he did it
Creative Writer / University Student / Procrastinator.
Currently living in Nelson/Southampton, England.
Whovian, GoT, LOTR/The Hobbit, Sherlockian, Trekkie, Pokemon, Marvel.
Ask me anything; anon's always on!
Happily taken by the wonderful, gorgeous Lauren McLoughlin. <3
Me: * whines about the many things I have to do that’ll take hours
Me: * eats in bed all day as I whine
i love high contrast photos of fruit floating threateningly in the night
I don’t believe such a thing exists
I was mistaken
Iron Man (2008): Deleted Scenes
Tony Comes Home
can you imagine though, jarvis all alone in tony’s malibu house? jarvis who of course doesn’t have any physical form at all, jarvis who at this point occupies just the house and tony’s phone—jarvis, who is dependent on tony for everything, who lives essentially in tony’s pocket, suddenly being completely alone for the first time in his silicon life.
and every ten minutes on the dot for days and days and days he accesses the latest news reports, re-calculating and re-calculating tony’s chances at survival, endlessly running the numbers. and nobody told him to do that. tony’s house was empty and dark and nobody told jarvis to keep an eye on the news but he did. jarvis could have just spun down his hard drives and gone into hibernate mode, but he didn’t.
no, he watched the news. he stood vigil. he waited and he hoped that his calculations were wrong. that one day he would be able to say welcome home, sir once more.
Emotional state: upset about robots.
"you’ll understand when you’re older"
i am older and i understand absolutely nothing
1: What would you name your future daughter?
2: Do you miss anyone?
3: What if I told you that you were pretty?
4: Ever been told “it’s not you, it’s me”?
5: What are you looking forward to in the next week?
6: Did you go out or stay in last night?
7: How late did you stay up last night?
8: Honestly, has anyone seen you in your underwear in the past 3 months?
9: What were you doing at 12:30 this afternoon?
10: Have you ever told somebody you loved them and not actually meant it?
11: Could you go for the rest of your life without drinking alcohol?
12: Have you pretended to like someone?
13: Could you go the rest of your life without smoking a cigarette?
14: Is there one person in your life that can always make you smile?
15: Is it hard for you to get over someone?
16: Think back five months ago, were you single?
17: Have you ever cried from being so mad?
18: Hold hands with anyone this week?
19: Did your last kiss take place in/on a bed?
20: Who did you last see in person?
21: What is the last thing you said out lot?
22: Have you kissed three or more people in one night?
23: Have you ever been to Paris?
24: Are you good at hiding your feelings?
25: Do you use chap stick?
26: Who did you last share a bed with?
27: Are you listening to music right now?
28: What is something you currently want right now?
29: Were your last three kisses from the same person?
30: How is your heart lately?
31: Do you wear the hood on your hoodie?
32: When was the last time a member of the opposite sex hugged you?
33: What do people call you?
34: Have you ever wanted to tell someone something but didn’t?
35: Are there any stressful situations in your life?
36: What are you listening to right now?
37: What is wrong with you right now?
38: Love really is a beautiful thing huh?
39: Do you make wishes at 11:11?
40: What is on your wrists right now?
41: Are you single/taken/heartbroken/confused/waiting for the unexpected?
42: Where did you get the shirt/sweatshirt you’re wearing?
43: Have you ever regretted kissing someone?
44: Have you hugged someone within the last week?
45: Have you kissed anyone in the last five days?
46: What were you doing at midnight last night?
47: Do you miss the way things were six months ago?
48: Would you rather sleep with someone else or alone?
49: Have you ever been to New York?
50: Think of the last person who said I love you, do you think they meant it?
A short piece on memory for anyone interested, as cliché as some of it may be:
”Silence. Solace. It is here, when we are most alone, that our minds feel utmost compelled to step from the shores of the present and dip their toes into the endless ocean that is the past. It is no coincidence that it is when our thoughts are free to slip into the subconscious and daydream that the endless expanses of everything we have ever done return to relevance again. Nor is it consequential that, like the sea itself, the influx of memory may be therapeutic or purely torrential. The pleasant recollections, like the euphoria at completing my first novel, or the feeling of home when seeing the person I love the most after months away, they embrace you like a second skin, drawing you along in a warm, constant current. Then there are the memories that hit like a thundering tidal wave filling the senses with a sickening breathlessness. The cold anxiety of spending the night in a Beckton tube station, the grief of a grandfather lost to a cannibalistic cancer, or the betrayal of a best friend brandishing a knife in the back. While the metaphor may not be fully watertight, the fact remains that if you are prepared to take a pleasant paddle into the shallows of what has been and gone, then do not be surprised if you are tossed into the deep by a storm of the subconscious, into the depths where the monsters reside. When remembering the house I grew up in, I recall that it was positioned at the end of a cul-de-sac, giving way to what I see with the reflection of age was a small construction site next to a hollow of marshland. Small piles of rocks, bags of cement and planks of wood lined the edges of half built houses like soldiers waiting to be called upon, the terraced streets giving way to the bare bones of buildings like a strange rewind through synthetic evolution. I never remember any builders, but perhaps that is selective. Because this wasn’t a building site to me. It was a mysterious land beyond the house. Those piles of rubble were the tallest mountains in the world and I, the young explorer, had to scale them. Had to feel the fresh air rustling my hair in the slight breeze as I stood five foot from the floor, surveying the wilderness of a tiny, ghoulish green bog below. I would take a sip from my trusty water bottle and breathe in the smell of fresh cement, planting my toothpick flag into the summit of Mt. Rubble and locking my toilet roll tube telescope onto a faraway apple tree, harsh sunlight beating down onto the back of this weary mountaineer. The ten or so imprints into the side of the pile from my mud caked shoes would feel like the most pivotal, most ground breaking expedition humankind had ever undertaken. Moisture and dew from the plants dripping with a pitta patter into puddles below was rain hammering down into the lakes that surrounded me. To me, this was a paradise, my imaginary oasis. Yet, despite my fondness for the ease of youth, this is a memory that leads onto one all the more sinister. For however many times I traversed my wilderness during the day, it took on a surprisingly sinister visage when the sun set. A simple walk to a friend’s house would turn into a nightmare for the ten year old me, my sanctuary turning on me for no reason except that I had chosen to venture across it when it did not see fit. The mud of the bog would threaten to swallow me alive as I lost a welly crossing it, the long leafy arms of the apple tree trying to grab me from the earth as they danced in the wind, almost succeeding as gnarly wooden fingers became tangled in my jacket. That cool breeze was harsh now, slashing at my exposed skin, once or twice throwing me into the side of my beloved, tiny mountains, the puddle lakes at the base drenching me with a haunting sense of betrayal in the suffocating darkness. Now I look back on two memories that are intrinsically linked, this subconscious ocean of memories adhering to no boundaries of time or epoch, with no care of whether I should float within it, or drown.”
I’m so fucking pissed off I just realized they’re called pancakes because they’re cakes you make in a frying pan fuck english.
Oh my fucking god I’m furious.
11th Doctor + Amy Pond + Rory Williams