#my depression is coming back from the state of my relationships and disinterest in things

[ldss-interactive]

At Alter’s End: A CYOA Novel

Overview:

Trentworth, Maine. A town of ten thousand southeast of Ellsworth and North of Bayside. Its only bragging point since its conception in 1867 was being a shoreline city and cheaper than any of the other big tourist towns. Nothing ever happened here, besides the occasional drowning or fishing trip accident, until the killings started. They lasted five years in total and 48 people were lost to the killer’s sick desires. Robert Hall terrorized this small town, slipping under the radar by focusing on those considered “undesirable”; sex workers, orphans, drug addicts, and the like. Now ten years later, ten years after the killer has been put behind bars, murders have begun again. A copycat killer has come to Trentworth. And they seem to be targeting the ones left behind, still trying to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives…

You take the role of a highschool senior; your parents having died in a home fire shortly before the killer was put behind bars and now under the care of your workaholic aunt. Make allies of your classmates or attempt to go it alone, clear your parents’ name from their believed involvement with the killer or fight to put the past behind you, deal with the skeletons in your closet and mind or bury them deeper... Oh, and make sure your history project is turned in on time. With two young siblings depending on you and a whole host of problems a highschool student should never have to deal with, can you survive this nightmare made real?

Trigger Warnings: This game will go into very heavy topics including the following; murder, death, various mental health issues (such as PTSD, depression, and anxiety), abandonment, gambling, various types of drug addiction, self harm mentions (not happening to the MC or shown in graphic detail), suicide, sex work, child abuse (mental, emotional, and physical), and dangerous situations. This is a murder mystery/thriller, it is NOT intended for audiences below 18.

Hello! Thank you for showing interest in At Alter’s End. This is a Choose Your Own Adventure style novel in the Thriller and Murder Mystery genres. It would also fit nicely in the Drama genre as well, but Drama is not the focus. This will be a rather lengthy project, with fifteen chapters plus a prologue and epilogue planned.

You take on the role of a senior at Trentworth High. Join an after-school activity, take care of your younger siblings, prepare for finals, get a part time job, find a date to homecoming, and survive your worst nightmare come to life. The copycat killer is targeting the students of your school and no one is safe. With the police dragging their feet, no help coming any time soon from any higher up law enforcement, and the locals refusing to acknowledge the possibility of a copycat killer, it’s up to you and your classmates to find the person responsible...before it’s too late.

- You can play as female, male, nonbinary, or trans!

- You can be straight, gay, or bisexual!

- A highly customizable MC including hair color, eye color, skin color, hair length, height, and personality and interests!

- The ability to choose which mental illness the MC suffers from due to the trauma of their past from the following:

Anxiety, Depression, or PTSD.

- The MC is deaf in their right ear ear due to the way in which their parents died; this is not something that can be changed.

- Choose from 7 different official after-school activities! Trentworth Volunteers, Up and Coming Artists, National Debate Society, National Honors Society, Co-Ed Varsity Basketball, Creative Writing, and Trentworth Gardeners!

- Bond with your classmates, explore your town, and help raise your younger siblings!

- Rescue your parents’ bakery from corporate clutches or let it go!

- Find the killer, stop the murders, and put a stop to the rumors that have plagued your every step for 10 years!

Vanya: Oldest adoptive twin sibling to MC’s adoptive siblings, 6 years younger than MC. Strong-headed, intelligent, and always getting into trouble. She looks after her brother and MC in the ways she can.

Ajay: Youngest adoptive twin sibling to MC’s adoptive sibling, 6 years younger than MC. Nearly completely blind since birth, he enjoys painting and other artistic endeavors. Obedient yet opinionated.

Aunt Emma: The workaholic aunt that takes custody of MC and their younger siblings after the death of their parents. Well meaning but absent most of the time on business trips or at the office.

Kwan Hall: An adoptive relative to Robert Hall; aloof, intelligent, and completely ostracized by Trentworth as a whole. When the killings start again the town’s attention is immediately turned on Kwan. He’s the first to begin investigating the killings when the police prove their incompetence. He is of Korean descent, standing at 5’6” with dark hair and dark eyes. His most notable feature is the long scar that stretches from his forehead’s hairline, down his left temple, and ends just below his jawline and the constant disinterest on his face. He is asexual in that he doesn’t experience sexual attraction at all. He is also bisexual.

Alessia D’Agostina: Trentworth High’s school president. She’s clawed her way tooth and nail up to earn the respect of both the school faculty and her fellow classmates; she’s strong-willed, dependable, and always looks at things through a logical lens. When she sees her classmates dying, she takes it upon herself to try and stop this once and for all. With dark skin, deep brown eyes, long braided hair, and standing at 5’8” her confidence and sense of self always make sure she stands out from the crowd. Alessia is bisexual.

Georgiy Kuzmin: Twin brother to Anastasiya Kuzmin; he is, in the kindest way possible, not the brightest bulb in the box. Yet he always means well and is more than willing to offer a helping hand. As the co-captain of the basketball team, captain of the baseball team, and the star of the swim team, Georgiy is one of the most popular and well beloved students at Trentworth High. When he realizes his friends are in danger, he willingly throws himself into the investigation to do all he can to help. With fair skin, dirty blond hair, bubbly green eyes, and standing at 6’1” he cuts an approachable figure to anyone who knows him. Georgiy is gay.

Anastasiya Kuzmin: Twin sister to Georgiy Kuzmin: she and her brother are alike in so many ways apart from just appearance. Anastasiya, who goes by Ana more often than not, is head of the Co-Ed Varsity Basketball team, the Girls’ softball team, and the Tennis team. Just as popular and loved as her brother, Ana may not be the smartest but she makes up for it with passion and dedication. Like her brother, she has fairer skin, dirty blond hair, and bright green eyes. Also like her brother, she felt she couldn’t just sit around while her friends were put in danger and agreed to join the investigation. Ana is gay and demiromantic, meaning she only gains feelings for someone after having a strong relationship with them.

Lillian Triano: A quiet, withdrawn girl who mainly keeps to herself. Due to the fact that Trentworth High demands for every senior to be apart of an elective, she is mainly seen in afterschool reading club run by Ms. Habeeb. She’s MC’s closest friend, having been one of the only people who didn’t believe the rumors that MC’s parents were assisting Robert Hall in his murders. She has an olive complexion, brown eyes, a heavy dose of freckles, and stands at 5’1”. Lillian is gay.

Jasmine Abernathy: Jasmine is Trentworth High’s self proclaimed “Best news source!” After the school newspaper was disbanded, Jasmine took it upon herself to keep freedom of the press alive. She’s fierce in her pursuit of the truth and never one to back down from a fight, though her rash attitude can get her into some sticky situations on occasion. With vibrant red hair, dark brown eyes, and standing at 5’3” she puts the term “fire” in Fire Signs. (She’s an Aries in astrology!) When the copycat killings began, it was no surprise when she took the case head on. Jasmine is bisexual.

Asa San Nicholas: Asa is the oldest of a set of triplets; they’re the type to march to the beat of their own drum, often not listening to what anyone has to say about themselves or their interests. Asa is a firm believer in the paranormal and it isn’t uncommon to find them indulging in their interest in various ways. “The spirits are distrubed. These deaths aren’t meant to happen.” Asa’s reason for getting involved seems to tie directly back to their “connection” with the spirits of the town. Asa has black hair, most often tied in a ponytail, hazel eyes, and an olive skin tone. At 6’4” they tower over most everyone...something they seem to enjoy a great deal. Asa doesn’t see gender and is interested in people regardless of how they present.

Leo San Nicholas: The middle of the triplets. They are genderfluid, okay with any pronouns. Leo is, for lack of a better word, eccentric. A bit of an adrenaline junkie, you can often find them cliff diving or giving their siblings heart attacks by playing russian roulette with a chocolate gun. To them, it isn’t fun if there isn’t a little danger involved; naturally, an investigation into a serial killer scratches that itch quite nicely. Their black hair is clipped short, multiple piercings visible on each ear, and their heterochromatic hazel and green eyes are often stated to stare through a person. Although Leo is genderfluid, they are only interested in people who present as female.

The demo is upcoming! When it is available I will make a post announcing it! I will also update this post with the link! This game is written in choicescript; the demo will be published on Dashingdon and the final game will be published for free on itch.io. I am open for questions regarding this game/novel and once the demo is published I will also be publishing a link to my Ko-fi! Until then, please don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions!

[dubsxreader]

worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

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a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

[sokayisaidiot]

Dream SMP assumption #2

Today’s topic: What does Character Tommy have?

Please DO NOT read if you’re uncomfortable with the themes of death, depression and suicide. It’s a very complicated theme. I did NOT study it and do NOT know some aspects of it. I just go off the things I saw in the smp and made my own theories about it. If you’re even slightly triggered by this, please stop and do NOT try to read it. Please do NOT put yourself in some kind of uncomfortable zone. Please do not. Thank you

(This is all assumptioning from the fictional world of dream smp)

(Heavy spoilers on the resent events)

(Mainly around the lmanburg way, sadly need to learn more about badlands ): )

(This Series is created by another person, that’s just too fuckin lazy to move her butt)

Trigger warning today:

Suicide thoughts

PTSD

Depression

Child Neglect

Betrayal and Trust Issues

Death

Character Tommy’s Mental state in the last time? Terrible. But why does he goes so fast to the way of suicide? Well, maybe all the repressed Feelings, he had since a long time. For that I researched the signs for some of the points Depression

The main symptoms are: 

depressed mood, sadness, depression = the start of the streams being completely sad, his quick Mood changes

Disinterest and joylessness = The disinterest coming with getting hurt and not really doing anything against it, with each visit he's getting, his joy gets smaller

Loss of drive and easy fatigue = Relying more on Plans he made

Side symptoms can include the following symptoms: 

Loss of appetite = saying he has no appetite, when he clearly does

sleep disorders = Having Nightmares, sleep walking or completely not being able to sleep

Difficulty concentrating making decisions = Almost burning his compass, destroying part of the nether Bridge, less concentrating while mining

low self esteem = thinking to himself how he deserves the pain sometimes

You see my points of his Depression, he makes up ALL of those Points. His Depression came as easily at the start of his second exile.

PTSD

There are 4 Categories to diagnose PTSD

Exposed to actual or threatened Death, serious Injury

Psychological Stress (Flashback/Dreams)

Changes in Psychological Stability

Changes in Physical Ability

1. Exposure to actual or threatened Death.

There are three ways of getting the first one. 

Directly experience a traumatic event

Witnessing in person a traumatic event

Learning of an traumatic event from a close friend/family member

The first one itself is the fighting and betrayal. The fighting for Lmanburg and the Duel with Dream on the Prime Path that took presumably his first two lives. The Betrayal of his close friends and ending in killing him. Mostly Eret in the start, with Dream switching sides again in the middle of the fight fo Lmanburg and Wilbur and Technoblade going against him. Wanting him to die.

Not only did Tommy witness one Death, the Death of his older Brother, Mentor Wilbur. No he also witnessed the Death of his big Role Model Jschlatt. Of course he wasn't big in the end. But he WAS a Big Figure in Tommy's Life. He saw both of them accuse and killing them completely. But the time he witnessed People getting killed and losing one of their hearts. He saw the death of his best friend Tubbo (his own execution). Also did Tommy witness Wilbur going insane and haunting him. Telling him he will never achieve him and betraying him in the end. And the teenager was there, when the nation blew up, he had to run to safety, for not being blown up.

Then he learns of his pets death, his close pets he loves. The third Criteria kinda.

2. Psychological Stress (Flashback/Dreams).

At least on of the 4 Categories have to be hit.

Unwanted Memories

Having Dreams Related to the Trauma

Psychological Distress when exposed to cues that remind you of the evebt

Psychological Reactions to those same cues

He stated as he talked to Ghostbur, that he can clearly remember when Tubbo got president and blew up the nation they FOUGHT for. Also was it shown, how he can remember every Bad thing clearly. And when Wilbur told Tommy how he never could be President, Tommy took it really bad. Wilbur meant how they would never listen to Tommy and just hold him for a joke. So he ultimately gave up his President role. Not only for his discs presumably.

Its canon that Tommy has nightmares of Wilbur going insane. He was alone with Wilbur. Exiled. Wilbur wanted to drag Tommy with him in insanity and Tommy did everything to not let that happen (and you guys have to think. Wilbur is canonically Tommys older Brother so he did already had an impact on Tommys life). He can't sleep or just sleep walks himself into the ocean. Every time going deeper and deeper. In the direction of L’manburg, also his ultimate Death.

To the last two points: Tommy, when he gave Lani, (Tubbos sister), a walk through Dream Smp, he said that the Pit in Pogtopia made him feel very uncomfortable, since the memories of getting beaten up by Technoblade, just after he killed Tubbo, were not old. Also, they forbid Rockets and TNT, since they were big part of killing or just destroying things he loved.

3. Changes in Psychological Stability.

There are 7 Points you have to fulfill, 2 of them are required and Tommy HAS 6 POINTS OF THEM

Briefly explained:

He blames mostly himself and others how things go wrong in the last time. Mostly Technoblade for placing the withers, triggering some big amounts of TNT. His friends for not visiting. Himself for not being perfect. 

Thinking to himself how he couldn't be happy only with massive influence of others or talking to himself how he would do something that might make him happy.

He feels himself detached from everybody. Thinking how everybody could easily life on without him. So he detaches himself from talking TO PEOPLE. Stopping showing up anymore. Only after a while, he trusted himself, but with the time he does it slower.

His favorite hobbies not really being done anymore. As for saying he doesn't start to care for Primes anymore.

Telling himself how everybody is doing things out of pity for him. His lack in trust others in fear of being betrayed. That everybody is out against him.

His fear of being completely abandoned by the People he has left. His Anger for not coming to visit and just giving his gift or leaving him alone. Shame on being exiled by his best friend and the second time.

4. Changes in Physical Ability

The three points are (which upwards are already explained):

Problems with concentration = him not really able to think straight while mining

Problems with Sleep = Nightmares, sleep walking, not being really able to rest completely

Easy to Startle = startled with People surprisingly coming to his island without saying things. He gets more surprised and jumpy

(This is all seen by “The Film Theorists”, “Film Theory: The Spiderman 2 Mystery! Why Spiderman Lost his Powers!”)

He has many, way too many criteria for being so young. And he won't get any help. A way of getting better is having time to yourself. But Tommy is alone in Exile? Why is it just getting worse? Well, Tommy has time to himself. But he constantly gets watched over. He gets only worse through the manipulation of Dream.

Betrayal and Trust Issues

People are getting angry at Tommy for not trusting others. But what would have you done in his position. I mean nobody could have known about the Betrayal of Eret. So when that happened we were all in shock. When Dream switched sides to fight for Marburg, we were all shocked. When Wilbur was the Traitor and blew up L’manburg, we were also shocked. When Techno kind of told Tommy he should die and Placed Withers, we were shocked. When Tubbo exiled Tommy, nobody had expected that and everybody was shocked. 

Now look at it from Tommys eyes.

Eret = A good friend, nice companion, trusted part of the rebellion. Betrayed them for seeing a better deal, leaving them to rot, while he had his castle.

Dream = Kind of older Brother, funny to be around and spends also time with him. Gives your already insane Brother Dynamite to explode the country you fought Tooth and Nail for and tosses you around like a doll.

Wilbur = Older Brother, Mentor, President, cool, awesome to be around, talented, someone who also spends time with you. kind of protects you from trouble. Goes insane, wants to drag you with him, explodes the country, betrays you for not having a thing he wants. Makes you doubt yourself

Technoblade = Also really talented. Big Brother. Teaches things like fighting. One of the best PVPers. Leaves you to rot and fight with the last bit, makes fun of you and not helping you, even if you are scared of small spaces. 

Tubbo = The Person you did everything with, trusted with everything. You are like Brothers and no matter how many people against you, you are with each other. You make one thing for yourself and apparently you are selfish. You are alone now and he didn't come ones to visit once.

Everybody else = They find you annoying and only come to visit to make fun, look at him like he's a Zoo animal. but when something happens, then he is a hero apparently. And those pity gifts. Gifts saying he is on the lowest of the low, in need of “help”. 

Help is right for you, but more like spending time with you when you're alone, and not being able to visit others. They act like they can visit him any time, because, hey look! He can't go anywhere anyways, so...

A Way of getting better is 

Repairing the broken or damaged relationships = Talking and doing something with Tubbo, his best friend. Talking and making up with his brothers Techno and Wilbur. Spending time with his father. Just relaxing and letting him talk about his trauma. 

Doing something he really wanted to do for some time = Finally getting his discs back, which were stolen and in constant danger, since its one of his most prized things

Letting him be his age = He is pretty young, but went to be a right hand man, made sacrifices, losing his lives for the country, his friends and other things. Letting him act his age, doing stupid things and not giving him consequences that would be given only people who are the worst kind. Letting him build his stuff with good arguments and letting him hang out. Not being Vice President maybe.

Putting himself over everything for once = Thats really a good discussable theme, but for my points, which I made with letting him be his age, it kind of stated it already. He wanted his discs after everything. The wars were won, L’manburg had its Freedom and its People safe. So he should have been allowed to do one thing for himself again. Burning Georges House is no excuse, but dude, thats easily reparable. The Trauma, Depression and PTSD that was given to this child not. 

It also can fit in with Tubbo- Just sayin (Just some points have to be changed)

GIVE THOSE KIDS A BREAK

I got some of those things from other Posts!

[lokidrabbles]

The Trouble (Loki x Reader)

Loki comforts reader through an intense episode

A/N: I’m always just a sucker for couples who comfort each other through this type of struggle. As always, Gender Neutral Reader!

Warnings: ANGST, implications of a depressive episode (this does not explicitly mention depression, but does have a lot of symptoms associated)

“They’re not in today, what are you needing Rock of Ages?”

Loki raised an eyebrow as Stark appeared from behind. Normally he’d be irritated with his insistent snooping. Loki was very aware of his lack of welcoming in New York, which he didn’t argue with at all, and aware of how his brother’s new entourage would go out of their way to make sure he wasn’t up to anything.

His focus wasn’t on them today however. He sought out for your companionship, hence his prying into your empty office.

Tony popped in, almost too conveniently, picking up some documents left by you the day prior. “Called in sick today. I know how much you both like to ‘hang out’ and talk shit about everyone.”

“Do you often keep watch over (y/n) as well?” Loki asked mockingly.

“No, they keep an eye on you for me.” Tony responded. “But I gotta admit, I’m also a little worried about them. It’s really out of character for (Y/N) to call me up like that.”

Again, Loki’s first instinct would be irritation at your relationship with Tony. He abhorred how connected you both seemed and the deepened trust you had in him. This time, his first instinct grew in worry over you.

“Care to elaborate, Stark?” He asked hesitantly.

“Uh, no.” Tony said as a matter of fact, scanning through your work. “Firstly, HIPPA, and secondly, if it had anything to do with you, then you’d know.”

Loki gritted his teeth, but urged himself to step back and avoid an altercation with Tony, despite how much of a fool he was. “Why do I even waste my time here with you?”

“Because you love me.”

Loki promptly stormed out of your office, not even allowing Tony to retort back with another snarky snide. However he knew there was some truth to his words. Indeed, if something were wrong, experience showed Loki would be the bearer of news immediately. Whether it’d be through a series of relayed messaged from people to people, or his brother attempting to decipher a ‘text’ from you, Loki would be priority.

This time he wasn’t. And a wave of resentment hit him in the worst way possible. The only logical reasoning behind your choice, or lack of, involved him. Were you upset with him? Did you grow bored? Disinterested? Or indeed, was your relationship with your boss much more intimate than he imagined it to be?

As a man of action, Loki soon found himself at your door. The nagging thought would only continue to pester him until he would crumble under the doubt and self-deprecation. His resentment only grew, but not towards you. His resentment would be directed at himself for being so stupid to have allowed himself to be vulnerable with a mere Midgardian.

He pounded aggressively at your door, thinking how easily it would be for him to tear it down in one swift kick. But that would probably upset you, and he genuinely wanted to have a conversation with you about why he was left out of the loop. And not Tony Stark.

No answer. But he sensed you on the other side, that familiar energy he would grow fond of. Lord, were you avoiding him? He pounded again, this time calling out your name as sternly as he could. He waited for a second, but still no answer.

Resentment now turned into panic. He couldn’t fathom you purposefully avoiding him. And if you were, what did he do? He again, resisted against the temptation of breaking your door handle and entering without your permission.

He called out for you again. “Stop avoiding me. I know you’re there. I simply wish to speak.”

Loki jumped a bit when he heard the locks from the inside slowly beginning to open up. Your door opened slightly ajar, allowing Loki to peer in through a small crevice. He caught you through the small space, wearing an oversized hoodie, big enough to almost fall over and cover your eyes. You looked different, nothing he had ever encountered before.

“Loki.” You spoke out to him, but your voice sounded so distant. It was frail and weak. Your usual enthusiasm or amusement was gone, replaced with a heavy, monotonous touch.

Panic now turned into heartfelt concern. Loki’s eyes slightly widened at your presentation. There was something completely off, something missing, an all too familiar state.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He commanded.

“Nothing.” You responded flatly. “Please leave. I don’t want to see anyone today.”

The door began to slowly close, but Loki strategically placed his boot in between, to prevent you from wanting to fully close it. “You are not in any position to be telling me that, human. Especially after you failed to tell me of your absence at Stark’s.”

“Loki, please. I don’t want to talk right now.” You said, your voice beginning to break.

He snarled, now using his hand to push to door fully ajar, knowing full well you would not match his strength at all. “You will not push me aside (Y/N). I will not be cast away like some rusted piece of history.”

Loki observed you stepping away from the door, possibly in fear of his demanding tone. Your eyes remained hidden, but he could tell your distress from your quivering lips. He cared not, if this was what it took for him to assure himself of your well-being. He fully stepped inside, kicking the door close behind him.

“Now,” He began, stepping closer towards you. “Speak.”

