#maybe its because I myself had a need to find myself and fitting labels

[vlada-slavik]

[kim-deadja]

hmm, a message for kim dokja on my opnions on him i guess

honestly i'm scared be suse i dont eant to mischaracterise you but here goes

also spoilers so mod feel free to ignore this

every single "villain" in orv is just an increasingly stronger reflection/parallel of/to you and its very interesting because as a protagonist it kind of shows your self-destructive tendencies, but also lets us grasp how kimcom must feel every time you sacrifice yourself for them. The idea of living vicariously through someone else when uou read twsa is pretty clear especially when you are determined to live a "dokja's life". You dont really look past that label and tend to isolate yourself from other people even within your own nebulae because of that one resolve to live as a dokja like you said somewhere near the start. Yet in your haste to save thosd close to you , you end up also saving them from yourself and that kinda leaves them feeling abandoned and betrayed. im not saying self sacrificing is nessesarily bad since you did have a backup plan but toward the end when you split in half you fail to realise that people love you so much that they cant just get 49% of you because you find it hard to ever imagine your own happiness. Even if a book had drawn to a satisfying close you would reread it again. You make sure everything that occurs is kind of like a constant. Like you reliving the entirety of twsa even after the 10 years had ended. Nothing gets rest, especially not you.

I dont even know what im saying anymore but

you are loved so please stop sacrificjg yourself. Yea

rhats about ut

and uh for mod i guess

Cool roleplay ahaha its nice :3

That’s a lot of analysis for someone who only sees the outside. But you’re not wrong.

Villains as my reflections, huh? That’s one way to put it. Though if you think about it, I wasn’t much different from them to begin with. I just happened to be on the side of the protagonists. Or maybe it’s because I read the novel first—I already knew how the ‘villains’ would fall, so I was careful not to make the same mistakes. Doesn’t mean I didn’t try to.

As for the whole ‘living as a Dokja’ thing, I don’t see the problem. I never thought there was anything else to be. It’s a fitting role, don’t you think? A reader who became the story but never the main character. I never needed to be. Yoo Joonghyuk was there for that. I was just… filling in the gaps. Making sure everything went the way it was supposed to.

But you’re right—no matter what I did, Kimcom always got mad at me for it. I made sure they lived. I made sure the story had an ending. That should have been enough. And yet, they act like I took something from them. Like they lost something. I don’t really get it. I never belonged to them the way they belonged to each other.

You say people love me, but love is conditional. If I were just some ordinary reader, would they still care? If I stopped being useful, if I stopped being ‘Kim Dokja the schemer,’ would they even look at me the same way?

You tell me to stop sacrificing myself. But if I don’t, someone else will have to. And I’d rather it be me.

But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. The book ended, didn’t it? And yet, here we are. You, still reading. And me, still existing. // mb if im js spouting bullshit 💀 i haven't read the epilogue yet, but I tried my best =,)))) im ngl im impressed at myself cuz i managed to cook up this much bs loll. and ty 😀

[minkieater]

tace omg omg new lore abt my fav boy (kicks legs giddily)

gahdamn I KNEW i had read moirai somewhere but this and joong referring nana as supernatural beings oh wow... this reminds me there are 3 goddesses in three fates, and they also are called triumph of death? or the three times joong met (sort of interacted?)or nana tweaked his brain chemicals in a way, they can be the three sisters, clotho the spinner, lachesis the alotter and altropos the cutter of life thread. MAYBE im reading into the symbolism too much but literature is about each interpretation to its own and reading between the lines (im more worried abt sounding confusing and dumb but MEHHHH i wanna talk abt this so i will) you really ate with the symbolism (im a whore for that istg)

okay them sharing the same universe gives me hope because the last bit showcased immense mental strength of hongjoong despite the regression. and his values are so similar with captain irl i cant help but really really keep this story close to me.

ZORO ZORO ZORO DHEHAKGDJDHDJBR I JUST REMEMBERED JOONGIE BOY HAD HIS EYE ON HIM ALWAYSHDGEHVEBE YOURE SO EVIL WITH THAT i was like searching wikifandom who the hell is noa then gave up.

i think if joongie boy had confronted nana, which would make his walls fall more further than he wanted to. far from his comfort zone to even build it back up, and i can agree with that because sometimes i would just pschewww away from a situation because confronting it just another mental breakdown.

i was eerily content with the ending maybe thats why i never pointed out that they should've just talked about labels and all that jazz. (am i stupid, or am i single tune in to find out).

MY JOONGIE BOY IM SOS SOSKDO PROUD OF HIM ☹️☹️ I SEE MYSELF IN HIM😞😞😞😞💘 THANK YOU TACE FOR WRITING THIS (scoops up melted heart matter and gives it to you) 🫂 city boy!joongie will keep me company for the rest of my adulthood

you’re not reading into the symbolism too much at ALL its all about your take on it and what makes sense to you 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

i’m obsessed with how much you ARE reading into it genuinely this message literally made me want to giggle like a school girl im so happy omg

when i first got into atz mingi immediately pulled my ass under (i am a simple woman i love one man) but hongjoong… i am obsessed with him. my soul sister i see so much of myself in him sometimes, the big sister in me can’t help but read into everything he does and pick apart every part of his personality, i have no outlet except writing to bring all of these scenarios i think up about him into fruition. captain joongie is so layered i adore him i need to sit down and have a conversation with him to unravel each one, my feelings for him pour into each piece i write abt him (ill shut up i can talk about him forever)

i am also still a simple woman with my love for zoro, i love big man 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ he follows me everywhere and i keep him close to me always (so valid for searching for a noa. i couldn’t name him zoro its too OBVIOUS)

i honestly wonder if joongie ever would talk to nana, im unsure if it fits his personality to leave himself so vulnerable, to inevitably admit his feelings through what could be a simple conversation 😔 i was also comfortable with the ending i feel like it made sense but they also work together, they’ll see each other often & there’s no way they just ignore each other in the hallways 😭 at least i hope not tbh joongie might end up walking past her like he did in the lobby IDK

i also see myself in him we are similar and it makes sense that we both feel so many things toward him!!! thank you so much for reading it and loving my boy as much as i do<3 city joongie will live inside me forever

[ckret2]

There’s theories that Stan had some past encounters with Bill during the portal days, which is how Bill was able to get into Stans head without a proper summoning in Dreamscapers.

Also, curious, but does Bill know what the brand means? I have my own theories as to what the brand does, but I like seeing others too

I don't subscribe to the "Bill and Stan have met" headcanon myself. I feel like saying "Stan already knew Bill" retroactively detracts from Weirdmageddon—it creates a lot of loose ends to give them a prior relationship that was never mentioned and none of the other characters find out. It's not as good as "Bill messes with every one of the Pines EXCEPT Stan, and then as punishment for messing with Stan's family, Bill gets punched to death by some guy he's never formally met before." That's their first and last meeting. I like it.

Ford makes a clear distinction that Bill can haunt his dreams but not enter his mind as long as they don't shake hands. We also see Bill pestering Dipper in his dreams before Dipper makes a deal with him. So I figure the rule is that Bill needs someone to summon him (like Gideon did) to get into Gravity Falls' psychic plane, and once he's in the psychic plane he can visit anybody's dreams he wants (like Stan's, Dipper's, and Ford's). Possession, and the ability to dig deeper into someone's psyche, require a handshake.

You could make a case like "well, Bill WAS digging into Stan's memories, which is the same sort of thing Ford said Bill would have to shake his hand to do in Weirdmageddon; so doesn't that mean a deal happened?" I have two explanations for that:

Out-of-universe, Dreamscaperers was a season 1 episode, before the crew decided how significant Bill would be or mapped out their season 2 plan. I figure they probably just hadn't refined his power set yet and we aren't supposed to think too hard about it.

In-universe, you could say, yeah, he COULDN'T dig into Stan's memories without making a deal—and so he had to taunt the mystery crew into doing the digging for him.

(This feels like the kind of detail a fan would probably have asked the creators about at some point, but if anyone did, I haven't found a mention of it yet. If there HAS been a comment on it, I'd appreciate a link!)

As for the brand:

STANS TATTOO MEANS WATCH YOUR STEP!

Considering that Stan got it during a fight when he stumbled against a hot piece of equipment, I assume that here Bill's referring to the fact that he got the brand in an accident—and so I also assume that Bill's coyly avoiding admitting that actually the brand doesn't actually have any deeper meaning.

(Obviously, that doesn't HAVE to be what he's saying—you could just as easily headcanon "well Bill's a liar so maybe the brand DOES have a deeper meaning and Bill is avoiding revealing the truth by instead alluding to how Stan got it." But for my own headcanons, this is one case where I prefer Occam's Razor.)

Ford & Fidds built the portal by raiding the crashed UFO under Gravity Falls for supplies. Given that, I assume that the overheated piece of equipment Stan fell against was some symbol that has meaning on the alien ship—and, since F&F took it away from its original context, the symbol probably doesn't have an appropriate meaning within the portal equipment where it's now been installed. Maybe it just says "HOT." Maybe it was a label for engine parts to help the ship's mechanics—"BOILER" or "MAIN CONTROLS" or the like. Maybe it came from the the aliens' public restroom stalls and it says "OCCUPIED."

If we wanna get all smart, maybe the symbol says something like "CAUTION"—and so Bill was technically telling the truth when he translated it to "watch your step." I like that idea because it's funny/clever, fits in with what Bill's told us, and would be a reasonable thing for the symbol to say given where it came from.

[bishiglomper]

You know dad called me the other day to check up on us. Whenever he calls I keep reminiscing about the trip to New York 😗 (Also every time I get a low glucose. Because I'm always like "at least its not as bad as that time..")

And the latest fixation is. When we got back to the hotel for the night he suggested I go out drinking. Alone.

In New York.

And I panicked for a second like. I am fuckin' autistic man, I'm super dependant- I cannot be trusted to wander a city like New York and not fuckin die 8D I also get lost super easily. Even trying to find the hotel room by myself is anxiety inducing. I am just not fit to be released into the wild, okay? That's why I dragged him there in the first place.

But I have yet to tell him about being autistic because he is the type of person (autistic) that does extensive research on any and all topics and cites all his sources. Even if its just suggesting a vitamin for me.

And my self-diagnosis comes from a few years of crowd-sourced experiences I've related to and referenced to form my own diagnosis. I don't know of any articles that could sum that up specifically enough to convince him without further debate over it.

And I am not very good at organizing my thoughts enough to have that conversation 😐

I dont mind explaining my chronic illnesses because those can be in itemized lists and practically graphed but autism cannot. 😅 How I feel and react to things are not so easily categorized.

It's just. So frustrating.

And one of the things I know that frustrates him is my lack of motivation to do things. It's bugged him my whole life

And i have determined I never had/have any ambition because i lack the dopamine. Even the things I LIKE arent enough to give me the juice i need to push it further.

Like with my crafts, I could try to do those sculptures he wanted, clay used to be a decade long hyperfixation. I could look up and learn all the techniques i need to learn to get it done. ....but also, I dont want to. I've been wanting to do some clay. But not enough for all that. And it's frustrating for all parties involved when that happens. I was born with literally 0 fortitude and a shitty constitution

And I know I'm a whiny pissbaby over it, I admit I was definitely spoiled. But alas, still don't have the fucks to give to change it.

I wish I were just gay, that would be easier to explain. 😂 I already told him I was asexual. Maybe didnt use the label, but explained.

Btw his only response was a sad look and the comment "But you should have someone to rub your butt. D: "

I mean. That was a new one, at least. 🤔

[deena-bsingh]

Some notes on closure

This year, I find myself exactly in the same position as last year, focused on myself and unavailable. Usually, I am great at standing my ground and implementing solid boundaries, especially when it concerns inner child healing.

Yet, I unconsciously willed (manifested I guess) someone into my life last year (online). At first I didn't recognize I did... but this person would become a destructive catalyst for me (something much needed).

In spiritual circles, there are several love labels, but some connections perhaps fit in more than one, this happened to be a soulmate and karmic at the same time. Funny enough, everyone dreads karmics yet karmic connections never seem to resolve themselves and carry forward into other lives to resolve... could the present moment of dread be why?

I painfully came to the conclusion that some situation might require inner closure, maybe because other person doesn't know how or they simply didn't see the value in it.

Closure started to come once I shifted my mind (took nearly a year) of asking "why?" and being angry to "What was the situation trying to teach me?"

