love oxfords

Cleaned it at last ! It’s ruff but this is a sketch page I drew as I was finishing the first book of Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials. I had to post it, because re-reading the books was SO great ! I knew I already loved it as a child and would understand it a lot better now, but I didn’t expected to love it that much !!
I took the complete three volumes for my one month internship in this tiny-village-with-nothing, and ended reading all of it in almost one week ! (That’s an awful lot of pages.) I can only recommend the series, and  would totally make a badass animated TV show out of it.

Ps - If you’ve read it, you cannot forget Him. Yeah and that’s tiny Lyra and big Iorek :3

Me, 4 years ago: working in a dead-end job, sad all the time

Me, after studying a ‘useless’, ‘pointless’, ‘valueless’ philosophy degree: going to Oxford, lovely allotment garden, reading more poetry, happy

Don’t ever let anyone talk you out of studying what you love. Those people are the worst kind of people and they are wrong. I can’t believe 4-year-ago me ever doubted that doing what I loved was a good idea.

โ€œTooru, what are you doing?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s our first real date Iwa-chan! We have got to do this right!โ€

โ€œI know all that, but do you really have to leave and come back? Weโ€™re both ready, we should just go now before weโ€™re late.โ€

Keep reading

6

- We’ve been friends since we were twelve and we used to go to see a lot of shows together. Then, we all went to school in different places, I was djing at night to make a bit of money. When you get back from a DJ set, you’re kind of buzzing and you can’t sleep because you’ve had a red bull and the bass. So, I bought a little synth, started messing around, and made some songs. I showed them to my friends when we were all back for christmas, and they said, “you’ve got to put this on the internet” and I said, “if I do that, you’re gonna be in a band with me”. That was it. 

Happy birthday Pineapple King a.k.a. Dave Algernon Bayley! 

2

Oh Sehun spotted in Oxford Circus Station In London, UK 🇬🇧🇬🇧❤❤

I went to find this and you don’t know how happy I was when I saw it! So many people were looking at it too ♡♡ European Exposure! Thank you Chinese EXO-L ♡♡

Domestic Drabbles - 6: It’s Not London (Part 1)

Presenting! *drum roll* Part 6 of Domestic Drabbles: A Series! 
More inspiration from my amazing husband!

This one has two parts, so watch for the next one coming soon. Beware the slight angst.

And shoutout to @baz-n-simon for being the most amazing beta, support, and bestie (:


Simon

Baz has been having a string of bad days lately. When he comes over, he’s grumpy and frustrated, and we always end up arguing over pointless things before he leaves for the night. We’re both so fiery and stubborn that neither of us can back down. Sometimes these fights are so intense that I’m so sure he wouldn’t even bother coming over the next day. But he always does. Everyday.

Most of the time, we don’t talk about it. The arguments or Baz’s bad day. It’s not that we avoid the conversation; it’s just that I rarely ask and he rarely offers. I’ve never been great with words, so I made a rule for myself to not force others to talk if they don’t want to. And Baz tends to avoid talking about most of his feelings, like he always has, so the conversation never happens. Penny says that this isn’t healthy, but when has mine and Baz’s relationship ever been an example of perfection?

But now, Baz is standing in front of me, in the doorway of my bedroom, looking like he might cry at any moment, and I immediately decide to break my rule.

“Baz.” I gently touch his hand that’s gripping the doorknob. “What- what’s wrong?” He’s so delicate like this, so fragile, like if touched him any more, he would break.

He shifts his gaze around my face, like he’s unsure, or thinking. Then he furrows his brow and touches my shoulder, then gently pushes me aside.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Snow,” he says. He walks over to my bed and just plops down on it, stomach first and dead-weight. Literally dead-weight, my mind adds. And then I frown.

“Baz,” I say. He just sighs into the sheets, then grabs a pillow and places it over his head.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

I frown at him again. At this point, I would just go to the kitchen for snacks and let Baz fume through what was bothering him. But with that look on his face, I’m suddenly determined to get him to tell me.

“Baz,” I say again, and he groans. He then grabs the entire blanket from the end of the bed and pulls it on top of him.

“No, Snow.”

I walk over to his legs that are sticking off the bed, and I touch his ankle gently.