But you didn’t. As if you were stuck in place, you remained in the same spot, your gaze clearly avoiding his. Now more than ever, you appeared much smaller. He observed your rocking back and forth, as if you were disconnected from the world. This wouldn’t do, especially without him getting a good look at your face.

He stood directly in front of you now. “Let me see you. I need to see your eyes.” You remained silent, but still allowing him to reach over the hood to pull it down. He cupped the side of your jaw with both of his hands, pulling you upwards to directly connect your eye contact with his.

Part of Loki’s skill set including being able to observe and read people through non-verbal language. It was a useful asset that always allowed him to peer into anyone’s hidden intentions. He could easily asses whether someone would be lying, when someone would be scared, or when someone was hiding any valuable information. A simple dilation of the eyes, or flared nostrils could detail a lot about a person, and would of course allow him to take advantage of. But perhaps his best deciphering skills would not prepare for him for the sight.

Tears. Cheeks stained with trails upon trails of salty tears. Eyes so bloodshot and weary, he could see how it even pained you to look up at him in the faint light of your home. Your eyes, once full of light and joy, now appeared hollow and empty. His mouth fell agape, encountering that same familiar feeling from long ago. This was turmoil. This was anger towards your own self. And this was the loss of purpose. Never did he think he would find you in the worst of positions, one he was much too intimate with long ago.

But he knew he didn’t need to ask why.

Loki wiped away the remaining moisture from your cheeks, his gaze now falling soft onto yours. “Oh, my love. You’ve been through a treacherous battle, haven’t you?”

 “I don’t know whats wrong with me. It just keeps coming, and coming, and it doesn’t stop. Why am I getting like this?” Your breath became shallow as you spoke and your voice still remained weak and frail.

“My love, you don’t need to understa-”

“Loki, I’m so scared. I’m scared I’m just going to get stuck like this. Am I just fucking broken?” You became agitated, your eyes beginning to pool again.

“No, you need to stop saying that. You are not broken.” He said, holding you firmly at your shoulders. “You will be able to get through this, and you won’t be alone. I will be here with you.”

“No, I can’t.” You began to break down, now pulling and tugging at your hair. “Just leave me, I’m so fucking useless and stupid-”

“(Y/N). Stop. You will not hurt yourself like this.” His voice boomed, now pulling your wrists away from your hair.  “What you are going to do is listen to me.”

Your breath hitched, staring at Loki with fully leaking eyes. Loki felt his stomach twist as he continued to grip at your trembling wrists. You were so frightened at yourself. He knew the feeling all too well. He connected with your current sense of hopelessness, wanting to completely disappear from reality just to avoid disappointing those close to you. In his previous years, he would have taken this as a blatant sign of weakness. Loki used to be harsh in that way, and especially towards himself.  The notion was absolutely disgusting, and he imagined himself hating it even more coming from a human.

But not with you. All he could think of was wrapping his strong arms around you, keeping you close to him to ensure your safety and your happiness. He followed with his instinct, and the pulled you close towards him, one hand caressing the back of your head and the other promptly over the small of your back.

He allowed you to melt with him, feeling your smaller arms wrap around his torso. You began to spasm, releasing the full force of your sadness onto his chest. He was not bothered by the wet feeling, but content with your transparency with him.

“Listen to me.” He said tenderly, placing his chin at the top of your head. “I know it’s hard. It’s horrendous, but you cannot allow it to control you. Everything it’s telling you is a lie. You are not any of those things.”

“L-loki-”

“You’re wonderful. You’re so kind, and gentle. You are the only person I look forward to seeing every single day I am in this city. No one else matters, it’s only you (Y/N).”

Loki also didn’t care if he was being transparent with you. He knew his feelings for you were reciprocated as well.

“I am sorry if I came off too strongly earlier, but I couldn’t fathom not seeing you today.”

He felt your body becoming slightly relaxed, still allowing you to push your full weight onto his chest. You rubbed your eyes on him, hiccuping in the process.

“I’m sorry Loki.” You said muffled.

“Don’t apologize.”

“I didn’t mean to push you away. I just, didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Do not hide yourself from me, please.” He said. “It would pain me to not be here by your side.”

He kissed the top of your head, still holding his tight embrace over you. Your smaller frame seemed to fit just as well along his larger frame. He relished in the moment, taking into account your arms also still tightly clinging onto him.He would continue to protect you in any way he could, even if it was against yourself.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 17

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, very slight fluff

; Word Count: 6k

; Warnings: Emotional breakdown, depiction of a panic/anxiety attack, in depth discussion/description of depression, brief mentions of suicide, lack of self-worth, self-hatred, self-doubt, dissociation

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: I haven’t proof read because...well I don’t really want to re-read it. So forgive me for any mistakes! It’s early by a day because I’ve missed a few weeks so I want you all to have something on what is a rainy night here in England <3

PLEASE make sure to read the warnings on this one. This chapter is very hard hitting for anyone who has suffered depression/anxiety. I put myself back in the position I was in last year when I had my own breakdown and I know people have said before that I write in a way that makes you feel what the character is feeling. Therefore, please don’t read if you’re going to be affected by the warnings! And please also be kind if you don’t agree with the way I depicted this. This is how my own depression and anxiety affected me, only I didn’t have a Hoseok in my life. The experiences the reader goes through in this are the ones I personally have experienced. It’s still a reader insert, don’t worry. She after all has a lot of things I don’t, and I’m also okay, so don’t worry on that front either! If you feel upset about anything after reading this, please consider reaching out to friends, family, professionals or a helpline that specialises in it!

And remember throughout everything...you’re not alone! You’re not worthless and you are loved. <3

-

Leaning against the railing outside your work building, you let out a deep and heavy sigh as you read through the email you’d just received. It’s a rejection email. The third rejection email you’d received today and the twenty-third you’d received in two weeks.

After an in-depth talk with your parents and support from Chungha, Soyeon and Hoseok, you’d decided to finally try and get that career change you’d always wanted. Though you’d pointed out that you didn’t know what you wanted from life anymore.

You didn’t know what you wanted full stop. 

One of the things that you’d been most afraid of when you’d realised that your relationship with Hoseok was turning into something genuine and real, had been what was going to come after. Not in terms of breaking up, though that did terrify you as well, but how your mental state was going to cope.

You’d tried to explain it to the girls a few times in an effort to get them to understand what went on in your rollercoaster of a mind, and you’d clumsily told Hoseok a few months ago. Or you’d tried at least. 

Talking about your emotions wasn’t easy for you and the fear of being too honest about something so crippling with someone who meant so much to you already had scared you away from telling him too much. Your mind had balked at it, afraid that if he found out just how bad you got sometimes that he might just leave before he got in too deep.

So you’d given him a very bare bones explanation of what happened to you sometimes. He probably didn’t think too much of it at the moment as you’d been pretty cheerful throughout the start of your relationship; the bliss of him overriding any of your deep seated depression and anxieties.

Hoseok was obviously aware that you suffered from anxiety and had been very caring in regards to that, but it was entirely different to be with someone in the grip of a depressive episode. Your form of depression could almost be charted, it was that easy to see what was coming, and you’d been so afraid for the last few weeks.

The lethargy and disinterest that associated itself so strongly with your depression had been creeping back into your life slowly. It had frightened you, but you just didn’t know how to combat it. Doing things that were big or made you extremely happy always seemed to come with a huge cost, and the cost was unfortunately your mental health.

Every single time you felt exhilarating highs in your emotions, the feelings so joyful and euphoric from your excitement and pure happiness, you suffered a plunging crash afterwards that often felt like it sucked the joy out of your life. It was something you’d tried to cope with for years now, and sometimes you could go months upon months without feeling like it was affecting you.

But the happiness of finding Hoseok and all of the early stages of your relationship, from the first kiss to sex and meeting your parents, had finally waned. The last few weeks had the deep sense of unhappiness that plagued your negative moods spreading quickly.

It had started as usual with the slowly losing interest in going out; the energy you’d once had to be social outside of your apartment dying until the idea of anything other than work or grocery shopping was too much effort. Then had come the lack of interest in anything.

You’d always found it hard to see that you were slipping, only recognising it properly when you would realise that you’d been laid on your bed or the couch for hours on end, doing nothing at all. Any attempts to find something to watch on television failed as your brain couldn’t find anything interesting enough to keep it’s attention, games sat unplayed as you couldn’t find the energy to turn them on while even just reading bored you.

In particularly bad spells, such as your final year of college when you’d been so afraid of failing but also afraid of having to go into the real world, you struggled to find the energy to even get out of bed. Hygiene only became a thing because of your severe distaste of being unclean, but other than that your bed often became your home.

You would sleep for hours upon hours, napping the day’s away as you consoled yourself with the knowledge that you didn’t have anything to do and so therefore didn’t need to get up. Even though a small voice in the back of your mind told you that no, you should get up. You should do something.

That small voice was drowned out often though. Vanishing on a fast current of melancholy. It frightened you that you were experiencing that now again, even with the wonderful light and joy that was Hoseok in your life. Waking up long after he’d already gotten up on the weekend and realising that you didn’t want to get up and follow him, that not even the comfort of his arms was enough to soothe the jagged hole inside your soul that seemed to grow deeper and wider with every day that passed.

Applying for the jobs had been an appeasement to those in your life who were worried about you. You knew that Hoseok could tell something was wrong, but he just didn’t seem to know what to do or how to help. Understandable really, as you didn’t tell him what was wrong.

But staring down at your phone screen, the black letters bold against the white background that once more proclaimed you weren’t good enough, you felt something deep inside you break. Something that you hadn’t realised was holding on by the thinnest thread, chafing away with each negative thought that had passed through your mind over the years.

What’s the point?

The insipid question whispers through your mind.

Why am I trying?

A second slithers into place, taking comfort with its neighbour.

Why am I doing this?

A third nestles safely between the two brooding thoughts.

I’ll never be good enough for anything.

Leaning your head forehead, you let it rest on your hand on the railing, eyes closing as your other hand tightens on your phone. The hopelessness that your mind has spun to life explodes to life, multiplying into countless thoughts of desolation and gloom that somehow combine together to make your head feel heavy and your limbs tired.

Slumping down onto the ground, you turn and let your back press against the railings. It was your lunch currently and you were at the back of the parking lot that faced your building, the facade blank with no clue as to what was going on inside. 

Blinking slowly, you realise that your breath is stuttering, almost choking itself. Like your throat is closing around nothing while your heart races a thousand miles a minute. Glancing down, you realise that your hands are shaking violently and you try to swallow, the movement so hard. And then you press a palm to your chest, a small whimper leaving your mouth as you simply try to breath.

But it all feels too much. It’s all just too much.

There’s nothing inside your head but despondency and yet your body feels too much, like it can’t cope. Your mind swings violently between the white fuzz of nothing and the sheer panic of a looming sense of dread, the fear of failure, rejection. The fear that you meant nothing and your life was nothing.

I can’t do this anymore.

It’s a simple thought, only five words long and it dances through your mind like a leaf on the breeze. Effortless and simple. 

For a few seconds you think nothing of it, the part of your mind that wasn’t well agreeing with it and conceding that there was no point anymore. You weren’t doing anything useful in life anyway and you doubted anyone would truly notice if you’d gone. A cog in the machine of life, that’s all you were.

And cogs could be replaced after all.

But then that tiny voice that had been washed away earlier appeared again, resolute and defiant against the tidal waves of desolation that swamped it. The tiny kernel of hope and happiness that you’d once had, that had slowly grown and blossomed into a tree with roots so deep it couldn’t be moved. It was a little dejected and a little threadbare from lack of nourishment, but it was there all the same.

The part of you that didn’t want to give up, the part of you that wanted to fight for your life. The part that had spurred you to confidence to message Hoseok, that had encouraged you to keep going in college. The part of you that told you it didn’t want to give up, didn’t want to give in.

Your lungs are heaving now, body hunched over as you grip your legs so tightly, head pressed to your knees while salty tears drip down your face. A heartbeat that feels like it’s working overtime is so loud you can feel it in your chest, the tension in your arms and torso so strong that your muscles hurt from the ache of holding them for so long.

Eyes hot and stinging as the tears overflow, you press hard on your chest and try to regulate your breathing. Try to calm yourself down, to bring yourself back from the precipice of the pain and panic that you feel. The overwhelming rollercoaster of your emotions is giving you whiplash, the melancholy you had been swept with being beaten savagely by the fear of your inability to breath and the panic of how dark your thoughts had gotten.

You needed to talk to someone, you needed to see someone. You needed someone there, someone to tell you that it was okay. That you weren’t worthless. That you had value, that you were loved. That you would be missed. That life wouldn’t be okay without you, that you were needed and necessary. Someone to push away your thoughts for long enough to just let you think clearly.

You don’t even realise you’ve dialled his number, fingers moving on autopilot as if your body is trying to help when your mind has become so paralysed. It’s not until his voice finally manages to pierce through the incessant self-flagellation that your mind is undertaking that you blink in confusion, brow creasing as you wonder why he’s here.

Glancing up, you wipe away at the tears that keep falling and stare at your phone, squinting to focus. The familiar smiling face of your boyfriend stares back, a photo taken weeks back on a date day to the beach. Your heart clenched tightly and your breath shudders, the wheezing sound as your lungs work hard to try and get oxygen loud as you have the odd mixture of desperation to talk to him along with the dread of annoying him.

One of the things you’ve always hated was talking about these personal issues with people. Even though you knew rationally that people would rather you tell them about what was worrying and upsetting you, the gleefully self-destructive part of your mind told you that you were annoying them with your concerns.

But Hoseok was talking through the small speaker, his voice loud against the quiet scenery around you with only your hyperventilated breathing being the odd noise. And then his words finally made sense, the syllables that had broken through your ennui turning into sounds you understood.

It was the confusion in them that caused you to listen properly at first, the way he said your name repeatedly before the ragged sound of your breathing obviously began to register. Then your name became more frantic, the fear in his voice slicing through your own inner wail of despair.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N are you there? Hellooo? Y/N? Are you okay? Hey, are you...Y/N are you crying? Y/N? Talk to me, come on. Answer me sweetheart, baby answer me. Y/N what’s wrong? Are you crying? Y/N please answer.” His voice is getting progressively louder, the concern and worry louder and you suddenly feel even more self-loathing at the knowledge you’ve panicked him.

“Hobi.” It’s all you can get out though, the word pushing past the tightness of your throat as it contracts so violently, air struggling to get past. Clutching your chest, you recognise an odd wailing sound that escapes with each breath outwards. Hands shaking, you press the phone to your ear and let out a broken sob, trying to talk to him.

“Baby, baby what’s wrong? Has something happened? Are you okay? Have you had an accident? Is it your parents?” He fires questions at you quickly, trying to find some answer as to why his girlfriend has called him in the middle of a workday only to be sobbing and wailing down the phone at him.

Particularly when you both knew how much you despised talking on the phone.

But just the sound of his voice is soothing to the frayed nerves within you, a balm to the deep and aching pain that lurks inside. It’s not enough to pull you out your breakdown, not yet at least. This isn’t a film and television show and you’re aware enough to realise that real life doesn’t happen like that.

God you felt warm, so warm. So unbelievably warm but the sweat on your skin is cold, like you’re ill. Squeezing your eyes shut, you choke as you inhale too fast and your diaphragm jerks in a way that has you almost hiccuping.

Even though he doesn’t actually know what’s happening, Hoseok still manages to do the right thing. Because he stops his own panicked questions, his voice suddenly stabilises and a calm tone taking over.

“Okay baby...baby, listen to me. Okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. It’s going to be okay sweetheart, I swear. Come on, can you hear me?” A torn sound of acknowledgement leaves you, your muscles aching with tiredness from how hard you’ve held yourself.

“That’s good, that’s really good baby. I want you to listen to me, okay? Listen to what I say and then do it for me. I want you to try and breathe in, take a big breath. Really big, come on, do it with me,” You hear him inhale loudly and you try to follow, the shakiness overtaking. “And now it let out. Nice and slow, come on. Do it again.”

He continues on encouraging you through it, his deep voice that you’ve fallen so deeply for so soothing and reassuring. It almost makes you want to cry just hearing it, but you listen to what he says. Closing your own eyes and simply focusing on inhaling and exhaling, pushing all the negativity away until all that’s left is breathing.

Finally, after what feels like an hour, you realise that your breaths are jerky but almost stable. Deep breathes in and out help your body to relax itself, muscles releasing while the demons of depression and anxiety take a step back in your mind. They’re still there, you can feel them hovering over the edges, but you feel like you can cope again.

Wiping at your face once more, you sniff and almost burst into tears again when you realise how utterly pathetic you feel. How stupid you are to fall apart like that over a job rejection of all things. And those demons inch forward, whispering into the fragile parts of you.

“Y/N, are you with me? Are you okay?” Leaning your head back against the railing, you nod quietly before remembering he’s not actually there. The first time you try to speak, your voice is croaky and what sounds like a bubble pops in your throat.

The second time works though. “I’m here. I’m...Hobi...I just...I can’t.” 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the words cause you to start crying once more. But this time, there’s none of the panic and fear behind them. These tears are blazingly hot, your skin prickling from the salt of them while your head pounds from the previous crying and emotional ride you’d just gone through.

This time, your tears were because you simply wanted him there. You wanted to just bury yourself in his arms and try to forget what had happened.

“Okay, okay. I don’t know what’s wrong, but do you think you can go back to work? Or do you need to come home?” The very idea of going back into the office, sitting at your desk and doing all the mindless jobs that you loathe and despise with every fibre of your being fills you with a surge of feelings that makes you gasp in pain, head shaking rapidly.

You can’t, not today. You can’t go back to that, you can’t go back to the thoughts that this is going to be your life. That this is all you’ll ever be. All you’ll ever be worth. That you’ll never be good enough for anything.

“No.” It’s whimpered out, so soft and quiet but carrying a level of pain that you can’t even begin to properly explain to him. He understands though, a quiet sigh of his own as he obviously considers what to do.

“Okay...go in and ask them if you can take the rest of the day off. Tell them you’re ill. That you’ve been throwing up or something, whatever it takes. Are you okay to drive? Or do you want me to come get you?” Glancing over at your car, the Hyundai your dad had helped you to buy that was a dream compared to your previous car, you chew on your lip as you wipe at your face.

“I can drive. I can drive, it’s not far.” 

“Good. Go home and rest. I’ll be home when I can. Do you want to talk about whatever just happened when I do?” Looking down at the ground, you consider it before sniffling quietly.

“Yeah. I think I should.” Your voice cracks on the last word, yet more tears filling your eyes as your lip trembles dangerously. The thought of telling him is terrifying, but you feel like you’ve gone too far down this dark road now. And you don’t want to walk down it alone anymore, not when what you’re finding is so terrifying and scary.

“Okay. I’ll see you at home then.”

-

It was surprisingly easy to get your boss to let you go home early, easier than you thought it would have been. But maybe you looked a little worse than someone who had been throwing up, given the puffiness of your eyes and the overall haggard appearance you’d managed to take on. You didn’t look well, which worked in your favour in terms of being able to go home.

But you didn’t look well because you weren’t well. And you knew this.

As soon as you got home, you’d practically torn off your clothes before slipping on a well worn pair of soft grey leggings and a fuzzy sweatshirt, the material so soft on your body. It’s approaching the end of November and you revel in the warmth it offers you, curling on the couch into a tight ball with your head buried into the velvety Pusheen pillow that Hoseok had bought you a few weeks ago.

The soft padding of tiny paws on the wood floor alerts you to an incoming presence and you smile tiredly when Kasumi jumps up onto the couch with you, chirping at you quietly before butting her head against yours. Gently, you stroke at her fur and sigh as she settles, her head buried firmly into your neck and her small body vibrating as she purrs away happily.

“Are you happy my little purrbaby? Yeah?” You whisper to her, running your thumb over her silken ears before pressing your nose against her sleek fur. “My favourite little girl, aren’t you? A purry baby.”

The next few minutes consist of you just muttering nonsense to her as usual, your hand stroking automatically as you revel in the solid warmth of her against you. She remains where she is, paws flexing open and closed as the she pads at your chest and you can’t help the tiny smile that escapes as she does so.

“I love you, yes I do.” Maybe it’s a sign of how bad of a person you are that the only person you feel even remotely comfortable saying that to is your own cat. A cat who can’t answer back. Though maybe that’s the point. She relies on you for survival, therefore her love is a given.

Other’s though?

Her ears twitch suddenly and her eyes widen, that familiar look of alarm taking over her feline features and causing her to jerk upright. Frowning, you coo to her before realising you can hear the door opening.

A quick glance at the clock tells you that it’s not even 2pm and your brow creases in confusion. You go to question whoever it is, only he appears from the hallway into the room and your throat tightens immediately.

Hoseok isn’t wearing a fancy suit this time, instead just a pair of black jeans with a black button-up, his socks a contrast in white. His work had since changed their dress code policy to smart-casual, hence his jeans. But he wasn’t supposed to finish until 5pm.

“Why are you here?” Your words aren’t nearly as solid as you intended them to be, the sounds shaky and he lets out a tiny sigh.

“You really think I was gonna stay at work for the next few hours after my girlfriend, who hates using the phone, calls me and all I can hear is hyperventilating and crying? And then she’s so not okay that she actually goes home? No way. I’m gonna work the time back later but I felt that you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He makes it all sound so simple, like there wasn’t even a question in his mind about what he’d do.

It chips away at something inside you, a chink in the solid wall of protection you’d built over the years that held back all your deepest and darkest fears and concerns from others. And in an instant, that wall shatters in a tsunami of emotion.

Lips trembling violently while your vision blurs from the tears filling it, you simply open your arms to him and whimper out his name in a tone so broken and lost that it almost makes Hoseok cry just hearing it. Not that you know that, nor can you see the way his face crumples for a moment at seeing you break so quickly.

You don’t see because the tears block your vision of him, but you feel it when he sits on the couch next to you and wraps you in his arms. Without a word, you squeeze your arms around him so tightly, as if you were afraid that if you let go then he’d vanish.

