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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 6 months

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Everlark (Mockingjay, Ch. 20-21)

(there's so much chapter 21 about the old peeta resurfacing and it feels like a reward for suffering through what this book has made me suffer through so far)

i take bogg's telling katniss to kill peeta as him just saying "do whatever you have to do to get the job done"

katniss being like um surely he doesn't think i can just kill peeta? like surely not. and then her literally being like i'm just gonna do the first two things he said and ignore the third

finnick putting on and adjusting peeta's mask while he's unconscious. the fact that katniss notes this. i cry

peeta realising he's killed mitchell hurts a lot. the capitol really turned him into something he's not. and he's fighting it so hard still

the compassion the other members of the star squad show peeta is actually very heart-warming, they're so understanding. finnick looking after him. holmes automatically going to carry an unconscious peeta so they can start moving again without being asked to. finnick reassuring him; actually everything finnick does. them refusing to leave him behind even though he is an actual threat to them

katniss thinking of the hanging tree while contemplating peeta's request that they kill him. the fact that she realises it might even be the more compassionate thing to do at this stage to give him nightlock. but the same way he says he can't let her take it at the end of the book, she can't do it here

"i feel the arena all around me... once again i'm battling not only for my own survival but peeta's as well"

i personally don't think katniss could have ever killed him. there's just no chance. when his survival is so intricately linked to her own. they're a package deal. and they fight so hard to keep each other alive.

peeta holding out the can of lamb stew to katniss. so mad we didn't get so many important moments from this book in the movies. they did a terrible job of showing the moments where peeta was coming back to himself. all his comments to the others, this moment

"the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting and the aroma of my favourite capitol dish in the chilly air. so some part of it must still be in his head too. how happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave."

OUR cave. like it was their first little home. first little intimate space just for them.

the fact that she paints this time in their cave as romantic and sentimental and picturesque. she's romanticising tf out of it. like she was in a death arena but in that moment, she was happy and close to him and that mattered so much to her

her hope at him returning to himself dripping off the page. that he remembers this.

(an aside: katniss being snarky about snow's puffy lips and saying his prep team need to be lighter with his blush is sooo funny)

in my catching fire summaries, i noted that katniss's desire to save peeta is actually a very selfish one. she's saving him for herself. because she wants him so badly to live. she wants him to be able to live more than herself. and the thought of him living while she doesn't is a personally comforting/happy thought for her. yes he deserves to live and he's a wonderful person but she's doing a lot of the saving of him for herself. because she NEEDS him to live. so her line here is interesting: "if it's true, it would be kindest to kill peeta here and now. but for better or worse, i am not motivated by kindness." - i think this is her essentially confirming what i believe or have gathered so far from what she tells us. saving peeta is not her showing him some great kindness. it's for her. she can't let him die for her own personal need and reasons. (and this isn't me criticising her, i don't think her reasons for saving him are selfish in a bad immoral way. just that she is a teenage girl in love with a boy and she desperately can't let him go)

she does the whole 'am i saving him because i care for him or because i don't want snow to win' but like it's been clear why she's been saving him thus far and continues to

"why can't i just let him go?" because you love and need him sweetheart. and you literally would not be able to live without him

and it's funny that despite all the emotion behind her reasoning, she comes out bluntly and says: so are you coming yourself or do we have to knock you out

"i slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl"

ugh. the key that keeps him restrained is now with katniss. her taking control of that part. the fact that it clicks with the pearl, reminding her of her boy with the bread who gave her this pearl that she's inseparable from. reminding her of exactly why she can't let him go, let him die.

peeta's comment to pollux when no one else can think of anything to say!! why didn't they include these things in the movies? auihfuaedhfufkeadh

the fact that his words are able to make castor laugh and pollux smile. he is so charming, so good-hearted, so good with people. and it's coming back. the boy with the bread is there, behind all that fog. he's there.

and again, katniss's hope at realising this. her glancing back at him. i can feel her emotions even though she's not always forthcoming with them

her wishing she could read his mind and go inside it to help him. settling on making sure he's eaten. taking away the lid so he can't hurt himself.

him saying mockingjays need wings to survive kinda feels like flirting/charm idk

"slowly, as i would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. he freezes at my touch, but doesn't recoil. so i continue to gently smooth back his hair. it's the first time i have voluntarily touched him since the last arena" - never forget what the movies took from us!!

them smoothing/playing with/brushing back each other's hair has been a constant since the first book. an intimate thing, a comforting thing. and here, after all that's gone on, katniss knows what might help him sleep and she takes the risk of touching him. it could've gone so badly. but she still did it, for him. and for her.

him whispering "you're still trying to protect me. real or not real"... i want to hug him so bad. but he feels it. he feels her wanting to still protect him and he needs the confirmation.

protecting each other is what they do guysss

he has horrible circles under his eyes from not being able to sleep but, as katniss smooths his hair back, he falls asleep after a minute. do you understand how important this is?????

#everlark #the hunger games #mockingjay #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #tgtpto everlark read

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megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms · 1 year

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Deduce Me

Based on this request: Hello, I hope you’re having a lovely birthday. May I request a sherlock soulmate Au. Maybe they have a marker or something. She thinks he doesn’t like her because he doesn’t deduce her and suss it out but really he’s holding back and wanted to give her space because she’s kinda sweet and stuff. Bit like the grumpy and sunshine trope!

Here you go, lovely! I apologize for the wait! My hiatus(es) was unexpected and unwanted, but apparently necessary.

Fandom: BBC Sherlock

Warnings: Soulmate AU, angst. Potential for part 2 (maybe)?, a little grumpy and sunshine, but only a bit.

Pairings/Characters: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader, John Watson

Soulmarks were stupid. At least that's how you were feeling at the moment. You'd been fortunate(or perhaps unfortunate) enough to be mated to the most brilliant man you'd ever met. Sherlock Holmes. You knew that because you'd seen his mark, identical to yours, once by accident. Instead of telling Sherlock outright, you decided to wait and see how long it would take for it to be discovered. Now, you knew Sherlock would appreciate a chance to figure things out on his own. To that end you decided to give him a chance to deduce why you were suddenly acting differently toward him.

After several weeks of this, you were beginning to lose hope. Sherlock refused to deduce anything about you. It was like he didn't want to know anything about why you were acting the way you were. You had seen the man deduce the lives of entire families within a few minutes and yet he wouldn't say a word to you. Surely he knew by now. It was…he just had to. It wasn't until you'd simmering in your frustration for about a week that Sherlock seemed to take notice.

You had stopped being as attentive. You stopped hanging around as much and you didn't text as much. It hurt you. It hurt so much. Soulmates, platonic or not, were not meant to be out of contact for very long. But the fact that Sherlock didn't even seem to care hurt your pride more than the soulmate bond ever could. Did he just not like you? Maybe that was why. Maybe he knew and just didn't care so acted like nothing changed between you. If that was the case, it might have been in your best interest to leave well enough alone for a while.

Sherlock's POV

"Watson, where is Y/N?" John looked at the detective exasperatedly. "You're joking. She hasn't been here for days, Sherlock. You didn't not- Never mind. Of course you didn't." Sherlock's brows furrowed. Why would you willingly spend time away from him? You'd been hanging around so much lately and Sherlock had gotten used to you. In fact, though he'd never admit it aloud, he rather enjoyed your company. So why hadn't he noticed your absence before?

That was when his mind kicked into overdrive. He had noticed. That little niggle in his heart and head. Something telling him that there was something wrong. His entire being ached for your presence. The soulmate bond was fraying, little by little, but why? John's voice brought Sherlock of his thoughts again.

"I cannot believe you didn't realize she was gone. She's the only woman that has ever been able to handle your madness. If she's not your soulmate, I'd be surprise, along with half of the people we know," John mentioned with a frustrated sigh. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder briefly. "She is," he stated, earning a confused look from the doctor so he continued, "My soulmate."

"You knew?! And you've been ignoring her?! Why?"

"Because she is a distraction! And…I can't. I can't allow myself to be distracted," the consulting detective said as if it were a statement of fact. John wasn't going to allow that. He was having none of it. "Bollocks. I know you, Sherlock. You're afraid. You're afraid that, by being your soulmate, Y/N will change. She'll become more like you."

"Yes. There are so few truly good people in the world, Watson. Y/N is one of them. She needs…She deserves more than a high-functioning sociopath. I cannot allow a romantic entanglement with me to change her. It is better if I say nothing." John merely stared at him for a moment. "You believe that?" Sherlock nodded once and John scoffed. "And now you're both hurting."

"The pain means nothing if Y/N is safe from me and what being associated with me can do to her."

"Shouldn't that be my decision as well?" Sherlock wasn't even surprised to hear your voice coming from the doorway of the flat. He glanced back at you as you gave John a tired smile. Sherlock took in your appearance. You looked horrible. Like you hadn't slept or eaten in days. Like all the joy had been sucked out of you. "Would you give us a moment, Doctor?" you asked, not meeting Sherlock's gaze. John merely nodded before shooting a glare at his flatmate.

As soon as John was outside, you finally glanced at Sherlock. "You look like hell," he declared, matter-of-factly. You rolled your eyes. "Well, forgive me, Mr. Consulting Detective, but not all of us have a murder to keep us distracted. Why? Why would you let me believe it meant nothing to you? I know you're not…good with typical human emotions. You find them unnecessary, but I don't! And you said NOTHING! YOU LET ME BELIEVE I WAS BETTER OFF AND LET ME BE IN PAIN!"

Sherlock's expression, unsurprisingly, didn't shift at all as your voice raised. When he said nothing, you huffed and began pacing a little. "You could have talked to me, Sherlock. You should have! You knew this entire time. You knew exactly what I was trying to tell you and yet, you couldn't be bothered to care. I've been so happy."

"You are always happy. Well, except for this moment," he replied, earning a groan. "Not the point, Sherlock. The point is that you caused us both unnecessary pain. While you had something to distract you from yours, I didn't. I was here with you, every day. Not that you noticed. You don't want me to be like you? Well I suppose it's too late. This bond has caused me nothing but trouble. I've made an appointment with a soul bond clinic. They'll be removing my mark and severing the bond entirely." With that, you turned on your heel and left the flat, leaving Sherlock standing there with a thousand thoughts racing through his head and his heart clenching harder with every step you took.

For once in his life, Sherlock had no idea what to do. You were going to destroy the soulmate bond? Sherlock didn't want that. He knew that much. He hadn't meant to cause you the pain. He had only wanted to keep you…you. But now, it was over. Unless he could catch you in time.

Faster than most people could comprehend, Sherlock's long legs were carrying him out of the flat and down into the street. Just as his foot hit the pavement, the cab with you in the backseat drove off. Sherlock could just see your tear-stained face in the window as you were driven out of sight.

(a/n: I hope you like it. Also, why are half my soulmate AUs on this blog so angsty XD)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @supernatural4life2022

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #soulmate au

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sandcobangevent · 1 month

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Please Don’t Say You Love Me

Written by @ratinavan, Illustrated by @silliestofg33sevik

Read Here on AO3

If this was how the podcast was going to end, so be it. Don’t let John be the one to stop it, obviously The Great Sherlock Holmes is just too good at what he does to want to associate with the likes of poor old John Watson. It doesn’t matter that he worked damn hard to get them where they were, it doesn’t matter that he hung onto every word that fell from the detective’s mouth, it doesn’t matter that he would throw his life away for that bastard man. None of it matters because the detective decided that the cases were the only thing that needed his consideration, the only thing that warranted even a scrap of his attention.

John had done everything, everything for this man. He followed that tall silhouette wherever it may go for weeks, months, God! He had watched that back for nigh on a year and what did he get in return? Abandoned, kicked to the curb like he was a bloody dog - homeless, broke, and heartbroken. Sherlock is- no, was , his everything. His reason to keep going after being shipped back from Ukraine, his reason to get up in the morning, his reason to not grab as many of those stupid chemical experiments and shove them down his throat when his own mind got too harsh. All of this - all of this - and it got him the sum total of nothing. His dedication, his life, his everything, had been turned away in disgust by the detective.

“Sherlock I-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Watson. I wish to end our acquaintance here, you may have a week to find alternative lodgings.”

