It’s not the emo I love so much, it’s Sh2jw’s incredible gift as an artist. *Happy sigh*
it’s hella stressful being australian right now so i decided to draw a thing, and by thing i mean loki’s completely canon and questionable outfit
HOW CAN WE BE HAPPY ?
Once a group of 50 people was attending a seminar.
Suddenly the speaker stopped and decided to do a group activity. He started giving each one a balloon. Each one was asked to write his/her name on it using a marker pen. Then all the balloons were collected and put in another room.
Now these delegates were let in that room and asked to find the balloon which had their name written, within 5 minutes. Everyone was frantically searching for their name, colliding with each other, pushing around others and there was utter chaos.
At the end of 5 minutes no one could find their own balloon.
Now each one was asked to randomly collect a balloon and give it to the person whose name was written on it.
Within minutes everyone had their own balloon.
The speaker began— exactly this is happening in our lives. Everyone is frantically looking for happiness all around, not knowing where it is.
Our happiness lies in the happiness of other people. Give them their happiness; you will get your own happiness.
And this is the purpose of human life.
Fic: Limb From Limb
Sherlock’s a human man for the first time in love with a human man and he’s a genius too, is Sherlock Holmes.
So right then he employed that genius and imagined who he’d be without John Watson. (Warning for brief violence and homophobia)
An All-Male Production of Twelfth Night
Tickets: £8, £5 for students
Dates: 17-20 March 2014
This London showing of Shakespeare’s play promises to be a delight and I just can’t wait. Come along and enjoy pretty young men in heels getting shipwrecked, misunderstanding one another, and falling in love.
And if you sit next to me, please feel free to tell me as many times as you like to damn well keep those weird noises to myself already okay?
Ossyriand prompted me with “my John”. There were so many ways this could have gone; I took the path of least resistance.
Sherlock had always considered love bites puerile. How insecure did an individual have to be that they literally marked their lover as their possession? He had dismissed the act as juvenile until John came home with a petite dark bloom at the crook of his shoulder – easily hidden by a jumper but readily visible when he was padding about in his pyjamas.
Clearly, the girlfriend of the moment was in possession of esteem issues, though was she trying to warn off other women or Sherlock himself? Either way, it didn’t work. John had been single again a fortnight later.
Now, though, Sherlock realised his analysis had been superficial. He had focussed on appearance (obviously), rather than sentiment, and as such he had missed one, glorious facet.
John enjoyed it.
His grin was evidenced in the tooth-edged kiss he bestowed on the hard ridge of John’s shoulder. The writhe of that naked body beneath his bare flesh, soft yet strong and perfectly flawed, threatened to derail his hard-won control. John’s gasping growls only sharpened the erotic crackle in the air, and Sherlock’s moan became a purr – far off thunder – as John’s fingers left bruises against his flanks.
That blond head was flung back, the column of his neck exposed in wordless request.
John’s wish was his command.
The flail I did for this 221B was not discreet, not one little bit of low-key. Good lord read BeautifulFiction if you don’t already. Please.
What you need to know about red currants are two things:
First, they look like beautiful little jewels, glistening so very fine and sweet.
Second and more importantly: They hate you. They hate you with a scarlet and bitter passion. They will lock your jaw with their tartness, they will roll your eyes up in your head with the fury of their NOT SWEETNESS. They do not like you, they have never liked you, they will not ever, ever, ever like you and they wish upon you a pox, a plague of locusts, a politician in the family, and an internet that runs slow.
In short, red currants do not give a shit and you, after you force feed yourself the entire bloody lot of them because you keep saying to the friend walking with you, one who keeps telling you stop eating them, “But nutrients! Nutrients! They….they must have nutrients I’m not getting in my other food! However, dear Rita, If I should perish before I finish this %$#@*&% basket of horrors, please tell my husband and my family that I love them.”
There. Now you are informed. You are welcome.
NOT BY ME GUYS -
Introducing one of my favorite artists - 字字派. She is perfect, from all aspects. Yes.
There are soooo many great artists here in China but they do not have Tumblr accounts for some reasons, so I’ve asked for permission to share some of her works with everyone on Tumblr! Here is her art: Captain John Watson.
Note: To find her, there’s her PIXIV add at the source of this post, or you can drop me an ask><
"You are a reprobate."
"It’s not a compliment."
"Yes it is."
Sherlock looked west, as if gazing into the distance would somehow hide the upward quirk of his lips.
Seconds passed in silence. Then a few more.
A dozen or so additional and…Sherlock cleared his throat. “Are you through?”
John finally brought his gaze up from Sherlock’s shiny shoes, grinning. “Yes. Thank you for indulging me.”
"I am not the man who owns a summery blue dress so short it does not cover his arse."
Sherlock broke his legs-slightly-akimbo pose, took John’s hand, lead him toward the bedroom. “True, my diminutive inamorato, I am that man. You are the one who asked me to put that dress on. Without pants. And then proceeded to stare up my dress via the shine in my shoes.”
John murmured against Sherlock’s neck. “Maybe I am a reprobate.”
Sherlock whispered back, “Thank god.”
Wee fic: Atlin Merrick; Shoes: Saint Laurent Thorn Pointed Toe
So any Photoshop super geniuses out there who can make this Sherlock? I already tried and the results were frightening…
Happy penis (or naked man in heels) Friday!