#PLEASE always tell me if there’s potential triggers in my art and I didn’t realize!

[tetchy-frog]

Day 26 of Tolkien Doodles!

An Unexpected Comic - Part 17:

Angy Bilbo engaged. He did NOT just have a whole convoluted conversation to start back at square one.

I’ve always liked the head canon that Bilbo is usually a very considerate person who thinks things over- to a point!There is a distinct shift when he is -done- with whatever nonsense he’s encountered, however. It has frightened many a Hobbit and Dwarrow alike.

If you're new here, this is for my Hobbit Philharmonic AU, which you can read from the beginning here!

HOUSEKEEPING:

As I get ready to move back into my college dorm for the spring semester, my updates will likely slow down, since it's a bit hard to find the time for personal art when all of your homework is... also art. However, I will try to finish this comic up swiftly (I already have an ending written). I have a lot more planned for this AU, though I will very likely start posting more canon-universe art as well as other media, since I know season two of OFMD is gonna hit me like a train!

[keamyeon]

state of mind at 110723 0:20

getting anonymously acknowledged while staring into space during online classes for an essay i wrote weeks ago triggered my ego a bit. these days, i had been thinking that i had good potential of being a writer, despite my poor vocabulary skills. having billions of thoughts about my own life and being able to put them down into words gives me a sense of satisfaction, being well-aware that what i just said is self-explanatory and 'normal-human-being' understandable. i do not have sentiments over the course subject nor the professor at all, but i only liked the ideas of personal essays. it asks you questions that nobody actually asks but you'd love to talk about. you want me to know my ideal marriage and family? i'd gladly tell you. i could write a 100-page essay if you required me to (don't though, please). anyway, the moment made me dive into another essay i made talking about my vocational path story, and my november 7th self just finds my previous self's mind so genius.

so what should a girl do?

create a blog to post the essay alongside many others soon, where you have the full permission to be completely serious without feeling the need to insert humorous side comments to lighten the tone in case an irl reads it and thinks, "wow, this is so different from how she expresses herself in reality".

given my self-proclaimed smooth introduction to this blog, i will now be leaving the oh-so-relatable essay... because i wrote it myself.

Ever since I was a child, I was always fascinated seeing people older than me find their passion or calling in life. Whatever path they took, I found them cool and wondered how I would eventually find my own someday. I didn’t think much about it, brushed it off, and thought that it was my older self’s problem to worry about. As I got older, I was only living and enjoying life with what was given in front of me. During my early teenage years, I found it difficult to join school clubs because I really didn’t know what I wanted to do and ended up joining wherever my friends went – so at least I wasn’t alone. When it was time to choose a strand for senior high school, I chose to go for the strand that was aligned to the path that my late father took, initially wanting to honor him in that way. Then came the period where we had to apply to universities and colleges with our decided course. As I didn’t grow up wanting to become something or even be part of a certain school, I was confused and lost. While pondering over this, I thought about the path that I told myself I would take to honor my father – which was becoming a programmer. I hesitated to take it – I thought that I wouldn’t truly enjoy doing it. I looked at my friends in that same path and I saw that even though they would complain about the hard work, it was still something they stood by for and never gave up on – because of passion, perhaps. I felt different, and so I was made to look back at my past and question myself if there was something I really loved or was interested in – something that I thought I had potential in, with hopes of finding what would be worth taking. It was then when I remembered that during my childhood, I always loved playing with pictures, graphics, and videos. I enjoyed editing for fun – since I was just a little kid who stayed at home, always stuck with their family computer as a way of passing time. I really enjoyed doing that and explored multimedia arts. Realizing how interesting it was, I thought that maybe if this is what I took, it would be something worthwhile. As I am now writing an essay under this course as a student in this college, you may now predict what happened next. However, I chose to make that decision roughly three years ago. Being seventeen and twenty is totally different – especially when you get exposed to such talented, skilled, and hardworking art students. I knew from the start that I lacked the artistic skills – making this decision was all based on a phase that I had from my childhood, and never chose to pursue or develop during my high school years. Today, I will admit that I have doubts about this path I took. While this course is so much fun, and most of the time the hard work is worth it, given my progress and skills, I don’t know if this is something that would help me last long and sustain myself in the future. Nonetheless, there are things still clear to me. First of all, it is given that I have a trait of being indecisive, but as much as a human can do, I can only do so much. Secondly, I may not have a practical dream as people around me have, but I do have a dream of what type of life I want to live.

I dream to be one of the cool adults that my childhood self looked up to – independent, passionate, and hardworking. I want to enjoy whatever I decide to do from now on – whether I will focus on a path in multimedia arts, or even if I deviate from this. With much more importance, I just also want to choose the path where God directs me to be. Surely, that way will lead me in fulfilling the purpose ultimately designed for me and help me become what I wish and need to be.

[pigspeetsandhooflikefeets]

Hey. I don’t like posting this because I like to be a positive person and this is a really cool and positive fandom, but I need to say please avoid melodicalmusic on DeviantArt/doggiebeats on Quotev. Initially I thought it was just someone who was missing the point, but they are far worse and actively harmful. (notes under cut)

melodicalmusic/doggiebeats is the author and illustrator of an au fic named “Velo Life”. At first glance it is harmless, the art is fine. The story revolves around a mask named Pap (a papillon dog) doing things, being an assistant to the monarchy, and dating Fox. Sometimes other masks get chapters, but the overall focus is on her oc, which is fine, as ocs can be good. The problem isn’t conception, it’s execution.

Transphobia: Melodic decided to cast Leopard as a non-binary intersex character. It was a fair design choice, other than the fact she referred to them as a “pseudo-h*rmaphodite”, which is medically outdated, as well as the inclusion of ‘pseudo’ is more offensive than the slur alone. Leopard has biological cubs, despite most intersex (obviously not all) being infertile or unable to carry children showing a lack of research on the topic, as well as it being a very dysphoric situation for many trans and intersex people.

Leopard was referred to as a “quing”, combination “queen” and “king”. Now. Mull over it. Okay stop mulling, because she had every inch to just use “Monarch”, such as “Monarch Leopard”, as well as titles like “Their/Your Majesty”, which works for both kings and queens, so it should have been suitable for Leopard.

Unprompted, she backpedaled saying “But I wanted Leopard in my AU to be a actual female. Cause I think it's for the best. Everyone kinda hated Leopard, but I love everything she does. No not Transgender, just really a female.”. Besides the fact she took it in her own hands to decide that a mask played by Seal was ‘now a cis woman’, she implies that trans women are not women, calling cis women ‘really a female’.

In her fic, the only other trans character is Egg, who is exceptionally ambiguous to being trans, not specifying if Egg is NB, FTM, or if he as well was going to be intersex. She dedicates a chapter to pride month, yet a lot of the focus is on the cishet masks (Pap (her oc), Frog, and Fox), as well as a concerning ship of T-Rex and Poodle, as everyone knows that T-Rex is somewhat coded to be a child, since Jojo was only 16 when she performed. Despite claiming to respect trans people, she only had two trans characters, and decided that one of them wouldn’t be trans anymore because “I admired the high-pitch voice that was fitted for the Leopard, it just suits SO well. Even if the show kept going, I always hear the digital high vocals.”. Call me crazy, but that’s not a reason to make a man a cis woman.

As a trans man, Leopard was disgustingly handled in the show with the panel first week, accusing Seal of ‘tricking’ them for wearing drag and acting feminine (not acting like a woman, acting feminine), and I hoped it wouldn’t leech into the fandom. Clearly I was wrong.

Homophobia: Where to start with this. As stated, she changed Leopard from a NB intersex character (in her original canon) to a cis woman. In the fic, Leopard is married to Nick. I don’t need to tell you that she made Nick x Leopard into a straight ship. She made the only gay ship tease in the show into a straight ship. I wish it ended here.

Somali, an oc, has potential. Not here, but he has it. Somali is gay. If you think I’m undermining his character, that is his character. Somali likes magic and theater, and is very flamboyant. He is a gay walking stereotype. In his description, it is stated, “The story is that he turnout Gay, Of course Pappy was Supportive, but she knew it wasn't fair, especially through everything she's involved.” If you need me to translate: Somali broke up with Pap after realizing he was gay. Pap saw that as unfair, and that she was a victim of being lead on because he found out he was gay. Yes, Pap is making Somali being gay and dealing with his internalized homophobia… about herself. She goes to the point of calling him her nemesis. Which is a... toxic way to refer to someone who broke up with you on clean terms.

Somali eventually teams up with Rottweiler, Pap’s brother (who abuses her, despite it being out of character in every means) and is. Evil, and he hates Pap now apparently. We can’t go a minute without the gay oc being evil huh. Somali being gay doesn’t add to the story, it just suggests the only reason he stopped dating her was that he was gay (which is bad and offensive in Pap’s eyes) because he is not shown to fall for Rottweiler, or have any crushes on other male masks. His homosexuality is an accessory tag, and it’s really not a good one when he is the only gay character with a lot of lines.

Every. Character. That. Is. LGBT. Is. A. Token. Ice Cream and T-Rex are the closest ones to not be tokens, as Ice Cream has a job at a diner and T-Rex gets lines, but T-Rex is only used for exposition, and again, a child shipped with an adult mask. Peacock’s and Rabbit’s role outside of the first chapter is to have a rocky relationship, being forced to rekindle their relationship after Pap tells them to do so for a love festival. Several of the female masks are bisexual or lesbians, but they add so little to the plot, that I don’t even remember which ships are which. Every [since Leopard used to not be but is now] main character is heterosexual and cis (Pap, Fox, Leopard, Kitty, Frog, Turtle, Rottweiler) which doesn’t imply that she actually is that pro LGBT. Drawings of hers for Ice Cream and Egg are captioned “Just something Gay for you guys to see~” (fetishizing much?).

Ableism: One of the ocs in the fic is a Red Panda, who is related to Panda (don’t be confused, animal wise they are not closely related at all). In the fic, Red Panda suffers from PTSD due to an accident which caused her to be disabled in the leg, who uses a single-leg-crutch to walk. The physical disability is handled well enough, not being a hindrance or made fun of, but her personality is the worst. Red Panda is a cowardly and sniveling child, scared of her own shadow and completely incompetent. Her PTSD is very thinly written, not giving her any specific triggers or reasons for anxiety. If her PTSD was presented with her being afraid of entering a vehicle or certain smells that would relate to the accident (rubber, smoke, leather), it would make sense, but Red Panda is scared of everything. On a dare, Frog tells Kitty to impersonate a mask. Kitty impersonates Red Panda, making fun of her cowardice, which can be an actual attack on people who have PTSD (like myself), Kitty justifies herself, saying she couldn’t think of anyone else, Red Panda immediately accepting it. Being a minor character, there is no time for her to develop, and the Red Panda we were presented with is already a mess.

In the same chapter that Red Panda is introduced, Axolotl (mentioned a lot later) dares Fox to remove his prosthetic arm. I don’t need to need prosthesis to know that asking someone to take their ARM OFF is unfunny and uncalled for. Pap, Fox’s girlfriend, decided to take the time and kissed the welt, commenting that it “looked interesting”. Don’t- don’t do that. Don’t kiss people’s scars or cuts or welts or anything related to their disability, especially without permission. Axolotl was being ablest to Fox and somehow Fox didn’t know better and forgot to tell her she was acting uncivilized, despite being one of the smartest masks in the canon.

Condoning Incest: One of the ocs in the fic is an Axolotl. The axolotl is Frog’s biological sister, Frog having Turtle as his adopted brother, which in fic Turtle is stated to have been adopted in Frog’s family for over 15 years. In the axolotl’s description, it is stated “Though Axolotl is a relative of him, She deeply has a crush on him. Which maybe weird but hey, Turtle's Adopted. So not a big deal”. No, it’s not ‘ok’ because Turtle is adopted, especially since they’ve been related 15 years. It’s not like Frog and Turtle are ‘close enough to be brothers’, they are related by law. Axolotl is presented to quirkily force a kiss on Turtle in one chapter, which she is not punished or condoned for 1. Sexually harassing him 2. Committing incest and putting it on his conscience, OTHER than her getting salmonella, which all characters who kiss Turtle are prone to getting (Ice Cream in chapter was stated to have fallen sick after kissing him). Axolotl is treated completely fine and Turtle has her in his band, regardless of the fact she is predatory towards him. Additionally, Axolotl is treated as a babysitter towards all of the children on the island, despite, again, sexually harassing someone she is related to, which people saw happen.

Incest is a harmful thing that can cause people to self-deprecate themselves or worse. It’s not a quirky “ha ha, they kissed, so funny!” because Axolotl DOES want to prey on Turtle. She DOES want to be with him. She didn’t CARE about his feelings, in the moment or after. It wasn’t a cute kiss on the cheek, and it wasn’t funny.

Fetishization of Japan: Pap is a weeeeeb. Pap is stated to be Japanese (her last name being Akita) which is confusing on account of the fact Rottweiler and her family are not shown to be Japanese? Anyways, Pap uses broken Japanese, completely unsparingly, and just says it in a way she expects everyone to understand her. It’s not Engrish, she speaks English well enough, she just adds it in sentences, and Melodic doesn’t even offer translations at the end of chapters. Phrases used are arbitrary, one some reason ending with “translator”. Entire sentences can be in Japanese, making the story hard to follow. If this fetishization of the language was limited to Pap, it’d be more tolerable, but other masks, ones who have no reason to know Japanese, use it as well, equally poorly.

Xenophobia: Some reason the USA and UK masks are all good guys (other than Rottweiler) but the German masks live in a ‘badlands’. German Monster teams up with Rottweiler and is his girlfriend, while German Dragon sexually assaults Kitty when they go through the badlands. There is no rhyme or reason why they are the scapegoated ‘evil’ series, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Inability to handle criticism: I tried. I tried my absolute best to tell her that what she was writing was harmful and past borderline offensive. I told her that Somali was a gay stereotype and very poorly presented, not getting a personality out of ‘likes singing’ (which all masks do…) and ‘is evil gay’. She didn’t care. We told her she was using slurs and that turning a mask played by Seal into a cis woman was offensive and transphobic (as well as Leopard already poorly being handled). She didn’t care.

In fact she more than didn’t care. She called us insensitive and whiny. Quote from her, "Now, I been feeling upset about some Haters/Karens harassing me on my AU ideas. And yes that's dumb.” Karens. You know, the stereotypical older women who hate the gays and trans people and bully people doing their jobs? Karens? Yeah, no. A Karen would be against any characters being trans or gay, insisting the show is for families, not telling them to stop using literal slurs (which have been outdated over 20 years) and to actually write gay characters. She genuinely acts like she can do no wrong and that everyone that doesn’t fawn over her is bad. This has nothing to do with the quality of the writing and the lack of grammar, this is about how she is unapologetically offensive and writing triggering content for the sake of being ‘quirky’.

I’m not saying “go rally against her” or “dox her” or “flame her story”, I’m suggesting please don’t give her attention. She’s clearly a child, and she’s not willing to change. All we can do is limit how much attention she gets until she grows up.

[artemisfromkq]

— Pen and paper.

Summary: In which Sujin decides to write letters to the people she hurt in the past, the first being about Yoo Saerom.

Characters: Lee Sujin, Yoo Saerom, Kim Miyeon, some other Artemis members appear by the end.

Trigger warning: Alcohol usage, cheating, swearing, lying, crying, briefly mentions a funeral in a movie (?). This is pure angst, Sujin hurted that girl. There's also like two scenes one after another involving sex but there's no smut, it does have kind of a explicit language but it doesn't describe any act. Also, Sujin lowkey makes fun of Hyojin’s alcohol dependence.

Author's Notes: This is part one of the To All The People I've Hurt series! Italic texts are for what's Sujin writing in the letters.

APRIL, 2020.

Sujin hated what she became.

When she thinks about it, she wants to pass out, she hates to think she's like that, she was supposed to be a good person, she was supposed to have values, what went wrong?

When she looks back at her past relationships, she sees nothing but people she treated badly, she sees nothing but a trail of hurt and resent, isn't love supposed to be beautiful? She wonders if that's what her exes thought when they were with her. When she looks back, she doesn't remember anything good, it was a trail of manipulation and sadness left behind, she hated it, she hated it so much.

In this trail she could see Elle, Delilah and Saerom. Three people who didn't deserve anything they went through with her.

Saerom, she remembered it clearly, it hadn't been a lot of time since it happened, it was a relationship with potential, destroyed by Sujin in a few months, or even weeks. Saerom was pure, so pure Sujin thinks she hasn't experienced the dark side of life before she met her, she was beautiful, she didn't deserve anything she had to take. Sujin regretted it so much, why did she had to be like this?

Saerom loved to write, she remembers it well. She always left a cute letter for her when they went out for a date or just visited each other in the dorm or her house. She was the opposite to Sujin, she loved to write and read books, something which she never really gave value, another thing that she did wrong. Ironically, this memory was what gave her this idea.

Sujin never thought she'd be sitting in a table, with a pen in hands and a blank sheet of paper in front of her. Why was she doing this, anyway? Redemption? She wouldn't get it with a simple letter who is never getting sent, it was worth a try, anyways. It was what she could do, she knew the people she hurted obviously didn't want to see her, that's the only thing that came into her mind. God, she felt stupid putting herself on that spot, but it's supposed to make her feel better about herself, she hopes so.

And with that, she took a deep breath before starting to write.

We met each other in august.

AUGUST, 2019.

Summer was close to ending, the temperature already had changes to give room to autumn. Debut preparations were done and we were set to debut by the end of september. Lai was responsible to introduce us, remember? You were a sm trainee at the time, or still is, i wonder if you're still there, you always talked about your dream of debuting and being sucessful in our late nights, i hope i didn't ruin that for you.

In the start, i remember it was all fun and games, we used to go out with Lai but it didn't take much for us to start meeting alone. We were so different, yet our conversations used to last for hours. We'd drink coffee, walk around Seoul and, from time to time, you saw a book you liked and i'd always end up buying for you, you remembered me of someone from the past, and that was what brought our downfall.

SEPTEMBER, 2019.

When i debuted, you took me to a restaurant i remember well, it was expensive, i could tell, i wondered if you really wanted to do that for me, yet you still insisted to pay the bill. That night, we had our first kiss late night at a park, hidden behind the trees so no one could see us, i remember i felt happy, yes, happy. Not everything was a lie, Saerom, not from the start, even if you don't believe me nor want to look at my face ever again.

Not long after, we started dating.

Autumn had started for some time already, the sun didn't shine as brightly but the city was still beautiful, the trees darkened their color and the leaves started to fall, a perfect landscape was formed. Even if it didn't shine a lot, the sun was already setting, it was perfect, completely perfect.

Sujin unexpectedly invited Saerom to visit the Deoksugung Stonewall Path, a beautiful place that was near the Seoul Museum of art, a place that Saerom loved to visit.

It has been some time since i last visited the path, i don't really have the courage or strength to do it without remembering of the things i did to you.

They walked around for some time, they smiled, laughed, everyone would think they're just best friends having fun and, that time, they were, but it wouldn't last soon. When they got tired, they stopped by a café in front of the Jeongdong theatre, Saerom smiled as she continued to talk about her day, Sujin wasn't paying attention, lost in how angelic she looked while talking.

“I have something for you.” Interrupted, making the other surprised for some seconds.

I remember i acted like i wasn't nervous, after all, i had to keep the act you always loved to tease. But, yes, you were right, i was nervous that day.

“Oh, really? I'm curious, what book is it?” Saerom rested her chin on her hand, while waiting for Sujin to get something out of her bag.

“You know me well.”

“You're just uncreative! It's different.” Sujin let a small smile out and playfuly rolled her eyes as she took a book out of her bag, handing it to the other girl. “Pride and Prejudice? Quite cliché, however unexpected coming from you.”

“Just open the marked page.” It was hard to tell, but Sujin was blushing behind the sunglass she was using. Saerom mouthed a small "huh?" as she opened the book on the indicated page.

“There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense.” The girl read the quote highlighted with pink marker, just below it, there was a post-it with something written: I love you.

I still remember your reaction, you were trying to hide your shock, but i could see it clearly, you were almost on the verge of crying from happiness, which i didn't understand why. Looking back to it, i realized it is because you really loved me, it hurts to see i didn't recognize that.

“First of all, never put a marker close to a book again, that's a crime.” Sujin couldn't hold her laugh, she knew how Saerom hated to make one single damage to her books, god, she took more care of them than herself. “Second, i love you too.”

“So, do you want?” Saerom looked confused with the question, making Sujin look away, denouncing a little of nervousness. “To be my... Girlfriend?” She whispered, scared of the answer she'd receive, only to hear Saerom laughing out loud in front of her.

“What do you think?”

NOVEMBER, 2019.

The sheets of Saerom's bed seem more monotonous than normal. Her apartment surely needs changes, but, still, it was probably better then SM’s dorm, it gave privacy both to herself and Sujin, she wonders if she’s focusing on her own life since she’s spending so much time with her. Sujin stares at the ceiling and lets a deep breath out, her girlfriend slept quietly by her side. Silence makes Sujin think, it makes her retrieve memories she didn't want. It hasn't been a lot of time since she started feeling like this, empty. Saerom started to feel more like a distraction than a loved one, she didn't know why. Honestly, Sujin hasn't met love again since a year ago, she hated to admit it, but old habits die hard, that was one of them.

Sujin liked girls like this, smart, determined, beautiful. There was only one difference between her current girlfriend and her past: Strength. Saerom was either easily manipulated or she trusted people too easily, ingenuous girl. In the end, Sujin is the type of person you can never trust, because she’ll always fuck you up in the end. She likes to hurt people, play with their minds, it became a part of her even if she denies it, she might be nice and playful in front of her friends, but she is rotten inside, she will always be.

She knew it, no matter how she tried to hide it down her throat, no matter how she tried to appreciate her girlfriend's beauty as one of a kind. In her eyes, Saerom would always be a carbon copy of the girl she loved a year ago, the same girl who she destroyed any ties she had with. For her, Saerom would always be a manifestation of the past, the one who makes reality the image of a future she had with someone else.

When Sujin fucks her, she sees someone else, when Sujin takes her out for a date, she sees someone else, when Sujin buys her a book, she sees someone else. It will always be someone else, a illusion of the past that insists to chase her every time she tried to move on from it.

Being distracted by her thoughts, she hears a fainted voice by her side. “I love you.”

Hesitantly, she replies. “I love you too.”

JANUARY, 2020.

Time passes, and a hotel room became more pleasing then her girlfriend’s home.

It was cheap, dirty and not in the most safe place of Seoul. The walls were made of wood and you could easily listen to the conversation in your neighbour’s room, the bed creaked at the smallest of movements and everything smelled like alcohol. She has money, she could afford a better place, but not getting caught was more important then comfort in Sujin’s mind, not that the person by her side cared at all.

No, the one beside her is not her loved one, not now, she stopped looking for pleasure in Saerom for some time, now. Miyeon was just another girl she met in a club, who she called when she needed. Miyeon was just exactly what her girlfriend missed, she was the missing part, she was power, she was strength. She wasn’t scared of challenging Sujin and she loved every single part of it. Of course, along with the adrenaline. Something inside of her begged her to stop and not do it, that she would leave one more person hurt, but something about lying always left Sujin intrigued, drunk with the ecstasy that came with doing something wrong, and Miyeon was perfect for it, she gave her exactly what she wanted. Sujin likes to do wrong things because they make her feel at her best state, they make her heart beat fast and make her think about the chaotic consequences of her actions, giving what she wants once again.

Suddenly, she can hear her phone vibrating on the bedside table, a message notification shows in the overly brightened phone.

[SAEROM @ 11:45 p.m] Are you fine? I hope your schedules aren’t taking a lot from you, i love you!

“Is that your girlfriend?” Sujin feels the girl’s head lay on her shoulder, she sighs, not knowing how to respond the text, she was going out of excuses. She, then, looks at the lover by her side.

“Yes. I gave her the same act, she’s worried if i’m getting overworked.”

“Yeah, right, only if it’s overworked by something else.” Miyeon lets a small chuckle out, Sujin stayed silent. Whatever it was, it still screamed to cut that relationship before everything started to fall down, but her desire spoke louder, it always did. “Don’t mind her, she’ll think you’re busy, drink some more wine.”

“Don’t you have something stronger?” She closes her eyes, letting one more deep breath out, she feels out of her body, everything felt like an hallucination, she wasn’t even drunk, yet. Lust. That was her biggest sin, it gets over her pride and takes over all of her body to act in favor of it, it was her biggest addiction. Before getting drunk of alcohol, she gets drunk of desire, it is dangerous for her, it is, Sujin can’t think properly anymore.

“Well,” She gets up from the bed, going in the direction of a plastic bag on top of a drawer. “We have whiskey, vodka... Your choice.”

“Vodka. It tastes horrible, it’ll work better.” Miyeon nodded, pouring the drink on a glass and giving it to Sujin. “Drink up.” She takes everything in one sip, frowning for some seconds due to the burning sensation on her throat, exactly like Sujin wanted. “What do you want with this, really?”

Her lips hesitate before answering, she was tired of that bulshit, she didn’t want to talk anymore, she needed more, desperately. “To forget.” She leaves the glass in the bedside table, taking her gaze to the other woman, she wouldn’t say anything else, Miyeon knew what to do, and that’s what made her better.

“If that’s the case,” She smiled, bad thoughts taking over her mind, just like Sujin’s. “I can do that way better.” Miyeon grabs her chin and leaves a small kiss in her mouth, seconds later, Sujin gets closer and ends the space between them. Suddenly, time didn’t matter anymore.

FEBRUARY, 2020.

“It’s really nice from the girls to let us have a good time in private, right?” Saerom smiles, grabbing a hand full of popcorn and stuffing everything in her mouth. Sujin tried to focus on what was going on in the television, what movie were they watching, anyway? She just went with her girlfriend’s lead and pretended to care.

It’s been some time they last done this. Have a good time. It even gave Sujin a strange impression on her body, when everything she’s been thinking about is the same dirty hotel room that smelled like alcohol and sex. Sujin didn’t even know why she invited Saerom to her dorm, she didn’t even love her anymore, why would she bother? Maybe to make her heart lighter, after all, nobody but her and Miyeon knew what she was doing in secret. Sujin is truly a trainwreck, a trainwreck disguised as a tempting, beautiful face, behind those mysterious, yet intriguing eyes that could pull you in a minute. People say sin is disguised as something beautiful, so it can take you in and never let you go, and that is exactly what she is.

“Yes, they are, they like that we’re together.” She sighs, grabbing a single popcorn and putting in her mouth, chewing it slowly as she gets more and more distracted in staring at the movie.

“Really? Is there a motive for that?”

“No, they just think you’re a cool person.” She grabs another popcorn, don’t act like you don’t know, she wanted to say that to Saerom. All the girls knew, and she knew Lai told her about it. The only motive why Sujin distanced herself more from their relationship every day, how can someone else make such an effect on other’s heart? She knew it’d come back at her one day or another, she’d taste from her own poison and blame others for it, after all, it’s never your fault, it’s always the others’.

“Well, that’s great, right? Look! Veronica is in Heather Chandler’s funeral.” Heathers. That was the movie they were watching. Saerom reaches her hand to grab more popcorn in the bowl they filled, realizing that the popcorn was close of completely vanishing. “Hey, it’s your house, go get me some more.” She smiled, putting the bowl completely in Sujin’s lap, who made a confused expression in the start.

“Fine, you don’t need to pause the movie, i’ll be right back!” She faked a excited tone, grabbing the bowl and going to the dorm’s kitchen, rolling her eyes as she refilled the bowl. She when she found those dates boring, anything with Saerom was suddenly boring and she couldn’t do anything about it. However, for some reason, cheating on her in secret sounded better in Sujin’s head then just straight up breaking up, she didn’t want to break up with Saerom in the fear of hurting her, but wasn’t that what she was doing all along? In the inside, Sujin wouldn’t take seeing Saerom with a broken expression, with a broken heart, but this wasn’t her problem anymore, she grew cold over her just like everyone else she ever dated. Sujin had a problem with love and relationships, it showed, but she decided to keep growing the count of people she hurts.