Boundaries was the first thing that came up. To acknowledge that I had attracted this to me and not to discard it as something random. To take someone at face value, if i am being told that I am being used, then that's it no spiritual bond should override this information. To not over give because it creates an imbalance in the heart chakra.

However, the two most powerful realizations this experience brought me would cement the idea of closure for me. That person's rigid nature made me realize this was a mirror to my current state. By wanting to address my childhood wound, I became so rigid and fixated on the past, that I wanted a clean slate from that time before I resumed my life.

That was hard to digest but once I accepted that it was something that I was equally doing, it made me have a newfound appreciation for mirroring (with maturity of course). I would also learn to forgive, its very hard for me to forgive but that person's unavailability and rigidity made me realize that forgiveness was the only way to move forward.

I don't mean saying "I forgive you" but not mean it. I mean truly feeling it, allowing myself to be vulnerable even if it was just in writing and no one will read it but the release was incredible. So begins the journey of releasing pasts that have haunted me (wip).

The final piece would come from a random youtube video of a lady saying "Choose someone who is good for your nervous system!" as she continued to explain how some situations affect your nervous system... I went into a deep "aha" moment.

That wasn't just closure for one person but I feel it's the beginning of a deeper closure, I guess the end of a pattern.

So if someone left you without any explanations or they simply never bothered to give you closure, I am here to tell you it's not time that will heal you (chances are you will carry the same pattern over) but it's switching perspective and the willingness to see any situation can teach you something.

[fenderjess]

last night a cis woman asked me if I liked her top and it ended up making me cry

oh, it looks great, i said, but what's 'kors'?

"WHAAAT? Don't pretend you don't know who that is, EVERYONE knows michael kors! You know, the fashion designer?"

can't say i do, i respond

"Wow, that's surprising! well, what's your favorite brand?"

favorite brand. what an odd concept.

how do i tell her ive never been interested in flashy expensive things. that even in a magical world where price is no object, i dont have the luxury of being choosy about where my clothes come from, that i dont get to have a wide selection of clothes because the powers that be running the clothing lines have deemed my body Too Big to be worthy of flattering or fun outifts, that i have to get whatever fits me from whoever sells it, that fat women are only accommodated if they're curvy in the Right Way, that tall women must be supermodel-thin?

how do i tell her that no, i don't know all the labels, because when i was growing up the clothes i wore were often whatever bland stuff i got at christmas, or dumb edgy hot topic graphic tees and jnco jeans and tripp pants, or polos and cargo shorts, or mechanic coveralls? that if i'd ever shown any interest in fashion, the boys at school would have beaten my ass, and called me a faggot even more than they already did; hell, maybe my dad would have, too

how do i tell her that where she and my mom and all the other cis women in my life have decades of cultural context and marketing and rebellion against the marketing and cultural discourse and whatever the complete gestalt of GIRLHOOD is and its effect on tastes informing their response to such a question, i just have a gaping thirty-year void of twisted feelings and avoiding things like "my appearance" as much as possible and painful memories and dissociation and trauma and enforced male gender roles and interests that rolled off my mind like a duck's back leaving me a shell of a young adult?

how do i tell her that my sole desire is to tear down the entire edifice of the Fashion Industry and the capitalist system that runs it and the class that benefits from my suffering and my insecurity and my desperation that drives me to buy clothes that fit at a 50% markup if they're available in my size at all, and replace it with a world where clothes just Last and you don't have to keep up with trends and every single person can get comfortable, beautiful clothes tailored to them without having to fork over money to a company that employs slave labor?

how do i tell her that even in asking the question, i'm reminded of the yawning chasm between their upbringings and mine, that i never had a pretty senior portrait or a tacky prom dress or goofy rebelliously short-skirted outfits that i can look back on and shake my head with a smile, that i would need another thirty years of immersion in that world to even have a prayer of answering that, that i'm too busy stressing over whether next month there'll be new laws that kick me off my hrt again, that it's yet another gut-punch of an interaction reminding me that in some people's eyes I'll be forever marked out as a Different Kind of woman?

well, i mean, i say, hugging myself and averting my gaze, i'm so big that finding things in my size is amlost impossible, and honestly the whole experience is so stressful i just don't bother most of the time.

"Ooooh you sohuld start your own clothing line tailored to girls like you! That'd be fun, right?"

[helpme225]

i like being anyomous. i also can’t really spell. im just here for practice. to wonder and speak to get back my brain. the girl i was. around two years ago. i say i hate who i was, but maybe i miss her. maybe i miss being dramaless, wearing whatever big size i wanted, listening to music, free in my friendships because they weren’t that serious. my friend group was holding onto who i was. slowly letting me slip away because i was no longer like them. and i wasn’t suffocating. it wasn’t hard to type. the one thing i liked about myself was that i could write anything, in the tone i loved. in the tone i could never find in a single book. or maybe i just liked the library teacher because she was the only one who cared. she still saw the change in me, and just like my old friends, drifted. now i am just cornered in the hallway when i try to pass her. she asks me if i’ve eaten, because i look thinner. i look lost. i am unable to speak to her. and she sees it in my eyes. i no longer ask for specific books. i no longer even go into the library. but it used to be so easy. no one needed anything from me. i didn’t have to choose sides against people i just want to stick around. my mom wasn’t home, i could do what i want, and i had my dog. and i wrote and i loved it. and i was a girl. but i was 13. and someone always has to come into my life when they see me bare-faced and free, and take that. take my time, my energy. i drifted. i was scared. i was lost. it wasn’t meant for me. but a boy wanted what he wanted and i didn’t know how to love so eventually i hated him. i found love after him, and the second i was labeled his girl, something clicked. i didnt value my friendships, i was disrespectful, and i was entertained by people hating me. and there was barely a whole page written by me during that. but he didn’t touch me in school. he didn’t expect anything from out hangouts, he just held my hand in his and i didn’t have to kiss him. i wasn’t afraid to sit next to him. he didn’t feel like a stormy cloud. i felt like someone, i loved it. i loved talking and listening and having a opinion. but then he left, and i had no one. and he came back, and left, and created someone else, came back, and still says i don’t care how i used to. how i don’t care enough, but i do, just not in the way he thinks caring is. he wants me crazy when he leaves the house, he wants me to worry and get upset at him for smoking with out me, because that would “show i care.” it’s not. it never was. it’s suffocating. i dont know who i am. i dont know who i created. i just know i hate myself. the way i dont fit in. im not loud enough, my laugh is too quiet and the things that would have my brother folded laughing, doesn’t even make my bf chuckle. he doesn’t laugh at my jokes. he says he’s going to kill me. he walks away and makes me choose between him or my ride home. i dont understand how you could do that. i am just 15. i need a ride home. i have to say what i said i am going to. i cant ditch my friends for him and it’s what he wants. he doesn’t understand. he lets me cry. he doesn’t tell me goodnight when we’re tg. he plays victim, i cannot tell him what he’s done wrong or im going off on him. so we will never communicate. he is stubborn and mean to all of my friends. he expects me to walk out of their house the second he’s there. but he is sweet when we are alone. i dont wait for it to be over. he treats me roughly and i have to learn not to beg for what i need. like he is training me. i dont like it but he will rest his forehead on mine when he gets over it. he will look into my eyes and kiss my face. he will hold me and tell me he loves me. he’ll laugh w me and treat me like i’m pretty. he says sorry and i believe him. its one of the only times he’s sweet, is when he is sorry. and if that’s what i’m holding onto. i used to be myself. now i am just a part of him and he is of me. he’s just as attached to me. and i am not enough. he is not enough. and the only way out i see is suicide. i tried with his belt the night after we broke up. i might :(

[starsbegantofall]

craft room update under the cut!

I've been struggling with keeping my craft room/wfh office clean for years ever since i moved into my house. Not only am I messy, a given for a free spirit like myself, but I'm also working on multiple projects at a time that cannot be put away or else they will be forgotten, also typical of free spirits. I also dislike commitment such as putting giant nail or screw holes in the walls for shelving and storage, which would have helped with keeping things organized or at least off the floor so I can vacuum up all the threads and dust.

A short while ago I moved the futon sofa bed out to my bedroom (not that it really fit there either) because the futon looked ugly and was gathering messes and dust and I never used it for its purpose. The futon now is a gathering place for pillows and plushies but sometimes I do sit on it to work on my journal or read a bit. So that's a slight improvement than no use at all. And I put a sheet over it so it's cute now.

With the biggest space-waster out of the way, I moved furniture around to make the best use of light from the window and recently purchased a cheap plastic Ikea shelf to hold lightweight bins and such. The aesthetics and feng shui are not perfect, but with determination, I was able to rehome almost all of my art supplies and boxes of projects off the floor where they had been preventing me from vacuuming and reaching the closet door. There are still a couple of trays of miscellaneous junk to sort through and I would like a better place for my recently obtained embroidery supply baskets, but that should be easy to resolve tomorrow. It better be.

The next biggest change was taking all of my booth/table stuff from a giant tupperware and consolidating the merch and signage on a small shelf since I doubt I will sell at a market or artist alley anytime soon. (Maybe at my retirement, but I don't think society will exist in 20 years, or not a society that will be buying my art anyway.) That freed up a lot of floor space as well. The other giant tupperware holds my wigs and I don't have a place for it in the stuffed cosplay closet, so it will just be hanging out in the center of the room as a mini table surface as usual. I also moved my photos and letters to my bedroom closet as they are not technically office or art supplies.

I pulled out some artsy or fashion postcards and stickers to decorate, labeled a few drawers, and placed vases of fake flowers around to help it look prettier as well instead of just utilitarian. Actually the flowers were from my previous PC desk setups, I never even put them away, lol.

The last few things on my list - add a cute curtain, find a home for the last few baskets I already mentioned and add more artwork to the wall as inspirations. And maybe hang up one small decorative shelf... if I can make that commitment lol. Anyway, I'm really happy that I finally pulled through and finished tidying up, you know, after years of being stressed out by my mess and unable to find anything and buying multiples I didn't need lmao. Now I'm excited to finish my sewing projects and work on new stuff, and I smile when I look at the semi-organized bins and rainbow colors of fabrics and flowers. Gotta celebrate the small wins in this evil and miserable world!

I will post photos on my blog hopefully soon!

[anatomic-adoration]

6/23/23

I made this blog with the intention of joining the studyblr community, but it doesn't hurt to throw some personal journaling in too.

It was warm today, sunny too, so I grabbed my most comfortable boots and headed out on one of my not so famous "adventures." It started off normal, of course, walking past the various bars and statues scattered throughout the college town. They were never my thing, but I've grown somewhat fond of the familiar territory. It's nice that there's plenty of things to use as landmarks since I can't find my way anywhere without a GPS. I gave the nose of the university's opossum mascot statue a rub for luck, then diverged from the sidewalk in favor of the "scenic" route.

It was peaceful, just enjoying the sunshine that peaked through the trees and climbing over rocks and run down fences. Rubbing the opossum's nose must've worked, because right by one of the fences was a dead bunny! The poor thing was half eaten and covered in those really pretty flies that have an iridescent green body. I took a picture and wished it a good afterlife. or reincarnation? or at least some peace in its eternal rest.

But none of that was new. The reason I felt the need to write this down is the woods spit me out right next to a bunch of cool stores I've never seen before. One of them was a coffee shop I'd never heard of, so I figured I'd give it a try.

The place was cooler than I could've imagined- alternative music was playing over the speakers, skull decor, and almost all the drinks had silly edgy names to match the aesthetic. I ordered a tea called "The Cure" (lemon, ginger, and just a hint of mint mixed together with some honey), then decided to do a little people watching while I waited for it to cool.

It was by no means crowded, but it was still fascinating to see that literally everyone there had an alternative look. There was an incredibly fun mixture of subcultures, but I found myself coming back again and again to this one punk looking guy there.

His hair was a grayish colour and he had a collection of piercings that complemented his jacket, which had a bunch of patches and some metal embellishments, including spikes. He was clearly pretty tall too; his chair looked tiny by comparison, and his legs didn't fit well under the table, leaving them pressed against the wood above them. Despite his obvious size and style, he still looked nervous to be there.

I know anyone can have anxiety, but there was something about seeing a man who would be labeled "trouble" by the average person being in such an uncomfortable state himself. I know it sounds mean, but the stark contrast was kind of amusing. I'd love to know how aware he is of the irony.

