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[wissymgonewild]

i'm not going to be worried until they start writing episodes where she takes photos of him sleeping XD

I don't know if you saw that part of the leaks too but the snort that escaped me when Marinette cried "What if Adrien LIED to me??" (About talking to Sublime) was unholy lol

It takes GUTS to have a protagonist be this bold of a self centred hypocrite. Like, if Marinette were a real person I would assume she's hard core projecting out of guilt, but this is Miraculous. Marinette for real thinks this would be the much worse lie because this is about HER not feeling comfortable in her one sided emotional support relationship

---

I didn't see that part. Yeah, little miss gaslighter has no place whining about Adrien possibly lying to her. Even if he was, I’d side with Adrien because what other choice does he have with a girlfriend this insecure about him daring to have friends while she gets to have an entire fanclub and surround herself with people who are in love with her? Marinette is obsessed with even the made up notion that Adrien isn't honest with her about his every stray thought and action. Marinette would be reading Adrien's thoughts to make sure he's where he's supposed to be in his every waking moment if she could get the ability.

[taemcains]

eroticism, sensuality & how cain embodies it

i've always called cain erotic but since the kiss has taken over every last braincell of mine, i've been wondering what exactly makes him so. from the moment i read i want to do with you what isn't customary to say out loud, the with immediately struck me. not do to you but with. which could either mean what he wants them to experience together, as equals, or having her helpless and at his mercy, or both.

the verbal aspect of sex is what almost everyone gets wrong in media, especially when it comes to men. dirty talk is cheap, vulgar, and disgusting but why does cain do it so well? because he reveals just enough to leave you wondering, grasping desperately at your own imagination. i should've been crucified long ago for my thoughts about you. so what are you thinking? sublimating admitting to animal basal impulses, considered dirty and impure with so much grace and sensuality. saving all his confessions for such a significant moment, as they always step around each other and walk in circles, never saying anything outright so when he does it's shocking, outrageously hot.

and the inch he does give is painted vividly. where the blood boils and languid sighs fill the air.

he doesn't impose himself onto her, doesn't overpower her, make her smaller. it's more of an enveloping, surrounding, surrendering. he hardly touched her in the church, but his words and presence eclipsed the outside world, making sin religious.

while he is more, or even completely, dominant in their relationship, his dominance isn't to assert his desire onto her, but to allow the revealing of hers. he doesn't push her around, doesn't order her but carefully spins a web around her, trapping her senses, trapping her in a web of her own desires, disregarding her inhibitions. everything about him is subtle and slow and seductive, and every final decision has rested on her shoulders. in the church, he has his fingers over her stomach, he looks up, he waits. in the bathroom, he has her trapped between his body and the cross, he says his piece, he waits. only when she touches him back does he kiss her.

the power gap between them, purely antagonistic of the usual immortal/mortal ship, is blurred and coexisting. cain was the one laying out his cards, his barest desires and wants but it was lane who felt caught between his jaws, like this was her surrender. he was pulling the strings even as he was being vulnerable.

over all this, intimacy and understanding is the most erotic thing of all, and it was captured beautifully in the kiss scene. cain knew what i liked because we were so similar. cain being able to read all her nonverbal cues, to know which is permission. cain laying on her lap, talking about acceptance and understanding and eternity.

it's so rare to see a male character who is actually erotic, not vulgar and as a 'bring back real sensuality in media' girl i'm fucking up this buffet. i can't wait to see how this evolves in his later scenes and thank you taemin for birthing him.

[lilac-5ky]

always darkest before the dawn (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

plot: your boyfriend finds you waiting on his porch after a mission you warned him against going.

tags: hurt/comfort with a silly ending cause I'm silly for this man.

wc: 2.4k

“Baby? What are you still doing up?”

The sound of his voice gets amplified with every step he takes toward the dim-lit engawa, a pleasant break from the incessant chirping of the cicadas slowly being traded for that of the first morning sparrows—midnight sky melting into the lightest shades of blue. Stars are sprinkled over the velvet canopy like powder sugar, a subtle bronze haze dividing the horizon from the heavens above, and you almost thank them for sending their most exalted angel your way.

He comes alive again—wings heavy from the blood that soaks them, its source hardly human.

