#one day I’ll finish my half sleeve ugh I wish I was rich

[bluebipples]

idk she would’ve been 40 today so im sharing my favorite pics of her

[bestkindofbeehive]

Smile for Me Week, Day 1: Secret

happy smile for me week!!! for my first trick, have a fic I wrote after thinking about my dad too hard. it ends well and it was pretty cathartic for me, but it does get a bit emotionally intense re: feelings about having to stay closeted in front of your parents for years, so fair warning. but it does end well I promise!!! I’ll probably post this on ao3 soon too, so look out for that!

-----

Never in a million years would Parsley have ever expected that being stuck in the same slapdash “mental health” retreat as his dad would end in anything other than frustration. And, to be fair, that was how things went for a while. But then that weird florist handed him one of his dad’s terrible dishes, and before he knew it he was getting drunk off his ass and actually talking to his dad for the first time in... years, probably. Somehow it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The Kahlúa and birthday cake flavored vodka probably helped.

And then he’d been woken up in the middle of the night and suddenly urged out of the giant front gates with very little reason why— something something carbon monoxide poisoning. Not that Parsley really needed convincing to get the hell out of there at that point. Even a constant flow of free alcohol probably wouldn’t have kept him there for much longer. Those last PSAs were getting pretty creepy and, well, incredibly specific and aggressive towards one particular person. He had hoped that chicken te- flower vendor made it out alright, but he saw them a few days later in town. So things couldn’t have ended too badly.

The most astonishing thing, though, was the fact that he and his dad actually kept talking once they got out of that place. And he somehow didn’t wind up wanting to tear his hair out by the end of every conversation, even. Of course his dad frustrated him plenty of times, but it never got bad bad like it used to. Things between them were... good. Not good good, but just. Good.

So good, in fact, that Parsley manages to somehow metaphorically vomit up the words necessary to tell his dad he wasn’t attracted to women. He wasn’t even drunk— tipsy, certainly, but he was painfully in control of all his faculties that night.

It went... well. He knows the night ended on good terms, and he knows his dad didn’t get angry. He’s pretty sure his dad told him he loved him at some point, which is a good sign. It only happened a few weeks ago. He isn’t really ready to think about it very hard in any capacity. He’s scared that he’ll go looking for some specific sign, or a phrase, or a look— something that definitively tells him that his dad doesn’t look at him and wish he had another son— and come up empty.

Parsley takes what he can get, until what he can get isn’t enough anymore.

The tension finally breaks one evening; almost six months to the day they both left the Habitat. They were watching the end of some melodrama that was airing right before the hilariously disorganized cooking show they both enjoyed. And the stupid thing is that Parsley can’t even remember what his dad said that set him off so bad— but, god, his dad would know just the right string of words to tick him off enough to say something. It was something about keeping secrets. Something about how he didn’t understand why some people keep harmless stuff so close to their chest for no reason. Which is rich coming from him, the man who has to bluster his way through every emotional conversation he’s ever had. Parsley would be seeing red if his eyes weren’t already that color.

“See, I mean, like with your whole, uh, situation— Not that I’m tryin’ to rag on you or anything, sprig, but I just don’t see why you didn’t just go on and tell me! I wouldn't've been mad at you or nothin’,” Jimothan says, gladly shoving his entire foot in his mouth for the sake of scolding Parsley, just like old times.

Parsley, to his credit, doesn’t immediately blow up. “You didn’t exactly make it the easiest thing to do,” he says, his voice clipped and his jaw tense. His dad makes a bewildered noise next to him; a noise that wouldn’t be out of place in a sitcom.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean? I always told you that you could talk to me about anything, didn’t I?” Jimothan asks. The look of genuine confusion on his face almost makes Parsley want to drop it and just keep watching tv, but the fuse has already been lit.

“Sure, if you forget about all the times you showed me that definitely wasn’t true,” Parsley scoffs, pretending to focus on the tv again. The melodrama is still going. The character on screen is crying big, unrealistic tears. Parsley can’t make out what they’re crying about over the blood starting to rush through his ears. Every neural pathway in his brain left over from his teens is yelling at him to just let dad think that he’s right so the lecture that hasn’t even started will stop.

“What’re you— Parsley, what the heck are you talkin’ about? I’ve never— When have I ever said somethin’ that would make you think I wouldn’t—”

Something in his dad’s tone immediately sets Parsley’s blood to a boil. He sounds like he doesn’t understand; like he doesn’t even know where this is even coming from. He has no idea. Fuck, would it hurt less if his dad tried to justify himself instead? If he sounded angry instead of confused? Because this means that he just doesn’t know. Decades of hiding and bullshit and being afraid and he just didn’t know.

“Are you KIDDING ME?” Parsley fires back, eyes wide open and blood red. Jimothan almost jumps, having not been witness to his son’s temper in a while. “When HAVEN’T you said something that would make me think you wouldn’t approve? I wouldn’t— I couldn’t go a day without you making some comment about how I needed to get a girlfriend, or- or- how you couldn’t wait to have grandkids, or some other stupid thing about me “finally” getting a wife someday—” Parsley rants, his voice stuttering with the anger flying around in his chest.

Jimothan at least has the decency to look a bit stunned. “But— Oh c’mon Parsley, that was just me tryin’ to give you a little push! I thought you were havin’ a tough time talking to girls, so I figured I would just give you some pointers—”

“No! That’s just it! You just had to build up and build up this— this idea of what I was supposed to do! Every time you just had to make a comment like that it was another bullet on the fist— LIST of all the things I wasn’t doing right,” Parsley flusters. At some point in his rant his hands find their way to his head, and he tries to run his fingers through his hair to calm himself down, but they keep catching on tangles. “A-And you wanna act like I shouldn’t have been scared to tell you, but you—!”

“Scared?” His dad’s expression breaks a little, which just makes this awful situation all the more difficult. Shit. Shit shit shit, this wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. It shouldn’t even be happening, but the fire in Parsley’s chest isn’t dying down and he can’t keep his traitor mouth shut.

“Sprig, you didn’t have any reason to be scared, it woulda been fi—” Jimothan tries to start.

“Ugh, you’re not LISTENING!” Parsley feels like he’s seconds away from tearing his hair out. God, he sounds like such a teenager. “It wasn’t that easy! Of course I was scared! How the hell could I have explained— I just—!!” 

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO TELL YOU I WASN’T THE SON YOU WANTED?!” Parsley finally screams.

The room gets quiet frighteningly fast. His dad just stares at him, his face slack with a cocktail of confusion, surprise, and what Parsley wants to hope is sadness.

Suddenly, all the anger and half-hearted bravado flies out of Parsley’s chest. His arms fall to his sides, and he’s left panting with the exertion of having just spilled out a flood of emotions that have been building since he was in elementary school. He doesn’t feel relieved. He just feels tired.

And then he starts crying. Which is just... great. As if this night needed some extra turmoil to really polish things off. Like most times, he can’t even stop himself; he was never good about not wearing his heart on his sleeve. Not his anger, not his disappointment, and definitely not his heartache. It’s not even a “dignified cry”, as his dad would put it— he’s hiding his face in his hands, and he can’t stop his shoulders from shaking every time he tries to suck in a stuttery breath.

He probably looks pretty pathetic right now, Parsley thinks. And in a few moments he’ll hear his dad get up and walk out of his apartment while mumbling something about seeing him later. And then in about a week’s time, Parsley will answer the phone, hear his dad’s voice, and both of them will never speak of this night ever again.

But something different happens.

Instead, he feels his dad’s sturdy hands take him by the shoulders and pull him into a firm hug. It’s an awkward thing; Parsley’s hands were still covering his face, so now they’re kind of pinned to his chest, and his dad is squeezing him just slightly too hard. They’re both out of practice, really.

Before Parsley can manage a “whuh” in response, he hears more than sees his dad take in a big, faltering breath while his shoulders start to shake. Parsley has only seen his dad cry a handful of times in his life. Most of them happened around the time the divorce was finalized. But after that... Nothing.

Jimothan makes a wounded noise of a sob. “Y-You’re— God, sprig, I would never...” he starts, but can’t find the words to finish. Parsley manages to find it in himself to forgive his dad for that pretty easily. He’s never been the most eloquent when it comes to emotional outbursts. Parsley manages to wriggle his arms free, and wraps them around his dad. The older man lets out a little sniffle in response, and then starts to run his hand down his son’s messy head of hair. It only catches a few times.

“You’re all I got, Parsley,” his dad mumbles through the thickness in his voice. “You’re all I got.”

Parsley lets himself cry just a little bit more, his chest finally starting to feel lighter than it has in years. The two of them exist like that for a while— clumsily hugging and crying and mumbling little fragments of things they’ve both been meaning to say. At some point they’ll have to break apart, and at some point the night will have to end. They’ll part ways with slightly stilted goodbyes, and very likely won’t speak of this night for at least a few months. But for now, they both let themselves have this moment. 

And it’s not much, but it’s enough.

[chelsfic]

Part Five - Wish You Weren’t Here - Diego Jiménez x Reader - Starz Power fanfic

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

A/N: This part introduces two more characters from the show Ghost and Tommy. Ghost is the main character of the show. Tommy is his best friend and what you need to know about him is that he kills people unapologetically and seems to often find it fun. He’s emotional and impulsive. (Yes, I am also in love with him. Okay? Fine. God.) Sorry if...nothing much happens in this part? I mean I found it compelling to write about the weather. I don’t see the issue? Actually I’m kind of setting up Plot for the next part.

***

It’s not like you expect Diego to send flowers and chocolates and a barbershop quartet... But...you’re disappointed when your Netflix and chill suggestion seems to evaporate from his thoughts over the next few days. He’s obviously very busy. You spend your days flitting around the penthouse while Diego takes non-stop phone calls. It’s clear something big is going down although you only understand one in five words with your high school Spanish. You decide that’s probably for the best. Even if you secretly love listening to Diego’s rumbling voice enunciate the unfamiliar syllables. Maybe he’ll teach you one day…

One day...when he gets his head out of his ass? 

By the end of the week you resolve yourself to Diego’s caprice. Either he’ll grow up and make a move or he’ll...continue to taunt you with his sexiness from afar. Ugh. Friday morning is frigid and it’s sleeting as you walk from the subway station to Diego’s apartment building. The freezing rain soaks through your knit hat and scarf, leaving you damp and shivering despite your giant, dowdy winter coat. It’s been pretty mild this year so this is the first time you’ve walked into Diego’s building in your complete winter get-up. The security man does a double take when he sees you walk in, not recognizing the roly-poly, chunky knit, walking L.L. Bean ad. You’re sure the girls that Diego hangs with will continue to go out in miniskirts and strappy sandals all winter long. But you don’t like being cold. 

