john is confused

Another thing that gives me heartburn when I think about it:

-Sherlock’s eyes going softly closed and all the tension draining out of his shoulders, leaning down into it, when John kisses him for the first time.

2

Who would win in a fight between Papa Smoke and Papa John Shitfaced?

To answer this question I’m going to start with their stats. Based on appearance, I’ve estimated how each stack up and factored in their respective status changers. Let’s start with papa smoke:

Strength: 80 (60 natural strength due to his large build, +20 because of his chest hair)
Dexterity: 25 (He looks like he tries his best but isn’t quite as good as his peers.)
Stamina: 40 (60 naturally, -20 because of the massive amounts of smoke he inhales)
Charisma: 100 (His cigar and demeanor score him big for this one. He radiates an aura of invitation and kindness.)
Agility: 10 (His large size makes him easy to hit and his weight prevents him from moving quickly)
HP: 500, but it decreases by two every second because of the smoke

Next let’s examine Papa John Shitfaced

Strength: 60 (40 naturally, but the alcohol gives him the courage to hit harder)
Dexterity: 50 (80 naturally because of his impressive skills in pizza making, but the alcohol brings him down 30 points.)
Stamina: 80 (Due to the inhibiting properties of alcohol, he feels pain to a lesser extent which allows him to fight for longer)
Charisma: 40 (Naturally 80, but the alcohol has drastically affected his ability to form sentences, let alone settle conflicts.)
Agility: 70 (Naturally 90 because of his lean build, but the alcohol subtracts 20 points)
HP: 200

So how would a fight like this go down? What strategies would each fighter try to employ? Papa John Shitfaced’s strategy involves avoiding the huge attacks of Papa Smoke, and getting quick jabs in where he can, all while waiting for his health to deplete naturally. Papa Smoke takes a more direct strategy, knowing his time is limited he tries to get in as many hits as he can as fast as he can. Both strategies are hindered by each fighter’s skills, as Papa John will have a hard time evading while drunk, and Papa Smoke will have a hard time catching up to Papa John due to his extremely slow speed.

In order for Papa Smoke to win, he only needs to hit Papa John twice, as one hit deals 100 damage. In order for Papa John to win, he needs to evade Papa Smokes attacks for 4 minutes and 10 seconds. Given the odds, Papa Smoke has the highest chance of winning.

As the fight starts Papa John is too shitfaced to defend himself from Papa Smoke’s first swing and loses 100 HP at the very start. The hit snaps Papa John out of his drunken state a little bit and he retreats to the corner of the room. As Papa Smoke attempts to run over to him, he becomes fatigued which allows Papa John to get a punch on him. Papa John retreats to a different corner and repeats the process.

Halfway through the fight, Papa Smoke is at 250 HP and Papa John is at 100 HP. Papa John seems to have an unbeatable strategy and his chances of winning skyrocket. Papa Smoke’s health is shrinking by the second and he begins to lose hope. Instead of chasing Papa John he decides to wait in the middle of the room and re evaluate his strategy.

In his drunken confusion Papa John confuses this strategizing for another period of fatigue, and goes in for another hit. Papa Smoke is caught off guard by this but manages to turn around and scare Papa John with his calm demeanor. Papa John falls to the floor and backs up. Papa Smoke is now at an advantage, because now that Papa John is on the floor he’ll never be able to get back up due to how shitfaced he is.

Papa Smoke slowly backs Papa John into a corner. Realizing he’s exhausted his options, Papa John pulls out the gun he’s been keeping in his shirt and begins firing wildly. This frightens Papa Smoke, but Papa John is way too shitfaced to properly aim a gun. The stunt has only delayed the inevitable. Papa John takes one last breath and braces for impact, as Papa Smoke brutally delivers the final blow.

narwhalsarefalling  asked:

what if aliens just dont understand the concept of taking non professional photos like selfies and sharing them on the internet? like "John-human, you see me all the time. I do not wish to take another 'selfie' with you."

