if i saw this every morning

Spoonie Witches and Medication.

I saw a post a bit ago about the importance of taking your medications as a witch. I can’t stress this enough. As a spoonie with Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder it’s super important for me to self care by taking my medication doses daily. This past week, dealing with the death of my grandfather I missed EVERY morning dose. I’m paying for it dearly right now.

Without our medications our vibrations and attunement to our craft go all wonky. We can’t objectively divinate, energy is sluggish and low, not helping at all in spells. It throws everything off.

Self care is so important while practicing witchcraft. We want to impart high energy and positivity in what we do and if we work with hexes we want to be clear headed and not over stimulated with negativity to begin with. An imbalanced state of mind will directly imabalce our energy and how we conduct it.

Right now I desperately need to focus on self care rituals and meticulously taking my medication to bring balance back to my being. Until then I won’t be picking up the cards or doing spells. Crystals and essential oils will become my best friends. Also bath magic focusing on bringing in peace and calm.

So TL/DR neurodivergent witches remember to take your meds if that’s part of your routine for health to keep your craft ship shape!

I'll Be Good

Originally posted by loveviral

Request: Hiiii, can u please do an anti fic based on the song ill be good by jaymes young? Thank youuu


I thought I saw the devil

This morning

Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue

With the warning

To help me see myself clearer

I never meant to start a fire

I never meant to make you bleed

I’ll be a better man today

Keep reading

I woke up at 6:15, as I do, and saw the sunrise was happening at 6:40. I got myself together, weighed myself, as I do every morning, was disappointed, and trudged to the sunrise.

I walked to the pier at Hollywood beach and felt too antsy to just sit and wait, so I walked to Foster beach and further up the sandy path. I called my dad and we caught up - he’s thinking of buying a whole bunch of land in Arkansas, for retirement. He’s disappointed that after spending a week with my mom and feeling closer to her, now that they’re in their respective homes, he feels distant again.

I am, so far, incredibly happy with the results of the surgery. My stomach looks normal. It does not feel normal, but they also probably entirely changed the composition of my body in the abdominal region, so that’s to be expected. I’m looking forward to being able to lift myself up using just my abs. The simple things.

I am not happy with my weight, and I’m afraid I’ll never be. In a month I will be shopping for a dress for my friend’s wedding, and I want to buckle down on my eating til then. Counting macros, actually sticking to them, and doing what exercise I can. I’m not allowing myself to complain about something that is now in my control.

I am jealous of every single runner I see. I have a prescription to start PT again starting next week. I’m debating going somewhere new, but the convenience of the Athletico I go to is hard to beat. I just want to run. I am also considering a personal trainer, after at least a month of physical therapy, for general and overall strength. I want to ensure my form is the best it can be.

In one month I’ll be in Tempe for work. The plan is to rent a car after the conference, and I’m afraid my continuing foot/calf issue will limit my ability to drive. At the end of October I somehow convinced A to go to Grand Rapids… for a giant corgi fest. He says he’s only going for Founders, but really the corgis are where it’s at.

Happy Sunday.

Sometimes the customer is wrong for unrelated reasons.

Due to the well of my friends’ “def not an axe murderer” date recommendations drying up, I have turned to that most sacred of modern relationship institutions: online dating. As a very busy person trying to get it in with other very busy people, I prize honestly and directness above all else when it comes to profile creation. I include full body shots in my photos, try to minimize the use of MySpace angles in selfies, and write at the very top of the summary/caption/profile that I am fat. Not “curvy,” not “thick,” not “lots to love”–I’m f*cking fat. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also known that weight is a dealbreaker for lots of people. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.

About a year ago I met “Evan” via Tinder. We exchanged friendly messages for a few hours one night and agreed to meet up for drinks the following evening. I waited for a full hour past the designated time, and just as I was getting up to leave, the texts started rolling in.

“I can see you sweating from here.” “How long does it take you to roll out of bed every morning?” “Is there an earthquake or are you just getting up for more pretzels?”

Really idiotic, juvenile shit. Four separate numbers, commenting on things like my clothes, which clued me in that the senders were nearby. This went on for 15 minutes before I finally saw Evan, trying to hide in at a corner table and giggling with a group of buddies. I made eye contact, saw that he saw me, and then walked out. The texts kept up until I blocked the numbers a few hours later.

I ran into Evan about 3 weeks later. We got on the same elevator, and he tried really hard at being super interested in the emergency phone instructions. I just confronted him, and he admitted it was just some “game” that him and his friends play. He knew I was fat before agreeing to meet up; they all did, because that’s what they do. Match up with fat women, then either ghost them or “troll” them at the meet-up. It was also kinda obvious he’d never seen any consequences from this bullshit, as he was sweating pretty hard and looked more humiliated than I felt. I just said whatever and walked out, expecting to never see him again.

About a month ago, some local foodie wrote a great review of the restaurant I own, and we’ve been slammed ever since. In the past, I stayed mostly in the kitchen, but I’ve been doing more and more front-of-house stuff lately, and Valentine’s Day I was working a bit of a split between the two.

I saw Evan just as he was pushing in his date’s chair. My name isn’t on the restaurant, and he didn’t see me. I checked the section up at the hostess stand and saw that one of my favorite old-timers, Nan, was going to be his waitress. I went to the bar till, took out $400, put it in her hands, and said, “This is going to be your only table for the rest of the night. You are going to make this the worst date he has ever been on.”

She spilled every single thing she brought out to the table, all over him. I was waiting for him to blow up on Nan, but he bottled it up, obviously trying to make a good impression on his date. She seemed like a perfectly lovely lady; I told Nan to make sure everything was good for her and terrible for Evan.

She poured ice water on his d*ck. She smacked the back of his head with the edge of a tray. Spilled soup on his shirt. Dropped every fork he asked for. I personally oversalted his food, used the shit liquor for his drinks, used flour instead of sugar on his dessert. To be honest, I don’t know why he didn’t just walk out. He must have really wanted to f*ck this woman.

Finally, he cracked. Demanded Nan find the manager and bring her out. I was only too happy to emerge from the kitchen with my chef’s coat and say what, I’m not ashamed to admit, I’d been planning out all night.

“I would have said hi earlier, but I didn’t want the earthquake to disturb your dinner.”

I will savor the look on Evan’s face for the rest of my life.

He was a little too flummoxed to explain, so I pulled a chair up to the table and introduced myself to his date, Amanda. Told her how I met Evan. Showed her some fun old messages. Then I told gave her a voucher for a free meal on her next visit and told Evan to get the f*ck out and never come back.

