as seen on my ff


The jacket origin story that no one asked for

To the Man Who Saved My Life

Originally posted by bubblemish

You didn’t knock storming into my life, ready to throw it upside down. You didn’t know what you were going to do to me, had no idea I existed. You still don’t but that never mattered. I was low, lower than I ever thought I would be, so low I didn’t see the light, it felt as if I was already buried.

But you entered the stage. You shined so bright it was blinding at first, overwhelming to me, who’d never seen someone like that. I would later find out you were the only one. A soul so heavy I can’t imagine the strength you have to have to keep carrying it, yet you do it with so much love and passion, God is inspired.

You turned so many of my negative thoughts around, made me rethink a lot about how I saw things. When I was tired of crying and exhausted from panic, you were there holding me. With words, with nothing, with a smile, a joke, a poem. Whenever I needed someone, whenever I needed you, you were there. Yet you had no idea.

You didn’t take any credit for your help, you never had to be there. But you were regardless. You didn’t need anything but us to feel better, and no person could ever be better than that. You saw the worst in life, in people, and you decided to become the opposite.

I want you to know, you have saved me and many others, changed the way we thought and felt. I want you to know you kept us from breaking and became our hopes and dreams and reasons. I want you to know what you mean to me, to us, dear dear Misha. I’m crying as I write this, needing you to get all the love, as much as you gave it to us. You deserve this every single day. I want you to know that without you, the world would not be so bright. I want you to know I give you my love, blessings and thanks. It’s not enough to show how important you are to us and everyone, but it’s all I have.

Never stop loving yourself, never stop being you. You mean to much to me. To everything. I love you.

Happy Birthday, Misha.

  • Joonmyun: dammit I think we lost the others
  • Minseok: oh?
  • Joonmyun: CHANYEOL!
  • Joonmyun: BAEKHYUN!
  • Joonmyun: YIXING!!!
  • Joonmyun: JONGDAE!!!!
  • Joonmyun: KYUNGSOO???
  • Joonmyun: JONGIN???
  • Joonmyun: SEHUN????!!!!!
  • Joonmyun: WHERE ARE THEY???????
  • Minseok: *shrugs* i'm hungry
  • Chanyeol: WHO'S HUNGRY
  • Baekhyun: R U HUNGRY HYUNG
  • Yixing: ah hyung did you skip a meal
  • Kyungsoo: what do you wanna eat umin hyung
  • Jongin: hyung let's go have a meal
  • Sehun: ah hyung I want food too
  • Minseok: found them
  • Joonmyun:
  • Luhan: (in China) hey did you hear something
  • Kris: idk
  • Tao: ?

Happy Stormblood everyone!

“These sworn enemies buried their history for the sake of the future, and cast aside their vestments of black and white. Upon the remnants of their arts a new discipline was built, and the first red mages stepped forward with rapiers in hand to fight back against the rising tides of destruction.

for my ap lit midterm tomorrow there’s going to be an essay prompt asking us to write as one of the characters from a book we’ve studied this year and you don’t know how tempted I am to fill the required three pages with angsty hamatio oh my god

Tucked In (Whumptober/Inktober Day 31)


Wow, I didn’t think I’d actually get through all of these, but here we are at the end of the month and there’s been plenty of whump and angst to go around.  Here’s one last piece to round out the set.

As always, for the inktober whump prompts HERE.  Thanks @whumpreads!
@killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa, @pirate-owl
All prompts: HERE
Previous Days: Knees | Bag | Cell | Noose | Explosion | Bone | Guilt | Scar | Self-inflicted | Gunpoint | Sacrifice | Starvation | Sleep-deprivation | Brainwashing | Drugged | Sensory | Withdrawal | Flashback | Panic | Threats | Thrown | Fever | Grief | Drowning | Gagged | Outnumbered | Surrender | Shower | Wounds | Cry

Continuation of Gagged

Killian should be in a hospital.

That was the one thought running rampant through Emma’s mind as she lowered him into the backseat of the Bug, trying to ignore the grunts and bitten-off moans every time he moved.  Hades had done a number on him in that warehouse.  His face was bloody and bruised, one eye swollen completely shut, and Emma didn’t want to think about what the rest of him looked like.

