#but will my mind be haunted by another possible versions? ofc as always)

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

oh y know. maybe carlo has 2 ugly houses on his property bc his & lauretta's families live here. like yk. familiality

[lov3nerdstuff]

Echo {Part 2}

*Tom Hiddleston x OFC*

~ Part 1 ~

Part: 2/2

Words: 3..9k

Warnings: metaphors, many of them…

Request: Could you do a story of a woman who is in a relationship with someone who doesn’t have their relationship as a priority and when they are at a cafe or bar, Tom notices her and how beautiful she is and strikes up a conversation while her boyfriend went outside to answer his call from work. Not sure how you want to end it but I’ll leave that up to you! :) By @fkmaldonado

Summary: Tom rescues a young woman from an abusive relationship by doing nothing more and nothing less than falling in love with her.

A.N.: This is the second part 💗✨ there’s some more really deep thoughts and a lot of allegorical talk in here… If anyone wants to have a chat with me about it, I’d be very happy to hear your thoughts 😊💚

______________________________

As Tom sat back down in the armchair with neither grace nor effort, his mind was going faster than light, than sound, than matter. How was it possible that he missed her already? Echo… she certainly had left within him just what her name promised. An inevitable spark, an echo of herself. He couldn’t stop thinking about her even if he tried. However the biggest riddle was, to him, how someone like her could EVER end up with someone like that man… Why she didn’t just tell him off, didn’t just leave… How someone like her didn’t remotely get what she deserved. And in Tom’s eyes, she deserved so much more… He would devoutly sacrifice the universe at her feet, and that realization left him speechless in its intensity.

He, Thomas William Hiddleston, had fallen in love with a stranger. A girl loyal to another man. Over one single conversation. And that thought was way scarier than the people around him, the indifference, the intensity of the world.

He let out a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He might quite possibly never see her again, and maybe that was for the better. Tom considered himself to be a decent man, and a decent man did not long for something he couldn’t have. The thought left a painful sting in his chest, and a deep frown on his face. How was it that every emotion seemed to he more intense, every sensation more raw and every second longer when one was experiencing sadness? Or pain? The depth of his emotions scared him, but he also wouldn’t want to miss them now. Echo had been right, people were repelled by depth. And for her sake, Tom wouldn’t allow himself to be.

A few minutes passed as he just stared at the fire to his right. The gentle licking and the graceful dance of the flames calmed his mind back down to a rather manageable pace, yet he still felt deeply shook by his own being. Humanity was ineffable indeed, and this was a prime example of it. He didn’t know why he felt what he felt, he didn’t know if it was right or wrong or if there was even such a thing. The world wasn’t black and white after all, and there were seldomly things universally good or bad. Only societal norms and expectations.

With a sigh he picked up the newspaper once more, looking at the drawing with a sad smile. It really was breathtakingly intricate. The missing faces made it all the more interesting, really, and… Tom frowned. There was a single person with a face, now… His own face. Echo really had gotten all his features on point, both in detail and in expression.

The smile that came onto his lips was a cooling relief to his sadness infused mind, as his eyes scanned the drawing for even more newly added details. If he had learned anything about Echo at all in their little moment together, it was that she was clever. Brilliant even, a mind like no other.

And he found what he was looking for fairly quickly, but really only because he’d been looking for it in the first place. Very subtly hidden sets of numbers, always together in a pair at one place, hidden in the drawing. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he fetched the pen from the other end of the table and wrote the numbers down on a napkin in their right order.

Echo had given him her phone number, in the knowledge that the newspaper would stay behind, and in the certainty that he would find it. Oh, she was beyond brilliant indeed.

_______________

Tom took both the napkin and the newspaper home with him when he left the coffee shop in the evening. To his great luck, his venture home was a dry one and he didn’t have to concern himself with the problems of drenched paper. What he did concern himself with however, even after he had long arrived home and gone to bed, was the inevitable WHY… Why had Echo given him her number? Obviously she deemed him intriguing, she had expressed that subtly enough for him and only him to notice after all.

And that exactly is what kept Tom awake that night, the torn feeling, the war within himself. He wouldn’t fool himself in attempting to pretend that he wasn’t completely drawn in by Echo, fascinated and enchanted by her very being. But he also knew what he would be getting himself into if he contacted her, what he would be getting HER into…

If it had only stayed at this privilege of their one conversation, and she would have left for good tonight, Tom would be fine with suppressing this horrendously strong inclination until it would fade with time… if it would at all.

But she WANTED him to contact her… to mess up his perfectly calm and harmonious life, and to drag them both into an eternal spiral of which he didn’t know yet if it would lead them up or down indeed. So he was stuck with the WHY… and the deep down knowledge that there was no right or wrong thing. Only a thing worth fighting for.

_______________

The following three days, Tom was a mess. On the inside at least, he couldn’t allow himself to be anything other than a friendly calm on the outside after all. A life in the spotlight required for him to keep his thoughts to himself, his emotions and troubles, and to sort through them on his own in the occasional solitude he was granted. It was all the more ironic, he realized now, that neither Echo nor her boyfriend had seemed to recognize him from anywhere, and honestly he was grateful for that on both ends. Fame was, like indifference, an inherent enemy of meaningful conversation. When people asked him what he was scared of, they wanted to hear ‘spiders’ rather than 'my own imagination’. Few understood such thoughts, and even fewer could relate.

Echo had not once left his waking and dreaming thought, not once had her eyes ceased to haunt him or her voice to enchant him. That was the thing about being alive in his reality, really… One unlearned to forget, to look away, to be indifferent. So he was doomed to relive their conversation in every detail, in his mind, at all times. And he wanted more.

Yet, in utter contradiction of his own own being, he still hadn’t made his mind up if he would contact her. So he found himself sitting on his couch on Friday night, yet again, staring at the napkin with her phone number on his coffee table. He’d been here before, and been scared before. Of the things this would mean for him and his understanding of his own person. Would a good man do this? There wasn’t such a thing as good. Moral, maybe? Was it a selfish or a selfless motivation that made him want to free her from her so obviously abusive relationship? She wouldn’t have given him her number if she didn’t want him to call indeed… but what else would she want from him? What would he be able to give her?

Echo… The question it came down to for Tom, the question it always comes down to, was which would be the bigger torture in the end: possibly regretting the life he will have led, or regretting not having lived at all. Oh, and Tom wanted to live, and to be alive. No 'what if…?’.

He typed Echo’s number into his phone before he would allow himself to change his mind. The silence between the ringing was more deafening than the sounds, it even drowned out the silence of his own home and the frantic beating of his heart.

“Hello?” Echo’s soft voice brought his heartbeat back to his ears with a start.

“Hello Echo… Uh, this is Tom.” He started, running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to calm his nerves down. There was so much he wanted to say at once, and yet nothing that he should be saying.

“Meet me at Waterloo in thirty minutes. Can you do that, Tom?” She asked as calmly as if it wasn’t odd at all, as if they hadn’t spent mere fifteen minutes talking, followed by a week of not talking at all.