He noticed my staring, and I guess it made him uncomfortable because he rushed out pretty soon after catching on. As I drank my tea, I couldn't stop dwelling on the situation. I wish I could say I'm sorry; I never mean to stare for too long, but when something catches my eye it just... happens.

C'est la vie. I'll probably go back to the coffee shop again to try their other drinks, maybe a pastry too, so there's still a chance I'll see him again. Maybe I'll work up the nerve to apologize at this hypothetical next time.

Back to studying for the time being.

[caliginouscreature]

It's alright, I am being quite a bit salty, haha... didn't mean to offend anyone in particular with this post, was more just venting than trying to change the community with the force of my huffing-and-puffing.

All that makes sense! I do find it strange though that when I was first getting into Tumblr alterhuman stuff, most of the more active community was 14-16somethings, and almost a decade later... it's still mostly 14-16somethings. Makes sense for new people to arrive, and for them to arrive at a certain age, but it's like... where did the would-be-adults-by-now go?? Did they realize they weren't otherkin and leave? Get scared off by people making fun of them? Also feel alienated by all the kids and go elsewhere...? It's strange to me that it's remained a community of mostly teenagers since like 2014 with seemingly no increase in percentage of adult alterhumans in all that time. I guess I could look elsewhere, I just like Tumblr and wish I wouldn't have to leave it to find a more fitting community... If everyone who thinks the Tumblr alterhuman community is too teen-centric leaves, then it'll always be mostly for teens here...! If the vibe is off, well... I don't see a lot of people cultivating different vibes. Moving my presence to Dreamwidth, Cohost, or some forum I've never browsed before is time and effort, and learning a new platform is as well. I've been on Tumblr far longer than I've had this blog, and so Tumblr is the easiest platform for me to do social things and feel immersed in a community most of the time. I'd still be on Tumblr regardless if I moved my 'kin stuff somewhere that might or might not have better vibes, stretching my attention and energy even thinner. Jumping ship is a big deal! It'd be nice to have more people stick around.

On the otherhearted thing: Sincere apologies, but I've heard that one before, and "strongly identifies with" is even counted under a few definitions of otherkin. Never really see anyone draw the line where "just relating" ends and otherhearted begins, without the implication that potential millions of average people are actually otherhearted without even knowing about alterhumanity. I've posted that particular gripe before iirc, but I also use otherhearted as an example because its usual definition is so vague, is rarely defined in a vacuum (it's nigh always "not as strong as my kintype" when someone describes their personal experience instead of saying what it's like without having a kintype), there's no one saying how to tell having a hearttype from just having such bad species dysphoria you just think you're not truly 'kin (which was my problem for a while!), and discussions about its definition just repeat the same thing you have and leave it there. Where's the progression, the otherhearted community on its own? I love the idea of otherheartedness and often wonder if I am such, but the vagueness of it all makes me wonder if it's just an idea-- a fun label-- to everyone explaining it even when they have hearttypes (not to invalidate anyone, I still believe it's A Thing, it's all just kept so unclear compared to otherkin)... Just one example of how the tumblr alterhuman community sometimes feels like going in circles for me.

I am aware that at the end of the day, it's up to me to figure out what works for me indeed. I just guess I wish there were more experiences from others I could read up on for reference... Helps to have someone say something-- maybe even to themself-- and go "I didn't think of that", even if it winds up not being exactly what I need. The more available to reference, the merrier! Even if it's not for my exact situation! Everyone says we all need to journal and post our experiences more, so I suppose I wish everyone (me included!) maybe practiced that, heheh...

Yeah, I may have been a bit harsh on that particular panel. I'm sure it was helpful to someone. At the time I watched it first, I just found myself feeling quite misled by its title and presentation in regards to what I expected it to talk about. Expectations versus reality was what got me so worked up with it, possibly even more than what they did talk about instead (I expected more... advice, but the advice was mostly internet stuff I already knew how to deal with). The panelist seemed nice enough, I just got annoyed when they never got around to what I listened in for (I'd have asked during, but I could only catch a recording). If someone else felt helped by it, well... that's an objectively good thing! No problems for me with such people-and-creatures.

No hard feelings! I'm just feeling a bit fussy and tired, probably. Yearnful and so on for things... experiences... I just hope I don't come off as hostile or argumentative here. No ill intent from me, either. Good day/night to you as well.

Sorry for being so inactive lately... been busy irl, and have been meaning to post here more often, but also, like... I always feel a bit shy approaching the 'kin communities on here because it kind of feels like everyone is sort of... "internet poisoned"? For lack of a possibly-better word. A lot of folks here on tumblr in the 'kin and alterhuman communities are children, and a lot of more prominent community figures treated like "elders" are only about my age or younger, and it feels really strange, to be honest. There's a lot of discussion of feelings and terminology, but very little "lifestyle"? It's like there's a universal expectation for everyone to just figure everything out on their own; you get some definitions here and there yeah, but the amount of variance says much more loudly "just figure out what it all means on your own, pal". ex. Not only can no one actually explain what "otherhearted" actually means sans relation to otherkin, but it feels like I never see anyone talk about dealing with what one could call "kin feels" in the workplace, when unable to acquire your habitat, etc... Othercon is online-only, and while I'm pretty sure I'd be unable to attend an in-person event, part of me has a hard time feeling like everyone is really taking it all seriously and is really unafraid of being "cringe" when obviously it's so much easier to act like you're so confident online. I kinda feel like meeting some wolfkin stereotypes in a park for snacks and doing a group howl would do more for me than years of reading essays on tumblr ever has.

I dunno, I tried watching a recording of an Othercon panel I felt would be relevant and useful to me once, and was floored at just how... utterly useless it was. Despite its promising title, it was just shallow "you're valid" garbage and internet discourse... Makes me feel severely alienated, to be honest.

[prof-peach]

My little kirlia loves to have tea in a garden, so I've been thinking of planting some flowers around a little table outside, I'm not very good at it myself though, and do tend to be forgetful. Any recommendations on easy to care, yet pretty flowers? Do any flowers/plants have special effects on Pokemon that I should be concern/excited about?

ok, so we had a little chat about the weather you get, and I now know you have cold-ish climates, but a good bit of sun, so this is what I can suggest for you and your dear partner, to get the most out of your garden without too much work.  SO, first things first, Grasses. They come in so many shapes and forms, all different colours, heights and can often tough out even the most bitter winter. The only real work I find you have to do with ornamental grasses is at the very end of winter, cut them back to the ground, and they’ll grow back nice and lush come spring when the sun starts to shine. People cut these grasses down quickly because they see them as scruffy, but I encourage you to avoid this, as the grass itself is so important to small bug types, and feeding bird pokemon who need nesting material, grubs to eat, and generally cover from predators. plus bonus, less work for you.

Grasses can create a privacy screen too, so if you're overlooked by neighbours, or your garden is very open and gets a lot of harsh wind, then plating tall tough grasses will not only give you incredible textures, but also some well deserved cover from prying eyes or bitter winds. They also help smaller less tough plants shelter, and can help keep the other things you plant in the space safer. They naturally clump and spread, and you really don’t have to do much other than sit back and watch their beautiful seed heads blow in the wind, creating movement, sound, and giving a great depth of texture to any garden. Plus who doesn't like to see sweet little pidgey feeding on seeds?

Pampas Grass: Super tall, beautiful foliage, real winners, Extra tough plants. ^

Zebra Grass, tall, dense, beautiful stripes, easy and tough ^

for a more Tropical vibe, perhaps try some bamboo ^

 some folks are nervous about it because its fast growing and harder to control, you can stop its spread by planting in containers, OR putting bamboo into the ground, but line where you want it to grow with pond liner, a thick durable plastic, that the plant will struggle to grow through. If you plant a few in a lined trench, they'll fill that space in no time, giving you a thick wall of tough evergreen grass, that literally can be left all year round. makes for pretty foliage in cut flower mixes too.

Ok thats the backdrop laid out for you, now the fun stuff and colour! So heres some of my favs, which i know come in a range of variants.

 ^ Hardy Hibiscus, a shrub, known for their reds, whites, pinks and purples, and yellows, with lovely foliage and a mass of flowers big enough for the combee, cutifly and even butterfree to frequent. they arent overly sweet smelling but very pretty and need little care once established. You can even plant them in pots and they’d be pretty happy if you just feed them.

Hydrangea ^, known for pinks and purples, blues, and whites, their flowers (when not fed specific colouration feed) will change based on how acidic or alkali your soil is. If you want the flowers to not change colour, then get a white one (which is far prettier in my opinion haha). The white ones don’t change colour and will stay no matter your soil type. You can get special feed for them to keep them a certain colour, but its a bit of a faff and not for everyone. these plants can be delicate (see Hydrangea ‘limelight’, or ‘bluebird’) or bold and big (Hydrangea ‘big daddy’ or ‘annabelle’). Should you have a wall and some cash to splash, you can even get a climbing Hydrangea, which is quite stunning.

^ Lilac. Tough, easy to care for, and SO sweet smelling you’d think you’d died and gone to heaven. They come in whites, pinks and purples mostly, and have a robust nature you’d not expect from such a sweet smelling thing. I cannot stress how good and tough these plants are, and once established they can get incredibly aged and majestic. 

These shrubs can be controlled to be small, or left to turn to large shrubs, depending on the space you're working with. I would advise putting in your larger plants first, then slowly adding smaller bits, as the big stuff creates the frame for your garden, its like putting bones in first, to support and hold together the spaces form.

after this, its all down to small floral bits. you mentioned tropical vibes up top, so i’d say go for some greens in there too, ferns and large leaved hostas are pretty cold tolerant (hostas can also flower which is lovely), and give a real feel for depthy jungle and texture, and the more green you get, the more the flowers pop against it.

for ground cover and softer smaller plants, think hardy Geraniums, maybe some hardy shrub Fuchias, a personal fav for its fearless defiance to the cold is Erysimum, and then you have age old winners like Aquilegia, Yarrow, and Scabiosa. Do a google, check out the options and hopefully head to your local nursery to pick a few bits up. i’d suggest planting up when the ground doesn't get frost in the morning, to give your new plants the best chance. water whatever you plant into the ground thoroughly once, and only do so again should you get a particularly hot summer day. 

All the plants i’ve mentioned are tough as old boots if you make sure they're ‘Hardy’ thats the word to look on labels with anything you plan to put in. There aren't any plants that I know of that affect the Ralts line thoroughly AND fit the vibe you were gong for that we discussed, but i do know they're easily calmed by scented plants, so go to a local centre, or even public gardens and take some time to smell the flowers. If they plant it in your local park, and your pokemon enjoys it, chances are it can survive your weather and rough soil type. I find the Ralts line is very in tune with their trainers, and so if you enjoy the garden, if you like the sound of the grass in the wind, or the smell of the flowers, or buzz of combee floating by, then they'll join in and be content.

You mentioned your Kirlia likes tea? grab some mint and pop that in a pot for her, don’t put it in the ground, it goes wild and rampant. Also Chamomile is a rather hardy plant to have, and she may enjoy to learn the process of caring for and using that delicious little herby plant. It has sweet daisy flowers and does well in sunny spots or pots, and smells divine, some people even use it as an alternative for a lawn.

Pleeeeeease let me know how it goes, and if any of these names or phrases seem daunting, I am here to help, and can promise you i’ve given pretty easy starting points, and ALL of these plants can handle being in containers or in the dirt, in exposed positions, and none need rigorous feeding or care, other than the odd water, and the dead flowers trimmed off. If you get stuck message in, Gardening is kind of my vibe, and i’d hate to think you’d get a little overwhelmed. Plants move so slowly, you get a lot of time to fix issues and mistake (i know i make a lot of them haha) and they're also very forgiving, so don’t feel like you have to know a lot to get started, its a hobby that gets us outdoors, and brings great joy when the things we care for flower and give results, and we can learn from our decisions if they should fail and die. 

GOOD LUCK!

[twigon0metry]

The Female Experience (Through My Eyes)

 Before I begin with yet another one of my annual multi-paragraph discourse posts, I want to clarify that this is not a coming-out story. I felt pulled to share my thoughts around my own experiences with gender in today’s day and age as a Christian, which is something I don’t see most people speaking about. My desire is to share my experiences in order that other Christians like me can be reassured that they are not alone, and it is normal to doubt. I wish to be the representation I needed back when I was struggling. 

