#I was in a dark and depressing mood when I drew this

[morelikedoccock]

The ghost of Doctor Otto Octavius, seen by the river on All Hallows’ Eve

[oceantornadoo]

Hiii can I request one of the boys (or all) comforting medic/surgeon reader, who’s in their unit, for not being able to save someone and reader goes into a depressive episode because reader has known them since they got recruited. They’re doing their best to cheer reader up, but it’s hard to budge through the stress of not being able to save a life. Thank you 🥹

this is not poly!141 so each blurb is that character x f!reader. some are established relationship, some are just unlabeled.

ao3 link

simon:

simon riley was a quiet man. that's why he liked you, always talking just because you were eager to share, never expecting him to reciprocate. he knew he was blunt, gruff, and (a bit) unlikeable, so it always seemed safer to respond in as little words as possible. on days like today though, he just had to say something. you hadn't said a word to anyone in a week (he checked) and stopped coming to every "optional" friendly hangout after a rough mission. you were holed up in your room ever since your patient had died, and he meant to do something about it.

"what." you said gruffly to the person knocking at the door. "'s me, dove." simon. "go away." instead of listening, you heard the door open. you turned around in your bed to face the wall, avoiding eye contact at all costs. "i'm not good company right now, si." you could practically hear him shrug. he closed the door with a sigh, the silence between you two enveloping the room in a cocoon. instead of hearing your desk chair sqeak, you heard a rustle of clothing, tac gear dropping to the floor. almost as if he was taking off his clothes? but there was no way, this was ghost, who wore a stupid mask and stupid gloves that always made you wonder about the veins underneath and-

and suddenly simon riley was climbing under the covers with you, clothed in only his boxers. you knew because he was everywhere, skin on skin, wedging one large, scarred thigh between yours. his left hand under your pillow, right hand sneaking its way to your waist. he drew shapes on your skin with his calloused hands, the only sound in the room the scrape of his skin on yours. "we'll get through this, yeah?" you nodded against him, not trusting yourself to speak, tears caught in your throat. simon nuzzled himself into your neck, and for the first time that week, you slept through the night.

johnny:

usually, you loved the sound of johnny's laughs, boisterous and fun, bringing energy into every conversation. this week, though, you couldn't stomach it. you stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped shoving him when he tried to put his arm around you, stopped engaging in his talk on comms when you had the mantle of field medic. you cringed when you saw the spark in his eyes dampen, but you couldn't seem to care when a similar image of your comrade dying on the field took a starring role in your nightmares.

this was your second nightmare tonight, the image of your comrade's bloody body, sinking into an open grave. you could almost feel the packed dirt in your throat, succumbing to the grave you put her in. and suddenly you were awake, blinking at the darkness of the room. you were so tired, emotionally drained, you didn't even think about where you were walking, just knew you were leaving your room. and suddenly, you were knocking on johnny's door, knowing he'd be up at this time. he swung open the door, misinterpreting what you were after. "bonnie. knew ye'd give me a late night call soon." you rolled your eyes at his joke, feeling an unwilling smile creep onto your face.

"not that kind of night, johnny." he winked anyways, ushering you into his room. "glad ta see you smile, lass." that dimmed your mood. you suddenly scrambling changing your mind. "well i just wanted to say hi but you're busy so i'll leave you to it-" johnny covered your mouth with his hand, effectively cutting off your thoughts. "up ye go." you squealed as he picked you up, depositing you onto his bed. he locked the door and turned off the light, keeping a nightlight on just for you. "yer gonna tell me about all those thoughts in that pretty head of yours, hm?" you nodded, and felt the weight lighten off your chest for the first time in weeks.

john:

john was your rock. a fellow higher-up, hardened by war and bittered by reality, wrapped up in a fatherly manner. he was all knowledge and hard truths with his men, but with you? on a day like today? after standing in blood for three hours, using half of the base hospital's resources to try to stop what should have been a typical infection that was actually poison? that fatherly attitude could shove it.

"need to search your office for poison, doctor." john was a shadow at your office door. "yeah, sure, whatever." you needed to put in requests for all the supplies used, finalize the death certificate, launch the investigation. the last thing you cared about was john following protocol. you didn't register the captain's movements until he was behind your chair, leaning down in your ear. "come on." he took your hand's off your laptop's keys, placing them in your lap. "the boys will be here any minute, love. come on." you let him guide you, going numb at the feeling. the reality that your patient had been poisoned, targeted, and you couldn't do anything about it was suddenly hitting you. john was making you stand up, but you were in a trance, just a body he could move however he wanted.

you blinked and you were standing in his office, looking at his chair. "go on. i'll make an exception just for you." you shook your head, unable to explain why not. "you need to sit, love." you shook your head again. the medical part of your brain told you the shock was hitting. john sat in his chair instead, guiding you between his legs. you looked down at him, at his hands on your waist. making a split second decision, you ungracefully collapsed sideways into his lap. john grunted but said nothing, adjusting your feet to hang off the chair. your arms circled his thick neck, hands rubbing at his beard. he took off his hat, laying it on the table, then kissed your forehead. you tucked your head into his neck, and finally, finally, let yourself cry.

kyle:

gaz was loveable and cocky, which you were okay with. you called him kyle to humble him, a playful nudge. he called you sweetheart right back, that accent of his playing with all the right vowels just to rile you up. but today, two days after the death of your comrade that you should have saved, you didn't feel sweet at all. not one bit.

"its after 11. should be in bed by now." he was at the door of your office, taking in the heaping piles of medical reports on your desk.

"kyle, im busy." you huffed, not bothering to look up. your comrade's autopsy report was staring right back at you, clinical notes on how she could have been saved if you had just had the supplies.

"sweetheart-" you almost slammed your pen on your desk. "don't call me that, kyle. i'm not in the mood." he wasn't deterred, warm eyes swimming with understanding. "this about what happened?" he mumured in a soft voice, like he was comforting a kitten instead of you, a dark hole of guilt. "i just-" you made the mistake of making eye contact, of seeing how kind he looked. the tears started rushing out and you couldn't stop them. you hadn't cried when she died, so maybe it was finally time. "i just keep looking at these notes about what i could have done, if things were different and gaz, idontknowwhattodo..."

you trailed off, embarrassed. calling him gaz was a sign of weakness, of this whole facade crumbling down. "come 'ere.” you stood up and walked between his open arms, a small laugh erupting as he overexaggerated how heavy you were. "you did more than anyone on that field could have done. and you're still sweet to me. even when you're a bit of a snotty mess." he kissed your forehead then, and you weren't even going to touch what that meant. all that mattered were gaz's strong arms, holding your waist and rubbing small circles as you put all your physical and emotional baggage on him. and for now, being held was all you needed.

--

had to let this one simmer for a bit. thanks anon <3

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — the last great american dynasty, pt 1.

jang wonyoung, throughout the years.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, toxic household, infidelity, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, absent parents, mentions of affair families, hints of eating disorders, overworking, health issues, fatphobia, implied depression, implied teenage pregnancy (5.5k)

jang wonyoung was born on august 31, 2004.

the newborn was nine pounds and twenty-one inches. with a head of dark, thick hair, the baby's cries rang throughout the hospital room as a tired jang jiyoung could feel the tears welting in her eyes. her baby was alive, and healthy by the sound of it. it was music to her ears.

her baby. her beautiful baby.

she could already imagine it. her beautiful baby boy, inheriting the jang name, passing it on. he'd run for office, just like his father, upholding its integrity, its strength. jiyoung would introduce him to one of her costar's friends, and they'd get married. he'd take care of her, as jiyoung would help his pregnant wife get settled into the family.

she loved her baby boy. her perfect little wonyoung.

"what would you like to name her?"

jiyoung's heart dropped.

her?

"i'm sorry?"

she must've heard wrong. it was just the post-labor haze that had been talking. not only would wonseok reprimand her for not producing an heir to the jang name, but she wouldn't have anyone to take care of her once she grew old.

at least, not someone capable.

the baby's cries continued, almost as if the baby was begging for a glimpse of its mom. with tiny little hands outstretched in the direction of jiyoung, tears poured down its chubby cheeks.

her baby. her baby girl.

"wonyoung." she said half-heartedly. "i'll name her jang wonyoung."

jang wonyoung was imperfect from the start.

her cheeks were too chubby.

any normal four-year-old would have been praised. chubby cheeks were a sign of health, a sign that your baby was eating well.

wonyoung knew it from the way her mom would stare at her, sometimes even pinching her cheeks harshly, almost as if she was trying to pull off the fat on them.

she tried to ignore it, always opting to color peacefully and blink the tears away.

she always drew four people.

her mom, hair flowing to her shoulders, her eyes the same doe-eyed ones as wonyoung. wonyoung always drew her with an angry expression. it was only on tv that wonyoung saw her smile. the youngest jang always stayed up to see her mom smile.

one day, she wanted to see it in person.

her dad was there too, who she rarely saw, but always held a frown whenever he came home. she noticed that he always smelt different, sometimes like the dark, but other times, like flowers. her dad was always serious, even when he was with her mom.

there was also her nanny, a middle-aged woman named hannah, drawn with a smile that made wonyoung feel warm and safe. from what she told wonyoung, she had been working for jiyoung back when she was lee.

wonyoung wondered if her mom smiled back then.

lastly, in the middle, the four-year-old stood. she'd draw herself out in blue crayon, holding her parents' hands with a happy smile. she wished they had a photo like that, instead of the rigid ones that they kept above the fireplace.

hopefully, she'd get a younger sibling soon, so she could love more people.

"enough drawing, wonyoung." her mom snatched her masterpiece away, eyebrows furrowed like the pictures. "your dad is coming home soon."

"he is?" she hoped that he smelt like flowers again.

"he is." jiyoung's face hardened. "you have to go to your room now."

"but i want to see him." she hadn't seen her dad in two months. her mom always said he was at the office, helping the next candidate for the upcoming election (whatever that meant). wonyoung didn't care though. all she wanted was to see her dad again.

jiyoung let out a long sigh, and wonyoung could feel the guilt starting to build up in her chest.

did she make her mom mad again?

"he's in a bad mood, wonyoung." her lips were in a tight line, and wonyoung could see her jaw clenching.

she just wanted her mom to smile at her for once. she wanted to stop making her angry, and her dad happy.

the young girl's eyes brightened, her cheeks turning a light red.

"i can cheer him up!" her dad always laughed at her jokes. if she could get him to smile, wonyoung was sure she could make him feel better. "my friend, sarang, taught me a magic trick. if i can just show dadd-"

"i said," her mom's voice was strict and firm, not the smooth melody she heard on tv. "go to your room, wonyoung."

"but-" wonyoung could cheer him up! she knew she could.

jiyoung sighed. of course, wonyoung would disobey her. she shouldn't have expected anything else from the younger girl.

"do you want him to be mad at you?" the older woman scolded her, jiyoung's finger pointing at the four-year-old in front of her. "do you want him to know that you're a stupid little girl who doesn't listen to her mom?"

stupid.

wonyoung hadn't heard that word before, not until now. her mom had always called her other things; annoying, loud, irritating, but she had never heard stupid before.

she didn't know why it made her feel bad.

"what?" wonyoung could feel herself shrinking into her seat, gripping onto the blue crayon in her hand. "what's stupid?"

"you." jiyoung's eyes were numb, void of all emotions. wonyoung hated it when her mom looked at her like that. "you're being an annoying, stupid little girl right now."

stupid? was she stupid?

wonyoung could feel herself crying.

she didn't want to be stupid. she just wanted to make her dad happy. she just wanted to spend time with him, even when he smelt weird, like the cabinet her mom would open frequently.

"i just wanna see daddy..." wonyoung hiccuped. her lip quivered as her mom glared at her, huffing.

her mom was mad. it was wonyoung's fault, again.

maybe wonyoung was a stupid little girl.

she didn't want to be stupid.

"he doesn't wanna see you." jiyoung whispered, her voice piercing the young jang.

wonyoung hung her head low.

she knew it deep down. she knew that her dad's laughs were to shoo her away. wonyoung could see it by the way he looked at her, and no matter how hard she tried, no matter how funny her jokes were, wonseok wouldn't look her way. even when she showed him her drawings, all he would do was nod.

wonyoung was a stupid girl.

"go to your room, wonyoung."

wonyoung nodded, her bottom lip quivering as she packed up her crayons. she cradled the box against her body, rushing upstairs as jiyoung poured herself a glass of wine.

the four-year-old swung the door open, jumping into her already-made bed. the box of crayons squished against the pale blue covers, various pinks, and reds staining them. it was warm in her room, blindingly bright for a night at 9pm. if wonyoung wasn't crying so much, she'd ask hannah to turn down the lamp and turn on her rabbit night light.

she loved rabbits. they looked like her mom.

"wonyoung." hannah laughed at the little girl, sitting beside her faced-down head. "your crayons."

wonyoung stayed quiet, letting her bed soak up the tears pouring down her face. she tried her best to be quiet, to not disturb anyone, just like her mom taught her.

hannah could still hear her sniffling, though.

the older woman rubbed the back of wonyoung's shirt, feeling the young heiress gasping for air. "what's wrong?"

wonyoung lifted her head up, squinting as she tried to adjust to the room's brightness. she could see the han river from where she was, the water glistening into the jang household.

the four-year-old looked at her caretaker, the kind woman smiling at her.

"mama told me to go up here." her voice was as tiny as she was. "she said daddy was coming, and that he was upset."

wonyoung was upset too, but she was okay with being upset if it meant wonseok would look her way.

"why are you crying then?"

she was crying because she was stupid. she was crying because she never got to spend time with her dad, and her mom only looked her way when wonyoung listened to her.

she was crying because she was jang wonyoung, and her parents didn't want jang wonyoung.

