day 21

sooo this is less of my traditional shit and more Work Shit

but i did do it today so im counting it! the haunt where I work has been in talks about ideas for next season and i figured itd be helpful to get my own face chart sketched up and draw some looks to show the groupchat

but also let yall get a lil peek of the kind of stuff i get up to during october when im really busy and posting here less often!

Bloody Artistry (M) ~🥀

pairing: celeb! kim taehyung x journalist! reader; minor pairings: jungkook x reader, coworker jimin x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 8K

Summary: when the scrutiny of fame becomes too much, perfect kim taehyung finds his peace within a lavish bathroom located two blocks away from the nearest club, a corpse in the bed with him. the fans have never questioned his behavior, not when his company is much too good at cleaning up his mess to not have done it before, but when a reporter with too many questions threatens to break the peace he’s established, he finds himself in a tango with the devil that he can’t bring himself to want to break.

[Warnings: MURDER, death, literally Taehyung being a sick bastard 25/8 (but only in fiction), company corruption, violence, yandere themes, mentions of noncon smut (intoxication, mentions of being drugged, fingering), blackmail, obsession, stalking. EVERYTHING that happens in this fic is FICTION; plz don’t go busting nuts for serial killers]

A/N: Thank you to yoongissugarmommy for requesting this! Part 1 of a short series starring Taehyung. Was going to do smth similar to Lineage with him, but this has been staying in my drafts for too long (like i wrote most of this before I even wrote Lineage, which is why my writing for part of this is a bit different from my current one), and I feel like going a bit modern now to take a break from Lineage (taking a bit to write pt. 4 just because it’s the end of the main story). Thank you for 2.9k followers! We’re only less than 50 away from 3K which is so wild to think about; kisses and hugs to everyone who’s supported my work! 

“Today, in the studio, we have our nation’s golden boy, the first love of all of our viewers: Kim Taehyung. Everyone, please clap your hands for him!’’

The MC turned to grin at the audience as the audience cheered loudly; her glossy black hair swept down and framed her face delicately in perfect shiny strands. The lipstick that coated her unnaturally wide smile was a deep shade of red, stark against her pale white skin. Dressed in her primly pressed suit, she looked lovely, like a blooming rose, but as she turned to face the guest star, his presence seemed to easily outshine her own.

“Thank you for having me. It’s an honor to have an interview here and have an opportunity to see all of my lovely fans,’’ Taehyung’s deep voice rang out as he smiled in his heart-swooning way, flashing pure-white teeth handsomely in a carefully maintained and practiced way that made all the fans, both in the studio and watching from beyond a screen, unable to resist letting out shrieks and screams.

“Now, Taehyung-ssi, with a record-breaking album that topped the charts as soon as it came out and a modelling gig that sells out magazines faster than before, how does it feel to have really made it? It must stress you out. Any tips on how to relax?’’

Taehyung leaned back slightly in his seat, his smile flashing coy for a brief second before settling into a rehearsed contemplative expression. He shrugged his shoulders, letting them drop out, as he made a soft hmm noise.

“How I relax? It’s not that big of a deal, really, but that’s an interesting question to ask, noona,’’ Taehyung widened his eyes slightly, looking ever so much like the golden boy persona he had stickered upon his reputation,’’ When I’m really, really stressed, I like to play with Tannie, my dog, and eats lots of yummy food that my mom sends to me when I get stressed. Also, my manager Namjoon is a good person to talk to when I’m really stressed; he always knows what to do and say.’’ Taehyung tapped the tip of his nose lightly, scrunching his face in an expression that made fans coo in adoration. “I also like to think of my fans and read all the letters they’ve sent me. I saved all of my letters from my beloved fans since my debut, and I like looking through them.’’

“Hey, Kim Namjoon, fucking hurry up,” Taehyung hissed into the cellphone pressed against his flawless cheek,” My shoes are going to get stained at this point. You know blood is a pain to properly get out of letter.’’

“Were you at least careful this time? We don’t want rumors getting out,” Namjoon’s voice crackled over the receiver, barely a hint of emotion in his voice. The beeping and honking of cars on his side of the phone call signaled the rush his manager was making towards his location.

Taehyung huffed in agitation, clicking his tongue sharply in annoyance as he skimmed his nails for any trace of dried blood. “Oh, come on, you think I really even care at this point? With the way the company takes care of everything, you’d think perfect ol’ me was…well perfect. But still, aren’t you guys way too good at this job? 7 girls and not even a peek from the public. Who else do you do this for, huh? Suga-sunbae? J-hope-sunbae?”

There was no reply. Taehyung threw his gaze over to the practically mangled body. Too bad, he thought to himself, she was really pretty this time. Red lipstick, silky black hair, wanted to become better acquainted with such a famous celebrity after her little interview, the whole fanatic spiel tied with a pretty bow of the title of an mc. She would’ve never thought that she’d go from being a bed-warmer to being so cold.

“I must be right then, huh? Suga-sunbae I can see, but J-Hope-sunbae…’’ Taehyung whistled lowly under his breath. “I thought you’d at least deny that. It’s the bright ones you gotta watch out for.’’

A dial noise was the only response. Did…Did this bastard hang up on him? Taehyung grimaced before three knocks rang on the door of the hotel suite, a signal from his asshole manager that Namjoon had finally arrived. Taehyung rolled back his shoulders, his joints crackling a little, and made sure all of his jewelry was perfectly back in place before he opened the door.

As Namjoon shuffled in with some of the staff members, Taehyung clasped his silver watch around his wrist with a soft click. He rolled his neck, trying to get the stiffness out of it, and exposed purple marks and bruises from the bites the now dead girl had given him when they had been fucking earlier.

Finally, his headache was gone.

You chugged down a cup of stale coffee and wiped the dribble of liquid that escaped the corner of your mouth as you clicked off some article about a newbie mc receiving slander after rumors of her making moves on a popular idol was exposed and disappearing to avoid the backlash. Squinting at your screen with dry eyes, you pursed your lips and snapped the laptop shut, pushing the device away from you in an agitated huff.

“Wbat’s got you in the gutters, huh? Let me guess…,’’ Park Jimin, your desk mate, rolled his chair over to your side, his glasses askew on his nose,” Ah, your favorite celebrity go into a dating scandal? Let me think, who was it that recently go into a scandal… Oh, is it that pretty boy from a new idol group?’’

You gave him the stink-eye, and your sigh this time was even louder.

“You’d think there’d be something more…interesting going with these celebrities that we could get our hands on. Too much money, lots of stress, yet no story that’ll really seize the audience by surprise, and don’t you dare say a dating scandal would do it. Boss’s been on my case for the whole week on writing an article to shock the audience and wants me to release a major headliner story in two weeks, or that asshole’ll fire me. Damn it, Kim Seokjin!” you hissed out before slamming your forehead onto the desk.

“Man, be careful with your volume; if he hears your tone, he’ll chew you out for another hour that you could be using to research. Boss Kim is picky like that with everyone because our company’s a small piece of seaweed in a system dominated by crustaceous predators.” Jimin poked you in the side jokingly, his plush lips spread in a wide smile that lit up his exhausted face. “Just think really hard; use that big brain of yours and focus on a celebrity. Come on, no one’s perfect, even that one super famous idol Kim Taehyung must have some flaws, so don’t sweat it.”

“That golden boy? Man, the whole nation’s pussy-whipped for him. He couldn’t possibly be anything bu—,’’ you sharply inhaled before pushing your seat back and rapidly swiveling to face Jimin,’’ Park. Fucking. Jimin. Oh my God, you’re a fucking genius! A whole career with not even a speck of dirt… Come on, even pure-faced idol Soyeon was caught with a scandal last month. There must be something on the nation’s golden boy!’’

Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise with your sudden outburst, and he opened his mouth to speak. “Be careful about the way you go when you try to fish out info on him. His company’s security isn’t something easy to get through, and not a single celeb from that company has gotten into a single scandal. No reporters been able to get any dirt from them…”

“Which means that…there’s something sketchy happening. Jimin, Jimin, have I told you I’m in love with you?’’

You turned around quickly in your chair, spinning in glee. Jimin dropped his mouth open to sputter something, and his cheeks were tinging red, but you weren’t looking at or even listening to Jimin at hat point, having already cracked open your laptop to furiously type Kim Taehyung into Naver. This was it! Your big break! Your motivation sky-rocketed, and you felt the first rush of energy that wasn’t fueled by some caffeinated drink in a long while.

Two hours later, you were ready to throw up.

All of the results were sickeningly the same bullshit, as what was expected for someone as beloved by the nation as Kim Taehyung was. You couldn’t fathom the amount of fancams and magazine spreads of him posing on some brown leather sofa and fact pieces—hell, you even knew what kind of socks the man liked—that you had spent the past hours scrolling through.

Realizing that the office was nearly empty, and that the sky was dimming into a dark hue, you were about to shut down your laptop and call it a long fucking day when a tweet on someone’s SNS caught your eye.

@truth-teller: kim taehyung? nation’s golden boy? are you all really sure about that nonsense?

The tweet was spammed with angered replies, so many that the thread seemed to stretch on for at least a mile, but your interest was piqued. This was the first word of slander you had ever witnessed against Taehyung. You quickly pounded out a message to the account.

@name_01: hey, I saw your tweet about taehyung! Do you perhaps have any more information on him? I find him suspicious too.

You tapped send and waited with bated breath for a reply. Minutes crept by, and you were about to turn off your phone and head out of work when you noticed three dots pop up, dancing before disappearing.

@truth-teller: you fr? I had to suspend my acc because of all the spam I got. No one’s believed me on it, but I have proof

You chewed on your lip. What if this was a joke, and you were just wasting your time on some internet troll with too much time on their hands. It seemed like you were taking too long to reply because another message popped up.

@truth-teller: if you don’t believe me then that’s fine. I don’t have to waste my time

@name_01: WAIT! Sorry, it took me a second to comprehend this information… Please tell me more.

You were worried that the account wouldn’t reply anymore, and that you had ruined your opportunity before the three dots popped up again and another message was sent.

@truth-teller: ok, if you want to find out more let’s move to a better messaging platform, just in case my acc gets suspended by more fans. here’s my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

It was a gamble to send some stranger on the internet your number, but at this point, you were too desperate to really give a damn. There was a story just out of the reach of your fingertips; you would be a fool to deny the carrot on a stick you were being provided.

@name-01: okay, I’ll message you.

Name: hey! Truth-teller right? This is me from the messages

JK: yeah that’s me. I prefer JK when I’m not on sns tho

Name: I’m (y/n). I don’t mean to sound like I’m hurrying you, but I want to hear what you have to say about Taehyung.

JK: lol r u a reporter or smth? Real bossy of you keke

You sucked in a breath. Should you reveal that?

Name: haha would it be bad if I said I was?

There was no response for the next 15 minutes. Exhaling a long sigh, you decided that you should at least maneuver your way home; the office had been cleared out completely during your conversation with this JK, and you couldn’t help the creeps that the emptiness gave you. If anything, the walk back to your place would give you some outlet for the nervous energy radiating throughout you. You were nearly at the door of your apartment when your phone vibrated in your pocket, signaling a message.

JK: just checking. Makes sense that you’re one though. It’d be nice if you could break this story out, but I hope you trust me enough after I tell you what I know

You clicked the door shut behind you, your eyebrows creased as you stared at your phone screen.

Name: don’t worry. I trust you!

You dropped your bag down onto the sofa before throwing your body onto the seat. The three dots under JK’s name popped up for several minutes before disappearing. In the place of the three dots, a long message had been typed out.

JK: I didn’t really think much of taehyung when I first heard about him since he’s the nation’s golden boy or whatever bs title they call him nowadays, but my sister’s friend was a big fan of him. she went out with my sister and they met him in some shady club in gangnam. my sister’s friend got to talk to him exclusively and my sister got separated from her and got a text from her friend saying that she had smth come up and she already went home. she tried to contact her friend the day after, but she got a text back saying that her friend wasn’t feeling well. my sister’s friend was “best friends’’ with her but she didn’t contact my sister again until a week later saying she got a job opportunity overseas and already was about to board on the plane because it was important she got there fast. my sister’s friend didn’t contact her again like she dropped off the face of the earth

You pursed your lips in contemplation as you tapped out a message back, your nails clicking against the screen.

Name: ?? Are you sure that isn’t a coincidence?

JK: yeah, I thought so too but it was rly sus that my sister’s friend who had known my sister for 12 years to suddenly go overseas for a job opportunity without telling her at all. and when my sister tried to get new contact info from her friend there was no reply. but I got curious and since I do some computer work for my job i wanted to see if I could track the ip address of her phone but there was nothing. her last previous ip was all the way back in gangnam and my sister’s friend lived in incheon. that was a red flag so I decided to go talk to the landlord at my sister’s friend’s old apartment and the landlord said he didn’t see her come back since before that night but woke up to a fully paid lease and the apartment cleared out 

You squinted your eyes at the screen, unable to properly process the information that this so-called JK had just given you. Chewing on your lip, you closed your eyes briefly before opening them back up and typing back a message.

Name: anything else? Sorry…just seems a bit far-fetched.

JK: think whatever then. I have to go to work now

Right when JK’s message popped up, another message pinged on your cell. You refused to let yourself ponder more on JK’s last message as you clicked on your friend’s text notification.

Platonic LOML <3: BAE, R U FREE TONIGHT? I’m lonely n want someone to come with me to this club— ik you’re not into clubs but pretty please

You were about to reply with a refusal when JK’s words came up to your mind again. You didn’t know why, but there was a sharp feeling in your gut that told you that you couldn’t miss this opportunity Call it silly intuition or some coincidental fabrication spurned by your mind, but that feeling persisted until you typed out a reply to your friend.

Name: okay fine. Come over in 30.

Taehyung swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the deep burgundy of the wine stain the glass a soft pink. His head was hurting again, and the new medication he had been taking for them on advice of the company didn’t work.

He scanned the dim, musty club, watching the pulsating lights cloak the dancing bodies in sallow shades of pale yellow. This club was a downgrade from his previous celebrity-exclusive club that he had gone to the previous week, but his manager had told him that if he really wanted peace, he should choose an area where no one would really know him.

Taehyung knew the real reason why his manager had insisted on this. Deaths of other celebrities were much harder to cover up after all.

Pity he actually followed his manager’s advice for once. The wine in here, despite the bougie price tag, was complete shit and provided him a slight buzz at best. And there was no one who really caught his eye out of the crowd of people. As he was about to get up from his seat and leave the club for somewhere with better—he contemplated going back to that celebrity club just to fuck with his company—pickings, he caught sight of someone entering the club.

You looked absolutely gorgeous, swathed in a black shift that you kept fighting to keep over your ass—and god, was it a plump ass too, the kind that made Taehyung’s cock hard in his tight black pants—with hair framing your face in a breathtaking way that showed glimpses of sparkling jewelry. Your friend, some chick with dyed green hair that Taehyung didn’t bother paying attention to, was clinging onto your arm, dragging you near the dance floor.

Taehyung knew.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

His head seemed to clear from the mind-numbing throb it always had when he spent too much time without another victim to take his aggression out of. Feeling the cool metal of the blade he always had tucked near his body, Taehyung sat back down in his seat, a playful smile perking at the edges of his lips. Funny enough, the blood thirst that never seemed to properly leave him was gone from his mind, an occurrence that was as rare as the pills the company liked shoving down his throat actually working for once.

You maneuvered your way over to the bar, to him, your friend pouting as she noticed you leaving before melting away into the crowd of grinding bodies. Taehyung swore then and there that the attraction between you and him was absolutely magnetic, with the way you seemed to pull the other towards one another.

He watched as you ordered some pretty-colored martini, adorably scrunching your face as the burn of alcohol coated your tongue and hit the back of your throat with a singe.

Maybe, Taehyung though to himself as he propped his chin lazily on his palm, he should really start listening to his manager more often.

Your mind was in a haze, and you didn’t even notice the man next to you until he was nearly pressed to your side, barely leaving a gap of space between the two of you.

You glanced at him, your tipsy mind suddenly sobering up as you realized who the man sitting next to you was. Kim Taehyung? What the fuck was he doing here?

“Another drink for a pretty lady?” Taehyung’s teeth showed as he charmingly flashed an award-winning coquettish smile at you, his already extremely handsome features seeming to increase in beauty from the grin.

You remembered JK’s words and a chill ran up your spine. God, his messages didn’t seem so implausible now, did they? Goosebumps rose up on your skin, freezing you to the bar table. Were…Were you his next victim?

You swallowed dryly as you tried to calm your racing heartbeat. The side of you that was a reckless journalist wanted to take a nosedive at the headliner just out of reach, but the rational side of you knew that leap of faith had a much bigger chance of you ending up disappearing off for a new job opportunity overseas, as Taehyung’s company would have it. You couldn’t write a good story if you were dead, after all.

“Thank you, but I can pay for my own drinks,’’ your lips twitched slightly as you forced them into a hopefully convincing gentle smile, refusing his offer softly before moving your body casually a few inches away from him,” Having drinks bought by strangers isn’t really my thing.”

Your smile must’ve looked a hell of a lot less nervous than you actually felt and a lot more convincing too because Taehyung’s shoulders, which had previously been winded like he was a predator getting ready to pounce on prey, seemed to relax at your words.

There was a dark gleam in his eyes when he again invaded your personal space and pushed his body near yours. He leaned in and whispered softly into your ears, his voice clear despite the early 2010s hits blaring from the speakers by the dance floor.

“If you’re scared of strangers, why don’t we get to know each other a bit?’’

Your fake smile grew stiff on your face. You felt like you were going to hurl the convenience store meal of ramen that you had scarfed before coming to the club all over the bar and Taehyung’s expensive luxury bran clothes. You could feel a sense of dread in your bones, the kind a prey animal would feel as a predator focused its carnivorous attention on them.

You forced a fake laugh, trying to drive the message that you were just not interested to Taehyung as loud and clear as you could manage.

“No thanks; I have enough people I’m close to. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve left my friend alone for far too long on the dance floor.”

You pushed yourself off the bar table, flashing a strained polite smile before you headed over the dance floor, trying to keep your pace slow and steady instead of breaking out into the outright run you wanted to do.

