Tag: glorious

simpleanddestructivechemistry:

sincewhendoyoucallme-john:

willietheplaidjacket:

I look over and see Sherlock standing in front of the fire looking down at the flames, swayin’ slightly like he’s got his eyes closed. Except I don’t know his name is Sherlock. Not yet. An urge comes over me, and I take my foot out the stirrup where it was waiting to push me up and walk up behind him instead. I step up on the little log behind his feet so my head is up higher than his, and then I wrap my arms tight around his chest.

“Sleepin’ on your feet like a horse,” I say in his ear. He hums and leans into me, lets his head rest back on my good shoulder.

I let my fingers stroke up and down the front of his wool jacket over his chest. We stand there together for a silent moment. I breathe in the scent of the campfire from his hair as I feel the solid weight of him in my arms.

“Time for bed, cowboy,” I say into his curls, and then I pat the front of his chest and run my nose across the side of his forehead before walkin’ back over to my horse. He turns his head to watch me disappear into the moonlit trail, and I feel the warmth of him up along my whole body all the way ‘til I get to the meadow.

– He Was A Friend Of Mine by @sincewhendoyoucallme-john

Holy Jesus.

I’m still speechless about this, so I will recycle the words I used on twitter:

Well, now I can finally say I truly understand the meaning of the phrase “burst into tears.” 

Was NOT expecting this AT ALL and it literally took my breath away – it keeps taking my breath away every time I look at it again.

Brought me right back to the mountains in seconds, the cold, sharp air, the warm scent of the trees, the way their campfire smoke permeated the walls of the safe little tent, Sherlock’s harmonica and John’s rough voice.

@willietheplaidjacket I’m forever in awe and grateful beyond words. As I admitted to you once I finally stopped screaming at you how much I love this, I’ve always secretly wanted to see art of my Brokeback Sherlock and John, and then BAM HERE IT IS OUT OF NOWHERE BY A FUCKING INCOMPARABLY TALENTED ARTIST.

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU ❤

YES. all what she said. ^^

I have no words. it takes away your breath. 😭❤️

edda-for-dummies:

Phone wallpapers // Gods and modern issues

The other day I got a worried person asking “why I bring politics into this” and why I am “not going to give an apology” to them because I don’t tolerate racism, xenophobia or misogyny. It was… the clumsiest attempt at emotional manipulation I’ve yet faced.
I really hope that Nazis and their friends learn to read some day, because I think I do
have it written down on this blog in several places that hey,
fuck off.

These are from me to you, use as phone backgrounds if you want to! Click on them on my blog or reblog them to your own (I would appreciate it if you use any!) to get the full-size pictures.

1 TYR – 2 SKADI

3 ODIN – 4 FREYJA

5 LOKI – 6 IDUN

Little descriptions under the cut.

Keep reading

classic lit authors on ao3

Jane Austen: The slowburn writer to end all slowburn writers. Has a mild case of purple prose syndrome. Sets you up to think she’s using a really lame trope or cliche, but then pulls the old BITCH U THOUGHT. Gets in fights with commenters who completely miss the point of her work.
William Shakespeare: Where dick jokes meet feels. Recycles old plots that have been in the fandom for years, but always manages to put a new spin on it. That said, he’s better known for good character writing than good plots. Kind of problematic, but people love him anyway. Laughs at and encourages commenters who completely miss the point of his work.
The Brontë Sisters: Their fics get lots of comments but they never reply. They never leave author notes, either. They share an account, and there are talks of a collab fic coming soon. Write fics for OTPs of questionable healthiness and consent. Only ever write darkfic. Like, REALLY dark. …People are getting kind of worried about them.
Edgar Allan Poe: Also only ever writes darkfic, but at this point, people have moved past being worried about him and have just accepted that he’s weird, he’s morbid, and we love him. Channels his feelings about his ex into his writing. It results in really good stories but everyone’s sort of like, “…Dude.”
Charles Dickens: Trying to set the record for highest wordcount on ao3, and it shows.
Victor Hugo: Currently holds the record for highest wordcount on ao3.
Oscar Wilde: Only ever writes M/M. Has a BAD case of purple prose, but it’s worth it if you manage to get through. His stories are either hilarious or soul-crushing. Or somehow both. People love him but know better than to disagree with him publicly, lest he destroy you with one of his infamous subtweets.
L. Frank Baum: Wrote one really well-loved story that’s among the most famous in the fandom, and it’s literally all he’s known for, and it pisses him off. His popular story became a multichap against his will because it’s the only one of his stories anyone actually reads. He keeps trying to end it so he can work on other things, but always ends up coming back.
Arthur Conan Doyle: Feels L. Frank Baum’s pain. SO much.
James Joyce: Has fascinating ideas, but takes forEVER to get to the point in his stories. Also a stoner, and it shows.
Lousia May Alcott: Writes stories for her unpopular OTP (that’s a NOTP for most of the fandom) and breaks up everyone’s favorite ships, mainly out of spite. Also kills everyone’s favorite characters, less so out of spite. Wrote one fluff fic that everyone adores, so nobody notices the lengthy, purple prose-filled dramas she likes much better.
Mary Shelley: Writes incredible stories, but publishes under her boyfriend’s account because she’s banned from ao3. …Again.