#i started using procreate this year. it fucks up all the colors because of color conversion

[ra-vio]

I thought doing this meme would help me draw and that visually seeing how my style changed would make me feel good.

[worldsokayestmagicalgirl]

The first batch of pictures for Amoré's character journal are here! Also I have been so super sick that I've literally had nothing to do but to work on this for like almost 2 weeks so...

The cover to cover tour officially starts here. All I can say about the front & back is that I lament my lack of experience with my Cricut when I made these decals. I only had 2 "fun" colors to work with at the time & I was still getting comfortable drawing in Procreate, so my silhouette art leaves a lot to be desired compared to some stuff I've made recently. I also found it's incredibly easy to burn this leather book.

But she's volume one, everything with her is a learning experience, & I realized as much as it helps to have a mini heat press for tight corners & small spaces, the cloth barrier they suggest you use between the vinyl & the iron tends to make things harder to press on this scale. So instead I gotta quickly tap straight on the transfer film & hope I don't burn anything around it :(´◦ω◦｀):ﾟﾟ

So at the risk of thoroughly exposing my inner theater kid, Amoré set the precedent with how I went forward creating campaign characters. I started off collecting 5 songs to make a mini story arc (almost like a show choir set list 🙃) that helps me figure out an outline for the kind of story I wanna give them.

Somehow Amoré ended up with a truly horrendous blend of rock & theatre. Absolutely incredibe. No wonder she's always such a dramatic bitch.

It was a lot easier to go in & add little decals around these lyrics. I'm definitely cursed with the Too Much™ gene, but I enjoy the little pops of color they give ✨ plus it justifies me hoarding all these vinyl scraps printing stuff this small lol.

Stat sheet!

In all honesty, as my first character I had no fucking clue what I was doing when I placed these & if I could go back & change one thing I'd probably swap her Intelligence & her Wisdom. She’s definitely more people smart than book smart.

But everything else is...very accurate. She has all the upper body strength of a chicken nugget. Plus on top of the (already) negative I traded disadvantage on everything DEX for magic crystal shoes that can be periodically harvested. Just a way for her to carry around the family fortune without actually having to return to the vault✨

For something that started so average, her CON became a monster & always comes in clutch for her alcohol tolerance. I've played variations of her across a few different one shots & I always manage to roll well for anything alcohol related. The dice do respect a bit 🤣

Spells on the other hand, I floundered with a lot at first because we’re not a combat heavy game, but then I found Chaos Bolt & that was that. It’s essentially Amoré in spell form & I’ve had a ton of fun with it over the years. Also Mage Armor cuz my girl is SO DISTRESSINGLY SQUISHY.

Cantrips were more or less a bit of a toss up. Message was fun for the sheer idea of her using it to talk shit during social events without being caught. But aside from Light serving fun backstory purposes the other 3 are kinda just what looked fun ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ unless you count the idea that she would absolutely delight in zapping handshakes.

From there, I wanted to extend the world map made by our wonderful DM @cappierong into a full scroll. Ya know, for the aesthetic ✨

Our campaign started in Civania, where Amoré's main Estate is. I just wanted a quick mock up to reference, so I edited a preexisting picture I found that checked all the boxes (large, on a plateau, accessible only by bridge) and then absolutely smothered it in flowers.

But anyways... This is primarily where Diana & Amoré grew up together in their decade of backstory ✨

There was probably waaaay to much back & forth trying to keep the continuity between stuff I've already drawn & this big reference. But I think it turned out pretty ok? Not like if I make a mistake anyone will really know lol.

Scaling was also another big issue I had, & I moments where I thought something was too big I just kinda handwaved it away like "ehhhhh she's from a stupid rich family." But now I have a NEED to draw baby Diana & Amoré around like, the statue gardens or something cuz I feel like certain parts of this place are definitely ominous 👀 especially for children...

And lastly we have the back cover & the High Noble political relationship map! I normally have this closer to the front but for layout purposes it'll be here. I kinda feel like I need to do more for the decoration of it but I can’t think of anything else to add at the moment.

Sam if u read that no you didn't.

But now! Other than a family portrait that I've always wanted to draw, I think I'm ready to move onto the art for Season 1 : Arc 2. It's a pretty hefty amount of art in comparison to others, so I gotta get busy. Especially since I think I'm gonna have to draw a few comics *sobs*

If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! I'm always excited to talk out our little idiots so thanks for indulging me ❀(*´▽`*)❀

[corrodedparadox]

wow looking at your rat king thing, you improved SO MUCH in the last two years. what did you feel helped you improve?

There’s a handful of things I would say but the main one was switching from a screenless tablet to an iPad!! Obviously iPads are kinda pricey so I can’t recommend it for everyone, but I genuinely feel like switching from a screenless tablet (I used to use Huion) to screened one REALLY helped me get a better grasp of everything, along with procreate just having an easier layout to use compared to the other programs I used (SAI and CSP) which made me less afraid to mess around with brushes and other fun things like halftone textures and chromatic abbreviations, ect ect . Definitely play around with brushes!! While a different brush won’t suddenly make you the Best Artist Ever, finding a brush that works well with your style/art process can help a TON (almost all my brushes are from @/thedawner brush packs, I highly recommend their brushes!! Lots of free packs too, I use the bonobo chalk as my main painting brush)

The other big thing is references!! I rarely used any references until like last year, I’ve been taking my own pose/expression/ect references (yes that means looking at a weird picture of you for like an hour to get the pose right but you get used to it) and going on walks to get nice landscape shots for my work (all my giant ass floating fish drawings are based on images I personally took), but if you don’t wanna do that websites like unsplash, Pexels, and pixabay are great for royalty free (VERY IMPORTANT, I have seen LOTS of artists end up in legal battles because they just used a random photo they got off Google that ended up being copyrighted) pictures and vectors to help get ya started.

The last major big thing is my drawing process in general!! I was hardwired to believe you HAD to do art in the steps of sketch, lineart, color, then shading all on separate layers. Don’t be afraid to use what process works for you! When I threw lineart out the window and started painting all on one layer it became WAY easier for me to block out shapes (highly recommend doing greyscale paint studies, it helps SOO much with more coherent color pallets and lighting) and really helps the entire work fell connected rather than a character that feels poorly overlaid on a separately drawn background.

Don’t be afraid to fuck around! Its art! It’s supposed to be messy and weird! Merge your layers! Use 30 different brushes because you feel like it!! Have fun and mess around with the process and see where it takes you!!!

[slightly-warmer-hibiscus-tea]

What program and brushes do you normally use? I love the way you color and render everything. Your art is very eatable

First off THANK YOU VERY MUCH ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ ⁠ᴥ⁠•̥⁠`⁠ʔ♥️!!

Since the beginning of last year I've been using Procreate mainly, but my real go to program is Clip Studio Paint!

I wish I had a more fancy process with custom brushes and stuff, but I mainly work with the default brushes when I'm in Procreate:

Technical Pencil (for whatever line work I start off with + smaller details in coloring + eraser)

Flat Brush (base colors + eraser)

Rectango (this is the chaotic brush used whenever and unsparingly.... I like the texture 👍 on drawings like this it is basically built only using this brush.)

And that's my main brushes for Procreate! Anything else I use depends on the situation.... Soft Brush is good to dust colors, Technical Pen is I actually am forced to do line art, ect ect...

For Clip Studios... I think I use a lot more brushes I've accumulated from the shop and I think one of them isn't even available anymore so I'll have to check ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ (I've been on Clip there since I was like 13ish??? So it's been a long time)

It's a similar process as procreate, but I feel like I have more control over the details...

Colored pencil (default brush) (used for line work + sketching + coloring)

A marker (Aマーカー) (custom/shop) (used for blending)

커스텀 수채붓 2 (custom/shop) (coloring) unfortunately this grush was deleted by the creator which is terrifying because it is my favorite brush and I'd be ruined without itT^T

And those are the main brushes in Clip Studio!

Again thank you! the main "secret" to my rendering style is in the colors and with finding a messy enough brush (any brush you feel mimics the strokes of a real brush!) Also, don't be afraid to break your line art! In all honesty, I've gotten rid of the line art altogether when doing illustrations and just have a decent sketch, before adding and layering colors.

When it comes to colors, it's kinda a muscle memory thing you have to build up. My biggest advice, if you struggle with color picking, is to consume as much art as possible and observe how others you admire use colors and shading. That's what really helped me develop an eye for what works and what doesn't. Oh, and a fun little cheat is just fucking around with filters and opacity. This can yield some interesting results and get your brain moving when recognizing interesting color combos. And of course, always be willing to experiment with what you learn! Art is all about collecting new rules and breaking any that don't fit you :)

[katabay]

I hope this is the right blog to ask this and that it won't sound too stupid, but how do you manage to draw such clean lines?

I've been trying my hand on and off at digital art for the past couple of years and drawing straight, clean lines with thin brushes is something I struggle with immensely

this isn't a stupid question at all!

so I actually consider myself someone who is more inclined to using traditional tools (pencil and ink) over digital (I keep several sketchbooks and do all of my studies and rough drafts by hand, I enjoy using water colors and oil paints, etc), and the techniques I use to do traditional art all carry over into how I draw digitally.

before I get into some more specific suggestions, for straight lines I have some more universal advice: a lot of people will draw from the wrist when you will get a much smoother, steadier line if you learn how to pull longer lines with your forearm/shoulder. this is something I learned to do with traditional art, but I carried it over to digital art (it's also vaguely reminiscent of advice I got when I played the violin, if that somehow clarifies the motion I'm trying to describe here. it'll save you a lot of wrist pain in the future!)

and now for the hard work part of this!

if you're willing to give the traditional art route a shot, this is how I'd go about doing it (because anything you learn traditionally can and will carry over to digital): I'd get a cheap sketchbook and do the usual round of artist warm ups (circles, straight lines), and then I'd do the same exercises again with a brush and ink. if you can pull a straight, smooth, steady line in brush and ink, you can pull a straight smooth line in literally anything. this is the main reason why my art looks the way it does, a lot of the traditional art I do, I ink with brushes, and my digital inking style is a direct result of that.

the downside to this is that if you're not used to it, it can be hard and the learning curve can be frustrating, and I've been doing it for a long time (like, over 7+ years now) (I also keep a sketchbook of pen only studies, which is probably the most nerve wracking thing to start, but the payoff is definitely worth it imo) this might not be something you want to do or have the time to invest it. which is totally fine!! because here's part two:

if the above is inaccessible to you in anyway for whatever reason, pen/brush stabilizers! I don't use them because they frustrate me (I know how I want my lines to turn out, so I get annoyed when something tries to 'fix' it for me and personally avoid them/turn the feature off), but I know a lot of people who use digital stabilizers with their digital art! some brushes have a stabilizer built in and you can adjust how much stabilizing you want (I find this a lot with procreate brushes, I always turn it off), clip studio paint has a stabilizer tool built into the program!

anyone who says using the stabilization features in a program/brush is cheating is a liar and a dick.

also if you ever need to draw a regular straight line digitally but with some line variation to it that the program won't give because it's straight line tool is too chunky, a lot of art stores sell these plastic six inch rulers that won't fuck up your screen/tablet, you can slap one of them down and draw a straight line with that sweet pressure variation using that.

[ambrosialdesire]

YOUR DRAWING IS SO BEAUTIFUL. i’ve been wanting to get into digital art but idk where to start 🙁 i can’t draw for my life - 🎀

TYYY BOW ANON 🫶🫶

and don't say you can't draw, everyone starts somewhere! it always makes me sad to hear someone say that they have no artistic talent, i feel like everyone has an artist inside them that they just have to slowly pull out of themselves when they begin to put in the work.

when i've first started, it was with physical media first on loose leaf paper or printer paper before i moved onto sketchbooks. during hs art class, i had a preference for watercolor/gouache; my college art class, i learned how to use charcoal and actual art pencils (which btw was so fucking difficult to work with, it really shows you every mistake that you need to improve upon since i never really started with the "basics"). i then started digital art with free apps such as sketchbook on the apple store and medibang (also on the apple store and on pc), and once i got my current ipad, i finally got procreate. i literally was a finger drawer on my little ipad mini and my phone when i started digital art, it was the trenches for my poor hand LMFAO

i really wasn't good at all when i first started in like freshman year of high school (so about 8-ish years ago), i could only draw little scribbles of tiny cat heads (i was and still am a MAJOR warrior cats fanatic, i will not stop talking about it if someone brings it up) and never thought i would be able to create more than just that. i took influence from some of my favorite artists before (like certain styling or the way they colored things) and mashed them all together to make it mine, there's also hella helpful tutorials on insta, tiktok, and youtube (only a few years ago, i've just learned how to properly draw hands from sinix design on yt lol)

and thanks to friends, my amazing high school art teacher, and my consistent urge to draw literally everyday while i was in class, i managed to improve and grow with my art. it's not perfect at all nor original, but it became something that's mine to be proud of. that could be said for you as well, it's like planting a seed and nurturing it to be something great. it may take trial and error, but you'll definitely get there eventually.

and improvement takes time, and also never compare what's yours to another! as that quote says, comparison is the thief of joy. i've had days where i felt that my art couldn't amount to my classmates, but i've always noticed the wonderful differences that showed that what's mine is mine and what's theirs is theirs. that's what kept me drawing, just like writing, because it let me see the differences in creativity within other's works and be able to share my part of the love for this hobby. and even if i didn't get into an art major/art based career like i originally wanted (because being asian and an artist cannot coexist smh /j), i still enjoy it whenever i can!

so start practicing, ignore what others think cause you're just starting out (non-artist critics can suck a nut), and have fun with it bow anon.

[noctumbra]

𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍

summary ─ “i’m so glad that we came across to each other,” bucky said. “it really felt nice to catch up with you, to talk to you.”

pairing ─ fuckboy!teacher!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ fluff, seeing each other after yeeeears later, coffee shop conversations, catching up, EPILOGUE

a/n ─ i said i wasn’t sure about writing this but i couldn’t stop myself because i want this soft and sweet closure for them without tears lol. thank you for all the love you’ve given me throughout this trilogy series. i’m really thankful. also i’m sorry for making y’all cry a lot djhfdjhf. this is the epilogue. hope you like it. please leave a comment if you do! thank you! i love you all <3

previous part ─ series masterlist

  TEN YEARS LATER

You exhaled a sigh of relief as you threw yourself into your favorite coffee shop, finally getting the chance to escape from the scorching heat of the sun. Stepping away from the door, you closed your eyes for a second. The cool breeze of the air conditioning was hitting your face so nicely, you felt like you could cry.

Shivering lightly, you opened your eyes and walked towards the short line in front of the register. You deserved a grande coffee after the very busy day you had. Your eyes were hurting slightly because you’ve been looking at the computer screen for hours now.

“Thank fuck the weekend is here,” you murmured to yourself as you fished your wallet out. You heard the guy in front of you humming in an approving way, and you froze for a second. “I should have whispered,” you said, and the guy chuckled this time. Grimacing to yourself, you decided to shut up.

As you waited for your turn, you started to watch people around you. Everyone was either tired-looking or way-too-jittery-looking because of all the caffeine and sweets. Most of them had come here with a friend, you realized and frowned lightly. Inhaling the freshly brewed coffee smell deeply, you moved your eyes to the guy in front of you.

He was tall. He had dark brown, mid-length hair, it was a bit longer than mid-length, though, you noted. He had whites peppered in it, and it looked good. He had a navy colored suit on him. The suit jacket was hugging his broad shoulders very nicely, and the suit pants he had on was complimenting his thick thighs. You hummed silently to yourself. You moved two steps forward, eyes still on the guy, as the people on the register was done with their order. It was the guy’s turn.

“Hello,” he murmured, and you felt a lick of familiarity. “Can I get a black coffee, grande?” You frowned. The guy’s voice was familiar. You watched him grabbing a small protein bar. “And this.” The boy at the register nodded as he punched in the order, and the guy in front of you pulled his wallet to pay.

You saw the hand tattoo. Your eyes widened.

“Name?” The boy asked. The guy looked up briefly.

“James.” You watched his hand as he pulled out some money and gave them to the boy. He was wearing the rings from─

“Bucky?” You asked, surprise audible in your voice. Bucky startled, his shoulders went stiff and he turned around. His baby blue eyes bored into yours as they widened with surprised.

“Y/N?” He breathed. “Oh my God.” You let out a chuckle.

“There you go,” the boy said, handing out the extra money. Bucky cursed lightly as he took the money and stepped aside. Just as he opened his mouth, his name was called. You saw him clenching his jaw. Your smile widened. “What can I get you?” You blinked, returning to the real world.

“Cappuccino, grande. Non-lactose milk, please. No foam,” you said your order and handed out the money. The boy nodded. “Y/N,” you gave him your name without him asking for it. The boy worked quick; he told your order and gave your cup to the barista and handed some of your money back. You bid him good day before you walked towards where Bucky was still standing.

Goddamn, you thought. He looked good.

The whites in his hair were also in his stubble, covering his chin slightly. He looked grown, albeit a bit older, and the crinkles around his eyes made him look more handsome than he normally was.

“Holy crap, Y/N,” Bucky said, his eyes moving up and down on your body. “I can’t believe you still look as gorgeous as before.” You chuckled, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks after literal years. “Not that I expected you to look bad, by the way,” he said, rolling his eyes. You smiled. You grabbed your coffee when barista called out for you and turned to Bucky.

“Wanna recharge together in one of those tables?” You asked, pointing at the coffees. Bucky chuckled and nodded.

“Of course!” He said. “I would love to.”  

Both of you walked towards an empty table near the café windows. After you settled, you looked at him. He looked happy, you realized. He didn’t look haunted or sad anymore. He looked healthy and happy if not a little tired.

“You look great,” you said softly. “You don’t look so… sad anymore.” Bucky smiled. Taking a sip from his coffee, he nodded lightly.

“I’m… good,” he decided to say. “I swore not to lie to you again and I’m not gonna start that now,” he chuckled. “I wasn’t so good after our last talk, but time helped.” Bucky shrugged, his fingers were playing with his coffee cup. “I had time to focus on myself, and then my job. It kept me busy but also gave me some time to heal. So, I’m good.”

You smiled fondly at him. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” you murmured. “You deserve to be good, Bucky. I’m glad you’re now. I just hope you’ll be better soon.” You watched him blush, your smile widened and turned soft.

Bucky shook himself and straightened up on his seat. “Tell me what you’ve been up to,” he said, excitement shining in his eyes. “I haven’t seen you for ten years. Are you a cat mom or dog mom or a real one?” You let out a surprised laugh.

“Bold of you to assume I want to be a mother, Buchanan,” you deadpanned. Bucky grinned toothily. “…I have a cat,” then you added. Bucky chuckled.

“Knew it,” he said, snapping his fingers. You rolled your eyes. “’s fine. I have an asshole for myself waiting me at home.” He rolled his eyes like you. “I swear he hates me and wants to kill me, but he doesn’t because I feed him.” You laughed, almost snorting out your cappuccino. Bucky grimaced at himself and then chuckled.

“Murderous cats,” you muttered. “I had an encounter with them once or twice.” You nodded seriously. “She tried to trip me and scared me to the death, so.” Bucky giggled. “She’s the cutest, though.” Bucky smiled. He knew that feeling all too well. You sighed.

“How’s teaching? I see that you kept your tattoos, but goodbye piercings?” You asked, eyebrows high on your forehead. Bucky grunted. It wasn’t a happy sound.

“Apparently, me having piercings might provoke the students to get the same look? They told that I cover my tattoos with my clothing but can’t hide my piercings, so they had to go. ‘s bullshit.”

“…It is,” you agreed because it was. “Your hand and neck tattoos are visible, and they were troubled with your piercings? Yup, bullshit.” He grunted again and sipped his coffee.

“Love the students, though,” he added without you asking. “They’re dumb sometimes and goofy almost all the time, but I love them.” He smiled. You could see that he really did love his students. He was great with children ─shocking, yes─ and seeing him being happy with his work was making you happy.

“I’m glad to hear that. You were weirdly good with kids,” you said, looking at him over your coffee. Bucky narrowed his eyes. “It was cute, don’t get me wrong. I just didn’t expect from someone who looked the way you did back in college and be good with kids. I was shocked when I learned that you were going to be a teacher.” Bucky snorted.

“I love teaching,” he defended himself with a faux-offended face. You grinned. “I enjoy telling them things that make them go ‘wow’ and love seeing them use what I taught.” He shrugged. “How is editing?”

“Ughhhh,” you groaned. “Don’t get me started.” He looked at you, eyes wide and half-grin visible on his face.

“Oh, okay,” he said and then giggled. “I feel like you have a lot of feelings bottled up in there.” He pointed your head, and you grunted like he did a couple minutes ago.

“People who don’t even know punctuation are sending me their works, and they are brave enough to tell me that they wanted it published.” Grunting even more, you sipped your coffee. “It’s a pain to read all the cringy, too fast moving works and editing. It feels like I’m re-writing their whole work.” Bucky frowned slightly, tilting his head to his side.