Taehyung inhaled the linger scent of your perfume, a natural smell that sweetly layered itself over the damp musky air of the club. His eyes, even as you tried to focus on the pounding music and forget the fear embedded deeply in your gut, never seemed to leave your form. Even when you burrowed yourself deeply into the crowd away from his view, you could still feel it.

You found yourself painfully sober after that encounter, trying to look normal in front of your friend for the rest of the night that seemed to painstakingly drag on for eternity. Even when you had the short 2-minute walk from the cab you took to your front door, you didn’t stop looking over your shoulder, still feeling the chill that came with the thought of Taehyung’s gaze. When you got inside your home, the bubbling nausea in your stomach took control over you, and you ended up heaving your dinner down the toilet.

When you managed to somewhat pull yourself together, you typed out a quick message with practically shaking fingers to the only one you could think of in that moment would understand what you were feeling, You stared at your unsent message before hastily pressing send.Name: I didn’t know who to talk to, but I saw Taehyung at the club today. I think you’re right about what you said about Taehyung.

Name: I didn’t know who to talk to, but I saw Taehyung at the club today. I think you’re right about what you said about Taehyung.

Ping!

You barely managed to fall asleep that night, and your eyes painfully ached when you peeled your eyelids open, hurriedly grabbing your phone and turning it on to check your messages.

JK: what happened? Sry for late response. Job keeps me busy all night

Your fingers flew over the keyboard as you typed out your message, furrowing your eyebrows in concentration as you tried to relay the events of your night in hopefully comprehensible words.

Name: I went with my friend to some sketchy club idk what area at this point but I went to the bar and I felt someone come up to me ?? I turned and realized it was Taehyung, and he offered to buy me a drink but I declined. Makes me sick how I could’ve been his next victim, so I tried to leave and go back to where there was more ppl in the club, But I can’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes. There was something sickening in them, I couldn’t put my finger on it.

JK didn’t respond for a bit, and you exhaled a trembling breath when his message popped up.

JK: be careful. Im glad you managed to get away

Name: I’m scared. I didn’t know what to do, but hopefully I’ll never see him again once I get this scoop out.

JK: stay safe. Thx for telling me. Text me if anything else happens.

You let out a shaky breath before clicking your phone off, your nerves still rattled but slightly more calmed down after talking with JK. You had to get ready for work, but at this rate, you weren’t even sure how you would be able to get through the day. Maybe you should take a sick day? No, you couldn’t.

The elevator dinged closed behind you as you stepped out of it into the office. As you were about to take a seat at your desk, your boss rushed out of his office, relief, something he never showed to you, evident on his expression once he caught sight of you.

“(Y/n)! Come into my office; I have an important job for you,’’ your boss ushered you into his office without another word, practically pushing a baffled you into the room frantically,” You know the company that manages Kim Taehyung? They reached out and agreed to an exclusive one-on-one interview with Kim Taehyung only, and only, if you agreed to the interview.”

You stiffened, your body frozen as you tried to process the words your boss had just spoken. Your brain seemed to be running a marathon as you computed the words your boss said, and you could only meekly respond with a limp,” Why me? Can’t somebody…Can’t someone else take over? Boss…you know I’m not that experienced.”

Boss Kim barely paid any attention to your words as he rested a hand on your shoulder with a confident look on his face.

“Then, use this opportunity to get more experience. You want to show the world that you’re a journalist by getting a scoop? Then take this interview! You know the company never agrees to exclusive one-on-one interviews unless they’re all staged, but there wasn’t even talk of this being staged at all. If you can use this opportunity and get something big, won’t this be your biggest step towards a great journalist career?’’ your boss exclaimed,’’ If you back out, another chance like this won’t come again!”

As much of an asshole Boss Kim was sometimes, you could find the logic in his words. Besides, it must be a coincidence that Kim Taehyung wanted you specifically to give him an interview; maybe he wanted a newbie, so they wouldn’t have much experience trying to fish out personal details and twist his words.

That’s right. There was no way he even remembered what you looked like. You guys interacted for, what, a solid 2 minutes last night. And if you did this interview right, you could use it as a building block as evidence for the headliner you intended to release with what JK had told you.

You exhaled, nodding your head firmly.

“I will. I’ll take this interview.”

Boss Kim’s face brightened, making him look much more like the stereotypical handsome CEO character found in dramas. Since he always looked exhausted and stressed out, he always seemed more intimidating, an aura that seemed to scare off any thoughts about how gorgeous he actually was. You had to admit: your heart did flutter a bit at his face.

“Excellent! He’s waiting in the meeting room right now! You only need, what, six hours to prepare, right?”

Fuck, you take back that heart flutter. Boss Kim was an asshole.

“S-Sir,’’ you sputtered,” I can’t…’’

Before you even finished your words, Boss Kim was already ushering you back out of the office.

“I believe in you! You got this!”

He closed the door behind you. You swallowed back the mouthful of swears you wanted to spew before scrambling towards your desk.

You weren’t prepared, but you knew you would do anything for a scoop.

Exactly 6 hours and seventeen seconds later, you were primly seated in front of Kim Taehyung.

The seats were annoyingly too close, and you cursed Boss Kim in your heart, knowing that the reason why the chairs were placed in such an unprofessional manner was because Boss Kim wanted to create the perfect intimate setting for no cost. If you tried to extend your legs, you’d end up smacking them straight into Taehyung’s legs.  

You, although disgruntled, had to admit that there was a reason why so many major brands wanted him as their model. He was handsome under the shitty lighting of the musty club last night, but here, with his hair and makeup carefully done despite the fluorescent lighting of the room, he was every synonym of the word beautiful combined into one person.

Blond strands of his hair brushed his chiseled features, and his eyes, curved attractively and framed with delicate long wisps of eyelashes, was intensely focused on your face. He looked ever like a marble statue, carved with attention and detail to be the most perfect specimen artistry could ever create. But he wasn’t perfect; that was what you knew. And that would also be what would you get just one step ahead of him.

You swept a piece of hair and tucked it behind an ear as you scanned your hastily scribbled notes. His eyes clung to that movement, as if he was mesmerized by your every action, and you peeked a look through your lashes. Your eyes met, and you forced a stiff smile.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you rolled your shoulders back into a proper posture, gingerly extending a hand out for him to take,” Good morning. It’s an honor to be able to do an interview with you.”

The edges of his lips tilted upward, and there was a playful glint in his eyes as his previous fiercely predatory state melted into the façade he put up in front of the public. He reached out and took your hand, throwing you off guard as he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“Likewise, it’s an honor to have an interview with you, (Y/n).’’

Yuck, you were going to have to wash your hands later. Anyways, what kind of person even kissed the back of people’s hands nowadays? This was the 21st century for fuck’s sake. You somehow kept your grimace to yourself.

You nervously laughed as you practically yanked your hand back out of his grasp. You casually wiped the back of your hand on the fabric of your skirt, disguising the movement as simply brushing off dust. Taehyung’s eyes didn’t leave any of your movements, and he laughed a little as he realized just what you were doing.

Oh, you were so interesting. You weren’t like the rest of them, the fans that threw themselves at him adoringly; hell, he was sure you weren’t even a fan. He was entranced. When he was close to you, the headaches seemed to fade; he didn’t want to drown himself in another body when he was with you. He didn’t want to kill when he was with you.

You ignored his burning gaze, breezing through the beginning parts of the interview. Finally, you reached the part that you had been anxiously preparing for.

“So, I heard that you’re trying out a new actor role. As a model and an artist and now an actor, we have to admit that your talents are incredibly versatile, Kim Taehyung-ssi.’’ You continued speaking. “Could you tell us a little more about this role?’’

“You flatter me too much, (Y/n).’’ He purposefully had left any formalities to the wind in this interview, a move that made you want to grind your teeth. “Yes, I was offered one of the leading roles in a new thriller movie. I’ll be acting as one of the charismatic but complex characters. I hope to show you and all of my fans a new side to Kim Taehyung.”

“Ah, a new side,’’ you nodded lightly,” Your new role as a charismatic serial killer who targets his admirers is certainly what many would call…complex. How do you go about preparing for such a twisted role?”

“Hmm…,’’ Taehyung’s lips curled up menacingly for a brief moment before fading away into a breezy smile,’’ It’s quite difficult to immerse myself into a role in which I have limited experience in, so I like to read through the script and make a map of what the character is like. What motivates him; what makes him so…complex, as you called it. I pretend to be like the character. How do I make myself think like him? That’s the question I like to try to find an answer to.”

“Ah, this is simply my personal opinion, but to truly play the character requires some true life experience…Is it possible that you’ve ever done anything similar to what the character has done in real life?”

A pin seemed to drop in that very moment from the silence that crowded the room. Everyone in the room froze and stared at you, their glances less than pleasant. You bore it all as you stared intently into his eyes. Slip up, you prayed, do something that will make you slip up. There was not even a brief soft sound in the 10 seconds that it took for Taehyung to respond.

He was rigid, the smile plastered on his face barely fading. Come on, you begged, expose yourself just a bit.

“Your response is lagging for just a bit, Kim Taehyung-ssi. It makes you seem guilty just a bit, doesn’t it?’’

He snapped out of it right then and there.

“I was simply contemplating my response. Your impatience is something not so befitting of a formal interview. To answer your question, isn’t a role just a role at the end of the day? If you think about it, I’m not the only person to have played a role like this. Many actors and actresses have done so without any thought of relating it to their real life. After all, a role is simply an imaginary self.”

You both stared into each other’s eyes, and you felt the gazes of other people around you burn into you.

You settled on a retreat. It was fine; this interview was just the first building block. You laughed lightly, throwing off the previous tense silence easily.

“Of course! We wouldn’t expect nothing but, right? We hope to see your talent truly shine through in this new role!’’

The tenseness in the room seemed to slip away right then, and the deathly gazes on you flitted away, like they were never there in the first place.

You let out a sigh as you left the interview room. God, that was terrifying, but you knew that you had to do what you had just previously done. What you had just done asserted the theory that you had. His company was hiding something about him, and that something was nothing less than downright horrific.

JK, you thought to yourself, I’m going to expose this story, just you wait.

“You weren’t just going to leave, huh?’’

You heard a familiar voice speak behind you, and you quickly spun around.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you forced out of your throat,’’ I believed you had already left.”

“I was going to, but I wanted to speak to you about the interview. The company rarely lets me do interviews, so it was really refreshing to have one done with you. We worked so well together, and I would like to thank you for the pleasant experience you had given me with dinner. You must be starving, right?’’

You had been starving earlier, but one word from Taehyung left your stomach churning in nausea.

“No!’’ your voice was a bit too loud, so you hastily softened it,’’ No, that’s not necessary. You don’t need to thank me.”

Taehyung took steps closer to you, and you unconsciously took a step back. Noticing your movements, he looked at you and flashed a grin that might’ve looked harmless to others but outright menacing to you.

“Are you scared of me?’’ his voice was almost like a purr. You fought back a shiver, straightening your back and looking him straight in the eyes.

“No,’’ you stabilized your voice, keeping a waver out of it,” Why would I be scared of you? You’re not some higher being than me just because you’re a celebrity. You’re human, after all. But, as you can see, I have work to do, so I will have to politely decline your offer.”

“You can have the rest of the day off.”

You spun around on your heels, your gaze colliding with Boss Kim’s. When did he arrive?

“Sir! Boss! No, if I skipped out on work, I’d be a burden to everyone. Besides, I—,’’ your voice was cut off by another voice.

“It’d be good to establish a positive relationship between your company and ours. Your boss would usually be the one to go to a dinner, but I believe he already has plans. Any work you were unable to fulfill today will be taken care of.”

The voice seemed to chill you to the bone. You turned to make eyes with a man. Was he…Taehyung’s manager? Although he was handsome, the kind of handsome that was comparable with Taehyung’s, something about him churned your stomach. While Taehyung was like a predator waiting to pounce on his prey, the man behind this voice was already sinking his teeth into the neck, wringing out the… You snapped out of your thoughts.

Snap out of it, you mentally scolded yourself.  

“How about it?’’ Taehyung’s manager coldly smiled, his tone like glaciers.

You opened your mouth to try to refute, but with the burning gaze from your boss, you could only dip your head in a bow, your voice low.

“Thank you for the offer. I accept.”

They couldn’t kill you, right? It’d be too obvious.

You followed them out, and when you passed by Boss Kim, you made a panicked glance at him. What greeted you made you halt briefly in your pace.

When Boss Kim made eye contact with you, he patted your shoulder in what should’ve been reassurance. His lips spread out in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Don’t disappoint me, hmm?’’

His words, spoken low and steady, left a chill in your veins as you kept walking, and the sliding doors of the elevator dinged close behind you, effectively trapping you with Taehyung and his manager.

You somehow made it out of the elevator and through the tense car ride alive. Now, you were seated next to Taehyung himself in the private room of a restaurant. Smoke rose from the grill, briefly obscuring your view of his manager from across you.

You tried to think positively of the situation. If Taehyung was drunk, maybe he’d slip up, but…you made a furtive glance at his manager from across the grill, slightly jolting when your eyes collided with his own. The fear that nearly overcame you made you nauseous.

“A drink?”

Taehyung’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned to see him already raising his glass. You stiffly smiled, barely managing to keep the nervous twitch out of the curves of your lips.

“I don’t drink.”

“It’s impolite to decline a friendly offer. Come on, a toast to a wonderful…partnership.” Taehyung chuckled, raising his glass, as he leaned his chin onto the propped palm of his hand,” And we wouldn’t want a bad start to it.”

You were panicking by now, but you could imagine what Boss Kim would say if Taehyung’s company pulled out because of something so miniscule. You couldn’t afford to lose your job, not with the way you had fought tooth and nail to get your position; you wouldn’t last a month without your job or the meager protection it gave you.

You made your decision, a decision you would’ve done anything else but avoid, and tilted the glass up, clinking it against Taehyung’s glass. Turning away, you made it look like you were lightly sipping the drink, but you only allowed the liquid to slightly wet your lips. You set down the still-full glass and smiled pleasantly.

“I can only drink this much. Anymore, and I would experience terrible side effects.”

Taehyung didn’t seem even irked by your feeble attempt at pretending; instead, his eyes filled with amusement. He didn’t stop staring at you, and the threatening vibe of it caused you to unconsciously delve into your habit of gripping your glass of water and drinking it in an attempt to calm your nerves.

You placed the empty glass back down before resuming anxiously picking at your food. A pair of chopsticks—specifically Taehyung’s chopsticks—placed a piece of barbecued meat on your bowl of rice.

“Not feeling hungry? You need to eat. Skipping meals is bad for your health,’’ Taehyung beamed as he watched you carefully pick up the piece of meat and eat it. It would’ve been delicious any other time, but the churning in your gut made it taste like sand in your mouth. You dryly swallowed it.

“I’m heading to the restroom.”

You heard Taehyung’s manager speak in his flat tone, and you threw a skittish glance at him as he stood up and walked out of the private room, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

“Ah, now that that nuisance is out of the way, why don’t we talk more?’’ Taehyung’s tone was playful, and you flinched as he leaned closer to you, his breath brushing against the outer shell of your ear.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you gritted the name through your teeth,” Please respect my personal space.”

He laughed lowly before he dropped a hand on your thigh. You were about to make a move to push him away, but your body suddenly felt tired, like you weren’t quite in control anymore.

“Come on, do what I say, and your little news company will do so much better. Your boss didn’t tell you this, but your company’s going bankrupt. One peep from me, and your company will rise in ranking, but I can only do that if I’m in a…happy mood.”

Taehyung pressed even closer to you, his nose against the curve of your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply in. His hands moved from his side and he ripped open the buttons of your shirt, groping your bra-covered tits. You let out an incoherent mumble in response, trying to flimsily kick at him.

Where was the waiter? Why was his manager taking so long? They planned this!

Disgust and heat coiled in your gut, but you were too dizzy to move. Something…that bastard…Did he spike your water? You were too careless, fuck. Taehyung moved one hand to tilt your chin up before his lips met yours. Despite how sloppy of a kiss it was, you could tell he was experienced, practically tasting every inner crevice of your soft mouth with his tongue, and you should’ve continued to be revolted, but whatever pill in your system had you melting into his mouth.

Taehyung seemed to sense the turmoil and conflict in you and the soft give of your will, and that seemed to make him even braver. He slid a hand up your skirt, his touch hot even through the fabric of your stockings, and you let out a startled moan against his lips, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth. He pulled back, and you could barely see through the teary haze of your eyes. It had been too long since the last time you had a good fuck. You just wanted to be touched…wanted to be fucked so hard his cock would press against your womb.  

“I just want to see you let go a bit, baby,’’ there was the triumph of domination in his voice. The sober part of you wanted to rebel, wanted to push and scream and kick him away, but you weren’t sober, weren’t clear-minded. Your legs spread as if begging for more of his touch.

He ripped his fingers through your stocking, and the material easily gave way underneath his strength. You could feel the damp spot on your panties, growing as he rubbed his fingertips against your drooling pussy. You shivered slightly in delirious pleasure as his finger rolled over your throbbing clit.  

“Mmph!’’ you let out a sound as he pushed your soaked panties to the side and pushed his fingers deep into your pussy. You couldn’t object, not when your pussy was stretching with a spine-tingling ache around his fingers, and especially not when he begin to set a teasing pace. He pushed his fingers in, and you shut your eyes in shame as your moans grew louder.

Your toes curled as his movements grew faster, reaching deep into you, and you were so, so close. Oh my god you could feel…and you were cumming hard. Your walls shivered and twitched around his still moving fingers, and you murmured a dazed plea as he finally stilled and pulled his fingers out. You, still twitching from how hard you came earlier, were ashamed to see the way his fingers glistened with the remnants of your arousal and orgasm.

The sound of his pants being unclasped drew you out of your drugged state. No, he wasn’t going to…Come on, snap out of it, snap out of it.

He drew back closer again, and you sucked in a breath, trying to push through your daze. He leaned in. You managed to bring your arms up to the table, grabbing the nearest object that you could reach. Your trembling fingers closed around your nearly empty water glass, and you took it, raising it and smashing it as hard as you could over his head. Water, ice cubes, and glass shards struck as the glass broke. Taehyung, not expecting the blow, had a temporary moment of weakness, and you managed to push him off you.