"mama said i can't see him." she hummed as the nanny stroked her hair, comfort washing throughout her body. "he'd get mad at a stupid girl like me."

hannah frowned.

she was worried that jiyoung would turn out like this, bitter and cruel to the younger girl. jiyoung had always resembled her mother, even back when the eldest lee was a baby. hannah had always hoped that she wouldn't hold the same parenting style as her.

"wonyoung." hannah bit back the quiver of her voice. no girl, especially someone as sweet as the young heiress, should ever think of themselves in such a way. "don't call yourself stupid. you're a very smart girl."

wonyoung shook her head. every word her parents had said was a sense of truth to the young child. every glare, every sigh made her feel sad. it made her hurt.

it made her feel worthless.

(but the four year-old didn't know that word yet, and it wouldn't be a couple years until she did. but it didn't matter, because she knew it felt the same when she was four as it did when she was twenty.)

"mama said i was." her voice was as little as she was.

jiyoung was her mother in every sense, just like she always wanted to be. hannah hoped wonyoung wouldn't meet the same fate.

"she's just stressed out right now." she felt guilty lying to the young girl, even though it was partial. "don't listen to her."

wonyoung wanted to believe hannah, so she nodded, sitting up and allowing herself to accept the excuse.

hannah smiled, her grin sending a warmth through wonyoung's body that made her feel loved. she wished that her mom would smile at her that way, but she didn't mind that it was hannah.

the woman looked at wonyoung's bed sheets, stained with the young girl's tears and her crayons.

"do you wanna help me clean this up?" hannah asked, watching as the four year-old's eyes lit up.

wonyoung always wanted to help her.

it made her miss her daughter.

"can i show you a magic trick first?" the young jang smiled, her chubby cheeks protruding from her face.

"a magic trick?" hannah asked gleefully. she pinched wonyoung's cheek lightly, trying her best to control her giddiness. she didn't understand how anyone could hate her this child. "our baby knows a magic trick?"

"can i?" wonyoung grabbed a crayon from the box, waiting for hannah's answer.

"of course, wonyoung."

wonyoung felt perfect.

wonyoung was stupid.

she didn't understand how she could get a 78% in english. perhaps she had been too enamored by their english teacher, the young woman from overseas who had cat-like eyes and a soft, comforting voice that felt like a blanket.

still, she should be doing better. she had gone to an english speaking preschool. most of her friends spoke english as well. she even had cousins across the planet that lived in english speaking countries.

the young heiress felt herself tense as she heard her father sigh beside her. her teacher, pretty and proper, sat in front of them, alongside the principal. only a dark mahogany desk separated the two parties, but wonyoung wished it was more.

"a tutor?" jang wonseok voice was sharp, yet deep and demanding. "why would she need a tutor?"

she needed a tutor because she was stupid. wonyoung was a stupid girl.

she held her tongue back, the knot in her throat increasing as she felt her father radiate anger.

"wonyoung is struggling in english." the eight year-old could hear the worry in her teacher's voice, but she didn't know if it was directed at her or at her father. "it's normal for kids her age too, but she has a hard time with the structure."

the young heiress wanted to go home. she wanted to sit in her dark room, in her closet behind the mahogany doors, the one that had twelve knots, an imperfection that was smooth to the touch.

it was the only imperfection she could bear because jang's can't come with imperfections.

wonyoung wished she wasn't a jang, or at the very least, she wasn't wonyoung.

"if it's normal then why does my daughter need it?" the young jang didn't need to turn to know that her father was scowling at the pretty girl in front of them. she could already hear it in his voice.

"well, since you did sign her up for the advanced placement in our school, it'll be hard for her to keep up with the class." her teacher was calm. wonyoung liked calm. "a tutor would help her and-"

"my daughter doesn't need a tutor."

she did. wonyoung knew she did.

but her father rarely acknowledged her, much less as his daughter. part of her had wondered if he did it purposefully, but it didn't matter. not right now, at least.

"right, wonyoung?"

wonyoung couldn't continue to be a disappointment.

"no."

"get up." her father smirked. he stood up, dusting his tailored dress pants. "we're leaving."

"yes, dad."

obedience was perfection, just like status was worth.

wonyoung just wished that it didn't have to break a part of her every time she did it.

jang wonseok stormed out, and wonyoung could feel the embarrassment fluttering across her chest. her eyes met her principal's, his face scowled in disdain.

jang's had pride, but wonyoung knew better than to leave as such.

the eight-year-old bowed. she bowed as an apology for her and her father and as a sign of respect for the two school staff who took time out of their way out of concern for her.

"jang wonyoung!"

her eyes widened, and wonyoung found herself bolting out of the room, her school bag clutched against her chest.

jang wonseok was scary.

the two made their way into wonseok's mercedes, wonyoung hopping inside, as her father started the car.

the two drove in silence, wonyoung knowing better than to speak once spoken to. she didn't want to anger her father any further, otherwise it would fall onto her mother, which would fall onto her.

she didn't have time for that. she needed to study.

her stomach grumbled lowly, the sudden sound making her head jolt up.

oh, she needed to eat too. she had forgotten about that along the way, too anxious about the parent-teacher meeting that happened to eat lunch earlier that day.

she needed to eat and then study. if she studied as soon as she got home, she would have time to draw or watch cartoons without sacrificing her grades.

was she even allowed to watch cartoons now? her mother had always called them nonsense but wonyoung liked to turn off her brain once in a while. maybe that's why she was stupid. maybe that's why she was like this.

or maybe she was just like this because she was wonyoung.

"your teacher pisses me off." wonseok turned the corner. "is she always like that?"

did she always care about wonyoung? yes, more than her father did.

but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"no."

"hm." wonseok hummed, the car coming to a halt as the traffic light turned red. he glanced at his daughter, gaze cold and stern. "you shouldn't be struggling, wonyoung. that's not how i raised you."

the young heiress wasn't raised by her father or her mother. at eight, she already knew that, and it angered her to think that they kept trying to take credit for her actions, whether it be good or bad.

hannah raised her. not jang wonseok.

but she still held his last name, like how his blood flowed through her veins, and how his title affected her daily life.

"you're a jang." the car started to move again. "jang's don't need help. you think my father helped me? you think he made me how i am?"

part of her wondered if her grandfather had treated her father like this, or if her father was just mean to be mean.

"do you understand what i'm saying?"

wonyoung nodded, obedient as ever. "yes."

"when you get home, i expect you to be studying." wonyoung frowned. her father would most likely be in his study, one that had a clear view of the kitchen. "hannah will keep an eye on you."

"hannah's sick." she was in no shape to take care of the young jang. in fact, wonyoung had been taking care of her. "she should stay in her room. i can just ask my friends-"

"how much do you know, wonyoung?" wonseok asked, practically waving her shortcomings in front of her face. the young girl stayed silent. "exactly. and your friends know as much as you do. hannah will be making sure you stay on track."

wonyoung knew better than to argue, so she listened like she always did.

"yes, dad."

wonyoung wished she could stop listening, just this once.

there were twelve knots on the inside of her mahogany-boarded closet. four were broken in half, caught in between doors while the rest scattered.

there were fifty slits on said doors, one hundred in total. she liked the way the light peaked in, and how warm she felt when it hit her face.

there were three pillows that scattered the ground in said closet. one was bunny-shaped, pastel blue with beady eyes that wonyoung had gotten for her ninth birthday. the other two were throw pillows, white in color, ones that her mother had given her this year, on her tenth.

the hard, cold ground was covered with a blanket, navy blue and fluffy, one that hadn't been washed in over two months. wonyoung's initials were stitched onto the side, but it was only a reminder that she and this closet, her escape, were owned by her father.

it was her father who owned this house, who owned her existence, just like he owned a second child.

her father was a cheater. wonyoung had heard it in between slits of the one hundred panels that made up the majority of her closet's entrance.

"cheater!" she heard.

"liar!" she heard.

crying, she heard.

she wished she could stop hearing it in her head, how her mother's sharp cries echoed in her skull, and how jiyoung blamed everything on the ten-year-old jang wonyoung.

it's my fault.

it always was.

a shadow passed through the holes of her closet, blocking the sunlight as it reached her eyes. wonyoung wondered how long she had been inside, the fighting reaching its climax at around four that morning.

she only wanted to study.

the shadow stayed still as if it was contemplating leaving. the young jang hoped that it was her mother, coming to apologize for the careless words that she had yelled an hour ago.

but jang jiyoung never apologized, just like she never cried.

the shadow spoke.

"wonyoung..."

the young jang stood up, opening the opposite door in a hurry.

the ten-year-old grabbed her arm, bracing it gently as the older woman smiled. she could see hannah holding a cup of water, waves rippling with each shake of her hand.

"you should be resting." she furrowed her eyebrows.

hannah merely stared, not budging as the young heiress felt herself getting more desperate.

wonyoung begged. "hannah, please."

"i'm not leaving until we talk." the older woman shook her head, standing her ground.

hannah was like her, stubborn in every sense. she cared too much to let wonyoung wallow in her sorrows. the young jang knew she would be lost without her guidance.

"can you at least sit?" wonyoung tried to reason, ushering hannah to her bed.

she nodded, allowing wonyoung to lead her. she sat down, handing wonyoung the glass, who took it carefully as if hannah was the one that was fragile.

the two sat in silence, and all hannah could remember was wonyoung at four years old, crying about her mother.

it was no different this time.

"it's not your fault." the older woman started. "your mom is just angry."

jiyoung was an angry person, like wonseok.

but wonseok wanted calm, and jiyoung hadn't been the person to provide that.

"do you think she would be happier if i was never born?" wonyoung asked, her thoughts echoing the shouting of her mother.

hannah couldn't fathom anyone saying such words about their child.

"if i could, i would." the ten-year-old wonyoung meant it truthfully. "i don't like seeing mom upset. i keep trying to fix it but i'm just too..."

wonyoung knew the word. she had felt it at four years old. she had felt it at eight. wonyoung was sure she wasn't going to stop feeling it until she died.

she knew the word because it's what she was.

"worthless."

the word that summed her up in all parts hung in the air as hannah stared at her in shock.

"wonyoung-"

"i am though!" wonyoung never raised her voice, but wonyoung wasn't perfect. she never was and never would be. "if i wasn't like this, mom would love me. dad would pay attention to me. he wouldn't have cheated if i was better."

wonyoung wondered how someone could be so imperfect. she wondered if she was doomed to be alone, to be unwanted, and to ruin every good thing on this planet.

"it's my fault."

"it's not, wonyoung." wonyoung wanted to believe hannah, but she couldn't this time. "your mom and your dad have a very complicated relationship."

wonyoung shook her head. she was the reason it was complicated.

"i wish dad would stop yelling at mom." wonyoung placed the still full glass on her counter. "i wish mom would stop yelling at me."

wonyoung didn't remember a time when her mother didn't yell at her. whether it was a bad grade or to wash the dishes, it was always a yell.

"i'm at the top of my class. i'm friends with all the people dad told me to be friends with. i even skipped a grade. everyone keeps telling them that they want a daughter like me, but mom and dad don't even want me." wonyoung just wanted someone to want her. "i don't know what to do anymore."

if she could, wonyoung would disappear.

"you're ten, wonyoung." this wasn't right, not for anyone and especially not for a ten-year-old. "you don't have to do anything."

wonyoung really wanted to believe her.

"i just want them to love me."

the young heiress had wished the unconditional love that everyone had talked about applied to her when it came to her parents. she had heard that it was supposed to happen as soon as she was born.

perhaps she missed out this time, in this life, because in this life, she was worthless.

but not to hannah. never to hannah.

"i love you."

wonyoung had never felt love from her mother, but she had always felt love from hannah.

"you do?"

"i do." hannah smiled sadly. it hurt to know that wonyoung had felt this way (and how there was a chance that her baby felt the same, wherever she was). "i know how complicated families can be..."

wonyoung had never heard hannah speak about her family, but she knew that the older woman would be a good, if not amazing one.

part of her was jealous that someone out there had a mom like hannah, when she had a mom like jiyoung.

"do you have family, hannah?"

the woman, hands shakey, grasped them together tightly. her lips were pursed, and a mournful expression seemed to overtake the comforting one from before.

"i have a daughter back home." her baby was nine pounds and twenty-one inches with a head full of hair. when hannah closed her eyes, she could hear her baby crying for her mother. "i had her really young."

her baby. her beautiful baby girl.

"do you miss her?" wonyoung asked.

"i miss her a lot." missing her was an understatement. "i haven't heard from her in years."

"why?"

she could think of a million reasons why, all of which she held to herself, in grief and in sorrow.

hannah was a bad mother for abandoning her child, and a bad daughter for being so reckless.

"i grew up really poor." hannah couldn't even begin to compare the jang's house to the one she had back home. "i couldn't find a job, so i moved overseas. i left my baby with my mom."

but her child lived, and her child was loved, even from afar.

"do you love her?"

"i do." hannah couldn't think about not loving her. "i love her so much."

"but you left her."

"i left because i loved her." wonyoung's eyes glistened at the word. she couldn't imagine leaving someone out of love. perhaps disappearing, but leaving was unfathomable. "i'd rather have her grow up hating me than die starving. i just wish i can go back. i just wanna my baby one more time."

this was the unconditional love that everyone had praised. it was the homemade bento boxes, and the tight hugs that wonyoung would see from her friends and their moms. it was the tearful goodbyes from her best friend's grandparents, and the thoughtful notes that her seatmate would find in her bag.

to love someone is to do what's best for them, to do the right thing.

was wonyoung the best for her parents? were her parents the best for wonyoung?

did they even love her?

"you're a good mom, hannah." wonyoung hugged her tightly. "i wish you were my mom."

wonyoung couldn't imagine it, having someone risk everything just for her to be happy. she couldn't imagine loving someone so much, but one day, whether it be a child or someone else, she would love to.

wonyoung wanted to love someone right.

she looked at the tearful hannah, the older woman smiling down at her.

