#but i think the white hair streaks marked the point of no return lol

[holopossums]

omg older Krow real??

Future Boy gets more Future'd to be my age, how fun! :3

but i did put my entire gender envy into one man so i'm gonna pass out now

edit: he has an official reference now that looks a little different!

[aotimagines]

Can you also do a scenario for Levi with Hanahaki disease?

I haven’t written a scenario for Levi since 2018 and this is what I come back with. Um...I’m so sorry. Angst is my forte and it’s easy for me to write, so...yikes. I also listened to drivers’ license on repeat to set the ambiance for this piece and now I’m sad, lol. Sorry! Maybe I’ll write something happier for Levi to make up for this one, lmao. Enjoy! 

It was happening again.

The tightness in your chest constricted your lungs like a snake had coiled around the base of your throat and squeezed, cutting off the air to your lungs. Your head spun, black dotting across your vision, and the uncontrollable urge to cough itched in the back of your throat. You had to hold it down. ‘Please, not here,’ you mentally begged to any entity listening above the skyline to not expose your dirtiest, darkest secret to your colleagues. Your nails dug into the wooden table, leaving behind crescent-shaped marks in the cherry-colored lacquer and the color drained from your cheeks.

No one would notice your struggle if you kept it together, you reasoned. Hange was going over something about Marley and you had, admittedly, tuned out about thirty minutes ago. Whatever it was had to be important because they had everyone’s attention, to your knowledge. Out of the corner of your eye, you were vaguely aware of Levi’s sharp, piercing gaze lingering on your face, but you squeezed your eyes shut and internally begged him to just look away.

Inside of your chest, the flower that bloomed burned like a kindling ember, the stems brushing against your lungs and taking up space you needed to breathe. Experiencing this was painful, but it was nothing like the white-hot agony you felt whenever you realized that the person you loved would never return your feelings.

You had tried to let go—had tried to release your feelings and live with your fragmented heart—but nothing had worked. How could it when the person whose affections you desperately wanted worked alongside you every day, helping and caring about you in his own awkward, weird way? It wasn’t fucking fair that you had to live like this.

Except you didn’t. You knew about the removal process and, as a soldier, you knew that it was what you needed to do for yourself, for the future and for humanity. Every time you thought about getting the surgery performed, the aching of your fragile heart—the singular bloom of hope still lingering in the pit of your stomach—protested against the idea. You had never felt this way for anyone before in your life; how could you just ignore that and have the flower removed? How could you forget about happiness that the feelings gave you, or how it felt to just be by his side in silence of the night?

Living with this flower growing inside of you was painful, but the thought of having to give up Levi Ackerman was excruciating.

“That’s all I wanted to talk about today! If everyone could follow me, I want to discuss some improvements to the thunder spears I’ve been working on…” Hange’s voice flooded through your reverie, snapping you back to reality. Your knuckles were stark-white from the tight grip you had about the wooden table, your fingers easing from the leg once the feeling of having to cough seemingly passed.

As the group shuffled out of the room, there was one person who waited—one person whose unreadable facial expression made you tense up where you sat. “Four-eyes was that boring?” his flat voice drawled and, even without looking up, you knew his slate-colored irises were glued to where you sat. It had you anxious, the sensation of having to cough flaring up in the back of your throat once more. Instead of answering verbally, you shook your head and prayed that Levi would take the hint that you wanted to be alone. The sound of his shoes reverberating off the flooring allowed the tension you had been holding between your shoulders to dissipate, a wave of relief washing across your body. You were finally alone to cough in peace.

The instant you opened your lips to try and draw in a shaky breath, it began. A powerful cough strangled your breathing, the sensation of something lodged deep inside the back of your throat causing your body to lurch forward. Tears pricked your eyes as your coughing turned into violent dry heaving, the wheeze from your lungs desperately trying to push out the planet inside of your body echoing throughout the room. Hange and rest of the Survey Corps’ higher ups were probably in the weapons room by now, leaving you alone to your own suffering. Your fingertips dug into the stone flooring, your sputtering finally expelling the first fist-full of bright-blue, blood-slicked flowers from deep within your chest. Once it began, it didn’t stop. Over and over again, you threw up the bright flowers, their beauty tainted with the crimson blood dribbling from each and every petal.

At some point, you became aware of a hand resting against your back, dread serving as an anchor tethering you to where you knelt on the floor. When your gagging calmed down, you sharply sucked air in through your teeth, desperate to catch your breath and stop the feeling of your head swimming. You knew you were covered in spit, blood, and forget-me-not petals, but you didn’t care about your physical appearance. The person at your side didn’t have to speak—you already knew who was at your side.

“Please,” you croaked, voice husky and hoarse from having just coughed up over a dozen flowers in one go, “don’t say anything. Please, Levi.”

“You want me to sit back and watch you kill yourself?” came his blunt remark, much to your dismay. He wasn’t going to let it go; of course he wasn’t. The two of you had been together for a decade at this point and the worry that he felt for you buzzed through the air like electricity.

Your wild eyes met his taciturn expression, tears streaking down your face. “I don’t want to talk about this. Why did you even come back in here?”

“If you were hiding this, you did a shit job. You acted weird throughout the meeting. How long?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Levi clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Is that something you could be saying?” He was quiet, gaze flickering to the pool of flowers on the ground before tentatively bringing up in a quiet tone that was almost uncharacteristic of him, “You’re dying, and you didn’t say anything. Were you just going to lie down and not fight this?”

A laugh bubbled from the back of your throat, disbelief written across your face. Pushing off the floor, you sat back on your knees. “I don’t want to have the surgery.”

“…That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Levi brought himself to his feet, hands brushing off the imaginary dust that clung to his clothing. Without much warning, his hand hooked around your arm and hoisted you up, his strength guiding you towards the door. “You want to die? Then do it under someone else’s watch.”

“Let go,” you demanded, yanking your arm away from his grip. Frustration simmered inside of your veins, your hurt and anguish for this man finally spilling out in one fell swoop. Hot, fresh tears gushed from your eyes, yet you made no move to conceal them. Your heart was, for the first time in over ten years, on display for Levi to see and the fear of his rejection wasn’t enough for you to keep your silence any longer. “You don’t get to dictate what I can and can’t do! So what if I don’t want the surgery? So what if I’m being stupid? Even though I’m like this, I can’t let go! So, what am I supposed to do, Levi?”

The raven-haired male was silent for a moment, drinking in your broken features with a glint of concern etched into his body language. It was faint and difficult to see, but you knew him like the back of your hand; it was easy to tell and see what he was thinking, at this point. His lack of response prompted you to shake your head, your voice small and as fragile as splintered glass as you asked, “Is there really no way you’d love me back? Am I putting myself through hell for nothing?”

Levi was tight-lipped, body tense and unmoving as he continued to study you. Desperate, you latched onto the sleeves of his jacket, voice thick with tears. “I fucking love you, Levi. If there’s even a chance for you to feel the same, please tell me.”

A long, drawn out pause filled the air until Levi’s fingertips—calloused from years of training and fighting—uncurled your hands from his frame, features pressed into the same, apathetic expression you were so used to him wearing. “Get the surgery,” he said firmly, his singular sentence tearing you asunder from the inside out. Your face crumpled, the flower inside of your chest throbbing painfully at the notion that he would never love you back.

No matter how much you wanted him, Levi Ackerman wasn’t in love with you.

“I’m telling Hange when I walk out this door. Once it’s over, things can…go back to the way they were.” Helplessly, you watched Levi exit the room, missing the way his features twisted in misery as he listened to you collapse into yourself, your sobbing playing again and again inside of his head.

How could he promise you something when everyone he ever loved withered and died underneath his touch? You were too precious to lose, even if it killed him in the end.

Inside of his chest, a familiar burn pulsated, the urge to cough becoming more and more difficult to ignore even as his legs carried him down the hall.

[starneko123]

Butterfly Effect

Star's Note: So I finally got around to putting my main OC in the MK 2021 movie storyline and the first part is like a...songfic? Yeah so prepare for that and also Korë Nagako X Liu Kang is a crack ship, in general, please don't take it seriously lol.

OC Characters Involved

Nova Nagako

Mileena walked through the foyer leading to Shang Tsung's throne. Kabal and Goro were joining her it wasn't like she needed assistance for this. She preferred to do this one alone but the iron lung and royal brute refused. The trio reached Shang Tsung and once he gave Mileena the signal she spoke "She was spotted in Earthrealm far from Raiden's Temple as we speak. She seems to have...a different life with others around her. A caregiver." Mileena finished with an aggravated sigh "A caregiver?" Shang Tsung echoed in question.

Kabal cut his way into the conversation "She means her mother but with the description you gave it made it more difficult to find her. No white streaks in the hair, no pink eyes, and no magical powers. The reincarnation is shit." Kabal spat gesturing behind as if she was there. "Nova-" Shang Tsung began and Kabal cut him off once more. "News Flash she doesn't even go by Nova over there! Who the hell would name their kid Nova in this modern day. Her name is Korë. Not any better but it's different. Not fucking Nova." Now he was finished, and he put his hand on the hip for added flare.

"She's not our Lady Nova but still she stands out." Prince Goro mentioned. Mileena may have sniffed her out but Goro tracked her down. He found her first his chest swelled with pride. "She has companions." Mileena groaned half-heartedly "A friend and a consort." Shang Tsung leaned forward standing up from his throne altogether. "A consort?!" Kabal spoke again, "Yeah, not very good looking or the sharpest tool in the shed but they're around each other." Too bad they couldn't see Kabal rolling his eyes because he was doing so every few seconds. "Are you the better option?" Kabal asked genuinely "She is my Queen, my better half." Shang Tsung's voice echoed dreamily and again Kabal rolled his eyes "That's what they all say." Mileena then stepped closer to Shang Tsung as if it was just the two of them. "She had the marking of a Chosen One." Shang Tsung smirked "All the better." He then snapped his head to the side to look over at Nitara perched on a block of stone petting her wings. "Kabal and Mileena...Nitara will assist you in retrieving Nova." Mileena had no problem with that, she got along with Nitara so far. "Yes, master." Nitara said slyly as she sashayed towards the two said kombatants.

"Kill or injure beyond repair whoever stops you from bringing back my wife!" His voice echoed into the maroon sky.

Korë herself was sitting in a chair next to her close friend and housemate, Soleil. "You know what I think I did a really good job on my eyeshadow." She said brushing it a few more times and facing Soleil to show her eyelids covered in white eyeshadow and silver outline. She also had glitter on her face it must have been from the perfume or another form of body glitter. "I think you did really good this time, you're getting better." Soleil put her brush down and stood up fixing her dress in the process. Korë and Soleil were wearing the same dress it was a short pure white dress with lace at the ends and at Korë thought it was plus since it also wasn't strapless.

"Korë Nagako and Soleil Zaveri... five-minute call out. Almost showtime." It was their manager, Soleil responded with an 'Alright' and Korë an 'Okay'. Soleil stood up from her rolling chair as she finished her winged eyeliner and Korë followed her as she finished putting on her lip gloss.

"Yeah, I'm at the place it's like this, singer stripper bar or whatever, I don't know but she's here," Sonya said as she entered the bar and took a seat in the back, and ordered a drink.

"Now, blessing us with their presence is the femme fatale duo is Korë and Soleil!" The response to the statement was scattered cheers. The duo walked onto the stage and the atmosphere itself changed when she saw Korë. Korë had a slight headache that she had been nursing for a couple of days and Soleil knew that but Korë was convinced that it had gone away and she was just dealing with the aftermath. They both cleared their throat and as the stage light shined on them, Soleil started harmonizing as the beat started playing and Korë started singing.

