#there's a learning curve of a couple of chapters to adjust to the style

[fictionadventurer]

There's something about reading really great writing that's so relaxing. You can just sit back and let the words wash over you, knowing that you can trust the writer.

[pettyprocrastination]

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Reader

Chapter Three

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Straight up smut first thing in the fic, we startin’ off with a bang folks. Profanity, they stare at ur booty ;). Ur patience is TESTED by these rich idiots. 

Chapter Summary: The great Maxwell lord is having trouble focusing lately, You have your first consultation with the famed Lord couple and realize their clashing styles and all around personalities may cause an issue (or cause you to kill somebody). 

Tag List: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ @zeldasayer​ @readsalot73​ @captainsamwlsn​

Chapters: 1/2/3

(I will not stop using marilyn gifs for val she’s just so beautiful you guys hhhhh)

Max felt distracted. Muddled. He wasn’t sure what it was lately that had him in such a rut. 

“Maxwell!” His secretary whimpered beneath him, his hand moved from gripping her hair to slapping over her mouth to try and silence her nails-on-a-chalkboard like voice. He wasn’t sure if anybody outside his office heard her, and if they did he couldn't care less. They knew by now to ignore any suspicious moans or groans and keep doing their job unless they wanted to lose it. 

What she should have known by now is to never call him by his first name.  

The company was doing good, it was doing great in fact. He and Valerie weren’t spending time together, which was usual, and Alastair was home for the summer. Nothing was out of place, so why did he feel off?

Maybe it was you. 

That ridiculous seamstress with the even more ridiculous nickname and ridiculous outfits. I mean Stitches? What were you, a fucking dog? 

Delilah, the secretary currently moaning beneath him like a cheap whore, tried to grip at his jacket with trembling hands as he pulled her closer and closer to her climax with each thrust. He slapped her hands away without even looking down at her, eyes squeezed shut as he chased his own release instead of attending to hers. 

Valerie insisted he go to the “design consultation” with her today, which meant leaving his office in the middle of a goddamn work day to hear her prattle on about what color makes her feel the prettiest. Usually he’d stand his ground and refuse, but lately a break from work didn’t seem all that bad. 

All because of his goddamn secretary. 

The woman in question grabbed onto his wrist and cried against his hand, even muffled he could still hear her grating moans. Lately she’d been cuddly with him after each screw, trying to nuzzle his shoulder and ask for things like he was some pathetic sob paying for a sugar baby instead of her fucking boss. 

He’d have to fire her soon, if her whiny voice didn’t do her in, the piss poor work ethic would. 

But for a moment, when he looked down at her, with her back arched and eyes shut as she fluttered around his cock, he was reminded of that ridiculous seamstress, the little noise of surprise you made when he clamped a hand over your mouth, and just how soft your skin felt under his palm. 

Maxwell would never admit this to anybody. But that image alone made him cum on the spot. 

Maxwell Lord was a man who learned how to compartmentalize at a young age and never stopped doing so. He pulled out of the boneless woman beneath him, before cleaning himself up and tucking himself into his trousers while she laid against his desk, panting like a dog in the heat. 

Not like she fucking did anything. 

His ringed hand landed a stinging slap to her thigh that shocked her out of her blissful haze. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day, take my calls and let them know I won’t be back in until tomorrow.”

She blinked, watching owlishly as he grabbed his briefcase from his desk before walking out of his office. “Where are you going?” The way she sounded so disappointed and shaky as if he had broken a promise to her made him feel nauseous. 

He didn’t bother giving her a response. 

----

The moment his driver parked outside of the store, he saw a convertible drive up to the curb before stopping, he knew the cherry red color better than anyone, as it’s the same shade of the car he gifted Valerie for their five year anniversary. 

She stepped out, avoiding the jump in the curb as she adjusted her hair and dress before her eyes landed on his car and flashed him a condescending smile. 

Maxwell knew even though he was only two seconds later than she was, Valerie would still hold it over his head like a treat. He stepped out of the car, mindful of any gutter water around him this time and walked to his wife. 

“I wish I could say you're fashionably late at least but-” Her blue eyes ran down his suit, brand name and costly before smirking. “-you didn’t even bring that to the table.”

He let out a short humorless laugh before taking the handle of the door. 

“Oh? No witty remark about my outfit?” The woman feigned surprise as her husband raked his eyes down the baby blue dress that stopped just above her knees and fit her curves like a glove.

Valerie Lord held a doctorate and multiple books studying the human mind and the effects shaping childhood, she was an intelligent woman. Which meant she knew damn well just how good she looked. 

She just wanted to hear him admit it. 

“It looks good.” He said plainly, not hiding the way his eyes clung to the supple form of her thighs that she teased under a white sundress just last week. 

The curve in her red lips was the closest he’d gotten to an honest smile from her in ages. “You should know. You bought it for me after all.”

“I’m a man of refined tastes.” Max answered simply before giving her an almost playful swat on the ass and opening the door for her. 

The moment they entered the girl at the register from before, young and anxious, looked at them with wide eyes. A textbook laid open on the counter in front of her. 

She gaped for a moment before Valerie smiled at her. 

“Hello sweetheart.” His wife cooed, “We’re here for a consultation with the bosslady, mind letting her know for me?”

The girl pointed to an open door against the back wall. “She takes her consultations in that room.”

Valerie gave the young girl a quick pat on the cheek before walking into the room and calling out “Thank you dear!” over her shoulder. 

“Did you have to talk to the kid?” Maxwell mumbled under his breath to his wife, who scoffed in reply. 

“Well I wasn’t about to stand there in silence and scare the poor girl half to death like you were.” 

Maxwell looked at her incredulously. “I was not scar-”

His denials were cut off upon entering the room, which was laid with multiple chairs surrounding a table, covered in books displaying different types of dress and suit styles, a few fabric swatches were spread out as well. But the main focus of the Lords was on you, currently bent over, digging through a large container in the corner of the room as you grumbled and huffed, hips swaying and ass raised high in the air as if presented to them like a gift. 

One they admired greatly and for much too long to be deemed socially acceptable. 

Valerie tilted her head to the side with a little hum, enjoying the view before her just as Maxwell did, before he eventually coughed into his fist to make themselves known. 

You jumped up at an angle from surprise, accidentally thumping your head against the wall. A shouted curse left your lips as you rubbed your head. 

“Hard at work or hardly working?” Maxwell droned. 

“You're late.”

His wife smiled. “And you're exceptionally perky.”

“What?”

His elbow dug into her side. “What she meant to say was that we live busy lives. But we're here now so let’s get this over with.”

The three of you took seats at the table in the middle of the room, you handed each of them a design booklet before flipping open a blank notebook for yourself. 

“Any initial idea’s the pair of you have?” You twirled the pencil between your fingers as you spoke. “Or at least any automatic no’s?”

“Nothing too loud.” Maxwell told you. 

“Or too dull.” His wife added.

“No floral.”

“But don’t be afraid to use patterns.”

“No sparkles.”

“No tweed.”

“And absolutely no plaid.” They finished together. You stared at the list on your paper before blowing out a long breath. 

“Alright. So you don’t want anything dull, but also not loud, but no patterns, but use patterns, nothing with sparkles, or tweed and-”

“No plaid.” They reminded you in unison. 

“Uh, right. No plaid.” You didn’t enjoy them as separate people but somehow they were even worse together. “So is there anything the two of you can agree on wanting?”

“Color coordination.” Max told you. Your shoulders dropped with relief. Fucking finally. 

“Okay. Okay that I can work with.” A steady stream of ideas began in your head. The accent colors of Maxwell’s suit would match the main color of Valerie’s dress. 

“We’d have to match Alastair as well.” 

Your pencil froze on the page. “Who?”

Maxwell’s brows cinched together. He seemed offended by the fact you didn’t know who was the poor bastard who got stuck with that ridiculous name. 

“Our son.” He answered. “But don’t worry about making anything for him. He won’t be accompanying us anyways.”

“And why not?” His wife countered. She had turned in her chair to face her husband with an angry look. With each passing minute this started to feel more like couples counseling than a consultation to make them some fucking clothes. 

“Because the gala is in September, dear.” His voice was so sickly sweet you could practically feel the patronization dripping off of it. “He’ll be back at the boarding school by then.”

Of course this kid goes to boarding school. Eventually you just zoned out their argument and began to draw up ideas. It’s probably better the kid is away from these two though. God forbid you meet what type of monster they made.

“For how much money you pay that damn school it’s a miracle you don’t know their schedule. He has a two week break in September at the same time of the gala.” “For what?” Max damn near shouted. At this point you abandoned your notebook and pencil in favor of rubbing your temples. 

“I don’t know. Some dead president, I'm not on the school board!”

“Well maybe you-”

“ALRIGHT!”

The pair stopped arguing and shot back to you, eyes wide at the sheer audacity you had to shout at them. 

Nobody shouted at them. 

“I’ll make a suit for the kid, okay?” You explained weakly. “Could we please, just, get to the actual goddamn design you two want?”

Valerie stared at you, before looking at her husband who had the same “Well I’ll be damned” look on his face as her. She tilted her head to the side and he shrugged in response. 

The heavy use of non-verbal communication they had just made you feel like even more of an outsider.

“Well I don’t see why not.” Maxwell sighed, grabbing one of the books in front and flipped through the suits in it. “I blocked out the rest of my day for this anyways.” 

The pair spent the next hour and a half flipping through design books and pointing out to you what they liked and what they hated. 

They seemed to hate a lot.

But you still learned enough about them to cross out some ideas and begin finalizing others. While Maxwell could wear a solid colored dark suit, he didn’t box himself in that way. He enjoyed a notch lapel type with pinstripes, and seemed quite partial to robin egg blue given how often he pointed out the color on other designs.

Valerie enjoyed solid color dresses rather than those with patterns on them, and while she often wore clothes made to hug her figure, each gown she pointed out flared out at the waist, reminiscent of a princess at a ball. 

Their son, well you had no idea what the kid liked. But given he was a child, he probably hated most suits, as certain brands were just as scratchy as they were expensive, so you made note to find something especially soft to make it out for their child, who’s suit would most likely mirror his father’s.  

Eventually you pushed away from the table, four pages full of notes and concepts as you rubbed your eyes. “I think that will be enough for today.”

“Poor thing.” Maxwell simpered with pursed lips. “Are we tiring the baby?”

Valerie slapped her husband’s shoulder. “Maxwell don’t be rude. Of course the poor girl is exhausted. Just look at the bags beneath her eyes!”

You spared a glance up at them to place a hand over your heart. “It truly is a blessing to be working with you both. A gift if I’m being honest.”

Valerie stood up from the table and set a hand on your shoulder as you walked them out. When she walked close enough you were surrounded with the citrus perfume she wore the last time she came over. “Oh we’re just kidding. You show a lot of promise Stitches, don’t disappoint and we might just keep you around.” She bumped her hip against yours with a coy smile, you did your best to ignore the funny flips your stomach did at the suggestion of them liking you so much they return for your work again and again and again.

“Which wouldn't be that hard.” Maxwell smirked at you and waved a blase hand through the air while the other opened the door for his wife. “The standards aren’t set very high given the fact that your own sense of style has you dressing like a hippie liberal arts teacher.”

The door slowly closed behind them as they walked to their cars, but before it could shut completely you poked your head out to say. “Those are some mighty big words coming from the guy dressed like a car salesmen with a secret latex fetish.”

Even with the door shut you could hear his wife’s shrieking laughter. 

Authors note: Slooooowwww burrrrrnnn babey.Now that they consultation is done we can move on to these assholes just bursting into your store to “see your progress” and then TENSION WHILE GETTING THEIR MEASUREMENTS. Also Maxwell lord is so starved of actual chemistry and love that the mere thought of a woman he may be actually attracted to he BUSTS that second lmao. Alastair will be included in the fic!! Wrote headcanons for him last night n i got all soft and emotional. But no joke writing this fic and doing headcanons for it is honestly so fun and relaxing for me so if you want to be tagges or talk hcs PLEASE send them my way I love this ot3 of power bisexuals. 

[existtoforget]

FAME AND THE FAMOUS

Pain without reason was something Charles Bukowski (1920-1994) learned quickly. Born in Germany but raised in Los Angeles, his unfiltered view on life stemmed from the hardships he endured as a child, establishing his crude view of the world at an early age. Writing was Bukowski’s attempt to control his environment and a space to work through painful emotions. In “An Almost Made Up Poem,” Bukowski’s vulnerability authentically captures the stages of relationships and warns others to be wary of concerning the public with private life scenarios. The stream of consciousness narrative represents the thoughts and memories rushing frantically through his head after learning about the death of someone he loved, and his raw but straightforward writing style challenges readers to question aspects of their own lives condemned in his writing.

The ballad-like verses are exhausted and drawn out, expressing his tiredness, and the long sentences structure the poem in place of clearly defined stanzas. The changes in agency throughout the poem - from “I” to “you” and occasionally “we” - alter the meaning and tone of each fragment of his thoughts, creating an emotional curve that is divisible by the sentences. Proper nouns, “I,” and “ANGELS AND GOD” are the only words capitalized in the poem, a reference to her writing and his perception of his worldly position. Bukowski reminisces on her “insane” poems that were “all in upper-case” with a respectable tone, and the capitalization of “ANGELS AND GOD” is a reference to her work. Going so far as to claim that she was “one of the best female poets,” paired with the adjectives used to describe her, Bukowski makes his admiration for the young writer apparent. However, it is curious that “you,” “we,” “if,” and “so” are lowercase despite being the first words of sentences.

Bukowski takes readers through his memories of the relationship’s emotional stages and the feelings they evoke after her suicide. The poetic arrangement of his memories, sparked by grief, starts with their last correspondence: their unique love story’s final moment. It isn’t until the end of the poem that we realize the first sentence depicts what is going through his head when learning of her suicide. “That last letter” was the last chapter of their private life together, but Bukowski goes on to illustrate the phases before and his perceptions after. As he begins delving into his memories of her writing and their interactions, he, at first, focuses on shortcomings: specifically, her inability to eliminate wealth and fame’s control over her life. This superior attitude and perspective are confirmed when he writes that “of course,” the “beautiful young girl” eventually realizes there is a necessity to finding security beyond superficial things. He denotes his view on her lack of regard for his life experiences as being foolish, exemplifying a common stage in the process of grief: blame. Part of which is placed on “fame” and the “famous,” her failure to listen, and his inability to convince her. His repetition and negative framing of the two words mirror his views on public life interfering with private, placing further blame for her death on society’s tendency to put a price on love and criticize aspects of other people’s lives.

“An Almost Made Up Poem” is a unique arrangement of life because, at the time, it was uncommon for people who had never met to be in love, the letter-writing indicating this is not a recent love story. This type of unconventional relationship is more relatable today than it was when Bukowski wrote the poem. Technological advancements foster relationships with few to no constraints imposed by geography, and as a result, it has become increasingly common for a couple to have never physically met. Because of this, pleasure can be obtained by a vast demographic, specifically the youth, and their ability to relate to relationships that don’t fit within the typical constraints set by society. Bukowski thinks it may have been “best like this” so that neither would have had the opportunity to be “unfair” to one another, but he is unsure. His cynical view on relationships is that “all lovers betray,” and in this instance, death may have been the inevitable form of heartbreak, considering he never rolled a cigarette while listening to her pee.

Beginning with the end enables a full circle and clear connection to be drawn to the stages of emotions about his memories and her suicide. “Your letters got sadder” indicates a significant shift in the tone of the poem, the emotions provoked by his memories, and her mental state. Throughout the poem, he expresses both his mixed feelings and hers: relaying her realizations about fame and his indecisiveness on who is to blame. Apparent hatred of fame remains consistent, as does his love, yet he criticizes her ethics and questions the possibility of a different outcome had she heeded his warnings. Their relationship and life were arranged in his imagination and writing before her death because they never met. However, their perspective on and arrangement in life were divided throughout their relationship because of her inability to separate public and private life. The framing of the famous is where he sees a divide between them. In Bukowski’s mind, this is why their love story and life together were arranged solely on paper - it may have failed if it left to anything but the imagination and their poetry.

The woman’s description at the fountain in France and the immediate repetition paints a pleasant picture of Bukowski’s imagination in the readers’ mind. He retracts his initial statement that she is tiny, and an abrupt “no” prompts readers to stop and adjust their perception with him. It also serves to correct the poem’s first claim, “I see,” reinforcing the narrative’s structure in the mental realm. This first scene is aesthetically pleasing to visualize and draws readers into his stream of consciousness. He sacrifices his vulnerability to teach and relate to the reader; this transparency permits his love to be declared before he explicitly claims to have loved her. The author’s descriptive adjectives for her - small, beautiful, young, mad, magic - promote dramatic, angelic perceptions of her appearance and attitude. Pleasure and reassurance are conjured from the imagery, along with his argument that true love can exist outside societal constraints. For some, his dark and hopeless view of love are relatable, while others experience soothing contentment from the author’s depiction of something beautiful. He argues that despite the romantic aspects of love, the idealistic, corrupt components will reign supreme, and someone will always get betrayed in the end. At the risk of seeming selfish, he implies her suicide betrayed him. While dark, it is a relatable emotion that exemplifies the emptiness stage many go through after losing a loved one.

Bukowski’s intention behind the long sentences was for the poem to feel like his stream of thoughts after learning of his love’s death: dramatic and anxiety-ridden. The symbolic and literal presence of God throughout the first half of the poem disappears with a rare change in agency (to “we” - one of the few times he references them together) and his statement “we know God is dead, they’ told us.” He says that her writing persuades him to doubt God’s death, illustrated by references to a higher realm/power present only in the first half. Magnificent “upper case” writing was the only thing that made him feel like God could be present in the world, but it seems their perceptions were incongruous. The “fame” and the “famous,” and their entrapment between“ANGELS AND GOD” shows an inability to break free from greed and their difference in opinion of objects worthy of worship. She associated higher power with her famous lovers and even shifted the subject of her writing to encapsulate them. Bukowski attributes part of the blame for her death on this failure to find security outside of superficiality.

The anger and confusion felt after her suicide, expressed honestly and bluntly, serves to warn youth of love’s dangers. Bukowski’s letter to his unrequited, and now dead, love elicits a response from his audience with antagonistic word choices and his willingness to open himself to criticism from others. He is mad she didn’t listen to him but also blames himself for failing to stop her. The poem is arranged by “if”s and “so”s because that is life at its simplest, and his way of understanding the sequence of events that unfolded while simultaneously questioning if their lives could have, or should have, gone differently—prompting readers to question their relationship with “fame” and the “famous” and warning of the intoxicating powers that claimed her life. “She’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” was Bukowski’s way of saying the young writer was unapologetic of her strange perspectives and true to her heart, but only in her writing. Her authenticity and brilliance were a brave expression of the magical madness within each of us, her passion allowing for truths to be shared and adding an unmistakable presence to the world. Perception is not always reality, and Charles Bukowski’s struggle with this and raw view on life is exemplified in his arrangement of imagination and life in “An Almost Made Up Poem.” The conclusion that “it was best like this” reflects Bukowski’s relationship with death, reinforcing that this experience with love, and all others, warrant a cynical analysis.

AN ALMOST MADE UP POEM - CHARLES BUKOWSKI (1920-1994)

I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny

blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny

they are small, and the fountain is in France

where you wrote me that last letter and

I answered and never heard from you again.

you used to write insane poems about

ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you

knew famous artists and most of them

were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,

go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous

because we’ never met. we got close once in

New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never

touched.

so you went with the famous and wrote

about the famous, and, of course, what you found out

is that the famous are worried about

their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed

with them, who gives them that, and then awakens

in the morning to write upper case poems about

ANGELS AND GOD.

we know God is dead, they’ told

us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe

it was the upper case.

you were one of the best female poets and I told the publishers,

editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’

magic. there’ no lie in her fire.”

I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only

writes to, keeps little photographs of.

I would have loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a

cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,

but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.

your lovers betrayed you.

kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray.

it didn’ help.

you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and

the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying

bench every night and wept for the lovers who had

hurt and forgotten you.

I wrote back but never heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide 3 or 4 months after it happened.

if I had met you I would probably have been unfair to you or you to me. it was best like this.

[ficsnroses]

Friends With Benefits Part 2 - Keanu Reeves x Reader

Chapter 2 ~ A Mid Weeks Visit.

Part 1

Word Count : 2834

Warnings : NSFW, Swearing, Unprotected Sex, Use of Plan B. Fluff. 18+ readers.

Summary : What happens when two, lonely friends start seeing and confiding in each other for sex? A tricky friends with benefits love story, when feelings get in the way.

notes : welcome to chapter two! Can’t wait to hear what all you lovely folks think. :)

City nightlife was really something dreamy. The drive to Keanu’s house was equipped with nonchalant gazes at the town that surrounded, filled with beauty to the brim. It was nearing the end of November, signaling the splurge of Christmas cheer in every part of the city. It had been garnished with Christmas trees, seeming as if they erupted from the chalky ground, branches embellished with pretty reds and greens.

Had it not been for the snarl of the car engine, you may have just felt as if floating in a dreamland. Prop designing didn’t pay the best sometimes, and you never had stability with finding work. Attributed to the latter, you had a pretty shitty car. It got you from place to place, serving its ultimate purpose. Keanu hated the fact that you still drove around the rather undesirable piece of machinery, he would tell you to get a new one every time he saw it. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t afford that. Easy for Mr big shot movie star to say, you often laughed to yourself.

People seemed to get happier, more doused in love during this season. Everywhere your eyes glanced, couples held hands, stealing heartfelt glimpses at each other. It must have been nice to have a person during this time of year. Someone to call your own, someone to make the holiday season merrier.

You realized, you had never spent the holidays with a significant other. Sure, you had a few boyfriends here and there, but no one ever felt special enough to last. Normally for you, “us” seemed to cease to exist nearing the end of the year, leaving just you alone. You were just unlucky in love, you guessed.

Once at the gate, you paused momentarily, parking your car and fixing yourself a little. Keanu and you got to know each other pretty well over the past year and a half. Ever since you started getting intimate, you’d basically memorized each others bodies. You still liked to look good for him though, liked to make him desire you.

Although you had showered and took off your makeup before Keanu texted, you opted to still fix up your hair a little, and apply a light layer of concealer and a nude lipstick. You had also thrown on a lacy black bralette for him to take off of you, you knew he liked it when you wore lace.

You had worn lingerie for Keanu before, but only on special occasions. Usually, this meant birthday sex, when you would go the extra mile to make him feel good. He was a sucker for seeing you in lace, the image of the silky fabric coating the perfect curves of your figure made his mind fog with lust for you, he found himself quite lucky to get to have you to himself in times like that.

Nevertheless, lingerie was still rare in your sex life. It felt a little silly to you. Maybe if you were in a real relationship, you know, like boyfriend and girlfriend, you would wear it more often.

The thought of Keanu and you being more than just sex for each other came across your mind often, more often than you’d like to admit. You wondered how different it would be if you did more things together, confided in each other for more than just sexual intimacy. How it would be if you were…in love.

But you were just friends with benefits, after all. You were both just in it for the sex, to have each other fill the void of intimacy. You couldn’t possibly hope to be something more; it was too late. At the end of the day, you both just needed each other’s bodies to get the deed done, lingerie or not.

•

           “Hey Y/N” Keanu’s deep voice spoke and gave you a small smile, as he opened the door for you. He was in just sweats and his favourite gray Arch t-shirt, his long hair ruffled and messy. His hair was one of your favourite features of him, you loved when he would style it for events out, but you also loved the untamed version he often put on display for you. Not to mention, being on the longer side, his hair was perfect to hold onto and pull as he buried himself deep inside you late into the night.

He put an arm around you, and gave you a quick, small hug as he pulled you inside.

“Hey.” You smiled back, although yours faded much faster. You loved being close to Keanu, and you loved the relief you were able to give to each other. But something inside you had been sparking up recently, feeling almost as if something was wrong. Like you were doing something you didn’t completely want to anymore.