Diego’s leaning on the kitchen counter sipping a cup of steaming coffee when the elevator doors open to reveal you in all your glory: soggy, dripping and miserable. He nearly spits out his coffee as you slump your way over to the closet and begin peeling off your layers of outerwear.

“Shut up,” you grumble miserably. “It’s freezing! And you might have noticed it’s raining--I mean your windows are big enough.”

Your jacket falls off the hanger and lands with a wet plop on the floor of the closet. You leave it there, shutting the closet door and going to join Diego in the kitchen. 

“Gimme coffee!” you demand and--feeling bold and edgy--grab the mug out of his hands and take a big sip from his cup. You grimace, “Ugh! This needs milk!”

“Well, it was my coffee, actually. You can have your own…” but you’re already going over to the refrigerator and pouring Diego’s almond milk creamer into the cup, filling it almost to the brim before taking another taste. 

“Better,” you sigh and watch him make another cup for himself. “...thanks.”

He looks up and smiles at you and the dimple in his cheek makes you weak in the knees. How can he look so boyishly charming when he’s an actual…

Your hands are slowly thawing, cupped around the ceramic mug but a shiver wracks your body nonetheless. It’s partially in response to the memory of his fingers wrapped around the golden handgun and partially because you’re still pretty damn cold and you’ve only worn a t-shirt under your coat like a moron.

“Come here,” he says, holding out his arms, eyebrow arched expectantly.

Murderer, schmurderer. You set the cup down on the counter and step into his arms. Diego wraps his hands around your bare arms and hisses in sympathy at how cold you are. He rubs his palms vigorously over your frozen skin, warming you with the friction as if he were a boy scout trying to light a fire. Heh--he’s already lit a fire…

You’re boneless, wavering before him as his hands run over your arms until you finally lean forward and let your forehead rest on his chest. You feel his chest rumble against your cheek as he purrs in response to your closeness. 

“Should have brought a sweatshirt with me,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Hold on,” he says, pulling away. You curse yourself for speaking and breaking the moment. He goes upstairs and comes back a moment later holding a black cashmere sweater in his hands. “Put this on.”

He hands you the bundle of fabric and you let your fingers roam over the rich fibers. You can think of more amusing ways for him to keep you warm but you’re still touched by the gesture.

“Diego. This is too nice to wear doing housework…”

He rolls his eyes at you and smirks, “Just put it on. You feel like an icicle.”

Of course you’re quietly--stupidly--thrilled. You pull it on over your head and delight in how the sleeves fall over your hands and the bottom hem extends halfway down your thighs. Diego’s eyes glimmer as they drift over your form, secretly pleased to see you dwarfed in his shirt. He clears his throat and turns away abruptly to fiddle with the coffee maker. With his back to you, you bring the collar of the sweater up to your nose to give it a little surreptitious sniff. Mmm...beefy boi scented. You try to squirm your way back into his arms but he’s already distracted, looking down at his phone.

“By the way...I need you to leave early today. I have a lunch meeting,” he says absentmindedly as he scrolls through text messages.

You throw him a withering glance. Leaving early as in doing the same amount of work in half the time?

“Fine, but I’m just doing your sheets and laundry. The rest can wait,” the words themselves sound authoritative, but your tone wavers a little at the end. You’re still unsure in asserting yourself to this man who can intimidate you even if he occasionally dissolves into a needy puddle at your touch.

He looks at you with that enigmatic gaze of his. You try to keep your chin up even as your insides quake. He finally nods wordlessly and turns back to his phone.

***

You’ve just finished putting away the folded linens when Julio walks up to you, “Boss says time to go. I’m driving you home.”

You look up at him and frown in confusion, “You’re driving me home?”

Julio just shakes his head in shared bemusement, “Diego wants me to drive you from now on. I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you home at the end of the day.”

Julio tries to rush you out the door but you stop him at the elevator, “I need to grab my coat, hold on.”

You get your coat from the closet and head back into the living room where Diego is lounging on the couch. He looks up at you with a self-satisfied expression, “Julio told you he’ll be driving you from now on?”

“Yeah?” you answer, “Diego, I don’t--I don’t really know him that well?”

You’re actually thinking about the way Julio’s hand dug into your arm, the way he seemed so ready to deliver you to his boss like a sacrifice when you’d witnessed too much. The memory doesn’t exactly make you feel comfortable spending time with the man.

Diego stands, his height towering over your small frame. He cups his hands around your face and tilts your head back to meet his gaze, “I trust Julio with my life, little girl. And yours. He’ll protect you. Besides...it’s still raining. And soon it will be snowing…”

He leans down quicker than you can process and pecks a chaste kiss to your forehead. What the fuck? My lips are right here, buddy. Before he can pull away you grab his shirt collar and tug him down to smash your lips against his. He responds to the kiss, opening his lips and letting you slip your tongue into his mouth, stroking, lapping, nipping. He growls as he tears himself away. 

“You need to leave now,” he pants. “I don’t want my...guests...seeing you here.”

“But...,” you smirk, licking your lips and giving him a knowing look, “I’m just the maid.”

***

Julio is silent on the ride down to the lobby. You fidget, balancing your bag and your still damp jacket on your arm. You catch his eye at one point and try to give him a little smile. He looks like he’s still puzzling out why the hell his boss is spending so much effort on you. 

Cool. Start to a beautiful friendship and all that.

When you step off the elevator into the lobby Julio turns to you and finally speaks, “Wait here, I’ll get the car.”

“Sure!” you answer in your chipper, we-can-be-friends voice. If Julio is Diego’s right hand man, or whatever, then you want to be at least friendly, if not full-fledged friends.

You watch him walk away and you notice two men approaching the private elevator. You shuffle out of their way but not before one of them catches you with a penetrating gaze. He’s a white guy, blond buzz cut, tall--hulking really would the correct terminology--with definite crazy eyes. He stares at you like he’s trying to see into your soul. You stare back not because you’re trying to seem unaffected but because you just can’t look away. You watch his eyes widen as they flick downward. You glance down at yourself, realizing that you’re still wearing Diego’s over-sized, expensive sweater. When you look back up the man is still watching you, this time with a malicious looking grin on his lips. 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says with false sincerity, grasping your elbow in his large hand and giving the slightest squeeze as if to hint at the strength withheld. He doesn’t let go right away. Not until his partner, an elegant, handsome black man, finally addresses him.

“Tommy,” there’s a hint of warning and exasperation in the man’s voice. 

The man--Tommy--finally lets you go. You watch them both step onto the elevator, unease shivering down your spine. Even as you walk across the lobby and go outside to meet Julio...you still feel Tommy’s gaze crawling over your skin.

Tommy...

Ghost...

Tags:

@lockedoutofmyotherblog @1zashreena1​ @lannister-slings-and-arrows @glowingpena​ @flower-petal-blooming​ @symbiont13​ @pullthedamnlever​ @sparrows-books​ @joalsglasses​ @ishqinbbc​ @pre-schoolervengance​ @skys-luce-stellare @popculturepriestess​ @nolongertwo​ @ughwhyareyoulikethist​ @squidlywiddly87​ @damndamer0n​ @xboxdudett​ @khicks3 

[junionigiri]

BNHA Rarepair Month - Day 23 - Tattoos

for @bnha-rarepair-month​

Summary: Seeing her interest in tattoos, Tokage brings Uraraka with her to Illusion Ink, where her girlfriend Jirou works as an apprentice. Much to Uraraka's surprise, however, Todoroki Shouto is also there getting inked. (Cafe/Hospital AU part 2)

Relationship(s): Tokage Setsuna/Jirou Kyouka/Uraraka Ochako (SetsuJirouChako); Todoroki Shouto/Uraraka Ochako (TodoChako)

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: I know I tagged this one as SetsuJirouTodoChako in the other platforms but yeaaaaah. Please enjoy the disaster that is Uraraka Ochako hehehe. Story TBC in the upcoming dates~

Uraraka Ochako sighs as she pulls off her OR scrub suit in the women’s lockers. She doesn’t always feel like shit and that she’s super incompetent at her job, but then again she didn’t always have to assist Dr. Hakamata for three consecutive surgeries. After being yelled at and threatened to be stitched up the ceiling about fifty times, her ego had just about enough bruising.

“I’ve had my share of miserable days, but you make a funeral look like a rave, Uraraka.”

Uraraka looks up from her miserable face reflected in her little mirror inside her little locker to look at the woman who entered. “Oh--Dr Tokage? What’re you doing here?”

The green-haired internist gives her a saw-tooth grin as she saunters in with a sterile set of scrubs. “Cardiac monitoring duties. I ran into a miserable-looking Honenuki on the way here. I’m guessing you both got an acute case of Best Jeans Syndrome.”

“You got that right, doc,” Uraraka says with another despondent sigh, one that she pulls out of the very depths of her being. “I was literally moments away from being torn into shreds and woven into the world’s ugliest quilt… I made so many booboos that…”

Oh sweet fuck Happy Thanksgiving. 

“That I can’t…” Uraraka struggles, as Tokage Setsuna casually starts pulling off her scaly-green dress, showing off an arsenal of tattoos over the smooth skin of her arms, chest, belly, and hips, and the most toned body on a woman she’s ever seen, ever, in her short existence as a disastrous bisexual. When the girl bends over to shimmy out of her shoes, Uraraka had to turn around to stop staring at her toned ass. “Sorry doc, I totally forgot what I was saying--”

Dr. Tokage chuckles. Through the little mirror in her locker, Uraraka sees that her stupid pink cheeks have turned cherry red. She’s probably a few moments away from floating herself into an embarrassed heap in the ceiling, if the doctor didn’t speak in the next second. “It’s fine. People tend to do that when they see all the tats. I regularly get shit over it, like why does a doctor look like a freakin’ Yakuza member, and things like that--”

“Th-that’s not what I w-was thinking at all!” Uraraka stammers, willing herself to look at the green-haired girl again. Thankfully, Dr. Tokage’s already pulling down the scrub top, and the brunette’s heart is spared a heap of extra work load. “I think your tats are amazing! I wish I had about half as many as you do! I just have a small one myself, and it’s not that nice-looking…”

“You think so? I’m sure it ain’t that bad,” says Tokage, with a playful little smirk on her wide mouth. “Care to show me?”

