#I think I'll join the tumblr scene again until life calls me back into the real world

[biolizardboils]

Hey again.

I was saving this for when I'd wrapped some other stuff up, but it's taking too long. I'm just gonna say it while the words are fresh in my head.

The two-month break I've been on? I think I'm gonna stay on it. As in, stay logged off except on special occasions.

There's still things I want to finish here. I will answer what's left at @ask-the-all-consuming-void and bring it to a proper ending; The Secret Thing it was gonna segue into will go up, even if only as sketches and drafts; And there's another project I'm still helping with behind the scenes. But aside from those… I want to maintain my internet presence a lot less.

I've learned a lot about myself since I left: most importantly the hyper-empathy, compassion fatigue thing, and that being terminally online probably does more harm than help. There's trying to be a good, vigilant person, and then there's overwhelming oneself about things they can't control, with info that isn't always accurate. I've been doing the latter in different ways for years; late April/early May was a big wake-up call. Lesson learned: I've got to find balance, and I won't find it here.

The second-most important thing I learned is that… the reason I "joined" the internet in the first place? It's pretty much been fulfilled. Has been for a few years now, actually.

I made this tumblr in 2015, but I got my real start on deviantART and WordPress in 2011. Don't expect links; what people post in their preteens can stay between them and God lol. But I'll tell you what got me to make accounts: my confusion as a new Sonic fan. The way people talked about them, the way they talked to each other… it hurt to see.

I got it in my preteen head to set a better example. To not let my love for something become disdain for others of its kind. To explain instead of assume. And to assure anyone who'd listen that it's not shameful to like Sonic, that those who do deserve better, and that they could still have it better someday.

And now, 13 years later… we do. The hurtful stuff I saw back then is nearly gone now. When it does pop up, it's easier to counteract than ever. People realize how silly and petty and wrong it was, and can call it out accordingly. People can live a little truer to themselves, now that that shit isn't everywhere anymore.

I think that, specifically, is all I really wanted. Everything else—the reinvigoration of the characters and their world, the downpour in avenues once closed off by "cringe" and "not enough interest"—have been wonderful byproducts. I've been gassing up Sonic Movie 3 as the final step, but it's really more of a victory lap.

After realizing that, I just… don't feel the need to post so much here anymore. My self-worth and sense of morality shouldn't rely on what I do or don't type. I don't need to document every thought or choice I make and why.

The cause I've performed for since middle school no longer needs my time and energy, if it ever even did. I can just enjoy things in relative silence, and spend myself in other ways. Ways I've taken too long to get around.

Sonic Unleashed is what set me down this path. I watched it go from rejected at launch, to just divisive, to respected and beloved. I still wonder if, had it gotten a fairer chance, the current Sonic renaissance could've happened sooner.

But dwelling on that won't change anything. I'd rather dwell on how, this year, I got to scream Endless Possibility with hundreds of other people, loudly and proudly. No fear of who's watching, no need to self-sabotage. It meant the world to me.

There was a con in my area on June 23rd. I wasn't planning on doing anything that day until I heard about it. There was someone in attendance who helped me put a symbolic bow on this part of my life.

I think he did a wonderful job :)

I have one last thing to say before I go. That'll be its own post, so I can put it in the public Sonic tags.

Again, the stuff I've left hanging here will get finished eventually. But for now, this is goodbye.

Moots, followers: thank you so much. I will quite literally remember you all in therapy.

--BiolizardBoils

[gregorovitch-adler]

Don't jump to conclusions, Vicky.

When I say the show called BBC Sherlock was shitty, I was talking about the show. Canon.

You know, the 90 min thing we see on screen.

And yeah, that part has always been shitty. I knew about this before entering the fandom. Right from the start since I made Reddit and Tumblr accounts, I knew I was just here to discuss this show with like-minded people.

I just happened to see such beautiful fanart and other types of fan content. I knew about Inevitably Johnlocked's page even before joining Tumblr. Her rec lists helped me find so many beautifully written fanfics. I even discovered wonderful writers like SilentAuror, and many others, back then.

The works in general were so good that I decided to make an AO3 account for myself to start writing my own stories. I was that inspired. I got to know that you need to wait for the invite list when you're setting up an account on that site, and you need to wait for it for a week approx. So, I decided to make a Tumblr account to post my story chapters on here in the mean time.

The rest is history. I made friends, followed so many people, reblogged fan creative works, discovered specific people behind those works (like you, for example), etc. And I have been enjoying my time here a lot. You can tell by just taking a brief look on my blog.

Reblogging beautiful johnlock fanart, your retouches from the show's scenes, etc. gives me life. I've said millions of words to express how much I liked them in the notes of those posts.

What all the creative people in this fandom (including me lol) have been doing is just great. Wouldn't change anything about that. Wouldn't exchange all that creativity for anything. Know this. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.

I genuinely love what we've all created here in various fan spaces.

Sherlock Holmes (the whole lore, not just this godawful show) is my current hyper-fixation, and I'm gonna stay here until that changes, which seems quite unlikely for a long time now.

But the show (again, the actual episodes) - yeah, I've always thought they were bad. I'd finished binge-watching all 4 seasons in 2020 and the last one was so disappointing that I'd immediately moved on to watching other, much better shows even then. Like Better Call Saul.

I got sucked into the fandom in the end of 2021 because I was attacked (in a very nice way) by johnlock almost out of nowhere. (Not going into the details here at the moment).

I knew I was just here to discuss about the show with like-minded people, about how bad it was, why it was so bad exactly, etc.

Fan creation was something I frankly didn't expect to be this good (seriously, I love Petite Madame's artwork so much!). When I came across these things, I fell in love. And I don't think I'm gonna be falling out of love anytime soon.

So then I knew I was here to have lengthy discussions about this shit show (the canon) with other people, and to experience beautiful fan creativity that we can see in this fandom till date. Two things, then.

But as far as the show in itself was concerned (again, the canon), at least to me, it was always going to be horrible and a shitty trainwreck, wasn't it? I wasn't suddenly going to love the canon again magically. That's not how it works.

And if I found the show bad, I'm allowed to talk about it. Sometimes I'll write in detail about why exactly this was bad (constructive criticism), and sometimes I'm just gonna be name-calling without clarifying. I'm allowed to do that much on my blog. I'm not always going to specify every single thing that I disliked about the show. That would be impractical.

I called the show shitty in the previous reblog because I strongly disagree with what the other person said (whom I reblogged from).

My original post was just in good fun. It was supposed to be a light-hearted shit post. It was not an announcement of me going anywhere.

But BBC Sherlock is obviously not the epitome of johnlock. The statement just sounds like a joke at this point.