TW I do talk about my faith and how it connects to who I am, however, I am sharing my personal experiences, so I hope it is more accessible than offensive--if you are not a christian, you are more than welcome to engage as well.

Here we go!

 I’ve never felt like a woman. When I was a child, I didn’t feel like a girl, either. I doubt there is a single point in my life in which I have actively felt and identified with what the world deems to be female. I was never distressed, but I did feel different sometimes. Not in the way that one might feel wearing pants in a room full of other girls in dresses, but in the way that I was myself and they were something else. I did things differently, I acted differently, and people could tell. “Quirky”, “Bold”, “Different”, “Confident” are all descriptors I’ve heard many a time, and I’ve been lucky that they’re positive. These aren’t bad things, and I am in no way complaining—just explaining that even people around me could see that I was different.

 Not once did I question myself until I reached the age that the internet became a larger part of my reality. The most I’d ever done was watch my testimony play on the screen in the green room at church, on the day I was baptized, noticing how my mouth moved funny when I talked. Or perhaps, observing my spindly limbs in a photograph, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of how differently my body moved in the world. But later on, as I immersed myself in our society, observing its movements in order to understand, I began to feel further and further away.

The only people I saw who were like me, were not women.

 To the tiny part of my lizard brain, this had to mean something, and my OCD latched onto it like a moth to a flame. Any suggestion to this end sent my mind spiraling. I felt an intense need to define who I was by a label of some sort, in order that I might fit in, or perhaps prove myself, or maybe, to truly find rest.

 I had to discover what being a woman meant, because if I didn’t, I was afraid I might not be one. I had to know what a woman was in order to be sure I was one. But finding no connection to what I saw femininity to be, I had no choice but to leave my questioning in the dark, unanswered.

 When I tried to think of the things that defined femininity, I could only think of the warped things I was bent upon rebelling against. Besides being generally uncomfortable with my anatomy, I hated that women were reduced to the sicky-sweet, seductive, rose-tinted narratives I saw all around me. So what was left? Nothing, except my own feelings and how I perceived myself. And when I thought about it, I didn’t perceive myself as a woman, just as myself. There were no “female” feelings to be found, either.

What I’ve finally come to realize, however, is that those two concepts can coexist. Woman, and me—that is, everything that makes me myself.

 If, say, I were to come out as nonbinary, or, agender, the more specific microlabel for those who don’t identify with gender (discovered during one of my obsessive internet searching phases), to be honest, I’m really not sure it would help me. Because I know that no matter what I did to change myself, even if it was no more than try my best to continue being genuine, being myself—the reality of womanhood would always follow me. I would still be seen within the binary of male and female, and my sex would always affect how I was treated by others. And beyond that, I would merely be stepping outside of one box into another—just as society pressures women to be feminine, I have seen how nonbinary people are pressured to be androgynous, to be not female, or not male, or a specific mixture of both that has to be palatable to others in just the right way. If I pursued this path of fitting into boxes, it would undoubtedly be a painful one, because to me, I fit perfectly in neither.

 Soon I realized that the problem, for me, is with the warped stereotypes associated with being a woman, and not being a woman itself. Woman, as a term, was not the box I had always thought it to be—if anything, it was more like a garden, and the garden grows what it will, no matter what I choose to plant.

 I have always been myself. Woman has always been a part of that, subconsciously, as a reality of my existence. But it never did, and doesn’t have to, hold the weight I thought it did. I am a Christian, but if I were to ask myself if I felt like a Christian, that would in turn raise the question of “how do I know what being a Christian feels like?”. I am also 20 years old. I do not feel like I am 20, but the reality is that that is the amount of time I have existed in this world, outside of the womb, for. (Quite frankly, most days I still feel like a teen.) I am also 5.9”, or to be specific, 175cm. But if someone were to ask me if I felt like I was 5 feet 9 inches, I wouldn’t be able to answer that, because I don’t feel like it, it just is.

To me, womanhood is the same. I am a woman, and it doesn’t have to mean anything more than it already does. It doesn’t mean I have to conform to what the world says a woman is like to be one—as a matter of fact, it doesn’t mean I have to act any certain way at all, since it is nothing more than an immutable trait of my flesh. I can ignore it, but I cannot avoid it. Regardless of anything I do or say, it is there, and it is what I was born with. I do not have to hate it, nor do I have to find joy in it—because it simply is, the way it is true that I have arms, I have hair, I have a face. I have a woman’s mind, a woman’s body, a woman’s soul, and to reject that would only hurt me further.

 Don’t get me wrong, femininity is important. I’m still on a journey to find out what it means. But my feelings aren’t the most important aspect of that, and to give them weight would only enforce the very things I sought to avoid.

 When God met Moses in the desert hundreds of years ago, He gave this response to being asked His name—“I am.” God is God. He simply is. He does not prove Himself to anyone, nor does He change Himself to fit one box or another, or force Himself to sit outside of them entirely. He rests in His identity and His way of being, perhaps like a cat stretches out and lies in the sun, its decisions not at all swayed by the musings of man.  

I don’t identify as a woman, I just am one.

 At this point, since I have little understanding of biblical femininity outside of how the world has warped it in misogynistic ways, this I believe is how I can glorify God with my femininity. He made me the way I am, with the things I like, what I do, and how I think. He also made me female. And the best thing for me to do for my anxious, restless mind is to abide in that “I am”—I am who He made me to be, messy parts, clean parts, parts that fit and parts that don’t. Woman is weaved so intricately, gently, within that, as part of who I am and how I experience the world. To reject that would mean I really do believe what society tells me about who I am—nothing but my own thoughts and feelings, crammed into an empty box painted with purple, yellow and white stripes.

[bandofchimeras]

PDA stuff & long diary life update for those who care!

started sort of arguing with a popular neurodivergency Twitter person (not really, but got defensive) over the idea of PDA being a myth or a grab bag for those of us with severe burnout, etc. I'm open to not being CORRECT on this, but personally I've found both good and bad things in the diagnosis, the label, and community self-understanding, as with any diagnosis....its all based on a pretty flawed and pathologizing system. so why attack PDA in particular?

anyhow, on a personal level, today I stayed up into my natural noctural habitat to chop vegetables and make borscht. its a long, tedious process at my rate, and took two days + leaving the vegetables out overnight to do, but now its done! and yummy healthful soup for the rest of the week. :)

I'm slowly chipping away at rebuilding life and haven't tackled doctors, dentists, pharmacist, therapist aspect yet because of feeling vaguely unsure about where I will actually end up living once this couchsurfing period is over. its such an ordeal I don't want to repeat it again....but my teeth need urgent care, and meds are gonna be essential for any kind of work. which i've also been avoiding.... February is historically the hardest month for me to get thru. every year. have delved into other things astrologically but February...well I guess natal Uranus square Venus, Sun and North Node/Pluto plus oppositon Mars....that's a rough transit. But its probably the weather. Okay on to the PDA/ADHD/sensory/wtf bullshit I wanted to write about:

today I slowed wayyyyy down and just noticed in my body where and when resistance came up. It was a huge dark spirally last few days, but today had a few breakthroughs of being honest when my anxiety tempted me to lie/hide, saying no to somebody instead of people pleasing, and calming down before calling my mom, and actually having a pleasant chat.

also addressed the Cat Peeing on Everything issue in a multitude of ways. I felt much stronger in my self-acceptance despite the realization last night that my joints have deteriorated to the point carrying grocery bags disolates them! my life is pretty boring and I'm sort of floating along with no direction, but today instead of spiralling about it, I used the role-play technique to coach myself into a new mindset of "maybe you are not ready to find your purpose yet, just focus on getting the basics down" AND I noticed when my avoidance was coming from sensory needs! and tried to address them before making the demand. it worked pretty decently (turns out when i'm cold i will Not be able to move my body until until its warm??) A huge Axis of PDA is our intense willpower and drive to conform, fit in, understand, mask, etc. among people who are not us, and not like us. I appreciate this about PDAers, this will to understand and adapt, and the determination to succeed despite all setbacks. however, I think due to our slower processing speed, with the demand avoidance interference, we often miss the "steps" involved in success. there may also be some wilful delusion - if they can do it I can do it! that comes from being hypersensitive to the opinions of an ableist collective. so this week for me, i was feeling the weight of "not and never will be enough" and comparison to others. however, deactivating my facebook and slowing down to make soup, going on a sunshine walk, supple,ents, using the happy light, and starting to practice responding at least a little more compassionately but firmly to my own meltdowns....its working. i just have to release the need to do everything, everywhere, all at once. PDAers are characterized by a strong will to not only live, but to feed, to grow, to expand, to be competent. full of ideas and desires!! Unfortunately we often do not receive the accommodations necessary to actually do so or develop missing skills bc of being good at masking, or our disability being demonized as willful, selfish and in need of "breaking" this can be very heartbreaking - but as today showed me in my roommate's gracious reaction to a talk I was very scared to have with them - when you find someone who does accommodate and understand, and are willing, able, and open to connect with them, it is also heart healing. our struggles are an opportunity to exercise deep self acceptance and love for the Self despite physical limitations and inabilities!!! or they can be in the right environment. that's my thoughts for now, now its really past time to go to bed and have wild near lucid dreams again. goodnight!!

.

[animalkingdom-an0nymous]

False God- Sean Wallace

Disclaimer: No gifs or photos are mine unless stated otherwise.

Warning: A violent, smutty NSFW Sean Wallace fic. What if that last day ended differently? What if Sean made it out with his wounds? And what if there was someone from his childhood who haunted him just as much as he haunted her?

Subject: Sean X Y/N

Growing up, Sean Wallace and I were one in the same. We liked the same jokes, ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut the same way- in triangles- and our only real difference was that I was an American. Our fathers, both legendary crime bosses in their own right, were great business partners and made each other filthy rich. We were dangerously similar.

Until we weren’t.

I’d been in America when Finn Wallace was murdered, and I’d stayed in America during the aftermath. My father had cared deeply for Finn, but the world we lived in was fucking brutal, cold, and my dad would never risk my well being by allowing me to go to the UK to be with Sean.

Hearing about all of it had been a nightmare, though. Hearing about murders and the carnage, communities and families wiped out when Sean locked the city down. My heart ached for the boy I once knew and feared for the man that was, and then, just as quickly as it all blew up, the flames went out. All was quiet.

Sean Wallace was dead.

Or so the world thought. My father, who had an in with Billy and Jac, knew the truth. The Wallace family had connections within the police force- cliché, right?- and when a few of their own found him lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding out from his fucking face, they quickly pronounced him dead at the scene. I didn’t know the ins and outs, didn’t care to, because the life I lived now was so far from the life I was forced to live as a child. All I knew was they got him out of there and Sean Wallace, as London knew him, was dead.

I needed him to stay that way.

It had been nearly a year since then, nearly a year since I last had the nerve to ask my dad about him. I think he knew how I felt, knew I had gone to great lengths to distance myself from him and my mother and the hellish, brutal life they created. But that didn’t mean my dad didn’t love me. I knew he did in his own, twisted way, and I knew he caught on to the hurt I felt whenever Sean’s name was mentioned.

So he stopped mentioning it.

Billy and Jac were stateside and living under different names, that much I knew. I had yet to see them, but I knew they were close enough to drive to because my mother had made sure to mention in her last email that their “home was beautiful and they think it was quite rude of you not to come around and visit, Y/N.”

It was bullshit. Billy and Jac didn’t feel any type of way about me, we were never close. That was reserved specifically for Sean and me. And look how well that turned out.

I was haunted by the ghost of a man I didn’t even know anymore.

He was labeled as a terrorist and maybe that’s what hurt more than anything. I could never scream from the rooftops how much I fucking loved him because that’s crazy. Because who could love a terrorist? Who could love a man that had murdered, cheated, stolen to get his way? And if I did love him, what kind of woman did that make me?

It was a thought that had been in my mind on replay all day long, the musings drifting into the night as I drove towards my childhood home. I had made the agreement with my parents- namely my father- that once a month I would return home for dinner. It was nearly a two hour drive but one that I committed to because if I didn’t I knew they would show up at my apartment. And what twenty-something year old woman wants her parents showing up at her apartment unannounced?

The gravel ground under my tires as I pulled my all black BMW into the driveway. It was already dark and I knew my mother would have something to say about me showing up late, but at least I showed up. Sure, I was still wearing the navy blue pantsuit I’d worn at work all day and I usually changed whenever I had dinner with them, but my mind was occupied tonight. By thoughts of Sean. By thoughts of Sean getting his face blown off. Did it hurt? Did he remember? Would I ever know?

