#van gogh barks

[nogender-chandlo]

Hello fellow Beatles fans

Erm.. I'd love other Beatles fans to talk to and make aus with (dm me please! 18+ only)

I'm a multishipper!!

ALSO SEND BEATLES ART REQUESTS I'D APPRECIATE EM!!

[nogender-chandlo]

Trans allegory

born a paul girly converted into a john one

[arthurs-puppygirl]

Theo is so traumatized. I’m sorry baby boy, I fuck your bro and now I’m yur sister is law 😭

[xxsycamore]

𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

↬ But if he gets turned on by your obedience, you get turned on by the consequences of anything but.

Theodorus van Gogh x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Shoe Licking; Pet Play; Light Degradation; Dirty Talk; Master/Pet; Swearing; Light Masochism; Collars; Leashes; Rough Sex; Vaginal Penetration; Doggy Style; Squirting; Multiple Orgasms; PWP; Light dom/sub; Praise Kink • wordcount: 1, 180 • masterlist

a/n: @yanderepuck made me bark with her fic, and I was convinced by @candied-boys to write this. I forgot it was Theo's birthday, so hooray for happy accidents...and happy birthday to Theo ❤ I should write soft smut with him too some time, but...

"Lick."

You glare up at your Master behind your lashes, the tip of his shoe mere millimeters away and briefly grazing your lower lip. Theo looks stunning like that - control reeking from his form like his preferred choice of cologne, he occupies the armchair like a throne, legs crossed and chin propped up on an arm. Throwing a fit would make you a bad hondje, and you certainly wouldn't want that now…

"Hah. You got to it right away. I trained you well, my pet."

Wasn't it for the light note of entertainment in his tone, his posture would speak of boredom - but you know better than that. You know how to fascinate him, as well as how to set his blood boiling.

But he was so nice to you today. He even got you off the leash.

The leather on his shoe surprisingly doesn't taste bad on your tongue, it hardly tastes like anything at all. With how fucked-out and drunk on Theodorus you are, your brain is willing to come up with the slightest of tangs to associate with him: you want all of him, on your tongue, on your skin, everywhere you can sense him.

Too concentrated on your task of dragging your tongue on his shoes until they're all shiny and nice you could almost see your reflection in them, you barely miss the way he palms his bulge. Ah. His perversion knows no limits, humiliating you like that.

But if he gets turned on by your obedience, you get turned on by the consequences of anything but.

So while rubbing your cheek affectionately on his pointy shoe, you open your mouth to take it in… and chew.

It takes him a second or two to believe your stupidity before something so very rude and Dutch leaves his mouth. It's like music to your ears.

"You truly ARE a fucking knabbeltje, aren't you?"

Your chewtoy is taken away from you too soon as Theodorus uncrosses his legs, getting to his feet and thus coming to completely tower over your kneeling form. He's a tall man, and you're oh so close to the ground where your place is. It's so unfair.

His hands are so rough when he secures the leash back on your collar, and you fantasize about a miniature scar on the place where he clicks it on place in one haste movement. As if he didn't give you enough of those sweet reminders already.

He means to be punishing when he pulls the leash thus dragging you to where he wants you, but it's hard when you're already crawling there on your own. You climb the bed, half-expecting to hear that pets are not allowed on there - but the urgency in his body language tells you he'd rather take care of this in fastest and most convenient way - for him, that's it.

"I thought I disciplined you better. I taught you so many tricks, Hondje. Yet you still disappoint me."

"I'm sorr-AH!"

A sudden strike across your naked rear knocks the oxygen out of you momentarily, and your forehead meets the bedcovers as you struggle to keep your posture on all fours.

"Dogs don't talk. You'll have to show me that you're sorry."

You consider turning around and servicing his cock with your mouth - but such frivolity would only further disappoint him - if he put you in that position, then he wants you in that position.

Arching your back, you try to push back against Theo's frame, showing him how eager you are to take him inside. Your core is weeping for him at this point, staining his trousers as you hump against his legs.

The bed dips under the weight of his knee and the metallic clank of a belt buckle coming undone comes to your ears. Anticipating the contact, your pussy tightens and overflows with lubrication, legs parting further unintentionally.

Theo clicks his tongue and fixes your posture, his right hand remaining on your waist as the other is most probably occupied by his cock where you can't see it. Your suspicions are soon met with the affirming reality of something hard and blunt poking at your entrance. As if to rile you up, he only shallowly enters you and leaves you empty again. Only once satisfied with your whines, he pushes in all the way, and groans in satisfaction.

He sets a fast pace, with his thrusts reaching so deep inside you it feels like he's in your guts. You want him in your guts. You want to be praised for taking him so well.

"You like it like that, huh? You'll end up spraying all over my cock again."

It's like his words activate a switch in your brain that makes your body obey, because you swear you could handle him hitting your spot for longer than that. Theo must've felt the pressure build up and peak, because he pulls out at the right moment to witness his dirty prediction come true.

You feel yourself squirt and drench the man behind you, as well as the sheets. You know how bad Theo has it for you perfuming that "trick", so you don't even mind when he buries himself in your pussy right away, continuing his assault on your sensitive spots.

That's the thing, though - when he's settled on punishing you, he'd fuck you rough - but when he fucks you rough, he gets off on it.

Trying to picture it from the side, you wonder if you're the only one resembling an animal in this scenario, with Theo's groans increasing in frequency, and with his brutal pace. You love turning him into that - and even more you love it when your pussy is so good for him he can't help but curse his quickly building orgasm.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Hondje. Once I'm done fucking your cunt I'll be making use of you in other ways, seeing that you can't help cumming around my cock even if I tell you not to."

You wish he didn’t choose to say this while you're right at the brink of yet another orgasm, but maybe he timed it on purpose. Dropping your head between your arms and sticking your ass up, you melt and moan in yet another culmination, calling out your Master's name and hoping it won't count for "talking".

Theo's trusts grow sharp and uneven, breaths coming out heavy and warning of what is to come. You expect him to still completely, tip flush against your deepest depths, but instead he pulls out in the last second, and spills on your used pussy.

The milky white torrents of cum slide down the inside of your tights, some dripping down on the bed; you whine, collapsing and moaning at the softness of the bed finally handling your weight without any of your muscles put to work - but the satisfaction is only physical as you really hoped he'd finish in you.

"You don't get a treat. You can lick it off the bedding if you wish to behave like a dog so much."

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @atelier-the-atelier @cilokgoang Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[worldsofarchive]

Bark, Dog - Theodorus Van Gogh

This Book Contains:

Event: Kinktober 2024 - Day 1 Pet Play

Pairing: Gn!Reader x Theodorus Van Gogh

Warning: Leashing, Collaring

Key Notes: Established relationship

Rating: 18+ / Those younger or unstated will be banned from the library!

Word Count: 0.5k

Theodorus patted his thigh, his other hand pulling on your leash. Knees and palms sore from crawling around after your master. "Good Hondje." He praised you when you nuzzled his thigh, a hand patting you on the head. Gently playing with the fake dog ears he put on you. The pads of his fingers massaged your scalp, and you let out a pleased sigh. His hand then patted the silky duvet, gesturing for you to climb up. When you do, he gives you a peck on the cheek.

