whilst i should have been working

For Georgina

When we first heard of the attack in Manchester, as it broke across social media and across the news channels none of us even imagined that it would have such a close and personal effect on us.

There are no words that properly express the loss we are feeling within the fandom, to know that you will never again get to watch the show, go to conventions, meet new friends or old ones or even get to live the rest of the life your had a right too.

I didn’t know your personally but I had the extreme pleasure of meeting you a couple of times, although briefly, at Storybrooke 3 in Blackpool whilst I was working in one of the photo studios.

I have never been prouder than I have over the last couple of days of our fandom. Oncers from all countries, different ages and different ships have come together to remember you. They have posted amazing stories, messages, pictures, songs and artwork all dedicated in your memory. They have been there to support each other through the first few days of grief and disbelief and from this new friendships, lasting friendships have probably been made.

That is a wonderful legacy to leave behind even if she should never have happened.

We are sending all of our collective love to your family and friends who must be going through an absolutely horrific time, bit we are thinking of them and hopefully know how loved and remembered you are will help, even if it’s a tiny amount.

We will never forget you Georgina, you shall forever be rememberd by those that knew you, or even briefly met you. You will live on through pictures, stories, memories, artwork and the lasting love people will always hold for you.

You will forever be a part of the Oncer family.

Rest in Peace.

Xxx

Dishwasher Safe

A/N: the basis of the this fic was borrowed from elsewhere. But I asked permission…. Well, I’m made @castielspahdehrah ask permission for me. If it’s well received I may be persuaded to write another part.

“I really need to go and clean the kitchen," you sighed, not wanting to move. The dishwasher needed emptying and various pots and pans needed putting back into their proper places.

"I’ll go, you cooked. Plus I should do more around here really seeing as you won’t take any rent from me,” your friend and colleague Spencer hauled himself up off the couch. He’d been staying with you for the last three weeks whilst his apartment building was having some work done on it. He hadn’t asked, you’d offered when you found out he was planning on moving into a hotel for the two months the renovations would take. You had a spare room and you two got on well enough, it made sense.

“I’m not gonna argue with you there. Bring me more wine please,” you smiled sweetly and relaxed back into the cushions.

A few moments later you could hear him clattering around in the kitchen and you closed your eyes, relaxing.

“What the….. What the hell?”

What now? Wearily you pushed yourself up and walked over to the kitchen, seeing Spencer with a bright purple silicone implement in his hand.

Whoops, you’d forgotten that had been in there.

“Is this…. Oh my God it is,” realising what he was holding, Spencer tossed it onto the counter top, a look of mild disgust on his face.

“Hey, don’t treat George like that. He needs to be treated with love and care,” you entered the kitchen and grabbed your toy.

“Why the hell was it in the dishwasher Y/N?”

“Because it needed cleaning?” well duh.

“YOU PUT YOUR SEX TOYS IN THE DISHWASHER?”

He wasn’t angry, more……a mixture of shocked and confused.

“Well not all of them. Only my dildos. It’s the best place for them. They’re dishwasher safe so…. Saves me having to boil them.”

“But… but…. but.”

“Oh come on Spencer. You know more than anyone how important it is for things to be properly cleaned. How germs are everywhere. You didn’t even shake my hand for weeks when I first started because of all the evil germs you were scared I’d transmit to you. You wouldn’t want me putting an unclean dildo into my vagina would you?”

“No, of course not…. Wait what?” he now looked appalled, his cheeks flushing red.

“Sex toy hygiene is very important to me.”

He blinked a few times, looking to the toy in your hand and then to the plates on the side that he’d emptied out.

“I presume that had been used when it went into the machine?”

“Well I gave it quick rinse under the tap before I stuck it in the dishwasher but yeah.”

“Right.” He turned back to the plates and started loading them back into the machine.

“What are you doing?” although it was very obvious what he was doing.

“I can’t eat off the same plates that have been washed in the same water as your…. as your…. ”

“Dildo?”

He nodded.

“And why not? The water’s hot. It would have sterilised everything. I don’t have cooties you know, Reid.”

“I know you don’t but…”

“And,” you stepped closer to him. “As a grown man I’m quite certain that you’re not unfamiliar with the taste of a woman’s…. juices. Not that you would be able to taste anything because like I say, the water will have cleaned it all.”

He flushed a deeper red.

“So what’s the problem Spencer?”

“It’s weird okay! You’re my friend, my work colleague. I don’t want to be eating off things that have been washed in the same water as your used dildo.”

“So if we were dating would it be different?” this was fun.

“I don’t know! Maybe!”

“Well that’s good to know.” You waited for him to finish reloading the dishwasher. Which he hadn’t emptied or loaded himself all week so didn’t know what you did.

“Spencer…. ”

“Yes?”

“Just so you know, George has been in there for a few cycles already. I forgot that I’d put him in there last week.”

With that, you skipped off towards the bedroom to place George back in the drawer with his brothers and sisters, leaving Spencer spluttering to himself as the penny dropped in his brain.

Fairytales - Optional Bias Fluf/Angst

this’ll probably be longer than needed, but i’m back!!

prompt: You’re a princess who’s told by your father that you must marry and a ball is planned to find you a husband. You flee to the edge of your kingdom where you find a young man, living with two brothers and an abusive stepfather. You become friends quick and hatch a scheme: you will take one of the his shoes, claim it belong to your one true love, and send your father on a fool’s errand to find the ‘prince’ to which it belongs. In return you will help the man escape his family, if he wishes, at least for one night - at the ball.

words: 11k


“But I’m not ready.” You exhaled in exhaustion.

You’re staring up at your father with wide eyes and he stares back, eyes piercing as he speaks.

“It has been set since you were a little girl,” He stood at your doors, arms crossed as he scowled at you. “You were to marry when your mother and I got too tired to control this part of the kingdom any longer.”

“Yes, but-”
“Your mother and I announced our stepping down from the throne almost two years ago, which gave you just enough time.”

You sighed.
“You never even let me out of the house unless I’m with ten guards, how would any guy even approach me?”
“We have invited princes from the east and the west to have dinner with you, here, right in our palace, and you turn them off every time.”
“It’s forced.”

There’s a slight silence before he opens his mouth again.
“Well, we didn’t want to go this route, but we must.” He sighs. “A ball will be scheduled in few days time, a marriage ball, the guests will only be princes, and you must find one to marry by the end of the night.”
“But I want to be in love with the one I marry.”
“You’re even lucky your mother and I didn’t just arrange a marriage,” He glares down at you. “There will be over 80 men there, surely one will suit your preferences.”

You stay silent.

“Isis will come down this afternoon to get a description and draw a style of the dress you’d like before she designs it. Your mother will handle all the food and decoration. I just expect you to be nice, look pretty, and find a husband.”
You don’t say anything else as he walks out and shuts your double doors before retreating.

You flop back down onto your bed, tears already beginning to fall.

The worst thing was that you knew you couldn’t do anything about it.

And you didn’t want to but you knew you had to marry.

Your parents were getting older, and the job was too stressful for them. So, in a way, you had always known you would eventually have to take over the palace and the kingdom with a husband by your side (especially as you were their only child).

But you hadn’t had a proper crush on anybody after you liked that one boy in kindergarten, and you only liked him because he used to give you his rice pudding everyday at lunch.

After you were young, you were home schooled, and even though the young palace workers flirted with you, it never went past that.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been sitting until you heard a knock.

You don’t move until the knocking persists, making you lift your head.

You tell them to come in and instantly you see the long, dark curls of your stylist.

Isis.

She was motherly, always wearing silk and diamonds and ever looked mischievous with a cheshire cat smile.

But she wasn’t smiling, because she knew what was going on.

“I’m sorry.” She instantly says.

“It’s okay, it’s for the best.” You smile at her.

She closes the door behind her before moving to sit on your bed, dropping her sketchbook and ink onto your duvet.

She strokes the top of your head, a finger curling in one of your kinks as she sighs.

“I still have to design this dress for you.”
“I know.” You sit up.