My father met me at the door. Six foot three and wide like a linebacker, the man was not to be messed with. He was no nonsense and the only people he smiled at were me and the people he was going to shoot right before he shot them. You can do what you want with that information.

“My little angel,” he said and reached for me, taking both my hands in his and bringing them to his lips. It was a simple gesture but one he did every single time. It was the one constant my dad ever provided me. “How was the drive up?”

“Traffic wasn’t too bad tonight, but I ended up getting out a bit later than I thought I would.”

He swung an arm around me as we made our way through the marble foyer, my heels clacking against the floor. “My art gallery owner. Your mother and I are so proud of you.”

I raised my eyebrows. He was feeding me bullshit, both he and my mom wanted me in the family business more than anything, but from the time I could voice my opinion I let them know. No. I would be taking no part in the family business.

Not that I didn’t know my shit. I knew my way around a gun shop and had a better shot than half the men my dad hired to protect us. I hit harder than my first two boyfriends and let everyone know that my last name was still my last name and not to fuck with me. I knew I was untouchable.

That didn’t mean I was embracing the lifestyle.

“Yeah, business is going great, I even hired someone part-time to help out.”

“Background check?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Of course.”

“Family ties?”

“Her name is Mindy and she’s from a farm in rural Kansas.”

He paused and raised his eyebrows, one of the rare times my father ever looked shocked. “She doesn’t even know what our last name holds, does she?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

He laughed his hearty, deep chuckle and stopped us at the bar cart outside of the dining room. As always, he grabbed two tumblers and threw a handful of ice in each before adding to fingers of whiskey. Our favorite. One of our few commonalities. “Proud of you, kid.”

“Thanks, dad.”

I was about to ask him how his week was when my mother’s voice drifted in from the balcony. She liked to drink her wine out there at night, before dinner. Just one glass, but it was a ritual she followed religiously. Her voice was somewhat raspy, a little cold, and I could hear her laughter as though it was wrapping around me like a vine.

But that was the thing; my mother drank her wine outside alone. That was her time. So who was she laughing at?

I glanced over my shoulder at my father to find him looking as though he was at a loss for words. It was so rare that he was speechless, a man of his stature always held a level of composure that was sometimes shocking. But not this time.

“Dad, wha-“

“You’re going to want to finish that drink, angel.”

My blood ran cold at his words. His tone was low, suddenly serious. The lighthearted moment from before was gone, something dark and heavy in its place.

I should have listened to him and finished the drink because as soon as I turned around I was met with the coldest, most pristine set of blue eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that I once swore I would drown in someday.

Sean Wallace was standing eight feet in front of me. It was the first time we had seen each other in years, the first time I’d seen him since he was… dead.

His face was… fucked. Marred by the bullet that ripped through his left cheek on that fateful day. The skin was raised, almost burn-like, and left a medium sized indent in what would otherwise be a perfectly symmetrical face. His left eyelid held a little lower and it looked like he tried to cover up the other, minor scars with the facial hair that littered his jaw and around his mouth.

But even with the new, broken face, Sean Wallace was still the most breathtaking man in the room. His suit was impeccable and fit him like a glove, the stormy gray matching the storm that seemed to be raging in his eyes. His tie was a navy that matched my own suit and it felt like the universe was pointing at me and laughing. It felt like that bitch was having the time of her life watching me suffer.

“I…” I started, unsure of how to finish.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I know this” he held a hand up to his face “is a lot to take in.”

I already shook my head, my stomach turning at the thought of him thinking he was ugly. “No! No, I… I, I’m, I wasn’t-“

“Best private schools in the state and she still has that damn stutter.” My mother’s cutting voice ceased my own and I bit at the inside of my cheek. She came around the corner in all her glory, designer dress, perfect manicure and not a hair out of place.

She made me fucking sick.

“It’s nice to see you.” I finally managed to get the words out, although I didn’t know if I was talking to Sean or my mom.

“Jesus, Y/N, you couldn’t even change first?”

“I think she looks great.” Sean’s voice caught everyone off guard and even my mom turned to look at him. “Beautiful, really. You always looked great in a suit.”

I knew he was referring to my high school graduation. Sean was two years older and had flown in to see me graduate. My mom, ever the lady, was determined to force me into a nightmare of a ball gown while I wanted a simple, chic suit. Sean had been there for the entire screaming match, laughing at my mother as she tripped over the dress she had been hellbent on making me wear.

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged my lips and nodded at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded in return and said nothing else.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” I felt my dad’s hand on my back as he ushered me into the dining room. My feet felt like stone blocks were attached to them as I walked, feeling Sean directly behind me with his eyes burning holes into my suit jacket.

We all sat in silence with the ghost of my past sitting directly across from me. Sean made no secret that he was staring at me and it reminded me of the ignorant young boy I once knew. Sean knew he was handsome, powerful, and could easily get his way. He held himself with the confidence of a man who had everything and it seemed a gunshot to the face didn’t change that.

“You’ve managed to stay under the radar.” I noted as one of the maids poured red wine into my glass.

“Y/N!” my mother scolded.

I raised my eyebrows and didn’t glance in her direction, my eyes holding Sean’s. “What? Are we supposed to sit here and pretend everything is normal? You want me to ask him about the weather?”

“Y/N…” my father’s tone held a warning in it.

“No, she’s right.” Sean spoke up as I took a hearty gulp of wine. “Facial reconstruction had me laid up for a bit. Reconstructing an entire cheekbone can be tricky. And expensive.”

I nodded. “Especially when the entire cheekbone belongs to a dead man.”

The room fell quiet with even the staff scurrying to disappear. My mother was glaring at me and I was sure my father was too, but I didn’t care. I’d spent my entire childhood and teen years caring about and loving Sean only for him to cut me off when he became Finn’s minion and then fake his own fucking death a few years after. He got so caught up in the Wallace life, in the life I thought we both hated, that he forgot about me. And I was angry about it.

“I deserve that.” His accent was the same as always. Smooth. Elegant. The best that private school could buy. “I should have reached out sooner as I knew my siblings were in touch.”

My mother, the martyr, was quick to reassure him. “Sweetheart, you don’t owe us anything. We’re just so happy you’re alright.”

She was so warm with him, a complete contrast to how she acted with me. It was a constant reminder that she always wanted a son and ended up with me instead.

My father opened his mouth to speak when his right hand, Marcus, walked in with a phone in his hand. His face looked pinched, stressed, and my father immediately stood. “Excuse me.”

Sean nodded politely and turned to my mother, but she was already standing and following behind dad, sensing his stress.

“Should we be concerned?”

I shook my head, my eyes still trained in the doorway. “I doubt it.”

Things were quiet then. Too fucking quiet. So quiet I felt like I was suffocating. I took a sip of wine. Then another. Another until my glass was empty and the bottle was taunting me from the center of the table.

“You have every right to be angry.”

“I’m not angry.” I was instantly defensive.

His smile was small, but it was there. “You always were a shit liar.”

“You were always a good one.”

His smile disappeared then and I was soon sitting across from the gangster that was always lurking underneath. Sean could do cool, calm, and collected. But he could only hide the angry, arrogant Wallace traits for so long. 

“I… can’t remember the last time we were face to face.”

I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. “Christmas. Six years ago. Kingston.”

His smile- God, that fucking smile- reappeared. “You threw a drink in my face.”

“You called me a spoiled fucking twat.”

“You were acting like one.”

Now it was my turn to smile. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. My early twenties were filled with vodka soda fueled arguments and boyfriends that my family- and Sean- hated. I was so different, that girl doesn’t even seem real anymore.

I was about to respond when I heard shouting coming from down the hall. My father’s office.

Sean and I stood at the same time, both of us sensing a certain level of danger. My father rarely ever shouted, it had to be something catastrophic for him to raise his voice like that.

Entering the hall, I quickly grabbed my bag next to the bar cart and produced my glock before tucking it into my waistband. Sean watched me silently the entire time. He was getting a little too comfortable with staring at me.

“Always prepared.”

“Family business, right?” I shot back at him over my shoulder as we neared my father’s study.

“No, no, fucking No! What do you mean they’re all dead? An entire fucking warehouse of people and they’re all fucking dead?”

My heart stopped in my chest. That was… impossible. The warehouses were untouchable, no one knew where they were unless they were part of our inner circle. Our microscopic inner circle. Which could only mean one thing…

It was an inside job.

“Fuck.” I spat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Y/N, something’s happened.” My mother appeared in the doorway as we approached.

“Who did it?” I asked, getting straight to the point. “Any ideas?”

My dad was seated behind his wooden desk, a desk so large it was fit for a king. When I was a child I would spend hours in there reading on the stuffed leather couch while he worked silently. It was one of the few places I felt “safe” growing up.

“Kensington’s dead.” Our eyes met.

Rodger Kensington was my father’s longtime business partner and someone who was like an uncle to me. He’d been there at my prom, my graduation, and when I took my first steps. He was… family.

“Shit.” Sean’s word was quick and quiet, but then I remembered he knew Rodger too, and he knew what this meant.

“What about Sherry? The kids?” I was desperate to make sure their little ones were alright, they were all so young.

“They’re fine. They weren’t home, they-“

My father never got the words out as one of the staff walked in. I had turned at the sound of him entering the room, just barely meeting his eye as he raised his arm, a small handgun pointed directly at the man whose home we were in.

“Y/N!” My mother screaming my name like that would haunt my nightmares for months after.

A single shot rang out and my ears rang, a gasp leaving my lips as I reached for the gun in my waistband. But it wasn’t there.

The man was dead, a gunshot to the temple with crimson blood spilling all over the Italian wood floors. And then there was Sean, standing at my side with my gun pointed straight ahead, a dead look in his eyes.

It was all dangerously quiet and I could hear my own heartbeat, but only for a moment. Because as soon as I took a single breath, shit hit the fan.

My mother released a blood curdling scream, Marcus rushing to her side and grabbing her as she collapsed. My father, stoic, stood and walked over to the wardrobe near the window, swiftly pulling out guns and rounds of ammo. More security rushed in and I stood next to Sean, everything moving in slow motion. I could hear voices, hear my dad barking commands at his security who acted like his soldiers.

“There’s blood on my shoes.”

“What?”

What? Did I just say there was blood on my shoes? But it was true. My expensive cream suede shoes had blood splatter on them and I was ninety percent sure there was bone fragment near my heel.

“Blood. On my shoes.” My voice sounded far away.

Sean was suddenly in front of me and tucking my gun back into my waist while everyone shouted around us. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Bought them at the store on fifth, yeah?”

“How the fuck did you-“ I stopped, putting two and two together. “Have you been watching me?”

Sean’s face changed then and he straightened his shoulders. Our height nearly matched but only because of my heels, and I knew his gesture was dominant, authoritative. “I promise we can talk about that later, but-“

I pushed past him and walked towards my father who was barking orders into a phone. “Did you have Sean keep tabs on me?”

“Y/N, this isn’t the time for you to complain about your independence.”

I slammed my hand down on the wooden desk the same way I had watched him do it so. Many. Times. “Answer me!”

My father, all six foot three of him, stood tall and looked over me even with a desk separating us. “Watch yourself, young lady.”

“What the fuck is going on that you hired someone to watch me? That you hired Sean to watch me? What aren’t you telling me?”

He paused for the briefest of moments while everyone moved around us. I could hear safeties being turned off, my mom screaming down the hallway, and feel Sean standing close enough that I could smell his cologne.

“I’ve known for a bit that someone on the inside was giving information to Merkov brothers. Rodger and I spent months sifting through the weeds trying to figure out who it was. We had a break last night, I was going to tell you everything-“

“Four black SUV’s were spotted five miles from the property. Moving quickly. We need to go.” Marcus had appeared in the doorway sans my mother, his face wiped of anything sort of emotion. In fact, Marcus may have been the most emotionless man I had ever come into contact with. I would even venture to call him heartless.

“Shit.” My dad scrubbed a hand over his face. “I promise I will tell you everything, angel.” He looked at me, the desk separating us. “But right now you need to go and it can’t be back to your apartment.”

“Dad, I…” I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t go back to my apartment in the city, there was most definitely a hit out on my family, including myself, and Sean Wallace was back from the fucking dead. My day was going from bad to worse, my life blowing up in a twenty minute time span.

