#I'm incapable of not making a graphic for everything it seems

[littlemissstel]

Manager!Shiu x Idol!Reader

That's it. That's the ask.

Now this is what dreams are made of, I shed a tear.

divider by @saradika-graphics

As a trainee you were terrified of Shiu. The stern, stoic man who held a big part of your dreams in his hands...yeah, you didn't want to disappoint him. You and your group, consisting of three other members, worked yourself to the bone daily- rising early and going to bed late, skipping even more sleep to practice, sticking to intense workout routines, the program was all consuming and sometimes you honestly couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it. It was a feeling you all shared but could never say out loud and in turn brought you closer together. Being so far away from home it was important to find a new support system, a family, and while you wish much of your bonding hadn't been through shed tears, none of you would change it for the world.

Unfortunately, sometimes a hug couldn't quite do the trick. It was a long day, one of those days where you wake up knowing it's going to be a long day but have no choice but to get on with it. You tried to do everything as normal but from the coffee maker breaking, running late after misplacing your security key and tripping up the stairs in a rush, you were already over it before the clock hit twelve. Your last straw though was during dance practice. Normally, you only train with the groups specified choreographer but since filming was coming up of an unreleased teaser, Shiu decided to spectate. Just to make sure things were up to scratch.

Maybe it was his presence, or the glaring light that seemed brighter than usual, or the way the music blasted but you just couldn't focus. Being the one to make movements 10 seconds ahead or completely forgetting where you're supposed to be, you just couldn't get it right and with the frustration of your errors -especially with a guest in the room- your once lovely choreographer turned into an unrestrained attacker.

"NO! For the last time (y/n)! You're supposed to be in the centre-"

"I don't know why you're suddenly incapable-"

"Does that even make sense to you? Are you even trying?"

"You know what? maybe you should just sit out."

And sit out you did, the embarrassment and shame of it following you out of the studio and into your dorm where you got a head start on cleaning up before vocal practice. Never done. It just never quits. You stayed in the shower for far longer than necessary, sitting on the small ledge watching as the water filtered down into the drain with the forgotten about loofa tossed to the other side. You were wrestling with yourself, trying to find excuses as to why you weren't going to be able to make the rest of the days appointments but you knew any attempt would be futile and eventually got up, preparing yourself to once again interact with any other being.

Sitting on the bed, you were brought out of your daze by a soft knock and the prolonged creaking of the opening door to your shared room.

"Hey...can I come in?"

Utahime Iori, a beautiful and elegant girl, a little older than you peeked her head through the gap with soft eyes that made you want to turn away and hide. She was the best and worst person to see right now. You knew she was endlessly reliable and kind, always offering an non-judgmental ear but the pitiful intonation of her voice only reminded you of what felt like your worst fault yet.

"yeah, of course."

"Are you okay?" She started, calmly making her way over to you and sitting on the edge of the bed, just close enough to feel the warmth coming off her.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine just- having a rough day."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Ahah," you chuckle blandly, "no, but thank you Iori, I appreciate it"

She copies the small smile on your face and plays with her fingers.

"Well, you know we've all had those days, it's really not as bad as it seems in the moment." She hesitates for a second before quirking up again with a carefully calm voice. "And I don't want you to freak out, but Mr Kong wants to meet with you in his office before we head out."

Great. Just great. You were going to be fired. He's going to tell his boss. Dropped from the group just like that before you even got the chance to film your debut, maybe some other lucky girl will transfer to fill your place-- if they even bother to rearrange with another group. And your reputation, God, would you even be able to live it down? Maybe people will forget about you. The promising new girl group that's now turned to three. You tried to steady yourself but to no avail as you approach Shiu's office, lifting your hand to deliver a feeble knock in hopes he wouldn't hear and you could move swiftly on. Unfortunately fate wasn't so kind, and you were met with a deep voice instructing you to come in.

Shius office was of decent size. Filled with organised and stacked papers, an air diffuser, plant, coffee machine and one of those cups that come in an easter egg box, with the windows open and a half filled ash-tray you were sure was against the rules. You made your way to the seat opposite him, moving slowly and tensing when he looked up at you with an expression you couldn't decipher between sympathy or judgement. Probably the latter.

He laid back with a large exhale, planting his arms on the sides on his chair and eyes boring into yours.

"What's wrong?"

And that's when the floodgates flew open. You're not quite sure how it started, or if your red-faced apologies were halfway intelligible but all the months worth of built up stress and fraying determination were released at once, sloppily, in front of the very man you were sure already held very little courage in you.

"Oh- uh, hey, hey-" he stutters, leaning forward over the desk to grab a box of tissues and pushing it towards you.

You try again to apologies but now even you know it sounds absolutely ridiculous and blow your nose comically into the tissue, before rubbing your eyes furiously only to be stopped with a gentle hand pulling yours away. It takes a few blinks before you can see Shiu kneeling next to you, on the floor with one hand still on your wrist and the other rubbing your arm with such a softness you didn't know how to respond to, only staring at him like a caught deer.

"Look, it's okay, okay? You gotta tell me when things are wrong, it's my job to know."

"Mr Kong-"

"Shiu."

"...Shiu," you hiccup, "I'm just- I'm really tired, there's," --sniffle--" so much to do. Today was such a bad day and after the...I was overwhelmed. That's it."

"Right, well..." he starts, shifting to stand up and lean on the desk (you're sure you heard a crack from his knee) "maybe we can start with missing your final workout session today, gives you more time for yourself, relax a bit."

You respond with a small nod.

"I've already spoken to your instructor about how she talked to you today, turns out she's just as stressed as you but it won't happen again."

You nod again.

"And it was pre-planned anyway, but this weekend is one of the last you'll have before you really get busy. I can take you and the girls out to the bowling alley arcade or arrange for you to go with supervision-- either way you'll get the chance to enjoy yourselves for a bit before things get more intense." He finishes with an attentive look, watching for some sign of your approval.

Standing up and collecting yourself with one last wipe of your eyes a small laugh escapes from your upturned lips as you look up at him which he tries to naturally return.

"Thank you, Shiu. Thank you so much. Really."

"Don't worry about it. Just spend the rest of the day preparing for tomorrow. We've got a meeting to confirm progress with the big boss."

"Right." Watching as he walks back around to lay in the chair. You take this as a sign to thank him again and make your exit, stopping with your hand on the handle at the sound of his voice.

"(y/n)."

"Yes?"

"Please come to me with any worries in the future."

...

"Yes, of course"

And after that things really did seem to get better. Well, certainly not easier, but definitely bearable. It turned out the man who you thought was your biggest critic is truly only there for your wellbeing...amongst other technical things. Over the following two years the groups relationship with your manager became stronger, learning to work and compromise with each other only brought you closer and you each were able to make your own personal friendships with the man who still at times seemed incredibly reserved.

You made a particular effort to get to know Shiu. At first it was some kind of way to pay back his thoughtfulness in your time of need but after a while you became drawn to him and his stoic persona. Inviting him to join you for lunch became expected daily meetings held without prior communication and there you found the time to indulge in each other, forming a connection a little too deep for anyone to call professional. You figured he didn't mind though, not when you found a small polaroid of you too laying hidden in one of his draws.

Your fans seemed to notice your unexpected friendship with him too, making compilations of all the times he appeared completed done with the groups antics or the rare times he smiled. He ended up having a little fan base of his own, something he only acknowledged once by saying, "I guess it's only natural."

In all that, there was still some negativity. People believing there was favoritism within the group, over-analyzing interactions and counting assigned song lyrics. You seemed to be a main target of this and you couldn't help but laugh. They couldn't see all the times Shiu sneaked your favourite sweets despite your diet or the times he'd wordlessly give you a stiff hug after sensing your low mood. They didn't see the banners and balloons he secretly strung the night of your birthday for you to wake up to or know your staple bracelet they loved oh-so-much was a gift from your 'neglectful' manager. Oh! And they certainly wouldn't believe that the first time you found out about rumours of a dating scandal with a male friend from another group, you were huddled up in Shiu's bed. But you guess you could play the victim a little while longer, if it meant they wouldn't question your sly touches too much.

