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PotterLock|Chp 4: Beginnings“Alright, so what are we actually going to do?” John asked once he’d caught up to his short friend.
“I’m going to read this,” Sherlock said, flashing to book he’d taken from the shelf. “You are going to go interrogate some of the ghosts.”
“What?” John exclaimed, then whispered a, “Sorry,” to Madam Pince when she glared at them. “What do you mean, ‘interrogate some of the ghosts’?” he asked, hushed.
“I mean,” Sherlock said with exaggerated patience, “you’re going to go up to some of the ghosts and ask them if they’ve seen anything or know anything pertaining to the dog which is supposedly haunting Gryffindor Tower while I read all about said ghosts’ histories and how they came to be here, in Hogwarts, as ghosts. Savvy?”
“Never say that again. Please.”
Sherlock shrugged, but an amused smile tugged at his lips.
James Moriarty|An Argumentative Essay
The third season of Sherlock was long-anticipated and the question we were asking ourselves before it came out was ‘How in the bloody hell did he survive?’ Strangely enough, that’s the same question we’re asking ourselves now, months after it was – sort of – answered the first time. Except this time, it isn’t Irene Adler faking her death or Sherlock Holmes jumping from the roof of a hospital; James Moriarty shot himself in the head and I’m sure we’re all wondering how in the hell he could have pulled it off. Only the writers of BBC’s acclaimed ‘Sherlock’ (2010 television series)  know and none of them are talking, which leaves us alone with our collective imaginations to think it out.
Numerous theories have been circulated  and this is just one more predictable plot twist, but what if it’s the one Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss had in mind? If it isn’t, then no hard feeli
The Final Goodbye“Hey. I’m not really sure why I’m here. Actually, that’s a lie. I know full well. I’m not meant to be here, though. I have to get these blackberries to a freezer soon or they’ll melt into juicy mush, which isn’t very pleasant. It’s just… a little strange, I guess. You might think so. That I came here to tell you I no longer believe in you. It sounds a bit harsh when I say it like that… You know what I mean, though. You’re supposed to know everything.
“I would have come inside, but the doors were locked. That’s fitting too, I guess. Not really welcome in a place I don’t belong. But from what I know of you, it’s not you who’s locking me out. It’s me. Sorry about that, again. It’s just… I’ve moved on? No, that’s not quite it…
“Oh, God, am I crying? Hah… I guess that’s what happens with these sorts of things. ‘It’s not you, it
Time For an ApologyI think it's about time for a proper apology. It's long-winded, and you don't have to read it, but whatever. It's an explanation for everything, half a year late.
I’m sorry about what I did and I regret that it hurt you. I don’t regret doing it, though. Before you get offended by that statement, I would appreciate it if you read the rest of this message. However, there are a number of things I need to clarify before getting started:
This is not a message asking you to take me back.
The reason I’m sending you this on facebook is because I suck at saying things like this with my mouth.
I want you to know that this is a message which has been thought about (a little) and written in words which best fit what I’m feeling (to the best of my capabilities).
I want you to know that I have no idea what I’m feeling, so I’m going to apologise in advance if this either doesn’t get sent or doesn’t make sense.
I also want you to know that feeling
The Langoliers' Banquet|DessertTo you kind Langoliers,
I previously thought you simply lent a new perspective to all my past shortcomings, but I now see it all; the stupid mistakes of my past, things I know I should be able to change in my life as it is and finally, I can see just what will happen if I follow my chosen path – what is already happening, as I sit here, writing this note to you, my only friends in the world. I’m almost finished my schooling and yet am still torn between two careers, each as impossible for me to achieve as the next.
In the current company, there’s no need for me to pretend, so I won’t. Here are the facts, of which I’m sure you are already aware. However, perhaps I just need to hear them, to fully realise just how desperate my situation is. Firstly, it’s close to impossible to get 100% on a U test, which is what I will need if I’m to become a pilot in the Royal Australian Air Force. I only know one person that clever. My other decision would be t
In the Beginning - Chp 4 (BBC Sherlock)“I want to be his daemon,” Matriel whispered into their pillow, as though hoping she wouldn’t hear. But the thought had been thrumming through their bond, unspoken and unaddressed for three days now. She knew and she understood.
“I know,” she whispered back, staring at the ceiling and running her hand down his wolverine back, imagining it wasn’t Matriel’s coarse fur she was feeling but… What? But Atilia’s?
