well i was lying

Incorrect Quote #12
  • Rowan: So, you lied to me?
  • Aelin: That depends on how you define lying.
  • Rowan: Well, I define it as not telling the truth. How do you define it?
  • Aelin: Um, reclining your body in a horizontal position?
Taking your own life. Interesting expression. Taking it from who? Once itโ€™s over, itโ€™s not you who will miss it. Your own death is something that happens to everybody else. Your life is not your own, keep your hands off it.

Sherlock Holmes (The Lying Detective, BBC Sherlock)

This shook me up. Sherlock knew how much his ‘death’ affected John. He will never forget it and he will never forgive himself for putting John in that kind of pain.

quick draw of a fluffy russian ice pal

  • McGonagall: You said you had nothing to do with that prank. Are you lying to me?
  • Sirius: That depends on how you define lying.
  • McGonagall: Well, I define it as not telling the truth. How do you define it?
  • Sirius: Reclining your body in a horizontal position
  • McGonagall:
  • Sirius:
  • McGonagall: Get out of my office.
  • Sirius: Absolutely.

do yall have those successful friends that always say shit like “my hair is messier than my life!!” like christina we all know damn well both your hair and life are perfect quit lying. i think its time for people to stop appropriating Messy Bitch culture and leave the self deprecating humor to those of us that are actually A Mess

I mean… everyone is talking about The Hug™, which, don’t get me wrong, was awesome, but is no one going to mention Mycroft freakin’ Holmes getting hit on and not knowing what to do?

“Maybe you’d like a drink sometime.”

“Of… what?”

I’m telling you, Mycroft is my spirit animal. Only classier. And smarter.

๐Ÿ‘ถ๐Ÿป 21 ๐Ÿ‘ถ๐Ÿป
  • : :
  • *outside Speedy's*
  • Molly: *approaching Mary* What's going on?
  • Mary: *grins* I found the father of your baby.
  • Molly: *wide-eyed* What? How...how do you even know who the father is?
  • Mary: *digging in her purse* I believe this belongs to the father of your baby *removes the scarf*
  • Molly: *groans* Oh God...he’s in there right now?
  • Mary: Yup.
  • Molly: *sighs* Let's get this over with.
  • Molly & Mary: *enter Speedy's*
  • Tom: *waving* Hi, Molls.
  • Molly: ...
  • Tom: *looking between them* So, what’s up?
  • Mary: *nudging her forwards* Well, Molly has something that she wants to tell you *gestures the scarf* while we're on the subject, I believe that this is your scarf.
  • Tom: No... *unzips his coat* this is my scarf.
  • Mary: ...
  • Mary: *looks at the scarf in her hand* Ah. Could I get anyone a coffee or...poison? No? Just for me? Okay *hurries off*
  • Tom: *concerned* What’s going on?
  • Molly: *sits opposite him* Nothing. Mary just... sort of made a mistake.
  • Tom: *smiles* I’m pleased Mary called. I know we broke up because you thought we weren't compatible. I was thinking...does that matter?
  • Molly: *hesitates* Tom...
  • Tom: We were perfect together *holds her hand*
  • Molly: I’m pregnant.
  • Tom: Oh. *drops her hand*
  • Tom: ...
  • Molly: ...
  • Molly: You can go.
  • Tom: Thank you *runs off*
  • *John & Mary's*
  • Sherlock: *staring at the baby*
  • John & Mary: *enter the flat*
  • Mary: *smiles* Hi. How was she?
  • Sherlock: *shrugs* Fine.
  • John: *lifts his daughter* There's my girl. Were you good for your Uncle?
  • Sherlock: *sighs*
  • Mary: *smirks* You love her really. You're a natural.
  • Sherlock: *rolls his eyes* I'm going to have to get used to it.
  • John: *nods* Yes, you are.
  • Sherlock: *winds the scarf around his neck; smiles a little*
  • Mary: *looks up; points* That's your scarf?
  • Sherlock: *frowns* Yeeeeeees.
  • Mary: ...
  • Sherlock: *shrugs on his coat* Goodnight *leaves*
  • Mary: *squeals with happiness*
I've said it before but I'll say it again

Molly pines for Sherlock. Molly writes about Sherlock on her blog. Jim, who has never been heard of before but supposedly works with Molly, asks her out to drinks on her blog. Jim later is revealed to have been lying about his true identity and turns out to be a main antagonist.

John pines for Sherlock. John writes about Sherlock on his blog. Mary, who has never been heard of before but supposedly works with John, asks him out to drinks on his blog. Mary later is revealed to have been lying about her true identity and-

Well. I’ll let you fill in the rest.

So, seeing as we’ve been starved of spoilers for next week, I’ve decided to make some up of my own:

1. Liv finds out about Thursday and goes on a rampage. Kills Rebecca. Has to do a 2012!Aaron and go on the run (I mean, we know she gets a big storyline and she’s gotta take a couple of months off so…¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

2. Aaron finds out about Thursday. Breaks out of prison in a blind rage. Wants to make Robert pay. Sleeps with Ross. In the Mill.

3. Chas gets sent to prison for the slap(s? - not clear if Robert prosecutes as well). Gets 12 months. (Maternity leave sorted).

4. Paddy finds out about Thursday. Desperate to make Robert pay, he seduces Robert, tells him he’s been fighting it all along, books them into a Lodge retreat where he plans to make him pay. Roberts car breaks down on his way and never gets to the Lodge. Paddy gives up waiting after 2 hours and leaves in a huff, but not before trying out the hottub.