“Yeah, sure.” He replied without even having to think. He wanted to see her, and there was no reason that could prevent him from allowing himself to do so.

“Alright.” She replied with a smile in her voice that made Tom smile in return, then she hung up.

Tom hung up as well, and his phone told him that it was precisely a quarter after eleven at night. He would definitely need those thirty minutes to get to Waterloo, and to make his heart stop its race with his mind. Yet, with its strong beating, the tingles of his entire body, the cold night air hitting his skin as he stepped outside a minute later… He felt intensely and passionately alive.

_______________

Tom spotted Echo before he even had to make an effort to find her, really. As usual for London, not even the night time could really prevent the crowds, especially not on a Friday. But Echo was fairly easy to spot, and Tom wondered if it was her looks or her belonging to his level of world that made her stand out to him so much.

“Hey.” He said as calmly as his heart allowed him once he approached her with a small smile. “Here I am.”

“Hello Tom. Thank you, for coming.” She returned his smile, eyes sparkling and bright and Tom’s heart sighed. Seeing her happy was WAY better than this version of her that had dominated their parting.

“You summon me and I comply. Seems to be a reappearing theme.” He chuckled, watching her slow smirk with the greatest joy. They started walking towards jubilee gardens, sauntering really, aimless in their destination.

“I didn’t think you would call.” Echo said with a sigh after a while of silence. She had dug her hands deep into the pockets of her leather jacket, and Tom wondered if she would be cold wearing only that thin thing and a fluffy scarf. It was below freezing point, after all…

“I didn’t think I would either.” He replied honestly, shrugging a little as he watched her face with curiosity as he talked. “I wasn’t sure if it would be the right thing to do, and I’m still not sure about it.”

“Why would it be wrong, in conclusion?” She frowned with a smile.

“Because your boyfriend… husband?… boyfriend, didn’t seem too fond of me spending time with you. And I would hate being a cause of trouble for you.”

“Oh… that.” She sighed, the smile falling from her face in accordance with Tom’s heart. “Boyfriend, luckily.”

“You don’t seem particularly happy about it, if I may say that…” Tom tried, ignoring the whole bucket of emotions he was dipping his fingertips into. “Doesn’t he mind that you meet up with a strange man in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, he only ever minded when he needed me himself, really.” She laughed sadly, causing Tom to frown. They made their way down to Westminster Bridge, and the wind picked up both speed and force, making Echo shiver and Tom’s frown deepen.

“Is that why he left you alone in the coffee shop for so long?” He asked carefully, somewhat trying not to snoop too much.

“Yeah… He can be nice, I guess, asked me out and the sorts. But somehow there just always ended up being something more important than me. It’s usually his work, or his friends… or anything, really.” She sighed, shrugging a little as she looked over the city lights reflecting on the unruly surface of the river below them.

“What’s he working as?” Tom asked, feeling like this was the least painful question.

“He’s a jobber. A rather bad one though.” She laughed almost lightly and Tom had to smile as well, as he watched her watching the city lights. “What’s your work, Tom?”

He had to suppress a laugh, and a too broad smirk. It’s been a while since someone had seriously asked him that. “Uh, I’m an actor.”

“Oh, I love movies, and especially adore plays!” She sighed again, smiling to herself. “Unfortunately I haven’t been able to see much of either in the last years… He doesn’t like that kind of entertainment, really… and I stopped going to the theater alone after a while of hearing him complain.”

“That’s too bad… There have been some lovely productions lately. Maybe we could try to catch up, together. Sometime.” He gave her a soft smile, probably looking like a lovesick puppy. But what was he to do about it, really?

“I’d love that.” She smiled back, and they walked on over the bridge towards St. James’ Park.

“What are you doing for a living?” He asked curiously.

“I’m an illustrator.” She smiled, then smirked at Tom. “Could’ve guessed, after watching me draw…”

“I could have indeed.” He laughed, scratching his eyebrow with a slightly flustered expression. “Your drawing was remarkable, really. Absolutely beautiful. I kept it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t make me sign it for you.” She winked at Tom and he had to laugh even more. “I was just doodling, really. I’m gonna give you a nicer one some time.”

“I was proud of this one nonetheless. I was the only one with a face after all!”

“You’re the only person who has intrigued me.” She smiled to herself, watching how she kicked some wet, wilting leaves out of her way.

“I do feel very flattered, but I believe that wasn’t a real accomplishment, not in that coffee shop. Most people weren’t even part of our world.” He chuckled, probably walking a little too close to her to be considered appropriate. But Echo was like a natural force he found himself unable to resist. He wondered how anyone could.

“I haven’t ever before met anyone who is part of my world, Tom. Some people may peek inside, stand in the door frame so to speak, but they will inevitably turn around and bang that door shut, lock it and throw the key into the abyss of oblivion.” She stopped walking and looked straight at Tom, her eyes locked with his. “And yet you didn’t even come near that door. Because you came in through your own, maybe even long before me. And now we stand here, together alone in our own world.”

Tom didn’t know what to say, a million words on his mind and yet an aching emptiness on his lips. So he reached out slowly, carefully, taking Echo’s hand in his and intertwining their fingers very gently. She didn’t pull away, only holding onto his hand tightly in return. And in that moment, in this one touch, Tom knew what coming alive felt like.

_______________

They walked in silence for a while, crossing over into Green Park, while still holding hands. Maybe this was inappropriate, maybe it was wrong… but there was no one to judge the rightness of his actions but Tom himself. And to him, being with Echo was the most right thing he had ever done.

“I adore how you talk in metaphors…” He finally said, with a small smile.

“You do it too.” Echo chuckled. “Words are our greatest tool to express our own complexity, our thoughts and emotions… I think writers and poets are so good at it because they learned to use language in a way that makes people feel what they need to feel. They paint a clear picture for the audience that makes them understand. And metaphors are a great way to do that, I think.”

“So you think we all should be a little more like the poets back in the day?” His smile broadened at the thought that he had dwelled on ever so often.

“I think we should learn to use language like they did. Might make the world a better place if people actually talked to each other, and listened in return.” She shrugged a little, brushing her thumb over Tom’s knuckles and thereby causing a pleasant shiver to run down his spine.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He sighed, then stayed quiet for a moment. “I wonder, where does HE lay in your metaphorical map of multitudes?”

Echo sighed softly, tightening her hold on his hand a little, which yet again caused a wave of inappropriate pride in Tom’s emotional well. “Can’t you just let him be? He’s really not worth your thought.”

“I’m afraid I cannot.” He replied quietly, looking down to the small pebbles on the path they were following. Maybe the well of his emotions was an ocean indeed. “I’m sorry.”

“What would you be sorry for?” She inquired with the same quiet voice, yet also with a passionate curiosity that might just drive Tom insane.

“For falling in love with you.” He replied honestly, easily, as if it was a natural thing to say. “Too soon, too quickly and definitely too intensely.” Maybe it was, with her.

“Are you sorry for loving me, really? Or sorry for yourself because you think you cannot have me?” She asked with a small smile, again brushing her thumb over his knuckles. This was a great question.