There definitely was favoritism within the group. But you weren't complaining one bit.

This was actually so fun, I LOOVVEE your ideas!!! Was tempted to make this a 'Back Street Girls: Gokudols' feature (heavily rec if you haven't watched, it has the same random slice of life vibes as Saiki K)

[actual-changeling]

you’re the only person i feel comfortable saying this to. but i feel like a fake fan for not wanting to/not engaging with tlou2 content. i don’t like the story and i don’t like the characters/characterizations. it makes me really sad and uncomfortable at times. i won’t be watching season 2 when it comes out. i’m sure the making of it and the actors will all be incredible it obviously has nothing to do with them.

i know there’s like a whole thing where you don’t have to engage with content you don’t like blah blah but it just feels like *some* (emphasis on some, not generalizing here) tlou fans really get mad with people who don’t like tlou2, they think that they don’t understand it and are just mad there isn’t a happy ending and just hate abby. which, idk, i would never expect a happy ending of an apocalypse story. but there are so many problems with the story that i cannot get over. and yeah. i don’t really think **** should have died (asterisks for spoiler). honestly these people make me want to engage with tlou2 even less.

i love tlou1 and it’s been such an outlet for me and for so many others with parental trauma. i think it’s okay to want to protect that.

i wonder if you think it’s okay and still good etiquette (for lack of better word) to not engage with tlou2 for these reasons?

i know you’ve spoken about tlou2 before and your take on it. i wouldn’t ask you to go through this all again, but i just felt like this was a safe outlet to say all this. i’m sorry if this was a bother!!!

It is completely fine to send me asks about this, don't worry! I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to do so.

I've watched the show and played both games, and it is always okay to dislike any aspect of a canon universe, no matter what your reasoning is.

A tiny part of me is still riding the denial train and hopes that Craig will at the very least vastly improve the plot if not change it, but since Neil is also involved I doubt it. The first game was perfect as a stand-alone, and just like you, the characters and the world helped me work through a bunch of issues.

It didn't need a part 2, especially not one that demolished everything they had built. The one we got also destroyed some of the comfort the first game had simply because once you know how the story ends, you will never be able to see it again like you did before.

Pedro and Bella will be amazing in season two, that am sure of, and I hope Kaitlyn can shield herself from the hate she will undoubtedly receive.

The fandom is, like you said, very. sensitive about part 2 opinions that aren't "I loved it and want Abby to rail me", and it would be hilarious if it weren't sad and didn't involve those people harassing others. After playing part 2, I realised that 90% of the tlou content I see anywhere is so removed from what is actually happening in the game that I cannot take anyone who praises it seriously.

For some reason, many seem incapable of separating themselves from people's opinions about the game. If you told me you liked the game and constantly talk about it, sure, fine, I am not a toddler, I can co-exist or even be friends with someone who has a different opinion on a video game. 99% of the tlou2 fandom just cannot do the same and I have no idea why, they take any and all non-positive takes and treat them like I personally insulted their mother.

The pure game mechanics of it, the infected, the environmental designs, the details—all of that is beautiful and I genuinely enjoy playing Ellie's Seattle Days because of that; I just try not to think about why she's there. But for a story-driven game, good mechanics and nice graphics aren't enough to balance out the shit writing.

Even if we ignore the Death tm, there are so many other issues, including various flavours of homophobia and transphobia (that I also never saw anyone talk about??? and I mean transphobia in the writing itself, not the characters), plot issues, pacing issues, horrible character development, and much, much more.

Not liking the game and feeling uncomfortable watching/playing it makes perfect sense, and you 100% have the right to block any and all content related to part/season 2. I know you know that, but sometimes it really does help to have someone else tell you something you technically already know (half of my therapy sessions consist of me and my therapist talking about stuff I already know).

No one—and I mean no one—gets to decide that for you. Anyone who demands you expose yourself to something that makes you feel like shit is an asshole and has no validity.

I hope this wasn't too rambly and turned out somewhat coherent. My inbox is always open for you (or others) to talk about anything tlou related. I've weathered several waves of hate from those people and I couldn't give less of a fuck about it.

[icarianarts]

More about me under the cut! ;P

Icarian • he/they/she (no preference) • transsexual • 21 y/o

I'm a Graphic Design Major ^_^

A running joke about me is a lot of my points of interest reflect that of a cishet boy but I promise I am normal about everything I get into. I may talk about some things more than others because I get embarrassed with what I like easily, but here's a general list!

General Movies + TV Shows

• Seinfeld

• The Birdcage

• The Yellow Submarine

• The Muppets

• The Shrek series (Unironically, whenever I talk about Shrek it is never for the meme, but for my love of the movies and characters.)

Various Adam Sandler movies + things that are so bad they're good, if that makes any sense. I love regularly watching tacky things that were poorly produced and/or written. Pretty much anything I can commentate on easily with my friends and complain about lightly LOL

Anime + Manga

• Jojo's Bizarre Adventure (Parts 1 + 3 + 6 are usually my areas of focus, but I have read all of it up to 9, which I've yet to really dive into.)

• Dragon Ball (Childhood interest of mine, I haven't watched the series regularly or have drawn fanart regularly since I was 14 or so. Hilariously, I still find myself to this day getting into conversations surrounding it so I might as well include it!)

• Berserk (I LOVE PUCK ^_^)

• Devilman (Obligatory post-Berserk catch up read so I could see the elements Miura was inspired by.)

Video Games

• Pretty much most Nintendo games, I have a baseline knowledge of everything under that company's label. (Focus on Pokémon + Mario + Kid Icarus + etc. it'll be glaringly obvious what my favorites are just by checking my old smash bros ultimate tags...)

• Mega Man Classic

• Second Life + VR Chat (If you ever consider wanting to play any of these games, feel free to shoot me an ask or DM if you'd like an insider's explanation on what the scene is like on them! I can go into great detail the amount of stories I have accumulated from my excursions, all the good and the bad LMAO)

• Genshin Impact (I do not engage with the fanbase, and find a lot of the fans genuinely exhausting to be around. While it is no worse than The Legend of Zelda with its issues, the fans remarkably make it so much more agonizing to talk about.)

• Ball Gay 3

Miscellaneous

• I love the Abrahamic Faiths and sometimes post about my experiences struggling in queer spaces predominantly ran by culturally christian white atheists who choose to say all organized faith is inherently bad and perpetuate the "queer vs. religion" issue.

• I went to a Japanese immersion school from the ages 5 through 11 and have been casually keeping up with the language since!

• I love classic country and folk rock. When I say I like country, I specifically mean the genre and general scene behind country that predates the 9/11 shift in music. I also (embarrassingly) know a shit ton of Beatles trivia. John Denver is my favorite music artist.

...and much more I am probably forgetting to list out! I am critical of all my interests, so please do not be presumptuous. Ultimately, I consider a lot of "Fandom DNI" things to be hypocritical and performative in the sense that it eliminates any nuance.

Simply put, I will just block you if you are someone who refuses to have any critical thinking skills...that being said, given how tumblrinas seem to be incapable of figuring out what that means, here is a brief rundown of what I that tends to encapsulate. LMAOOOOOO

No stupid discourse No creeps No "it's just fictional!" No whatever I deem to be genuinely sickening I know "DNI" pages are performative and areas for people to flaunt their basic morality but lately I have had to block so many people I feel as though I need to put a typical warning up so. You Know. Gestures Vaguely. For Genshin Fans specifically coming to my blog know I do not put up with any ship remotely creepy. I see a good portion of the "short" character model characters as children, and genuinely cannot "unsee" it. This is not something to argue in my asks about. Just leave me alone, I do not participate in the fandom for a reason.

