#he needs a hug or two

[chez-cinnamon]

I was Just....yk......thinking and well.....

Fangler (self incert) Meets Fionn!

(Fan 'comic' of how i think that went)

ABGFBFD AWWWW HUG THE GRUMPY MAN!!! <3 THIS IS SO CUTE WAHHH!!!

[intxlligibility]

@ruinedbycatastrophe continued! As the car drives in silence as Noctis and Prompto sit in the back of the Regalia. Gladio for once in the front, skimming a book he has been trying to read for some time. But he can't really pay attention to it, not really. He closes it with a firm snap and lays it on his lap. Amber hues glance at the other for a moment before back at the book. "So. What are you going to do after all this?"

Perhaps he ought to blame the lack of sleep, or the constant stress running rampant in his mind, ( or perhaps he had even zoned out a little down this long, never-ending concrete road they've been driving down for hours now ) but the sound that comes from the passenger seat, the snap of the book, has him slightly jump.

He inhales, perhaps a little more shakily than he'd like, as he rubs his face.

"Assuming that we survive?" A huff, but he catches himself before his train of thoughts gets too dark. "I suppose we have a kingdom to rebuild, or have you already forgotten about the rubble that was once our home?"

His hands grips tightly around the steering wheel and mentally he kicks himself for letting his foul mood get the better of him. He sends a quick glance Gladio's way, clear regret in his eyes from the sudden outburst.

"Apologies... that was uncalled for"

Eyes now back at the road, but the tiredness is still there. The fear of what their future might bring.

[dxckgrxsonx]

Soft sleepy affectionate Jason Todd is good for the soul:

**

Just standing in the kitchen, half asleep in the early morning, sunlight catching the curve of your mouth on a yawn and a warm, thick pair of arms circling your waist from behind, a forehead pressed into your back.

There’s hardly any sound, the tick of a clock in the background, a soft little exhale into the back of your shirt. Fingers warm and sly sneaking up under your pyjamas in search of skin. Palms splayed over your tummy, a content mumble echoing in the space between sleep and awake; caught in a dream.

Leaning forwards into the counters edge to make a cup of something warm and sweet and being tugged back into place with a tired growl, no real choice other than settling into place and letting Jason hold you close, swaying slightly with how drowsy he is. A quiet, whining grumble of your name when you move again.

Hopping up on the kitchen counter and tugging him in close between your parted knees, his head tucking into the warm space where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers sweeping through his tangled hair, down his neck, across his shoulders. Feet locked at the ankle around his hips, not willing to let him pull out of reach.

Sliding back into bed with a warm drink and Jason clinging at your side, legs tangling together when he nudges yours apart with a knee. Playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and listening to him drop back off into sleep, a gentle, quiet slur of “I love you” the last coherent thing you get out of his mouth for the next few hours.

Just…Jason being soft and a little needy and feeling safe enough to trust you to lead whilst he slots into that tired space where you’re only half aware of what’s happening outside your partner being close and warm.

**

[jaypentaghast]

please look at this for a second

wee john is holding him

[untitledgoosegay]

re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"

this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?

some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.

take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.

and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.

people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.

that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis

[izzystizzys]

TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog

“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”

High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”

Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.

Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.

“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”

“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.

High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.

Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”

“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”

“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.

“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.

He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-

Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.

Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.

Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!

And catch him, High General Windu sure did.

“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”

“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.

“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”

“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.

Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”

[the-darkestminds]

You know what I wanna see in Azriel’s book? A major emotional breakdown in which he openly cries his heart out. This man is stoic and angry and so closed off, even among friends. I’m begging him to show us even a sliver of vulnerability. Azriel, my guy, you can cry if you need to.

[benevolenterrancy]

I do NOT want to see what Baxia diving for a hug with Jin Guangyao looks like. x_x Poor guy will think Mingjue wants him murdered.

@little-meowyao Baxia is a Great Dane that thinks its a lapdog. JGY is not sure how to communicate to a volatile sabre spirit that it is most assuredly not.

continuation of this sword hug saga...

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

Part 2. This time its the Tokyo Five (As I named them) Headcanons in the reblog tags appreciated

[corpusdiem-seizethedead]

Angel: Husk let me fell asleep with my head in his lap and kissed my cheek when I woke up. He's so cute. I wish he liked me.

Cherri: *looks into the camera like she's on The Office*

[emo-batboy]

Okay what is this I keep hearing about Harvery Dent and Bruce Wayne being caught kissing???? Storytime?

Okay so this is probably a much longer winded story than I’m sure you expected but here’s my whole explanation of Harvey/Two-Face in the Battinson universe:

I always like to imagine that there is a distinct difference between Harvey and Two-Face. In this world, Harvey is regarded as an accomplished man suffering from DID who is forced to live in Arkham to keep his second personality, Two-Face, behind bars. Meanwhile, Two-Face is a notorious crime boss and master manipulator. They share the same body, yes, and it almost impossible to tell them apart sometimes, yes, but Bruce is the only person that can reliably tell who is in control.