"Very good, Hondje." He scratches your chin and kisses you on the forehead, treating you just as he would treat King. "Bark." He commands and you do so, he smirks. "Bark." You do so again. Pleased he says, "You deserve a treat." The leash then pulls you down to his cock, his hand stroking your hair. Leash, pulling your face to his hardened length. You press your tongue against it and lick. Slobbering on it and pressing your tongue into his bulging veins.

Theodorus lets out soft groans as he pets you, his grip on the leash loosening along with his grip on self-control. He lifted your chin up and kissed you, his fingertips running up and down your back. "You're too irresistible, my love." You smile and crawl further onto the bed, facing away from him, before you look back and wiggle your butt.

At first he is confused, but when he sees the playful smirk on your face, he gets behind you. "Naughty Hondje, I should teach you a lesson." He gently pushes into your entrance and rubs your back. His hand running up and down along your spine, he bends over to kiss on your neck. He moves his hands on your hips as he bottoms out.

"Learn well." His hips slowly moved back, painfully rubbing against your walls before thrusting back in with one swift motion. The action made you see stars, nerves fired up, and mind going hazy. You can never be ready for his thrusts; he is always too good, treating you so well. His words were rough and pointy, but his hands were so delicate.

You let out moans as his hands held you; every thrust knocked the breath out of you. "Does my Hondje like this?" You bark, or at least try to if you can get a breath in. He slaps your thigh in a playful manner before asking you again. "Does my Hondje like this? I can't hear you." You bark again, and he picks up his pace.

Leaning over you, his hands on top of yours. Peppering kisses all down your neck and nuzzling your hair. The knot in your stomach tightens, breath stuck in your throat, and pleasure so passionate that it burns your nerves. Theodorus feels it too: muscles tensing, moans on your neck, and pace becoming sloppy.

Then you both finish; you collapse, and he pulls out before lying beside you. He kisses your cheek before sighing. His hand is playing with your hair. You both may have finished, but passion still burned in both of your eyes. "Round two, Puppy?"

[kissmetwicekissmedeadly]

ASKING HER IF SHE'S KEEPING COUNT??? ASKING WHAT PACE SHE PREFERS NEXT??? AQUA ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME AND EVERY OTHER THEO FAN ON HERE ???

All Night Long - Theodorus van Gogh x Reader (Ikemen Vampire)

A/N: Part of Visions of Temptation 2023 hosted by @xxsycamore

Pairing: Theodorus van Gogh x Reader

Prompt: Day 20 - Oral Sex

Word Count: 861

Tags: NSFW; Minors - DNI; oral sex (reader receiving); piv; doggystyle; praise kink; hair pulling; begging; rough sex; breeding kink; overstimulation; creampie; mention of pregnancy; female-bodied reader (no pronouns used, called "good girl", pregnancy mentioned)

“Ah….Theo….”

Your fingers gripped the bedsheets as Theo gazed at you with a mischievous smile. 

“You like that, hondje?” he asked, his hand hidden under your skirt, his fingers pumping deep inside you. He watched as you writhed under his ministrations, enjoying your struggle. “I could make you feel even better,” he added as he withdrew his fingers.

You wanted to grab him. Claw at him. And beg him not to stop.

But you didn’t. Because you knew he was right. He would make you feel so much better. 

So you laid there, like a good girl, and waited for him.

“That’s my good hondje,” he whispered as he lifted your skirt, your thighs parting and falling to either side. 

He placed his hands on the insides of your thighs, his thumb slowly stroking your sensitive skin as he spread your legs further, your core fully exposed to him. 

His blue eyes twinkled like the stars up in the sky as he smirked at you, the last you saw of his face before he dipped his head down to your core. 

You screamed out his name as he ran the tip of his tongue up along your entrance. His tongue  teased your clit, circling your sensitive nerves before covering it with his warm mouth, sucking gently. 

Wrapping a hand in his hair, you pulled him closer, not wanting him to move until you reached your peak, not wanting this pleasure to end. 

He slipped a finger inside your core, curling, coaxing your climax that he knew was so near. 

Removing his mouth from your clit, he blew gently on your skin, your body shivering before he tormented you with his tongue again.

Stars danced behind your lids as every nerve in your body felt electrified. Your toes curled and your back arched  as you cried out his name in pleasure. 

Pressing soft kisses on your thighs, Theo gave you a small moment to recover. Sitting up on his heels, he tugged on your skirt, sliding it off your weak as jelly legs. After discarding it to the side, he began to unbuckle his belt.

"This isn't over," he whispered, his voice deep and husky as he rolled you over onto your stomach. 

*****

“How many times?” Theo grunted, his cock still hard, buried deep inside your core.

“Two…no three,” you moaned deliriously, drunk on his cock.

“That's not enough.” He continued to thrust deeper inside you, gripping your hips harder as he slammed his hips against yours.

“Gentle or rough?” he asked while withdrawing his cock just enough so that only the tip remained inside you.

Reduced to moaning, you couldn't answer. You simply were unable to. All you knew was that you wanted his cock back inside you.

“Gentle, then?” He pushed his cock inside you slowly. Painfully slow.

“No…ahh…!!!” you cried out when he pulled out and slammed back inside.

He leaned over your chest, his lips near your ear. “I like it rough, too,” he whispered, his hot breath licking your skin. 

He pulled out and rolled your body over, his hand pushing your head down against the soft pillow underneath. 

“Still so tight,” he said as he pushed his cock inside you. Your back arched, you cried out as he impaled you with his cock in one swift stroke.

He dug his fingers into your hips, his thrusts hard and rough. “I love watching your pussy swallow my cock.” His dirty words were enough to send you spiraling as your body trembled against his, your fourth orgasm ripping through you like wildfire through a forest.

“Good girl,” he praised, running his palm down your spine. “I love when you cum on my cock…” 

“But we're not done yet.”

Breathless and boneless, Theo easily flipped you on your back. Guiding your ankles over his shoulders, you smiled weakly knowing what was coming.

"Time to be bred. " 

He fucked you harder, his hips slamming against you at a furious pace. “I can't wait to see your pretty face when I fill you with my seed,” he grunted, his cock kissing your womb.

“You like that, don't you. Being bred,” he added while tugging on your hair, his breath ragged. “Even after I breed you, I'll still fill you up every night.” 

“Be a good girl now, and take it all. Take everything. Don't waste even a drop.” His entire body trembled as he spilled inside you, his hot seed filling your womb. You came undone, once again, while squeezing him of every last drop. 

When he pulled out, he raised your hips to minimize the dripping from between your thighs. He grabbed something from the nightstand, and inserted a plug between your legs, allowing your body to rest comfortably without wasting any of his seed. 

He gathered you in his arms, your eyes lidded, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head, his whispered words soft and gentle. 