But I knew my last name, knew the weight it carried. I knew I had a certain responsibility to handle my shit and handle it well, with my shoulders back and my chin up.

“Where am I going?”

He was already on the move and I was on his heels, following him down the winding hallways of the home I grew up in. It was the same house that was sure to be shot to shit as soon as those SUV’s showed up.

“Harbor House.” He barked over his shoulder. “You can drive down there in the charger. Tinted windows. Marcus, have Anthony load a bag into the car. Ammo, guns, everything she’ll need.”

“No one knows where Harbor House is except us.” I reminded him. His business partners may have known about the warehouses and my father’s permanent residence, but Harbor House was for family and family alone.

“I’m not taking any chances, Y/N, not with you. Sean will accompany you and you’ll stay there until you hear from me. I’ll call-“

“What?” I cut him off. “Sean’s not coming with me.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you.” He repeated.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sean cleared his throat behind me and I refused to look at him. I knew he was offended by what I’d said, but quite honestly I was offended by everything he had done since stepping foot in my parents’ home that day.

“This isn’t about what you need or want, Y/N. He’s going with you.”

I was about to fully lose my temper when shots rang out through the house. I reached for my glock and turned the safety off, immediately ducking behind a marble pillar with Sean’s hand on my elbow, holding me still.

There was yelling and gunshots, some of the housekeepers screaming bloody murder from the second and third floors. There was no way those SUV’s were already on the property, no way. It had to be someone else.

Someone had burned our entire fucking family.

“Dad!” I yelled as a bullet whirred past my head.

“Y/N, go! Now!” I could hear him but I couldn’t fucking see him. Marco was beating the shit out of a man dressed all in black, ripping his gun away and firing off a round into his chest. The smell of blood and gunpowder burned my nostrils and I winced.

“I’m not leaving you!” I screamed so loud my voice cracked.

“Sean!” My father shouted. “Get her the fuck out of here! Get her out now, kid! Now!”

I glanced over at Sean, warning him with my eyes not to touch me, but it was too late. He ripped the gun from my hand and wrapped an arm around my waist, tugging me backwards.

“Sean, no!” I screamed, trying to pull away.

“We have to go, Y/N.” He dragged me down the hall while I fought him the whole way , dragging my feet and scratching at the suit clad arm wrapped around my waist. He finally stopped at the side door at the end of the hall and yanked it open before tossing me in.

I stumbled across the cold concrete of the garage and caught myself against the car I was supposed to be leaving in.

Sean locked the door behind him and turned to me, my gun still in his hand. “In.” He motioned to the car.

Still the same, bossy man he always was. Without responding, I turned and made my way across the expansive garage, shoving a table out of the way and yanking open the drawers of a metal cabinet.

“Y/N!” Sean was losing his temper and we were losing time.

“You took my gun!” I finally screamed back, practically growling at him as I picked up twin Berettas and tucked them into the back of my waistband. I grabbed a rifle to throw into the backseat, and one more Glock since Sean had unceremoniously stolen mine and left me empty handed.

He was staring at me as I made my way back to the car, his chest heaving. God, he still looked good. A gunshot to the face only amplified how rough and beautiful he was. Dumb fucking asshole and his dumb fucking face.

I grabbed the keys from the wall and tossed them to Sean who caught them with one hand.

Show off, I thought to myself sullenly as I got into the passenger side, my heart leaping out of my chest. I was about to leave my parents to potentially die. My childhood home was being torn apart, half the staff that knew me since I was a child were now lying dead in the same house they’d dedicated their lives to. It made me sick.

“Just focus on driving.” I told him as the garage door began to rise. I could already see the shadows of feet on the concrete leaned halfway out the window, my nine millimeter raised. One shot to the knee and a man fell, a second shot between the eyes and he was done.

The second man was smart, moved off to the side and just out of aim, and Sean floored the gas pedal while I kept watch.

“Your left.” I said quietly and pointed the gun in front of him, sending shots flying out of the driver’s side door, taking out the second man who had been waiting for us.

“Three of them in front of the gate.” Sean nodded towards the gate at the side of the property, all of them holding assault rifles and aiming at us. “Duck.” he commanded with the car still in reverse.

“What?”

“Duck.” I felt his hand grab at the back of my head he shoved me down, my forehead nearly knocking against my knee as he picked up speed. A loud blast blew out the back windshield and then there was a loud, violent thunk.

His wide palm was still resting on the back of my head, grip so tight it made my scalp prickle in a way that annoyed me. My body had no business getting turned on while in the midst of this shit.

When the tires squealed against the gravel and we went surging forward, I sat back up. I could see smoke coming out of the windows, bullet holes in the brick and mortar. It was a fucking war zone and we were on our way out, leaving behind my family and any shred of sanity I had left.

Fuck.

* * * * * *

The ride to Harbor House was almost completely silent. Sean, ever the Brit, would curse out other drivers every now and then even though ninety percent of the mistakes were his own. Maybe I should have insisted on driving, but at the time the only thing I could think about was whether or not my parents got out.

Although we were never close, I didn’t wish death on my parents. Sure, I resented them for bringing me up in a life of chaos and violence and I’m well aware they caused me a lifetime of trauma, but that didn’t mean I wanted them dead. Definitely not murdered.

It was nearly midnight by the time we arrived. Harbor House was in an exclusive neighborhood and every home had a gate. It had been years since I was last at the house, but it held the only fond memories from my childhood. Harbor House and the Wallace house always felt like home to me. Strange that I was sitting next to a Wallace and not a single shred of me felt comfortable or at home. It was strange, when we were kids he was always my safe space.

I punched in the code and black iron gates opened up, promptly closing with a loud clang behind us. The property itself was a sprawling estate with a two floor home as well as a large yard, pool, and separate guest house. It was on the edge of a cliff and overlooked the Atlantic. Isolated. Safe. Private. The kind of place my family relied on to keep us safe.

“Pull the car into the garage, we’ll get a rental tomorrow.” My voice was monotonous. I felt so drained of every emotion other than pure exhaustion. I was covered in blood, my clothes smelled like gunpowder and sweat, I needed a hot shower.

Sean silently pulled into the garage and killed the engine. We sat there quietly for a moment, so quiet I couldn’t even hear him breathing. If he had any blood on him, I couldn’t tell. From this angle he looked every bit the GQ model. It was only when he turned his face to look at me that I got a glimpse of the mauled left half and got angry all over again.

I was angry at my parents for birthing me into this.

I was angry at whoever burned us.

I was angry at Sean for disappearing from my life in favor of violence. But I was so fucking angry that he had let it go so far that the world thought he was dead.

I almost wished he was.

“There’s five bedrooms. I trust that you’ll find one far away from me?” I phrased it like a question but we both knew it wasn’t.

He gave a curt nod.

The house was exactly as I remembered it. It even smelled the same. Hardwood floors, light walls, French doors leading to a beautiful deck. A kitchen so modern it would make Gordon Ramsey cream his pants. It was the homiest home my family had. It was my haven.

Only now Sean was here to cast a shadow over it.

“There’s plenty of clothes in all the guest bedrooms. My parents like to be prepared for every emergency, you know that.”

Sean nodded as he closed the door that connected to the garage. He locked it and was quick to set the code. The code that he definitely shouldn’t have had.

“How did you-“

“Your father.”

I raised my eyebrows incredulously. “My father gave you the codes to Harbor House?”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes narrowing. “He gave me the code for the gate too, but I was polite enough to let you do it. That’s something, innit?”

He was being a smart ass, pushing my buttons on purpose simply because he could. Or because he’d had enough of my attitude. Either way, I wasn’t having it.

“You must be so fuckin’ proud of yourself. You still have an in with my father even after the shit you pulled in London. My father, Sean, not me. You don’t have shit with me and you made that perfectly clear.”

He squared his shoulders and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I sat on the edge of a beautiful cream colored sofa. I couldn’t wait to sink into it tomorrow with a good book.

I quickly fingered at the straps on my heels and kicked them off while mentally preparing for whatever speech he was about to throw my way.

“I’ve really had enough of you talking to me like I’m some shit person. Enough, Y/N.”

I stood back up, hating that I was smaller than him now as I turned on my heel and headed up the stairs. “If you hate my attitude so much then leave me the fuck alone and let me take a shower in peace.”

* * * * *

My shower was hot and relaxing and everything I needed. As soon as the steam surrounded me, I was able to calm down a bit, and once the hot water hit my skin I was able to sigh in relief. Washing off the blood and grime left me feeling like a whole new woman.

So new, in fact, I briefly forgot about the bane of my existence showering down the hall.

Sean. Showering. Sean in the shower with water dripping down his chest and into that perfect V of his hips. Sean’s hot, wet body pressed against mine. Sean’s-

“Can you not?” I said to my reflection as I ran a brush through my hair. Even when I was angry at him, violently angry, it was impossible to deny that he was attractive.

We never hooked up, not even when we were young. But there was always something there. We flirted. We toyed with each other. We got into nasty arguments. People noticed, my friends made comments. I always ignored them and played it off and said it was because we knew each other forever and just connected that way. They all argued that it was more.

I ignored them.

After changing into a comfortable pair of loose cotton pants and a long sleeved shirt, I made my way downstairs. The windows were open and I could hear the waves crashing against the cliff side. My favorite sound. It gave me peace. It soothed me.

The kitchen was empty and I grabbed a bottle of red wine with every intention of drinking the entire bottle. After pouring a rather large amount into the pristine crystal stemware my mother bought, I threw my head back and took a long, large sip.

Ugh. That’s better. I closed my eyes and took another sip, getting lost in the sound of the waves and the dark, cherry taste of the wine. A moment of peace after all the bullshit I had to endure tonight.

It was only when Sean cleared his throat that I realized I wasn’t alone. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs wearing black sweats and a white t-shirt. Simple. Clean. Comfortable. If this had been a few years ago I would have been aching to curl up against him.

“Kitchen’s all yours,” I said as I grabbed my glass and bottle, preparing to go out back.

“You told me you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” His words cut like a knife to my retreating back and it made me pause, not yet turning around. “You fucking told me you were done.”

I knew what he was referring to. The last time we spoke had been over the phone, maybe four years ago. It had been a normal night with normal conversation and normal “I miss yous”. Sean had truly been one of my best friends and closest confidants. And then the conversation turned ugly when he informed me his father was sending him out on a seriously violent, potentially fatal, mission. Our argument had gotten vile and I said horrible things. He did too, including telling me to “stop acting like a girlfriend because you’re so fucking lonely”.

That had been my breaking point. He reminded me so much of Finn then. He dressed like him, spoke like him, became a carbon copy of him, and I was having none of it. So I had told him to fuck off and lose my number, to never call me again, to pretend I was dead.

It was the one time Sean listened to me and the one time I wished he hadn’t.

To this day, I got embarrassed when I thought about what he had said to me. The way he screamed and the way he humiliated me. Maybe I was lonely, maybe it came off as clingy, but my intentions were always good and I never thought I was a burden to him. But after that last conversation I spent years telling myself that’s exactly what I was. A burden. I checked in too much, my double texting him probably got on his nerves. Constantly complaining about our families when I knew how fortunate I was to live such a lavish life made me sound spoiled, he got tired of it. I spent years convincing myself there was no possible way he missed me and I didn’t miss him either.

“Do you even remember our last conversation?” I turned slowly to face him. “Do you remember what you said?”

He took a step forward and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Of course I do. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it- you. I’d been out drinking with my father-“

“And then turned into him?”

“Oh, fuck off then.” He shook his head, his frustration evident as he rounded the marble island in the kitchen. An expert, he seemed to know where everything was. The glasses. The whiskey.

“I’m not wrong.” I defended myself.

Sean laughed and the sound was hollow, sarcastic. He took a sip of whiskey before turning to me with a cold look in his eyes. “And I wasn’t wrong that day either. Was I?”

I scowled at him to mask the absolute hurt I was experiencing. My heart ached. He’d known he was hurting me. He didn’t care. He remembered and he didn’t care.

“Oh, fuck you, Sean.” I whispered before quickly pushing through the french doors and stepping onto the deck.

“Oi!” Sean shouted as I slammed the doors behind me, taking off down the steps, wine glass in hand.

“I’m not done talking to you.” Sean was hot on my heels.

“The conversation is over.”

“Like hell it is.” I felt long, thick fingers curl around my elbow and then he was hauling me back against him. “You say what you want to say and then think we’re done. We’re not.”