Uraraka blushes up to her hairline and internally beats herself up for even mentioning her tattoo. Because while she’s a little proud of having the courage to get a tattoo in the first place, she isn’t sure that she wants to show her fat ass to Tokage… especially not after she’s given such a lovely a visual treat.

Still, it’d be weird not to show it to her at this point, so she tries not to be too obviously reluctant when she pulls down her pants and shows the skin of the outside of her left thigh, angling her butt outwards so the other girl can see it. Her blush doesn’t die down as Tokage appraises it, bending her face so close over her bottom that she feels her piercing gaze on her.

“That’s such a cute little astronaut, Uraraka!” giggles the doctor, green eyes dilating from slits into interested dark oblongs. “And those cute planet-balloons! Are you into outer space or something?”

“Y… yeah… space is cool,” she says dumbly, making herself internally flinch at how uncool she sounds. Luckily though, Tokage doesn’t seem to mind her silliness, and just gives that melodic laugh again. She tries to recover by adding, “I mean… I want to have another tattoo… maybe like, a half sleeve or something, with all the planets--”

She shows off her bare arm, which contrasts quite markedly against Tokage’s decorated one. She sees that her muscly right arm has various sharp-toothed dinosaurs on it, inked in spectacular detail.

The green-haired girl hums thoughtfully, tapping one scaly finger to her chin. “You serious about that, Uraraka?”

The nurse blinks as she regards Tokage’s daring stare. “Yeah, I’m serious… I guess? I mean, I’ve looked around for artists and stuff, but as for design...”

“Coolness. That’s all I need to hear.” The girl shows off her sharp teeth again and raises both eyebrows. “You’re done with your shift, yeah? You should wait for me. This thing’ll take, like, a second or so--”

“Huh? But--”

“I mean, as long as the patient doesn’t die or anything,” she adds with a chortle and a graceful wave of her inked hand. “I’ll see you at the cafeteria in like, a couple of hours? Hey, maybe I can leave my mouth with you so we can keep talking?”

The young nurse yelps in horror and stammers the most polite no thank you I don’t want to spend the next two hours with your sexy disembodied mouth, and Tokage only cackles in response. In a few moments, the woman disappears into the operating room suites, and Uraraka can only calm her silly pink cheeks down and get dressed. 

*

Clad in her casual clothes (which is just a faded black tank top, joggers, and a pair of sneakers), Uraraka nervously chews on the plastic straw half-dipped in her lukewarm coke when she sees Dr. Tokage amble up to her, clad once more in an emerald-green snakeskin dress and a white coat.

In her doctor-ly regalia, all her tattoos are hidden from plain sight. There’s a certain thrill that comes with knowing how the map of her body looks like, while the rest of the world around her doesn’t. “So good news, the patient’s alive and I get to go home while Ibara-chan takes care of the rest. You ready to go, Uraraka?” she asks, sticking out her forked tongue for good measure.

“I guess?” Uraraka answers uneasily. Wherever Tokage’s taking her, she hopes it’s a place where she can see those lovely dinosaur-studded arms again.

They walk out of the hospital, with Tokage filling the empty air between them with chatter. Uraraka’s amazed by her ability to be able to make a conversation about anything. By the time they reach their destination, the young nurse finds herself up-to-date with all the latest gossip going around the hospital. In particular, one involving Dr. Todoroki and his father, the present number one pro-hero Endeavor, who’s allegedly on a head-hunt for a perfect mate with a perfect quirk so he can arrange a marriage and hopefully produce a grandchild who’d actually agree to being a pro hero, unlike any of his children who avoided heroism like the plague.

Uraraka wrinkles her nose at that. Arranged marriages--aren’t they a thing of the distant past? Or like stupid plot devices in shoujo manga, just an excuse for ordinary MCs to interact with impossibly rich and handsome men? Well, Dr. Todoroki Shouto indeed fits the bill for your standard shoujo or josei hero. He has the wealth, the breeding, and the brooding too. Just enough torment to be interesting, but not overwhelming, like Dr. Tokoyami or Dr. Kuroiro from radiology.

And the looks. Ohh, buddy boy, the looks. That dual-toned hair, those crazy heterochromatic eyes, how very, very pretty his face looks, even with the scar on his face. Not to mention how unfairly muscled his body is, for someone who spends all his time doing neurosurgery and probably not much of anything else. Uraraka’s spent many semiconscious moments inside and outside the OR watching him undress and unglove and unmask, enjoying how his strong arms look while scrubbing down for the next procedure--

Wait, did she really just--with Doctoroki again, of all people--ugh, Uraraka wants to punch herself in the damn face. She hasn’t even finished fantasizing about Dr. Tokage, and here she is moving on to the Hosu Gen’s unofficial image model--who, by the way, doesn’t even have a good reason to interact with her outside the OR.

But even though Uraraka’s notoriously mercurial when it comes to her crushes, Dr. Todoroki’s one of her strong constants. She always comes in danger of losing herself in her thoughts when she thinks of him, for some reason. What a true disaster she’s turning out to be.

She focuses her attention instead on the small place they’ve ended up, called Illusion Inks. The young nurse tilts her head curiously at the entrance and doesn’t move until Tokage does a little come-hither motion with her fingers.

“Come on. Are you backing out or something, Uraraka?” she asks teasingly.

“Um,” she begins uneasily, rubbing her arm self-consciously, “I know I said I wanted a tattoo, but I didn’t mean tonight--”

“No time like the present, babe,” is all the green-haired girl says before she forcibly drags Uraraka by the arm and into the threshold. Damn, the woman’s frickin’ strong, those muscles aren’t just for show.

The inside of the shop is nice and neat and bright. The walls are full of illustrations of varying themes, all of them dream-like: dragons and florals and creatures of the deep blue sea. Uraraka finds herself taken in particular by the galaxy themed ones, showing off clouds of purple and deep red surrounding a sea of stars.

She doesn’t pay attention to the beautiful illustrations for very long, though. Behind the counter is who Uraraka swears is an actual pixie of the dark-elemental type unless proven otherwise--straight, dark hair that falls above her shoulders, dark purple eyes that have just-enough-torment, and smooth beautiful skin riddled with tattoos all over her arms, neck, and chest. Her elongated earlobes are plugged into her phone, and she seems to be strumming on a phantom guitar before she looks up to the two visitors.

She breaks out into a cute grin. “Hey, Setsuna~ My fav crazy internist!”

“Kyouka! My beautiful tattooed angel, I missed you!”

Uraraka watches as they share a kiss that definitely lasts for more than ten seconds. She wonders whether it’s polite to look away or not, and whether it’s normal to suddenly feel so single and miserable upon the sight of two beautiful girls kissing until they thankfully break apart.

The girl called Kyouka then turns to Uraraka and regards her with a curious stare. “So Setsuna, are you going to introduce me, or…?”

“Of course I am,” she says, with some sass. “This here’s Uraraka Ochako, one of the best OR nurses in Hosu Gen, and your next beautiful canvas.”

“Hey. Jirou Kyouka. I’m an apprentice here,” the girl offers, offering out her hand for Uraraka to shake. “If I look familiar, it’s probably ‘cause you see me down the street sometimes trying not to kill my boss and co-worker at NTG Cafe.”

Uraraka gasps. “Oh, you work there? Your cold brew’s amazing. And yeah, I’ve seen your boss maybe once? I’d just like to say, from the bottom of my heart: yikes.”

Jirou laughs heartily at this. “I like this girl. You should ask her out too, Setsuna.”

The green-haired girl hums thoughtfully. “I was getting to that,” she begins, and before Uraraka can even process what they meant, Tokage’s already shrugging off her doctor’s coat, and she’s looking at those wonderful arms again, and all sound reasoning goes out the window. “Anyways, Kyouka, Uraraka here tells me that she wants a galaxy-themed sleeve to match the cute little astronaut she has tattooed on her toned-as-fuck left thigh--”

… she likes my thigh? Uraraka stammers bashfully in her head, before she realizes that Tokage’s already motioning for her to take of her pants right there to show Jirou the astronaut. Blushing, she obliges, hooking her thumb against the garter of her joggers while severely regretting her choice of hot-pink, kitten-print cotton undies that day, to show off her ass and all its unseemly stretchmarks for the second time that evening.

Jirou whistles low and carefully touches her skin and traces the outlines of the astronaut and balloons with her calloused fingertips. “Wow, it’s so cute, Uraraka. You might need to have it retouched, but it’s really well-made. Who’s your artist?”

“Um… he moved away, but Kamakiri-san from Mantis Tattoos did this one--”

“Yikes. Another mess of a human being, that mans is. Totes cray-cray, amirite?” a different, sultry voice calls out from behind them.

Uraraka goes ramrod straight and struggles dumbly to pull her pants up, but instead drops the mess of fabric to the floor. A tangled mess of astonishment and horror finds itself uncoiling inside her chest when she sees just who comes out of the back of the shop, to also stare at the little insignificant artwork on her thigh.

Uraraka thinks that the woman who walks in is the very definition of babe--long, light brown hair that falls over her shoulders, wide brown eyes, full lips with a tasteful hint of rouge, an hourglass figure accentuated by a jet-black bodycon dress that shows off her ample cleavage. Like everyone else in this damn place, all her exposed skin is covered in ink. Most of them are floral and dreamy and absolutely gorgeous, of course, and if she were the only one there, Uraraka would have spent more time appreciating all the details.

Yet, the person next to her just…!!! Makes her want to drop dead right there!!! Makes her want to walk her fat ass back to the ER and ask for a sedative that’ll last her for the next seven years!

Because why in seven hells would Todoroki Shouto, of all people, be standing there with his shirt only half-way on, with his stupid sexy arms and stupid sexy torso and stupid sexy abs on full display, his stupid sexy mouth half-open and curious, and his stupid sexy eyes directed right at her naked, stretchmarky ass?!

Uraraka knows that she should probably pull her stupid pants up and rescue what little dignity she has left. Her little brain goes shit shit shit as it takes her too long to hide her butt and her silly underwear and tattoo.

Thankfully, his stare doesn’t last very long. He makes an awkward noise in his throat, trains those distinct eyes elsewhere, and mutters, “I didn’t see anything, Uraraka.”

Yes you did, you obviously did, Doctorokiiii whyyyy do you exist, she cries in her head. Beside her, she hears Tokage trying to keep her shit together. She somehow manages not to float her ass up the ceiling and into outer space and to straighten up.

She hears the woman laughing next to her. “You didn’t? Too bad, fam, those are the nicest set of gams I’ve ever seen in me life. Cannot. Even.”