Holmes/Watson as a ship has existed in the fan speculations since over literal century, now. There are so many other adaptations that have treated the Holmes-Watson dynamic in a much better way. Granada, Guy Ritchie movies in 2009, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, and even Sherlock & co, just to name a few.

Since the original post was mine, and it was a shitpost, and I disagreed with that reblogged post so hard, I decided to reblog from that person to express the fact that I disagree with them. It was my post, so I can have this discussion if I disagree with someone.

This fandom, as far as the creativity is concerned, has been lovely (and I'm including your retouches in that, Vicky). And I still like having detailed discussions about this show with the friends I've made. That's what we're all here for, aren't we?

But that doesn't change the fact that the show (canon) is awful (to me). It still leaves a bad taste in my mouth when I think about the actual episodes too much.

All that I've said about the fan creativity also doesn't change the fact that there are other, much better Holmes adaptations out there. The ones that understand the essence of canon and its characters and decide to give them their own spin.

So many other adaptations are always going to be much better than what we got in the canon of BBC Sherlock. Ones that don't insult the intelligence of the fans. Ones who know how important the Holmes-Watson dynamic is (romantic or platonic, that's not the point).

The original post wasn't supposed to be this long or deep. It was a shit post about a personal opinion of mine. That was it.

So, yeah: I conclude by saying that in my opinion, BBC Sherlock is a mediocre Holmes adaptation. The show in itself is an insult to ACD canon, especially the fourth season. Many other Holmes adaptations are going to be better than this, or have already been better than this. Even Sherlock & co is doing much better. (This is an opinion).

What I'm here on Tumblr for (as long as we're talking about BBC Sherlock) is the friends I've made to discuss about the show (jamielovesjam, for example), and for the fan creativity.

Nothing else.

That's all.

Edit to add: I saw your tag "most of the stories you wrote arose from the characters, right?"

Yeah, that's correct. It's not like I'm completely ungrateful to the show. This show was my gateway to the Sherlock Holmes lore, however horrible it was.

I loved the characters as they were in the earlier episodes (albeit they could've been done better). But the mysteries were not that well-written even then.

Also, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are not the original characters of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. Those are ACD's original characters. Mofftiss don't own either of them by any means.

Still, overall that adaptation was mediocre, and Sherlock & co is much better than this, in my opinion.

(Now I'm done).

Friendship ended with BBC Sherlock. Now Sherlock & co is my best friend.

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

4x12 - GSR fix-it fic

(A/N:  What the motherfuck- TUMBLR HAS A TEXT BLOCK LIMIT?!!!! UUUGGGHHH!!!! I guess this is gonna have to be in two parts. But, I guess...this whole thing is pushing 9000 words, so I'll split it 4500-4500. Yeah. I'm as tired as Gil now. I'm gonna go sleep with him. I was inspired to write this after watching that video.  Anyways, they're actually together in this one.  Aka when Gil FINALLY goes home, he can rest his forehead on Sara's and reassure himself that she's actually still okay, and that she's actually still right there, with him.  Because I crave this for them.  So, there are many and heavy contextual changes. Fyi, I'm not writing out every single piece of dialogue/action, hell no.  I'm just writing whatever's relevant to GSR. Oh and, warning - canon-typical ns/fw

{I'm sorry about the formatting but I would like to give} Special thanks to @addictedtostorytelling for...basically saving my ass with all the details of this fic. Thank you for answering my questions, no matter how inane, dumb, unnecessary, or worse. And of course @stokes-theorem got me out of a panic attack; it is much appreciated 🙏)

Gil walked through the house of the 419 of the night, having had to put protective coverings over his shoes so that he did not disturb any evidence he might accidentally step on. He had to keep his back to the wall and walk sideways as well. (The sound of his footsteps were adorable.) As he passed the spare bedroom, he noticed that the victim possessed a collection of butterfly-resembling trinkets, all displayed nicely on her shelf. He made it to the area of event at last, squatting down to take a closer look at the body.

His eyebrows jumped up in shock - the victim had a strong resemblance to Sara. For a few moments longer, he stared at his (secret) girlfriend's image, a dozen thoughts swirling around in his head but never aligning themselves. It was his unfailing sense of duty that allowed him to literally get his head upright and get back to his team, who was waiting outside. But when he opened the door, the very person in his line of sight was Sara; again he stared, this time at her actual self. Inside, there was a dead body, who looked so like her, but here she was, living, breathing and- turning her head to stare right back at him. But the one's gaze held such a different meaning from the other's.

Jim, who was past Sara in Grissom's line of sight, thought that he was the one the team leader wanted to see, so he stepped between the scientists. "Ready for us?"

"For now, no one enters this house except CSI."

[CUE THE INTRO]

Gil assigned Warrick to the car, but he assigned Sara to the perimeter, to which she shook her head in disbelief and questioned, "What? You just did a one hour walk-through. The perimeter cannot be a priority." On 'not', she shrugged and laughed wryly.

His gaze immediately turned beseeching. "I need you to work the outside. Catherine and I will be inside." He momentarily shifted his eyes in the direction of the door at the last bit but immediately looked back at her, his eyes even more pleading. Sara gave him an 'alright, fine' smile and went to do as he said.

Gil did not examine the car, but there was a fair chance that it would yield a fair amount of evidence. However, he had, as Sara remarked, gone over the perimeter, so he knew that Sara's scouring of it would bear no fruit. He deliberately did this; he wanted to dissociate Sara from the case as much as possible, in his own little way.

While Catherine went to interrogate the victim's friend, Gil took the opportunity to go back and stare the body for a bit longer.  He was (understandably) haunted that the 419 looked like the love of his life.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not hear Catherine walk in behind him; his head flinched to the side when she spoke, "One thing I can never get over with this job: anything can happen to anybody."

Gil clicked his tongue and responded, "That's why we're here," before going back to looking over the corpse.

Soon enough, Sara was let in a little more on the action when she had to crawl under the house and unscrew a pipe running from the bathroom to get the water that had been drained into it, as well as process the actual pipe.  However, Gil insisted that she was to return to the laboratory and test just those pieces of evidences as soon as she was done; his intent was that she would be occupied with something appertaining to the case but not in such a major capacity, thus satisfying her curiosity if only on a temporal basis.  Gil and Sara did not know it, but when she looked up into the pipe, Gil happened to be spraying luminol onto it on the other side.  (A/N:  Can I just take a moment to appreciate the cinematography here?  As well as the music <3)

The bugs helped the bug man out again; flies swarmed the dustbins that had pieces of corpse inside them.