John-human was not of the sub category photographer, though they didn’t seem to be aware of that themself. No matter where they went, they brought their little ‘smartphone’ with them, seemingly for the sole purpose of photography. It was beyond irrational, especially considering that John-human was well aware that they were of the sub category physicist.

“John-human, you see me all the time. I do not wish to take another ‘selfie’ with you.” Cg’jlas said when the human suggested another photograph being taken of the two. “I have important work to do, and clearly you have a plethora of photographs of us together. What could you possibly need another one for?” It was getting to the point of being irksome, if xe were to be honest. None of the other humans seemed to consider the behaviour odd though, so xe would have to tread carefully in case xe was approaching cultural territory.

“It’s for my blog. I’ve got people asking to see another picture of us together, and I thought this’d be a good place to take one. It looks cool in here.” John-human said as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. To them it probably was.

“John-human, I am unfamiliar with some of these terms.” Xe said, contracting xir twarikial tentacle in an obvious show of confusion. “What is this ‘blog’, and why have other humans requested to see your photographs? Is it not most common to enjoy photographs of humans who are well known in general, or known to the human watching?”

“Oh, well, yeah? I guess, but we also like looking at pretty people or cool people, or just pretty pictures, and it’s really you all the fuss is about. They like seeing us together.” They said, elevating their shoulders briefly. “A blog is like a content sharing site on the internet – you remember when I told you about the internet, right?”

“Yes, it was quite… interesting. So you are not confused about which sub category in which you belong?” Xe asked, hoping xe didn’t come across as rude.

“You mean my job? No, I’m a physicist, why’d I be confused about that?” They asked, doing what Cg’jlas had learned was referred to as a ‘frown’.

“Because you seemed to be under the impression that you are of the sub category photographer. I am relieved that there is no confusion, John-human.” Xe said sincerely, making sure to have xir expression and posture show it.

“What? No, they’re just selfies. Everyone takes them, it’s a thing.” They said before proceeding to call one of their fellow humans over for one of these ‘selfies’. They then moved on to show Cg’jlas how they ‘posted’ the photograph, and some they had already posted. It made very little sense, but the fellow human seemed to be treat it as something normal, walking back to their work station after agreeing that John-human could post their photograph. They had asked to be ‘tagged’ in it, which xe had absolutely no idea what meant, but xe didn’t particularly want to find out either. It would just have to be another part of humans xe didn’t quite understand. It didn’t seem like an important part after all, if a bit irksome at times when xe was trying to work or focus.

They’ve come back from a case, Rosie long-asleep in the upstairs bedroom where there’s just enough room for her cot and John’s bed, and Sherlock is ranting.

Stupid,” he spits out, pacing to and fro in the living room, his hands in his hair. “Why was she so stupid? Why kill them in the first place, when she knows she’s the best suspect?”

“Well, she loved him,” John offers, even though he knows Sherlock doesn’t really want his opinion.

Sherlock scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, not even looking at John. “She didn’t love him.”

“What?” John sits up from where he’s been lazing on his chair. “Of course she did. Listen, I know you like to dismiss ‘sentiment,’ Sherlock, but love makes people do crazy things, so-”

“That,” Sherlock says and his voice is flat and angry at the same time, “was not love. That was possession, that was ownership, it may even have been jealousy, but it was definitely not love.” He infuses the word with such contempt that it makes John flinch, but Sherlock is moving again, glaring at the world as though it had personally offended him. “If she loved him, she’d have let him go. She’d have done everything in her power to make sure that he was happy, even if that meant he was with someone else. She’d have killed - she’d have died herself - if it meant that he would have one millimetre more happiness in his life than otherwise. She would have protected his lover with her life, she’d have done absolutely anything in her power to give him anything he wanted. Instead, she killed them both in a fit of jealous rage, because she never really loved him, she loved owning him. Like a favourite pair of shoes, or a pretty picture.”

John is still trying to absorb that rant when Sherlock crosses the room and slams his bedroom door behind him.

John sits in silence for a few moments before heading to bed.

