction, one that sometimes gets better and sometimes gets worse, but it’s the only other thing besides SH.

ive gotten to points ive bleed, become numb, or been in extreme pain because i always have to go to the extreme just to feel something.

i’ve considered letting myself be groomed by adult men purely to feel loved by them even if it’s only for sex.

i’ve have intrusive thoughts i didn’t want about guys who hate me having sex with me.

i’ve had intrusive thoughts about my friends.

i’ve romanticized and downplayed my own rape, because for months i couldn’t even realize it was rape since i loved him so much.

My idea of love is so warped and messed up, that i can’t stop craving sex even when i’m not horny, if im sad, the solution is sh or sex, if i’m angry, the solution is sh or sex, if i’m happy, sex, if i’m bored, sex, if i’m sleepy, sex, if i can’t sleep, sex.

my idea of sex is so warped, that unless i’m being actively abused during it, i can’t see myself ever getting off or being happy.

i’ll never be a normal girl with a normal relationship.

[skysole]

I'm hypersexual and this made me want to hurt myself because why is it that because I was abused and assaulted, my body chooses to regulate with sex and I'm the problem for it? Oversexualization is the issue, not hypersexuality. Let's not tag it with something people genuinely struggle with only to tell them they're the problem :/

yes i am a prude, and hypersexuality is ruining friendships, relationships and society as a whole.

[skysole]

Hi there 🌼

I hope it’s okay that I’m reaching out. My name is Rola, and I’m a mother of two from Gaza. Life used to be simple—filled with laughter, home-cooked meals, walks with my children, and ice cream on weekends. But since October, everything has changed.

We lost our home in a bombing. One moment, we were sipping coffee on the balcony… the next, the house shook, windows shattered, and our world collapsed. We had to flee with nothing—no clothes, no toys, no sense of safety.

My children still ask about their beds, their books, their quiet little room. I don’t have answers. All I can do is hold them and keep going.

We’re now raising funds to evacuate—or, if returning becomes possible, to rebuild. I just want to give my children a future that isn’t defined by fear and loss.

If you’re able to help—by donating or even just sharing our story—it would mean everything 💛. Your kindness can bring us one step closer to healing.

Thank you for listening. And if you'd prefer not to receive messages like this, just let me know and I won’t reach out again.

With love and hope,

Rola | @rolafamily 🤍

Sending prayers

[skysole]

aww they're matching

[skysole]

It's giving the joker and Harley Quinn and I love it

I give you Cole!Trip screaming “Let’s dance sweetheart” at Two-Bit in the rumble

[skysole]

If I have to see this so does everyone on my blog

every time i listen to “you’re a mean one mr. grinch” i can’t help but sit there and think “what did the grinch do to hurt you?” because dude just stands there for 2 minutes and 58 seconds and drags the grinch into the dirt

[skysole]

Far Away From It All

The Motorycle Boy told him to escape to the coast. And by God, Rusty-James was going to do it. Even when his thoughts revolve solely around everything he's leaving behind in the process.

fandom: rumble fish (s.e. hinton novel and 1983 film)

warnings: mentions of death, grief, angst, hurt no comfort, open ending

wc: 778

He rode.

He rode and he rode and he rode and he rode.

He rode until it hurt to keep his eyes open, until his legs were completely numb, until he felt nothing but the biting wind cutting through his jacket, until the scenery changed from the familiar streets of Tulsa to the desert lands of New Mexico and then finally the sandy beaches of California.

He didn’t stop, not even when he nearly crashed from exhaustion, not even when the tears fell for the second time that night, not even when sound started returning and cars honking startled him so bad he swerved off the road into a bush.

He just righted his cycle and climbed on again, speeding towards the coastline. The same coastline the Motorcycle Boy had seen just a week before.

And while he rode, he thought.

He thought about Steve, his sweet best friend who would wake up in the morning to the news of the Motorcycle Boy’s death and his best friend’s disappearance. 

He thought about Patty, not knowing that he loved her with every fiber of his being, falling asleep in the arms of Smokey. 

