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the way she ate this up is CRAZY

agape- nicholas brittel

summary: miles is takin down ur braids 

warnings: Grammarly hates me, the patriarchy, a dash of toxic masculinity, miles being a product of that grrah grah boom type masculinity, aave (no im not translating shit for you yall got access to urban dictionary and its not really a warning), i edited it myself so lmk if there are any mistakes

sueñito- little dream, bonito- handsome/ pretty boy, no me importa- i don't care/ it's not important to me

w/c: 1.5 k

reader's black coded cus im black so deal w it <3

i think this something every black boy

“Stop movin, ma” 

“It’s knotty,” 

“You had these in for how long?” 

Silence. 

“There's your answer right there, mama,”  

“Sorry,” 

“Nun to be sorry for, just hold still,” 

Currently sitting on the bathroom floor criss-cross apple sauce, Miles was sitting on the toilet, your head between his knees, while he was taking down the frizzy lemonade braids that barely hugged your scalp anymore. 

“Miles?” 

He hums in response, rat tail comb in one hand, a tub of coconut oil in the other, threading the tail of the comb through the extensions down your back  

“You’re the prettiest boy in all of Brooklyn,” 

“Shut up” 

“Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” 

“Nuh-uh,” 

“Fuck you mean ‘nuh uh’? The little freckles all over your cheeks? Cutest things I’ve ever seen, especially how they’re all slightly different shades, like lil polka dots all over your face, gives me a map a’ where to kiss. The little tiny dimple on the left side of your face? Adorable, 10/10, no notes. Also very kissable." He's still now, staring at the back of your head, using bundles strewn over his shoulder, mouth agape. “Them thick and long ass eyelashes? I could stare at ‘em all day, they look like teeny tiny butterfly wings when you rest your eyes.” 

“Shut up,” he whispers, still unmoving, the little dab of coconut oil on his fingers slowly dribbling down his wrist 

“Your mind pretty as hell, too, I like listening to what you have to hear when you let me,” you mumble, pressing tiny kisses into his cargo pant–clad kneecap. 

“Stop doin that shit, ma” 

“What?” 

“Talkin all crazy like that,” 

“I’m not talkin crazy, miles I’m being honest,” 

“You makin me out to be some weak ass lil boy,” 

“Miles.” you turn around abruptly, staring at him dead in the eye. “I’m jus being honest wit you. What's going on?” 

“It’s nothin, ma, turn around”  

“Sueñito. Lemme know what's up,” 

“It’s nothin,” 

You huff, turning around to face the bottom of the sink again. Silence bellows throughout the bathroom, Miles rubbing oil on your braids to detangle them to later drag the comb in once again and throw the discarded hair extension over his shoulder. The only sound between the two of you is the Marvin Gaye spinning on the record player, rooms away, dull basslines thrumming through the apartment. 

“Ion like this,” 

“What?” 

“Whatever jus happened, we talk about what's bothering us,” 

“Ain't nothin botherin me, ma,” 

“Then why you start buggin' the second I get to complimenting you?” 

“Cus ian wit all that girly shit,” 

“Fuck you mean girly shit, I’m jus tryna love up on you Miles,” your nostrils flare as you stare ahead of you.  

“Baby, I’m all for that but–” 

“Miles, did someone tell you boys can't get that?” 

A silence. 

“Baby.” 

“What?” 

“Jus cus you a boy dont mean you don't deserve love,” 

“Aint nobody say allat–” 

“Shut up Ian done,” you say, swiftly turning around and snagging the oil and comb from his hand “jus cus you a boy doesn't mean you don't deserve to feel shit miles. Ion know what it was like wit your last girl, but Ian her. Okay? You allowed to be a person wimme, you know that right?” 

“Ma–” 

“Shut up I still ain't done yet. Miles I’m real, I’m right here. real like you, I promise you I’m not goin nowhere right now,” 

“You done?” 

“Yeah,”  

“C’mere,” he motions to his lap, taking the comb and oil out of your hands and setting them on the tiled floor, laying out the discarded bundles.  

“ ‘s oil all up on my hands” 

“No me importa ma, come up on here,”  

Obeying and wiping the excess coconut oil off your hand, you do. Straddling his lap, and looking into his eyes, examining the twinge of sadness in his eyes. 

“Talk to me, mama,” 

“I want you to know that you deserve love and that you’re allowed to feel some typa way. I want you to talk to me, Miles. I care about you so much and I wanna make sure you’re good. I love hearing you talk, but Ion like havin to beg you to talk to me. I love jus bein in your presence, but I hate feelin like that Miles. I don’t know who told you whatever's going through your head right now but they dead wrong. I wanna know how you be feelin, I wanna know.” 

“Why you even talk like this to me?” 