When Uraraka dares herself to look at the young doctor again, she sees that he’s already got his shirt back on and that his face is a little pink and he couldn’t look at Uraraka in the eye. She ponders briefly if she needs to leave the OR--maybe ICU has openings or something.

“So… Camie, I hear she wants a galaxy-themed sleeve, so I’m planning to make some designs for her right now,” the dark-haired girl pipes up brightly, interrupting Uraraka’s shame-filled train of thought.

The bombshell named Camie puts a finger to her full lips and makes a show of thinking about it. “This’ll be your biggest project to date, fam. You up to this?”

“Sure am, boss.” Jirou makes a show of flexing her slender arm and all its tattoos. Tokage subsequently swoons theatrically next to her.

“Yass~ then she’s all yours, my sweet child. Although, ya gotta make time for her after closing hours. We’re fully booked for, like, the next hundred years and so~”

“Leave it to me.” Jirou does a lazy salute and gives Uraraka a pure, excited smile, one that momentarily makes the nurse about the terrible misfortunes that had happened to her and her ass just then. All she wants to do now is to spend the rest of the evening with this beautiful pixie, talking about the vast infinity of space, all the undiscovered planets, aliens--

“Hey, Todoroki, lemme see your back!” Tokage says, pulling at the end of his shirt.

“Okay.”

Suddenly, Todoroki’s shirt comes off again, and Uraraka feels the Big Bang emulating in her brain once more. She cannot keep her jaw from opening like Pandora’s box as she takes in the beautiful sight.

Dr. Todoroki Shouto’s back is a fuckin’ masterpiece, and she isn’t talking about the obra maestra of a tattoo that Camie must have been working on before they arrived. Even miniscule movements of his arms and torso--fuck, even when he fucking breathes she sees muscles moving deliciously under his skin. It’s not too bulky either, just lean and well-proportioned and tasteful. Everything the light touches is a kingdom for her eyes to feast on--her fingers itched to touch the cuts--

Oh, and also, the tattoo. There’s saran wrap over it, but Uraraka still sees that it’s so beautiful it’s fearsome. Two dragons, entwined in each other, staring each other down as if they’re preparing for a battle to the death. On the right the dragon is grey and white, with glaciers surrounding it. On the left, a red dragon with hot blue eyes is engulfed in flame. The tattoo isn’t complete yet, and most of the skin on his back is swollen and tender, but Uraraka can tell that once it completely heals, it’ll be the most beautiful back in the history of all backs.

“Hot damn, Todoroki,” Tokage whistles. “Knowing you though, it still screams daddy issues--I mean, really, ice versus fire? You’re still hung up about that mess? But. Hot fucking damn.”

“Sure,” Todoroki says flatly, not deigning himself to remark about the daddy issues thing. Uraraka sees a little annoyed flash in his eyes, however, and she’s sure that he isn’t thinking of Tokage’s super foul remarks.

“Lit, ain’t it? My best work to date, even if I say so myself,” Camie says, proudly strutting around to stare at her handiwork once again. “We gots maybe two sesh’s to go, and his back’s good to go. You like it, Astronaut Sis?”

Uraraka closes her mouth shut and hates herself for the loud sound it makes. “Y-yeah, it’s pretty… um, lit,” she offers weakly.

She tries not to think too hard about the slightly-less-disinterested look that Todoroki gives her before he shrugs on his shirt again. He gives a curt little nod to Camie and says, “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, Utsushimi.”

“Sure, TodoBroki. Have fun saving lives and all,” Camie says, puckering her lips for a flying kiss that the dual-toned man ignores blatantly as he turns for the exit.

Uraraka thinks that she’s finally going to be able to catch her breath, but suddenly Todoroki stops at the door and turns his mismatched eyes to her. “Uraraka,” he calls out, making her freeze.

“Y-yes, Doc?” she stammers, her posture suddenly meek and all nurse-like.

There’s that odd look on his face again, and for a second Uraraka worries that he’ll tell her not to spread the word about his huge fucking ass back tattoo, but all he says is, “Show me your tat once you’re done. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Uraraka doesn’t know what she says in response, but he gives her a ghost of a smile before he leaves the premises.

When she deflates, Tokage and Jirou are positively cackling at her, and all she’s able to manage is a whine about how unfair life is. “I can’t believe I just showed Dr. Todoroki Shouto my ass,” she whines into Tokage’s arms, as the lizard girl holds her in mock-comfort.

“And as a direct result of it, he’s in-love with your astronaut ass,” the doctor remarks with a sawtooth grin. “But we can talk about our future foursome later. Right now, please let my beautiful and talented girlfriend draw on your sexy arm, Uraraka!”

Uraraka obliges and follows Jirou out into the back, where they finally talk about her tattoo. But she finds out how much of a struggle it is to keep her thoughts in outer space when most of her mind is occupied by fire and ice.  

[calligraphist-artemisia]

I’ll Take Her Place (Chapter 11)

Summary:  AU. When Allura breaks the news that she is to wed Prince Lotor in order to continue the peaceful relationship between Altea and Daibazaal, Pidge knows that she has to do something to change that. And so, with a little help, she comes up with a new plan. A better plan

Pairings: Keith/Pidge (main) ; Shiro/Allura (minor), Hunk/Lance (minor) ; Lotor/Allura (one-sided)

Chapter 1 - Previous - Masterpost

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net

It’s been a few days past my goal of two weeks, but I’m okay with that. (It’s better than taking a whole month.) And this chapter still ended up being almost double that of chapter 10??? It took me all day with just a few breaks to type this up, but it was worth it. 

Enjoy!

Chapter 11

Pidge hummed as she pulled up the coding for Rover's artificial intelligence, her keen eyes scanning over it for any clue about her beloved robot's continued instability. It was an insult to her programming skills that she'd been unable to solve such a simple problem.

Maybe it wasn't the programming. Maybe there was some crucial piece (or pieces) missing. The sentry had been pretty trashed when she picked it up, but she'd been so sure that she'd gathered everything she needed to complete her pet project. Pidge may have to put in a word to her suppliers and see if they had anything.

She was contemplating accessing their secure line to see if they were in the area, when the door to the Green Lion's hangar slid open and Allura and Lance stepped inside looking positively giddy. Pidge's eyes were drawn to the simple brown package in Lance's and she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“It's finished already?” she asked, turning away from her desk.

Lance nodded, hurrying over to her in his eagerness to hand over his gift. “I gave Nilani the design a while ago, but couldn't find a good reason to get her to make it for you. Now, I do!” He held it out to her as Allura caught up to him.

Pidge accepted the package and slowly peeled away the tape, knowing the anticipation was killing her friends.

After several days of deliberation and looking at the work of several of the royal tailors and dressmakers, Pidge found herself gravitating towards the work of Lance's personal favorite – a half-Altean girl named Nilani, who'd developed a fascination with Earth culture and welcomed the challenge of designing for them. The parcel Lance had brought her was the first finished example of her work and Pidge didn't have the faintest clue how it was going to look.

While Lance squirmed, Allura stood with a beaming smile and her hands clasped in front of her, a sure sign that the princess was struggling to maintain her calm and cool appearance.

Pidge raised her eyes to meet Lance's as she leisurely lifted up the first layer of wrapping.

“You are a cruel friend,” Lance informed her.

Pidge laughed and finally ripped the paper away, eager to see it for herself. She saw the rich purple first – not too dark, but not too pink either. As she held it up, her attention was down to the wide panel of white down the center of the dress. The fabric itself flowed smoothly and was just the right thickness that it would drape nicely over her body.

“You liked the one I found at Space Mall, so I picked a style similar to that. The sleeves are longer, because I thought that might be more comfortable for you, and I think the skirt is shorter, so if you don't like it-”

“Lance,” Pidge interrupted because he could get too carried away. She couldn't tear her eyes away from her new dress, so similar to the one she'd worn for Matt's graduation, just before he and their dad left on the Kerberos mission. “I... I love it. It's like having a piece of home.”

(A piece of her old self. Of Katie, the girl who dreamed of being a pilot and finding out for herself what the stars had to teach her.)

Lance looked relieved.

Pidge stood and tried to hold the dress against herself so they could get a better look, but doing so with one arm proved a bigger challenge than she expected. She messily tucked the left side beneath the sling to hold it in place and then didn't dare move or risk it slipping free.

“It's beautiful,” Allura complimented. “Though it may cause a bit of a stir if people see you wearing Prince Keithir's colors so soon.”

Pidge wasn't really sure how she felt about that. A few weeks ago and she likely would have set the dress aside, burying it somewhere deep within her closet until she was sure she could look at it without feeling uncomfortable. However, after everything they'd been through, after the very nice evenings she'd spent in his company the past few days, she found she didn't mind so much.

“Speaking of Prince Keithir, how are things going with him?” Allura asked, genuinely curious.

“Good, I think,” Pidge said. “We're actually talking to each other now.” She folded up her new dress to the best of her ability and put it on the corner of her desk where she was sure to remember to pick it up and take it back to her room later.

“Does that mean you'll stop glaring at the floor whenever someone mentions wedding stuff?” Lance asked.

“I don't-! I didn't!” Pidge sputtered in protest.

“You did,” Allura and Lance said in unison. They looked at each other and grinned.

Pidge slumped in her chair as she sat back down. “Ugh, I did, didn't I?” she asked rhetorically.

As much as she wanted to blame being in pain for her dour mood towards anything wedding related, it had honestly started before her injury. She was learned hard and fast that just because she'd voluntarily offered herself up in Allura's place, it didn't mean a part of her wasn't still resentful for that.

“It's not too late, you know,” Allura reminded her, her voice soft. “Empress Honerva bought you three months for an official courtship. If either of you decides it isn't something you can go through with, no one would fault you for breaking it off.”

“But then you'd have to marry Lotor,” Lance said before Pidge had a chance to find the words.

Allura closed her eyes. She breathed in deeply and then slowly let it out. “Yes, I would.”

“That's not going to happen,” Pidge said with steel in her voice. She twisted her chair around so she was facing her computer screen, which meant she completely missed the twin expressions of surprise from Allura and Lance. “I won't let that happen to you, Allura. Besides, Keithir isn't so bad. I could be... content with him.”

Content.

She could see having a fantastic friendship with him, even with their rocky start, but that didn't mean they would fall in love and live happily ever after. They were two very different people, with just enough in common that they could get along and work well together, but that was all she saw.

Allura and Lance left soon after, giving Pidge more time alone with her thoughts.