And you let yourself break in the comfort of his embrace, in the safety of presence and the reassurance of his stability. A horrible sound of pure agony escapes your throat, dragged from the deepest depths and a part of you is surprised at it. At how much pain it encapsulates.

Once you start though, you can’t stop and you simply cry into Hoseok’s arms, letting yourself go in a way that you never have before. Exposing your vulnerabilities and all the jagged points of pain inside your psyche that you’d kept hidden for so long, afraid that no one would care or would see them as a sign of weakness if you let them out.

Hoseok doesn’t judge you though, he doesn’t complain or sigh in annoyance. Instead, he spends the next ten minutes simply hugging you so tightly to him, his hands stroking your back in long movements that soothe you and reassure you that he’s here, that he cares. Vaguely, you recognise him whispering things to you but you don’t put enough thought into what he’s saying.

The earlier breakdown you’d suffered had been frightening and painful; the fear of not understanding what was happening properly combining with the gaping hole of self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy. This didn’t feel like a breakdown though. It felt cathartic almost, like each sob that escaped you, each tear that wet Hoseok’s shirt was another weight being lifted off your mind and shoulders.

By the time you finally calm down enough until the tears are silent and the only noise you make is the hiccuped breathing of someone who’s cried so hard their throat and eyes hurt, you feel almost relaxed. Maybe crying was a good thing sometimes, but you knew that it was because you’d come to terms with the fact that you had to talk about your issues and most importantly, you had to reach out to others for help.

Now the room is completely quiet, only broken by the occasional sniffle from you. You’d expected him to start asking questions immediately but he doesn’t, instead just holding you in a protective embrace while you calm down.

Oddly, it makes you feel a little better that he doesn’t freak out or pepper you with questions. His reassuring presence helps to calm your frayed nerves and you find yourself playing with one of the buttons on his shirt, bottom lip pouting out as you realise his shirt is plastered to his chest from your tears.

“I’m sorry about your shirt.” You whisper, voice hoarse and low. There’s no response for a second before he lets out a breathy laugh, warm lips pressing to your hairline affectionately.

“That’s fine. It’s just a shirt,” Hoseok pauses, shifting to hug you in a more comfortable position on the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The way he leaves the question open for you lets you know that he’s giving you an out, a way to turn him down. You know he wouldn’t be particularly happy if you didn’t talk about what had caused you to have such a breakdown, but he would acknowledge your decision.

“I just...I got another rejection.” Fingers smooth at the wrinkles in his shirt, the text from the email running through your mind once more and you can practically feel your spirit sinking again. “I don’t know, it just...it got too much. I know it sounds really stupid and I can’t really explain it all or anything but...it was just too much. Everything has been too much lately and yet I just feel so empty and uncaring.”

Hoseok doesn’t interrupt you, letting you spill out your inner thoughts to him, even if they don’t make a lot of sense. 

“I’ve been...I mean...lately I...I’m not...I’m not okay.” Your voice wavers dangerously, lip trembling and you tighten your hand on the fabric of his shirt. “I just feel...I can’t...I can’t, I just can’t. I don’t feel like I can do this anymore, it’s just so hard. So hard to get up and go to work when I hate my fucking job. It’s like my mind is dying every second in there and my soul is shrivelling up too. But I’m not good enough to get out and I’ll never get out and all I can think is...is this it? Is this going to be my life? Is this all I’ll ever do? Is this all I’ll ever be worth? Is this all I’ll do? And the thought of this being all I do for the rest of my life is...I mean...I just...I can’t Hoseok. I can’t, I can’t do it. I don’t even want to wake up if I have to do this forever.”

The words are rushed from you, blurring together as you feel the deep hysteria and panic rising within you once more. Hands clenching his shirt are shaking while your breath is coming a little faster again and your poor, swollen eyes are stinging from the heat of yet more tears. You’d have thought you had none left to cry.

“It’s like everything is weighing me down, all of it. My job, my lack of career, my finances and just me as a person. It’s all building in my head and I just...I can’t. But at the same time I feel nothing inside. I wake up and wonder why I’m bothering to get up because I have nothing to do, I can’t focus on shows or games or books. I’m lethargic and unhappy and the idea of going out just makes me want to cry. I drove home from the store the other day and the entire time I felt like there was a hive of bees in my stomach, all angry and my heart was racing. I didn’t even know what I was anxious about! That’s not normal and it happens all the time. I’ve tried, for you and my parents and friends but it always comes back. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t.” You’re not entirely sure what you can’t do, but you say it so forcefully that Hoseok simply nods.

He doesn’t speak at first, contemplating what to say and trying to remember what his therapist had discussed with him all those years ago when he’d gone. It was hard, because obviously your case wasn’t like his. But he wanted to help, or at least try and guide you in the right direction. Because you were reaching out, and he wanted to be the one to hold you steady while you fought your way out of the darkness.

“How long have you been feeling like this? I’ve noticed you pulling away recently, I didn’t want to push you on it though.” Hoseok admits, his voice soothing as he runs a thumb along your cheek, wiping your tears away.

Almost childishly, you shrug. “I don’t know. It comes and goes. I always...I hate doing things that make me happy or excited because I always crash after. And the longer my happiness goes on, the harder and further I crash after. It’s like my mind can’t cope with just...being...normal.”

Hoseok shakes his head firmly then, pulling back slightly to get you to look at him. His eyes are worried and his expression is concerned, but you can tell he’s determined. You can also tell that you’ve just said something that he disagrees with.

“Don’t call yourself not normal. At the risk of sounding like some lame quote from the early 2010s, there’s no such thing as normal. You’re just...you’re not okay right now. I think we can both tell that. And there’s nothing wrong with not being okay. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re having mental health problems and I hope you won’t be angry with me for saying it but...this...today...baby I think you need to see a doctor or something. I can’t tell you what will help because I don’t know, and I don’t want to mess it up. But you have to want to get help.”

Looking down at your hands, you sniff quietly as you contemplate what he’s said. As per usual, he’s said it sweetly and in a way that isn’t offensive. The very idea of admitting that you had mental health issues made you quail inside, wanting to tell him that he was wrong and you were fine. 

But he wasn’t wrong...and you weren’t fine. 

“What if they don’t believe me? Or tell me it’s just in my head? Or that I’m just sad or something? And what if work finds out and they get angry at me? People will tell me I’m just faking it or something, looking for attention.” The stereotypes slip from your lips without you realising it but you’re worried.

Despite the push for being more open around mental health lately, you know that people still don’t view it positively. That admitting depression or anxiety can often come with an eye roll or an exasperated sigh. You knew how it went, you weren’t depressed you were just tired or weren’t willing to put in effort and so forth.

But you knew it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be, not when it felt so real and strong.

“Sweetheart, if they think at your work then fuck them. You already hate that place and you’re looking for something new. Don’t let them get to you, you are more important than anyone there. And if they want to act like shit around something as serious as this, then they don’t deserve you. Your doctor should listen, and if they don’t then make them listen. They’re there for you, not the other way around. It’s in your head purely because it’s your mental health and it can be helped. I won’t lie, it’s probably not gonna get cured. But you’ll find ways to cope. And I’ll be here for you. So will your parents and your friends. We care for you and we want you to be okay.” He rubs at your arms then, his touch warm even through the soft material of your sweater.

“I’ve watched you draw into yourself and it’s worried me for a while now. But if you’re willing to reach out to me at your lowest, which I’m going to assume that breakdown was your lowest, then I think you want help. I can’t make it go away, but I can help support you while you get your feet back under you. Will you consider going to the doctor? Please?”

Pushing your head into his neck harder, you sniff hard and pushing the sleeves of your sweater past your hands. Your heart races at the thought of discussing your personal issues with someone you don’t know, but you know Hoseok is right. You need help, you need to reach out.

Swallowing hard, you realise that you need to do what he’s suggesting. You don’t want to get back to that point where you realised you didn’t care if you lived or died anymore. Because you wanted your life to get better. You just didn’t have the tools to pull yourself out of the swamp.

“Okay. I’ll go.” His body relaxes imperceptibly at your agreement and you feel bad, realising how worried he must have been for you. But that worry vanishes when he tilts your head up to his, a sweet smile on his face before he kisses you gently.

“Good. You won’t regret it, I swear. And thank you. For trusting me enough to call me when you were afraid and for telling me now. I want to try and help you anyway I can. I know what it’s like to feel very lost and afraid. I just got angry at the world though. So...please talk to me when you’re not feeling okay, even if you think I’m going to be annoyed or can’t be bothered. Because I’d rather you talk and vent to me than do something else.” And suddenly, you realise he’s got tears in his own eyes.

Reluctant tears you can tell, the way he gives a small smile that’s forced, his dimples showing but no real happiness behind it. Swallowing, your own smile wobbles too as you realise that he must have been so worried.

“I will. I swear. I swear.” His lips press to your forehead, resting there long after he’s finished his kiss and you simply embrace it, absorbing his deep feelings to you that you can tell he has even though he doesn’t say a word. Unsurprising really, because you feel all the positive and warm feelings you have towards him blossoming through the hollowness in your chest.

He’s not going to fix you and you both know that. But you’re surprised to realise that you don’t want him to either. That this is something you have to start yourself. For your own peace of mind but also so that you don’t become reliant on him while pressuring Hoseok with something as precarious as your mental health.

You’ve reached out for help finally, and now you just need to accept the help you’re given in turn.

[utterlyinevitable]

Do We Have A Future?: January

Part 1 | Part 2: November

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 1.9k Warning: Adult themes, mental health triggers, themes of depression, pregnancy complications and termination Summary: Rebecca told Ethan and now they have to live with the aftermath of their decision.

Author’s Note: Sensitive subject matter means I really suggest only reading if you are 18+ years old.

Taglist: @ohchoices​ @dulceghernandez​ @aylamwrites​​ @binny1985​ @ramseysno1rookie​

________________________________________

Becca stood alone in the middle of Ethan’s dimly lit bedroom one morning after a scalding hot shower while flecks of snow flurried outside. She stood in front of the double wide full length mirror taking in her full form - the unchanged curvature of her hips and abdomen. 

“I’d be in my second trimester…” she whispered to herself as she ran a hand delicately from her breast and lingering down to the blank space of skin below her navel. 

It would have been born in June. 

It was 6:30 in the morning and they needed to be at work in thirty minutes. When Ethan didn’t hear the familiar scuttering of his girlfriend hastily getting ready after choosing another twenty minutes of sleep he grew worried that something may have happened. 

He gingerly opened the door to see his love transfixed in front of the mirror. He crossed the distance quietly in four long strides. Snaking his arms around her he whispered into her ear, “Are you okay?”

There Ethan stood in his standard work attire holding Becca’s cold naked body close to him, his left hand securely wrapped around her midsection and his right hand placed on top of hers at her stomach. His clean shaven chin rested on her shoulder and his bright blue eyes searched her features for the explanation he knew was never coming. 

“Yeah,” she breathed as she snapped back into reality. Ethan could feel the goosebumps beginning to prick her skin and eyes started to glaze over as she pulled away from him. “Give me a minute. I’ll be ready in five.” 

Becca still cried at the thought of what's been lost. She still couldn’t walk past the neonatal wing of the hospital, or any babies for that matter. Even infants on social media or television bring tears to her eyes. Some days the extreme emptiness hits harder than others. 

Ethan still refused to talk about it. He wanted nothing more than to know how exactly he could help her without having to guess each and every day. But that would be breaking their solemn vow. He couldn’t break his promise after she explicitly asked him not to all those weeks ago at her appointment. Ethan couldn’t let her down; not now, not ever again. 

Unbeknownst to him, Rebecca wanted nothing more than to confront the fact head on, she’s done her self deprecating wallowing and was ready to divulge. She wanted to know what’s going on inside his head. But after the last time she tried to bring it up she feared that if she continued it would be to the detriment of their relationship. 

They were sitting on Ethan’s couch watching a Blue Planet documentary. Ethan comfortably laid back with his feet perched on an ottoman and Becca’s legs draped over his lap. She had the purple fleece blanket she brought from her apartment snuggled around her torso. Neither were too intrigued by this segment on flying fish, so Becca picked at the chipping paint on her fingernails and Ethan closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of how this woman beside him could make him feel so at home.  

Out of nowhere the demons eating at Becca’s core shakily asked, “What would we have done if we kept it?” 

Truth be told Becca had been thinking this since the moment she swallowed the first pill. What would their life be like here and now? 

“Stop, Rookie,” he sternly admonished. Ethan knew she was treading down a slippery slope. She had finally started going through a routine like normal and he believed entertaining this notion would have her regress back into the shell of the woman he once knew. “No point in dwelling on the past.”    

Becca pursed her lips and gave him an unsatisfied nod. She could push the subject but she wasn’t strong enough for that. She used every little bit of courage she had to let the thoughts slip off her tongue without the twin tears rolling down her cheeks. The topic seemed like taboo. 

Why can’t we talk about this? she thought.

***

Becca had been back at Edenbrook for six weeks. She enthusiastically threw herself into her work hoping it would help fill the void and bring her joy. However it did nothing to soothe her like the way it once had. Rebecca was barren; the things she loved didn’t carry enough weight anymore. Her moods had also frequently gone on a roller-coaster ride, more times than she or Ethan would care to admit. She lived in the realm of fury, rage, disinterest and disdain. But at least she was talking and willing to leave the apartment. 

Thankfully, Ethan thinks to himself every day she gets up and goes through the motions of her past self. 

She still didn’t spend much time at her place. The awkwardness and permanent ball lodged in her throat at keeping this secret from her dearest friends had put distance between them. Becca didn’t actively want to put a strain on her friendships; she just couldn’t bear the thought of them pitying her. It was easier for them to think she’d let her new job title and relationship become her most sacred of priorities. 

When Ethan noticed her dejected and hopeless look day after day he thought now was a better time than any to help move her mind on to something else.

“I was thinking…” he trailed off as they sat at his kitchen island having her favorite spaghetti bolognese dish he ordered for them from Don Luigi’s. Looking down and twirling the noodles around his fork he said softly, “Maybe you’d like to move in?”  

“What?” Becca’s eyes went wide as she nearly choked on the two bits of pasta in her mouth.   

“You’re here all the time anyway,” he rationalized with a shrug of his shoulders. Ethan dropped the fork and swiftly swung around on his stool to face her. There was a gleam in his eyes that involuntarily made the corners of Becca’s mouth twitch. He reached out for her hands, cradling them between his own. 

“How about we make it official?” Their eyes met and Becca took a bated breath. The corners of Ethan’s lips pulled into the biggest grin - a smile Becca knew was just for her. It had been months since she’d last seen him glow like that, all the wrinkles and cracks in his features coming to light just for her. “Make me the happiest man alive and turn this place into a home, Rookie.” 

Looking at the man before her she thought maybe, just maybe everything will be okay.

“Okay,” she nodded with a small smile, trying her best to give him the genuine declaration of adoration that a moment like this deserved. 

*** 

The move didn’t help. If anything it made her mental state worse. Rebecca was completely dissociated from her current life and there were two versions wandering around in her place. 

The first version; the doctor and third year resident who focused solely on her patients needs, continuously going above and beyond for them. No matter the turmoil raging inside of her. For the first time in a while she was back at the top of her game, she didn’t need Ethan to shadow her or reassign any of her potentially-emotionally damaging cases. In the halls of Edenbrook all that mattered to Becca were the lives of her patients and helping as many helpless individuals as she possibly could. 

Ethan knew she was deflecting but as her boss he was overly impressed with her performance as she tirelessly solved case after case in no time at all. He came to accept that the concern he had for her well-being was better felt behind closed doors, whether it be at home or with his father figure. Ethan did consistently speak about her with Naveen for both of their sakes. The two men discussed and debated on how they can support her without her knowing, while the older doctor simultaneously consoled and navigated his mentee’s guarded emotions whether Ethan liked it or not. 

The second version of Rebecca was simply Becca. A girl who’s new coping mechanism was throwing herself into packing up her life and slowly turning Ethan’s luxury and sterile bachelor pad into a home. As she packed alone in her room she let her mind project a new, better reality. One where she was still carrying. She’d pass the time singing and speaking to her flat belly of the great life awaiting the three of them. The undeniable love still coursing through her veins. 

‘What are we doing today?’ she said softly with a smile as she taped together a cardboard box on her bed. ‘We’re packing up my apartment and we’re moving into daddy’s place!’ Saying those words made her heart swell, feel fuller than it’s ever been. 

Rebecca wasn’t alone. Although science and any rationale would say otherwise, she still felt that the baby, her baby was still with them. 

Moving about her room she categorized the objects of her life out on the floor into piles of winter clothes, summer clothes, general clothes, books, household objects, and miscellaneous. As each pile started to grow and moving around became difficult she exclaimed, 

‘I have so much stuff! Where are we gonna put it all?’ She chuckled to herself as she haphazardly threw one of the piles of clothes into an empty suitcase.  

Patting her abdomen she happily added, ‘Dad’s gonna have a fit; we’re gonna take over the whole place.’ 

This quite well may be the only time she’d get to say those words out loud with Ethan. This could have possibly been the only time she’d be pregnant. Ethan was being more than careful now that she was not on any form of contraception. Her doctor noted that the typical thing to do after a termination would have been to start on the pill but Becca refused, wanting time for her body to readjust before adding more hormones in the mix. Not like we’re gonna be intimate any time soon... she thought bitterly in her OB/GYNs office back then. 

In her mind Becca was now moving and creating a nest egg at Ethan’s for their little miracle. She allowed herself to indulge in this fantasy keeping her together - keeping her happy. She had made the mistake of getting attached in those first and last two weeks of knowing and now couldn’t shake the thought. As much as she’d wanted it gone, she grew fond of the little ball of cells and all the possibilities it held. Now she felt unfulfilled; something was missing from her life, from her body and she couldn’t understand why. Why something she didn’t want and didn’t have could hurt so much. 

As a woman of medicine, Rebecca is a woman of proven science. She never did believe in a higher power. 

But there’s so much unknown in this world. Maybe, just maybe... 

If there was even the slightest chance the soul - her baby’s soul was wandering aimlessly around in the unknown, she needed to do something about it. After much internal deliberation and listening to her heart she decided it was a girl and gave her a name, Avaline Dolores Ramsey. She thought of her dark brown hair on the top of her tiny head, Ethan’s eyes shining bright with possibility, their skin colors mixed together to give an olive complexion. 

A little bundle of joy staring back at her in her mind's eye every second of every day.

__________

A/N: writing this is the most cathartic thing ever. thank you for reading. we’ve got 2 more parts to go!

[toutallyahoe]

Reasons Being A Human Being ~ Jim Moriarty (Sherlock)

Requested By Gifted To: CN, my darling, my sun and star, my heart, my lifeline <3

A/N: my gift for a special darling in my life who wanted a fluffy one shot for this psychopath uwu <3

also... HAPPY AU BECAUSE THE OBSESSION SERIES OF JIM BEING HIS NORMAL PSYCHOPATHIC SELF IS MAKING [NAME] DEPRESSED THERE AND WE NEED THAT BOI TO CUT SOME SLACK

─────────────────

Jim Moriarty was not a very empathetic or even a humane human being. In fact, many could say that Jim Moriarty was a monster in disguise of a human being.

Jim was a manipulative, cunning and untrustworthy person you will ever met. He had blood on his hands, both metaphorically and literally, in such a young age. He had after all killed his old bully in his early teens which was rather very... terrifying for him to do but it shows how he was someone not to mess with.

Jim was a vile person. In fact, he can be a devil.

You can see that Jim Moriarty isn't really... a very sane man. In fact, Sherlock Holmes can attest to that statement. The consulting detective had to deal with Jim Moriarty's boredom and schemes for months now.

But Jim has a bit of humanity left inside him which if someone would hear would scoff of that thought. But he does. And someone can attest to that.

And that very someone was [Name] [Last name], the lovable lover of the said psychopath.

[Name] [Last name] was Jim Moriarty's dear lover. A very loyal and caring man who was ignorant at Jim's true colours at first. In fact, he didn't even knew Jim Moriarty existed as he was dating Jim Moore.

But after almost two years of them dating and being together, Jim had told him who he really was. Maybe it was the guilt, maybe he just really wanted mutual trust with his [Hair color] haired lover. But either way, he had told who he really was.

That day changed Jim Moriarty's life. The once illusion of Jim Moore was broken and Jim Moriarty shined.

[Name] was really shocked and heartbroken at first but after some time, he had accepted that Jim Moore was Jim Moriarty. And they still stayed together.

Each day the two are together, [Name] would always noticed how his dear Jim was more humane than what others can say. And the [Hair color] haired man documented it.

Reasons on Jim Moriarty being a human being (by [Name] [Last name] & (was forced to co-write) Sebastian Moran):

He can feel jealousy

"[Name]? [Name] [Last name]?" A soft voice had called out to the [Hair color] haired man who looked up from his phone to the voice who called him. A surprised looked plastered on his face as he saw who it was that called him.

"Belle...?" [Name] can said as the said female nodded her head. A squeal left her red lips.

"It is you!" Belle had said as she happily approached the [Hair color] haired man who had put his phone on the table and stood up from his seat as he wrapped his arms around the female when she was near.

"Oh, how I missed you love!" Belle had said as she hugged [Name] aswell. A chuckle leaving [Name]'s lips. The two parted as they both looked at each other up and down.

"It's been so long!" Belle had commented as she smiled. [Name] nodding his head as a grin on his lips. "Been what? Years?" She said.

"I think its been two years," the [Hair color] haired had said. Belle looked surprise for a moment as she then teasingly grinned.

"And you kept track?" She laughed. "Still the sappy [Name] I know," she teased as [Name] rolled his eyes and scoffed but he then laughed and shake his head.

"Like you're one to talk miss Belle amor," he said as the blond female giggled. Belle jokingly punches [Name]'s shoulders as the man laughed.

