thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box

To be completely and annoyingly honest, I was half expecting to see the burning remains of what once used to be Polyvore when I came back, and I was mildly surprised when I didn't. Oh well. Good for you, internet. I guess.

" i'm not trying to cause a big sensation, i'm just talkin' 'bout my generation "
- my generation by the who
 

@emericcson123
Is this good? I'm not sure. It kind of sucks anyway. I'm sorry I didn't put the mark on Kaya's face but the set limit wouldn't let me delete anything without screwing this royaly.
 

 

To put it simply, Nina was confined. But it wasn’t that simple any more. When was anything ever simple? Nina couldn’t leave the white and blank room, no matter how many tears had rolled from her pale cheeks, no matter how broken had been the howls of pain she had voiced. Even as the troubled thoughts whispered lies into her ear, sympathetic and fake words slipping out so casually, Nina couldn’t escape the pain of her caged heart. The girl very well knew she couldn't simply leave the compressing asylum by ‘materializing away with handsome strangers’ as her friends kindly referred to, as if the youth's troubles would disappear with the mere words. Nina would nod and barely smile, for she believed to see a disgusted gleam upon the eyes of her peers whenever her... condition was mentioned. But Nina, even in her “state”, could walk through the veil of their dulled lies and observe with them as they judged her freely, feeling no remorse on the 'poor, insane girl'.
If there was anything she could do to redeem herself, it was already beyond her reach, teasing her brain with the opportunities that had slipped her awaiting finger. She was useless to her loved ones, who thought her mad and incapable of habiting among them, and had failed those ultimately in the end. She was just glad they were no longer present to watch her break for just telling what she still believed was the truth-
 
Nina spun around, her eyes wide. Her musings were cut short as strange sound broke the thin fabric of peace clouding her mind in that moment. Her teeth gritted slightly, her fingers running through her hair in a dazed fashion.

" for you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not "
I do no care if the song was released in the 70's. The lyrics are fdkngdskfg.
 
NAME: Nina Palmer
AGE: 20
RACE: Human
HOME PLANET: Earth
BIO: The year is 1963. Nina Palmer, idealist dreamer, would proudly admit to anyone brave enough to ask that she resides her city's only psychiatric hospital. Living in a world too closed to see her for any other than her illness – schizophrenia-, Nina finds shelter in the only place available: her own mind. Her seemingly “radical” beliefs involving the mankind in peace for once, along with the gentle hummed music of her beloved radio, keep her sane in those cages stained in pure white, knowing that she did what she had to overcome the war raging inside men, to start changing the world, piece by piece, thanks to her participation in several manifestations for a better planet... reasons that only added to the final problem: having her locked up in an asylum for mental illness. However, the main cause of her “imprisonment” is the series of hallucinations Nina has. Every single one of them involve a strange men with wild hair who seems to appear in different moments of her life, for a minute or so, and always vaporizing in a public police box.
MODEL: Mila Kunis
Note: I don't know what this is. I like the 60's, don't judge me. Amazing period.

nothing in my way - keane
 
This sucks. So @slyther-claw has my deepest apologies since it's dedicted to her. This has been on my drafts for Castiel knows how long.

iridescent - linkin park.
 
oh, don't even bother. i know this is rubbish.

all around the world | oasis
 
@mulv0ytens I'm finishing the last touch of the fanfic that will be put in this lovely set I made once I'm happy with the things that I wrote.
 
{coming soon}

" between two lungs, it was released the breath that passed from you to me "
- between two lungs + florence and the machine
 
My heart is still shattered by the start of series seven of Doctor Who.

@mulv0ytens perfection

If I fell - The Beatles
 
This might or might not be dedicated to @slyther-claw .
 

 
Awkward wave*

@demi-justin-fan-gryffindor-queen
HEY YOU!
 
I know you'll be seeing this on Monday, and your birthday is actually tomorrow... but it's very unlikely that I'll be able to log in the actual date of the commemoration of your birth (bless that), or even later this day. So this is me, wishing you a early happy birthday!
 
I have several surprises for you, and I really really really hope you like them.
 
FIRST: FANFIC TIME (Brace yourself for an angsty one-shot, darling)
 
Radiohead – No surprises // Paola & Sherlock
Plot: In which instead of John there's a girl named Paola... Post The Reichenbach Fall
 
A heart that's full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal
 
You look so tired and unhappy
Bring down the government
They don't, they don't speak for us
I'll take a quiet life
A handshake of carbon monoxide
 
No alarms and no surprises
 
The evening that day saw one Paola Smith standing the in middle of the bustling London, staring thoughtfully at winter snow, head tilted towards the night sky. She didn't know how exactly she had come to the conclusion that it would be a good idea but as she had sat drinking her tea that evening she had looked out of the window at the cloudless sky and felt an inexplicable urge to stand in the snow and look up at the stars.
 
