my mind is so twisted

I’ve been trying to concentrate
But my mind keeps twisting
I feel so uninspired and empty
I can’t connect
Words, thoughts, creativity, life, death
—  t.m.

ks fans: i’m so fucked up… welcome to my twisted mind… i’m reading this yaoi manga where they try to kill each other.. and it turns me on… it’s fucking hot… do you have a problem with my lifestyle?
gays, abuse victims, and the mentally ill: 

he says “honey, you’ve gotta stop
wearing all my clothes,” and just like that,
i feel myself burning up.
his sweater begins to twist itself around my neck while i sleep.
his sweatpants become anchors on my ankles.
i am prisoner, i am afraid. i know where this is going. i am already halfway gone.

he says “darling, give me back that shirt”
and all of them are suddenly folded neatly in piles on his already-made bed.
i made it this morning. we haven’t slept since.
he knows i am like this, he knows how scared i get.

he says “baby, wait” and i start running.
i always told him i was good at that. i told him from the start.
he knows my mind, the twists and turns it takes and so

he says “lover, sit down for a moment”
and i am cemented to his couch.
he says “i’m not leaving, i just wanted to wear that shirt tonight” but my brain
has already thought of fifty other things i could say to convince him to stay.

my brain just says “not today.”

The Ellen Show: Chapter 6

A/U: I want you guys to know in advance that next week I will be returning to school this means I need to focus more on that. So updates for this fic will be much less frequent. Sorry. :( I’m sad about it. Anyways so glad you guys are liking this fic. This chapter is much longer than most. 

The Ellen Show Master List

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After the night in New York Shawn and I returned to normal. We began to text more frequently and eventually after a few weeks we would talk on the phone for a half hour or so. I began to grow feelings. Feelings more than just finding him attractive and wanting to get to know him. I began to look forward to his text messages. I wanted to hear his voice over the phone and I wanted to see him. But I fought it, with everything I had. Pushing it so far into the back of my mind I began to twist and contort my feelings to keep them as just friendly.

Keep reading

The songs are the answer

Yes, the Musgrave riddle was useless. This is the kind of mystery I hate because you can’t possibly solve it, after all you miss data, like the most important clue.

The solution is also anticlimatic. Are we supposed to think a child managed to write in stones names, dates?

And let’s be frank, Eurus is never said to have any relation with the headstones, Sherlock is the one who is fascinated by them.

There are three songs in Sherlock, three songs and a violin duet. So, what if we turn it around? What if we start assuming that these songs are the answer to what The Final Problem really is, not just the Eurus little riddle?

Song 1: The Number of the beast

We start with Mrs Hudson’s ‘The Number of the Beast’. As everything is about to explode, Mrs Martha ‘Plot device’ Hudson is listening to this:


Six six six the number of the Beast

Hell and fire-  

We only can hear the last word of the first line and they cut at “hell and fire”.

So, here is the complete version of this part of the song.

Was all this for real or some kind of hell?
Six six six the number of the Beast;
Hell and fire was spawned to be released.

And here’s another part of the song, one that actually tells us what this is all about.

What did I see can I believe that what I saw?
That night was real and not just fantasy

Just what I saw
In my old dreams were they reflections of my warped mind staring back at me?

'Cause in my dreams 

It’s always there
The evil face that twists my mind and brings me to despair

So, basically, Mrs Hudson is listening a song about a man who basically went to hell and can’t quite believe what he saw was real.

And from what I’ve managed to gather, it was written by Iron Maiden bass player Steve Harris, who explained it this way:

“Basically, this song is about a dream. It’s not about devil worship.”

More like a nightmare if you want my opinion. This is how a man had a nightmare where he went to hell. And if Sherlock is going to Sherrinford, a place Mycroft basically called hell on earth…

Yeah. It’s not real.

Song 2: I that am lost, oh, who will find me?

I’m only going to use the lines we keep hearing since TLD, not the complete version that magically appears in the end.

I that am lost, oh, who will find me?

