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