“I love her. I love everything about her. I love her flaws, EVERYTHING. That’s why I am willing to do anything and everything even without her asking. I just hope she will feel how much I love her through that.”
* If your sign doesn’t appear in top, it doesn’t mean your sign isn’t sexy. All zodiac signs are sexy and attractive* *Check your Sun sign, Moon sign, Ascendant, Mars sign, Pluto sign, Venus sign and Lilth sign*
5. Virgo: He required by intelligence. Basically, the power of being the omniscient makes him very sexy. Smiles shyly, like that of Hugh Grant, will melt your heart. When it falls, it becomes your slave, and what is an attribute that many women appreciate it.
4. Aries: The aries is the kind of man forever young, whatever age he is. His passion for life and for action is proverbial passi. He tends to live their life on the edge. His athletic physique will attract attention before he had even started to put their characteristic charm.
3. Sagittarius: Sagittarius man has a physique that inspires masculinity and sense of humor is his best quality. They attract a lot of people by fine humor and it’s almost impossible not to laugh out loud or smiling next to them. They have a positive thinking, sometimes they are euphoric. He’s charming, playful and jovial.
2. Aquarius: Aquarius man is a great presence, which you can not pass lightly. Sensuality is his strong point and a field where he likes to experiment. He is rebellious, dreamy and enthusiastic.
1. Scorpio: Scorpio man has incredible power of seduction, is sure of himself, charming, exudes self-confidence and perfectly mastered the art of seduction by words. People naturally gravitate around him. He’s annoyingly confident, irresistible and desirable.
Dai Gyakuten Saiban (2015) is a better Sherlock Holmes adaptation than BBC Sherlock.
In order for me to explain why properly, though, we must take a step back and discuss a number of things the minds behind BBC Sherlock very likely knew next to nothing about. Back in the good old 1800s, colonialism was becoming A Thing, and with that came the rise of European Nationalism. For the first time ever, most of Europe was attempting to give itself a uniform cultural identity, which very quickly lead to the erasure (and oppression) of many, many minorities.
Then came Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a naive Irishman who himself did not fit into these strict social norms. Being the poor med student he was, he wrote a number of detective stories revolving around the middle class– an unintentional exposé
of the people England attempted to erase.
BBC Sherlock acknowledges none of this. To the contrary, it goes out of its way to ignore this fact. Gone is the knowledge that Watson “had neither kith nor kin in England”; gone is the fact that the country squires Holmes is descended from more likely dabbled in francs than in pounds; gone are the infinitesimal number of characters simply described as “swarthy”. Now only the anglo-est of saxons need apply. What was once a rebel fighting on behalf of those who who had no one else became our Rain Man– or rather, our “high functioning sociopath”.
Dai Gyakuten Saiban exists at the opposite end of this spectrum. It strips London of its romanticism, leaving a powerful city with a crumbling infrastructure in its wake. Instead of Holmes acting as the symbol of what makes Victorian England great, he stands as the epitome of everything Imperialist England fails to be. He is kind where others would be vengeful. He is compassionate where others would be ignorant. He would stand on a chair where others would sit in it.
What I’m getting at here is that BBC Sherlock’s defining characteristic is being The Smartest Man In The Room. DGS Sherlock Holmes, on the other hand, enters the aforementioned room with a brief song and dance number, makes a dozen inquiries about facts that go nowhere, then apologizes when he realizes catching the murderer ruined your dinner.
Dai Gyakuten Saiban is better than BBC Sherlock because Moftiss knows nothing about 19th century tax laws. Or the Anglo-Japanese Alliance of 1902. Or pawn shops. How on earth do they plan on deconstructing a piece of work if they don’t understand why it exists in the first place?
Anon Request: Will you write a one shot where Dean and the reader are like each others weekly booty call with q lot of dirty talk?
Anon Request: Can you do a rough Dean x reader? With a lot of dirty talk and kinky? Thanks!
Warnings: some feelsy stuff, dirty talk, temperature play, smut.
A/N: Flashbacks are in Italics. So originally, this was supposed to be like 1k, I got carried away then I fell in love. I hope y’all love this as much as I do, I cried while writing this…twice, even my sister said something along the lines of feels (that never happens). Let me know what you think :)
The man was like no other man you had ever met. He was smart, handsome, loving, you could go on forever with all of the characteristics you loved about the man, but you’d be here for a lifetime.