You shoved yourself up onto shaky legs, wrapping the ripped blouse around your weakened body, and forced yourself into a run outside of the room. The hallway of the restaurant around the private rooms was empty, devoid of any person. You frantically looked over your shoulder, relieved that you didn’t see him coming after you. This was a public place, though it was late at night, and you knew Taehyung wouldn’t risk his perfect reputation. But still, you remembered his manager was still out there.

You couldn’t let them kill you…You had to survive! You broke into a blind run, ignoring the strange looks and the calls you got from the restaurant’s staff as you pushed out of the restaurant into the street. You kept running despite the dizziness of your mind, and you could barely see what was in front of you before…You crashed into someone, slamming into their body so hard that you were sent sprawling to the ground.

“Please…,’’ you choked out, your voice strangled, crying out a desperate plea as you grabbed onto their clothes,’’ Please help me.”

Your mind was dizzy, splotches of colors splattering your blurry vision. Your body had overexerted yourself, and you prayed that you wouldn’t end up a dead body on the news as your grip around the clothes went lip, and you collapsed into the road. Through the buzzing of your ears, you could hear a startled voice call out, feel a firm touch grab your shoulders and try to shake you awake. Some strange hope rose in you; maybe…maybe…?

You murmured desperately one last mumble, your words barely making sense, as you spiraled into unconsciousness.  

“JK…please help me.”

A/N: if you want to be added to the taglist for the next part, reply with a  ❤️. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment or a detailed review below <3

Next work will be a fic for Jungkook’s upcoming birthday. Poll will be released soon for what kind of plot it should have! 

THE WASTELAND - HOME (15/15)

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

A/N:  Can you believe it? This story is COMPLETE, which feels surreal and ethereal in unexplainable ways. I've literally been writing this story longer than it took me to write my masters' thesis -- though, needing to write my masters' thesis is most of the reason it has taken me this long. Thank you all for sticking around through it all, if you've been here since the beginning -- and if you've hopped on somewhere along the way, you're just as important to me. Thank you, all. Enjoy the last chapter.

Start from the Beginning // Also on AO3!

For a long, drawn-out moment, nothing happens. Emma can feel the beating of her heart in her stomach and fears that something has gone wrong, attempting to use her unhoned magic  for too big a task too quickly. 

And then, she feels her feet shift on uneven ground and she dares to open her eyes. 

Sand. 

They're on the shore. Everyone is on the shore, Belle still tending to Will's wounded shoulder and Mary Margaret comforting David, his pain obvious on his face. Killian releases her hand, rushing to the prince's side with his canteen at the ready. The water doesn't heal David as quickly as it did Killian, but as he swallows the few sips he was given, his expression grows relieved and the tendrils of poison retract across his exposed chest before disappearing from the site of the wound. It's not nearly as climactic as Killian's healing was (Emma refuses to think about why that might be) but she still feels a weight lifted from her chest as all traces of the poison disappear, leaving only a small cut on his side where the arrow nicked him. 

Killian and Mary Margaret simultaneously sigh an audible breath of relief, her petite form almost comically small as she leans into Killian's shoulder. 

"Let's get off this bloody island," Killian says, allowing only a moment's pause before he helps Dave to his feet — though his words are practically forgotten as the forest begins to groan and grumble, trees snapping, cracking, falling to the ground behind them. 

And they watch as four, five, six boys move through the treeline, all dressed in rags and covered in dirt. 

"The Lost Boys!" Wendy cries, rushing towards them. 

"Please take us home with you, Wendy," the one who looks to be the oldest begs, terror obvious on his face, as on all of their faces. 

She turns to look at David. "Without Pan's magic, the island will disappear, and the boys will die." 

David shakes his head. "I have no argument."

"What about what Pan told your brothers? That only the amount who arrived can leave?" Regina's voice is heavy with worry. None of them want to leave the boys behind, but if it means that no one will make it home, it's a much heavier question. 

But Belle is the one to answer. "With Pan defeated, the island holds no power. Even if it wanted to stop us from leaving, it is no longer able." 

The oldest boy knits his eyebrows. "Does that mean—" he starts, but is silenced by a deafening thump as another large tree hits the ground, this one not far from the shore and sending a tremor under their feet. 

"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger," Killian says with a smile, gesturing for the boys to lead the way to the waterline and aboard the ship. 

"Rufio, where's Felix?" Wendy asks, walking beside the oldest of the boys. 

But the boy shakes his head. "He's always been the most dedicated to Pan and here longer than the rest of us, you know that. He said he would rather die here with Neverland than become a traitor." 

"Oh, Felix," she breathes, but it does not keep her or the other boys from boarding. 

As the rest of them move towards the ship, Emma moves to stand beside Killian, who is waiting to go last as the captain does. He pats Robin on the shoulder, the pain of losing Graham sinking in once more as his body is carried onto the ship. “Take him below decks. Merlin can show you where to find what you’ll need to wrap him.” Robin just nods. 

"We did it, Swan," he breathes, reaching down to squeeze her hand. "How do you feel?" 

"It's almost surreal," she replies, lifting his hand so she can look at his arm. She still barely believes it, would not have believed the way the water healed him if she hadn't seen it herself — and she still had trouble understanding how easily he was healed by her magic, even after learning of their connection, their destiny. 

She still doesn't want to believe it, really. Everyone is so sure that it's about them, that they were prophesied ages ago to go on this journey, to save each other. She's not denying their connection, not anymore, but she still struggles to believe that they were destined to be together because some ancient seer decided it was supposed to be so. 

"Let's go home," he says finally, gesturing for Emma to follow Robin and Regina onto the Jolly Roger. 

Home. He's not even sure where home is anymore. For years, it was in the Northern Mountains, then with Dave and his band of followers after returning from Neverland. He's been ready for a new home for a while, he realizes, following Emma onto his ship. With her, he hopes. Hell, he's never wanted anything as much as he has wanted to be with her. They're destined to be together, but all he wants to do is kiss her, find all the things that make her happy and never stop giving them to her. He wants to wake up beside her, learn the way her golden waves look in the morning sun, the way she takes her coffee. If it means working beside her in the hospital, doing everything he can to help her while hopefully keeping them from harm — hell, he'll work in a maternity hospital. For her. He would do anything for her. 

They leave the island behind quickly, the Lost Boys, Wendy, and a fully-healed Will watching it crumble, leaving behind nothing but a pile of ash and a cloud of dirt that covers the horizon. 

Killian doesn't turn back. Some of the others peer over their shoulders but Killian seems to be the only one fully content leaving the island behind without a second thought — but, then again, he is the only one among them to have experienced it twice, to have it take multiple people he loves from him, even if it brought others together. 

He thinks of Graham, being prepared belowdecks for burial at sea once they're out of the wretched Neverland waters; he thinks of Milah, who sacrificed so much, who hid her true identity from a world she felt so unsafe in, gone forever in the pile of rubble and debris. 

Liam. He thinks of his brother, releasing the helm to feel the large ring hanging from his neck between his fingers. He left Liam behind in Neverland twice, never able to give him the burial at sea he always wanted. Well, he thinks, turning his head to glance behind him, if the entire island crumbles into the sea, then Liam is finally laid to rest as he would have wanted. 

"I was wondering if you were ever going to look back," Merlin says from the spot he has found against the railing, only using the basest of his powers to move the ship along the waters until they take to the sky. 

"I wasn't going to," he confesses, looking down at the ring once more. "But then I thought of Liam, and the burial at sea he deserved and never got." 

"Well, the whole damned island got a burial at sea, and that sure as hell included him." 

Killian nods, managing a smile. "That's what I thought, too." 

 They travel along the water for a few hours, pausing around dusk to bid their final farewells to Graham before taking to the sky. The sun sinks below the horizon, and Killian turns to the same star charts they used on the journey there to guide them home, though this time Emma takes part in all of it: helping Merlin and Belle fly the ship, learning the stars that they use to guide them back to the Northern Mountains. He has always felt at peace behind the helm of this ship, even when it was his brother's; having Emma beside him, his chest pressed against her back as he points over her shoulder towards the stars, is the most at home he has ever felt, and he wishes — on the stars that guide them home, on any good luck charm he has ever known, praying to the gods who have seemed to answer him a lot lately — that it's not a feeling that disappears. 

The journey back isn’t as celebratory as expected from a group of people who have evaded what they all believed would be certain death. David and Mary Margaret spend most of the trip in the lieutenant’s quarters, Mary Margaret finding the sleep that evaded her the last few days, the two of them taking turns caring for the other. Merlin and Belle spend the return trip just as they did the journey there, guiding the ship through the air, though when Emma is feeling at her strongest, she attempts to assist them. (The rest of the crew does not fail to notice how Will spends much of his time sitting against the railing near wherever Belle has stationed herself, eating what seems to be a never ending supply of apples and chocolate and other types of random snacks and reading the books spread across his lap, even though he was never known to be a voracious reader before.) Similarly, after being comforted by her after Graham’s burial, Robin and Regina spend most of their time together, a pairing of sensible pantsuits and olive green attire that none of them saw coming. 

Wendy and the Lost Boys spend most of their time gaping at the views over the railing, trying their hardest not to get airsick to avoid ridicule, filling their stomachs with each of Merlin and Belle’s smorgasbords as if they have never seen that much food in their life — Killian doesn’t let himself think about how long they may have been in Neverland, just how long it has been since their last decent meal, and he is happy to be the one to offer it to them. 

"What are we going to do with them?" Mary Margaret asks Emma one night as she sits with her on the deck, picking at the half-eaten sandwich on the plate in her lap. 

"With who?" 

She points to the boys, throwing small rocks and food scraps off the deck of the ship and laughing as they disappear into the clouds below them. 

"I guess we're going to—" she starts, but then realizes that she has no idea how to finish the sentence and leans closer to her friend. "What are we going to do with them?" 

It's a thought that never even crossed her mind. She's been so worried about returning to the life she had, possibly even learning to include Killian in the chaos of running the hospital, that she never stopped to think about the people whose lives have been upended because of their trip. Who knows how long the boys have been stuck on Neverland, how long it has been since they were taken from their families — if they ever had them in the first place. Emma remembers the long nights on the streets of the Gale when she wished she were anywhere else,praying to whichever of the gods was listening to give her a place to belong. That's what Pan did for these boys in his own wretched way, she realizes. 

“Who knows how long they were stuck on that island. I doubt many of them have thought about what they would do if they ever returned.” 

But Emma shakes her head, remembering the nights she stared up at the stars and wondered what her life could be like if she were in any other situation. “I can assure you that some of them have thought about it.” She doesn’t mean for her voice to be that soft, to make the hurt so apparent in her words. She tries not to play the orphan card, especially around Mary Margaret, whose empathy is so strong Emma sometimes thinks she fully understands the heartbreak she tries her hardest to hide even though she only recently lost her father and sees her mother as often as her and David’s schedule allows. 

Mary Margaret just nods, taking a bite of her sandwich. “I suppose we could start by talking to them.” 

Emma can’t help but laugh, thinking of how she would have responded in their place — which, she supposes, is exactly what David did, granting her a new life in the infirmary. She wonders if any of them have discovered their powers, or if they would simply hide, dormant, for the years they spend without aging in Neverland. “We should wait until morning, though,” she comments, watching as one of the younger boys lets out a big yawn across the deck. When she turns back to Mary Margaret, she is stifling a yawn of her own. “Looks like it’s your bedtime, too,” she adds with a soft laugh. 

“I’m just so tired all the time. Is this all that pregnancy is?” 

“I have no firsthand experience to share, but from what I’ve heard, yeah, that’s a big part of it.” 

“Someday, Emma,” Mary Margaret comments, and it’s a thought that hits her like a truck. Sure, she’s spent years in the maternity hospital, helping other women bring babies into this world, but having one of her own was never a thought that crossed her mind. Is that what she wants? Could she even bring a child into a world so full of violence and terror and the exact things they’ve been battling for the last few weeks, not to mention the War that has affected every facet of the world for longer than anyone can remember. 

It’s at least not a thought that she needs to focus on right now. 

“Hey, love,” Killian says, thankfully pulling her out of the depths of her own mind as he approaches them from across the deck. “We’re going to begin the descent back to the water soon. Just wanted to let you know.” 

“Thanks, Killian,” she replies, offering him a soft smile, which he answers with a soft kiss to her cheek. 

“I’m going to bed, then,” Mary Margaret says, one hand on her stomach as she reaches out to squeeze Emma’s hand with the other, then moves across the deck to the stairs. 

“I can’t wait to be on the water again,” Killian says after a moment of silence, leaning back against the railing, and she steps into his arms. 

“Why is that?” 

“There’s just something calming about it, something that’s not there in the sky or even on the land. The moment the hull hits the water, I just feel… peace.” She hums, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “It’s not just the ocean, either, though. Graham always laughed at me when I would go stand in the rain, or sometimes stay in the shower for longer than I meant to.” 

Emma leans back to look up at him, gears turning in her head. Rain. Showers. The ocean. The way his body reacted to the pool on Dead Man’s Peak. Water. “Killian,” she whispers, then cups her hand between them, creating a small pool of water in her palm. “Can you… move this?” 

He looks first at her, then at her hands, his dark brows furrowed low on his forehead. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, love.” 

“Was your mother one of the merfolk?” 

This makes his eyebrows jump towards his hairline, bright eyes wide. “Pardon?” 

“Your mother,” she repeats. “I know she passed when you were young, but what do you know about her? Was she a mermaid?” 

“No. No, that’s… that’s crazy,” he whispers, staring down at the water in her palm, slowly dripping through her fingers onto the deck between his worn boots. 

“Can you just try? For me?” Remembering how her magic reacted to his touch, she reaches her free hand out and rests it on his hip. 

He nods, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “What do I need to do?” 

“Think about what you want it to do. Close your eyes. Feel it.” 

“What do I want it to do?” 

With a soft chuckle, she turns her eyes up to his, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. Just… anything.” 

He nods, but stays silent, holding up his hand in the space between them as he squeezes his eyes shut. Somehow, Emma can feel what he’s thinking, imagines the small sphere of water rising above her hand before it happens — but then it’s there, right before her eyes, hovering above her palm. 

"Bloody hell," he mumbles, his eyes darting to meet hers for a moment instead of staring at the sphere. "And you're… this isn't you?" 

"No," she whispers, picturing it falling back to her hand just to make sure — but it stays there, hovering a few inches above her palm. 

“Of the merfolk,” he whispers, the sphere splashing back down into Emma’s hands. “I never even imagined.” 

“I’ve known for a very long time,” Merlin quips from behind them, his eyes closed but obviously paying attention to them. 

“For real? And you never thought to tell me?” 

He shrugs. “It was not my secret to share.” 

“Why did I not learn about  it sooner?”

Emma gasps, pulling Killian’s gaze back to her, and Merlin laughs, finally opening his eyes. “So you figured it out, then?” 

“The Prophecy,” she whispers, barely believing the words as she says them. “Their strengths will finally be revealed. That’s the line, right?” 

Merlin nods. 

“Not just my strength, but both of ours. He needed… me. Us.”

It’s another piece of the puzzle that fits a little too well, that makes it hard to deny that they are the ones from the prophecy, brought together by destiny. A chill runs down her spine as Killian’s jaw drops, realizing exactly what her words meant. 

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles. “I need… sorry, love,” he mumbles, backing away from her to go and stand by himself, looking out over the moonlit water as the ship makes its descent. 

Emma’s heart drops and she crosses her arms, leaning back until her hips hit the railing behind her. Is it too much for him, now? The man that confessed his love for her in a cave, who has believed in their connection since the first he heard of it? She understands needing space — she would be a hypocrite if she claimed she didn’t — but she still feels a heaviness in her chest, and icy pain in her heart as she thinks of the worst-case scenario: Killian turning away from her just as she realizes she is ready to be with him. When she feels her lip quiver, she pulls it up between her teeth, turning her back to where Killian is standing and taking a few steps away from him. Part of her wants to disappear belowdecks, curl up in her hammock and hide from her feelings, as alone as she has ever been. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries to take herself somewhere else: counting the supplies in the basement of her hospital, walking along the well-known trails by her house — the very house that she dreamt of sharing with Killian not too long ago. She shakes that thought away and tries again, this time in the palace gardens where she learned most of what she knows about plants, about healing. Then she’s in the hallway, aiding David in a meeting with his advisors, focusing on the echoing of her boots on the stone floors and not the fears running through her mind.

Across the deck, Killian turns to look at her, trying to organize the thoughts jumbled in his brain. A merfolk. He has learned so much over the last few weeks, about the world, his friends, his enemies — himself, more than anything else. He has tasted death and felt true grief, witnessed unexplainable things, traveled to places he has spent more than a decade trying to forget. Every step was harder than the previous, pushing himself harder and farther than he thought he was capable — and for every step, she has been there, healing him inside and out, stitching together his wounds and piecing together the remains of his broken heart. Why is this so difficult for him to grasp, given all of the other impossible things he has witnessed since Emma Swan entered his life? Water has always calmed him, healed him, given him a sanctuary in times when he had no others, the same way Emma became his sanctuary. 

He loves her, he realizes, not for the first time, though the thought still threatens to knock him off his feet. He loves her in ways he never knew were possible, more than he ever imagined being able to love someone, loves her in a way that fills the deepest parts of him, dark spaces that hold his regrets and his fears and the few things he has allowed himself to dream about. And there is nothing, no feeling that can compare to the warmth that washes over him when she holds his hand, when she smiles at him. His mind separated the two, his powers and his love for Emma, but he realizes now, in this moment, turning away from the water to find her, that they are not two separate things. His powers only exist because of his love for her, and though the time they have spent together is only the first drop in the ocean of the rest of their lives, he wants to look back on his life overwhelmed by the memories they create together, better because of the other. 

Then, he notices the pain on her face, her eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and her arms wrapped around her knees as she sits alone by the railing — alone, exactly where he left her. He crosses quickly, his footsteps hard against the wooden planks, and kneels in front of her, carefully reaching out to brush his fingers against her hand. 

“Emma?” he whispers, but it is not loud enough to break through the wall that has formed around her, protecting her from whatever kind of hurt she feared he was leaving her with. Leaving her, he realizes. That’s what she fears, more than anything else. Is that what she thinks he is doing? “Emma, love, I’m sorry.” This time, his voice is a bit louder, his fingers a bit firmer on her hand, and her eyes open, a runaway tear falling down her cheek. 

