#to heal part 2

[buumbaby]

" one fabulous kiss and we're good "

[zarla-s]

TF2 is free-to-play, but f2p players can't use voice commands or the chat, meaning they can't call for Medic. During a round of MvM a while back, I saw a Scout calling a Medic for an f2p player! It was just a weirdly sweet moment. Little things like that are my favorite part of playing TF2, haha.

[patreon]

[iridescentscarecrow]

i'm going to be sick. hard as fuck panel and -- the horror of this, the grim absurdity of it, the way denji leans into that feeling, wants that feeling, he's grinning, don't you see, under the metal of the chainsaw:

this is the karaoke scene echoing outwards but this time the Violence emanates from denji. thinking about how the weapon hybrids' bodies smear the pages, limbs and sharp lines and the chainsaw man: chaotic and primal within it. the previous chapters where's he's not at all a participant in this Violence as the hybrids tear themselves apart on their own, and now: he tears through them. the house burns, and so does his attempt at a normal life, at what pochita let him want and so told him to want, it ends and it all makes sense now, doesn't it?

and he tells nayuta to leave. she's the only human resembling face focused on in the last few pages, she's the unwitting creation of all of makima's twisted love, the subversive product of part one's otherwise obvious nightmare, the sort of Moral of the story. and she's told to leave.

god. genuinely, there's something so visceral and real about fujimoto writes victimhood, about how it builds itself around denji. about how he inhabits it. i'm going to be sick.

[bylrndgm]

JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS (2020) // JULIE E OS FANTASMAS (2011) 1.01 - Wake Up // 1.01 - Enfrentando Fantasmas -> Julie meets the Band.

[tennessoui]

“Kiaree is pregnant,” Obi-Wan says, as if Anakin is supposed to care about this woman and her baby. “If her name is drawn from the victor‘s pool, I will take her place.” “Like hell you will,” Anakin snarls. “There are other victors.”

“Magdeline is old,” Obi-Wan’s eyes cut away, fall to the space between their hands. Good, Anakin thinks viciously, he should find it hard to look at him. “She should not have to go back to Coruscant. Not ever again in her lifetime. If her name is drawn—” “Then you will let it be!” Anakin rounds the corners of the counter, unthinkingly fast. He clasps his hand around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, squeezing the fine fabric that Coruscant has dressed him in tightly. “Why would you volunteer for them, Obi-Wan? They have never volunteered for you.”

“The actions of others do not control my own, Anakin,” Obi-Wan snaps, pushing him away, freeing himself from his grasp. “I will volunteer to serve as master and mentor, as I am the most suitable to be victor—” Anakin grinds his teeth together, pushing himself back into Obi-Wan’s space, pinning him against the counter. “You would do that to me?” he asks, low, voice a dark growl in his throat. Obi-Wan has styled his hair carefully, slicked it back and trimmed his beard. Anakin touches the lines of his beard, ghosts over the glossy locks before shoving his fingers into it, messing up the tidy strands. “You would take yourself away from me, for months more?”

“The Games will last no more than a fortnight,” Obi-Wan murmurs, keeping his back straight, unwilling to melt into Anakin’s touch. “I will be back on Stewjoni soil before the leaves turn gold.”

“You will be parsecs away from me until the spring,” Anakin replies, and he gentles his hold, smooths over the mess of Obi-Wan’s bangs and slots himself up against him. Not fighting, not pushing. Pressing, coaxing. “Your body will be here, but your mind will not. Do not pretend as if you do not know what I am talking about.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth falls open, a flash of red as he wets his bottom lip and looks away. Of course he knows what Anakin means. The years that he must go to Coruscant, the years that he is made master of two children who are destined to die bloody and screaming, those years haunt him in his eyes. It is the price he pays as a victor—it is not just his Games that haunts him. It is every Game he has ever been made to watch, to participate in even from the sidelines.

And he may be willing to pay that price so that his other victors may live without it, but Anakin will not allow the same.

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

I need this man dead STAT

[nervouspearl]

Moiraine: 🔪

Lan:

[rerengy]

Pets! 🐶

Hajime is not good with animals yet, but he’s happy that he finally have a pet.

+ The pets (and hinata) sometimes play too rough. Fortunately the band aids are cute!

[sunnynwanda]

Trouble of Mind: Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: failed brainwashing, mental exhaustion, tormented Villain (and Hero)

When the door creaks open in front of them, Hero is still deep in thought, frantically searching for whatever to say, which Villain seems to understand because they nod, gesturing for them to come inside. Without a word, they walk down the corridor, leading Hero to their bedroom.

It's dark inside, heavy curtains blocking any remnants of light outside - another thing physically painful to them in the current state. It takes a few moments for Hero's vision to adjust, but once it does, they notice a couch across from Villain's bed, already prepared for them. "How did you..?"