He deleted his Tinder profile.

“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 

A Note on Reblogging (Your Own Fic/Art/Stuff/Etc.)

Look, here’s the deal with tumblr: it moves fast. A lot of people follow enough blogs that scrolling through one’s entire dash is impossible. I remember the days when I could wake up in the morning and scroll back to the last post I saw before bed. Sweet, summer child.

Here’s the other deal with tumblr: I see so much anxiety about reblogging one’s own stuff, be it art; analysis; fanfiction; hell, personal posts and replies. I have (and continue to feel deeply) that anxiety. Every time, my inner critic and I go through the same song and dance.

Critic: You look like you’re begging for notes/replies/reblogs. People will think you’re needy/full of yourself/have to be the center of attention. You already have a few notes, why do you need more? Other people have it worst than you. Ugh, you’re just clogging the dashes of your followers. If they wanted to read it, they’d have read it already.

Me: *ball of anxiety* You’re right. Wait, no you’re not. Wait, maybe you are. Wait, no—

I’d say it’s 50/50, even now, that I’ll reblog myself. 

And you know what? Fuck that. 

  • Not everyone can get through their dash in a sitting.
  • Timezones are a thing.
  • Work hours are a thing, also affected by timezones.
  • Life away from tumblr is a thing (what??? I know).

There are so many reasons a person might not see your fic/art/stuff the first time. Reblog it the next day. Reblog it a week from now. Hell, set up a schedule or a queue and have it reblog itself three months from now. Go back through old fics and reblog the ones you really liked; I guarantee you have followers who are new enough to have never seen it or who would like to reread it.

Be proud of the work you do.

Oh yeah, I felt that resistance from here.

Say it again. Out loud. Write it on a post-it note and stick it where you’ll see it.

Be proud of the work you do.

You wrote/made it for a reason. And yeah, part of that reason was probably to share it with other fans. Otherwise, why post at all? I know. Man, I get it. I’m cringing even writing that. The fucked-up “don’t show off” mentality runs deep, right?

Fuck that, too.

If you have followers who unfollow you because you’re reposting your stuff (and this is hard to prove, remember; maybe they quit tumblr, maybe their interests diverged from yours, whatever), who cares? Let them go. For everyone who leaves you, many will stay. And many will be happy to see that thing they missed because of work, life, sleeping. Especially if you follow a few points of tumblr/dash etiquette:

  • Use cuts/read mores for anything longer than a few hundred words (I tend to cut at about 400-500 words, though if something’s under about 700 I might leave it).
  • Reblog at reasonable intervals (day/evening, next day reblog, etc. Hourly might be a bit much ;D).
  • Use tags so people can filter appropriately.

Be proud of the work you do.

(Write it down. Yes, you. <3)

So today I realised something -
These skittles are cool, sure. But let me get needlessly deep a sec.
I always thought I didn’t like the yellow skittles, or the orange ones. So if I saw them in the pack I’d leave them or give them to someone else.
And today I’m munching on these white Skittles thinking “oh no I’m going to come across a yellow one any minute” and you know what? I must have come across a yellow one by now because almost the whole pack is gone. But you know what else? I’ve enjoyed every flavour I’ve put in my mouth this morning. I just think skittles have summed up the way things like homophobia work. They see the label, the ‘colour’ and think “wow, better stay away”, but if you take that away, chances are they’d enjoy the different flavours all the same.
Back to your regularly scheduled poetry soon everyone !!

So I’ve been using my bullet journal for three years non-stop because the system worked so well for me and I thought I would never go back to a traditional planner… until about a month ago I discovered the Best Self Co planner 😍

I saw that all the components of my bullet journal that I draw out every day: schedule, tasks, morning and evening gratitude, lessons learned, wins, habit tracker, in-depth goal setting and more are ALL in this planner. 💫

I used it for the first time yesterday in this two pages per day spread and had the most productive day I’ve probably ever had 🤔  plus there was enough room to add my own creative touches, track meals, add quotes, etc. 

Yeah.. this one is a winner, guys🌱 my studygram

That Night

I had just come out the shower and was now chilling in my boxers. There I was laying in my bed watching the Justice League DVD on a Saturday night while my room mate was out having fun at the club on this rainy night. In my opinion, this was a better way to spend my night instead of going out in the rain to get sick. I am Derek, a slender light skinned black male with brown eyes. I’m not much of a party enthusiast as most in my age category of 18 are but I am human and my dick was starting to make me aware of that fact as it ascended from slumber. If you haven’t guessed already, I’m a virgin. I lowered the TV volume and just as I was about to give it some attention, there was a text notification sound on my phone .

Me (Derek Towers)

My friend AJ hit me up on whatsapp. Now AJ was an attractive guy with an amazing ass and what I had to guess was a pretty good size dick. I could only imagine as I saw the outline once while we were on the beach. AJ was an easygoing fellow about a year older than myself. We met at my job at the hotel where I was a waiter and he was a lifeguard. He was cool and we got along great but he was ridiculously homophobic and there was no way I was going to let him know that I played for both teams.

After our conversation, I still had my little problem. I opened the tumblr app on my phone and scrolled down looking at sexy guys for hours, occasionally watching some porn video. Eventually, I saw a new story by my favorite author @morrisondauthor​ entitled  “Freak by Night 7: Freaky Sneaky.” His stories are always so sexy that I find myself ejaculating before I get to the end. I get so upset when he takes a while to post his stories because they give me life and take me to a world I could never imagine. For some reason, the context usually gets me hornier than the images he uses. I got to the good part and it made me so close to my climax when my phone notification alarmed me. If you haven’t guessed, it was AJ letting me know he got home safely. He went on to tell me about his night and how he had four rounds of sex with his date in her car and she came all 4 times. I was so jealous, I was trying to come once to satisfy myself and he interrupted me boasting about his extravagant time. Now all I had in my mind were images of his sexy ass f***ing her sexy ass in the car and my vivid imagination made me ten times hornier. I had to get my nut so I told him the truth.

Me: You got your nut now I’m going to work on mine

Him: With Pamela? 😂😂😂 Night. Don’t forget the jergens.

I didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead I went to the living room and sat in the couch with nothing on but my boxer briefs. My dick stuck fully erect through the hole in my boxers and I jacked away once again replaying Morrison’s story in my head imagining it was me coming down the stairs to a sexy surprise. The sound of the thunderstorm outside with sprinkles of rain violently pelleting the window fueled my hormones and I could feel my balls ready to release the seed from their constraints. Suddenly there was a loud crash at my doorstep synonymous with a lightning bolt outside which ignited fear into my heart and caused me to forget that I was horny. Cautiously I approached the door and peered through the peep hole to notice nobody standing in the hallway. Still my curiosity wouldn’t let me rest so I opened the door ready to put my self defense skills to the test if I needed it. Imagine my disappointment when I viewed my roommate, Kevin wet from head to toe lying at our doorstep in the fetal position. He appeared to be highly intoxicated and since he doesn’t have a car, I can only assume that a Good Samaritan literally dropped him at the door. As the epinephrine wore off, I started to realize that I was once again disturbed from achieving my natural high.

Even though I was upset, I couldn’t leave him there like that so I dragged him inside. Like AJ, Kevin was straight, usually requesting that I keep the “gay shit” to myself. Yes, he knew about me. I’ve known him since we were kids because we were neighbors and grew up living in each other’s homes. When I found out that I had a taste for both girls and boys, I was around 13 and Kevin was the only person I told at the time. His reaction to the news could have been better. He called me a faggot and stormed out of my house. We didn’t speak for weeks afterward. Eventually he came to me randomly one day and apologized. I couldn’t forgive him and asked him to leave letting him know just how much he hurt me. He didn’t give up though and proved himself from that day forth that he wanted to be my best friend again. He fought off bullies, walked with me home from school and acted like the friend he was before I told him. I forgave him after a while and we were boys again. He constantly tries to get me to go out and drink with him but like I said before, I really don’t have a taste for it. We got this apartment when we moved to Florida for college and we get along well despite his occasional battles with alcoholism. Even so, it’s never been this bad.Kevin loved the gym and he worked out every weekday evening at 5 and went jogging every morning at 6. He took his physical health very seriously which is why I never understood why he drank alcohol. He also managed to maintain above average grades for his track and field scholarship at UCF.

Kevin Dill

I lifted Kevin off the floor and even though he was rather heavy, got him to the bathtub and removed the wet clothes from his barely responsive body. I haven’t seen him naked since we took baths together as kids but when I saw his naked body I had to step back and admire the marvelous muscular masterpiece. My eyes wandered to his dick which wasn’t even hard yet his uncircumcised attachment was 7 inches long and fatter towards the base. I finally snapped back into reality left to get a glass of warm water and an empty bucket in case he vomited. I ran some warm water in the bathtub and thoroughly bathed him. I couldn’t believe I was cleaning a grown man, but I didn’t want him to go into hypothermia. Not only was he drunk, but he was also wet from the cold rain. He started to gain a reasonable level of consciousness.

“Derek? What are you doing?”

“You’re drunk and cold just relax and drink this.”

I gave him an aspirin and the glass of warm water and watched him take it.

“I’m naked”

“I know”

“Why?”

“You were wet and unconscious”

“You couldn’t let me sleep it off?”

“I’m sorry would you rather get a cold or die from dehydration and hypothermia?”

He sucked his teeth, “you didn’t have to remove my boxers.”

“Hey if it’s wet it comes off.”

“Get out,” he said covering his private area.

“Nope, you could pass out at any minute. Look, I already lifted your heavy ass in here, removed your clothes by myself then took my bare hands and wiped your dirty ass. In fact it was my hands that peeled back your foreskin and cleaned your penis. It’s a little too late for modesty.”

He was speechless so I said, “What’s that on the floor? Pick it up you’re making a mess.”

He looked down, “What? What are you talking about?”

“Your bottom lip, now get out the tub and come dry off”

“Ha Ha…very funny,” he sarcastically mumbled as he stumbled out the bathtub.

I was right there to catch him with a towel and prevent him from falling. I began to dry his body when he smartly remarked, “I can do it myself you know”

I removed my body support and he dropped to the ground barely breaking his fall with his forearms.

“I thought you had it.”

“Help me up”

“Help me up what?”

“Help me up please”

“Help me up please what?”

“D’, I’m not saying that”

“Ok,” I began to leave the room.

“Fine, Please help me up Supreme Overlord Towers”

“No problem.” I helped him up and noticed he had an erection.

“Friend of yours?” I teased.

“Shut up!”

I assisted him to his bedside and helped him slide on his boxers.

“I feel so embarrassed,” he admitted

“Why? It’s just us here, chill.”

“This is not fair. You’ve seen me naked now and I even got hard,” he slapped his face in embarrassment.

“We used to bathe together all the time, washing each other’s backs and laughing at each other’s nakedness. What’s the big deal?”

He couldn’t make eye contact and stayed quiet so after sucking my teeth, I slid off my boxers, threw them to the side and danced around in a circle wagging my dick from left to right.

“Woah!” He exclaimed.

“Now I don’t have on anything. Are you happy now?”

He laughed hysterically, “that’s not what I meant.”

“Go to bed.” I helped him lay down and covered him with a warm blanket.

I turned around to leave but to my surprise, he grabbed my hand, “Please, don’t leave me again.”

“Again? I never left you.”

He burst into tears, “yes you did. When I called you by that word and you got upset with me, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I never wanted to lose my best friend. Those were the hardest months of my life, I never even cried over a girl like that.”

Confused, all I could say was, “This must be the alcohol talking.” I turned to leave again.

“Please!” He shouted.

“Okay, okay, just don’t yell like that again. The neighbors are sleeping.”

“Sleep here tonight.”

“If that would make you feel better, fine, but don’t vomit on me please.” I went to the corner to get my boxers.

“You don’t need those.”

Once again, confused but internally contented. I happily obliged, turned off the light went on the other side of his queen sized bed, pulling the covers over my exposed body.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

The sound of rain pattering on the window echoed in the room and I was falling asleep. Unexpectedly, I felt a warm gentle touch on my dick that slammed the emergency brake of the train to dreamland. My dick was being massaged by none other than my best friend. I silently protested in my head not wanting to disturb the amazing sensation I was feeling which caused me to leak pre-ejaculation fluid. My brain finally gained control and I managed to stop him.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Shh. Just let it happen.”

“Now you sound like a rapist. This has to be the alcohol affecting you. You are not in your right frame of mind.” I got up and as I was standing up to leave, he pulled my hand and I landed supine right on the side of him. He lay against me leaning on his side I could see the shadow of his head in front of me and I could feel he was staring at me. Lightning flashed and I saw the look in his eyes that paralyzed me for that moment. I felt the heat radiating from his head increasing in intensity as he slowly approached my face. I felt like Chris from Get Out in the hypnosis scene, helplessly watching this happen through the windows of my eyes. When the eternity passed and he connected with my lips, the curtains closed but I could sense the brightest flashes of lightning outside. I regained control and participated in the best kiss of my life. Opening our eyes and pulling apart met us with nature’s fireworks applauding our performance.