However, the view of a broken heart was closer than she imagined.

As Sujin was in the kitchen preparing more popcorn, her phone left in the couch kept ringing messages, making her curious girlfriend look if she had some new friends, always worried about her loved one’s happiness, only to find out something that was the opposite of what she wanted.

[MIYEON @ 8:50 P.M] Long time no see, right?

[MIYEON @ 8:51 P.M] I bet you miss me

[MIYEON @ 8:51 P.M] Why don’t you come over to our secret spot and i can show you something?

[MIYEON @ 8:51 P.M] Ditch your girlfriend, she won’t even suspect

[MIYEON @ 8:52 P.M] I bought some wine

As Sujin finished to put a new load of popcorn in the bowl, she walked back to the living room, surprising herself at the view of her girlfriend standing up in pure disappointment, with her phone in hands, displaying a conversation in the screen.

“Since when?”

Sujin stayed silent.

“Fucking answer, Sujin!”

“It’s not what-”

“Don’t play that bullshit on me.”

It was dark, but Saerom’s eyes shined, and it wasn’t because of happiness. Tears started falling down her eyes, then to her cheeks, then dropping on the floor. She never saw her like that. Of course, Saerom was always vulnerable, but she never cried in front of her.

I’ll never forget what i felt when i saw your expression. You were completely broken in pieces, you couldn’t believe it, you didn’t want to, but everything that i talked about you, every single thing i did to you was registered, and you discovered everything once. You were so disappointed. When i look back at it, i always realize you actually loved me, truly, and i couldn’t see it, that’s completely cliché, like you used to say, but i didn’t understand, i didn’t know i could love again, i’m so sorry.

“I’m so sorry, Saerom, i-”

“No, you feel sorry because you got caught.” True. She feels sorry she got caught, because if she didn’t, she would play the act until Saerom felt tired and broke the relationship without knowing anything. All her doings being locked and never discovered, but reality is not like that, it’s painful and it’ll teach you lessons that you’ll be thankful someday, hopefully.

She stayed silent one more time. She was out of lies. There was nothing she could do anymore besides letting her go, maybe she was feeling regret, maybe not, her mind was only pure confusion and she could only think of losing something that one day she called hers. Only a possession, a toy, that was Sujin what considered Saerom at that point, someone good she can show off to her groupmates to show she moved on. However, Saerom was no doll, she had feelings and they were overflowing with sadness. It wasn’t something beautiful, it wasn’t something worth seeing anymore.

“You know... I thought you... you... Did you just lie to me this whole time?” She wiped her tears with her right arm, throwing Sujin’s phone on her couch. “Never look into my face again.” Saerom started grabbing her stuff, and something clicked into Sujin. She got closer, holding Saerom’s shoulders, keeping her from going away.

“Hold on... Please... I-i can explain.” Her voice failed, she was nervous, but showed no sadness. Saerom looked at the ground, she couldn’t take it, why? She loved Sujin so much? What did she do wrong?

“You’re just so fucking uncreative.” She looked in her eyes one more time, before going in direction of the exit, banging the door behind her, leaving Sujin staring at nothing, she wouldn’t go after her, she knew she didn’t deserve it, the fault was all hers, she knew it well. She always knew when she did something wrong. Sujin laid her head on the door, closing her eyes and landing two punches on it.

Silence. Since when silence started getting so overwhelming?

She used to love silence. The sensation of focusing on what you’re feeling, not what you’re hearing was something she used to always crave. But this silence wasn’t great, she didn’t want to feel what she was feeling, was she always like this? Was that the effect she caused on others? Sadness? The only thing she did all this time was break people’s hearts? She couldn’t understand because she always cared about herself, but when she looked at Saerom’s expression, memories came back to her, and they weren’t good.

“Do you mind telling me why Saerom sent me an audio message crying saying she never wants to see you again?” Kamlai got out of her dorm room, going straight to the living room as Sujin turned around, looking at her groupmate who didn’t look pleased. “God, i didn’t think you could pull that off again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know. Saerom is a person, too! She’s my friend, Sujin, she’s not Delilah!”

Her eyes widened. Delilah. The name she’s been trying so hard to forget. She hated to hear that name so much, Kamlai knew it’d hurt, did she say it on purpose? Probably, it was her friend she messed with, after all, even if she loved Sujin, she was wrong. She did something she shouldn’t do.

“Don’t fucking mention that name.” Her voice got lower, it took silence to hear it. It was cold, she couldn’t show what was behind that name, but Kamlai knew very well, everyone knew.

“Why? Because you keep showing that even after loving someone like that you keep doing the same shit and break people’s hearts? That’s not cool, Sujin, when will you learn?”

“Why do you care?” Her voice now got louder, demanding answers from the older one.

“Because i care about you! You’re my friend! And i can’t take seeing you do those things! Because i know you’re a good person.”

“Maybe you don’t know me at all!”

“What is happening here?” Hyojin who was actually in the dorm, got out of her room to see the motive of the fight.

“It’s not your business, Hyojin, go drown yourself in another whiskey bottle and let me solve this alone.”

“What the fuck did you say?” She looked at the younger one in shock, Sujin realizing what she said just after she saw her leader’s expression, knowing that it was, still is a delicate matter to her.

She looked down, she couldn’t do anything that day anymore, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, she’d just end up hurting one more person to her count. Sujin let out a deep breath, running away from all that mess to her room.

“We’re talking later, Lee Sujin.” Hyojin screamed from the distance, in which she purely answered to banging the door behind her.

She just wanted to turn back in time.

APRIL, 2020.

The end arrived so fast that i couldn’t even process. I didn’t know what i was feeling, i still don’t know. I’m a slave to feelings, they take over me easily and make me do things i tend to regret just after. I can’t say i want you back, you’re better following your path without me, we’re both better without each other. But that doesn’t erase what i did, a plead of forgiveness or this letter won’t do it. But it’s the better way i can think of. Because i’m a coward. The biggest of them.

I hope you're out there, making sure that your dream turns into reality as fast as possible. You deserve it more than anyone else, you deserve to be happy. Maybe i’ll do, too, in a far future.

With you, i learned that holding onto the past won't make me feel better. I learned my lesson the hard way, but thank you. In the end, we had good memories, i hope you still remember those and don't see me as a monster.

Once again, i'm sorry, things just can’t be erased, however, they can get cured and become a good scar in the future. With sorrow;

Lee Sujin.

[qrbie]

The Masterlist

Hey. I know it’s been ages since my last fic rec, but my motivation is slowly building again and I think I’m going to have a big one coming up soon. Meanwhile, I tossed a ton onto @0nceuponafanfic, so she might have something brewing for y’all. Anyways, I’ve been updating this thing, so if you ever need a pile to fall back on when I’m MIA, here you go!

Please tell me if I’m missing something, like a trigger warning or a link to someone’s Tumblr. Also don’t be afraid to rec me your favorite fics or even your own fics! I wanna see them. If you want to request fic recs, I’m open for those too! Even if you don’t have fics or even a specific purpose, come to my inbox and mess around. I’m bored and want human interaction.

‘allo people! yeah yeah yeah It’s been AGES since the last update so I’mma dump some new fics into here soon. I’m also gonna fix up the organization a bit. so sayonara and see ya later!

As always, stay hydrated!

Happy pride, everyone!

Last updated 6/23

1-Chapter bits of fluff or angst or something else

one hell of a hook | A TodoBaku fic... but don’t let that drive you away! This is an amazing fic, so please give it a try before you judge.

Mafia Au | What if Present Mic was a yakuza boss and Aizawa was a spy? (There’s a lot more to this, including a lot more art, over at @nartothelar‘s blog)

UA Music Conservatory | a series of one-shots in an AU where UA is actually a music school.

Silent Shadow | has the potential to evolve into something bigger. Nomu!Midoriya is Kurogiri’s protege. So cool.

Present Mic’s Awesome Mixtape 2.0 | Aizawa doesn’t like any kind of music. Shocking, right? After discovering this, Yamada has a new goal. Find a type of music Aizawa likes.

cultivating something so divine | Vet!Kiribaku, with so much fluff and animals and mutual pining that even the hardest of hearts can be softened.

The story of how Midoriya Izuku won the Sport Festival | I love a good dose of Crack Treated Seriously, and here’s some.

Trash Goblin Finds Love | “Bakugou. This is the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

president of the krbk club | Whenever something exciting happens, what does Midoriya do? Whip out his notebooks, of course. So what happens when Bakugou isn’t pushing Kirishima away?

It's Hard to Get Past Some Things | Whenever Midoriya’s drunk, Todoroki’s his designated caretaker. What happens when drunk Midoriya decides to talk about kids (or pups, whatever)? (A/B/O)

it's just the little things | Bakugou’s interactions over the years (stealing from the official summary here)

The Knock-On Effect | There’s only a couple types of knocks that Bakugou likes. Kirishima’s knocks in the middle of the night are one of them.

Smile for me, would you? | Unlike the rest of us, Present Mics has goals, and actually follows through with them. This goal? Make his neighbor, Shouta Aizawa, smile.

Shadowed Soul, Electric Eyes (We'll Be Okay) | What if Tokoyami and Kaminari, people with completely different quirks, got quirk-swapped?

A Matter of Pride | How everyone in BNHA came out. That’s it. It’s so fluffy, though.

firedancer | Unlike the rest of these, this one has the tiniest bit of angst. So little you’d need a microscope, though. Whenever someone falls in love, romantically, platonically, or any other way, a flower appears on their skin. Kirishima has a ton of flowers, but where are Bakugou’s?

A Mile in New Shoes (and A Mile Too Far) | Artist!Bakugou is invited to his first house party... Luckily he has three guys showing him around.

Boy things | Ashido loves her friends, but sometimes it gets lonely being the only girl in the Bakusquad. Good thing they understand!

come home to me | Kiribaku might’ve gotten a telepathic connection... There’s so much fluff in this one!

one to ten | Kirishima wants to date Bakugou, but he’s gotta climb the ladder of friendship first!

Get Mad! | Bakugou teaches Eri how to cope, and Eri returns the favor.

bakugatsu | Yeah, I know this is 20 chapters long, but it’s basically 20 drabbles compiled together by the amazing wonhaebunny!

a mix of six | Probably my favorite series of all time, no matter the fandom. What happens when Aizawa and Hizashi adopt Bakugou, Todoroki, Shinsou and Eri?

KiriBaku Week 2020 | A series by PoorUnfortunateSoul - full of fluff!

Safety In Numbers | A little bit of fluff and a lot of parental Erasermic.

Multi-chapter Stories

How To Get Adopted Without Letting Your Dad Know He's Adopting You, A Guide By Class 1-A | Good old fashioned school fluff. (WIP)

Dandelion | No masterlist is complete without at least one fic from the legendary Broken Realities, right? So here’s @owlf45‘s fic... (there’s a lot more! Check out the Broken Realities Collection on Ao3 for at least some of them... I bet there’s a lot more floating around.) (WIP)

Phosphenes | A Naruto/BNHA crossover, Mina is reborn from Naruto, and learns to navigate life even with such a big burden on her shoulders. (WIP)

Flour Power | Kirishima and Bakugou are supposed to take care of a sack of flour for a school project. What could go wrong?

Not really a villain, but close enough | “Aizawa didn't expect the raid to go so well. he didn't expect the informant to be so useful and well-mannered. who was hi kidding? Aizawa didn't expect the informant to be a kid. but the green-eyed boy cuffed to the interrogation table was wiling to help, and Aizawa wasn't one to look the gift horse in the mouth“ (WIP)

green haze | Vigilante!Midoriya is known as the Green Haze, a vigilante, Eraserhead’s supposed to capture. Shenanigans happen.

2am Knows All Secrets | One of those classic Kiribaku fics that trickle through the ranks. Lots of fluff, with good ol’ tropes like sharing a bed and mutual pining and Good Friends, and-it’s great.

The life of a hero | Such a good series. It’s so amazing. It gives angst and pain but then soothes it over with fluff, but then it tears you apart... and then it gives you life... a great read.

The Last Resort | This is basically pure angst. It’s so painful, but it’s such a good story... Shinsou was sold as a young child to a yakuza. This yakuza would rent out people for their quirks... This is an amazing read, but don’t expect any fluff from this. (Check the tags! WIP)

¥300 Shampoo | When Aizawa’s working on a book at the cafe, he certainly doesn’t expect someone pulling his hair. He definitely doesn’t expect getting a free haircut out of it, either.

quote love unquote | Take the official summary “When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.”

lovin is easy | Blasty doesn’t get “feelings,” so here’s five times Bakugou doesn’t get love and one time he does. (WIP)

The Empath & The Mind Reader | Bakugou is a mind reader, and Kirishima is a empath. If both of them can literally know what the other person’s feeling/thinking, why are they still dancing around each other? (WIP, Contains smut, Anxiety attacks)

and finally I see the world in color (the violet stands out, thanks to you) | This fic deserves a LOT more than just 76 kudos. Sometimes people miss out on amazing fics just because it’s a femslash. Momojirou, where Yaoyaorozu is a businesslady who is bored with her life and everything else, until she happens upon the rambunctious band Dark Shadow. Seriously, please read this! (WIP)

Behind The Scenes | A KiriBaku actor AU. What happens when you start falling for your co-star - and your on-screen love interest? (WIP, It’s rated E for smut, but there isn’t any yet)

We Didn't Start the Fire | What if Touya decided to make something out of himself instead of becoming a villain? This is amazing, by the way. (WIP)

it seems i'm never letting go | Here’s how I summarized it to myself... “Koi no yokan... will Blasty experience it? (His sister left)” By the way, koi no yokan is basically love at first sight, Japanese-style. (WIP)

Lips Like Blood | What happens when Bakugou, a mage, falls in love with the one person who can’t love him back? (WIP)

Charm Me, Loser | A Hogwarts AU that has no right being that ingenius and amazing. My only problem with it is sorta small... There’s already a wizarding school in Japan... Why aren’t they going there? (WIP)

Gotta Get Away | Tsuyu and Bakugou are out getting some new hero merch together because of the new buddy system at UA. What happens when they’re mistaken for a couple? (WIP)

Opposed to the Typical | A fashion AU. This is ridiculously good. It feels like the author was actually in the Japanese fashion industry! (WIP, smut, past child abuse, mental health issues)

One Day at a Time | Pretty genius idea, actually. Bakugou and Uraraka are trapped in what is essentially a time-speeder-upper. What’s going to be a day for their classmates is going to be a year for them. What will they do in that year together? (WIP, it’s rated Mature but it’s pretty innocent so far)

The UA Quarantine Collection | Basically, a bunch of authors got together and made a ton of one-shots of what Class 1A is doing in quarentine. Technically it isn’t a coherent story, but I’m counting it as one. There’s two versions, a clean version and a version with all the smutty bits. The smutty one’s the second story in the series. This one’s linked to the clean one. (WIP)

Midoriya Fuckin' Izuku | This is an amazing fic! It has a ton of TWs, though. Make sure to read the tags before starting it! (WIP)

Seeing Double | A very good, and very long, fantasy AU. (WIP, smut)

Broken, but Still Good | Bakugou was rescued, after four years, from an illegal alpha fighting ring. Can Kirishima, a beta, help him back to society? Pay attention to the tags. (WIP, A/B/O)

Broken Wings | Kirishima’s a dragon who was rescued from the dragon slave trade by the mysterious Bakugou Katsuki, I don’t know what else to say. (WIP)

The Roast of Class 2-A | Have a crackfic. (WIP)

The Space Between | Midoriya’s a photojournalist who is just starting out. One fateful night, he goes to photograph the Antiheros in concert. (WIP, mild smut)

A Fissile Family | Bakugou’s been kidnapped by the League of Villains again. They’re actually sorta a weird family. (WIP)

Mochi Mochi | Just take the official summary. “Ochako never saw a problem with DM-ing an internationally known actor her grocery lists, absolutely certain that he'd never see them. That is—until he replies. And who the hell does he think he is to tell her mochi isn't real food?”

Green as the Leaves, and Red as a Rose | A TodoDeku flower shop AU. (WIP)

remember my name | Post-UA, Bakugou realizes that some things are for forever.

Blinding Shapes | What happens when soulmates, a blind abstract artist and a burnt out barista meet?

a heart swelled to bursting | Mind the tags, here. Training camp part 2 for Class 2A. (WIP)

manly man falls for manliest man | What happens when businessman!Kirishima meets his idol, and maybe biggest celebrity crush ever, actor!Bakugou? (Smut)

Miscellaneous Stuff From Other Fandoms

I have some Harry Potter fics lying around somewhere, so I’m going to add those later.

Stucco Hearts | One of my absolute favorite soulmate fics ever, from Percy Jackson.

Christmas and Chill | A old series I sorta just came across again from PJO.

The Florist and the Punk | Maybe another old series from PJO.

Hearts Need Love | Keep an eye on the tags! This is my favorite PJO fic of all time.

Our Songs | It’s good if I spent half an hour trying to find it again. It’s a Solangelo songfic.

Some random writers I recommend (A lot more coming along-I’m in the middle of a ton of different fics right now)

aloneintherain | @captainkirkk

wonhaebunny | @wonhaebunny

rosedvst

Sif (Rosae) | @intothedarknessigo

kiritime

sinderellaa

aloera | @aloera

Argentina | @junepixel

KuriKuri | @letaizawarest

[lovelahela]

❛ it lives in the woods ❜ ─ prologue

⇢ masterlist ; check masterlist for fancast!

⇢ pairing: noah marshall x f!mc (marisol reyes)

⇢ genre: horror

⇢ chapter: zero (prologue)

⇢ words: 2687

⇢ description: something old and powerful lives in the woods surrounding the small town of westchester... something that knows their names. tensions flare, old wounds are reopened, and lives hang in the balance of one, very important question: are you scared?

⇢ notes + warning: this story will include disturbing scenes, potentially dark/triggering subjects (including but not limited to underage substance/alcohol abuse, depression, anxiety) and strong language. reader discretion is advised.

        Tonight, the moon is playing peek-a-boo, weaving in and out of ribbons of black clouds scudding across the sky. Accompanying the flickering radiance of lampposts scattered across the small town of Westchester, the light of the moon stretched across the vast cluster of trees that surrounded it and to a cosy, modern house far away from said lampposts that stood out significantly next to the worn-out, withering shack that stood meters away from it. The town was characteristically quiet, its folk invested in whatever dream of winning the lottery and marrying the most good-looking Hollywood actor they were having. It was almost peaceful.

        The functioning word here being almost.

        Inside that modern little house lay a young teenage girl, fast asleep in the comfort of her mattress and scented candles. Marisol Reyes tried very hard to be normal, thank you very much. She ran two clubs, maintained outstanding grades, and managed Westchester High's successful swimming team as an efficient captain. Some might even say she was one of the "popular kids," but she was no where near that (proven by the constant degradation courtesy of Britney and her posse), and preferred to keep it that way. All Marisol wanted was to blend, to be away from the spotlight - she had enough of it after being drowned in all the wrong kinds of attention when one of her best friends perished a decade ago. Being pointed at by judgemental kids and gossiping parents took a toll on her, and she swore to go out of her way to erase the devastating, untimely death of Jane Marshall from her life - she would never be the "best friend of that girl who died" ever again.

        Although Marisol strongly refused her mother Soledad's advice to see a child psychologist and cope with the horrible trauma that cost her her childhood, she insisted that she was able to, get over it. She pushed aside the recurrent nightmares and the obsession with self-defense and martial arts classes, plastered on a smile, and said she was fine - every single time, all through the ten years of looking over shoulder and denying just how damaged she really was.

        The sound of violent vibrations against a wooden surface startled Marisol Reyes out of her uncharacteristically peaceful slumber. She jumped out of her bed and grabbed the kitchen knife that always lied stoically on her bedside table like a war veteran, hair frazzled and muscles tense. The focus of her almond-shaped eyes darted around the room frantically, fingers tightening around the hilt of the knife as her heart beat wildly in her chest. Once she could not make out an outline of an intruder in the darkness that enveloped the area, she realized the vibrations were coming from her phone, buzzing enthusiastically with text notifications. She groaned at her overreaction to such a harmless event while rubbing the sleep from her eyes and picked up the small electronic device in her tense hands.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:12 AM

UNKNOWN NUMBER

marisol, you there?

it's dan.

i messed up. i'm sorry, i'm so sorry

Mark as spam?

Block number?

        "Oh my God..." whispered Marisol, rereading that one text over and over again to make sure she didn't imagine it.

        it's dan.

        Those two words stole the breath and heat from her very skin. Suddenly her defenses are like paper, paper being soaked by rapidly falling rain drops. Dan Pierce. They hadn't spoken since the tragic incident a decade prior - after the funeral, the eight children went their separate ways, determined carry the truth behind that catastrophe with them to the grave no matter how deep they buried it inside of them. She debated replying - she hadn't so much as greeted him in so many years, and suddenly he bombards her phone with frantic messages in the middle of the night? Something seemed off. Marisol could practically feel danger creeping up slowly but surely behind her.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:15 AM

DAN PIERCE

marisol?

MARISOL

dan, hey.

it's been a while, u okay? what's up?

DAN PIERCE

i went into the woods.

i had to be sure, i had to prove to myself that he wasn't real.

that it was all in our heads.

but he is, mari. he's real. it was all real.

read 3:16 AM

        Marisol's previously tense hands began shivering vigorously along with the rest of her limbs, all of them weakening by the second. She closed her eyes and drew in long, deep breaths, attempting to calm down and muster up whatever courage she had left. She wasn't sure if the texts she responded with were an attempt to convince Dan, or herself.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:17 AM

MARISOL

hey man, u sure ure not drunk?

DAN PIERCE

he was whispering, just like when we were kids.

MARISOL

dan, please stop.

we made all that stuff up, we were kids.

mr red was just a dumb game that spun out of control.

we made it all up.

DAN PIERCE

 he does. he's with me right now.

MARISOL

for fuck's sake dan

if ure in the woods get out NOW

it's not safe in the dark

DAN PIERCE

i can hear him in the trees.

i can hear him whispering...

read 3:18 AM

        Marisol hissed a long string of curse words, fumbling around in the dark for her jacket. It didn't matter that they lost touch with each other, she couldn't bear the thought of losing him - of losing someone else in the disbanded group that she once would have said she trusted with her life. Maybe, if you dug deep enough through the traumatic, emotional baggage she lugged around every waking moment, she still would.

        Just as she snatched the keys to her mother's car (which she was only allowed to use in the case of an emergency, much to her dismay), someone rapped the window harshly, startling a shriek out of her. Her phone slipped out of her hands and landed on the wooden floorboard with an upsetting thud, just barely illuminating the room with a disturbing glow.

        With the manner of a paranoid animal about to get preyed on viciously, Marisol snuck a peek at the window. Her blood ran cold when she made out the shape of what she was hoping was a human. Wasting no time, she jumped towards her lamp and turned it on. A yellow light filled just enough of the vicinity - enough to see that the man waiting outside her window was none other than Dan. She heaved out a relieved sigh and opened the window  (reluctantly so), ushering him inside outside of the chilly embrace of the crisp night.

        He climbed into his former friend's bedroom, hoodie dirtied by mud and hints of dead leaves. His long hair was unkempt, his eyes were accompanied by worrying and prominent bruises under them, and what used to be his beautifully tanned skin was then pale and sickly as though he was near death itself. Dan sat hunched over on the floor like a frail puppet being held up by a single fraying string. It was horribly peculiar to see him like this - he always held himself with confidence, tall and muscular frame towering over even those taller than him. To see him lying on her floor, so vulnerable and beaten down, it was heartbreaking to say the least.

        "God, Dan, what happened to you?" asked Marisol, eyes softened with concern as she scanned his body for the injuries littered on his skin and mud staining his clothes. He looked up at her, expression shallow, striking a faint but growing fear inside of her. "How... how did you even get here? We're on the second floor."

        "I climbed." His answer was curt and simple, no emotion to his voice at all. Nothing in his eyes or the tone of his voice supported the signs of terrifying struggle that blemished him. Marisol gulped.

        "Oooookay, Spider-Man!" Nervous laughter cut through the uncomfortable silence choking them. She frowned and took small, careful steps forward as to not startle him. She crouched down to look him in the eyes as calmly as she should, slowly pulling down the zipper of his hoodie.

        "Listen, bud, why don't you take a shower? I'll wash your clothes, give you some of my dad's, and you can tell me happened, yeah?" Her voice was low and soft, as though she was consoling a frightened child. Peeling the hoodie off his slouched shoulders, she avoided his eyes, which were - very creepily - trained on her paling face. She sighed, visibly relieved when he decided to focus on the string of Polaroid pictures and what looked like dozens of framed award certificates hung up on her wall, suddenly completely neglecting her physical existence next to his enfeebled body.

        "I'm fine." His words resembled that of an accused, soulless criminal awaiting his punishment in court, perfectly trained to deny his guilt to his grave no matter what the situation was — it seemed to rehearsed. Then, abruptly, his head snapped in her direction and he grabbed her forearms tightly, staring at her with wide, crazed eyes. She could have sworn she felt all of her internal organs cease functioning for a split second and yelped pathetically. "Come on! We need to get the others!"

        Her breath hitched in her throat. She searched and searched her brain for the proper response, hyper-aware of the growing madness that distorted his handsome face. When she spoke, the pitch of her voice was a bit too high for her liking. "What — What others?"

        Dan's hold on her tightened noticeably, causing her to flinch and whimper involuntarily. A curt, mad laugh that sounded like one the Joker himself would utter left his lips. "Our friends, of course! Noah, Lily, Ava, Lucas, Andy, Stacy — the whole gang!" Another laugh that deepened the pit in her stomach, a laugh that would haunt her for days.

        Suddenly, Marisol regretted turning away psychological help. The rate of her breathing quickened anxiously as she felt a gate in her mind burst open, letting unwanted memories flood it mercilessly at the mention of their names. She could not see Dan anymore, only flashing images of ruins, of an eerie forest, and of nine children irresponsibly skipping through the trees, on their way to revisit the entity that would then change their lives forever. Her eyes were coated with a glossy sheen of tears that were more than ready to flow down her cheeks against her weakening will. When she finally mustered the courage to speak again, she whispered: "I've barely spoken to them for years, Dan. Not since Jane — "

        Before she could register what was happening, Dan stood up and pulled her with him with an unimaginable force that was sure to leave bruises. Their faces were uncomfortably close, so close she could smell the scent of blood and dirt that replaced his usual cologne. He stared at her like an enraged panther, tiny bubbles of froth forming at the corners of his mouth and face contorted with a venomous outburst. Fear was struck inside her that she felt in her very core — she almost thought he would kill her right then and there. "They have to come. Everyone has to be there. That's the rule."

        She could feel the sweat trickle down her neck, the throbbing of her tear-filled eyes, the ringing screaming of a little girl in her ears, and the thumping of her horror-stricken heart against her chest. "Rule?"

        The world stilled around them. Suddenly, she could not hear a single thing, not even her own breathing — only the awfully familiar words that the boy hissed: "Everyone plays together."

        Marisol could not have been more thankful for the sound of her phone buzzing yet again against the floorboards. She took that as an excuse to gingerly wiggle out of his loosened grip and, with shaking legs, approached her cell and picked it up. A crack tarnished the previously pristine screen, but she decided to worry about that later when it was a more appropriate time to fret over a slightly broken phone. 

        But what she saw was her breaking point. Her free hand reached up to cover her mouth and stifle a sob threatening to spill out of her quivering lips and before she could control it a steady flow of salty tears coated her cheeks.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:26 AM

DAN PIERCE

are you still there?

i think i'm lost

marisol? my battery's almost dead, please help me!!

read 3:26 AM

        The shock ricocheted up her skeleton; an enormous engulfing terror made her feel so, so sick in her mind and body. She's seen darkness before, the kind that makes an empty street look like an old-fashioned photograph, but this was different — this was the kin of darkness that robbed her of her common sense and replaced it with a paralyzing fear. By her genes, she is a predator with the intelligence and perceptive eyes to hunt, but in that moment, she felt like a helpless prey. Marisol slowly rose from the illuminating screen of her phone, her wide, suspicious eyes meeting his. 