"i promise that when i'm older, i'll make sure you can go back and see your family again."

it was a promise that wonyoung intended to keep.

"thank you, wonyoung."

hannah didn't doubt her. not for one second.

the jang's were never good at keeping promises.

jang wonseok was a politician. keeping promises and breaking them was part of the territory. every campaign he held at least a couple empty pledges, just like he did back home. the twelve-year-old jang wonyoung knew that.

plus, there was no way she'd actually believe what her father said. not after he betrayed her mother.

jang jiyoung was no better. being a news anchor, she had always run a tight schedule. for days, wonyoung wouldn't see her despite each promise that the woman would make, and although she didn't mind, sometimes the young jang did want someone to eat dinner with, even if it was just a cup of instant noodles they could share.

wonyoung thought she was different. that she was hannah's daughter and not a jang.

but it ran in her blood.

"hannah knew me before i knew her."

the microphone echoed, the twelve-year-old's shakey hands grasping tightly onto the paper in front of her, her fingerprints making light marks against the blank white.

"she went with my mom to get an ultrasound when she was pregnant with me." her parents were nowhere to be seen, her father at a meeting and her mother at work. "they said i was a big baby, but hannah said i was a special baby."

to love someone is to do the right thing. letting go was the right thing.

"i don't think i'm special. i think i'm just wonyoung." the crowd laughed. hannah would've laughed too. "hannah was the special one. she knew how to make me feel better. she knew when i was sick before i got sick. she even knew the weather before it happened."

wonyoung didn't want to let go, but she would, for hannah.

"hannah told me that she hadn't seen her baby in a while." she hoped hannah's baby knew how loved she was, and she hoped that her words could reach her, even if it was far away. "i promised her that when i was older, i would make sure she saw them."

the jang's were known to break promises.

"i thought she was gonna live forever. i wanted her to live forever, or just long enough so i can keep my promise. for once, i just wanted to make her feel better. hannah always made me feel better." wonyoung didn't know when the page got so blurry, or why water was pouring out of her eyes. "i thought if i loved her enough, i could fix it. i could do it."

she didn't know how she managed to fail the one person who believed in her.

"i want to apologize to her today. i should've tried harder." she had everything. why couldn't she try harder to give hannah this one? she might've been a twelve-year-old, but still. "i'm sorry, hannah. i'm really really sorry."

to love someone is to do the right thing, but wonyoung realized it was also to mourn, and to be angry at herself for not being better. her failures stared her in the face, the casket mocking her as if she was nothing.

she didn't want to think about it anymore. she had failed, and wonyoung wanted nothing more than for this pain to be gone.

sighing, she stepped down from the lectern.

hannah was her own. her mother.

and like a shadow, she was gone.

death seemed to round the corners of the jang household.

she could see boxes upon boxes piling up in front of their penthouse, her mother glaring into the distance half-heartedly, conflicted with her pain.

jang jiyoung was a lee once. she was the younger sister of lee jihuyn, and the aunt of the ten-year-old lee hyunseo.

lee jihyun always smelt like flowers whenever she was around. it was no wonder why jang wonseok was so fond of her.

"this is hyunseo." her father said, patting the heiress on her shoulder. it pained wonyoung to see him so happy to have his affair child around, especially after- no. wonyoung didn't deserve to think about her again. "she'll be staying with us."

wonyoung nodded bowing as the younger girl stared at her in wonder.

"hello, hyunseo."

wonseok smiled at the young girl in a way wonyoung never got when she was hyunseo's age. "wonyoung will show you your room."

wonyoung's face twitched in disdain before switching into a soft smile.

she led hyunseo up to hann a room, unoccupied yet cleared of any existence that came before it.

hyunseo didn't deserve this room.

wonyoung turned to the younger girl. "this is your ro-"

"can i call you unnie?" the lee couldn't help but gleam at her, her eyes bright as the han river glared back into her new room. "i never had an unnie before. it was just me, mom and dad all the time."

wonyoung bit back a scowl.

her dad. hyunseo was lucky she had a dad.

"i'll ask the butlers to bring your stuff up." wonyoung couldn't help but be cold. "i have a school tour to go to."

"oh..." she watched as the younger girl deflated, and wonyoung couldn't help but feel guilty. hyunseo bounced back, though, her expression brighter than before.

"okay!"

wonyoung didn't understand how she could be so happy.

wonyoung had never been to a public school.

her father and mother had always opted to have her in a private one, yet the presence of a public school with such a reputation around their area had the jang's interested.

wonyoung had to agree that the high school was fairly nice. it had its own swimming pool, and it was clearly popular among international students, wonyoung seeing a few as she passed by.

everything else was pretty much the same as every other school, though. nothing stood out, at least nothing of interest.

the heiress found herself walking back to the entrance, scrolling through her phone to get her butler to pick her up. as she dialed, screams and cheers could be heard from the gym.

she should've known better than to enter, but wonyoung's facade was wearing her down. the newly impulsive jang crept inside, more and more yelling filling her skull. it wasn't angry yelling, but a cheerful one.

she didn't understand what could be so interesting.

the heiress felt herself getting swept away, a sudden crowd forming around one of the players as the final whistle blew.

her eyes trained onto the figure, two adults, seemingly the girl's parents, hugging her tightly as the girl cried.

the girl was perfect in every sense, from her face to the way she smiled. she didn't doubt that the older girl probably had perfect grades, and a perfect family, with a set of perfect friends.

the crowd around her roared, and wonyoung realized that the girl in front of her was so loved, so respected, all because she was perfect.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

one day, she'd be perfect enough to have her parents love her. one day, she'll feel like she wasn't a mistake, that she wasn't worthless.

and one day, someday, wonyoung would be perfect enough to mention her name once more.

she'll do the right thing this time.

wonyoung was going to be perfect.

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[sungbeam]

[𝟖:𝟑𝟐𝐀𝐌] — nonidol!eric sohn x gn!reader

0.7k words, comfort, college au

in which you're sitting on an airplane, sad asf, but the cute guy next to you let's you know that you're not alone

a/n: low-key come back with my first tbz fic :') if i tagged u and u don't wanna be tagged for future tbz fics, feel free to lmk ; and yes, i'm literally sitting at my airport boarding gate writing this

"First time?"

A voice from beside you drew you from your mind space, and away from the airplane window. The sky outside had barely lightened and remained a moldy-gray sort of color that it often was in the early hours of the morning. 

You turned to see who had spoken, and was met with a guy who looked around your age sitting in the aisle seat of your row. He wore a dark colored bomber jacket and a backwards white cap, his bleached blond hair tucked under said cap. There was a small smile seated on his face, yet a kind of sympathetic crinkle in the wrinkle by his eyes. 

You realized that he had been talking to you. "First time on an airplane?" You asked him, uncertain about what exactly he meant by first time. 

He chuckled, his smile widening, and the thought crossed your mind of how pretty people looked when they smiled—namely, him. "No, silly. First time flying back so early for school."

Ah. Your mood dampened just a little and suddenly, it was like gazing back out the window, wondering what you might have been doing had you not needed to go back to college so early. Out of all your friends here, your school gave you the shortest winter break, with the new quarter beginning just a couple days after the new year began. It meant that you were leaving on New Year's Day. You hadn't gotten to stay up and party last night, and you wouldn't be able to spend any of this week with family. You were to go back to your little dorm, alone, and start the grueling cycle of the new quarter. 

You nodded, pursing your lips. "Yeah. What about you?"

"I'm a second year," he told you in response. "Promise I'm not a creep, but which school do you go to?"

You named your university for him and you watched recognition flash across his face. 

"Oh hey, same! I'm Eric by the way." 

A small, yet genuine smile graced your features. "I'm Yn. Nice to meet you, Eric."

"Hey," he said conspiratorially, leaning over the empty middle seat between you two, "I know it's really depressing to go back so early while everyone else gets at least a week longer, but—everything will be okay. Trust me; I went through it last year, and it's always rough at first, but I believe in you, Yn."

Somehow, his words hit you with the weight of a freight train. You wondered how he had taken one look at you, sulking in your window seat, and understood exactly what had been running in your head. He must have seen the way your eyes shone with familiar emotions—all the fear and sadness for the future—but the appreciation and hope, too. You wondered if he saw himself in your eyes. 

You swallowed and choked back tears. God, you felt so pathetic sometimes. "Thanks," you rasped, clearing your throat when your voice came out hoarse. "That's… that's really sweet of you."

"It's no problem." He shrugged, returning to his own aisle seat space. "Just know you're not alone, okay? I mean, I'm assuming you're out of state right?"

You nodded. 

"Then it's… kinda lonely, huh? I get that." Eric suddenly shuffled around his pockets until he fished out his phone. He held it out to you over the empty middle seat with an encouraging smile. "Here, put in your number. We can keep in touch when we get back to school."

You grabbed his phone and swiftly inputted your information into the new contact section. When you handed him his phone back, he sent you a text back so you could save his contact number and name. 

Both you and Eric stopped to listen as the flight attendant announced that the plane's doors were closing now. 

He lightly nudged you with the back of his knuckles, and you had a feeling you would never tire of seeing that boyish smile on his face. "You know what that means? We get the middle seat open!"

You chuckled at his child-like excitement (and maybe even envied it). "Lucky us, huh?"

"For sure. Now I have an excuse to bother you," he said. "As long as that's okay with you."

You'd never thought he'd ask, to be honest. "I wouldn't have it any other way," you mused, and relished in the way his eyes twinkled back at you.

You had boarded the plane with nothing but melancholy, anxiety, and bitterness—but as the plane began its take-off procedures and Eric Sohn talked to you about his friends back home whom he was leaving behind, you could put those negative feelings away and start the New Year right. 

tbz m.list

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[ro-is-struggling]

You Ruined Me || Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: on a cold rainy night Y/N accidentally ends up standing in front of her ex-boyfriend's house and remembers with sadness the last time she walked through those doors.

Warnings: fem reader, song fic, emotional infidelity (Matt is still in love with Elektra), breakup, unrequired love (the reader is still in love with Matt, but he has feelings for Elektra). It's pure sadness with no happy ending

English is not my first language

Word count: 3800

Notes: The story is based on the song You Ruined Me by JC Chasez. I recommend you to listen to it to understand the vibe of the story (you won't regret it because his voice is beautiful). Also there might be a part 2 on the works where Bucky gets involved👀👀👀 EDIT: HERE'S PART 2

I could be the first to let you know

That nothing means anything

Now I'm standing here outside your door

In the pouring rain

And I can't believe nothing's supposed to get to me

Now I'm in this misery

You walked through the dark streets of Hell's Kitchen with no particular destination in mind. It was a cold and rainy night. Droplets of water fell from the sky onto your figure, drenching you from head to toe. The wind blowing through the trees crashed against your wet body, freezing your skin. The cold was piercing your bones, cutting through the layers of clothing as if they were nothing more than a thin piece of fabric. Yet you would rather be there, alone, wet and cold, than spend another second trapped in a restaurant you didn't like, accompanied by a man you didn't love. You needed to escape. You could no longer pretend to be interested in that guy, so you made up a silly excuse about an emergency and hurried to disappear behind the doors before he had a chance to ask you any questions about it.

You could have headed home, but the thought of being back so early was depressing. So instead you decided to walk around for a while, get some fresh air and clear your mind. You thought maybe that would help you mood. The rain had attacked you halfway, but you didn't care. Your mind was too caught up in the swirl of emotions inside you to worry about a little water. So you continued walking without a destination in mind.

You should have known that your feet would eventually lead you to the building where Matt lived. You had spent so much time there that you had the path burned into your muscle memory. You could find your way there even if you were blindfolded. There was something about that place that drew you in, a connection so strong it was impossible to ignore.

When you looked up from the ground, you felt betrayed by your own body as you discovered where you were. Your eyes fell on the large doors of the building and your heart skipped a beat as you remembered the last time you had been there. It hadn't been long, barely about three months. When you walked through those doors that night you never imagined that you would end up walking out just a few minutes later with your heart shattered into pieces.

If you concentrated hard enough you could see the events of that night unfolding in front of you again. It was also a rainy day and you had forgotten your umbrella in the cab that took you to work that morning. The accident set off a chain of unfortunate events over the course of the day, and by the time your shift was over you were exhausted and in a very bad mood. That's why instead of going home you decided to stop by Matt's apartment. He always made you feel better when you were having a bad day, and that had been one of the worst in a long time. You never imagined that things would only get worse.

When you reached your destination, you used the keys Matt had given you to get into the building and then into his apartment. You walked down the dark entrance hallway in surprise at how quiet the place was. You dropped your keys on the coffee table as you wondered if your boyfriend was already roaming the streets of Hell's Kitchen in his red suit, looking for people who needed his help. But then you felt a noise coming from his room. You headed for the door, assuming Matt would be on the other side.... And he was, but he wasn't the only one there.

You didn't even get to touch the doorknob before the door suddenly opened, revealing a surprised and worried Matt. You didn't understand the reason for such an expression until your eyes fell on the figure behind him. On the bed, wrapped between the sheets and one of your boyfriend's shirts, rested Elektra Natchios.

Your eyes filled with tears as you comprehended the scene in front of you. Then, without a word, you turned and disappeared behind the door.

"Y/N, wait!" you heard Matt calling out to you, but you ignored him.

You quickened your pace, descending the stairs as fast as your blurred vision would allow. You could hear Matt behind you, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the halls. He was calling your name, asking you to listen to him, but you ignored him. You needed to get out of there. You needed to run away. You needed to get outside and breathe fresh air, or else you thought you would drown. The lump that had formed in your throat was getting bigger and bigger, making it difficult for you to breathe.

You had your right hand on the door handle when Matt finally caught up to you, grabbing your left arm to keep you from escaping.

"Y/N, wait!" he repeated, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. "Can we talk?"

