#truly my comfort person

[machidejavu]

i miss soobin

[zaahvi]

emotionally repressed dalish assassin meets the evil god he's looked up to all his life, folds immediately

[momotonescreaming]

8x18 coda about Baby Boy Han's name. Angst. Evan Buckley focused. No character hate here please.

The first time Buck hears someone call his nephew Bobby, he flinches. A gut wrenching, muscles seizing, the sharp sting of a slap to the face flinch.

Buck's on Maddie's couch, sharing coffee and freshly baked cookies with her while while Chim takes care of his son in the other room. He listens and chats and smiles until she calls her son Bobby. And then Buck can't move. His muscles are constricting against the sickly whorl of his stomach, his joints locking up, breathing coming faster. Cookie held loosely in his hand, halfway from his plate to his mouth.

He bolds upright, cookie falling from his hand and Buck makes an excuse about an appointment he forgot about. His realtor rescheduled a meeting about his new apartment last minute, and he really needs to run if he wants to make it on time.

Buck stutters out an apology and runs out of Maddie's house.

He drives. Doesn't know where. Doesn't care. He's shaking, knuckles white as he grips the Jeep's steering wheel. Back impossibly straight, tense, muscles locking his shoulders in place. It's going to hurt later. But he doesn't care. He drives. He just needs to get away.

He needs to get as far away from his nephew as possible and he feels sick about it. That's his nephew. Maddie's his sister, been there for him through everyone, she gave him her jeep and got him out. But hearing her call her son Bobby makes him flinch.

He thinks maybe he could've handled them calling him Robby, better.

Buck pulls over. He finds a park on the side of the road outside a laundromat, and hyperventilates. Turns off the engine, and ducks his head, shuts his eyes to block out the light streaming in through the windshield.

He can understand why Chim and Maddie did it. Bobby gave his life for Chim, so he could live to see his son, his family again. Buck can understand why Chim would do this. To honour him, his sacrifice, so his legacy and his memory is carried with them always.

It makes Buck flinch.

He never told anyone — not even Bobby — but he wanted to name his future kids after him. He was more than Buck's captain, he was the father he never had, he loved and cared for him. Buck was going to give his kid the middle name Robert if it was a boy, or Wade if it was a girl. Bobby's middle name was Wade, and it felt gender neutral enough that Buck felt it could work with whatever first name he gave his kids. Or maybe even Robin, for either, if he and his partner felt it worked better.

He wanted to surprise Bobby with it. Make it special.

But he can't do that now. It'll feel cheap. Like he's just copying Chimney.

Buck heaves, nausea swirling at his stomach. He feels sick. Like the rest of his world is crumbling down around him.

He gets broken up with, Bobby dies, no one will let him carry out Bobby's last wish for him to be there for everyone, Eddie tells him he's making the death of his father figure all about himself and then Buck has to move out, Chim gives a speech and pointedly tells him not to transfer, and now Buck can't even name his kids after his own father figure.

If he says anything they'll say he's being selfish. Mean. Cruel. Making everything all about him again.

His phone vibrates, and he doesn't pull it out of his pocket to check who it is. If it's Maddie, or Chimney, he doesn't know if he's going to handle it well. So he doesn't look. Squeezes his eyes shut, presses his face harder against the steering wheel and begs tears not to fall.

He can't fall apart. He can't. He needs to hold it together, so the next time he hears Maddie or Chim or anyone call his nephew Bobby — he won't flinch. No matter how much it feels like its curdling his insides.

[jkvjimin]

KIM SEOKJIN + music videos ↳ happy birthday, kayla! @cordiallyfuturedwight 🤍🌼

(beautiful background art made by @kithtaehyung)

[ovaryacted]

Idk, maybe I am too woke but calling people miserable for pointing out that the second season of TLOU uses trauma porn as a plot mechanism involving the deaths of characters of color that’s associated with Zionism when it’s a very known critique since the second game is just tone deaf as fuck. I know that people who just want to stick their head in the sand and engage in this content don’t want their experience to be ruined, believe me I do, and talking about these things isn’t done with the intention to do so. But for the love of god, if poc are telling you very valid and very real moral justifications to acknowledge that a tv adaptation relies on the context of ethnic cleansing from a known Zionist, listen to them. I love Joel Miller, I do, but sitting here and pretending not to connect the dots when we’re watching him being played by a man of color who’s tortured to death by a character intended to be seen as a white savior followed by most poc right after is just insane. People are actually dying, the administration is stripping people’s first amendment rights and testing the constitutional limits of revoking citizenship to people who criticize the ethnostate of Isr@h3ll, and they’ve already done that by making an example out of Mahmoud Khalil and sending him to a detention center in Louisiana knowing the judge will not rule in his favor, which they did just last week. It’s all going to set off a domino effect that targets anyone this administration wants to harm and disappear, and that is a very real threat people have to go through under an authoritarian government.

