#hopefully this wordy response makes SOME sense

[submalevolentgrace]

hi hello, sorry it's another amputee question, idk if you get tired of these. i found your blog and i like how you share your experiences, thank you for this. im abled myself but im writing a story, and i want my main girlie protag to have a prosthetic leg and here's the thing, i dont really have a reason for it. i guess it says something about me, don't know what, but i just don't know if that's considered, well, offensive, or rude, or something. i don't plan to have any focus on it in the story. the medium is a comic so it's going to be always visible as a prosthetic, but i don't want to explain it in-story either, no backstory, she would probably just have it since early childhood. it won't affect the plot. and that's where i don't know if that's even okay. it feels weird to want that, to include that, almost as if i need to somehow turn the story about it, to have some kind of statement. which i don't actually want to make or even feel able to make as never experiencing it. i want for her to have a prosthetic leg just because. and i don't have anyone to ask this, and i don't mean to offend you by this, and i apologize if i somehow did. but if it's okay with you to answer, i'd appreciate reading. if it's gonna be an angry rant i'd like to read it too. i know you're an upper body amp, but idk, i feel like this question isn't much about the use of prosthetics and more of the general amputee characters, and im scared to ask reddit, i don't even know if that ask made sense. thank you if you read that all, please don't feel pressured to answer. hopefully you'll have something good that brightens your day a little!

thank you, i actually really appreciate this ask! sorry that the response is long and wordy, i got a bit carried away…

so, i've gotten a lot of asks/dms/notes from writers asking about how to write their amputee characters/ocs after my big "writing advice" post, and i think i've ended up ignoring every single one of them, because… well, not to be rude to all those people, but they seem to have completely bounced off the whole 'know why you are writing this' thesis, too caught up in the excitement of their own fantasy to even notice the bit about understanding your own intent as an author and why that matters, let alone really engaging with it. and at that point, i don't think there's any advice or feedback i can give that would break through, especially when it seems what most people are seeking is little details and nuances to add authenticity to their token representation characters or unintentional stereotypes.

but, without any other details or nuances that shape a character's portrayal, based solely on what you've said in this ask, i feel like you're on the right track and probably gonna do fine. the thing that sticks out most clearly to me is how you phrase it, "i WANT to write a protagonist to have a prosthetic leg", you are acknowleding your role as omnipotent author, and i honestly think that's worth a lot more than many people realise when it comes to crafting fiction. you've acknowledged your desire for this character to be a certain way, and you're being introspective about the source of those desires and how it will come across - and that means you're almost certainly also thinking about how it interacts with the rest of the story, how it serves your themes, and how it will be interpreted and understood by the audience.

a lot of responses or people asking me for advice say things like "i am writing a character who HAS an amputation", implying it's an observable fact, pre-concluded before their authoring of them, and therefore something they're much less likely to examine critically. maybe it's unfair of me to draw such deep conclusions from shallow choice of language, but firstly, so many people have been far more obvious about it, saying a character "revealed" or "told" them about the amputation, or just straight up talking abot them as independent entities with their own agency, as if it's a biography and not fiction. and secondly, what are we even doing talking about improving the craft of our writing and how it will be recieved by the audience if we're not going to think about how framing affects interpretation? if someone is reaching out to me asking for writing advice, you bet i am going to assume this is a person who wants to improve the details of their own writing craft, and i'm going to critically engage with the tiny snippet of writing they've given me and analyse how it reflects on them, even if it is "just" a tumblr interaction. i don't even consider myself a writer really, the art i mainly dedicate myself to is music, but i still put careful thought into anything i write that's more than a few sentences, and think about the audience it will be seen by.

sorry, that's a whole other tangent… not at all about what you asked. but by way of example and segue back; what i see you reveal in the writing of your ask is a nervousness and anxiety to 'do well' in your writing, to create a character with an amputation in a way that holds up to scrutiny and criticism, and also a fear of what unfortunate things you might be saying and the responses it would provoke if you misstep. i can totally understand that, not just because you messaged me and i personally have a track record of going off on people lol, but also… yeah, people are very eager to judge and attack art based on a hidden metric of how 'well' it does 'representation' or handles things, and be vocal about the failings of things that make an earnest attempt. and i can see that it's very appealing to want to pull back and hide from that; a character who has a prosthetic leg opens you up to your audience critiquing how well you've handled it, most of them not amputees, many of them with the subtlety and media analysis skills of a sledgehammer… while if you write a story with no amputees in it, nobody has anything to critique.

unfortunately, no matter how well or carefully or authentically you write, there will always be someone engaging with it in bad faith yelling loudly about how awful you are; i recently made a short sharp post giving a trigger warning for medical abuse and body horror in the new zelda game that painfully evoked some of my own experiences, i still got people reblogging it telling me i'm ableist for saying disability is body horror (piss on the poor reading comprehension) and should apologise to all amputees (waves my one hand and nub around in a comical hello gesture). maybe that is on me for writing it quickly in an upset huff instead of making at least two proofreading and editing passes and oh geez, this is getting waaay too long and off topic. okay, to the point.

honestly, from what little you've told me, to be overly reductive, i'd give it a stamp of approval. sometimes people just only have one leg and that's fine, people are born like that, it's a thing that happens - and it doesn't need to shape the entirety of their lives, and reflecting that in fiction is more than just fine, i think it's what we need. sure any amputee character i write is going to be an overt commentary on ableism and medical abuse, because that's what i live, that's what affects me. but i know because i've watched their stuff on youtube, that there are so many people out there that were born limb different that just, don't care about it, and it doesn't really affect their life at all. if your protag has a prosthesis, sure she's had to get fitted for it and train for it, and it might benefit you to do an afternoon of research into that if you want to see how it might holistically flesh out her worldview (look up osseointegration vs external sockets, if you want keywords to help, look for patient experiences instead of doctors).

but also, if her other leg has finished growing and she's got a prosthesis that works, she may not have thought about it literally for years, maybe decades depending on her age. i had braces as a teen and it has zero impact on my life, i've had foot and back problems in the past, and it's irrelevant to me now other than getting new off the shelf shoe inserts every few years. i can think of at least one (australian) celebrity with a pretty long and successful comedy career who most people don't even know was born without one foot, it's just not relevant.

sometimes people just have things going on in the background that don't matter, and sometimes characters should have something just going on in the background too, no matter what "save the cat" sort of writing advice tells you. sometimes cutting literally everything out of a story unless it serves the plot or themes is bad actually, and i guarantee you, even as a hand amputee, i would absolutely LOVE to see a leg amp character who is just having a life, doing other plot relevant things. especially much more than i want to see all the characters of people leaving tags saying some version of "thanks OP, now i can write the suffering and torment of my oc much more authentically". think of the hypothetical little girl born without a leg that just wants to see someone like her.

and finally. what i think is maybe at the core of your anxiousness, at least to my read of your ask. you've thought about your role as author and self reflected about why you want to write a character with a prosthetic leg, and you can't find an answer in you, and you're not sure if that means it's something bad. well, assuming good faith from you, i think that's fine too. people who fetishise prostheses or amputations, people obsessed with the suffering or (percieved) depenedncy, or whatever else it is that makes them yearn to write their hacky awful robot arm characters; they probably don't do the introspection, and if they did, they'd find their answer right away (horniness or power fantasy usually), although i doubt they'd be honest with themselves about it, let alone others. assuming good faith and honesty, if you can't find in yourself WHY you want to write this character with a prosthetic leg….. it's probably just a harmless aesthetic preference.

if you wanted it to do cool things or make her more powerful or more special than others or be endless inconvenience and suffering or make her the chosen one because of it or something, that'd set off alarm bells for me yeah, and i'd be reading into it as a much more harmful aesthetic choice, and responding much more aggressively. but if you want to write a story about other things that features a protagonist who just so happens to have a plausibly normal boring prosthetic leg…. that seems fine to me, honestly. i tend towards having characters with certain hair and eye colour combinations that i find aesthetically pleasing, and as long as i'm thinking about how that could come across and trying to avoid any pitfalls around fetishisation and nastier implications, i think it's probably fine.

there are really only three concrete pieces of advice i would give you:

one, when you've got a cohesive first/beta draft, try to find at least one sensitivity reader who's got as similar disability experience as possible to your character (lower limb, same kinda circumstances, same general use of prosthesis), and listen to their feedback.

two, while i totally acknowledge that leg protheses can be super useful everyday kit for many people, i still have a general aversion to "this character NEEDS a prosthesis or they're helpless" readings, and many people don't want to or can't use leg prostheses… if it were me doing it, i'd make acknowledgement of that, and in a visual medium like a comic, i think that's as simple as having a single panel showing your character waking up in bed without the prosthesis, and maybe at her home there are forearm crutches leaning against the wall as background decoration. maybe if you have any scenes where she's woken up in the middle of the night, or interrupted before being fully dressed for the day, you could show them in use. but that's a personal value suggestion from me, your judgement or sensitivity readers might disagree on the importance of that.

three, you will absolutely need to establish as early and overtly as possible that the prosthesis and amputation DOES NOT MATTER to the story or her character arc. people still very much have a default normative body in mind when engaging with fiction, and anything that deviates from that will 100% be interpreted as a checkov's gun that they will be anticipating and theorising about going off, unless you squash that down. if you want to make a statement about it not mattering, unfortunately i think you're going to have to spell that out as obviously as possible without breaking the fourth wall, or else the audience trained on existing robot limb tropes will be waiting for the traumatic tragic backstory or secret rocket booster to become relevant.

but also…. i'm just some bitch on the internet, talking like i'm more important than i am, getting loudly angry about limb difference when i'm a pretty recent and unusual addition to the group myself. so like, don't take anything i say as absolute, and while it's always good to listen to others, at the end of the day you still gotta synthesise all their thoughts into your own.

i don't really have a nice concluding statement other than to say, thankyou for appreciating my post, and most importantly, thankyou for caring about the craft of writing enough to critically analyse your own authorship, and being curious about how to improve on a sensitive topic.

[kingofthewilderwest]

i lowkey found astrid's "you're getting in the way of her happiness" and "don't you want to settle down with a wife?" comments pretty amanormative and heteronormative. i'm a loveless aroace so seeing her somewhat antagonise tuffnut abt the way he acted (when i'd act in a similar way) rubbed me weirdly

Totes don’t remember precisely where this was in the HTTYD franchise... extremely rusty and haven’t watched RTTE and other materials in years... but I do remember getting to these lines and feeling uncomfortable as an aroace myself.

Like. The HTTYD television series has never been “cutting edge” regarding representational matters, and I’ve never expected it to cut any edges, though we also see a learning curve. Early jokes from ROB/DOB days where calling someone a girl was an insult got dropped by RTTE. But there was always an amatonormative edge to the DreamWorks Dragons RTTE episodes, too. It’s why I sighed over such things as hooking Mala and Dagur up, Fishlegs and Heather up, Snotlout getting his own quick romance plot with the Wingmaidens... plot moves that ultimately didn’t make much sense regarding their personalities, but let us swim in a world where everyone’s gotta try romance sometime, right? GOTTA HOOK THEM CHARACTERS UP. [sighghghg]

It is to my biggest, most immense relief that throughout the entire series, Tuffnut never entered a real romantic fling. At least you guys kept that for me. It’s one reason Tuff’s special to me... his values are in his family, and he doesn’t need romance to enjoy his life. That’s important. And while I appreciate the concept of writing a story where a character who isn’t romantic butts heads with someone whose values are romantic, peeps gotta be careful about how that’s written, in case it accidentally turns into an amatonormative world where the aromantic individual is expected to reduce their love for the sake of the romantic person being swept away by a romance-only focus that isn’t exactly the model of healthy social dynamics (we shouldn’t be dropping all our friends and family and treating one human as all emotional fulfillment once we enter something romantic, and I’m tired of that treated as normal and desirable happiness).

From my vaaaaaaaaaague recollection of how this conversation went down that you mentioned, it pinged so amatonormative it hurt. It pinged me as bad. I didn’t just feel weird, I cringed. It didn’t ping me as surprising because society talks that way so often, but I was like, “Hm yeah, NO.”

If you love someone and are close to them, and you’ve been their happiness for years and years and years, you are not by nature interfering in someone’s “happiness” because one person entered a romance. Nor are we automatically in the pinnacle of happiness once we start a romance, and suddenly all other relationships become an automatic interference of it. Are there ways in which you could sabotage someone’s romantic relationship? Yes. But are there plenty of ways in which people in romantic relationships intentionally or unintentionally sabotage their connections with other people uncomfortably, cutting them off and devaluing them? Also yes. And are there plenty of ways in which we’re happier when we have familial and romantic and platonic relationships all balancing our lives instead of one cutting out the other? Yes. 

A real solution isn’t like what Astrid implicitly suggests, where you should back off on someone else’s “happiness” (because you’re an innate interference) and go seek your own romance to be happy. Because what’s she suggesting? Clearly hooking up is what you should actually be doing to quit feeling lonesome... instead of working it out with the person whose relationship you are struggling with. 

There’s a miscommunication going down. And it’s not saying that someone like Tuffnut reacted perfectly. But. We need to endorse communicating with people we feel aren’t giving us attention anymore. We need to talk through about where we feel hurt and why. We need to talk things through until everyone’s on the same page and at least understands where everyone wants to spend their time and love.

Sorry I’m not talking very specifically about it, and hope my memories don’t serve me wrong. At this point in time, I don’t have the canon so snugly memorized that I can immediately pinpoint a quote into an exact episode anymore. I’d need reference of where it happened.

[couriersiccs]

okay TWO notes (i can’t type less wordy rn i’m so sorry) about Coping With ADHD (Or Anything, Really):

1) have a truly Vast Arsenal of Various Mechanisms, so that when one strategy stops working, you can just try another one that you either haven’t tried or has worked before in the past. Timers stop motivating you? your brain is getting used to them. instead, use Playlists/Songs/Albums/Podcast Episodes of the length of time you need. surprise, it stops working? Change genres and/or familiarity level with the sounds. and when that’s done? find an kitschy lil egg timer at your fave secondhand shop. so on and so forth, until maybe Timers works again and you’ve come full circle and hopefully managed yourself well in the meantime.

since my life revolves around dogs, i’ll use the metaphor of the kong toy, the rubber balls with a hollow middle to hide interest-sparking food in. your darling lab mix named Cooper may go bananas over his post-dinner peanut butter-stuffed kong toy, and then day after day lose interest until he no longer takes any interest in it.

that is, until you switch from using peanut butter to pumpkin puree. then to his fave kibble, to wet food, to steamed rice, to a chopped hard-boiled egg, to fresh strawberries and banana, to whatever else you know is good for them. and at some point, peanut butter will probably do it for him again, even after trying something else that works just once. never underestimate the power of Novelty to the adhd Attention Direction.

so when i see someone discussing some Focus app and they’re like “yeah i liked it but only worked for a little bit :\” that’s not a drawback, that’s a FEATURE. that’s just ONE thing that works. use it when it works! use other things when it doesn’t! try using it after taking a break to see if it works again!

because the other thing is

2) everything feels better when you’re working WITH your mind and not feeling combative about it. you’re not at war with yourself. i'm very prone to getting frustrated with myself. i used to constantly see myself as my own worst enemy. but these days, especially after a goddamn diagnosis, i can remember that i’m on the same team as myself, and that i’m just functioning how i’ve learned how to function.

whatever strategies you use to “deal with yourself,” know that these should’ve been allowed to develop when you were young, but they were probably denied to you as the “wrong” way of doing things. you’re not wrong, you just exist outside of the rigid, narrow boundaries that other people decided everyone needed to exist within, where they believe they exist. you are so entirely not the wrong one here.

since you didn’t foster healthy-to-you habits and responses back then, you’re doing it now, and it’s hard, but you’re doing it because you know it’s important. because you want to live by your values and goals and learning - by trial and error - how YOU build your Psychological Self-Management Skills (aka Arsenal of Tools) is more important than building them how anyone else says you should be building them. (including me.)

you have to care for yourself like you wish your child self was cared for. allow yourself what nobody wanted to allow you. make your strategies interesting to you again, even if all it takes is varying the stimulation or the sense you’re stimulating. adding a little Interest-Sparking Seasoning is like giving yourself a Spoons Coupon, giving the Effort a considerable cost-reduction by upping the Internal Motivation. External Sensory Input makes the impermanent concept of time tangible before of you with a kitchen timer shaped like a hen sitting on a nest, and when that stops being fun, a fuckin Pictionary hourglass or some shit go wild baby

[allthephils]

I hope this is not invasive and you can just say you don’t want to talk about it. I am curious about being an adult with grown children while being queer or dating a woman. What I’m asking is did or do your children know? Most of the time it’s the other way around and children come out to parents. But I know alot of children have come out to a parent and the parents has been like “I think I’m bi too, or I use to date girls before I married X.” I think it’s beautiful and Id love to know everyone’s story. We need more queer women’s stories. We need more stories from women who didn’t know they were queer till later on. If that’s in their 30s, 50s or 70s. (Not that I’m saying that applies to you) I know women who didn’t know they were even attracted to girls till they were into their adult years. Like me. I just want to say you and your partner seem very happy. I wish nothing but the best for you both.

I don’t mind talking about it at all! I agree that telling our stories really helps to make the world a little smaller and hopefully safer feeling for other queer people out there. I am nothing if not wordy though so I’ll put my response under the cut.

I have to say first that we are not a typical American family. My kids were raised as gender neutral as I could muster so they could figure it out on their own and queerness has always been openly acknowledged and discussed in our family. Feminism and sexual health, as well as civil rights have always been topics of discussion at our dinner table. I have three adult kids as well as a little one. The adult three are all queer and out. Even in our family, it took all of them some time to come out and then to come out to me. Which just goes to illustrate that it’s not about anyone but the person figuring it all out. My family, at least the ones close to us that we actually talk to, is super accepting too. My close family is not religious or politically conservative. I am very lucky.

