fiddlesticks!

thinking about anastasia trusova paintings again

CAN ANYONE HEAR ME

Another year, another group of my delightful ninth graders trying to spell the word "tragedy" for their Romeo and Juliet assignment.

Last year's collection

in a way this is beautiful because this is how language worked in the elizabethean era

official linguistics post

Nervously, I pull from the tarot deck. It's the Nine of Clocks. My fate is revealed to me: It's my bedtime, and I gotta go to sleeps

Day 10: Affection

"I need some air," Sherlock ruffled his curls, frustrated. "We're going out tonight," he pronounced, looking up from his pile of books.

John raised his gaze by half. "I've got a date tonight, Sherlock."

"A date?"

"S'where two people who like each other go out and have fun," John reminded him, as a teacher might speak to a child.

Sherlock bristled. "That's what I was suggesting."

John stopped. "What, really, Sherlock?"

"Yes," he continued, shutting the book he was reading and turning to face John. "Besides, I'm much more of a sure thing than your Sarah is," he raised a brow. "She's not all that keen on you, turns out," he sniffed.

John fought the instinct of annoyance; curiosity won out. "How could you possibly know that?" he pressed. "Wait, what d'you mean you're more of a sure thing?" he blinked. "What are you telling me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm trying, and failing, it seems, to give you a second chance at flirting with me," he explained, exasperated. "Your first attempt at Angelo's the night we met was less than successful, but that was my fault. So, I'd like to recreate the conditions."

"I wasn't trying to fl–"

"Yes you were," Sherlock interrupted him. "I turned you down," he sighed, fiddling with the spine of another book now, "my mistake. I want to have a do-over."

John couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Sherlock, I don't know–"

"Oh for god's sake!" Sherlock set down the book and took John's face in his hands, kissing him hard.

John's legs felt like jelly, and he melted into Sherlock's embrace. The momentary stunning wore off quickly, and he began to kiss back, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's slim waist and pulling him closer.

When the kiss broke at last, John could barely breathe. "So," he laughed, "Angelo's, sixish?"

Sherlock smiled.

thanks @onesmallfamily for the prompt list!

tagging: @mormorganna @whatnext2020 @john-smiths-jawline @helloliriels @calaisreno @sarahthecoat @sussexlavender @safedistancefrombeingsmart @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @loki-lock @clueless-mp4 @gregorovitchworld @peanitbear @kettykika78 @queerholmcs @beesholmes @victorianpining @my-johnlockficrecs

they should invent 7 hours between 10pm and midnight

i really love the phrase “with all due respect” because it doesn’t specify how much respect is due. could be none. bitch.

people born in 2000 should be like 12-14 now. but they’re not. that’s how fucked up our world is now

The older this post gets the funnier it becomes

My cousin born in 2000 is a licensed therapist.

I can’t believe they let 12 year olds be therapists

Taylor Swift, Paper Rings

Let me be the miserable wretch to whom the caring lead the disbelieving, that they might see the wounds and know how much of a human being's humanity three furry boys can take with them.

This video, by an ER vet, reaffirms what the therapist above is saying from the veterinary side. I rewatch it, and her video on euthanasia, whenever the grief over Sully and Alphi gets too bad.

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), poem 85 from “The Gardener”, 1914 Translated by the author from the original Bengali. New York: The Macmillan Company.

It is an hundred years hence now. Go open your doors.

“everyone interprets characters differently” unfortunately so true! thankfully I was blessed with an intense preternatural insight into their core beings (watched and paid attention) and I don’t have to worry

Women can write m/m. Men can write f/f. Asexuals can write filthy smut. Lesbians and gay men can write m/f. It's all arbitrary anyway. Who give a shit.

"Oh but they don't have an experience of-" I don't have any experience committing or solving murders either but that's still mostly what I read and write about.

let men be friends who just jerk each other off occasionally and maybe exchange blowies and they're lowkey mortified of the whole ordeal but they can't stop. they won't stop