Pidge worked until her stomach rumbled so loudly that she could no longer ignore it. She saved her progress and shut down her equipment before stretching carefully to release some of the stiffness in her back that had built up from sitting still for so long. Before leaving, she made sure to grab her dress and stuff it into a bag alongside a file of blueprints to work on back in her room, and then she was off to Hunk's kitchen.

When she arrived, she found Shiro dressed in full armor, calmly leaving instructions with the others. Hunk and Lance were notably not wearing their armor.

“What's going on?” Pidge asked.

Hunk looked as though he was struggling not to laugh. “Uh, someone mentioned bringing Slav in to look at the cryo-pods. Kolivan just came and told us that he's agreed to fly over here, but only if Shiro's the one to pick him up.”

Pidge chanced a quick glance at Shiro's face and had to hide her grin when she saw his eye twitch at the mention of Slav's name. As much as the crazy genius drove all of them up the wall, no one handled it worse than Shiro. There was something about Slav that pushed every single one of his buttons in the worst way. What made it better (to everyone else) was how much Slav loved the Black Paladin, probably because he was the only one willing to go above and beyond to fulfill his ridiculous conditions.

“I'll be gone for a few days, but that doesn't mean you three can slack off,” Shiro said sternly. “Allura will oversee your training while I'm away. Even yours, Pidge. You're still capable of running laps.”

Suddenly Pidge wished she was still confined to a bed. Training under Allura's guidance was bound to be a hellish experience. Even after three years of working together, the princess still forgot that their stamina and strength wasn't equal to that of Alteans and would push them until they couldn't stand.

Lance groaned, vocalizing everyone's thoughts on the matter. “Are you sure we can't take a tiny break? A few days wouldn't hurt, right?”

His question at least make Shiro smile and Pidge wondered for a moment if it was his way of getting revenge for their obvious delight that he was the one going to get Slav. She pushed the thought away. Shiro wasn't that petty.

(Yes. Yes he was.)

Pidge's stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly, reminding her of the reason why she'd let her hangar. She blushed as everyone turned to look at her.

“Hunk, you're in charge of making sure everyone eats properly,” Shiro said, sounding mildly amused.

That was an instruction the Yellow Paladin was happy to agree to.

It wasn't uncommon for conversation to come to an abrupt stop when Keithir walked into a room, whether he was in the royal palace on Daibazaal or at home in the Blade headquarters. So when he exited his room and Thace and Kolivan went silent as they turned to regard his arrival, he wasn't surprised.

“You should hear this,” Kolivan told him.

Keithir had been fully prepared to step out for a few minutes to let them wrap up, so he was pleasantly surprised by their invitation to learn more about what was happening. Even if it turned out to have nothing to do with the assassination attempt, it was still nice to be involved in something after being shut out for most of the week. He joined them, trying not to seem overeager.

“Part of my mission was meeting with an informant who has news from someone close to Lotor,” Thace explained. “According to him, Lotor returned straight home to Daibazaal after leaving Altea. There have been no noteworthy changes to his behavior and he hasn't met with anyone unusual. By all appearances, he had nothing to do with the attempt on your life.”

“But who else could it be?” Keithir's question came out as a demand. He flicked his ears back and looked away, waiting for the reprimand about keeping a level head.

“We doubt Lotor is innocent in this matter, which is why we will continue to investigate him. It is much more likely that this has been planned for some time, but certain events have caused him to act hastily,” Kolivan explained, crossing his arms over his chest.

Thace shifted uneasily. “What worries me is how quickly his plans have adapted to the currant situation. Ulaz is certain that Lotor is behind the malfunctioning cryo-pods. It cannot be coincidence that it happened the same day you agreed to marry Pidge, though it seems unlike him to make such an obvious move. I believe the two of you have taken him by surprise more than anyone expected,” he said, sounding a little proud. “This is the best opportunity we've had in years.”

“It has also become clear that Lotor is not working alone. We've suspected as much, but the sniper confirms it. Furthermore, the ease in which they avoided being caught suggests that it was the work of two people, rather than one. If he truly hasn't been seen meeting with anyone, they are far more than hired goons given the task of killing you. They have his trust,” Kolivan said.

The clear worry in his voice struck Keithir with vivid shock.

“You and Lady Katherine must remain vigilant.”

Keithir's stomach churned at the thought of it. It was one thing for his life to be in danger, but the reminder that Katie was just as big of a target as he was made him feel ill.

Logically, he knew she was fully capable of taking care of herself. He'd heard stories of the Green Paladin's courage and ingenuity in the face of adversity and had seen a spark of that for himself. In a fight, there was no question that she could hold her ground and come out the winner in the end.

But Lotor was a different battle. He was clever and didn't pull his punches, striking wherever he found a weakness to exploit. He had strategy and finesse on his side, as well as years of experience thanks to careful training. (He was raised to be the future Emperor, after all.) Keithir had never met anyone who was able to out-think his brother, and even with her quick thinking and brilliant mind, he wasn't sure even Katie had a chance.

“We've sent for Slav,” Kolivan told him. “He'll arrive soon to see what he can do about the healing pods and then we'll have one less thing to worry about. That leaves us with two more days of vulnerability. If Lotor has anything else planned for us, he'll strike before then.”

Pidge stealthily made her way through the halls, ducking out of sight whenever she was about to encounter a guard or one of the Blade. It was unlikely that anyone would stop her, but if word got back to her friends that she was leaving the Castle to go down to port on her own, without any additional protection and her wound still healing, they'd probably lock her up until Shiro returned. (Admittedly, that wouldn't be too long, as Shiro was due to return that evening, but she'd still rather avoid it.)

Just a little further and she would be free.

“What are you doing?”

Pidge barely withheld a shriek of surprise, spinning around to find the source of the voice. She spotted them quickly, tucked away in one of the small alcoves which seemed to serve no purpose except to break up the monotony of the otherwise straight corridor.

“Keith,” she breathed in relief.

He pushed his hood back and deactivated his mask. “It's dangerous to go out on your own.”

Her relief at seeing her friend quickly shifted to frustration. She was so tired of everyone trying to baby her and tell her what she could or couldn't do. She was a Paladin! There was always danger waiting for her, but that didn't mean she had to cower in her room out of fear!

Pidge turned away from him and kept walking. “I'm just going to see some friends. I won't be long.”

Swift footsteps followed behind her. Keith made no effort to hide the fact that he was following her.

“I don't need a baby-sitter, Keith!” she snapped.

Keith caught her by the arm, tugging her to a stop. “Are you insane? You have no idea how dangerous Lotor is! He's not going to pull any punches just because you're injured! You can't go out there by yourself!”

Pidge ripped her arm from his hold, frustration mounting to rage. “You can't tell me what to do!” Her voice echoed down the hall, much louder than she intended. Her face reddened slightly, but she held her ground.

Keith, it seemed, wasn't going to back down either. (Pidge wondered later if it was because he was used to dealing with an equally stubborn prince.) “Just listen to me! Lotor is done playing games. He's going to use every advantage he can take and you going out there by yourself is playing directly into his hands! You're going to get yourself killed, Katie!”

His use of her real name made her feel as though she'd been doused in cold water. So few people called her by that name anymore – Keithir was the only one, actually – and it was enough to make her stop and think.

“Please don't go by yourself,” he said, his voice a little softer. “It doesn't have to be me, but don't go alone.”

Pidge closed her eyes and took a moment to breath and calm herself. She wouldn't let herself be ruled by anger. It had a horrible way of getting her to yell at people who didn't deserve it and muddying her normally logical thought process.

“I guess having backup wouldn't be so bad... Just stay close and try not to draw attention to yourself,” Pidge told him, eyeing his dark uniform. They had little hope of not standing out, but if they acted natural, no one would watch them closely.

Keith fell into step next to her as they left the Castle. A heavy and strained silence stretched between them, hanging on by a fragile thread that neither of them was ready to break.

Pidge was still steamed about how he tried to order her around, as though she was a child who needed to be coddled and protected because she couldn't do it herself. It didn't matter how much time had passed. It didn't matter that she was considered an adult by most cultures, on Earth or otherwise. She doubted she would ever shake the paranoia of others treating her like she was too young.

“Who's this friend you're risking your life to see?” Keith asked.

“Friends,” Pidge corrected, ignoring the obvious jab. “They're kind of my suppliers for unusual tech that I re-purpose for my own use. Sometimes they bring me interesting news.”

Keith looked impressed. “They're your informants?”

“In a way. They're able to fly under the radar, so they pick up on tidbits no one else hears about. Sometimes it's useful. Sometimes it's just rumor. It's easy to pick out which is which when the rumors are usually something like Commander Sendak being spotted vacationing at the spa on Traxia's twelfth moon.”

Keith chuckled. “That does sound unlike him.”

“Yeah, I always figured he was the sort to enjoy fighting more than anything else. If anything, a spa day would be like torture to him,” Pidge said jokingly.

The two fell quiet again as they reached a more crowded area. Keith moved a little closer to her, his sharp eyes watching out for anyone who looked suspicious. Pidge pressed on, knowing exactly where she was going as she led the way through the winding streets packed with people.

They walked for some time, but eventually she spotted the old junker parked on the edge of port. Grinning, she strode forward to greet the blue-skinned alien who was moving boxes off of the ship.

“For a while I was afraid I'd have to come bail you out of trouble again,” Pidge called out.

The alien stood up straight and lazily smirked in her direction. “I'd be flattered if I didn't know the real reason you'd come to our rescue. Beezer's helping Nyma with a few things inside right now.” His gaze slid to Keith, who stood rigidly at Pidge's side. He raised an eyebrow. “Who's your shadow?”

“This is Keith. Keith, this is Rolo,” Pidge introduced. “So, you said you found something for me?”

“Straight to business, as usual,” Rolo teased. “But yeah, we picked p those parts you asked for the last time we were here and I think Nyma has some spare pieces for your sentry. You two come on in and I'll find them for you.”

Keith's gaze flickered to Pidge, who followed Rolo onto the ship with a bounce in her step, wrapped up in the delight of finally getting to start the projects she'd been postponing due to lack of materials. (Sure, she could ask Allura for all of the Altean tech she could dream of, and had done so more than once, but there was something infinitely more fulfilling about salvaging stuff that anyone else would declare garbage.)

“Keith, are you coming?”

He finally moved, unsure about walking onto an unfamiliar cargo ship, but willing to trust that Pidge wouldn't deliberately lead him into a trap.

