More frames here.
Like a moth, flitting towards a flame..
Follow etall, she’s amazing
I’m so so sorry. (I’m not sorry. I’m hilarious.)
I want to be
I want you
to think about kissing
as much as I
— Alena M.
Alyssa Monks is one of the formost emerging contemporary artists in America today. Her paintings are often presented as faces behind sheets of water, whether it be steamy shower door, or within a pool of tranquility.
Manueluv and I are convinced Agent K is Coulson’s father. Hell, MIB is even owned by Marvel.
Welp. Never gonna unsee this.
HEADCANON ACCEPTED SO FAST I THINK I BROKE SOMETHING
MY MIND HAS BEEN BLOWN REALLY BAD RIGHT NOW
I love this headcanon so much
As long as this ended with Hannibal’s head on a pike in Bobby’s front yard, I’d go for it.
Depending on the writer it would end with Hannibal getting run over by a vegan-delivery truck
A titanium escape ring with a handcuff shim and a saw blade hidden inside, the shim can open single lock handcuffs and the saw blade can cut through zipcuffs, duct tape, and other types of restraints. buy one here
[[…yeah nope had to do it, couldn’t not.]]
John wakes slowly, content and luxurious. The other side of the bed is empty - typical - but still warm. The sun pours in through the window and John grins, stretching.
Then he realises that the sun is glinting off of his right hand; frowning, he brings it closer to his face for closer inspection.
There’s a ring on his finger where none had been the night before. It’s plain, silver coloured and buffed almost matte. Nothing flashy, just a simple and utilitarian band that fits his right ring finger snugly but without danger of becoming too tight.
It is perfect - and bloody typical.
"Sherlock?" he calls, feeling entirely reluctant to leave the gorgeous bed - but as he gets no answer, he eventually drags himself out from the lovely down comforter and plods down the stairs, pulling his dressing gown out of his suitcase and around his shoulders on his way down.
The cottage is a bit of a maze; seemingly small enough, but with enough idiosyncratic halls and strangely shaped rooms to confuse John thoroughly. Sherlock is not in the shower room, the scullery, living room or kitchen. There is, however, a plate of the scones Mrs. Hudson had packed them keeping warm in the oven, and John brings them along for company on the rest of his hunt. Finally, he finds Sherlock curled up with a book and his own plate of scones in a small room best described as a breakfast nook, just off the lounge.
"You know," John remarks casually, pausing to lean against the doorway and watch Sherlock happily munching on a scone, golden sunlight turning his curls nearly auburn where it touches them. "I think it’s tradition to stay in bed as long as humanly possible, the morning after one’s wedding night."
Sherlock tilts his head back to look at him and smiles. “You know I don’t have much time for tradition, John.”
"That so?" John grins and crosses over to him, leaning over his tilted head and planting a kiss on his lips. "What’s this then?" He waggles his right hand in front of Sherlock’s face. The new ring glinting dully in the sun. Sherlock’s cheeks flush, ever so slightly. As if John catching him out in a small fit of sentimentality is somehow shameful when the entire wedding had been his idea. John kisses both pinked cheeks. "I don’t mind, I just thought we weren’t doing rings. I seem to recall them being ‘pedestrian’ and ‘cumbersome’ and ‘infinitely impractical, John. Gloves! Think of all the gloves!"
Sherlock’s cheeks pink even more; John grins and slides onto the couch next to him, lifting long cotton-clad legs into his lap and petting idly at graceful white feet.
"That’s not just a ring, John," Sherlock says, ducking his eyes.
"If you say something about how it’s not a ring it’s a promise, I might have to deck you."
"Don’t be ridiculous," Sherlock snorts. "That’s not just a ring, it’s an escape mechanism."
John frowns. “What?”
"Take it off, see for yourself."
John pulls the ring off - it goes easily, being perfectly sized to his finger - and inspects it briefly before bursting out in delighted laughter. Sure enough: where most people would have placed some sort of saccharine inscription, the ring Sherlock has given him contains instead a tiny but obviously devastatingly sharp saw and, if John’s not mistaken, a handcuff shim.
"That’s -" John shakes his head, grinning. Sherlock smiles at him, still shy. It’s delicious. John leans over and kisses him for a long moment, unable to stop himself. "Perfect," John says, against his lips. "It’s perfect."
"It’s -" Sherlock coughs, clearly struggling with the sentimentality of the moment, but forcing himself to charge on regardless. "It’s … in case I can’t always get to you in time. So - so that you can always get back to me."
John’s breath catches in his chest. He shakes his head; his cheeks hurt from smiling. “Sherlock Holmes, you never cease to surprise me.”
"You don’t have to wear it, if you don’t want. We said we weren’t…"
"Shut up," John says, and slides the ring carefully back in place. "Do you have one too?"
Sherlock scoffs. “Of course I have, John. Though I will admit, it’s mostly symbolic, as I can’t imagine I would need such an instrument to get out of any but the most expert physical restraints.”
"Oh, of course. But still - just in case."
"Indeed," Sherlock says. He fusses in the pocket of his dressing gown and pulls a matching ring out, placing it in John’s left hand. "Just in case."
John slides the ring onto Sherlock’s ring finger gently; Sherlock uses his right hand to guide John closer for a kiss.
"I should probably tell you now," Sherlock mumbles against his lips. "I think it’s entirely possible Mycroft has bought us this cottage. He was likely intending to save telling us until after we return from the honeymoon, as a sort of surprise."
John snorts. “Of course he has.”
"You don’t mind? I thought you’d be annoyed. Too grand, too interfering -"
"I probably will mind. But later. Right now I want to kiss my husband for at least half an hour, not think about his overbearing older brother. Is that acceptable?"
Sherlock grins, and he grips John’s right hand in his left so that their rings clink together. “Perfect.”
THIS RING THO OMG