Poetry: ‘The Girl with the Ice Cream Eyes’ | S.T. Cartledge

He can’t take his eyes off those ice cream eyes,
those swirls and lines
so soft
and sweet
and melting down her face.

He can’t take his eyes off those ice cream eyes,
if looks could taste
so soft-
-ly sweet-
-ly slowly melting,
dripping down her chin,

A quiet beauty held within.

What a shame to let it go to waste.

She makes jealous every guy
with her ice cream eyes made for
long and longing stares,
eyes which drip and smother
that melting feeling, that
summer delight.

What eyes a mother knows
would thrill a guy, maybe
make him crazy enough to kill.

What blood would spill, what
strawberry syrup, what a sundae
on her face.

But her head is a freezer,
she’s cold, and
she sure as shit is not a pleaser.

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“Most things wil...

“Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you’ll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you’ll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.”

— Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things

High School Days - #1 (The Drama Begins)


The alarm clock sounded in Beauty’s dark and quiet room. Beauty groaned and opened her eyes. “Ugh…” She slammed her hand on the clock, turning it off. She got up from her bed, her long black hair in tangles. She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She brushed her hair and got the tangles out, making it smooth. “Much better.” She said to herself. She rummaged around in her closet and put on a light blue shirt and a short, pink skirt. She put leggings on under her skirt just in case any guys wouldn’t take a look at her panties. She then put on a purple coat, red gloves and brown boots on. She put a purple scarf on her neck and looked at herself in the mirror. Her young, beautiful self was staring back at her with glistening blue eyes. She sighed. “Today is my first day at my new school. I hope it goes well.” She said. Beauty went downstairs and swiped the granola bar from the pantry. She grabbed her backpack that was hanging on the wall and went out the door. She ate the granola bar while running down the street to the bus stop. The cool, autumn breeze blew against Beauty’s face, making her shudder. Eventually, she reached the bus stop. A few kids were there. A young boy with a bowl haircut (No, it’s not Justin Beiber!!) is listening to music on his MP3 player, a girl with long, brown hair is sitting on the seat, waiting for the bus to come, and an older-looking girl in gothic clothing is resting herself against the street lights. Beauty sat on the seat and waited for the bus to arrive. Eventually, the bus arrived and Beauty and the other kids got on. Beauty watched the buildings pass by her as she thought about what’s gonna happen when she gets here. Will she be able to make new friends or will she be called a loser? She was jerked out of her thoughts when the bus stopped in front of the school. Beauty got out of the bus and started at the school in awe.

The autumn leaves blew past Beauty and swirled around in the air. She took a deep breath and went inside. The inside of the school is big and noisy. The sounds of students talking about whatever they’re talking about certainly filled the school with atmosphere. “Wow… This place is pretty big.” She said to herself. She looked around for someone to help her. “Hmm…” She saw a girl with short blue hair, but with long twintails. She had emerald green eyes and have blue bunny ears on her head. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” She said to the blonde girl with a side ponytail. I’m guessing that’s her friend? Beauty thought. “Um, excuse me?” She asked as she walked past her. “Yeah?” She said in a snobby attitude. “Um, can I ask you something?” Beauty asked. “Go on. Tell me.” She replied, slightly annoyed. “Um, do you know where the office is?” Beauty asked. The blue-haired girls’ eyes widened. “Oh my god… NEWBIE!!” She shouted suddenly. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Beauty. The girl looked around. “One of you guys will help her find the office. That’s not my job! Come on, Chirp! Let’s go!” She said, pulling her best friend down the hall. Beauty covered her face in embarrassment. Way to go, now everyone knows that I’m a newbie. Ugh. She looked around for someone else to help her. She hoped that he or she doesn’t call her a newbie.

Meanwhile, the two girls were talking about Beauty. “Hehe. Do you think we could ruin her first day?” Asked the blue-haired girl. “Haha. That would be great.” The blonde girl replied. “No one comes to my school and messes with me.” The blue-haired girl said.

Beauty looked around a bit more and saw a girl with short brown hair and wearing a red hoodie. (Chibi, this is you.) I bet this girl would help me. Hmm… Why not ask? She went up to her. “Um, hey, my name’s Beauty. Can you help me find the office?” She asked. chibicharmie

anonymous asked:

Could you do some johnlock?

It’s definitely been a while, but I’ll give it a go for you, my friend.

Strange as it may seem, John likes to watch Sherlock sleep. not in the weird, creepy way- he just likes to get a look at him, every now and then. On the nights when sleep is hard to come by (which is far too often for his taste) he often glances over at the man sleeping next to him, and allows himself a quiet, beautiful thrill at the sight.

It’s in these moments specifically that he is sometimes overwhelmed with how much he loves the man next to him.

He loves Sherlock when he is in motion- when his eyes are bright and wide, his mouth moving a mile a minute in the way it does when the fever of a case snatches him. But he also loves him when he is still. When his curls are wild, spread on his cheek, across his pillowcase. The way his long, pretty fingers curl up around the blankets, because he likes to tuck them under his chin. The soft, steady sound of his breathing, punctuated with the occasional half-formed sentence, because Sherlock talks in his sleep, though he vehemently denies it. 

John smiles, and very gently runs a hand over Sherlock’s face. He won’t wake him, because surprisingly, Sherlock is a rather heavy sleeper, when he really allows himself to rest. He burrows into the blankets a little more, and pulls Sherlock’s thin body against his, breathing in his scent. This does wake Sherlock, and his eyes flutter open, clouded with the dismal haze of the barest consciousness. He squints, and mumbles John’s name.

“S nothing, love,” John whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

He presses a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s temple, and the other man hums. He wraps himself around John, and buries his face in his neck. John’s breath hitches, and his heart aches at how overwhelmed he is with the sensation. 

“….love you,” Sherlock mumbles, the words muffled in John’s skin and slurred with sleep.

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

He settles in, hand running absently through Sherlock’s curls as his eyes drift closed.

i love meeting people who has had the pleasure of knowing my sister because they’re always like:

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