He should be in the back of an ambulance with painkillers and antibiotics and an oxygen mask to muffle the sounds of his hurt that tore through her.

She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.

It had been just another case.  One that would put her name on the map, so to speak, but still just another case.  He was just another detective, an anonymous source she was supposed to use for information and then send back to his own career.

She wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

But she had.  He’d tunneled under her walls or scaled them or maybe just blown them all to Hell and crawled into the rubble next to her.

So now what was she supposed to do?

Who could she trust?

Who would trust her?

Internal Affairs wasn’t a glorious position.  She was reviled in most precincts and outright scorned nearly everywhere she went within the boundaries of her jurisdiction.  But someone needed to call men like Gold and Hades to task and she was good at what she did.

If it meant she had very few people she could call friend, then that was just a side effect of the job, wasn’t it?

She hadn’t minded.  Not until now.

Now, when Jones needed to be in the back of an ambulance and she couldn’t risk it - the call over the radio that she’d nearly made on instinct had almost signed his death warrant as it was.  If Hades got wind of where Killian was, unprotected and vulnerable, it would be the end of him.

Him, and her case, but Emma was rapidly figuring out how little the second one mattered to her in light of the threat to the first.

So here she was, driving across town and out of the bustle of the city limits to an old, beat up cabin that Jones had told her about once.  The coordinates (seriously, Jones, there’s not even an address?) input into her GPS told her she had nearly an hour to figure out who to call for help and supplies.

And help.

God, she needed help.

Killian needed help.

He was nearly silent in the back, crammed onto the too-small seat she’d never thought too much about before.  His knees were bent up to his chest, just within reach of her hand if she wanted to touch him.  Emma probably should have gotten him into the front seat, at least so he could stretch out, but he’d bitten out “in the back” when she’d opened the door and she’d nearly lost her grip on him when Killian had tried to grab the seat lever.

So the backseat - and the illusion of hiding from prying eyes - it was.

Emma hit a frost heave in the road and Killian whined pitifully, letting Emma know he was still somewhat awake in the back seat and sending her hand backwards to soothe over his knee cap without conscious thought.

“Sorry!  I’m sorry, I couldn’t avoid it!” she begged his forgiveness, her hand tracing frantic circles over the torn denim.  His skin underneath was clammy.

“‘Sok,” Killian grunted somewhat unintelligibly, his fingers tangling in hers.  “Jus’ keep goin’.”

Emma’s fingers tightened around his and refused to let go.

Even twenty minutes later when his went completely limp, the backseat now silent save for his even breathing.

Thank God, she thought as she turned off the main road at the GPS-lady’s insistence.

The road wasn’t paved.

Ten minutes - and Emma was sure, part of her engine lost to the ‘road’ - later, and the GPS chimed her arrival.

They were in the Goddamned middle of nowhere and there wasn’t anything resembling a cabin in sight.

“What the hell, Jones?” she muttered, cutting what was left of the engine and unfolding herself from the driver’s seat.

The road didn’t continue, and she was surrounded by trees.

But she smelled smoke.

Hoping beyond hope that there was someone who could help her, Emma locked Killian in the car and followed her nose.

Through the trees and up a hill and Emma was just about to turn around and curse Jones out and then drive him to a hospital and hope that an alias would be enough to keep him safe.  Then she saw it.

The tiny little cabin with smoke coming out of the chimney and a wrap-around porch and a snowmobile parked outside.  There was an honest-to-God lumberjack to the left of the porch, flannel shirt stretching across his shoulders as he split wood.

If there wasn’t the idiot bleeding out in her back seat (stop being dramatic, Emma, that’s Jones’s job) she’d think that she’d wandered into a dream.

Or a postcard.

It was perfect.

Hoping beyond hope that she was in the right place, Emma slip-slid down the hill towards the mountain man (don’t call him that if you want his help, Emma) and called out so she wouldn’t startle him.

He jumped anyway.

“Can I help you, lass?”

God, the accent matched Jones’s and if this man wasn’t related to Killian, Emma would turn in her badge.