It's like you got superpowers

Turn my minutes into hours

You got more than 20-20, babe

Made of glass the way you see through me

You know me better than I do

Can't seem to keep nothing from you

How you touch my soul from the outside?

Permeate my ego and my pride

"I love you." Shang Tsung said as he wrapped his arms around Korë twisting her around so she was facing him and she gazed at him lovingly as a teasing smirk spread across her obsidian lips. She leaned in until their lips were ghosting over each other "Do you want me to say it back?" She asked jokingly "I think my heart will truly break if you don't." Shang said dramatically and she giggled "I love you."

I wanna love me (ooh)

The way that you love me (ooh)

Ooh, for all of my pretty

And all of my ugly too

I'd love to see me from your point of view

I wanna trust me (trust me)

The way that you trust me (trust me)

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do

I'd love to see me from your point of view

"If you stop moving it would hurt less Prince Goro." He growled again at her statement and she returned it with a cold, unmoving stare. His growls then calmed down to huffs and puffs "Thank you." She said to him as she finished wrapping the bandage around his arm. "The wound isn't too bad, you'll heal fast either way." She said as she stood up and gathered her healing equipment and before she left she was grated with a rumbling "Thank you." at least he had manners she'll give him that. Before she closed the door she sent him a smile. A kind smile. One to remember.

I'm gеtting used to receiving

Still gеtting good at not leaving

I'ma love you even though I'm scared (oh, scared)

Learnin' to be grateful for myself (oh, oh, oh)

You love my lips 'cause they say the

Things we've always been afraid of

I can feel it startin' to subside

Learnin' to believe in what is mine

"I wouldn't recommend it Mileena," Nova said as she closed her spellbook and stood to face Mileena and they were roughly the same height. "But to ensure my knowledge of it-" Nova sighed and grabbed Mileena by the shoulders "I don't want you to learning just yet, you must stick with the powers you were born with for now. I will teach you myself when you have elevated your powers. Understand?" Nova asked tilting her head for the effect and Mileena nodded. Nova brought her in for a hug and kissed her on the forehead and at that Mileena purred in comfort and delight for the slight praise she got.

I wanna love me (ooh)

The way that you love me (ooh)

Ooh, for all of my pretty

And all of my ugly too

I'd love to see me from your point of view

I wanna trust me (trust me)

The way that you trust me (trust me)

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do

I'd love to see me from your point of view

I couldn't believe it or see it for myself

Boy, I be impatient, but now I'm out here

Fallin', fallin', frozen, slowly

Fallin', got me right

I won't keep you waitin' (waitin')

All my baggage fadin' safely (my baggage fadin')

And if my eyes deceive me

Won't let them stray too far away, I

I wanna love me (ooh)

The way that you love me (ooh)

Ooh, for all of my pretty

And all of my ugly too

I'd love to see me from your point of view

I wanna trust me, ooh (trust me)

The way that you trust me, baby (trust me)

'Cause nobody ever loved me like you do

I'd love to see me from your point of view (oh)

Yeah

As they finished their performance they got a fresh round of applause and Korë finally let out a breath as she always did after a performance and smiled alongside Soleil. After giving a wave they went backstage and collected their money. Since they didn't feel like staying at the bar anymore that night they decided to head home. "Good night KoKo," Soleil said with a yawn as she kissed her on the cheek and closed the door to her room. Korë was outside on the back porch humming and looking up at the sky, enjoying the night breeze. Until she heard whispering and then shuffling in the bushes 'The fuck?' she said under her breath as she quickly grabbed the steel bat near her that they used for protection.

She walked closer to the bushes and beat them with the bat a few times before staring at them again. She sighed, maybe she was just tired that was more than likely the case. She let out another breath as she turned but then yelped as she was met with a woman who was roughly her size and height. Her eyes glowed in the night and her mouth was covered in blood and it looked almost stained on her face. "Mommy Nova! I have waited so long for you!" She grinned widely showing off her razor-sharp teeth and reached for a hug arms opened wide but Korë moved a couple of steps back, her back bumped into someone and she turned to see a man taller and lankier.

"Hey, sweetness." It sounded like a man, a man who had trouble breathing and could barely compose his words. Korë wasn't thinking straight that's all she could of. She swung her bat wildly at the two intruders causing the man to speed away and the woman teleport back a few feet away from her. But she knows that she has hit one of them by the blood on her bat and the scar that was made on her stomach. She shrieked as she held her stomach and she did a full 360° but she couldn't see them. She felt like she was going to faint from the loss of blood and the lack of sleep. She then heard gunshots and she fell to the ground hoping that nothing else would wound her.

"Get up and get in the car!" She didn't have to be told twice since she was living off of adrenaline at the moment. She ran past the woman who was still letting off gunshots as she got in the car and slammed the door as she leaned into the seat protectively. After letting off a few more shots that the duo continued to dodge Sonya ran back to the car as well and got into the driver's seat starting the car and zooming off as she saw beady red eyes staring at her in the rearview mirror. "Who the hell are you?" Korë asked with a hiss as the woman started looking at her up and down when she suddenly asked "Where is the marking?" She asked indignantly "What fucking marking?! What the fuck are you talking about?" Korë spat and Sonya rolled her eyes as she tugged Korë's hoodie upwards and ghosted her finger over the Mortal Kombat marking.

"You wanna explain that?"

[let-it-raines]

I don't really know what I want, but I do know that I want Captain Swan in the Enchanted Forest! Ready, set, go!!!

So, found this little thing when I was trying to find my grocery list of all things. lol. So I obviously had to post it for you guys 😘 

Found on ao3 | here | if that’s more your jam!

Rating: Mature

-/-

A long white cloak trails behind her, the bottom of it brushing against the floor to pick up dirt and other small pieces of nature covering the ground. There are grass stains, brown and green streaks marking the ornate piece of clothing, but it will be cleaned and cared for until her cloak is as white as snow.  

He would know. He’s seen every marking on this particular piece of clothing be wiped away, whether by servants or a touch of magic, and the next time he sees her wear the cloak, it will be as if it is fresh from the seamstress and placed on her back with no interference.

‘Tis like that every time.

Killian chuckles to himself and wipes his knuckles along his lips while he reaches with his hook to dust away any dirt that has clung to his own leathers. He may not have a team of women behind him to make sure he stays laundered, but he can at least make himself look presentable. After all, the princess has come all this way, dodging her guards and her companions and anyone who might recognize her from the portrait of her hanging in the royal Governor’s office not half a mile from the ports where she’s milling about now.

She’s quick, that one, has more smarts than those who have dedicated their lives giving her the lessons that are supposed to educate her, but there are still some things that slip her mind after all this time.

Like wearing an ornate white cloak and leaving her golden hair falling down in waves over her shoulders instead of tying it with a ribbon and hiding it away. She reeks of royalty or some other kind of high-born woman, and high-born women do not come to a fish market where there might be pirates about.

They are scoundrels. Shouldn’t she know that?

“Smee,” Killian calls, hopping down from his post until his feet land heavy against the solid wood of the Jolly Roger, “make sure the place is spotless by nightfall. Every damaged board better damn well shine.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” his first mate says, tugging on his red knitted cap. One day the man has to get something a little more discreet. Maybe he and the princess can teach each other how to blend into a crowd.

With a sauntering step and a swing over his heavy coat around his calves, Killian quickly walks across the deck until he’s descending from his ship and moving across the uneven docks. Misthaven is one of the richest kingdoms in the realm, full of potential for water imports and exports, but the King and Queen have never put much more than one gold piece into repairing things. Maybe they would invest more if they knew how much time their beloved daughter spent time here.

Or maybe they would whisk her away so she could never see the sea again.

The docks are full with throngs of people milling about, each of them carrying a basket or parchment-wrapped fish, but Killian doesn’t pretend he’s about to stock up on supplies. He’ll do his own fishing if need be, and if not, he’ll find their fishermen when their supply is fresh and not a day or two old like they are today. Cutting out the middlemen and all.

She is currently talking to a vendor who sells baked goods. He believes her name is Ariel and that her husband works in the fishery, but he has never made their acquaintance. He tends to keep to himself and let Smee and Scarlet deal with making the acquaintances of the locals in each port.

“Thank you,” Emma sighs as she passes over a few coins in exchange for what Killian assumes is her favored sweet bread. “I’ll see you soon, Ariel.”

Ah, so he was correct in her name.

Killian knows Emma isn’t expecting him to be standing behind her by the way the emerald of her eyes widens and she nearly drops her food. It is endearing, and he struggles to keep both corners of his lips from turning up. In compromise, he lets one side smile while he slightly squints his eyes, mimicking the look she claims he gave her the night they met.

He knows what look he gave her, and it certainly wasn’t decent enough to be seen in broad daylight.

“Captain,” she says slowly, narrowing her own eyes.

“Milady.” He leans down and mockingly bows. She must be resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She so despises when people bow to her. “Enjoying the shopping?”

“”Tis a nice day for it, don’t you think?”

“Of course.” Killian steps closer to her but stays far enough away to be proper. He may not know the names of everyone here, but they certainly know his. Say what you will about Captain Killian Jones and his following of wenches, but he lives by a code, one he does not take lightly. He won’t do anything to impede upon Emma’s reputation, at least publicly. “Might I suggest looking at crustaceans near my ship. I haven’t bought any myself, but the word around the village is that they are divine.”

“You’ve been listening to what people have to say?”

“Oh, you know me. I’m a man of the town, a man of the people you might say.”

Her lips press together in a small, timid smile before she begins walking toward his ship, her cloak whipping behind her and her hair being blown in the wind.

She’s an ethereal beauty, this one.

“You’re not supposed to meet me on the docks,” Emma murmurs. “It makes it too obvious.”

“Darling, if you aren’t going for obvious, might I suggest not wearing a snow-white cloak when everyone else here is in shades of brown with slightly torn clothes.”

“Says the man wearing leather and a vest that’s nearly unbuttoned down to his navel. That’s not exactly inconspicuous.”

“I’m a pirate, love. I’ve never been inconspicuous.”

She turns to him, squinting her eyes once more, and he simply winks before nodding his head and turning her on her way toward the Jolly. No one pays them any mind. Everyone is too lost in their own worries and their own business to look at the two of them, but nevertheless, he urges Emma to pull her hood up and tug it around her face. As long as no one recognizes her face, all will be well. She’ll simply be the maiden who climbed aboard The Jolly Roger with him, and he’s got enough of a reputation that the news will not be of any substance for gossip. It will simply be another day for him.

At least he hopes so.

His crew stop their repairs to watch he and Emma moving aboard, but the moment Killian makes eye contact, they all turn away and quickly return to their tasks. They know not of who Emma is to the kingdom, but they know who she is to him. They are also aware that his companion is none of their damn business.

“You do not have to shoot daggers with your eyes at them, you know?” Emma laughs.

“I was doing no such thing.”

“You know you can’t lie to me. I can tell.”

“One of the worst bloody things about you.”

“Ah, see, but I know that you’re lying when you say that.”

Killian huffs underneath his breath before stepping in front of her so that he can look in her eyes. They’re a mixture of emerald and gold, two treasures any pirate would be happy to possesses, and the sunlight brings out the colors of her eyes until they are the most gorgeous thing in his sights. Then again, they didn’t need the sunlight for that.

“Do you always insist on being so frustrating?”

Emma’s lip curls up and runs her finger down the center of his chest, twisting her nail into his tufts of hair. “I know you like it, Captain.” She steps closer, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear, “and you know there’s no point in denying it.”