“Nyma, Pidge is here!” Rolo called towards the front. At his words, a faint barrier built itself across the ramp of the ship, cutting them off from the outside world.

Keith's hand immediately went to his dagger as he slid into a defensive position, fully prepared to fight his way out.

Rolo caught sight of the movement and raised an eyebrow. “Twitchy, isn't he?” he remarked to Pidge.

She looked back, her eyes going soft when she saw him. “Keith, it's fine. The barrier just prevents anyone from listening in to what we're saying. It's not keeping us stuck inside. See?” She stuck her hand through it to prove her point.

Keith relaxed at her demonstration, a little embarrassed by his reaction, and let his arms rest back at his sides.

“You obviously have more than parts for me today,” Pidge said as she walked over to stand next to Keith. “What's going on?”

Rolo leaned back against a wall before he started talking. “We've started to hear talk about rebellion in the Outer Reaches. Seems there's a couple of planets willing to band together and 'take back what's rightfully theirs'. Mostly we figure they're talking about the colony planets and stations held by Altea and Daibazaal. They've never been fond of either spreading their influences that far, but this is the first time anyone has dared rally against them.”

Keith frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “You're talking about the Napamku Quadrant.”

Rolo nodded.

“That's Lotor's territory. The Galra colony and two outposts are under his control, to help him prepare for ruling the empire,” Keith quietly told Pidge. “The Blade's picked up whispers of unease for years, but nothing like this.” He directed his attention back to Rolo and raised his voice so the other could hear him clearly. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn't be telling Pidge if I didn't think it was serious.”

“Kolivan and Shiro need to hear this,” Pidge murmured.

Keith agreed, silently vowing to find Kolivan the moment they returned to the Castle. His sharp eyes were soon drawn to movement behind Rolo and he watched as a female alien joined them with a sealed crate and a small robot at her side.

The robot beeped in excitement when it noticed Pidge and she squealed in response, dropping to her knees as it rolled over to her and playfully bumped against her side until she enveloped it in a one-armed hug.

“It's good to see you too, Beezer! How's the best robot in the whole universe?”

Beezer gave a series of different toned beeps in response.

Nyma watched on with amusement. “Sometimes I think the salvage is just an excuse to see him.”

Pidge was too busy holding a conversation with the robot, though Keith couldn't help bu wonder if she actually understood the little guy or if it was entirely one-sided.

Rolo cleared his throat in an attempt to get her attention. “That's not the only rumor we've heard, though the next one have been dismissed as too far-fetched so far. Nyma overheard this one during our stopover at the Fripping Bulgogian. Seems a couple of Galra had a bit too much to drink.”

“They say you've agreed to marry the Galra prince to fully establish ties between Daibazaal and Voltron,” Nyma said, sounding surprisingly uneasy with the idea. “It's not true, is it, Pidge?”

Pidge looked away and that was all the confirmation Nyma needed.

“Be careful, okay? Prince Keithir is said to be kinder than his brother, but that doesn't mean you aren't treading dangerous waters. Getting between them is risky.”

Pidge's shoulder throbbed painfully, as if echoing Nyma's concerns. “Yeah, I know. I'll be careful.” She gave Beezer one last affectionate pat and then stood up. “Anything I can do for you two while you're here?”

“If you could, ask Hunk to come down and help me give this baby a look over,” Rolo requested. “I think she's overdue for a tune up.”

“Sure,” Pidge responded, stepping forward to retrieve the crate of parts from Nyma. She hesitated upon realizing she didn't have a good way to carry it back to the Castle by herself.  She could feel her cheeks heating up as she looked to Keith for help. “Could you...?”

Keith looked a little startled at being asked, but walked over and picked up the crate with ease.

After that, they said their goodbyes and began the long trek back to the Castle.

“Thanks for carrying that for me,” Pidge said after several minutes had passed.

“You're welcome. How were you planning on getting it back by yourself, anyway?” he asked.

“I, uh, didn't really think about that, I guess,” she responded, unable to look at him. “Normally they don't have this much for me and I can just carry it back in my pockets or in a small bag.”

Keith hummed and didn't say anything else for a few minutes until another question struck him. “What's all of this for?”

Pidge instantly brightened at being asked about her projects, something few people dared to bring up anymore. “Some of it's so I can finish my repairs on Rover! Oh, Rover's this Galra sentry that I found and decided to rebuild. He's going to help me around the hangar and keep Hunk from borrowing my things without permission. I've just about got him working properly, but he's not quite there yet. Last time I turned him on he chased Hunk around the room until I told him to stop!” She laughed at the memory. “The rest is for a miniature anti-gravity machine! Ages ago, I found these cute little fuzzy aliens floating around in a scrapyard and brought a few of them back to the Castle with me. The problem is, I can't turn off the gravity in my room, which means all they can do now is crawl around. But, if I can generate an energy field  small enough that it won't interfere with anything else...”

Keith was content to listen to her babble on about her plans, enjoying the way her face lit up as she spoke. He'd been a little taken aback at first. He hadn't expected her to dive right in and explain it with such eagerness. Not to him.

It was clear her tech was something she was very passionate about and in a small way it reminded him of his mother.

Pidge talked the entire way back to the Castle, and while most of it went right over his head, Keith managed to think of a few relevant questions to ask along the way. It was for that reason that Pidge invited him inside of her hangar instead of having him drop it off just inside the door.

“Want to meet Rover?” Pidge asked, already heading towards her workbench.

Keith heard her question, but stood just inside the room, frozen in place at the sight of the Green Lion. He knew the Lions were massive, but to actually see one in person...

Golden eyes seemed to bore straight into his blue-violet ones, almost as if the Lion could see directly into his soul. He shuddered at the thought.

“Greenie, behave,” Pidge called out.

The staring lessened somewhat and Keith willed his legs to move. He carried the crate to the desk and put it down where Pidge told him to, but before he could excuse himself to try and get away from the Green Lion, a pyramid-shaped object flew into his arm and beeped indignantly. And then it repeated the process.

“Like I said,” Pidge said, grabbing Rover before he could carry on. “It's a work-in-progress. I'll have him working perfectly soon.”

Keith watched her gently caress the tiny drone before shutting it down and he couldn't help but smile at her treatment of it. It seemed there was more to her than he'd imagined.

“I found the perfect place to practice!” Allura happily said to Lance, before dragging him from the comfort of the couch and the middle of a huge boss battle.

“But my high score!” he yelped, fumbling with the controller. His head drooped in defeat when it fell from his hands and clattered to the floor.

Lance let Allura drag him down the hall and into a room that was no longer in use. He and Pidge had once tried to turn it into a yoga studio for a bit of lighter exercise, but it didn't last longer than a week.

“So what are we practicing?”

Allura let go of him and gracefully spun around, her hair flowing around her like a rippling silver river. “Dancing, of course! You did say you'd help me so I can properly teach Pidge, remember?”

The memory was coming back to him and Lance grinned as his excitement rose to match hers.

“I know Coran is a little busy today, preparing for Slav's arrival, but I thought we could at least get started with the basics. Once you've got that down, it will be easier to understand what Coran is telling you to do,” Allura said. She held her hands out to Lance, inviting him closer. “Shiro once taught me your Earth 'waltz' and I've found it quite similar to the Galran akríg, so we'll start there.”

Lance hesitantly got into place, his nervousness bleeding from every movement he made. “Like this?”

Allura hummed and adjusted his hand on her waist before beaming up at him. “Perfect! Now, if I remember correctly, you lead.”

“O-oh, right,” Lance stammered, taking another moment before guiding Allura in small, cautious steps. “I think it's like this? Sorry, it's been a while.”

“You're doing fine,” Allura told him.

Emboldened by her confidence in him, Lance relaxed, his movements growing more confident with every minute that passed. Soon, they were gliding around the room, both smiling and carrying on a conversation about how well they thought Shiro was handling getting stuck transporting Slav by himself.

“I feel like he's cooking up a horrific training exercise for us at this very moment,” Lance said with a shiver.

“Only if he hasn't thrown himself out of the Black Lion to escape,” Allura joked.

“You should've gone with him,” Lance told her. “You could've spared him from such a horrible fate and gotten to spend an entire day alone with him in the cockpit, just the two of you.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Romantic.”

Allura rolled her eyes, a dark blush settling over her cheeks at the insinuation. She made no attempt to deny his words as she normally would. “I had considered...” She stopped herself with a shake of her head. “It wouldn't be appropriate. This is for the best, at least for now. Perhaps after the wedding.”

“Do you really want to wait that long?” Lance asked, all trace of playful banter gone. He swallowed a wave of bitterness at the reminder of the situation Pidge had gotten into. “Pidge got you two a second chance. You can't throw that away. You and Shiro... you two are perfect for each other. It's the sort of relationship that people dream about having. So to see you two dance around it, knowing that you both feel the same, it's hard to watch.

“There's always a risk with dating. It... It changes everything and if it doesn't work out, it never goes back to exactly the way it was before. But if you don't take that risk, you might miss out on something wonderful,” Lance said, his voice low. “I was petrified when I realized I was in love with Hunk – in love with my best friend. It could have ruined everything. I was so sure of it. And then... and then that mission happened and all I could think was that I never had the chance to tell him how I really feel and it almost killed me inside.

“So don't wait, Allura. Don't wait until it's almost too late.”

The healing pods were fixed and the twitch in Shiro's right eye promised retribution to his fellow Paladins. Pidge chose to abscond the moment Ulaz proclaimed her shoulder fully healed, abandoning her leader before he could convince her to remain with him while Slav went on about proper pod maintenance and potential improvements.

She would usually be tempted to stick around longer. As crazy as he was, Slav had one of the most brilliant minds she had ever come across and when he actually stayed on topic, talking to him was enjoyable. But she had other plans. Plans she had set into motion earlier that day and was actually kind of excited about.

Up until that point, Keithir had been the one to invite her on their dates. First had been the dinner disaster and then there was the garden stroll, which started out decently, but ended worse than the first. They'd spent several evenings talking in his quarters under the watchful eyes of Thace, but she wasn't counting those as proper dates.

“Third time's the charm,” she said to herself as she walked into the kitchen.

Predictably, Hunk was there, putting the finishing touches on the food she'd asked for. He looked up when she entered and broke out into a huge smile. “You're healed!”

She playfully flexed her left arm, taking delight in the freedom she'd regained. She swore she would never take the cryo-pods for granted again.

“I'm one-hundred percent back to normal!” Pidge said as she joined him at the counter. She breathed in deeply, melting at the delicious smells. “Have I mentioned that you're the best friend ever? Because this is incredible, Hunk.”

