Candy in the Cabin"Happy Halloween, Skipper!"Candy in the Cabin2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Arthur bounced into the airport with a wizard's hat on his head and a plastic jack-o-lantern round his wrist. It was filled with colourfully wrapped sweets. The grin on his face was permanently painted on with white and black paint in an imitation of a skeleton. Martin looked at him for a long time before speaking.
"Yes Happy Halloween, Jack Skellington," he remarked sardonically. "How's the hunt for Christmas going?"
Arthur looked confused, although his thick layer of face-paint didn't so much as crack or crease. Martin was sitting in the empty airport waiting for the others to arrive. He had a book with him and seemed as tight as usual. He stifled a yawn and looked Arthur up and down in puzzlement. He rolled his eyes. Here we go again.
Arthur buried his hand in the pumpkin and held out a strawberry flavoured lolly. It was deceivingly blue and had a white bat on it. Martin reached out to take it gingerly.
"Uh, thank you, Arthur," he muttered, realising
Cabin Pressure limericksThere once was a boy, Martin CrieffCabin Pressure limericks2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Who caused his parents some grief
He wanted to be a plane
But his efforts were in vain
The flight down from the roof is rather brief
There was a steward, Arthur Shappey
Who knew the secret of being happy
Toss an apple, or rather
Get into hot water
It'll surely make your day a lot less crappy
If there ever was a living otter
On the flight deck, there'd be clutter
So put the last one
In the fridge, it'll have fun
Playing among the bread, milk, and butter
A gun might be your first pick
But I'll let you in on a trick
If you me
Sherlock - The Ninth Muse P1 Sherlock’ s notes were as likely to be full of commentary on the inanity of today’s news anchors and his personal preferences regarding soy sauce and grammar than any blasts of genius, most people didn’t get that about him. But John Watson did. This infernal storm of papers all over the room is exactly what happened when you noticed everything. Genius was an untidy affair.Sherlock - The Ninth Muse P12 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Holmes records meandered like a forsaken cow abandoned in the desert, from ‘There were clear signs of formalin in the divots of the bowling ball – faintly detectable to the nose – enough to prove the client was lying; he had been in the University that night’, to ‘We are out of yogurt; who is responsible for this?’, although that last one, John felt a super-sleuth should have known.
Muggling Moments"Martin," Benedict muttered, nudging his friend.Muggling Moments2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Eh?" the other answered.
"This was a fantastic idea! Disappear from everything right under everyone's noses," the former exclaimed.
"It would surprise a lot of people. No doubt they think we've run off somewhere never to return." Martin chuckled at the thought. "She was absolutely brilliant."
"Wasn't she? I should like to learn that spell of hers. So simple," Benedict said, mulling it all over in his mind. "McGonagall. Interesting name, that."
"Indeed. Quite fun to say," Martin agreed.
"Blue," Benedict said nonchalantly. "It suits you."
Martin thanked him. "You're not so bad in purple yourself. The stripes are working for you."
"Oh, you think so?"
"You should wear them more often."
They sat there for a while, gazing at the spread of people and props, computers and cameras before them. Thankfully, the lights were dimmed down giving them a lesser chance of being seen by Moffat or Gatiss. They'd chew them out for sure, once they were prope
He Was Family 3He Was Family 3He Was Family 32 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Cabin Pressure / Sherlock Crossover Fanfiction
They ended up going for a coffee together after that. Martin was curious to how his cousin's life had been and even more so as to what kind of man he had shared his flat with. Martin knew that Sherlock hadn't been the easiest to be around, never mind living together with! He loved had loved his cousin dearly but that didn't mean he couldn't be a pain in the arse.
At the same time Martin could tell John was curious about him as well. Even though they looked alike Sherlock and Martin were obviously completely different individuals. Martin didn't have any of Sherlock's genius or his tendency for dramatics. Martin was, well, ordinary.
Whenever they had the time, which meant whenever Martin wasn't flying or delivering stuff in his van, he and John would meet up and chat. Sometimes they just shared smalltalk, but oftentimes they talked about their mutual loss. Martin didn't talk about it with an
Cabin Pressure, Mini Episode 4: DecimomannuCabin Pressure, Mini Episode 4: DecimomannuCabin Pressure, Mini Episode 4: Decimomannu2 years ago in Comedy More Like This
Arthur: Hello Mr Burling!