5. And for the obligatory comedic light relief, Cain accidentally locks himself in the boot of a car and can’t get out. Robert eventually finds him and saves the day, and Robert is a hero again, all is forgiven, so Aaron and Robert fly out to Vegas on a whim and make the wedding official.

I mean, if you wanna prove me wrong Emmerdale you’re gonna have to release some actual spoilers aren’t you!

when i think of you my heart always climbs into my throat

for caroline and lucie, because i love them both

James, I say, tell me something good. We are lying on the floor of your bedroom. The ceiling looks like it’s cloaked in stars and I can hear you breathing next to me. I am scared. I am scared because this morning Remus dropped his spoon while he was reading the Prophet because three more people have disappeared. I am scared because you are next to me in the darkness and your hand is inches from mine. I am scared because my heart is missing in this mess and I think you may have stolen it. Well, you say, I am lying in the dark with a pretty girl, and I roll over and punch you.

How did this happen to me? I wonder. You are making me laugh in Transfiguration and I am doodling in the margin of your textbook. I used to dream about your blood being in my mouth but I haven’t slept in a month because I keep tracing your name in the darkness. I remember every single time you’ve touched me, last week in the Great Hall, yesterday at Hogsmeade, today, your knee is touching mine under the table. Your fingerprints are written all over me like ink, and I want to feel your stained hands on my paper-thin skin. I’m always looking for excuses to be close to you.

You’re doing that thing again where you stretch in class and your shirt rides up your torso. I have to tear my gaze away from your lower abdomen and your back muscles that are feathering with corded veins. Something bothering you, Evans? you ask me, and I want to say yes, yes, James, you’re bothering me. But I don’t say anything, smirking into the back of my hand as I scribble down an answer to Flitwick’s question. Remus nudges my side and Sirius is grinning at me, but I ignore them. The glint in your eyes is distracting me, anyway. The wiring in my head is similar to blown fuses. I’m overrun and overwired and I can never concentrate when I’m around you anymore.

Come with me, you say, dragging me down through the corridors. Everything is bleak and uninviting until I hold your hand. The sky is blanketed in grey and the only light in the world are the watery flames of candles and the light laced in your smile. Potter, I ask you, where are we going? Your fingers are looped messily through mine, like string tied around my knuckles. We screech as we run down over the grass, and you slam me up against a pine tree. For a second I think you are going to kiss me, wild eyes and unsteady breathing and beating hearts. But then you say, wait here, and I sit down on the bank of the lake while you pace over rocks, whispering incantations into the skies. Then we’re side by side in the tree line, and the sky breaks open. You got rid of the clouds for me. It feels like we’re stepping into the sun.

My satchel is laden with books as I trudge back from the library. Something sits, waiting, seething. Five Slytherins step in front of me and they are all taller than I am. There is a charge running along my shoulder blades and my hand twists my wand in my pocket. I am not scared, I tell myself. But I am. I am very scared, because Avery is looking at me like he wants to break open my skull and pick apart the contents. Shouldn’t you be in bed by now, Evans? he jeers, snarling. Shouldn’t you be in Azkaban? I retort. He smiles. My hand is shaking. Someone grabs me from behind and I am drowning. I can hear laughing and there are fissures cracking along my spine. My wrist feels shattered where curses break from it. There are five of them. I feel like I am dying. And then someone is wrenching an immovable weight off my heart and flinging Avery into a wall and dragging me into his side. Four of them fall into the ground. I cannot calm down. The light from my wand is static where it hits Rosier in the chest. There is blood running down my face. I can taste it. Lily, you takes my face in your hands, Lily, Lily, Lily, oh my God, are you OK? I think on this for a moment. No, I say, and pass out in your arms.

Everything is sweet and heady and too much for me. I can’t be in the same room as you anymore. I also can’t be away from you for more than five minutes. Sirius makes a sign that spells sexual tension in big block letters and starts holding it up whenever we look at each other. I think I may have to kill him. Remus and I hide his record player in Greenhouse 1. He goes ballistic when he finds out. You’re a fuckface, Evans, he tells me. Don’t be such a sore loser, Black, I say. You are laughing. I want you to stop, because it feels like I’m going to implode. I want you to stop, because I know that I’d bathe in the sound if I could.

You’re shoving my arm when we’re walking down the hallway. Did I just see you smile, Evans? you ask me. Not a chance, I lie, because you’ve made me smile every day for the past year. There’s probably a burn on my bicep where you touched me. You need to stop touching me. There’s no guarantee that I won’t drag you into the broom closet on the Fifth Floor if you don’t. Lily, you say. I turn to look at you. The stone wall is crumbling and dank where I brush past it. There’s something wild swimming in your irises. James? my voice is tentative. It doesn’t sound like my own. You aren’t talking. James, I say again. You’ve backed me into a corner. Suddenly there’s a reel playing in my head of every single point that’s led to this. Your fingers looping messily around my wrist. Your hands either side of my head. Your hips framing mine. Oh, no, I think, this is now. Because your lips are on mine and your eyelashes are tickling my cheek and my heart is falling out of my mouth. I can barely breathe because your teeth are digging into my lower lip and you taste like mint chapstick. I may have said the last bit out loud. You taste like sunshine, you counter. How do you know? I whisper. You smile at me. Because I do.