“And if I were to deny that I enjoy finding you frustrating?”

“I think I’d have to coax the words out of you,” she whispers. “Now, isn’t there a novel you had talked about showing me? Down in your Quarters?”

“I know you are teasing me, love, but I did pick up a few new stories for you in the Southern Isles.”

“Yeah? Have you read them yet?”

“Aye, but I don’t think that would have kept you from taking them.”

She kisses the underside of his jaw before walking away. “You know me so well, Captain.”

Bloody temptress.

The waves move beneath his feet as he follows Emma, not bothering to explain himself to any of his crew except to tell Smee he’s not to be disturbed unless they are under dire circumstances. Even then, he doesn’t want to know unless it is not something that can be handled without him.

Priorities and all.

By the time he is below deck and in his Quarters, Emma has already unclasped her cloak from her neck and draped it over the windows, dimming the room and providing them with the privacy they need when meeting during sunlit hours. He much prefers the safety of the night and the blanket that the darkness covers them with, but it is easier for Emma to meet him during the early afternoons when the sun is high in the sky and the crowds in the villages are full.

He will take her whenever he can.

“What’s this one about?” she asks as her fingers flip over the delicate pages of one of the novels he has laid out.

Killian shrugs off his coat, the weight falling off his shoulders, before he steps up to Emma, pressing his chest to her back and rolling his hips into her delectable backside. He runs his lips over her jaw before settling behind her ear. She’s sensitive there, and small bumps always rise on her porcelain skin whenever he runs his lips against the shell or allows the hair on his chin to brush against her.

“This one is about the structure behind ships and how to improve the speed of our sails.”

“You have a Pegasus sail. What do you need this for?”

“I enjoy learning about ways to improve. I wouldn’t want to be caught unaware.”

“No,” she sighs as his teeth nibble against her, “you wouldn’t. Do you expect me to read this?”

“That one wasn’t for you. Grab the one with the white ribbons tied around it.”

Emma leans forward enough that he loses his grip on her and that his lips fall away, and he takes the opportunity to start unlacing her corset. He takes pride in being able to do just as much as any other man with his hook, and for the most part, he’s able to. However, he appreciates that Emma has loosened the first few strands and that he’s able to undo her dress while he presses his lips to the back of her neck, breathing in the vanilla scent of her soaps and the flowers of the potions he knows she slathers on her wrists and her neck.

“Tales of Arendelle.”

“A collection of love stories,” he tells her as her dress begins to fall from her shoulders. “The rumor is that most of them are true, if not embellished the slightest bit. One in particular caught my eye for you.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders to help him get her out of her dress until she’s left in nothing but a thin white shift. “And what was that?”

“A princess who fell for a pirate.”

Her head is thrown back in laughter, and she turns around to face him, her lips parted and cheeks flushed. “That is a little too on the nose, even for you.”

“What? You do not care for hearing a story similar to ours?”

“Who says I’ve fallen for you?”

“You do.”

Emma hums and deftly unbuttons his vest, dragging her mouth along each patch of skin that’s uncovered. “I don’t seem to recall saying anything of the sort.”

“I wrote it in my logs if you’d like to check.”

“I think I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“That would be a first.”

She huffs and pushes him back until he’s stumbling to his bunk and propping himself up on his elbows while he watches Emma dispose of her shift until she’s left wearing nothing. Her skin has always been so beautiful. In the summers, it is a darker color that makes the rosy tint of her nipples blend in more, but now she’s as pale as the snow that occasionally coats the ground. She’s like porcelain, but she does have her imperfections.

He thinks he loves every damn one.

Well, he knows because he loves her. Ages have passed since he has loved someone, but he knows the feeling enough to know how he feels on the days when he is able to see Emma.

On the days and weeks and months when he isn’t as well.

Emma quickly undoes his leathers, each brush of her fingertips stirring him to life, before she carefully takes off his brace with his hook, kissing all of the permanently red scars there. She’s the only one who has seen this part of him besides the men who helped heal him, and she’s the only one who will ever see the red scars and the place where his body is broken like it was not before.

He’s got a reputation to uphold, one of a fierce pirate captain who survived losing his hand to the Dark One and who takes what he wants when he wants it, but none of that applies to Emma.

None of it has ever applied to her.

She is the sun in his life when two hundred years have been covered in dark clouds that have blocked all light out.

Light looks a hell of a lot like emerald eyes and golden hair with a smile that’s worth more than any treasure.

“I’ve missed you,” Emma finally says as she tosses his hook to the floor and crawls on top of him until her knees are pressed on either side of his hips, her folds pressing against his cock until he can feel exactly how much she already wants him. “The next time you leave, I either need to come with you or you have to be away for fewer months.”

“How do you propose you come with me?”

Her hands run across his cheek before pushing his hair back off his forehead. “I simply leave my parents a note that there’s no need for me to be with them as they have dinner with diplomats and royals from different realms. I’m simply something pretty for everyone to look at. They don’t need me.”

“Ah, but you know how that is not true.”

“It is.” She shifts her hips and rubs herself against her while arching her back and letting her locks cascade in flowing waves down her back that remind him of the sea on her calmest days. “My brother is the one who is tasked with being the diplomat, with taking over it all, and I do not wish to be him for a moment.”

“You’d make a wonderful queen, my darling.”

She laughs and leans forward to finally press her lips into his. They’re as soft as always. He has never quite been able to figure out how it is possible for her lips and her skin to be as soft as silk, but he’s thankful for it. He’s thankful for the way that her mouth expertly moves over his, pulling and pushing, taking and giving, and for the way her hands thread into his hair, tugging on the strands until their noses hit each other’s cheeks. His hand finds her hair, anchoring there, while his stumped arm wraps around her back until her breasts are pressing into his chest hair.

Many a siren has tempted to lure him into their graces, but none has been so successful as Emma.

“I do not want to be queen. I’m thankful the laws couldn’t be changed to make me so. I want the freedom I cannot have behind those stone walls.”

“You are my queen, my love.”

“And you are my freedom.”

Emma shifts once more until she’s sinking down onto him, her warm walls enveloping him and pulling him into her as heat stirs deep in his belly. It’s always been like magic between the two of them, like the light magic that flows from Emma’s fingertips and emanates from deep within her, and he’s often thought that she loses control of her magic when they’re joined like this. She has never mentioned it, never discussed feeling it like this, but there is something about the way his skin prickles and his heartrate picks up that has him know that something about this is different.

Something about her is different.

Killian has never been a fan of magic. It has taken everyone he loves and his hand away from him, but he is undoubtedly a fan of Emma’s magic.

He is undoubtedly a fan of every part of her.

There is not much to her movement today. Emma is controlling the strokes and controlling how both of them feel. She always prefers this position to any other, and he cannot say that he blames her. It allows her walls to squeeze him and for her to keep the pace when that is something he would normally do. It allows for their lips to constantly stay connected, only straying in order for him to wrap his mouth around her rosy peaks or for Emma to bite down on the underside of his jaw. It allows them to be connected in every single way, and while Killian expected their coming together after so much time apart to be fast and harsh with heavy strokes and no soft affection, it is the opposite of that.

He has a particular penchant for taking her from behind and allowing himself to sink all the way inside of her with his hand firmly on the roundness of her bottom, but he will never complain about having her like this.

He will never complain about having her in any way when he was never supposed to have someone so good in his life.

“I have thought of you every day, my love.”

“So you’ve kept your promise then?”

“Aye,” he sighs, pulling his lips away from hers and pressing his forehead to hers as sweat begins to drip down her back and hit against his arm. “I have dreamed of your voice, of your taste, of the way that you look when you want me. I have dreamed of the sound of your laugh and the way that you could spend all day reading without wanting for anything. I have dreamed of nothing but you.”

“I thought of you every day, Killian.”

“Good.”

He wraps his arms around her waist and carefully shifts them until Emma is on her back and he’s caging her in. When he slips out of her, he hisses, but he easily pushes himself back in until he’s controlling his strokes and their tempo. She’s unbearably wet, and when he pushes her knee back to move even deeper inside of her, he knows that he won’t last too much longer.

Emma is too irresistible for that.

The breathlessness of her moans and the way her eyes flutter closed every time he presses inside of her nearly cause him to perish, but he presses on, wrapping his fingers around her thigh and digging his nails into her skin while his arm rubs into where they are joined. She’s always been a fan of that and a fan of the way the roughness of his skin feels, and he can’t help his own smirk.

“You are incredible, my love, my darling, my queen. I need nothing more than you and this. I need nothing more than us.”

“Killian,” Emma whines, her back arching, “please.”

If she wasn’t so breathless, he knows she would have words about his terms of endearment for her.

“Please what? Tell me.”

“Faster,” she pants, and he obliges, leaning forward and biting into her collarbone before soothing it with his tongue, moving in and out of her until she’s a quivering mess and her limbs barely have any function.

When she falls, it is to his name, a breathless whisper that is only heard by him, and Killian treasures the sound, committing it to memory and allowing himself to treasure having her in his arms. He will not leave for many fortnights now, will be seeing her as often as they are able, but every moment like this is a moment he wishes to commit to memory and to be able to mark down as easily as he marks his gold in his logs.

Her magic is everywhere, flowing in the room and surrounding them, little pinpricks of pleasure intensified until he’s falling too.

There is nothing else in the world like this.

There is no one else in the world like Emma, and he has traveled to all of the realms and lived for centuries. Time stood still for many a year, his body and face not aging, and as much as he dreads lines appearing around his eyes and the darkness of his hair fading away, he thinks growing old with Emma would make it all worth it.

If only they could.

“I love you,” Emma whispers later. They haven’t redressed, are still only covered by the cloth on his bunk, and her fingers are trailing through the matted hair on his chest and the silver chains that lie there while he reads to her from another novel he brought home for her. This one is another tale of love, but there are no extenuating circumstances. It is simply a man and a woman who love each other and are able to live their life together.

“Aye, I love you, darling.”

She nuzzles her cheek into his chest and sighs. “I told my parents I had a suitor while you were gone.”

“You jest.”

“No, no. I did. I – fuck, Killian. I’m nearly twenty-five now. We’ve been seeing each other for two years, and I do not want to be with someone else. My parents are proper people. My mother has lived her entire life as royalty, and she isn’t going to allow me to wait to marry for much more time. I have already put it off for long enough.”

“Emma, your parents will never approve of me. I know you see this side of me, but to the rest of the world, I’m a pirate. I’ve stolen and killed and caused damage in my path. I have hurt people who did not deserve that hurt.”

“You don’t do that anymore.”

“I do if it’s necessary.”

“Killian.” She moves away from him and manages to find space on the bunk to sit up and cross her arms over her chest, not bothering to cover herself with a sheet. “I am not kidding. I have told them I have a suitor. I have started the process, so I can finally stop living my life in secret. If they don’t approve of you, I can leave. I’m not the heir. I don’t have a responsibility. I can live with you, and we can go wherever we want, do whatever we want.”

“I will not ask you to leave your family for me.”

“You’re not asking me. I am telling you that this is what I want!”

He arches a brow. “And you’re sure?”

“You were away for four months. I thought through everything. I know every possibility, and as much as I am hoping for the most favorable outcome, I’m prepared for the worst. My parents will always love me. I have no doubt of that, but if they cannot accept that I will be unhappy living as the wife to a man I do not love, then I must leave. Will you take me away if it comes to that? Will you?”

Killian hesitates. There is nothing he would love more than to no longer have to meet Emma at odd times and only at certain days, but he knows deep within his heart that her parents will never accept him. He was once a lieutenant in Emma’s grandmother’s Navy, but he’s no longer that man.