"Awe, still [Name] I knew," she said as [Name] sent a smile to her. "So, what are you doing here? Still sulking babe?" Belle had tease as [Name] rolled his eyes and offered her to sit on the table he was occupying awhile ago.

"When have I ever sulk, Belle?" [Name] had ask as he sat on his chair again as the blonde female sat opposite to him. The [Hair color] haired man saw Belle's mouth open to retort when he sent her a playful glare. "That wasn't a question," he has grunted as the female laughed at him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she laughed as [Name] sighed.

"But really, what are you doing here? Didn't expect to see you again... especially in this place like this," Belle stated as [Name] sent a quick look to his watch on his wrist as he sighed.

"Just waiting," he vaguely said as the female rosed a brow at his answer. Plopping her arms on the surface of the table as she leaned over. A smirk on her red lips.

"Oh?" She sent [Name] a mischievous look which made the man rolled his eyes but chuckled. "Mr. [Last name] in a date? Oo, goodie!" Belle teased.

"Well, yes," the [Hair color] haired man had agreed as Belle for a moment sent him a surprised look but back to her teasing smile.

"Who's the lucky girl? Do I know her?" Belle had asked, there was a hint of distaste in her tone but the [Hair color] haired man didn't seemed to notice as she heard him laugh. The female saw [Name] rubbed the back of his neck as he sent her a shy grin.

"Well, funny thing is... I'm not really..." [Name] trailed off as he looked at behind the female. His face lit up when he saw someone coming in the coffee shop.

"Ah, Jim!" [Name] had called as he rosed up from his seat and raised a hand to wave while the said man he had called pulled down his sunglasses and smiled at him. Returning the other's wave as he strutted with confidence that Belle immediately noticed. The blonde female raised a brow when she saw the new man, Jim, hugged [Name] tightly when he neared as she heard him said the man's name.

"Hello there darling, did you wait long?" Jim had asked as [Name] shake his head. A soft smile on the [Hair color] haired man's lips as they parted from the hug.

"Kinda... but Belle accompanied me," with the mention of a female, Jim had frowned for a second as he looked at where [Name] had gestured. There sat a blond female on looked at him with a raised brow but sent him a smile.

"Oh? You must be the famous Belle Darnley, yes?" Jim had asked as he offered his hand for Belle to take and shake. The female did with a bit of hesitation that didn't escaped Jim's calculating eyes disguise as false cheerfulness. "Pleasure to meet you," he had said.

"Um, pleasures all mine mister..." Belle trailed off as Jim took his hand away with a laugh.

"Jim. Just call me Jim," Jim had said. A smile on his face but it didn't reached his face as [Name] smiled and put his hand on Jim's shoulder.

"How about you sit Jim, while I'll order, yes?" [Name] had suggested as the dark haired man turned to give him a small grin.

"Of course, the usual alright darling?" Jim had stated as he patted the [Hair color] haired man's cheek, initiating the man to chuckle and hold his hand for a moment until he turned to look at Belle who had been silently watching the two interact.

"What about you Belle? What do you want, its on me," [Name] happily said as he let go of Jim's hand as the blonde female blinked for a second as he sent [Name] a smile. "Or is it that you're still with your diet thing?" [Name] teased as she sent him a pout.

"I am perfectly fine on ordering for myself thank you very much," Belle had pouted as she then grinned. "But if you're being generous... cup of oolong tea and a slice of blood orange tart babe," she had said. Jim narrowed his eyes with the last word of her order. [Name] nodded his head as he turned and walked towards the register of the café.

Both Jim and Belle had watched him as he walked away and when the two saw him getting in line, they looked away. Belle tapping her red manicured nails on the surface of the table as Jim seemed to picked up [Name]'s forgotten phone on the table and began to tap on it. Belle assume he was opening the phone and doing whatever he was doing there.

The blonde female frowned a bit as she did not know the two's relationship. She noticed that [Name] and Jim seemed to be close. Very close with how Jim seemed to interact with [Name] and even be let to use the [Hair color] haired man's phone. Well, technically left his phone on the tabletop and Jim just decided to use it. It still doesn't stop Belle to assume something much more with the two's relationship. Like, they are more than friends.

"So... uh... Jim," Belle started as the said man didn't seem to pay mind to her as he continued to tap and swipe on the phone. His disinterest made her frown a bit. "What is you're relationship with [Name]?" Belle had asked as Jim seemed to pause for a second then typed again on the phone.

Sighing, the female wanted to pester the other more when Jim looked up and Belle was surprised to see him have large grin plastered on his lips.

"And why are you asking dear?" The dark haired man asked as he put down the phone and plopped his elbows on the table. His hands holding each other as his chin rested on his hand. That grin still not leaving his lips and it honeslty made Belle shiver. There was something not right with the man in front of her. He screamed danger for some odd reason but the blonde female disgarded the warning signs her mind is screaming to her as she narrowed her eyes and frowned at him.

"Because I want to know," Belle had stated. Her bold asnwer made the dark haired man chuckle. A gentle smile on Jim's lips as his eyes soften, making Belle be surprised for a moment with his expression.

"Well, you see dear..." Jim trailed off as he closed his eyes. The smile still plastered on his face. "He is mine," he stated.

Belle felt herself freeze when Jim opened his eyes. The dark haired man is glaring at her rather darkly. Those eyes held a calculating look that made the female feel fear. Who was this man?!?

"Please do not try to establish a your relationship back with him, okay dear?" His tone was sickly sweet that made Belle shiver. It was fake. So fake. "Or else..." The blonde female gulped as she felt her voice was somehow gone. There was a lump on her throat and she cant speak up. She wanted too as no one should speak to her that way. She was, after all, Belle Beatrice Darnley.

"Because you can't spell diet without die in it," Jim had purred and it made the female dreaded his words. Was he threatening her?

And as if he was listening to her thoughts, Jim chuckle and shake his head as he put his hands down on the table. "Oh, no dear... I am promising."

The glare he was sending her made Belle want to just run away from him. It was terrifying. Those dark eyes looked so dead and also scary. That creepy grin on his face also added to the female's horror.

"Sorry for the wait you two! The line was awfully long today," [Name] had laughed as he placed the tray where his and the two's order is on. Belle was rather happy for [Name]'s presence as he had sat down as Jim had scooted a bit for him to sit. [Name]'s disturbance made Jim's murderous look away from Belle as he turned to the [Hair color] haired man and softly smiled.

"Thank you darling," Jim had said as be took his own order. A cup of black tea and apple pie as [Name] took his aswell which was an earl grey tea and a slice of oreo cheesecake.

[Name] seemed to notice Belle not touching her order off the tray. Tilting his head and he sent the female a confused look. "Belle, you alright?" [Name] asked as the blonde female hesitantly nodded her head. Forcing a smile on her lips as she briefly sent Jim a look, only to see the dark haired man giving her a glate and mouthing something that made the blonde female terrified beyond imagine.

"Y-yes! Why won't I be?" Belle nervously laughed as she took her order off the tray and shakily drank her tea as [Name] sent her an unimpressived look that means he did not believe her but he just nodded his head and let the subject down. Instead, the [Hair color] haired man turned his attention to Jim who was he had caught trying to take a piece of his cheesecake.

"Jim! Mind you're own food!" [Name] whine as the dark haired chuckled as he successfully took a piece of the cheesecake and ate it quickly. Sending [Name] a grin as he innocently shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't knwo what you're talking about darling," Jim weakly defended himself as [Name] whine again about how he should mind his own food. The two plafully banter as Belle who had silently watched the scene bit her bottom lip.

She was scare-- no, she was terrified. What Jim mouthed to her was:

"Speak no evil or you'll die with the devil," as he had his thumb ran crossed his neck like he was slitting it. An obvious threat to keep her mouth shut or she'll die.

He loves kisses

[Name] was smiling softly as he lovingly watch the dark haired man reading a book beside him. The two were sitting in a cousy couch of the livingroom of their shared home. The television was on as [Name] watching a movie before he looked and admiring the man beside him. His arms pulling Jim closer to him as the dark haired paused his reading to look at [Name] with a raised brow.

"What?" Jim asked. The dark haired man only saw [Name] still having that smile on his lips. "You alright, darling?" He asked.

[Name] nodded his head as he placed a soft kiss on Jim's forehead. The dark haired man couldn't help but smile at his actions as he leaned more close to the other and place a kiss on the other's lips.

The kiss was soft and sweet. A bit innocent which was rather ironic as one of the two was very dangerous and was anything but innocent, yet the kiss they convey was simple and innocent. Full of love to the other.

"I love you," [Name] had said as they parted from the kiss. The other man merely chuckle as he decided to give a quick kiss again to the other.

"Love you too, darling," Jim had purred as he softly sighed and placed his head on the other's shoulder. Feeling [Name]'s arms pull him closer as Jim read again on his books.

He loves hugs

"Darling?" Jim called as he opened the door to his shared home with the [Hair color] haired man. Closing the door as he went inside, Jim took off his black coat and placed it on the coat rack. There was a scent in the air that made Jim hum in content.

"I'm home," he sang as looked around and tried to find the other man.

"I'm in the kitchen dear!" He heard [Name] had shouted as the dark haired went to where he was. As Jim arrived, he stopped at the doorway of the kitchen and leaned to the side as he crossed his arms onto his chest. An amused smile on his lips as his eyes watched [Name]'s figure who was cooking. Explaining the aroma that the dark haired man had smelled when he opened the front door seconds ago.

[Name]'s back was turned to face Jim's as he was cooking something really nice. He was barefooted which Jim immediately noticed as he also wore a grey shirt and sweatpants as he cooked.

"My, you cooking for me? I have such a lovely househusband," Jim had teased as he heard the [Hair color] haired man chuckle and turned his head and sent Jim a grin.

"Of course, just for you dear," [Name] pipe as he flip the bacon he was cooking. Jim giggled as he decided to walk towards the other man. Immediately wrapping his arms around the [Hair color] haired man's body when he had neared. Placing his head in [Name]'s back as the latter hummed.

"Missed me that much, dear?" [Name] had chuckled as Jim let out a hum.

"You have no idea, darling," Jim muttered as the [Hair color] haired softly smile at his words.

The two stayed silent for a minute or so as Jim continued to embrace [Name] while the other continued to cook. Making sure the bacon wont get burnt.

"Bacon for lunch?" Jim had asked when he had peaked at [Name]'s shoulders. The man cooking merely chuckled at his question.

"Why not?" [Name] had said. Taking the bacon off the pan with a spatula and onto the plate that was placed on the counter beside the stove. Turning off the stove then as he slowly faced Jim who loosened his hold on him for him to move.

"Well, I miss you too dear," [Name] had said to Jim's words awhile ago as he wrapped his arms around Jim's body. Tightly hugging the dark haired man as he then placed a soft kiss on Jim's forehead.

"Now, come on," [Name] had said as he unwrapped his arms off Jim's form and was about to turn to grabbed the plate filled with bacon to go to tha table to have some lunch with his lover when Jim still had not let go of him. Instead, the dark haired man hugged him tighter and put his head on [Name]'s chest, listening to the other man's heartbeat.

Jim's actions made [Name] raise a brow as he looked at the dark haired man. "You can let me go now, dear," he had said as Jim did not paid mind to what he said.

"Jim?" [Name] softly called out to the dark haired man as Jim held him tight.

"Can we stay like this for a moment?" [Name] heard Jim muttered as a soft smile formed on the [Hair color] haired man's lips. Wrapping his arms back around Jim's form as he held the man tight.

"Of course, dear," he had softly muttered.

He loves [Name]

"[Name]!" Jim whined as he saw the [Hair color] haired man just innocently smiled at him. The two were outside, walking in St. James' Park. Trying to enjoy the two's day with walking outside for some fresh air. No evil schemes (Jim said it will be tomorrow). No consulting detective to deduce the latest crimes or to figure out who this "live ine pet" that Jim Moriarty have. No other criminals asking for help to the dark haired man.

Just the two spending time with each other's presence in the lovely park.

"Jim!" [Name] imitated Jim's tone as the said man sent him a pout and a soft glare. Causing him to chukle a bit.

"Don't tease darling," Jim had pouted as [Name] laughed and gently placed both his hands on the dark haired man's cheeks and booping his nose on Jim's. Initiating a bunny kiss which made a smile threatening to form on the dark haired man's lips.

"Stop being so cute darling," Jim had softly whine as [Name] laughed and shake his head at Jim's words. Loving looking at the dark haired man in the eyes as he grinned.

"Says the one who is being adorable with pouting," [Name] retorted as Jim rolled his eyes but smiled.

"I love you darling," Jim had said as [Name] smiled at him. Softly kissing Jim's lips as he then muttered his reply.

"I love you too dear," [Name] had said as he wrapped his arms around Jim's while the other did aswell. Jim wrapping his arms on [Name]'s neck as he hugged the other tightly. Fully content with each other's embrace.

[wasneeplus]

Why Bojack Horseman season 5 was disappointing

So it ends with a car slowly disappearing into a tunnel. The driver is probably just as confused about her motives as I am in that moment. The music plays, the camera zooms out, the credits roll, the curtain falls. And here I am, feeling more conflicted than I’ve ever felt before about a piece of media.

By now it’s well known what kind of heights the Netflix show Bojack Horseman can sore to when it’s in its element. This show is truly something special. I’ve never seen anything that can touch me, delight me and, at the same time, depress me the way this show can. Catch me at the right time and you might even hear me confess to this being my favourite show of all time. So rest assured that everything I’m about to say I say out of love, and because of the incredibly high standards the show has set for itself. That being said, I do think my complaints are legitimate, and there were enough serious shortcomings to make me feel very disappointed in season 5.

According to many, Bojack Horseman had kind of a rocky start. Looking back at the first few episodes I think they are decent enough, but they’re certainly not representative of what the show would become known for eventually. But we didn’t have to wait very long to see a drastic increase in quality, which kept on going until the season 3 finale brought it to a preliminary climax. I still think season 3 is the strongest one overall, though the highest highs probably occurred in season 4. And then there’s season 5, which is the first time I feel the quality has dropped significantly. Worse, it detracts from previous seasons by putting certain moments in a new, quite unflattering light. But we’ll get there.

Themes of Ruin

The first thing I have to talk about, and I just have to get this out of the way so please bear with me, is feminism and my intense dislike for it. A lot of people when they hear this still think that I feel this way because I have a problem with women’s rights. Nothing could be further from the truth though. If feminism was just a women’s rights movement I’d have no problem with it. But it is way, way more than that. Feminism is an ideology, that brings its own ideological lens to the table. When viewed through that lens the world turns into one where society is dominated by an all encompassing power structure called the patriarchy. Men and women are related and locked together by a massive class struggle, although some more modern strands of feminism hold that men are just as much puppets of the patriarchy. The patriarchy, then, is the source of all the world’s social ills, and puts upon us a moral obligation to overthrow it in some kind of world revolution. Worse still, feminism in recent decades has become more and more anti-science in an attempt to discredit scientific explanations for social ills that they attribute to the patriarchy. It’s gotten to a point where the whole concept of the scientific method is under attack from academics who bought into this world view. I’ve written about this before, if anyone’s interested. All of this makes it impossible for me to view feminism as anything but a nutty conspiracy theory, akin to the kinds of things the alt-right movement would say about Zionism.

So to make the character of Diane Nguyen a feminist was always going to result in an uphill battle to make me lik her. Again, if this confuses you: imagine if she’d been a white supremacist instead, or some other kind of ideologue which would be completely disgusting to you. Imagine if instead of going on about the patriarchy, she went on about the conspiracy to commit genocide against white people, organised by a shadowy group of Zionists. That’s what it feels like for me. No matter how sympathetic the rest of her character is, her spouting that bigoted nonsense from time to time was always going to be a mark against her. And yet, amazingly, for four seasons the writers did make me like her, quite a bit actually. She was shown to be a caring, principled person who held herself to very high standards. While she had her flaws, she also seemed acutely aware of them. So much so that her season 2 arc revolved entirely around her hiding away from one of her failures out of shame. This season however her dark side just can’t be ignored anymore, because it’s intrinsically woven into the entire theme of the season. And the Diane that it brings out is one that the show is trying to frame as an improved version of herself, but honestly she just seems like kind of a bitch to me. But I’ll get back to Diane’s character this season in a moment. First I want to start with some of the more minor annoyances.

The Road to Nowhere

Throughout season 5 of Bojack Horseman I continually felt like I was waiting for something to happen, like the show was promising me something but dragging its heels to get there. I think the main reason for that is that nothing this season really got resolved, and some promising plot lines were barely explored. I know a lack of resolution is kind of Bojack Horseman’s thing. Life doesn’t suddenly end with a credit roll; it just keeps going even after what you think is a happy ending. The creator of the show, Raphael Bob-Waksberg, has stated that he doesn’t believe in endings. A bit of a worrying statement, since Bojack does have to end one day, but it has worked so far. Here’s the thing though: Bojack Horseman is not real life; it is a tv show. As such it needs to keep to a certain structure to tell an effective story. If you want to show something resembling real life that’s fine, but do cut out the dull bits please. We get an entire arc of Princess Carolyn looking for an adoptive child which seemingly gets resolved at the end by.... her adopting a child. Maybe it’s just me, but that feels way more like the beginning of a story than any kind of resolution. We get some interesting backstory about PC during  her search, but the whole things ends up feeling like padding. Certainly nothing that compares to her arc in season 4, where we see her go from heaven to hell in the span of several episodes. 

Bojack himself this season doesn’t seem to go through any kind of character growth either. There are no moments of revelation that give him and us more insight into his tortured soul. Everything we see of him we knew already, and all the problems he faces are ones that get introduced right at the beginning of the season, to be seemingly resolved at the end. Again, I will get to the ludicrous season climax in a moment, but as for the main character of the show: it seemed like the writers were either disinterested in him or really had no clue where to go with him next. Bojack kind of disappears into the background altogether during much of the season, since most of the other characters get way more development than he does. We do get some interesting interactions between him and Hollyhock, but that doesn’t really go anywhere either.

Mister Peanutbutter’s arc is actually kind of interesting and I have no major complaints about that. Todd on the other hand is probably one of the biggest missed opportunities in the show so far. His asexuality, and the problems coming with that, are barely explored. When Todd first came out as asexual I was a little disappointed I have to admit. I saw Todd as someone who was just really shy about sex, even though he had a healthy social life in most other respects. I saw a lot of myself and my own complicated relationship with my sexuality in Todd because of that, more so because there just aren’t any characters in fiction which represent that side of me. So when that turned out to be wishful thinking on my part, for a moment it was quite a letdown. But hey, the show doesn’t have any obligation to cater to me specifically, and it’s true that I’ve never seen an asexual character either so this could be quite interesting after all! Or so I thought.

In reality the issues surrounding asexuality barely get a mention. I don’t know any asexual people, so I can only go on what I’ve heard. My understanding is that most asexual people are indeed interested in romance, but finding someone who will be there for them, with which to form an emotional bond and a life partnership, but who at the same time is okay with never having sex with them, is quite hard. In fact, it’s something that a lot of asexual people really struggle with. I was a little disappointed that none of that really came into play in season 4, but it seemed season 5 was going to remedy this. As it turned out we get only a few brief moments where its mentioned that asexuals shouldn’t date each other just on the basis of both being asexuals and that’s it.

The rest of the time Todd doesn’t appear to be struggling with it. In fact, he doesn’t really seem to need any kind of genuine human connection at all. That’s fine for a comic relief character, which is how Todd spends most of his time, but if you’re going to tackle a serious subject like this then don’t half-ass it. Hell, Emily seems to struggle with it a lot more than Todd, even though we have seen that Todd does have feelings for Emily. All of the above is mentioned at one point or another, but we never see the consequences play out the way we usually do on this show. More time is spend on the social stigma surrounding asexuality than it is on actually living with it. Maybe season 6 will finally go deeper into the nitty gritty, but if so it remains just another thing that this season sets up only to do nothing with.

Diane

As the final episode of season 5 ends we focus on Diane driving a car. It’s a departure from previous seasons where we would focus on Bojack in the final moments, but it’s a fitting one since season 5 was much more Diane’s story than it was Bojack’s. It’s also a departure in another way, namely that I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to feel while watching this, nor what’s supposed to be going through the head of the person I’m watching. Diane is probably the most prominent victim of this season’s smothering theme. Normally a theme should strengthen the material by binding everything together in a package that’s greater than the sum of its parts. But as previously mentioned this season has a strong feminist bend, and one of the stated goals of feminism is to make the personal political. As such, everything having to do with it is swallowed by the political message it’s trying to get across. At least, that’s what it seems like. With Diane we start out observing a woman who is trying to cope with her recent divorce. This was the obvious angle to take of course after season 4, and certainly one with a lot of potential. I really felt for Diane as she had to struggle with her newfound poverty, both in her love life as well as her, well, actual life. In episode 4, titled BoJack the Feminist, it all comes to a head for the first time however, beginning with the following stupid line:

Who? Who loves male feminists? As far as I can tell they’re one of the most despised groups of people populating the political landscape. Obviously anti-feminists loathe them, often even more so than their female counterparts. But judging by the portrayal of every man claiming to be a feminist in this show I doubt even the person who wrote that line holds them in very high regard. I would think that someone trying to write political satire would at least have to be grounded enough to know something like this. During this scene we are also subjected to the following tired cliche:

One would think that by now everyone knows this simply isn’t the case. It’s not like feminists have never tried to broaden their appeal by finding a man to speak for them. As it turns out this never works. Because the world in which a man’s word is taken so much more seriously that it’s the only way to get a message into the public consciousness, that world exists only in the heads of the most devout feminists. The only way to still be clinging to this notion is by completely ignoring reality. As it happens that’s exactly how it goes, and time and again I have to sit through another incarnation of a feminists “brilliant” “new” idea of: “hey, what if we let a man say it?!” I’m sure every time this happens the person in question thinks they’re the first to come up with it and thinks themselves very smart indeed. I don’t know how they respond when it fails yet again, but I doubt we’ll see any introspection on it from the writing staff in season 6.