I knew I was attracted to women my whole life, my first kiss was with a girl when I was around 11. Still, compulsory heterosexuality is some real bullshit. I told myself everyone thinks women are beautiful, everyone finds them attractive, everyone feels sexual desire toward them, doesn’t make me bi. Lol. What does that say about what our society values in human relationships? What does it say about the way women are framed in our culture and what that does to young people and the way they see themselves? I can’t even imagine how much more difficult that culture makes it for people who don’t experience sexual desire or don’t prioritize it to figure out. There are so many layers I could go off about but I’ll save that soapbox for another time. I had a lot of shame. I felt like I didn’t deserve to be queer, like I hadn’t earned it somehow. I was attracted to gender-nonconforming people and masculine presenting women and somehow I used that as proof that I was a fraud. There was definitely some internalized biphobia as well. I spent my adolescence with a very gay group of friends. All my time was spent at gay bars and goth clubs. And yet, I still couldn’t get to that place of comfort even though I knew there was something missing for me. Honestly, watching my kids figure themselves out taught me so much and changed my perspective on so many things. I’ve always said kids teach you more than you teach them, if you listen. They really helped me out but they didn’t know that at the time. (Can we learn from our kids without making them the parent in the scenario please? Thank you) This phandom also helped me grow comfortable being open about my queerness.

I finally figured it out/admittted it to myself in my late 30s and didn’t come out to anyone till I was at least 40. I told my mom and she literally forgot. That’s how much she didn’t mind. Again, I’m lucky but I also felt like she didn’t take it seriously. When I told her about my relationship, she asked if i was “switching sides or just trying it out.” Lol. I gently reminded her of my previous coming out. I never actually came out to my sisters but they just kind of figured it out. My daughter, who is gay, has known the longest. We hang out weekly (precovid) and we talk about everything. My other two kids only found out recently. They are both trans and their path has been winding and complex. It just wasn’t time to make it about me. All of them are supportive and so happy for me. My 7 year old knows all the words to discuss his family so he can be proud. It’s just normal to him because it is normal. He knows I have a girlfriend and he knows I identify as queer and/or bi. The only people I’ve had to ”come out’ to in the traditional sense of the term are my co-parent’s family. They weren’t surprised after knowing my family. Some of them are supportive, some not. I genuinely don’t have time for anyone who can’t love me for who I am. If you have to leave pieces of me out of your stories about me, then maybe you just don’t get to have those stories. If I make them uncomfortable at family gatherings, they can leave. I’m still telling people all the time but it’s usually just , “oh I’m in a relationship with the most wonderful woman.” And my friends are happy for me. I don’t know many straight people though :) There’s my story. I hope I get to read your story too at some point, anon. 🖤🖤

[sunshinexlollipops]

Hello! Just wanted to stop by (hopefully not being a bother) and say I have recently just went through all of your red dead fics on ao3 and wow. I've gotten into a/b/o fics more after reading yours! But also your amidst fic made me feel all types of things, and I know however it ends will leave me messy with f e e l i n g s. And I want to prematurely thank you for those feelings xP. I was also wondering, if that's alright, how your writing process is like? You put in a lot of words in amidst and some of your other fics. Do you make outlines? Do you first write down ideas for a chapter/fic and then draft it out? Are there scenes you add/take out? Is there a length goal you usually set for yourself? You don't have to answer, but I wish you well and thank you for fics that brightened my life a little!

LONG POST!

omg, hello anon! your ask 100% got lost in my notifs, so I just wanna start this off by saying you aren't a bother whatsoever!

in fact: I love receiving asks about my fics, as well as opening up about the writing that takes to get them to you guys!

so I'm gonna start this reply off with a quick thank you about my works! I'm so happy you're enjoying or have enjoyed what I've written.

RDR2/Arthur Morgan is a pleasure to write about, but I've also really enjoyed the fandom. it's been one of the sweetest and most supportive, and I've found one of my best literary periods with you guys! so thank you! :>

but enough pitter patter about that-- let's get to the fun stuff!

since you had a few questions, I'm gonna answer these in a separated list so it'll be easy to follow along! :)

-------

What is your writing process like?

well, in truth anon, I don't exactly have much of one.

that may surprise some, and others not. in truth, I think that sometimes the idea or concept of a "writing process" kind of scares anyone trying to get into writing.

I'm not sure if you are, anon, but your questions just make me want to cover this, just in case.

writing should come to you how it comes. I'm definitely NOT a textbook writer. I don't have a method where I have cardinal rules and a set up I have to have.

I simply embrace when inspiration strikes. usually while listening to music or absorbing some other media. frankly, if you treat writing like a science, you're gonna get stuck. it isn't an issue you have to fix, or a challenge you have to tackle.

allow yourself to get comfortable and just think whatever comes your way mentally. even if you think an idea is bad, encourage it! you can't write if you don't let yourself think.

so for me, I suppose my "process" is just encouraging my writing and for my brain to pop out ideas or scenes. just write away and see where it takes you!

You use a lot of words-- do you outline by chance?

ah yes. I am a wordy potato, frankly. albeit ACW is an overall outlier at being ALMOST A MILLION WORDS. even then, I don't think any of my over fics have ever really gotten past 150k, and I believe only ONE had done so.

this was... not by design.

believe it or not, I intended ACW to actually be short. 6 chapters like the game and boom, done. I thought I could summarize everything and just show snippets of a growing relationship between Arthur and my unintentional OC, Wolf. it almost would've been like a one-shot just broken up into chapters for homage sake.

but then I overplotted the prologue and next thing I knew, ACW had become this massive, sprawling monster of a slow-burn.

as for outlines... I don't necessarily outline. I'll explain this more in my next response. :)

Do you write a summary of a chapter or fic down, then draft afterward?

so in terms of summary, no. these stories live in my head, and I tend to feel that writing things down is more of a waste of time for me.

my brain flies through stories at such quick speeds I feel like I will lose my spark or my ideas if I take a second to write things down.

I am known to do audio recordings where I talk about my writing though. this is an amazing way to brainstorm on the fly, and some of my best ideas have come from just voicing what I'd like to see happen aloud. additionally: the recordings are a good way to keep track of what I've said and want, just like an outline!

otherwise I don't outline. I'm not sure what the terminology is, but I apparently go after my stories a lot like Stephen King does.

write first, worry about the rest later. I'm very much a "swim and swim even if you're sinking" because I would rather put the work in than fool with floaties to keep myself up.

personally this works wonders for me, as I don't like restraining myself or my head once I'm in motion. it doesn't end well if I do-- like snuffing a candle. I just go for it and I will make sense of it later.

even so, I have general ideas for what I want to happen, and I remember my basic outlines. the details come later, as long as the big picture is visible to me.

as for ACW: the only "outlines" I did was timing of the game missions. just to make sure I didn't miss major happenings, and that I had the timing in a way that flowed for what I wanted both logically and narratively.

as for drafts, I also don't draft. again, I go for it. that being said, I have restarted updates a couple of times, or have deleted entire scenes out of dissatisfaction. most of the time though, it's one and done for me! and it's all done on the fly. :)

Are there scenes you add/remove?

as mentioned above, yes. I have deleted a lot of content from ACW. some ideas never came to, but more often than not, it was repackaged in a way I liked better. so if anything, content was recycled and you all still got to see it in some way.

but there are some things that I want to do that just aren't possible. like many stranger missions. there's no good way to include certain events or characters in ACW without derailing what is going on. so alas: aberdeen pig farm is not a stop on Arthur and Wolf's itinerary.

but for another example, I wanted to showcase more of Wolf's past with her father (specifically her shut in life before his death), and I wanted scenes and more examples of her being disconnected unlike everyone else as a result.

these will come as flashbacks or other scenes in the upcoming chapters, but I intend to add these changes or additions during my revisions! :>

Is there usually a length goal you set?

as for word goals, I never quite had any apart from "at least 20k words" just because that was usually my average, I noticed.

additionally, this made sure I didn't end chapters without putting the bare minimum of content in them, and to have solid continuity. can you imagine have a 20k update and then a 3k one? no thanks!

20k just became my running baseline, after that. otherwise, my limit is when AO3 reaches theirs for the character limit (fence why some updates were split into multiple pieces).

with my other stories, I simply write until the story is properly paced or finished: however long it takes!

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whew! what a post!

but I hoped that gave you some more insight, anon.

writing is crazy, and I'm always learning something new. more now than ever, since I'm looking into actually getting something original submitted for publication.

if you (or anyone reading this) are inspired to write yourself, don't be discouraged! writing is one of the most intensive forms of creation. it's not easy. it's not instant. it's a lot of passion and time, let alone a utilization of language and grammar fluency!

it's easy to feel overwhelmed or lost, or feel like it's better to not try than struggle to start. but I can assure, writing is such a splendid thing to do. write for enjoyment, or pleasure, or simply because you want to.

as long as your story isn't intended to be hateful, is your own work, and is fun for you to create... what else matters?

if you want some additional inspiration, just know that I started writing fic in 2012/2013 and have gone through so much in my near TEN YEARS of fic writing. I've learned a lot, and I've grown so much!

be proud of yourself no matter where you are at and start from, and pride yourself in your progress or beginnings.

just go for it! you may surprise yourself!

hope you're having a good one, anon. and thanks for the ask! :)

[ahnsael]

Welcome to Night Vale has started posting their own transcripts (http://www.nightvalepresents.com/transcripts). I know I mentioned this once before.

I ran the cecilspeaks tumblr for years, posting transcripts to make the show accessible. A few years ago, I gave the blog to someone else because once I was employed again with a graveyard job, I just didn’t have the time to transcribe.

I sent an email to Welcome to Night Vale a couple days ago: 

My name is Kenny. I used to run the blog cecilspeaks on tumblr (you may remember it from when your publisher contacted me to request that I take down eBook copies of transcripts, which they said came only after some back and forth about the impact of the blog, and I never thought I'd have a nice friendly conversation with a lawyer, but they were very amicable in the way they phrased the request and obviously I took the eBooks down because I respect your team and also I'd rather swim with a great white shark than upset a corporate lawyer for a major publisher). You were, however, nice enough to allow me to continue posting transcripts on the blog itself, even though you were beginning to publish them in book form, and I still remember that as a great kindness -- not just to me, but to your fans who wanted the new transcript NOW and not waiting for it to be published by you). Several years ago, I got a new job and became too busy to keep up the blog, so I gave it to someone else, who has kept it going. Yesterday they posted a link to your official transcript page and said "I suppose this is it for this blog." Which makes sense -- cecilspeaks is now redundant. But the blog ran for 7 years and three months, which is a pretty good run. I had a great time transcribing episodes, and the current owner of the blog expressed similar sentiments in their farewell post. Thank you for being a part of that. The Night Vale community was very supportive of me when I announced that I was leaving the blog, and they are being just as nice to the current runner of the blog. And that reflects the sensitivities of the show itself -- sure, there is conflict in the show (there is no story without a conflict -- and I guess there is real life conflict once in a while, as I remember DashCon and the disaster that turned out to be in wasting a lot of peoples' time and money, including yours), but the overreaching message of the show always has seemed to be kindness. And in reading the notes on the farewell post, I was glad to see that this has still carried forward with the fandom. I wish you all nothing but continued success.  The entire crew deserves it. But your show was a major chapter in my life, and in the life of the person who took over for me. You are responsible for something that we were able to do that was really fulfilling and fun. It's the end of an era for us (even though I haven't been involved with the blog for several years now, I did shed a tear that it's over), but hopefully just the next step in a very long era for yourselves. Again, thank you. [my real full name was here, so I’m redacting it from this copy/paste]

(Yeah, I tend to be wordy)

Then I got this response from one of the show’s creators:

Hi Kenny,

Thanks for your work (and the work of the person who took over). We very much appreciate it and are glad that the show means something to you. And thanks very much for your kind email.

Joseph Fink Welcome to Night Vale welcometonightvale.com

I shed a tear of happiness, and forwarded both emails to the person who currently owns the blog (which is now redundant and will apparently no longer be updated), and they were very happy to see this response as well.

I mentioned this before -- we had seven years and three months between the two of us, which is a really good run. And to have one of the show’s writers/creators say that they appreciate us doing what they just started doing means a lot. Also, it’s weird to think that it’s been over seven years since this all started.

I remember when they asked me to take the eBook versions of transcripts down (I used to convert transcripts into just about every eBook format you could imagine and post them for download), and it came with an explanation that they had gone back and forth on the request because they knew that cecilspeaks had contributed to their success, but once they started publishing transcripts in book form, they didn’t want me publishing it on my own (which is fair -- it wasn’t my content to begin with; I was just typing out their audio for accessibility). But they said that I could keep transcribing and posting the episodes, and between me and the other owner, they never did request that we stop. It’s just redundant for cecilspeaks to keep posting now when the show’s creators are not posting transcripts themselves..

I have had nothing but good experiences with the Welcome to Night Vale crew in the few email exchanges they (and their publisher) and I have had. The person who took over for me has met Joseph Fink in person a couple times and had good experiences. 

I hope the show continues for a long time, as behind as I am (I still download each episode, but I just don’t have the time to listen). The people running the show are class acts, and I wish them nothing but continued success.

[ais-n]

Same anon as before x) I've started to reread the DC version book 1. I also stopped to compare the changes from the original website version. Was there a reasoning behind why you decided to cut out a lot of Hsin's interaction with the bar owner Jessica? Like his mutual physical interest in her and the kiss ect? Was it influenced in any way by fan opinions?

Hi again! <3 + :D

This is where I was like “Oh I bet I misunderstood that other question” lol Sorry again about that if I did, or sorry again if I didn’t and thought I did XD

Ok so for the purposes of lessening confusion (and yes, I am aware I am the sole reason it became so confusing haha) I’m going to take “original website version” to reference what we currently call “Original Evenfall” aka the pdf/ebook you can download for free at aisylum.com/project/icos. That is in comparison to the “edited” version aka Director’s Cut aka DC. So when I say original/DC that’s what I’m referencing. Hope that helps/isn’t confusing and makes sense.

With the whole DC edit, full disclosure: the whole reason that came about was 1) we felt like there were parts of the first book especially that definitely needed a lot of editing to flow better and make sense, but also 2) we had been discussing how it would be cool to eventually get them printed in book format somehow for physical copies. 

We agreed on this; what we had different views on was how to go about it. Me being wordy ass me, I thought we should just edit/add/whatever as made sense for the story, and pay zero attention to the word count itself. “Sonny” specifically went into it wanting us to cut a percentage of the word count in order to make it more of a “normal” sized book, which should help with physical publishing and maybe getting new readers, etc. I forget what ‘his’ goal was - I think the goal was to cut 33% of the word count out or something? 25%? I just remember I thought it was way too large a percentage because I’m wordy af lol

Anyway we split the book in half more or less and each of us was responsible for trying to cut things down as much as possible while maintaining the story etc. I ended up having most of Monterrey because I wanted to update Jorge and all that. But because of the way the story is written, things changed in the early part of the book would affect the way things were done in the later half of the book.

From what I recall, we both felt the Jessica parts were a bit over-dramatic at times and maybe detracted from the story. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that when we had the book in context of the rest of DC editing, the way Jessica was handled stood out too much if it remained the Original Evenfall way in the midst of the DC editing. So that ended up getting changed a decent amount. I honestly can’t remember who changed it but it doesn’t really matter since ultimately no matter what one person changed, the other had to agree it was okay or they were okay enough with that change before we published it.

I think at the time we were trying to make things flow better, which meant lessening some of the drama which also affected a bit how Hsin interacted with people and how Boyd responded to those interactions. It’s possible that was the right choice, I don’t know.

But in retrospect, I’m not sure that the change did any favors for Boyd. His story always was very specifically built piece by piece to show why he reacts how he does at different points in the story. He was hella insecure and full of self-doubt and jealous and just emotional in general over the whole Jessica thing because of the way that was first written, and that built into why he does or doesn’t do certain things not only in the rest of Evenfall, but also into Afterimage and even Interludes. 

We were initially thinking that after we did Evenfall DC we would DC the rest of the books, so the thinking was we could smooth out some of those things in later books. But since those DC versions never happened, it just ends up making Boyd seem particularly melodramatic at times in later scenes, if a person hasn’t read the original and only read DC. Which then I think led into the way some readers viewed everything going on especially in Afterimage and Interludes. By the time Fade rolls around, it ends up mostly evening out and being pretty consistent across the board in how readers view things, but I think some of those changes in DC ended up being detrimental to the flow of the story in the context of only having one DC book instead of all 4 DC books flowing together using the same points of reference and building off those.

So, generally - we probably changed Jessica thinking that it made more sense at that time in context of the way the rest of the scenes were written, but that wasn’t thinking in terms of being in context of the way everything was written in later books. So now some things Hsin does or thinks later, or Boyd does or thinks later, or even other people do/think later, seem more melodramatic or odd than they need to be. I think we thought we were doing a good job of keeping the key points needed, and generally we did in terms of plot - like, Jessica As A Possible Rival is still a thing, but it’s less imminent of a feeling because Hsin’s reactions aren’t as intense or whatever as they had been the first time, which is like a little ripple going down the line affecting other things we didn’t realize.

In the end, I’m still glad we made the DC version - it’s super fun having a physical copy, and there are some parts of that version I like a lot, that didn’t show in the original version. New scenes we wrote, or characters we got to expand on. But because “Sonny” had gone into it specifically wanting a specific amount of words cut, we did also cut some scenes out in order to more meet that goal, or adjust the way some scenes were written. And then on top of that, just editing anything will affect the way other stuff is written in that book. Since Boyd especially as a narrator/person is so much built on cause and effect, action and consequence, I tried to keep the spirit of that intact in the DC version but I think I failed in some parts and didn’t realize it at the time or just was so tired of editing I was like “Fuck it; let’s just go with this... It will never be perfect, so this can be good enough.”