“You don’t want to talk about it, though?”
“No. I just wanna get this all over with. Maybe I’ll like my husband after a while.”
She nods though she’s not convinced, flipping to an empty page before you.
“So, I want it baby blue, princess flared, I guess, and really huge, like the one we did for my birthday.” You sigh. “And I want it to shimmer, all over, everytime the light hits it….”


The loud clock near the kingdom’s temple had rung out, signalling it was midnight.

You looked out your window, watching all the palace workers retreat to their nearby village.

It was extremely dark and a thunderstorm was raging, but you had conspired this plan for hours, and nothing was going to stop you.

You looked into the mirror sitting up against one of your walls.

You wore a dark red outfit; a traditional red tubed top paired with long-flared red pants. Your crystal shoes were hidden underneath them.

You took a sheer scarf from your closet and wrapped it around your head, hiding your hair and most of your face within it before deciding you were ready.

You exited your room quietly, walking downstairs to get to the place your father kept most of his money.

You took a few hundred coins, not knowing how long you would be gone for, before rushing your way down the many halls to get to the very back of the palace.

It was outdoors at this part, because this was where the garden was, meaning you could sneak out the gates without making any noise.

You hid within the rush of palace workers, blending in as you tried to look as if you were in a hurry as well.

You successfully made it out, following them to the village they would now go to.

But when you got to their village you continued on, deciding you wouldn’t stop until just the right moment.


It was your second day out, and you knew word had gotten out that one of the princesses had disappeared.

Since a little girl you had been friends with all the princesses from neighboring kingdoms, so you snuck into their palaces whenever you could for food or to rest, and they would hide you well, before you set out again.

It was night and you had just made it to the next village.

It was quiet out, and it was raining again, thundering as well as you walked, but it didn’t bother you.

What did bother you was the sounds of shouting a few steps away.

You tried to ignore the yelling coming from inside a particular house until you saw the door to the house open.

A man instantly fell out, onto his back and seemed to be looking up into the house before you saw another man standing, peering down at him.

“I told you to clean the fireplace, didn’t I?”
“I was going t-to, I was just cl-cleaning the dis-”
“Since you can’t take care of anything in the house, why don’t you take care of everything outside?” The man booms at him. “You can sleep in the pig’s den tonight.”
With that he shuts the door and locks in.

Not another sound is heard.

You had been hiding behind a tree the entire time, fear stricken as you watched.

Keep reading

Friends

Request: could you do an imagine based on the song friends by ed sheeran? i feel like it could be interesting

Word count: 799

Warnings: Angst?? Definite fluff

I’m sorry its late out, but I have been doing drama performances all week, and school work, whilst coping with serious school drama so you’ll have to forgive me. I should have another request out today! Love y’all, enjoy!

Song: Friends by Ed Sheeran

Originally posted by alienphaan

We’re not, no we’re not friends, nor have we ever been.

We just try to keep those secrets in a lie,

And if they find out, will it all go wrong?

And Heaven knows, no one wants it to.

You sat on your bed and sniff, wiping away tears that have spilled from your eyes. You knew being with Dan would always be difficult due to his fame on the internet, but not that difficult. You had a photo clutched in your hand, memories built around it. You are grinning at the camera, Dan staring at you lovingly, both of you standing next to the Eiffel Tower. You had gone on a trip, Phil coming along to make it seem less suspicious if anyone found out. Your fingers were laced together. Only a few hours after the photo was taken, you shared your first kiss with each other. You wished people could know, that the Phandom knew, but it was too risky.

So I could take the back road

But your eyes will lead me straight back home.

And if you know me like I know you

You should love me, you should know.

You placed down the photo and leaned back, wrapping your arms around yourself like you wished Dan was. You had tried to be ‘just friends’ so many times, even tried not talking to each other at all, but it just didn’t work. You always ended up the same, in his arms, whispering apologies and sweet nothings. God knows, you just had such a deep connection it was impossible not to be together. You knew you probably loved him, truly, and that he probably loved you too.

Friends just sleep in another bed,

And friends don’t treat me like you do.

Well I know that there’s a limit to everything,

But my friends won’t love me like you.

No, my friends won’t love me like you.

You never actually made it official. You were always ‘friends’, but you shared kisses, moments of intimacy, so much love. But obviously, you were only friends, nothing more, nothing less. Anyone else would call you both stupid, it was obvious you couldn’t just stay like this, in a constant circle, that you should just give in and let it happen. You wished you could.

We’re not friends, we could be anything.

If we try to keep those secrets safe.

No one will find out if it all went wrong.

They’ll never know what we’ve been through.

If you tried to be together, it wouldn’t be you or Dan being the problem, it would be in the internet. If anything happened, anything went wrong, anyone found out something, everything would be so much worse than it would be if it was just the two of you. When your love life becomes the worlds too, anything could happen. You must be careful, and you didn’t want to be careful. You wanted to be free with him.

But then again, if we’re not friends,

Someone else might love you too.

And then again, if we’re not friends,

There’d be nothing I could do, and that’s why

You wouldn’t be able to cope with Dan being with someone else, seeing him look at them like he should be looking at you. You didn’t want to let him go, but at the same time you needed to. Either option was terrifying for both of you. You wanted him to carry on loving you, only have eyes for you, but who were you to say otherwise?

Friends should sleep in other beds.

And friends shouldn’t kiss me like you do.

And I know that there’s a limit to everything.

But my friends won’t love me like you.

You jumped as your phone pinged quietly, and you picked it up, spotting the notification: Danisnotonfire tagged you in a photo. You frowned and opened it up, letting out a gasp of shock as you saw the photo. It was another one from Paris – this time you were kissing Dan on the cheek as he smirked at the camera. Another photo was next to it, in a collage style, taken just after the first. This time you were both kissing each other, Dan’s hand brushing your cheek. It was caption with simple but sweet words.

Friends won’t love me like you.

You threw down your phone, running out of your apartment and grabbing a taxi. You sat impatiently in the back, paying and throwing open the door when you arrived. You ran to the door, unlocking it with a spare key you had, slamming it shut and sprinting up the stairs. Dan flew towards you, your lips colliding into a kiss.

No, my friends won’t love me like you do.

Oh, my friends will never love me like you.

Teasing jokes (Peter Parker x Reader)

Request: If your taking requests could you do one where reader is patching up his Spidey induced wounds and knows he always gets flustered near them like that so they’re doing everything to make him blushy and flustered them maybe cuddles after they tease him


You looked at Peter, his hand clutching his side as he slid down your wall.
‘’You should be more careful’’ you told him, your eyes full of worry.
He laughed lightly but stopped, the movement making his body ache. You got up from your bed and walked to your kitchen, thankful your parents were out working, and got some ice. You then walked back to your room and gave Peter the ice pack, ruffling his hair slightly.
‘’Put this on your face until I come back with everything.’’
You walked to the bathroom, looking for the first aid kit, and when you finally found it, you went back to your room, a soft smile on your lips.
‘’Thank you’’ Peter said as you plopped yourself down on the ground next to him. ‘’I know you are busy with homework and stuff. You know I don’t like to come here and bother you -I just thought I could to a patrol in the afternoon instead of at night so that I could get some sleep.’’
You took the ice from his hands and set it over a piece of cloth you had brought with you, looking at Peter.
‘’It didn’t seem to go well’’ you told him.
‘’It didn’t’’ he said.
You signaled him to turn around, giving you access to the zipper of the suit. You opened it, helping him get his arms out of it. He turned back to look at you once the suit reached his hips and smiled softly, an uneasy look on his face.
‘’It could be worse’’ you told him as you inspected the bruise forming on his stomach. ‘’It definitely isn’t going to need stitches as it is just a bruise, but you should apply some ice and try to be more careful.’’ you repeated whilst cleaning the blood that was spilling out of his nose. He laughed a little and coughed after that. You looked at him and saw his cheeks turning red, and you realized it was from the position you were in -both of you sitting together on the ground, your hands caressing his skin. You decided to tease him a little, enjoying the proximity of your bodies. ‘’Have you been working out? You didn’t have abs last time I checked.’’
He blushed even more, the red already covering his ears.
‘’It’s not like you check that often’’ he told you with a quiet voice, making you laugh.
You poked the good side of his stomach and sighed dramatically, pouting your lips.
‘’Such a pity not to’’ you said, making him cough out of surprise. You shook your head, a smile on your lips as he began shifting uncomfortable. ‘’I was joking, Pete. Come here, you need to lie down for a while’’ you told him, helping him get on his feet, a small laugh leaving his lips.
‘’I do not need to lie -oh my God, I didn’t remember how comfortable your bed was’’ he said as you threw him onto your bed.
You laughed and lied next to him, covering both of you with a blanket before wrapping your legs around his.
‘’Good nap, Pete’’ you said as you closed your eyes, your face resting on his chest.
‘’Good nap, [Y/N]’’ he whispered before kissing your hair, his arm wrapped around you pulling you closer to him.