“What?” She raises her hand to wipe her cheek, but Killian beats her to it. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, covering her hand with his once more. “I shouldn’t have — walking away from you like that, it was unfair. I don’t want you to think…” he clears his throat, trying his best to smile at her through his stuttering before starting again. “I’m here, love. With you. That’s not going to change.” 

“Promise?” she whispers, unable to control the quivering of her lip, and he learns more about her with that single word than the rest of their journey. The both have dark pasts, Emma’s even more than his own, and the traumas that they have endured have left pieces of them broken, pieces that may never be fixed, but pieces that perhaps can be soothed, especially when the darkness rears its head. 

None of the words that come to mind are good enough. He nods. Laughs, thankfully answered with a smile of her own. And then leans into her, holding himself up against the railing to keep from crashing into her as he finds her lips with his own. It’s the best promise he can give her, and when she reaches up and slides her fingers through his hair, her other hand tightening around the collar of his jacket, he can’t help but laugh against her lips, mumbling the words that have been waiting on the tip of his tongue for the right moment. 

“I love you, Emma,” he says, and she resituates them so they are laying beside each other on the deck, pulling herself into him in ways his previous wounds never would have allowed. 

“I love you,” she repeats with a giggle of her own, her lips finding his again as the ship touches down on the water, lurching against the surface. 

They’re back. The real world — Nephylisis, the Gale, the War. The Wasteland. But they have each other.

Anything is possible. 

TAGS:  @shireness-says​​ @cssns​ @kmomof4​​ @thisonesatellite​​  @teamhook​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​ @cocohook38​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​ @facesiousbutton82​​ @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop​ @tiganasummertree​​  @angellifedeath​​ @pepperpottss​ @mariakov81​ @scientificapricot​ @kday426​ @xarandomdreamx​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @xhookswenchx​ @nikkiemms @carpedzem​​ @superchocovian​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @snowbellewells​​ @courtorderedcake​ @captain-emmajones​ @killian-whump​ @officerrogers​​ @killianjonesownsmyheart1​ @captainkillianswanjones​​ – want to be added or removed? let me know!

     though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, JANE MÁRQUEZ is actually a descendent of HYPNOS. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-SIX year old DEMIGOD ELEMENTARY EDUCATION MAJOR from NEW ORLEANS, USA has taken after HER godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite SACRIFICIAL & STUBBORN.

( she’s b-b-b-back on her bs : katya ! tis uhm ,,,, a lil bit of a chonk of an intro but ill try 2 b cute w it. any time u wanna yeet jus peep the gif again & forgive me bc Look At Her ! )

POWERS ( more info here )

hypnokinesis  — p much made her a glorified babysitter w lynch-esque wacko dreams. it got stronger naturally as she got older, but jus w herself n eventually the ppl shes real close w. its also gotten a lot better since comin to eonia 

seeing gods in dreams  — she doesnt hang out w em every fridays at tgifs but like ,,, if she had Pertinent Questions she cud smhw make it happen. found out abt her being a demigod at age 10 when she met hypnos

memory retrieval — shes got great memry of her own but bc she knows it can help w grief n all that, shes been learnin in eonia how to do it 4 others if they mayb wanted it

BIO POINTS 

her single ma died during childbirth so jane's been in the foster care system since 5ever. attempts at reunification nvr worked out but thankfully she got real lucky w her group home and foster families. twas stable enough to not emotionally scar her even further but the instability of it all was fosho a big ol’ lot and has influenced her rigidness in sum aspects of her life

she lived p much as a mortal even tho her powers r a lil freaky. never went to camp but it worked out bc all her abilities r internal and cannot be Perceived by others. she had a talk w hypnos abt what 2 do n he mentioned camps but also gave sum monster avoidance tips ( like rarely use ur powers, maybe learn self defense, yada yada ) n she jus ,,, did that so she cud continue livin real normal w the mortals. logistics of camp stressed her out esp bc shes livin w non-family n stuff yk it was All Too Much, miss her w the added demigod stress tyvm

got married at 23 to her childhood sweetums luis, but he ,,, died abt a yr later fr a car accident. coma for 2 weeks n jane p much slept the entire time in his hospital room, visitin his dreams n talkin to him. twas a life support sitch so they eventually decided to pull da plug whch was real sad but like she's processed it 2 da best of her abilities. her powers helped a lot in the coping too n she visits memories of him in her dreams smtms when it gets real sad then shes ok again bc life goes on n life is pretty uwu

bc of her bg round kids of all kinds, shes always been passionate abt em. always takin babysittin/tutor gigs and went to community college so she cud teach n then worked as an elem teacher. only started considerin goin 2 eonia 4 postgrad when she had a student who showed signs n strugglez of bein a demigod. she eventually got to talk to their godly parent 2 confirm n she was shocked pikachu meme, real concerned for all those youngins who hav no clue what to do ! or how to cope ! bc they cant facetime w the olympians lyk she can ! so cue her discussin eonia w luis a lot then a year after the accident, broke out the pro-con list again. took abt *checks watch* another yr til she finally decided to zoom 2 athens but then whoosh she did !

PERSONALITY

yearning ? idk her — shes can be a bit of a take it as is typa chick. can be a lil literal jsksj not dumb but like ,,, def doesnt read into things enuff to pine n long n year yk. some things might def fly over her head. she says Yes To Serotonin in this house. she dk the the mitskis n the sikens n the carsons ; its all mary oliver up in this joint. we just tryna luv life n be grateful folkz

le freak, say chic ! — control freak, that is. growin up in an unstable envi meant shed cling 2 stability n independence, wrvr she cud get it. so when it comes 2 the way she does things, she can be real a heel digger. also bc she has 2 deal w kids yk so it can b A Lot n shes v stern lyk dat. ofc she wont infantilize the eonians .,,,. or will she ? big sis vibes outta control. she means well tho always always means well. itll also b v hard to get her 2 giv up on sum1 bc life ? she luvs it n knows u can too

changes by david bowie — is decidedly skipped on the playlist. she doesnt like change !!! i mean she knows its inevitable but still not entire unavoidable. ever since she got out of the system, shes had a partner n her own way of doing things n its been workin out so why change it yk ? she says time may change me but jokes on u i can sorta trace time 

rip but im different — this goes out to all em whores in this house. she respectz ur hustle but like ,,,, not her thang. girl doesnt even get drunk when she drinks bc she doesnt rlly drink sksjsk doesnt like the taste of it, big baby ! but like she's Lived, its more like. ok tried it, not for me. thanks tho. also for all the meanies in the house, y’all perplex her. shes empathetic n wont show the judgement but smtms shes lowkey lyk .,., ur how old n u had all this goin 4 u n ur still so rotten ? how u actin like a 7yo w a trantrum ? scratch head, make it make sense

at least u tried — dad jokes, bad puns, tries to be big jokester but isn't funny. she's pretty tho so she gets away with it. idk wht else 2 say ur honor. shes the type thatll embarrass u w affection

well that was Awkward — probably sum1 abt her if  they see her actin a Fool bc shes in a foreign sitch or topic. when shes a fish outta water then she can be so ! easily ! flustered ! which is p much her in eonia. shes not new new but theres way 2 much godly shennanigans for her to wrap her head ‘round n sis has never gone to camp so its ice bucket challenge level shock from time to time still w da magics n lore

til death do us part — yknow when death cab for cutie said i knew that u wer a truth i wud rather lose than 2 hav nvr lain beside at all ? how abt when they wrecked me by rudely sayin love is watching sum1 die ? yes ? no ? nywy thats jane 4 ya. if she loves then shes in and if shes in then she is all in, luke danes stylez

was that a vivid enough picture or did i just word vom the same things agen n agen sjksjs jus know shes cute n sweet if a lil frustrating n annoying bc shes stubbornpants mcgee. may or may not have a slight compulsion to help fix other ppl ..,,.. someone set her str8 n tell her fix u by coldplay isnt it !!!  

OTHER INFO 

5′9″ born 4 october 1994, virgo sun n moon

not a freshie ! idk how long her program is but like ,,, lets ignore that 4 now ok jus kno that she been here a while

yogi & boxing enthusiast back at home. hc her mans got real into the martial arts w her when hypnos told her she gotta learn how 2 defend so that was one of their things : bonding by workouts so jane cud protecc herself if need be

her maiden name’s jane fulton. got her mommas surname but the name jane ? thats some jane doe bs some rando picked out for her which she hated at first but then seeing tarzan made her go hmmm, ok bet !

lgbtq+ alliance president ! identifies as pan

she met her late hubbie when they were abt 7ish, real friends 2 lovers cuteness. jane was there for him throughout his entire coming out & transition ergo her passion for the community esp queer kids bc she was That Cis Ally for her mans. wears her ring as a real lowkey necklace now

shes also real passionate abt sleep. will ask u how did u sleep last night p much every day u see her bc ppl spend like half their lives asleep catherine ofc shes gonna ask

her fave thing abt eonia ?  the whole siblings bit. shes had 2 make do w what she got n build a family from scratch so this ? she luvs it a lot let her give u kithes hypnos babies

shes p well versed in the greek thingies but only thru the knowledge mortals gets + dream info. after her realizin who she is, all things ancient greek jus sorta became her niche interest ykwim ? shes not like Super Learned abt it more like ,,, ok i gotta at least make Sum sense outta all this, gotta learn what i can. imagin how embarrassin it wud b 2 see a god in ur dream n then go : sorry to this man. nope. not jane, not her, nuh-uh 

luv languages : words, acts of service, physical touch !

useless hcs but she loves disney sfm ok. smtms dresses up as princess tiana for bday parties n shit bc shell do nythin 2 put a smile on the kids n babs faces

ya like jazz ? bc jane surely does ! adores motown & 60s music. nina simone owns her. no one drag peggy lee from 101 dalmatians ! not an important hc but i jus wanted to quote my bubble butt winged bee lover barry

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

children ! infants ! babies !

demigods that make her scratch head damn u live like this ? but also wud knife emoji to protect n care for. shes not the oldest on campus but shes been livin independently p much her entire life so she finks shes got a tight grasp on the myth that is Adulting  

srsly tho the Big Sis vibes is off the charts w this one. shell perserve u dumdums

baddie influencies !

convince her 2 get drunk at a party ! bc she never does. convince her to maybe try drugs ! or go hook up ! do smths impulsive idk jus smth new !

gl tho bc shes not rlly ,,, easily influenced But she can b reasoned w ! in general i fink its just gonna be a fun dynamic if y/m knows how to coax sum wildness outta her or w/e bc thotty yummy theyre hotty yolo rzning jus wont do w this gal. will most likely get argumentative like a big ol momma hen but if u win then ur winning big

Sleep Now or forever hold ur peace !

idk sum1 she helps w their messy sleep ? shes def not super public w it, surely knows her other siblings r Better at it but if  y’all are close, she probs enjoys doin it 4 ya. she runs her hair thru fingers a lot when she does it. like a lot a lot unless u tell her to get lost

lover boi, lover gorl, lover enby !

she can be a lil traditional when it comes to how she views rels. she wants all that meetcute courting bs ! no gender roles tho n u best be sure shes not constantly comparin w her late hubbie ,,, but she jus wants smth magical n 2 be wooed again yk ?

so yea ,,, crushers mayhaps ? sum1 who is tryin 2 woo her ? sum1 she had a meetcute w and now janes got lowkey heart eyes for em ? idk lotsa possiblities but pls keep in mind she is not good at the flirtings so hav mercy on her 

eonia tour guide !

or jus friends who like ,,, constnatly fill her in w all the godly stuff n whatnot. years of not goin 2 camps mean u miss out on a lot ! explore ruins w her n get her info her mortal educ didnt make her privy 2 yk 

head real empty atm i will think of sum n let y’all know when i do, but give us all the conekshunz. friends, enemies, the usual bit, lgbtq alliance peeps, lmk whats up whats done whats cookin we want it all

( shes p much a new muse n da result of me tryna bring in an emotionally healthy kid to this sad sad university. janes in a v good well-adjusted place rn n is my therapy muse bc that other bitch m** is a messy handful. but wbk life aint linear so mayhaps shit’ll hit da fan or one of y/m will ruin her lmfao press f pls ! but also color me eyes emoji bc we love to see it )

I want an 8th year fic where Harry is a really bad kisser. like. REALLY bad. Like, no coordination, spit all over the place, no-idea-where-he’s-going-with-this bad. And it makes sense because he’s never quite had the emotional education that makes him super attuned to other people’s needs? anYWAY when he and ginny break up they have a bit of a row and she wants to throw something at him just to THROW SOMETHING AT HIM because it’s hard to accuse the actual puppy dog who saved the goddamn world of anything -- ESPECIALLY WHEN HE’S SO WEEPY -- and so she just says it. She just says it, You are a bad kisser, Harry. You are a very, very, very, very bad kisser. 

AND at first of course Harry is like how dARE YOU, and no YOU are, but then it gets stuck in his head and he starts asking around. First of all, do people even like kissing? It is a thing people like? It’s always felt kind of off and gross to him and cut to Hermione talking a million miles an hour, confiscating an empty classroom to draw out a full chart on a blackboard about the benefits/social history/beauty of make outs -- IF you want them. Harry nods furiously and is taking notes. 

From there the research expands into a full-scale survey amongst the 7th and 8th years about the best snogger on Hogwarts grounds [on a scale from 0 to 10, 0 being ‘like being slapped about by the giant squid’ and 10 being ‘like a veela caressing the inside of your mouth but also you’re in fire’]. Entirely unexpectedly, WHAT A SURPRISE TO EVERYONE INVOLVED, Draco Ambrosius Giselda Anne Paulus Fucking Malfoy (named after all of his auntie’s favourite corgies) ends up the UNANIMOUS nr 1. Harry and Hermione, main conductors of said research, are appalled. Especially when subject #18 (Hannah Abbott) goes all glassy-eyed staring at the survey parchment and whispers “that mouth tho”, seemingly to herself. 

Cut to Harry and Hermione holed up in the classroom with pictures of everyone from 7th & 8th year hanging on the walls with bits of red thread connecting them. Malfoy’s is in the middle, circled several times and surrounded by question marks. Harry looks frazzled, tie undone, and he’s reading through the case again. “It can’t be!” he says, incredulous, while Hermione laughs a little crazed and disbelieving. “It has to be,” she says, shaking her head. “By Jobe, it has to be.” 

CUT TO HARRY inviting Draco A. G. A. P. F. Malfoy to an official interview where he shakily reads a pre-prepared statement off a paper while Hermione stands behind him and mouths with cuz she wrote it. And Draco’s like, “Ok let me get this straight. You want me to kiss you. To teach you how to kiss.”

“For science!” say Harry and Hermione at once. 

Draco complies on a curriculum of 10 weeks ON the condition of the final result being conducted in the middle of the great hall -- DURING DINNER! -- in full view of the whole school. “I’m rehabilitating my image,” he says, picking a piece of lint off his robes. “It would be beneficial.” 

Harry says “DEAL” and Hermione says “Uh” and they shake on it and so it happens that Draco and Harry set off on a vigorous 10 week curriculum starting off with lesson nr 1, peppermint spells. This is quickly followed by lesson the second, which is basically Draco pushing Harry up against a wall and hovering close without actually touching him. Almost brushing their lips, then not. Breathing against his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth -- then leaning away again, all until Harry is a frustrated shaking mess, trying to chase after Draco’s mouth if only to JUST GET IT OVER WITH. But it’s a no-go, it’s just Draco’s hand to his chest to hold him back saying, “Not yet.” 

Lesson nr 3 is Draco’s fingers tracing the shape of his lips and hovering close and Harry opening his mouth and Draco putting the pad of a long finger to the flat of Harry’s tongue and watching, quiet, when Harry sucks at it. Lesson 4 is cancelled ‘cuz Draco is “BETTER THINGS TO GO GOODBYE” (announced by way of a howler), lesson 5 is the two of them in a broom closet and Draco’s hands like fists in his robs, brushing his lips to Harry’s, just brushing them, a total of five exCRUCIATING minutes and then leaning down to bite at his neck, which Harry needs a full hour after Draco leaves to recover from (”calm down calm down what is wrong with you Harry Potter CALM YOURSELF DOWN”). Lesson 6 Draco has him on his back in the grass behind the lake and licks the corner of his mouth, nips at his bottom lip, ignores it when Harry’s fingers slip between the buttons of his shirt to touch the skin of his stomach. Lesson 7 begins with Harry already wrecked and they haven’t even STARTED -- on the stairs to the owlery, Harry one step higher than Draco, Draco’s teeth hard the fading hickey from last time, Harry’s hands in Draco’s hair -- babbling, saying, “You’re never gonna kiss me, are you, God, you’re never gonna--” 

And then Draco leans up, aligns, sucks Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth. Licks up, sucks the top lip, and has to catch what is BASICALLY a swooning Harry James Fucking Potter and they stand like that for a second, swaying, breathing hot and wet against each other’s mouths. 

Lesson 8 Harry has had ENOUGH, goddamn it, and there are only two to go and they’re not nearly advanced enough and also SCIENCE, and so Saturday afternoon in the alleyway behind Puddifoots -- between a trashcan full of half-eaten cupcakes and a soggy cardboard box -- Harry has Draco up against a wall, opening his hot maddening (horrible, good-for-nothing) mouth with a shudder and a moan. It’s all tongue, at first, and Draco has to tell him to slow down, has to put his fingers to Harry’s lips, cradle his face, tilt it, show him how to pace it, how to breathe through it, how to suck on his tongue. How to start slow and end hot and heavy and shivering and being unable to pull away to cast a simple charm against the drizzle or even move the godDAMN inch it would take to take cover under the awning. Idiots. Now you’re wet. Now you’re soaking wet and still making out and it’s been a literal two hours. Great. Wonderful. Don’t come crying to me when you catch your death of cold, I swear. 

Lesson 9 in the changing rooms after Quidditch practice, this time Harry’s back against the tiled shower wall, mouth swollen and skin tender from Draco’s stubble and his hands in Draco’s hair -- Draco’s gloved hands under his shirt, fingers shaky, palming his ribs. Harry whispering “God,” and “Fuck,” and “Come here,” even though Draco’s already there, as close as he can get. 

Lesson 10 Draco spends sucking at Harry’s pulse point. Pulling at the skin, soothing it with his tongue, breathing over it -- first hot, then cold. They’re in the empty classroom, door locked, Harry up on one of the desks and Draco’s legs slotted between his. Harry rides his thigh, doesn’t mean to, can’t quite help himself, is embarrassed and bothered and hot and comes like that, with Draco’s lips wet to the shell of his ear. 