"Know you'd come?" Villain finishes for them, rubbing a hand over their eyebrows with a sympathetic sigh. "I know how it feels when it's your first time dealing with this."

"Is it bad again?" Hero asks carefully. There's another question lingering on the tip of their tongue; Villain can sense it. "It's because of me, isn't it? My interference?" Hero finally gathers the courage, their heart and mind racing as if in a competition as they wait for Villain's answer.

Villain nods shortly, turning away to search for the essential oils, to keep their hands busy and mind occupied. They don't blame Hero, not really. In fact, they are grateful that Hero hadn't read their mind in all their years of battling. That's more respect for their privacy than they received in the dungeons of the ministry.

"I'm sorry," Hero mutters, their voice dripping with guilt. They fail to come up with words after everything they have witnessed in Villain's twisted mind. All Hero knows is that they are relieved a large part of it has been suppressed by Villain's defense mechanisms.

Villain sighs, fully aware of their nemesis' regret over the situation. They allow their gaze to linger on Hero's troubled expression before speaking. "I don't blame you."

"You should," Hero states simply, leaning back against the back of the sofa. Their head drops against the headrest, eyes falling shut. No wonder Villain prefers to attack at night, they think. Who would have thought, light could be a vicious type of torture?

For several moments, they remain silent, heavy breathing being the only noise in the room. Villain moves to sit on their bed, contemplating whether they want to know the answer to the question that has formed in their ragged mind.

"How deep did you get?" They finally whisper, not wanting to startle Hero. They wonder if their phrasing made sense and are about to clarify when Hero's faint voice cuts the air.

"Unconscious."

Villain almost smiles, leaning back against the mattress and allowing their eyes to fall shut. "I know. How deep?"

"All of it," Hero lifts their head, glancing in the general direction of the bed. They can barely make out Villain's shape on it.

"Tell me," Villain interrupts their thoughts again. When Hero hums in apparent confusion, they clarify. "Tell me what you saw."

Hero almost chokes on the air, sitting upright despite the heavy pounding in their temples. "W-why?" They stutter out, already regretting their visit.

"I want to know what's in there." It's a simple sentence, but it claws at Villain's throat, unwilling to be uttered. They force the words out, turning their head to look at Hero's form on their sofa.

Hero's voice is guarded when they finally respond. "You had repressed it for a reason, Villain."

"Hero, you, of all people, know it's going to haunt me forever unless I deal with it," Villain counters, earning a quiet grunt from their nemesis.

"You can't deal with what's in there," they mutter, rubbing a hand over their face. A part of them knows Villain is right - the same one that is spurring them to try and undo some of the damage, to give Villain a chance of a clear mind. But there is another one. One that is scared of making it worse, both for Villain and themself. One that is terrified of even the thought of going through the darkness behind Villain's gaze again. One that cannot bear the pain that comes with it.

"Please," Villain speaks again, causing Hero to flinch at their selfishness as they are dragged out of their mind. How dare they be scared for their own well-being when Villain is... "Please," Villain whispers, the pleading tone cutting through Hero's chest.

"Villain, I-" They cut off, springing to their feet in a rush of anxiety. "Okay, if you want to do it, I can, um... try to unearth those things and undo some of the damage, but.."

"But what?" Villain asks, getting up as well. They are acting equal parts excited and reckless, and they know it.

"Some things might be too much," Hero starts, pacing through the bedroom in broad strides. "It might not work, or go wrong, or..."

Villain reaches out, stopping their panicked race from the door to the window and back, "I don't care."

They try to reassure Hero with a slight curve of their lips. But that only makes Hero explode. "I do! I don't want to cause more damage than there already is!"

It's a fair concern, Villain admits to themself. But they are far past the point of no return. "Hero, I was brainwashed, but it failed. The things done to my head are much worse than you taking a peak or even a walk."

"It's not- Christ, you don't understand!" Hero exclaims in utter frustration. They are scared, Villain understands. With a soft exhale, they place a hand on Hero's forearm, drawing them closer.

"You've seen what the nightmares are like," Villain's voice is low and pained; their fingers cold against Hero's skin. "That's every day for me. Every damn day. For six years now. I can't take it anymore, so if there's a way for you to fix it, I'll take the risk."

"I could damage you permanently," Hero protests, but it's weak. They know the hell that Villain lives in - they've seen it firsthand.

"I don't care," Villain shrugs with annoying nonchalance. "I'd rather lose my mind than keep going through this."

"Fine," Hero growls, sure that they will come to regret this decision. "Alright, fine."

As soon as they agree, Villain's demeanour changes. "What do you want me to do?"

"Lie down," Hero mutters, solemn. They wait for them to get onto the bed before sitting by their side and cradling their face with both hands.