@i-hate-everything-in-life @ace-spidey @ravenrreyes @thisisthelilith

It’s come to my attention lately just how important our queer history is and just how important it is for us to do what we can to remember that and to examine how we put ourselves across. 

Most people on Instagram know me as the guy who draws hot guys from the social media app. I used to wake up, do a guy sketch, then go to work and come home and do another. I would pick guys I followed or who popped up on my discover section or through photographers I follow. However, I didn’t realise how I was limiting the types of people I drew. The majority of guys I kept drawing were ripped, white guys. It wasn’t intentionally but it was something that was pretty clear whilst looking back through my work. Of cause I did draw people of colour and people with different body types but they were very few and far between. I didn’t realise but I was subconsciously putting out there that this, the white ripped guy look was the look to strive for which has made people feel self-conscious about their bodies. This is something I really never wanted. I pride myself on the fact I’m all about body equality and feeling great in your own skin but I wasn’t showing it as diverse as I should have been. I don’t believe in shaming people who have gym ready bodies, I think these people have a right to be proud of themselves and their bodies. I also see gym ready guys shaming others who are not, and that isn’t fair. If you’re healthy, look after yourself, and are comfortable in your own skin then that’s all that matters. I also didn’t realise that the majority of guys I followed were white. It’s like my Instagram feed has forgotten that the LGBT community isn’t just white and male. This again is something I want to challenge. We are a group of multicultural misfits and I want to celebrate that. 

So, going forward I’m going to make a point of making work that I can look at and say “I’m proud of that, this has something to say”. This is part of the reason for my Queer History series, and the various other projects I have lined up. I don’t want to known as someone that adds to the ‘white gays are the only people who matter’ group. I want to show my support to my fellow brothers and sisters (LBT) and I want to help make a difference. 

Watch this space. =]

Milliners Heights - Part 2 (Jefferson x Reader) Sebastian Stan

A/N: Added the above pic to this story as i had a couple of people message me after part 1 to say they didn’t realise it was a Jefferson/Mad Hatter story!
Pic found on pintrest
Summary: Another night means another visit from Jefferson, but is he in my dream or in real life?
Word Count: 1752
Kinks/Warnings/Triggers: Naked Bathing, stroking, dream/reality blurred lines.
Unbeta’d

Part 1

Milliners Heights – Part 2

My eyes were drawn to the steam as it rose from my mug, the scent of the tea filling the room. And yet something was moving in the periphery of my vision, the sway of a thick brocade coat, the smooth sounds of leather moving against leather as the person walked slowly in leather breeches. I tried to blink, to rouse myself to a more awake state to fully take in what he looked like, yet sleep wanted to take me again. Through heavy lidded eyes I looked up at him and saw him for the first time;

“Jefferson…”

I knew I was smiling as I said it, as if welcoming an old friend, my brain too far gone to acknowledge the fact that there was dark haired man stood in my bathroom as I lay naked in the bath. Instead I watched as he stopped next to the bath and crouched down, lowering his face until it was level with my own and in doing so I could finally see how beautiful he was.

“I missed you…” he whispered.

Keep reading

Writing your medicine personal statement

With only 4000 characters and 47 lines allotted to you to persuade medical schools why you will make the ideal medical student and future doctor, the personal statement can be a daunting task. However, armed with thorough research and all of the skills and experiences that you’ve picked up along the way on your journey to medical school, articulating yourself in this highly concise piece of writing is wholly possible. There is no right or wrong way to write a personal statement, and there’s no definitive structure out there that will guarantee that you gain that coveted place at medical school. Regardless, here are a few tips I’ve compiled that have helped me to develop my own personal statement and will hopefully give you a few pointers in writing your own.

Have you done your research? Before writing your personal statement, you need to make sure you have all the information you need. Different medical schools place emphasis on different aspects of your application, and since you can’t tailor your personal statement to suit the requirements of one university alone, you need to make sure that your personal statement meets the criteria for all of the choices you’ve made. This is a good time to go onto individual university websites or to flick through prospectuses, going through the course structure of each medical degree and familiarising yourself with the kind of medical applicant each university is looking for. Also, this is a good time to rule out any medical schools whose teaching styles don’t suit you. Once you’ve compiled enough information about what each medical school is looking for in an applicant, the extracurricular activities they may be interested in and the qualities and experiences they would like to see evidence of, it’s time to start writing your personal statement.

Why do you want to do medicine? This is a question that you’ll get asked at almost every stage on your way to medical school, and maybe even beyond. In fact, my friend who is now a third year medic was asked this recently, and I found myself asking the doctors I was shadowing what drew them to medicine as well. The amount of times I’ve been asked this question myself on my work experience alone was enough to tell me that this question is important and will continue to be brought up. It is therefore crucial that you have some sort of viable answer to this question. I struggle with this one a lot myself, and there may be many reasons for your interest in medicine that you can’t go into in too much detail in a document like a personal statement, where a character limit restricts you in terms of what you can share. However, what you do need to show is that medicine has been a continuous thought process. With a career as demanding as medicine, no admissions tutor wants to see a potential medic declare that their path to medicine was decided by an epiphany one afternoon, or that the answer to this question came to them in a dream. You need to show that you’ve given this huge decision the contemplation and thought it deserves. What is it you like about medicine? Maybe you’ve always had an interest in science, particularly the practical side of things. How did this lead to deciding on medicine? What made you certain that this was a career for you?

What sort of work experience do you have? This links nicely to the previous paragraph. To prove that you’ve given medicine some thought, you need to provide evidence that you understand the demands of the profession and that to some extent, you have an understanding of the career you’re getting yourself into. This paragraph is a good place to talk about some of the key things you’ve seen whilst on work experience. Don’t be tempted to write about every amazing procedure you’ve witnessed, or get too caught up in sharing all of the new medical terminology you’ve learnt. There really isn’t enough space to write about all of this (trust me - it’s been really difficult trying to choose what to include and what I can sacrifice!), but remember that you can save a lot of what you’ve learnt throughout your work experience for your interviews. Choose a few things that taught you about what it’s like to be a doctor, what qualities a doctor should have and maybe share some of the things that surprised you or even the negatives. There’s always something to be learned from bad experiences as well. How did the doctor you were shadowing deal with a difficult situation? What did this teach you about doctor-patient interactions? Draw on your experiences, but don’t just list them. Be introspective.

How can you show a commitment to medicine and healthcare? In this paragraph, it’s important to discuss any voluntary work you’ve undertaken that might have solidified your decision to become a doctor. Mention any long term (or short term) volunteering you’ve been doing, but most importantly, mention what you’ve gained from this. For example, has your volunteering made you more aware of the importance of other healthcare professionals? Has it taught you the importance of empathy? Do you now have a deeper appreciation for the emotional difficulties of the healthcare profession as a result of your volunteering? What have you enjoyed about it, and ultimately, in what ways do you think your volunteering has prepared you for a career in medicine?

What do you like to do in your spare time? Your life can’t be all about medicine, all of the time. Having now spent over half of your personal statement discussing all of the ways in which you’ve shown your dedication to the medical field, you also need to show that there are other dimensions to your character. Are you involved in any clubs or societies at school or university? Why do you enjoy attending these? Do you participate in sports? Do you play an instrument? Are you artistic? Do your other A level subjects supplement your interests? It is important to show that you have interests outside of medicine because medical schools need to see that you have a balance in your life. Maybe your artistic hobby allows you time to relax from your obviously busy schedule, or maybe your involvement in sports is a good stress relief and helps to keep you fit and healthy.