The next day Harry’s showered for the occasion. He’s showered and shaved and conducts himself a little bit like a robot on his first day out saying things like, “Hermione, could you be so kind to pass the butter” in a flat and shaky voice. Hermione is, in fact, so kind as to pass the butter, which Harry immediately drops when Draco enters the great hall. Robot Harry stands and walks to face him, and says Hello and Okay and Okay (again) and Now? Shall we do it now? And Draco clears his throat like 30 times before he can say yes okay fine now. 

And then they kiss. And Harry has come to know those lips better than he knows his own, and has come to like holding on by the small gap between the two buttons of Draco’s shirt -- right over his stomach -- and has come to anticipate the small gust of air that leaves Draco after that first press of lips. After they move to settle into place, cock their heads, slides their tongues together. Draco is the one who rushes into it now, and Harry is the one who gets to smile into it, gets to tell him to slow it down, gets to relax them into it. 

Somewhere in the distance some silverware clatters. Three Hufflepuffs walk into each other. A 4th-year Ravenclaw drops the two glasses of juice she’d had in her hands, one of which was for her friend. It’s okay, because her friend was about bring a potato to her mouth, but that’s fallen off the fork anyway. Nearly Headless Nick gasps a quiet good lord and McGonnagal puts a hand over Mme Hooch’s eyes. Hermione is furiously taking notes. 

Draco murmurs something into the kiss, something about having given them enough of a show, and Harry laughs, nips at his lips, at his chin, his jaw. “Hold on tight,” he says, and slips a hand around Draco’s waist. Dips him, dramatically, holds him in the cradle of his arm -- bends to kiss him again. Draco laughs against his mouth, only a little outraged, and Hermione adds some arrows to her chart. 

Somewhere nearby Ginny mumbles a quiet damn, and, that’s one steep learning curve. 

“It’s a steep something, alright,” is what Hannah Abbott has to say about that, glassy-eyed again. 

Hermione’s now fanning herself with her notebook. “Good science,” she says, nodding quickly. “Very good science.” 

Anger Management

Summary: Y/N finally makes it as a photographer and is recommended to move to Japan, where her first big job is placed. Harry doesn’t like the whole idea of her moving away from him at all. 

Warning: Angst, and angst fuckery so, smut, and angst again. Strong language as well. 

Word count: 2.7k

requested by anon, added a twist by my horny mind.

“Not a fucking chance.” he literally hissed through his teeth. You never saw him this angry, this snappy. You and Harry were together for the past two years, and he helped you a lot with a career of yours. He hired you as an intern, even though you resisted because you heard that family, friends, and partners should never work together. 

You and Harry made a compromise, that you would join him only in Europe and then work on your own art. And both of the tours, you worked amazingly. But with the exposure his name was giving you, multiple agencies were booking you for shootings, you were invited to shoot important events, weddings. 

You knew he would always support you, but something was telling you that you moving to Japan for four months wasn’t be his favorite news. As much as it would help you to establish yourself as an independent photographer who could choose the work for themselves by the sound of it, the money and ideas.

“Harry, you know how much this means to me. Please, it’s just a few months.” Harry looked at you very annoyed, chewing on his gum, blinking few times and then turning his face from you. He was comfortably seated on the couch, and he was watching some document on one of the world’s problems. He loved to educate himself, and you knew you shouldn’t tell him the news right now. 

“No.” He simply mumbled and continue to watch his documentary, not even paying attention to you. 

Sometimes you really hated his stubborn ass. You felt violated because it was okay for him to leave for three months. Or when he came from the tour, spent two weeks home and then left to Canada to meet with the Crawford’s and chill at their private lake or something. You weren’t even informed properly of where he was and with whom. 

“You know what, this is so fucking unfair.” 

You never picked up fights with him, you trusted the natal charts too much and knew he would fight back and both of you would just feel miserable. But this time, it wasn’t you trying to make him open up about his emotions. You were defending your own work, your own life. And as much as you loved him, he wasn’t owning you. You were your own person. 

“What is unfair, you moving to Japan? Tell me more about how unfair it is to me. When you will leave me here alone and do God knows what!” Harry raised his voice and shifted his focus completely to you, half sitting up, his elbows resting on his thighs at this moment. 

“God knows what? I am booked for work!” you yelled back, and you both knew you were skating on thin ice. But your stubbornness started to jump out a bit.

“You are not a fucking model! You can shoot your photographs anywhere in the UK!”  he yelled back, and you could feel your heartbeat getting faster, your cheeks getting a bit red. But not from blushing, but from the anger. You never were good at anger management. Lots of your previous relationships could be called Italian one because you would be throwing plates at one point. 

With Harry, it wasn’t like that. He was calm, self-collected. He never attacked anyone for anything, he just lived in his bubble of happiness and respected everyone and everything. And when he wasn’t so sure, he would educate himself properly. 

“But I can’t! Where am I supposed to shoot for Japanese magazine? China Town in London? Are you mental?!” 

Harry froze in a second, he noticed how furious you started to get. But he just turned into a defensive mode. Crossed his arms on his chest and watched you, with his bottom lip a bit pouted. 

“So you’re going to leave me for four months?” 

“You leave me for months and it’s okay. Why are you okay with pulling this against me? I can’t even look at you. God what a dickhead.” 

And you really had to leave the room, because the more he tried to reason with you in his favor, the more angered you were. And you needed some fresh air before you would slap some sense into his head. And you really didn’t want to start physically fighting with him. You didn’t want to lower yourself. 

Mainly because you knew, he was just sad you won’t be around. 

But he didn’t leave you alone for much, he stormed out of the living room, to see you trying to light up your cigarette. You looked at him surprised, you were trying to quit, and you were successful for most of the days unless you were missing him, or he wasn’t causing irrational fights. 

“You are still smoking?” he mumbled, looking at you disappointed. 

“What do you expect? I will be happy to know my boyfriend doesn’t actually support me?” you snapped at him. 

“That’s not true, but you..” 

“No, you just accused me of leaving you for the job. You belittled my hard work!” 

“Y/N stop yelling at me.” Harry was already toning down a bit, he wasn’t as hot-headed and as impulsive as you were. 

“No.” you scoffed. “I won’t let you do this to me. You leave me here. You come from the tour and leave again. I never know what are you doing, where, with whom. I always have people tell me they saw some fans meeting you at some weird place I never heard of. And it’s breaking my heart. Because I feel like shit. Like literally worthless shit to you. We are in a relationship, you can’t limit my growth whenever you like, because you would be lonely, Harry. You can’t just belittle me like this, I am not a toy to keep you company when you need, and wait when you need me again.” 

He blinked a few times, his lips parted a bit and he was staring at you. And you couldn’t even control your breathing, you were so damn angry, that tears were trying to fight their ways out of your eyes. 

“Y/N, I didn’t... I didn’t mean to make you feel like this,” he said quietly. 

“But you did, you always do.” you pushed him a bit from you when he made a step forward. You were upset, and you were now trying to push him away from you. 

“I don’t mean to. I am so sorry,” he said quietly, gently taking your hands into his and throwing the cigarette away. “I am so sorry I make you feel like this. I was just scared you wouldn’t come back to me.” 

“So you wanted to make sure I wouldn’t?” 

“The jealousy got best of me,” he whispered, kissing you into one of your hands lightly. And as much as you wanted to push away, you weren’t strong enough. “Let me make this better, please.” 

“Sex won’t make this go away,” you whispered, looking into his eyes, watching him getting closer to you, pulling you to his arms and his hand rubbing your back. 

“I’m not trying to?” 

“Don’t try to make me the stupid one on top of all.” 

“Okay maybe a little bit of pussy eating could fix it?” he murmured and looked at you. And as much as you hated him at the moment, you also needed him down there. 

“You would beg me to let you eat me.” you pushed him away from you and walked past him inside. 

* * *

And you were avoiding his stare and his hands for few more days as well, the tension between you two was just piling up every second and at one point, you could even see him open his mouth, looking at you with his hungry eyes, filled with need. And all that time, you weren’t making it easy for him. Wearing all those lacey lingerie or T-shirts without a bra underneath. 

But he knew, that if he gave in, he would lose that argument, the little fight you two had. And he was still pretty pissed off you didn’t want to stay with him and chose your career. In his head it sounded very rational, to be jealous of you making the name for yourself. 

After an entire day, that you spent in work, you needed a long bath. And you were quite grateful that he went to the studio and gave you the needed space. After nearly an hour of a warm bath and losing yourself in your thoughts, you covered yourself in a towel, dress into your sleeping attire and went to pour yourself a glass of wine. 

You got into bed, reading your favorite book and after finishing the third glass, you texted him a very naughty picture. 

“You coming tonight, or?” 

It didn’t take too long for Harry to reply. 

“Getting into a car right now.” 

You were sure, he wasn’t intending to come back home. But past of a couple days of both of you living in coexistence, trying to not piss the other one, well it was a sad week for both of you. And you just needed him close, because, after a few weeks, you will only see him through a screen of your phone. 

In twenty minutes, he slammed the front door and rushed the stairs, you were already a bit tipsy, yet still remained your cold superior. You wanted to make him beg for your forgiveness. 

“Honey I am home,” he said, a little too excited. Watching you in the lacey nightgown. “God you are just going to torture me again, won’t you?” he mumbled under his breath.

“Well, if you behave nicely, maybe I won’t have to.” 

“You know it wasn’t my fault.” 

“You aren’t getting this pussy if you will continue like this,” you said firmly, making him shut his mouth, taking a short shower and walking over to your bed just in towel loosely tied around his waist. 

You tried to look everywhere but at him. Because you knew what effect his perfectly sculptured abs had on you. But all of his tattoos made a lot harder for you. And when your eyes traced his body, all the way to his face, you noticed that self-absorbed smirked sitting pretty there.

“You don’t seem so sure of that,” he mumbled, his hand wrapping around your neck and squeezing lightly, planting kisses on your jawline. And as much as you were fighting all your naughty thoughts, you were getting wet. Your cheeks flushing and hands bit shaky. 

“I.. I am very sure.” you stuttered which caused him to chuckle. 

“Of course, petal. Always so sure, until I place my hands at the right place of your body.” he helped you to get on his lap, slowly getting you out of the silky tank top with lace detailing, exposing your naked chest to him. 

“So fucking beautiful, and so hard for me already.” Harry was always up for the dirty talk, and maybe that was one of the reasons why you still craved him, he made it easy for you to get into the mood for some good lovemaking or proper fucking. He immediately started to suck your left nipple, grabbing your other boob gently, and his index finger making circles around the other nipple, causing you to moan instantly, pressing yourself tightly to him. 

“You are so hard for me,” you mumbled, but your voice missed few spots. 

“Seems like you’ll be begging me soon to touch you there, won’t you, honey,” he said jokingly, teeth gently nibbling your nipple. You could curse yourself to the hell alone, leaving many naughty words out of your mouth, while his teeth were meeting both of your nipples. 

And as much as you wanted to remain in control over your own body, he was getting you, inpatient. You started to slowly ride his lap, through the thin fabric of your silk shorts, against the exposed throbbing dick of his. His hand immediately spanking you harshly and grabbing your bum. 

He was watching you eagerly, rubbing your pussy against his cock, he could feel how dripping wet you were. You soaked your shorts a couple of moments before already, now you were leaving him covered in your own juices. Needing to fill your tight pussy, to fuck you properly for causing fights. For trying to punish him by silence. But your load moaning and your sharp nails scratching his shoulder got him out of his head to present, watching you cum all over his dick. 

“Fuck..” you mumbled, your hands were shaking and so was your voice and when your eyes met, you let out a little giggle. 

“Let me tell you something, love. Watching you making yourself cum all over my cock must have been my favorite memory of you now,” he mumbled, staring at you, his cheeks tiny bit reddish. “You wouldn’t last longer of you denying yourself to me. Wouldn’t you?” he kissed you passionately. 

“Please come fuck me,” you whispered desperately, you didn’t have enough of him yet. 

“No, petal. You don’t deserve to be filled tonight.” he chuckled “Maybe you can watch me cum, though.. Maybe could play with your wet pussy with me?” 

“B.. but I need you.” you tried to get on him, you knew he won’t be able to resist for too long. 

“If you want to make me happy, pet. Get on your knees, spread your legs for me and show yourself to me. Touch yourself, darling.” his voice was getting breathy and his hand was already tightly stroking himself. 

And you listened, because you needed a sweet escape again and if it meant like this. You would gladly take it. And so you stared into his eyes, your hand tracing down to your swollen pink lips of your beautifully shaped pussy... 

And Harry was right, you were a mess, you were dripping on the sheets. He helped you to get out of the soaked shorts, watched you penetrate yourself with one finger at first, his hand stroking himself a little faster. 

But after a bit, he couldn’t help himself, he positioned himself in between your legs, and his tongue attacked your clit gently. You let out a loud moan, pulling on his hair, spreading your legs for him. 

He was playing with you, tasting your pussy slowly at first, but later even slipped with his tongue inside of you and twisted his tongue around a bit, causing you to moan like crazy, begging him to continue right there. 

Your legs started to get a bit shaky, and at that moment he pushed himself back to his knees, and in a few seconds, he was filling the walls of your tight and wet pussy nicely. Thrusting deep inside of you, moaning your name loudly. 

“Come around my cock, pet. Crush yourself on me.” he cried out loud, fastening his pace. And he knew you weren’t far enough to a release, he was squeezing your thighs tightly. 

“Sir, I’m close.” you nearly screamed after a bit. 

“Cum, baby. Drip all over me.” he moaned, already slowly filling you with a load of his cum inside of you. Still not missing a beat and thrusting deeply, moaning very loudly. Just the pressure, the warm of your lover inside of you made you cum harder than ever. “Fuck, so tight.” he moaned into your neck, holding you close to him. 

“We’re going to make a mess,” you whispered, with a breathy laugh leaving your lips, but he was already falling asleep, still inside of you, tightly pushing you to himself. 

“I love you, Y/N. So fucking much,” he mumbled with his raspy, sleepy voice. “I wish we could stay like this, cuddling and being in love. I’m sorry for being a dickhead,” he added, moving to the side and leaning lazily for the tissues on the nightstand. 

“I love you, Harry,” you whispered with a deep sight. Properly fucked, getting emotional. 

Doctor

Clawed footsteps echoed down the metal structure of the half-finished CORE.  The machine wasn’t operational, and workers moving among its components typically wore safety harnesses hooked to rails. The masked welder frowned when he realized he couldn’t hear the telltale sliding of a hook along the nearby rail accompanying those footsteps. “D-Doctor!” The young lizard yelled as she approached, loud enough to be heard over the sound of machinery and construction. “It’s t-t-time!” The welder leaned back, switching his torch off and lifting his mask. Three extra white-gloved hands flickered into view, lifting the torch away, and another pair started to unhook his mask. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was, nor that she’d once again gotten overexcited and forgotten to affix her safety gear. “Alphys, harness.” “Wh- oh! S-s-sorry, Doctor!” Alphys replied, fumbling with her hook and finally getting it onto the rail. “Y-you’re, just--”