“I… I have Killian.”

The ax slipped off his shoulder and thudded in the snow at his boots.

“I… he needs help.”

Blood drained from the man’s face as he stared at her.  “Where’s my brother?”

Liam.  This was Liam Jon-

“Where is my brother?” he shouted before Emma could process the question the first time.

Emma pointed up the hill.  “Here.  In my car.  I didn’t… I ran out of road.”

Liam shot past her, climbing the hill in record pace and leaving Emma holding the keys, a little shell-shocked.

And then she realized that if Liam was anything like his brother, he’d likely break one of her windows rather than waiting for the keys.

“Hey!  Wait for me!” she shouted at his back, scrambling up the incline after Liam.

When she got to the car, Liam hadn’t broken the window.  He was staring inside with one hand clenched around the door handle, trembling a little.

“Is he…” he whispered, apparently aware that she was behind him.

Emma reached around him to unlock the door.  “He passed out about half an hour ago.  But he’s all right”—Emma shrugged at Liam’s sharp look—“more or less.”

Liam wrenched open the door and knelt near Killian’s head.  His fingers carded through his brother’s hair and Emma felt as if she were intruding.

“I’ve got you now, little brother.  Just rest.”

Liam reached into his pocket and dragged out a set of keys.  “There’s a path around the back of the cabin that will bring you around here with the snowmobile.”

It was clearly a dismissal, and Emma tried not to hiss her dislike of his orders.  Killian was hers, and Emma didn’t share her toys well.

But this was Killian’s brother, and he likely didn’t want to share his brother, either.

And the two of them squaring off wouldn’t get Killian inside and warm any time soon.

So Emma snatched the keys from outstretched fingers and clomped back to the cabin.

It took longer than either of them would have liked, but Killian was secure in the sled and Liam took over maneuvering the machine back around to the cabin and the promise of warmth and help.

Emma was off the back before the engine cut out, kneeling at Killian’s head and relieved to see one eye slitted open and watching her.

“Hey there,” she whispered, a silly little grin on her face.  “Welcome back.”

Killian tried to shake his head.  “Didn’t go anywhere.  Safe?”

“You’re safe, little brother,” Liam cut in, undoing the straps over Killian’s chest and hips.  “Let’s get you inside and warm, aye?  Then you can tell me all about this mess you’ve found yourself in.”

Killian whined audibly, but reached out for Liam’s arm and tried to lever himself up.

Emma and Liam leapt forward to support him when he cried out and fell back into the metal sled.

“You wanna try the less stubborn route this time, Jones?” Emma chided.

Liam laughed.

He sobered up quickly when Killian didn’t have a quick retort.

“Let us do the heavy lifting this time, little brother.”

Killian’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t try to move again.  “I think you mean younger”—he whispered and then paused—“and I thought you said I wasn’t heavy?”

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Liam argued.

It took longer than Emma would have liked, and with a lot more cursing on everyone’s parts, but they eventually got him standing.  One arm over Liam’s shoulders and Emma’s fingers snagged in his belt loops, Killian almost looked like he was able to stand on his own.

“One step at a time, Jones,” she reminded them both when Killian staggered forward.  “We’ve got you.”

“He should be in a hospital,” Liam seethed.

“I can hear you, brother.”

“Yes, well you’re clearly incapable of making smart decisions right now, so you don’t get a vote.”

Emma felt the way Killian bristled and explained the situation as best she could.

“Safe here, Liam,” Killian cajoled, limping up the steps to the porch.

Liam growled, but stopped arguing.  “Aye, little brother.  You’re safe here.  Let’s get you inside.”

The inside of the cabin was just as rustic as she’d imagined.  A wood-burning stove in one corner of the kitchen and a fireplace ringed by well-loved furniture and bookshelf after bookshelf in the living room.  There were a couple doors off the main room, the wooden beams decorated with garland that had seen better days.

“This first door’s my room, but the back one’s his.”  Liam nodded his head towards the tightly closed door as they moved carefully past the couches.

Killian whined.

“Bed, little brother.  I don’t want you falling off the couch.”

Killian glared.