Why should the medical schools choose you? Finally, conclude with a few closing sentences summarising what you’ve said. Perhaps mention that you are well informed about all of the demands a medical career can have upon a person, and that your journey in conclusively deciding whether medicine is for you hasn’t always been easy. However, your experiences should have culminated in you ultimately deciding that this is a path worth pursuing, otherwise you wouldn’t be writing your personal statement for medical schools. What skills and qualities do you have that will make you a good candidate for medical school? Close with a reflective, resolute, well thought out statement that summarises why medicine is the most suitable fit for you. 

Overall, you really have to sell yourself in your personal statement. Make the medical schools see exactly why you’ll make a good doctor, and show them that you haven’t just woken up one day and suddenly decided that you’ll give medicine a go. Prove that you’ve given this potential career plenty of consideration, show them that you are a multifaceted person with varied interests and emphasise the qualities you believe will make you an excellent candidate for medical school. Be enthusiastic! There must be something you enjoy about medicine, so make sure that this passion shines through! Trying to do all of this whilst being concise is definitely a challenge, so be prepared to write several drafts of your personal statement before you get to a place where you’re 100% happy with it. Utilise the people around you - get your teachers or university tutors to read your personal statement, even your friends and family and maybe some of the contacts you’ve made whilst on work experience. Take their tips on board, but ultimately, make sure that your personal statement remains personal. Good luck!

HELLO!

Oh gosh guys I HAVE BEEN AWAY FROM TUMBLR FOR SO LONG!!

I’ve been working on so much stuff this past year and a half!

I worked in an agency as a Storyboardist for a year whilst working to get publishing my work done (WHICH I SHOULD BE UPDATING ON HERE)  at the same time DEALING WITH LIFE STUFF DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE LIFE STUFF (Which was a ride! And a whole lot of no sleeping and anxiety. Huehuehuehue) And just a few weeks ago my contract as a boardist ended so now i’m going full-force on that Comics thing (hopefully!)

And o boy i just took a look at my inbox and holy hell I’M SO SORRY I DIDN’T GET TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS AND MESSAGES I PROMISE IT WASN’T ON PURPOSE. I’ll get to it as soon as i can.

I appreciate you guys sticking with me through my absence. I’ll be sure to be more present this time around!

Lately I’ve been online more on my Private twitter and Art twitter   and Instagram ! Since Updates over my mobile are easier just in case you need to reach me or if you’re wondering what i’ve been up to these days? OR you know? How I’m fairing in the near collapse of human society, hit me up on twitter or ig! I feel awful for being away.


I do sincerely hope you’re all doing alright. Updates soon!

Unanswered Questions - Chapter 2

Words: 1345

Warning: None

So this was the answer to everything?

A small and insignificant looking bean? The woman had to have been completely mad because something like this seemed an awful lot like a page out of ‘Jack and the beanstalk’.

Wait. No….No that was a completely ridiculous thought and I quickly shake my head at myself for having let it in my mind in the first place. There was no way this bean would do something like that. This is the real world! Nothing even remotely exciting seemed to happen around here.

My eyes drifted from the bean to the computer screen in front of me and any sense of excitement, no matter how small it may have been, that once ran through me now disintegrated into nothing. 862 unread emails. I had only been away from work for a single day and this is what I came back to? An involuntary groan escapes my lips as I clutch the bean even tighter in my hand and try to motivate myself to making somewhat of a start on what would, no doubt, be emails that would only result in making my day that little bit more boring.

Dear Mr Harrison,

Thank you for your email. Unfortunately as what yo-

I thought I had been doing well, even managing to start on a reply to the numerous emails I had, but my interest in the bean was far outweighing my interest in work. It was almost like it was calling out to me, tapping into the part of me that just simply didn’t want to be here right now, I wasn’t going to be able to ignore it for much longer. But then did I really want to?

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Oh dear. Loki done fucked up again. I’ve left this on a cliffhanger so I’m open to the idea of a Part 2 but I’ll need ideas. As much as I enjoy elongating stories, I need your guys’ help if you want me to add to them. Thanks to @deandoctorharryandsherlock​ for the request. 

I have a request for a LokixReader, so here goes. Can you do something where Loki is in his cell on Asgard and the reader wants to break him out. I know this is kinda vague, so just so whatever you want! Thanks! Love your writing!

“The Escape”

Loki paced the floor with his hands behind his back. He could escape if he wanted to – that’s what he told himself. He could escape if he wanted to, so it was only logical that he didn’t want to.

It had nothing to do with the fact every plan he made, every circumstance in which he freed himself, Thor got in the way. Thor always brought him to justice, back to his cell. So for now, he waited. Waited for the inevitable, for his little traps to bring about a reason that Thor should release him of his own accord. This assurance did nothing to alleviate the duration of his sentence.

The burden of waiting was worsened by the severe lack of company. Aside from his mother who visited her “son” once a week, he rarely received visitors.

He so rarely had company that he was genuinely surprised to see you standing outside of his cell. What a strange turn of events!
“Decades of desertion and finally she visits.”

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Iron's daughter Part 3

Iron’s daughter Part 2

Summary: The question is, will Tony ever get used to having the responsibility for his child (Y/N). It is definitely much harder being a good dad than he thought it would be, but will he finally build a good relationship with his daughter? We’ll see…

Warnings: A little bit of uncertainty, some fluff

I tried not to laugh, but he just looked too funny, although he wasn’t happy at all being covered with foam. He removed most of it though, but there was still a rest of it staying in his eyebrows, beard and on his ‘Black Sabbath’ shirt.

We sat on the floor in his lab, leaning against the partly burned furniture and ate pizza out of fat soaked boxes.

“The door was secured, how did you get in here anyways?”Tony asked by the way, but I silently continued chewing on my slice of pizza. I already felt guilty, that I had burned down his kitchen; there was no need for him to know, that I hacked his security device too.

“FRIDAY how did she get in here?” he repeated more loudly, as he saw I wouldn’t answer him. “Sir, I’m afraid she tricked the locking system to give herself entrance.” FRIDAY responded.

"Traitor” I grunted at FRIDAY and tried to smile at Tony innocently. “Wha- …how? You’re eight! How could you hack in my computer?” Tony’s jaw dropped in disbelieves. “The security is not very good though, every infant could do that.” I said mouth full with pizza and acted like it wasn’t anything special. It really wasn’t a big deal, but Tony gasped clearly shocked.

“Not g-“He closed his eyes to focus, lifted up his fingers to his lips and stopped himself talking before his voice could get too loud. Instead he shook his head, grabbed another slice out of the box and took a big bite.

“We’re not going to tell my Mum, are we?” I asked horrified and he raised an eyebrow. “The hell we won’t” “Pinkie promise?” I offered him my pinkie finger. “You’re weird you know that?” He said with a deep voice, but I finally got a small smile from him. “Pinkie promise.”

 We hooked our fingers together and he leaned closer to me. “But don’t you dare scaring me again like this.”

A few quiet minutes passed and we continued eating pizza.

“Have you always been into this sort of things? I mean-“ he raised an eyebrow. “Practically the same thing I do?” I nodded. “I’m one of the best students in school, they say. Science, maths… One time I invented an automatic taser with only a rubber, a mobile battery and an earring.” I said with a grin and licked the melted cheese off my fingertips. “The principal gave me one month detention, because it electro shocked a guy I know.” “Did he at least deserve it?” “Yeah, he is a jerk.”

Tony let out an amused chuckle and gave me a friendly punch at my shoulder. He shook his head, but actually, I think he started to like me.

*****

“Good morning. It’s 7.00 a.m. The weather in Malibu is 76 degrees with scattered clouds.” A female voice greeted me as soon as I awoke and I first didn’t know where I was.

Confused, I watched the darkness disappear from the seemingly electronic window and bright daylight shined into my room instead. The view was breathtaking. Right. I was at my father’s place. My heart spontaneous started to beat faster. Iron Man’s home. “The surf conditions are fair with waist-to-shoulder high lines. High tide will be at 10.52 a.m.” “Cool.” I replied, although I wasn’t a surfer. I yawned as my feet made contact with the white floor. I had slept like a rock.