In any case, this episode was probably the most annoyingly feminist one out there. We get the conformation that Diane also buys into the behavioural psychology side of the ideology, with her whole “media normalising the wrong things” shtick. It’s quite a worrying thing to me that the writers themselves seem to buy into this as well. There is a fine line between weaving a message in your art and making soulless political propaganda. If you care more about the message your art gets across than the quality of the art itself, as Diane appears to do, then it becomes damn near impossible to stay on the right side of that line. Last season there were some signs of this already, when we got the amazingly ridiculous Thoughts and Prayers. It made some interesting points about women and gun ownership (an argument straight from the NRA as it turns out) but ends in a spectacularly ridiculous fashion.

This after the Californian state legislature just passed a ban on all guns after a woman committing a mass shooting, described by PC as “sensible gun legislation” after a whole episode of arguing why gun ownership might be a positive thing for society in some cases. I can’t believe the Bojack writers are that cynical about the motives of gun ownership advocates. I really don’t know what they hope to achieve by knocking down such a clumsily constructed strawman either. In any case, besides the obvious bullshit conclusion the episode itself wasn’t that offensive to me, unlike BoJack the Feminist which wears its biases on its sleef.

The next big development in Diane the soapbox straddler’s journey comes in episode 7 called INT. SUB, where we get this bit from ms. Nguyen:

Admittedly Bojack spends most of this episode being a huge dick, so a verbal slap down was probably the appropriate response here. One might be tempted to brush off this comment as Diane just being angry, and rightfully so. But the way it’s framed it comes across like Diane is supposed to be speaking some hard hitting truth. She’s not though. We’ve been with Bojack for 44 episodes by this point and the changes have been so gradual they’re sometimes hardly noticeable, but they’ve been there. Bojack went from someone who did nothing but keep Todd down to being genuinely supportive of him when he admitted to being asexual. Yes, there was this one episode where he almost helped Todd launch a music career, but I always interpreted that as him trying to impress Diane. He went from someone who would turn down everything he got offered for the flimsiest of reasons to doing a show he knew nothing about as a favour to PC.

He went from someone who cared about no one but himself and his own misery to someone who genuinely cares about the well being of Gina, his costar. He went from someone who pushed everyone away to someone longing for the company of his sister, who he clearly cares about very much. Can you imagine the arsehole of early season 1 doing any of that? So Diane’s comment appears very misplaced and mean-spirited. With some different framing this whole situation could be about unfairly judging someone’s past. Of course we know the show is definitely not going to go there; it railed against forgiving public figures, that is men, for past transgressions just three episodes ago. Anyway, the point is that I can understand Diane saying it in the heat of the moment, but why does it seem like the writers are agreeing with her?

Here we come back to the crux of Diane’s arc in this season. The reason she inflicts her feminist side on us so much is not because it’s in service of any kind of character development. Her arc should've been about her standing on her own two feet again after the divorce, like it seemed to be at the beginning. Instead somewhere along the line the writers decided to make her the mouthpiece of the message this season is trying to send, thus making her character subordinate to political considerations, just as I feared. This is expressed most clearly in episode number 10, Head in the Clouds. Bojack and company are at the premier of their television show Philbert when Bojack is asked to say some words to the waiting public before the screening. Since he has nothing prepared and his head is at a totally different place at the moment he mutters some lines which barely make any sense.

They are enough to set off Diane’s righteous fury however and after the screening she first confronts Flip, saying that she “screwed up”.

The idea is that she thinks because people will identify with Philbert they will rationalise their own awful behaviour. So what we learn here is that Ms. Nguyen, despite her lecturing about media and how it influences people, doesn’t actually understand the first thing about how art interacts with the human mind. The big problem with most human beings is that they tend to overestimate their own goodness. This is not my observation, in fact it’s widely known among folks who study this sort of thing. The best way art can shape us into better people is not by being purely didactic, that is, trying to teach us what’s good and what’s bad. People above the age of nine are not going to absorb that message. Instead, what a piece of media should aim to do is try and help the observer become aware of the darkness in their own soul. The best way to do this is to make them identify with a character like Philbert, make them feel what he feels and then show them the shitty things he does because of it. And everyone feels vulnerable at some points. Everyone, even the biggest arseholes. So when you show someone like Philbert doing something nasty, and the viewer is seriously questioning whether or not they’d be doing the same thing in that circumstance, then you’ve written something successful. Then you’ve written something that can truly affect people for the better.

Of course all of this is completely lost on Diane who, after getting nowhere with Flip, goes to Bojack and confronts him with his earlier statement. She tells him that the point of Philbert was never to make him or anyone else feel okay about what they’ve done. She says she doesn’t want anyone to justify their shitty behaviour because of the show. Naturally Bojack asks her what the hell her problem is, so after some back and forth she confronts him with the tape describing what happened between him and Penny in New Mexico. The situation escalates until Diane starts berating him about what happened with Sarah Lynn. The fight ends with the apparent end of their friendship.

I hate everything about this whole scene. It fact it might be the whole reason I decided to write this. It’s downright uncomfortable to watch at some points. That probably was the intention to some degree, but it’s uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons. I don’t feel “confronted” by anything. Rather I weep for what the writers have done to Diane. This scene feel’s like a bully kicking their victim while they’re down. I’ll talk about the whole Penny and Sarah Lynn thing in the next part, so let me just say here that I don’t understand what Diane is hoping to accomplish with this. She asks Bojack if he feels bad about all the things he’s done, and he admits he does. He does try to excuse it.

But after receiving no sympathy he goes on to claim that he is the real victim, because he has to live with this shit. Whether or not he really means it or is just trying to upset Diane is unclear. What is clear that Diane’s approach is entirely unproductive. Bojack becomes more and more defensive as she becomes more aggressive and unsympathetic. I would also like to know who all these women are that Bojack has wronged. It’s implied that Bojack doesn’t care about their feelings as long as he feels sorry for himself. Diane’s scrutiny isn’t exactly not making him feel sorry for himself, in fact it has kind of the opposite effect, but it’s also hard to sympathise when I don’t give a shit either. Who are all these women? What has Bojack done to them that was so horrible? Again, we’ll get to Penny and Sarah Lynn in a second, but I almost get the feeling that the show is trying to shame Bojack for having lots of casual sex. You can say that’s not exactly a good thing, but it’s not something that he does to other people. Sex, believe it or not, is still something that two people do together under most circumstances. I’m not going to feel sorry for all those vapid starfuckers for getting exactly what they were after. Even in the case of, say, Emily I don’t think he owes her any apologies. He certainly did to Todd for sleeping with the girl he was infatuated with, but then I don’t remember Todd being particularly upset at any of those firemen either. Emily could’ve just said no and that would’ve been the end of it. Instead she decided to approach Bojack and sleep with him.

The fight culminates in Bojack confirming her earlier accusation.

Which we already know isn’t true. After all, what is the point of this whole damn tv series if we didn’t see Bojack change at any point. But the writers put these words into his mouth not because it is in line with the character development we’ve seen so far, but because is serves the message. This season is about confronting powerful men with their awful behaviour, so Diane has to become belligerent to Bojack to confront him, and Bojack needs to tell us she’s right for doing so because he’s learned nothing. Screw you if you’ve become invested in his growth as a character. You’re no different from those who get invested in Philbert and cheer for him, even though he’s awful. That’s what I mean when I say Diane’s just become a mouthpiece for the writers. This scene is to show that Bojack is one of those awful powerful men that needs to be confronted, and the fact that it’s Diane doing it, the same person responsible for making Philbert “too likeable” says something about what the writers think about their main character. One gets the distinct impression that the earlier quote from Diane about Philbert is exactly how they think about Bojack. Given that, who do you think the people who excuse their behaviour because of Philbert are supposed to represent? Why do you think this season is so concerned with teaching us about how media normalises things? What we are watching is the writers confessing to realising how many people like Bojack, and them being afraid their audience is too stupid not to idolise and emulate him. So it has to be more obvious that Bojack is the bad guy, and believe me: they will make it very obvious in the next episode.

But first to wrap up Diane’s... I guess we should call it her “arc”. After angrily leaving the premier with her ex-husband she tops off the night by sleeping with him, despite his new girlfriend. Two episodes later it happens again. During the whole process she explodes several times about how bad it makes her feel, which prompts Mister Peanutbutter to ask:

Which she shoots right back at him. His answer is clear: because he loves her. But we never get an answer from her, and frankly: I would like one. It completely baffles me why she would do this. If her arc would’ve been more about her divorce perhaps this could’ve been explained. But as is it’s a shocking piece of hypocrisy that never gets addressed.

She does mention being a hypocrite and not knowing what she’s doing later on, but naturally there’s someone on hand to excuse her, since she isn’t a man.

Here Diane shows some much needed introspection, but she doesn’t really go into any specifics. What’s more, the final conversation between Bojack and Diane doesn’t even reference any of this. In fact there is no reason given for why she’s helping him beyond a simple “eh, we’re still friends”

What she should’ve said of course is that she realised she can never expect to truly forgive herself if she can’t also forgive him. All the pieces were in place, and it would at least have given all the previous scenes I talked about some kind of point. The execution would still have been awful, but at least I wouldn’t have to use quotation marks around the word arc. But no, we can’t have the author insertion character come off her moral high horse, no pun intended. She just has to do it because she is such an awesome friend.

So yeah, bit of a mess this character. I can almost discern the contours of a logical character progression, probably as it was originally intended. All the ideas were there: her being confused about where she stands with Mister Peanutbutter, being confronted with her own insecurities at the same time, and Bojack trying to get her to play ball with his shitty schemes and her finally putting her foot down. But Bob-Waksberg has admitted that changes were made to the story after they decided to play into the #metoo controversy going on at the time. I wonder if those changes involved sacrificing some parts of Diane’s arc, to give us the mangled corpse of a character arc that we see here.

The Whole Penny and Sarah Lynn Thing

The two main things thrown at the feet of Bojack in the fight with Diane are his involvement in the death of Sarah Lynn and his almost having sex with the daughter of his old friend. Let’s start with the more justified one. What happened between him and Penny was that Bojack, a way older man who should’ve known better, gave in for a moment to the avances of a seventeen year old girl and might have done something with her if her mother hadn’t walked in. Now, I can fully understand why Charlotte would be very angry about this, and why Bojack feels guilty about it. After all, he found something out about himself which wasn’t pretty. But what I never understood was Penny’s reaction to all of this. Specifically the moment in what is probably one of the most profound episodes of the whole series, That’s Too Much, Man!, in which they go to her college and Bojack almost literally stumbles into her. Her reaction to this is... quite bizar. She acts like a traumatised child stumbling into her abuser.

Keep in mind that this happened just last season. So how old is Penny now? Eighteen, maybe nineteen years old? No one says this about themselves just one year later. Never mind the fact that seventeen does not equal little child, I don’t buy that Penny had such a sudden leap in maturity. Maybe if it was ten years later and she had a lot more sexual experience, enough to know that sex can be a completely unromantic act to satisfy some urges sometimes. When she looks around and sees some seventeen year olds, and suddenly realises how young she was at the time, and then she realises she was taken advantage of and feels disgusted? Yeah, I’d buy that. But this is just nonsense. I thought so at the time as well, but I supposed it wouldn’t fit into the story line if we’d had to wait ten years for the revelation. What compounds it is this simple observation by Bojack himself.

And he’s right about that. Nothing actually happened. Sure, there were probably some exceptionally uncomfortable conversations between Penny and her parents afterwards, but I get the impression they worked it out between them. So at most I would expect Penny to look upon Bojack as a rather disgusting old man who she once, in a fit of youthful naïveté, felt attracted to. But this whole trauma angle stretches credulity. I was willing to put up with it as long as it was just another thing to weigh on Bojack’s conscience. The way he saw the incident up to this point was way more important than how it actually happened. After all, only he knows if he really would’ve gone through with it, or at least he thinks he knows. But now, because of the meta-commentary at work here, we as the audience are being scolded for not caring enough about Penny’s feelings by still rooting for Bojack. I’m sorry, but that’s where I draw te line. The reason I don’t care is because what you’re telling me makes no sense, and that’s not my fault.

On a side note: I do find it a bit rich that Diane essentially chastises Bojack for presumably intending to have sex with Penny, when in season one she was singing a rather different tune.

Whether you agree with that or not (I happen to think there’s a bit more to it than that) you have to acknowledge that it works both ways. Maybe Bojack is convinced deep down that he is capable of something like that, but until he actually does we’ll never know, and all we can judge him on are his actions. His actions don’t include sleeping with a seventeen year old girl. I wonder where the writers of season 5 stand on this, and if they realised this character inconsistency. Then again, I think we already established they didn’t really give a toss about Diane’s character this season.

Sarah Lynn then, the drug addict who overdosed on Bojack, thanks to Bojack. Or so we are led to believe. The truth of the matter is a lot more complicated I think. The only thing that Bojack bares the full responsibility for is him calling her up and asking if she’s up for going on a bender. Yes, that’s certainly not the most responsible thing to do, but she’d already revealed to Bojack she was fully intending on going back to doing drugs anyway. So let’s unpack the accusations regarding Sarah Lynn one by one.

So how was that his fault exactly? We see in one episode that her mother was right there on set with Sarah Lynn all the time. Sarah Lynn isn’t and never was his responsibility. The guilt he feels over that was more because of his inaction, which is understandable. Maybe he could’ve helped her, maybe not, but he probably should’ve tried. But when the only father figure in her life is an actor she works with then something has already gone terribly wrong, and not because of Bojack. The real reason it eats him up is probably because he cared about her and because he likes himself much more as a jovial dad than the grumpy washed-up celebrity he became, not because his actions led her to growing up the way she did.

When did that happen? Sarah Lynn never came to him for help. They accidentally ran into each other and after a little incident he immediately checked her into rehab. She refused to stay there though and came to Bojack to ask him if she could crash at his place. That’s the story, morning glory.

You could say it like that. Or you could say that she had sex with him. What’s the difference exactly? That Sarah Lynn was a washed up star, and addict who had a really rough childhood? All of that also applies to Bojack. Sarah Lynn wasn’t some wide eyed, innocent, naive, young thing. She was a grown woman in her thirties. Yeah, her and Bojack probably weren’t good for each other, but she came to him, remember? I can’t for the life of me think of a way of looking at this where Bojack was the one doing wrong to Sarah Lynn and not the other way around. Surely we aren’t supposed to think it’s because Bojack’s a man and Sarah Lynn a woman, right?

She seemed awfully eager to abandon her sober streak though. She lived in a house made of drugs with bottles stacked behind her calendar. Besides, as I said before, according to her she was planning on doing drugs again eventually.

But I get your point Diane. Maybe without Bojack this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe without Bojack she would still be alive. In any case it was pretty reckless of him to do that without any regards for her safety. So, where were her regards for his safety? Remember, he was an emotional wreck when he called her, and she didn’t give a damn. Under similar circumstances Bojack insisted she go to rehab, but she immediately agreed to take him on a bender and didn’t suggest to stop even when he started having severe blackouts. What if Bojack had died instead? Would Diane be giving this speech to Sarah Lynn now? Again, clearly these two weren’t good for each other, but I don’t see how Bojack was so much more responsible for this outcome than Sarah Lynn herself. How are “his actions” solely to blame for this? They were two damaged people doing stupid things together. Should he now feel guilty over having better luck than her?

Well yeah, Diane. What are you, some kind of psychopath? Of course it was rough for him. He was there and could’ve stopped it, but he failed her and so his friend died. That would be very rough on anyone, and especially on someone who is already emotionally crippled. This is what I mean when I say Diane really comes across as a spiteful bitch in this scene. Can you imagine rubbing someone’s face in their friend’s death, even when you’re angry with them? I sure can’t.

In the end I think it’s a good thing for the show that Bojack isn’t actually as horrible as he believes himself to be, or as this scene is trying to imply for that matter. Bojack is an arsehole, sure. He does stupid things sometimes, he does things that hurt other people. But generally those people choose to associate with him, and we see the sometimes twisted, but relatable rationale behind his actions. It’s a good thing that Bojack retains a certain degree of likeability that keeps us rooting for him. If not I probably wouldn’t have watched the entire show up until now. These two incidents were the most shocking ones that happened before this scene, and although we’ve been told before that Bojack is not the good guy of the story, the writers clearly haven’t dared making him the bad guy either. In the end they know what they’ve got with him. Even the climax of this season, although probably even more shocking than anything that came before, they didn’t pull of without leaving lot’s of wiggle room to excuse Bojack. Here, let me show you.

Bojack’s Big Break

Bojack’s arc this season is almost none-existent as far as I can see. We find out literally nothing new about him, and I don’t know how he’s supposed to have changed by the end of it. Maybe it’s because I don’t follow the logic behind anything that happens between him and Diane at the end, but I never had that problem in previous seasons. There are two main developments. The first is Bojack starting to conflict the fictional world of the character he plays on Philbert with the real world and his own life in it. The second is his related drug addiction which begins around the start of the season and drives most of the plot surrounding him.

For starters I would like to say how strange it is to see Bojack develop a debilitating drug addiction. Not because he would never touch the stuff, but because he would, and has, many times before. In fact, he’s been an addict for years by now, and it never seemed to affect him the way these pills do. What’s so special about them? I don’t know. Granted, I’ve never taken them, but are they really that potent that Bojack would rather drown himself in those things than just drinking his pain away, as usual? I know a lot of people don’t realise this because of its pervasiveness, but alcohol is just another drug, same as cocaine, meth and xtc.

So that’s the first problem. The second problem is an out of universe one: it doesn’t tie into any previous character development. It resolves nothing, nor does it really further anything, except Bojack going to rehab at the end of the season. Maybe there we can see some character development, but it would then just be another thing that season 5 sets up only to do nothing with. Given that it doesn’t really affect anything until episode 11, the whole thing feels like an artificial substitute for a character arc. More like a contrivance for the sake of the big climax than something that flows naturally from the themes and character. Well, maybe that’s a bit unfair of me. It only really feels like a contrivance at the climax itself, and only in light of everything else I’ve discussed. In all honesty this plot line is actually woven pretty well throughout the events of season 5, and it does come into play a few times. We see it slowly escalate from the point where almost no one seems to notice to a the complete breakdown of Bojack’s sanity at the end. The problem, once again, is that it doesn’t develop Bojack as a character in any way. This becomes very clear in the big whammer episode when it culminates into a violent outburst on set between him and Gina.

So, the strangling incident then. There are two contradictory motivations at work here on the part of the writers. first, Bojack needs the be firmly reestablished as the bad guy in the story. It needs to be shown that he will just keep doing more and more horrendous things as long as he’s allowed to have a career despite of it and never learn his lesson. The point is hammered home when he strangles his costar on set in a fit of rage. To be sure, it’s the most shocking thing we’ve seen him do so far. Naturally it destroys his relationship with her and when they see each other again she is understandably wounded and furious do to his actions. But something doesn’t add up here and the writers hint at it without even knowing it.

Would he though? Admittedly I’m no lawyer, but I’m pretty sure there are some mitigating circumstances in this scenario. Leaving the legal technicalities aside for a moment, what does our intuitive sense of justice say?

It’s clear from the weird, trippy blurring of fiction and reality in episode 11, the fact that Bojack doesn’t remember anything of it afterwards and the clear implication that he isn’t being himself in the heat of it, that he’s having some kind of drug induced psychotic episode. Considering that he himself brought it on by taking way too many of those pills he’s certainly not blameless. But there was no way to predict this woud happen. Bojack’s never been violent before, as far as we’ve seen. He’s also done a lot of drugs, but it’s never triggered any kind of psychotic break. Not to mention that he got hooked on the pills due to a doctor’s prescription, not because he tried to get high. So at the very least there’s a bit of a moral grey area. In fact, I would say it completely undermines the moral picture this episode tries to paint. Bojack didn’t do this because he’s a bad guy. He did it because his mind wasn’t functioning properly due to outside influence. So the message falls flat. Of course it does: it conflicts with the writer’s other motivation, the reason a scenario where Bojack wasn’t himself for a moment had to be concocted in the first place. If they hadn’t it would’ve completely alienated the entire audience from the main character of their show. As we’ve established that was a bridge too far, so this weird compromise has been put on the screen where we are both supposed hate Bojack but excuse him at the same time. It doesn’t work because those are two contradictory aims.

Let me take a moment to point out how weird this whole conversation is. Gina implies that there’s been no justice for her. Yeah, but the reason there was no justice is because you haven’t pressed any charges, despite overwhelming evidence in your favour. You didn’t, because you cared more about your career than about justice. Now don’t get me wrong, I think the indictment of celebrity culture and the whole Hollywood publicity machine in this scene is actually very well done. But of all the things to get angry about, why bring this up? The one thing you yourself are responsible for. I mean, for crying out loud!

While we’re on the subject, am I the only one that finds it weird how she describes the incident?

He did a little more than that, didn’t he? Just physically overpowering someone is what you do when you want to restrain someone from getting away, or doing something you don’t want them to. In some cases it might be for their own good even. What Bojack did was lay on top of her and strangle her with both hands. If that happened to me I would never describe it in those terms. I don’t know what exactly the intent was with choosing these words. Maybe it’s supposed to show how reluctant she is to talk about it. But it comes across as either an attempt to trivialise the whole incident, or to place any instance of a man overpowering a woman on the same level as what Bojack did.

There is, admittedly, a more charitable reading of the climax, namely as an indictment against Diane’s behaviour in the previous episode. While the theme of the season is evil men and their evil deeds, it also shows there are no easy solutions. Directly after Diane’s confrontation at the premier Bojack is shown to take a large dose of pills to cope. It’s implied that his drug problem only really gets out of hand after that. So while Diane’s outburst might be justified, her moral grandstanding is not the solution to the problem. In fact it only made things worse. The final conversation might make slightly more sense in that light as well. Though only slightly, and it doesn’t exactly fix any of the other problems I’ve mentioned so far. Still, I suppose I should take what I can get. Which reminds me...

