given its context

LOVE is not a GAME

It’s been weeks and I’m just so struck by the fact that the whole theme of Sherlock throughout the years was…“The game is on!”. Sherlock using the distraction of his detective work as a substitute high, and honestly a way to keep himself at arms length from ‘humans’ and any emotional and/or romantic relationships of course.

And then there’s THE FINAL PROBLEM and in comes Eurus Holmes, setting up this game for Sherlock, and putting Molly Hooper’s life in danger, and during that call we get all this…

  • Is this one of your stupid games? No, it’s not a game.
  • I’m not an experiment, Sherlock. No, I know you’re not an experiment, you’re my friend, we’re friends.
  • You know why. No, I don’t know why.
  • Because it’s true, Sherlock. It’s always been true. Well if it’s true then just say it anyway.
  • Say it like you mean it. I love you. I love you. 

He spends the whole phone call worried and pleading and as soon as it’s done he tries to shut all that off and get back to the game so he says…”Eurus, I won, I won…I won, I saved Molly Hooper.

But then you have Eurus coming back with that EMOTIONAL CONTEXT speech and being like, HAHA NOPE, silly boy, you just lost, you proved yourself wrong, you have emotions, you do care.

And the writers had Eurus use Molly Hooper against Sherlock, like this, to facilitate this exact epiphany, (disproving everything he’s said over the years, that he’s not a hero, that he doesn’t have a heart) because MOLLY HOOPER does count, she matters the most, he loves her, and LOVE IS NOT A GAME.



Imaizumi is used to the euphoria that hits at the end of races. He’s experienced enough to know that for the first few minutes even the greater considerations of victory or defeat fade into unimportance under the floating sense of physical bliss, exhausted muscles finally resting and oxygen-deprived thoughts going warm and hazy with the comfort. It’s a pleasant feeling, one that long ago lost the stress of unfamiliarity, and he would be more than happy to relax into it now that he’s completed his first Interhigh.

It seems unfair that he should be denied that comfort for such a minor reason.

It’s not a physical strain holding him back. He’s more than willing to collapse at the edge of the road just past the finish line, to gulp water and eat the handful of energy bars the other team members are offering him. But even as his skin aches pleasantly and his body goes light and weightless with the cessation of effort his mind is doubling back, returning over and over to who they left behind them on the course.

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I get that people love that miracles quote from The Pandorica Opens, but in context the whole point of that line is that the Doctor has never seen such a miracle and still hasn’t because Rory’s return is actually a trap. They’re beautiful words, sure, but also fairly empty.

Four ways Kanan found out that Hera could sing


It was like a flood had been let loose in Hera; since the arrival of their daughter - and since the sheer panic and worry and ohfuckohfuckohfuck had worn off - Kanan learned something new about his captain every day. Stories she had never shared before, told in a lilting whisper to the tiny bundle strapped to her chest as she finalised jump points. All of her favourite little things on Ryloth, snatches of happy memories that had been hidden for so long (save the rest for later, introduce her to the good before raising the bad). Hera’s r’s  rolling that little more, her vowels elongating as her native accent overrode her acquired outer rim accent.

Never moreso than when she sang. Hera sings. She sings. All this time, and Kanan never knew. She had hummed, in frustration or absentmindedly or chasing a nightmare. Singing was an entirely new development. Smoky and low, the ryl words pouring out and wrapping around him, filling the cockpit with specters of a lost world.

Kanan held her extra close that night, legs around his waist as they sat on their bunk. Determinedly but gently tickling her neck with his beard as he whispered for her to sing again, just for him. She will, but only if he’s the one to get up and see to the child when she wakes up in the night.


The intel had gotten to them too late, the camp already under attack as they sat, idly, waiting for the coordinates to be confirmed. Another blow to the straggling remnants of Ryloth, free no longer.

As the crew picked through the smouldering remains, a tearing gasping breath came from under the shredded remains of a crate. Hera scrabbled desperately, silently to reveal a Twi’lek woman, more ash than flesh. Unknown to her, but familiar mother cousin aunt. Taking care to avoid the charred flesh, Hera took the dying woman’s head in her lap. Too far gone, there was nothing that could be done. Gently stroking the base of her lekku as the crew watched on, Hera began to hum softly, faltering notes soon forming words soothing and sweet. A living piece of home in an alien place of death; she sang a song passed on by her mother and by her mother.

Before the second verse was done, the woman let out a final sigh. Gone.

That night, Kanan found Hera in the cockpit. Why should she sleep when there was so much work to be done? Together they sat in silence for the longest time, staring. Into the void of space, the silence deafening. Until, so low he’s not sure he’s sensing it or hearing it, she started to sing. The words sweeping and soothing, though he did not entirely understand it. When she sang her last, Hera squeezed Kanan’s hand and returned to sitting in comfortable, contemplative silence. Until the morning yells came from Zeb and Ezra’s room.


Ripped from dreams of gunfire and death and run, Kanan woke up to hands gently carding through his hair and a lullaby in his ear. It was just a nightmare, he’s fine, everyone’s fine, Master Billaba -  but no. The barely audible words were unknown to him; not basic - Ryl? Green hands soothing his aching head instead of brown.

He was lying face down on the sofa in the Ghost’s lounge. He didn’t remember getting there; he did remember a desperate need to drown the past. It didn’t work. It never worked. Hera, sitting on the floor next to him, met his eye with an understanding smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her fingers faltered but she didn’t drop a note, continuing her song until he drifted back to an uneasy sleep.

They never spoke of the incident, but that was the last time Kanan passed out in a drunken stupour. (He would have taken Hera’s singing as a substitute to keep the nightmares at bay, but that probably would have been a breach of their agreement.)

(She sang for him again several years later.)


Peace and quiet reigned at last on the Ghost. Kanan had swept the rest of crew off to run errands, buy supplies. Hera had begged off, citing repairs that urgently needed her attention. Truthfully, she need to be alone. She loved her crew - her family - but there were times that she missed when the ship was her ship.

The tanks were full, water was hot and no squabbling queue to use the ‘fresher. She was going to indulge and luxuriate in a shower that lasted longer than five minutes. Stepping into the deliciously scalding water, it wasn’t long before the tension was seeping out of her bones and a song bubbling out of her lungs. Strong and wilful, the Ryl rolling from the bottom of her belly as she let loose as she hadn’t let herself in so long, reverberating through the fresher.

Skin beginning to wrinkle and  having sung through all of the loudest and most defiant songs that she could think of, she turned the cooling water off and stepped out of the stall. She must have nearly gone through the entire tank. Oops. Still humming - a bawdy cantina number that her father had once caught her singing and no she definitely didn’t know where she heard it or what it means honestly daddy - she moved to wrap a towel around herself. Brushing water from the length of her lekku, and coming face to face with a broadly grinning Jedi leaning against the ‘fresher door.

Before he could say whatever witty remark he had ready, she flung the damp towel at his face and retreated back into the shower stall, turning the water back on. Daring him to follow her into the cool water.

Excuse me I think I’m going to be screaming for a million years with Fox’s tweet showing his early Papyrus sketches because of a “brother named comic sans and a [blank] named [blank]” seems like pretty good indirect proof we’re talking about a “father named Gaster.”

Given the context of the quote that came before the blacked out text, it would make sense we’re still talking about family. The spacing of the first word which is blacked out could be something like ‘father.’ The fact we have the full listed named ‘comic sans,’ referring to a font, means that we could also have the context of another font being listed. The fact that something is blacked out means that there still has to be secrets he’s not sharing. Such as the biggest secret character of his game, W. D. Gaster.

  • me: this gay ship is canon
  • some asshole: um obviously it isn't, this het ship is way more canon
  • me: oh yeah why
  • them: because it just is, you know? it just is!
  • me: so what you're saying is you think heterosexual relationships are inherently more valid than homosexual relationships, even if the latter is much more plausible given the context of its series?
  • them: um... no... how Dare you accuse me of being a Homophobe..... I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms. At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep.

really hate seeing these ‘what’s good’ memes in different fandoms tbh…….its really reducing nicki minaj’s response to nothing more than a meme & something to be laughed at as opposed to how impactful and important it really is, given who said it, its context, and Nicki standing up to herself in the face of the media and white women