By the way, I’m not blaming “Sonny” for this or anything - I’m just mentioning the whole word count thing because it was a thing we didn’t really agree on, but it ended up becoming the shared goal because it was the easiest way to move forward, and because I thought maybe there was enough repetition in the narration it would end up being a moot point. I was all for editing and cutting out unnecessary stuff, I just got hung up on the idea of having to meet a quota for it. I just didn’t want that to be part of the goal; I just wanted the goal to be improving the story as a whole. 

But on the other hand, because we had that specific goal, we may have gone about editing a bit differently, like writing new scenes that combined plot points from other disparate scenes. And I like some of those new scenes a lot. So it probably works out in the end, it just means there’s a lot of give and take when comparing the two versions. 

Ultimately, it probably makes sense for someone who likes the series to read both versions, if they are up to it, to really get an idea of everything that was written as happening in canon, even though that canon at times is a bit opposed to each other between versions.

Which is probably a super confusing way of going about things and no doubt is a super confusing answer - but hopefully it made sense in some form ^^;

[commanderadorkable]

I'm finally sitting down to write my fic! I wasn't tagged by anyone but I'm sharing anyway. This was the *second* scene I wrote for the story. I'm still working out major plots and stuffs.

I don't know who to tag as everyone I know has posted their wips already. 🤣 It’s under the cut cause apparently I’m wordy.

I walked up to Cullen’s office door and lightly knocked. I don’t know why I still knock. He’s asked me about three hundred times to not bother...it still seems rude though.

To just walk into someone’s office slash bedroom without knocking?

I felt even worse since it was well past dinner and I didn’t want to wake him if he had managed to go to bed early.

“Come in.” I heard Cullen say muffled through the door. I opened the door and walked in to find Cullen sitting at his desk,  trying to shave by candle light. He was hunched over in front of a small mirror. On either side of the mirror were multiple candles for light. It still didn’t seem like enough light to shave by. And from how low the candles were burning, it seemed he had been at this for awhile.

He wasn’t in his usual attire, which was kind of surprising. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen this man without his furry mane...and that included in game cutscenes.

Tonight he just wore a plain linen shirt and, I assumed, plain trousers. He could be pantsless for all I knew.

Ooooh. Stop it, brain! “Oof. That can’t be easy. Why don’t you do that in the morning? You'd have more natural light when the sun comes up” I asked looking at him.

The razor paused on his cheek and he looked up at me. Surprise and possibly excitement flicked across his face. But just as quickly his face returned to his perpetually exhausted look. Laying the razor down he let out a long sigh and spoke. “The Ambassador informed me at dinner this evening that the Advisors had an early meeting with some nobles that I needed to attend. I wouldn’t have the time between running drills and getting to the meeting.”

I could hear his voice dripping with disdain when he mentioned the nobles and it made me smile. I placed my hands on my hips and walked towards his desk. As I got closer I saw that he was bleeding in quite a few spots. He moved to continue shaving and I saw that his hands were shaking quite a bit.

That would explain all the nicks. Poor man.

“I don’t know what Thedosian propriety law this would break, but would you like some help?” I asked him, hopefully.

He chuckled and stared at me for a moment. Likely contemplating what kind of scandal this may cause if someone were to walk in to catch us. Resigned he said, “I’m sure you would do a much finer job than I could at present.”

I came around to his side of the desk and took stock of what had been done. There were more cuts than what I previously saw and frowned at him.

"I may take away your straight razor privileges, good ser."

I'm fairly certain the Commander just rolled his eyes at me.

I absentmindedly traced my finger across his cheek taking inventory.

I turned and grabbed the clean washcloth from his desk. I started to dab at the cuts to help staunch some of the worst bleeding.

Then I remembered that I had some fancy new healing magic!

Man, this will never get old. Thanks, Thedas!

“Do you mind if I use some magic to heal these?” I asked, pointing to the little blood spots.

He waved his hand, “Go ahead.”

I hovered my right hand over the right side of his chin and cheek.  I concentrated on healing the small cuts I saw. The faint blue light coming from my hand was always unnerving, but I ignored it and focused on what I was doing.  I was extra careful to avoid the scar on his lip. I definitely didn’t want that to disappear.

Moving my hand as each one disappeared, I continued to move upwards until I reached his temple.

More than once our eyes met and I'd lose my concentration.

Mental note to start training with Solas more.

When I got him all patched up, I grabbed his razor and moved around his chair to his left side. It seemed the straight razors in Thedas weren’t too terribly different than back home. I was silently thankful the few times Derek asked me to help him shave with a straight razor.

I frowned at the memory.

I gently tilted Cullen’s head over to the right so I could see his neck and face better. He closed his eyes and allowed his shoulders to relax.

I noticed his pulse in his neck quicken when I touched him. Mine mirrored his and I had to take a couple steadying breaths.

I groaned internally and tried to distract myself from THAT train of thought.

“Are your withdrawals getting worse?” I asked gently.

Without moving he answered, “Unfortunately, yes. First it starts with the headaches then the nausea. Then usually by the end of the day my hands are shaking too badly to be of much use. If Josephine hadn’t informed me of this meeting, I wouldn’t have bothered with this.”

He gestured to his face with a wave of his hand.

I nodded, not knowing what to say. Then I realized his eyes were still closed.

“Ah. Makes sense.” I continued to work methodically over his neck and face. Taking the razor from his neck over his jaw and up his cheek.

Being this close to him was unnerving. It’s one thing to sit close during a chess game...there’s the board between us to make it seem not so intimate.

But shaving him as I was, afforded me the opportunity to really study his face. How often do I get to stare at his face and not get caught? I smiled like a little girl with her first crush.

I could see the bags under his eye from the lack of sleep. The poor man probably only slept a few hours each night. Then managed to run an entire army to save the world. I don’t know how he did it. I turned into a diva if I didn't get at least 6 hours of sleep.

I could see the wrinkles in his forehead from his perma scowl. I would imagine running on no sleep would make everything seem like a nuisance. Coupled with the constant headaches and nausea. I could see how people found him intimidating to be around. I’d probably be counted among them if I didn’t know how...soft he could be when he let the Commander façade down.

I could also see the scar on his lip that seemed to pull his mouth into smirk every once in a while. I always wondered how he had gotten that scar. He didn’t have it in Kirkwall...or at least wasn’t portrayed as having the scar prior to the rebellion. Maybe I’ll ask him about it one day.

But touching his neck and face… having my face mere inches away from his...watching his pulse go erratic every time I moved my hand...hear his breathing hitch...

Baby Jesus, have mercy on my soul.

I had to stop thinking this way. We were friends...nothing more. We couldn’t be more. I’m pretty sure he’s got a thing for the Inquisitor anyway. Plus, Arry and I are out of here at the first chance we get. We just had to figure out how to get home...bah.

Did I really want to leave? Even more, did Arry want to leave? I hadn't specifically asked her...and she had been spending quite a bit more time with Rylen lately.

Ugh, dammit.

I continued to work slowly. I absolutely didn’t want to be the one responsible for marring this pretty face. I’m pretty sure the fan club that he had amassed at his morning drill sessions would come for me. Pitchforks and all.

As I continued, I could feel his face and neck heating up. I imagined he was starting to blush, but the light was too dim to see it.  

When I finally finished with the razor, I wiped it off on the cloth laying on his desk and folded the razor back up and laid it gently next to the mirror. I grabbed another clean cloth to remove the remaining shaving cream left behind on his face, pleased to see that I hadn’t nicked him at all.

I studied him for just a moment longer. His breathing had grown steady and I was reasonably sure he was on the verge of falling asleep.

“Cullen”, I whispered and nudged him gently on the shoulder.

His eyes popped open and he looked like he forgot what was going on.   “All done.” I smiled at him.

I stood back a couple steps while he tilted his neck from side to side to stretch it out and examined my handy work in the small mirror before him. “I must say, Lady Elaine, I’m rather impressed.” His lip quirked as he looked back up at me.

I snorted “I couldn’t very well let you cut up that pretty face before a big meeting with the nobles. How would that make the Inquisition look? Hm?”

Fuck me, did I just say that?!

He, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. Or at least didn’t let on that he noticed.

“Fair point.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me ‘Lady’?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Likely about as many times as I will have to ask you to stop knocking on my door and just come in.” Cullen deadpanned.

I narrowed my eyes at him, “...touché, Rutherford.”

He chuckled and stood to start clearing off his desk. I saw he was in fact not pantsless at all and wearing a pair of plain leather trousers with only his socks on. “Elaine, did you need me for something?”

“What? Oh, uh, it's nothing actually.” I shrugged.

“Ah.” He looked a little disappointed.

The silence was uncomfortable. Probably because I was making it so. I’d never been one for silence. Plus the fact that I had just been TOUCHING HIS FACE… Internally I screamed.

“Well, I should get goin’ and leave you to it. G’night, Cullen.” I turned towards the door to leave. I had made it across his office and my hand on the handle when he called out to me. 

“Elaine.”

“Hm?” “Do you...do you by chance have any more of that salve you gave me before? For the headaches... What do you call it...the Ice and Hot salve?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. I laughed. “Icy Hot? Yes, I’d be happy to make more for you tomorrow and bring it to our game.”

“Perfect” He smiled at me then. Jesus H Roosevelt Christ...if I wasn’t careful I’d immolate on the spot.

I cleared my throat, “G’night, Cullen.” “Goodnight, Lady Elaine”

I stuck my tongue out at him and turned to leave his office.

[toycarousel]

some advice? Please dont laugh when I say this. I'm transgender, ftm, but I dont like being called transgender, I just want to be called male. But at the same time,I'm african american, and dont want to be an african american male. The very thought scares me to no end and makes me want to not bother with transitioning. My therapist says that my dysmorphia and dysphoria are too conflicting to do anything with, but I dont want to stay as I am. So I'm at an stalemate. Idk what to do next. Advice?

(Disclaimer: I’m not a therapist or any sort of medical professional, so I can only offer my opinions + advice, but if anything feels off to you at all, then totally feel free to ignore it!)

Of course I’m not gonna laugh, Anon, and I don’t get why anyone would -- you’re in a very, very difficult, painful position, and a LOT of therapists aren’t great at figuring out the tentative balance of understanding who a patient is, what a patient needs, what a patient wants, and which steps they need to take with said patient in order to not harm that person... it can definitely take time.  If they’re a good fit for you, they’ll become better at understanding that balance (and also doing their proper research) as they get to know you more, and will offer more helpful options if they’re open-minded about trying a variety of angles instead of just sticking to their little therapy scripts, esp when those scripts don’t always apply neatly to every individual.

I’m not trans (and I’m white), so I could be totally off on a bunch of what I’m about to say (plus everyone’s experiences are different regardless), but I have met a few different people who don’t want to refer to themselves -- or be referred to as -- transgender.  Though their birth assignment doesn’t align with who they are, which fits the definition of “trans”, the term itself just... doesn’t work for them, specifically, and I think I can understand that.  I was born intersex (a person with mixed physical sex characteristics -- many that I didn’t even find out about until much later in life), but I wouldn’t consider that to be a huge part of me, or a defining way to describe my own relationship with gender.  For example, I wouldn’t want to be referred to as “that intersex person”, by other people, unless it was genuinely medically relevant in that moment.

So what I’m personally interpreting from what you’ve written here is that you don’t want the bodily aspect of things to be this constant focus of what your experience in life is, regarding gender.  Since cisgender (and also many intersex men, tbh) get to be referred to as just men, then you should be able to have that same thing, if it feels right for you, imo.  You being what other people would define as “trans” doesn’t make you less of a man regardless, so, ultimately, it’s fair to just want to be referred to as a man, same as all other men.

Wrt to you not wanting to be an African American male due to the terror you feel associated with that specific combo of identities -- well, that sounds incredibly tough for you to be going through, and to try to reconcile! And it’s something I can’t personally imagine (I wish I could help more, so I’ll just offer what I can, but again, if anything sounds off to you, feel free to disregard what I’m saying!) 

I can think of a lot of reasons off the top of my head as to why a person would be terrified to be a black man, but the ones that come to mind for me are things like: having to face an increased risk of police brutality, racism, other stereotypes, other ppl’s expectations as to who you should be -- all those types of wide-reaching social reasons.  But I also don’t know if those reasons are your specific reasons for being terrified of being an African American male, you know? Like on a personal level.  I can take a guess at more specific, internal reasons you might have, but that would be me kinda doing armchair therapy, so I won’t deep-dive there -- however, it’s always a good idea, and appropriate, for you to do some of that intense self-examination, you know? And I’m sure you and your therapist have done a lot of that already, but if you haven’t yet written down your exact reasons for this particular terror, maybe try that out! It’s one of the skills we learn in DBT (and other forms of therapy that I’ve been through).

I’d write out separate pages for each specific thought.  For example, one page listing the reasons/thoughts/emotions as to why you don’t feel comfortable with being labelled as trans (the ways in which it doesn’t apply to you, how you feel when someone does apply it, etc).  And another sheet listing the reasons/thoughts/emotions as to why being an African American man would terrify you, VS just being African American in general.  Again, your reasons for not wanting to be referred to a certain way are totally valid, Anon! These sorts of sheets/journaling exercises are just to help you feel like you have a more solid grasp on where your own emotions are coming from, and to give you something physical to hold onto when you want to explain it in more detail to yourself and your therapist! 

A really, really, really helpful sort of worksheet/mindfulness activity to help us figure out what we’re feeling is this one I also learned in DBT (a form of therapy that is just ridiculously helpful for everyone, imo), and may help with writing out the things I mentioned above.  These are called behaviour chain analysis worksheets, and are usually used to prevent a behaviour that you want to stop engaging in, but what they also ultimately do is help ppl unravel thoughts, emotions -- your primary emotion is especially important to know, because that’s something you can then target with your therapist.  Here’s some info on how to do one: https://www.verywellmind.com/how-to-do-a-chain-analysis-for-problem-behaviors-2797587

And a basic worksheet version (it can rly help to have on-hand, so it can be written down and you can check it out whenever you need to).  https://www.dbtselfhelp.com/html/behavior_chain_analysis.html

Like, for example, say you do one of these sheets to figure out the primary emotion behind bodily dysmorphia.  Say the behaviour was that you snapped at a friend for making a comment about your body, and you want to know why exactly you snapped at them (what about their comment hurt enough to elicit the reaction), and prevent it in the future.  The behaviour chain analysis is a space where you can write down what the behaviour was.  In this example it’d be; “Behaviour: Snapped At Friend”, and then you write down the initial feelings you had associated with it, and the thoughts that went with those feelings.  

Eventually, for example, say that you thought the reason you snapped at them was anger (which is by definition, a secondary emotion -- secondary emotions aren’t less important than primary emotions, but they’re the emotions that happen after primary emotions, sometimes mere seconds after), but when you look at the thoughts you wrote down that you experienced in the moment you snapped at the friend, and dig a little deeper, say it turned out that the primary emotion (the one that happened before the thoughts, and before the secondary emotions) wasn’t anger, but actually shame.

(I’m not saying yours will be shame btw, I just like using shame as an example, because a lot of my own thoughts and feelings and behaviours and inner conflicts are rooted in shame).

So then that gives you something solid to show yourself, but also to bring to your therapist.  Instead of the therapist focusing on only the thoughts and feelings that they’re visibly seeing in you in a session, they now know that you’re struggling with underlying shame, or sorrow, or grief, or disgust, or fear, or whatever the primary emotions end up being for you.  Then the therapist can more easily help you through tackling the dysmorphia, and any unwanted behaviours and thoughts + emotions associated with it.  And being able to tackle one of the things you’re struggling with in the ask you sent me above means that the dysphoria may start to make more sense for you in the same context as the dysmorphia -- and, hopefully, there will eventually be less of a conflict between the two, or at least they’ll be more understandable, even if they’re entirely separate from each other.

Since you’re not yet sure you want to transition due to these very genuine inner conflicts, then, like, I get why your therapist isn’t going ahead with it, but I also don’t want you to have to stagnate with therapy, or be denied the sense of progress, or with generally getting to know yourself either -- I want you to have the opportunity to live a life that feels right for you, but without the various intense fears associated with that! And I know that it’s fully possible, and will likely just take time, and support, and a willingness to unravel some things that... are probably gonna hurt a lot to unravel.  So you should definitely make sure you’re ready to unpack those things and are doing it with a professional you trust; and that you have outside support networks as well (friends, family, whoever is close to you that you can talk to).

Remember that there’s absolutely no time limit on when you can and can’t transition, if you choose to in the future! Plus, there are ways of transitioning that aren’t All The Way, you know? Reversible things you can do (which may have been what you were asking for from the start, ahahaha! My apologies for my wordiness in this response :’)

There are obvs options like binding, packing, etc., that you probably already know about (and know more about than me, tbh).  But you can also try other things out too -- there are certain types of makeup techniques/contouring for a more masculine look, more natural forms of altering hormones (if you feel safe doing so, and your doctor suggests any safe options -- definitely research this one thoroughly ahead of time).  

A legal change of name can also switch up how you feel a whole lot, if you’re ready/able to do so, (and if not, even just asking ppl to refer to you by a name that you choose, or a variety of different names, depending on whether you’re not sure which one fits yet; it’s always okay to change your mind wrt these things).  