"I want you to look into my eyes and think of the last thing you remember before the, um... experiment on you," they instruct, the internal battle still raging within them. But there is no way back now. Not after they gave Villain hope.

"Okay," Villain nods, meeting Hero's gaze with their tormented one.

"I'll get you through this," Hero continues to hold their head, and, as tender as they can, they delve into Villain's mind, only this time it's more intentional and slow. Layer by layer, they go deeper, diving into Villain's mind with gentle determination. They live through every day Villain spent in the dungeons, watching the light bulb spin around, circling them until they are reduced into hypnosis. Then come the sedatives, the withdrawal delirium, electricity, waterboarding, the light bulb again, sedatives, water...

Villain blacks out by the time Hero reaches the end of their torment - the day they escaped from the ground floor of the ministry six years ago, with a broken mind and unabashed rage against everything that place represented. Hero falls against the mattress, their entire being pierced by a phantom ache. They bury their face into the pillow, muffling the shuddering sobs ripping out from their throat.

Villain knows something is off the moment they gain some sort of awareness in the morning. They aren't entirely awake yet, but they can tell. They can feel it. Something feels off. Or better yet, it feels right. Right, and light, and clear... Gods, their head feels clear. Their blood stills at the thought, eyes flying open like they've been burnt. They glance around in agitated disbelief, only to freeze again, this time from the sight of Hero by their side. On their bed, curled into a ball. In any other situation, Villain would raise a brow and possibly tease Hero for the fetal position, but not today. They shift, leaning over their nemesis and cupping Hero's cheek. There are wet patches on their pillow - from crying themselves to sleep, Villain deduces, letting out a shaky exhale before pulling the covers up. They tuck Hero in, then lower themself back onto the bed, allowing their fingers to gently trace Hero's features.

They know their mind is not fully dealt with. They know there will be lingering nightmares for both them and Hero. They know it's far from over. But they also know that they won't be going through it alone. Not anymore.

Part 1

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy@alltimelowing@lateuplight@surplus-of-sarcasm@betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444 @m4iloblu3 @silky-worm @doctorsawyer @philosophershroomie

Special tags: @m4iloblu3 @silky-worm @doctorsawyer @philosophershroomie

[lemonleafloser]

I’m watching Gypsy Rose: Life After Lockup and I keep thinking of Eddie watching this with Richie. Curled up together on the couch and Eddie feeling a sense of healing watching it with his love. Some nights it’s a hard watch and other nights it’s so freeing for him to see he isn’t alone in his trauma.

[untouchedsoap]

there is something sooo fucking good about early seasons ian and mickey, about watching this summer fling turn into something more, the fear that elicited from mickey but him being unable to stop, finding those little moments hidden away and taking all this meaning from small gestures and persevering in dugouts and under bleachers and barely pressed confessions in the back of a church that is soo good for my brain

like i am very glad mickey gets to shout his love for ian from the mountain tops and also beat his love for ian into his dad's face but when he was clenching his teeth shut and his love for ian was coming out regardless ohhhhh baby i was eating

[abbysthighs]

I have been thirsting over this fictional character for months now.

[pcktknife]

what do you think about the newest penacony story patch in hsr?

penacony numero uno. actually the best arc out of the 3 so far but sunday should kill himself*

[sapphire-draw]

Vi's post just reminded me of this

Tiny Malroth doodle I coloured to help heal the soul

[firehose118]

this is your heart (can you feel it?)

thank you to everyone who helped me brainstorm/get in the henren zone on this post!

Karen comes home from the hospital after both her lab and her spleen exploded.

Hen fusses over her from the car to the front door to the couch. Karen is independent: she doesn’t usually let Hen fuss like this. Even though she laments the long weeks of boring recovery ahead of her, the very fact that she lets Hen take care of her tells Hen how much pain she’s still in. She lets Hen fuss over her for almost two weeks.

Once Karen recovers enough to take care of herself again—once the doctors clear her for light activities—Hen finally lets herself feel the panic of the last few weeks. She’d known that she’d been worried, she’d known that she’d been terrified, but now that the worst of the danger is officially over it hits her hard.

This is her wife. This is her best friend, the mother of her child, the love of her life. This is the person whose eyes light up at the idea of sharing a Costco membership with her; the person who makes going to the grocery store a fun adventure instead of a lonely chore. This is the person whose heart is so big that sometimes Hen is surprised it still fits in her chest.

Hen almost lost her. She almost-

But she didn’t. Karen is alive.

Hen makes them tea in their matching Mrs. & Mrs. mugs. She watches Karen stand at the stove, reheating her own damn can of soup at her insistence. She's leaning against the counter for support but she's undeniably steady. She's not pale anymore. She's not glassy-eyed from pain pills or restless from bed rest. This is Hen's wife: stubborn and determined. Strong.

