#it could be queue

[theyre-in-love]

rip jack seward you would've loved benadryl

[theyre-in-love]

@yallwildinrn

Sunset over the Winter Forest - Heinrich Gogarten (1850-1911).

[twistedappletree]

[artsymeeshee]

[ariadne-mouse]

I feel fandom would get along a lot better if there was mutual understanding that liking a character, agreeing with a character, and thinking the character is well constructed/executed are all separate (if often overlapping) positions, each with their separate tastes and subjectivities. Also: character portrayals are intended to make the audience feel things; this is separate from (if often overlapping with) analyzing/appreciating their actions and role in the story.

[hatsbuckets]

He does NOT like to talk about it.

The weeks—months—spent between pain meds and recovery after he came back from the dead.

Barely lucid for the first few weeks, and a hollowed-out man after he finally switched to lower-dose pain meds.

He remembers when they told him he was “lucky to be alive.”

Except Simon Riley has never been lucky.

Luck would’ve given him a home. Luck would’ve given him a father. Luck would’ve given him a face that doesn’t remind him every damn day of the man he loathes. Luck wouldn’t have had him crawling out of his own fucking grave and dragging himself back to life.

Luck would’ve been fantasy.

Simon Riley does not live in a fantasy.

He lives in a body that barely made it back. Knife wounds down his ribs, healing jagged. A shattered radius. Dislocated shoulder. Crushed digits. Stitches up his thigh. Two cracked vertebrae. An eye that still doesn’t always focus right in fluorescent light.

The worst part? The ache in his jaw. Not from injury—though there was that too—but from grinding his teeth night after night, just to keep the screams in.

Price had visited. Simon was never sure if it was real, or if the drugs were still puppeteering his grief into hallucination. He remembers a warm hand on his shoulder. That was real.

He remembers not crying. Only because he’d already run dry.

The anger came later. When the fog lifted. When the pain stopped being an abstract thing and started screaming in every nerve. When he realized he couldn’t tie his boots.

Couldn’t hold a fork.

Couldn’t even sign the discharge forms without his hand seizing up.

He nearly threw a chair at the wall when his pen slipped again. The physical therapist just handed him another sheet of paper. Told him to try again.

Like it was that fucking simple.

But he did. Again and again. Because the fury needed somewhere to go.

And repetition was safer than silence. His body healed, but his hands were the worst.

He started tracing letters. First his name. Then lines from books. Then nothing at all—just letters, shapes, lines.

Somewhere along the way, it got… good. Neat. Sharp. Clean block print, easy to read. And if he really focused, if he took his time—

It became beautiful.

A steady hand in ink. A small act of control in a world that had stolen everything else.

Simon Riley doesn’t like to talk about what it took to come back. He doesn’t talk about the way rage nearly drowned him. Or the way he still checks every lock twice. Or how he sometimes wakes up clutching at fingers that no longer hurt, just to make sure they’re still there.

But the handwriting stays.

On gear manifests. On margin notes. Initials. Coordinates.

Sometimes letters.

He’d written them to Price as practice, as part of the therapy—physical and mental, he now realizes.

He still writes them today. Habitual. Short notes, mostly.

Mostly—always—to Price.

But eventually he slides one under Johnny’s door. He couldn’t tell you what he wrote. Doesn’t remember. Something gentler than he'd have ever said out loud at the time, probably.

And soon after, Kyle gets them too. Appreciation. Praise. Anything Simon can give, even if he might never speak the words into the air.

There exists a note to his family—to his mum and Tommy. It sits at the bottom of his desk drawer, forever sealed.

He does NOT like to talk about it. Those months spent in agony.

He probably won’t ever talk about them now.