He thought about Smokey too, and how he had considered him a friend and all Smokey considered him was competition to steal the top spot from - the top spot, and the best damn girl in all of Tulsa.

He thought about Benny, who didn’t like him, but would wonder why he no longer showed up to play pool and raise business.

He thought about Donna - sweet little Donna, who would wonder where he ran off too, wonder if he was okay.

He even thought about his dad, his poor, drunken father who may not even notice his absence until he was far, far away.

But most of all, more than anyone, he thought about his brother.

He thought of Motorcycle Boy, who looked older than he was, who couldn’t see color and couldn’t hear half the time, who spoke softly in strange tongues no one could decipher yet everyone understood. Motorcycle Boy, who was the coolest guy in all of Tulsa, who led the gangs and ended the fights. Motorcycle Boy, who nearly every person would have followed into battle without a second thought simply because he asked them. Motorcycle Boy, who had only wanted to free the fish, give them space to keep them from killing each other and themselves.

And the more he thought of the Motorcycle Boy, the more the tears obstructed his view, and the more he remembered why he hated crying so much in the first place.

It hurt to cry. It made his head hurt, and his skin felt sticky with the salty tears that traced paths down his cheeks.

He would never see Motorcycle Boy again, never hear his strange way of speaking in that odd manner that captured everyone’s attention and wouldn’t let go. He’d never feel that overwhelming relief that washed over him like a wave when his brother returned home.

Because the Motorcycle Boy would never return home.

He was gone, and he was gone for good.

He would never see his best friend again. Steve would move on, make new friends, maybe he’d follow Smokey blindly too, and he wouldn’t have to think for two people anymore.

He’d never look into Patty’s warm, caring eyes again while he held her close, her body soft and emitting a warmth that always made him feel on fire, but the flames had always been gentle.

He’d never sit up when his father came home, guiding him to bed and wishing he would just stop drinking.

He wasn’t sure what broke his heart more: losing Patty, losing the Motorcycle Boy, or leaving everyone he knew - everything he knew - behind.

Maybe it was a combination of the three.

But the Motorcycle Boy had been to California, had seen their mother and been photographed. The last place he had visited before his life was cut short was the coast, and nothing short of death would keep him from going there himself.

He had been to the hospital, and as soon as those bandages were on his cut wrists, he had bolted. Tore out of there faster than they knew what was happening and grabbed a cycle, riding out of that stupid town and riding far away from where the Motorcycle Boy lay lifeless, his eyes still open and his lips twisted in that stupid, smug smile he rarely wore but would never, ever get to wear again.

And when the coastline came into view, he stood there, taking it all in, wondering the only question on his mind: what happens now?

[skysole]

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT. THE. FUCK!!!

NO!! NO! NO NON ONONONONO MY HEART NOOOOOO

Our word from 36 questions but it’s Brad chiles and Judy Reeves talking about Fred in that one part you know what I’m talking about

[skysole]

just watched/listened to 36 Questions and what the FUCK i cried for the last 40 minutes and then cried again explaining the plot to my mom

It was the ending that killed me, the eight years no contact, her last words being she won't give up and loves him and then her telling him how to move on and that she did like what

[skysole]

As a fanfic request, could you write a modern au where the greasers go to starbucks and each one of their orders are wrong/spelled wrong

I just feel like Dally might go crazy if they put ice in his pink drink

hi anon! I am SO sorry this took me so long, my writer's block literally slapped me in the face and held me down. well, here it is! I unfortunately got writers block again half way through, so i will edit this once I write Johnny and Pony's, but yeah!

also, disclaimer: i have never set foot in a starbuck's... it just never appealed to me, so I had the menu tab up for like three weeks straight... but uh yeah... here ya go!

warnings: swearing, sexual innuendos, Dally being a jerk

Darry:

It had been a long day, and God, he really needed a coffee.

His brothers had both spent the entire day texting him just to seem busy - Soda to get out of flirting and Pony to get out of talking to his classmates.

He simply needed a dark roast from Starbucks, and probably a long ass nap, before he exploded.