She faltered as he stood. The welder was an imposing seven feet three inches tall, broad-shouldered and thin, and despite his relative youth he had the experience to back up the authority he’d been given. Still, when he turned, he had that same childish kindness in his smile that she’d come to know since he’d hired her on.  It was hard to think of Dr. William Dillon Gaster as being young, but every so often it did come to her mind just what he was, and it always threw her. As the only member of his race that didn’t simply disappear into seclusion when the war broke out, there weren’t many available points of comparison. He claimed, often with a sheepish look, to be “only” 85, and initially resisted King Asgore’s attempts to bring him on as the lead Royal Scientist. He had velvety-smooth flesh under pale skin that glowed lightly in the dark. His hair was more of a shock of white fluff that often simply seemed to have a mind of its own, and he had starry fields in the black sclera of his eyes, the irises somewhere between purple and blue with pupils like those of an octopus. Despite how alien they were, Alphys always found they were where his youth really showed. He looked at everything with at least a subtle hint of wonder, and had approached the CORE project with a giddiness that was hard to mistake.  “You’re g-going to want t-to look at this.” The lizard finished, once the Doctor had finished unfolding his considerable legs from his crouch. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He said, walking over. He placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded, his eyes twinkling like the roof of the Waterfall caverns. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.” “It d-doesn’t make much s-sense, is a-all.” Alphys stammered, following her boss out of the CORE. “Y-you’ll s-see.” “That’s always the exciting part!” Will exclaimed. He put his hands in his pockets, more of those summoned ones appearing to untie and remove his apron. They placed a pair of thin-rimmed glasses on his face, then tossed the apron onto a nearby table with the rest of his equipment. “The part before it makes sense!” “N-no, it. Well.” Alphys clicked her hand-claws together, then shook her head. He’d see. Will was always like this. She wondered if he’d been like this back during the war.  He never talked about what he did back then. Nobody ever asked.  Will hummed on the way to the research lab. Built a good extra fifty feet below the surface-level station that would eventually monitor the CORE, the research lab was a sophisticated multi-team facility that housed equipment for every discipline that the Royal Science Academy supported and then some. It even sported a communal sort of scientist barracks, a rest area for team members who couldn’t or wouldn’t leave their project too far away.  And at its heart, William and his hand-picked team had been performing what he considered the most important research of their lives. Ever since the discovery that, with the right equipment, the actual structure of time could be observed on a macro scale, Will had made it his goal to oversee the project that would give them a conclusive view of it. It was beyond top-secret, the kind of research that could shake the foundations of society, and everyone working on it knew they might not like what they found.  Still, Will believed he wouldn’t be much of a scientist if the potential for unpleasant results dissuaded him from carrying out a non-harmful test. He ran summoned hands through his fuzz on the elevator ride down, taking a few deep breaths. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his construction uniform, and Alphys’ eyes drifted down to stare at how he was tapping the steel toe of his boot against the wall.  “Sorry.” He said, when he noticed her gaze. “Long trip down. You hear anything from Sans about his teleportation project yet? Would make this a lot simpler.” “Last I h-heard he was c-conv-vinced that he needed m-more power.” Alphys said, pushing her glasses up on her own nose. “W-wanted t-t-to wait for the C-CORE to be d-done.” “Sensible enough.” Will said. His hands fidgeted in his pockets, tracing symbols long forgotten and tapping melodies never heard against the fabric. “And has Asgore given you a budget for the robotic arm project?” “Yes!” Alphys exclaimed, and Will couldn’t decide if she sounded more surprised or relieved. “Y-yes, it’s. He d-doubled what I as-as-asked for. Couldn’t b-believe it!” “It’s a good project!” Will said, and grinned, flashing unnervingly human teeth. “You worked hard on the proposal, I’m glad to hear it! We’ll have to get you a proper work room set up.” “W-wow, my own...” Alphys trailed off, veritable stars in her eyes. “T-thank you, Will! I m-mean--” “No need for that.” Will said. Once the door opened, he marched down the hall with lengthy strides, nodding in acknowledgement to the various lab assistants and scientists that greeted him on the way. “You earned this, Doctor Alphys. Your understanding of both machinery and programming is far beyond what I could do. I can’t wait to see your results.” Alphys stammered, but managed nothing more than vague and overexcited starts at more thanks. Will beamed. She’d been barely capable of speaking at all when he brought her on three years ago to help work on the CORE project, and since then, the fresh-faced college graduate had become one of his closest partners on what he’d called Chronos Project. In her spare time, she’d built a prototype robotic arm from literal scrap, and at his urging had developed it into a proper research proposal.  Perhaps once he was done with the initial Chronos results, he would discuss whether she’d be interested in picking up some interns from the Royal University of the Sciences in New Home.  He pushed those thoughts aside and stepped up to the single most secure door in the Underground. Rather than presenting a hand or his face, he pressed his chest to the scanner, and sharply inhaled as it scanned his SOUL directly.  It wasn’t functionally dissimilar to the common ‘Check’. But there was something about the machine that still made it uncomfortable for him. Perhaps it was the warmth of the scanner.  Once the door finished unbolting itself, he stepped inside with Alphys at his heels. The control room for Project Chronos was illuminated almost entirely by a series of twelve monitors, arranged 6x2 across the back wall. Each one was magical tech, same as most of the lab equipment, and Will preferred his screens that way.  At the console sat two of his other team members. Both of them snapped their heads up as he entered, and he nodded to them. “As you were. What’ve we got?” Tenor, an armless lizard with light grey scales, gestured at monitor 3 with her tail. It showed timestamps in a format Will had invented, relative to a fixed point in time that they’d identified as occurring within a day of the results coming in. “Lookin’ like some relevant events, boss. But the numbers are fucked.” Tenor had endeared herself to Will as a Junior Scientist working on Soul research, one of Will’s original passions. When she started postulating theories about the power of the soul to affect the flow of time, it wasn’t just her crass language that caught Will’s attention. He’d brought her in to look at some of Chronos’ preliminary test structures, she’d improved them immediately, and he’d worked with her on it ever since. Will cleared his throat, then leaned in to look. Sure enough, he had to admit that they didn’t look right. There was a logged disruption over a hundred years in the future relative to their point, several in the proximity of that point, three trailing behind where they currently were. He quirked his mouth. “The hell...” “Timeline chart will be had in two minutes.” Said his other team member. A male spider monster with a yellow and black carapace and eight eyes that reflected the monitors, Jacob had been a valuable member of the team from the instant Will read his paper on time-space data analysis and representation. It was supposed to be a paper on gravitation for a freshman physics class. Jake had been pulled from his classes within a month and placed on Will’s team, and through the course of the next six months of work, he’d earned the right to participate in Chronos by impressing Will beyond his years. “Let’s get ready for that data, then.” Will said, sliding his work coat off and cracking the knuckles on a pair of summoned hands. He took a seat between the pair, and Alphys pulled a chair over to sit beside Jake. “Tenor, everything vetting properly?” “Hate t’admit, boss, but yeah. Hardware an’ software both workin’ as expected. It ain’t our tech. That data’s real.” Tenor said, clawed summoned fingers dancing across her keyboard. “Did five tests while Alphy was gettin’ ya.” “Well done. Damn. Jake?” Will asked, summoning a keyboard and plugging in to monitor 6. His summoned hands started typing, more restrained than Tenor’s rapid-fire commands. “The tests will have had to be adjusted for parameters I had been believing were out of range.” Jake explained. To his credit, he sounded more intrigued than upset, and Will thanked the stars for that. “One minute to be remaining.” Will steepled his summoned fingers in front of his face, focusing on Jake’s screen. Even as new data constantly flowed across some of the other screens, he squinted through his glasses at the empty grid, waiting for the information he so badly craved.  “Output is to be now.” Jake said. All eyes fell on the grid.  For a full two minutes, there was silence. Will stood, his mouth agape. Alphys dropped the keyboard she was using. Jake leaned forward on the counter that held the physical keyboards, and Tenor slid back in her chair with wide eyes.  “What in the absolute balls.” Will breathed, pulling his right hand from his pocket and tracing the loop on the screen. “That should be impossible.” “Even in my fuckin’ crazy talk theory thoughts I never figured there could be somethin’ like that.” Tenor agreed. “Fuckin’ stars, Will.” There on the screen, the red line of time’s flow stretched far into the future. Then it doubled back, a perfect loop that led directly backward to well before their current date. It then curved back again. And, in both directions of the loop, the path wavered badly as it approached...  “Nine fifty-six in the evening, tomorrow.” Will muttered, his finger hovering over that spot. “What the hell happens tomorrow night?” “There also seems to have been something else.” Jake said, pointing. There, scattered throughout the grid, but particularly notable at the very edge of the forward part of the first iteration, the team could just barely make out the presence--the very edge--of what Will could only describe as another line. “S-s-s-separate t-t-t-t-timelines?” Alphys stammered, rubbing her forehead.  “Multiple universes, maybe?” Will asked the room, squinting at those rare contact points.  “Can’t be us.” Tenor confirmed. “Else we’d see the whole thing.” “It is not having been signal noise.” Jake said, looking at his work screen again. “Having had signal noise eliminated for months.” Will pursed his lips, slowly sitting back down with his hands in his pockets again. He stared at the screen for a minute longer, then exhaled long and low and loud.  “Well.” He said, and paused. Closed his eyes to think for a moment, then opened them to look at his team. “Looks like we have plenty more work to do.”

There are three fics I would rather work on, but this is what my brain decided needed to be written. It’s a soulmate fic, the kind where you are colorblind until you meet your soulmate. I may or may not continue this fic.

Tony doesn’t mind seeing the world only in shades of grey. 

Sure, he is curious - isn’t everyone? - but if he never gets to meet his soulmate, if color never touches his vision... well, Tony is certain there are worse things.

***

Tony stares at his hands. They look perfectly ordinary, scrubbed clean of Afghanistan's dust and grime. Spotless. Pristine.

Only, it’s a lie.

Tony cannot see it, cannot feel it, but there’s blood there, oceans of it, smeared across his palms and dripping from fingertips.

Blood of innocents. Soldier blood. Civilian blood. Yinsen’s blood.  

Blood. It is red. Tony knows it. Knows that those who see color often find it appealing. It shouldn’t be. It’s a color of war and death and loss and guilt. 

“Tony? Are you alright?”

Tony snaps his gaze up, meets the concerned look on Rhodey’s face, forces his mouth into a grin. “Always,” he reassures with a half-shrug. “Although, I’ll be even better once I get my burger.”

Rhodey lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head. “Only you, Tony,” he says with exasperated fondness. “Only you.”

Tony spends the rest of the flight carefully avoiding to look at his hands. It doesn’t stop him from trying to scrub them clean, though.

***

“The render is complete,” JARVIS announces.

Tony throws a glance at the finished render of the suit. He looks at it for one long moment before letting out an amused snort. “You know what really sucks, Jarv?”

“Would that be literally or metaphorically, Sir?”

Tony gives a long-suffering sigh, rolls his eyes. “One of these days, you’ll tone down on the snark and I’ll die from shock.”

“I seem to recall at least three separate instances where you have expressed a rather firm opinion that nothing save Justin Hammer making something worthwhile could shock you.”

Tony snorts in amusement, then glances back at the screen in front of him. “I really want the suit to look good. It would be easier if I could actually see something that isn’t dark, light and the shades in between.”

“Might I suggest leaving the suit as it is?”

Tony huffs an impatient sound. “Come on, J. I need something more constructive than ‘don’t touch a thing’.”

“You are fond of spontaneous decisions, Sir.”

“So your suggestion is to play eeny meeny miny moe with the color chart?” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of relying on your instinct, Sir.”

Tony frowns, opens his mouth, but clicks it shut. He enlarges the render, studies it in silence one long moment. The words appear before his mind’s eye with a certainty that sends a tiny shiver along the length of his spine. “Red and gold,” he says finally, his voice coming out somewhat hoarse.

“Are you certain, Sir?”

Tony takes another glance of the render. “Yeah,” he says in a soft voice, feels his mouth slowly curving into a smile. “Yeah, I am.”

***

“The truth is... I am Iron Man,” Tony says and everything around him erupts into chaos of raised voices and camera flashes. 

He changes his life irrevocably with that single sentence, but he doesn’t know it yet. Doesn’t particularly care either.

He looks straight into the faces of the gathered journalists and smiles.

***

Dying sucks.

In a really not-fun way.

He glances down, traces the lines of the palladium poisoning spreading across his chest, wondering idly what is their color. 

Wondering - because why shouldn’t he indulge in pointless sentimentality, he’s dying after all - whether somewhere out there exists someone who is going about their day, looking at the grey world and thinking about will they ever see color. 

Considering how Tony has tried everything to find the element that would be adequate substitute for palladium, coming up with nothing, the answer to that question is rapidly edging into ‘snowball’s chance in hell’ category.

Dragging his eyes away from his chest, Tony forces his mouth into a grin.

He’s still alive and he has a birthday party to throw. Like always, the show must go on.

Well. Not for long now.

***

He doesn’t die.

He even gets the girl.

Tony doesn’t want to admit it, but he cannot help but feel a tiny - really tiny, minuscule even - regret at the fact Pepper isn’t his soulmate.

He doesn’t want to ruin this, not with Pepper, and well. He knows himself, knows he is going to mess things up. He needs all the help he can get.

Even if it takes the form of an unexplained mythical force.

***

“You ever wonder what your hair color is?” Tony asks, twirling idly lock of Pepper’s hair.

She lifts his head off Tony’s chest, arches an eyebrow in amusement. “I wouldn’t call myself a genius, unlike someone in this bed, but I am fairly certain I’m blonde.”

Tony lets out an exasperated huff. “Yeah, blonde, got it. But what does blonde mean?” he exclaims, curiosity and frustration tangling in his voice. “How does it look like?”   

A small frown crosses Pepper’s face. She gives Tony a questioning look as she pushes herself into a sitting position. “I used to wonder about colors when I was younger, yes, I’m certain there is not a single person alive who didn’t. But I don’t think about it anymore. It isn’t something I can influence,” she says, a touch of caution entering her eyes. “And since you’ve made me CEO, I’ve learned to conserve my energy for things over which I have some measure of control.”

“It doesn’t bother you? Not even a little?” Tony asks, disbelief clear in his voice. He throws up his hands, frustrated. “There’s this whole dimension to life and only 74% percent of entire human population is able to appreciate it. Personally, I think it sucks.”

Pepper remains silent one long moment, her face growing serious. “Are you sure this is about color, Tony?”

Tony blinks, perplexed. “Yeah,” he drawls, suddenly cautious. He rewinds his words silently, doesn’t find anything problematic. It doesn’t put his mind at ease, though. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d stuck his foot in his mouth without realizing it. “What else would it be about?”

“Us, Tony. The fact we aren’t soulmates.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s what’s got you worried?” 

“It is a pretty big deal, Tony,” Pepper says. “For many people.”

“Oh, thank fuck, for a moment there I thought I was in trouble.”

Pepper gives him an unnamed look. “You weren’t but you’re getting there. Fast.”

Tony opens his mouth, reconsiders his words, clicks it shut. Pushing himself off the headboard, he wraps cautious fingers around Pepper’s wrist, drags his thumb against the pulse point there. “Look, Pep, I know I’m a lot to handle, but I do want this to work.” Pepper remains silent, but the look in her eyes softens. Tony decides to take it as a good sign. He slowly drags his fingers up Pepper’s hand and over her collarbone, settling finally on the nape of her neck. He leans forward, brushes his lips against Pepper’s. “I don’t give a damn about soulmates or all the colors of the fucking rainbow. I don’t need to see the color of your eyes to know I want you here, with me.”

“That was almost romantic, Mr. Stark,” Pepper says, smiling and shuffling closer. “Even with the cursing.”

Tony grins and pulls Pepper flush against his body, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Blonde, he thinks absentmindedly, pressing his lips against Pepper’s. It’s still nothing but an empty word, an unknown concept, but it matters little compared to the softness of Pepper’s lips underneath Tony’s and the warmth of her body. 

***

So. Captain America is a self-righteous, stuck up asshole, and Tony wants to punch him so bad he can actually taste it.

And that? Is not normal.

Sure, Tony has certain... issues with holier than thou types, and Rogers fits in that category perfectly. 

(Tony is fairly certain he has his own subcategory.)

The thing is, contrary to popular belief, Tony does possess an impulse control and a somewhat developed sense of self-preservation. He knows that antagonizing Rogers with the looming threat of an alien invasion is a very bad thing. 

But he cannot help himself. Literally cannot. He sees the guy and slides straight into asshole extraordinaire mode. Rogers gives as good as he gets, though. The way things are going now, Tony is willing to bet they will come to blows by the end of the day. 

It could be his father’s fault. Years and years and years of listening Howard speak about saint Steve Rogers made Tony believe the man must have been a magical creature, some weird hybrid of unicorn and avenging angel.

(Rogers is neither a saint, nor perfect. And Tony is not above drawing petty satisfaction at seeing an undisputed proof of Howard being in the wrong.) 

The fault probably lies with Loki’s freaky glowing scepter. 

Still. Neither explanation provides the answer to the truly worrying question as to why the hell Tony feels an almost overwhelming pull every time he finds himself near Rogers. 

(Or not so near, as the case may be, but that is something Tony refuses to contemplate in the interest of preserving his sanity.) 

It’s like there’s an electric current running between them, and the moment they come within touching distance, it quite literally sparks in the hollow of Tony’s chest, sending little tendrils of warmth along Tony’s skin and the inside of his sternum.

(The bad thing? It’s not an uncomfortable feeling. Quite the contrary. It almost feels like soaking in sunlight.) 

It’s driving Tony crazy. Right about now, he’d almost welcome an alien invasion. Just so he could stop trying to decide whether he wants to punch Rogers in that pretty boy face or glue himself to his side. 

***

The first thing Tony sees when he opens his eyes is Steve Rogers. Smiling. At him.

For one moment, Tony forgets aliens, Loki, the fact he’d almost died, and just concentrates on the sheer beauty of that smile. That, and now familiar warmth spreading along Tony’s skin even under the suit.

“What just happened?” Tony mutters when he regains control of himself. Well. A partial control, at least, considering the words keep coming out of his mouth without his conscious decision, “Please tell me nobody kissed me.”

Steve glances around, then back at Tony, and that smile widens, becomes almost blinding; like seriously, something actually happens to Tony’s eyes, his vision whitening for a split second.

“We won,” Steve declares, sounding awed and relieved. And looking so damn young it hurts.

Tony opens his mouth, but the words freeze on his tongue, his breath catching in his throat. He blinks, tries to clear his vision, but it doesn't help.

Tony sucks in a harsh breath, his heart picking up speed. He wants to close his eyes, or turn his head, but he does neither. He watches, transfixed, as the grey of Steve’s eyes morphs into something else - something so beautiful it steals all air from Tony’s heaving lungs - and then, as if someone somewhere had flicked a switch, the entire world explodes in a shower of color.

Tony lets out a pained groan and shuts his eyes. 

He waits a moment, then decides to make it three before carefully blinking his eyes open, uncertain and not a little terrified, his blood rushing wildly in his ears.

A deep breath of pure relief leaves Tony’s mouth when he realizes he isn’t going insane. That he is, in fact, seeing in color, and fuck... he never thought... he read about it, sure, but actually seeing it is something entirely different. For a moment, Tony has an almost visceral desire to draw, because world in color? Is fucking amazing. Even in the aftermath of an alien invasion.

He pushes himself into a sitting position with effort, glances down at the Iron Man suit, “I’m a fucking genius,” he declares, grinning widely. And he really is. The suit, even in its battered state, looks badass. Then, he glances up, meets the wide-eyed look of shock, awe and amazement in Steve’s - blue, Tony has no idea how he knows, but he knows - eyes, and his grin freezes, then slips entirely off his lips as Tony’s brain finally catches up with the proceedings, and full realization of what just happened sinks in, and settles like a leaden weight in the pit of Tony’s stomach.

“Fuck,” Tony utters in a voice he barely recognizes as his own, staring in stunned disbelief at the ridiculously pretty face of one Steve Rogers, aka Captain America.

Tony’s soulmate.

Happy Lesbian Media with Happy Endings

Thought I’d make a list of canon endgame happy lesbian stuff since I’m procrastinating from studying cardiac markers. Note, these are ones that I’ve actually watched with my own two eyes and liked enough to commit to memory.

Movies:

Saving Face: By far my favorite but I’m bias (Read: I’m chinese). Chinese culture, chinese jokes, it’s so chinese! I love it.

Nina’s Heavenly Delights: Food? Check. Female chefs? Check. Plot to save a failing Restaurant while also wooing a fellow female chef? Check.

The World Unseen: Housewife being wooed by a handsome female hired hand? I think I know where this is going.

I Can’t Think Straight: Same gals as The World Unseen. So The World Unseen set in modern AU! Or is the other an AU of this film? Who knows!

Why Not Me?: Imdb sums it up pretty nicely - “ Four gay French expatriots share a business in Barcelona. When they and their parents are thrown together for a "coming out" party, another French Farce ensues.“

DEBS: Super agent in a skirt and a super villian-ess. Pass the popcorn.

Imagine Me and You: I can’t think straight, except british.

But I’m a Cheerleader: Gays and ex ex gays and pink and blues and camp.

Bound: UST in human form!

Fire: Husbands neglect their wives, so wives get together. Also may need to bring a fire extinguisher.