“I meant what I said earlier, I'll breed you every day. Even after you are with my child, your belly large and swollen, I will continue to breed you, each and every night.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @crypticbibliophile @yarnnerdally @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @nightghoul381

[yanderepuck]

Lil Broer Theo

Headcanons:

What do you mean Theo is the younger brother?

Drabbles:

Theo meeting his wife

Suicidal s/o

Nsfw:

Kinktober 2021: Cockwarming

Kinktober 2021: Against the wall

Kinktober 2021: Overstimulation

Kinktober 2021: Deep throating

Kinktober 2021: Spitroasting (With Leonardo)

Kinktober 2021: Begging

Kinktober 2022: Mirror Sex

Kinktober 2022: Praise Kink

Kinktober 2022: Cockwarming

Kinktober 2022: Aphrodisiacs 

Kinktober 2022: Size Difference

Kinktober 2022: Food Play

Kinktober 2023: Doggy Style

Kinktober 2023: Coming Untouched

Theo with a choker kink

Bark for Theo

Leonardo x Theo

More Leonardo x Theo

Van Gogh Threesome

More Theo and Petplay

Another Theo and Petplay

Lets make Theo the bottom

What do you know, more petplay

A lil threesome with Theo and Leonardo

Sucking some Theo dick

Some Somno

Hope you like when Theo degrades you

Arthur x MC x Theo

Back on the petplay bullshit

He's your high school boyfriend

His little stress toy

[cxtetootsie]

Dear Dolly,

Uptown girl…living in an uptown world…. If the soundwaves from the clock radio weren't enough to get me out of bed, then the skittering of nails against the floor and barking was. It was like the whole world was heralding me as I finally turned eighteen after five excruciating years of waiting. Despite taking the same steps yesterday, each breath and step I took felt as if there was an added weight to it. The dolls on my shelf grinned at me from where they sat. Dolls of wood, paper, and yarn sat like an eccentric rainbow. The smell of fresh poppies from the garden invaded my nose as I opened the window. I sat at my desk before pulling out a chisel and working on the hardwood before me. "Happy eighteenth birthday…" I said as I began to chip away at it.

"Happy thirteenth birthday." I sighed as I strolled down the street, the sun's heat pummeling me. My knees felt like they needed to be oiled, barely cranking high enough to do a full rotation. My hair felt like hay, scratching the back of my neck. Only one side was braided; my grandmother's fragile hands couldn't form three strands.

 In all honesty, she couldn't do anything anymore. My fingers curled into the basket as I took another breath, the wood pricking me slightly. I tried recalling the groceries Grandma sent me out to get. Eggs, milk, ham, cereal, bread, and cheese. Eggs, milk, ham, cereal, bread, and BARK!

 I reached down to pet the family dog, Annie. Grandma got me here to keep me company and support me after Mama died. She gave odd a smoky scent like the poppies mama, and I used to tend to. My toes wiggled slightly in my tiny red shoes, and I clicked them twice, shutting my eyes for a second.  

"Take me home…" I whisper. But Mama wasn't home. I looked down at the bright yellow streets and took a deep breath. Sometimes, I feel like Rumplestikin has already gotten to me. Put me on strings, and I spin gold daily with no sign of light. 

I continued to walk, and soon, the building turned into hollow dead trees with flying monkeys taunting me. My breath felt constricted within my chest, trying to break out and grasp onto something. 

Then I saw it, my little beacon of light. A bright green shop with a golden framed door; the paint was peeling, and the door handle was rusty…but it felt like it was just begging me to open it. DING! 

 The door closed behind me with a low thud, a cloud of dust greeting me. Paintings framed by golden bars and clicking grandfather clocks were scattered throughout the store, along with more antiques. Little dolls stared at me from the shelves, the hairspray just radiating off their hair. The gag-inducing smell of old peeling paint from the shelf caused me to scrunch my nose.

 A man with light grey hairs creeped out from the back of the shop, his back slightly hunched and a small but sturdy wooden cane supporting him as he walked over. He smiled softly at me, wrinkles creasing his forehead and around his lips. Despite his old age, he seemed to radiate life. His eyes twinkled like stars, and he stared at each antique as if Tinkerbell had sprinkled them with fairy dust, turning them into gold. He continued throughout the shop, picking things up and dusting them off before he finally came to the shelf where I looked at the dolls. 

 "What's your name?" He asked, breaking the layer of silence.

"My name is Elizabeth," I say. "I'm not very fond of my name… it's too proper. No adventurous lady has a name like Elizabeth." 

"Your name doesn't define you. You define you." He picked up a doll whose hair was wheat-coloured like mine and pointed towards the arms.

 "You see these wooden carvings? You'll never find the same pattern twice on these dolls. Similar, yes, but never the same, no." He pulled up the fabric and revealed the whole arm. Each swirl and curve looked like one of Vincent van Gogh's paintings.

 "They were made to be changed, unlike those dolls they sell nowadays with the clip-on clothes. No, you had to design your own out of the fabric you had, carve each defining line on it." He held the doll out towards me. "Just like how you define yourself. One line at a time."

I carefully picked it out of his hands, my fingers feeling the carvings as they dug into my skin. It seemed to radiate warmth like the warm embrace of my mother. 

"Happy eighteenth birthday, Lizzie!" my friend's voice rang from outside my window. I smiled as I ran out of my room, passing by my desk, where a little doll with golden-coloured hair, one braid, and little red pumps sat on a book called "Lizzie's Great Adventures." 

[moonlitmistyforest]

Eugene Delacroix - Christ Asleep during the Tempest, c. 1853 oil on canvas, 50,8 x 61 cm The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Delacroix painted at least six versions of this biblical lesson in faith: when awakened by his terrified disciples, Christ scolded them for their lack of trust in Providence. In the earlier works, the seascape is more prominent; in the later ones, as here, Christ’s bark occupies a more significant place. After Vincent van Gogh saw this version in Paris in 1886, he wrote, "Christ’s boat—I’m talking about the blue and green sketch with touches of purple and red and a little lemon yellow for the halo, the aureole—speaks a symbolic language through color itself."

[yourtastefulcannibal]

Hi, Hannibal. Do you think sometimes about dogs? That blind dogs can't say to their friends they're blind, so... like you never know these dogs need glasses, unless it's really severe, and all these dogs are just blind, and can't say anything because they're dogs and all they do is go Bark bark.

I think it's vey sad.....

oh no !! Hannibal, this is for anyone who can't speak as well!! Imagine the poor cats running into the walls in the streets because they are blind

Hannibal remained silent for a long, long moment, eyes searching Grigg’s face as though he were waiting for the punchline to a joke… but no, evidently the man was being wholly genuine.

“That is… unfortunate. However, dogs cannot read, so I don’t suppose glasses would do them much good.” He paused. “Just wait until you learn that they only are able to see in shades of blue, yellow, and grey — deprived of the arts of Van Gogh and Picasso, never to enjoy the colours of a sunset… tragic, isn’t it?”

He chuckled softly to himself, shook his head. “Although I don’t suppose a dog might imagine missing that view, so long he was with his master.”