Stepping into the foyer, he went up to the counter, smiling at the worker. “Hi, could I please get a dark roast coffee?” he asked politely.

She nodded, darting away. “Name?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Darrel,” he answered, not really paying much attention.

He waited patiently for his coffee, smiling gratefully when the barista handed it to him. He paid and left hurriedly, wanting to get home so he could collapse in front of the television and fall asleep listening to Soda’s cartoons.

It wasn’t until he was in the car he took a sip of his drink, and he damn near slammed on the brake.

What the hell?

Holding the cup up, he narrowed his eyes. They spelled his name wrong (they usually spelled “Darryl”) but that wasn’t unusual, he didn’t bat an eye at that anymore.

No, what had him considering turning the car around was the fact the drink was painfully, obviously not dark roast, but some other type of coffee he’s never had any interest in trying.

Cursing, he shook his head.

The girl had seemed frazzled, and he was tired. He would just go home and put on a pot. It wouldn’t taste nearly as good, but he just wanted to get back (preferably before one of his brothers decided they should cook dinner themselves). So he set the cup down and drove home, giving the coffee to an already hyper Soda and making a pot for himself.

He didn’t go to that Starbucks for a while after that.

Two-Bit:

The lack of alcoholic drinks at Starbucks did deter him. He preferred beer over tea, but he couldn’t deny the baked goods the place sold were pretty good.

He would drive, but Darry had very firmly informed Two-Bit that if he ever set foot in the car while drunk with any intent on getting behind the wheel again, he would skin him alive before burying the body.

Realistically, Two knew that Darry was joking, but the boy could be real scary when he wanted to be, and Two-Bit actually liked having skin on his bones, so he was not going to test him.

So he walked - albeit bitterly - to the Starbucks across the street from the Curtis house, mentally cursing the exercise he was getting in doing so.

Upon entering the coffeehouse, he noticed several cute girls at a table.

He ordered a ham and swiss croissant, his eyes focused on the blonde girl sipping from her cup.

He distractedly took the croissant before he grabbed a chair and brought it to the table. He sat with a grin.

“Hiya, ladies,” he said, winking.

Two of them rolled their eyes, but the blonde grinned at him.

He ate slowly, dragging out the conversation with the hot girl in front of him before she left with her friends.

It was only then that he noticed his croissant tasted a bit funny. Looking down at it, he was surprised to find it was buttered, not ham and swiss.

He stood and went to the counter. “Hey, doll, you messed up my order.”

“You ate it,” she said, not sparing him a glance.

“Yeah, I’d eat it,” he said flirtily, smirking at the barista. “Wanna spread-”

She turned, her cheeks red, hands on her hips. “Get the fuck outta my sight, Two-Bit.”

Two-Bit huffed, crossing his arms. “Who’s gonna make me? You messed up my order, doll.”

She grabbed a ham and swiss croissant and shoved it into his hands. “You’re drunk. Go home, perv.”

So maybe the barista was his girlfriend, she still coulda spared the lecture on treating workers properly once she got off work.

But she did make sure after that to always make his order correctly.

Dally:

“What the fuck is this?” Dally spit, holding the cup away from him like it was poisoned.

It probably was.

“Your drink?” the barista said, furrowing her brows as she stared at him. “Strawberry creme frappuccino.”

“I ordered vanilla bean,” he snapped, slamming the cup down. “Not this fruity shit. Are you fucking stupid?”

She hesitated, frowning. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll make you a new one right away.”

“Yeah, you better.” He leaned against the counter, watching her work. 

Yeah, okay, he was being a bit of a dick, but, contrary to popular belief, he was just naturally a dick. He was honestly dialling it back - if only because Darry had threatened to use his skull as lawn decoration if he did another stint in juvie before his credit card rolled over.

She worked swiftly, making his coffee and sliding it towards him. “There you are.”

“You spelled the name on it wrong.”

“I did?” She turned it to look. “I spelled it exactly how you said, sir.”