The blood rushing past John’s ears at this moment was definitely unhealthy, but he was too busy trying to both stay upright and prevent himself from vomiting all over the living room floor. What had he done to deserve this, you may wonder? Well, the answer was simple. He had believed that Sher- Holmes would reciprocate, or at least not hate him for, his feelings toward the younger man.

Oh how wrong he was.

That conversation had been dreadful . There was no screaming or shouting. There had been no objects thrown. Just a curled lip and quiet scorn, both of which hurt more than if there had been physical retaliation. So now here he was, shoving his meagre belongings into his duffle bag and attempting to plan his next steps now that his life was over. He had already convinced Mariana to continue to care for Archie - if he was going to be out of a steady home for a while, he was in no position to give the poor boy the life he deserved. She had tried to say no, tried to convince him that this was just one of Holmes’ black moods and he would never truly wish him to leave. It was no use. She hadn’t seen the look on his face after the confession, the deep-rooted hatred that surfaced from seemingly nowhere.

Maybe the detective had never liked John as much as he had assumed, maybe he was just tolerating him to fill the hole of a companion - someone to worship the ground he walked on. Well. Not anymore. John was leaving, he refused to live with someone who had such an issue with his sexuality.

Did he feel like shite? Yes. Was he going to miss everything that they had developed in the past years? Absolutely. But he could already tell that his mental health was taking a nosedive back to pre-221B levels and he refused to sit around and let Holmes witness his downfall. If that meant leaving everything and running away? Fine, he’d rather be a coward than a cripple.

Sherlock was busy running through another one of the menial experiments that he was using in an attempt to push all thoughts of Wat- John from his mind. It had been just shy of a week since the Doctor had disappeared from the flat and the detective had devoted himself to his work. Eating, resting, anything that wasn’t one of his experiments had been thrown to the wayside and were only partaken under the scornful gaze of Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock knew why she disapproved, he knew that he had messed up by rejecting John, by doing anything other than falling at his feet and assuring him the feeling was reciprocated. He should have screamed it from the rooftops, posted it in the papers, told anyone and everyone that would have listened. But he didn’t. Instead, he had emotionally broken the best man the world had ever given him. He had done it without a second thought and with the ease that came only from someone as self-assured and arrogant as himself.

As he continued to experiment, his phone began to ring from its place on the coffee table. As usual, he ignored it as the ringtone indicated that it wasn’t the Yard calling. If Lestrade didn’t have a new case for him, he was in no mood to talk. Leaving the call to ring out, he turned his attention back to the samples, however, much to his dismay the phone began ringing again. An irritated sigh escaped his lips, but he made no move to answer it. After three more rings, Mariana barged through the door to 221B with a face like thunder.

“Dios mio, Sherlock! If you aren’t going to answer it, at least leave it somewhere so that it doesn’t echo down to my flat!” The woman stomped over to the phone and picked it up, “Hello, how can I help?” A pause, “He’s here, can I ask who is speaking, please? My name is Mariana, I’m… his flatmate.”

Presumably, the person on the other end replied. Sherlock spotted Mrs Hudson turning to look at him from the corner of his eye - she had gone pale, so pale the detective thought she might faint.

“Sit down, Mrs Hudson, and hand me the phone.” Sherlock guided her down onto the sofa and pried his mobile from her trembling hands.

“Hello? Sherlock Holmes speaking.” He was now invested in what could have caused such a reaction from the usually strong-willed woman, almost like a pseudo-case.

“Oh, hello, Mister Holmes. My name is Miss Haye and I’m calling from Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.” Well, this was unusual, how did Saint Bart’s end up with his number? Why would they need to be calling him?

“I see, and what do you need from me? Scotland Yard usually contacts me directly if there is a body that needs examining.”

“Unfortunately, Sir, this is not a business call. I’m calling regarding Mr John Watson? You’re listed as his emergency contact and he was admitted late last night after being fished out of the Thames in what we presume was a suicide attempt.” Sherlock understood now why Mrs Hudson reacted the way she did. He was sure that he was in much the same state. He reached out behind him to steady his way to sitting, not trusting his legs to support him for the rest of the phone call.

“O-Okay.” He coughed, rueing the tremble in his voice, “Is he still there? What is his condition? Is he allowed visitors?” The questions continued to fall from his mouth in quite possibly the worst case of word-vomit he had ever experienced.

The guilt Sherlock was feeling was insurmountable, this was his fault. If he had just been honest with John rather than prioritising his image of stone this all could have been avoided. Why could he not just admit that John’s affection scared him - Sherlock was so worried about disappointing his podcaster that he immediately shut down any chance of a relationship. He had let John leave, blocked his number, and denied him any chance of contact with him in a fit of unexplainable terror.

“Yes, Mister Holmes, he is available for visitors but he is currently unconscious so may not be responsive by the time you arrive if you plan on coming over immediately.” Sherlock jumped, he had almost forgotten about the woman over the phone. He was quick to finish up the conversation, assuring her that they would be there promptly before hanging up the call.

“What have I done?” Sherlock murmured into his fist, staring at his phone. He navigated over to his contacts and, after a steadying breath, unblocked John’s contact and put his phone face-down on the table.

Immediately, the tone of John’s messages began to come through one after another after another. Each ping of the phone, each vibration against the table only worked to further embed the spear of guilt further into Sherlock’s chest. Nothing had ever gotten to the detective as acutely as this had. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He picked up the phone and read the texts.

John: Why did you have to hate me, was my love really that horrible?

John: I miss you, y’know? And I miss Archie and Mariana…

John: I don’t know what to do with myself now, and my phone is going to die soon

John: Not easy to charge your phone on the streets haha

John: I’m sorry, I wish I had never said anything. If I could take it all back, I would.

John: I won’t bother you anymore, I love you, I’m sorry.

Sherlock barely made it through the first messages before his eyes clouded over and tears were carving paths down his cheeks. The consequences of his inconsiderate actions were finally starting to unravel, and he would have to do some serious legwork to even begin fixing what he had done.

The next hour felt more like a daze. Both Sherlock and Mariana managed to flag down a cab and direct it to Saint Barts, all without really registering doing any of it. Climbing out of the cab and approaching the front desk, the woman from the phone directed them to the correct ward with a small smile, informing them that John had woken up just five minutes prior so may still be groggy.

This news spurred the pair of them to hurry in the correct direction, only getting lost once on their way there. When they finally made it to the door of John’s room, Sherlock stopped short, hesitating just before the door could open. “I- I don’t think I can do this Mrs- no, Mariana. I don’t deserve to see him like this, you should go in without me.”

Mariana grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye. “You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. You will go into that room, you will face your best friend, and you will tell him how unimaginably sorry you are, AND you will tell him about your feelings. Those are the reasons we’re in this position in the first place.” The no-nonsense tone was enough to force him through the door, stopping a couple of paces inside and locking gazes with the groggy Doctor.

His hair was a mess, his usually well-kept facial hair was now much less flattering than usual, the bags under his eyes were several times the size they should be, and the amount of weight he had lost in just over a week was more than concerning. John’s softer belly was one of Sherlock’s favourite things to admire - it was both effective at disguising his underlying strength and at being the best replacement for Sherlock’s hugging machine.

When John met Sherlock’s eyes, the only thing that escaped his mouth was, “I’m sorry…” The doctor looked so small on that hospital bed and now he was apologising?

“ Stop . Just… stop, John.” Sherlock could feel the tears building again. He looked at John, and slowly made his way towards the hospital bed. “Words can never describe the disaster that your loss would have caused me. I may-” He choked on his words, “I may be a genius, but I am also a colossal imbecile, an idiot, the worst man on Baker Street. Believe me when I say that I would never have wished this on you. I would never have wanted you to take your own life, especially not over me .” He was sobbing at this point, fallen to his knees at John’s bedside and trying to put the sheer pain of his agony into words.

“I-” Sherlock hesitated, debating on whether he should continue. A swift kick to the back from Mariana set him to rights and he carried on, “I love you, John Watson.” The pair locked eyes, suspended in time for what felt like an eternity, shame in the gaze of one and disbelief in the gaze of the other.

“Why would you say that to me, Sherlock? After everything that’s happened, why would you taunt me like this?” The doctor was crying now as well, salty tears following well-worn paths down his cheeks and neck. He raised his hands, in practice to wipe away his emotions, but truthfully it was more out of a child-like need to hide. The detective held his heart in his hands - the ability to crush or care hanging in the balance.

The detective rose, “No, no, John. You must believe me, I am not lying to you now. I see how utterly foolish I was to push you away to try and save face - I should never have thought myself above feelings, especially not your own. I will do whatever it takes to reassure you that my words are the truth, I would throw myself at your feet for another chance at us. Please, hear my words and try to find it within yourself to give me another chance. I love you, John Hamish Watson, and I will continue to do so for the rest of my days.”

Sherlock’s world narrowed to nothing but John, the look in his eyes, the words that may leave his mouth.

“You, Sherlock Holmes, are the biggest bastard to walk this Earth.”

His stomach plummeted.

“Get up here and kiss me you git.”

#submission #sherlock and co #sherlock & co #flashbang event #sherlock homes #john watson

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mimisempai · 1 year

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Who gave you that black eye?

Summary

Greg, learning by Anthea that Mycroft had an unfortunate accident, rushes to the hospital to see him. And although it is only a black eye, Greg will show Mycroft that whatever happens to him, he will always be there for his lover.

Notes

Mystrade Monday 1.0 #04 - “Who gave you that black eye?”

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

On Ao3

Rating G - 777 words

Although his heart was beating faster because of the anxiety, Greg refused to let himself panic as he made his way through the hospital hallway. When he finally entered the room he was looking for, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when he saw the familiar figure sitting on the edge of the hospital bed with his back to him.

He called softly, "Mycroft.

His lover turned around and Greg couldn't stop himself from gasping when he saw the black eye that adorned Mycroft's face.

He rushed forward and exclaimed, "Mycroft, are you all right?"

Mycroft replied with a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips, "I'm fine for the most part, but I won't lie to you, I've been feeling much better. It's just a black eye though, nothing serious."

Greg said quietly, "Anthea told me something about an umbrella, but that you'd rather explain it to me yourself. Tell me who gave you that black eye."

Mycroft looked away and replied, "I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh at me."

Greg grabbed Mycroft's chin and turned it towards him, "Mycroft, you are in such a state, believe me, whatever the reason, I don't want to laugh."

Mycroft shrugged, "We'll see. Because it's so ridiculous." He sighed and continued, "I was at the French Embassy and, oh my God, the more I think about it, the more absolutely pathetic it is." He ran a hand through his hair before resuming, "You know I have a habit of leaning on my umbrella, don't you?"

Greg smiled fondly and replied, "I love that habit."

Mycroft smiled wanly and replied, "Well, let's just say I've never used it on a freshly waxed floor."

Greg exclaimed, "No! You mean..."

Mycroft just nodded as he closed his eyes, then added, "And unfortunately, I hit my eye with the umbrella handle."

Greg winced, "Ouch! I feel terrible for you Mycroft. That must have been very painful. I'm really sorry it happened to you."

Mycroft shook his head, "It was more fear than harm and my self-esteem took a big hit, but I'll get over it."

Greg stepped closer and gently cupped Mycroft's face in his hands, planting a lingering kiss on his lover's forehead.

He broke the kiss and stepped back when he heard someone coughing behind them and turned his head to the door. It was a nurse, ice pack in hand. She said, a small smile on her lips that showed she hadn't missed the tender moment, "Mr. Holmes, put this ice pack on your eye for fifteen minutes and you can go home if you have someone to take you there. Cold, rest and painkillers if needed, nothing more to do."

Greg grabbed the ice pack, "I'll do it and I'll be the one to drive him home."

The nurse nodded without breaking her smile and replied, "Great Mr. Holmes, I see you are in good hands. I wish you a speedy recovery. Take care of yourself."

She left after the two men had thanked her.

Greg turned to Mycroft and carefully applied the ice pack to his swollen eye.

Mycroft whispered in a barely audible voice, "Why are you here, Greg?"

Greg looked at him in confusion and asked, "What do you mean? Where else should I be?"

Mycroft hesitated a little, "Well, you're in the middle of your working day, isn't that where you should be?"