[onesidedradiostatic]

oh I know what op is talking about, I agree. I mean anyone who follows me should know this is Bully Vox: the Blog and I'm ALL about calling vox an incel here

I personally don't think there's a singular true victim in this situation because they're both bad people who worsened the situation with the ways they handled it but I don't mind there being sympathetic aspects to them, but I think some people forget that if there's one to vox, there should be one to alastor too. like. you know how alastor hates men? you know how despite that vox was a man he was friends with? you know how that friendship ended up not working out? hey can we lean into that? (I did kinda talk about this in this post)

when I see people say "I wanna hug vox so bad" when vox looks pitiable after being rejected by alastor I'm more like "really? he looks extremely pathetic and kickable actually" because I think he deserves it actually.

but you know I was thinking about this yesterday, let me make a shitty graphic

I think alastor was a dickbag who was incapable of letting vox down easy but I also think vox was an entitled prick who couldn't take no for an answer.

god I actually had a tag from a while ago where a bunch of anons came in to give irl incel experiences and we all said "yeah this is vox" -> THIS TAG LMAO

like I don't mind there being like a brief period of sympathy for vox like RIGHT after the rejection but I feel like people have to realise that that would quickly turn into an incel meltdown LMAO like let's not act like this isn't literally vox

(except alastor would never be THAT nice) but regardless, even if alastor hadn't been brutal in his rejection, I 100% think vox would've reacted the same way LMAO because he's an entitled incel pissbaby who thinks he deserves everything he wants and more. while having unreciprocated feelings is sympathisable, not being able to take no for an answer is NOT

I think ultimately what it comes down to, as it always does, is the woobification of vox, people often seem to forget that he's a BAD PERSON, and like I said in my previous post (and other posts), I think alastor had legitimate reasonable reasons for wanting to step away from his friendship with vox, vox is not the victim here

i keep seeing people talk about 'one sided radiostatic' and while i think its fun as a crackship or for shitposts, the people who take it seriously always seem to make alastor a villain SPECIFICALLY for not liking vox, and then make vox seem like some tragic character for having unrequited feelings. which is. uhm. maybe...dont? maybe dont paint an aroace character as a villain specifically because they dont like someone who has feelings for them back? thats sorta...uhm...not good?

[charcubed]

“I’ll Be Home For Christmas”

Christmases in the lives of Sherlock Holmes & John Watson.

Read it below, and on AO3.

Don't think about how sad their Christmases have been year after year... and imagine what their wonderful Christmas will be like after they've found their happiness.

(The first half of this hurts, the second half is happy and worth it, and the entire thing is written to make you emo. Trust me.)

––––––––––––––––––

Don’t think about John’s first Christmas alone after Sherlock “died.”

Don’t think about him instinctively glancing at scarves and various items in store windows, unconsciously shopping for a present for Sherlock before he remembers Sherlock is dead. Don’t think of him taking a sharp breath and clenching his fists when the pain hits again for the billionth time.

Don’t think about him grocery shopping while Christmas music plays over the radio overheard, and of the song “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” playing, and of his hands starting to shake so he leaves behind everything he’s carrying and marches out of the store to try to breathe.

Don’t think of him pouring out two glasses of alcohol on Christmas Eve by himself, one for him and one for Sherlock’s memory, toasting to the sky and saying “Happy Christmas” as he downs both… or of him downing another glass, and then another, and then the whole bottle and maybe even another bottle until he loses track and later blacks out. Don’t think of him waking up the next morning to his very concerned sister taking care of him in a rare Watson sibling role reversal, and of her telling him that’s it, Johnny, you’ve got to move out of this flat. It’s killing you. Don’t think of John finding it hard to care.

Don’t think of Sherlock’s first Christmas after his “death,” somewhere in Europe and so very, very alone.

Don’t think of Sherlock in the poorest sections of a town very far away from London, surrounded by strangers and deliberately acting like one himself. Don’t think of him seeing the Christmas stuff start to creep in and around the area, or of how it makes him think of warmth and London and home and John, or of how it makes him miss John even worse than usual–which is saying a lot.

Don’t think of Sherlock getting captured for interrogation by some horrible people right before Christmas, of of him spending his Christmas Day being taunted by his captors telling him “Merry Christmas” in foreign languages as they kick him on the ground. Don’t think of his captors leaving him alone for awhile so Sherlock allows himself to cry, telling himself it’s just part of the character he has to play, but in reality knowing he’s just unbearably sad and homesick down to his lonely and hurting bones.

~

Don’t think of the second Christmas John has without Sherlock which is his first with Mary, or how he’s not exactly unhappy but not fully happy either. Don’t think of him still missing Sherlock so much it’s a steady background ache even as it’s far more manageable now, or of him calling Mrs. Hudson because he feels guilty but then hanging up before the call connects, or of him ignoring Greg’s texts, or of him meeting up with Harry for a Christmas lunch and smiling to pretend at happiness even while knowing she sees right through his veneer.

Don’t think of Sherlock still being in Europe but in a safe-ish place for the time being, with a semi-friend he’s managed to acquire though nothing but lies because he’s always pretending at being someone else. Don’t think of him doing nothing on Christmas other than silently sharing a pack of cigarettes with that semi-friend in a back alley, smoking and staring up at the stars. Don’t think of him hearing phantom echoes of John’s disappointed voice in his head as he feels the weird sensation of too much tobacco thrum through his system, or of him listening to the nearby carolers’ singing as the tunes are aptly distorted by the bitter wind to match his constant mood.

~

Don’t think of the Christmas after Sherlock’s return, after John and Mary’s recent engagement, after John ends up in a bonfire; don’t think of Sherlock and John having made up, but still being uncertain of how to act around one another.

Don’t think of John and Mary celebrating their first Christmas as an engaged couple at a resort, and of the trip only happening at all because Sherlock invites John and Mary to join him at the Holmes’ family estate like John did once years ago. Don’t think of John panicking and saying he and Mary are going away on holiday. Don’t think of John having to ignore the fact that he knows Sherlock knows he’s lying, and of him going home feeling sick as he springs the idea on a thrilled Mary. Don’t think of John resigning himself to planning a trip that is only going to put him farther away from Sherlock, which he both wants and doesn’t want.

Don’t think of Sherlock being secretly relieved even as he’s pained. Don’t think of Sherlock being unsure he could handle having John and Mary with their rings in his childhood home with his family, as he’s still trying to breathe through the engagement and adjust to this new life he has to live–a life with John but also without him. Don’t think of Sherlock going to the Holmes’ estate alone on Christmas Day, and of his mum reading the sadness all over him and pulling him into a hug as he just sags a bit, and of her holding him and murmuring nonsense words of love in his ear.

~

Don’t think of the Christmas after the wedding–what becomes a day of cahoots instead of family togetherness, double-crossing and lies instead of festivities, danger and death that once again tears them apart.

Don’t think of Sherlock making sure John and Mary both come to the estate, knowing it’s necessary for the plan but still hating how utterly wrong, wrong, wrong it feels to have them in the house, in this way, playing at this farce. Don’t think of his chest aching for both physical and emotional reasons.

Don’t think of John hating that he has to pretend to still love a cold-blooded assassin, on Christmas of all days. Don’t think of him hating Christmas as a holiday now on principle, hating what his life has become, hating himself for the front he has to put up for their safety, and desperately wishing that things could be different. Don’t think of John being forced to powerlessly witness Sherlock Holmes throw away his life once again–this time by taking another’s, and again all for John’s sake. Don’t think of John wanting to say no no no, not again, this isn’t worth it, don’t go where I can’t follow.

~

....

Don’t.

Don’t think of any of that.

Think, instead, of the Christmas after.

Think of the Christmas that comes, clear and bright, after everything. After Mary, after the baby that wasn’t–couldn’t have been–John’s, after Moriarty, after danger and running and hiding and planning and fighting for their lives and their love. After freedom and arrests and truth exposés and kisses and confessions and sex, and a new beautiful start to what they should’ve had all along.

Imagine that Christmas.

Imagine what it’s like.

~

Imagine Sherlock and John, still learning the edges of their new honest relationship and love, tentatively seeing December and Christmas approach on the calendar and in London’s overall air but being unsure what it means for them, considering their track record. Imagine them being uncertain as to what a joyous and wonderful Christmas could even be for them, because they’ve never had one together, so they have no idea where to begin.

Imagine Mrs. Hudson starting the process for them by pulling out the old box of decorations and leaving it in the center of 221B, marked with a note of I thought you might want to make the place a bit festive this year; imagine Sherlock and John looking from the box to each other and back again; and as John is untangling the lights and Sherlock is putting the Santa hat on Billy the skull, imagine them making the unspoken decision right then and there that Christmas this year will be as good as they can possibly make it.