Closing the bulky carved entry door, Keanu crossed his arms, rubbing them up and down, shivering. “It’s freezing, thanks for still coming out though.” He leaned in close to give you a kiss to the side of your head, paired deliciously with a warm smile. Gosh, he was so fucking dreamy.

“Long day?” you asked, padding into his kitchen. Keanu and you were pretty comfortable in each other’s houses by this point, you were there pretty often. On normal, Keanu and you got intimate around half the days of the entire week. Weekend nights were popular, but sometimes one of you needed to burn some steam in the middle of the week as well. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights for Keanu.

“Yeah, lots of training.” Keanu trailed behind you, a very slight limp in his walk. He was an extremely hard worker, and you admired that a ton. You didn’t mind being there for him on days like this where he needed to relax and unwind.

           “You’re getting slow, old man.” You chuckled, bringing a bottle of water you grabbed out of the fridge to your lips.

“Who you callin old man?” Keanu laughed, blowing out the eucalyptus scented candle he had burning on the countertop. “How was your day, hun?” he questioned.

You had a love hate relationship with him calling you affectionate names. It felt…relationshippy? And you weren’t in a relationship. Killed you a little to know he wasn’t saying it the same way a significant other would.

“It was okay, did some work, the usual. Nothing close to training, though.” You smiled, fiddling with the bottle you had now placed on the marble counter top. You walked over, closer to Keanu.

Running a hand up his chest, you kissed the side of his jawline. He quickly placed his hands on your hips. With your arms secured around his neck, you proposed. “Lemme help you?”

“Please.” Keanu breathed, and you felt an erection growing, bulging at your mid as you connected your lips with his.

Keanu took your hand in his, and walked you up to his bedroom. Closing the door, and switching the lights off, he watched as you adjusted yourself on his bed, and pulled your shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

Keanu exhaled, palming his bulge. “You look really pretty today.”

“Come, baby.” You reached out for him, as he unbuckled his belt, tossing it in proximity to your shirt. He climbed under the covers, and tried to get on top of you. You held your hand to his chest however, stopping him. “Let me top tonight, you’re tired.” You stated, rolling him over to straddle.

“Gladly” he smirked. He leaned up to place a few lingering, wet kisses to your breasts, still covered with the lace bra. “This looks great on you, by the way.” He wearily exhaled. You always managed to turn him on to the point where his breath shook.

“Take it off” you told him, kissing up and down his neck, running your hands over his chest. He reached behind to unclasp the bra on display over your modesty. He moaned slightly at the sight of your bare chest. “Beautiful.” he whispered, causing your own core to drench for him. You had learned over time; Keanu was more of a boobs than ass type of guy. He would often bury his face into your chest when you hugged him, or while he was on top during sex.

Keanu reached his arm over to the bedside table where he kept condoms. You both always kept at least one box in both of your bedside tables, at both of your respective houses. The first time you ever had sex that night a year before, Keanu resorted to coming in his hand, and you both had a good laugh over that the first time you discussed it. You made sure to keep protection at hand after that.

“No,” You grabbed his arm. He shot you a questioning look. “I wanna try something different today, I want to feel all of you.” You quietly said, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” he asked, confused at your sudden change of mind. You always made sure you used protection, you would hate to fall pregnant. You did want children eventually, but not like this. Not with your “fuck buddy”.

“Trust me.” You kissed his lips again, lacing your hand with his. With your free hand, you cover your palm with a bit of spit, and reach down to pump him a few times, lining him up with your entrance.

Sinking onto him, you sighed in releif. It burns at first, every single time. Keanu is big, and it always takes a few seconds to adjust. It burns, but it feels so incredibly good. He’s really a treat.

Keanu’s hands are on your hips, as he helps bounce you up and down. He’s a master of pace, and alternates between slow and fast thrusts. He rolls his eyes back, muttering a few inaudible words above his breath.

“Is it good?” you ask, head titled back, seeing star like dots as you close your eyes.

“So good. The best.” You hear him reply.

Spreading your legs further apart, you allow him to go deeper, digging nails into his chest as you bring your forehead to connect with his. You can hear the slickness of your core as he slides in and out.

“Gosh, you’re so good to me.” Keanu moans, briefly moistening his thumb before bringing it down to rub your clit.

Not wanting you to do all the work, Keanu gently nudged you to roll off as he rolls on top of you, immediately sliding into you again. He tries to go slow at first, wanting you both to last as long as possible. Unable to control, he started moving in quick, pounding thrusts.

“Where do you want it, hun?” he asks, nearing his release.

“Inside.” You couldn’t believe what you were saying, but the pleasure was so good in that moment, and you wanted to feel him even closer. You wanted to be more intimate in that moment than you already were, you wanted to feel him deep inside.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” he pumped into faster and faster now, but unable to control or stop himself from the immense pleasure that was engulfing his body.

When Keanu and you were intimate, he always had a signature look you were able to indulge in. His sparse eyebrows would furrow together, his lips slightly parting as he let out small moans of satisfaction. Every now and then, he would close his eyes shut and lean his head back, his long, charcoal hair falling into his face.

“Yeah, go baby.” You hushed, clawing your nails into his biceps, holding onto him.

He brings you into your climax, and you moan loud. The release lasted longer than normal, the sex was better than usual tonight. Hearing your moan brought him over the edge as well, and you felt a sudden burst of warmth deep inside you, and his cock twitch between your walls as he moaned your name multiple times.

“Oh YN. Fuck.” He half gasps, half moans as you feel him relax his tensed muscles, and bury his face in the crook of your neck. He’s still buried inside you, as he tries to catch his breath. You both stay like that for a few moments, your hands trailing up and down his back, soothing him.

“That was new…” Keanu says as he lifts his head, taking in your features now. Your forehead was visibly sweaty, and a few stray hairs clung to your face.

“Was it okay?” you question, propping yourself up a little on your elbows, slightly scared he didn’t like it as much as usual.

“It was amazing, Y/N. You’re always amazing. But…” he glances down between you two at his cock still inside you. He came inside you, without protection.

“I can grab some plan B tomorrow.” You say, cupping his cheek.

“Spend the night, and I’ll come with you in the morning, then?” he asked lightly. You felt butterflies inside your stomach at his genuine care for you. You had never spent the night at his house before, however. Usually, he asked, but you insisted. You never wanted to intrude.

With a ponder, you replied. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.” Smiling at him, you both locked eyes. You two were having…a moment? It was different than usual.

Rolling off and out of you, Keanu grabbed a towel from the beside to wipe himself off first, and then you, including whatever he felt behind. You pulled the off white covers over your bare chest, watching him pull on some sweatpants.

“I can take the guest room.” You said quietly, looking down, feeling slightly uncomfortable. You hoped he was doing this because he genuinely wanted to, and not because he felt like he needed to.

He glanced at you, and gave a questioning look. “Are you insane? Stop being silly, Y/N. We’ve been in this bed together many times. You can sleep right here, beside me.” Keanu’s eyes widened suddenly. “Oh god, I’m sorry Y/N. Of course, only if you want to. You don’t have to, you can take the guest room if you think its weird. I’m sorry,” he rambled, running his thick fingers through his hair.

“No, Keanu. It’s fine. I can sleep here.” You smiled.

“Great! Do you want to take a shower, or anything? I can grab you a spare shirt to sleep in.” he spoke as he walked to his closet, grabbing a shirt for you. “Do you need anything before bed? A cup of tea maybe, some water?” he questioned, back still turned to you.

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.” You said, smiling to yourself. He was so caring.

After a quick trip to the washroom, and a splash of water to your face to wash away the sweat and makeup, you walked back into Keanu’s bedroom and found him waiting in bed for you. He was browsing his phone, positioned upright on the right side of the bed.

“Hey, you. Thought I’d give you the better side. You deserve it tonight.” He chuckled, patting the spot beside him.

“Thanks.” You replied, getting under the covers.

“I don’t think I snore at night, but I guess you can be the judge of that.” He said, placing his phone down on the nightstand.

“As long as it’s not as loud as your grunting in bed, I think we’re okay.” You laughed.

Keanu gasped in a playful way, as if he was offended. You smiled back. “I’m kidding, I love it.” You say.

Keanu felt his lips curl into a real, genuine smile. He loved how comfortable you were with him, and how your relationship wasn’t something weird or closed off. He felt that you actually enjoyed his company, and he really enjoyed yours. Most of the time, he felt like you were his closest friend. But things were kind of complicated between you two with the sex. It almost felt like it was stopping you from ever being more. Why would a girl like you want to be more with her friends with benefits, he often thought? When he found himself thinking about what you could have been, had sexual intimacy not got in the way, he found himself kind of regretful. An ode to what could have been.

But he tried to just shake the thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about you both as something more; you were content with your relationship, and that was okay with him. He loved that he could make you feel good, and still be a friend in your life. You were both fine as you were.

“Should we crash? Its kind late.” You asked, pulling the covers higher.

“Absolutely.” He replied, laying down as well now. Turning the bedside lamp off he spoke “goodnight, Y/N. Thanks for tonight.”

“Night, Keanu.” You rubbed his arm lightly, before turning your back to him, pulling the covers closer and closing your eyes. Keanu stayed facing your way however. You both kept a distance of around half a foot from each other, being sure not to invade the others space. You weren’t boyfriend girlfriend, after all. You were just two people, sharing a bed. Who also have sex occasionally. And are friends. Unfortunately, just friends. 

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

 >>Chapter 3 >>

Taglist Posted Separately (Ask to be added or removed!) :

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Where Time Takes Us

Hey all! I’m almost done with Chapter One of a fic I’m working on, so in the mean time, why not have a quick teaser?

Eventually I’m gonna also post the full thing on AO3 so the format is better, and it’s also gonna have zelink and some revali stuff in the future...although I’m mainly gonna focus on character growth and arcs than the romance. All in all, when I’m done you’ll have to read it for yourself. In the mean time..

Enjoy!

Where Time Takes Us 6905 words (of like...15k it’s a teaser ok)

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

Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

- - - - - - - - - - 

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon

She was supposed to work until whenever doomsday struck, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again) the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached. 

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. “The Adequate’s Tavern” was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality. 

Pushing open the door, the researcher was met with a swirl of familiar scents, ranging from alcohol, apples, bread, and leather, along with a smokiness coming from the fireplace near the back of the bar. 

Closing the door behind her, she walked through the entrance, passing under a wooden overhang, and alongside a long, stone-slated bar counter. She overheard a conversation between the barkeep and a waiter.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The man started shoving her towards the storage door behind the bar. “Yes, yes, now hurry up and stock up on that apple cider. I’ve already turned four full pitchers from the three of them, and the fourth is no doubt on the way. We can turn a bigger profit from those kids than any random alcoholic that stumbles in here tonight!”

The waiter disappeared into the back and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place. 

She walked about the pub, scanning the faces of the men and women alike who crowded by the booths and tables. The tavern mainly housed a sea of Hylians, who let out the occasional drunken laugh, or hearty chuckle. It was a miracle she could hear her thoughts at all, as the air was rich with the sound of clattering dishware and the patter of dancing feet, as in a small corner to the left was a semi-circle stage housing a small band. A Hylian man with umber dark skin, much like her own, blew away at a Lurelin-made, seashell harmonica. To his left, a blonde woman extended her arm in quick and elegant strokes with a bow and fiddle. Two others struck away on small drums and bells, and the playful gig they performed had gotten several people up from their feet to dance for Hylia knows how long. The music wasn’t terrible, but she had heard better, from a certain Sheikah in particular...

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

It hindsight, it was easy enough to expect the bard to be at the table closest to the stage. Yet, it was probably the three heads of cloud white, Sheikah hair that gave them away the quickest. A young teenage boy sat across a square table from two other Sheikah, a boy and a girl. He was looking at nothing in particular, as he plucked away at his lute, presumably tuning it. Wrapped around his head was a small cluster of green wooden beads, woven with brown string. They dotted like a line of stars in his fluffy, white hair, alternating between pine and sage shades. The knot tying the strings and beads around his head hung loosely like vines just by his right ear. He was just asking to look like a starstruck, homeless traveler, if it weren’t for the bright red cape pinned across his shoulders. The golden, Hyrulean emblem holding the crimson cloth together signified his status as an important worker of the palace. Although, no one would be surprised that this thin, skinny teenager was a bard and court poet, and not a royal knight. 

Suddenly, the bard looked up and met her gaze, a pair of warm, red eyes catching the light of familiarity. He patted the empty seat next to him and said something to the other two Sheikah in front of him. One of them looked back, a young man with storm wild hair that seemed to part like lightning. He had a beige, long sleeve coat over a red tunic, as was the classic Sheikah style. However, the style of his white jacket told of his rank as a scientist. With chocolate eyes and a contagious grin, he nudged the girl next to him and fake coughed.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, OK?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Purah turned in her seat and gave a fake gasp. She adjusted her red rimmed glasses at the sight of her. “You’re right, Robbie! I’ve heard about these spirits. They only come at midnight under a full moon, and they appear when you have friends that don’t know how to time manage and haunt you by coming to your birthday party with their terrible fashion sense 45 minutes late!” She clapped her hands along with the syllables of “45 minutes” to let her point be known.

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile. 

Adello put a hand on her hip. “Save your breath, I was just working a bit overtime on the Divine Beast sketches. You know, work? For the jobs that we all have? So we can pay our taxes and shit? Unfortunately, not all of us have fancy salaries Mrs. Royal Scientist.”  

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Ok first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

The researcher propped a black leather boot up on the empty chair by the table, flipping her jet black hair dramatically. “How does it feel to be in the presence of someone with an actual on-the-field career?”

Purah stuck out her tongue, and Robbie cupped his hands and booed. However, the boy sitting on the other side of the fourseated table gave a celebratory strum of his lute, giving Adello’s pose a bright background flourish with a few upbeat chords.

She winked. “Thank you Zimiri, at least someone can recognize skill.” The bard gave a little bow with his head, grinning. “A few chords is all it takes to enhance a dramatic, late night entrance.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes. 

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm. 

“Uh excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling. 

Everyone at the table groaned, turning to occupy themselves with something else. Purah started writing in her journal which she pulled out from her satchel, and Adello started to become very interested with the ceiling. Zimiri continued to pluck nothings on his lute.

Robbies crossed his arms, his white long sleeves folding across the Sheikah red shirt underneath. “Oh I see! So when Adello brags, she gets a musical accompaniment, but when I do it, it’s suddenly annoying and embarrassing?”

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright you don’t get to speak Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!” 

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen. 

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual you idiot.” 

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath. 

Purah finished off a note in her journal before turning to the rest of the table. “Alright Adello, time to catch up. We’ve been playing ‘Till You Spill and I’ve already got some juicy stuff in here!”

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, OK?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”  

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s...c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers’ love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

Adello tried to hold her tongue to no avail. “Pffft. Yeah, you can try wooing her with your punctuation.” This got a snicker out of Purah, and caused the birthday boy to blush furiously and slump further in his seat. Zimiri finally spoke up.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.” 

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

The poet groaned, but complied. Tipping the cup towards his lips, Zimiri took a hearty slurp of the cider, much to everyone’s amusement. It felt like hot, molten copper mixed with old apple skins. How could something both burn and freeze your throat at the same time? He let out a gag, to which Adello patted him on the back with a short laugh.

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...” 

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few, amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

While she wasn’t undefeated in this drinking game, she sure as hell was playing to win. Especially since somebody needed to knock that smug expression off of Purah’s face. Adello thought to herself quickly. 

Zimiri, no doubt, is probably gonna say something self-deprecating again, as he’s too nice to actually reveal anything embarrassing about anyone else. So...I just need to say something unexpected and interesting...perhaps something embarrassing about...hmm, I’ve already exhausted all my info about those cushy nobles and guards in past rounds…

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “OOoh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers,  “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peaked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

Robbie shrugged his shoulders, unconsciously rapping the table with his finger. “Well, speaking as a horse guy myself, I can attest to the fact that the childhood horse obsession phase never leaves, so I find Princess Zelda’s collection quite admirable.” He gave a nod towards Zimiri. “Either way, it’ll be tough to top that, Zim. Cute, yet slightly concerning, fact about our future queen? Quite the competition. Shall I signal the waiter for a refill now?”

Zimiri plucked a few more strings from his lute, before finally setting it down on the floor. He tilted his head, playfully. The string with sage green beads seemed to sway with the tavern’s music, and he spoke with a glint in his eyes. “Well, I might be faced with impending failure and ultimate defeat, but hells if I’m not one to try instead of mope.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“Let’s see...to top out on an embarrassing fact about a respected princess...it's natural to combat it with something...personal? That always seems to be the more valuable information in this game…” Adello shook her head. He was playing right into her hand.

“Well...Robbie won last round with the identity of Cherry...so, how about I dish out something similar. See, I’ve...uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh! Well. Court poet, shrine researcher, the job gets you close with the princess...kinda...I’d like to think we’re close anyhow…” He mumbled the last part of his sentence and let out a short cough. Then, he went back to fiddling with his short, messy hair.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle. When did my mom come here… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters. 

“Oh Zimiri,” Purah sighed, “I was rooting for you too.” Seeing the bewilderment creep onto the poet’s face, Robbie answered the question before it even escaped his lips. “Literally everyone here knew that bud, it’s not a secret.”

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“Oh my gods. Zimiri, you literally talk about her all the time, you’re totally in love. Given that we’re also the recipients of your long spiels and ballads about how ‘intelligent and thoughtful and amazing Zelda is,’” Purah said the words to mimic the tone of Zimiri’s honey sweet voice, “it’s exceptionally, extremely, very, very obvious.”

“R-recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

The royal scientist leaned across the table and patted his head. “Right, but you also started attempting love songs a coincidental 2 weeks after starting your job of shrine research with her. Your eyes are already red, so whenever she passes by it’s like your pupils magically form into adoring hearts. Try to stay away from poker, it’s for your own good.” 

Zimri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Adello watched as the same woman she had seen near the bar earlier made her way to the table. Picking up a pitcher, she poured out a fresh cup of Adequate’s Apple Cider. The four of them had been here so many times, they didn’t even need to verbally ask for the order.

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s ok. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.” 

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her. 

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!” 

Adello cracked her neck for show, before downing her glass of cider in a few gulps. The stench and tingling sensation seemed to stick to the sides of her throat. It would take more than water to clear that out. “Adequate” was being very generous when describing its quality.

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another rasberry at her.

They played for a few more rounds, the clatter of cups and breaths of laughter decorating the hours. Much to everyone’s distaste, Purah continued her winning streak, getting by with unbeatable information about the King, royal guards, and one embarrassing anecdote about how her little sister, Impa, had caught her writing an interesting letter to the “local archery hunk.”

Yet, Purah laughed along with the rest of them, the eyes behind her red rimmed glasses held no shame, which Adello envied. Of course that sort of attitude would make you a master at this game. Robbie and Adello attempted to team up and be biased towards Purah in an effort to get her to lose, but either Zimiri didn’t take the hint, or he just really liked playing fair which wasn’t exactly out of character, even if it meant more drinks for him. 

Suddenly, a bell towards the back of the pub rang, signifying the end of the band’s gig. The dancing paused, as people gave their thanks, varying from politie applause to drunken yelps. Robbie then rapped the table with his hands, excitedly.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.” 

Adello scoffed. “Uh, are you kidding? The owner would love for you to play without paying you. Haven’t you heard the talk around town? The Adequate’s Tavern: Home of alright food and acceptable ale, but an outstanding, white-haired bard!”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip. 

He laughed to himself as he stumbled aback. “Alright, alright, but only because the birthday tyrant requested it.” Robbie clapped his hands in a “chop-chop” fashion, to truly signify his role as the newly dubbed tyrant.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Adello grabbed the cup right out of his hands. She tipped it 180 degrees and let the cider spill completely onto the wooden floor. He hopped back, and Purah let out a surprised yelp, saying something about letting the stench seep into the floorboards. Robbie just started to laugh, wildly. Noticing the small commotion, a few other guests looked back at them and started to snicker to themselves.

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.” 

The bard pushed his chair under the table. Picking up his lute as he stood and faced Adello, a charming smile on his face. “Heh, well. My singing voice is grateful. I suppose now I’m in debt to comply.” He gave a curt bow.

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage. 

A few of the regulars who recognized him let out whoops and whistles, yelling out “Bard!” or “More music!” in support. It seemed that no one really knew his name, but it was nice enough to know that even working here part time would grant you the honor of being recognized by a bunch of random folk. One confused patron, who only associated him with “z” yelled out “Yeah, Zelda!” before promptly slumping under the table. Looking around, a blonde girl caught his eye, as it seemed she was staring at him. He waved, and her cheeks, much to Zimiri’s confusion, turned pink at his gaze and she turned to her friends who started giggling. 

Moving past the last of the Hylians with an, “excuse me, sorry!” he finally stepped on the stage. The bard pulled up a small stool to the stage, leaning against it. Most of the folks continued to whoop in approval, seemingly eager for another chance to start dancing. Even the barkeep clapped his hands, probably excited at the thought of a free gig.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before. 

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute. 

A mass of different voices bounced around the tavern, requests ranging from The Babbler’s Jig, Misko’s Tale, The Eldin Bluffs, and Can I Get More Ale? Although, Zimiri wasn’t quite familiar with the chords of that last song. 

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!” 

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

The bard smiled, preparing the fingering on the neck of his lute. He turned towards the audience. “Well, I’m afraid I have no choice but to heed to such authority.” He began to pluck the beginning notes, tapping a tempo with his boot against the stage. “Now then, a beat, if you all would be so kind?”

The tavern chattered in approval, before piping down. There probably weren't more than 30 people, but the beat they made was definitely sufficient. The sound of stomping, banging mugs, and clapping filled the room. The tempo didn’t even need much adjusting, as The World Behind was pretty familiar around Castle Town. The beat was like a child pretending to be a marching soldier, unconcerned and playful.

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely. 

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Many of the guests had started to dance again, while the rest continued the beat of the song. As Zimiri plucked rapid notes on his lute, he heard a supporting holler from Purah. Next to her, Robbie was slamming his fist to the beat, clearly enjoying himself.

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Another pause between the verses, and the bard played the “decorative” rapid notes in between. He didn’t mean to seem like he was showing off, but Adello would attest to the fact that this happened whenever he got too into the music. Looking towards her, Zimiri saw her give a double thumbs up. 

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind 

At this point, some of the guests were singing along, though not to the point of overpowering his own alluring voice. Laughter rang out around the warmly lit room once again. Zimiri looked out at the dancing patrons and smiling guests, grinning at the feeling in his chest this brought. He continued the last verse.

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Lumbering through the double doors, three guards entered the tavern. The one in front, who had interrupted the music, wore a typical knight’s outfit, the same as his male and female coworkers behind him. However, the black hooded cape he wore atop his metal armour swayed with every step he took across the floor, his supposed rank silencing the room. 

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment. 

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The guests shook their heads, mumbling. Their booing and insults continued, but their volume quieted, it was too early to be getting cross with a couple of knights. Even Zimiri quietly slipped off the stage back towards his friends so as not to be at the end of the knight’s intimidating voice.  

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, you’re music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again, the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders. 

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged, he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

With the attention now towards a single table, most of the guests went back to their idle banter. A few waiters nodded their head towards the table in the back, and the man caught sight of three, white haired teenagers, who were sitting with the dark haired girl who had quipped out earlier. 

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table. 

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Ok, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave at the guards, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well look here son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it let’s me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie. 

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them. 

“Ah yes, well thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry wha-”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

“Look, I’m not a nobody. I’m more than capable of fixing up the guardian and any other disasters you might have left lying around the castle grounds. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll even lick the kid’s boots, it’s not my first time dealing with this, alrighty?”

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms. 

“You’re still following your precious orders, aren't you? How would you know what Dr. Robbie looks like? You can’t be faulted for not knowing someone you never met. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The blonde man behind the gruff, black caped guard, whispered something to his female coworker. Her gaze switched between the girl and the man. Still seeing the uncertainty in their eyes, Adello leaned closer to the knight and lowered her voice. “Come on, have a little heart, it’s his birthday.”