You’ve know Dean for your entire life. You were his next door neighbor in Lawrence. His mom was best friends with your mom for years before you and Dean were even an idea. Dean was older than you by six months, and for a while, those six months were pretty significant. The difference between the big kid swing and the baby swing. He would smirk at you while his mom would push him on the swing while your dad pushed you in the little one. Dean would constantly bring up how he was older to you when the two of you were kids.
It stopped instantly when he lost his mom in the house fire. Dean’s dad was determined to find the thing that killed Mary, and your dad, who just happened to be John’s best friend, decided to set out with him. Your mom was going to go wherever your dad went. While the three of you stayed back in motels she would take care of you. Dean didn’t talk for awhile and even at that age, you could understand why. You would talk to him everyday, even if he wouldn’t say a word back. Sometimes he would smile softly at something you said, and that was enough to keep you going. After awhile, he came around, but most of all, he stuck to your side. He protected you.
Hey~ Whenever you have time, could you do a mini fic about your favorite mysme character experiencing sympathy symptoms and that’s how they figured out MC is pregnant? Thank you :) ((Your blog is lovely, by the way ❤))
Admin Pancake @potatooopancakes Hey hey 😁 So glad to hear you’re enjoying the blog, even with Phae and I being new and all, hehe. This one was kind of a toughie for me, just cause I knew absolute zilch about pregnancy… I had to research its symptoms 😅 I also had trouble choosing which character to write, cause Saeyoung and Yoosung are my favorites but Saeyoung is /everyone’s/ favorite and I want to write you something outside of the norm! After much deliberation, I finally decided on…
JUMIN had never wanted to vomit so much in his life.
He stared at his coffee, made exactly the way he had requested every day for as long as he could remember, and gagged. Why? He liked his coffee. The cafe below his penthouse made excellent drinks, and this one had been custom made for him— five shots of espresso with a coconut whipping on top, no cream, no sugar. He drank this precise mix daily for years and enjoyed it thoroughly each time. It never had to change, because it was always made perfectly.
Today, though, just the sight of it made his stomach churn in repulsion. He pushed the cup away from him over the glass top of his desk as he pressed the most used button on his intercom.
“Assistant Kang,” he said into the mic. “Come in here a moment.”
There was no response at the other end, but after a few seconds Jaehee pushed through the door with a folder stuffed under her arm and some papers in her hands. There were bags under her eyes, and her voice was hoarse when she spoke.
“What is it, Mr. Han?”
“Dispose of my coffee in the break room sink. Be sure to wash it down correctly. Please clean the sink after you’ve finished.”
Jaehee’s lips tightened slightly. “Yes, sir.”
“I also want to see the documents from yesterday morning’s meeting on my desk by noon.”
“Of course, Mr. Han.” She managed to get a hold on the untouched coffee and hastily turned towards the door before he had the opportunity to add anything else to the list.
Jumin’s nausea was still hovering around him by the time he had left the C&R building for home. On his way out, he had passed Assistant Kang’s desk; sitting on top was the coffee from this morning, half empty. Another wave hit him.
MC had greeted him at the door of the penthouse that night with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek.
“It’s good to see you, darling.” He pulled her into a quick hug. “I haven’t felt myself today. I feel better just seeing you.”
She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, then his cheeks, examining his face with concern. “You feel fine, sweetie. I don’t think you’re sick… maybe you should get into bed early tonight.” Her hands traveled from his face to the front of his suit jacket, tugging it gently off of his shoulders. She was so beautiful. Her gaze was trained on his suit, but he brought his fingers to her chin and turned her face upwards towards him.
“I love you.”
Her expression softened. She didn’t say a word, but she pulled him into a kiss that said plenty.
“Get some sleep, Jumin.”
The funny thing was, as tired he was, Jumin couldn’t sleep for the life of him. He tossed underneath the sheets until he heard MC tiptoe through the door, and he stilled his body and waited so as not to worry her. He felt her lips press against his hair, linger and then disappear. He lay there until he could hear her breathing steady and slow, then he got to his feet quietly and left the bedroom.