[citizen-sade]

The air in the saloon was already near suffocating, thick with smoke that gave it the dreamy, undulating quality of a Van Gogh painting. Sherriff Earp surveyed the crowd with his eagle eyes, his gaze lingering on his friend's ashen face from across the room. Wispy tendrils of smoke spiraled from the tip of the gambler’s cigarette.

Doc brought a small pewter mug to his lips and swigged the amber liquid. He savored the familiar burn that trailed a line of fire down his esophagus to bloom in his stomach. His keen eyes narrowed.

It had been a relatively slow evening in the establishment until the shimmering desert sun began to descend toward the horizon. That was when the nocturnal creatures began to filter in. Tensions rose as the liquor flowed.

The bejeweled woman at Doc's side caressed his thigh under the table, eyeing his cards beneath long, dark lashes with a feline smirk. A sharp hack like the bark of a pistol penetrated the silence of the dim corner where Doc Holliday sat staring his opponents down beneath the strategic tilt of his beaver felt hat, his back to the wall. Always, Wyatt mused.  

“Bah!” scowled Elijah Parson, flinging his cards down on the table, “I fold!” 

“And then there were two,” Holliday dabbed at his lips with his handkerchief and turned his attention to the remaining player. He fanned his cards out before him, “Full.”

“Whoo-hee!” the elder Parson displayed his cards and threw his hands in the air, leaning forward to excitedly gather his winnings, “Straight!”

“Hold it!” exclaimed Elijah as he brought a fist down on the table and snarled at Doc, “That ain’t a Full—that’s a goddamn Flush!” 

Earle’s face fell and he turned a slack-jawed gaze upon Doc’s hand.

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that?" the corner of his mouth curved up in a sly grin, “must be my lucky day.”

“Horseshit!” Earle’s chair clattered to the floor as he leapt up in a rage, “No-good crook! I’ve a mind to put you out of your misery myself!”

The good doctor took a languid, unfazed drag from his cigarette, “Why, Earle, didn’t your mama ever teach you not to make promises you don’t intend to keep?”

The grizzled Parson brother brandished his Colt and aimed it square at Doc, spitting like a viper, “You think I’m bluffin’, lunger?”  

Doc smiled bitterly and fixed the insolent old man with a penetrating stare as a shaft of clarity broke through his whiskey-induced haze.

“You lack the courage of your convictions, Sir,” he drawled and straightened his back, tearing open his shirt to expose his chest. He wasn't smiling now.

“Do it.”

The typical murmurings and goings-on within the establishment gradually stilled as every head swiveled in their direction, causing Earle to shift his weight uneasily. Across the room, something stirred uneasily in Wyatt. The bastard's personal concept of self-preservation was flimsy at best, and often left Wyatt between a rock and a hard place. He sighed as one long-suffering and hung his head. He moved to inch closer to the card table. Wyatt was not unfamiliar with the gamut of emotions Doc Holliday often roused by being a skilled gambler (re: cheater) and a pompous sonofabitch—an infuriating combination, to be sure. Anymore, it seemed that Doc had found his calling in antagonizing every hotheaded dingbat he came across.

The hammer clicked into place, eliciting a shriek from Kate, and instantly Wyatt was upon the man. He wrenched his arm behind his back, causing him to drop his weapon. Wyatt kicked the gun under the table. “Play nice, Earle, or I’ll have your ass behind bars faster’n you can say ‘hasenpfeffer’!”

“Call off your watchdog and face me like a man, Holliday!” the brother spat in Doc’s direction as he struggled in Wyatt's grasp.

“The au-dacity,” Doc clicked his tongue as he drained his whiskey.

He looked up to see Elijah lunge at Wyatt and hook an elbow around his neck. Doc flung the metal cup at the younger brother, smacking him in the ear. Dazed, the man released his friend and froze at the sudden presence at his side, cold metal pressed against his temple.

“Now, gentlemen, is that any way to behave in the presence of a lady?” Doc taunted, tipping his head towards his lovely companion.

“G'on!” Wyatt unceremoniously dragged Earle to the entrance of the bar and planted the heel of his boot square in his backside. With a hard shove, he ejected him into the dusty street, “Git! Before I decide to make good on puttin’ you behind bars!”

Elijah scowled, slurring curses over his shoulder as he tripped out the swinging doors and stumbled after his brother.

Wyatt smugly folded his arms over his chest, laughing as he watched the two boorish cowboys stagger into the distance. 

Somewhere behind him, Doc’s drunken giggle dissolved into a panicked, ragged coughing fit. He gasped for breath like a fish out of water and groped for purchase as his vision blurred and condensed. He blood pounded in his ears and the room began to spin. Kate’s gasp made Wyatt whirl around to see red-rimmed eyes roll back in Doc’s head as he crumpled into the table. 

“Doc!” the woman cried. Wyatt rushed over and ducked beneath Doc’s arm, lifting him to his feet with alarming ease.

“He’ll be alright,” Wyatt chuckled nervously, “Just had too much to drink—didn’t ya, Doc?” 

He felt Doc’s labored breath on his ear, followed by a weak and thready plea, “Take me home, Wyatt.”

“Okay, okay,” he replied gently, then with authority, “Can I get some help here?” 

A baby-faced onlooker who had been intent on the previous commotion shuffled to Doc’s other side to help carry him as Kate quickly gathered as many coins and valuables as she could funnel into her satchel. Together both men clumsily transported Doc to his room next door at the Grand Hotel.

When they arrived, Wyatt nudged the door open and dropped his friend onto the bed. Doc shuddered, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth as he curled into the fetal position.

Kate cooed and hurried to soothe him. Wyatt stared at the broken man, lost in the shallow heaving of his chest. He’d forgotten about the young man that accompanied them until he heard a sheepish but grim voice from the hallway,

“He doesn’t look so good, Sheriff.”

Wyatt turned and pressed a couple silver dollars into his hand with a mumbled dismissive thanks that may have been a tad colder than he’d intended. Wyatt then gently grasped Kate by the crook of her arm to shepherd her towards the door with the promise that the next time she saw her beau, he’d be right as rain.

After she’d gone, Wyatt moved to Doc’s side and coaxed him onto his back. He began to unfasten the remaining buttons of his shirt to allow more air on his inflamed skin when elegant fingers circled his wrist. 

“Doc—what're you—?” 

“Don’t start somethin’ yer not gonna finish,” Doc wheezed. Wyatt gazed at his sunken face, a familiar sparkle in his bloodshot eyes.  

“N—now, let me help you, dammit,” he stammered.

Doc weakly batted his hands away and strained to pull himself into a sitting position. The effort was enough to make him twist away from Wyatt as another spasm shook him and he pressed his handkerchief to his mouth. Wyatt glared at the delicate ivory cloth now stained crimson.

“Two whiskeys,” he croaked as his head fell back to rest against the headboard. 

Wyatt blinked and retrieved the decanter of honey colored liquid. His movements felt robotic, borne of months of accumulated muscle memory. He was abruptly, bleakly aware of the passage of time, and had to put forth the effort to steady his nerves as he poured the liquor, the bottle clinking against the rim of the first glass, then the second.