Burling: Hello you strange little idiot, do you know what this is?
Arthur: A music CD Mr Burling.
Burling: That's right my boy, quite right. Meatloaf don't you know.
Arthur: I didn't know you liked Meatloaf Mr Burling.
Burling: I don't! It's my wife's CD, she's for ever playing that stupid song about doing anything for love. As if love was the most important thing in the world. I only brought the blasted thing with me so I can leave it in Italy out of spite.
Arthur: Well love is quite important, I thought, well love, there is nothing as good love is there?
Burling: Good whisky. But I tell you what, you love your wicked witch of a mother, right?
Arthur: Oh Yes
Burling: And you would do anything for her?
Burling: Then run a marathon using just your lips and then I'll agree with you it's not a stupid song.&
VegasCAROLYN enters waving tickets. MARTIN, ARTHUR and DOUGLAS are sitting in the lounge. MARTIN's reading at first but gets up and starts pacing, ARTHUR is flicking through a deck of cards and DOUGLAS is slouching, watching the attendant.Vegas2 years ago in Comedy More Like This
CAROLYN- Pack your bags, boys; you're going to Vegas!
DOUGLAS- All night gambling and sequined girls here we come!
ARTHUR- Girls with sequin skin? Oh my gosh, how cool! Did they come from another planet or something?
DOUGLAS- They're out of this world, that's for sure.
ARTHUR- Aw, ace! I want sequin skin.
MARTIN- Why are we going to Vegas?
CAROLYN- We've got a sponsor.
ARTHUR- Like a sponsored silence? I had one of them once. Didn't even get a penny.
DOUGLAS- I wonder why.
MARTIN- A sponsor? Now that just sounds suspicious.
CAROLYN- Nonsense. We're being paid by our passenger to take him to his villa in Vegas. And, you're all getting a treat: four days in Vegas to do whatever we want.
DOUGLAS- Do whatever we want?
MARTIN- We'll be <
Cabin Pressure - Sydney'Tale as old as timeCabin Pressure - Sydney2 years ago in Comedy More Like This
True as it can be.
Barely even friends,
then somebody bends
The music played full blast in the kitchen as Chloe grabbed a container of cut tomatoes from the fridge to add to the salad. Doing a little twirl in time to the music, she started singing along as she threw them into the bowl.
And of course it had to be since Martin was coming for dinner tonight. And it was going to be just him and her for dinner and a movie, much to the disappointment of Arthur, the amusement of Douglas, and the raised eyebrow of Carolyn. But this was going to be different than the usual dinners (or what they assumed was dinner) they had while taking flights on Gerti. This time, SHE was cooking. And it was chicken for supper. First time making it too. Fingers crossed that it turned out fine. She hoped...
Turning off the music, she stepped back and thought for a moment.
Cabin Pressure - DublinGrabbing my iPod, I turned up the volume of the current song while I tried for the umpteenth time to straighten my wavy brown hair. After all, this was a huge day for me; my first day in training as a flight attendant. True, it wasn't for a major airline as I had hoped, but it was an airline and for that I was grateful. I'd be spending the next month on an airline that my cousin Arthur was a flight attendant for; MJN Air. Dad, bless his heart, had called in a favor with great aunt Caroline and after much 'discussion,' (as he had put it) she agreed to let Arthur (god forbid) train me in 'The Ways of the Cabin Steward.'Cabin Pressure - Dublin2 years ago in Comedy More Like This
Arthur's words. Not mine.
Letting out a sigh, I finally put the straightener down. This was a losing battle so I may as well deal with it. Straightening my skirt one last time, I looked myself over in the mirror and let out another sigh. If only mum could have been here for this...
Johnlock - I believe in you, SherlockSherlock suddenly howled in frustration after four hours of deep thinking.Johnlock - I believe in you, Sherlock2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He had been leaning on his hands for the entire time, occasionally blinking and frowning, but still completely motionless. Even though the noise shocked me, I was relieved to know that he hadn't become comatose in his state of thought.