I walked downstairs, still wearing my pyjamas and looked everywhere around to check if someone was home. “Hello?” I asked, but there was no response. I walked pass the sitting room. “Tony?”

“Down here!” I heard a voice, coming out the lab and I ran towards it.

Tony just finished his exercises and turned around, looking exhausted. He had dark bags under his eyes and a fitting pale skin. He wore a simple white shirt and I suddenly noticed a shining circle on his chest. I thought it was strange, but I had seen many strange things lately. So I didn’t ask and Tony was thankful for that.

“Have you been working all night?” I worriedly walked towards him with bare feet. But he just shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t sleep.” “Well, you should.”

Tony moaned annoyed. “You sound like Pepper. You two should start a club or something.” I frowned, but I decided to leave it like that. “Apart from that, I had actually really nice companionship this night.” He pointed at the little turtle. She sat on the burned counter, whilst chewing on a green leaf of salad.

"Oh, there she is!” I cheered happily.

I patted her shell and then went on towards the working table. A red and gold Iron Man suit was lying there. It was spread into many different pieces that needed to be fixed together and I thought it wasn’t surprising Tony was working on another upgrade. I was standing very close to the helmet and I noticed there was ‘Mark 44’ written on it.

I tried to pull myself together, not to put on the helmet or stick my hand in one of the iron gloves. “Don’t to-“ Tony warned me and I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t touch anything, I know.” I interrupted him with a sigh and pouted. I would have paid a million dollars to study the armour. But for now, I had to be content with colour pencils and a piece of paper I found on his desk.

I climbed up the desk to bend over the drawing more easily. “Can’t you just sit at tables, like a normal person?” “I could, but I won’t.” I grabbed the red pencil and started to draw him as Iron Man. What else.

Tony shook his head and took a sip out the bottle he had opened. He turned around and fell into a comfortable chair, massaged the bridge of his nose and looked like he could really use some sleep.

“You know in school, we used to build something for science club and I made a prototype of a walking toaster. I thought it would be useful getting served from the source itself.” I told him and finished a yellow power blast coming out the palm of Doodle-Iron-Man’s hand. I frowned angrily. “But Mr. Collins said that was the most useless thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. Maybe he didn’t like me, because I always know things better than him.”

I chuckled and made a high ‘piew’- sound while drawing the explosion Doodle-Iron-Man had caused. “And maybe Mum was right, I should really stop showing my teacher how wrong he-“

I looked up my drawing and stopped talking immediately, because I saw Tony fast asleep in his chair. Snoring peacefully. His hand propped under his chin and his chest rose calmly with every single breath.  So he hadn’t been listening the whole time. I sighed, but I decided not to wake him up.

I noticed I had two choices. First, go upstairs again and be a good girl and let my father sleep or second, snoop around and search for something interesting to do between the mass of cool high tech toys. I grinned.

Honestly, I have never been someone you would call rational. Curiousness was one of my weakest spots and I would never let a chance pass by, especially if the one, who was supposed to watch after me wasn’t looking.

My eyes hit the Iron Man suit, which Tony had been working on.

I jumped off the desk and tiptoed towards the fancy robotic suit, took a close look at every small electronic detail and carefully turned around to check if Tony was still sleeping in his chair. Exited, I bit my under lip and put the helmet on, although it was way too big for me. Blinking lights showed up before my eyes instantly and I could see tons of information popping up my vision.

“Hello Miss (Y/N), does your father know you’re playing with his gear?” I heard FRIDAY’s sarcastic voice in my ear and smiled. “No.” I replied truthfully and was pretty amazed about seeing my health ability on the screen. I literally could see my brain activities.  I giggled and searched for more to try on and slowly put my hand into one of the heavy gloves.

My breath stopped the moment it fitted on my skin smoothly all by itself. I let my hand make a fist, tangled my fingers and enjoyed the familiar mechanical sound it made in every single movement. I felt powerful.

Suddenly I stretched out my arm and aimed at Turtle, who was following me in slow-motion.  “You know what I usually do with someone who tries to sneak up on me?” I told her with the deepest and most dangerous voice I had. But Turtle stupidly continued walking. “What, are you planning to kill me now? Speak or I’ll blow you up!”

I was so busy having a villain talk with my turtle that I didn’t notice a certain person was awaking in his chair.

Tony rubbed his eyes in confusion, trying to understand what the hell this kid was doing this time. His eyes widened, as he saw she partly wore his suit and aimed with a sharp weapon. Ready to fire.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” He yelled behind me and scared me so hard the glowing light in the palm of my hand grew brighter. I saw the shock in his eyes before it made a noisy sound and burst into a huge explosion.  The pressure of the impact threw me ten feet behind, while the energy blew up most of the glass and let it shatter into thousand pieces. I fell on my back and didn’t dare to move my body. At least I saw on the loudly beeping screen, that I had no serious injuries. “TURTLE?” I screamed.  “Oh my God, (Y/N) are you okay?” Tony bent over me and I saw the panic in his eyes as he took the helmet off my head.

My heart pounded and I gasped for air. “I’m fine. I’m sorry Tony. I didn’t mean to- where is Turtle?“ I panicked, but I let out a sigh, as I saw her walking around the corner without a single scratch.

"What the hell were you thinking? You can’t just play with dangerous weapons! What if something would have happened to you?” He really looked mad now, but I took his hand to let him help me to get in a sitting position.   He let himself plump next to me, shocked and dazzled caused by his tiredness. “Reckless thing!” He said and I let the mechanic glove fall off my arm. 

Tony covered his face with his hands and sighed, calming himself down.

“I’m sorry.” I repeated as I noticed the damage I had done, my eyes still widened in shock. Then he glanced at me again and gave me an unpleasant look.  This time less angry, but still a look that told me ‘stupid, wiseass kid’

“I will have to watch you nonstop for weeks, since you proved you can’t be alone for a minute without bringing yourself in danger.” “It won’t happen again, I promise.” I replied regretful. “I won’t come in here anymore.” I was very close to crying.

Tony didn’t feel angry the moment he saw my eyes filled with tears and he considered how he could cheer up this miserable little mess.  “Nononono, (Y/N), it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault, I should have been more careful.” Tony said and protectively laid an arm around me, as I began to sob.

“I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I’m wasting your time.” A hot tear fell off my cheek.

“Hey look at me.” He lifted up my chin and forced me to look in his warm, brown eyes. Tony took a heavy gulp and whip my tear away with his thumb. “You are not wasting my time; actually I could really use someone with your ability here.”

“What do you mean?” I asked confused and sniffled.

“I mean, you could help me, if you’d like to. As my junior assistant, slash amateur engineer. It seems I can’t keep you away from my work anyways, so you could at least do something…useful.”

“Are you telling me you want me to help you to invent something? Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe, what he had just said.

“You’re probably going to be the reason of my death and you’re the most annoying person I know, but- yes, I am serious.” He smiled.  “I would love to be your assistant!” I squealed and was so happy, that I hugged my arms around his waist as tight as I could.

At first, Tony was surprised of the sudden closeness, but then a soft smile showed up his lips. He relaxed and hugged his daughter back. It felt nice somehow.  Maybe, he thought, being a dad wasn’t that bad at all.

Part 4

Goodnight, Miss Adler

A.N: Ok… Have had this idea burning in the back of my mind for months, and finally found the time to write it (And now I have this one out of my system I can go back to the prompts in my ask box, which I assure you I have not forgotten about my lovelies ^-^ And thank you to everyone who’s sent me a prompt so far <3 )

I hope you enjoy… If that’s the right word for this… :P 

(WARNING: Sadlock)

Everything had been going so well.

The job had been one they could have done in their sleep, and as ever they had worked together brilliantly. Whilst Irene had charmed, flirted with and generally distracted the guards (Idiots. They should know better than to trust a pretty face…) Sherlock had managed to slip past, unnoticed, gaining entrance to the Ambassador’s office with relative ease. And ok, so a minor stumbling block had been hit when he’d been spotting leaving, but even that hadn’t worried him unduly. By the time the guard had gotten over the shock of seeing someone who most definitely wasn’t the Ambassador coming out of his office and called after him, Sherlock was already halfway down the corridor, and he somehow doubted he’d be recognised again. And yes, the guards at the entrance had seemed surprised to see him sprint towards them, particularly as none of them could remember admitting him, but Sherlock hadn’t given them a second thought as he grabbed Irene’s hand and they ran off together.