"There's nothing to talk about" you replied, turning your back to him. You couldn't look him in the face, it hurt too much. "Let me go!"

"It's not what it looks like, Elektra got hurt and..."

"Enough! I can't do this anymore" you exclaimed, your voice broken by the tears you were struggling to hold back. "I can't keep pretending that I don't notice that you still have feelings for her" you added, finally turning to look at him.

"I don't, I-I..."

"Stop lying! I'm not stupid, Matt. I see it in your face every day. And I'm tired. I don't deserve this."

"I love you," he said in a broken voice, not knowing what else to do to convince you to stay.

"I know," you nodded with a sad smile. "But you have feelings for her too. And I can't go on like this, sharing you with her, afraid of losing you every day."

"Please..." he insisted, though he didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Goodbye, Matt."

And with that, you broke free of his grip and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

I can't be with anyone since I felt our worlds collide

It's like I almost died

The way you make me feel

I'm changing, got me breaking down inside

Baby can't you see, you ruined me

For life 

You haven't seen Matt again after that. You spent the next few weeks sad and depressed, crying yourself to sleep at night and waking up with a headache and a swollen face in the mornings. A routine that continued until one day you decided you were tired of feeling sorry for yourself. So you focused all your energy on getting your life back on track, forgetting Matt and starting over. 

For some reason, at the time it seemed like a simple task. It was just a matter of getting out and meeting new people. There were plenty of fish in the sea, some of them much better than Matt, you just had to take the time to find them. 

Oh if only you knew how wrong you were!

Over the past few months you had met several men, gone on countless dates, and still you couldn't get Matt out of your mind. Even when things were going well, when the guy was nice and the date interesting, you couldn't quiet the little voice in the back of your head that told you none of it was worth it. You fought it, raising the pitch of your voice as you spoke to drown it out in the noise, asking endless questions to your date to distract yourself with his answers. Nothing was working. The few men who didn't flee at your strange change in behavior would end up disappointed to discover that the evening would lead to nothing more than a quick, cold goodbye kiss. Sometimes not even that. 

For some reason, no man compared to Matt. None could awaken butterflies in your stomach with just a smile or a tingle in your body with a simple brush of hands. None could make your legs tremble at the sound of his voice or start a fire inside you with a kiss. They were, for the most part, nice men, but you didn't feel a special connection with any of them. Not like you did with Matt. 

You didn't feel the urge to have them around all the time, to know how their day had been and listen to every story, every word, as if it was the most interesting thing you had ever heard. You didn't wonder what it would feel like to wake up next to either of them in the mornings, nor were you dying to feel your bodies brush against each other. You didn't feel safe in their arms, at least not the way you felt in Matt's arms. 

That had nothing to do with his abilities or the fact that you knew he was Daredevil. The security Matt provided you was related to the connection you shared. You felt comfortable and safe with him because you had found your home in his arms. And that was something you couldn't change. Something you weren't going to find in someone else. 

You felt pathetic. You really were the biggest idiot in the whole universe. Matt had done nothing but hurt you, more painfully and deeply than any of your other ex-boyfriends, and yet you couldn't get him out of your mind. Your heart was still beating for him despite all the suffering he had put you through. It was ridiculous, but you couldn't deny how you felt. Matt Murdock was the only man for you even though you weren't the only woman for him. And that was devastating. 

I will be the last to let you down

All your fears and doubts are hovering above you like a cloud

And the water's rising

Now I can't breathe, nothing's how it's supposed to be

How did you do this to me

Locked inside your heart shaped box

It hurted you to have worked so hard for your relationship only to lose it all to a woman who did nothing but bring him trouble and heartache. You knew all too well the details of the relationship Matt and Elektra had had in the past. You had seen him running after her all over campus like a lost dog. You had to watch, along with Foggy, as he threw away his studies and all the effort it had taken him to get to where he was for her. And when eventually their relationship crashed and erupted into flames, you had been by his side to pick up the pieces of his heart from the ground and help him put it back together. A task that had turned out to be far from simple.

Years later, Matt remembered it as a mistake from his past. One of those that you make when you're young and inexperienced, one that marks a clear lesson for the future. And you believed him. You could still see traces of pain in his expression when Elektra's name was mentioned in conversation. He didn't like to talk about her, even years after their relationship had ended. And as much as you found it a bit odd, you always thought it was simply because it had been a very difficult time in his life. You had never had reason to suspect that maybe he wasn't as over her as he claimed, until she reappeared in his life.

It all started with subtle changes. You began to notice a certain awkwardness and tension in Matt, an attitude that had no apparent reason. It wasn't until he confessed to you that Elektra was back that you understood what was happening to him. Matt was having trouble understanding what he was feeling, doubt written into his expression at all times. You could read the struggle inside him every time you looked up at his face. 

In one corner of the fighting ring was the rational voice in his brain, telling him that nothing good could come from Elektra. In the opposite corner, the passionate, impulsive voice of his heart assured him that things would be different this time. Matt liked to pretend his brain won the fight by knock-out, but you both knew that was a lie. It was a very tight score. But eventually his heart would end up winning. 

Though of course that wasn't what he would tell you when you asked him about Elektra, worried about the effects her presence might have on your relationship.

"I don't want to work with her," he had assured you the night you had finally worked up the courage to voice you fears as you healed the wounds he had gotten on the street. "Believe me, it's the last thing I want."

"Then why are you doing it?" you insisted as you disinfected a small cut.

"Because she doesn't want to leave," he replied, letting out a sigh. "And because I think she's right. I think it's a case I can't handle on my own."

"Matt..." you started to say, but he interrupted you by grabbing your hands and pulling you a little closer towards his body.

"The Yakuza are planning something big and I don't think I can stop them by myself. That's all. Elektra is here just to help me with this problem and that's it. She'll leave as soon as we get it sorted out. We already talked about it." Matt assured you in a sweet, soft voice that almost made you forget all your problems. Almost.

"You promise?" You felt stupid asking such a thing of him, but Elektra's presence frightened you. She alone had thrown your world off balance in an instant. You needed reassure. You needed to know you weren't losing the man you loved.

"I promise," he told you with a smile before giving you a short kiss on the lips. "You have to believe me when I tell you that Elektra is nothing but a bad memory. You are the only woman I love."

You would love to be able to believe him, but deep down you knew that wasn't true. You didn't need to be able to hear his heartbeat to know he was lying. You just had to look at his face and see the doubt in his expression. That grimace that remained stamped on his face from the moment Elektra had come back into his life. You were losing him with every passing minute and there was nothing you could do about it but smile and pretend not to notice.

So that's what you did. You kept her mouth shut and smiled at him, giving his hand a squeeze to end the conversation. You kept the thousand doubts and insecurities you had to yourself in the hopes that things would go back to normal as soon as Elektra left. It was pathetic, but there was nothing else you could do. Matt owned your heart. He held it in his hands, squeezing it between his fingers with increasing strength and you couldn't take it away from him even i you wanted to.

I don't wanna be in love

I don't wanna feel this way

All I wanna do is leave

But all I can do is stay

Nights and days go by and I can't wait to touch your face again

A single tear escaped your left eye, rolling down your cheek and getting lost in the thousands of raindrops that adorned your face. There was nothing you wanted more than to be able to forget about Matt. You wanted to stop feeling the horrible emptiness inside you, a feeling that haunted you since the night it had all ended. You needed to get as far away from him as possible, at least until your heart stopped breaking into a thousand pieces at the mere mention of his name. You wanted to stop loving him. 

Yet there you were again. Standing in front of his door, fighting the urge to go up to his apartment to talk and make things right between them. Crying in the rain, your mind clouded by the memories the familiar building had awakened. 

You had initially thought that time would help you forget. You assumed that moving on with your life would become an easier task as the days passed. You thought the first few weeks would be the hardest, but if you managed to get through those dark days then you would see the light at the end of the tunnel. Only now you realized how wrong you had been. Months had passed and your heart ached with the same intensity as the first day. 

Ever since your relationship with Matt had ended, you weren't able to go a single night without thinking about him. You longed to feel the warmth of his body enveloping you when you slept, making you feel comfortable and safe, or bump against his chest as you stretched in bed. You missed opening your eyes in the morning and finding his calm expression as he slept, the cuts and wounds from the night before contrasting with the angelic look of his face. You missed hearing him groan with sleep at the sound of the alarm or hearing him pronounce your name followed by 'good morning' in the typical husky voice he had in the mornings. 

You even missed the fear and worry you felt every time you saw him disappear into the dark of night with his Daredevil costume on. At least when you were together you knew what was going on. You always waited up for him with the first aid kit, ready to treat his wounds. And while you worked, he would tell you what he had done as he roamed the dangerous streets of Hell's Kitchen.

You missed him like you had never missed anyone before. And that was because you loved him like you had never loved anyone before. You felt lonely without his company even though you were surrounded by people. The emptiness in your chest intensified every time you returned from work to your dark, deserted apartment. Your days were gray and monotonous. Your broken heart mourned Matt's absence almost as much as his lies and deceit. He was the cause of all your pain, but he was also the cure. 

I could be the first to let you know

That I can't be with anyone since I felt our worlds collide

It's like I almost died

The way you make me feel

I'm changing, got me breaking down inside

Baby, can't you see, you ruined me

Matt was the love of your life. There was no other way to explain how you felt about him. He was the love of your life and you would never forget him, even if you managed to turn the page and move on with your life alone. He would always be present in your mind. He would always have a special place in your heart. Even if you moved away from Hell's Kitchen and lived your whole life miles away, you were sure Matt would continue to hold the key to your heart. 

Suddenly you realized it was pointless to run away from what you felt. There was no place in the world where you could hide from Matt. He was burned into the depths of your soul. Then it occurred to you that maybe it was worth taking a chance on him one more time. Maybe fate had a happy ending planned for you after all. Maybe a future together was still possible. 

You let out a sigh of defeat, working up the courage to knock on Matt's door after you had sworn you wouldn't come back. You should feel ashamed of your weakness and lack of determination, but at this point you were incapable of experiencing such feelings. You had made the mistake of listening to your masochistic heart, believing the illusions it was clinging to in order to keep beating, and there was no turning back now. 

You were about to walk up the front steps to reach the door, when the sound of a car caught your attention. As you turned around you discovered that there was a luxury car parked in front of you in the street. You watched as the door of the vehicle opened and out stepped Matt and Elektra, both wearing fancy dress attire. 

Suddenly the air grew heavier. The tension and the lump that had formed in your throat made it difficult for you to breathe. Time seemed to freeze as you stood there, petrified in place. You could do nothing but stare at the couple in front of you. You noticed that the red lipstick Elektra was wearing was not only smeared, but had left marks on Matt's lips and neck. 

You felt the world around you crumble at your feet, just as it had that horrible night months before. You fragile heart broke into a thousand pieces once more as you saw that the hopes that held it together and kept it beating were nothing more than a delusion. You felt like a fool for thinking even for a second that your story could ever have a happy ending.

Matt, who was surprised by your presence, took a few steps forward to approach you. He opened his mouth to call out to you, but your name died in his throat because before he could utter it you turned and continued on your way. 

You walked away from there, calmly pacing under the rain, hiding in your cool appearance the urge you had to run off and not stop until you were miles away. Pretending that you had happened to pass by there purely by chance and not because you missed him more than anyone else in the world. 

Maybe if you continued to lie you would eventually believe your own bullshit. Maybe then you would manage to forget Matt Murdock once and for all.

I don't wanna be un love

I don't wanna feel this way

All I wanna do is leave

You ruined me for life

[alicehattera03]

do you have any advice on how to describe jewel eyes and how the mood affects their appearance?

Ooooh, the best advice I can give is that it differs for everyone because we all look at things differently- but what I found helpful was watching anime and watching how their eyes change with their mood. (Visually it helps to look at movement in particular!!!)

For example, if they were depressed, their eyes are described as fish eyes, dead inside, dark. If they were happy, they could be sparkling with those gold sparkles as pupils or visually brightening up when they spot a friend or a lover.

For jewel eyes specifically, for my writing, I would go back to the manhwa a lot for reference. Like, seeing how Spoon drew Athy's eyes wide when she was happy or narrowed just like Claude's when she was serious or mad- or how she lightened Claude's eyes to make him appear colder, disgusted, etc.

[fareehaandspaniards]

2, 3, 19, 23, 24 for Damian :3

2. Did you always like this character?

Yeah, I've always liked him, but not to say I fell in love at first sight xd Well, at first I liked him the same way I like all the other NPCs in BB. But it was worth taking a closer look at him…. >:3

3. What first drew you to this character?

I was thinking a lot about Micolash's personal life in my mind at the time. And as I was going through who besides Edgar could make up his happiness. When it came to Damian, I opened Pandora's box!!!! And immediately built a lot of little headcanons about Damian. I also ALWAYS liked his shield…. I never learned how to use it in game <:^) But I want a t-shirt or sweatshirt with a Loch shield print IRL xd

19. Does this character serve as a stress ball/ security blanket for you? Something you run to after a bad day to feel safe or happier?

YES!!! I always picture very emotional scenes in my head. I like to imagine Damian more in comfort, and from creating an atmosphere in which he would feel good - I myself feel better somehow. I often imagine him suffering too, but once I got so deep into his sadness for his younger brother Jiri that my mood was extra depressed for three days. So he suffers, but without fanaticism xd He is truly a source of emotional comfort. He has taken the place of my Comfort-character - a character who is perfect for me. Very often it helps during the work day to visualize him on my place, talking with customers and taking care of flowers XD

23. Has this character permanently altered or impacted your psyche in a way you won’t forget?

Definitely impacted! And took a lot of writing gestalts off me, reminding me that good people have hard sins, and so much more… Souls-likes in general helped me take off rose-coloured glasses for writing and reminded that through suffering we shape ourselves.