“Cus I’m your girl, n I like to kiss up on you and love all up on you,” 

At this, he averts his eyes, trying to escape your gaze, his breath audibly speeding up. 

“Mm mm, don't do that Miles. Please breathe,” 

You plead, subconsciously pressing your middle three fingers under his jaw trying to measure his heart rate. Almost as a reflex to hide from you, he shrugs your hand away from under his jaw and pulls his hoodie over his mouth.

“Nah nah, don't hide from me neither,”  

“Ain’t nobody hidin from you,” 

“Jus cus you a boy don’t mean you don't deserve them random ass cuddles, or someone to tie up your durag or wash your hair. It don’t mean you shouldn't get flowers or hugs or them lil hickies behind your ear. Don't mean you not allowed to be sad or mad or wanna cry. Now Ion know who told you or made you feel that way but they dead wrong Miles. You allowed to feel with me,” 

“Ian some lil boy runnin around though, that shit ain't for me,” 

“If you wasn't supposed to feel and acknowledge your feelings, why would you be able to feel them? They there for a reason,” 

Still straddled on his lap, he looks up at you with the tiny leverage you have on him. His eyes are big and doe-like, almost as if he’s scared to make this next step, say this next sentence.” 

“Ion know why,” he mumbles, voice soft and scared. suddenly he’s kissin up on you, gripping anything he can get his hands on, like he’s making up for lost time, lost feelings. It's urgent and a little rough, though his lips are soft and velvety, a twinge of menthol chapstick on them.  

“Yo yo yo, slow down. Ian goin nowhere” you whisper into his mouth, nails gently raking across his neck “ ‘m right here Miles, see?” you ask, guiding his hands to feel on the left side of your chest, right above your heart. “ ‘s my heart under there, I'm right here okay? I’m real, Miles I swear,” 

“You’re real?” he whispers, breath shaky and uneven fisting the thin fabric of your camisole under the evergreen zip-up, in an attempt to feel more of your heart. 

“You allowed to feel your feelings the same way you feel my heart,” 

He still looks astonished, scared, and frozen. suddenly it wasn’t him you were talking to anymore. it was the scared little Brooklyn boy who had all these feelings stored away inside him, unsure of what to do or who to show them to.  

“ ‘m sitting right here miles. I’m your girl, okay? This is real, and you are real,” 

“I’m real?” tears begin to swim in his eyes. 

“You’re real miles. and those feelings in that big heart of yours? Those are real too. And if you let me, I wanna hear all of 'em.”  

His body stills once more against you, a small tear gliding down his cheek. 

“I love you,” 

And then he’s sobbing. 

“Sshh, hey it's okay” you whisper, holding him close to your chest. “I love you so much I can’t hardly breathe when I'm around you. It’s okay and you're okay, Miles. I’m real and this is real and you. You are real.” you mumble into his braids, holding him with the protectiveness of a mother with a small child. 

He just sat there, his head buried in your chest as he cried quietly, letting everything out. You just sat and let him cry and vent through his tears. All the things he had bottled up, discouraged to show to anyone. Sooner or later the tears slow to a stop, his face puffy and hot. 

Gently tugging the ends of his braids, he looks up at you. 

“You feel better sueñito?” you ask, dragging the cuff of your sweater to dry his face and pressing butterfly kisses to his cheeks in its wake. He did nothing but nod lazily, seemingly lighter, and nuzzling his face into your chest. 

“Lemme finish wiping up your face n then you can be all up on me, bonito, okay? 

He just nodded, dropping his head back to rest against the bathroom wall, the half-taken-out braids on your scalp no longer th task at hand. Reaching behind him you grab a baby wipe and swipe the tears and snot off his face, leaving his skin with a glossy finish. Holding his chin up, you look dead in his eyes. 

“You so beautiful Miles.” 

And this time, he nods. 

🩷 reblogs are always appreciated for reach <3

Do you write for 42 miles?

i do indeed :)

LMFAOAOAOA

How do you think Mike’s 42 would react to reader farting in front of him? Like a really stanky fart, one of them moist ones, yk? I feel like he would sniff it but lmk what you think ❤️💞

I-

Bestie....what are you saying??? LMFAO

But to answer your question I really don't know, he might sniff them if hes in a lil goofy mood but usually no hahahah (IM JUST JOKING PLEASE DONT CANCEL ME)

the star catcher and the sun eater

SZA

photographed by Sage Adams for her album CTRL

Frank Oceans “Boys Don’t Cry”

Instagram @vrtlworld

leaked homer ad

“I feel small but so are stars from a distance.”

– ten word poem

"x black reader"

Naughty Space Void.

Smug with victory, he has no remorse. He'd do it again.

Pay attention to the relationships you have with the people who fall into your 4th, 8th, and 12th house.