Deep down below the old beech tree.

Help succour me now the east winds blow,

Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go!

First, Eurus is the one who keeps singing/playing this song, she is ‘I’, Sherlock necessarily is ‘brother’.

And under we go…

Basically, you need to go deeper. That’s the only way you’ll find Eurus/your Emotions, one that got lost and is about to be reaped by the east wind and die if nothing is done.

And Sherlock’s solution keeps this interpretation, except it gives some beginning of an answer to save Eurus.

Help me brother

Save my life before my doom.

I am lost without your love,

Save my soul, seek my room.

Sherlock/Eurus is dying, but love will save him.

Song 3: I want to break free

I want to break free
I want to break free
I want to break free from your lies
You’re so self satisfied I don’t need you
I’ve got to break free
God knows, God knows I want to break free

I’ve fallen in-

And Moriarty stops right before Freddie can say ‘love’.

So yes, it’s all about love. Sherlock is in love, and needs to break free, to confess.

So, to conclude, with these songs, we can assume that:

  • What Sherlock is experiencing isn’t real, this is only the nightmare where he goes to hell;
  • Eurus/Emotion/Sherlock’s mirror is dying/about to be reaped by the East Winds and that the only way to save them is to go deeper in his mind palace (and bring love);
  • Sherlock needs to break free because he’s fallen in love.

I have this funny memory from when I was little and first immigrated to Australia from Serbia. I didn’t speak any English at the time, so I had to go to these special ESL English classes to catch up to all the people my age so I could communicate. Anyway, the Serbian word for “tomato” is “paradajz”, which when spoken sounds like the English word “paradise” with an accent.

In short, growing up, I believed that Australians were very, very passionate about their tomatoes. “I want to go to paradise” to me basically meant “I want to go to a farmer’s market”, and “This is paradise” made me think that the measured scale of greatness and enjoyment went from “one” to “tomato”, where tomato was the highest possible score. Learning English was stressful.

I don’t think it’s “cute” when boys get possessive over me, and here’s why:

When I was fourteen I watched two grown ass men fight with guns and knives over who would get to fuck me legally the day I turned 18.
I walked away that night feeling flattered that they were fighting over me. I didn’t realize the seriousness of what I had just witnessed. I was too naive to believe that one of them would actually hurt me. He was seven years older than me when he took my virginity and continued to use me until I turned 15 and finally got up the nerve to say I was leaving.
He got angry with me when I decided to leave. He got violent and told me I wasn’t allowed to see anyone until I turned 18 and he could have me again.
To get back at me for leaving him he told my next ex boyfriend where I lived and how to find me at any time of the day.
So for the next few weeks I received text messages from my ex asking me why I wasn’t responding when he could clearly see my car parked in my own driveway. He would come visit me at work and make sure I wasn’t flirting with anyone-even though him and I were done.
When I was seventeen I fell in love with a man who thought I belonged to him.
Before we were even dating, every time I’d remind him that he didn’t own me, he’d get angry and he would start threatening to leave. But I thought I loved him so I started staying silent. I let him hold on to me too tightly when we were in public together and got used to staying quiet any time another guy was around.
He would get so angry when I didn’t want to have sex with him because he thought that he owned me and that I should do whatever he wanted. He started punching walls and banging his head into things when I said I didn’t want to have sex. He would get so violent and angry that I’d end up giving in to him and letting him have what he wanted. He had my mind so twisted that I thought this type of behavior was okay. He reminded me that he’d never actually laid a hand on me so everything he was doing was acceptable.
He would yell at me if I tried to look pretty. He would tell me I wasn’t allowed to look that nice because my body was only for him to enjoy. He would yell at me for wearing crop tops even in the sweltering heat of august. He would threaten me while he watched me put on my makeup because he thought I was getting too dressed up for someone other than him.
I missed out on countless opportunities to go to the movies or the beach or do anything with my friends because I wasn’t allowed to go without him. He thought I belonged to him and he wouldn’t let me leave without telling him exactly where I was going.
He hated me when I wanted to spend time with my family and once when I went out to coffee with my best friend, I checked my phone towards the end and I had more missed calls and messages than minutes I’d spent with her.
I went on a family vacation to the lake and he would get mad at me every single day because I would not allow him to drive the six hours to see me. He would get angry with me because I would not tell him the name of the lake because I was afraid he was actually going to drive all that way when I got too busy with my family to answer his messages.
The time that I spent with my best friend got less and less when I was with him because he wanted to keep me all to himself.
She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just leave him, but every time I tried he would threaten to take his own life or even mine.
When I did finally break up with him, he spent nights crying on my doorstep and mornings sitting outside my bedroom window. He would show up at my work and wouldn’t let me do my job until I promised to call him when I was off.
He ended up in the hospital because I finally refused to keep in contact with him. He was so hysterical over the fact that I said I didn’t belong to him that he slit his wrists.
He threatened me and my friends and my family when he found out I’d moved on.

