Even Heroes Need Saving

Jade Dynasty. 16.
Primarily a Muse blog mixed with a whole lot of Sherlock, Doctor Who and Marvel/DC.

Lara Pulver and Natalie Dormer are the queens.

Hawkeye is the BEST Avenger.

I also love Evanescence, Coldplay, The Killers, E.S. Posthumus, Daft Punk, and Linkin Park.

Miscellaneous facts about me include that I'm a writer, artist, musician, singer, and big dreamer.

I've got stars to reach.

The secret is not the undeniable sentimental nature of their liaison, but the fact they often spend Sunday mornings wrapped around each other in bed, like the boring, ordinary people they aren’t.

The secret is not the undeniable sentimental nature of their liaison, but the fact they often spend Sunday mornings wrapped around each other in bed, like the boring, ordinary people they aren’t.


Reading Sui Generis while mentally shouting “HEADCANON ACCEPTED” and sobbing simultaneously

  #Chloe why do you do this to me    #sui generis    #francesca-wayland    #adlock  
What do you know about this woman? -MH
Nothing whatsoever. -SH
Then you should be paying more attention. -MH
  #i love how out of nowhere i can make decent edits    #adlock    #adlockedit    #irene adler    #sherlock holmes    #sherlockedit    #bbc sherlock    #my edit  
for adleration because you're a total darling
for adleration because you're a total darling
  #adlock    #adlockedit    #irene adler    #sherlock holmes    #bbc sherlock    #sherlockedit    #adleration  

Sherlock’s index finger traced the curve of his bottom lip as he sat rigidly in his seat like a prime king on his throne. His unrelaxed gaze was trained on Irene who stood from across the room as she was gathering her things.

The taste of her was still fresh on his tongue and his torso bore the markings of her red nails, the cut open flesh still fresh and warm. The blood had not yet dried and neither did the detective show any interest in washing it away.

The Woman may have been getting dressed but Sherlock made no moves to mirror her actions. He remained in his chair, stark naked, brain working out the blemishes on The Woman’s back. He was able to make out which ones he put there and which ones another man had put there.

Their promiscuous activities reeled over and over in his head like some torturous picture movie.

The piquant flavor of her body laid out beneath him, the quiver of her thighs against the sides of his head, the high arch of her back as she bellowed out his name, his tongue still against her swollen pink flesh as her hips bucked against his mouth and fingers in violent jerks. And he still continued to mark her across her body, the inferno of jealousy boiling deep in his blood. He sank his teeth into every crevice, tongue lapping every inch of skin on her body, suckling ever swell and depression across her surface.

He knew he had been marking her as his territory. It was probably animalistic and even a little banal.  

She’d had a client earlier that day. And much to Sherlock Holmes’ surprise (and eventually Irene’s), he had found himself at odds with the man.

He was a sprightly fellow, most annoyingly bearing the image of a good-natured golden boy: blonde hair, blue eyes, white smile, and fair skin. He was the son of one of the top-five oil tycoons of the world and had caught Irene’s attention at a gala. The Woman had no real need for financial gain. She’d seduced the man because of her inherent urges to misbehave.

Sherlock was far from unfamiliar with Irene’s choice of work, seeing as he had met The Woman under the circumstances of her trotting into the room completely naked, drugging him, whipping him, and playing the strings of his heart like an unrivaled ventriloquist and violinist combined. Of course, she hadn’t expected to fall for him in the end but that was another story by itself.

Still, Sherlock had felt somewhat threatened towards the very notion that Irene had relinquished some form of control to some strange man, allowing him to blemish her skin the way he had.

She was a dominatrix, not a submissive. She was a lioness and others around her were naught but cubs.

Sherlock had been under the adamant impression that only he was allowed to do those things to her (on such occasions he’d been willing to). He had been under the impression that such things were of intimate practices, reserved only for him when they were shagging above and under the sheets like two tumbleweeds in a whirlwind.

So what could have possibly made this man so…exceptional in Irene’s eyes?

The detective simply had to find out why, after all, he was a detective. His profession had been fueled by his incessant need to have questions answered. Why why why?

And so once Sherlock had arrived at 44 Eaton Square to see this man leaving Irene’s “guest” bedroom, belt unbuckled, shirt barely buttoned up, a satisfied grin on his face, he acted on impulse as promptly as possible.

Jealousy and anger had roused up to the surface as Sherlock’s fist collided with the blonde man’s jaw. And he landed his knuckles into the man’s eye a second time and for a third time he jabbed him hard into his ribs.

Immature wretch, Irene had called him once the blonde man gathered his things and fled from her home.

She went on about Sherlock’s actions tampering with the potentialities of clientele and swore at him like a seasoned sailor and after she’d come to the conclusion that the detective was simply jealous, she’d laughed at him, head thrown back at the sheer ludicrousness of it. Sherlock had stormed out of the door, bruised knuckles and a tint of redness from his embarrassment.