Changing your wardrobe drastically can also rly alter how other ppl view and treat you, and I know there are resources online, and many on this site (mainly written by ppl who use the term trans for themselves, but that will hopefully be helpful to you as well), that have clothing swap links, and other suggestions as to more transition-related things you can do to move forward, while also not making any decisions that feel too permanent! Here are some of the links/resources along that vein that I could find:

https://transclothesexchange.tumblr.com/ (clothing exchanges)

https://transguys.com/style/trans-clothing-exchanges (clothing exchanges)

https://thebodyisnotanapology.tumblr.com/post/97564996149/transgender-resources (resources in general, including general body positivity, which could be incredibly helpful during especially dysmorphic and/or dysphoric times!) 

https://advicefromabro.tumblr.com/gi (I think this is an older post, but it mentions an app that will allow you to find a gender-neutral or safe bathroom, if that’s currently a concern for you!)

https://transstudiesarchive.tumblr.com/post/168139537672/transgender-resources-masterpost (looks like this one has some resources for African American people as well, among a variety of races)

https://nonbinary-support.tumblr.com/resources (this one has some links regarding name changes and tips for choosing a name, if that’s something that you’re interested in!)

https://transgenderteensurvivalguide.tumblr.com/post/147789231360/makeup-tips-for-ftm-people (some makeup and skincare tips for men!)

(I hope some of these are helpful for you, Anon! I’m sorry that they use language that doesn’t apply to you, it’s just what came up when I researched these tips -- but I think these are resources that could be helpful for anyone in a similar boat, not strictly trans ppl!)

In any case, whatever you do and don’t do, you can always choose who you are and how you represent yourself.  There are some physical aspects to a body that cannot be changed, or can only be changed with medical intervention, and some aspects of appearance that will always be there (skin colour, etc), but these things don’t define who you are.  I dunno how helpful this will be, but I wanted to also leave you with this; you may have certain body parts, but they aren’t your gender, or the sum of you.  People might assign labels like “trans” to you, but that doesn’t make them right, or you wrong.  You’re African American, but that’s not the sum of you either.  Your race, your gender, these are important aspects of our lives in the sense that they inform our experiences in a lot of ways, but they aren’t Who You Are.  “African American male” may be something a doctor writes on a sheet for you someday, or maybe not, but regardless, it says nothing about you as a person:  

It doesn’t tell anyone what you love, what you dislike, what makes you happy, your hobbies and interests, what you’re good at, what you want to become good at, your dreams, your goals, your personal achievements, those little things in life that make you smile sometimes, your complexities, your favourite colour, a place you’d love to go, a place you already like to go when you want to be alone, or somewhere or something you want to share with a loved one someday, a movie scene that made you cry, whether or not you’re an animal person/want pets (or already have them), your lifelong habits, embarrassing things you did when you were younger, how deeply and wonderfully you affect the people in your life, stories you may have created, your sense of beauty and style, a song or a poem that speaks to you, your sense of humour... all these things are yours.  No matter where you are in life right now, and no matter where you want to be in the future! No one has the right to define you but you -- and no one can take that from you. 

Happy New Year, Anon! And best of wishes~!!! : D

[batbirdies]

In your storyline ccat did Dick send Jason to Arkham like he did in the comics? How does Jason feel about that? How does Dick and the family

EDIT: I did not mean to post this yet. Ugh. The post button is too close to the little dots that let you save a draft and now it keeps not saving my edits. I was going to do some fact checking and, you know, general editing before posting but now we’re too late. I might make a more readable post about this later...

Get ready for an extremely wordy, answer.

So, this is an interesting question. Because I know that most batfans do consider this to be canon. Dick sent Jason to Arkham.

However - I read those comic issues, and even re-read them after getting this ask just to see if I missed something. And it’s very possible I still did since it could have been referenced much later in a comic when talking about the whole thing past tense. But....while Dick was there when Jason was arrested - he was arrested, as in by actual police, specifically, commissioner Gordon. He wasn’t taken in by Dick as Batman.

So while we can infer, possibly, that Dick had an influence on what facility Jason was actually brought to. It seems to make perfect sense to me that the police and court system would have ruled Jason criminally insane and sent him to Arkham themselves. ESPECIALLY after the arch in which he was arrested in. (The professor Pyg one, quickly followed by Flamingo the assassin where Jason does something so dangerous in order to kill flamingo that Dick asks him “was that some kind of suicide attempt?”)

Now, we could reason that Dick could have gotten Jason out of Arkham buuuuut, there’s so much to go into honestly... and I’m gonna go ahead and skip it here because basically everything I would say in relation to this will be the same as my reasoning if Dick was the one who was directly responsible for Jason being sent to Arkham.

So let’s go there, let’s say Dick was responsible for Jason being locked up in Arkham. Let’s first look at Dick’s options here, what places could he send Jason? He could send him to a regular prison, Blackgate, made for extremely dangerous criminals, or he could send him to Arkham Asylum, made for the criminally insane.

(One might also argue that he could have just not had him sent anywhere and let him go free, but let’s be real and honest here, unless you are the type of Jason Stan who thinks he’s perfect and never made bad decisions or been at fault for any apparently poor ones, this is faulty reasoning. Jason has not only been responsible for the deaths of a ton of people in recent times to this arrest, he also attempted to reveal Dick and Damians identities to the world and pitted himself directly against Batman and Robin in these issues. He tried to get in their way, ruin their plans, to prove that his methods of vigilanteism were more effective and in general, better than the bat’s. He was actively attempting to ruin their reputation and turn people against them.

You could reason he was also responsible, in a roundabout way, for Damian’s very serious injuries in this particular issue, where he is shot five times and ends up paralyzed from the waist down and must be rescued and operated on by Talia’s expansive medical team.

End note being: they had to lock him up. I certainly would have felt I had no choice.)

Sending him to a standard prison would never have been an option, Jason would have broken out in a matter of days if they ever would have even managed to get him locked inside. So Dick would have to choose between Blackgate and Arkham.

In later issues, after Bruce is back, he goes to visit Jason when Jason keeps appealing to be sent to Blackgate because he is sane and has passed all the tests they’ve given him with flying sane colors. Bruce says that he is in Arkham “For his own protection” implying that as Red Hood he made some massive enemies, a lot of whom are imprisoned in Blackgate at this very moment and who would take any opportunity to do harm to Jason.

Dick would have been aware of this. Dick would have been very much caught between a rock and hard place here. Because while he would more than likely be aware that Jason would NEVER wish to be stuck in Arkham, as would NONE of the bats, he would more than likely put his physical safety first. Reasoning that even if Jason was unhappy in Arkham at least he could be safe and given more time to hopefully come around to a more reasonable state. Because it’s been shown that Dick wants to help Jason. Before stepping back and allowing the police to arrest Jason Dick says this to him: “Look at yourself Jason. You’re a mess. Everything’s a mess. Stop all this...and let us help you.”

Jason then responds: “Help me? ...It’s...it’s too late for me Grayson. It was always too late for me, don’t you get it?”

Jason was more but I don’t think it’s necessary to to recount the whole thing. During this exchange the police surround both of them with guns pointed at Jason and Commissioner Gordon says the only reason they let Batman do this stuff is because he stayed on the right side of the law. So they arrest him.

Dick is then distracted by Damian, who is lying on the ground after being shot multiple times and unable to move from the waist down.

The short answer to this question, is yes and no lol. Because going by canon I think it could easily be reasoned that Dick wasn’t the one who put Jason in Arkham, but even if I’m mistaken in this and Dick was credited with this at some point in the comics I’m unaware of...

I certainly would have questioned Jason’s mental health. And I mean, I think Jaosn’s mental health is a serious concern in general. He needs help. But he wasn’t willing to get it, he thought it was too late for him.

We also have to look at the fact that while we, as readers, see Arkham Asylum as this dumping ground for the criminally insane that’s rife with abuse and everyone who works there is incompetent and allows inmates to escape on the regular etc etc. That’s not really what it’s meant to be in canon. The Batfam obviously view it as the best option they have to deal with the particular breed of crazy that Gotham produces.

Jason’s personal history with the Joker in particular is brought up the most, because how could Dick put Jason in the same place as the JOKER. LIKE WTF.

But my understanding is actually that by canon timelines Joker wasn’t actually in Arkham while Jason was there. That’s not to say he couldn’t have been locked up during his stay at any point, but I would also think that in a psych hospital it would be a reasonable action to keep certain inmates always separate and never in the same space together. Of course we can reason that even being in the same facility would bring Jason all kinds of anxiety and be terrible for his mental health but again, just looking at what I already wrote - there just wasn’t an amazing option available. Nothing would have been a great move on Dick’s part.

To actually answer your ultimate question:

I think everyone would look at this time in all of their lives as just....the WORST. Like....the WORST possible time. This is during the year that Bruce was dead, all of their lives were in turmoil, utterly chaotic and incredibly stressful. Jason was at one of his lowest points and Dick was trying to be Batman to Damian’s violent and difficult to control Robin whole also being on the outs with Tim. Jason pulled some serious shit, trying to reveal their identities on national television? Beyond his killing of people, which the batfam has been staunchly against for forever, even if they decided to give Jason a pass because reasons. No one knew what to do.

I think Jason would look at this time in his life with a large amount of shame for his actions. He might resent Dick for being involved in the event that got him locked in Arkham but he could see what’s already been mentioned. What were his options?

I think Dick feels guilty, but again, what was he supposed to do? What was a better choice? Jason DID eventually end up in Blackgate and it ended terribly, multiple got killed and like over 80 people were poisoned and Jason escaped. So obviously Blackgate would NOT have been the better option.

I think it’s maybe a rough, sensitive spot between them, but both of them also just see it as a time when all of their lives were so difficult it would have been impossible for there to be a good outcome. I think the rest of the family feels similarly. This was a terrible time in all of their lives when no one was making their best decisions. And frankly there weren’t a lot of great options.

I think all of them just want to put this behind them and move forward.

[e8luhs]

btw got this ask on my classpecting blog (which is basically super dead because i rarely ever have the time/energy to get around to posting on it) but since its cb related and were on a spree here, i wanted to put some info here because well... you know me :3c

yes i made the base of the characters personalities with their classpects in mind. obviously they still developed past that point (quite a few of the characters ended up completely different from how they were when i originally wrote them (rivian, crylus, vergas) because of the original writing being more based around classpects)

also ill write some real quick classpect descriptions for all of them under the cut since i dont want this post to get too long. i dont really want to say exactly why the puzzle pieces fit together because i think its fun to hear about other peoples opinions and also show w/o telling but i also really love classpecting and just some baselines doesnt really count as spoilers i dont think

rivian: witch of void, typically witches are quite a bit more fun and optimistic and generally just all around more Expressive than rivian is but like... youll understand when we get to it. witches are also just Incredibly Stubborn and i think thats quite a rivian thing.

witches have their aspects permeate throughout their life, and manipulate their aspects actively; they bend their aspects to their will, either by going totally against the notions and boundaries of their aspect or by simply modifying it to suit their needs. they thrive in environments where theyre able to go along with their own organized chaos and sense of structure. 

void is about secrets, irrelevance, the enigmatic the mysterious et cetera. i think void is also about hidden interpersonal knowledge. its working on the sidelines and in the background. void players always seem to do the hard work, but are in someone/something elses shadow.

lyreni: sylph of time, honestly lyreni is still basically The Definition Of A Sylph. shes caring, very aware of her surroundings, acts according to what she deems is important, shes patient shes exacting... but she can be a bit meddle-y and pedantic and pushy due to her own anxieties.

sylphs analyze and heal their aspect. they find where people and where their session is lacking in it and essentially poke and prod and go about whichever way they possibly can to fix the lack of their aspect. theyre very opinionated about their aspect and what it means to them and what it should mean to others, and therefore sylphs need to learn to wield these ideas and use them to help others.

time is about time itself and the flow of it, death, progression, etc. not only that, but its about order and structure, singleminded focus, all of which selfimposed. time is more like a chain of events that needs to be kept in order than it is about inevitable events that are out of your control.

kapreo: rogue of rage, i usually say rogues follow two different archetypes (1. they either start with an abundance of their aspect and need to find a comfortable balance, or 2. they start with a percieved lack of their aspect and need to accept it into their life. either way, once both of them grow into those second stages they then redistribute their aspect to others). kapreo is a v2 rogue. rogues also as a whole are very friendly and generous, passionate, determined. though on the other hand, rogues can sometimes have the tendency to isolate themselves from others when they face stress and other struggles.

although both types of rogues have different types of deeprooted insecurity when it comes to their aspect, v2 rogues in particular lack in confidence comes from the fact that they could never handle their own aspect. therefore, they might have difficulties ever allowing themselves indulge in their aspect even when worse comes to worse. as stated above v2 rogues need to learn to accept that their aspect CAN be a part of who they are, and that they CAN handle it.

rage is about skepticality, defiance, boundaries, intense feelings, adrenaline, its putting your foot down and not taking anymore bullshit. its about putting yourself first. rage is also just a very like... sensory aspect. its the burning feeling in your chest that you get when youre in those states of passionate, unrestricted emotion.

sebran: knight of space, You Know Why Lets Be Real Do I Even Have To Say It. knights are boundlessly loyal, committed, reliable and nuturing people, however obviously they have a tendency towards the Emotional Constipation and are constantly concerned with their own sense of usefulness and competence.

knights essentially have to unlearn their obsessive facades and sort of... perfectionism when it comes to the way they come off and the way they interact with their aspect so that they can exploit and wield their aspect. basically knights have to put the metaphorical shield down and take out their sword instead. their facades usually tend to reflect their opposite aspect due to their insecurity with their actual aspect. 

space is about creation, lack of bounds, infinite possibilities, the universe, isolation, loneliness. making something out of nothing. everything is at the universes whims, its unable to be contained. theres kind of a lack of any sort of structure or stability when it comes to space.

crylus: prince of doom, now hold your fucking horses before you say anything okay i know a lot of the times princes make everyone go “Oh god oh fuck” but i can promise you that crylus is a GOOD prince. princes can be incredibly capable and confident, goal oriented, helpful players. on the other hand though YES they can be a bit impulsive, arrogant. princes also tend to be a bit hypercritical as they hold people to high standards but they hold themselves to even higher ones (see dirk) a lot of the time.

princes ghost their opposite aspect and either just straight up destroy or destroy WITH their ACTUAL aspect, as they have strong internal brewing anger and hatred for their aspect and what it stands for. for the most part, princes need to learn how to channel this energy towards only flushing out the genuinely NEGATIVE parts of their aspect, as destruction sometimes isnt inherently a bad thing. in fact, sometimes tearing things down to make new ones is necessary and part of the process. but princes are REALLY high risk/high reward.

doom is about order thats outside of your control. its pre-established rules, guidelines, fate and futility and inevitability. similar to the death card in tarot though, even if doom is about the unavoidable end of a cycle, its also about the beginning of a new one.

vergas: bard of blood, i think its pretty easy to understand Why. originally he was going to be a bard of light which youll still see some remnants of that when his land comes up. bards are faithful in their beliefs and can be very committed to those ideas... but due to that faith they can be at their best just kind of annoying and stubborn to at their worst, antagonistic, unaccomodating, and dogmatic. 

its kind of hard to explain, but bards ghost their opposite while destroying THROUGH their aspect. i usually say that to mean that bards use their own aspect as a sort of vessel of destruction. theyre also incredibly unpredictable players, as if their convictions ever waver theyre likely to go totally off the shits. i usually call that their Bardly Revelation aka when a bards world views and ideas about their aspect are finally challenged. a bards challenge then is to figure out how to take these challenges in stride and become open to new perspectives rather than letting it consume them whole. (hint: a lot of bards have a very hard time doing this. you can kind of figure what im getting at here).

blood is about bonds, strength, unity, responsibility, society, norms. i relate blood also to expectations, and relationships but more like… in the sense of working together as a team. commitment.

hopefully thats vague but informative enough for you to get why i picked their classpects out. as always im really excited to get deeper into the story and actually really Show like Why they fit rather than just give some overly wordy explanations

[radiojamming]

can I request a reader/Jacob fic where they get stuck in the woods or something and have to snuggle for warmth and Jacob is Unhappy™️ about it but secretly loves it

petition for a winter-themed dlc where u can go cross country skiing and everyone’s wearing adorable winter wear

(also i’m so sorry i’m rusty with reader-viewpoint fanfic. hopefully u like it!)

- - -

Seriously, fuck Montana. Sure, it’s beautiful and scenic, and one look at the snow-capped Whitetails catching the winter sunlight is enough to take your breath away. The entire county looks like someone vigorously shook a snowglobe; yet all you can think is something along the lines of fuck this joint. 

Because Montana decides that four feet of snow is a perfectly acceptable amount. Four feet of snow to ski or stomp through, chasing after white-clothed cultists in distinctly white scenery. Four feet of snow with a blizzard bound in from the west, pressing hard on the mountains that you just so happen to be trying to meander through. And, fair to mention, it’s four feet of snow plus blizzard on top of Jacob’s territory, just to be the little flourish on top of a massive snowpile of disaster that your weekend’s become.

You hadn’t meant to get so far into the mountains. In early fall and well into November, the weather held off enough that what you’re attempting now wasn’t even a fraction of a problem. But now, you’re clumsy on borrowed skis, and a damn near fatal snowshoe attempt earlier in the week made that mode of transportation an impossibility. A snowmobile might be able to do alright, but there are way too many trees to do that safely, at least until you find a vague road-shaped stretch of snow to ride on. That’s pretty much your mission now. Find a road, kick some Peggie off their snowmobile, and ride into glory, a snowbank, someone’s house, or a combination of all three.

The clouds above you get patchy, bloated, and dark with snow. Sunlight attempts to burst through, but as the hour wears on, it grows weaker and weaker. Finally, when you’re within sight of a side road, the sky is one uniform layer of angry, frigid gray, and even through the layers you’re wearing, you can still feel the temperature drop degree by degree. Cold pricks your cheeks and your nose and it numbs your fingers. If there was ever a time to hustle out to the nearest Resistance outpost, now’s the time.