After those were sent back to Al and David, Gil went back inside the house.  This time, he examined the victim's collection of synthetic butterflies.  He was turning over one that was blue, translucent, and had a base so that it could stand, a thoughtful frown on his forehead.  If Sara had been there to see him, she would have kissed it away.  He put the butterfly down and picked up a framed picture of Debbie.  With her arms straight up in the air and an open-mouthed smile that showed her top row of teeth, it was evident that she had been jubilant at the time of photography.  Gil shook his head; not because he pitied the loss of her joy, but because he was once again struck by her likeness to the greatest joy in his own life.  He tore his eyes away from the photo and looked at himself in the mirror, trying to collect himself.

But the adverse was achieved, because the bed was visible in the mirror, and he envisioned the victim sitting on it facing away from him, alive and well.  She then looked over her shoulder at him; the image was replaced with that of Sara.

Grissom clenched his jaw.  He stiffly tilted his head to one side, his gaze at himself hardening.  All in an reinforced effort to steel himself.

He was forcibly yanked out of his thoughts when his phone rang; his head flinched a little way in its direction while his eyes flickered down to it.  He picked it up and manage to announce in his normal voice, "Grissom."

"Hey!"  came the voice of the very woman who plagued him so, her voice cheery; she had dismissed any offence she had felt earlier from her mind and forgiven him, just being happy to hear from her man.

But her voice made him drop his mouth open in shock. Restraining the last of his resolve from flying out the window, he said, "Sara.  Uuuuhhh listen I'm in a bad area, I'll call you back."  He deliberately raised his voice a little to make his lie more believable.

Even though he could not see her, she gave a little nod; physical embodiment of her acknowledgment.  She responded by raising her voice just as he did when he next spoke.  "I got a skin tag off the bathroom drain pipe."

"Skin tag.  That's great.  Uh, give it to Greg."

"Yeah I did.  Hey do you want me to come over there and give you a hand?"

"No I'm-I'm-I'm fine," he stuttered, his free hand moving up then down again, as if he was physically dismissing (his emotions besides) her offer.  "I'll-i'll-i'll- uh...I'll talk to you back at the lab."  He immediately hung up after that.  He raised his head to glare at himself; he needed to force himself to push whatever emotions he had aside so that he could focus on the case.

As for Sara, she frowned in concern, but went on brushing what she put down as his typical eccentricity aside and went to help Warrick out with Michael Clark's car.  A third party would have enjoyed watching them work, especially with John M.  Keane's music.

After that, Sara and Warrick convened with Catherine in the break room to go over the course of the physical events of the murder.  Grissom joined remotely by holding his pager to his ear with one hand, while the break room's table had a speaker that his phone was tapped into; it was certainly much easier to communicate with Sara remotely and in a group where he could avoid speaking directly to her instead of communing in private where he literally had to face her.  Since Grissom was at the house, he walked through it himself in accordance with his team's narration.  When Sara spoke, he had to tilt his phone away from his ear, catching himself tripping again.  Since he was at the scene of the crime, he narrated how the deed was done.  As always, he had been envisioning the actual events, so it was difficult for him to picture such a thing happening Sara's likeness, but he pulled through; he did pause for extremely brief moments, and those could be put down perfectly as him taking time to think.

Sara, Catherine and Warrick finally went home after one and a half shifts.  As Sara approached the door to her and Gil's place, she could hear Hank scratching at it.  She smiled and opened the door. "Hey!" she called at the same time that Hank barked. Hank then stepped behind her and sniffed the air. "He's not here," Sara told him, gently pushing him inside with one hand and holding her kit with the other.  She sat on the couch and directed him to sit next to her.  She took her phone out of her pocket and showed it to him.  "We'll call him, huh?"  Hank had come to understand that that little slab of plastic with an area that would light up was something that humans used to communicate with each other.  There were frequent occasions when one of his humans was away, and the other would hold this object in between him and them.  Then, when the human pressed some things that made beeping sounds, there would be a certain tone for a while until the other human's voice could be heard from it; this was one such occasion.

Sometimes however, the other human's voice would not be heard.  In those cases, he and the human would just bark or speak into the slab by themselves.  After several hours, the slab would start up with a ringing sound, and when the human made a beep, the other human's voice could be heard.  He would always bark joyfully then and wag his tail.

So Hank smiled at Sara, tongue hanging out as he panted eagerly.  He watched and listened as she made the slab beep, and a tone followed.  Not too long after, the tone ended, and was replaced with a, "Grissom." He had had to turn away from the area of wall he was swabbing and take the phone out of his inner breast pocket.

Hank immediately started barking into the object, letting his human know that he was excited to hear from him and missed him.  Both humans giggled.  (At least Hank managed to cheer Gil up for a little bit.)  Sara absentmindedly ran her other hand down his ear as she waited for him to stop barking so that she could have her turn at speaking. The dog was aware of this, and let his mother have her turn in due time. "We miss you," she smiled.

He sounded forlorn as he answered, "I know... I miss you too...but I have to finish this." He was frowning sadly, and his shoulders were slumped. Sara thought that he was sad because he regretted not being able to come home to her. While this was true, he had another reason: that he had to deal with...this. And it was not that he had to deal with it; it was something that he had taken upon himself to. All he wanted was to protect his Sara, even if it meant hiding (fortunately minor) details of the case from her, and foregoing sleep altogether.

"Why not come home? Take a break. And you can continue tomorrow," she tried to coax him.

He shook his head even though she could not see him. "No. You go ahead without me," he said woefully.

She frowned in concern. "We gotta stop doing this." She was referring to the fact that they often stayed up for the whole day to work on cases instead of getting sleep.

"I know, I know," he sighed, his free hand squeezing his temples. "I promise I'll get more sleep after this case, okay?"

There was a period of silence when Sara nodded. "Okay," she said genially.

She heard her boyfriend huff a sigh; he dipped his head defeatedly when he did that. "Look, I-i-i'm sorry," he stuttered for the second phone call from her in a row.

She shook her head, "Don't be. It's alright. I'm guilty of the same thing." As well as she could hear that he was in dire need of sleep, she would not force him to since he did not want to. Plus, there was no way she could get Gil to come home without people questioning as to how she managed to get through to the stubborn workaholic; suspicion would be raised as to the true extent of their relationship.  He was at a loss as to what to say.  So, she rescued him as usual, "I'll see you back at the lab?"

He felt as if there were chains around his body that had just been loosened. Finally, something he could answer honestly! He felt as if he was ripping them off as he answered, "I don't think so. I still have to process the carpet-"

"The carpet?! Gil, that thing runs over every inch of floor!!!" Hank, who had been contently resting his head on Sara's lap, jerked his head up at the sudden interjection.