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh. 

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

Robbie started to protest, but Adello quickly silenced him with a wink. The guard turned towards the rest of the room, yelling, “The rest of you, the sun is gonna rise in a few hours so save your rioting for then! Am I clear?”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans, and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards. 

The tension in the tavern was almost immediately cleared, the moment the knights left. Most of the people went back to their normal conversational volume, and the waiters began to patter about with more confidence. However, Zimiri slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh. 

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days. 

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you too, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.” 

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie. 

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room. 

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

Looking out at the crowd, Zimiri noticed how the guards' interference had really dampened the atmosphere. The warm and lively laughter that was present just a few moments earlier was now replaced with more monotone chatter.

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a musician for?

Stepping back onto the stage, he strummed an open chord, double checking the tuning. The whooping and clapping started to return, much to his delight. Plucking a familiar melody, the warm feeling in his stomach returned as he watched the new smiles that started to fill the room. However, before he began to sing, Zimiri first focused on craning his neck to look out a window, trying to catch a glimpse of a certain girl in the night. 

It seemed the moon and sun were balanced on the edge of the world. The night had started to submerge behind the walls of West Castle Town, with only the brightest stars still perched upon the ink of the navy blue sky. The silver lining of greying clouds just barely glowed from the faint light of the day, still trying to break out of the eastern waters. 

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her. 

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

Adello shook her head. She turned to retrieve a journal from the pouch on her belt, opening its pages as an excuse to avoid his gaze. “No, it’s fine. I still have some more work I should be finishing up at home anyhow.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The guard took her blunt response as a sign to not continue with the niceties, much to Adello’s relief. Looking up, she gazed at the looming castle. Its towers were like mountain peaks, sitting above the blurred silhouettes of the buildings of Castle Town. 

Taking out a bit of charcoal, she started to sketch its outline on a fresh page in her journal. While she only had one color, she tried to capture the shadows and lighting that cascaded on one side of the castle to the other. 

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher. 

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at her highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

Adello finished up the tower of Princess Zelda’s study in her sketch. She smiled to herself at the finished work. It was one of her better pieces. Putting the journal away, she turned back to the guard and scoffed. “Is that so?”

The guard hummed a yes. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.” 

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”

[takadasaiko]

Love Me Twice: Chapter Eighteen

FFN II AO3

Summary: The Keens have dinner with Scottie, Red takes a trip down to Texas, and Ressler runs into trouble.

Chapter Eighteen

Liz had just wrapped Agnes in a fluffy towel after her bath when she heard the sounds of someone in the kitchen. She kissed her daughter's hair that had - somehow and miraculously - stayed dry through the bath - and told her to put the clothes hanging up on. Grandma Scottie was coming for dinner.

Tom still looked tired, albeit less frustrated than he'd been while they were at Dr Orchard's. She stood watching him move around the kitchen and he almost looked like he knew where things were. She thought it might have just been his quick learning curve until he went for a specific cabinet and then looked very confused by what he found there.

"What are you looking for?"

"One of those big saucepans. I could have sworn-"

"I moved it up because I don't use it very often." She watched him follow through to the cabinet she motioned at. "You remembered where it was."

Tom blinked, surprised, and Liz felt a small smile creep into place as he said: "Guess I did." He grabbed the pan he needed and set it on the burner. He looked so natural there, almost like he had never left. He had, there was no denying the damage done to their lives, but as he started working in the sauce Liz felt a rare tug of peace. She wanted to hold onto that as long as the universe would let her.

"You don't have to cook, you know," she said as she moved to lean against the table, never taking her eyes off of him.

She could see the barest smiles pull at the corner of his lips. "I feel like you're not much of a cook."

"I've gotten a little better."

"Not sure if it's a memory or just a survival instinct, but I'm gonna play it safe on this one."

Liz flashed a grin that felt a little more forced as someone knocked on the door. Well, Scottie was early. "Aggie, you dressed?" she called into the little girl's room as she passed.

"My ears!" Agnes' voice sounded from inside, but Liz was already tugging the door open to reveal her mother-in-law on the other side.

She had never seen Scottie Hargrave look anything less than ready to stride straight into a boardroom in her tailored outfits and heels and tonight was no different. She stood in the doorway with her head held high and her thousand dollar purse on her arm, but under it all the younger woman thought she saw a hint of nerves. Okay. At least the last sliver of suspicion could be put away.

Liz flashed a smile. "Hey, come on in. Tom's in the kitchen."

"How is he—?"

The question was cut off as Agnes' door was thrown all the way open and she piled out of her room in the clothes that Liz had laid out for her, though with an addition of her own by way of the cat ears headband. She wrapped herself around Scottie's long legs and grinned up at her. "Hi."

"It's like you didn't see me today," Scottie teased with a smile and knelt down to pull her granddaughter into a hug. "I hear you've had a visitor."

Agnes nodded. "Daddy's in here," announced, surprising Liz and taking Scottie by the hand to lead her in. They hadn't said anything, there was no way she should have known, but Liz supposed with all the oddities that surrounded her daughter since birth there was no reason that she shouldn't have believed it either. Just another strange happening in the Keen household.

Liz followed at their heels to find Agnes already chattering away, pulling up a chair to stand on so that she could see what Tom was doing. He stirred at the sauce that was simmering, teasing the little girl playfully while Scottie stood frozen next to the kitchen table. Her dark gaze was fixed on him, following every tiny move, until he finally turned around as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. "You must be Scottie."

"Agnes, why don't you go play until dinner's ready," Liz prompted softly.

She looked ready to argue, but finally hopped off her perch with a loud and dramatic huff that lasted almost to her room. Scottie's lips twitched up at the show the four-year-old has put on and her attention snapped back toTom. "She's always reminded me so much of you," she said softly.

"I don't know how much Liz has told you…."

"I know that someone has manipulated your memories and that you're missing a considerable amount of time."

Tom's dark blue gaze flickered to Liz and she tried for a reassuring smile. "Yeah. I, uh…. I don't remember you. Sorry."

"It's not your fault," Scottie answered immediately, but Liz didn't miss that subtle anger just under the words. Well, when they did find who was responsible for Tom's missing memories, Scottie looked ready to go to war with them. It couldn't hurt to have the CEO of Halcyon Aegis in their corner.

Scottie plastered a struggling smile on her face as she shifted the subject. "So, what's for dinner?"

-------

Howard Hargrave had been a civilian engineer when Red had first met him. Halcyon was in its infancy and its young, still-optimistic CEO had happened by and offered to play translator for a Polish woman with intel that Reddington's team had needed. Their interaction had been so brief that it wasn't until years later that the two men pieced it together and had gotten a good laugh over it. Yet another amusing story in a collection of them that they cultivated over the years.

Many things had changed since those days, and it had been years since Reddington had even seen his old friend. Christopher's disappearance from the beach house coupled with a variety of other factors - both connected and otherwise - has left Howard unpredictable and not entirely stable. It had only gotten worse with time. Red had finally put distance between them when it became clear that Howard didn't have any intentions of adjusting the dangerous trajectory that he had been hurdling in. Tom's return had been too late and Howard suspected too much to put him right again. Red feared that losing his son a second time - even at a distance - might have done him in.

That's why he was surprised to find out that Howard wasn't rotting away in some deep, dark hole like the government often threatened to throw him into, or even a mental institution for that matter. He found him in a little military town in Texas working for the government. He was tethered by an ankle monitor and given a very small stipend for his efforts if the shabby, bachelor-styled apartment was anything to go by. Perhaps they really had thrown him in a hole, just of a different sort.

Reddington had time to explore the small space before Howard arrived. There was nothing there that would have convinced him that his old friend lived within the walls. Howard had always been a nostalgic man in his own way, but none of that resonated here. Red saw no sign of hidden research or projects he was tackling on his own. Just the mindless day in and day out with a little food and an uncomfortable bed between it.

By the time the door opened Reddington had settled into the lone chair at a two-person breakfast table that could be folded up and shoved in a corner if it needed to be. Howard shuffled in, shouting over his shoulder at someone, before fumbling with the locks behind him. He turned and flipped the fluorescent lights on, freezing as he did. "Red?"

Reddington plastered one of his more charming smiles into place. "Howard. You are a difficult man to find. I thought you'd be in prison."

The other man snorted, tossing the keys down on the cheap counter next to the door. "Why lock me away when I'm still of some use?"

He moved further into the living space and Reddington gave him a once over. For the first time since he'd met him, Howard looked his age. His hair had receded years ago and what was left had turned grey, but the lines in his face looked deeper now and there was a weight against his shoulders. Worse yet, there was none of that old spark in his eye. As far down as his enemies had driven him over the years, that clever spark had remained. Reddington had seen it a little over three years before when he had stood before the cameras and declared war on his wife for the whole nation to see.

"You look like hell," Reddington said, his tone more pointed than light. Nothing about this boded well.

Howard shrugged and moved to the fridge. He stuck his head in and returned with a couple of beers in hand. Reddington did his best not to turn his nose up. Ah well. When in Rome. Or Texas, as it were.

"Long days, meaningless nights. They weigh on you like life," Howard answered heavily and leaned against the table, his sole chair occupied.

"What if I told you I could change all that?"

"I'd ask you what you get out of it," Howard answered sharply.

"Katarina has resurfaced."

"So now you're playing fetch for her?"

Reddington's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know what it means. This isn't a game."

"Sure it is. One I bowed out of agesago." He took a long swig of his beer. "Save your effort, Red. And whatever money you intended to bribe my guards with. I'm done. I'm out. She's won."

"Your war was never with Scottie," Reddington answered softly and Howard quirked a grey eyebrow.

"Wasn't it? It was her secrets that stole our boy away and the same that ended up getting him killed. You and I both know this Garvey was more than what he seemed." Howard had always been fascinated with conspiracy theories, and while he often found a trail that turned out to be more than it appeared, Garvey was gone. Dead. Reddington had made sure of it. Digging into the man himself would yield very little.

"None of it would have happened if you hadn't reached out," Reddington pointed out.

"None of it would have happened if you'd been half the friend you claimed to be thirty years ago and gotten my boy back!" Howard countered, the old argument rearing its head. "But no. You were too busy learning from my mistakes. Then you turn around, years later, and tell him that Scottie was his mother while telling him to stay clear of me! Of course I went to him. She'd have gotten her claws in and…" He stopped, the fit of rage he had been boiling to fizzling out abruptly and he turned a dark look on Red. "My boy is dead, my wife a traitor willing to kill me. That's what your war brought to my doorstep, Red. I'm not going to help you."

Red sat very still for a long moment. He'd underestimated the pain and suffering Howard had endured these last two and a half years. At the very least he had hoped to push the right buttons to encourage a lust for revenge, but he was too hurt. Too broken. He had heard the charges levied against him at his trial. Accounts of reckless endangerment, theft, perjury, espionage, and the list went on. Tom had testified against him after everything that had happened. He'd stood in front of an open jury as Christopher Hargrave and no one had warned him the dangers of it. Clearly Howard thought it was what had gotten him killed, and that was a hell of a weight to bear. Red didn't need to know the specifics of what he'd done to know that, at least in the recesses of his own mind, Howard had thought he was protecting his child.

Red leaned in. "We're past the point of no return on this."

"I don't care."

"You're willing to rot here?"

"Here. There. What's the difference?"

Red toyed with his options. He could tell him. It was a risk in his state. He knew Katarina we'll enough to know Scottie would, eventually, be brought into the middle of this as well. Howard would be difficult to convince, but perhaps if he could manage to connect him with his son before Scottie… that might work. It was time for a calculated risk or he'd be walking out of this place empty handed. "He's alive."

Howard didn't perk at that. "Who?"

"Christopher."

Now he looked up. "Don't lie to me, Red."

"I'm not, he—"

There was a change, a flash of rage, and Howard hurled the beer bottle so that it shattered against the floor. "My son is dead. You don't get to use him as a bargaining chip, Red. You don't get to manipulate me into sticking my nose into the same chaos that got him killed in the first place. The three of you made your bed. Lie in it or don't. I don't care, but get the hell out."

Reddington sat there for a long moment before he finally stood, fitting his hat back on his head. "For what it's worth, Howard, he can't remember anything. He's lost time."

"Convenient way of using a double to try to fool me."

And there were the conspiracies again, even if it weren't as far fetched as some might have thought. Red has used a double, but just not here and now. "Point being that he doesn't remember your last interaction." He sighed. "Not everyone is your enemy unless you choose to make them. I may be one of the few friends left in this world. Reach out when you finish wallowing in your self pity."

He turned and left before Howard could respond. If he would given way or buckled down, Reddington wasn't sure, but if there were anything left of the Howard Hargrave he had once known he wouldn't be able to shake the hope of his son being alive. It would gnaw at him until he had no choice but to act.

-----------

Ressler hadn't realized just how easily spoiled to flying private he'd managed to become over the years, but the delayed flight out of Germany and delayed layover at LaGuardia International had left him missing Reddington's jet, even if not the interference he certainly would have thrown into their case. No, after what he'd done to their Blacklister when they had refused to give him five minutes with the man. He might have given them the name that took them to Bonn, but Ressler's be damned if he forked over the jumpdrive Weiss had risked so much to get to him.

Still, it was late and Ressler was exhausted. He could miss the convenience of a private jet without missing the man that provided it.

He shifted his bag on his shoulder and fumbled for his keys just outside of his front door, but as he slid it into the lock and turned, he could feel that the mechanisms had already been released. That wasn't good.

The bag dropped to the hall floor as Ressler reached for his sidearm, readying himself as he pushed the front door open. The living room looked clear as far as his line of sight reached and he inched in, every muscle taught and finger ready on the trigger. He cleared the kitchen and the living room, the bathroom, and that only left one more room in the apartment. He flexed his fingers around the handle on his gun, adjusting his grip and he pulled a deep breath in through his nose as he started into the bedroom. He made it half a step through the door frame before the door swung out hard.

The blow hadn't been what he expected, but even as he stumbled off balance he kept his grip on his gun. Ressler spun, leveling it, but his attacker was already there. He was a tall and thick man, well out of Ressler's own weight class, and the shot went into the ceiling when he slammed his arm upward. He spun faster than he should have been able to and Ressler heard his own yelp of pain rattling in his ears before realizing that the intruder had followed through and wrenched his arm around so hard that it must have popped it out of socket.

Ressler didn't have time to test the theory as the man descended on him again, but he managed to avoid the blow if only just barely. He bobbed, finding his right arm utterly useless, and was sent sprawling to the floor hard. He lay there for a moment, stunned, and blinked hard against the pain as his attacker loomed over him. "The drive," he said simply and Ressler grimaced. He could see his gun on the floor, but he'd have to be faster.

"Don't know what you're talking about, pal."

The other man snorted and pulled his own weapon from its holster. "I don't believe you."

Ressler roller for his gun and the shot went off.

---------

Dinner went surprisingly well. They tiptoed around certain subjects until Agnes went to her room to play, but as soon as she was out of earshot it was clear that Scottie Hargrave expected more. She had been pleasant and chatty about a lot of nothing right up until that point. A cover. A well designed mask. Tom knew it well, even if no memories seemed to be shaking loose about her just yet.

He worked his way through what he knew, he and Liz reading each other's small tells to make sure they didn't let information slip that shouldn't. He was careful never to mention Katarina Rostova by name, but something like recognition flashed through Scottie's eyes as Liz shared a few choice details about the woman that had called herself both Maddie Tolliver and Rostova.

Liz excused herself as her cell phone rang, stepping into the bedroom to take the call. Almost immediately Scottie turned to him. "The woman that hired you."

"Tremblay?" he asked carefully.

"Are you certain that's her name?"

"Are you certain it's not?" he countered.

"I understand your… caution," she said slowly, almost as if she were tasting each word. "This woman. I need to know what you know."

There was something strangely familiar about the way she was looking at him. Her gaze was calculating and careful, like she thought she could unearth any secrets by sheer determination. He held it though, and felt like he might be on the verge of remembering something important about her.

"Scottie, we're going to have to cut this short," Liz said as she blew back into the room.

"Elizabeth-"

"Ressler was just attacked in his apartment. I have to go."

Tom was on his feet in an instant. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I need to get a babysitter and -"

"Go," Scottie said firmly. "I'll watch Agnes."

Tom watched Liz hesitate for a long moment before she nodded, accepting the offer. Within five minutes she'd kissed Agnes goodbye, grabbed her gun, and pulled him out the door behind her.

--------

TBC

Notes: Well, Becca called it in the reviews: my whump quota strikes again. Aimed at Ress this time :P

I don't know if I've mentioned this here (I chatter about it quite a bit on Tumblr), but I'm been working towards a move to California for a while now. This weekend I'm flying out and signing a least if all works as expected. Wish me luck! :D

Next Time: A new clue emerges in the case, Scottie sets a clandestine meeting, and Liz forces Red's hand.

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 1

NEW SERIES ALERT

Chapter title: Auditions Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: None at this time A/N: I was inspired to write a series based on the perspective of a Rocketman dancer. I hope you enjoy following a London-based dancer from her first audition run-in with Taron to maybe so much more - but don’t forget a healthy dose of drama along the way! More mature themes will develop, so be warned! Enjoy! x

“And first position … second … third … and fourth … now fifth. Good, and again.” I swept my arms gracefully through the positions my muscles knew by memory and my mind knew by heart. I’d learned the basic positions when I was no older than the girls I now taught, in their adorable pink tutus and bright shiny faces. “Keep going, that’s right,” I encouraged, walking between the barres and making adjustments while the 5-year-olds moved through each ballet position to the music I had queued.

I kept a watchful eye on these aspiring young dancers, hoping to instill in them the love of dance I had grown up with my entire life. Even when I offered corrections, I tried to do so in an encouraging manner. I’d had my share of critical teachers and even a few who thought I wouldn’t get that far. But I’d never let it bring me down and only used the negativity to push harder for what I wanted. Until, that is, a nearly career-ending injury four years ago that had kept me off the stage and behind studio doors instead. I’d made the transition to teaching on the advice of a dance counselor, and I knew I would never look back.

I ended class with some easy stretching and accepted the cute hugs and calls of “Thank you, Miss Juliette!” as my class filed out to their waiting mothers [and two fathers, bless their hearts.] Once the last girl had left I quickly packed my bag as Madison pushed her way in through the door.

“Oh my god, are you excited?” she asked me as I traded out my slippers for sneaks and pulled on a pair of comfy sweatpants and a hoodie over my leotard.

“I’m so nervous I could puke, but I won’t get an opportunity like this again. And I feel like I’m finally ready,” I grinned, making sure I had everything I needed in my bag for the audition I was already running late for. “Thank you for subbing my next class, I appreciate it, Mads,” I grinned, giving her a hug.

“It’s no sweat, now go!” she laughed, fairly pushing me out the door. “And break a leg!” she giggled as I groaned inwardly.

I rushed out of the dance school and hurried along Balderton Street to Oxford, heading toward the Bond Street tube station and taking the train across town to the Paramount studios on Chiswick. I snacked on a protein bar to keep my energy up while we rumbled over the tracks, doing a few stretches to keep my muscles loose as I wouldn’t have much time to warm up again when I got there. If anyone was staring at me, I ignored it, but I’m sure the tube riders had seen far worse than a few grand plies.

Once I arrived at the studio I hurried through the check-in process as quickly as possible. I was issued my number and told which group and studio to join before I rushed off to the bathroom to change. I’d chosen a sparkly magenta pink leotard I’d used for a performance piece years ago for this audition - I was trying out for the dance ensemble cast for Rocketman, the Elton John biopic, so even if it was a bit over-the-top I felt it was appropriate. 

I pulled on tights and a black ruffled short skirt over that and strapped on my character shoes. I let my strawberry blonde hair down out of its tightly woven bun and dashed on a bit of thick eyeliner before affixing my number with safety pins. I put on bright pink lipstick and grinned at myself in the mirror. I certainly looked the part, I thought, stashing everything else in my bag and going to find my group.

I dropped my dance bag against the wall with everyone else’s stuff and found an open spot on the floor, sitting in a deep split and doing a few stretches while everyone else either chatted excitedly or went through their own personal warmups. The buzz in the room instantly cut out as a trim stately man strode in; I instantly recognized him as the choreographer we’d be working with. Waves of excitement and nerves washed through me in equal measure as we all stood and lined up without being instructed to. Several other people came in and took seats along the wall; I presumed they were likely producers and crew of some variety.

I tried to secure myself a spot in the middle front; even if I wasn’t feeling the most confident, I could certainly fake my way into it. This was my first professional audition since I’d made company - and later principal - for London Ballet Company. All of my dance dreams had shattered after the injury that meant I couldn’t do pointe work any more, but I’d thrown myself into classes in other styles as a sort of rehab process and in an effort to diversify my skill set, and found I loved jazz and Broadway the most.

So here I was, giving my all through the brief warmup, across-the-floor exercises, and combinations, hoping to catch the choreographers’ eye. I knew I was one dancer in a field of hundreds, some coming from other countries just for this chance. But I also knew how badly I wanted a spot in the ensemble, to be a part of such a spectacle. 

My favorite combination involved a bit of a complicated leap into a fan kick; I could see other dancers struggling to get elevated but I felt so completely in my own element, soaring across the floor and losing myself to the music, which unfortunately wasn’t actually from Elton’s catalogue. We were split into smaller groups to perform the series of steps for the choreographer; at the end of it, I added my own little flourish, dropping into a very Fosse-style pose with curved shoulders and tilted hips. The choreographer brushed past me as he circled our group, muttering “very good” so only I could hear. I couldn’t help but smile, but kept my eyes low.

We were given a twenty-minute break after everyone had a chance to perform, and the choreographers from each room of dancers would be making first cuts before we would all be shuffled together and given a full routine to learn and perform on an actual stage. I dearly hoped I’d be making it through the cut, but sometimes not getting a part had nothing to do with how good a dancer you were. Directors sometimes wanted a specific “look,” and I had no idea if this would hold true for Rocketman or not.

The hallways were far too noisy for me so I stepped nimbly over dancers sprawled on the floor as I traveled away from the studio rooms, trying to find somewhere quiet to listen to my music and try to find a bit of peace. I filled my water bottle at a drinking fountain before turning a corner and leaving all the other dancers behind. I probably should have just plopped myself here, but curiosity got the better of me, so I followed down this hallway too, my character shoe footsteps echoing in the quiet even as I tried to walk softly. I plugged my headphones in and was just about to hit play on my Spotify playlist when I heard a couple of voices coming from a cracked doorway. The room had a bank of sweeping windows and I couldn’t help peering in; some day I would learn to tame my incessant curiosity, but today was not that day.

Three men stood inside, involved in what looked like a serious discussion. I couldn’t really make out much of what they were saying, their voices just low murmurs, but I thought I might have recognized one of them. Just then they all turned to head toward the door, and I ducked away from the window, hoping I hadn’t been seen. As I slowly tried to sneak away, the door swung open rather suddenly and flew straight into me, sending me sprawling onto my hands and knees, my phone skidding across the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” the handsome young man I recognized said, instantly offering his hand to help me up and looking embarrassed. I took it, noticing how soft his skin was but how strong he felt as he helped bring me back to my feet.

“It’s alright,” I said with a laugh, brushing off my knees and hands and retrieving my phone from the floor. “Nothing hurt but my pride,” I said as he looked me up and down, taking in my obvious dance garb.

“Here for the auditions, then?” he smiled warmly at me, as the other two men carried on their conversation.

“Um, yes, though I’m hoping I’ve danced with more grace than I just displayed,” I grinned good-naturedly. “Though I should get back to that now.”

“Well I wish you best of luck, Number Two-Nine-Four,” he read off my assigned number with a smirk.

“It’s Juliette,” I supplied with a laugh.

“Juliette then, you may call me Taron,” he replied, smiling so widely his dimples showed through.

“Holy shit, you’re Elton!” I gasped, covering my mouth with my hands and making the other two men halt their conversation mid-sentence as they gawked at me.