“Tell me,” I say. It wasn’t a demand; more of a subtle plea.

He lets out a muffled huff. “No, Snow,” he says again.

I crawl onto the bed and sit beside him. “Please tell me,” I say, laying my hand on his back.

“No.” He pulls the edges of the blanket closer to him. “Can’t you leave me alone?”

“Nope,” I say, grabbing the edges of the blanket near his face. I try to yank them away, but Baz’s death-grip is unmatched. His literal death-grip, my mind adds. And I frown again. I can’t seem to turn off the vampire jokes today.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Baz says, tucking the blanket it under him. “Let me hide here in peace.”

“I want you to talk about it, Baz,” I say. I roll on top of him and sit on his back, pinning the back of his legs down with my feet. “I’m not going to let you hide.” I grab the blanket in front of his face and pull it upward.

“Ugh, Snow. Get off,” he says, trying to hold the blanket down. He moves around slightly, trying to shake me off, but I have the upperhand. Literally.

I manage to pull the blanket out of one of Baz’s hands, and I peel it back off part of his face. He immediately turns his head over and hides his face in the other hand.

“Leave me alone,” he says, but it’s less upset sounding and more grumpy.

“I will leave you alone if you tell me,” I say, tugging at the blanket in his other hand.

“No.”

I start to frown, but my lip suddenly curls upward into a smirk. I push Baz’s hair away from his temple, lean down, and kiss him gently there. And then again. And again.

“Please tell me,” I say, curling my fingers into his hair.

He just buries his face even more into his blanketed hand.

“Baz,” I mumble against his temple.

“No, Snow.”

I kiss his temple again, then start pushing the blanket away from his face. He tries to fight me, holding onto the blanket as much as possible, but I keep managing to push it further and further away. I kiss each area of his face as I uncover it. I kiss the top of his cheekbone, and then his cheek, and his jaw, and then his nose. He has his eyes scrunched closed, so I kiss his eyelids, and then his forehead. I linger back along his temple, then kiss his ear.

“Baz,” I whisper into it.

He groans. “Fine,” he says, opening his eyes and letting go of the blanket. “I’ll tell you.”

I smile at him and lean up. As I begin to relax, Baz pushes my shoulder and tries to roll, pushing me off in the process. He almost succeeds in escaping, but as he rolls over, I pin one of his arms down so he can’t get up and roll back on top of him.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me,” I say. He tries to push at me with his free arm, but I pin that down as well. I’m inches away from his face now, and he’s glaring at me, his pupils enlarging, so I glare back.

We hold our glares at each other for a moment before he huffs in defeat. “Fine, Snow, fine. Just let go of my arms.”

“I will give you one arm,” I say.

He grins at this, and I feel my whole body relax. I didn’t even realize how tense I had been until now.

“Fine,” he says, still grinning. “One arm.”

I let go of his left arm, and he immediately places his hand on my leg, stroking his thumb along it. His grin suddenly disappears though, and I feel myself tense up again.

“My father,” he says, and his eyes shift away from me. “He’s never approved of my choice in Universities. London has never been prestigious enough for him. He wants me to go to Oxford.”

I raise my eyebrow at him. “Oxford? What’s wrong with that?”

His gaze falls back on me. “It’s not London, Snow.”

“I don’t understand, Baz,” I say, and I truly don’t. Oxford is prestigious. Baz is prestigious. It makes sense for him to go there.

Baz wiggles his arm that I’ve pinned down, and I let it go, leaning up in the process. He immediately grabs my hand and squeezes it. His eyes lock with mine, and they’re filled with so much sadness that my chest starts to hurt.

“It’s not London, Simon.”


(Part 2)

(1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(7)(8) - (ao3)

2

Part 1 of something silly I did based on @itsthesinbin ‘s headcanon post. I love that blog, and headcanons, and Genyatta, and I am garbage. And that’s fine. 

—–

Part 2

How to dominate reality? Love is one way;
      imagination another. Sit here
beside me, sweet; take my hard hand in yours.
We’ll mark the butterflies disappearing over the hedge
      with tiny wristwatches on their wings:
our fingers touching the earth, like two Buddhas.

Irving Layton, closing lines to “The Fertile Muck,” The New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse, chosen by Margaret Atwood (Oxford University Press, 1982)