macklin celebrini has autism
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
No title available
Color Me Curious
★
gracie abrams
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
YOU ARE THE REASON
art blog(derogatory)
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Show & Tell
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
almost home
The Bowery Presents
Claire Keane
Love Begins
#extradirty
untitled
Cosimo Galluzzi
No title available
seen from Vietnam
seen from Colombia
seen from Pakistan
seen from Australia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Indonesia
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Brazil
seen from Switzerland
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
@herasmom
This is for @someone187 who requested me John giving Sherlock a piggyback ride! But the two end up falling over, on top of each other! Sweet❤️ Yes, the boys are quite tipsy!!
..Hope you like it, dear!;)
HQ
I can FEEL that ankle twist
I *love* the literally falling into each others’ arms trope! (Or each others’ crotches but same /same.)
(x, x, x)
#g #a #y
Hands down my favorite scene. Possibly of the entire series. John’s face. Sherlock’s face. Done.
Setting sex or the lack thereof aside for a moment, no one will ever convince me that this moment isn’t two people falling completely in love with one another. They both look so amazed, like they can’t quite believe what they’re seeing. Is this person real? How, after a whole lifetime of people who are not Sherlock and not John, can they suddenly exist?
And the way each one of them responds is just perfect. John laughs, genuinely, the tension completely gone from around his eyes and forehead for the first time since he came back to London.
Sherlock laughs too but then he bites his lip, hesitates for a moment, because this is something new, because friends aren’t his area and he hasn’t asked someone to spend time with him for the simple sake of spending time together, no ulterior motive, no strategy, just wanting to be together, in the most straightforward, literal, sense of the phrase, since probably before adolescence.
And while their smiles and expressions quieten, they keep the same openness, so that when each turns to glance at the other, observing, making sure he’s still there, marveling, maybe, they don’t look away or get embarrassed the way you do when someone catches you staring. Because for some reason these two men with trust issues, who always, always protect themselves, have decided to put their faith in one another. Instead they lock eyes for a moment of agreement and understanding before looking forward and going along their way, completely assured of, and by, the other’s continued presence.
I want someone to hold my umbrella while I wear a beautiful, sentient cloak that loves me. (x)
I paused here and look at their eyes I am ded they are both like “God I fucked up.”
Cover Reveal: Ravenfall by Narrelle M Harris
My lesbian short story Near Miss is due out in July, but even before that’s hit the digital stands, here I come with a new cover reveal!
Ravenfall is a queer, paranormal, erotic romance thriller, set in contemporary London, and published by Clan Destine Press. It’s due out in mid August 2017.
(For those who follow me on AO3, this book is a rewritten adaptation of the Ravenfall fic there, which was written as Epic Besties. This adaptation is a M/M romance, with some explicit scenes.)
Ravenfall
In London, war veteran James Sharpe struggles to come to terms with what he’s become: a vampire. His new lodger, artist Gabriel Dare, is best thing that’s happened to James since his discharge. Or he would be, if James knew whether he was still capable of love. He knows he’s capable of much worse things; the things he fights within himself every day.
Is James a danger to those he cares for? What will happen if Gabriel finds out what James is?
Gabriel, however, has a secret history of his own. And when some of his friends, the subjects of his art, go missing from the streets, a whole nest of secrets and a dangerous plot are revealed: involving a clairvoyant cop, Gabriel’s brother and a host of London’s monsters.
Cover art by Willson Rowe
*
Keep an eye on Ravenfall for links when the book is launched in August 2017, or you can follow my blog at http://mortalwords.com.au/ for updates.
Save the living, not the dead.
Quotes from the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle “My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation.”
FIC: BANG! Oops.
There are things one should know about the 221B household and perhaps it’s wise to learn them before the explosions, the cackling child, or the shouting.
Yes, that would probably be best.
So. Here you go…
Granada Holmes + Domestic Moments
Would you write about Watson teaching Holmes something he knows from the army?--to mend his clothes, or cook something? And Holmes thinks Watson being competent is really attractive.
My medical talents no longer impressed Sherlock Holmes. I had washed the blood of his skin, iced his bruises, and sewn up the gash in his arm, and yet it was my promise to mend the shirt off his back that had him eyeing me with interest.
“You know, I could just… buy another shirt, John,” said he, from beneath the cold compress.
“Yes, certainly,” said I, sitting down in my armchair with the shirt and my sewing kitin hand. “But I forbid you to buy a new shirt for a dockside disguise. You might as well use this one, with my repairs.”
He hummed in agreement, and then asked, “Would you wait to do it?”
“Wait for what?”
“Me,” he said. “To teach me.” He had his hand over his face, keeping the compress in place, but I could tell he was more than casually interested.
“All right,” I said. “Tomorrow, then, when you’re upright.”
“I didn’t know you could sew,” he said, the next night, as I lay the shirt across my knee.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I gave you stitches two days ago.”
“Yes, but surely this is different,” he protested, covering the bandaged wound with his hand. “What is the extra fabric for?”
“I’m going to patch it,” I said, “not just sew up the cut. The fabric is stronger with something behind it, and this way any tension on the seam won’t rip it open again.”
“Hm,” said he, and put both elbows on the table.
I laid the shirt out and slid the patch inside the sleeve. He was lucky he’d been in his shirtsleeves at the time, for only the shirt had been cut, but perhaps if he’d been wearing a jacket or a coat he might not have been cut down to the skin. I lined up the patch with my fingers. “Now it’s best for the grain of the fabric to match, or when it pulls the fabric will pull in different directions.”