"You okay Sherlock?" I asked, not looking up from my paper.
"This case doesn't make any sense, John! Nothing fits together, there are too many variables!"
"Oh yes?" I murmured, only half paying attention.
"I wanted to get this case solved by tomorrow afternoon, but at this rate it'll take me days.. My brain isn't working, John!" He cried, spinning and falling onto the sofa with a winded exhale.
"You know that's not true. Perhaps if you went to bed or relaxed a little you could think more clearly."
Sherlock growled, facing the back of the sofa and curling into a ball. His tie and coat lay strewn on the floor from when he walked in, and his tie was hanging loosely from his shirt. He
Warmth3:27Warmth2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Are you awake?
Sherlock? What's wrong? Where are you?
In my room.
Oh. Is something wrong?
Yes. I'm cold.
Well it is snowing outside
You texted me at 3:30 to tell me you're cold?
3:27. And yes.
Get a blanket!
Won't work. I need another source of heat generation.
Do you expect me buy you a heater?
Don't be ridiculous. I want you to be my heater.
You want me to sleep with you?
No. I want you to come stand in the room so that the heat generated from you body helps to raise the overall temperature.
Are you serious?!
It's called sarcasm John.
Oh. Right. Well it's too early for sarcasm and I'm too tired.
Too tired to sleep with me? I wasn't implying anything.
Too tired for sarcasm.
Oh. Right. Sorry
Are you coming?
Why should I?
I just told you - I'm cold!
Sherlock and John's accidental kiss!Sherlock and John's accidental kiss!2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He got up from his armchair suddenly and started pacing around the room. Sherlock then, while still pacing, ripped off his six nicotine patches.
"John? John! Get me seven nicotine patches. NOW!"
John was in the cramped kitchen, emptying the mouldy food out of the fridge and dismembered fingers and toes were somewhere amongst the disgusting contents.
"H-hang on! Let me just-urgh-put this outside in the bin!"
Sherlock immediately strode into the room, took the bulging bin bag from John and opened the window over the bins. Angrily, he shoved the bin bag out the window and it landed with a thump into the bed of other putrid rubbish.
"There. Now get me my patches," he walked back into their front room and plonked back down in his armchair sighing impatiently.
John rolled his eyes. Quickly, he opened the cupboard and searched through the ocean of pill packets and medicine bottles. John stopped abruptly. He feared Sherlock's reaction
English Assignment-- MurderThe classroom was a mess; dark crimson blood was sprayed across everything white, which were the walls, whiteboards, and window blinds. A giant pool of the stuff was also in roughly the center of the room, both on the floor and on the surrounding desks, some of which lay sadly on their sides. Papers were scattered here and there, some with a red stain, others without.English Assignment-- Murder2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Voices from outside the room mixed together, as the police tried to keep the press at bay, and I was grateful for that; trying to investigate whilst being constantly pestered by the press would've probably driven me insane, or lead me to a mistake, which I couldn't afford to make.
I surveyed the scene, dark chocolate eyes sweeping back and forth, not at all disturbed by what my eyes told me. Instead, I secretly enjoyed it. Perhaps that's the reason as to why I, of all people, was called to investigate this crime...
The teacher-- my own English teacher, at that-- stood behind me, wringing her hands in worry, and eye
The Continuous CycleEvery morning I wake up with a smileThe Continuous Cycle2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because in that instant I've momentarily forgotten my life
And the woe that defines it.
Then I lie to myself, that same lie,
That today will be different.
Every night I go to sleep with thoughts of suicide,
Because today wasn't any different.
And still no one loves me
And still my friends tortured me.
I try to bring up my moral by saying I will change,
But at night that lie won't work.
The night uncovers my sorrow
And makes no false promises.
Every morning I lie,
And by night, I die.
The Wrong NumberI'm sorry, you've got the wrong numberThe Wrong Number3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This is the wrong conversation.