Hunk blushed at the praise. “It is pretty great, isn't it,” he said, looking over his hard work with pride. “I hope you don't mind, but I'm borrowing your dinner idea for me and Lance. I found this really cute spot in the southeastern part of the gardens where you get a good view of sunfall and I'm going to surprise him.”

“Aww, that's so sweet!” Pidge said sincerely.

Together the pair packed two picnic baskets, carefully arranging the food inside so nothing would get crushed. Some of it was left behind for Allura and Shiro to enjoy, just in case they decided against joining the King and Queen for dinner.

While Hunk went to track down Lance and whisk him away for a surprise romantic dinner, Pidge gathered up her courage and headed to the room Keithir had been given.

He was waiting for her outside the door, quietly talking to the Blade who was there to protect him. He looked annoyed by something, his ears flicked back as he crossed his arms over his chest, but the moment he caught sight of her, that all went away and an expression of pure awe took its place.

Pidge shoved aside her impulse to look down. She'd worn her new dress knowing the sort of reaction it might bring. Maybe she should have listened to Allura's warning and saved it to wear another time.

The masked Blade roughly nudged Keithir when he continued to stare, knocking the prince from his stupor.

“You, um, look nice,” Keithir said awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Pidge said. She wanted to scream at herself for being so nervous about talking to him. What was it about calling it a date that always rendered them unable to function properly? She ducked her head as she felt her cheeks start to heat up and had to shift the basket from one hand to another as her palms started to sweat.

The simple movement spurred Keithir into action, years of training kicking in. “Here, may I?” he asked, gesturing to the basket.

Pidge almost insisted on carrying it herself, but something about the way he asked, so uncertain, left her feeling okay about handing it over to him.

It wasn't about strength or weakness. It was an offering to help, if she wanted it.

If Keithir thought he'd been nervous before, both of their previous dates paled in comparison to Katie leading him down to her hangar, where the Green Lion silently sat. The great beast made him unexpectedly anxious, as he doubted it would take kindly to his unintended double life and Keith and Keithir.

Katie, luckily, didn't pick up on his inner turmoil, and in fact looked wrapped up in her own thoughts as she nibbled on her lower lip.

It wasn't just the Green Lion that had his stomach twisted in knots. Seeing Pidge in that beautiful shade of deep purple (Daibazaal's royal color), it suddenly struck home that in a few short months he would be married to that clever, brilliant woman. She would be the one he would spend the rest of his life with.

They entered the hangar and, as before, Keithir's body froze up the moment he set eyes on the Green Lion. He could hear the whisper of a question in his head – an utterly foreign and bizarre feeling – but it was gone before he could rationalize it.

“Keithir, are you okay?” Katie asked.

Keithir tore his gaze away from the Lion, glad to find he could move once again. “I'm fine.”

She studied him closely for a moment and then let go of whatever question she had building in her mind. “I know it's not the most traditional picnic, but after last time I thought this might be safer. I tried to make it as comfortable as I could. Allura helped.” She turned and gestured to the floor behind her, where a green-and-white checkered blanket had been spread out over a mat.

It was simple. Relaxed. The exact opposite of how he'd been taught a proper date should be when wooing a lady.

Keithir loved it.

“It's perfect,” he told her and was rewarded with one of her bright smiles.

The two made themselves comfortable on the cushioned blanket and Katie started unpacking the basket, handing things to Keithir to arrange between them.

“Sorry about Regris,” he apologized. “Kolivan still has him on guard duty, just in case.”

Katie sat up as she removed the plates from the bottom of the basket and handed one of them to him. “Your safety is important, especially since we still don't know how the sniper got in or out of the Castle. At least you don't have to be within sight of him at all times when you're inside, right?”

“True,” Keithir agreed, thankful that his friend could be reasoned with. He doubted Regris really wanted to stand by and watch them on their date, no matter how much the older Galra liked to tease him about doing so.

He waited until Pidge opened the first container and began spooning out food for herself and then picked a box of tiny breads stuffed with what he thought might be meat of some kind.

Their conversation continued along those lines, as they compared notes on what they'd been told of the new security measures. From there, they moved onto the planets they missed visiting the most, but would be unlikely to see again for some time.

As the last bit of food was eaten, their simple date started to wind down and Keithir helped her clean up whatever he could.

“Can I ask you something?” Katie asked, out of the blue. “I've been wondering for a while now, but... why did you agree to this? I did it so Allura wouldn't marry Lotor, because she deserves to be with someone who makes her happy and I... Well, I could do something to make sure that would happen, so I did it. But you...”

Keithir took a moment to collect his thoughts. He had been wondering when she would ask and had been so sure that he was prepared for it, but all of his good excuses fled his mind as she looked at him with those big brown eyes. “Lotor and I got along once, but that was a long time ago. At some point, he decided I would be a hindrance to his plans, whatever they are, which makes me expendable.

“So I decided to do everything I can to get in his way,” Keithir admitted. “I'm sorry you got mixed up in this, Katie. I never meant for anyone else to get involved.”

He wasn't sure how she would take it.

Thace and Ulaz had lectured him about needlessly endangering himself when he told them. Regris had (affectionately, in a way) called him an idiot. Kolivan's response had been to push him even harder in training, determined to see his youngest Blade thrive.

Katie huffed in amusement and reached fr her half-full glass of juice, lifting it in his direction. “Here's to getting involved in dangerous situations most people try to avoid.”

Keithir gently clinked his glass against hers.

Upon reflection, several months later, he would realize that was the moment he started to fall for her.

Lotor was less than pleased with the way his plans were turning out.

After months of subtly influencing members of his father's council, he'd finally had Allura within his grasp, only to have her snatched away thanks to his so-called brother and that annoyingly clever Green Paladin.

He'd hoped to settle the matter and get his plans back on track by taking Keithir out of the picture, but once again that child got in his way. His only consolation was that Ezor had managed to successfully sabotage the healing pods for long enough that the paladin had to suffer the pain of her injury.

Perhaps he'd acted too rashly, allowing his rage to swallow him for a brief time. He would do better in the future.

Lotor silently watched his team of elite fighters banter with each other, all of them feeling the stress of the past few weeks. With Acxa's failure to kill Keithir and being spotted by the Altean guards while helping her escape (forcing her and Ezor to take care of the guards so they could never speak of what they saw), they were all waiting for the inevitable punishment.

It wouldn't come.

The two of them, as well as Narti and Zethrid, were completely loyal to him and him alone. Criticism would be enough to inspire them to do better.

“Zethrid, I have a mission for you,” Lotor said, a slow smirk curving across his face. A success would do well for morale and he had the perfect idea. “I think you'll enjoy this one.”

NEXT

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) -10

So here’s what happened…I wrote and rewrote this thing so many times it’s crazy. It became apparent Claudia and Myka’s conversation was pretty pivotal, and it needed space to flesh itself out but I tired to weave time in a way that meant we were going back a day in the middle of a chapter (I hope it works) so I wanted it all to go up at the same time. Then the chapter got overly long, so I split it into two for easier reading. That’s why it took so long to push this out, so sorry for the wait! Edited 11/24 and thanks so much if you are still reading!

Previously: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

Read first if you are new! gutted/sorted and wax/wane…if/then is a continuation of those two.

//////////////////////

Myka's typing slows to a stop as Helena touches her shoulders and kneads, gently, into tense muscles. As Helena's fingers dig deeper, she leans back in her chair, and her eyes flutter closed.

“We're ready to go, are you?” Helena says.

Myka's eyes snap open, and she taps the down arrow. “I need another half an hour, tops.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“I was wrong,” Myka says, standing, kissing Helena in apology. “Go eat. I’ll catch up.”

“But Myka, crepes!” Christina exclaims, her tone beyond anything reasonable for breakfast. But Myka's not surprised as weeks ago they watched a documentary titled “Crepes and Castles." Christina's been obsessed with both ever since.

“I know! I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You go ahead. Mine will have to wait.”

“Must you finish this very minute?” Helena asks.

“I really, really should,” Myka answers, smiling at Helena's mopish tone as she's clearly allying with Christina for effect. Helena knows she has obligations to fulfill even though the sale’s off, they discussed it briefly last night. "If I’d gotten up earlier, I’d be done by now, but someone wouldn’t let me.”

Myka fusses with Helena’s collar and folds it under, then smooths it flat. Helena looks down as a flush creeps across her cheeks.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Myka says, skimming her fingers over the sides of Helena’s arms, leaning forward until her lips nearly touch Helena's ear. “I'm happy I stayed."

“Ugh, you two. My teeth are rotting all the way over here,” Claudia groans and looks at Christina. "No one’s getting crepes if you don’t get outta here soon. Come give your Aunt Claudia a hug.”

Christina barrels across the room and latches onto Claudia, who's lounging full-length across the couch.

“Sorry to miss the eats, but I got places to be."

“I know. You came to see your friend’s supercomputer.”

“I came to check up on your mom.” Claudia winks at Christina then narrows her eyes at Helena.

“Any thrilling revelations?”

“Nah. You’re pretty boring.”

“Boring and saccharine.”

“Double whammy,” Claudia says and turns back to Christina. "I’ll meet you later, and we’ll climb that tower.”

“Bridge,” Christina corrects.

“You said tower.”

“It is a rather well-known landmark, or have you not heard of it?" Helena points out.

“Smartypants,” Claudia says and sticks out her tongue. “Maybe we’ll lock her in the keep, just for fun.”

“Tower Bridge doesn’t have a keep. A keep is the stronghold of a castle. We learned that on the show,” Myka says, flashing a self-satisfied smile.

“Can we go to a castle with a keep?” Christina pleads.

“I bet the Tower of London does,” Myka says. “If there’s time, maybe we can go there after.”

Myka's smile withers at the sight of Helena's scolding eyes.

Christina shuffles towards Myka with her head hung low. “I want you to come with us now,” she says, wrapping her arms around Myka’s leg.

“I wish I could, sweetie, but Leena needs these files. And you need to eat before your batteries run out. You want them fully charged for today.”

“Please…"

Christina’s absurdly round puppy-dog eyes nearly sway Myka's resolve, but she holds firm. “Go with your mom.”

Christina looks down and pouts.

“Am I not a suitable breakfast date?” Helena asks.

“Yeah. But you didn't see the show.”

“I do recall an in-depth description over the phone. Why don’t we send photos and include Myka in the commentary.”

“I’d like that,” Myka says, smiling in a way she hopes placates Christina.