Better than Chocolate: Personally am meh to it but maybe others will enjoy.

Fingersmith: Earn your happy ending Trope in victorian settings.

Carol: Ladies on an illuminating road trip.

Novembermond: I may be stretching just a tiny bit for this one (ending was more bittersweet) but the girls are alive, implied to be together, so it counts? Also it’s a damn good movie.

Shows:

Bad Girls: Prisoner+Wing Governor AU. y/y? Before Orange is the New Black, there was Bad Girls. It even has a musical. Which was also very gay. Note I stopped watching the show after season 3? I think so I don’t know what happened next.

Without a Trace - Check Your Head: NOT the show as a whole, but the episode Check your Head is ridiculously adorable featuring a missing agoraphobic journalist. Just to be absolutely clear, despite the name of the show: No one is dead/dying in this particular episode.

Wynonna Earp: ~May be too early to call this one since the show hasn’t ended yet, but whatever, leave me alone. Wayhaught forever.

Doctor Who: You’ve seen my avatar, yes? hen you’ll know I’m obsess with Vastra and Jenny. I made a lil guide for them.

Guiding Light: Yes, a literal soap opera. Wait, don’t go! Here’s a clip show with all of Olivia’s and Natalia’s scenes.

Anime:

Kannazuki no Miko: Mechas! Reincarnated priestesses pining each other! Bluenette+Blonde! No one talks about episode 8! (No seriously, no one talks about epi 8).

Strawberry Panic: All girls school, not a male to be seen. All the tropes. Yeah, everyone is gay.

Revolutionary Girl Utena: A total mindscrew of a show, layered with about a billion rings of symbolism. The show is very open ended though I choose the optimistic view that it’s a happy ending. The movie while no less mindscrewy did away with the ambiguity and has a nice happy ending. Also transforming car.

Sailor Moon: No list is complete without Sailor Moon of course lol.

YMMV: While not explicit, the subtext is off the charts and there are no obvious male love interests.

Re: Cutie Honey: It’s weird, it’s cute, and the cop totally has a thing for the superheroine who could give Supergirl a run for her money in perkiness and bottomless pit of a stomach.

Saki: Mahjong with magic! Much blushing! Tacos are a superpower!

Maria-sama ga Miteru: Basically Strawberry panic except if everyone took a serious pill and remembered they were in an all girls catholic school.

And that’s all I have from the top of my head.

Happy viewings!  *mopes back to chemistry*

The politics are the cough. the disease is flooding to chase the trend of personal brand building. Events and confusing communities and arguably the arrangement of the direct market itself. No simplicity and lots of expense with shakeup one after the other.

And some transparently business or out of story disrupting existing (in humans versus mutants)

Starting Marvel, as an example, is harder than figuring out where to come in on the Fate series. I mention this because Comics are often compared to manga and yet however convoluted in silly may get for the most part you buy one collection, or let's not kid ourselves pirate, or wait until an animated adaptation comes out realize that it's pretty much faithful, go back to the core comic and so long as you start from the beginning you can follow to the end. Even if it's based off of a visual novel chances are everything will progress from beginning to end. It's usually when that models messed up with that something becomes destructive and difficult to follow or deal.

Unlike with manga where if you're having trouble following where to start with, like the Fate series, you can at least enjoy the latest Nasu verse offering. especially if you can turn your brain off and just engage with one example. Or if you don't want to deal with that you can just go to an entirely different property from a similar publisher that scratches a similar itch.

Like the premise of America Chavez buts I think she did it wrong? Well it's not like you can just switch over to Champions because that's a mess as well along with Miles Morales Spider-Man and ms. Marvel or spider woman.

it's expensive, patchy, filled with all sorts of weird continuity that you end up having to buy just to start. As such only the dedicated fanbase could possibly tolerate it but that also is exclusive in the sense that it's so to them with a history that it feels kind of off-putting.

I like the comicsgate comics I have heard of. I can also understand why we try to move away from that. Such as very obvious p*** tracing. And so on. Yes supposed diversity has basically led to a similar story of we're here now we're going to f*** the status quo too strongly relating to the audience or the author's pandering.

But it's not just they're going to have a trans person in an announcement. Which is a pretty major character trait I imagine that they want to talk about that or include it in the announcement.

the discontinuity does not help you build upsetting characters characterization and Circumstance. This is what I mean you're following themes story and events building to something then a new author will come in and he or she will wreck all that up so that they can go in an entirely different direction. Okay maybe you don't like the homosexual overtones of Eddie Brock and Venom. Maybe you want to stick it to all the slash shippers on Tumblr. But they've been the people who been following the comic and there's been a multi-year build up with sleeper, Eddie Brock and Venom's son.

going no now Eddy has a son he doesn't know about. oh and he was in the car that killed a child and him and Venom hate each other? Basically says f*** that other story we're going back to this story because I liked it better when I was young and I like it this way. And this kind of hostility is constant with every Changing of the Guard which can happen almost every two to three years. This keeps happening right when things are starting to get good or conclusion is reached. this undermines any death any major event or twist especially when it's in the headlines as if it's going to be meaningful

we can't even engaged in the illusion that someone has a plan charting something out when it feels like it's always fly by the seat of the pants the slightest whim can blow off the direction. We know in our conscious nothing that happens matters or at the very least when things end and we don't move on to something else then realize that there was a change but it seems seamless. Or at the very least it's a damn good seem that makes a very likeable and unique and distinct quilt. Again comparing and contrasting with manga

basically constantly ragging on the Politics as if that's what's causing the problem as opposed to Poor practices is off. yeah the customer service is definitely a no-go. But let's not kid ourselves Fanboys started it

I can straight up say that if you had a book that was straight up gay. like it starred the gay couple that once was Rescued by Captain America including his childhood hero And they were joined by the gender-bending exiled courtesan. you know those girls that always hang around in the background of Thor comics and everybody talks about winching and all that stuff? What if we actually focus on one of them and we threw in some mythological deviant queerness with the idea that men who practiced a certain form of Witchcraft had to be ladies. Now in practice this often meant anything from cross-dressing to performing ceremonies with a freaking dildo. But this is Comics so instead I can just go with the idea that after he uses magic so much he can turn or does turn into a lady. At first it's inadvertent but then he Masters the power so much that can transform into any lady. So he can go from weak little nerdy witch man to a Vanir (super durable pretty strong) or she giant.

It gets even more so when apparently he can change not just to a generic woman but any specific one. so he can literally clone an individual lady alive or dead. If she's dead you can act as a vessel for her soul so effectively while he might be booted deep within he can resurrect anyone's female loved one. Until changes back. The Twist is that while he won a beauty contest to be one of Odin's many many side pieces due to the politics and sociology of the time and the setup Odin didn't like admitting that they were both men or equals. Now the crossdressing courtesan isnt necessarily the nicest person. In fact the number one thing that characterizes him is that he hates the alpha male warrior culture or at least what he perceives of the negatives of it of Asgard. But that doesn't necessarily mean that he provides a good alternative. This will be a total retcon. not only would this make Odin effectively bisexual -although it's long since established that it seems like he's banged about so much he has had a child with everyone but his wife- but the idea that Loki and Thor grew up exposed to this weird gender-bending courtesan who tried to compete with the affections of their Queen Mother just so that that way he could get ahead and hated showing the absolute loyalty and Devotion to Asgard seeking glory in battle and death as opposed to conniving Gatling favor and trolling for booty while having to serve drinks for the Warriors that came by and were celebrated in the castle Hall.

Probably make up all sorts of relationships with other lesser-known Danny's that haven't been as much part of Marvel Thor but are important or at least well-known for the tradition. I would also shamelessly ripoff @gumon and her take on Norse mythology. With giants that just naturally produce children whether male or female. anyway ignoring all the continuity just so I could bring in the mythology that I want I would have it so that he was ultimately exiled because he got set up on a failure assignment. He got assigned to the Blue Mountain the traveling planet or set of rocks now that was the home of one of the Warriors Three the blue guy well the guy who wears blue and looks kind of like Angus Khan

The entire point of this is to get a different eye view of the Marvel Universe. What was it like to be one of those disposable pin-up girls. What is the gay population in gay culture and gay people been doing and light of the world that's been invaded from the ground been in a Perpetual fight with remnants of terrorists from World War II. And of course how they've been in for you property and making their lives and how are they responding to the fact that New York finally recognizes their marriage and of course life in the Twilight years as a gay couple that's constantly facing mortality. Also with the usual hey I'm an immortal mystical being who's having to relearn how to be human after having lived a life with a God's but neither being loyal to them nor a particular loyal to my own people. Along with the issues of the shapeshifter gender Dynamics and identity and all other sort of things. Pretty damn gay book. But I read it

Kids like imitating what they see so ripping the idea that someone's going to take some of the more iconic X-Men looks and style themselves after them when they know that their mutant doesn't seem wrong. I like the idea that we're going to open with someone who manages an online community for mutants. I like the idea of Trailblazer I like the ladies thick and I like the fact that she has a more utility power that she's going to have to work with and around hopefully being clever though that backpack does run the risk of becoming the Omnitrix and having the solution for every problem that you need.

Basically I like the children of the atom a bit more than the whole lineup of the new Warriors. I think people really should give the characters a chance so if you're turned off by yet another set of incest siblings in Marvel ya no problem or argument here.

The Chiss and the Verd’goten

[17:42] Vente'rro'rloth strode out from the barracks of the Mandalorian compound, clad in his scuffed but otherwise functional suit of polymer Composite armor -- the last personal effect he still owned from his former career as a trooper of the Chiss Ascendancy. Gripped within his gauntlets, 'Error' carried with him an EE-3 burst rifle issued by Jekai, and alongside his backpack of survival equipment, a serrated Vibrosword was strapped and buckled down; a gift from Jorval himself. Well rested after another evening abed, poring over his datapad on comprehensive Mando'a, the Ge'verd struck a vigilant look, gaze scouring the courtyard for his Alor, or Alor'ad.

[17:45] Nicci Ordo was finishing a comm at a computer console.  If one were looking carefully one would notice the helmet of the Alor staring back at her from the view screen.  "It will be done Alor," she replied to it, gruffly, before the screen blanked out in a hiss of static.  Nicci punshed the console a few times.  "Damn jungle.  Cannocks better not have eaten up the wires again." she jerked down a rather old looking radio and speakers all over the base would crackle to life,  "Bantov, get your kriffing ass down here and fix this shit!" she yelled, turning around and seeing a chiss she had never seen before.  "What the hell is this, you aren't Bantov..."

[17:50] Vente'rro'rloth halted as he made his approach only once a sharp voice barked out towards him. Tarrying at the threshold of the compound, the Chiss allowed his EE-3 Burst rifle to hang from its shoulder strap only to clasp his gauntlets behind his back, adopting a parade rest learned during his prior service. Shoulders squared themselves and boots parted to their width before the creature born of discipline cleared his throat to call out across the span between them both, "Su'cuy, Alor'ad," he hailed at first, "My name is Vente'rro'rloth, or 'Error', if my Galactic Basic name is easier. You might not remember me, though I was present when you fought our Alor for leadership of the Clan. I was tasked with dragging you back to a medical bay after your fall." He left it there for now, simply standing where he stood in his firm posture.

[17:51] Jekai Rau stood amongst Ordo assembly area A-3, as ships jetted overheard on engagement courses with the governors fleets above the icy world. He looked skyward, just momentarily, before looking over the numbers of mandalorians about. . [17:57] Nicci Ordo's face settled into a scowl, though it usually was, not that that could be seen under her helmet anyway.  "Your name could be mud for all I give a kriff.  It will be changing once you complete the verd goten anyway.  In fact I think I shall call you that.  Mud...or blue milk.  Yeah...blue milk.  No I do not remember you, why would I?  I just got my face kicked in, literally....and you aren't even much to look at.  So, blue milk, you're the scrub our Alor thinks is ready to ascend into something greater than an aruetii.  Don't look like much to me.  Our Alor is busy on the outer rim and asked me to put you through your trials.  But first, we are going to have a conversation."

[18:02] Vente'rro'rloth had grown accustomed to the 'tough love' of Jorval, if such behaviour could even be considered such. Though as the term 'Blue Milk' was coined, the discerning eye would note the prideful Chiss' jawline tightening a fraction beneath the thin cloth facemask he wore, teeth gritting as he bit back some verbal riposte. Instead, he opted for silence, simply remaining where he stood whilst those harsh, sanguine red eyes of his species studied the Alor'ad before him, taking heed of her word with attentive ears. Throughout her tirade, 'Error' stood largely unflinching save for the tightening of his jaw, its rigor only waning long enough to loose a few short words in Mando'a, "As you say." He uttered simply, in response to her mention of their much-needed talk.

[18:07] Slade Steele got off the Gauntlet Transport, rocketing in formation alongside other members of the Death Watch before breaking said formation and landing in front of Jekai, "My warriors are ready, and my pilots are prepared for combat. How will we go about this situation, Jekai?"

[18:21] Nicci Ordo couldn't help but smirk as he clearly seemed bothered by her calling him blue milk.  Good.  To ascend to something one must first had to understand they were nothing, and want it.  "Come closer kid I ain't going to shout across the room.  I realize you may have already done this with the Alor, but he is gone, and isn't the best at detailed reports honestly.  So you are going to do some shit again.  Now.  First of all, where are you from and why the hell do you want to be a mandalorian?" she asked.

[18:30] Vente'rro'rloth had a life of following orders and instructions behind him, so following another set of simple instructions was met with no indignation on his part. Stepping forwards, the Ge'verd strode within talking distance before coming to an eventual halt, adopting his parade rest from only moments prior. As the question was launched, the Chiss gave voice in concise report, his tone somewhat flat and factual, "I hail from a planet called Rhigar, in the system its named after. Many outside of Chiss space are unfamiliar with the 'Unknown Regions' of space as the galaxy at large call it, though your star charts will have it listed in the Rata Nebula star cluster, if they're up to date. I served the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force, fighting for the Chiss Ascendancy for just over a decade before my apparent recklessness saw me dishonourably discharged for pursuing and executing a fleeing foe alongside my squad mates." This fact was still a mark of shame for Error, born of a race that took pride in discipline; a discipli [18:30] Vente'rro'rloth  broken by a momentary bloodlust.

[18:40] Nicci Ordo almost snorted at his military like stance.  This was fine for now, he was not one of them, but she hoped he loosened up later.  She had not expected him to get so close.  So of course she did the socially awkward thing and leaned in to look at him.  She had never seen a Chiss up close before.  Well a Chiss who was not the former Death Watch overlord, but even him never this close.  "You are awful pale for a Chiss.  You got some pantoran in you?  Or human?  Do you actually see red through your eyes or do you see normal colors?" she asked, then realized if he did see in red then that WOULD be normal colors to him.  "Nevermind, don't answer that last one.  So you were dishonorably discharged, and chose to join a people whose whole life revolves around honor?  Seems odd to me, and didn't answer my question in the least.  You could have ran off and joined a gang of pirates for being kicked out of the damn military, why do you wish to be a MANDALORIAN?" she asked.

[18:53] Vente'rro'rloth remained rigid in his posture; an unyielding slab of flesh and polymer that absorbed the words of the Alor'ad without much discernible reaction. His species were a dour breed to most, though his silence was broken in the face of her initial query, "My lineage is pure-blooded, with no trace of genetic contamination." he reported with the typical brevity of his kind. "The skin pigmentation of my race is varied, much like that of Humanity. My pale complexion is simply a matter of genetics; I was not born on Csilla, where my race has evolved a darker shade of blue through necessity brought on by the harsh, cold climate." He spoke no further of his eyesight, and the boon of improved vision in low-light settings. Instead, he continued with their prior discussion, choosing to answer her question regarding his reason for seeking out the Mandalorians, "I have a life of service with a storied military career. It was tarnished by one reckless act that saw me discharged from that service. Shame is something my kind [18:53] Vente'rro'rloth  weigh heavily, so I voluntarily went into self-exile. With no hope of returning to the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force and a poor resumé to present their allies in the Galactic Empire, I sought to pledge my service to another worthy power within the galaxy -- to give myself and my talents purpose above that of a petty criminal. The 'Death Watch', as you are collectively known, strike me as an ambitious lot -- a breed of Mando'ade with hopes of establishing a lasting empire of their own. I would see our homeworlds reclaimed, and the borders secured once more. The Republic that reduced your people to their current state will learn to fear and respect your name once more. Those are my ambitions, and I would wish to be part of it."

[19:06] Nicci Ordo just shook her head.  This conversation was proving actually very productive.  She was learning his biggest weakness when her Alor thought it would be something else entirely.  It was a very unique weakness, one she would have to really think on to come up with a task for it.  "Kyr'tsad." she corrected him when he said Death Watch.  She hated referring to herself as that.  She was not that.  None of the mando'ad who called themselves this were that, as far as she was concerned it was a label, forced upon them by the idiotic Mereelists who thought to be called "Mandalorian" you had to work as a pathetic bounty hunter.  "You wish to be a part of that hm.  Tell me did Jorval educate you on cin'vhetin and our culture at all?  Because with the way you speak, you are not ready to be one of us.  You are still so...attached...to your precious heritage.  Your...Chiss way of life.  Listen to you....genetic contamination.  Mandalorians were once all one race you know.  The Taung.  They used to believe in the purity [19:06] Nicci Ordo  one race.  Do you know what happened to them?  They died out.  Now one of the staples of our culture is not that mando'ad are one race, but many.  We are encouraged to mix and get as much variety as possible, because that brings true strength.  Do you know how many Arkanian mandalorians there have been?  None in recorded history.  The reason is because Arkanians are for the most part, racist assholes.  They think themselves superior in every way, so much so they actually played god with their genetics, scientifically splicing them into many offshoot races which they consider "lesser" for the sake of gaining a suitable blue collar workforce because Arkanians were too high and mighty to do that kind of work.  If you refer to my asking if you have other races in you as "contamination" you will not get far among a multi raced culture.  You must abandon EVERYTHING you have ever known and become reborn entirely.  Even your name will be gone once you have proven worthy."