Except obviously, someone out there has very different plans for you.

You’ve made it about two hundred yards down the road when there’s a distinct crack of gunfire, and a plume of snow shoots up beside you. It’s hard to whirl around with skis, but you manage, sniper rifle already up and ready. The snow’s already starting to come down in heavy flakes, obscuring your vision. You squint through it, trying to find the shine of a rifle, the distinct red of a scope or sight. Nothing.

A few minutes of turning around, left, right, and backwards, and still nothing.

You start to wonder if it was a stray shot, or maybe someone–

Maybe someone cracks you in the side of the head with a rifle butt.

Well, you have your vengeance, because whoever it is doesn’t count for the fact that you’ve proven yourself to be a royal moron when it comes to skis. You stumble, dazed, one ski catching the other and causing you to careen hard to the left. Vaguely, you register hitting something, which happens to be large and warm and covered in fabric, but the sensation only lasts a second before the entire world turns completely sideways. 

The last thing you see is a stretch of mottled white and gray camo, and you hear a low groan of displeasure. Then, it goes pleasantly dark.

- - -

The first thing that you feel is a slamming headache. It’s like a cross between a hangover and a closed-head injury, and it might be both. It pulses hard in your right temple, like your heart’s taken up real estate next to your brain and has taken the responsibility of being a noisy, obnoxious neighbor. You wince, but the wince somehow makes it hurt more. 

The second thing you feel is that fabric-covered warmth at your side, and that is way more pleasant than your heart versus brain fight. Whatever it is, it’s faintly rumbling, and without thinking on it (because your brain’s preoccupied with shouting down the tenants), you try to get closer to the source. Said source makes a noise of distinct bear-like discontent, but doesn’t move away. 

Except vaguely, your brain takes a break from protesting to notice that something’s not quite right.

Hey! you think it says, shouting over your too-loud pulse. Maybe open your eyes a second. 

You do, with enormous reluctance. You’re greeted with more of that white and gray camo print, and red. Lots of red. A red blanket, red beanie, red beard–

Oh. Well. 

Shit.

There are only two real possibilities here: one is that you’re huddled up beside who is, for all intents and purposes, a perfect genetic clone of Jacob Seed, down to the unflinching eyes staring a hole through your face and the ‘I’m going to make you mincemeat’ expression that he shares with his wolves. The second is that it is Jacob Seed, no clones needed, and with all aforementioned traits. 

The second can’t be likely, because there is no way on God’s green (or mostly gray and white, right now) earth that Jacob Seed would be curled around you like a motherly mountain lion without putting you in a stranglehold and threatening you with Darwinian theory. Honestly, there’s only one way to test this.

“Jacob?” you croak out, your voice sounding like it might compete with his on gravelliness.

And, in equally gravelly tones, he replies, “Deputy.”

You have to take a little more stock to figure out how the hell you got in this position. Everything around you is dark, except the telltale gold glow of a fire nearby. You look up to see a crackling blue tarp mounted on a crossbeam of PVC pipe, and you glance down to see that the two of you are huddled up on an unrolled and unzipped sleeping bag, blue and green flannel facing upwards. When you manage to lift your head up without passing out, you see that you’re in some makeshift camp tunneled into the snowbank. There’s a crate on the other side of the fire and little else. Obviously, it’s not a camp meant for an extended stay.

So, without a concrete answer, you just ask, “What?”

Jacob makes a strange, low wheezing sound which you feel more than see. It’s a warm rush of air that you can feel on your scalp. “Great question,” he mumbles, and that is something you feel through his chest. “You want the long, wordy version or the short and easy one?”

You dazedly mutter something that might be, “Short and easy,” but it comes out sounding more like, “Sortneeeez.”

Another puff of warm air and you realize it’s a laugh. 

“I tried to catch you alive, you tripped on your own skis, fell into me, rammed my head into a tree, and we were both knocked out for at least a half an hour,” he explains quietly. “I managed to get up and get us both here, but the temperature dropped into the negatives, so getting to the nearest cabin isn’t happening until morning.”

You blink slowly, trying to absorb all of what he’s said. It’s more than you’ve heard from him in awhile, excluding things that come out like sermons or lectures. The Seeds only seem to be blessed in one art of conversation, and it’s never anything good or truly entertaining.

“So,” you reply, trying to pull your wits back together enough that you don’t sound like you’re nursing a concussion. “Why’re we here?” The word we is accompanied by a slight elbowing at Jacob’s waist, causing him to grunt.

“‘Cause neither of us need to freeze to death. Basic survival,” he replies.

“So we’re cud–”

“Don’t say it.”

Yes, you’re still dazed and trying to work your way through a headache, but spiteful ye shall always be, and you’re smiling before your brain has a chance to coach you on why that might be a bad idea. Predators showing teeth and all that.

“We’re cuddlin’,” you finish regardless, and that’s about the extent of your eloquence for now. Any other word is going to come out in a slurry of consonants and vowels that won’t make much sense.

Another grunt, and it’s another wonder of the world that he doesn’t kill you now and just pull a Han Solo strategy on your still-warm corpse. Instead (and this might be a hallucination), you feel a slight tug around your waist, and you’re suddenly even closer to Jacob than you were before. Your mind is already sinking back into unconsciousness, and you manage to register that he smells like pine sap and campfire. You grin at this, and might say something about it, but Jacob’s sighing and keeping you close.

“Go to sleep,” he orders.

You happily succumb to sleep, but not before you swear you feel a hand running over your hair before it rests just behind your head.

[askaceattorney]

(Previous Letter)

Dear starry-nightengale,

You know, that’s a good question.  There was at least one thing the judge said in T&T that made me think the death penalty was the default sentence for murder:

But now that you mention it, it’s entirely possible that isn’t the case.  In fact, the word “subject” doesn’t mean anything definite, so maybe there is a chance that some of the less heinous criminals (ex. Acro, Mimi Miney, Godot, etc.) only received a prison sentence.  I’ll keep that in mind for future letters to them.

Dear call me pinky,

9-year-old Maya is off-limits since she doesn’t appear in any of the games, but if you want to, you can write to the young Maya or Mia depicted in Misty’s photo:

Since their ages at the time weren’t given, you can refer to them as “Child Maya” or “Child Mia.”  I hope that works for you.

Dear Fulbright,

Me too, pal.  Me too.  *shudder*

Interestingly enough, I imagined Machi and Thalassa as having Indian accents, while the voice I imagined for Zinc LaBlanc sounded more German for some reason.  Also, as I just learned from the Ace Attorney Wiki, the Borginian (or Borginese) language has a lot in common with Egyptian, including the use of symbols rather than letters.  Your guess as to how they actually sound is as good as mine.  The developers are the only ones who really know, most likely.

Dear PumpkinGeist,

No such thing as a dumb question here.  Allow me to explain!

It’s a pretty simple process.  First, I go to the inbox and scroll waaaaaaay down to where the oldest letters are.  Then I use a thing called Snipping Tool (something I didn’t know existed until I started on this blog) to capture each submitted letter and save it as a PNG file on my desktop.  For Mac users, there’s a number of equivalent tools that can do the same thing.

After grabbing twelve letters or so, I check each one to see if it has an “anonymous please” or “only hide email” tag.  For anonymous letters, I use Paint to erase the icon, name and email address, or just the email for “only hide email” letters.  Then I go to the blog’s “Queue” page (you can also go to the home page if you don’t have a queue yet) and click the “Text” button on the white bar near the top of the screen.

From there, I click the camera icon and upload the letter I want to answer, type out a response (definitely the toughest part of the process), and add all the necessary gifs and hashtags.

Finally, I click the arrow on the bottom-right of the box, select “Schedule”, and enter the day and time I want the letter to be posted (ex. Sunday, 1pm).  You can also select “Add to Queue” to have Tumblr set a time for it to be posted automatically, but I’ve found that to be a little less predictable.  Also, if it’s a post you want to save for later (like we do for these Mod letter posts), you can choose “Save as Draft”.

I hope that all made sense, and sorry if it was too wordy.  Best of luck with your blog!

Dear James CyberLink,

Right back at you, lad!  Thanks for the idea, and sorry you didn’t get the chance to participate.  I thought you’d left this blog a long time ago, to be honest.

We do still have your original letter in the inbox -- we can post it in our next Mod letters post if you want.  If anyone else has an idea for a future holiday event, please feel free to send them our way!  We can always use the help.

Dear C.,

Well, you know something?  You’re entirely correct.  I really let you all down with that one.  I still stand by my claim that hurting feelings is never a goal of mine, but I definitely could’ve (and should’ve) seen that one coming.  My sincere apologies go out to everyone who took that letter as a personal offense.

I’m honestly not sure why I thought it’d be a good idea to answer that letter in the first place.  It was most likely to show that I'm not afraid to address issues like that one in letters without promoting either side of them, but that obviously backfired this time around.  Hopefully someday it’ll be possible for people to discuss things like this without any tempers flaring, but in the meantime, I’ll be keeping my nose out of this issue on this blog, and I promise to do a better job of filtering out letters that might cause problems like this in the future.

A huge thanks, by the way, to everyone who’s been willing to forgive our missteps and keep trusting us to do better.  You guys are awesome, and I definitely don’t take that for granted.  Your trust means a lot to me, so I plan to do everything I can to keep earning it.

Dear Friend,

Thanks for pointing that out -- that makes this letter canonically incorrect, doesn’t it?  I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten that.

(Someone has some replaying to do.)

And thank you for providing some perspective on that little fiasco.  As I’ve stated before, there’s practically nothing you can say on the internet that won’t offend somebody, but I at least want to stay away from topics that result in a huge controversy like that one -- that’s not what this blog is for.  That being said, I certainly don’t intend to censor every controversial topic.  As ugly as arguments can get, they’re a huge part of why Ace Attorney is so enjoyable.  I don’t agree with everything that’s said in the games, but if I let that bother me, I’d be missing out on the parts that I’ve come to love.

So, while I do aim to be sensitive toward specific groups of people in my letter responses (and I obviously could be doing a better job in that regard), if controversial topics are something that easily upset you, then I’m sorry to say that this blog probably isn’t for you.

...And by “you” I mean anyone reading this -- not you personally.

Dear kuromajinevil,

Nice!  These look like the sort of sprites you’d find in an Ace Attorney minigame that came with the full game, similar to “London Life” in the Professor Layton series.  Whatever you plan to use these for, I think they’re pretty cool.

I’ve seen the Dahlia sprites in a letter that's still in the queue, and will probably be answered within a month.  I’m sure the recipient will enjoy them as well.

(Previous Letter)

(Video in Letter)

Dear Mothmouth,

Interesting.  I might’ve realized that myself if I’d noticed the first line on the Wikipedia page.  I’d imagine Bonny and Betty might’ve watched the show when they were younger until their parents decided it was too scary for them...or for Bonny, at least.

(Song in Letter)

Dear Anonymous,

I’ve seen this video before, and I love it, too.  Recreating video game music is a fun and tricky challenge (I’ve done so with other songs using Cakewalk), so I love it when it sounds as good as the original.  My favorite pursuit theme is, and likely always will be, the one from Dual Destinies.  I think it’s one of the greatest tunes Ace Attorney has given us, and I like how this medley resolves it on a major chord.

-The Co-Mod

P.S. I would've posted these sooner, but I wanted to give the Modthorne a fair chance to add her responses.  She’s still too busy, as it turns out.  Sorry for the delay!

[deadmandairyland]

Chihiro Fujisaki for the ask~

Thanks for the ask! I probably put way too many words in this. I hope you like reading!

002 | Give me a character & I will tell you

How I feel about this character:

Chihiro is probably my favorite character in Danganronpa. I think there was a time where I would have said he definitely was my favorite, but I have to give credit where credit is due because most of the characters in this series are amazing and uniquely and creatively designed. But Chihiro will always be near the top of my favorites if he somehow isn’t in first place. He is an unsung hero of the series. Without him the survivors of DR1 would have never escaped the school. He is at least in part responsible for the creation of the Neo World Program, which is a key part of the Hope’s Peak Academy arc’s lore. Supplementary materials often show Chihiro being at least somewhat involved in the backstory of the series. As I mentioned back when Absolute Despair Girls came out, Chihiro was basically the Adventure Time snail of the series for a time, showing up in or being mentioned in about as many installments and spin-offs of the series as Junko Enoshima. I’m pretty sure Chihiro has made more appearances in one way, shape, or form than friggin’ Komaeda, and everyone loves Komaeda. (Though screentime, on the other hand, is another story. I think it’s safe to say Junko and Komaeda won out on that end)

All in all, I feel that this is a character who deserves better–not just because he died such a tragic death, but in a meta sense as well. I feel like the series, after building up Chihiro in flavor text for so many installments, decided to backpedal a bit and make him more of a footnote than anyone important. This is especially disappointing considering that when most people talk about Chihiro, most of the time it’s in reference to the gender controversy, rather than his accomplishments in the series. Granted, this is a very important aspect of Chihiro’s character as well, and I’m not going to go out of my way to be a dick to people who say they saw something different in Chihiro than what I saw, but whenever I go through the tags it does seem like Chihiro seems to be one-note to a lot of people, and I feel it is a shame because there is a lot going on there. Themes of inner strength and resurrection and how destructive enforced gender roles and bullying in Japanese high schools can get when taken to the logical extreme. A lot of this seems to be ignored. I mean we all joke about how Chihiro’s birthday is Pi Day, but how many people also realize it’s White Day, the day when boys are expected to give gifts back to girls in response to being given chocolates on Valentine’s Day? Thinking about it that way, it makes you wonder what Chihiro’s birthdays were actually like. With all the talk surrounding Chihiro’s gender, I’m surprised that I’ve never seen anyone speculate on this. Might make for an interesting fanfiction prompt too, regardless of how you view Chihiro’s gender identity.

This got awfully wordy and more political than I expected it to get and I apologize. Though, to be fair, Danganronpa is a very political series… usually. Still, this is just a fun little meme, and I don’t intend to dive head first off a cliff into the sea and jagged rocks of fandom discourse, so let me end this segment by briefly saying another thing I like about Chihiro that will hopefully lift all of our spirits before we move on:

Chihiro is a sweet and adorable cinnamon roll that we do not deserve.

Just look at his smiling face!

No matter how sad I am, that smile will always make me feel a little better, if not outright happy.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Well, I could look over the charts I’ve made and find probably a million Chihiro ships (okay that’s a bit of an exaggeration; it’s probably more like twenty, which is still about fifteen too many), so I’m just going to stick with the big ones.

Naegi, Asahina, Sakura, and Ishimaru.

…Maybe Mondo. Maybe Leon. Maybe Mukuro. Maybe real world Chiaki. Maybe Kuzuryu. Maybe that Yukimaru guy who we sadly never get to see. Maybe Miaya… who we sadly never get to see. Maybe a crap ton of others…

But mostly the first four I listed.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

All of the “maybes” in the previous section.

Am I cheating at this? Yes.

…

My unpopular opinion about this character:

Don’t worry. I won’t be going for the obvious joke. (I mean I better not, especially after that first segment. It would defeat the purpose of that giant wall of text I made you sit through)

Instead I’m just going to remind anyone who thinks Chihiro is overrated and wasn’t an important character that Chihiro vicariously saved Naegi’s life and therefore the other survivors’ lives as well and y’all can suck it.

Also there’s that thing I made a thing in my DR3 fic that I still haven’t finished yet or even updated since November (oh my god it’s May already) where Chihiro is a fan of professional wrestling and that’s now a headcanon of mine that I’m sure very few people have or would agree with.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

This might seem like a cop-out, since this is Danganronpa and all, but I wish Chihiro survived.

To be fair it wouldn’t make sense from a narrative standpoint. Alter Ego is essentially a replacement/doppelganger for Chihiro, so having them co-exist in the story would be jarring. Also Chihiro plays the part of sacrificial lamb perfectly, and the foreshadowing leading to Chihiro’s death is written remarkably well. (Even as far back as the very beginning of chapter two, which occurs immediately after Leon’s execution, Chihiro is distraught over having sent Leon to his death, and Chihiro even says that he would rather die than do that again)

But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, damn it.

#LetChihiroLive2018

my OTP:

Naegi x Chihiro. Two adorable cinnamon rolls with heartwarming and occasionally sad Free Time Events that actually tie into the plot in such a way that they actually feel 100% canon. There is also that punch to the gut that happens at the end of Chihiro’s FTEs if you manage to get them all. Naegi’s reactions to Chihiro being gone are also heartbreaking, especially in the anime adaptation which includes this response to Alter Ego being crushed into a ball that I admit there is a possibility I could be taking out of context here but it’s worth mentioning.

“We lost him again.”

And of course, as I mentioned before, Alter Ego saves Naegi’s life later, which means Chihiro saves Naegi’s life, which means Chihiro effectively saves all of the DR1 survivors. Important character is important.

Oh, and also Naegi can give Chihiro a thong for a present, which is still hilarious to me. I mean I know Chihiro isn’t the only character who likes the thong, but even Togami liking the gift isn’t as funny to me as Chihiro liking it. And Togami alone liking it is straight-up absurd. It’s a thong. That you can give as a gift to other people. During a game where people are forced to kill each other in order to escape what is essentially a prison. A thong. The only thing that would make it funnier is if it changed the outcome of School Mode. “Hey, remember this thong you gifted me? I’d like to return it, because it just occurred to me that this is a really weird gift. Why, Naegi? Why did you give me a thong for a gift? You could have given me perfume, or a Kirlian camera, or a portable video game console, or a punk rock T-shirt, but no. You gave me a thong. Why?”

But for the most part, it’s their interactions. FTEs included, I love all of the interactions between these two, both one-and-one and with the group. It always seems like they have each other’s backs and care about each other’s well-being. Chihiro even foreshadows the memory wipe very early on in the game in a way that makes me wonder how close they might have been before the memory wipe.