You see, over the years, Two-Face has become an expert at pretending to be Harvey, so much so that the guards at Arkham just refer to them as Dent now. There have been several incidents where doctors believed Harvey was somehow cured of his DID and they gave him more privileges due to “good behavior,” only for Two-Face to bash a prison guard’s skull in while trying to escape.

But the one person he can’t fool is Bruce, the man who knows Harvey so intimately that he can examine his facial features down to the micro expression.

They thought they would get married one day, Bruce and Harvey. It was sickeningly sweet. They were so madly in love. Then the accident worsened Harvey’s condition. Bruce will never forgive Two-Face for taking his true love away from him.

Bruce visits Arkham once a week to see Harvey. Only the guards know about their past relationship because the two can’t stop giving one another heart eyes while they play chess and tell each other about their day. They’ll talk for hours, and it’s no secret that a pretty, Bambi-eyed, lovestruck Brucie Wayne will pay off any guard to see his “friend” for another fifteen minutes or so.

But sometimes, Bruce walks into the room, sees Dent’s face, and immediately storms out. Because it’s Two-Face. Posing as his former lover, wearing his lips and cheeks and nose, but the eyes are just wrong, all wrong, and he’s giving Bruce a smile that isn’t even close to Harvey’s gorgeous smile. And it’s sick. The guards can’t tell, the other patients prisoners can’t tell, no one else can tell but oh, Bruce can fucking tell.

On other days, Bruce will be talking with Harvey one second, only to stop mid-sentence, scowl at him, and say, “Give him back. I’m not talking to you.”

Two-Face breaks into a grin. “I can never pull one over on you, can I, sweetheart?”

“Shut the fuck up. Where is he?”

“He says he loves you, and you look very nice.”

Bruce has been held back by the guards several times for this very reason. He blames himself that they can’t hold hands during visits anymore. Instead, they talk through that stupid fucking glass, but at least they get a private room. The guards now know that even if pretty Brucie Wayne looks sweet and delicate when talking to Harvey, he can also throw a decent punch.

On good weeks, it’ll be nothing but soft words and smiles.

“I finally bought those chocolates you recommended,” Bruce says.

Harvey smiles. “Did you like them?”

“I did. Thank you.”

On bad weeks, Bruce will leave with hot tears streaming down his face, and the guards will treat Two-Face just a little harsher than necessary as they escort him back to his cell.

Sometimes, it’s a mix of both. Even rarer are the days when Harvey comes back right before Bruce leaves to say goodbye to his angel. Those moments are the most tender because they all know Harvey has trouble taking control back. But he did it for Bruce, just to make him smile again before they parted ways.

One day, however, a guard thinks he can flirt with Bruce. He makes a move when no one’s looking and receives an answer in the form of a black eye. Only a day later, he gets maimed by Dent and lands in the hospital. Bruce learns about it during his next visit.

“Your boyfriend’s other half tried to kill that guard last week,” another guard tells him.

“The one that grabbed my ass?”

“Two-Face put him in a coma.”

Bruce chuckles and picks at a loose thread from his dress shirt. “What you makes you so sure it was Two-Face?”

No guard tries making a move on Arkham’s favorite visitor again. And the star-crossed lovers keep seeing one another and confessing their undying love. Even after they accept their fate. Even when Bruce tells Harvey about Selina and how he’s slowly falling in love with her too. But something is holding him back.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Bruce whispers.

“I don’t either,” Harvey says, tracing his love’s hand through the bulletproof glass, “but I want you to be happy.”

“But I’m happy with you.” Bruce was always a crybaby, but he hates crying in here the most.

“You can be happy with me in here. But I can’t bear to be the reason you’re not happy out there.”

After a bit more convincing, Bruce finally agrees. Before beginning a new relationship, he tells Selina about him and Harvey, tells her that it’s non-negotiable, and she accepts it.

The next time Dent breaks out of Arkham, Selina gets a visitor. “Break his heart, and I’ll drown you in the pier,” he says.

Selina smiles as her hoard of cats purr against the stranger. Maybe they can tell just like Bruce can. Or maybe this is Two-Face doing Harvey a favor. Either way, she doesn’t particularly care.

Selina gives him a once-over and nods. “Likewise.”

Anyway, yes, that is my BruHarvey lore. Hope you enjoyed :)

@bruciemilf this is right up your alley, bestie

[thefrogdalorian]

I was watching Chapter 15: The Believer yesterday and something stood out to me that I guess I'd never really thought about before...

When the Juggernaut is getting attacked by the Pirates, we see several shots of Din struggling without his armour. It's a new way of fighting for him and he struggles to adapt at first.

He quickly rallies and skilfully fights them off, though. But more pirates soon appear and after fighting them off, Din is thrown backwards. He sees several pirates approaching.

