“…please forget me”
Art by yours truly.
what are they doing this for?
it’s robert downey jr i doubt there’s a reason.
it’s robert downey jr i doubt there’s a reason.
They’re pouring latex on him to make a false chest. So that they can place the arc reactor prop in him and make it legitimately look like it’s embedded in is flesh and with tears and scar tissue. The latex is colored so they can see where they are applying and how thick the layers are. It will then be airbrushed to his skintone and details like nipples scar tissue discoloration will be added.
Here’s that picture:
Then the reactor prop is added to the dimple. Basically the latex becomes fake skin and they tear part of the center open to embed it.
Now you can see how realistic is looks. Much more realistic than the first Iron Man movie where they opted for CG. And better than just pasting the prop on top with scar tissue.
Sora oh my god. Your unlimited knowledge and apparent ability to just sense that somewhere your unlimited knowledge is needed astounds me.
I fucking love movie magic prop/makeup shit.
My favorite part of this Johnlock fanvid is where it ripped my heart from my chest, ground it through a pepper mill, lit it on fire, and sewed it back in.
Gross sobbing of epic proportions
Oh, well, I didn’t like living much anyway.
I’m having Swan Triad feels. You can read this epic series by pennin_ink right here, it’s amazing. “Say it, Johnny Boy.” Is a quote from “Coming Home” in the Interlude part and “Moonlight on the lake.” Is from Chapter 3 in Find A Way To You.
![maxxikins:
a-black-car-pulled-up-and:
evil-sherlock-holmes:
johnlockgay5ever:
bishiebot:
johnlockgay5ever:
all i see is sherlock standing far off to the side at john’s outdoor wedding so he doesn’t get seen by his friend who still thinks he’s dead
“You may now kiss the bride,” the [something] says, smiling as he watches the John pull Sarah close and kisses her soft on the lips. The doctor smiles brightly, and a light, bubbly laugh slips out of Sarah’s perfect lips. Three years, and John Watson was finally… well, not happy exactly. Content? Perhaps. The limp still hadn’t gone away. He never returned to baker street, no matter what the reason. He was far from recovered, but everything was covered up: shoved under the rug.
A week sooner. A month. A year. Anything to keep this from happening would have been worth it— well, not anything, but almost. Seeing John and some woman in a white dress made his heart clench painfully, envy ripping at his throat, shredding it to bits. He stood far from the couple, but he could still see John. He could still see that this wasn’t the right choice. His limp, the slight curve on the left side of his mouth, his eyes- ‘DAMMIT!’ Sherlock clenches his fists, fighting back the tears. He swallows thickly, throat and chest clenching in gut-wrenching agony.
Seeing your love marry another was no easy thing.
‘Let him have his… happiness,’ he thinks bitterly. He’s not mad at either of them, no. It was his fault for not returning sooner. Of course the day he’d planned to come back would be their wedding day. Of course. Let them have their happiness. John deserves it.
That may have been the very first time that Sherlock Holmes had ever done something impulsive in his life.
As the happy couple strode back down the isle, towards Sherlock, he stepped out of the trees, in plain sight of one John Hamish Watson.
(somebody continue this! sorry for my amateur writing skills. ;^;)
ow my heart why did you make a fanfic out of that
remind me never to give ideas like this oh god
-SCREAMS-
((and yet no one continues? pfft, i got this.))
John stopped. the smile didn’t leave his face, he didn’t let go of his bride, and the room went in to a hushed murmur that may have well been silence to the lost man and his soldier. john stood, frozen in time. in the mere fifteen seconds they stood across from each other, three years danced behind their eyes. all of the pain, the regret, the ache of longing, the coping, and the lack there of.
three years, shattered away in a mere fifteen seconds.
john let his hands fall from his bride and walked to sherlock just as he had walked away from the detective’s grave years before.
“Sherlock…” it was a murmur. a soft, broken sound that seemed astonished and disbelieving at once.
“John.” sherlock’s voice was low and rich with emotion. Sherlock didn’t wait for another word to escape from john’s lips before he took the doctor’s arm and stole him away. he cursed at himself for yet another impulsive action.
“Sherlock, wait! what about sarah? where are you taking me?” John shocked himself with the acceptance of sherlock’s reappearance. “Sherlock!” Yet again when he realized that though he was asking sherlock to wait, he had no real intention of stopping.
Sherlock hailed a cab and shoved john inside, following behind. sherlock threw money at the cabbie and told him to go anywhere but where they were.
“Sherl-” before john could finish the man’s name he was cut off by blue fabric in his mouth and warm arms squeezing out his breath. an embrace, he realized. an embrace from a dead man. well, a previously assumed dead man. he shakily put his arms around sherlock and squeezed with equal ferocity. he moved his chin to rest on Sherlock’s neck and spoke softly, sadly, “Where have you been, sherlock?”
he only squeezed tighter when he felt cool tears drop onto his cheek.
((Alrighty. someone else’s turn. :D))
“Sherlock.”
John pulled back reluctantly, letting his hands fall to Sherlock’s sides. His friend’s eyes were closed, and he brought a hand up to his temple, covering them.
“Sherlock, this—”
“This isn’t fair. I know, John. I had no right to just take you away like that. I saw you with your,” a vein in Sherlock’s hand twitched, “wife. John— I’m sorry but I——”
John interrupted him, with a half-laugh that quickly died on impact. ”That wasn’t what I was going to say. But thank you for reminding me, Sherlock.”
The cab was silent for a few minutes thereafter. A bump or two in the road jostled the pair, and the only noise came from the muted buzzing of the radio and the cabbie clearing his throat. Silence.
“What were you..going to say?” Sherlock finally asked, quietly.
