Something Fucky
Capri Jay |-/ 18 |-/ bone dust smells like Cool Ranch Doritos



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greenmarshmallow:

Sometimes I draw things while talking on the phone with my mum. According to her, Sherlock is “that kid who pokes dead kittens while being utterly pleased with himself”.
My mum is awesome.

greenmarshmallow:

Sometimes I draw things while talking on the phone with my mum. According to her, Sherlock is “that kid who pokes dead kittens while being utterly pleased with himself”.

My mum is awesome.

posted 2 years ago via geothebio · © 5494art with 777 notes


slytherin-cumberbatch:

the-elf-on-baker-street:

for-me-dont-be-dead:

battleiswonbuthechildislost:

purpleshirtofsexandjumpers:

dorydafish:

highly-functioningsociopath:

hisdetective:

houseofwonderandchaos:

cockney-bitch:

thistimewewillbelistening:

though-do-infact-shut-up:

sherlocked-inside-the-tardis:

theravenclawwhofellfordrarry:

thumbsinthefridge:

sherlock-struck:

What they are both thinking?

yummy.

Sherlock is too consumed with his own type of lust to maintain his normal face

OH MY GODS SHERLOCK’S FACE!!! HE IS SO CONSUMED BY LUST!!! WHERE THE HELL IS THIS FROM?? I DON’T REMEMBER SEEING IT!!!

THE PILOT. YOU CAN TELL BY THE HAIR. Or something.

Either way. Seeing John eat makes Sherlock horny.

DYING. SHERLOCK WHAT IN THE NAME OF SANITY IS YOUR FACE DOING

Sherlocks face. I can’t take it.

Yeah, you eat that food, John. You filthy soldier. Just wait until I get you back to the flat. That fork won’t be the only thing in your mouth, you dirty, dirty hedgehog.

reblogging simply because I’m dying over that last comment! ….you dirty, dirty hedgehog….. XD

you dirty, dirty hedgehog

Fandom. go on without me… *dies*

‘YOU DIRTY DIRTY HEDGEHOG!’ I can’t- This fandom has gone insane

YOU DIRTY DIRTY HEDGEHOG

YOU DIRTY DIRTY HEDGEHOG

YOU DIRTY DIRTY HEDGEHOG

YOU DIRTY DIRTY HEDGEHOG

YOU DIRTY DIRTY HEDGEHOG

YOU DIRTY DIRTY HEDGEHOG

you dirty dirty hedgehog

you dirty dirty hedgehog

you dirty dirty hedgehog

DIRTY HEDGEHOG

legit dying. The human body was not meant to stifle laughter of this caliber. I feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest like an alien.

MY GOD THIS FANDOM

i’m done

I’M DONE.



reichenfeels:

shannasouzou:

loubyloves:

velocifaggot:

reunion.

Oh My… 

Dear World, don’t bother me today.  I already have plans to watch this over and over and over and over again.

;w;

reichenfeels:

shannasouzou:

loubyloves:

velocifaggot:

reunion.

Oh My… 

Dear World, don’t bother me today.  I already have plans to watch this over and over and over and over again.

;w;





reapersun:

i held your name inside my mouth
through all the days of wandering
someone sent me this song in a request awhile ago and i pretty much have listened to it every day since
thank you whoever you are

reapersun:

i held your name inside my mouth

through all the days of wandering

someone sent me this song in a request awhile ago and i pretty much have listened to it every day since

thank you whoever you are


noelowl:

diaemyung:

Request by sherlockbeingheterosexual - The two of them sharing one scarf or something like that
Sharing one scarf and kiss together 

oh i needed this in my life ohhhh it hurts so good
my feels are all over
i love scarf lovin’
I LOVE IT

noelowl:

diaemyung:

Request by sherlockbeingheterosexual The two of them sharing one scarf or something like that

Sharing one scarf and kiss together 

oh i needed this in my life ohhhh it hurts so good

my feels are all over

i love scarf lovin’

I LOVE IT


shocklock:

Sherlock Holmes sat reading under an old oak tree; his back propped against its trunk, large book held tight in his hands. A persistent breeze was kicking lightly at the pages, curling them over each time he attempted to decipher an obscure word. He’d stolen the ancient text from his father’s library, enchanted by the gold trim and elegant twist of the title. However, he was soon learning that German, unlike most other things, was not something that came naturally to him. It, inconveniently, would require further investigation and so, after a time, Sherlock gave an annoyed growl and slammed the volume closed, throwing it to the ground by his side.
With a slight frown he looked up, noting that the sun had rolled to the centre of the sky. It was almost midday: he’d been sitting there for longer than he’d thought. The once quite and empty field before him was now alive with frolicking children, all enjoying the fine weather and freedom of the weekend.
Sherlock rubbed absently at the fold of his shirt and watched his peers sceptically. How could they be so content to simply run about a field? How could they receive satisfaction when there was so much more to do, to learn? Sherlock sighed and was about to stand when a boy launched from the bushes to his right.
“Bam!” he cried, flourishing his fisted hands as guns, “Bam! BAM!” He giggled and dived, curling his shoulders to tumble along the ground. Sherlock observed the energetic boy with a frozen look of uncertainty. He rolled across the grass and sprung to his feet, ready to fire again. When he noticed Sherlock’s hesitance however, he dropped his gun-poised fingers.
“Hey,” he wined, “I shot you! You’re dead now.”
Sherlock frowned, “No I’m not,” he stated coldly.“You didn’t shoot me, you merely pointed your fingers at me. How you expect that to kill someone is ridiculous. Besides, you were aiming at my right shoulder. Even with a real gun, that kind of shot is unlikely to fatally wound, especially with the hospital only two blocks away, and the fact that-”
“You’re weird,” the boy interrupted, adjusting the makeshift bandana across his forehead. He was smiling and watching Sherlock as though her were telling an elaborate joke.
“I’m weird?” Sherlock asked indignantly. “I’m not the one with mud on my face and an old sock wrapped around my head.”
The boy giggled once more and sat down on the grass. He reached out a hand, shoving it towards Sherlock’s chest.
“I’m John Hamish Watson,” he said with an expectant smile.
Sherlock eyed him cautiously, looking from John’s face to the presented hand.
“Come on, I promise I won’t shoot you again,” he encouraged.
“You didn’t shoot me in the first place,” Sherlock began, “all you did was-”
“Fine,” John sighed, “I’ll make sure nobody else shoots you then, how about that?”
Sherlock bit his lip pensively as he considered the offer. There were a few people he’d managed to bother in his eight years, and having someone to watch his back would be conducive to more efficient book theft…
“Alright,” he spoke after a time, cautiously taking the boy’s hand. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes.”
“Great!” cried John, launching to his feet once more, “what do you want to play?”
Sherlock lifted the forgotten volume from his side and tucked it under his arm, getting to his feet. 
“Well,” he began, his eyes alight with the endless investigative possibility that having a sidekick enabled, “I’ve got this great game…”

shocklock:

Sherlock Holmes sat reading under an old oak tree; his back propped against its trunk, large book held tight in his hands. A persistent breeze was kicking lightly at the pages, curling them over each time he attempted to decipher an obscure word. He’d stolen the ancient text from his father’s library, enchanted by the gold trim and elegant twist of the title. However, he was soon learning that German, unlike most other things, was not something that came naturally to him. It, inconveniently, would require further investigation and so, after a time, Sherlock gave an annoyed growl and slammed the volume closed, throwing it to the ground by his side.

With a slight frown he looked up, noting that the sun had rolled to the centre of the sky. It was almost midday: he’d been sitting there for longer than he’d thought. The once quite and empty field before him was now alive with frolicking children, all enjoying the fine weather and freedom of the weekend.

Sherlock rubbed absently at the fold of his shirt and watched his peers sceptically. How could they be so content to simply run about a field? How could they receive satisfaction when there was so much more to do, to learn? Sherlock sighed and was about to stand when a boy launched from the bushes to his right.

“Bam!” he cried, flourishing his fisted hands as guns, “Bam! BAM!” He giggled and dived, curling his shoulders to tumble along the ground. Sherlock observed the energetic boy with a frozen look of uncertainty. He rolled across the grass and sprung to his feet, ready to fire again. When he noticed Sherlock’s hesitance however, he dropped his gun-poised fingers.

Hey,” he wined, “I shot you! You’re dead now.”

Sherlock frowned, “No I’m not,” he stated coldly.“You didn’t shoot me, you merely pointed your fingers at me. How you expect that to kill someone is ridiculous. Besides, you were aiming at my right shoulder. Even with a real gun, that kind of shot is unlikely to fatally wound, especially with the hospital only two blocks away, and the fact that-”

“You’re weird,” the boy interrupted, adjusting the makeshift bandana across his forehead. He was smiling and watching Sherlock as though her were telling an elaborate joke.

I’m weird?” Sherlock asked indignantly. “I’m not the one with mud on my face and an old sock wrapped around my head.”

The boy giggled once more and sat down on the grass. He reached out a hand, shoving it towards Sherlock’s chest.

“I’m John Hamish Watson,” he said with an expectant smile.

Sherlock eyed him cautiously, looking from John’s face to the presented hand.

“Come on, I promise I won’t shoot you again,” he encouraged.

“You didn’t shoot me in the first place,” Sherlock began, “all you did was-”

Fine,” John sighed, “I’ll make sure nobody else shoots you then, how about that?”

Sherlock bit his lip pensively as he considered the offer. There were a few people he’d managed to bother in his eight years, and having someone to watch his back would be conducive to more efficient book theft…

“Alright,” he spoke after a time, cautiously taking the boy’s hand. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes.”

“Great!” cried John, launching to his feet once more, “what do you want to play?”

Sherlock lifted the forgotten volume from his side and tucked it under his arm, getting to his feet.

“Well,” he began, his eyes alight with the endless investigative possibility that having a sidekick enabled, “I’ve got this great game…”


itsanexperimentjohn:

shercockled:

wow john that’s really helpful john thanks john