“The grain is the direction the fabric is woven?”
“Yes.” I straightened the cut again and began to pin the patch in place behind the cut. “I’m going to baste it, which means sewing a temporary seam to hold things in place, and then seam the cut to the patch, so that the thread goes through two layers of fabric. Then I’ll sew the patch to the shirt, remove the basting, and then I’ll be done.”
Holmes’s gaze was fixed to my hands. He often turned his attention on me, for the purpose of deduction, but to have it focused on something I was teaching him was quite unusual. I used a red thread to baste, sewing the patch roughly in place, and removed the pins. Then I threaded the needle with white thread and began to work on the cut itself. Holmes watched, rapt, as I pushed the needle through the fabric again and again, drawing the thread taut, and closing the gap.
“Your stitches are so small,” he murmured.
“Holds the fabric tighter,” I replied.
“May I try?”
I handed it over. He held the project awkwardly at first, getting the feel for it, but soon he was emulating my posture and leaning over the stitches to get a close look at them. He mimicked my stitches admirably.
“I was right,” said he, frowning at the work. “This is nothing like sewing up skin.”
“There are similarities,” I said.
“Well, perhaps,” he admitted. The tip of his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth. “There, done.”
“Very nice,” I said.
“Watson, I hope it never goes unsaid that I appreciate your many talents, but this one in particular has me very impressed.”
I grinned at him. “Does it indeed?“
“Very impressed,” he repeated, taking my hand in his and turning it over. His eyes were intent as his fingers skimmed over the callouses on my fingers and the lines on my palm. “I wonder if you’d be willing to delay the second part of the lesson perhaps half an hour, and demonstrate the other things these hands can do.”
“If you insist,” I said.
“I do.”
How would you classify yourself on the political spectrum?
angry
new mind palace sequence, listen: sherlock going through those doors in his mind palace and it’s still the hallways of the roland kerr further educational college but instead of redbeard in the middle of the floor, it’s just john, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, wearing that plaid shirt with the sheer maroon cardigan, looking off into the distance, and when sherlock comes in, his head turns, and he sees sherlock, and he smiles just a very very very tiny little bit, so little only sherlock could see it, only because he knows john’s face so very well.
and john pushes off the wall and goes to sherlock, stands in front of him. you need to calm down, sherlock, he says. he sounds like his doctor self. his soldier self. the way he sounded just inside 221b’s door before Moriarty’s trial all those years before, the quiet authority, ready? before he lead sherlock through the crowd. the quiet authority of just a few weeks ago on the floor of a barracks bathroom, of steven, can you hear me? stay with me. sherlock says, i didn’t know, john, i’m sorry i didn’t see it. and john reaches out one hand, puts it on sherlock’s arm. they don’t touch much in real life but sherlock knows the size of john’s hand, the warmth of his palm. he knows it now. he knows it always.
don’t apologise, john says. i just need for you to be all right sherlock. i know it hurts, i know it does. i got shot too, remember? but i need for you to be all right. and it does hurt, it really hurts, and john is saying breathe, breathe, helping sherlock to his knees so he doesn’t fall down, helping him carefully to the floor. how did you survive it? sherlock asks him. how did you survive the pain? sherlock knows now how it is to be hugged by john, and john hugs him here, too, holds sherlock close to his body, shelters him. he smells like aftershave. his eyes are deep dark blue. i had to, john says, he takes off his cardigan and presses it to the wound in sherlock’s chest. it’s not bleeding, here in the mind palace, but the pressure hurts. i had to survive it so that we could find each other. and you have already left me once, sherlock, and i can’t do it again. do you understand? you do not get to die under my hands again, all right? john takes his face in his hands as sherlock’s heart starts to fail. softer now. we’re losing you, sherlock, and i need you to survive this, okay, i need you to do this with me. are you ready? so breathe. and john kisses his forehead. breathe. john kisses one cheekbone, breathe, and the other. sherlock, right now, okay? right now. are you ready?
sherlock nods, even though he isn’t sure, and john says it one more time, breathe, and it sounds like for me, and he kisses sherlock’s mouth, kisses him hard and steady and certain, and somewhere in a surgical suite outside of sherlock’s mind, a machine beeps back into life.
The Mysterious Case of the Traveling Red Jacket
All right, so, first you should probably read this thread here, in which numerous fans have assembled a nearly-comprehensive collection of images and GIFs of either Sherlock Holmes or John Watson or an actor (or animated character) who plays Sherlock Holmes or John Watson wearing the same (or more or less the same) red jacket. This all started with @educatedinyellow and I am so pleased to have this diversion from the utterly repugnant state of my country on the eve of our national independence day, so thank you to everyone who contributed to it.
But of course I cannot just ENJOY the transhistorical persistence of the red jacket, I must ANALYZE it. But since I’m on vacation, I will analyze it in a really sloppy and speculative and not very rigorous way in order to support the conclusions I want. So. What explains the extensive recurrence within the broader Sherlock Holmesosphere of the Red Smoking Jacket?
Keep reading
‘Perhaps,’ ‘maybe,’ all the evidence we so far have is purely circumstantial.
Robin - Nathan Barley 2005
I remember seeing this back in my Mighty Boosh obsession days and thinking ‘what a gorgeous little bee-stung lipped twink! Where did they find him?!’ And now here he is, the greatest actor of his generation - and still with gorgeous bee-stung lips - but not nearly so much ‘twink’