        "Dan?" She sniffled weakly.

        Although his eyes were cold an empty, right underneath them a grin stretched his lips impossibly from one ear to the other, radiating clear indications of raging madness.

        "Marisol."

        She lunged for the knife on her bedside table yet again, shrieking as he took large and quick steps towards her violently shaking form. She searched desperately for an escape route that wasn't blocked by the towering body of the intruder in front of her but to no avail. He grabbed her wrist with a bone-crushing hold, squeezing yet another helpless screech out of her. Her voice broke when she cried out: "Dan, please! Don't make me do this!"

        And he did nothing but widen the frightening smile that would permanently etch itself into her retinas, haunting her every time she closed her eyes.

        So Marisol did the only logical thing her frantic brain could come up with — with a heart-wrenching scream, pained by having to inflict pain on a friend who was once very dear to her, she drove the blade of the knife into his abdomen. Much to her increasing horror, he did not so much as flinch at the pain, only tightened the hold around her throbbing wrist. He merely growled like a feral animal, burning holes into her with his enraged gaze. "Wrong move."

        Dan tackled her effortlessly to the floor, straddling her hips and forcing her into a cage that she would never break out of in her wildest dreams. He smashed her head against the rough surface underneath her, darkening her fading vision. "We all have to go back, remember?"

        "LEAVE ME ALONE! GET — OFF — ME!" She thrashed in his hold, no longer attempting to swallow the sobs. Finally, after agonizing attempts to kick and thrash and flail, she was able to free one of her hands and in result scraped her previously perfectly manicured fingernails down the skin of his face.

         A cry of disgust and disbelief bounced off the walls of the room when it peeled right off, revealing putrid flesh under it. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving her to stare into milky whiteness while the stink of stale dirt burned the  insides of her nostrils. His long, skinny fingers curled around her neck, pressing, closing with a lack of mercy or remorse, feeling like tendrils wound around her oxygen supply. Despite her lungs blazing with agony, Marisol continued to fight fruitlessly until her energy started to dissipate like water going down a drain. Her hands fell to her side and her body grew limp, using her last breath to scream for help that, somewhere in the back of her min, she knew would never come. The last thing she saw before she embraced the coming blackness of unconsciousness was the ghastly monster that rendered her powerless and savagely tore open her old wounds.

[jackbabewang]

New addiction

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader Genre: Tattooist!au, Smut Word Count: 4,063

“Welcome to your new addiction.” There goes the slogan of Empire Ink, a place you’ve found to build the little dream of yours, a place where you discovered your new addiction.

Note: There’s something magical that I have to tell you guys—Few days ago, I stumbled across a tattoo of Jaehyun on my insta feed. Then, there’s a post where Jaehyun said that in his dreams he had a tattoo on his body. And I just had my tattoos touched up weeks ago. All this happened when I’m in the middle of writing this. Hope this turns out well! First attempt with suggestive content and then I have this one dollar photo shop quality, please bear with me. Thank you! (Not proofread, changes will be made in the future.)

Over the last decade, tattoo parlors burst forth within the districts of Seoul, like desert flowers blooming after a rain.

The body art was no longer viewed as a sign of trouble or gang affiliation and it was pretty common nowadays, even among the ladies.

You weren’t in the exception either. Well, not in a way like covering your skin with tattoos because you knew you would definitely regret it in the future.

Preferably, you are good in sketching and you’ve always had the idea of bringing your artworks into life. The canvas you wanted to work on was human skin, that would provide the pieces of art the mobility as they went down the streets of the city, showing off to the eyes of the public like a walking exhibition of your own.

Instead of chasing after the end goal, you chose to start it small with getting yourself a part time job during your breaks, to keep yourself motivated. Although you knew the possibility of you holding the gun is close to none, you wouldn’t mind either as long as you get to make your designs known.

You’re glad that the store you’re heading to did show a lot more interest in your artworks besides the multiple owner’s you’ve contacted, which they were looking for someone that could actually handle the machine.

A minimalist signage on the shop front, Empire Ink, large double-door of oak and glass serves as the entrance. The exterior was already welcoming.

With a genuine smile on your face, you push open the door, revealing a wide studio with high-class and modern interior. It looks as if it was an art gallery instead of the ideal place you were looking for. You’re in awe at how neatly the furniture and decorations were arranged. There’s a feature wall adhered with torn pages of sketchbooks with hand-drawn designs, the lightings in the studio making it more visually appealing.

You were lost in admiration when the sound of a friendly voice broke in, “Hello, how may I help you?”

You turn around and your eyes met with a guy who stood behind the reception desk, greeting you with a toothy smile. His hair was dark, with piercings that you couldn’t count on your fingers, wearing a black Hawaiian shirt patterned in hibiscus and palm leaves.

“Hey, um…” you begin hesitantly, unsure what to say when he continues to stare you down. “I’ve made an appointment few days ago, with Ten. It’s about the part-time job...”

“Oh, it’s you!” his smile grows even wider, eyes crinkling as he gives you a high-five instead of a traditional handshake, telling you to take a seat by a bar table while he gets some drinks for you. “I’m Ten, by the way.”

Slow and jazzy music booming through the speakers giving a comfortable feeling while you’re still doubting whether you’ve gone to the wrong place. It wasn't the tattoo parlor you envisioned.

“Relax. I don’t bite.”

He occupies the seat in front of you and props his chin on his hand, “So… I’ve seen your portfolio and I’m really amazed with your skills. I assure you that the others feel the same way too.”

Immediately a smile splits across your face, half appreciation, half embarrassment.

“Do you have any tattoos on yourself?” he wonders. The so called interview wasn’t as formal as you thought, it’s more of like a casual conversation where you get to know each other.

“No, I might regret it,” you chuckle, noticing the obvious differences on your skin. His was covered in elegance of floral line art, like the garden of Eden, while yours is a blank canvas.

And you begin to tell him about your story and the little dream of yours. You could sense the connection between him when he lets out ‘oohs and aahs’, putting you more at ease. The tiny seed of hope inside you was blooming when he said he sees the potential in you.

“That’s great! I can’t wait to work with you,” he squeals.

Your chatting gets interrupted when the entrance door opens, comes in guys in colorful hair and inked skin. You suppose they were visiting for their appointments, not until Ten calls over.

“Newbie!” he points at you and they wave in unison, greeting you with the same warmth-filled smile.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Leaving the place with a new excitement, you made a statement in your head: The whole studio just screams aesthetic, even the tattoo artists themselves.

Three weeks into your new job, you’ve gotten closer with everyone besides Ten, namely Taeyong, Yuta and Jaehyun. All of them are fairly nice and pampered you with food. While you’d help them in a lot of aspects like setting up the tattoo machines, arranging their schedules, snapping photos of their works, managing the official Instagram profile, the list goes on. You’ve done the most for Jaehyun, being busiest among the guys, that he somehow gave you the title as his personal assistant.

And when Ten needs your help, “Can you prepare my gear while I get the stencil done…”

“No, quit making her do things for you… She’s mine,” Jaehyun argues back.

It always turns out as their childish bickering with Ten defending that he was the one that brought you in while Jaehyun muttering bastard under his breath.

“How old are you? Five?” you accompanied the question with a jab on his chest.

That said, his expression brightens, the playful smirk was replaced with a fake pout and he whispers, “You poked my heart.”

You pull your hand away as soon as it was caught in his, spinning around to Ten’s workstation.

In a skillful manner, you set up the equipment and laid out unopened packages of needles, ink caps placed by the side. After one last check you had everything done, you return to your drawing desk.

The studio falls silent again, only with the soft music playing on the speakers, until you heard feminine giggles coming from Jaehyun’s workstation. Your head turns to the voice to see him entertaining his client, while she has her free hand covering her redden face.

Recently the parlor has attracted quite a number of females, each tattoo artist has one or two for a day while Jaehyun mostly have them for all of his appointments. Surprisingly they came in with the proposals to have your designs inked on their skin. Your artworks that were published on social media received thousands of likes and comments. Not to exaggerate on your achievement, you were grateful for that.

Your eyes train onto Jaehyun’s nimble hands as he works professionally, watching as the desired art piece slowly forming on her milky skin. The humming of the tattoo gun filled your ears and time just flew by when you had your full attention on the poking of the needles.

He must have felt your gaze so he raises his head, flaunting his dimples as he shoots you a cheeky smile. Something about him made you whisk away, blinking several times, clearing your throat. There was a sudden rush of emotion you couldn’t pin point but you felt your cheeks burn and your heart picks up a beat.

Jaehyun was a charming guy, you could say that’s a fact, which explains why he was flooded with the females. He is playful at times, serious when it comes to work. He gets all lovely around you and you’ve always thought it must have been their nature to be flirty and such.

The other guys have left earlier when you both were occupied with work. About half an hour later, Jaehyun is finally done, greeting his client goodbye, and he makes his way to you.

Your arm moving in a frenzy, forehead furrowed in concentration that you didn’t realize he’s lying on the bed by your side. A hand propping his head and he watches you, mirroring your actions from before.

Then all of a sudden, he breaks the silence, “I'm bored.”

He stifles a laughter, amused seeing that he gave you a little jolt of shock at the sound of his voice. Your hand jerked in reaction and you stare at your messed-up drawing, which was almost done.

“Shit. I hate you.” The pen flew across the table and you rise on your feet, lunging forward the guy who appeared to be giggling. “You’re so annoying sometimes…”

His laughter growing louder when your hands reach to his neck, strangling in a playful manner and you shove his chest.

“Are you a man,” he chokes out.

He shifts on the cushioned surface and settling to lay flat on his stomach, arms draping the sides of the bed.

“My back hurts, can you help me?” he groans painfully when his spine straightens in his current positionㅡthe drawbacks of being a tattoo artist. They often crane their necks, bend and stoop for long hours practicing their craft. They do stop for breaks to stretch their bodies, but the ache they put themselves into were incomparable.

“I wasn't hired for this…” they sure never did. None of them had you done something that ever requires physical contacts, something like giving a massage. Jaehyun was relatively comfortable with you, way too comfortable you suppose.

“Please…”

Convinced, you climb onto the bed, your knees by the sides of his thighs and you begin working your fingers on his tense muscles. He lets out grunts and hisses, squirming underneath when you reach the trigger points. Cracking sounds can be heard when he moves his head, the joints in his neck popping like a glow stick.

“I might need your help next time… You’re really good at this,” his voice muffled between folded arms.

“Pay me.”

He chuckles, basking in the silence before he speaks up again. “Hey, I’ve caught you watching me for a couple of times. I suppose you were studying the procedure, or should I say you were checking me out?” he just couldn’t let a day go without teasing you.

Perhaps, he has a secret satisfaction about your baffled, flustered and bewildered reactions.

Rather, you remain quiet. Your silence didn’t go unnoticed when he suddenly turns on his back, facing you completely. The position had your eyes grew the size of saucers, you’re practically straddling on top of him in a considered intimate position. Words caught in your throat and you find yourself avoiding his eyes, a flush starts at your neck and creeps to your cheeks. A slow panic begins to set in at the thought of getting caught, especially by the guys.

Bolting upright and trying to scramble off the bed, but Jaehyun won't let you pass. He grips your hips and holds you down, having you sitting on his thighs.

“What are you doing?”

He smiles cockily and warning signals flickered suddenly in your head.

“What do you think, babe?”

“Babe?” your brows furrowed in disbelief, you felt your heart thumping, almost jumping out of your chest. This time he loosens his grasp, letting you crawl off the bed just when Ten walks in.

The innocent guy has his eyes flitting back and forth between the both of you, staring quizzically at Jaehyun who's still lying on the bed, grinning from ear to ear.

“Please don't tell me you guys just done something like what I have in mind.”

“What-”

Jaehyun rolls off the bed and stands, “She's an expert I can say.” A contented mewling sound slipped past his lips as he stretches his body.

Laughing once again at Ten's remark. “Oh my god, you guys are nasty.”

“We didn't!”

And from that day onward, Jaehyun just stays on your mind, in your brain, your head. The voice that called you by the pet name ringing your ears, the warmth that clasped on your body making your stomach churns in a good way.

He’s always there, within your radar. Light brushing of skin which was once overlooked, you’re hyper aware of them now and they never failed to spark your curiosity. When your eyes meet occasionally, he returns it with a smile and for the first time, you realized that dimples are indeed adorable.

He does have some strange effects on you that you didn’t think it could ever happen.

In this decent size of a pantry, large enough for three people, you find yourself growing alert in his presence. He wasn’t even doing anything yet your fingers are trembling when you reach for the cabinet.

“Peach tea?” he questions out of the blue, as though he was watching you.

Jaehyun too, is having a hard time biting back a grin when he sees you like this.

You nod.

When you thought he left, suddenly, hands braced on either side of you, trapping you in place between muscular arms, inks on the skin that you can easily recognized.

“Jaehyun?” you duck your head to the side when his face closes in from behind.

“Why are you so nervous?” his voice resonates in your ears, laced with amusement.

“I- The guys-” your words came out stuttered and slurred. The last thing you wanted was to get caught red handed in this situation. Ten could hardly keep his mouth shut for weeks about that one time albeit it wasn’t even true.

“What if I say they've already left,” he turns you around, looking straight in your eyes, toothy smile still plastered across his face, “Does that allow me to do this?”

He grabs your empty cup, only a tea bag was dropped inside, and he puts it away, in one fluid moment. He wasn’t even forcing you into it yet you’ve already let your guard down.

It was his eyes that drew you in. They challenged you. Their intensity, their energy made you fall under his spell. You couldn’t move away as he holds your chin tenderly between thumb and the crook of his index finger. Jaehyun stares down at your lips. You felt the magnetic pull towards each other’s mouths. But he still didn't kiss you.

The entire time he hovers above you, his lips a hair’s breadth away from your own. Teasingly he grazes your lips a couple of times, his minty breath brushing lightly and a moment later, his tongue skimmed over your quivering flesh. Though he has the audacity to pull away, laughing softly when you chase after him.

“Back to work,” he sings, taking a sip from his mug before waddling out his way under the bamboo beaded curtain. Its tone of bright red of the millennial brand, Supreme, reflecting the shade on your cheeks.

There are times when things just come at you like a déjà vu, that you see with the familiarity when Jaehyun laid on the bed by your drawing desk while everyone’s gone. However at the present moment, he has his shirt removed, revealing numerous tattoosㅡan ornate cross with wings from his throat that stops between his jugular notch, tarot cards of the Sun and the Moon clad on the left side of his rib cage, a gun on his pelvic which was pointed to his groin.

His body is beautiful as it is, muscles of a Greek god that seems almost unreal.

“C'mon, don't be scared.”

The tool in your gloved hand which you were more than familiar with its assembly, feels so much different when you're going for the real deal, despite practicing it couple of times on apples and pears.

With thick, hesitating articulation, you put the question which your eyes asked mutely, into words: “Are you sure about this…”

“I’ve never doubted my decisions and it’s not like you’re gonna stab my insides with the needle, unless that’s what you’re intended.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned, I’m more towards the idea of it.”

You weren’t in a rush for the hands-on experience though, while Jaehyun thinks otherwise. He even listed out the many reasons that manipulated you into the current situation. Whether it was made up or not, you find it hilarious when he said he’s uncomfortable working on female areas that are labelled as body boundaries. Aren’t those what the ladies want in the first place? You just have to poke fun of him. But what are the chances for them to walk in and tell it straight to their faces that they want their vagina or nipples tatted when the studio is crowded with fine men.

“Just do it exactly how you practiced and I’ll guide you,” he assures.

You draw a breath and will a note of confidence into your voice, “Alright.”

Your back hunched over as you lean on the edge of the bed, fingers lightly pressing on the patch of skin just above the waistband of his Calvin Klein underwear. Purple colored stencil of a lipstick print mark works as a combination of visual simplicity and detailed lines to achieve greater realism.

You tighten your fingers on the barrel, trembling slightly when the needle vibrates at a consistent speed upon pressing the footswitch. You begin with drawing in the outlines, taking a good amount of time due to your inexperience. The first lines are often most painful as the needles need to penetrate deeper to create distinct lines but Jaehyun doesn’t budge or flinch, as if it was nothing. Well, it isn’t, if it were to be compared with the ones that are done on certain parts of his body closer to the bone.

To be frank, there’s a slight discomfort during the process. When you pull back to wipe the skin with a sanitized wipe to clean away any extra ink, he fakes a dramatic yelp and wince. Immediately you drop everything onto the utility cart, glancing over at him in concern. “I’m so sorry, does it hurt very bad? You should tell me to stop.”

“I’m only kidding,” he says, laughing a bit. “Relax, you’re doing great. Try not to press too hard and remember to pause between few seconds.”

Once the outlines have been drawn, you concentrate on shading and coloring. This time there’s no pain, just a slight tickle. Jaehyun watches your intense eyes on his skin, the needle steady in your hand. The red ink flowed down the syringe as the design gradually forms its shape.

The session took longer than usual as it is your first. Staring at the tattoo for a moment, he gives you a nod of approval. Surprisingly the end result looks better than you’ve imagined and you couldn’t hide your glee, bursting with joy over your achievement.

“You good?”

“Content.” He sits up and throws his legs over the side of the bed, eyes glued to the back of your head.

“Now that you’ve left a mark on me-”

You listen carefully, slipping the rubber gloves off your hands and tossing them into a bin.

There's something in his voice of the authoritative tone, something which has the effects of flawlessly circular pancakes, perfectly swirled ice-cream cones or a truly seedless watermelon.

“It’s my turn.”

Without a warning, an arm loop around your waist from behind, then draw you against him. The warmth of his breath heats your delicate skin when he runs his nose along the side of your neck. He takes a whiff of the fragrance you sprayed on earlier and boldly leaves a trail of open mouth kisses, enjoying your gasps.

“Jaehyun,” you mutter weakly, but you have no idea what you’re going to say next. His mouth closes over a spot behind your ear and all you can do is melt into the pleasure.

To finally be wrapped in his strong arms feel heavenly, and if you thought you have any strength to resist before, it has now been obliterated. You lean back, sinking into the seductive caress. He tightens his grip affectionately, filling you with a deep, needy longing.

“God, I want you.” He groans impatiently, gently biting on your neck with the obvious intention of descending further.

Turning your body to face his, he pulls you flush against his bare torso. You pray you won’t swoon when he touches you, because you’ve been obsessing about him and his kisses for too long.

Incredibly, he presses his lips onto yours fully for several seconds before taking it up a notch. It was nothing like the kisses you had before, so desperate and urgent. His tongue seeks entrance and you open to him, angling your face to allow him total access. His hands found themselves in the back pocket of your jeans, squeezing the solidity of your cheeks.

Many minutes passed, you aren’t sure for how long but you’re beginning to feel lightheaded when he has literally taken your breath away. Jaehyun pulls back just in time and his lips move onto the column of your neck. His large hands massage their way up either side of your body until they found your breasts. With his thumb, he rubs a tantalizing circle around your nipple over the fabric of your shirt. The sensual shivers wrack your body as each kiss heightens your sensitivity to his touch. Sweet, hot desire shot through and you moan.

Your middle soared to life, and the moisture between your legs grew.

You’ve worn a tank top, granting him free access to your bare skin all the way to the upper swell of your breasts. He takes advantage of it, pressing small, nibbling kisses all over and tasting with the very tip of his tongue. Splotches of red and purple bloom at his wake, your body as a canvas to his vandalism.

“Please,” you whisper, begging for more. Your fingers curling into his thick tousled hair, tugging on the roots with a little force. A small, animal-like sound of need, passes through your lips when his mouth hovers just above your skin.

“Easy, princess.” He laughs softly. “I want to take my time with you.”

His hand finds the hem of your top, pulling it over your head until your bra-encased breasts are revealed.

“Gorgeous. So beautiful. All for me.”

Words became lost in your throat. You’re too busy experiencing the way he laves your cleavage with his tongue. It feels like you can come right then, without any further preliminaries.

Jaehyun kisses on your mouth again, a hand moving its way down your body, undoing the button of your jeans. You shudder uncontrollably when his fingers dip into your laced underwear without warning, reaching your sex. Brushing through your folds, seeking and finding that nub that brings you ecstasy. His thumb plays across the swollen wet flesh of your clitoris, caressing, teasing.

“Oh my…” you gasp, and soften against him when he touches you deeper. The slickness of your arousal spreading his skillful fingers. “You’re so good at this.”

Devilish laugh resonates in your ear. As he kisses and nibbles your neck, a finger slides deep into your body, grinding the heel of his hand against your most sensitive spot. And he adds another. Then, a third.

“Baby, you’re taking me so well.” He curls his fingers, rubbing your walls and pushing them further to reach the spot that could make your eyes roll back in your head.

Hot breath fanning your cheeks when he inches closer, whispering lowly in your ears, “I can’t wait to bury myself inside you.”

In a few short moments, you feel yourself on the verge of a climax as his fingers work expertly, flickering over the nub. His thrusts picking up pace, ramming harder like he’s going to destroy you.

“Let go,” he prods.

Soon, like a command, the building tension explodes and you cry out his name and arch against him.

When all the explosive sensation subsided, you find it difficult to look at him in case he looks smug, you won’t be able to handle it.

However there’s an urge within you, that you want to touch him, you need to. Blindly, you lean forward, kissing anything you come into contact with—his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. Your lips travel south until you reach the fresh tattoo, and pressing a gentle kiss on it.

The permanent ink of your lips that you left on him.

A smile makes its way on your face as you stare at your work in admiration, satisfaction, with accomplishment. The idea of it was endearing, an indication where the man before you, is yours.

You may have found your new addiction.

[angrypixie-sarisa]

The other Winchester

Piedras Rodantes Pt. 13

Sam x Mexican!Witch!fem!reader x Dean (polyamorous)

Summary: Two months had passed, Sam was definetely in hell and there was nothing to do about it. And then, you met Dean. 

Warnings: swearing, fighting. 

Do i have an excuse for putting this GIF other than loving the scene and Tessa Thompson? Nope. 

GIF’s not mine, credits and love to the owner. 

Dean came out of the bar he was at. He had been catching a bite with his co-workers and as soon as he finished his food and made some more small talk, he called it a day. He usually used Lisa as an excuse, but to be completely honest, it felt weird. He wasn’t used to having friends that weren’t hunters and his hunter friends, the real ones, they were all primarily dead. It felt like everything he did, accepting to go out and grab a bite or a beer was more for the facade he put in front of others, another character like the so many FBI agents he used to play.

With Lisa, it was another story. He felt more relaxed with her and Ben. He got to live that dream he thought it was long lost. He had a family.

As Dean started climbing his pick-up, a shadow caught his eye. He looked around, only to catch a female moving figure exiting the bar. He knew you. Well, not exactly, but he had seen you, everywhere. You just had acquired a small house in the same neighborhood as Lisa’s. You had passed several times through their street, jogging, and also were at almost all the places Ben liked to eat at.

He clenched his jaw. Hell no. He wasn’t having any of that. It didn’t matter whatever you were; it wasn’t nice to have a stalker. He followed you, ironically, as you kept walking your path to your new home.

As people kept passing by your side (the night was still pretty young), you kept having the feeling that someone was following you. Normally, you would calm yourself down and tell yourself to stop being paranoid. After what happened with Sam, your nerves were jumping around everywhere. Even the smallest of inconveniences would trigger them. However, it was already dark outside. You could not afford to push your paranoia away. So you put on a collected and calm face, even when in the inside you felt like it was the worst night of your existence.

There was only one block to go to get to your house. It was almost over.

Dean watched you take a turn to the right. He waited for a moment before continuing keeping up with you. He wouldn’t let you slip away from him.

Just as he made the turn into the alley you lured him into, your fist made contact with his face. You grabbed him by his hair, kicked him off balance and immobilized him into the floor.

“What the fuck is your problem, buddy? Huh? What do you want?” How did he not see you waiting for him? How did you catch him off-guard? This was not how it was supposed to happen.

You pulled at his hair harder.

“Answer me, asshole!” He moved his head to the side so he could speak.

“What do I want? What the hell do you want? Fucking stalker ” He twisted in his place and somehow freed one of his arms, before you could notice; he was pushing you off of him.

You both stood, facing each other, guard up. He was blocking the one way out of the alley. Stupid, why did you let that happen?

You looked at his face, his features. At first, it was for filling a police description, but then you realized…

“Dean?” The question left before you could stop it. Oh fuck, you were royally screwed. It wasn’t like you couldn’t kick his ass. You could do it, but you had just voiced that you knew him and that would make your situation potentially escalate into the worst luck possible. The man had just been suspicious of you following him, admitting that you knew who he was, was well, the stupidest thing you could’ve ever done.

“So, you do know me.” He squinted at you.

How could you explain him? Explain that you’ve had visions about him getting into dangerous situations by doing exactly what he was doing at the moment. Every time he followed someone or something just to double check it wasn’t a demon, ghost, ghoul or whatever, you kind of connected with him. As if you were experiencing it yourself.

At first, you thought it was because of Sam’s…Of Sammy being gone. You thought they were spontaneous bursts of magic due to your lack of control of your nerves, it wouldn’t have surprised you. It didn’t occur to you that maybe it was because you had had moved to the same town where Dean Winchester lived.

Suddenly, his accusations of you following him got even more sense. The best explanation was that, while you tried your best to go back to the magical persona you were before and not minding any business in different locations in town, you accidentally had picked Dean’s eye one too many times.

“What are you? And spear me the lies, you wouldn’t know who I am if you weren’t something else.” He started cornering you. You backed away until your back was against the darkest corner of the alley.

You looked up at his angry eyes; they made you grow angry at him. Screw him and his hunter manners. He had no right in doing what he was doing.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.” You pressed your palm into the wall and felt a pull into the dark. You let it drag you in and away from Dean’s surprised and confused face as you disappear in front of him. Your figure less and less visible until there’s only and empty corner in front of him.

Next thing you saw was your silent new living room and a figure sitting at your couch.

“You shadow traveled!” Crowley scolded you. You rolled your eyes and started rubbing at your left elbow.

“It was an emergency.” You took out of your jacket’s pocket your emergency ointment. You shrugged out of the leather jacket and started applying the ointment in your aching arm.

“Oh, please. I’d love to hear what kind of emergency was it for you to use one of the darkest ways of teleporting. You could’ve got lost or worse end up in purgatory or hell! Just what were you thinking, missy?!” He followed you into your kitchen. He sounded like a worried, annoying mom.

“Okay, first of all, purgatory doesn’t exist, at least, for me. It was an invention of the Catholic Church so people will pay to go to heaven. Second of all, you have to really mess it up to end up in hell and third…” You stopped at this. Was it safe to tell him what had being happening? He was your friend, but even you had some trouble in trusting his line of action. He liked to be unpredictable, even to you. It didn’t mean that you couldn’t predict some things of him, but it was better to play it safe.

“Third?” You kept you’re attention on your actions, opening the fridge and trying to decide whether you actually wanted some cold water or if you opened it just to keep your mind off of Dean. You took in a deep breath.

“Third, I thought someone was following me. I didn’t stop to see if it was true or not. I preferred to get home faster than to let something happen to me. Okay? Sorry if you were worried, but… I’m fine.” You closed the fridge. You had finally worked out what you wanted. You wanted Crowley to leave your house, so you could take the liberty to actually submerge into your thoughts.

You took a step forward to wrap him in a warm hug. You could feel his figure tense to the touch.

It always amused you when you hugged him because he always tried to intimidate everyone and to portray himself as the bad guy you didn’t want to defy, ever. For almost everyone, it worked, but for you it was another story. You always tended to analyze people (by nature), you did it subconsciously so it wasn’t like you had the most of control out of it. That’s the reason why you tended to see more than what was presented to you, why people felt vulnerable and trusted you at the same time.

“Thank you for worrying. You’re a good friend.” He pushed you away after you spoke, quickly turning around, already walking towards the entrance door.

He scoffed.

“Whatever, see ya later.” But you knew he was blushing.

After he disappeared, you went to bed, getting out of your clothes and getting under the covers.

Your visions and running into Dean were no coincidence. Fate had plans for you and him and for the first time in a while, you feared what those plans could be.

