Reading

Study in scarlet
The hound of the baskervilles
the scorch trials
A dance of dragons

Listening

Panic! at the disco
Fall out boy
Ed sheeran
bastille
Gramatik
arctic monkeys
the neighborhood
imagine dragons

wiith-my-hands:

Season 2 - Mukozuke Behind the Scenes

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miss-moberg:
"Um, since you're doing the palette challenge, could you please do starjohn in 68 and sandmanlock in 96?"

iriarty:

image

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belladonnaq:

doublenegativemeansyes:

" now we’ve got a whole Wednesday "

  — He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn’t have a clue —-

John’s body slowly went limp on the couch over the course of thirteen minutes. Given his body weight and the strength of the opiod etorphine, Sherlock had estimated ten, and by minute nine, had grown anxious.

The drug was not licensed for human beings however it was used to induce catatonic states with large animals, and Sherlock did at the time deem John as his prey.

It was an experiment, of course. Calculating the exact measurement of the synthetic was an art form. An underdose could result in respiratory alkalosis secondary to hyperventilation, and an overdose would involved hyper-excitability and possible apnoea.

Testing the results via intramuscular injection, John hadn’t even noticed the puncture of the thin needle. Sherlock had mumbled an excuse for his apparent clumsiness in the kitchen and patted John’s arm in apology. The doctor had shrugged it off and, newspaper in hand, settled himself on the couch as Sherlock observed.

He knew that an intravenous injection would quicken the time ten-fold. However that precision of attack would cause alarm and distress with John, and he wanted it to be covert.

There was a terrible thrill watching John’s eyes grow heavy. A terrible thrill as the man took it for an early afternoon craving for a nap and let himself fall lifeless without protest.

A terrible thrill knowing he had done this to John’s body.

Now unconscious, Sherlock allowed himself to touch John, fingers trailing over the grays and blonds of his hair, a mix of soft and coarse strands. Features now slack, John’s face was smooth, nearly devoid of lines and Sherlock found himself appreciating the boyish, round face that he held in his hands.

Slowly, he pressed a kiss to John’s partly open mouth, finding his lips thin and a bit dry, but pliant and submitting.

Obvious, John was unconscious, he would submit now, whether he wanted to… or not.

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sannapersikka:

John + no (requested by Anonymous)

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hannigrahmy:

This is a extremely serious and sophisticated show 

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mollydobby:

An Attempt to Eff the Ineffable - Transcript of “Knock, knock. Who’s There? Benedict Cumberbatch.” from BBC comedy sketch show “Lewis Macleod is Not Himself ” S1E01  (x)

It does a great job with imitating Benedict’s and Martin’s voice and delivery - and its observations are hilariously absurd yet not untrue at the same time. 

“Ricky Gervais”: [as David Brent] Morning, Tim! Tim Bowler, Timbory-Tim, Timbory, Tim, Timbory Tim, Timboree! What are you doing?

“Martin”: Oh, er, you know, I’m just, you know, er … gazing despairingly at the camera like a perplexed hamster, as is my duty as the put-upon everyman character.

“Ricky Gervais”: Well, well, you know, just to whisper in your shell-like [?] *laughs raucously* - the new guy starts today. I said you could show him the ropes.

“Martin”: Fine, er … when’s he coming?

“Benedict”: [Sherlock voice] I’ve been observing you from the reception area for the last half an hour. That is to say, I’m already here. Don’t feel bad for not noticing me sooner. When I stand very still and don’t speak, I can easily be mistaken for an incredibly ornate and attractive hat stand. The kind you find in an antique shop that doesn’t have any price tags. Don’t touch - you can’t afford. Hello.

“Martin”: Good … er … yeah, good gracious. Erm, what are you?

“Benedict”: My name is long and ridiculous, like my face. They call me Benedict Cumberbatch.

*fairy tale harp chords* [medieval choral chant] Ben-ne-dict Cum-ber-baaatch!

“Benedict”: Don’t worry, that always happens.

“Martin”: Uh, OK, right, yeah. Um, OK, well, so, let’s give you the tour. Well, we’ve got, you know, the photocopier here …

“Benedict”: Pish, posh, and Duchy biscuits. You don’t think I actually care about your tedious office, do you?

“Martin”: Well, no, but I sort of imagined you’re here because -

“Benedict”: Oh, you beautifully obtuse little turnip of a man. I’m here because after Sherlock and the Hobbit, I’m now contractually obliged to appear in everything you ever do, shall do, have done, have so much as considered doing – don’t you understand, we go together like bangers and mash, like cream tea and scones, like a put-upon everyman character actor and a big posh flamboyant manic pixie dream boy with cheekbones you could balance a BAFTA on.

Is it a man? Is it several hyper-intelligent cats sitting on one another’s shoulders wearing a latex man-suit? Or is it an incredibly sexy horse that’s learned to walk on its hind legs and talk very very very fast?

“Martin”: Um … sorry, could you repeat all that please?

“Benedict”: No time, get down with me beneath this desk.

“Martin”: Why? Is there someone going to try to kill us or something? Or …

“Benedict”: [dramatic low voice] No, we just need to get uncomfortably close to one other and gaze homoerotically into each other’s eyes. Can you feel the tension? Can you? Can you … do you want to give me a little kiss? Oh you mustn’t - I’m an alabaster Adonis, don’t touch me!

“Martin”:  Um, yeah, OK.  Erm, bit weird, er … but still, less annoying than that Gervais guy. Erm, look, erm … how much longer is this going to go on for?

“Benedict”: For the rest of your life.

“Martin”:  What?

“Benedict”: Now, if you don’t mind, I have to exit dramatically through a window or something, for no reason other than it looks fantastic. Goodbye for now, put-upon everyman character actor. Remember my name.

“Martin”: *sighs* Ahhhh - I’ll never forget you, Bumblebee Cuttlefish! 

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Ron Mueck’s amazing hyperrealistic sculptures. 

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July 18, 2014 - Jensen Ackles attends the 2014 TCA Summer Press Tour

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correct representation of how I handle everything.

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A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of me?

No. It’s what you think of yourself.

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HW