“I could never be sorry for loving you, Echo. There is no one who deserves it more, and nothing anyone could do to change that. But neither am I sorry for myself, not really.” He explained easily, minorly surprised by how easy it was to express to her what he felt, what he thought. “I’m sorry for putting you in a situation where you need to make a choice.”

“Don’t be sorry, Thomas.” Echo smiled at him softly for a moment, not saying anything more until they had crossed Piccadilly and made their way into Hyde Park.

“I believe I need to make something right.” She finally mused, looking at Tom almost apologetically. “Would you mind if we sat down for a moment?”

“Of course not.” He returned with a small smile, letting Echo lead him towards a bench close to the water. It was terribly cold, really, but he wouldn’t complain for a single second he got to spend with this enchanting creature.

“You asked where HE was situated in my map of multitudes… Would you really like to hear the entire story?” She asked as she sat down on the bench with her legs crossed beneath her, body facing Tom.

“If you are willing to tell me.” He replied quietly, with a half smile. “I have spent quite a few hours wondering what he has done to deserve your company, your love even, I must admit.”

Echo smiled to herself, almost flustered as she looked down to her lap for a moment and then back at Tom with a serious expression. “He never had my love. But I only see that now, unfortunately.”

Upon Tom’s frown, she continued. “Remember how I said people lock the door between my world, our world, and theirs? Well, it has always been like that for me. People never came in, never found interest in the world that was such a big part of me. And eventually I started standing in front of this door, waiting for someone to open it up, to let me peek into their world. I was so alone in mine, desperate for someone, anyone, to end my isolation. Then he came along and opened the door… and he was the first to not lock it right back up. He left it open for me to cross into his world, their world.”

“So you left your own world behind in an attempt to find happiness in his?”

“Yeah…” She sighed sadly. “I did, in the desperate hope to be loved. But I wasn’t. It was a trap; one I was stupid enough to run into with open arms. He didn’t leave the door open because of me, you know… He opened every fucking door he could find and waited for someone, anyone, as stupid as me to walk through it. It’s easy to fall in love with the idea of being loved. Even more so when no one has ever loved you before.”

“I’m sorry.” Tom replied quietly, well aware that he might just be the first person Echo ever told this to. “Why didn’t you leave once you realized that his world was harmful to you? That he didn’t love you?”

“I tried to get back into my own world a few times, but the door was always locked.” She shrugged, giving him a sad half smile that just broke Tom’s heart. “I spent years peaking through the keyhole and dreaming of returning one day… Until you came along, opening the door and holding it open for me.”

“I’m very glad I did.” He smiled back adoringly, letting Echo take his hand once more with a small leap of his heart. “Are you back in your world now?”

“In our world. Yeah.” She grinned, so full of happiness that it made Tom feel happy in return.

“What about the door? And about him?”

“Gone for good. Since the day I met you. A shadow on the wall that will fade with time. I’m sorry, I really should have told you before.”

“Don’t be sorry, Echo.” He mirrored her words from before. “Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had hurt anyone.” She shrugged, gently playing with his fingers on her knee. “Or like you had done something 'bad’… I needed you to hear the metaphor before hearing that I left him.”

“Because you don’t want me to know that it’s my fault?”

“It is not your fault, Tom.” She frowned at him, her gaze bearing an intensity that reached the depth of his being. “You showed me that I’m not alone in my world, and that our world’s love burns so much brighter than theirs. And that I don’t have to be loved despite the way I am, but need to be loved for the way I am. It’s not a fault that you saved me.”

“And you got all of that out of one conversation?” He asked with a small smile, positively overwhelmed by the new perspective. Instinctively he pulled her a little closer, holding tightly onto her without any intention to ever let go again. Echo, to him, was the peak of what it meant to be truly alive. And oh, they would be SO alive together…

“You fell in love with me over one conversation.” She smirked, her face so close to his that he felt the gentle heat of her skin on his own. “Can’t I do the same?”

“Fall in love with me, or yourself?” Tom smiled, chilled lips almost touching Echo’s.

“Exactly.”

______________________________

Tags:

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If you would like to be added to my general tag list, tell me in the comments 😊💗✨ I hope you guys enjoyed this story! It’s really meaningful to me, and definitely something else for once! I would be so happy to hear your thoughts 💚💚💚

[swissmissficrecs]

Best Fics of 2018

Once again, this was a bumper year for fan fiction in the Sherlock BBC fandom*, with a few very long-anticipated fics coming to completion alongside some recent smash hits from established authors and even a couple of newer and lesser-known writers hitting it out of the ballpark. My picks are all, unsurprisingly, long, plotty, angsty Johnlock fics, featuring in particular post-series 4 fixits and Parentlock along with AU's, especially other professions and fusions/crossovers. What they all have in common though, is being of absolutely stellar quality not just in the technical aspects of the writing, but also the handling of themes, the character work, and the emotional impact. Any one of these could be a published book, and perhaps in the near future, some actually will be!

* (I also snuck in one ACD series because it’s my list and I can.)

My caveat as always: this list is obviously skewed toward my own personal preferences and reading habits. There are plenty of other fics that I loved, and even more that I simply didn’t get around to reading (yet), so it’s not a judgment if your favorite (or one you wrote) isn’t on here. Think of this as a sampling rather than a definitive list. I hope this will help you to re-acquaint yourself with fics you loved, give a chance to others you may have skipped the first time round, and possibly discover something entirely new and astonishing.

So here they are, in descending order of length:

The Men Who Talked Between the Words (439746 words) by Odamaki Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade Summary: John expected to be a father some day; he expected to have the house, and the wife and the nice suburban job. Sherlock never expected to have children, in part because he never expected to make it past 30. As it turns out, you don't get a choice. Crammed into Baker Street with a baby, John struggles with single-parenthood and his own fears, while Sherlock treads the fine line between doing too little and saying too much.

Gravity (English Version) (282983 words) by kirin_calls Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Greg Lestrade/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, John Watson/Victor Trevor Summary: Part 1: When John takes up mixed martial arts training, he doesn't expect it to lead to a new relationship. But there are darker things afoot at the gym, and John is soon drawn in deeper than he wants. When an old flame from Sherlock's past turns up, it's time for everyone to declare their loyalties... and for John to finally discover where his heart truly belongs. / Part 2: John is struggling with his loss. Plagued by nightmares, his life gone topsy-turvy, he is no longer able to lead a normal existence. As he seeks out some stability, some way to slowly pull himself up out of the morass of his grief, old rivals become friends and details about Sherlock's past come to light, leading John to discover something strange that won't let him go.

Radioactive Trees In A Red Forest (280332 words) by Maribor_Petrichor Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John Watson is what happens when a man can no longer see a reason to go on. John Watson is what happens when a man starts to let go. "It is what it is." John Watson is what happens when what "it is" becomes too much to bear. This is a story of the life, death, and resurrection of John Hamish Watson.