Adrenaline surging through his veins, he allowed himself a moment to bask in the after-glow of a successful job (as attested by the documents tucked safely in his coat pocket), and slowing his pace slightly, he turned towards Irene, a triumphant smirk flitting about his lips.

Then he heard the gunshot.

Just the one, but it caused the smile to fall immediately from his face, and instinctively ducking his head, he sped up again, cursing softly as Irene stumbled slightly next to him. Rounding a corner he dove down an alleyway, pulling Irene with him, watching with grim satisfaction as the men who had been pursuing them raced off into the night.

“Morons,” he muttered scornfully before doing a quick check as the adrenaline rush slowed; idiots they undoubtedly were, but he’d be very much surprised if their aim was as inadequate as their intellect. Finding no pain, blood or bullet wounds anywhere on his body, however, he had to concede he’d been wrong; apparently they were both lousy shots and lacking in intelligence. Fortunate, but dull. Turning to Irene, a clever remark on the tip of his tongue, he froze at her expression; a mixture of pain, apology and… Was that fear? Surely not. In all their time together he’d never known her to be afraid… His blood roaring in his ears, cold dread layering itself thickly around his chest, he dropped his gaze from her face to the front of her dress… Where a crimson poppy of bloody was blooming across the material.

“I-Irene?” Face pale, she attempted a shaky smile as her strength gave out and she sagged against the dirty brick wall, hand clutching the wound as she closed her eyes for a moment. Feeling an unfamiliar sense of panic rising in him, Sherlock pushed it down and away – now wasn’t the time – summoning all his energy into raising his emotionless mask as he helped her sit down, leaning her against the wall. Crouching next to her, ignoring the hammering of his heart and the faint trembling of his fingers, Sherlock moved automatically to assess the damage, even as a deluge of disjointed facts and calculations flashed through his mind.

Single gunshot wound to the abdomen. Average survival rate; 20%. Average survival time; 10 minutes. His hands had stilled at that, control threatening to crumble, before he took a deep breath and continued. She wasn’t going to die. She couldn’t.

If the bullet had hit the liver, there were between 5 and 60 minutes before she bled out. Any other organs, could be a few hours. Damage to the aorta would result in death in 5 minutes; to the inferior vena cava, 10 minutes.

Expression grim, Sherlock tore the scarf from round his neck, pressing it firmly against the wound in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood still soaking the front of her dress, before fumbling for his phone with his other hand. Pulling it from his pocket, determination burning fiercely in his blue eyes, he dialled Lestrade’s number, muttering angrily until the call connected.

“Come on… Come on… Pick up the damn- Lestrade? I need an ambulance sent to Shatto Mews, Belgravia. Now.” Hanging up even as he heard Lestrade’s concerned yelp at the other end – he didn’t have time to explain things to the D.I. now – Sherlock dropped his phone back into his pocket and focused on keeping the scarf pressed firmly against her. “They’ll be here soon; then you’ll be ok.”

Even to his own ears it sounded weak, a sentiment Irene clearly shared as she gave a soft, breathy laugh, opening her eyes to gaze at him, mild amusement sparking there amidst the pain and resignation which had been building as the minutes trickled by, measurable only by the steadily spreading stain of her blood.

“Oh, Mr Holmes… I think we both know that is not quite true…” Smiling faintly, she leant her head back against the wall, her breathing becoming heavier as she continued to speak. “I always wondered how I would die…”

“Shut up,” he growled fiercely, eyes flashing. “You’re not going to die on me, Irene Adler. Do you hear me? You are not going to die.”

“Strangely enough,” she continued, acting as though she hadn’t heard him, “I never considered this as a possibility… A sniper’s bullet, yes. But not a lucky shot from some clumsy security guard.” Laughing softly, she started coughing weakly, wincing as the movement sent pain spiking through her.

“Stop it,” Sherlock snapped, anger and panic rising in him in an inexorable wave. “Stop it. Just stop all this… Idiotic talk.” Breathing heavily, mouth pressed into a thin line, he kept his focus on his scarf which was now more red than blue, dyed with her blood. “You are not going to die.”

“Sherlock…”

“No.”

“Sherlock-”

No. I won’t let you die, Irene.”

Smiling a little, she replied wryly, “I don’t think even you can prevent this, Sherlock… Though I applaud your faith in yourself, misguided as it may be…” Coughing again, she squeezed her eyes shut at the starburst of pain it unleashed, feeling something trickle from the side of her mouth. Opening her eyes with difficulty, she started to raise her hand, intending to wipe it away, but Sherlock got there first.

Gently, his thumb brushed against her skin, his gaze focused on her with the same single-mindedness she had observed, and so admired, in him before; when he was working a case, his mind searching for answers, or when he played the violin in the evenings, filling the flat with his soulful music. Usually, she found the sight vaguely arousing (she hadn’t been lying when she said that brainy was the new sexy), but this time it simply filled her with an immense sadness, though she fought to keep it from her expression. Because she knew that Sherlock was desperately trying to find a way out of this. And she also knew there wasn’t one. Not for her at least.

Frowning slightly as he tied his mind in knots, searching frantically through his memories and experiences to find something, anything which could help, Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this powerless. Because there was nothing… Instead, his thoughts kept getting snagged on unhelpful facts and ideas – damage to the inferior vena cava; 10 minutes ‘till death – that he found – aorta; 5 minutes – it increasingly difficult – 1 in 5 chance of survival for patient – to concentrate – 1 in 5 chance…

“You can’t die, ” he muttered distractedly, almost to himself, as he dragged himself back from his tangled thoughts and memories to gaze helplessly at Irene; pupils dilated… Heart rate elevated… Just like before…

Though this time he was sure these changes weren’t because of arousal, and he felt the unfamiliar sense of panic washing over him intensify, squeezing his heart until he found it difficult to breathe. In spite of this, he fought hard to keep his expression unconcerned and brisk, valiantly ignoring the voice in the back of his mind which had started to recite the symptoms of shock… “You can’t die… You’ve got to fight, Irene. Please.”

“Now, now, Mr Holmes…” She was shivering he noted, her skin almost pale and translucent in the dim light of the alley in which they were crouched. “You’ve never begged before in your life, remember? Let’s not start now…” Sherlock didn’t reply, simply shrugged off his coat and draped it over her, futile though it undoubtedly was, accepting her murmured thanks with a jerky nod of his head.

“We had fun, didn’t we, Sherlock?” She mumbled, voice weak and words almost slurring together now. “And we made a good team…. Always knew we would…” Not trusting himself to speak, Sherlock nodded again, fighting desperately to maintain his usual emotionless façade as Irene’s breathing slowed perceptibly, the pulse at her throat beating more weakly now. He could feel his control slipping however, tears beginning to prickle the back of his eyes. He couldn’t cry. He never cried… Besides, there was no need to cry, because she wasn’t going to die; Lestrade would arrive before then and everything would be fine…

“Hush now,” Irene murmured with a faint smile, slowly reaching up to wipe away the lone, treacherous tear which had managed to escape from his rapidly crumbling control, her touch surprisingly gentle. “It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it…” Choking out a soft laugh at her choice of words, Sherlock leant his cheek against her hand for a moment, gaze flickering over her as though to memorise her for the last time. As if he could forget her…

As if she wasn’t already an integral part of his mind palace… Her smiles, her laugh, the way her eyes flashed when he angered her; there were whole rooms cataloguing Irene Adler in his mind palace, a futile attempt to understand her better. He never had managed to get even close to solving her mysteries…

Now he never would.