“Wow,” we chorused.

He grabbed my body and brought me into a passionate make out session, rubbing his well toned body against mine allowing me to once again feel it’s shape, this time against my own. He went down to the left side of my neck and started sucking on it while rubbing his hands all over my back down to my bare ass. I hate hickeys but the euphoria was too intense to stop. I felt electricity flowing through my body as he continued. He kissed his way down to my left nipple and I expressed a soft moan. It felt like there was a string directly attached to the pleasure nerves in my dickhead. He continued kissing down my abs until he got to my pubic hairs and he got up. My eyes opened reacting to the sudden pause. We breathed deeply and synchronized.

“I never did anything with a dude before,” he admitted

“I’m still a virgin,” I countered.

“I know.”

I felt my face blush with embarrassment only to be aroused with pleasure at the immediate moist warm sensation that came from the head of my dick. Did he really just put my dick in his mouth? I looked down and he continued down the nine and a half inch solid shaft managing to get half of it in his mouth. That was the most mind blowing feeling in my life.

“You sure you never did this before?”

He chuckled and continued up and down repetitively sending me to a new level of heaven. He paused again and I couldn’t handle any more suspense. I reversed our positions and did exactly as he did to me in the same sequence. I thought my reaction was intense but as I sucked his neck his hands went all over my body and their favorite place was my ass. I worked my way to his nipples and he let out the sexiest deep moan that I couldn’t compare to all my years of watching porn. It send jolts through my body causing me to be extra turned on. I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to know what that dick tasted like. I skipped his abs and went straight to his pubic hairs which like mine were short lavishing in the musk they produced. I licked his dick from the base along the underside to the tip where I licked around the head tasting the pheromones produced. I experimented sticking my tongue in the entrance and he jumped.

“That was intense!” he smiled

I continued taking his head in my throat and he rewarded me with another deep moan. I continued my assault down the shaft attempting to go as far as I could. I made it as far as about 3 inches when ii felt my teeth hit his skin and I pulled back thinking about how much that hurt.

“Easy with the teeth baby”

Baby? If I wasn’t black I’m sure my face would be an apple right now. I tried again, this time opening my mouth as wide as I could and I made it down 5 inches of his eleven before I started to choke and retreat for air. He moaned again and that made me determined to get to the base. I went for it again this time holding my breath and swallowing as I went down fighting hard to resist the urge to cough. I think I made it as far as 9 inches that time but it was as far as I could possibly go. He let out another deep moan lasting longer than any of the predecessors.

“Damn baby no girl ever committed to going that far down.”

I was happy to satisfy him but after that I went up and down taking in only what I could manage, slobbering all over that sexy tool of his. After a few minutes, he pulled my head up and lead me in another intense kiss.

“I want to make love to you baby.” He stared intimately at me.

“How?”

“I want to fuck you.”

“You gotta let me fuck you too”

“No way I’m letting you anywhere near my ass with that thing.” He protested

“And I’m supposed to let you in mine?”

“Yeah but I love you and I want to prove it to you by taking your virginity.”

“I love you too and you can prove your love by letting me fuck you and take your virginity as well”

“I’m not a virgin.”

“Your ass is.”

“You always did have a smart mouth. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

“Well, the ball is in your court”

“Ugh….Okay, just go easy on me please.”

“I could say the same.”

“Okay turn over.”

“Umm no. We need to do a couple things to prepare first”

“We? Things like what?”

“Yes we! Come on, I’ll show you”

I went in my bedroom and grabbed my fleet. It’s a good thing I got two new bottles just in case a miracle happened. Didn’t think I’d get to use them so soon. I researched online how to prepare a long time ago and even practiced a couple of times. I taught Kevin what to do and after a while we were ready. We returned to his bedroom and turned his desk lamp on dimly. The patter of the rain was the only sound for a brief moment.

“That felt wierd,” he complained.

“Well there’s one more step we have to take,” I handed him the tube of lube.

“Hold on no need to rush just yet, I want to taste that ass first,” He kissed me intently then moved both of my legs up and attacking my asshole like it was his last meal. I don’t know which was better, that blowjob or the other level he was sending me to while he ate me. I felt his tongue go places that I didn’t know anything could. All of a sudden, I had this epileptic episode I couldn’t control. I was so weak after he finally finished with me. He grabbed the lube and inserted a finger inside my hole to open me up. He worked his second finger in there. and was about to enter.

“You better go up to 4 fingers, that thing is huge”

The third finger hurt like pins and needles. and the fourth was even worse. I really thought I was bleeding. He waited until I was comfortable, somehow managing to remain hard during the entire exercise. I guess he was as horny as I was. He entered me in the missionary position and I felt a sudden sharp pain as he passed my sphincter that sent kilojoules of electricity through my body. I cried and wanted to stop but he held me down and comforted me,

“Relax baby, just relax.”

I took slow deep breaths until the pain eased and he did not move. He waited until I was comfortable before he continued penetrating me at a steady pace. He didn’t go all the way in but he started a slow rhythm with about three inches of his massive meat. He only went further when I was in agreement. I stopped the rhythm and pushed him on his back without severing our connection. Gently I lowered myself onto his rod taking inch by inch until to my surprise, I fit the whole thing in there. I was so proud I almost didn’t notice the euphoric look on Kevin’s face.

“Damn baby, you sexy as f***,” he complimented.

I began a steady rhythm on him and I could feel him hitting my spot every time. Our session went on for a while. We went in every position we could imagine possible until he had me on my belly leaning against the edge of the bed drilling me.

“Hold on baby, you’re going to make me come,” I warned.

“That’s the plan baby,” he smirked.

I realized what he was trying to do and used every will power I had to stop myself from coming and resist him, ending that part of our session.

“You think you’re slick. I’m f***ing your ass tonight.” I retaliated.