After three terrible days in the hospital and two weeks on the couch, Karen is finally herself again. She's upright. Hen opens the tea bag packets and shakes with the understanding of just how close she came to losing this incredible, brilliant, vibrant woman.

Hen was almost a doctor. She knows exactly what Karen’s body went through. It's worse than knowing nothing at all. The tank shrapnel split Karen's side open, nicking her spleen. The spleen is a terrible place for an injury. It filters and stores blood, and at any given time it holds 25% of the body’s red blood cells and platelets, nevermind the important work it does with white blood cells. When damaged, it’s the most likely of all internal organs to cause life-threatening internal bleeding.

And it did. Karen’s heart stopped. Her big, beautiful, generous heart stopped.

Hen had had to kneel on the gurney next to Karen and keep her wife’s heart pumping with her own two hands. It’s something she’d done for hundreds of other people over the years, but it felt different when it was a heart she knew so intimately.

This was a heart she’d spent time with, up close and personal. In the time they'd been together, Hen had often laid her head on Karen’s chest and listened to her heart beat steadily, comfortingly; sometimes dozing off to its easy rhythm. She’d felt Karen’s heart rate race when they had sex, and she’d felt it settle down again afterward. She knew how to touch Karen, what to say to make her heart jump or skip a beat or pump extra blood up to Karen's face to make her blush, even after all these years. Hen had felt it beat against her body and under her fingers so many times she could map its rhythm from across the room.

But there, in that ambulance, Hen hadn't been able to feel it. There had been one-way communication for the first time since she'd held Karen in her arms the first night they slept together; the night they said this thing between them didn't have to be serious. That night, she'd felt Karen's heart beat fierce and steady, and it had stayed that way ever since.

For it to stop felt almost like a betrayal. Hen knew this heart. It knew her. It was supposed to respond to her touch. They were supposed to work together to make Karen happy. It wasn't supposed to give up on her like this.

But Hen's hands hadn't been the only ones on Karen in that ambulance. Chim had pushed epi, Bobby had shocked her, and Karen's heart hadn't responded to any of them. Her pulse was gone. Gone.

When Bobby shocked Karen again and again and finally restored her heartbeat, Hen had started hyperventilating. Lazarus, before her very eyes. A miracle. It was like she'd never seen someone's life saved before because none of those people mattered like Karen did.

Hen had felt the same then as she does now, watching Karen come back to life in front of her again. She feels the sudden absence of panic, followed by an absolute tidal wave of relief so strong it threatens to knock her over. A gasping understanding of just how close she came to losing her wife, and a desperate breath in because she didn't.

But she stays calm. She controls her breathing. She tries to stay as strong as Karen is. Hen watches Karen slowly pour the hot soup into a bowl and stiffly cross the kitchen to get a spoon. She wonders how she got so lucky.

This is the woman who gave up her dream of going to space to stay here on the ground with Hen and their son. This is the woman who supported Hen through two years of medical school and would have continued to support her through the rest, through residency, through the long hours of actually being a practicing doctor, and would have been proud to do it. This is the woman who adopted Hen's ex-girlfriend's baby as her own; who fosters other children who need a loving home, even briefly. This is the best person Hen knows.

Hen is so lucky to have Karen in her corner, in her life. It’s not that she's ever taken Karen for granted, but feeling the pulse leave her body knocked some fresh appreciation into Hen. She wants nothing more than exactly what she has. Denny had reminded her of that when Karen was still in the hospital.

So Hen had thrown away her resignation papers. She quit medical school and got Denny ready in the mornings. She sits in her kitchen and watches her wife eat soup and drink tea with healing cuts on her face and she knows this is where she’s supposed to be. She feels grateful to have it. She doesn't want to be a doctor if it means missing this.

In bed that night, Hen props Karen comfortably up against their pillows and lays between her legs like a prayer. She kisses Karen's soft thighs and holds her hand and rubs her clit soft and slow and then hard and fast with two fingers; just the way she likes.

Karen comes and Hen can feel every pulse and contraction of it under her fingers. She can feel Karen's heartbeat in her clit as she comes down. Hen has never stopped to appreciate that before now. She'll never forget to worship it again.

This is her wife. This is the love of her life. This is the best person she knows, and her heart is healthy and racing and pushing blood to every corner of Karen’s body under the guidance of Hen's instructions.

This is her heart and Hen can feel the proof of its vitality beating under her hands once again. She’s alive.

{give me kudos!}

[nade2308]

@whumpgifathon | Day 24: Magic

Magical Exhaustion | Cursed | Possession

"Healing Hands" (Working Miracles), Buddy Hoyt

Part 1 || Part 2

@thethistlegirl