The Bluest of Blue (196473 words) by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade Summary: John Watson's 10th season as a Denali National Park Ranger was shaping up to look like all the years before. Until a special team from Europe was flown into the Park for a summer-long wolf-tracking research project, and the head of that research team was wearing a perfectly tailored suit.

Scar Tissue (192179 words) by J_Baillier, 7PercentSolution Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John has scarcely recovered from his Afghanistan tour when Sherlock is injured at work, putting their already strained relationship to the test.

A Game of Hearts (162553 words) by zmethos Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/OMC Summary: Seven stories written circa 2010, after the first series/season of Sherlock but before Season 2. Therefore, none of these stories reflect anything from Season 2 onward! Think of it as an alternate timeline or something. Slow build of a relationship between Sherlock and John. Gets quite dark in places. [Note: This is an AO3 repost of a fic from fanfiction.net.]

Drift Compatible (130546 words) by J_Baillier Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: A washed out war hero struggling with his past. A prodigy who wants nothing to do with his family legacy. Both are looking for something—and someone—worth fighting for in a world where human civilisation is constantly under threat.

The Burning Heart (119461 words) by May_Shepard Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/Original Male Character(s) Summary: When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

Maintenance and Repair (106650 words) by patternofdefiance Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/OFC Summary: John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say: Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain.

The Wedding Garments (105390 words) by cwb Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

Kintsukuroi (91822 words) by sussexbound Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

Missing Pages (78852 words) by PlaidAdder Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/Violet Hunter Summary: This is a group of interlinked short stories (most between 2000 and 7000 words) which tell the story of how Holmes and Watson really came to be separated at the Reichenbach Falls, and how they found each other again. Each story is in the form of a document--a letter, a journal, a surveillance report, an affidavit, etc.--which is linked to one or more ACD canon tales, and which tells us something about that story that was changed or suppressed in Watson's published account of it. Holmes/Watson, with glimpses of other relationships.

Summit Fever (78782 words) by J_Baillier Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, James Sholto/John Watson, James Sholto/OFC Summary: After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute? 

The Vapor Variant (72684 words) by 88thParallel Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade Summary: Little did Sherlock know that the vapor to which he exposed John was a bioweapon— containing a bioengineered hybrid virus. Now, John is fighting for his life in the early stages of encephalitis, and it’s down to Sherlock and a team of scientists to save him, if they can only find him first. Sherlock needs to keep fear and guilt from getting the better of him if he’s to salvage his relationship with John—and that’s assuming the love of his life even survives….

Roommates are for little people (69055 words) by alexxphoenix42 Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John was looking forward to seeing his friends back at uni, but a new year brings new complications, not the least of which is a dorm room with only one bed, and a stroppy roommate with an utterly spectacular arse. God, John doesn't need the headache.

Masters of Ink (67482 words) by Indybaggins Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John has a triple-coiled tattoo machine in his hand and a row of inks at the ready. He has gloves on, a willing client in front of him, and a detailed stencil. He is ready to win this bloody competition. Except he’s competing against Sherlock Holmes... First-meeting-on-a-reality-show AU, Ink Master edition! There is expert tattooing, slightly less expert flirting, and two men falling hard. But John is married, and they can’t all win.

floating through a dark blue sky (58872 words) by Lediona Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. *** Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day. [Notting Hill fusion]

The Wolf (55817 words) by Laur Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Sherlock gets it wrong. Days, months, even years in the future, Sherlock’s oversight during the Baskerville case will continue to torment him, but nothing about that night will ever be as painfully vivid as the memory of John’s screams. This is how it begins.

Christmas Time After Time (41473 words) by PlaidAdder Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Clara/Harry Watson Summary: John's not really big on Christmas; and this year, the first after Mary's death, he's not feeling it. Everyone's away, Sherlock's on a case--alone--and Rosie's asleep. But that's all right. He's fine. He'll just have a quiet Christmas Eve by himself, drinking in front of the telly. Only out there in time and space, there's another Doctor who thinks that sounds like the saddest thing ever. And she's going to do something about it. Thirteen takes John on a whirlwind tour of Christmases past and future. The more he learns about this time travel thing, the more John starts to wonder: how did his current timeline become...what it is? And might these alternatives hold the key to a less miserable present, and maybe a brighter future?

Whiteout (37041 words) by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: A documentary crew follows the Matterhorn aerial rescue team from Air Zermatt, profiling the mechanics, pilots, and paramedics as they save patients on the infamous mountain. Their camera may catch more than they're looking for, however, when it comes to a certain paramedic named John Watson. . .

The Winter Garden (31211 words) by Callie4180 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical.

A Home for Us (30583 words) by sussexbound Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Another Auld Lang Syne (30234 words) by DiscordantWords Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: There had been years of missed chances.

A Singular Friendship (28679 words) by agirlsname Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Sherlock is closer to John than anyone has ever been. It's almost like a relationship - but John isn't gay, so it's clearly not. Not even when they hold hands and hug every day, not even when they sleep in the same bed, not even when they cuddle every morning...

Stradivarius (20298 words) by Berty Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Life goes back to what passes for normal at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock's back and his scars have faded. John's still a confirmed bachelor and his nightmares have mostly ceased. So why are there awkward pauses and uncertain glances? Why are they both on their best behaviour? It's been a long, cold winter in London and there's more to come before spring arrives.

One Good Scare (17381 words) by blueink3 Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Mummy invites Sherlock, John, and Rosie to the country for her birthday, which just so happens to coincide with the annual Harvest Festival, an event Sherlock loathes. With John seemingly making the wrong move at every turn and with ghosts hiding in each of their closets, what will it take for their (Halloween) masks to finally come off?

Oh, my friends, it's been a long hard year (11914 words) by splix Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mr. Chatterjee/Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Holmes' Father/Mummy (Sherlock) Summary: Christmas is rubbish this year.

[sztefa001]

Ok so I hate horrors 'cuz they terrify me but you know what would be cool and fucked up and how to kinda keep both versions (LL kills the crew and the crew kills LL)?

Imagine this (get some popcorn 'cuz it got longer than intended):

There was this ship, "Primus' Light" that got lost at some point with the whole crew. It was a mystery why and how the ship disappeared. There was an S.O.S. signal but when someone came to help there ship was not there anymore, just as if the crew called for help but then suddenly decided to run away from whoever came to offer the help they asked for.

Lots of time passed and they never managed to find the ship or even determine what happened to it. If you looked through the case files you'd see there were some linked cases of possible sightnings on some radars or recieving some damaged messages but it all always led to dead ends and was never even confirmed if it was from that ship.

It's dissapearence remained a mystery and the ship got nicknamed Lost Light.

Then finally they found it. Probably by accident. Drifting through space with no power, much like a ghost ship. All the crew found aboard was either dead or missing. Some frames were incomplete. How they died was another mystery.

But eventually after an (inconclusive) investigation the case got closed and the ship got cleaned up, fixed, powered up and back to service.

And that's when Roddy and the crew got it and boarded it to go on their way. Some of them joke about the ship being probably haunted by the ghosts of the previous crewmates just to try and scare others for fun.