“Why do you work there, then?” He asked. “You could go back to school and do something extra? Or become a professor there?” You eyed him.

“I’ve been thinking about that for some time, now, to be honest,” you admitted. It wasn’t a lie; you were thinking about going back to school and maybe spend a couple years there and start teaching. “Been looking up my options. I’m still not quite sure, but the idea is there.”

“Well,” Bucky said, draining his coffee. “Let me know. I might be able to help in some way, maybe.” You smiled.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmured. He sent you a cheeky wink. “Tell me more!” You exclaimed. “You told me you’re a cat dad, what else?”

“I’m an uncle,” he said and then wiggled on his seat because it still made him giddy. “I have like two nieces now, my sisters like to procreate.” You chuckled. “Oh, do you know Sam Wilson?” You frowned.

“From Psychology Department?” He nodded. “Yeah, I saw him a couple times.” Putting your cup aside, you leaned forward. “What about him?”

“He got married to Natasha, the Russian Literature girl? The one that we both found scarily hot?” Giggling, you nodded. He grinned. “Well, they’re married now, and have a daughter.”

“No shit,” you said.

“Yes shit,” Bucky kept grinning. “Steve’s gonna get married in two months. Someone called Sharon Carter─”

“Wait, is her aunt Peggy Carter?” Bucky frowned, but nodded. “Holy shit, I work at Carter Publishing. She’s my boss.” Bucky laughed.

“Okay, nice coincidence,” he murmured.

“Damn,” you whispered, making him laugh again. “Give me more gossip, please. I’m obviously hiding under a rock.” Smiling, Bucky leaned forward on the table, too.

“Alright, hear me out.”

─

You talked about everything and anything for hours.

Bucky talked about his job, about his students and his plans for future which included going back to school and becoming a professor or something, so that he could teach at a university. He also said that he was going to miss his ‘high school dumbasses’, but he wanted to become better at what he was doing. He also talked about his siblings, he had three sisters, and his parents a little. He showed you a couple pictures of his cat, a very pretty white cat named Alpine, and his parent’s dogs, two German Shepherds.

“They’re so handsome,” you exclaimed when you saw them. Bucky chuckled.

“They are,” he agreed. “They’re also old.”

“Bleh,” you blurted, making him laugh. You felt a satisfying, warm bubble building up in your chest as you bit your lip and watched him laugh. Your feelings for him were still there, still present. You never stopped loving him, and you knew you were always going to love him. He was the one for you, but your story wasn’t meant to be end together. You knew and accepted that now.

You told him about your life, your job and future plans, too. You talked about your doubts about going back to school, and Bucky somehow helped you soothe them. He encouraged you, told you that you were going to be amazing and it wasn’t late for you to go back to school. You thanked him as you moved onto talk about your cat. You showed him a picture like he did to you.

“You have a Siamese!” He cried out. “Damn, he is handsome.” You chuckled.

“He is, but he’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever known,” you grumbled. Bucky giggled.

“Hey, cats are cats. They meant to be assholes,” he said.

“Hear, hear.” Both of you chuckled.

The silence fell between you was a happy and content one. You talked about things, made each other laugh and smile, and both of you saw that how much the other had grown. It was nice. Seeing him was nice.

“I know I apologized before, but I want to apologize again,” Bucky murmured softly after a while of silence. “I’m sorry for making you cry and for hurting you. You didn’t deserve any of the shit I put you through. I was an asshole, I know and see that now,” he added. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” You smiled. Reaching out, you held his warm and large hand. The sense of familiarity consumed you.

“I have forgiven you years ago, James,” you murmured as softly as he did. He squeezed your hand. “Things happened, but both of us were still children.” Your smile became a little sad. “Obviously, we weren’t meant to be. I wish we were, though. I wish we were meant to be, but we are not. It’s okay. You’ve apologized before and owned up your mistakes. Thank you. I forgive you.” Bucky’s hold in your hand tightened just a bit more. You squeezed it right back. “I forgive you. It’s alright. We’re alright.”

Bucky took a deep breath. You could see that he felt lighter. His guilt must have been eating him alive, you realized, and your heart gave a painful thud at the thought.

“You have no idea how good it feels to hear that,” he said, slightly breathless. You just held his hand tighter and smiled wider. “I wish we were meant to be, too, Y/N. I─” He paused briefly. “I still love you. I have never stopped loving you, and I probably will never stop loving you. No one was you, and I doubt that someone will ever be you. I know now that we’ve grown out of each other. We might still love, yes, but…”

“It’s not enough anymore because even though we still love each other, that train took off,” you finished. He nodded. “So much has happened, and it changed us. Yes, Bucky, I get it. I still love you, too, and will always love you, but it’s not enough now.” He nodded again. Both of you sighed, feeling lighter and happier out of a sudden.

“I’m so glad that we came across to each other,” Bucky said. “It really felt nice to catch up with you, to talk to you.”

“Me too,” you agreed immediately. “I─” You held his other hand. “I’ve missed you, Bucky. It was very nice talking to you.” You looked at each other for a couple minutes before pulling back. You ignored how cold and empty your hands felt after he pulled his back. Standing up quietly, you grabbed your things. You walked out of the café together.

“I would like to see you sometimes,” Bucky said. “As friends. I would love to be your friend, Y/N.” You agreed. You didn’t want to deny him anymore. You wanted him in your life.

“I would love that,” you murmured and gave him your number. Bucky added you in his contacts and sent you a text.

“I will see you later, then,” Bucky murmured. It felt so good to say that, he realized. After saying goodbye to you many times, it felt amazing to say that he’d see you later. You smiled fondly.

“I will see you later,” you murmured back. Bucky gave you a nod and a large smile. Both of you bid good night to each other and walked opposite directions on the sidewalk.

This time, it wasn’t a goodbye.

This time, it was a promise to see the other again.

It was a nice, blossoming friendship.

─

[elizabeethan]

The Swan and her Handler

Emma Swan was cursed, and the only way to break it is with True Love's Kiss. Try breaking a curse with True Love's Kiss when you're a damn swan.

Yes, it's true, I've written a CS AU based on Walnut the Crane, a crane who fell in love with her handler. I'm ashamed at how idiotic this is. It’s by far the dumbest thing I've ever written in all my life. It’s nothing more than crack written in about an hour, un-betaed and barely edited. Sorry, and you’re welcome.

Rated T for language

~2000 words

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These damn idiots can’t get anything right. It was bad enough when Emma showed up on their doorstep with perfectly clear care instructions that were completely ignored, but now they keep trying to get her to reproduce as if she’s some kind of zoo animal. 

  Of course, given her current living situation, it does make at least a tiny bit of sense. 

  Ever since the curse, Emma has been stuck in a wildlife refuge and has been unable to get any of her stupid caretakers to figure out how to help her. She knows exactly what she needs, but unfortunately, no one here speaks swan and she can’t exactly hold a pen. Her care instructions were translated upon her transformation, so the one thing that could have helped her now looks like chicken-- er, swan scratch. 

  “She needs a mate,” one of the jack asses points out. “She’ll probably want to mate for life.”

  True, she thinks, although, not with any of the stinky fluff balls you have sent my way.  

  First it was Neal. He tried to mate with her, so she killed him. Last week, they put Walsh in her enclosure, and she pecked at him violently until they took pity on him and sent him to the medical unit. 

  Although today seems different, because her newest caretaker has shown up, and she realizes that he just might be exactly what she’s been looking for. 

Emma Swan, unfortunately very appropriately named, requires a mate who can break her curse, True Loves Kiss the only thing that can bring her back to her truest form as a human adult woman. And when the new dark haired, stunning eyed veterinarian comes strutting into her enclosure, she hurries towards him to get a closer look at his name tag. 

  He jumps away, making some comment about her being fiery , and she blushes, squawking at him as she tries to get closer. Killian , it reads, and if she had lips and not a bill, she would smile. 

  “We think she’s depressed,” the stupid one with the big eyes says. “She’s killed every mate we’ve tried to pair her with.” 

  Good, she thinks. I must have done more damage on Walsh than I initially thought.  

  “You’re just misunderstood, aren’t you, love?” the angel-man asks, making her squawk in agreement. She thinks she could make this quick, this man obviously understanding her horrible twist of fate, so she lunges for him once more, trying hard to kiss his hand and hoping beyond hope that it will transform her back into the woman she's supposed to be. No more feathers, she prays. 

  He exclaims again, jumping and complaining of his hand hurting as she pecks him, so she rolls her eyes and squawks angrily. “Alright, darling,” he says with his hands up, his smooth, accented voice making her heart flutter inside her chest. Her breast? She knows very little about swan anatomy, despite having been turned into one. “Perhaps she’s stressed about her environment. Have you tried giving her a dark, quiet place to nest?” 

  “Not yet,” the dumbass admits. 

  The handsome one, Killian, a name she could get used to rolling off of her tongue, steps away from her, so she hurriedly follows. “Perhaps here in this corner will do.” 

  I would love to spend time in a dark corner with you, she thinks, giving the man what she hopes is a salacious smirk. She watches appreciatively as he sits down, crossing his legs as he starts to fiddle with some sticks as if she would be interested in them. Rather than helping him to make a nest out of the twigs and leaves, she plops herself right in his lap, nestling herself into his crossed legs and gazing up at his beautiful features, earning a smile from him. 

  “There we are, love,” he says happily, clearly surprised that she chose to plant herself upon him, although he shouldn't be. Just look at him, for god’s sake. “Comfortable?” 

  She squawks loudly, making him cringe, then fluffs her feathers in an attempt to gussy herself up for him. If she’s going to earn True Love’s Kiss from this perfect specimen, she’s going to have to work for it. The man chuckles as he looks down at her-- is he gazing? -- and lifts his hand slowly, placing a finger gently upon the top of her head and petting back down her neck, sending a chill down her spine, at least she thinks it’s her spine. She pushes her head towards him again, demanding more attention in an effort to get him to fall for her. It shouldn’t take long; she’s very enchanting. 

  “She’s never been this calm,” the dumb one says, making her snap her head towards him with a glare, shouting at him in disapproval. Killian shushes her soothingly, his finger softly stroking along her stupid feathers once more and making her shut her eyes. 

  “She just needed a bit of attention, it seems.” 

  “We’d best be careful,” someone else says, the bookworm who always thinks she knows everything about swan science. Of course, she probably knows more than Swan Emma. “We wouldn’t want her to imprint on you ,” she seems to joke. 

  “That’s quite alright, isn’t it love?” he asks her, essentially giving her permission to fall in love with this handsome bastard. 

  He comes by a few times a week for the next several months, each time sitting with her in her tiny, dirty nest and not seeming to care that his pants get soiled. She’s always careful to do her business elsewhere, making sure that her prince can sit in comfort when he arrives. She gets angry with him when he brings someone new, a sickly looking male named Graham who she assures is not welcome, so Killian gives up trying to get her to mate with someone. For some reason, they're concerned about her procreating, but she can assure everyone that she will not be giving birth to a damn swan baby while she’s under this curse. 

  One day, when Killian visits near the end of his shift, he’s finally alone, leaving behind the dumb one and the book worm and giving her all of the attention she desires as his strong hand softly pets along her soft feathers. She can’t wait to get rid of these stupid feathers. 

  “You’re quite funny,” he remarks as the sun starts to set. “Unlike any swan I’ve ever met.”

  She squawks at him-- I’m not a damn swan-- and he smiles. “Quire the personality. It always seems like you’re trying to communicate with me.” 

  Yes, you stupid handsome man, that’s exactly right! She tries to nod, lifting and dropping her head in quick succession and making the beauty laugh. She nudges her head against his hand in demand of more pets. 

  “What is it you want me to know, darling?” he asks gently, his voice soft and soothing and deep. 

  She groans, a sound that comes out like a pained cry, and his face shifts. “Are you alright, love?” 

  In pure frustration, Emma drops her head against the man’s chest, likely assaulting him with how badly she smells like bird shit, and he chuckles again, letting his hand run along her feathers some more. “There, there. I know life as a swan must be difficult. All you seem to want is for someone to listen.” 

  She looks up, hoping that her expression conveys her complete and utter irritation at the fact that he’s literally hitting the nail on the head and yet he has no idea. 

  “Such a personality,” he says again. “I’ve got to head home now, love. I’m looking forward to having Chinese for dinner. Perhaps I'll bring you an eggroll tomorrow, or is that insensitive?” 

  She squawks, half because she’s laughing, and half because she would quite literally kill another potential mate for an eggroll. Wanting to beg him not to go, she gives him her best sad face through her inability to emote, and nestles her head against his palm one more time. 

  “I’ll sneak you one, love,” he laughs, and as he does, he finally, finally , leans down towards her, and plants his stupid, dumb, lucious lips upon the top of her stinky bird head. 

  Cramps start to run through her whole stupid bird body, the same ones she felt when she was cursed on Halloween decades ago. He stands, not seeming to notice her pain and discomfort until he’s a few steps away, and he turns back around. “Swan, are you alright?” he asks, as if she could answer, and she shouts back at him wordlessly. 

  She praises whatever gods might be listening as she feels things start to change, her feathers shedding as her skin is exposed to the chilly fall air. The webbing between her toes retracts, her legs turning flesh colored rather than that horrifying orange. Her bill turns back into her nose and mouth, preparing her to smooch her savior rather than peck at him. Finally, she’s back!

  “Bloody fucking hell,” Killian breathes as he stares on, Emma transforming back into her old self, laying in a heap on the ground as she brushes off the dirt and twigs and leaves. 

  “You did it,” she praises before clearing her throat, raw from misuse after all these years. She grins at him as she’s been wanting to since they met, and is met with a horrified, shocked look on his face. His jaw is gaping, his eyes wide as they catch the light of the setting sun. “I knew you would.” 

  “What the fuck?” 

  “You broke the curse,” she says happily, standing up and exposing her nude form to him, cursing the lack of feathers although she vowed she never would. Immediately, he removes his jacket, despite his shock still clearly running through him, and hands it to her. 

  “I did what now?”

  “I was cursed. Why do you think I was such a miserable swan?” 

  He’s looking around, his mouth snapping shut and dropping open in succession as he tries to process the fact that there was a swan in the enclosure just a second ago, and now there’s a frankly beautiful, naked woman standing before him. “You were cursed,” he says doubtfully. 

  “Yes, I was. An evil witch cursed me on Halloween decades ago and I've been stuck in that infernal bird form ever since. All I needed was True Love’s Kiss to break it, but imaging trying to fall in love with someone as a damn bird.” 

  “So you… you fell in love… with me…?” 

  “Obviously,” she smiles, taking a step towards him on shaky legs, tripping and falling into his waiting arms as he catches her, careful not to grope her, although she isn’t sure she would mind. “And you broke the curse, so… Do I have to tell you what that means?”

  “I-- I’m having a lot of trouble processing the fact that I've evidently been in love with a swan for months.” 

  “Well, my name is Emma Swan, so you can be in love with a Swan for the rest of your life, if you’d like.” 

  “Emma,” he murmurs, staring into her eyes and smiling when he seems to recognize her. She’s never been able to see herself in the mirror, because the book worm was worried she would attack it, but based on the way he’s staring, she would guess that the evil witch let her keep her eyes. “Do you know it just happens to be Halloween tonight?”

  “Kismet,” she says softly, gazing up at him. He lifts his hand like he did while she was planted in his lap, and she’s finally able to feel his calloused finger along the skin of her cheek, then of her neck, just as he had done before. 

  “Aye,” he agrees. “The spirit of the holiday does make this whole thing a bit easier to accept.” 