He had a look of disappointment on his face but he lie back, removed his condom and succumbed to my wishes. He lie on his back rolling his eyes and pulled his leg up to reveal the prettiest pink spot I’ve ever seen in my life (only one I saw in person but it didn’t compare to anything in porn). I had to treat something so precious with the utmost care. I gently licked it for a few minutes before I let my tongue explore every delicious crevice of his ass it could reach. I imagine his ass would taste like ass but his was surprisingly sweet. I stuck my tongue inside and was shocked when I heard a deep moan escape his lips. I guess he was enjoying this as much as I was. I continued until I tasted something extra sweet and when I looked at it, it was a white fluid. I think he came from his ass. Damn I made him cream from eating him. I couldn’t believe it. His ass was moister than my tongue and I tasted as much as I could before grabbing the bottle of lube. I didn’t think I’d need it but I did not want to hurt him nor did I want him to chicken out. I inserted 2 of my fingers and they went in without a struggle. I had to fight with the third and fourth because his ass had a constant death grip on them. I positioned myself for entry and took it slow with him, exercising as much care as he did me. Like myself, he seemed to experience discomfort with the infiltration of the head. So I repeated the process and let him get used to it. After a while, he told me to go ahead. I started a slow rhythm  and carefully eased inch by inch into him until i was working 5 inches inside him. Without warning, he reversed the situation and put himself on top like I did. He started riding me. I was speechless but it felt so good when he slammed all the way down onto my dick taking all of it. He looked so sexy, I watched as his pecks vibrated and his ass jiggled moving up and down on me. He was so sexy I wanted to cry at the beauty I was beholding. His mouth was wide open and his eyes closed with his head tilted back moaning. He was enjoying this as much as I was. Once again we had another session with multiple positions until I was backshotting him. He creamed on my dick again throughout the experience. It felt so good, I knew I would climax soon.  He tried to run but I managed to pull him back every time. He said it was too intense and he couldn’t take much more, begging me to cum.

“What’s my name?”

“Derek”

“Wrong!” I violently pounded him.

“What’s my name?”

“I don’t know.” He cried.

“Yea you do,” I pounded harder, “what’s my name?”

“Supreme (moan) Overlord (moan) Towers,” he cried out in pleasure. With those words, 2 weeks of tension building erupted into the condom flooding it with life fluid. I came for a minute straight. I didn’t even know that was possible. The condom had the most cum I’ve ever seen in my life inside and I have know idea how all that fit in there. I looked down to see that Kevin came too. His sheets were soaked in his liquid release. There was so much I was sure he produced more than I did. We struggled to catch our breaths for bout five minutes. It was still raining and we took a shower together and had another make out session. We dried off and went to my room in our birthday suits. He spooned me and we had a long intense discussion even though it was now 3 in the morning.

“I wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was afraid.”

“Of what? I’m your best friend.”

“I don’t know. I panicked that day you told me and the reason I freaked out is because I didn’t know how to react. I developed feelings for you and didn’t know how to express myself.”

“All these years and you wait until now to tell me. So what now?”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..


Disclaimer: Persons in the images used are not necessarily as the story describes do not reflect their character or sexuality. They are a mere depiction of each character’s features. However if there is a problem, please write me and they will be replaced by similar entities

© I. Black 2017

Period Struggles Compilation For No Particular Reason

giant blood diaper

the bathroom stinks to hell for a week

sneezing

coughing

laughing

yet somehow crying my eyes out doesn’t cause debilitating pain

speaking of - CRAMPS

ALL OF THE CRAMPS

SERIOUSLY IT FEELS LIKE THAT METAL HEAD-THINGY THAT GIRL WORE IN THE FIRST SAW MOVIE IS AROUND MY HIPS

googling ways to relieve cramps and seeing pictures of women all folded up like human pretzels like what human being can actually do that with a pad on wtf

saying “fuck” every three minutes 

it’s 3 in the morning and I’m standing here in my underwear washing blood out of my pajamas literally fuck everything 

wtf these aren’t my usual pads what’s this bullshit why do these even exist

then when I get my period in a hotel and they give me cheap, crappy pads with no goddamn wings what the fuck kind of customer service is this

*drops something* *tries to pick it up without bending over*

*in the shower* is that dust or blood clots

oh hey look there’s blood on the floor again

*wakes up in a panic* IS THERE BLOOD ON MY SHEETS

oh good there’s nothing

*wakes up again two minutes later* BUT IS THERE BL—

*lies awake in bed all night convinced I’ve got a leak*

*one time, just one time, has a peaceful night’s sleep* *wakes up with a leak*

that weird feeling like you’re being stabbed in the vagina by tiny people with tiny swords

that other weird feeling like a zombie bit you inside your uterus and now it’s slowly rotting from the inside out

no I’m not exaggerating that’s exactly what it feels like

crying for no reason

did i mention giant blood diaper

because it’s literally a giant blood diaper

maxi pads. fucking maxi pads. 

hey if i jump out that window will i die 

lying in bed, curled into a tight ball, praying for the sweet embrace of death

pink painkillers 

all of the hot water bottles 

but let’s be real that shit doesn’t work 

neither do the painkillers tbh 

so then I come home and collapse onto my bed and suddenly my dog is there sniffing my butt like seriously as if this wasn’t embarrassing enough already

“alright class today we’ll warm up by running around the field” *screams* 

every time you sit out during the swimming unit in pe and the pe teachers side-eye you the whole time

plus all the girl’s periods synch up so like half the class is sitting on the bleachers dying on the inside and the pe teachers think it’s all a big conspiracy 

“you know they have invented solutions for this exact problem”

^no lie, my science teacher told us this last month. everyone just stared at him in silence until he changed the topic. 

can I get a sick note for my period?

when you have to change in the middle of class and you try to discreetly take your bag with you and everyone looks up

“hey can you check if there’s blood on my pants” 

“if you hate pads so much why don’t you try a tampon” oh yes sure let me just shove a tiny cotton stick up my vagina that sounds pleasant

when you complain about your period to the squad and suddenly half of the boys have disappeared off the face of the earth 

*displays slightest hint of irritation after being provoked for a prolonged period of time*  “geez someone’s on their period”

“looks like someone bought the wrong tampon brand lol”

no

no don’t make jokes about that

that shit is the worst

To quote iiSuperwomanii: “My shedding uterus has standards.” 

trying to open your pad as quietly as possible but you know the other girls in the school bathroom can hear

then you come out of the stall and make eye contact in the mirror and tHeY KnOw

AND HOW THE FUCK

DOES MY PERIOD SOMEHOW ALWAYS KNOW

WHEN TO COME AT THE EXACT MOST INCONVENIENT TIME?? 

oh it’s your birthday? here’s a fun present!

oh it’s christmas? guess who’s not going sledding 

oh you’re being sent on a six-hour hike on your school trip in a mountain with no bathrooms? this seems like a good time for satan’s waterfall 

oh you were looking forward to a nice, relaxed half-term break? lol bitch not anymore

*cries internally*

*cries externally*

*cries eternally*


I hope this has been educational 

Leather Jackets - Bucky Barnes AU

Request: “Can you make a Bucky imagine in which he’s like the bad boy who is really cool and falls for y/n and is super sweet around her?” // I did it as a Greaser AU because I was listening to the Grease soundtrack while writing lol

Word Count: 1167 // My requests are still open!!