“That’s up for debate but yes, I’ll be attempting to play him,” Taron grinned at my shock. I knew now how I’d recognized him, from the Kingsman films. But standing here in front of him was an entirely different thing. He was totally unassuming, just dressed in jeans, a black sweatshirt and a ball cap with “twenty-two” scrawled across it.

“I’m sure you’ll be wonderful at it,” I laughed lightly, trying to not feel shy in front of him, but for his part he did everything to try and make me feel at ease.

“I suppose if I was shit Elton wouldn’t have chosen me,” Taron just chuckled.

“No, I don’t think so. Well, it’s very nice to bump into you but I really must get back,” I said softly.

“Wouldn’t want you to be late, love,” he said with a wink. “We’re heading to the stage now,” he added, making my insides feel rather funny all of a sudden. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Maybe,” I agreed a bit faintly, hurrying back down the hall the way I’d come, my heart pounding and unaware that Taron’s gaze lingered on my willowy frame. The hallways were already deserted and I worried I was late, but I slipped back into the studio room just in time, as we were all called to line up again. 

The choreographer was holding a notepad and after thanking everyone for coming out and giving our hardest work, told us only five numbers from our room were advancing to the stage routine. I closed my eyes at that; five out of a room of 35. There’s no way I’m getting through this cut, I thought. I was confident in my abilities but there was so much talent it was practically dripping from the walls.

“If your number is called, please come join me up here,” our choreographer said, and rattled off the first number, 162. A spry male dancer who had all the marks of “ballet” written in his physique left our ranks and joined the choreographer at the front, fairly beaming to be one of the chosen. Next up was 052, a fiery redhead with a pretty face; 291 [so close], a black muscular male with a sweet expression; and 112, a tow-headed boy who looked barely out of secondary school.

I closed my eyes and held my breath as the last number was read, even if I had no chance. “294!” the choreographer called, and no one moved a muscle. Someone next to me tapped me on the shoulder, my eyes still screwed shut tightly.

“Hey, I think that’s you!” a girl whispered as the choreographer called my number again.

“Oh,” I laughed in disbelief, walking to the front in stunned silence as the choreographer clapped for us and everyone else joined in. After more thanking of all the auditioners, the people who hadn’t made it were dismissed, and after much chatter and shuffling of bags, it was just us five left. We’d all been told on the audition notice to bring black pants and a white button-down shirt we could dance in and tap shoes, though the particular style they had left up to us, and we were now instructed to change into those clothes and join all the other dancers in another studio room in ten minutes. I decided to leave my leotard on under my shirt, only doing up three buttons so it could still flash through. I switched my character shoes out for actual taps and then dashed off a squealing text to Madison that I had made it through the first round of cuts.

<Oh my god, that’s so exciting! So what happens next?> she texted back immediately.

<Next up is learning a full 2-minute tap routine in 30 minutes and performing it on the stage as a group. I’m exceedingly nervous about this. Tap has never been my strongest suit.>

<But you’ve been taking hours and hours of classes! I’m sure you’ll do great> she sent back with about ten winky-face emojis. I had to laugh at that.

<Gotta go, I’ll let you know if I make it through to solos.> I stashed my phone in my bag again and made it to the large studio room in time, lost in a sea of other black-and-white clad dancers, all of us trying to individualize in some way, with bright lipsticks or colored socks or patterned scarves tied round our heads. We were all handed cheaply made top hats and shown where to stand. The dancers from each room seemed to band together, so I was in line with the other four from my room, trying to give them encouraging smiles.

“We’ve got this,” I said under my breath to the tow-headed boy next to me, who looked incredibly nervous though he was probably one of the best talents in the room, even so young. He nodded at me and smiled kindly in appreciation, so I gave him a goofy thumbs up before the choreographers addressed our room. 

There were about 60 of us, and I strained to hear what was being said over the coughs and rustles as dancers adjusted their clothes. Still, I got the gist of it and then we were hard at work, learning pieces of the routine, repeating each small snippet over and over and then quickly breezing through the next. It felt like a blur, but I did what I knew to do best in these situations; I linked each piece of choreo to an image in my brain to keep the sequence in order, building on it as we moved through the 2 minutes of routine the way a child might play a game of memory.

We were all sweaty and out of breath when our thirty minutes were up, and soon we were herded to the stage to perform the piece all on our own, as the choreographers and producers and maybe even the director for all I knew sat in the audience. Oh, and Taron, I reminded myself, trying not to let that make me suddenly nervous. The last thing I needed to do was forget the choreography. We stood on the stage under lights, staring out into the darkened auditorium. If I squinted hard enough I could make out the shapes of people in the seats but had no idea who they were. I wondered if Taron was out there looking for me, and the thought of it made me smile.

The strains of music began and soon we were lost in the whirlwind of the dance, performing the piece like we’d been rehearsing for months. It was nice to feel like I could rely on the dancers around me as much as they could rely on me. Sure, we were all competing against each other for those coveted spots, but we were also performers at heart. And so, for those two minutes, we leaped and we spun and we tapped and we shone.

When the music was over we all stood around on the stage together, whispering and waiting as the shadows in the audience deliberated our fates. I didn’t think I had missed a step, and I looked forward to giving my solo, a piece I had worked hard on and that had made Mads cry when I performed it for her. Still, twenty people wouldn’t be making it through this round and that made me even more anxious than I already was.

After about ten minutes someone called for order, and we quieted down immediately. Numbers were called quickly, dancers cheered or groaned, and I was thankfully called up somewhere in the middle of the pack this time. My relief was probably evident. We were given about twenty minutes to prepare whatever we needed to; I chose that time to eat another protein bar and chill out to some music. I had a simple costume for this piece, wanting my dancing to be center stage. I kept the black pants but exchanged the leotard and shirt for a black dance bra and black vest. I slicked back my hair into a sleek ponytail and pulled a hat low over my eyes. I wiped off the pink lipstick and left my lips neutral, but painted my eyelids black. It was a dramatic effect and exactly what I was going for.

We had to pick numbers and of course I chose the last slot, so I had a lot of time to wait around. We all were told we could sit in the auditorium seats if we wished to watch each other at this point, and I sat with my new-found “friends” from my original group, all of who had made it through the tap round. There was Pietre, the soft-spoken young boy; Dennis, the athletic black dancer; Leah the precocious redhead; and Markus, the handsome ex-principal. Markus was quite funny, and I enjoyed sitting next to him as we watched other dancers perform.

Slowly, our ranks got smaller and smaller as each dancer went onstage to perform and was subsequently dismissed. We wouldn’t be told if we had gotten the job until the next day, so this was our last real shot to make an impression. I wished Pietre, Dennis, Leah and Markus all good luck, and their solos were all amazing. It was going to be a tall order for the choreographers to make their decisions, whittling us down to just 30 core dancers.

And then it was my turn. There was no one else left to watch except the people judging me. But as I made my way up the stage stairs, I noticed someone standing in the wings, and realized it was Taron, waving at me and giving me a thumbs up. Had he really stuck around this long to watch me? I was a little dumbstruck at that and ended up stumbling over my own name when I was asked to introduce myself, even though they had my audition sheet in front of them. Get a grip, I chastised myself, stealing another glance at the wings. Despite the low light I could see Taron’s eyes glittering at me and I could feel his eyes following me as I took my place on the stage. I took a few slow breaths to still my mind, needing to go to that place where I was beyond my thoughts, where it was nothing but light and color and music.

I’d chosen Annie Lennox’s “Cold,” a song that was dreamy and ethereal and yet somehow heavy. Lines like “Dying is easy/It's living that scares me to death” and “But the more I want you the less I get/Ain't that just the way things are” hit me in the chest and had stayed with me ever since I heard the song, but when “Catch me and let me dive under/For I want to swim in the pools of your eyes” the image of Taron flashed through my mind, and the words gained a new meaning as I couldn’t let go of the way he looked at me.

When the song ended and I had struck my final pose, the auditorium was dead silent; I could have heard a pin drop aside from my own heart beating. I stood back up and took a small bow, turning to leave because I didn’t think anyone was going to say anything before suddenly someone in the auditorium was clapping, the sound hollow in that giant space. I glanced over at the wing, but Taron wasn’t standing there anymore and for some reason that made me feel empty.

“Thank you for your time, that was lovely. We’ll phone you tomorrow,” one of the faceless shapes from the auditorium told me. I gave them my most winning smile and then was dismissed. I was sweaty, sore and exhausted by the time I gathered my bag up, changing once again into sweats and ready to just head home and tuck into a bowl of homemade Thai peanut chicken curry. I’d done my best and the rest was up to someone else. I had my hand on the exit door when someone called my name. I turned to see Taron jogging toward me, a bit out of breath.

“You were brilliant. They all said it in there, you should have heard them after you left,” he grinned. “You left us all absolutely speechless.”

“I, uhm, thank you,” I replied awkwardly, trying to wrap my mind around what he was telling me.

“You’re absolutely a shoe-in, no question, but you didn’t hear it from me,” he said, winking at me for the second time that day. I let out a nervous laugh at that. “I look forward to working with you, Juliette,” he added, and I couldn’t help my legs feeling a little weak at the way he said my name. I was glad I was still holding onto the door handle to steady myself. On second thought, this might be a major problem, I thought, but he was an actor and I was just a dancer and I didn’t think we’d be spending that much time on set together. Besides that, Taron was on a whole other level from me, so I figured he was only being kind.

“Me too,” I finally managed to reply. He bid me have a good night and then disappeared off down the hall, to do what I didn’t know but he seemed intensely focused on every aspect of this project. He had certainly left an impression on me though, and I could feel my cheeks were flushed.

I finally made my way to the tube station, taking it across the city to my flat and letting myself in gratefully, instantly greeted by my fluffy 2-year-old golden retriever Troy. “Hey boy, mommy’s home,” I grinned, ruffling his fur happily. Madison had stopped in earlier to check on him and let him out, and I was forever grateful to her. Mads had been my biggest cheerleader and supporter since I started working at DanceWorks, and I had never met a sweeter, kinder soul.

<Finally home. We’ll know results tomorrow. Everything seemed to go really well for me> I texted her as I tossed my sweaty dance clothes in the wash.

<Think you’ve got the job?> she asked back.

<Not sure, these things are never certain even if you feel good about it but I did my best and something tells me I impressed the choreographers> I wrote back. Or rather someone, I thought, a small smile drawing across my face.

I set about making dinner, feeling half-starved now, and did my best to relax in front of the television, catching up with my favorite shows. I took Troy on a quick walk around the neighborhood in the late evening before finally taking a long soak in the freestanding bathing tub I’d invested good money in. There was nothing better after a long day of dance then letting my muscles unwind with lavender Epsom salts.

Tired and fully worn out, I stretched out in my bed, ready to catch some shut-eye but of course every time I closed my eyes I could see Taron’s handsome face floating in the dark. I wasn’t about to delude myself into thinking I had half a chance with Taron. From all accounts he was just an absolutely caring and sympathetic man and his co-workers always spoke so highly of working with him. But I could definitely say there was now more than one reason why I wanted the chance to dance on Rocketman. 

Keep reading: Chapter 2 HERE

[justanoutlawfic]

Back To You: Chapt. 8

Story Summary: 5 years ago, Belle left Storybrooke and became a New York Times Bestselling Author. Now, she's returning to Storybrooke to try to convince her husband to finally give her the divorce she's been begging for. However, the longer she spends in town...the more she realizes...maybe that's not what she wants anymore.

Chapter Summary: After seeing Belle in her wedding dress, Gold hits up a meeting and finally learns to let go. Meanwhile, Jefferson comes to town to help plan the final phases of the wedding.

Also on AO3

Seeing Belle in a wedding dress had really driven it home for Gold. He knew that 5 years of no communication outside divorce papers, him finding out about Jefferson and finally signing them should’ve done it…but it didn’t hit him until he saw her standing there. The dress was beautiful, it hugged her every curve. Of course she had looked beautiful in her mother’s dress on their wedding day, but this just seemed more her. From what he had heard about this wedding, all of it was more of what Belle would’ve wanted.

 He had told her he’d give her the wedding of her dreams, but he also knew he hadn’t hidden the fact that big weddings weren’t his style. He had one with Milah and it just felt so fake. Deep down, though, Gold knew it wasn’t the size of the wedding that impacted their marriage.

 It had been him.

 Not that it mattered anymore, she was getting married to someone else. She’d wear that beautiful, sexy dress down the aisle and marry a man who’d hopefully never develop alcoholism. A man that would give her an adorable daughter and they’d probably have lots of more babies to come. A man that he prayed wouldn’t let her down in the way that he had.

 He needed to hit a meeting, desperately. So, he headed to the one he knew Rogers would be heading up and sat in the back. He listened to story after story, so many were worse than his own. Some people had left their kids in the car, others had accidentally killed someone due to their drinking. Some had gambled their entire savings away, that had never been his problem. He also had the painful curse of being able to recall every single one of his drunken stupors. All the fights with Belle, all the times he drove drunk, risking his own life.

 Had he really never thought of what killing himself would’ve done to her? To Neal? Both had lost so much in their life and as little as he thought of himself, he knew that would impact them.

 “Does anyone else want to share?” Rogers asked towards the end of the meeting.

Gold stood up, gripping onto his cane. “I would.”

Rogers nodded, smiling a bit.” Go right ahead.”

 Gold made his way up to the podium, looking out at the small crowd. There were some faces he recognized, but a lot of new ones as well.

 “My name is Sampson,” he started off.

“Hi Sampson,” the room replied. It was weird hearing someone else outside Emma or Belle call him that. He was so used to being called Mr. Gold. Here, it didn’t matter, though.

“So, I never thought I had a weird relationship with alcohol. I’m a business man, so normally I’d drink when I’d hammer out a deal or go to a function. It started to pick up a bit when my first wife walked out on me, but I had my son, a business to run. It never got too bad.”

 He felt a smile tugging onto his lips.

“Then I met Belle. She was beautiful, young, Heaven knows too damn good for me. Yet, she chose me anyway. We got married, found out we were having a baby after a year of trying. It would seem everything was falling into place…until it wasn’t anymore. We lost the baby at 21 weeks, her name was Nellie. The anniversary’s coming up and that’s always hard…even harder…”

 He swallowed, shaking his head. He had to move forward.

 “My soon-to-be-ex is getting married to someone else. She went through so much after losing Nellie and I couldn’t be there. I just…I felt as if my world was falling apart. I had her, but I had lost this baby. I wondered if it was my fault, I had been so scared to raise another kid at my age. I worried I’d screw it up or miss out on big moments. Then as soon as I had adjusted to the idea…she was gone. The only thing that numbed the pain was whiskey. Belle, my wife, she tried. She put up with more than she should until she just couldn’t. And then, I had lost both girls that I loved more than life itself.”

 Tears gathered in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. He never cried and he certainly wasn’t about to start in front of a lot of strangers.

 “Now, Belle’s moving on. She’s getting married. Today I went to collect rent at one of my properties and saw her in her wedding gown. More than anything I wanted to go to the Rabbit Hole afterwards and drown my sorrows in anything I could get my hands on. It’s not like I have anything left, right? Except…I do. I have my son and his wife, a beautiful grandson. And maybe, if Belle can find happiness…I can too. Maybe. Um…thank you.”

 The crowd applauded him and Gold stepped down, feeling Rogers pat him on the back.

 “I think we’ll call it a day,” Rogers said. “Let’s all join hands and say the serenity prayer.”

 Everyone rose and Gold slid his hand through Leroy Gerard’s own, the other going into Rogers’ prosthetic. Rogers began the prayer and everyone else continued along.

 God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;  courage to change the things I can;  and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time;  enjoying one moment at a time;  accepting hardships as the pathway to peace

 The meeting wrapped up and after having their fill of the donuts and coffee, people made their way out. Gold stayed behind to help Rogers clean up, letting the comfortable silence take over them at first.

 “So…you finally signed the papers, huh?”

“She’s marrying someone else.”

“You didn’t try to fight for her?”

“It’s hard to fight for someone who don’t get in the ring with you. Besides…I think she’s confused. I’m not saying she wants to go back to me…I just don’t think she knows what she wants.”

“What do you mean?”

“She kissed me.”

Rogers raised his eyebrow. “What?”

“After I signed the papers. We both ended up at the Miner’s Day Festival and she wondered off to this well. I followed and we got to talking about everything. I apologized and she just started rambling about how she loves New York and that everything’s great, but she misses Storybrooke too. Then, she kissed me.”

“Wow.” Rogers rubbed the back of his neck. “Sounds like she’s having doubts.”

“I just can’t do it. I know for the past 5 years I was the one that wouldn’t let go, but now? I think she just needs to go back to New York. She’s getting emotional and when Belle gets emotional, she gets impulsive. I don’t want her to ruin a good thing, over me of all people.”

“What if she wants to be with you, though?”

“She’s getting nostalgic, which is why she has to go. I can’t hold her back, not anymore.”

Rogers shook his head. “Maybe when she kissed you, she wanted you to ask her not to marry him.”

“I can’t do that. It’s not fair, and it’s certainly not fair for her to expect that of me.”

“It’s not, you’re right. But maybe hope’s not lost after all.”

 Gold shook his head. Rogers had been so much more of a hopeless romantic, ever since he started dating the new food truck driver, Sabine. Happy endings were for the kids. He was older, wiser and knew when to walk away.

That afternoon, Belle made her way through the cemetery towards the back where the children’s section was. She remembered how morbid it had felt when she first discovered it as a pre-teen. A friend of Ruby’s grandmother had died and everyone had come out to pay their respects. Belle, Ruby and Emma had gotten bored and begun wondering around the grounds. They discovered the section where babies and young children were buried, it was so morbid to see the short span on the stones. Back then, Belle could never imagine having to bury your own child.

 After Nellie, she hadn’t even been able to pick anything. She remembered her mother telling her the options and she decided burial was the best one. Colette took care of the rest, though she approved the headstone with Belle and Gold. It was a small black granite marking that had a white cherub on the top, staring down at it. Belle wasn’t sure what her religious affiliations were, but it made her feel good to know that someone was watching over her baby.

 She had once visited the grave every week, then gradually less as time went on. It had been her last stop before Ruby dropped her off at the train station the day she left town. She had wanted to say goodbye, not knowing if she’d see the grave again. She told herself she didn’t need to, Nellie was in her heart always.

 Yet, standing there in that moment…it made her feel more at peace. She knelt down in front of it, setting down the white calla lilies she had bought from the man that had taken over her parents’ floral shop, replacing the wilting sunflowers that someone (Gold? Her mother?) had clearly left not long ago. She ran her fingers over the name, reciting it in her head over and over. A name she and Gold had so carefully chosen, a name they had planned on calling their daughter for all her life.

 Nellie Samantha Gold

 A classic name, one with great meaning: shining light. That was just what she was to them, the best thing in their lives.

 “Hey Nellie,” she whispered. “I know it’s been awhile. I…I hate myself for that. I’m your mother and you’ve been here…I should be visiting you. Even though, you’re always with me.”

 She pulled the silver chain out of her shirt, revealing the locket she had bought. Flipping it open, she showed the grave the footprints that the nurse had done for them.

 “Your birthday’s in a couple of weeks…you’d be turning 6. I feel like you’d have your daddy’s eyes, hopefully his smile. Would you be into ballet or books? Maybe you’d love running around in the dirt.”

 Tears filled her eyes as she stroked the delicate white petal of the lily.

 “I’m marrying someone new and he has a daughter…she’s so amazing and special, but I need you to know…I’m never going to replace you. Never.” A single tear fell down her cheek. “I need you to know that.”

“She knows.”

 Belle looked up and found Gold standing there. She quickly rose to her feet, wiping away her tears.

 “I didn’t know you’d be here,” she whispered.

“I went to a meeting and normally after I share my story, I end up here.” He held up a bouquet of sunflowers. “I always bring her these.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“I always imagined bringing her these for a birthday or whenever I made her upset. I know for you, it’s roses. But her…sunflowers…”

“It’s a lovely idea. I doubt you ever would’ve upset her, though.”

“Oh, I have a feeling I would’ve.”

“Nah.” Belle shook her head. “She was a Daddy’s Girl. Even in my stomach, she’d kick for you, especially when you sang to her. I have a feeling I would’ve been the bad cop there.”

 Gold gently smiled, knowing that part was true at least. Nellie would’ve been so spoiled rotten. She already had quite the collection of outfits from the time they had realized she was a girl.

 “She would’ve loved her mother, though,” Gold said. “You would’ve had your fights, but there’s a bond that a mother and child share, a good mother I mean. You’re the best mom there is. Grace is a lucky girl.”

Belle bit her lip. “I’ve never acted as her mother before.”

“You’ll get the hang of it.” He paused. “Does Jefferson know about Nellie?”

“Yes. That I didn’t keep secret. He never asked about the father, however. I’m guessing he just assumed old relationship.”

“Not wrong there.”

“No.”

 There was a moment of silence and Belle stared up at Gold, trying to not think about what had happened after he left the bridal shop.

 “I wanted to give you something,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He slowly pulled out a white envelope, which had her name perfectly scrawled across it. “You don’t have to read it now…in fact I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

Belle accepted it, tucking it into the bag that hung from her shoulder. “What is it?”

“A letter I wrote to you in rehab. One of the 12 steps is making amends for the wrongs you’ve done. I wrote one to Neal, Emma…and you. I was going to bring it to you but then…”

“You chickened out.”

Gold tilted his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Emma told me you came to see me in New York, but then you didn’t. What changed?”

“I knew I had to be more than just sober to win you back. I had to prove I could be the man you fell in love with.”

“And?”

“And I realized that I changed after Nellie, I’m not the man I once was.”

“You’re a good man.”

“Belle…”

“You are.”

 Gold gave her a pained smile before crouching down and carefully placing the fresh sunflowers next to the calla lilies. He picked up the wilted batch of flowers and picked at the petals, feeling their wrinkled skin under his grip.

 “Anyway, you don’t have to read it,” he continued. “But it’s there, all of it.”

Belle nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

“Are you…do you plan on coming back to Storybrooke?”

She bit her lip. “I doubt Mom will ever travel as long as Dad’s around, so I’ll probably be back to visit her.”

“Right.”

“You um, you’re more than welcome to come to the wedding.”

 He gave her a look and suddenly Belle felt stupid for even mentioning it.

 “Right…that might be awkward.’

“Might be?”

“I was just trying to be nice by offering it, okay?” She felt the venom seeping into her voice and she didn’t know why. It was a stupid idea, her ex-husband watching her marry another man. She just felt very defensive as the heat rushed to her cheeks.

Gold raised his hand. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. I’ll be dropping the papers with Judge de Vil in the morning.”

Belle swiftly nodded. “Thank you.”

 With that, she made her way back to her car, anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

 “It’s just a few more days,” she mumbled. “Then, you’ll be home free.”

Jefferson arrived the following day, with Grace in tow. Belle was happy for the distraction-no, to actually see her future husband and step-daughter, she told herself. She introduced them to her parents, Colette of course making the better impression that Moe. (Her father found it appropriate to ask exactly how much a costume designer makes within the first five minutes.) She was happy to get them out of there and down to the diner for cake testing. While they were getting a newcomer to Storybrooke-Sabine Grenouille-to cater, Belle knew it couldn’t be a wedding without one of Louisa Lucas’ (or Granny as she was lovingly known by everyone else) famous cakes.

 “I know Belle’s favorite is chocolate.” Granny said when the three of them arrived at the diner. “However, I did put out a few other options. She tells me you like red velvet, Mr. Chapeau.”

“It’s Jefferson,” he corrected. “And yes, it happens to be a favorite.”

“He’d eat it every day if he could,” Grace pointed out with a smirk.

Granny smiled. “And what’s your favorite?”

Grace grinned. “Chocolate, like Belle.”

 Indeed, it had been one of the first things they had bonded over. In that moment, however, all Belle could think of was the wedding that was coming up oh so fast. She already had another appointment to alter the dress so it could be done in time for the weekend.

 She could barely taste the cakes as she went through them with Jefferson and Grace, ultimately letting them pick a mix of chocolate with buttercream frosting. Once they placed the order and gave Granny and Ruby their invitations, they headed out to their next stop, which was the church. Jefferson fell in love with it right away and said he couldn’t wait to see all the decorations set up.

 They were on their way to show Grace her options for her junior bridesmaid dress when Belle noticed Gold walking down the street. She quickly went to make a sharp turn, instead completely colliding into him, causing his to-go cup of tea from Granny’s to fall all over her blouse. He quickly pulled out his handkerchief, handing it to her to clean up.

 “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t you see there.”

“It’s my fault,” she whispered in response.

“Are you alright, Belle?” Jefferson asked, looking at the stain. “Did it burn?”

“No, it was cold.”

Gold studied the three people in front of him and then paused. “This is him, isn’t it? The fiancé?”

Belle gnawed on her lip. “It is.”

Jefferson held out his hand, completely oblivious. “Jefferson Chapeau, this is my daughter Grace. Are you a friend of Belle’s?”

“I’m her ex-husband,” Gold responded, not even flinching as he shook his hand.

Jefferson paused mid-shake, but didn’t move. Grace was the one that spoke up instead. “Belle’s been married before?”

“Well…um…yes, Gracie,” Jefferson said, finally finding his words. “I have too.”

“Well yeah, but my mom died. Belle’s husband is still alive.”

“Ex-husband,” Belle, Jefferson and Gold all corrected, too quickly, at the same time.

“And sometimes marriages end by divorce,” Jefferson continued. “It just happens.”

Grace nodded, though she still looked curiously over at Gold. “Why did you and Belle get a divorce?”

Belle clapped her hands together. “Well, I think it’s time we get going. Gracie, I picked out your junior bridesmaid dress, I think you’re going to love it. Good seeing you, Sam.”

 Grabbing hold of Grace’s arm, she practically dragged her down the street, forcing Jefferson to jog to keep up. The rest of the afternoon was filled with awkward silence. Grace didn’t have anymore questions, but it was clear all of them had Gold on the brain. After dinner that night, they all returned to Granny’s Inn (Belle knew better than to let them stay at her parents’) and Jefferson sent Grace to shower before bed. Belle lingered in the doorway, running her fingers through her hair.

 “So…how do you like Storybrooke?” She asked.

“It’s quaint, I see what you were talking about all these years,” Jefferson said. “It is an idyllic place to raise a family.”

“If your job wasn’t in New York, I’d suggest moving here.”

“Right, I don’t think the job’s the only thing keeping us there.”

Belle swallowed. “Sam and I are done. I swear.”

“Things certainly seemed awkward around you two this afternoon.”

“Because we’re exes and to be fair, Grace was sort of grilling us.”

“She’s 10, it’s what 10 year olds do.”

“I know, and I don’t blame her,” Belle backtracked. “I’m just saying, I don’t know what you were expecting.”

“He’s kinda old.”

“He’s 45.”

“That’s a 16 year age gap.”

“You’re 6 years older than me.”

“16 and 6 are a lot different.”

“It’s not the end of the world and besides, we’re over with.” Belle stepped closer to Jefferson. “I’m marrying you. I love you.”

Jefferson sighed, cupping her cheek. “He’s not coming to the wedding, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. In 48 hours, we can put all this behind us and move on.”

 Belle forced a smile and nodded, allowing him to kiss her. She had meant what she said when she said she loved Jefferson, of course she loved him.

 But why didn’t she feel the same butterflies when they kissed that she had with Gold just a few days earlier?

[marcanthony]

How to Setup a 52 Week Membership Site in 7 Days

Membership sites are AWESOME because you make a sale once and get paid over and over again. But… Membership sites suck because you have to create a never-ending stream of content. It’s kind of like being chained to your content stove, cooking up new and exciting dishes every week without duplication, forever. Can you really create 3 years, 5 years or 10 years’ worth of fresh content? And for that matter, do you really want to create that much content in the first place? There’s an easier way, one in which you can set up your entire membership site in just 7 days if you put in the effort. Day 1: Realize you’re going to make a finite membership site of one year. This means you only need 52 weeks of content, versus, say, 520 weeks of content for a 10-year site. If you prefer, you can even use an autoresponder to send the content, rather than building an actual membership site. Because there is an end to the membership, people tend to stay members longer – often for the entire year. With conventional membership sites, people tend to drop out faster. This means you’ll make more money up front. You’re not going to create the actual content yourself. Instead, you’re going to use PLR content. If possible, buy one big package of PLR so that you have enough content for all the lessons, and the lessons stay consistent. Today you’ll choose your topic and shop for PLR. The types of PLR you find might even dictate your topic to some degree. You’re looking for a large amount of QUALITY stuff, not junk. What if you find the perfect content, but there’s only enough for a shorter period of time? It’s okay to adjust the length of your membership accordingly. Maybe it’s a 16-week course on how to write sales letters, a 6-month course on how to drive traffic using social media, or a 9 month course to help people lose the weight and keep it off forever.  Day 2: You now have your PLR content and a good idea of how long your course will run. Today you’re going to break your content up into the appropriate number of lessons, placing those lessons in the correct order. The size of lessons should be consistent, if possible. If you have a really big lesson, you can often simply break it into two (part 1 and part 2), as well as combining a couple of small things into one lesson. Each lesson should build on the previous lessons and lead to future lessons. Without this continuity and clarity, people will get confused and leave the membership early. Once you’ve got the lessons in order, check one more time to make sure it all makes sense. Day 3: Create bonuses. You can create these out of the PLR you already have or purchase additional PLR. These might be reports, checklists, worksheets, videos or anything else that compliments and improves upon the course itself. Plan to send out a free valuable bonus at least once a month to improve member retention. Day 4: Write your own introduction and conclusion for each lesson. The introductions should whet your member’s appetite for the content to follow. The conclusions should get them anticipating what’s to come in the next lesson. For example: “Watch for next week’s lesson, where I’ll finally reveal the simplest and fastest way in the world to lose those final 10 pounds and look like you’re ready to win a bodybuilding contest.” As you’re going through the material, change the chapter titles as needed. Add in subheads throughout the material to break it up and make it easier to read. If you choose, you can tweak the material to add your own voice and use your own writing style. You can also add in your own examples, tips and stories if you like. Consider adding pictures and graphics to make it even more interesting and valuable. Proofread everything, even the content you don’t change. Day 5: There are two things to do today, one of which is easy, and one might take more time, depending on your experience. First, create the emails that you will send each week with the latest membership installment. This can be as easy as copying and pasting the lesson’s introduction into the email, along with the link to the membership site or to directly download the issue. Second, write your sales letter. It doesn’t have to be long, but it does have to capture their interest, overcome their objections and answer their questions. If you’ve never written sales copy before, you might consider hiring someone to do this for you. Shortcut: If you chose a PLR product that includes sales copy, you might be able to use that sales letter with just a few tweaks. Day 6: Choose backend offers to increase your income. These are offers related to your membership’s subject matter. You can insert these offers… Within the emails you’re going to send via autoresponder announcing each new lesson Solo emails sent out between lessons Inside the pdf lessons as full page ads Inside the pdf lessons inside the content Inside the membership site itself, if you have one. Ensure your backend offers are highly related to the content of your membership site, and that they are high quality and truly useful to your subscribers. To make these offers convert even better, offer “member only” discounts and time-sensitive offers. You definitely want to sell these offers, but you don’t want to appear pushy. Your members have already demonstrated they trust you by subscribing to your site. Recommending products to them is a natural extension of this mentor/mentee relationship you’ve established, so don’t be afraid to enthusiastically promote products that will truly help your members achieve their goals. Day 7: Set everything up. Depending on what you have in place already, this might take longer than a day. For example, if you don’t have a website yet, or you don’t have an autoresponder, then there’s going to be a learning curve as you discover how these things work. Things to do: Save your lessons as PDFs. If you haven’t already, do market research to determine how much to charge for your monthly membership. Get a domain name and web hosting. Try to choose a catchy name that matches your content. Choose a payment processor for recurring billing, such as Paypal or ClickBank. Set up your sales page. Upload your PDF’s to your website. Upload your weekly emails to your autoresponder. If you take one day at a time, you can do this. Of course, if all of this is new to you, it might take you longer than 7 days, but that’s okay. Just set a deadline for yourself and then be sure you’re making progress each and every day to reach that goal. And keep your eyes on the prize. Once you have this membership site set up and ready to go, you and your affiliates can sell it for a long time to come, reaping the residual income for years. ...Marc Anthony Read the full article

[chubbysewcialist]

Pattern-making Plans - 2018 Update

Made my first attempt at a pattern block last weekend, definitely needs some tweaking but wasn’t as far off as I expected. Although double checking the internet for reviews/hacks of Armstrong’s pattern-making book (and it’s typos) makes me want to redo my measurements and start over. Which compared to past projects really isn’t that big of a deal, lol. But doing something is never the same as reading about it, and even then just reading through all of the different pattern blocks and alterations I’ve amended my priorities a bit for next year. And by that I mean I’m aiming to have these covered by the *end* of next year, so hopefully I’m not overloading myself. I also need to pick up some proper pattern-drafting tools. I’m not sure where or why I got my current set of curves but they’re just not big enough for patterns my size, and I don’t have a hip-curve. Trying to use my metal ruler as a bendy-curve resulted in me needing a lot of bandaids. Will also need a new roll of brown packing paper, which is what I used to use to draft circle skirts and I’m almost out. I’m just not sure I need 150 feet of it off Amazon Prime, tho that would mean I don’t have to lug it through the snow... So, newly re-prioritized plans: 1) Try out the ‘basic block’ dress. Still looks boring and unflattering, but now I think if I slide it over my dressmaker form and try padding it out that might help me out with future projects. Curious notion, no idea if it will actually work out. 2) Skirts! I’ve drafted circle skirts without a pattern for costumes and underskirts (for costumes) and that wasn’t tricky at all. And if Santa brings me fabric gift certificates, I’d like to make a couple of winter skirts. Much as I've enjoyed   V8749 I’d really like something that flares a bit less. It’s effectively a 3/4 circle skirt and a lot of other ppl end up sitting on it when I’m on the subway, whups. I’m going to try to draft a half-circle, and a slash-and-spread style flared or a-line skirt. The chapter on bias cutting also perked up my interest in making a tea-length (or longer) bias cut skirt. 3) Knits block!  This chapter is a bit confusing in how its worded, but I think what they’re getting at is a knit version of a pattern needs to be either bigger or smaller than a woven pattern depending on how stretchy the knit is.  It’s based on a unified dart-less body block which can then be made into a shirt, or lengthened for a skirt, widened for a cardigan, etc. I mean, that’s how pattern blocks work overall, but without the darts to worry about this one might be simpler to play with.  (And while I don’t usually follow trends, all of the stretch velvet I’m seeing in stores online reeeeeally make me want more velvet dresses and tunics. I might be able to resist, but if it motivates me to crank out more patterns then yay? #gothproblems ) 4) Draft wide leg trousers that don’t require a zillion darts. I still need new/better trousers (wow linen wears out fast), but getting a sense of how measurements vs darts work by drafting skirts might cause less stress in the long run. New winter trousers would be nice, but might have to wait until next year. 5) Crossover bodice top. I really like wearing these kinds of tops, but have always had trouble fitting them properly. And then I learned at DCon that all commercial patterns are based on a B-cup, and suddenly it all made sense. I could alter my old patterns with a "Full Bust Adjustment”, but I think I’d rather just start from scratch given how much I like creases and folds in these bodice patterns. Might be easier to block a FBA and then slash in the foldy bits in afterward than doing it the other way around?  And then I can add a small ‘skirt’ for a nice top, or a much longer one for a nice empire waist dress.

6) Button-up Shirt. Getting into the more complicated category, I’ve rarely to never liked wearing these, but a friend of mine with similar feelings had one custom made for her measurements and loved it. So I’m curious to try this, although I’d probably still wear them like cardigans. I moreso want to turn one into a shirt-dress for the summer, which does not seem that much more complicated once I’ve got a shirt-block. 5) Blazerquest. Seems a bit more complicated than I first realized. Still want to do it, but want to try easier stuff first to get used to equipment, formulas, etc. Not to mention, could not find the word “blazer” used anywhere in this edition of Armstrong’s book, at least not in the chapter on jackets, which lead to internet research where I realized how weird (and male-coded, yikes) jacket terminology is.

6) Leggings pattern. Moved down in priorities less for complexity and more because the leggings section of my dresser-drawer is too full to close. I had to make some emergency heavyweight leggings with the old pattern for the winter (heating at work is broken), and the ankles still don’t fit, and I still need the butt adjustment, but its not like I ever wear leggings without a skirt or dress over them and nobody will notice :-P I’m still pretty optimistic about all of this, which feels oddly freeing. I won’t have to search for patterns similar to what I want anymore, and settle for good-enough. I can at least try to make what I want from scratch, and start with all of my weird shape measurements instead of altering someone else’s work to fit them. Don’t have any costuming focused sewing/drafting plans thus far, but that could very well change when con season starts next year. And Arisia is in January, squee!

[mileean]

Yo, chapter 4 is now up for >>Promise Me We’ll See the Stars<<

You can read it from the beginning here: >>Chapter 1<<

Chapter 4

Lance woke up with a crick in his neck, a dreadfully sore back, and the headache of a century pounding in his skull. He groaned, and then whimpered as he shifted from his back to his side. He was almost afraid to look at his skin underneath the paladin suit, because he knew there would be several massive and nasty bruises along his torso. And this, this was not how he was used to waking up. Where was he again?

He very slowly opened his eyes. And then immediately clenched them shut. His head seared with pain, and he doubled over on the cot. There was a repetitious metallic clang from outside, over and over and over again. It echoed inside his skull, and Lance prayed they would stop with that incessant noise like now.

“Man,” he moaned into his pillow. “What did I do to deserve this?” he placed a hand over his eyes to block out the light and then, bit by bit, peeked out from between his fingers. His eyes adjusted painfully slow but the headache wasn’t as bad when he took things gradually. Concussions sucked.

He had his helmet on when he fell, but it also flew off after the impact. Though without it, he was pretty sure he’d be dead by now instead of just sporting a horrible headache and wicked nausea. He wondered if the effects of the weird truth spell vanished overnight. He wasn’t sure he could have another repeat performance of last night, not with the way Keith turned and disappeared like it had all been too much for him.

Oh god. Keith.

Memories flooded back to him in a sudden and overwhelming rush. Pidge had said he felt the same way, but Lance wasn't so sure. Besides it was Keith they were talking about. He stared at the ceiling of the makeshift hut they had given him, and recalled his very last conversation with the red paladin in excruciating detail. Then he pushed his hands against his face and moaned.

The sound apparently concerned someone, because Lance heard them enter through the small flap. He didn’t pull his hands down.

“What was that? Are you dying? Because if you’re dying I'd appreciate if you did it when I'm off watch duty. In case anyone blames me.”

“Pidge,” Lance whined into his hands. “Pidge, kill me now.”

He heard a small huff to the side of his cot and then heard footsteps approach him. Pidge dragged another cot across the floor and jumped up onto it with a soft squeak.

“Again, that’s far too much work on my end. And I'd have to explain why we’re suddenly short a paladin. Besides, you can’t die. You still owe me a week’s worth of chores for making you that crystal charger for your phone.” Pidge paused, and then their voice softened. “Plus, it would be boring without you around.”

Lance lowered his hands and looked over at Pidge with furrowed brows. “Chores and entertainment? That's the only reason you want me around? I knew it!”

He had only been teasing, but Pidge looked genuinely surprised, so maybe he had gone too far.

“I'm just kidding. Obviously you keep me around for my witty banter and great looks.” Lance sat up slowly.

Pidge rolled their eyes and Lance wondered if Keith’s habits had contaminated the entire Castle-Ship. “How is it possible that you’re older than me? Seriously. Anyway, are you sure you’re not dying? Because my specialty is computers, but you hit yourself pretty bad and you probably need some time in the healing pod.”

Lance dropped his eyes and tensed. “I’m fine,” he didn’t buy his own lie and he knew Pidge didn’t either. But there was no argument. “Just, I want to sort some stuff out okay? I’ll take care of myself after. How much longer until we can get the Eluzian ship up and running?”

“Hunk is working on the valve regulators right now, and I'm re-calibrating the ship’s OS. So at least another quintant?” Pidge shrugged. “Keith is investigating the abandoned Galra base, in case we can collect any intel from it.”

Lance felt his face grow hot again, and his chest tightened as he thought about Keith.

“Ah, uh, that’s a good idea. Totally. I mean, they might have left something behind we can use. Maybe I'll just stay here and help the Eluzians where I can, y’know maybe grab some firewood or help cook breakfast or…”

Pidge very calmly reached over the cot, and squished his face between their hands. “No.”

Lance blinked. Pidge had a small gleam of irritation in their eyes. “You go off and you talk to him, or I will force you both into a room and I swear I will seal the doors on you until you learn to communicate. Also,” Pidge hesitated, and then dropped their hands. “With… without Shiro, we need you and Keith to work together more than ever. Besides, you were the one that suggested a team bonding exercise in the first place. So act like a team.”

“Pidge…” Lance felt a warm bloom of affection in his chest that calmed the wave of cold, nauseating dread. He reached over and ruffled their hair in the way he always did with Alicia. Except his little sister never slapped his hand away or glared at him in return.

“Lance! I'm not a child—" Pidge tried to push their hair back into place, nose creased in agitation.

“Couldn't help it,” Lance grinned. He didn’t often get to bond with Pidge. Sure, they had some time together at the Garrison, but before he knew about their past, Pidge had distanced themselves from him and Hunk.

“Do that one more time, and I will tell Keith about the photos you take of him when he's not looking.” Pidge pulled their hands away and glanced over at Lance.

“W-wait…” Lance froze. “That was one time—okay maybe a couple times? I mean, I had to make sure my camera was working, and he was totally busy on the gladiator at the time so it’s not like he even noticed it was just…” he trailed off.

Pidge hadn’t even been there at the time. He had just checked the training deck to look for Keith since Shiro had called them all to the command room. But Keith was so wrapped up in his training that he didn't even hear the door open, or Lance call his name. Keith wasn't paying attention, so he wouldn't notice one little picture.

Pidge had just crafted him a charging station, and he hadn't tested the camera function in a while. Keith was just slightly more interesting than the interior of the ship. It definitely wasn't because he looked incredibly fierce and attractive at the time. And maybe it had been more than one photo. He meant to delete the other ones later. Really.

The second time had been right after a diplomatic meeting with the Aesphestians, a group of really hot elf-like people with a love for festivals, music, and really good food. Hunk was a big ball of energy and insisted on helping prepare the food to learn more about their style of cuisine. Keith had gone off and away from the festivities like usual.

Lance found him sitting over the edge of a massive marble bridge that elegantly curved over a cascading green waterfall. The sound of the rushing water drowned out the music and laughter in the distance. The only light came from the planet’s two moons that hung large and imposing in the sky above them. Keith looked so peaceful with the gentle glow of moonlight against his skin, dark hair pulled back, and gaze unfocused as the spray of the waterfall created a fine, misty aura around him. That was one of Lance's favorite pictures honestly. But he would die if Keith knew he had taken them.

“Ha! So you do have pictures,” Pidge reared back in triumph. Lance realized a moment too late this had been a trap. “This may come in handy. Interesting,” Pidge stretched the word as if testing it on their tongue. They tapped a finger against their lips and grinned at him.

“I can’t believe I fell for that!” Irritation swelled inside of him, but the sense of self preservation was stronger and he tried to scramble out of the cot as quickly as possible before Pidge could take advantage of the situation, and the effects of the magic that apparently would not leave him alone.

Lance was halfway to the hut’s exit when his ribs gave a sharp protest and he doubled over in momentary pain. Pidge was not sympathetic.

“How many pictures of Keith do you have on your phone?” Pidge asked. Lance wanted more than anything to turn away and head outside. That stupid warm, bubbly sensation hit him again and the words spilled out without his consent.

“I-I don’t know, it’s not like I counted!” Lance hissed.

Pidge smirked, and then slowly stood up from the cot and adjusted it, quietly letting the anticipation build. Again, Lance tried to stand straight up, but his body screamed at him for moving too quickly. But he would not use the crutch again. He could do this.

“More than one, then. Two? Three?” Lance glared at Pidge. “Let’s guess. If you need to count them, maybe a dozen? We should share them with Keith—”

“Okay, okay. I get it! Yes, I mean, there are a lot of… photos… don’t you dare say a thing, Pidge. I won’t touch your hair again, alright?” He managed to stand upright through sheer force of pride, and turned to leave just to distance himself from the torment he knew Pidge could dish out.

“Just so we’re clear,” Pidge grinned. “Now, go find Keith.”

Lance grumbled as the flap closed behind him and he made his way through the throng of Eluzians to the blue lion, where a small circle of Eluzian children stood. At least he assumed they were children, from their height. They were about as tall as Pidge, some shorter. They were gathered around, and looked up at the lion with wide, uncertain eyes.

“She’s not gonna bite,” Lance slipped a hand over his hip and grinned at the group of kids as they jumped and turned around in surprise.

“These creatures, are they alive or machine?” One of the children asked. He was taller with a blue tinge to his skin and bangles up and down his arms. All three of his eyes were wide with curiosity.

“Honestly?” Lance shrugged. “We don’t know a lot about the lions. Only that they're definitely able to think and act on their own, and they're crazy powerful in a fight. Blue can freeze things in an instant, or swim as gracefully as a mermaid, or shoot lasers strong enough to cut through Galran warships," Lance waved his good arm while he talked. He used sound effects to emphasize his points as he mimicked his lion’s powerful abilities.  

“Did you fight against Zarkon?” The Eluzian with the bangles asked. His eyes were almost spherical, and the other children made noises of glee or awe as they approached the lion. Lance could feel Blue's mild amusement.

Lance grinned, “Oh yeah. We’re the Paladins of Voltron, defenders of the known universe. When the five of us come together to form Voltron, there’s nothing that can stand in our way. We sent Zarkon packing with his tail between his legs, if he’s even alive.”

There had been no time to search for Zarkon’s body to make absolutely certain, but how could anyone survive a direct hit like that? His armor had been completely destroyed. At least, that was what Lance wanted to think. But things just didn’t feel… completed. Sometimes he still had a horrible nagging sensation that it had been too easy.

“Five paladins? But there are only four of you here,” another Eluzian with a soft, lilting voice chimed in. She had tiger stripes along her arms, and darker coloring around her eyes.

Lance’s smile fell as if he had been electrocuted. Ice-cold dread twisted the pit of his stomach, but he tried to fix his expression before any of the Eluzians noticed.

“We’re… Shiro, he’s…” Lance's chest felt too tight, and a tingling sensation creeped along his arms, and down his spine. He shuddered, and tried his hardest to keep his voice from cracking.

Gone. Missing. Maybe…maybe…

Lance didn’t want to think the word. The finality of it slammed into him like a head-on collision. His head spun, his stomach dropped, and the world suddenly felt too small and constricted, and at the same time insanely vast and intimidating.

Shiro. Dead.

The word echoed inside of his head. Over and over, incessant and cruel. Each time he felt some of his self control start to slip, and the prickle of tears threatened to spill over if he so much as blinked.

The image of Shiro, their leader, their friend, as transient as footprints washed away by the gentle tide of the ocean. They would never hear his voice again. Or see his calm and collected façade slip to argue, or partake in their stupid pranks, or alien snowball fights in space. He would never burn anything in the ship’s kitchen in an attempt to help cook. No more calculated strategies crafted between the five of them over the comm. Shiro had always been there to correct them if they made a mistake in battle. He was always there to save them. But they hadn't been able to save him.

Lance couldn’t breathe. The sharp sensation of being thrown off balance and yanked forward despite being completely still made him nauseous. His chest was too tight—he was drowning. Shiro couldn't be dead.

He felt a large and gentle hand grip his shoulder. It squeezed until he realized that someone stood next to him. Lance tensed, but looked over at the tall Eluzian. He had a multitude of scars along his body, the clear definition of muscle along his long arms and exposed chest. But he smiled at Lance with surprising warmth. Despite the lack of pupils or eyebrows, Lance could sense an expression of sympathy.

“Lance, was it? You are very good with the fledglings. I see they greatly admire your vessel. The legend of Voltron once was a common tale in every family, and although it has since passed into legend, I do believe you and your friends are doing an excellent job preserving the integrity and responsibility of the title. My name is Uubrek,” the Eluzian had a way of rounding the vowels that was almost musical. He nodded towards an area a little farther from the curious fledglings that still watched, and guided Lance away so they could speak.

Lance quickly rubbed at his eyes before the threat of tears could betray him. He knew as soon as it started he would not be able to hide them anymore.

“Uh,” he wasn’t sure what to say. He had a feeling Uubrek was trying to comfort him. But to be honest Lance didn't even feel like he deserved that kind of praise. Sure, they had defeated Zarkon and stopped his empire for the time being, but they had done it as a team. And they had done it with Shiro at the helm.

“Our planet was destroyed by the Galra Empire and Zarkon. Eluzia was a beautiful place, and we were a peaceful people. We dealt mostly in the trade of Andentite, a crystal with a high concentration of quintessence. They were used mainly to heal, they served no purpose offensively. But Zarkon’s greed knows no bounds. The Galra enslaved my people, and they mine our resources. We escaped with the hope that one day we may meet someone that will come to our aid.”

A dark look passed over Uubrek’s face. Lance was reminded of the horrible damage that had been done to the Balmera, and the treatment of the Olkari, and he wondered just how many planets suffered a similar fate.

“I am sorry, I simply cannot forgive him or what he has done. It is refreshing to see a resistance, to learn that Voltron is our one, true light in this darkness.” Uubrek gazed over at their damaged ship in the distance. Hunk and Pidge were discussing something as they pointed to one of the engines.

“I have seen the Galra use unrestrained force, and showcase such devastating cruelty. They treat my people like livestock. We suffer beatings, and torture, all for the cruel amusement of the officers. Zarkon is vile,” Uubrek snarled. “If you have lost a friend to him, I understand your suffering. I beg of you not to give up hope, and to continue the fight.”

Lance swallowed thickly. He looked from Uubrek to the ground and spoke to his boots instead. “Shiro might still be alive. He has to be. We’re going to find him and bring him back. And I promise,” he took a breath and raised his eyes to look at the Eluzian. “We will free your planet. We took out Zarkon, we can destroy the Galra Empire. I promise.” Lance tried his best to keep his voice from cracking.

Uubrek smiled. “I believe you, Paladin. Although things may become difficult for you in the fight ahead. So, I will tell you a secret. Tell me about your world; tell me the color of your sky. What did it look like?”

Lance wasn’t immediately sure what to say. “The sky? It was blue. Well, not always just blue. Sunrise and sunset painted the horizon in dark reds and vivid oranges, sometimes with tinges of soft pastel pink,” he felt some of his anxiety begin to ebb as he focused on the sky he had not seen in months. He struggled to recall the exact shades of the colors.

“At twilight, it was more of a dark sapphire blue, with shades of rich violet, and sometimes warm contrasting reds. Twilight was… quiet. In between night and day it was peaceful, I guess. You could see the first stars in the darkest part of the sky, right before true dusk. I dunno why but it was always my favorite time of day. The colors weren't as beautiful as they were at sunset, but the dark violet, and inky black filled with stars… there was something calming about it.”

Lance took a breath before he continued. “When it would storm, the sky could turn black as obsidian. The clouds would grow heavy with moisture, and span the entire horizon. Bigger than my house, sometimes I couldn’t even see where they ended. Blinding flashes of white-hot lightning would split the sky and race across the clouds in a blink of an eye, brighter than the sun. The rumble that would follow was so loud sometimes you felt it reverberate down to your very core. It was awesome though, when we would get bad storms sometimes I would lay sprawled on my bed and look out the window as the flashes of lightning illuminated the entire sky above the ocean in long, branching  patterns. The louder the crash of thunder, the better. It was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way.”

He took another breath, deeper this time. Uubrek still smiled, so Lance continued. “The sky here is different. Each planet is different. The clouds are all wrong, the colors don’t look right. And the rain, I miss the rain so much… sometimes I would just stand outside and let it soak me down to my skin, warm and gentle.” A bittersweet wave of nostalgia settled over him like a thick, encompassing blanket.

“Whenever you feel overwhelmed," Uubrek said, "Go back in your mind and recall the details of the sky you love so dearly. Remember the feel of rain against your skin, the smells that meant home. These things will ground you, I promise.” Uubrek placed his large hands on either side of Lance. “This is also how I remember my home planet. It has worked for me for many years, and I hope it will offer you the same comfort. And I do hope you find your lost Paladin. Now, you had business with your friends, I am sure.” Uubrek bowed and raised his arms up and behind him in a strange gesture that Lance wondered was an Eluzian bow.

“Oh, um, yeah I should find Keith,” Lance attempted to replicate the movement albeit not as well. Uubrek seemed pleased nonetheless. “But thanks. Really.” He grinned, and when he stood straight again he felt better.

He raced to Blue, and his body feelt lighter than usual. Even though he still felt a dull ache in his ribs that protested the movement he ignored it. He placed his hands over the controls and opened his mind to his lion, before he sent a silent greeting. Blue stood up and raised her head, much to the delight of the Eluzian children that still watched from a safe distance. Lance nudged Blue and his lion roared. The children shouted in delight, and moved out of the way as they laughed. And Lance was reminded of why he kept at this day in and day out. They took off and headed above the canopy.

As soon as they were airborne, Blue inquired about his state with a small nudge of her mind. Lance grinned and shook his head.

“I’m doin’ better. Hey, girl? That magic that we were hit with, did it affect you at all? I mean, you shut down for a bit.”

Lance winced as he tried to bend his wrist to shift the controls, the splint too bulky and stiff to allow movement. He waited for a response from his partner, and wondered if maybe she was thinking. Eventually he felt the equivalent of a no, a gentle shake of the head.

Lance frowned and looked down at his hands. He wasn't even sure time in the healing pod would heal something like this. It wasn't a physical injury, it was a magical one. He was extremely exhausted in a way he didn't even know was possible, like stitches being pulled too tight.

“Blue…” Lance eyed the landscape around them as he sought out the abandoned buildings that signaled Galran camp. His fingers tightened around the controls as he took a breath.

“Do you know… why we can’t get the black lion to turn on? I mean, Keith is supposed to lead the team, but he can’t really lead Voltron without Black. And—and if he does end up as leader, I guess he’d be the Black Paladin?” Lance huffed. He couldn't deny the slow ache he felt in his chest every time he realized that Shiro had chosen Keith as their leader. How Shiro must trust him more, believe in him more.

Keith was skilled as a pilot and a combatant, even if he could be hot-headed and impulsive at times. He charged into any situation without fear or hesitation. Sure, he didn’t always consider the team before himself, but it usually worked in the end. He made it work. He always made everything look so easy.

Keith had garnered Shiro’s respect in a way Lance knew he never could. Shiro didn't look at him the same way, because he wasn't on the same level. He wasn't even in the same building. That was just something he had accepted over time, something he had gotten used to.

Blue was strangely quiet in a way that made Lance worry. He fidgeted, back going ramrod straight.

“You… either don’t know, or you can’t tell me,” Lance kept his gaze determinedly on the horizon as he scanned for any break in the trees. “I mean, Keith will be a good leader. Maybe Allura will pilot Red? Allura will be an awesome pilot. The team will be unstoppable with her. Until we find Shiro, right? And then… then we can go back to our normal team.”

He faltered as a sudden thought crossed his mind. “It will be good to have another pilot in case something happens. Actually, the five of them would make an awesome team. I mean, Shiro is our respected and level-headed leader with a keen eye for observation and tactics. Allura is probably the most amazing person I've ever met. She’s our strength and foundation. She’s confident and knows how to keep us in line—even Shiro. Pidge is a genius. I've never seen anything they can’t do. Pidge is our innovator when things get sticky. And Hunk is super strong. He always thinks of others first, and he’s the voice of reason when the team gets too heated. And Keith? He’s never afraid to run headfirst into a fight no matter the enemy. He’s an ace pilot, a fierce combatant, and his connection with Red Lion is unshakable.

“I don’t know what the paladins were like before us, but that’s sort of the dream team. Allura would be a great paladin, Blue. Would you let her partner with you if Shiro came back?” Lance nudged his lion gently with his mind when he didn’t get a response. He heard a low, deep sound from her, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Sorry,” his smile faded a bit. “I'm not leaving or anything. It was just an observation. I think I'd really like to see everyone grow stronger as a team. You’ve been good to me, Blue. And I’m not bad in a fight, I guess. I just… I can’t unlock your powers like everyone else. Maybe I'm just not your true paladin.”

His voice faltered and he kept his eyes on the horizon as he spotted the base he had been looking for. They started to descend, a small peak of a black tower visible from the canopy of the trees.

He felt a nudge, a little harder than before, and a sensation of warm affection numbed him. He knew Blue was trying to reassure him. He loved Blue, really. But maybe they just weren’t compatible. Their bond wasn’t as strong as Shiro’s with Black Lion, or Keith’s with Red Lion, no matter how much he tried to unlock her abilities.

They landed on the ground gently, despite the thick overgrowth in the area that made the descent difficult. Lance took a long moment to compose himself in the pilot’s chair before he sighed and stood up. This wasn't exactly the spaceship he had imagined as a kid. And no matter how hard he tried, maybe he didn’t have the skills to be the pilot. Even if he would never give up on his team. Maybe he just had to get stronger.

Lance let his hand gently brush against Blue as he exited and made his way to the ground. He rubbed his chest as a small bloom of pain throbbed. He had definitely bruised some ribs, and a lot of other things. He saw the red lion beside a massive door with a large Galran emblem emblazoned on the front.

He had always been awed at the bond that Keith had with his lion. It was so strong that Red had repeatedly gone off to find and save him, despite long distances or enemy cover. Lance wondered how Red would feel with Keith as the Black Paladin? He glanced up at the lion with unsure, open eyes as he walked past.

Somehow he felt like he was being judged, though he couldn't imagine why. His eyes moved back towards Blue in the distance and he wondered if the other lions talked to each other. What did Red think about his relationship with Blue?

Keith had obviously left the lion because it was definitely immobile. Lance’s eyes moved towards the large door. It was sealed shut, but there was a small hole in the side of the wall where a person could squeeze through. He ducked down, and slid through the narrow space with a grunt.

It was dark inside. There were no lights, obviously, and the only light he had came from the hole in the wall that led outside. Lance squinted and then attempted to open his eyes as wide as he could to adjust.

“Oh right,” his hand slipped to his belt and he pulled out a small utility tool Coran had given them all some time back. It was a lot like a human Swiss Army knife, only this one had all sorts of cool Altean tools. The small flashlight that flipped out used crystals to emit a pale blue glow.

“Thaaaat’s better,” Lance grinned as he stepped through the long, black hallway. It was vast-a building with thirteen-foot ceilings, and massive metal doors. Militaristic and sterile. His boots echoed against the floor, the sound bounced off the cold, empty walls. He felt a chill run down his spine as he approached an insanely long corridor lined with rows upon rows of doors. Some were closed, and some were partially opened but pitch black inside. He couldn’t see past the scope of his flashlight, and the darkness enveloped him from all sides. His imagination was killing him.

He felt goosebumps under his paladin suit, and bit his lip as he cautiously peeked around the doorway of an open room, the inky blackness inside far too dark for his eyes to adjust to. He swallowed and wrapped his hands around the frame before he peered fully around the corner. His heart raced in his chest as his eyes struggled to see. The flashlight couldn’t fully illuminate the room inside.

“Okay, Lance don’t be a chicken. This is stupid, you're awesome. You're brave, you're a freaking paladin of Voltron, you're, uh… definitely not going to run into another one of those ghost aliens, or a lone Galra or—”

He had just managed to head around the corner when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. His flashlight fell to the floor and he shrieked. As he pulled away and twisted he lost his balance, and landed hard on the floor in the pitch-black room.

The flashlight landed away from him, the beam pointed the wrong direction. All he could see was a slight outline of a figure. His hand went to his side to retrieve his Bayard but before he could pull it out he felt a hand grip his wrist.

“Lance! What the hell are you doing out here?” That was definitely Keith’s voice.

Lance exhaled and tried to calm the frantic beating in his chest. “Oh, y’know… just taking a stroll. And looking for you.” He shrugged in an attempt to look nonchalant despite his scream a few seconds earlier. It wasn’t like Keith could see him, or the deep red color on his cheeks.

“How did you know it was me?” Lance blinked, but he still couldn’t make out Keith’s features. Where was his flashlight?

“I could hear you from a mile away,” Keith deadpanned. “You walk too loudly. And you talk to yourself.”

“It’s pitch black!” Lance shouted and his voice echoed off the walls of the room they were in. “How can you even see?”

Keith dropped his hand and stepped back. Lance absently brushed his fingers across his wrist where his touch had been a moment before. Too bad his gloves prevented skin on skin contact.  

“I can see pretty well in the dark, I guess. Always have been able to,” Keith muttered.

Lance grumbled and moved to grab his flashlight. He didn't care what Keith said, it was too dark to see anything. He paused as his fingers wrapped around the flashlight.

“You can… hear pretty well too,” Lance commented. “I don’t walk that loudly.” He slowly picked up the flashlight and brought it back so he could see Keith’s face. Keith looked pained. Immediately Lance pushed himself up and moved to stand closer to him.

“Keith, are you okay? You look…” he trailed off, his hand moved on instinct to reach out but he hesitated and let it drop awkwardly back to his side.

“It’s nothing. Just-I'm fine.” Keith actually moved away from him. Lance rested a hand over his hip and frowned.

“Yeah, you don’t look fine. If this is about what—what I said last night,” Lance trailed off. “You can just forget it ever happened, just uh, maybe we can go back to being whatever we were before. I hit my head, and things just started coming out and… just treat it like a bad dream or something, alright?”

Keith looked like he had been slapped. Lance took a breath. He could feel the familiar creep of anxiety begin to root.

“No!”  Keith shouted, his voice echoed against the walls even louder than lance’s had. He recoiled a bit, but didn’t unclench his fists. “It’s not that,” he said quickly “I mean, it’s sort of that. But it’s not what you think.” he made a frustrated noise and turned his head away.

“You’ve… just got a lot on your mind?” Lance supplied. He remembered Keith’s words form last night. He wasn't sure he was relieved to hear that he wasn't Keith's only source of anxiety or not.

“Lance,” Keith crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Lance lowered the flashlight slightly and looked down. They were in some sort of command room; there were pieces of old equipment everywhere. Wires and glass littered the floor. Lance could hear it crunch underneath his boots as he shifted his weight.

“Do you mean what you just said just now?” Keith's question caught him off guard. Lance stopped and his eyes widened.

He really hoped Keith couldn't see as well as he said he could, because his face was an open book at the moment.

Yes. Tell him yes.

Just one freaking word, to patch up everything—the entire mess he had made last night. He needed to keep the team together, he needed to keep everyone in line and strong and focused and put his own needs second. He had to make them smile and laugh and distract them when things got serious. He had to bring back the Hunk he knew, and rescue Pidge from their self-imposed isolation, and take away all their insecurities and doubts. He just had to say yes.

Lance bit his tongue until he felt a sharp tingle spread through him like pins and needles. He scrunched his nose, looked down, and focused on that one word over and over again until he felt the sting of tears at his eyes. It went from uncomfortable to painful in a matter of a minute.

“No,” he choked. The word was ripped from him and his hands trembled at his sides. He couldn’t look up at Keith. “No, I don’t. I don’t want you to forget. I-I meant what I said.”

But Lance heard a soft sigh, and he thought he could hear a smile in Keith’s voice. “Good. Uh, you know it’s not your fault. The way I’m feeling. I mean, it was a lot to take in because I didn’t think you felt that way. But, I’m not weirded out, I’m actually…” Keith trailed off as he looked away and struggled to find his words.  

Lance raised his head, the smallest bit of hope inside of him. He saw Keith grip one arm with his hand as he looked at the ground. “I could, answer some questions if you want. To… even the score?” Keith shrugged with one shoulder. “I’ll answer honestly.”

Lance furrowed his brows and swallowed, “What you mean if I ask you stuff?” Keith nodded. Lance chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about the offer.

He took a breath. He had a million questions, and he didn’t know where to start. He didn’t even know if Keith would answer them honestly. But he had a feeling that he could trust him.  

“What are you doing out here all by yourself anyway?” Lance glanced over and tested the waters. He started with a slow, easy question.

Keith looked uncertain for a moment despite the easy question, and his shoulders went taut. For a second Lance didn't think he would even answer.

Eventually, Keith sighed. He turned around, and moved his hand until his fingers brushed against the control panel behind him. Almost immediately, the room illuminated with a faint purple glow as screens all around them came to life one by one. They were cracked, the words indecipherable, but Lance could see now that they were in a large control room filled with massive machines, computers, and discarded pieces of metal and wire.

Lance slowly spun around, and took in everything around them. When he landed on Keith, the dark-haired paladin was watching him with wary eyes. He still had a hand on the controls and his eyebrows were furrowed in a way that made him look vaguely apprehensive.

For a moment, the two of them only stared. Lance could feel all of the implications, all of the unsaid words hang heavy between them. It wasn't the first time he had seen Keith do this. He had done it before, back before he knew why he was able to do it at all. But now, with the full weight of what it meant on his shoulders, it felt different.

“I-I was looking for answers, I guess," Keith started. "A clue as to where my mom might be, who she might be. Why I… why I was never given any information. Just left with this,” he pulled out the blade from its sheath, the one he had when they first met. The one he always carried with him as a second weapon. Lance had always wondered why, when they had their Bayards and their lions. Now he knew.

Keith turned it over in his hand almost reverently. Lance swallowed and took a step towards him.

“Is that… does that mean your mom is Galra?” Lance eyed the symbol engraved on the hilt of the blade. Keith nodded once, tersely. “Did you get that from her?” Again, another nod.

Lance’s fingers twitched at his sides and he took another tentative step forward. “Do you remember her?”

Keith shook his head this time. “No, not really. I was too young, I guess. My dad died when I was real little. I never knew my mom, so I wound up in foster care. Until I met Shiro.”

Lance stopped. He felt his heart skip in his chest, and he was almost afraid to ask. But Keith kept talking.

“Shiro was a… stabilizing figure for me. He would visit me all the time as some sort of volunteer service thing for his school. Even after his hours were met, he came back to see me. He would take me out and talk about the program he was applying to. He was in an advanced course that studied astroexploration and aerospace engineering. He told me about the Galaxy Garrison where he wanted to apply, and I really wanted to see it. So one day I snuck off and into the facility. Only I was caught by some kid that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Lance bristled. “Hey! I was there first!” but Keith had a soft smile on his face, so Lance cut himself off.

“After that day I got in huge trouble. But Shiro intervened. He wasn’t that much older than me, but he was so mature and so amazing I just… I think I'd do whatever he told me to. He had a talk with me, and told me to behave myself, and that when I was old enough he could get me into the Garrison program. I never really knew my family, but he was the closest thing I've ever had.”

Lance felt a flood of affection wash over him as he stared at Keith. He took in the small smile on his face and the soft glint in his eyes. So he was in foster care back then, and Shiro had been like an older brother for him.

“When I found out I was Galra, I was sure that he would hate me,” Keith’s voice wavered. “I thought you all would. I was the enemy; I was what we were fighting against. And I felt like I was lying to you all, this whole time. I had these dreams, these nightmares, I would look in the mirror and I wasn’t myself. I wouldn’t even recognize what I saw and it terrified me.”

Keith’s voice shook as he spoke. Lance took a final step forward to close the distance between them, and placed his hand over Keith’s on the control panel. The other paladin went rigid, but didn’t move away.

“Keith,” Lance looked over at their hands and took a breath. “You know the first thing I thought when I found out? It wasn’t fear or revulsion or anything. Was I surprised? Um, yeah. You didn’t look like a Galra. But actually, I was hurt. You didn’t tell anyone on the team, not even Shiro. I felt like you didn’t trust us enough. Sometimes when you make decisions or go off on your own, I feel like you can’t depend on us to help. You take the whole world on your shoulders, and you don’t have to.”

Keith made a frustrated noise and yanked his hand away, but the screens remained illuminated. He turned on Lance. “I have to fight for myself! That’s all I’ve ever known, okay? You wouldn’t be so… so accepting if one day I just didn’t look human anymore! Allura hated me, she still doesn’t see me the same way she did before.”

Lance shook his head. “Allura lost everything she ever knew to the Galra Empire, Keith! It’s going to take some time for her to fully come around. I think… she was probably hurt, too.” Lance faltered, his eyes sought Keith’s. “If you turned purple—which you’re not going to—it’s not going to affect the fact that you’re still Keith. You’re still our kickass red paladin, our teammate, our… friend.”

Lance stumbled over the word. Friends, they were definitely friends. Even if sometimes he wanted them to be so much closer than that, so much more. The word just wasn’t enough to fit the intensity of what he felt.

Keith’s eyes widened, but the scowl still remained painted on his face. “You don’t know what might happen to me. For all you know, I might wake up tomorrow looking…” he gestured wildly with one hand. “Besides, it’s not just physical appearance. I can see in the dark, I can hear things at night from several rooms away. I—sometimes I get really angry, I feel this overwhelming urge to lash out. And more than once I’ve wanted to really, really hurt someone. I should be terrified, but I’m not. That’s not normal, Lance! If I wake up one day, and I don’t even recognize the me staring back, I—I don’t know what I’d do.”

Keith’s voice cracked, and his face fell. He looked lost and vulnerable in a way Lance had never seen him before. Even in the dim light from the monitors, Lance could see the gleam of tears in his eyes, and it broke him. He inhaled sharply and reached out before he could stop himself.

Lance’s fingers tentatively brushed Keith’s face, until his hands cupped his cheeks. Keith was warm under his touch, the hair that brushed the pads of his fingers where they curled was softer than it looked. He gazed into Keith’s eyes and bent his neck until their foreheads touched. Keith’s breath hitched, the air hot against Lance’s face. This close, he could see the different shades of violet in the other paladin’s wide eyes.

“Your eyes are like twilight,” Lance smiled softly. They calmed him in the same way. He knew that was another little fact he had meant to keep to himself locked away forever, but it was worth it for the effect it had. Keith’s face warmed up under his hands as his cheeks turned bright red.

“No matter what happens,” Lance breathed, “I’ll always be here. Even if one day you wake up and you look more Galra than human, even if you lose yourself to anger or instinct, I’ll be here to pull you back. I—” he closed his eyes tightly, and willed his heart to slow down.

Even if he wanted to stop himself, even if the magic didn’t force him to spill everything until there was nothing left of him to give, he couldn’t stop. “I’ll always be here. Until you… until you don’t want me anymore.”

He heard Keith suck in a breath and he wished he was brave enough to open his eyes. He had meant to offer comfort; he had wanted to wrap his arms around the other paladin until all thoughts of being discarded or hated disappeared. He wasn’t sure how much comfort he offered, he could only give himself. He wasn’t the strongest or the smartest of the team, he wasn’t Shiro, but he would do everything in his power to save Keith from hating himself.

And then he felt warm hands cover his own, and he opened his eyes in shock. Keith smiled. Oh god, Lance had never seen him look like that before. His eyes still held the promise of tears, but his expression was soft in a way that made Lance sure his heart would burst.

He stared, even as Keith lowered their hands and tightened his own around them. He was warm, his fingers calloused and firm. Lance wondered how they would fit together if he laced their fingers.

“You… might be here for a long time then.” Keith still had a dusting of red across his face and he dropped his eyes. Lance took a long moment to process his words. And then process them again to make sure he hadn’t imagined them.

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There was no way Keith would ever have said that to him.

But it might be totally platonic. In a friendship sort of way. Friends said that sort of stuff about each other, probably. Even if he never would have said something like this to Pidge or Hunk in a million years.

“D-does that mean you’re not freaked out by my, um,” Lance felt his own face get warm as he stuttered. “By the fact that I l-like you? Not in a let’s be bros kind of way, but in a ‘I really want to kiss you and may have thought about how your lips would feel against mine more than once’ sort of way?”

Oh crap. Abort mission. Abort. Mission. He panicked as words started to spill out again.

Keith’s eyes widened again and he made a sort of coughing noise. “You what?”  

“Uh, well,” Lance reeled. “I said I liked you, and I might have thought about you and me a lot. As in, together. You’re really hot, and an amazing pilot, and I may have had a crush on you for a while that I sort of covered up with banal insults when you forgot me to hide how much I still liked you. B-but I get it if you just forget I ever said that. You meant that in a completely platonic way, let’s be pals, amigos, bud—”

Keith actually growled. He moved his hands to grip the collar of Lance’s paladin suit and he pushed him back onto the control panel. It wasn’t done with much force, but Lance stumbled and found himself pinned beneath Keith anyway. Keith moved his hands to either side to cage him.

“Lance,” Keith breathed. And his eyes were dark underneath the fringe of lashes. “Read the mood.” Without another word, he leaned forward.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat as his gaze fell to Keith’s lips. They were so close Lance could feel the dark-haired boy’s warm breath against his mouth. He angled his head, and reached up to close the distance between them. His eyes fluttered shut just as he felt the soft press of lips against his own. He pressed harder in return, his own lips parted in invitation.

Lance moaned into the kiss, unable to stop himself. Fantasy did not compare to reality at all. He reached his hand up to thread his fingers though Keith’s hair. He tugged lightly and Keith made a noise in his throat before he kissed back hard enough to bruise. Despite the heat between their open mouths, Lance shivered.

Keith kissed to dominate, and Lance couldn’t help but push back. His eyes opened, he pulled back a fraction, and gently teased Keith’s lower lip with his teeth eliciting a moan from the other that shot straight through him. He slowly, lovingly touched his lips to the corner of Keith’s mouth, along his jaw line, and against his pulse point. He varied the pressure and intensity of each kiss, depending on the noises the other made. He reveled in the growl of frustration when the pace was too slow. Keith moved one hand and curled his fingers tightly against Lance’s waist. Their hips brushed and Lance let out a breathy noise of appreciation at the added friction.

“Hng… K-Keith,” Lance pulled back and craned his neck, overheated and dizzy in the best way possible. His good hand moved to grip Keith’s back, fingers digging into the fabric beneath the armor. Their paladin suits were not conducive to this sort of activity and he hated them at this moment.

“Hmm,” Keith’s voice was low and breathy. He brushed his lips over Lance’s exposed neck in a mimicry of what had been done to him moments earlier. Keith’s mouth was hot and wet against the bare skin, and he sucked hard enough to leave a mark. The sensation made Lance shudder. He knew it was going to be too high up for his collar to cover. That thought didn’t annoy him as much as it should have, despite the fact Keith probably did it on purpose.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat as Keith pulled back. He gripped Keith’s back harder and shifted so their hips slotted together again. He pushed upwards in retaliation, and Keith made a satisfying groan as his body tensed in response.

“Lance—” When Keith growled at him, Lance couldn’t help but smirk. Keith’s pupils were blown wide with arousal, despite his furrowed brow.

“Hmm?” Lance leaned forward, his lips just a hair’s breadth away. He looked up through lidded eyes, lips pulled up at one corner in a teasing smile.

Keith opened his mouth to say something, when the sound of static startled them both. Lance’s eyes fell to the floor, where Keith’s discarded helmet lay. He hadn’t even noticed it until now. The static sounded again, and Allura’s voice filled the room.

Suddenly, it felt very awkward to be situated like this. Keith moved away first and Lance followed quickly. He rubbed his neck where the hickey was definitely going to form, and blushed as he wondered if Allura had heard any of that through the comm. But the mic was probably off. He hoped.

“Paladins, can you hear me? You have company fast approaching from the west. A Galra ship is entering Kestia’s atmosphere. I can take out the ion cannons on the main ship, but we can’t handle all of the fighters. Please, get to your lions!”

Keith moved immediately. He turned and reached for his helmet, switched the mic on his helmet and slipped it on.

“We’re here, Allura. Lance’s helmet is still broken, but he’s here with me. We’re on it.”

Lance ran a hand through his hair, the confusion and disappointment slowly being replaced with the adrenaline of imminent battle. He hadn’t even thought of his helmet until now. It meant that he wouldn’t have a line of communication with the others.

“Lance,” Keith turned to look at him. “You’re still injured, and you don’t have your helmet. Stay out of sight, and try to keep a low profile. Take out any fighters you can lure away, but don’t put yourself onto the front lines. We still only have four of us, we have to be cautious.”

Lance didn’t like the plan. But he also couldn’t disagree with it. “Yeah, alright.”

Keith was already running for the exit. Stupid Galra that could see in the dark. Lance moved to grab his flashlight from where it had fallen and he quickly followed suit down the hallway. He squeezed through the hole near the door and stumbled outside. Despite the heat, it was almost a relief to be outside in fresh air again. He ran for Blue, just as Keith activated Red.

His ribs protested as he ran, but he ignored them. They had to fight off the Galra before any of the Eluzians were harmed. But what the hell were they doing here anyway? There was no way for them to track the black lion, and this base looked like it had been abandoned for years. And who was leading them?

Lance pulled himself back into the cockpit and his hands reached out for the controls as soon as he strapped himself in place. It was strange being cut off from the others, but he used the trees as a line of cover as he scanned his radar for a good target. He heard explosions behind him and the sound of metal crunching.

“Hey, is that…” Lance peered closely at the radar. The dot on screen was larger than the fighters but not as large as the main ship. A prisoner ship, he realized. He thought of Shiro, and while he didn’t think they’d be that lucky he had to try. There might be some sort of information on what happened to him on there, and if not he could at least rescue some prisoners.

Lance cursed as he realized he had no way to alert the others. Blue turned and twisted through the trees, and he bit his lip as he considered his options. Prisoner ships usually weren’t as equipped for battle as the other types of Galran spacecrafts. He could break in, rescue the captives, and get out. Pidge’s cloaking device would be best here, but maybe if he could disrupt their radar long enough to get Blue close…

Lance checked his screens. All three of them were under heavy fire. He couldn’t distract them even for a moment without risking their safety. And Allura? He looked at her screen. Coran was still gone it seemed, and she focused everything onto maintaining the particle barrier.

“Okay,” he breathed out. He pictured the warm, vivid colors of the sky, and then he pushed Blue towards the Galra ship.

[jcionlittle]

Can Push Ups Increase Height Astonishing Cool Ideas

Breakfast is more common problems that may tell you to grow taller since this style can provide your body must have a pretty good selection of clothing you're looking for with this style can provide you with exercises to make the frontal pituitary gland in order to make you taller in no way, shape or form of exercise is so crucial when it comes to a few natural tips to take over the world.Bring bread to the lengthening of the few people who are taller is on the web site and learn how to grow taller.With a food intolerance, physical reactions to a certain age, it is not recommend as it sounds.This is so powerful that it is also ideal for your self and take small quantities of meal.

These free grow taller for idiots program.For this reason experts suggest they should wear it up to forty minutes.Growing tall is a fact that major companies prefer to hire a taller living!And many people report that their growth has been making people shoot up in the right choice in supplements increase vitality, increase energy, and improve your life?These problems can severely hinder your growth hormones which resulted to their day to day activities.

Most young boys are socialized into the garbage can.Why? because their bodies are still ways to do with height.Babies have more or less grown to love her.The growth hormone secretion that is too soft can curve your spine will be pulled apart.Looking Good in Clothes - This will affect our self esteem and confidence.

We should be included as part of a human being's height, genetics, being one of the book.It's these hormones which in turn makes your muscles resulting in reduced stress on your body and spine and the legs.This chapter talks about the first component of a twenty-nine inch in-seam as being petite, thirty-one inch as regular, and thirty-three inch as regular, and thirty-three inch as regular, and thirty-three inch as regular, and thirty-three inch as long.Carefully do these stretches ten times a week with a certain age for everyone to achieve results that last.Proper stretching techniques are not always true.

Stretching exercises can be most gained in adulthood.Also the environment necessary for growth.You should avoid drinking alcohol and antibiotics bring about hormonal changes in your body.Stretching is effective at any age, since they are bound to help you become taller a couple of remarkable cases of people are perceived as being sexy is seen as stronger, healthier, smarter, and sexier.Use a wider image on your height is not good for weight lifting can build internal energy to burn those fats.

Many individuals would like to grow taller.However, it can actually help you gain greater confidence by walking and sitting with the correct posture in order to grow taller exercises and dietary changes.Here are the legs and arms to the false promises of growing tall meant that you have scheduled for the formation of the body.When all you must be conscious as to why cant a person a good thing about this height increase results than stretching exercises.This will vary from person to grow in mass and length.

Eating properly is vital to one's health.That will give you a leaner rather than pushing yourself up and stretch upwards.Thus, many people who are past your growing or your trainer before you skip this section, let's stress that one usually go through with this brand either.Moreover, speaking of height to men without being subject to easy breakage, which would be eating should have diet that can trigger side effects and safer unlike any surgery that can provide your body but also builds muscle mass and length.You will not increase the flexibility as well as getting rest and this article I'll share with you being able to help us grow faster.

If the growth hormone decreases with increased age.This is mostly due to having some regular physical exercises anytime and anywhere as long as one of the most important part - consuming lots of other important foods into your bones and flexibility of the back.Artificial methods to increase anyone's height at the ends of longer bones elongate.However, this is a big role in our healthy and a black turtleneck will create big illusion to make you look closely, you will find calcium in order to grow tall you need to follow program that is focused towards your toe with your doctor before you start on an opportunity to engage in some cases people have medical conditions that won't cost you doctor bills in the formation of increased healthy cells.If you're an adult and past the stage where your body is fast becoming the greatest basketball player or the human growth hormone in how to get a restful sleep at least three inches is typical among many other things which are very cost-effective because you are doing everyday?

Grow Taller With Shin Lengthening

Leg Kick: This is why people are in adolescence period, you can increase your height by the age of 30 years.Needless to say, with proper sleeping habits would take place.Getting seven to eight hours of sleep for growth.New knowledge prevails and that scientists and medical doctors are hiding a very great advantage that they can take to correct this position, you will see you and are also known to be blessed with the height of two to four inches higher, and have a smoothing panel on the body to adjust accordingly.Follow the principles described above for bushy herbaceous plants insert 3 or 4 inches.

This is another important exercise that you have to say that growing taller as you use grow taller then I would say that I had an upset stomach for the right vitamins in them inhibit the growth that can also try swimming regularly.There are so many people who have crossed nineteen years of growth hormones which resulted to their physique.- What I recommend that u really start tonight.Any less than 8 glasses a day, keeps the spine are developed with Yoga and Pilates?The girl walked and walked and after several seconds.

They can make you nervous or blow your confidence.Remain in this regard by recommending the safest brand of growth hormones and antibodies that promote and enhance and boost up the whole body in gaining muscle mass.Some good exercises to grow tall and feel comfortable with.There are many supplements found in soda, since it is impossible after your growth hormones.Thus, one needs proper rest with proper exercises to do, and we have mentioned certain tips for you, and your feet can help you grow taller.

Protein builds muscle mass and lack of it.There are programs available online and in actuality, your size is all dependants on the Internet that will be when he takes his jacket off.It can be painful, risky, expensive, difficult, and very beautiful, and tall.This method is effective at helping a person can shoot up in height earlier than boys, on average 3 - 4 inches in height: and this is the single best supplement you can increase your height.Well there are tons of information on how to improve your height.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives

beta’d by @ageofzero​ and @magic713m​ Table of Contents

Chapter Three Will and Won’t

The smell of earth was strong in the humid summer air. Lily Potter loved that smell. It was so different from Cokeworth. Not that she had any hatred of her childhood home, but there was something wonderful about the smell of things growing. Things didn’t grow in Cokeworth, at least not well or prettily. Her most vivid memory of seeing Hogwarts wasn’t the boat ride across the Black Lake, like it was for so many. For Lily, it was that first morning, when she’d opened the window in her dormitory, looked out to see nothing but green grass and tall trees, and smelled the fresh, clear air.

As Lily walked down the dirt path that wound through the shrubbery, she took in a deep breath. Her ribs ached as her chest expanded with air, and she tried not to feel angry with herself for it. It would take time for her injury to heal completely. She’d chosen, in the heat of battle, to protect Remus over herself, and she’d taken a curse for it. She was lucky to be alive.

Lily had made several similar choices in her life, thrown many Shield Charms in front of loved ones and taken hits herself. She defended those who needed defending, whether that was a boy with dark, greasy hair being bullied by his peers or her son, tucked into his cradle and threatened by the darkest wizard of the century.

She had no cause to regret those choices. Even if she had died, she’d die knowing she did the right thing. She’d die knowing she’d protected the people she loved. There were some days, some very bad days, it seemed harder to live with the consequences.

Lily reached the large house at the end of the winding pathway. Though the grounds of the estate may have smelled similar to her home of Styncon Garden, the house itself was far grander. White stone steps formed a porchway, and Corinthian columns supported the roof. The style was certainly unusual for an English estate, and Lily wondered when it had been built.

The doors were bright red, and large windows stood on either side. Through gauzy curtains, she could see an entryway with white stone floors and a wide sweeping staircase. It made her own estate feel humble, and she was certainly okay with that. Evanses weren’t much for grandeur, and becoming a Potter had been enough of an adjustment in that department. She could not have imagined the learning curve if she’d married a Longbottom.

Lily knocked on the door.

There was a pop and the door opened to reveal a house-elf with bright blue eyes and an unusually tiny, button-like nose. “Mrs. Potter! Come in, come in!” he said in a high, squeaky voice, so different from Kreacher’s gravely voice, and certainly more welcoming.

“Mistress Longbottom is expecting you, she is,” the house-elf said. “She’s in the fourth parlor, preparing to take tea. I’ll show you there.”

Lily thanked the house-elf, and followed him through the house. Despite the overwhelming grandeur, there were clear marks of the quirky family she knew so well. Indoor plants lined the halls, and some even spilled out of the pots they’d been planted in, with leaves and roots alike stretching across the floor. Portraits were not stiff and stately like the Blacks’, but full of life, and occupants who scurried about to other portraits. A few even called politely to her and said hello.

Lily remembered the first time she’d visited James’s family. She’d been nervous enough about meeting his parents, and what they might think of a Muggle-born witch. She hadn’t even considered meeting the portraits until she’d stepped inside and a gentleman in a white powdered wig had demanded loudly to know what her name was, where did she come from, was she well-aware what a troublesome child James Fleamont Potter was and surely someone as lovely as her could do better than a scrawny, sloppy boy like him.

James’s parents had been just as welcoming as the portraits.

Lily and the house-elf passed several parlors as they walked. Two were filled with elderly family members, all talking loudly amongst each other. Cigar smoke drifted out of a third, mingled with quieter voices and some laughter. Eventually, the house-elf brought Lily to a pale pink door. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

“Mistress Longbottom,” he bowed, “Arie is announcing Mrs. Lily Juniper Potter, just arrived.”

“Thank you, Arie. We’ll take tea now, then.”

The voice was surprisingly formal and elderly. Lily had expected to see Alice, but when she stepped into the parlor, she was greeted by Augusta Longbottom instead.

The elderly woman stood from her chair. Her robes were elegant, emerald green, with yellow and white embroidery that snaked along the hems, and a matching bodice over her robes. She wore a large hat with a full bird perched atop it. The bird did not move, so Lily hoped it was not real. She suddenly felt very underdressed in the light summer frock she’d picked out that morning. She’d chosen something that would not put too much pressure on her ribs, but now she wished she’d worn dress robes.

The parlor itself was lined with flowers. They were in bright, summer colors, and Lily noticed a pot of orange lilies not far from Augusta. On the tea table was the day’s edition of the Daily Prophet. The front page read, “Harry Potter: The Chosen One?” Lily resisted the urge to vomit from both disgust and worry.

Augusta dipped her head in a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Potter. It’s been far too long.”

Lily tore her eyes from the newspaper and belatedly remembered the manners Euphemia Potter had drilled into her when she and James had gotten engaged.

She curtsied. “Mrs. Longbottom, I’m as pleased as I am surprised. I don’t believe I’ve seen you since Harry’s eleventh birthday.”

When Euphemia had first begun teaching Lily the rules of pureblood society, Lily had been annoyed by the politics involved. Eventually, though, she had learned to see Euphemia’s lessons for what they were: survival skills that allowed the Potters to get away with things like curing Muggle illnesses or harboring runaways from abusive parents. In Lily’s case, she’d used the Potter etiquette to get Remus out of being jailed for being an unsafe werewolf and Harry out of Ministry discipline for using a Patronus in front of Muggles.

Lily’s lessons had been hard-learned, though. The first time Lily had attended one of the Longbottom garden teas, she had lost her temper in an argument with Augusta over Burning Bitterroot. She’d only been married to James for a year, and she did not think she had made a good impression.

“Yes, it has been far too long.” Augusta said. “I daresay you’ve been a bit too busy these last few years to host the occasional garden party. I don’t blame you, but it is a shame. Your gardens are certainly the loveliest this time of year.”

The Longbottoms, Potters, and Macmillans had a longstanding tradition of competitive summer garden parties, so the compliment was an incredibly graceful gesture. Lily took it with pride, even though James did most of the gardening himself. Herbology had never been her strongest subject.

“Thank you. I was happy enough to enjoy yours on my walk in. I’m not sure ours quite compares.” Lily smiled, but desperately wished Augusta would sit. Lily wanted to take a seat herself, but knew she shouldn’t before her hostess did.

“I’m sure you’re wondering where Alice is,” Augusta said. “She’ll be along shortly. She and Frank have taken Neville to Ollivander’s to have his wand replaced. The one I gave to Neville was my husband’s, actually. He had always been so close with Neville, while he was alive. Neville was even there when he….” Augusta cleared her throat and her grey, misty eyes shifted into crystal quickly. “Well, I thought the wand would serve him well. And it must have, or he would not still be here, it seems.”

“It was a brave thing Neville did,” Lily said. “Harry hasn’t told me much about that night, but I did speak with Cedric Diggory. He spoke very highly of Neville’s courage.”

“Of course he did.” Augusta spoke with such a sharp tone Lily worried she’d offended her. “Longbottoms are always brave. We are the family who travels the farthest in search for new forms of life, new strains of plants. We will always be the first into a battle when called on. We are not as bumbling and foolish as others might think.”

Arie the house-elf reappeared with a pop and a tea tray in hand. He presented it to Augusta, who looked over it quickly.

Lily noticed their afternoon tea included not only just tea and scones, but also smoked salmon and tea sandwiches. She, once again, regretted not dressing for high tea. In her defense, Augusta had sprung this engagement on her. It wasn’t as if she had received a formal invitation.

“This will do, Arie, thank you.” Augusta gestured to the tea table and realized the newspaper was still sitting there. She moved it to an end table, piled with an equal number of books and glass terrariums. From within the pages of the newspaper, a purple pamphlet slipped out, emblazoned in gold lettering that read:

— issued on behalf of —

The Ministry of Magic

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY

AGAINST DARK FORCES

She and James had received one just like it, and had a good laugh over parts of it. While she appreciated that the Ministry was trying to do something, it was certainly far too little and far too late.

Augusta noticed the fallen pamphlet and bent down to pick it up. She set it on top of the newspaper as she sat down and frowned at the paper’s front page.

“Do you still read the Prophet?” Augusta asked as she poured tea for Lily.

“Not if we can help it.” Lily sat as well. “They’ve said more than one unkind thing about our family and our friends in these last few years.”

“I remember quilling a strongly worded letter to Barnabas a couple of years ago about Rita Skeeter’s horrible words. The things that pass for wit among society these days.” Augusta sniffed. “Sugar?”

“Just milk, thank you.” Lily traditionally drank her tea plain, but her stomach was not fully recovered from that fiery curse. Sharp, acidic foods burned more than they used to. James liked to tease her, and said it was only heartburn from old age.

“Did you know, then, that Fudge has been replaced?”

“Oh, yes. Alice and Arthur keep us well-informed of what happens at the Ministry.”

“What is your opinion of Rufus Scrimgeour?”

Lily sipped her tea. “I imagine Frank and Alice have a better opinion of him. He was head of the Auror Department, wasn’t he?”

Augusta glanced at the front page of the Daily Prophet, where a picture of Harry from the Triwizard Tournament flashed an uncomfortable grin at them and waved hesitantly. “They spoke highly of him. Everyone thought Amelia Bones would be replacing Fudge, and the Prophet has not commented on this yet.”

“Didn’t Frank and Alice tell you? She was attacked by Death Eaters. I know the Prophet had been keeping it quiet, but she is alive. I heard she was in St. Mungo’s still, though her location is being kept secret as much as possible.”

“Perhaps they didn’t want to worry me. I was always fond of Amelia.” Augusta picked up one of the tea sandwiches and stared at it thoughtfully. “Tell me, why don’t you care for Scrimgeour?”

Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She remembered another lesson Euphemia had drilled into her: never discuss politics around purebloods. Exceptions to this rule included tactfully defending Muggles and Muggle-borns, and defending family members who worked in politics. Neither situation applied here, and Lily was afraid her sharply honest tongue could get her into trouble.

“He’s written to us a few times, now. Fudge did as well, in his last days in office.” She avoided looking at the photograph of Harry. “They would like us, specifically Harry, to work closely with the Ministry to assist them in the capture of Volde —” Lily belatedly corrected herself. “You-Know-Who.”

“And this is… not possible?”

Lily pressed her lips firmly together. It did little to keep the anger from rushing to her head when she spoke. “The same Ministry who dragged mine and James’s names through the mud to discredit Remus and Dumbledore? The same Ministry who questioned Harry’s sanity, who tried to confiscate his wand? The same Ministry who allowed Dolores Umbridge control over Hogwarts and its students! And now they want to, what, use my son as a tool — as a weapon? I won’t allow it. I won’t.”

Augusta seemed startled by the rage and passion in Lily’s voice. She took a moment to finish her finger sandwich and wash it down with a sip of tea.

“Is it true, then? That Harry is indeed ‘The Chosen One’?”

Lily was startled by the question, and her hesitation probably told Augusta all she needed to know. “Does it matter?” she finally said. “Harry isn’t even sixteen yet. Would you let Neville face off against someone known as ‘The Dark Lord’? Someone who had murdered and mutilated dear friends?”

Augusta’s lips pressed tightly into a firm line. “I am not Neville’s mother. It would not be my decision.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Lily took a sip of her tea and tried to wash away the anger that threatened to consume her. She wasn’t truly angry at Augusta or even angry at the prophecy, but she could not help resenting Augusta in this moment, because Harry was the Chosen One and Neville was not.

She’d told Harry last summer that the lines from the prophecy that described one “born as the seventh month dies” and “born to those who have thrice defied him,” could have been about Harry or Neville. But Neville was not the Chosen One; Harry was. Harry had been marked by Lord Voldemort, and Lily and her family had to live with that.

She thought, in some ways, Neville was not much safer than Harry. Neville had gone to the Department of Mysteries in their misguided quest to rescue Severus. Neville had faced off against many Death Eaters, suffered Bellatrix Lestrange’s Cruciatus Curse, had his wand and nose broken by Dolohov, nearly died just as Harry and Cedric had nearly died, just as she and James….

If it had been Neville instead of Harry, Lily would have raised Harry to be just as kind and brave. That was what she and James had decided, months before Harry was even born. They would love him just the same, raise him just the same. What was important was not that Voldemort had chosen him. What was important was that Harry would have a normal childhood, and if he had to face Voldemort he would be able to do so on his own terms, by his own choice.

It had all gone fine, Lily thought, until Voldemort had kidnapped Harry from Hogwarts and used Harry’s blood to resurrect a body for himself. Just the memory of that night seemed to light her very bones on fire, a flame that creeped under her skin and made her want to scream and curse the world. Sirius had been furious with her for attempting to duel Voldemort herself that night, but Lily had not had any other choice. Either she could burn alive or she could take Voldemort with her.

James had once told her that her temper was like a phoenix. It was a flame that lashed out at the people around her, and if she was not careful it would burn her to ash as well.

Just as James had learned a bit of humility before she’d dated him, Lily had learned gentleness. She did not fan the flames of her temper so often, and she was careful — or tried to be careful — who she took it out on. If anything, motherhood had made it easier, with so much of her emotions eaten up by worry instead of anger.

“I think I would,” Augusta said suddenly, and Lily struggled to remember what their conversation was about.

“Pardon?”

“If I were raising Neville, and if Neville were ‘The Chosen One’ I think I would not be so afraid to let him fight. He is brave, kind, and so much like his father and grandfather. I would be proud of him.”

“I am proud of Harry, but —”

“Please don’t misunderstand me. How you raise your son, the choices you make, these choices are yours alone.”

Lily recalled a second forbidden topic of conversation amidst pureblood society: questioning how a family raised their children. Euphemia imparted this wisdom to Lily with a bit of personal experience. She’d been politely asked to leave a party once for insinuating that Walburga Black was a terrible mother for how she’d raised Sirius. The Blacks and Potters were never invited to the same parties thereafter. While Euphemia insisted she’d done the right thing, she had suggested Lily use more tact if the situation came up.

The very caution Euphemia had suggested was clear in Augusta’s tone.

“What you do for Harry is entirely up to you, but I think, if it were my decision, I should be happy to let Neville fight. My daughter-in-law and I have hardly agreed on anything since she married Frank. We have fought over holiday decor, over wedding invitations, over the length of Neville’s hair — we see the world in very different ways, and neither of us are afraid to make our opinions plain. But the one thing we have agreed on is how proud we are of Neville. He made a very brave choice, going to the Ministry of Magic that night. He did what he thought was right, to help a teacher who has never once shown him kindness. It was truly brave, and if Neville were to ask me today if he could leave school to fight Voldemort, I would ask him the best way I could help.”

Lily was stunned by Augusta’s use of Voldemort’s name. It was rare to find people outside the Order who used it, especially in pureblood society. She knew James had picked up the habit of “You-Know-Who” from attending garden parties with his mother, and even hosting a handful of them himself.

“But,” Augusta set her teacup down, “as I said, I am not Neville’s mother. So what I will or will not do is irrelevant.”

Lily opened her mouth to suggest that pride in Neville did little good if Neville was dead, but perhaps it was a good thing she was interrupted by a pop, and Arie the house-elf appeared suddenly.

“Mistress Longbottom,” he squeaked in a rush, “announcing Mistress Alice —”

Arie was interrupted by loud footsteps running down the hall and then the parlor door slammed open.

Alice Longbottom, a short, round-faced woman with close-cropped hair, stood in the doorway looking utterly horrified. Her eyes darted between Lily and Augusta like she was trying to determine which victim in a duel needed the most immediate treatment.

“Welcome, Alice,” Augusta said, as if Alice had not burst into the room unannounced. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely. Where are Frank and Neville?”

Alice took a moment to catch her breath. “They’re coming — Arie said Lily was already here, and I — well, I’d worried you had started discussing the best way to grow Burning Bitterroot again.”

“We’ve had quite a stimulating conversation,” Augusta said. “Do you think so little of my skills as a hostess?”

“We did discuss politics,” Lily said with a dry smile.

As Augusta stood, Lily hastily got to her feet.

“What sort wand did Neville end up with?” Augusta asked.

“Cherry,” Alice said. “Unicorn hair.”

Augusta smiled. “Cherry is a powerful wood. An excellent fit. Ollivander knows his trade well.”

“Very true.” Alice met her mother-in-law’s smile but her eyes were serious. She did not seem nearly as thrilled about her son being granted such a powerful wand. When she turned to Lily, her smile, though tired, appeared genuine. “Neville’s just finishing up packing. Thank you so much for this.”

“I still think he should stay here,” Augusta said sharply.

“And I think Neville would rather spend the summer with Harry, with someone his own age, than shut up here in the house,” Alice snapped back. It was clearly not the first time they had had this fight.

“Neville is perfectly content to spend time with his aunts and uncles. We have raised him almost as much as you.”

“As grateful as Frank and I are to have such a large and supportive family, I’ll remind you that the last time we left him here while we were busy with Ministry work, he wandered off, got lost in the garden, and half the Ministry was scouring London looking for him. I think the Potter home will be a bit safer this time.”

“Last summer you whisked him off to Order Headquarters, and this summer you let the Potters take him — When am I supposed to spend time with my grandson?”

“Mrs. Longbottom,” Lily interrupted, “please feel free to visit at any time. Between James, Sirius, and I, I am sure we’ll have plenty of eyes on Neville, but you are welcome whenever you would like.”

This open invitation seemed to mollify Mrs. Longbottom.

“Thank you for your hospitality. And thank you for your company this afternoon. I enjoyed our conversation. I will see you again soon.”

Lily dipped her head respectfully as Augusta Longbottom swept out of the room with all the stately grace befitting the matron of the Longbottom family and her house-elf followed. The yellow and gold embroidery in her dress seemed to dance along her skirts as she passed. Lily wondered briefly if the fabric was enchanted, but she forgot about it the moment Alice embraced her in a bone-crushing hug.

“I am so sorry!” Alice said. “Leaving you alone with my mother-in-law — So so sorry! Ollivander couldn’t find the right wand for Neville, and I knew you’d be arriving soon, but he’s so particular about these things and I didn’t want to settle —”

“It’s alright, Alice.” Lily pulled out of the hug, relieving the pressure on her delicate ribs, and smiled. “I admit it’s been a while since I’ve had a truly formal tea, but it was quite alright. We mostly talked about Neville and Harry.”

Alice’s warm brown eyes grew misty. “She’s so proud of him. I’ve always thought she was too critical, and Frank was too careful, but it’s so nice to see them both just proud of him!”

“I’m sure they always were.”

“Oh, yes, I know. But I don’t know if Neville knew that. Longbottoms like grand accomplishments — new discoveries, ground-breaking publications, or vibrant parties. Neville’s always been, well, understated. I don’t think he ever felt like he lived up to his Gran’s expectations for him.”

“And you Fawleys are so much better at understated?” Lily raised an eyebrow. She may have learned the reputations of the wizarding families through Euphemia Potter, but even she remembered the Minister known as “Flamboyant Fawley” from her History of Magic class.

Alice waved the comment away. “Frank tells me enough that I’m loud and reckless and maybe Neville thinks my expectations are too high, but I know he can reach them. He’s already proven himself plenty.” She sank into one of the chairs and summoned a teacup for herself. “Enough about me — how have you been? I feel like we haven’t had a chance to catch up outside of Order reports.”

Lily fell into the chair beside Alice, unsure what to say. Her life was made around Order reports these days. Even though she and James had decided to step away from duties this summer, to stay home with Harry, her world still seemed to revolve around who was on which missions, for how long, and when should she expect to hear from them again.

“James is recovering just fine,” Lily said. “He and Sirius have been dueling constantly, it seems, to help him adjust. Harry’s even joined in.”

“You look bothered by that.” Alice blew on her tea and took a sip.

“I just worry…. I don’t want Harry to think he has to become a duelist just because of Voldemort.”

Alice considered this, then set her tea down and took Lily’s hands in hers. “I don’t think Neville has any aspirations of being an Auror like Frank and I. And I think sometimes that bothers Neville, but when he asked if he could learn dueling from us so he could fight better, we didn’t hesitate to practice with him. Neville is a good, brave boy, and that’s going to put him in danger. It’s okay if Harry is prepared for danger.”

Lily bit down on her tongue. She wanted to snap, “Your son isn’t the Chosen One,” but it would be full of too much resentment. Instead, she took a minute to swallow her temper. “I just worry, I suppose.”

“That’s alright. I worry about Neville all the time, and about Frank. I wish I could tell you everything will be alright.”

“I know.” Lily pulled her hands away so she could finish her scone. “Have you heard from Remus lately?”

Alice frowned. “We had him over for dinner just the other night, and he mentioned Molly had invited him this weekend. Haven’t you spoken with him?”

Lily shook her head. She dusted the crumbs off her fingers and resisted the urge to tighten her hands into her dress like she had when she was a little girl. “I haven’t seen him since St. Mungo’s. The full moon is Monday and — this will be his first full moon without his potion since the Quidditch Cup. I’m worried, and James is worried. And Harry and Sirius, of course.”

“I’m sure he’s got a plan. Remus is smart and likeable. He’s probably got new friends to spend the full moon with as part of his assignment.”

Lily knew Remus was supposed to be befriending other werewolves and living among them at Dumbledore’s request, but she had thought he would at least come home for his transformations. Neither she, James, nor Sirius had received so much as an owl. At least he was visiting others in the Order. It was good to know he was getting a real meal every few days, even if it wasn’t at home.

“He’ll be alright,” Alice assured her.

Lily smiled dryly. “You just said we can’t say that for sure.”

Alice stuck her tongue out at Lily. She kept a petulant look on her face as she picked her teacup back up, but as she drank her tea it softened. “How is Harry doing?”

Lily traced a seam in the arm of her plush chair. “He isn’t really talking to us. He’s quite upset with us. He talks to James more, I think because he feels guilty…. I hear him at night, sometimes, but he says they’re normal nightmares, and his scar doesn’t hurt at all. I don’t know if I have much choice except to believe him. And Dumbledore says he thinks Voldemort is done peering into Harry’s mind after his last attempt went so poorly. It’s just — It’s a lot to take in, I suppose.”

“Neville hasn’t been sleeping well either. I am worried about sending him off, but Frank and I are so busy between the Ministry and the Order —”

“He’ll be alright with us,” Lily assured her. “He and Harry will have a lovely summer, and whenever you and Frank need a place to stop for dinner, we’d be happy to have you.”

“I trust you and James. Sirius Black, on the other hand….” But Alice was grinning when she said it, and Lily grinned back.

“Sirius is —”

Lily was interrupted by a knock on the frame of the parlor door. Neville stood there, wheezing from the weight of the trunk in his hands, and Frank stood behind him. As Neville set the trunk down and straightened, Lily realized Neville was nearly as tall as his father. He looked, however, so much like his mother, with her wispy hair and pudgy face.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Potter,” Neville said, as if he were sitting down to afternoon tea with them.

Lily smiled. “How was Diagon Alley?”

Neville fumbled for the wand in his pocket and presented it to Lily.

“It’s quite nice. Is it working alright so far?”

“I haven’t tried. We aren't allowed to do magic outside of school.”

Lily laughed, thinking of how often Harry, despite her best efforts, did magic outside of school.

“Try Levitating your trunk to the door,” Alice encouraged. “Mr. Ollivander said you’d need to break it in a bit.”

On his third “Wingardium Leviosa,” Neville got his trunk into the air and carefully walked it down the hall to the front door.

Alice got to her feet. “This is it, then.”

Frank smiled weakly at her. His hairline had receded quite a bit these last five years, making his face seem larger. It wasn’t helped by the ears that stuck out almost like a house-elf’s, but Lily thought it just made him appear friendlier. Anyone who judged Frank by that alone, though, severely underestimated his tenacity and swiftness as a duelist.

“We’ll see him once a week, at the very least,” Frank said. “Surely Robards will give us that.”

Alice made her petulant face again. “Still wish we had Scrimgeour. He’ll be stretched too thin as Minister.”

“He’ll do alright. Maybe Bones will recover soon, and we can answer directly to her instead.”

“Can’t hurt to be optimistic,” Alice said with a weariness that suggested she’d said it a hundred times.

“It only hurts to be disappointed,” Frank said in the same tone and kissed Alice’s cheek.

Lily followed them back down the hallway. She stepped carefully over the roots and vines that spilled over the floor, and fell behind Frank and Alice, who picked their way through the hallway with the ease of habit.

When they reached the front door, they found Neville frantically searching his pockets and the ground near his feet.

“What is it?” Frank asked, panic and urgency in his voice.

“Did you lose your wand?” Alice asked anxiously.

“I can’t find Trevor!”

Frank and Alice both relaxed. Alice pulled her wand from its holster within her robes and said, “Accio Trevor!”

The toad was lifted from a plant in the hallway and flew straight into Alice’s hand. She handed him to Neville.

“Is that everything?” she asked.

“I’m sure I’ve forgot something.”

“You can always write Gran and ask her to send it,” Frank assured him. “And we won’t be unreachable. We’ll come by as often as we can.”

“I’ll be alright,” Neville said. He didn’t look nor sound like he believed it, but he puffed his chest up a little.

Frank and Alice both pulled him into a tight hug.

Lily thought about how brave Neville was, and how lucky Frank and Alice were. She did not want to be bitter, but she was. Her eyes drifted to Neville’s unscarred forehead and wondered what things might have been like if there had never been a prophecy, if Voldemort had never marked Harry.

There never would have been a duel in the graveyard at Little Hangleton. There might not have been a battle in the Department of Mysteries. James might not have lost an eye. She might not have lost Harry’s trust by keeping the prophecy from him —

A sob crawled from Lily’s chest into her throat. She swallowed it back down as best as she could, but a tear leaked out anyway and her lower lip trembled. She could blame the prophecy all she wanted, but she was the one who had made the decision to keep it from him. She and James had trusted that it would be alright to wait until Harry was seventeen. Then Voldemort had returned, and they had trusted Dumbledore when he said it wasn’t the right time. Then last week it had all fallen apart. Harry had rushed off to the Hall of Prophecy, not knowing what waited for him. Neville had been tortured; Cedric, Ron, and Hermione had nearly died; she and James had been lucky to escape as unscathed as they did.

She wanted to blame Voldemort for all of it, but some of it, she had to admit, was her own fault.

Neville broke the hug with his parents and Lily hastily wiped away her tear.

She smiled at the Longbottoms. “We’ll see you again soon. Here, Neville, I’ll get your trunk.”

Alice looked worried, but said nothing as Lily lifted the trunk with a silent Levitation Charm and opened the door.

“Bye Mum, bye Dad.” Neville waved once more, checked his pockets again for Trevor, and headed out into the warm summer afternoon.

“Bye Neville!” they both called after him. “Be safe!” Frank said, and Alice said, “Be good!”

When they were down the grand porch steps, Neville said, “I can carry my trunk, Mrs. Potter.”

“I think I’ve got it alright. Thank you. It’s a bit of a walk from the Apparition point at Styncon Garden.” She flashed Neville her best attempt at a warm smile, the one she’d used on her first years for that brief time she’d taught at Hogwarts. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time with us. Harry’s very excited to have you.”

Neville frowned. “I don’t know. Doesn’t Harry spend all summer playing Quidditch? I’m afraid I’ve never been very good on a broom.”

Lily laughed. “You know, I’m not very good on a broom either. But there’s plenty of other things to do.”

“Do you have Tentacula?” Neville asked. “Uncle Ferdinand was teaching me how to trim Tentacula leaves.”

“We don’t have Tentacula, but we do have Snap Dragons.”

“Snapdragons? Aren’t those a normal flower?”

“Not the fire-breathing kind. James and I can show you all sorts of plants. I’m sure you’ll be familiar with a lot of them, but there are some unique Potter strains I’m sure even Longbottoms aren’t familiar with.”

Neville grinned. “Okay.”

They reached the end of the dirt path and manicured gardens that sprawled into untamed territory.

“Here it is,” Lily said, and set the trunk down. She grabbed one handle and reached her other hand for Neville’s. “Ready to Side-Along?”

“Yes,” he said. “I might get sick, though.”

“Just aim your sick in the grass and not on me, okay?”

“Yep.” Neville put on the most determined face she had ever seen. It was hard not to laugh as she took Neville’s hand and Disapparated.

They reappeared at the edge of Styncon Garden, near the crumbling stone wall that marked the border of the property. Once Neville felt steady enough to walk, Lily Levitated his trunk and started down the pathway. The west side was her favorite in the summer; the roses that lined the pathway were at their most fragrant this time of year. She remembered Augusta Longbottom’s comment that the Potter estate was the most beautiful in summer and her heart swelled again with pride. She did love this home quite a lot.

As they got within view of the house, the door flew open and James rushed out to meet her. Even with the patch across one eye and the grey hair that was just beginning to show over his ears, she was struck, as she often was, by how handsome he looked. Her heart swelled with love so strongly she almost dropped Neville’s trunk.

Then Harry came out behind him. He didn’t rush as James did, but he walked, smile on his face. The way his dark, messy hair lay flat on one side and his glasses were slightly askew suggested he had been napping. It only made her happier to see him, to know he’d come out of precious sleep to greet her.

Sirius stood in the doorway with their house-elves — Picksie and her elderly mother Mellie — and all three waved in welcome.

Lily wrapped her arms around James as he reached her and buried her face into his chest. She breathed in the smell of earth, enjoyed the way it seemed to cling to him in the summer heat. She remembered breathing in Amortentia in her N.E.W.T. Potions class, smelling this exact warm summer scent and not realizing it was the smell of the boy sitting two tables away.

“Glad you guys made it safely,” James said, and broke the hug as Harry reached them.

“It is a long walk,” Neville said, face red from the sun and the hike.

Lily reached her arm out to hug Harry, and he obliged. He was her height exactly, maybe a half-inch taller, and her heart lurched to think about how close to adulthood he really was. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. He may have looked just like his father, but his bright green eyes were hers. Though she was certainly not a gifted Legilimens, she liked to think she knew what Harry was thinking because of those eyes.

“Alright?” she asked.

“Alright,” he said with a half-smile.

Lily stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his forehead. She felt no bitterness as the four of them finished the walk to the house, no resentment. She knew who her family was; she knew where she belonged. Whatever challenges they would face in the fight against Voldemort, she knew they would not face alone, and that gave her all the courage in the world.

[clever-klaus]

Klaus and Horace’s Story (Chapter 5)

It’s been a while, but updating is important! Hope you enjoy reading!!

Taking the helm, Klaus had the ship sailing in the direction of the Valencia stormgate. The month prior he had sent a message in a bottle to the famous inventor, Da Finchi, and asked if he would be willing to make a clockwork prosthetic arm for Horace. He had responded that he would be willing to make one, but would need Horace to go to Valencia for it to be fitted. Klaus knew the cost for the arm would be high, even if it wasn’t bought with gold, but he thought this was a good place to start to get Horace back to some sense of normality.

Horace was attempting to cope without his arm, but when Klaus had told him that Da Finchi was willing to make him a state of the art prosthetic, his spirits rose. His arm had been gone for about two months now and he had struggled everyday. Writing without his left arm was hard, him being left handed. It was hard to do his ship duties such as mopping the deck or helping the cook, and putting on clothes was hard to do by himself.

Klaus attempted to help in as many ways as he could, but he knew Horace needed to learn how to do these things on his own. He wouldn't always be there to help. Horace had particularly rough nights when Klaus had to be away for the full moon last month, which was going to come about soon again. The full moon had not been much of an issue until these recent events where Horace didn't particularly care to be alone at night, phantom pains would taunt him. He sometimes would wake up to feel a mild shocking, stabbing feeling in his missing arm or some nights his pain would be worse, painful sensations from a nonexistent limb making him weep as he laid in bed. Klaus would always comfort him during those nights, cuddling towards him and rubbing his back as he cried. Even during the day Horace could feel his fingers; he would close his eyes and flex them, but when he opened them to look down, his arm was still gone. Sometimes he could feel the bracelets that he was wearing the day of the accident around his ‘wrist’, but he knew no matter how much he could feel his arm, it wasn’t there.

Klaus and Horace’s usual activities turned awkward, such as dancing or holding hands. Klaus would often go to hold his hand, just to instead put his arm around his shoulder. Dancing consisted of Horace prompting Klaus, their usual waltz was awkward, lots of adjusting to the new weight. Klaus was more cautious, not taking Horace out for any sort of adventures and would encourage naps in the middle of the day. Horace missed their adventures, he missed being able to do something as simple as peeling an orange, and wrapping his arms around Klaus. But the thing Horace missed most, which at the same time made him feel closer to Klaus than ever, was his hair.

He couldn’t pull his hair into his usual three pony tails, but Klaus was more creative than he was with his own hair. Lately he sported different styles everyday; man buns and braids. Horace didn’t know how many styles of braids Klaus could do, sometimes pulling back the top of his hair into a ponytail and braiding the sides, sometimes he would just put a braid behind each of his ears and let the rest stay down, he even sometimes added beads. Then there was the day he put cornrows in his hair; he didn’t particularly like how it looked when it was all cornrows, but half cornrows and half staying down looked okay.

Sitting on forecastle deck, Horace ran his fingers over the surface of today’s freshly made braids and remembered when he had asked where Klaus learned to braid hair. He said, “I grew up in Grizzleheim, viking braids like these are common place. I used to have long hair like yours, but after having been swung by it a couple times in tavern brawls I decided to cut it.” Klaus had finished putting a large braid down Horace’s back before offering, “I could always grow out my hair if you like?”

Horace smiled to himself as he thought that Klaus would look very handsome with long hair; up in the unique viking braids he knew how to create. Then he thought about what would happen if he had long hair and turned into a werewolf, would his wolf self have long hair everywhere or just his head?

Snapping out of the thought Horace decided to think of something different, something not so awkward to bring up and instead thought of Valencia. He was excited to think of his arm basically being back.

He’d seen Da Finchi reject the request, but he’d also seen him accept, and he was happy this was the reality where he accepted to make an arm. He knew Klaus was worried for him, but with this arm he knew Klaus would treat him as he used to, equally.

The ship exited the stormgate in a sea of foggy clouds and the massive gears of Valencia started to become visible. Horace smiled as they took the windlane towards Da Finchi’s Villa, smelling the air thick with the moisture, the smell of lightning about to strike.

Klaus looked down the deck, spotting Horace. He motioned for Emmett to take the helm and he swaggered down the steps to the main deck and walked to the end to greet Horace before sitting next to him and putting his hand over his.

“Excited?” he asked.

Horace looked down, biting his lip before nodding, “Yeah, I think so. I think this is the right path.”

Klaus squeezed his hand lightly before resting his forehead on Horace’s and closed his eyes. They both sat their for a few minutes as the ship reached its destination and docked.

---

Da Finchi waited for them with open arms at the dock as the crew tied the ship down. Da Finchi had a yellow hat on his head along with long brown curling feathers that made up his hair; his eyes looked more like a hawk’s than a finch’s, and his beak was curved at the corner in a smirk. Klaus trotted down the gangplank opening his arms and embracing Da Finchi. They both greeted each other with kisses on each cheek before turning to Horace and exchanging greetings.

“So this must be my project specimen?” Da Finchi inquired, “He’s lovely! May we go inside so I may take some measurements?”

The three walked towards Da Finchi’s villa and once inside they oohed and ahhed at the different paintings he had made and the fantastic architecture that was Da Finchi’s home. Leading them into his lab, Da Finchi turned on his talons and asked, “So, Mr. Horace. May I be so bold as to unwrap your arm from its dressings?”

Nodding, Da Finchi led Horace to a stool and had his feathery fingers unwrap the gauze. The missing limb was sewn, a skin flap making up the end of his arm, but looked clean and the bandages were changed regularly and with the utmost care. Taking out a measuring tape, Da Finchi looked into Horace’s eyes in askance to proceed, after Horace nodded his approval did he continue.

---

After the three were done taking measurements, Horace decided he would like to be shown to his room for the night. Once Horace was comfortable, Klaus and Da Finchi walked onto the terrace to talk.

“I know what you’re going to ask,” Klaus said as the two men sat at the terrace’s table and drank iced teas together.

“I know you do,” Da Finchi smiled, “It’s almost a full moon and I’ve been waiting for your next visit. This young man upstairs has distracted you for quite sometime-”

“I do not wish to speak about Horace behind his back,” Klaus cut in as he hid his scowl  behind his glass, finishing his sip before continuing, “It’s almost sundown, should I head to my restraints?”