With his free hand, Greg gently stroked Mycroft's cheek and said softly, "Mycroft, there is no place I would rather be right now. You're hurt. As soon as Anthea called to tell me, there's no place I'd rather be than with you."

He knew exactly how Mycroft felt because he often felt the same way. He knew that look of disbelief in his lover's eyes. When you had lived alone for so long, relying only on yourself, you were always surprised, even after all this time, when someone cared about you.

He stroked his thumb across Mycroft's cheek and continued, "I will always be there for you, Mycroft, even for something as trivial as a black eye. You'll have to get used to that."

Mycroft pressed his face against Greg's palm, which was still on his cheek, and admitted softly, his expression incredibly vulnerable, "It's such a nice feeling."

Greg smiled and replied, "Isn't it? Then get used to it, because I intend to make you feel like this a lot."

They stayed for as long as the nurse instructed, and then Greg drove Mycroft home, where he continued to take care of him.

For, as he had told Mycroft, he would always be there for him.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

#mystrade #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #mycroft x greg #some fluff as always #sherlock bbc #established relationship #mystrade monday #mystrade monday prompts

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jaybathive · 1 year

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Curtain Call AU

THIS IS YET ANOTHER AU OF @/partycoffin‘s Welcome Home

Here is the link to the Fanfic! Only registered Archive of Our Own users can view it there. This is to protect it from the evil AI.

I will include the full first chapter in a separate post for here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47539285/chapters/119809513

There are some spoilers in this info. post but here is some Character Information and AU information.

GENERAL INFO.

The creator of the Welcome Home Show found budding actors and made them into puppets for his show via magic and now makes Wally try to sustain a place called “Home” to keep the Neighborhood alive. This includes Wally himself and his friends.

Who is Danny Holmes?

He is the “creator” of the Welcome Home Show in this universe

Sort of Home’s human form.

Home represents Danny as a physical manifestation of him in the show

He uses Wally and co. for his own fame. As long as Welcome Home is running and in the minds of people SOMEWHERE, he will live on

As long as people consume Welcome Home content and think you tit, Danny will also survive and be immoral basically.

About Home

Only Wally can understand him in the “Home” form

“Home” is where the puppets (and their replacements) were made and gives color and life to their world.

Without Home, Wally and co would return to being felt, lifeless puppets and their world would all revert back to just plain felt puppets and a set.

Home is Sentient and has a human form. Instead of being just a house, it’s a massive place similar to a warehouse/factory. Puppets are made here and there is a massive machine in the center that works as the “heart” even Wally can’t get in there.

About Wally

Wally Darling was an actor that was just getting his start in the industry. He was approached by a mysterious man who said he had an idea for a children’s show that was sure to be a hit.

Wally, wanting his friends to jump on the opportunity with him, told his friends (Barnaby, Julie, Frank, Etc.) This causes Wally lots of guilt because he knows he got his friends into this.

Wally is trying to find a way to keep their lives and be free without Home knowing. He throws himself into his work and neglects his own needs to take care of Home. He doesn’t want his friends to suffer because he wasn’t capable of doing this

He refuses to allow the others to help him. He doesn’t want Home to hurt them too

About Barnaby

Wally’s best friend since grade school.

Worked as a struggling comedian before Wally told him to audition for Welcome Home

“What have you got to loose, Barns?”

About Julie

She had been in plays with Wally since they were kids

She always dreamed of being a “big shot actress” but had only been in plays and musicals at the local theatre Frank worked at

She met Wally there and Wally told her she should give Welcome Home auditions a try since they were looking for new actors in particular.

About Frank

Former tech. Person for many theatre programs that Wally had participated in

Wally and Julie begged him to audition with them

About Eddie

Interned for Danny for years.

He was more of an errand boy, just picking up the mail, newspapers and getting lunch so Danny didn’t have to leave the building where he developed Welcome Home

They needed another actor for the show but only 7 actors showed up. Danny told him to try out.

About Poppy

She was a retired Broadway actress hoping to get a chance at the big screen.

Was a theater teacher for children one year for a volunteer thing. That’s where she met Wally

Encouraged Wally by telling him he was really good and inspired him to be an actor.

Now runs the local theater

Wally brought Welcome Home to her attention because he wanted to pay her back for believing in him.

About Sally

Former child actress that was in between jobs

Wally approached her with the idea to audition for Welcome Home

She jumped on the idea

About Howdy

This is a bit of a funny story

He was a cashier at a shop Eddie would get coffee, donuts and other things Danny asked for from.

Eddie jokingly suggested to play the store worker for the Welcome Home Show

Danny told Eddie to go ask him to audition and Howdy actually showed up.

Danny loved his audition the best.

Well, right next to Wally’s. Wally is the host after all and his star.

#Welcome Home #welcome home au #curtain call au #Welcome Home Wally #welcome home sally #welcome home poppy #welcome home barnaby #welcome home frank #welcome home eddie #welcome home howdy #welcome hime Julie #Danny Holmes #Human Home

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mrk-heathcliff · 1 year

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If. You're fine with that I mean :•]

Smrk-

Mmhm!

So!! Basically!

G0Z's actual name is Annie Martin Holmes, and he was expected to be a girl, and his parents of course wanted a girl so this was. Good news.

And, even when he was born, he was born with 6 fingers on each hand, with the nurses saying its purely cosmetic and not harmful. Despite this, his mother begins yelling that this isn't what she wanted, and his father yells that he refuses to have a freak as a son.

After that, (specifically a week later I'm pretty sure?), they decide they are going to get rid of what they no longer want, and try again.

Due to this, they leave him at the door of a church, with a kid named Sigmund finding him at the door when he was trying to get the newspaper for Father Sondés :•)

Despite his parents thinking the church may take care of Annie, father Sondés, along with a nun, decide to sell him to Sunny Children's Foundation when he was of age, describing him as "a freak without any value in the outside world."

Father Sondés believes this to be true of all of the kids, especially Sigmund and Annie.

Sigmund, is also going to be sent to Sunny Children's Foundation when he's old enough, and has to take care of G0Z due to that.

When G0Z grows up to be. Not a literal 1 week old baby, they become friends. ^•^

And, due to being G0Z's friend, he gets roped into his jokes on accident.

Especially a certain one, where G0Z says that Father Sondés looks like a sloth when he yawns./hj

This causes the kids to laugh. Really loud. Because they're all like. 5-9 can you blame them??

After the sermon where this happened, Father Sondés walked into the room that Sigmund and G0Z share, and reprimand them for the joke by not letting them eat dinner. To protect G0Z, Sigmund pushed Sondés and was hurt in the event. This prompted the both of them to plan an escape. As a means to escape, they would have to make friends aid their efforts

And they have two new children come to the church, not due to their parents being neglecting, but due to the fact they basically just.. show up there.

They were exploring and just. Wandered in basically./hj

These children's names are Tsubaki and Haru Akai.

Haru is the one with her hair in two buns, and Tsubaki is the one with her hair just. In one bun.:•]

They both seem cautious of G0Z and Sigmund, especially Tsubaki at first. Father Sondés ignores this and throws (literally. Throws.) Them into a dirty and cluttered room, and G0Z and Sigmund clean it with the twins to help prove they just wnna be friends. ^•^

After this, they reveal themselves to be a part of the Akai Mafia! To. Kids they techinally just met. They are both just 8 so I cant blame them./hj

But! After this, Tsubaki tells the other twin, Sigmund, and G0Z a plan to escape, using a.

Apple Launcher. It launches apples. /hj

They need to get a key and something from a safe, both inside Father Sondés' office. Before they get to the office, G0Z passes out, and has to be carried by Sigmund into the office.

He passed out due to a certain. Father Sun.

But! After getting to the office surpisingly easily, (other than G0Z passing out.) G0Z wakes up, and finds a scripture of Father Sun on Father Sondés desk, being demanded to grab it and read it, and, not being able to control his body, he grabs it and begins reading it. until Sigmund asks if he's alright, causing him to just.. hide and steal the book.

But! Father Sondés catches them, and grabs G0Z by the collar of his shirt, choking him.

Tsubaki shoots Father Sondés in the stomach with the ✨apple launcher✨, causing him to fall down, and to let go of G0Z's collar.

Nd. Causing this.

Sunny man! (•:

Anyway, Haru then kicks Father Sondés in the face, causing him to pass out.

But! They manage to open the safe, and Tsubaki + Haru both tell G0Z to grab the box inside of it, because he's the youngest and is the only one who can fit.

When he opens the box, it.. behaves more like a door, and causes him to be thrown into the Circus In The Sky! :•))

Sigmund panics when this happens, and asks the twins what happened, and they respond that "He's with a family friend of ours." And that he's safe.

But! G0Z hears a voice and yells out where it came from, and,

This happens! Caroline! ^^

Caroline is the bunny masked girl, and greets G0Z.

G0Z notices the door closed behind him, and panics, crying nd banging on the door nearly immediately.

Caroline responds to this with,

Hugs!

After hugging, G0Z gets scared, and yells whats happening at Caroline, and she explains that if G0Z didn't get to TCITS soon, he would've been dead within a week from Father Sun.

I cant remember much more and this is already a huge ass information so

CYA MARK

Sorry I passed out last night but this is actually so cool?? Like wow-

#chats.#long post

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theanticool · 2 years

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Who are you taking for tonight, homie?

Had to pull out the laptop and write down my thoughts for this one

Jiri vs Glover - Jiri by (T)KO early.

Can't help but feel we are going to see one of those fights where the older vet (Glover) has finally reached the mountain top thanks to good timing only to have it come crashing down immediately (think Bisping, Shogun, Werdum a bit or what just happened with Donaire and Inoue) because a younger guy with way more tread on the tire just comes and tears him apart. We know Glover is probably going to get hurt cause he does in basically every fight. And unlike basically anyone Glover has fought on his recent stretch, Jiri is a finisher. Not in the Anthony Smith, he's losing til he wins way of being a finisher. He is a 27 finishes in 32 fights type finisher. He's probably going to hurt Glover early. But unlike a Ion Cutelaba, I don't think Jiri lets him off the leash when he does.

Jiri isn't perfect though. He can be hurt (Reyes did). He can be stopped (King Mo did). Who knows how he looks in a fight with a 3rd, 4th, and 5th round? There's a solid path to victory for Glover if he survives early but you have got to think those come from behind performances have got to end at one point.

Shevchenko vs Santos - Shevchenko by UD (or 4th or 5th round tko). You have no idea how much I want to pick Santos, because I believe in the chaos that this sport throws out there. Normally when there's an upset in the women's divisions for titles, I can see the path. Wrote about it for Holm-Rousey, Joanna-Rose, Andrade-Rose 1, Rose-Esparza 2, and comically enough Pena-Nunes (years and years before the fight was made). But there were clear weaknesses that the upstart in all those fights could leverage for big wins, normally centered around a perceived weakness in the champ.

I like Santos. I think she's a good example of a fighter who got UFC money and dedicated herself to becoming a complete MMA fighter. She has 0 of the strengths any of those other women possess. She's not particularly brilliant in any facet of the game. While she is generally big and strong for 125lbs, she doesn't hold that edge over Valentina. The only way I can see Santos taking this is if we get a worse version of Shevchenko-Nunes 2 with Santos pressuring but refusing to throw giving Shevchenko nothing to counter for 25 minutes. Smarter people than me have pointed out some of Santos' similarities to Nunes, but I don' t think they factor in that Shevchenko-Nunes 1 was a brutal fight for both women involved that played into how the rematch went.

Zhang vs Joanna - Taking Zhang, UD or early stoppage.

There's so many weird caveats to this fight. If this fight had happened immediately after their first fight, I think I would have picked JJ cause she had the greater technical depth to make the adjustments she needed to win a rematch. Shorten exchanges, less kicking (or kicking upstairs more instead of to the leg). Really take away the big power counters that won Zhang their first fight. But Joanna hasn't fought since the last time these two fought, two years ago. And while Zhang is 0-2 in the meantime, she arguably beat Rose the 2nd time they fought and has looked physically well put together. Joanna is 34 and has been in so many brutal fights (Gadelha 2, Letournau, KK, Rose 1+2, and the Zhang fight). Has the two years helped her recover from that string of wars? Is she going to come back flat? She can't afford that in 3 round fight.