The Greasers didn’t like to be messed with. If you’re not at their level, you can’t speak to them. You go near them, you’re dead.

Pacing quickly down the sidewalk, you avoided the glare of the boys in the red Chevrolet parked across the street. A message alert on your phone made you stop, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

Steve: Just overheard that the Greasers are gonna be at the coffee shop. Be careful.

Mentally groaning in fear of anyone hearing you, you slipped into the door of the cafe, walking with your head down.

“Hi, uh, Miss? What would you like?” The barista grinned at you, as you looked up from your phone. “Sorry, can I just have a juice please?”

“What’s your name?” She asked, holding your cup in one hand and a sharpie in the other. “Y/N.” You pronounced, smiling back.

Soon enough, your name was called and you took your drink, walking out of the store.

You looked around before pushing the door open, seeing the Chevrolet had moved. Breathing a sigh of relief, you pushed the door open and began your walk home.

Going to grab your phone from your back pocket, you bumped into someone.

Feeling a hand on your back, you looked up, making direct eye contact with one of the leaders of the greaser gang, Bucky Barnes.

“I am so sorry, I really wasn’t concentrating. I should look where I’m going, sorr-” You mumbled, rambling away, “Hey, don’t worry about it. Y/N, is it?” He smiled warmly at you, “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

“We have English together, right?” He asked, trying to making eye contact as you looked everywhere but his into his eyes.

“That we do,” you laughed nervously, “See you Monday, I guess.”

“See you Monday, Y/N.” He smiled, brushing past you as you walked back home, texting Steve about your ‘incident’.

Soon enough, Monday rolled around.

School always dragged along on a Monday. Whether it be the non existent enthusiasm from the students, or the bore of lessons from teachers paid less than they’re owed.

Grabbing your bag and heading out of the classroom, you avoided the glare of the same boys from the coffee shop stood outside your classroom.

You felt their eyes leave as you trailed outside to try and find your friends, Steve and Peggy.

Walking past the bleachers, you felt all eyes on you as hands gripped your shoulders.

“If it isn’t Little Miss Y/N.” You span around to be met with the eyes of one of Bucky’s gang, another member of the Greasers.

“H-hi?” You questioned, looking away from where he stared deeply at you, backed by two more Greasers; the rest sat on the bleachers.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. May I ask why this pretty little mouth of yours was talking to Barnes outside the coffee shop last night?” You looked up, horrified that anyone had seen yours and Bucky’s conversation.

“I-I didn’t mean anything by it! I bumped into hi-” He pressed a finger over your lips, his minions trailing behind you, as he whistled for more of them to come over.

You were surrounded. You’d seen this happen before, and you prayed every night that they would never do it to you.

Grabbing your bag roughly off your shoulders, you gasped as they pulled your books out one by one, until they reached your sketchbook.

“Well what do we have here? A sketchbook! Let’s have a looky here shall we?” He smirked, picking up the black book from your feet.

Flipping through your doodles and practices, you prayed they wouldn’t find your illustration of the picture Bucky had posted recently.

But they did. Just your luck.

“And it gets better! How 'bout we show this to Buck when he gets here, hey? Is that what you want, Y/N? Attention? Well, sweetheart, that’s what you’re gonna get.”

Tears began to spill down your cheeks as he cascaded the sketchbook to the ground once again, the pencil drawing looking like a watercolour.

“Now, Y/N. How 'bouts we deal with you.” He spat, getting closer to your face. Grinning, he grabbed your hair and pulled your face up to meet his eyes.

Taking a harsh slap to the face, you looked into his eyes as he laughed, “Fuck. You.” you spat.

“What was that, Y/N? Say that again.” He looked shocked, but hid it. “I said fuck you.” He looked at you again, “You’re gonna regret that Y/N.”

Taking another hit, you saw the blood hit the concrete on the other side of the book.

“Hey!” A loud voice echoed from outside their circle, as the rest of the group scattered, you sank to the floor.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” Bucky asked the boy stood opposite you, as you let more tears flow. “You know what, I don’t wanna hear it. Back off.”

Bucky kneeled in front of you, smiling softly. “Y/N?”

“Y-yeah?” You held your nose in fear of it bleeding further.

“I’m so sorry the did that to you, I promise I would never have let them if I would’ve known. Are you alright?”

“Apart from nursing a headache and this nose bleed, I’ll be okay.” You smiled back up at him, his eyes glistening as he looked at you. “Shit, you need to get to the nurse.” He looked around you at the destruction of your bag, trying to pick up your scattered books.

“Did you draw this?” He asked, awe taking over his features. “Um, yes, I did. I’m sorry, it’s lame. I just saw the picture on my feed and I needed prac-”

“Y/N, babe, this is incredible.” He grinned from ear to ear, holding the book so delicately. “T-thank you, Bucky. It means a lot.” He slung your bag over his shoulder, offering you a hand as he led you to the nurses office.

“I’m still so sorry, Y/N. Can I please take you for coffee or something to make up for it?” He asked, brushing your hair behind your ear as you held tissue to your nose.

“I don’t drink coffee, but I’m definitely always down for pizza.” You laughed, Bucky joining you. “Well, pizza it is. Are you free tonight?”

- 6 months later -

Finishing the final sentence of your last-minute homework, you shoved the books into your bag as a knock at the door snapped you out of the world of your science work.

Opening the door with a smile, you saw Bucky, donned in his leather jacket and all black outfit.

“Mornin’ baby.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips as you grinned into it. “Good morning, Bucky.”

“Did you sleep okay?” He asked, interlocking his fingers with yours. “I’d sleep better if my boyfriend wouldn’t keep messaging me every five minutes!”

“Well forgive me for caring about you!” He laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You know I love you really.” You nudged him slightly as he grinned. “I love you too, doll.”

i saw this post at like 2am and i had to rush to my computer to draw this hell…..horrible jean passione 

Harry Potter and His Complete Lack of Shower Etiquette.

Harry tossed his uniform over the back of the sofa as he flicked open the top few buttons of his shirt and entered the kitchen to get himself a long drink of water. He was hungry; Draco had already ordered Chinese. The take-out containers sat on the table, neatly arranged in the centre under a Stasis, with two plates, forks and the paper-wrapped chopsticks laid out ready. 