Maybe to Emma, but not to the world.

He reaches up and tucks strands of her hair behind her ear. “I will do anything you ask of me as long as you are sure it is what you want. Your heart’s desire, love. That is all I want you to have.”

“My heart’s desire is you.”

“Then we shall tell your parents, and I will prepare for every outcome.”

Emma’s smile is one of the most beautiful he’s ever seen before she falls back against his chest and wraps herself around him. “You said there was a tale of a princess who fell for a pirate? How did that one end?”

“I shan’t spoil an ending.”

“Even if I ask?”

His lips softly brush against her temple. “Our ending will be better than that of the book simply because it is ours and ours alone, my love.”

[fantastic-bby]

The Banshee’s Cry

Pairing: Reader x Wooyoung ft Hongjoong lol

Word count: 2.4k

Genre: Angst, Banshee au

Summary: Reader hears a scream one night and gets spooked. The next morning they get pretty bad news and start having weird dreams which all center around one person.

Warning: Death, mentions of loss. 

They say that the cry of the banshee is a sign of death. You didn’t believe it at first. But you couldn’t deny it when you heard it the first time. 

You were in your living room, binge watching a Netflix series when you heard the shrill scream from outside. You jumped, your phone slipping out of your hand. You quickly ran to your window to see a man standing in the fog in the distance, his frame was holding his head in his hands as he screamed. You felt your heart racing in fear and you shut your windows when he turned around; his eyes straight at you. You shakily grabbed your phone, calling your neighbour.

“Hongjoong? Are you home?” You asked, your voice in obvious distress. 

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” 

“Can you come over? I’m a little bit freaked out.” You asked, feeling a bit stupid for needing someone else around but he didn’t question it and quickly made his way over to your house. He entered with the spare key you gave him and found you sitting on your couch with your blanket wrapped around yourself. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, seeing your distressed state. He sat on the couch beside you and you explained what exactly had you this way but he looked at you with furrowed brows. “I didn’t hear any screaming, (Y/n).” You looked at him, disbelief on your face, 

“Hongjoong it was so loud. How could you not hear it?” You asked him. You pulled his hand and brought him to your closed window, pulling open the curtains to reveal nothing but the dark of the night. “I-I swear to god there was a m-m-man.” You stuttered.

“Maybe you’re just tired.” Hongjoong scratched the back of his neck, “If you still feel unsafe I’ll sleep on the couch, okay?” He offered, you nodded at him, giving him a small thank you. You went into your bedroom to pull out an extra blanket for Hongjoong and he thanked you as he laid on the couch. 

“Hongjoong,” You spoke softly, earning a hum from him. “Can I sleep in the living room with you?” You asked. 

“Sure, of course. Anything to make you feel safe.” He smiled at you. He moved onto the floor to let you sleep on the couch and turned off the lights.

~

You woke up to your phone ringing. Your hand searched the couch to find your phone and you answered it without even looking at the caller ID. 

“Hello?” You asked groggily, sitting up quickly when you heard the sound of your mother crying. You listened to her as she stuttered out her words, your mind going blank when you found out why she was crying. 

“Your aunt found him dead in his room.” Her words made you freeze in place. You hung up, holding your phone in your shaking hands as you processed what you had just heard. Hongjoong woke up when he heard you crying, 

“(Y/n)?” He was quick to sit up, “Wait, what’s wrong?” He put his hand on your knee. 

“M-My c-c-cousin,” When he realised you could barely make out any words, he moved onto the couch and pulled you into him to hug you. He seemed to understand the message when he briefly saw the message on your phone, giving you the date and time of the funeral. Hongjoong respected your grieving, offering to stay at your place for the next few days to keep you company in which you accepted. He would make you brunch when you’d wake up, keep you company until it was late at night and he only went home once to grab more clothes. He even followed you to the funeral, letting you hold his hand while you stared blankly at the casket. 

“Were you two close?” He asked on the drive home. You were pulled out of your blank mind and nodded. 

“We grew up together. He was always over at my house when we were kids.” You murmured. He nodded at that, 

“I’ll be here for you if you need me.” He gave you a gentle smile making you give him a smile in return. You forget when you both became close, it must’ve been a few years since you started becoming friends. He lived in the house beside yours way before you did and you both only became friends a few years after you moved in but you couldn’t remember when you started turning to him for comfort. 

“Thanks, Joongie.” You spoke softly as the car stopped in your driveway. 

“I need to stop by a friend’s place for a while. Are you gonna be alright on your own?” He asked as you opened the car door. 

“Yea, don’t worry about me.” You nodded to him as you stepped out of the car, waving as he drove away. A few hours after he left, he sent you a text saying he’d be coming back late. You saw in your living room letting yourself feel depressed as you stared at the TV, forgetting what was actually playing. That was when you heard it. The same scream from a few nights before. You froze at the sound, slowly turning to the window to see the same man screaming in the distance. You stared at him, watching as he cried out into the night sky. When he stopped screaming, his head whipped around to look at you, his blond hair evident as the moon shone on top of him. You felt your blood turn cold and you ducked to the floor, your heartbeat quickening. 

You waited a moment before standing up and looking out to see him gone once again. You sat in the living room, trying to take in what you saw before everything clicked. You grabbed your phone and dialed a number, 

“(Y/n)?” Hongjoong’s voice rang through the speakers. 

“J-Joongie, are you okay?” You asked him. 

“Yeah, I am. I’m at my friend’s house right now. What’s up?” His voice was laced with concern, but hearing that he was safe was enough to calm you down.

“Nothing, I was just worried.” You sighed out in relief. 

“If you want me to come home now it’s to-”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m fine, seriously.” You cut him off, not wanting to trouble him. You sent him a wave of reassurance before he was convinced it was okay to leave you at home. You hung up, setting your phone on the couch beside you. You glanced out the window once more. When you saw nothing but the open field you decided maybe you should just get some sleep. It was probably a hallucination from being stressed out from your cousin’s death. 

You were standing in a white space filled with nothingness. It felt empty and it made you feel empty. You looked around, aimlessly walking around the vast space to see if you would find anything. But instead the whole space turn black and you were overcome with an intense feeling of sadness. It was strong enough to make you fall to the ground and burst into tears. You’ve never felt so sad yet confused as you tried to make sense of the situation. That was until you saw him. He was staring at you with a similar sense of sadness in his face, tears streaming down his face as he stared at you. 

Wooyoung

Wooyoung

Wooyoung

The name echoed in your head as he mouthed words at you.

I’m sorry

I can’t help it 

I don’t want to do this

I’m sorry

You woke to Hongjoong hovering over you with a concerned expression marked on his features. You shot up, sending him to the ground as he backed away from you at the same speed. 

“Are you okay?” He got back up and continued to stare at you in concern. 

“W-What?” You asked, still trying to recollect yourself. 

“You were crying and reaching out. You kept calling for someone and you kept saying you forgave him.” He said. That was only when you realised your cheeks were streaked with tears. You raised your hand to your face and wiped away your tears as you continued to look around your bedroom. 

“Who was I calling out for?” You asked, turning back to Hongjoong.

“Some guy named Wooyoung. You kept telling him you forgave him and told him to stop apologising.” He sat on your bed, placing a comforting hand on your calf. You caught your breath for a moment. “Was it a nightmare?” He asked and you nodded. 

“Everything was white. Then it all went black and I… I just started crying. I felt so sad. There was this guy looking at me and he kept apologising but I didn’t know why. I think felt sorry for him.” You explained, trying to remember the vivid dream that was slowly becoming more vague. Hongjoong didn’t say anything as you sat there, lips pursed as you tried hard to hold on to bits and pieces of your dream. 

“You want breakfast? I was about to head out to buy you some but that was when you started crying.” He offered. 

“Sure, just give me some time to get ready.” He stood up from your bed and left your room. You sat in your room for a bit longer, trying to make sense of your dream before heading into your bathroom to shower. 

~

It had been a few months since you started having the same dream almost every night. A white space that quickly turned black and you would end up crying as the name Wooyoung echoed in your head. You also realised that the screaming you would hear was a sign. A morbid sign. It was a death bell. You would hear it a day before someone you knew would pass away. It wasn’t just your relatives, it was people that you knew from school or people that you were mutual friends with. Three people had passed away since you started having the dream. 

It reached a point where your dream of the banshee was normal and whenever you’d hear the scream you’d just pray and hope your relatives were safe. You explained the whole situation to Hongjoong, your theories and your concern. He nodded in understanding but you knew he was totally lost when you were explaining it to him.  

“You’re gonna be fine on your own?” He was treating you like a fragile puppy but you didn’t mind. He was worried for you and it was nice that he cared. But one certain dream made you so scared for his safety. It was the same transition from white to black but this time Wooyoung wasn’t alone. He was standing in front of Hongjoong, his face blank as Wooyoung reached out for his hand. You were reaching out for Hongjoong, trying to stop him from taking the banshee’s hand. 

For the first time, you weren’t restricted to just crying on the floor. You pulled yourself up with all your might and ran yourself into Hongjoong as the dream started to fade away and you were awake in your bedroom. You immediately grabbed your phone and frantically called Hongjoong. It rang a few times, your fear starting to creep up. 

“(Y/n)?” He asked groggily. 

“Are you okay?” You asked without even thinking. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. What’s wrong?” He asked. You breathed out a sigh of relief. “(Y/n)? Did you have the dream again?” He asked, the sound of him moving around in the background. 

“Yeah, it was weirder this time. You were in it and that banshee thing was trying to reach for you. I think I managed to save you in my dream.” You said into the phone. 

“Oh,” His voice seemed to drop for a moment. “That’s really freaky.” He said after a while. 

“I know right.” Your eyes caught the clock on your bedside table. 8:12. “Oh shit, I didn’t realise it was this early.” Your eyes widened. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty early, (Y/n).” He chuckled on the other line. 

“Sorry for waking you up so suddenly.” You sheepishly apologised. 

“It’s okay. I don’t really mind.” He hummed. You spent a while talking to him before hanging up and lying in your bed. You were still scared of what the dream meant but talking to Hongjoong and hearing he was safe was enough to put a small part of you to ease. Your mind was still disturbed by it for the whole day until it was night time. You were looking outside your window for any trace of Wooyoung. 

He was pacing in the field, almost as if something was bothering him. You stood right in front of the window and watched as he paused, slowly turning his head to you. His eyes were pure white, empty of life as he stared at you. A shiver ran down your spine as he bolted towards your house. You stumbled away from the window as he stood outside, 

“(Y/n).” He put his hands on the glass and his eyes slowly turned brown, “Help me, please.” You stared at him in fear and in shock. “Please! I don’t want to be like this forever.” You could see the tears as they rolled down his cheeks, but you were scared of getting closer to him. “I know I’m a bad omen, but please! Help me! (Y/n), I don’t want to scream for your deaths anymore! I don’t want to cry for anyone’s deaths anymore!” His hands curled into fists as he looked at you with sad eyes. You slowly approached the window, ready to open it but his eyes quickly changed back to white. “I’m so sorry.” He said before he lurched forward and let out a howl. You stumbled backwards and watched as he screamed. He stood straight, his scream halting as he stared at you, “You’re next.” You watched as one more tear rolled down his face and he disappeared. 

Another shiver ran down your spine as you stared at the window in shock. That night you dreamt of the same thing. A white space, aimless wandering until it turned black, but once again it was different. Instead of falling to the ground and crying, you were standing in front of Wooyoung. He was looking at you with the same sad, brown eyes as he took your hand, 

“I couldn’t stop it. I could only wait until it happened.” He murmured, bringing your hand to his face to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Hongjoong will regret not calling you tonight. Your lungs will collapse in a few minutes but you won’t feel it. Sleep well, (Y/n).”