My main worry for Zhang is that the KO loss to Rose has shook her striking confidence and she'll be reluctant to get into a firefight when that's the fight she needs to beat JJ. But I'm honestly more worried about what JJ looks like at this point and should this turn into a battle of wills, I think Zhang can tough that out better than JJ at this point.

#ufc275 #MMA

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zoela23 · 1 year

Text

This week we read the first chapter of Daniel J. Solove’s book, The Future of Reputation. The first chapter starts with the story of a young woman in South Korea. Her dog pooped on a train and she didn’t clean up after it. A fellow passenger took her photo. The photo ended up on the internet and in no time at all everyone knew her name. The bullying and shaming got so intense she dropped out of school. Solove uses this story to demonstrate how the internet allows people to spread information that they may have no right to spread and the damages unique to spreading it on the internet.

The internet gives people the ability to express their freedom of speech to a wider audience. Many have discussed the difficulties of preventing people from shaming people on an electronic platform without interfering with their freedoms. Solove points this out himself. He mentioned that due to the internet people aren’t free of past mistakes. All anyone needs to do to find out past missteps, dumb teenagehood decisions, or mistakes made in the heat of the moment is enter a name in the google search bar. This situation reminds me of a quote, “My right to swing my arms ends at your nose,” U.S. Supreme Court justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.. We have the right to freedom of speech so long as we aren’t hurting anyone. Being harassed to the point that you have to leave your education definitely counts as harm.

The story at the beginning of The Future of Reputation and “It Takes a Village to Find a Phone”, an article that we read at the beginning of the semester, have similar events. Someone with time and resources spreads the story of the wrongs committed by a young woman on the internet. Some people view these stories as the same, justice received through public shaming, but they are different. The New York girl in “It Takes a Village to Find a Phone” refused to return a 300 dollar phone the Korean girl for The Future of Reputation merely failed to pick up after her dog. This girl responded to the corrections of her behavior by telling others to mind their own business. Other sources on the event back in 2005 indicate that she didn’t respond until after another person yelled at her. The New Yorker, on the other hand, devolved into insults immediately and then threats.

In the case in “It Takes a Village to Find a Phone” they weren’t just trying to shame the girl into returning property that didn’t belong to her. They also made an effort to shame the police into taking action. The police had been contacted on the matter but they refused to do anything. People shared advice to force the hands of the New York Police Department and put pressure on the department to act. In The Future of Reputation the only person they wanted to affect had been the girl in question. No one made an effort to take legal action, they went straight to vigilante justice.

It would be difficult to turn around a story spreading on the internet of this nature. Containing a story would be difficult. Discrediting the person spreading the information would make a good first step. Someone with a false story circulating the internet should post a correction. Of course it is likely that the public would not believe the story, if the story even reaches everyone the fake one did. If the stories are correct the person should publicly admit they were wrong and privately apologize to the wronged party. I would suggest stating your intention to apologize publicly but not making your apology public. Many people view public apologies as fake and insecure.

A person might manage to repair some of the damage done but the stain would remain. The victim could prove their innocence, the source could tell people they posted something wrong, but people could see the damaging information without the correction. Once information is out there there’s no way to get rid of it.

At this moment I think the best way to avoid damage to your reputation is to avoid posting any personal information that can be used to identify yourself. That would include school, age, any photographs featuring your face, any mention of your hometown, and other things. If you behave in a way that people would try to shame you on the internet it would be more difficult for people to identify you if you keep the information available to the public sparse. If you are behaving in a manner that could get you shamed in online spaces that will be tied to the accounts you behaved that way on. The best way to avoid total destruction of your online reputation would be to keep your accounts completely separate. If you unknowingly cross a norm and you can’t interact with others the way you once did then at least you have other social media accounts unaffected by this.

Even keeping anonymous online doesn’t guarantee one action won’t follow you across the internet. Most people have heard the term doxing nowadays. Doxing is when someone reveals identifying information on a person, typically on the internet. Before the internet, newspapers used to publish the names of KKK members so they couldn’t hide behind their anonymity to hurt people of color. Now people can use it to harass people they don’t agree with. In the process of doxing people revealed personal information that can be used to connect an anonymous user with a real life person. Often it’s not limited to one account, but every account a person uses.

On the internet it can be easy to find yourself in a negative light. Only one person needs to see a questionable post and bring the moral flaw to the attention of many. I have had a post that I was concerned would reflect negatively on me. I don’t post on social media frequently but I have a personal tumblr account. On this account I post short stories and respond to prompts other tumblr users have posted. One day I responded to a prompt that involved a natural disaster. Around this time Turkey was recovering from a severe earthquake, like the one in the prompt. It did not end up casting me in a negative light because few people actually see my account but that concern still existed.

Many people forsake privacy on the internet. In an environment that retains every bit of information that is very concerning. People can connect you with choices you made when you were ignorant or young. If someone sees someone else mess up in public then they move on or offer help. After the incident the person can move on and no one has to know they did whatever got them noticed in public. If someone records the incident and posts it online then it just takes one person going “hey, that’s so-and-so” for it to get attached to their name. Legislation on privacy on the internet needs to be reviewed, but for now we should approach situations with empathy.

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thatonespriteobsessedbitch · 2 years

Text

Would've, Could've, Should've (Chap 10)

(Freya POV, 3689 words,

I'm so sorry in advance, this one is just allllll the pain

there is some hurt/comfort tho to make up for it)

(previously called Victor: Asshat, Dipshit, Cheater, Love of My Life, etc.)

chapter 1 chapter 9

I couldn’t bring myself to join everyone else on the walk, my mind too flooded with memories of Vic and our time together.

It started one fine day about four years after I first came to the loop. He somehow found out, probably from Olive since I had told her this just the week before, that I loved to swim and came bearing my favourite flowers, lavender, to ask me to head down to the beach with him.

With it being so soon after Henry’s bullshit, I remember thinking, Maybe this is it! He just cares so much! It feels right. We have a connection, I think this boy is different!

If only that tenderness and attention to detail lasted the coming years,

After that, we started spending time together and I started to neglect learning how to control my peculiarity, despite Noch’s warnings, to both me and Vic.

He was always showing off, picking up random heavy things to impress me.

He never found my gift to be as impressive.

He was constantly brushing me off whenever I tried to bring anything big up to him. I would ask him not to stand so close to me because I was scared to hurt him and he refused to listen.

I told you earlier that the deadly part of my peculiarity doesn’t apply to those I love romantically. I think that solely because of how close Vic was always standing to me, it’s incredibly unlikely that he wouldn’t have gotten too close and brushed against me at least once, and since I was only inadvertently the cause of his death, he never technically died by my hands.

I’m sure this time is different.

After six months of him always shoving his love at me, he started showing his true nature. One time, right when our love was starting to die, we were walking in the village in our time, just meandering through the market and chatting with both the villagers and each other when I apparently said something he didn’t like. He grabbed me by the braid and pulled me into the gap between two of the houses. Then he slapped me right in the face and growled at me that I wasn’t allowed to say that in front of him.

To be honest, even though its been years and while I don’t remember what it was I said, I still remember thinking that I had said something completely normal and wondering why in Hell I wasn’t allowed to say it and why he was allowed to tell me what I could and couldn’t say.

He then grabbed me by the hand and walked back onto the street, acting completely normal while I had my head down and tears slipping down my cheeks.

I guess it’s not so different.

While I hadn’t spent much of my life with my parents, I knew that love wasn’t supposed to be like this. Love was this beautiful thing where you would do anything to keep them safe and you wouldn’t ever think of hurting them.

I think the worst blow came when I found out he was sleeping with another peculiar in the loop at the time, her name was Millie, Millie Holmes. She controlled shadows and was good friends with Liv, Noch and I. She was officially in the “Scary/Disturbing Peculiarities” friend group.

I was heartbroken. Even if I knew that me and Vic weren’t very functional, I still loved him. I sobbed in Liv’s arms for hours while Noch terrorized Millie and Vic with corpses from the village cemetery.

I naïvely took him back after that, believing his lies that he would change.

Noch and Liv begged me not to, trying to convince me that I was worth so much more than he was giving me. They failed of course. It’s incredibly hard to convince someone who thinks they’re nothing that they’re something.

I thought this time was different.

Eventually his lies came to fruition. He never stopped sleeping with Millie, they just got better at hiding it.

Barely three months later, on our two year anniversary, I walked in on them going at it. I got so angry , the rage that has always lived in me coming to the surface once more. I wasn’t wearing my gloves, I had ripped my favourite pair and had an extra in Vic’s room, and I grabbed Millie by the arm and dragged her off of him.

That side of my peculiarity had always responded badly to strong emotions but especially to fear and anger, both of which I was feeling in the moment.

When I grabbed her, I wasn’t thinking, I was just reacting.

By the time I remembered the burden of my peculiarity, it was too late and she was going grayer by the second. I pulled my hands off of her and screamed for Enoch to get over here as I collapsed to my knees beside her.

I vaguely remember Victor ripping into me as Enoch tried everything to reverse my mistake, but all I did was stare at my hands, wondering How could I have done this?

Why did I think he’d be different?

The very final straw was on the night he died.

It was Vic, Noch and I all sitting in the movie room after reset, each quietly doing our own thing. I was reading, Noch was making homunculi and Vic was lost in thought, his head on my lap.

He spoke up after almost an hour of silence, “I’m leaving the loop.”

I was so surprised that I dropped my book onto the couch.

“ What ?”

“I’m leaving the loop. I see no reason to be here if Millie’s dead.” Because of you was left unspoken as if it wasn’t his actions that were the root cause.

“I’m sorry, what?” Noch demanded, rage evident in every feature of his face.

“I mean there’s no point in me staying here. Millie was the love of my life.” As if his lover of two and a half years wasn’t running her hand through his hair not two minutes ago.

By this point, silent tears were coursing down my cheeks.

“ What ? You wouldn’t stay for Bron or Frey or me, your best friend.”

“No? Freya is the reason why Millie is dead and you couldn’t save her. Besides, Bronwyn will be fine without me, it’s not like she needs me.”

My breathing was coming faster now, my heart feeling like it was breaking in two. I shoved his head off of my lap and stood up, leaving my book forgotten on the couch.

“You've got me down on my knees. Please tell me what you think I've done wrong. I’ve been humble, been loyal, I've tried to swallow my pride all along. If you can just explain a single thing I've done to cause you pain, besides Millie, I won’t stop you from going,” I said through gritted teeth as I tried to keep my sobs from escaping.

He couldn’t say a thing, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“No? You’ve got nothing to say?” I could feel my face going red from both the rage and the crying. “I wouldn’t stop you from leaving me or Noch, but Bron? Your sister? She never tells you but she loves you so. She’s constantly telling me about how much she adores you.”

Because it’s never, ever different.

“Ha! So you admit it!” Vic jumped to his feet.

“What?” Noch’s patience with Vic was gone.

“You’re fucking him! You just admitted it!”

“ What ? I’m not. Me asking you why you are leaving Bron is completely different from you making some baseless accusations about me fucking my best friend. Which reminds me, where are you going to go, hmm?” I was done. This was absolute bullshit and completely pointless, he wasn’t actually going to tell me anything. He was just going to talk in circles instead.

“I don’t know, just around the world not having to be confined to a loop.”

“Well, dipshit, you’re forgetting you’ve already been in a loop for years. You’ll age forward. And what if you come across Hollows? What are you going to do? It’s not like you can see them, idiot.” Noch’s tone was cold, Victor was dead to him as far as he was concerned.

“I won’t trust me.”

“Just go. But do know, the minute you walk out that door, we’re over. I will still love you, I think it will take a long time for me to stop loving you, but I will never let you into my life again. You will be dead to me and I will never forgive you.”

“Jesus, you’re being harsh, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“ No . I’m setting boundaries and finally listening to what Liv has been saying all along.

“I am worth so much more than you have ever given me. I deserve so much more than some prick who hits me and humiliates me and thinks he’s better than me and cheats on me and accuses me of cheating on him. I’m not doing anything else for you. The last thing I will ever do for you is sit Wyn down and explain to her that her older brother, who she loves more than life itself, doesn’t feel the same about her and left her without saying goodbye.” During my rant, Noch had come up behind me and rested his hand on my shoulder, providing the reassurance that I needed as I confronted Vic.