I ripped my arm back and shoved my finger in his face. “I’ve waited four years to say this shit to you!”

“So have I!” He shouted back, the vein in his neck becoming prominent. The female part of my brain wondered what it would feel like to run my tongue along that vein, feel it pulse against my mouth.

Wrong time, I thought to myself and shook my head. “You fucked off for four years, faked your own death, and now I found out my father has had you following me. I don’t know what kind of weird, stalker fetish you’ve developed, but it’s really not doing anything for me.”

Okay, maybe that last part was flat out bitchy, but at that point I didn’t care.

I drained my wine glass while I waited for his response.

“Would you like to tell me about your fetishes?”

“Sure, they all involve watching you bleed out.”

“Should have been there a year ago then, yeah?”

I didn’t have a response for that. I zeroed in on the left half of his face, the scar on his cheek. His cheekbone curved differently, probably because it was handmade, and his scar disappeared into his stubble. He looked so vastly different from the Sean I used to know. He was hardened by life, by Finn’s life. Thirty and angry and alone and legally dead.

I ached for the Sean I once knew, but this wasn’t him.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“A little more than three months.”

“Three months?” I was shocked. I’d had a tail for three months and I didn’t even know it? How embarrassing.

“You wouldn’t have known.” It was as though he could read my mind. “I’ve always been better at it than you.”

“You’re so fucking cocky.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him, so instead I walked past him and back up the stairs, making my way back into the house to refill my glass. I knew he was following me, knew that the alcohol in my bloodstream was making me feel bold, more bold than I was sober.

Sean closed the French doors, the lock clicking with a tone of finality. I was too aware of it.

“You were shit as hide and seek when we were kids.”

“So that makes you a better spy?”

His tone was serious when he responded. “I was never spying on you. I didn’t have access to your flat. I didn’t follow you around with that ugly wanker with gray hair.”

“Leave Beckett out of this.”

“Beckett?” It was the first time his face had resembled something other than anger. He looked amused. “You’re dating a man named Beckett?”

I cocked my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. “We actually aren’t discussing my dating life, we’re talking about my stalker.”

“Stop saying that. It was to and from work. Only when you were out in public.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” I finally shouted. None of what happened today was okay. Sean, my dad, the shootout. None of it was okay. “You don’t get to keep up with my fucking life when I have to pretend you’re dead!”

“Lower your voice.” Sean took a step forward.

“Fuck off!” I shouted even louder than before. “You don’t get to just come back and bark orders at me. This isn’t London, Sean!”

“Enough.” He took another step forward and I backed up, reaching for my wine glass.

He was so calm, so fucking collected while I was beginning to fall apart. I hated him for it. Fuck Sean Wallace, I wanted him to hurt the way I did. So, without thinking twice, I hurled my glass at him. Sean barely dodged it, whipping his head to the side as it soared past him and landed on the floor in a million little pieces.

He was a blur as he flew across the kitchen, growling as he slammed my back up against the wall. I cried out as searing pain sent shock waves down my back, but I was too angry to focus on it. My hands instantly went into fight mode and my fingers caught the tip of his nose as I swiped at him, but he pulled his head back, out of my reach.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He roared in my face. “Are you bloody mental?” His hands circled my wrists and he pinned them at my sides, effectively halting my movements.

Stuck between Sean and the wall, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Let me go.”

“The fuck I will.” He squeezed my wrists harder.

“Sean.” I shoved myself against him and he did the same thing, his face even closer than before. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, see the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. God, he was a sight. “Fuck. Off.”

His eyes zeroed in on my mouth as I enunciated the words, nostrils flaring slightly. My breasts were pressed against his chest and I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, because suddenly we were staring each other eye to eye and I couldn’t look anywhere else. I was drowning the way I always imagine I would except this time I didn’t want it. I wanted no part of it.

“Don’t even think about it.” I whispered softly.

“Or what?” Sean’s remark felt snide and childish, something I would have happily said to him had he not leaned down and slid his lips over mine. It was a light touch, so soft I barely felt it. But I still gasped because it was Sean’s lips touching mine and I hated that I liked it so much.

At the sound of my sharp intake of breath, he smirked. “I fucking knew it.” And then he smashed his lips against mine, not letting up on the grip he had on my wrists.

Sean’s tongue pushed past my lips and slid against mine, weakening my reserve just a bit. He tasted good, his scruff scratched against the edges of my mouth and I reveled in it, loving how rough he felt.

He fucking engulfed my mouth, taking complete control of the kiss and demanding that I give him more. Forgetting the position we were in, he let go of my wrists in favor of cupping my face, wide palms against my cheeks.

I should have pushed him away, should have told him to leave, but the simple truth was that Sean Wallace knew how to kiss. He kissed like a man, held my face, stroked rough thumbs over my cheekbones, and swallowed my moans. He crowded me, stood so close our torsos were touching while we made out against the kitchen wall. Our tongues touched, teeth clashed, and when I sucked Sean’s bottom lip into my mouth the groan he let out was guttural. Animalistic.

But the noise was enough to bring me back to reality and I shoved my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me as hard as I could.

Sean stumbled back and caught himself on the counter. He was just as caught up as I was, his eyes wild, cheeks flushed red.

“You’ve got some nerve.” I cleared my throat and wiped my mouth, still tasting him on my tongue.

“Me?” He had the audacity to smile, still clearly fired up. “You were the one sucking my lip like it was my cock.”

My cheeks felt hot. The way he said cock with the accent and the smirk… it murdered me on the inside. It absolutely killed me how good it sounded. “You wish.”

“Every fucking night.” Sean stepped forward again. “I think about you sucking my cock every. Fucking. Night.”

His admission left me breathless. It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. The thought of Sean laying in bed at night and thinking about my mouth wrapped around his dick lit me up. I was hot everywhere.

“Sean-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He crowded me again, this time wrapping one arm around my back and pulling me against him. “For once in your life, please, Y/N, shut the fuck up.”

Cupping the back of my head, Sean kissed me again. I wanted to fight him, wanted to tell him to fuck off, but that would only prove him right. I really did have a problem with shutting the fuck up.

So, I kissed him back. I gave it my all, twining my arms around his neck and leaning against him. Sean tongue fucked my mouth as though he’d been dying to for years, and after his admission I wondered if he had. His body felt warm against mine and feeling his fingertips glide along the exposed area of my lower back made my knees nearly buckle.

He smiled against my mouth and before I knew it, Sean was sliding both hands down, gripping my hips and hoisting me in the air. My legs locked around his waist instantly, ankles crossing at the small of his back while he carried me through the kitchen.

Our mouths never stopped touching. I’d been waiting years to kiss Sean. I’d been waiting years to slap the fuck out of him as well, but right now the only thing I cared about was keeping our mouths fused together for as long as humanly possible. I felt drunk on him, on the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

I didn’t realize we were in the living room until Sean sat down on the couch with me straddling his lap. I took the opportunity to pull back slightly, his lips chasing my own, and I smiled at the way he leaned forward. I cupped the right side of his face, loving the way his scruff felt against my soft palm. He truly was beautiful, the red-brown hair and beard, the plump mouth that spent more time scowling than smiling. His freckles, God, when we were young I could have spent hours counting them.

And then there was that scar. That brutal, obvious scar. The trauma his body must have gone through made me sick and when I reached up to run my fingers over the jagged, raised skin, Sean was quick to grab my wrist in a bruising grip.

“Don’t touch me there.”

But I wanted to. So badly. But it was clear in his reaction, in the stiffness of his body, that he was serious. Of all the limits Sean DIDN’T have, touching the left side of his face was one of them and I had no choice but to respect it.

“Fine, how about you touch me then?”

It was all the incentive Sean needed and he flipped me onto my back, hovering over me with one hand braces on the back of the couch. Our eyes held as I slid my hands down his chest, his heartbeat pulsing under my hand as I slid lower, lower still until I gripped the hem of his shirt and yanked it up. He leaned back, only for a moment to rip the shirt off his head and send it flying.

Fair skinned with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I itched to lick the V that disappeared into his waistband. He may have been injured, but he hasn’t been resting this last year. Sean didn’t have the body of a man who rested, he had the Jody of a man who was constantly pushing himself. He was strong in every sense of the word and it made me pathetically, desperately wet for him.

“Your turn,” he said against my lips, fingers playing under my shirt and sliding along my ribs. “You’re so fucking soft.” He whispered against the skin of my cheek.

Unable to help myself, I reached down to cup him through his sweats. Jesus… Christ. “You’re so fucking not.”

Sean laughed then, but I was dead serious. Either Sean was hiding a gun in his pants or his cock was just that fucking solid. And… thick. Even through his pants I could tell. I squeezed once and he let out a guttural groan, the sound sending shock waves between my legs. I wanted that sound on a loop for the rest of my life.

He pushed my shirt up and over my head, eyes zeroing in on my breasts. “Fuck me…” He trailed off, cupping one in his hand and giving a firm squeeze as he settled his eight between my legs. I could feel him against my clit even with barriers of clothing separating us.

“I always wondered what your nipples looked like.” He licked one gently and my back arched hard, my whole body tightening. “They’re so much better than my imagination.”

Sean fastened his mouth against my nipple and he sucked, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bud while I writhed underneath him. My nails scraped through his shirt hair, digging into his scalp and holding him against me. He said he had wondered what they would look like, but I spent the better part of a decade wondering what this would feel like.

Fuck, it felt good.

Sean’s hips ground against mine as he moved to my other nipple, hands roaming felt over my body, gripping my clothes thighs and sliding up my sides. Tracing along my collarbone, fingers tugging at the nipple that wasn’t getting any attention.

I felt like a horny teenager, aching to have him inside me as fast as humanly possible. My nails raked over his shoulders and he gave a delicious growl in return, leaning up and hovering over me again. 

“I’ve thought about your mouth on my cock for ages, but right now the only thing I want is to be buried inside you. That okay?”

I was modding before he even finished speaking. Fuck a blowjob, fuck foreplay. I didn’t need that with Sean, not now. Right now I just needed… connection. I was almost desperate for it and it fucking terrified me.

Sean leaned back on his knees and hooked his fingers into my pants, tugging them down in one swift move and leaving me completely naked and sprawled out in front of him. His eyes raked over me and my breath hitched in my throat. He could see… everything.

“Fuck me… this body was fucking made for me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, wiggling my brows. “A bit cocky, yeah?”

“No.” His face was serious, eyes focused as they raked over my breasts, my hips, my legs, zeroing in on the spot between my thighs. Sean slid one long, thick finger over my slit and I cried out, my body stiffening. “I knew you’d be bald here.” He repeated the motion. “Been dying to see that tattoo on your thigh for ages.”

I’d gotten the tattoo when I was 20 and officially moved out of my parents house. It was one of those stupid young decisions, but I didn’t regret it. It was a snake that wrapped all the way around my right thigh, the snake’s tongue permanently engraved on my inner thigh like an invitation. Or a warning.

“And?” I asked inquisitively, rubbing a hand absentmindedly down my stomach.

“And I think this body was fucking made for me.”

His lips came crashing down on mine again and I wrapped my bare legs around his waist, loving the way his hip bones pressed into my thighs. He littered kisses over my cheekbone, an oddly sweet gesture, and then absolutely assaulted my neck, licking and biting and nipping at my collarbone until I cried out.

I reached down, yanking at his sweats and pushing them down his thighs with my heels. I was fucking dying for Sean Wallace to be inside of me, I couldn’t even breathe because I wanted him so badly. Needed him, needed to know what it was like to feel him.

“Sean.” I gasped as he braced one hand above my head, the other one gripping his cock and lining it up at my entrance. I gripped his bicep when he pushed the tip in, my nails digging half crescents into his skin.

“Sean.” I repeated his name, this time somewhat panicked because what the fuck was I doing? Was I really about to fuck him?

“Remember when I told you to shut the fuck up?” Sean’s eyes met mine and he gave one sharp, hard thrust and was suddenly inside me so deep I swore I could feel him in my cervix.

I didn’t even have time to gasp, my mouth fell open in a silent scream and Sean’s groan was something I’d think about for months. He was so deep I felt as though I couldn’t breathe, looking up at him completely frozen.

“Oh, fuck.” He finally breathed out. “That’s right, so good you can’t even speak.”

“I… hate you.” I finally managed, leaning up and catching his bottom lip between my teeth, tugging so hard he let out a groan of pain.