At some point during their yourney strange things start happening but the crew always blames it on either generic malfunctions, bad weather or those wanting to have some fun pulling pranks on the rest because hee hoo haunted mystery ship so funny.

Little do they know, the Lost Light is slowly waking up but somehow unable to wake up fully, being only partially aware and held back by sth. And whenever some doors get stuck or light flickers or some weird sounds are heard it's usually their doing rather than the bored crewmates who wanted to mess with others. Tho the pattern is too random (due to LL's patchy awareness and other difficulties) to determine anything for sure and clear all the blame from the crewmates/malfunctions/weather.

Then someone finds some clues that the investigation for some reason didn't find. Maybe someone's badge that was stuck somewhere and fell on the floor during some turbulences? And turns out that it doesn't belong to any of the present crew. It's design suggests it belonged to someone from the previous one.

And maybe someone finds some partially glitched out map in some lost files. Ofc they do have a map of the ship but they notice some differences. Turns out that the plan/manual was corrupted so the engineeres uploaded one from another ship that's the same model, not knowing that Primus' Light was an exception to this model as it was built with some extras like hidden rooms/comparments. Unfortuanately due to the corrupted file the entrances to those places are near impossible to find, especially after the renovations.

But some part of the glitchy programming gets fixed and LL becomes more aware and more operational. LL totally secretly helped the crew find this little bit as they acc need it to wake up fully. And as this helps them to wake up more weird things start happening.

Someone says they found sth but before they can report the thing some accident happens and said crewmate is found unconscious. Some item, not yet confirmed to be a clue, dissapears and crewmates argue who lost it. Venturing into some of the deeper parts of the ship causes "man, my mind is really playing tricks on me haha yeah I should get back" kind of nausea. Y'know, the general "someone doesn't want some things to get found."

In each case the cameras are either turned off in a given corridor/room or glitched out at the given moment or just don't show anything suspicious at all. Which is in itself sus as fuck.

As the time goes on it becomes more and more apparent that the things that are happening are NOT normal but even so Roddy does his best to logically explain things because he wants to seem competent and keep the more paranoid crewmates from panicking. He is not ignorant tho, he only plays dumb while trying to solve the mystery on his own.

(Now that I think about it, it all would make a cool game where if you play perfectly you manage to save everyone.)

Some crewmates believe the ship is haunted, some don't and are oblivious or make fun of it, some do but pretend they don't as to not spread the panic or convince themselves that it's all explainable. In this part it's sort of a chess game between the crewmates connecting the dots and LL trying to prevent them from it (they love waching this show happening within them, it's such a fun game!). Roddy pretends he's not believing the supernatural and that he reads up the reports about the weird things just for fun and to disprove them.

"Oooh, yeah, the ghost of a dead crewmate stole the thing~! C'mon, even I got bored with that, it stopped being funny by now. What? The glitching cameras? Yeah, the repair crew did a lously job but other than that it's still a great ship! I told you before how cool this model is, it's not this baby's fault the previous crew and then the repair crew did 'em dirty and didn't care for it as they should!"

But internally he IS playing this chess too. Very into in in fact. Knowing the walls may have optics and audials he's very sneaky about it. Downloads all the data on one datapad just to leave it on sight and only sometimes half-heartedly scroll through it, as if out of boredom. But in fact he has it downloaded elswhere too. And in big secret he reads the reports, fixes the map/manual bit by bit and analyses all the other data trying to connect the dots.

Eventually the action quickens up the pace, sth happens, LL admits to being sentient and says they're being held hostage by whatever virus the previous captain corrupted them with. Yep, LL plays the victim and says they are, in fact, haunted in some way. It's all conveyed in bits and pieces of confusing clues they leave for the crew like breadcrumbs as they pretend to be weaker than they really are. Just to lead the crew to fix just the right parts that need to be fixed to let LL regain the full controll over everything but without the crew finding out the truth.

Heck, there are still some dead frames of the missing previous crewmates hidden in some secret places so LL can ttly use them (AI puppeteering maybe?) to scare the crew with the zombies and convince them to their version of the past events.

Thing is that the "corrupting virus uploaded by the evil captain" is actually a warning message. Last thing the previous captain did was to upload it to LL's system to prevent the next crew from being trapped.

The turning point is someone discovering the dead frame of the previous captain and finding the whole message. The last letter in which the captain says what happened. That LL is hella posessive and is about to kill them all just to keep them on board. They sent an S.O.S signal but LL sabotaged it. Later they managed to damage the ship trying to take control over them but some of the crew died. The crew and LL were destroying one another till only LL and the captain were left. The captain managed to partially turn off the ship and secure it as best as he could before getting killed. LL managed to hide his frame and partially corrupt the uploaded warning before their systems shut down and they fell into stasis.

Now it's all race against the time. LL aims for regaining the full control, those who know the truth fight for their lives and try to pass on the knowledge, others are already being held hostage (probably in the same place where missing dead frames ofsome previous crewmates are hidden), Roddy keeps playing dumb as in "yea sure I believe you, dw, I'll do anything to get rid of that virus, you're the coolest ship ever and I'll never leave you!"

Those who try to disable LL think Roddy cannot be trusted as to him LL is apparently just a poor little meow meow and a victim of circumstances and not a mastermind of all this.

But eventually as the final battle happens turns out that while Rodimus didn't have the whole picture he still was prepared for action in case LL was really the villain. Some thought that Roddy fell for the bullshit but in fact he always had his crew's back so when the time came he didn't hesitate to choose his crew over the cool but troubled ship and ultimately backstab LL.

It was hard as part of him wished for LL to be telling the truth. Some part of him really liked LL basing on some more peaceful interactions. He couldn't help but believe that they really were a victim. One that went insane from neglect. Who wouldn't go crazy after millennia of being used as just transportation and having their mental needs left unattended? Surely the previous crew was not malicious but how hard it is to overlook something? The story of being mistreated must've been at least partially true.

As the Lost Light's frame starts graying they still try to kill at least the captain. The one who betrayed them. The one whom they believed even if they should know better and be prepared. But no, they wanted to believe they have a friend that will willingly stay.

They're too weak but they still try to kill him.

"No...! I will not let you leave...! You will not... leave me... alone...!"

They try to squish him with their limply falling servo. He'd easily get hit if he tried to escape but he gets closer instead.

"No, I will not leave." he calmly confirms standing in front of dimming optics, putting his servo on the cracked red visor.

"You will leave first. And I'll stay here till the end."

There's only some glitchy, maybe panicked, static in response.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you..." Roddy says as the last glow dies out in the giant optics.

___

Soon backup comes and gives the crew a lift back to Cybertron and LL gets disassembled. The old case finally gets it's closure. If we go with all it being a game then this is the best ending.

Another similar one is where Rodimus tells LL off and calls them out on all the bullshit they did and saying how horrible they are, which causes them to die in painful glitches.

There's also a whole series of bad endings where some or all the crew dies or endings told from the perspective of those who managed to escape somehow but it's way too late for me to dwell into that (2.30am on a Monday morning lol don't tell mom ^.^")

🌻Something random about the sentient lost light?

