#manfrom1944

((THIS IS MY THIRD ONE ARE YOU FING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!?!!? *you are a little shit*))

I am currently reading The Phantom of the Opera

Hollyhocks are my favourite flowers

I just got used to spelling everything the American way and now my new laptop has Canadian spell check

Looking at pictures of food (especially early in the morning) makes me feel sick to my stomach

My dog and my Gramma died in the same month

My duckling watched all of its siblings be brutally murdered

I convinced my father to buy a purple chair

I think the saddest head canon I have for Sherlock is his post Fall one where he doesn’t have a violin any more

I constantly wear big sweaters even in summer when I can do it without roasting

Everyone who sees my art book thinks I’m a talented serial killer, I do nothing to dispel this fear

"Doctor, no! Ge' back 'ere!"

Pain, lacing through every inch of skin, crumpling her body into a heaving mess. Pain.

Oh, she wanted it to stop. Wanted it to stop oh-so-desperately, but it wouldn't, and every move the blonde made brought waves of hurt crashing over her.

Rose Tyler watched as the Doctor fled the TARDIS, shouting something about going to find help. He'd given her the load down - stay here, don't move too much, don't panic, and, for God's sake, try and drink the water he'd set down beside her. 

But when had Rose ever listened to what the Doctor had told her? No, within a moment's notice, she'd started pulling and pushing herself towards the two blue doors, despite every muscle, nerve, and sinew crying out against the movements.

It took an agonizingly long time, but she'd managed to make her way down the ramp and was now feverishly pulling the doors open, urging for them to do so against her weakened grip. Eventually, she managed, but by that time, Rose was exhausted, and her eyes were flickering open and closed... open and closed... open... and... closed....

[Oh my gosh I just sent you the exact same thing!]

The late night truck stop was small, cramped, and she found herself sitting close to Frank as they laughed over a small basket of fries in an one-sided booth by the window, swapping stories until Im felt tears in her eyes from giggling so much. His laugh was nice to listen to and she paused, winding down, his thigh touching hers. 

And that was much more distracting than it should be.

They were alone in the diner, the waitress long retired to sulking in the kitchen, leaving them be. She could feel the long stretch of his leg against hers, and she wondered what they’d feel like under her palm, muscle flexing—

"Im?"

His voice startled her out of her reverie, and she jerked her head up, meeting his eyes. “Uh, yeah, sorry about that. Kinda zoned out." she smiled, trying to seem normal. Yeah, Im. Try not to let on that you were having fantasies about his hands on you, about how it would feel—

She coughed, grinning up at him. He returned the smile. “Well," he said, shifting to get out of the booth, “I h’ve to use the restroom. I’ll be back." As he did so, he lay his hand on her thigh, close to her hip, and she shivered as his thumb grazed along the fabric of her jeans.

"Yeah, I’ll be right here." Trying not to think about what you look like naked. Jesus, Im. Get yourself together. As he stood up and walked away, she let out a breath, tongue coming out to wet her lips.

+thehoudinitriplets

+got-an-angel-and-a-shotgun

+sircousland

+thelittlestvampiress

Rose walked down an alley silently hoping that she was heading the right way home. But, her feet abruptly stopped when she heard a sound and turned quickly to see what was there. When she saw no one she double checked to see if her gun was still on the inside of her jacket. An unhappy, deep breath left her lips as she started walking towards the sound.

“Is anyone there…?”

"I really don’t know if you should aggravate her this much, but who am I to stop you?

Ghislaine doesn’t like the dark, look at her bed. Heavy blankets, full of stuffed animals, comfort objects. Too much for the middle of summer. And the fan, the fan says she doesn’t enjoy being too warm. Again, fear. 

She’s overly sentimental. More than usual, I’d think. She has a movie poster hung at the end of her bed. Crumpled, torn. Not a movie she likes, a gift. From a family member most likely, she didn’t want to offend them by getting rid of it, but she’s put it in a place she doesn’t have to look at it often. Ghislaine’s been keeping old cards. She can’t seem to throw them out or burn them. Any of them. She puts them in books so she can find them later. She has a collection of small porcelain dolls. Covered in cobwebs, old, ugly. One for every year of life until twelve. They could be packed away or hidden out of sight, yet she’s chosen to display them. Finally she’s been keeping several apparently random items that clearly only have significance to her around her room. A short silk ribbon, part of a novelty pen. Useless things. Rubbish.

She’s artistic. Pens, paper, pencils, paints all scattered in no particular places, no order. Several different sketchbooks hidden around the room.   That’s interesting, hidden. She’s not proud of the art. None of the sketchbooks are visible, several crumpled drawings in the corner. No original art hanging on the walls. Strange considering how many other things she’s got hanging.

Ghislaine has a borderline obsession with China and Japan, not sure if she knows the difference, considering how much of both she has. Lucky cats, china dolls, Chinese style jewelry box, stills from popular anime movies, Japanese chibi dolls, two very large wall scrolls, a rather ridiculous amount of fan made art, chopsticks that have never been used and a few ornamental fans. 

This could stem from her interest in travel. She’s been collecting different flags. Several European flags, American, Canadian. Countries she likes then, not ones she’s visited or wants to visit. Several different landscape calendars, one of which is three years old and still hanging on the wall. Postcard from Paris, an elephant toy. That’s a replication, look at the fabric, but she thinks it’s from Africa. 

Maybe, she just wants to learn more about the places though. She’s smart, she loves knowledge, craves it. Three different, well used dictionaries, all from different companies. She’s got schoolwork hanging on the wall, only the marking scheme is showing. She wants to improve. Several informative psychology books, very boring by the looks of them. Not something most people would read. Books about music theory, even less exciting. How to write, be published, calligraphy, information books. She desires to know and she desires to know everything.

man-from-1944

"Evenin' Doctor. Um. Person I don't know..."