So no, I don’t think it’s “cute” when boys get possessive over me.
I’m careful about who I spend my time with now.
Sure, a little jealousy comes normally but I won’t let a boy get possessive with me.
As soon as he starts mentioning things that I’ve learned should make me uneasy I’m leaving his ass behind me.

—  Selena V Vargas
The Signs as things Tumblr probably forgot
  • Aries: Actual Cannibal Shia LeBouff
  • Taurus: Such Doge. Much Wow.
  • Gemini: Mishapocalypse
  • Cancer: It's a metaphor
  • Leo: Thanks, I stole them from the president
  • Virgo: Executive Suite 2016
  • Scorpio: Welcome to my twisted mind
  • Sagittarius: But I crave that mineral
  • Capricorn: you uncultured swine
  • Aquarius: Ryan Gosling wont eat his cereal
  • Pisces: Tumblr Pro Top Hats
Not Enough


Jack thought it’d be easier to do while drunk, so he takes another shot as he tosses the pill back. Sure, it had been a struggle getting the lid open at first, with the vodka already in his system. But he got it eventually.


No one was home, he made sure of that. And no one would be home for hours, possibly not until the morning.

That was fine, he didn’t want them here while he did it.


He sits on the edge of his bed, blinking as the tears fall down his cheeks.

It just hurts so much. And he wants it to stop hurting. He wants everything to stop.

He can’t do it any more.


Through blurry vision Jack can see the envelopes on his desk. One for his parents, one for Conor, one for Anna, and one for Joe.

They deserve an answer. An explanation.

It’s the least he can do.


The vodka doesn’t burn as it moves down his throat anymore. At least thats one less thing he has to worry about now.

And he thinks he can hear his phone buzzing, but it’s tossed on the other end of his bed, and that seems really far away right now.


This time, his hand shakes as he pours the next shot. Although he’s not sure if it’s from the pills or the alcohol. Maybe both. Maybe it’s not them at all.

He doesn’t care if a little spills. It won’t matter soon.


There’s black creeping in at the edges of his vision. But it fades when he blinks.

Not enough, then.

Not enough to take away the pain.

Not enough to make it stop.


It is his phone buzzing, a phone call. Someone is trying to get a hold of him, but Jack ignores it. Because he knows what will happen if he grabs it.

He’ll go through Twitter or Instagram, maybe pull up his YouTube video from the other day. And he’ll see what they said. What they’re saying.

Not that he needs to. Because the words are burned into Jack’s mind.

Forever there.

No matter how many shots he takes.


And if he answers the phone call, then that person might talk him out of it.

And Jack can’t be weak. Not now. He needs to finish this. Finish everything.

He was weak before. And then everyone found out. They pitied him. He can’t deal with those looks again.


There’s a numb feeling spreading through his body now.

It’s almost pleasant. And his lips tug up in the corner in a small smile.

Yes, this is what he needed.

But it’s still not enough.

And so he dumps out more pills in his hand, not bothering to count them this time.