You’re Adopted!

Of all the many things that irked me about this season by far the most egregious one, the one that really made me angry, came right at the end. It was the rather underwhelming conclusion to PC’s arc. Her adopting a child and becoming a single mother in the process. What irked me wasn’t the underwhelming part, or that it didn’t fit into her character development, because it did. No, it was the huge blow to my respect for her, and the way in which it was framed. It’s made to look like this happy ending for both mother and child, but it’s quite possibly the most selfish thing I’ve seen anyone do in this show, which is saying quite a lot. Not because of the adoption itself, but because of her choice of doing it as a single mother when a suitable father is available right there.

Now, I realise that this is what PC’s journey as a character has been building up to for quite a while. She’s had difficulties excepting help from other people. She’s also consistently pushed people away who didn’t need her as much as she needed them. In fact, the problem has been escalating as the series went on. First there was Rutabaga Rabitowitz, who was kind of a dick to her so it was probably a good thing to rid herself of his antics. Then there was Judah, who was nearly perfect in every way. She fired him for just one screw up. After that came Ralph, who did absolutely nothing wrong before she decided she needed to break up with him out of nowhere. Contrast that with the infinite number of chances she’s given Bojack over the years. Bojack can, at some points, barely function without her. That’s what PC needs in a relationship, any kind of relationship. Strong, independent people scare her, and she is completely incapable of accepting she might need help from anyone.

Now, all of those are interesting character flaws and serve to make her more sympathetic rather than less. That is, as long as she herself is the victim of them. But when an innocent child is dragged into it I can no longer sympathise. No matter what the personal demons you’re struggling with, when you take on the responsibility of raising a child you should do your best to put them aside. That’s the time to think about what’s best for the child, not about what you want out of it. To just brush of Ralph because “she’s made her plans” and he’s “not in them” is such a shallow reason to rob the child of the chance to have a father in its life. What, she’s going to take care of it when a lot of the time she’s already too busy to pay any attention to her personal life? Or is she waiting for someone better than Ralph to come along? 

I probably wouldn’t make such a fuss out of this if the framing wasn’t so horrible. I hoped I wasn’t imagining it at first. That’s when I saw a certain popular youtuber claim that it was clear she was going to handle single motherhood just fine. That’s just such a baffling thing to say, I don’t know where to start. Okay, I have huge respect for women who are thrust into single motherhood and rise to the occasion, making the best of a difficult situation. To willingly foist that upon your little family when there’s an easy alternative is not a sign of “self-sufficiency” however, but of sheer stupidity, ignorance, narcissism, or all of the above. Furthermore, PC’s problem has never been a lack of self-sufficiency. Quite the opposite in fact. Self-sufficiency is her drug. It’s what she uses to plaster over her other problems. So is taking care of others. Which brings us to the last point: I really doubt PC is doing this for the right reasons. With her compulsion chances are she’s taken on this responsibility to solve her own problems. That’s not how this works though. Couple that with the fact that she’s got plenty to do already, and I can’t see this turn into anything but a huge disaster. 

I don’t know if the showrunners are smart or honest enough to see the problems that should arise from this. I think they are, they’ve planted hints to that effect throughout season 5, but I’m not sure. Abandoning their female empowerment trip of late will certainly displease a few people. Showing the worst case scenario will be ugly and uncomfortable. Let’s hope the writing staff shows the same kind of bravery with that as they’ve done with showing Bojack’s debacles.

Conclusion

Well, if I think about it for a while I can undoubtedly find a lot more things to bitch about, but I think this will do. All in all I certainly can’t say I hate season 5, or that it was a bad season, but it was a huge step down. The main problems are that the characters just don’t progress naturally, or that their arcs are thin to the point of being almost non-existent. Not that everything that is there is bad, but it just doesn’t feel like enough to fill a whole season. It started out promising, but somewhere along the way the decision was taken to focus more on sending a political message than on where the character’s current journeys would take them and that was really to its detriment. All of the issues I mentioned in this piece could be fixed in season 6, in which case season 5 would become just a slightly too long buildup in hindsight. I do think the team behind Bojack has proven they have more than enough talent to bring this around. However, if Game of Thrones taught us anything it’s that no matter how good a show is in its first few seasons, it can always turn to shit later. Let’s hope Bojack Horseman is spared that fate. 

[erizo-schultz]

debating drawing a stardew valley mandala

[givemewinterpls]

The Homesickness Will Never Pass

You know when you're really excited for something like a birthday, a holiday, etc? You know how the days leading up to it just feel like filler days? Days that just feel like waiting? Pointless days. Days that you wish you could just skip. My whole life feels like that now. I feel like every day I'm just waiting.

I feel so disinterested in everything, all I want is for the days to pass.

What's frustrating is I don't know when I'm waiting for. Am I waiting for a year from now? Two or three? More? Maybe it would be easier if I knew when. Maybe then I could breathe and continue living my life instead of trying to fast forward it. But I have no idea. I have no idea when I get to leave here. I have no idea when I get to go home.

I feel like no one around me understands how much it hurts. It sounds silly to them, and, yes, a first world problem. I realize I could be dealing with much, much, much worse.

But it hurts. I can't deny that it hurts. All I've ever drempt of since I was barely a teenager was getting out of this state. I have hundreds of my writings about it, it was practically all I wrote about for years. I have never wanted anything more than to leave Texas. I have never felt comfortable here, I've always felt seperate. All I've ever wanted was to get out and I did. I felt the incredible relief, the freedom, of leaving. I got to see so much, take so many pictures (which is the 2nd thing I've always wanted the most, to be in a place I found beautiful enough to take pictures of), experience so many new things. I felt that and it got ripped away from me so prematurely. It wasn't fair. Sometimes I think maybe it would all be better had I not gotten to experience it yet; it probably wouldn't hurt as much as it does now. But ultimately I'd never trade my memories of Alaska for anything.

Otherwise, I feel so at peace with my life right now. Me and my boyfriend, having dealt with his ex girlfriend harassing us for the first almost 2 years of our relationship, are in a better place than we have ever been without her constantly causing both of us unnecessary stress or refusing to allow him to see his son now that custody has been legally established. We stayed by each other's side through all of it and have come out even stronger than we were before, which has always been strong. He's been my best friend in the world since the day I met him. He's hinted at marriage so many times and refers to me as his wife to many people. I'm so happy to have this baby together, whom I consider to be our second child considering the fact that he raised my son and I will always consider him his father. We have so many plans, so many things we want to do together. So many places we want to see. We make such a good team, really with anything. With parenting, with money. I know me and him can do anything together. We compliment eachother so well.

And this is why it is so frustrating to still be sitting here, sitting in the same place I was years ago. I have grown so much. I'm such a different person than I used to be. I feel so much stronger now, so much more independent. I'm an adult, in a healthy, mature relationship, as well as a mother. I feel like I've taken so many steps forward, and yet I remain in the same place. I've been ready to move on since I was 13 years old, imagine how I feel now. I hate even going outside, being reminded where I am. All I want in the whole world is to take the family that I have now and GO. I have nothing keeping me here. I've left my mom and family before, it is a natural part of life for a lot of people. It's normal to me. I personally can't imagine living this journey in the same place for the entirety of it. It drives me insane.

I have a new life but it won't feel complete until my surroundings are also new. Until my view is different. Until the people I see every day are different. It sounds so childish and I didn't fully realize I was doing this until recently, but I refuse to make friends or advance in anything for that exact reason. I avoid everyone at my job; I guess it's just that I want absolutely no more ties here. I don't want a new job that I actually enjoy until I'm where I want to be. I don't want to make friends until I'm where I want to be.

I have so many bad memories here, and I can't look anywhere without being reminded of them. I want that to go away. I don't want that anymore. I need things that are FRESH. I need things that are new. It felt so good feeling that freshness alone, I can't even imagine how it would feel with my family beside me. Getting to experience all of it with them. I know I'm not the best me that I can be right now, I feel like I can't be here in Texas. My depression is so, so heavy here. Life just feels darker here, it always has for me. My motivation was sky rocketed in Alaska. I wanted to be outside constantly. I got to take so many pictures every day, my biggest passion. I wasn't living in fast forward, I was just living. And that's what I want to be for my kids. I don't want to be so sad. I cry infront of my son so much; the concerned look on his face always breaks my heart. I don't know how to be happy here.

But I'll always be patient for my boyfriend. I know it isn't as easy for him as it is for me, we don't even know how custody would work with us being so far away. I have nothing keeping me here but he does, and I know that if he didn't, we would already be gone. He would have already taken me home. He tells me that when I'm sad, he says he'll take me home. But it raises the question again of when? I can't help but wonder how much longer I have to be here. Meanwhile, I don't know how to make the homesickness go away. I don't know how to stop thinking about it. I don't know how to pretend like I'm content. I don't know how to sit with this.

We're supposed to go visit Anchorage early next year before the baby is due, but part of me isn't even excited about it. It just hurts worse when I leave. It hurts to visit a place you already consider your home. Getting to feel comfortable for a week and then having to watch it all fade away behind you again, knowing where you're headed back to. Texas looks extra, extra disgusting to me right after a trip home. The depression hits extra hard, too.

I don't even know what to do. It's so much worse during this time of year, during the holidays. I want to be surrounded by my snow capped mountains more than anything in the world right now. I miss my trees. The colors. It hasn't snowed in Anchorage yet but I know it's coming soon. It always hurts worse during the Fall and Winter. Doesn't help that pregnancy hormones are making me extra emotion of course. Most days I just want to mope around and cry.

[dahmer]

no longer my call

michael just broke up with me. outside, by his car, parked in the red outside our apartment building gate. as I helped him load up bags into his trunk. two of which I packed for him the night before. full of thoughtfully selected clothes, socks, underwear, chargers, books, mail, bathroom stuff, and a journal. the journal is one of those “each page has a prompt question” type pre-made journals. a friend, King, gifted it to me years ago as a birthday gift. most of the questions are about “your partner” and relationship type stuff, sprinkled with some “today made my smile because” sentimental wash. the questions are sort of unfair right now, but many would do him good, in my calculations, since he isn’t talking to anyone or handing out time apart in a healthy way. his words. the journal never seemed needed, but upon digging through my many gifted empty-notepads, journals, and writing mediums, I found that this one has found its place for good use. I filled out the first six or seven entries, outlying “my favorite memories with my partner” and “nice things I’ve done for my partner recently/nice things my partner has done for me recently.” 

for my “nice things I’ve done...” I crossed out “nice” and exchanged “for” with “to,” so I could highlight and overview all the pain and damage I’ve caused our relationship since he found out I was struggling with addiction. He discovered my opiate paraphernalia gear that I began barely trying to hide. It was in my clothes basket in the bathroom, and I knew he noticed I oddly had it pulled out randomly for no reason while entering/leaving the bathroom between showers. it’s like I wanted to get caught. I was near or already felt several rock bottoms, at least in the stages I’m at, and couldn’t stand another day of my addiction. It had been that way for months. a year. since the start. but I couldn’t bring myself to telling him. the shame, the guilt, and the paralyzing fear that I’d lose him. that he’d just walk away without looking back.

sure enough. my biggest fears came to pass. there’s no one to blame but myself. this is all from my own toxic behavior and selfish decisions. he left to his parents house immediately after discovering me using. he waited until I left the methadone clinic to start detox, then took off. that weekend was the hardest. being alone at home, left without the man I love. who has given my support, who has fallen asleep in my arms for almost six years, who has been there for me everyday. but to him, it was all a lie this last year. and as I progress through recovery, I understand that more and more. his perspective and position, his pain and hurt, his distrust and disgust, it’s understandable. he grew up in a clean, upper class, wealthy, one percent little south orange county town, and he’s never had to face any real world struggles. showing support in our relationship always reflected what he inherited from his father: how can I give money to make this all go away. he seemed most upset about my addiction in terms of money. the money i would have had. the money that i took when i needed help with big expenses. the money that’s preventing him from buying a house and progressing in society, moving up the social ladder. i understand all that because i understand who i was dating. always.

and i love him. he’s the love of my life. at least that’s how i feel right now. the last 10 years he’s gone radio silent. before that, we only met up once after he left to his parents house. we went to dinner. where he asked a few questions, and i cried nearly the whole time, answering in total and complete honesty. that level of vulnerability is incredibly difficult. sometimes i resented how he took it for granted. as if it were easy for me, yet something he could never even do himself. that’s what came up. my response to him breaking up with me.

i, firstly, brought on myself. he came by to pick up some things, and grab the bags I packed for him that I planned on dropping off the night before. but once he got wind of me bringing it over and having them brought up through his twin brother’s boyfriend (my appearance and involvement non-existent--simply a gesture), he texted me while on my way last night to say he planned on coming over today to grab stuff anyways, so I don’t have to come by. so it’s “easier on me.” My gesture was about care and concern, not convenience. when I saw he was close to the house today, I packed up my work--grading papers--and went to the coffee shop that’s basically connected to our fancy apartment complex. it’s directly across the small street we live on. “The Walk” it’s called, a strip of shops for our big complex, with the coffee shop being the main staple. you can see it from where we exit our gate from our side of the building. I figured this gives him space in the apartment, but if he needed to chat or check in, I’m right here.

i was frankly delighted when he texted me moments after being in the apartment:

‘Hey I’m at the apartment. What are you up to?

I told him I was at the coffee shop. A short, direct response, but I implied the night before I might go there when he came by if he needed space. He said he didn’t, but I was trying to be diplomatic knowing him and the response of “doesn’t matter if you’re around or not.” He responds with a shorter “For sure.” i wait a few minutes and inform him i’ll swing back to the apartment if he wanted to talk or anything, or he’s welcome to join me at the coffee shop--I’m “at a two seater table.” iMessage never shows he read the text, so I assumed he was busy gathering his belongings. about 10 minutes later and michael appears, asking if he can take the empty seat. no hug or formal greeting, and i almost laugh at the question. “of course.” his eyes glance me over and i detect immediate disappointment. i even point it out quickly, but he dismisses it. i can be a little confrontation. aggressive. but its been 10 days since he’s spoken to me, and before that, little texts that he ended quickly with no intent to maintain dialogue. there were many words exchanged at the dinner date during our last meet--the only one between today and when he left at the start of my detox--but what kept ringing in my ear after that dinner, despite all the kind and ambiguous words were: “I’m still trying to decide if I want to be in a relationship with you.” I know that trust is hard to rebuild, and only able if both parties are committed. i was aware of his doubts, keen to his hesitations of commitments to serious, non-monetary issues, and drowned in the radio silence as of late.

we exchanged basic questions at the coffee shop. his answers were often positive, but felt a little forced. and his face keep drawing this down glare--giving off impressions of disappointment and disinterest. i knew seeing me again would not be all that he wanted. i hadn’t made significant progress at the gym yet, i could be eating healthier, i’m under stress from work, and i’ve been depressed on and off about our situation. on the bright side, i’ve been working hard at recovery. and trying to think about what this is like for him, and be understanding to that. i’ve had to take low dose benzos to fall asleep each night, and regretted that last night because it makes my eyes droopy, and michael always said the one thing he can tell that i’m on by still looking at me was xanax. even though it was the nice before in lose dose as instructed in treatment, i’ll always wonder if maybe that played a factor. the half-life the next day, still dampening my appearance. an appearance already i didn’t feel confident of next to him, with hopes and expectations of this just going all away--as stated during our previous dinner meeting 2 weeks prior.

we asked adult questions. about work. my classes. his family. my family. my recovery, but he jabbed a little mock at me wanting to call it that. he asked if i was still “on methadone,” i tried to explain that this was a treatment option that yielded the highest success rate for some, and i’ve already experimented and failed with others. but i don’t think he likes the idea. understandably. as much as i hoped my sister-in-law, who was coaching him over the phone before he even confronted me, after finding my gear, had explained the positives of methadone. but i know they’re not fond of medication assisted programs, and even though i hoped it would inspire him to research more, which i know his has, i don’t think he’s stumbled upon the vast outdated and bias, outworld thinking of this epidemic. i wish i could show him this HBO documentary I just watched. there was a post short film that discussed recovery options. i quote some stats, about 75% of medication assisted treatments prevent relapse, compared to the 90% fail rate of most other treatment options. a 10% success rate means i’m being smart about how i go about it. but not sure if that translated well.

our conversation was brief. he ended up after about 10 minutes, checking his iWatch several times. the universal gesture of wanting to leave. i offered, but he dismissed that was the case initially. but then said he’d “let me get back to work.” before he left, i mentioned how i wanted to see this film, beautiful boy, on a date. a ‘by myself’ date, but implicated i would enjoy company. the subject matter was relevant to what i’m going through, and one of the rare early screenings happens to be in Irvine not too far from where he lives--opening this Friday. i dangled it out there to gauge interest. he didn’t bite. just noted how “yeah, I think I saw the trailer to that.”  

[more later]

[nikkiitalks]

Below the cut is a story submitted to me, the text below the cut is not mine.

Seeing people receive hate for sharing their stories, I decided to share my own. Hope Nikki doesn’t mind me sharing the story in her inbox. I am only doing it because I want to protect others.

Let me start from the very beginning. I started roleplaying very young back in elementary school. It was a town forum rp. It was hardly a roleplay, most of the time we would talk more out of character and share images. It involved people of the same age group. But it opened the doors for me and I started roaming different forums. Reading and roleplaying with others helped me to develop a vivid interest in writing, which became the love of my life.

The very first time I wrote my first smut was 10 years old, but it was more of a ‘fade to black’ scene. At that age, you have zero understanding of what you are doing and what the hell you’re supposed to be doing. Very quickly I became somewhat disinterested in forums (and I developed a muse blockage which destroyed any relationship developments with my partners), I decided to check out MySpace. Now this is when I really started to enjoy roleplaying to the fullest and experience the ups and downs of my most beloved fandoms.

But this is when things really went downhills. My smut was no longer ‘fade to black’. It was more explicit, a lot more dirty and most of the time I have no idea what I was meant to write. I was forced to read a lot of lemon stories and even watch videos. I come from that era where no one really cared for mun’s age. No one even asked how old you are. I didn’t know my partner’s either. And I could care less. As long as someone is writing with me- who cares, right?  Now that I am a bit older, I am weirdened out by my behavior and how I never thought through my coincidences. My actions could put someone else in a lot of trouble. I never thought or considered that. I could not imagine myself writing with 14 years old, let alone I can hardly engage in a conversation with someone in their eighteen or nineteens. In more recent times, I seek out my rping partners on reddit. And I dig through my (possibly) future partner’s posting history. There was a time when I turned down someone for lying about their age to me.

But now wait for my story.

I was 18, soon to turn 19, when I met one of my long-term rping partners who very quickly became my boyfriend. I admit- I am very sheltered, super naïve and never dated in real life. I was also poisoned with a belief that this is my one and only relationship and it will be the most beautiful romance of my life. What were red flags didn’t look like red flags to me. And one of my 1x1 RP partners kept pointing things out to me. They were worried about me and quickly noticed my behavior changed. I was not seeing them.

My boyfriend was 10 years older than I was. We quickly connected and indulged in 1x1. One couple became five more ships and then we ended up writing more and more. I also found myself falling for him because we were connecting very well outside of our characters. But how wrong I was. He knew I experienced sexual harassment at the age of 12, but that’s a different story. I opened up to him about it. He was one of the first people who learned about what I have gone through and thought he’s supportive of me.

First red flags I noticed were all over our stories. First time I inquired with him if he wanted to write an age gap story (not even having us in our mind), he agreed. I have never written one, wanted to experience it, also saw a few fun ideas all over Tumblr. Then later he started to suggest them more and more to me. One of them which horrifies me, is how he wanted me to write as someone as young as 14 once. Another one was a fangirl wooing over her favorite actor who is in mid-30s and she is the one who is seducing him. I actually talked with him about it and his response was, “he is hot, he can get any girl, she would feel inferior to them”. Thinking about that makes me crawl inside.  I can only apologize. I really should have known better as someone who experienced sexual harassment from someone 20 years older than me.

Second red flags came up was that he kept pushing me roleplay ideas. I didn’t have any more time left for my other 1x1s. It was all about him. I reached the state where I wanted to communicate with more people outside of him, but I would feel bad. I would make new blogs, reconnect to my previous partners and would deactivate in less than a week. I would not be able to sleep. I would be sweating up all night and  thinking if this makes me a cheater. I know it doesn’t. And it would never do.

He never liked me writing more ‘strong’ characters. He never liked his characters ending up inferior to mine. His characters always had to come out on top despite nothing. And if my characters were to show his any attitude, he would start complaining. It would even show in his responses and it would border on an emotional abuse towards my characters. He once even lashed out to me for retriggering his childhood memory I didn’t even know he had. Admittedly, I felt bad. He even had a weird set of rules on which words not to use.

For instance, I had a lawyer female character. And I even had ideas for her. But his reply once just…. left me speechless. I actually started wondering if he actually reads what I am writing at this point.  My adult lawyer female character ended up a cheerleader at his character’s practice (college?) and they ended up having sex in the bleachers. I was speechless by that moment.

And I felt inferior to him because our roleplays only had his ideas. Even any spirit my characters had demolished very soon after. I felt like they had no voice. The only few times when I suggested to him with what I came up, he had made everything his own.  He would thrust his ideas onto my characters. In the middle of our roleplay, we were talking my character- he started complaining how he doesn’t like it. My character was a witch. For him, witches only able to cast spells and create portals. He can’t have any abilities. If my character wants to possess other abilities- he needs different specie other than a witch.

In the last 3 months of our relationship, I opened up to him that I am having a burnout. I feel zero excitement towards anything we’re writing. I also asked him to tone down on sexual scenes. I want to focus more on the stories instead of constant sex. He agreed. I also requested him if he could stop making characters that often, writing a starter and then tell me only the next day. I had around ~350 characters that moment. There were mornings when I would wake up to a new story and I can’t muster out any excitement. He said we can stick to what we’re writing at the moment.  In less than 2 weeks, he broke that promise. New characters all over again.