But it was a sudden craving for something cold and sweet that hit him and after pointlessly digging around in the freezer for a few seconds, he gave up and went looking for his boyfriend. He could hear the shower running now, as he walked further into the flat and the muffled humming that seemed strangely magnified as it echoed off the wet tiles. 

The bathroom door was ajar and Harry elbowed his way in. Draco was a long, blurred form in the tub behind the curtain, his hands in his hair as he lathered. He hummed the chorus of the song for a fifth time - he was pants at memorising the rest of the lyrics.

Snorting softly, Harry curled his fingers around a fistful of the damp curtain and pushed it aside with a careless, “Hey, are we out of–”

But his question was drowned out at Draco’s vague humming morphed into a severely high-pitched shriek as he turned around to face Harry, both hands flying down between his legs to cover his bits. Sweet smelling suds of shampoo ran down the sides of his face and his hair was sticking up in wet bunches. The shower was still running, pouring onto his shoulder and back, the steam rising around him like a cloud. His eyes were huge and round with shock and his mouth was open in a scream that went on and on. 

He was frankly completely adorable.

“Stop screaming.” Harry rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Draco, it’s just me. Are we out of ice cream? I saw a tub in there last week–”

“GET OUT!” Draco shrieked, lifting one hand to violently point a soapy finger towards the door, spattering Harry with streaks of apple scented water. “YOU ILL-MANNERED WRETCH! GET OUT!”

“Oh my god, I fucked you in here only this morning!” Harry reminded him incredulously. “I’ve seen you naked literally every single fucking day for over three yea–”

“HARRY, I WILL STAB YOU IN THE FUCKING EYE!” Draco bellowed, eyes bulging manically, hands curled into fists. “I HATE YOU! GET OUT! GET OUT!–”

“Fine!” Harry was already backing away. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath as he exited the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind himself so that the continued screams of have you no sense of propriety whatsoever and how is it that I’ve ended up with a shamelessly indecent, completely uncouth piece of shit like you faded away to muffled screaming coupled with the steady gush of the shower.

Harry laughed for a whole ten minutes.

(Insp.)

They’ve come back from a case, Rosie long-asleep in the upstairs bedroom where there’s just enough room for her cot and John’s bed, and Sherlock is ranting.

Stupid,” he spits out, pacing to and fro in the living room, his hands in his hair. “Why was she so stupid? Why kill them in the first place, when she knows she’s the best suspect?”

“Well, she loved him,” John offers, even though he knows Sherlock doesn’t really want his opinion.

Sherlock scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, not even looking at John. “She didn’t love him.”

“What?” John sits up from where he’s been lazing on his chair. “Of course she did. Listen, I know you like to dismiss ‘sentiment,’ Sherlock, but love makes people do crazy things, so-”

“That,” Sherlock says and his voice is flat and angry at the same time, “was not love. That was possession, that was ownership, it may even have been jealousy, but it was definitely not love.” He infuses the word with such contempt that it makes John flinch, but Sherlock is moving again, glaring at the world as though it had personally offended him. “If she loved him, she’d have let him go. She’d have done everything in her power to make sure that he was happy, even if that meant he was with someone else. She’d have killed - she’d have died herself - if it meant that he would have one millimetre more happiness in his life than otherwise. She would have protected his lover with her life, she’d have done absolutely anything in her power to give him anything he wanted. Instead, she killed them both in a fit of jealous rage, because she never really loved him, she loved owning him. Like a favourite pair of shoes, or a pretty picture.”

John is still trying to absorb that rant when Sherlock crosses the room and slams his bedroom door behind him.

John sits in silence for a few moments before heading to bed.

He wakes up an hour later and John Watson has never actually experienced an epiphany before, never experienced that moment Sherlock is always chasing where all the pieces come together and your brain dissolves into fireworks and you know everything but he’s pretty sure that he just had one.

Before he can even think, he’s downstairs, pushing open Sherlock’s door and standing there like a fool.

Sherlock sits up, sleep-mussed and soft, and says “John, what’s wrong? Is it Watson?”

John licks his lips and tries to speak and…nothing.

Tries again.

“You…you love me,” he manages, and it’s a bare whisper, all he can force past the weight in his chest, of ten years of unsaid words. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock is looking at him with horror in his eyes.

“I-I” Sherlock says, and John interrupts him.

“Please say I’m wrong, Sherlock, please say I’m wrong,” and he’s speaking quickly now, tears running down his face unchecked, and his leg gives out and he finds himself on his knees by Sherlock’s bed, a ragged penitent in old pyjamas, prostrating himself before a saint. “Please say I haven’t been wrong all this time, haven’t wasted all these years, please, Sherlock, please…”

He hides his face in Sherlock’s bed, so that he can’t see Sherlock’s eyes, his beloved face creased in confusion.

“John?” Sherlock asks. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

But John is sobbing too hard to answer, great heaving sobs, and Sherlock puts a hand on the back of his neck that burns like a brand because of course Sherlock would try to comfort him, even though he doesn’t understand what John is on about, even though John has hurt him so terribly so many times.

“I love you,” John gasps into the bed. Sherlock’s hand stills for a moment and then, cautiously, resumes its smooth comforting stroking.

“John, you’re upset,” he begins, but John cuts him off mid-sentence.

“Years, Sherlock, years,” he gasps. It’s becoming easier to speak, the weight on his chest becoming less with every word. “I’ve loved you for years. Since Angelo’s that first night, I think, since the cabbie, since the first time I saw you sleep-soft in morning light. I loved you in Dartmoor and I loved you at the pool - God, how I loved you in that moment, I would have fallen to my knees and worshipped at your feet for the rest of my life and I would have been content. I loved you on the roof of Bart’s and on the pavement a moment later. I loved you every moment of every day you were gone, and I loved you every time I stood in front of your grave and begged you for one more miracle, and I loved you when I punched your face because it was that or kiss you, and I loved you when you were bleeding out in Magnussen’s office. I loved you on Magnussen’s porch and I loved you on the tarmac, and I loved you in the morgue and in the hospital and in the prison and the well and I’ve loved you every moment since the day I met you, I love you I love you I love you.”

He doesn’t stop so much as run out of breath, chanting those three words - three words he’d never thought he’d be able to say - like prayer, John is a monk and this is his religion now, this is his faith, this only thing he knows for sure.

