Oh please put him in the band ninja sex party! he'd fit right in.
For their 15 year anniversary, Ninja Sex Party has reportedly invited Eddie Munson and the rest of famed metal band Corroded Coffin into the recording studio.
The comedy duo has released three cover albums already, each aptly titled Under the Covers, and this once-in-a-lifetime collaboration is no different, as it's rumored to be metal covers of NSP's own songs in addition to NSP’s already releasing Masterstrokes album.
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reading The Big Sleep and it is so evident that Raymond Chandler had never been in a physical altercation with a pissed-off gay man. that's why i've started this indiegogo campaign to build a time machine! with your help, we can fix this problem today!!!*
*okay, the definition of 'today' is gonna get kinda weird once we switch the indiegogo time machine on, but listen, those are nuances we can deal with after we've sent our gayest warrior-priest to 1938 to curbstomp Raymond Chandler
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Blanket
It’s not too much of an exaggeration to state that one of the most significant saving graces of John’s life is his ability to sleep anywhere. An unstable childhood, 24-hour shifts at the hospital and military service have turned John into an all-weather-all-conditions sleeper. He can sleep sitting up. He can sleep at any time of day or night. He can sleep on the floor, on sofas, on planes, on trains, in cars. He can even power-nap on the tube and never miss his stop.
It’s a life skill that comes in very handy when your life partner is Sherlock Holmes.
It’s not that Sherlock never sleeps. It’s more that he doesn’t seem to have a circadian rhythm to speak of. He does things in the order they occur to him, and whether it’s ten in the morning or ten at night doesn’t seem to matter to him too much.
This means John has fallen asleep on stake-outs, at NSY (by now he’s pretty sure there’s not a piece of furniture at the Yard he hasn’t drooled on at some point), in jail cells, in dark alleys, on rooftops, on park benches, against trees, in pubs, in museums, and one memorable occasion a walk-in closet in Westminster Hall.
These skills come in especially handy once he’s a father. He’s fallen asleep with Rosie somewhere on his person so often, it’s frankly ridiculous. He even admits that the times he’s fallen asleep standing up with Rosie strapped to his chest in her baby carrier are, unfortunately, non-zero.
It doesn’t help that John has never been the best sleeper when he’s actually lying in a comfortable bed, alone, in the dark, in silence. He’s been plagued by nightmares all his life, and the irregular hours he’s kept since he became an adult have fucked up his circadian rhythm almost to Sherlock’s level. It also doesn’t help that the two people John would literally die for, who share his bed most often, are both terrible co-sleepers. Sherlock comes to bed whenever, wraps himself around John, hogs the blankets, snores, changes position, talks in his sleep, then gets up two hours later when he gets bored of sleeping. Rosie turns into all limbs when you share a bed with her, kicking and throwing elbows like a trained street fighter, and for all that she’s so small, she’s a world-class blanket thief. She gradually steals all the blankets, then drops half of them on the floor on the far side of the bed. John inevitably wakes up every time she kicks him, and he always wakes up freezing. John goes back to sleep fine, but it isn’t exactly restful.
The thing is, John isn’t as young as he used to be. And while he can still sleep anywhere and through anything, he feels it on the day after.
Case in point, he and Sherlock actually went to bed at a reasonable hour last night—age is mellowing out Sherlock’s circadian rhythm somewhat, or just makes it harder for Sherlock to ignore it— but Sherlock got up around two and came back with an armful of fussy five-year-old. He put her down between them, got in bed on his side and both of them went right back to sleep, Rosie drooling on John’s shirt, Sherlock snoring loudly. Every time John drifted off, Rosie kicked him, or elbowed him, or Sherlock muttered something in his sleep.
John finally gave up and went to sleep on the sofa. He slept fine, but the sofa is old and lumpy. Which is why he’s in the kitchen at 5:30 am, with a kink in his neck, a child-foot-sized bruise forming on his thigh, a monster headache and the largest coffee mug they own filled to the brim.
He sips the coffee and scrolls through his phone as the paracetamol does its work.
Then he goes into the bedroom to get his clothes.
Sherlock is sprawled on his stomach, shirt askew, hair a wild mess. Rosie’s lying practically on top of him, drooling all over his back. The blankets are on the floor, most of the pillows are strewn around the bed. Sherlock is snoring loudly. Rosie moves a bit and kicks the last pillow to the floor.
John bites down on a laugh and snaps a picture of the two of them. Then he picks up the blankets and tucks them around the sleeping pair, knowing it’s an exercise in futility, and drops kisses on one tousled dark head, and one blonde one.
Then he grabs a pillow from the floor and an extra blanket from the closet, curls around Sherlock’s other side, and goes right back to sleep.
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a-Lan is teaching all the other baos her chaotic bao ways? the tiger baos now want to eat snacks at 3 am, and the yunmeng baos are putting ducks in all the beds.
Nie Shiyong: Why are you asking me for snacks? Go outside and catch mice if you're hungry. ┐( ˘_˘)┌
The tiger baos, who were expecting delicious homemade morsels like the ones A-Lan gets: ಥ‿ಥ
Meanwhile, Jin Ling has been pinned down under his wife's paw so he doesn't run off to make tastier snacks for his tiger babies. Nie Shiyong wants the baos to stay in the family cuddle pile all night without getting up to steal food, so they'll just have to go back to sleep. 😤
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Retirement Looks Good on You
by helloliriels
"So ... John and Sherlock, they retired!" Lestrade's face was lit up with pride.
Sally Donovan eyed him askance.
"Yeah! Can you believe it?! Only 37 and 45 and they're retiring!" he whistled, smiling softly, a twinge of jealousy in his voice as he nudged her. "Never thought I'd see the day!"
"Neither did I ..." she looked at her screen again in disbelief. "What did you say they were doing now ... ?"
Lestrade didn't seem to notice the true query in her voice.
"Beekeepers!" Lestrade took a swig of his coffee, "in Sussex or some such ..."
"Beekeepers ... ?" Sally's face had gone pale. The printout from NSY just kept growing ...
"The pair of 'em! Beekeeping he said! ... Must be nice. The soft buzzing. The pretty flowers. Pulling honey from all those little boxes they keep 'em in-" Lestrade was still blustering on ...
"FUCK!"
Sally Donovan's curse cut him short, and he flinched as she swivelled the screen around to show him what she was seeing ...
"How the hell ... ?"
"Holy mother of God ..."
Lestrade dropped his coffee. Someone had included footage on the latest report.
"Sir ... that ... doesn't look like retirement."
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