  “Yeah,” she says dismissively. “Now take me home. I was promised an eggroll and I haven't eaten anything but grass and stale bread in almost thirty years.”

~~~~

Tagging (with apologies):

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza @captainswan21 @hookedmom @lostintheskyfaraway @undercaffinatednightmare @strangestarlighttree

[writersmorgue]

Something Immortal

word count - 3k

warnings: suicide attempt, drug use, addiction, cursing, teenagers being gross

pairing: model!Todoroki x canon!Bakugo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Holy shit guys he posted!!" Mina squeals, vaulting herself over the couch to reach the rest of the Bakusquad sitting on the common room carpet. An old original copy of Monopoly splayed out in the center of their group.

"Ooh, show us! Show us!" Kaminari leans forward, swiping half of the properties off the board in the process.

Sero groans, "Dude you do this every time!!"

The blond pouts, "Hey it's your fault I was losing."

Kirishima just chuckles, picking up his dog piece from jail and throwing it into the box.

"Your smart people game can wait," Mina tugs on Sero's ponytail, "He hasn't posted in weeks."

"Oh my god he's so fucking hot," Kaminari's knee-jerk reaction is whispered as soon as he sees the post.

Todoroki Shouto, one of Japan- and America's- most well-known models. The teenager, who happens to be their age, regularly models for magazines like Vogue, Joker, and Elle. The teenager who has starred in countless American and Japanese short and independent films. The teenager who just so happens to be the son of the number one hero, Endeavor.

No one knows his quirk, but it just adds to the mystery. Some people theorize he's quirkless, but others think he's got a crazy dangerous quirk, which is why he's a model instead of an aspiring hero. Not like he's not perfect for the job, with his gorgeous bi-colored hair and heterochromatic eyes. The scar on his left side somehow only adds to his beauty. It doesn't matter what your sexuality is, you simp for Todoroki Shouto.

But that's the obvious, now this photo- this photo.

"It's ethereal, I've never seen him look so serene before."

"He's an actual angel."

"How is he only eighteen?!"

Mina nods as Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima go through the seven stages of grief just looking at the photo.

Kirishima's eyes dart to Todoroki's username... which is just Shouto. In fact, the Todoroki name isn't mentioned once on his account, a fact that has hundreds of conspiracy theories on its own.

"Hey Meens, can we stalk him real quick? I wanna see who he's following."

She grins, "Well anything for you, munchkin."

Sero snorts. Their couple nicknames never fail to amuse anyone within hearing range.

"Ugh gross," Kaminari gags as Mina giggles, swiping off of the picture (which already has over 600,000) and onto his main page.

It's simple, plain yet elegant in the way only a PR manager could manage.

The bio is a link to his most recent shoot with some magazine that Kirishima doesn't recognize, the profile picture is a rare shot of him smiling, a blue checkmark, and a follower count of over four million.

His following count, however, is the shocker.

"He only follows fourteen people?" Sero whispers, clicking on the number.

"Huh," Mina turns the phone slightly so she can see, "Who is he following?"

"Let's see," Sero squints, eyes scrolling down the list, "Hawks... his siblings... Mirko... some American models... his agency's profile... and- wait, isn't that Bakugo?"

"HAH?" Mina yells, whipping the phone around and clicking on the profile.

Sure enough, a slew of photos shows up on her screen, all of their resident blond pomeranian glaring at the camera in various locations.

"He- WHAT?? It must be a glitch!" Mina scrambles frantically, eyes darting across the screen.

"Uh, yeah," Kirishima chuckles, "a glitch."

Mina scrolls up numerous times as if refreshing the page will help.

"I mean what other explanation can you think of?! It's not like Thee Todoroki Shouto would know our Bakugou, they're totally in different leagues." Mina sounds absolutely scandalized, causing Sero to laugh.

"I don't know, Meens, the proof is right there. We should ask him about it!"

"And what- DIE?" Kaminari reasons.

Sero nods, "Fair point."

"Pussies." Mina stands, planting her manicured hands on the edge of the couch, "I'll ask him myself."

-

"I REFUSE." A fourteen-year-old Shouto screams at his father.

"what do you mean you refuse? Shouto she's a lovely girl, and you need to procreate while you're still young if you're not going to become a hero like I want. You get one or the other." Todoroki Enji grabs his youngest child by the arm to lead him out of the kitchen, but Shouto jerks out of his grip. "Wh- SHOUTO."

"I'm going to live with Fuyumi. She'll take care of me." He holds his ground, shaking his father off when he tries once again to physically lead him out of the room.

"OH?" Enji bellows a laugh, "And how do you expect she'll find the money to take you in? Raising a teenager is expensive, you know, and she's only a simple school teacher."

"She's not a simple anything. And I- I'll find a way. We'll be fine. I already talked to several agencies."

"...agencies?"

-

"Wait, Mina!!" Kaminari calls after the girl, but she's a woman on a mission and there's no stopping her.

They arrive at Bakugo's door in a heap, Kaminari clawing at Mina while she knocks calmly. Kirishima and Sero stand to watch because they have no idea what else to do. (They're just as nervous as Kaminari but they're more afraid of Mina if they're being honest.)

A crash comes from inside the room, but soon their resident angry boy is slamming open his door and glaring at them. The normalcy is comforting.

"Do you fuckers realize what fucking time it is?"

"Yes~" Mina coos sweetly, "I know old men need their sleep but it's only 8:30 and we have a question."

He sighs aggressively and stretches his arms behind his back, cracking his shoulders and then his neck, Kaminari whimpers in fear.

"Alright, what do you want pinky?"

She's practically vibrating with excitement at this point.

"Why is Todoroki Shouto following you on Instagram?"

Bakugo seems to mull over this for a moment, and then he just shrugs.

Mina nods like this answers any part of her question, "That's what I thought, funny glitch. He's pretty hot though, right?"

The rest of the group nods emphatically.

Bakugo scratches his leg with his other heel, "He's not ugly, I guess."

Mina waves her arms around in Bakugo's general direction, "See!!? Even the straight guy agrees!!"

"No one was disagreeing with you, Mina." Sero snickers.

Bakugo grunts, then promptly slams the door in their faces.

"Well I guess that was more than he'd usually do at this time, we're lucky we didn't get exploded." Kirishima muses.

Kaminari nods, shuddering at the thought.

"Welp! That answers our question!" Although it really didn't, no one was about to argue with Mina, "Anyway I'm going to bed."

"Say hi to your vibe for me!" Sero whispers after her.

She waves as she marches away, humming to herself.

-

Shouto stares at the street below.

He wonders if he'd die falling from a height like this. He hopes he doesn't hit anyone.

Slowly, he removes his expensive sneakers, dropping them on the modelling agency's roof beside him. It's breezy tonight, and Shouto, freshly sixteen, has nothing to live for anymore. So he won't.

Stepping carefully over the guardrail, not sure why since he's about to jump. Maybe part of him is still afraid.

Whatever he can get over it.

His thin frame wobbles in the wind, and he breathes deeply, too focused on relaxing to notice the roof door opening, and hurried steps coming up behind him.

A warm hand grabs him, almost startling him off the side of the building.

The interruption heaves heavy breaths in his ear as they both topple down onto the concrete floor.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Oh, it's Bakugo.

The only child of his manager, Mitsuki Bakugo, who happens to be a nosy little shit who can't stay out of other people's business.

"Get OFF" Shouto shoves him, frantically scrambling toward the railing again. He needs this.

"NO! Todoroki get the fuck back-"

"It's SHOUTO." blood spurts onto his gray sweater and he realizes with muted horror that he just elbowed his employer's son in the nose.

"Fuck I'm so sorry, are you okay?" He bends down, removing his trashed pullover, and holds it to his friend's nose.

Bakugo snorts, "Sorry- Shouto I mean." He winces when Shouto presses harder into his face, "I'll forgive you if you don't jump."

Shouto sighs, "You know why I was going to."

Bakugo visibly calms at the use of past tense, the outburst must have snapped him out of it.

"Your mom, right?" Shouto tenses.

"Yeah I- he barred me from ever seeing her again and I- I don't know what to do." He shudders and pulls his pills from his pants pocket.

He wonders what his mom would say if she found out her baby was addicted to drugs.

Bakugou frowns but lets his friend take the pill, not sure what to say.

"Fucking piece of shit. Is that even legal?"

"Legally the number two hero can do whatever the fuck he wants. We live in a flawed world, Bakugo.

"I- Shouto."

"Hmm?" Shouto collapses onto the ground, crunching the pill and sighing as he feels the effects start to take almost immediately.

"I care- I care about you, okay? So please let me help you. Let me get you help."

A tear slips down to Shouto's ear without his permission, he wipes it away as quickly as it came.

"I don't know, Bakugo. You haven't exactly seemed to like me in the past. Even though I like to think we're friends I know you don't feel the same." He frowns, admiring the shine of wetness on his palm in the moonlight.

Bakugo grumbles, "Don't fuckin' tell me what I do and don't feel. I really fuckin' care about you even though I'm an ass about it, okay? I'm not good with emotions so don't expect much from me. But I do want you to be happy and I don't think the uh- the pills are helping."

The blond holds out a hand and reluctantly Shouto slaps the container into it.

"Fine," he mumbles, "you're uh- not as bad as I thought."

Bakugo snorts, "You're just as bad as I thought, but I like you anyway."

Against his will, Shouto finds himself blushing, thankful that it's mostly hidden in the dark.

"C'mon," Bakugo gestures to his own chest, "I know you could use one."

Shouto whimpers as he curls himself into the blond's strong frame. He's built a lot of muscle since starting at UA this year.

A strong hand rubs along his back and Shouto finds he can't hold back his tears any longer as the shock starts to set in.

Fuck he almost just killed himself.

"Thanks, Bakugo."

"I almost just watched you die, you can call me Katsuki."

"Thanks, Katsuki."

"No problem, Shouto."

-

The Bakusquad once again finds themselves playing a game on the common room floor, this time Sorry, much to Sero's chagrin.

"Sorry!" Kirishima grins cheekily as he kicks Sero's piece back to his home base.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck you guys-" He groans, flopping back onto the loveseat behind him, only to get an eyeful of Bakugo Katsuki's ass, "Oh hey Bakugou!"

"Wh- OI TAPE FACE WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU'RE LOOKING-"

Sero snickers, patting Bakugou on the hip, "Sorry dude, it was literally right there."

Small explosions popped from Bakugo's hands as he growled down at Sero.

"Aw come on blasty he's just playing and WHERE are you going dressed like that???!!!"

Bakugo blushes and tugs his light blue blazer down farther.

"I have a date." He mutters, tugging his sleeves.

“Sorry,” Kaminari laughs, “I think I misheard you. Sounded like you said ‘I have a date.’”

Bakugo rolls his eyes, “Because I do, dipshit.” He sighs, checking his -expensive-looking- watch, “Just watch the independent film awards when they’re on. I think it’s like four hours from now that it starts.”

“Whyyyy would you have anything to do with that?” Kirishima groans, very lost.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo grunts, digging his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates and checking something before humming and striding towards the front door.

He looks unusually elegant, hair slicked back probably as well as Bakugo’s hair can be, shirt tucked in, a few rings on his fingers, barely visible and yet beautifully drawn eyeliner. He’s… pretty.

The three remaining members of the Bakusquad, as well as the rest of the common room, sit there in awe as he shoves a permission slip in Iida’s blubbering face.

“I- Wh- Bakugo is this from Aizawa? You cannot just leave!!”

“Fuck off glasses, I have his fuckin’ blessing or whatever.”

“Bakugo!”

The blond shoots a middle finger off behind him and slams the door shut, leaving a stunned common room in his wake.

“Uh, well, that happened.” Jirou drones blandly from her place on the couch with Momo.

“Awards show watch party, anyone?!” Uraraka grins, standing, “I’ll get the mochi!!”

“I’ll make tea,” Momo stands as well, dusting off her perfectly clean jeans. Jirou groans at the loss of her girlfriend’s warmth and flops over on the couch.

“This is stupid, he probably got invited by some pro hero and he’s just going to yell at the paparazzi if he’s even gonna be there.” She pouts.

“Well,” Sero grins, “anyone wanna play Monopoly while we wait?”

Kaminari throws the Sorry board at his head.

-

“Alright, is everyone ready!!? The red carpet is about to start!!” Hagakure squeals, even though the entirety of class 3-A (minus Bakugo) is there.

“So… what exactly are we watching this for?” Shinsou scratches the back of his neck.

“Bakugo’s going to be in it apparently, the study group earlier saw him in the common room wearing a suit.” Ojiro answers.

“Not just a suit!!” Mina holds her hands out as if to deliver groundbreaking news, “A fancy suit.”

“Aren’t all suits fancy?”

“Shut up.”

“OOH LOOK there’s Arai Itō and Chiba Yoshida!! Aww, they’re so cute!” Uraraka swoons, clasping her hands together.

“I wonder when Kacchan is gonna come out, these things can take a while.”

“I honestly don’t even care, I heard Todoroki Shouto is nominated for an award this year!! Do you remember that really sad short film he was in about having an overdose? Gosh, I hope he wins.” Hagakure’s hair bow vibrates excitedly.

“THERE HE IS THERE HE IS!!!!!” She points at the bottom of the screen where a man in a pale blue dress has stepped out of a limo and onto the carpet, a heeled foot gracefully raising him to his full 6’2”.

“Holy shit he’s gorgeous.” Sero breathes, the reporters on screen basically saying the same thing.

Shouto reaches behind him and holds out a hand for the second person stepping out of the limo, broad shoulders, a shorter stature than Shouto especially with the heels, spiky blond hair, piercing red eyes-

…

“HOLY SHIT IS THAT BAKUGOU??”

The aerial camera pans down toward the blond, showing off his suit- which matches Shouto’s dress perfectly- and his, what appears to be professionally done hair.

“Holy shit does he have an undercut now!!?? We just saw him a few hours ago!” Mina screeches.

Momo shrugs, “They do that sort of thing for celebrities.” She sips her tea, unphased.

“Okay okay, we’re all ignoring the most important part. Kacchan is Todoroki’s date.” Izuku frantically waves his arms around.

“I didn’t know they knew each other,” Tokoyami muses.

“What the fuck is happening?” Sero asks no one in particular.

“Wait everyone SHUT UP they’re announcing awards!!!! Todoroki might win one! We can ask Bakugo about this when he gets back. Surely there’s an interesting story.” Uraraka chimes in, handing out mochi and popcorn.

The tv’s voice is muffled under the muttering of several class 3-A members, but Mina turns it up as the male announcer reads the winners of the award Todoroki is nominated for.

“AAAAAAAAND THE WINNER FOR BEST ACTOR IN A DRAMA SHORT ISSSSSSSSS…

TODOROKI SHOUTO!!! For his work in The End of Me and the incredible performance that shocked-”

Cheers ring through the dorms, popcorn goes flying, and Mina frantically shushes everyone as Shouto makes his way gracefully onto the stage. He accepts the award from the previous winner, bowing elegantly and stepping up to the mic.

“Hello everyone,” He begins, shooting a shy smile directly into the camera. It has always perplexed his fans how nervous he can be in real life compared to in his photoshoots. “This is a really important award to me, not only am I incredibly grateful to the panel for gracing this title upon me, but as of yesterday,” He smiles at the ground, taking a deep breath, “I’m two years clean.”

Shocked gasps ricochet through the award hall as well as through the crowd gathered around the tv.

“He did drugs, kero?” Tsu whispers.

“Mon dieux,” Aoyama shakes his head, pressing a hand to his chest, “how brave.”

Shouto clears his breath and continues, “In fact, that wasn’t the worst of it at the time, and I’m incredibly grateful to all who have supported me through my career. You keep me sane, and you keep me going. But especially, I’d like to thank my sister, brother, and my wonderful boyfriend-”

He holds an arm out to someone in the audience, and the camera pans to none other than Bakugou Katsuki, “who quite literally saved my life, and helped me drive myself back on track. I love you Katsuki, and you continue to improve my life every second that you’re in it.”

Most of 3-A are in tears at this point, and as Bakugo half-heartedly scowls into the camera, they can tell his eyes are shining too.

Shouto glances back at the camera as if directing his words to someone in particular.

“Thank you.”

And then he’s walking back down to his seat as the audience provides him with a standing ovation.

“THEY’RE DATING,” Mina sobs, shaking Kirishima’s shoulders as he sits, staring slack-jawed at the television.

“Yeah, yeah they are.”

-

Katsuki does NOT wipe tears from his eyes as he helps Shouto sit back down in his seat, but his boyfriend definitely does. His mascara, thankfully waterproof, still holds strong.

Shouto shoots him a watery smile, rubbing his arm as he pulls the blond into a hug.

“Happy two years, Katsuki.”

[adultswim2021]

Moral Orel #2: “God's Chef” | July 31, 2006 - 12:15 AM | S01E10

I didn’t even work today, and yet here I am on a Saturday pulling YET ANOTHER last-minute post?? As if I didn’t have all fucking day to do this?? Could it be because I was trying to figure out how to rip the commentary tracks from this show’s DVD release (downloaded illegally because my legal copy suffers from disc rot and won’t play anymore) and add them as season-specific extras to my Plex Server, and couldn’t get them to show up?

Okay, enough of that. God’s Chef was held back like a poor student (MAIL BAGGERS! where did I borrow this phrase from? Guess correctly and I will S your D), probably because of it’s raunchy and ribald subject matter. In it, Orel discovers masturbation and quickly learns that it’s a sin, and the only reason you should cum is for procreation. Obviously he takes the wrong lesson from this and starts sneaking into houses and inseminating sleeping women with his sperm in order to keep J-ing O.

This is one of the funniest ones of season one, and dare I say, worth the wait. There are some really great jokes in this one, like the fact that Orel’s reign of terror could have been easily avoided if Reverend Putty wasn’t so dismissive of Orel. There’s a part where Orel is like “so if I use my sperm to make women pregnant I could...” and the Reverend is just like “you know what I’m done for the day” instead of just delivering ONE MORE LINE to prevent the disgusting plot from happening. It’s especially funny after watching a bunch of these episodes, maybe the only upside to having this episode held back for so long. The intended order for this one was as episode 2.

Another wonderful joke, and one of my favorite of the series, is when Clay is going over a book of lies to tell your child based on what age he is for where babies come from. Orel is 11 so he gets the “God’s Chef” myth, which is that God’s Chef comes down and fills women with magical batter from his pastry bag. “It’s all here, in black and white” Clay says, motioning to the page he’s reading from. It’s funny because the letters are rainbow colored.

For all the trouble I went through, the only tidbit I got from the commentary track was that there was an additional few seconds in the episode as it’s seen on DVD, that shows Orel more explicitly going under the covers of a sleeping woman’s bed. Is that part in the HBOMax version? I don’t know! I don’t wanna go back and check!

I guess there’s something to be said for this episode being pretty rough compared to the rest. Is it really in Orel’s character to jack off? Is it too disturbing for some to watch a show about an 11-year-old boy *sorta* raping several women? There’s a scene where Orel gets caught by a woman who screams, which was based on a Scott Adsit pitch which was based on a real incident (whoops, second tidbit learned) It was an exercise in coming up with the most disturbing image they could get away with. I can see it the detractors’ way, but I found the jokes in this one to be particularly strong so I can forgive it. But if you hate it: I get it!

[soranihimawari]

For the Love that is You

Premise: you received letters and other posts in the mail. You think it would be a fun idea to start writing back. After all, letters should always be answered no matter how soon or late it is.

Rating: 17+ bc of suggestive & implied sexjokes//material

Sending letters and postcards are part of your yearly tradition with two boys, well men, from your early years in university. Both have been a great source of friendship and comfort on some days, on others when you feel a disturbance in the proverbial future, you immediately open your stationary kit and bring to write. Words which border on the senseless caring side, words that uplift their recipients’ spirits, often wondering if this was what it meant to love freely like. Perhaps this is why you don’t mix business with pleasure because the first time you meet your two pen pals face to face, you’re attending a reunion banquet hosted by both team Argentina and team Japan for the upcoming worlds tournament. You’re standing next to a colleague who tells you how well things are going now that he’s married with his second little one on the way, and you call him a promiscuous horn dog like you did in college.

“I can’t believe she actually let you procreate with her ,” you hand the empty champagne flute to a caterer’s waiter tray. “Thought I earned that right when we played house Tsukki.”

He pinched his brow in annoyance, but considering you were the next closest friend he had in attendance here, he chuckles.

“Speaking of procreate,” you played into his hands effortlessly. “How are things going with those two people you exchange posts with?”

Your cheeks are silently hot with embarrassment. Unbeknownst to you, the ghost writers are in attendance. Duty calls to keep appearances between the athletes to show rivals can and more often are friends. On the Argentine side, there is a sharply dressed setter who keeps hooded eyes glancing in your direction. He wonders what you’d look like when you’re not preoccupied by the blonde former crow; you slap your old friend’s arm, meaning that he has a hell of a chance… until his pupil, bright and blue-eyed blueberry sourpuss joins your conversation.

What. In. The. Fuck?!

“Perdóname,” he says with a polite smile branching off from potential sponsors. The setter walks with confidence as though he wears a crown upon his head. You’re in the middle of a story about how you received two very different posts in your mailbox one afternoon almost three years ago: “so I think to myself I should write back.”

“You wrote back? Aren’t you a little too old for pen pals, yn?” Tsukki teases you, eyeing the way the color is almost seamlessly lost between his old setter from high school and their mutual scary kingly rival.

“Unlike you, some of us like reading letters, Kei,” you stick your tongue out. “But whomever they are, I’m sure they’re happily settled down.”

You glance at Kageyama who is suddenly a bit more withdrawn than normal. You acknowledge the other person standing a few feet behind him as well after Tsukki greets the man formerly.

“Oikawa,” he nods, shaking your hand.

“YN.”

“Oikawa,” Kageyama nods.

“Brat,” his former captain says. You raise your eyebrow, remind Kageyama and by default, Oikawa, that the event was supposed to show some friendship between the athletes before the worlds tournament starts. Eventually, you find out Oikawa is a star naturalized citizen for Argentina before he was able to compete professionally abroad; Kageyama explains as he gained popularity also moves to Italy to play in the European circuit.

“Something pique your interest there, yn?” Tsukki questions as the setters banter on trying to one-up the other in their civility.

“What makes you say that?” You fire back in a low tone.

“I’ve been receiving a lot of fanmail too ya know,” Kageyama slips back into his teenage lisp.

“Did you ever get one who wrote back?” You test the waters to try to ease the tensions with this question.

“Yes,” they both replied a little too eager.

Holy. Fucking. Hell. The. World. Is. Small.

The two young men pause and their eyes grown wide with curiosity. Your blonde friend excuses himself formerly giving you control of the brain synapses. The guys ahead of you grip your hands in front of your body and you squeeze theirs back, excitedly smiling at their reaction.

“That was you guys?” You are eager now like a hunting dog who just caught the scent.

The outburst made a few people in the party glance quickly at you dragging them outside to the rear patio and you could feel your eye twitch. The gods really were in your favor either that or the once rivals actually took time to process what just occurred.

“You,” Oikawa points to you. “You wrote me back?”

“Yes,” you pair it with a nod. Thankfully, Kageyama’s brain finally catches up.

“Let me get this straight: you’re the person who replied to our letters?… and correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Oh I will,” oikawa sarcastically claps back.

Kageyama rolls his eyes as you shake your head in a, ‘not now, let’s focus here,’ kind of way.

“But did you mean everything?” Kageyama’s eyes match yours.

You swallow thickly. You were nervous, but why? Weren’t you always taking about having multiple, “the One”‘s? Your brain had to think of a proper response, yet the truth is stranger than fiction.

“I figured you did too,” you rest your hands behind your back prior to cupping both of their faces. “Both of you meant those things you wanted to try with me, yeah? Might as well get a head start now…?”

—.—

Magazines are an interesting source of news. Even now, a couple weeks later, when there is a photo of you, Kageyama (who has a hand around your waist) and Oikawa kissing the top of your head, is ran at the top of the entertainment/sports pages. You’re all attending an awards ceremony for the season where your loyal subjects, you loving refer to your lovers, are both receiving awards for a season well played. In the acceptance speeches, Oikawa goes first and blows kisses at you two, Kageyama buries his head on your shoulder in a bashful manner; when Kageyama accepts his, he makes sure to kiss you both on the lips, making Oikawa more flustered than expected.

“Kissing the homies tonight, huh?” You jest.

You laugh behind a champagne flute. The brunette and blueberry q have a darkened expression meaning perhaps tonight they ought to have you relearn some manners. Yet you recall you’re best at taming brats and sadistic devices can be used if they’re not on point either. You’re just lucky you answered their needs and were able to write coherently after that first night.

Oh! And the lovely Tsukkishima family receives your holiday card in their mailbox: you’re all wearing sweaters with the Google Dinosaur Game print on it. You’re just wearing heels. The boys, don’t wear much else—Tsukkishima’s wife saves it in their scrapbook for unexpected & funny cards.

[rancorsdelight]

I'm new to TCW but...

Do the ones who don't like cloneship/clonecest and yet, devour reader/clone smut or their oc/clone smut, somehow think that makes them better than everyone else?

Because if you think you aren't fetishizing these POC copy and paste men or whatever dog whistle term you are using now, you are my dudes. You are.

Also its a good thing that these self proclaimed "better" TCW fandom milfs don't have people who take them seriously outside fandom (and even there, it seems like they are the ass of the SW fandom joke) because calling people "Incest apologists" is called SLANDER. Because, I don't know how to tell you this kids, but no, no one is okaying incest/apologizing for it/supporting it in the real world. And just because someone writes on their blog claiming that they are -- doesn't mean its true.

Just like the hostile proship ANONS some of these people claim they get. They could be sending it to themselves to get attention. It seems like a lot of them have lost their audience. Weird how when you pollute your good message of Unwhitewash the TBB with falsely accusing disabled people of abilism, calling POCs who disagree with you "internalized colorism?!?" and then supporting artists who CULTURALLY APPROPRIATE MAORI CUSTOMS (they start with an O) and think its okay because someone told them it was okay, you end up on the many block lists floating around TCW fandom.

And that's a YOU problem.

I have surfed around and seen MANY UniBomber style manifestos on these "blogs" with 10 paragraphs of why supposed cloncest/cloneship is, I dunno, fiction that is causing real-life incest? Like, what the fuck? Trying to sound all scholarly, saying that fiction "always influences real life"?

So.. by that logic, all murder authors condone murder? All smut writers condone S&M and dubcon and abusive sex? This is what happens when you try to be a Social Justice Warrior, and use a strawman argument. It doesn't work. I'll assume that most of these people are not even over the age of 25, and have been listening to people tell them everything in black and white. Evangelicals with a gay hat, I guess.

I do not read clone/clone, but I don't consider 3 million guys siblings. Shared DNA only matters for procreation in this context. (and NO I am not saying real life incest doesn't matter because the victim and perpetrator share DNA, I am saying in this context of 3 million xeroxed people, who, and I'll say it slowly, DO NOT EXIST)

I share DNA with people I have never heard of, don't know and never will according to Ancestry. It may be something as small as a single strand from a common ancestor 100-300 years down the line. They are not my family, never will be and anyone arguing that is a lunatic searching for a straw to cling to.

Again, these guys don't exist. Its really fucking sad and scary you guys have to be repeatedly told that.

I challenge these bloggers to go to a Sexual Assault crisis center and tell them that fictional SW character ships are equal to incest victims trauma. Better yet, do something to support those centers, instead of screaming into the void.

Don't like being called out? Tough shit. Reader/Clone is fetishizing. OC/Clone is fetishizing. Spreading slander makes you a piece of shit. No one believes you anyway.

Let people enjoy the fandom how they want.

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (2/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 9.1K which is also more than I remember writing. Which should probably be the subheadline of my life.  AN: Guys! All of you! Collectively! Separately! Thank you so much for your genuinely incredible response to this story that took on a life of its own. It’s very nice! You’re all very nice! More exclamation points! This time around we’ve got; a very discombobulated timeline, bedtime stories, peak!dad David, peak!dad Killian and f e e l i n g s. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam || Or you can start from the start

————

“How did you figure it out?” He lifts his eyebrow. Only one, and exactly the same way he does in whatever part of time the real Killian Jones is lingering in, but the thought of this Killian Jones not being entirely real makes Emma’s stomach knot. Several times over. She can’t stop staring at his eyebrow. It’s off-putting. And the complete opposite of that. “Out?” Killian echoes. “Not when?” “No, no I figured you knew pretty much from the get, but—” Emma shrugs. Tries very hard not to fall off the kitchen counter. Which might actually be made of granite. 

God, maybe they’re legitimately rich. 

She can’t imagine what the mortgage on a house like this is. 

She can’t imagine there are actually mortgages in Storybrooke. 

“Were you thinking about going to get your sword? Because it seems shitty to challenge an unarmed person to a fight.” The eyebrow gets higher. Arch'ier. Pointier, even. “As you’ve already pointed out today, I am a pirate. And that’s not really an answer to my question.” “Or mine,” Emma challenges. “Are you not a pirate anymore, then?” “You know you’d make a rather atrocious spy, darling.” Sneering is decidedly juvenile and the only thing Emma is capable of doing in the moment. “You are dancing around any answer and—” “—Well, if you’re a time traveling, abysmal spy then it seems wrong to provide you with any more information than what you’ve already gleaned from your day here, doesn’t it?”

She deflates. 

Shoulders sag and exhaustion creeps up the wholly unnatural and very uncomfortable curve of Emma’s spine, fear tickling the back of her mind because Killian hasn’t actually made a single move towards the basement, but she’s only passably sure of where the basement is and the specific sort of glint in his eyes makes her even more confident that he wouldn’t mind brandishing his sword at her. 

Literally in this instance. 

“I’m not sure it’s time travel,” she mumbles, staring at a floor that is questionably clean if it does in fact belong to her. Maybe Killian cleans. “Fascinating.” “I’m not the bad guy here.” “Because I am?”

Her shoulders can’t sink any lower. They try all the same, shamed by the hitch in his breath and the tilt of his head, angled to make his hair drift across his brows and eyes that are as distracting as ever and far too easy to get swept up in and—

Emma swallows. 

Exhales. She doesn’t remember when she decided to hold her breath. 

“I don’t know,” she admits softly, barely able to move her lips and no one remembered to turn the Christmas tree off. Lights reflect off the ridiculous number of windows in the wall, painting streaks of color on paint that isn’t blue and shouldn’t remind anyone of a ball gown Emma knows she hasn’t worn yet, but it’s pretty all the same and she wonders why she wound up here. At this point. This moment. 

Killian might not be breathing either. 

“What do you know, then?” 

Emma bites her lip. Hard. “That one second I was somewhere else, and then I was—” Shaking her head does not help what is undoubtedly a migraine blooming behind her left eye, but she hasn’t fallen off the counter yet and she imagines victories are going to be few and far between, so it seems fair to cling to them as they pass by. Six of her knuckles crack when she grips the kitchen counter. “Waking up, and you were telling me we had to go get paint, and people were bowing to me.” “They don’t do that where you’re from.” “Not a question.” “No,” Killian agrees, which is a very strange way of doing that, “more like a documented point. You haven’t tried to attack anyone yet, though. So I suppose that’s at least one marker on the positive column.” “I’m not going to attack anyone!” Eyes flashing at the crack in Emma’s voice, Killian’s neck all but snaps as he glances over his shoulder. Towards a staircase, and she hasn’t spent too much time upstairs yet, but those same stairs are as empty as they were sixteen seconds earlier and the force of Killian’s exhale ruffles the ends of his hair. 

“If you wouldn’t mind being just a touch quieter,” he all but growls at her, spinning back around with far more grace than Emma thinks is entirely fair, “I’d really appreciate it. Takes her forever to fall asleep.” “Hope, you mean? Don’t I, well—don’t we or…” “I’d suggest you stop talking.”

“And you’re still avoiding my questions,” Emma accuses through clenched teeth. That only hurts her jaw. And the rest of her, really. She’s so tired, she can’t believe she’s still forming coherent sentences. Counting that as another marker in the positive column is probably a dick move. 

And the standoff that ensues over the next twenty-seven and two-thirds seconds is something in the realm of ridiculous. Clenching her jaw tight enough to crush a variety of diamonds, Emma resolutely refuses to blink, and Killian’s an ass, apparently, so he simply stares right back, while his shoulders heave on every inhale. 

She doesn’t know what to say. Has no idea what string of words will convince this relative stranger, who still feels like someone who could potentially be hers in an overwhelming sort of way, that she’s not a threat and wouldn’t do anything to hurt that kid upstairs. Not when that kid did her own bit of staring at Emma all evening, like she was the sun and the moon, and a variety of constellations and—

Killian drags a hand over his face. Leaves red streaks in his wake, twisting the skin on his cheeks and the stubble there doesn’t move because it can’t, but Emma’s admittedly starting to teeter again. In more ways than one, really. 

The crinkles around his eyes are deeper. As if he’s used to laughing and smiling, and Hope had clung to him on their walk home. 

There’s that word again. 

Doing something silly to Emma’s heart. 

“I know you’re not going to attack anyone,” he sighs, “although I don’t really know if you’re in a position to demand I tell you anything, either.”

“What if we call it a request?” His lips twitch, fighting off the smile Emma can see tugging at his mouth and it’s definitely wrong to find any confidence in that. Charming a guy who’s already married and procreating with a different version of her shouldn’t be regarded as another victory. 

She’s going to do it anyway. 

“Tell me who you are, then.” “I’m—” Grunting hurts Emma’s throat, both of her elbows threatening to damage her ribs when she flails her hands. “I’m me. Just—” “—Not mine?” “Oh, that’s decidedly possessive.” Humming, Killian’s nod is barely that. More like a quick jerk of his chin and swipe of his tongue across the front of his teeth. She’s got to stop staring at his mouth. “Aye, it might be. I am having some difficulty wrapping my head around this, though. So you’ll have to forgive me.” Emma scoffs. Nearly laughs, really — which is as surprising as it is nice, and nothing about this can be nice. On principle. Her body doesn’t seem to care, and her heart certainly cares even less, and it’s still a struggle to rationalize this version of Killian with the one she left, but there are far more similarities than her brain is able to process quite yet and that same dark and distant part is very quick to point out she’d like to. 

No matter where she might be sitting.

If she’d let herself. 

“You can feel my magic?”

Killian nods. “Usually.” “What does that mean? It doesn’t always work?” “I—” Gritting his teeth only shows off how frustratingly straight there are, and at some point she’s going to ask about that. Pirates don’t get braces, after all. “I’d rather not disrupt all of time by telling you things you don’t already know.” “I don’t know anything,” Emma argues, trying very hard not to scream the words. And only sort of succeeding. 

“Did you fall into a portal?” “Are you fucking with me?” Killian glares at her again. “I’d advise very strongly that you answer the question, Swan.”

“Or what? You’ll legitimately go get your basement sword? Why do you keep your sword in the basement, anyway? Aren’t there—I mean, a monster a week in Storybrooke, right?” His goddamn fucking tongue is going to be the death of her. Sooner or later, Emma is positive. Shifting and poking at the side of his cheek, and she can hear the gears again, trying to place the few clues she’s given him with a life he’s already lived and it is absurd that she even thought the word clues. 

“Not in quite some time,” he admits, and Emma’s mind leaps. Back to conversations and knights and realm-borders. She needs a map. Or Regina, God help her. “That’s not the point, though. It’s—” Another head shake and hair movement, and pinching the bridge of his nose only makes it ten-thousand times easier to see the ring on his finger.

There are a lot of Christmas lights in this house. 

“You’re not someone else,” Killian finishes softly. 

“Disappointing, I know.” His head moves so quickly it’s hardly more than a semi-dark blur of hair and slightly pained eyes. Both of which make Emma very glad for her spot on the counter. If she had been standing, she would have fallen over. In a rather undignified heap. 

“No,” Killian exhales as the magnets make a glorious return. He crowds into her space before she’s entirely ready for it. Although that also suggests Emma would ever be ready for the way his face has twisted and how ridiculously warm he continues to be, the hand that’s already resting on her knee threatening to burn straight through her jeans. “Strange,” he adds, clenching his fingers when Emma flinches, “and possibly a little terrifying, since—” “—Your Emma has disappeared entirely.” He grins. It’s disarming, and inching closer to the kind of flirting they’d been dancing around before and Emma’s got to get off this dancing metaphor kick. She’s not a good dancer, anyway.  “No portal, right?” “No portal,” she confirms. “And I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t a very lucid dream, so.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. 

She realizes that about halfway through the sentence. Any hint of camaraderie or déjà vu-based flirting disappears from Killian’s face and immediately shifts into the same brand of pain that came when she called him Hook. 

Biting her lip is really Emma’s only option.

“You don’t think this is real,” he whispers, another statement she doesn’t feel the need to point out. Shrugging, Emma’s vocal chords fail her again, and the step Killian takes away from her resembles a rather large chasm. 

Grand Canyon-esque. 

“We’re back to things I don’t know,” Emma says, “but um—do we have other kids? Aside from Hope, I mean? I—” Heat rises in her cheeks, the weight of the compliment threatening to burst out of her both foreign and necessary and Killian doesn’t do anything. Well, he lifts his eyebrows again, but that’s something like second nature to him and Emma refuses to count it and his fingers find the back of his hair. 

Huh. 

“Henry,” he replies.

“And you’re counting Henry? As—” Her tongue is really going to become a problem, if it’s going to remain this size in her mouth. “As your kid too?”

Strictly speaking, Emma’s not sure she actually wants an answer. Can only imagine what her emotions will do if she hears the confirmation that’s quite obviously pressing behind the seams of Killian’s mouth, but that confirmation might also prove several thousand things that have been at war in her for far longer than she’d ever be willing to admit, and he nods once. 

“In all the ways that matter,” Killian says. “And Neal is…” Shaking his head, all Emma gets is another smirk as soon as she huffs out her frustration, but the frustration is also kind of lacking when it feels like her whole body is running on overdrive and there’s no way he could fake the emotion behind those words. Even in a dream-like state. She’s not creative enough to come up with that particular voice inflection. 

“How’d you know?” she presses. “Honestly?” “Aside from your rather startling inability to act like yourself?” “Yeah. Aside from that.”

Stairs creak behind them, a not-quite ominous warning that this conversation has lasted longer than it should and there’s a kid of indeterminate age demanding to be put back to bed just out of sight. Emma should figure out how old her kid is. 

Hopefully that won’t ruin the space-time continuum, either. 

“You’ve got this lovely habit of calling me babe,” Killian drawls, leaning close enough that Emma swears she can smell him. Wishful thinking, maybe. “And I can’t remember the last time you called me Hook.”

He flashes her another grin — reminiscent of a man who is not this one, and then he’s gone, scooping up the kid and muttering promises against her hair, and Emma never knows how long she spends sitting on the kitchen counter. 

She does creep, eventually. 

Curiosity gets the better of Emma the longer she sits there, waiting without much hope for Killian to return. He’s not going to. She knows that. There’s only so many times he can come back, and this is a totally different thing than it was before, but it's also a perfect segue to the other reason she hopes off the counter. Her overall discomfort. Literally, and metaphorically. Marble, it seems, is a very fancy stone and good for the kitchen counters some alt-version of her eventually owns, but it also starts to dig into the back of her knees and those knees are bent kind of weird and in the grand scheme of where she wants to look again, inching up the stairs to peer through the barely closed door of Hope’s room is a much more appealing prospect than a basement that apparently houses weapons. 

So, Emma doesn’t spend too long thinking of the pros and cons, or how she should really be creeping towards the room of someone who might understand magic and why she’s here. Instead, she winces slightly on the creaky step halfway up the staircase and does her best to stay in the shadows, but these shadows aren’t quite as terrifying as they were in the realm she’s only just recently teleported from and that probably doesn’t mean a whole lot. 

He’s reading her a story. 

Captain Hook, terror of several storybook seas and probably a few Emma isn’t aware of, just to drive home the confusion point, sits propped up against a mess of pillows with his sock-covered feet stretched out in front of him, and curls pushed up against his side, a book balanced precariously on one thigh and she really would make the world’s worst spy. She hadn’t noticed the empty brace at the end of his arm. 

That’s never happened before. 

Honestly, she wasn’t even entirely sure it was possible, which is total asshole territory and maybe she’ll just collapse. Right here in the hallway. The carpet looks almost plush, so it might not be the worst move. 

And trying to memorize the look of it only feels like a half-dick'ish move, if only because the lack of a hook does sort of confirm the overall safety of this place, and Emma figures that outweighs whatever scene she’s interrupting. Or trying not to, as it were. 

Knotted scars line his skin, some of them looking older than others and that makes a few more of Emma’s internal organs flip. Something that feels a bit like anger rises in the back of her throat, an unexpected emotion that isn’t really directed at anyone except the people who caused those scars and that pain and he looks comfortable. 

Now, at least. 

Even slouched as he is against pillow cases that are far too frilly and remind Emma far too much of her mother. She keeps documenting. Lets her eyes trace over every inch of Killian — the way his fingers fluttering mindlessly against Hope’s back, brushing away strands of hair with the kind of ease that makes it clear this is a regular occurrence. His shoulders aren’t as taut as they were in the kitchen, but his head lolls towards the side more than once as fatigue starts to color his gaze. 

The story has princesses in it. Well, one princess. On a rather expansive adventure, if Emma’s actually keeping up with the plot. Dropped into a place she’s unfamiliar with, the princess in question naturally has a dashing love interest — although his name is Charles, so...maybe not all that dashing — and they get into several more adventures. Which include, but apparently are not limited to; taverns, a ridiculous amount of flirting, interactions with pirates, kissing as a distraction, the last of which endlessly entertains Hope, and the overall force of the little girl’s laugh makes Emma’s breath hitch, but then there’s more to the story and of course there’s a ball. More royalty, too. Obstacles are faced, only to be immediately overcome and Emma’s smile happens without any thought to the overall inappropriate nature of it. 

“And,” Killian says, shaking his head until his nose grazes Hope’s hair, “the exceptionally dashing prince took on the guards single-handedly, telling the princess to go and get the treasure they’d been looking for. While—” “—’Feating all of them, right?” Hope exclaims. As much as it’s possible to exclaim while also sounding half asleep. 

“In dramatic fashion. There was quite a lot of spinning involved. Made his jacket look all the more impressive. Fluttering tails and whatnot.”

Eyes flicker towards Emma’s garbage hiding spot, and she’s still not breathing correctly, so the odds aren’t very good he heard her, but she’s wondered more than once if he doesn’t just have a sixth sense when it comes to her and possibly them, and she pulls her lips behind her teeth. 

“What happened after that?” 

Most of Hope’s question comes out as a singular word, Killian’s soft laugh both indulgent and decidedly parental and he kisses her once before muttering, “Nuh uh, you’ve already gotten more story than you should, and you’ve got to get some rest.” “But I—”

Shaking his head once is all it takes for silence to descend on the room, although it does come with a slight pout and that’s—weird, it’s weird. Watching her own facial expressions reflect back to her from a kid she didn’t know existed a few hours earlier is more than enough to send Emma reeling. Wobbly knees shake underneath her, retreating in just enough time to not look totally suspicious as Killian mumbles something else and closes the door behind him, and she might have been right about the eye thing. 

They practically fly towards her. 

And the wall that was far closer than Emma anticipated. Hitting her head on it hurts more than it usually would, she imagines. 

“Truly,” he says, “an absolutely Gods awful spy.” “Was that supposed to be plural? On the Gods, I mean?” Tilting his head is the only response Emma gets, and she can’t blame him for that. For anything, really. “Does that happen a lot? The, uh—the stories.”

Silence. 

Relatively speaking. There’s the distinct sound of disgruntled kid on the other side of the other side of the door, what Emma figures are four flailing limbs as it appears Hope is determined to beat her half a dozen pillows into submission. 

Little sea monster makes a bit more sense now. 

“I do that too.”

Fatigue disappears. To make room for the invisible two-by-four that settles between Killian’s shoulder blades, shifting them until his spine is ramrod straight and he’s staring at Emma like that was the most obvious statement in the history of the world. 

“I’m well aware,” he says, but his voice drops, gruffer than it’s been all day. She’s going to bite both her lips in half. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s—makes sense, I guess. I, um—” No one actually told her to take her boots off, but Emma might have assumed, and the carpet does feel soft. Through her socks, at least. While she tries to dig a hole into the ground with her toe. So she can fall into it. “Seemed like a popular story.” “Aye, it is. Big fan of sword fights.”

“Ah, well, when they’re full of dashing princes who wouldn’t be?”

It’s another thoughtless sentence. One that makes Killian’s tongue shift and then his mouth shift and Emma only stares at that for a few seconds before her eyes drop to his arm and his wrist and—

