Someone Being Patient With You On Your Bad Days Is One Of The Softest Forms Of Love

“Walking in Beauty” by Coderch & Malavia

Wake up and open your curtains. Your windows too.

Drink some tea or coffee, whatever pleases you. Notice every sip.

Have some fresh fruit and finish breakfast feeling full.

Stand outside and feel the air. Cool or warm, it will make you feel real.

Get some exercise. Yoga to soothe, running to breathe, lifting for strength.

Take care of your body. Have a nice shower and pamper as much as you want afterward. 

If you’re going to work, remember you have the chance to make anyone’s day or to ruin it. Act accordingly. 

Weed out the bad language. It’s only creating tension in your body and mind. Kind words are infinitely more appreciated.

Take some time each day to improve your mind. Keep reading that great book. Listen to an incredible piece of music. Practice an instrument or a skill. The progress is its own reward.

Pictures will help you remember how wonderful life is. But spend less time on your phone and more time seeing the world face to face. 

Go to sleep knowing that you have done well. Tomorrow is there with room to become even better.

-Notes to myself on how to become a better person this summer.

Oh, angel.

Your mind has been a mess, and you've approached your breaking point. The tears have come, your legs feel like jelly, and the tens of thousands of bad thoughts won't stop running around in that overwhelmed head of yours. Your aching chest feels heavy, and you can't seem to even catch your own breath.

You poor, sweet thing.

But suddenly, there she is.

Your saviour. Your guiding light in moments of need. Your protector. Your domme.

She'll take your face into her hands, and her thumb will brush those tears away, with a touch feather-light. She'll kiss your head, she'll pull your front against her with your body in her lap, and she'll soothe you more than anything else ever could. Her coo's will calm your busy thoughts and her kisses will slow your racing heart. Oh love, where are your worries now, hm? You're perfect like this.

"It's alright, darling. I've got you. Just fall into me."

And fall you do. With your tears now dried and your face nuzzled into her neck, she'll do all the thinking for you, and you love things this way. So, you'll nuzzle deeper into her when her fingers find their way between your thighs, and follow her words. "Just breathe, my sweet love. Just breathe for me."

Let her thrusts shut your mind down even more. Let her lift your heavy head up and allow her to shut away your anxious words by letting her tongue fill your mouth instead. Let her unravel you, let her break you apart bit by bit, and know that she's enjoying it. You needed her, and here she is.

So you'll thank her. Again and again, you'll thank her. And when it's done, when she's pulled you apart and stitched you back together with her praises and a warm bath, know that she's waiting for you to need her all over again.

"Nobody else will ever get to see you like this, and nobody else will ever get to break you apart. You're mine to ruin, and mine to put back together."

"Always."

The little demons of grief came to live with me, in the space between the shadows and the floor.

I can't hear what they're telling me, even though I try.

Threat/Help/ Wounded/Angst Prompts

Not really sure what the name was 🤡

"Get behind me"

"Come at me!"

"I dare you!"

"Don’t you dare lay a finger on [pronoun]!"

"I will find you, and when I do. Ha, it won’t end well"

"Shh! They’ll hear us!"

"You didn’t have to do that"

"Fuck ‘was that for?!"

"What are you doing?!"

"I—I have a/this [weapon] in my hand! And I’m not afraid to use it!"

"Stop hurting [pronoun]!"

"GET OFF!"

"Help me— please!"

"I don’t want to get hurt, again…"

"Stop! PLEASE! Don’t hurt me!"

"I will stab you to death"

"You want MERCY?! Ha… Then get on your knees and beg!"

"It’s me, and [pronoun] dies. Or it’s [pronoun] and I die"

"Pick the wrong one and face the consequence!"

"I beg of you, please, don’t hurt [name]"

"I’ll pay you anything! Just name your price!"

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here"

"Get out of the way!"

"Stop! If you do that then you’ll be gone forever!"

"I’ll serve you— just as long as [name] is free"

"You should’ve died in [name’s] place!"

Prompts

Person A shielding Person B

Person A covers Person B as they annihilate a threat

Person B knowing they don’t have anymore time left, and kisses Person A’s forehead telling them not to forget them

Person A being held in Prison because they took the fault of Person B’s crime

Person B finally got rid of an abusive relationship (wether it’s a family member or their s/o), and Person A does their best to help them recover

Person A treating Person B’s wounds

Person A helping Person B back on their feet after a battle (old history lore)

Person B is usually really good at hiding [pronoun] wounds, till they wear an extra large shirt and a wound is exposed to Person A

Person A holding Person B in [pronoun] arms after hearing them say their last words

Person A carrying Person B to safety

Person A cooking for Person B because their sick, and are still recovering from their wounds

Person B crying and screaming in Pain, while Person A trying to calm them down and get them first aid

older women who know how to take charge… where are you? because i’d love for you to take charge. in every sense of the word.

The familiar pain that comes with loosing people will never be familiar cause every single time it hurts worse

"But how did you know I was a sub?" Oh, sweetheart.

I look at you like I want to eat you whole and defile every inch of you, and you look at me with little stars in your eyes. I talk to you like you're a wounded puppy, and you nod along to every word I say. I let my finger trace down your cheek while I give you a proud smile, and you lean into my touch like you'll cry without it.

I just want to keep you in my pocket forever.

The legacies people leave behind in you.

My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.

I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.

I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.

I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.

I learned to love books because my father loved them first.

How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.

getting pounded into the mattress until i’m crying then being babied after would cure me i think