24. Do you ever dream about this character? If so, describe a dream you once had about them.

Yes, I had a dream with Damian - he was drinking tea very thoughtfully. The dream actually originally had to do with my family, but at one point I walked into a dark room where he was sitting with leg over leg, reading in the semi-darkness with a cup of tea in his hands. For some reason my blorbos in my dreams always look at me like this 🙄🙄🙄🙄 - so did he xD I can't say the whole dream was about him, but till this moment twice he appeared like this.

Can't describe my dreams more - it's very personal >:3

I wanted to add a sketch of him, but instead of this I add a piece of old WIP, where Damian and Gremia are Tomb Prospectors and Gremia constantly suffers of seeing his loved one with Micolash, can't sleep at night and feels so lonely as he never felt but is stil happy to have Damian around. My little guy (two of them actually) deserves happiness 🥺

[askfallenroyalty]

Here's some more deleted scene panels that never made it in

sorry there's no captions, there's just too many panels to describe and i'm tired. hopefully i'll have the energy/rememebr to do so tomorrow ):

IM REALLY SAD THIS ONE DIDN'T GET IN. I even drew asriel shutting flowey in a box for this joke to work. There was going to be a visual gag of it being a "soap" box. Haha.

Asgore was originally going to tell Asriel to think of something nice to get his mind off of his panic attack.

Which, while funny, took away the feeling of intense panic the audience and asriel should have been feeling at the time. It just didn't fit the pacing/mood. It also showed that -well, i don't know if this is a legitimate grounding technique or if it'd be read as "its ok just think happy thoughts <3 then ur panic attack would end" which... is not.... how that works. Even if it was only to give Asriel a moment of respite, it's shown as effective until Asgore brings up a bad memory. So. bad comic sequence.

more stuff under the cut

I had a really, really hard time balancing the tone of the scene that is currently happening in the redraw. it's why i'm so behind in my drawings, so i'm only now sketching the next couple month's updates.

This chapter has gone through SO MANY changes. I feel that comes with it being the first chapter to completely diverge from the original tumblr version.

Asriel was originally going to have a very on-the-nose nightmare about Flowey feeling excluded from the family and fearing drowning. Now, the whole darkness/water metaphor for suicidal depression will be introduced when that stuff starts to come into play in chapter 4...

i mean, just to really hammer home how much i had to delete for this: i actually did sketch out the original tumblr version here. I had it all ready before chapter 2 began posting. But as I was finishing the color for the warship section I realized, shoot, I don't wanna repeat it.

When I first made the tumblr version, i was getting burnt out and the characters just became so much... meaner? rude? to each other. some bickering or annoyance is fine but I have a bad habit of going overboard. That's something I hope to correct in the rewrite -and focus more on less drama and more wholesome/loving moments.

(note the above scene is shown not in full. its jumping around a bit)

Even tho I was mostly keeping chapter the same the first time I sketched it for the redraw, I added this scene. The idea was that when the house was on fire, Frisk would of ran off to the right of the house to where you can see Old Home.

There, even tho Frisk can't verbally talk, the two have a nice heart-to-heart. Chara remember Frisk has [spoilers] issues. Chara was going to own up to their bad behavior.

Now well, hm. Chara's got a lot of shit going on. Frisk of course has forgiven them (like they do for everyone in the underground -_- oh frisk...) and it's going to be something that's addressed down the road. for now, they've held hands, and shown solidarity for each other. As kids, they're going to goof around and be buddies and not let the cruddy stuff chara did earlier matter. things are so much less of a big deal when you're a kid.

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

A rundown of my TWTaS writing playlist because I cannot be stopped

this will no doubt be the longest post I've ever made about this fic so strap in:

general atmosphere/plot songs:

El Tango De Los Assassinos (yes, from Mr&Mrs Smith)

This was my mood setting for Jyn and Cassian in the early chapters, especially the rooftop scene in chapter 9.

Runaway by The National

This is a sad and gentle backdrop that I pictured being played in Baze's diner in the first half of the fic a lot.

The Boys of Summer (live) by The Hooters

This is here largely because I have been trash for this song since I was thirteen and it has a lot of Yearning in it. Let's say it could also be playing in the diner, that would make sense to me.

Starlight by Muse

this was maybe the first song I ever saw on a rebelcaptain edit (it was this one by @proinsiascassidy) and it has sparked my ongoing obsession with them and starlight - the word, the concept, stargazing, everything. Therefore, it had to be on here, even though I feel like it's an outlier musically.

St Jude by Florence + The Machine

This has EXACTLY the peaceful, suspenseful, sorrowful, hopeful vibes this ship needs especially in this setting, and it is addressed to "St Jude, the patron saint of the lost causes" so. yeah.

Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine

This is a big Depression song, and this fic is Depressed, so it works for both of them equally. The water/ocean theme and the chorus of "never let me go" feels much more Jyn than Cassian to me, but the Overt Christian Overtones make a lot of sense for Cassian and "the crushes of heaven for a sinner like me" is. come on.

Lithium Sunset by Sting

Listen this song is literally about antidepressants what do you want me to tell you.

Between Two Lungs

This is as triumphant and cheesy as the playlist gets, folks. They're in love! And they want to live, goddamnit!

Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2

Somehow several songs about the Irish Troubles ended up in this fic that is 100 percent not about that (although I picture Lyra's father as someone who was Involved in the Troubles, but this doesn't factor into the story enough to explain it and I think I came up with it because of the playlist).

.

Character and relationship themes:

Shallow by Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper

Look I wish I could roll my eyes at this song but unfortunately the lyrics are perfect for this fic in every way and I gotta respect that. The singers should be reversed for this fic but. Yeah sorry the lyrics are really good.

Bridge Over Troubled Water by Johnny Cash

To counteract the unhealthy vibes of most of the other songs on here, here's a sweet, peaceful song about selfless devotion and helping and comforting each other, because that is also a part of how I see this ship. It's also another song I definitely think was playing at the diner. Actually I think I actively hinted at it once. (Edit: I sure did! Chapter 26)

The Only Hope For Me Is You by My Chemical Romance

Listen. Desert vibes. Starts with echoes of "remember me". It's comparatively aggressive and very heavy on the war metaphors (that may not be metaphors). It's kind of perfect.

Summertime by My Chemical Romance

from the same album, same vibes. Very apocalyptic but in a hopeful way? They're throwing bricks and promising to run away together. This is a no-brainer.

Song for Someone by U2

This may be THE rebelcaptain song. It's devastating and so full of baggage but it's so tender and so hopeful and I will champion this song as their anthem until I die.

Work Song by Hozier

Is this a song about deep, deeply unhealthy, heartfelt devotion? Does it contain the Classically Rebelcaptain lines "When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth/ no grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"? I rest my case.

I'm Not the One by 3OH!3

This works so so well for both Jyn and Cassian, it's like a conversation between their younger selves, and also I really drew on this for all those moments where they see themselves and their screwed-up childhoods in each other.

Man in Black by Johnny Cash

This is Draven. Straight up in my head Draven is always wearing black and this song is why.

Firefly Theme by Sonny Rhodes

This is clearly Bodhi, and it's perfect.

Brothers In Arms by Dire Straights

This plays in Bodhi's backstory for me. Because it's a War Trauma song I guess, but also because it has this heavy, heavy sense of loss of friends, of innocence, of self. It's so heartbreaking, and it's so gentle and quiet and deceptively peaceful.

Solsbury Hill (live) by Peter Gabriel

Culturally this makes NO sense but this is my go-to-Chirrut song. It's spiritual and uplifting and it is just so deeply comforting to me.

Fields of Gold by Sting

So this makes even less sense both culturally and lyrics-wise, but it feels like Baze to me. I cannot explain this.

River Lea by Adele

I could quote this entire thing this is TWTaS Jyn in a nutshell

Raised By Wolves by U2

This is a very Jyn song to me. It is bleak but it's defiant and I think it makes a lot of sense as her starting point.

21 Guns by Green Day

God I love this song. It's perfect for them in every way my god. This fandom should be full of Green Day songs. This song works so well for Cassian especially early on in the fic, and I think it really gets the vibe so right.

Golden by Fall Out Boy

This is so so Cassian and his horrible self-esteem and his self-imposed isolation for the sake of others.

You Found Me by The Fray

Since this is, once again, Overtly Complicatedly Religious, it feels very Cassian. This song is so so bitter and I feel like that makes a lot of sense for Cassian re: faith and life and everything.

The Unforgiven by Metallica

This is the Very Bleak Backdrop for young Cassian's disillusionment arc/downward spiral, so like mid-teens to his undercover op. It also works for Draven, which is neat and very sad.

All Eyes On Me by Bo Burnham (yes)

This song is so bleak and so trance-like in the absolute worst most viscerally depression-like way. This is a song for someone who is SO close to just giving up, with the faintest of cries for help left ("hands down, pray for me"). This is for Cassian at nineteen or twenty, alone and spiralling and vaguely dissociating. It's bad and this song is so good and so upsetting to me.

Zombie by The Cranberries

More Troubles music. A very good song, deeply heartbreaking.

Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day

This song straight up is why everything bad that ever happened to Cassian happened in September. There is no way to convince me this song is not perfect for this character in every way.

Any Other World by MIKA

Welcome to more bitterness and self-effacing nonsense, because again, I can't be stopped.

Der Weg by Herbert Grönemeyer

The last third of this song makes SOB. It's a song all about the horrible grief that comes with losing someone way too soon, and about learning to live with it. It's so fucking sad on its own merit, and it does work scarily well for Cassian and the memories of his family. Hell, you can split those lines up for each of them perfectly, and it ends with one of the saddest loveliest lines in the world, this song is A Lot: "Habe dich sicher in meiner Seele/ Ich trag' dich bei mir bis der Vorhang fällt" (I keep you safely within my soul/ I'll carry you with me until the courtain falls)

What A Catch, Donnie by Fall Out Boy

This is for Cassian ("I got troubled thoughts and the self esteem to match", "they say the captain goes down with the ship/so when the world ends, will god go down with it?" and all that), but mostly for Cassian and his father, for these lines: "I will never end up like him/ behind my back I already am"

Leningrad by Billy Joel

This makes absolutely zero sense for this fic and emphatically should not be on here but the first stanza is giving me inexplicable Cassian-and-his-dad vibes.

24 Frames by Jason Isbell

Due to the lyrics, this is obv very much Cassian and his mother and brother, but really his whole family. Also a whole lot of bitterness against God, see above. (It's also a holdover from the glorious Cassian playlist that Disney has since retconned so there's that)

It's Time by Imagine Dragons

I don't know how I landed on this but it actually works So Well for baby Cassian who is already disillusioned but also still very very naive about how much change and revenge he can affect. And it illustrates the rift between him and Gael so nicely. It catches the whole unhealthy song and dance of "you might change and you should get out of here but I never will and so I have to stay and let this place kill me". I feel insane for reading this sentiment into this song but I truly think it's there?

Stay by Hurts

This song is super fucking cheesy and very on the nose but it's here for a single line that fucking breaks me re: Cassian and Gael every time: "And I wonder if you know/ how it feels to let you go"

Hurt by Johnny Cash

I'm making this whole list partially so I get to scream about how much real estate this undefined relationship has taken up in my head, and yes, that includes Hurt playing on a loop whenever I think about them. This is fully Cassian anywhere between becoming a cop and meeting Jyn (and starting therapy lol) to Gael, I mean, it has it all. It's A Lot, but it's so on brand.

How to Save a Life by The Fray

Yes, it's The Song From Every TV Drama! Once again, is it overplayed and cheesy by proxy? Kinda! Is it perfect for this fic? Yes! This is Gael for most of his adult life re: Cassian, probably. Like, the man did what he could and he got out when he had to but knowing the person that once meant most to you in the world is killing themselves by a thousand cuts somewhere and does not want you to save them is just about the worst feeling I can imagine and this song is as close as I got to that.

Objects In The Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are by Meat Loaf

Again, very very specific and pretty on the nose, but the first stanzas of this song are so very accurate to what I had in my head that I feel I couldn't write Gael grieving for Cassian much better. With the flashback to little boys getting into hijinks and running around and such hope for the future and then "I can still recall the sting of all, the tears when he was gone/ they said he crashed and burned/ I know I'll never learn/ why any boy should die so young"?? and also "There are times I think I see him peeling out of the dark/ I think he's right behind me now and he's gaining ground" GOD.

Whatsername by Green Day

I needed to know what Gael's headspace was so I could write him in not-a-flashback-time and it's. It's Whatsername. It's all stages of grief and it's a bit of a breakup song and also the first lines feel so real to me, anything that mentions thinking you saw someone you know but then it wasn't them is giving me OC feels now, as seen above. And Whatsername has the absolute perfect balance between "this killed me but I've put it behind me" and "this person will haunt me until the day I die". I love this song.

.

Not on the playlist but there in spirit:

Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA

Because this OC lives rent-free in my head, I have a song for him and his oldest daughter that makes me cry. I'm assuming this is normal.

Not in Nottingham by Mumford & Sons

This would 100 000 % be on here if it were on Spotify. To my continued horror, it isn't. It would round out this collection of sad, hopeless songs nicely and it is also near and dear to my heart due to being from maybe The most formative movie of my childhood.

The Scientist by Coldplay

This is the be-all-end-all Galen and Jyn song and I will never budge from this. It doesn't really factor into this fic but again, it's here in spirit.

[picrewocs]

Every few weeks on the Ao3 subreddit, someone feels the need to remind us that Ao3 was created by a proshipper who wanted a "safe space" (stop co-opting social justice terms for petty issues PLEASE) for posting dark content. In other words, people who don't like dark content shouldn't use Ao3.