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [18/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Author’s Note: Sorry for the wait on the latest chapter, I spent the weekend plotting some original work and it sort of took over my brain for a while. Also, this chapter has been fighting me. Mostly because I’ve been working on the big Batfam discovery moment and I can’t wait to get there, and having to slow down and write everything in between is soooooo frustrating! But hopefully we’ll get there soon lol. In the meantime, enjoy!

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

The next morning finds Jason once again in Tim’s kitchen, this time doing a fry-up of bacon and eggs. He’d been surprised to find either of those things in Tim’s fridge, having appeared as if by magic.

(Jason suspects Tim gets his groceries delivered instead of shopping like a normal person; he’s not going to complain, though, since food is food.)

From her carrier’s usual perch on the kitchen island, Luisa is frowning at him—or at least frowning at his general direction—in disapproval like a miniature, squishy Winston Churchill.

“What?” he asks her, feeling oddly judged. “You don’t like my fryin' technique?” She sticks her tongue out, and yawns, easing back in her carrier. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He’d probably shit his pants if she actually spoke back, but he’s seen stranger things in his life.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp, explosive bang from outside as a car backfires, and Luisa jolts, eyes going wide in shock before she starts shrieking.

“Crap,” Jason grunts, dropping the spatula and hurrying over to pick up the startled baby. Lifting her up, he starts rocking her back and forth, trying to shush her and wincing as the crying just gets louder.

How does such a little thing make such a big noise?

Still trying to calm her, he goes to pick the spatula up off the floor to toss in the sink and glances around for another. Luisa keeps crying, little fists beating ineffectually at him, and no matter what position he holds her in she refuses to let up.

“I know you’ve never heard something that loud before, but don’t you think this is an overreaction?” he mutters, glancing desperately around for the cape Tim was using as a carrier the other day. It’s nowhere within range, and so he turns off the stove and shoves aside the pan to ensure the bacon doesn’t burn while he deals with the baby complication.

As he searches, rocking and shushing Luisa as he goes, he’s getting generally more frustrated at not being able to get her to stop wailing. He’s on the verge of giving up and going to wake Tim—which is embarrassing on so many levels—when he remembers what the kid told him yesterday about heartbeat and skin-to-skin contact.

Making a quick decision, he places the squalling infant on the couch for an instant while he shrugs out of his shirt. Then, ignoring the sense of awkwardness he picks her up to hold against his bare chest, cradling her head in support as he continues to rock subtly, bouncing somewhat on the balls of his feet.

Luisa’s still wailing, mushing her face into his chest almost in protest, and his ears are beginning to ring. But slowly, as the minutes creep by, the sound morphs into weak fussing. Her little ear settles against a spot near his breastbone, right over his heart, and that sound wanes as well.

There’s a sniffle, a wet almost-hiccup in her breathing, and then she goes silent and calm again.

Hey, look at that.

Jason actually managed to calm her down himself, instead of calling for help or putting her down to yell until she tired herself out. He’s not sure why he feels a stab of pride in that, but he decides it doesn’t matter in the face of the now silent baby.

He keeps hold of her until her breathing evens out and she passes out and then returns to the kitchen and the carrier.

Once she’s settled again, he notices that he’s being watched, and glances up to see Tim, ruffled and still blinking sleep out of his eyes even as he studies the scene in front of him.

Eyes raking up Jason’s form, he opens his mouth to say something, frowns to himself and shakes his head.

“I need coffee,” he mumbles at last and slouches into the kitchen to turn on the Keurig. While waiting for it to brew, he turns back to Jason, leaning against the counter and tilts his head to one side. “I didn’t know you had tattoos.”

Jason looks down his front at the All-Caste markings no longer hidden by the baby’s form.

They’re not tattoos. At least, not exactly.

But the real story’s too complicated and not something he wants to get back to the Bats, so he just shrugs and says, “I don’t exactly put out announcements in the Family newsletter.”

Tim nods, ceding the point.

“So, what do they mean?” he asks as his coffee finishes brewing.

“None of your damn business. Don’t you have work?”

The younger man raises an eyebrow. “It’s Saturday?”

Right. Weekends are a thing.

“I do have some online classes to log on for later, though,” Tim goes on. “But I don’t really have to dress up in a suit for that.” He smirks. “I’m not Damian.”

“I dunno—you’re both pint-sized pains in my ass,” Jason retorts, trying to hide his surprise that Tim is still in school. He thought he’d dropped out when Bruce went missing in the timestream; he didn’t realize the guy was still doing that.

God, he’s doing school on top of everything else? How is this kid still alive?

“I’m still taller than he is,” Tim hedges, with a trace of sulk in his voice.

Heh. Think we’ve hit a sore point there.

But he chooses not to pursue it; better for him if Tim’s in a good mood.

“I’m goin' out again today,” he informs him, trying not to grit his teeth at the effort it takes not to make it sound like a question. He doesn’t need permission, damn it! “Have a little conversation with Isabel’s ex, for all the good it’ll do.”

“I figured as much,” Tim replies, unbothered. He sips at his coffee. “Isa and I will be fine. Besides, when I’m done my classwork, I’ve got a lead I want to pursue. I might have tracked down some of Isabel’s blood relatives.”

Jason pauses, ears perking up. “Seriously?”

“I think so. Try not to get your hopes up, though.” He frowns then, tilting his head to one side. “You might want to do something about that before you go meeting with anyone.”  

He makes a circular motion around his own forehead.

Nonplussed, Jason wanders toward the mantlepiece and the mirror above it, making a noise of understanding when he realizes what Tim was pointing out.

“Noted,” he agrees, flicking at his hair.

The problem with dying his hair black is the need to touch it up every six weeks; the roots of his natural red coloring start to peek through around then, along with the thick white streak that sprouts from just above the scar in his hairline. The latter doesn’t hold the color for very long, fading to a washed-out gray-white within a few washes.

The upkeep is a pain in the ass, but black hair is a lot less memorable in his line of work, a lesson he learned quickly as both Robin and during his League training.

Once Tim’s settled into his temporary workstation at the kitchen table, with Luisa snoozing within easy reach, Jason takes off.

Like the day before, he commandeers one of Tim’s bikes and heads out to pharmacy near one of his safehouses in Midtown. He figures it’s best to keep any kind of chemical smell far away from the baby, and besides he kind of wants to avoid Tim walking in on the dyeing process. He needs to do his eyebrows, and if the younger man were to make a comment, Jason would have to punch him—which seems a poor reward for someone helping him out right now.

Once he’s applied the dye and is waiting for it to set, he uses the laptop in his bolt hole to remotely access the Cave systems again and brings up the phone records between Isabel and her group of friends, including Jonathan Sutter.

It feels morbid and invasive, but he needs a better sense of who these people are and how to approach them. The texts between her and her friends are the usual thing you’d expect from a group of twenty-somethings making plans or bitching about work. As for the exchanges between her and Sutter, there aren’t that many; it seems their relationship was mostly in person or by phone.

Jason’s relieved about that because he’s not sure he could stomach reading his dead ex-girlfriend’s sexting her boyfriend.

Because I don’t feel creepy enough about this as it is…

He finds reference to a few events they attended together—restaurant dinner, a trip to the opera, a Broadway play—

“Wow, this guy was predictable,” Jason mutters to himself before he finds something interesting.

Sutter’s accounting firm did work on a huge contract with WE the year before, resulting in invitations to one of their charity events. Sutter evidently invited Isabel to go with him, which could provide a good backstory for Jason.

He’s been to those things before, both under protest and undercover, and they all go down the same way. It’s an easy cover for what he needs.

Closing the laptop, he goes to wash the last of the dye off and then showers for good measure. He actually takes more than ten minutes for once, since he’s alone and doesn’t need to keep his ear out for a crying baby. Even when he knows Tim is watching her, he can’t help waiting for something bad to happen.

It’s a bit irritating, actually; he inherited all the worries a new parent might feel about screwing up their kid, and yet none of the connection. It’s not just because he’s holding himself back from it either; he wonders if he had known about the baby—if he and Isabel had been involved during her pregnancy—if he would feel more of a bond to Luisa.

“No point wonderin',” he mutters to himself as he gets out of the shower and towels off. He learned a long time ago that speculating over the ‘what-if’s’ of the past would just lead him down a dark pit of self-pity.

On a whim, he grabs the make-up and prosthetic’s kit from beneath the sink and sets about making himself a disguise. He doesn’t usually bother with disguises anymore—those undercover gigs with Bruce seem far too long ago—but since he’s just testing the waters, he doesn’t want to be too recognizable.

The end result is a passable imitation of the infamous Matches Malone look Bruce cultivated, though Jason makes an effort to look a lot more kempt, before setting out once more.

The cameras he left watching Sutter’s place, as well as the tracker on his car, put him at a strip-mall not far from his home. Upon investigation, Jason finds himself standing in front of a high-priced vegan grocery.

“Seriously?” Jason mutters to himself, wrinkling his nose in disgust. The store isn’t even one of the legit wholesale places filled with locally sourced products, but one of the trendy boutiques, stocked with items that are three times more expensive just to cover the import costs and the brand name.

He loiters around the shelves, pretending to be examining the dozens of different types of Norwegian water while keeping an eye out for his target.

Sutter appears at the head of the aisle moments later, pushing a cart and followed by a young brunette. Younger than him, at least; Sutter’s about thirty, which puts the woman he’s with at about ten years younger.

She says something to him, clearly cheerful and excited, and Sutter replies in kind, accepting whatever package she puts in the cart. She leans up to peck him on the cheek, and then practically bounces away. The minute she’s gone, Sutter’s expression becomes long-suffering. He checks his phone with an air of impatience.

So he’s not actually into his stuff, but faking it for her.

It’s possible that’s just him attempting to be a supportive boyfriend, Jason supposes. But it also suggests the decision-maker in the relationship is the girlfriend, which could be a problem.

Only one way to find out.

He makes a production of turning just as Sutter passes him, and then affects a double-take at seeing him for the first time.

“Hey, I know you!” he declares, earning a look of surprise, followed by the guy looking around with a ‘who me?’ kind of expression. Jason pretends not to see it. “Johnny—John? Sutter, right?”

The man stares at him, apprehensive. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“You don’t remember?” Jason says, affecting an amused chuckle. “Heh. Guess you wouldn’t, I look a lot spiffier in a tux.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—"

“Peter Malone, Locke Insurance? We met at the WE charity ball last March.” Sutter continues to look wary. “You were there with that knockout—whatshername…Izzy? Annabelle?”

“Isabel?” Sutter supplies, expression slowly morphing from wary to uncomfortable. The expression of someone worried he’s about to be caught out for not remembering a name.

“Right! Yes, her—damn, she was a looker.”

“Yeah…sorry, but I don’t really remember you,” Sutter says, expression clearing, and adopting an apologetic grimace. “But there were a lot of hands to shake that night, so...”

“Don’t I know it,” Jason agrees. “I left with about six new clients that night. Pretty good for a charity event, eh?” He doesn’t give Sutter a chance to reply. “So, you still with her?”

“What?”

“Isabel—hot blond? Legs up to here?”

Sutter’s tone becomes clipped again. “No.”

Jason gives an exaggerated whistle. “Damn shame…damn shame. You two looked like you were having fun.”

“Yeah, well…” Sutter gives a tight smile, eyes flicking away like he’s looking for an exit. “Things don’t always work out.”

“You know if she’s still single now?” Jason prompts, laying on the smarm. “Think you could set us up?”