"I know," he groaned slightly, the vocalisation coming more naturally now that he was free. The boxer lay his head back down. "It has to be done though."

She nodded before saying, "I know. Don't run yourself into the ground, okay? I mean," here he could hear her snicker, "no more than you usually do."

For the first time in over a day, he smiled. A small but genuine smile that made the corners of his storm blue eyes crinkle endearingly; if Sara was there to see it, she would have kissed him. "I'll try not to." And, ah, how nice - she could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Take care of yourself. Remember to eat at least. I love you."

"I'll try. I love you too. I love you Hank!" His head jerked up again and enthusiastic barking ensued. The humans followed suit with more giggling before they hung up. With his spirits lifted anew from his conversation with Sara, he pocketed his phone and got back to work with a little more energy than he had before.

As for Sara, she put a hand on Hank's head and said, "Well boy, let's go and eat some breakfast huh?"  He gave a cheery bark and jumped off the couch.  Sara closed and locked the door, carried her kit and followed him down the stairs.  She hurried to put her kit away and then popped back to the kitchen to set out Hank's food, and then get herself food. They ate, went for a walk, and returned. Sara took a shower, and put on Gil's shirt after. When it came time for bed, Sara asked Hank to lie on the bed with her, and cuddled him. "Since Gil isn't here, I'll hold you tonight," she smiled. He seemed to understand as he nuzzled her face and lay his head back down.

A little after the phone call, Gil did go and eat. He shed himself of his coveralls, put them in his car, got in himself, and drove to the nearest diner. He ate there and then took away a second meal for his lunch, which he ate at the appropriate time. Sara went to the laboratory at nine o' clock that night, wanting to do all she could to help her boyfriend. She went to check on Warrick's progress.  Upon finding him sifting through the contents of the victim's vacuum cleaner with a pair of tweezers and coughing profusely, she teased, "He-he-heyyy. Blacklung."

"Ah...I've been sifting through this trash for about six hours." That meant that he had been working for the entirety of the swing shift. "You come here to rescue me or make fun of me?" the poor man retorted.

"I am just looking, relax." She pointed to one of the petri dishes Warrick had set out to sort the evidence. "What are these white fibres here?"

"They must be from the spare bedroom, because all the other carpets are green."

Sara looked at the plan drawing of the house. "Spare bedroom wasn't on his entrance or exit path."

"Look, all I know is that they were near the top of the bag, so it must've been one of the last things he vacuumed." Sara gave small nods of acknowledgment.

"I did manage to find this butterfly pendant..." Warrick moved his tweezers to the petri dish where it was and picked it up, "...with some white fibres in it. Looks like it's from a necklace, or a bracelet. And it has this link, which has snapped so I'm thinking...sign of struggle?" He straightened up a little bit to raise his point.

"Killer was in that spare bedroom."

Gil's panicky obsessiveness was certainly affecting a fair few of his teammates. Catherine went to the scene of the crime at the same time as Sara returned to the laboratory.  She knew that Gil was very stressed out about the victim looking so much like their dear friend, and so she wanted to help him.

(Poor Gil...he did not realise that when he worried, his team family worried too and would do whatever they could for him; he did not realise that they could love him as much as he loved them.  He had such heavy doubt about his own lovability, so much so that he even almost rejected Sara when she first asked him out.)

Catherine walked in to see Gil processing the carpet (to the amazing soundtrack). During the conference, he had mentioned that he had processed the carpet on the threshold of the bathroom, and at present he was processing the area of carpet just beyond that.  Her work-wife face on, she said to him, "Don't tell me you never went home."

Gil looked up at her, one hand still on the carpet and the other holding his filter paper. "Okay." Since she did not want to hear anything to that effect, he decided to water it down by saying, "I just got started in here.  I haven't even got into any of the rooms yet."

"You know you lose your edge after sixteen hours, and you're into your third shift. She brought her forearms out to her sides. "I mean I'm all for overtime but, this is just plain greedy."

He shook his head tiredly before reassuring her, "My knees can't take this anymore." As fuelled as he was from his food, it still physically hurt to remain on one's knees for an extended period of time.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Yes."

"Ah," she nodded approvingly.  "Then, how about a shower?"  Gil shook his head.  Catherine raised an eyebrow in turn.  At Gil's look of horror, she clarified, "I mean at your place.  You need to go home."

"As soon as we find some evidence, I promise."

"With fresh eyes you won't miss it."

Her work-husband groaned as he stood up, his knees creaking.  "Just talk it through with me will ya?  What do we know?"

Catherine's eyes shifted to the side in thought.  "Alright."  She inhaled deeply before continuing, "The bathroom is where things got started. Candles, oils...steam shower...cleaned up, oiled up...sexed up."

"Let's go back to the bedroom," Gil voiced, moving his head a little way in the direction of the bedroom. They got their UV-protective goggles out of their kits, with Catherine taking the torchlight as well.  Cath shone the light on the topmost bedsheet, but nothing showed up under the fluorescence. "No, nothing on this sheet," Gil noted. He lifted that sheet to expose the one underneath, to yield the same result; he gently cocked his head to one side in acknowledgement (which was cute).

"She changed her sheets for her date; I would," Catherine remarked.

Since there was nothing to be found on the top surface of the bed, Gil let his gaze wander to the side of the bed. A ring embedded into the mattress caught his eye with a loop red cloth threaded through it with the rest stuffed under the mattress caught his eye; this time his head jerked a little to the side in vigilance. He squatted down and pulled it out, passing hand over hand.  When it was completely free and he could see what it was, he transferred it to one hand so that he could take off his goggles with the other.  He then looked up at his colleague with an uncomfortable expression and called, "Hey Cath..." When she looked at him, he held the thing up as if he was holding a dead rat and continued, "...got silk?"  His eyes shifted to the object as he asked that.  What he meant by that was if there was an identical finding on her side.

She looked down at her side of the mattress, and opened her mouth at the discovery and looked back at him.  Gil kept an inquiring gaze on her and took the opportunity to stand up.  She bent to her side while reaching an arm down and fished the cloth out.  "Why yes I do."  Gil looked back at the one in his own hand and shook it to see if anything would fall out; he was still disconcerted and frowning though.  His unease was turned into scepticism when Catherine said, "Iiii don't mean to embarrass you but um...some guys need leverage," as she stepped towards the foot of the bed and removed the sheets to uncover the barrier.

"They do?"  He was frowning a little bit harder; Sara certainly never complained.

Grinning in the hopes of finding something, Catherine gave a nod before saying, "I'll dust for prints."

While she did that, Gil's phone rang again.  He took his phone out from the same place he had when Sara called.  "Grissom."  He stuffed the hand not holding his phone comfortably into his pocket.