Babe, what do the preferences of the creator of Ao3 have to do with what I choose to read

I'm a proshipper by strict definition, meaning that I think that harassing/lecturing/doxxing people over their taste in fan content is loser behavior. And, on a site like Ao3, which has a marvelous tagging and filtering system, you can usually avoid most content, provided that the right tags were used in the first place.

However, I don't believe that "it's just fiction" always applies, and, quite frankly, it's a lazy take that doesn't allow for critical thinking (and I mean thinking about your own tastes, not bothering people about theirs). It's ok to analyze your own interests sometimes. It's ok to ask yourself "why am I into this?" Example: I can tell when I'm In a Mood when I find myself looking for fic threads or fan fics that are super fluffy/soft. I can tell that im in a stronger headspace when I'm able to consume heavier or more depressing content without it triggering me.

However, it's so weird to me that the people on that sub will make fun of people who don't like dark content (they will downvote you for even saying that you don't like certain tags/tropes), yet they're so overly sensitive when people don't like what they're into. They'll use terms like "persecution" and "oppression" for shit like people saying "I'm not into incest ships" or whatever.

One proshipper went on a whole rant because a minor who created a zine for a certain fandom, didn't want contributors who drew dark content or NSFW stuff. The proshipper kept talking about being oppressed and persecuted and I'm just there like, it's a fan zine, most likely for a fandom you're not even part of. Why do you care? And they're a minor; why do you, a full grown adult, care about what they're doing?

Anyway, just needed to rant. I love Ao3, and the subreddit is interesting, but it gets so overwhelming and quite frankly creepy sometimes the way people act as if their voting rights are being taken away just because someone doesn't want to read their underage omegaverse incest fics. Find some real problems, ffs

[shadowchan209]

Hehe.. Finally..

I'm in mood for posting my drawings ✨

Meet Shadow!

My beautiful daughter 🤭

(Idontwannaquestionaboutwhyshedonthavepupils)

• 20/21 years old

• She has a twin sibling ✨ (but.. Her twin sibling's creator changes him/her to much. So I can't give a information for him/her)

• Omnisexual (mostly loves girls/women)

• She have a girlfriend/wife. Her name is Rosie. ((I will draw her later)+ Rosie is not my OC)

• She is an assassin. She uses daggers.

• She knows dark magic. Uses very smartly.

• She acts very silly and annoying but she is very smart and manipulator.

• She likes flirting and (dark) jokes. She also addicted to touch (friendly ofc)

———— FUN FACTS ————

1- She likes listen Russian songs.

2- She knows little Russian and little Korean. (Maybe little Japanese, who knows)

3- She trying learn to sign language.

4- She is a therapist friend. So, she knows all friends secrets.

5- When she was high school, she had a very severe(?) depression. Because, she got offended with her twin. (they reconciled very soon).

6- When she was high school (again), she had short hair.

7- She can control the shadows. Is the reason she's name is Shadow? No, another reason.

8- Btw.. Her real name is not Shadow. Shadow is a Nickname (Like "'Dipper' Pines").

Maybe.. I can give a healt problem or mental problems. Who knows~ 🥰

They are her bitches now 😨

And.. TIME FOR THESE BITCHES FOR NEW UPDATES AND FUN FACTS

New hair for human desings ✨

I'minlovewiththisbrush

————————— N.N —————————

Yes, I started calling him N.N (NoName.exe) for now (I still trying give him a new nickname plshelp)

— Him birthday in December.

— He knows sign language.

— He is not Genderfuild anymore.

— He have a boyfriend now ✨ (I drew him but I don't post him for now).

— He loves kids so much. He doing babysitting too (He works cafes sometimes to).

— He is the least user bad-words/curses in my OC's.

— He likes to organize birthdays. (I call him sometimes "Birthday-Fairy" for this. Why? Idk but it's funny.)

— In human version; he is an orphan 👹

———————— RILEY ————————

— Her birthday in November.

— She is very talented and smart.

— She is half German and half Turkish (Her mom is German and her dad is Turkish).

— She knows half of sign language.

— She has a.. "pervert" (Calm down, her "pervert" is not pervert, just Riley call he/she pervert).

— Her memory is very strong (But, she just not remember people she doesn't care).

— She hate her mother and her mother hates Riley. (What a perfect mother-daughter relationship 🥰)

— She only saw her father in her childhood, but she remembers him.

— She wants to be best PvP player in Minecraft.

————————————————————

Uhh.. Thats all?? Less than I thought!?

Wow..

Anyways, thank you for read them <3

Wanna more about them??

[astriferias]

Hi! Could you do 7, 17 and 27 for the music ask? Thank you! :)

HI ANGEL HOW ARE YOU it's been ages??? we should catch up omg

7:A song to drive to

no this one's so hard tho? it depends on the season and the weather and my mood? sometimes i wanna do karaoke sometimes i wanna be Depressed Main Character etc. etc.

but gonna say drew barrymore by sza, i love to sing along with this one

also ryd and dark red by steve lacy

black sheep by metric (but the brie larson version from scott pilgram vs the world)

moodna, once with grace by gus dapperton

honorable mention goes to fleetwood mac's entire discography (especially tusk), my chemical romance's entire discography, frank ocean's album blonde, and pretty much any 60's-70s or 90s rock playlist on spotify

17:A song that would sing a duet with on karaoke

i just went to karaoke last weekend visiting my friends in nyc and it restored my soul, i guess my fave karaoke song is no scrubs by tlc but when you're with the right crowd what's up 4 non blondes really hits (but you have to do the over the top voices)

27:A song that breaks your heart

kettering by the antlers

landslide by fleetwood mac

(i literally have a spotify playlist called "depression level: critical" that's just these 2 songs lmfaooo)

smother by daughter

growing sideways by noah kahan

last words of a shooting star by mitski

moon song by phoebe bridgers

you by keaton henson

[shortsighted-dyke]

To Be Taught if Fortunate - Rebecca Chambers

Softness in Space - A Review

In Space no one can hear you scream. And most often than not, the vast, endless and dark “out there”, doesn’t care about you or your loves ones, spinning around aimlessly in that cold vacuum.

Your scream, if you go out wailing, will NOT be picked up. And you die alone.

Or so a lot of Sci-Fi tells us.

But what about the stories that aren’t like that? Stories that instead of putting the inherent danger of space travel first, talk of soft moments filled with compassion. Where Space Travel and dreams of astronauts instill that childlike wonder in us, that we may have lost along the way.

Recently when reading books or watching something on my computer that involved venturing towards the far away stars, the idea of ever leaving earths atmosphere made me slightly sick. A pit would form not in my stomach but in the back of my throat, staying there like a lump and constantly reminding that whatever tale I was witnessing would somehow turn bad. Because that is what happens In Space, Because of Space.

Yet, “To Be Taught, If Fortunate” took away that lump. And instead it drew my mind back to my younger self that thought that nothing bigger than space travel could ever exist.

This short story by Becky Chambers lets you witness the scientific wonders and pitfalls of a four people crew, that are sent on a 80 year mission (pack it up Picard) to investigate another star system. The surrounding factors are not that different from ours, humanity’s core remains and I don’t want to take away too much of the little wonders and excitements that this adventure will bring you.

The story is smartly chaptered, making it easy to completely immerse yourself and prepare for different circumstances awaiting after each chapter. Yet lucky for us, the crew never changes. These four are well written, sympathetic human beings that act like you and me. One might find little parallels in each of them.

As much as I was interested in the planetary exploring, I was even more intrigued by this crew. Them going through cycles and moods like life itself. Childlike highs and depressing lows of later life. It gripped me and made me cry.

After not reading for months and having problems immersing myself, let alone be interested in books at all, this short story has brightened my path considerably.

For people that might have had trouble getting back into reading, I can safely recommend this. The pacing picks up relatively fast, which it has to, considering the main story only holds ca. 130 pages.

Two cozy evenings of reading I’d say.

[olderthannetfic]

[This is for a person with whom I have quite a contrary opinion. And I want to get it off my chest]

You. Have. No. Idea. What. Fanfic. Is.

For you, quality literature has to have the qualities you demand of it. Yes, I agree that you need a minimum of quality in all areas, but a lot of fanfic is written by people who spend their time (for free) to give you a story with characters you already know and want to read in that context.

"But you shouldn't write about real people." You're missing the point of fanfic.

"But you shouldn't use non-LGBTQ+ people/characters for LGBTQ+ stories." You're missing the point of fanfic.

"Sex scenes with real people are disgusting". For you, but not for everyone.

"I hope one day the 14 year old girls who read this kind of fanfic will realise that writing about real people is wrong and move away from the dark and toxic side of fandom." Don't say what people can read or not.

"I hope you grow up and leave your fanfic era to read worthwhile literature." Honey, I can read fanfic and I can read books that were Nobel Prize winners, one thing doesn't take away from the other. Oh, again, you're missing the point of the fanfic.

So please, stop throwing all the bad stuff at fanfic writers and thinking you're mature for reading Stephen King (I guess he can talk about Beverly's boobs because it's not fanfic). And I hope you never leave Wattpad, because if you go on ao3, first you'll faint and then you'll cry about the "atrocities".

You're good at giving writing advice and encouraging new writers, but stop talking about a subject you don't understand and don't want to understand. If I vent here it's because I know that if I write it in your comment box, I'll be the hater and I don't want arguing with people.

[Sorry if I made a mistake. English isn't my first language and I'm really upset right now]

--

There's an interesting thing I read as a kid about language acquisition. It was specifically about vocabulary acquisition among native speakers. The researchers observed that parents, teachers, etc. thought kids should read "good" books that "challenged" them because this would improve vocabulary and comprehension...

But in fact, the thing that most improved reading skills was reading books that were just barely hard. They might have learned only one new word per crappy Nancy Drew, but they read thousands of them and learned thousands of words. The kids reading "good" literature that was much too hard for them learned much less.

Needless to say, I waved this in my mother's face and went back to reading Nancy Drew.

Mom absolutely suffered from Buy The Child Boring And Depressing Literature syndrome, like many intellectual adults. Also, she was terrible at judging a book from the cover blurb and was always buying things she thought would be fun pictures of some cultural moment that were actually about the horrors of war and teenagers fleeing their countries.

I find it hilarious that this person is a Stephen King fan. Nothing wrong with King! He's rightly beloved and famous. But in the minds of Real Literature snobs, he's also fun trash, not Serious Books For Serious People.

That's the danger of snobbery: there's always someone who can show you up.

The only way to win this game is to be completely secure in your own tastes to the point that you don't even care about defending them when people attack.

For me personally, fic made all the difference in my writing ability. I was surprised a few years ago to realize I'd turned into someone who could write the kinds of things I actually want to read. I never used to reread my own work, and I never used to be able to live up to my own standards. Lack of revision was part of it, but that wasn't most of it: I just wasn't very experienced and thus I wasn't very good.

After a decade of writing Yuletide fic and the occasional other thing as the mood struck me, I apparently gained enough experience while not paying attention to level up.

Those 14-year-olds dicking around with Jungkook readerfic or Taekook or Minecraft dumbass RPF or whatever has this person's panties in a twist will probably turn into good writers one day if they just keep writing.

It's a question of stamina as much as anything, and nothing kills stamina faster than elitism.

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts

Shelob’s Lair

Ohoho, here we go, spider time >:-D

Tolkien spends. A LONG time. Describing how horrible this tunnel is. Right when you think he’s gonna run out of words? He doesn’t. There’s PAGES more.

Of COURSE it’s Sam who bumps against Frodo and grabs his hand!! Of course it is! My boy’s main love language is Physical Touch, how could he not??

“They struggled on, still hand in hand.” Heeheehee 8-D

tolkien-feels was right, this is fantastic

I wonder exactly how long they went before they actually stopped holding hands?? Tolkien doesn’t mention it. You just have to….assume they let go at some point. I’m going to assume it was later rather than sooner.

Sam!! Reminds Frodo!! Of the Vial!!! This is why we need Sam!!!!

“Then holding the star aloft and the bright sword advanced, Frodo, hobbit of the Shire, walked steadily down to meet the eyes.” YOOOOOOOOOOOO—

Dude it’s just Frodo walking towards a giant spider but DANG if it isn’t described in the most METAL way possible

“Stars and glory! But the Elves would make a song of that, if they ever heard of it.” Same, Sam!

Okay so. I’m noticing a Theme here of “Frodo Running Towards Danger”.

In a larger sense, that’s the entire plot of the book; Frodo is headed to Mordor, the very camp of the Enemy, to destroy the Ring.

But also, last chapter, we had him running towards Minas Morgul like a zombie, as if he was mind-controlled…

Just now, we had him approaching Shelob, but that was a moment of bravery, when he was in his right mind…

And now, as Sam puts it, “his master was in a fey mood, running heedlessly to meet” the red eyes in the tower at the head of the pass.

I dunno what point I’m trying to make with this, but it’s Interesting.

YOOOOOOOOO SAM SUPLEXED GOLLUM 8-O

AND THEN BEAT HIM WITH THE CANE LIKE A TRUANT CHILD UNTIL THE CANE BROKE!!! HAHAHAHAHA GO OFF, SAM!

You just know he was waiting to do that, all that pent-up anger, you just KNOW—

“[Sam] spun round, and rushed wildly up the path, calling and calling his master’s name. He was too late. So far Gollum’s plot had succeeded.” Oh dip.

The Choices of Master Samwise

“Frodo was lying face upward on the ground and the monster was bending over him…” Eeeeeeeheehee nOPE—

*mumble-sings* And if the devil doesn’t like it he can sit ooon a tack— *smash-cut to Shelob landing on Sting*

I love how the Vial just. Makes the hobbits speak Elvish randomly.

For a moment I thought “laid his head upon Frodo’s breast and to his mouth” meant that Sam was trying to give him ye olde CPR and no, Writer Brain, he’s just trying to tell if he’s breathing, stop it—

“Frodo, Mr. Frodo! Don’t leave me here alone! It’s your Sam calling. Don’t go where I can’t follow! Wake up, Mr. Frodo! O wake up, Frodo, me dear, me dear. Wake up!” nnnnnnnggg TT-TT

I am. just. gutted.

