Spelled The Way It Sounds

boxoftheskyking:

boxoftheskyking:

supernining:

This was just a quick and dirty sketch for the purposes of research and playing around, and it was never supposed to see the light of day. But AQ wanted me to post it anyway so here. Thomas Henn, ladies and gentlemen.

Oh hey look who it is

Edie, meet Henn.

You’re doing this on purpose. 

abundantlyqueer:

boxoftheskyking:

roane72:

abundantlyqueer:

consultingdepressive:

militaryandweapons:

IMG_8445 by smiscandlon on Flickr.

Royal Marine Commandos…..

ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod… ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

blackwood’s all “you want to know why we wear the fucking beret this tight, do you? it’s to stop my fucking brain exploding when i’m faced with you useless fucking lot. pick the fucking field piece up and move.”

Yup, there’s a reason Blackwood is my 2nd favorite. :D

Reblogging for Edie, who is contemplating taking the plunge.

Because then you will see this uniform and go “MY DARLINGS” and then have feelings.

at first i thought ‘edie’ was thinking about joining the royal marines. but then i think edie’s thinking about READING TEH PRON.

=waves= Yo. Edie is always up for some porn. I keep seeing your name about, it is lovely to (sort of) meet you!

sashkash:

I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

[Nancy Sinatra]

—-

A companion piece to “His and Hers”

Totally used the GQ Fassy photo shoot as a ref for Seb. Not even sorry. 

Oh. Yes please. I like to think that dark!Molly and Sebastian are total bros. 

timeforbees:

shayvaalski and andthebluestblue’s character Siobhan because I have lost control of my life.

…mate, did you sleep? She’s lovely. I like the tilt of her head; I very much think that’s something she does.

cjludd:

~SATURDAY AFTERNOONS AT MORIARTY’S~

Sebastian stop being a prude.

I think I’ve forgotten how to draw female anatomy.

They move in together after Uni, her and Tommy, into one of the flats mum holds all across London; it’s one of the fanciest places Siobhan has ever seen, and she spends the next week systematically wrecking it. Change is easier at twenty than at twelve, but it still leaves her gasping and shuddering, on her knees with one arm twisted up behind her back, Tommy murmuring in Irish, reassuring and nonsensical.

It gets better, as Siobhan gets more comfortable in the new space, relaxes enough to not spend every moment on edge—although she suspects, standing in the bathroom door, that Tommy now has a very good argument about why it’s gotten a good deal worse.

Siobhan at fifteen is thin and thoughtful and very, very close to her mum. Tommy watches them, sometimes, from behind the kind of terrible crime novel that it doesn’t matter if you lose your place in because it all sounds the same, watches the way Jim shifts his weight and Siobhan echoes it without noticing. She flips a knife, blade to handle, handle to blade, deep in a conversation about connective tissues or synaptic reactions, computer circuitry or the dynamics of an asteroid, and Jim’s fingers begin twitching as he listens, and soon they are both tempting bloodied hands and Tommy’s getting tense. 

But he never moves to take the knives. Siobhan and her mum burn (her cold and distant, him with a raging heat) and even when Jim is hissing quietly and Siobhan is starting to tap restlessly against the table (because they feed on each other, an echo growing louder instead of more soft), Tommy stays in his seat. After a while, Sebastian always wanders in and says or does something careful and considered (Seb’s been doing this a long time, and he knows what to do), and all of Jim’s anger and fire focuses in on him, and Tommy takes Siobhan’s arm and pulls her outside so that they are no longer vibrating against each other. 

It would be easier, thinks Tommy, if there were only one of them, but Jim is the blood in Siobhan’s veins and the breath in her lungs; they are close in a way he has no words for, a closeness he cannot imagine having with his parents, or even with Sebastian. 

Tommy wonders, sometimes, watching them together, what it will be like when Jim is gone.

sherlockaged:

2/100 photos of Andrew Scott <3

He still knows Siobhan. 

Seb takes a kind of painful comfort in this, when his daughter comes home from London every other month looking harassed and adult, Tommy a tall well-dressed shadow leaning against the wall behind her. It takes Jim a minute, takes Siobhan putting a pale hand up to his face and saying, Mum, but he always knows her. 

It’s still hard to watch, the way Jim grips her wrist as if he can keep himself present by holding on to her, the sudden increase of tension in the muscles of Siobhan’s neck, the closest their daughter will ever come to tears. 

Sometimes Sebastian thinks he cannot bear it.