 Everything was where it was supposed to be. Every single inch of your store had its own personality and radiated happy thoughts. You really loved the direction where it was going.

You had an idea, an earning of spreading magic towards the world. Not dangerous magic, no, just simple spells or even talismans that no one would ever suspect of them; things that could help people with whatever shitty day they were having and make them happy again. Of course, it was also beneficial to you, making the day of people and helping them would also bring joy to you.

What were you’re services? Well, that was a good question. You didn’t hide the fact that your store was a weird one, especially in a small town. But even if people felt discomfort in tarot readings or selling homemade tea or olds books, they still went in for art and photography and design. Getting your passion for art to the fullest would also attract other types of customers. That was the beauty of it.

You were about to close for lunch when you heard the ringing bell. Your head immediately snapped to take a look to your new customers. You flashed them a smile.

“Hi! How may I help you?” The woman walked towards your counter accompanied by, you deduced, her son, who kept scanning the room with his wonder filled eyes.

“Hi! I was wondering if you, by any chance, knew a good photographer? I saw some good photos displayed at the window.”

“Well, I’m the one who took those pictures. What kind of photos you had in mind?” Her eyes sparkled in excitement.

“Oh, I wanted to take some family pictures. It would be me, my son Ben…” At the mentioning of his son, she hugged him and he flashed you a smile.

“And my…” Just then, someone else entered. Your smile faltered for a second, before you composed yourself. You knew who it was even before taking a look.

Dean approached the woman and planted a kiss on her cheek. He then turned to look at you, already tensing and breathing heavily.

“Hi, honey. I was just asking about the photographer, turns out it’s her.” He clenched his jaw and glared at you. Your smile, strangely, grew bigger. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Hey, uh, would you two go ahead to the restaurant? I want to clear some questions with her.” He turned to look at her. It was all it took. You needn’t be a genius to see that she knew. Maybe she didn’t know all the details, but she knew what Dean was.

“Okay, come on, Ben.” Ben’s attention snapped back toward her mother. He had been looking at a wild cat’s skull.

“Oh, that’s one of the Halloween decorations I was planning on selling. I wonder; how it got there?” The Halloween decorations box was in the storage room, which was locked. You had had the intention of starting displaying them, but after you went for lunch.

You smiled warmly at the thought of the skull’s impatience to be in display.

“It’s so cool.” He picked it up, causing Dean to tense even more.

“Oh, sweetie, no, put it back.” She flashed you an apologetic look, unintentionally. You smiled at her warmly and shook your head. There was no problem at all.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“Awesome! Mom, can I have it?”

“No.” Dean said, before he could stop himself and making Ben’s smile go away. The woman turned to glare at him before turning her attention back to her son.

“No, not right now. Maybe later, okay? After all, it’s gonna still be here.”

“But what if someone else buys it?” Your heart was filled with cuteness. No matter what Dean’s reaction would be, you just couldn’t resist it. You said: “I could put it on hold for you, if you want it that bad. That way, no one else will buy it.” To that, his smile returned, while nodding and thanking you. He set the skull back from where he took it and followed his mom out of the store.

When they got out of sight, you walked towards the door, locked it and pulled down the curtains. Whatever was going to happen, you didn’t want any potential customers to see.

“So…” You started as you walked to get behind the counter. “How you wanna do this? You want to tie me down and interrogate me? Want to throw at me salt, holy water and silver? You name it.” You shrugged. “I’m down with whichever, so long as after you’re done, you leave me the heck alone.” Dean got conflicted by your relaxed reaction. Even so, he wasted no time in splashing you, out of nowhere, with holy water.

Your face was wet, as well as your shirt. You whipped away the excess of water from your eyes before scoffing.

“You could’ve have warned me! I have a towel in the bathroom! You ruined my clothes, stupid hunter!”

“Whatever.” He said angrily. He yanked you by the wrist and pressed, what could only be, a silver ring to your skin, before noticing that it did nothing. He then proceeded with the salt and iron, getting the same reaction as the other tests.

Meanwhile, you rested your face in your free hand, looking at him, bored.

“Are you done? I’m kind of hungry and I really want to catch a bite.” He freed your hand and practically yelled at you.

“What the fuck are you?” You leaned forward, putting your best chingona face, before answering.

“I’m a witch. But not like the one’s you’ve seen before. And about following you? You seriously think you’re that special? Is your head filled with so much pride and ego that you couldn’t possibly think it could be a coincidence? I mean, I get that you’re a famous hunter and all, but seriously, if I wanted to harm you or your family, I would’ve already done it.” You’re voice sounded familiar. It sounded so familiar, but he didn’t know why.

“So, are we done? I’ll stay away from you and your precious family and you stay away from me? Sound good? Or do you want to burn me alive, just to make sure of it?” You walked towards the storage room and opened it just a smidge, walking in and closing it behind you.

“Hey. Hey!” Dean followed your path and knocked on the door. There wasn’t and answer. He kicked the door open, only to find you weren’t in there.

Crap, you had trapped him.

“Shit.” He kicked the door and walked towards the counter, scanning the room for a way out. His eyes landed on a key set in the counter with a note attached. He took it and opened the note, which read: Help your-self out. When you exit, could you do me the favor to lock the door, pretty please? If you do, then throw the key casually on the street about a block away. Thank you. Hope you enjoy your pizza and that we never see each other again. Bye.

Just what the fuck was your deal?

Days had passed without another sight of Dean. It was a blessing. You kept glaring at a photo you took of Sam. He was painting something in a spare canvas you had and trying to convince you that not everyone could paint. You smiled sadly at the memory, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“This is all your fault.” You scolded the picture.

“If you had told them from the beginning, this would’ve never happened.” He didn’t respond. Of course, it was a picture after all. But you could fix it. You could fix all this mess.

You put away the photo in your wallet and opened your closet door. You stepped in before closing it.

The house looked worn out. And the environment was mostly cars and dirt than plants.

You took in a deep breath and stepped into the porch. You knocked on the door. Moments later, someone opened it.

“May I help you, young lady?”

“Bobby, right?” He squinted at you, suspicious.

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Y/N and we need to talk.”

[laurafrayz]

it felt like an eternity

(i don’t ever say much, but sometimes it doesn’t take much, so maybe a trigger warning about depressing, abusive relationships goes here...)

the last post i made was october 2018. it feels like longer ago than that. i didn’t know i was still making attempts then, to faire semblant, to keep it all up. it feels like it’s been years since i was ok, since i was creative, since i was alive. i’m not kidding, i dramatize things for the sake of the art, make it sound more astounding or profound. but this needs no talking up. all i felt anymore was the crushing weight of perpetual loss. that’s what happens when you love someone who doesn’t love you back. when they say they do, and you decide to believe them, because you want to be loved, but then they show you a thing that no one should mistake for caring. no one should accept that kind of love. but you do, for so many reasons that are all mistakes. they lie to you every time they tell you they love you, and you lie to yourself every time you accept it, every time you convince yourself that better isn’t out there anywhere. you start to believe that if this person loves you, and this is how they treat you, then this is how you deserve to be treated. you start to believe that this is all you’re worth. and you believe that somehow everything that goes wrong is your fault. so if you can somehow be better, you can fix this. or you recall who they were when they first wooed you, and you just keep waiting for that to come back. 

i lied to myself so hard i was so desperate i was so destroyed

because i wanted to believe in love, see. i wanted it so very badly. and i didn’t believe that love was perfect or beautiful or easy. i believed that it was hard work. so no matter how hard it got, i thought, i can handle this. this is just the rough patch we get through, we come out of it stronger together. but we weren’t in it together. he wasn’t in it with me. i told myself i could suffer through anything for the person i loved, until i wondered how long you were supposed to keep doing that. i believed very hard, that love survives anything and everything, if you are determined enough.  But i was running on empty, everything in me desert dry. (well, no, i cried all the time). i told myself i could not leave him because he needed me. because i wanted to be the one person in the world who refused to give up on him, so he could have something to believe in too. i told myself i could never love anyone else. i didn’t want to be alone again. (even though i was, either way). i didn’t want to think of trying to fall in love again. i didn’t think i could handle it ever again. because if this is love, love tears you up. i told myself i couldn’t even be attracted to anyone else. feel anything for anyone else. i told myself that even if i tried to find a new love, it would turn out just like this one, because this is love, this is what always happens to it. and this is the love i deserve, i can’t hope for better. if i found better it would be out of my league, and it would leave me. 

i was wrecked. i was depressed. i was anxious all the time. i laid on the floor and never wanted to move again. didn’t think i was even physically capable of getting back up, i would just lay there until I died. i wanted to self destruct. i wanted everything to be over. but i didn’t want to have to be the one to pull the trigger. i wished one of us would just die, except not really, i was totally losing my mind.  he was incapable of being there for me, incapable of feeling, incapable of coherent conversation. he was conscious a few hours out of a day, he was cruel, he was dangerous. and i was afraid for his downward spiral, his recovery, his ruin, his losing everything, his death. i lived constantly afraid. and constantly questioning why. why him, why me, why i could do nothing about it, why he chose to do nothing about it, why i was never enough. 

friends and family begged me to get out. i watched opportunities pass me by, even when they lingered extra long to give me a really good chance. i could not do it. every time i said, i choose to believe in him, i choose to believe in love, in someday, i can wait. i adjusted, acclimated to ever more pain, fear, disappointment. i was hurt, angry, confused, unstable. friends and family started giving me space. lots of space. i was hard to be around. i lost people who really loved me, waiting for someone who never would. he had made it very clear. but i did not want to accept it. besides, he still told me he did. it took talking it out with a psychiatrist. hearing myself confess everything, all of my fears to a totally neutral listener. the biggest hitch being that if i gave up on this, i would be giving up on love, and i wanted so badly to believe that love could survive anything and everything, and if i left i would be admitting that it couldn’t. that love really does just go away eventually, inevitably. she pointed to all of the red flags. she pointed to all of the lack of love. until i could admit that i wouldn’t be giving up on love at all, if it wasn’t there. i had clung very, very hard to potential. a potential future. his potential. the love we could have had, should have had, if he had come back around. i was afraid of losing things that did not exist. i was afraid of losing things i had already lost a long time ago. how long do you wait, before you realize it’s never coming back. 

for me, until you are absolutely, completely destroyed and can’t feel anything anymore. until they finally cross that one line you can’t forgive, because you will never feel safe with them again. and then you tell them it’s over and they say no. and then it gets even more complicated. they try to find ways to run you down even more somehow, so you won’t even be capable of leaving. but you’ve got your convictions, and your therapist now, and you drag yourself through to the end, that he keeps dragging out. the attacks on you, on your family, privately and publicly. the attacks from him, and his family, who never even knew you. they call you worthless. they call you weak. they call you a whore. they say you will never be loved. they say it was all your fault. that you are toxic and you will destroy everyone who ever tries to love you. they say things that were already creeping doubts inside of you, so that your fear finds them believable. reality becomes totally lost. 

i was traumatized. i lost reality, i lost friends, i lost my ‘love’, i lost myself. and i could not find it in me to believe in anything anymore. that things might be ok again someday. that love might exist and i could have it. that i was worth anything at all. that there were still people who existed who cared about me, genuinely, not just pitied me. i was building back up from nothing. maybe less than that. for the first time in my life i was having legitimate anxiety attacks. and so many things were triggers. i was afraid they would start ruining my life, i was a performer, a teacher, i needed to be able to operate under pressure. and then, of course, i found myself, and still do find myself, sometimes, terrified of men. they are not safe. i cannot breathe around them. they cannot be trusted.

it’s been about a year. a year and maybe a couple of months, and i feel tentative like a turtle or a snail, very slowly coming back out after you’ve poked it. i slowly re-collected parts of me. i believe in good things. i hope. i dance and sing and draw. and i almost write again. i meet people. and i believe that they are good. and i feel more like me, and believing in me too. and i have someone who says love to me, gently, like he knows i’m a forest creature that’ll spook at foreign sounds. i find it impossible to think about the future, or love on a long term scale. i find it difficult to fathom why anyone would love me at all. but i am learning to accept it again. 

i never imagined i would be taking time to heal from something so honestly, profoundly devastating. (and that even this gives me an impostor syndrome, like my hurt is not as big as anyone else’s, so i should not be so affected). 

what i mean is. please don’t ever let it happen to you. with all of my heart, and every fiber of me. i hope that you always know how much you are worth, and what you deserve. that you will not settle, or suffer. that you know what love is, and when it has left, and where to draw the line, before it gets so late. that you can be a romantic, but some things should not be romanticized.  please, please, don’t let anyone run you down, or steal everything from you. destroy you, and steal you from yourself. please only give your all to people who will not abuse it. please let yourself be cherished, supported, appreciated...

[chimcharstar]

1 THROUGH 55 AND 1 THROUGH 30 GO GO GO

LETS FUCKIN GO

tumblr please actually make this a keep reading

55 interesting questions you should drop in someone’s inbox

1. If you didn’t have to sleep, what would you do with the extra time?

I ALREADY WATCH NETFLIX AND AGONIZE OVER MY STORY

2. What’s your favorite piece of clothing you’ve own/owned?

MY JACKETS. ANY CHEST OBSCURING, BROAD SHOULDERED, COZY JACKET

3. What hobbies would you get into if time and money wasn’t an issue?

DANCING, ID NEED TO GO TO CLASSES OR SOMETHING

4. What would your perfect room look like?

IM ACTUALLY PRETTY HAPPY WITH MY ROOM BUT IVE ALWAYS WANTED A LAVA LAMP, AND 1800 MORE PLANTS COULDNT HURT

5. Do you play sports?

NO

6. What fiction place would you love to go to?

SINNOH REGION

7. What Job would you be terrible at?

DEBT COLLECTION. I WOULD BE GIVING SHIT TO PEOPLE FOR FREE. I COULDNT BEAR BEING ENCOURAGED TO FORCE PEOPLE WHO CANT PAY FOR SOMETHING TO PAY MORE

8. If you could turn any activity into an Olympic sport, what would it be?

SERVING. HOW MANY PLATES CAN YOU CARRY AT ONCE

9. What’s the most annoy habit other people have?

WALKING IN MY SPACE BUBBLE WHEN MY SENSES ARE OVERLOADED

10. What skill would you like to master?

A SECOND LANGUAGE

11. What would be the most amazing adventure to go on?

THE ONE FROM MY DREAM WHERE I KISSED A GIRL DYED MY HAIR BLUE AND WE ELOPED TO BRAZIL TO RAISE SHEEP

12. What’s your favorite drink ?

THAT CHRISTMAS SHIT. PEPPERMINT MOCHA AT STARBUCKS. A FRIEND GOT IT FOR ME ONCE. NOW I ORDER IT A BILLION TIMES.

13. What state or country would you never like to go back to?

I HAVE NOT TRAVELLED MUCH EVER

14. What songs do you have completely memorized?

I DONT REMEMBER LYRICS SO MUCH, BUT I COULD PROBABLY REMEMBER HOW MANY SONGS GO COMPLETELY

15. Are you usually early or late?

LATE. IM GETTING BETTER THOUGH

16. What takes up too much of your time?

GETTING OUT OF BED

17. What do you wish you knew more about?

SWORDS

18. What are some small things that make your day better?

COFFEE. SOMEONE SAYING SOMETHING NICE TO ME.

19. What TV channel doesn’t exist but really should?

QUEER EYE BUT BY TRANS PEOPLE FOR TRANS PEOPLE

20. Who has impressed you the most with what they’ve accomplished?

YOU. AND ME. ITS GROWTH

21. What age do you wish you can permanently be?

21, SO I HAVE TIME TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCKS GOING ON

22. What TV show or movie do you refuse to watch?

13 REASONS, THE BOOK WAS TRIGGERING SO I WONT RISK IT

23. What would be your ideal way to spend you weekend?

TAKING A WALK, HAVING COFFEE, WATERING PLANTS… IM HAPPY

24. What’s something in your life that’s considered a luxury?

I HAVE PERFUME...

25. Is there anything you’re too young/old for?

TO YOUNG TO NEVER DRINK. TOO OLD FOR POKEMON

26. What’s your favorite genre book or movie?

I DONT HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN FOR EITHER BUT I SEEM TO LIKE URBAN FANTASY A LOT

27. How often do you people watch?

I THINK IM SO POLITE BUT HONESTLY, I QUIETLY SCRUTINIZE SO MANY PEOPLE ON THE TRAIN EVERY DAY AND GUESS AT THEIR PERSONAL HABITS AND SELF IMAGE.

28. What’s the best single day on the calendar?

MY BIRTHDAY, SAGITTARIUS SEASON RULES BABY

29. What are you interested in that most people haven’t heard of?

I DONT KNOW ABOUT ANYTHING PPL HAVENT HEARD OF BUT IM INTERESTED IN BLACK HOLES

30. Do you relax after a hard day?

FOOD. NETFLIX. DECOMPOSING ON TUMBLR

31. What’s the best book or series you’ve ever read?

I HAVENT READ A BOOK I REALLY LOVE IN AGES. HARRY POTTER AND ARTEMIS FOWL WERE MY FAVOURITES GROWING UP, BUT CORNELIA FUNKES BOOKS SLAPPED AND HIS DARK MATERIALS WAS GORGEOUS

32. Where’s the farthest you’ve ever been from home?

IDAHO?

33. What’s the most heart warming thing you’ve ever seen?

LUCIFER WAS LIKE YOU DESERVE SOMEONE WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR BORING MIDDLE NAME JANE AND KNOWS THAT EVERY MURDER BREAKS YOUR HEART AND YOU SIMPLY DESERVE BETTER SO NO MORE MOMENTS WHILE THEYRE HAVING A MOMENT AND CHLOE IS WATCHING THIS FUCKING IDIOT AND IVE WATCHED THIS BEFORE SO I KNOW SHES GONNA KISS HIM AND THEN THEY KISS

34. What’s the most annoying question that people ask you?

ANY SMALL TALK QUESTIONS

35. Would you give a 40 minute presentation with no preparation?

YES. ID MAKE THAT SHIT RIGHT UP. SKILLS

36. What’s something you think everyone should do at least once in their lives?

GIVE ME A HUG AND SOME CHOCOLATE

37. Would you rather go Hand Gliding or Whitewater rafting?

HANG GLIDING

38. Dream car?

SOMETHING I DONT HAVE TO WORRY WILL FALL INTO PIECES AT ANY MOMENT

39. What’s something so many people are obsessed with and you just don’t understand why?

STRAIGHT LOVE SONGS

40. What are you most looking forward to in 10 years from now?

HAVING A CAT

41. What’s something you’ve been meaning to try but haven’t gotten to it?

DECORATING THE DOLLHOUSE I RESCUED FROM THE BATHROOM

42. What’s the best thing that’s happened to you all week?

IM NOT VERY FAR THROUGH THE WEEK AND I HAVENT ENJOYED MOST OF IT BUT PEOPLE SAYING ADORABLE THINGS

43. How different was your life one year ago?

NOT A LOT DIFFERENT, IM JUST LONELY IN THE CITY NOW, MINUS A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, ONE YEAR ON T

44. What/who would you rate 10/10?

MY CACTUS JAKEN. I DROPPED HIM SO MANY TIMES AN ENTIRE HALF OF HIS SPIKES ARE FLAT SCARS. AND LOOK AT HIM. THRIVING

45. What kind of art do you enjoy the most?

GENUINELY MADE ART

46. What do you hope never changes?

MY T PRESCRIPTION

47. What movie title best describes your life?

I LOOKED THROUGH NETFLIX AND I PICK TWILIGHT

48. What website do you visit most often?

TUMBLR

49. What’s something you’re looking forward to this year?

MY BIRTHDAY

50. What’s something you’d like to unlearn?

FINDING A REASON TO CANCEL EVERY SINGLE LITTLE THING

51. Where would you spend all your time if you could?

WALKING BY SOME RUNNING WATER

52. What age would you like to live to?

80. THATS MY MENTAL HEALTH ANSWER

53. What’s something you’re most likely to become famous for?

SOMETHING CREATIVE WOULD BE AWESOME

54. What’s something you’re most likely to be arrested for?

CRIMES

55. What’s something you really want but can’t afford?

A CAT

Lgbt+ ask game

What do you identify as and what are your pronouns?

I’m even a little shaken by a questioning state right now but for a while I’ve felt the best fit is the androgynous label -- I read a description of it being the purple on a pink to blue scale, both at once but not specifically either one, and something else by itself. I’m also happy with a cryptic masculine grey area. My pronouns are he/him.

How did you discover your sexuality, tell your story?

During the Puberty 1.0 nightmare, I was basically living someone else’s life, and any attraction I felt wasn’t in relation to myself. I felt disconnected from my body and gender and everything too, and I felt a lot of social pressure to experience a certain type of attraction, fit into a certain role, et cetera, and none of these feelings existed in me at all, so I used to identify as ace. When I realized I was trans, I was too caught up in the, transition safely, my life is a lie, stopping dysphoria drama to focus on this, but I had an idea I might be a gay guy judging from my gay creative writing until I caught feelings for a girl and realized this wasn’t the first time that had happened. Some bi positivity and nonbinary rage later, I am reminded that gender is a joke.

Have you experienced being misgendered? What happened and how did you overcome it?

Yes of course A LOT. Starting with my parents, who do it aggressively and maliciously. And plenty from strangers and customers, mostly after hearing my voice pre-transition. It used to hurt terribly because I was dealing with so much other stuff at the time, and one little thing could be the last straw, so I used to react strongly and harshly, to people you express yourself to anyway. On T, I’ve been so much more chill and confident, and it’s less painful to accept that some people just don’t know any better, although that doesn’t change its effect.

Who was the first person you told, how did they react?

I don’t remember, I think it was a high school friend. I vaguely remember texting someone in a bathroom during a crying session at work. My high school friends were all warm and supportive.

Describe what it was like coming out, what did you feel?

It was scary as hell. I’m sure coming out (with your gender specifically) is scary by nature because it’s a huge truth to be telling that can really change how the people you love perceive you, for better or for worse, but for me, I’m also thinking with the dread and certainty that my family would be too conservative and potentially dangerous. Coming out to my family was one of the worst, most painful things I’ve ever been through -- being kicked out and laughed at, a lot of drama, confrontations, Bible readings and being ganged up on at odd hours, trying to comfort my mom who took it as her personal failure -- I was shaking with adrenaline 24/7. I think of the “I’ll suffer through anything as long as it has meaning” comment that was about angsty fanfics, but knowing the truth about myself was a source of unshakable strength and it felt refreshing and even triumphant to say, like I was giving myself permission to exist for the first time. I came out a bunch of times, though...

If you’re out, how did your parents/guardians/friends react?

My family reacted mostly badly, my sister is a little confused but has the spirit, and my friends have been wonderful.

What is one question you hate people asking about your sexuality?

It’s more of a gender thing, but I hate it when people imply that I shouldn’t be on T or are subtly trying to talk me out of it with their questions. After all the disrespectful as fuck bullshit I heard from my parents, I’m tired of this.

Describe the style of clothing that you most often wear.

Zombie apocalypse denim? Gay Layers

Who are your favourite lgbt+ ships?

I’m not really emotionally invested in these “ships” you cool kids are talking about. I like canon, age-appropriate ones.

What does makeup mean to you? Do you wear any?

I’ve never really worn makeup. I brazenly never bothered to growing up, and if it had an effect on me socially, I was too tuned out to care. My sister always wanted to do my hair and makeup, but I wasn’t interested and wouldn’t let her, much to her frustration. I wore some for a musical once though, and I had no idea what I was doing and it was extremely uncomfortable. I felt what I know now is dysphoria and ended up using the lipstick to draw. Another aspect to this is my family forbade it (or my dad made the decision for everyone), not that it made my sister feel less pressured to wear it, so maybe it was some female presentation I could easily get out of. For that reason, I don’t have super strong feelings about it. Not understanding it probably resulted in me feeling left out a lot among my peers.

Do you experience dysphoria? If so, how does that affect you?

Yes. Before my realization, it was a numb horror I wasn’t consciously aware of, ruining nice things growing up to the point where I feel like I missed out on being a teenager. I remember it as feeling nauseous while sitting in a corner, feeling like none of my clothes ever fit for some mysterious reason. Living with my family in the closet, it defined my life, and I was obsessed with my presentation. These days, it does not bother me on that level at all, except a minor freakout now and then if I get really wild and wear feminine clothes. Or I still feel it in more subtle ways, when I default to customer service voice, or when guys my age are twice my height and I look aaaall the way up at them and wonder what gender they see me as.

What is the stupidest thing you’ve heard said about the lgbt+ community?

Trust me, I have heard truck loads of dumb shit and the winner is the Gay Agenda is R****a’s propaganda to weaken the integrity of North America. Considering what is happening over there, it was enragingly stupid.

What’s your favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?

I feel like I can be myself around lgbt+ people. I don’t feel like I have to hide stuff or put on a show, and I’m not afraid because it’s familiar territory.

What’s your least favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?

Aside from obvious problems like TERFs, ace discourse. Ace people are part of the community if they want to be and that’s enough on that, my skin is already breaking out.

Have you ever been to your cities pride event? Why or why not?

I finally went to a Pride event this year! I was surprised it was the first one I’d been to, then remembered my parents discouraged me from going anywhere, never mind to a gay where.

Who is your favourite lgbt+ Icon/Advocate/Celebrity?

I can’t think of many people right now, but Leslie Feinberg seems awesome, and some quotes from Stone Butch Blues are very validating.

Have you been in a relationship and how did you meet?

No. Technically I have been in one, but it was shitty and ridiculous, and basically platonic, and I don’t want it to count.

What is your favourite lgbt+ book?

I barely read… I read Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe in high school and it was honestly so precious.

Have you ever faced discrimination? What happened?

Yes. I got kicked out (but then kicked back in again), had my stuff stolen and damaged, was verbally harassed… and I was indirectly fired by an employer, but We Will Never Know Why...

Your Favorite lgbt+ movie or show?

Queer Eye! I don’t know of many though, and some important ones, I just haven’t watched.

Who are some of your favourite lgbt+ bloggers?

My mutuals :D

Which lgbt+ slur do you want to reclaim?

I’m okay calling myself queer.

Have you ever gone to a gay bar, or a drag show, how was it?

No, but I did see some drag performances at the one (1) Pride event I went to, and they were jaw-dropping.

How do you self-identify your gender, and what does that mean to you?

I’m not sure what this question means, but I decide what fits right by what makes me feel the most alive and emotionally real and in the moment. What makes me feel the most attractive to be honest. There’s a post about dysphoria I saw going around, the things on it are basically what I use to figure things out.

Are you interested in having children? Why or why not?

I am actually! Not anytime soon, but I’m the responsible type for sure, and judging by the way I love growing plants and being around animals, I’m probably a nurturing person. I actually like kids too, lol, they’re just so high-energy.

What identity advice would you give your younger self?

You’re a boy. Go!

What do you think of gender roles in relationships?

I think people are going to have different ways of expressing themselves that make them happy, but… I don’t think they should infringe on basic human decency. When I hear “role” I think of acting a certain way because someone told you to, something I want to disagree with on the spot.

Anything else you want to share about your experience with gender?

People move out of my way on the sidewalk and take me seriously now. Privilege or self-confidence… I never want to forget what it used to be like, or get too entitled.

What is something you wish people know about being lgbt+?

That it’s simply living one’s reality. I think that trips up a lot of straight people -- that some people just come like this, and they don’t have to make it fit into their personal identity.

Why are proud to be lgbt+?

Because I worked hard to be alive and happy right now. I’m proud of choosing to get through those rough patches, take care of myself, heal, take walks, cook breakfast, learn healthy coping mechanisms, that was out of love for myself and a defiant conviction that I have a place in this world.

[romvnova]

Becoming The Raptor Wrangler: Chapter One

Warning: There may be potential triggers littered throughout this chapter. Please read this at your own discretion. Keep in mind, in my headcanon Owen suffers heavily from PTSD and anxiety and it’ll be a key focus of his character for me until he finds a way to cope with it (apropos to “his girls” { aka. the raptor squad } Blue, Charlie, Delta and Echo).