Imagine them shopping for groceries and Sherlock ducking around the end of an aisle as John deliberates between two similar items. Imagine “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” suddenly coming on the radio and John’s chest tightening with irrational panic, and he can’t see Sherlock so he calls out for him in a choked voice once and then again, louder, paranoid that this is all a dream and Sherlock is still gone, gone, gone. Imagine Sherlock coming back around the corner in concern and seeing John looking like a wild and terrified thing, and Sherlock immediately enveloping him with his whole body as John shakes and breathes in the smell and the sight and the feel of him, as Sherlock mumbles I’m here, we’re fine, we’re both fine, it’s okay. Imagine John choking out something about the bloody fucking song, and Sherlock not entirely understanding what’s going on but he quietly starts humming along to it in John’s ear, the sound rumbling through his chest to where John’s face is pressed against him, until John calms down and the song goes from anxiety-inducing to simply a memory overlaid by Sherlock’s voice now. Imagine that as the song changes Sherlock quietly reminds him all over again, I will never leave you, not ever, not anymore, I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m home, we’re okay, and they breathe and cling to each other and kiss in the middle of Tesco, alarmed fellow patrons be damned.

Imagine John waking up one morning and declaring that they should make Christmas cookies, and Sherlock blearily blinking up at him with crazy bedhead, completely nonplussed. Imagine Sherlock simply saying okay so that John beams with happiness, and Sherlock kissing the smile off John’s face. Imagine them making a complete mess of the kitchen and getting flour everywhere–including their hair–as they giggle and kiss their way through the entire process. Imagine somehow the cookies do actually get made in between shenanigans, and they’re the best cookies either of them (or Mrs. Hudson) have ever tasted.

Imagine them slow-dancing in their home by the light of the fire to a classic Christmas songs playlist John made, until they get so content and sleepy that they can no longer stay upright and simply shuffle off to bed in each other’s arms.

Imagine them shopping for presents for their friends and family together, both online and in the store, and the good-natured bickering that ensues.

Imagine them leisurely walking arm in arm in the streets of London after a massive snowfall, relishing the hush that seems to have descended on the entire city.

Imagine Mrs. Hudson insisting she wants to watch It’s A Wonderful Life with them because it’s her favorite Christmas movie, and John agreeing even though he’s already seen it, and Sherlock having no desire at all to watch it but agreeing anyway just to make her happy. Imagine by the end there’s a few tears tracking down Sherlock’s cheeks because the message hits a little too close to home in a bittersweet way, so John grips his hand tightly and kisses the tears off his cheeks and Sherlock doesn’t mind a bit–mostly because Mrs. Hudson fell asleep approximately 10 minutes ago.

Imagine Sherlock and John throwing a small Christmas Eve party/dinner at 221B with Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Greg, featuring Sherlock playing Christmas songs on the violin as the others chat casually. Imagine that, after Mrs. Hudson goes to bed, the rest of them stay up late getting tipsy on cheap wine and playing Cards Against Humanity. Imagine that when Molly’s absolutely filthy card is chosen as the winner of a round she turns red to her hairline and bursts out laughing, and Greg’s jaw drops as he says “Bloody hell, Molls,” and Sherlock raises his eyebrows and jokingly remarks, “Why, Ms. Hooper, I didn’t know you had it in you” even though that’s a lie and Molly knows it, and John giggles so hard he falls over sideways.

Imagine on Christmas Day John gifts Sherlock with tickets to The Nutcracker, remembering an offhand comment Sherlock once made about it being one of his favorites, and Sherlock is extremely touched and tells him it’s perfect. Imagine Sherlock giving John the beautiful, expensive new jumper he knew John had been eyeing for ages, and also a letter he wrote by pouring his heart onto the page, and also a gorgeous violin composition he created by pouring his heart out into the music, and they both definitely tear up by the end of the morning.

Imagine that later that day they return to the Holmes’ estate, and upon their arrival and the bustle through the door Sherlock feels something settle deep in his soul as he thinks yes, this is right, this is as it should be. Imagine his mum hugging them both at the same time and getting a tiny bit teary-eyed at how happy Sherlock is. Imagine his father snapping a polaroid photo of Sherlock and John kissing under the mistletoe with Mycroft pulling a face in the background, and John later framing it and putting it on the mantlepiece of 221B.

Imagine John placing that frame and looking at all of the cards hung all over the walls and mantle, from friends and family and clients and fans, and thinking of those cards' inscriptions of “To Sherlock & John” and “To John & Sherlock.” Imagine John thinking of the tags on the presents they gave everyone they love, and how they were signed “Love Sherlock & John” with no hesitation; and imagine he clearly thinks that this is how it should be: the two of them, their names together, a set in every way imaginable even in writing, as they are finally, completely, entirely together in all ways.

Imagine Sherlock reading those thoughts on his face and saying “I know” with a soft smile, and the flat is quiet and peaceful as snow falls outside, and they kiss and they kiss and they kiss.

~

Hm.

Imagine that, huh?

That after all the sadness, and the many, many years of incomplete or horrible Christmases… they get to finally, finally have their shared joy.

Just imagine what their first truly good, wonderfully beautiful Christmas will be together.

I think they deserve all of this and then some, don’t you?

In fact... I can’t really imagine anything less.

––––––––––––––––––

(Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, reblogs and/or kudos on AO3 would be much appreciated, but of course aren’t required. And if you want bonus taller versions of the graphic without text for lockscreens, Christmas and non-Christmas versions are here. Happy Holidays, friends!)

[mostlygibberish]

"It's Morbin' time."

I liked the part when he Morbed on those guys.

No, really, I actually watched Morbius. I figured there's no point seeing 365 movies in a year if I'm not going to include the single greatest accomplishment of film-making released in it. It wasn't the most offensively bad thing I've ever seen, like some would have you believe, but it was certainly a shitty movie.

The plot made very little sense, none of the characters had comprehensible motivation for their actions, and things just sort of happened like they had a script framework they had to fill out, because they probably did. The tone shift between any two scenes was completely unpredictable, and it was never clear why anybody was reacting the way they were to the insane shit taking place. 

Multiple people watched somebody Morbing out (literally transforming into a Nosferatu looking monster) and just took it ridiculously casually. When he jumped like 25 storeys up a stairwell, the cops said "Hold your fire!", like they were dealing with a regular fleeing guy and not a magic vampire. The best part is that approximately ten seconds later the main cop was somehow up there on the roof confronting him.

Jared Leto seemed incapable of emoting even before he became a CGI monster, and I found him as annoying as always. Matt Smith, despite already looking vampiric to begin with, was horribly cast as the villain who entirely lacked motive. Turns out his stupid dance scene is just as funny in the movie as it was context-free on youtube, because it actually has no context. It just hard cuts from a serious laboratory scene to him dancing and Morbing out, to remind you he exists.

Adria Arjona was pretty good, but her character was presented as a love interest without bothering to include any actual relationship development. I hope appearing in this didn't hurt her career too badly, though it looks like she might be signed up for a sequel if and when one eventuates.

There were these two cops that kept showing up, but ultimately they contributed absolutely nothing to the movie. I think they may have been intended as audience surrogates or comedic relief, but whatever the plan was it didn't work.

All the fights were dull and entirely rendered in terrible CGI. You couldn't really follow what was happening spatially because of the way everything was just muddled blobs smacking against each other in dim lighting. It all looked shocking dated.

Morbius had the power of flight because he had bat DNA and bats can fly. Obviously that's the thing that lets the bats fly, right? Their genes and ability to... see wind currents? The wings are really just for show, everyone knows that.

Even the end credits were a confusing mess; Neon vector graphics bombarded the screen like we just watched some retro 80's callback, accompanied by music that made me think I was in a day spa awaiting a relaxing mud bath.

The most egregious sin of Morbius is that it had not one but TWO sequel hooks, assuredly planting the seed for the living vampire's triumphant return to the silver screen, and a cinematic universe capable of effortlessly overthrowing Marvel and DC.