He twists his arm. Behind his back. 

Her inability to dig a hole with her foot is genuinely disappointing. 

“A question for the ages,” he says. “What are the other ones, then?” “Excuse me?” “I cannot keep telling you how badly you mask your expressions. It seems redundant. So while I also can’t imagine getting too much information will be good, you’ve obviously got questions. As do I, if we’re being honest.” “Are we being honest?”

The lack of sword belt — or actual pants — makes it all the more absurd when he leans forward, thumb hooking into the top of the sleepwear he’s got on, and Emma’s fairly proud of her ability to not linger on that particular thing. Less so in her ability to temper the butterflies in her stomach as soon as Killian leans forward. 

Directly into her space. 

He must radiate heat. 

“I’ve never been anything except entirely honest with you, love,” Killian says, and there’s no way to doubt those words or that voice and Emma hasn’t. Ever, actually. 

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Eventually you really do believe it.” Blood hits her tongue — sharp and absolutely disgusting, threatening to make her retch in the middle of the hallway. Only marginally better than her hole idea. By some miracle, sent from an apparently merciful God, Emma manages to take a deep breath, jutting her chin out and meeting Killian’s almost cautious gaze with a determination of her own. 

The kind that sends magic shooting down her arms, and directly into the tips of her fingers. His eyes widen. 

“That’s never been the problem. It’s—” They’ve got to stop cutting themselves off. Sentences that hang without end will torment Emma for the foreseeable future, but the muscles in her neck are going to seize up if she doesn’t twist them, and Killian’s fingers tense at his side when her hair moves. Like he wants to brush it away from her face. “Where’d the tree come from?” “Anton.”

“No.” “Swan, we just proclaimed honesty and now you’re—” “—Don’t know if it was a proclamation,” Emma grumbles, but Doc did call her your highness before so maybe she wields that kind of power now. Killian’s lips tilt up. 

Finding something else to stare at should be number one on the list of things Emma needs to be doing. Desperately. 

“Aye, that usually requires your mother’s seal anyway.”

“My mom? Why would...isn’t Regina mayor of this town?”

Exhaling through his teeth is oddly attractive. “Not as such, no.” “Huh.” “That’s about the right reaction. But to get back to your original question—” Emma sticks her tongue out, Killian’s laugh soaring out of him. Directly into her. It feels that way, at least. Warmth blooms between her ribs, another pulse of magic she resolutely ignores in favor of watching his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle and it would be very easy. All of it. Is, currently. If she’s being honest with herself.  

That’s a problem.  

“You’re a picture of maturity,” Killian murmurs. 

“Well, depending on who you ask, I either got tugged through time, or I’m being tormented in my dreams and—what?” His eyes have gone very thin. “Tormented, is it?” “That was a shitty choice of words.” Humming, Killian’s eyes move anywhere but Emma’s face, and the regret in her gut is like a black hole and dying star and several other space-based puns she does not understand at all. All she knows is what a mess this is becoming, and she’s been a mess for as long as she can remember so that’s all the excuse she needs, hands moving on a mix of want and instinct that she’ll let herself over analyze later. 

He doesn’t flinch. 

For another moment, it feels like he’s going to do something drastic. Parting his lips, Emma hears his exhale, the quick flick of his tongue making her toes curl and her fingers tighten, and she wants to run. That’s her schtick. She can’t. She’s rooted to the spot and this carpet, and there’s nowhere to go really. 

Getting back to Neverland already seems impossible. 

“He’s very happy here,” Killian says, and it takes her a second to realize they’re talking about a giant again. “Has been for years. Grows all sorts of stuff, and you didn’t see the Christmas tree your parents have, but it’s ridiculously massive. Apparently there’s some sort of giant-type gene that helps with that.”

“Well, yeah of course.”

Whatever sound he makes isn’t the laugh Emma selfishly wants it to be, but the air that finds her cheek is warm and his left arm isn’t behind his back anymore. “You can take the bed.”

“What?” “We do have a bed, love.” “Yeah, but—” “—Very gallant of me, I know,” Killian quips, stepping away from Emma and the moment and she can’t believe the moment included talk of a giant growing Christmas trees. Somehow that’s almost comforting. “But it’ll be fine, and well if you’re going to talk to Regina tomorrow—” “—You think I should talk to Regina?” “Don’t you?” Nodding hurts. Standing hurts. The whole thing’s ridiculously melodramatic. “Probably,” Emma admits. “Um, but...maybe on my own?”

She’ll never admit to wanting an objection — this isn’t her life, or her Killian, but it also feels wrong to claim any Killian, and this constant flipping between emotions is going to snap her skull in half. “Whatever you think is best,” he says. “Two doors down on the left.”

“Ok, thanks.”

Nodding again, Killian gives her a barely-there smile before moving back towards the stairs he only sort of rushes down. That one step creaks again. 

Sleeping doesn’t happen. 

Emma didn’t think it would, but it’s disappointing and frustrating all the same. Her muscles ache, practically begging her for unconsciousness, but every time she closes her eyes all she can see is Killian’s face and the space between them and she’s got to get back to Neverland. 

Soon. 

Emma’s got to fix this. 

No one’s at Regina’s house. 

Waiting until everyone left her own house is something of a massive copout, and using that particular possessive makes Emma feel like a liar, but she couldn't bring herself to get off the bed until the front door slammed shut and she wasted quite a lot of time sitting on the mattress. 

Also very comfortable, despite the distinct lack of sleep it witnessed. 

So, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise when no one answers Emma’s rather pointed knocks. Or the few kicks she levels at Regina’s front door, just to be sure. All that does is make the wreath hanging out front wobble precariously. “God, fucking—” Snowflakes land on Emma’s face when she tilts her head up, as if the gods she’s challenging are responding. She’s still a little caught on the polytheistic. “Alright, alright, where would she go?”

“Emma?” Spinning, she doesn’t wobble at all — a testament to Regina’s salting regiment for her front steps, and the blonde twenty-something with impressively thick glasses who called her name far too easily grins far too quickly. “What are you doing out here?”

There’s no hint of confusion to her question. At least not in regards to who Emma is. She’s obviously surprised to find her standing there, though, and nothing about her is familiar. 

“I’m looking for Regina. Do you know where she might be?”

“Yeah, of course. She went into the office early this morning, said she had to deal with the knights situation and magic acting up and—” “—Magic is acting up?”

“Didn’t Uncle David tell you?”

“No,” Emma shakes her head, already moving because there are only so many offices in this town and it’s got to be the same one. It isn’t until she makes it back to Main Street that her mind catches up with titles, but then the woman is jogging up the stairs of town hall and swinging open doors and Emma’s jaw drops. 

At the “Regina Mills, Queen of the Combined Realms” etched in glass in front of her. 

“You coming?” this nameless person asks, jerking her head towards the office and at least the wallpaper is the same. Emma gives a jerky nod, willing herself to step forward, but it’s shaky going at best and Regina is on the phone. 

The buzzing in her ears makes it difficult to hear the conversation, but Emma picks up the gist. Magic, and knights and the sound of her dad’s vaguely frantic tone, while Regina sighs at regular intervals, rolling her eyes occasionally as well. 

“Aunt Gina,” the woman hisses, slumping into the closest chair. Sliding a small handful of bills across her desk, Regina widens her eyes meaningfully, not bothering to cover the receiver before she mutters—

“Only what was on the list, ok? Henry’s stuff is already taken care of, don’t let Doc try and swindle you.”

She gives a crisp salute, Emma’s mind practically tripping over itself because that’s like a slap to her entire being and the sanity she’s only just clinging to at this point. “I’ll sic Killian on him, if he even tries,” she promises, leaning across the desk to kiss Regina’s cheek before breezing out of the office with a quick “see you later, Emma.”

Emma doesn’t move. 

And Regina hangs up on David. 

“Well,” she says, somehow dragging the word out until it sounds like those royal decrees Killian was talking about, “here you are, then.” “Should practice your surprised face.”

Gasping as dramatically as possible, Regina widens her eyes and jerks back, making her chair squeak on its wheels. Her hand flies to her chest, and the necklace that hangs over her shirt. It looks a bit like an arrow. “How was that?” “My dad called you.” “Probably two seconds after you left the farm. So,” she props her chin on her palm, “time travel, is it? You fall in another portal?”

Blinking as quickly as she is makes it difficult for Emma to stumble into the chair only recently vacated by that girl, but she manages somehow. And doesn’t twist anything in the process. Victories, she’s claiming all of them. “How many time-altering portals are there?” “Only one that I’m aware of, but you also didn’t answer my question and I don’t think you can alter something that hasn’t happened for you yet.” “Because this is the future.”

“Frankly?” “You’re going to do it either way,” Emma grumbles, Regina’s sneer not quite as challenging as she expects it to be. 

“Nothing is ever set in stone, not really. Which is why you can appear here. We're...a possibility for you at this point. So, no—I’m not sure you can destroy yourself with knowing. With staying, for sure, but—” “—Wait, what?”

Regina’s fingers flutter against her cheek. “When did you come from?

“Not here.” “Obviously.”

Slumping further into the chair, Emma’s knees nearly slam into her chest. It’s definitely an arrow around Regina’s neck. “Neverland,” she says, “we’d just left the Echo Caves and you’d gone off with Gold somewhere.” “Rumor has it you met Ariel.” “Is that seriously who that was?” Regina nods. Emma exhales. Loudly. “Ok, ok, well—” Recounting the rest isn’t as hard as she expects it to be, details flowing out of Emma like some other water joke she’s not willing to make and Regina doesn’t interrupt. Occasionally her hand drifts back towards the necklace, but Emma chooses to ignore that as well and her mouth is only sort of dry by the time she’s done. 

And then Regina purses her lips. 

Which speaks volumes, without actually saying words. She says words too. “A giant plant. That crawled out of the ground and—” “—Ok, I never once said it was giant, just that it exploded out of the ground.” “It’s not much better.” “Killian can feel my magic here.” “Yuh huh.”

Lifting both her hands in what Emma can only hope is obvious frustration and soon-to-be-resolved confusion, Regina doesn’t look all that impressed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Emma demands. “Is that a normal thing? I—as far as I know he can’t in Neverland.” “Well, normal is in the eye of the beholder, really, but have you ever actually asked the captain if he can feel your magic?” “Why would I—did you just call him captain? Are you and Killian friends now?” Clicking her tongue, Regina makes a noise that’s neither confirmation nor objection. “I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t—none of this is real.” “Ah, that’s actually a little rude.” “How did this happen, then?” Another noise. More guttural that time, and Emma hopes it hurts the inside of Regina’s throat. She’s feeling a little vindictive. No one’s explained the Unified Realms concept to her yet, that’s why. “I’ve got several working theories, some people who would know far more about Neverland’s vegetation and what its capable of than I would, and the deep-burning desire to know whether or not you told Killian about the plant.”

The gods are clearly feeling particularly charitable to Emma right now. All things considered, she feels like she deserves that. 

And she doesn’t fall out of the chair. 

“Do you think he remembers this? If I disappeared in Neverland, but he still married me here...God, that’s weird to say.” “Is it, though?’ Regina challenges, scrunching her nose like this is a conversation they can have.

“Why are you also being so goddamn weird?” “Time travels a funny thing. Lots of twists and turns, and potential pitfalls. And I’m not being weird, this is who I am now.” “Huh.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time,” Regina advises. “But I do think you’re right, you need to leave this part of the timeline. It’ll fall apart otherwise.” “You say so calmly.” “I’m almost very confident in your abilities.” “Almost,” Emma echoes, fully prepared for the snark-filled grin that gets her. Flames flicker between Regina’s fluttering fingers, not the first time that’s happened, but it usually only happens in times of particularly high stress and for as even-keeled as the so-called queen is acting, Emma knows at least part of it is a facade. “What happened with the knights? Also, shouldn’t knights from Camelot be under Arthur’s rule?” “That’s a whole other story. One your husband could recount much better than me.” “He’s not my husband.” “Not yet, I suppose.” Grimacing makes it harder to pull a breath in, but Emma’s butterflies make a triumphant return and the coffee maker was still on when she got downstairs. That might not be the coincidence she wants it to be. “The knights,” Emma demands, “what’s their deal?” “Nefarious, it seems. Which isn’t usually how they operate, and is wholly against the law.” “Of your kingdom?” Maybe Regina and Killian are friends. She’s much better at arching her eyebrow now. “Something like that. Anyway, the knights are here, without the proper paperwork, because they claim magic has been acting strangely in Camelot. And they’ve tracked it to our forest. What that magic is doing that’s so strange appears to be some sort of state secret, but Snow’s got a bird on it, so maybe we’ll find out eventually.” “That keeps happening.” “The fleeting nature of a bird’s attention span?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Is she not Mary Margaret, anymore?”

The flames disappear, Regina sitting up a little straighter like they’ve finally delved into the serious part of this conversation, and whatever’s churning in Emma’s gut is a bit like regret. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” “How am I thinking about it, then?” “As someone who still hasn’t found Henry in Neverland yet.” “Sounds like we do.” “Not something you ever should have doubted.” “I don’t,” Emma says, only kind of a lie because she still can’t really shake her worry and her fear has always been such a strong part of her; the concept of letting that go is as terrifying as anything else. The coffee had been good that morning. “Why this spot? I mean—if I was going to get tugged to any point in my timeline, Christmas in Storybrooke seems a little out of left field, don’t you think?”

Regina considers that for a moment, drumming her still-flameless fingers on her vaguely imposing desk. “Honestly? Seems like a test.” “Of what?” “You, obviously.” “Speaking English, Your Highness.” “Majesty,” Regina corrects, sliding away from the desk so she can stand up and rest her palms on it and Emma’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head. “And you’re being obtuse on purpose. I understand, but it’s—well, it’s only going to get more annoying, for both of us. The point is, games were part of Neverland. Tricks and sleight of hand, making you believe something that wasn’t there because that belief fueled the place. Belief’s even stronger for you, Emma. Because of what you are, and what you’ve done. Or will do, I guess.” “No pressure.” “Some, but—you’re distracting me. That’s still an unconfirmed theory.” “What is the point, then?” “The point,” Regina repeats archly, “is that pulling you out of Neverland, away from a place that made you feel like the Lost Girl you believe you are, turns this into something of a Utopia. Home, and safety. When’s the last time you celebrated Christmas?” “Never?” “See, everything you’ve ever wanted all tied up and—” “—I don’t want to be married to Hook.”

Disbelief colors every inch of Regina’s face, the sound of her laugh far more evil than she’s been all morning. “You’re an awful liar, Emma Swan. No matter what you do, and all you’ve ever been able to do is make eyes at the pirate.” “I don’t make eyes.” “Don’t worry, he does too. Even now, which is romantic if you like that sort of thing.” “The point, Regina.”

She grins. “You’re being offered a choice. Here, or there. Past or possible future. It’s a dangerous option, Emma, and one you can’t give into, no matter how much you might want.”

Finding her dad is far easier than Regina. 

Emma’s feet drift down the path towards the farm, boots squelching in the snow, but none of the moisture gets to her socks and the screen door opens before she can think about knocking. 

“Would have been offended if you had,” David says, pulling her against his chest and answering a question she didn’t have a chance to ask. It’s the hand that does it though. Cupping the back of Emma’s head, there’s something inherently safe about the whole thing, her cheek scrunched and her eyes stinging with more unshed tears and the first whimper she lets out is so goddamn depressing she can’t believe it came from her. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” David chants. Over and over, pressing the promise into her hair and her temple, the bridge of her nose once Emma finally lifts her head, and the slight jut of her chin because she’s nothing if not consistently stubborn and falling apart feels like failure. 

“C’mon, we’re going to sit down,” David continues, already directing Emma back into the hallway. And through the hallway. Past more pictures, and this couch looks even more comfortable than the one she’d woken up on, and she’d been right about her mother’s taste in pillows. An excess of frill. 

“Was I that obvious that you had to immediately call Regina yesterday?" David shrugs, lifting his arm in unspoken invitation. Emma slings her legs over his when she moves, the flannel now under her cheek oddly comforting. As is the kiss she feels pressed to the crown of her head. “A little,” he chuckles, “but mostly it was Killian’s blatant freakout.” “He wasn’t freaking out. At least not here.” “He was. Not loudly, maybe. But obviously. And you looked at Hope like you’d never seen her. That also kind of freaked out your mom.” “How old is she?”

Emma doesn’t bother being anymore specific. She knows she doesn’t have to — not when her dad’s arm tightens around her shoulders, and she wishes she’d come here first, if only to help keep her balanced on the precarious edge of lingering sanity, and she’s got absolutely no idea where Killian went. She should ask about that too. “Four.” “Shit. That’s—shit.” Another chuckle and second kiss, and David has to shift slightly to make sure Emma’s elbow doesn’t impale his side. “Reasonable response, really. Anything else?” “About a million and two things,” Emma admits, with enough acid in her voice to do permanent damage to the atmosphere. Making science-jokes is apparently a coping device now. “Regina thinks it’s a test. Of whether or not I really will leave, when given some sort of idyllic future.” “Well you’re not a selfish asshole, so I’m sure you’ll do what you have to.” “Kinda blunt, Dad.”

It’s not the first time she’s used that word — but titles have been thrown around in enough conversations already, and Emma’s really very wobbly on her metaphorical cliff and she wants something. Solid and dependable and she refuses to acknowledge how Killian might be both. Is definitely both. 

In any version of this life. 

“Kinda,” David agrees, “but the knights showed up when you did, and I don’t know if that’s a coincidence. There have been reports coming into the station, too. Stuff feeling out of whack across the realms—” “—How many realms are there, exactly? Is Regina in charge of all of them?”

“There was something of an election.” “For a queen?” “We’re a very progressive united coalition.”

“And you’re what? Prince of that?” David makes a contrary noise, and it takes longer than Emma expects to detail the hierarchy of this realm, but she understands why her mom would need to make royal decrees now and why people keep bowing to her and— “So that makes Killian a prince,” Emma says, pleasantly surprised to realize she does not in fact die when her heart explodes. Or when she realizes that some parts of that bedtime story may actually be based in reality. 

She kind of wants to see him spin in the middle of a sword fight. 

“Tell him that,” David suggests. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.” “Makes me think he won’t.” “Sometimes people bow to him, just to see what he’ll do.” “Challenge them to a duel?” “Nah, that’d mean he has to get his sword and that’s a whole thing. Plus, he’s got stuff to do in the station and there’s a fair bit of sailing involved.” “He keeps his ship?” Emma asks, sharper than she intends because something’s fluttering at the back of her brain and it’s big and important and she’s got absolutely no idea why. “And did you just say station?” David hums. “Doesn’t like wearing the badge though. Which I think is an affront to the position of deputy, but—” She nearly hits his chin. Jerking her head up, Emma’s eyes widen quickly enough that they also water and her dad might be the asshole here because he doesn’t do anything except smile knowingly at her. “You’re happy here, Emma,” he says, “after everything. And there’s a lot of everything, but it ends eventually. Gets the happily ever after it deserves, that both of you deserve. Although he’s a merciless cheat in Monopoly, drives me nuts every Christmas.”

It’s not a laugh. Not really. Sagging forward, air flies out of Emma’s lungs and her very dry lips, and that second thing is because she keeps breathing out her mouth, and trying to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t all that interested in finishing before. Now it’s all she wants, desperate to see what the picture is, and it’s probably very pretty. 

A covered bridge, or an oceanscape or something. Thomas Kinkaid, maybe. And part of her hears the warning, knows all too well that she’s already failing the test, but the rest of her absolutely does not care. 

“Are you really here, or is that some kind of trick my mind came up with because you’re actually stuck in Neverland?” David kisses her nose. “Here. And for the time being, so are you. Which means you can sleep.”

“Mind reading isn't one of your talents, as far as I knew.” “I get better at it,” he promises, tugging an exceptionally soft blanket off the back of the couch and Emma doesn’t put up much of a fight before resting her head on his shoulder and promptly falling asleep. 

There are lights on in half a dozen windows when David’s new — at least as far as Emma’s concerned — truck comes to a stop in front of her absolutely massive house, and she’s got to get out. Easier said than done, particularly with trembling fingers and obviously fluttering curtains in that one bay window, and it takes no less than four tries for her to undo her seatbelt,

“It’s going to be fine” David says again, “no matter what happens.” “Even with magic being weird?” “We’re not sure that’s entirely your fault.”

Scoffing, Emma tries very hard to believe that. No one’s updated them on the location of the bird. She kind of hates this bird. Possibly all birds, really. “Sure it’s not. So, what—I’m just supposed to go back into this stupidly large mansion and—” “—Wouldn’t all mansions be large?” David interrupts. “By default?” “Did we rob a bank to pay for this?” “You’d have to ask Killian, but I don’t think so.” “He says I call him babe.”

Wincing, Emma belatedly realizes this is probably not a conversation she should be having with her father, but she hasn’t really seen her mother and she wants to talk about it to Regina even less, and she obviously can’t bring it up to Killian when she’s avoiding him so much and—

A door slams. Footsteps rush towards them, voices on the breeze and the snowflakes that have kept falling all day because it’s New England and as far as Emma knows it’s required to snow in New England on Christmas. Or in the days leading up. 

David nods towards the door she should have opened five minutes ago. 

And it takes her about one sharp inhale, two eyes that very nearly fall out of her head, and that maternal-type adrenaline she’s starting to get used to, for Emma to tumble out of the truck, sprint the few feet between them and practically launch herself into Henry’s waiting arms. Arms that are much more adult than she’s familiar with. 

Although that does also make it easier for him to tighten them around Emma’s middle, and she supposes time-traveling beggars cannot be choosers. “Hey,” Henry breathes, mostly into her hair. Wind whips around them, only kind of unnatural and a little magical and the door opens again. Emma doesn’t look up. Seeing Killian standing there, with his feet crossed at the ankles, she’s sure, will only drive her closer to a line she’s not all that willing to cross. Yet. Or ever. 

No, definitely ever. 

Everyone calling him Killian is nice. Exceptionally, so. 

