It’s unreal you’re gone. And I may shed a tear every now and again, our time together has been warped into my mind as just a memory. Anyways, I know now that you’re everywhere, your’re in the stars, moon, sun, flowers, even in my eyes. I realized you didn’t just touch my soul, you touched my reality and made it colorful beyond imagination.
I just ran over my dog with a shopping cart. APRIL FOOLS! I don’t know whose dog it is!
If I had a dime for every time a homeless guy asked me for change, I’d still say no.
I'm bored way too easily. I'm staring at screens half the day. I need to be overstimulated.
Most of my songs make fun of myself.
My dad says I act too flamboyant on stage.
The average person has one Fallopian tube.
I remember being superyoung, like nine or ten years old, and thinking, 'Man, I wonder what famous people eat for breakfast. They must have some special kind of cereal!' My mind was so warped by the idea of fame.
But, I mean, teenagers just generally aren't very likable. I know I wasn't as a teenager.
I chose to do comedy instead of going to college.
I like to call everyone that I find slightly annoying a 'sociopath.'
Art is a lie, nothing is real.
Once a week, I like to slip into a deep existential depression where I lose all my sense of oneness and self-worth.
Summary: Nyx was an ancient deity usually envisaged as the very substance of the night–a veil of dark mists drawn across the sky to obscure the light of Aither, the shining blue of the heavens. Her opposite number was Hemera (Day) who scattered the mists of night at dawn. she was doomed to walk the earth in search of her consort Erebus.
Warnings: My usual. Angst, Violence And Smut
Pairings: Bucky X Reader, Avengers x Reader
To your surprise Thor does not attempt to ravish you, instead he waves a hand, magic leaking from his fingers. Your appearance is righted instantly, twigs and mud gone from you.
He pulls a warm night dress over your head, gently unclasping the jewelry adorning your neck, placing it on the dresser. He leads you toward the bed, changing his own clothing as he goes, placing himself behind you and pulling you to his chest. “I wish for you to tell me everything” he requests gently.
You can't have BPD if you are 16. Come back to me on your 18th birthday and I'll accept you as valid then.
It is exactly 7:31 in the morning on July 5th, 2018 in the year of our lord. I am fast asleep, unaware that, as the minute hand passes that little dash painted on my clock, I am officially an adult. Finally I am of legal age and am free to do so many things. I can marry, move away from the oppressive bondage of my parents, and purchase cigarettes. But for now, I sleep, unaware of what birthday surprise awaits me.
I am awakened by a knock on my door. Curious as to who could be at my door at such an early hour I rise from my bed, creeping down the steps to the entryway. I glance at the window, hoping to get a brief glimpse of my visitor, but alas, nobody is there. Instead there is nothing but a envelope. I open the door, looking for the source that would have delivered this envelope, but there is none in sight. I cannot hear the loud rumbling of the mail truck as I would normally be able too and I cannot find a person nearby who could have set it on my doorstep. Confused, I pick up the envelope and take it inside, wondering bemusedly if it is a last minute gift.
There is neither a return address on the envelope nor a sending address. Perhaps this is a mistake? Only one way to find out. Perhaps too eagerly my fingers tear into the envelope, revealing the contents inside. It is a short letter, typed up on plain, unadorned paper. As my eyes skim over the text great changes begin to take place in my mind. Suddenly my otherwise stable personality warps into something harsh and horrific.
I drop the envelope in fear realizing the gravity of my actions. Such a short note! What horror it brings! I now have BPD! In the split second on the anniversary of my birth I have developed a personality disorder that has never shown any previous symptoms before!
Warnings: Not so gentle sex. Its not really that bad, but if this makes you squeamish at all PLEASE DO NOT READ. I don’t want you to do that to yourself. Let me know and I can send you an abridged version that doesn’t have that part in it.
As always, let me know if you want on or off my tag list.
Even the sun goes down
Heroes eventually die
Horoscopes often lie
And sometimes “y”
Nothin’ is for sure
Nothin’ is for certain
Nothin’ lasts forever
But until they close the curtain
It’s him & I
The name is Big Boi Daddy Fat Sax
the nigga that like them Cadillacs
I stay down with these streets
‘cause these streets is where my folks at
Better know that some say we pro-black boy we professional
we missed a lot of church so the music is our confessional
Get off the testicles & the nut sacks
you bust a rhyme we bust back
Get get back for real niggas that’s out here tryin’ to spit facts
You hear dat can’t come near dat maybe you need to quit
because Aquemini is Aquarius & Gemini runnin’ shit like this
Yea yea yea yea
My mind warps and bends floats the wind count to ten
meet the twin Andre Ben. welcome to the lion’s den
original skin many men comprehend
I extend myself so you go out & tell a friend
Sin all depends on what you believing in
Faith is what you make it that’s the hardest shit since MC Ren
Alien can blend right on in wit’ yo’ kin
look again ‘cause I swear I spot one every now & then
It’s happenin’ again wish I could tell you when
Andre this is Andre y’all just gon’ have to make amends
If I never eat seafood again, it’ll be too soon. OK, maybe Gran Gran’s steamed seaprawns don’t count. They actually do taste good after a long day at work.
So, I’d be just fine if I never see raw fish again… hmm, except that I really like Mushi Sushi. They use the freshest ingredients, and the restaurant never reeks like the Marine Science Center’s medical lab. I wear a tight braid every day, and I swear that fishy smell is even woven into the strands of my hair. It’s settled into the fabric of my uniform shirt for sure, but that doesn’t pose a challenge. I wash Sokka’s socks after all.
“You do your brother’s laundry?” Zuko raises his good eyebrow. He wears that incredulous look often. I normally think it’s kinda cute, but not today.
Storms are sweeping through the bay which means Zuko and Hahn have been reassigned to the center instead of their usual offsite duties. I do not appreciate them breaking my stride.
“Damn right, she does,” Hahn interjects. “That’s a woman’s place, y’know. Cooking, cleaning, taking care of the kids…”
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.
You ruined sex for me.
Took me to a place you knew I was afraid of.
Used my vulnerability for pleasure.
Fed me pills,
altered my already rapid mind.
You pretended to be kind,
Told me I was special.
I am haunted by your smell,
Sickened by the years we spent in hotel rooms and dark bars.
I can’t touch the lace I wore around you,
I can’t look at our forced smiles in photos,
Can’t handle the weight of the lies I told.
The money. The envelopes.
And the blurry lines that you blurred further.
Your small hands,
Your cold belly,
Your pale skin,
The tactics you used to pull me in,
all visit me in dreams.
I wake gutted.
I can’t sleep.
How could I let you warp my mind,
How could I let you touch me?
I was only twenty.
And your backpack
On my knees.
Keep your hands off of me.
It’s not quite right
When I rest in his arms
It’s not quite right And it’s not quite you
My heart feels empty
And my mind is blank
I just know that it’s not quite right
I just know that he’s not quite you
Maybe it’ll never feel right
Maybe it’s all in my head
Maybe these empty appetite
Is all I’ll ever know
An aching, a longing for something
Something I can’t reach
These empty appetites
Keep my stomach hollow
Keep my heart cold
These empty appetites
Keep me reaching for you
But you’re not quite right
Because I’ve changed you
Warped you in my mind You’re something else
But I will never know
Never know how it feels
Never ever will I know
You’re a ghost of a time forgotten
A specter of an idea
You are magic and myth
You are all that I am
And these empty appetites
Will never be satisfied