“Thank you for dinner…” Her voice was quiet now, fragile and gossamer-thin, and Sherlock felt his heart – he’d always thought he didn’t have one…Why did he have to have one? If he didn’t have a heart this wouldn’t hurt as much… - break at how very unlike Irene she sounded…

“Well, you seemed so insisted on going to dinner, I thought it rude to keep denying you the pleasure of my company.” Part of him was surprised at how normal he sounded, but a far larger part was focused on the precious, unexpected gift of her soft laugh, the sound encouraging a faint twitch of his own lips into something which could almost be called a smile in return.

“Thoughtful as ever… Mr Holmes… I fear I may have ruined your coat and scarf, though… A poor way to return-” Leaning forwards, he silenced her with a soft kiss which deepened as he poured into it all the thoughts about her he’d never been able to express, all the emotions she sparked in him (despite his best attempts to ignore them) with her fierce pride, startling intellect and wicked smile. Pulling away reluctantly, he gazed down at her as she struggled to open her eyes again.

“I’m sure I can find it in myself to forgive you for that…” he murmured, reaching out to gently trace her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Goodnight, Miss Adler…”

“Goodnight… Mr Sherlock Holmes…” She whispered back, lips barely moving as her eyes fluttered closed for the last time; with a final, shuddering breath, she was still. Irene Adler was no more.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, crouched almost protectively over the body of Irene Adler, the one woman who’d mattered to him, though he’d never quite found the words to tell her… Although his gaze was fixed on her lifeless form, that wasn’t the image which danced before his eyes. Instead a thousand fragments of shining memories flickered through his mind, each one a shared moment between himself and… The Woman.

The first time they’d met, with her damn distracting “Battle-dress”. The night in Baker Street when he’d so wanted to kiss her as they sat, heads bent close, bathed in the flickering light of the fire, her pulse jumping beneath his fingers. Her expression when he’d first arrived on her doorstep after his 'suicide’. The slap which followed. And the kiss which came after that. Her soft skin beneath his hands… Irene’s laughter, sometimes mocking, often genuine, filling up Baker Street after their return. The smile she wore whenever he deduced something, the sight of which always caused his heart rate to speed up…

It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he was able to wrench himself from the painful memories – all he had left of The Woman now… – forcing himself back into the present. Lifting his gaze from the body, he looked up into the concerned face of Lestrade. Too late for concern now…

“Sherlock… I-Christ… I’m sorry-” Nodding, Sherlock got stiffly to his feet, unable to listen to anymore, drawing himself up to stand as straight as usual, though there was an indefinable fragility about him now. “Look, if there’s anything you need…”

I needed you here sooner…

“No.” Sherlock’s tone was clipped, more deliberately emotionless and unconcerned than Greg had ever heard it, and frowning the older man took a step forward, hand outstretched.

“Sherlock-”

“I don’t need anything, Lestrade.” Turning away abruptly, Sherlock strode off, shying away from Greg’s comforting hand, though the D.I noticed he didn’t go too far, almost as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the Adler woman. Poor guy. Shaking his head slightly – Christ, what a mess… – Greg moved closer to supervise the removal of the body, glancing once more over his shoulder at the lone figure of Sherlock, noting the Consulting Detective looked almost heartbreakingly lost amidst the growing crowd of policemen and paramedics.

For Sherlock, he felt as though he was trapped in a dream. Everything seemed to be continuing as usual around him, but he couldn’t connect with anything. Feeling fractured and fragile, it was taking all his self-control to appear as calm and unaffected as possible, though if the pitying looks Lestrade kept throwing his way were anything to go by, he wasn’t doing a very good job at convincing anyone. Watching as they finally took the body away, Sherlock shivered slightly in the cool evening air, feeling… Empty. Irene was gone, and he didn’t know how to feel about that.

With a soft sigh, he melted into the shadows, leaving the alleyway with its coppery stench of blood and death, mingled with the lingering scent of Irene’s perfume behind as he made his way to the main road in search of a taxi to take him home. Enough. He had had enough.

Trying desperately to ignore the memories of The Woman which threatened to overwhelm him, he found the incomplete waltz he’d written for her all those years ago echoing eerily in his mind on a continuous loop. Except now he heard how it should end; in bittersweet notes and soft harmonies which spoke of gentle touches and unspoken words. In soaring, sweeping chords which sang out, chilling and enticing in equal measure, drawing the listener deeper into the music. In mysterious underlying melodies which interwove with the main song, half-formed and gone in a flash the moment the ear picked them out. It should end in the musical essence of The Woman.

Safe in the back of the London cab, Sherlock closed his eyes, letting the melody of the ghostly violin of his thoughts wash over him, a faint smile playing about his lips, even as a few more treacherous tears leaked from behind his mask.

“Goodnight, Miss Adler…”

Knowing my exam is tomorrow (semi prepared for it, remember about 90% of what I’ve been revising) has made me feel oddly relaxed. After tomorrow education is over for me for a while. The one excuse I use for not doing stuff (especially working out) is that I should be doing uni work, and after tomorrow I won’t have anything! 

Hopefully it’ll give me some mental energy to go to the gym whilst I’m job hunting! I started going last summer after I finished my second year, felt 100% better once all my uni work was done for the year so I started going, until walking there and back every day caused my shin splints to make walking unbearable! I have a car I can drive now so I have literally no excuses!

We shall see how the next few months pan out. Hopefully I’m walking across that graduation stage, feeling confident from working out, happy with my grade and an employed woman!

Steal Your Heart (Part I of II)

Pairing: You x Luhan

Summary: When he spends more and more time with another girl

Warnings: Angst (compensated by fluff because I love happy endings ^__^)

“This is Likun,” Luhan said brightly, smiling back and forth between me and the petite girl as I stood up and quickly shook her hand, a little flustered.

“Hi,” I said as politely as I could, watching as Likun smiled prettily back at me. “Luhan’s told me a lot about you!”

Likun was Luhan’s childhood best friend, or so he had told me. They had been inseparable until they were fourteen, when Likun had left China to study overseas in America and now, ten years later, she was back permanently for her job. 

When Luhan found out, he had been beyond excited to reconnect with her again, and I told him I looked forward to meeting her soon. But not this soon. To my surprise, Luhan had brought her unannounced with him today to the cafe, where we had arranged to meet on my lunch break. I had been looking forward to the hour in the middle of the day where I would have my boyfriend all to myself; I thought it was just going to be Luhan and I on our little date, and my smile faltered slightly when Luhan pulled a chair out for Likun and prompted her to sit down.

Apparently not.

Keep reading

No one told you life was gonna be this way (Lin x Reader)

PART 3 of “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA?!”

Could you write a story where Lin and the reader buy an apartment together for the first time?

Could you write #37 with Lin? Like super cute and fluffy? Thanks

Omg maybe we’re perfect strangers was AMAZING. Part 3 is eventually coming right?!

I just want to say that you write sooooooooooooooooooooo well. The Lin x reader fics that you have posted made me giggle really hard!! Thank you so much!! Cant wait for part 3 of Maybe We’re Perfect Strangers <3

AAAH YOUR NEW LIN FIC WAS AMAZING!!! Do you think there’ll be a 3rd part

So my plan was to have this as a one shot, but so many of you were interested in it carrying on that I just had to make it longer, I’m glad because a lot of my imagines fit into the idea of the reader and Lin being roomies! I combined all my requests together because I had a great plan for how this was all going to go, so I hope you don’t mind :D

Also, I’m planning to do this with all the other characters, I’d like to start with either Anthony or Daveed, so send in scenario/requests (if you’d like) for how everything began.

I still will be doing separate imagines though, don’t worry!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO:

*TWO YEARS EARLIER*

You sat starring at the newspaper, red pen in hand. Circling offers you liked, you bit your lip in worry. Lin sat playing on his games, groaning in frustration when he died. He would look over, checking the adverts you circled, then he got bored and decided to order pizza.

It was over pizza that the two of you decided you couldn’t stay where you were anymore. An apartment above a pizzeria seemed like a good idea at the start but you needed a real place to live, where you and Lin weren’t afraid to bring home dates and family.

“Two bed apartment, 3rd floor, two blocks away from here, oh and one block away from Broadway.” You said, Lin peering over your shoulder at the advert.

“And in our price range thanks to In The Heights!” Lin laughed, typing the address into his phone, “Let’s go check it out!”