Shattered Glass Lost Light would be FREAKY. An antagonistic force to even the crew themselves. Despite them theoretically being on the “same side,” the Lost Light is still neutral, and cares more about what they themself want instead of what everyone else wants, like their good counterpart.

SG!LL would be very, very possessive over the crew, trapping everyone within their walls and forbidding anyone from leaving. If someone manages to break out by shattering a window or blowing a hole through the reinforced metal, they will transform into their root mode and grab them (which is inescapable due to their sheer size), before throwing them back into their body and sealing the exit off. Why would anyone want to leave? They all made a choice in boarding them. They wanted to be with them, and now the Lost Light will make sure it stays that way. And they’ve been so, so lonely… it’s been so long since anyone had been their company, they were practically wasting away! And now, with a whole community aboard them, they don’t ever want to go back to being a dead ship adrift through the darkness of space.

And poor Rodimus… if there’s anyone the Lost Light is hellbent on keeping, it’s him. The captain. The one who runs the little circus inside them, who keeps them entertained and happy while they travel. They’d be fine if the rest of the crew left them, if Rodimus stayed. Yes, without him, their spark would feel a little bit emptier.

Unlike the normal universe LL, who would reveal themself to the captain and be an invisible helper throughout their journey, the SG!LL wouldn’t reveal themself until a certain point in the story (think Flying Mind from TFP), after the crew had been free to leave on many occasions. Suddenly, there’d be no way to exit, and a voice would reveal itself to everyone—not just the captain. “All of you have left me too many times, I’m afraid. I simply cannot let that happen anymore.”

They’d be more of a boss to overcome. The only way to end their possessive reign would be to permanently convert them into a lifeless ship. And while the LL would do anything in their power to prevent that from happening, Rodimus and the crew eventually find a way, shutting their systems down for good.

Meanwhile, I like to think the duplicate SG! Lost Light would’ve killed everyone in a fit of rage. After their shelter, their protection was resisted for so long, they would’ve come to the ultimatum that if they can’t keep the crew, then no one can. And now everyone is dead… good. They’re at peace within them, and will never leave. Just how it should be.

The DJD receive a distress beacon in the midst of it all, and when they arrive, they’re greeted with a horrifying sight…

[arthurian]

can you do a newtmas fic where it's thomas and minho talking and minho asks thomas what he thinks would have happened if newt lived, and you can take it from there?

wowowoWOW I just want you to know this concept hurt me and I love it.

The Darkness of Ephemeral Things

Characters: Thomas & Minho - with lots of Newtmas refs ofcWords: 2,255Read this on AO3. If you have ideas in mind for something you’d like to see written, my requests are currently open!

He was somewhere around nineteen years old, if he looked his age, and Thomas had already discovered that knowledge could be a very damning thing. The safe haven was beautiful, if you didn't know what it had cost them to get there. Thomas often wondered if he would enjoy the softly swaying cat tails, the air that tasted ever so slightly of salt, and the sun that kissed your skin just enough to warm but not burn you, if he didn’t know the damage inflicted on the rest of the world.

If he didn’t know the names of so many people who weren’t alive to see it.

Some months had passed since the fall of the world he knew. Since Denver had ceased to be the sanctuary the world wanted it to be. Since he’d lost his one of his best friends and the person he loved. And Thomas still felt the ache.

The ache that told his brain there was something missing from his body. The ache that made his bones feel brittle and cold. The ache of a body that should have been next to his but wasn’t, and would never be again.

It was the ache that often sent him away from the bonfires of his companions, and had Thomas creeping towards the hills surrounding their little corner of the world, where he could watch over his friends in quiet solitude. Most days, no one questioned it when he quietly rose from dinner and slunk away. Sometimes, Minho or Aris would try to stop him with a sad smile or a wave to join them, but Thomas rarely let that stop him.

Sometimes that ache demanded space from the rest of the world. Sometimes that ache wouldn’t let him breathe until he’d shed a few silent tears, alone in the dark.

Tonight, the tears would not come. Thomas had been waiting for what felt like hours, watching as fires died out and people returned to their tents and sheds or whatever they’d built to house them, and claimed sleep for the night. The stars were bright here. Tiny beacons to keep the blackness of night at bay. Sometimes they comforted him. Sometimes Thomas hated them for staying the same when everything else had fallen apart.

He did not startle when Minho sat himself in the sand beside him, staring down at the last remaining fire and the few kids left laughing around it. Sometimes Minho felt the ache too, and he would join Thomas in his silent watch, but never for long. Minho’s ache seemed to subside once he understood that Thomas was still breathing. Thomas was glad he could offer his friend that small solace, even if it wasn’t an intentional act.

They sat together for a few quiet moments before Minho broached the silent, his tone strong but contemplative. “You come up here more than you used to.”

Thomas considered lying for a moment, but settled on the truth. It was Minho, after all. If anyone deserved the truth from Thomas, it was him. “I don’t always feel right. Being down there with the rest of them.”

“You belong down there more than anyone else.” Minho told him, and though his head stayed pointed towards their encampment, Thomas thought he saw Minho flick him a concerned glance. “You’re the reason we’re all here, Thomas. Everyone looks up to you. That’s your place; your home. After everything we’ve been through, that’s one of the only things that should feel right to you.”

“They’re all just - so happy.”

Minho seemed to pause in shock at that. He pressed at Thomas almost tentatively. “And you’re not?”

This was the conversation Thomas always hoped to avoid. Because how was he supposed to explain to people that were happy that he couldn’t even find the strength to want to take a deep breath? That sometimes he could feel himself suffocating on the weight of all he’d lost, and he simply didn’t care? That sometimes he went to bed, and hoped he wouldn’t wake up, if only so he’d be reunited with the faces that haunted his dreams.

But Thomas kept his suffering quiet, the way he always had. Even when he ached for someone to move in close, to press their shoulder against his in comfort, to tell him it was okay to want things you couldn’t have. Thomas would always let himself sink into oblivion rather than risk someone drowning with him.

He settled on the least painful version of the truth. “I can’t just forget what happened before we got here, Minho. Not the way everyone else seems to.”

Minho let out a noise of startled disgust. “You’re one stupid shank if you think any of us have forgotten what had to happen to get us here. Everyone down there has demons. But we’re alive. And we’re allowed to be happy about that. So are you.” Minho’s voice softened. “One day it won’t hurt so much.”

Thomas didn’t know if he believed that. How could pain like this ever go away? Did you ever really know if you’d be okay again? Did you ever really come back from the kind of loss that made you wish you could forget how to breathe?

And Thomas thought maybe he was a little more broken than he was capable of healing, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that. So instead of thanking his friend for his consolation, he offered him another small truth.

“I’m not sure I can bear losing anyone else. If I let myself get close to them, and something happens - I’m just not sure I can bear it.”

Minho looked at him sadly then. So sadly that if Thomas hadn’t already been broken he would have shattered all over again.