"It's Warrick.  I have somethin' for you - I found a butterfly link.  With some white fibres in it."

Grissom started walking to the other bedroom.  "Butterfly where?"

"In the vacuum bag.  You check all the rooms?"

"Lemme look again, and I'll get back to you."

"Alright." Grissom had reached the spare bedroom by then, so he put his phone away and got up to the shelf where the victim's butterfly collection was, a smile gracing his face at the sight of insects. He shone his (regular) torchlight on the contents of the shelf. When came across some more photos of Debbie, he drew himself back slightly, but quickly tore his gaze away from them; this was not the time to dwell on his feelings. His gaze averted to a blue jewellery box next to them, decorated with even more images of butterflies. He opened it; inside, there was an assortment of accessories, all butterfly-themed. He carefully used a finger to move them about, pushing them aside to see if there were any broken-off pieces. He did find one near the top right of the box.

In the meantime, Catherine had successfully made a print show up.  She tape-lifted it with a triumphant smile and proudly brought it to show Grissom.  "Hang one.  Toe print.  I'll have Sara compare it against both victims."

"Good."  Sara was the only unoccupied person.  "Warrick found a butterfly charm in the vacuum bag...I think I just found a piece from the same chain in this box."  He pointed to it.

"Butterfly huh?"  Catherine mused, her eyes moving to look over the rest of the trinkets.

"She had a collection." He seemed quite happy to announce that, and it was no wonder why.

"Gifts?  From her...gentleman callers?"

"Maybe the killer was taking his gift back.  As in, leave no trace.  Maybe he finally ran out of patience and got sloppy."  At the last sentence, his voice deepened, as if he was challenging the unseen and unknown perpetrator.  Upon shining his torch on the shelf below, he found a strand of hair.  Short and white, as would come from an elderly man.  He squatted, with Catherine following suit, and picked it up with his tweezers.  "And this is why I didn't leave."  His voice was soft with excitement and victory. Catherine left to bring the hair and toe print back to the laboratory, giving the print to Sara and the hair to Greg. Gil got back to Warrick and informed him of the matching butterfly.

Sara went to take the lower ten cards of both victims. Having finally gotten the chance to look at Debbie, she moved the swivel chair she was sitting on to draw herself up beside the victim's face. She stared down at it.  And suddenly, she understood.  She understood Gil's skittishness, understood why he had been reluctant to let her in on the case.  And she was, of course, haunted; it could very well have been her on Al's slab.  She glanced about, not knowing what to think; she could not articulate her emotions even in her own head. Eventually, they settled on one person: Gil. Gil, her protector; the person who had been 'protecting' her from this case at any rate.  She would speak to him to clear her head; she could always talk to him, and he would never turn her away. Well...he used to. But that was when his feelings towards her were even more of a mess than they currently were. He had progressed a lot with her help.

With that temporary comfort, she finished up and went to run the prints through AFIS. That took several hours. By the time that day shift roller around, both Debbie Marlin and Michael Clark were ruled out.  She then went to find Gil.  Or Catherine; whichever she found first. She went to the shift supervisor's office; nobody was there. And nobody was in the assistant shift supervisor's office either. But after some wandering around, she found Catherine in the locker room, sitting on a bench and changing her shoes. "Hey," Sara called, trying to seem cheery, "you seen Grissom?"

"He's still at the crime scene," Catherine responded, glancing at her as she did.

Sara nodded to signify her acknowledgment before reporting, "I eliminated both victims from the print you pulled off the bed."

"Well we know she was fishing off the company pier..." Sara responded with a look and a nod. "You uh, seen Debbie?" Catherine looked at her properly, wanting to gauge her reaction.

"Yeah," she said laconically, not wanting to give anything away.

"And?" Catherine enquired.

"Yeah I compared her...toe prints," she avoided still, her expression hardening.

Seeing as that would lead nowhere, Catherine decided to comment, "If I didn't know better I'd think that it was you on that table."

"I didn't really...look at her face," Sara denied. Noticing Sara seemed sad somehow, Catherine relented and just gave her a knowing look. Sara let her face fall, and allowed herself to sound as pleading as she really was when she asked, "If you see Grissom will you tell him?" Catherine nodded sincerely. Sara just walked off after that. The assistant shift supervisor convened with Jim and they went to Desert Palm print samples.  They did find a match; Dr.  Tripton.  Catherine phoned Gil and informed him of it.

[insight-check-paranoia]

RULES: answer the twenty questions, then tag 20 people to get to know them better.

TAGGED BY: @katleen15

1. NAME: Lauren 2. NICKNAMES: Murph. Clete 3. ZODIAC SIGN: Sun: Aries, Moon: Pisces, Rising: Sagittarius  4. HEIGHT: 5′7 5. ORIENTATION: Ace   6. ETHNICITY: white 7. FAVORITE FRUIT: Grapes 8. FAVORITE SEASON: Fall 9. FAVORITE BOOK: Little Women (every Christmas gotta read it)

10. FAVORITE FLOWER: Violets 

11. FAVORITE SCENT: Cinnamon

12. FAVORITE COLOR: Blue 13. FAVORITE ANIMAL: CATS 14. COFFEE, TEA, or HOT COCOA: Legit all of them I love them all equally 15. SLEEP HOURS: INSOMNIA FOR DAYS  16. CAT or DOG: CATS 17. FAVORITE FICTIONAL CHARACTER: Percy Jackson, Zoro, Yang Xiao Long, and my baby boy Lance 19. WHEN DID I MAKE THIS BLOG: I want to say 2011, whenever fetus 1D was a thing 20. NUMBER OF FOLLOWERS: It went way down because I haven’t been on my tumblr for almost a year now. 589

Tag 20 mutuals? I’ll try @barbarababoon @kaitpossible @lady-hotspur @joelhole @sirlarrs @justanavergegirl @kaleymonster @mogartrash @agent-yolk @mewberrycake @givemesomeragequit @mdecarabas @madprinceryan @mackbookbro @thetrashhero @part-of-your-world13 @squidofthrones-blog @thekeynotthefelony @ryan-hayyywood @marvelingmissselina

[hoopdiddies]

I'm Not Over You // Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 8)

A/N: Ayoooo. Hey guys, here's part 8 and I'm so sorry if the previous chapters kind of frustrated you. I didn't really mean for it to but I hope you enjoy this one. I'll be posting 9 tomorrow or the day atfter. Thanks again for your feedbacks, y'all motivate me a lot ^^ ♥ (My Wi-Fi has prejudice against tumblr rn)

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you two met in university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when the two of you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: Angst, bois. ANGST (I cried like a sucker during one part I wrote 😔) mention of blood, yet again drinking, some speckles of fluff, and unnecessary dialogue if you look closely enough :^ I feel like a terrible writer today

WC: 4k I think?