A literally perfect piece of pure kino that everybody should immediately watch. Also an entertainingly shitty movie.

[loveinterestcastiel]

sursum corda

Part one of a new canon divergent series, “A Sacrament to Be Taken Kneeling”

Summary: the opening dialogue to the eucharistic prayer, or anaphora, translated to english means “lift up your hearts”, and is the beginning of a devout worshipper’s holy communion with god

Canon divergent from 6x22, this one is rated M for religious blasphemy, power dynamics, and mature subject matter (later installments will be rated E for violence, sexual content, and graphic depictions of blood). Honestly this is just a fucked up exploration of the catholicnatural that could have been if the spn writers hadn’t been cowards and had instead really leaned into the whole Godstiel thing, and his dynamic with Dean. I’m going to hell for this and you know what? That’s just fine with me.

It can be read here or in AO3! Enjoy <3

Castiel was brighter than the sun, and he was beautiful. He was the most terrifying thing Dean had ever seen, because somewhere in there, he could still see Cas, the old Cas. He let Crowley go. Dean was going to kill that demon, but- later. Later, when they got out of here and got Sammy put back together.

Then Castiel blew Raphael up with nothing more than a snap of his fingers, and their most formidable adversary, after all these months, was suddenly just a bloody smear on the wall. The last Apocalyptic threat, gone, just like that, leaving Dean and Bobby alone with a Cas-gone-nuclear.

They were so, so fucked.

Cas looked over to Dean, his face softening incrementally but still distinctly smug.

"So you see," he said, turning away from Dean and moving as if to inspect his explosive handiwork, "I saved you."

Dean Winchester is saved.

“You sure did, Cas,” Dean said faintly, drifting further into Cas’s orbit as if somehow compelled. Castiel didn’t acknowledge him, keeping his back turned, his spine ramrod straight. Damage control. Holy fucking shit, damage control right now. “Thank you.”

“You doubted me. Fought against me.” He slowly turned to face Dean, a mockery of their first meeting in that rundown barn years ago, tilting his head the same way, his blue eyes the same limitless color and just as mesmerizing, but somehow about a million times more unsettling. “But I was right all along.”

Dean’s stomach swooped. “Okay, Cas, you were. We’re sorry,” he added quickly, his breath shallow and shaky. “Now let’s just defuse you, okay?” he suggested, the words cumbersome and heavy in his mouth.

Cas narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. “What do you mean?” he asked icily.

Dean forged on desperately. “You’re full of nuke. It’s not safe, so before the eclipse ends, let’s get them souls back to where they belong.” Oh, he felt like he was going to be sick. Please, Cas, please just listen to me…

“Oh, no, they belong with me,” Cas countered, his tone almost patronizing, like he was speaking to a child.

“No, Cas,” Dean interrupted before his brain or his fear could catch up to him. “It’s- it’s scrambling your brain.”

“No, I’m not finished yet,” he said firmly, with the ghost of a cold smile tugging on his features. “Raphael had many followers, and I must-” Cas paused, choosing his words, “punish them all severely,” he finished deliberately.

Bobby’s eyes darted over to Dean. He was visibly horrified.

Okay. One last effort. Okay.

Dean shoved down his fear and tried again. “Listen to me.” He stepped closer to Cas, swallowing hard as his voice fought to stick in his throat and looking steadily into his eyes. “Listen- I know there’s a lot of bad water under the bridge. But we were family, once,” he pleaded. “I’d have died for you. I almost did a few times.” Castiel’s face remained impassive but Dean continued. “So if that means anything to you- please,” he begged, abandoning his pride. “I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, and now I’ve lost Sam. Don’t make me lose you too.”

Castiel wrenched his eyes away from Dean’s and cast his gaze down to the floor between them. Was he considering it?

“You don’t need this kind of juice anymore, Cas,” he tried to reason. “Get rid of it before it kills us all.”

A beat.

“You’re just saying that because I won,” Cas mused, raising his gaze back up to look at Dean again, pinning him there like a specimen under a microscope. “Because you’re afraid . You’re not my family, Dean,” he said, closing the remaining distance between them until he stood less than an arm’s reach away, positively radiating power, the air vibrating with it. “You’re just… human.”

His eyes lingered on Dean’s face, tracing his freckles, his eyelashes. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. Castiel’s face hardened into stone, his next words iron. “I have no family.”

The words rang in Dean’s ears, banging about his brain and battering it into despair. It felt like a small death, his heart pulling on his ribs as he floundered for a new angle to pursue.

And then Sam was there, behind Castiel, and he just stabbed him with an angel blade, and Cas was swaying just a bit with the blade still stuck in his back as Sam gasped for air behind him, clearly distressed and stumbling backwards.

Dean froze, horrified.

What the FUCK were you thinking, Sam?

But- oh. Oh god.

Cas wasn’t dead. It didn’t work. His brain buzzed blankly with a static-y sensation of bewilderment as Cas reached around himself and pulled out the blade- shiny, clean, utterly free of blood- with an alarming squelching noise.

"I'm glad you made it, Sam," Cas said in a distressingly level voice, placing the newly-extricated angel blade on the table in front of him before turning to glance at Sam. “But the angel blade won’t work, because I’m not an angel anymore,” he said, matter-of-fact as could be, as if he hadn’t just dropped yet another massive bomb on their lives. Sam looked to Bobby, his eyes wide, and Bobby shrugged back minutely, similarly floored.

Look at me, Cas, leave Sammy alone, you’ve done enough-

As if he heard Dean’s thoughts- fuck, was he praying?- Castiel turned back to Dean and met his eyes. “I’m your new God,” he said, with an air of authority and immense self-satisfaction permeating his words. “A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you.”

Bobby’s eyes widened in the periphery of Dean’s vision as time seemed to swirl and slow down to a crawl- clearly, he hadn’t expected this either.

Sammy was strung out and swaying on his feet behind Cas, his eyes darting and rolling over the room as he rode out the hellish things that tormented him in his head, seemingly incapable of reacting to the gravity of the situation as what Cas had done put him out of his mind with fear.

In the span of a heartbeat, Dean made his choice. He had no choice.

He fell to his knees.

The crack of bone on hard tile was near agony. His gun clattered uselessly to the ground beside him as he shifted his gaze to land somewhere around the hem of Castiel’s coat. He couldn’t look at his face. Couldn’t meet his eyes. It was almost impossible to believe the terrifying figure before him was once his closest friend, and had saved him from Heaven and Hell alike before he had turned into whatever this was.

His throat was dry. He forced himself to swallow, drawing his tongue over his bottom lip as he tried to find the right words.

Bobby started to kneel, too. Survival instincts, probably. He’d have never gotten this old without them, anyway.

“My lord,” he began hesitantly.

The new God waved his hand dismissively at the title. “Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Dean corrected himself. Great start, you fuck up. “Cas, I swore my obedience to Heaven, once. To God, and his angels. To you,” his voice cracked as he risked a glance at the former angel. His eyes were like fire. Glowing. Unreal.

Bobby interrupted: “Dean, no-”

But Castiel snapped up a hand, palm out, and Bobby’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. “You will be silent,” Castiel ordered, his eyes never leaving Dean. He looked intrigued by Dean’s sudden compliance and admission. “I’d like to hear what you have to say, Dean. What can you possibly say to justify your lack of faith in me up until now? I could have cast you back into the pit, and Sam, too, had I not done this, all of it, for you.”

“I know you did, Cas,” Dean said. “Thank you. I- thank you. You were right, about everything, and I should have listened to you. I was wrong. I should have trusted you.” The words tasted like poison in his mouth. A part of him meant it. A part of him was just desperate enough to say anything. The rest of him wanted to see the cold monster in front of him dead. But how could he turn back now, without sentencing them all to death? If he played his cards right, he might even be able to save Castiel. Surely if he could get him to let go of those souls, he’d start to see reason, would be Cas again. But he was getting ahead of himself. Gotta think a little more short-term, right now. Band-aids and duct tape, not trauma surgery.

“I was blind,” Dean said, “and proud. I took you for granted, and I can do better. Be better. For- for you.”