I know that at this point it doesn’t matter what I say, how much I educate people or even explain that multiple things can be true simultaneously with all of the nuance. But it won’t matter because people just want their old man on the screen and they’ll block out everything else, and I know people will still miss my point after this and will be more reactionary than anything and that’s fine. Honestly, I’m glad y’all find enjoyment in TLOU, I know I used to, but for many people they can’t, not in this political climate, not anymore, and that’s valid and true too. My frustration with all of this comes from a place of genuine hurt with the reality me and many others live with, and I just wished some of you weren’t so quick to dismiss critiques and shut people out when you take disagreements so damn personally. Whether or not you actually care, just because you don’t understand the implications of media like this doesn’t mean those who do are automatically wrong or are purposefully trying to ruin something for others.

[thinwhitedoc]

SHERLOCK | Martin Freeman as John Watson

[rendnotmyheart]

God, if you told me a month ago I would be knee-deep in a Grantaire and subsequently Grantaire/Enjolras and subsequently Enjolras obsession.....

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: violence mention / death mention / ]

Will never stop thinking about how Leo, all alone in an endless void and being beaten again and again and again by the only other living thing around, still finds comfort in that space. The situation he was in was completely hopeless, and in any other circumstances he would not have escaped, at least not fast enough to save him from permanent (or even fatal) damage, be it physical or mental.

And yet, despite the bleakness of his situation, despite the agony and helplessness, all he needs is one glance at a crumbled photograph, one glance to remember his family, and that’s enough of a reason for him to smile.

Maybe that’s why his powers center around manipulating space - because no matter how much space is between them, no matter how dire his own situation may be, just the thought of his family, alive and okay, is enough to give Leo hope.

[multiheadcanons]

JUST AN ODD THING INVOLVING THE MEDIC.

cw: blood, marginal gore. tasteful, almost.

blood on your hands was not a new experience.

the sensation this time was odd.

it dried so quickly. too fast, there was no opting for the dirtying of clothes, it was on your hands. dried there, and it almost felt like it was absorbing into your skin. you almost hoped it did. you wanted to blink and watch it go away, and have clean hands.

but they were bloodied.

and as the doctor turned to face you, his own hands bloodied; the excited smile dropped slightly as he met your eyes.

“you’re not having fun with this, are you?”

and words escaped you.

all you could do is hold your hands up.

“oh… oh! aw, poor baby.” he tutted, removing his hands from his own corpse, freshly wet, liquid garnet adorned. how does he do that. just repel blood. how does it always stay so slick on his hands. why did your hands dry so quickly. “that’s the worst. that’s why you stay in the body. they can’t dry if you’re submerged.”

“i don’t… know… what to do.” it’s hard to form the words as you stare at the palms of your hands. the blood was still there, and still so dry. “do— do i go back in?” the idea of sinking your hands, already sticky with dry blood, back into a liquid thicker than water made your stomach churn.

“is this a moral dilemma you’re having?”

“no— well… no. no.” you felt fairly confident in that answer. “i just want clean hands.”

“take one off the cadaver, they don’t need them.” he snickered at his own joke, but corrected when you didn’t laugh back, offering an apologetic smile instead. “we can give you clean hands.” he gently grabbed your hands in his own. “come with me. i hate when you’re like this.”

“like what?”

“sad. it makes me feel bad for you. it’s better when you laugh at my jokes.”

“so you pity me.”

“a little! only when you’re sad.” the honesty was comforting, really. it’s what you’ve come to expect from him as he leads you to the sink, turning the water on. “do you remember how to wash your hands or should i do it for you?” what a thoughtful question to ask.

“can you just— take them off? and put them back on? is that a thing you can do?”

“your hands?” you nod. “i can absolutely do that. it’s going to hurt.” you look at them again and feel bile rise in your throat.

“take them off.”

that’s not something you have to tell the doctor twice. his disappearance was short, as he returns with his faithful bonesaw. he takes your hand, firmly this time, and holds it down on the counter. as you twitched your fingers, they almost feel stuck to the meat of his palm.