There’s an unrelenting pounding of someone’s fist on the metal of his Airstream’s door. Owen, who was in an uneasy sleep — it’s always uneasy — sets up with a rough gasp, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as the blood rushes from his head.

“Alright. ALRIGHT!” He snarls as he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, planting his hand to the wall for a second before he pushes off of it and goes to the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. The knocking, blissfully, ceases but there’s a fire in his father’s eyes as Owen opens the door and steps aside as Logan Grady invites himself in that makes Owen immediately regret opening the door.

“Come in.” Owen invites as his father turns sharply on his heel and turns to face Owen who lets out a breath and closes the door. His father’s gaze burns through him and Owen can’t help but feel that it was intimidating enough to cause the devil himself to think twice.

“Owen, this has to stop.” His father’s arm shoots out to stop him as Owen makes to brush past him, reaching for the small, orange prescription bottles laying on the RV’s counter.

“What the hell?” Owen demands gruffly, growing more grumpy by the moment as his mood swings. He needs the anti-depressants and anxiety medication to function something close to a normal human being and his father knows it. It isn’t a magical cure all — the flashbacks and the anxiety attacks still happen — but it helps.

“I can’t sit by and just watch this any longer.”

“Watch what?” Owen snaps. He’s taller than his father and his father wasn’t truly the road-block that he thought he was. If Owen really wanted to …he could get past him. But Owen didn’t really want to. There was too much of a risk that he’d seriously hurt his dad in the process and despite his raising annoyance he didn’t want to hurt his old man.

“Watch you waste away in this trailer. Look Owen, it’s been six months since you …retired from the SEALS and in that time you’ve done nothing to help yourself. You just keep taking the medication they prescribe for you. You haven’t put much, if any effort, towards finding a new purpose. You need somethin’, boy. Somethin’ other than these damn medicines and this trailer. You need to find your path. You’ve lost your way.” Owen’s lips mash into a hard, terse line and he rolls his eyes, shifting his position so he leans his hips against the counter.

His father wasn’t wrong.

Still, that goddamn Grady stubbornness rises like a white hot heat in Owen as he feels the urge to defend himself.

“Nobody’s hiring vets, Dad. I’m a liability to them. If I have a PTSD episode while at work …that’s on them. They can’t take that risk.” Owen’s tone is colorfully snide to accent the sharp air quotes he did. He’d only heard that line over a thousand times.

Can you get through a day without the jackhammer triggering a flashback?

No.

Sorry son, I just…I can’t take that risk.

Yeah, I’d gladly hire you as security. Your martial arts repertoire is impressive, man…but there’s a lot of flashing lights and heavy bass. I see that you suffer from PTSD. Can you confidently tell me that it won’t trigger an episode?

Not as confidently as you’d like me to.

I’m real sorry, man. I can’t take the risk. Better luck next time.

Owen understands …to some degree. He gets it but he can only take being kicked to the curb like a prized fighting dog that’s lost it’s value for so long before it takes it’s toll on him. He’s struggling …and it’s only because of sheer stubbornness that he hasn’t taken to alcohol as a suppressant.

“I mean, honestly, Pops. What skills do I have to offer the world? It’s not like there’s exactly a high demand for a black-ops trained killer. And, ok, I could make a few bucks training animals …but people’re too afraid that I’ll train their animals to be weapons.”

Owen watches his father contemplate his words and a long silence stretches between them followed closely by a rise and fall of Logan Grady’s shoulders.

“Listen, Owen. I need an extra pair of hands at the Ranch. I can’t haul an axe like I used to and Rick brought me a particularly rebellious stallion that needs a good trainer. I’ll pay you the same wage I pay everyone else —”

“Pops …,” Owen shakes his head in refusal. “I’m not —”

“Now, don’t argue with me boy …”

“— I’m not takin’ your money.” Owen insists firmly with a bit more passive aggression than he meant to. Realizing he’s stepped boot to boot with his father, staring down at him in the same manner he’d stared down at the men in his platoon when they’d disobeyed him Owen swallows thickly and reels back, reigning himself in. “I’ll work on the Ranch,” Owen agrees, hand gripping the the wood top of the dinette’s bench. He tries to make it look casual but his grip is hard and he feels the wood slowly giving way beneath his fingers that have gone numb from the death grip he exerts. “but I won’t accept your money.”

“Molly Warbeck keeps asking if you’ll be coming back to church anytime soon.”

Molly Warbeck was Owen’s ex from high school. One of those down-home, homegrown, found on good ground girls. Owen joined the Navy the summer of his Junior year in school and their relationship ended a few days after their senior graduation. Owen broke it off with her because it hadn’t seemed fair to him for her to keep holding onto him when he had ambitions to join the SEALS. Holding onto a man who’d became a ghost, never knowing when and where he was going or if he’d make it back.

People in your life were messy.

And now …well, now, the Owen he’d been in high school didn’t exist anymore and it wasn’t fair to either of them to try to ‘pick up where they’d left off’. Maybe for her it was easy, maybe she hadn’t changed at all …but Owen couldn’t be that kid anymore.

“It doesn’t seem right to go to Church when I don’t believe in God.” Owen squints out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He approaches the subject gruffly and close-minded. His decision’s been made on both fronts: God and Molly Warbeck. Surprisingly, his father doesn’t push, for all of Logan Grady’s faults, he tries not to push religion on Owen, and tries to respect his point of view. Molly’s a bit of a different story but Owen’s well adapted to holding his ground.

“That wasn’t exactly what I was gettin’ at…” Logan scratches as his salt and pepper beard.

“— I know what you were getting at.” Owen interrupts, brushing past his father. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed and clean up and I’ll hitch a ride with you up to the ranch.” Logan grunts and heads towards the door, pushing it open and pushing it closed behind him. Owen’s fingers reach for the prescription bottle but he stops just short of tugging it into his grasp.

The anti-depressants and anxiety medications make Owen’s life more tolerable …and he doesn’t remember the last time he tried to make it through a day without them. The goal’d always been to wean himself off of them once he found solid ground beneath his feet again.

Why not start today?

Currently, the ground felt pretty damn solid …but that was a rocky slope. He’d just started up the mountain that seems so damn and impossibly high. One step at a time.

He retracts his hand and goes into the ‘bedroom’ to change into jeans and an old flannel shirt and contemplates shaving off his beard that he’d let grow. He runs his hands over it for a moment, considering his options before he remembers that his father’s outside waiting for him. He exits the RV and hops up into the bed of his father’s rumbling, old Chevy truck, rapping his knuckles against the roof of the cab, snickering at his father when Logan pokes his head out of the window he cranked down.

“Get in the cab of the truck, boy. Like a normal person.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He laughs as his father’s head disappears into the cab and he puts the truck in drive and they rumble down the rough path to the ranch. It was reminiscent of Owen’s time as a kid. He’d always preferred to ride in the bed of the truck as opposed to being wedged in the cab between his parents, or having to share that tiny middle seat with his younger brother ( which couldn’t have been even remotely safe now that he thinks about it ). Besides that, it feels claustrophobic to him.

He ducks and sinks down into the bed to avoid being beheaded by low hanging branches, and props one knee up, resting his hand on his knee, back pressed against the back of the cab as he watches his RV at the very back of their land disappear into the thick trees, his Triumph the last thing he sees glinting in the early morning sun.

The window at the back of the cab unlatches and his dad slides it open. He’s got the news playing on the radio and Owen swallows the lump that forms in his throat as the woman radio personality talks about an armed robbery, a workplace shooting and a kidnapping. The last was the story of how a young girl was raped by her step-dad repeatedly and Owen’s stomach roils with nausea and for a moment his muscles tense as he prepares to hoist himself over the side of the truck to throw up.

“Turn it off.” Owen rasps into the window. “For the love of fuck…turn it off.” He doesn’t want to hear the shit the world’d turned into. This wasn’t what he’d fought for. This wasn’t the America he’d sacrificed damn near everything for.

A few seconds past.

“Are you alright, Owen?” The truck lurches and Owen grabs the side of the truck bed and empties his mostly empty stomach over it.

“Fine.” Owen gasps as he finishes, scrunching up his face at the sour taste that lingers in his mouth. “There’s a reason I don’t own a TV.” He tells his father gruffly.

There’s a long pause and Owen wipes the light sheen of sweat off of his forehead with the grease stained cloth tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. The cool fall air feels good against his heated skin. The news only pisses him off, makes him sick. Makes him feel like everything he and every other service member did was for nothing.

He thought he’d been some damn unsung hero. He thought he’d known who the enemies of mankind were …but the truth was that they lingered everywhere. Monsters hiding in human skin everywhere.

He thought about joining the local police or state trooper force. It seemed like a natural transition: uphold the law, protect the innocent. It’d been his plan, originally. His therapist recommended against it claiming it to be ‘least suitable career choice for him due to his emotional issues from his tours of deployment’.

Emotional issues. That was a nice way of putting it. Candy coated, legal jargon bullshit.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“You woke me up.” Owen replied, fidgeting with a loose string on his jeans as he props his knee back up. He doesn’t say it accusatory. Just tiredly. His father makes a small rumble of disapproval.

“I’ll make you some breakfast. A man needs to eat.”

They drive for a few more minutes, a silence settling between them only for Owen to let out a grunt and grab onto the side of the bed to keep himself from slamming back into the back of the cab as his father slams on the breaks. The tires squeal in protest and the truck engine rumbles it’s own displeasure.

“What the hell?” Owen asks, pushing himself to his feet in the bed to loom over the roof of the cab. Three black cars are parked along the lane. A man looking out of place in jeans and a casual shirt stands leaning against the Mercedes and two men in black uniform flank him, their hands resting on their sidearms. Hardly inconspicuous.

“I thought I told ya to get off my land.” Owen’s father yells as he goes to get out of the truck.

“Stay in the truck, Dad.” Owen warns his father as he hops over the side of the bed, moving around the truck to meet the man who moves forward. Owen watches his lackeys as they mirror his movements.

“Lieutenant Commander Grady.” The man holds a meaty hand out for Owen to shake but Owen doesn’t reciprocate.

“Former Lieutenant Commander.” Owen corrects gruffly. “I’m retired, in case you haven’t heard.”

“Dogs of war like us never retire, Lieutenant Commander.” The man replies with a quirk of his lips into a smile. Owen doesn’t trust him. “I’m Vic Hoskins. Head of Security at InGen on Isla Nublar.”

“I know who you are.” Owen replies curtly.

“You’re a hard man to get ahold of, Mr. Grady.” Vic Hoskins seems adamant on dancing around what Owen really wants to know. Owen recognizes the power-play happening. Hoskins wants to be in control of their conversation and that annoys Owen greatly.

“It’s intentional.” He didn’t want the government or military sniffing him out, he didn’t want to join any support groups. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Want to tell me why you’re harassin’ my Old Man, Mr. Hoskins?”  Owen demands in lieu of asking.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Jurassic World?” Hoskins inquires with a grin that would put a cat to shame. Except he thinks Owen’s his canary. Big mistake, but for the moment allowing Hoskins to think he’s in charge here works to Owen’s advantage and thus he allows it.

“It’s hard not to be. Advertisements everywhere you look.” Owen doesn’t agree with it. With the de-extinction of the dinosaurs, with exploiting them for money and entertainment. It rubbed him the wrong way on multiple levels …but he knows he has no room to talk. Hadn’t he done the same thing with his animals during his time with the SEALS? Train them to be weapons of war? He’d exploited them for the military, and they’d been used and disposed of in lieu of soldier’s lives.

And it haunted Owen every day of his life.

“You ever been?”

“Nah. Zoos aren’t my thing.” Owen replies cracking a lopsided grin that hides knives beneath it. It’s all a complex mess of feelings for him. He understands with the ‘saving endangered animals from extinction’ prospect of it …but then again wasn’t that what animal sanctuaries were for?

“I have to be honest, Mr. Grady …I’m looking for someone of your particular skill set to join InGen’s team.”

“And what skill set would that be?”

“We’re working on a new project called IBRIS. We’d like for you to research the cognitive abilities and behavior of the Raptors. See if they can bond with the humans, if they can be trained to follow commands. Your file appeared on my desk with a high and shining recommendation.”

The ‘no’ lingers on the very tip of Owen’s tongue. He’s not going to train war machines. Instead of ‘no’, he laughs. He laughs because it sounds so ridiculous. A dinosaur trainer? Training dinosaurs wasn’t like training dogs and horses.

“You want me to train velociraptors?” Owen asks, just to be sure he’s heard Hoskins correctly.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, soldier. It’s a serious offer. It’s a good offer. Misrani is willing to triple your wage you made before you retired.”

Holy shit.

“Full employee benefits. Retirement plans. Everything top of the line. Right at your fingertips.”

It sounds grand but Owen’s not out for money. He gets a nice fat pension from the military as it is. He chooses to live in the old Airstream on his family’s land. It’s quiet. It’s comfortable and he’s never been a man of pomp.

There’s a big question of morality in play. As Owen stares Hoskins down, the other man does the same to him. He doesn’t want to train the velociraptors for monetization and exploitation. Besides that, unleashing velociraptors on a battlefield? Sounds like a massacre waiting to happen. Could he let that happen? Owen gets the feeling that this Project IBRIS was going to happen with or without him spearheading it. If he didn’t accept the job then someone who had no moral compass would come in, in his place. At least if he accepts Owen has a chance to ensure that he’s a valuable piece on the chess board. He can ensure that InGen couldn’t dispose of him when he got in their way because he would get in their way. There was no way that he was going to let them unleash raptors in active war zones. For the sake of both the people and the animals themselves.

“I need some time to think about it.” Owen finally responds. He already knows his answer but he wants InGen to sweat it out for a bit. They want him bad, he can tell by the twitch in Vic Hoskins eye as Owen intentionally displays deliberation.

“You have twenty four hours. There’s a jet waiting at the local airport. It departs at seven hundred hours tomorrow morning. Your name’s on the manifest.” Hoskins tells him before turning sharply on his heel and walking back to the car, his lackeys following after a few prolonged seconds as Owen plants his hands on his hips.

InGen wants him bad enough to assume that he’ll say ‘yes’.

“What’d they want?” Owen looks over his shoulder as the rumbling engine of his father’s truck draws closer, the crunch of gravel under tire slowing as his father pulls the truck to a stop beside Owen.

“To offer me a job.” Owen replies, going around the front of the truck and hopping in the passenger side of the cab.

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

Apparitions

Gifted with the ability to see ghosts, Emma Swan considers this more of a curse than a blessing. When a pair of ghosts named Milah and Liam request her help in befriending a loved one, Emma is introduced to a heartbroken Killian Jones. Easy enough, right? But somewhere along the way, Emma begins to see Killian as more than a friend, and must wrestle with realities of dating while hiding her secret while also helping his loved ones move on.

Rating: T

Author’s Note: I'm so glad to finally be posting my "ghost fic", as its been named in my Google Drive for months. Originally inspired by a conversation in the Hub, and written for the CSLB/ @captainswanbigbang, this is my foray into writing the supernatural. Many, many thanks for this story go to the Hub, which inspired me, and to my wonderful beta, @lenfaz, who is a delight in so many ways. (Especially considering I broke Rule No. 1 with Dead Liam.) 

I'm so excited for you all to see the art by @bleebug and @welllpthisishappening. They're great artists and cheerleaders. This story doesn't really have any triggers, however if this might be upsetting to anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one or for those who struggle with death, in general, because ghosts are dead people and the concept of dying comes up a lot. 

Warnings: This might be upsetting to anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one or for those who struggle with death, in general, because ghosts are dead people and the concept of dying comes up a lot. 

Art: [Photoset by @welllpthisishappening] [drawing by @bleebug]

Read also on AO3!

Apparitions 

"I see dead people."

Emma hates The Sixth Sense. She hates the jokes people make in reference to the movie. She hates how the movie portrayed the ghosts, all gory and terrifying. But most of all, what Emma hates is that she can see dead people.

-/-

Her gifts first developed when she was child and attended her first funeral. It had been that of her foster mother's father, a portly old man that Emma thought to be charming, the type of man she had thought a potential grandfather should be.  

She was five and didn't understand the concept of death completely. Was it like abandonment, she would wonder, like what her parents did to her on the side of the road. Death, she was told, was forever. 

So imagine her surprise when she saw the deceased wandering around his own funeral!

Emma had pointed out the old man to her foster mother, insisting that the woman's father couldn't be gone forever because she was right there! What Emma didn't realize at the time was that no one else could see the old man, resulting her in foster mother believing her to be crazy.

-/-

 Crazy (adjective  cra·zy  \ ˈkrā-zē \) not mentally sound : marked by thought or action that lacks reason

Used in a sentence: Emma is crazy because she sees dead people. Not.

 -/-

 Ghosts look like the living. Well, mostly. Ghosts look like the living, only a little blurred around the edges, almost as if someone had shifted the lens of life while taking a picture.  

They aren't bloody. In all honesty, they look how a person would want to on the best day. They're not malevolent. Well, mostly. Emma's encountered an angry one or two, but they're in the minority.

More often than not, they're usually sad.

 -/-

 Emma is at the bar when she sees a group of them. Normally, ghosts don't flock in packs. It's not how they operate. Usually, ghosts are solitary creatures, hovering around a loved one or place they aren't ready to let go, or vice-versa.

So imagine Emma's surprise when she sees two ghosts following the man who had just walked through the door. She takes a long sip of her drink as she studies them. The two of them, a man and a woman, appear concerned for the man, both looking impossibly sad and reaching out to him.

He won't reach back. The living never do. Why would they? They can't see the dead.

How sad the afterlife must be, Emma thinks.

Surreptitiously, over the course of the hour, her eyes keep flicking back to the man and his ghosts. She wonders who they are to him. Siblings? Friends? He is important to them, if they keep hanging around him like this.

She considers talking to them. The thing about seeing dead people is that she can also interact with them. She's done her fair share of communications with ghosts over the years. As a young girl and teen, she tried to avoid it, fearing that families would be afraid of adopting her if they caught her talking to air. But Emma was never adopted, the young girl as lost as these ghosts that hang around the living.

As a detective, she's learned the usefulness of these ghosts. They can point her in the correct direction of a case, and every now and then, it'll be the victim she meets. They can't testify, of course, and "a ghost told me" isn't the best evidence, but they help her build cases. It assists them in moving on, Emma's come to learn. 

At any rate, her spectral assistance gives her quite the reputation as a detective. No one at the precinct except her partner, David Nolan, knows about her abilities. In that regard, it feels a little unearned, but crimes are being solved.  

That's all that matters at the end of the day.

 -/-

 Lily is the first person Emma ever confesses her abilities to. Lily's eyes go wide, and tells Emma that she can see ghosts too. It takes awhile, but Emma eventually figures out that her friend is lying, playing along as if it is a some silly game and not Emma's reality. Emma stops speaking to her after that, embarrassed, hurt, and afraid.

The second person she tells is Neal, her first love. She believes she is going to marry him someday, and since she also believes that husbands and wives shouldn’t keep monumental secrets from one another, she shares everything. He doesn't believe her, this much Emma can tell, but he humors her. In the end, it doesn't matter, he still leaves her anyway. 

She is forced to tell David out of necessity. He's a detective, and her behavior is erratic and strange when it comes to ghosts. He asks her questions, mostly about the deceased. "Are they hurting?" "Do you help them?" "Are they able to move on?" No. Yes. Sometimes. David Nolan is a good man, a caring one. Emma is proud to have him as her partner.

David tells his wife. One evening over dinner, Mary Margaret lets it slip. At first Emma is mad. It's not his secret to tell, and he really does look ashamed. Emma is angry, because this feels like just another betrayal. It's the next day that Mary Margaret hunts her down at the precinct, insisting that they talk.

"He's amazed by you," she says. "And he's worried about you. It must be an unbelievable burden to carry alone. And I know I won't ever understand, but we'd like to help you carry it, if you'd let us."

And as afraid as she is to do it, Emma lets them. It's one of the best damn decisions she has ever made.

 -/-

 Emma's mistake is going to the bathroom. The ghost of the woman moves into her direction, and Emma sidesteps to avoid her, making eye contact.

Fuck.

The living don't make eye contact with ghosts. They can't see them. Thankfully, the ghost woman waits until after she pees -- but before she washes her hands -- to confront Emma.

"You can see me?"

There's no use in denying it, so Emma doesn't. "Um. Yeah. It's a thing I can do. Think of it like my superpower."

She tries to sidestep the ghost woman, but the ghost moves in front of Emma. Emma considers walking right through her. Ghosts are incorporeal, after all. But she's heard enough ghosts complain about how frustrating and rude that is so she refrains. 

"I need you to speak to my husband," the woman requests. "It's our anniversary, and he's...not dealing."

 "I don't think your husband would react well to someone telling him his dead wife is haunting him," Emma replies. Even though she utilizes the help of ghosts for her cases, she's really not about the whole Ghost Whisperer thing. Jennifer Love Hewitt, Emma is not.

"I don't need him to know I'm here. He just needs someone to talk to. Please." The woman looks at her with pleading eyes, and Emma feels tempted to give in. She hates these types of situations.

"Who's the other guy? Your ghost friend?" Emma asks, nodding toward the bathroom door.

"It's his brother, Liam."

Emma feels a pang of sympathy for the man. She can't imagine how it must feel to lose both a brother and wife. "He's worried then too?"

"As I said, he isn't dealing well," the ghost woman responds bitterly. "Killian's hurting especially bad right now. He's new to the area, and he doesn't have many reliable friends right now."

"You've been haunting him pretty closely, then," Emma replies, finally moving around the woman. She flips on the water, waiting for it to grow warm. Ghosts always make everything feel colder. 

"I prefer the term 'watching over'." 

"How do you know he even wants company?" Emma asks, and god, she's considering honoring the ghost's request. She remembers how the man looked hunched over the bar, defeated and alone. It's a feeling Emma knows well.  

"I was in a relationship with him for five years. I think I know him pretty well."

People change, lady, she thinks bitterly. Instead she replies, "So his name is Killian, right? Anything else I need to know?"

The other woman smiles. "He likes sailing."

 -/-

 The ghost woman's name in Milah. Not that she tells Emma that. Instead, she reads the name inked on Killian Jones' wrist. Unconsciously, she fingers the buttercup tattoo on her own wrist.

"Hey, sailor," she greets.

His brother's ghost looks at her questioningly, and Milah waves him off. Killian looks equally confused, raising a brow carefully, "How did you know I'm a sailor?"

"I didn't. Lucky guess," Emma replies. It's better than telling him that his dead wife told her. However, knowing she needs more than that answer, she points to the keychain beside him. "The anchor there might have helped me."

He laughs, but it's a hollow sort of thing. "Perceptive, you are."

"I better be. I'm a detective."

"Are you here to interrogate me for a crime?"

"Should I be?"

"No, lass, you shouldn't. Not that I would tell you if you ought to."

He winks at her, and Emma wants to laugh. She would under normal circumstances -- if she were just a woman and him a man meeting by chance in a bar. But this isn't a normal circumstance. She's talking to him request of his dead wife, and he is here impossibly sad and more than a little on his way to being drunk. His words are slightly slurred. Emma can tell he had likely been drinking before he even came to a bar. There's also a bit of an accent, and Milah's words about him being new to the area flicker through her mind.

"You're not from around here are you?" 

"It sure sounds like you're interrogating me," he eyes her suspiciously. To Emma's surprise, he waves over the bartender, and asks for two glasses of whiskey. "If we're going to play twenty questions all night, then I'm going to need more to drink, and it's bad form to leave a lady without."

He winks again. He means it to come out as an innuendo, but his melancholy taints it. Not that Emma would give into it considering his wife and brother are watching. He's handsome, though, dark hair and bright blue eyes. He's her type, and for a brief moment, Emma finds herself mentally congratulating Milah for locking him down.  

"You never answered my question, you know," she says, trying to snap herself out of her inappropriate line of thought. 

"Shouldn't my accent be evidence enough, detective?" he responds, and then after a beat, he tells her, "I spent most of my life in London. Just moved here a few months ago."

"Why?"

"I needed a change of pace, and as luck would have it, a job opportunity popped up that allowed it," he replies, clearly evading her question.

Emma doesn't wonder if his desired change of pace has anything to do with the loss of his wife and brother. She knows it does, and her heart calls out to him. After Neal left, she bounced from place to place trying to outrun the memories.  

It didn't work.

"May I ask you a question, love?"

"I'm not your love, but sure." 

"Why are you here speaking to me?" he asks. Emma tries to hide her panic as he continues, "Now, I know it's not just my devilishly handsome good looks. So it must be something else. What is it?"

Thankfully, Emma is good at thinking on her feet. "Because you were drinking alone. I was drinking alone. And I thought that if you wanted, we could drink alone together."

Her answer is close enough to the truth that she doesn't feel guilty saying it. Emma always feels weird speaking to living when the reason she is there is because of their dead loved one.

"I'm afraid I'm not pleasant company tonight," he says.

Emma notes how he isn't ushering her away. She can tell part of him wants to, but the bigger, lonelier part wants her here. The desire for a human connection always wins out in the end -- for both the living and the dead.

"Trust me, you won't be the worst drinking buddy I've ever had." 

"I have a hard time believing that." 

"Oh, well you haven't met Leroy then," she replies before launching into a long tale involving Leroy and bar-fight that she hadn't been involved in that resulted in three stitches.

 -/-

 They split a cab when they leave the bar. Milah sits between them, and the brother sits in the front. All in all, it still isn't the most awkward taxi ride she's ever taken, but it ranks in the top ten.

"You aren't going to sleep with him are you?" Liam asks, peering over the back of the seat. "It's bad form to fuck a man on his wedding anniversary."

"Liam, that's rude," Milah scolds. Regardless, Emma can tell if the other woman were alive, she would be blushing.

"You mean to tell me if you watched her join Killian at his flat, you would be fine?" Liam asks in response. Emma decides she doesn't like Killian's brother, which is somewhat unfair, because he's dead. "I've seen how you get whenever he brings home other girls."

"I'm dead. He's allowed to bring home whomever he wants."

"Yeah, but she knows you're around, not like the other women."

Emma wants to shout that she's not going to sleep with Killian, and that this is a conversation that she very much does not want to be privy to. It embarrassing for all parties, and she's sure Killian wouldn't want to know about the comments his brother is making.

And that's the thing: Killian has no idea that his brother and wife are having these conversations because he can't see or hear them. He's not the one stuck with shitty "I see dead people" powers. For all the shitty things life seems to have dealt him, he at the very least has that gift.

She must make a noise in annoyance, because Killian suddenly asks, his voice still slurred, "You s'alright, love?" 

"Um, yeah, just thinking about things I don't want to," she replies.

"Bad things?" 

"Something like that."

"I as well."

Emma can see Milah's heart break at Killian's words. Even Liam looks bothered. The media always makes ghosts about to vengeful, but they're really not. They feel. They love. Their no-longer-beating hearts shatter. 

Eventually, the cab gets to Killian’s place -- a brownstone on a nice street. He turns to her before exiting the vehicle, reaching out his hand -- unknowing that his arm moves right through Milah -- to clasp Emma’s.

“Thank you,” he says, squeezing her hand just once. Emma isn’t sure how to answer, so she doesn’t. Instead she gives a shaky nod, and watches as the steps out of the cab and fumbles up the stairs, taking his ghostly loved ones with him.

She doubts she will ever see them again.

 -/-

 She does.

 -/-

 Emma is at the station going over case files the second time she sees Killian Jones. He’s standing awkwardly in the lobby, a box of doughnuts in his hand, looking half-lost but hopeful.

“Swan, at last,” he says as he sees her, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that wasn’t present when she’d first met him two night prior.

She’s surprised to see him. She is less surprised to see that Milah and Liam are still haunting -- no, watching over -- him. Emma makes brief eye contact with Milah, who gives a hopeful shrug. They both ignore Liam, who is prodding at a few files at an empty desk.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asks her guest. Though she said she was a detective, she’d never told him the precinct. To find her, he’d have needed to search her name. The thought makes her uneasy, and not just because she feels a hopeful swoop in her gut. His ghost wife is haunting him, Emma reminds herself.

