I remember it like it was yesterday, although it was decades ago.
My sister and I had been fighting again, like we did so often, like I suspect most sisters do at that age.
This fight got more heated than usual. I screamed an obscenity at my sister before turning to storm out of the room, but then my neck suddenly whipped back painfully and I realised she was yanking my hair. In pain and shock, I spun around and slapped her hard across the face.
Skirt: Fint Top, hat and gloves: Vintage/thrifted Bag: Baby, the Stars Shine Bright Parasol: Alice and the Pirates Tea cup and saucer earrings were bought at the Romantic à la Mode fair, but I can’t remember the artist/brand’s name. :(
This is a ceramic light blue cup and saucer lovingly hand painted with a witchy design.
The saucer is painted with a blue pentagram in the middle around which are dark pink sigils with light glittery purple dots around the edge.
The inside cup features the hand made sigil at the very bottom in blue with dots of dark pink up the sides.
The paint is fixed and dishwasher safe so its perfect for a relaxing cup of herbal tea, or indeed any tea!
“Bring her back,” Kastiel had shouted, clawing at the floorboards in the House of Mist. “Bring her back!” “She’s gone, Kastiel,” Amren said, pulling him to his feet. Kastiel shook his head. “How do you know? How do you know where she went, if she’s alright, if she’s made it? How do you know?” Amren’s mouth was about to open, about to make a sound, before Kastiel was yanked from his dream. He was sweaty, despite the open windows that let the cool breeze of the night in. He wished the dream hadn’t ended so abruptly, so he could hear Amren’s steady voice, explaining to him everything so vividly, so clearly, as if to say how could you ever doubt me, Kastiel? Now, he lay awake in the bed he’d shared with Seraphine. It was cold and empty—just as he was. Though he couldn’t shake that feeling, that undeniable dread at the thought of Seraphine gone from him. Somewhere he couldn’t go. I came alive when I met you she had said to him. Yet she still left. And he didn’t come with her. The shadows rippled in the corner of his eye. Anyone who wouldn’t have known what to look for could have easily mistaken it for nothing. Though Kastiel knew better. “Father asked you to spy on me again?” he said into the shadows. “Not quite,” Azriel said, appearing at the foot of his bed. “I’m just here to check on you.” Kastiel turned those words over and over in his head. He couldn’t understand what exactly he was feeling—couldn’t even put it into words. But he was certain on one thing—he shouldn’t have let Seraphine’s fingers slip from his hands. He shouldn’t have let her go through the portal alone, without him, without telling her how he felt. Letting Seraphine go was the biggest mistake of his life. “I’m going to get her back. I’m going to tell her.” He met his uncle’s eyes and shifted to the side of the bed to make room. Azriel laid down next to him and together, they comforted each other in their silence.
I was inspired to write this today while thinking of parentlock, and just thinking about how when John moves back to Baker Street, it ain’t gon take these idiots months or years for that tension to break, they’re gonna get going in days or weeks lmao.
I am quite sick today and have been for almost a week so excuse me for this dump of emotions and also if there’s typos or any crap :D
It comes on suddenly, one afternoon at Baker Street.
John is descending the stairs from his bedroom to the sitting room, having taken Rosie to her cot for a nap, and he’s grateful that at only a few months over a year old, she still requires them (quite soon she will also require a room of her own in the flat, a topic which John has steadfastly avoided acknowledging). He’s barely cleared the last step before Sherlock appears at his shoulder with a cup of tea.
“I heard the fuss she gave you before she finally fell asleep,” Sherlock says, voice and smile soft. “I made sure this would be hot for when you came down.”
John wonders if, after ten, twenty, thirty more years, he’ll ever be able to truly forgive himself for hurting this man. Or if he’ll ever truly deserve to have him in his life.
He takes the cup and saucer, fingers brushing pale knuckles. Desire, anxiety, and the deepest love he’s ever known sweep up his veins, and his next action is instantaneous.
He inhales deeply through his nose, steps directly between Sherlock’s legs, turns him so his back hits the front door, slips the hand not holding the saucer through dark curls, and pauses for one moment. He locks onto Sherlock’s impossibly gentle, molten silver, and quite thoroughly dilated eyes.
“Sherlock.” He’s not sure if he’s asking or telling.
“John.” The response comes in a hushed, broken baritone, and John grips both saucer and hair tighter as he presses in and fits their mouths together.
Sherlock yields to him, as some part of John had always expected. He’s softer now, less sharpness and haughty grace, more compassion and benevolence. John has never stroked his face, but he does so now; he imagines that before now, before their embrace weeks previous, Sherlock would never have felt as warm and soft and consuming as he does now.
Perhaps not suddenly, John thinks. This has been building between them since he returned to Baker Street, since Sherlock came back from the dead, since the very first day they met.
The cup rattles in the saucer as he attempts to shift even closer, lips and tongue now moving against Sherlock’s, desperate and burning with a million missed opportunities. He remembers the spindly table near the door with great relief, and breaks away to set the saucer atop a small stack of books balanced upon it, and pull down a shaking breath.
