#butye

[nvmlmao]

[another-darksiders-blog]

7Finally managed to do this one, for the Apocalypse Survivors thing. Lol

@imagine-darksiders  w o o p

[thescorpiousofthenight]

If anyone could tell me what this fuckin means

Like okay.

I can feel the energy of pictures.

Weird I know? Let me explain.

I am an artist. I love art and visuals and everything else that involves looking at something beautiful or pleasing to the eye.

But also.

I can look at, say, these pictures, and i can physically put myself in this persons shoes when they took these pictures, and I can feel the energy and atmosphere of that evironment.

Isnt it so weird?

But I can just imagine the thunder in the distance, barefoot, feeling the vibrations of the thunder in your bones as you feel the wind start to pick up. The rustle of your hair as the wind blows through it.

Idk man.

It makes My chest tight and happy. My heart feels full. I love being a witch and being so I'm tune with nature. It amazes and fufills me. I love it.

[sounpleasant]

I sometimes just think of u at like 1am in the morning is that weird? lOL

[zephyr-together]

I'm just looking at Ven and Mac's puns and then it turns midnight we have a singing bird clock okay guess which bird midnight is

[221bsholmes-blog]

S h e r l o c k & C o r d e l i a & H a t t i e l Got a bottle of whatever but it's making us drunk, singing here's to never growing up. l

It wasn’t a strange occurrence for Sherlock Holmes to dance around 221b Baker Street like a maniac. No, it wasn’t a strange occurrence at all. Before John Watson had walked into his life he had been alone, a lone soul, all by his self. Indeed, Sherlock Holmes had once believed that love and sentimentality had been for the weak. An individual with a brain as powerful as his own could not possibly bring himself to care about another being. For years it had been only him and his homeless network, and quite frankly, they annoyed him at the best of times. But John. Oh indeed John. He had brought a new lease of life into the young Holmes’ lonely existence. The two would dart around London, searching every alleyway and corner for clues. That was, at least, until John had selfishly packed his cases and decided to join some army-general friend on a two month around-the-world cruise. Sherlock had found himself lost without his companion, his best friend, his doctor. So he had plunged into the most ridiculous of cases, almost having himself killed precisely 7.5 times. (The .5 was a rather confusing case and he dreaded to think of it in fear that it would send him off on yet another rant about little children and their ‘pranks.’) Despite this, the past few weeks had been brain-numbingly boring. The few small cases that he had worked on that been easy enough and the rare occurrence of danger faded faster than it had appeared.

Languishing lazily in his chair, skull in hand and eyes set ahead, Sherlock had little more to do than simply wait for an interesting case to pop up. A short sigh of frustration fled his lips. The silence seemed to ripple through the air, conquering the invading noises from outside of the window. A small ping disturbed his state of peace and with a curious blink of his eyes he fished his phone from the arm of the chair and read the text curiously. Yet another request for a consult, something about a woman suspecting that her husband was having an affair. He didn’t bother to read the rest of the text and threw the phone back upon the arm of the chair with a short sigh. The skull was propelled into the air and caught without so much of a hint of effort. Where were the murderers, the rapists, the terrorists? Had they all crawled under a rock for the day? After much deliberating, Sherlock pushed himself to his feet, tossed the skull aside onto the sofa and called loudly, “Mrs Hudson I’ll have a cuppa’ tea!” It was a rare occurrence for Sherlock Holmes to move when he required anything so to move as far as the door was quite the achievement.

"Just this once, I’m not your house keeper dear!" A voice called back kindly, playfully.

Shaking his head at Mrs Hudson’s predictability, Sherlock threw himself back upon his chair, kicking his legs up on one arm and resting his legs on the other, prompting his phone to fall on the floor. He sighed in boredom, craving just one interesting case. Was that too much to ask for in life?

yestheotherholmes hattiehooperholmes

[meme-loving-stuck]

I dont suppose you'd mind if you shared if you knew a person named Hana/Hannah/Hanna would you?

Well I knew a girl named Hannah bc my friend had said Hannah was "copying her style" but I obviously didn't know shit about style and I (tiny seventh grade weirdo) wasn't about to help my friend confront Hannah (stylish eighth grader) about the hipster trendy clothing she wore and then it turned out my little sixth grade buddy (Savannah) was kind of related to Hannah so Hannah and I were on good terms but we didn't talk much.