Tags: As always my taglist is always open uwu

@haendel-me-with-care

@mrsdoradominguez-barnes

@mickmoon

@lakef

@mrsmazzello

@valeriecarolinaw

@queen-turtle-boiii

@hardzzellos

"You look...beautiful." Ben's comment is indeed one thing to start the night. It's not like he's never told you that before–it's just the tone in which he has said it in is...different. A foreign tone never been released from his lips until you. You look up at him through your lashes, giving him a slanted smile accompanied by a bubbly chuckle. "Thanks. You smell nice too."

The corner of his eyes crinkle as his curving lips push them up. As expected, Rosy chimes in between you and Ben almost too quickly, the blurry speed in which she has arrived in making you gasp. "Excuse me, babe. You got interviewers on your tail and I- oh," her brows shoot up upon seeing you, seemingly haughty eyes flicking up and down your outfit in mild contempt.

"Surprised to see you here as well." The smile plastered on her face couldn't be any more forced than it is.

Girl, chill. Anti-aging soaps are not easy to manufacture these days. You begin holding your breath to prevent yourself from bursting into a fit from hearing that thought ring in your head. You shrug, garnering the guts to shift on your heightened stance and lean in an inch close.

"You're not the only one with a celebrity date."

You turn around too early to gauge her reaction, finally exhaling from holding your breath too long. You can finally conclude that she's had an effortless transition from being benign to far from being benign. The smoothest one-eighty you've ever witnessed. You remember her clearly being downright considerate of you the first time you met her yet now is a whole different story. You wonder if she was actually ever considerate.

As the boys and Lucy indulge in brief interviews, you stand behind the scenes and get the first-class chance of conversing with Brian. He's readily the coolest person in the house right now, bantering with you every once in three, fascinating topics. How fortunate are you to be in the spot a million Queen fans would die for but of course, you don't want to leave out Roger who - by a landslide - makes you wish you could wheeze and snort all you want if you weren't in a luxury event such as the Oscars. He seemed intimidating for you at first but as he joined in your talk with Brian, things escalated real quickly.

With the pre-ceremony interviews and the clinking of champagne glasses dampening, you begin hunting for your seats in the theatre.

Before you know it, you are informed that only a specific line of people are given exclusivity for the seats. And it shocks you that Joe, Allen, Ben and Gwilym are not given that card when in fact they were part of the very film that brought forth a new generation of fans.You shake your head disappointingly albeit contented that Rami, Lucy, Brian and Roger and their wives are part of the exclusivity.

Utterly determined to know the results - by Joe's 'sovereign' vote - the rest of you hang around in the waiting area, focusing on the ceremony rights shown on TV. Quietly sitting through the results, you all whoop and applaud at the mention of Bohemian Rhapsody obtaining three awards straight– your cheers amping up a notch as Rami brings home the 'Best Actor' award. Joe begins filming your reactions for Instagram, zooming into Gwilym, Ben and Allen's faces for most of the video. You throw your head back in laughter at how goofy the boys look; a bunch of men in their 30's bouncing up and down with one of them documenting the entire episode. At one point, Gwilym yanks as you in for a group hug, mercilessly crushing you in between their muscles– the disorienting experience now being something you wish you would never undergo again.

As Rami's thank you speech unfolds, you pay attention closely. The sentimentality of him lovingly thanking Lucy for being his anchor after dedicating his award to Freddie Mercury is just overwhelming and you wish you could tear up but your mascara would be waste. You're certain that made Brian and Roger emotional as well.

An hour after the ceremony, you all head down to the Vanity Fair after party in the same limo you had arrived in with every single person in the group eager to get the night progressing. Regardless of saying that these type of parties are not up to your speed, you try to get along with the evening and revel in what you know would be your last night with them. Sadly enough, Roger and Brian had to skip out on this with rough schedules on their hands. The moment they walked out of the place, they spent nearly half an hour congratulating the boys and having other celebrities congratulate them.

As you are seated across Ben and Rosy, you can't help but notice him acting a little distant from her. She's all nuzzled up against his arm and he is nowhere close to returning the favor. He's just...lost in thought, staring out the tinted window. It's still early to assume that in all the hours you were within a close range to them, Ben only ever acted aloof, giving her attention when the situation required it.

Perhaps a lover's tiff took place?

"Yeah, I'm wondering the same thing too." Mimicking your position, Joe calling you back to Earth makes you gasp a little. You close your eyes and look at your fingers blankly after recovering, sighing. "I think we should end all this pretending. It was simply a cop-out in the first place."

"I know," he whispers audibly enough for only you to hear, running his fingers through his fiery, red hair, "you should probably come clean soon enough before you leave."

And that you will. At least, you'll try.

In your defense, you thought the after party would host a fancy banquet but seated around with celebratory drinks -considerable with something classy - and attendees breaking down on the dance floor is a rather okay scene as well. As long as you don't end up like the night you were invited out for a drink with your colleagues, you should be fine for the most part.

The boys and Lucy have fully immersed themselves in the beat of the music while you've decided to remain stationary with one glass of wine, the only glass you'll be having for the rest of the party.

The entire time you gawk at them amusingly as they break out their dance moves, your eyes always find their way to Ben, who makes you snort painfully from all his antics as he moves along with Joe. They're a mess with their ties and buttons undone from all the movement and the sight inspires you to stay put.

But oh dear lord, can Ben dance like an uncle.

Keeping your attention on them, a descending weight sinks down next to you. You pay no mind to whoever it is but do as her voice interrupts your thoughts. "I hope your eye is on the right person, honey." You click your tongue in exasperation, turning your body towards Rosy and her developing, bitchy tendencies, scoffing as you place your drink down to set things straight with her. "First of all, what did I ever do to you to deserve this kind of talk?"

She smacks her lips together at you, simpering. "You didn't think I'd notice?"

"What are you talking about?"

Her almond eyes narrow as if she's trying pin you down with a warning. "Please, don't act like I never noticed. You're overstepping that boundary between you and your best friend- my fiance." Okay, so she's noticed. But your neutralized expression is not going to be giving away anything.

You incline your head to one side in hopes that the facade you're pulling would decompress her suspicion. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Ben is like my brother. "

Grabbing her drink from the table, she sighs and stands up, hands firm on her hips and face silhouetted under the beaming light nevertheless giving you a transpiercing glower in the manner of seeing through the makeshift barrier you've pulled up. "He better be. Try backing off every once in a while when I'm around."