“Took you long enough,” Doc scolded, his voice weary but playful. He looked at the offered snifter, lifted a hand to accept it, and realized how violently he was shaking. He raised his eyes to Wyatt’s with an exasperated sigh, “Be a lamb...” 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Wyatt bent over him to wipe the blood from his mouth and chin before tipping the glass to his lips.

Doc swallowed, sputtered, and gulped the rest like it was water and he’d been lost in the desert for forty days and nights. Wyatt pulled up a chair and set the glass on the small bedside dresser.

A deep swig came from beside the bed and Doc imagined Wyatt cradling his glass, clutching it almost to the point of shattering. He winced at the burn in his throat and contemplated the flames from the alcohol mingling with the tar in his lungs, creating some unholy thing that fed exclusively on tissue and sinew. When he cracked an eyelid to glance at his companion, he noticed Wyatt’s knuckles, white against his glass. Doc chuckled.

“And just what in th' hell is so funny?”

“Oh... nothin’...” Doc drawled, cocking an eyebrow in Wyatt’s direction, “I forgot you were here.”

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed and he snapped, leaping from his chair, “Why, you son of a—!”

Doc glanced up, “Now is that any way to talk to a dying man, Sheriff?” 

Wyatt raised a hand to his hip and dug his fingers into his side to keep his temper in check. He ran a hand over his face before taking a measured breath and resumed his seat. Neither Doc nor his own mounting panic were gonna get the best of him here. 

“I’ll always be here, Doc,” he said finally, fingers knitting together in his lap, his tone awkward but comforting, then rising in defiance to break the tension, “whether you like it or not!”  

Doc chuckled again in something akin to relief. Wyatt hadn’t taken his bait. He didn't honestly think he would. 

“Ah know,” Doc sighed wearily, admitting defeat, his eyelids drooping.

When Doc fell silent, Wyatt feigned interest in the stuffy room. He studied the peeling wallpaper, the ornate headboard. He glanced out the window, as though there was anything to see out there.

The quiet made him anxious. Doc Holliday should be out chasing women and cheating stupid fuckers out of their money, not lying in a dingy hotel bed as his body shut down. Behind the mustache, his teeth worked his bottom lip as Doc’s labored breathing evened. Sweat glistened on his brow, soaked through the cotton shirt, and formed beads of moisture at his open collar.

After what seemed like an eternity, Wyatt shifted in his chair, which creaked under his weight and interrupted the eerie silence of the room. Doc stirred and blinked his eyes open. Wyatt opened his mouth to apologize for waking him but let the words dissolve on his tongue. Doc's gaze fixed on a corner of the room, as though seeing something only he could perceive. Something that troubled him. 

“Why are you here, Wyatt?” he whispered despondently, “You here to watch a man die?”

Wyatt dreaded the cold shift in his demeanor, but considered his friend’s words for a moment and shrugged, “I’ve seen plenty of men die, Doc.”

Doc’s throat worked to swallow another impending spasm, “But have you actually watched ‘em take their last breath—“ Wyatt clinched his jaw, “watched the light leave their eyes?” 

“What the hell—“ 

“‘Cause you’re about to.”

His attempts to dominate the looming attack made the fire in his chest angry, gave it teeth. He shuddered and lurched forward with a fit that shook his emaciated frame. The blood that seeped from his lips was dark, originating from deep within, and smelled of decay. 

Wyatt was at his side in an instant, one hand pressed to Doc’s back, “Now, breathe,” he encouraged, he splayed his other hand against Doc’s chest, moving it in and out with each shallow, rattling breath, coaching him to take it slow and easy, “Just breathe... there you go...”

A rivulet of blood mixed with saliva fell from Doc’s lips to Wyatt’s rolled-up shirt sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” came a strangled apology. Wyatt shushed him. 

“You’re just fine, Doc,” His palm moved in a stilted circular motion between his shoulder blades, trying to ignore the fact that he could make out the individual vertebrae of the man's spine.

Doc sniffed and emitted a bitter sound between a laugh and a sob, shrugging away from Wyatt’s hand, “No, I ain’t,” he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and fell quiet as his blood whirred between his ears, refusing to meet Wyatt's stormy eyes.

“Damnit, I—" Wyatt stuttered, swinging around to pound the wall with his fist, “I don’t know what to do here, Doc... What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? Tell me!”

When he turned back, he was startled to see his friend carefully maneuver both legs over the side of the bed, his shoulders squared against the pain and muscle fatigue, fingers gripping the bedpost. 

“Shit, Doc,” Wyatt sighed, preparing himself to react should he pitch forward.

The man opposite him trembled as he struggled to his feet, his face steely and pale. As he’d anticipated, Doc’s legs immediately buckled, and Wyatt leapt forward to grasp him by the biceps. Doc’s right hand gripped his shirt in turn, a sob ripping from his throat as the fingers of his left hand curled around the back of Wyatt’s neck. 

Wyatt chuckled awkwardly, desperate to keep the mood light, “Where do you think yer goin’? To bet on the ponies?”

Liquor, sweat and tobacco filled Wyatt’s nostrils. Panting, Doc pulled Wyatt’s forehead to his and spoke in a low, resigned voice,

“Say goodbye to me, Wyatt.”

Wyatt could have sworn he felt the earth beneath his feet screech to a halt, and for maybe the second time in his life, Wyatt Earp felt fear. Angry, helpless tears pricked his eyes, and once he felt the doctor get his feet under him, he shook his head and wrenched himself away.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Doc. I will do no such thing! Now get your ass back in that bed, you stubborn bastard.” 

He expected a scoff in response, or even a laugh—that nearly deranged giggle that made lesser men drop their weapons and turn tail. God, he’d give anything to hear Doc laugh again.

Instead, he was met with cold, unnatural silence, broken only by the dying man's strained breathing.

“You must," Doc straightened with a wince, "so I can be on my way.”

Wyatt dropped into his chair, his hands falling into his lap. His head rested against Doc’s hip.

He heard the clink of ice and glanced up to see his forgotten whiskey hovering in front of his face. His gaze trailed over the skeletal fingers that held the glass, up the forearm that protruded from Doc’s bloodied sleeve, and over the deep ‘v’ of flesh left exposed by the partially unbuttoned shirt. His eyes then ascended to the gaunt face.

By God, but he was handsome. No. Beautiful. Beautiful like the mythological figures in textbooks from his schoolboy days. Even now, ravaged by disease and withering away before Wyatt's eyes, Doc Holliday took on the visage of a fallen angel, cast from Paradise, but retaining a foreboding allure. Not even Death could take that away from him.

Shit, maybe he was the delirious one.

Wyatt took the glass, registering sorrow in the lines and deep shadows of the face that stared down at him with eyes the color of absinthe.

He’d heard once—in another life, perhaps—that if you drink enough absinthe, your eyes would turn bright green. Maybe that’s what happened to Doc Holliday to give him such striking green eyes? 

“Love me, Wyatt,” Doc grasped the brim of Wyatt’s hat to lift it from his head and drop it to the floor at his feet, “and let me go.”