[19:21] Vente'rro'rloth had indeed learned the term of which she spoke, and simply gave a confirming nod, "Cin'vhetin, or White Snow in Galactic Basic. A clean start." he repeated, "Aside from Vode'an, it was the first phrase of Mando'a I learned, albeit not from Jorval's mouth. Another of the Mando'ade, who's name I didn't catch, he taught me it on the first day I sought this life. He told me that that was what I had begun... That my past, with this dishonourable discharge, would eventually be irrelevant. Forgotten." It took some long moments, but the Chiss seemed to manage to swallow his near instinctual pride; a habit of his race's culture that was fiercely difficult to shake at times. As her earnest lecture continued, he even managed a subtle nod of his head in understanding. "You make a valid argument." he conceded at length. That alone, was no small feat for a species so fond of being accurate in all that they did. "Perhaps I was wrong to choose that word. Contamination. Though the truth of that fact remains.. I am of pure [19:21] Vente'rro'rloth  Chiss lineage, just as I'm sure the Mando'ade house pure-blooded Weequay, Quarren, and beings of other races. My genealogy is largely irrelevant as you said - amongst a culture comprised of all races, in amendment of the Taung's ultimate and final mistake." Mention of his name and its eventual change was met with a simple, concise nod of his head. In the past, he'd been referred to by military rank alone, so the loss of identity was stomached with an ease that some outside of a military life would struggle with. "As you say." he repeated again, in that perpetual discipline.

[19:28] Nicci Ordo chuckled, "Then simply answer my question as pure blooded Chiss.  Not free of contamination.  But it has enlightened me to the way your mind is still working.  We need to purge it, before we can bring you in as one of us." she looked him over, noting his military rigor.  What is a mandalorian...to you?" she asked.  "What do you see when you see me?  When you see Jorval?"

[19:32] Vente'rro'rloth opted to keep his answer exceptionally concise this time, devoid of any explanation, for there was precious need of one beyond the simple word he uttered, "A warrior." he stated in the most plain of terms, whilst those harsh, imposing red eyes of his scoured the polished surface of phrik carapace overlay that made up the Alor'ad's beskar'gam. The black lacquered suit of armor made for an imposing sight, and one that had likely been the last thing ever witnessed by many a victim slain at the hands of the seasoned Mandalorian woman. Feeling precious little need to immediately expand on his answer, 'Error' simply stood there in his routinely unflinching posture.

[19:36] Nicci Ordo frowned.  This was was going to be tough for all the opposite reasons people usually were difficult.  This guy had clearly had all the wrong tasks.  Of course he was going to bring home a trophy like it was nothing.  "Recite the resol'nare."

[19:42] Vente'rro'rloth did just that, with only a brief pause to draw on a single breath, "Wear the armor - the beskar'gam - and see to its upkeep and maintenance always. Learn the Mando'a language, and guard it closely from the ears of the aruetii. Should you sire young, or even adopt, strive to raise them as Mando'ade by every means necessary; to fail in this - to fail in your duty to teach your child these key survival skills - is tantamount to neglect, child abuse, and poor parenting." Another breath followed, seeming to be the only reason he'd even paused at all, "Contribute to your clan, be this through monetary investment in the upkeep and maintenance of its assets, or through plying your skill at a profession of your choosing. Protect your clan, and those who've earned the right to live amongst it. And lastly - though somewhat irrelevant at present - obey the orders of the Mand'alor, and answer his call when it is issued."

[19:51] Nicci Ordo smirked, "Well said.  Dunno where all the other bullshit came from in the explanations but, well said.  The Resol'nare, or Six Actions, are the central tenets of Mandalorian life. They are: wearing armor, speaking the language, defending oneself and family, raising your children as Mandalorians, contributing to the clan's welfare, and when called upon by the Mand'alor, rallying to their cause.  So when I say what is a mandalorian, and you respond with "a warrior", you are not wrong, but you are only seeing half of what a Mandalorian is.  It is a very...aruetii answer.  What is a clan?  And if you simply say a group of mandalorians I will knock you all the way to Onderon."

[19:59] Vente'rro'rloth might have allowed a smirk at her threat, but alas, he was Chiss, and humour was difficult to stir in their hardened hearts. Instead, he simply soldiered on with his answer, elaborating on the meaning of a clan. "A clan is comparable to a colony; each Verd within the clan serving as part of the bigger picture - part of the unit as a whole. I was told by... Jekai, I believe it was, that its not uncommon to see a cook or a tailor clad in full beskar'gam, as strange as that concept appears to aruetii. If a clan was built up of nothing but warriors, there would be little they could accomplish. A thriving clan of Mando'ade will have cooks, engineers, tailors, singers, dancers, warriors, farmers... Every conceivable profession you'd expect to find in any other culture or society." He left it there for now, brows notching in a subtle furrow as he retraced his steps and considered his own answer. "The Mando'ade are trained in combat, but they are more than that alone. Combat is simply a necessity to ensure their [19:59] Vente'rro'rloth  culture's continued survival in a harsh galaxy that would see them wiped out."

[20:05] Nicci Ordo shook her head.  "Incorrect.  It is actually, backward.  We are ALL warriors.  There is no such thing as a mando'ad who is not a warrior.  To be mandalorian is to be warrior.  We have warriors who can cook.  Warriors who are skilled with machinery.  Warriors who are skilled with cloth making.  Warriors who have nice voices to sing.  Warriors who know how to grow things from the earth.  But yes, in the latter you are correct.  Family, you will notice, is part of the resol'nare.  Quite a large part.  But that does not mean just blood family.  There is a reason we address our clan-mates as vod, and vod'ika.  Do you know what those words mean?"

[20:12] Vente'rro'rloth gave another subtle nod of his head, "Vod and Vod'ika," he repeated, "Brother and Sister respectively." The terms were part of his basic digest of Mando'ade, and of late, much of the more simple terms, greetings, and phrases were essentially ingrained in his head. "I make a habit of studying Mando'a every night before I sleep; at least an hour, after completing the rest of my chores and tasks. Aside from giving me strange dreams in a language that once sounded foreign, I've found its helped me remember much of what I read the night prior." Though this time, it seemed the Chiss decided his mention required further elaboration, to prove his understanding of the concept she referenced, "The unity of the clan is paramount. In that, you are all brothers and sisters in arms. It creates a lasting bond that's strengthened through adversity. This concept is understood by most soldiers of various militaries, although I get the feeling that Mando'ade hold dear to this more than most."

[20:23] Nicci Ordo nodded, "Yes.  Though a bit deeper than just in arms.  We are brother and sister in a clan sense, in a bond that is thicker than even blood.  Now, you are not one of us yet, so your...rigid stance I suppose is appropriate.  But I am going to stress to you that we are NOT a military.  The closest thing you could compare us to I suppose would be...a tribe.  This military stance.  I believe the arutii call it...parade rest?  You need to drop it.  All the military discipline and twisting of your mind around rank, gone.  When you fight along-side a mandalorian, you fight alongside brothers and sisters.  You obey Alor and Alor'ad as you would parents, even fighting them when you do not agree with an action they are taking.  To fight and win is to gain respect.  To fight and lose is to offer respect.  It is considered dishonorable to disrespect a victor in a battle between warriors, even between warrior and aruetii.  When in a military situation you do not get to fight your superiors if you feel one of them is i [20:23] Nicci Ordo  error.  Here you punch them right the mouth if you do not agree.  You fight, if you lose, you lose the argument.  Done deal, no grudges.  Rigorous discipline is for the battlefield only.  Among your daily life with your brothers and sisters, it simply is out of place.  It would be like standing at parade rest in front of your father or mother even to do it to an Alor or Alor'ad.  Keep that sort of thing on the battlefield."

[20:29] Vente'rro'rloth digested the teachings in silence whilst his mind waged war against its every near-instinct brought on by his race's native culture. For a time, the Chiss spoke not a word, and the subtlest twitch of his brows caused a faint notch to furrow whilst he sought to comprehend this practice which - on face value - seemed so ill-disciplined and wholly at odds with the fame surrounding such a reputedly disciplined band of warriors. That such discipline lay only in the field of battle struck the Chiss as odd, but he gave a subtle nod of his head regardless, "As you say," he intoned again, and - with some degree of awkwardness - his posture slackened. Without his blaster rifle clutched within his gauntlets, and no means of clasping his arms behind his back, Error's limbs seemed to sort of hang at his side, awash with an awkward uncertainty. "Is this better?" he questioned at last, doing his best to loosen up, in what was no doubt an amusing display of discomfort.

[20:42] Nicci Ordo was indeed amused by his awkwardness, but pleased.  She wanted him entirely out of his comfort zone.  She nodded when he asked if it were better.  "An improvement, of sorts.  Never forget that it is our almost savage-like nature that make us more formidable than any military in the galaxy.  We fight as a way of life, not because we are ordered to.  We are warrior, not soldier.  There is a fundamental difference in those two terms.  Militaries enforce disciplinary frivolities for the sake of maintaining absolute control.  A mando'ade clan does not seek absolute control. This is your family you fight with, the passion and raw emotion of battle lust has always meant to be unhinged from the chains of rank, saluting, uniforms, and repetition.  Tell me, would you be motivated to fight for the life of your father, or for some soldier you did not know?  Would there be more feeling in your heart for a battle fought to better the life of your family, or would you rather fight a battle to gain territory for a ruler [20:42] Nicci Ordo  bask in all the riches and you get a simple paycheck?"

[20:54] Vente'rro'rloth found this question difficult to answer. He knew, of course, what the ideal response would be for any Mandalorian, but to be born of a race so wholly devoted to duty, to discipline, and to logic... it was somewhat jarring, to say the least. "I know that the answer you'd hope to hear should be 'yes, it is better to fight in defense of your family', but that answer is somewhat harder to give as one of the Chiss. In a certain sense, we are no different to the Mando'ade in our views of clan, or family. Amongst the Chiss, we have Houses, rather than Clans. These Houses are akin to family, too. Many - like my own, and the most venerated clan, Nuruoda - are of military heritage. Those we fight alongside are of our House, and by extension, of our family. Though I grasp your lesson, this camaraderie you speak of is simply all a part of our duty, amongst Chiss." A pause followed, before giving a subtle nod of his head whilst his arms continued to hang to either side of him, "I understand, and even agree, although [20:54] Vente'rro'rloth  perhaps my race's behavior towards its House or 'clan', and the duty that comes with it would seem cold and distant, to someone who's lived as one of the Mando'ade for a long while. In short, we too are close to our Houses, but its viewed as our duty, where I imagine the Mando'ade do so through personal bonds. Perhaps with time, I will develop these attachments, too." It was a frank and honest response, gutted of all idyllic answers. Bonds and kinship would grow and be cultivated. To force them, would be false and merely duty.

[21:03] Nicci Ordo nodded, "That is in fact, why I asked.  I did not want the answer I wanted to hear, I wanted the truth.  Because in your heart, you will never be mandalorian if you continue to think like your old culture, then you cannot be mando'ad.  You will still be Chiss.  Cin

[21:08] Nicci Ordo says, "Cin'vhetin will never be complete, and you will not have earned the right to wear the armor.  You fight, not for survival but because you are told.  You fight with no heart, but for duty.  This is not so much about forming a bond with others as it is with yourself.  You will have three tasks.  Three tasks challenging your greatest weaknesses.  Are you prepared to face these challenges?" she asked, her voice turning very serious."

[21:11] Vente'rro'rloth understood the aspects he ought to work on, and gave a subtle nod of his head in answer to her question, "I am prepared to go through with this, yes," he reaffirmed in a tone that seemed to broker no compromise or doubt. Having come this far, and already taken the bold step of leaving Chiss space to go into self exile, there was precious little room to turn back now. To shirk the offer of a place amidst a Clan would likely mean a life amidst the barves and wretches of the Outer Rim, plying his hard-earned talents as an Enforcer for a Hutt cartel. For Error, there could be little that was more humiliating than such a debased profession. "What challenges must I pass to prove to you, Alor'ad?"

[21:16] Nicci Ordo nodded, "I shall give you only the first for now.  If you live through it, you may be graced with the second.  You are to travel to Onderon, landing at the edge of the jungle along the ocean.  I will be the one to drop you off.  Once there, you will leave all your weapons and armor and clothing on board my ship.  You will be completely nude when you enter the jungle.  You are tasked with surviving, for a week, on nothing but your wits and what the jungle has to provide for you.  At the end of the week, you will bring me back the tooth of a rancor, or you fail.  Die, and you fail.  Leave the jungle, and you fail.  Arrange for a friend to bring you armor or weapons, and you fail.  Accept help from anyone else, and you fail."

[21:29] Vente'rro'rloth halted for a moment, his mind going back to memories of his rigorous training exercises as part of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force. Born to a race that hailed from an arctic planet, much of the training exercises had covered harsh weather survival in cold environs, but in service of a military that found itself the invading force on more occasions than not, survival techniques in certain other climates were taught to him, in rudimentary levels, at least. The thought of being stripped bare of armament and brought down to utter nothingness brought about a faint grimace beneath his mask, though the Ge'verd offered no vocal objection. Complaints were viewed with contempt amongst the Mando'ade, he had read. To grumble about your lot in life, showed weakness. To shy away in the face of adversity, was to admit you were less a warrior than you ought to be. Instead, Error chose to present the world with only a resolute nod of his head, "One week to bring back the fang of a Rancor. Very well." He did, however, [21:29] Vente'rro'rloth  pause for a moment, reaching down to his belt in order to unclip a datapad from within one pouch, a gloved hand thumbing a few buttons in order to bring up Holonet. For a time, he spoke not a word, gaze lowered to the viewscreen whilst he brought up some information about Rancors -- a creature he had yet to even hear of. The sight of the monstrosity was met with a clicking of his teeth. "-This- thing?" he questioned, turning the device about in one hand to present a flickering holo image of a pug-nosed beast with squinting eyes and a broad, slavering maw of cruelly serrated fangs. Its small head sat atop a squat neck, its broad shoulders giving way to a pair of disproportionately long arms with scything, nimble clawed fingers. Made worse, all those predatory assets were compact into a stocky body that looked to put a charging Reek to shame.

[21:29] Vente'rro'rloth halted for a moment, his mind going back to memories of his rigorous training exercises as part of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force. Born to a race that hailed from an arctic planet, much of the training exercises had covered harsh weather survival in cold environs, but in service of a military that found itself the invading force on more occasions than not, survival techniques in certain other climates were taught to him, in rudimentary levels, at least. The thought of being stripped bare of armament and brought down to utter nothingness brought about a faint grimace beneath his mask, though the Ge'verd offered no vocal objection. Complaints were viewed with contempt amongst the Mando'ade, he had read. To grumble about your lot in life, showed weakness. To shy away in the face of adversity, was to admit you were less a warrior than you ought to be. Instead, Error chose to present the world with only a resolute nod of his head, "One week to bring back the fang of a Rancor. Very well." He did, however, [21:29] Vente'rro'rloth  pause for a moment, reaching down to his belt in order to unclip a datapad from within one pouch, a gloved hand thumbing a few buttons in order to bring up Holonet. For a time, he spoke not a word, gaze lowered to the viewscreen whilst he brought up some information about Rancors -- a creature he had yet to even hear of. The sight of the monstrosity was met with a clicking of his teeth. "-This- thing?" he questioned, turning the device about in one hand to present a flickering holo image of a pug-nosed beast with squinting eyes and a broad, slavering maw of cruelly serrated fangs. Its small head sat atop a squat neck, its broad shoulders giving way to a pair of disproportionately long arms with scything, nimble clawed fingers. Made worse, all those predatory assets were compact into a stocky body that looked to put a charging Reek to shame.

[21:42] Nicci Ordo chuckles,  "Yep, that thing.  Should be pretty easy to spot, you may confuse it for a mountain at first," she grinned.  "Oh and one more thing.  At the end of the week I expect to be introduced to the alive rancor you took the tooth from.  You kill it to get the tooth, and you fail.  Anyone can kill a thing and take a trophy.  To have respect enough for something's right to exist is much more difficult, especially I imagine to you. This test is not for you to go on some senseless trophy hunt, but to learn something of deep value, the way of the warrior, not the soldier."

[21:50] Vente'rro'rloth had already been hatching plans to take the fang from a living rancor; having deemed it easier to perhaps knock a tooth from its gaping maw, rather than slay such a formidable creature. That this was now a prerequisite of the task even managed to paint a subtle smile across the Chiss' features, betrayed only the faint tugging of his thin cloth facemask. "As you say..." he repeated again, although this time, his tone seemed to betray some faint edge of mirth for once. For a moment, he'd wondered if she expected him to kill one, but seemed glad that she didn't. "In which case.. I am up to the task." He left it there for now, his mind wandering off to formulate a step-by-step action plan, prioritizing reconnaissance for the first day, during which he'd attempt to source a supply of clean, drinkable water, soon followed by the establishment of a safe perimeter in which to erect a shelter to live beneath the canopy.

[21:54] Nicci Ordo nodded.  This whole Death Watch thing had not sat easy with her.  She had lost the fight to the Alor, when she challenged his decision for the second time to go in that direction.  She would never allow the honor of her clan to be tainted, even through conquering, by senseless killing, raping,  and outright murder of the defenseless as the Death Watch of ages past had been.  For this it was important that her verd be just as capable of respecting life as they were of taking it.  "Good.  Get some rest tonight, tomorrow is when we leave."

[22:01] Vente'rro'rloth gave one final nod, taking heart in the fact that he'd be permitted to savor the warmth and meager comforts of the barracks once more before he'd be flung into the depths of the jungles of Onderon. Alas, he wagered his sleep would be fitful at best. Before him lay one arduous and potentially deadly task, and the night before his mission would be spent doing research on the jungles of Onderon, their indigenous wildlife, along with its varied fauna, studying what should and shouldn't be eaten, and which beasts would pose a near-human species the greatest threats. "I'll make all necessary preparations and get some rest." Error assured, seemingly intent on taking his leave to begin his work. He did pause however, and perhaps in something closer to the warmth displayed by beings of different races, the Chiss managed a muted grunt of acknowledgment, "Nnh, and I appreciate the lectures you've given me today. This gives me something to reflect on." In truth, Error doubted he could afford himself much time to sit [22:01] Vente'rro'rloth  reflect on her words whilst surviving in the treacherous jungles, but he'd endeavor to attempt it nonetheless.

[22:06] Nicci Ordo merely grunted at him.  She was not a person of many words and this had been more than she had spoken to anyone in months. She was socially awkward always but, never when teaching the cultural essentials of the mandalorian civilization.  She had said all she felt she needed to, and left the building to get her own sleep.