To your dismay, you snap inside, whipping your head up at her and replying sharply to make the message crystal clear. "Rosy, you have no idea." Unable to withstand the atmosphere you're in, you put great emphasis on your words and snatch your drink, walking out to the mini garden to finish what's left of your wine without having to bear being around her.

The question is unadulterated and obvious– bold and italicized if you wish to give it a stretch and clarify it.

Why is Ben still with her?

Is he that clueless not to realize it?

You don't want to pry the answer out yourself but ruminating on it, Rosy pulling off a full one-eighty only when Ben's at an appropriate distance for her to squeeze you between her fingers is just about good as a reason as anything. Your unwavering feelings for Ben are clearly perceived by her– from the way you had reacted the day he introduced you both to each other to not so long ago.

You wonder if Ben ever took heed of her growing attitude towards you.

Finishing your wine in one, immediate, swig, you place it down on the marble surface before you with your fingers cradling the stem of the glass– relishing the spicy liquid flushing down your throat.

At the extent of overexerting themselves, Joe and Gwilym flop down back on their seats like jelly, tuckered out from the unconventional combination of alcohol and unsteady movement. Panting like a dog who had just participated in a marathon, Joe shrugs out of his blazer and tosses it over his shoulder, silently wishing the ice in the bucket that held the bottle of wine would save him from the grinding heat of the wine he had just about five minutes ago.

"Mate, you're deep in the heat." Gwilym comments as it is followed by a gentle laugh on how Joe's glistening in sweat under the dimming lights. He hands him a partially bland look before wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. Lucy and Rami are situated at other end of the place enjoying a chat with another party of people meanwhile Ben and Rosy are nowhere near any of them. Until, of course, they reappear from God knows where and Ben suddenly asks Joe where you've gone.

"I-I don't know." He says after a hefty sigh. Somewhat eager to find you, Ben begins excusing himself from Rosy whom which he has spiked a bitter reaction from for sharing his supposed time for her with you. Fed up and jealous in the slightest, Rosy snaps at him.

"Okay Ben, why do you always have to skip in between minutes to hang out with her even when we're together?"

He pauses from turning around completely and sighs. "She's my friend, babe."

Unwilling to accept his statement, she claims. "Well your friend is getting in the way of what was supposed to be our time together! Can't you set aside a limited time for her?! " This has alarmed Joe and Gwilym but it isn't their business to butt in and stop a quarrel from breaking out. Unless it turns physical, which is doubtful to happen. Ben, a little frustrated but still tolerant of her ongoing skittish behavior, tries to reassure her. "I know that, alright? But something's been bothering her for days and I just want to make sure she's doing alright."

"Can't you leave the worrying to Joe? He's her bloody boyfriend anyway!"

Wagging his forefinger at Rosy, Joe grumbles as he is not having any of her talk, scrunching his brows at her.

Grabbing her shoulders gently, Ben tries to relieve her of tension and assures her once more, but with a well-known fact she obviously still doesn't accept. "Joe's a little drunk. She's like...a sister to me," it really took him an abrupt pause to say 'sister', "besides, you're my fiancee. There's nothing to be jealous about."

"Why does she still have to be a part of your life? Our life?" Now that's a question that has just shifted Ben to a farther side. His brows knit together in momentary disbelief, unable to take her words in a good light. "God, Rosy! She's been around for so long! At least make an effort to accept her!" Like a slap to her conceitedness, Ben turns on his heels and walks out to find you. Leaving Rosy a steaming mess of insecurity.

However slightly drunk, Joe mutters to himself as he makes sure neither Gwilym or especially Rosy hears his words stumble out in a whisper. "You've grown a pair, Ben. You've grown a pair."

You've been outside for nearly half an hour; wine glass empty and your hair, along with the skirt of your dress, drifting along the harmless breeze and the waning moon spilling some light from behind the shaded clouds. Though there were a couple of people that found their way here to get some respite not too long ago, you're just glad to have this space to breathe in from the draining background of the party.

As you lose yourself in thought, a certain voice brings you back to reality.

"Nice night out, huh?"

Turning around slowly, you are met with the cool, forest green irises that you've grown to never tire of seeing. "I'm surprised you're still well-kept in that suit despite the scene back in there. " You give in to a chuckle, your smile pulling Ben to approach your side leisurely. "It's my Oscars suit. Something worthy of protecting."

"Hah!"

As he rests his elbows on the surface next to you, the distance between your skins makes you a tad bit anxious. Comfortable silence falls upon you both– for Ben at least, it's tolerable however you're not taking it well, not even in the slightest. You rub your hands together and sigh, prompting Ben to finally ask you.

"You alright? You've been tensing up lately."

You nod, closing your eyes and opening them afterwards. "This dress is just depleting me of bodily warmth." Half a lie told by you. Acting on his thoughts, Ben begins taking his blazer off but you stop him mid-shrug. "Keep it on. You look better with it on."

"This would look better on you, you're obviously freezing." He's really keen on keeping you warm but you're just as so in letting him keep it on. "I'm serious. Keep it on. I'm fine."

What can he do but just give in? When you're serious, you're serious. He lifts his shoulder in half a shrug, ducking his head as an idea flickers in his head like a bulb. He wants to relive something that has been lost through the years and it's only right that he does...now that you have less than a day to disappear from his life completely.

"Y/N..." He muses gently. You raise your brows at him in question, taken by surprise that he has his hand held out to you. Bewildered, you raise your finger to ask what on Earth he's doing. "What- what are you doing?"

He licks his bottom lip and the smile on his face becomes bashful but certain. "What else does it look like I'm doing, silly girl? Asking you to dance."

You're sorry that you couldn't keep a snort at bay. "Pfft. Ben, I think you're asking the wrong girl."

"Just let me dance with my best friend."

"Wow! That's noble of you," your chuckles can not be contained, even so much as restraining yourself from letting the blush spread throughout your face. But he has the fragments of what was once your heart, so why wouldn't you? You slip your hand in his and the grin on his face widens. "There we go. Easy does it." He breathes out, his voice getting gravelly. You hit him softly on his chest for cooing, at the same time realizing that his voice becomes that way only and only when he's nervous– something uncommon between you both. As his hands find home on your waist, you throw your arms around his neck, laughing at how awkward yet funny it feels. What a huge nod to how you danced with him on Homecoming.

"You're so weird sometimes. You got your fiancee, why don't you dance with her?" Getting used to the sting of referring to Rosy, you question anyway. He initiates with a sway before responding. "I already have. But, " he diverts his heavy-lidded eyes from staring off the distance to yours and suddenly, it feels like you're home, "I want to finish that Homecoming dance."