The apartment was perfect. A gorgeous neighbourhood with a wonderful next door neighbour. It was one of those big block buildings you saw on in the movies, towering above Times Square, which was just a couple of steps away.

The main room had a big loft window, with a raised platform area. Kitchen and living room shared, so you could have a little breakfast bar whilst watching the news. Two doors separated the two bedrooms, right next to each other. And from the loft window, you could see the balcony outside what was definitely going to be your room, you argued with Lin for like 10 minutes about it, but eventually you sealed the deal.

Speaking of sealing deals, Lin shook hands with a broad shouldered, smiley estate agent with impeccable grip, signed a few papers here and there, and after three days of shopping at malls and furniture stores (you played hide and seek in IKEA because that was the life) you finally had all the furniture you needed.

Sealing boxes and heaving them into a truck was hard and the long hours put a strain on what should have been a blissful moving day, Lin chuckled as you walked in to your new home, messy morning hair in a tight bun and a simple put-together outfit of a white t-shirt and jeans, complete with brown combat boots.

“Remember when we used to walk round apartments for days,” You reminisced, sitting on a kitchen work top whilst your fourth cup of coffee brewed in the kettle beside you.

“If I remember correctly, you came in here and shrieked, like actually shrieked, when you saw the loft window and started going on about how we could have a big bookshelf and a drafting table, and then you walked over to here,” Lin said, moving towards the front door, “and said, oh, let’s have a little stand were we can put flowers or candy for all the little trick or treaters!”

“Not gonna deny it!” You shrugged, adding a teaspoon of sugar to the cup.

“We did it!” Lin jumped up and down, “We own a house!!” Doing a silly dance which made you laugh so hard.

*PRESENT DAY*

You walked into that same kitchen now, hair the same, face the same, except you had slipped on Lin’s shirt after your drunken fiasco. Socks padded along the floorboards as Lin entered, as if on instinct, awkward silence filled the room.

“About last night…I got carried away.” Lin confessed, rubbing his eyes and grabbing the cereal from the top cupboard – which you could never reach.

“No, I started it, I shouldn’t have been dancing or drunk anyways.” Fiddling with the hem of his shirt,

“Are you wearing my shirt?” Lin asked, reading the morning paper. You nodded, “Oh, haha, cute,”

“Cute? Not; incredible undeniable beauty from the finest specimen on this here, green earth?” You laughed, showing off your ‘outfit’ with silly model poses, pouting and throwing up the peace sign.

You grabbed the mail, dropping Lin’s next to him, and sliding through yours.

In your hands was a pink envelope, Lin holding up his too.

“You have been invited to the Masquerade ball at the Venetian Hall, at 18:00, on Saturday 13th August.” Lin read out in his best posh accent.

“We hope you attend, signed Jasmine Cephas Jones and Anthony Ramos.” You finished Lin’s sentence.

“You may bring a plus one,” You mumbled, setting down the invitation and looking over at a clueless Lin, completely clueless to what you were about to ask.

psa that when people tell you not to politicise something it’s because it doesn’t align with their politics and they want to shut you up. in the face of austerity social welfare cuts have been made again and again over the last 7 years to the unacceptable detriment of the poor, the elderly, and the disabled. the most vulnerable in our society have become worse and worse off, whilst the richest have got richer. legislation to make homes fit for habitation was voted against in government. recommendations made after the 2009 tower block fire were largely not implemented. the atmosphere in the country has bred an utter condemnation for human life if that human life is poor. i’ve honest to god read comment after comment that the people in grenfell should have worked harder to get themselves out of their situation. as if it’s a fucking dichotomy. hey you can’t have fire safety if you earn under a certain amount!!! burning to death is your fault for being workshy!!! it’s not a godamn either or. everyone deserves to have a certain standard of living no matter what. no. matter. what.

concerns were raised multiple times about the fire safety in grenfell. £10 million spent on a superficial refurbishment to make it look less of an eyesore to the wealthy in kensington who complained about the block, rather than making it safe for its residents. you can’t be poor in this country, I firmly believe that. the residents of grenfell paid for being poor with their lives. it would have been a totally different story if the complaints had come from one of the wealthier tower blocks. an absolutely devastating tragedy that has been horrifying to watch unfold, but an entirely preventable one. this is absolutely a political issue and if you’re not fucking furious, you’re not paying attention.

Come Home

a very, very happy belated birthday to @trashboyanakin. Lion Prince, you’ve been with me pretty much since the beginning of this blog, and I love you for it. I hope this year is being as good to you as you deserve. Have some more Cas crocheting, Dean and Cas having a paint fight, and Team Free Will building themselves a home. <3

Click click click click.

Dean smiled as he entered the bunker’s library to hear the familiar sounds of Cas knitting, the steady rhythmic soundtrack to every single morning. In his hands he held a pair of mugs, and the scent of coffee curled up into the air, exotifying the musty scent of old books and dust-thick shelves. Dean had splashed out last time he went to the store, and bought a special Colombian blend.

Cas was sitting facing the door, his ball of wool resting on the table in front of him.

“Made you coffee,” Dean said, walking over to the table and setting one of the steaming mugs down, leaning over so that he could neatly place it next to the red wool that Cas was using for his latest project. Cas’ hands didn’t stop their work, but he looked up at Dean and smiled warmly.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said.

His needles flashed as they moved, the gentle lamplight catching on their smooth metallic surface. Dean pulled up a chair opposite Cas and set down his own mug of coffee on the table.

“Ahhhhh,” Dean said, taking a sip. “That’s good stuff.”

Cas smiled at him, before turning his attention back to his knitting. He looked so relaxed, the lines of his face soft and gently-set. He was wearing one of his own creations around his shoulders, a big pink scarf that was almost a blanket, and his cheeks were smooth and shaven. He looked so good, Dean could have sat and watched him forever.

And he really could have done. Perhaps once he would have undercut himself for saying something like that, even within the confines of his own mind, but there was something about this room, this exact moment… the smell of the coffee and the light of the lamps over Cas’ shoulders. The way Dean’s own heartbeat was steady as a rock, his hands relaxed, his eyes easy. He’d slept well the night before, lying beside Cas with their fingers interlaced, his head turned so that his face was resting more on Cas’ pillow that his own. Cas had been lying on his chest, so he hadn’t minded, and Dean had woken with the scent of Cas all around him. It had been a good morning. He couldn’t remember a better one.

Keep reading

This particular piece was inspired by something I saw on Tumblr a while back. I just loved it so much that I had to turn it into something. It kind of got away from me though so I’m not entirely sure how I feel about the ending - let me know what you think. Anyway, this request was made by flhuffy who is completely right in saying that Tony doesn’t get enough love. However, for those of you who don’t know, I completely and whole heartedly ship Pony (Pyro x Tony) for reasons I cannot even begin to explain. All I can say is go and read Winter’s Flame by imagine-that-marvel and then it shall all make sense. ANYWAY! Enough rambling, enjoy my darlings!

Prompt: Hey, could I request a one shot with tony stark, it can be anything. There’s just isn’t enough Tony stuff on here. Thanks x

“First Place” (Part 1)

The train was late – again. You stood impatiently, behind the yellow line, obviously, and tried to ignore the feeling of your fingers going numb with the cold morning air. You’d dressed them in an old pair of gloves but to no avail; the violent air had penetrated the wool and slowly turned your fingers into icicles. Work had brought you to America and you couldn’t help but silently scorn the Americans’ weather. Luckily, you noticed that you were not the only person who was suffering.

To your right was a man that you recognised. He was as close to a familiar face as you could get in this country – you hadn’t long moved here but this man was always on your train. Mr This-Shirt-Is-Quite-Clearly-Too-Tight-But-It-Still-Looks-Good-On-Me. His brown hair was surprisingly still in the early winds but the ever-present breeze had clearly not escaped his notice.

Oh, how you longed for the coffee cup he clutched, holding onto the receptacle in an attempt to absorb some of its warmth. Before you could tear your eyes away, he caught you staring and flashed a clearly well-rehearsed grin.
“Chilly, isn’t it?” He muttered, huffing theatrically afterwards. You simply smiled as he approached you.

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