But that hadn’t been the last of it.

Hours later once the clouds had congregated over the sky, Sherlock had begun to grow contemplative, knowing Irene all too well. She would have invited the client back to her house just to spite Sherlock for what he had done earlier. He cared not that he had reacted (overreacted) with the disgraceful immaturity of a jealous six-year old.

All that mattered was that he had his way with the man who had put his hands on The Woman, and possibly…other things. God knows what Irene would have been doing at the moment. A sudden panic had swelled inside of him. Fists coiled and teeth gritted, the detective had gripped his cell phone and sent Irene a simple three-worded text.

Come at once. – SH

Irene had come anyway, though she was still cross with him. Once she had seen that he wasn’t in danger, she knelt down had tossed her Loubutins at Sherlock somewhere in the middle of their argument. He’d blocked the first one off but the second had an underestimated trajectory at it clocked Sherlock hard on his skull, producing an open wound.

Although Irene hadn’t stopped there, because once she had realized she had no weapons left to hurl at the man she wanted to murder, she had stormed over to Sherlock with one arm raised. She was strong. But he was stronger. He had a mind to let her slap him, let her slap him until his face bruised and the skin rose with a purple hue. But he had caught her wrist in an iron grip.

They were so disastrously dysfunctional. Like two equations that didn’t meet no matter which variables you took out or put in. Either way you put them, they were collateral damage. And there was nothing that could be done to stop them. They didn’t own each other, but the way Sherlock had branded his grip into her wrist as his tongue seared through her lips, it was beginning to feel very much like they had belonged to each other.

After he had turned the tables on her with a distracting kiss, he laid her without warning against the ground and by the brevity of his tongue and lean fingers, he made her brain turn to complete mush and her thighs to jelly.

She had rode him hard and rough against the dark floorboards of 221B Baker Street, digging her nails and scraping them up and down his chest, wanting to watch him come undone beneath her the way he had done to her before.

And once things had been over, they wordlessly climbed off of each other, both satisfied for having gotten their ways with one another.

Irene slipped her arm into her coat and Sherlock had to bite back to urge to assist her. He was never a gentleman towards anyone else. But with her, he found himself reaffirming the basic laws of etiquette. How drastically unusual.

"We didn’t have sex, Sherlock," Irene mumbled, pulling her hair out from beneath her coat, "You should know I don’t have sex with my clients. Not all of them, anyways," she knelt down as she stepped into her Loubutins. 

At least not anymore, those choice of words were phantom on her tongue.

"But you let him mark you," Sherlock spoke up, suddenly feeling small and weak as The Woman towered over him in her Loubutins.

"It won’t be the first or last time I let a client mark me Sherlock. I’ve just had better days at covering them up. The entire point in letting some select clients do so is to fool them into thinking they have some power over me. Sometimes it’s best to fuel their egotistical image before you crack down on them when they least expect it," Irene glanced downwards, "It worked on a detective once."

"But why him?" Sherlock inquired, eager to further assess her decision.

"Because," Irene placed her hands on either sides of the armrest and leaned forward so that her face as inches away from Sherlock’s, "It’s my body and I like to misbehave. Don’t you forget that, Mr. Holmes. You don’t own me."

With the flick of an eyebrow and the curved grin she’d used on him so often, Irene was out of the door, soundlessly and seamlessly.

"No…" the detective had exhaled once he realized he’d been holding his breath, "No I don’t."

requested by adleration.

  #ninna i hope you like this    #i'm really sick so i tried my best    #should i delete    #and try again?    #adlock    #my writing    #adleration  

Adler/Holmes + Long Shots

  #look at them    #perfection    #no matter how dysfunctional    #adlock    #adlockedit  

I was drinking some water yesterday when suddenly I broke down crying because it hit me with such great force how badly I need Irene to come back. Like yes, my sanity has officially been altered because of a brunette in Loubutins and her interesting connection to a curly haired idiot.

  #bring her back please    #especially if i am do die so young    #irene adler    #bbc sherlock    #adlock  

Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?

Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?



You didn’t want to be found.

— A six word story

Natalie Dormer by Chris Floyd for BAFTA

  #you deserve a throne    #Natalie Dormer  
  #not but these babes were the original adlock for me    #so hot    #look at them    #Natalie Dormer    #Jonathan Rhys Meyers  


They get mind-controlled into a violent murderous rage and this is how they choose to fight.

  #shameless    #clintasha  


Clint and Natasha in 1x07

  #yes i ship the cartoon version too    #~sticks tongue out~    #clintasha  


  #such a darling    #Dance Moms    #Chloe Lukasiak  


  #SLAYYYYYYYYYYYY    #Chloe Lukasiak    #Dance Moms