The warmth and compassion between the two men that had been ebbing out of their smiles and eyes and tears and hands had disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. In it’s place was all the hurt, the fear, and the anger. Everything that had brewed slowly, mostly in John, for the past three years. Confusion.
“I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter.”
But John remembered exactly what he was going to say, how he was going to say it (with firmness and defiance, finally telling the truth to both himself and Sherlock after so long), and the absolute fucking utter importance. He didn’t say anything.
But he could tell, ears burning, that Sherlock was looking at him as he himself looked out the window at London whizzing by. Looking at John the same way John had once looked at him — with open, earnest, yet completely bewildered adoration.
(omg i dont even know what that was but someone…go on, go on!!!! this is so bloody fun and heartbreaking)](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m3q2a8fZja1qg7hbao1_500.gif)
all i see is sherlock standing far off to the side at john’s outdoor wedding so he doesn’t get seen by his friend who still thinks he’s dead
“You may now kiss the bride,” the [something] says, smiling as he watches the John pull Sarah close and kisses her soft on the lips. The doctor smiles brightly, and a light, bubbly laugh slips out of Sarah’s perfect lips. Three years, and John Watson was finally… well, not happy exactly. Content? Perhaps. The limp still hadn’t gone away. He never returned to baker street, no matter what the reason. He was far from recovered, but everything was covered up: shoved under the rug.
A week sooner. A month. A year. Anything to keep this from happening would have been worth it— well, not anything, but almost. Seeing John and some woman in a white dress made his heart clench painfully, envy ripping at his throat, shredding it to bits. He stood far from the couple, but he could still see John. He could still see that this wasn’t the right choice. His limp, the slight curve on the left side of his mouth, his eyes- ‘DAMMIT!’ Sherlock clenches his fists, fighting back the tears. He swallows thickly, throat and chest clenching in gut-wrenching agony.Seeing your love marry another was no easy thing.
‘Let him have his… happiness,’ he thinks bitterly. He’s not mad at either of them, no. It was his fault for not returning sooner. Of course the day he’d planned to come back would be their wedding day. Of course. Let them have their happiness. John deserves it.
That may have been the very first time that Sherlock Holmes had ever done something impulsive in his life.
As the happy couple strode back down the isle, towards Sherlock, he stepped out of the trees, in plain sight of one John Hamish Watson.
(somebody continue this! sorry for my amateur writing skills. ;^;)
ow my heart why did you make a fanfic out of that
remind me never to give ideas like this oh god
-SCREAMS-
((and yet no one continues? pfft, i got this.))
John stopped. the smile didn’t leave his face, he didn’t let go of his bride, and the room went in to a hushed murmur that may have well been silence to the lost man and his soldier. john stood, frozen in time. in the mere fifteen seconds they stood across from each other, three years danced behind their eyes. all of the pain, the regret, the ache of longing, the coping, and the lack there of.
three years, shattered away in a mere fifteen seconds.
john let his hands fall from his bride and walked to sherlock just as he had walked away from the detective’s grave years before.
“Sherlock…” it was a murmur. a soft, broken sound that seemed astonished and disbelieving at once.
“John.” sherlock’s voice was low and rich with emotion. Sherlock didn’t wait for another word to escape from john’s lips before he took the doctor’s arm and stole him away. he cursed at himself for yet another impulsive action.
“Sherlock, wait! what about sarah? where are you taking me?” John shocked himself with the acceptance of sherlock’s reappearance. “Sherlock!” Yet again when he realized that though he was asking sherlock to wait, he had no real intention of stopping.
Sherlock hailed a cab and shoved john inside, following behind. sherlock threw money at the cabbie and told him to go anywhere but where they were.
“Sherl-” before john could finish the man’s name he was cut off by blue fabric in his mouth and warm arms squeezing out his breath. an embrace, he realized. an embrace from a dead man. well, a previously assumed dead man. he shakily put his arms around sherlock and squeezed with equal ferocity. he moved his chin to rest on Sherlock’s neck and spoke softly, sadly, “Where have you been, sherlock?”
he only squeezed tighter when he felt cool tears drop onto his cheek.
((Alrighty. someone else’s turn. :D))
“Sherlock.”
John pulled back reluctantly, letting his hands fall to Sherlock’s sides. His friend’s eyes were closed, and he brought a hand up to his temple, covering them.
“Sherlock, this—”
“This isn’t fair. I know, John. I had no right to just take you away like that. I saw you with your,” a vein in Sherlock’s hand twitched, “wife. John— I’m sorry but I——”
John interrupted him, with a half-laugh that quickly died on impact. ”That wasn’t what I was going to say. But thank you for reminding me, Sherlock.”
The cab was silent for a few minutes thereafter. A bump or two in the road jostled the pair, and the only noise came from the muted buzzing of the radio and the cabbie clearing his throat. Silence.
“What were you..going to say?” Sherlock finally asked, quietly.
The warmth and compassion between the two men that had been ebbing out of their smiles and eyes and tears and hands had disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. In it’s place was all the hurt, the fear, and the anger. Everything that had brewed slowly, mostly in John, for the past three years. Confusion.
“I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter.”
But John remembered exactly what he was going to say, how he was going to say it (with firmness and defiance, finally telling the truth to both himself and Sherlock after so long), and the absolute fucking utter importance. He didn’t say anything.
But he could tell, ears burning, that Sherlock was looking at him as he himself looked out the window at London whizzing by. Looking at John the same way John had once looked at him — with open, earnest, yet completely bewildered adoration.
(omg i dont even know what that was but someone…go on, go on!!!! this is so bloody funand heartbreaking)