“Killian said it was bad, but…” Trailing off, Henry pulls back and Emma’s crying again. Like a total, entirely incompetent ass. She’s got so many questions still. Her arms tighten, a fresh round of terror rattling around her soul, or some other ridiculous sentiment, and Henry doesn’t argue. He kisses the top of her hair too. 

He’s much taller than her now. 

“Did Killian talk to you?”

“Mom,” Henry sighs, “c’mon—even when I was a kid, that shouldn’t have surprised you.” It doesn’t, not really. But there’s a grown man in her arms, and snow flying around them, and Henry’s barked “not now, Lu” causes another kid to scamper back up the porch. Towards Killian and his ridiculous grey-streaked hair, and he picks her up without looking away from Emma. 

He’s looking at Emma. 

Still, or always, or whatever. 

“Don’t ask what kind of favors he had to pull in to get us here,” Henry adds, “but he said you’d need it, and it might help and Ella definitely wanted to leave, even if she won’t admit to it, so—”

“Stop telling lies, Henry Mills,” another voice calls from behind Killian, and Emma’s going to pass out. For a variety of reasons, least of all her lack of caloric intake today. 

Henry clicks his tongue. A family trait, apparently. “It’s not a lie, she didn’t even really want to go, but Lu gets a ridiculous present haul, so we had to and—” Several puzzle pieces fly into place. Helped along by Lu’s rather loud screech of “papa” directly into Killian’s ear, and Emma is glad she hasn’t eaten. Throwing up on Henry’s shoes is not the festive reunion it should be. “I’m really here,” Henry adds, reading Emma’s mind. Or her face. “No matter what you think might have happened in Neverland, it didn’t. I’m here, and you’re here and Killian made food, so you should probably eat.” She’d been right about the puzzle, it is a pretty picture. One that doesn’t belong to her, entirely. But pretty all the same. Desirable, maybe. 

That’s a dangerous line of thinking. 

“Hook can cook? Ignore that rhyme, please.” Henry grins, marching them back towards the house as David yells something about getting Snow from school and then there are smells and kids and that goddamn Christmas tree. And it takes Emma a few moments she thinks she deserves to realize—

“How did Henry know I’d come from Neverland?” she asks Killian, standing in the middle of the kitchen. He’s stirring something. She’ll think about that for at least two hours. 

“I told him.” “How did you know?” Leveling her with an incredulous stare, Emma once again fails at the whole no blushing thing, and they own a stand mixer. Only adults own stand mixers. “How many times should I request you give me more credit before that also becomes redundant?” “This is probably good enough.” “Generous of you, and it wasn’t very hard. Although I am still trying to pinpoint when it was, exactly. Quite a lot happened in Neverland.” “Looking awfully smug about that.” He shakes his head, offering her the spoon and there’s sauce there. Delicious sauce. This must happen a lot. “Hard to do that when you can’t look at me straight on, but—” “—Echo Caves,” Emma says, rushing to interrupt him. Killian’s eyebrows jump. 

“Huh.” “Regina doesn’t think telling me things will affect anything.” “Huh.” “Nothing to add to that?” Silence. More relative, at least. The TV is on, and a pillow fort is apparently being engineered in the living room, and everyone was very quick to leave the pair of them alone. With the sauce. “Thank you, though.”

“For?” “Getting Henry here, whatever favors you had to call in. I—well, Dad told me some of the stuff, and it’s...nice.” His lips disappear when he presses them together. Emma’s still staring, it seems. “Part of the deal, I think.” “Of?” “You really want me to answer that?” “Probably not,” Emma exhales, “but—still. It’s nice, and I...well, I appreciate it.”

“That’s not something you have to thank me for, love. Now, c’mon, I know you haven’t eaten and there are some ravenous kids out there who will mutiny if we don’t get them spaghetti soon.”

Emma nods, not able to say anything else because nice is suddenly a vast understatement, and she eats a second bowl of mostly sauce, and she never really knows how she gets back into bed, only that she fell asleep under the pillow fort with Killian’s shoulder close to hers. 

[sarasa-cat]

Positive but personal (and somewhat hilarious) fan art related things (cp2077 for what its worth) behind the cut

I skipped writing yesterday and ended up drawing instead -- after my pencil charged up.

So, luckily those apple pencils charge up to full pretty quickly. Last night I accomplished a little bit of digital drawing on an ipad (sorry, on computer now, ipad charging in another room).

And ... for reasons... reasons of 🙃oh how much I enjoyed my years at daygig 🙃

I actually haven’t drawn a single human head, realistic or stylized or just sketched or anything, in a couple of years.

And drawing digitally on glass (an ipad or many non-cintiq drawing-tablet-displays) is very different from paper (although, actually sort of similar in slipperiness to the first pass of paint when using oil paint on a very slick hard panel).

So, I had a blurry cell phone photo (lol) of my V from cp2077 (console, much lower res than fancy graphics card PC gamers are getting). 

Set the photo in front of me and did a quick gestural sketch followed by a realistically proportioned block in drawing. Realized that I need to hold my apple pencil the same way (far end away from tip for gesture, and then switch to the backwards overhand that many artists normally use with traditional media) while drawing and was very pleased that years of portrait means I can still draw (block in) the under-drawing and nail the measurements for naturalism (obviously, if I want to stylize, I need to work toward a stylized style for proportions, which I haven’t done, at least, not yet -- and for those wondering, drawing realistically is actually FAR EASIER than drawing stylized on purpose as opposed to “stylized” because you haven’t mastered proportions yet).

Once that sketch/underdrawing was done, I drew a giant blank.

How the fuck does one (meaning, myself) paint an interesting digital portrait?

Like, I really am NOT into ultra-realism or painterly realism as a style (🙃do you want to ask me why? I mean, I can most certainly do it, and upload a portfolio proving it, but you really don’t want to ask me why, trust me 🙃)

So then I started looking at other art -- lots of fanart but also other contemporary media/comics/gaming art that DEPARTS from the ultra-realism that has been the bread and butter of entertainment art in the west for 20 years (e.g. ever since consumer-oriented programmable pipeline graphics cards appeared in PCs).

And, I mean, I guess I could just mentally translate all of the steps I know for doing a realism-oriented oil painting to digital. 🙃🙃🙃🙃

🙃🙃🙃

But I really 🙃the fuck do not want 🙃to do that.

So now i have this sketch (on the ipad charging in another room)

And I ... will tackle it. Somehow.

Because FANART IS FREAKING AWESOME FOR LEARNING NEW THINGS AND PLAYING WITH NEW STYLES as zero money and zero “professional” expectations are riding on it. Fanart is like -- let’s just do shit and have fun no matter how it turns out because who cares! WHoo hoo!!! FUN IS FUN. (and learning is learning)

What I really want to do is find a GOOD watercolor brush pack for procreate.

What I will probably do instead is mess around with either a comic book inking style 

or 

A big strokes of bold colored paint (painterly mark making) style that uses “non-naturalistic” colors. (technically, there is no such thing as non-naturalistic colors because the color you see of anything is based heavily on the color of the light illuminating it).

[abri-chan]

How JOJo characters would ask for sex (lmao yep They have to ask).. idk part 5 part 1 part 2 part 3.. they ones you know

(just doing some not all characters, but let me know if there’s anyone I didn’t do they you’d like)

Jonathan: My friend who studies history used to joke that people would go roundabout when it came to sex. As in you couldn’t openly say you enjoyed it, because sex was seen as mostly for procreation. So wives would comment on the color of the ceiling?

So maybe he’ll say: would you like to comment on the new ceiling decorations?

but most likely: i would like for you to join me in my chambers.

Dio: I am pleased to tell you that you should be pleased to know, that I- Dio, am offering you the opportunity to sleep with I-Dio.

Vampire Dio doesn’t ask. It’s more hypnotic I think, and the person just doesn’t notice they have given in. Or if you’re Kakyoin: “wanna be friends?”

Speedwagon: gays don’t ask. but seriously how did they manage in the 1800s (i stil don’t know how to manage in this day and age). But maybe: would you like to join me this evening for some biscuits and tea and a game of cards?

Caesar: probably some poetic bullshit like “alas we can’t truly unite our hearts, but we must do with uniting our bodies”. He probably courted the person for a while with sweet talks and dinners.

Joseph: He has no tact so either “I want to fuck you.” or “Your next line is: I want to fuck Joseph.”

Stroheim: “Time to invade your vital regions.” (too soon? hetalia jokes)

Wammu: *shoves his dicc in you* I have grown found of this particular human. You would be happy to know that I have decided to have coitus with you. (first the ring inside, then consent, just ask Joseph)

(remember when he told Joseph, here’s a ring guess where it goes, not on your finger? oh boi)

Kakyoin: How many more missions until I collect the loot?

Jotaro: *being a tsundere mumbles something unintelligible. You ask what he said* Just fuck me already woman/man!

Avdol: similar to Speedwagon, asks your over for tea & relaxing at his place, maybe after the date. I think he would try to do a card-reading to gauge your interest, like the cards tell me you feel like taking risks today, or you are in high spirits. Then eventually just be straightforward the he would like to make love to you, and if you would like the same.

Yukako: has her bedroom set up all romantic, and if you look at her confused it would tell you it’s only natural that after dating for this long you take the next step in your relationship.

Okuyasu: I think this is the part where we are supposed to fuck.

Kira: My name is Yoshikage Kira. I'm 33 years old. My house is in the northeast section of Morioh, where all the villas are, and I am not married. I work as an employee for the Kame Yu department stores, and I get home every day by 8 PM at the latest. I don't smoke, but I occasionally drink. I'm in bed by 11 PM, and make sure I get eight hours of sleep, no matter what. After having a glass of warm milk and doing about twenty minutes of stretches before going to bed, I usually have no problems sleeping until morning. Just like a baby, I wake up without any fatigue or stress in the morning. I was told there were no issues at my last check-up. I'm trying to explain that I'm a person who wishes to live a very quiet life. I take care not to trouble myself with any enemies, like winning and losing, that would cause me to lose sleep at night. That is how I deal with society, and I know that is what brings me happiness. Although, if I were to fight I wouldn't lose to anyone. ---- Kira Queen has already touched that doorknob.

Mikitaka: probably some proposal on how he wishes to understand human anatomy better and can change into anything to make you reach what humans call an orgasm.

Bruno, Prosciutto, Mista, Illuso: take you on a date, then to their place. Only Bruno & Prosci take you to more expensive places. Mista would if he could afford it, Illuso doesn’t give a fuck. I feel they would ask in similar ways, only Bruno would be more romantic (make love), Prosciutto more direct (sleep with you), Illuso will say fuck, Mista will say make love but stutter.

Formaggio: is that guy that asks you in a bar and yes the bathroom stall.

Fugo: romantic like Bruno and even more polite... will stutter so much when he’s about to ask you, you’d actually have to step in and say: are you saying you want to sleep with me?

Narancia: *puts on some horny on main Prince song (not that hard to find one) and starts dancing. will let the lyrics do the talking*

Diavolo: King Crimson has erased the proposal. You are already fucking.

Melone: *starts singing that filthy frank song, while twerking:

Boku wa sekkusu daisuki

Itsumo sekkusu mainichi yaritai sekkusu

Chinko o manko ni iretai na

Ah kimochii na iretai

[jvnghxope]

dalliance (m)

one shot;

◦ pairing: Taehyung | reader

◦ genre: smut; vampire + vampire hunter au

◦ word count: 11.7k+

◦ warnings: mentions of blood, death, mild mentions of torture, vampiric compulsion, mature content, sexual themes, bitting kink, penetrative and unprotected sex (vampires and vampire hunters can’t procreate together!), slightly degradation, swear words, mentions of drug and alcohol consumption

◦ abstract: The Association sends you to your first mission alone and you encounter a Pureblood ⎯a race you believed were extinct⎯  who is in the mood to play. 

⇥ First installment of the In the Shadows universe

Now, you can read the next part here!

“Please tell me you didn’t go to that mission alone.”   

Namjoon’s voice sounds worried and angrier as time goes by.

You take a deep breath before opening your mouth. This is going to be hard.

“I did,” you reply carefully.

“___, what the hell!?”

You pull the cell phone off your head before he rips your ears.

“I’m sorry Joon but it was an order, from Jaebum personally,” you apologize. You know how he hates when you go on missions without him. “It’s not like I could say no.”

“Well, Jaebum can suck my ass. Why did he send you to a mission like that?”

“Don’t worry, Joon. It’s just a patrol.” You try to soothe his anger. “I need to redeem myself after what happened last time.”

Namjoon groans from the other side of the line, “It’s not your fault you killed the witness. He attacked us first. You saved my life.”

“I know,” you can’t help but sigh, remembering everything that went wrong that night. “I should have just immobilized him, not killed him. I should have controlled my emotions better than that. I panicked.”

“Our job is to hunt and kill vampires. Why are they making a fuss?” he mumbles and you don’t need to see him to know he is frowning. You know your best friend that well.

“Don’t worry. It was my mistake. I need to fix it. The Association just want me to watch. A bunch of vampires around humans could not end well. Everything will be fine,” you assure him.

“There’s nothing fine when it comes to vampires. Where are you, anyway?”

“In a club. One called Pandemonium.” You look around you, “I see it is pretty popular among shadoworlders.”

“Pandemonium? I don’t know… I’ve never heard of it. But what if you cross with a Pureblood?”

“I don’t think so, Joon.” You ease his nerves. “In our whole life as a hunter, how many times have you seen a Pureblood? None.”

“Not because you haven’t seen one means they don’t exist,” he comments in a stern voice. “You must have called me.”

He sounds beyond frustrated and you feel a knot of embarrassment forming in the pit of your stomach.

“I'm sorry. I didn't want to burden you. I know you had a difficult time with that pack of wolves a week ago, adding to the injuries that bloodsucker did to you... This is just a routine patrol. I promise.”

He sighs, “Fine. But call me if something happens, okay? At least you have Bloody Rose with you, right?”

“Well, about that…" you start.

“What?”

How can you explain this without get him really angry? “I… They… took it from me as a part of the… punishment…”

You expect him to yell, swear or at least say something. But he doesn’t say a thing. Not even a single word. The other line is dead. You even check your phone.

“Hello? Joon?”

And then: “I swear ___, if I don’t know anything about you in the next 12 hours, I’m going to that club and kill every fucking bloodsucker that gets on the way.” And he hangs up.

Well, that went better than expected.

You wave your hand, calling the bartender. “A shot of tequila, please!”

You eye the party for the first time since you arrived. When Jaebum, the current head of the Association, told you that you'll go alone to a patrol, you felt anxious. It’s the first time you go on a mission alone. Plus, you don’t have Bloody Rose, your personal anti-vampire weapon, tucked on your back like always. You feel kind of… naked without her.

No. There’s no need to feel nervous about it. You are one of the best Hunters out there and a silver dagger placed strategically on your thigh gives the all the strength you need to continue.

You take a deep breath.

The truth is… this is not routine patrol. You didn’t want to tell Namjoon that because you don’t need to get more nervous than he already is.

The Association received some rumors of an illegal Feed Sistem. People are recruiting human ladies to escort and feed vampires. The human police found some dead bodies. All women and their veins empty. So the Association needed to step in before it gets worst. But before the chaos start, the need visual confirmation of the crime.

There is nothing wrong in vampires feeding of humans. Unless they kill them.

The club is owned by someone known as “Kim”. According to the Association records, the Kim Family is known as one of the Pureblood families. And nobody messes up with Pureblood vampires. But it is also true that nobody has seen a Pureblood in the last one hundred years to the point some of you believe they are extinct.

Your eyes wander around the room as you adjust your clothes. You see a lot of humans drinking, dancing, having fun. But you also have some glimpses of a few fairies, some werewolves, a warlock, and vampires. The members of the Shadow World enjoy spending their time around humans because they find them fascinating. This kind of clubs are one of the fewest opportunities they have to interact with them because every human in this party has enough alcohol and pixie dust in their system they don't even notice that the true skin color of that fairy is green or that witch over there has thornes as hair.

You are a Hunter. One of the best of your kind. One of the fewest when it comes to gender. Bloodsuckers are your specialty. You could kill one with only a small silver dagger. That’s the reason why the Association sent you. Is either that or the fact that you screwed your last mission.

You are not like the other members of the Shadow World. You appearance resembles the most to a human, but you are not a human either. The powers were granted to your kind by a warlock many years ago. You are like a bridge between both worlds, your job is to maintain peace.

Your eyes return to the spot where you saw the vampires the last time. Part of the training in the Academy is to recognize vampires. They have pretty unique characteristics, each one of them just as lethal.

All vampires look the same: all cockiness and long legs, smooth hair and greek-like sculpted face. They look mesmerizing without even trying. That is what you hate the most about vampires: they look like models that just ended a photo shoot. They need to look good to attract their prey, they say.

“Are you looking for someone in particular?”

The bartender draws your attention, placing your drink in front of you. “Excuse me?”

“Seconds ago. It seemed like you were looking for something or someone...” he trails.

Shit.

“I… No. I was just… Nothing.”

Wow, this is the first time you go on a mission alone and you already broke the first rule: don’t blow your cover.

“You should be careful with whom you let your cover fall, vampire hunter. Not everyone understands the true purpose behind your duty,” he comments with a wink.  

What?

A million questions start to flood your mind: Is he a Hunter too? Did Jaebum send him to watch over you? Doesn’t he trust you to do the job?

Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe you’re not ready to deal with this type of mission alone.

As if he reads minds, the bartender chuckles softly, showing his fangs in the process –totally on purpose. You know vampires can hide their fangs if they want to. Serves well when they don’t want to scare humans while they are seducing them.

He’s a vampire.

You stare, dumbfounded. How could you not see it? Now, you can see the signs. Sun-kissed, porcelain-like skin, lean body, enhanced beauty that makes you want to stab your eyes or worship his altar.  Or both.

You clear your throat, “Hey, vampire.” You call him. He moved to the other side of the bar, making a mojito mixed with pixie dust for a fairy with blue skin. You know even when he has his eyes fixed in the task in hand, you have his full attention. “I'm here with official matters of the Association. I aim no harm. You better don’t blow my cover. I appreciate your cooperation.”

His shoulders move when he chuckles but nods nonetheless. You don't enjoy the fact that the success of your mission is in a vampire’s hands but you don't have another choice.

With a sigh, you take your shot in one gulp and stroll around the club. The group of vampires you saw earlier are in the corner and surrounded by humans.

Blood Sluts, perhaps?  

You suddenly feel sick.

A ‘blood slut’ is a very vulgar term for both male and female humans that trade their body in exchange for a bite from a vampire. A vampire’s bite is high in endorphins and its effects in a human body are close to as that of any drug. It's super addictive and dangerous. That's why the Association is not happy. Vampires are using humans as their personal blood bag and killing them in the process.  Well, they assume.

With a new wave of determination, you kick in your plan.

How to attract and kill a vampire 101.

First, draw his attention. You need to act like a normal human. And what normal humans do in a club? They dance. So, you stroll towards the dance floor. High heels, a dress that sticks to your body like a second skin, you don’t miss the opportunity to walk in front of the group of vampires. As you wander your eyes, one of them gives you the other thing you needed: eye contact. Besides, it is practically impossible for him to go unnoticed with his bright red hair in a sea of brunettes and blondes.

There's something different about him. At first glance, he's like any other bloodsucker: deadly handsome. But when you look more closely, you notice how he is surrounded by people. Vampires and humans and his demeanor is more… powerful.

The vampire’s eyes are fixed in you the whole time and you don’t lower your gaze like most of the humans do. You are not intimidated by him. And he loves it. And then, you smirk before turning your back completely at him and keep walking. The floor, your personal runaway.

The moment you finally arrived at the dance floor, the DJ (conveniently for you) changed the trance music to a more EDM kind of music. The type you can dance. You know your plan is working the moment a pair of strong arms snake around your waist just a couple of minutes after.

You don’t have to turn around to know is the vampire. There are not a lot of male humans here, most of them besotted with fairies or female vampires.

You don’t push him apart, even when you want to. No. You need him to take the first step, for the sake of the mission. So, you keep dancing, with a creepy —and most certainly handsome, vampire attached to your back whom only wants to drain your veins empty. You lose count of the songs the two of you dance, your Hunter nature giving you the opportunity to keep up with his stamina. You hope his mind is clouded enough with booze and blood-lust to notice. He is not a bad dancer, either, and to your surprise, you found yourself enjoying dancing with him a little.

“Do you want something to drink?” the vampire finally whispers against your ear, once the nth song finishes in the massive club speakers. His breath against your bare skin sending shivers down your spine and not in a good way.

You don’t enjoy the idea of having your neck fully displayed for him, so you turn around. “Sure.”

His hand, a little too cool to the touch despite the fact that it has been attached to your waist for the last hour, takes one of yours and leads you to the bar. He orders two drinks to the bartender from earlier, to your dismay.

Now, without all the stroboscopic lights and up close, you understand why humans get besotted that easy. He’s gorgeous. Electric red and smooth hair, chiseled jaw, blue eyes. Probably contacts. Everything about him screams perfection and danger. Humans only see the perfection. You’ve been inside the Shadow World enough time to know beautiful equals lethal more often than not.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks with a smirk once he passes you your drink.

Maybe a little too much. Instead, you giggle and take a sip of your drink. It tastes sweet. Like grapes and something more, something you can’t quite pinpoint. It warms your belly right away. His eyes are fixed in you like he is waiting for your reaction. Does he put something on your drink? Is that their MO?

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

Being trained to be undercover, your fake name rolls off your tongue pretty easy. “Sewon”. You've said it a lot of times that feels natural. Like a second name. You take another sip and the warmth inside you spreads deliciously. “What about you?”

He leans, “Why don’t you come with me and find out?” He whispers to your ear.

“Go where?”

“Somewhere we could do something fun” he offers with a smirk, the kind of smirk that show his fangs a little. Is he trying to scare you? Maybe he thinks you don’t understand what your eyes see. Most of the humans doesn’t. The clear example is in front of you: humans are dancing with fairies and not freaking out. Maybe the pixie dust is helping a little.

“Ok… Sure.” A part of you know is a bad idea being alone with a vampire, but you are pretty sure you could take him down in case something goes wrong. Plus, if you want the mission to succeed, you need visual confirmation of the crime to bring the Association. So, after finishing your own drink, you follow him through the crowd.