Christina’s pout wavers then recedes, and Myka breathes a sigh of relief.

“Put your coat on, love,” Helena says and lifts her own from the arm of the couch.

“I’ll finish sooner if I can,” Myka says, snatching Helena’s coat and holding it out for her to slip into. Helena spins around and lifts her arms up and Myka threads them through the sleeves. Myka buttons a few buttons then steps back, admiring the dashing figure Helena cuts in the garment.

“Full service this morning,” Helena says, sliding her hands into her pockets and posing for Myka’s benefit.

“Don’t forget your umbrella,” Myka says. She grabs the handle leaning up against the couch and hands it to Helena.

“Mom, come on!” Christina cries and grabs Helena by the wrist.

“Off we go,” Helena quips as she’s pulled away.

As the door closes, Myka steps towards the desk but slips on something underfoot. She bends down and picks up a white card then reads it's raised black text.

“Who's Bonnie Belski?” she asks.

“Bonnie who?" Claudia says.

“Belski.”

"Beats me. Where’d you find that?”

“Here,” Myka points to a spot very recently occupied by Helena.

“Must be H.G.’s. What else does it say?"

“There's an email and a number and...” Myka flips the card over and scowls at a second number scribbled in pen. She resumes her spot at the desk and types the name into her browser.

“Oh no,” she says, shaking her head, slumping back in her chair. “No way."

“No what?” Claudia says, hopping off the couch and scurrying behind her.

“Her.” Myka clicks on an image to enlarge.

“Wowsa. Who’s the glamazon?”

“One of the owners of the bar Helena works at. One who hits on her.”

“Ooooh, someone's jealous," Claudia jabs.

Myka scowls.

"It's no biggie. People hit on H.G. all-the-time. She’s like ‘whatevs.'”

“There’s just something about her, something familiar.”

Myka's seen what Claudia's referring to, but for some reason, this woman strikes an unsettling chord. She scrolls through images, and one, in particular, jumps out. "There. That’s Mrs. Frederic’s gallery.”

“And that’s her at some other art thing,” Claudia says, pointing at an adjacent photo.

“That’s Mrs. Frederic’s, too. I recognize the artist.” Myka clicks on the image and reads the caption. “It’s from an art fair, the one I was at this summer, in Basel.”

Did she meet Bonnie there? Maybe even talk to her? The same artist had a few pieces at Vanessa’s booth. She continues scrolling through, searching for other shots, but unfortunately finds none. But there are scores of others featuring Bonnie front and center, smiling the same, practiced smile at the opening of the bar, at a reception after a show, at a party on a boat...

“Claud, what exactly did Helena tell you about working for Macpherson?”

Myka continues scrolling as she waits for an answer then looks up at Claudia.

“Bit of a non-sequitur.”

“I guess. Humor me."

Claudia crosses her arms over her chest and squares her stance. “She sold old stuff to rich people and didn’t ask questions cos the bucks were rolling in. Then her wrists got slapped and boom, she’s deported.”

“Does that sound like the Helena you know?”

“You’re just now figuring out the whole thing’s hinky?”

“No, but…you’ve known her longer me. I jumped in the end.”

“I missed a lot of stuff when things weren’t cool between us. I know times were tough and she'd do anything for the kid.” Claudia looks down and shuffles a foot.

“It’s not your fault she got into this mess.”

“If I was less of a dick about Giselle, about a lot of things, she wouldn’t have been so dumb.”

“You don’t know that for sure."

“Yeah,” Claudia says. Her eyes go distant as if caught in a memory, then she tips her chin at Myka’s screen. “So what’s MacPherson got to do with babezilla?”

“Nothing, probably. Hopefully. But after seeing her here,” Myka says, pointing to Bonnie at the gallery, "I feel there’s a connection.”

“How?”

“This is going to sound crazy," Myka says, studying the photo before continuing. It’s odd she doesn’t recognize anyone but Bonnie but notes it was taken last year. There are repeat faces at the art fair, so maybe Bonnie knows the artist, or maybe, just maybe, she's being paranoid. “On second thought, it’s too crazy.”

“Aw, come on. Spill.” Claudia pulls up a chair and twirls it around then sits, legs straddling the back.

Myka thinks on this; Claudia’s involved, too, by proximity, but should she betray Helena's trust? Keeping secrets is what got Helena into this in the first place, so fewer secrets might be prudent in the long run. And the secret she’s keeping now—Helena meeting with Mrs. Frederic to keep her in Mrs. Frederic's good graces—is her fault. Helena would have steered clear if Myka wasn't involved.

“What if Bonnie's keeping tabs on Helena for Mrs. Frederic.”

“Blondie, a spy? Why? You said your boss was cool with H.G."

“I think she is."

“’Think’?"

“I…” Myka chews her bottom lip, holding on to Claudia’s questioning gaze. Maybe it’s better if Claudia knows so she’s not blindsided if something goes awry.

“Please don’t tell Helena I told you this.”

“Scouts honor," Claudia says, holding up two fingers.

Myka stares at Claudia’s fingers and takes a deep breath. “Helena told me she's been meeting secretly with Mrs. Frederic to help fight MacPherson’s appeal. I don't think she'd be of interest unless she was more involved with MacPherson than she said."

“I looked for dirt on ‘Emily Lake’ when H.G. went public.”

“And?”

“Nada. And I dug deep, which is sketchy as hell. As far as the internet’s concerned, Emily Lake doesn't exist.”

“I tried, too. Same here,” Myka says, with obvious annoyance. "Maybe we weren’t looking in the right places. My anonymous source gave me some research tips that could help. Maybe we should try again.“

“Bummer about that, by the way. H.G. said your sale’s off.” Claudia lays a hand on Myka’s shoulder. "I know you were banking on that bank to get over here, but something will work out.”

“Yeah,” Myka says, and looks down at the floor to fend off thoughts of disappointment.

“So these tips?”

“Right. A mix of rumors and facts, stuff like movements of shipments, patterns of certain buyers, historical documents. Through those, they could predict a client’s actions.“

“Creepy. How’d they find all this stuff?”

“My guess? It’s what they do, professionally."

“Like a narc?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Myka says, feeling a little uneasy about her participation after saying it out loud. She was so focused, she didn't question the information, but she’s beginning to understand where Sally’s paranoia stems from.

"What’d you do with the info?”

“I pieced it together with decades of notes from previous researchers. This thing had been lost and found, on and off the market a million times since the 50’s.”

And suddenly it hits her, why everything’s been kept under wraps, that she’s a pawn in a larger game being played with or without her participation. And maybe she shouldn't have been so forthright because now she’s dragged Claudia into it all. Helena did say the business "twists you about and pits you against your allies,” but the question is, are her allies who she thinks they are? She swings around to face Claudia.

“I don’t know why I told you that. I shouldn’t have told you that. I haven’t told Helena. Please don’t tell her, or anyone, I told you any of this.”

“Mums the word,” Claudia says, in a fake British accent.

“I mean it, Claud. This is serious.”

“I know,” Claudia says, dropping her antics. “That’s a lot of stuff to keep under wraps. H.G. shouldn’t have put those meetings on you.”

“She didn’t. I dragged them out of her.”

“I mean she shouldn't have kept them from you in the first place."

"It’s…complicated,” Myka says, looking down at her hands. Claudia doesn’t know about Helena’s connection with Sally’s brother, or that Sally ousted Helena to Myka, or that—

“H.G., complicated? Totally. But you?” Claudia says. “You’re a straight shooter. You don't play those games."

Myka’s stomach churns. Claudia’s right...what has she gotten herself into?

“Look, I’m as much a part of this as you two, with the kid and all. You gotta keep me in the loop."

“Helena won’t like it. She says the less I know, the better.”

“H.G. can suck it. Don’t tell her I know.”

Claudia looks at Myka’s screen, then reaches across and clicks the down arrow, scrolling through photos of Bonnie.

“Scoot over. Lemme look something up.”

Myka moves to the side, and Claudia types the name of a store into the browser.

Myka raises a brow. “Hey, I buy stuff from there.”

“What you two do in the bedroom is none of my beeswax.”

“Not, like, racy stuff. They have bras that fit me.”

“TMI,” Claudia mumbles, holding up a hand while scouring the index of garments. As her scrolling slows, she clicks on a thumbnail, and a lacy negligee opens on a larger page. “Bingo!"

Myka gasps. “How did you…”

“I work with a lot of dudes, ok? You do not want to know what's in their browser history.”

Myka turns the laptop toward her and studies the woman pictured. Her hair is a shade darker, but there’s no question, she’s Bonnie. She navigates back to the index page and sees her featured in multiple listings, posed seductively in pink, red, taupe.

“She’s a model, and she owns a bar?”

“And she likes art. Or someone she’s into does. Gotta do something with all that cash, right? Why not impress chicks?”

Myka clicks on a particularly complicated garment, littered with straps and garters and cutouts; my god this Bonnie's leggy, and thin, and, um, busty. She shuts her laptop to stop herself from spiraling further into a hole.

“So…"

“More beach bunny bimbo than NSA, ” Claudia says, with a smirk. “I could keep digging, she what skeletons she has rattling around.”

“Thanks, but, no,” Myka says, looking down and feeling, what…defeated? Is that what it is? Did she really want there to be a connection? And if so, why? Claudia pretty much said it earlier; H.G. gets hit on all the time. Is she that insecure...

“Wait, why didn’t that come up when I searched for her?”

Claudia opens the laptop and clicks on some keys. “She models under a different name.” Claudia spins the laptop toward Myka.

“Viondra Moore?” Myka says, scowling as she skims Viondra’s Wikipedia page.

“Sexier than 'Bonnie Belski.'"

“Ugh,” Myka grunts.

Her phone dings several times and when she glances at it, multiple pictures appear, most filled with crepes, supplemented with lengthy commentary. She scrolls up, and her attention hangs on the first photo, a selfie of Helena and Christina smiling and waving in front of the restaurant. The text reads “wish you were here,” and the urgency to hurry returns.

“I better finish up and go,” she says. “Could you not mention this Bonnie thing, either, to Helena? I was hoping today could be conflict free.”

“Done and done,” Claudia says. “But you’ll do it, right? Keep me posted?"

“Yeah,” Myka says with certainty.

She obviously needs someone to keep her on the level, so maybe it’s good Claudia knows. Making mountains out of molehills seems her specialty lately.

“One more thing?” she asks. "Could you close my browser? I can't look at that woman again."

-TBC-

On to chapter 11