The snifter slipped from Wyatt’s grasp and neither man so much as flinched as it shattered on the floor. Wyatt leapt to his feet as Doc’s eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

Doc’s head swam, only vaguely aware that he was again supported by strong arms. He felt his heart flutter and lurch sharply. He hated that feeling. It made him gasp for breath, which in turn made him cough, which made the embers in his lungs flare to life and the vice on his brain tighten mercilessly. God, he was so tired, so sick of feeling himself fading. Each time he awoke from one of his drunken stupors was equal parts relief and disappointment. Every day the corners of his vision blackened further, like the edges of an old map. Soon he wouldn’t have the strength to leave his bed or hold up a pistol. He was pitiful. 

Doc Holliday didn’t like being pitied. 

But he found a bittersweet solace in Wyatt’s arms. In some shadowy nook of his subconscious it occurred to him how easy it would be to surrender to the pull of the void in the embrace of his only friend, his one equal on this harsh, unforgiving earth; lulled into the sleep of oblivion by the scent of aftershave and suede and gunpowder--instead of alone, with only the smell of dirty copper, dead tissue, and his body eroding from the inside out.

Wyatt was so warm.

And he was so cold.

No. He had to hold on, damnit; had to keep the siren’s song at bay a little longer. He couldn’t let his friend be the one to… to…

Suddenly Wyatt’s voice was reining him in from some distant plane and his eyes blinked open as he returned to what remained of his senses. Wyatt sighed with relief.

Doc shifted in his arms to press his lips to Wyatt’s jawbone, then the hollow of his throat, and he didn’t pull away. Weak fingers carded through his hair, and he could smell desperation on Doc Holliday’s lips. He eased his friend back to the bed and sat him on the edge of the mattress.

Oh, what the hell. It was just the two of them, after all.

Wyatt leaned forward to claim the doctor’s mouth, but froze when Doc flinched sharply away from him. He searched his friend’s face in confusion before it dawned on him how contagious this insidious disease was.

Wyatt caressed Doc’s hollow cheek with his thumb, “I am more an antique Roman than a Dane,” he teased, noting the familiar grin that tugged at the corner of Doc’s mouth. 

Contrary to popular belief, Doc Holliday was a highly cultured and educated man, and he liked to show off that fact—even, Wyatt guessed, on his deathbed.

And Hamlet had always been a favorite.

Wyatt delicately stroked the parted lips with his fingertips, “Here’s yet some liquor left.”

Doc cocked a brow at him and wheezed. Wyatt thought he heard a touch of laughter in it, but his stomach churned as Doc’s brow creased in pain and he exhaled a shuddering breath.

“O, God, Horatio,” the dying man whispered with a touch of irony, “What a wounded name… Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me...”

Wyatt inclined his head and Doc felt the coarse hairs of his mustache brush over his Adam’s apple. He tipped his head back with a sigh. 

“If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,” Doc’s hand settled on Wyatt’s chest and Wyatt withdrew to meet his feverish eyes, “absent thee from felicity a while... and in this harsh world, draw thy breath in pain... to tell my story.”

That reminded him. 

Wyatt carefully untangled himself from the embrace to retrieve his jacket. He reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a thin booklet. The elegant calligraphy that scrolled across the front page read My Friend Doc Holliday.

“Way ahead of you, Doc,” he smiled, his heart swelling as Doc eyed the title with curiosity and a little bit of wonder.

The moment splintered as the sick man pivoted away from Wyatt, his face and body contorting with a savage tremor that made him retch violently over the side of the bed. 

He felt something inside him rupture, dislodge, and claw its way out of his chest. Wyatt didn’t need to see the mess of blood and tissue to know it was there. When the fit finally subsided, Doc fell listlessly to the mattress with a feeble whimper. 

Wyatt’s heart bucked with dread and he sat slowly on the edge of the bed, “Doc?” 

The glassy eyes shifted in his direction, unfocused… and afraid.

“Wyatt—” he choked, his eyelids heavy as his strength waned, and he searched for Wyatt’s face through the blossoming darkness, “If you ever felt anything for me... please, go now...” 

Wyatt cursed the powers that be, and everything his puritanical Christian upbringing had beaten into him about good versus evil. Doc Holliday was as good as they come, in a sense—and yet, it seemed he was born for the sole purpose of suffering. Of all people. Everything he’d endured…

Where was the fairness in it all?

Wyatt raked his fingers through his hair, clenched them into a fist to suppress the urge to put his fist through the wall, or to pick up his forgotten whiskey glass and squeeze it until it shattered in his hand. Anything to distract him from the searing pain in his heart.

“It’s not fair,” he muttered. Hot tears threatened to fall as the excruciating powerlessness rained down upon him like a round of lead bullets. 

Take me instead, goddamnit! he begged whatever entity could hear his thoughts or would even listen to begin with. He smoothed Doc’s hair from his damp forehead, barely registering the gravelly whisper as he brushed his lips over Doc’s brow,

“There’s no such thing as fair.” 

Wyatt nodded and reluctantly got to his feet, the mattress squeaking in the otherwise stagnant room. He crossed to the door, bending to retrieve his hat, and hovered in the threshold. 

“Live for me,” the still form pleaded from the bed, stifling any protest he may have raised.

Wyatt dragged one hand through his mussed hair, the other gripping the doorframe for dear life, as though he might tumble right off the edge of the earth—if he didn't just jump. He stole a final glance over his shoulder at his friend. 

“Thanks for always being there, Doc.” 

The door creaked shut and latched behind him with soul-crushing finality. From the other side, he heard a muffled cough, followed by a heavy sigh of resolve, and the groan of the bed springs. Wyatt pressed both palms into his eyes to compose himself before taking off down the hallway. 

In the quiet street outside, with just the wind and crickets for company, Wyatt glanced up at Doc’s window. He thought he saw movement behind the threadbare curtain but wrote it off as a grief-and-whiskey-induced hallucination. 

Down the road, his stomach dropped as the bark of a revolver pierced the night. 

Goodnight, sweet prince. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

And Wyatt Earp wept.

[nogender-chandlo]

Hiiii I need more sanders sides fans to talk to, if you want my discord dm me or comment, pleaseeee

[degrassi-fanatic]

Time, Wondrous Time

The first time Ted Lasso and Rebecca Welton meet is not in her office at Nelson Road in 2020.

No, the first time Ted Lasso and Rebecca Welton meet is in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam in 1991.

It had been his mother’s idea to go on the school trip. She had a love of travelling that Ted couldn’t wrap his head around and she wanted to share that with him so he could go and live out some of her dreams for her. 

At least, that’s what she said. 

Ted knows that the real reason that she sent him off to Amsterdam was to get him out of the house.

It’s funny. 

Before everything with his father went down, his mother used to scold him for running around town with his friends, begging him to just stay inside for one night. 

Now, she begs at his bedroom door every night for him to come down and eat dinner. 

It’s funny in the worst way possible. 

His mother had told him that she didn’t want him to miss out on any memories with his classmates and Ted didn’t have the heart to tell her that he didn’t care much about memories. In fact, these days, Ted doesn’t care much about anything anymore. 