He throws them into his mouth, and takes a swig straight from the bottle.

That time, the vodka burns.

He relishes in it, lifting the bottle to his lips again.

Why won’t his phone stop buzzing?

Clearly he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

The world spins a little, and the black tendrils begin to creep in. So Jack lays back on the bed, his feet still on the floor.

He stares up at the ceiling, the tears continuing to fall from his eyes.

He thinks that it was enough that time. Maybe that’s why his heart is racing and his hands are shaking. Maybe that’s why he’s breathing so raggedly, and why his eyelids feel so heavy.

Finally, he thinks. Finally it’ll stop.

And he let’s his eyes fall close, the bottle slipping out of his hand and to the floor, rolling away from him. But he doesn’t notice.

Because finally, it’s enough.

Joe curses as he hangs up the phone and redials the number immediately, pushing open the door.

“Answer the phone, you idiot.” He mumbles, hitting the button for the lift repeatedly. But it doesn’t come quick enough, so he spins around and heads for the stairs.

His heart is racing, and there’s a heavy feeling in his stomach.

Something is wrong, but he doesn’t know what. And when the phone call goes to voicemail again, he’s quick to redial, not stopping as he takes the steps two at a time.

Panting lightly, Joe pushes open the door to the floor he needs, reaching into his pocket to pull out his keys. He finds the one he’s looking for, the one that is slowly becoming familiar, the one he’s growing used to, and he slips it into the lock.

The call goes to voicemail again, but this time, he tucks the device back into his pocket, opening the door instead.

“Jack?” He calls out, flinching as his voice echoes eerily off the walls. The flat is quiet, too quiet, and it’s dark. A cold feeling washes over Joe as he lets the door fall close behind him. “Love?”

But there’s still no response, and so he moves further into the flat, his fingers gripping the keys tightly, so tightly he’s sure there will be indents after.

As he nears the bedroom door, his heart is ready to jump out of his chest. His mouth is dry when he puts his hand on the door knob. And when Joe pushes the door open, his eyes falling on the body laying peacefully on the bed, he almost sighs with relief.

“What are you doing?” He asks, walking into the room. But then he notices the bottle on the floor, half empty and with no lid. There’s stark white envelopes on the desk, one with his name on it. And then he notices the bottle in Jack’s hand. And how empty it is.

Joe surges forward, bouncing lightly on the bed as he kneels beside Jack, trying to shake him awake.

“Jack?! Wake up! Jack!” But he watches with wide eyes as his boyfriends eyes remain closed, and his head moves lifelessly from side to side. Taking a deep breath, Joe lifts Jack’s wrist, calming himself enough to check for a pulse.

He cries out when he feels one, as faint as it is, its there. His hand slips down to grip Jack’s as he pulls the phone out of his pocket.

“Hold on, love. Please. Just, hold on.” He whispers, calling for an ambulance.

The afterlife smells sterile. That’s the first thing Jack notices.

And when he blinks open his eyes, fighting them as they try to fall close again, he also thinks that the afterlife looks oddly like a hospital.

His head turns to the side then, and he frowns. Because why is Joe with him?

Joe should be alive still. Unless…

Jack gasps, his body lurching forward, the movement causing Joe to sit up, suddenly wide awake.

“Jack?” He mumbles, his sleep addled mind not catching up quite yet. But Jack watches as Joe’s eyes widen and tears fill them, before he breathes out, “Jack.”

“I’m supposed to be dead.”

“Gods, no.” Joe shakes his head, his hair flying around him. “You are not supposed to be dead.”

“But, the pills…”

“They pumped your stomach.”

“Why?!” Jack snaps, yanking his hand from Joe’s, anger surging through him. “I’m supposed to be dead! And you ruined it!”

He knows the words hurt Joe, he can see it in his boyfriend’s eyes, but all Jack can think is that he’s weak. He failed again. And now Joe is going to pity him. Everyone is going to pity him.

“Y-you think I ruined you ending your life?”

“I’m not dead, am I?”