Din lies down in defeat, powerless to fight them off without his armour or weapons. Knowing his death is likely imminent, without hope of survival.

Instead of giving up and accepting defeat, he does not allow himself to wallow in despair and mystery. After sighing deeply he steadies himself and gets right back up:

Facing down death as the pirates approach, he does not show weakness or fear.

He doesn't allow himself to be cowardly, or dwell on his likely impending doom and the fact he has failed in his quest to rescue the child he loves so much...

Instead, Din stands there with his fists up, outnumbered and without weapons, prepared to fight to the end even in the face of certain death...

Fortunately, of course, the TIE Fighters appear to save the day and Din succeeds in his quest to rescue Grogu and, well, you know the rest.

But I think this little moment in one of the best episodes is such a good insight into his character.

Standing up with his fists clenched like that, outnumbered and hopeless but refusing to accept defeat is perhaps one of the most Mandalorian things he's ever done. Yet only a few minutes later he removes his helmet and that act leaves him rendered an apostate in the eyes of his people. Told he is a Mandalorian no more, even.

It's kind of heartbreaking because he really did not deserve to be told that. Mandalorians are proud warriors, who never give up. Being a coward is the worst insult in Mando'a, their ancient language. Here, Din showed that he is nothing of the sort.

Din Djarin is as honourable a Mandalorian as they come.

[gremlin-boah]

FREE JAVIER HE AINT DONE NOTHING. And let him get a little comfort hug from John. (John you dont have a choice)

HE'S FREEE!

And he receives a lil huggies from John, right @nthspecialll.

[feltcreature]

a little baby pigeon

[valgeristik]

Ничего не останется от нас, Нам останемся, в лучшем случае, мы

hi. hello. listen to this song

i have so many thoughts about these two. oh my god. maybe i will write it out some day, but for now drawing it out will do

translation will be under the cut! knowing the words does add to the work so i do recommend reading it. or just enjoy the art <3

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heres the translation, color coded according to how i broke it up for the art. just in casies

first page:

Love is scarier than war

Love strikes more true than steel

second page:

More true, because of your own volition

third page:

You run towards all the winds

Let there be pain and eternal battle

Not atmospheric, not earthly

fourth page:

But definitely with you

caption:

There will be nothing left of us,

we will be left with, in the best case, ourselves

[once-upon-the-earth]

this fandom talks so much about how hard the final fifteen and its aftermath was/is for crowley and im not gonna deny that it was but. try seeing the whole thing from aziraphales perspective for a sec. Because it is so so so heartbreaking. i know its hard bc we dont really know whats going on there with the metatron and threats and things that were cut out but lets take it at face value and try to imagine what hes feeling.

He knows another apocalypse is coming. He wants himself and Crowley to be safe; he's always wanted them to be safe from the very beginning. Its why he's so unsure of the arrangement for so long ("If Hell finds out they wont just be angry. they'll destroy you!"). Even when he and Crowley are finally "safe", they know theres more coming and theyre just waiting, anticipating, until Jim happens. They panick, everything gets very chaotic but clears up without either of them seriously hurt, luckily. Aziraphale is still reeling with adrenaline when the Metatron takes him outside. He's definitely thinking "alright, just this, get him off my back and then I can get back to ignoring them until the next apocalypse." But suddenly, Heaven is offering him a way to stop that next apocalypse NOW - and even better, Crowley will be safe the entire way through! They'll both be angels, safe, on the same side and save the world!

(also the fact that heaven, whove been talking down to him his entire life, are now acting like they respect him. I dont think he entirely falls for it but that would feel good to anybody, whether he suspects its fake or not.)

Crowley says no. Crowley refuses, angrily, confesses, in the worst moment while theres thousands of other things running through Aziraphale's mind and now he has to deal with this too, years, millennia of unspoken things slapping him in the face in an already incredibly vulnerable moment. Crowley talks of running away again and leaving the world behind. Aziraphale tries again - he needs Crowley for this, he cant do this alone, neither the entire task of saving the world nor the simple act of going back there. Crowley kisses him, doesnt even want to accept Aziraphale's forgiveness for not helping him - leaves.

Aziraphale definitely has some sort of plan, going up there. But he will also be arriving in Heaven, cold white lights, cold faces over pale clothing judging his every move and have to juggle both responsibilities and his own, undercover plans, all this without any help and nobody to talk to. You remember how he ate an entire ox the first time he tasted food? He's still got Crowley's taste on his lips and an empty stomach. And he doesn't even entirely understand why Crowley rejected him because Crowley's always helped him before. It's their game. He gets himself into situations, Crowley rescues him and they never say a word about how theyre feeling. And now Crowley broke the rules, refused, and kissed him and Aziraphale cant even talk to anyone about it because who would listen and anyways, he needs to get to a meeting about killing everything on the world he was put on to protect.