You find yourself speechless as you shift your unflinching gaze at him and he at you, your bodies swaying along the concrete and in perfect sync, coincidentally to the sudden change in music from inside, compared to the bittersweet night you had before the day that parted you both. Thin silence hangs in the atmosphere but only because you are looking at each other in a way you never have in your entire lives.

Instinctively, you break your gaze from his and rest your head on his chest, your hair falling into your face as your eyes screw shut. You hear his heart skip a beat, unusually in the same manner yours always has. Feeling your head follow the rise and fall of his chest tickles you inside– temporarily making you forget about the pain of soon letting him go and producing a sense of safety.

Maybe it's because of exhaustion? You wonder. He doesn't hesitate to stroke your hair and revel in the moment as well, easing you in closer to his body without breaking the sway. "You'll be there on my wedding day, right?" He asks nervously, his question pulling you back to the harshest reality.

You open your eyes slowly, your lips trembling as you let out the saddest sigh, feeling your chest tighten from the anxiety of soon telling him the truth.

"Y/N?" Your tensed-up body alarms him and so he breaks away and lifts your chin up lightly, being met with glossy and regretful eyes. His messy brows drawing together in slight worry. "What's wrong?"

Everything.

However uneager to push him away, you do, escaping his warm embrace. "Ben, I..."

He's dreading for your answer, painfully anticipating for the best or the worst to the point where his hands are lubricating with sweat.

You swallow the lump that has hardened in the back of your throat, pressing your lips together to prevent a sob from escaping and shunning his prying stare. "I can't..."

Joe's half-assed predicted, worst case scenario is slowly unfolding.

"What are you saying? You're not- you're not going...to be there?"

You bite down on your lip hard enough to make it swell, shaking your head and casting a sideways glance.

"Why?"

Tell the truth. Just tell him and you're either getting a support or another jab to the heart.

"Y/N, please! Tell me why!"

"I'm leaving, Ben!" The words didn't seem to stumble or carelessly flop from your lips, in fact it speared through him clean thereby catching him off guard. His eyes have fallen gravely, lips parted due to shock.

"I got into a medical school I had previously applied for. And I'm leaving," you snap your eyes shut and open them in tears once you've looked up at him, "on your wedding day."

"Why didn't- why didn't you ever tell me?" He's pleading for your explanation, barely clinging on to the belief that you would always tell him things.

You don't answer as you are battling to muster up the courage to say it.

"Y/N, please! You never tell me anything these days! And this- this news, it's important! You're leaving on the day I need you the most, and you never bothered to squeak a word about it! Not a single, bloody word! Why?!" He's racked up with disbelief and apparently, anger. Eyes rimmed, clouded with mixed emotions and face full-blown red from the pressure.

He grabs you by the shoulders and pleads heartbreakingly, his lively voice reduced to but a whisper. "Why..."

"I-" You're still holding back.

"Say it! "

"You'd soon forget about me, Ben!" You inhale sharply as you add, croaks present in your voice while you take two steps further away from him as you lament. "I'm hopelessly in love with you, you idiot! I've always been. I try- I try to brush off every single prick that stems out every minute I realize that you already belong to someone else..."

"Y/N-"

"I figured not telling you would help me let go. And it's the only way I can...because screw you for being a clueless, irreplaceable bloke! I can't imagine my bloody life without you in it! I don't think I can ever love anybody else...but you, "

"Y/N..."

You don't let him finish and achingly throw your hands to your chest as a gesture, pounding your chest thrice as you're finally wearing your heart on your sleeve. "I can't blame you for being oblivious to my feelings. You're committed to Rosy...and as much as I want to see you happy, I don't want to stand idly by and- and feel this way when you've pledged your heart to her...I want to forget and for you to forget me," As the warm tears you've held back for so long roll down your cheeks, you hug yourself through the pain, "I want you to be happy without worrying how I'd feel. And disappearing from your life, is the only way I know how..."

"Y/N, please, don't say that- don't do this...you can't do this...you c-can't..." With hands shaking, he strides towards you to haul you in back into his arms but you take an agonizing step away, stopping him in his tracks. "I have to. I...I want to. It hurts so much, Ben. It always has but promise me," even if you have taken a step away, you take it upon yourself to take those steps close to him and cup his cheek with a cold hand, "promise me you'll revel in that happiness. It's going to hurt being away from you. But it's going to hurt even more if I stay. And watch...my best friend grow old with someone else." Finally rendering him wordless, you shake your head and whisk past him back into the party which has died down a bit, leaving him a pondering mess out under the bleak sky.

"How could I be happy without you..."

You'd gladly do anything to go back home right now. The weight of what just took place is crushing you and the need to escape is fuming. But the thing is, Ben was never one to let you go easy.

He never did and possibly never will.

He sniffles and inhales sharply, jogging in after you and calling out your name amidst the constant noise and chatters. "Y/N, wait!"

You reach your table just in time to see everyone still gathered around with drinks raised and laughs released but you have to excuse yourself deliberately. "Y/N? Where have you been? What's the rush?" Lucy notices your hastened movement and places her hand on your tense shoulder. You snap your head at her with your purse in your grasp, shaking your head and apologizing that you have to leave, forgetting to rid your eyes of tears; the sight of you amping up Lucy's concern therefore leading you into her embrace. "Oh my god, are you okay? What happened?"

"Y/N!"

Ben's distant but audible voice echoing through the place just sends you panicking inside. "I'm so sorry, Luce. I have to go."

"Y/N, wait! What's wrong?"

Just as the rest could react to Lucy calling out for you and Ben dashing past them to catch up, you've already disappeared into the crowd, headed out the theatre to take a cab ride back to the hotel. Relentless to let you go, Ben follows your trail, spurring a quick frenzy from the rest and having them pursue Ben in return. Once you reach the outskirts of the pavements, you don't think twice before crossing the highway with your focus hardened before you.

Gasping for air upon exiting the theatre, Ben glances around in haste and finally spots you marching down the street oblivious to your surroundings despite treading along the pedestrian lane. His eyes widen in dread and acting on a fight or flight reaction, he yells for your attention as he speeds down the street to pull you in or rather save you from a possibility of getting hurt with all the rushing vehicles and careless drivers. "Y/N! Y/N!"

The boys, Lucy and Rosy arrive outside just in time to witness Ben race towards your direction and in a moment of feeling time slow down, you feel your heart in your throat at the late flash of nearing headlights, to add a heavy force propelling you off your feet and onto the other side of the road. What gets you up from the ground are the mixed screams of a familiar bunch and the sight of a bloodied man in white laying unconscious on the cold surface of the road.

White noise suddenly fills your ears instead of your own voice as you scream out his name.