Like I know how the story ends but his grief here is so raw and excruciating.

This is how a man who lost all his closest friends in a war writes someone losing his closest friend in a war. I just…..

*ugly sobbing noises*

(Is it a little wish-fulfillment fantasy of Tolkien’s that Sam gets to rescue his “dead” friend from some dark secret place and bring him back alive?? Perhaps. But it’s okay, we’ll let him have that.)

I like how Sam speed-runs the five stages of grief here. Denial: checking vital signs and calling his name. Bargaining: “don’t do where I can’t follow”. Anger: running around hitting things and yelling at rocks. Depression: literally sits down and passes out from grief for a second.

Which, by the way, that last thing?? Huge mood.

Sam talking to Frodo while he’s unresponsive, asking his permission to take his things, “do you understand, Mr. Frodo?”, just like you’d talk to a gravestone. Tolkien, you can take my heart out of the blender now.

“He knelt and held Frodo’s hand and could not release it.” !!!!!! HEY???

First of all, ow. Secondly, Physical Touch. Thirdly, yo that’s exactly what I drew in the Rivendell flashback in the “I love him whether or no” comic—

Am I psychic or do I just remember details from this book that I don’t remember remembering??

Tolkien basically said “if Sam has his way, he’d hunt Gollum all across Middle Earth and kill him dead for this” and that’s hilarious to me.

Who is. Who is the other voice talking to Sam here. It doesn’t sound exactly like Sam does when he’s debating with himself. Doesn’t have his Sam-isms. Tolkien even puts it in separate quotations. I. Hhuuueehh??

Just this whole thing:

I SAID TAKE IT OUT OF THE BLENDER, NOT PULVERIZE IT INTO A PULP—

But also the stupid little writer-brain in me sees the forehead kiss and goes 8-D

Sam making plans to come back and bury Frodo, if he can, just gets me. Gosh, can you imagine how horrible it would’ve been if that had actually played out?? How much of Frodo’s body would have decomposed by the time Sam could get back??? What stage would it be in—the bloated purplish stage, the moldy rancid maggot-infested rotting stage, the dried-out sunken skin clinging to bones stage?? Can you imagine how disgusting and heart-rending the work would be just to carry what’s left of him to somewhere he could be buried?? Dead bodies smell bad, man!! It makes you wanna be sick! And it’s worse because that rotting hunk of meat in front of you used to be somebody you love, but now it actively makes you want to throw up, so now your heart hurts in addition to your stomach. Imagine poor soft-hearted Sam having to handle that alone. It would just be unbearable. Thanks for sparing us that, Tolkien. And you’re welcome to all the rest of you for that lovely mental image.

“But slowly, as if the weight became less, or new strength grew in him, he raised his head, and then with a great effort got to his feet and found that he could walk and bear his burden.” *resists making another spiritual warfare parallel*

You know, for all Sam’s talk of making the wrong choices, it really did work out the best that it possibly could. If he’d stayed by Frodo, they both would have gotten captured, and then the Enemy would definitely have the Ring. Sam stayed out of sight just long enough to keep the Mission online. That’s a worthy contribution in and of itself.

SAM PUT ON THE RING 8-O !!!!!!! I’d forgotten about that!!

Sam being grimly amused at the orcs’ descriptions of him as a big, string Elf-warrior is just. The Best.

(Okay wait now I wanna see Sam in the Modern AU playing an Elf Fighter in D&D—)

“This fellow isn’t dead!” Great! The worst best news ever!!

“Don’t trust your head, Samwise, it is not the best part of you.” STOP! CALLING YOURSELF!! STUPID!!!

Okay well if his brain is good then his heart is amazing, which means there is a part of him better than his brain by comparison, so he’s not WRONG, but he’s also not RIGHT.

Sam charges the door of the orc-tower. It slams in his face. He whacks against it and gives himself a concussion. Mood.

Last words of the chapter: “He was out in the darkness. Frodo was alive but taken by the Enemy.” 8-C 8-C 8-C

*looks at the next page*

“The Return of the King”

…….

oh.

come.

OOOONNNNNN!!!

FRICK!!! TOLKIEN WITH YOUR CLIFFHANGERS! COME BACK HERE SO I CAN STRANGLE YOU!!!

*peeks at the next page*

First word: “Pippin…”

HAHAHAHA NOOOOOOHOHOHOHO AAAAAAAGGGHH *goes bouncing off the walls and tearing things up and crying into the book*

Your gonna make me sit through a dozen more chapters before Sam rescues Frodo??? REALLY???? I’m gonna be biting my nails for weeks! This is my bromance!! THESE ARE MY BOYS!! You can’t DO this to me!!!

……..

Screw it.

The Tower of Cirith Ungol

Yes I know this is halfway through Return of the King, yes I know I’m reading out of order, no I do not care, I won’t be able to SLEEP tonight if I don’t do this, so shush X’-D

(Okay side note from later but it is. Fascinating to me. How much of this chapter I remember. Like, word for word, I’m getting deja vu for entire paragraphs at a time. I must have been paying a LOT of attention to this chapter, or read it again and again and again, until entire phrases of the dialogue and narration were burned into my brain. This was probably Baby’s First Bromance Awakening and Hurt/Comfort Fic and honestly my fixation on it says a whole darn lot about who I’ve become today.)

(Y’know what, I bet this isn’t even the first time I’ve skipped ahead to the rescue. I probably did it the first time I read this book too. And you know what, Baby Me?? Same. You go. Ten years later, we’re doing the same thing, can’t judge. X’-D)

And of course the first thing Tolkien does is tie the story back to what’s going on at the same time in Merry and Pippin’s stories, which I skipped to get here. Thanks, Tolkien. I’ll understand that later.

But yeah Frodo and Sam think Merry and Pippin might be dead, and Merry and Pippin are also worrying that Frodo and Sam might be dead, and remember when these guys were all in the Shire sitting in comfy chairs by the fire and launching a conspiracy??, and uhhhhh ouch.

“His love for Frodo rose above all other thoughts, and forgetting his peril he cried aloud: ‘I’m coming, Mr. Frodo!’” *sobbing* HECK YEAH YOU ARE—

Gotta love Tolkien’s ability to describe cool nature things like spiders and volcanoes in ways that make it seem like they’re intrinsically wicked, freakish bastardizations of the natural order.

“Well, come on somebody! Tell Captain Shagrat that the great Elf-warrior has called, with his elf-sword too!” He’s doing this to hype himself up, you just know it.

“…when there came from high above a dreadful choking shriek.” Uh-oh.

“Yes! The Elf-warrior is loose! I’m coming. Just you show me the way up, or I’ll skin you!” He did it again!!

(I think Tolkien just thought this was funny. Which it really is! Sam, the short, round hobbit, the exact opposite of everything you’d imagine when you think of an elf-warrior. Hilarious.)

Sam: “Ha! There’s nobody left alive in the place!”

Also Sam: ‘0.0,

Also Sam: “NOBODY LEFT ALIVE??”

Also Sam: “OH SHOOT OH NO OH FRICK I JUST HEARD SOME HORRID NOISE EARLIER WHAT IF THAT WAS FRODO WHAT IF THEY KILLED HIM OH NO”

But he goes up anyway. I love Sam. I’m so glad he didn’t actually get up there just to see a dead body.

Also Writer Brain is just buzzing with all this angst.

Evil destroys evil. There’s that motif of Tolkien’s.

And this song, right here, is why in my fic “Roll Initiative!”, Sam is a Bard.

An orc comes out. He yells at some unseen “dung-hill rat”, because he thought it was Frodo who was doing the singing. Oh, thinks Sam, oh oh oh, a little blaze of hope, he’s somewhere close, he’s alive!! And then the ladder comes out, and up goes the orc, and suddenly there’s a way up!! There’s a path! Sam can work with a path! Maybe he can make it! But he’s gotta be careful, he can’t just rush in all willy-nilly, and right when he’s thinking that there’s a WHIP-CRACK and what I can only assume is a yelp of pain in a very familiar voice and Sam is like OH THAT’S IT, IT IS ON and he charges up that ladder completely ready to throw hands with whoever and whatever it is he finds up there because NOBODY HURTS FRODO WITHOUT HIM HAVING SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT IT and have I mentioned that I love this chapter??

SAM!! CUT OFF!! THE ORC’S ARM!!! Specifically the one holding the whip! GO! FREAKING! OFF!!!

He didn’t really kill the orc on purpose. He just kinda. Tripped. And fell down the ladder. That’s amazing.

“Sam gave no more thought to it. He ran to the figure huddled on the floor. It was Frodo.”

It was Frodo.

IT WAS FRODO.

IT. WAS. FRODO.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAHAHAHA *rolls on the floor in laughter and tears*

I LOVE THOSE THREE LITTLE WORDS!!!

I LOVE MY BOYS!!!!

GOOD JOB SAM

“‘Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear!’ cried Sam, tears almost blinding him. ‘It’s Sam, I’ve come!’ He half lifted his master and hugged him to his breast.” OF. COURSE. HE DID.

PHYSICAL TOUCH MY DUUUUUUDES

I LOVE IT WHEN I’M RIGHT

I have no more words anymore, I’m not coherent, I’m just soaking this up, I—mmmph

And Frodo leans in and shuts his eyes I just ahahahahaha leave me alone I can die happy now

"Sam felt that he could sit like that in endless happiness" ME!! TOO!! SAM!!!

MORE FOREHEAD KISSES AHAHAHA

“He stood up, and it looked to Sam as if he was clothed in flame: his naked skin was scarlet in the light of the lamp above.” Oh I remember this so vividly. It’s such a striking mental image. Time to bust out the color pencils again—

Baby Me did not like the part where Frodo yells at Sam because of the Ring. Present Me is LIVING FOR IT. The angst!! The heartache!! The immediate way that Frodo realizes what he’s done and is stricken with remorse and starts apologizing! The way Sam can only sit on his knees, defeated and betrayed, as tears stream down his face! The way both of them realize at once what a horrible burden this is on Frodo’s mind and the terrible things it’s doing to him and they can’t help it but they mourn it together and HECK YEAH THEM’S GOOD SOUP—

“You lent me Sting, if you’ll remember…” No, no he doesn’t remember, Sam, he was literally unconscious.

“The Shadow that bred them can only mock, it cannot make: not real new things of its own.” Okay so this is the closest thing to the “evil cannot create” quote that’s often misattributed to Tolkien. Definitely a theme in his work, but never more clearly stated than this, I think.

“Not until you’ve had a mouthful, Sam, I won’t budge. … The whole thing is quite hopeless, so there’s no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won’t come.” You ever heard of optimistic nihilism?? This. This is it.

“We’re probably going to die anyway, so you might as well eat something.” “That’s the most depressing—” “Eat.”

The psychic barrier of the Watchers at the gate is very cool. I have nothing much to say about it, just that it's a really neat bit of magic.

Aaaaand they’re out! Nice!! Now I can actually go to sleep LOLOL

[frostandflamesfanfic]

The Last Three Years (Sherlock x Reader) - Chapter 4

| | Masterlist | |

Chapter 4: If My Heart Had a Heart

"If my heart had a heart, it wouldn't still sing. Every time that I see you, someone says your name…I wouldn't still want you, no, I'd be okay." - Cassadee Pope (If My Heart Had A Heart)

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x Watson!Reader (AFAB)

Word Count: 3.2k+ (long chapter to make up for the wait!)

Warnings: Again, this chapter has slight brief mention of suicidal thoughts, but nothing incredibly graphic! Also some suggestive content/implied sexual content, but nothing described.

Summary: After your emotional visit to 221B, you decide to check in on Elora and are met with more memories than you initially bargained for. How will your ex-flatmate react?

The London air sent a chill down your spine as you got into the car. When he was alive, you always hated the rain. It felt dreary and depressing. In a city that barely ever slept- much like themselves- it seemed redundant to have a consistently overcast outlook on the world. That all changed last year. Now, you find yourself enjoying the rain. It seemed the universe was reflecting your dismal mood onto everyone else. The world was weeping for your loss and it felt right. 

Swish, swish. The sound of the wipers provided a steady beat for your little road trip. A turn signal added a clicking melody to the otherwise soundless drive. Occasionally, you would be surprised to discover one of your hands had travelled from the steering wheel to the rough wool trench coat in the passenger seat. It was a reminder of how you were doing the right thing. You hoped the coat would awaken something in Elora. It was time for her to come home. Even though you were both broken, you still needed each other. 

For you, losing Sherlock meant losing everything. As much as you hated to admit it, you had fallen fast and hard for the cold detective. You still weren’t quite sure how it started. Actually, you did and it had been innocent enough. A quick gesture of thank you, which led the two of you to something more. It was a single touch that set your worlds aflame and there was no going back. What you had shared was special. It was always your little secret: quick glances across the room. A flit of a smile here, a wink as you passed by there. Over the years, it had become this unspoken thing between the two of you. You wouldn’t always act on their impulses. For the sake of your sanity, you couldn’t. It would create too much pressure and stress not just for the both of you, but those you held dear. 

However, there were a handful of nights you would throw caution to the wind and were wrapped up in the game you oh-so-enjoyed. Kisses shared in the dark; the feeling of his hand tracing the skin of your arms and neck. It wouldn’t take much to shut out the noise of the world once you had started. Behind locked doors, you could be whatever you wanted. You did have to be careful, of course, and you were. You couldn’t risk getting caught and ruining it all. Yet, whatever it was you had was just intoxicating . He needed you as much as you needed him. It was in these moments no one else existed. Just you and him, lost in your own little universe. When you were done, the game carried on as usual. No acknowledgement; just the same routine. 