“John,” Sherlock breathes. “Why didn’t you…”

“I thought,” and John is trying to think of a way to say this right, a way to really explain, “I thought that you didn’t…I didn’t think you didn’t love me, but I thought you wanted me as a friend, just a friend, and so I tried to be the best friend anyone could ever have, but obviously I’m pretty shit at it, but I tried and I hid it, and hid it, and I married Mary because I thought…I thought I’d break apart from missing you and later I thought I’d die from wanting you, and I couldn’t bear to lose you but I was losing you anyway, but the surest way to lose you was to tell you, you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t want the same things, and that’s the best way to kill a friendship, and if friendship was all I could-”

And John shuts up, because Sherlock has slithered out of his bed and fallen to his knees in front of John, and stopped his panicked babbling with his mouth.

When Sherlock finally pulls back, John stares at him, shocked into silence.

“So many years,” Sherlock says, stroking a thumb over John’s lips. “We could have had so many years, John. If only we hadn’t been…”

“Afraid,” John supplies. Sherlock nods, and he’s so close that his nose rubs against John’s when he does, and it’s unbearably intimate. “We could…” And John has to stop for a moment to breathe, to lick his lips and gather his courage in his hands. “We could still have years,” he says. “If I’m not too late. If you still-”

And Sherlock doesn’t say anything with words, but when he kisses John, he writes eloquent poetry in this new language they are building together.

Yes, he says as he licks into John’s mouth

I want, he says, as he sucks a bruise into John’s neck.

I still, he whispers into the curve of John’s ear. I still love you. I will always love you.

I saw a life with him.
I saw coffee dates and camping trips.
I saw us holding hands on winter mornings.
I saw goodbye hugs and welcome back kisses.
I saw him meeting my parents, meeting my friends, seeing where I grew up and who I grew up with.
I saw friday night movie marathons and sunday morning cookie baking.
I saw a house with a backyard and puppies, all with him.
I saw every sappy thing with him that I always tried convincing everyone I didn’t care for.
I saw a future in him.
And it isn’t just the death of a relationship that I have to mourn,
its the future I saw with him.
I’m mourning the death of a love I thought would last a lifetime, but I am mourning the memories we never got to build on too.
—  mourning him // a.b
2

A/N: Part II of this Imagine. I also put a request from @dreamwalker08 in there. It just worked together perfectly. Enjoy!

Words: 1958
Warnings: violence, smut (on the battlefield)

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anonymous asked:

You have the BEST stories! Can you tell me a bedtime story?

i will tell you a story friends, and probably you will regret asking me to do so, because its not really a very restful story. i….dont really have any of those.


this is the story of how steve and a horse almost gave me a heart attack.
back when i was a kid, cars were a thing that existed but were mostly really really expensive, so horses were still a common sight on the streets of brooklyn. most of these horses were exceedingly large, calm animals; they hauled around big carts of stuff on crowded streets. back then, milk was delivered to your doorstep by a milkman. the milkman who worked our block was mr. davies, and he was this very nice older black gentleman. i mention that he’s black because racism was Very Much A Thing (oh how times have changed). but mr davies always had peppermint candies in his pockets to give to thunderhead, his horse, and he would always give one to stevie and i if he saw us. so stevie loved mr davies, and if anyone was being disrespectful towards him because he was black, stevie would pretty much blow his top. mr davies loved steve for it, of course. but since mr daives didnt want to get steve in trouble, he’d usually whistle me over (if i wasnt already there) to haul steve off before he did something drastic. mr davies was great like that. 

anyway, mr davies was around every morning dropping off milk with thunderhead. thunderhead was this huge dapple grey horse, i think a percheron?? a big draft horse, with hooves about the size of a dinner plate. aside from her size, her name was probably the most intimidating thing about her, because she was the most mild-mannered horse ive ever met. she would let all the little neighborhood kids climb all over her, and mr davies would usually let two or three of us ride on her back down the street. she never really noticed the extra weight. i think that if mr davies ever slept in, thunderhead would go walk his route without him. she loved stevie too–but for very different reasons. steve’s hair apparently looked exactly like hay to her, so she’d wander over and start lipping the top of his head. she never nipped or anything, but steve always got amusingly flaily when she did it, and i always suspected she thought it was funny.

one boiling hot summer morning, steve and i were sitting on the front steps of our building, just wasting time. it was early, but already awfully hot out, so when mr davies rounded the corner, steve decided to go meet him, but i stayed on the steps. it was hot. i didnt wanna move. 

anyway, steve went trotting down the block, said hi to old mrs mckinnon, who was on her way to get groceries, and was about a hundred feet away from mr davies and thunderhead when the wind picked up. it was a very nice refreshingly cool breeze, which picked up some of the debris–old newspapers and leaves and such–hanging around and tossed it across the road. 

now, if you know horses, you know that sometimes they get terrified by utterly ridiculous things. im told many horses nowadays think plastic bags are the minions of evil, and horses back then were much the same. id never seen thunderhead scared before, but i guess a bit of newspaper whipped in front of her and was the spitting image of Pony Satan himself, because her eyes went white around the edges and she took off running. mr davies was around back of the cart, getting milk out, so there was nobody at the reins to stop her. she went tearing down the block, the cart bouncing along behind, like there was a pack of slavering borzoi chasing after. and of course she was headed right at steve and old mrs mckinnon. 

steve, being the brave little idiot he was, didnt run; old mrs mckinnon wouldnt be able to get out of the way in time, so he stood his ground, flung his arms out, and waited to get trampled by a rogue milk cart. all of us there thought we were gonna be scraping tiny blonde guy off the pavement, because thunderhead just kept going. 

but about ten feet away from steve, thunderhead must have recognized him, because she went to a screeching stop. four feet down, all her knees locked, skiddin on the cobblestones. normally, she’d probably have been able to stop in that distance, but she was still harnessed to that heavy milk cart, so instead she plowed right into stevie, chest first. 

he went flying. he mustve gone about six feet through the air, and he hit the ground and just laid there like a sack of really dead potatoes. i thought he must have broken his little toothpick spine. poor thunderhead looked just as scared as i was, because she got her feet back under her and crept up on him like the cart wasnt jangling right behind her. she dropped her nose down and started whuffing and lipping at his hair, and he popped up like a damn weasel. little moron was fine. he nearly gave me and mr davies and old mrs mckinnon and thunderhead all a heart attack, but he was fine. 

and mr davies gave him his whole bag of peppermints, and mrs mckinnon gave him a chocolate, so he didnt even learn to not do stupid shit like that.