“No. I said it’s spelled D-A-L-L-Y. You spelled it D-A-L-L-I. I won’t pay for a coffee that doesn’t even have my name on it.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said meekly, her hair falling into her eyes as she took the cup back. She crossed his name out and rewrote it.

“You made the cup look ugly.” He snatched the cup and took a sip. “You fucked it up again. I ordered it without ice. This has ice.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Uh, it’s on the house. I’m very sorry, sir.”

Dally scoffed, turning and stalking out with a small smirk, one hand holding his strawberry creme frappuccino and the other holding his vanilla bean.

It worked every time.

Steve:

In all honesty, Steve didn’t care much for Starbucks. He didn’t have a drink preference, nor did the food seem at all appealing when he could be eating Soda’s homemade chocolate cake for free.

However, he couldn’t resist heading over after trying the caramel apple spice Soda ordered.

He leaned against the counter, smiling at Evie. She worked as a barista, but she refused to take his order because he would spend the entirety of her shift flirting with her.

She blew him a kiss, heading to the backroom to grab more ingredients.

“Your drink, sir,” the barista said, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“Sorry. Thanks.” He took it and took a sip, sighing in satisfaction as the taste hit him.

He turned to leave when he noticed the spelling on the cup. “Stevie Randel.”

“You spelled my name wrong. Like, really wrong.”

“Steve,” Evie said, her tone warning. “Just drink your apple juice and stop complaining.”

He shut his mouth, giving the barista a dirty look as he handed her the money.

If Evie wasn’t there (and 80% percent of his impulse control (Soda was the other 20% but his impulses were just as chaotic as Steve’s so he didn’t count)) Steve would have thrown the drink in the barista's face.

“Stevie Randel” his ass. Fucking idiots…

Sodapop:

He often accompanied Johnny to the Starbucks, partly because Johnny didn’t like going by himself, partly because Pony liked to go, and mainly because Sandy worked there and he would sit there, watching her flirt with guys that weren’t him.

It broke his heart, and often led to him going home to cry in Darry’s arms, but he needed the reminder that he wasn’t enough for her, that she found comfort in another man’s arms and bore his child even when Soda was ready to give up everything for her.

Trailing behind his brother and friend, Soda listlessly ordered his drink, watching as Sandy gave her phone number to someone he recognized from school.

He picked up his drink and sat down, sipping his milk. Ideally, it would be chocolate milk, but Sandy’s friend, a new worker, was adamant it wasn’t on the menu.

He didn’t know what made her dump him, but he had an idea it stemmed from his lack of attention.

He finished his milk and left, following Ponyboy and Johnny out to the car. He lifted his cup to study the doodles Evie liked to draw on his friend group’s cups, and frowned.

The new girl was the one who wrote his name, since Sandy still couldn’t look him in the eyes and refused to help clarify how to spell it.

He frowned and showed it to Ponyboy.

“Sota Pop Curtis” was written on it.

Ponyboy tilted his head. “How’s about that, Sota.”

Soda grinned, ruffling his hair. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“Made you laugh.”

“Everything makes him laugh,” Johnny pointed out. “Soda’s almost never without a smile.”

“I think you mean Sota,” he corrected, causing Johnny to roll his eyes and Pony to snicker.

Yeah, he could work with this.

[skysole]

anon I swear I'm almost done with the starbucks thing, I just keep getting distracted. I just have two more to write :( I have not forgotten you

[skysole]

OutsidersIn is unavailable to record the live tonight! If anyone else could, please do and post it on YT!

[skysole]

Broadway's Brent Comer in the chat, ladies and gentlemen

(henry just went live for a second to show us he's mid-show swinging on for chet! and brent was being himself. in the chat) (also he said davis is okay just a minor injury)

[skysole]

I need to start writing again and I'm starting small (i have not forgotten you anon, I have yours half written, I started it the day you sent it to me, I just lost all motivation)

/ is romantic, & is platonic

[skysole]

I need to start writing again and I'm starting small (i have not forgotten you anon, I have yours half written, I started it the day you sent it to me, I just lost all motivation)

/ is romantic, & is platonic