How you yearned to feel his touch against your skin again. The warmth that would flood your whole being whenever he drew near. You wished you could run your fingers through his dark curls once more, tugging him closer and never letting him go. Never again would you make that mistake. As much as it killed you at times, that relationship had been enough for him. You had talked a few times about what it meant for the two of you. It typically ended up with you going downstairs in a huff or awkwardly sharing a pot of tea with the curly-haired detective. You never understood how someone could be so. . . emotionless . It was his style, though. It was what made him the great Sherlock Holmes. He didn’t love or care for others...or so you thought.

You would never have the chance to right the way you had left things again. Your relationship, if that’s what you so chose to call it, was short lived — cut short with a devastating crack against the pavement. Sometimes when you closed your eyes, all you could see was the red of his blood splattered around you. It was a sight you knew would plague you forever. It was the last time you would ever see him in the flesh. Your fingers curled tightly around the leather steering wheel as you could feel the phantom chill of his colourless skin dancing on your fingertips. No matter what you tried, he wouldn’t wake up. If only I could have just opened his eyes ...

Screeeeeeeeech. A gasp escaped your lips as a cherry-red electric vehicle skidded in front of you. If you had reacted just a second too late, it would have spelled disaster for both you and the other driver. Hospital for at least two weeks. “That wouldn’t have been so bad,” a voice said. “Maybe we could have been lucky and not make it to the ambulance.”

No! you screamed in your mind. Stop that.

Oh, how you longed for the voices to stop once more. You had done your best to lessen the amount of drugs in your system at once. For Elora, you had vowed to get better. Elora was the motivation you needed to do all this. You knew you needed to move on for both of your sakes. You needed to put the past and pain behind you, no matter how much it had affected you. You had gone through too much together to just lose each other in the end. 

But it’d just be so easy. . .

No. You had to be strong. You needed to get to Elora’s flat and bring her back to Baker Street as soon as possible. Nothing was going to stop you from achieving that goal. As you exited your car and made your way toward the street entrance of the flat, you found yourself swarmed by the flashbulbs of paparazzi. Someone must have leaked their travel plans to the press, you realised. So much for secrecy. You would need to have a chat with Mycroft about it later.

“Look, it’s the Watson! No, no, not the soldier one...the other one!"

“Over here, look right over here, please!” 

“How is Elora Holmes?” 

“HOW DOES IT FEEL TO HAVE DATED A LIAR?”

The final question caused you to stop in your tracks. Liar. It was a word you found yourself exposed to on the daily. The press enjoyed tearing them apart in front of the world. Once Kitty had leaked her story last year, every media outlet around wanted to get their hands on the scoop of the era. What was it like living in the lower level flat? How well did they hide their plans? Was the heartache as real as you wanted them to believe?

Swivelling on your heel, you glared toward the flash photography behind you. “I would do it all again if I had to,” you hissed, eyes alight with an unfamiliar fire. “There wasn’t a moment of it that was a lie. And for you lot to come around here and harass me about my personal life is far too much. Do you not have a single shred of human decency? Do you know what it’s like to constantly be reminded of all you’ve lost, when you were helpless to prevent it in the first place?”

There was a momentary period of silence at your outburst. Not a single soul was expecting that. You had kept to yourself for a year, ignoring every question they had thrown your way. It was too much and you just couldn’t take it anymore. You had needed to snap. The world didn’t deserve to be able to tarnish their names any more than they already had. The Holmes name had come to mean so much more to you with him gone. Protecting it was the least you could do. Heaven knows you could- should- have done more. Unfortunately, your moment of peace was short-lived with the ill-timed chorus of questions accompanied by flashbulbs. They continued to chant your name, pushing amongst themselves in order to be the first to get the expected scoop.

Drawing in a sharp breath, the invisible guard found its way back up around you. You imagined the shrill sound of voices colliding fading away. Eventually they did as you slipped through the complex’s door. Once you were inside, a sense of peace washed over her. They couldn’t follow you now. At least you thought they couldn’t. 

“Excuse me,” the voice of a lone reporter startled you in the entrance. You must have not seen him waiting in the lobby. He had been tucked in the corner by the landlord’s entryway desk, hidden away in plain sight. “Is she really as cracked as they say?”

“Anything you think you know about Elora Holmes, forget about it,” your bitter tone surprised you just as much as it did the reporter. You sounded tired. Not just tired, but angry. Maybe that was it; maybe you had simply had enough. “If you come into this place asking questions like that, you don’t deserve to write about her.” The coat felt rough against your fingertips, but it acted as a reminder of your mission. You shook your head, squaring your shoulders in the process, and made your way up the stairs to Elora’s new home. 

The bleak sight which greeted you as you stepped over the threshold wasn’t as cheery as you’d hoped, but it was still progress. Elora and Sebastian had attempted to decorate the flat for the first time after moving in. Mahogany-coloured curtains were draped against the windows, accenting the similar colour rugs running along the laminated wood floors. You had sent over a collection of small succulents for Elora’s birthday the month before, hoping that it would give your friend something new to focus on. A small wave of hope washed over you as you noticed the mini potted plants speckled about the place- some were in the living area, while others were perched atop shelves in the kitchen. It looked as though they had been in the process of repainting some of the walls within the space, too. Swatches of colours ranging from creme to eggshell to a shade dusty grey were splayed against the living room walls. 

You allowed your eyes to wander between the images in the frames lining the walkway from the front room to Elora’s room. Most were the generic natural images of waterfalls and beaches. However, there were a few recognizable photos, including a rather candid shot of you and Sherlock in the snow. Elora must have taken it when you had been solving the Woman’s case over the New Year. Some large flakes had found their way into the detective’s hair and you had reached up to brush them away. While he couldn’t understand why you felt the need to ruffle his rich chestnut brown curls, you knew there was a part of him that enjoyed it. It was a small moment of intimacy between the two of you, something you stole to fool yourself into the friend-zone for years.

“I remember that day,” a quiet voice startled you from your thoughts. “You looked so happy together. It was the first time I had seen him really smile in a while.” 

As you turned around, you caught sight of your previous flatmate. Elora’s dark hair looked like a bird’s nest splayed out across her shoulders. Her arms were bright red with scratch marks, some cuts already spewing light flows of blood. Her attire wasn’t much better. It was one of Sherlock’s old dress shirts, you realised. The white shirt had small smudges of sweat and blood speckled out. One of the sleeves had been ripped at the seam and picked apart. She must have had difficulties accepting she needed to wash it, you thought to yourself. It’s difficult to blame her.

“Elora?” you asked hesitantly.

“Not so present,” came the shaky voiced reply.

“Oh, um. They’re trying to clear the press out so we can go.” When Elora refused to answer, you shifted awkwardly to take the coat from your bag.  “I… have something for you.” 

The response you received was far from what you could have ever expected. Your friend’s eyes were wide as they took in the midnight navy-coloured fabric. For a moment, it almost looked as though they were burning a hole through it. Was she. . .angry? No, the fire was gone now, doused out by the tears which were welling up. There was something else in her cerulean blue eyes; something new. Hurt? It could be, but Elora wasn’t one to get attached. You were pretty sure it was something else. This was a gaze you knew far too well -- a face you had seen too many times in your own reflection. Fear. 

Elora was afraid. 

“Hey,” you attempted to comfort her. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” Elora’s broken voice croaked out. The tears had started to stream down her face as she allowed you to see a whole new side of her. “It won’t ever be again.”

“Why, why would you think that?” 

Don’t play daft, Watson, the voice in your head. You know exactly what the problem is here. You haven’t been able to face it yourself. If you think you can tell her it’s okay, you’re such a hypocrite. You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve to live if you think that’s the case. 

“He’s never coming back,” Elora’s whisper snapped you from your thoughts yet again. “No one could ever possibly replace the gaping hole he left.”

“I know.”

“Why did you stop visiting?” 

“I… got busy.” Lies. 

“No… No, that’s not it, I don’t believe you’d do that. Even when you were busy… you’d always make time. There was… there was something else,” Elora responded, tilting her head, her eyes glassy and blank.

“Elora…” 

“Do you think we’ll be happier when we die?” Elora asked, her voice still hollow and empty. “I think we will be. I’ll get to see my brother again… I think he’ll understand why I left this world.”

No, it can’t happen like this. You’re not supposed to go first. “You can’t-” 

“Why not?” Elora asked, her cold eyes piercing into your soul. “You did.” 

“I don’t know-”

“Oh, I think you do. You went on that rooftop. You were going to leave me. You were going to leave me here, alone, where I will rot. You didn’t care. You were that selfish to leave me here while you come back and preach that I shouldn’t think about these things. Why is it so bad for me to think about it?! I’m the one who is going to be left alone, aren’t I?!” 

You were starting to fear for your ex-flatmate’s safety now. “Elora, please,” you tried again. “You need to calm down. All I want to do is take you home.”

“WHY?” Elora’s scream echoed against the walls. “WHY DO I HAVE TO LIVE?!”

Damn it. Where was Sebastian when you really needed him?

You staggered backwards. This is all your fault, your thoughts echoed in your head. You weren’t there for her. You left her alone with her thoughts. If something happens to her...whose fault will it really be?! You shook your head to clear away the constant nagging. “Because I need you!” The plea sounded pathetic, but you had no other choice. You didn’t want to truly be alone. You couldn’t take it, not anymore. 

Elora growled, stalking toward the wall with fire burning in her eyes. Every fibre of your body screamed at you to back away. You couldn’t leave your friend, though. Not now, not again. “You sure didn’t need me when you were on that rooftop,” the sharp words cut her to the core. “You never needed me,” Elora hissed as she reached for the picture frame on the wall. “You only needed him and I was just the first replacement you could find.”

You stepped back in shock. You tried to open your mouth to protest in an attempt to console her. “That’s not-”

“Isn’t it?! You were willing to jump off that rooftop for him! You were willing to leave me alone, but what you don’t realise is that I am my own destroyer. You leaving me was the worst possible thing you did, but the truth is you left me a long time ago, Watson.” 

“I want to bring you back home-” 

“Now,” Elora snarled. “ Now you’re bringing me back after what Mycroft told you. This is my home now. I came here to get away from the shit my brother left behind, when he uprooted my ENTIRE LIFE, and you didn’t care. You wouldn’t come back on your own. You forgot about me, go ahead and admit it.”

“I didn’t forget!” you protested. “I would never forget about you.”

“Didn’t you? Didn’t you forget about me when you chose my dead brother over me?” your friend whispered in a broken, shaking voice. “Two people already left me. Then you did, too. You came back but. . .you just want to leave me again, don’t you? Don’t you ?!” Her voice got increasingly panicked as she continued to speak.

You felt your mouth drop open, the prepared words you had fading into a muffled silence. How can I tell her? “Elora, just… breathe for a second, okay? I’m not going to leave you.”

“That’s what he said! That’s what they both said!” Elora reached for her hair and began to tug at the fraying ends. “In fact, you said that very same thing before you left. You’re no better than the other lot.”

You couldn’t help it. Your hands started to shake before you could even stop them. No, please not now, you begged . It wasn’t like you to lose it. You had gotten so good at hiding your emotions since it happened. A sudden wetness stung your cheeks. When did you start crying?

“Oh, please,” Elora sneered. “Not the waterworks, Watson. You should know better that it isn’t going to work with me. You pull the same blubbering crap each time and then leave. Just leave me in here to rot, why don’t you?”

That did it. You weren’t sure how, but you ended up falling on your knees onto the hardwood floor. A cry of anguish left your lips upon the impact, hands still clutching onto the jacket. The minute the sound was released into the air, you regretted it immediately. Everything came flooding back into mind. Your cry was the cork in the bottle; it held the pieces of emotion you didn’t want to face at bay. Without it, you were vulnerable and weak. 

Pathetic, a small voice scolded you. You’re a pathetic waste and you couldn’t save him, her, or even... 

“Stop,” you were shocked to hear your voice whisper. “Just stop it. MAKE IT STOP!” 

Elora stared down at you dumbfounded. “Really? You’re going to commit to this act after-”

“Don’t you get it?!” The mangled speech scared you as you glared at your ex-flatmate. “I wasn’t on that rooftop because you were a replacement. I wasn’t on the rooftop because I needed your brother. I was up there because I failed.”

“What are you-”

Blurry eyes shot up to meet bloodshot blue hues in a fury. “I failed to protect someone else. The last connection I had to Sherlock.”

“If it’s about John,” Elora replied, “there’s no way he’s coming back. He made that quite clear. Just another person to leave me in the dust and vanish without a trace. Dead to the world.”

“I was pregnant.”

Hearing it out loud created an eerie silence to fall over the flat. It was the first time you had talked about it and you were surprised at how numb you felt after the confession. Elora’s mouth opened as she went to speak, but she faltered and stepped back. 

"What?"

=======================

Author's Note: Well, that's another chapter done and dusted! Sorry it was posted so late. My scheduling got messed up and I just got back online for the night. How about that for a cliffhanger, huh?! If you want to do me a favor, leave a like, comment, and reblog on the chapter below and tell me what you think so far. Any ideas on what's going to happen next? ;)

This chapter isn't as intense as the previous one, but I still think it helps demonstrate the relationship between the reader and Elora. I promise later chapters will be more Sherlock-centric. I've seen so many fics where the reader is co-dependent on Sherlock, and while that's a great way to connect to your audience, I really wanted to establish the reader's character/backstory. Please bear with me! :)

Also, I'm curious what everyone's favorite Sherlock episode is here. Mine's His Last Vow! There's just something about all the different storylines converging, especially when you don't see certain aspects coming. The series had so much potential with that cliffhanger and I'm just a teeny tiny bit frustrated with how the next installment went down. But hey, at least it's Sherlock content, right?!

Until next week, my little sparks <3

SH Taglist: @ohchoices, @severuined, @southernhippie10198