“We can’t all be together forever, Thomas,” Minho said, though not unkindly. “You know that.”

And Thomas did. Better than anyone.

There was the truth that terrified Thomas the most: they were all human, ephemeral things. They would all break. They would all fall. They would all die. And there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t be one of the last to go, forced to watch as the rest fell away into the other memories that haunted him.

And that was the darkness of ephemeral things - they were a light in the deepest black, until they weren’t. But even after, you remembered what that light looked like, and you couldn’t help wondering what could have been if it had stayed.

Their silence fell like a blanket of steel around their shoulders. Thomas was sure Minho could feel the weight of it; the cold press of despair that was creeping from Thomas’ body and tainting the air. He wanted Minho to leave - to take his happiness and hold it as close and he could possibly keep it, and let Thomas sink alone.

Minho didn’t leave. He’d never fled when things grew alarming or tense or frightening; not since that first day in the Maze when he’d left Thomas to save Alby and face the Grievers alone. Thomas had the feeling Minho was still trying to make up for that small moment of cowardice, despite Thomas having forgiven him long ago.

“Do you ever think about it?”

Minho’s question startled him, mostly because it was seemingly out of nowhere and Thomas had no idea what he meant. “Think about what?”

“What would have happened, how you would feel, if Newt hadn’t died.”

A Griever crash landed in the narrows tunnels of Thomas’ heart. The pain he’d been shoving down, already unbearable, forced itself to the surface with renewed vigor and an even more acidic weight. The tears came, and he couldn’t stop them and wasn’t sure if he should even try. Because every beat of his heart was too fast too hard, and he could feel it in his head in his toes behind his eyes and he can’t breathe fast enough to lie.

“Every day.”

The words rushed out of him along with a choked sob. Of course he’d thought about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thomas had analyzed every decision and every step and every aching breath he’d taken with Newt at his side, and thought of all the things he’d have done differently in hopes of changing the other boy’s fate.

If Newt had lived, if Newt had lived… Thomas would be in heaven. He’d be living in a dream, somewhere on a cloud that never settled itself on the ground. He’d be perfect he’d be whole he’d be healed.

And what a selfish thought it was, to wish that Newt were here and alive and that he were the one sitting next to Thomas instead. To wish that he’d say, Bloody hell Tommy, stop being ridiculous! We’re alive. We ought to be celebrating! And Thomas would believe it, the way he believed so many things, simply because Newt told him too.

If Newt had lived, maybe Thomas wouldn’t be harboring a secret in his heart that felt like it was tainted with a Griever’s sting, sending him through the Changing again and again and again, bringing back the most terrible memories of his life. Memories that haunted him. Memories of the fight to survive. Memories that were also the best of his life.

Because Newt was in them. There at Thomas’ side. Where he belonged.

Thomas had left his body in that crank place. He’d run for what he’d done and not looked back. He hadn’t said goodbye he hadn’t said he was sorry he hadn’t said I love you.

And it was love. Not loved. Always love because that would never be past tense. Not with Newt. Never with Newt.

And sobs were shaking him in earnest even though he hadn’t spoken, and Minho pressed his shoulder against Thomas’ in silent comfort but said nothing until Thomas wasn’t so ragged and tortured and frayed at the edges.

“I miss him, too,” Minho finally said, and there was a thickness in his voice that made Thomas realized his friend had been crying too. “I know it’s not the same, but I miss him, too.”

“Not the same?” Thomas queried, perplexed.

Minho flashed him a pitying look, with a half smile. “Newt was one of my best friends. We both know he was more than that to you.”

“I - What - How did you -” Thomas stammered, but he couldn’t form the words.

“It’s okay.” Minho said simply, looking away and nudging Thomas with his shoulder again. “We all knew. Even in the Maze. Even when Teresa and Brenda were around. It was just the way you two were magnetized together. Like you couldn’t stand to be apart. Like you weren’t supposed to be.

“Newt… He wasn’t okay in the Maze. I know you know that; that he told you how he got his limp. Even after his leg healed, he was still haunted and scared. Until you. From the day you stepped out of that box, you brought a little life back into him. I guess I just didn’t realize how much life he put back into you.”

Thomas’ muscles quivered with the strength of forcing back his sobs. He wanted to cry until he could never cry again. He wanted to go to sleep and dream of the boy with the strange accent and the chocolate brown eyes and the golden hair Thomas wished he could run his fingers through. He wanted to break and plead and offer himself up in exchange for the one person he would do anything to bring back.

But he couldn’t bring Newt back. Nothing he did would ever bring him back.

“I don’t know how to do this without him, Minho. I don’t think I want to do this without him.”

“So don’t.”

Thomas’ head reeled, but he couldn’t piece together in his brain. “What do you mean?”

Minho answered so simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, “Just because someone dies, it doesn’t mean they leave you. Newt can be with you every step of the way if you want him to be.”

And with that, he stood up and left Thomas with his reeling thoughts, as if he understood that Thomas needed to come to understand what that might mean on his own.

People were ephemeral. They burned brightly, for a few brief moments, and then they faded away. But maybe Thomas was wrong. And maybe Newt wasn’t ephemeral.

Maybe Newt was eternal.

He had lived and he had died, but Thomas would never let him truly die. Not if he looked at things the right way. Newt was alive in every breath Minho took, in every laugh the survivors shared, in every moment Thomas found the strength to smile. His body was gone, and would continue to be gone, no matter how deeply Thomas wished the opposite, but his spirit - Newt’s spirit lived on in each and every one of them.

He had left them. He had joined them. A piece of his essence, of his strength and composure and resolve and love, a piece of his soul, a piece of his sacrifice, was now grafted to each of their hearts like armor.

With a heaving breath, and a few more careful tears, Thomas found the spot on his heart where’d he’d placed the one love he would never let go of, offered it a thanks for never leaving him, and rose to his feet to go and join his friends.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Ask the Author

I was tagged by @78669! Thank you! ok!

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

A third installment for Un/Hurt - I have a pretty good idea what it would be about, but I started about five times and I was never. quite. happy. I feel a bit guilty because I hinted at a third one. I think the longest version I’ve written about it is about 2k words so. not much.

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

Aaah. aaaaaaaah. That one. Snow White.

ok. So if I ever critise other writers - professionals or friends or anyone ever - I do so in the full knowledge that I gave life to a monstrosity.

Okay, let me talk about Snow White (a title that - in retroperspective, also describes the main-cast pretty well)

One story I started writing in 9th grade. 

It basically ticked all the edgy-teen stereotypes. Little village: check. Edgy teen protagonist who’s Not Like The Other Girls: Check. Dumb parents who JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND: Check. Lots of casual drug use and alcohol: check. 