I walked towards the doorway, stopping only to say “Goodbye, Vic.” before heading upstairs.

I had calmly shut the door, changed into my nightgown and made my bed before breaking down sobbing.

I didn’t fall asleep that night until long after Victor left.

In the morning, I did as I promised and told Bronwyn that Victor had left and was not coming back for her. I held her for the next hour as she bawled until all the crying finally wore her out and she fell asleep.

After I had tucked her into bed, I went and found Miss P and told her what had happened.

I then walked into Liv’s room and cried myself to sleep in her arms as she muttered soft condolences to me.

When I woke up in the afternoon, it was to Noch shaking me awake.

“Frey. Frey. You need to wake up. I’m so sorry but you need to see this.”

“Need to see what?” I yawned, sitting up and wiping my eyes.

“Freya. Victor’s dead. A hollow got him. He never made it off the island. Fiona found him when she went to check the post after lunch. I’m so sorry.”

Halfway through his speech a non-stop chorus of “No, no, no, no, no” started coming out of my mouth.

“There’s no way. Victor can’t be— He was here yesterday, there’s no way he could be— He’s alive— I saw him last night— He can’t—” By this point, my breathing was laboured and I knew I was minutes away from a panic attack if I couldn’t stop and take a moment to calm down.

“I know, Frey, I know.” Noch sat on the edge of my bed and pulled me into a spine-crushing hug. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You can take as much time as you need before you see him for yourself.”

“Noch, before I fully lose myself to this panic, I need to see him. If I don’t, I won’t take it in and then—”

“We can go downstairs right now if you want. We can also sit here for a moment while you take a second to pull yourself together in front of the little ones because I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now, and don’t try and bullshit me on this one, I know you too well.” His voice was calm on the surface but I could hear the tiniest little quiver in his voice that told me he was hanging on by just as small of a thread as I was.

What a pair we are , I thought, both trying to force ourselves to stay calm in a terrifying situation to not stress out those we care about.

“Freya. Freya. You have to breathe, love.” He grabbed my hand gently and put it on his chest. “Can you match my breathing for me?” I copied his deep breaths until I calmed down. “There you go. How about we go downstairs, alright? Come on, up you come.” He stood up and pulled me to my feet.

I did as he asked solely because I didn’t think I’d be able to do it on my own.

Noch had to hold me up as we made our way to the kitchen where Vic’s body was laying out on the table.

From what I knew of what happened to corpses in the twenty-four hours after death from being around them so often, he had died less than eighteen hours ago, all though I wasn’t sure if returning to the loop had slowed down the decomposition process. It was definitely a hollow that got him, where his soft brown eyes once were are now gaping black holes.

Lividity, when the blood settles in the lowest part of the body, and rigor mortis, when the body becomes completely stiff and unpliable, had both set in. I glanced at the clock.

If it’s three in the afternoon now, and rigor mortis sets in between two and six hours after death and lividity becomes fixed around twelve hours after death, but algor mortis, when the body becomes the ambient temperature around it, hasn’t set in. He left the house between eleven and midnight which means he likely died between, I paused my inner monologue for a second to do the math, one and three in the morning.

I was fully aware I was being incredibly clinical about this, treating it in my head almost the same way I would treat a sheep or cow dying.

I was brought back to the present by a small body tackling me into a hug. Distantly, I recognized it as Bronwyn who was sobbing into my dress. I slowly kneeled down to hug her properly as Claire joined in the hug. Soon it was a pile of crying peculiars on the floor of the kitchen, mourning the loss of one of their own. The only one who wasn’t crying was me, and that was only because I was holding my emotions back by a thread so I wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Instead of having what we usually had for dinner, roast chicken and steamed carrots with mashed potatoes and gravy on the side, Miss P managed to pull herself together long enough to make sandwiches around all of us and to reset the loop before slowly sending us off to bed one by one until only Emma, Noch, Liv and I were left staring blankly at the bare dining room table knowing that our fifth member was dead only two rooms away.

“I should have gone with him.” I hadn’t realized I had said it out loud until there were two sounds of protest and one of confusion.

“What do you mean you should have gone with him? No one knew he left until this morning.” Emma sounded incredibly bewildered.

I glanced at Noch, “Noch and I knew last night. After everyone went to bed, we were all sitting in the living room relaxing when he told us that he was leaving. No matter what we said, he refused to stay, not even for Wyn.”

“He kept going on about how Millie was the love of his life and how Bron didn’t need him,” Noch laughed wetly. “He wouldn’t even stay for Frey who he was dating.”

Liv, who was sitting in the chair beside me, gently wrapped an arm around me as I buried my face into her shoulder.

“What an asshole.” Murmurs of agreement went around the table at Emma’s words. “It’s one thing to be unhappy being in a loop, it’s another thing entirely to leave your girlfriend, sister, best friend and essentially your family in the middle of the night all because the girl who you cheated on your girlfriend with died. I swear if he wasn’t dead already I’d burn him just for the bullshit he pulled towards you, Freya.

“I’m sorry if this is overstepping at all, but if I was in your shoes, I don’t think I would have stuck with him as long as you did.”

“I’m honestly surprised it took me so long to snap and dump him as it did,” I laughed.

“You deserved so much better than him, babes. We’ve been telling you this for the last year, hun.” Olive’s voice was gentle but still slightly forceful as if to push this into my head.

The stairs squeaked slightly before there was a knock on the door, “Freya?”

I wiped my nose on my sleeve and wiped off the tears quickly before opening the door.

“What’s wrong, love?” I brushed Claire’s hair back from her face.

“I want some water but I’m too scared to go into the kitchen because…” she trailed off.

Because Victor was there, of course.

I glanced over my shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Noch.

“How about I get you one and then tuck you back into bed, Claire Bear?” he said, standing up and squeezing her shoulder lightly.

She nodded and tucked herself into my side while she waited as Emma and Liv mindlessly chatted about the book Emma had recommended to Liv the other day.

Soon, Noch returned and picked her up to take her upstairs.

“Goodnight, Freya, Olive and Emma!”

“‘Night, Claire!” we chorused before our masks of contentment fell and our grief rose to the surface once more. My head dropped into my hands as I flopped into a chair again.

“I need a fucking drink,” I said as I massaged my temples. “This week has been way too much.”

“I’m sure we could run out to the bar in the village and drink ourselves into a stupor until we couldn’t walk in a straight line and are giggling messes but I think Miss P would find out what we were up to by then,” Olive piped up. Scratch that, we all needed at least one solid pint each, if not more.

“I don’t think there’s any in the house, unfortunately.” Emma sounded equally as in need of one as I did.

Noch chose that moment to open the door, “I love you all, but there is no fuckin’ way I’m letting ye go off drinking at—” he glanced around the corner to see a clock, “half past midnight, especially not while you are in mourning because, unlike you three, I remember what went down after the last funeral.”

“To be completely honest with you girls, I don’t remember more than thirty consecutive seconds from that night,” Liv cackled at Emma’s words.

“I don’t think I remember thirty seconds at all , let alone one after another.”

“You two—,” I gestured between the two, “remember anything from that night? All I remember is finding myself beside the toilet with a pounding headache the next morning.”

Soon our laughing became yawning and Emma and Liv said their goodnights to Noch and I. We followed them a few minutes later.

I moved to slip into my room when Noch gently caught my arm.

“I trust you, Frey, but I also know your coping mechanisms a little too well,” he said as he gently pulled me into his room.

Once the door was closed, he tossed me one of his shirts and a random pair of pyjama pants he had lying about.

He ushered me into bed and pulled me into his arms and I finally, after two of the worst days of my life, broke down and let my emotions out.

He just stroked my back until I could breathe easily again and then held me close until long after I woke up in the morning.

I was startled out of my reminiscing by someone knocking at my door.

“Yes?”

“I come bringing chocolate and tea,” Olive called back.

I jumped up and threw open the door, “I could kiss you right now for this!”

She passed me the cup of tea and the chocolate and then tossed herself upon my bed, “Well I couldn’t let you sulk alone and without some snacks, it’s my job as your best friend.”

“Thanks, Liv.” I threw myself onto the duvet beside her after shutting the door, “I raised Victor today.”

“I know.”

“I guess… It just reminded me of how shitty he was.”

“Noch and I always said you deserved better than him.”

“But do I? Like I know I have never told you how I found out I was peculiar but it wasn’t pretty, someone close to me died . And the reason why the wards in my old loop died? All me. Millie’s death? Me, my fault, my anger I couldn’t control. Maybe, in a really fucked up way, I deserved Victor solely because I don’t deserve to have a genuinely good person fall in love with me.”

She grabbed my hands, careful to make sure that only our gloves touched, just to be safe, “Freya, no! You are a wonderful, kind, lovely person who deserves the world. You are constantly mothering the littles, making sure they have everything they need at all times. Above all else, you deserve to have someone care for you and put as much effort into a relationship as you do. You don’t deserve to be beaten down and treated as less just because of some silly reason, you deserve love.” Olive’s face was red since she had only taken two breaths that entire monologue.

“Thanks, Liv.”

Claire came running up the stairs and burst through the door, “Miss Avocet’s awake! Enoch told me to come get you.”

Both Liv and I jumped to our feet and ran down the stairs.

chapter 11

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hopeluna-archived · 2 years

Text

Obey Me! Charecter starter guide (Brother's Edition)

M.List

Lucifer

• Jumin Han 2.0

• coffee instead of blood

• gay af but refuses to acknowledge it

• stressed single mother of 6

• is literally the expression "dissapointed but not surprised"

"I'm surrounded by idiots"

Mammon

• money money dollar bitch

• will sell your soul for money

• tsundere ass bitch

• bullied 24/7

• someone give him a hug

"You can't hurt me, these shades are gucci"

Leviathan

• fish boy

• naruto runs everytime

• his bestfriend is a fish

• half his money is spent on action figures

• will screech if you talk to him

"Normies....get me out of here"

Satan

• angry cat boy

• Lucifer threw a hissy fit so hard he gave birth to Satan

• Adrien Agreste but with rage

• books are his lifeline

• Sherlock Holmes 2.0

"If anything happens to this cat, i'll kill everyone in this room and then myself"

Asmodeus

• biggest hoe in devildom

• you either love him or want to get a restraining order against him

• invented self care

• jokes about incest

• I refuse to believe this man did not have any STD

"Oh my i'm so romantic, I would marry myself if I could!"

Beelzebub

• h o n g r y

• basically a giant teddy bear

• but will kill you if you eat his pudding

• just wants his twin back

• cook for him and he'll worship you

"You...ate...MY SANDWICH?!?"

Belphegor

• menance to society

• the bane of Lucifer's existence

• will sleep through the apocalypse

• hating on Lucifer is his hobby

• loves his twin

"Don't judge me cause i'm quiet.....nobody plans a murder out loud"

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frostandflamesfanfic · 2 years

Text

The Last Three Years (Sherlock x Reader) - Chapter 1

| | Masterlist | |

Chapter 1: The First Few Weeks

“It feels like a tear in my heart, like a part of me missing and I just can’t feel it. I’ve tried and I’ve tried…” -Britt Nicole and NF (Can You Hold Me)

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x Watson!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k+

Warnings: Implied suicidal thoughts and brief language

Summary: Even though the world didn’t revolve around Sherlock Holmes, your world has come to a complete stop as you struggle to cope with a loss as large as this.

The day after the funeral was a solemn one. You knew it was going to be rough, but you also knew there was nothing you could do to stop it from coming. The truth was that he died. He had died and was never coming back. You would never see his face, aside from in the papers. Never hear his voice, or his laugh (as rare as that was), again. There would be no more midnight music or late-night childish tantrums. Not even the cry of excitement that would come with the sound of police sirens nearing the street.

He had left you alone and you didn’t know what else to do but be a rock for everyone else he left behind. Elora had been quiet most of the day. Her injuries were healing nicely and the doctors said she would be able to walk within a matter of weeks. However, your friend was getting worse and you could tell. You did your best to try and strike up a conversation whenever you saw Elora, but you were merely met with silence.