“I think you’re the last person she wants anything to do with right now,” Sutter replies coolly. “Now, if you excuse me—”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t think she’d be into me? Everyone wants a piece of this.”

“Hope you like kids then,” the man mutters as he edges away.

Jason affects a wide-eyed gaze. “She’s got kids? Damn, she doesn’t look the type.”

He makes it sound like some kind of disease, earning a snort of agreement from Sutter, who says, “I thought so too.”

There’s a trace of bitterness there, one Jason recognizes intimately. He had foster parents that looked and sounded the same. Still, he presses on, pretending to be clueless at the cues the other man is trying to give him to end the conversation.

“Not a fan of the rugrats?”

“Not especially,” Sutter replies tightly. “And raising someone else’s kid? When you work the hours I do? I’ve got a career, my company’s got me flying from the East Coast to the West Coast every couple of weeks, my family’s already complicated—it’d be hard enough raising my own kid, let alone someone else’s.” He looks up as the blond from earlier appears, with some overpriced wafer crackers. “Anyway, nice catching up with you. See you around, I guess.”

He practically takes off at a run.

“Yeah, take it easy,” Jason replies dully. In three sentences, he’s learned everything he needed to know about the guy’s fitness as a parent.

This guy’s a hard ‘no’ then.

Jason leaves the store, mood dark. He takes a few hours to wander around Crime Alley and soak up the comings and goings without anyone recognizing him, before turning to Tim’s apartment via the underground entrance.

“Looks like it didn’t go too well,” Tim says when he sees him. He’s in the process of changing Luisa, who is making noises of disapproval. She doesn’t like to be wet, but she also doesn’t like being cold, so getting changed appears to be her least favorite part of the day.  

“He doesn’t want to be involved,” Jason says, not wanting to go into detail. “Which is what we figured would be the case.”

“Well, now you know for sure.”

“All I’m sure about is people suck.”

“So what’s the next step?”

“I’ve got a list of Isabel’s friends to contact. If they seem legit, I’ll see about figurin' out if they want to step up in honor of Isabel’s memory.”

He makes a face at that, knowing how it sounds, but being unable to think up any other alternative.

“I could come along,” Tim offers.

“No,” Jason says immediately. “People see you and they see dollar signs. Either for sellin' the story to the press or pretendin' their decent because they’ll think the kid means you bankrollin' them for the next eighteen years.”

“Point,” Tim says, and there’s a clench of his jaw that makes Jason think that scenario resonated with him personally for some reason. “I still don’t think you should go alone. You need someone along to soften your image, so you don’t come off as a creep.”

“I can be soft if I want to be,” Jason protests, offended.

“I have…no idea how to respond to that that won’t sound like Dick,” Tim tells him. “So I won’t.”

“Magnanimous of you."

“Here’s an idea—call Safiya. Ask if she’ll come with. She might even have met some of these people before.”

“Good point.” Jason makes a mental note to call her later, and wanders into the kitchen.

Noticing that other than the various plastic bottles and hastily closed formula containers there's no sign of plates or take-out, Jason determines Tim probably hasn’t made anything for dinner or even just for himself.

Assuming he even knows how to cook.

He opens the door to the fridge, and just stands there for a long moment, before shaking his head and closing it again when nothing immediately appeals to him.

Jason’s not entirely sure what he wants right now, his stomach growling in complaint for food having to compete with a pervading nausea at the idea of a heavy meal. He ends up cutting up a plate of fruit to tide him over until he can make a decision and wanders over to the space in the living room where Tim is working. Safiya is now nowhere in sight, but the baby monitor is on, the green lights lighting up and fading in tandem with distant sound of breathing.

“She actually let me put her down,” Tim explains when he notices where Jason’s looking.

“You’re the favorite,” Jason retorts, not sure why the idea doesn’t sit well with him. He supposes it’s left over from years of seeing Tim as the replacement everyone preferred to him. Rather than get trapped in that dark line of thinking, he offers the younger man his plate. “Any luck tracking down Luisa’s family?”

Tim absently accepts a few wedges of apple. “Yes and no.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jason asks, throwing himself onto the couch. There’s a groan under his weight, which earns a pissy look from Tim, but the latter doesn’t address it.

“Isabel never told you much about her extended family, right?”

“Beyond the fact that they exist somewhere, not really. We didn’t really talk families, for obvious reasons.”

“Right.”

“She said she and her parents left Bogota before she was two, and if she met anyone before then she can’t remember.”

“Well, it turns out there’s a reason for that,” Tim says and slides his tablet over to Jason. When he picks it up, it takes a minute for his eyes to register the information Tim’s hunted up. “Her parents were fleeing Columbia to get away from them. It seems the Ardila family is in deep with the Medellin cartel there.”

“No shit,” Jason says, eyes wide.

This may actually explain Isabel’s lack of panicking in the face of aliens and mobsters…

“Isabel’s parents sought asylum in the US and eventually qualified for citizenship.”

“How’d they manage that if they were from a crime family?”

“My guess? Being good at bending the truth and having excellent forged documents.”

“Either way, that’s another option off the table,” Jason sighs, letting his head fall back on the couch in exasperation.

Tim hums in agreement and for a few moments, they simply sit in silence against the sense of defeat.

It’s not until the baby monitor suddenly gives a sudden series of noise—bursts of what at first sounds like static, but they then realize are tiny sneezes—that either of them moves again.

“I should check her,” Tim says, but Jason holds up a hand to stop him.

They listen a few moments longer, hear a bit of grumbling across the monitor, and then there’s only the sound of breathing.

“If you’re going to go running every time she sneezes or coughs, you’re going to give her a complex,” Jason informs him.

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Says the guy who was worried she had yellow fever.”

“I wasn’t worried, I was…concerned.”

“Now you sound like Bruce.”

“Take that back, Replacement.”

They glare at each other, but there’s little heat in it. At last, Tim rolls his eyes and looks away.

“On a somewhat related note—” Tim reaches for a file folder and takes out a piece of paper with a table on it, which Jason immediately recognizes as a schedule. Various duties have been written into the cells—feeding, changing, future bath times.

“You actually made one,” Jason says, somewhat disbelieving.

“Of course I made one. This last week, we’ve just been reacting to everything. We can’t keep going like that, and I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of the petty arguments about who does what.”

“Petty,” Jason repeats tonelessly.

“Petty,” Tim agrees. “As you can see here, these are the times when we might consider calling for outside help. I checked with Safiya about what days she’s conditionally available, and even Tam—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—Tam agreed?”

“Well, she agreed for emergencies,” Tim allows. “Like, if it’s raining Joker toxin from the sky kind of emergencies.”

Jason scowls. “Don’t tempt fate with that shit.”

“You know what I mean. If there’s something big going on, she said she’ll cover for us. Since it’s all temporary, and all.”

“Right…” Jason agrees faintly, staring at the blinking lights of the baby monitor. “Temporary…”

The rest of what Tim's saying fades to background noise, as his thoughts are overwhelmed with a sudden worry:

What if we don't find anyone worth taking her?

⁂⁂⁂

Your feedback matters! I want to know what you think of my story, so feel free to leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

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[seductresses-temple]

Nine Months Brings Forth New Life

Okay! So, @rose-grangerweasleyisbae just recently had a birthday and she is honestly one of the sweetest followers ever. She always says the most beautiful, heart warming, smile inducing things so I wrote something really random for her birthday 🎂 🎁 🍰 by random I mean, I honestly opened a google doc and started writing lol. I wanted to write something...full of possibilities, I guess?

Trigger warning: Mental Health mentions and mentions of self mutilation

________________________________________

Draco sighed, plopping down ungracefully, un-Malfoy-like, into the all too familiar leather chaise. He shifted around for a moment until he deemed himself comfortable enough before lolling his head over to the side to look at Clara who was gazing at him with her typical, bemused expression. He smiled at her tiredly, even he could feel that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but at least he was trying.

“Hello, Draco,” Clara said after a moment “nice to see that you’re punctual as always. You look a bit tired, still having trouble sleeping?”

Draco nodded, locks of hair falling over his eyes. “Another nightmare, some days I feel like they’re getting out of control since I stopped taking the Dreamless Sleep.”

Clara nodded, jotting the information down in a small leather bound pad she kept practically glued to her lap. “Would you like to talk about the nightmare? Was it about the war again, or your father?”

Lucius. Draco could appreciate that Clara never said his name anymore. It brought Draco too many emotions to keep under control. Ever since the war had ended, Draco’s relationship with his father had been non-existent. It was his father’s fault that he and his mother had gotten dragged into the whole ‘serving the Dark Lord’ nonsense. It had been his father’s fault that they’d had to house a blood-thirsty lunatic in their home. Draco’s stomach began to churn just thinking of all the things he’d born witness to while the Dark Lord haunted the halls of Malfoy Manor. To make matters worse, Draco and his mother had nearly been carted off to Azkaban thanks to trying to keep their heads above water in the situation his father had put them in. If it hadn’t been for Potter...Draco was afraid to think what would have happened if it hadn’t been for Potter…

“Draco?” Clara’s voice pulled Draco out of his thoughts. He did that a lot now. Spaced out. Got inside of his head and drifted away from the outside world. It was something he and Clara were trying to work on. Seeing a Mind Healer was part of the terms and conditions involved that kept him and his mother out of Azkaban. One of many conditions.

“It was about my father,” Draco sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. He’d cut it when his father -ragged and screaming like a raving lunatic- denounced both he and his mother as he was carted off to Azakan with a life-long sentence. It had started with the left side, then the right. Now he’d taken to keeping the sides shaved, the middle long -down to his jaw- and streaked with various shades of light blue. His father had a conniption the first time he saw it. It was so feminine, so queer, so very un-Malfoy. Draco loved it and he loved how much his father hated it.

“What about your father?” Clara had such a soothing voice. Draco loved it. He confessed after a few months of seeing her that her voice reminded him of his mother. Clara was gentle and patient and seemed genuinely concerned about his welfare. The wizarding world spit upon the name Malfoy, it was nice to feel cared for.

“I came out to him. It was such an odd dream. We were in a muggle coffee shop, of all places, my father hates both coffee and muggles so it all seemed surreal and out of place. I sat down in front of my father and watched him sneer at my hair and my clothes and my coffee and I just sort of blurted it out…” Draco fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, frowning.

“You can say it Draco. This is a safe space. I think it would be healthy for you to be able to say the words aloud. They aren’t bad words, you just have a negative association to them because that’s what you were raised to think. Your father raised you to believe they’re something to be ashamed of, Draco, but we’ve talked about this. You don’t have to live your life by his definitions anymore, you’re free to live life on your own terms.” Clara stared at him, her yellow eyes watching him carefully like a hawk. Draco was vaguely reminded of Madam Hooch, her eyes trained to the sky, protective and alert, making sure to catch any of the first years should they fall off their broom. There was a safety in that, something rooted so deeply in Draco that he barely understood it. It made him feel safe, brought him back to a point in his life before his world got blown apart.

“I told my father I’m gay,” he whispered. If he weren’t so bloody tired he most likely would have cringed at how small and insignificant he sounded. He sounded like a child sharing a secret that, well..wasn’t a secret. Pretty much everyone knew. His father certainly knew long before Draco did. His father had always done his best to snuff out that side of him.

A black wardrobe. No color. No life. No expression. End of story.

A lack of affection from his father. No love. No smiles. No hugs. No warmth between men because that would be wrong. End of story.

His father drove him to quidditch. A manly sport. Something physical because he’d kill them both before he had a dancer for a son. If Narcissa took Draco to one more ballet, he was shipping Draco off to Durmstrang. End of story.