Killian thrusts out the box of doughnuts toward her. “I wanted to thank you for keeping me company the other night. I wasn’t in the best of places, and you kept me from going someplace worse.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Emma tells him as she takes the box. She takes a peek at the contents inside. “Though if it gets me bearclaws, I’ll do it more often.”

Her reply is more flirtatious than she intended. Both Killian and Milah’s eyes widen in surprise. “Ah, well, I’m hoping I won’t need to be rescued anytime soon.”

“Yeah, you don’t strike me as a damsel in distress.”

“I do prefer the term ‘dashing rapscallion’ over ‘damsel’,” he replies with a wink, swaying toward her. Catching himself, he takes a step back. “Anyway, I hope you enjoy the doughnuts.”

“I’m sure I will.” She can feel her cheeks flush. “I hope you don’t mind me sharing them with the office. We’re all doughnut fiends.”

“Sharing is caring. Isn’t that how the saying goes?” Emma is momentarily distracted by his wide grin. He ducks his head, and scratches behind his ear. “Well, I have to get back to work. Thank you, Emma Swan.”

“I should be thanking you,” Emma replies, raising the box. “Bye, Killian.”

It’s only after she returns to her desk, doughnuts in tow, that she realizes two things. First, that she had forgotten Milah had been present. Second, that Killian had stuffed his business card into the doughnut box, his cell phone number hastily scrawled onto the box.

 -/-

 “So David tells me you met a guy.”

Emma nearly spits out her bloody mary. Leave it to Mary Margaret to cut to the chase over brunch. “David is full of shit.”

“So an attractive man didn’t bring you doughnuts the other morning at work?” Mary Margaret raises a well-manicured eyebrow, a look resembling victory settling on her face.

“Was David the one who called him attractive?”

“David has eyes,” Mary Margaret answers with a shrug. “How’d you meet him?”

“David? Well, I was assigned to work with him when I was hired…” Emma trails off, trying to bite back a laugh as her friend glares. “Look, this thing with Killian--”

“Oooh, Killian.”

“--isn’t what you think. I was introduced to him the other night at the bar.”

“Just because you met at the bar doesn’t mean it can’t be something special. On Grey’s Anatomy, Meredith and McDreamy met at a bar, and they had eleven seasons of passionate love and romance.”

“That was promptly ended by a semi. Or contractual disputes. Either way, no thanks.” Emma shakes her head. Leave it to Mary Margaret to relate everything back to fairy tales or epic television romances. “Besides, it’s really, really not what you’re thinking. His late wife asked me to talk to him. Emphasis on late.”

Emma watches Mary Margaret’s eyes grow wide. Though she’s in on the whole “seeing ghosts” thing, the knowledge that it’s something that actually happens still surprises her. Her friend takes a long drink from her mimosa. “That’s heavy.”

“Yep.”

“So why did she ask you to do it?”

“She’s worried, thinks he’s lonely and sad, and didn’t want him to be alone,” Emma replies, remembering the melancholy in Milah’s voice when she’d practically begged Emma to talk to Killian. She must love him a lot, Emma thinks. “He moved here from England not long ago, so he has no friends.”

Mary Margaret is quiet for awhile as she absorbs this information. Emma half expects her to launch into another speech about love, or make some Patrick Swayze reference, but instead she says something worse. “You should invite him to the party next weekend.”

“What?”

“His wife wants him to meet people, right? Make friends? Well, David and I are having a party, so you should invite him,” Mary Margaret explains thoughtfully. “Maybe he’ll make friends, and maybe it will help his wife find some peace. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if I were in her place.”

Sometimes Emma takes for granted that Mary Margaret is one of the kindest people on the planet. Of course she would be the one to consider the ways making new friends might not just help Killian, but also Milah.

 -/-

 Hey. So this is Emma from the bar. Thanks again for the doughnuts. They were a hit. So much so that my partner wanted me to invite you to this party he and his wife are having next weekend. Super casual. I’ll be there. Let me know if you want details.

Text message sent. God, Emma feels like a teenager.

 -/-

 Emma taps her fingers against her beer bottle in a staccato rhythm. She’s nervous, something Mary Margaret will not stop noting, either verbally or with her smug smiles. Emma takes another pull of her beer, and attempts to distract herself by listening to Ruby her “worst date ever”, a story Emma has heard too many times.

Killian is coming to the party tonight. Or rather, he says he’s coming to the party tonight. There’s a chance he might feel too tired or have other more exciting plans come up. So it very much is within the realm of possibility that he might not even show. Which is fine. Probably for the best, as it means that his ghostly loved ones won’t be here. Ghosts at parties suck. They keep distracting her, making everyone think she’s drunker than she really is because she keeps staring at an empty space.

(It’s not an empty space. It’s a ghost.) It also makes things awkward because she normally has no idea who the ghost is there for. The host? A random guest? Is it a brother? A girlfriend? A college roommate? Considering that it’s a party, she rarely has the time or space to find out. And because there’s no “Missed Connections” for ghosts, they remain forever that: missed.

So, really, it might actually be best if Killian doesn’t show, ghosts in tow.

 -/-

 He shows.

 -/-

 She doesn’t get into too in-depth of a conversation with him. She doesn’t have time before David swoops in thanking him for the donuts, and Robin excitedly shouts about meeting another Brit. Before Emma knows it, Killian’s in a deep conversation regarding soccer -- football, he calls it -- and she’s nursing her beer and listening to Aurora discuss her new job at the hospital. It’s all well and good anyway, Emma supposes, because the entire point of her speaking to Killian in the first place was so he wouldn’t be alone. And at this party, he’s certainly not alone, not when David is clapping him on the back and he’s laughing uproariously at some joke Anton made. She is struck by how charismatic he is. She wouldn’t have guessed so based on the first night she met him, but then again, that had been a very bad night. She realizes that she is seeing baseline Killian, something closer to the man Liam knew and the one Milah fell in love with.

It’s not a bad look. -/-

 “Are they here?” Mary Margaret asked in a hushed whisper, or rather, what she perceives to be a hushed whisper. The smaller brunette is already three sheets to the wind, and Emma can’t help but laugh when she responds. “Who?”

“Killian’s, you know, friends.” She makes weird wobbly motions with her hands that Emma interprets as being a gesture for ghosts. “Are they here?” Emma looks around, and much to her surprise, they aren’t. She doesn’t know what shocks her more: that they aren’t or that she didn’t notice until now.

 -/-

 As with the night they met, Emma and Killian split a ride home. Unlike the night they met, they’re both only a little bit buzzed and there’s no ghosts around to bug her about sleeping with him. Emma prefers it this way.

“Your friends are nice,” he tells her. He taps his fingers against his thigh, and Emma wonders if it’s a normal tic or a nervous one.

“They’re honestly assholes, but they’re my assholes,” she replies.

“Ah, so true friends then.”

“Something like that.” She wonders about his friends back home in England, but feels like it’s not her place to ask. “Thanks for coming out tonight, by the way. I know it’s weird to show up places where you don’t know anyone.”

“It was either that or sitting alone in my house, or worse, drinking myself into another stupor at the bar alone,” Killian answers with a shrug. Realizing that his response could be taken the wrong way, “Really, I enjoyed myself and this wasn’t the last resort. I truly appreciate the invite.”

“Yeah, well, thank David. He was super into the doughnut delivery,” Emma says, causing Killian to chuckle. “And I was too. They were pretty excellent.”

“So you’re saying next time I want a night out, I should ply your precinct with fried dough.”

“There are worse ways to try to score a date.” The words come out before Emma can really think them through. They both freeze.

Killian breaks the tension by saying, “Aye. I would know. Pretty sure I tried every trick in the book at one point.”

“Really now?”

“I was quite the cad in my youth,” he supplies. He runs his hand behind his ear and sighs. “Definitely not some of my finest moments, I assure you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure we all did pretty stupid things when we were young,” Emma assures him. She tries not to think too hard about her misadventures with Neal or Lily.

“Regardless, I like to think I’ve improved as a person now.”

“Oh, so you’re better at scoring dates now?” Emma’s not really sure why she’s goading him right now, other than the fact that she’s having fun and he’s incredibly easy to talk to. She shouldn’t be flirting with him, especially since she knows for certain he’s being haunted, but she can’t stop the words from slipping out.

“A gentleman never scores and tells,” he answers with a wink. “See? I’ve matured.”

“I think saying you’ve matured completely negates any or all maturity.”

“You wound me, Swan.”

“Swan, now?” she asks. She’s used to people calling her by her last name, but that’s always been in a workplace setting. Not in a cab with guy.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” he asks. His expression turning serious, he says, “If it bothers you, I can--”

“No, no, it doesn’t,” she assures him. “Really, it’s fine.” “Alright.”

“Alright,” she repeats. On the radio, a sappy love song plays. Emma glances out the window, watching the city lights pass by. They don’t speak much more after that. When the taxi pulls up to the townhome, Killian turns to her before exiting the car.

“I truly did enjoy myself tonight, love,” he says, and God, his voice is so earnest. Then he reaches for her hand, and brings her knuckles to his lips. It’s something out of a romance novel, something that Emma is glad his ghost compatriots aren’t here to see, and something that makes her heart pound in her chest. “Goodnight, Emma.”

And then he’s gone, racing up his stoop. As the cab pulls away, Emma can see the flick of an apparition appearing beside him.

-/-

Fun fact about ghosts: They don’t have to linger around the person they’re haunting. They can appear anywhere they desire.

 -/-

 Emma’s on her morning run when she sees Milah. She jumps at the other woman’s sudden appearance, and she’s grateful there’s no one around her to pass judgement at what appears to be her startling over nothing. Emma stops, chest heaving as she raises an eyebrow at Milah.

“You don’t have to stop on my account. A perk of being dead is that I can keep up and not feel anything,” Milah tells her. Emma eyes her warily, but goes back into a jog. As promised, Milah sticks beside her. “You know, I hated running while I was living, but now it’s not so bad.”

“What I wouldn’t give to be feeling like you right now,” Emma grumbles. She then winces when she realizes that she more or less said she envied the dead. Milah, however, isn’t phased by the statement. “Honestly, if our roles were reversed, I’d be envious too.” She laughs. “When I was living, I used to hate all those women who could run 5ks like it was nothing. Never understood it. Now that I’m dead, I could do a marathon and not even break a sweat. Irony’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“If you say so.” Here’s the thing about the dead: they like making jokes about being dead. Despite having her powers for literal decades, Emma has yet to figure out the proper way to respond. As such, she goes for the tried and true method of ‘smile and nod.’ “So why are you here, anyway?”

“I wanted to see how the party went. It’s not like Killian monologues to himself.”

“You could have gone. It’s not like anyone other than me would have noticed you.” Emma averts her eyes as another runner passes her, not willing to look like a crazy woman talking to herself.

“I don’t watch over him every second. He deserves his privacy,” Milah explains, making Emma think back to Liam’s comment about the women Killian would bring home. Surely she or Liam wouldn’t watch -- no, not thinking about that. “So, how did it go? Did he enjoy himself? He seemed less broody than normal.”

Emma can still feel the brand of his kiss on her skin. It had been such a simple thing, incredibly sweet, but something told her that Milah wouldn’t want to know that. And even if she did, Emma doesn’t feel the need the share. Not wanting to examine why, she reports on the more rowdy aspects. “Well, he certainly got along with many of my guy friends. I’m pretty sure my partner is already developing a bit of a bro-crush.”

Milah smiles widely, seemingly pleased by the revelation. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, it is,” Emma replies, but she’s only speaking to air. Milah has disappeared, leaving Emma alone in her run. Another thing about ghosts: manners, they go completely out the window. -/- Two weeks pass. She doesn’t see Killian, but they text every now and then. They talk about the food they’re eating or the television shows they’re watching. They make jokes. All and all, it’s fun.

What they don’t talk about is him kissing her hand. Emma can’t tell if that annoys her or not.

-/- A child is murdered by her father.  Wendy Darling, age 9. When Emma and David arrive at the scene, there’s no ghost, a small mercy. Every murder investigation is hard, but children make it worse, and Emma doesn’t think she can bare to see an apparition of a small child.

(On the best days, her powers aren’t great, but at their worst, they feel like a curse.)

Emma and David do all of their necessary work, and at the end of a too late night, David goes home to Mary Margaret, and Emma goes to the bar alone.

(She’s always alone. This is nothing new.)

 -/-

 She’s a rookie the first time she sees the ghost of a child. It’s a little boy, Henry. He’d been poisoned by his step-mother. Emma is the one to explain what happened to him. No one else can.

He cries. How many people expect ghosts to cry?

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, though. Ghosts, after all, were once human. Why wouldn’t they cry?

Another question: how often do ghosts make Emma cry?

 -/-

An hour in, she gets a text from Killian, “Jefferson’s is on Hatter Street, aye?”

She doesn’t respond, both a little too drunk and unsure as to why he knows where she is. But no sooner can she wrap her mind around the idea does he come walking through the bar doors.

“David told me you’d be here,” he says to her when he reaches her at the bar, answering her silent question. “Thought I’d return the favor.” “Favor?”

“Last time I had a rough night, you were there for me.” “I don’t need your charity.”

“But perhaps you need a friend.” They’re silent while he flags down the bartender and orders a beer. Emma considers trying to wave him off. She’s a bit too raw right now, but something compels her to stay, or rather, to not convince him to go. So she doesn’t. Instead, she tells him about Wendy Darling, about the kids are hardest part of her job. He listens and comments when necessary, but nothing more. She appreciates him for that. As with most of their meetings, they split a cab ride home. “We have to stop meeting like this,” Killian jokes, but she can tell he doesn’t mean it.

“But what fun would that be?” Emma replies, and she’s surprised she has it in her to flirt and to joke right now. Being around Killian is easy. It’s as terrifying as it is exciting.

He instructs that cabbie to take her home first. She argues that she’s fine, and doesn’t need someone to escort her home.

“Allow me to be a gentleman, love?” And she does, because he sounds so earnest, because he was there, even if he didn’t need to be. She definitely understands why this man is being haunted. -/- She’s being haunted. Sort of. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the spectre of Liam Jones hovering behind doors and around desks. Emma ignores him for awhile. She has work to do. By luck, Wendy Darling’s father had been picked up at a traffic stop, the idiot. She’s already spent much of the morning interrogating him, even as Liam Jones attempts to distract her in the corner. It’s late in the afternoon when she finally feels like acknowledging Liam Jones. She navigates her way around the office and to one of the few single occupancy bathrooms found in the precinct.

“You can come out now.”

“Technically, it’s not coming out if I’ve not hidden myself,” Liam Jones says, appearing suddenly by the locked bathroom door. He surveys the small room, and raises a brow. It reminds her of Killian, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. They are brothers, after all. “A bathroom? Really?”

“It’s not like I can talk to you at my desk,” she tells him. She crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

“Are you normally this prickly to others?”

“When they interrupt me at work? Yes,” she answers coolly. She does her best to put on the air of authority she uses in the interrogation room. Considering the day, it’s easy. “So what do you want?”

“To the point then? Okay then,” Liam begins. His expression turns serious. “I’m fairly certain my little brother fancies you.” Emma is unable to hold back a slightly hysterical laugh at Liam’s comments. It’s insane and stupid, and honestly something Mary Margaret’s students might pull, not a grown adult man. But then there’s the tiny swoop in her stomach that she does her best to ignore, because Emma is an adult even if Killian’s dead older brother apparently isn’t.

“You’ve been haunting me all day to tell me that?” Emma asks, sobering herself and falling back into interrogation mode. “What are you, fourteen?”

“Perpetually twenty-nine, I’m afraid,” Liam answers in deadpan, causing Emma to wince. “It’s quite frustrating, you know, for your little brother to now be older than you.” “I’m sure it is.”

“At any rate, I’m here to tell you that my no longer younger brother fancies you,” Liam says, turning back to the matter at hand, “and when it comes for him to attempt to court you, I’d request that you turn him down.”

She blinks, not quite believing what she’s hearing. “So let me get this straight: you’re here to tell me that your brother has a crush on me, and that when he asks me out, to turn him down. You’re not really helping the case that you aren’t a child, buddy.”

Liam rolls his eyes, and for a brief second, Emma can see the distinct resemblance to Killian. “Be that as it may, Detective Swan, I’m looking out for my brother.”

“So what? You don’t think I’m good enough for him?” She shouldn’t be feeling a pang of insecurity her inquiry, but she does. She schools her features as not to let Liam realize it.

“I think if you were to date, your entire relationship would be built on a lie. Or were you planning on telling my dear brother about your abilities any time soon?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“But it’s Killian’s. I won’t have him blindsided or lied to,” Liam argues, his voice raising. It’s stupid. It’s completely stupid and insane, and Emma wants to yell back at him. But she can’t. Not without coming out sounding like a freak. “He already has an idea about you that’s nothing like the reality.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you aren’t some savior that reached out to him out the goodness of your own heart, and that you needed to be coerced into by his late wife. That you know more about him than he could ever know about you. You’ve put him at a distinct disadvantage, you know.”

“I think whatever happens between your brother and I is up for us to decide,” Emma furiously whispers. “And, frankly, I’m not going to take the advice of a ghost.”

Liam glares at her, but says nothing more. A moment passes, and then he disappears, leaving Emma alone with the weight of his words.

 -/-

Emma and David grab dinner at a nearby diner. During the few lulls they had during the day, he’d been skittish around her, likely worried that she’s mad he’d sent Killian to check in on her the night previous. She doesn’t blame him. Under most circumstances, she would be. But, well, things are different with Killian. She’s drawn to him, and not just because she’s been recruited by his ghostly wife. She likes him. “Like likes him” as Mary Margaret’s students might say, and if Liam is to be believed, he likes her too.

But Liam’s other words weigh heavily on her mind, as well. Poking at her ketchup with a French fry, she debates discussing this with David. She loathes talking about her feelings, but she knows she needs a sounding board for this.

“Can I ask you something?”

David eyes her warily. “Listen, if this is about me sending Killian your way, I recognize it was out of line, but—“

Emma raises her hand to wave him off. “No, it’s not about that. Though I’m also curious why you sent him, now that you bring it up.”

“You needed a friend.”

“I have friends!”

“Okay, so I took a page out his dead wife’s book and thought another friend would be nice,” David answers sheepishly, eyes darting around when he says “dead”. “Besides, he’s been asking about you.”

Emma’s eyes narrow, even as her heart begins to pound in her chest. “Asking about me?”

David shrugs. “I invited him to Tuesday Night Trivia after he seemed to hit it off with everyone at the party.” At her expression, he asks, “Wasn’t the point of inviting him so he could make friends?”

“I’m not bothered. Just surprised.” She doesn’t want to sound like she accusing him of hanging out with Killian behind her back, or talking about her to him. “How is he at trivia?”

“Pretty clutch, actually.” He stops to take a bite out his burger. After chewing thoughtfully, he says, “So if you weren’t asking about why I sent Killian after you, then what did you want to ask me?”

Emma debates chickening out. David somewhat sidetracking her original question had her rethinking things. Suddenly wishing her Diet Coke was something more like whiskey, she takes a sip to buy time and find her courage.

“When you and Mary Margaret first got together, did you guys keep any major secrets from one another?”

David laughs. “You know how Mary Margaret is with secrets. I don’t think it would have been possible for her even if she tried.” He sobers at her pointed glare. He pauses for a moment, and Emma see a flicker of understanding cross his face. “Emma, there’s a difference between hiding things and not revealing everything about yourself upfront.”

“I think you’re stretching things a bit,” she tells him. She swirls another French fry in the ketchup. Maybe this would be a conversation better saved for Mary Margaret, but talking to David means she’s less likely to hear a hope speech. “It’s just…I don’t know…relationships are supposed to be built on a foundation of trust right? How do you cope if everything is a lie?”

“What do you mean?”

“So let’s say Killian and I get together,” Emma says, allowing herself to visualize an idea of their relationship for a brief moment. “What if he asks why I approached him at the bar or why I get weird about certain things? I can’t just say,” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “that I see ghosts and his dead wife asked me to hang out with him.”

“No, you can’t,” David agrees. “At least not at first anyway. It’s perfectly understandable why you wouldn’t want to share your secret, but don’t let that serve as an excuse. You never know, people might surprise you.”

 -/-

Here’s the thing: Emma Swan doesn’t date. Dating is difficult enough even if you’re someone without a Big Secret. Because Emma has a Big Secret, dating is practically impossible. Her heart is broken by Neal, and from that moment on, she swears to not reveal her Big Secret unless the guy really is The One. Not that she exactly believes in The One, but that’s what she tells Mary Margaret who is a very big believer in True Love and soulmates. Of course, it takes dating to figure out if a guy is anywhere close to being The One, and here’s another thing: Emma Swan doesn’t really date. She has one night stands and short flings, because Big Secrets don’t really matter, for the most part. Those sort of affairs don’t lead to heartbreak, not really, and she doesn’t have to worry about revealing her secret and then watching it all come tumbling down. She tries, once, with a cute guy that David sets her up with. His name is Graham and he works in a different precinct. He’s charming and sweet, and Emma actually believes she might be able to tell him her Big Secret. And she does, but it’s only when he’s a ghost and she’s walking him through the events that had led to his death. So, yeah, dating and Emma Swan don’t go together, with or without the Big Secret. But here’s one last thing: Emma Swan does sort of want to date Killian Jones. -/-

 None of it matters. It’s all very likely that Liam is project in his own weird ghost way, and Killian won’t ask her out.

 -/-

 He asks her out.

 -/-

 It’s a week before Emma sees Killian again, but this time she expects him when he arrives at the station, a box of donuts in hand. He had texted her the night before asking about her favorite place for bearclaws. Emma had considered not responding, her longing for baked goods at war with her anxieties over Liam and lying, but in the end she felt compelled to advise him to visit her favorite bakery, a small place named Granny’s. And now he’s here. With his brother. Not that he knows that part

“What’s the occasion?” she ask him as he presents the box to her. Emma tries not to both salivate at the smell of freshly baked doughnuts or focus too much attention on the spectre of Liam, but she’s pretty sure she fails. Killian doesn’t seem to notice, however, appraising her cautiously.

Killian scratches behind his ear. “Do you remember our cab ride home after David and Mary Margaret’s party?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding. Her eyes flick over to Liam, but she able to pass it off as a beat officer also passes by, walking directly through him. “What about it?”

“I believe we agreed that next time I wanted a night out, I should bring doughnuts.”

“Unfortunately, none of my friends have any parties scheduled anytime soon,” Emma tells him. She’s unable to suppress the slight teasing tone, especially once she notices the way the tips of his ears turn red.

“No matter, because I’m interested in a night out with you.”

“You sound like you’re asking me out on a date.”

“I am.”

She takes a deep intake of breath at the statement, blinking once, twice, three times. She’d known this had been coming. She’d been warned by Liam, after all, and he now stands behind his brother glaring at her.

He wants her to say no. It would be easy to. A dozen excuses spring to mind.

“I don’t date guys who ask me out at work.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“I’m busy.”

“Your ghost brother asked me to.”

Emma chances one last glance at Liam before once again making eye contact with Killian. He’s staring at her so earnestly, so hopefully. And despite all of the reasons, despite her Big Secret, despite the clear lack of familiar approval, Emma realizes one thing: she doesn’t actually want to tell him no.

So she doesn’t.

“Okay, then. Does Friday night work for you?”

-/-

 “So you’re allowing people to surprise you?” David asks when Emma comes back to her desk, box of doughnuts in hand.

“Shut up.”

 -/-

Emma refrains from looking up anything about Killian in the days leading up to their date. Because she’s both a cop and woman with access to Google, she has the ability to do a deep background check on him. Just one click. It would be incredibly easy.

Whether out of self-preservation or curiosity, she’s tempted to do so. But she doesn’t. She can’t, not with Liam’s words hanging heavy over her head. He’s right that she knows more about Killian than she does him. There’s no need for her to add to that, even if she is insanely curious about the man and the company he unknowingly keeps.

She’ll just have to find it all out naturally, and not hear it from his dead brother and wife.

 -/-

 Emma is preparing for her date when she feel the presence of someone appearing behind her. Turning around, she sees Milah reclining on her bed, appraising her. “Nice lingerie. He likes red,” Milah comments, noting Emma’s lacy underthings.Emma blushes under the other woman’s gaze, feeling both vulnerable and embarrassed.

“I’m not planning on sleeping with him tonight,” Emma blurts out, guilt bubbling to the surface as she shrinks away from Milah’s gaze. Grabbing the robe that had earlier been discarded to the floor, she covers before she says, “I like wearing fancy lingerie because it gives me the confidence boost.” “Calm down, you don’t need to explain anything to me. You’re allowed to wear whatever you want. You’re a beautiful woman going on a date with a handsome man. I’d wear sexy lingerie too,” Milah tells her. Emma can’t detect any bitterness in her voice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Oblivious to Emma’s discomfort, Milah continues, “You can sleep with him tonight, by the way. There’s nothing wrong with it. He’s handsome and unattached -- and he’s quite good at it, just so you know.”

“You don’t need to be telling me this,” Emma says, even though all she really wants to say is This is really weird and I’m incredibly uncomfortable. But then, Emma thinks, maybe Milah might be just as uncomfortable, as well. It is her husband -- former husband -- that Emma’s about to go out with. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“This can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s not.” Milah’s expression turns sad. If Mary Margaret were here, and Milah were corporeal, Mary Margaret would give her a hug. Emma’s not Mary Margaret, so she stands still and waits for Milah to say something.

“I appreciate the concern. Truly,” Milah says after a moment. “But I’m dead, and have been for years. And as much as it hurts to see him excited to take out another woman -- and yes, Emma, he’s excited -- it hurts more to see him miserable.”

“Oh.”

“Killian is a wonderful man. I wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t. And you seem like a lovely woman. Certainly caring, if you were willing to provide help when I asked it of you.” Milah fixes her stare on Emma, who tries not to shirk away from the intensity of it all. “If I can help him, I will. Even if it’s this.”

“I feel like you’re telling me to not screw this up.”

Milah laughs, a brittle thing, but a laugh nonetheless. “Maybe I am. What are you going to do about it?”

 -/-

 He picks her up at 7:00 p.m., and Emma is surprised when he leads her to a black GTO.

“I know you said we had to stop meeting in taxis, but you didn’t have to get a car for me,” she teases as she slides in the passenger seat. She takes note of the spotless nature of his car.

Despite her obvious joking, she watches as his cheeks color, “I’ve had this for awhile. We’ve just tended to meet when drinking was involved.”

“As an officer of the law, I appreciate your dedication to staying off the road while inebriated.” A dark look crosses his face at her comment, but the words don’t match his expression when he says, “So, any music preferences?” He dangles an AUX cord in front of her. “And if the radio isn’t sufficient, feel free to play DJ.”

She takes the cord. “I hope you enjoy some ‘80s rock then.”

He expression cracks into a grin. “Rock on, Swan.”

 -/-

 He takes her to restaurant by the pier. It’s there he tells her that he’s always happiest by the water, and how he’s thinking of buying a boat.

“I could take you sailing, you know,” he tells her over appetizers.

“That would require a second date.”

He takes a sip of his water. "I know."

She raises a brow in response. "You're quite confident in yourself."

He shrugs. "Are you having a bad time tonight?"

Emma shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Then trust me when I say a second date will be more fun."

 -/-

 The rest of the date goes like this: He tells her about growing up in England, and how he's still growing accustomed to the culture difference between there and the States.

"Crisps. Chips. Fries. And you drive on the incorrect side of the street!"

"You're making me real confident in getting back in the car with you, buddy."

She tells him about the first time she went to trivia with David, and how because of her wildly offbeat answers, she banned from ever participating with the team. ("I can still drink, though.")

They talk. They laugh. And Emma has an excellent time, so much so that she's disappointed when he pulls in front of her building. Ever the gentleman -- "I've told you before that I'm a gentleman, love" -- he walks her to her door.

"So?" he asks, hands in his pockets as they stand around awkwardly, trying to buy more time together.

"So what?"

"Did I prove myself worthy of a second date?"

Emma answers with a kiss.

