Dragged on this site by Sherlock

this is old, i only edited it because i hated the previous drawing

cropped so there's no need to zoom in on the image haha

and that's it, thanks. the previous one is this: estoy bien pacheco

He walks a thin line.

And that's a wrap for my own celebration of Sam's bday :'3 Thank you, everyone!

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Here's the king version:

. Here's the dark king version:

being a proshipper isn’t exclusive to only “enjoying a ship that would have been morally unacceptable in real life”.

being a proshipper just means “being against online harassment”.

you can be a proshipper and be disgusted by some specific ships at the same time, as long as you don’t harass people who enjoy them.

being a proshipper literally just means you know how to scroll past / ignore / mute / block things that make you uncomfortable instead of “attacking people for enjoying these fictional things”.

Inspired by the fabulous @dragonnan's Blood and Romance (included by permission)

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Too old for this: my first half-thought as I flail and thrash my way back to consciousness. I’m underwater, aching to breathe, but I’ll die if I do; but it isn’t cold enough, I’m not wet, where the hell I hurt all over and something’s wrong, it’s dark where is Sherlock

If I’m not under water, I can breathe; I open my lips a hair and no water floods in, so I take a careful breath and it’s air. Not sweet, God no, tastes like mould and sewage, but definitely air, and shakily I suck it in.

I blink and try to focus but can’t see anything. Where the hell am I, and where is Sherlock? There—a second complete thought, even if it’s just the ragged scraps from before stringing together into sense, that’s got to be a good sign.

Okay. Okay. Stop, where am I. Listen.

In a silence so loud, a darkness so complete, I can hear my racing heartbeat even over my ragged panting—but nothing else, not close by. I can’t breathe through my nose at all. I try to shift to generate some sound, get some idea at least of what kind of surface I’m near or on. Take stock: everything hurts but I can’t tell from what, I can’t gather any sensory data to extrapolate anything from. (Sherlock would say, deduce. I’m not Sherlock. He’d know what to do to get some clarity here; I’m just starting to panic.)

finish reading on AO3

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A Thousand Words: A picture's proverbially worth a thousand words and often inspires them, though the words may be many more or many fewer, as the Muse decides. Each chapter is a one-shot, inspired (so far) by @kettykika78, @justanobsessedpan, @stephdrawsjohnlock, @bluebellofbakerstreet, @petite-madame, and now dragonnan: more to come.

Thank you to all the artists who do fanworks: you are a  constant inspiration. And to the betas (@copperplatebeech for this ficlet) you are a godsend. And to the readers: we wouldn't be posting our stories without you.

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