He wakes up an hour later and John Watson has never actually experienced an epiphany before, never experienced that moment Sherlock is always chasing where all the pieces come together and your brain dissolves into fireworks and you know everything but he’s pretty sure that he just had one.

Before he can even think, he’s downstairs, pushing open Sherlock’s door and standing there like a fool.

Sherlock sits up, sleep-mussed and soft, and says “John, what’s wrong? Is it Watson?”

John licks his lips and tries to speak and…nothing.

Tries again.

“You…you love me,” he manages, and it’s a bare whisper, all he can force past the weight in his chest, of ten years of unsaid words. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock is looking at him with horror in his eyes.

“I-I” Sherlock says, and John interrupts him.

“Please say I’m wrong, Sherlock, please say I’m wrong,” and he’s speaking quickly now, tears running down his face unchecked, and his leg gives out and he finds himself on his knees by Sherlock’s bed, a ragged penitent in old pyjamas, prostrating himself before a saint. “Please say I haven’t been wrong all this time, haven’t wasted all these years, please, Sherlock, please…”

He hides his face in Sherlock’s bed, so that he can’t see Sherlock’s eyes, his beloved face creased in confusion.

“John?” Sherlock asks. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

But John is sobbing too hard to answer, great heaving sobs, and Sherlock puts a hand on the back of his neck that burns like a brand because of course Sherlock would try to comfort him, even though he doesn’t understand what John is on about, even though John has hurt him so terribly so many times.

“I love you,” John gasps into the bed. Sherlock’s hand stills for a moment and then, cautiously, resumes its smooth comforting stroking.

“John, you’re upset,” he begins, but John cuts him off mid-sentence.

“Years, Sherlock, years,” he gasps. It’s becoming easier to speak, the weight on his chest becoming less with every word. “I’ve loved you for years. Since Angelo’s that first night, I think, since the cabbie, since the first time I saw you sleep-soft in morning light. I loved you in Dartmoor and I loved you at the pool - God, how I loved you in that moment, I would have fallen to my knees and worshipped at your feet for the rest of my life and I would have been content. I loved you on the roof of Bart’s and on the pavement a moment later. I loved you every moment of every day you were gone, and I loved you every time I stood in front of your grave and begged you for one more miracle, and I loved you when I punched your face because it was that or kiss you, and I loved you when you were bleeding out in Magnussen’s office. I loved you on Magnussen’s porch and I loved you on the tarmac, and I loved you in the morgue and in the hospital and in the prison and the well and I’ve loved you every moment since the day I met you, I love you I love you I love you.”

He doesn’t stop so much as run out of breath, chanting those three words - three words he’d never thought he’d be able to say - like prayer, John is a monk and this is his religion now, this is his faith, this only thing he knows for sure.

“John,” Sherlock breathes. “Why didn’t you…”

“I thought,” and John is trying to think of a way to say this right, a way to really explain, “I thought that you didn’t…I didn’t think you didn’t love me, but I thought you wanted me as a friend, just a friend, and so I tried to be the best friend anyone could ever have, but obviously I’m pretty shit at it, but I tried and I hid it, and hid it, and I married Mary because I thought…I thought I’d break apart from missing you and later I thought I’d die from wanting you, and I couldn’t bear to lose you but I was losing you anyway, but the surest way to lose you was to tell you, you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t want the same things, and that’s the best way to kill a friendship, and if friendship was all I could-”

And John shuts up, because Sherlock has slithered out of his bed and fallen to his knees in front of John, and stopped his panicked babbling with his mouth.

When Sherlock finally pulls back, John stares at him, shocked into silence.

“So many years,” Sherlock says, stroking a thumb over John’s lips. “We could have had so many years, John. If only we hadn’t been…”

“Afraid,” John supplies. Sherlock nods, and he’s so close that his nose rubs against John’s when he does, and it’s unbearably intimate. “We could…” And John has to stop for a moment to breathe, to lick his lips and gather his courage in his hands. “We could still have years,” he says. “If I’m not too late. If you still-”

And Sherlock doesn’t say anything with words, but when he kisses John, he writes eloquent poetry in this new language they are building together.