Also, they’re just sweet to each other and it’s adorable and heartwarming and, y’know, goals. But if you prefer your ships to be more interesting, these two do have that potential what with their baggage and all–Chihiro for obvious reasons and Naegi being just some guy in a relationship with someone who is far smarter, nicer, and more talented than him. So if conflict (though it’d likely be more along the lines of inner conflict, or conflict dealing with others outside the relationship) is what you’re looking for, there is potential for that too, even if we don’t see it very often.

(Honestly I think that’s why there isn’t a whole lot of content of this ship, at least nowadays. It seems like a lot of people ship it, but no one really writes for it much or draws much of it beyond fluff. The ship itself, I think, is seen as too fluffy for engaging storytelling… if you’re not thinking outside the box, anyway)

my cross over ship:

Pick a programmer, a hacker, or an intentionally gender-ambiguous or “otokonoko” type character who is roughly within Chihiro’s not-fully-established age range from any work that I’ve personally seen or played and I’ve probably considered shipping Chihiro with them at least once. Honorable mention goes to Pidge and Saika Totsuka, whom I’m pretty sure I’ve at least talked about and compared Chihiro to on this blog.

a headcanon fact

Remember when I said that the series seems to be backpedaling a bit after making Chihiro have an ungodly amount of behind-the-scenes importance? Well screw that. I mentioned it here a couple years back (and I have since mellowed out on the whole “If Chihiro isn’t important in DR3 we riot” thing so don’t worry about that), but I’ll mention it again. IF said that Chihiro recognized Monokoma’s programming as something he worked on. His FTEs say that he was working on an AI project for some company. And Usami looks way too much like Monokuma to be a coincidence.

So screw any potential retcons that may come out of Monaca Towa being the mass producer of Monokuma units, because I believe that the company Chihiro was making the AI for was Towa, and Monaca modified the AI to fit Junko’s needs, which would tie everything together into a neat little bow.

But sadly, this is still only a headcanon. But it’s one that I feel has a lot of weight to it, and that the series has yet to make impossible. So I’m clinging onto it like a friggin’ koala.

Holy crap, this was long! And yet I feel like I haven’t said much of anything. It’s tough to bring my thoughts into words sometimes. But I think it’s plain to see (damn it, Tsumugi, get out of here, we’re not paying your VA double for this post) that I love Chihiro, and he’s definitely one of my favorite DR characters if not my top favorite.

Thanks again for the ask!

[puertoricoypunto]

I said I was going to post more original content on here...

I want to use my Tumblr as a space to get daily or weekly thoughts out. I’m also always down to engage with whomever is interested in the topics I think and care about (please pardon delays in my response - I get moody sometimes when it comes to social interactions; it’s definitely a habit I’m consistently working to break). I still have a lot to learn in life, so please, no one shy away from challenging me, adding to my posts or just plain co-signing whenever I hit the nail on the head.

Today I’m going to post a somewhat outdated piece I wrote a couple of weeks ago when the New England Journal of Medicine published their study confirming that the death toll in Puerto Rico after hurricane Maria was in the thousands (yes, thousands… plural). That week, U.S. media decided it was of upmost importance to raise the voices of other Gringos who just had to give their hot takes on this study. Out of all the U.S.-American written his-pandering out there, there was one opinion piece – published as an “analysis” in the Washington Post – that particularly rubbed me the wrong way, so I decided to write down all of my thoughts on it as I read it as a way to liberate all that rage.

On that note, I decided to write a little bit more in this first “vent piece” before publishing the other, better written one.

First off, Gringos, I have an important question for y’all concerning those times when y’all decide you just have to proselytize about y’all’s thoughts on your country’s colonization of mine: Why do y’all always have to give some righteous advocacy for Puerto Rican statehood in the end of y’all’s thought pieces while offering absolutely zero analysis about what Puerto Rican statehood would actually look like?

Honestly, I just really need y’all to analyze what y’all are lobbying for. I mean, please, before acting like advocating for Puerto Rican statehood is the most radical thing you can do, answer yourself this: what has statehood done for the thousands of minorities living in the United States, facing deportation, school to prison pipelines, police brutality, segregation and lack of access to basic public services and protection of human rights? What does having a representative in Congress actually do for the most vulnerable communities in the United States nation? Do y’all really think that the needs of the black and brown citizens in Puerto Rico – most of whom don’t know English – will be taken seriously by all (or at least by most) of the representatives in Congress? Do y’all really think our culture, our economy, and our geopolitical needs will be placed on the same level as the United States’ desire to maintain economic supremacy and world hegemony?

And honestly, I’m opening up this question for everyone. I’ve seen the way topics are discussed in Congress. Issues like immigration, police brutality, and education reform are discussed as if real individuals weren’t living behind all of those policies. How will a group of men and women, most of whom have never stepped foot in Puerto Rico, genuinely and effectively address the deep self-hatred and the problematic colonial legacies that have left our country riddled with poverty and corruption?

The way I see it, Puerto Rico needs a government for Puerto Ricans. It needs community leaders who understand the most basic needs of their communities. It needs the autonomy to act on that specific culture and geography in order to implement the policies that will ensure a better distribution of wealth and access to public services across the whole island. And it needs politicians who don’t see the United States and US-Americans as tickets to get-rich-quick. We can’t keep living under a government that sees its interests aligned more with the empire than the colony. We can’t keep living under a government that looks positively at the idea of selling the whole island to white, rich Gringos who have no attachment to this land and no desire to make a Puerto Rico for anyone other than themselves and their private and economic interests.

I don’t really have much else to say about this topic, so for now I’ll end it here, but please read the post I mentioned publishing soon and engage with any of these questions if you so desire!

Disclaimer: Apologies if I sometimes write too much using academic language. It’s the writing style I most dominate, especially in English, but it’s something I’ll be working hard to end. I want to make sure everything I write is as accessible as possible. Hopefully my Spanish posts will be easier and clearer to read. Tengo un arroz con pollo en la cabeza, so if ever I don’t make sense, I’m happy to explain myself more because it’s probably me being too wordy in my rants.

Thanks to everyone who makes it through this first post! I’ll keep this up and make clearer and more purposeful posts as life goes on. I’m just trying to first get in the habit of writing more first.

[welllpthisishappening]

We'll Take a Cup (defense) of Kindness (1/2)

It’s one night. New Year’s Eve. And a whole list of rules. Because Regina might have actually lost her mind. Or maybe that’s just Emma. Because they’ve played a million games in two days, or it’s at least felt that way, and planning an outdoor practice a few weeks before the Olympics seemed like a good idea at one point. Now it just seems insane. So she’s going to wear this dress and kiss her boyfriend. A lot.

He’s good. Better than good. Great. The greatest. It’s New Year’s Day and, yeah, sure it’s freezing, but Killian hasn’t actually tried to push Scarlet on the Subway tracks yet so that seems like a step in the right direction. So he’s a little distracted a few weeks before the Olympics, but that’s fine. It’s good. Or it’ll be good. Eventually. Soon. In the meantime he’s probably just going to kiss his girlfriend. A lot.

Rating: Mature. They swear. They kiss. They drink. Then they kiss some more. Word Count: 9K’ish. It’s a lot of words AN: Guess who’s back?! It’s the hockey! So this (mostly) happened because the New York Rangers continue to ruin my life and held a practice outside earlier this month and I was like…you know who should do that? These other Rangers. So that’s what they’re doing. Only on New Year’s and it (hopefully) sets up the sequel, which will start posting in late January. This entire hockey world would be absolutely nothing without @distant-rose​ & @laurnorder​ who read and flail and listen to me plot ridiculous ideas.   Also on Ao3 because this is a series now. 

“You realize this invitation was grammatically incorrect.”

Emma glanced in the mirror, smile tugging on the sides of her mouth when she heard Killian hum in confusion and it wasn’t the first time she’d pointed out that the invitation they’d received was, in fact, grammatically incorrect.

The door to the bathroom was still closed – because she was fairly certain she was going to rip her hair out eventually if it didn’t decide to stay in this updo thing that she’d been trying to accomplish for the better part of the last forty-five minutes and she’d really rather not have Killian witness that – but she could hear him pacing and she wasn’t entirely sure how he was still standing.

It had been a month, in a bolded and italicized sort of way, a string of games that included more overtime than any team should play in one season, let alone a few weeks, and they’d only just wrapped up a six-game-in-nine-days-streak that was equal parts exhausting and exciting.

They won five of six games.

They won the night before.

In a shootout.

On the road. And the Prudential Center wasn’t really far away – 36 minutes on I-95, or so Google maps told her the night before, but that was a lie because I-95 was some kind of parking lot masquerading as a highway no matter what time it was and it took nearly an hour and a half to get back uptown and they’d gotten, approximately, four hours of sleep.

Add in a Christmas Eve and Christmas Day extravaganza at the brownstone the week before – painfully adorable kids, and an air hockey title to defend and a bread pudding that, this year, wasn’t quite as bad as the first time around – and it was some sort of medical marvel that any of them could even form coherent sentences.

They’d gotten, maybe, twenty hours of sleep in the last week.

Emma could barely lift her arms up anymore. This updo was way more work than it was worth. And she probably should have asked Mary Margaret for help.

“Scarlet isn’t going to shut up about his goal,” Killian grumbled, brushing right past Emma’s issues with the grammar of the invitation that was sitting somewhere in their apartment. “If I punch him at some point, do you think that’ll go against the rules we’ve been given?”

Emma laughed, closing her eyes lightly and that was a dangerous game because she wasn’t sure she was beyond just falling asleep on her feet.

It would be an actual miracle if any of them made it to midnight.

And it didn’t really matter anyway – the invitation told them they needed to be out of…wherever they were going at one o’clock.

She was kind of grateful for that rule. She didn’t need half-asleep hockey players on the ice for her New Year’s Day event in Central Park. If any of them got hurt before the Olympics, the entire league was probably just going to rain down literal hellfire on the entire island of Manhattan.

“Swan,” Killian called, knocking lightly on the bathroom door and her eyes snapped open. “I’m almost being entirely serious about punching Scarlet in the face. Your lack of response is concerning.”

“Yeah, well, you’re ignoring my grammar concerns, so quid pro quo or whatever.” He made a noise, something that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a yawn and it might have been the most endearing thing she’d ever heard. They were exhausted and there were a questionable number of games, but they kept winning and there was a metaphor in there that made Emma’s pulse pick up.

“I’ve listened to all of your grammar concerns, love,” Killian promised, the bed creaking slightly when he, presumably, dropped onto the edge.

She hoped he’d tied his own tie. She wasn’t sure she had the mental faculties to tie it without inadvertently choking him.

“And,” Emma prompted. She pursed her lips, staring into the mirror like that was going to change something, but her lips still looked incredibly red and, well, maybe she looked pretty good.

All things considered.

God, she was tired. And she needed Merida to answer her text messages about the event in Central Park on New Year’s Day.

Planning an event in Central Park on New Year’s Day was, suddenly, looking like the worst idea in the history of the entire world.

Emma just wanted to sleep.

“And,” Killian echoed, grunting softly when it sounded like he was trying to force his heel through his shoes. “I still don’t think you should mention that to Gina. Or Robin. Or anyone with a Locksley-Mills in their last name.” “Is that the right order?” Killian made another noise, probably shrugging and this whole conversation likely would have been easier if the door was open. Or Emma wasn’t trying to avoid stabbing herself in the eye with her own mascara wand.

“Depends on who you ask, I suppose,” he laughed. “Isn’t that what the invitation said?” Emma shrugged, well aware he couldn’t actually see her and the cut of her dress left her ring hanging over fabric, twisting just out of her eyeline and it felt a little bit like a flashing, neon sign. She wasn’t sure what for, but it was there. “I was way more concerned with the grammar of the invitation to care about the order of last names,” she admitted. “You can’t have a first annual anything. That doesn’t make sense. Also it’s a very long name. Way too wordy.” “To be fair, I’d put some fairly good money on the assumption that either Henry or Rol came up with the name of the event.” Emma’s eyes flashed, like she was trying to look through the back of her head and out the door and the words were out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying. “You want to put an actual bet on that?” she asked.

“You want to bet about a New Year’s Eve party?”

“It was your idea! And I’m telling you first annual cannot be a thing! It doesn’t make any sense. You’ve got to have something happen at least once before it can be annual. This should be the first-ever Mills-Locksley fancy dress competition.” “Or the other way around, depending on who you ask,” Killian added and she rolled her eyes towards the ceiling because the whole thing was so absurd and so this team in some kind of ridiculous way that she was surprised this was the first time anyone had suggested something like it.

“Have you memorized the invitation?”

Killian clicked his tongue, but that was an answer and it was difficult to fine-tune wingtip eyeliner when she was so busy swooning in her own bathroom.

The invitation landed on Emma’s desk just before the stretch of games, a small stack of cardstock that probably cost a questionable amount of money and was actually tied with a gold ribbon. Scarlet laughed about it for what felt like several hours in the restaurant after the win against the Stars and Emma was actually concerned Regina was trying to turn him to stone with the force of her glare.

He stopped laughing when Robin smacked the side of his shoulder and demanded he read the rules because they’re all for you anyway.

That, however, was a lie.

The First Annual Mills-Locksley Fancy Dress Competition and New Year’s Eve Party. Or the other way around depending on who you ask was slated to be held at a very fancy loft that, probably, cost more than the invitations and required several different rules for everyone on the Rangers roster:

You must arrive downtown no later than 7:30. This rule is for you Cap, don’t be late.

You must be wearing an outfit that would be acceptable at the NHL Awards or Casino Night. No t-shirts. No team-branded.

There will be awards for things, but don’t make this weird Scarlet.

You are encouraged to bring your own alcohol.

You are required to bring your own alcohol.

You are not allowed to talk point totals, standings, Cup defense, or, at any point during the night, start teaching Henry and Rol how to check. Seriously, Scarlet, no.

We will all pretend like any of us have interests outside the aforementioned non-discussable points.

You will leave by one in the morning because you have to be on the ice in Central Park on New Year’s Day.

“I’m honestly surprised there are only eight rules,” Killian said. “That seems a little low for Gina standards, doesn’t it?” Emma twisted her hair over her shoulder, pressing up on her toes in a misplaced attempt to try and get used to the idea of whatever heels she was going to have to wear all night. It didn’t work. It just hurt her calves.

“Yeah, you want to tell her that?” she asked and she really needed to open the door. They were totally going to be late.

“Of course not.” She smiled, body falling forward slightly with the force of her laugh and she was glad there was a sink there because her hands fell on whatever the sink was made of, glancing at her reflection and hoping that the lighting in whatever fancy downtown loft they were going to would help hide the bags under her eyes.

There was a sound on the other side of the door – something that sounded suspiciously like a shoulder colliding with wood – and she had to jump back when she twisted the handle, Killian nearly falling forward when there wasn’t anything to brace his body against anymore.

“God,” Emma groaned, but she was still smiling and maybe her exclamation wasn’t so much about the professional hockey player falling towards her and more because the professional hockey player she was living with looked so goddamn good in his suit. “What were you doing?” He hadn’t actually tied his tie.

And the suit was blue or navy or whatever, with a white shirt underneath and it did something stupid to the color of his eyes, made them sharper or more obvious, and it all looked incredible and wasn’t quite the same as the one he’d worn to the season opener last year and he must have ordered something too.

They were never going to leave their apartment.

“Waiting to hear the terms of your bet,” Killian said, but his eyes didn’t meet hers and Emma bit her lips when she realized his gaze was trailing across her dress and the ring hanging from her neck.

The ends of his lips quirked up when he glanced back up at her and she’d never been to prom, but this kind of felt like that.

“Swan,” he breathed, taking a step towards her until he was in her space, a hand landing on her hip. The dress was black and vaguely festive and maybe Emma was a not-so-secret, enormous sap because she hoped it called up memories and feelings and something about new starts with new contracts and a new apartment and a new win streak, but she wasn’t ever going to say any of those things out loud.

It absolutely did not matter.

He totally knew.

“Something wrong, Cap?” Emma asked, tilting her head slightly and his eyes got bluer or more intense or something else that definitely was not possible, but it was difficult to think about any of those things when his hand tightened.

Killian shook his head slowly, lips pressed together and maybe if Emma just spent most of the night blushing, that would help mask the distinct look of exhaustion she was fairly positive was just sitting on her shoulders at this point.

“Absolutely nothing,” he said softly. “The opposite in fact. Swan, you look….” “I know.”

Emma smiled, a rush of something that felt distinctly like confidence shooting down her spine and maybe they could leave whatever downtown loft they were already supposed to be on their way to early – so she could spend most of the night kissing her boyfriend. And getting her boyfriend out of the suit that fit incredibly well.

She tugged on the front of his jacket and he hadn’t managed to actually finish getting dressed, but there were lapels and he moved when she pulled like there were magnets involved somehow.

Killian ducked his head, dragging his lips against the side of her neck that wasn’t covered with her hair and maybe she should have worked more on the whole updo thing if that was something that was going to happen. She wasn’t sure when she’d pushed up on her toes again, only aware of height differences when she dropped back on her heels, and Emma laughed when he made some kind of absurd noise in the back of her throat as soon as she moved.

“This is going to be incredibly distracting,” Killian mumbled, mouth moving down to her collarbone instead and they were all a very violent group because she was going to punch him if he left a mark.

“Which part?” Emma asked. She hadn’t let go of his jacket yet, one hand still twisted up with fabric and the other arm slung around his neck and she suddenly realized she was bent back slightly, precariously close to the sink and they couldn’t just start making out in the bathroom.

Again.

They’d been in the apartment for nearly five months and half a season and while there were almost always games and events and things to plan for, there were also moments that seemed to make everything else worth it – a space that was theirs in some sort of way that nothing had ever really been and Emma was, clearly, losing her grip on her own sentimentality.

His laugh was warm on her skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake and that only led to more laughter and a circle of flirting that probably wouldn’t ever end because Emma was so goddamn happy it still made her head spin just a bit.

“Any of it,” Killian admitted. “When did you even get this?” Emma shrugged, or at least tried to shrug and it only left her nearly elbowing him in the chest. He nipped behind her ear in retaliation. “Jeez, you are a menace,” she said, doing her best to sound as frustrated as she absolutely was not.

She felt like…she was on fire or something and that didn’t make any sense at all because they lived together, for God’s sake.

She grumbled about his penchant for trying to organize her boots by the front door and he couldn’t really stand that she refused to put her toothbrush in the toothbrush container, but he’d also been the first one to promise the Central Park idea was fantastic and Emma was fairly certain her heart actually stopped when he went through concussion protocol in November.

And they’d already made out in their own bathroom. More than once. That felt like a sign.

For something…permanent.

She wasn’t thinking that. At all. No.

Emma was happy as they were with their boots and their toothbrushes and two bedrooms and so what if Ruth asked about the ring around her neck at Thanksgiving and then proceeded to question the potential for other rings and other plans and Emma’s stomach had jumped into her throat and Mary Margaret stared at her like some kind of ticking time bomb waiting to go off in the middle of the restaurant.

She hadn’t – until Killian got hit up against the boards by some asshole in Arizona and missed the whole third period and Emma nearly dislocated her thumb slamming her phone screen in an attempt to figure out what was going on.

It was fine.

They were fine. She was just tired.

Killian was still moving his mouth against her jaw, fingers doing something decidedly unfair on the fabric of her dress and they’d moved without her realizing it, Emma stumbling over her own feet when he walked them out of the bathroom.

“Were you really being serious about the Scarlet thing?” Emma asked, mind not entirely in her control anymore and that might have been for the best considering what she’d been thinking about. “Because that’s going to make tomorrow weird if you’re punching him tonight.”

Killian hummed and she could feel the hint of a smile on his mouth when he dropped back to the curve of her shoulder. “I honestly can’t remember anything before seeing you in this dress,” he muttered and it was, easily, the worst line she’d ever heard.

It absolutely worked.

“Almost heavy-handed, don’t you think?” Emma asked, hoping the vaguely sarcastic laugh in her voice would mask whatever it was several different internal organs did at the way his hand kept moving like he was trying to trace her for posterity.

“And,” she added. “There’s this new fangled thing called the internet, which makes it almost too easy to buy things on car rides from the Garden back home.”

Emma pulled back slightly, twisting her eyebrows in a feeble attempt to imitate Killian and she wasn’t entirely prepared for the lock on his face – like he was stunned or awed or a mixture of both and neither one of them was helping her mind stay in the present.

God.

She needed to go over the party rules again.

They needed to get out of their apartment.

“What?” Emma asked cautiously, her back protesting at the arch she was in. Killian’s hand moved, wrapping around her waist and tugging her back up and one of them made some kind of absurd noise when they practically crashed into each other, but she was far too busy kissing him back to be too worried about anything else.

Her eyes fluttered shut when she felt him tilt his head and it would surprise her if they were even allowed into the loft. They probably looked like they’d spent the last five minutes making out in several different rooms.

Emma’s fingers scraped over the back of his neck, drawing a sound out of him that was some sort of ridiculous ego boost and she ignored the stretch in her calves, pushing back up on her toes to reach him better, a mess of lips and tongue and hands everywhere.

If he had a tie, she would have tugged it.

“We need to work on your media training,” Emma mumbled, mostly against his mouth because she couldn’t quite bring herself to pull away again. “That wasn’t even close to an appropriate answer. That was a non-answer.” He grinned at her – or at least she thought he did, was fairly certain his lips moved against hers, but that might have just been an attempt at more kissing. “I’m not sure that’s an actual term, Swan,” Killian said. It was definitely a smile.

“We could bet on that too if you want.” He laughed, burrowing his head into the crook of her shoulder and she wasn’t even really touching the ground anymore, supported by his arm and several different emotions that were determined to get her to think about things in big, future type ways.

“That’s cheating,” he countered. “You’ll ask Lucas and she’ll side with you by default. Also, I already know that I’m going to win whatever the terms of the first bet were so I don’t want to threaten that victory.” “You’re win obsessed.” “When they’re guaranteed.” Emma rolled her eyes, but the emotions were still there and, possibly, growing or mutating or something. “Seems awfully confident,” she muttered. “And you can’t just attack makeout once we get downtown.” “We could just…not go downtown.” “We can’t do that.” “Sure we can. We’re already going to be late. That was rule number one. There’s almost no point in going now. Plus, we’re both lacking on sleep. We stay here. We discuss this dress some more and then…we sleep after we don’t sleep. And then we’re all prepared for tomorrow.”

“I think you’re trying to use my own event against me.” “I wouldn’t do that, love,” he grinned and she wasn’t sure if he licked his lips to try and prove his point or because of some unconscious thing, but she’d probably think about it for far longer than she should. “Literally two seconds ago you were talking about terms of a bet that would require you to go downtown,” Emma argued, not entirely sure what she was arguing since most of her wanted to stay in the apartment as well, but she was also kind of competitive and she wanted to win the bet and maybe show off the dress.

If there were awards, she kind of wanted to win.

Maybe the rules should have called her out too.

“Ah, semantics,” Killian said, waving his free hand through the air. “Don’t you kind of want to blow off the prom, Swan?”

She felt her eyebrows fly up her forehead and he knew – she had no idea how he knew, but he did and the quirk of his mouth when he realized she knew that he knew or whatever was, easily, the most attractive thing she’d ever seen in her life.

So, naturally, Emma swatted at his shoulder.

“What?” Killian asked knowingly and she just widened her eyes until the smirk turned into something a bit more genuine. “It feels a little bit like prom, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I was kind of busy being a ward of the state and avoiding most of the high school to go to prom.”

Most of Midtown was closed because of the day and balls dropping and people who had, likely, been standing outside for hours already, but Emma kind of felt like she was standing in the middle of Times Square anyway – the force of Killian’s smile equal to several different lit-up billboards and Broadway marquees.

“Exactly,” he said and they were walking again, his fingers finding hers to tug her back towards the front of the apartment and the kitchen and he left his tie on the bed.

She nearly fell four more times down the hallway and they really did have a questionable amount of square footage for two people. “You’re going to pull my arm out of the socket,” Emma muttered, voice just a bit more breathless than she was hoping for when she skidded to a stop just on the edge of the kitchen floor.

And she absolutely did not expect him to open the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” she asked and she was going to have to redo her lipstick. She’d have to do it in the car. It was already after seven.

Killian glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows twisted and amusement practically rolling off him and he had something in his hand. Emma took a step forward, careful not to trip over her dress or run into the Conn Smythe sitting on the counter and he beamed at her when he held the plastic container out in front of him.

“For you,” he said, twisting his wrist slightly and she hadn’t really been holding her breath, but she exhaled loudly anyway, a mess of romance and feeling and wannabe prom on New Year’s Eve.

It was a goddamn corsage.

Of course it was.

“When did you even have time?” Emma asked, whispering out the words and reaching her hand forward to trail her fingers over the plastic like it was actually gold or filled with jewels instead of a few roses that seemed to match her outfit perfectly.

“You’re the one who was telling me about the internet, love. Although I would like to add in the ability of the internet to contact other people in order to deliver things, making it all a bit easier for those of us who had to be on the ice at ten o’clock this morning.”

“You were just mad you couldn’t check Scarlet in practice.” Killian made a dismissive noise, an agreement without actually agreeing to the words, and Emma glanced up, doing her best not to fall into the deep end of emotions and sentiment and she hoped there was a lot of champagne that night.

“He’s going to talk about that juke he made all night,” Killian grumbled, flipping up one of the plastic tabs and for someone who was clearly frustrated by the schedule and the team and the rules, he managed to be almost delicate when picking up the corsage.

It did something absurd to Emma’s heart.

“That’s because it was a good move,” Emma said and she hoped her hand didn’t shake when he slipped the flowers over her wrist. That would have been embarrassing. “I mean…not the move you made, but a good move. And, technically, the game-winner.” Killian’s shoulders shifted when he laughed, eyes darting up towards Emma before falling back on her wrist and her left hand and it was all just a little heavy-handed, but she hadn’t been able to get Ruth’s questions out of her mind entirely in the last few weeks.  

“Nice save,” he murmured, tugging her hand up to brush his lips over her knuckles and that felt like eighty-two jukes in front of the net and several different shootout victories and a direct line to winning the President’s Trophy. “We’re really going to be late though.” “Worth it. Maybe.” “Maybe?” “Can’t inflate that ego too much.”

He flashed her another smile, lacing his fingers through his and her heels were by the front door. He absolutely was not going to wear a tie. Or, apparently, stop surprising her. “You know,” Killian continued, doing his best to shrug into a jacket without actually letting go of her hand. “I never went to prom either.” “What?” Emma asked and he shrugged slightly, tugging her own jacket off the peg next to the door and she tried not to flatten the flowers on her wrist. “How is that even possible?” “Was that a compliment, Swan?” “Have you seen yourself?” He barked out a laugh, head thrown back and body shaking slightly and Emma wasn’t entirely sure she’d actually grabbed her phone. They were a New Year’s Eve disaster. “Oh shit,” Emma mumbled and Killian’s eyebrows were going to sustain permanent damage if he kept moving them that much. “We didn’t get any alcohol.” Killian was still laughing when he kissed her, easy and certain and he’d bought her roses, God and all she could do was shout obscenities and question why there wasn’t a line to the brownstone door with teenage girls wanting to ask him to the prom.

A New Year’s Eve disaster.

“This whole thing is absurd,” he said, like that was that and it kind of was and Scarlet was totally going to make the awards thing weird. “C’mon, love, the sooner we get downtown, the sooner we can leave.”

It took them a small eternity to get downtown and Killian grumbled about that for most of the ride, several pointed opinions as to Regina’s event planning skills and ability to make this as difficult as possible for everyone involved and he wasn’t impressed when Emma pointed out that the Mills-Locksley family, or the other way around depending on who you asked, lived four blocks away from the event space just off Union Square.

“It’s the principle of the thing, Swan,” Killian said, not for the first time, when the car came to a stop in front of a brick building with fairy lights in the plants outside and she rolled her eyes when he held out his hand expectantly for her.

“Yeah, so you’ve mentioned. How late are we, exactly?” “It’s after eight.” “Jeez.” It didn’t really surprise her that they were immediately met with voices and shouts, but she jumped slightly anyway, Killian kissing the top of her head when they walked towards the questionably large doors of the building.

Liam was leaning against the wall just inside the lobby, a burgundy tie that looked suspiciously similar to Minnesota colors and his feet crossed at the ankles and he just lifted his eyebrows when they walked inside, a silent judgement about their arrival that was louder than anything else he could have actually said.

“This is just ostentatious,” Killian muttered, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and nodding in Liam’s direction. “Are you…waiting for us out here?” Liam rolled his eyes hard enough that Emma was momentarily worried they were going to freeze that way and the Vankald-Jones stayed in New York longer than last year, invited to the prom or the party or whatever it was – and there was some college tournament happening at the Garden when three of the Rangers six road games happened.

And the Vankalds were incredibly doting grandparents who, when presented with a brand-new grandchild and a first Christmas, seemed to rise to an occasion only previously reached in fairytales and made-for-TV movies.

“Drew the short straw,” Liam muttered, crossing his arms and it was definitely a Minnesota tie. “How come you’re not dressed up? You look nice, Emma.” Killian lifted his free hand, waving across his body like that was an answer and it was freezing in that lobby. “Thanks,” she laughed. “Nice tie.” “Where did you even find that?” Killian asked, leaning them both forward to try and tug on the fabric, but Liam just swatted his hand away.

“Get out of here. This is a perfectly acceptable tie. Which you aren’t wearing. You just out to break every single rule tonight or…” “Shut up. I feel like there should be a gopher on this tie or something. Oh, no, it’d be better with gold stripes. What color is El’s dress? Is she wearing gold up there?” Liam narrowed his eyes, an unamused look on his face. “You are wearing Rangers blue. You weren’t supposed to wear team-branded. Every, single rule Killian.”

He froze, eyes darting towards Emma and she groaned loudly, her whole body sagging slightly when she realized Liam was right – they were all red and blue, some kind of abstract version of a home uniform that would probably draw several minutes worth of laughter out of Scarlet when they, finally, got out of that lobby.

“Why’d they send you down here?” Killian asked, but there was an edge to his voice that probably didn’t belong in the question. Emma widened her eyes. Liam didn’t blink.

“We were fairly certain you were just going to blow it off,” he shrugged. “I had some confidence that you weren’t a total ass, so I didn’t argue my aforementioned short straw too much. Plus, Gina making us all schlep down here on New Year’s Eve is just cruel and unusual.”

Emma groaned again, but Killian let out some kind of sound that was a mix between a whoop and just general victory and she was shaking her head when he mumbled I told you, Swan in her ear.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, pulling on Killian’s jacket and ignoring whatever it was Liam was doing with his face. As if he knew something. Some reason that they would blow off a New Year’s Eve party with the entire team and fancy dresses. Killian kept staring at him. “So,” Emma continued slowly, dragging out the word and both Jones brothers nearly dislocated something in their determination to listen to her. “We going to go upstairs or nah?”

“Sure,” Killian said brusquely and Liam’s face did something else, gaze flitting down towards Emma’s arm at her side.

She tried not to ask more questions.

The room was, as expected, filled with most of the New York Rangers roster and front office, all of them spinning on the spot when Liam shouted he’d found them, finally and Emma was fairly sure she hadn’t imagined Killian’s arm tightening.

“What the hell, Cap?” Robin yelled, marching across the room with what actually appeared to be a top hat on. “Where’s your tie?” Killian rolled his whole head in response. “Somewhere at home. Probably next to Swan’s phone.” “Em,” Ruby called, but the name came out a bit like a growl when she dodged between actual uniform-wearing waiters touting appetizers and pre-dinner spritzers. She had to use Robin to stop, slamming into his back with an over exaggerated oof and she was was wearing a tuxedo, dressed in head to toe black that probably matched Dor’s outfit. With a bow tie. “Did you really not bring your phone? Is that why you weren’t answering?” “We were running late,” Emma explained. “We didn’t want to break all the rules.”

And it was clearly a mistake because she could hear Scarlet cackling from the other side of the room, Roland barely visible when he sprinted towards Killian launching himself up with a not-so-quiet Hook that drew the attention of the entire wait staff.  

Killian groaned when a dress shoe collided with his thigh, but he barely even moved when Roland worked his way over his shoulder and Robin mumbled something under his breath about playing favorites. Will was still laughing at them by the time he worked his way across the room.

He had two drinks in one hand.

“What the hell, Scarlet?” Killian asked, rolling one shoulder to try and even out Roland’s weight.

“Where you been, Cap?” Will grinned and he was already making the awards thing weird because his suit wasn’t so much a suit as it was a tuxedo with tails and a tie that was closer to metallic than any other adjective Emma could think of. “Where’s your tie?” “What is everyone’s obsessions with ties? I am not wearing a tie if it is not a league-mandated requirement or league-sponsored event.” “Jeez, bah humbug. You need a drink, Cap?”

“Where did you even get a tuxedo like that?” Killian continued, nodding towards the jacket and Will looked like he was ready to actually spin on the spot. “Why is any of this happening?” Roland was still hanging upside down and it was only a matter of time before Regina realized that, but Will had his phone out and was tapping his thumb on the screen. “For the likes, obviously, Cap,” he said and Robin rolled his eyes. “Give the people what they want. You know how many followers I’ve got now? A shit ton. Sorry, Rol.”

“You are the least mature person to ever play professional hockey, you know that?” “I think you’re jealous of my social media following and my ability to promo this team. I mean, Lucas totally is.”

“You’re insane. And that tux is ridiculous.”

Emma did her best to swallow back her laugh. “Just as an aside,” she added. “If you guys check each other in front of the crowd at Central Park tomorrow. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“That makes two of us,” another voice yelled, someone that dimly sounded like Arthur, but also sounded a little bit drunk and Emma gaped at Killian. He shook his head.

“I’m not going to check Scarlet tomorrow,” he promised. “I just want to know where he got that outfit and why we decided to have some kind of fake prom on New Year’s when we could have just stayed at home.” Ruby snickered, shaking her hair off her shoulders and nodding when a waiter offered something on a cracker. “You’re kind a homebody now, aren’t you Jones?”

Killian glared at her, but the words did something to Emma’s ability to stay on her own feet and they were drawing a crowd.

Elsa wasn’t wearing a gold dress – it was silver and kind of blue’ish and obviously gorgeous and it, somehow, still managed to match Liam’s tie. “Hey,” she said brightly, tugging Emma towards her as if they hadn’t seen each other two days before at the Garden. “Look who finally managed to show up. Where’s your tie, KJ?” “Oh my God,” Killian sighed. Emma took a step back, letting her back brush against his chest and she grinned when his arm found its way back around her waist, some kind of human anchor in the absurdity that was the Rangers not-quite prom on New Year’s Eve.

“Was I right?”

“I have no idea what you’re asking me, El. Where are your kids?”

“With Mom and Dad, obviously. Stop avoiding my questions, KJ.” Emma let out a sound that was more understanding than an actual gasp, but the realization hit her suddenly and they probably should have just stayed home because Killian was going to mumble under his breath all night about the distinct lack of morality on this team.

“Traffic or which direction we came?” Emma asked and Elsa’s eyes practically lit up. Will took more pictures.

“You’ve got to be honest too,” Liam said. “Because there’s an entire plane ride’s worth of sleep riding on this.”

“Wow, big stakes.” “Is this why you were actually downstairs?” Killian demanded. Liam shrugged. “Oh my God.” Emma let her head fall on Killian’s shoulder, some kind of unspoken support that was a bit more of a challenge when there was still a kid hanging off him. “We took Henry Hudson because we couldn’t go any other way and, yeah, I mean it’s New Year’s Eve. We hit a ton of traffic.”

Elsa actually punched the air in celebration, getting a few inches on her jump and Killian stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “I knew it,” she shouted, twisting her head between either Jones brother and her smile was infectious. Even Killian looked entertained. Kind of. “I told you they wouldn’t be able to get down on the West Side.” “Well, that’s dumb,” Liam mumbled, scowling at Will’s camera when he pushed the phone in his face. “Do not document this, Scarlet. I want this forgotten and that Uber driver…arrested or something.” “‘Tis the season,” Ruby chuckled, directing a waiter with around the group and demanding more alcohol in these spritzers  “Can we still say that?”

“I think it still counts because we’re still in the week that includes time off from school,” Robin reasoned. He made a noise in the back of his throat, when Will turned his phone on him, grabbing the thing and stuffing in his back pocket in a move that was so dad it made Emma wonder if all of them were going to get grounded by the end of the night.

“What the hell, Locksley?” Will snapped and both Elsa and Ruby clicked their tongues, nodding almost in tandem to Roland.

Roland, however, seemed far more interested in trying to talk about standings and point totals and Emma was sure, somewhere, Regina was glaring at something.

“Yeah, you’ve got to give him that back, Locksley,” Killian muttered. “How else is going to calm the masses clamoring for all of our pictures on the internet?” Emma made a face and he shouldn’t have been able to tell, but he knew she’d been thinking about this like prom and probably just had some kind of Swan sixth-sense at this point, so she wasn’t remotely surprised when she could feel Killian’s questioning stare on the side of his head.

“Scarlet and I kind of have a deal,” Emma explained, chancing a glance up and he was smiling. Idiot. Maybe she was the one who was going to attack-kiss him at this party. Waiting until midnight seemed kind of pointless.

“And it’s really important, right Em?” Will asked. Ruby rolled her eyes.

“It’s…helpful.” “And includes Scarlet’s, apparently, very strong social media presence?” Killian suggested. “Lucas, your face is going to get stuck like that if you keep doing that thing with your eyes.” “You’re not a doctor, Cap,” Ruby hissed, leaning around Will to pull his phone out of Robin’s pocket. “Where’s A? I bet she can prove my point.” “That word.” “Scarlet was right, you really do need some alcohol. Where’s Arthur? I think he’s honestly hoarding it.”

“Anyway,” Emma said sharply and Killian kissed her hair again. “At the risk of somehow making Scarlet think he’s even more important than he already is…”

Will scoffed. “That’s rude, Emma. I won us that game yesterday.”

“You made one move and caught a garbage goalie off guard. Can I explain what we’re doing now?” He nodded, slinging an arm around Ruby in a not-so-subtle attempt to get his phone back. “Anyway,” Emma repeated. “Scarlet is actually kind of funny on Instagram and people follow him because he posts all kinds of stuff about the team and things that Mulan obviously won’t get when we’re all following the rules, so tomorrow he’s in charge of the social media stuff before practice. Live stuff when we take the train uptown and then more photos and probably some ops with fans because we really did give out a shit ton of tickets. Sorry, Rol.”

Roland didn’t seem all that upset about the less-than-responsible adults around him and Will grinned at Killian like he was getting ready to challenge him to some kind of Instagram duel. “Plus, Cap,” he added, ignoring Emma’s sigh when he wouldn’t shut up, “You’re popular subject matter. Like four of my top six photos this year have you in them.” Killian quirked an eyebrow – the only sign he heard Liam and Robin’s uproarious laughter the slight twitch of his mouth and he tugged Emma even closer to his side. Roland almost kicked her in the waist.

“Your feet mate,” Killian mumbled and Emma was dimly aware of Ariel’s screech a few feet away. “God, Red, you’re going to break everyone’s ear drums.”

“And you’re going to break both of you shoulders,” Ariel argued. She reached up to try and tug on the back of Roland’s jacket, but that just seemed to get him to dig his heels in – literally and metaphorically, working another hiss out of Killian when he, presumably, made contact with the slightly purple bruise on the side of his hip.

“Is that even possible?” Emma asked. The conversation had, officially, fallen off the rails and she grabbed one of the glasses in Will’s hands before he could even begin to object. “I need this more than you do.” Will lowered his eyebrows. “I won us that game yesterday,” he argued again and Killian didn’t even try to disguise his sigh. “I should be able to drink whatever I want.” “I’m not questioning either of those things. I am, however, telling you that I’m fairly certain I’ve got tendonitis in my wrist from signing forms for tomorrow and I want to drink as much champagne as possible. Also, Robin, we didn’t bring any alcohol.” Emma wasn’t sure who looked more impressed – Robin or Will or, possibly, Killian, but she couldn’t see him when he ducked his head to press a kiss against her temple, a particularly impressive feat with an almost eight-year-old draped over most of his body.

“Yeah, I figured that when you guys showed up empty-handed,” Robin grinned, barely even flinching when Henry collided with his side. “It’s fine. I won twenty bucks.”

Killian’s eyes flashed, rolling his shoulders and Roland laughed when he nearly fell back on the floor. Ariel clicked her tongue in reproach, muttering about holding your form if you’re just going to start squatting kids now, but Emma was far too focused trying to make sure Killian didn’t actually punch two linemates in the span of one conversation.

Liam was laughing. Ruby looked a little smug.

“What could you have possibly bet on?” Killian growled, gaze darting towards Liam who just held up his hands and something was going on.

“Well, we all knew you weren’t ever going to show up on time,” Robin said. “But Scarlet figured you’d at least remember the alcohol rule if only to try and make sure Arthur’s eyes bug out of his head a little bit later on tonight when he realizes we’re breaking those rules as well.” “You’re a rebel, Cap,” Will added, mumbling something unintelligible when another waiter walked by with drinks on a tray. He handed one to Emma without asking. She finished it in three swigs.

Robin waved his hand through the air. “Anyway,” he continued. “I disagreed with Scarlet, knew you totally forgot about the alcohol rule when you asked if you actually had to wear a jacket last night and figured I’d get something out of it.” “That’s insane, you know that,” Killian said, but his eyes widened when Emma started to laugh and the alcohol had worked its way through her much quicker than she expected. “What?” “You wanted to bet about the name of the party,” she shouted and half a dozen pairs of scandalized eyes fell on Killian.

He might have blushed.

The tips of his ears went red.

And Emma wasn’t aware she could get buzzed from two drinks, but it was New Year’s Eve and that probably required fresh starts and brand-new tolerances for alcohol.

“I’m sorry, what?” Robin asked, a challenge in his voice and if they all checked each other on Central Park ice the next day because they were upset over team traditions, then Emma was going to be the one punching people.

Roland kicked Killian again. Henry was barely staying upright.

Ruby looked positively overjoyed.

“Traitor,” Killian mumbled, glancing at Emma, but there was still a ghost of a smile on his face. “And we didn’t even settle terms, Swan. That should nullify it all.” Emma shrugged, appreciating whatever sort of metaphorical fire had settled in the pit of her stomach and she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the flowers or the way he looked at her – like she was everything New Year’s Eve should be in some kind of absurd, emotional way.

She was definitely buzzed.

“I think you’re trying to back out of a bet that was your idea because you’re trying to stay on some kind of betting high horse,” Emma challenged. Roland, finally, dropped back on the ground, staring up expectantly at her, and she rested both hands on his shoulders when she turned back towards him.

“Rol,” she said seriously and he nodded once. Will did his best to turn his laugh into a cough. “I need you to tell me something and it’s super important, ok?” “Ok,” he answered, nodding again with wide eyes and someone was taking pictures. It was probably Ruby. Or possibly Mary Margaret. Oh, shit, they should find David and Mary Margaret.

“Did you and Henry come up with the name for this party?”

Roland lowered his eyebrows in confusion and Emma wasn’t quite as steady on her heels when she crouched down to his level, Killian’s hand on her shoulder sending a shock of something very particular down her spine.

The fire in her stomach was an inferno and she couldn’t stop thinking about prom and after prom and spiked punch.

She wished it was closer to midnight.

“That’s what you were betting on?” Elsa asked, a hint of something on the edge of her voice that Emma didn’t entirely understand and the Vankalds knew something. Something big.

She was kind of glad Anna was on some mountain somewhere. She wasn’t sure if she could handle a concentrated attack.

“God, Cap, you really need to get off that high horse,” Robin muttered. “And obviously. First annual isn’t a thing. You think Gina would allow grammatically incorrect names if our kids didn’t come up with it?”

Emma yelped, nearly crashing onto the floor and there was another camera shutter when Killian tugged her back up. “I told you,” she muttered, talking mostly into his jacket while she tried to wrap her arm around his waist.

“I think it’s a wash, Swan,” Killian said, hooking his chin over the top of her head. “You knew the grammar and I knew it was Henry and Rol’s idea. Plus we never did really get around to setting terms. Can’t win anything if there’s nothing to win.”

Will growled – or possibly gagged – and Ruby started shouting bring the alcohol over here, Arthur and no one was breaking more rules than the head coach of the New York Rangers, eyes just a bit glazed over when he stumbled towards them.

“Where’s your tie, Jones?” Arthur asked as soon as he stopped in front of them, holding out a bottle of what appeared to be very expensive champagne towards Ruby. “Lucas, you’ve got to take this if you’re going to demand it.” She saluted in response, taking a not-so-small sip straight out of the bottle. “Gina, didn’t see that, did she?”

“I think she’s talking to that Garden of Dreams person.” “Arthur, do you not know Aurora’s name?” Emma asked, wiggling her fingers when Ruby didn’t immediately start sharing the champagne. It was very expensive champagne.

He shrugged in response, all three first-liners and Liam both snickering under their breath. “Three sheets to the wind,” Killian whispered, barely even loud enough for Emma to hear. “Give me some of that, love.”

She mumbled a few curses under her breath and her eyes widened when Killian’s drink was closer to a gulp, a shiver working through him when the alcohol landed. “We won last night, Arthur,” he continued. “How come you don’t remember Aurora’s name? She’s been engaged to Phillip forever.”

Emma stiffened slightly at that and Killian’s sixth-sense must have gone into overdrive or something because he glanced at her, eyes narrowed in confusion or, possibly, intoxication and the champagne had already been passed on – Robin taking what looked like a double straight out of the bottle.

“We’re all going to get the flu,” Ruby grumbled, but the bottle was in Liam’s hand and, well, ‘tis the season for caring or sharing or drinking very expensive champagne at some kind of world-record pace.

“If we all get the flu, you can’t put that on Instagram, ok, Scarlet?” Emma asked. Her shoulders still felt tight. She was never going to forgive Ruth Nolan.

“Yeah, I know how it works, Em.”

She opened her mouth to make an almost well-thought-out response, but there were heels coming towards her and Regina looked somewhere in the realm of murderous, Mary Margaret and David half a step behind her with drinks in their hand.

“Reese’s?” Emma chanced, but she didn’t respond before Regina yanked the bottle away from Elsa and…promptly drank the rest of it. Will and Robin both tried to make sure she didn’t drown herself in champagne, but she just held up one finger, somehow managing to keep drinking while shaking her head and Mary Margaret looked a little shellshocked.

Regina exhaled when she, finally, finished the champagne and very-drunk Arthur was hysterical, whistling when the empty bottle was handed off to a waiter who also looked a little impressed.

“Did she try and show you her Pinterest board?” Arthur asked knowingly and Regina practically snarled. He nodded in understanding.

Emma had no idea what was going on.

“She’s not going coming with us to the Games right?” Regina demanded. The whole group shrugged.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Gina,” Killian muttered after a few more moments of confused silence. “Are we actually talking about Aurora?” Regina nodded again and Mary Margaret actually mumbled words under her breath that weren’t complimentary. “Jeez, Reese’s,” Emma breathed.

Mary Margaret just widened her eyes. “And you thought my appetizer count was extravagant. Just wait until Aurora corners you.” She paused, furrowing her eyebrows when she realized most of the roster was standing in front of her. “Did you buy that tux, Scarlet?”

“It’s good, right?” he grinned. “I’m totally going to win all the awards.”

“We said not to make it weird, Scarlet,” Robin sighed, wrapping an arm around Regina and she seemed to almost visibly deflate. Or at least start to breathe again.

“Ah, well, Cap broke all the rules anyway. Plus, I won that game yesterday, so the rules don’t apply.”

“Oh my God.” “Can we get drunk now, please?” Ruby asked, jumping when another waiter appeared next to her with more spritzers as quickly as if he’d teleported there. Emma groaned. “You know, a responsible amount of drunk. Not enough to screw up the event tomorrow. Sorry, Rol.” Roland wasn’t even standing there any more. He and Henry were tucked into a corner, a phone held in between them and they were definitely watching a game.

“You are all terrible at following rules,” Regina muttered, but she took a glass anyway. “Should we toast now or closer to midnight? Detective?”

David nearly snapped to attention when he was addressed, eyes wide and Emma wasn’t sure who looked more proud – her or Mary Margaret. “Oh, right, yeah,” David stammered. “I mean, no shame in doubling up on luck, right?”

There was a general murmur of agreement and David toasted twice – once in that circle of team and family and feeling and then again, at midnight, with Times Square just barely visible through the window of the loft and Killian’s arm around Emma’s shoulder, lips pressed against her temple. He kissed her at midnight.

Will and Ruby won awards for their outfits, pictures posted on Instagram and several hundred likes and Killian didn’t even grumble much when he agreed that the top six photos of the year weren’t all that bad.

And they definitely got drunk, stumbling out of the cab they definitely overpaid for because it was after midnight and traffic was the worst and neither one of those things seemed to matter when their apartment door slammed shut, Emma’s back pressed against it and her fingers already trying to tug off Killian’s belt.

“I’m not going anywhere, Swan,” he laughed softly, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face. “And I’d really rather this didn’t happen against the door.”

“I’m not entirely opposed to the door.” He grinned at her, tongue pressed into the corner of her lips and it did something absurd to her heart and her pulse and her ability to form coherent sentences and she’d settle for just getting his jacket off him at that point.

They left a trail of clothes in their wake that they’d both be equally frustrated and entertained by the next morning, but it didn’t really matter in the moment, as long as she got to keep touching him and Emma gasped when she landed in the middle of the mattress, knocking off pillows and his tie and her phone sounded like a boulder when it landed on the ground.

“If my screen cracked, I’m going to be really annoyed,” Emma mumbled, but the words seemed to get caught in her throat when he dragged his teeth over the strap of her dress. “That’s cheating. Jeez, fuck, do that again.”

Killian laughed and he did – trying to push her further up the bed in the process and her hair was everywhere when she tried to work her foot in between his legs to push his pants off.

It all felt vaguely familiar and brand-new and, maybe, just a bit hopeful too and they were still winning.

It was the most sentimental thing she’d ever thought.

Until she breathed I love you as soon as his fingers curled around her thigh and tugged up her dress and she could feel Killian’s smile against her neck when he started kissing out nonsensical patterns on her skin.

“Where is the zipper on this?” he asked and Emma was pleased to find his voice nearly as wrecked as hers, the words scratching their way out and reigniting that fire in her stomach. He traced his hands over hips, trying to work his fingers under her back and laughing probably wasn’t the most romantic thing she could do in bed on New Year’s morning, but it made sense and he was so goddamn impatient.

The muscles in her face were going to get stuck in a permanent smile.

“Swan,” Killian muttered, fingers moving again and tracing across the inside of her thighs. Her hips practically bucked up and she wasn’t sure who made what noise, but she nearly forgot about all the reasons she’d been frustrated before and Killian’s smirk seemed to move across his face in slow motion. “The dress, love. It’s got to come off.” “I thought you were here all night or something.” “I’m not disputing that, but I’d very much like the dress out of the way.” Her eyes darted up, trying to take stock of his face or something equally absurd, but she was glad she did because he was staring at her like she was everything and then several other adjectives and she was so happy it felt like she might actually burst with it.

And she really wanted the dress out of the way too.

She smiled, letting her fingers trail across his arms and down his side, brushing over the distinct lack of clothing and several different bruises and it felt like she’d won when his eyes fluttered shut.

“Emma…” “There’s no zipper,” she whispered and Killian’s whole body froze. His eyes snapped open. “It just…kind of fits.” “Fucking hell,” he mumbled, mouth crashing on hers while he tried to tug fabric away and make sure he didn’t crush her or the flowers on her wrist.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on.” “Swan.”

“You bought me a corsage, you can’t ruin it while trying to undress me.”

Killian laughed, head falling next to hers on the mattress, but Emma could still make out the hint of a smile on his face when he twisted to look at her. “I wanted to do it right,” he said. “There was always…I was at a training facility in Colorado for the U-17 team when I maybe would have gone to prom. If we were going to do this, it only made sense to follow through on some 80’s rom com.”

“You totally would have gotten asked to prom.” “I would have asked you to prom.” “God, what a line.”

He did something absurd with his eyebrows, fingers moving again and Emma’s mouth dropped open slightly when his hands shifted back in between her legs. “I love you, Emma,” Killian said, quiet and determined and she’d have to look up how to preserve flowers eventually.

Maybe after the event in Central Park.

And they’d been living together for months, she’d heard those words more times than she could count, but it didn’t really matter because Emma was fairly certain her stomach would always do that swooping thing whenever Killian’s voice did that genuine, earnest thing and she put the flowers on the nightstand before they started kissing again.

“I love you too,” she said in between kisses and hands and more pillows falling on the floor. They didn’t really get that much sleep.