“I’m in love with you,” he tells Sherlock without preamble, hands clutching broad shoulders beneath a silken dressing gown. “And I always fucking have been.”
Sherlock’s chest is heaving and there are tears shining on his cheeks and John waits for him to respond.
There will be no way for them to say everything that needs to be said in this moment, but he hopes they’ll have time.
“Think of how much time we’ve wasted,” Sherlock finally replies, voice drowned in fresh tears. Lost. Heartbroken. John never wants to see that wretched expression on his face again.
“No,” he manages, hands moving to pull Sherlock in by the waist, and he’s a bit startled at the honest sensual growl his own voice has become. “Think how much we have to make up for, and how much time we’ll have to do it.”
“John, I’ve loved you for longer than you know.” Sherlock looks as overwhelmed as John feels, and the corners of his own eyes burn. “Please say you’ll stay. With Rosie. Forever. There will never be anything more important to me than the both of you.”
“Not even the work?” John laughs through a sob.
Sherlock’s answering laugh is deep and dulcet, and his hands grasp John’s face to bring them back together in a kiss amid the taste of tears.
The tea goes cold. John is consoled by the idea that there will be more, for the rest of their lives.
Revelation comes from the Latin word revelare and means to lay bare. It is a drawing back of the curtain and opening the mind to truths about what it means to be human in the world. As humans, we often seek revelations about how we should be in the world. Whether we are seeking meaning and structure in our lives or just what we should do in the next few hours, we seek patterns that reveal truths. This revelatory tea, made from hibiscus and cinnamon, can elevate your thoughts and help you see your way more clearly.
You Will Need
Cinnamon (a crushed nib off a cinnamon stick)
Tea cup and saucer
Pen and paper
Preparation If it is part of your practice, cast a circle. As you sit with your ingredients before you, centre yourself. Ground yourself in the present moment by focusing on your breath, the sensations of your body, and your connection to the earth.
Casting Begin by placing a pinch of hibiscus and a smidge of cinnamon in the bottom of a tea cup. Next, set a kettle to boil. When the water has reached a low boil pour the water over the hibiscus and cinnamon and allow it to steep for no less than ten minutes and no more than fifteen.
While waiting for the hibiscus tea to steep, write your question, concern, or dilemma down. You may wish to make notes underneath your question of any key facts, people, or dates that will impact your choices. Then consider the different angles and approaches you could take; what are the potential consequences and what could you gain? Contemplate your question and propose multiple solutions. You may find your mind wanders during this process and that is okay; when you notice your attention has shifted gently draw it back.
After the tea has steeped, hold the cup before you and recite the following three times with intent:
Consider my situation Give to me a revelation
Drink the tea, allowing your thoughts to settle like the leaves in the cup. Leave a very small amount of liquid in the cup. Then take the cup by the handle in your left hand and give it three swift circles. Be sure to move it in a deocil (sunwise, clockwise) direction. You will see the leaves shift and cling to the cup. Next, invert the cup over the saucer and allow the remaining tea water to run out. Then set the cup before you and look at leaves, opening your mind and imagination to what you see. Look for patterns and images. Perhaps, you see a bell, a bird, a letter, or a number. Record on your paper the images you see and write down what they might represent and how it applies to your situation.
After you have considered these things, set the paper aside and allow the revelation to steep in you like the herb steeped in the water. When the time is right your mind will settle on a way forward and you will be able to proceed.
Bell: warning, anticipated news
Wand: creative action
Bird: forward movement (when flying) or luck (when roosting)
Heart: listen to your emotions and relationships
Moon: seek wisdom, draw on your strength
Serpent: deception, flattery
Notes Hibiscus: associated with Venus and the feminine; boosts clairvoyance and psychic energy Cinnamon: associated with Sol, fire, and the masculine; adds sanctification and protection Reading Tea Leaves: practised in many cultures throughout the world, the symbols can be subjective and should be interpreted through your intuition.
So aliens just don’t really have just hobbies. They all have these “logical selective” activities. They don’t take up room but keep the boredom at bay. Humans… not so much. Clutter. Clutter everywhere. Items and random things.
Someone has all these dolls. Toys for children and they just, keep them. Brush their hair and make them clothes but otherwise - WHAT IS THE PURPOSE? Someone collects tea cups with saucers. Not to use. Not whole sets. Just singulars. WHY?! Mardi gras necklaces, bottle caps, striped clothing, pillows, yarn (and all the knitting consequences afforded that), stuffed animals, pebbles, SIGNS FROM POSTS - THAT IS ILLEGAL, HUMAN, CEASE…
So much of it is USELESS CLUTTER. What is the point?! And asking a human is not going to help, what do they do that, “I dunno, I just like it/them/those things” but, but, but…
Humans are collectors. They just… keep things. Comforting reasons and personal preference reasons and a million other non-survival related reasons. They just, don’t get it. The aliens are left scratching their heads (or otherwise) trying to understand such behavior. The rooms of repose are small and barely large enough to contain all of daily life matter - why fill it up even more?