Speaking of our own personal relationship, I ended up very lonely. I lost my friends. My friends started to turn their back on me. I drifted apart from them. My mom was also very unsupportive of this relationship and it became the whole mindset ‘us against the whole world’. She probably sensed something was wrong and I fought her hard. I was very wrong about it. It took me months to convince him to send me a picture, couldn’t convince him to talk to me on a video chat, though. And one of the least proud things I’ve ever done was to send my nudes. Holy fuck, I was stupid. There are times when sometimes I try to search up sites to make sure they have not ended up anywhere.

 I was very withdrawn and depressive. I remember the first months of our relationship under the mist. I don’t know where that time disappeared. Our relationship also happened around a very bad period of my life. I lost two dear people and I had a small PTSD stemming out from losing them. I couldn’t sleep, every time I did I would get nightmares. I also developed panic attacks and anxiety. This man not even once showed me a hint of sympathy towards my mental health. Not even a single worry coming from him.  Not even once he suggested me seeing therapy or talking things out with me. He would promise to talk to me about what is bothering me, only to neglect the subject by the following day.

He would often tell me I’m his soulmate and he loves me so much.  I was bombed with attention for the first time, for the first time I felt lucky someone considered me beautiful- and loved me for who I am. I was very trustworthy, he made it into a façade. The words that initially brought me joy left me scarred for the rest of my life. Sometimes I dream of him and I wake up triggered. I will be angry, I will be sad, my throat is clenched and it will be like this until I wake up again.

There were a lot of more things that came from our personal interactions, that don’t make me proud for overlooking these hints .This was the same person who smeared my sexuality and shamed LGBTQ+ community. He was transphobic. I was stupid believing I can change him and I would defend everyone with my will. I believed one’s opinion can be helped. He’d probably despise me today- as I am actually wondering that I might be non-binary. I currently use she/they pronouns to identify. He tried to deny me for who I really was by covering my arguments with ‘You know why I like you? You are so docile and nice, not like those whore American girls’.

He is broken but it is not my job to fix him. I didn’t break him. I was so wrong for thinking this is my soulmate  and latching onto every single word of his. I realize fault in my actions where I enabled and encouraged him to write what did. I am currently on a therapy for this. I wish what I knew now and I wish I could have fought him better.

There are people in this community who are as amazing as they write. They will seem ideal and very kindhearted. They don’t get into any drama.  There will be a lot of things that makes you click and you feel like your creativity juices flow together. But they hide things about themselves. And since we’re all writers here- we, might as well, give ourselves happy ending at that too. We might as well create ourselves flaweless characters.  I believe this person lied to me about who they are. I believe I was being taken an advantage of in many ways.

I still sometimes roleplay but I am very careful. Truthfully speaking after this experience, I won’t roleplay with any male roleplayers.  I know not every single one of them is like this and to those I wish all the best of luck. I don’t roleplay smut. I have nothing against it, but my focus is on different stories. I enjoy writing it for fanfictions, though, but even them they need to have a ‘backbone’ for me.  Although I still love romance a tons.

And I would like to apologize on my own faults in this story. I am sorry if I upset anybody else while you were reading this. To those who are reading this, please take a good care of yourselves and please protect yourselves online the best way. Always trust your gut. If someone is challenging your thoughts, DON’T try to change them. They won’t and they are not worth it. Your heart will hurt for a little bit, but someone better is coming along.

[lgbtfalloutwinterholiday]

Ginger Cake (Fahrenheit/Daisy)

Happy Holidays!

Here’s @tommytonebender ‘s submission for @keycchan with Fahrenheit and Daisy.

Pairing: Fahrenheit/Daisy Summary: Written for the following prompt: “Fahrenheit has never experienced the holiday season in her life. Daisy wants to fix that. Cue fluffy date, or as fluffy as you can get with a painfully serious Fahrenheit and a centuries-worn Daisy. Bonus if there's angst thrown in there, but please, a happy ending? Thank you.” Work Count: 2,130 Rating: Safe For Work

“What the hell is a Christmas?” Fahrenheit held up the tree shaped card as if it were a hit order. Daisy gave a barking laugh. “Seriously, you give me a date and time and no description other than ‘come over for Christmas’?”

“I thought it was self explanatory,” Daisy said with a shrug, though she knew damn well Fahrenheit had never dabbled in yuletide cheer-- or any type of cheer, for that matter, that didn’t involve violence or heavy intoxication.

 “I thought you were throwing down the gauntlet, Daisy, you better take more care.”

 “No, no, I would never. I think you’d break me.” She smirked, then tilted her head. “How do you know what that means, but you’ve never heard of Christmas.”

 “Gauntlets get thrown down every damn day, and I’ve picked up my fair share.” She lifted her chin as if asking Daisy to dare her.

 “Oh I don’t doubt you do, but settle the hell down, it’s much more gay than that.”

 “Is it...” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you coming onto me?”

 Daisy cackled louder, making Fahrenheit start to fume. Being laughed at ranked high on her endless list of hair-triggers. “Daisy, you tell me what’s going on right now or--”

 “Or what? Punch me out before you even get to try the dessert I’ve been slaving over to perfect?” Daisy said dramatically.

 The lines in Fahrenheit’s brow vanished. “Dessert?”

 “Ooh, I learned the magic word.”

 “Shut up,” she muttered, but didn’t exactly protest, to Daisy’s mirth.

 “Christmas is part of a series of winter holiday--, you know pre-war holidays right?”

 “Like that day mid-summer where we blow shit up?”

 “Sort of, yes. Winter does have a designated blow-shit-up day, but that’s after Christmas.”

 “I think that first one sounds much more fun than whatever Christmas is.”

 “Fun, maybe but not as rewarding.”

 “Bullshit, there is nothing more rewarding than explosives.”

 “Fine, fine, if you’re just going to blackball something deeply meaningful to a pre-war gal like me maybe I don’t want to spend Christmas with you.”

 There was a beat of silence and Fahrenheit’s armor creaked as she shifted her weight in uncharacteristic awkwardness. “So, what... Like, what is it then?” she said, trying to hide her interest behind a deadpan.

 Daisy waved a hand. “Oh no, it’s silly--”

 “No, like... Out of curiosity, I’m just curious,” she deflected, but her darting gaze said otherwise.

 “Oh... well, on Christmas in particular we used to give gifts to our friends and our loved ones... share a meal and spend time with people we cared about. But, of course, I haven’t had loved ones in ages.”

 “So then why me?”

 “Why not you?”

 In a twist of Daisy’s expectations, Fahrenheit gave a honest, though slightly confused, laugh.

 Fahrenheit’s youth saddled her with more inexperience than she’d ever admit. Daisy, on the other hand, was wise and unnaturally long-lived. She read people well, and Fahrenheit could be painfully transparent. The tough and disinterested exterior that she wore was as obvious as a Halloween mask. She lingered far too long around the shop during her rounds with the Neighborhood Watch, under the excuse that there were ‘rumors’ of a possible robbery. Daisy assured her the old ghoul could take care of herself, but Fahrenheit ignored each and every protest. And yet the only thing she seemed to watch was... the shopkeeper herself.

 Daisy had no definitive answer on what Fahrenheit’s relationship with Hancock even was, or where the loyalty derived from, but whatever the case the scrappy young woman had some penchant for ghoulkind. It was novel, in a sense, and Fahrenheit was quite a dish in her own rough way. Daisy always enjoyed the kick of ginger.

 “People...” Fahrenheit started, “don’t... invite me to ‘things’,” she ended with skepticism.

 “Well my goodness, I wonder why?” Daisy asked. Fahrenheit again bristled. “If your reaction to RSVPs is to barge in demanding an explanation I’m sure you’ve scared off many a party host. But I don’t scare, dear, I survived nuclear fire and then some.”

 Fahrenheit’s eyes almost glittered, as if Daisy recounted something glorious. She wouldn’t take offense; the girl was... bellicose, a little dissolute, but that’s what made her appealing. Also those damned freckles.

 “So if I do this thing,” Fahrenheit said like she was accepting a hit job. “I have to get you a gift.”

 “You don’t have to. They just say ‘to give is better than to receive’.”

 “That sounds like more bullshit to me.”

 “Yeah?” Daisy asked with a hint of combativeness.

 “Sorry,” Fahrenheit promptly responded.

 “Ha!” The girl’s swift submission was too comical to internalize. Fahrenheit frowned. “No need to be sorry.”

 “I’ll do it. I’ll get you a thing,” she replied with averted eyes.

 “Fine, fine. Don’t act as if it’s a chore, though, defeats the purpose.”

 Fahrenheit flipped the invitation around in her hand, and jutted her jaw, nodding at nothing. “Right. Then. See ya, I guess.”

 Daisy stood watching with crossed arms as Fahrenheit ambled away. Holding her breath til the other woman was out of ear shot before she let out another laugh; again surprised she’d pulled it off. It was a shot in the dark, and somehow it hit a weak spot in Fahrenheit’s seemingly solid armor.

 “Daisy, you still got it,” she congratulated.

 Haggling, flirting, was there really much of a difference?

 ---

 The Christmas record, like everything in this world, was warped. Nostalgia that couldn’t quite be experienced in its pristine state. But instead of being a depressing aspect, the warbling tone lightened the mood, a smirk crossing Daisy’s withered lips whenever the singer was particularly distorted. And also because Fahrenheit presumably considered the ghoul positively mad by now.

 She turned from the stove where she was braising a shepherd’s pie made of Cram and instant potatoes. “Oh, take that armor off, what are you doing?”

 Fahrenheit stared back, with her chin tucked in and a death grip on a beer as she sat rigidly on the scrappy loveseat. “I need it.”

 “From what? Am I gonna kill you with my spatula?” She brandished it menacingly. “Christ.”

 “Not you, I...” She trailed off and then made an odd strained sound, before unfastening her armor. There was a good girl. Daisy had never actually seen Fahrenheit without it.

 “Fascinating; you still have a human body under there. I would’ve thought you’d have molded to its shape by now.”

 Fahrenheit’s mouth quivered and she gave a soft ‘hmpf’, which Daisy accepted as stifled laugh. She was softer than expected; sure, her arms were taught from hoisting such a weapon all day, but her middle was a bit more... pillowy. All in all, it gave her a sturdy frame. No wind would knock her over.

 “Don’t ogle me,” Fahrenheit said, though it wasn’t exactly in ire.

 “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m making a mental picture for comparison's sake, I’m about to ruin your figure with all these carbohydrates.”

 “Is that what you’re cooking? A carbon... Uh--”

 Daisy laughed, “I swear to God, you wastelanders would do well to read an encyclopedia.”

 ---

 Ghoul physiology was slight, wispy. A small stomach came along with it, which was fortuitous tonight, as Fahrenheit ravenously consumed three quarters of the entire pan.

 “Well?” Daisy asked rhetorically.

 “It’s weird,” Fahrenheit replied, wiping sauce from her chin.

 “And Merry Christmas to you too,” she snorted.

 “Oh. Right.” Fahrenheit said with vacant realization. “I got you a book.”

 “A book?”

 “Yeah.”

 “What kind of book?”

 “Just... I dunno you were talking to that Vault Dweller about libraries and I don’t read, I just look at the pictures and stuff,” Fahrenheit grabbed it from her canvas bag and handed it to Daisy. “Hancock told me to wrap it in something. So I just put it in bandages, I wasn’t sure.”

 Underneath the layers of gauze was a well-worn edition of The Wind in the Willows. Daisy let out a sharp laugh, and Fahrenheit frowned.

 “No-- I--” She chortled again. “It’s funny because I recognize this one, is all.”

 “Oh. Do... Do you have it already?”

 “Well, not anymore. It burned up two-hundred years ago,” she sighed. Fahrenheit straightened up a bit. “Where’d you get this? This... Is this yours?”

 “It’s not mine, I just look at it sometimes,” Fahrenheit replied, with near defensiveness. “It’s not like I’d miss it or anything.”

 Something clicked in Daisy’s mind. “Would you like me to read this to you sometime?”

 “I dunno. I guess. That’d be kind of cool. Just to know what it’s really about.”

 The grin she suppressed danced on her lips and Fahrenheit’s pinkening cheeks told Daisy everything.

 The kitchen timer rang.

 “Oh, good. Just in time then.” Daisy slapped her knees and stood up. “It’s not truly a successful Christmas until you have dessert.”

 Fahrenheit seemed nearly mortified, which was not a face she wore often, despite how cute it looked on her.

 Daisy pulled out her gingerbread loaf from the oven and began heating a glaze. Bing Crosby started his turn on the distorted vinyl. And then it all smacked her like a shockwave. Images she hadn’t seen in centuries raced in her mind like a slideshow. Her stirring stopped.

 “Heh. This is strange,” she said hoarsely.

 “Yeah. It's bizarre,” Fahrenheit razzed.

 “No, not that. I… I haven’t made this in...” Daisy trailed off, the words too much to say. She looked over her shoulder. “You know sound and scent bring back such memories, for a second I... I thought I was somewhere else.”

 Fahrenheit stood up, surprising her. “You, uh... You ok?” she asked.

 “Yeah.” Daisy smiled, genuinely struck by her concern yet, feeling foolish for almost losing her composure. “Our minds are funny that way. They play tricks on us, don’t they?”

 Fahrenheit nodded, a somberness both in her eyes and gentle movement. There was unquestionably something deep in her too, that she protected behind a metal breastplate and gatling gun.

 Daisy turned back to her dessert, and as she poured the glaze she allowed herself one tear to fall as well.

 ---

 It verged on absurdity, a virtual zombie reading aloud a tale of talking woodland creatures to a woman so brutish, but Fahrenheit seemed to hang on every word. After the first chapter was complete Daisy slammed the book shut, making the other woman jump.

 “Why’d you--”

 “Cake should be cool by now. Have some,” she offered. To be frank, the smell was getting to her. Not because it was unpleasant, but it made her crave more than just dessert. Fahrenheit sliced herself a generous piece, and Daisy reclined back in her chair with a small exhale.

 “It must really suck,” Fahrenheit said abruptly.

 “What? The cake?”

 “N-No,” she said hastily, her shoulders stiffening. “Everything you’ve been through. You’re... you’re a tough lady, I can admire that.”

 “Thanks,” Daisy said with utmost sincerity. It may have been the only compliment she’d ever heard from the other woman and, knowing Fahrenheit’s values, a weighty one at that.

 She ungracefully stuffed the dessert in her mouth. “This is good,” she said humbly with some crumbs falling down onto her shirt.

 Daisy smiled. “Thank you, I had to improvise. I’m glad it’s not shit.”

 She snorted. “No it’s good,” Fahrenheit said, again gently as if believing her volume possessed tangible power, and she wanted her words to caress for once instead of punch. What a funny girl.

 Dessert was eaten quickly, and in profound yet comfortable silence. After chugging one last beer, Fahrenheit’s eyes blinked in a tell-tale fashion.

 “You need to go home and sleep,” Daisy said, picking up the dishes. “You’ve stuffed yourself enough for winter hibernation.”

 “Thanks for the food,” Fahrenheit said as she pulled her armor back on in a lumbering fashion. “And the weird Christmas bullshit. Cake was good. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

 “A ginger who’s never tasted ginger,” Daisy teased. “What’s that, poetic irony?”

 Fahrenheit said nothing but almost seemed… tickled. Daisy walked her down the stairs and to the front door.

 “Hey. Uh,” Fahrenheit turned to her. “You said there were more winter holidays, right?”

 “New Years is next, but I’m sure you know that one.”

 “Right. Do... Is there a pre-war way to celebrate?”

 “Yes. You get absolutely wasted and then blow shit up.”

 She cracked a smile. “Well I know that.”

 “But when the clock strikes midnight, you’re supposed to kiss someone for good luck.”

 “S... Sounds stupid.”

 “Yes, well... I can be superstitious,” she sighed.

 There was awkward silence.

 “Me too,” Fahrenheit said suddenly, making Daisy’s eyes snap upwards. “I... S-See you then.”

 The fire-haired girl bolted out of the shop, and this time Daisy didn’t try to hold back her laughter.

 Daisy, even still you’ve got it.

[traceytrinity95]

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Save Marriage After Adultery In The Bible

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[blizzardfluffykpop]

(Zelo) Jun-Hong X Reader

Summary:You know all my life I never thought it end up how it has, and I’m content with that.

One-shot

Mentions of depression

Prompt: 32. “If I could grant one Christmas wish, what would it be?” “I wish you would dare me.”

Choi Jun-hong the name still rings in my head. The guy I had dated for years, dumped me. It’s like I can never escape, as I listen to the new song by B.A.P when I find out the guy rapping to the song is Zelo, his real name being Choi Jun-hong. And I realize how much I miss him, we dated all of our high school years.

He had dumped for the reason, believing that we were in immature love, that it would never last in the real world. That there was probably more to life than me. I was devastated for months, and I just forced myself to get over him. I’m still numb, now I can’t even listen to my favorite band that just comes onto my google play music, because I know he’s in it. You know how shitty it is the one thing that made you happy after years of being depressed. But no it seems life doesn’t like the idea of my joy.

The only thing I can really be grateful of is this tattoo job. Nothing could to deter me from that, at least that is what I thought. I’m working on a tattoo for this girl it was an intricate flower with music notes flowing out and then being swallowed by a piece of paper. I thought it was beautiful, it was saying she was the beauty that was broadcasting her voice, having it heard, and writing it down as she goes.

When I hear the one voice I hadn’t heard often other than hearing him rap or sing. Not that I really counted it, because it always sounded so different. It sounded like our conversations that would last forever. You have to be kidding me, I knew he always wanted a tattoo, but couldn’t he have gone to any other shop.

I finish it up as he starts going over the details and my friend says, “I’ll set you up with (Y/n). She’ll be happy to do this tattoo she’s really one for art. You can see her latest work if the girl allows you.”

I see him stalk over to me and my canvas as I would put it says sure, to him. And he says, “Wow that’s so amazing it speaks paragraphs about you.” She thanks him sweetly and goes over to, Lillian, my friend, the one who co-owns the store with me.

He looks up to meet my eyes finally and he says, “Wow. I never thought I’d see you again. You look good, (Y/n).”

“Save it, Jun-hung.” I say with so much venom I’d be a poisonous snake draining my own venom freely into a witches brew.

“Feisty as ever.”

“What do you want tattoo, so I can get this done and over and never have to see you again.” He rolls his eyes at me and says, “‘Relation in time’, you know that master piece right? I was going to get it because it used to be our favorite master piece. I was getting it because-”

“I don’t want to hear your life story, remember? I’m to immature to understand it.” He scoffs at me, and I ask him where he wants it. I tell him to sit on the chair and move to the next to room to work in piece. Not wanting to be near him for more than I needed. I’m sick of it. Lillian comes bounding over to me in the room and she says, “Remember today is Christmas wish day and I still haven’t heard you ask someone there wish. And he’s going to be your last customer so times a wasting.”

“Fuck off, will you?” I grumble and she rolls her eyes, “What can’t handle a hot guy once in your life?”

“You don’t understand, if I were to tell you, you’d kick him out. We need this money to pay for rent for this shop.” She rolls her eyes and goes back to her new customer that she gotten a few minutes ago, she lets me work in this back room, while she does it in front of customers. I finally finish it up, sigh as I grumble about this, we both wanted to do this once we grew our hair out longer. Mine was already at a reasonable length at that time he need to grow his out, seems he never did. I cut mine anyways, so doesn’t even matter.

I show him the piece and he says, “It looks amazing!” I give him the slight sign of a smile. I sterilize his stomach so he won’t get any infections while I do the tattoo before, placing the paper on him and pulling it off so the adhesive purple stayed behind.

I grab my black ink put it into the gun and put my purple gloves on. And start my tedious work. It wasn’t as hard as it could be, being as it was only one color, unlike my canvas who had so many different petal colors it wasn’t even funny.

While switching out the ink since I had a different model, I ask him, “Lillian started this thing where in December we ask our customers a different thing, it has to be at least to one. And woo-hoo guess who one that because it slipped out of my mind with the last customer. And yours is taking the rest of my shift. If I could grant you one Christmas wish what would it be?” I say with the most disinterested voice I could pull off and he replies, “Are you sure you want my answer?”

“I’m only do this because I was asked, its up to you to answer.”

“I wish you would date me… Again”

“Why, would you ask that if I was so immature, and you had so many possible choices???”

“Because I realized how wrong I was when I left you.”

“And it took you that long to realize that? I was left in an absolute depressive series, it’s like season nine now. And it’s been 4 years, you couldn’t have found me sooner. When you knew where I was the whole time, until you suddenly blocked me for no reason?”

“I’m sorry okay… I really am.”

“Yeah that really helps to know you’re sorry. Thanks a lot, and if you would like to know something, it was just a question. So I don’t have to grant your wish.”

“Please… Please, I’d hate to beg and you know I do. But I can’t find anyone like you, who makes me feel the things you do. Just one date, is all I ask for. If you decide to leave in the middle of the date, you can. Just this once.”

“You should be glad you’re receiving a second chance from me. I’m only giving you once, you fuck it up. You will never be allowed to enter here ever again, even with good paying money. Understand?”

He nods his head obediently and I go back to finish his tattoo finally. When I finish I place medicine on it so it heals nicely, and I leave a kiss right above it. I’ll let you in on something I did that because of how much I missed him, and that kiss meant so much to me. I place the tape and wrap on it so it heals nicely. I let Lillian explain the healing process to him.

I was sitting there shell shocked that he asked me to be with him on a date. I told Lillian and she said she was surprised that I said yes. Especially to the inconsiderate bastard, she likes to call him.

I sigh as I get ready for our date, he came into tell Lillian his phone number since I wasn’t there. I was getting groceries since it was my day off after all. He texts me he’s on his way over to pick me up. I should have told him to let me drive there by myself but I really do not like being alone by myself at night in a car.

