Nov 29, 2014
333333 hi it's now 17 days until we meet again :)
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333333 hi it's now 17 days until we meet again :)
Benedict Cumberbatch: why does he do the things he does? (I am wondering if you have the answer [maybe]?)
Looking at his past behavior over the last little while I feel like it’s because of some sort of sexual insecurity.
I have a few theories as to why this is based on what I know of human beings in general, but since I don’t know the man as all I couldn’t really tell you .
I'm all for sircombeferre btw because combeferre.
<33333333333 you (oi, let’s skype pls & tnx)
[1] aheartfullofjolllly[0] mcjolllly[2] sircombeferre[1] hunkjolrass
send me an ask for your votes? :D
balancewiththislife replied to your post “balancewiththislife replied to your post “balancewiththislife replied...”
Darren :D it was weird seeing those two interact, I got sort of used to only seeing Brendan with a few people out of Ste, Chez, Mitzeee, Lynsey, Warren and Joel. Otherwise he's pretty antisocial!
yeah, same. i don't really care for the other characters though, only brendan. the playlist i'm watching has some videos without brendan and i just kinda skip them?? oops idk if that harms my perception of the show or if i lose some important plotlines, but i just find the others so boring.
balancewiththislife replied to your post “balancewiththislife replied to your post “???” *mimes zipping lips* ;)...”
I am a horrible tease, apologies for misleading you one way... or the other... :D
ugh yeAH, i was glad they didn't hook up!! now i'm at the part where brendan is at the casino with what's-his-face
balancewiththislife replied to your post “???”
*mimes zipping lips* ;) funnily enough, I am at what I think is probably the same point as you in my BB rewatch, so I had to comment!
ahh nice. it got real intense there for a while, but i know i haven't gotten to the worst part yet.
Some of that ExR In The Flesh AU. I hope you like!
“These aren’t the right colour.”
Grantaire looked down at his new IrisAlways contact lenses with dismay. The generic ‘blue’ of the false irises wasn’t anywhere near the murky shade of the eyes that used to peer back at him from much-hated mirrors when he cared to glance at them when he was… in his previous life. The myriad tiny blood vessels that spoke of too much alcohol and too many late nights were missing from the whites of the lenses too.
The poor match with the contacts offended his artist’s sensibilities, considering that his previous life was spent mixing colours, studying his subjects, determining the precise tones and hues he wanted to capture them best.
Dr Combeferre grimaced and Grantaire guessed he wasn’t the first to voice this particular objection.
“I know they aren’t a perfect match, Grantaire, and I’m sorry for that. What you have to understand though is that we simply don’t have the resources to tailor-make these for each person with Partially Deceased Syndrome.”
“PDS,” Grantaire corrected bitterly. There was denial in the acronym.
Dr Combeferre’s voice was gentle when he repeated the three letters. “PDS, if you prefer. I expect the FleshTone foundation isn’t perfect either, is it?”
An unfortunate experiment last night had shown that to be true. After caking his face with the stuff, Grantaire felt he could have mixed a better cover-up mousse himself, given the chance. It did make him look less dead, however, which was the desired effect in the end. He applied it again this morning (with somewhat better technique already) before his appointment to show willing.
“I’m not especially happy with it, now you come to mention it. Bit orange for me.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re giving it a try. Will you at least try out the lenses too? Despite their obvious failings, it’s a tick in the box on the road to getting home. Once you’re out of here, it’s your decision whether you wear the mousse and lenses or not.”
Getting home. Grantaire wasn’t sure whether he wanted to bring that goal forward or push it back indefinitely. There were ways of doing so. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, tugging at threads in his fraying sleeves and avoiding the doctor’s eyes. Behind his glasses, Dr Combeferre had light blue eyes: a pale cornflower iris with flecks of dark grey and round normal pupils. They were intense, but still soft – a doctor’s curiosity and compassion in them. The compassion set him apart in the Treatment Centre. Grantaire wasn’t sure what a man like him was even doing there.
“Don’t you have another patient to see already? The other doctors are usually much quicker with the turnaround.”
And usually with a harsh cry of ‘next’ to the waiting line of shuffling undead.
“I’m not the other doctors,” was Dr Combeferre’s reply in his even, measured tone. “I want to make sure you get the most out of our sessions – I can’t do that if I’m shoving you out the door after five seconds. My other patients get the same treatment, so hopefully they don’t mind having to wait a bit.”
Grantaire looked up at him again, a sad hint of a smile flickering over his lips. Dr Combeferre was exactly the kind of doctor he needed in his previous life. If he’d had someone this caring, this understanding and non-judgmental to speak to before… well, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up here.
“I’ll put the lenses in when I get back to my cell.”
Contrary to prior appointments, Dr Combeferre didn’t pause at Grantaire’s way of describing his room in the Centre, just gave him a tight-lipped nod of apology and acknowledgement.
“It won’t be long now and you’ll be out of here, Grantaire. The plan is still to go home to your family, isn’t it? We haven’t really talked about them before now. Are they supportive?”
This was the kind of talk that was best left to Group Therapy, in Grantaire’s opinion, where he could slouch down in his chair and give non-committal answers or stay silent and unnoticed for the duration of the session.
As it was, Dr Combeferre’s direct question and his open expression demanded honesty. Or rather, it asked politely and insinuated it would be disappointed if refused.
Were his family supportive? Hard to say, in the face of how much he’d changed. In his old life, his mother worked two jobs and bought him paintbrushes and sketchbooks and gave him University prospectuses where they had decent Arts programs with no mention of him getting a ‘real job’. His younger sister hugged him when he came out to her and punched him on the shoulder for not doing it sooner because waiting for him to spit it out had apparently been torment when she could see he was struggling with it.
Of course they were supportive, more than most families, with what he’d put them through. His mum was always willing to sit with him while he vomited his guts up into the downstairs toilet after a night of excess. His sister had been worried enough to always watch him recover afterwards, holding vigil as he slept to make sure he wouldn’t be sick again and choke himself to death.
Shame about that one time he passed out at someone else’s house without anyone to take care of him, really. Asphyxiation, what a way to go.
“Grantaire?”
….hee :)
Hope you’re okay, darling one.
x (balancewiththislife)
Right, so, to confuse everyone...
I've changed my theme, icon, and URL all in one go.
takemyhandjohn --> balancewiththislife
Sorry for the confusion!
...As you were. I hope you're having a good weekend!
-Nix