It didn’t take long for John to begin distancing himself. The transition of several miscellaneous items to a girlfriend’s soon transformed into piles of boxes and a new flat. His room slowly became an empty hall of memories that were of adventures past. The flat turned into a dust collector, untouched and unloved.

“It’s difficult,” he admitted to you once. “Without him here it’s...difficult.”

“And you think this is easy for me?” you dared to question him. “Do you think it’s easy for me to be able to wake up every day downstairs in the same damn flat, thinking maybe today will be different? Every day, John, I force myself to get up and recognize the fact that he’s. Not. There.” Your hands clenched into fists again, nails pressing deep into your flesh but unfortunately not drawing blood. “He’s gone and I have to wake up every morning praying that my best friend is still alive. Because I don’t know if I’ll get up one day and she’ll be gone, too.”

“I can’t do it anymore,” John replied. “It hurts too much. I’ll come visit, I promise. I just can’t be here. Not anymore.”

Yet, he never visited. After that day, you and Elora were left on your own to fend for yourselves. It became a more difficult challenge each passing hour. Elora’s condition was getting worse. Not only would she refuse to talk, but she refused to eat or drink. All she wanted to do was sleep in a ball and you feared she’d never wake up. A few weeks later, the hallucinations had started...

“I saw him today,” Elora said one day at breakfast with a sleepy smile.

“Oh, did you?” you said with an amused smile. You thought it was a dream, something your friend had conjured up in her many tireless nights of sleep.

“He came in through the window,” she replied nonchalantly. “Told me I was being an idiot. That I’m wasting my time.” Elora cut a small piece of eggs and grimaced at the lack of flavour. “He asked about you, too.”

You raised an eyebrow at that.

“He’s too chicken to see you. Don’t blame him, though.” Another tiny bit of food — a success. “Pretending to be dead is difficult for anyone’s mental capacity, even for Sherlock.”

You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to stop yourself from lashing out. He’s not pretending, but you can’t know that now, you thought to yourself. Not when it’s helping you finally take care of yourself. Instead, you chuckled and nodded. “You tell him I miss him next time, okay?”

Elora looked deep into your eyes. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

A sigh as a fork clattered against the porcelain plate. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“He’s coming back.”

You stabbed a piece of egg onto a piece of toast. It was getting harder to stop the aggravated outbursts from coming. You knew you had to be strong, but sometimes you would just...crack. “He better make it bloody quick.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You tried to keep your composure every day as best as you could. However, there is only so much one human being can take. Everyone has their limits. You just need to know which buttons to push to trigger a full shutdown. The more times that button is pressed, the easier it is to break. One morning, you woke up to get a cup of tea from the kitchen. You put the kettle on, set two cups on the tray-- the nice ones for a change, a Christmas gift from Sherlock one year. Red as blood when warmed up, a sign of the impending anger whenever an eyeball ended up in the kitchen.

Looking out the window, you found yourself humming an unfamiliar tune. It wasn’t until a few moments later that you realised what it was. It was one of his songs. He would compose between adventures. He always claimed it helped him think better. You would tease him.

“So Mr. Emotionless mindlessly composes beautiful music in his free time…”

“Oh, do shut up. Music has been proven to improve mental capacity.”

“So you’re upgrading your hard drive?”

“If I say yes, will you go away?”

You sighed as you poured the tea into the cups, a light smile flickering across your lips as you inhaled the scent of the liquid. When living in America, it was easy to switch to coffee. Black, two sugars, and a hint of cream. However, upon arriving back home in England, you found yourself gravitating back toward bitter black tea in the mornings. It was your routine-- a taste of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic lifestyle. Carefully to avoid getting burned, you lifted the cup to your lips and sighed once again.

Everything seemed normal that morning, except for one thing. . .

Elora was perched on the fire escape railing, peering down at the ground below.

In a split second, the world around you came crashing down. You didn’t hear the heartbreaking sound of the teacup as it slipped from your grip and shattered onto the linoleum floor. You didn’t even register the burning sensation of the tea as it spilled across your feet. Your body felt numb, your brain buzzing with activity and white noise. The only thing running through your mind was, not again. Please, God, not again.

Without a second thought, you bolted out onto the fire escape and dragged Elora back into the flat. “What the bloody hell were you doing out there?” you screamed. “You could have fallen and died! You nearly gave me a heart attack! Elora, you can’t just do things like this. What would have happened if I wasn’t here? Lord, Elora, why?!”

Your friend responded with nothing more than a blank stare. Elora hadn’t said much in the past few days. Her condition was getting worse, you knew it. As much as you tried to give her space, you couldn’t help but overhear the late-night sob sessions. Many nights, you were startled by piercing screams of agony. No doubt she was having nightmares. You wished you could comfort her, but the first night you tried, Elora had flung a handful of knives near your head.

“Elora?” you asked softly. “I need you to talk to me.”

She blinked. “He’s-” she started. “He came to visit me again. This time he told me he couldn’t come back home.” Elora blinked away the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. “He has to come back.”

As you opened your mouth to respond, you were cut off by hysterical laughter.

“What am I talking about? Of course he’s going to come back! He wouldn’t just leave us. There’s no bloody way!” The laughter soon died down into throaty sobs. “He has to come back. He has to come home.”

Gingerly, you put a hand on her shoulder. “Elora, did you take your medication this morning?” you asked. “The one that Doctor Morrison prescribed?”

Elora made a face. “I don’t need any damn pills. I’m perfectly fine.” She glanced down at your feet. “How are you not in any pain right now?”

You took a peek at the ground and noticed the blisters that had already begun to form on your barefooted flesh. You shrugged. “Developed better pain tolerance, I suppose.” Maybe you needed to take a different approach with her. “Can you at least try the medication? It might help you sleep better tonight.”

Your flatmate’s eyes narrowed. “I sleep fine.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two weeks later, you were jolted awake by the sound of glass shattering. You reached for the revolver by your bedside table (a precaution since you were kidnapped last year) and slipped on a dressing gown. As you raced out of your bedroom, you heard an ear-splitting scream, followed by another crash. “Elora!” you exclaimed. “What’s happening?” When you didn’t receive a response, you stumbled through the dark flat. Please let her be okay, you pleaded in your mind. Please don’t let me lose her, too.

When you flicked the lights on, you looked around in horror as the flat was empty. Elora was nowhere to be seen. Another crash sounded, but it sounded farther away now. “Elora!” you shouted again, desperate for some sign that your flatmate was alive.

Another scream. And it was coming from upstairs.

Hardly thinking, you raced out of the flat and made your way up the stairs two at a time. You kicked open the door to reveal Elora racing around the kitchen. In her hands was a bat, which she was using to shatter anything and everything she could make contact with. Vials were strewn about the table, glass shards littering the linoleum floor. There was nothing you could do but helplessly watch her slowly descend into madness.

“Why. Did. You. Do. It?!” Elora’s voice cried out, smashing a vial containing a white powder. “Why.”

“Why.”

Whack.

“Did.”

Smash.

“You.”

Crash!

“Leave?!”

This routine continued for a few minutes before the bat was tossed aside. Instead, Elora chose to pick up a variety of papers and began shredding. The hysterical laughter made an appearance. “You think you’re so clever, do you?” Elora shrieked. You watched in horror as a newspaper clipping was ripped in half. “You think you can figure everything out before it happens.” There went one of her compositions. “Well, I bet the great Sherlock Holmes didn’t see this coming.”

You leaned against the doorframe, helpless. You wanted to be able to step in and help her. You wanted to save her. The only problem was you didn’t know how.

Elora’s tirade stretched out for another hour of hysterical laughing and crying fits. By the time she had finally calmed down, curled against the island, the flat was a mess-- well, more of a mess than usual. You winced as you watched the glass cut into her palms as she slammed the ground in anger. That could not be comfortable. “Elora,” you tried to soothe her.

Upon hearing her name, Elora looked up, eyes wide and dark. Her voice was weak and croaky from crying, but you could hear the words she tried to say. “I am not okay.”

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

Author's Note: Whoo, we have liftoff here, folks. Something I wanted to focus on with this work was the power that grief has over an individual. In Many Happy Returns and The Empty Hearse, we do see how John was grieving, but I always wondered how he really moved forward with Mary. I’m hoping that I’m not falling into the typical “damsel-in-distress” trope with this story, but when characters have a strong connection, it’s difficult to just have them move on without a bit of emotional trauma.

Remember, if you liked the story, make sure to leave a like, comment, and a reblog! Also make sure to message or ask me to join the tag-list! More chapters will be coming soon!

#bbc sherlock x reader #frostandflamesfanfic #benedict cumberbatch #bbc sherlock #tlty sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock bbc #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fic #Watson!reader #the last three years: our long game

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renegadewangs · 3 years

Text

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 12

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Let's bring this thing home! It's time for the conclusion of the essay series!

Conclusion With a stupidly long essay series behind us, it's time to look at what we've learned! Let's go back to Part 1 and review what we needed from Van Zieks's character development for a fully rounded redemption arc, shall we?

1) Present an antagonistic (possibly immoral) force who personifies Ryunosuke’s biggest personal obstacle/weakness, in this case racial prejudice. 2) Humanizing traits begin to show. OPTIONAL: A backstory to justify any immorality he has. 3) Over time, Barok has his realization and sees the error of his ways. 4) Barok atones for his immorality, not simply through apology but by taking decisive steps. 5) The cast around him acknowledges his efforts and forgives him.

And looking at the main game (plus additional dialogue), we have...

1) Antagonistic force:

Etc. etc. I have many of these. We can all agree that as an antagonistic force, he does his job quite well. CEO of Racism and White Privilege in the flesh. It works, since we as the audience get very frustrated and want to see him defeated.

2) Humanization:

Giving him an old friend to be a defendant was a brilliant move, really. Albert's reflection on the friendship and the person Van Zieks used to be really helped flesh him out and make him appear more like a human being with, y'know, emotions and weaknesses. The little snippets of dialogue in his office really help too. Presenting evidence can also lead to fun tidbits. All in all, considering how gruff and distant Van Zieks is, they really did their very best to humanize him. The writers were given very little to work with but they exploited every opportunity to come their way.

OPTIONAL backstory:

Again, I don't think we needed a tragic backstory to have a well-rounded, redeemable character. Still, it ties in very expertly to the game's plot and the motivations of quite a few other characters. The story of Klint van Zieks and his death isn't necessarily Barok van Zieks's backstory, it's the center of an intricate web which also holds Kazuma, Stronghart, Gregson, Jigoku, (S)Holmes, Mikotoba, Sithe, Drebber- I could go on. A LOT. So because of how very integrated it is into the main narrative's recurring themes and characters, I'll give it props for being relevant and well thought out. The bigger question is: Does it justify his immorality? Not entirely. I think the game could have gotten more out of this if they'd involved the other two exchange students in this tale just a bit more. They could have given more attention to how Jigoku's aggressive behavior in the trial impacted Van Zieks, and explained whether he might've suspected Mikotoba of sabotaging (S)Holmes's investigation. If the narrative had done that, all three Japanese people to come to London would have been ‘the bad guy’ in Van Zieks's eyes and it would have given more credence to his racial generalization. They could have also given more attention to how the people around him reacted to Genshin being the Professor, because I'm sure Stronghart and Gregson stoked the fire in terms of xenophobia. As it stands, there isn't really enough there to justify hatred of an entire race as opposed to just one person.

3) Realization/Redemption

We see him already start to realize the error of his ways around the end of 1-5, which is technically only about halfway into the full narrative. Unfortunately, thanks to 2-2 being played afterwards (but chronologically set before 1-5), any progress made in 1-5 can become invalidated in the player's eyes. Growth works best when it's done linear. Don't get me wrong, flashbacking to earlier times when a character is still more morally tainted can work well, but it needs to be executed properly. Barok's behavior in 2-2 is downright insulting towards the audience itself and therefore, it causes emotional friction when relaying the narrative endgoal of redemption. It also makes it extra jarring when we hit 2-3, and suddenly Van Zieks is meant to be relying on the protagonist's desire to expose the truth. How on earth can we as the audience trust that Van Zieks believes in Ryu's abilities when we just came fresh out of a case where this man actively sabotages Ryu's efforts?