His father had taken control of his narrative, at least that’s how Clara put it. Draco quite liked that analogy. He liked reading, liked thinking about his life as a book that wasn’t quite finished yet. His father had written the first half but Draco, well, he could write the second half however he wanted. He liked that.

“What happened after that? How did your father react?”

“He mutated.”

“E-Excuse me?” Clara leaned forward a little, making sure she heard Draco correctly.

“He mutated, the dreamscape changed and suddenly I wasn’t in a muggle cafe with my father anymore, I was in the Hogwarts Great Hall surrounded by the rest of my ‘peers’ and they were...being very vocal about my new appearance,” Draco gestured down to his outfit; black wingtips, tailored, royal purple pants with a matching button down, a grey marled sweater vest, and plum, purple, grey, and black, paisley bow tie.

“So they resorted to name-calling?” Clara raised an eyebrow at him, an expectant, maternal look on her face. She was a stickler for not allowing Draco to get away with vague answers.

“No.”

“Draco,” Clara sighed ever so quietly, glancing at the clock “it’s your hour, Draco, and I understand these things are hard to talk about. Examining our emotions and coming to terms with things that go against what we’ve known and been taught our entire lives is no easy feat. However, you’ve been making such tremendous progress lately, you honestly have, if you’d rather table this discussion for the moment and move on to something else, I support that decision but with you leaving for Hogwarts in a few days, I think this is something we should try to tackle. I’m going to go put the kettle on, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure,” Draco murmured, nodded absently. He was already lost in thought by the time Clara left the room. He knew she was right, not that he particularly wanted to admit it. She was so like his mother in that way, speaking logic and reasoning into him even when it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Draco was afraid to go back to Hogwarts. He didn’t want to admit that either. They all hated him and rightfully so. What was the point of going back? It wasn’t like anyone in the wizarding world would higher him all because he sat for his N.E.W.T.S. He was still a Malfoy, for now anyhow, until his father found out he wouldn’t be carrying on the Malfoy name. Not with a woman at least. He sighed, sinking further into the chaise. He didn’t hear Clara come back into the room until the familiar chink of china on wood snapped him back into reality.

“Thank you,” he sat up just enough to take his cup, running a finger over the rim “I’m…” he refused to say scared. “I’m worried about returning to Hogwarts, worried that they’ll all see how much I’ve changed, worried they’ll be able to tell that I’m...gay.” He took a careful, steady sip from his tea, staring down into the cup to avoid Clara. He didn’t want anyone at Hogwarts to know he was gay. They knew too much about him already. Draco sodding Malfoy, ex-death eater, co-conspirator to the death of Dumbledore, prime suspect of the near-deaths of Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley, pompous git, Slytherin Ice King, and the cold-hearted carbon copy of ruthless murder Lucius Malfoy. Parents were already complaining as it. Death Eater children back roaming the halls of Hogwarts? Preposterous! It was bad enough the Ministry was forcing them back to Hogwarts as part of their ‘rehabilitation’ into society, Draco could only imagine what the parents would do if they found out a queer ex-death eater was in their mists.

“I don’t think it would be so bad if they saw you’ve changed, Draco,” Clara took a sip of her tea, giving him that maternal, expectant stare as if he were a small child struggling to discern that two plus two does indeed equal four.

“Wasn’t it you who said, and I quote ‘changing into the man I’ve always felt I should be without my father lurking over every decision I make is one of the best things to ever happen to me?’ or do you no longer feel that way?” Clara continued to stare over the rim of her cup.

Draco remembered that session. Vividly. It was shortly after he had dyed his hair, not too long after his breakdown that had landed him in Mungos for two weeks. Draco learned the hard way that slicing your Dark Mark off landed you in a very cozy room in St.Mungos that just so happened to have white padded walls. “I did say that,” Draco murmured, glancing down at his arm.

“You have changed so much, Draco, made so much progress and have blossomed into a completely different person than the young man I met nine months ago. I think there can be some symbolism in that, nine months, women carry their children to term for nine months and then they birth a new life into the world. You, Draco, carried your trauma for the past nine months and you birthed a new version of yourself into the world. Going back to Hogwarts is your opportunity to foster that new life. It doesn’t have to be a death sentence.”

********************

“You look dashing, sweetheart,” Narcissa smiled sweetly, coming over to Draco and running her fingers through his hair, mussing it up a tiny bit.

“Thank you, mother,” Draco tried to smile but only managed a twitch of the lips. He bent down to grab his school trunk. He’d have to carry it as he wasn’t allowed a wand again until he was on school property. His mother had been kind enough to cast a wandless lightening charming on it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you, Draco? Between the reporters, the students, the other students, I-” Draco held up a hand to stop her.

“I know you’re worried, mother, but I’ll be fine. They don’t need to put us both in the paper. I’ll write the moment I’m able and at least once a week after. Clara has spoken to Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey and its been arranged for me to have my sessions at Hogwarts each week. I’ll…”he kissed her forehead tenderly “I’ll be alright, mother.”

Narcissa nodded, blonde curls bobbing softly. She stared at him, long and imploringly, her blue eyes searching for something. What, Draco wasn’t entirely sure, but he felt small and incredibly young under her gaze. “I love you so,” she whispered, clasping onto his arm, over the spot where his Dark Mark once stood “if you need anything, anything at all, just write home and I’ll come running.” She pulled him into a nearly bone crushing hug, kissing his cheek before letting him leave out the door.

“I love you too, Mother. Everything will be fine,” Draco wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. All he knew was the night he sliced the Dark Mark off his arm had left them both changed people. It was scary, leaving the comfort of their little bubble, but they would both be better for it. That’s what their Mind Healers kept telling them. By the time Draco came back at Christmas the Manor would be renovated, cleansed, completely different. He hoped he’d return in much the same condition; renovated, cleansed, different.

********************

Kings Cross Station brought about everything Draco had been expecting. He’d been hexed...twice, booed at, spat at, and the vultures from the Daily Prophet had a field day with the drama his mere presence had caused. The only sanctuary he had within it all was that no one wanted to sit with him so he’d managed to find an empty compartment and settle into it. People glared and sneered as they passed by but once the train began moving he felt as though he was finally able to exhale. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo were all headed to Hogwarts by other means which meant he’d be alone the entire trip. Draco wasn’t sure whether to panic or find solace in that but he had to deal with it all the same. He set his robes on the seat next to him and pulled out a muggle book he’d begun reading and curled up in his seat, praying beyond hope that at least the train ride could be uneventful before he spent the next year surrounded by people who’d much prefer if he were dead.

“Malfoy,” Draco wanted to curse, recognizing the voice instantly. He slid his bookmark in to hold his place and looked up into shockingly bright emerald eyes.

“Potter,” he greeted, taking a concentrated effort to keep his voice low and level.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Potter gestured toward the empty seat across from him.

Draco eyed Potter, taking in his appearance. He’d changed in the past nine months. His hair had gotten longer, long enough to completely cover his scar and long enough for him to have a long, thick plait that sat over his shoulder. Apparently Potter had a sense of fashion now. Draco took note of the dragon hide boots and fitted black trousers, the leather jacket that seemed far too big for him but in a devil-may-care sort of way. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore either. “Suit yourself,” Draco couldn’t help but feel his curiosity being piqued by this Potter. There was something about him that Draco couldn’t place. An energy that seemed to crackle around him, pulling Draco in, and he felt helpless to stop it.

“I’ve a question for you, Malfoy, this thing that’s just burning in my mind for far too long.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. Since when did Potter speak so openly with him? They had never been friendly. Draco had gone out of his way to make the other boy miserable for far too long. “So you get...clarity of some sort and I?” Draco trailed off, making a flippant gesture with his hand. Old habits died hard with Potter, apparently. However, much to Draco’s surprise, the git had the nerve to smile. Not just smile, but to throw his head back and laugh.

“I thought you might say that,” Potter grinned at him, eyes twinkling in a way that was insufferable reminiscent of Dumbledore. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an incredibly thin, long box. It could only be one thing and Draco felt his heart clutch painfully in his chest. Potter still had his wand after all this time...He’d managed to convince himself that Potter must have thrown it out, broke it, set it on fire, the scenario was different in his head every time.

“What is it you want to know?” Draco’s voice came out in barely a whisper.

Potter held the box with both hands, leaning forward, whispering conspiratorially “You knew it was me. Why?”

Draco’s breath hitched in his throat. He never thought he’d be confronted with this. He never anticipated Potter wanting to know why. It was something he had only ever spoken to Clara about and even that hadn’t come easily. He swallowed thickly, staring at his wand in Potter’s hands. He was cradling it gently as if it were something precious. It was precious to Draco but he didn’t know if it was worth spilling one of his biggest secrets. He stared at Potter, into those same green eyes that had stopped him in his track that night. “Because I’m in love with you,” he whispered breathlessly, the words rushing out his mouth before he could think about how incredibly stupid it was to say so.

“Oh, bugger off, Malfoy,” Potter laughed, a big bark of a laugh that seemed to make the entire compartment brighter. He shook his head, his braid swinging on his shoulder. “Fine, don’t tell me, but I’m not letting this go.” Potter stood up, using the box containing Draco’s wand to give him a little salute before marching out the door.

Draco sat there in stunned silence. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then snapped it shut. He’d just told Potter he loved him. What in Merlin’s name was wrong with him? As if his life wasn’t difficult enough. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic, hyperactive thump of his heart.

“Oh buggering fuck, kill me now,” Draco whispered to the empty compartment. He’d just confessed feelings he’d kept buried for four years and he hadn’t even gotten to Hogwarts yet. It was going to be an incredibly long year. A long year full of Potter and his nonsense and his...green eyes…”buggering fuck,” Draco groaned. It was going to be a long, long year.

[kirishwima]

“You move in circles, hoping no one’s gonna find out.” + klance?

~climbing out the back door, didn’t leave a mark,

no one knows it’s you miss Jackson,

found another victim but no one’s ever gonna find Miss Jackson~ (you chose one of my faves lol ;u;)

from these sentence prompts

*******One look across the room was all it took for the spark in his eye to light up, amber flames swirling in the path of his gaze.Suited up, black tie and jacket fitting over broad shoulders, tracing down to a narrow waist and lean legs, accentuated by the lines and curves of his dress pants.That wasn’t what caught his attention.It wasn’t his smirk, the one that screamed ‘suave’ whilst he chatted with a group of women, all giggling behind their palms at something he said, one of his eyebrows quirking up in bemusement.

It wasn’t his sun-kissed skin, the tense muscles in his neck peeking out over the collar of his shirt, the way he had his hair slicked back allowing a perfect view to his face, blue eyes bright with mischief even from across the room.

No, it was neither of those things that bought Keith’s devout attention to the man.

It was the way he carried himself, like a man with a purpose, someone who knew what they wanted and how they wanted it, back straight and hands fitting snug in his pockets, his thumbs peeking over the hem.It was a man with a plan.

A plan that could easily be pin-pointed by the way his eyes glossed over the far end of the room, focusing onto the far end where a wide arched door made of mahogany stood, locked and out of mind to the rest of the guests present.

A door that held behind it the one jewel prized well into the millions, enough to make the humblest man daydream at the thoughts of such riches.

Altea, they called it, an ovoid shaped jewel the size of a fist, one of the rarest minerals found in this earth, an opaque pink colour streaked with plated swirls of purples and whites.

Was anyone here supposed to be in knowledge of its presence?

Keith already knew the answer.

Only the owner of Altea, Allura, and the host of tonight’s ball, as well as her uncle and personal advisor, Coran, were to be in knowledge of it’s existence.

