We’ve reached 800 followers!

Holy shit I never thought we’d reach that many!

I would make a giveaway, but I’m broke

So thank you, guys, keep sending your lovely prompts!

Sherlock mate, you might want to make it a little less obvious. GL (18)



Guess who’s my lucky roommate this year. JW (21)


Are you looking to RP with anyone? Omegle people aren't being very friendly today :( thenetworkgirl


at this very moment I’m leaving to college, so I’d probably just answer tomorrow. So if you still want to RP, you just have to read the RP with me page, It would be a pleasure : )

((Greaser!lock Nerd!john)) Sherlock hated his reputation. He hated the twats that excused the pranks and beatings they pulled on him by calling themselves ‘friends’. He hated the fact that he has the brain of a scientist, and yet he spends his days smoking and drinking, trying to pick up chicks. But, in this city, if you smoke, grease back your hair, ride motorbikes and wear leather jackets, you’re automatically a ‘greaser’. Dodgy, inconsiderate, rude, stupid, worth avoiding. He went along with it. Sherlock hated himself, and society. But most of all, he hated John Watson.  That goody-two-shoes nerd with the army stance and perfect face was too much for him, and he couldn’t help but fall head over heels for him. Not as if he’d ever tell anyone. Hell, he hardly knew him and he didn’t want to, too worried that he wouldn’t be able to control himself from snogging that wide grin off his lips. Sherlock exhaled, drawing it out, and watching the small cloud float off into the dark sky as he tapped his cigarette delicately with his finger. That was another thing he hated; prom. He wouldn’t have hated it, but he had to watch John walk in with an arm around Molly Hooper’s waist. Besides, loud music, touching bodies and couples wasn’t particularly Sherlock’s cup of tea. He’d end up getting through his entire pack of cigarettes by the end of this evening, not unless some other entertainment comes along. And to his luck, Sherlock heard the door to the sports hall open and close again. He slinked out of the ally way and its shadows a smirk on his face and a prank already prepared for the unlucky victim that happened to stumble across his path. 


(Faunlock AU) Faunlock came running towards John’s cabin with tears streaming down his face. He was bloody and bruised and had rocks and mud caked in his fur. Once he had stumbled up the path he pounded on the cabin door loudly, knowing that John would be sleeping at such a late hour. “John!!! John!!!” he yelled through his tears. “John help!” ()()

Just A Prompt To Share

((Teen!lock, Singer!John, Violinist!lock)) John had always liked singing. When he was younger, he would sing in the church choir. Somehow, the whole school had found out about his supposedly “golden” voice. (He was thus nicknamed the Golden Boy.) He had never even sang in front of anyone before. It was a mystery to him, and he preferred not to think about it as he strolled through the halls after school. He didn’t really have a reason for staying; he just didn’t feel like going home yet. But as he walked through the halls, he heard music wafting through the air. It was beautiful. It only took him a second to recognize the instrument: the violin. He followed the sound, tracing it to the music room. He hesitated a moment before knocking on the door.


((Established)) John looked around the decorated flat proudly. He had cooked dinner for him and Sherlock for Sherlock’s birthday, and had a little velvet box in his pocket that he couldn’t wait to present. He was nervous, but he waited patiently for his loving boyfriend to come home. After the stressful case they had been working on, John’s dinner date would hopefully be just what his detective needed.


[TW: Self Harm.] Sherlock[16] was staying at John’s house. He was completely sure he had packed everything that he needed before leaving his house, but when the time to change into his pajamas came around he found out he had forgotten his long-sleeved t-shirt at home and instead had grabbed the sleeveless one. “John… Can you lend me a t-shirt to sleep in?” He asked. John smiled at him and handed him a short-sleeved shirt. “A long-sleeved please?” He said a little more nervous.

[trigger warning: suicidal thoughts] Is life really worth it? SH[17]