“i’ll make it quick. the worst part is the bone. but your wrists are so frail… i’m sure if i place it right i can do it in a single swing.” his confidence made you feel better about the risk you were taking. “take a deep breath. one—”

and did he deliver on his promise.

gone in one swift action; and you didn’t think about it until he pulled your hand away from your body and set it in the sink. and it wasn’t the worst pain in the world, really. is this adrenaline?

“what a wonderful reaction! one more time. keep a straight face again and i’ll give you a prize.” he took your other hand, holding it in the same place. “deep breath in.” he didn’t even bother to count this time, and you flinched. that swing hurt. he scoffed. “you can’t move. now i have to cut through the rest. breathe, please.” as you began your first breath, he began to saw through. and each pass hurt. to the point that your breaths were synchronized with the swift motion of the saw. even after it ended. “all done. i’ll clean them and return them shortly. here, you can even watch.”

you stared down at your now handless arms; throbbing with a pain you couldn’t quite feel yet. and joined his side at the sink.

he handled your removed hands gently, though your arms currently dripped blood on the floor. he paid it no mind for now as he reached for the soap. gently cradling your hand in his own, he began the process of scrubbing the blood from the skin. and as the water turned the color of rust, and more and more of what you knew to be your hand was exposed, he chuckled to himself.

“you know, it’s odd. i’ve never thought about it until just now. you have quite pretty hands.” he mused. “calloused. yet still so soft. they’re lovely.” he turned it over, running his fingers down your palm, opting to rub the soap into the skin in small circles with this thumb. you could swear you felt it as you watched. as he made his way to your fingers, taking care to get underneath your nails. it was a meticulous process he was focused on, and you could only watch in silence as he finished with one and grab the other. “would you mind grabbing a— right. nevermind.” he chuckled at his own folly, and you couldn’t help but crack a smile either.

it was pretty funny.

as he focused on the other, he moved quicker, but did not sacrifice the thoroughness of his work. his brows twitched occasionally as he scrubbed a little harder, but he looked so relaxed otherwise. he was almost playing with your hands in the water. intertwining his fingers with yours, examining your nails, going over and over the same spots he’d already done as he traced the lines of your palm. and you swear you could feel it. you could feel it all. he gently placed the second with the first and went for a towel, returning quickly once again.

“there. all done. look at how clean they are! do you feel better? do you feel better staring at your clean hands?” you thought about it for a moment as you stared at your clean, dry, severed hands on the counter, and back at your still dripping nubs. then back at your hands on the counter. honestly, yeah. you did feel better. at least you certainly didn’t feel how you did before witnessing this twisted act of care, and truthfully, anything was better than that. so you nodded. “perfect. let’s get these back on you, make sure they work, then let’s say we clean up in here and return tomorrow with a better mood and a pair of gloves for you, hm?”

you weren’t sure how to thank him. you honestly weren’t sure if you should.

but you could certainly try again tomorrow.

“i think we can manage that.”

[dukeofthomas]

"Angry robin" "violent robin" "misbehaving robin" shut up and accept my alternative; spunky Robin. Determined and head strong, can out-stubborn the Batman, has a strong moral-backbone and does what he thinks is right regardless of what anybody else says, Robin. Jason who was sassy and quippy and made crude jokes with a smile on his face. Jason who hid in Bruce's cape and whispered gossip to him. Jason who, if Bruce refused him something, could keep bothering endlessly until Bruce caved. And also dramatic Jason. If Bruce tells him no, it becomes a whole theatrical show; a monologue, a narration, embellishments, and falling onto the floor in his grief upon the fact his cruel father has denied him once again.

(Jason who has suffered through abuse and homelessness and poverty and starvation, who is the Fight out of Fight or Flight, who's built up defenses and walls and when pushed and triggered responds with the thing that's always protected him; anger. He's sweet and kind and funny, and when he sees a pimp hitting a prostitute he gets furious and responds with violence.)

[leulahart]

sometimes a family is a drunken mentor and his two tributes who survived the war against all odds

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

I can imagine anything guy image: “I can spiral into tears and convince myself I’m the worst person alive over anything”

[rockafstw]

Sometimes I remember Prost has said Senna told him things that he promised to never repeat to anyone and I go “Hm.”

[mr-payjay]

watching the nickel apology scene from the great bluish bakery over and over going completely insane. i could rewrite this to actually sound like nickel.

[liriostigre]

‎ 💭 🛌🏻

[hawkeshep]

kinda sucks that I couldn’t play datv long enough to see the solavellan reunion but oh well