#thenworld

moon - sleeping at last

a hole in the earth - daughter

busted and blue - gorillaz

letter by the water - the japanese house

no one’s gonna love you - band of horses

This little ficlet is also for @the-reylo-void, who I think could do with some stupid fluff right about now.

“Kylo…”

“Do we have to use that name?”

“Yes,“ bites out Phasma, straight-backed and hands folded in front of her. She keeps her attention on the door, on all possible exits in and out of the flat, as her job demands she does. Kylo pushes his armchair forwards, to sit by the window, just to make her eye twitch.

Ben gives her a thin-lipped smile. "My mother thinks of everything, Phas."

Hello Natalia! Oh, I feel you, I also don’t like to skip days/weeks in my bujo :’D

Maybe you could write down what you did during that busy period and how you felt, sort of a diary-like thing? You can do it in short bullet points, to stay true to the bullet journal system ;D, and maybe say what worked for you during the finals (whether it be a way of organizing things, certain study method etc etc) and what didn’t, for future reference? Or write about how you’re proud of yourself for making it through the exam period (which you should be! :D). Or simply add some quotes/lyrics you like, or doodles… and the rest can be filled with the magazine cutouts :D

moments:

when she knocks back some wine at the christmas party

when she calls mrs hudson while holding a bone saw

when she’s rambling about tom!!!!

the entire phone call scene in tfp

when she takes a look at the skeleton while helping sherlock with cases

headcanons:

her mother died when she was young. she remembers watching her put on makeup and packing picnic lunches together. she was very close to her father growing up after that.

she has Enough Money to keep her Very Happy. 

SHE LOVES SOLO VACATIONS and she’s down for everything. scuba diving, zip lining, sitting on a beach for days, snowshoeing in a forest

is actually very capable of watching movies without being a pretentious shit about anatomy and blood spatter

Spawned from Twitter DMs with @introspectivenavelgazer . (Your move now, girl.)

Warnings for: dark!Sherlock, murder, a Molly Hooper caught between a rock and a hard place and really pissed off about it and porn.

NB: I originally posted this as a separate link post, because I’m an overtired idiot, but here’s the rightful post. @thenworld I hope you enjoy this piece of dark!Sherlock sin ;)

“You’re covering for a friend?” he asks her, drinking from a glass of scotch.

“She got sick, couldn’t make it in,” Molly says, resuming her slow circle around the pole. She gives a smile, and a giggle. “I’m glad.”

“I’m glad too,” he replies, with a returning smile. He settles one arm against the back of the sofa, looking her over. “I still don’t know your name.”

“Do you need to?” she parries, looking at him over her glass as she finishes her drink. Just wine, red and stinking of fruit. She puts the glass down and sets to work. She sweeps her hair over one shoulder, glancing over her shoulder at him as she grips the pole in one hand, step, step, step. Three steps in a tight circle. When Meena suggested pole dancing lessons, she’d thought her mad. They only went to three classes before schedules swallowed up the project.

As she comes face to face with him, she holds his gaze.

He tilts an eyebrow in reply.

She can’t help a genuine giggle, tumbling out from her tongue. He chuckles, grinning, in reply.

“I can’t make it sexy,” she says, momentarily giddy in this bubble of shared laughter. “I took it mainly for exercise.”

A truth. She swallows, fixing a smile on her lips, tilting her head against the cold metal of the pole.

He leans over, placing his glass on a coaster on the mahogany side table. Antique. He sinks back into the sofa, folding his hands in his lap. There’s that smile. Dangerous. Telling. Making sure she knows exactly what he could do.

The thought repulses her, and excites her, in equal measure.

For a moment, she feels dizzy and London, the London before her and the London beyond, feels so incredibly alive. She feels its pulse. Her own pulse, hammering against her throat.

She remembers her balcony. The worlds that surround her, represented by yellow lights on all day or all night, chatter or music or barking giving her snatches of other universes while she shifts between greys and blues. The cigarette tucked between Emily’s fingers, and the barely touched water glasses.

Night routes aren’t enough. She’s known that for a while.

Sherlock Holmes stands. He buttons his jacket and approaches. Stands in front of her. He wraps both his hands around the pole, above her head, tall and looming. His bottom lip trembles, twitches. With a smile maybe, but she can’t tell.

“You’re a liar,” he says, his voice thick and heady. “But right now, I don’t fucking care. Can I kiss you?”

“Is this really necessary?” Molly asked, shifting in her evening gown (it was old, last he’d seen it, they’d both worn wedding rings).

“Well, if we’re going to pull our concert off,” Sherlock said, pressing a small-but-expensive tub of ice cream into her hands as he sat beside her, “we need to know our competition, don’t we?”

Your favourite artists or art pieces:

I'm not an art historian, and I don't really like thinking too much about why an artist painted something, but aesthetically and from an emotional point of view, my faves are Turner and Van Gogh. They both paint viscerally. I really like as well paintings that tell a story, or capture a moment, so I like a lot of 18th-century artists.

Example, I have a massive, massive respect and admiration for Artemisia Gentileschi. Her painting of Judith beheading Holofernes is magic. It makes me want to smash the patriarchy and rage until the final light has died.

Much of my favourite pieces are included in my Valse Mélancolique page on my Pinterest (though there's nothing of Turner or Van Gogh). That’s my shit, right there. Which explains why I’m dragging on the last chapter, I love the aesthetic too much, whoop.

Your favourite animal(s):

Definitely not horses. I tried to like them because that's what you do when you're a girl, you get weirdly all about horses and horse riding in particular. My first (and only) horse riding lesson, I was given a blind-in-one-eye, deaf pony called Harvey, and I clutched his mane all the way, screaming my head off. I haven't, honestly, really thought about it much, but answering now... Penguins. I like them. They're dorks.