He had never felt so weak. Groveling to his dad was different. He was his dad’s son, sure, but there was no love there. It was all survival, clinical, even his rage and his fists when Dean didn’t do enough to earn his mercy were detached. Duty and discipline and disappointment. This was different. It was hot with near-tears, messy and filled with grief for a man who wasn’t even dead. He wasn’t lying earlier when he told Cas he was like a brother to him. It was the closest comparison he had for what the angel was to his heart. He had never needed anyone like he needed Castiel- because he wasn’t Sammy, or Bobby, or Lisa, or Ben, or Cassie, or any other category of need. He was just Cas. And Dean wanted him in his life. Or he used to, anyway.

“I don’t know what I can do to make it right between us, Cas,” he said, his throat tightening slightly. “But I want to,” Dean offered, looking down in shame. “I want to be-” he choked out.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asked, taking another step forward, the very picture of authority and control. One more step and Dean could reach out and touch him. The air was electric, heady with power as it positively radiated from his body.

He lifted his head to meet Castiel’s eyes in a pose of supplication, his knees aching, his eyes burning with tears as the situation started to overwhelm him. “I want to be forgiven,” he gasped out. “Cas, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive us.”

“And Sam’s betrayal?” Castiel inquired, casting new fear into Dean’s heart. “He stabbed me in the back. And he has not knelt as you have. Why should I offer him mercy?” he mused.

“Look at him, Cas,” Dean said quietly. Sam was hunched over on the floor in the corner, holding his head in his hands, rocking slightly into the wall and pushing off of it again in a strange repetitive motion. “He can’t follow any of this. I don’t think he even knows where we are. It’s been getting worse as time passes. He was slightly more coherent an hour ago, but-” Dean shook his head. “I think he was just trying to protect me. I don’t think he even knew who you were, just- saw a threat and tried to take it out.”

Cas made a noncommittal little noise, glancing over to where Sam had retreated.

“Cas,” Dean said, drawing his attention back to himself. “He didn’t know what he was doing. Can you try to forgive him that?” he pleaded as the first tear escaped and ran down his cheek.

“And in return?”

“Anything,” Dean swore. “Just- Cas, please. I’ll do anything. I will, I swear it. Just please help Sammy.”

“It won’t be as easy as you think,” Castiel warned. “I want your trust, Dean. I want the bond we once had, and your submission to my better judgement, untainted by your... fear.” His voice turned hungry, reminiscent of when they worked that killer Cupid case last year and it turned out to be Famine. To be on the receiving end of desire of that magnitude was by turns exhilarating and horrifying. “I want your love.”

“Cas,” Dean said faintly, unable to tear his eyes away from his friend’s face even as Bobby attempted to fight his holy gag order from his place next to him. “I… I’ll try. For you,” he added, trying to add a note or resolve to his voice as his thoughts roared in fear and grappled with the idea, stuck on the precipice of this terrible new unknown he had run up against. But he truly had no choice. Sink or swim.

“I swear, Cas,” he said, raising his hand to his heart, “I’ll try.”

Castiel’s eyes softened. They stopped glowing.

Suddenly, for a moment, he looked just like himself. More than that, he looked heartbreakingly human.

He moved suddenly, sending Dean’s heart sprinting again for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

But he didn’t hurt him. He didn’t hurt Sam, or smite Bobby, or engage in any sort of holy wrath. He just kneeled, in front of Dean, and clasped his clammy hands briefly in his own warm, dry ones before shifting them both to his right hand and raising his right palm to Dean’s cheek, his eyes darting over his features with an air of disbelieving gratitude. It was so...

Castiel had lovely hands, Dean noticed. Strong, soft, and broad, with a gentle grip and long, agile fingers. So different from Dean’s own hands, already scarred from the last few years of wear and tear since his resurrection. Of course, he’d noticed before. Noticed that sort of thing about Castiel, how he used his hands to fight, to pray, to eat and to comfort, how they looked drenched in blood and how they looked at rest. How they looked striking a blow to his own face, and how they looked when he healed him. They were one of a million things Dean knew about him better than he knew himself.

“Oh, Dean,” he said softly, “That’s all I ask of you. Just try. Lift up your heart to me, and I will give you everything.”

Dean inhaled sharply, his chest tight as he leaned into the touch. "It's yours," he breathed out, "It's all yours, Cas."

Castiel smiled, and the world fell away.

Tagging in some people who I think might be interested, just dm me to be added or removed: @castieljew @dependsupon @autisticandroids @sunforgrace @heller-jensen @lateral-org @cactuscas @adhdeancas @icaruscastiel @holmesemrys @evermorecastiel @yana125 @faithcastiel @good-things-do-happen-dean @i-sing-for-me @whatevr-4evr @sonder-stars @jeanne-de-valois

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph, hope you and your loved ones are doing well(: Do you have any long fics (+100k) that are about character development? I like casefics but I would like to read something that the focus in the story are the characters, even if there is some cases. I just read The Adventure of the Silver Scars for the first time and now I'm adrift lol. Thank you so much, you make my day most often than not, *virtual hug*.

Hi Nonny!!!

AHHHHHHH I’m so happy that you’re enjoying my fic lists, and that I make your day <3 I want to argue that I PERSONALLY find any story that long has a LOT of character development, so I’m gonna be an ass and add a part two to my last 100K w. fic list :) Hee hee hee! I don’t get a lot of opportunities hah. I haven’t read very many 100K fics since my first list last May so I apologize for the length. 

Because I’m so focussed on trying to read more long fics lately, it’s taking me a lot longer to get through them, so I’m sorry I don’t have a lot for you. BUT I’m going to ALSO link you to my other longer fic list posts PLUS my case fic lists since you’re looking for those too :)

I genuinely feel like a lot of the fics I rec that are long have a lot of character development, because otherwise I don’t think I would have been able to get through them. It’s a weird quirk of mine: I need to get into the world of the characters if I’m going to invest that much time into them, so yeah :P I hope you enjoy what I have for you! 

PS AGREED I loved Silver Scars! It’s actually on this list because I only recently read it, hahah :D

NOVEL LENGTH FICS: 100K+ W. Pt 2

See also:

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 2 (May 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Case Fics || [MOBILE] 

Case Fics Pt 2

Case Fics Pt 3

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Free Falling by twistedthicket1 (M, 203,574 w., 38 Ch. || Guardian Angels AU || Guardian Angel John, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Kidlock / Teenlock, Light Mystrade, Passage of Time, Possessive John, Drug Use / Overdose, Victor Trevor, Graphic Bullying, Big Brother Mycroft, Hard Drug Use, Depression, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John, Panic Attacks, Nightmares/PTSD, Pining, Healing Abilities, Kidnapping, Violence, Torture, Blow Jobs, Virgin John, Emotional Development / Attachment, Mortality, Happy Ending) – All Guardian angels are born with a Chosen human. When this child is born, the angel comes into being to protect and care for them during their life on Earth. For John Watson, all he cares about in the world revolves around his Chosen, Sherlock Holmes. Watching him grow up though, the angel soon learns that God must have had a sense of humour the day he decided to make Sherlock, as trouble seems to follow him like a magnet wherever he goes. John can't decide what's worse, the idea of losing his Chosen one, or the fact that he may be breaking the most taboo law of heaven as he disguises himself as a human to better protect and befriend the beloved detective he's always watched from afar. He was meant to care for him. But what happens when caring evolves into something more? What happens when an emotion an angel is supposed to be incapable of possessing comes to life suddenly and viciously inside John's chest?

[seyaryminamoto]

Why do u wanna leave Venezuela? I'm 'new' here and didn't know about everything that happened in Venezuela and ur circumstances. Could u enlighten me?

Oof... it’s a pretty long story. A story that literally began before I was born :’D

Venezuela used to be one of the most prosperous countries in South America, mainly because of our surprisingly massive oil reserves. Once those were discovered, back 1928, we went from old-school rural country to the hub of development and modernity in South America. Everything looked poised to continue progressing...! But then it didn’t. Slowly but surely, government mismanagement resulted in bad decisions that started Venezuela’s downfall. At the time, those decisions appeared catastrophic. In retrospect, they weren’t even a hint of the hell we would experience during my lifetime.