Emma lifted the latch on the door and let it swing inwards, taking in the dark blues and the light wood that filled Killian’s room.  They sidled through the doorway and Liam transferred Killian’s weight to her as he moved to turn down the well-worn quilt and thick blankets.

Killian groaned as he was lowered down onto the mattress but then flopped down onto his side and was nearly unconscious again before they could get him settled.

“I’ll get the medical kit we keep on hand if you can get him all the way in bed?” Liam asked gently.

Emma nodded silently.

“There’s more blankets in the closet if you’re chilled, lass.”

“Emma,” she whispered, not taking her eyes off Killian.

“Pleased to meet you, Emma,” Liam whispered back before leaving the room.

Killian’s eye fluttered open as she unlaced his boots and swung his feet up under the sheets.  “‘M all bloody,” he complained, trying to rise again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma scolded, her hand on his shoulder.  “Liam and I will get you all cleaned up.”

He mumbled something, but it was lost as he drifted off.

Hours later, the burns and lacerations and bruises swathed in gauze and the clothes he’d been worried about long gone, Killian rested comfortably under a mountain of blankets and pillows.  His head canted to one side, soft snores coming from his mouth as he slept.  Liam was sitting on the far side of the bed, one hand resting on Killian’s shoulder as he, too, dozed in the late evening’s peace.

Emma worried.

This wasn’t the end of things.  Killian was still in danger.  Liam was in danger, now, because Emma had brought Killian here.  Hades wouldn’t take this lightly.

But there was nothing to do at the moment but keep the Jones brothers safe.  And that started with getting Killian to heal.

When a shiver coursed through Killian, shaking her hand as it carded through his hair, Emma reached out to tuck the blankets more tightly around his shoulders.

Hades hadn’t counted on one thing - Emma Swan protected those she loved, and she’d never failed.

He didn’t stand a chance.



he was too shy to say it in person, so he wrote it in an email despite the fact that they’re on the same mission, standing a few feet from each other

Cloud Strife, you precious onion child





I wonder… What would this place be like ten years from now?

I’m making this because this cat is gorgeous and I decided Andrew and Neil should own her

  • Neil and Andrew love their cats, it’s something they can admit when it’s met with the unconditional love only an animal can give
  • but occasionally they visit the animal shelter because Bee said it would be therapeutic to play with kittens  
  • one time when they’re visiting they notice a new cat in the adult cat room with white fur and gorgeous blue eyes
  • they don’t think much of it and continue to the kitten room
  • but each time they return which is more often than they’ll admit the cat is still there
  • and it’s just surprising because they’ve been going there enough they know the cat is the type to be adopted immediately
  • they decide to Investigate

Keep reading

Old Yeller

The tiers have shifted, everyone knows it and Maxine doesn’t…she doesn’t know where she falls into it anymore. She was a chimpilla, she was one of Chin Chin’s favourites, she’s not anymore but she’s still useful to him. She can hunt down rakenfiles, she can fight with brute beasts, she can track people across realms, she’s useful.

Keep reading

Never before seen of my recovery from Facial Feminization Surgery (FFS) on the top left and others are after(5-months Post-FFS)! Thanks for all the love and support! Means a lot to me! Thank you so much! 💗👏🏼💯😊 I’m a proud Transgender-Woman! ⚧🚺 Warm Hugs, Ramona ( @officialqweenmona )
#lgbtqai #lgbtq #trans #transgender #transwoman #transgirl #transmen #blacktransmen #transpeople #facialfeminizationsurgery #transpower #translove #human #translivesmatter #blessed #cali #wecomingback

tbh something that annoys me a lot about how Batman is portrayed is that you can do so many interesting things with him visullay, with how he moves with his cape, hides with it and behind it and uses it to glide through the night, and what would work best for that would be a lean physique yet most of the time he’s envisioned as this bulky af dude who just happens to be wearing a cape

this works really well visually 

and yet most of the time we get this

like why is he as bulky as Superman?? how is that interesting??? how does that tell us anything about the characters???? it doesn’t, it’s just strict adherence to hypermasculinity and it frustrates me 