She had always appreciated the beauty of the night sky, even before she had known about... his ignorance on the subject. There had always been something that just felt magical about it. As a child her father had taught her about the constellations and their mythology. Paola may have studied astronomy at school but it never lessened her childlike interest in the stars. Her stargazing the last couple of years had always been tinged with sadness, especially on a night like this. The body in the sky which she had once taken so much pleasure from seeing as a child had been forever tainted in her mind with the connotations she now knew that it held for the world she had entered two years ago now.
 
The moon shone full and bright overhead. Paola wondered how many people would be looking to it with an entirely different attitude tonight. To some happily oblivious people it would provoke wonder or simply indifference. But for some, like her, staring at the brightness of the untouched inky sky, the complete and utter perfection of each dot, the danger they held and the promises of an uncertain future written on them on bloodied letters couldn't help but contrast on the dull life people like Paola carried upon their shoulders. Every since... he had died, each day became increasingly more plain, falling into the dreary routine. She would spend her nights (and probably the next few days) in misery and pain.
 
But the situation was getting better, Paola reflected as she sipped at her mug of tea, ignoring the sharp taste of the lie on her tongue, eyes still on the moon. It was a long road and she knew this only too well, but if she was honest to himself, she knew deep down that.... His death would mark him forever.
 
It had been a little over two years since the fall. Two years of trying not only to rebuild but to improve, and failing miserably. Two years of broken relationships, of countless sessions of therapy and insanely boring routines . Two years without Sherlock Holmes.
 
Two years, she thought wearily as she took another sip of her drink to combat the chill in the air. In truth it felt a lot longer than only two years and yet the death of her comrade, her friend, (her love, her mind whispered mockingly) was still as close to her as ever before. While the rest of the world had celebrated the end of the imposter, only Paola wept for the loss of the most brilliant man she had ever met.
 
A howl sounded in the distance, snapping Paola back to the present. At least in part. For a split second she wondered if the sound was coming from the Baskerville hounds. The crack in her heart deepened slightly as she realised that was impossible, Sherlock Holmes was among those in the peaceful sleep, never coming back to solve any more cases. To sooth her friend's heart.
 
He shouldn't have died, she thought, angry tears building in her eyes, as her body stood still, frames of arrogant smirks and blue eyes played in her head, a mournful melody being roughly stolen from the weeping cords of the dying violin . And maybe that’s what missing someone really is, she pondered- still legs, still lungs, still heart.
 
And it was choking Paola Smith because she couldn't breath him in, because she lost not only a friend, but a lover.
 
____________________________________________________
 

SECOND: I made you graphics!
 
One: Your top three husbands, all in one awfully made picture, yaaaay.
Link: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9bcj9rXrf1qkek7vo1_1280.jpg
Two: A collage of all the things you like... sort of.
Link: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9bcj9rXrf1qkek7vo2_1280.jpg
Three: You as Emma Stone and your favourite blue eyed, dark haired detective sharing a moment.
Link: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9bcj9rXrf1qkek7vo3_500.jpg
Rebloggable version for all three of them: http://allthoseweasleys.tumblr.com/post/30168991185
 
_________________________________________________
 
THIRD: YET ANOTHER FANFIC!
 
Green Day – Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) // Paola & Benedict
Plot: In which we get a look of Benny and Paola's happy life... slight smut. Flashbacks will be put between {}-

So take the photographs, and still-frames in your mind.
hang it on the shelf of good health and good time.
tattoo's of memories and dead skin on trial.
for what it's worth, it was worth all the while.
it's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
i hope you had the time of your life.
 

Benedict doesn’t measure happiness by whose love he’s won or hasn’t won. It’s enough for him to wake up next to Paola’s steady heartbeat.
 

The imprint of her is all over the canvas of his apartment – the ring on the kitchen counter from her morning cup of coffee, her scent on the pillows, her shoes next to his – she’s everywhere and it’s wonderful. Because she isn’t leaving. She isn’t running away. She’s home.
 

Paola doesn’t measure happiness by all the secrets she’s been, by all the whispers told because of trust and love and friendship. It’s enough for her to hear ours, accented by Benedict’s love and British twang.
 

It might be fate or luck but whatever it is, Paola’s melted into Benedict and he’s melted into her and their souls are now so intertwined it’s hard to distinguish one from the other. A mutual melting, a melted love – Paola finds it beautiful but most of all, real.
 

They just are – and normally, that would confuse Paola because she’s an analyser, a thinker; she doesn’t think of things as just ‘are’, they have to be something, mean something, have some sense of reason or logic. But she leaves this. Because this – it – is easy, so easy, and all she needs is to be. Just be. Just being.
 