That’s how he ends up in some museum having a staring contest with some damned sunflowers. 

“What did Van Gogh ever do to you?” he hears a British accent pipe up from behind him.

He turns to the source of the sound and finds a girl about his age dressed in a school uniform.

Her blonde hair is tied up in a neat ponytail with a couple of stray pieces framing her face. She’s so tall that he has to check that she isn’t wearing six-inch stilettos. She flashes him a smile and he can see the pink bands of her braces. 

His palms grow clammy and he wipes them on his slacks as sneakily as possible. 

“Uh…I...” he stammers, “Just don’t really get the appeal of sunflowers, there’s about a bajillion better flowers to choose from.”

She barks out a laugh.

“Is that your real accent?” 

His heart sinks.

He should’ve known better. How on Earth would a girl like her, who's probably from some expensive part of England, be into the whole Yankee Doodle situation he's got going on?

Ted simply nods before turning his attention back to Van Gogh and his damned sunflowers. 

“I like it.” she says warmly as she walks over to stand beside him, “Where’s it from?”

“Uh, Kansas.” he answers, “What about you? Where are you from?”

“Surrey.”

“Oh, I was just asking where you’re from.” he repeats as he faces her front on, enunciating a little bit more. 

She gives him an odd look. 

“Surrey… As in South East England.”

“Oh!” Ted exclaims, “I thought you were just saying sorry!”

She laughs loudly, breaking some silent rule or two in the museum as they garner the attention of other patrons. 

Ted pays them no mind as he stares at the way she throws her head back chuckling. He smiles when he hears her snort.  

“What’s your name?” he asks. 

“Becca Welton.”

He offers his hand and Becca accepts it, shaking it firmly like she’s probably been taught in those posh etiquette classes. 

“Theodore Lasso.” 

In the corner of the room, he sees girls dressed in the same uniform as Becca begin to make their way to an adult holding a clipboard. 

“Hey Becca, I think your class might be leaving.”

He points in the direction of the group. As soon as Becca makes eye contact with the group, they begin to motion her over urgently, tapping insistently at imaginary watches. 

“Oh, shit, thanks” she answers, “It was nice meeting you, Theodore.”

For a moment, Becca doesn’t make any move to leave despite her words indicating a goodbye. Instead, she stares at his face intensely. For a moment, Ted's worried he broke some cultural norm and Becca is going to sock him in the jaw for it. 

Then, she grabs a hold of both of his shoulders and reels him in to press a short kiss to his cheek. 

Becca backs away shortly after, burning bright red. She turns away without another word and rushes over to her class, her ponytail flicking back and forth as she goes.

Dazed, Ted brings a hand up to his cheek to feel the sticky imprint Becca’s lip gloss left. 

Maybe, Amsterdam wouldn’t be all bad. 

[somethingentirely]

I was trying so hard

To be happy

Or to pretend to be happy for once

And you couldn’t be happy for me

you needed me to bleed

It feels like you hated me

You never had any time for me

And I really needed you to be

Someone I could trust

Someone who was there for me

I needed you to be there for me

I don’t want to escape through lyrics

I want to look past the curtain

On the stage

I used to hide in

At church

A kind of game we used to play

did we ever go to church

Do you believe in god

I feel lost

Sometimes I think about god

And sometimes it makes me sick

I start to see things that aren’t there

Desperate for a sign

Or something

Or anything

That tells me how I’m supposed to live

Now that you’re not there

Now that nothing is there

I keep telling myself I don’t care

But I do

Goddamnit, I do

I care about you

Or I cared about you

Which one is the truth

Is the curtain pulled back

Or am I chasing the ghost of you

And were you just pretending to care?

Did I matter at all to you

Or just that much to you

Did I matter to you

Did I ever once matter to you?

Because I cared about all of you

Because i wish i mattered to you

One second- I’m sorry

I bought a cat named Ava from the loneliness

I Figured

Well shit, I need someone to love me

And it’s not gonna be you

And it’s not gonna be me

Because, you don’t love me

And if you don’t love me

Then nothing will

and definitely not me,

so it has to be somebody

What were we talking about again?

She’s purring

Sometimes i wonder if she can understand what im feeling

Because even if nobody does

At least she tries

Because I’m crying

And she’s purring

And it means the world to me

And I am a truly broken being.

So i wonder what Peter is doing

And I wonder

If he cares

Or is just pretending to care

If i shared anything would he understand me?

What would be the point of telling him?

Of talking?

We’re on completely separate planets

10 feet apart.

And I know he loves me

but then again

We’re on completely separate planets

And I don’t want anyone to feel the kind of pain

I’m experiencing

I don’t want him to feel the pain

I’ve experienced

He’s experienced too much pain already

AND I WAS TRYING TO BE HAPPY

Or pretend to be happy

And you couldn’t be happy for me

And he just wants me to be happy

but you needed me to bleed

And I wish you would at least give me an APOLOGY.

Don’t tell me that i am not deserving

Of an apology

That you really cared that little about me

That the whole time you were just pretending to care

Because I have given you an APOLOGY

to show you that I CARED.

GODDAMNIT

I cared about you

I do,

Goddamnit

I do

Trying to live is hard

Coming out of my shell is hard

Being outside is hard

Being alive is hard

WAKING UP is hard

I am afraid to go anywhere without Peter

Because I’m so sure

That there is nothing else justifying me being alive

And I struggle with eating

I struggle with weight

I struggle with everything

I used to be sicker than this

I’m not really that sick

god you make me sick

You make me feel like this

You made me feel like this

And I can’t live like this

I can’t breathe

I am a Van Gogh painting

There are dogs barking

I am safe I am in bed there are dogs barking and Ava is breathing as she sleeps

These are grounding techniques

And I am still learning to breathe

Pausing frequently

PTSD

Post traumatic stress disorder

I was not living

Not with their hands around me

Extinguishing

Everything

There are vines on the ceiling

And I am counting the leaves

There are exactly

four hundred and sixty three

These are grounding techniques

And I am still learning to breathe

My heart is all black

And like a moth

I am attracted to people with light

Peter is sleeping on the couch tonight

10 feet apart

Separate planets

But I don’t want anyone to try and come over

Or build any rocket ships

he used to try to come over

I used to try to come over

but we crashed so bad

So if he tries to come over

He’s gonna crash

He doesn’t have it easy exactly

Was that you or me

Who’s listening

Nobody

Nobody?

You

Stop hiding

looking for signs where there’s nothing

Trying to hold onto something

jesus

Take it easy

I can’t take it easy

I would if I could

Taking thoughts

Seeing where they lead me

The string keeps unraveling

I am enjoying the unraveling

Writing about unraveling

writing about the journey

Where will this take me

There’s gonna be something

There’s gotta be something

something that says the pain

Wasn’t for nothing

So damnit

I am going to keep writing.

and I am going to keep trying

Even if it hurts

And even if it kills me

I am going to keep trying

To be happy

I

Have been trying so hard

To be happy

And you couldn’t be happy for me

And this is where I would put my ending

I’ve been reading over everything to make sure it’s complete

That I said everything

And what if I got your apology?

what causes the bite?