Still, the line of redemption continues from 2-3 into 2-4 well enough. He admits that he was wrong- that his hatred was illogical and that he needs to change. This is the very definition of redemption. I need to stress once more this is not to be confused with atonement, which comes next.

4) Atonement

Here it is. It's not enough to simply acknowledge mistakes; one needs to work hard to fix them. Since Van Zieks is the defendant for two whole episodes, equaling roughly 20% of the full narrative and 67% of the time following his first true realization (chronologically), there isn't much that he can actively do to atone. Because remember, not only do these actions need to fit the situation he's currently in, they need to fit his personality. These two limitations ensure the atonement mostly takes the form of dialogue. Of apologies.

One might want to point out that he never apologizes specifically for his racism, but there's a reason for that. If you pay close attention, you'll notice that there isn't a single character who ever uses a word like “racism”, “xenophobia” or even “racial prejudice” in this game. It's for the same reason you'll never see an Ace Attorney character utter words like “alcoholism”, “drug abuse” or “depression”. These things may be implied very strongly, to the point where you'll know for certain a character is suffering from it, but it's never given these exact labels. It has to do with the tone of the game. In Great Ace Attorney's dialogue, Barok van Zieks is only ever described as holding “a deep hatred for Japanese”, which is then the only thing he could apologize for. And he does, so long as you aren't looking for a literal phrasing of “I apologize for my deep hatred of your people”.

Regardless, he can't take more active, decisive action until he's freed from prison and two scenes with Van Zieks later, the game has ended. He still manages to take two actions, though! The first is to publicize the truth of the Professor, taking the blame of the mass murders off Genshin's shoulders (and losing his own privilege in the process). The second is to take Kazuma under his wing as his disciple. I'm not certain there's anything else the narrative could have had him do. What is decisively missing, however, is the following:

5) Acknowledgment

The above aren't good examples of cast acknowledgment that Van Zieks is taking part in a redemption arc, rather, they're the best I could find. Characters are acknowledging that he's changing- that he's being kinder to them and they can get along with him now, but they're not acknowledging that he caused hurt in the first place. This, in my opinion, is the Great Ace Attorney's biggest narrative flaw. I've talked before about how Ryu's reaction to Van Zieks's racism is 'indirect communication', a typically Japanese manner of dealing with negativity. I've also talked about how Ryu is not in a position to speak up, as he's a literal minority who is there to represent his country in an official capacity and can’t afford to make enemies. However, characters like Susato and Kazuma are far more outspoken in their opinions, as is Soseki. The only one who ever calls Van Zieks out on his racism is the British judge, and even that is done very meekly. When an old crusty white guy is the one who condemns white privilege in a cast full of minorities, you've got a problem. The Japanese cast's refusal to acknowledge that Van Zieks's words were harmful is like Team Avatar telling Zuko that sure, he can join since he's a good guy now, but never once acknowledging that he burned down villages or betrayed everyone's trust in Ba Sing Se. There's something very vital missing, see? If indeed the cast had called Van Zieks out more actively on his harmful ways and how necessary it was for him to change, he in turn could have taken more atonement steps in response.

So, for the conclusion: Does Barok van Zieks tick all the necessary boxes for a complete redemption arc? Yes. In a very technical sense, all the requirements are there. But does that mean it's a successful arc? Not necessarily. The game has a few slip-ups, a few things not executed as well as they could have been. For that reason, whether the audience is satisfied with the arc is entirely up to them. Taking into consideration that they had to cram a whole lot of story into just two games- the second game in particular, I can acknowledge they did their very best with the limitations that were there.

And there we have it! That’s all I could think to say on the matter. I hope everyone who read this till the very end enjoyed it, maybe even learned a thing or two. I’m always open to questions, input and constructive criticism!

#dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #barok van zieks #I'M FREE!#well until I tackle the DLC content #but until then...#FREEEE

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

You Worry Me

Pairings: Emily & Hotch

Summary: college au things, Hotch checking himself into a mental hospital for the weekend

Warnings: child abuse, mental health struggles, abuse, suicide attempt, drugs, alcohol

When Emily asked him if he wanted to get an apartment with her she had expected far more hesitation than what she was met with. It’s not that she doesn't have other people to ask but when she really has to think about it he’s the only person she wants around like that. She’s content with his silence and his strange but enrapturing bouts of… oddness. She’s already thrown up in front of him (bad stomach flu she refused to admit was as bad as it was) and stood guard so he could pee behind a dumpster when they’d walked to the store at midnight for cigarettes and energy drinks.

She finds the courage to ask him on the front lawn of campus, stretched out on their backs ignoring their work and just photosynthesizing. Closing their eyes in silent enjoyment as spring tries to peek through winter's tight grip. When she turns to look at him the words just come tumbling out and she waits for his reaction. She’s not sure why she’s expecting anything other than that predictable crooked smirk but it still shocks her. He turns his head, lifting his arm to shield his eyes as he does so. Mostly, he just wants to know where he came in the line-up. How many people told her no before she came to him?

The honest answer is none but she smirks and tells him four and he laughs that deep goofy laugh that he does and she doesn’t know why she was nervous he’d say no. With a tired sigh, he nods and that’s all it takes-- they’re sharing an apartment.

He carries her clothes up to their floor, leaves her the pillows and her comforter for her to drag up. He’s exhausted by the time he’s got her things sitting on her bedroom floor but goes down to the beaten old pick-up truck his mother let him borrow to get his own things. Informs her with one of those long crooked fingers to worry with her own things and leave him to get his own. She resigns herself to listening but only because she’d seen his load and knew her help wouldn’t really quicken the whole six, small, boxes he has.

On his third trip she’s had enough and with a dramatic sigh she shakes her head and stands right in the doorway to his room. “No,” she says, crossing her arms. “No, I refuse to believe this. There’s no way you’ve read all these books.” She’s watched him carry three boxes of books into this apartment and not just boxes with things like thrown in he’s got them stacked to take up as little room as possible in these boxes. They’re heavy, he’s sweating and they keep coming.

With a sigh he leans down and sets the box currently in his arms down on the floor. “I read,” is his very complex answer. Aaron Hotchner has a way with words and she’s come to know that well. He shrugs, pushing at the hair slicked with sweat against his scalp. “I have read them… all of them.” Most of them more than once.

Books are the only thing he’s ever had. When he’d packed up for college all of the room had been taken up by these books. His clothes fit into one box but the books, he made room for the books. Every year, for as long as he can remember, his mother would buy him a book for his birthday. He got a job in town to have money to buy books to try and stifle his insatiable hunger (and his up-and-coming smoking habit).

She looks down at the box he’s just placed down, sighing when she sees that atop a pair of jeans there’s another book. Sherlock Holmes, she recognizes easily, and she shakes her head. “You know,” she steps out of his way and he heaves the box back up with a grunt. “My mother asked if I thought you’d kill me.” He falters mid-step but doesn’t stop. Carries the box to the others and sits it down heavily. He turns and finds her watching him with that quizzical, intuitive frown of hers. “You’re big but I think I could take you.”

He huffs at that, shaking his head and sliding past her so he can get his other boxes. She has no worries about him hurting her and strangely she hadn’t even considered that he might hurt her until her mother had mentioned it. Besides, she knows just enough to never truly worry. He’s the boy who vomits when he gets angry - if he shouts he’ll end up curled around the toilet shaking with a fever. He’d never hit a soul and if he did, she can only imagine the penance his body would conjure up as punishment.

But he huffs and she hears it.

She jumps on his back as he’s setting his box down on the ground. He moves just a little, stumbling under their combined weight. “Emily,” he warns, doing his best to not react. He knows how she is. She wants him to get rough, to hook his arm under her leg and yank her around. If he acts unbothered she’ll leave him alone. She’s far too much like having a little sibling around again - a sobering and, yet, comforting notion.

She does get bored and quickly. “I’m gonna go see Eric,” she informs him, slipping down off his back. He grunts and it’s just the wrong sound and she falters for a moment. Aaron’s met Eric and she’d thought they got along well but… she’s started to second guess that a little more every time she mentions either to the other. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she adds apprehensively. Catches on to move the conversation on and away from the subject of her boyfriend but she still finds herself hovering by his doorway. Chewing her lip and anxiously asking, “do you mind if I bring Eric Wednesday?”

He just looks down at the box he’s sorting through, back turned to her. He shakes his head, sighing, “I don’t care what you do Emily.” He does care, deeply, but he looks back at her for only a brief moment. Sad brown eyes begging with her to not push, to not make him talk about this more.

With a nod, the conversation is over.

Wednesday night he smokes the pot that Derek passes to him without a second thought. It’s been burned down to the last few puffs, the heat from the lit end burns his fingers tips but he still puts it to his lips. Pulls from what little remains of the blunt as if it’s oxygen itself, a mask over his face meant to level him out. Maybe it will. The heat sinks down into his lungs and he ends up doubled over, spit drooling over his lips. Laughter bubbles up around him and a hand rubs at his back, Emily, he knows but only by the way that her perfume stings his nose he tries to breathe through the assault.

“Give it here before it burns out--”

Emily takes the blunt from his fingers and passes it to Eric. He’s an asshole and they all hate him but they love Emily and if they want her around then they have to deal with him. It’s safer to have him here, where they can watch him. He won’t dare hurt her in front of them -- but is that not what he’s doing when he leaves bruises across her face like constellations? Sends her back to them so that they can dab makeup over the Milky Way and breathe reassurances over Orian’s Belt when she falls into a hug.

Emily pulls him back upright, guides his head to lilt to the side as he sags against her. He can feel Eric’s fingers near his collar, the possessive hand he keeps on Emily at all times. A silent reminder of the power he holds over them all. Emily kisses his temple, oblivious to the mental war happening on both sides of her.

Derek reaches over and smacks his thigh, and encouraging little maneuver he means to comfort Aaron with. Aaron has checked out, arms too heavy to push away from all the touching. Can’t worm out of Emily’s arms or Derek’s comforting hand on his leg. He feels nothing past the tip of his nose. Not Emily’s bones underneath his cheek, her body carved down by Eric’s harmful comments about her weight and the coke he supplies like it’s a love language. Not Derek’s hold on him, the fear he can’t express but feels deep within his churning stomach, that Aaron’s slipping away and they’re all just bystanders to his eventual suicide.

Thursday night he’s woken up by Emily sneaking into his room, the soft click of a glass of water being sat down on his nightstand and the clatter of pills finding their way beside it. She presses her fist into his sternum, applying pressure where he feels like he’s coming unraveled. It’s like her hands are grasping his strayed ends, holding him together like a shredded kite until she can pull the fabric halves back together. “Okay,” she breathes, failing to provide him with steeled calm. His heart is beating so hard against her hand she’s afraid to let go. Her understanding of medicine is narrowed to just knowing you’re not supposed to put a bandaid on a burn. Kids can still have heart attacks, maybe not the over-worked, a little heavy-set dad kind caused by blocked arteries but he’s got the stress level and something certainly isn’t right.

He wakes up alone, doesn’t remember when she left or if she came at all. His only clue is those pills sitting in the perspiration of the now lukewarm water on his nightstand. He can’t move just yet, force his hand out to obtain the pills but he’ll wake up again in a pain-filled haze moved only by such intense pain that he fears sitting still another moment will rip him in half. The pills are slimy as they sit on his tongue and leave their bitter medicine laced into the gulp of water he manages. He’ll turn back over onto his side, pull his knees to his chest, and hope he doesn’t throw them back up.

He writes an essay in the haze of the Rizatriptan six hours later. His brain is only half-working, thoughts jumbled together or not there at all. The migraine lingers, fingers made of cotton muffling the world in a spirling nothing. It’s a similar feeling to being high, the haze is just too much but he has to write this paper because his professor won’t give him another extension -- he would if he knew Aaron needed one but he’s already asked once so he won’t do it again.

Friday the panic sets in.

Everyone is watching him.

Nobody likes him.

Why is he here?

Starfished out on a picnic blanket, Emily is spending her Friday out of the apartment. Armed with a water bottle filled with Vodka, a quilt, and a cooler full of popsicles they stumble their way through the unplowed field behind campus. Spencer hates the bugs and he holds tightly to Emily’s belt, making sure to step where she does as they trample through the too-high grass. Like broken dolls, they fall onto the quilt, familiar with one another enough not to care how they land in the tangle of limbs.