It’s this that makes them work, that makes them –
 

{“You going to kiss me, Pao?” he mumbles, half-teasing, half-exasperated.
 
She chews on her lip before she spits out her answer. “Yes.”
 
Benny's eyes widen, and Paola hides her smile.
 
They both shrug and their lips meet halfway.}
 

them, Benedict and Paola, Paola and Benedict.
 

They love each other wholly and completely, and why wouldn’t that be enough for them? They’re young and happy and dangerously in love. Everyone loves a good tragedy, a story of love and heat and destruction, and oh, they’ve got it, everyone says they’ve got it –
 

{Breath catching, chest heaving, tiny delicate strings of colourful curse words like beads on a necklace – they’re both close. They’re kissing and biting and grinding and whimpering, hands in hair and nails on skin, bodies trembling and twisting and writhing.
 
“I love you,” he pants. “God, I love you.”
 
Paola can’t bring herself to speak – not yet, anyway – and Benedict swallows her moans with his kisses. They’re close – so close – the heat building and building, throbbing hard and deep, Paola’s hands holding onto Benedict’s shaking shoulders – one last thrust, roll of the hips, Paola’s back arching and their stomachs meeting and –
 
They’re a twisted pile of bare skin on the bed, Paola’s heart hammering through both of them and Benedict’s uneven breathing prickling the side of Paola’s neck.
 
“I love you,” she says, voice drained.
 
Benedict manages a weak nod, his mouth right at her ear. “I love you, too.” }
 

but they don’t, not really, because they’re not as complicated as that.
 

They’re simpler; they don’t rely on the burning of lust and desire – rather, they prefer the quiet times, the warm feeling growing low in their bellies, sweet and sticky. They like silence and laughter and contradictions. Odd pair, the two of them make – Benedict and Paola, Paola and Benedict – but it’s so simple, so easy –
 

{“You’re quiet today,” Paola whispers into his neck.
 
“No, it’s just – with you, the quiet is nice. With you, I don’t feel like I have to talk all the time.”
 
“But you’re happy?”
 
Benedict pulls his eyes to hers – she’s so beautiful – cups her chin with his hand and smiles.
 
“Of course.” }
 
- because fact is, they love each other. They’re in love with each other. And they leave it at that.
 
_________________________________________________
 
FOURTH: (and last) A LETTER!
 
Dear Paola:
I'm not exactly sure how to begin this letter, really. Sometimes, I find myself caught between these ideas, words floating through my mind in complete and utter despair, creating soft whispers of sentences that most likely will become some sort of rubbish-like piece of fanfiction. But now, when it comes to expressing my feelings, my thoughts, just everything about our relationship – I just can't help but type idiotic stuff like “feels” and “crying omg”. But you my dear, you are so so so much more than that, and sometimes I just can't really verbalize it properly. But this is me, trying to.
 
I'll start telling you that you're amazing. You really are, and it's completely barbaric that you don't get told that often, but most of people are too muggle-y to appreciate your awesomeness. I do, however, hope I'm not one of those people. Because I love you.
 
The funny thing is, we weren't really supposed to be friends. I mean, we live miles and miles away, and our only connection is a computer, however pathetic that sounds. But really, does it matter? No, it doesn't. If it weren't for my crazy need of adding new Doctor Who stuff into my items category in this website, I wouldn't have added the person who had clipped certain photograph of one Matt Smith to my contacts. And that person, I realized after a few months, had become one of my dearest friends. The Sherlock to my John. My wonderwall. Paola.
 
Thanks for sending me those messages, by the way. I will be forever grateful for that, because it didn't only provided me of a friend, but someone who made me smile and laugh when I needed it the most.
 
You've seen my darkest times, you've been there to pick me up and scold at my state. You hugged me with your friendship and you made me feel loved when I needed it the most in my moments of empty loneliness.

And that, to this day, means so much to me. A lot more than so many other unimportant things just taking up the space in my life. I could repay you with a bunch of sweet words, silly sets, horribly-written pieces of fanfiction, but you'll never truly understand how much that act meant to me.
 
I honestly think that every friend in the life of one person serves for a solid purpose. And you darling, you just brighten up my day with your existence. Thank you so much.
 
I guess this is just a “Hey, happy birthday, so glad you were born!” kind of letter, with all the awkwardness that it implies.
 
And if you ever need a kidney, or an arm, or even a white van to kidnap Benedict Cumberbatch – whatever. Call me.
 
Because I know you would do the same for me.
 
Happy birthday!
 
- The Alex to your Charlie, Dani.
 

 

 
-nnn
- because fact is, they love each other. They’re in love with each other. And they leave it at that.