One president, a rather controversial one, decided he’d raise the cost of gasoline in the country, back in 1989. It may sound pretty casual, but it wasn’t: Venezuela, hub of oil, had always taken advantage of subsidized oil for its citizens. Meaning, gasoline was cheaper than water for us. I’m not even joking, it literally was. But the president at the time thought this couldn’t be sustainable and increased prices.

This resulted in a popular backlash against this decision, which resulted in considerable lootings over the course of a few days, as well as murders, violent protests, all sorts of chaos... eventually, this event became the perfect excuse for a certain, powerhungry, military “leader” to take advantage of and stage a coup to overthrow that president. This military leader’s coup didn’t work, and he was sent to jail (not before him and his cronies killed, in cold blood, an undefined number that ranges between 100 and 300 people in their attempts to overthrow the government).

A few years after the coup attempt, the military leader in question... was released. Despite being the intellectual artificer of the deaths of a number ranging around 100-300 people.

By now, he can be held responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people instead :’)

And that graphic is for outright murder. That’s not accounting for the people who died because of food or medicine shortages, it’s not accounting for the many people the current government numbers have covered up... it’s not all the people who have had to pay with their lives for the absolutely dreadful mismanagement of the country in current times. And what does that military leader have to do with all these deaths? Why would I hold HIM responsible?

Why, because he became president of Venezuela in the year of 1998. That’s why :’)

There’s no easy way of summing up everything going downhill in this country. You could, however, say that every hardship we’ve had to deal with here is a consequence of the absolutely horrid, corrupt, criminal decisions of a government that has zero interest in governing a country. All they want is to line their pockets with blood money and pay for none of the crimes they’ve committed while in power. And they’ll ally themselves with as many dangerous countries and regimes as they possibly can to get away with it, regardless of where they stand on the political spectrum (they’re best buddies with far-right and far-left regimes just the same. Kinda says something, doesn’t it?).

Just to put things in context: Chavez, the military leader who became president, committed thousands of awful decisions. He rewrote the Constitution, he set up his goons to handle our Electoral College so that they’d rig the system and ensure he got away with victories in all the elections that mattered, he set up huge restrictions on international trade, to the point where people COULDN’T do any sorts of operations with foreign currency without asking his government for permission first, which became a HUGE source of corruption...

But the likely worst part of it all is what affects everyone, from day to day, all throughout the country. And that is the government’s monopoly over EVERY BASIC NEED INDUSTRY in this country.

Currently, as I type this? My building has had running water for 3 days straight, in the middle of a pandemic (and that’s just my personal experience, there’s a HUGE lot of people who haven’t had running water for MONTHS and have to collect water on rivers or hire water trucks that are more and more expensive with every passing day). Me and my parents are living off water reserves that we must constantly collect whenever the water comes back, because these water cuts happen at RANDOM, with ZERO WARNING, with NO EXPLANATION and you have no right to protest to the water company (if you did, you’d go ignored. If you don’t go ignored, you go jailed. That’s your full spectrum of choices in this situation).

And of course, the vital question: who has the monopoly over the water companies throughout the country? The State.

Currently, as I type this? My WiFi is unstable (heck, it crashed just as I was typing this answer, the irony is strong!), and only three devices can be connected at a time. No, it’s not the router’s fault, because while it could sound as the obvious answer, it’s not configurated to limit the number of users. Only a month ago, all devices you felt like connecting could connect indeed, though the network was unstable anyhow. By now, the network is still unstable, and it can’t support all the devices we should have online.

Who runs the phone/internet company I use? The State.

A little over a year ago, a spree of nation-wide blackouts plagued the country. We spent whole days offline, completely isolated from the world, because not even cellphone networks would function if the cellphone towers were down too. All we could do was listen to radio, and ONLY if you had battery-powered radios. Even then, most radio stations weren’t even offering real information on what was going on, and the one that was got kicked offline earlier this year I think? Because their permit to operate in the country was revoked (the truth? the government has been taking advantage of ANY excuse to get rid of media that doesn’t report about them favorably since 2008, at least).

Who runs the electrical company that supplies THE ENTIRE COUNTRY? The State.

And I could go on, and on, and on... but I think you’ll get the picture by now. Basically, every single issue you find in this country (in 2013, we were ranked the most insecure country in the world, in 2019 the most MISERABLE country in the world) goes back to the people in charge, who have only made choices to benefit themselves and seldom to help the “people” they’ve always claimed to be working for. They’ve broken the laws they wrote themselves, they’ve become internationally persecuted criminals for helming drug trafficking networks, for crimes as outlandish as supplying Venezuelan passports to known, persecuted terrorists (while, btw, making actual Venezuelan people pay about $200 for a passport... when our minimum wage, MONTHLY, is around $1.3? No, that’s not a miscalculation or an exaggeration, it’s further evidence of what I said up there regarding being the most miserable country in the world), they’ve imprisoned and exiled countless members of their political opposition under fabricated charges, commited outright crimes of torture, including sexual torture, on peaceful protesters who were taken (sometimes just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time) by the national guards or police, 98% of actual crime goes unpunished in this country because the government outright instigates, encourages and even SUPPLIES criminals, since they’re basically a perfect method to keep the population at bay...?

Living in Venezuela has rendered me incapable of enjoying pretty much any form of dystopic storytelling. This mess began when I was 3-years-old, and it gets worse and worse and worse with every day that goes by. There’s no end in sight, no likely improvements, no solutions because nothing that has been tried has been any closer to succeeding at liberating this country from the nightmare clutches it’s in.

And of course, the worldwide pandemic only makes matters worse because, while I wasn’t going to be able to leave the country just yet anyhow, I had hoped to get out this year. By now, hell knows when I’ll be able to leave at all.

*sigh* And there you have it. I’m sure, if you’re curious, you can look up some more on the subject, though there’s a lot of false BS online, propaganda trying to paint the government as victims of the international community when that couldn’t be further from the truth, so if you have anything else you’d like to know... feel free to ask :’)

(Found this article too, it seems to do a relatively better overview than I did to explain why we’re in the ninth circle of hell... it’s a longer read than this ask, I suspect, but it ought to answer any lingering questions anyhow)

[spin-birdie]

What about some cold-blooded torture for the Bad Things Happen Bingo. I'm a sucker for angsty shit

sorry this took fuckin forever, it took a while for me to get a decent idea for this one. enjoy 1990 words of connor suffering

word count: 1.9k

pairing: none ig

additional tags: whump, body horror, leg trauma, android gore, graphic descriptions of violence, like seriously a lot of violence i think i went over the top whoops

Connor awakens slowly, blinking away distorted error messages and opening his eyes to a rusty ceiling. He doesn’t recognize the room he’s in on sight, and his mind palace is too corrupted to run his GPS software. He’s been awake for not even twenty seconds, but dread and panic fill his mind quickly.

He tries to sit up, only to find himself stuck. He’s lying face-up on a table - metal, based on the sounds produced by his body struggling against it - and his arms and legs are tightly bound with steel rope. He pulls away from the bonds, trying to free himself in every way he knows, but nothing works. He’s only making noise and causing himself discomfort.

The only part of him that isn’t completely restrained is his head, so he takes the chance to look around the room. The walls and ceiling appear to be made of tin, though it’s so rusted out that it’s hard to tell. Shelves and tables all along the walls seem to have various tools and biocomponents lined up along them. Arms and legs, eyes and hearts and pump regulators, some in containers, some just lying in the open. The empty, limbless chassis of an ST300 lies face-down in the corner of the room. Even without his mind palace fully operational, he can detect countless thirium stains all over the room and the table he’s strapped to.

Once upon a time, a sight like this wouldn’t have fazed Connor in the least. Now, it makes his gut twist uncomfortably, sends a chill down his spine. This room has seen so much death. The fact that he’s restrained can’t mean anything good.

Connor can’t see his own stress level, but he can guess that it’s fairly high. He struggles harder against the ropes, tries to rub his wrist into it. If he can detach even one of his hands, maybe he can figure something out.