“Do you really want to be dead, Jack? Do you really want to take your own life?” Joe’s tone turns harsh, and it surprises Jack. He wasn’t expecting this response. “If you really want to fucking end it, fine. I’ll leave and let you. But you have to tell me. Look me in the eye and tell me you want to die. Then I’ll get up and walk out that door and let you.”

Jack opens his mouth to respond, to tell Joe exactly that. But he stops. Because he can’t utter those words.

“I…I want…”

“What do you want, Jack?” Joe snaps. “Tell me.”

“I want it to stop.”

“What to stop? The hate? The way you feel about yourself? Everything?” Jack bites his lips, lifting a hand to wipe at the tears falling from his eyes, and he nods, only once. But it’s enough for Joe, and his face softens. He reaches out for Jack’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Alright. Then we’ll make it stop. But you don’t have to end your life to do it, love.” Joe gives Jack’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll find other ways. It might take some time. But we’ll get there.”

“Do you hate me?” Jack whispers.

“No. If there’s anyone to hate, it’s myself.”

“What? No!” Jack tries to protest, but Joe shakes his head.

“I didn’t notice you were hurting. I didn’t let you know that it was safe to reach out and talk to me. And when you said you weren’t coming out with us, there was this thing in the back of my head, something telling me that there was an off feeling in your voice. But I ignored it. And I went out with the boys. I had to leave, I was too distracted. I knew I had to come find you. And gods, I can’t imagine if I didn’t.” Joe can feel the tears falling down his cheeks, but he doesn’t move to wipe them away. “Jack, I was terrified when I saw you laying there, and you wouldn’t wake up. I thought I lost you. And I can’t. I can’t do that. I need you too much in my life. You are so important to me, and I apparently don’t tell you that enough. But you are. And I can’t imagine what would have happened if I didn’t come to see you. I’m so sorry that it took me so long.”

“You do.”

“Huh?” Joe blinks at Jack, confused by his soft response.

“You do tell me enough. But I’m too lost in my twisted fucking mind to hear it. I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

“You are not messed up.” There’s a fierceness in Joe’s voice, and it lifts Jack’s gaze from his lap to his lovers eyes. “There is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand that? I love you the way you are, broken bits and all. You just need someone to help you put them back together. And if you let me,” Joe offers him a small smile, “Then I’ll be that someone. But Jack, you have to let me in. You have to be the one to decide if I can be that someone.”



“Because I love you, yes.” Jack finally smiles, just a small one, but it’s enough for Joe. And he lifts himself off of his seat to lean close to Jack, one hand on the younger man’s cheek as he kisses him. Deeply and slowly, filled with love and compassion.

And when he pulls back, smiling down at him, Jack is relieved to see that there’s no pity in Joe’s eyes.

Only love and understanding.

Lush (for Nut)

One of my first memories is looking into the vastness of space and wondering who She was and how She got there. I still greet Her every night, twenty-two years later.

I’ve always whispered epithets into the starry night,

Swirling my every thought and whimsy into a bouquet of humanity,

Raw at times, painful even. But She always has listened.

“Shine a spotlight into my mind so that I may know You are here, a honeyed starlight twisting through my neurons, a connection unbroken. But I’ve always known You were here, haven’t I?”

I gave Her many names – my imaginary friend, the universe, God – and none of them fit.

Until now.

She enfolds my existence, my protector-

She is the water that cascades from my showerhead – catching the right light, like liquefied starlight,

She is the sycamores brushing their sprigs along the cheek of the early morning sunshine,

She is the radiance that has illuminated the great pyramids for thousands of years - the Pharaohs bow before Her.

And She is why reality is not a flat dimensional plane - She is encrypted through the fibers of every living thing - we are all made from Her, we are all made from stardust, She lives in all of us and we are all Her children.

She is the grid that connects religion and science, the bridge between this world and the next - the ultimate singularity.

She is lush.

She is the universe.

She is Nut, Mistress of All.

(And I will never forsake Her.)