Keith had only been privy to the knowledge of its existence as of this night, when the head of the police department he worked at allocated him as a surveillant for the night, along with his work partner Shiro, once an anonymous call to the police alerted them of ‘someone’s plans to steal Altea’.

And here Keith was, locking eyes with the one person his gut yelled at him was the culprit.

If his heart shook her head, whispering that it’s definitely not suspicion Keith felt but something else entirely, then Keith defiantly ignored her, in favour of pursuing his suspect.

The man’s gaze met his from across the elegant dance floor, the soft lighting overhead doing nothing to dull the sharpness of the moment, how Keith felt his body becoming fire and ice the moment Keith’s eyes locked with his.

The man turned to him with a slick smirk, eyes squinting in a false sincerity, before turning back to the women he was speaking with and excusing himself, walking the opposite direction.

Walking towards Keith.

Keith stood still, willing time to stop as the man took long strides to come to a stop right in front of Keith, smile still intact on his lips.

Now, so close to him, he felt that odd feeling in his stomach turn to burning charcoal, as if begging him to understand just what it was.

“Coudn’t help but notice someone throwing daggers at me with their stare,” the man started, voice like liquid gold, “so I though I’d stop by, see what’s causing a pretty face like yours to glare at me with such menace” he finished with a smile, leaning closer to Keith to bridge the small height gap between them.

“Name’s Lance” he introduced himself, Keith’s chest easing slightly now that he could put a name to the face that seemed more familiar by the minute, “And you are?”

It took him a moment, too lost in blue to respond, before composing himself once again, reminding himself of what his original intent was.

“Keith Kogane. Nice to meet you, Lance.”

He brought a hand out to shake Lance’s, schooling his face into one of complete apathy, before continuing.

“And for the record, I wasn’t glaring. Maybe it was just a trick of the light.”

Lance paused, the smirk falling off his face momentarily before returning full-force, the hand shaking Keith’s tightening.

“I’m familiar with tricks and lights, Mr. Kogane, and I’m quite certain I sensed some malicious intent behind your stare”

Keith cringed at the formalities, but tightened his grip just as much on Lance’s hand, noticing the reddish tint of Lance’s knuckles, the way his cheeks flushed the slightest of pinks.

This was the start of a game, Keith figured, and it wasn’t one he was about to lose.

“It’s quite an amazing ball isn’t it, Lance?” Keith smiled, anticipating the man’s response.

“Yeah, it really is” Lance sneered, pulling his and free of Keith’s grip before hiding it back in his pockets, noticing the way Keith’s gaze trailed down with it. “It’s nice of Allura to hold events for the local community like this.”

“I recall seeing you talk to others before coming my way” Keith shrugged, “should you not go back to them? Leaving mid-conversation doesn’t showcase good manners” he said with a smile.

“I assure you there was no further conversation to be held-besides, it’s also impolite to stare, in case you weren’t aware” Lance said, smiling sheepishly at Keith.

Keith nodded, slightly frustrated that Lance hadn’t given him a surname to work with.

He took another look at the man in front of him, at Lance, eyes squinting in concentration.

There was something about him…Keith couldn’t put his finger on what exactly, but something felt nostalgic, as if this man was..familiar to him.

“Have we met before?” he blurted out before he could stop himself, eyes widening.

Keith could very well start shovelling dirt to make his own grave, knowing full well this question had just made him lose.

Lance coughed, hiding his face behind his sleeve, turning back to Keith with a look he couldn’t recognise, as if there was a battle of emotions underneath Lance’s facade, urging him to set them free.

“Have we now? My memory’s failing me, apparently. Care to give me some insight, Keith?”

He paused, taking notice of the drop of the formalities, Lance being the one to glare daggers at Keith this time.

But even this cold stare, the way Lance sneered and turned his eyes away from Keith’s face, there was such a heavy feeling of deja vu settled in the bottom of Keith’s chest, enough to make his breaths more rapid, head pounding with frustration.

“Well” Lance started, gingerly putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder before taking a step back, his mask of suave politeness back in place, “nice to meet you, Kogane” he waved a hand and with that he was off, leaving Keith’s mind racing with a million thoughts he couldn’t comprehend, all chanting the man he thought he’d just met.

He turned to watch Lance leave, only just realising.

Lance was heading for the doors Keith and Shiro were supposed to guard.

He didn’t think before running, colliding with people before yelling a haste apology to some, steering away from others before they both found themselves on the floor, the sound of ballroom music loud enough to cover his frantic footsteps.

When Lance was nearly in arms reach, the man walking with his hands still in his pockets, the tail of his coat flowing with each step, Keith collided onto a bigger body, essentially causing him to fall down were it not for a pair of strong arms pulling him upright.

“Oh Sir I’m-I’m so sorry are you okay? You don’t seem okay oh man I, uh-”

Keith looked up at the man holding him in place, a plump tan man with amber eyes and a bright mustard yellow tie, his face flustered and confused.

“Your nose seems red, let me just help you get to a more quiet area-“ the man started, but Keith nudged him, insisting that he’s fine, trying to look over the man’s shoulders at the boy heading lazily towards the door.

“My name’s Hunk, can you tell me yours? I want to make sure you didn’t get a concussion when colliding with me oh man what if you did I’m-“

“Hunk, my name’s Keith, and I’m fine now please let me-“

Keith saw Lance rummaging through his pocket, retrieving a single, gold plated key out of it and fitting it smoothly into the locked bolted door.

Lance turned his head over his shoulder, throwing a quick wink Keith’s way before sliding through, shutting the door behind him.

Keith was red in the face, feeling the blood inside him boil and make a dash to his head.

What the hell?! What was going on?! How-how did this man have the /keys/ to that?Where was Shiro and why did he do nothing to stop him?!

Keith had finally had enough, pulling free of Hunk’s grip, much to the man’s dismay, and ran straight for the door, unlocking it with his own spare set of keys that Coran had given to him just for the night.

“Do not“, he remembered Coran’s voice, strict and laced with a heavy accent, “under any circumstances, open this door unless absolutely necessary. Altea is a sacred jewel, and it must remain safe under all costs. Have I made my self clear?”

Keith wished it’d be a simple, uneventful night.

He wished the call was just a prank.

Yet he knew it wasn’t.

He unlocked the door and run through it, readying the pistol hidden in his breast pocket along with the police badge hidden next to it, unlocking the gun’s safety mechanism whilst running up the stairs leading to Altea, the passage dark and narrow.

He reached the top of the stairs, only to find /him/.

Lance stood with the jewel in his gloved hands, his suit and shirt discarded for a pair of black fitting jeans and long-sleeved sweatshirt, hair unruled as he run as if he run a hand through them.

The glass case of Altea was neatly placed onto the floor of the small room, the only window available wide open, Lance’s back leaning onto it’s ledge.

“You asked me if we met before, didn’t you?” Lance asked, his gaze following the shimmers of Altea, the swirls of purple it made in the moonlight.

Keith pointed his gun towards Keith, readying himself to shoot at any minute even if his hands quivered ever the slightest, his safety chest plate constricting with the way his chest heaved.

“I’m honoured you at least felt I looked familiar” Lance shrugged, the cockiness completely gone from his voice, “I mean, we were supposed to be arch rivals”

Keith stared at him blankly, earning a snort from Lance and a roll of his eyes, moving away from the window and closer to Keith.

“Oh come on, you know me. You know, Lance and Keith, neck-and-neck?”

He took another step forward, Keith’s concentration coming back to his aim, in a clear shot to go for Lance’s chest.

He heard Lance ‘tsk’, toying with the gem in his hand.

“Now now Keith, there’s no need for that. I’m no amateur, you know that right?” he sneered.

Keith took a look down to his suit, noticing the red laser dot pointing straight over his heart.

“You’re-“

“I mean, I could tell you it’s just a laser tag, but there’d be no fun in that now would there? Besides, I’m certain my acquaintance, Pidge, could make even a laser pointer lethal” Lance laughed, the sound familiar to Keith’s ears.

“Wait, you’re-I know you!” he gasped, looking to Lance whose gaze levelled his, waiting.

“Lance Sanchez. We-we were in the same year. We did our police training together”

Something wasn’t adding up, the numbers and patterns in Keith’ gaze multiplying by the second.

He remembers Lance. He was one of the top students, and was also competing for a spot in the undercover police force along with Keith, before Keith dropped out, opting instead to work at his local police department.

“Wait no, you-you should be an undercover agent now, why are you-“

“Who says I’m not?”

Keith’s mind struggled with the resurgence of memories.

The gossip he overheard, how that dude, Lance-he’s managed to become an undercover cop, how I heard they have him doing some shady business undercover, you don’t think he’ll get into some big trouble do you?

“Is this-is this what you were told to do?” Keith started to lower his gun, much to Lance’s frustration.

“No! No dammit, keep aiming at me. Keith” he took another step, putting his hands over Keith’s, cold meeting warmth.

He brought them back up, putting the nuzzle of the gun back to his chest.

“Don’t stop aiming at me. Look behind me, slowly.”

Keith complied, noticing the red same red line that had been pointing at his chest, another one following and aiming at Lance’s back.

So this is what’s going on.

“What are you going to do? You’ll move in circles, hoping no one’s gonna find out?”

Lance’s smiled held more sincerity this time, small and sad and so unbefitting of a face as bright as his.

“There’s three of us, all undercover. Pidge, Hunk, and me. I think your partner was informed some thirty minutes ago, probably went looking to tell you. This..this is supposed to happen” Lance whispered, slowly releasing his hold from Keith’s fingers, gun still shakily aiming at him.

“I’ll grab Altea. Take it to them. There’s a wire trapped inside the case we’ll be transferring it in. The feds will follow us and take..well, ‘take the bad guys out’, so to speak.”

Keith’s breath hitched, looking up to meet Lance’s solemn gaze.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Before, at the ballroom?”

Lance nodded to his discarded clothes. “Wire. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t have anyone interfering. Hence why I asked Hunk to slow you down.”

Keith tried to nod, but found his head too stiff, his heart too loud, the boy in front of him too beautiful for an expression like that.

“When-when this is done. Let’s have a proper talk. Us two. About-about stuff.”

It was Lance’s turn to be shocked, before bending over to laugh, the sound sincere and wonderful to Keith’s ears.

“Is this your idea of asking me out on a date Kogane?”

Keith stuttered, moving a step closer before Lance shushed him, waving a finger as if to say ‘no’.

“That’s alright, I always thought you were kinda cute. I’ll meet you after for a coffee. Let’s preferably pretend that that will be our first meeting, yeah?” Lance shook his head, smile still in place as he took backwards steps towards the window.

“How will you find me? You don’t have my phone number, or anything” Keith cocked his head.

“Right, I forgot you haven’t met Pidge yet” he shrugged, “not to worry, I’ve got my ways!”

With one last wink and a wave of two fingers, Lance let himself fall through the window, much to Keith’s dismay, who immediately run towards it with a bemused look.

He saw the black cabrio fiat car beneath him, saw Lance move to say something to the driver, a person that seemed far too young and small to be the designated driver, before he heard the sound of an engine, leaving behind just the memory of Lance, the only evidence of him ever being there being the discarded clothes and empty case in which once lay a treasure laced with purple.

Keith sighed.

He put the gun back to his back pocket, ready to go back and report the situation to Shiro, before he felt the texture of a paper where his fingers went to release his gun.

He pulled a folder note out of his pocket, rushing to read it.

See you soon ;) xoxo -Lancey Lance

Keith’s heart leaped.

This would prove to be an interesting meeting.

*****