You obviously don't want to talk to me
And secretly it's alright
I'm sorry, you've got the wrong name
This isn't the right face or date
I'm not the right person
I guess I'm never the right person
But I suppose that's okay
Are obsessed with the superficial
All that glitters must be gold
You think you're fooling all eyes
But you're not fooling me
Never see things for how they are
Look at the candy paint over the war seen
Everything is so imperfect
So we chose to hide it
Cover up the dying days with lights and decorations
The haze that engulfs us all
Nothing will turn out right
This is only the wrong song
The tune is off key
It's broken, it's muffled
The instruments are all failing
And the conductor is a hoax
These are not our notes
And the things that we should play are broke
Why would you bother to listen
To such a sick and running joke?
This is only the wrong actors
Playing the wrong scene
The Twelve MonthsThe Twelve Months: A Spoof on a Russian FolktaleThe Twelve Months3 years ago in Comedy More Like This
A Puppet Show
Written by Me (OwlinAMinor)
Performed by my cousins, my sister, and me (see link in description)
Scene 1: Oh really? Yeah really!
NARRATOR: Hello girls, boys, and homo sapiens of all ages! I have a story to tell ... a horrific story full of death, destruction, unicorns, rainbows, and pink bunnies that hop gently over fields of flowers.
RANDOM VOICE: WRONG STORY!
NARRATOR: Oh, oops. Let me look in my pocket here for the script ...
RANDOM VOICE: You were supposed to have the script memorized!
NARRATOR: Maybe my brain is too full to fit any more scripts!
RANDOM VOICE: I don't care about your brain, I want my story performed right!
NARRATOR: All these director types, so picky. They never can let the actors do what they want --
DIRECTOR: You're supposed to do what we want, not the other way around!
NARRATOR: Details, details. Now ON WITH THE STORY! &
ExperienceUnbearably strong hands clenched her wrists and pinned them on either side of her face, forcing her against the wall. She clenched her eyes shut with all her might, forcing down the pain radiating from her wrists. Her fists held themselves in loose balls, her teeth clenched and heartbeat racing.Experience3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
"Y-you're hurting me," she stammered, slowly opening her hazel eyes to meet the sky blue of the other. Immediately she shifted her gaze to the ground; the intensity of hatred in the aggressor's eyes was too much to bear. Beyond that, those eyes reminded her all too well of the better times, when she was loved and adored by the person bruising her wrists...
She was sitting on a bench at the mall, holding her hands on either side of her and looking to the right with a smile. She was watching her then-lover by her a cup of coffee from that cafe-thing in Borders. Her heart fluttered in her chest - it was always like this when the one she loved was around - and could not resist a giggle. Finally,
Who are you... Stranger?Stranger.Who are you... Stranger?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let us listen to the rain.
Imagine every drop a tear you brought on me.
Imagine every puddle is blood from my broken heart.
How does it feel?
I sit here feeling sorry for myself,
When who I should be sorry for... is you.
You will hurt like me,
But you'll have the pain of regret.
You could have changed things, you could have tried.
You fucked up.
I wish you would realize.
I wish you were here.
I wish you never changed.
Will you ever come around?
Will you ever be her again?
You were my friend, you were my BEST friend.
You were my everything...
But still, I don't want to ruin your perfect life.
Your life of popularity and friends that don't have scars.
You're fake, you're different.
Who are you?
What are you?
Stranger, thats what you are.
Plain JaneI've been told I'm beautifulPlain Jane3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
by everyone but you
my own eyes have failed
as I shreik and flail
hoping you'd make them true
I sit way in the back
hide inside a book
to distract my pain
of being the plain jane
without getting a second look
yet everytime you cast this spell
I just want to scream "what the hell!?"
I always feel like the pretty one
whenever you swing by
a little smile, a glint in your eye
that little look
that gets me high
you walk away
like you always do
and it just hurts
to think about you
why do I feel the way I feel
why should it cause such pain
I speak to you, now I can't sleep
I think of you, it makes me weep
I swear you've made me go insane
A year comes
and a year goes
with my burning eyes
and petty woes
I ripped out my stitches
for the world to see
as I grow into my face
you fade away, without a trace
I'm beautiful, you could see
Now that I've met someone new
Who's really making those words true
IfIf I told you how I felt,If3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Would you laugh?