Stop dreaming. The words resonated between their bond and they glanced at each other sadly, but Joan couldn’t help gently trailing her fingers around Matriel’s ermine ears, the way she’d seen Sherlock do to Atilia. She knew why and she understood.
“Joan, I need you for an experiment.”
No. She sighed silently but otherwise pretended she hadn’t heard, keeping her eyes closed and her cheek resting on her folded arms.
Shut up. What if she refused to breathe u
Propaganda PastThis is what we where given
A man has no right to complain
A long time ago we were protectors
Given the beauty yet turned to corruption
In our hands and we covered that pain with masks
Leering at the gift that spoke
We turned on each other, lack of care
With no one held dear we conquered
Left the loss of hope for better things
Money, Fame, Glory, it seemed like the answer
Without claim we have no reason to do anything
Our purpose rising to heaven, burning like fragrance
Without hope men will become desperate
Our enemy being concealed
Delivering catastrophes on media driven frenzy
Having no power except information, a jilted spirit
Back than we were protectors
We lost love but claimed we were blameless
Now it's broadcast for all to see
Are essence poisoned and refined to sugar
That which was noble has been delivered as spoiled
If we could take it all back
If we could repair the tragedy
Let's start by leaving the shame of our past
And disregard the failures that we blamed on our f
They Say - Don't be a heroThey say that being a hero is somewhat stupid,
that bravery enacted by those who are not empowered allow them to suffer futility in their actions and bring about a greater loss than if they had kept to themselves.
“Don’t be a hero.” They say, in order to keep people’s greater instincts suppressed
and cause those to think rather than to act.
But what the Hero themselves don’t always know is that
they have the power to succeed,
that their actions can bring about a greater future,
and that with their willpower and creative thinking,
any evil doesn't have a chance.
Being a hero isn't about thinking, it is about sacrifice.
Strength"Sensitivity and depth of feeling is never weakness, it is more delicate and vulnerable to harm,
yes.. but most beautiful things are. True sensitivity is unconditional love.. and that's stronger
than anything." Uilliam
Star-filled SkiesCool breeze,
brushing through the trees
For the chill of it all?
The silence and the darkness?
What darkness, he asks.
Met with confused looks,
yet he just gazes up.
The stars, you see,
they over shine the darkness,
which is why we see them.
And the best thing is that
no matter who you are
how old you are
what you do in life
what you believe in
who you love
who you don't
you always see the stars and the moon
given a bit of time and luck of weather.
So while others wait for the sun every day
I simply wish for the stars every night.
One beautiful Rose, but with Thorns...Life may be as beautiful as the red rose, but it also contains thorns...
Self ReflectionTo admire your enemies,
it is one step above relating to them
Pitying your enemies
Is one step above despising them
Coming CleanI'm gonna be honest with you, I don't have any idea what I'm doing.
I keep coming up with these absolutely ridiculous thoughts and ideas that mess with me way more than my own thoughts should, and they're almost always about trivial bullshit. One day, I consider how many people would care if my plane went down in a field somewhere. I wonder how many lives would be affected by the loss of everyone on board with me, how long it would be on the news, if at all. Then I'm realizing that I'm just a grain of sand in a great cosmic beach or some hippie crap like that that you've heard spewed a dozen times from books and speeches and poetry.
Can this be called a poem? I don't like to write poems. I have no skill with them and at my age they always wind up full of angst.
I guess you could say that we're having a conversation, but at the same time you aren't contributing at all. I don't even know who the hell you are, yet I'm talking to you, the abstract idea of a reader, like we're friends. I su
horizon lostWe walked along the dry and stony track, high and ever higher, in the highest mountains of the world, and at last we saw the Mountain, the home of beauty, of spirit, and imagination. With green fields in terraces at its holy, truly holy, symmetrical, single foot.
The Blue Mountain, the mountain of beauty and spirit, has a split on one side, from which all the rivers of the world flow out, with all the colours of rainbow and forest, and plain and desert and sky.
In the terraced valley, the sweet and beautiful palace of knowledge and calm reflection, we lived for an era unknown. At last our unresting spirits desired more, ever more. We suddenly desired to leave our contentment. For something new, exciting.
We escaped from the valley of our confinement to peace and beauty. We escaped to our world of ugliness and destruction, and our eternal wanting greed. The fault lies not in the Universe, but in us.
We wanted because of some imperfection within our minds, not knowing that we had a
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