But maybe he’ll write something.

a/n: I just think he would have pretty handwriting and I could write a whole essay on why. like wdym this tortured man wouldn't come back and find that this is something he has the max amount of control over (other than when he realizes how much control he has over himself (see: non-existent essay on Simon having the MOST control over himself out of the 141 because discipline, trauma, and dog-motif.)) started at this headcanon post if you care

[katebeckets]

how to say "I love you" in x-files [186/?] ⤷ 3.22 — “Quagmire”

[theyre-in-love]

@cha-melodius this reminds me of love is a losing game

Orestes by Euripides (Translated by Anne Carson) from An Oresteia

[theyre-in-love]

Amor Magnus Doctor Est

by @cha-melodius <3

✨MEME EDITION✨

more below the cut! (it really is just the main events of Amor Magnus Doctor Est, but as memes). I would recommend reading the fic first, because these would definitely make more sense, but it'd probably be just as fun to read it after seeing these. They are definitely spoiler heavy tho LOLL so if you haven't read it and don't want the ending spoiled, I would 100% recommend reading the fic first!!

as always, all the love to Sara for writing this LITERALLY AMAZING FIC it still lives in my brain to this day <3

[alecvolturi]

Edward asks Bella if she wants to spend time with him Saturday, so she can see him in the sunlight, and then Edward's surprise meadow is a FIVE MILE HIKE from the trailhead. a SURPRISE hike. and they don't even use a trail. wild second date activity

[qvert]

(smth about fighting to protect what she cares for - in the way she always wanted but was never supposed to)

There was a whole bunch of deep thoughts about this one but it’s late and I just want it off my pile so I don’t keep adding more contrast to the gold bits

I’ll elaborate tomorrow - speculation in the meantime is encouraged :*

[theyre-in-love]

@yallwildinrn

[solarpunkani]

Listen I’m not saying that *I* have the balls to buy a reflective vest and go off on a roadside or retention pond somewhere and start fucking around guerrilla gardening

But I am saying that the past week I’ve driven past many MANY people in reflective vests either doing roadwork or maintaining roadside shrubbery or whatever and the amount of times I considered questioning what the fuck they were doing is zero and the amount of times I would’ve even had the TIME to question what the fuck they were doing is zero

I saw groups of people I saw someone solo I didn’t question it I just figured ‘eh they’re doing SOMETHING and carried on. Depending on the location you pick, anyone who WOULD Karen up and interrogate you won’t even have the time space or ability to

[fatalism-and-villainy]

There is so much richness to Julian Bashir’s character and he adds so much to the fabric of DS9 as a show, and it’s unfortunate to me that so many summations of his character - I’m thinking especially of relatively mainstream critical venues, though sometimes in fandom as well - downplay or ignore his thematic significance, and contextualize his character only through either the homoerotic potential of his dynamic with Garak or the development of his friendship with Miles O’Brien.

It’s odd to me as well, because so many fans and critics praise DS9 for its willingness to be critical of the Federation and of Starfleet, and yet I see relatively little acknowledgment of how much of that criticism is accomplished through the character of Bashir (alongside, of course, Sisko). His infamous “frontier medicine” line is the very first example - it completely upends the ethos on which Star Trek rests, and it’s placed in his mouth. That matters, given that that he is set up as a character who believes in the utopia in which he grew up, and whose altruism is well-intentioned but shown to be naïve. That’s why he’s paired with Sisko in Past Tense, in which he’s shocked by the injustices of the past; it’s why we have episodes like The Quickening, which demonstrates without a doubt that his heroic impulses are good and worthwhile, but need to be tempered by humility.

And two of the arcs that are the most sharply critical of the Federation - namely, the augment thread and the Section 31 subplot - both centre Bashir. That’s not an accident. Those arcs raise all manner of questions related to institutional corruption and self-protection, the narrow standards of normalcy in Federation society, disposability and unpersonhood, the degree to which moral standards can be stretched for the greater good (similar questions to those raised by In the Pale Moonlight), etc.

Broadly speaking, Bashir’s arc centres on the awakening of innocence to experience, and about the process of becoming disillusioned with one’s ideals, but, simultaneously, the catalysts of that process only serving to emphasize the continued importance of those ideals. (Not to mention the fine line between heroism and self-aggrandizement and status-seeking). The dynamics with Garak and O’Brien are enjoyable, and sometimes thematically relevant along some of these lines, but he has so much going on in his own right, and that deserves to be recognized.

[sinfulpatata]

two blushing maidens

sqq being an oblivious flirt and lqg suffering as always

[thirteenpassingby]

Day 14th Doctor

ft Donna Noble ❤️