 -/-

 That night when she lays in bed, she realizes that she didn't think of ghosts the entire date.

 -/-

 They go on more dates.

On the second date, they visit an art gallery and make fun of the babies in Renaissance paintings.

On their third date, he tells her about Milah. Emma schools her expression into something resembling surprise when he tells her, but it morphs into something genuine when he shares with her the details of how she died.

There had been a car accident. A drunk driver. She'd died upon impact.

"I'm so sorry," she says..

She ignores the knot of guilt in her gut, and the ghost sitting in the corner of her room.

 -/-

 She’s eating a bagel in her apartment when Liam appears.

“You’re still seeing him.”

She doesn’t bother looking at him, choosing to continue to read her paper and enjoy her breakfast in peace. However, Liam is persistent and phases right next to her, his head poking through the feature. “It’s rude to ignore someone speaking to you.”

“Seriously?” Emma asks. She pushes herself out of the barstool and walks across the room. “It’s super fucking rude to do that.”

“I’ll be rude if it gets you to listen to me,” Liam says. He crosses his arms, “Which clearly you haven’t been doing, since you continue to be courting my brother.”

“It may come as a surprise to you, but believe it or not, your opinion doesn’t even factor into who either I or Killian date.” Emma places her hands on her hips, asserting her position. “What I don’t get is why you even have so strong of an opinion on this? Jesus, even Milah seems to be encouraging it.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yes, because she knows what’s best for Killian.”

“She was his wife.”

Liam laughs, but it’s a bitter thing. “I’m not denying she doesn’t love him, but you can care about someone and not be good for them.”

There’s something in the way he talks about Milah that sets something off, as if a lightbulb had suddenly come to life at his statement. “That’s why you’re still here, isn’t it? You didn’t think she was good enough for him, so you stuck around. I’d been trying to figure it out, because it’s fairly obvious you and Milah didn’t die at the same time. But that’s it. That’s why you didn’t move on when he found someone.”

“Perceptive.”

“I’ve been around the block a few times with people like you,” Emma tells him, more than a little smugly. She can tells she’s knocked him down a peg, and with how frustrating he’s been acting, it feels something like a victory.

“You can say the dead. I’m not that sensitive.”

“How am I supposed to know? All you do is complain about me dating your brother, and he hasn’t even mentioned you yet.” It’s only after the words leave her mouth that Emma realizes she might have gone too far. Liam looks as if he’s been slapped.

“He hasn’t mentioned me?”

“I mean, we’ve only gone on a few dates. There’s not a lot of time to--”

He’s gone before Emma can finish.

 -/-

 “So I think I fucked up,” Emma tells Mary Margaret on the phone that evening, long after her conversation with Liam and after a particularly grueling day the precinct.

“How so, honey? I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” It’s at times like this that Emma feels like Mary Margaret is more of a mother than a friend, but she’ll take it now. “I’m fairly certain I convinced Liam that Killian doesn’t think to highly about him.”

“Liam, as in the dead brother who you not to go out with Killian?”

“More like demanded, but the same guy, yeah.” Emma falls back onto her sofa. She feels a bit like a cliche, with her being a patient, and Mary Margaret a faraway therapist. “I told him that Killian hadn’t brought him up, which he hasn’t so far, and he completely disappeared on me. He seemed pretty hurt.”

“Well, no one really wants to know how they’re viewed after they die.”

“I guess, but I hardly think that’s it. I mean, Killian and I have barely had the chance to talk about the heavy stuff. He just now told me about Milah and how she died,” Emma says. “I’m sure he’ll tell me about Liam any day now, but a person can only handle talking about so much heavy shit. I mean, I’ve barely even told him anything about the foster system or Neal.”

She’s been thinking about it though, because if Killian can begin to share his heartbreak with her, then maybe she can with him. She’s not at the point where she can reveal her Big Secret, and wonders when she ever will be -- God, it’s terrifying -- but people rarely share their life story all at once. She hasn’t. Killian hasn’t. Why can’t Liam understand that? Or give her the chance to understand it.

“What really sucks most is that I can’t talk about any of this with Killian.”

“Because it involves his dead brother.”

“Exactly.” Emma sighs and rubs her free hand over her face. “Have I mentioned how much these abilities suck? And please don’t say I’ve done a lot of good with them, because I really don’t want to hear a greater good argument.”

“Okay then,” Mary Margaret says, and Emma knows she had been about to make that argument. “They certainly suck, but use them to help you in this case. You can’t talk to Killian about it, but there’s someone you can talk to: Milah.”

Emma is unable to hold back a laugh. “You mean to tell me that I should talk to the guy I’m dating’s dead wife about his equally dead brother and how he doesn’t like me? Or her either, apparently.”

Emma can practically envision her friend shrugging on the other side. “She’s the only one who knows both men in your scenario.”

“Yeah, but...it’s weird.”

“Emma, everything about your relationship right now is weird. Embrace it.”

 -/-

Finding Milah is more difficult than either Emma or Mary Margaret might have imagined. Though Emma can see and interact with ghosts, she can’t summon them, and the more time she spends with Killian, the less she sees Milah. A flicker out of the corner of her eye every now and then, but mostly nothing.

A selfish part of Emma wonders if the other woman is moving on. It would be easier to carry on things with Killian without being haunted. But she knows that’s not it, that even though Milah may be fine in theory with Killian moving on, it’s another thing to see it.

 -/-

 The morning after their fifth date, he tells her about Liam. He’s making her breakfast -- cinnamon rolls, because he knows her love of all things cinnamon -- when he tells her that his brother would make him the same breakfast often in his youth. He shares with her how Liam practically raised him after their mother died and their father bailed.

“He died when I was twenty, and in a way, this makes me feel closer to him,” he says. Killian reaches out to grab her hand. “I’m glad I can share him with you.”

 -/-

 The more time she spends with Killian, the more the guilt at keeping her secret gnaws away at her. She’s lying to him.

Once while at dinner, he catches her watching a ghost call to a loved one who just won’t listen. “Is there anything bothering you, love? Do you know him?”

She shakes her head. “Just staring off into space.”

Emma hates herself more with every little white lie.

 -/-

 She’s not sure why this is bothering her so much, to be honest. She has friends with whom she doesn’t share the knowledge of her abilities.

But, well, she’s starting to want to share more with Killian.

She thinks she’s starting to fall in love with him.

 -/-

 Three months in, Emma almost tells him. She’s just solved another case with the help of an apparition. They’re curled on his sofa with a celebratory bottle of wine and a cupcake.

“You’re amazing. Did you know that?” Killian asks her, twirling the ends of her hair with his fingers. “You do so much good for people. You’re a regular hero, Swan.”

She wants to tell him more about the victim, a woman named Kathryn who’d been murdered by a jealous ex. She wants to tell him about how Kathryn was more concerned about the fiance she’d left behind than her own death, how she’d cried when her murderer was arrested.

She wants is to tell him about the other cases, about the ghosts who move on after their murdered are convicted, or when they feel their loved one can move on.

What she wants is to tell him about Milah and Liam.

But she can’t.

Not yet.

 -/-

 April brings Milah’s birthday. Killian is sullen, but less so than when she’d first met him months ago on their anniversary. He tells Emma about his late wife, and she listens because he needs to, listens because she wants to know more about the woman who encouraged her to meet this man many months ago.

“She’d have liked you, I think.”

 -/-

 Milah comes to Emma that night. She’s surprised, but not.

“Happy Birthday,” Emma tells her. She’s forty now, but she’ll be frozen forever at thirty-seven.

“I’m surprised you’re not with Killian.”

“He needed some time alone to mourn,” Emma says. She keeps her voice soft as she speaks. “I could say the same, you know.”

“When I realized he was alone, I thought it best to speak with you.”

“It’s been awhile.” Weeks since she last saw Milah’s apparition. “I was beginning to think you moved on.”

Milah shakes her head. “It’s harder than I thought. I’ve always wanted to see him happy, but it never really sunk in that I’d have to walk away. I’m beginning to understand Liam a bit more.”

“I wish I could,” Emma says as an aside. She’s seen flickers of him every now and then. She wants to tell him that Killin’s shared more of his life with her, but Liam has never given her the chance.

“Liam is overprotective. I don’t think he’s ever moved past looking over Killian, and I know he never fond of me. After I passed her called me a bad influence, you know.”

“That’s...an incredibly shitty thing to be told.”

“But not completely false, either.”

Emma knows more about the story of Milah and Killian now. She’d been married when she’d met Killian at a bar, and had run away with him leaving her husband and young son behind. Milah had been older than Killian, but she’d enchanted him, and they’d been happy. But even Killian has admitted to her that Milah had encouraged his vices. Drinking, partying, gambling. They had lived for a good time, and she’d died seeking one.  

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t being a jerk. You didn’t deserve that.”

“If it makes you feel better, he apologized eventually. We’ve come a long way in three years.” A wistful expression crosses her face. “But enough about me, I’m here to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Killian. Do you you love him?” 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. Emma’s long since stopped being thrown by Milah’s bluntness. “I’m falling for him. He’s a fantastic man. But I don’t know if I’m there yet.”

Milah straightens her posture. “Well, figure it out. I can’t move on until I know for sure he has someone to love him.”

 -/-

 She does think on it.

She lays awake that night, pondering her feelings about Killian. She thinks about it the next day when she joins Mary Margaret at the movies, and completely misses the plot. She thinks about with Killian, as they walk hand-in-hand to the pier, and he presents her the boat he’s recently bought.

“What do you think?” he asks her, eyes twinkling, and Emma never thinks he’s looked more beautiful.

“I love it.”

 -/-

 She loves him.

But if she loves him, that means Emma has to tell him...and of that she’s terrified. For years, she’s held her abilities close to her chest. But if she wants this relationship to continue, she can’t keep secrets from him.

Not anymore.

But there’s a difference in knowing you need to do something, and actually doing it.

She just has to find the willpower to do it.

 -/-

 She almost tells him during the an evening sailing. It’s the perfect date -- sunset, just the two of them out on the water - but that’s what causes her to hesitate. She wants to remember this: remember the glow of his skin at the golden hour, the way the light played on the water, and the motion of is body against hers as they make love.

It’s perfect.

But it’s not, and the guilt weighs her down like an anchor.

 -/-

 Killian tells her he loves her in a completely innocuous way, over breakfast as she reads the paper and he cleans up the kitchen.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks in the same way he might ask if she could pass the cream or if she had the sports section .“Because I do, Swan, sometimes the most when it is like this, just me and you, just us doing the complete mundane.”

“I…” Emma opens her mouth to speak, but she can’t. She can’t tell him she loves him until she tells him the truth about her abilities. She can’t do that to him. She’s already made him believe he loves the idea of someone he doesn’t fully know. And-- “I see dead people.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. “You could just say you don’t feel the same way.”

She shakes her head. “No. I do. I love you, but I also see ghosts.”

“Emma.”

“Killian, I swear I’m telling the truth. I see ghosts. It’s like my superpower. I’m not lying to you.”

He scratches behind his ear. “This...is not how I envisioned our conversation going.”

There something in the way he says it that guts her. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it. That’s all,” Killian tells her, but she can tell he’s lying. He presses his hands against the counter as if he’s trying to ground himself. “So, uh, what type of ghosts do you see?”

“It’s hard to explain. Just spirits, I guess, who kinda look like the living but not.” She sounds crazy. She knows she sounds crazy, and it’s killing her, because she doesn’t know how to make herself believe. “It’s not gruesome, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” he answers quickly. He still won’t look her in the eyes. “So how long have you been able to see...ghosts.”

“For as long as I remember.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You can just say you don’t believe me, you know,” Emma says. It hurts watching the way he’s pulling away from her. “I’m not crazy. I won’t hurt you or anything.”

“Emma, listen, it’s an astounding amount of information to take in. It’s not...possible.”

“It is,” she tells him. She pushes herself off, and goes off in search of her bag. She pretends it doesn’t hurt when he doesn’t follow. Her things gathered, she brushes the tears from her eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what I can say to prove this to you. You just have to trust me, but until you do, I can’t be here.”

She leaves.

-/-

 She’s alone in her apartment when Liam appears. She throws a pillow, and watches as it phases through him. “I don’t want to hear a lecture right now.”

“I’m honestly a little impressed you told him.” Emma can tell he’s being honest with her. “But I’m curious why you didn’t mention me or Milah.”

She brushes at her tears. “It wouldn’t have been fair to play the dead wife and brother card.”

“Would’ve been easier.”

Anger boils deep inside her. “What the fuck? First you tell me off for not telling Killian, and now that I did, you’re throw digs at me for not telling him differently.”

Liam raises his hands in supplication. “I will admit that my behavior earlier was bad form.”

Running her hands through her hair, Emma sighs in frustration. “You’re just now realizing this?”

He scratches behind his ear, and Emma is reminded of Killian. Her stomach twists.

“Milah might have cuffed me behind the ears a few times.”

“Yeah, well, you deserved it.”

“Aye.” Frustrated and heartbroken, she throws hers arms in the air and shouts, “You’re telling me this now? You shouldn’t even be here. It’s practically over with Killian.”

Liam laughs, actually laughs. Emma would punch him if she could. “I know my brother. It’s not over. Not yet.”

Refusing to give way to hope, she crosses her arms. “What makes you say that?”

Liam smirks. “Because he’s on his way over here.”

 -/-

 She doesn’t want to believe Liam. Refuses to. He’s an asshole. He’s against her relationship with Killian.

Besides, Killian hadn’t believed her. Not that she had expected him to. He’s just like everyone else. Neal. Lily. She’s been a fool the past few months hoping that--

There’s a knock at the door.

 -/-

 “I called David.”

She’s not sure what she had expected when she opened the door, but it’s not that. Killian stands before her, his expression mournful.

“He told me...he told me about what you’ve been able to do.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him, because it’s true, because it’s something they both need to hear. Realizing that he’s still standing in the hallway, Emma steps to the side and ushers him in.

“He also told me that you’ve been speaking to Milah and Liam.”

“Oh.” She’s can’t blame David for telling him that part. He had no way of knowing what she’d confessed to Killian or not. But there’s a part of her that’s filled with dread, because there’s now a very real chance that he might have come here specifically just for them. Not her.

(It’s never her.)

“Emma, you have to understand this is a lot to take in. I know my behavior was bad form, but--”

“It’s a lot,” she finishes, grateful that he hadn’t brought the conversation back to his dead loved ones. But maybe that’s what it’ll take to get him to believe fully, to trust her. Maybe it will give him a bit of peace. “I can help you speak to them, if you’d like.”

His eyes widen, and she can tell he wants to say yes. Instead he says, “I meant what I said earlier. I love you.”

“I know.” Emma brushes her hair behind her ears. “And I feel the same way.”

She watches him smile. “Can you tell me more about your abilities?”

 -/-

 She tells him everything she can. She tells him about the old man, about her experiences with ghosts as an adolescent. She tells him about how those experiences shaped her into pursuing law enforcement as her field. She tells him about about how sometimes ghosts ask for help with their loved ones.

“That’s the real reason why I talked you that first night. Milah was worried, and she asked.”

She’s been afraid of telling him this since the moment they met. He’s quiet for awhile, and finally says, “I told you she was an amazing woman, didn’t I?”

 -/-

 Eventually, they get to the topic on Liam and Milah. Emma can sense them in the apartment.

“You can come on out,” she calls, and in no time at all, they’re present. Killian looks around, unable to see them. “They’re standing by the kitchen island.”

His gaze falls to where they stand, looking through them. “How do I...how do I know they’re really there.”

“Say ‘Yellow Submarine’,” Milah instructs her. “He’ll know what it means.”

And so Emma does, and when the words leave her mouth, she can she tears spring to Killian’s eyes.

“That’s the song that was playing when we met,” Killian says. “You had no way of knowing that.”

“Like I said, they’re here.”

He wipes at his eyes. “Can you tell them hello?”

“They can hear you,” she says, reaching out for his hand.

“Are they...okay?” He suddenly looks concerned. Liam gives her his answer, which Emma reports back. “Liam says about as well as a dead person can be. They’re not in any pain.”

Tears are flowing freely from Killian’s eyes now.

“You can speak to them, you know.”

 -/-

 Emma’s not sure what he says to Milah or Liam. She gives Killian that peace of having a moment alone with the people he loves, even if he can’t see him. He deserves that.

After awhile, he comes to her. His eyes are rimmed red, and she pulls him into a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

 -/-

 She sees Milah and Liam one last time.

“Goodbye,” Milah says.

“You’re going to take care of him, right?” Liam inquires.

Emma can only nod.

 -/-

 They move on.

It’s a beautiful thing, moving on, watching the ghost disappear into a beautiful burst of light. A small part of her is sad to see them go. A bigger part is happier they’ve finally found peace.

“I’m glad to know they’re somewhere happier,” Killian says that night, holding her tight in his arms. They don’t make love that night. The intimacy of being together is enough. “And that they think I’m happy enough to not watch over.”

“Are you?” Emma asks, surprised by the brittleness in her voice. “Happy, that is?”

He tilts her chin up to look him in the eyes. “Never ever doubt my happiness with you.”

“Okay.”

 -/-

 A year later, Killian takes her to England. They make a point of visiting Milah and Liam’s graves. Emma leaves carnations, for remembrance.

“Thank you,” she whispers to the stone markers. She owes them so much, too much really. And despite them having both moved on, as the wind blows she can almost hear them say, “You’re welcome.”

If her abilities have taught her anything, it’s this: the dead never truly leave us. Not really, in the end.

[stimmyvillainarchive]

WHY does the android app gotta suck so much, when i click the faq link it just like refreshes the page,,,, this happens with all links in bios on the andoird app :[

NNNN lovin this broke ass app.

I’mma go ahead and paste the FAQ just under the cut, hopefully you should be able to read it now :’))

(FAQ is written by Mod Joker)

“Are requests open?”

We get this ask a lot. And while I don’t mind answering, it does get a lilll annoying sometimes since we’re essentially repeating ourselves constantly. Before you ask, please check our ask box! It will ALWAYS give our request status!

From now on if we receive requests when they’re closed, we’re going to delete the message entirely. You’re free to ask again when they’re open, but we need breaks!

“Can allistic/neurotypical people follow?”

Yes! So long as you’re respectful of stimming and understand it’s not an aesthetic or something to make fun of.

“It says there’s two mods, but I only really see Mod Joker post.”

There is! But Mod Boo is rather, well, shy. We both are, tbh. I’ve just gotten used to talking a lot on this blog. And to tell ya the truth I invited her to mod this with me because she considered making a blog but wasn’t sure how she’d do it, and was worried she’d be too awkward/quiet. But she actually tends to see your messages a lot! She just tends to let me handle things. But if you ever wanna talk to her, just say the message is specifically for her and I’m sure she’ll get back to you. She’s very friendly and tbh one of the best people to talk to!!

“How do you make gifs?”

I use the same method stimmybby uses! His tutorial’s right here!

“How do you make banners?”

I use photoshop and for backgrounds (depending on what type of background), I use paint tool SAI. I made a tutorial on how I do it here!

“Can we use your banners for posts that aren’t stim related?”

Absolutely! So long as credit is given and you’re not in our dni, then use it as you like! Discourse posts, art, vent posts, promo posts, whatever floats your boat!

“Can I use your gif/s?”

As long as there’s credit to us for the gif/s and you don’t apply to our dni, you’re free to!

“How can I credit you?”

There’s a few ways! Such as

- Including the credit in the post and/or under the cut (this is the best way people can access the original post and see the credit!

- Include the credit in the post’s captions

- Include the credit in the tags

- Include a link in the post to another post that has the credits in it

- Saying you got the gif/s from us in the post

“What are bad/wrong ways to ”“credit”“ you?”

- Saying “I don’t own these gifs”

- Saying “credit to the original owner(s)/gifmaker(s)

- Straight up not saying you took these gifs from people/including in no credits

- Claiming the gif/s are yours/you made them

If I see any of these I WILL publicly call you out on it and you WILL be blocked immediately thereafter. That block will not be lifted.

“What does REG mean?”

Reactionary Exclusionary Gatekeeper. Meaning people who try to exclude certain queer people from queer spaces. Such a biphobes, transphobes, aphobes, panphobes, and so on.

“What does TERF mean?”

Trans/Transgender Exclusionary Radical Feminist. Meaning radfems who are transphobic and are violent towards trans people (especially trans women).

“What does SWERF mean?”

Sex Worker Exclusionary Radical Feminist. They’re radfems who try to exclude sex worker from their feminism and often treat women attracted to men as less worthy.

“What’s the ADT community?”

ADT stands for “Actually Dysphoric Trans/Transgender” and was created by transmedicalists/truscum to break off from the trans community. It’s an insult to the trans community, an insult to the creator of the transgender pride flag (it’s removed the white that was there for people who ID as non-binary/outside the gender binary), and is there purely to start drama and create rifts in a community that’s already got enough enemies for simply existing in a transphobic world

“He/Him lesbians don’t exist/they’re transphobic towards trans men”

As a trans man who doesn’t think the world revolves around me and who understands that what lesbians decide to do it literally none of my goddamn business: get the fuck over yourself you whiny pissbaby

“What do you mean by people in the true crime community?”

People who sexualize, romanticize, excuse, and/or support serial killers and their actions/crimes. This doesn’t include people who are INTERESTED in the topic of crimes, serial killers, etc but acknowledging how these people are disgusting and their actions are unforgivable.

“Why are you anti-cgl?”

Cause we hate pedophiles and are decent human beings.

“You’re bigoted to kinksters just like homophobes are bigoted to gay people!”

I hate to break it to ya bud but I’m proudly kinkphobic and you’re a giant homophobe!!

“I’m a SFW cgl(re)/littlespace blog so I’m following/interacting uwu”

No the fuck you aren’t!! You’re a kink blog, there’s no such thing as a “sfw kink” even if you’re remaining two braincells are too busy fighting over the last pacifier to tell you some fuckin common sense. Your ass is getting blocked and I’ll also be using your blog to take a look at the people you interact and block them too just for safe measure! Eat a cactus, fuck nugget

“You hate lesbians if you hate TERFs”

You owe every lesbian an apology for assuming they’re all mysogynistic, LGBT+phobic pieces of horseshit like you are. Eat a dick.

“aces/aros aren’t LGBT uwu”

Wow… that’s so wrong Alexa play Fuck You by Lily Allen

“Me/Someone I know/(insert user/s) has been blocked. Why?”

There can be a number of reasons why you’re blocked, and I’m not afraid to block people as I want this place comfortable and safe for the mods and followers. So there’s several reasons as to why.

- You apply to our DNI (see BYF)

- You’re a (insert harmless children’s cartoon) critical blog (I tend to block those due to them saying LGBT+phobic things)

- You get into kin drama

- You’re an ace discourse, pan discourse, bi discourse, and/or overall REG discourse blog (this does not mean I block inherently block discourse blogs! I block the shitty ones)

- You’re a spam/porn/etc bot (if I’ve gotten this wrong, lemme know! I tend to block shady and empty blogs for this reason unless their desc/url/etc says it’s empty/weird for a reason)

- You’re a blog that frequently posts/centers around one or more of my triggers

- You’re an aesthetic blog (though I tend to soft block for them. But this is NOT an aesthetic blog and stimmy is NOT an aesthetic)

- You’re an “anyone can interact” stim blog

- You’re a stim blog that steals/doesn’t credit the gifs they use

- I feel you and I are going to argue and I’m just saving us the trouble of future unpleasant encounter/s

- You’ve been shitty to my friends or just been shitty to people in general and I’ve noticed it

HOWEVER I’ve made slip ups in the past! If you feel you don’t apply to any of these, you can contact me through my main and ask why. Sometimes I don’t always remember why I blocked somebody (sadly there’s a lot of shitheads on this site I’ve needed to block) or I’ve confused one blog for another person’s blog. Or maybe the person was more chill than I thought. Please contact me yourself rather than ask somebody else to do it though so I can get all the details! Even if I don’t lift the block, I won’t report you for block evading or anything.

“You used to be kidheart friendly and now you’re not, why’s that?”

Sadly, Raven (the creator of Kidhearts) has proven to be a bully sympathizer and feels it’s okay to compare agere to kinks/cgl and sides with regressionuncensored. She condones bullying/harassment/the sexualization of minors and I am not nor will ever be okay with that.

“But Raven sai-”

I don’t care what she says. She made it abundantly clear that she supports regressionuncensored and I don’t care that it came back to bite her in the ass. Bullies deserve no support, no sympathy, no nothing. And if you side with her than don’t come near this blog. This is agere safe and I will not allow people who support sexualizing it to interact. Kidhearts WILL be blocked on the spot, no questions asked.

“I’ve left a community on the dni list, can I follow/interact?”

Yes!

“Why are you anti-(insert thing on blacklist here)?”

Camp Camp: It’s racist + antisemitic

Dragon Maid: It’s pedophilic

Killing Stalking: It’s homophobic, ableist, sexist, perpetuates rape culture, and fetishizes abuse

Your Lie in April: It romanticizes child abuse and it literally starts off with a gross pedo joke when we meet the love interest in episode one

Split: It’s ableist

Hetalia: It’s antisemitic

Harry Potter/J.K. Rowling’s works: Actually there’s nothing inherently bad about the story. I just don’t like it. HOWEVER: I can’t stand J.K. Rowling as she’s a TERF/overall LGBT+phobe, and racist. So none of her creations will be featured here.

Sonic Boom: Nothing inherently problematic. I just can’t stand the show because it just fuckin sucks

13 Reasons Why: It romanticizes suicide and the creators refused to listen to actual mental health experts and have made the show potentially dangerous to anyone who even slightly deals with suicidal thoughts/urges

Detroit Become Human: It’s racist + antisemitic

Voltron: Legendary Defender: It queerbaits/it’s LGBT+phobic

“REG is a transphobic term”

I, Mod Joker, am trans. Try again.

“A-specs aren’t LG-”

*buzzer sound* wrong. So sad for you

“You’re not LGBT+ because you DARED disagree with me because you actually acknowledged that tumblr didn’t credit the community sweaty uwu”

We get this shit because a lot of you assume I’m ace or at the very least a-spec. And… Ya couldn’t be far from it. I’m a pan, genderfluid trans man. Even with all your gatekeeper (sorry, BULLSHIT) logic; I’d still be attracted to multiple genders and not be cis. I’m p queer. So no matter which way you slice it, I’m part of LGBT+. Die mad about it.

“You’re comparing aphobes to TERFs and SWERFs you fucking transphobe!”

Wow I didn’t realize setting boundaries meant that I viewed y'all in the EXACT same light. I’m so glad I have the lovely aphobes that have told my friends that they should kill themselves to set me straight.

Asking people not to interact doesn’t inherently mean I think they’re the EXACT same thing.

“Mod Joker is a gif-thief and reposts people’s content without properly crediting them!”

I have made this entire post explaining that’s wrong. Idrc if the post is too lengthy for you. Don’t talk shit if you don’t even have all the details.

Additionally, if you send me somethin about this in a negative light I’m IP blocking you. One strike and you’re out. If you want to believe people with false info and false accusations then that’s your baggage. Not mine.

HOWEVER if I’ve accidentally mis-credited, forgot to/messed up on crediting a person for their gif/video, or so on let me know! I’ll make mistakes, but I never do it intentionally.

[bedlamgames]

Q&A #107

Today we have revisiting Rough Landing, a question I don’t need to answer in the best possible way, double bimbos, tumblr being tumblr, me possibly somewhat going off on one in regard to what NOT to do, and more.

[Anonymous said:] Had a Corruption rank up and one of the slaver options had both Depraved and Spiritual, which are supposed to be mutually exclusive I thought: Choice 4: Madeline Crakewyne - Human Wastelander Futanari - Competent Skybreaker - (Spi)(Fly)(Res)(Clu)(Cun)(Usc+)

- You’re right, those should be mutually exclusive. 

[Anonymous said:] There is an event where one of your slavers will slip into your tent at night and have their way with you. Can you explain some of the mechanics that govern this event?

- My absolute favourite kind of question. Mainly as there exists a resource in game already which I hope should be able to fully explain all the details. Please see under Help and Prefferences -> Forced Encounters. 