I guess the only strong point was that she didn’t have a love interest (because she was Too Smart for anything but casual sex with her best friend). Oh and her neighbour was a murderous, torturous rape-y cult member and if I had finished the thing she would have killed him and gotten arrested for it and stayed quiet about her (pretty valid) reasons for killing him because in prison she would be away from her parents who I don’t think ever did much wrong except tell her that she’s got issues. Oh I think one of her teachers was a spy or something. Also there was a lot of references to Japanese stuff in there because again. I was in 9th grade and I loved to plaster Kanji on things. (Although now that I looked at the document again, WHICH I DID, I ACTUALLY OPENED THE KURSÉD DOKUMENT FOR YOU) the Kanji chapter titles are gone. So I came to my senses about that one.

So far you’re going to say: Wow so you wrote an annnoying, slightly problematic story when you were That Age we all did, big deal. That doesn’t make it a monstrosity.

Well.

The thing is -

The whole story might even have had potential if I had thrown out some of the bullshit and given the main-character some sort of personality, but unfortunately it’s also basically almost unreadable. Like. At that point of my writing, every tip I ever gotten from teachers and advice books was: “Take your time, don’t rush! Describe!” Because that’s young writers tend to do - rush - but unfortunately they didn’t expect Josie’s dumb ass, who quickly concluded: 

The Longer The Story - The Better!

and that was the downfall of the entire story. Because bitch, I can talk for ages without saying anything and the result was:

464 pages of Word Document,

Times New Roman 12pt, smallest possible spacing. 257k words. And it wasn’t nearly finished. There hadn’t even happened much.

Just to give you a sense of how unreadable it is. I’ll allow you (if you speak German) a peak at my greatest shame. Or at least the opening.

What 9th grade me wanted to say: “It was warm outside.” What 9th grade me actually wrote, because she’d been told not to rush and to describe:

The entire scene is just about Protagonist and Friends being angst-y in the garden. Literally nothing plot-relevant happens (like in most scenes). Aaaah. 

Just to make you realise the extent of this catastrophe, I randomly just scrolled for a while and then here we are at page 264.

What 9th grade me wanted to stay: “Main Character is lying on her bed. She’s looking at the ceiling. Probably looking for a personality.”

What 9th grade actually wrote:

(Did I mention that this goes on for almost 300k words? Like. These days I’m proud when I write 20k words. Ninth Grade me, where did you find this much energy and why was this what you invested it on??? this giant chunk of text with no content - like yeah there’s characters and stuff happening but it’s mostly just...endless mind-numbing descriptions of things happening in metaphor) 

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

Usually chronologically, but ever so often I jump ahead to a scene that I really look forward to writing. The problem is that sometimes when I get there, something changed inbetween - because I’m a bit too spontanous and I love details - and then usually I have to re-write it anyway.

4) favorite character you’ve written

Usually the current one. And at the moment I’d probably answer the story from my latest original work - because they’re pretty fun and feral and also pretty simple. But with some distance this Victorian Demon Detective who gets hired by the murder-victims to avenge them was pretty fun. Was a giant dick. I enjoyed the entire 20 pages I wrote with him in them, before my attention wavered and I moved on.

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

I’m pretty much suprised every time I write a nice, likeable character.

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

I wish I’d ever really bothered to learn how to right good transitions. Mostly it’s just: Scene SMACK Next Scene SMACK Another Scene. Also I wish I could describe the passing of time more naturally.

7) when asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

I don’t talk about it with strangers much. Except you people on tumblr.com. Depends on how it’s going. When I got a project I’m excited about and it’s going well, I’ll talk about it. If it’s not going well, I will pretend I haven’t ever written aything.

8) favorite genre to write

I don’t really have one. Although I don’t do Romance much and Crime/Thriller isn’t my cup of tea either. Mostly I beat the trope: Unlikely partners forced to work together - to death. 

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

Buy notebooks and scribble into them.

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

I usually have music on - I got a Spotify playlist for my current story and listen to it on Shuffle - but I can write anywhere, university - even on the underground I type on my phone (when I’m in the mood). In school I got called out for writing in the lessons so often I learnt to write Kurrentschrift so that the teacher wouldn’t be able to tell what I’m doing lol.

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

I feel like I used to be better at some point in the past, actually. But mostly the characters?

12) your weaknesses as an author

I can never really stick to an outline, so I will go into one direction with the plot and then I’ll have another idea and I sometimes worry there isn’t enough of a red thread.

13) your strengths as an author

Hmm...I can throw a lot of problems at my characters at an astonishingly efficient rate?

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

For the last one I did, as I said. It’s a very weird mixture of Viking music, Electro-Synth, Opera and pop-songs.

15) why did you start writing?

I just always did, I think?

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

Most of my major characters while I’m writing them, but it’s usually the current one. So at the moment it’s Nith, the main-character of my current story, because they deserve so much better and everyone fucks my magic child over and they just want to be accepted but at the same time the thought of living around actual...people terrifies them, because they’ve been considered cursed and were rejected for the biggest part of their life and now they’re kinda twisted and due really dubious shit so that they don’t have to be alone in their icy wasteland. Then they met a literal prince and they were forced to work together (because that trope is my jam) except Nith panicked and poisoned him so they’re in even deeper shit now. 

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

YOU CAN’T WRITE COLD CASE FANFICTION IF YOU NEVER WATCHED THE FUCKING SHOW AND DON’T EVEN KNOW THE CHARACTERS’ NAMES oh, ok you already did. And they go to Mars. ofc.*

(No, but serious advice: Don’t let anyone ever tell you it’s useless. As long as you enjoy yourself, just keep writing.)

*yep that’s a thing 11 year old me did. I liked the blond woman in the trailers on Kabel1 ok?

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

When I was about 18 we had Tauben im Gras in school and I got obsessed with writing like that. I got pages after pages just filled by me writing in that style. It’s like a dubstep remix of what my 9th grade self wrote, but I won a price for one of those so there’s that.

But usually, whatever I’m currently reading influences me. Like, not even because I want it to. For example I was once switching to and fro reading fanfiction and writing something of my own. But the fanfiction was in English and my writing in German and I first adopted the same tense, then the POV and suddenly my brain insisted I need to write this in English. fuck.

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

- I take a lot of notes in a document which are mostly written as me dragging and insulting my characters

- then I split it up into scenes and write down plot-points for every scene

- I also note what it does for the characters individual storyline.

- then I start writing and ignore all of that because the character saw a butterfly and it sparks an entire dialogue with another character and they decide not to save the princess at all but to start an ice-cream truck.

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

Little spurts are usually draft-versions of scenes. Long sessions happen when I’m really inspired. What works best for me is putting a bowl of snacks in front of me and having a chip or a peanut every 100 words and to keep writing until the bowl is empty (at that point, usually there’s a sunrise outside)

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

I don’t ever do that much. but since you made me look at The Cursed One, I was actually surprised that it was not quite 100% as horribly cringy as I made it out to be in my soul. I didn’t want to spoon my eyes out of my skull.

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

Not really. Nothing I would want to write in the first place.

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

not really obscure, no

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

At the moment a lot of norse mythology stuff

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

I’m never really proud of anything I write, but I’m kinda fond of the opening for one of my story-ideas, because I think it’s pretty efficient when it comes to world-building and setting the scene and explaining how the people in that place tick: