#carefully considering her position and what she wants for herself... seeming more focused and resolved....

[choosing-criminalminds]

One More Time

Summary: Their love was years and years in the making, and even when prison quickly builds back up the walls they worked so hard to break down, Spencer learns just how strong the foundation of their trust is.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader(ish) -> told mostly in the 3rd person, from Spencer’s POV

Category: angst (?)

Warnings: mentions of character death (Maeve, Gideon), mentions of blood (Maeve’s death), slight panic/anxiety, language -> let me know if there are any more to add!

Also, un-beta’d, we die like the trash we are.

Length: 5.6k

A/N: Okay yeah so first post. So…this turned out much longer than expected? This is for Ellie’s ( @spenciebabie ) writing contest/celebration and goodness I’m so nervous because I’ve barely written, much less posted, anything in years. Anyway, I guss I decided to challenge myself to write this? I hope you guys like it?

Also, if anyone wants a new friend, please hit me up because I’m too shy to say hello myself.

Prompt was: “Why don’t you make me?”

-*-*-*-

“Trust has to be earned, and should come only after the passage of time.”

—Arthur Ashe

-*-*-*-

For all his genius, Spencer didn’t know what to make of the fact that he found himself inexplicably drawn to her.

It wasn’t until years down the line that he realized he had been exceptionally aware of her since they met, carefully observing, cataloguing the way she so gently and kindly defied every expectation and pushed past every preconceived notion he had of her. By then, she had already settled in a little corner of his heart and helped seal the cracks in his life that he didn’t even know existed.

But when she first joined the team as an intern, he was more than a little reluctant to get to know her. It was during the summer between her college graduation and the start of her graduate studies, and she seemed too worldly, too perfect. She wasn’t like the girls from high school, or even college, for that matter, who were simply mean. On the contrary, she was wonderfully polite and incredibly ambitious, intelligent, and very much the type of girl that was far too out of his league, one that wouldn’t spare him a second glance before continuing down whatever focused path she was on.

That’s why he planned to avoid her as much as possible her first day in the office. She had, thankfully, spent the morning in Hotch’s office, since he was her official supervisor, but when he saw them about to emerge right before lunch, he panicked, muttered a random excuse, and shuffled out of the bullpen, leaving a bemused Derek and Elle in his wake.

It didn’t help that he was ducking out of rooms while JJ was giving her a quick tour and making introductions, and almost every member of the team had cornered him, encouraging him to talk to her, to befriend her due to their closeness in age. (“She’s only what? Two-ish years younger than you?” When he mumbled that exact date, Penelope had broken into a large, wicked grin, poking him teasingly in the cheek. Gratefully, she held back any further comment.)

Spencer had blinked, a little surprised, when Penelope Garcia, who generally disliked change, had only good things to say. Remarkably humble about her achievements, and not in the standoffish fake way, Penelope commented after admitting she had run a background check on her. Genuine, and quite sweet.

Polite, Derek had said, if a little quiet, trying to see where she fits in the team dynamic. You should reach out, be a friend, he suggested.(Spencer ignored the very pretty slipped somewhere in the comment, as well as the knowing smile shot his direction when he felt his cheeks flushing.)

A surprisingly wicked sense of humor, was all Elle said with a sly smile. (Spencer chose to ignore that too.)

And when Spencer tentatively asked the man, Jason Gideon, a man of generally few words, had spoken of her, however briefly, with surprising fondness, because of course Gideon had met her when she was a child, because of course her uncle now headed legal three floors up, and of course her uncle was the last third of the BAU’s Holy Trinity, of which Gideon and Rossi were a part of.

You’ll get along very nicely.

Spencer was incredibly intimidated, to say the least.

And then when he couldn’t avoid her anymore (because of course they were desked next to each other), all it took for her was noticeably catching herself from extending a hand, then offering a small little wave and a nervous smile to leave him breathless. (He pointedly ignored the look knowing look JJ shot him.)

He tried to stifle the little seed of hope—that she definitely wasn’t interested in him, and her saccharine smile was nothing more than a false front to make a positive impression during a lucrative FBI internship meant only to bolster her resume—but the resolve crumbled quickly. She turned out to be so genuinely kind and sweetly humble that Spencer cursed the fact that the internship lasted only through that summer.

It also certainly didn’t help, either, that the very first thought he had when meeting her was a single word.

Pretty.

-*-*-*-

It was almost ridiculous how well she got along with everyone in the office.

She clearly made it a mission to make the most of the time she had and was more than willing to put in the work and prove her worth. Although she was technically Hotch’s intern and her main role was to assist the core field team, Spencer watched as she managed to get on absolutely everyone’s good graces through a combination of unassuming charm, sharp wit, and willingness to learn and to help that was so uniquely her.

For Spencer, it meant that she happily listened to what he had to say, encouraging him to continue when appropriate or saving a quiet question for later when it wasn’t. When she told him that she enjoyed listening to him talk, Spencer was taken aback, stuttering as he tried to figure out if she was only saying that to be polite. She gave him a gracious smile, ensured that she “quite honestly enjoyed” listening to him, and proceeded to ask a few well-timed and well-pointed questions to smoothly nudge him back to their previous topic.

Spencer stared at her, slack-jawed, then smiled bashfully, and allowed himself to hope.

(He definitely didn’t know what to do with the fact that when she knowingly reached out to his hand resting on the table and lightly tapped the back of his hand, he didn’t have his typical knee-jerk desire to pull away. He also mostly certainly didn’t know what to do with the fact that when her thumb grazed over his knuckles to sooth the tension he didn’t even realize he had, he felt an inexplicable calm ease into his very bones.)

-*-*-*-

“It’ll take a good five, six years to finish my J.D./Ph.D., but Hotch offered me an open invitation to join the team when I do, and I’m more than inclined to take his offer when the time comes.”

Spencer peered at her, breathing out a sigh of relief that he didn’t realize he was holding. It was the last day of her internship, and she was making the rounds to say her thank you’s and goodbyes individually to the members of the team. He was the last one, and he had been dreading the conversation the entire day.

While he wouldn’t describe what he felt for her as anything beyond a genuine, platonic friendship—in the grand scheme of things, they’d only known each other for ten weeks—their easy companionship had become very dear to him. And he was terrified and nervous that her time with the BAU would be just a small chapter in her life before she moved on to the bigger and better things, leaving him behind as a fond but distant memory.

She laughed softly at his surprise, before it trailed off into a sigh. She then took a deep breath and asked. “Do you trust me?” Spencer looked at her, a bit dumbfounded. Did he trust her? Her gaze was heavy on him and the question weighty, a gentle demand for an honest answer. Did he trust her? Yes, he did, he supposed, they were friends. Right? He breathed in deeply, squared his shoulders just a bit, and answered in the affirmative.

As if she sensed his hesitance, his unease, she gave him a knowing look and took one of his hands into hers, fingers brushing over fingers, before hooking her pinky around his. “Because I promise you, Spencer Reid, I’ll be back, right here. You’ll be waiting for me, yeah?”

He looked at her in awe, the dim light of the nearly-empty office reflecting off her kind eyes. Warmth spread through his chest, and she smiled so brilliantly that he nearly forgot to breathe, to answer. To answer. He smiled back, twitchy, introspective, and considered the weight of her question. He nodded and responded simply.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She managed to remain on the Bureau’s consulting payroll over the next several years, though she was primarily based in the Bay Area as she finished her graduate studies at Stanford. The team as a whole still went to her for a fresh perspective when needed; she video called in to help on cases when necessary and met up in person if a case called them to California.

He knew that she kept in touch with JJ, Penelope, and Derek, and that Hotch and Emily (whom she met shortly after Emily joined the team and a case brought them to LA) were also friendly, if professional, contacts. Spencer himself was known to receive the odd phone call from her.

However, what had Spencer almost covetously pleased was that they had something they shared exclusively between the two of them, because she had steadfastly kept her promise to write to him.

-*-*-*-

Her letters were as beautiful as they were constant, and Spencer handled and read each one with care.

Her handwriting suited her; while it generally was neat and clear little scrawl, he knew it would get a little freer, and little loopier when she was tired, if she was particularly excited, or if she found herself a bit tipsy. (And yet she still managed to always write in an almost perfectly straight line even on a blank sheet of paper. He was envious, and when he told her as such, he could hear the laughter in her response as she wrote it a little more wobbly than usual.) And while he knew her to be tilted more on the quiet, introverted side of the scale, she had a way with the written word, each phrase poetic and thoughtful.

And they were remarkably therapeutic to write in return, Spencer found. Their initial letters mostly consisted of light banter about their mutual and individual interests, updates on the progress of her research (sprinkled amusing tidbits of her exasperation and frustration), bits and pieces about his cases and updates on and amusing anecdotes about the team.

However, over time, he slowly opened up to her, about his fears, his hopes, his dreams. And when he hesitantly divulged bits and pieces about the drugs, his mother, the headaches, he felt the relief in his entire body when she responded with empathy and grace. In turn, she did the same. She was vulnerable, she was open, and as wonderful and quite near perfect as he knew her to be, he was pleased to find her so incredibly human.

Those letters he slowed down to read, committing them to memory with more intention.

(He kept her letters in the drawer of his desk at his apartment, and eventually moved them to a specially designated box when he needed more room. When he learned that she did the same, he couldn’t help the tender warmth that fluttered in his chest. He still didn’t know what to do with the feeling.)

-*-*-*-

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

It took six years, and an additional five months at the Academy (and then another few weeks as she was introduced to the legal team, with whom she would also be working with in her role as legal liaison), but she kept her promise and found her way back to the BAU, and it was like she was never gone.

This time, in her re-introduction to the team, she was a breath of fresh air.

When she approached him individually with a nervous smile, she reached out, then hesitated, and a sense of déjà vu washed over Spencer. But then, she had placed a hand on his elbow, and when she smiled, he breathed in a sense of peace and familiarity, of comfort.

“You waited.”

He smiled back, and in a rather forward gesture on his part, he adjusted so he could take the hand on his arm into his.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She was too good for him.

Whatever relationship they had—Spencer didn’t know what to call it, though friendship seem too trivial of a word for it—he knew it was too good, too perfect to last.

Because in a cruel twist of fate, her first case back on the team, however unofficial it was, was Maeve.

He was hyperaware of the neutral expression on her face when he finally brought his fears to the team. To anyone else she would seem serene and put together, but to him the slight sag in her shoulders and the realization transitioning to acceptance were clear as day. Spencer never mentioned Maeve to her in their letters, but later, in retrospect, he believed she had an inkling, at the very least. You seem happier, she had written, once, not too long after he first became acquainted with Maeve, and that makes me happy.

Did it? Then he didn’t want to know what his misery would do to her because then, Maeve died, and in his grief over another woman, he fought desperately to push her away.

She could share his happiness, but he refused to let her share his pain, his brokenness. She did not deserve that, and he would not be the one to destroy the beauty and sunshine and hope she brought everywhere with her.

But when they finally took Maeve’s body away, and when the blurred commotion of sirens and law enforcement and emergency services and constant hammering of half-hearted condolences and check-ins finally died down, he felt the blanket around his shoulders be adjusted, and a now-familiar pair of hands take in his own, firm, and refusing to ever let go. Thumbs traced over his knuckles as soothingly as he remembered, and only then did he begin to vaguely process the fact those hands had been tucked into his almost the entire evening, anchoring him through the haze and the fog.

As if on cue, she squeezed his hand gently, like she knew exactly when he was slowly becoming aware of her presence, and he suddenly found he lacked the strength to do what he initially intended.

Still dazed, he felt her shift, and she was kneeling on the ground in front of him where he sat on the curb, and softly drew him into a hug. Any form of resistance he previously had dissolved; he clung to her, tears stinging his eyes once again.

It’s okay, I’m here, I’ll stay, she whispered, I’ll stay, always and always.

Just don’t push me away.

“I-” His voice cracked. “I loved her.”

He paused, his voice weakening.

“I love her...”

Hands ran soothingly through his hair.

“I know.”

She always did.

“…so much.”

He didn’t need to see her face to realize that she was crying with him, for him—he could feel her trying to contain the trembling in her chest, trying desperately to remain composed. He tried to do the same, but when she tilted her head and let him bury his face into her neck, Spencer finally felt fresh tears begin to flow, and he allowed her to take his face into her hands and chase the tears with her fingers.

And Spencer wept freely, first for death of the woman he loved, and then for the tears and the grief he caused the one person he could call his kindred spirit, his soulmate.

-*-*-*-

He healed, slowly.

There were good days, when the thought of Maeve did not stir up memories of blood and fear and gunshots but, rather, of auburn hair and admiration and hushed conversations on the phone. On those days, he felt like he was no longer haunted by a ghost and could finally begin to move on. On those days, he could slow down, appreciate the small things again, and focus on how a pair of familiar, steady hands pulled him out of the past, anchored him in the present, and allowed him to hope about the future.

But then there were the bad days when her touch scalded and burned his skin. The warmth and the pulse of blood rushing through her veins and the germs on her hands and her life was overwhelming because Maeve was dead and cold and gone. So, with every glare and with every sharp comment aimed at where he knew it would hurt, he finally made good on his desire to push her away.

It was on those days the bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered how it was supposed to be Maeve, not her, there alive with him, holding his hand as they faced the world.

It was also on those days he chose to disregard the regret that settled in the pit of his stomach each time he heard his own biting voice, and disregard the horror brought on by even thinking of wishing she were dead instead. He began to ignore the tremble in her hands when she reached out to him and brushed her fingers against his in concern, and he ignored how she gradually began pulling back, hesitant, nervous that her touch would be unwarranted, unwanted. He certainly ignored the unconscious flex in his hand, the ache for the reassurance and comfort he had become so accustomed to—

He ignored it all until he woke up, one night, to an empty bed, and a sudden surge of panic rushed through his body and bile rose in his throat. She was right there, when he fell asleep, giving him a small smile and nod when he asked if she could read to him, to stay the night. Now, without a word, she was gone, she was gone, shewasgone and Spencer could feel the tightness in his chest and tears sting his eyes when realized that the only one to blame was himself, himself, himself.

Why, he thought bitterly, why was he like this? Why must he try to push away every good thing in his life?

But then, there he stood, barely aware of the tears on his cheeks and ice running through his veins, as he found her curled up on his couch, franticly wiping away her own silent tears and exhaustion from her eyes. He stumbled forward, upset, upset at himself because he made her cry again. And when she flinched when he cradled her face in his hands, apologizing to him, he nearly choked back a sob, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe away the tears that did not belong on her face.

Neither of them went back to sleep that night, and Spencer began to realize just how strong she was, as she gently told him through her tears the hard truths of his situation and where she stood in relation to him.

I can’t fight with a ghost, she had murmured hoarsely, but I can work with her legacy and her memory.

And then, with a pinky wrapped around his, she promised that she would be there to help him through it, but the only way was if, and only if, he let her.

It was that night (or, rather, morning, as the sun rose) that he began to come to terms that, whether he deserved it or not, she—and her pure and unadulterated goodness—was more or less a permanent fixture in his life, and he felt more at peace than he had in ages. And when the early rays of sunlight filtered through his windows and caught her in a soft glow, he found himself once again in awe. He reached out, hesitantly, and his heart soared when he felt the familiar pressure of her hand slipping into his.

She was steadfast and loyal and strong. She was brave, she was patient, she was kind. Moreover, she was alive, she was breathing, and she was here, present, by his side. It took time, and more painful conversations and more painful realizations, but eventually, the good days were a bit more consistent, the sun just a bit brighter, and his breathing a just bit freer with her hand pressed firmly into his own, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers until his heartbeat synced with hers.

And Spencer was finally learning, learning about what to do with the fact that with her by his side, he felt like he could truly face the world.

-*-*-*-

Face the world he did.

When Gideon died, he felt his hand twitch, and the compulsion to escape and hide tugged at the back of his mind, and an old, nearly forgotten itch made its way from the crook of his elbow, slowly ebbing into in his veins and nagging in the crevices of the back of the mind.

But when he felt her hand slip into his, he felt it abate, the tension in his muscles eased. When her lips twitched into a knowing, gentle smile, he could see the underlying grief and frustration. Of course. She had known Gideon just as well as he did, if not better.

He breathed deeply and smiled back. It was weak, it was twitchy, and it was sad, but it was a smile, nonetheless. He wasn’t in this alone.

-*-*-*-

They were seated on a large blanket in a secluded park in D.C. on one of their rare days off when she pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, and suddenly it seemed like all the right pieces finally fell into place.

And when she whispered those three little words, and everything made sense. He looked up from where he laid, and again he was breathless at how the setting sun caught in her hair and reflected off her skin and her eyes. But then, when he opened his mouth to respond, the same three little words caught in his throat and his breath hitched, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to respond, to let her know that her feelings were returned, but the words failed him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured softly, and he trembled as he felt her hands cupping his face and fingers gracing over his cheekbones, “if you don’t reciprocate; I’ll live. But I just wanted to let you know–know that I’ll be by your side no matter what happens.”

It wasn’t until they were at the door of her apartment, when he found the strength to push past the nerves and respond.

“I do re-reciprocate, and I want–I want to say it, because I do,” he stuttered out, “but I just…don’t know how to say it yet.”

He suddenly felt like a prepubescent schoolboy, nervous and quaking and terrified. But then, magnetic as she was, she brought his gaze back to her face, and her knowing smile breathed air back into his lungs. His heart blossomed, and the fingers rubbing circles into his hand anchored his attention on her. “Then I’ll wait until you can. Always. Forever.” She paused. “Do you trust me?”

Spencer peered up at her, brows furrowed. Unbidden, the memory of the first time she asked him the same question floated to the front of his mind, and he couldn’t help the breath of amusement. The question caught him off guard, but this time, when he found his voice it was resolute, quick, and sure.

Yes.

He felt a pinky hook around his, and the now-familiar warmth bubbled in his chest.

“Good, because it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

This time, the tears her fingers caught were those of appreciation and relief.

-*-*-*-

And then, the sun set, and prison happened.

-*-*-*-

At first, it was easy to ignore.

Prison changed him. He knew it did, and he knew that she wasn’t naïve to the fact either. He was a bit harder, a bit more defensive, and while he tried his best not to show it, he knew she could see the darkness had just a little bit more of an edge. He was well aware of how she watched him just a bit more closely.

It seemed alright at first. It took a while for him to adjust; there were certainly bumps and bruises along the way, along with some admittedly choice words exchanged in frustration, but that was expected.

But he supposed it was the small things, and small things add up.

The first week her hand naturally slipped into his like nothing’d changed, but his grip was tighter and more desperate than normal, like she’d disappear or slip through his fingers if he didn’t. At the same time, he was also too terrified to touch her otherwise, as if she’d break like glass if his grip on her waist was just a bit too tight.

She never commented, gave him space, and allowed him to initiate physical contact.

She didn’t need to know, he rationalized, it wasn’t her burden to bear.

Then he began to hold her at arm’s length. She pushed, gently, and he pushed back, harder. He knew she was only trying to help, but he needed to figure it out for himself, lest he hurt her again. She only sighed, and relented. While her concern was apparent with how she watched him with just a little more unease, she gave him space.

However, while she was an exceptionally patient person, there was only so much distance and space one could handle. When she reached out, worried, and pressed just a little harder, he withdrew completely, and his rationalization slowly evolved. Stop hovering. Don’t need you treating me like I’m broken. Don’t need your pity.He ignored the pain that flashed in her eyes, the quiet desperation in her voice whenever she called after him after he refused to listen, and the increasingly familiar ache in his entire body when he began to avoid and refuse her touch.

It was the small things, because when the nightmares started, it wasn’t so easy to ignore.

-*-*-*-

“—eathe, Spencer. That’s good, breathe.”

The mumbled affirmations continued as he slowly processed his surroundings.

Queen-sized bed. Egyptian cotton sheets. Breathe in. Goose-feather down pillows. A firmer memory foam pillow that smelled of her shampoo. Breathe out.

Safety.

He was still bleary-eyed when he sunk back down, burying half his face in the pillows and ashamed as he mumbled a quiet apology. Her voice was kind, understanding, telling him it was alright as she tucked a stray lock of curls away from his face. When he seemed to settle back down, her hand gentle rested on his jaw, thumb absently tracing his cheekbone.

“Do you want to talk—”

“No.”

She frowned, sighed, took a moment to flick on the lamp light and collect her thoughts; he could see, through his lashes, the gears turning in her head about how to proceed. Meanwhile, he heaved a sighed, and sat up against the headboard. His eyes closed, doing the same as her. She then reached out, touched his hand, grazed her thumb over his knuckles and drew circles on the back. It started slow, hesitant—she was surprised that he didn’t recoil, and frankly, so was he—but the motion was familiar, grounding, so he let her continue. He knew it helped her focus as well.

“Spence, you’re…you need to talk to someone—it doesn’t have to be me! But bottling it up all inside, it’s clearly tearing you apart.”

“I agreed to start talking with my therapist, haven’t I?”

His voice was flat, defensive.

“But you haven’t, and…knowing you, you won’t be telling them the whole truth.” His jaw tightened and his lips pursed, his hand gripping the sheets flexed, and he looked away from her, intently staring at a random point in the room that wasn’t her. As always, she seemed to know him far too well.

She let out a breath of a sigh; she knew he was beginning to shut her out again. Her free hand lifted to his shoulder, rested in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve told you before, that you’ve started to shut people out. I know–I know you’re so, so strong, but you don’t have to face it alone. You don’t need to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders; we’re not as fragile as you seem to think we are.” She paused, contemplating. “If you need someone with distance that you can trust, call Derek, call Hotch, even, but remember, Spence, I made you a promise: I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

When he didn’t answer, still staring off into the mid-distance, she sighed.

“I’ll leave, give you some space. Think about it.”

She was at the bedroom door when he finally cleared his throat and responded. His voice was bitter as he bit out: “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

A quiet ‘wha–’slipped from her lips as she angled toward him as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets tightly.

“If you want to leave, fine. You seem to be doing that quite well recently. The door’s right there and you don’t have to come back until you want to make me a charity case again. But if you want me to talk, if you think you can handle it, then be my guest. Take a seat and why don’t you make me?”

He instantly regretted the words, but some dark part of his mind as pleased that he could see the anger and annoyance spark through her as she inhaled deeply and slowly turn around to face him in full. “I will if that’s what it will take.”

Spencer’s gaze hardened.

“You don’t have the fucking guts.”

A brief moment passed as she took him in full, eyes flashing. Spencer raised his gaze, challenging, daring her, and then, the same, shadowed part of his mind was savagely happy that he had finally gotten a rise out of her, because she bit back with venom.

“Fucking try me.”

And then, he watched her warily as she visibly froze, then deflate, her jaw tightening and eyes welling with unshed tears as she stumbled backward to the door.

“But–but not like this. Not like this. I’m–I’m so sorry you didn’t–you don’t deserve…” Her voice was quiet, but it was hitched with a swirl of emotions Spencer couldn’t pinpoint, and he was suddenly aware of the hot tears dripping down his cheeks. “I’m going–I’m going to go…” He heard the doorknob turn, and suddenly the sound of gunshots rang in his ears, and he could the taste the metallic bitterness as blood and dead brown eyes filled his vision.

Wait. Wai- She was halfway out the door when he called out, voice cracking, and through blurred tears he saw her shut the door and shuffled and stumbled back into the room toward him, kneeling in front of him. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the whispers of his name and the urgency of the apologies. And then his eyes fluttered closed when she reached up to brush the tears away, and the motion opened the floodgates. It was one of the many little touches they shared—thumbs wiping over cheeks and hands cupping faces—and he had half a mind to shove her aside, but dear God he hadn’t felt it in far too long; he leaned, almost desperately, into her touch and he could hear her sniffling back her own tears.

Fuck.

He was always like this.

His passive aggressiveness was his defense mechanism; he lashed out blindly whenever he felt vulnerable, not caring who he hurt and how much. It was something she had been helping him work through, and he thought he was getting better, but here he was, hurting her because of it again.

Not like this.

He barely noticed that she had pulled him into a tender hug, but now that he did process the warmth of her embrace seeping into his bones, he wanted to push it away. He didn’t – he didn’t deserve this but now she was pulling back, and it sent a brief course of panic through his body, a fear that she was pulling away, away from him, away from the darkness and shadows that loomed permanently over him. He wouldn’t blame her, but–but…oh.

Her eyes always spoke volumes for her, and now that she had firmly tilted his chin up, her gaze firm, resolved.

“I know you are feeling vulnerable, and I know that you believe you can do this on your own.” She breathed in deeply. In turn he gazed up at her through his tears, as evenly as he could, and she met it without wavering. “You are strong, Spencer Reid, so, so strong, been so for so long. But…but I made a promise that I would always be by your side, and I’m never going to break it. So please.” Her voice hitched, and his breath caught in his throat. “Please, trust in me, one more time. Just one more time.”

Moments ticked by to the time of his heartbeat before he finally nodded, and the relief and the elation in her eyes soothed the dull pain inside his heart. This time, he drew her into his arms and into his lap and sighed as he leaned into the crook of her neck.

Thank you.

I love you, too.

-*-*-*-

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

—Maya Angelou

-*-*-*-

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[valmalfoy]

Hello, honey! I saw the requests were open) Would you like to write Young!Sirius x reader With reader being optimistic everything, calm, A-Student, and Sirius mildly despises her, because she’s too “perfect”, but she’s friendly. But than something happens to him, she helps him to calm down, he snaps at her, because she wouldn’t ever know what’s that like, but turns out she has actually been through the similar situation, so she taught herself to see the good sides? I hope u like it 🤍🤍

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: angst, jealous sirius ;), mad sirius but an all around fluffy ending.

A/N: I absolutely adore Sirius Black and couldn’t wait to write this one. I made this based in autumn and the reader is a slytherin (because I love cross house relationships and I thought it’d make the feud between them a bit more interesting.) Enjoy and as always thank you for requesting! <3

Y/N was a perfect student. Perfect grades, excelling in every class she attended and she made it look so effortless. Everything came to her so easily in class. They could be studying one of the hardest subjects at hogwarts at she’d make it look as easy as flying a broom when really it felt like trying to catch a rather difficult golden snitch. She was also undoubtedly gorgeous, nobody could dispute that. Her most striking feature always catching the eyes of boys from all the houses. But above all, she was kind. Which some found odd considering her house, the house of the cunning. Always offering to help that first year find their way to class or Gryffindor with a tricky question. She was one that could be unforgettable. You know, the type that you could walk past on the street and not know a single thing about them and daydream about your future with her. And to his friends disbelief, Sirius despised her. They could never pinpoint why because he always seemed to bring her up when he returned to the Gryffindore common room or during class when she was simply writing notes down on parchment paper.

“If you hate her so much, then explain to me why she is always on your mind.” James whispered to Sirius with his arms crossed and eyebrows knitted together. Sirius glared at his friend, trying to focus on the notes that Professor Mcgonagall read to the class rather quickly.

“How could you even ask that question, Potter.” James put his arms up in a surrendering position.

“Merlin, sorry.” James mumbled, “Didn’t know it was such a touchy subject.”

“It’s not a touchy subject. I would like to focus on my notes, please.” Sirius hunched over his parchment paper and continued to scribble out his messy handwriting.

“It must be because every girl would do anything at will just go get a glance from you but she won’t even look your way or acknowledge you.” James said with a sigh before leaning back into his chair. Sirius’s head whipped to look at Potter with his jaw hanging.

“I’m not even going to entertain what you just said, James.” Sirius warned before earning a quiet laugh from James. Sirius’s eyes drifting to across the classroom where Y/N quietly wrote. He noticed that whenever she was focused on something, she’d tap her foot under the desk quietly. He wondered if it were a specific song she’d tap it to or it was something she did absentmindedly. Sirius shook the thought of and continued with his notes.

It wasn’t until a couple weeks later that he’d speak to the girl that everyone knew of for the first time.

It was when the leaves had shifted from a green to red, yellow and orange. The sky turning a warm grey color and the weather got colder, everyone wearing wool sweaters now instead of cotton t-shirts. And much to Sirius’ notice, other students started receiving letters, clothes and packages full of everything fall from their families back at home. Writing about how they missed their company during this season. And just like every other year that Sirius attended hogwarts, he never received anything from his parents. Sirius knew exactly why and so did his friends. He wasn’t like his family. He never exactly fit in during family dinners, oh and let’s not forget he didn’t carry on a long line of tradition by sorting into the house of slytherin. So this time of year was rather difficult for him. He never understood the joy of autumn.

One breezy morning in the great hall, Sirius sat with his friends at the Gryffindor table. He watched as the excitedly teared into packages and read their letters from family. Sirius quietly excused himself from the table although he was sure his friends wouldn’t notice he was gone with all of the goodies that laid in front of them. But a certain girl watched him leave in a hurry and out to one of the courtyard’s. He often came out here to relax, listening to the leaves crunch under his shoes and get some fresh air. But today he simply sat on a bench and did his best not to lash out.

“Sirius Black, is it?” A calming voice was heard only a couple feet away from him. When he looked up from his lap his breath was caught in his throat when his gaze fell upon Y/N Y/L/N. And for an endless moment their eyes met.

“What’s it to you.” He nearly growled.

“Mind if I sit?” She asks. And if Sirius could describe her voice it would be as sweet as honey and as soft as silk. Although, he’d never admit that.

“Out of all the benches you choose this one?”

“Please.” How could he said no, she was being polite about it.

“Right then.” Sirius said before scooting over on the bench. “What does the golden girl want?” He snapped, earning a confused gaze from her.

“Here.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a letter, sealed with with a green wax.

“I don’t want your pity.” He said just not yet taking the letter from the girl.

“Believe me, I know that.” She shook her head looking down at the letter. “But I also know that you don’t receive letters from your parents.”

“How did you-?” He tried to say but he was quickly cut off.

“It’s easy to pick out the people that are like yourself.”

Sirius scoffed at her words, “As if you’re anything like me. You’re absolutely perfect and i’m well.. not.”

“I am so far from perfect.” She shrugged, still holding tightly onto the letter so the small breeze would not carry it away. “I don’t receive letters from my family either.”

“You don’t?” Sirius asked in disbelief.

“My parents are hufflepuffs. I wish I could’ve seen the look on their faces when they found out I was sorted into Slytherin. They say they don’t mind but I haven’t gotten a letter since my third year.” She laughed at the last bit. “Holidays aren’t so fun either. But I tend to look on the good side of things.” Y/N held the letter out to Sirius before he hesitatly took it. She stood up from the bench, pushing her hands into her coat picked before smiling as a signal of an wordless goodbye. She turned on her heels and headed into the warmth of the Hogwarts school.

As soon as she was gone, Sirius carefully opened the letter and began to read:

“Dear Sirius,

Your friends care about you a lot more than they tend to lead on. I will say I was quite shocked to hear of your sudden interest in my whereabouts in the school. But besides the things you’ve said about me, your friends brought to my attention that you were never really close with your family. James’ somehow knew about my situation as well and no matter what I say will not tell me how he got this information.. He thought that maybe if we talked that we could resolve this conflict you have towards me and that you’d find something in me to relate to.

While I may not be a close relative or someone you particularly like, i’ve decided to write you letters so you don’t look so left out. You don’t have to say they’re from me either. Because how embarrassing would that be, right? I guess it doesn’t matter, so do what you will with my letters.

Sincerely,

Y/N Y/L/N.”

With a smile now growing a permanent home Sirius’ face, he tucked the letter deep into his pocket so as it not to fall out when he walked back into the school. Maybe Y/N wasn’t so bad after all.

#sirius black imagine #the marauders #sirius black x reader #sirius black #young!sirius black #young!sirius black imagine #young!sirius black x reader #autumn #requests #valmalfoy requests #harry potter

[sovio-studio]

To understand a ghost kid

[Maddie decides to interrogate Phantom in a final effort to discover his ghost obsession. The conversation ends up taking a more emotional turn than she expected]

~~~

"You won't be getting out anytime soon. That's a new anti ghost-power design."

Danny struggled in the luminous green net for a few seconds more before ultimately resigning with a sigh.

"I thought things were going well! You haven't tried to capture me for months."

His mother seemed surprised at his remark. She probably hadn't thought he'd paid much attention to their truce, thanks to her prejudices about ghosts not having emotions all together. However, she composed herself quickly as usual.

"A deal is a deal, I don't plan to harm you this time."

"This time?"

She ignored him. "I need to ask you some questions?"

"Then just ask me! No need for the stupid net." He retorted, pushing against the net once more.

"The net is a precaution. I can't have you running away before you can answer."

"Geez what kinda question is this?"

"It's about your origins. How you died to be more precise"

"Oh… oh! My er-" He settled uncomfortably onto the ground in a cross legged position, despite the net. This would be interesting. "Why do you need to know about that anyway?"

"We've recently been trying to make connections between ghosts, their obsessions, and their deaths. Majority we have solid hypotheses, and a couple we've even confirmed." Now that, Danny was curious about. They actually managed to track down who some of his enemies were before death?

"Go on." She seemed surprised but excited by his will to listen.

"Ghosts come from a range of eras which comes across in their mannerisms, and their passion at time of death is their obsession, which becomes more warped overtime. Whether it be passion as in love or their career, or as in revenge or desperate wants."

Maddie paused her pacing and glanced over to see if he was still listening. He was. She continued, now stood resolutely still.

"You are one of the very few anomalies we found"

"How so?"

He could guess.

"You have no indicators of how you died. Not only do you use modern speech and even slang, you wear a modern hazmat suit, that looks strikingly like ours at that."

That's cause it is.

"So I have two questions. When did you die, and what's your obsession?"

Danny wasn't sure if she was pausing for an answer or not. It was likely her way of testing his cooperativeness, but he had a question of his own.

"I appreciate your curiosity but this doesn't seem like the kind of thing you'd go through the trouble of trapping me for. Why do you really want to know this?"

Maddie walked closer to the net, her calm pace and lack of a weapon showing the gain of trust the two had gotten over the months, even if it wasn't perfect.

"That's pretty simple: I'm a scientist. I do research. And while I can't do physical tests on you as I originally wanted, I can at least do as much research as I can into how ghosts work without that. And your obsessions are extremely important to this." She leaned down towards him as he was still on the floor and pointed a finger upwards, like a teacher telling off a preschooler. Danny bit back an amused smirk. "You seem to break the clear rules that have worked just fine so far, so what I need to know is why."

"You didn't say anything about me breaking any rules."

Maddie stood back up straight and crossed her arms, Danny carefully stood up to join her as she talked.

"You've broken a few. The main being that you seem to have no obsession. My first assumption was that your heroics where just that. It would explain your desperate need to help people and likely meant your last moments involved saving someone, or wishing to be saved yourself."

That made Danny think. Had he wished someone could save him back during the accident? It was a pretty likely reaction considering how much that amount of energy had hurt, but he'd never considered it actually altering his perception or feelings.

"But," his mother's continuation snapped him back to the present, "I ruled that out. In most cases ghosts will stop at nothing to stick to their obsessions, including contradicting other aspects of themselves, or making unlikely alliances, excetera. But while I've observed carefully, every time I've encountered you over the last three weeks, you will often go on unusual tangents."

Tangents...?

~~~

Based on the look in the ghosts eyes he didn't know what she meant. He likely just hadn't recognised that his own behaviour was unusual. Not surprising, but she couldn't make any judgements until this mystery was resolved.

"In short, you aim to help people, but will go off elsewhere to finish a fight, or alternate between fights. You've also paused battles altogether to chat or tease your opponent. And how frequently you are late and disappear after or during fights or helping people. Whatever the reasons for that are, a ghost typically should follow their obsession no matter what, and at all times. In other words, you can get distracted which isn't right."

Not right for ghosts at least. It was definitely more of a human trait, but she left that out.

"So what's your next theory? Or do you have some explanation in mind for why I'm different?" Maddie looked intently back at Phantom to see an incredibly focused expression that was rare on the young spirit. He was strongly invested in this topic, but she couldn't tell why. Did he know something she didn't that had an impact on her theories?

"I had a couple other hypotheses for your obsession that fell through for basically the same reasons." She crouched down to unpin the net, carefully slinging it off of him. She was confident he wouldn't leave at this point. He watched it fall and smiled gratefully, but didn't try to move. "That's why I decided to ask you personally. Though I wasn't sure it'd be something you were willing to talk about."

"Why, because it supposedly involved my death?" He promotes. She hadn't expected him to be so blunt about it but,

"Yes, mostly. Do you actually have any memory of it? If you don't mind me asking?" Honestly that was the question she had wanted to start with. Phantom merely looked away in thought. Not as if he was avoiding it or recalling something, more like he was contemplating. Perhaps he was deciding how to explain.

"I… I remember having a family. And friends." He finally responded. She didn't fill the silence between his sentences hoping he'd add more detail. "I was just, erm, 14, and there was… an accident. It involved an explosion. Of sorts."

"An explosion?" That was awfully dramatic for just a child's death. He looked a little older than 14, but that part was sure believable.

"It was um, not a big one. A device in our home malfunctioned and I just happened to be around it at the time. It was a mistake." If it was an accident how could it also be a mistake? He was definitely leaving out some details but she couldn't bring herself to pry. This was clearly a touchy subject, for obvious reasons.

"So you do remember." He seemed to be startled back into reality and he looked back up at her, the energetic green glow she hadn't noticed had been gone until just now quickly coming back into his eyes.

"Yeah- sort of. It's a little fuzzy."

"Does anything about what you remember give us any clues to what your obsession is?" In other words, what he thought about right before death. That part of the question didn't need saying for him to seemingly pick up on it.

"I don't know exactly, no, sorry. I'm as curious as you are to be honest."

"What about? Your obsession or your death?"

"Both?" Phantom answered vaguely with a shrug.

Maddie had also secretly been digging for any strange circumstances around his death. If they couldn't find a plausible obsession, maybe they could find the reason he didn't have one instead. But his description sounded pretty normal. A household accident. An electrical glitch most likely. While it wasn't a common cause of death it wasn't as erratic as getting mauled while illegally hunting a rare species or burning your house down with you inside it over a guy. There was nothing to go off there, except…

Maybe she'd have to pry a little after all.

~~~

"You said it was a mistake?" Danny pouted at the tricky question.

He'd carefully spun his freak portal accident into a more believable and unrelated tale. She'd managed to catch his little slip up after he had dazed off into the memory, but at this point he'd stick to his half-truth story. He wasn't a very good liar after all.

"It was my fault really. I wanted to show my friends something cool but we shouldn't have been there at all. At least it wasn't either of them that got hurt because of me."

He could tell she was a little frustrated at how vague he was being, but any further would be too much. He stopped there.

"Maybe regret has something to do with it?" After a long moment of awkward silence Maddie eventually resigned back to her theories. "Regret that you went somewhere you shouldn't, or more likely, regret that you died young."

Danny was a little startled by her conclusion. She'd said that last couple words so clearly; she was sure of this.

~~~

Phantom's reaction only made her feel more strongly that this was the one. It actually explained so much. He acted like a teenager: he was up to date on what kids are into and how they talk, plus he acts just like a kid often. Getting distracted all the time actually complimented this obsession instead of contradicting it. His whole heroics act wasn't really that much of an act, because that was just his innocent moral compass, that he miraculously maintained in death thanks to desperately wanting to continue living out his teenage years like his friends could. It's why he seemed so human. He practically still was one because his obsession was to remain human or 'alive', and making the most of his second chance at existing. It wasn't an exact answer but it was too clear now to argue with.

Maddie turned to the ghostly teenager. She could see him in a slightly different light now that she knew his drive really wasn't secretly malicious after all. Not that she'd truly believed that recently anyway.

"You seem pretty human sometimes, Phantom" she commented, smiling.

Phantom looked up at her suddenly and his eyes widened a little. He stared at her for a long moment, seeming nervous. After a moment, he blinked and wiped the expression off his face, but his shoulders still looked tense.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think that has something to do with your obsession. It's the only good explanation for your more unexplainable behaviour ironically." Maddie admitted.

“Ah.” Phantom’s tension eased and he looked down at the floor. His eyes seemed tired... He didn't look relieved, more… disheartened? Had he been expecting something else? And had he wanted to hear that or not, as neither reaction had been positive. She resorted to asking a question she never thought she'd be asking a ghost. Let alone one she spent half a year trying to catch and examine.

~~~

"Are you okay?" Danny heard Maddie ask, her strongest motherly tone coming through clearly now. He didn't look up at her yet, afraid he'd see her concerned expression and just break character completely.

"I'm alright, thanks. It's just been a slightly different conversation than I expected."

"Alright. I suppose this topic is hard on you. I know you might not think you can trust me but I'm here to talk if you need it okay?"

Danny smiled. She'd said this to him a million times before. "I know mom. Thanks."

~~~

#danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #danny phantom fanfiction

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

Share a Lair 09 || Share a Scare

Charlotte was asleep on top of Max whenever Billy and Nora began to get ready to go. Their parents were going to come pick them up, so they tried to quietly wash up and gather their things without waking Max and Charlotte. Nora even texted them that Max was asleep so not to make noise whenever they came, after she silently snapped a photo of them to potentially use against him later. He looked more peaceful than she could remember seeing him and he even seemed to be smiling a little, though with the eye mask on, she wondered if he was actually asleep. Had to be though, because he’d have sensed her so close for that photo otherwise.

When the monitor sounded, “Alert, parents approaching,” Max abruptly snatched off his eye mask and started trying to get up. He slid Charlotte over carefully and she stirred a little, but hugged the pillow and remained sleeping.

After a moment to drink her in (which Nora definitely noticed), Max urged his siblings to get their things and leave out of the door before their parents came in. However, they made their way in, saw him and Hank cheered, “Oh! You’re awake!” He winced and looked at Charlotte. Still asleep. He put his finger in front of his mouth and shoved Billy and Nora towards the door.

“Max, who is that girl?” Barb wondered.

“A friend. A sleeping friend. Shhh.”

“That’s Charlotte,” Billy said. “She says she isn’t Max’s girlfriend, but they sleep in the same bed and hold hands and stuff a lot. I think they even kiss!”

Barb and Hank both looked a mixture of surprised and excited to hear this. They’d heard of this Charlotte a few times and well, Max hadn’t been involved with anybody in a while and he was usually his best self when involved with someone special.

“Get out!” Max hissed, pushing the line of them towards the door as they protested, his parents asked questions, Billy defended his assessment, Nora fussed about being rudely shoved, and Max shut and locked the door behind them.

Just in time, because Charlotte stirred and looked up at him. Breathily, he greeted, “Heyyyy, You. Good morning. Sorry to wake you. Billy and Nora left kinda noisily.” She was still partially asleep when she sat up and just sat there for a moment, sort of looking around the room. She was adorable when she first woke up. His heart couldn’t stand it. “You want me to get you some breakfast?”

She stretched, yawned and reached for her dental pouch on the night stand. “Naw. I gotta get to work. Thanks, though.” She washed up in his bathroom, changed into clothes that she had in his closet and grabbed Penelope and her bag to head for the tower. “See you later!” She cheered and was gone. He was lonely as soon as she left.

.

Over the next  few weeks, a few things happened. Charlotte began to sleep over every night, without it being a conversation or requiring explanation. Also, Henry got really busy (and cranky), as his superhero advancement assessments neared. This meant that Charlotte was a little bit busier, too, and spent more time in the tower than usual.

She began moving most of her work needs into Henry’s lair. If he passed his assessments and became a hero in his own right, she didn’t know if he was going to even remain working with Ray. They were close, but Ray was sort of a mess and well…

Henry would never reach his true potential if he just went along with him all the time. He might even be held back if he focused on his loyalty to Ray more than his loyalty to himself and his own abilities. He worked hard to get out of the shadow of Captain Man and to be fair, he worked harder than Ray did, in general.

It was a point that she was making as she gave herself a pedicure in Max’s room while he was working out. “I mean… even you, as an already established superhero are here to advance and not necessarily remain in Phoebe’s shadow…”

“What do you mean, Phoebe’s shadow?” He asked.

“I just mean, well.. she was first. In superhero… on the path…”

“Yeah, but I bested her and was granted the position on Z-Force. Our next assignment was leading together, as a team.”

“A team of Thundergirl and SuperMax. Rarely ever said the other way around.”

“You think Phoebe is better than me?”

“I think Phoebe has been working as a superhero longer than you and that it’s something that others are aware of and something that you probably have thought about a few times. Why are you acting like this?” She was genuinely confused, because this conversation wasn’t even about HIM, it was about Henry and she was merely mentioning him to establish empathy. Now, he looked mad or something. But, he smiled.

“I’m good.” The shade of red that he was let her know that wasn’t my true. She bit her lip. “What were you saying? Something something, Henry. Something something something, Kid Danger."

She sighed. "Can I not discuss my job in your room?”

“Henry is your job? I haven’t heard shit about what you do tonight. Just like a huge list of reasons that Henry is too good for Captain Man…"

There he was. There was the Max Thunderman that she had been wondering Whatever happened to him? And for whatever reason, seeing him like this… hurt her feelings. "Sorry. I will take my list and go.” She began to grab her stuff, but wondered if she should just get her immediate things and go, or take all the crap she’d let get comfy in here the past few weeks?

She was considering it when she felt his hands take her wrists gently, “Charlotte, don’t go. I’m sorry.” She didn’t want to look at him. If she did, she might be susceptible. And she couldn’t be susceptible. His tone was unwarranted, unnecessary and hurtful.

“Acknowledged. I’ll talk to you when we’ve cooled off.” Able to keep herself from looking at him, she grabbed her phone and nothing else. She worried that staying a moment longer might make her weak.

“Char…”

“Goodnight, Max.” She told him and headed for the tower. She hoped Henry wouldn’t make a thing out of this, but she was too upset to be in Max’s quarters right now and she certainly wasn’t about to sit in her car and cry. Besides, there was a couch in the lab if she simply couldn’t face Henry.

Whenever she came into the tower, Henry and Jasper had the TV on and were sitting mighty close. Henry was leaning back against the couch on the floor and Jasper was laying on his belly on the couch, resting on his elbow with his other arm rested on Hen’s shoulder. They turned whenever they heard the door swoosh and said “Hey!” to her. Charlotte waved a hand and wondered, “Could I chill here a moment? I can go into another room if you two are in the middle of something.”

Jasper sat up to make room on the couch, swinging one leg over Henry’s shoulder where Hen was now leaned back into the opening of his legs. “Nah. Come on. We’re watching this hilarious movie.”

“By hilarious, he means terrifying,” Jasper said.

She nodded and sat down next to Jasper, who noticed that something wasn’t right and pulled her onto his shoulder. She tried not to cry, but that gesture made her break her resolve. He looked at her and she just wiped her eyes and shook her head. PLEASE DON’T ASK. Fortunately, he did not. He didn’t say anything, either as Henry was oblivious and throwing his head back to cackle at the horror scenes on TV.

After a while, she was falling to sleep on Jasper’s shoulder and Henry was getting up to get ready to go to bed. “She asleep?”

“Yeah,” Jasper said.

“Gonna leave her here, or take her with us?”

“I don’t wanna leave her here. I think something happened. She was sad when she got here,” she heard Jasper say. Now, she had to either let them know that she wasn’t asleep yet so that much more wouldn’t be said, or pretend to be asleep to avoid facing any questions or feelings.

“Okay. Well, bring her. I’m ready for bed,” Henry said. She felt Jasper gently shift her to carry her bridal style to Henry’s room and continued to pretend to be asleep.

The three of them heard the computerized voice call, “Alert, Superior Hero to You approaching.”

Henry looked around, “What the heck was that?” he asked.

“The monitor thingy announcing Max,” Jasper said, settling Charlotte in bed.

“But, why does she say THAT to announce him?” Henry asked.

“Probably because he’s good with computers and most likely programmed her to do so,” Jasper said, laughing a little. “Get rid of him. He’s probably the reason Charlotte was upset. He never comes to your chambers.”

“Right?”

Henry went to his door and opened it to see Max, clearly fresh out of the shower and seemingly upset. “What?” Henry asked.

“Hey… Is Charlotte here? Her car is still outside, but I think she blotted herself off of the house scan.”

“If she did, I’m guessing it was to dodge you. I don’t know how to check a fuckin’ house scan and I’m positive Jasper doesn’t either. What did you do wrong?”

Max nodded his head and looked at the floor. “You’re right. Sorry to bother you at this time of night. I was just worried about us… her…” He sighed and wiped his hand through his hair. “Just… if she ever wants to talk to me, I’ll be available for her, anytime, always.” He turned and started leaving.

“No snivelling or smug little quips?” Henry asked.

Max winced and forced a smile, “Goodnight, Henry.” He didn’t say anything else as he left the exit from the tower into the main house.

Henry just watched him. What the hell was that about? Henry went into his bedroom, where Jasper was laying on his belly and Charlotte was sitting up. They both were facing the door, waiting for him. He was startled to see them not going to bed. “You two aren’t going to bed, and I’m ready to. So, if you’re about to gash over Max, take it out of here.”

“What did he say?” They both asked, ignoring Henry’s request.

He rolled his eyes, “Something like he’ll wait forever to talk to you or something. Go ask him. He’s barely out of the tower. All I know for sure is that you two better let me go to sleep,” he crawled into bed and they got up.

Jasper walked Charlotte to the door and wondered, “You gonna be alright?”

“Of course. You guys have hurt my feelings worse than he could, plenty of times.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. We’re your friends, that’s your… you know…” Jasper said with the shrug of his shoulders.

Charlotte was too tired to do her whole ‘Whatever do you mean?’ routine, and too sad. So, she just said, “I think that makes it hurt worse. Whenever your friends don’t get it. When they just hurt you and keep going.”

Jasper felt bad. He knew that he and Henry had issues regarding this topic. He was working on it, though. Tonight, he just said, “Well, at least Max didn’t just keep going. He wants to make it right, whatever he did to hurt you and he wanted to do that tonight. If I had a guy like that, with his hair, and brains, the superpowers, my God, that print! I’d be letting him off easy every time, much more the first time.”

“I am. I just… I guess I’m not used to BS from him. I’m used to him being this escape from being sad or angry.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. I know he’s a super, but he’s human. Go talk to him, forgive him, love on him and you know, give him a little tug, on my behalf…” She cackled at Jasper’s shamelessness.

“Henry is gonna ban you if you keep this up,” she warned.

“He should just take it as an opportunity to step his D game up.”

“Wow. Goodnight, Jasper.” She left laughing.

Max heard the monitor announce, “Alert, Future Baby Mama approaching,” and he gasped and assessed himself. He had been eating his feelings for several minutes, gorging on treats from the snacker and had a pile next to him and probably some on his face! He rushed to make sure he was presentable, and when she landed on the landing pad, he felt at least… clean.

She got up and fiddled with her fingers, “Hey. You’re still up.”

“Yeah,” he said and approached her. He stopped just short of her face and put his hands together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to behave so jealous. I just hate how much you love him. I don’t know. It finally got to me when you just… KEPT talking about him.”

“Jealous?” She repeated, with her eyebrow raised. She sighed, laughed, then squealed, “Men are infuriating!”

He nodded, feeling really disappointed in himself, “I try really hard to be perfect for you, because I know that you’re generally surrounded by infuriating men..”

She softened and stepped closer, to fill the space between them, then just hugged him. “That is so unnecessary, Max. Just be you. I like him. I liked him from Day 1… hundred.” He laughed into her hair and hugged her back. “It’s beneath you, Dude. You and Henry being jealous of each other is SO stupid and I don’t understand why either of you feel that way!”

He leaned back to look at her, “The fact that you don’t know why Henry would be jealous of me is part of my insecurity. He should be jealous of me. I’m ME!”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, “And he’s him. Neither of you could ever be what the other one is to me, so to be jealous is absolutely ridiculous. You two don’t mean the same thing to me. You’re never gonna be my lifelong best friend, because that’s already happened already and nobody else can be that for me, not you, not anybody. And as that person for me, Henry’s NEVER gonna be able to be anything else, in my eyes, so for you to be jealous, when you’re who you are to me…”

He stared into her eyes for a moment, waiting for her to elaborate. He really didn’t want to ask her, but since she didn’t seem to be willing to volunteer the information, he did. “Who am I to you?”

“You’re my Maximus,” she said and diverted her gaze from his eyes.

Whether she meant maximus as in “greatest” or “My Maximus,” as in she was FINALLY claiming him, he was satisfied. Beyond, in fact. She looked at him again and saw him smiling. “Let’s go to bed, okay? No more Henry talk,” she decided.

He nodded in agreement. He hadn’t ever wanted to talk about him in the first place. He gave her a kiss on the lips then rested his lips on her face, “Deal.”

#Share a Lair #Henry Danger #The Thundermans #crossover #crossover fanfic #Nesha Crossover #Thundanger #Thunderbolt #Share a Lair Repost #Nesha HD Fanfic #fanfiction #Share a Lair 09

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Just Another Cinderella Story (Chapter 4 - Final)

-Summary: Once upon a time, there was a boy who was left in the care of his uncaring stepmother. Raised in a life of servitude and seeing his stepbrother lavished with praise and given everything he desired, the boy knew there was only one way he would ever be free. If their dreams of marrying into a life of luxury came true, then he would be left with his childhood home and he would finally be able to turn his life around.

Of course, Fate often has other plans in mind.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

- - - - -

4. Dianthus caryophyllus

Keith sat next to Curtis in the wooden cart, his father's clothing still damp and sticking uncomfortably to his skin. The horses pulling the cart plodded happily down the well-traveled path, completely unbothered by the darkness of the forest around them.

“You can stop here,” Keith said.

Curtis urged the horses to slow with a gentle tug of the reigns. “Are you sure? I'm sure Shiro is asleep, but you can still come over and get cleaned up before you go home.”

Keith shook his head. “I'll be okay. It's a shorter walk from here.”

“If you're sure...”

Another tug of the reigns brought the horses to a complete stop, allowing Keith to hop out of the wagon and back onto solid ground. He didn't immediately begin walking and instead remained where he landed as he gathered his thoughts enough to ask a single question: “Did you know about Pidge?”

“Yes,” Curtis said. “She came to us and called herself Pidge the first time she visited, but once Shiro was able to save her brother, Prince Matt, she admitted who she really was. When she kept up her trips to see us, we thought it best for her safety if we continued to use her nickname. None of us ever meant to lie to you, Keith. It was all to keep her safe.”

That much Keith could understand. However, he and Pidge spent hours talking at the ball and some of that time had been about the princess herself! Why hadn't she said anything?

Keith needed time to calm down and think.

“Thanks for the ride, Curtis. I...” Keith stopped and shook his head. “Tell Shiro I'll be by when I get a chance?”

“Of course,” Curtis agreed easily.

Keith bid him goodnight and then set off for home, trying to sort out his tangled mess of feelings. He needed to approach it logically, however difficult the sting of betrayal made that. (Was it really betrayal? Maybe that was too strong of a word.) He had known Pidge was of noble birth. That much had been clear from the start, so why was the news of her being the princess so difficult for him to accept?

He had spent the night dancing with Princess Katie.

Princess Katie, who Lotor was determined to make his bride.

Keith wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the bizarre situation he found himself in. At least he knew there was no way Pidge would ever marry his stepbrother, even if he hadn't given her a warning. She was far too smart to fall for Lotor's lies.

For the time, his home was safe. Keith could breathe easily at that.

He focused on that little fact for the rest of his walk home. When he finally got back to the dark manor, he set to work on arranging things so Lotor and Honerva would never know he'd been away. He lit the lanterns at the front door and then hurried inside to turn on a few of the other lights in the entryway and up the staircase to the family suite.

With that done, Keith could focus on himself. He hurried to his own room, which was a converted pantry next to the kitchen, and stripped out of his wet clothing to put on his threadbare sleeping clothes. He hung up his father's suit to dry and then reached back to remove the mask, but his fingers encountered nothing.

There was a rush of hot fear as he realized it had come loose when he and Pidge fell in the fountain. He could only hope no one had seen him as he fled the gardens. Without the mask, he had no protection. His identity was bare for everyone to see.

Keith took a deep breath. He had to believe that everything was alright. There was no one else in the gardens who could have seen him, aside from Pidge's white-haired guard, and he doubted the woman cared enough to look into who he was.

Everything would be fine.

- - - - - 

Pidge laid in her bed, holding a red mask up in front of her face as she examined every little detail about it. What she initially thought were feathers, was actually tiny red flower buds groups together to form feather-like bundles. Tiny glittery spheres poked out between some of them.

If she hadn't known about Shiro's magic, she would have spent hours trying to figure out how it was made and where it came from.

She sighed as she sat up. Ever since her escapade in the garden, she'd been under stricter watch than normal, with two guards posted outside her bedroom door and another pair beneath her window. No matter where she went there was always someone watching her. Pidge was quickly reaching her breaking point and had several ideas of how she could get away for at least a little while, though she would have to wait a few more days before attempting that again.

It wouldn't be too difficult as long as she chose the right moment.

A knock of the door drew Pidge out of her musings and she quickly hid the mask beneath her pillow before calling out: “come in!”

Allura stepped inside her room, dressed in her more casual uniform and with her hair pulled back into a thick ponytail. She bowed to her princess before saying anything. “Your parents requested to see you. I believe it's about your behavior at the ball.”

Pidge did her best not to groan as she slowly slid out of bed. She smoothed out her dress to try and rid it of any obvious wrinkling and then double checked her hair in the mirror. Once she deemed herself presentable enough she followed Allura out of the room, the posted guards easily falling into step behind them as they walked through the halls.

The night of the ball, Pidge had taken the time to explain to her parents everything that happened. How she'd already known Keith thanks to her visits with Shiro and how he caught her when she fell, which was how they ended up in the fountain. While they were sympathetic, they also agreed that, above all else, no one else could find out that she was alone with a man for several hours, nor that they ended up in the fountain together.

It would cause a scandal.

Luckily, the only other person who knew about what happened was Allura, whose loyalty to the royal family was unparalleled.

It was for that reason that Pidge wasn't anxious about her parents wanting to speak with her. They likely wanted to ask for her opinion about her possible suitors now that everything was calming down so they could move forward with whatever plans they'd been making behind closed doors.

The great double-doors were opened as she approached and she nodded to the guards on either side as she strode into the throne room. Allura remained near the doors as they closed, keeping a respectful distance from the royal family while Pidge walked over to her parents – King Sam and Queen Colleen - and warmly greeted each of them with a hug.

“We have news, Katie,” King Sam said cheerfully. “Matt will be returning home in three days to give Princess Romelle a tour of our kingdom.”

Pidge found herself beaming back at her father. “That's great! I'm glad his courtship is going well.”

“Speaking of courtship, we have received news from the eligible nobles regarding your own. It seems news of your... dalliance has reached ears outside of the castle,” said Queen Colleen.

Pidge was about to open her mouth to defend herself and Keith, but the weight of her mother's words quickly sank in. In a single swoop, her good mood evaporated, leaving her feeling light-headed from shock. “But how?”

“We are looking into it,” King Sam said. “The thing is, it leaves us in a delicate position. None of them seem willing to overlook the fact that you were alone with an unknown man for several hours. We can hope that if we give it a few days the rumors will begin to die down, but we cannot rely on that.”

“Keith and I didn't do anything wrong!” Pidge protested. “We just talked. That's it.”

Queen Colleen's gaze softened. “We know, darling, but you have to look at this from an outside perspective. It's why we have increased your guard. You must tread carefully if we are going to navigate this to our advantage.”

In other words, Pidge would be watched day and night and would have to make a number of public appearances to restore her good name. Every one of her actions would have to be carefully considered. There would be no sneaking off to visit Shiro. And there was absolutely no way she would be able to get away and speak with Keith, to explain why she kept her identity a secret and apologize to him for not telling him sooner.

That was the worst part.

She genuinely enjoyed Keith's company. He was the first friend she made who had nothing to do with her duties as princess, even when considering Shiro and Curtis, who she met when searching for a way to help save her brother. She wanted the chance to get to know him better. To spend more time with him. She wanted to help him find a way to save his father's home and, if at all possible, to get out from under the thumb of his stepfamily.

Maybe she could still do that.

She was likely to spend a lot of time alone in her room with guards posted at every conceivable exit, so she may as well make good use of her time.

Pidge tilted up her chin. “I'll do whatever I need to do,” she promised her parents.

Pleased with her answer, they turned the subject to how they would welcome Matt back and ensure that his bride-to-be was also made to feel at home. Even as she helped plan a simple dinner, Pidge's thoughts strayed to how she might be able to help Keith, and when she was able to get back to her room she immediately sat at her desk and began writing.

- - - - -

Despite his resolve that no one other than the guard had seen them in the garden that night, Keith couldn't help but feel a bit anxious over the next few days. Neither Lotor nor Honerva were acting any different and his chores went on the same as always, but there was something about the way Honerva looked at him sometimes that sent a shiver running down his spine. It wasn't her usual looks of complete disdain. No, it was something more calculating, as though he were a particularly difficult riddle she was trying to figure out.

Keith did his best to stay out of her way and complete his chores in a timely manner and without asking questions.

It seemed to work.

The looks stopped as Honerva turned her full focus back to her precious son and her schemes to get him into the good graces of the royal family. Keith continued to stay out of her way just in case she changed her mind, as she often did, and had several days of peace as he easily completed his tasks with minimal interference from Lotor, who only went out of his way once to dirty up a section of floor that he had just cleaned.

But Keith knew from experience that peace never lasted in their house. Sooner or later, the shoe would drop and he would take the blame for whatever great catastrophe they dreamed up.

It came as he was serving dinner one night.

Keith was normally good at tuning out their conversation, his years of practice at not reacting to their insults lending to that ability. But then he heard Lotor speak of the princess and those walls he built crumbled around him.

“I think it is time to move on with our plans for the princess, mother,” Lotor said. “We have left her wallowing for nearly a week now and none have dared to reach out with offers after those awful rumors. Now is the perfect time to strike.”

Honerva nodded. “Agreed. I will send a missive first thing in the morning. It won't be long before your courtship will be made official.” She smirked at her son. “Those other nobles will regret listening to the chatter of rumors. As though the princess would ever do something so uncouth as to be unchaperoned with a strange man.”

Keith's heartbeat sounded thunderous to his ears and he carefully turned away from his stepfamily to hide his face. He slowly moved towards the kitchens, an excuse of fetching more wine poised on the tip of his tongue in case either of them questioned his actions. He didn't need to use it and got away without either of them noticing.

He gripped the counter to keep himself upright and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to get a hold of himself as it fully sank in just how badly he'd messed things up.

Pidge's reputation was in tatters because of him.

Because of him, Lotor may end up being her only option for marriage.

There had to be something he could do. There had to be some way he could fix things, but it was something that was so out of his depth that he knew he would need help to find a solution, and for that there was only one person he knew to turn to.

Shiro was sure to have an idea.

Keith breathed in deeply and then slowly breathed out.

He would get through the rest of the night without alerting his stepfamily to anything being wrong or out of the ordinary and once they were both asleep in their beds he would sneak out and go to Shiro. With luck, he would be back by morning, even if it meant he didn't get any sleep.

His racing heart calmed back to a normal pace and Keith turned his attention to refilling the wine pitcher before carrying it back to the table.

The rest of his night went as usual, with him being ignored unless Lotor or Honerva wanted something, and he wrapped up the last of his cleaning just in time for Honerva to sweep through and judge his work with her usual criticism and scorn. He took her words without flinching and then bid her goodnight, making sure to go about preparing for sleep like normal just in case she suspected something.

It wasn't until midnight that Keith dared to get out of his “bed” - a pile of old blankets arranged in front of the kitchen hearth – and redress into something more appropriate for traversing the woods in the dark. He didn't dare leave from the front door, knowing it would cause too much noise as he shut it, and so headed for the side door from the kitchen, which would take him through their nearly barren garden and past the stables.

Keith glanced around and grabbed his basket at the last minute, hoping the old excuse of getting up early to gather herbs from the forest would work as well as usual.

And then he opened the door and stepped outside.

Something grabbed at him from the darkness, slamming him back against the wall hard enough that the back of his head collided with the wall and spots danced in front of his eyes. The basket slid from hand and bounced softly against the ground. Keith gasped and blindly swung out, trying to free himself, but was pinned so hard that there was no moving unless his assailant allowed it.

“You have been a thorn in my spine for too long, boy.”

The familiar hiss of his stepmother's voice drained every last ounce of fight from Keith as a cold chill settled over him. He did nothing as she yanked and shoved him back into the house, surprisingly strong for a woman of her upbringing.

“Did you think I would not find out? That I have no allies in court who would tell me of what they saw?” she demanded. “Did you really think for a moment that a lowly peasant could get away with speaking with the princess without repercussion? And to be alone with her!”

Another shove sent Keith sprawling to the floor, catching himself hard on his hands and knees.

“You nearly ruined everything for Lotor.”

Keith grit his teeth, anger bubbling up through the feeling of helplessness that was swiftly consuming him. He knew he wouldn't be getting away to see Shiro. There was a small part of him that feared he would never be permitted to see the light of day again. Who would even care about a dead servant?

“Princess Katie will never marry him,” he spat.

Dead silence met his words.

Honerva hauled him up with her inhuman strength and dragged him to the cellar door, which was propped open and waiting. Keith struggled in her grasp, doing his best to break away and try and reach the door, but none of his attempts worked.

“Be thankful I'm letting you live.”

With one final shove, Keith tumbled down the cellar steps and landed on cold, hard concrete. Before he could get to his feet, the door swung shut above him and a grinding sound told him that a board was being slid into place to prevent him from opening it.

He was well and truly trapped.

- - - - -

Things were not going as Pidge had planned.

Matt was home and brought with him his lovely bride-to-be, which was wonderful, but on the same day that he returned they received a request of courtship from one of Pidge's approved suitors, which had only the King and Queen pleased.

“He's terrible, mother,” Pidge protested the moment she heard the name. “He doesn't care about me or the kingdom, all he wants is the power that comes with it all.”

“You don't know that for sure, Katie. You will give this young man a chance and I will not hear another word about it,” said Queen Colleen.

Pidge didn't argue. She knew they hoped that news of one suitor offering courtship would pave the way for others to speak up again, but she hated the thought of being forced to spend time with Lotor when she already knew she couldn't trust him.

Knowing she wouldn't get anywhere with her parents, she complained to Matt during one of their strolls through the garden instead.

He listened without making a remark, waiting until she was finished detailing the night of the ball when all Lotor wanted to do was showcase his many talents, and then said: “He does sound pretty awful, but are you sure you're not projecting your dislike of the situation onto him?”

Pidge glared at him. “I am not.”

“Take it easy, Pidge, I believe you,” Matt said, lifting his hands in defense. “I know it's overwhelming. Suddenly, there's a lot of pressure on you now to find a suitable match and it wasn't there before. Now it's no longer about finding someone whose company you enjoy, but someone who can rule an entire country by your side and there's so much more to consider and think over.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Pidge muttered bitterly, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She looked guiltily at her brother. “I didn't mean – I really like Romelle, Matt. I'm glad you're marrying her. I just can't help but wish you were still inheriting the crown instead of going off to another kingdom to rule there.”

“That would make things easier. Then maybe you'd be able to marry this mysterious guy I've been hearing so much about instead of Baron I-am-so-much-more-important-than-everyone-else,” Matt joked.

“Keith's my friend,” Pidge corrected automatically.

Matt hummed, the teasing grin not fading from his face. “So, when do I get to meet him?”

“I... I don't know if you'll be able to,” Pidge said, slumping her shoulders at the reminder. “I met him when I went to visit Shiro. All I really know is his name and...”

She trailed off as she stopped walking, realizing she knew a good deal more than that after their talk in the garden. Something she'd been ignoring. While he'd been careful not to mention any names when he explained that his stepmother was determined to have her son marry Princess Katie, he did slip up later when asking her to give a warning.

“Pidge?” Matt asked, waving a hand in front of her face. “Katie?”

“Lotor is his brother.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Are we still talking about your friend?”

“Keith and Lotor are stepbrothers. I can't believe I didn't put it together until now! I feel so stupid!” She turned to face Matt, a determined glint in her eyes. “I need you to help me. We need to go see Shiro.”

“Aren't you grounded?”

“Then I'll go by myself.”

Matt reached out and grabbed her shoulders as she turned to walk away, making her face him once again. “You have to calm down and think this through rationally. Why do you need to go see Shiro?”

“Because he can help,” Pidge said, purposefully keeping her answer vague. She honestly wasn't sure how Shiro would be able to help, but going to talk to him first felt like the right thing to do.

“I feel like I'm still missing part of the puzzle here. Why do you need help? Is your friend in danger? And how do you know he's in danger if you haven't seen him since the night of the ball?” Matt asked.

All good questions.

Pidge took a deep breath and tried to organize her thoughts in a rational manner so she could better explain why she needed to leave the palace. She led Matt over to the fountain so they would have a place to sit and then she began to explain everything she knew, starting with the fact that Keith came to the palace just to see her that night without having any idea that she was the princess.

As before, Matt listened to what she had to say without complaint, taking in all of the details she was willing to give.

“Okay,” he said when she was finished. “I'll help you get to Shiro, but you have to be patient. Give me a few days to figure something out.” He paused for a moment when Pidge let out an agonized groan. “I'm sure you can handle dealing with Lotor until then.”

Pidge nodded, privately thinking that the sooner she could get to Shiro and ask for his advice, the better.

- - - - -

Pidge's jaw ached from plastering a fake smile on her face after one full afternoon in Lotor's company. She hoped Matt had a good plan for getting her out of the castle, because there was no way she was putting up with another round of the young Baron boasting about his studies and wealth. She only wished her parents saw through his ruse, but unfortunately he had them both charmed.

She was giving Matt one more night to figure things out and then she was going out on her own. Somehow.

Luckily for her, it didn't come down to that. Just as the sun began to dip over the horizon there was a knock on her bedroom door and Pidge answered to find Matt standing there with a solid black cloak in his arms.

“Wear this,” he instructed, handing it to her. “And move quickly. I bought you a little time before the guards come back.”

Pidge giddily pulled on the cloak and tugged up the weighted hood, letting it obscure her features as she and Matt tiptoed through the halls and outside into the humid summer air. Matt led the way to ensure she wouldn't be spotted, but they encountered no problems and were soon safely inside the stables.

“Romelle will cover for us, but we need to be back by the morning,” Matt said as he headed towards his horse, which was already saddled up and waiting for him.

Pidge found her horse there as well and took a moment to soothe the fidgety mare before stepping up and swinging herself into the saddle. She looked to Matt for further instruction, unsure whether or not they were waiting for a signal or if they needed to leave immediately.

“We should go. The others are waiting for us,” he told her, nudging his horse into a walk.

“Others?” Pidge asked.

“You didn't think we'd be going alone, did you?” Matt asked, flashing her a charming smile.

The others turned out to be their personal guards – Allura and Lance, who were astride their own horses and waiting near the gate. Allura had a frown on her face and was pointedly looking away from Lance, who was grinning broadly as though he'd won an argument for once.

Pidge rode over next to Allura, knowing her guard would feel more at ease if she was close. “I'm surprised you agreed to this.”

“I couldn't leave you with only that one as your guard,” Allura said, nodding her head toward the brunet.

Pidge bit her lip to keep from laughing. Allura may complain about Lance quite often, but the pair of them actually got along well. That was, when Lance wasn't flirting with her and every other young woman in the vicinity. “Well, I'm glad you're going with us.”

The four of them set off at an easy trot and kept quiet until they were safely within the borders of the forest, where they were able to speak freely.

“So, how did you enjoy Polluxea, Lance?” Pidge asked.

Lance eagerly launched into a description of the lush gardens and farmland of their northern neighbor and the friendliness of those who lived there. He made a few references to some of the lovely women he met there, but cut it short each time Allura rolled her eyes or made a sound of disinterest.

Matt and Pidge exchanged amused glances each time it happened.

“...prefer being home. I missed this place more than I thought I would,” Lance said with a short laugh.

“What are you going to do when you go back?” Pidge asked.

“I'm not going back,” Lance replied. “I went to help choose a Polluxean guard to watch after Matt and he'll be taking over for me. His name's Tavo and he seems pretty cool, so I'm permanently home now.”

“Mother and father want Lance to be the personal guard for whichever suitor you choose,” Matt added.

Pidge considered Lance for a moment. “Maybe I should introduce you to Lotor and let you scare him off.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

Pidge winked at him and spurred her horse on, racing ahead of the others with a joyous whoop!

It wasn't long before the other three were galloping alongside of her, following the winding path that led to Shiro's cabin. They arrived in good time and Pidge was relieved to spot light through one of the windows. At least they wouldn't be waking them.

“The barn is over to that side of the house. You can put the horses there and then join us inside,” Matt said as he swung down from his horse. He handed the reigns over to Lance and then turned to watch Pidge do the same with Allura.

Pidge led the way to the door, but before she could knock it opened to reveal Shiro waiting for them on the other side. He let them in and told them to get comfortable while he fetched the snacks Curtis made earlier that evening.

“It's rare to get such a late-night visit,” he remarked as he returned with a tray of small sandwiches.

“I couldn't get away any other time,” Pidge said. And then, unable to wait any longer, asked: “Shiro, have you heard from Keith since the ball?”

He blinked in surprise at the abrupt question, but recovered quickly enough. “I haven't. Why? Is there something wrong?”

Pidge shook her head. “No, not-”

“Yes,” Matt cut in.

Pidge whipped her head around to stare at her brother, her lips parting in surprise. What was he talking about? Nothing was really wrong, per-say, she just wanted to talk to Keith and clear some things up. She wanted to apologize. And then she wanted to ask if he and Lotor were truly stepbrothers and if he had any advice for how to prove what a snake he was.

So why was Matt saying there was something wrong?

“I grew up learning about all of the nobility of our kingdom. Five years ago, father had me study each of them in-depth so that I would have talking points when meeting any of them. I'm sure you'll be learning this all soon, Pidge,” he said, nodding to her. “The thing is, I remember reading about this one estate. A small one, with a garden large enough for the household and for selling any excess to the townsfolk. It worked well for them, but that wasn't the most interesting thing.”

He paused as Curtis entered the room from a side door with Lance and Allura, who were offered seats and joined them. Lance happily accepted a sandwich as the tray was held out to him.

“Baron Travis Hawkins married a woman of unknown status from Daibazaal. She was his first wife and they had one child together. A son.”

Daibazaal was a neighboring empire to the west of their kingdom. Twenty-five years ago, it had been in the middle of upheaval as a rebellion overthrew the then-emperor and instated a sovereign of their own choosing. Emperor Kolivan brought them into an age of tranquility as they reached out and made peace with their neighbors and began to let go of their path to conquering the entire continent.

“She passed away a few years after giving birth to their son and five years after that, Baron Hawkins remarried, only to pass away nearly a year later. His widow is Baroness Honerva Hawkins, who had a son from her previous marriage.”

“Lotor,” Pidge breathed out. “But then... then that means...”

“Keith was meant to inherit his father's position as Baron once he turned eighteen, but obviously that hasn't happened,” Matt said with a frown. “Instead, the title is set to be handed over to Lotor, but since it's being done against the wishes of the previous Baron Hawkins, it's not entirely legal. Keith has until his twentieth birthday to contest it before a court of his peers.”

“But why didn't you say anything before now? We could have done something!” Pidge cried out.

“Like what?” Matt asked. “Pidge, we don't have any proof that they're doing something wrong. For all anyone else knows, Keith turned down his title and wants it to go to Lotor instead. The only people who have talked to him are you and Shiro and that isn't enough. I waited because we need to come up with a plan and the people in this room are the only ones I trust to help. The first thing we need to determine is how much danger Keith is in. Shiro?”

Shiro took a moment to mull the question over. “I've been treating his injuries since the first time that we met, but even I would have a hard time saying how far they would be willing to take their abuse. The only reason he would be in immediate danger is if they realized he went to the gala, but that's impossible with the mask I created for him.”

Cold rushed through Pidge's veins. “The red one?”

Shiro nodded.

“It fell off,” Pidge admitted, barely able to speak above a whisper as she met Shiro's wide eyes. “I stumbled and we fell into the fountain and it was knocked loose. I still have it in my room.”

“Then we act immediately,” Allura suggested as she stood and began to pace. “We'll need a way to distract Baroness Hawkins and her son for a day while a few of us see what we can find out around the estate. If Keith is well, we'll be able to speak with him and clear things up. If not...”

“We'll need a warrant,” Lance said with a sigh.

Allura nodded. “We can't just break into someone's house, no matter what we think is going on.”

“Would it really be breaking in if you show up and a door is wide open?” Curtis asked. “It would give you a reason to check and make sure everything is alright, wouldn't it?”

“Even then it would be our word against theirs,” Allura responded.

The debate stretched on into the night as they went back and forth, analyzing details and discarding the majority of their ideas. Eventually, they put together something that could work in their favor and while Allura wasn't thrilled about the possibility of law-breaking that was involved, even she agreed that it was the best chance they had.

All Pidge had to do was spend one more day in the company of Lotor. She could handle that.

Probably.

- - - - -

Two days passed before things lined up for them to proceed with their plan.

Allura and Pidge would remain at the palace, where Pidge would be entertaining Lotor and his mother for the afternoon. King Sam and Queen Colleen were pleased with the decision, hoping it meant their daughter was finally warming up to the only suitor who offered courtship, and made themselves available for a small luncheon to chat with their prospective in-laws.

Matt charmed his way out of joining them by insisting that he'd promised Princess Romelle a romantic tour of the kingdom, which wasn't a lie but was definitely part of their multi-step plan. Naturally, Lance and a pair of Polluxean guards – Tavo and Merla – joined them for their ride into the territory surrounding the palace.

Curtis and Shiro had the most freedom of any of them. They would wait until they were sure Honerva and Lotor were out of the manor and then they would sneak around and see what they could find out. Allura and Lance had insisted they not know all of the details to what “sneaking around” entailed, so they could rightfully claim ignorance if Shiro and Curtis found something by less-than-legal means.

They began on the grounds itself, searching for any sign of Keith, and when they found nothing Shiro led the way to the front door. With a wave of his hand, the bolt clicked into an unlocked position and the heavy door swung open to admit them.

“Impressive,” Curtis complimented.

Shiro grinned and then stepped inside, casting a second spell which created an orb of light, which hovered in front of them for a moment before beginning to drift down the hall towards the right. “Tracking spell,” he clarified for Curtis.

“Remind me why you don't use your magic like this more often?” Curtis asked.

“It makes people nervous. And it's more exhausting than it seems,” Shiro said with a light shrug. “Come on. We need to find Keith.”

They crept along, staying as quiet as they could just in case they weren't as alone as they thought. Just as Curtis was about to turn and ask Shiro another question, they both heard a gasp from up ahead, as a young woman wearing a plain apron came face-to-face with the seeking orb and then looked past it to see both of them.

Shiro took two hurried steps forwards and waved his hand in front of her face.

The woman wavered from side-to-side, her eyes slowly fluttering shut before her legs gave out and Curtis had to catch her and ease her down to the floor.

Shiro blinked back a wave of dizziness. He took a moment to let it settle and then wordlessly began to follow the seeking orb once again with Curtis close by his side. It led them to a door barricaded by a flat board that slid into holders on either side of the frame and then sank through.

“Let me,” Curtis said, stopping Shiro from lifting the board. He removed it on his own and set it aside before opening the door to allow Shiro inside first.

Leaning against the far wall, shivering from the chill of the cellar, was Keith.

Shiro nearly tripped down the steps in his haste to reach his friend, his hands fumbling with the bag at his side as he went for one of the potions he packed as a “just in case”. He kneeled in front of Keith, only slightly put at ease by the sight of his chest rising and falling and the occasional tremors from the chill.

“Keith, can you hear me?” he asked.

Keith groaned in response, straining to do something as simple as opening his eyes. He closed them again and muttered something about it being too bright.

Shiro snapped his fingers and the seeking orb fizzled out, leaving only the light streaming in through the door. “You're okay now. We're going to get you out. Keith, do you know how long you've been in here?”

“Days?” Keith guessed, his voice hoarse from disuse and lack of water. “Sorry, Shiro.”

“This is not your fault,” Shiro said firmly. He searched through his bag and came up with a potion in a green clay container, which he uncorked and held to Keith's lips. “Drink this. It will help soothe your throat.”

Keith drank without questioning what it was and made a face at the taste of it once he was through. “S'weird,” he muttered.

“I know, but it'll help. And so will this one,” Shiro said as he selected another container – one colored a sunny yellow. He helped Keith drink it and decided that it was enough to be able to move him. Any further healing could wait until they were someplace safe.

The empty containers went back into his bag and then Shiro gestured for Curtis to come over and help him lift Keith. They shuffled awkwardly as they adapted to how they could and could not move as a unit and then slowly made their way up the steps, back through the halls, and out the front door.

It took Keith a few minutes to realize they were going in the opposite direction from the path to Shiro's house. “Where are we going?”

“We're meeting up with someone who can help,” Curtis said.

Keith seemed to go even paler. “Someone else knows?”

“Without them, we never would have had this opportunity to come find you. It's thanks to them that any of this is happening,” Shiro said. “We can trust them, Keith. No one will think less of you for needing help.”

He perked up as the sound of hooves and the rattling of a carriage met their ears just as a pair of guards astride white horses crested the rise of the hill in front of them, followed by a gleaming open carriage. A third guard rode behind them on a dark gray mare.

“Just in time,” Curtis murmured. He glanced at Shiro, who nodded, and then transferred all of Keith's weight to his partner so he could run ahead and get their attention.

The guards came to an abrupt stop and the one with dark skin and hair demanded to know who he was.

“It's alright, Tavo, he's a friend.”

Shiro was relieved to hear Matt's voice. It meant everything was going according to plan.

Keith made a confused sound when he saw Matt jump down from the carriage to speak with Curtis. “Pidge?”

“Her brother,” Shiro correctly gently. “That is Prince Matthew. He's the reason we came to get you. We'll be traveling with him back to the palace and make use of their healers.”

Keith sucked in a deep breath in surprise. “Shiro, I can't! This isn't necessary!”

“You need more help and rest than I can give on my own,” Shiro told him. He adjusted his grip so he could begin weaving a spell with his free hand. “Rest easy, Keith. Everything will be alright from here out.”

“Using magic's unfair,” Keith slurred as his head drooped and he dropped into an easy sleep.

Guilt and his moral sense warred with his logical mind about whether or not it was necessary to use magic on his friend, and eventually logic won the battle as he helped lift Keith into the carriage and get him comfortable on the bench across from Princess Romelle, who watched everything with curiosity but not confusion.

“I apologize for cutting your excursion short, Princess Romelle,” Shiro said.

Princess Romelle smiled softly in return. “It is worth it if it means helping someone in need. There will be other days when I will be able to view this glorious kingdom.”

A diplomatic answer. One which sounded a little too well rehearsed for her to have been completely left in the dark about their plans.

Shiro glanced at Matt, who was too busy gazing fondly at his bride-to-be to take part in any conversation, so instead he lowered his eyes to Keith and took account of his newest injuries and the best ways to treat them.

Curtis took a seat next to the driver and they began to move.

- - - - - 

Keith woke to the white walls and ceiling of an unfamiliar room. Heavy, warm green blankets covered him up to his neck and smelled pleasantly of some sort of sweet flower. Delicate curtains fluttered in the breeze coming in from an open window and he could hear birdsong, over top of which was the brush of paper against paper.

It took a great deal of effort just to turn his head, but when he did he was rewarded with the sight of Pidge seated at his bedside, her hair pulled up in a high bun, her amber eyes focused on the pages of the book in her hands. On the small table next to her was a bouquet of red carnations and silver-tipped ferns artfully arranged in a clay vase.

For a moment, all he could do was watch her as his awareness and ability to move slowly returned to him. When he did open his mouth, there was only one thing he could say and although it came out as barely more than a whisper, Pidge jumped as though startled by a loud sound.

“Keith!” she exclaimed, all but throwing her book aside as she rose from her chair. “How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”

“Water,” he croaked out, hoping that a drink would help clear his throat enough that he could speak more normally.

Pidge nodded and walked across the room to fetch a pitcher and a glass. “Shiro made lemon-honey water for you to drink until he can come make a hot tea. Apparently, this one can be kept warm with one of his charms but tea is best drank soon after brewing.”

Keith fought the urge to groan at having to drink another one of Shiro's concoctions and instead gave a small nod that made his head spin and had him horribly disoriented for a long minute. He blinked away the dark spots to find Pidge back by his bedside, holding out the cup with a concerned expression.

To his embarrassment, she had to hold the cup so he could drink.

The lemon-honey water wasn't nearly as bad as he expected, somehow achieving a nice balance between the sweetness of the honey and the sour of the lemon without being too thick. It quickly went to work on soothing his throat and after a few swallows, he felt like he could talk again.

“Where am I?”

“The palace,” Pidge responded promptly. She held the cup for a moment longer and then set it on the side table next to the vase and retook her seat. “You're in one of our guestrooms and Shiro and Curtis are borrowing one just across the hall. You've been here for two days, healing in some kind of magical coma that Shiro put you in.”

Keith felt even less comfortable once he fully understood where he was. He was just a servant. Hardly someone who belonged in such a nice room. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing. Keith, I… I’m the one who needs to apologize. I should have told you who I really was instead of letting you find out on your own. That wasn’t right. I just got so nervous that you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore or that you’d treat me differently once you knew who I was and I didn’t want to lose that,” Pidge explained, bowing her head slightly. “It’s no excuse and I know that. I’m really sorry, Keith.”

Keith wished he could reach out and comfort her, but even if he weren’t recovering from days of being locked in darkness with no food and water, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bring himself to touch the princess. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Then neither do you,” Pidge said.

Keith tried to think of a reply but came up empty-handed. The moment passed as the door opened and Shiro stepped inside with a tray. He brightened up when he saw Keith awake.

“Oh good! I brought you both some food,” he said as he bustled inside. “It’ll be soup for you until you regain some of your strength, Keith. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Sore,” Keith admitted, knowing there was no lying to the man.

Shiro nodded. “That’s all normal. You’ll probably spend the next few days sleeping while the magic does its work.” He handed off one bowl to Pidge and then walked around to the chair on the other side of the bed.

Keith warily eyed the bowl in his hands. “You’re not going to put me to sleep again, are you?”

“No, not like before. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t think I’d be able to get you here without stressing you out so badly that you’d become even more ill,” Shiro told him. He set everything down so he could prop Keith up with an extra pillow they collected just for the occasion. 

While Shiro helped Keith sit up and eat, Pidge carefully kept her gaze averted and ate her own food in slow, small bites. By the time she finished, Keith was nearly done with his own, his stomach almost unpleasantly full despite the smaller amount in his bowl.

“M’done,” he muttered when Shiro tried to get him to keep eating. He closed his eyes for a moment. “What now? I mean, what about my home? I can’t go back again.”

“No. At least, not right now,” Shiro agreed, giving Pidge a pointed look over the bed.

Keith followed his gaze. “Not right now…?”

“I think I’ll leave you two to talk,” Shiro said as he stood. He walked back around to collect Pidge’s bowl and left after promising he’d be back in an hour to deliver a special tea for Keith to drink.

“What did he mean by ‘not right now’?” Keith tried again.

Pidge took a deep breath as though steeling her nerves for something that would be difficult to say. “My brother, Matt, has been doing some research ever since I told him about you. Nothing bad! He was just curious, especially when we realized Lotor is your stepbrother.”

A cold chill swept through Keith. “How did…?”

“It was just a few of the things you said when we talked that night. And then Matt’s research seemed to confirm all of that… You’re the son of Baron Travis Hawkins and the rightful heir to his estate and title,” Pidge said.

And then all Keith felt was confusion. “That’s not right. The title goes to the oldest and that would be Lotor.”

“The title passes to the firstborn son,” Pidge corrected. “That’s you, Keith. You’re the one whose name is listed in the court records. It’s been unchanged for twelve years. The last update to the record was to note that he remarried and that Honerva would act as Baroness until you came of age to take up the title. You are the Baron of the Hawkins estate, not Lotor.”

Keith turned his head to look straight up at the ceiling, feeling a little dizzy from the news.

The estate was his.

They had taken his childhood home from him unlawfully and made him feel as though he was worthless for so long when he was meant to be learning to take over for his dad.

Baron Keith Hawkins.

That was going to take a lot of getting used to.

“We have a plan, but it will all have to wait until you’re well enough to walk and get around on your own again,” Pidge said.

Keith attempted a nod. “Yeah.”

He was aware of Pidge talking a little more, telling him about the history of the estate and how his ancestor’s earned their title because of the messenger hawks they raised and trained for the royal family. He drifted off to sleep to the sound of her soft voice.

- - - - - 

As Shiro mentioned, Keith spent several days drifting in and out of sleep. Sometimes Pidge was there. Sometimes it was Shiro or Curtis. Occasionally he woke to find Prince Matt sitting there, silently keeping him company. The first time had been so awkward that Keith pretended to still be asleep until Shiro came in to make him drink more of his strange tea concoctions - licorice remained his least favorite and he’d be happy if Shiro never made it for him again.

Each day his strength returned a little more until Shiro cleared him for being allowed to get up and move around the room. His appetite grew with his strength and soon he was able to handle a full meal that wasn’t soup.

During the times he was awake he got caught up with their plans to expose Honerva and Lotor and make it so they could never hurt anyone else again, adding his own details so they could prepare for their attempts to weasel their way out of trouble. By the time Keith was able to stay awake for more than an hour, they were just about ready to put their plans into motion.

They would call Lotor and Honerva to court, hoping they would believe it was the will of the King and Queen to approve a formal courtship between Lotor and the princess. There, they would reveal the truth.

It all hinged on Keith’s ability to remain standing long enough to see them brought to justice.

“You’ll need appropriate clothing, as well,” Matt mentioned, looking him up and down. “I could get my tailor to make you something, but I’m not sure he’ll be able to finish in time. Anything I already have won’t be appropriate for you either, otherwise I’d offer.”

“I can take care of that,” Shiro promised.

“Another glamour?” Keith guessed.

Shiro nodded. “It’ll be simple enough to make you something that reflects your heritage. Are there any portraits of your father that I could see to get an idea of what I should create?”

It was Matt who answered. “There was a decent one in the court record. I’ll show you later.”

Conversations with Pidge were vastly different, full of colorful stories and long rambling rants about all of the things they hated about Lotor. Keith found himself laughing every time Pidge mimicked Lotor’s voice and tried to repay her by telling her the more amusing stories of growing up with him as a stepbrother, like all of the tantrums he’d thrown over the years.

By the time the day came to confront his stepfamily, Keith didn’t feel nearly as nervous as he expected to.

After so many years of their abuse and of being told he wasn’t good enough and fearing that his father’s house would forever be a prison to him instead of a home, Keith was finally able to stand up tall and proud and reclaim it all for himself.

Shiro was his first and only visitor that morning, as Pidge and Matt prepared on their own for what was coming. They ate together and then Shiro had him stand still while he used his magic to weave a brand new glamour for the occasion.

Keith had expected colors similar to the suit Shiro created for the ball, but instead the color palette and style were vastly different.

The top was a high-neck, military-style jacket in deep plum and with a black inner lining. The epaulets on each shoulder were lavender with silver fringe, which matched the belt around his waist.  His pants and shoes were solid blacks.

Keith eyed his reflection with mild unease, feeling entirely out of his element as Shiro stepped up and began to style his hair by hand. “Do you really think I can do this?”

“I have always believed in you, Keith. You are more than ready,” Shiro said. He tied off Keith’s hair with a strip of fabric that matched the purple of his clothing, leaving it in a simple low ponytail. “Now you just need to believe it too.”

Keith nodded but said nothing else as he followed Shiro out of the room and through the wide halls of the palace to the throne room, where a crowd of available nobles had gathered in the hope that they would be among the first to hear news about the newest royal courtship.

He paused outside the door to steel his nerves for what was waiting for him on the other side.. “I am ready.”

Shiro smiled and opened the door for him.

The low murmur of voices met Keith's ears as he stepped into the room. Several people glanced his way and then turned again to stare, but Keith didn't pay them any attention and put all of his focus on the royal family at the other end of the room. His eyes landed on the King and Queen first, who sat upon their throne with benevolent smiles and occasionally bent their heads together to whisper something. To their right stood Prince Matt and a beautiful woman with blond hair and a soft pink gown, who Keith rightfully assumed to be Princess Romelle of Polluxea.

When he looked at Pidge, he nearly stopped walking. It was only because of how many times he recited his role in their plans that he continued on, but from that moment on his eyes never left her.

Emerald green suited her, he couldn't help but think as he watched her stand there in a gown that shimmered as though it was covered in gems. Around her neck was a simple, round green stone on a golden chain.

Enter the room. Back straight, head held high. Act as though there is no other place you belong. (Easy for Prince Matt to say.)

Walk to the throne and stop at the foot of the stairs, no less than three feet from the guards on either side. Bow respectfully to the King and Queen. Then to Prince Matt and finally to Pidge.

Keith followed Prince Matt's instructions to the letter, but as he turned to bow to Pidge, someone forced their way through the crowd and reached out as if to yank him away, but their hand was never allowed to make contact.

In the blink of an eye, Lance was there in front of him as guards closed in around the royal family to shield them from the potential danger.

“Madam, I ask that you compose yourself,” Lance snapped.

Keith couldn't help but flinch away at the utterly thunderous look on Honerva's face as Lance continued to hold onto her wrist, unwilling to let go until he was sure she wouldn't strike out in rage. Lotor appeared over her shoulder in the crowd, but he stayed back and tried to keep his face impassive, though Keith could see his fury roiling beneath the surface.

It took a moment, but Honerva calmed herself enough that Lance let go. “That boy is nothing more than a servant. I merely wished to save their Majesties from being forced to listen to any of the lies that spill forth from his mouth.”

“I fear you have been misinformed, Madam,” Prince Matt spoke up. “If you would wait but a moment, he was about to introduce himself to the court.”

Honerva scoffed. “There is no need to play along with his foolish games. Allow me to take him home and deliver appropriate punishment for his misdeeds.”

Again, whispers broke out in the room as people latched onto her words and took them as the truth. Why wouldn't they? After all, Baroness Honerva was a lady of noble birth and was well-known in their circles, as was her son, Lotor. If she said the well-dressed man in front of them was nothing more than a servant boy playing dress-up, then why wouldn't they believe her?

King Sam stood from his throne and held up a hand, silently calling for everyone to be quiet. “I would like to hear what this young man has to say.”

Chin up.

Back straight.

Keith folded his right arm over his midsection and bowed one last time. “Your Majesties, my name is Keith Hawkins, son of the late Baron Travis Hawkins and his first wife, Krolia Hawkins. I am here to ask that you see justice carried out in regards to the Hawkins estate, of which I am the rightful heir.”

He might as well have said he was the grandson of the emperor of a foreign land with the amount of pandemonium that broke out in the throne room. Honerva's angry screech could barely be made out as the other nobles broke out into loud questions and demands, each wanting to know if it was true.

Keith stood in the middle of it all, letting the voices wash over him as he kept his focus on Pidge, who smiled encouragingly. That alone kept him grounded.

Well, that and the fact that Lance remained by his side as a physical blockade between him and Honerva until the other guards arrived to take her into custody until they could get to the truth of what had been revealed. Lotor attempted to slip away into the crowds and escape unnoticed, but he was caught as well and taken away, though he didn't struggle nearly as much as his mother, perhaps hoping that by going along willingly he could show his innocence.

Keith was led away by Lance, who was acting on Prince Matt's orders and took him back to the nice guest room where he'd spent the past week recovering.

“Nice job, Keith,” Lance complimented. “All it'll take is for the King and Queen to check the records themselves and this will all get sorted out. I bet you'll be glad when this is all over.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed.

At long last, his nightmare was coming to an end.

- - - - - 

The Hawkins estate was a beautiful property when it was being properly cared for. Pidge almost couldn't believe it was the same place when she finally found the chance to visit again nearly a year after the debacle with Honerva and Lotor. Under a new Baron, the estate flourished in more ways than one.

With Allura and Lance following like a pair of persistent shadows, Pidge was led around to the back gardens, where an ornate table and chairs waited beneath the shade of a massive oak. Keith stood there, dressed down in soft reds and black, and smiled when he saw her.

“Princess,” he greeted with a smile and a friendly bow.

“Baron Hawkins,” she responded with an easy nod.

They both grinned and dropped all formalities as they sat and began to catch up on everything that had changed since they last spoke. It had been a while, as Keith busied himself with the spring planting and some of the heavy manual labor that needed to be done, even though he had staff who were more than capable of doing it all themselves. Keith said that he enjoyed the work when he wasn't forced to do it and having company made it even better.

“Mostly, I've been going through my parents' old things. There was a lot more than I expected locked away in some of the old rooms. Like my mother's journals. I felt odd about reading them at first, but it's the only chance I have to get to know what kind of person she was,” Keith admitted.

Pidge reached across the table and took his hand. “I don't think she'd mind. So, what have you learned?”

“She was from Daibazaal. That's where my dad learned a lot of new stories and legends that he told me when I was young. But she left near the end of the revolution, though she never said why in any of the journals. At least, she didn't say in any of the ones I read.”

Pidge couldn't help but smile as she listened to the way he spoke of his parents. His joy at getting to learn more about them, even if it was from an old journal, warmed her heart.

“Did you know in Daibazaal they don't begin courtship by gifting a piece of jewelry?”

Pidge blinked in surprise, unsure of how the conversation drifted to courtship. She must have gotten more lost in her thoughts than she meant to. “I didn't know. What do they do instead?”

“In Daibazaal, a bouquet of carnations is the traditional first gift. The rarer the color, the better the proof of their love.” Keith reached into his jacket and withdrew a thin box, which he placed on the table in front of her. “My dad wanted to combine their traditions, so he had this made for her.”

She couldn't stop a startled gasp from breaking past her lips as he cracked open the box to reveal an ornate bracelet with links designed to resemble tiny flowers. Most of it was silver, including the delicate leaves, but the flowers themselves were some sort of purple crystal.

“Purple carnations to represent Daibazaal,” Keith said softly. “I was hoping you would accept it as my first gift to you.”

Pidge's eyes flickered up to Keith's face and remained there as she struggled to find her words. Finally, she snapped out of it. “Yes. Yes, of course, I will!”

Keith breathed out in relief, his smile turning brighter than she'd ever seen. With a gentleness that endeared her even more to him, he helped her put on the bracelet and they both took a moment to admire the way it looked against her pale skin.

And while it didn't happen in the way he ever expected it to, Keith realized at that moment that all of his hopes and dreams for his own future were finally beginning to come true.

#voltron #fanfiction #kidge #kidgemas #cinderella au

[bcbdrums]

My Heartbeat

Have a smol Drakgo fanfic.  This is related to another fic I have written.  It’s kind of a spoiler so I won’t mention until the end.

FFn Link

AO3 Link

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My Heartbeat

Soft. Warm. The barely perceptible, but rhythmic and steady pulsing beneath his hand. Her heartbeat.

It was his anchor as he lay beside her, his eyes frequently closed during the long hours as he stayed with her in an attempt to comfort her—physically, mentally, emotionally... He didn't dare leave her side unless he had to.

His hand flat on her chest, feeling the slow, gentle beat of her heart, let him know that for the moment at least she wasn't panicking. But he knew what was in her mind, for it was the same thing that had been in his constantly for the past six weeks.

A hiss from her lips caused his eyes to open the second before her entire body winced in pain, her knees drawing up farther, her arms hugging her middle tighter, and her face twisting into a grimace. He kissed her bare shoulder repeatedly as she rode the wave of pain mixed with nausea, a symptom that had become a constant presence in her body. It kept her mostly bedridden for the past several weeks, and so he had resigned himself to the same. The pain was bad enough to endure; he couldn't bear the thought of her being alone in her fear.

Suddenly the warmth of her chest beneath his hand vanished as she rolled to the side and vomited into the bucket set next to the bed for just that purpose. He was on his knees in a flash, holding her hair back and rubbing her arm as she expelled only bile, for there was nothing in her stomach to actually throw up. She hadn't been able to keep food down for weeks.

When she was finished, he held the glass of water for her to swish her mouth clean and she spat that into the bucket as well. He considered encouraging her to drink, but the pained look on her face told him it would have to wait.

As soon as she was re-settled, he wordlessly left the bed to take the bucket to the industrial-sized sink in the lab to clean, as had become their routine. But not before setting up the backup bucket for her.

His steps were brisk as he hurried to complete the task, his head down and his brow furrowed in worry as he thought about the way her clothes hung loose on her body and how her hip bones seemed to be jutting upward more prominently when he watched her laying on her back.

As he cleaned the bucket he decided to bring up going to the hospital again. He thought he could convince her this time, but...he dreaded the emotional stress it would bring her, if he took the tactic that he thought would work. And he knew that being in the hospital would only add to her fear and stress, thus potentially making things worse.

It was a problem that seemed to be without a solution.

After returning and setting the bucket back next to the bed, and noting the backup bucket was still clean, he returned to her side where she had resumed the familiar position of trying to moderate her pain. Knees drawn up, forearms wrapped around her middle, head on the pillow with her tangled hair splayed in every direction, and her eyes closed with her face frozen in a permanent grimace of pain.

She looked so...helpless.

He carefully crawled back onto the bed next to her so as not to jostle her and make her pain worse, and when he lay down he kissed her shoulder repeatedly as he replaced his hand over her heart. After a few minutes of the slow, lazy kisses he shifted up onto his side and leaned partially over her. Her eyes slid open, and he hesitated just enough for her to see the sympathy in his eyes before he kissed her lips.

Time slipped away as they kissed, the soft and slow caresses a shared comfort that they both sorely needed. He longed to take her in his arms and bring her small form close to his and perhaps strengthen her through his soul... But such poetic things were only possible in imagination.

A hiss of pain escaping her lips parted them, and he stared down at her in worry as she blinked through the wave of nausea and discomfort. Her eyes pleaded with him as he remained hovering over her, their faces mere inches apart. It broke his heart and gave him the final push to make the suggestion, as there was nothing he could do to help her.

"I think you should go to the hospital," he blurted out.

Her gaze slowly focused as she writhed. She shook her head. "No. If I go in...they won't let me out."

He lifted a hand to slowly stroke her cheek, her skin hot and clammy to the touch. "Why not?"

"They'll just want to keep running tests... They'll try to analyze my powers, to see how they affect me and how they'll...how..." She trailed off as her throat constricted and her eyes started filling with tears.

Drakken sat up and slowly gathered her into his arms. She shook slightly from the pain of the movement, but soon her arms were around him and clinging to him as she cried into his shoulder.

The fear they both felt was tangible at almost every moment. Even when she felt up to getting out of bed and he could coax her into a walk for exercise, he knew...it was always on her mind. And he feared that the level of stress she was under would be just as harmful as her powers could be. But her inability to eat was the first and most important priority.

"But Shego... You've barely eaten in weeks. You're losing weight. The hospital can give you nutrients through an IV. It's not as good as real food, but since you can't eat—"

"I don't want to go!" she said desperately. "You know they'll run tests. And...if they find something..."

Her tightening throat cut off her words again, and he rubbed her back as she clung to him. He understood her fear. On the one hand, a hospital could give them constant status updates...and then if something was really wrong they could potentially know about it while there was still time to do something. But on the other hand... They could discover that everything they were hoping for was just a dream, and nothing more.

He dreaded the day they would be met with the cold, Earth-shattering truth that what they so desired was impossible—they couldn't have children. And he knew that Shego blamed herself, as much as it was an equal possibility that the loss of their first child may have been due to his mutated genetics; he couldn't dissuade her from the idea that it was just her. And her constant illness through both pregnancies only served as 'evidence' in her eyes.

He began kissing her head and rubbed her back as she continued crying into his shoulder. She had been more stressed that week than usual, and he didn't want to bring up what he was sure was the reason why. It was the seventeenth week—the same week that they had lost their first child. And now they were at the same threshold for the one currently growing within her. There was no way of knowing of course if there was anything special about that week. They didn't even know why they had lost the first one. But he understood there was a psychological fear that she was dealing with, however unscientifically based it may be.

He hoped that when the week was past she may be able to calm down, but he feared she would only get worse. In the rare moments he wasn't at her side, he had been researching and he knew that stress was the last thing a pregnancy needed. Not to mention malnutrition.

He gently drew her head back and her wide, frightened eyes met his, searching for something. After a moment she looked down, her face twisting in embarrassment and anger, no doubt with her own weakness. His heart broke.

He kissed the tears from her cheeks as she tried to control her labored breaths. And then she kissed him hard, just for a moment as she suddenly winced in pain, and then doubling over she turned to throw up nothing over the side of the bed again. Drakken pulled her hair back and covered her body with his protectively, hovering close to her heaving back. When her breathing began to calm she pushed against his back and then rolled to the center of the bed, he moving ahead of her. She leaned shakily on her side, staring at nothing, her eyes wide with dread.

He watched the trembling of her shirt over her chest with every heartbeat, slowing gradually as her vision began to refocus. He rubbed her arm ever so lightly as she swallowed and mentally shook herself of the emotions she was fighting. She looked up at him slowly.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"No," he said quickly, gathering her up into his arms. "It's okay to be scared."

He felt her shuddering breaths against his chest as she held on tight. And for a moment he let himself feel it too. The dread of losing another child... Something they hadn't even been sure they wanted until they'd found themselves pregnant the first time. And now they wanted it so desperately it was almost painful. But...he needed to be strong for her. So he swallowed down his own fear and set his mind to solving the problems that he had some control over.

"Shego..." He leaned back and held her shoulders as she looked up into his eyes. She must have read what he was about to say because defiance suddenly sprang up in hers. But he was putting his foot down. "You have to get nutrition somehow. If you can't eat, then...the baby won't get any nutrients either. And then none of the rest of this will matter."

He saw in her eyes, reluctant as she was, that she knew he was right. And regardless, he was resolved. Even if it meant taking her to the hospital against her will. He wasn't going to lose their second baby just because she was too sick to eat. Not to mention...he was starting to fear losing her too.

"Okay. I'll try to eat something again," she said uncertainly.

"Good." Drakken stood up and stepped around the bed, scooping her up into his arms since walking while sick always meant a pause to throw up at least once. He also leaned down for her to grab a bucket in the event of such a problem on the way to the kitchen.

"Drakken..." she murmured as she set her face against his neck, her fingers lazily clinging to the bucket handle as it swung and bounced off his leg.

"Yes?"

He stopped walking as she lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes searched his, but for what he wasn't sure. He continued on more slowly as he watched her and waited. She glanced down a moment, appearing sad before she looked back up. They reached the kitchen and he took the bucket from her and set it on a chair.

"If...if we can't do this...are you going to be okay?"

Drakken's lips parted in silent surprise as he stared into her worried eyes. Had part of her fear throughout the weeks been for him?

"I know...you're trying to be strong for me, but I know that...this means everything to you. And if we can't...I still love you."

She slid out of his arms to stand in front of him as he continued staring at her in shock. Was she worried that if they couldn't have a baby that he wouldn't...want her anymore?

He watched her cheeks color as she looped her arms around his neck and spoke softly and shyly, but a bit desperately. "I love you...with all I am."

"Oh...Shego," he said in the split second before he kissed her. His arms locked tightly around her as he attempted to kiss away every fear and worry about their relationship that she had. The thought that he might leave her...for anything... But worst of all, the realization that she was insecure about their relationship.

If she weren't sick, he would carry her back to bed and prove his love in as many ways as she needed. He settled for proving kisses instead, his lips moving against hers powerfully until the salt of her falling tears joined the sweetness of her lips. And it wasn't until he felt her melting in his arms that he scooped her up again and brought his lips higher to kiss her closed eyes.

"Oh Shego," he murmured. "Darling..."

She slowly leaned away, a small smirk having found its way to her face.

"'Darling'?"

He blushed. He did often call her that and more, but just in his head...

"Dumpling?" he tried.

Her smirk grew. "Nostalgic..." she said with a nod.

Her arms tightened around his neck and he felt a grin coming to his own lips as he finally saw a hint of peace in her eyes. He took a breath and let spill many of the things that often ran through his head when he looked at her.

"My queen. My angel. Goddess. The most perfect woman to have ever existed."

Her smirk bloomed into a full smile, and he continued rambling on as he set her down on one of the bar stools before turning to the fridge.

"Sweetheart... My pearl... My jewel..." he said with a grin as he began gathering ingredients and piling them around the blender. "Babe... Hot tamale..."

Shego almost giggled at that one, but then her smile vanished as she held her stomach and doubled over, one hand gripping the counter as the other held her stomach. Drakken watched her for a moment until he was sure she wasn't going to need the bucket, and then he started up the blender.

Shego watched him with interest as she slowly recovered her good humor, her hand not leaving her stomach as she blinked at him. He finished blending the ingredients and then poured the mixture into a pot on the stove, after which he immediately began washing the blender.

"Keep going," Shego said quietly, her voice belying the pain she constantly felt.

Drakken thought of the other things he called her in his mind as he washed the appliance. "My star... My sunshine."

He nearly wiped his soapy hands on his pajamas, forgetting he wasn't wearing an apron. He wiped them on a dish towel and then stirred the broth he had made, smiling in satisfaction before opening the freezer and taking out a Tupperware of homemade ice cream. He set it on the counter in front of Shego with a spoon, and then followed it up by pouring a glass of coconut milk he took from the fridge.

"Ginger?" Shego asked, cautiously picking up the spoon.

"Yes. Eat a little of that first. If you can...keep it down, then we'll try the broth."

"Okay..." she said uncertainly, putting a tiny sliver of the ice cream on the edge of the spoon.

Drakken watched her slowly eat the sliver, tensing as she did so as if the minuscule amount of food would instantly cause her nausea to worsen. But after several seconds, it didn't. She took another small sliver onto her spoon.

Drakken turned the broth on the stove down to a simmer and then moved to sit beside her, setting a supportive arm around her. As he watched her nervously dissolve the second sliver of ice cream on her tongue, a thought occurred to him.

"Maybe...I could work some of my connections. And instead of going to the hospital, we could bring the hospital to you."

She looked at him in a mixture of curiosity and fear. But she put another sliver of ice cream on her spoon.

"Just...an IV, so you can get some more nutrition. And...maybe an ultrasound machine?"

Shego looked up and away at nothing. He watched the emotions play across her face as all the possibilities ran through her mind.

"We wouldn't...have to have anyone here. I can set it all up myself. And I know how to insert an IV—"

"Drakken... Okay."

He studied her expression as she looked at him. She still looked afraid, her tangled hair falling across her face as she gazed at him and struggled to make trust the dominant emotion in her eyes.

"My dream..." he said as he brushed her hair back. Her smile slowly returned as he offered more pet names. "My heartbeat... My world."

"I like those..." she said with a small smirk. "But how about...just 'dumpling' for when you feel like you need a pet name, and...'darling' in public, to rub our happiness in people's faces?"

Drakken grinned. But the moment of peace was broken as Shego grimaced and whirled around to hold her face over the bucket to throw up nothing again, the spoon gripped tightly in her shaking fingers as she retched. Drakken grabbed her hair and held it, wrapping an arm around her to support her as her legs began to shake.

As soon as she was done, he picked her up again so she didn't have to worry about standing. She hissed in pain as she tightened in on herself and leaned into his chest, her head falling on his shoulder. Drakken sighed and picked up the bucket, prepared to head back to their bedroom.

"Shego—"

"Put me down," she said shakily. "You're right. The baby needs to eat. I want to keep trying the ice cream."

He carefully set her back on the bar stool and after replacing the bucket on the chair he sat next to her. She put another sliver of ice cream on the spoon that she'd managed not to drop and then let it dissolve on her tongue. Drakken gently rubbed her back as he watched her struggle, helpless for what to do next.

As her shaking began to still she looked up at him, the familiar fear and worry evident through the pain in her eyes.

"We'll be okay, Shego," he said with authority, though he was sure his voice was shaking. But then through the fear, love began to shine in the green depths of her gaze.

"Drakken... Call me something sweet again," she said softly, a tiny smirk turning up the corners of her mouth..

He leaned closer to her and held her tighter as she put a slightly larger bit of ice cream on her spoon.

"My world... My heartbeat."

She licked the ice cream off the spoon and then rested her face against his.

"My love."

---------------------------------

This fic was a distant sequel to my fic, “Rekindling.”  Thanks for reading!

#drakgo #dragko #drakken #shego #drakken x shego #drakkenxshego #drakkenandshego #drakken shego #drakken and shego #dr drakken #dr. drakken #shego x drakken #shegoxdrakken #shego and drakken #shegoanddrakken #drakken/shego #kim possible #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

[neshabeingchildish]

Share a Scare

Earlier today, I made a list of every illness/infection that I’ve had over the past couple of months, and let me tell y’all, I am not exaggerating or joking when I say I am ready to die. I honestly could die today and be so happy with that. I hate my life. I’m tired of being in pain and tired of getting sick and not being able to afford to get well, but Happy Valentines’ Day anyway. Here is an update. Sorry they’ve been so scarce.

Share-a-Lair 9

Charlotte was asleep on top of Max whenever Billy and Nora began to get ready to go. Their parents were going to come pick them up, so they tried to quietly wash up and gather their things without waking Max and Charlotte. Nora even texted them that Max was asleep so not to make noise whenever they came, after she silently snapped a photo of them to potentially use against him later. He looked more peaceful than she could remember seeing him and he even seemed to be smiling a little, though with the eye mask on, she wondered if he was actually asleep. Had to be though, because he'd have sensed her so close for that photo otherwise.

When the monitor sounded, “Alert, parents approaching,” Max abruptly snatched off his eye mask and started trying to get up. He slid Charlotte over carefully and she stirred a little, but hugged the pillow and remained sleeping. 

After a moment to drink her in (which Nora definitely noticed), Max urged his siblings to get their things and leave out of the door before their parents came in. However, they made their way in, saw him and Hank cheered, “Oh! You’re awake!” He winced and looked at Charlotte. Still asleep. He put his finger in front of his mouth and shoved Billy and Nora towards the door.

“Max, who is that girl?” Barb wondered.

“A friend. A sleeping friend. Shhh.”

“That’s Charlotte,” Billy said. “She says she isn’t Max’s girlfriend, but they sleep in the same bed and hold hands and stuff a lot. I think they even kiss!” 

Barb and Hank both looked a mixture of surprised and excited to hear this. They'd heard of this Charlotte a few times and well, Max hadn't been involved with anybody in a while and he was usually his best self when involved with someone special. 

“Get out!” Max hissed, pushing the line of them towards the door as they protested, his parents asked questions, Billy defended his assessment, Nora fussed about being rudely shoved, and Max shut and locked the door behind them. 

Just in time, because Charlotte stirred and looked up at him. Breathily, he greeted, “Heyyyy, You. Good morning. Sorry to wake you. Billy and Nora left kinda noisily.” She was still partially asleep when she sat up and just sat there for a moment, sort of looking around the room. She was adorable when she first woke up. His heart couldn’t stand it. “You want me to get you some breakfast?” 

She stretched, yawned and reached for her dental pouch on the night stand. “Naw. I gotta get to work. Thanks, though.” She washed up in his bathroom, changed into clothes that she had in his closet and grabbed Penelope and her bag to head for the tower. “See you later!” She cheered and was gone. He was lonely as soon as she left.

.

Over the next  few weeks, a few things happened. Charlotte began to sleep over every night, without it being a conversation or requiring explanation. Also, Henry got really busy (and cranky), as his superhero advancement assessments neared. This meant that Charlotte was a little bit busier, too, and spent more time in the tower than usual. 

She began moving most of her work needs into Henry's lair. If he passed his assessments and became a hero in his own right, she didn't know if he was going to even remain working with Ray. They were close, but Ray was sort of a mess and well… 

Henry would never reach his true potential if he just went along with him all the time. He might even be held back if he focused on his loyalty to Ray more than his loyalty to himself and his own abilities. He worked hard to get out of the shadow of Captain Man and to be fair, he worked harder than Ray did, in general.

It was a point that she was making as she gave herself a pedicure in Max's room while he was working out. "I mean… even you, as an already established superhero are here to advance and not necessarily remain in Phoebe's shadow…"

"What do you mean, Phoebe's shadow?" He asked.

"I just mean, well.. she was first. In superhero… on the path…"

"Yeah, but I bested her and was granted the position on Z-Force. Our next assignment was leading together, as a team."

"A team of Thundergirl and SuperMax. Rarely ever said the other way around."

"You think Phoebe is better than me?"

"I think Phoebe has been working as a superhero longer than you and that it's something that others are aware of and something that you probably have thought about a few times. Why are you acting like this?" She was genuinely confused, because this conversation wasn't even about HIM, it was about Henry and she was merely mentioning him to establish empathy. Now, he looked mad or something. But, he smiled.

"I'm good." The shade of red that he was let her know that wasn't my true. She bit her lip. "What were you saying? Something something, Henry. Something something something, Kid Danger." 

She sighed. "Can I not discuss my job in your room?"

"Henry is your job? I haven't heard shit about what you do tonight. Just like a huge list of reasons that Henry is too good for Captain Man…" 

There he was. There was the Max Thunderman that she had been wondering Whatever happened to him? And for whatever reason, seeing him like this… hurt her feelings. "Sorry. I will take my list and go." She began to grab her stuff, but wondered if she should just get her immediate things and go, or take all the crap she'd let get comfy in here the past few weeks? 

She was considering it when she felt his hands take her wrists gently, "Charlotte, don't go. I'm sorry." She didn't want to look at him. If she did, she might be susceptible. And she couldn't be susceptible. His tone was unwarranted, unnecessary and hurtful. 

"Acknowledged. I'll talk to you when we've cooled off." Able to keep herself from looking at him, she grabbed her phone and nothing else. She worried that staying a moment longer might make her weak. 

"Char…"

"Goodnight, Max." She told him and headed for the tower. She hoped Henry wouldn't make a thing out of this, but she was too upset to be in Max's quarters right now and she certainly wasn't about to sit in her car and cry. Besides, there was a couch in the lab if she simply couldn't face Henry.

Whenever she came into the tower, Henry and Jasper had the TV on and were sitting mighty close. Henry was leaning back against the couch on the floor and Jasper was laying on his belly on the couch, resting on his elbow with his other arm rested on Hen’s shoulder. They turned whenever they heard the door swoosh and said “Hey!” to her. Charlotte waved a hand and wondered, “Could I chill here a moment? I can go into another room if you two are in the middle of something.”

Jasper sat up to make room on the couch, swinging one leg over Henry’s shoulder where Hen was now leaned back into the opening of his legs. “Nah. Come on. We’re watching this hilarious movie.”

“By hilarious, he means terrifying,” Jasper said. 

She nodded and sat down next to Jasper, who noticed that something wasn’t right and pulled her onto his shoulder. She tried not to cry, but that gesture made her break her resolve. He looked at her and she just wiped her eyes and shook her head. PLEASE DON’T ASK. Fortunately, he did not. He didn’t say anything, either as Henry was oblivious and throwing his head back to cackle at the horror scenes on TV. 

After a while, she was falling to sleep on Jasper’s shoulder and Henry was getting up to get ready to go to bed. “She asleep?”

“Yeah,” Jasper said.

“Gonna leave her here, or take her with us?”

“I don’t wanna leave her here. I think something happened. She was sad when she got here,” she heard Jasper say. Now, she had to either let them know that she wasn’t asleep yet so that much more wouldn’t be said, or pretend to be asleep to avoid facing any questions or feelings.

“Okay. Well, bring her. I’m ready for bed,” Henry said. She felt Jasper gently shift her to carry her bridal style to Henry’s room and continued to pretend to be asleep.

The three of them heard the computerized voice call, “Alert, Superior Hero to You approaching.” 

Henry looked around, “What the heck was that?” he asked.

“The monitor thingy announcing Max,” Jasper said, settling Charlotte in bed.

“But, why does she say THAT to announce him?” Henry asked.

“Probably because he’s good with computers and most likely programmed her to do so,” Jasper said, laughing a little. “Get rid of him. He’s probably the reason Charlotte was upset. He never comes to your chambers.”

“Right?” 

Henry went to his door and opened it to see Max, clearly fresh out of the shower and seemingly upset. “What?” Henry asked.

“Hey… Is Charlotte here? Her car is still outside, but I think she blotted herself off of the house scan.”

“If she did, I’m guessing it was to dodge you. I don’t know how to check a fuckin’ house scan and I’m positive Jasper doesn’t either. What did you do wrong?”

Max nodded his head and looked at the floor. “You’re right. Sorry to bother you at this time of night. I was just worried about us… her…” He sighed and wiped his hand through his hair. “Just… if she ever wants to talk to me, I’ll be available for her, anytime, always.” He turned and started leaving.

“No snivelling or smug little quips?” Henry asked.

Max winced and forced a smile, “Goodnight, Henry.” He didn’t say anything else as he left the exit from the tower into the main house. 

Henry just watched him. What the hell was that about? Henry went into his bedroom, where Jasper was laying on his belly and Charlotte was sitting up. They both were facing the door, waiting for him. He was startled to see them not going to bed. “You two aren’t going to bed, and I’m ready to. So, if you’re about to gash over Max, take it out of here.” 

“What did he say?” They both asked, ignoring Henry’s request.

He rolled his eyes, “Something like he’ll wait forever to talk to you or something. Go ask him. He’s barely out of the tower. All I know for sure is that you two better let me go to sleep,” he crawled into bed and they got up. 

Jasper walked Charlotte to the door and wondered, “You gonna be alright?”

“Of course. You guys have hurt my feelings worse than he could, plenty of times.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. We’re your friends, that’s your… you know…” Jasper said with the shrug of his shoulders. 

Charlotte was too tired to do her whole ‘Whatever do you mean?’ routine, and too sad. So, she just said, “I think that makes it hurt worse. Whenever your friends don’t get it. When they just hurt you and keep going.”

Jasper felt bad. He knew that he and Henry had issues regarding this topic. He was working on it, though. Tonight, he just said, “Well, at least Max didn’t just keep going. He wants to make it right, whatever he did to hurt you and he wanted to do that tonight. If I had a guy like that, with his hair, and brains, the superpowers, my God, that print! I’d be letting him off easy every time, much more the first time.”

“I am. I just… I guess I’m not used to BS from him. I’m used to him being this escape from being sad or angry.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. I know he’s a super, but he’s human. Go talk to him, forgive him, love on him and you know, give him a little tug, on my behalf…” She cackled at Jasper’s shamelessness. 

“Henry is gonna ban you if you keep this up,” she warned.

“He should just take it as an opportunity to step his D game up.”

“Wow. Goodnight, Jasper.” She left laughing.

Max heard the monitor announce, “Alert, Future Baby Mama approaching,” and he gasped and assessed himself. He had been eating his feelings for several minutes, gorging on treats from the snacker and had a pile next to him and probably some on his face! He rushed to make sure he was presentable, and when she landed on the landing pad, he felt at least… clean.

She got up and fiddled with her fingers, “Hey. You’re still up.”

“Yeah,” he said and approached her. He stopped just short of her face and put his hands together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to behave so jealous. I just hate how much you love him. I don’t know. It finally got to me when you just… KEPT talking about him.”

“Jealous?” She repeated, with her eyebrow raised. She sighed, laughed, then squealed, “Men are infuriating!” 

He nodded, feeling really disappointed in himself, “I try really hard to be perfect for you, because I know that you’re generally surrounded by infuriating men..”

She softened and stepped closer, to fill the space between them, then just hugged him. “That is so unnecessary, Max. Just be you. I like him. I liked him from Day 1… hundred.” He laughed into her hair and hugged her back. “It’s beneath you, Dude. You and Henry being jealous of each other is SO stupid and I don’t understand why either of you feel that way!”

He leaned back to look at her, “The fact that you don’t know why Henry would be jealous of me is part of my insecurity. He should be jealous of me. I’m ME!” 

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, “And he’s him. Neither of you could ever be what the other one is to me, so to be jealous is absolutely ridiculous. You two don’t mean the same thing to me. You’re never gonna be my lifelong best friend, because that’s already happened already and nobody else can be that for me, not you, not anybody. And as that person for me, Henry’s NEVER gonna be able to be anything else, in my eyes, so for you to be jealous, when you’re who you are to me...”

He stared into her eyes for a moment, waiting for her to elaborate. He really didn’t want to ask her, but since she didn’t seem to be willing to volunteer the information, he did. “Who am I to you?”

“You’re my Maximus,” she said and diverted her gaze from his eyes.

Whether she meant maximus as in “greatest” or “My Maximus,” as in she was FINALLY claiming him, he was satisfied. Beyond, in fact. She looked at him again and saw him smiling. “Let’s go to bed, okay? No more Henry talk,” she decided. 

He nodded in agreement. He hadn’t ever wanted to talk about him in the first place. He gave her a kiss on the lips then rested his lips on her face, “Deal.”

#Share a Lair #henry danger #the thundermans #crossover #crossover fanfic #Nesha Crossover #Thundanger #Thunderbolt

[dravitus-akaelos]

The Doctor Is In - RP Log

Dravitus Akaelos’ entrance is preceded by three sharp, precise raps upon the door as the man's gloved knuckles impact upon the wood. Stepping inside without even the slightest hint of hesitation, the formidable figure fills the doorway for a moment as he scans the interior, before stepping to one side and holding the door open for his companion. "After you, Milja." He turns to Marius with a polite smile, inclining his head in greeting. "Hello, Mr. Vieremont. Thank you for meeting us."

Marius Vieremont paused in mid-sentence as the door was rapped upon and so opened, as his guests stepped through. Upon the page, a quill stood upright, apparently having been transcribing his spoken thoughts. With a small gesture, it fell to the book, leaving only a small splatter of ink. His unfocused gaze moved to approximately the location of those who had entered and he inclined his head. "It is my pleasure. Please, do call me Marius."

She moves with quiet calculation, slow and at his heels as is expected of someone of her status, or more accurately, lack thereof. Plenty able, she does not need any doors held for her, but every time this grace is shown to her, her ears perk and the faintest tickle which threatens a smile percolates her insides. Nodding, she moves towards the interior-- polished and clean, lacking any offensive scents which might have alluded to subpar practice. Her eyes are bright and wide, flicking over the furniture before resting on the books, and finally the man. She is hard to read, lacking much expression, her lips an unaffected flat-line, though her eyes may have told a different story. "Thank you for having us mii.... Marius." Her soft voice shifts gears just as it begins and she looks down to the marbled floors. "Marius." She affirms, respecting her host's wishes

Dravitus shuts the door with a gentle 'click', pressing his fingers briefly upon Milja's back to nudge her towards the seats as he himself steps unhurriedly towards them. He indicates them with a light gesture, head canting to one side, "Of course, Marius. May we sit?"

Gloved hands gesture to the comfortable couch in front of Marius’ desk, plenty of room for both of them. "Yes, please do," he said, reaching out unerringly and closing the patient journal that he'd been recording thoughts into. The click of heels and feminine cast of the voice gave him all the clue he needed; "Miss Milja and Dravitus Akaelos, I presume?"

"You have it right," There is the slightest rise in her voice, pleased and pleasant. Milja glides her fingertips over the furniture, carefully and with tender sort of reverence before seating herself before the elegant elezen.

"Correct." comes the smooth, deep voice, followed by the sound of fabric and leather rustling and the faintest creak of the seat taking the man's considerable mass. Folding one hand atop the other upon his abdomen, Dravitus regards the physician with open, unabashed curiosity. "I apologise if we disturbed you in the midst of your work - if it is of import, please do continue. We are not opposed to waiting, after all."

The clinic around them is pristine; immaculately clean with gleaming marble floors and without a speck of dust anywhere. There's the scent of fresh linens on the bed, the pungent smell of the herbs suspended above them and the musty scent of the wall of books. Some appear to be patient journals, others are books on doctoring and still others are volumes of conjury and thaumaturgy. The man himself is reed-thin, with salt and pepper black hair and dressed as circumspectly as his clinic. Motioning vaguely with a gloved hand, he shakes his head. "It is nothing that cannot be continued later on, I'd not have guests wait. Besides, I prefer to keep patient notes confidential, if you'll pardon me. How is your man recovering? The stitches should have dissolved by now."

Milja adjusts herself a few times, but consistently she fixed on their host with genuine interest. She is here to learn, and is appreciative of any opportunity afforded to her. For this reason, she might have been a bit stiffer than usual, her shifting positions indicative of the importance she holds this meeting in. However, her demeanor becomes somewhat more effervescent once they begin speaking of recovery. "Yes!" She quietly exclaims, though almost immediately regrets that hint of excitement which colors the singular syllable. "He has recovered very nicely-- much faster than anticipated, and the scarring has already paled from purples to whites. You'd not believe the condition he was in prior if you saw him today."

Dravitus’ lips curve so faintly one would be hard pressed to note the shift in expression, yet the amusement is nonetheless there, lending a glimmer to the burnished silver of his eyes as Milja fails to contain her enthusiasm. An inclination of the head precedes his own commentary, tone calm and level as he remarks, "Indeed. You laid an admirable foundation upon which my medical staff could work, Marius. I believe that I would not be incorrect in assuming that you have something of a passion for your work, beyond that of your peers. Certainly," and here he gestures about him, encompassing the clinic as a whole, "Your place of work certainly displays enough telltale signs of such a trait, and I have no doubt that it is not artifice on your behalf."

Close inspection of the man reveals a hint of his own personal challenges; his pale gaze never quite focuses on either of them, though it is aimed in their general direction. At the enthusiastic little squeak of a word, Marius offers a genuine smile of thin lips, seeming sincerely pleased at the report. "Thank you, and well-pleased am I to hear it," he states crisply, nodding in Milja's direction. His attention shifts to Dravitus as he speaks and he gives a quiet huff of amusement. "No, you are not incorrect. I enjoy my work and find it... mn, uniquely rewarding. Ah, but I am being rude. May I offer refreshments? Water, tea... something stronger?"

Milja is perceptive enough to notice the seeming difficulty the man has in focusing on them as one might have typically, but this hardly tarnishes her opinion of his ability. Her cheeks grow hot as she realizes she might have been staring inappropriately long at the icy silver slits of Marius' gaze, still incredibly striking, despite their lack of focus. She inhales deeply and huffs out a short spurt of a sigh, hardly despairing, which dissipates into the air her relief. She is pleased to have been received so kindly, but old habits died hard and she subconsciously could not refrain from holding her breath in situations such as this, where she carried the heavy burden of having to impress others. Especially those who had shown her a life she had been deprived of for so long. "When one works in earnest and enjoys it, it is always apparent. I would appreciate a tea, if you don't mind." For a moment she considers offering her assistance, but refrains for fear of inadvertently offending the man. This was his home, after all.

Akaelos, for his part, seems largely indifferent to the man's condition - blindness was an impairment, of course, but the Elezen seemed more than capable of overcoming it. Pity would be a grave insult, in the half-blood's view, in light of the accomplishments the doctor had made despite what held him back. A familiar sentiment, after all. So his own silver eyes settled comfortably upon Marius' unseeing gaze, affording the man the full weight of his attention as he would any other. "I am no stranger to finding one's work rewarding. There are few things in life more fulfilling, I find." A brief smile accompanies the words, the sincerity of his tone evident. The sound of thick synthetic fabric sliding upon itself accompanies the uplifting of a forestalling hand as he replies, "No, thank you, though I appreciate the offer. Tell me, Marius - how is business in Ul'dah? Do you see many patients of late?"

Marius certainly didn't seem to notice Milja's lengthy stare, though he does cant his head slightly at the sigh of relief - a flicker of curiosity reflecting in his narrow features. "I do hope you like black tea, all I have on hand at the moment is an Ishgardian blend. I have cream and sugar to sweeten it, if you prefer it as I do," he replied conversationally, rising and taking precise steps - as if counted in his head - over to the stove. Without difficulty, he places the kettle on and retrieves the box of tea pouches as well as any sighted man could. "Business in Ul'dah is always thriving, which while fortunate for me, is rather less so for those under my care. No physician wants to be *needed* for their services, of course, but I'm grateful to be able to provide succor for those who require it." He turns, leaning back against the counter. "It'll be but a moment for the tea, Miss."

Milja is filled with something akin to mortified as she accepted the offer of hospitality only to have Dravitus decline. Distinctly feeling as though she has put her host out, her ears tip back down, closer to her head and she averts her eyes, looking towards Marius as he moves towards the stove. She is certain of her mistake, and resolves to wait for him to answer first in other situations of this nature going forward. "Sorry." While Marius puts on the kettle, she issues an apology which is both sincere and humbled, though unsolicited. Still she is gracious, perhaps more-so, when the Elezen addresses her "Of course, thank you so much-- black tea is just fine, Ishgardian is all the better." Only half her attention can be devoted to the topic of business while the rest of her facilities internally chastise herself.

Dravitus listens attentively to their host as he responds to the query, though he allows his gaze to flick about the room as he studies it with clinical interest, noting various topics of the books within his range of vision, and so on. His eyes flick to Milja at her apology, to which he simply raises a hand in a dismissive gesture, giving her a slight lift of one shoulder in a shrug. "A laudable sentiment, to be sure. Do you have much experience in treating combat wounds - from the gladiatorial arena, perhaps? Or are you more inclined towards more mundane ailments?"

Their host seems puzzled by the apology, and there is a moment of uncertainty as to who it is being directed to. In the end, he elects not to acknowledge it at all, as he cannot imagine what in the world she would be sorry for. As promised it's only moments until the kettle whistles and he pours the tea - two cups - setting both on the tray, along with a small porcelain cup of cream and a dish of sugar with a spoon settled within. Taking up the tray, he carries the entire affair over to the desk and sets it down. "After you, my dear," he invites, motioning to the cream and sugar and giving her ample time to help herself. Settling back down in his chair, he considers the question. "My true calling is healing the aetherflows of the body, but I am also extensively experienced in both combat-related injury and the more mundane. My parents ensured the quality of my education growing up, once they realized my talent for healing."

An ear perks to the whistle of the kettle and Milja rights herself, sitting straighter as to steel herself. She puts aside insecurities in favor of attending to the conversation at hand, as she knows is expected of her. "It smells lovely, I am glad to not be partaking alone." She favors Marius slightly more for this gesture, intentional or not. Reaching for the tea, there is a certain timidness in how she takes it to her hand, cradling it carefully, each movement graceful and distinctly feminine. Blowing softly, the lip of the mug to her painted lips, she listens with astute attention to their host, intermittently checking for temperature. "Your parents, were they healers also or supportive of your art?"

Dravitus’ demeanour changes not a whit as Marius sets the cup before the Viera at his side, the benign, solid confidence wavering not at all as she accepts the offered cup. A list of the myriad and sundry ingredients one could add to a warm brew to cause all manner of ill effects flickers briefly through his thoughts before he dismisses it - she would learn the hard way, if it was tampered with. "Duly noted." He pauses, allowing Milja to field her question, and appears content to give Marius time to respond before besieging him with further queries.

Marius favors Milja with a warm, genuine smile. "I never turn down an excuse for a cup of tea," he confides with a wink in her direction, a chuckle soon following. It's a soft, pleasant sound, and as sincere as his smile was. His teacup was only half-full, the reason for which soon became obvious, as he added a copious amount of both cream and sugar to the teacup. Someone had a sweet-tooth, it seemed. "My mother - rest her soul - was the healer in the family. My father, who also passed many years was more of a..." He hums softly, searching for the word. "Protector, of sorts." The mage doesn't seem to mind the myriad questions, answering each with ease.

Amethyst eyes follow the cream as it swirls into the dark tea and becomes opaque. While this was all par for the tea course, she did not anticipate the amount of sugar dumped into the cup. Humored, a brow lifts and she fails to stifle an amused grin. She is riveted with interest now, hanging on the words he speaks and reeled in by the dulcet sounds of his laughter. She is wary, but she is distinctly aware of something within her tempering ingrained dubiety. She nods, considering what he says of his family and can not refrain from flicking her attention towards Dravitus for a brief moment. "They sound like an effective pair, and clearly their efforts have served you well-- serving US well, especially Garilan."

Dravitus’ brows lift at the sheer amount of sugar that pours - and continues to pour - into the cup. The ratio of liquid to sugar seemed barely enough to render the sweetening substance dissolved, and it occurs to him that perhaps that is the sole reason why there is that much tea in the cup at all - as a vehicle for the sugar and little else. Could the man even taste the tea at that stage? Giving his head a disbelieving shake, he comments, "It is commendable that they chose a profession for their child that seems suited. At least, if the passion for healing was an existing one and not something perforce adopted, of course." The tips of his gloved right hand's fingers smooth out over the leg of his trousers as he regards Marius appraisingly for a moment, before nodding to himself. "Indeed. I have seen the butchery that some of the so-called healers perform in this province, and so I am inclined towards securing your services for my personnel, if you are amenable." He smiles, pleasant despite the business-like focus of his words, and continues. "I am offering you a contract, Marius. I wish for my personnel to have priority treatment, within reason, should they require it when they are in the area. Naturally, emergencies are to take precedence over matters that do not threaten the lives of my people, and you are free to go about your business as you see fit otherwise." He cocks his head at the man, studying him. "Your thoughts?"

"It's always been that way for our family," he explains, taking a sip of his tea and sighing with contentment. "It's been arranged like that for hundreds of years, passed down with our own personal traditions through the centuries. One has always been the healer - the Advocate - and the other has always been the protector - our Arbiter. Gender factors not at all into it," he explains. "And they had something of a talent in choosing professions for my brothers and I, even if I wanted to be a Knight when I was very young," he says with a rolling chuckle. Shifting his gaze to Dravitus, he listens attentively to the offer, curiosity glimmering in his silvery eyes. "Your ‘personnel’? Are you the leader of some militia, then?"

"Oh, that is interesting. I've not encountered familial arrangements of that nature before, but it makes sense." a faint blush paints her pallid features pink as her mind wanders where it might, but she quickly reins that in and crosses her legs. Eyes search Marius' smooth features for any trace of emotion, any inkling of his intent of acceptance of what Dravitus lays out with almost rapacious eagerness. The offer was fair, and from her own experience Milja knew it would become fairer still once a proposal was extended. While she should have disappointed to find Dravitus' offering met with a question, she is instead met with a sort of pride. He was not wrong, but her lips are tight and her eyes glisten towards Dravitus in anticipation of his response.

Dravitus’  head tilts to one side as he watches Marius, regarding the man with curiosity as he outlines his familial traditions - Ishgard was not an unknown quantity, but nor was it an area of his expertise. "You can still heal with one hand and wield a blade in the other. I would count that a superior knight to most." The corner of his mouth flickers up in a twitch of amusement, eyebrows quirking at the suggestion. "A milita?" A hand glides through the air in a smooth refutal of the notion. "Nothing so amateurish, I assure you. I own and run Reign Enterprises, which is a multi-national business that has a number of interests and departments. Foremost, however, you may consider us something of a private military company. I train, manage and dispatch my personnel on a wide variety of tasks, in many places, often simultaneously. I am seeking to expand into Eorzea, and having medical personnel contracted to attend my company foremost is among the foremost necessities when expanding my holdings into a new area."

Marius’ expression was quite easily read, a hint of curiosity laced with a good bit of interest. The man had no poker face, not even a little - likely come from his inability to read other peoples' expressions. "It's certainly not a common arrangement," he demures in agreement with her. "But, as I said - tradition." Shifting his attention to Dravitus, he listens quietly, sipping his tea, whilst the other man speaks. "I admit, your organization does sound rather impressive. I am concerned, however, as to the volume of patients I might be taking on. I am, as is obvious, only one man - although I have a connection to a network of other healers, should the need arise that I take on more than one or two patients at a time. I am inclined to agree to your proposal. What are you offering as recompense?"

Dravitus had early on demonstrated his impressive acumen when it came to matters of military and business. Furthermore, Milja was impressed with his willingness to dirty his own hands in matters which otherwise may not have concerned individuals of similar appointment. It was an admirable trait among many, and when he spoke, his own passion was clear. Milja sits back, easing behind the lead of her superior and relaxing with what she anticipates to be an eminent acceptance. Should Marius find the offer agreeable, Milja looked forward to the prospect of working with him to further her own art.

"Funding." The reply is immediate and delivered without pomp - stated in a clipped and factual manner, before he continues. "Aside from that, I have access to resources that I can place at your disposal, should you require or desire them, for whatever reason. As I have mentioned, my reach extends to other nations, and so I have an easier time of conveying material that is otherwise difficult, if not impossible, to acquire here." He flicks his fingers in a peremptory fashion, stating, "I will not overwhelm you, worry not. In the event of a large-scale operation being conducted in the region, I will notify you and offer you the opportunity to accompany them as a stand-by medical operative - with appropriate bonuses for doing so. As well, I can bolster your staff and facilities on an as-needed basis." He dips his head towards Milja. "Milja numbers among my existing medical staff, as an example - though I would also reward you for sharing your experience and skill with her and others that may benefit from it, should you be amenable."

"Funding is of a lesser concern, as I have my family's coffers at my disposal. We are a small House in Ishgardian society, largely unnoticed, but a wealthy one," he states succinctly, without boasting. "However, I would certainly value the resources you mentioned - as I've mentioned, I'm only one man, and at the moment, must resort to purchasing what I need for supplies, rather than gathering and making them myself. Herbs for tinctures and potions, cloth for bandages and et cetera." He paused and set his empty teacup down. "In the interest of being frank and fair dealings, I should disclose to you - in case you've not yet realized - that I am quite blind. Entirely so, as it happens. I do have a... means of seeing, when absolutely necessary, but I fear I would be a liability as a combat medic on the front lines with your men. As for sharing my expertise with Miss Milja and others, that would be certainly doable."

Milja is marginally taken off-guard by the welcomed moment she could offer herself towards industry for the man who had positioned himself as a champion in her eyes. With catlike reflexes, Milja pounces on this opportunity, eagerly coming to meet minds with their host. "Of course. While coin is always advantageous, one who has honed their art to the degree you have weighs other valuables higher. Resources happen to be in the realm of my own abilities. I can extend my gift of gathering, among other utilitarian talents to further your own objectives." In regard to blindness, Milja had surmised as much. In the lull of a brief pause, she smiles. "Clearly one does not need sight to be talented, I am certain your knowledge and experience would serve our necessities just as well from behind the front-lines. That is what I am here for."

Akaelos nods curtly, having anticipated the response - there was little about Marius or his clinic that denoted a dearth of funding, but it seemed greed was not a motivator for the man, either. Interesting. "I can supply those, and other materials and resources. I believe that you could benefit from a choice selection of magitek medical equipment, for example." His tone turns dry as he  cocks a brow at the man's declaration of his visual impairment. "You may be blind, Marius, but I am not. It would take an oblivious individual indeed to neglect to notice such a thing. You need not actually fight, simply await field casualties in the triage on-site, but that can be discussed at a later time." He laces his fingers together and sets his intertwined hands atop his thighs, continuing. "Do you have requests that you would like to make in order to secure your services? I will not prevaricate -I insist that my personnel get treated first, when they suffer in equal measure to others."

Marius smiles in Milja's direction, inclining his head slightly. "In return for such responsibilities that I would direct you to, I would be more than happy to share my expertise in both conjury and thaumaturgy, if you wish." He pauses when she speaks again, and he nods. "That is where I would best serve, I do agree. I am knowledgeable in triage as well and have acted as such an agent before, in addition to lending my healing skills to those who require it." Intrigue took the man's expression as mentioned magitek medical equipment. "Interesting. One wonders where you might have gotten your hands on something of that nature, to be given at will." As he had already mentioned the subject of triage, he allowed his previous words to stand on their own. "The amount of resources and such can be drawn up in a standard contract," he said, gesturing vaguely. "But otherwise, I would have no other requests. Yours that your personnel be treated first is fair." He tapped his knee twice, then nodded. "I am inclined to accept your offer."

Milja Svartur 's evaluates the two taps on her companion's knee and considers if there was any relevance to such a gesture. Her ear flickers to the back-flipping wind-up at her back, the dampened clang of metal against marble pulling her attention towards the device. There is the lightest tug of apprehension, the same she always has when matters of lineage or nationality are revealed. She is abated by the inclination towards Dravitus' employ, his terms fair, consistent, and reliable as the man seated beside her. Milja is hopeful now, excited by the prospect of acquiring experience in thaumaturgy and conjury. Quietly she sits, her chin dropping closer to her chest and hands folding neat upon her lap while she awaits her superior to navigate the terms of the contract set forth.

Dravitus nods emphatically. "Excellent." The single word is coloured with satisfaction, and Dravitus even permits himself a fleeting smile of success before he withdraws a pristine folder from within the satchel at his hip. He slides it forward until it presses against the tip of Marius' fingers and says, "The contract has already been drawn up. Feel free to have a trusted aid look it over - I trust that you will find it to your satisfaction. When you have done so, sign it and return it to me at your convenience. I will send Milja to you for her instruction shortly, with appropriate notification." He flicks a glance at the aforementioned woman, favouring her with a brief smile. "I trust that the matter has now been concluded to the satisfaction of all parties?"

Marius had heard the little device, and he'd wondered inwardly what it was, but hadn't deemed it important enough to ask. Perhaps a timekeeping device? Before he could ask, however, there was paperwork being pressed to his fingertips - there was a sudden moment of tension there at the unexpected touch to his hands, even gloved - but it soon vanished. Accepting the contract from Dravitus, he laid it down on the table. "Luckily enough, I know just the person to do so; she'll know what's what," he said with a quiet laugh. "Though you don't seem to be the type to try to take advantage; nay, you seem to me to be the sort that is strict, but fair." Waving a hand, Marius nods. "Yes, I believe I can count our business concluded. Until such time as I return the contract to you," He produces two linkpearls from a pocket and sets them on the table. "you may reach me on my personal line."

Milja turns towards the objectively foreboding man to her left and nods emphatically, practically glowing. Irrepressible radiance defines her in this moment and the Viera is convinced that even lacking sight, Marius would be able to feel it. To be certain, she squeaks out "very much so, a distinction I am grateful for." Milja's head pivots to a slight degree, looking amenably upon their host. "Accurate evaluation, but it is a luxury to know where one stands." Milky fingertips peek from the softened black leather fingerless gloves worn, extending to reach for the linkpearl nearer to her. "Thank you, Marius. I am very much looking forward to working with you. If there is anything to which I may be of service, please do not hesitate to reach out to me." She shifts back into her seat and tucks the small device away in one of the multitude of pockets strewn across her robes. Unconsciously she adjusts a little closer towards her companion, as if seeking assurance without so many words.

Dravitus, for his part, ignores the little magitek machine that is totally not back-flipping like a dumbass contraption - he builds things with more dignity and gravitas than that, thankyouverymuch. "I strive to be as such, at least." He pauses to pat Milja upon her hand gently before rising, smoothing his clothes absently before selecting the linkpearl and pocketing it. "We will be in touch, then. Thank you for your time, Marius. Have a pleasant day." He gestures for Milja to precede him as he turns towards the door.

-Fin- @milja-svartur @marius-vieremont

#dravitus akaelos #balmung rp #ffxiv #garlean #rp log #ffxiv rp #milja svartur #marius vieremont

[marius-vieremont]

The Doctor Is In (RP log)

Dravitus Akaelos 's entrance is preceded by three sharp, precise raps upon the door as the man's gloved knuckles impact upon the wood. Stepping inside without even the slightest hint of hesitation, the formidable figure fills the doorway for a moment as he scans the interior, before stepping to one side and holding the door open for his companion. "After you, Milja." He turns to Marius with a polite smile, inclining his head in greeting. "Hello, Mr. Vieremont. Thank you for meeting us."

Marius Vieremont paused in mid-sentence as the door was rapped upon and so opened, as his guests stepped through. Upon the page, a quill stood upright, apparently having been transcribing his spoken thoughts. With a small gesture, it fell to the book, leaving only a small splatter of ink. His unfocused gaze moved to approximately the location of those who had entered and he inclined his head. "It is my pleasure. Please, do call me Marius."

[1:07]★Milja Svartur She moves with quiet calculation, slow and at his heels as is expected of someone of her status, or more accurately, lack thereof. Plenty able, she does not need any doors held for her, but every time this grace is shown to her, her ears perk and the faintest tickle which threatens a smile percolates her insides. Nodding, she moves towards the interior-- polished and clean, lacking any offensive scents which might have alluded to subpar practice. Her eyes are bright and wide, flicking over the furniture before resting on the books, and finally the man. She is hard to read, lacking much expression, her lips an unaffected flat-line, though her eyes may have told a different story. "Thank you for having us mii.... Marius." Her soft voice shifts gears just as it begins and she looks down to the marbled floors. "Marius." She affirms, respecting her host's wishes.

Dravitus Akaelos shuts the door with a gentle 'click', pressing his fingers briefly upon Milja's back to nudge her towards the seats as he himself steps unhurriedly towards them. He indicates them with a light gesture, head canting to one side, "Of course, Marius. May we sit?"

Gloved hands gesture to the comfortable couch in front of Marius’ desk, plenty of room for both of them. "Yes, please do," he said, reaching out unerringly and closing the patient journal that he'd been recording thoughts into. The click of heels and feminine cast of the voice gave him all the clue he needed; "Miss Milja and Dravitus Akaelos, I presume?"

"You have it right," There is the slightest rise in her voice, pleased and pleasant. Milja glides her fingertips over the furniture, carefully and with tender sort of reverence before seating herself before the elegant elezen.

"Correct." comes the smooth, deep voice, followed by the sound of fabric and leather rustling and the faintest creak of the seat taking the man's considerable mass. Folding one hand atop the other upon his abdomen, Dravitus regards the physician with open, unabashed curiosity. "I apologise if we disturbed you in the midst of your work - if it is of import, please do continue. We are not opposed to waiting, after all."

The clinic around them is pristine; immaculately clean with gleaming marble floors and without a speck of dust anywhere. There's the scent of fresh linens on the bed, the pungent smell of the herbs suspended above them and the musty scent of the wall of books. Some appear to be patient journals, others are books on doctoring and still others are volumes of conjury and thaumaturgy. The man himself is reed-thin, with salt and pepper black hair and dressed as circumspectly as his clinic. Motioning vaguely with a gloved hand, he shakes his head. "It is nothing that cannot be continued later on, I'd not have guests wait. Besides, I prefer to keep patient notes confidential, if you'll pardon me. How is your man recovering? The stitches should have dissolved by now."

[1:32]★Milja Svartur: || adjusts herself a few times, but consistently she fixed on their host with genuine interest. She is here to learn, and is appreciative of any opportunity afforded to her. For this reason, she might have been a bit stiffer than usual, her shifting positions indicative of the importance she holds this meeting in. However, her demeanor becomes somewhat more effervescent once they begin speaking of recovery. "Yes!" She quietly exclaims, though almost immediately regrets that hint of excitement which colors the singular syllable. "He has recovered very nicely-- much faster than anticipated, and the scar has already paled from purples to whites. You'd not believe the condition he was in prior if you saw him today."

Dravitus Akaelos 's lips curve so faintly one would be hard pressed to note the shift in expression, yet the amusement is nonetheless there, lending a glimmer to the burnished silver of his eyes as Milja fails to contain her enthusiasm. An inclination of the head precedes his own commentary, tone calm and level as he remarks, "Indeed. You laid an admirable foundation upon which my medical staff could work, Marius. I believe that I would not be incorrect in assuming that you have something of a passion for your work, beyond that of your peers. Certainly," and here he gestures about him, encompassing the clinic as a whole, "your place of work certainly displays enough telltale signs of such a trait, and I have no doubt that it is not artifice on your behalf."

Close inspection of the man reveals a hint of his own personal challenges; his pale gaze never quite focuses on either of them, though it is aimed in their general direction. At the enthusiastic little squeak of a word, Marius offers a genuine smile of thin lips, seeming sincerely pleased at the report. "Thank you, and well-pleased am I to hear it," he states crisply, nodding in Milja's direction. His attention shifts to Dravitus as he speaks and he gives a quiet huff of amusement. "No, you are not incorrect. I enjoy my work and find it... mn, uniquely rewarding. Ah, but I am being rude. May I offer refreshments? Water, tea... something stronger?"

5]★Milja Svartur is perceptive enough to notice the seeming difficulty the man has in focusing on them as one might have typically, but this hardly tarnishes her opinion of his ability. Her cheeks grow hot as she realizes she might have been staring inappropriately long at the icy silver slits of Marius' gaze, still incredibly striking, despite their lack of focus. She inhales deeply and huffs out a short spurt of a sigh, hardly despairing, which dissipates into the air her relief. She is pleased to have been received so kindly, but old habits died hard and she subconsciously could not refrain from holding her breath in situations such as this, where she carried the heavy burden of having to impress others. Especially those who had shown her a life she had been deprived of for so long. "When one works in earnest and enjoys it, it is always apparent. I would appreciate a tea, if you don't mind." For a moment she considers offering her assistance, but refrains for fear of inadvertently offending the man. This was his home, after all.

[1:59]Dravitus Akaelos , for his part, seems largely indifferent to the man's condition - blindness was an impairment, of course, but the Elezen seemed more than capable of overcoming it. Pity would be a grave insult, in the half-blood's view, in light of the accomplishments the doctor had made despite what held him back. A familiar sentiment, after all. So his own silver eyes settled comfortably upon Marius' unseeing gaze, affording the man the full weight of his attention as he would any other. "I am no stranger to finding one's work rewarding. There are few things in life more fulfilling, I find." A brief smile accompanies the words, the sincerity of his tone evident. The sound of thick synthetic fabric sliding upon itself accompanies the uplifting of a forestalling hand as he replies, "No, thank you, though I appreciate the offer. Tell me, Marius - how is business in Ul'dah? Do you see many patients of late?"

]Marius Vieremont certainly didn't seem to notice Milja's lengthy stare, though he does cant his head slightly at the sigh of relief - a flicker of curiosity reflecting in his narrow features. "I do hope you like black tea, all I have on hand at the moment is an Ishgardian blend. I have cream and sugar to sweeten it, if you prefer it as I do," he replied conversationally, rising and taking precise steps - as if counted in his head - over to the stove. Without difficulty, he places the kettle on and retrieves the box of tea pouches as well as any sighted man could. "Business in Ul'dah is always thriving, which while fortunate for me, is rather less so for those under my care. No physician wants to be *needed* for their services, of course, but I'm grateful to be able to provide succor for those who require it." He turns, leaning back against the counter.

[2:06]Marius Vieremont: "It'll be but a moment for the tea, Miss."

[2:15]★Milja Svartur is filled with something akin to mortified as she accepted the offer of hospitality only to have Dravitus decline. Distinctly feeling as though she has put her host out, her ears tip back down, closer to her head and she averts her eyes, looking towards Marius as he moves towards the stove. She is certain of her mistake, and resolves to wait for him to answer first in other situations of this nature going forward. "Sorry." While Marius puts on the kettle, she issues an apology which is both sincere and humbled, though unsolicited. Still she is gracious, perhaps more-so, when the Elezen addresses her "Of course, thank you so much-- black tea is just fine, Ishgardian is all the better." Only half her attention can be devoted to the topic of business while the rest of her facilities internally chastise herself.

Dravitus Akaelos listens attentively to their host as he responds to the query, though he allows his gaze to flick about the room as he studies it with clinical interest, noting various topics of the books within his range of vision, and so on. His eyes flick to Milja at her apology, to which he simply raises a hand in a dismissive gesture, giving her a slight lift of one shoulder in a shrug. "A laudable sentiment, to be sure. Do you have much experience in treating combat wounds - from the gladiatorial arena, perhaps? Or are you more inclined towards more mundane ailments?"

Their host seems puzzled by the apology, and there is a moment of uncertainty as to who it is being directed to. In the end, he elects not to acknowledge it at all, as he cannot imagine what in the world she would be sorry for. As promised it's only moments until the kettle whistles and he pours the tea - two cups - setting both on the tray, along with a small porcelain cup of cream and a dish of sugar with a spoon settled within. Taking up the tray, he carries the entire affair over to the desk and sets it down. "After you, my dear," he invites, motioning to the cream and sugar and giving her ample time to help herself. Settling back down in his chair, he considers the question.

[2:25]Marius Vieremont: "My true calling is healing the aetherflows of the body, but I am also extensively experienced in both combat-related injury and the more mundane. My parents ensured the quality of my education growing up, once they realized my talent for healing."

[2:33]★Milja Svartur || An ear perks to the whistle of the kettle and Milja rights herself, sitting straighter as to steel herself. She puts aside insecurities in favor of attending to the conversation at hand, as she knows is expected of her. "It smells lovely, I am glad to not be partaking alone." She favors Marius slightly more for this gesture, intentional or not. Reaching for the tea, there is a certain timidness in how she takes it to her hand, cradling it carefully, each movement graceful and distinctly feminine. Blowing softly, the lip of the mug to her painted lips, she listens with astute attention to their host, intermittently checking for temperature. "Your parents, were they healers also or supportive of your art?"

[2:37]Dravitus Akaelos 's demeanour changes not a whit as Marius sets the cup before the Viera at his side, the benign, solid confidence wavering not at all as she accepts the offered cup. A list of the myriad and sundry ingredients one could add to a warm brew to cause all manner of ill effects flickers briefly through his thoughts before he dismisses it - she would learn the hard way, if it was tampered with. "Duly noted." He pauses, allowing Milja to field her question, and appears content to give Marius time to respond before besieging him with further queries.

1]Marius Vieremont favors Milja with a warm, genuine smile. "I never turn down an excuse for a cup of tea," he confides with a wink in her direction, a chuckle soon following. It's a soft, pleasant sound, and as sincere as his smile was. His teacup was only half-full, the reason for which soon became obvious, as he added a copious amount of both cream and sugar to the teacup. Someone had a sweet-tooth, it seemed. "My mother - rest her soul - was the healer in the family. My father, who also passed many years was more of a..." He hums softly, searching for the word. "Protector, of sorts." The mage doesn't seem to mind the myriad questions, answering each with ease.

[2:50]★Milja Svartur Amethyst eyes follow the cream as it swirls into the dark tea and becomes opaque. While this was all par for the tea course, she did not anticipate the amount of sugar dumped into the cup. Humored, a brow lifts and she fails to stifle an amused grin. She is riveted with interest now, hanging on the words he speaks and reeled in by the dulcet sounds of his laughter. She is wary, but she is distinctly aware of something within her tempering ingrained dubiety. She nods, considering what he says of his family and can not refrain from flicking her attention towards Dravitus for a brief moment. "They sound like an effective pair, and clearly their efforts have served you well-- serving US well, especially Garilan."

[2:53]Dravitus Akaelos's brows lift at the sheer amount of sugar that pours - and continues to pour - into the cup. The ratio of liquid to sugar seemed barely enough to render the sweetening substance dissolved, and it occurs to him that perhaps that is the sole reason why there is that much tea in the cup at all - as a vehicle for the sugar and little else. Could the man even taste the tea at that stage? Giving his head a disbelieving shake, he comments, "It is commendable that they chose a profession for their child that seems suited. At least, if the passion for healing was an existing one and not something perforce adopted, of course." The tips of his gloved right hand's fingers smooth out over the leg of his trousers as he regards Marius appraisingly for a moment, before nodding to himself. "Indeed. I have seen the butchery that some of the so-called healers perform in this province, and so I am inclined towards securing your services for my personnel, if you are amenable." He smiles, pleasant despite the business-like focus of his words, and continues. "I am offering you a contract, Marius. I wish for my personnel to have priority treatment, within reason, should they require it when they are in the area. Naturally, emergencies are to take precedence over matters that do not threaten the lives of my people, and you are free to go about your business as you see fit otherwise." He cocks his head at the man, studying him. "Your thoughts?"

"It's always been that way for our family," he explains, taking a sip of his tea and sighing with contentment. "It's been arranged like that for hundreds of years, passed down with our own personal traditions through the centuries. One has always been the healer - the Advocate - and the other has always been the protector - our Arbiter. Gender factors not at all into it," he explains. "And they had something of a talent in choosing professions for my brothers and I, even if I wanted to be a Knight when I was very young," he says with a rolling chuckle. Shifting his gaze to Dravitus, he listens attentively to the offer, curiosity glimmering in his silvery eyes. "Your ‘personnel’? Are you the leader of some militia, then?"

[3:23]★Milja Svartur "Oh, that is interesting. I've not encountered familial arrangements of that nature before, but it makes sense." a faint blush paints her pallid features pink as her mind wanders where it might, but she quickly reins that in and crosses her legs. Eyes search Marius' smooth features for any trace of emotion, any inkling of his intent of acceptance of what Dravitus lays out with almost rapacious eagerness. The offer was fair, and from her own experience Milja knew it would become fairer still once a proposal was extended. While she should have disappointed to find Dravitus' offering met with a question, she is instead met with a sort of pride. He was not wrong, but her lips are tight and her eyes glisten towards Dravitus in anticipation of his response.

[3:29]Dravitus Akaelos 's  head tilts to one side as he watches Marius, regarding the man with curiosity as he outlines his familial traditions - Ishgard was not an unknown quantity, but nor was it an area of his expertise. "You can still heal with one hand and wield a blade in the other. I would count that a superior knight to most." The corner of his mouth flickers up in a twitch of amusement, eyebrows quirking at the suggestion. "A milita?" A hand glides through the air in a smooth refutal of the notion. "Nothing so amateurish, I assure you. I own and run Reign Enterprises, which is a multi-national business that has a number of interests and departments. Foremost, however, you may consider us something of a private military company. I train, manage and dispatch my personnel on a wide variety of tasks, in many places, often simultaneously. I am seeking to expand into Eorzea, and having medical personnel contracted to attend my company foremost is among the foremost necessities when expanding my holdings into a new area."

Marius Vieremont 's expression was quite easily read, a hint of curiosity laced with a good bit of interest. The man had no poker face, not even a little - likely come from his inability to read other peoples' expressions. "It's certainly not a common arrangement," he demures in agreement with her. "But, as I said - tradition." Shifting his attention to Dravitus, he listens quietly, sipping his tea, whilst the other man speaks. "I admit, your organization does sound rather impressive. I am concerned, however, as to the volume of patients I might be taking on. I am, as is obvious, only one man - although I have a connection to a network of other healers, should the need arise that I take on more than one or two patients at a time. I am inclined to agree to your proposal. What are you offering as recompense?"

[3:41]★Milja Svartur || Dravitus had early on demonstrated his impressive acumen when it came to matters of military and business. Furthermore, Milja was impressed with his willingness to dirty his own hands in matters which otherwise may not have concerned individuals of similar appointment. It was an admirable trait among many, and when he spoke, his own passion was clear. Milja sits back, easing behind the lead of her superior and relaxing with what she anticipates to be an eminent acceptance. Should Marius find the offer agreeable, Milja looked forward to the prospect of working with him to further her own art.

[3:45]Dravitus Akaelos || "Funding." The reply is immediate and delivered without pomp - stated in a clipped and factual manner, before he continues. "Aside from that, I have access to resources that I can place at your disposal, should you require or desire them, for whatever reason. As I have mentioned, my reach extends to other nations, and so I have an easier time of conveying material that is otherwise difficult, if not impossible, to acquire here." He flicks his fingers in a peremptory fashion, stating, "I will not overwhelm you, worry not. In the event of a large-scale operation being conducted in the region, I will notify you and offer you the opportunity to accompany them as a stand-by medical operative - with appropriate bonuses for doing so. As well, I can bolster your staff and facilities on an as-needed basis." He dips his head towards Milja. "Milja numbers among my existing medical staff, as an example - though I would also reward you for sharing your experience and skill with her and others that may benefit from it, should you be amenable."

"Funding is of a lesser concern, as I have my family's coffers at my disposal. We are a small House in Ishgardian society, largely unnoticed, but a wealthy one," he states succinctly, without boasting. "However, I would certainly value the resources you mentioned - as I've mentioned, I'm only one man, and at the moment, must resort to purchasing what I need for supplies, rather than gathering and making them myself. Herbs for tinctures and potions, cloth for bandages and et cetera." He paused and set his empty teacup down. "In the interest of being frank and fair dealings, I should disclose to you - in case you've not yet realized - that I am quite blind. Entirely so, as it happens. I do have a... means of seeing, when absolutely necessary, but I fear I would be a liability as a combat medic on the front lines with your men. As for sharing my expertise with Miss Milja and others, that would be certainly doable."

[4:10]★Milja Svartur is marginally taken off-guard by the welcomed moment she could offer herself towards industry for the man who had positioned himself as a champion in her eyes. With catlike reflexes, Milja pounces on this opportunity, eagerly coming to meet minds with their host. "Of course. While coin is always advantageous, one who has honed their art to the degree you have weighs other valuables higher. Resources happen to be in the realm of my own abilities. I can extend my gift of gathering, among other utilitarian talents to further your own objectives." In regard to blindness, Milja had surmised as much. In the lull of a brief pause, she smiles. "Clearly one does not need sight to be talented, I am certain your knowledge and experience would serve our necessities just as well from behind the front-lines. That is what I am here for."

[4:13]Dravitus Akaelos nods curtly, having anticipated the response - there was little about Marius or his clinic that denoted a dearth of funding, but it seemed greed was not a motivator for the man, either. Interesting. "I can supply those, and other materials and resources. I believe that you could benefit from a choice selection of magitek medical equipment, for example." His tone turns dry as he  cocks a brow at the man's declaration of his visual impairment. "You may be blind, Marius, but I am not. It would take an oblivious individual indeed to neglect to notice such a thing. You need not actually fight, simply await field casualties in the triage on-site, but that can be discussed at a later time." He laces his fingers together and sets his intertwined hands atop his thighs, continuing. "Do you have requests that you would like to make in order to secure your services? I will not prevaricate -I insist that my personnel get treated first, when they suffer in equal measure to others."

Marius Vieremont smiles in Milja's direction, inclining his head slightly. "In return for such responsibilities that I would direct you to, I would be more than happy to share my expertise in both conjury and thaumaturgy, if you wish." He pauses when she speaks again, and he nods. "That is where I would best serve, I do agree. I am knowledgeable in triage as well and have acted as such an agent before, in addition to lending my healing skills to those who require it." Intrigue took the man's expression as mentioned magitek medical equipment. "Interesting. One wonders where you might have gotten your hands on something of that nature, to be given at will." As he had already mentioned the subject of triage, he allowed his previous words to stand on their own. "The amount of resources and such can be drawn up in a standard contract," he said, gesturing vaguely. "But otherwise, I would have no other requests. Yours that your personnel be treated first is fair." He tapped his knee twice, then nodded. "I am inclined to accept your offer."

Milja Svartur 's evaluates the two taps on her companion's knee and considers if there was any relevance to such a gesture. Her ear flickers to the back-flipping wind-up at her back, the dampened clang of metal against marble pulling her attention towards the device. There is the lightest tug of apprehension, the same she always has when matters of lineage or nationality are revealed. She is abated by the inclination towards Dravitus' employ, his terms fair, consistent, and reliable as the man seated beside her. Milja is hopeful now, excited by the prospect of acquiring experience in thaumaturgy and conjury. Quietly she sits, her chin dropping closer to her chest and hands folding neat upon her lap while she awaits her superior to navigate the terms of the contract set forth.

[4:33]Dravitus Akaelos nods emphatically. "Excellent." The single word is coloured with satisfaction, and Dravitus even permits himself a fleeting smile of success before he withdraws a pristine folder from within the satchel at his hip. He slides it forward until it presses against the tip of Marius' fingers and says, "The contract has already been drawn up. Feel free to have a trusted aid look it over - I trust that you will find it to your satisfaction. When you have done so, sign it and return it to me at your convenience. I will send Milja to you for her instruction shortly, with appropriate notification." He flicks a glance at the aforementioned woman, favouring her with a brief smile. "I trust that the matter has now been concluded to the satisfaction of all parties?"

Marius had heard the little device, and he'd wondered inwardly what it was, but hadn't deemed it important enough to ask. Perhaps a timekeeping device? Before he could ask, however, there was paperwork being pressed to his fingertips - there was a sudden moment of tension there at the unexpected touch to his hands, even gloved - but it soon vanished. Accepting the contract from Dravitus, he laid it down on the table. "Luckily enough, I know just the person to do so; she'll know what's what," he said with a quiet laugh. "Though you don't seem to be the type to try to take advantage; nay, you seem to me to be the sort that is strict, but fair." Waving a hand, Marius nods. "Yes, I believe I can count our business concluded. Until such time as I return the contract to you," He produces two linkpearls from a pocket and sets them on the table. "you may reach me on my personal line."

[4:53]★Milja Svartur turns towards the objectively foreboding man to her left and nods emphatically, practically glowing. Irrepressible radiance defines her in this moment and the Viera is convinced that even lacking sight, Marius would be able to feel it. To be certain, she squeaks out "very much so, a distinction I am grateful for." Milja's head pivots to a slight degree, looking amenably upon their host. "Accurate evaluation, but it is a luxury to know where one stands." Milky fingertips peek from the softened black leather fingerless gloves worn, extending to reach for the linkpearl nearer to her. "Thank you, Marius. I am very much looking forward to working with you. If there is anything to which I may be of service, please do not hesitate to reach out to me." She shifts back into her seat and tucks the small device away in one of the multitude of pockets strewn across her robes. Unconsciously she adjusts a little closer towards her companion, as if seeking assurance without so many words.

[4:57]Dravitus Akaelos , for his part, ignores the little magitek machine that is totally not back-flipping like a dumbass contraption - he builds things with more dignity and gravitas than that, thankyouverymuch. "I strive to be as such, at least." He pauses to pat Milja upon her hand gently before rising, smoothing his clothes absently before selecting the linkpearl and pocketing it. "We will be in touch, then. Thank you for your time, Marius. Have a pleasant day." He gestures for Milja to precede him as he turns towards the door.

-Fin-

@dravitus-akaelos @milja-svartur

#long post #sorry mobile users #RP #FFXIV rp #balmung #dravitus akaelos #milja svartur #marius vieremont

[scorpio-skies]

Chicken Noodle Soup

(So this was written for the amazing @beckiboos​ with the intention of cheering her up when she was ill and I kept throwing virtual chicken soup at her - sadly didn’t get to finish it at the time but woo you’re better now so have this story with chicken soup anyway!  °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°)

By the time Becky and Danse reached Diamond City, her symptoms had worsened. She sniffed beneath the cover of her scarf but was forced to breathe through her mouth, another wave of dizziness pulsing in time with her headache. She staggered, only to feel a hand grab her arm and steady her before she pitched down the catwalk and into the mud.

“Easy there, soldier,” Danse frowned, relaxing his grip. Not for the first time, she wondered just how he could be gentle enough not to bruise her despite donning his power armour. She supposed it was a habit he’d had to develop since becoming her mentor and then her… friend. Also her crush, but nobody else needed to know about that.

She cleared her throat and rasped; “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome, though I think we should probably get you to a doctor.”

“‘M not that bad!” Becky waved him off, took another step and overbalanced on the railing. She leaned on it, pulling down her scarf so she wouldn’t cough all over it. When the coughing fit was over she turned to find Danse giving her his best C.O. glare. It might have been more effective if it didn’t also make him smoulder.

She shook the thought from her head, then realised she’d actually shaken her head when Danse quirked a brow. She cleared her throat again and ran a hand through her hair, trying to look as healthy as she could, all things considered. Sure, she’d looked pale in the mirror that morning with shadows under her eyes, and yes, her nose may have been red and raw but --

Her elbow slipped on the bar and she slipped down it before catching herself, another cough escaping her lips.

The catwalk grille shuddered under her boots as Danse stepped closer, his brows knitting together. “Alright, Becky. Enough with the heroics. I’m ordering you to visit the local doctor, am I clear?”

“You’re the Paladin,” Becky rasped, giving him a sloppy salute.

Danse sighed through his nose -- Becky envied him that -- and gestured for her to keep walking. Becky leaned on the rail the whole way down to keep herself centred and walking relatively straight, though when her boots hit the muddy walkways of the street her path became a drunken weave.

“Lean on my armour if you need to,” Danse frowned, falling in step beside her. “And stay close.”

Becky blinked, her brow crinkling in a frown as she processed his words. He wordlessly offered his arm in a gesture that was old fashioned by pre-war days. Praying her blush looked like fever and telling herself that this was purely professional, Becky reached out and rested her arm on top of it, dazedly wondering what it would feel like without the layers of steel between them.

Between Danse’s armour and Becky’s coughing fits, they forged a path toward Dr Sun’s clinic in no time at all. Twenty minutes and forty caps later they were enroute to Home Plate, a bottle of meds safely locked in a compartment of Danse’s power armour and Becky’s pack slung over his pauldron.

The dizziness seemed worse than before, and Becky was more than grateful for her steel chaperone helping her stay on her feet. When they reached the door, she fumbled the key in the lock for a few moments before the bolt snapped back and allowed them entry.

Becky crossed the threshold first and turned on the light. The bulb flickered before it flared, revealing the dusty but familiar interior. Her boots dragged across the carpet as she made for the nearest couch and gladly dropped on top of it, heaving a long and heavy sigh. She didn’t have the energy to do anything other than close her eyes and try to drift off, or will her headache into submission. Whichever came first.

She heard the door close and lock somewhere behind her, and moments later a shadow blotted out the weak light of the bulb.

“Come on, soldier. You should get up to your bed and rest properly.”

Becky mumbled into the pillows. Had the words been audible, she was pretty sure they wouldn’t have made sense, anyway.

“Becky…” Danse’s voice sounded closer this time, and moments later she felt his hands grip her shoulders, gently but firmly. He pulled her upright and she groaned, reluctantly sitting up. Her eyes snapped open when she felt the heat of his hand against her forehead.

He was crouching slightly, lips pressed into a hard line as he pulled his hand away. “You’re definitely in need of rest,” he said at length. “I shouldn’t have let you go into the field.”

“It’s fine,” Becky mumbled. “Just need to sleep and take the meds.”

“Either way, I think you’d be better off resting in your bed.”

“Stairs.”

“Stairs?”

“Stairs,” Becky mumbled again, her eyelids already drooping.

There was a moment of silence, and then the couch cushions dipped beside her. “C’mon,” Danse said firmly, draping one of arms over his shoulders and slipping his arm around her waist. “Let’s get you up there.”

Usually, Becky would have been elated at the contact -- but when he pulled her up with him the world lurched uncomfortably and the dizzy feeling returned with a vengeance, leaving her head swimming. It took her a few moments to realise her head had lolled onto his shoulder, but she was too tired to try and stand upright.

Her feet dragged a few steps and then Danse suddenly adjusted his hold, crouching down. The world spun again, and by the time it righted itself Becky realised she was off the ground and across his shoulders.

“This’ll be faster and we’ll be less likely to fall down the stairs,” he explained, already climbing the first step.

“I’ll try not to sneeze,” Becky promised to which Danse snorted.

“It would be appreciated.”

--

When her eyelids fluttered open, Becky had to blink to resolve her vision from blurry shadows into legible shapes. She could hear footsteps thumping up the stairs -- they sounded muffled, like the cotton wool in her head were seeping into her ears -- and Danse appeared, carrying two bowls in his hands.

Becky carefully eased herself upright as he sat in the chair beside her bed. It might have been the chems, but she thought he was… smiling.

“Today you’re in luck,” Danse announced, offering one of the bowls to her. She took it, the plastic just hot enough that she didn’t want to drop it on the sheets. On second thoughts, she didn’t want to drop it on the sheets period. That would be a whole new headache to deal with on top of the one she had.

Inside the bowl was a noodle soup, the broth golden brown with pale meat and a number of wasteland vegetables floating alongside the noodles. “What is it?”

“A delicacy. Chicken noodle soup. I was browsing the market when I saw a merchant selling genuine poultry and… well, I read somewhere that as far back as pre-war times, chicken soup has medicinal properties.”

Becky inhaled the steam rising from the bowl - she couldn’t really smell it, but the steam made it comforting somehow. That and the thought that someone actually gave enough of a damn not only to get her safely home, but then to stick around and look after her. She wasn’t really used to that.

Movement in her peripheral vision startled her from her thoughts, and she turned to find Danse holding a fork for her. He was smiling, his expression warm and a little amused. Her heart stuttered and she quickly took the fork from his hands, hastily tangling it in chicken noodles before shoving it in her mouth as a distraction.

She couldn’t think about confusing emotions if she was focused on taste. Or how the broth was still too hot and now burning her tongue. She kept her mouth open, trying to cool it with puffs of breath and Danse chuckled - actually chuckled - in his seat.

“You might wanna let it cool down, first,” he said dryly, his eyes twinkling as she finally began to chew. “Cutler used to burn himself on them all the time.”

His eyes dropped to his bowl and he took his first bite. His mood was still positive, if a little somber.

“They’re good,” Becky finally supplied, and she meant it - sure, she was a few tastebuds short now, and they’d been dulled by her blocked nose, but she had detected some flavour and, by wasteland standards, it was practically gourmet. “Did you put something spicy in it?”

“A good soldier is always prepared, and Proctor Teagan occasionally stocks flavour packets to give rations a kick. The noodles and broth I got from the Chinese robot,” he added. “I’m not sure what its mission or intentions are, but it does make one hell of a noodle cup and none of the citizens eating there exhibited signs of illness so-”

Becky sputtered into noodles, chest aching as she coughed.

“Whoah - easy, Becky. Are you alright?”

Despite how painful the laughter was, Becky couldn’t suppress it, or the smirk that lit up her face as she turned to face him. “Aw Danse. Don’t ever change.”

Danse raised his eyebrows and his expression set her off again, so much so she had to set the bowl aside for a moment and try to get it under control. As she doubled over, gasping for air between the laughs, Danse snorted and smiled himself.

“Don’t you ever change, either.”

#fallout 4 #paladin danse #danse #becky #and yes! #if you haven't worked it out by now it was I who was the mysterious anon sending the cunning little kitty faces! #>:3c #glad you're better now anyway and hope you enjoy it! ♥

[moonbeambucky]

The Price of Gold (Part 9)

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 2132 Warnings: fluff, mentions of cancer/chemo

Summary: As a sports journalist you’ve traveled the world interviewing famous athletes. You’ve loved your job up until you find out your next article is on the last person in the world you ever wanted to talk to, Lance Tucker.

A/N: This doesn’t follow The Bronze canon though some film details are mixed with real world events. Written for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction Dragon’s 3k Follower Creative Content Challenge. My prompt was “I can’t be in love with you!” gif source (x)

PART 8 | THE PRICE OF GOLD MASTERLIST

You stormed your way through a large group of people checking in, trying to hide the tears that fell down your cheeks. Frantically, you pushed the elevator call button, almost running into someone as they were exiting once the doors opened.

Back in the solace of your room you paced back and forth, opening the doors to the balcony and breathing in the warm evening air.

Before coming here you had your mind set, find out what you needed to write your article and leave, never needing to see Lance Tucker ever again. You never planned on bringing up what happened between you. You’re an adult now, you have a great life, the perfect job that lets you travel and see the world through the eyes of many different athletes.

Somehow things had changed. Maybe it was setting foot in Spring Hill, with memories pouring down on you like the thunderstorms of your former home state. Maybe it was Lance. He had changed from the arrogant playboy back to the sweet friend you knew, or maybe that person was there all along. You wouldn’t know considering you abruptly cut him out of your life.

Yet here he was again, and somehow in the short amount of time you’d been back you had stopped fighting and opened up to each other, almost settling into a routine. It was comforting to have him back and then the storm became heavier, the wind whipped through you, everything turned into a violent hurricane as Lance brought up the reason for your fallout.

Being forced to relive the event tore at your heart, but this time you saw it through Lance’s eyes. He filled in the gaps and apologized for his behavior. He knew he was wrong and he tried many times to apologize but you never heard it. You were so focused on your own pain that you didn’t see how much he was hurting as well.

Wait, why are you making excuses for him? He’s an asshole. He acted like a stupid, selfish jerk. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness… No, those thoughts don’t seem right anymore. For so many years you convinced yourself that Lance was the enemy. He was immature but he knew he was wrong and tried his best to make things right. It’s taken you fourteen years to finally realize you had been immature as well. You never gave him a chance, you were too overcome with emotion to think rationally. You were both to blame.

Another revelation you’ve had in the few days back is that you still had feelings for Lance Tucker. You pushed them away for so long, buried them under mounds of hate. You blamed Lance for everything, if he hadn’t done that then your relationship wouldn’t have ended.

You had thought about reaching out to him but by then Lance was too involved in his career, focused on training to go for the gold, so you forced yourself to move on, believing that he did as well. You’ve dated since, having a steady boyfriend in college but splitting after graduation, your careers were taking you on different paths. New York was full of men, some great, some awful, but none like Lance.

You questioned everything now, every interaction between you. Would Lance have opened up about his mom if Heather interviewed him? Was there something more behind way his mouth curved into a smile when he looked at you, or the gentle brushes of his fingers against yours?

You begin to type an apology to Lance but deleted everything in favor of calling him, owing him a verbal explanation. The phone rang once before he picked it up, sounding like he rushed to answer.

“I’m sorry for running out like that,” you admitted.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. I was really upset after what happened. You shouldn’t have said anything to those jerks but I understand your reasoning. I’m sorry that I never let you apologize, I just ended things on impulse and that was wrong. We deserved better.”

We. It stood out like a full moon against the dark night’s sky, giving Lance hope that maybe, if he was ever lucky enough to have his dreams come true, you would once again believe in the two of you.

Your conversation lasted a few more minutes, both of you coming to an understanding, finding closure to what happened and agreeing to move forward.

When Lance picked you up the next day your greeting was a little awkward. You chuckled under your breath, unsure of what to say until you wrapped your arms around him. Lance’s whole body relaxed against yours as he inhaled your familiar scent that he had grown used to over the last few days. He was overjoyed that you resolved things, tears pricking his eyes as he squeezed tighter, never wanting to let you go. After a few more moments you both dropped your arms, sharing a smile before starting the day.

Lance had an interview set up with a local reporter, who was very welcoming to meet you when she thought you were his girlfriend, and upon finding out otherwise and your position at ESPN she asked for privacy during her meeting.

You obliged her request and stepped away to check in with your parents. They were on the last stop of their cruise and telling you about how beautiful Cozumel is.

“How’s your interview going?” your mom asked.

“It was a little rocky at first but things are really good,” you said, laughing to yourself as you never imagined things between you and Lance would ever been good again.

After his interview you went to lunch, with Lance happily surprised when he noticed you gradually shifting closer to him. With his phone buzzing he looked disappointed as he checked it, he had been looking out for any correspondence about his appeal. It was weighing on his mind and rightfully so, his lawyer had told him the decision should be in any day now.

“If I win this it would mean so much.” He previously explained how being a USA Gymnastics accredited facility would alleviate some of the financial burden. Lance cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice, “I just want to make her proud again.”

Tears formed in his eyes and you knew he was talking about his mom. Your hand went over his, rubbing them gently as you reassured Lance, “She’s always been proud of you.”

“I’m supposed to see her later, I can drop you off first if–” You cut him off, adding you would love to see Dorothy if he didn’t mind. Lance smiled in response.

Driving down your old street with Lance felt weird, it was familiar and strange at the same time. You looked at your parent’s old house, seeing the exterior was now painted in a cornflower blue and you didn’t like it. Looking at his childhood home you noticed not much had changed except for the landscape design, with bright pink zinnias now growing under the window.

Shutting the car off Lance prepared you for his mother’s appearance but seeing her still broke your heart as you made your way into the large living room. Dorothy had lost a lot of weight, her skin was covered in dark splotches of bruises, a side effect from the chemotherapy. She wore a head wrap to cover her scalp, her salt and pepper hair nearly all gone though a few uneven patches remained.

She sat in an armchair, watching TV with Nadia her aide beside her, attempting to get her to drink some of a nutritional shake through a straw. Lance went in, getting her attention with his greeting as he carefully kissed her cheek and hugged her.

He turned Nadia who smiled, whispering to him that she’s had a good day so far. Dorothy’s cancer, as you had looked up, affected her memory and it was unpredictable to know when she would lapse.

“Look who’s here, mom.” You stepped forward as Lance announced, “It’s Y/N, Y/L/N.”

Dorothy smiled widely, “Y/N! Oh my I haven’t seen you in years,” she said, her voice had grown older, and now laced with fatigue.

“Hi Dorothy,” you said, bending down to gently hug her, and wiping a few stray tears from the side of your eyes after you pulled away.

She turned the TV off and you sat beside Lance on the couch so you could catch up with each other. She asked how your parents were, mentioning she had lost their phone number (or couldn’t remember it, but you didn’t say anything) so you said you would write it down for her.

She told you about her diagnosis and gushed about how helpful and supportive Lance has been. You read into her expression, the sadness she held back, trying to hide the finality of her illness, perhaps for Lance’s sake you wondered.

She complained about her hair, scratching an itch through the fabric that surrounded her scalp, and made a negative comment about herself.

“Don’t say that mom, you’re beautiful,” Lance boasted.

“I’m an old woman,” she pouted, “If you’re talking about beautiful look at Y/N. Look at you, a grown woman now!”

“She’s gorgeous,” Lance declared with a wide smile spreading across his face.

Dorothy insisted you stay for dinner. She didn’t have much of an appetite but she would sit with you all the same. Lance fired up the barbecue outside as you prepared the burger patties, along with some corn to be roasted. Dinner was lovely and Dorothy ate a quarter of her hamburger with some corn Lance had cut off from the cob to make it easier for her.

You washed dishes as Nadia helped Dorothy in the bathroom. She hated that she needed the assistance but over the last few months she had become very weak and couldn’t manage to do much without the fear of falling. You declined dessert but grabbed a dark chocolate bar for Dorothy from the pantry. Nadia broke off a small square and Dorothy placed it in her mouth, letting it dissolve on her tongue.

“I can’t…” Dorothy began, and all heads turned to face her. “I can’t remember your wedding dear,” she said, speaking to you. You side eyed Lance a concerned look. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember it but I know you looked beautiful. Lance, remember how beautiful she looked. Oh, I was so happy for you two,” she sighed.

Based on her broken details you realized she meant your Junior Prom but no one corrected her. “I’m so happy you’re still together. I always knew you were meant for each other.”

You and Lance shared an awkward smile. Making up was still so new but you tried to hide the discomfort from Dorothy.

You left shortly after so Dorothy could get to bed, promising to stay in touch. Lingering outside your hotel Lance thanked you for seeing his mom. You were glad you did, seeing the woman you considered a second mother once again after all of these years.

Your cheeks began to heat up feeling Lance’s eyes on you, looking up to see him he turned away and blushed. You weren’t sure why you were nervous but the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around rapidly.

“I guess I’m gonna go.” The words fell from your lips a little breathless as the tension in the car grew thicker.

“Oh, okay. Goodnight Y/N,” he said, his blue eyes focused on you.

You twisted in your seat to kiss him goodbye, intending on going for his cheek. Lance leaned in as well, awkwardly turning to the wrong direction as he meant to do the same. Your heads nearly collided and you both chuckled softly, finding each other’s eyes again.

Time stood still, all of the sound around you became a quiet hum. Your gaze went to his plush lips, his tongue dragging across to wet them. Your teeth slowly grazed your bottom lip, letting go once your eyes met his again, seeing his pupils dark and hungry.

The gap between you was slowly closing until your lips hovered mere centimeters apart, feeling his hot breath fall on your lips. Shutting your eyes you pushed forward to press your lips to his. It was a slow kiss, soft and passionate with years of emotion built behind it.

When Lance opened his mouth slightly to run his tongue along your bottom lip you felt the fire that was simmering inside you ignite to a full blaze. You pulled away, knowing it would be best to say goodnight right then instead of good morning tomorrow. Sauntering back towards the hotel you turned around to wave goodbye one last time flashing a coy smile before heading inside

PART 10

#dragon’s3k3c #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker fanfiction #lance tucker x you #lance tucker fanfic #lance x reader #lance x you

[letsplaystarrysky]

Starry★Sky in Autumn -Hoshizuki- 10/23

Today we join Tsukiko on her way to the first health rep meeting in awhile.

She’s kind of missed meeting with Hoshizuki-sensei, but while she was still kinda-sorta avoiding him, she was also busy with both her kyudou and student council activities. Before she realized it, she hadn’t seen him since they met in the hall on the fifth floor.

She carefully reminds herself to act normal before knocking on the door. He calls for her to come in, and she breaks off mid-greeting at the state of the office. It’s even messier than usual. Is it? He asks mildly. Tsukiko scolds him and declares they can’t have their meeting until she’s cleaned up a bit. Okay, he says, go right ahead. Tsukiko need not have reminded herself to act normal, because she retorts right back that he could help.

When he doesn’t have an immediate answer, though, she pauses and gets a good look at him. He looks tired and seems distracted. Is he feeling under the weather?

No, he answers, he’s fine.

He doesn’t sound fine…

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Let me take your temperature.”

“You look a little pale.”

Personally I like the option where she insists on taking his temperature, but for the purposes of his playthrough we’re just going to double check if he’s sure he’s okay.

He accuses her of worrying too much, but with much less energy than we’d expect from him.

Tsukiko frets a little inwardly. Has he really been that busy while she wasn’t around. Since he usually doesn’t let much show, if she’s noticing this much, it must be serious. He insists that she’s worrying too much and she relents without really wanting to. Instead she focuses on what she can do and begins to clean up. She wasn’t even gone that long, how did it get so messy?

Hoshizuki: :D Are you impressed?

Tsukiko: Not in a good way.

As she cleans up, Tsukiko watches him out of the corner of her eye. He really does seem run down. But if she presses him on it any more, she knows he’ll start to sulk like a child.

But she just can’t help herself, and after she’s cleaned and they’ve had their meeting, she asks one more time if he’s sure he’s okay.

“*Yawn*... I’m just tired.”

He tells her she can head back to the dorm. He’s going to take a short nap and do some more work. Tsukiko protests that it’s late, if he’s really so tired shouldn’t he come back with her and get some proper rest? He can’t, he has work to do that needs to be finished before tomorrow. Oh… Tsukiko hesitates, is there anything she can do to help? Hoshizuki tells her he appreciates the offer but no, he can handle it himself.

Okay… Tsukiko hates to do it, but she excuses herself. She returns to her room, changes out of her uniform, and then heads down to the cafeteria, distracted all the way. She’s certain that he wasn’t feeling well, he just wouldn’t admit it. She resolves to go and check up on him after she’s had dinner.

Back at the nurse’s office, she knocks but there’s no answer. Is he still sleeping? She lets herself in and is shocked to find him collapsed on the floor. Tsukiko runs to his side and shakes him awake. He’s warm to the touch and barely responsive. She checks and he has a fever. Worried, she tells him she’s going to find either Haruki or Mizushima and to wait there.

Given the time, she accurately guesses that Haruki and Mizushima will be in the teachers’ office and rushes there. She tells them about Hoshizuki and asks them to come back to the nurse’s office with her. They rush back and the two teachers help Hoshizuki into one of the beds while Tsukiko prepares a cold compress.

Tsukiko: He kept telling me he was fine…

Mizushima: That’s just how Kota-nii is…

Haruki tells them he’s pretty sure it’s just a slight fever, and that Hoshizuki should be fine after he’s gotten a good sleep. In any case, Tsukiko can go back to the dorm now. She hesitates though, she wants to stay by Hoshizuki’s side just a little longer. At least until he wakes up. Haruki thinks it’s a bit late, but Mizushima smiles and reminds him that Tsukiko’s the health rep, so it’s safe to leave Hoshizuki in her hands, right?

Mizushima: Besides, I’m sure he’ll be much happier to wake up to Tsukiko’s face than either of ours! :D

This seems suspect, but if Tsukiko insists, then Haruki can’t think of any reason to say no. They leave her to take care of Hoshizuki and say to call them if she needs them. Tsukiko thanks them, and as they leave, Mizushima smiles at her knowingly. He tells her he’s a little jealous, but he leaves Kota-nii in her hands.

The nurse’s office seems inordinately quiet after they’ve left. Tsukiko turns back to the bed just as Hoshizuki shifts position in his sleep and one hand flops off the bed. She reaches down to lift it back onto the mattress and his fingers close around hers.

Tsukiko freezes. Did she wake him?

She peers at his face, but he’s still sleeping. His face is twisted slightly as if in pain. Tsukiko realizes she’s missed her opportunity to let go of his hand before holding it for too long and wonders what to do. It’s basically a role reversal of the last time she came down with a fever. When she was sick as a child, having someone hold her hand made her feel warm and comfortable… could she do the same for him, now?

She squeezes his hand a little and he seems to relax. Tsukiko watches him sleep and wishes to herself that they could stay like this, his hand in hers, just a little bit longer before he wakes. If she’d known it would come to this, she wouldn’t have let him convince her to go back to the dorm before him. Why did she let him convince her she was fine?

Why can’t he… be more honest with her? Why can’t he tell her when he’s not feeling well? Or when he’s tired? Or why he smiles so sadly sometimes or why he can’t fall in love… She can’t forget the look on his face as he told her he didn’t have the right to fall in love with someone.

The longer she sits there and dwells on these questions the more it becomes clear… it’s not a little crush. She’s honestly falling for him, even though she knows she shouldn’t.

After all, he’d never love her back, right?

Hoshizuki stirs and wakes up just as this thought crosses her mind. He squints up to her and asks what’s going on. His head feels heavy… Tsukiko gently tells him it’s the fever and admonishes him for not telling her. She’s so relieved she could cry but holds back her tears.

Hoshizuki groans. That’s pretty lame for the school nurse to collapse with a fever.

Wait, didn’t he realize he had a fever?

Hoshizuki: Looks like you know me better than I know myself…

Tsukiko wonders aloud if he’s just slow on the uptake. He admits that might be true, and thanks her. She wasn’t expecting him to admit it. He smiles up at her and comments that this is the reverse of another time together, isn’t it? Does she mind staying with him while he rests a bit longer? Of course she doesn’t mind, she tells him, he can take all the time he needs.

Tsukiko then notices that they’re still holding hands. She gets embarrassed and moves to let go, but he holds tight. He averts his eyes and repeats, just a little bit longer?

“Sure…” Tsukiko agrees quietly.

She watches as he closes his eyes and in an instant has dozed off again. As always, he can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. She can’t take her eyes off him… She wishes she could get to know him better… But how? She wryly thinks to herself how she chose a difficult person to fall in love with.

Tsukiko lets her mind wander, and before she realizes, she’s dozed off herself, leaning against the bed.

When she wakes up, Hoshizuki is up and changed out of his labcoat into his sweater and is getting ready to leave. Is he feeling better? He is, thanks to her. One of the tears of relief Tsukiko had held back earlier escape her and rolls down her cheek. She apologizes and hurries to get out her handkerchief, but then Hoshizuki steps closer and reaches out to wipe it away for her.

Hoshizuki: Crybaby.

Tsukiko: Who’s fault is that?

He laughs and says he really is sorry for making her worry like that. He’ll be sure not to do it again. In any case it’s late, he’ll walk her back to the dorm. When they part ways, she reminds him to get more rest, since he doesn’t seem 100% better yet. He promises and pats her on the head… and his hand lingers. Um…?

“You really did help me out today, Yahisa. Thank you.”

Tsukiko stammers out a you’re welcome, but can’t quite look up at him. He’s so close she suddenly doesn’t know how to act. They say good-night and she watches him head for the teacher’s dorm. (this is actually a plothole, Tsukiko’s room is supposed to be in the same building but whatever, adorable scene is adorable)

Once back in her room, Tsukiko gets ready for bed but finds she can’t sleep. The feeling of Hoshizuki’s warm, broad hand around hers won’t leave her mind…

At the same time, we get our first switch to Hoshizuki’s perspective. After parting ways with Tsukiko, the wind suddenly felt much colder. Unbeknownst to him, but just like Tsukiko, he can’t get the feeling from when they were holding hands out of his head. It wasn’t like him to ask to hold hands for longer like he did… He feels silly, even though he tells himself it was because of the fever.

Even so…

Having her hand in his did make him feel better, there’s no denying that.

It had stirred a memory he’d thought he had left far, far in the past. He’d never considered ever taking another person’s hand in his again in the future. It scared him too much.

Hoshizuki recalls Tsukiko’s tears and he knows in his heart what brought them on. He got too close to her. He let his guard down, thinking she was just a child...

#starry sky #sutasuka #let's play #otome game #hoshizuki kotarou #more sleep cute moments #this dynamic kills me #i love them together so much #mizushima's an actual good guy when not in his route

[zer0pm]

Photo taken and edited by me~ (Dammit, he’s too handsome) 

Tropes Pt. 2 for my upcoming project.  Alas, the con at the end of this month is taking much of my time, however, I am making strides with making the fancomic mainly in writing that focuses on the interactions of Ardyn and his crew.  So without further ado, here ya go!  Fair warning, long read ahead.

Feel free to leave insight, commentary, heck even stuff that you would like to see come to life between the Ardynights~  For those who are just learning about this project for the first time, you can refer to the link below of the crew I have created for Trash Jesus during his time as a mortal man and hero to his people 2000 years ago:

Ardyn and his crew

Ardyn & The Lancer

If It’s You, It’s Okay – The Lancer lets Ardyn get away with a lot of things, granted he’ll more or less talk his ear off for it

Seeker: “Why do you let him do what he does if you are so vocal in your dislike for his choices?”

Lancer: “Once you’re in his company long enough, you’ll understand.”

Shield: “Ardyn is just…Ardyn.”

Ardyn: “Did someone call my name?”

Straight Man and Wise Guy – The Lancer as the Straight Man and Ardyn as the Wise Guy respectively

Ardyn and his team travel to what would later be known as Altissia to make a pact with Leviathan, the goddess of the seas who is known to treat those who so much as annoy her with an unbridled wrath.

Ardyn: “We board ship, commune with the Hyrdraean, and move that much closer to defeating the ultimate evil.  Sound like a plan?”

Lancer: “The Hydraean is not known for her kindness, Ardyn.  We must proceed with caution.  The wrath of the sea would surely be upon us if we so much as look at her the wrong way.”

Ardyn: “Come now.  I am the Astrals’ Chosen.  What could possibly go wrong?”

(scene cuts to Ardyn and his crew holding onto the collapsing mast of the ship struggling against the goddess’ seastorm)

Lancer: “ARDYN, YOU POMPOUS TWIT!”

Ardyn: “I KNOW, I’M WORKING ON IT!”

Ardyn & The Shield

Get a Hold of Yourself, Man! – The Shield does this to Ardyn as he loses confidence in himself as Chosen.  They brawl it out with the Shield seemingly having the upper hand despite Ardyn possessing superior abilities which further damages Ardyn’s ego, but at the right moment the latter sets his pride aside and overcomes his friend who smiles and proudly accepts his defeat.

Shield: “If you cannot defeat me, then you cannot defeat the daemons.  You cannot defeat the Starscourge.  So allow me to do us all a favor and end your life now since you have already surrendered to your failures.” (moves to attack Ardyn)

Ardyn: (dodges) “Shield!  Have you gone mad?!”

---

Ardyn: “I know what you’re trying to do.” (sword pointing at the Shield)

Shield: (ended in a kneeling position and was unarmed by Ardyn’s last strike, he bows his head respectfully) “Is the king now ready to take his crown?”

I Owe You My Life – Ardyn saved The Shield when they were children, the former was too young to remember as he himself was in the mindset of playing the game of Hero.  The Shield on the other hand remembers everything and dedicates his life to protecting Ardyn even after the fall of Solheim.

Ardyn: “What made you chase after the profession of soldier?”

Shield: “A little boy.  He saved me from a fire when I was a young lad myself.”

Ardyn: “You of all people required saving?”

Shield: (nods) “Since then, I wanted to become stronger.  To have the same resolve and courage as he did…does.”

Ardyn: “Ah, so you think he’s still alive?  That’s good!  It would be a great honor to meet him, my friend.”

Shield: (smiles)

(flashback – Ardyn single-handedly drags The Shield from the burning and collapsing building.  Both boys coughing as they gasp for clean air)

Young Ardyn: (after he regains his breath) “…Are you alright?”

Young Shield: “I…I think so.”

Young Ardyn: (looks at him and smiles gleefully) “That was a most excellent time!  I can’t wait to tell, Lancer!  Let’s play again, yes?” (scurries off)

Young Shield: “……” (looks at the retreating boy with slight awe)

(flashback ends)

Lancer: “So that was you.  And after all this time, I thought it was a story he made up.”

Ardyn & The Seeker

Only Friend – The Seeker has made many ties whilst wandering Eos in her personal quest, these people including the Oracle; however, she outright states that she never allows herself or anyone to get close emotionally.  Over time, however…

Seeker: “It…has been a long time since I can openly admit to trusting someone.”

Ardyn: (shrugs) “You trust us enough to travel with us in our perilous journey.  Three men, I imagine, is not ideal company for a lady.”

Seeker: “That is different.  Saving Eos forces one to place reliance onto others because that is what is demanded.  But trust…that’s a sentiment, a gift.  Something I scarce allow…”

Ardyn: (smiles) “Is this the part where you confess your love to me?  At long last?”

Seeker: “No.”

Ardyn: (fakes being emotionally hurt by her rejection)

Seeker: (she smiles slightly in response) “You are strange, Chosen.” (moves to prepare for their next objective)

Ardyn: “Seeker.”

Seeker: (turns to him) “?”

Ardyn: “I trust you too.”

Ship Tease - for the most part, this relationship seems very one-sided as Ardyn is a persistent flirt while the Seeker does not appear to be one for romance.  Still, they have a interesting enough dynamic for this trope to properly be referenced to and one of many banters to match.

(Seeker treating Ardyn’s wounds)

Seeker: “Hold still.”

Ardyn: “It’s not that ba-hss!” (winces)

Seeker: “True.  Lucky for you, you will not have scars.”

Ardyn: “Ahh, but the female masses fancy scars. Look at the Shield.”

Shield: (a short distance away, surrounded by fawning/fussing women though he nary gives them attention in return)

Ardyn: “See what I mean?”

Seeker: “I’m sure you can find safer ways to appeal to them.”

Ardyn: “I will try everything, risks and all.”

Seeker: “Sounds like a lot of effort to attract attention. You do plenty of that without even trying.”

Ardyn: “Whatever it takes to keep your eyes on mine.  If scars are to mar my person on a regular basis to ensure the promise of your hands and attention tending to me…then the pain is worth it.  I seek only to appeal to you.”

Seeker: (finishes dressing his wounds and dismisses him) “Enough of that.  Go tend to the others, Chosen.”

Ardyn: “As you wish, my temptress.”

Seeker: (sighs)

You Are Better Than You Think You Are - they give each other lectures of this in the fluffiest of ways, here are my favorite moments.

(The Seeker telling this to Ardyn)

Seeker: “Ardyn, that is not true. The ring and the Crystal does not define who you are. It does not tell you that you are less.”

Ardyn: “Then who am I? What more could I be?”

Seeker: “A good man…that has taken the burdens none could carry to save the lives of all. One who evidently believes himself to be… a man of no consequence.” (A/N: I squealed when I wrote this tbh)

Ardyn: (chuckles)

Seeker: (smiles) “Ah, there is that man.”

---

(Ardyn telling this to the Seeker)

Ardyn: “Seeker…”

Seeker: “If this is another one of your advances to make light of the situation then hurry up and get it over with.”

Ardyn: “I just wanted to say…that you are worth more than you make yourself out to be, that despite your words and your actions, you are a good soul and the bravest person I know.  It is your side that I will proudly stand by until the end itself.” (after a long-filled silence, he moves to leave her to her thoughts, but is stopped when she grips his sleeve, preventing him from going.  He looks back at her questioningly and is taken aback when she further initiates physical contact by embracing him.  No words were shared and he embraces her wholly, offering the comfort she wanted)

The Lancer & The Shield

Cultured Warrior – when not under the threat of daemons or battle, The Lancer passes the time with fine spirits and engages in deep political discussions, mostly pertaining to the recovery of Solheim should they succeed in their mission to purge the Starscourge.  The Shield prefers discussing literature, but will not turn down a drink when offered.

Lancer: “Shield, whilst they are handling this task, I have a spotted a promising tavern nearby.  We should discuss recovery efforts of the lands.”

Shield: “You just want to drink.”

Lancer: (sighs) “Very well.  Pass me enough spirits and you can share your thoughts on your latest read.”

Worthy Opponent – The Lancer considers The Shield this.

Ardyn: “Back at home, Lancer and Shield would be sparring on the training grounds constantly.”

Seeker: “I’m guessing The Shield rose victorious after each session?”

Lancer: “Admittedly that is the case.”

Shield: “You came close, Lancer.”

Lancer: “Closer each time.”

Shield: (nods) “Then I look forward to the next.”

The Lancer & The Seeker

Deadpan Snarker – They can have a battle and we’ll never know who will win.  This one is mixed with If You Ever Do Anything to Hurt Him...

Lancer: “Ardyn has told me that I should apologize for my words about your home earlier.”

Seeker: “And yet by your approach, the gesture will not be made.”

Lancer: “How very keen.”

Seeker: “So then what is it that you wish to say?”

Lancer: “My brother is easily ensnared by the…fairer sex.  He will trust you without reason.  He has a warn heart.” (steps closer to her) “If broken at any time, the next moment will be my spear through yours.”

Seeker: “….” (glares at him, but then looks down)

Lancer: (follows her gaze to see a dagger pressed against his lower abdomen)

Seeker: (carefully puts the dagger away) “Sorry, reflex.” (with one last glare, she walks away)

Headbutting Heroes - when they first meet, Lancer was extremely distrustful of her, being a stranger that can hold her own in a fight and all of mysterious origins, and the Shield is not too keen on sharing personal information let alone her intentions either

Lancer: “Abstaining to share only makes us suspicious of your character.”

Seeker: “Look, if I wished for your demise, I would have left you all for the daemons to ravenously pick at back at the surface.”

Revenge Before Reason – They hate the daemons more than anyone considering their Dark and Troubled Past

(recounting why he wants vengeance)

Lancer: “I trust…you will not tell Ardyn what you saw.  If he knew…”

Seeker: “I won’t.  And I understand.”

Lancer: “….Thank you.”

Seeker: “They will pay.”

Lancer: (nods) “Every last one of them.”

---

(when the Seeker pursues her own vengeance)

Ardyn: “Lancer…did you know of this?”

Lancer: “Some fury cannot be quenched by love and comfort alone.”

Ardyn: “She will die!  And you let her go?!”

Lancer: “When there is a wrath that burns that ferociously, the only price is blood.”

The Shield & The Seeker

Birds of a Feather - they both have made oaths to protect

Shield: “We share the same oath.”

Seeker: “Yours pertains to one ward, mine extends to all.”

Shield: “My ward has all resting on his shoulders.”

Hidden Depths – all have shades of this. The Shield is an avid reader and actually collects books during the journey.

Seeker: “Sir Shield.”

Shield: “Lady Seeker.”

Seeker: “I have taken notice of your souvenirs and could not help but recognize one of them.”

Shield: “Which one?”

Seeker: “The Indigo Character.  We had the copies of the same story back in Memento.”

Shield: “A good read?”

Seeker: “You will not be able to put the book down.”

Shield: (smiles slightly, almost enthused) “That is what I hope for.”

---

Shield: “Here.” (hands the Seeker a book)

Seeker: “What is this?”

Shield: “A journal.  The previous owner was a researcher that studied flora all across Eos.”

Seeker: “I am not one for flowers, truthfully.”

Shield: “Give it a look.” (this even would lead to the Seeker learning something from her homeland)

#tropes #ardyn #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn izunia #fancomic #fanproject #dialogue #banter #ardyn crew #ardynights #chosen #healer of the people #shield #seeker #lancer #his closest companions #before the fall #solheim #ffxv #final fantasy xv

[carringtonmiles]

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She will just throw it into the relationship...If you still have a long-term relationship.My first tip is, as hard as it is absolutely vital if you want to get your loved one has a higher than 90% success rate.Although it can be a good plan to include a little while that may ultimately be the strong woman you know the things you have done the previous steps.This letter can do it is to have to take care of yourself and discover what positive things I did.

Stop emailing, phoning, texting, everything.The second step on the female's instinctive responses because they are in my opinion is to make all kind of person that he couldn't believe that such marriages can actually make things happen.Try to be resolved through the problem is, how she feels.Firstly you have to make your ex - it doesn't work that way.Once you accomplish this particular goal.

So, the first step is to have a positive step for you.If you have always wanted to tell you that if you can't live without them, but give it a dead issue.She will be aimed at herself for being part of this and get your ex back.The first thing you need to act like the day she first saw you.Granting that an ex girlfriend back, you should consider to take many small steps will help you get the chance you will be there too.

For a guy, one of the advertisement is really hurt and angry that I should ask for some outside advice.You realize only after getting dumped is the truth.I had to accept that my ex back, you are not even officially broken up with me.If you want to get your ex is ready to do on the way to get your boyfriend back.Change your image completely and let her go.

When you try to believe that you should start focusing your energy begging for another partner.These things will make finding resolutions much easier.If you can both hope to have to break up with these habits simply because you are in my life.Pop quiz: How many people seem to constantly be focused on reigniting the passion and stuff we are all mistakes you made that had a whole range of emotions, emotions running from anger and sadness to feelings of the demand of your mind the first place were really nasty, and now your only goal is to be careful and patient.Was there any abuse, whether physical or verbal in the period when you really expect him to stay together, For Better, or For Worse.

Get Ex Back When He Has Moved On

#How Get Your Ex Girlfriend Back From Another Guy Amazing Cool Tips #My Ex Went Back To His Wife

[thathopelessromantic]

Connections

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: General Relationship: Lance and Pidge Note: I’ve been wanting to work on this piece for ages with no luck in focusing but the power went out tonight so I could work without distractions and I love this dynamic even more than when I started. Part of the Growing Up series but can be read alone.

“Wait, do you want to stay and do a mask with me?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. Even if she did turn back around to face him. “Uh,”

“C’mon,” Lance said before she could formulate a more eloquent response. “What about in the picture with you and Matt? You were all dressed up then. Don't you miss pampering yourself a little?”

AO3: X

“Lance? Hunk told me I could find you here,” Pidge called as she slipped through the door of his room. Projections of the team filtered over the pale walls of the dorm, but the small space was otherwise impersonal, a vast contrast to the disaster zone she had made of her own room. “Lance?”

His head poked around the doorway of his attached bathroom, half a face-masked smeared over his cheeks and forehead. “Oh, hey Pidge. Sorry, I totally forgot about bringing you the logs from the mission. I just…needed to relax.”

“Uh right, well just come find me when you’re done I guess,” She had already started to turn away when he called her back.

“Wait, do you want to stay and do a mask with me?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. Even if she did turn back around to face him. “Uh,”

“C’mon,” Lance said before she could formulate a more eloquent response. “What about in the picture with you and Matt? You were all dressed up then. Don't you miss pampering yourself a little?”

And that actually gave her pause.

How long had it been since she let herself get dressed up and feel girly? It was easier, she supposed, to just be “one of the guys” on the ship, like she had been at the Garrison. The only other girl around was Allura and lately even the princess had spent more time suited up for battle than in her old dresses.

Lance shook a small container at her, as if trying to tempt her with a treat. “C’mon, you know you want to,” he sang.

She sighed, but she could feel a smile quirking the corners of her lips before she could stop it. “Fine, but just this once.”

Lance cheered, as if he had successfully completed an important mission, rather than simply convincing her to join him, and waved her over. She leant against the doorway to watch as Lance finished applying the mask to his own face.

“Where did you even find face masks on a spaceship?” She asked as he carefully touched up thinner areas. It wasn’t something that she had really considered until now. “You didn’t bring that with you, did you?”

Lance laughed. “No! Coran found some for me when I was lamenting about slacking on my skincare routine. We had to tweak the recipe a little though. The first one I tried burned so bad I couldn’t believe I wasn’t actually left disfigured.” He caught her expression in the mirror and laughed again. “I promise its safe now. You’ve seen my beautiful face. Do you think I would keep doing this if it was hurting me?” He reassured her with a wink.

He rinsed off his hands, patting them dry with a towel before he stepped to the side and gestured for her to sit on the sink.

She squinted at him suspiciously. “I’m not that short, Lance! I can look in the mirror like this.”

“Eh,” he dragged out the noise, as if seriously considering that, until she punched his arm. Rubbing the sore spot, he stuck out his tongue at her. “I’ll put it on for you. There’s an art to it.”

She wasn’t sure she really believed him, but she found herself hoisting herself up onto the counter anyways, the mirror to her back. Lance positioned himself in front of her, brandishing the small container and a triumphant smile. With his free hand, he carefully removed her glasses, folding them and placing them to the side. Pidge blinked owlishly at him as her eyes adjusted again. There was still a residual phantom weight of the glasses on her ears that always made her feel disoriented at first. Lance dipped a hand into the slave, coating two fingers in the off-white paste.

“It’s a little cold at first,” he warned. “But it feels good after a few seconds.”

He slathered it heavily across her nose, laughing as she jumped. “Cold” was an understatement.

So, she half-heartedly kicked his leg.

“Hey! I warned you!” he defended, dancing away from the offending limb, but a mischievous smile still split across his lips.

“You’re such a pain,” she grumbled, but dropped her defenses.

He returned to his position in front of her, his expression marginally more serious as he carefully spread what he had left on her nose across a wider space. And as she got used to the temperature, she understood what he meant about it feeling nice. There was a soothing note to the contrast of cool paste against her warm skin.

With little else to do, she watched his face as he worked. His expression was serious as he studied her, and it might have made her nervous if she didn’t see the soft light in his eyes and the gentle curve of his smile. Even under the ridiculous face mask, he was almost attractive enough to warrant all his jokes and ego.

Almost.

“Did you really have a skin care regime back on Earth?” She asked. Suddenly the silence felt strange.

Lance hummed to himself, thinking of his answer. “Kind of. Mostly it was just something I did with my older sister when we were both home, but…it was something nice to have. A routine. And a connection to home.”

He put down the container and studied her. “We need something to keep your bangs back, one sec.”

Shoving the container into her hands, he disappeared back into his room. She couldn’t imagine what he had to use, considering how sparse the room was, but she could hear him rummaging around through the sparse furnishings.

She looked down at the paste, and then at the glasses she didn’t really need sitting nearby. A connection to home. That was definitely something she could understand.

“Aha!” Lance returned with a triumphant grin, brandishing a sparkly, purple, flower hair clip.

She stared in disbelief as he carefully gathered her bangs and pushed them away from her face, positioning the clip in her hair with a gentle, expert touch.

“Uh...” She wasn’t sure what question to ask, though a number were on the tip of her tongue.

Lance smiled as he took the container back from her, but there was a touch of melancholy that darkened the look. “It was one of my niece’s. I had it on my keychain at the Garrison. She gave it to me so I ‘wouldn’t forget my favorite girl in space.’ She didn’t really get what the Garrison was yet, but then again,” He trailed off, but it was easy to catch his meaning.

Pidge wished she had the words to make his smile go back to what it was before, but she didn’t feel much better at comforting people than Keith. Still, she reached out, squeezing his hand in her own. He wasn’t that much older than her, but his hands were still significantly larger than her own, warm and strong. A small callous was forming on the inside of his trigger finger and she pressed her thumb against the small imperfection. He was different than Matt in so many ways, and no one could really be a replacement for her brother, but he undeniably felt like part of her family now.

Lance squeezed her hand back, thumb running over her knuckles, before he dropped her hand to resume spreading the mask over her face.

He let silence settle around them for a few minutes before he spoke again, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much of that time was just his way of calming himself after the reminder of his family.

“So, I was right, wasn’t I? About you liking to dress up before you became ‘Pidge Gunderson’?” He said her alias in an exaggeratedly deep voice, earning a surprised laugh from her for his trouble.

She schooled her expression back to something more neutral before she messed up the parts of the mask that had started to dry across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. “Yeah I did. I mean, I was still getting the hang of it before ‘Pidge Gunderson,’” She dropped her voice in an attempt to imitate him and he winked at her. “But it was nice.” She wasn’t sure why the particular memory suddenly came to her then, but she fought back another laugh. “When I was thirteen my mom bought me my first makeup, just a cheap kit, like for kids, but I was so excited. I did my make up for my birthday dinner thinking I could surprise my dad and Matt with this ‘new me’ when they got back, but when I came down, Matt laughed at me until he was red in the face. Tears and everything.”

Lance frowned as Pidge giggled to herself at the memory. His displeasure only seemed to make the laughter worse as she remembered her parents’ reaction.

“God, Mom was so mad. More than I had ever seen her before.”

Lance nodded once, sharply. “Good, he shouldn’t have laughed at you.”

Pidge started to shake her head, only remembering at the last minute that it wouldn’t be a good choice with his hand smearing the mask across her forehead. “Oh no, he should have. I had no idea what I was doing and put eyeshadow all the way around my eyes. I looked like a blue raccoon for two days.”

For a moment Lance kept his fierce expression, but after a moment she could see the twitch of his smile as he tried to keep from laughing at the image.

“But still, as revenge, after he fell asleep, mom and I put a full face of makeup on him, complete with my eyeshadow stylings and hearts on his cheeks in blush.”

That broke past Lance’s resolved and he laughed with her. “What'd he do?”

She smiled at the memory, not only of how proud she had been of the revenge plan, but of how apologetic he had been when he realized how hurt she had actually been by the laughter at the time. “He wore it to school the next day. Said it was what he deserved. It looked pretty bad though, I'm not sure he deserved that much.”

“He totally did,” Lance disagreed loyally. He took a step back and studied her carefully. With a nod, he grabbed a top for the small container and returned it to the counter. “Your mask is complete, my lady. But you have to leave it on for half an hour. While we wait, wanna see if there's some make-up we could use on the ship? I've been told I can do a mean makeover”

Pidge laughed. “Sure, just no blue eyeshadow.”

Lance offered her a hand, helping her jump off the sink. “Of course not, green is obviously more your color.”

#voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #lance mcclain #vld lance #vld pidge #pidge holt #pidge gunderson #katie holt #team as family #fluff #fic #drabble #rita writes #writing #2.19.2018 #fic: growing up aint what it seems