The living area of the penthouse was bathed in the milky lights of the city skyline. A faint glow from the aquarium in the corner swam playfully across the room, disrupted by Jumin as he crossed the space to deposit himself on the couch. A subtle noise from the other end of the couch drew his attention towards a white figure perched on the armrest.
“Elizabeth the 3rd,” he crowed. The ghostly animal floated along the back frame of the couch towards him and sprung lightly on to his lap. He passed a hand over her back a few times before placing her aside to rise and make his way toward his phone.
“Hello? Yes, I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Pyagai tomorrow.” As he spoke, he wandered along the edges of the room until he reached the couch and sat down again.
It wasn’t long after he had hung up the phone that his eyes began to feel heavy. A thought arose weakly of moving to the bed to sleep, but was pushed away swiftly into the blurry corners of his mind. His head began to loll forwards, backwards, until his body had slumped against the back of the sofa, filled with unconsciousness and no longer plagued by insomnia.
Jumin awoke with a blanket laid across his body, a cat curled up on his lap, and the ache of a lifetime inside his neck. A small groan escaped his throat as he sat upright, upsetting the sleep that had taken Elizabeth. She stretched exaggeratedly and leapt to the ground. Jumin yawned in response. He got to his feet lazily, roaming the area until he found his way to the kitchen. As he walked a dull pain in the pit of his stomach pushed its way to his attention, making him wince and contract over his abdomen.
“What is happening to me?” he muttered to himself, stopping at the kitchen counter to pick up a handwritten note. The penmanship was, Jumin could admit, a little on the messy side, but it belonged to MC and was therefore adorable.
Jumin, it read, I got a call from Dr. Pyagai this morning. You missed your appointment! It’s alright, we’ve pushed it back to 2 o'clock so that you could get some rest. Don’t worry about trying to head to work today… I called Jaehee, she’s got everything under control. Take it easy! I’ll be back soon. I love you~ MC
He smiled warmly at his wife’s note and glanced at the clock. Twelve forty-six— how had he slept this late? He rubbed his eyes as he turned toward the bedroom to get ready.
“It seems, Mr. Han,” the man began, “that you’re experiencing such various and uncorrelated symptoms that I could not conclude on a single sickness.”
Dr. Pyagai was a very unremarkable man. He had brown hair, black eyes masked by reading glasses and wore the standard white medical coat over a white shirt. A little thicker around the waist, a bit shorter than the average man. He had a terribly dry sense of humor. With a clipboard tucked under his arm, he fiddled with a pen as he spoke evenly and softly in a manner so monotone that Jumin had a hard time distinguishing a word from the one before it. In fact, this was the most striking characteristic about the man.
“And what does that mean for my health?” Jumin asked.
The doctor drew in a long breath before hiding behind his clipboard to speak again. “Considering the cramping, food aversions, nausea and irregularities in sleep pattern you mentioned today,” he paused to lick his lips, “and the bloating you mentioned over the phone that you’d experienced two weeks ago, I would say that you were pregnant had you missed a menstrual cycle.” He peered through his glasses at Jumin’s face intently. “Have you missed a menstrual cycle, Mr. Han?”
He shook his head in impatience, but Dr. Pyagai gave one short chuckle and continued. “Good. In that case, I’ll conclude that your wife is 3 months pregnant. You’ve been having symptoms for at least 1 month. What you’ve been experiencing is known as Couvade Syndrome, better known as sympathy symptoms. Many patients find that spending time with some male friends can help alleviate the effects of Couvade.” He slid the clipboard back under his arm and turned, pulling the reading specs off of his nose and folding them over his shirt.
Jumin scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. My wife would have told me if she was pregnant.”
Pyagai looked at him with raised eyebrows, then turned again. “Do you have any better ideas, Mr. Han?”
“You’re the doctor, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. And your symptoms are indicative of Couvade Syndrome. That’s my diagnosis.”
He blinked. His wife, pregnant? With a baby?
Jumin probably shouldn’t have shouted at Driver Kim as forcefully as he did, but something inside him was boiling and this worthless car was moving so incredibly slowly that he nearly called for another. He had to get home. Now.
He burst through the front door, panting slightly. His hair was falling out of place, and things were moving much to quickly. But when MC looked at him from the couch with confusion and worry in her eyes, everything stood still.