20/20 in hindsight

Do I need your forgiveness to be happy?

Do I really need you to be happy?

If you never forgave me again

Never said you were sorry

Because I gave you an apology

Did you mean it?

Were you sorry?

Sorry? It’s a little bit more than stress

And regret

We were best friends

We were supposed to be best friends

If you died

I would never forget you

I would still hold you in my heart until the sky collapses and the earth bends from the last days of the lights end

You were the sun

Even if I got Alzheimer’s

Even if I got dementia

Or Amnesia

I would still remember you

Your memory will always live on

Which sucks, because I haven’t always been the greatest person

Hence why I tend to avoid churches

We both know I’ve got sins

But I never wanted to be perfect or holy

Just wanted to be human and dirty

And have that be okay

We both know I’m not the greatest person

But I really wanted to be at the end and

You just hated me for it

I think

and I’m sorry

I wasn’t there for you when you needed me

I need more weed

I know you’ll never reach out to me

not after I lost my mind like that

So I got a cat

Cause I needed someone to love me

And it’s not gonna be you

And it’s not gonna be me

I prefer to imagine people love me

The same way I think about suicide

Like it could happen, not really

because what happens after is too scary

What happens after death?

Hell, what happens when you stop loving me?

I don’t want you to love me

Touch me

don’t touch me

please don’t fucking touch me

Because if I were to love you

It would absolutely be the death of me

So I stay on a planet

10 feet apart

You used to say “you lived in a box”

I’m not even inside a box

I’m lost

It’s been real bad, man

so anyways

Ava’s here

And she bit my left hand today

Pointer finger

But she’s still here

And I’m still here

I mean, she opened the door. (Which she?)

but you’re the one who keeps closing it

Trust

Is earned

[rabbitcruiser]

National Plant a Flower Day

Few things on the planet are more beautiful or fascinating than  flowers – and with over 400,000 flowering plant species in the world,  there’s definitely something out there for everyone!

From the simple daisy to the elegant rose, from the colorful  wildflowers dotting hillsides to the elaborate and vibrant blooms of  southeastern Asia, flowers have more than deserved their own day of  celebration for their contributions to nature, culture, and life.

History of National Plant a Flower Day

Flowers have been around for at least 150 million years, with new and  captivating species springing up all over the place during that time.  And they have long been a staple in various cultures all around the  world, serving numerous purposes over the millennia including decorative  and medicinal ones.

As early as 2,500 BC, the Ancient Egyptians were using flowers to  adorn tables and great halls, as well as show respect to both the living  and the dead, with the remains of many kinds of flowers uncovered in  the tombs of pharaohs, high priests and other wealthy citizens. Later,  both the Ancient Greeks and Romans continued to use flowers for these  same purposes and also began to use some of them as herbs. This  tradition continues today through herbal teas, medicines and spices.

Throughout history, flowers have carried different symbolic meanings,  including in various religions and mythologies. In Hinduism, the  world’s oldest religion, the lotus flower is considered an important  spiritual symbol, while roses have long been seen as a display of love  and affection and poppies are used to commemorate soldiers who have died  in war.

Flowers have also been an integral part of our traditions and  rituals. Could you imagine a wedding reception without the bouquet toss  or a Christmas without poinsettias? And what would poets and painters do  without the flowers that have inspired them to create countless works  of art such as Van Gogh’s sunflowers, Monet’s water lilies or Blake’s  ‘Auguries of Innocence’?

These blossoming plants even have influence over the economy. In 17th  century Holland during a period known as ‘tulip mania’, tulips were  considered to be so valuable that they were worth more than gold and a  mere ten bulbs could be used to purchase a whole house! And to this day  the world’s most expensive spice is saffron, which is made using dried  crocuses.

Perhaps most valuable of all, however, is the role that flowers play  in the natural world. With their bright colors and enchanting scents,  they not only brighten up the world around us but also attract and  sustain pollinators such as bees, butterflies and birds, enticing them  with sweet nectar and having their precious pollen distributed in  return. And once they’ve reproduced, flowers bear sweet fruit that  animals and humans alike can enjoy.

Flowers play a crucial role in sustaining ecosystems, producing food  and enriching human life and culture. By celebrating National Plant a  Flower Day you’ll be helping these bountiful blossoms to flourish.

Tops tips for planting flowers

When it comes to planting flowers, you’ll need to do your research as  each species will have its own needs and preferences. Check out when  and where it’s best to plant your flowers, the kind of soil they like  and how often they’ll need watering. And once they’ve blossomed it will  be important to tend to them, removing dead flowers and keeping them  pruned.

Generally speaking, flowering plants like nutritious soil with good  drainage, but wildflowers, for example, flourish best in poor quality  earth. Some seeds and bulbs will need to be kept in a cool and dark  place after planting to simulate winter, which encourages flowering  further down the line. Another top tip is to tuck your plants in with a  good layer of mulch, as shredded bark will hold onto moisture and save  you some watering trips!

If you’re a first-time gardener, then flowers such as geraniums,  sunflowers, daffodils and lavender are popular choices for beginners.  It’s always worth looking for perennials as these types of flower will  last for at least two years. And even if you don’t have a garden, you  can still buy some plant pots for indoors.

How to celebrate National Plant a Flower Day

The best way to celebrate National Plant a Flower Day is to plant a  flower, or perhaps even many flowers! Depending on where you’re located  in the world and the kind of flowers you’ve chosen, March may or may not  be the best time to be planting, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a  flowerpot and do it at home, or simply enjoy the blooms of previous  labor!

If it’s the right time and conditions for planting, set a little bit  of time aside on this day to sow some seeds or plant some bulbs in your  yard or garden. You could even team up with your neighbors and start a  community planting project such as a wildflower meadow, adding a splash  of color to places that everyone in the area can enjoy.

If you have kids, this could also serve as the perfect time to take  them outside and explain a bit about how nature works its magic, what  helps plants grow, why we need them and what we can do to help protect  our planet’s biodiversity. Instilling a sense of wonder for the world in  your children will help them appreciate the planet and make them more  aware of their surroundings – plus, what could be more fun than spending  a sunny day outside with your favorite little people and planting  lupins, poppies or fuchsias?

Even if you’re unable to plant a flower, there are still plenty of  ways you can celebrate the day. Head over to your local garden center or  a nearby florist to pick up some flowers that have already been grown  for you! They may well have special offers on to mark the occasion so be  sure to check those out as well.

Take a trip to a public garden and go for a stroll among the flower  beds – they’ll likely have a whole range of plants on display, including  those that don’t usually flourish in your country’s climate. Deliver a  beautiful bouquet to a loved one or try your hand at some flower  arranging – there are plenty of YouTube channels and flower arranging  courses available to help get you started!

And even if your part of the world is cold and dreary this time of  year, you can still enjoy a day of learning about nature and all it has  to offer humankind. Like flowers themselves, National Plant a Flower Day  was meant to be enjoyed.

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