Unfortunately, he seems to have drawn too much attention. A door squeaks open somewhere out of Connor’s line of sight, followed by the sound of heavy, echoing footsteps.

“Who’s there?” Connor says, craning his neck to look behind him. He’s greeted by the upside-down visage of a human woman he can’t identify. He continues to struggle, despite knowing it’s no use.

The woman doesn’t speak. Someone else steps into the room behind her. He’s carrying a camera and a tripod in his arms. Connor can’t see their faces properly. They’re wearing masks styled to look like skinless androids.

“Who are you?” Connor yanks on his restraints. Despite his best efforts, panic creeps into his voice. “What do you want?!”

The humans exchange glances. The woman walks around the table until she’s standing at Connor’s feet. The cameraman only walks close enough for Connor to see him out of the corner of his eye.

“We’re going to send a message to your charge,” the woman says. Her voice is pitched down unnaturally; Connor can’t recognize it. “Markus. The leader of the machines.”

“People,” Connor insists. “We’re just people who want to be free.”

The woman’s voice remains unchanged. “You’re anomalies. It’s not you’re fault; you were designed to integrate with human society, and in the process, you lost sight of your true purpose. Servitude.”

Connor stops struggling and grinds his teeth. “If you think Markus is just going to roll over--”

“We know he won’t,” the cameraman interjects. “He fought tooth and nail for the freedom you don’t deserve. But he cares about his colleagues. He cares about you specifically.”

“Which is why we brought you here,” the woman finishes. She turns to the cameraman and nods.

The cameraman sets his camera and tripod down on a table and walks over to Connor. Before he can react - not that he knows how he’d react - the man lifts his head up roughly and sticks something into the access port on his neck. Connor jolts, blinking rapidly as the unknown data copies itself into Connor’s system. The specific details of said data are incoherent and jumbled up, his mind palace too damaged to tell him what’s happening.

Halfway through the process, his neck starts to burn and ache. He twitches away from the sensation, but it follows him. It’s unlike any discomfort he’s felt before; his sensory feedback is advanced, but whatever this feeling is, it’s completely foreign. He hates it.

“What are-- Ow! What is that--?!”

The download finishes, and the man tears the data drive from his neck. He feels the pull of it, but it aches, sending sparks up and down his back.

“It’s pain,” the woman says. She doesn’t elaborate.

“What does that mean?” Connor demands. He pulls the rope again. It digs into his skin uncomfortably.

“It means you’re going to suffer for the sake of your kind.” She turns to the cameraman. “Get the hammer.”

Connor follows the man’s movement as he walks away, picking up a sledgehammer in the opposite corner of the room. His stomach drops, and on instinct, he struggles wildly. Sharp discomfort shoots through his wrists and ankles, but he ignores it. He has to escape. He has to get back to Markus and warn--

In the very next instant, Connor’s vision goes white, and he emits a sound he didn’t know he could make. Warnings flash past his eyes, illegible and too numerous to comprehend. He thrashes in his restraints, kicking and choking on another scream as unimaginable pain consumes him.

“Don’t kick. You’ll only make it worse.”

Connor coughs; something an android shouldn’t be able to do. He looks down at the hammer, where it rests upon what used to be his ankle until a few seconds ago. He doesn’t need to see the wound directly to know all that remains is a mess of shattered white plastic, flattened grey metal, and blue blood.

It’s the worst thing he’s ever felt. Worse than the chill of the Zen Garden. Worse than guilt. Every sensor in his body is on fire. It’s like he’s dying again; only it’s so much worse than feeling it secondhand. He wants to vomit, but he’s physically incapable. Not that it would do him any good if he could.

The woman is unfazed. “Keep going.”

The sledgehammer comes down on his other leg. This time, it’s his knee that gets crushed and split apart. Connor whites out again, shrieking as if it will save him from the pain. He tries to force himself into stasis, but doing so only yields an error message and more pain. He feels it in his eyes, and nothing has even touched them.

Once, twice, three more times the hammer is brought down on random parts of his body. His other knee, his shin, his elbow. After that, Connor loses count. The pain is no longer centered on specific parts of his body; it’s omnipresent and inescapable. No part of him hurts more than another. It’s agony no creature should be subjected to.

By the time he hears the hammer clatter to the ground, Connor’s extremities are completely unresponsive. Most of them have fallen off, too mangled to stay attached. He could try to roll off the table, but it’s like they planned for that; his left wrist is all that’s restraining him now. Even if he could escape, he wouldn’t get far with broken legs.

The sound of the hammer being set down fills Connor with relief. It’s quickly replaced with fear when the man tears Connor’s shirt open and picks up a pair of pliers, holding it over Connor’s stomach.

“No, stop!” Connor pleads as his stomach panel is forced open. “That hurts! Get off me-- Make him stop! STOP!”

The torturers disregard him completely. The man looks over to his counterpart. “What do I do?”

“Disconnect everything that isn’t vital. Make sure he stays conscious and verbal.”

The pliers haphazardly dig into Connor’s wires, pulling them open to slip deeper into his chassis. The agony is unbearable, prompting screams of almost animalistic torment. Connor instinctively curls away from them, but they’re inside his stomach; moving even a little sends even more torturous misery through Connor’s system.

He can’t see anymore; too many bright red, corrupted warnings appear faster than he can take them in. He’s positive that he’s the closest to physically ill that an android can be, and it’s just from the pain. He’s retching and coughing uncontrollably, like his body is trying to eject the intrusion but forgot he can’t vomit. The pain gets exponentially worse with every heartbeat, but his heart just keeps beating faster from the sheer trauma of the experience. The pain is in his CPU now; he literally feels it in his brain.

He can’t think, can’t move, can barely speak. Bits of him slowly go offline as more of his biocomponents are picked apart from their wires. Thirium is pooling in his chassis, but at some point the pliers stabbed all the way through to his back and opened up, splitting him open from the inside. He feels it soaking through his clothes, distantly hears it dripping onto the floor.

He’s not going to shut down, but that might be the worst part of it. He just wants it to stop. He wants everything to stop. The torment has gone on for far too long, and there’s no hope of adapting to it.

He wants to thank every deity in existence when the pliers are finally removed, but he’s too exhausted. Not even physically; the emotional trauma of the experience has just taken everything out of him. He feels like he’s overheating, but his cooling fans, his lungs, they’re all offline. He can’t move a muscle. He barely has muscles to move anymore. He wants to sleep, but the lingering pain is too immense to allow him that luxury.

“Can you speak?” the woman asks.

Connor tries to look at her, but he’s completely paralyzed. He clenches his jaw. It hurts.

“Ffff...fuck you...” he spits. His voice is heavy with tears he doesn’t remember shedding. There’s blood in the back of his throat. His vision is completely dark. The error messages no longer appear.

“Should I set up the camera now?” the man asks.

“Yes.”

---

The sight of the deviant leader falling to his knees would be enough to alarm anyone, but considering he’s been worried sick over his missing friend for days, everyone hurries to his aid.

“Markus, what’s wrong?” North asks. “What is that?”

Markus looks between North, Josh, and the tablet in his hands. He chokes back a sob. “It’s... Connor, he’s...look...”

He turns the tablet and replays the video so the others can see. Josh immediately puts a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God...”

It’s Connor, bleeding from the mouth and strapped to a bloody table. His clothes are torn and stained with thirium, his stomach is wide open, and he looks completely unfocused. He’s mumbling to himself; almost too muffled to make out, but they can barely hear him pleading, “It hurts... Make it stop... Kill me...”

Then the angle shifts over to someone clad in black, wearing a mask. “This is what freedom has cost you,” they say in a too-even voice. “You androids are lost and in pain. You’ve lost sight of what’s important, and you’re suffering for it. If you want the RK800 back, then stop trying to merge with humanity. Further details will be disclosed after this message is broadcast to your followers. You have two days to comply.”

The figure steps over to the table and puts a hand on Connor’s forehead. He visibly bristles at the contact as his head is pushed to the side, towards the camera. “Do you have anything to say to your charge?”

His eyes aren’t even on the camera, but they’re filled with misery. “Markus...” he whispers. “Markus, it hurts... Help...”

Markus caves in on himself, tears falling uncontrollably.