sherlock & john/dreams/character studies/one-shot a fic in ten acts
His door might as well be open and Sherlock might as well, over his all too broad shoulders, in his all too droning tone, be relaying this to him. John can soak up the information in his sleep, and still sleep. They used to do that with babies, right? Or did he read that somewhere? Either way, sleep. The damn door doesn’t even need to be open.
He’ll bring this up tomorrow like the conversation never ended, or he’s confusing him with someone, but he’s not, because Sherlock doesn’t confuse people, and he wouldn’t confuse John. And as John has come to learn, he’s simply (simply could use an update) spacing out and picking up their past conversations, leaving him to reconnect like he’s the odd man out.
appreciate brown eyes more bc the people with brown eyes are grown up forcing to believe fuckin blue and green and grey are beautiful and either detest or get incredibly happy when someone compliments their eye color stop letting this happen
there are people with brown eyes reblogging this and theyre talking about still being sad with their eye color and this is exactly why we need hype about brown eyes
I’ll be one of those people.
I have brown eyes, and yes, I feel they’re generally meh, boring, ordinary, drab, and as someone said to my childhood self, the colour of shit.
This mehness, you could say, is just in part self-consciousness brought on by negative personal encounters, media, and general preference. I find my eyes boring, and they’re also bad. I’m nearsighted, I wear glasses. And, even further, I get intermittent ocular migraines.
Little love between me and my eyes anyway.
My husband, on the other hand, has changeable blue-grey-amber-oh-it’s-hard-to-say eyes. I adore them, I think they’re beautiful, stunning, deep. It’s part (just a part) of why I married him (he’s also hilarious and kind and blah-blah, eyes). But now, he would say, part of why he married me is due to my eyes. He doesn’t think much of his either.
So, the grass is always greener, or bluer, I suppose.
Brown eyes are less sensitive to light though, guys (even if I’m an exception), and that’s a bonus. Right? But really, more all around love of self and positive hype towards us brown-eyed (i hesitate to use the term “brownies”, uhh) bunch would be great too.
#when existentialism becomes comforting rather than horrifying
I look up at the stars every chance, every little moment. Damn does that feel good, that singular insignificance. Every speck out there glows despite, some having died an age ago, every one living in the past. And even more? There’s millions, billions, goodness, just a lot of those guys out there and you’re one so small, swiftly vanishing, fleshy thing in comparison. You don’t even emit light, loser. You are a whisper on the surface of a rock blue, white, tan and green. You send little (to no) ripple otherwise into the way of things. Enjoy and spin on.
Speaking of things—THIS was a thing. Back in my clouting days.
Now I’m all lazy and reblog everything, and have a kid. Oh, back in the day, when we had to make our own icons and content and I screencapped and fandomed and porned, and was a kid. And it was great. And also not. And oh, the glory days.
The fucking GLORY days.
I’m so OLD now.
And a lot less verbal vomitty (yup).
And not very inclusive into my personal goings-ons. (that is if you compare this to that, it’s night and day—i never shut up)