There’s a small corridor next to the bathrooms with a wooden door. It’s kind of hidden due to the scarce illumination but you facepalm internally. Know your surroundings in case you need to escape. Another rule you broke in the span of an hour.

The vampire urges you inside before you can even think it properly and closes the door behind you, muffling the music. The hallway looks nothing like the club. Where the club is all modern furniture, lights of all colors and a mass of sweaty bodies, this part of the building feels like you just entered another century. High walls, classy wallpaper, mahogany doors, and enormous chandeliers, the dim light providing just enough for your eyes to get used to your surroundings.  

He leads you through the corridor and opens one of the wooden doors. Once you are inside the room, you take your time to wander around. It is an office. There’s a massive desk with leather seats in the corner. There's a small bar on the left side. Bookshelves occupy all the right wall in its entirety and there are some couches where people can lay down and read comfortably. When you have all the time in the world, books are a good company, you suppose.  

“So, what's vampire hunter doing in my club?”

You consider yourself an ace when it comes to walking in high heels, plus you have enhanced agility and reflexes. But after those words coming from the vampire’s mouth, you find yourself tripping over your shoes.  

“What?”

He lets out a dark chuckle like the situation is so funny. Is he for real?

“I-...  Did you know all this time? Is that the reason why you gave me Pixie dust?” Now that you think of it, that’s why the drink he ordered earlier tasted different, sweet.

“I had my suspicions,” he replies, purring an amber liquid in two small glasses. If he thinks you are going to accept something coming from him again, he’s crazy. Plus, alcohol doesn’t work on vampires, so you don’t know why does he even bother. “Your face was new to me. I know Vampire Hunters tend to hide their scent when they go on missions, so I couldn’t trust my nose. Pixie dust was my last... resource.”

Is that so? Most of the humans enter into a euphoric-like state under Pixie dust consumption. The effects can reassemble to the ones of a vampire bite, but the difference is that any can consume it and fall under its effects. Obviously, the effects may vary. You discovered a couple of years ago that Pixie dust doesn’t affect you that much: it dulls your senses for a very short period of time.

A vampire’s bite only affects humans. Or that is what the Academy told you.

“Why am I here, vampire?” you ask sternly, your ego slowly getting hurt.

“You tell me. What does the Association want here? Did someone break your precious law?” he teases with a smirk.

“Don’t mock the law in front of me, vampire. You are maybe too young to understand-”

“I was there,” he deadpans.

“What?”

“I was there the first time they signed the Accords,” he repeats.

You stare at him, dumbfounded. No, that’s not possible. Because if he is telling the truth, that means he is more than 500 years old…

“Wait. Didn’t your Academy never teach you how to recognize a Pureblood vampire? Or maybe you are not that brilliant…”

Pureblood. Your eyes go wide in realization. Namjoon was right. Your stomach drops and your blood runs cold. What are the odds that in your first alone mission you encounter a Pureblood? A lot, it seems.

You try so hard to remember everything about Purebloods. The books say they are stronger and more powerful than regular vampires and they have another type of skills. Plus, they are kind of immortal. Well, you guess you'll put the last one to the test.

As smoothly as you can, you slowly retrieve the silver dagger from its confines in your thigh, enjoying the way his smirk vanishes at the sight.

Pureblood vampires are dangerous. That's what the Academy taught you. Why are you not running for your life? You may ask. Well, adrenaline does wonders in situations like this and, as you watch him, he doesn’t look much different as many of vampires you have fought. And if you indeed try and run, he would catch you almost instantly.

“Silver daggers don’t hurt us. I thought at least you knew that.”

He is leaning against the bar, all smug.

“Oh, I know that,” you didn’t. “I’m just wondering how much time would it take for you to heal from a stabbed heart,” you comment with a devilish grin, the dagger rolling expertly between your fingers.

By the way his jaw tightens, it is more time he wants to admit ‒just enough for you to escape from his grasp.

“Are you threatening me, little dove? Because that’s, actually, not a smart thing to do.”

You scrunch your nose at the pet name. Dove. He is definitely not from this century.

“It’s not a threat. It’s just a fact.”

“Well,” he starts, standing from his previous position on his desk and taking the glasses with him. “If we are talking about facts, then tell me what the Association wants with my club.”

He offers you one of the glasses, one that you are reluctant in accepting. The dull in your senses are completely fading by now. You need every advantage you have now that you know you are dealing with a vampire with more than 500 years of existence. When you don't accept it, he leaves the glass behind at the bar.

“You don’t need to know, vampire. The Association only needs your… cooperation.”

You can’t help but notice how close he is getting to your personal space. “Is that so?” he hums. A dark expression tints his inhumanly handsome features like he doesn’t enjoy the feeling of being unnecessary. “I guess I could use compulsion and make you tell me.”

You don’t know why but your heart starts to pound nervously.

Thump thump thump.

He can hear it, of course. The wicked smirk that spreads across his face doesn’t go unnoticed. You scold yourself internally because as times goes by, you keep breaking the rules. Never show weakness or vulnerability in front of anyone.

Compulsion doesn’t work on Hunters. That's a fact you have believed and lived with your whole life and you are probably not the only one. Nonetheless, it is also true that there are not a lot of Hunters that crossed paths with a Pureblood before. But the handsome vampire in front of you, with his 500 years of existence, had certainly crossed paths with some Hunters. You need to take his words with caution. Maybe he wants to get under your nerves.

"Compulsion doesn't work on me," you warn. He doesn't care. He is willing to try. “Using Compulsion in an official matter of The Association is illegal, vampire.” You try once again, narrowing your eyes. “How sounds an eternity in prison?”

“They’ll never know. I can compel you to forget.” He says, taking slow steps towards you. Like a predator cornering his prey. “I can compel you to tell me everything, even your deepest secrets, and compel you to forget everything. You’ll not remember a thing.”

You are not at your best right now. He knows that. Pixie dust is still running in your veins, weakening you.

He is so close by now, his cool breath tickling your hairline. His presence is slowly overwhelming you, making you feel giddy. What is wrong with you?

“Vampire-”

“Shhh,” he presses one of his slender fingers against your lips. “Stop calling me ‘vampire’. I have a name, you know?” One you don’t need to know, right? “‘Vampire’ is so… impersonal.”

“Oh, yeah, because you are a person,” you whisper back.

You don’t understand what is going on. It’s like his mere presence intoxicates you. Never, in your life as a Hunter, you have hated your enhanced senses as you did now. His cologne and aftershave make you feel dizzy. Does he showers in that shit or what?

You make eye contact then and it's probably the worst idea you had all night.

There is something odd in the way he is staring at you. Looking up close, he’s even more handsome. With his smooth, red hair hovering above his eyes, long eyelashes, chiseled jaw… It is almost painful to watch. Like staring at a supernova… Suddenly, you feel the cold metal of the dagger slipping away from your hand...

Wait.

As you slowly come to your senses, you notice the dangerous position you put yourself through. Somehow, he managed to snake his arm around your waist once again, pulling your body closer and his hand now cupping your face. His thumb is caressing your cheek, something that feels utterly foreign and familiar at the same time. He is getting closer, his lips almost touching yours and his other hand taking the dagger away from you...

“What are you doing!?”

You push him away, hard. He lets out a yelp of surprise, not expecting that amount of force coming from you. Your fingers tighten around the dagger and you accidentally cut him when you jank the weapon away from him. You hear him wheeze. The cut heels pretty quickly, much to your dismay.

“I compel you to give your dagger” he coos, shrugging. “I must say I’m impressed.”  

You are just as frightened as you are angered. “What do you mean?”

“You broke the compulsion,” he explains. “You were able to walk out of it. Almost instantly. You are not the first one, no. But you did it faster. You have a strong mind,” he states. “I’m impressed.”   

You are not sure what you are supposed to say. Thank you?

“What about-?” you are not able to continue but your fingers brush against your lips, mind flooding with memories of him being at a kiss reach…

“What? Are we shy now?” he mocks. “I’m not the one who allured you to come to me. I was pretty fine back there until you seduce me with your pretty, naughty eyes. Like a fucking siren. And can bet I’m not the only vampire you have allured to your claws and end up dead or locked up in the hands of the Association.”  

You clutch your hands into fists because he is telling nothing but the truth. Your MO most of the time is like that: seduce the vampire to come to a dark alley or to a hidden room where Namjoon is waiting to help you. You are not proud of it. Use your body like that. But you get the job done. Each day you go out to work, fewer monsters are out there killing innocent people.

That is what helps you sleep at night.

“And what was the point?” you ask. “Compel me to kiss you as some sort of payback for what I did with other bloodsuckers?”

He tsks, “Perhaps. But let’s be honest here.” He points at himself. “You’d be honored to grace this lips.”

You ignore the way he licks his lips lasciviously and winks at you (your breath didn’t hitch at that, of course…).

You snort. “You are so full of yourself, vampire. You probably kiss like an old man.”

“Like an old man?” he chuckles. “You are just trying to hide the fact that you are attracted to me.”

“Attracted to you? Please. I was happy dancing alone. You are the one who approached first.”

“Yeah. Like you didn’t want me to.”

It’s your turn to wink, “You are probably a vampire, but still a man and men are predictable.”  

Something glints in his eyes. A hunger you are not ready nor want to dwell right now. You need to focus on the goal you are supposed to be here.

“Ok vampire, we are getting off topic here-”

“Taehyung,” he interjects with a groan.

“What?”

“My name’s Taehyung. Kim Taehyung. Stop calling me ‘vampire’.”

“...Taehyung, so if you are not going to cooperate, I might just leave and find a vampire who’s willing to talk to me. Or I can just torture you to extract all the valuable information. Your pick.”

He presses his tongue against his cheek, pondering his options ‒it’s not like he has a lot. He is stronger than you, you both know that. But with your training, you have a pair of Aces under your sleeve. You are pretty sure he knows that, too. You are not the only Hunter he has had the misfortune to encounter and end up fighting. He knows what are you capable of.  

In a world where vampires and hunters get in constant fights to prove who’s stronger ‒and werewolves always getting into the mix, you know you need to play diplomacy if you want to get the mission done.  

Clicking your tongue in distaste, you put the dagger away and locking it in your thigh. You ignore the way his intense gaze follows every movement. You feel uncomfortable without the cool metal pressed against your palm. Vulnerable. Either way, you raise both hands, bare of any weapon, as a sign of temporary peace.

“I want to get out of here with every drop of my blood and you probably want your head still glued to your body. So…”

Something happened. Something changed. He is no longer looking at you with a mocking expression or like he wants to eat you whole and empty your veins in one gulp. His eyes softened and he looks vulnerable.  “Hey, vamp-Taehyung,” you call in a small voice, the air in the room suddenly becoming too thick to breathe. “Are you okay?”

For some sick reason, his mind drifted 300 years ago, in a time where everything he knew was long dresses, ballrooms, and masquerades. He doesn’t remember the last time he was that happy. He remembers the music, the way his feet felt after dancing all night with the girl of his dreams clasped between his arms. He remembers the agony when she fell in love with his best friend and not much longer after that, everything was tinted in crimson and pain.

It’s weird. You remind him of her.

The buried memories came clashing with the force of a train, shattering his heart in a million pieces once again. Shallow breaths come out of his mouth and he closes his eyes to calm his erratic heart. After it feels like forever, Taehyung flutters his eyes open (he didn’t notice when he closed them). Slowly, he is graced with the vision of you still standing in front of him. The confusion and fear in your eyes are what brings him from his daze, leaving the 1700’s behind and returning to the 21st Century just as quickly as he got back.

Taehyung doesn’t understand why his mind chose that moment to remember those things, memories that had been haunting him on his sleep.

He shakes his head, as if he could get rid of the memories that easily, and flashes you a charming smile. One that if you knew him, you’d notice it is completely fake.

“I’ll answer your questions,” he says. He lets his body sink in the soft cushions of his probably too expensive couch, suddenly mentally drained and tired.

It takes more than you’ll admit jumping into action. The pain in Taehyung’s eyes took you off guard. Until this day, the only pain you cared about was Namjoon’s –him being the only person you could call family. You didn’t take any other’s pain seriously. Especially vampires. You even enjoyed when they squirmed under you when you tortured them. How life left their eyes once you killed them. You don’t feel proud of it. But it was some sort of payback to you. For all the lives they took. For all the innocents they tortured in order to feed.

You always thought vampires were emotionless bastards with no respect for human life, even when some of them were humans at some point of their existence. But as you saw the suffering in Taehyung eyes, maybe you were wrong all this time. Maybe. It is the first time you feel compassion for another person than your friend, after all.

“Are you going to ask something or…?” he asks with a frown, his eyes following your every movement like he can read your thoughts. Can he?

You really need to stop embarrassing yourself in front of a vampire.

“Y-yes!” your voice comes out in a squeal.

You hate the effect he has on you. You consider yourself as a confident person, but right now you are a mess: all flustered and rosy cheeks. Not even a single, coherent sentence has left your mouth for the past couple of minutes. Namjoon would probably be embarrassed of you. You let yourself be intimidated by someone who doesn’t have God in their vocabulary.

“Come and sit with me,” his voice is strong, deep and clear and you feel your legs obediently moving forward. He motions the spot next to him but you chose the couch in front of him to keep your personal space and senses away of his allures and charms.  

“Let's do this: I'll answer your questions if you answer mine,” he offers once you're comfortable.  

You agree with a nod. What type of questions will he ask, though?

“Ok, then. The Association has a couple of homicide cases in their hands,” you start. You don’t want to lose more time. “Human ladies, their veins emptied. Are you breaking the Accords, Taehyung?”

His eyes grow wide and it would be comical if the situation wasn't that serious. He looks... surprised.

“For someone who claims to be a Pureblood and owner of one of the biggest clubs in town, you are clueless,” you click your tongue in disappointment.

His jaw tightens. “I can assure you. No human has been killed inside my territory. At least not by my men.”

You narrow your eyes, “How are you so sure?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m aware you don’t know a lot about us –or me in that case. You only know what they told you. You don’t need to know more.”

You press your tongue against your cheek because it’s true.

“I am different from other Purebloods because I can use compulsion in other vampires,” he continues. “So, I’m sure because they can’t physically disobey my orders.”

He what?

“I don’t believe you,” is all you can muster, taking mental notes with every bit of new information he is providing.

He snorts. “Why? Because I am a monster?”

One second, he is comfortably seated in the couch in front of you and the other, he is standing in front of you. He moved so fast. Not even with your good reflexes you were able to see him.

You’ll not be intimidated this time. “Yes. I don’t trust vampires.”

His eyes glint dangerously. A pair of crimson red eyes are fixed on you.

“Why do you hate us so much?”

He is hovering above you. You stand from the couch to be at his eye level.  

“Because you feed on humans. You kill innocent people in order to survive… That’s despicable.”

He takes another step closer to you. “I didn’t choose this, you know? I was born like this. I haven’t killed a single human for the past two hundred years.” He whispered the last sentence against your mouth, his cool breath caressing the sensitive skin of your lips and making you shudder involuntarily.

You take a step back, surrounding the couch to get a much-needed space to breathe. His eyes follow you.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because you are not better, dove. You claim to be nothing but good and impart justice with your bare hands but you’ve killed innocent people, too. Following orders from your precious Association.”

You shake your head, not believing what your ears just heard, “You are lying...”

“Am I?” There is a hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Does all your missions start with an interrogation?”

He is lying. You want to believe he is lying. No, of course not all your missions start with an interrogation. Most of the times, your orders are to hunt down someone and nothing else. That’s why you are so good: you follow orders, get the job done, don’t ask questions.

“I hunt down criminals, you hurt innocents. Of course I’m better than you-”

“Wait. Do you really think we hurt them?”

The sudden change in his behavior is slowly getting you off balance. Why the hell he is chuckling?

“Are you telling me you don't?”

“Well, that depends on your definition of pain,” he murmurs, frowning. “The bite can be painful for a couple of seconds, but then it is just a pleasurable experience for both parts.”

You snort, “Really? Are you expecting me to believe that shit feels good for humans?"

"Yes."

"You are gross," you wrinkle your nose. “So, what’s your MO?” You ask him before you can knock yourself some sense.

“What?”

“MO. You know… Modus Operandi?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “I know what MO is but I don’t understand what do you mean by that.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Well, I’ve been around a lot of vampires and each one of them has a different way of feeding. So, I was wondering how you do it…” your voice gets lower at his intense stare, the hint of a smile tugging his lips.  

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t.”

“Then, why you asked?” he counters.

“I-I don't know. I guess I was just curious. I’ve killed countless vampires, but I’ve never spoken with one. I didn’t think-”

“That not every vampire acts under their impulses? Don’t feel bad, dove. You are young and probably just encountered with newborns before. After the first 50 years, vampires learn how to control their blood lust and only feed when is absolutely necessary.”

50 years!?

“W-when was the last time you fed?” you can’t help but ask.

You know vampires can control the color of their eyes willingly. That ability becomes a way more difficult when they are angry or extremely hungry. And now, a pair of crimson red eyes have been fixed in you for the past hour.

He notices your discomfort. “Do my eyes make you feel uncomfortable?” he asks in a low voice, sending shivers through your spine, not for the first time in the night.

The color is not a problem. Is the intensity behind them. It’s like he is waiting for the perfect moment to kill you. Well, at least the feeling is mutual.

“So, your MO?” you ask, choosing to ignore his previous question.

He takes the last gulp of his glass to hide his smile. Somehow, he finds you adorable. “Purebloods doesn’t have to feed as often as normal vampires or newborns,” he explains. “I like to give something in return to my victims. I am very… picky with them. I like to choose well. I like beautiful ladies with sweet blood.”

“Do you use compulsion on them?” you narrow your eyes.

He nods, “Most of the time. They freak out when they see the fangs more often than not and it is more pleasurable for them if they are not fighting against it. Now, my turn. How did you hide your scent?”

“I…” you are not sure if it is a good idea to reveal this type of secrets to a vampire. They are your enemies, after all.

He notices your cold feet in a heartbeat. “You promised. Doesn’t a hunter have an honor code or something? I must say, I’m disappointed.”

“The magic community is our ally. I made a warlock friend to put a smell on me. Okay?” you muster before he can continue with his dramatic antics. He really knows how to get under your nerves. You hate it. “Does compulsion works in anyone?”

He snorts. Never in your life you heard a vampire’s snort. “You hunters are always curious about that,” he says with a chuckle. “Essentially, in every human. Some of them are more perceptive and the compulsion works better on them. It depends immensely on how strong their mind and will-power is. Another factor in the equation is the age of the vampire. The elder the vampire, the stronger the compulsion. Maybe the reason you hunters believe compulsion doesn’t work on you is that you surround yourselves with newborns,” he makes a tsk sound with his tongue.

"Okay, okay. Fine. Get over it," you muster, waving your hand. "We already established you are a super-duper powerful vampire. Besides, you cheated."

He makes a sound of surprise, "I cheated?"

You nod, "You had the pixie dust on your side."

"Are you telling me that I drugged you with pixie dust to use compulsion in you because otherwise, it wouldn't work?

You shrug, a hint of a smile tugging your lips. "Your words, not mine. You said I had a strong mind. Imagine what would happen if I wasn't under the effects of pixie dust. Maybe it wouldn't work. So, can we continue with the interrogation?"

He ignores your question, “If you are so sure, let me try again.”

There is something in his eyes that doesn’t let you say no. You stroll towards him with a bored expression. “Fine. But do it quickly. I don’t want to waste more time with you.”

And then, you feel how the air shifts around you. He stays silent, his eyes glued on your face and nothing else. You barely notice how your heartbeat quickens in your ribcage. You make yourself busy admiring one of the old paintings embellishing the room, doing everything you can to not make eye contact even when every fiber of your body screams look at him.

“Dove, look at me.”

Slowly, you turn your head until your gaze meets his. A pair of chocolate brown eyes are looking at you, the crimson red completely vanished. Taehyung is no longer the ravenous vampire he was just a few minutes ago. His expression softened. It is almost gentle. He reminds you of someone but you can’t exactly remember who. Maybe someone from another life.

“Come here,” he commands, honey dripping from his tongue. His voice is no longer harsh. “Give me your hand.”

You do as he asks, taking the last steps until he is at a hand-reach. He outstretches his palm as an invitation and you quickly accept it, sliding your fingers against the cool skin of his hand. A jolt of electricity ran up your arm and ended in your toes. By the way his eyes go wide slightly, you know he felt that too. You want to yank your hand away but your arm doesn’t follow the order your hazy brain desperately sends.

You suddenly move forward, Taehyung tugging you closer. A gasp comes out of your lips when he kneels in front of you.

“W-what are you-?”

Your words are interrupted when his slender fingers start caressing the bare skin of your leg. You let out a sigh at the feeling. His hands move slowly along your skin, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches when his hands start massaging the soft skin of your thighs… and his movements come to a halt when Taehyung finds what he is looking for: your dagger. He retrieves it from you thigh pocket carefully and tosses it to the floor. It is kind of funny how a powerful vampire as himself is afraid of a tiny silver dagger.  

As your eyes linger on his face, you can’t shake the feeling of familiarity that washes over you. “Have we met before? I think I’ve seen your face before…”

A sad tiny smile appears on his lips, “I met someone a long time ago. You look… alike.”  

