#throwback reblog

[harveyb-wabbit92]

Hikari: Extraordinary events call for extraordinary actions. Will you form an allegiance-

Seven: Ok.

Hikari: -to use sudden violence.

Seven: Sure.

Hikari: Do you have the tools to turn a wooden mop handle into a stake?

Seven, pulls out tool box from his desk: What size?

[myuniverseinabox]

Let's Go to Heaven

[fragilestflower]

Bra of the day the day to brighten my day ☺️

This was asked September 14th so here’s a selfie from that day and my brand new red bra instead ❤️❤️❤️

[sadasspisces]

throwback to fall of 2021 🧡

[royalcessy]

Spot the difference 🌹

[m0tiv8me]

Throwback Thursday:

Can I ask a favor? I’m hoping to kickstart more activity on my blog again after my 6 month hiatus. Reblogs are welcome to help me reach new and active bloggers. I’m actively working to get back into this condition and struggling a bit with my confidence right now. I know I can get there but some days are harder than others. Seeing how far I’ve let myself slip is discouraging and I’m hoping Tumblr can once again be a positive resource to keep me on track.

Don’t misunderstand my intentions. I’m not looking for a bunch of comments or praise and I definitely won’t be spamming anyone’s DM’s or inbox with messages. I’m a happily married guy not here for hook ups or chatting beyond positive words of encouragement. I’d like to find and follow other like minded blogs. Please don’t be offended if I don’t always follow back comment or like everyone’s posts. I prefer to keep my dash in the same vein as what I post. I’m certainly not here to judge anyone else’s blog, who they are or what they post. I don’t engage with hateful or malicious people or messages. I focus pretty hard on keeping my blog a safe positive space for all.

Just really feeling like I could use some added visibility right now to help inspire me to keep going. And hopefully continue to inspire those who are trying to reach their own mental and physical goals for the 1st time or the 100th time. Let’s continue to help each other by just being an active positive presence each and every day!!

[theirloveisgross]

.

[itschristine]

Merry Christmas 🎄🎁 ❤️

[southasianpersuasion51]

Another back shot of me

[sofiiel]

Revamp of my old edit. Why? Purely for the older, more confident version of Eddie.

[ptsdeaddx]

I wanna get back to this era of myself, was truly an epic time in my life (aka I wasn’t weighed down by a perpetual desire to 😵😵)

[sadasspisces]

throwback to the cold weather drip of 2022 ❄️

[lololollywrites]

Step. Jump. Leap. Step.

Just wanted to do a little throwback and reblog my first flash Friday challenge, which I posted last September. I immediately realized that the prompt - Leap of faith - fit exceptionally well into my existing two-work series “Earthly Pomp (is But a Dream)” as a short prequel, from John’s perspective. Here it is in its entirety below, but you can also read it on AO3 HERE.

__________

Fuck.

Fuck.

He won’t want this. He doesn’t want me. He can’t possibly. I don’t want me anymore, for Christ’s sake. I wouldn’t be… here if not for Rosie. Well, probably. I’ve not had the bollocks yet to ever go that far, despite having considered it at various stages in my life. Melodrama. Overreacting. Woe is me, huh? What a mess. Ella’s told me otherwise, of course. Sherlock too, though a swollen lip. Trauma. Grief. Blah blah blah. Boo bloody hoo. Plenty of men have been to war and managed not to extend their misery unto others. Granted, quite a lot more… unusual trauma followed afterwards, but there are no excuses. Eurus as my therapist or no. And here I am, trying to do it again. To force my presence. Why has Sherlock put up with me as long as he has? What could possibly redeem me at this point?

He looks so sad whenever I leave. At least I think he does. I’ve been trying to look back over my shoulder whenever I turn my back on him these days.

He bought rounded furniture after the explosion. I’d thought he’d opt for perfect replicas from before, but… no.

Rounded corners.

Baby safe.

He cleans. Before I come, now.

He bought Rosie a puzzle of the periodic table for no particular reason three days ago. About four years beyond her capabilities, yes, but his eyes shone with eager excitement as he shyly handed it over.

She loves to gnaw on the blue cardboard ‘S’ for Sulfur.

For Sherlock.

Jesus.

The black hole looms up ahead. I count my steps and try to align them with my breaths. Perhaps I’ll float when I jump in, like the freeing antigravity of outer space. Or perhaps I’ll fall, like a medieval castle oubliette. With spikes at the bottom.

Faith, John.

Whichever the outcome, there’s no choice. I’m drowning now. Utterly alone. A bit of myself is left behind whenever I step down from that seventeenth step, one more task removed from the post-explosion flat recovery checklist that’s kept me tethered to Baker Street. Not much is left now. And what then? What excuse will I have to return?

No. I have to jump.

I know him. I do. I’ve recently remembered that I’ve always known him.

I’d forgotten, for a while.

I don’t think he ever has. I think he’s been waiting for me.

I hope he’s been waiting.

The thought makes me indescribably sad for him, but the hope is all I have.

I think he’ll have me. Even if just for Rosie’s sake. I’m a shit father alone. I can’t trust myself. There’s no way he trusts me, either. I see his eyes narrow whenever he greets me; assessing my mental state. My BAL. The level of my temper.

I pat Rosie’s head a bit absently, closing my eyes and sucking in a breath of smoggy London air as I pull her closer toward my chest in her carrier. She screams; tries to escape. It’s just the instinctual response of a toddler to confinement, right? To wanting to get out and explore the city streets. To needing a nappy change. A bit of a kip. Some lunch, soon. It’s nothing about me. It’s not about me. It’s not about me.

Except I often feel like it is.

Before I know it, I’m standing outside of the familiar black door of 221 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson isn’t home, I know. She’ll still be away with Mr. Chatterjee. They’ve patched things up, much to Sherlock’s chagrin. Something about just never filing divorce paperwork to avoid the headache. I was here just yesterday. I know this. I’m not supposed to be here. We hadn’t scheduled anything.

That’s what we do now. Schedule things.

He won’t be expecting me. I glance upwards – the curtains flutter, then shut again.

I – well. I’m not sure what to make of that, but it’s too late now. I fumble for my key, shushing a still-crying Rosie. My heart is racing.

The door opens. Sherlock stands there. His eyes are slightly wide for a moment, then his expression calms. He looks immaculate, as always.

“John, I wasn’t expecting you. Hello, little Watson.”

Rosie giggles. She giggles. From a right strop.

Suddenly I have no words. Nothing to say. I just… shrug. And Sherlock understands. He smiles, a little mismatched quirk of his lips and a crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home, you know.”

My breath leaves me. I feel like I might cry. I take my leap of faith.

Turns out, it’s only a small step.

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

Let's do a thing. Reblog and add your city and country. If it's already there, don't add it again. Let's take a look at Tumblr's diversity.