Batman is fucking sneaky, he hides, he’s quiet, he makes damn sure he has the jump on someone before he attacks - he’s not a bruiser he’s a fucking rogue okay. leaving him behind his cape tells us that much better than giving him an eight pack

like take these pictures

they’re doing something interesting with the cape, but to me the emphasis on his muscles really distracts from what could be something that worked quite well if rendered more simply. the constant emphasis on him being big and muscular detracts from an otherwise interesting visual design. 

this isn’t about any one installment being better than another, i’m still not a fan of the body type they chose for him in B:TAS and I do think the Arkham games portrays the cape gliding well, my only point is that I’m so tired of seeing him drawn with hypermasculinity as the main goal instead of with visual storytelling in mind. 

never doubt I love

Lieutenant Duckling AU. In a world where soul mates do exist and are marked with the same tattoo, a boy with a hook on his wrist falls for a girl with a beating heart on her chest.

(Just your typical soul mate au, except it’s different this time.

Rated M for sexy times (though more awkward first time smut but still) and oh, a little almost 6,000 words, hope you don’t mind - long author’s note at the end.)



It is said that back when the gods created the humans they had four arms, four legs and one head with two faces.

They were strong, so strong that the gods feared their power and decided to weaken them by splitting them in half.

They succeeded and the humans were left behind, incomplete, not really knowing what they were missing for quite some time, always searching for their other half.

They were miserable and unhappy and one of the gods finally had pity with them, forming a unique mark on their bodies that would eventually lead them to their other half.

To their soul mate.



To grow up as the child of the soul mate couple was a burden and a relief at the same time. It meant that she was never one of those people who doubted if there even was such a thing as soul mates. But it also meant that everyone was expecting her to find her own soul mate just as spectacularly as her parents had found each other.

A charity ball, a punch in the jaw, the discovery of the blood red apple mark on her mother’s shoulder and the happily ever after of the simple working class man David Nolan and well-liked billionaire’s daughter Mary Margaret Blanchard had been set in stone.

And indeed their daughter Emma Ruth Nolan found her soul mate about a year after she was born (or, to be more exact, her soul mate found her).

His name was Graham Humbert and he was Storybrooke’s sheriff, an honest, nice man in his early twenties and one of David’s best friends.

Of course the huge age-gap between the new-born and the sheriff led to countless discussions in the small town but it was a known phenomenon that people had to wait for the birth of their soul mates and that it could take an entire life time for the perfect match to be born. It was a paradox but it was far from unheard of.

Emma grew up knowing that Graham was the one she was meant to be with, the man who had the same small heart tattoo (a real heart, not one of the drawn ones, no, it was an anatomical correct one, red and beating and it was actually really pretty) on his chest. She grew up, knowing that Graham was her soul mate.

But when she was fifteen the sheriff was had a heart attack that sadly led to his death. She hadn’t been in love with him then but he had been her friend (soul mate thing aside) and his loss hurt incredibly. Emma knew that once one soul mate died the other was bound never to find love again.

She never thought someone else could fall in love with her (or that she could fall in love with someone else, that was impossible, her soul mate was gone and there was no one else for her), so for her it was more than easy for her to become friends with guys. It was uncomplicated, there were no feelings involved and she didn’t need to worry about anything.

That was why, when she met Killian Jones she didn’t understand - or rather, didn’t want to understand (because she understood all too well, knowing that it shouldn’t be like this) - why her palms became sweaty or her heart beat quickened its pace or why her knees grew weak.

He was only her best friend, not her soul mate, she couldn’t be in love with him.

(Except she was. And she knew it.)

Keep reading

Honestly, the video of the cops getting a blatantly coerced confession out of Brendan Dassey on Making a Murderer is one of the most horrific things I've ever seen in my life.

And I’m not naive or in a bubble. My dad wasted away and died of lung cancer right before my very eyes, ffs.  I’ve seen some shit.  I know the world is horrible. 

But those smart, educated and corrupt adults wilfully and happily exploiting a severely mentally disabled teenager and manipulating him into confessing to something he obviously had no clue about was pure, unadulterated evil.

I don’t think I’ll ever get it out of my head. Not really.  It’s genuinely quite nightmarish.