Would you cry?
Would you hate me?
Or would you smile?
If I told you what I thought,
Would you leave?
Would you stay?
Would you hit me?
Or would you agree?
If I told you the way I saw you,
Would you scream?
Would you hide?
Would you call out for help?
Or would you say the same?
If I told you what I wanted to do,
Would you push me away?
Would you deny me?
Would you turn me down in horror?
Or would you let me?
If I told you I loved you,
Would your parents hate me?
Would your family hate me?
Would you hate me?
Or would you love me back?
All I'm asking is a simple question,
Are you mine?
And you answer back, I am yours.
Would you give me half of your life,
If I gave you half of mine?
Because I love you.
I love you so much,
I'll give the world to you.
Even if I die trying to,
Alejandro InterpretationShe does not look at men.Alejandro Interpretation4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
There is fear of the supernatural, fear of ghosts and spiders and a snake's cold touch. There is the fear of falling, of climbing, of closed spaces. There is the fear of loneliness, fear of rejection, fear of taboos that raise one's adrenaline. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex.
Have you ever heard, a fear of men?
She is afraid. Afraid of their long legs and hands, afraid of their strong, able bodies, afraid of their big horse-like eyes. Afraid of every inch, every fibre, every hair that belongs to one. She is afraid of their whistles, the eerie wolf whistles that only men can make. She does not look at them. When one of them glances her way, she lowers her gaze and hurry on, her hands burning in her pockets. She is afraid of that hand, the same hand that can reach out to touch her gently and strike down on her the next.
She hurries on, clutching her purple Gucci purse tightly against herself, staring at the pavement ahead of her. Her legs are cold, but she lo
The GuardianAs told by Daniel ValentineThe Guardian10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The archeologist ran as fast as his long overworked legs could go. The terrible shadow was catching up quickly, running him down like so many fox hunting hounds in spring. There was only so much the young man could deal with, and as the sweat poured down his face with the exertion, he found, this was not one of them. He’d already reached the outer halls of the sanctum, how much longer would the creature follow him!?
He could see a door ahead, but as the beast behind him roared, the ground shook, nearly throwing him off balance and caused large chunks of the ceiling to collapse in his path. Soon he was dodging debris as it fell from its rightful place. He was terror struck, if this door was locked, that was all there was to his tale, he would die, and no one would ever stop the baron, in whatever plan he had. There fell in front of him a very large chunk of the floor above, a few barrels and boxes fell to the ground with a crash that was as
The study.As told by Daniel ValentineThe study.10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Exhaustive words and foreign phrases flashed by his eyes again and again as he flicked frantically through the corroded pages of large leather bound books who's covers were layered in centuries of dust and grime.
How the baron of this castle let such a comprehensive and invaluable storehouse of arcane knowledge go to waste here locked within a massive library accessible only to those within the walls, was beyond cognition or reason. it simply made no reasonable sense in the least.
the young man's eyes skimmed over the ancient documents and scrolls one by one, by anyone who might be able to shed even the tiniest ray of hope on his current predicament. in the heat of early summer, the candle beside his tottering stack of volumes gave off more then enough undue warmth to make him perspire.
Quill poised over a black sheet of parchment he paused at the top of a promising looking statement. his fatigued green
To save himself...As told by Daniel ValentineTo save himself...10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The endless cries of pain resonating from inside his mind caused the delicious delirious to reach a crescendo within his skull, redoubling his own agony as he drove the knife deeper into the flesh of his next unwitting victim.
Why am I doing this again?
What purpose could it serve?
Whose hand was this plunging the ritual blade into this slowly dying girl? Did I know her? Is he mad?! I know longer know this man! His flight from what is real; seeming to undermine what he's known for his whole life.
The man he was, is no more, lost in a maze of pain and desolate desperation to save his own life, even at the cost of all that was innocent and once whole and full of hope and the promise of tomorrow. He forces his hands to drag the dagger across the flesh as the crimson of the child's very life stains his person and steals his breath. It makes him heave, his insides threatening to spill their precious cargo of Turkish delights and earl gray.
The darkness closes in