[Anonymous said:] Need to ask; any chance for standard dwarf female commission, or this one is considered up to date?

- There technically is one in Scout the Coast though I’d prefer to get another one for the examine. I’ve been trying to get one done for ages through the commission polls that would serve to be a fun NH take on Dorf Fortress. I’ve also got a set of portraits potentially coming as a bonus though there’s some health issues getting in the way of that.

So it’s not consided up to date, there is a chance, but maybe not for awhile. 

[Anonymous said:] Bug report: orc cum addict training on bimbo slave results in double bimbo.

- That’s hilarious, and far too appropriate. Alas, I must say that has been found and will be fixed for the update. 

[Anonymous said:] the links to pixiv have disappeared

- Oh tumblr... why must you be so well tumblr. Tried adding a link to the twitter which has a link to the pixiv and that’s not showing either as an active link. Thankfully if you go the tumblr directly (i.e not on the dashboard) there’s an embed of the twitter so you can access them that way.

[academiy-blog said:] Hey man, Love the work you do, please don't give up on this path, you're so talented and creative. I am in love with your game No Haven and want to make a game like it but don't know where to start or how to do it. I am a complete stranger to coding and game making but I want to create adventures that people can lose themselves in like you do. Can you please tell me where should I start learning and what skills would I need to make a game like No Haven? You're awesome, take care Your big fan, me

- First seriously appreciated!

But oh man do not like it like I did as it was the complete wrong ass-backwards way to do it :D

Starting with RAGS meant I learnt a rather terrible system like the back of my hand which I worked how to break horribly to do what I wanted it to do. Doing it that way meant I often learned the wrong lessons when it comes to coding more in general, and didn’t know that, cause it worked. 

Then moving onto Twine without the time to really take a break to learning coding properly meant I was having to pick up concepts on the go, and again made a bunch of mistakes. 

Personally if I could somehow start over I’d do a coding course of some kind, and then use that knowledge to make games rather than deciding to make games, and still at times be lacking vital knowledge about what I should be doing or indeed not doing. 

Saying that I’ve found freecodecamp (especially the emails with five things to read each week), and w3schools to be great resources so maybe you could try starting there?

[Anonymous said:]   If someone hates being spiritual leader, they won't leave role when asked. In fact slavers leave this role only if they dislike it. Is this a bug?

- I’m pretty sure that’s been fixed, but will double check. 

[From the Patreon:] Short question:How do i transform my Character or another Slaver into the opposite gender? Male -> Female or Female -> Male.Are there certain assignments?

- There's a couple of different ways. 

Biomancy and Corruption can both do it for Male>Female. So you can either work towards doing it on purpose using the encampment activities, or you can run assignment that can result in Corruption like Changing Places and it might well happen. 

There's assignments that can do it one way or the other like Keldan Alley or Into the Depths. 

Then there's the option of getting too deep in debt with the Ensnared Rose.

[From TFgames:] The game is very fun and enjoyable.How to actually win the game?I gained a lot of money, trained the slavers and slaves.What to do next?I got tired of repeating tasks.

- Hi, I'm glad you're enjoying it!

Currently there's a placeholder win condition of reaching 10k gold. Honnestly it's not very interesting as is and purely in there as a placeholder, and most players from what I've heard prefer to set their own goals like aquiring certain uniques and training them up. I know one player on my discord server always goes for the full collection of cheerleaders, along with making sure they have their own 'assistants'. 

There's also the golem scenario which has an alternate win condition which is more involved complete with patron submitted art for the final victory. 

I do have plans to address the win conditions by making them more interesting and varied. So that will be coming down the line. 

[From the Collective:] Some theoretical questions:a slaver promoted witch with Racial:Wyrdcraft is supposed to go away after some time. How does this combines with aspect Bimboborn ? Does she comes back after some time? Is there a way to keep her? What happens if a slave version of her is given as a slave to a dominant slaver with the appropriate aspect. What does she gives as traits to her master? any magic or Elementalist traits ? Can she go away?

- Bimboborn would not apply like if they were sold. She does not. There isn't but certain slave training and levelling her up can get her to stick around for longer. Witches can't be given with that aspect and there's a special scene to reflect that. 

[From the Collective:] My MC gained this Debauched Exaltation:  Caress of Bone -40 And the Mal Trait that goes with it.Does it make him immune to mind control events ?Apparently not if I look at the Mashlands Witches but there's other events I haven't tested.

- Call it Malevolence light so it mainly just works on assignments. Also those totally-not-witches have all sorts of tricks so who knows what they're actually fully capable of.

[From the Collective:] Negotiate entry of the Lord's gate: It doesn't trigger a level up if your slavers win enough xp to level up at the end of the mission. You need another mission to level up.

- Doesn't surprise me. It's a miracle that utter mess of an assignment hangs together at all so something minor like that is a small price to pay. Had to try to pull it apart recently for the Twine conversion and man it is so much yikes you would not believe. 

[From the Collective:] Not really a bug, per se, but still:I want to do the Mistress of torments mission (For the Normal Success result). When my slaver number is at maximum I can't do this even if I set the general orders to "Don't recruit anyone"I think it's the case for all missions with potential slavers. You should be able to do them with the "Don't recruit anyone" option on.

- I'd need to go back and do an alternate result where no recruitment is possible for that to happen. It's something I've been trying to do a lot more with the slave taking assignments recently especially, as I know it's also annoying when you're full up on slaves and are then locked out on too many assignments.

[From the Collective:] what's the requirement for crafting traits and Artisan/Artificier aspect? leaving a slaver on crafting assignment for months doesn't seem to trigger lvl ups.

- Currently impossible as Crafting xp isn't really a thing. Saying that the first Crafting assignment is currently walking the commission poll (along with the Insatiable fuck off fight) on the patreon so now it's just a matter of time for that to change. 

[From the Collective:] Imperial Muse I don't understand a part of the rewards Rewards Diplomacy rank up bonus: large wood elf shaft x4

- That's an amusing, if very annoying bug as I keep forgetting about it (happened with this update that's about to come out too though did get to hotfix it before the public release), if I don't add a new Diplomacy assignment to a certain condition.

[From the Collective:] at the moment no enchantement. As far as  I know there is only one enchanted item, from the ooze mission, maybe a proof of concept.the tinkerer encampment position is also in development.

- There's also the enchanted armours possible to find from corruption, there's a late game assignment in the city that can provide some, certain uniques start with one, and the next update will have an update which can also provide some. 

[From the Collective:] I have just realized that the bug that allowed to promote slaves even after you have reached 20 slavers had been fixed (sometimes I hate myself) Can you do something to expand the number of slavers - Do not count slavers and slaves in camp position - Do not count unique slaves and slavers (this way you will not be blocked with new missions of the update that have a story role), the 2 golems the witch queen, the fallen paladin and his demi angel friend, maybe also the cheerleaders, was unable to have more than one until slavers were 20) - Have a small number of places that can on be used by promoted slaves - a unique mission, perhaps  one for each region that allows additional camp size. - Some camp positions can be unlocked by missions. Taskmaster at Mountains, Alchemist at City, brewer at Coast, Cook at Forest, Emissary at Plains

- The current limits are in place due to RAGS (along with partially due to how I've set up the arrays, see previous answer about mistakes being made), so for now I'm not planning to change that or add ways to get round it in RAGS. However I do plan to change this I hope in the Twine conversion. There I can redo arrays on the fly which should make changing that more reasonable. 

[From the Discord:] Favorite Boardgame?   

- I’ve played much better, much designed games and certainly much more well regarded ones, but if I’m being honest for the best memories attached to it then absolutely Go. Not the one with the black and white tiles. The International Travel Game which came out in the early 60′s that my grandparents had a copy of. 

Thinking about it I suspect how willing it was to utterly screw with the players by diverting them on a flight to Paris to ending you up in some tropical island on the other side of the world you were trying to get to might have some influence on my approach to game design :D

[From the Discord:] What are the chances of a 10 Year Anniversary Remastered Edition of RL in 2024, complete with CHAPTER 3 (j/k... but I would play it)

- Honnestly, with what I’ve learned doing WR and NH I’m reasonably confident I could do a combined RL1 and 2 in Twine in a couple of months max if I dropped everything else. So not something I’m likely to do anytime soon with so many other priorities, but one I have thought about. 

[From the Discord:] What are the most recent major Scientific, Magical & Cultural innovations in the land of NH?

- I have an assignment chained to discuss that. 

[From the Discord:] Do marlsunes get fleas?

- Yes, occasionally if they let themselves go, but it’s treatable. 

[From the Discord:] With the existence of a Horned One camp... is there any credence to the rumoured couples only Horned Two camp?

- Given how well the double horned one idea is doing in the commissions recently, looks so. 

[From the Discord:] Specifically, how advanced is the art of glassmaking in the land of No Haven? Are glass panels a thing? Maybe even one-way mirrors made by the foremost guilds that employ E:Ea?

- See that’s a more tricky question than it sounds, and it’s all down to the Neko Protection League.

One thing I’ve found with commissions is it’s often a negotiation to get everything you want, and in that sacrifices end up being made, and/or details that were important in the original pitch get overlooked to focus on something else that is more urgent to be amended. In this case the glasses I wanted to look even more archaic didn’t get reflected as much as I’d have liked. 

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a bloody fantastic pair of pictures. Just a minor regret you know that I feel as is they don’t quite fit what I had in mind for the tech level of the setting.

[From the Discord:] Draki harpies - possible or UFO-like sightings?

As cool as a visual that suggests, which is tempting don’t get me wrong, draki are of elvish and human origins only. 

[thisiseverygirlsstory]

The countdown begins 

day 225:   Day 1 . Already begun to find ways to repair this busted heart.  Counting up to day 10 so I’m able to remind self “in life, wake up & do it all over again.”  There shouldn’t be so many days one must press in.  THEIR linear order I flip, and logic that destroyed all of it, by ALLOWING ME ONCE TO rearrange & redeposit all of it.  Just to see what happens?  

Colors fade to grey.  The only shade \ What rolls into folds of digital sheets \ The blinking light at 4AM is pretty neat \ Wondering where everyone’s attention’s been?  After we’ve made up ways to lose hope in a maze, calling it a failed “connection,” these subtle misdirections explain the necessity of experience in all its various reflections.  It’s felt.  So deal with the hand your dealt.  How to balance between the two?  Between something very bad & something you must trust so you don’t think, just do?  Impossible or wait, just hard to say | No boo-hoo, Somehow, Someday. No, someday, somehow & this is where I press in now...all my creative arts dispersed so just jump on every chance, never a need to rehearse, LIVE streaming is how ptsd memories WORK.

A new way to see old things 

a past picture to remind me while standing and waiting in line, all the problems with being in a market--where to start??  All the sensory & stimulus!!  So find a strategy:  trace the white lines.  Closing eyes, standing still, not having an outlet to move & head dizziness appears, oh shit, that feeling, gotta get out of here.  Hunched over & people look & you & react like, “What’s wrong with you!?”

Fell & no one helped, it was like that denial of safety thing--how many years doesn’t matter when PTSD places you right back in the feeling!  Of being left to die alone.  That connects to TRAUMA & the feeling of having to always roam...homelessness, mental illness, the things that EXIST but we can change all this!  Just because I QUESTION I’m treated like it’s okay to so easily dismiss...

Seeing visual lines & having control of what I’M LOOKING AT dampened the dizziness & allowed me to have MORE ABILITY TO MOVE head & “release”/increase ROM/move more & create TRUST of my body that this pain is going to be less.  Keep pushing... these were the private, quiet movements that made it SAFE to be on a mobile again, so no one is paying attention to you as you’re tracing lines to make the MOST SUBTLE HEAD MOVEMENTS you’ll never see

The power of STIGMATIZATION OF DIFFERENCE & use of HYPOCRISY to do the most devious things 

The abstract

It’s safe.

It’s safe?

These lines while waiting in line reveal how my eyes track until I see something that’s going to diminish the dizziness, it makes sense you have to safely get to where you’re going (yes, I said this!) 

The secret to life is to stop talking & get to showing.

Decided today March 22, 2018 | ...trigger is the guide & why I know the difference between “hide & hide”... | what was happening in 2000, one, five | Now can say IT without triggering which was the hope in order to start truly living since I’ve been asked a specific line of questioning about violence to the body & what have I been doing?

Documenting these PTSD memories & now I’m going to put them in the places they belong

Literally, they will just pop up where I drop kick them to the sky & wherever they fall, they fall

I just get out of the way, which is what I’ve able to do.  That’s my level.  Don’t make fun & put me down.  It’s different after head trauma & repeated acts of stigma that seriously related to greed & ignorance & individuals who have zero empathy & use cruelty to “get what they want” : it’s not that hard : there’s really evil people  the world. 

Correction today, March 23, 2018 | time does not make sense | What I’m going do do is what I’m going to do tomorrow since that is the one-two punch combo that I’ve been practicing.  Jab & upper cut. That’s it, one-two, one-two over & over until my muscles memory takes.  My body doesn’t work the same way.  Until my fingertips stop being so sensitive so I can recall passwords from a pattern.  

How do I know things are different?  

MANY things that FEEL differently.  I can describe them all instead of using one word for anything.  It’s “good,” “fine” & “over” but it’s not so “fuck off” and let me realize that the words I’m learning now create IMPACT in my body so honesty & dishonesty are felt really strongly.  Is that being bi-polar or having a body that doesn’t lie.  What feels good feels really good.  What is the worst, having to relive being physically battered and mentally pummeled by being lied to about safety that has my nerve on fire.  So hose it down, but wait, every day, every thing triggers having been my profession, my education & my identity as an authority in behavior since I was telling the grown-ups to do smelting about self-harming children who were curious about violence.  It was reported, over 100 acts of violence & yet nothing happened.  So my nightmares are having to relive violence unto children & then I realize it’s not just children, the ones who require the most care becuase they are the least likely to achieve those independent self-regulation skills that means they will have control & that means less behavioral issues & less stigma & less judgement & cruelty.  

The goal was achieved this month so it just took a while.  I’m not on anyone’s time schedule & that is the luxury of saving your pennies for a rainy 5-years.  What you build you get to keep.  I build a way to walls self-educate after tragedy since we’re learning every day.  HOW DID I FORGET THAT?

Just had to get stronger, physically & now that I am, my neck MOVES UP/DOWN & side-to-side, so I’ve regrouped in “safe spaces” with my family & even if they don’t realize their importance to someone who has been physically & mentally assaulted, it’s having nearness even though you don’t want to be touched in any way.  Once violence is done to you, it’s in the BODY & the only way to remove this nastiness is to get dirty with truth.

EXIT

Please think about what your truth is?  Even what it means to be asked ‘what is your truth’ and with anything please share as little or as much as you’d like.  Every time you choose to put out something good back & if you use energy for hate, just be warned, I think there’s more good people than evil.

day 224:

TODAY YOU STATE WHAT IS THE MOST FEARFUL THING FOR SOMEONE TO KNOW because the next question is WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT FEAR

To explain that is why your mind jumbles it off.  It’s helping you.  How do I know?  Been through this before, but didn’t know what it was.  See, it happened before & in adolescence, so that’s being IGNORANT

1st truth : I have nerve damage that affects sensations in my body that I manage through voice, movement, stretching & doing more rigorous activities like biking with strict rules for safety.  I will ride on the sidewalk, no ifs, ands or buts.  My body dictates my behavior much of the time but through help from my friends who remind me my body can’t always be in-control, I’ve learned to better manage nerve pain that makes you antsy since nerves like to glide.

2nd truth :  What to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do?!?!?

To explain how physical trauma FEELS means to go through it real time and reveal how I make no decisions because whatever I choose is going to have a consequence.  Demands for safety went unnoticed & then felt out ignored, the time wasted for the outcome, additional denial of safety and a physical disability that has literally changed my life, forcing me into a life of advocacy since as a former teacher IF YOU LEARN SOMETHING that can help others & a firm believer that charity is the only decent human-quality that clearly defines someone’s soul, since I learned something NEW I have to share & that has been what my time & energy has been spent on.  Trying to get strong to share...their shhhame...

trudging through snow, I just want to sweat not realizing that was what I needed but now, every time I hope for that & it happens 1/5.  It’s never known when I will sweat, the physical exertion not the indicator of effort since I could be sitting & typing & break into one, often my palms which makes me pretty happy since it’s reminding me my body is still trying to do what it used to without so much drama!  The sweat tells me to continue going to places.  Curiosity is the desire to want to see “new” things or be in “new” spaces, the problem with assault is it makes your world very small.  You don’t feel that subtle push&pull when stuck in the same space, just focusing on not triggering which is impossible so wasted a lot of time.  I should’ve been allowing the triggers out from the beginning but who thinks to do that?  It hurts so much & why you do CALL the people that have hurt you.  You do TEXT the person when it’s SAFE to contact since tech allows that filter & the survivor/victim gets the right to CALL THEM OUT 100% when the recognition of SHAME is PRESENT.  I spent so much time rejecting this amount of shame that I needed to sit with (years) just to be able to say, there is NO WAY I will be used as a punching bag in a space that MUST PROTECT ITS STUDENTS & EMPLOYEES.  That’s it.  It was not done & instead I witnessed how people effectively use emotion & denial to keep doing what they claim they’re not doing : adding to the problem.  This environment of fear that is stifling and mimics the life I was entering that was mostly imagery & jokes about a topic that I’ve grown to realize is often the motivator for anything in this world & how gross it is when people succumb to their greed & insecurities.  Fear wins when you stop GOING & DOING and these were the areas in life that I cherish most of all.  That’s freedom, to go & to do.  Everyone should have the opportunity to experience life in other times & places, transported through books, travel, culture, cuisine, we all have the potential to lead the lives we’re meant to if we’re able to innovate, imagine & create.  I’ve seen a sunrise over a different body of water my entire life, a tradition I’ve maintained when I travel & lately have incorporated in my hometown to make sure I always remember the significance of one’s birthday.  A special time that has to be felt post-tragedy since it will be different & this is what I’m trying to understand since this is what I lost--the ability to transition--so when I recall a rare view from a treehouse, the ability to return to that scene because every step to get there was felt in my body--the combination of self-awareness & nerve damage make me needy for sensation, but what I really want is one good sweat

3rd truth : every day is a reDO until I get sequencing, so one, two, three instead of “in the moment” the numbers represent a safe place to put a thought since everything is triggering after 12 years of education in a profession I took very seriously when violence was an every day thing & even before then as I found my students weren’t being taught : just accept there will be more DAY ONEs than any other number but once I get started & find that rhythm, it will be a flawless system as it was before.  Flawless because the thought & decision matches the outcomes since I make good choices that don’t hurt others needlessly

DAY 1 : Noting some changes in colors.  Eyes are fuzzy, blurry & not registering RED & GREEN.  Just read the word.  I see the D & A & I know that’s DECLINE & ACCEPT but why is not the same. TO DO  Make appointment with eye specialist & provide notes of what is happening.  Panic level : get information first & do everything that’s necessary to control symptoms.  Conclusion, could be side effect of Rx so get off Rx as soon as possible since responsible for lost 26 pounds & inability to sleep, concentrate, that buzzing in my brain, is seriously, the use of narcotics when the message has always been the same.  It’s the physical pain I’m trying to manage & in the meantime fight for my right to identify what is wrong in HEALTH CARE, since if when you lack KNOWLEDGE & SKILL, & EXPERTISE & EMPATHY, you simply can do real everlasting damage...

[crystalnet]

State of the Art: JRPG Spotlight-

Issue #1- 2017 at a Glance- A quarterly or bi-annual journal on the JRPG at large, focusing on recent releases, trends, quarterly reviews/analyses and upcoming release hype.

The other night I was getting yet even deeper still into the freshly minted minor-masterpiece that is Xenoblade Chronicles 2 when it dawned on me just how good 2017 was to the quaint little genre known as the JRPG. I knew all year while it was happening that some special games were getting released with a certain regularity, but now that the dust has fully settled, we can look back and be conclusively impressed by such a stellar stretch. 

3 or 4 years ago I think people were getting ready to pen their moratoriums on why big developers and JRPGs should soon plan on never intersecting again save for small-scale handheld releases, and now here we are and Japan is seemingly back on top as far as role-playing goes. That return-to-form didn't always seem so inevitable as it is now that it's fully underway, especially after a somewhat shaky stretch for the genre during the 7th generation. Indeed, high-definition graphics and devs who catered to Gatorade-guzzling gamer bros seemed to not be the boon to the genre that old-school role-players really needed, and even the first couple of years of the 8th generation saw the genre to still be on slightly shaky ground, without a ton of great titles to point to from those initial years. 

But then throughout the 7th gen a little franchise called Dark Souls (a JRPG in spirit, though not quite in practice, in many ways) started to build a little following, generating new interest in things like difficulty, customization, and innovative diagetic story-telling. As of the middle of this decade though, the genre still doesn’t have all that much of a presence compared to the late 90s heyday of JRPGs. Cut to 2016 though and Square drops FFXV which is a solid, if not-perfect realization of the 30-year-old standard-bearer of the genre, (a herald of sorts, if you will) and BAM. 2017 begins and in quick succession Nier Automata, Persona 5 and Breath of the Wild drop, all to stunningly positive reception. Now BotW, like Dark Souls, is not as much of a JRPG as the other 3 releases I hope to focus on, but Zelda has always had it's toe in the same waters as Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest, borrowing and simplifying elements of role-playing games from an action-adventure perspective, and in turn, also influencing those very JRPG franchises it seemed to pay homage to. 

This wasn't just a coincidental blip of releases though, proved largely by the fact that all the way at the end of the year, Xenoblade 2 would also drop, and show yet again how the JRPG can be fresh and vital, and can be a Nintendo-exclusive at that. Indeed, I hope to demonstrate my thesis that it was a particularly strong year by triangulating my discussion around Nier A, Persona 5 and Xenoblade 2. Not only are these three very strong titles, they are also all pretty vastly different styles of JRPGs, which I think displays the health and potential of the genre even better than the fact that they are so individually good. First of all we have an industry veteran and mad-hatter in Yoko Taro finally coalescing a fully-realized vision of action-JRPG greatness by collaborating with Platinum games to make something as heady, and intellectual as it is well-designed and fun to play. That game is something like a Hegelian Philosophy PhD driving a Lamborghini in terms of the amount of stuff going on with the writing and character development, all while sporting a super classy luxury sports-car, six-cylinder engine. For long-time fans of Taro, I don't think this direction could have ever been predicted, though they may have secretly dreamed of such a fusion of form and function. 

The best thing about how simultaneously weird and playable Nier A is for me is the way it hearkens back to the golden age of PS2 JRPGs for me personally. Without pinning it to a single PS2-era title, it gives me the same feeling that games during that console could consistently deliver on: a fully realized fantasy/sci fi world, a deep-yet-approachable combat system, a weird and very-Japanese, but also deep-as-hell plot, and a certain functionality that games like Kingdom Hearts 2, Rogue Galaxy and Final Fantasy XII delivered on back then. I don't mean to say it's derivative or stuck in the past, it's just that, the highlights of the PS2 days are my go-to precedent for what a good modern, post-16-bit JRPG is, since that equally sweet ps1 era can only be reasonably emulated on smaller and/or handheld retro-style releases. And while the story’s depth and esoteric nature recall the plot’s and worlds of PS1 and 2 greats like FFX, Xenosaga or Vagrant Story, the combat itself feels as fast-and-furious as hack-n-slash classics from then like Devil May Cry. 

So while Nier had action-(j)RPG style gameplay covered, Persona 5 was there for all the turn-based devotees, and oh boy were we there for it also. That game was a huge victory lap for Atlus, who has built up a deep fanbase over the past decade, largely because of youtubers (at least in the west we can thank the cult-y presence of its fans online for the slow-burn development of an army of Atlus acolytes, whereas P3 and 4 were only barely noticed in the States back when they actually first came out.) And they finally capitalized on that hard-earned interest by finally following up P4 after nearly a decade, and while they were at it, they also showed everyone that fully turn-based (not even slightly active-time) systems can still melt faces, please crowds and feel fresh, which is no mean feat at all in a world where some question if turn-based is officially dead save for retro-homages. 

And while Nier captures a kind of ethereal PS2-esque quality, Persona very literally pulls some of the PS2-era goodness into the future by updating and refining the awesomely deep and OCD-enabling systems of the now holy-grail-level PS2 era Persona games. Yes, wandering around Shinjuku, going on supportive dates with classmates, building up your relationships in general, and working a part time job between study breaks has been fully realized for the modern gamer, and it is glorious to behold. 

And that takes us to Xenoblade which out of all the titles I might be most surprised by. Being a bit of a Xeno-noob, I wasn't sure if the release was going to be a major or minor event for role-players, especially given Nintendo's spotty track-record with the JRPG, usually sporting all of maybe one or two truly notable ones per generation, as well as their tendency to censor and/or smother developers. But alas, Xenoblade is fully-formed, proper, brimming-with-life and as deserving of the title of new standard-bearer to the genre as any of the other fantastic JRPGs released that year, many of which I won't even get to. 

As is the case with the others, it seems to draw on PS2 era greatness in someways, by building on battle systems like the ones in FFXI and FFXII, while also being an actual descendant of the Xenosaga series that rocked that console, and also still draws on PS3-era titles that were successful (though smaller in number there were some good ones!) like Ni No Kuni and the Last Story. This is a round-about way of saying the combat system is an excellent take on the free-moving active-time auto-battling-but-with-real-time-triggers-style combat that started to show up towards the end of the PS2's life-cycle just when people were realizing the days of pure turn-based role-laying may be limited. And it also delivers on all those other check-marked boxes that any truly great and special JRPG must deliver on including: emotionally stirring and unique soundtrack, a deep and rewardingly complex story with all sorts of specific and detailed lore, a really nice visual style, and some incredibly beautiful locales. Okay that last thing isn't even a thing JRPGs usually have to deliver on, but it sure is a highlight. Some of the locations you move through during your travels in this game are breathtaking, and even more impressive than the  similarly psuedo-cell-shaded style of Breath of the Wild, whose open-world Monolith Soft also worked on (though you can't climb all over these areas I should say). 

I'm as blown away by the suddenly addictive combat (once it fully kicks in and you are given full control over 3 blades around the 15 hour mark) as I am by the surprisingly moving, funny and immersive story. I can be a little skeptical sometimes when approaching JRPG stories, but by all three of these aforementioned titles, we were treated to surprisingly mature and complex narratives, with refreshingly grounded and/or thoughtful characters. Indeed, with this many games firing on all these different cylinders (I didn't even mention the soundtrack to Persona 5 or Nier OMG), you know something special is happening.

So there you have it, three wildly differently styles of JRPG, only unified by their consistent top-tier quality. An old-school turn-based lite-novel hyprid, a full real-time action-RPG for philosophy students, and a MMO-style combat fantasy epic. And on top of all that there's myriad other fantastic releases, or even re-releases like the Final Fantasy XII Zodiac Age remaster of FFXII, one of my favorites and oft-forgotten FF titles that I think got overlooked slightly upon initial release precisely because of the way it showed other developers the way forward from pure turn-based combat. 

And then the behemoth that is Breath of the Wild saw a tried-and-true franchise get fully revitalized in a way that drew on the weapon system of Dark Souls as much as it did the food system of Odinsphere of all games. And like I said, though not a true JRPG, it shows that role-playing adjacent titles are also showing a come-back. Survival components in video games were always the more practical, realist cousin to role-playing/stat-grinding after all. 

So where do we go from here? Well 2018 will show us whether 2017 was a stand-out year or just the beginning of a trend, but all signs seem to point to an ongoing upward trend if releases like Monster Hunter World are any indication. Ni No Kuni 2 is due out soon, Octopath Traveler, which should make good on the idea of a retro-JRPG, and Kingdom Hearts 3 at the end of the year all help to paint the picture of an equally formidable year. Alas, Nippon is poised to continue its domination in coming months. All in all, fans of the genre should be very pleased, and if you haven't checked out one of the aforementioned titles get to it, because all of them are excellent, even if Xeno takes about 15 hours to truly get rolling and Persona takes a whopping like 20. All good things come to those who wait, after all.~