He was crossing the room in only a handful of long strides until he had fallen at her feet. Her hands cupped each side of his face, and she looked into it with wide eyes.
“Jumin, what is it? What happened?”
“Is it true? Is there…” He trailed off.
“Sweetie, is everything alright? Please tell me you’re okay.” She ducked her head to study his face, his eyes, his expression. He met her gaze.
“A baby,” he whispered.
MC stopped. Silence fell over the entire room like snow. Seconds passed. A minute. Two. It was quiet.
And then, a breath.
He felt his throat catch. His hands found her stomach, where he could already feel a small bump beginning to grow. MC was running her fingers through his hair and along his face and back again. Something wet dropped onto his hand.
Jumin had never wanted to cry so much in his life.
As a visual artist, I work around themes such as identity, perception, and complexity, through portraiture through digital and plastic tools. In the manner of a collage, I assemble several pieces from paintings, photographs or drawings, this is for me a reflection on man and the definition of its hybrid identity and the complexity of the contemporary world in which he lives. The ever faster flow of information to which he is confronted makes his world a framework that becomes both abstract and confused. I try to put into scene these mixed and multi-layered characteristics of today’s man through a practice that uses both traditional tools and techniques of creation as well as those derived from the computer world.
All I want from a modern Sherlock Holmes adaptation (and it can be a period setting) is a Mycroft as brilliant - as smarter than his brother secretly runs England bloody genius as he is in the books, AND as fat! Those are Mycroft’s defining characteristics. He is the smartest man alive, and also one of the fattest. He defies the expectation which was rampant even in the 1890s that fat people are stupid or immoral or should be ignored, and that is his greatest strength!
And ever since skinny old Christopher Lee played him back in the 80s or whenever, other filmmakers and tv shows have used that as precedent and backed off on a fat Mycroft. I even watched an interview with the people who made the BBC Sherlock, and they had the fucking audacity to say they loved the Lee Mycroft because he was “so brilliant and interesting and smart” you dickweeds EVERY Mycroft bearing even the merest resemblance to the novel character is brilliant and interesting and smart, you fuckers just couldn’t see it when a fat man played the role!
So while I do love Elementary (I’ve only watched like two seasons because I moved and didn’t have access to cable, and then rediscovered it on Hulu) I really wish they had cast a fat Mycroft, because then it would be perfect. But no, they have a Mycroft who used to be very fat, then got cancer and lost a ton of weight while undergoing chemo. Yet, magically, looks like a man who was never fat because oh hey, the actor has never been fat.
Do you anticipate any further explanation or understanding of the dragons in the last two books, or do you think that they'll continue to be nuclear weaponry with cool names and little distinguishing characteristics?
Hey man! I think the dragons have been well-established as externalizations of Dany in the same way the direwolves are for the Starklings. Their birth on the Dothraki Sea reflects her rebirth at the end of AGOT as a leader in her own right, apart from Drogo and Viserys. They become an object of fascination in ACOK and so does she, as the deceitful powers-that-be in Qarth seek to ensnare them, climaxing with Drogon saving Dany from the Undying. As they grow both literally and in terms of confidence and aggression in ASOS, the scope of her story widens accordingly, and they unleash her anger on the slavers. In ADWD, it takes a potent turn; Hazzea’s death, resonating as it does with the dead children throughout Dany’s storyline, leads Dany to consider the dragons representative of her worst self. Her locking up Rhaegal and Viserion is a blunt metaphor for her repressing her desire for outright war, and indeed, she turns to them (and the bloodthirsty Daario) for comfort and catharsis when her certainty in Hizdahr’s peace wavers. Drogon escaped, of course, and when Dany’s disgust and anger reaches its peak at Daznak’s, he returns to take her away. He then refuses to take her back, leading to her gradually rejecting Meereen as home, forgetting Hazzea’s name and instead embracing “fire and blood.”