His hands are still roaming your body until they fall comfortably on your waist. You reach forward, using your hand to touch his jaw with curiosity. He goes stiff once your fingers touch his skin but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his arms snake around your waist and tugs you tighter.   

“Keep going,” he encourages you and now you use both hands to explore his face with your fingertips. He lets out a sigh at the light touch against his skin.

“We’ve been here before,” rather than an ask is an affirmation. A sense of Deja Vu numbs your senses as flashes start to cloud your mind. You stare at him with wide eyes. “Is it possible?”

He flutters his eyes open. “I don’t know,” he chokes, the same pain you saw before tinting his factions, his facade is slowly crumbling before him. “You look like her, you feel like her… But at the same time, you are different. It is confusing…”

“I don’t know what-”

Before you can continue, he presses his lips against yours. It takes a whole 5 seconds for you to understand what is happening. He is kissing you, stealing a gasp of your throat. You break the kiss almost instantly.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“Excuse me. I…”

Taehyung, in his 500 hundred years of existence, has mastered to hide his feelings, don’t letting them control over his actions. Only one person managed to watch directly into his soul, to break the facade it took him several years to build… and the vivid image of her is standing in front of him.

“You remind me of her.".

"Did you loved her?"

"With all my life," he replies without hesitation.

"What happened?"

His eyes darkened at the question. "He took her from me."

Your heart drops at that. "I'm sorry…"

Maybe it is the pain in his eyes. Maybe is the sudden urge you have to make him feel better. But now, you are the one that starts the kiss.

He welcomes the gesture with open arms, pulling you closer (like it was possible) as your arms snake around his neck. The kiss is slow and nothing like you've experienced before. His lips are warm and he tastes a little bittersweet, like whiskey. He really is a good kisser. But then again, he had a couple of centuries of practice.

The sensation of deja vu overwhelms you again and another gasp comes out. Taehyung takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and slides his tongue into the seam of your mouth, exploring the crevice like a starved man.

The room moves around you and a second after he's sitting in the couch and you are straddling his lap.

"Fucking enhanced vampire speed," you mumble and he chuckles against your mouth. He keeps kissing you, massaging the nape of your neck and playing with the strands of your hair. Kissing Taehyung is intoxicating and you can't get enough of it.

It feels like forever when he finally moves from your swollen lips and starts kissing your jaw, moving down to meet your neck, the fruit of his desire.

"It is said that a hunter’s blood is one of the most exquisite things for vampires out there." His nose lingers in your neck, caressing the sensitive skin. "God, you smell amazing. I can only imagine how you taste."

“Feeding on a hunter is illegal,” you warn him.

“Do you even know why is illegal?” he inquiries, pulling just slightly to look up at you. You shake your head. “To protect my species.”

“Ok, you are telling me the Association made feeding on hunters illegal to protect your species?” you scoff. “Right…”

“We were cursed,” he explains. “The most delicious blood out there is also toxic. It can kill us if we consume enough amount.”

You smirk at that, lazily. “You are aware you are giving this information to a hunter, right?”

“Yes,” he muses. “I am aware. But you will not use this information against us, dove.”

And then he proceeds to attack your neck once again, alternating open-mouthed kisses with love bites, soothing the marks with his tongue.

“How does the bite feels like, anyway?”

Your question takes him off guard. “It definitely doesn’t hurt that much. And as I said before, it can be very pleasurable for both parts. I can prove it to you,” he whispers the last sentence, the decision already made. Before your hazy mind can digest what he meant with his words, his fangs sink in your flesh in one fluid motion. You let out a gasp because it is not what you’ve imagined. You thought it would be messy and painful and gore.

It is painful, yes, but not that painful ‒your pain threshold increased with time and previous injuries (you are not going to lie, a hunter’s life doesn’t leave you scarless)‒ and it vanishes as time goes by.

It is definitely not messy. The only injuries he has caused the ones in your neck. Taehyung is even holding you gently, not using his vampiric force to keep you from moving. Not like he needs to, though. Because there is the bliss. A happy, joyful sensation consumes you. It is like nothing can go wrong in this world. The euphoric state the bite puts you through explains why humans enjoy this so much. The effects are perhaps stronger in them. It is a weird sensation. You feel strong enough to destroy a wall with a single punch…

The bliss decreased in power as Taehyung pulls away, soothing the bite with his tongue to help with the healing process.

“Yep,” he half moans. “You definitely taste better.”  He licks the reminiscent of your blood on his lips and the gesture would be twisted and disgusting for you if your mind wasn’t clouded with endorphins. Perhaps that’s the reason why, when he pulls you again to press his lips against yours, you don’t fight against it. Is either that or the fact this time he used his vampiric force to push you closer. Not that you mind, though. You are just as eager.

The kiss escalated pretty quickly this time, your fingers finding and tugging the locks of his hair, harshly, as your tongues dance together in a shared sloppy kiss. The combination of his skillful mouth and the endorphins make you lightheaded. A warmth starts to spread across your body, lingering in your lower belly. Unconsciously, you start to rock your hips against his to alleviate the delicious pain that starts to grow between your thighs.

Taehyung groans against your lips, “Dove, you are driving me crazy.”

You chuckle, moving your kisses toward his jaw and giving small bites to the soft skin of his neck. You know, as a vampire, he heals quickly. So you use all the force you can muster to give him some hickeys (or try, by any means) as a payback for the unwanted but surprisingly appreciated bite.

You don’t know what you love the most: the sound of his heavy breathing and soft moans that you elicit from his beautiful mouth or the sound of metal against metal when you train with blades with Namjoon back at the Association.

Probably both.

As time goes by, this is just not enough. The kiss gets sloppier. The hip thrusts get harder. You just want more.

"Taehyung," you whisper, tugging his earlobe with your teeth. "I need you."

His eyes are an interesting combination of brown and red, both of the colors blended beautifully. He doesn't answer. Instead, he stands up, carrying you like you weigh nothing. He makes you wrap your legs around him and a second after, you are in a bedroom. You feel like a joke of a hunter, once again not realizing there was another room.

There is not time to dwell on your failure because Taehyung lets you fall in the mattress, his eyes raking your body hungrily.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes," there is no hesitation in your voice.

Your bruised lips rejoined not long after that, your back falling flat on the bed as his body hovers over you. The kiss is a way different than the others you exchanged before. It is softer and more… hesitant. Languid. Like he wants to take his time with you. He is immortal, so time is not something he needs to worry about. He has all the time in the world. His large hands start massaging your tender skin, starting from your breasts, going down your waist, thighs and finishing his journey on the heaven between your legs.

“Oh,” he murmurs against your mouth when his fingers get in contact with your now drenched panties. “You are ready for me and I haven’t touched you properly yet.”

“And what are you waiting for?”

With a smirk and nose snuggling in your neck, Taehyung pushes your panties aside and runs his index finger along your slit, teasingly. He pulls away, taking his hand to his lips, sucking dry his digit and moaning, “Is it possible that this tastes sweeter than your blood?”

“I-”

He hums, “Let’s find out.”

Swiftly, he rips your dress off your body, the piece of cloth tearing easily between his strong fingers.

“Hey!” you cry out. “That was my favorite dress! You owe me a new one.”

“Worth every penny,” he grumbles, tossing your dress ‒now torn into shreds‒ to the floor.

Dude, you really loved that dress…

Your trail of thought is interrupted as a groan echoes around the room, Taehyung drinking at the sight of your body in full display for him. Well, almost. The only things still attached to your frame are your now probably ruined panties, your favorite pair of thigh weapon-holder (one is holding your cell phone and the other had your silver dagger) and your thigh-length boots.

“Wow,” he exhales. “You are so sexy. I could happily fuck you like this.”

A soft whimper comes out of your mouth at his words.

Taehyung reaches your right leg, unzipping your boot slowly and caressing the newly exposed skin. The feeling of his tender almost feather-like touch against your warm flesh send jolts of electricity flying directly to your core.

Why is he taking so damn long?

He repeats the agonizingly slow process with your other leg, enjoying the way you squirm under his ministrations. He even takes his time sliding your feet out of your socks. Jerk.

“Oh, dove,” he coos. “A little impatient, are we?”

“Fuck you.”

He grins. “Not yet, love.”

“You better not tear those apart,” you warn him once his fingers reach your weapon-holders. “Or I will definitely kill you.”

“Fine,” he accepts. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Wait, what are you-?”

Taehyung is getting so close to your leg that you fear what he might do and of all the options you had in mind, this was not definitely one of those: as tender as he can, he is slowly sliding the weapon-holder down your leg… with his teeth. Like one of that old stuff humans did on weddings. One thing for sure, it is one of the sexiest things you have ever seen.

He does the same with both weapon-holders, taking extra care with your phone only because you glared at him once his fingers were wrapped around the dispositive.

The panties stay in their place, much to your surprise. He runs his hands along your now bare legs, opening them wide as he places himself in between. He lays his body on top of yours as he reaches your lips once more. You respond quickly, using both hands to hug him closer. Your fingers find their way in his hair, tugging his locks every now and then when he starts to buck his hips into yours. It is at a particular firm thrust that your hands fall to his back and you notice he is still fully dressed.

Two can play this game.

His body grows stiff above you as the sudden sound of his dress shirt being torn cuts the air, receiving the same treatment as your dress. You let out a sigh at the sensation of his skin against yours.

He continues his ministrations, kissing his way down your body. He nips the skin of your neck and collarbones, stealing your breath away. A gasp comes out of your lips when his lips attached to your breast, his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud. You cry out his name at the feeling of him giving you small bites and Taehyung groans in appreciation.

A whine comes from your mouth when he leaves your chest, mouthing his way down your sternum to your belly button –your neglected breast (and nipple) aching for the attention they didn't get.

When his mouth finds the hem of your panties, he pulls away to gauge your reaction and some sort of asking permission. He only needs the nod of your head to slide, finally, the panties away.

Placing his warm hands on your knees, he opens your legs wider. Your chest moves up and down as your breath becomes shallow. Blood runs up to your cheeks as he analyzes the most intimate part of your anatomy. You feel exposed and vulnerable.

He starts peppering kisses down your thigh, getting closer where you need him most.

"Don't even dare bite down there, you perv," you manage breathlessly and he chuckles against your skin.

"You're no fun."

Any snarky reply you are planning to say is cut off when his tongue presses against your slit. Your body jumps reflexively, wrapping your legs around his neck to keep him in place as his lips pull your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves. His palm press against your hips to keep you steady.

"Fuck," you moan. "Yes. Keep going."

He hums against your flesh, sending vibrations all over your body. Taehyung eases a finger inside of you, curling the digit inside your walls. The sensation has you mewling. Your body arches when he adds other finger, digits scissoring in your insides to stretch you out. The knot inside your belly starts to tighten as the combination of his tongue around your clit and his fingers inside of you becomes overwhelming.

"Are you going to cum for me, dove?" He asks, pupils blown with lust, once he feels your insides twitching and tightening around his fingers.

"I-I'm close… ah…"

Your chest heaves uncontrollably as you feel your release approaching. Taehyung attacks once again your swollen bud, his fingers pumping in and out of you, filling the room with squelching sounds.

And just when the knot inside your belly is about to snap, his fangs buried in the skin of your leg, injecting a new wave of endorphins and pleasure through your veins. You fall over the edge. Sparks of electricity wash over you, numbing your senses. He only takes a few gulps of your sweet blood and soothes the injury with his tongue. Purrs of his name come out of your mouth. It is only when you cry due to overstimulation that he pulls his fingers out of you.

"You are a good girl, dove" he coos, sucking his fingers dry and his other hand massaging the skin of your legs apologetically. "And very, very, sweet."

"You are a jerk," you manage to murmur once you regained control of your body. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him towards you, your lips pressing together in a heated and desperate kiss.

"Don't you want to be inside of me, vampire?" You tease against his mouth, rocking your hips up to meet his.

He quirks an eyebrow. "What? Are you giving me permission, hunter?"

"Do it before I change my mind."

He doesn't need to be told twice. It only takes a few seconds (thanks to his vampiric speed) for him to get rid of his slacks and briefs. A hand wraps around his length to pump himself a few times before joining you in the mattress. He rubs his tip teasingly against your folds, coating the sensitive skin with your juices.

“Are you ready for me, dove?” he asks, voice raspy.

He only needs one nod to finally give in to you, pushing slowly, inch by inch, inside of you. You both sigh at the feeling of his member stretching you out, your walls hugging him like an old friend. He doesn’t move once he is fully seated inside of you, giving you some time to adjust to his girth. It doesn't take much time and soon you become desperate.

“If you value your life, vampire, fucking move already!”

A smirk appears on his face. “Feisty and needy,” he remarks. “You are definitely a hidden treasure, dove.” But complies nonetheless, sliding out until his tip is only inside of you and pushing inside again in one silk motion that has both of you moaning.

He repeats the same movement a couple of times, making your toes curl. But you want more.

“Taehyung, faster.”

You press your heels against his lower back to make him go faster. You are used to being stronger than most of your partners. Most of them human.

Taehyung nuzzles your neck, biting occasionally but not with enough force to pierce the flesh, as he quickens the pace of his hips against yours, building a steady rhythm. A vampire with a bite kink. What’s new?

You are not anything alike as other partners he has had.

When it comes to intimate relationships, he has always preferred humans over vampires. The laters only surrounded him because he was a pureblood. Not because they cared. The only perk of being with another vampire was that he could go as hard as he sometimes craved without worrying if they ended up killed if he was too harsh. Something he couldn’t afford when he was with humans. But he didn’t care. Humans are more fun to be around. And they are warm.

You are different. You are the best of both worlds: you are not as fragile as a human, but you are as strong as a vampire. And as he keeps pushing inside of you and as the warmth that your body provides embrace him, he hasn’t felt more alive.

In a particular hard hip thrust, he pushes your body upwards –your head bumping into the headboard with a loud thud.

"Offf... Can you just… be more careful!" You grumble. "Clumsy vampire…"

You even shove him away, with enough force for him to slide out of you. He shudders at the loss of you, your warmth, wrapped around him.

He chuckles at your scrunched nose, your hand rubbing your head as you seat in the bed. You look cute and he knows, thanks to the endorphins, you are overreacting.

"Don't be dramatic, dove." He mocks, tugging your body closer to his, flattening your back against the mattress and throwing your legs over his shoulders. "You are probably healing at this point."

"That's not-"

He pushes inside of you again, leaving you speechless, the new angle making him reach points inside of you that make your toes curl.

"Yeah, what were you saying?" he coos.

"You are… ah… so full of yourself,” you manage between moans. You find yourself sliding your hands against the mattress and your fingers curling to grip the silk bed-sheets to hold for dear life.

You know he is just as affected as you. There are pearls of perspiration embellishing his forehead and well… vampires don’t usually sweat.

“What? You can’t keep up with a hunter?” You ask as you squeeze your walls around his member making him groan, his fingers digging harshly in the flesh of your legs.  

“Don’t do that,” he warns.

“Do what?” you bat your eyelashes, all innocent.

“That,” he practically growls as your body repeats the movement in an involuntary reflex.

Something feral poses Taehyung, vanishing the last coherent thoughts he had and something more primal leading his actions. His fingers leave red marks as he holds your legs tighter. Hip thrusts become harder, the rolling of his hips inside of you hitting the right spots.

"Keep going," you mewl, encouraging him.

He enjoys watching your face contorted with lust and endorphins. Very much. You look beyond beautiful. The sight sparks something inside of his chest and either he doesn't want to address it or he is too distracted with the task in hand to even dwell about it.

Your moans become louder as he sets a new pace with his hips. At this point, you are clutching the sheets between your digits so tightly you are surprised it hadn’t torn by now.

“What would the Association say if they find out  their star hunter has a someone like me balls deep inside of her?” He asks, as he rolls his hips deeper and hits your G-spot deliciously.

“So ashamed,” you let out with soft moan.

“So ashamed,” he agrees. “So ashamed of you being a little slut for my cock.”

Your affirmation comes with a purr.

If it wasn't for the force of being a hunter provided, you probably wouldn't feel your legs by now.

"Are you close, dove?" He grunts.

You notice how his hip thrusts become sloppy with time, indicating he is getting closer to his own climax. He is probably old school (well, he has 500+ years after all…) and wants you to cum first.

“Yes,” a whimper comes out of your mouth as you feel the orgasm in your belly start to build for the second time in the night. He takes one of his fingers to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves furiously eliciting a cry from your lips.

Curses pour from his mouth as he keeps pushing inside of you. You tighten even more around him, making it harder to move. Taehyung's hips decrease in speed but not in force and soon, you are both gasping for air.

Fingers relentlessly rubbing your clit, hips slamming you in half… Everything becomes too much and you fall apart beneath him. Your back arches furiously as your orgasm washes over you. Taehyung's hips are relentless as he milks every drop of your release and chases his own. He doesn't last long though and soon he follows through, filling you up with his warm seed and collapsing on top of you.

And suddenly, everything is too much to handle: ragged breathing, ecstasy tickling every fiber of your body and the endorphins running in your veins… It is only when your body relaxes and your breath becomes even that you finally slide in the deep world of unconsciousness.

Your body feels… lighter. Like it is made of feathers.

You are lying down in a bed that is more comfortable and bigger than yours.

Where am I?

The silk duvet feels soft against your bare skin and you almost hum in delight. You don’t remember the last time you slept more than 6 hours straight. It was amazing.

As you slowly come to your senses, you notice the reason why you are awake.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Someone is banging the door as if their life depended on it.

With a groan, you move your limbs to stand from the bed. It takes you some time to maintain the balance, your legs feel like jelly, and a lot more to finally being able to stroll towards the door. You yank it open to find a very confused, very worried and very angry Namjoon.

“What?” you groan. The change from the fetal position you were at the bed has your stomach churning and your head pumping furiously. You don’t want nothing more than to lay down again.

“What happened to you?” he asks as he closes the wooden door behind him. “Are you okay?” His voice is tinted with concern as his eyes lay on your body and your intent to crawl back to the bed. "What happened with you calling in 12 hours?"

Your eyes move to his bothered figure. "What are you talking about?" Your voice comes hoarsely, surprising you both.

His eyes go wide. "The mission? Or did you just party all night? How much you drank?"

"Not that much," you reply to both of his questions.

"Then why are you dressed like that?"

"Like what?"

He motions your body with his eyes and you look down, your jaw dropping. You are wearing a baby doll, a fucking baby doll made of silk and lace and it's beautiful and it probably costs a whole month paycheck.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, walking towards you and cupping your head with his hands to examine your face. He hums in content when doesn’t notice any perceptible signs of harm on your skin. He examines your eyes then, frowning a little when he notices your pupils slightly widened in a room full of sunlight. “Do you remember what happened yesterday? Tell me how the mission went.”

You tell him everything that happened after he ended the call. He listens to you intently as his eyes keep scanning your body for injuries. His eyebrows crease into a frown at the mention of the pixie dust but stays quiet as you keep storytelling.

As time goes by, pieces of your story start to get blurry. It's like your mind, still a little hazy, can't recall some of the events of last night.

Then, Namjoon's eyes fall over the juncture between your neck and shoulder and you feel how your body tenses under his gaze. Your hand drifts upward to the spot where his eyes linger, the movement solely pulled by instinct. It is finally when your fingertips grace two tiny marks embellishing the skin of your neck that your eyes grow wide in realization. You have been trained to recognize those marks without a second glance your whole life and when your best friend’s expression hardens, you know you are right.

A vampire’s bite.

“Get dressed,” he barks. You didn’t realize there were spare clothes for you until they are thrown to your face. Courtesy of your friend. “We need to go to the Association. Now.”  

“Yoon,” you call. He is strolling around the room, mad, and with phone in hand. Probably telling the Association the status. “Namjoon,” you call him again. “I’m fine.”

“Fine? Fine? ___, you were attacked. Attacked. By a fucking bloodsucker. You understand that, right?” He shakes your shoulders to try to knock some sense into your hazy and confused mind. “Plus, you don’t seem to remember anything of last night. That means they used compulsion. The Association needs to know. We are not as immune as we thought.”

‘Maybe the reason you hunters believe compulsion doesn’t work on you is that you surround yourselves with newborns.’

“Okay”, you finally agree. “Leave the room so I can change.”

“Hurry,” he urges you while he opens the door. “Jaebum knows we’re going.”

You groan. Of course he is.

“Fine.”

But before he can close the door behind him, something that is stuffed in his fist draws your attention. “Joon, what do you have in your hand?

“Hmm?”

“Your hand.” You point the cream paper that he clustered between the fingers of his right hand in his outburst.

“Oh, it was with the clothes I found. A note.”

Something tingles in your spine. “Did you read it?”

“No.”

“Can I?”

He shrugs and hands it to you before heading out of the room, leaving you alone. The paper feels heavy against your palm, texturized and lush. Someone scribbled with black ink and the words handwritten with beautiful calligraphy will be printed to your mind for the rest of your days.  

Dove:

I hope you had fun last night. I'm sure I did. In all my existence I've never crossed pads with such fascinating vampire hunter as yourself. I definitely give you the opportunity to kill me next time.

Lots of love,

Kim Taehyung.