From observation, people who have placements that fall into your 8th and 12th house may be the relationships that trigger you the most.

4th house represents the home, family, childhood, the mother (or the father depending on the type of astrology you practice) and your emotional authority, patterns and habits. People who fall in your 4th house, may be the ones who you feel safe, comfortable with, get along with pretty well. These people may align with your way of dealing with things emotionally.

8th house representing transformations, taboos, regeneration; people falling into this house can trigger personal growth, things that you tried to hide or refused to see, come out. Also these can become the people who you feel close with on an intimate level, people who you feel drawn to like a magnet.

12th house represents self-undoing and the subconscious mind. People falling into this house trigger your shadow. These may be peple you struggle to get along with (hidden enemies is apart of the 12h too) , these can be the people you dislike for no reason (possibly because they're triggering your shadow self) but also these relationships can be the most deep and spiritual.

i cannot tell y'all how much i love black men so lemme compile a list of the types of BM that i like:

Black men

Black men who smile with all teeth

black men who don't smile at all

tall black men

short black men

black men who are just the national average.

black men with tattoos

black men without tattoos

black men who can't dress to save their life

black men who save lives with their fits.

punk black men

goth black men

emo black men

trans black men

masculine black men

feminine black men

black men with afros

black men with locs

black men with a fade

hairy black men

Neuro divergent black men

Dark skin black men

brown skin black men

lightskin black men

black men who play sports

black men who are homebodys

fit black men

chubby black men

black men with big noses and lips

black men with small noses and lips

black men with hip dips

black men with the exaggerated swagger of a black teen

black men who prefer to game

black men who prefer to read

"soft aesthetic" black men

black men with waist beads (heavy on this I'm telling yall)

black men with a waist like wet cement

black men with a waist like water

black men who can't spell

smart black men

"he a lil goofy" black men.

gay black men

bi black men

aro/ace black men

black men who still feel culturally like a black woman (let's kiss)

he/him black men

she/her black men

they/them black men

neo pronouns black men

black men who want me to be their boyfriend

odd black men

out of the closet black men

still closeted black men

funny black men

violently unfunny black men

black men with one ear piercing (let's kiss bruh)

black men with a phobia of the dentist.

black men who are dentists

black men who are weak

black men who are fucking built

black men with iron defense

black men with vitamin deficiencies

black men with dyslexia and dyscalculia

black men who could tell you how big Einsteins left nut was just by seeing his height

black men who are allergic to nuts

black men with "obscure" allergies

black men with absolutely no allergies

discombobulating black men

perfectly sane black men and their unhinged friends

black men who cook

black men who like candles

black men who love flowers

black men who can't stand going outside

black men who are cat dads

black men who love dogs

black men with grillz

black men with sharp teeth

physically cold black men

physically warm black men

"puppy" like black men

"cat" like black men

hoodoo, root workers and witches

black men with dyed hair

I'd like to thank the9livesofmao and lem0nsite for their additions of black men, y'all ate with that and i will be adding them on (in pink and green respectively)

Tribes Are Better Than Temporary Ass Friends

frank ocean x prada

tw: motherhood (?)

i am a mother

letters are my infants

words are my toddlers

and stories are my children

And i love my kids

as any mother should

stuffing ambition into a

lunchbox

and bringing pride

to the dinner table

a feast for our

egos

carefully braided with

our souls

pushing aside the days of

starvation

that lie ahead

And i hate my kids

as any mother could

late night without

rest or hope

bloodshot eyes in the reflections

as i carefully spoon soup

into weeping mouths

lashing out from beneath feverish

dreams

dreams of what i had long ago

when i was free from this

curse

my children are a

curse

that i created

and supplemented with my body

i should have weighed

the pros and

cons

but how do you weigh something so

small

and precious

and helpless

the desperation they cry

as they enter this world is

heavier

than any star and

louder

than any storm

and as they look up at me

with accusing eyes

i see

they are just like their mother

-i guess it’s genetic (young mother’s lullaby)

James Jean

A little Aphrodite to bless your day ♥️

Aphrodite by Briton Rivière (1902)

Aphrodite by Adam Schultz

IG: poemsforthemoon_

Oh, Aphrodite

Ur honor… I love her

If your god is against homosexuality, then I’m against your god.

If you’re against homosexuality, then I’m against you.

Is your god actually homophobic or are you just projecting your homophobia onto your perception of divinity?

It doesn’t matter. Whatever you use as the justification for your bigotry, I wholeheartedly oppose.

I’m against anyone who paints the LGBTQIA+ community as inherently wrong, immoral, corrupt, or unnatural. I’m fine with being the opposer to any oppressive force, regardless of whether it’s a human, deity, institution, or otherwise. Your justifications are just excuses for your failure to be a good person.