“You don’t hate me.” Sean pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back inside me, giving me no warning or time to breathe. But the yelp I let out was enough to make him smirk.

Cocky bastard.

Fine, I could play. Tightening my legs around his waist, I raked my nails down his back and watched his face change, jaw clenching tight. I licked his collarbone before sucking the skin there. I sucked hard and didn’t stop until I felt his fingers tangle in my hair and yank me back, forcing me to look at him.

“You’re not the fucking boss right now.” He practically growled the words, not letting up on the grip on my hair. He pumped in and out of me, my scalp pricking with a weird, pleasurable pain that left me moaning for more.

Sean’s thrusts got harder and I cried out when he hit that spot, so deep I could feel him everywhere. “Sean!” I cried his name, my breath hitching in my throat.

He let my hair go in favor of those perfect ducking fingers wrapping around my throat. His thumb pressed firmly under my jaw, I had no other choice but to look at him as he fucked me into oblivion.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He groaned, pressure on my throat tightening just a bit. “Thought about you every fucking day.”

I was instantly thrown back into reality. Everything that happened that day. The shooting. Sean coming back from the dead, all of it.

“Nope, stay with me.” Sean commanded, sensing my disconnect. He slowed his thrusts leaning down to lick at my lips lightly. It was oddly erotic and I found myself whimpering for more. “That’s it, relax for me.”

“I…” I started desperately. “I can’t. Sean-“

He squeezed my throat harder and I suddenly gasped, my air being cut off. “Relax.” His voice was oddly soothing. “You can still breathe.”

I shook my head.

He paused his thrusts, once again settling deep inside me with my legs splayed. “Yes, you can. I’m not squeezing that hard. Breathe.”

I took in a breath. It was shallow, but it was there. Letting it out slowly, I repeated the motion, Sean catching on and thrusting every time I exhaled. It all felt different like this, barely able to breathe and dripping wet onto the couch. I’d never wanted someone more and I was terrified, I’d never been “handled” the way he was handling me, treating me like I was his.

“Been waiting years to feel you come on my cock.” He groaned when he released my throat, leaning back on his heels and looking down at where we were connected. “God, you’re soaked. Made a proper mess all over me.”

I moaned because at that point words were not possible. My stomach felt tight, I felt like I was going to cry or laugh or scream. I felt like I was going crazy.

And then Sean rubbed his thumb over my clit, watching me jerk, and I knew I was done for. He did it again and again, giving me shallow strokes while he rubbed the little bundle of nerves that were certainly going to send me into a tailspin.

“Sean, please.” My back arched and I shouted, so fucking close, teetering on the edge.

“Come all over my cock so I can watch you lick it off after.”

My mouth fell open and I screamed his name, my orgasm hitting me like a ton of bricks. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling Sean lean over me and wrap an arm around my back.

He picked up the pace while I clung to him, whispering in my ear about how he’d wanted it forever, how this was his, how I was his. It was overwhelming, yet I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than rake my nails through his hair and whisper his name over and over again in his ear.

“Fuck.” Sean’s groan was long and low, stroking into me one, two, three more times before holding himself still, his climax hitting him as hard as mine hit me. 

His arms shook as he held himself over me, eventually collapsing onto my chest in a huff. We sat there silently, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff side lulling us. Sean’s right cheek was pressed against my breast and his dick was still inside me. He was as close as he could possibly be but I somehow wanted him closer. I wanted to fucking absorb him into my body, keep him there forever and enjoy the weight of him on me.

“Sean?” I whispered, wondering if he was still awake.

“Hm?”

I ran my fingers lightly over the back of his neck and delighted in his shiver. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

He lifted his head then, searching my face for some sort of emotion, but I forced myself to remain stoic. It took Sean fucking my brains out for me to realize how much I missed him. How much I fucking loved him. But I couldn’t tell him that, I couldn’t give him that much power over me.

“Today was the first time in a year that I was thankful that bullet didn’t kill me.” Sean’s words were honest, quiet.

We didn’t say anything after that, we didn’t really need to. In that moment we were safe, together after years of being apart, and now all we had to do was wait for word from my father. Until then, I was going to enjoy whatever time I had with Sean and I prayed I would never have to pretend he was dead again.

[theultimatefanficwriter]

Pride Month Headcanons!

So its Pride Month! And as a proud member of the alphabet mafia I wanna give my opinion on all the Danganronpa characters' sexualities! So let's go, starting with THH!

Trigger Happy Havoc

Makoto Naegi- Pansexual. I'm under the belief all protags are Pan. Transgender(ftm). So I have this whole hc that the reason his door was jammed was that the lock was quickly removed when they found out SHE was actually a HE and I just like the hc lol.

Sayaka Maizono- Straight. I just think she has a big thing for Makoto, but other than that she cares for her career more than a relationship.

Leon Kuwata- Bisexual, heavy female leaning. I ship him with Hiro, but honestly this fucker would probably take forever to admit he likes guys.

Chihiro Fukisaki- Gay. Dont really have a reasoning. Just my opinion lol

Mondo Oowada- Bisexual. He mentions trying to confess to girls, but come on. This guy is fruity for Taka.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru- Gay. This dude meanwhile is just straight homo. He's probably closeted in fear it would bring shame to his family name again.

Hifumi Yamada- Straight. I honestly dont think about the guy enough to give this enough thought, but the way he simps over Celeste proves he likes girls at least. Plus he kept calling Alter Ego she, so...yeah.

Celestia Ludenberg- Straight. Honestly I think she'd be homophobic? Idk i really dislike Celeste, sorry 😅 She just gives me those vibes.

Sakura Oogami- Bisexual. I wanna label her as lesbian, but Kenshiro exists 😒 Women leaning possibly

Kyoko Kirigiri- Bisexual. Though i dont personally ship her with any girls, I can see her going both ways.

Byakuya Togami- Gay. And it's a problem with his family, so he's closeted.

Yasuhiro Hagakure- Pansexual. He just wants to love someone, man lmao.

Aoi Asahina- Bisexual. Again, wanna label her as lesbian, but the Bad End exists, showing she willingly got with three guys. And she does ask Makoto to pretend to be her bf. But she leans heavily towards females imo.

Toko Fukawa/Genocide Jill- Bisexual. It was straight until she met Komaru. Then she realized "Oh shit. I'm gay." But she still has a small thing for Byakuya ig 😒

Mukuro Ikusaba- Straight. We pretend the thing with her sister doesnt exist, alright?

Junko Enoshima- Straight. And definitely homophobic.

Wow a lot of bi peeps lol. Alright, onto the next game!

Goodbye Despair

Hajime Hinata- Pansexual. Again all protags are Pan. Fight me, prove me wrong you literally cant.

Ultimate Imposter- Panromantic, Nonbinary, Asexual. Though I call Imposter he a lot, I think it's almost canon they're nonbinary. I just have stupid brain and type he first without thinking. I also dont really have a reason for thinking they're asexual? I just think they are. But they're probably panromantic in order to fit their talent better.

Teruteru Hanamura- Pansexual. He's so painfully pan. He even says his options are, and I quote, "pretty open." Dis bitch gay.

Mahiru Koizumi- Lesbian. Dont think I gotta explain myself.

Peko Pekoyama- Bisexual. She's totally dating Fuyuhiko, but I can see her having small crushes on other girls.

Hiyoko Saionji- Lesbian. Also dont think I need to explain myself.

Ibuki Mioda- Bisexual. RAGING bisexual. Also I can honestly see her being Gender Fluid as well.

Mikan Tsumiki- Bisexual. She honestly needs therapy more than she needs a relationship, and she probably doesnt really understand her own labels completely, but I think shes bi.

Nekomaru Nidai- Bisexual. Homeboy was a little TOO eager to be rubbed down by Teruteru 😏 Just kidding, though I do think Nekomaru is bi. No real reason honestly

Gundham Tanaka- Bisexual. He obviously has a thing for Sonia, and in a perfect world(i.e. my perfect world) he would be holding hands with Kazuichi daily. Speaking of holding hands he basically breaks Hajime's in the FTEs. Gay 🥰

Nagito Komaeda- Gay. He's very obviously gay coded, mostly towards Hajime though I dont personally ship that.

Chiaki Nanami- Pansexual. She loves everyone equally. Honestly she probably doesnt put too much work on her labels and would probably go by any pronouns as well, so maybe Gender Fluid?

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu- Bisexual. Like Leon I think it would take him a while to accept he likes guys, and he probably leans towards girls more, but he's definitely fruity lol.

Sonia Nevermind- Pansexual. Our girl fucks. She dont care who, she just FUCKS. 🤣 But seriously, I think she just sees love as love. As she should.

Kazuichi Souda- Gay. Transgender, (ftm). He's so very closeted, so badly even he doesnt recognize it. He probably even has internalized homophobia, probably because of his father. Not sure why I hc him as trans, I just think it fits.

Akane Owari- Straight. She probably doesnt think about it much. All she knows is she likes fighting, meat, and Coach Nekomaru.

Alright and onto the last game!

Killing Harmony

Shuichi Saihara- Pansexual, Transgender(ftm). Its. THE RULE. I didnt make it. Sue me. Also fuck it I dunno I think it fits with his whole character if he were trans. Hard to explain lol

Rantaro Amami- Biromantic, Asexual. I admittedly dont know much about Rantaro, but from what I do know, I think he would fit well with just about anyone. I dont have much of a reason for him being Ace.

Kaede Akamatsu- Pansexual. She was the protagonist first, so the rule still applies lol. But even beyond that it just fits her. Hard to explain, it just seems like it works.

Ryoma Hoshi- Straight, Asexual. I know on my ship list I said I shipped him with Gonta, but theres a reason that ship was so low. I heavily think Ryoma is straight. It's just the vibe I get from him. Maybe hes bi curious, but idk. As for the ace bit, it's really dark. I hc it's because of the trauma he endured during prison.

Kirumi Tojo- Lesbian. Idk I look at her and I think "Lesbian power. Powerful wlw moments." Dont ask me my brain just does things.

Angie Yonaga- Pansexual. She always seemed like she was flirting with Himiko and lowkey Tenko, and in the FTEs she straight up wants to get married to Shuichi so like....I dunno what you want me to say.

Tenko Chabashira- Lesbian. Literally no explanation needed.

Korekiyo Shinguji- Pansexual. Putting aside the....obvious....he finds all of humanity beautiful, so he most likely doesnt have a preference when it comes to choosing a partner. Just like with Mukuro we pretend that entire plotline never happened.

Miu Iruma- Pansexual. I see her as pretty open to everyone....Yeah. That's all I got.

Gonta Gokuharu- Bi-curious. Honestly I dont think Gonta knows what he is himself. He probably hasnt given it too much thought, if hes given it any. The best I can think of is bi-curious, assuming hes currently exploring his sexuality.

Kokichi Ouma- Gay. I dont ship him with anyone cause I personally think he'd be a bad partner to anyone he got with based off of his personality, but yeah. He gay lmao.

Kaito Momota- Pansexual. THE LUMINARY OF THE STARS IS FOR EVERYBODY! Probably took a while for him to admit he wasnt straight, but then he admitted it with his whole heart, precious thing.

Tsumugi Shirogane- Straight. Fuck I dunno I dont think about her in a positive light enough to care. Sorry I really tried 😅

Kiibo- Panromantic, Genderfluid, Asexual. Like Imposter, I've called Kiibo he all the time, including every story I put them in, but technically they have no gender. So that does make them nonbinary, but at the same time it leaves the opportunity for them to go by any pronoun they want, so I hc they go by all of them lol. I also think they just love everyone, and for the ace bit, unfortunately, robots probably dont have dicks 😔 Even if they did, I dont think he would be very interested in sex.

Himiko Yumeno- Lesbian. Despite her treatment of Tenko, her reaction at the end of chapter 3 shows she cared for her, and Angie. She probably loved them both, so, lesbian for sure.

Maki Harukawa- Straight. Kaito was probably her first ever crush, so I doubt she ever had a chance to feel out if she was anything other than straight. Even disregarding that, I dont think she'd be anything else.

Alright and those are my headcanons for all the Danganronpa characters! As a bonus, I think Komaru Naegi is a Lesbian! No real reason other than Tokomaru is top tier lol.

Now remember these are my opinions! If you dont agree that's fine! Just be kind!

And HAPPY PRIDE EVERYONE! 🥰🏳️‍🌈