I hear the door knock and I open the door after slipping on my jacket and my shoes, I open the door. To reveal the guy I had been crazy about for years, standing in front of me again. Like our first date all over again, just without my parents. It was surreal.

He gets in the car after opening and closing the door for me. And he starts up the car and he takes me to a place I hadn’t been since we broke up. I put boundaries on every place we ever touched and refused to go in them. It was our first date when he got a car, the place every guy wants to take every girl for as a date. The drive-in, the drive-in that displays the moves as you sit in a car and can order if you like. (I know they can’t drive till 20 but, I live in Ohio the age is 16).

I watch as he pays for the movie and he pulls in 3rd row, like every time we went. Oh my god I want to puke, my anxiousness is filling me. He looks over at me and it was like that date all over again. We were sixteen again, giddy sophomores, happy to be by ourselves. But except we were nervous it was like our first date mixed with this one.

And without much difficulty we are talking like we never broke up. He grabs my hand and lightly squeezes it, and I realize how much I miss his truck with the bench seat that you could slide next to the driver and cuddle. No, this is quite different, it’s like there is a wall keeping us from each other. A console in the middle of us, and I move on top of it not carrying anymore, I missed his touch, I missed his hugs, his voice, his nuzzles. And not that I really care about it, but the way he matched me in bed so well unlike the hundreds of one night stands, and a boyfriend that last a month couldn’t match. The rough but tender, fast but deep, soft but it felt like you were being split in two, sex. I missed it so bad. But I missed more over the top was him. Everything, and when he leaned forward and kissed me, I was in a state of shock and it was like our relationship never really did end. And we were back to square 541 I suppose and no longer at square -427.

And we watch the movie with comfort of popcorn, luckily it was snowing so the drive-in was open until it started up again. And we watched the sappy rom-com happen and just watch it spiral. And it made sense it was something we had always done together, and now here we are again doing it all over. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

When he brought me back to my house, and he left me with a deep kiss on my porch, and walked back out and I yelled, “Tomorrow, coffee?” Knowing he’d know where to be, our coffee shop. The one with the art work forever displayed on the walls, that will forever be on his stomach as well. Now I could listen to B.A.P. without wanting to cry because of how much I miss Jun-hong. How could you miss someone you already have? Well I mean… Not the point I’m making. And first time since we had broken up and now we are together again, I feel complete. And I still have that depression lingering in the back of my mind, but it seemed that boi didn’t matter as much to me as Jun-hong did and does.

[owfemslashexchange]

Dynamite in the Machine (Widowmaker/Sombra, Pre-Relatioship)

This submission is for kanekikiss, who requested Widow/Sombra and a detailed look on their relationship. Hope they enjoy. <3

From @maxaholic to @kanekikiss

Dynamite in the Machine

“Ah my favourite spider,” Widowmaker heard the hacker practically sing into her earpiece, “how’s it going up there? Having fun not shooting anything?” Widowmaker resisted the urge to shoot just beside Sombra’s foot. Talon valued her for her patience, her eagerness to get a single, precise shot and her willingness to cooperate with two of their most infuriating agents. She wouldn’t want them wondering any more than they already did about her – and in her opinion, wrongly so.

Where she started and Amelie Lacroix ended had always been something they had never quite understood and even with every check-up, every comatose state she had been placed in to monitor her, they still could not truly figure her out. So they had left her mind to wander: and wander it did, despite everything she tried to stop it.

It wandered to things she couldn’t remember but apparently did. Annecy in spring time, Gerard Lacroix’s laugh and his blue, sparkling eyes. Then the black outs, the pain, the torture. Gerard Lacroix’s blood, her hands stained red and her heartbeat not feeling anything but joy at the sight. The memories were a mixed bag, as though her brain wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be supplying her with.

Lately, for some reason or other, they had been filling her head with the local annoyance on the team.

Sombra…infuriated her like no other – not even like the British pest she had encountered in King’s Row.

Widowmaker withdrew her rifle from her perch and leaned against the turret’s stone wall. Eichenwalde had so far been a bust and had for once gone against every single bit of intel Sombra had supplied for them, a fact Gabriel had not stopped bringing up for the past five minutes while he and Sombra had scouted ahead. As if on cue he started again, his gruff voice sounding more frustrated than ever. “This better not be one of your tricks again, Sombra.” “Yeesh, you screw up once and suddenly everything is your fault from now on!”

Widowmaker felt content to at least have a reason for lack of love for the hacker. Her tricks had cost them in Russia, for her to do it again and so soon…

“It would be a shame if something happened to you on our next mission. A real pity.” She distinctly remembered saying and here they were: the next mission, the grand finale for the hacker if something was to go wrong for them once again.

The worst part about it was that Widowmaker couldn’t see herself shooting the damn woman. There was a pull to her that went beyond her looks, it was what she knew, the secrets she held that made Widowmaker want to crack her open and divulge in everything. And of course it would be a lie, a dirty, cold lie, to say that she wanted to know more about the woman she had once been and if it meant putting up with Sombra to get it…

She was not Amelie Lacroix. That woman was dead. But her memory and what she had once been…While not many things pained her, she couldn’t deny that this did beyond comprehension. The empty space and the desire to fill it. Sometimes it felt easier to talk to the space in her head and know that one day, many days, months, years from now, her voice wouldn’t echo back to her – useless and forlorn.

For now she would put up with Sombra. It would be as simple as that. Besides, aesthetically-wise? She was nice to look at and there were not many things in the waking hours she had that could grab her attention like the other woman did. And yes, it was as depressing as it sounded. Yes, she had gotten used to it.

A flicker of movement and Widowmaker’s finger leapt to the trigger.

And then moved away.

Sombra grinned up at her from her rifle’s sights.

“Just checking if you’re still concentrating!” Sombra chuckled with a wink. She turned quickly before Widowmaker could answer, catching up with Gabriel only to have him reprimand her for falling behind.

“I need you focused! Not flirting!”

“Ay, that wasn’t flirting Gabe.” Widowmaker watched as in spite of her shorter height Sombra threw an arm over their accomplice’s shoulders. “But if you want me turn it up a notch…”

“Don’t.” Widowmaker protested with a roll of her eyes.

“Aw, you two are no damn fun.”

x-x-x-x

They returned to Talon HQ with no less than several wounds each.

Sombra had winked at them both between the medics popping her shoulder back in place. “What did I say? The intel was right!”

Reaper, as he always did, grumbled. “You forgot to mention the damn sentries that would be waiting for us though, didn’t you?”

The flick of her hair and the nonchalant shrug had been Sombra’s answer. For Widowmaker it had almost been enough for her to damn the consequences and shoot the nuisance then. Almost.

Sombra was sadly still rather pretty to look at.

x-x-x-x

It was at night where Widowmaker found the hacker doing her damnedest to crawl into her web, uninvited and predatory in a way that when her golden eyes opened and saw the most sparkling purple staring back at her, she grabbed that inviting throat and tightened her grip.

Sombra’s eyes were bright and mischievous even with the threat of death a mere crushing moment away. Talon had made her strong enough to do such thing, with the right amount of pressure not even the tubes inserted into her entire body could hold her back…

Yet she didn’t. Self-control after all, was everything.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed and loosened her grip bit by bit until Sombra could breathe once more.

“Got bored of beating Gabriel at video games.” She replied as though it was as simple as that. But no, it couldn’t be. Sombra was not a simple person, there was no doubt in her mind about that. “Besides, I’ve been here for a few months now and I’ve never seen you in the mess with the rest of us. Can’t blame a girl for being curious now, can you, mon ami?”

Widowmaker rolled her eyes and released Sombra completely with a half-hearted flick of her wrist. It was not that she had no time at all for Sombra’s games (on the contrary with her condition she rarely needed sleep, she had all night to listen to her ramble) but she simply didn’t want to. Lies were a game of the past: in this present, the present of Widowmaker and not Amelie Lacroix, there was only terrible truths.

She rested back on the bed Talon had specifically made for her with a grunt. The reconditioning they did to her to keep her as sharp and intense was a delicate process – it would take forever now to get into a comfortable position with the tubes sticking in her.

Her discomfort must have shown on her face because Sombra leant over her again, elbow pressed against the bed’s railings with her chin in her hand. “You look awfully blue, spider.”

“How long did that one take you to think of?”

Sombra grinned and wrapped a black and purple strand around her static-gloved fingers. “Ahh, only a few minutes or so.”

“I’m glad to amuse you,” Widowmaker huffed, “now get out. I’m down here for a reason and I refuse to entertain that you had no idea why. You are not as slick as you imagine yourself to be.”

Sombra threw a hand over her heart and gasped. “Azul you wound me! I’m just a curious girl…Oh okay, no need to try and murder me with your eyes.” The hacker leant over her and Widowmaker froze until she returned to her original position, the only new thing being she had pulled up several screens up for Widowmaker to look at with a wave of her hands. “You’re being kept alive with this lot, huh? Do you even know what they do to you? I could tell you, if you’d like. Well…point it out. I’ve never been good with science that wasn’t computers.”

Widowmaker smiled a thin, unfeeling smile. Sombra would give something away about herself only to expect something in return. How very Sombra indeed.

“You’re smiling. Your 4 beats per minute heart want to know?”

“I am smiling at the thought you would think I want to know.” An honest answer for a surprisingly honest question. Widowmaker knew. She could see it on Sombra’s face. And was delighted (more than delighted actually) when that expression crumbled, replaced with something foreign to her face. Something Widowmaker had never seen before but something that the dead woman inside of her cried out for. “You pity me.”

The other woman pushed away from the bed and regarded the darkness of the underground room with a disinterested laugh. “Yeah, sure spider. I mean, there’s not even a light in here apart from your night light. That’s definitely something to be pitied over, you know?” The hacker flicked her wrist and with a popping noise the screens Widowmaker had barely glanced at disappeared into thin air. “You really don’t care what they do to you?”

Widowmaker watched as Sombra watched her. The pity in her eyes had become clearer now and instead of feeling the resentment and murderous rage she had expected, Widowmaker found herself feeling only disquiet. Empty.

She closed her eyes and gently moved her arm so that it pointed at the exit from her room. “Leave. If they find you down here they’ll wonder why.”

For what felt like centuries since she had last seen it, Sombra smiled at her. “I knew it.”

“Leave.”

“Oh I’m going amiga, but don’t worry,” the hacker threw her a sidelong glance and finger guns as she stepped out of the darkness and into the light, “me and you have a lot of catching up to do.”

x-x-x-x-x

Catching up to Sombra meant that she avoided Widowmaker like the plague. It had been fine at first, in fact the absence of the hacker had given her more time to focus on missions rather than consider calling in for a favour from her, a dangerous enough task without even thinking of the consequences that would come to her if her handlers found out…

But then even Reaper noticed that Sombra couldn’t stay in a room with her – something he again couldn’t help commenting on once after returning from a mission together, only to have Sombra flee from the room moments after landing.

“Whatever you did to spook her, well done.” He chuckled, slinging his shotguns under his arm as though he was carrying a small dog and not weapons.

“You will shoot someone if you keep holding them like that,” Widowmaker tutted and pointedly took one from him to hold as they walked to the armoury. “As for Sombra, I have done nothing. Nor am I complaining. She’s been doing her job far better than she used to, and if her acting spooked, as you put it, is the reason because of it I say we leave her be.”

“She’s fine with me, Widowmaker.”

“You have more patience with her than I do. Perhaps that is it.”

Reaper couldn’t grin, not like Gabriel Reyes used to, but like her some days it was difficult to tell the beginning from the end and today it was Reaper who smiled a snarky sort of smile at her. Wisps of black smoke escaped from the gaps of his teeth and his red eye seemed to blaze with mirth when he took in her answer.

“Suuuure.” Oh how she always lost her patience when he was like this. The knowing look, the sinister toothy grin coupled with the dark, inky smoke that surrounded his face. “Only, I don’t think she’s afraid of you at all. Rather the opposite, actually.”

Widowmaker made it a point to cut across him to get into the armoury first. Controlled or not, sometimes revenge was a dish best served petty.

He huffed out a gruff laugh as she slid Widow’s Kiss into its locked sheath before she chucked his one shotgun onto the workbench beside them. While Widowmaker did not ‘perform’ in such an aggressively emotional way as she was now in front of their handlers, with him she had at least opened up a hole in her walls. He could peer in sometimes, see the dead woman trapped inside of her and then, when she felt he had seen enough, she would close it up and together they would be the Reaper and Widowmaker.

There was nothing of Amelie Lacroix in her voice when she spoke again. “You are looking for trouble, Gabriel.”

“Again, the opposite. If I were you I’d tell her to back off a little,” he looked as though he was holding something back with the way his faded limbs seemed to twitch in hesitation. It was not the first time he would have kept something from her, it was the sort of relationship that being part of Talon’s guinea pigs together bred. Cracks and holes of trust and thoughts of the smallest betrayals. “She’s clever, but even Talon won’t be fooled by her forever.”

“I fail to see what this has to do with me—“

“They found her looking through your records,” ah, so that was the secret, was it? “Whatever she’s after it has to do with you. All I’m saying is be careful.” He placed himself beside her, his shoulder pressed against the exit door of the armoury. “She’s not loyal to Talon and if she isn’t loyal to Talon she isn’t loyal to me or you, understand?”

Widowmaker sneered out a dry laugh that made the black smoke around Reaper wisp through her hair in frustration. “Your advice is appreciated, but not wanted. I’m no fool to believe Sombra is anything but a meddlesome fly that’ll eventually be stomped out, whether it be by me or you we will have to wait and see.”

She didn’t have to believe herself to carry the message to Reaper and by the time he had left her alone in the armoury to go into the mess, Widowmaker felt convinced he had brought it even more than she was convinced of the opposite.

She needed Sombra. Sombra needed Talon. Everyone had their price and knowing Sombra had taken an interest in her made her certain she was more than willing to pay what the hacker truly wanted.

x-x-x-x-x

Widowmaker was no hacker but she did not need to be one to knock on the hacker’s door after hours at Talon HQ. And yes, technically she was not supposed to be walking around but she was not Talon’s best, most expensive investment for no reason – she knew how to work cameras, how to remain in the shadows and with her near lack of a heartbeat…

She was hard to detect. Talon had made her like it and it was foolish of them really to try and keep her talents contained only to suit them.

Widowmaker paused on rapping her knuckles against Sombra’s door again. It had been a long time since she had thought of Talon and their techniques in a negative light, or at least, it had been a while since she had acknowledged she had done so. But even with her being here in front of Sombra’s door, even she had to acknowledge that she had crossed a line.

Before she could ponder more on it the door slid open with a hiss and Widowmaker met the hacker’s sleepy, purple eyes with a stony glare.

Sombra arched a finely shaped brow at her. “Look at you azul, breaking the rules and wandering around after hours.” She yawned and to Widowmaker’s surprise moved back so that she could come in. “Come on, if you’re gonna break the rules you better give yourself enough time to do it before they find out.”

Widowmaker remained silent as she pushed past Sombra into her room. It was messier than she had imagined (though she supposed her not having a room that she could truly call her own like Sombra’s left her with little to compare it to) and smaller too. Mostly the room was taken up by a slim, computer screen that’s contents could hardly be seen through sticky notes the other woman had taken time and effort to make it into an eye. She tried her best not to stare too closely, whatever Sombra was looking for was her own business. She wasn’t here for that, she was here…

Well.

She took in the tousled clothes that hung on Sombra’s chair, the shirts and shorts and the jeans with holes in the knees. Before Sombra had joined Talon she had questioned her existence every now and then, like the way someone would think of a past acquaintance that circumstance would remind them of. A passing thought that would be there one minute and then gone the next, replaced by the uncontrollable need to be something that mattered, no matter what that something was.

Sombra hadn’t done anything special to change her mind to desire to be somebody rather than something. The other woman had just appeared and looked at her differently and for what felt like no other reason it had…repulsed her.

She was not a thing to be pitied. To be looked at as though she was lesser for accepting the role given to her, the one she excelled at in ways that not even Reaper could.

Apart from now it was becoming harder to convince herself that what Talon stood for, the bettering of humanity, was the true goal when in reality it felt like it had become so muddied and distorted that purpose and reason no longer remained.

And the thought of her being purposeless with nothing to her name apart from the past of a dead woman? No, she would not let that happen to her.

That was why she was here.

“Tell me what you know about the woman who I was before,” she said, ignoring Sombra’s sleepy protests at picking another time to talk about this, and pulled out the chair from under Sombra’s desk and sat. “You must know. It is why you’ve avoided me for so long, you must know who she was before and what happened to her. Tell me.”

Widowmaker remained impassive when Sombra simply stretched and collapsed on her bed with a dramatic, feigned snore. She would not lose her temper here, no matter how frustrated she felt at seeing the other woman treat the desperation she felt with such lack of care.

Sombra cracked open an eyelid. “What changed your tune, spider?”

“It is none of your concern.”

“Oh but it is,” Sombra had that grating voice that made Widowmaker sit up straighter. As dramatic and teasing as woman opposite to her behaved, she was not as brainless as she appeared. There was a reason she was infamous, a reason why she was feared. “I don’t give away secrets without first knowing why I’m giving them away.”

A fair question that reeked of a game being played. One that Widowmaker could not help but distrust.

She rested a cool, blue cheek in the palm of her hand. “If I answer your question, you will answer mine, ombre.”

“Ooh, I like this game.” Sombra practically purred, getting up to rest her back against the wall of her room. She extended a hand towards Widowmaker and pointedly twirled it. “Spider ladies first.”

“Why are you here?” Right in the heart. There was no use in dancing around a question that both of them knew she was going to ask.

“Where? In my room? To sleep mostly,” Sombra’s wit didn’t last long after Widowmaker let out a sigh and made to get up from her chair. “Oh fiiiine. Be a spoilsport. I’m here to gather information, happy?”

“What information?”

Sombra held up a finger and cocked it left to right. “Ah, ah. My question now, amiga.”

Widowmaker growled. “You looked at me.”

Sombra was rarely caught off guard and it was why Widowmaker didn’t bother repressing her smile when the expression appeared on her face. Her expression looked to be an odd mixture of someone smelling something bad and then, seconds later, realizing that they were allowing others to see their expression too. It explained why Sombra quickly averted her eyes and shook her head to the side to avoid immediate eye contact.

Widowmaker pressed on, relentless. “I have always believed that perhaps I was meant for a certain kind of purpose. The way the others stared at me, they respected and feared me both, it would be silly to think that Talon did not mean to make me greater, the way they stared. They have never, not even Gabriel, looked at me in the way you did. With pity.” She paused to look over at Sombra’s desk, a piece of paper that had her name on it catching her eye. “Even now, seeing this makes me wonder what you truly feel, Sombra.” She placed the paper on her lap, facing up towards the light. A picture of her schematics and anatomy, her face delicately drawn with fine, blue ink. “Am I a clue to you or a solution?”

Sombra turned to face her, her lips set into a grimace. “To what? What are you talking about?”

“That,” she pointed at the giant eye that seemed to stare at the both of them, unmoving and unblinking and yet so very prominent. “What is it?”

Sombra shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Sombra…”

“I’m being serious, azul,” Sombra cut across her before she could finish her threat. “I don’t know what it is, at least not right now. But-”

Suddenly sirens filled the silence that had once been there and the spaces on the screen that Sombra hadn’t covered in sticky notes lit up a bright red colour, filling the whole room and her and Sombra both in an unearthly crimson shade. The only thing that wasn’t red was the black font that appeared on the screen just behind Sombra’s notes, and which thankfully Widowmaker didn’t have to pick off to know what it said.

She got up and stretched as though there wasn’t the likelihood of their base being attacked by Overwatch agents happening right outside of Talon’s walls. “Get dressed, we’ll continue this another time.”

Sombra to her credit seemed to agree with her if stripping right in front of her to grab her clothes meant anything.

“You better get back to your creepy cave, spider.” Sombra muttered as she pulled a shirt over her head. “Who knows what those goons will think otherwise?”

It wasn’t often Sombra amused her, but when she did it was enough that it caused a dry chuckle, one that tumbled so carelessly past her lips. “Worried?”

“About myself? Yeah pretty much,” Sombra grinned at her over her shoulder. “Don’t know if you remember this chica but I’m not into the whole turning blue thing if I’m seen as messing around with you. Just saying. Anyway,” she pointed to her door. “Gabe is most likely out there kicking ass, I’d hate for you to miss that glorious show.” Sombra trailed off then and with a devious smirk she gestured with her eyes towards her body. “Unless you’re too distracted with this one.”

Widowmaker did the only thing she could think of: scoffed and hit the button to Sombra’s door with a jab of her thumb.

When she looked back over her shoulder she could see Sombra hadn’t moved from her spot and the deviant expression hadn’t even remotely faded from her expression.

“Don’t go getting yourself killed araña,” Sombra turned away to pull on her ridiculous looking feet-like shoes. “Me and you have a lot to talk about.”

“We do,” Widowmaker agreed. “Until then what’s to keep you from betraying me right now?”

A shudder ran through her, something that had not happened to her for so many years now, when she heard her own voice playback to her. Her owning damning evidence. And then, once the shock had played out in its own ugly fashion, she laughed. Of course Sombra wouldn’t play fair, how trivial and foolish of her to think otherwise.

“Where is the fun in playing fair?” She repeated Sombra’s mantra to her as smooth as silk. She had already betrayed enough of herself today in going to Sombra, she would not allow herself to give the hacker more evidence.

“Sorry amiga but I’ve got to watch my own back,” and despite everything that had just happened, Widowmaker believed the other woman sounded genuine. But Widowmaker wouldn’t look at her. She couldn’t. “It’s nothing personal.”

“It never is,” she replied. She wasn’t angry, not really. It was to be expected from someone who came to Talon to fulfill their own desires - and besides that, there was no reason to trust. Not just yet.

She didn’t bother to say her farewells and thus, left without a word. Her boots clacking on the metal flooring barely heard over the sirens and the sound of yelling, gunfire and her voice repeating the words ‘the way you looked at me’ over and over again.