Throughout all these storylines, Dany’s constantly communicating her emotions in terms of feeling fiery or (explicitly) like a dragon. This is in part the legacy of Viserys’ “wake the dragon” mantra; Dany associates anger and violence with dragon imagery. But GRRM’s also making a larger point about the possibilities and pitfalls of power, one rooted in the history of Valyria and the Targaryen regime in Westeros. On the one hand, Dany has the world’s only dragons, potentially a world-changing source of power and a connection to her Targaryen identity that’s not just secondhand info from her brother. On the other, that makes her a target, and again, she can’t fully control them, meaning there’s constantly the possibility that things will fall apart in a catastrophic fashion…especially if she decides she wants that. This, of course, has implications for the genre, the idea being that having flying WMDs doesn’t automatically solve your problems or the world’s (and indeed, they bring their own), nor do they inherently make you a worthy leader. GRRM’s always arguing against shortcuts in characterization. The magic in ASOIAF tends to complicate and deepen character dilemmas, not solve them.
As for how they’ll be used in the future: if Jon and Tyrion become dragonriders as I suspect, that will definitely contribute to their arcs in a big way (Jon RE Rhaegar, Tyrion RE “even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he’s seated on a dragon’s back"), and Dragonbinder has the potential to rework the dragons’ roles entirely, though probably temporarily. Regardless, they’ll always represent that teetering-on-the-edge between the power to change the world for good and the power to just burn everything down. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin…
You know, as nice as it was that Oswald had a father who loved him for five minutes- Elijah was not a good person. He makes a big to-do about wanting to leave everything to Oswald, which is sweet- but what he neglects to mention that is this means that Grace and her children, whom he likes to crow about rescuing from an abusive home, will be out on the street. He even tells Grace to her face that he wants her to call his lawyer, so that he can set this in motion- Honey, be a dear, and fetch my lawyer, so that I can return you to the gutter whence I found you. It’s not only obnoxious- it’s sociopathic. Now, one can make the argument that he trusts Oswald to do right be them, but one- it’s still a slap in the face to the woman who’s been sharing his bed for the past decade, and two- it assumes a lot about a man he’s known for a month, one who used to stab people for fun. This adds to Elijah’s long list of objectionable characteristics, naiveté. Either the man is willfully ignorant to the way the world works- or is downright sadistic.
It’s interesting that Oswald‘s parents, through the lens of Oswald‘s perception, are both sanitized. Gertrud, one will recall, gleefully recounts setting the secret police on a classmate’s father. When she’s not ranting about the hussies and sluts after Oswald, she’s trying, herself, to seduce every man in the room. I missed that Gertrud. Gotham’s strength is its ability to show us objectively terrible people forming real emotional attachments. This is why Edward‘s line about love being weakness, cumbersome, et cetera is not only silly, but tragic. As he usually does, he misses the point. Love, Gotham tells us, is for everyone- it doesn’t discriminate, it’s not a prize one gets for being good, it’s not a skill you pick up; it’s messy and strange, but it’s something anyone can feel. Gertrud was richer for being a truly nasty piece of work- who also happened to love her only child fiercely and without question. Without that nuance, she- and later, Elijah- were the idea of parents, but never the real thing.
Oh lord now people are criticising the term Manic Pixie Dream Girl for being misogynist.
“But I play the ukulele and I like to write and sing, does that make me one-sided and oppressive?”
Have you not understood the problem?
It isn’t that people who play the ukulele or sing or write are one-sided, it’s that with a MPDG that’s all there is to them. They have no character of their own. That is the problem, that women are portrayed as nothing more than a few quirky characteristics, made to make a man feel better about himself.
I play the ukulele, I like singing and I listen to music that could be describe as “kooky” but I am more than that. I will not allow myself to be reduced to a few of my hobbies. I have emotions, I am a complex human being and I do not exist to please others. I cry often, I have weird habits concerning food (and that is definitely not a cute character trait, it’s fucking annoying) and I am at times very grumpy, so if people want the sweet, ukulele-playing kooky side of me, they’re also going to have to put up with the annoying grumpy side. Because that’s how people and relationships work, you can’t have just the good parts, you have to have the complex and irrational parts as well.
In the beginning of Season 1, Andy is shown as someone who didn’t have his life together. His characteristics as a man-child seemed out of place next to Ann (not that he treated her all that well) but I’m just glad that they show how different things can be when you find someone who accepts you for who you are.
Theanthropic, n. /thē’an-trop’ik/
- The state of being both divine and human. The ascription of human
characteristics to divinity; the ascription of divine characteristics to man.
Belief in the possibility of the combination in one being of a nature both
human and divine.
Source: Funk & Wagnalls New
Standard Dictionary, 1953