The knitted blanket slides off your shoulders as you turn around to face Satoru, his otherwise sublime features wearier and more haggard than you remember seeing them this morning by your pillow. He carries a bag in each hand, his apology wrapped in layers upon layers of aluminum foil. You wonder what it tastes like. Last time was gyoza, and the time before that drunken noodles—always accompanied by some sort of dessert from some faraway corner of the map, which he (typically) promises to revisit with you.

“Welcome home.” You sigh, mustering a smile to distract him from the dried-up tears that stain the apples of your cheeks.

It was a long night, and his absence stretched it to eternity. You realized after he left for his mission that forever is a long time to be spent alone, especially when the last words you said to him echo harder than the cumbersome footsteps of his departure, scaring you into thinking that was the last you heard of each other.

No one ever told you that being with the strongest meant becoming stronger yourself.

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t miss the opportunity to call you weak, making a habit of teasing you when your puny arms fail to carry his excessive haul of grocery bags or when you can’t open a mere jar of jam without him loosening the cap beforehand. He doesn’t admit you are stronger than him, despite you being the one to carry his burden and your worries, the two brewing into a sickly cocktail of premonition you can barely stomach—one that initiated today’s fallout.

You feel wronged. Your roles were reversed against your will; the comfort of being the weak one viciously yanked from your grasp, feet forcefully put into a pair of shoes you were never meant to wear. You should be weak. He should be strong. You should be crying, and he should be comforting. You should be able to tell him, don’t go, and he should be able to stay.

But you didn’t. And he did not.

Unaffected by the war of contradictory motions in your head, Satoru plops down beside you, large palms emptying of the cheap plastic handles to fill up with you. The thrill of the fight still hasn’t worn out, muscles taut from the action, and eyes bright under their concealment. He feels warm, warmer than the blanket that’s now receded to your thighs, though not warm enough to appease the cold in your heart, goosebumps prickling your skin from the inside out like your body is trying to escape itself.

A lump forms in your throat from where his lips touch your neck, briefly and fleetingly, before they are replaced with the familiar fluff of hair. It’s ironic how he tries to fit in you. There isn’t a part of you that hasn’t been touched by him in one way or another, and if you could pull out your own guts to make more space for him, then you would. You’d let him consume you whole if that meant never spending a second without him.

You wonder if that’s how love is supposed to be. You aren’t sure. You don’t know if you’re just another person who foolishly let themselves worship Gojo Satoru—if, in your effort to get to know the real him, you became his biggest fan.

“You are abnormally quiet.” You point out, instantly hating how ragged your voice sounds. The only dissonance in the picturesque garden of his estate.

Satoru shifts in his position, heavy jaw rubbing sweetly against your bare shoulder, hot breath fanning your neck. “I’m just mimicking you.”

“Mimicking me?” A bit better this time.

“Mhm.”

You glance at him, following the curve of his nose down to the dip of his cupid’s bow, both highlighted under the waning moonlight. Even when the stars are slowly drained and those flattering shadows dispelled, his beauty remains a certain constant. He is so beautiful that your heart aches, a longing sigh caught at the far back of your palate, his soft smile begging for its release.

He won’t hear you say it. Not tonight.

You test out the waters with a teasing poke of your tongue. He does the same, mouths almost touching with how closely he leans forward. Then a pout. A scrunch of the nose. An unserious wiggle of his eyebrows that mirrors your own—an image far more perfect than the one you’re used to seeing in the mirror.

“Would you jump down a cliff if I did?” You taunt.

“Absolutely!” He breaks the loop, answering in less than a heartbeat. “You know I would. The world would be a horrible place without my sugarplum.”

“You know, you could save us both if you wanted.” You say with a level voice.

“The greatest love stories are sealed by tragedy.” Satoru argues back. “Romeo and Juliette. Jack and Rose. Orihime and Hikoboshi. Takeru and Hikari.”

You are quick to spot the odd one out. “First of all, stop sneaking in Digimon references thinking I won’t notice, and second of all, Takeru and Hikari didn’t die.”

“No, but they never got together.” He frowns.

You roll your eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re soooo pretty. Did you do something to your face? Your dark circles look extra dark tonight.” Satoru tries to catch your cheek in his palm, fine sand slipping through his fingers as you pull away.

“Shut up!” Your mixed chuckles course through your body, reigning over the tremors that previously had you shriveling into a ball of tightly packed limps. Staying mad at him is impossible when he’s actually there; all mood for poignancy gone in an instant.

“You never answered my question.” A featherlight hum brushes against the shell of your ear, the pout easy on his tone. “What are you still doing up?”

With a knowing smile, you peer at the sky, feeling the press of his cheek on yours as he follows the movement of your eyes. “Whenever I miss you, the only thing that calms me is looking at the sky.”

“You know I’m not dead, right?”

“Say one more stupid thing, and that will change!” You warn with your pointer up. He kisses it. God.

You tap your finger against his forehead, urging some distance be put between the two of you. “Whenever I look at the sky,” you start again, “I see you.”

Breaking from his embrace, you shape two circles with your thumbs and forefingers, narrowing their size until they turn into a pair of minuscule goggles you lower over to where his eyes supposedly lie behind the blindfold. “See? Just like your eyes.”

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that.” Satoru gazes at the sky through your fingers, eventually tipping in your direction. He smirks, “I mean, the eyes of the Gojo Satoru are kinda hard to beat. See?”

Peeling the blindfold off, he lets your palms spread over his cheeks, azure eyes losing their vibrancy as your dainty fingers frame them better than any pair of sunglasses in his collection. He’s right. The original cannot compare. It’s not Satoru’s eyes that resemble the sky. It’s the sky that resembles his eyes, for in his 28 years, he’s managed to make something as ancient as time itself seem like a cheap rip-off.

“But I am flattered.” Warm palms cushion yours as he brings them to his mouth. You don’t realize how frigid they are until he starts blowing the cold away, smiling against them. “Means I’m always on your mind with how often your head’s in the clouds.”

“Can’t go one minute without bringing me down, huh?” Your voice frail once more.

“I can. But where’s the fun in that?”

You pull each other into a gentle kiss, Satoru’s arms snaking around your waist while your fingers cup his cheeks with urgency, fearing that by the time your eyes blink open, he’ll already have faded into stardust. He doesn’t share your concern, soft pecks interrupted by muffled chuckles, the taste on his lips giving you an idea of what he brought home with him.

“Pancakes?” Your tongue drags against his bottom lip. Foreheads pressed against one another.

“Mhm. Figured you’d be hungry for breakfast at this ungodly hour.” Satoru pecks your lips again and again, making it impossible to think straight, let alone answer, given how often your mouths are smashed together.

“How did you know I’d be up?” You breathe out.

“Hmm, a premonition?” He grins, playing with fire with how he mocks your previous words of concern. “My six eyes—”

“Do your six eyes tell you that you’ll be smacked in three, two, one!”

Limitless activates before your forehead can ram into his skull, the number of times you bob your head futile.

“One of these days, my anger will outdo your technique.” You promise.

“Can’t wait for that!” Satoru beams earnestly. “Maybe then I can teach you about domains too. Make my baby into the best—well, second-best sorcerer.”

Truly impossible.

The world quiets down as the final veil of the night is lifted from the sky and dawn begins its dance, everything it touches slowly coming into life. Light seeps between the yellowing grass blades, illuminating the morning dew that rests upon them. Water sparkles as it pours from the bamboo fountain, the constant thump setting the tempo for the birds’ song. Fragrance is drawn out of the towering pine trees, grounding the elegance of the showy blue hydrangeas. No room for despair in this imagery of hope, complete with Satoru’s presence, white lashes fluttering shut as he stretches like a cat in the sun.

You love him.

You know you do. You mean it every morning and every night when he makes you say it in between chuckles, slender fingers tickling the admission out of your ribs. You mean it when he moves heaven and earth to fulfill a stupid promise you made at 4 AM when you were drunk out of your mind and he tucked you into the comfort of your shared bed—somehow less sober without a drop of alcohol in his system.

You mean it when there’s sand in his eyes, when his breath doesn’t smell as peachy as one would expect of someone as ridiculously perfect as him, when his voice cracks during a sing-along. You mean it when his tongue licks the luscious coffee cream from your lips and when it greedily laps between the puffy lips down under.

There is so much you love about him that you’d run out of synonyms for words before you could jot them all down in a way that’s not dull to read, and still, you’d lose out on describing how exactly he makes you feel.

Because Satoru isn’t a person, so much as he is art. Sometimes he is just splash of colors across a canvas without the masterful strokes needed to hone him into a finished product. Other times, he is just the notes composing the wonderful lilt of his voice, too audacious to be deemed a symphony. He can be poetry too, spilling out of the ordinary 17-syllable arrangement of a haiku. But most of all, he is raw energy, an untamed torrent ripping through mountains and a whirlwind sweeping everything in its path.

It’s hard not to romanticize him in moments like this. They don’t come too often.

“You know, you don’t need tragedy to write a good love story.” Your tendency to break the silence festers into a bad habit. “We might be doomed by the narrative, but we are here to live. I’d rather live with you than die with you, or live a life without you.” You whisper, voice getting caught in your throat.

Sincerity always scared you, but if there’s one thing more regrettable than words you’ve said, then that’d be words that were never told.

Your focus shifts to your dangling feet, grass grazing your toes at the completion of each nervous sway. You are no longer touching. Not purposely at least, contact reduced to the slight nudge of your shoulders as Satoru leans against his to smile.

“Gotcha.” He says, not quite pressuring you to face him just yet. “It was easy-peasy, by the way. Yuji and Nobara did most of the work, while Megumi—he fell inside a curse’s stomach. It was hilarious! You should visit them soon; see how my kids have grown.”

Your lips pucker their way around your mouth, tongue poking at your cheek from the inside—prelude to a slow nod. Too uncertain to be directed at him. You regret bringing this up. You should’ve let yourself bask in his affections when they didn’t require a verbal answer.

“You worry too much.” Your uneasiness prompts Satoru to crane his neck and lay a tender kiss on the crown of your head. His voice serious when he says, “I won’t die.”

“That’s what everyone says right before they die.”

“But I’m not everyone. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I won’t die.”

You gulp, then huff a forced chuckle. “H-hey, that’s a pretty good catchphrase. You should use it in your fights when you’re about to deal the killing blow.”

“I have a better one. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I love youuuu~” He sings, seconds before his lips attack your neck, deft fingers mercilessly tickling your sides against the hard wood.

“God! You are so corny!” You blurt in between giggles.

“You love it!” He protests, a wild glint to his eyes. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Say it.”

“N-no way!”

“No?” The sadist stops his torture, finding new ways to torment you as he slyly moves toward the forgotten takeout. “Guess I’ll be enjoying these myself then. Thank me for the food!”

“Hey, Satoru! Wait!” You concede.

Maybe it’s fine to let him stand on the podium alone this once.

a/n: my mood is all over the place nowadays, suffering writer's block, wrote this as a self-indulgent 5 AM craze, help satoru brainrot too strong

[invisible-pink-toast]

i never liked soulmates. i think it feels cheap, to some degree, if there is someone or something out there that picked you out and declared, “this is the one. there is only Them.” - i don’t want to love if it’s pre- determined or foretold or in any way guaranteed. i want a mystery. i want to be able to hope. i want to look at you and say, “i am choosing this on my own. i am the one who decides to love on purpose, and nobody told me to love you, and nobody taught me how, and that is the sublimity of it: i love you because we are not destined. i love the choice of you.”

no hate to canonically soulmate couples, some of my favourite fictional couples are, but honestly i love the idea that you find someone and care about them and decide to love them and make it work much more romantic then being 'destined' to be with 'the one'

also i wrote this poem down years ago and i cannot find it anywhere online if anyone knows the author please tell me!

[artzychic27]

You know rose and sublime could bond over having marinette breathing over their shoulders to prove and being overbearing to them, that she ends up making them uncomfortable without even realizing it, even if it was obvious.

Rose/Sublime: *Eating lunch in silence*

Sublime: … Is she still there?

Rose: *Slowly looks out of her peripheral vision and sees Marinette sitting a few tables away staring at them* Yep.

Sublime: What are we gonna do? If we leave, she’ll follow us, and if we stay, she might make up some excuse to sit with us.

Rose: I can call one of my dads. They can drive us around the block several times so we lose her.

Sublime: Okay, then we get on a bus, head to a store to buy some cheap wigs and go from there.

[sgiandubh]

So in other words, you agree, Sam and Cait are not very good actors as exemplified by the scene being them and not Beauchamp and Fraser. On that, agreed. She might be a C actor, he's definitely a D

Dear Beauchamp and Fraser Anon,

I suspect you might be a returning one, by the way, hoping to catch me unprepared with a very cheap sophism. Check this concept on Wikipedia if you wish, but I will give you my definition: manipulated or derailed logic, i.e. formally sustainable, but in reality just a fallacy; or, if you prefer, a bunch of crap, just for the sake of it. Also, it would be wise not to try these cheap tricks on someone trained to work with words and doing so every single day: you might find no satisfaction, ultimately.

Fun fact: I don't agree with any single word you just wrote. Sam and Cait are very good and gifted actors. Both of them. They did wonders with a very inconsistent script and under barbaric public pressure. What dragged you in here, Anon? Mrs. Gabaldon's florid, even luxuriant prose? What kept you in here, Anon? Blood and sperm and rape galore? I should wish you were honest, at least for once in your life, and let your answer be 'not really'.

What I meant by that phrase was something very simple: the actors' life experience deeply informing and sublimating their performance. If you think real and creative lives are strictly separate affairs in any intellectual endeavor, then you are probably completely unfamiliar with anything remotely related to writing, singing, playing (an instrument), acting, composing or painting. All these are akin to magic and all of the above are a summoning of sorts: ask any 'content creator', you will probably get a very similar answer. In Cait and Sam's case, their real life story nurtures and elevates their acting, despite people like you.

I am not an actor myself, but a long time ago it was acting that liberated me and taught me to not be afraid of anything. I did not make a living out of it, but I will always have the tools making me able to access that very special energy, any time I should need it. So, I can only offer you an educated opinion of These Two:

C is a very, very good actress. She is classy, sophisticated and knows instinctively how to occupy a stage or a set. She worked and progressed a LOT since Season 1, when it took me a good while to warm up to her. Add to this what I think is arresting beauty. Not really a C-level, in my book.

S is a wonderfully gifted actor who, unlike C, does not have any idea of this potential and, to be honest, gives the impression to even not care about it. He singlehandedly dominated some of the most difficult moments of the series (that unwatchable Wentworth episode comes to mind). His mastery of the Stanislavski and Lecoq methods and techniques is excellent. He is likeable, personable and has an innate emotional intelligence, helping him navigate and compensate the weaknesses of (yes, I insist!) an often insufficient script. I have already written about it, with arguments, when I found some very interesting parallels between The Fiery Cross episode and Laurence Olivier's performance in Shakespeare's Henry V. I will say it again: this guy has been grossly miscast, spare for JAMMF.

Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the whole preparation and rehearsal process when producing a movie or a series or a theatre show. These people don't just learn their lines by heart and turn up for readings and rehearsals. They also read and watch a lot of things that could help them build better, more credible characters. But what makes the sometimes very subtle difference between a decent performance and a stellar one is the amount of themselves they allow inside their acting. And in this respect, I think Sam and Cait have been very lucky, in what is a very clear case of Art (instinctively) imitating Life.

I doubt this answered your question and to be honest, I don't care.

[maxdibert]

i respect your take on snape, although he’s still not really a character i love, but i feel like a huge difference between snape and regulus/james/etc. for people who write fan fics or create stuff for the mauraderers fandom in general is the fact that people have the liberty to create their futures (since they all died very young, regulus is essentially entirely a fanon character, as is pandora, and many others), while with snape like canonically we know how he turns out, how he has mistreated children as a teacher, etc., and that’s just not something everyone can forgive, and yes there are intersectional factors in his upbringing that influence his actions but his actions are still his own, and at that point in the books he is a literal adult with like a lot of power, being a teacher, integral to dumbledor, and important to the DEs, his cruelty just seems quite unnecessary and i don’t think it’s wrong for it to not be everyone’s cup of tea. also to say the whole fandom is classist is honestly a reach, remus, lily, mary, etc. are also not rich pure bloods and they are generally beloved characters.

i get the premise of the point that it would be hypocritical to dislike snape and love characters like regulus, remus, james, etc, but again one of the main draws to these characters is the fact that there is like so little to work with from cannon, but each character has enough about them in cannon to create really interesting character dynamics (and there are just so many characters to work with, like pandora, mary, lily, etc. and the gen x characters are from like three families essentially, there’s just less to work with). with these baseline characteristics and early tragic deaths it’s easy to grasp onto these characters, and write stories where their futures could be better, and they could change for the better while with snape that story is entirely written and his actions just don’t appeal to everyone. snapes arc is quite fleshed out by jkr, in a way the majority of the characters in the mauraderers fandom isn’t, which is also why people might prefer other characters and still not like snape

That would make sense if one of the fan favorites weren’t Barty Crouch Jr, whose future we all know, and it’s much worse than Severus’s. It would also make sense if the only Slytherin they fangirl over were Regulus, but there’s also Evan Rosier, who was one of Voldemort’s biggest supporters. They even let Peter slide on many things, even though he was the main traitor of the Potters and a lifelong bootlicker of Voldemort. Honestly, the issue with Severus doesn’t seem to have anything to do with how he ends up as an adult. I think that’s just a cheap excuse people use to justify their classism and beauty privilege and also to avoid confronting the reality that what bothers them most about Severus as a character is that, indeed, he’s the marginalized victim who doesn’t fit in economically, socially, or physically, who gets mocked for not conforming to beauty standards and for having a non-hegemonic appearance. And that’s literally what those same haters try to impose in their distorted, wannabe version of the Marauders. But Severus doesn’t work for them as a projection because he’s not the cool, popular guy, and they need to project themselves onto characters who were cool and popular to sublimate their unresolved fantasies of school popularity.

[oliviasfashion]

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[osakanone]

I've been getting into gunpla and i'd like a rec since you know mecha. Are there any gunpla you recommend? I'd appreciate one that doesn't look like a dude as much as possible.

The closest i've gotten to that idea so far is a guarda/rever nova build from the 30 minute missions line because of the two scorpian arms.

May I suggest the Wodom Pod?

Its fairly simple to build, very cheap and readily available.

--

If you want to straddle the "a guy thing" in your mentality and challenge it a little, also good is the Aegis specifically its transformation mode as its primary mode (like all humanoid MS) is intended for generalized combat and front-line logistical work (hence the hands).

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If not, Hildolfr is a fun one. He bridges the space between early mobilesuits in minovsky signals displacement warfare and was used by a starship cannon pilot, requiring a lot of manual skill to aim well!

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The Xamel is also really good though only provided you've got skills to bring the best out of the kit with scribing and painting. He's a heavy launch platform hovercraft designed for opening vollies with a high powered mortar grenade system via coordinates coming from other units, with legs designed for hit and run skirmishes so he can make his get-away after providing the opening strikes and fire-support during the mop-up phase of an attack.

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Not gunpla, and a bit more advanced is Variable Infinity's Armored Core Aaliyah. You're probably gonna need some glue for this as smaller parts fall off. Its extremely detailed, and very "not a guy" despite being humanoid.

It uses a spherical particle field of highly radioactive and toxicparticles to protect and cool itself, and is capable of absurd mobility.

Quite a pain in the ass to work with, the design itself is utterly sublime and a spectacle to look at and I fell in love with it circa 2007 with Armored Core 4. Sadly, it isn't anywhere near as posable as most Gunpla due to how "un-guy-like" its body design is. These are the concessions we make cool appearances like this.

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A substantially easier build (and much closer to Gunpla) is bandai's 30 minute mission 30MM Armored CORE Ⅵ Fires of Rubicon - BALAM Industries BD-011 MELANDER Liger Tail

I'm a huge sucker for 4-legged mecha since they're about as far from "an guy" as you can get. They're also super affordable right now if you can find a stockist who isn't a scalper.

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Also while not Gunpla, if you have advanced skills, Gunhed is also very good though it requires a lot of extra work since the plastic provided with this kit is more of a raw material you need to do work to, to achieve the look and hide the seams akin to more traditional model kits. Gunhed's role is to invade gigantic sprawling synthetic superstructures and wipe out unmanned weapons.

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Though likely not to your tastes, my own personal favourite of the year has actually been the Lfrith Ur. I don't usually go for chunkier designs but it has that delightful "chubby girl in a swimsuit" energy despite being a very intense and scary weapon that scratches some strange itch in my brain that I find deeply pleasing.

It is likewise, also very cheap -- and if you get two of them, its very easy to mod them together into a single 4-legged machine with double loadout (very cool, and probably bringing it more in like with your preference -- I wish I still had photos: I'm currently out of the country and my "big database of cool research files" is at home and wouldn't search well from two continents away)

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Also Zowort heavy from the same line if you do the same quad-leg/tetrapod adaption looks amazing. I have a huge soft-spot for unusual legs, if its not clear.

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I hope this provides some food for thought. If you have a clearer idea of the kind of kit you want, or what your needs are, let me know and I can provide more suggestions if you'd like.

Happy modelling!!

[drdemonprince]

reluctantly went to see babygirl cause the person i'm crushing on wanted to go and i ended up loving it. the audience was super reactive which added to the experience and made it more interesting. don't want to spoil anything but really interested in your opinion once you do see it.

im so fucking sad that the cheap, chatty theater The New 400 isn't open anymore because seeing this film with a bunch of loud gays and townies would be sublime

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #2 box

So, I had this idea yesterday about a funny little "box"-AU.

I supposed it would become a short ficlet (famous last words) only to find out that it has a lot of potential and I have more ideas about what is going to happen.

I already worked over 2 hours today on it (time that I didn't really have in the first place) and it is nowhere from finished. I don't want to stress myself even more and/or rush this, therefore

Behold Part One of

"The Perfect Place"

--------

Sherlock turned up his collar and plucked up his courage.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged into his mind palace and went through every detail of his plan for the very last time before he would put it into action. He recalled stalking the man for two days, very carefully as to not reveal himself, to deduce all there was to be possibly gleaned from all the minutiae he could observe.

Sherlock found no flaw in his plan (of course he didn't, he never would because he himself came up with it). It had to succeed. There would be no second chance. It was now or never.

He entered and a tiny bell chimed above the door, announcing his arrival. Into battle, Sherlock thought.

“I want to buy a boxspring bed.”

+++++

John Watson startled badly in his seat when he heard the bell chime.

He had not been looking at the door since he had been fiddling with his gun for the umpteenth time (there were no rounds in it so it was safe) because it was boring as hell in the shop.

He had brought his illegal service weapon since the fourth day he worked here as a shop assistent, hoping against all hope that some benign person would storm in and try to rob the cash register (no robber worth their salt would even consider doing this) so that finally something fun and exciting would happen to him.

John had kept his hands and the weapon hidden behind the counter and thus out of sight from the potential customers (he was possibly mad but not that mad) and now he quickly shoved it into a drawer.

John stared at the surprise customer who had stumbled into “Bernie’s Bed Shop” and - holy moly - was he a sight to behold.

On a scale from 1 to 10 the man was a certified 11. John was already jealous of the mattress that would get to hug and caress and wrap itself around this sublime body every night. Life was just unfair.

Still, John could barely believe his luck. Finally, a customer who actually (apart from being the most gorgeuos human being John had ever seen) wanted to buy a bed, even one of those ridiculously posh and expensive ones with boxsprings. Also, being the first one asking for a bed in John's three and a half terrible weeks of working (suffering) as a bed shop assistant.

Thankfully, John remembered to plaster his most winning, helpful and customer-friendly smile onto his face (it was in fact not, resembling rather the anguished expression that a trapped animal with one leg stuck in a bear trap would have) and went around the counter to welcome the god. Godsend.

“Then you are in the perfect place. Bernie’s Bed Shop offers a lot of different boxspring beds. My name is John Watson, may I show you some variants or do you already have something special in mind?”

Sherlock blinked at John. Yes, you, he thought. His throat was suddenly dry with John Watson standing so close to him for the very first time. On a scale from dull to brilliant the man was a certified genius. Simply perfect.

“Show me what you have,” Sherlock asked, slightly husky and meaning something totally different. (He meant what was under these terrible grandpa clothes John wore, of course).

Please God, let him buy a bed, John prayed silently, being painfully aware that as a salesperson he had been utterly failing.

So far, he had merely sold a pair of cheap bedsheets to an elderly short-sighted woman and a heart-shaped decorative cushion to a sloshed builder. He had tried his very best every time when a customer had set their foot into the shop, being forthcoming and friendly and polite but somehow, they had all left more or less quickly without buying anything.

John did not know why that happened every time (it was his anguished smile, obviously) but he did know that this was his last chance to score or Bernie would definitely fire him at the end of this week. John would be without a job once again and would soon have to leave London because even the terrible bedsit he lived (existed) in would become unaffordable.

"Follow me then, please." John walked to the back of the shop where the premium beds stood. "May I present you the 'Royal Metropolis Deluxe'. It has every feature a boxspring bed can have that you could possibly imagine."

Just like your deluxe body, John thought.

I have a very vivid imagination, Sherlock thought and ogled John instead of the bed.

+++++

That's it for today!

Flower Shop AU? Coffee Shop AU? Tattoo Shop AU? Nope! All outdated. I felt there is crying need for a Bed Shop AU. 🤣

tagging some people (tagging on desktop seems to work) @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @raina-at @lisbeth-kk