“Emily?”

She hums, not opening her eyes. The sun will remain stubbornly risen for a few more minutes and until it sets she’s trying to soak in every second of its warmth. Until it falls behind the trees and they’re bathed in the moonlight.

“Do you want a drink?”

She opens her hand, holding it up in the general direction of Derek’s voice. The water bottle finds her palm, slightly warm from sitting in the sun and in their laps as it makes its rounds. It feels oddly light but she doesn’t comment. The vodka stings down her throat but it’s familiar and it’s nearly as warm as the sun itself falling down her body.

“Where’s Hotch?”

She passes it to Penelope before laying back down, closing her eyes. “His psychiatrist put him on -” suddenly she can’t remember what it’s called. “Clom-something --”

Spencer looks up, understands this is a place for him to jump in. He feels overwhelmed with his excitement as he helpfully adds, “clomipramine! It’s a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, SSRI is the short-hand. It increases levels of serotonin in the brain.” He shifts himself, turning closer to them and away from where he’d been watching the blanket's edge for potential bugs trying to crawl near him. “It has the same side-effects as most SSRIs: drowsiness, intestinal upsets, decreased libido, changes in appetite--”

“Woah!” Derek sits up, suddenly paying attention. His eyebrows are scrunched together, alarmed. “He can’t… He won’t be able to like get it up?” He looks at Spencer and then at Emily. “That’s what libido means, man. How’s not being able to have sex going to help him not get all… gummed in the gears? Stuck in his head?” Aaron’s having a hard enough time, it hardly feels like ruining his sex life is the solution to that.

Spencer shakes his head, trying to understand how they’ve moved from facts about antidepressants to Hotch’s sex drive. “What?” If he took a second to think about it, he’d be blushing too hard to even bother with that statement. “No, the brain--”

“Spence,” Emily warns softly. Hotch might not be here to stop them from talking about his sex life but she is and she doesn’t want to talk about it. Besides, it’s none of their business. They’ve seen how bad things can get. “Hotch is basically a nun,” she reminds them. And it’s true. Before anyone diagnosed him, before he even knew something was wrong he wasn’t nearly as adventurous as her or Derek. “He didn’t come today because despite the--” she motions at Spencer.

“The clomipramine,” he supplies.

“Yes, the that, it doesn't work. He has a new psychiatrist, though, and he wants to run through some old stuff again.” She shakes her head, “a stronger dosage and a better plan. I don’t know, I guess we’ll know in another month. He’ll either end up in the hospital again or he’ll be fine.” She shrugs, “right now he’s locked himself in his room.”

There’s a low murmur of understanding and Spencer’s eyes go back to the edge of the blanket. They all remember what happened the last time he had to change medications. Emily had called JJ, the dead of the night making their intensely private and scary conversation seeping with the darkness’s own mixed intensities. Aaron had taken some bad drugs from a guy he didn’t even know, stumbled home, and passed out in his and Emily’s apartment bathroom. Where she found him seizing, choking on his vomit.

They didn’t and couldn’t see him for seventy-two hours, the mandatory hold from the hospital because they ruled it an attempted suicide and Aaron didn’t even try to put up a fight and say it was something else.

Friday night when she stumbles home he isn’t there.

His room is empty -- bedsheets are thrown back as if he left in a rush and his desk lamp still on. She feels that fear sink back into her, throat tight and mind racing, but the bathroom door is open, his pills still meticulously organized in the cabinet over the sink. Even his toothbrush is in the dish. So wherever he is, he won’t be gone long. She stills warns the others, asks them to look out for him or to, at the very least, expect his imminent arrival.

Derek offers to drive around and look for him.

Emily lets him do it, give him something to do -- he would have done it even if she told him it was unnecessary. She’s fairly certain she knows where he is.

Sure enough, she gets the call Monday morning at 7:30.

He does this every once in a while. As often as he can without them enforcing a longer hold, without it going on some sort of record that might prohibit getting a job. She doesn’t really understand why. He hates the mental hospital. Complains that it’s freezing cold and he hates the entire function and yet, here she is spending her Monday morning picking him up. This makes only about the fourth time since she’s known him but how many times has he just made the decision to walk? How many times hasn’t he called her to pick him up?

“You have got to stop walking here.” She rolls the window down first, shouting out at him as she pulls to a stop. He looks better than he had Friday morning when she invited him out to the field with the rest of them. She’d barely managed to get him to sit up, feeding pills between his pale lips, and then pulling his blanket back up over his shoulders. Shutting the blinds and leaving him a glass of water. Maybe she should have just offered to take him then, she’d known with hindsight this is where he would be.

He opens the backdoor without saying a word, crawls into the backseat, and curls up across the seats. He’s wearing a sweatshirt they must have given him, shoes not even on just held by the tips of his curled fingers. They land with a thud on the floor and all the response she gets is a pair of grippy socks landing on her passenger seat, the wordless thanks for picking him up… again.

“Class or home?” she asks, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Class.”

She did bring his bookbag with her, it’s sitting on the floor beside her own, but she will not be taking him to class. He recognizes that when she pulls out of the exit when she turns left instead of right. He grunts but doesn’t say anything, opting to curl further into himself. Protecting his head from an unseen threat.

The rest is practice. He’s foggy from the medicine they give him, always something different from what he’s taken. It’s meant to bring him down, strengthen his haze, and keep him calm. To shut his mind up -- and it’s good, it really does work. It just makes him so exhausted.

“Get your big butt--” Emily has to help him get into his bed and just as he’s about to apologize -- mouth hung open and his eyes squinting as he tries to force sluggish thoughts through a brain that hasn’t worked in days -- she climbs up after him.

His head hits the pillow and his mind goes blank, can’t even form the “I’m sorry” trying to trip its way out of his mouth.

Within seconds she’s laying down beside him, wiggling down under the covers and pulling them up over them. “Derek was pretty pissed you left again without telling us,” she whispers. It takes her a moment but she leans back up and pulls the blinds down, shuts the light from outside from coming in. Then she’s right back beside him, head on his chest. “You’ve got to stop doing that, Aaron. It’s-- It’s--” cruel.

Breathlessly he whispers, “sorry.” It’s all he can manage, drugs still heavy in his bloodstream and eyes forced shut, to move his hand to her back. To try and convey more than what he’s capable of with words that he didn’t mean to scare her. He just scared himself.

She turns her face into his sweatshirt and lets out a little sob, holding onto him. “I think I’m going to break up with Eric.” She’d come up with a thousand reasons Aaron would have disappeared, even as logic dictated where she knew he was. Her fear covered everything until she was sat wondering if she was making things worse for Aaron. His anxiety and migraines and everything else. Was she adding to his stresses or helping?

Coming home and having to ask him to relive parts of his childhood for her… Having him dab foundation over her bruises with his tremoring hands knowing he was thinking about his mother. That he was thinking about doing this exact exercise on himself, covering bruises his father left across his own face. Dabbing blood away and whispering empty, useless promises.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His mother had offered him that same lie a thousand times. She’d drawn lines in the sand and washed them away the next morning with the reconstruction of a wave -- thin cold fingers touching a bruise and asking what happened. As if she hadn’t watched. As if she hadn’t picked him up off the floor and hidden him away in his room, draping her body over his.

“I mean it,” she whispers, her tone mixed with conviction she doesn’t have.

“I know.” He’ll pretend to not remember this conversation when she goes bar crawling with Eric Thursday night. He’ll avoid the other’s eyes when they look at him for some sort of explanation, why she’s taken by her promise this time. But for now, he’s tired and he’s warm and he feels safe. He’ll call Spencer and Penelope later and apologize for blowing off the plans they had to watch Doctor Who, act like they all don’t know where he’s been.

“I love you.”

He squeezes her hips, gives in to his exhaustion. “I love you too.”

#abuse #child abuse #alcohol #suicide attempt #mental health #drugs #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss

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mimisempai · 2 years

Text

The secret power of your kisses

Summary:

Little did Mycroft know that he possessed within himself the best remedy for Greg's injuries.

Notes:

Don't mind this author who didn't get enough sleep and found no other remedy during and after a rough night shift

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38097835

824 words - Rating G

The first thing Mycroft saw when he entered their home was Greg, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. This was quite unusual, since most of the time Mycroft didn't have time to walk through the front door before Greg was there to greet him.

He was still fully dressed and everything about his attitude showed his exhaustion. Mycroft put down his things and walked over to Greg.

He put his hand on his shoulder as he walked around the couch and gently asked, "Tough day?"

He leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his lover's lips.

Greg made an appreciative sound and replied, "Now that you're here, I feel much better."

Mycroft sat across from him on the coffee table and gently took Greg's chin, studying his face.

The gray hair that was usually tousled with style was plastered with sweat and dulled by dust, he had a small scratch on one cheek and a trace of dirt on the other.

Lifting Greg's chin, he discovered another small cut.

This wasn't the first time Greg had come back in this condition and the wounds looked benign, but benign or not, Mycroft just didn't like Greg being hurt and refused to get used to it.

This time was no different.

Seeing his expression, Greg gently explained as he took Mycroft's hand in his, "It's all right love, the suspect just led us on a bit of an epic ride through an old disused building with a few boards missing from the floor."

Greg gave a poor lopsided smile in hopes of softening his story and Mycroft snapped, "Gregory Holmes, there's nothing funny about that! I know it's no big deal but, I still wish you would take better care of yourself!"

Greg, secretly touched by Mycroft's concern, winced as he brought a hand to his forehead, and Mycroft noticed that a bruise had already begun to form. Greg was about to rub it off when Mycroft stopped him and said softly, "Let me take care of it."

He went to the bathroom and returned with a small, well-stocked medical kit. He had seen to it the first time Greg had come home like this.

He took out a small jar of painkiller, took a dab of it and gently applied it to the bruise on Greg's forehead. The detective breathed a sigh of relief at the soothing sensation of the balm on his skin.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?" asked Mycroft after a moment.

Greg shook his head but Mycroft was not convinced and insisted, "Gregory don't you dare lie to me, where does it still hurt?".

Greg, knowing he was busted, yielded and whispered, "Everywhere, I feel like my body is a huge bruise."

Mycroft nodded and replied, "Show me where so I can apply some balm."

Greg shook his head, "Nowhere in particular..." he paused and continued with a half smile, "I know a way that will make me feel better."

Mycroft, noticing the sparkle in Greg's eyes, retorted with a raised eyebrow, "And how?"

Greg said softly, "By kissing me?".

While helping Greg remove his jacket and get comfortable on the couch, Mycroft replied, "I see...you believe in the healing power of kisses."

Greg winked at him, "Not just any kiss but your kisses. It's better than any medicine."

Mycroft gave in, shaking his head, "I can't decently continue to let my beloved suffer. It would be very selfish of me, knowing that my kisses have that healing effect."

He straddled Greg's lap, scrutinizing his reactions to make sure he wasn't hurting him. Then he leaned his head down until their noses were touching.

"Then, I shall give my best," he murmured softly, his eyes in Greg's, his hands wrapping around his neck as Greg tied his own around Mycroft's waist.

Then Mycroft closed the distance between them and sealed his lips to Greg's, which parted, welcoming. They kissed for a long time and when Mycroft pulled back, he asked in a playful voice, "Do you feel better now?

Greg pretended to think and then shook his head.

He placed a finger on his own cheek and said, "I'm a little sore here."

Mycroft looked closer and said, "I don't see anything, but just to be sure, I'll apply the remedy."

He reached for the small jar of balm but Greg stopped him and said in a falsely plaintive tone, "Not this remedy, the other one is much more effective."

Mycroft chuckled, then gently kissed the spot Greg indicated.

"Is there another place?" asked Mycroft, having no doubt about his mischievous lover's answer.

Greg placed his finger on his right eyelid and Mycroft continued to play his little game, kissing each spot Greg pointed to, until Greg tapped his lips.

With a chuckle, Mycroft was eager to dispense his special remedy, because when it comes to Greg, he's always willing to give a lot of himself.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

#mystrade #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #mycroft x greg #some fluff as always #sherlock bbc #emotional hurt/comfort #established relationship

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