Yes, he says as he licks into John’s mouth

I want, he says, as he sucks a bruise into John’s neck.

I still, he whispers into the curve of John’s ear. I still love you. I will always love you.

Human Cuisine Vs Aliens

From a bit in Voltron: Legendary Defenders and other sources, what if humans are weird in being the only species to have created cuisine.

Not just roasting and/or cooling food, but baking, sauteing, deep frying, etc. are wholly unique to humanity. we don’t slap a full potato on cow meat and call it good, no, we mash and grind that potato to a fine paste, add condensed cow milk (butter) and other small spices…

OH GOD SPICES, WE FOUGHT TRADE WARS OVER THOSE

But yeah, we take a specific part of cow to selectively heat in so many variety that we have a list of options for that, so that we can specifically enjoy that part of cow.

Peas are simple somewhat, we just need to choose whether or not we want them in their pod or not. But then again, humans are weird and can prepare even the basic pea with our witchcraft cooking.

So imagine if the first time a human visits even an alien ship for food after basic relation have begun and we come to a casual meal and we find what we consider ration food handed to us.

“Oh, I’m sorry to intrude Salir.” John apologized.

“Why is that John?” Salir had learned a first name basis was a sign of comfort among humans.

“You just seem to be short on food right now is all.” John hesitantly smiled, confusing Salir a bit.

“Not at all, we have plenty more, though I thought we would have a small meal.”

“Small?!” John seemed to be outraged. “This is naught but a freeze dried steak and a hand-full of carrot bits!”

Salir processed the analogs of their meal to human food sources. “Yes, that would be an ample meal.”

“Oh no man, I may not be any chef, but even I can do better than this.” John stood to move to his bag. “Get me a pan and a fire, you’re lucky I carry some spices around for something like this.”

Martin Freeman's new haircut makes me question my sexuality.

Somebody help me. Please?

Originally posted by notmydate

Originally posted by geek-royalty

Originally posted by geek-royalty

Originally posted by geek-royalty

Originally posted by geek-royalty

Originally posted by geek-royalty

Originally posted by livinglikephan

Originally posted by itsjustmycrazyvibe

  • *221B*
  • Sherlock: *sitting in his chair*
  • Rosamund: *sitting in his lap; frowning at a photo* What am I looking at, Uncle Sherlock?
  • Sherlock: *smiles* My baby *points* that's the head, see?
  • Rosamund: *fascinated* Wooow...all those squiggly lines are a person?
  • Sherlock: *chuckles* Yes.
  • Rosamund: Your person.
  • Sherlock: *nods* Yup. And your Aunt Molly's.
  • Rosamund: *giggles* It's funny.
  • Sherlock: Hmm?
  • Rosamund: *still laughing* Aunt Molly has a person in her. How did you put it there?
  • Sherlock: *snorts* Oh, no *lifts her and stands* I'm not having that conversation for another twenty five years.
  • Molly: *enters; grinning* Hello.
  • Rosamund: *happily* Aunt Molly! *runs over; hugs her, whispers* hello, little person.
  • Molly: *smiles* You told her, then?
  • Sherlock: *nods* Oh, yes *pats Rosie's head* you're going to be a godcousin, aren't you?
  • Rosamund: *excited* Uh-huh.
  • Molly: *giggles* Is that so?
  • Sherlock: *nudges Rosie* Pyjamas, young lady. I'll be in soon.
  • Rosamund: *sighs* Okay, Uncle Sherlock. Night Aunt, Molly. Night, little person *runs off*
  • Molly: *calls* Night, Rosie *hugs Sherlock* I'm glad she took it well.
  • Sherlock: *kisses the top of her head* Mmm *pauses* John has some questions to answer, though.

That moment you read a fanfiction and don’t know what’s happening ‘cause you already read so many fanfics and don’t know which is which anymore….

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs